The Legend of the Deathwalker

Druss arrived first. 'What happened?' he asked, kneeling beside his friend.

'We were talking, and he collapsed. Is he subject to fits?'

'No.' Druss swore softly. 'His heart is barely beating.' Talisman glanced at the axeman, and noted the fear on his broad, bearded face. Nosta Khan arrived, and Talisman saw his gimlet eyes fasten to the sagging name-plate on the coffin.

'The Eyes. .?' he asked.

'No,' said Talisman, and told him what they had found.

'You fool!' hissed Nosta Khan. 'I should have been summoned.'

'It was just a medicine pouch. There were no jewels,' Talisman responded, feeling his anger rise.

'It is the medicine pouch of a shaman,' snapped Nosta Khan. 'A spell has been placed upon it.'

'I touched it also, and nothing has happened to me,' argued Talisman.

The little shaman knelt beside Sieben, prying open the fingers of his right hand. The knuckle-bones lay there, but now they were white and pure — the black symbols having transferred to the skin of Sieben's palm. 'But the bag split,' said Nosta Khan, 'and it was not you who lifted the Seeing Bones.'

The axeman rose, towering over Nosta Khan. 'I do not care who is at fault,' he said, his voice dangerously even, his pale eyes glittering. 'What I want is for you to bring him back. Now!'

Sensing danger, Nosta Khan felt a moment of panic as he looked into the axeman's cold eyes. Placing his hand over his heart, he whispered two words of power. Druss stiffened and groaned. The spell was an old one, and shackled the victim in chains of fiery pain. Any attempt on Druss's part to move would bring colossal agony and a subsequent loss of consciousness. Now, thought Nosta Khan triumphantly, let this Drenai gajin feel the power of the Nadir! The shaman was about to speak when Druss gave a low, guttural growl. His eyes blazed and his hand snaked out, huge fingers grabbing Nosta Khan by the throat and lifting him into the air. The little man kicked out helplessly, as through a sea of pain Druss spoke: 'Lift the. . spell, little man. . or. . I'll snap. . your neck!' Talisman drew his knife and jumped to the shaman's defence. 'One more move and he dies,' warned the axeman. Nosta Khan gave a strangled gasp, and managed to speak three words in a tongue neither Druss nor Talisman recognized. Druss's pain vanished. Dropping the shaman, he stabbed a finger into the little man's chest. 'You ever do anything like that again, you ugly dwarf, and I'll kill you!'

Talisman could see the shock and terror on Nosta Khan's face. 'We are all friends here,' he said softly, sheathing his knife and stepping between Nosta Khan and the menacing figure of Druss. 'Let us think of what is to be done.'

Nosta Khan rubbed his bruised throat. He was astonished, and could barely gather his thoughts. The spell had worked, he knew this. It was not possible that a mortal man could overcome such agony. Aware that both men were waiting for him to speak, he forced himself to concentrate and lifted the white knuckle-bones, holding them tightly in his fist. 'His soul has been drawn out,' he said, his voice croaking. 'The medicine pouch belonged to Shaoshad the renegade. He was the shaman who stole the Eyes — may his soul be for ever accursed and burn in ten thousand fires!'

'Why would he hide it here?' asked Talisman. 'What purpose did it serve?'

'I do not know. But let us see if we can reverse his spell.' Taking Sieben's limp hand in his own, he began to chant.

* * *

Sieben fell for an eternity, spinning and turning, then awoke with a start. He was lying beside a fire, set at the centre of a circle of standing stones. An old man was sitting by the small blaze. Naked, but with a bulging bag hanging from one thin shoulder, he had two long wispy beards growing from both sides of his chin, and reaching his scrawny chest; his hair was shaved on the left side of his head, and gathered into a tight braid on his right.

'Welcome,' said the old man. Sieben sat up and was about to speak when he noticed with horror that the speaker had been mutilated. His hands had been cut off, and blood was seeping from the stumps.

'Sweet Heavens, you must be in great pain,' he said.

'Always,' agreed the man, with a smile. 'But when something never passes, remaining constant, it becomes bearable.' Shrugging his shoulder he let the bag fall, then reached into it with his mangled, bleeding arms. From the bag he produced a hand, which he held carefully between the stumps. Gripping it with his knees, he held his mutilated right arm to the severed wrist. The limb jerked, and the hand attached itself to the wrist. The fingers flexed. 'Ah, that is good,' said the man, reaching into the bag and producing a left hand which he held in place over his left wrist. This too joined, and he clapped the hands together. Then he removed his eyes and dropped them into the bag.

'Why are you doing this to yourself?' asked Sieben.

'It is a compulsion engendered by sorcery,' said the stranger amiably. 'They were not content to merely kill me. Oh, no! Now I can have my hands or my eyes, but never both at the same time. If I try- and I have — then the pain becomes unbearable. I have great admiration for the way the spell was cast. I did not think it would last this long. I managed to counter the curse upon my ears and tongue. I see you found my medicine pouch.'

The fire flickered down, but the old man gestured with his hands and the flames sprang to new life. Sieben found himself staring at the man's empty eye-sockets. 'Have you tried using just one hand and one eye?' he asked.

'Is there something about me that suggests I am an idiot? Of course I have. It works. . but the pain is too awesome to describe.'

'I have to tell you that this is the worst dream I've ever had,' said Sieben.

'No dream. You are here.' Sieben was about to question him when a low, inhuman growl came from beyond the stones. The old man's hand came up and blue forked lightning flashed from it, exploding between the stones with a loud crack. Then there was silence. 'I need my hands, you see, to survive here. But I cannot go anywhere without my eyes. It is a sweetly vile punishment. I wish I had thought of it myself.'

'What was that. . thing?' asked Sieben, craning round to peer between the stones. There was nothing to be seen. All was darkness, deep and final.

'Difficult to know. But it did not mean us any good. I am Shaoshad.'

'Sieben. Sieben the Poet.'

'A poet? It is long since I savoured the delicious sounds of exquisite wordplay. But I fear you will not be with me long, so perhaps another time. . Tell me how you found my pouch.'

'The use of the Nadir letter i,' Sieben told him.

'Yes. It was a joke, you see. I knew no Nadir would see it. Not given to jokes, the Nadir. They were searching for the Eyes of Alchazzar. Eyes and i's. Good, isn't it?'

'Most amusing,' agreed Sieben. 'I take it you are not Nadir?'

'In part. Part Chiatze, part Sechuin, part Nadir. I want you to do something for me. I cannot offer you anything, of course.'

'What do you require?'

'My medicine pouch. I want you to take the hair and bum it. The knuckle-bones must be dropped into water. The parchment is to be shredded and scattered to the air, the pouch itself buried in the earth. Can you remember that?'

'Hair burnt, knuckles drowned, paper scattered, pouch buried,' said Sieben. 'What will that do?'

'I believe the release of my elemental power will end this cursed spell and give me back my hands and my eyes. Speaking of which. .' He lifted the eyes from the bag and slid them back in their sockets. Holding his arms over the bag, he released his hands, which fell from the wrists. Immediately blood began to flow. 'You are a handsome fellow and you have an honest face. I think I can trust you.'