by Allan Cole
I beg you, Safarcome to me at once. To help speed you to my side I have deposited ample funds in your name with the Merchants Guild in Walaria.
I have great need of you, friend and oath brother.
May the gods look with favor on you and your dear family in Kyrania.
When the men had finished reading the letter Kalasariz said, I have verified the signature. Without question it's that of Iraj Protarus."
"This is most disturbing news, gentlemen, King Didima replied. Most disturbing indeed."
"Damned embarrassing for me, Umurhan said. Can you imagine how I feel? To think I've been nursing a viper at my bosom all this time."
"There, there, Umurhan, Didima said. No one's blaming you. How were you supposed to know? After all, the young man came so highly recommended."
The three men were gathered in the king's private study. They'd ruled together for so longequally dividing power and wealththat they were at ease in each other's company. They were accustomed to compromise and once a goal was set they worked smoothly towards its end. Didima was a stumpy man, with thick limbs and a barrel-like trunk. His face was round like a melon and shadowed by a dark thick beard streaked with gray. Umurhan was every inch a wizard, silver eyes glowing under a sorcerer's peaked hat. He had heavy, bat-winged brows and a beard of flowing white. And Kalasariz was the dark presence who made this unholy trinity complete.
"Thank you for your confidence in me, Majesty, Umurhan said. Although I must say I have become suspicious of young Timura lately. I wanted to dismiss him from the school, but I didn't want to offend his sponsor, Lord Muzine. Instead I was going to make sure Timura failed the upcoming exams. Then I'd be rid of him without controversy."
"I'll speak to Muzine, Didima offered. He'll be grateful we gave him a chance to distance himself from the little traitor."
"Let's not mention this to anyone just yet, Kalasariz cautioned. I want to see where this leads us."
"That's good advice, Didima said. Why seize one troublemaker when we might have a chance to sweep them all in. He absently combed his beard with thick, blunt fingers. These are dangerous times, gentlemen, as I've said many times before. Two years of poor harvests. Plague outbreaks among our cattle and sheep. More bandits stalking the caravans than we've seen in years. Which has done nothing to help trade. And this increasing reluctance, which I lay to poor upbringing, of our citizens to pay the increased taxes we require just to keep the kingdom whole and on the right course.
"Now this upstart, Iraj Protarus, comes along with his army of barbarians invading the realms of innocent, peace-loving kings. Why just last month my old friend, King Leeman of Shareed, had his head cut off by this Protarus fellow. After he'd sacked the city, of course, and burned it to the ground."
Didima touched his throat and shivered. It isn't right, he said, cutting off royal heads. It injures the dignity of thrones everywhere."
"I couldn't agree more, Majesty, Umurhan said. And I think we made a wise decision to ally ourselves with Protarus enemies, Koralia Kan and Lord Fulain."
"We'll have to raise taxes again, Didima warned, to pay for the mercenaries and arms we promised our new friends."
"It will be worth every copper, Umurhan said, if it stops Protarus once and for all. Someday our citizens will thank for saving them from that madman."
"Thank us, or curse us, Kalasariz said, they'll pay just the same. But that's old business and as much I'd like to talk politics with you two all night I want to set a proper course concerning Safar Timura. How shall we proceed?"
Umurhan indicated the intercepted letter. How did this fall into your hands?"
"I have an informant at the Foolsmire, Kalasariz said, which as you all know is a favorite meeting spot for the students. Safar is a close friend of the owner and has all his messages and post directed there."
"I know of this place, Umurhan said. The owner is a cranky but harmless old fellow who distrusts authority. Katal, I think his name is. I can't imagine him having a sudden change of heart and turning informer for the crown."
Kalasariz smiled thinly, making him look even more like a skeleton. It's the owner's grandson who is in my pay, he said. Zeman's his name. He's as dim-witted as he is ambitious. Full of cunning and all of it low. Zeman is anxious to inherit, but unfortunately for him his grandfather gives every sign of living on for many years. My emissaries have led young Zeman to believe that if he helps us we might hasten his grandfather's journey to the grave."
"Excellent, excellent, King Didima said. The blacker the soul the more willing the flesh."
Kalasariz chuckled. The sound was like a broken bone grating against itself. That's certainly true in Zeman's case, he said. He seems to particularly hate Safar Timura. I don't know whyto my knowledge Timura has never done anything against him. I think he's jealous because his grandfather holds Timura in such high affection. There's also a child at the Foolsmire, a thief named Nerisa, whom he appears to hate nearly as much as Timura. Once again, I can't say why. Nor do I care. Suffice it to say Zeman has been looking on his own for evidence against Timura for some time. We had no reason to suspect him, the gods know. And then this letter came along and Zeman contacted us immediately."
Kalasariz made another death mask smile. He managed to construct the accusations so they involved the child as well."
"My, my, Didima said. Two enemies at one blow. Zeman must be a very happy fellow."
"Not as happy as he's going to be if this works out right, Kalasariz said. I believe in keeping my best informants rich enough to dream large, but poor enough to keep those dreams just beyond their reach."
"What did Timura say when you confronted him with the letter? Didima asked.
"I didn't mention it, Kalasariz said. I let him lie. He claimed he'd heard nothing from Protarus since they were boys. He also said he doubted his old friend even remembered him."
Umurhan snorted. A likely story, he said. That letter is clearly one of several urging Timura to join Protarus in his evil adventure. And look here… he jabbed his finger at one phrase in the letter… Protarus says he's deposited funds for Timura at the Merchants Guild."
Kalasariz snorted. I've seized them, of course, he said. One hundred gold coins."
Umurhan's bat-winged brows flared up in surprise. So much? he said. Then, That's more proof, as if we needed it. No one would give away such an amount casually."
Didima leaned forward. Why do you think Timura has resisted Protarus pleas?"
"That's simple enough, Majesty, Kalasariz said. He's holding out for a greater share of the spoils."
Umurhan looked thoughtful. Then he said, I'm sure that's part of his game. However, I'm also certain he wants to steal my most important magical secrets to take along with him. I caught him in my private library the other day. That is why I nearly dismissed him. The books and scrolls there are forbidden to anyone but a few of my most trusted priests and scholars."
A long silence greeted this revelation. Then, from Didima, What of this battle Protarus refers to? The bit about the fiends? What do you make of that?"
"Some boyhood adventure, I suspect, Kalasariz answered. Exaggerated, of course."
Didima nodded. Yes, yes. What else could it be?"
He thought a moment, then asked, What shall we do about Acolyte Timura?"
"Nothing just now, Kalasariz said. Let him have his head. At the right time we'll make certain he pays a very public visit to our executioner to have it removed. He slipped a scroll from his sleeve and rolled out it out on Didima's desk, saying, And to that end, Majesty, I'll need your signature authorizing his execution and the execution of his fellow conspirators when the time comes to sweep them up. We don't want any messy trials or other delays that might give their supporters time to whip up public support."
The king chuckled, picking up his quill pen and charging it with ink. I see you have only Timura's name listed now, he said.
"Oh, there'll be more, Majesty, Kalasariz said. You'll notice I left a great deal
of room on the page."
The king nodded approvingly. Tulaz is anxious to improve his record, he said. We'll make a day of it, eh? A public holiday. Free food and drink. A bit of carnival to mark the moment. He scratched his name on the document, saying, There's nothing like a mass execution to calm the citizenry."
Kalasariz smiled thinly, blew on the wet signature and passed the document to Umurhan. I'll need you to witness this, he said. Just a formality."
Without hesitation, Umurhan signed. It's a pity, he said, I had such hopes for the lad."
****
Some hours later Kalasariz made himself ready for sleep. While his pretty maids drew the blankets and plumped up the bed he drank his favorite hot sweet potion, laced with brandy and mild sleeping powders.
He was a not a man who slept well. It wasn't all the blood he'd spilled that disturbed his dark hours, but the constant worry that he'd overlooked something. His tricks and betrayals were legion and he had so many enemies he didn't dare let down his guard. He was a master of the great lie and was therefor continually occupied with keeping track of his untruths and half-truths. During the day he never had a weak moment, but at night his dreams were bedeviled with plans that went awry because of a stupid mistake or oversight. Without his nightly ritual he'd awaken so exhausted from nightmares that he'd be stricken with doubts. And so, despite the lateness of the hour, he let his maids pleasure him after he'd had his potion. Then they'd bathed him and dressed him in a nightshirt of black silk.
He dismissed them, reaching for the black silk mask he wore to shut out any stray light. Just before he put it on he remembered the document of execution, still sitting on his dressing table. Despite the sleeping potion and the attention of his maids he knew he wouldn't sleep well as long as it sat there unattended. Never mind that no one would dare creep into the home of Walaria's spymaster, much less rob his sleeping chamber. His unguarded mind was so active that as he tossed and turned through the night he would come up with countless scenarios in which such an unlikely deed would suddenly become real.
Close as he was to sleep, he got up to attend to it. He'd taken much care to collect the signatures of his brother rulers on Safar's death warrant. His name did not go on ita remarkable absence in its own right. Kalasariz rolled it up with another document which did bear his name. It was an official protest of the decision, praising Timura as a young man of many notable qualities and virtues. He locked them away in his special hiding place behind the third panel from the entrance of the bedchamber.
Kalasariz had no ambitions besides survival in his current position as co-ruler of Walaria. He certainly had no more desire to see Didima dethroned than he did to see himself king. But as Didima had said, these were dangerous times. If by some distant chance the young upstart, Iraj Protarus, should someday be in the position to seek revenge for the death of his friend, Kalasariz preferred to be viewed as one of Timura's champions. The spymaster had little doubt he was right to support the decision for Walaria to ally itself against Protarus. But there was a slight chance the alliance would fail and Protarus and his army might someday show up at the gates. Didima and Umurhan would pay for their crime with their heads. Tulaz would most likely perform the honors, since good executioners are difficult to find and he'd be instantly welcomed into the new king's service. Armed with the documents proving his innocence, Kalasariz would also be welcomed. Protarus would need a spymaster, and who could be a better man for the job than Kalasariz himself?
Timura had presented Kalasariz with a unique opportunity. One the one hand, as a friend of Iraj Protarus it was necessary to remove whatever danger he might represent. On the other, as an outsider great blame could be heaped upon him. He would be declared the ringleader of all the young hotheads who opposed Walaria's rulers. A dozen or more of his lieutenants"in reality the real leaders of the oppositionwould also earn the ultimate punishment. This would not only quell their followers and sympathizers, but outside and unnamed influences would get the ultimate blame.
There was a saying about getting your sweet and eating it too."
Kalasariz wasn't fond of sweets. But he did enjoy the sentiment.
The spymaster slept well that night. But just before First Prayer he had a dream about a strange little creature with a man's body and a demon's face. It was gobbling up a sweet roll, scattering crumbs, left and right.
When it was done it brushed itself off and looked him square in the eye.
"Shut up! it said. Shut up, shut up, shut up!"
He didn't know what to make of the creature or its antics. But for some reason it frightened him.
CHAPTER TWELVE
THE GRAND TEMPLE OF WALARIA
Unlike Kalasariz, Safar slept little that night. Every straw in his mattress and lump in his pillow made itself known. A few days before the only major worry he'd had was a vague and somewhat academic fear that the world faced some great threat. At the age of twenty summers he was incapable of taking it personally. The spy master's visit, coupled with his recent difficulties with Umurhan, made him feel less immortal. He was in trouble and that trouble had grown from the granite hills of Umurhan's displeasure to the bleak peaks of Kalasariz suspicions.
In short, he was besieged from all sides and was in a confusion about what he ought to do. Adding to that morass was the confusion created by Nerisa's gift plus his fears about Nerisa herself. Someone, for whatever reason, had marked her.
Everyone on the streets knew Nerisa ran personal errands for anyone at the Foolsmire with a copper or two to pay. Most certainly some of the young men who hired her held controversial views. That didn't make Nerisa a conspirator. This was also a fact all knewincluding any of Kalasariz minions who made the Foolsmire their territory. So why had the informer lied? Why had he singled Nerisa out?
Then it occurred to Safar that he was the target. Someone might be striking at him through Nerisa. But once again came that most important of all questions: Why? Then he realized that answer or not, his fate might be racing toward an unpleasant conclusion. The only intelligent thing to do was to flee Walaria as quickly as he could. Such an act would certainly turn Kalasariz suspicions into an outright admission of guilt. Safar thought, however, it would be even more dangerous to remain in Walaria at the mercy of the spymaster.
He decided to run. He'd flee home to Kyrania as fast as he could. But what about Nerisa? He'd have to come up with some plan to protect her from any reprisals his flight might cause.
Safar was relieved as soon as he made the decision. He'd learned much in Walaria, but it had been a mostly unpleasant stay in an unpleasant city. He missed his family and friends. He missed the clean mountain air and blue skies and molten clouds and snowy slopes.
Only one thing stood in his waya lack of money. To make a successful escape he'd require a hefty sum. He'd need a swift mount and supplies for the long journey home and money for Nerisa as well. Where could he lay hands on it? There was no sense asking his sponsor, Lord Muzine. Not only would the money be denied, Safar thought it likely the request would be immediately reported to Kalasariz.
There was only one person he could think of who could help.
But once that approach was made, there'd be no turning back.
****
Safar rose before first light. He washed and dressed and made a quick trip to a nearby bakery and bought a sticky roll filled with plump currants. He rushed home, brewed a pot of strong tea and while he drank it he summoned Gundara.
The little Favorite popped out of a cloud of magical smoke, coughing and rubbing sleepy eyes.
"Don't tell me you get up early too! Gundara whined. The gods must hate me. Why else would they allow me to fall into the hands of such a cruel master?"
Instead of answering, Safar held up the sticky roll. The Favorite's eyes widened. Is that for me, O Wise and Kind Master?.
"None other, Safar said.
He extended the roll and the Favorite grabbed it from his hand and gobbled it up, moaning in pleasure and scatter
ing crumbs and currants all over the floor.
When he was done he sucked each taloned finger clean, smacked his lips, then said, If you gave me another, I'd kill for you, Master. From his tone Safar knew it was no jest.
"You'd kill for a piece of pastry? Safar asked.
Gundara shrugged. Money is no good to me. Or jewels or treasures. I live in a stone turtle, remember? But a bit of something sweet… mmmm… Oh, yes, Master. Lead me to your victims this instant. I can help you conjure a decent poison guaranteed to reduce an entire city to a hamlet."
"I don't kill people, Safar said.
"More's the pity, Gundara answered. Killing's much easier than most tasks. He stretched his arms, yawning. If it isn't killing, Master, exactly what is it you want me to do?"
"Make yourself as small you can, Safar said, and hop up on my shoulder."
"How boring, Gundara complained, but he clicked his talons together and instantly shrunk to the size of a large flea. Safar had to look very hard to see him. Gundara called out, voice just as loud as when he was full size, You'll have to help me with the shoulder part, Master. It's too far to hop."
Safar held out his hand and the black dot that was Gundara ran up it, scrambling over the rough cloth of his sleeve until he reached his shoulder.
"I have some important business to conduct this morning, Safar said. I want you to keep a close watch for any danger or suspicious people."
"Do I get another roll when I'm done, Master? came Gundara's voice.
"If you do a good job, Safar promised.
"And one for Gundaree too? the Favorite pressed.
Safar sighed. Yes, he said. Gundaree can have one too."
"Make it with berries, next time, the little Favorite requested. Currants give me gas."
****
The city was stirring to life when Safar set out. Traffic was light but a few shops were opening and workmen were gathering in the front of others, munching olives and black bread while they waited for their employers arrival. Safar passed the wheelwrights shop, which always started early to repair wagons that'd broken down on the way to market. A hard-eyed man leaned against the wall near the entrance. He stared at Safar when he went by.