The Sorceress of Qar

by Ted White

Genres: Science Fiction; Sci-fi Action & Adventure; Space Opera

Synopsis

TWO PATHS TO ARMAGEDDON Two valiant humans: swashbuckling Elron and the Sorceress Shannara...two implacably evil "Others"...two kinds of weapons with which to fight...and many kinds of doom awaiting an entire world if the battle is lost! Again Ted White takes us to the strange, paradoxical world of Qanar, where a weird age-old magic exists as everyday reality, side by side with the remnants of an equally ancient but less understood science. The alien "Others" are making a new bid to take over the planet...and only the noble Elron stands against them. But not entirely alone after he meets the beautiful Shannara, and she adds her limited psionic powers to his great strength to vanquish the enemy. Together they share an outstanding Odyssey - through unpredictable matter transmitters and over treacherous terrain - to reach a hair-raising climax...IN THIS GREAT SEQUEL TO PHOENIX PRIME!

Release date: December 21, 2012

Publisher: Gateway

Print pages: 320

Sample

HUMANITY AS WE KNOW IT is not the end product of evolution, but only a way station. Maximillion Quest woke up one day to find himself an evolved superman—his Gift had come to him with physical adulthood—and found awaiting him the Others, whose own Gifts had enabled them to divide and rule the world among them, unbeknown to humanity at large.

Max Quest represented a threat to the Others’ status quo, and the story of his battle with them has been told in Phoenix Prime. In the course of this epic battle, Max was thrown into an alternate world of reality—into the world of Qanar.

Qanar is an ancient, never entirely conquered world, in which humanity once struggled to a civilization of sorts—a sparsely spread global empire that spoke a single language, established a scientific technology that was prodigious in some respects, and then was all but wiped out by a cataclysm the nature of which has been forgotten in the ensuing two thousand-some years.

Now humanity remains scattered in pockets over the face of this vast wild world, the inbred descendants of the few survivors of that long-ago catastrophe. Only the island continent of Zanor has been spared, and here too the population has declined and grown genteelly degenerate; and in common with those in other parts of the world, the people here have begun to confuse science and technology with magic. The greater arts are forgotten; only the lesser arts remain.

Max Quest made daring use of the once-vast network of matter transmitters—now too unreliable for anyone to chance their use—and visited the City Zominor on Zanor, where he met the Sorceress, a woman born three thousand years earlier, trained as a scientist and technician, and thrown into this dying world by a malfunctioning matter transmitter.

He also traveled to the dead City Tanakor, now only a few subterranean ruins overgrown by a vast forest, and west to the new and robust City Qar, one of the few rallying points of humanity. And on his way he met and saved the life of a minor noble named Elron.

Thus the stage is set for our present story—for this is to be the story of Elron and the Sorceress, and what happened on the world of Qanar after Max Quest had completed his quest and left once more for Earth, and his final confrontation with the Others. …

“AS ALL good stories must,” said Elron, “this one begins with a fight.”

“Ummm,” said Tagar, waiting patiently for the rest.

“It was on that meadow, on the Western Road, that the outlaws struck us—it was an ambush, and a well-laid one, too. They badly outnumbered us, and they had the advantage of surprise. It would’ve been a total defeat, but for the warlock. …”

And that had been the beginning of the story. Its ending had brought him here, tonight, tired and somehow bitter, despite all he had accomplished.

The outlaws had preyed upon the Western Road, along its forested length, for many years. It had been bad for trade, and it was inevitable that the Duke of Qar would send his men out against them sooner or later. The outlaws had speeded up the process, however. They had attacked the Duke’s own nobles. It had taken little prompting then for the Duke to order Elron to the final task—the outlaw band must be wiped out.

It had been done, and Elron was pleased that it had been done. Taking his cue from the strange warlock who had passed among them, he had made it a trial by fire. He had led his army of men across the River Qar, into the deep forest, and by a circuitous route to the outlaws’ tree-top holdings. And there he had burned them out.

But completion of the deed had not carried with it the elation it should have given him. He had memories of faces—the faces of men, their bodies twisted by the hard fall from the high branches, their hair gone, and their clothes charred or still burning. It was well enough to say to oneself that these men were plunderers, murderers, rapists. But the memory of their faces, caught frozen for death’s eternity in grimaces of pain and terror, had stayed with him, through two solitary steins of eale. …

“Ah, Elron!” A hearty hand had clapped him across his back, startling him from his thoughts. “More eale?” It had been Tagar, his lieutenant, shouting to be heard over the din of the ealehouse. He’d dropped to a seat on the broad wooden bench. “You are looking distant,” he observed, his voice less loud.

Elron looked up. The ealehouse was filled with boistering men, most of them of his command. It was a good ealehouse, as such places went, for the City Qar, and it was one often chosen by the Duke’s men in their off hours. He raised his hand and signaled. A girl—she had a beautifully turned backside; it was a shame her face was so homely—moved lithely through the crowd, past two wrestling drunks who became distracted by her passage and attempted to wrestle her, the tray balanced on her hand never faltering.

“Another eale,” Elron said. “He’ll buy it.” He jerked his thumb at Tagar. “And bring me a roast ham. The juices must still be running.”

She nodded. “And will you be buying the gentleman nothing in return?”

Tagar laughed. “He’ll buy me an eale and share his ham with me, if you make it a large one.”

She gave another nod and then turned into the crowd, their empty eale steins now added to her tray.

“Do not be deceived by her face,” Tagar said, gazing after her. “The rest of her body does not lie.”

“Ah,” Elron grunted.

“Now what can that mean? Don’t tell me you find the subject boring? Hey, Elron! You are being too quiet.”

He shook himself. “Perhaps so. I am tired. It was a long ride. I find I no longer have the simple zests I once did, Tagar.”

“It was that warlock. He placed a spell of gloom upon you.”

“In a way … in a way.”

Tagar leaned forward, his elbows bracing him on the heavy planked table. “Seriously now, what is it? I haven’t seen you in good spirits since the day you brought that man across the river.”

“Thoughts, Tagar—just thoughts.”

“Tell me.”

He told him. He told of the battle on the meadow, of how all but him had died, of how the warlock had mysteriously appeared, to rout the outlaws and use magic balms upon his wounds.

“He saved my life; I told you that. I don’t know where he came from. At first, in my delirium, I thought he was materialized from the great green forest herself. He was a man the like of which I have never seen before. A power radiated from him. Confidence—he was so completely confident. He sought a woman; the outlaws had taken her. We followed a trail I could never have read, and he led me directly to their holdings.

“I have never told you this; I have told no one, not even the Duke himself. But the warlock—Max Quest, he called himself, although I think he must have taken the second name upon himself as a title—the warlock used his magic and raised us both into the tree limbs. I felt a great hollowness in my stomach, as though I was falling. I was certain I was falling! But instead we rose, into the air, into the tree.

“He led me down a broad limb, to the chieftain’s hut. His woman was there—captive. He took my sword and in one blow killed the man. Then, to frighten back the others, he turned himself into a great flaming torch, a blazing pyre. Where his feet stood, the wood caught fire. Those he touched screamed with pain. Most of them leapt to their deaths rather than face him. It was a terrible sight, and one I shall never forget.”

“So that was why you had us bring the oil and pitch?”

“Yes—it was the best way. Perhaps they thought him returned. It would have frightened them all the more. In any case, ringing their holding with burning trees, we gave them no aerial escape, and we ourselves held the ground. But that was not all I meant to say about Max Quest.”

“Ahh.” It was an affirmative.

“Afterwards we three—he, his woman, and I—rode out to the Western Road, and after some hard riding made camp. Naturally, I chose to bed a little way from them, because I knew they desired to be alone. And, also naturally, I was still not far enough yet from them. I overheard their murmurs as they lay together, and I heard their sounds as they made love together. It was not something I was a willing party to, Tagar. I would have left the camp altogether except that they supposed me already asleep. In truth, I slept little that night.

“The next day—now, hear me out; no interruptions! I have a point to make. The next day we rode until we came to a place along the road that each of them recognized. It was a place of ruins, but hardly visible as such. The forest had so totally overgrown them that all I saw were hillocks until they led me into them. The two of them, Max Quest and his woman, went into a hole. They gave me the reins of their beast and bade me goodbye.

“I wanted to go with them. I knew it was another world they were going to, a world quiet alien, but I wanted to stay with them. Can you understand that? And instead I took the reins of their beast, and I stood there, and I let them go. Afterwards I went in a little way. There were a few rooms there, but they were empty.

“I returned to Qar; that you knew. I reported to the Duke, who was not happy that I had left without his orders, and I formed the company, and we smashed the outlaws. Thus; and so—here we are. And you tell me I am too quiet. I am. Shall I tell you why, Tagar?”

“Have you not already?”

“Yes, and also no.

“I am no longer a young man, my friend. I am past thirty. Yet, although I am a noble, I have not married. I have no family.

“When the warlock saved my life, it set me to wondering—wondering what there was in my life that had made it worth the saving. If I had been saved, what might be the purpose? And I thought on all I had been and had done, and …” His voice dropped so that Tagar had to lean forward to hear him. “It added up to very little.”

“Nonsense! You’re in a black mood—everything looks that way to you now. With a little more eale, some good roast meat … Ah, here comes the wench now!” He poked Elron boisterously in the ribs with his elbow. “Something for the inner man now, and then later … an appetizing dessert, perhaps?” His nod was to the serving wench now approaching their table.

The light, furnished only by the thin yellow flames of the oil lamps on the walls, was too dim for him to be certain, but Elron thought he noticed a change in the wench’s bearing and expression. She no longer wove her way through the other men in a sort of dancelike pattern, but strode stiffly, her tray several times in mortal danger.

But he said nothing as the woman lowered the tray to the table. The juices of the heavy ham kindled a fierce hunger in him as their thick aroma filled the air, and he waited impatiently for the slow-fingered wench to lift the ham’s thick wooden platter from the tray and position it on the table before them. Then she placed fresh eale steins at their elbows and turned her back. She had said not a word.

“Ah, Elron,” Tagar said. “You’ve spread your black mood on that sweet girl, and now there’ll be no dessert!”

Elron had pulled his short knife from his belt and was carving thick chunks of the steaming meat onto the platter. “I’ve been telling you, Tagar; you’re slow tonight. I am in no mood for wenching with empty-headed serving girls. I’m sick of this rowdy life.” He bit off a chunk of the meat and allowed himself a smile. “I will say that the hams are good here, though.”

Tagar took a stiff draught of his eale before replying. “You’re wanting a wife and a family and all similar such burdens? You’re thinking foolish, Elronsh—I, er, Elron.” He lifted his hand clumsily and brushed at his face. “Thassh funny,” he mumbled. Then his eyes cleared for a moment, and he gave Elron a piercing glare.

“Eale tasted-funny,” he said, struggling to get the words out. Then he fell face forward, into the carved ham.

Elron was suddenly aware that the room had quieted. A hush had fallen, broken only by a few sodden mumblings and an occasional crash as a bench overturned. He started to his feet, his knife in his hand—then paused, half-standing.

“What madness is this?” he muttered under his breath. “They are all in drunken stupors!”

Volstad, a great man-mountain who was one of Elron’s sergeants, pushed his head up from a nearby table, stared at Elron without recognition, then fell over backward from his bench. The crash shook the room, fluttering the lights. Then there was silence.

“The eale—drugged!” Elron moved catlike down the aisle between the long tables, stepping lightfootedly over the bodies tumbled in his way.

The kitchen was simply an area arched off from the common room, but in its center sat a great four-sided fireplace, where the cooking was done, an effective barrier that created privacy for the part of the kitchen that lay on its other side. He slipped quickly around the fireplace but found no one. The whole kitchen was deserted. This was yet another riddle!

Beyond was a doorway leading to a stairway, which led to the floor above. He met the wooden-faced serving wench at the bottom of the stairs.

“You!” he said, grabbing her wrists, his voice low but intense. “What have you done to my men?”

She tensed for a moment, then slumped. “You are in great danger,” she whispered. Her features showed no expression. “Come with me, quickly!”

“Hold on!”

“There is no time! They expect you to be—ah, like the others.” She gave a nod toward the common room. “If they find you here, like this, they kill you,” she hissed. “Upstairs, quickly!”

Against his will, Elron let the woman lead him up the rough-hewn stairs and into a small room. It was apparently her own, for a bed occupied perhaps a quarter of the room, and a woman’s clothes hung from the hooks on the walls.

Once inside, she closed the door, dropping a bar across it. Then, her fingers stumbling, she began to remove her clothes.

Elron sat on the edge of the bed and watched. His mind seemed stalled by the turn of events, and now he could only look on, incapable of astonishment, waiting to see what improbable thing might happen next.

The girl wore little more than her outer clothes, a fact he had already guessed. And it did not seem unlikely that she had performed this task before, with others. He found himself admiring her body, in a distant sort of way, and agreeing with Tagar that indeed it told a different story than her horsey face. But although her breasts were full and large-nippled, and her pelvic girdle indicated both strength and agility in her hips, it was also too evident that her charms appealed largely to the unfastidious. A simple glance, let alone a breath drawn in this closed room, told him she had not bathed beyond the elbows in many months.

“You have not undressed,” she said. “Quickly, you must take off your clothes!”

“I’m afraid I’m not interested just now,” Elron said dryly.

“But you must! They have a peephole. They will leave us be, if it appears …” she gestured at the bed.

Elron shook his head and gave a short laugh.

“This farce has gone far enough. Who are these people who will do these things, wench? And why have they had my men drugged?”

With apparent desperation, the girl threw herself upon him, knocking him flat under her well-structured body. She planted her lips against his and snaked her arms around his neck. His head was lying on a pillow, and he could not tell which made him want to gag more—the stench of the pillow or that of her breath.

He swept his arms up, inside and under hers, and swung them out, knocking her arms loose from their grip on him. He had guessed its presence, but only then did he glimpse the knife she now held in her right hand. It had come from under the pillow.

Her jaws were clenched, and her face was screwed into a mask of hate. She was hissing like a maddened cat. But before she could bring the knife about, he brought his knees up under her stomach and kicked.

She flew backward off the bed, her back slamming into the wall. The knife flew from her hand. Then she fell forward, to her knees.

He was at her in a bound. With his left hand he grabbed her hair, pulling her head up and back. With his right hand, he slapped her, back and forth, both cheeks.

“Now, vixen, speak to me,” he grunted.

She stared at him with eyes gone mad, whites showing all around the irises. Her breath hissed and bubbled through her teeth.

“Speak!” He open-palmed her face, the impact snapping her head to one side.

She said nothing. Suddenly her body went rigid; then, with a shriek, she threw herself upon him, her hands drawn into claws, tendons standing out on her at every joint, her attack a great spasm that ripped and tore at him.

The surprise of it caught him off balance. He fell backward, one leg catching on the bed, pitching him to the floor.

Instantly she was on him, her long nails clawing strips from his exposed skin, her teeth snapping at his throat.

There was nothing else to do but kill her. Her strength was too great for him to hold her back any longer. He got his right hand into her hair and held her head back, away from his neck. She clawed at his hand and his arm, but with his left hand he freed his knife from his belt and plunged it into her gut.

As he stabbed, he rolled against her, driving the blade in deeper and throwing her off his body.

She shrieked again, and blood bubbled in her mouth. Then s. . .