The Sword & Sorcery Anthology (65 page)

“Noble Greppen,” said the Lady.

“Pardon my saying, Lady Maltomass, but he appears green about
the gills.”

“There’s no magic in it,” she said. “His is a race of people who
grew out of the swamp. They have a different history than we do, but
the same humanity.”

“And what is your story?” said Toler. “Are you magic or miracle?”

She smiled and looked away from him. “I’ll ask the questions,” she
said. “Is that The Coral Heart at your side?”

“Yes,” he said and moved to draw the sword from its sheath.

“That won’t be necessary,” she said. “I see the coral from here.”

“Most people prefer not to see the blade,” he said.

“And pardon my asking, Ismet Toler, but how many have you slain
with it?”

“Enough,” he said.

“Is that a declaration of remorse?”

“Remorse was something I felt for the first thousand.”

“You’re a droll swordsman.”

“Is that a compliment?” he asked.

“No,” said Lady Maltomass. “I hear you have a tulpa.”

“Yes, my man, Garone.”

To Toler’s left, there was a disturbance in the air, which became a
pillar of smoke that swirled and coalesced into the hooded servant.

“Garone, I present to you the Lady Maltomass,” said Toler, and
swept his arm in her direction. The tulpa bowed and then disappeared.

“Very interesting,” she said.

“Not a flying chair, but I try,” he said.

“Well, I also have a tulpa,” said the Lady.

“No,” said Toler.

“Mamresh,” she said, and in an instant, there appeared, just to
the right of the flying chair the presence of a woman. She was naked
and powerfully built. “A warrior,” thought the swordsman. His only
other impression, before she disappeared—the deep red color of her
voluminous hair.

“You surprise me,” he said to the Lady.

“If you’ll stay tomorrow,” she said, “I’ll show you something I think
you’ll be interested in. Meet me among the willows in the garden after
noon.

“I’m already there,” he said.

She smiled as the chair rose slowly above the balcony. It turned
in midair and then floated out past the railing. “Good night, Ismet
Toler,” she called over her shoulder.

As the chair disappeared into the dark, Greppen approached.
He led the swordsman to a spacious room near the balcony. The
Councilor said nothing but lit a number of candles and then called
goodnight as he pushed the door closed behind him.

Toler undressed, weary from travel and the aftereffects of the
drug that was Lady Maltomass. He lay down with a sigh, and then
summoned his servant. The tulpa appeared at the foot of the bed.

“Garone, while the palace is sleeping, I want you to search around
and see what you can discover about the Lady. A mysterious woman.
I want to know everything about her. Take caution, though, she also
has a tulpa.” Then he wrapped his right hand around the sheath of
The Coral Heart, clasped the grip with his left, and fell asleep to a
dream of kissing Lady Maltomass beneath the willows.

Toler arrived early to the gardens the following day. The entrance
led through a long grape arbor thick with vine and dangling fruit. This
opened into an enormous area sectioned into symmetrical plots of
ground, and in each, stretching off into the distance, beds of colorful
flowers and pungent herbs. Their aromas mixed in the atmosphere
and the scent confused him for a brief time. Everywhere around him
were bees and butterflies and members of Greppen’s strange race,
weeding, watering, fertilizing. The swordsman asked one where the
willows were, and the toad man pointed down a narrow path into the
far distance.

It was past noon when he arrived amid the stand of willows next to
a pond with a fountain at its center. He discovered an ancient stone
bench, partially green with mold, and sat upon it, peering through the
mesh of whiplike branches at sunlight glistening on the water. There
was a cool breeze and orange birds darted about, quietly chirping.

“Garone,” said Toler, and his servant appeared before him. “What
have you to report about the Lady?”

“I paced through every inch of the palace, down all its ostentatious
halls, and found not a scrap of a secret about her. In the middle of the
night, I found her personal chambers, but could not enter. I couldn’t
pass through the walls nor even get close to them.”

“Is there a spell around her?” asked the swordsman.

“Not a spell, it’s her tulpa, Mamresh. She’s too powerful for me.
She’s blocking me with her invisible will from approaching the Lady’s
rooms. I summoned all my strength and exerted myself and she merely
laughed at me.”

Toler was about to speak, but just then heard his name being
called from deeper in amidst the willows. Garone disappeared and the
swordsman rose and set off in the direction of the voice. Brushing the
tentacles of the trees aside, he pushed his way forward until coming
upon a small clearing. At its center sat Lady Maltomass in her flying
chair. Facing her was another of the ancient stone benches.

“I heard someone speaking off in the distance, and knew it must
be you,” she said. He walked over and sat down across from her.

“I hope you slept well,” said the Lady.

“Indeed,” said Toler. “I dreamt of you.”

“In your dream, did I tell you I don’t like foolishness?”

“Perhaps,” he said, “but the only part of it I witnessed was when
we kissed.”

She shook her head. “Here’s what I wanted to show you,” she
said, lifting a small book that appeared to be covered with a square of
Greppen’s flesh.

“Is the cover made of toad?” he asked, leaning forward to get a
better look at it.

“Not precisely,” she said, “but it’s not the cover I wanted to show
you. She opened the book to a page inside, and then turned the
volume around and handed it to him. “What do you see there?” She
pointed at the left-hand page.

There was a design that was immediately familiar to him. He sat
back away from her and drew his sword. Bringing the blade level with
his eyes, he studied the design of the inscribed spell. He then looked
back to the book. Three times he went from blade to book and back
before she finally said, “I’ll wager they are identical.”

“How did you come upon this?” asked Toler, returning his sword
to its sheath. “The blade has never left my side since it came to me.”

“No, but the weapon is old, and it has passed through many men’s
hands. In fact, there was a people who had possession of it, two
centuries past, who deemed it too dangerous to be at large in the
world. They didn’t destroy it but studied it. One of the things they
were interested in was the spell. For all of their effort, though, they
were only able to decipher two words of it. There might be as many
as ten words in that madly looping script. My father, digging in the
peat bogs north of the Gentious quarry, hauled two clay tablets out of
a quivering hole in the ground. Those heavy ancient pages contained
reference to the sword, to its legend, and the design of the blade’s
script. Also included was the translation of the two words.”

“What were they?” he asked, wrapping his fingers again around
the grip of the weapon.

“My father worked with what was given on the tablet and
deciphered three more of the spell’s words.”

“What were they?”

“The words he was certain of were—Thanry, Meltmoss, Stilthery,
Quasum, and Pik.”

“All common herbs,” said Toler.

She nodded. “He believed that all the words constituted a kind
of medicine, that if prepared and inserted into one of your victim’s
coral mouths, it would reverse the sword’s power and return them to
flesh. The blade’s damage could, of course, have been a death blow,
in which case there would be no chance of returning them to life, but
those who succumbed to only a nick, a scratch, a cut, would again be
flesh and bone and draw breath.”

“I’ve often wondered about the inscription,” he said. “Your father
was a wise man.”

“I’m giving you the book,” she said. “When I heard you’d turned up
at the gate, I remembered my father telling me about his discoveries.
The book should belong to the man who carries the weapon. I have
no use for it.”

“Why would the blade hold an antidote to the sword’s effects, and
yet be written in a language no one can understand?” asked Toler.

“That fact suggests a dozen possible motives, but I suppose the
real one will remain a mystery.” She held the book out toward him.
As he leaned forward to take it from her, she also leaned forward,
and as his fingers closed on the book, her lips met his. She kissed
him eagerly, her mouth open. They parted, and he moved closer to
the edge of the stone bench. He put his hands on her shoulders and
gently drew her toward him.

“Wait, is that Greppen, spying?” she said, bringing her arms up
between them. Toler drew his sword as he stood and spun around,
brandishing it in a defensive maneuver. He saw no sign of Greppen,
heard no movement among the willow branches. What he heard
instead was the laughter of Lady Maltomass. When he turned back
to her, she was gone. He looked up to see the chair rising into the blue
sky. As she floated away toward the tree line, he yelled, “When will
I see you next?”

“Soon,” she called back.

Two days passed without word from her and, in that time, all Toler
could think of was their last meeting. He tried to stay busy within
the walls of the palace, and the beauty of the place kept his attention
for half a day, but ultimately, in its ease and refinement, palace life
seemed hollow to one who’d spent most of his life in combat.

On the evening of the second day, after dinner, he summoned
Councilor Greppen, who was to see to his every need. They met in
Toler’s room, and the toad man had brought a bottle of brandy and
two glasses. As he poured for himself and The Coral Heart, he said,
“I can smell your frustration, Ismet Toler.”

“You can, can you, Prince of Toads? Tell her I want to see her.”

“She’ll summon you when she’s ready.”

“She is in every way a perfect woman,” said Toler, sipping his
brandy.

“Perfection is in the eye of the beholder,” said Greppen. “If you
were to see my wife, considered quite a beauty among our people, you
might not agree.”

“I’m sure she’s lovely,” said the swordsman, “but I feel if I don’t
soon have a tryst with Lady Maltomass, I’m going to go mad and turn
the world to coral.”

Greppen laughed. “The beast with two backs? Your people are
comical in their lust.”

“I suppose,” said Toler. “How do you do it? With a thought?” He
sipped at the brandy.

“Very nearly,” said Greppen, lifting the bottle to refill his
companion’s glass.

“Here’s a question for you, Councilor,” said Toler. “Does she ever
leave the chair?”

“Only to go to bed,” he said. “I would think of all people, you might
understand best. She shares her spirit with it as you do The Coral
Heart. She knows what the world looks like from above the clouds.
She can fly.”

Toler finished his second drink, and told Greppen he was turning
in. On the way out the door, the Councilor called back, “Patience.”
Once in bed, again he summoned Garone and sent him forth to
discover any secrets he might. The swordsman then grasped the
sheath and the grip and fell into a troubled sleep.

He tossed and turned, his desire for the Lady working its way
into his dreams. Deep in the night, her face rose above the horizon
bigger than the moon. He looked into her eyes to see if he could tell
their color, but in them he saw instead the figures of Garone and
Mamresh on the stone bench, beneath the willows, in the moonlight.
His tulpa’s robe was pulled up to his waist, and Mamresh sat upon his
lap, facing away, her legs on either side of his. She was panting and
moving quickly to and fro, and he was grunting. Then Garone tilted
his head back and the hood began to slip off.