by Allan Cole
Sarn turned to his lieutenant, snout stretched in what demons considered a smile. "You see, Giff," the bandit chief said, "this human has been some use to us after all."
Giff peered at the greasy little human, measuring… "A vote is a vote," he said with some reluctance. "I’ll let him be for now. But remember your promise."
Badawi was alarmed. "Promise? What promise, O Merciful Masters?"
"Just find us Kyrania, human," Sarn commanded. "And know that your miserable swinish life depends on it."
* * *
Chapter Three
The Vision At World's End
Despite Iraj’s prediction Safar didn’t immediately embrace him and call him milk brother.
They had little in common. One was the son of a potter, the other that of a warrior chieftain. Safar’s people were peaceful and generous to strangers. Iraj’s were fierce plainsmen who trusted no one. Safar was contemplative by nature. Even as a child he had tended to think before he acted. Iraj, on the other hand, tended to be ruled by the heat of the moment. He was as intelligent as Safar, but impatient with learning. If he couldn’t grasp a thing immediately he became bored and disdainful. Safar was willing, on the other hand, to labor long hours until he could command knowledge as easily as Iraj later commanded men.
There was one great similarity which formed the glue that eventually bound them. Both young men thought of themselves as outsiders - apart from the others in the village.
Safar’s reason was magic.
Iraj’s was a blood feud.
Much time passed, however, before either boy learned the nature of the other’s mystery.
It was an idyllic spring. The sun was warm, the first crops bountiful and the herds were blessed with many offspring. During those lazy days Gubadan was hard pressed to hammer learning into the thick skulls of his charges. The young people of Kyrania drove their teacher and their families to distraction as mischief and youthful high spirits lured them from their duties.
Safar soon forgot about the troubling vision and Iraj seemed to have forgotten his dream as well, for he did not mention it again. Although Safar didn’t consider him the "best of friends," Iraj was his constant companion.
As a stranger, and an object of worry for the trouble he might bring from the outside, Iraj was shunned by all but old Gubadan. On the other hand as an obvious prince everyone was warm and sweet as one of Mother Timura’s peach pies when in his presence. Royalty rubs off, as the old grannies said, and sometimes in rewarding ways. So no one was willing to say "Begone" to his face. And a few were so bold as to wonder if they could make a good marriage with one of their daughters.
Fleeing these pressures, Iraj went everywhere with Safar. He accompanied him to the clay beds when Safar went to fetch new supplies for his father. Out of boredom he even helped Safar with his most common chores, suffering dirt on his hands and clothing, for instance, while cleaning up after the goats. In repayment, Safar was moved to show Iraj the place near the lake where they could spy on the girls bathing naked in a hidden cove.
The two boys became such a pair they eventually combined their wits at school to bedevil poor Gubadan and divert him from the lesson at hand.
One day that game took a turn Safar found to be most revealing.
Gubadan’s subject of the day was once again the starry constellations. It was just after the midday meal and it was all the students could do to keep their eyes open in the overly warm little chamber.
"We can all see how the Lion Cub suckles at his mother’s breast during the spring," Gubadan was saying. "But in the winter the Cub must hide while the Hunter is lured away by the Lioness. So it follows that if you are born under the sign of the Cub you are affectionate by nature, but in the winter months you are timorous and hesitate to make decisions. Those of us with the Hunter as our major sign tend to be aggressive, fearless, but easily fooled by stealth when we encounter the Lioness."
Bored, Safar raised his stylus for attention.
"Pardon, Master," he said after he was acknowledged. "I’m having difficulty understanding."
Gubadan’s heavy brows furrowed about his odd-shaped nose. "What is it, Safar?" he asked suspiciously.
"Why do we call the Wolf Cub timorous when he hides?" Safar said. "Isn’t this actually a sign of wisdom? The Cub has no defense if the Hunter finds him."
Iraj broke in. "Safar has a good question, Master," he said. "I was also wondering about the Hunter. Why is he a fool to pursue the Lioness? She’s in plain sight. I’d chase her myself and ignore the Cub. She’d make a much better skin to drape about my shoulders and stave off the cold."
Gubadan thumped a fat volume on his lectern. The leather cover was etched with stars and planets.
"The answer to both of you," he said, "is in this book. It was written by wise men many centuries ago. Stargazers have followed those laws for many years, predicting grand events as well as the future of great men."
"These Stargazers," Safar asked. "Are they never wrong?"
Gubadan harrumphed. A sure sign Safar had found a weak spot. "Well," he said, "I can’t honestly say there have never been errors. But they were due to faulty interpretation. Not by the laws themselves. All Stargazers are not equally blessed by the gods."
"I suppose, Master," Iraj said, "that some might even purposely make mistakes."
Gubadan flushed in anger, gripping his beard. "That would be sinful," he growled. "Why would a Stargazer commit such a godless act?"
Safar quickly saw Iraj’s course. "For gold," he said. "Men have been known to sin to possess it."
"Not Stargazers," Gubadan said, horrified. "They are holy men. Why, one might as well doubt the honesty of Dreamcatchers."
"One might indeed, Master," Iraj said. "If enough gold were offered, or bloody threats."
"Master," Safar said, "was not Alisarrian’s grandson - King Ogden - betrayed by a Dreamcatcher?"
Gubadan brightened. The Conqueror Alisarrian was his favorite subject.
"You’ve made my point exactly, Safar," he said. "King Ogden was born under the sign of the Hunter. And the Jester was his lesser sign as well so he was easily taken in by the rogues and charlatans of Zanzair. The demons were at the heart of the conspiracy, of course. Alisarrian, on the other hand, had the Demon Moon for his sign with the Comet ascending. So he was fierce and wise at the same time."
He began pacing, excited by the diversion the boys had caused. Safar wasn’t fool enough to mention Gubadan really hadn’t made his point at all. There was no disputing a Dreamcatcher had played Ogden the fool. History said so. This had been Safar’s point.
"Who was this man, Alisarrian?" Gubadan said. "Was he a monster as his enemies claimed? A monster that bent us to his will with his mailed fists, or was Alisarrian a blessing from the gods who cut the curtain of ignorance with his sword? We were dim-witted savages when he blew over these mountains like the last storm of winter. But when the spring of his enlightenment came, what a lovely field of learning bloomed. What a mighty..."
Safar settled back to doze as Gubadan waxed eloquent on the Conqueror. He noticed, however, that Iraj hadn’t follow suit. Instead he was intent on Gubadan’s every word. Safar examined Iraj, then suddenly remembered the banner with the red moon and silver comet he’d seen in the vision - the Demon Moon with the Comet in ascension! As Gubadan had just reminded him, it was the sign of Alisarrian.
Then Safar heard his friend interrupt Gubadan with a question. "Tell me, master," Iraj said, "do you think a man as great as Alisarrian will ever rise again?"
The priest shook his head. "Impossible," he said. "The gods blessed him with more qualities than is ever likely to be repeated." Gubadan shrugged. "There will be other conquerors, of course. Esmir has always been a divided house and it cries out for unification under one throne. There were conquerors before Alisarrian and others will follow. But they’ll always rule under his great shadow."
Safar noted Iraj seemed upset at this answer. But the youth shook it off and p
ressed on. "May I ask you this, master?" he said. "Do you think any of those future conquerors will rule the demon lands as well? They were once part of Alisarrian’s kingdom."
"Empire, not kingdom, lad," Gubadan corrected. "But to your question... once again I must answer with a negative. Only a human such as Alisarrian could rule the demons. To begin with, besides being a mighty warrior and leader, Alisarrian was a powerful wizard. Powerful as any demon sorcerer. As you know, few humans possess magical ability."
Safar shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
"And this ability tends to be weak compared to that of the demons," Gubadan continued. "The greatest human wizard I know of is Lord Umurhan who heads the university in Walaria. And powerful as he is, even Umurhan would admit he’d be hard pressed in a match with a demon wizard. Humans have always used superior numbers to defend themselves against the demons. Just as the demons have used their great magic to stave off humans.
"But Alisarrian was strong enough to break that stalemate and conqueror the demons. Why he didn’t slay them all is in my opinion one of his great mysteries. He could have rid all Esmir of their foul presence, but he chose not to. For what reason, no one knows. His empire might have lasted to this day if he had done otherwise. It is the one area of his character that has disappointed me."
For Gubadan to admit his hero had a flaw of any kind was a remarkable event. It so disturbed the old priest he quickly ended the diversion and to the groans of all the students, he returned to the boring lecture on the distant constellations.
A few days later Safar and Iraj were strolling by the ruins of the old fort, stopping to watch younger boys playing soldier on its last remaining wall.
Remembering the interest his friend had shown, Safar pointed to the fort, saying, "Supposedly Alisarrian himself ordered this built when he came into our valley."
Iraj shook his head. "I don’t think so," he said. "Look at how poorly it’s placed." He pointed at a hill a short distance away. "If an enemy took that hill the fort would be within even a poor archer’s bowshot. Alisarrian would never build such a thing. He was too good a general."
Safar looked at the rising ground stretching out from the ruins with new eyes and saw how vulnerable any force gathered inside would be.
"It’s more likely," Iraj continued, "some fool tried to oppose Alisarrian from that fort. And was easily overwhelmed."
"There are tales that say you’re right," Safar admitted. "Those same tales claim he made the whole valley his fortress, with strong guard posts in the passes and hidden caves where supplies and additional weapons were stored."
Iraj looked at Safar, eyes glittering. "Have you ever seen such things?"
Safar nodded, saying, "Many times. While grazing my father’s goats in the mountains. There’s one place in particular - very high up where you can see a great distance." The boy shrugged. "The grass is poor, but I like to go there and think."
"Take me!" Iraj urged. "I must see this for myself."
Safar was sorry he’d spoken. The place he had in mind was a private retreat where he went to nurse the wounds of youth. Many a tear had been shed there in solitude and many a dream conjured.
"Maybe later," he said. "The snow is still too deep just now."
He hoped his friend would forget, but each day the sun shone warmer, the streams swelled with the melting snow and Iraj pestered Safar to take him to his secret place. Finally, the next time it was Safar’s turn to watch the herds he agreed to take Iraj with him.
At first Gubadan fussed about letting his charge out of sight for the weeks the boys would be gone.
"What will Iraj’s family say, Khadji," he protested to Safar’s father, "if something should happen to him?"
"They’ll be just as angry with you if he drowns while swimming in our lake," Safar’s mother broke in. Despite her first suspicions - natural to the cloistered people of Kyrania - she’d warmed to Iraj and now even defended the orphan prince to the others.
"The mountains are as natural to Kyrania as that lake," she said. "Let the boy go, Gubadan. Herding goats is not so dangerous an adventure."
"It’s knowledge, not danger I’m after, Master," Iraj put in. "I want to see for myself where the great Alisarrian crossed these mountains."
This argument won the day and soon the two young men set out for the high pastures. They were overly laden with supplies, thanks to Gubadan’s concerns, and they had to take a llama to carry all the clothing, blankets and food stuff pressed on them. Stirred, no doubt, by romantic dreams, Iraj took along the scimitar his uncle had given him when he left home. He was also laden with a short bow, an ample supply of arrows and an ornate dagger he said his father had bequeathed to him.
Safar carried his sling, a small shot bag of clay missiles made in his father’s kiln and a sturdy staff - all he’d need to stave off the occasional pack of hungry wolves intent on goat flesh. He laughed when he saw Iraj struggling under the burden of so many weapons. "There’s only trees and rocks up there," he said. "But if they should attack we’ll be ready."
Iraj grinned, but his eyes were serious. "You can never tell," was all he said.
The skies were sparkling when they set out, the lower ranges green with new life. Safar picked up handfuls of fallen cherry blossoms to brighten their tea when they camped that night. The boys tarried for awhile at some of the higher huts, clustered among a grove of arrow trees, exchanging gossip for almonds and fat pheasants. The people were glad to see them and it was apparent to Safar that from the way they stared at Iraj they were more interested in this strange youth than in news from below.
One of the girls walked with them for a time, eyes shimmering in admiration of Iraj’s tall sturdy figure and handsome looks. She turned back when they reached the trail leading to the pasture where the goats were grazing. She called after them to stop by her home when they returned, promising her mother would feed them well.
"I think she loves you," Safar teased. "If you had asked she’d have crept into the bushes with you and let you pull up her dress."
"I was tempted," Iraj admitted. "It’s been too long since I hip-danced with a woman."
Safar was surprised. The other village boys boasted frequently of their conquests but he knew their claims to be lies. He’d heard his sisters and mother joke about young men who were foolish enough to think any well-raised Kyranian girl would lessen her bridal price by dallying with them - unless marriage was the intended result. Sometimes a caravan would be accompanied by prostitutes bound for distant pleasure halls. But their carnal interest was stirred by fat men with fatter purses, not poor, skinny-legged boys.
But when Iraj spoke Safar knew it was no empty boast.
"Are your unmarried women in the habit of bedding anyone who asks them?" he asked. "No offense intended. It’s just that such things are frowned upon in Kyrania. The only reason that girl would have gone with you is she thinks you’re rich, as does her father. And if you’d opened her legs her father would soon be talking to Gubadan about a wedding date."
"I suspected as much," he said. "That’s why I kept my sword in its sheath. And no, our women are not of easy virtue. It’s just that I’ve always had serving maids around to tend my needs. My mother saw to it there were always a few comely slaves about. Among my people it’s considered unhealthy for a young man to be denied such pleasures."
"I wish my mother were so concerned for my health," Safar said. "But what if there are children? What do you do then?"
Iraj shrugged. "After they’re weaned we usually sell them," he said. "It’s cheaper to buy new slaves than to raise one to a useful age."
Safar was shocked. "How could you sell your own child?" he asked.
Iraj looked at his friend as if he’d gone crazy. "I’ve never thought of them as my own," he said. "I might as well claim the blanket lint in my bed as children every time I make love to my fist. Besides, even free women have no more of a soul than say, a camel or a horse. They were put here by the gods for our pleasure an
d to birth more of us. I’m only making the use of them that the fates decreed."
Safar bit back a heated reply. To hear someone say his mother and sisters were nothing more than brood mares and whores angered him. But he said nothing, thinking Iraj couldn’t help how he was raised.
The two continued climbing and soon came to the vale where the herds were grazing. Safar relieved the boys tending them, gathered the goats and drove them higher into the mountains.
The hills were in full springtime bloom, flowers and tempting grasses rising from every flat spot and crevice so he set a slow pace, letting the goats and the llama stop and nibble whenever they liked. The young men made camp early, setting the herd loose in a small meadow and bedding down in a grotto shielded from the night winds. They roasted the pheasants and filled the left over hollows in their bellies with toasted almonds, cheese and hard bread - washed down with milk from the goats. The sunset was brief but spectacular, turning the meadow and grotto into a dreamy, golden landscape. Then the moon and the stars winked into life. Safar and Iraj gazed at them for a long time, silent as acolytes at a temple ceremony.
Then Iraj said, "Did you know my star sign was the same as Alisarrian’s?"
Safar shook his head, although it suddenly came to him that he’d known all along. He tried to make a joke of it, saying, "Does that mean you have sudden urges to go a’ conquering?"
Iraj didn’t laugh. His eyes glittered as if the remark had struck an unintended target.
"I’m sorry if I offended you," Safar said. "It was a silly thing to say."
Iraj nodded. After a moment he asked, "Don’t you sometimes imagine you have a destiny to fulfill?"
"Only as a potter," Safar said.
Iraj pierced him with his gaze. "Is that what you truly think, Safar?"
"What else would I be? I’m a Timura. Timuras make pots."