Devil on my Stomach
Richard Lyon and Andy Offutt

Marlas, Autarch of Selis, Protector of the Sacred Web and Conqueror of Atea, Kran, Mesara, and Thilland, chose his steps carefully in his descent of the dark dungeon stair. The ruler's clothing was ordinary. There was nothing about the face or form of this man--who had crushed whole nations under his iron foot--to catch the eye or make him stand out in a crowd of four.

He who walked so quietly behind the autarch was easily remembered in nightmares. The short bloated body was topped by a yellow toad's head whose eyes were pools of dark wisdom. Since it walked on two legs, it could, for want of better term, be called a man.

Marlas strode to a scarred oaken door banded with iron. Smiting it, he bawled out, "Zark! You lazy plagul, open this door for your master!" The autarch blinked then, for at his blow the door swung quietly open. "Hmp! That's odd; Zark normally locks the door when he has a victim to play with."

Autarch Marlas stepped through the doorway and glared about. The shadowy, pain-haunted room was littered with the instruments of Zark's filthy trade: clamps and pincers, the pails end funnels for various water tortures, other ugly apparati, the large cradle whose inside was lined with spikes, and a box with the image of a woman painted on it, the Iron Maiden;. A couple of toes strewed the floor, and the walls were darkly splashed.

On the rack in the chamber's center was stretched a man. His mighty limbs were distended by the evil machine.

Tall and powerfully built was this victim, fair of hair and complexion. Welts and burns pocked his body. Icy blue eyes fixed their gaze on Marlas with primitive hatred unmitigated by any hint of begging for mercy. Marlas was uncomfortably reminded of a wolf he had recently helped slay for the sport of it; every aspect of this outsize man was that of a trapped beast. The animal had fought with intense fury to the very end, determined to wreak what harm it could before its death. Marlas saw the same mentality here.

Not unnatural that this man reminded the Selisid ruler of a wolf; he was of that race of sea-wolves of the far north whose rapine and savagery made them a terror to the southern coasts.

Staring at Marlas, the Norther shook his head so that the tangled blond mane flew. "Well, jackal king,' he roared, "I see you brought your pet toad to watch my 'execution'!”

"Silence there, northish plagul! Show respect for your betters. I am still your lord. And this man is Shijamarshi, first assistant to the mighty Ekron, chief wizard of Naroka."

"Titles, titles. Hmp, couldn't afford the chief mumbler himself, eh? Ah, but I do humbly beg pardon, my lord Carrion Eater! But--why should a man under sentence of death mind his manners like you enlightened civilized folk?"

"Because, Bjaine," the autarch signed, "I've come to pardon you and grant you an exalted position." Marlas raised his voice. "Zark! Come free this man."

"You're lying," Bjaine said. "Exalted position, is it? Aye! You've come to laugh while I ride the one-legged horse!"

For a moment both ruler and pirate gazed upon the bloodstained shaft several feet from the rack. Rising up out of the floor to a height of some four feet, the pole was three inches in diameter, and sharpened on top.

"By the Cud and by the Web," Marlas said, "I swear I have come here to pardon and to free you."

Bjaine, blinking, thought on that. Marlas hadn't sworn properly by the Back of the Turtle that Bore the World, but still--the Great Web did mean something to these spider-lovers. "What, uh, persuaded you of my innocence?"

Marlas snorted. "Bjaine, Bjaine! I doubt you will ever understand the ways of civilized men! I--"

"I hope not! I might begin to act the same way, if I understood!"

"Um. Yes. I knew you were innocent of the charge when I sentenced you to be broken on the rack and ride the horse."

"Oh!" Bjaine said equably. "Now condemning an innocent man I can understand! Even uncivilized folk do that, sometimes."

Harlas shook his head, smiling. "My sister, dear Luquila, accused you of trying to rape her."

"Anybody who'd believe that would suck eggs in the henhouse!"

"Precisely, Bjaine, and I would not. Had you possessed the wit to plead guilty and beg mercy...

"Plead? BEG!"

Marlas sighed, glanced at Shijamarshi, continued as if he'd heard nothing: ". . .on the grounds that her great beauty inflamed you, why then I'd have ordered you flogged and let it go at that..." Marlas raised his voice above Bjaine's laughter. "I would not waste a useful man for my sister's vanity. But Bjaine, Bjaine! You denied it! In front of my entire court and council you stated that a charge even of attempted rape was absurd for--how charmingly you put it!--for when I want a woman I take her and there's naught she can do save to enjoy it!' Now I might have passed over your calling my royal sister a liar, Norther. But not your saying that she is so ugly she frightens gryffons and no man would want her unless he was blind and leprous!"

"Tis true." Bjaine said, and shuddered at thought of Luquila's face.

"You claimed that what truly happened was that you ordered the royal princess to fetch you wine. When she naturally did not obey, you beat her! That shocked my court and council, Bjaine--naturally. And then you proceeded to discourse at length on the natural superiority of men over women, whose place is to serve man, while every man has the right and duty to beat any woman to teach her her place."

"So I did. I'd said so plenty of times before, and you laughed and never disagreed!"

"True.. .but what you did and said day before yesterday was in public, and was a direct public insult to my sister's birth, and her royal blood--and thus my blood."

"Ah!" Bjaine's blue eyes brightened and stared ingenuously at the autarch. "I see. Was you I insulted, then. Now I understand that but I don't understand why you have come here. With ole hop-toad, there." Bjaine winked at Shijamarshi. "K'gung!" he said, in a fair imitation of a large frog.

Shijamarshi stared levelly at the bound Norther and slowly blinked--from the bottom up. Bjaine's eyes widened still more. He was about to invite the wizard to repeat that fascinating art, when Marlas answered his question.

"I would put my hand in any cesspool to extend and protect my empire." Marlas said, low and intense. "I pardon you because I need your services." Again the autarch glanced around. "Zark! You lazy pig, where are you?"

Bjaine smiled boyishly. "I doubt whether he hears you. He is entertaining a lady."

"What? I pay the knave to work at his trade, and he dallies with whores? I'll have that Mesaratan plagul rocked in his own cradle!"

For the first time, the wizard spoke. "I fear, my lord Autarch, that rocking Zark thusly would be--somewhat redundant." He gestured at the Iron Maiden.

With a start, Marlas took note that the device was closed. Normally it stood open, displaying its spiked interior to impressionable subjects of Zark's art, to be shut only when occupied. Now it was not only closed, but was indeed leaking scarlet at its base. Marlas started to speak; instead stood open-mouthed.

With a sudden muscular effort that was hardly credible even to staring eyes, Bjaine stretched himself even farther--and slipped his wrist-chains off their hooks. Apparently the chains at his feet had never been chained to anything at all, for he stepped forward unhindered. He bowed to the ruler, very slightly.

"How may I serve your autarchship and what will you pay?" As he spoke, smiling so boyishly, he reached behind the rack to draw forth a long and shining sword.

"I ... I do not understand." Marlas stammered.

"I believe I do." Shijamarshi, said. "Your torturer underestimated our friend here. In consequence, Zark is in the Maiden's embrace. Bjaine doubtless expecting you to come and witness his horse-ride, laid himself on the rack with his sword hidden to hand. A most clever ruse, and trap."

This time the smiling Norther's bow was more profound.

"B-but Eark had four strong assistants!" Marlas protested.

The ruler's voice was weak, for he realized the gravity of his situation. He was unguarded. He had previously admired this warrior's stature and mighty physique--as he might have admired a caged beast. Now the beast was free. Its claw was three feet long, and steel. Though Marlas was no short man, his head rose just above the corded plates of muscle that swelled the Norther's broad chest. And Bjaine's bright blue eyes stared down at the king.

Yet those eyes contained, not hatred, but calm speculation. Marlas had wondered at the seeming rule that all Northers had to be unconscionably tall. Now he wondered if they were all barbars after all. Civilization was as a patina on this man, and when he spoke, his words were smooth. Suddenly he did not seem so manipulably stupid. And his grin was that of a wolf.

"True enough." Bjaine said, "There were four assistants. And do not forget the three Selisid army guards, lord Autarch! One of then thought it would be humorous to torment me with my own sword. Those are his toes, there, and his ugly little organ is lying about someplace. I fear your Highness will be at some small expense to replace those men. But--no use weeping over cracked eggs. Let us discuss the service you want of me, and my payment."

The yellow toad of a man spoke in a calm and buttery voice. "I am told a session on the rack can create a--great thirst?" From within his robes he produced a wine pottle which he deftly unstoppered and put into the Norther's eager hands.

Bjaine handed it back. "After you, Topaz."

He watched while the wizard tilted up the container. Once his adam's apple moved, Bjaine snatched it away. "Here, not all of it, you damned greedy Narokan toad!" And without a word of thanks, Hjaine drained the leather-clad bottle in a few mighty swallows. "Ahhhhhhhh!"

"Now, my friend from the far north, it is well known that you handle a ship better than almost anyone asea."

"What d'you mean, almost anyone?"

Shijamarshi said, "Well, there is a certain Tiana. She is for Marlas."

"A girl?"

"A woman, actually." Marlas said. "She is above the age of twelve, after all."

Bjaine shrugged while the wizard said, "A certain chest of jewels aboard her Vixen is for me."

"Umm. Tiana, hm? I've heard of that one, of course. From what I've heard she might come close to being enough woman even for me! And my lord Autarch wants her, eh?" Bjaime put his head on one side, grinning at the king.

Marlas smiled thinly. "I want her dead and off the seas, where she raids my shipping, and Naroka's."

"Suppose I bring you her head, then, if the price is right? I may have use for the rest."

"No, no." Marlas said, "I want her here, alive, Bjaine. I will do the killing. After I wed her; she does happen to be bastard daughter of a certain Ilani duke, long dead. An interesting claim for me to present to King Hower of Ilan."

Bjaine blinked. "Very complicated." Then he laughed. "Sounds like a cannibal I once knew. He claimed to inherit a farm because he'd eaten the owner! Well. How soon can you have a ship and crew ready? Treasure seldom remains in one place long, you know, and I'd hate to find this seafaring slut a few minutes after someone else did."

"The Stormfury is already provisioned," Marlas said with some smugness, "and a picked squadron of Imperial Dragons is boarding her, in addition to the best of crews. All have instructions to follow your orders."

"Hmm. Didn't old Iron Althax try that once, for Naroka?" Bjaine's chest seemed to swell another few inches. "But of course he was not Bjaine the Mighty!"

"Of course not." Marlas said. The Autarch of Selis felt ready to join the Thespians' Guild. He had managed to maintain a calm front, but now he was relaxing, sure the barbarian would not be difficult. Doubtless the wight was angered by the abuse he'd taken, but like any other sensible man he put his ambitions ahead of his feelings.

"Ah," Shijamarshi said, "my medicine!" And he drained a small phial from the sash of his robe.

"You sick, Sorcerer?" Bjaine asked.

"An allergy," Shijamarshi said. "I cannot bear the scent of blood."

Again Bjaine laughed, and shook his head so that dirty, sunny hair flew. "Well then Autarch, there's only the matter of my recompense, and I sail to plunder a pirate. Hmm--little challenge in tangling with a mere g...woman."

"Do not, Bjaine, underestimate Tiana called Highrider, also called Queen of the Pirates! I said an exalted position for you, and I meant it: the throne of Fran. It's a rich land, but rebellious. I need a man to rule it with a hand of iron. Bring me the pirate Tiana, alive, and you shall be King over Fran."

"Why thank you, Highness. That is a most generous offer. But I did have my heart set on the payment given me by the cannibal I mentioned."

"Above a crown? What payment was that?"

"There is but one payment for a blood insult: my dears, I am going to take your heads." Bjaine took a pace, the great sword coming up. "So sorry you are allergic to blood, wizard."

"But--I offer you a throne!"

"I do not sell myself to be tortured, Marlas, even for a throne."

The Norther's sword caught the torchlight and reflected on his face; it seemed the personification of Drood, lord of demons. King and mage stood motionless. The former was quite unmanned by this eventuation, and ready to kneel. Shijamarshi, strangely, seemed amused. The sword's blade was a flash of lightning as Bjaine whipped it high--and dropped it to ring on the stone floor. Bjaine followed, toppling stiffly like a great tree struck by lightning.

Shijamarshi chuckled at Marlas's amaze.

"The wine, of course, was drugged." the toadish mage said in his soft voice. "I quaffed the antidote, just in case. I am proud of the drug, a most unusual one. The victim feels nothing until he makes any violent motion, at which point he is instantly and completely paralyzed."

With a grunt, and then another, the wizard turned over the Norther's huge body. Beads of sweat stood forth on Bjaine's brow and his eyes were blue fire.

"I know you can hear me." Shijamarshi said. "You are going after that damned pirate who slew Derramal. I am taking a small guarantee that you will return her and her box of sorcerous gems back to us."

Kneeling beside his victim, Shijamarshi removed various small jars and phials from his robes. "Yes, yes... good... I have all the staples I require. The only perishable needed for the spell is a cup of blood from a freshly murdered man. Marlas, do be a good fellow and fetch me such. You should encounter no difficulty, since from our bearish friend's account there should be no less than eight corpses secreted here and there."

An angry reply died in the autarch's throat and he swallowed its corpse. He resented being first-named and treated as a fetch-boy. Yet he was also aware of the realities of power in the present situation. He moved off on his grim task, taking the tin cup used to water--or more usually to taunt--this place's temporary residents. Shijamarshi, smiling down at the stricken Norther warrior, held before his eyes a small bottle of black liquid.

"Ink." he said equably. "The formula is a mite unpleasant and some of its properties odd, but it is essentially ink like any other." First showing the prostrate man a brush, he commenced to draw on Bjaine's stomach. "Damn these muscle ridges! These marks are far from indelible. If you have care, they will last a reasonable time--long enough for you to complete your mission and return to us with Tiana and the valued chest."

Just as Shijamarshi finished the drawing, Marlas returned with the cup of blood, not quite cold. Appearing more than ever a great yellow toad, the Narokan mage added to the blood from this jar and that phial. He stirred, muttering, and painted a few strokes on the muscular stomach of his human canvas. Again he added arcane ingredients to the blood, muttering words Bjaine could not distinguish. For the Norther could hear, and feel. When he tried to focus on the mage's voice, though, it remained an impossible blur.

Bjaine stared up at the Narokan. He was sure it was no longer a resemblance he saw; the wizard was a great fulvous toad. In its black robe it squatted crouched beside him, making obscene noises while pointing with its hand-like forepaw. The torchlight paled. It seemed to shiver while whispers hissed from the shifting shadows. Bjaine knew the stones beside him formed an outside wall, beneath the very earth. Nevertheless he heard a knocking, as if something on the other side of that wall sought admission.

From the toad's horrid throat croaked a single clear word: "Come."

What came was total darkness, end Bjaine thought he was falling into an abyss.

If someone wearing white gloves, Bjaine felt, were to hold a ball of snow an inch from his eyes, he'd not be able to see it. He strove to move. He could not.

And then the dark was gone. Again the chamber was lighted and normal in appearance as normal as could be such a place of torturous horror. Shijamarshi was only an ugly misshapen man in a voluminous robe. Bjaine discovered that he was able to move, though he was weak as a child of civilization. And Marlas was staring at Shijamarshi with horror-filled eyes.

"You--you changed."

"Only an illusion, lord Autarch. Sometimes, during a Summoning, the inner nature, the soul, of my master Ekron. . .becomes visible."

Bjaime tried to rise and was too weak. At least he could move his lips: "Wizard... what did you summon?"

"Why, look at that so-muscular belly of yours, and see."

The Norther was just able to raise his head and look down. On his stomach a pentagram had been drawn, in black ink. Within it had been painted, in blood and only gods knew what else, a demonic face. A fanged red thing whose eyes were filled with an avid hunger. For a moment Bjaine thought his sanity had fled. The eyes of the painted image moved to stare back at him--and its lips parted in an evil grin.

"You...have painted a...a devil on my stomach!"

"In a way. It is a real enough demon. When you bring us Tiana and the little box I require, I shall remove the demon. Serve us and you will live to be a king. Otherwise --before very long, time and wear will do away with part of the pentagram that holds the devil there, and it will be freed. I don't believe that you will enjoy feeding it.

Looking up at his captors from the floor, Bjaine saw the triumph in their eyes. His anger burned to a demonic heat. Slowly, testing his muscles, he levered himself up. He stood. Though he appeared no stronger than a newborn, the volcanic rage that fulminated in him was melting away the weakness. Cunning bade him conceal his returning strength. He forced his voice to calmness.

"Marlas . . .you have me like a dog in an obedience collar."

"What a lovely analogy!" Marlas chuckled. "A collar lined with deadly spikes! They tear the throat out of an animal that fails to give prompt heed to its master's commands. Aye - the teeth of that demon are like spikes, in truth!"

"And, Autarch... do you not remember what happened when your trainer tried to use one of those collars on a wolf?"

Marlas remembered. His face paled. Heedless of its own terrible pain, the beast had mortally wounded itself in order to gain a single moment's freedom, just enough to slay its would-be master. Marlas had had to find a new trainer. Looking now into the Norther's icy eyes, the autarch saw that same bestial rage. It noted neither pain nor death and Marlas of Selis knew that a fatal blunder had been made.

"Shijamarshi, damn you, you've..."

With an animal snarl the Norther lunged at the ruler. He grasped him in two huge hands, and whirled him up into the air with awful ease. He brought the autarch down almost delicately, astride the one-legged horse. Marlas' shriek was cut off by his indrawn breath of profound agony.

While Marlas, ruler and conqueror of a dozen lands, writhed in his last consummate anguish, wizard and warrior faced each other.

"That," Shijamarshi said, "was rather foolish. By slaying the autarch, barbarian, you have thrown away the sapphire-set crown of Fran. Gain sense now, for attack me and you forfeit you life. I am invulnerable."

Bjaine did not reply. Snatching up the great iron sword, he thrust at the toad-like enchanter's belly. Like a stick thrust into water, his sword bent--and went whistling past its target. With a snarl he whipped the weapon back. He aimed a furious wide arcing cut that could not miss and that, impossibly, did.

"You do insist on dying, then?" the toad-wizard croaked. "So be it." His or rather its eyes were great pools of liquid green light and its reaching, fingered paw was darkness itself. Even as Bjaine swung his sword in a desperately mighty two-handed stroke, that darkness thrust at him. The sword struck nothing; the darkness touched his hands for a single instant of awful cold.The sword fell from paralyzed fingers.

"Now you die." the toad-wizard croaked.

Bjaine didn't wait. Weaponless, his hands now clumsy useless paws, he attacked in the only way he could. He hunged forward to grasp the toadish thing in a furious bear-hug. Though his embrace had oft crushed powerful opponents, this one was as a great chunk of solid stone. The Norther felt his strength waning, sucked from him by cold occult forces. The wizard slipped in his embrace. Bjaine strained. The toadish head was forced downward, down... into the pentagram on Bjaine's stomach.

The ghastly howl of dismay and horror was cut off. Summoned by the wizard himself, the devil devoured the wizard's head. Bjaine's grip was broken by a spasm of irresistible force. Even as he staggered back, the darkness vanished and he felt his strength surging back into him. As for Shijamarshi of Naroka; arms flailing like the wings of a decapitated chicken, the mage's corpse danced wildly about the room to collapse at the now motionless feet of Autarch Marlas.

Vengeance swiftly taken in direct action did sometimes present problems, Bjaine mused next morning, well out to sea. Once again luck, that beautiful goddess whose many incarnations he ardently worshiped, had smiled upon him. The late Marlas had departed this life with no opportunity to countermand his order that Stormfury was to sail with Bjaine in full command, and the big Norther had gratefully accepted fortune's gift. What he would do with this crew of foreign seamen and squad of marines--and for how long--only time would resolve; Bjaine did dislike thinking.

Likewise time and his ardent worship of the Fickle Goddess would surely, somehow, resolve the bothersome problem of the demon now imprisoned within its pentagram on his stomach--which was well swathed against friction and salt spray. Who said wizard's spells died with them?

Bjaine knew the wisdom of living for the moment. He was dimly aware that others, nighted, brow-furrowed people, might well consider the devil to be certain eventual death, once one line of the pentagram was broken. Bjaine's mind did not work so. For the moment he was in no danger. Indeed, as recent events had demonstrated, a devil on one's stomach could even be quite useful. It would retain that potential, and present no danger so long as he did nothing to disturb the containing pentagram.

That should be no problem; he had Shijamarshi's phial of black ink and besides, the mighty barbarian seldom bathed anyway.