A Voyage to the Isles of Magic

Author: Kirk Straughen

Synopsis: In this science-fantasy adventure Aquilon, Prince of Onaxa, must undertake a perilous quest to save his beloved city from the depredations of a power mad tyrant bent on world domination, and armed with the might of an invincible mechanical army. The prince's only hope of saving his people and indeed the entire world, lies in soliciting aid from the ancient science-wizards of the Isles of Magic. But a thousand perils stand in his way, not least of all his own brother who is king. Will he succeed in his desperate enterprise? What breath taking wonders will he see? What fearful perils will he face? Only by reading this exciting saga will you know.

Edit history: Minor changes were made to this story on the 15/07/2021.

Chapter 1: The Siege of Onaxa

Negron, tyrant of Lastharr, ground his teeth in rage and frustration as he looked upon the city of Onaxa with a hatred whose intensity was almost palpable. The ornate spires of the golden metropolis, which were protected by fanning screens of shimmering force that enclosed the city, rose with a defiant insolence that challenged him like the insulting gesture of a haughty strumpet.

From the vantage point of a forested hill, Negron’s steely gaze surveyed the vast panoply of military power his unrivalled genius had created. His Iron Legions encircled the city on the plain in phalanx after shining phalanx of polished and intimidating might. They were like a noose about a condemned man’s throat - ready to choke Onaxa with fatal and merciless finality.

Negron’s chest swelled with pride. The Iron Legions would show no mercy, for compassion was something they could never know or even comprehend. They were not men, but machines - tireless automata of gigantic stature that no warrior of flesh and blood could stand against.

Sunlight glinted off the mechanisms flamboyant armour - a silver alloy whose hardness rivaled that of diamond. It sparkled in the crystal eyes of their rigid faces - masks of satanic malignancy truly terrifying to look upon. They were armed with monstrous strength and more: In their clawed hands, which could tear a man asunder as if he was a fly, were spiked maces which, backed by the immense power of their steel thews, could crumble the strongest of defensive walls in but moments.

The vast army was a sight to make the bravest general quail in fearful realization of his utter helplessness. The mechanical hoard was as unstoppable as the roaring waves of the Southern Ocean and no less powerful in relentless strength. And yet they had been stopped by Onaxa’s protective screens.

The tyrant’s pride gave way to burning anger. Did these puny fools really think they could thwart his plans to rebuild the magnificent empire of Menmar that had torn itself apart in a bloody, self-destructive civil war a thousand years ago? Ever since he’d been a boy he’d dreamed of this glorious accomplishment. It was intolerable that a petty city-state should oppose his grand ambition, his sweeping scheme to be master of the continent and stamp his name upon the history of the world.

Negron laughed softly to himself. Already, a half dozen city-states had fallen, had been trampled into cowering submission beneath the iron heels of his invincible legions. He remembered how proud Caz had burned: In his mind’s eye he recalled how he’d painted night with blood red flames that leapt in writhing tongues upon the dark canvas of the sky. The crash of collapsing buildings, weakened by ravenous fire, was a dark symphony to his ears. The screams of the dying were a pleasure to him, as were the naked women, chained and weeping, that awaited his abominable desires.

The tyrant’s thin mouth twisted into a sneer as his lean fingers moved spider-like over the keys of the master control upon his heavy belt. The petty scum would soon pay such a terrible price for their defiance that Onaxa would become a byword for unparalleled devastation. The very mention of the name would cause other nations to capitulate without a fight.

Twenty siege engines were spaced between the impressive ranks of phalanxes, and the mechanisms began to stir at Negron’s typed commands. The weapons, which resembled giant crystal flowers, were mounted upon gimbals affixed to flatbed carts. They automatically tracked the sun, soaked up its tremendous energy and stored it within six glassy spheres encircling the gimbals’ base.

Now those bloom-like structures, beautiful yet strangely sinister, slowly closed to form glassy cones. The mechanisms rotated towards the city. They focused upon Onaxa. The cones began to glow with the frightening intensity of white hot steel. Blazing spheres of intolerable light erupted in a crackling roar from their tips. Negron, eyes now shielded by goggles of darkened glass, eagerly traced their arching paths.

The globes of actinic light plummeted like blazing meteors. They struck the target squarely. An explosion of lambent fire briefly outshone the sun. Writhing flames rippled across the force-screen’s vast expanse, drenching it in leaping prominences of energy. The light faded. The city’s shield stood as strong as ever.

Negron froze in furious rigidity. His fists clenched convulsively as if his hands were closing about the neck of an enemy. Then he spun on his heel and scattered his aids with snarling curses and venomous glances as he stalked towards his pavilion and disappeared within.

Shortly, the shrill screaming of a woman shattered the stillness. Negron’s adjuncts, pale of face, went about their tasks trying to ignore the horrible cries of tortured agony.

**********

Aquilon, curis* of Onaxa, viciously kicked the massive door of the gloomy cell that was his prison. It was a childish thing to do, but it served as the only outlet for his sense of helplessness and feelings of rapidly impending doom. The curis ran his hand through his dark hair, and grimaced when he accidentally touched the lump upon his skull. How long had he been here? He didn’t know. He only knew that he’d recovered consciousness about an hour ago, that is if his sense of time was accurate.

And what had happened during that time he’d been insensible? At this very moment the Iron Legions might be rampaging through the city.

Sick with worry, he resumed his restless pacing and looked about the narrow confines of his cell which, though dank was at least clean.

Not that that makes any difference in the end, he thought, glumly. If the force-screen fails, and it will, then all of us are doomed.

He shook his head in utter disbelief. Here he was - the only man who could save Onaxa - imprisoned in this miserable hole. And by his own brother at that! He cursed Crotor with a vengeance as a frightening vision of the burning city arose within his troubled mind.

The tyrant stood upon a heap of bloody corpses, laughing madly as he gloated over them. The sky was darkened by a roiling pall of smoke and ash. It was with this dramatic flourish that his fevered brain completed the hellish scene.

He shuddered, and his mind again recalled the fateful chain of events that had laid him low ….

Late afternoon sunlight shone through the stained glass windows of the private chambers of Crotor, curion** of Onaxa. The man sat in a rigid, high backed chair. The furniture of the room was austere. It was in keeping with the strength of his harsh, unyielding personality.

Crotor gazed moodily at his reflection on the highly polished granite table. The curion’s lips twitched into a wry smile. He seemed to have aged ten years in as many days. Still, that was the burden of being ruler. Everything had a price, and a crown was a heavy responsibility, even at the best of times.

He sighed. His appearance was the least of his worries. Crotor looked up. At the other end of the table was his younger brother, Aquilon, a more elegant version of himself. Next to him sat Paru, his chief advisor.

“Well, Paru,” he said, dreading to ask. “What is your estimate of our defensive capacity?”

“For the moment we are safe,” explained the philosopher-scientist, calmly. “But if Negron brings more of his sun-weapons into play … Well, my shield will fail under the force of the increased bombardment, and Onaxa will be utterly destroyed.”

“Tell me something I haven’t already guessed,” replied Crotor, irritably. Then he continued with heavy sarcasm: “Is imperturbability your only solution to impending doom?”

“An agitated mind cannot think clearly“, replied the sage, gently. “Serenity is the counterpart of reason. Have I not taught you this ever since you were a boy? “

Light flared. It flooded the room with blinding intensity, and the explosion shook the palace to its foundations.

“See that? “, cried Crotor savagely as he pointed at the cracked window. “How can I be calm when I think of the fate that awaits our people? We need more than just philosophy, old man. “

“Oh, I do have more than that,” replied Paru. Despite his saintly nature there were times, this being one of them, that the sage wished Crotor was a boy again so he could be soundly disciplined. Putting aside this thought, the philosopher laid an ancient map upon the table, and commenced without preamble.

“No sorcery can stand against Negron’s,” he admitted. “He is the greatest genius on the continent of Etana, perhaps even in all this world of Menae. We must seek aid in other lands if we are to have any hope of defeating him.”

The philosopher laid one gnarled arthritic finger upon the chart. “Here, upon the Isles of Magic which lie in the Sea of Mists. According to my research this is where the saturim or ancient savants of Menmar established a colony in order to escape the chaos of the empire’s collapse.”

The curion stared at Paru, aghast. He was simply too shocked to be angry. He looked at his younger brother to see if this was some poor jest. Both men, however, returned his startled gaze with serious demeanors.

“The Isles of Magic are no mere myth,” said Aquilon, seeing the look of utter incredulity upon his brother’s face. “Has Paru ever been wrong before?”

“Granted that Paru is correct,” replied Crotor, darkly, as he wrestled with his rising temper. “How could anyone travel there? Have you fools both forgotten the Sea of Mists is exactly that – an ocean of heavy poisonous vapor that no ship can sail upon?”

“We cannot sail upon it, but we can sail above it,” replied Paru, ignoring the look of utter contempt on Crotor’s face. “The ancients could fly, and I have rediscovered their magic. With this knowledge I have perfected a flying vessel that can undertake the journey. Aquilon has assisted me with its construction. He has even flown the craft.”

Aquilon nodded. “It’s true. I flew last night concealed by darkness. This ship of the air is a marvelous invention. I’m sure the journey can be made.”

“A flying ship,” murmured the curion, his temper cooling with amazement. It seemed incredible. But it must be true, for although Aquilon had many faults in his brother‘s eyes, lying wasn’t one of them. Instantly, Crotor’s military mind saw the craft as a potential weapon.

“We’ll use it, but not as you intend,” he said thoughtfully. “I’ll attack the tyrant’s tent at night. The unexpectedness of the assault will catch him by surprise. As you said, Paru, the Iron Legions are controlled by Negron, and if he dies they will be like a man without a head. Better this plan than a voyage into the unknown.”

The philosopher shifted uneasily in his seat as did Aquilon. A troubled expression was upon each man’s face.

“My Lord,” said Paru, carefully. “The ship can carry but one man, and although you may circumvent the automata that guard Negron’s quarters, I’m sure he must have others concealed within.

“Although you are a mighty swordsman,” continued the sage, diplomatically. “It would take many men to overcome just one of his creations, and even then there is no guarantee of success. The craft is fragile. It is easily damaged, and the only one we have. There is simply insufficient time to manufacture more.”

“My decision is final,” replied Crotor, firmly, as he looked upon the two with narrowed eyes. “I’ll brook no interference from either of you in this matter. Paru, attend to your force-shield generator. Make the dammed thing hold together. Aquilon, I command you instruct me in the piloting of this flying ship. If I fail in my attempt, then I’ll have merely died a little sooner than the rest of you.”

“This is madness,” burst out Aquilon, rising to his feet. “We’ve already lost Darsis, our father, and most of the army in the Valley of Elessa whilst battling Negron. I beg you; don’t throw your life away. Agree to Paru’s plan. I shall make the voyage to the Isles of Magic in an attempt to solicit aid. We’ll be no worse off if I fail.”

The curion looked at his brother with contempt. In his eyes the younger man was too bookish a fellow for his liking. Not a weakling, true, but no man of action, either. This disdain and the worries of recent days all combined to make a seething brew that now erupted.

A surge of anger propelled Crotor from his chair. It overturned, clattering loudly in the sudden silence.

“The time for debate is over,” snapped the curion. “But I see sterner measures must be taken to convince you of it. Guards,” he barked, “escort Curis Aquilon to the dungeons. Perhaps the solitude of a gloomy cell will convince him of our situation’s gravity. Paru, so help me, don’t interfere, or I swear you will join him!”

The sage watched helplessly as two doughty guardsmen left their posts by the room's entrance. Both were clad in full armour of helmet, cuirass, chain mail skirt, and greaves. They advanced swiftly upon Aquilon, seized him none too gently by the arms, and quickly marched him out the door. The curis endured their touch with seeming passivity, but inwardly he was fuming like a vat of boiling acid.

Damn Crotor, he thought, disgustedly. His desire to avenge our father’s death is overruling his reason. Overconfident of his prowess, he’ll rush into danger like a charging nexu***, and get himself killed. The flying ship will be captured, possibly wrecked. Our only hope will be destroyed. I must seize the ship, and start my voyage now.

With lightning swiftness Aquilon lashed out. His sweeping foot tripped the man upon his left. The warrior cursed and crashed heavily to the marble floor. It sounded as if a sack of metal plates had been dropped. The other guard swore lividly. He pivoted with amazing swiftness and jerked the prince off balance, then swung his elbow in a vicious hook at the curis’ jaw. Aquilon managed to block the blow, but only just.

The prince cursed. His opponent had the advantage of protective armour. Aquilon was forced to grapple with his foe in a staggering dance about the hall. The warrior jerked up his knee. Aquilon, anticipating the move, twisted. He grunted in pain as the hammering blow caught him in the thigh rather than the groin.

From the edge of vision the prince glimpsed the first guard climb upon his feet and leap towards him. With a surge of strength borne of utter desperation he jerked his foe across his hip and flung him into the other. Both went down in a tangle of limbs, wild oaths and clattering armour.

Crotor burst forth from the room with Paru at his heels. The king’s eyes had narrowed to dangerous slits, and Aquilon saw a storm of fury building in his brother’s iron gaze. As the prince turned to flee the second warrior’s hand darted out and caught his ankle. The curis fell. The guard leapt upon him. Both wrestled desperately - Aquilon to free himself, the warrior to pin him down.

“Enough!” roared Crotor, as he stepped forward and, with heavy hands, hauled the struggling men apart. “So, you’d fight someone, would you?” he snarled at his brother as he shoved him violently against the frescoed wall. “Well then, fight me that I might measure your worth.”

“Gladly,” was Aquilon’s hot reply.

Both men’s tempers were now fully roused. Paru stood clear as did the guards. All present realized that any attempt to separate the pair would be like stepping between battling sarths****.

Aquilon feinted. He broke through Crotor’s guard with a punch that sent his brother sprawling.

By the gods, thought the curion, as he scrambled to his feet. I didn’t think he could hit so hard.

There was no time for further thought. The fight was on in earnest – a flurry of brutal kicks and wild punches that the anxious watcher’s eyes could barely follow. Crotor sidestepped a vicious kick. He caught Aquilon’s leg and heaved. His brother fell heavily. The prince‘s head struck the floor. The dark curtain of unconsciousness descended upon the curis, and smothered his mind in its ebon shroud. For him the fight was well and truly over.

* Footnote: Prince

** Footnote: King

*** Footnote: Nexu – An aggressive herbivore whose body shape and size approximates that of a rhinoceros. The head resembles a wild boar’s with impressive tusks to match. The coat is striped like that of a zebra.

**** Footnote: Sarth – A carnivore whose hairless body is leonine in appearance, the skin capable of changing colour for camouflage when stalking prey. The head is crocodilian in structure, the jaws being armed with many rows of serrated teeth.

Chapter 2: A Desperate Plan

Aquilon brought his mind to the present. Dwelling on the past wouldn’t save his people. But how could he escape? The massive door was locked, and an armed guard stood without. He had tried everything he could think of - bribes, threats, even pretending to be ill. Nothing could induce the man to open his prison door. He was trapped, helpless, and unable to aid his people.

He thumped the cold grey wall in rage and frustration. Again, he silently cursed Crotor. If only his brother’s brains were the equal of his brawn …

What was that? A soft pearly glow - like light condensing out of air – began to form in a corner of the chamber. Unnerved by the strange phenomenon, Aquilon backed cautiously away from the weird luminescence. Its outline shimmered. A form took shape. The man tensed, uncertain.

Paru appeared in ghostly form, and enjoined silence by pressing a phantom finger to his phantom lips.

“By the gods,” gasped Aquilon, softly. “Has Crotor slain you? Are you my teacher’s ghost?”

The phantom image smiled reassuringly. A thought whispered in Aquilon’s mind: No. This is merely a projection of my vital essence - my mind, or soul, if you prefer. My physical body lies abed, apparently asleep. I am being watched carefully by several guards least I try to free you. We need to talk and, under present circumstances, this the only way it can be done.

“I never knew you had such power.”

Don’t most men have a secret or two? Replied Paru. But now to business: I have been unable to dissuade your brother from his mad scheme. I have parted the veil of futurity with my arts, dimly, true, but enough to see disaster lies ahead. You must undertake a voyage to the Isles of Magic, for it is this venture that has the greater probability of success.

“Easy for you to say, but as you can see, my present surroundings offer limited freedom at best.”

Paru raised an eyebrow at that remark for Aquilon wasn’t usually given to sarcasm. But the sage let it pass. He realized the curis’ sharp words were engendered by the stress of recent events, and was content to merely reply: Observe the door, as a glowing ball of force drifted from his outstretched finger and sunk into its massive lock. There was a soft click, and the portal swung wide.

It’s now early evening. Crotor forced me to instruct him in the use of the ship, and will make the attempt tonight. The flyer is where we left it, and has been prepared under my directions for the attempt. You have studied the map and know your course. I cannot maintain this projection for long. Go now and may the gods, if there be such things, watch over you.

The manifestation faded. Aquilon was alone once more. His mind was whirling from the sudden rush of unexpected events, and he was feeling abashed at his earlier uncouthness.

He marshaled his thoughts. There was no time to waste. The curis stepped cautiously out into the corridor. A loan guard lay slumped against the wall. No doubt the man had been rendered unconscious by Paru’s sorcery. But what of his replacement - another warrior might come at any moment. He firmed his resolve. The sage had done what he could. The rest was up to him.

Aquilon buckled the senseless guard’s sword and dagger about his waist, and then crept cautiously along the dusky passageway. Wan light from widely spaced oil lamps hung a shifting tapestry of shadows upon the dark stone, and the fleeing man continued his advance with slow and frustrating carefulness. Suddenly, the scrape of sandals flitted through the gloom. Someone approached from a turn in the passage – the guard?

Quickly blowing out a nearby lamp, Aquilon pressed himself into the deep shadows, and waited tensely. Would he have to kill the man? His conscious rebelled at the thought – the guard was a fellow Onaxan, probably with wife and child. But Aquilon knew his mission would determine the fate of an entire city.

The footsteps drew near. They halted. The curis’ clenched his jaw with desperate determination and gathered his strength for the terrible task. He had to take the man, who was clad in full armour, swiftly and silently.

A drawn sword rasped across the darkness, causing Aquilon to start nervously. The warrior advanced cautiously. He sensed something was amiss, but was unsure as to the cause of his unease. The prince sank slowly into a tigerish crouch. His narrowed eyes watched the coming man. His hands were open, his fingers claw-like. His heart raced and he held his breath so as not to make a sound.

The approaching warrior wondered if he should retreat and summon aid. He stopped, and silently cursed the shifting light. The grizzled sergeant would not be impressed with a man who jumped at shadows. His hesitation was a fatal error.

Aquilon hurled himself from the darkness like a leaping panther. One hand clamped upon the warrior’s sword hand, immobilizing his weapon. Simultaneously, the stiffened fingers of his other hand slammed into the fellow’s thyroid sheath. The guard gagged, choking on broken cartilage. His knees buckled and Aquilon lowered the convulsing man to the floor.

The curis stood above the dead warrior, trembling with the aftermath of battle. He felt sick to the depths of his soul. Still, there would be greater tragedies to come if his mission failed. The prince pulled himself together and looked about. The corridor remained deserted. The palace dungeons had not been used since his grandfather’s time, and his brother no doubt considered at least two warriors sufficient to guard a single prisoner.

But he was not free yet, and a feeling of utter urgency again beset him. Grim faced, he padded through the maze of passages and arrived at the dungeon’s exit. It was barred by a door even more impressive than that of his lowly cell. Carefully he peered through the narrow grating and saw a single warrior in the guardroom beyond.

Aquilon silently cursed. The door would be locked and the guard, beyond his reach, would have the key. What to do? Not knowing the password, he couldn’t pretend to be the returning warrior, and he must hurry and find a way out before the man became suspicious of his companion’s late return.

The curis’ eyes fell upon the lock. It was an ancient type. He knelt and examined it. There was a chance … a very slim one. But it was the only one he had. He drew his long, thin dagger and carefully inserted it into the keyhole.

Sweat was upon Aquilon’s brow as he slowly rotated the blade. He’d performed this trick with similar locks when he’d been a boy. But that was long ago, and he felt that never before had so much depended on a childish amusement as it did at this fateful hour.

Shortly, the lock clicked open and he grinned with success, and then silently swore when the guard spoke - the noise, though soft, had attracted his attention.

“Is that you, Thumon,” queried the man, suspiciously. “Show yourself and speak the password.”

Aquilon, knowing he’d lost any chance of surprising the warrior, jerked wide the door and hurled his dagger at the fellow. The guard ducked. The dagger missed the man. He drew his blade and shouted as the curis leapt towards him, sword swinging in a vicious slash.

Blade rang against blade in a savage exchange of blows. Aquilon parried a brutal thrust. He countered with a feint that left his foe exposed. The warrior uttered a gurgling cry as the prince’s blade swiftly sliced across his throat. The man fell, blood jetting from the gaping wound.

Alarm whistles shrilled. Other guards, summoned by their slain comrade’s cry, were racing towards the scene. Aquilon bolted from the guardroom. A shout rang out and ten men were swiftly upon his heels.

He frantically raced up the passageway, darted into another and tore madly along its length. His heart was pounding like a trip hammer as he hurled himself through an archway and emerged into the palace proper. Aquilon paused to catch his breath. The guards, impeded by their heavy armour, had been left behind. But not for long, of that he could be certain.

Quickly, he looked about. Only the soft radiance from Menae’s triple rings was present. The gentle light spilled through moon windows and fell upon an ornamental pool in the middle of the room. He grinned.

An alarm call spurred the curis into motion. He ran for the pond as his pursuers dashed through the arch. Other warriors burst through another door and charged him from the fore.

Aquilon took a deep breath and plunged within the pool. Crossbow bolts hissed about his lithe form as he dove deep within its dark waters. The prince touched bottom, and panicked when he couldn’t find the ornamental flower. Then his hand closed upon it and he twisted. The concealed door opened and he quickly swam to safety through the secret water filled passage.

**********

Aquilon peered cautiously around the barrel-shaped bole of a spreading orcarim tree, one of many that formed a spacious arbor. He espied the flying ship, which resembled a racing scull. It floated some two feet above the ground, moored to a heavy stake imbedded deeply in the earth.

The curis was cold and wet and lucky to alive. He’d nearly drowned in that water filled passage of terror and utter blackness. It had been a terrible risk he’d taken, for the secret ways were very ancient and rarely tested. The air in the regularly spaced domes of the tunnel roof had been foul. He’d been very lucky that the exit in the fountain pool of the palace gardens had opened at all.

Aquilon quashed these thoughts. The palace was in an uproar and warriors were swarming everywhere. The first thing Crotor would order would be a heavy guard flung about the ship. He must hurry, for at the moment the grounds lay deserted before his sweeping gaze, and night's stillness was broken only by an occasional pop from the surrounding orcarim trees as their bursting pods scattered seed to the wind.

Aquilon's heart leapt as again he looked upon the flyer’s trim hull, which brought back memories of his exhilarating flight the night before. In but a moment he would be soaring through the star strewn sky towards the Isles of Magic. It was a thrilling thought, but one tempered by the knowledge that unknown dangers lay ahead. He pondered that idea for a moment as self-doubt assailed him. The prince felt he was more a scholar than a mighty hero. Still, the task must be done, and someone had to do it.

Perhaps the moment makes the man, he thought as he forced aside his doubts. Again, he looked carefully about, and then stepped forth from the purple shadows to approach the craft, heady with the expectation of success. His hopes, though, were shattered by a harsh command as three concealed warriors stepped forth from the ebon depths of shadow:

Their shrill alarm whistles cut his nerves like a knife.

Chapter 3: Swords in the Dark

Aquilon cursed silently as the guards advanced upon him, their drawn blades glittering in the ring-light. I’m outnumbered, he thought. They may not know of my imprisonment. Perhaps a ruse will suffice.

“At ease men,” he commanded as he adopted a nonchalant air. “It is I, Curis Aquilon. My brother has ordered me to make a final inspection of the craft before he undertakes his perilous mission.”

The sergeant laughed softly, “A bold front, curis. But we know of your arrest. Besides, you’re as wet as a fish, which is cause for suspicion in itself. We have our orders. Now, drop your weapon or prepare for death.”

It was a burlesque command. But the hard edge to the fellow’s voice proclaimed more elegantly than words the deadly seriousness of his intent.

Aquilon cursed cruel fate. His every move seemed to be met with delaying obstacles. In his mind’s eye he could see other warriors rushing towards him from the palace in response to the summoning whistles of the guards. He couldn’t afford to be caught, let alone to die.

The prince held fast to his sword. A forbidding look of determination was on his face. The guards split up. Two rushed him from both sides while the other came at him from the front. The prince knew if he were caught between these blades he’d surely die. In one swiftly fluid motion Aquilon scooped up a clot of loamy soil with his sword point, and flicked it into the eyes of his foremost foe. The man dropped his weapon. He staggered back, hands clawing at his splattered face.

With an oath the remaining guards lunged in a simultaneous attack. Aquilon sprang clear. He darted to the flank of his nearest foe, and rammed his sword into the fellow’s neck. The man screamed a sickening cry. He collapsed and bled to death upon the sward.

The other warrior came at him. Aquilon parried the murderous thrust, and countered with a savage cut. Each man measured the other’s strength and skill as they traded blow for blow. Their flashing swords wove silver patterns in the dark.

From the corner of his vision Aquilon saw the first guard he attacked had cleared his eyes of dirt and was now running at him. I’ll have to finish this, and quickly, flashed his thought as he blocked a brutal stroke that came close to disemboweling him.

Closing with his foe, Aquilon spat full in the man’s face causing him to blink for but a moment. It was enough, for in that brief second of blindness the curis pierced his opponent’s guard and sent him tumbling lifeless to the ground.

Spinning about, Aquilon confronted the remaining warrior. The fellow swung his sword in a savage arc that would have decapitated the prince. The curis, however, dropped to one knee and thrust his blade up beneath his foe‘s chain mail skirt as the fellow’s weapon passed harmlessly above his head. The man uttered a piercing cry and fell in a moaning heap at Aquilon’s feet.

Aquilon stood above the dying man, and wondered sickly how many other countrymen he‘d have to kill. The rattle of armour broke upon his ears. Somewhere in the dark more foes were racing at him. With a muttered oath he sprang towards the waiting craft. There could be no further delay to his desperate enterprise.

He skidded to a halt by the vessel. The curis's darting eyes quickly scanned the ship to see if it was in order. In the stern lay the force-generator. It was a cube of dull silver above which three glowing spheres of green crystal were mounted. The entire mechanism was interconnected by a complex lattice of ebon rods.

From this device, which throbbed with strange harmonics, ran conductive cables to the hull’s repulsion and steering cones – structures of lucid glass in which were embedded filamentous helices of crimson metal.

His concentration was disturbed by an angry shout that cut knifelike through the dark. Aquilon turned. He saw Crotor racing towards him. The curion was closely followed by his bodyguards.

“Step away from that craft, brother,” he cried. “I swear I’ll kill you if I must.”

Aquilon made no reply as he slashed the flyer’s tether and leapt aboard. He realized that Crotor was beyond reasoning with.

By the gods, he thought as he strapped on the safety harness and jerked the activating lever. Will I have to shed his blood as well?

Crotor and his men sprinted furiously across the sward as the craft slowly rose towards a gap in the spreading trees. Aquilon watched the advancing party. There was sweat upon his brow despite the coolness of the night. He wondered if he would gain sufficient height in time.

The warriors were now but yards away. Crotor drew his sword. He flung it with an inchoate cry of rage, and the spinning blade narrowly missing Aquilon as he ducked his brother’s whirling weapon. The curion made a desperate leap. His hand caught hold upon the ship‘s bow. For a brief and frightening moment Aquilon stared into the eyes of a ruthless killer as the unbalanced ship tilted down dangerously. Then Crotor lost his grip and crashed upon his men. All went down in a tangled heap.

Struggling free of his men Crotor staggered to his feet and, with panting breath, threw vile curses at Aquilon as his vessel rose and cleared the trees. The agile craft soared aloft. It swiftly arrowed above the city’s protective screens and in but moments had gained the freedom of the sky.

The craft gathered further speed as it mounted heaven. The wind of its swift passage was a biting chill upon Aquilon’s troubled face, for he knew that to his brother he was a traitor of the lowest kind.

If I succeed, he thought. Then perhaps he’ll forgive me. That is if he doesn’t run me through on sight.

Looking down, he saw the warm lights of the shrinking city, and the soft glow of the encompassing force-screen. Beyond, and in darkness, was the tyrant’s vast army. Light shed by the planet’s rings glittered coldly from the encircling phalanxes of the Iron Legions. They had no need for warmth of any kind. Inhuman, and as monstrous as their cruel master, they stood in silent and menacing ranks of slumbering strength, waiting to fall upon his beloved Onaxa.

The curis tore his gaze from the disturbing sight. Looking up he saw Night's dusky countenance gazing upon him with eyes of stars, and in these twinkling orbs was there not a trace of gentle mirth at human folly?

Yes, war was indeed the height of mortal foolishness. But could the saturim end this madness? According to the histories, they had been an elite society of learned men and women who, supported by a series of enlightened emperors, had pursued knowledge and wisdom for the pure love of understanding things.

But as the Empire aged it became corrupt and moribund. Jaskor, the last of the emperors, was more concerned with building pleasure palaces than governing his lands. Year by year the sound council of the saturim was gradually ignored. Injustice slowly grew and eventually prevailed.

Crushing taxes were imposed to pay for imperial extravagances, and the population grew restless and discontent. Factions emerged within the Imperial government and sought to take advantage of the weakness of the Emperor. Civil war erupted, and for ten years the red horror of unbridled violence swept back and forth across the entire continent.

Plague and famine followed in its wake completing the apocalypse, and those who survived, perhaps only a quarter of the entire population, descended into the darkness of unlettered barbarism.

Aquilon sighed. The saturim had every right to be contemptuous of those who ruled. He thought of his brother. Crotor had his faults – a temper and stubbornness to match, and contempt for perceived weakness in other men. Despite these shortcomings he was trying to protect and serve his people in the manner he considered best.

But a disturbing thought came upon Aquilon as he ruminated: are good intentions and noble purpose ever enough? Would this appeal bring comfort to the families of the men he’d killed? He had no answer to that troubling question.

Pushing these gloomy thoughts aside, he set a course for the Isles of Magic, and wondered what other trials awaited him.

**********

The morning sun peered above the Sea of Mists, which stretched in all directions as far as the eye could see. It sent a tide of welcome light streaming across the strange ocean’s vast expanse, and illuminated the roiling golden vapors – seething exhalations from the world's interior – that Aquilon now gazed down upon.

He saw vast whirlpools of swirling gas eddying here and there, and strange lightening crackling in the spinning mist. In other places weird fires seemed to burn in the gaseous depths, causing vaporous geysers to erupt with volcanic force.

The Sea of Mists boomed and rumbled. It seemed to breathe with gusty sighs and hisses. It was like a living thing - in constant motion and uttering a cacophony of restless sound. Aquilon had seen the sea as a boy, but only from its precipitous shore. It had been an impressive sight. But from his bird’s eye view it was stupendously spectacular.

The prince turned his attention to more important matters. He shed the furs in which he had wrapped himself and donned his clothes, now dry from the rush of air. A good night’s sleep had put him in a better frame of mind, one which improved even more when he checked the compass reading.

Off course by a few degrees, he thought. Not bad considering I slept most of the night with the controls preset for my destination.

With deft hands Aquilon adjusted his flight path and ate a light meal of nuts and dried fruit. Then, as there was nothing else to do, he lay back and gazed at the azure sky.

The curis tried to doze but his body was now rested and, unlike the night before, he couldn’t fall exhausted into a deep, dreamless slumber. Memories of his father’s death came upon him. Unlike Crotor he hadn’t been on the field immersed in the crimson rage and thunder of clashing arms, and the shocking screams of dying men.

Instead, he’d been by Paru’s side laboring with frenetic haste to complete the force-screen generator. They’d both worked feverishly through the night without rest, struggling to assemble the delicate and complex mechanisms of the machine. Perhaps if he’d been at his father’s side… perhaps he could have saved him …. He remembered the shattered army stumbling in ragged ranks through Onaxa’s main gate. The men looked haggard with weariness and numb with defeat … The broken body of his father, and Crotor’s weeping …How strong and powerful Darsis had been in life, and yet how old and frail he looked in death …

Time crawled by with leaden steps. After a seeming age, something impinged upon the Onaxan’s wandering mind. It was a rushing sound, as if a mighty wind was stirring. Sitting up he was amazed to see clouds of sable bubbles soaring up from the golden depths of the Sea of Mists. They roared into the sky and burst high above, releasing copious ebon vapors. The strange gas expanded in turgid shrouds of darkness that blotted out heaven, and drowned the world in stygian inkiness.

Aquilon was plunged into utter darkness. It was if an impenetrable veil of blackness had been drawn across his eyes. He knew the Sea of Mists brewed strange and terrible storms, for they had been observed from afar. But no man had ever been caught in the midst if one before, and he wondered anxiously just how bad it was going to be.

Starbursts of violet exploded in the heavens as if in answer to his thoughts. The tremendous detonations buffeted the flyer with their thunderous violence, and the ship spun madly like a leaf caught in a millrace. Aquilon, grim faced, struggled with the controls as the craft was flung violently about by the fury of the elements.

He worked the levers like a madman and managed to steady his fragile vessel. It was a short lived victory. Other fireballs – midget suns - erupted from the blackness, and scattered streamers of jagged light in all directions. Thunder rolled in percussive waves as if a mad titan was beating upon a brazen drum. Blasts of fiery wind struck the ship and sent it tumbling end over end.

One slithering flare flashed within inches of the hapless craft. The frightful bolt generated induction currents - worms of mauve lightning that crawled across the vessel’s mechanisms in eerie twisting webs of force. Aquilon, dizzy and battered, now screamed with the agony of electrocution. He fainted. The repulsion cones failed, and the craft plunged in whirling descent to the deadly golden vapors far below.

Chapter 4: Terror in the Clouds

The biting chill of rushing air revived the unconscious man. Aquilon opened his eyes. He fought to clear the mental fog that swirled within his mind and the nausea of motion sickness that assailed him. All about was whirling blackness punctured here and there by exploding globes of actinic light. Which way was up, which was down? He didn’t know.

The ship was still falling like a stone and spinning like a top. With mounting desperation Aquilon’s fingers flew from one control to another like a frightened bird fluttering in its cage.

The mechanisms are dead as I soon will be, he thought. It was a moment of fatalism that was heightened by the glare of numerous fireballs which illuminated the poisonous mists.

Aquilon saw that the deadly vapors were drawing closer with each passing second as the stricken ship plummeted in mad descent to its impending doom. He was falling towards a vast whirlpool of gas. It seemed to stare at him like a dreadful eye; then became an enormous mouth intent on sucking him down into death and darkness.

Again, he tugged the lever with grim determination. The repulsion cones glowed, then died. He cursed and tried again. The mechanisms blazed to vibrant life as did his hope. The ship stopped its crazed gyrations as he rapidly worked the controls. It leveled and deceleration hit him like a giant’s fist as he slowed his deadly plunge. The force strove to flatten him against the deck and tore a groan from his pale lips as he fought against it.

The cyclonic eye loomed beneath him. It swelled enormously. Sucking winds tore at the flimsy craft as Aquilon fought to clear the sinister vortex. His frenetic efforts were rewarded. The flyer’s bow curved up as it hurtled clear of the monstrous spinning throat and streaked skyward. A gaseous geyser erupted. The prince hurled his ship away from the fountain of death. It had come perilously close to ensnaring him in its deadly vapors.

He gained the safety of altitude and saw the storm was undergoing a strange transformation. The blackness was condensing to countless tetrahedrons that began to fall in an ebon rain of feathery slowness towards the Sea of Mists. The storm had abated as if acknowledging his victory, and was dispersing as strangely as it had come. Shortly, warm sunlight once again bathed the world, and calmness settled upon the heaving mists of the vaporous sea.

Aquilon set the controls to automatic, and for many long minutes sat staring at his trembling hands, knowing he dare not try and pilot the craft. Before he had been too busy battling for his life to give much thought to the danger he was in. But now the delayed effects of the ordeal crashed down upon him with all its terrible weight, and for a time he relived the frightful moments with horrid clarity.

At last he regained some semblance of self-control, and fought off black fear that, like some inner demon, gnawed at his resolve.

I won’t find my people’s salvation sitting here, he thought, as he placed his now steady hands on the controls and angled the vessel’s prow towards those isles of mystery that lay beyond the sight of men.

Onward he flew, the hours crawling by in sharp contrast to his speed. The world seemed to fade away, and became a void of endless sky through which he fled from known reality. The blazing sun climbed heaven, and reached its zenith. But of the islands there was still no sign. He finished his noon meal in desultory silence. Doubt hovered near. It pressed its ghostly lips to his ear, and whispered insidiously. Had Paru been wrong after all, or had he misremembered the course charted on the map?

Wait! A dark shape loomed above the horizon. Aquilon squinted. It was barely visible, still too distant to identify. He set his course towards it. The man was hopeful, yet afraid to hope least it be a mere trick of light on mist.

His pulse quickened as he drew near. The thing resolved itself with the closing of distance. It was a soaring formation of stone, like the body of some mighty colossus rearing up from the golden depths to touch the sky with its audacious height.

Before him, the frowning rock, black as crystallized darkness, staggered up in dizzying tiers. Here and there light glinted off stone trapped minerals that flashed like the million eyes of some monstrous beast. And in the distance other titans, brothers to this stupendous mesa, could be seen.

Aquilon repressed a shudder. An aura of power seemed to clothe the naked stone, but whether it was sorcery or merely his own awe at the sight of the Isles of Magic he didn’t know. Slowing the craft, he cautiously ascended towards the cloud-obscured heights, and tried to master his growing sense of unease as he penetrated the swirling mist.

Feathery vapors, the ghosts of water, touched Aquilon with cool fingers, and beaded him with their chilly wetness. Visibility was low, and he slowed his vessel to a crawl, fearful of striking the jagged rocks. After what seemed an age he broke through into clear sky, considerably relieved, only to gasp in horror as his startled eyes beheld the fearful shape that hung above his flimsy vessel.

From about the circumference of the thing’s pear-shaped body depended eight long and many jointed limbs armored in a creamy exoskeleton, as was the rest of its anatomy. Despite its immense size and seeming heaviness, the sky-beast floated on the winds as effortlessly as the clouds that had concealed it.

Dread had Aquilon in its icy grip as he lunged for the acceleration lever. But it was too late. The monster’s limbs swiftly swept down upon him and seized the craft with hawk-like talons. The shaken prince watched in mounting fear as its terrible claws, driven by enormous strength, punched through the hull with frightening ease.

A cracking sound warned him of yet another danger that added to his terror – the hull was splitting under the relentless pressure of the creature’s talons. Ragged cracks appeared. Wood splintered. Fragments fell away in whirling showers. They were swallowed up by the cloud-shrouded depths, seemingly endless. The thing’s maw gaped wider. It was a pit of impenetrable blackness into which Aquilon feared he would soon be thrust.

Then, with inspiration born of desperate need, he saw his only hope – the beast’s exoskeleton was covered with knobby protrusions that might serve as hand and footholds.

It’s a desperate chance, but the only one I’ve got; he thought as he threw off the safety harness. The craft shuddered warningly as he stood. He fell and barely saved himself by grasping a thorn-like protuberance upon the beast’s gigantic limb. The vessel split asunder, one half plummeting in spinning descent through the airy void.

Tingling fear gripped Aquilon. He swung wildly for an endless moment, his legs kicking futilely against the sky. Then with desperately clawing fingers he caught a second projection with his other sweating hand.

Just as he thought he was safe the sky-beast’s limb surged upward, and nearly threw him off with its rapid movement. Now inverted, he hung on with fear born strength, arms and legs wrapped about the appendage in a vice like grip. Looking up, Aquilon saw the beast had shoved the flying ship’s wreckage within its maw, and was now slowly crunching upon the hull.

He was mere feet from that terrible beak. The odor of the creature’s breath, reminiscent of moldy wood, washed over him unpleasantly. In one huge faceted eye, he glimpsed a hundred reflections of his own frightened face. Uttering a brief prayer to the gods, Aquilon hoped he would not share the fate of his hapless craft. His fear would have been relieved to some degree had he known the creature was herbivorous.

Heaven or perhaps blind fortune smiled upon him – he managed to retain his grip as the appendage dropped away, and he swung down in terrifying descent. Eyes closed, he clung grimly until it stilled. Gradually, the trembling of Aquilon’s limbs subsided and he was able to muster his courage. Breathing deeply he began the perilous ascent, inching slowly up and ever upwards.

His thews shook with fatigue. His sweating hands often slipped on the glass smooth body. An eternity of burning pain engulfed him as he struggled towards the bony flange encircling the creature’s pear-shaped body. It was a spiky shelf upon which he hoped to rest his weary limbs.

Up and ever upward Aquilon climbed. Hope rose within him with every foot he gained, for the sky-beast seemed content to ignore his miniscule presence. But this optimism was quickly dashed when he froze a few yards from his goal, eyes fastened upon an ominous shape moving above him. Another creature advanced. It was a segmented silver rod with many legs ending in suction cups that enabled it to cling to the slippery exoskeleton. Like quicksilver it flowed downwards with sinister grace, its mandibles snapping like shears.

The man drew his sword. He waited tensely; realizing this smaller animal must feed on the monster’s parasites.

I’ve been left alive for another horror, he thought with grim insight as the thing, jaws agape, fell upon him.

With a mighty effort his weary arm swung the blade. It sheared through the ugly head, which dropped away with the body tumbling after. Sheathing his sword, Aquilon resumed his torturous ascent feeling he was trapped in a mad delirium from which he couldn’t awake.

At last, with panting breath, he gained the relative safety of the flange, and hauled his exhausted body carefully over the spiky shelf. Then he collapsed upon its narrow surface in utter fatigue.

For a time he lay as if dead, too tired to even think coherently. Slowly, strength returned and he roused mind and weary body to action.

I’m safe for the moment, he mused. But the craft is destroyed, and I’m now trapped on this thing.

Climbing to his feet, Aquilon looked down and saw the sky-beast had floated above the towering island. The flat mesa-like pinnacle stretched out before him. It was clad in a thick forest of lush verdure. The unfamiliar trees were strange to his eyes – glossy black limbs radiated outward from the tall central trunks, their length decreasing with height, giving the growths a conical appearance.

From these limbs sprang long fern-like fronds whose color was a startling shade of mauve. The trees were in full bloom. Their amber trumpet shaped flowers depended in dense masses from beneath the branches, and scented the air with a delicate fragrance.

It seemed the island was a virgin wilderness. Where were the teeming cities filled with wondrous marvels? Surely after a thousand years the saturim would have multiplied and spread across this fertile land. Fear came upon him. Perhaps the histories were wrong ... Perhaps the saturim had gone elsewhere. Had he come all this way for nothing?

Suddenly, a flash of distant light caught his eye. Was it an abode of some kind? Hope rose within him; then sank, for he knew that the earth was far below. A leap from this height would bring certain death, of that he could be sure. If only the creature would sink lower …

A thought flashed into being: Aquilon remembered Paru’s experiments. Initially they had discussed building a lighter-than-air vessel, one held aloft by a lifting gas. The creature had no wings that could keep it airborne, merely fan-shaped vanes with which it seemed to steer. Therefore, it must be filled with buoyant vapors of some kind.

Aquilon eagerly examined the swelling dome of the upper body as he carefully walked about its bony rim. At last his eyes alighted on one of the shell’s expansion joints that enabled the sky-beast to cope with the ballooning and contraction of the inner gas as it changed its altitude.

No doubt what I’m about to do will rouse the creature, he thought as, with grim determination, he plunged the sword through the rubbery gristle of the join, knowing there was no other alternative to this dangerous course of action.

Gas rushed out in a gusty roar. The creature shuddered. Aquilon lost his balance. He fell, slid across the narrow flange and over its spiky edge, nearly impaling himself upon its frightful points. The creature’s limbs whipped up, blindly searching. They crashed down within mere feet of his dangling body.

Rapidly, the thing sank lower. It was losing buoyancy as the rushing gas ripped open its integument. Again the vicious claws sought him. Ever closer came the questing razor talons. The treetops seemed to leap up. Their crowns thrust like spears, and caused the monster to swing up all its appendages to prevent entanglement. One frightful claw swept directly at him with crushing force. Aquilon relinquished his hold. He fell and the world became one hideous sensation of mad descent.

Chapter 5: Island of Mystery

The Onaxan tensed himself in preparation for the smashing impact. He closed his eyes against the gruesome end. His mind was blank with fear, a foretaste of oblivion. Branches rushed up at him - thick limbs of the mighty trees that would surely rend and tear his falling body.

Suddenly, an emerald ray shot up. It snared the plummeting man and enfolded him within a sphere of protective force. The globe smashed through branches and crashed to earth. The terrific impact echoed through the forest and scattered its denizens. Then there was deathly silence for a time.

Aquilon groaned and opened his eyes, unsure of what had happened but vastly relieved to be alive. The strange sphere had absorbed most of the shock of impact, and then dissipated after striking earth. But even so, he had been knocked unconscious by the fall and was still partially stunned from his ordeal.

Sitting up, he looked about, and brought order to his scattered wits. The strange trees soared above him. Dappled light filtered in mauve shades through the forest’s translucent canopy, and dimly illuminated the massive trunks and lower underbrush of lavender hues. Raucous cries from nameless creatures filled the air in unsettling disharmony.

Of the sky-beast there was no sign, for it had drifted further without his weight, eventually crashing some distance away. He wondered what other unknown threats lay concealed within the tangled verdure of this mysterious isle. Painfully, Aquilon climbed to his feet. Though battered and bruised, he knew he must press on with his mission regardless of the cost to himself.

A fallen branch cracked as if stepped upon. He quickly turned and stumbled back with the shock of what he saw. Before him stood three beings, alarmingly near. Their nude bodies were manlike in form. But unlike men their skin consisted of glossy ebon scales. But most terrifying of all was that from the neck of each creature sprang not a head, but five arching serpents whose crimson eyes glittered with inhuman menace.

The foremost of the trio was armed with a staff of silvery alloy surmounted by a glowing emerald gem. The thing stepped forward aggressively. It spoke.

“I am Yiss, chief among my people. You will come with us,” hissed its heads in sibilate unison.

Aquilon found his voice: “Who … what are you?” he gasped, backing away. He was frightened and amazed - frightened by all the terror of the serpent, and amazed the thing could speak in the ancient language of Menmar that he and Crotor were familiar with from their study of the Classics.

“The Lady of the Flame is our mistress,” it continued, unmindful of his reaction. “We are her … guardians,” it hissed with ill-concealed resentment. Then, lunging forward, it laid a cold claw-like hand upon his arm. “You will come with us.”

Had his captor been human, the Onaxan may have acquiesced. But the weird being unnerved him – the swaying serpentine heads, the gleaming inhuman eyes, the cold dry touch of its scaly hand. Aquilon lashed out in a surge of panic fuelled strength. He kneed it in the stomach and sent it crashing to the ground.

Instantly, the remaining serpent-men were upon him. The nearer being’s heads lashed out in envenomed strikes. Aquilon leapt back with the agility of a cat. The stabbing fangs missed him by the narrowest of margins and he slammed his foot into the creature’s shin. It stumbled and fell into the other’s path with a hissing cry.

The third serpent-man tripped over its fallen companion and crashed heavily to the ground. Aquilon turned and fled, terror and adrenalin lending wings to his pounding feet. He tore madly through the underbrush expecting at any moment to feel a scaly body leap upon him and bring him thudding to the earth.

His fear was heightened by the sound of swift pursuit. The thought of capture by these unnatural foes was like a stabbing spur to the fleeing man, and with a mighty effort he pulled ahead of the racing hunters. But the stress of his ordeals began to swiftly tell upon him.

Aquilon’s pace faltered and the sound of his sprinting enemies grew louder as they drew closer and closer. Death’s chill breath seemed to be upon his neck as he burst through a wall of tangled growth and with dismay saw a deep gully before him. In it was a thick drift of tetrahedrons from the strange storm. They jostled one another, tinkling like glass, yet as airy as bubbles.

All this the prince perceived at a glance as he flung himself forward in a desperate bid to jump the gap. But his strength had waned and the moment he made the leap he knew with dreadful certainty he wouldn’t make it. Aquilon fell. He plunged within the gully and crashed through carpeting tetrahedrons. The thick vegetation beneath them saved him from broken bones, and the strange forms, which had been thrown up by his passage through their midst, closed over him in a cloak of tinkling darkness.

The exhausted prince lay still, breathing heavily. He wondered what the serpent-men would make of his sudden disappearance. He doubted they’d seen him plunge within the gully – it had all happened so quickly. Perhaps his enemies would think he’d gained the other side, or run along its length. He could only wait in anxious and unmoving silence.

Light filtered dimly through the layer of constantly moving and tinkling tetrahedrons. It was Aquilon’s first opportunity to observe them closely, and the more he looked upon them as they rested on the greenery within inches of his nose, the more unnerved he became.

It wasn’t their forms that alarmed him, for he was familiar with geometry; nor their sound, so reminiscent of wind chimes. It was something alien and indescribable. It was the aura of the unknown and unknowable - something so weird that its essence couldn’t be delineated with mere words.

He began to sweat. Irrational fear increased. It built to a screaming crescendo of terror and he moaned uncontrollably. Unimaginable horror, like foul worms, crawled over his skin. He wanted to leap up, to shout wildly and flee. But that would expose him to his enemies.

Aquilon clamped down savagely on his raging emotions. His body quivered with conflicting urges - to lie still and hide, and to run in unbridled dread. He compromised and began to slowly crawl along the gully’s length. The tetrahedrons seemed to press in upon him. They filled his mind with wild thoughts of being buried alive beneath their smothering mass. The tinkling became mocking laughter. Their presence, so light at first, was now the oppressive weight of mountains.

The prince bit his lip to stifle a scream. He crawled onward through a nightmare of sweat drenched horror. He felt his mind crumbling. Then, when he thought he could endure no more and was on the verge of surrendering to insanity, the gully began sloping upward and he crawled free of tinkling madness. Merciful sky arched over him and he sagged into blissful immobility.

He lay for a long time, slowly regaining his composure, which had been severely strained by the horrible ordeal. At last Aquilon found he had regained his strength. He stood and looked about. The sky peeked shyly through the canopy of overarching trees. The only sound was the sighing of the wind through the leaves and the tinkling of tetrahedrons. He was alone.

But how alone was he? Where were the people of the isle? Were there people on the isle, or only monsters? Thoughts of the peril Onaxa faced pricked him to action, and he stirred himself to further movement, knowing the answers to these questions couldn’t be found where he was.

Mindful of his lack of weapons, Aquilon picked up two rocks. He walked for a time searching for signs of civilization, then stopped, puzzled. Where was that glint he’d seen from the sky-beast? Aquilon grew angry with himself. He’d lost all sense of direction during his mad flight from those strange beings. He turned in a slow circle and gasped.

The three serpent men from his earlier encounter burst from the undergrowth and charged him in a wild rush. Yiss raised its staff threateningly. Aquilon hurled a rock. It caught his foe in the chest and the creature went down with an explosive hiss of pain.

A second throw stretched another enemy flat upon the ground. Then the third was upon him. He sidestepped its mad rush and tripped the thing as it hurtled passed. It fell heavily and lay stunned. Aquilon ran forward and snatched up the fallen staff. He slammed its butt into Yiss’ back as the creature sought to rise. From the corner of his eye he glimpsed the flicker of warning movement.

The second being was upon its feet. It charged the man, ebon maws venting hisses of feral rage. Aquilon raised his staff like a spear. His fingers accidentally pressed a stud upon it. The crystal flared. It shot forth a beam and a sphere of emerald force engulfed the foe.

For a moment the man stood there, stunned by the unexpected revelation of how he‘d survived the fall from the sky-beast. It was a brief distraction, but one that proved his swift undoing. The two felled serpent-men were on their feet. They lunged at him again in a simultaneous attack. He sent Yiss reeling with a blow, but the other caught his staff, and jerked him close. Its fangs struck his shoulder as it tore the weapon from his grasp.

Aquilon staggered. He clutched his wound. Already he could feel the venom taking effect. Strength seemed to drain from his body. His limbs became heavy as lead. With a strangled frightened cry he fell. The serpent-man loomed above his paralyzed form - a dark and menacing presence.

He fought to move. He strained with every ounce of will he possessed. But it was hopeless. It was as if his mind and body were disconnected. The prince lay in a pool of black despair more terrible than the taste of death itself; for he knew the failure of his mission would mean the end of more than just his life.

Death, however, didn’t claim him. The toxin from a single bite wasn’t fatal, merely paralyzing. Aquilon soon realized this when he found both breathing and heartbeat retained their healthful rhythm.

It appears I’ll survive, he thought; hope rising within him as Yiss, now recovered from the fight, ordered an underling to sling him across its scaly shoulder. But for how much longer would he live? He knew the answer was as unknown to him as it was to the people of Onaxa.

The party set off in single file, for the sphere imprisoning the other serpent-man had faded with the passing minutes. The weird trio marched through the forest, the middle creature carrying Aquilon as if he were nothing but a sack of produce. The curis lay head down. His only view was the ignominious sight of his captor’s buttocks as he speculated darkly on his fate and final destination.

After about twenty minutes of solid marching along twisting forest trails the party emerged into a circular clearing perhaps one thousand yards across and Aquilon had a partial answer to his unvoiced questions. The area was one vast formal garden, planted out with precise geometry, and divided by radial tree-lined avenues that led to the strange building at its center.

The growths were different from those of the surrounding forest – spreading shade givers whose purple boles and limbs were thorny, with serrated leaves of a darker hue. The trees were in full fruit and one, vermiform in structure, dropped to the ground, then crawled off bizarrely, seeking a suitable patch of soil in which to burrow and germinate.

Down one stately avenue strode his captors, Aquilon catching brief glimpses of the mighty garden. All about were many other serpent-men who tended this vast estate of trees and shrubs that bloomed with gorgeous flowers of vibrant color and exotic scents. With all these beings about he knew he’d be hard pressed to escape should, by some miracle, a chance present itself.

The building loomed before them, and Aquilon saw it clearly when he was passed to another of his captors, the former having tired of hauling him about. The structure was like nothing he had ever seen before. It was as if a playful giant had blown enormous bubbles of glass, then piled them upon each other until they fused, and formed a cone at least four hundred feet in height that glowed with rainbows of refracted light.

A portal opened – like the iris of a vast eye – and they stepped within. Muted light filtered through the vitreous walls, and disclosed an enormous honeycomb of bubbles. The interior was alive with ghostly reflections, and pierced with circular doors that created a maze of passageways and chambers.

Through this labyrinth they passed, Aquilon’s apprehension being overshadowed by amazement at the many marvels he but briefly glimpsed. There were inexplicable forms of frozen light (mechanisms of magic? Artworks, perhaps?), strange apertures whose edges shimmered with blackness and drew the eye to gaze upon weird landscapes whose bizarre colors glistened with intricate sounds (but how could this be?), and odd scents from fleshy blooms that engendered the taste of cubes (as if all his senses were confused).

After several minutes of traversing this maze of marvels, they arrived at a small room upon whose bare floor Aquilon was unceremoniously cast. All but one serpent-man departed, the remaining creature obviously staying to stand guard over him.

What was to be his fate? He didn’t know. He only knew that, paralyzed thus, he was completely at the mercy of these enigmatic beings. And who was the Lady of the Flame? Their mistress, obviously; but was she human, a saturim, perhaps? Again, he didn’t know.

Minutes passed, and Aquilon slowly became aware that the numbness was fading from his body. He could feel the strength flowing back into his limbs. His leg twitched with its return and hope quickly turned to worry - he knew the creature’s many eyes were fixed upon him. Had it seen the betraying spasm?

Aquilon heard a shuffled step and fear, like phantom spiders, ran along his nerves. The thing had seen the twitch. It stepped towards him with a stalking gait. Its eyes seemed to glow with the cold hardness of rubies. The terrible jaws of its heads were agape. The needle fangs of its mouths gleamed wetly with potent venom.

Chapter 6: Lady of the Flame

The serpent-man bent. Its heads arched like cobras about to strike. A bolt of terror charged the curis’s limbs with strength. Aquilon twisted. He lashed out with a wild cry of fear. Both his feet struck his foe. The creature reeled. It crashed upon the floor.

Instantly, the man was on his feet and sprinting for the door. He dashed across the threshold only to encounter Yiss and others of its kind within the passageway. For a brief instant a startled exchange of looks occurred. Then, at their chief’s command the frightful creatures charged towards him, sinister hisses bursting from their envenomed mouths.

Desperately, Aquilon sought an avenue of escape. He cursed himself for the foolishness of incautious haste. Before him was a flight of steps. They offered the only hope. Up these vitreous treads he madly leapt.

Up and up he sprinted, the sound of pursuit a spur that drove him ever onwards. His breath came in ragged gasps. His muscles quivered. They were wracked by pain, and slick with sweat. He knew his enemies were closing in.

My strength is waning with every passing moment, he thought frantically. I must make a stand while I can, but where?

The stairs ended as if in answer to unspoken hope, a hope that was cruelly dashed by the massive iris door that barred the way. The nearing sound of pounding feet made him turn and he pressed his back against the door. Had the curis breath he would have soundly cursed. A hoard of serpent-men was rushing at him and a savage look, like that of a cornered beast, came upon his face.

Aquilon’s wild gaze touched a tall cylindrical sculpture by the door. He threw his weight against it in a desperate move. It rocked a little. The metal ornament was extremely heavy and the hissing creatures but yards away. He braced one foot against the wall and pushed with quivering muscles. The serpent men increased their speed. They rushed up towards him. He groaned and heaved again with all his fear born strength.

The cylinder toppled. The serpent-men stumbled to a halt and collided with each other in a knot of bodies. For a second they gazed in wild fear at the hurtling sculpture that plummeted upon them. Some tried to flee down the stairs. Others hurled themselves against the wall.

Then the spinning cylinder was upon them - a tumbling, crashing mass of death. The creatures fell like ninepins. Sickening screams filled the air as they were crushed beneath its massive weight. The sculpture rolled over their mangled forms with the unstoppable power of an avalanche, then bounced down and crashed to rest at the bottom of the blood smeared stairs.

Aquilon staggered up. He groaned for his victory was only partial. The greater part of the hoard had been eliminated, but a half dozen of the creatures - those who had flattened themselves against the wall - had escaped destruction.

Black rage was upon them. They charged up the stairs in a blood crazed hissing mob. The desperate man looked upon the door. It was his only hope. His darting eyes glimpsed something he had missed before - a dagger sized glassy lever. He leapt towards it and pulled it down.

The door opened and Aquilon staggered within the chamber. Looking frantically about, he spied another lever by the portal and wrenched it down with such vigor that it snapped. The iris door spiraled inwards, but not in time. One serpent-man leapt through the shrinking circle and fell upon him.

Aquilon sidestepped. He stabbed the creature’s side with the lever’s jagged end. The thing hissed in sudden pain, and clapped a hand to the spurting wound as it staggered away. The monster was badly injured. The man exhausted. Neither one dared close with the other.

It’s playing a waiting game, thought Aquilon as he heard the scaled fists of its brothers pounding upon the door. It knows I’m trapped and that my strength is to the dregs.

For a moment the thing stared at him in malevolent contemplation. Then its five heads began to slowly sway from side to side with sinuous grace. The entrancing motion drew the weary man’s puzzled gaze. The creature’s eyes seemed to swell. They became all encompassing. Lethargy stole upon Aquilon as he began unconsciously swaying in harmony to the hypnotic rhythm. His eyes began to droop. His knees to buckle and the hand about his makeshift weapon relaxed.

The serpent-man began to feel weak from loss of blood. It lunged too soon, fearful it would collapse before its enemy. The sudden movement broke the spell upon the man. The curis barely ducked the lashing heads. With a tremendous effort he rammed his makeshift weapon home, and then stumbled clear as his foe crashed in a lifeless heap upon the floor. Breathing heavily, the prince sank to his knees and lay in a quivering heap, shaken both physically and mentally by the subtle deadliness of the being.

As he slowly recovered, it gradually dawned upon Aquilon that the pounding on the door had ceased, and he deduced that by snapping the lever he had damaged the portal’s mechanism. Even so, he knew it was probably a brief respite at best – the creatures had most likely departed to gather tools to open the way.

Stirring himself to action, he stood painfully and began to look about, seeking either another exit or a better weapon for the conflict that would surely come. Suddenly, his tiredness was forgotten. It was banished by the wonder of what his eyes beheld.

The chamber was lined with strange devices whose intricate complexity defied accurate description and comprehension. Built into the vitreous walls were vast mechanisms of crystalline clockwork, their glassy gears shimmering with inner light. Other engines stood upon the floor – huge spheres in whose lucid depths spun smaller globes of sparkling energy. Other engines were there as well – quartz cubes imprisoning whirling cones of silver that softly hummed.

But it was not these marvels that drew his rapt attention. In the center of the room, surrounded by man high silver rods was a crystal disc from which leapt a flame of lambent ethereal light. And in its heart, floating upright, was the form of a woman, most fair.

The girl’s hair, the color of burnished copper, flowed in thick unbound waves down to the slimness of her waist. Her face was oval. Her eyes were closed, but in death or sleep? In sleep he fervently desired. Her skin, a shade of pale terracotta, was as flawless as her figure, which was clothed in a white robe that shimmered with flecks of opal light.

Aquilon approached, captivated by her loveliness. Awe was upon his face and he wondered what poet could limn such beauty in mere words. Again, he wondered if she were dead. Perhaps the body was preserved by some strange art. No, he thought not. Although unmoving, there seemed to be a presence about the girl that no corpse he had ever seen possessed.

He had seen many women whose beauty was equal to this girl’s. But they hadn’t moved him with this strange emotion that had come so unexpectedly upon him. Before, it was if he’d been walking in darkness all his life, groping for something indefinable. Now, in her presence, it seemed he stood in the glory of the sun, and that when he gazed upon her he was complete. But how could this be?

The sound of shattering glass ended further thought. Cursing himself for a fool, Aquilon spun about. Yiss and its fellows had broken down the door with heavy maces while he’d been gawking at the girl like a peasant at a queen.

Feeling he was doomed, but determined to fight regardless, Aquilon grasped one of the silver rods, and wrenched it from its socket as half a dozen creatures rushed at him all at once.

Yiss swung its mace with a lusty stroke. Aquilon blocked the blow. The rod snapped. Sparks erupted from it and singed him in a fiery shower. He staggered, and fell defenseless to the floor. The hissing creatures surrounded the helpless man. They raised their weapons in preparation to rain killing blows of wild savagery upon him.

Unexpectedly, a voice rang out in imperious tones: “Who dares disturb Ayara, Lady of the Flame?”

Slowly, far too slowly for Aquilon’s liking, Yiss and its kind fell upon their knees, and prostrated themselves with ill grace in response to the mysterious cry. Aquilon turned his head and gasped in amazement. The woman’s eyes – the same startling color as her hair – were now open, and held her audience with their shimmering gaze.

There seems to be an air of cool detachment surrounding her, thought Aquilon, despairingly. Then, with sudden insight, realized it wasn’t so much an absence of human warmth, but rather, its suppression. It was as if she considered such sentiment a childish thing.

Ayara drifted from the flame. Her sandaled feet touched the floor. She looked at Aquilon for what seemed an age. Her eyes, searching intently, seemed to penetrate his very soul. She held him in silent thrall with the vitality of her striking beauty, and the strange aura of her presence.

At last Ayara nodded. It was as if some unspoken question had been answered to her satisfaction. But one that stirred poignant memories – the ghosts of another age – quickly banished by her firm resolve. But even so they persisted still, hovering like phantoms at the edge of conscious thought. Her gaze softened slightly in response to their lingering presence, and thus she spoke:

“Guardians, remove that corpse and yourselves from my sight.” Then, to the man, more gently: “I see you’ve come far, and endured many perils. For what purpose did you risk your life?”

Aquilon slowly stood. His mind was swirling with many confusing thoughts. He was strangely drawn to this woman, but it was more than just her outward splendor that attracted him. When he thought about it there was a mysterious sense of … familiarity? But that was absurd. They had never met before, of that he was sure. Ayara was simply too striking to forget.

He glanced briefly at the serpent-men. The creatures were carrying away the body of their slain companion. Their cold eyes were upon Ayara. Death had come to many of them, and the girl expressed no sympathy for their loss. The creatures reproduced by parthenogenesis - each one giving birth to a copy of itself shortly before it died. Those who had been slain could never be replaced. When a human child dies its parents can always have another. But this consolation was denied the serpent-men.

Was that the beginning of rebellion Aquilon glimpsed in those chilly stares? With such strange beings who could truly say. Remembering his mission, the curis shepherded his straying thoughts. With eloquent economy he introduced himself, and explained the reason for his presence, concluding thus:

“Fair lady, I sincerely apologize for disturbing the sanctity of your abode. It was done out of desperate need, not malice. I beseech your aid, not for myself, but for the salvation of my people. Will you help us in our time of greatest need?”

“And with golden words did ornament his speech,” Ayara murmured to herself, as ancient memories were resurrected from the graveyard of forgetfulness. “How little his inward self has changed.” Then, more clearly for his hearing:

“What care I for the petty doings of men?” she calmly stated, neither rancor nor contempt marring her dulcet tones. “I, the last of the saturim, have meditated for a thousand years within the timeless heart of the Flame, and have clothed my mind in wings of light and soared among the stars to gaze upon a thousand distant worlds, and innumerable forms of life.

“Have you watched civilizations rise and fall? Have you conversed with beings as old as time, and plumbed Creation’s inmost depths? I was on the verge of freeing my mind forever from this meager frame, and enclosing it within an armour of radiance so I could roam unfretted for all eternity across the boundless universe. But you disturbed my concentration with your blundering. You delayed the fruition of my deepest desire, and now you expect my aid in this mindless war?”

The man stood in silence. He was struck dumb by the fantastic ideas her speech conjured up within his whirling mind. Her eyes had grown distant. It was as if incalculable vistas had opened up before her inner vision, and she gazed upon splendors no man could ever know or truly understand.

Aquilon sank into the darkness of despair. Though outwardly human, it was with a sinking heart he feared Ayara had passed well beyond the kinship of Mankind. Strength of mind had buttressed him so far, but now he sat heavily upon the floor. Suddenly hope drained away, and he was overcome by the fatigue of his ordeals.

We are undone, was his bitter thought. There are no other saturim to whom I can turn. Without this girl’s aid Negron will surly gain his victory. Have I doomed my people by disregarding my brother’s plan?

Chapter 7: The Dagger, Cruel

Though day seemed midnight, determination still glowed beneath the ashes of defeat, for Aquilon knew he must make a final try to stir the embers of this girl’s compassion. The curis gathered his thoughts. His people were depending on him. He could not afford to fail.

There must be some argument he could make that would win her aid. His mind struggled to find an answer. He felt like a blind man groping in the dark. He ran his hand through his hair and cursed his wits. Then the answer came to him as if it were a gift from the beneficent Muse of his intellect.

“A new civilization has arisen from the ashes of Menmar,” he eagerly explained. “There are a dozen city-states that form a league, and from their rulers a Council of Curions is comprised that meets once a year to decide important matters by a show of hands.

“I admit it isn’t perfect, but the League has fostered understanding between our people and has maintained the peace for several centuries. We have surpassed the old empire, not in magic, but in social progress, for even at its best Menmar kept the peace by force of arms. But Negron threatens all we have achieved with his mad dreams of unrestricted power.

“The old empire became corrupt because its rulers had unbridled license. This cannot happen with the League where every curion has an equal say in the decision making process. Would you see Etana ruled by a brutal tyrant who will destroy all that we have struggled so hard to gain? Only you with your greater knowledge of magic can save us and prevent a resurrection of the evils of the past.”

The girl regarded him in thoughtful silence that seemed to stretch into an eternity. The curis began to worry. He had released his last arrow. If it missed its mark an entire continent was doomed.

“Why should I care?” she murmured, introspectively. Then, voice rising. “But your words have affected me and perhaps I do, just a little. I don’t like this Negron; no, not at all. He uses knowledge ignobly - for base gain, for petty desire … Yes, I’ll help you for a little while, then no more.”

Their eyes met for a moment. Hers were soft with compassion, and perhaps the genesis of other desires she consciously denied. Aquilon sensed it though, this brief glimmer of latent emotion. It was like light glancing from a jewel. It lessened the darkness of his soul. Hope arose within him for his people, and also for the fulfillment of his own desire, for he saw the armour of her reserve could be penetrated.

Can this strange emotion I experience be love, or infatuation with exotica? he thought. Love at a glance? Still, stranger things have happened to me, ere this. She seems to feel similarly, but conceals it, perhaps even from herself.

Ayara stirred slightly under his steady gaze as he slowly stood. She dropped her eyes. When she again looked upon him her face was troubled, and her words came softly when she spoke.

“We once knew each other, but that was long ago and far away, and your soul was clothed in a different body then. I pursued the quest for knowledge whilst you sought my love. Knowledge won. It will win again. Please, do not love me, for I seek cool detachment from the follies of such desire.”

Aquilon smiled sadly. Ah, then that explains it all, he thought. Then aloud: “The heart can’t be ordered to love, or not to love. Reason may command, but it is desire that often rules. Surely, with all your knowledge you must know that this is so.”

A startled look passed across Ayara’s face. She raised one hand to her breast as if to still unsettling emotions stirring there. Then she hardened, and became brisk with self-denial.

“We waste precious time. I will help you, but I need a mechanism of magic housed in the Tower of Eternity. Arm yourself with the sword in that cabinet over there, for there may be unknown dangers that lie ahead, and drink the flask of liquid you'll also find within. It is a restorative that will renew your flagging strength. I shall open a door to another room. Follow me when you're done.”

I must be a fool, he thought as he watched Ayara's slim form pass through a concealed portal that opened at her touch. My love is a hopeless cause, it would seem. But I can’t help feeling the way I do, and am fated to repeat the error of a former life.

Realizing that there were more important matters to consider than his own desires, Aquilon put aside these troubling thoughts, and moved to the cylindrical cabinet Ayara had indicated. The frosted glass casing opened at his touch, disclosing both sword and bottle floating within. Both were enveloped by a nimbus of pastel flame that radiated cold, not heat.

Realizing the strange radiance was a preserving force similar to that of Ayara’s Flame, Aquilon drew forth the sword. He buckled it about his waist and quickly downed the contents of the flask. The liquid – cool and tasteless – was instantly invigorating. Healthful strength coursed through his weary limbs. Its sudden return made him acutely aware of how tired and weak he’d truly been.

Suddenly, a woman’s scream rang out. Tossing aside the bottle, Aquilon dashed within the room the girl had entered. He glimpsed Ayara disappear through another door. Fear clutched his heart for the girl was being carried off by a trio of serpent-men, one of whom had clamped a brutal hand upon her mouth to stifle further cries.

His first thought was to dash madly after the kidnappers. But then he quickly realized they would hear his furious approach and use the girl as a shield against attack. No, he must use stealth and take them by surprise.

Aquilon ran quietly to the door, and peered cautiously around the portal’s frame. A long hall presented itself to his apprehensive gaze. His heart sank for many other doors led off the way, any one of which the girl’s abductors could have entered.

The curis’ gaze fell on a crimson spot upon the floor. He knelt before it and went cold. It was blood - Ayara‘s blood, freshly spilled from a gash on her face, one inflicted by the clawed hand of her captor as it muffled her screams.

Aquilon’s head jerked up and he saw another stain several yards away. Grim faced, the prince set upon the trail like an eager bloodhound and quickly came upon the room his quarry had passed within. With a wildly pounding heart he peered around the door and gasped with horror at the sight confronting him.

Two serpent-men pinned Ayara to the floor. The girl had struggled with such fury to free herself they’d been forced to put her down. Kneeling by her, an upraised dagger in its hand was Yiss.

“We may be creatures of your magic,” it hissed. “But for centuries you’ve been absent, slumbering within the Fame. We’ve acquired a taste for freedom, and we’ll not be your slaves again. This blade will see to that.”

It ripped her robe asunder. The dagger, cruel as treachery, swept down in a glittering arc to bury its razor length between her naked breasts. Ayara uttered a muffled scream. Aquilon flung his sword. The spinning blade sliced through Yiss’s wrist. Gore spurted and the creature fell back, its dagger clattering harmlessly to the floor. It collapsed in a writhing heap, one scaly hand clamped about the stump in an effort to staunch the ebon blood gushing from its wound.

With a feral cry Aquilon charged the foe in whose cruel grip the girl struggled still. One creature leapt to meet his wild rush, venom dripping from gaping maws as it converged upon him.

Ayara wrestled with the other. She cursed her foolishness for having made the things. The creature had her wrists in an iron hold. It pinned the girl’s arms with frightening strength as it straddled her and wound one serpentine neck about her throat. The girl’s eyes bulged as it began to strangle her.

In a low rolling dive Aquilon hurled himself at the charging serpent-man. His body struck the creature’s shins, and it crashed to the ground with jarring force. Leaping to his feet the prince snatched up his bloody sword and ran it through. He spun about to see Yiss though badly injured lunging at him.

Ayara managed to knee her assailant. The thing doubled over with a hissing cry. The girl gasped air as the coil about her throat eased its dreadful grip. Again, she struck a vicious blow. The serpent man collapsed. Yiss collided with the prince. Both fell, the creature landing full upon the man.

The girl tore the monster’s snaky neck from about her throat. She leapt up and stomped upon her attacker’s ribs. Panting, she stumbled to the fallen curis, and dragged the creature off him. “Are you injured? She cried, dread, sharper than a surgeon’s knife lancing her.

“No, I’m not bitten,” replied Aquilon as he staggered upright. “My blade found Yiss’s heart in time. Look out!” he cried as he pushed away her clinging hand. Their remaining adversary had regained its feet. The serpent-man, maddened with pain defying rage, dashed towards the pair, a strange hissing ululation bursting from its lipless mouths.

Aquilon stepped protectively in front of the girl. He swung a lusty blow that severed two darting heads. The creature hissed. It slammed a scaly fist against his jaw. The man went down. The monster leapt over him and fell upon the girl. Ayara screamed. Aquilon shook his head to clear the stars he saw. With utter horror he glimpsed the creature lock both hands around Ayara's throat and saw it sink its many fangs within her body.

With a savage yell he leapt forward, intending to run it through. But before he could close the distance a blue ray lashed out, and lanced the creature’s chest with sizzling energy. The serpent-man collapsed instantly, acrid smoke swirling from the charred hole in its scaly torso.

“Your bitten,” he gasped as he caught the shaken woman in his arms, fearing that such a massive dose of venom would surely send her to the grave.

“I’m immune to their toxin,” replied Ayara, tremulously, as he supported her. “That is why Yiss sought to kill me with a dagger. These bites are merely signs of petty malice. I’m all right now, you can let go of me.”

“That blue ray … what was it?”

“My other servitors may fall upon us at any moment,” warned the girl as she stepped free from his embrace. “Follow me and I’ll explain along the way.”

Ayara hastily drew together her torn garment and displayed a strange device for his inspection as he hurried after her. Previously, he had thought it merely a bracelet, but now realized it was a weapon in disguise. The mechanism was a thick silver band snugly encircling her right wrist to which a cylinder two inches in length and one in diameter had been affixed. A blue jewel was mounted in the cylinder's end that pointed towards her fingers, and it was from this crystal that the destructive ray had sprung.

“It's called a fon,” Ayara continued, then launched into abstruse technical explanations as she led him through a maze of passageways which were no less confusing than her speech.

Aquilon smiled as she chattered on animatedly, absorbed in her exposition. But for her lecture she seemed a beautiful woman, not an otherworldly saturim, and he took this unexpected opportunity of the girl’s distraction to appreciate the graceful curves of her lissome form which showed through her tattered clothes.

“Carnal knowledge stirs the passions, not the mind,” she said, somewhat sharply, suddenly noticing he was paying more attention to her figure than her words. “If you would learn, pay attention to what I say.”

“Forgive me,” he said with sincerity. “But beauty is a form of knowledge. It is more powerful than words. It is a truth that goes beyond mere speech, for what words can encompass the glory of a sunset … Or the loveliness of a woman?”

“You would seduce me,” replied Ayara, trying to sound annoyed but unable. The girl would have spoken further but the sound of running feet made her turn.

A mob of hissing serpent-men, summoned by the weird cry of their slain companion, had been following them. They now abandoned their former stealth and rushed towards the couple. Hard curses exploded from their throats, harder still were the razor swords in their scaly hands.

Ayara felled one creature with her sizzling ray.

“Quickly, follow me “, she cried. “My fon takes time to recharge. “

Both dashed madly from the charging foe. They burst within another chamber that housed a strange aircraft. They ran for the machine, leapt aboard, and threw on their safety harnesses. Ayara depressed a stud upon a panel. She saw with dismay her erstwhile slaves bearing down upon them - a flood of hissing hate that loomed perilously near.

The craft’s door closed and its mechanisms, powered by the planet’s magnetic field, whined to life, but would they take flight in time?

Chapter 8: The Tower of Eternity

The machine’s insect-like wings became a blur of motion, but the serpent-men were only yards away. The craft lifted. One serpent-man leapt forward. The vessel accelerated. A door spiraled open in the wall. The other creatures, with cries of rage, hurled their weapons. They missed. The vessel rushed out the building. It soared aloft, and the landscape became a blur beneath its hurtling form.

Aquilon breathed a sigh of relief. They had escaped, but only just. He looked at Ayara. Her countenance was troubled – the rebellion of her slaves and his frank admission of his feelings had obviously given her much to think about. It was clear to him that, although possessing more knowledge than he could ever hope to know, she was strangely naïve in some ways.

A thousand years of isolation from human contact can’t have helped, he thought. I’ll keep silent, and allow her time for introspection.

Turning his attention to the machine, he began to examine it carefully. Its transparent capsule body, supported by four splayed legs now folded against the hull, was fused beneath a thick horizontal rod twice as long. To this component were affixed four pairs of wings, equally spaced and mounted in ball and socket joints.

Aquilon gasped as his eyes fell upon the tail section of the machine. A lone serpent-man was clinging to a series of rod-like projections that fanned out from the mechanism’s rear, and was hacking at them with its sword. The curis’ livid oath drew Ayara’s gaze.

The girl cursed as well when she saw it, and then swore again when a warning light flared on the control panel.

“It has damaged our steering mechanism,” she cried. “I can’t shake it off like I planned, nor dare I use my fon for fear of hitting the apparatus. If that slave does any more damage to our craft… ”

“Slow the ship,” replied Aquilon, grim faced. “I’ll ascend to the wing mechanism using the ladder by the door. I should be able to reach the thing and kill it.”

Ayara looked at him, opened mouthed. But the hard look in his eyes spoke more clearly than words of his determination, and so she slowed the vessel to a crawl, realizing neither had any choice in the matter.

The door opened at Ayara’s touch and Aquilon unbuckled his harness. The girl watched him ascend the ladder and climb between two pairs of slowly beating wings. It was with difficulty that she maintained her air of calm composure. Words hovered on her lips, but she checked their rush, suppressing the disturbing feelings.

Aquilon gained the wing mechanism, and balanced precariously upon the narrow rod. The wind tugged at him, threatening his balance. Sweat was upon his brow despite the chillness of the rushing air. The creature saw him and increased the vigor of its assault upon the craft, driven by a suicidal hatred for its mistress.

The prince threw off his fear and ran forward, nearly losing his footing. The serpent-man hissed and scrambled up the steering mechanism to which it clung. It mounted the rod and came at him in a sudden rush, realizing the man would reach it before it could destroy the ship.

Ayara’s heart seemed to skip a beat as she watched the creature hurl itself upon the prince. Aquilon parried its darting sword and swung his blade in a counterstroke. He sheared off four of its heads. But the thing’s momentum carried it forward and its scaly body crashed against him.

The girl gasped in fear as both fell. More warning lights flared and the craft began to shudder, adding to her worries. Aquilon caught hold of the beam to which the wings were affixed and saved himself. But the serpent-man had done the same. Its remaining head darted for his eyes with lightening speed. He jerked his head aside and the envenomed fangs missed him by a hair’s breadth.

The creature vented a hissing cry as he plunged his blade into its torso. It tried to strike again, but its grip weakened and it fell. The shaken curis watched it tumble into terrible emptiness. It could easily have been him, he reflected with trembling relief as he sheathed his sword and climbed back on the machine.

Aquilon knew the danger wasn’t over – the craft was now shaking violently and a quick backward glance showed Ayara wrestling with the controls. He paused to catch his breath, and then crawled to the tail section of the trembling vessel to examine the damage.

The craft dropped sickeningly Tingling fear shot through Aquilon. He was barely able to maintain his precarious hold on the ship. His wide eyed gaze discerned the rod the serpent-man had been attacking. It appeared undamaged, but had been loosened from its mounting. Reaching down, he quickly grabbed the device and struggled to twist it back into place. He silently cursed. The craft’s motion was becoming more erratic, adding to his difficulty and peril. Teeth gritted, he struggled on and was rewarded by an audible click as it snapped back into place. The vessel’s flight steadied and he breathed a sigh of heartfelt relief.

The immediate danger over, he rested for a moment to regain much needed strength, then carefully returned to the cabin where he collapsed into his seat and wiped the sweat from his brow.

“That was quite a feat of bravery,” observed the girl, genuine admiration evident in her voice. “Not many men could have accomplished such a task.”

He smiled as he redid his safety harness. At least she had some feelings for him. The girl seemed less introspective. The danger he’d been in had apparently brought her out of herself, and so he broached a question that had been in the back of his mind.

“You mentioned the Tower of Eternity, which is our destination, I presume. What is this thing, precisely?”

“It was the abode of Zamubis,” replied Ayara, as the craft accelerated at her touch. “He, like the other saturim, ascended to the stellar realm, having become bored with this world we live upon. A thousand years ago we collaborated to construct a mind-jewel - the device I need to defeat your enemy. What I seek is housed within the Tower, which is designed to outlast this creation.”

“And this mind-jewel – is it a weapon of some kind?”

She looked at him oddly, eyebrows arching. “Are the hands of a surgeon weapons? No, and yet they can kill as surely as a warrior’s sword. To heal or to harm lies in the mind, not in external things. No, Aquilon. In this instance I will not kill, but overcome through wisdom. You must trust me on this matter.”

Aquilon remained silent. A strange mood had come upon the girl, and he sensed he would get no further answers from her. The ways of the saturim were subtle, frustratingly so. They flew on in silence, Ayara busy guiding their conveyance. Aquilon, who tried to appear engrossed in the panoramic view, was acutely conscious of his companion’s stirring presence which, after a time, again prompted him to speak.

“When I set out upon my voyage I thought I’d find vast cities populated by teeming multitudes. But when I look about me all I see is virgin wilderness. After a thousand years why is there not a village at the very least?”

“My fellow saturim,” explained the girl, “were committed to their studies, as am I. We had neither desire nor time to form mating pairs. Family life would have simply been a hindrance to our research.”

“It seems a heavy price to pay,” observed Aquilon, sadly, as he gazed intently upon her. “Has all your knowledge brought you happiness, Ayara?’

“It is better to know the truth than live in ignorance,” she replied, avoiding a direct answer to his question.”

“You were born of love - the love of a man and woman,” he pressed, noting her evasion. “If you know nothing of love, surely your knowledge is incomplete.” Then, placing his hand gently upon her shoulder: “Let me teach you,” he begged. “Let me open your eyes to this wonder.”

For a moment the girl’s cool reserve seemed to thaw. Suddenly, she was uncertain and vulnerable, and he wanted so desperately to take her in his arms and comfort her. But then his hopes were dashed when a look of firm resolve settled upon her face.

“Men are born, and then they die,” she observed, soberly. “Empires rise and fall. All things pass away. But the truth endures, for it is above all things, and this is what my mind is set upon.”

Her words were like a crushing blow. Aquilon could find no counterargument to them, and he lapsed into a mournful silence bleaker than the Desert of Shedara. Ayara piloted her craft, eyes fixed ahead, seemingly oblivious to the sad condition of his heart.

Shortly, another massive island-mesa loomed before them – a stupendous onyx up-thrust of frowning rock, the swirling golden mist beating in gaseous waves upon its base, far below. Upon this barren peak, a mighty pillar soared – the Tower of Eternity.

“There it is,” said Ayara, her voice breaking the silence. “It’s been a thousand years at least, since my eyes beheld this cyclopean mechanism, grown as all our artifacts are from energy matrices whose structure contains the essence of the whole.”

The ornithopter swept closer, and Aquilon gazed in wonder at the stupendous engine – an immense column, ceramic-like in appearance, upon whose soaring length slid golden spikes in multifarious patterns, which discharged flaring arcs of crimson lightning as they moved. Further out, unattached to the structure, orbited huge saw-toothed silver rings that seemed to Aquilon pregnant with glittering menace.

The rings, as if in confirmation of his unspoken worry, broke their orbits and flashed towards them - a swarm of whirling death.

Ayara gasped. “Zamubis’ guardians are attacking! They no longer recognize me.”

There was no time for further conversation. The rings, in a deadly whine, were upon them. The world became a whirling dance of utter terror as Ayara dodged the flying death. Sky and earth intermingled in chaotic and fleeting impressions as she spun her craft in intricate evasive patterns.

A ring rushed at them – a head on collision. Ayara jerked the controls. They spun away, flashed skyward. It was a wrenching, sickening sensation of utter terror.

White knuckled, Aquilon gripped his seat and glanced at the girl. Lucky, he thought. She’s too busy to be frightened. But I can’t say the same for myself.

Again, he was beset by a stomach-churning fall as the vessel evaded three flashing guardians. Aquilon closed his eyes against the dizzying swirl of sky and earth, and prayed to all the gods he knew. The craft rolled again like a ball tossed by malicious giants.

Threatening blackness gathered at the corners of Ayara’s vision as she whirled the ship with punishing g-force. The girl knew that in seconds dark unconsciousness would claim her mind

The tower’s portal loomed. The guardians rushed upon her. Ayara’s vision faded to darkness as her hand groped in frightened desperation for the autopilot switch.

Crushing deceleration hit Aquilon. His body strained against the safety harness. An involuntary groan escaped his lips. Slowly, the world ceased its mad gyrations. It stilled, and he opened his eyes, wondering what had happened.

They were within the tower. The craft had landed on a platform projecting from the inner wall before a circular portal that gave egress to the structure. Several guardians hovered before the opening, too large to gain entrance. They seemed to quiver with impotent rage.

Aquilon ignored them and gazed out upon the mechanism’s hollow interior. Although his robustness had prevented him from passing out, the curis was still slightly dazed and dizzy from the buffeting of their tumultuous flight. He saw that the primary apparatus filling the tower was an immense stationary shaft composed of crimson spheres connected by silver octagonal prisms. It loomed before him, running the length of the structure like a giant axis.

About the inner wall of the huge machine were bands of black hemispheres, each band being on a level and size with the silver prisms of the mighty central shaft, and linked to them by pulsing rays of emerald light.

The silence, until now absolute, was broken by Ayara’s soft moan. It roused the man from his daze.

Quickly, Aquilon unbuckled his safety harness, then the girl’s. She slumped forward into his arms. Her torn robe had slipped off her shoulders during the gut wrenching maneuvers, and he saw she was badly bruised where the straps had cut into her flesh. He held her gently; her head pillowed against his shoulder. The man was acutely aware of this intimate contact – the cataract of her glorious hair that spilled across his arms, the rounder of her naked breasts, and the warmth of her body.

Suddenly, he was in another time and place. He stood upon the central tower of Annan, capital of Menmar – not a moldering ruin of the present age, but as it was a thousand years ago. Ayara stood before him, her timeless beauty wreaking havoc with his heart.

Though the city was burning and war’s red rage swirled about the tower he had eyes only for the girl. She stood by her craft, ready to depart for the Isles of Magic. He knew he’d never see her again for as a member of the royal guard he must, with his comrades; defend Annan to the bitter end.

He stepped forward and took her in his arms. He looked into her eyes, searching for something he hoped to find, but knew he never would.

“I know you do not love me,” he quietly said. “But when I die I hope that a part of me will live on in your memory.”

Then he kissed her with a passion he’d never felt before. The scene shifted. He was back in the present, his lips pressed gently to the girl’s. Ayara uttered an unconscious sigh of pleasure; then her eyes flew open with sudden and disturbing realization. She pushed him away; moved out of reach and covered her nakedness.

The girl stared at him. Her mind was a competing mixture of emotions for her psyche warred against itself – Eros and Reason, each desiring contrary things. She pressed a hand to her head as if it ached.

“You disturb me so,” she cried in accusation. “I cannot think clearly, and my heart beats as if I have run a race.”

“Love tends to have that effect upon a person,” he replied with a wistful smile. “Your heart is compelled by my desire, which has spanned the gulf of years, for I see that you, too, suddenly remember the ancient past as if it was but yesterday.”

The silence stretched, for the girl was flustered, not knowing how to respond to the intensity of his emotions and that haunting vignette of a thousand years ago.

At last Ayara spoke: “Come”, she said. “We’re wasting precious time merely sitting here.”

Aquilon let the matter rest, realizing if he pressed his suite he would only disturb Ayara further and drive a deeper wedge between them. In silence they disembarked from the craft, and walked across the narrow arching bridge that spanned the gulf between the landing platform and a crimson sphere of the mechanism’s central shaft. Aquilon placed his hand upon the rail of ceramic-like metal, and for a moment looked down into the dizzy depths of the mighty tower. The shaft plunged downward, continuing into the bedrock and was lost in darkness.

The curis had a fleeting impression that the immense well descended to the very core of the planet. Vertigo assailed him at the thought, and he stumbled away from the rail and after the girl. What purpose this vast arcane machine served was an utter mystery. He considered asking Ayara, but then changed his mind with the glum realization that her explanation would probably be beyond his understanding.

A triangular doorway loomed before them as they approached the bridge’s end. Both entered the yawning portal and found themselves within a mighty circular atrium in whose center splashed a fountain of amber light. Luminous threads of primary colors crawled about walls ceiling and floor, forming ever-changing patterns of exquisite complexity.

Ayara, with long familiarity, ignored these marvels; not so Aquilon, who looked about in wonder.

The girl smiled slightly at his open mouthed expression. It broke the tension between them. “This way,” she said, pointing at a triangular aperture to their left.

But before the pair could venture to cross its threshold, a sinister mechanism, the color of polished obsidian, scuttled from the dark interior. It was a sphere of ebon metal supported by four spidery legs, and above each leg was an eye that pulsed with emerald light. A single metallic tentacle, waiving menacingly, protruded from the apex of the globe, its tip armed with a sword-like blade.

Aquilon drew his weapon, stepped protectively in front of the girl. “In the name of Thebis,” he gasped as two other mechanisms clattered out to join the first. “What are those things?”

But before Ayara could reply, Zamubis’ secret guardians rushed towards them like nightmare spiders from the twisted dreams of the deranged.

Chapter 9: The Mind-jewel

The girl stepped clear, fired her weapon at the foremost foe. The guide ray locked upon the thing and intensified to a sizzling bream. The guardian staggered. It collapsed with a mighty crash, and rolled at them, dead eyes unseeing. Both leapt apart to avoid the tumbling hulk.

“Run,” cried the girl. “It’s our only hope for now.”

Aquilon saw Ayara sprinting for the fountain and interpose its bulk between her body and the second of their enemies. He now knew she needed time – ten seconds, at least – for her fon to recharge. Then the third machine was upon him, and he had no time for further thought.

He dodged its whipping tentacle, glimpsed the blade slash the floor. The thing was incredibly strong, and Aquilon knew the mechanism would break his arm with ease if he tried to block the stroke. Again it swung at him. He ducked, flung himself beneath its body, and hacked two-handed at one leg.

The sword, far tougher than he’d hoped, sheared through the metal limb as if it were a reed. The mechanism staggered, but didn’t fall. Instead, its blade arched beneath its belly, stabbing viciously. The weapon grazed Aquilon as he rolled aside and swung frantically at the opposite leg.

Sparks flew as his blade found its mark. The machine fell heavily and Aquilon rolled clear to avoid its crushing bulk, which struck the floor thunderously. Instantly, he was on his feet sprinting to aid the girl. Fear spurred him - Ayara was racing around the fountain and the last machine rapidly closing in.

Her weapon now recharged, Ayara turned to fire as she ran. Disaster struck - the girl slipped. She fell heavily to the floor. The thing raised its blade for the killing stroke. Aquilon cried in horror. He shouted wildly, waved his arms. The mechanism hesitated, its synthetic intelligence misidentifying the running man as the greater threat. It turned upon him, lashed out. Aquilon dodged, but thing’s blade struck his sword a ringing blow. The man’s weapon spun away and he was unbalanced by the force of the terrific blow.

Ayara struggled up. She saw Aquilon fall and the tentacle commence its vicious backhand stroke. The girl whipped up her fon, fired. The blazing ray lanced a vital module. The mechanism shuddered. Its sword crashed down within inches of the fallen man, and then it slowly toppled and crashed upon the floor. Its legs twitched a little, then stilled.

The girl rushed to Aquilon’s side and helped him stand. She breathlessly searched for signs of injury, her eyes wide with concern.

“My hand is numb, but otherwise I’m unhurt,” he reassured her. “Quickly, we must find what you seek. There may be others …”

Prophetic words indeed, for at that very moment more mechanisms erupted from another portal and bore down upon them in a savage rush, tentacles waving wildly.

“This way,” cried Ayara. “Forget the sword, there isn’t time.”

Through the triangular doorway madly fled the running pair, their mechanical enemies giving rapid chase. Onward they dashed; chambers filled with pulsing things, briefly glimpsed flashed by - weird machinery?

Aquilon forced himself onward. His strength was nearly spent. He looked at Ayara and saw with alarm that she was also faltering. Both were filled with dread - the clanking footsteps of the mechanisms grew faster, louder – they were being gained upon.

In her mind’s eye Ayara saw the horrid things closing in, tentacles waving, eyes aglow with inhuman sentience; implacable, tireless machines of ebon menace. Ahead of them loomed the chamber that she sought. It was only yards away. But her strength was to its dregs and death was closing in.

The girl realized she’d been a fool. Sheltered within the Flame she’d grown complacent. She had poorly prepared for this venture and was no longer worldly wise to the dangers of reality.

Poor Aquilon, she thought. He placed his faith in me, and it appears I’ve failed him.

With rising desperation Ayara fired backwards as both raced for the threshold. One guardian fell and the others collided with it – a brief respite. Man and girl gained the room in a stumbling rush. Ayara jerked a lever by the door. She glimpsed the mechanisms surge around the fallen one and rush towards them. Aquilon jumped as their blades crashed against the chamber’s closing door.

Incapable of speech, both sank to the floor, utterly exhausted and gasping air into their heaving lungs. Their hearts were pounding like the incessant blades that struck the portal. Aquilon looked with worried eyes at the metal barrier. His fear increased when he saw how it vibrated wildly under the mechanisms terrible blows.

Realizing there wasn’t much time; the curis forced himself to his feet and quickly looked about the chamber for a weapon. His eyes darted from shelves piled high to the ceiling with massive books to giant armillary spheres. His anxious gaze roved across astrolabes for measuring altitudes and azimuths of the celestial bodies, and glanced at many other devices he could not recognize. There was nothing useful, and he muttered a curse born of worry and frustration.

The room rang with the din of the mechanisms as they continued in their efforts to breach the door, and again Aquilon looked anxiously at the metal barrier. He saw with great alarm there were now deep dents upon its buckled surface, and knew in but moments they would have it down.

He gazed at Ayara, and from the look upon her face saw she, too, had grasped the situation. The girl, having regained her strength, rose and moved purposely towards a massive ornate desk in the room’s center. Still breathing heavily, she wordlessly beckoned him to follow.

Both quickly approached the desk and saw a number of tomes, papers and writing implements lay strewn upon it. Ignoring these, Ayara seized a glass dome upon the table’s further end. It contained a large tear-shaped ebon jewel displayed upon a pedestal that projected upwards from its marble base. Unscrewing the casing’s crystal dome, she seized the gem and pressed it to her forehead, where it clung by electrostatic means.

“The mind-jewel,” she breathed a look of exultation upon her face. “Your enemy’s defeat is near at hand, and then I shall be free to …”

Six metallic tentacles suddenly dropped from concealed apertures in the ceiling and whipped around their bodies. The seizure of the jewel had sprung a trap that now hauled aloft the startled, struggling couple. Ayara gasped as the mechanical limbs began to squeeze, to crush her in their merciless grip. She glimpsed Aquilon struggling valiantly to free himself. He was doomed to failure, for the murderous devices were far stronger than any man could ever be. The girl cursed her own incautious haste at having grasped the gem.

The breath was being squeezed from the prince’s lungs. Through darkening vision he dimly saw the writhing girl. One tentacle was about her waist. Two others had an arm and leg pinioned in their iron grip. He cursed cruel fate. It seemed the end for both of them.

Ayara knew there was one chance. Her arm that bore her fon was free. She raised her trembling hand and triggered the weapon. Its ray lanced the ceiling. Sparks fell, burning them with incandescent agony. They screamed. The tentacles jerked spasmodically, whipping them about with jarring force.

The thrashing limbs slowly stilled their violent movements and drooped. Suddenly, they became completely flaccid and the couple crashed several feet to the floor.

Aquilon fought through a fog of agony. His battered body felt like a rag doll that an angry child had vented its rage upon. He gasped for breath and forced his shaking limbs to crawl towards the girl. She lay limp and unmoving, and he feared the worst. His eyes flicked to the door. It had buckled even further and he knew with terrible certainty that it was on the verge of falling.

He reached Ayara. The girl moaned as he felt for a pulse. She opened her eyes and smiled. It was as if a ray of light had touched his soul. But a mighty crash plunged it into darkness. The door was down. The mechanisms surged within and advanced upon them in a clattering rush.

Ayara sucked in a breath at the sight. She concentrated. A golden aura flamed about her head. The guardians halted, impeded by her magic. Then her aura faded and they advanced.

The girl fought for calm. Pain was interfering with her concentration. Helplessly, Aquilon watched her battle it. His eyes darted to the machines. They were almost upon them. He covered the girl protectively with his body. It was a noble but futile gesture.

The mechanisms surrounded them. Their tentacles arched up like serpents about to strike. Ayara’s aura flared. It held steady. The guardian’s tentacles slowly drooped, quivered upon the floor. Their bodies rocked forward, then back as they wrestled with the girl's amplified mental powers.

“So many,” gasped Ayara, sweat beading her forehead. “I can’t hold them all for long. The jewel … not powerful enough… must leave now.”

The pair rose painfully and threaded their way through the crowding trembling machines. Sword-armed tentacles strained towards them and halted only inches from their flesh. Aquilon supported the girl. His arm was about her slim waist and his expression was grim. Ayara’s eyes were glazed. Her breath came in panting gasps. How long could she bind these things with chains of mental force?

The couple made the door and retraced their steps. The mechanisms slowly stirred to full activity as the sphere of the jewel’s influence passed beyond them. Their tentacles gradually rose and began to twitch like the tail of an angry cat. They stepped forward cautiously, like a crab unsure of its footing. One step and then another. Their tentacles whipped up in seeming exultation at the sudden realization they were free, and they stampeded for the door in a rattling charge.

The guardian’s clattering passage alerted the fleeing pair as they stepped upon the bridge that leapt the chasm between shaft and tower wall.

“My strength is waning. I’m nearly done,” Ayara warned in panting gasps as both glanced at the advancing hoard now spilling out upon the way.

“Use your weapon.”

“Not yet. I’ll make a final try to buy us time. Carry me and run.”

Aquilon lifted the girl. He gathered his strength to make the final dash and sprinted for the waiting ornithopter. Ayara concentrated. Waves of mental force surged out and swept over the advancing mechanisms, now only yards away. They slowed, halted, their tentacles twitching in seeming frustration.

The man surged forward, heart pounding, limbs weighed down by leaden fatigue. He was soaked with sweat. Darkness blurred the edges of his vision. Nearly there, he thought. Keep going, mustn’t stop.

Ayara moaned. Her aura faded. Aquilon stumbled and fell upon his knees. The barely conscious girl rolled free of his nerveless arms. Desperately, the man struggled to rise, to carry her to the flyer, now so near to them. But his efforts were of no avail for his flaccid limbs had not the energy to obey the dictates of his will.

The clatter of the approaching mechanisms, now free of the jewel’s retarding force drew his eye. In but moments the guardians would be upon them, and Aquilon knew there was nothing he could do but wait for death.

Chapter 10: Endgame

Ayara saw Aquilon struggling to rise as the metal monsters bore down upon them in a clanking charge. A bolt of fear jolted through the girl. She grasped her weapon, twisted a dial upon it, and hurled it with the dregs of strength amongst the charging foe, then threw herself upon the man and pushed him to the floor.

A thunderous explosion rent the air, shaking the tower with its mighty blast. A cloud of roiling acrid vapors washed over Aquilon and the girl. They held their breath, hugged each other. It seemed the world had split in two with the violence of the sound.

Time passed … the pair struggled upright, and stood shakily supporting one another. They saw the shattered mechanisms strewn about, still smoking from the frightful blast. Both were suffering from stinging cuts inflicted by wining shrapnel. Fortunately, none were serious.

“I overloaded the force-generator of my fon,” explained Ayara in response to her companion’s enquiring gaze. “Come,” she continued. “We must depart for Onaxa in all haste. I feel time is short.”

Onaxa! A sense of impending doom suddenly knifed Aquilon. Previously, the fear for his homeland had been swamped by ordeals that, in rapid succession, had befallen him, forcing him to attend to the dangers of the present. But at the mention of his beloved city, a rush of dark and frightful images flashed across his troubled mind.

The endgame approaches its conclusion, he thought. But who shall be the victor?

Ayara, seeing plainly the fear written upon his countenance, spoke reassuringly as they stepped within her craft.

“There is more restorative beneath your seat. You’ll feel better after drinking it, as will I. Try not to worry. I avoided the outer guardians once; I can do it again. My ship is very fast. We will get there in time.”

Then, silently, to herself: Fate willing, that is.

**********

The city of Onaxa, at dusk: From the roof of a palace tower, Crotor looked upon his burning city, lines of anguish etched deeply upon his troubled face. The force-screen had collapsed hours ago, as Paru predicted it would under the combined bombardment of Negron’s extra sun-weapons. He turned his haggard visage towards the sage, hoping the savant’s genius could perform some miracle.

The philosopher stood by his shield-generator – a tall silver column from which projected short ebon rods, each one having a crystal prism at its end. The device should have been spinning rapidly, pale rays of ghostly light shooting from its whirling prisms to charge the other force projecting mechanisms mounted upon the city’s walls. But now it was still, its prisms dark.

Paru slumped against the engine, and his forlorn posture spoke to Crotor more elegantly than words the hopelessness of their desperate situation.

“Burnt out,” muttered Paru, wearily. “It is beyond repair. There is nothing more I can do.”

Crotor placed a comforting hand upon the sage’s shoulder. “You did your best, and that is all any man can ask of another.”

The sounds of fighting drifted up from below – the clash of arms, the screams of dying men. A guard staggered up through the tower’s trap door, blood streaming from a deep gash in his leg. The warrior collapsed upon the floor. Both men rushed to his side, and began to bind his gaping wound with strips of cloth torn from Paru’s cloak.

“Curion,” weakly gasped the injured man. “The last defenders have fallen. Negron and his Iron Legions …”

The warrior’s voice faded, he slumped, eyes closed. Paru felt his pulse, shook his head. The fellow had died from loss of blood.

Crotor slowly stood, unsheathed his blade, a grim look upon his face. Over the desperate hours, Negron’s war machines had steadily forced the defenders back to make a final stand at the palace, and now the end was near.

If only I'd had the chance to use that flyer, he thought. “I could have slain the tyrant. Damn Aquilon to the Blackness of Gemnis.

But when Crotor looked again upon the scene of devastation that lay about, doubt crept over him, and he thought: My army is defeated, am I mightier than ten thousand men? His eyes lifted, searched the sky, realizing his brother might be their only hope. But of the flying ship there was no sign.

A booming crash drew his despairing gaze. The head of an Iron Legionnaire had slammed through the tower’s trap door, lacing the surrounding timber with a multitude of cracks. Crotor and Paru leapt back as again its metal shoulders battered ram-like against the confines of the narrow aperture. Once more it struck savagely, bursting through in a shower of flying debris.

The mechanism’s eyes, like glowing jewels of frozen flame, fixed their chilling gaze upon the puny men. It crawled out on the tower’s floor, articulated limbs venting steam and whirring sinisterly; then rose to its impressive height and stood before them, a colossus of hideous strength, the small crown-like chimney upon its head venting thick vapors from its inner fires.

Negron followed in its wake, resplendent in his crimson robe, a look of gloating triumph upon the narrow features of his pale face. He was victorious – the city had fallen. But then haunting doubt returned once more, a qualm that had always plagued him like an inner demon – what was this victory but fleeting happiness?

With a silent curse he thrust aside the thought, and sought distracting pleasure in the torture of his enemies. “Seize those two,” he cried to the legionnaire. “Crush them in your iron hands, and slowly to prolong their suffering.”

Crotor hurled his sword at Negron, there being no time to close with him, but the wily villain dodged the spinning blade with ease, and laughed derisively.

“Run, Paru. Save yourself if you can,” cried Crotor, realizing the futility of his words as the metal monster advanced upon them.

The sage stood with calm dignity. “Let us die like men, not scuttling vermin,” was his serene reply. “The fiend can crush our bodies, but not our souls.”

Negron saw his mechanism seize the pair, and tried to laugh derisively at Paru’s comment, but somehow found he couldn’t.

This really is the end thought Crotor as the legionnaire began to exert its hideous strength. The breath was squeezed from his lungs; the world eddied towards eternal darkness and his desperate struggles ceased.

Negron watched his victims, his face a study of base delight. Suddenly, the air was filled with the sound of mighty wings. He looked up, eyes widening in utter amazement at what he saw.

Aquilon looked down upon the frightful scene - the iron giant, and the unconscious men in its crushing grip. He glimpsed Negron stumbling away from their descending craft. “Hurry,” he cried to the girl.

The ship landed. Aquilon leapt from the flyer. He shouted wildly as he raced towards the tyrant who laughed as he drew his sword. He was cruelly confident he could kill the unarmed curis.

Negron swung his blade in a flashing arc. Aquilon hurled himself beneath the slashing blow. He crashed with all his might against his foe. The sword clattered to the floor. Both men fell with jarring force and began to wrestle madly. And all the while the automata squeezed its victims ever tighter.

The tyrant was a better fighter than he looked. He slammed the heel of his palm beneath the prince’s jaw. Aquilon’s head snapped back. He tumbled off his foe. In an instant Negron was on his feet, sword in hand.

Aquilon spat blood. He looked up and saw his towering enemy. Behind the tyrant he also glimpsed the iron legionnaire and the two forms as still as death hanging limply in its crushing grip. The prince cursed the tyrant. He tried to struggle up. Too late - Negron lunged, a wild cry of triumph upon his narrow lips.

The tyrant’s blade was inches from the prince’s heart when he froze in rigid immobility. Aquilon scuttled out of reach as Negron straightened. His eyes were glazed and the sword dropped from his fingers to clatter harmlessly upon the tower floor. To the wary and puzzled curis his movements seemed mechanical as he touched the master control upon the belt about his waist.

A sudden movement drew Aquilon’s startled gaze. He saw the legionnaire lower the men gently to the ground. The glow in its crystal orbs faded, and a final hiss of steam escaped its joints as its inner machinery wound down with a fading whine. At one press of a simple button the iron giant was still, as were all the other mechanisms of the tyrant’s mighty army.

Still holding Negron in her mental grip, Ayara approached the Tyrant. She removed the mind-jewel from her forehead and placed it upon his. There was a sudden flash of light. Negron collapsed into her arms and she lowered him to the floor; then moved to Aquilon’s side as he cradled Crotor in his arms.

Ayara looked at the crumpled from of the Philosopher, and Aquilon, seeing the direction of her gaze, merely shook his head. He was too choked with emotion for any other reply. The frailty of age had weighed against his noble teacher in this ordeal, and although Ayara did not know the man, she was nonetheless grieved by this grim testimony to senseless cruelty.

The curion groaned. He opened his eyes dazedly and looked at Aquilon, then the girl. A puzzled expression was on his face. Crotor’s gaze shifted to the mechanism towering above him. Then he looked at Negron and Paru stretched out upon the tower’s floor.

“My brother,” he gasped, struggling to comprehend this new and unexpected situation. “What … what?”

Mastering his emotions, Aquilon briefly summarized events, and allowed Ayara to conclude with the following reply to Crotor’s further queries:

“The mind-jewel I placed upon Negron’s forehead is, at my behest, sending root-like filaments deep within his brain. It is transforming his entire personality with every passing moment. When he awakens he will be your willing and loyal servant, and incapable of any violence. All his knowledge and his arts will be yours to command.”

“Paru is dead, as are many others,” replied Crotor, bitterly, as his eyes touched the sage’s lifeless form. “The city is in ruins. Why shouldn’t I slit his throat?”

“I feel as you do,” replied Aquilon. “But let us be wise and eschew vengeance. Think carefully - if Negron dies, then all his knowledge dies with him. But at our command he can transform his vast army into tireless workers that can rebuild our city, and all the others he has ravaged. Besides, Negron is, in a sense, dead; for the man who awakes will clearly not be him.”

The curion’s temper cooled as he meditated upon his brother’s words, and for the first time he began to think that perhaps there was a better way than that of vengeance after all.

Aquilon has proven himself a person of substance, thought Crotor. He is indeed a man, for neither fool nor weakling could have survived the ordeals he has so evidently undergone, and I’ll not be so stupid as to again disregard his council when I hear it. Then aloud: “Very well, for the sake of the realm I’ll put aside my personal feelings, and follow to your advice.”

Ayara smiled approvingly. “What better penance can there be than for Negron to undo the damage that he has done? I see my work is finished, and as it is complete I shall now depart this world.”

“Wait,” cried Aquilon, springing to his feet. Consternation was written clearly upon his features. The girl hesitated, sensing his pain. Within her mind Eros and Reason again contended for supremacy while the man tensely watched. Which one would triumph? The answer came.

“I know you love me,” said Ayara, dispassionately. “But the glories of the stellar realm and all their mysteries have a greater allure to me. You cannot follow where I must go. The time has come for me to clothe my mind in garments of light; to cast off my mortal form and all its hindrances.”

Ayara smiled gently as she looked upon the prince’s stricken countenance.

“Farewell old friend. This may seem the end. But there are always new beginnings to be found.”

The girl stepped away from his imploring arms. Her body began to glow with a radiance that streamed up her graceful form. Gathering above her head, the pulsing luminescence became a kaleidoscope of prismatic incandescence, a thing of indescribable splendor. For a moment it hung above the startled men, overshadowing them with a manifestation so glorious that it was frightening to behold. Then the soul-fire began to rise upon a pillar of light, and its soaring passage was a silent song of freedom as it leapt towards the infinity of heaven.

Awestruck, the men watched it dwindle as it vanished into the darkening sky. For long moments they stared at the empty heavens, minds dazed from the sight of this startling spectacle.

Aquilon stirred. He looked at Ayara’s body. It still stood in awful rigidity, and despair, blacker than the darkest night, swept over him. It's just an empty shell, he sadly thought. Whom I love has forsaken me.

Wait! Her breasts rose and fell. Was it life or merely the lying breeze that stirred her garment so? He rushed forward, and seized the girl. Her flesh was warm, alive. Her eyes fluttered open. She relaxed into his arms. He looked upon her with joyous wonder, and it seemed the summer sun had burst upon the winter of his soul.

Ayara smiled. “The mind is an entity of many elements capable of further subdivision," she explained. "What now animates my body is the human essence of my being." Then, softly, eyes cast down: "Is this enough, or do you desire also that part of me which evolved beyond mortal needs, and forsook this world?"

"More than enough if you love me and not the stars, as does your other self."

"The stars are unmatched in their glory, but it is a cold and lonely beauty that they have; whereas I desire warmth that only human love can bring. Now hold me close."

They embraced, and each found in the other a kind of magic that was to them greater than the mightiest sorcery.

Crotor watched the couple. He reflected upon this day of terrors, and this eve of marvels. Not wishing to intrude further upon their intimacy, he decided to tactfully withdraw. Moving painfully, the curion limped to Negron's side, and saw the man was conscious. Both gazed at one another, and Crotor sensed something of the change that had been wrought within his former enemy - that here was a new man, one who was at peace with himself and the world.

“Come,” he said, softly, as Negron rose. “The world awaits, and we’ve much work to do.”

The End