If the weasel-faced man had thought to benefit by his betrayal, he was wrong. From their cells they heard him screaming and begging for mercy. But his life ended at daybreak with one terrified shriek, followed by others that were equally horrible and mind- chilling.
"It's like this every day," said Margraf, who had been thrown into the cell with Mika. "The screams are the worst," he whimpered, hiding his face in his hands. "I don't want to die," he said in a tiny voice. "I'm scared to die. They rip your heart out with their hands. I'm scared, Mika."
Mika was scared, too. The thought of having his heart ripped out was absolutely the worst thing he could think of. There were probably other worse things but, at the moment, having his heart ripped out was at the top of the list.
He supposed that he should try and comfort Margraf, but he frankly wished that there were someone to comfort him.
Margraf stopped crying, and Mika looked over and saw the princess licking the boy's face. Margraf threw his skinny, little arms around the wolfs neck and hugged her tight. She looked pained but made no attempt to free herself from his grasp.
Mika was startled beyond speech, for it was far from the normal behavior he had come to expect from the princess. The princess glanced at Mika briefly, as though feeling his thoughts, and then her eyes fell away. Mika grinned at her embarrassment, pleased that she was consoling the boy, and pleased as well that she had not been hurt by the guard.
Mika had been surprised when the guards threw all three wolves in the cell with him. It was a lapse in their judgment that he intended to capitalize on. Perhaps with the boy's help they could free him from the bonds which were so tight he could no longer feel his fingers.
"Boy, do you think you can help me get out of these ropes?" asked Mika. "We would stand a better chance of escape if I could use my hands."
Margraf wiped his eyes and his runny nose with the back of his arm and hand, then hurried to Mika's side. He plucked at the ropes, pulling and yanking, but nothing worked.
"Tam can do it," said Mika. "Tam, come here."
Tam nosed the ropes and then nibbled on them with his sharp canines. Strangely, the ropes resisted even those efforts; Tam sat back and whined in frustration.
Mika looked down at the ropes and saw that they were totally unaffected by Tarn's teeth. Mika realized with a sinking heart that the ropes had to be enchanted. There was no way to remove them unless the enchanter released the spell or Mika used a spdl ю counter it.
He could feel the gemstone rubbing against his chest. His captors had searched him roughly for weapons, but they had not noticed the gemstone. Maybe there was hope yet, much as he did not want to use the blasted stone. But even a curse was better than having your heart ripped out.
Mika tried to remember his spells; whatever he did, he would have to do it from memory. He still had the pouch that contained his spell book-he never took it off anymore, not even when he slept-but he could not get to it because of the ropes.
Mika closed his eyes and concentrated. He thought he remembered the spell, a fairly low-level one he had learned early on but never used. Actually, he had used it just once; he'd been five years old when he tied Celia to a tree and made her eat the "magic" potion he'd whipped up out of berries and bugs, grass, and dirt. He smiled at the memory.
Looking down at the ropes, he began to speak the words softly under his breath. It was working! He could actually see the ropes writhing, starting to move. Soon they would start to loosen, to fall away from his body. There! Now they were moving! Were they pulling tighter? Yes, tighter! And still tighter! Damn! He'd gotten the spell backward!
"Mika! What's the matter? Your face is all red, and you look funny!" Margraf cried in alarm.
"Wsshfxx! Blrgle!" Mika spluttered as he tried to say the words, to get them out as the rope pulled itself tighter around his chest, squeezing his lungs, cutting off his air and making it virtually impossible to speak.
Somehow with his very last breath he whispered the combination of words that would reverse the spell. As he toppled to the ground he felt the ropes unwind and fall from his body.
Mika lay there for a moment with everyone clustered around him; Tam, RedTail, the princess, and Margraf. The princess even licked his face, which, while he appreciated the sentiment, he could have done without.
Finally he crawled to his feet, one hand pressed against his aching chest, and sat down on the hard stone bench that was part of the wall of the cell.
"I didn't know you were a magician," said Margraf, wonder and awe apparent in his voice. "Can you do other tricks like that?"
"That wasn't a trick, boy," Mika said, his chest still aching. "I wasn't trying to amuse you."
"I mean, if you can do that, you can do something that will get us all out of here, can't you? You'll save my dad and the others, won't you?"
Mika looked down at Margraf, saw the frailty and the pallor of his skin, his eyes bright with hope, believing in him. Mika looked away, not having the courage to tell the boy that although he was a magic- user, he wasn't a very good one and that the odds were more in favor of him getting a spell wrong than right. He was an unlikely choice for a savior, but it seemed as though he was the only hope they had.
"I'll do my best, boy, I'll do my best," he said with a sigh. Margraf beamed up at him as though he had promised him the world.
Shaking his head, wondering how they had gotten into this mess, Mika looked around and tried to wxk out some sort of plan.
It had been dark out when they'd been dragged out of the underground passages. Mika did not have enough knowledge of the city to know in which direction they had been taken. They had traveled through much of the city, through narrow streets and open squares, ending at the foot of the tall pyramid they had seen while still far out on the plains.
Every city block contained a single tall tower silhouetted against the starlit sky, one that was twice as high as the buildings surrounding it. Mika had been perplexed at their purpose, but with the first light of dawn voices rang out in sing-song chants that were vaguely melodic and utterly compelling.
"It is the priests calling the faithful to prayer," Margraf had explained.
"Who goes?" asked Mika.
"Everyone," Margraf had replied, "but they don't go anywhere, they just kneel wherever they are and pray." Margraf had further explained that the call to prayer occurred four times a day and was always obeyed.
Now, a germ of an idea began to form in Mika's mind.
The prison at the foot of the pyramid was small and square and built of the same red ochre adobe as the rest of the city.
It seemed that the mountain blocked the rainfall. What litde there was fell on the higher elevations to the east and never reached the city. Water was a scarce and precious commodity found only by means of deep wells. Water was rationed out by the priests- and may the gods help anyone who offended a priest.
Margraf and Mika had been placed in one cell along with the wolves. Hornsbuck and several others, including Lufa, had been put in a cell somewhere along the hall that divided the low, one-story building. The windows and door were heavily barred with thick metal rods. Mika examined them carefully and knew that he would never be able to break them or even bend them enough for Margraf to squeeze through.
Once they'd locked the prisoners in their cells, the guards had left the building, confident that there was no way for them to escape. Just before dawn broke, the priests had come and taken Weasel-face and several others away, paying no mind to their screams or their cries for mercy.
Further conversation with the boy revealed that the sacrifices were held both morning and night, every single day of the year without fail.
Shortly after freeing himself from the rope, Mika noticed that the princess had positioned herself against the bars of the door. Her ears were pricked forward, and she was growling. Mika walked over and looked through the bars but other than a cell directly across the way, he could see nothing. Nor could he see the inhabitant of the cell. Shrugging, he turned his mind to other matters. Escape would be difficult.
Along about mid-day, Mika heard the tramp of feet approaching the building. He moved to the small, high window and looked out, but all he could see was the pyramid.
"Quick, tie me up again!" Mika said, fearful that if he were found unbound, he would never get the chance to put his plan into effect.
Margraf tied him with the silken rope, and Mika wedged himself in a corner of the room, feigning a look of sullen misery that was not far from real.
Imploring cries poured out of the cells as footsteps pounded down the corridor and stopped at Mika's cell.
Margraf had been over-eager in obeying Mika's orders. By the time the door swung open and the guards entered, followed by a clean-shaven man with piercing blue eyes and high cheekbones, Mika's fingers were numb from lack of blood.
"Your date ofborning?" demanded the priest, his eyes fixed on Mika's.
"The tenth of Harvesttime," answered Mika.
"You're lying," snapped the priest. "I can see it in your eyes."
"That's pain you see in my eyes," growled Mika. "Why would I lie? I know my date ofborning."
"You would lie to save your pathetic life," said the priest, "but it will do you no good. You will die, as will all these others, given unto the honor and glory of Exag the Magnificent. Say your farewells to this sad Oerth and rejoice, for it is a far better world that you go to."
"Do I get a choice?" asked Mika.
"You should be happy to leave this painful world of sorrows behind," said the priest as he leaned forward and looked into Mika's eyes, attempting to convince him. "Your heart should be filled with joy knowing that through your sacrifice you will enable the world to turn to yet another cycle. Without your body, the sun would eat the Oerth and all would die. Does that not gladden your heart, my son?"
Mika stared into the priest's eyes, almost overcome by the intensity of the man's gaze. He blinked and drew back abruptly, suddenly more fearful than he had been before. The man was the most dangerous of all opponents, a religious fanatic who truly believed in his own dogma.
"Do you really think that it is so?" asked Mika, knowing that the only way to gain any latitude was to pretend to believe the nonsense that the priest was spewing. Denial would only infuriate the man.
"Of course," said the priest, his eyes shining with the light of true madness.
"Then if it will serve my brothers and the world, maybe it won't be so bad," said Mika. "Can you promise that the next world will be a better place?"
"I know it to be true, my son," said the priest. "Has not the great Exag himself given us his word? It is a great honor to die for Exag. I wish that I were able to do so myself."
"Then why don't you?" asked Mika, and he was rewarded by seeing the light of reason and caution creep into the man's eyes. So the fellow was not completely round the bend after all.
"Would that I could, my son," intoned the priest, "but my duties lie here. Also, I was born under another moon, and there are always many, many others who volunteer to take my place on that date."
I'll bet there are, thought Mika. I'll bet you make very, very sure of that.
The two men stared at each other, taking each other's measure.
"Untie him," said the priest with a gesture. "The turning is on the morrow. Let him spend his last day and night in comfort, preparing himself for the great honor that is to come."
The guards stripped the rope from Mika's body. At a gesture from the priest, they turned and left the room.
Mika had hoped that they would leave the rope behind, but it was not to be. As the last of them exited the cell, Mika and the priest were left gazing at each other.
"Do not think to escape," advised the priest, "for there is nowhere to go. My men are everywhere, and the building is stout. Best ready yourself for the morrow."
After a last moment's pause, the priest followed his guards. As the door opened, the princess made a dash and tried to push her way through, but the priest kicked her in the chest and slammed the door in her face, locking the metal door behind him.
"Good try, girl," said Mika as he helped her to her feet and rubbed her ribs. "You didn't stand a chance, but it was a good try."
The princess turned her head and looked at Mika as though he were a dolt. The look stopped Mika short. His hand froze in mid-pet as he tried to figure out what he had said to warrant such a look. The princess got to her feet and paced over to the door, where she stood growling. Mika followed her and looked through the bars in an attempt to discover what it was she was growling at, but all he could see was the occupant of the cell across the hall, a large, white-haired man who stood with his back to them.
There was something regal in the stance, something imperious-no, arrogant-that was it! Could it be? A wild thought came to Mika, and he stared down at the princess who stood with teeth bared, growling in a menacing fashion. It was! It had to be! It was the king, the princess's father!
"Are you the king of Dramidja?" Mika called to him in a low voice.
After a long moment the figure stirred and turned to look at Mika. Mika pulled back in astonishment. The man was very large, his huge head set on a thick neck. His chest was barrel-like and tapered into a narrow waist, with slender hips and legs that seemed too small to carry the immense bulk. It was immediately apparent that he was the king, for aside from the haughty gaze above the narrow, arched nose, there was the evidence of his eyes. One was blue, the other green.
The king cast his regal gaze over Mika, the wolves, and the ragged child, and dismissed them as unworthy of his time. He turned his back on them once more. The princess began barking angrily.
That single look, that single action, drove Mika into an instantaneous rage. "Don't you turn your back on me!" he hollered, gripping the bars between his hands. "It's your fault I'm in here!"
The king turned to look at Mika, only slightly curious. He did not speak, but quirked a single eyebrow.
"Don't even recognize me, do you?" Mika said in a cold tone. "My name is Mika, born to the Far Fringe Clan of Wolf Nomads. I have nearly come to death and have suffered grievously on your behalf. More than two score of my men and blood kin died for you, and you do not even know of our existence or care."
"You're right," the king said in a laconic tone, stroking his mustache with his forefinger. "I do not know who you are, and since I have no idea of what you speak, how can I possibly care?"
"Do you know where your daughter is?" asked Mika.
For the first time the king seemed to lose his poise. He paled, a flush of red appearing on the high bridge of his nose. He stood next to the bars and really looked at Mika for the first time.
"What do you know of my daughter?" he asked sharply. "Where is she? What has become of her?"
"You don't care about her! What you really want to know is whether or not the demi-demon Iuz got her as you planned," said Mika. He had the satisfaction of seeing the king's face go tense with shock.
"How-how do you know about Iuz?" he asked in a whisper.
And Mika told him.
"Then it is all over," the king said, sinking to the bench and burying his face in his hands. "All over."
"Don't you even want to know what happened to the princess, your daughter?" asked Mika, unmoved by the king's sorrow for his own failed plans.
"What does it matter now? All is lost," muttered the king over the rumbling growls of the princess.
"How could you have sent your only child-your daughter-to a certain and hideous death at the hands of a demon?" asked Mika, trying to give the man the opportunity to explain himself.
"You don't understand," said the king, slowly straightening to lean his head back against the bars. "You couldn't possibly understand what it means to rule, to have power. Or what it means to lose it."
"You're right," replied Mika. "Nor do I understand sacrificing a daughter to a demon."
"It was the price of power," the king said with a dismissive slice of his hand. "And besides, she was a sharp-tongued wench who would not marry. There was no pleasing her no matter what I did. I grew tired of her constant demands. She was just like her mother. always at me for one thing or another. I was glad to give her to Iuz. It was the easiest part of the bargain. The hard part was playing the grieved father. Yes, tell me. I want to know. What happened to the wench? If still she lives and Iuz didn't get her, who did?"
"I did," answered Mika, his heart gone cold inside his breast. "Here she is," he said, standing aside and gesturing with an outstretched hand toward the princess, whose growls emanated deep within her chest and issued between slavering lips.
The king gaped at the wolf and then stared at Mika. He turned his gaze back to the princess, who began to fling herself against the bars. Finally the king threw back his head and roared with laughter, great guffaws that echoed throughout the building, momentarily silencing all other sounds.
"You mean that… that wolf is my daughter, the Princess Julia, heir apparent to the throne of Dramidja?" asked the king. Tears filled his eyes as he clutched his sides and laughed till he collapsed against the bars, too weak to stand upright.
"How did you do it?" he asked at length.
"With the stone," Mika replied stiffly, holding out the gem.
The king stiffened and got to his feet, his eyes cold and hard, all vestiges of humor vanished.
"The stone," he said, thrusting his hand between the bars. "It's mine, give it to me. There might be a chance that I could…" His words faded away, and his eyes grew crafty.
"Escape? Forget it," Mika said harshly, willing to inflict as much pain as possible. "You have no hope of getting out of here. Iuz was but a middleman. His boss caused you to be imprisoned and sent me here as well."
"Maelfesh? Maelfesh!" whispered the king.
"Big guy with a kind of fiery personality," said Mika. "The kind of guy who stands out in a crowd."
But the kind did not reply. Once again he buried his face in his hands and whispered, "All is lost, all is lost."