The Affinity II

Recap: Michael Collington, having inherited his grandfather's house and books, finds a letter between the pages of a signed first edition of Tolkien's the Hobbit. The letter tells him where to find the sword; a sword with the power to propel him, against his will, into another world, where he rediscovers his other identity: Lord Astavar.

The Affinity II

©2008 Ian Hobson

3 – Moonlight Liaison

The small town of Curab lay beside the mouth of a wide meandering river and had originally consisted only of cave dwellings, though many rectangular brick and stucco houses had been added on the lower slopes closer to the water's edge, some of them three stories tall. On the opposite bank of the river was Curabacal, once a major city and busy port, though after many years of war, it was a shadow of its former self, but recovering now, judging by the number of ships anchored out in the bay.

After a breakfast of fish-cakes and rice, and a leisurely bathe in one of Curab's life-giving, hot springs, I dressed in a clean white robe and leather sandals, and walked with Magalo, down through the narrow winding streets towards the small harbour. Magalo had sharpened and polished my sword, and I wore it, together with the leather scabbard and belt that he had kept safe with my other possessions. Magalo himself looked to be unarmed but I knew that he would have a dagger concealed somewhere beneath his clothing.

'How long?' I asked, though from the many changes I could see in the town, especially the way it had grown in size, I guessed that I had 'slept' for at least three years.

'Almost four years, master,’ Magalo replied. ‘The longest ever; and this time you became so cold, I almost thought you truly dead.' He looked ashamed for beginning to loose faith after so many years. Though in a previous incarnation he had prepared my funeral pyre after only ten days, and I had awakened to the sound of crackling flames and the smell of my garments beginning to burn. On that occasion, after I rose from the flames, he had thought me a god, and I'd had to convince him otherwise by allowing him to cut me and draw blood.

It was a little after midday and I was surprised at how busy the main street was, with many well dressed people making their way up towards the springs, most of them walking but some carried by porters. 'Many come now, like in my father's time,' said Magalo. 'And some of the elders say that a charge should be made for the bathing, though the ferrymen, porters and sponge-girl owners make good trade, as do the taverns on the waterfront.'

I thought of the sponge-girl who had bathed me and trimmed my hair and beard. She was a slave but seemed happy in her work and asked me why my skin was so pale and my hair so red, like a god's. Then she told me what other services she would be pleased to offer. I declined, but paid her with a silver coin and promised to return later.

'So there has been a return to prosperity, both here and in Curabacal?'

'Yes, master. No more war. No work for us.' Magalo smiled as he said that, which surprised me. In his younger days he would have been disgusted. War often meant death for a soldier, but wealth for those that survived and, in his younger days, he had travelled far in search of the latter. Not that Magalo was a poor man now; I had left him with enough gold and silver to last him well beyond the end of his days, and he had spent little of it.

We made our way to one of the busy waterfront taverns, choosing an outside table in a shaded corner where we could sit with our backs to the wall and watch people come and go. We had no reason to expect trouble, but old habits die hard and, besides, the view of the harbour and bay, and the city across the water, was a sight to behold. Elgypta, the troubled land in which I had spent much of the last fifty years was, in many regions, dry and barren, but beside its great river, and along its coastal regions, the air was cooler and the land more fertile.

The tavern owner, a huge barrel-bellied man, called Rumba, came out and, on seeing me, almost dropped the tray of ale he was carrying. 'By all the gods! Lord Astavar, it cannot be you?'

'I am Lord Astavar's son,' I replied, having agreed the lie earlier with Magalo. 'My father often spoke of you.'

Rumba turned and unceremoniously dropped his tray onto a nearby table. 'Miglio! See to these!' As a dark-haired youth hurried out of the tavern, Rumba gestured towards four men sitting at a table in the opposite corner and the boy took them their drinks. Rumba turned back and looked closely at me then, and for a moment I thought that the lie was not going to work. 'You are so like your father,’ he said. ‘When he vanished - what, over three years ago? - Magalo would not say where he had gone. But now you speak as though he is dead, my lord.'

'Sadly, yes.'

‘That is too bad,’ he said, as he studied my face again. 'Yes, you are very much like your father; except that you are pale, and almost as skinny as Magalo here.'

'Then feed me,' I said, because, as always after 'waking', I was truly ravenous.

***

As word got around that Lord Astavar's son was in town, some of those who remembered me, or my deeds, came to pay their respects. So we stayed in Rumba's tavern for the rest of the day and were the last to leave. I had feasted on, lamb, chicken, fourteen kinds of river and sea fish, olives, dates, mangoes and bananas, while Magalo had drunk more wine than was good for him and become so drunk that I thought that I might have to carry him home.

'Take care,' Rumba warned us as we stepped out into the moonlit street. 'There are many strangers about these days.' This was his third such warning as, for much of the time, he and Magalo had talked about how things had changed in recent years; how gold had been found upriver, how trade had flourished, and how crime had done the same. While eating, I had listened with interest to the conversation, though my thoughts often turned to the question of why I had returned, and to what new trials the gods might have in store for me.

'Strangers!' said Magalo, spitting into the gutter. 'Let the thieving bastards come. I will slice them open and feed their innards to the seagulls.' At least he was still on his feet, though he obviously felt the need to check that every other building we passed was structurally sound by bumping into them or stopping to lean his weight against them.

There were several people still abroad. Two young men that came out of an alleyway seemed to be following us, but when I turned to face them with a hand on the hilt of my sword they suddenly realised that they had come the wrong way and turned back towards the harbour. Then three women, standing beneath a lantern in an open doorway, invited us to come in and pass the time. 'Come on,' one of them pleaded, as she exposed one of her pendulous breasts. 'Don't be shy. Come in and show us your sword. I'll bet it's a big one.' I gave them a polite bow and we continued on, leaving their raucous laughter behind.

'Wise decision, master,' said Magalo as he stopped to piss at the corner of a building. 'They are all pox-ridden in that place. I know a much better house; a new one in the next street, if you would like to go there.'

'Not this evening,' I said, though I still had a mind to seek out the young sponge-girl; I had, after all, 'slept' for a long time, and although I was over one thousand years old, my mortal body was young again and craved more than just food and wine.

'Magalo! You are drunk?’ We had reached the dwelling and found Durabel sitting on the doorstep wrapped in an old grey cloak that made her look even older. I thought she might go after Magalo with her broom again, but she tenderly led him inside, returning a few moments later. 'He is snoring already.' She gave me another of her toothless grins. 'He is a most faithful servant to you, is he not?'

The question seemed an odd one for her to ask, but I had to agree. 'Yes, he is ever faithful, and I am ever grateful to him, and to you too, Durabel.' Which was true. As a king I had loved no one but myself; but I loved Magalo, and Durabel too. She was silent for a moment, and stood looking at me as though assessing me in some way.

'What is it, Durabel?' I asked. 'You look troubled.'

'Nothing master, just tired. Can I get you anything? Water? Food?'

'No thank you. I have eaten enough for ten men today.' It was then that I caught a whiff of some bad smell; the drains perhaps, but then, looking up at the sky, I saw that it was filled with stars and that the moon was full. 'I think I shall take a walk,' I said. 'You go to bed, and sleep well.' Durabel gave me that strange look again and then turned and went inside.

I walked up the hill towards the hot springs. The air was cooler and fresher the higher I climbed, and one of the overflows tumbled noisily along a channel to my left, leaving a glistening white deposit to either side. When I reached the top of the hill there was no one around; no bathers, no sponge-girls. All was quiet except for the constant hum of crickets and, far below in the harbour, a ship's bell chiming, to let the crew know that it was time for a change of watch. As I turned and looked into the clear water of the nearest pool, I could see the reflection of the stars and the moon. And then, oddly, the moon became a face, a face that I knew only too well: it was the cruel face of Draal, the god of iniquity, and he was smiling.

'Master.' At the sound of a female voice, I turned, and there stood Layana, the young sponge-girl who I had hoped to find.

'You waited for me?' I asked.

'I saw you climb the hill and followed.' In the moonlight Layana looked even more beautiful than in the day. Her hair was the colour of ebony, her skin almost golden, and she wore a simple white shift that, with a touch of her hand, fell silently to her ankles. Naked, she was irresistible and, with the face of Draal forgotten, I walked towards her and took her in my arms.

4 - Oruks

Layana led me to one of the shelters that bathers used for changing. Then later, after the fires of our passion had been extinguished, I dressed and stepped outside, fastening my sword belt and feeling in a pocket for a gold coin which I offered to Layana as she came and stood beside me.

But she shook her head. 'Your servant has already paid me, master, though I would have gladly served you for nothing.'

I was flattered by her last remark but puzzled by her mention of a servant. 'Who paid you, and when?' I asked.

'Durabel, Magalo's wife. She came as darkness fell and paid me in gold. She said you had sent her.'

Draal's evil face, the face that I had seen in the water, came back to me then and, cursing my stupidity, I turned and ran back down the hill, mocked by the gurgling overflow as I ran beside it.

As I reached the first of the houses and cave-dwellings I saw that all doors and shutters had been closed, which was not unusual, as the night had turned cold. But as I neared Magalo's dwelling I saw that his door was still open and that Durabel was once again sitting on the doorstep, wrapped in the grey cloak. As I approached her she got up from the step and gave me a toothless smile, but there was something wicked about that smile, and again there was that look, as though she was assessing me in some way. But that was not all: there was that smell in the air that I had noticed earlier but not recognised, but now it was suddenly all too familiar.

'You are not Durabel,' I said, putting a hand to the hilt of my sword; and I was right, because the thing that stood before me began to laugh as it cast off the grey cloak and then slowly transmuted into an Oruk, dressed in grey mail over a black shirt and breeches, and carrying a sheathed sword.

Oruks are foul creatures, worshippers of Draal, stooped, vicious and ugly beings that prefer to skulk about in darkness or in the bowels of the earth. Though some of them, shape-changers, or Siceratese, as they were known, have the ability to take on the appearance of others. This one had a crude tattoo on his forehead, which meant that he was what passed for an officer amongst the ranks of these loathsome creatures.

'Where is Durabel?' I asked, drawing my sword. 'And where is Magalo?'

The Oruk grimaced and spat. 'I should have killed your man while he slept; slit his puny throat, like I did the old woman's.' He held up one arm, showing me a crudely bandaged wound. 'It took three of us to finish him.'

As he let his arm drop, I kissed the blade of my sword and lunged at him.

'A joke, a joke!' he cried, backing towards the doorway, with the point of my sword at his throat. 'They are safe and unharmed! Look! Here they come now.' He pointed to higher up the street where two cloaked figures had come from behind a building, and stupidly I almost believed it was them, dropping my guard and giving the Oruk a chance to draw his sword.

He was skilled for, in the blink of an eye, his sword was out of its scabbard and swinging in a low arc towards my legs, and as I parried, he sprang away from me. Now, a little further down the hill, two more figures stepped out of the shadows and, glancing over my shoulder, I saw that the other two Oruks had cast off their cloaks and drawn their weapons. Five, then; I had faced worse odds. 'Before I kill you, tell me your name and why you are here,' I said to the leader.

He spat at me and backed away towards the middle of the road as I followed him. 'I am Carrak, he said, 'and it is I who will kill you, if you do not tell me where the gold is.'

'Gold? I know nothing of any gold.' The other four Oruks were closer now, forming a circle around me but not daring to come too close. One was armed with a club, the others with short swords, and all of them stank of deep, dark places.

'You lie!' Carrak spat at me again. 'We found gold,' he pointed towards the open doorway, 'but only a little. There is more, much more.' I understood then: this was Draal's mischief. He had found some clever way to convince these Oruks that I, or Magalo, had a cache of hidden gold, and then let them loose.

Carrak gave a barely perceptible hand signal and two of his followers made a move towards me, stabbing with their short swords. I turned towards them, swinging my much longer sword and, as I expected, they leapt clear, while I spun full circle and met Carrak's blade as it slashed towards my legs again. As steel clashed against steel, I saw the surprise in his eyes, but he reacted well, springing clear as a flick of my wrist brought the tip of my sword within a hair's breadth of his ugly face.

This was classic Oruk tactics, like ants surrounding a larger insect, they would work together to tire their victim until a lucky sword thrust caused enough injury to bring him down and leave him at their mercy. This meant that speed would be my best weapon, that and my sword, which I raised and angled so that, even in the moonlight, I could see from the reflections in its blade, which of those behind me would strike first.

Two of them came, one raising his sword as though to swing it like an axe, and another to his right thrusting low, but as they moved, so did I, with a speed and force that surprised them. Rather than parry the low sword thrust, I aimed a little higher, slicing the tendons in the back of Oruk's sword hand and, before he had time to scream, my blade arced diagonally upwards to meet the other's downward blow, taking his hand clean off at the wrist, while my own momentum turned me back towards Carrak.

Again he was swinging his sword low, aiming for my hamstrings, and again - though this time accompanied by the screams of the two wounded Oruks - I parried the blow, causing him to retreat. I had the measure of him now and, with his followers either wounded or backing away, I felt safe to go after him, forcing him to fight defensively, until his sword arm weakened and the fear in his eyes told me it was time to go in for the kill. I blocked another sword thrust, knocking his blade wide, and then lunged.

But it was then that the arrow flew. It was shot from close range and it struck me hard below my left shoulder blade, adding to my forward momentum and driving my sword into Carrak's throat. I felt no pain. I just remember that, as Carrak choked on my blade and we both crashed to the ground, I turned and saw that another Oruk, armed with a bow, had emerged from Magalo's dwelling, and that the Oruk armed with the club, was running towards me. I tried desperately to free my sword while ducking away from the blow that I knew was coming, but there was not enough time; and as the blow came, my head filled with pain, and my vision with stars; and then there was nothing but blackness.

***

I knew that I was still alive because my head ached, and when I moved my left arm to try and push myself up into a sitting position, there was a sharp pain in my back below my left shoulder blade. I lay still for a minute, trying to make sense of what I could see and hear. Watery sunshine streamed in through a window, and from outside there came the sound of someone sweeping, and then a child's laughter.

Helen!

I pushed myself up and scrambled over the fallen chair, making my way to the window. In the garden, Jennifer was sweeping fallen leaves, while our daughter, Helen ran through the pile, kicking the leaves into the air and laughing wildly. I turned and looked around the room. The sword lay on the floor beside the fallen chair. My head began to spin, so I righted the chair and sat down. On the desk, beside the hessian wrapping, was my grandfather's letter.

I reread it with new eyes: the words affinity and destiny had new meaning, for I was no longer the same person. I heard the rear door to the house open and close, and then Helen's voice calling, 'Daddy!'

TO BE CONTINUED