Chapter 19 Hazot Tower
Simone was in the same little passage by which she had entered Indiana the day before. As she dashed up the stone stairs and toward the front doors, the whole building trembled. Reaching the porch, she saw human priests and Ulrig soldiers fleeing in every direction while Tsawb bellowed and the earth shook.
She stretched out her long legs and ran down the road, gasping in the cold air, while behind her the temple simply shattered, its pillars falling, its roof rising. Looking back over her shoulder, she saw Turtle Hill rising in the air, while on it sides trees twisted and turned and tons of rocks and soil poured off. Some of Tsawb’s shell began to appear, and his head poked out above the temple ruins, his red eyes wild, searching.
She ran faster, dimly aware of black specks in the sky—large birds, hundreds of them. Were they coming toward her? Vultures perhaps? Tsawb was moving now, every step a little faster, and every step covering many yards. She could not possibly outrun him. Had he seen her?
The birds were closer, huge things flying like bats and dropping lower, coming straight at her. Simone began to scream as she ran, faltered, ran again. What were these things? Were they worse than Tsawb? They had weapons! Unmistakably, they carried swords, maces, and spears in human-like hands beneath their wings. Some began to land around her, closing up their bat wings and advancing on bony, crooked legs. Others flew on toward Tsawb and began to attack his exposed head and legs, driving their spears into his flesh. The turtle sank to his stomach, pulling into his shell for defense, stopping not a hundred yards from where Simone stood trembling. Yes, he had definitely seen her.
She turned and found herself face to face with a monster: great upright ears, tiny eyes, fangs, flat nose. It was dark gray with the limbs of some deformed demon, its folded wings extending upward behind rounded shoulders. In its long furry hand it carried a sword. As it looked at her with an expression of hideous satisfaction, many others approached from every side. Simone wished she could faint. Instead, she stood swaying, trying to get air, and fumbled in her coat to find her knife. All she pulled out was her flashlight. She put it away in her pocket again and started crying.
The thing in front of her spoke to her in Kreenspam. “Are you the Princess Simone that the Ulrigs speak of?”
Simone gurgled yes.
He bowed. “I’m Bremset the Vult, captain of our eastern host. We arrived just this morning, only to learn that you had disappeared through the Door of Kulismos that lies hidden here. We were ready to leave and continue our exploration of these lands, when we felt the ground shake and saw you running from the temple. May I and my fellows be of some further help to you?”
Bremset led her to an abandoned hut farther down the road and helped her to a rude chair in the shadows. He hastily made a fire in the stone stove.
“Great Princess,” he said, as he turned from the glowing flame, “it’s difficult for us to keep the mighty Tsawb from moving, so it’s best for us to bear you away from here. Where do you wish to go?”
“To my brother,” she said. “I’m looking for him.”
Bremset chattered something high pitched until his whole frame shook. “The Emperor! No destination could please us more. Six weeks ago he called us from our four hundred year sleep. How exhilarating it was to leave the Vultlag, to stretch our wings, to fly!”
“What’s his name, what’s he look like?” Simone slurred, almost unwilling to ask again after so many disappointments.
“That we don’t know—yet. It takes several days for Vults to fully awake, and in the meantime he traveled on, leaving us. But we’ve sent out scouts everywhere and now have some clue to his whereabouts. Far away to the northeast is the Ebbil Kiree, greatest of islands. On the coast nearby, the Silbs and humans of the Broken Realm are mustering arms to support a Pretender. Silbs are seldom mistaken about such things, Princess Simone. He’ll be the genuine Emperor. We will take you there.”
“How far?” she asked.
“Skree! Too far to walk. I’ve sent a few of my people to fetch a stout fishing net from the Gulf of Saldar. Long ago we used such means to bear wingless folk through the air. If many of us grasp the corners, and you in the middle, we can fly you to your brother in a few days. Nothing could be easier.”
He turned back to tend the fire, and Simone was startled again by his repulsive face as it was lit from below. She cringed back into her chair and looked away.
“Great Lady, can you tell us why we were called from our sleep? The Ulrigs can only guess that we were summoned to prevent Tsawb from causing great destruction. But you’re the Emperor’s sister, you know him. Why did he wake us? Isn’t there some greater purpose?”
She forced herself to look at him. “Yes,” she said weakly, “the Emperor and I want to prevent terrible wars from spreading across the continent. But it’s not easy for us to stay in the Fold and try to do that. We’re just young people and our home is in another world. We need some way to keep the Dragons in line while we go home and settle some matters. Can you help with that?”
“Dragons,” said Bremset meditatively, while stroking his sloping brow. “That’s asking a lot to control them.” He grinned like a gargoyle. “But yeee! we Vults can do it. I would have been disappointed if you’d asked something too easy. I’ll put some of our boys to work on it, and we’ll come up with an answer. It may have to involve some subtlety, some trickery. They’re very big, you know.”
She nodded. “You’re really very good to me.”
“Thank you, Princess. Now I’ll leave you to rest. I’ve some directions for the others of our troop.”
She nodded him out the door and then hugged herself, shuddering. “I’d almost rather have been eaten by Tsawb,” she said to herself. “I thought I loved all Sarrs, but not Vults. Oh, they’re creepy!”
Time did not endear her to them. By the next morning she had experienced their unfailing politeness, their energetic efforts to please, and what seemed to be genuine affection. She appreciated the trouble they were about to go to as they prepared to sleep at night and transport her by day, reversing their usual habits merely for her comfort. Yet while doing her best to hide it, Simone still loathed the sight of them. By sheer determination she made herself cooperate with their plan to carry her through the air.
Meanwhile the Vults found it necessary to maintain an around the clock guard on Tsawb, who shifted nearer to Simone’s hut in spite of all their efforts. It was clearly time to be off.
A net had been fetched during the night, and now Simone was to be transported through the late autumn cold. She thought the ropes of the net looked all too thin as it lay spread out in the frost in a clearing not far from the temple. By this time a few Ulrigs had curiously returned and, after providing many blankets in which Simone submitted to be wrapped, stood by to watch the take-off. Simone lay in the middle of the net as dozens of Vults took their places in a great circle around her, each holding a rope tied to the net’s circumference.
Bremset hobbled over for a last word with her. “We’ll set you down every few hours, Princess. At night we’ll find places for you to sleep. By changing rope-holders regularly, we’ll speed you on your way. Is there anything more you need before we fly?”
“No, let’s get going,” Simone said, her heart racing. She had never even been on an airplane.
“Very good, Princess.” Bremset walked out to the edge of the net and gripped one of the rope ends himself.
“Yeee!” he cried, and all the Vults answered with loud chatterings as they spread out their leathery wings. They rose together hovering, and the ropes began to stretch and tauten. Higher and higher they went, and still Simone lay firmly on the ground. Then suddenly she was plucked from the earth like a feather in the wind, and her ride began.
Simone pulled her hood up and the blanket edges down to protect herself from the wind, but left herself a small viewing space through which to watch the appr
oach of the nearby mountains. Once called the Mountains of Bourasnia, now merely the Northern Spur, they were covered with snow in late November. Followed by thousands of other Vults, the net bearers steered toward a high pass.
As hours passed and fresh Vults continually took their turn at the ropes, Simone was sped out of the Valley of Thunders. Below all was white except for the occasional stony cliff or outcrop and, once, the broken towers of an abandoned fortress in the saddle of the pass. On the far side, the Vults landed her gently for a short rest, and then they were off again over the eastern plain with its own light dusting of snow, which the sun now broke on blindingly. Here were no villages, only scattered farms. Simone was guiltily amused to see the little figures of the farmers as they first looked up and then scurried for cover.
But the flight lengthened and, unable to sleep, Simone began to feel lonely and troubled. She had never been comfortable with her own unoccupied company, preferring activity. Now against her will she tormented herself with worries about Clay and Athlaz. She also wondered if she had been rash to put herself in the power of the Vults. At some point she realized that she detested them partly because they resembled the Fijat Killer that had killed Raspberry. That was all. And she told herself that, if evil thoughts were expressed in one’s outward appearance, then she would sometimes look more hideous than any Vult. Nevertheless, it was a worry, and during rest stops her flesh still crawled whenever a Vult came near.
At dusk of the short day she looked down on another fortress-ruin, this one perched on a cliff overlooking the bend of a great river. Even in ruin its chief tower was unbelievably massive. Its lower stories were intact, their windows showing signs of light and movement within. She heard the cry of command from ahead and felt the net begin to drop.
Vuzbal the Vult, bard of the Northern Titans, sat in the ruined tower of ancient Hazot fortress, overlooking the Frear River, and worried. Not that Captain Bremset’s plan was not proceeding splendidly. The rope bearers had relieved one another at proper intervals, the Princess had been carried as on a cloud, and he and the rest of the advance guard had prepared a warm, dry room for her here in the ruin. Human food had been fetched, and a guard had even brought in a small dog in the firm belief that humans like dogs as pets.
Ah, but the Princess herself, what a terror! Upon her arrival she had argued loudly about trifles, complained about everything, questioned Captain Bremset’s intelligence, and come close to kicking the dog. Now she was out on the plain somewhere, ‘taking a walk,’ as she put it; avoiding their company. The Princess was a problem.
Across the stone-walled room Captain Bremset was supervising the blocking up of a narrow window against the cold. His large ears twitched from time to time, a sure sign that he was unnerved. Soon he approached Vuzbal.
“We have a few fellows shadowing her, bard. No doubt, she’ll come back in a few minutes. She just needs to stretch her legs after being wrapped up all day.”
“I think I’ve identified the real problem, sir,” Vuzbal said.
Bremset’s tiny eyes blinked and his ears twitched again. “What is it? It’s that dog, isn’t it? I’ve had them take it back to wherever they found it. How were we to know humans don’t like them?”
“Sir, I don’t mean the dog. I think the Princess is afraid of us.”
“Afraid? Why?”
“Well, you know we’ve been told that we look every bit as ugly to them as they do to us. And I’ve noticed that she won’t let any of us come near her, let alone touch her.”
“That’s irrational.” Bremset swayed over to the fire burning in a portable brazier and warmed his forelimbs. “But, looo, we can handle irrationality. A small problem, really. Work out a solution, Vuzbal.”
Vuzbal picked up his flute. “I may have one, sir. May I borrow a score of the lads roosting below?”
“Use your initiative, bard. We can’t be having our faces spoil the digestion of the great Simone.”
“Thank you, Captain.”
Vuzbal took his Vults across the courtyard, which was half full of fallen stones and broken columns, all the way to the guard house at the doorless main gate. The house was shattered and unroofed, but the wind was calm enough for some comfort to be had even behind its porous walls.
He addressed the others. “It’s a cold night for singing, friends, but we have a Princess who needs called in from the dark. Sharbal and Hagel, out with your flutes and join me. The rest of you sing. We’ll start with her Parting Song, eh?”
As he played the first notes, their reedy voices began to blend and harmonize as they had done on nights centuries before. The lovely, haunting song drifted far over the white plain. But when they were done, the Princess had not appeared at the ruined gate. Someone suggested a song that had been spreading through the Fold almost as quickly as the first, a song about the Loopers and said to have been written by Simone herself. As they sang of the Village of Ruin, a few hopped about at the center of their circle in a jerky dance. Still no Princess.
Vuzbal led them into the Song of Sleeping, which had been written in the days when the second Vultlag was being prepared in the north. Partly prophetic, it told of the approaching end of their Kingdom of the North.
We burned Hazot that men found pleasant;
On Oto’s plain we flew in force,
Threw back the arms of knight and peasant,
Cast down their ashlars, course by course.
Unconquerable, peerless, ordered,
Our Kingdom of the North was vast,
Feared by the Tirasites we bordered,
And safe from all things but the past.
Our own claws cast down spear and saber;
Where once we flew, we walked and crept.
King Roset called us from our labor;
The Vultlag called us, and we slept.
Eyes will not see the arches crumble,
Claws will not feel the walls sink low,
Ears will not hear the towers tumble;
Our limbs lie cold as stone below.
Our limbs lie cold in deepest slumber
In countless caves well hid from men.
The swift winged hosts that none could number
Sleep till the true voice calls again.
In dreams we serve him by the ocean,
In Meschor where the breakers pound.
Sisskame, test our strong devotion
Who once laid Hazot to the ground.