When the Gods Slept

by Allan Cole

  The soldier kicked at him - reining back sharply at the same time. The horse reared and Safar leaped aside to avoid its lashing front hooves. A heavy crossbow bolt caught the animal in the throat. It toppled over and Safar heard the soldier scream as the horse’s weight crushed him. He’d never witnessed such agony before.

  The other two soldiers turned their horses and raced away.

  "Stand and fight!" Iraj cried after them. "Stand and fight!"

  But his shouts only seemed to add to their panic.

  "Ambush!" Safar heard them scream. "Ambush!"

  The soldiers piled into the main caravan, knocking over men and animals alike. Then the air was shattered by the shrieks of what Safar realized had to be women. Their screams mingled with the bawling of beasts and the desperate cries of men fleeing death.

  Safar and Iraj ran into the center of the chaos. Pack animals charged about dragging their drivers and strewing their loads into the snow. Camels careened into wagons, tumbling them over. Oxen tangled their traces. A half dozen soldiers milled around, striking hysterically at anything that came near, as if llamas and camels were the enemy.

  A huge man - the caravan master - thundered up on his horse, waving his sword and shouting orders. Then, from behind, Safar heard the demons howl closer and then the distinct meaty thunk of steel cutting into flesh. Followed by the screams of wounded men.

  It was his first battle and an odd calm descended on him. Everything seemed to move slowly and yet quickly at the same time.

  He saw gore stain the snow.

  He smelled fear’s foul musk mixed with the powerful odor of demons gone berserk.

  He heard men choke and die.

  Then a demon loomed over him, rising high in the saddle to strike with his sword. The image seemed more dream than real and Safar became intensely curious, noting the pale green of the demon’s skin, the studs on his leather armor, the short snout and sharp fangs and the small, pointed ears. As Safar studied him Gubadan’s training took hold. His mind became clear, his breathing slow.

  He slipped to the side as the sword sliced down. He heard the demon grunt in surprise as he missed.

  Safar jabbed at him with his staff, but the demon’s blade swept in and back and Safar found himself holding nothing but a mass of splinters. He gaped at his now useless weapon, dumbfounded. The only reason he didn’t die then was that the demon kicked his mount forward to meet a charging caravan guard. He cut the man down, whirled to find another and plunged out of Safar’s view.

  Safar heard shrill human cries and turned to see two demons attacking an ox-drawn wagon. They reared their mounts and the beasts’ claws ripped away the canvas, revealing a writhing tangle of frightened women. They screamed and tried to fend the demons off.

  One creature grabbed a girl by the hair and charged away, howling gleefully as he dragged her through the snow by long black tresses. Frozen rocks shredded her garments and for the first time Safar saw the naked limbs of a young woman who was not of his village. She cried out as a rock tore her leg and Safar found himself running forward to face the demon with nothing more than a shattered wooden staff.

  Safar was not a killer by nature. He was raised to believe all life was precious, including that of the animals killed for the table. But at that moment he was stricken with a murderous fury - triggered as much by the young woman’s humiliation as the threat to her life.

  As he charged forward words came to him - the words of a spell. And he chanted:

  I am strong.

  You are weak.

  Hate is my spear.

  May it pierce

  Your coward’s heart.

  In his mind the ruined staff became that spear. It was perfectly formed - heavy, but balancing easily in his hand. He reached back, then hurled the staff with all his strength. Before his eyes he saw the splintered wood reform itself in mid-flight.

  And he had caused it to happen. Somehow he caused the splintered wood to become hard black metal. He caused the tip to broaden and become killing sharp. He caused the weapon he’d made to fly straight and true. And he caused the spear to pierce the leather armor and thick demon skin and then burst that demon’s heart.

  The demon fell, releasing the girl. His mount veered wide but the force of the charge carried her body forward and she slammed into Safar. His breath whooshed out. As the two tumbled into the snow together the girl flung her arms around him, fastening him in a grip made strong by fear.

  Safar’s breath returned and he tore away from her grasp and leaped up. The scene was madness. Demons were hewing left and right, killing men and animals without discrimination. But in that madness Safar saw the caravan master had managed to rally a small group that was beginning to fight back. His immense body weaved this way and that as he dodged blows and kicked his horse toward one of the demons. Safar gasped as another demon charged in from the side, bearing down on the caravan master with a battle ax. Before the demon could strike Safar saw a tall figure leap from a felled wagon.

  It was Iraj!

  His legs scissored open as he vaulted onto the saddle behind the demon, then closed to grip the mount’s flanks with the ease of a practiced plains rider.

  Iraj flung one arm around the demon’s head, heaving to draw it back - and he plunged a dagger into the exposed throat.

  It was then Safar learned that demons die hard.

  The creature gouted bright red blood, but reached for Iraj, talons scything out. Iraj somersaulted off the saddle just in time, landing on his feet and drawing his scimitar as he came up. The wounded demon rolled off and rushed at Iraj, fouling the snow with his bloodspray.

  Iraj stepped forward to meet him but his foot slipped and he fell face forward. The demon was on him, raising his ax to kill his fallen enemy before his own life drained away.

  Once again all time slowed for Safar. This time it wasn’t only magic that came to his aid. His sling was suddenly in one hand. With the other he was withdrawing a heavy clay ball from his shot pouch.

  Then time jumped and the demon’s ax was descending.

  Time froze again as Safar loaded his sling and swung it about his head.

  He let loose just before the demon’s blade struck. The ball caught the beast full in the mouth and Safar cursed, for he’d aimed at the killing spot between the demon’s eyes. His fingers suddenly turned numb, betraying him as he fumbled for another clay ball. But it wasn’t necessary.

  The monster sagged back... slowly, so slowly... then toppled over into the snow.

  The demon tried to struggle up on one elbow. Safar drew his knife and raced over to finish him off.

  But then the demon looked at him, freezing him with his strange yellow eyes.

  "I should have killed the human myself," the demon said. "Bad luck all around."

  Then blood burst from his mouth and he fell back, dead.

  Too fired by the battle to wonder what the creature meant, Safar rushed over to Iraj to help him to his feet. As he bent down, back unprotected, a huge shadow fell over him. He looked up, thinking he’d see the face of death. Relief flooded in when he saw a bearded human face peering at him instead of a demon’s. And it was an ordinary horse the man sat upon, not a monster with fangs and claws.

  The caravan master’s gaze went from Safar to Iraj.

  "Thank you for my life, young fellow," he said to Iraj. "If the gods are kind and Coralean survives this day you will learn just how much I value my skin."

  Then he spurred his mount back into the action. But now the winds of fortune had shifted and it was the demons who were being routed and slain.

  Safar’s relief lasted only the length of time it took for Iraj to leap to his feet.

  "There’s more, Safar!" he cried. "It’s not over yet!"

  And Safar remembered the other - much larger - force waiting in the ravine.

  No sooner had memory wormed its cold way through the mud of his confusion then he heard the shrill ululation announcing the second attack. His head shot up and he s
aw the demons beginning to pour out of the mouth of the ravine.

  "Stop them!" Iraj shouted.

  Safar gaped. Had his friend gone mad? How was he supposed to accomplish that?

  "You can do it!" Iraj said. "I know you can!"

  Then all questions and fear dissolved and he saw quite clearly that Iraj was right. He could stop them.

  Once again he gripped his sling. Once again he reached into his pouch. But instead of a heavy ball his fingers touched the pot shard he’d taken from the cave. The shard that bore the picture of Hadin, the land of fire. A shock of magic clamped his fingers closed.

  Instinctively letting the moment rule, Safar didn’t fight the magic. He drew the shard out and carefully inserted it into his sling. He swung the weapon about his head, eyes searching for a target. He saw an immense demon leading the charge out of the ravine. But it wasn’t that demon he wanted. One death would accomplish nothing.

  He had to kill them all.

  His eyes were drawn up and once again he noted the heavy snow clinging to the sides of the ravine. In his mind he also saw the rotten slate beneath that snow. And then the mass of boulders hanging above the frozen incline the ravine bisected. He knew what to do.

  Whirling the sling, Safar pictured the pottery shard in his mind, chanting:

  You were made in fire

  And within you fire

  Yet remains.

  It grows from spark

  To finger flame

  To kiln fire.

  And now I release you...

  Fly free!

  Fly free!

  And he let loose the missile.

  * * *

  When Sarn led his demons out to fight he knew he’d already failed.

  Moments after Giff had attacked a sudden blast of sorcery had seared the air. It wasn’t directed toward him, but it was so strong it rasped his senses. Fear iced his heart and he thought, there must be a wizard with the caravan. How could I have missed him?

  Then he’d seen Giff go down and a human - a mere stripling at that - standing over him. Sarn goggled. This was the wizard?

  But there was no mistaking the aura of raw power radiating from the stripling. It was so strong it had swept away Sarn’s spell of cowardice and the human soldiers were already rallying. One part of him insisted this was impossible. No human was capable of such magic. The other part took stock, recognized that impossible or not there the boy stood with all the magic he needed at his command.

  Sarn saw instantly his only hope was to strike while an element of surprise still remained. Any moment now the caravan master and his soldiers would realize a threat still remained in the ravine. With the young wizard’s help Sarn and his demons would be trapped in this all-too-perfect ambush.

  If he were lucky he’d merely be killed. If not, he’d be captured. And he’d be damned if let himself fall into the foul hands of a human.

  So he made the signal. Heard his fiends shrill their battle song. And he booted his mount forward into the attack.

  As he charged from the ravine Sarn saw that the stripling wizard was already in action, whirling a loaded sling about his head and searching for a target. Just then the boy looked directly at Sarn. A chill scuttled up the demon’s spine. It was as if he were being measured for the grave.

  Then the human let loose and Sarn laughed because he saw immediately that the human was off his mark. The missile was arcing high into the air instead of towards him. Wizard or not, he thought, the boy was a coward. Fear had spoiled his aim.

  Then the missile sailed over his head, a strong current of sorcery rippling the air, and his laughter was choked off.

  The boy was no coward. His aim had been true.

  Sarn’s last thought was that Giff had been right. The king had lied.

  Now that lie was about to cost Sarn his life.

  * * *

  Safar smiled as the shard sailed over the lead demon’s head.

  Then, in midflight it exploded into a ball of flame. The back-blasting heat was so intense it scorched his face. But he didn’t shrink away. Instead he watched the fiery ball loft upward toward the big snowy brow that frowned over the mouth of the ravine. It sailed farther than he normally had strength to fling any object. He noted this with casual interest, not amazement.

  Safar felt as if he were standing several feet away from his own body, calmly studying his own reactions as well as the course of the flaming missile. His separate self found it oddly amusing to see the ball of magical fire slam into the frozen ridge. It was even more amusing to note the wild joy in the boy’s eyes who had made it.

  A explosion shook the ridge and with calculated interest Safar pondered whether the force of the blast would be enough.

  As the frozen mass began peel off, he thought, Hmm. Yes, it was.... But will it have the effect I desire?

  The mass crashed down onto still another ridge below.

  And Safar thought, The snow and ice will shatter. But what of the shale? And if so, will the weight of the whole create a still larger force?

  An avalanche was his answer.

  Shale and ice and snow thundered down on the demons, moving so fast it overtook them in midcharge.

  The boiling wave of snow and ice and rock swallowed them from behind, gobbling them up with an awful hunger. Then all was obscured by an immense white cloud.

  Safar stood there, waiting. Then the avalanche ended and a silence as thick as the cold blinding cloud settled over him.

  The mist cleared and the only thing Safar could see in the sun’s sudden bright light was a broad white expanse running to the edge of a blank-faced cliff that had once been cut by a deep ravine.

  Safar nodded, satisfied. The experiment had gone quite well, he thought. Then, still in his mode of the cold observer, he began to wonder about himself. The boy who’d just killed all those living beings. They were demons, of course, and deserved to die. Still.

  Still.

  Then someone was pounding his back and he turned to find Iraj, pounding, and was babbling congratulations of some sort. The first emotion that thawed Safar’s numb interior was annoyance.

  He pushed at Iraj’s arm. "Quit that," he said. "It hurts."

  Iraj stopped. Safar was surprised to see awe as well as joy on his friend’s face.

  "You did it, Safar!" Iraj shouted. "You killed them all!"

  The numbness thawed more and Safar was suddenly frightened. "Quiet," he said. "Someone will hear."

  "Who cares?" Iraj said. "Everyone should hear!"

  Safar clutched Iraj’s arm. "Promise you will say nothing," he pleaded.

  Iraj shook his head, bewildered by the request.

  "Promise me," Safar insisted. "Please!"

  After a long moment Iraj nodded. "I promise," he said. "You’re insane to ask it, but I promise just the same."

  Then Safar was struck by a wall of weariness that seemed as great as the avalanche. Iraj caught him as he collapsed and then darkness sucked him down and he knew nothing more.

  * * *

  Terrible nightmares inhabited that darkness.

  Safar dreamed he was pursued by demon riders across a rocky plain. He ran as fast as he could, leaping ravines and even canyons, dodging falling boulders, bounding over thundering avalanches. The sky was aboil with storm clouds and the sun dripped on the landscape, turning it blood red. And no matter how fast he ran the demon riders were faster.

  Suddenly he was naked. He was still running, but now shame mingled with his fright. The demon riders converged on him, cutting in from the sides. Their shrill ululations drove every thought from his head until only fear remained. The demons hurled their spears and Safar saw they were spears of crackling lightning. They struck, burning and jolting his body with awful, painful shocks.

  Then the demons were gone and Safar was running on soft grass and the sun was a cheery yellow, the breeze gentle on his naked flesh. He came to a hollow where Naya and the other goats gamboled and drank from the sweet waters of a spring. His mou
th was suddenly dry and he knelt among the goats to quench a burning thirst.

  And Naya said to him, "What have you done, boy?"

  "Nothing Little Mother," Safar answered.

  But she stuck a lightning bolt in his heart and the lie hurt almost more than he could bear.

  The other goats gathered around, baying accusations.

  "He’s been out killing," one said.

  "Our Safar?" another asked.

  "Yes," said another. "Our Safar has been killing."

  "Is this true, boy?" Naya asked, disgust in her tones.

  "They were only demons, Little Mother," he answered.

  "Shocking," the other goats said.

  "But they were attacking the caravan," he protested.

  "Oh, Safar," Naya said. "I’m so ashamed of you." She butted him, knocking him down. Sharp stones jabbed into his buttocks. "I suppose you used magic," Naya said.

  "I couldn’t help it, Little Mother," he confessed. "Honestly I couldn’t."

  Then Naya rose on her hind legs and became Quetera, his pregnant sister. She was wearing a long white gown, swollen at the belly with new life.

  "Naya says you’ve been out killing," his sister said. "And using magic to do it."

  He didn’t answer.

  "Look at me, Safar," his sister said.

  "I can’t," he said. "I’m ashamed."

  He pointed down. There was a demon’s body at her feet.

  "Did you do this, Safar?" she asked.

  "I had no choice, Quetera!" he cried. "They were killing people." He pointed at the demon. "He was going to kill the girl."

  Quetera’s face suddenly turned kindly. "Poor Safar," she said. "Such a gentle lad. But now violence and death have found you. And they may never let you go."

  Safar groaned and collapsed on the ground. He heard his sister come closer.

  He smelled her perfume as she knelt down to comfort him. "Let me take you home, Safar," she said.

  He tried to get up but he couldn’t rise. His limbs were numb and all he could do was groan.

  Then cool water touched his temples. A soft wet cloth wiped his face and he felt as if all his sins were being sponged away.

  And he was thirsty. By the gods he was thirsty! He opened his mouth. Not water, but cool milk dribbled in and he lapped it like a hungry kitten.