When the Gods Slept

by Allan Cole

  Manacia grinned down at him from the howdah, fangs displayed in full gleam.

  "Thank the gods you are still with us, my son," he shouted. "I saw you fall and feared for the worst."

  Luka bowed, fighting not to show pain.

  "Caspan is yours, Majesty!" he cried. "It is my gift to you, and demon history!"

  And he thought, this was for you, Mother, for you!

  And Manacia thought, how dare he make a gift of what is already mine? Then he remembered the day when he’d said something similar to his own father.

  The next time Luka falls, he thought, I must make certain he doesn’t rise again.

  Manacia was a dutiful king, a hard working king, and he had at least twenty other sons to take Luka’s place.

  I’d best choose the youngest to succeed him as heir to my throne, Manacia thought. Princes grow up so quickly these days.

  Why, I was nearly thirty winters old before I slew my father.

  * * *

  "Coralean is desolate," the caravan master said. "He is a coin clipped of its worth. A sway-backed camel with more fleas than spirit.

  "It seems it is Coralean’s fate that each time he greets you, my king, whom I dare call friend, that he drags demons, or news of demons, into your highness’ august presence."

  "Come now, Coralean," Iraj protested, "I’m not one of those city-bred despots who forgets his friends soon as he wins the throne. And I’m certainly not one to harm the messenger who brings ill tidings.

  "Isn’t that right, Safar?"

  Safar stirred in his seat - a smaller version of Iraj’s traveling throne.

  "Actually," he deadpanned, "Iraj had his royal torturers put out the eyes and slit the tongue of the last fellow who was in here babbling about demons."

  Iraj frowned. "What a thing to say, Safar," he protested, "I gave the man a purse of gold. Don’t you re-" he broke off, laughing. "You’re joking again," he said.

  Then, to the caravan master, "You see how it is, Coralean? My friends are always making jests at my expense!"

  "King Protarus speaks the truth," Safar said. "You’ll notice I still have both my eyes and a whole tongue, and yet I bring him bad news daily."

  He gestured at the empty main room of the command tent. "Why, our king is so grand a monarch he even permits his friends to use his common name in private.

  "Isn’t that so, Iraj?"

  More laughter from the king. "Don’t pay any attention to him, Coralean," he advised. "Safar is just punishing me for ignoring his advice."

  He leaned out from his throne. "I had to let my men sack the last city we took," he said. "I was short of gold and they hadn’t been paid all winter. Safar was opposed to the sacking. He said it was bad business."

  Coralean’s merchant smile lit the dim room. "An honest dispute among right-thinking men," he said. "One looks at future profits. The other at more immediate concerns. There is no right or wrong in such a disagreement."

  He bowed his craggy head in Iraj’s direction, saying, "The pity should go to the master, who must torment himself for being forced to ignore his advisors and act according to his best judgment."

  The look of pleasure on Iraj’s face made Safar fully appreciate why Coralean had been so successful in his long and dangerous career. Despite his common man pretense, Iraj had proven to be a prickly monarch. His dark moods had made the winter long. Then spring had brought the first news of the demon invasion and had plunged him deeper into depression. Iraj had allowed the first city he’d taken to be sacked not to please his men, but to vent his rage.

  "What a lucky man I am to have two such loyal friends," Iraj said. "One uses wise and well-put phrases to guide me, the other amusing barbs - which also serve to remind me I am only human."

  Don’t forget money and magic, Safar thought. We bring you that as well.

  Safar had created and cast his first battle spell to help Iraj take the city he later sacked. Coralean, that canny old merchant, had funded Iraj’s ambitions from the start. He’d been handsomely rewarded with exclusive trading contracts.

  You haven’t done so badly either, Safar chided himself. In the short time he’d been at Iraj’s side Safar had become a wealthy man by anyone’s measurement. As Grand Wazier he had been given vast tracts of land and chests of rare gems and metals.

  "So tell us your news, my friend," Iraj said to Coralean. "Don’t spare my feelings. I’m braced for the worst."

  "Caspan has fallen," Coralean said.

  Coming from such a normally loquacious man, his brevity was a shock. Iraj flinched, then tried to cover his concern.

  Fingers rapping on the arm of his throne gave him away. "I see. Well, we were expecting that. Weren’t we Safar?"

  Safar nodded. They’d heard rumors of Manacia’s drive toward Caspan and he’d made a castings that did not bode well for the city’s defenders.

  "Coralean barely escaped with his life," the caravan master said. "I sent my wives into hiding and fled the city just in time."

  He went on to describe the series of battles that led to the taking of Caspan. Trying to add a note of cheer he went into some detail on the great losses Manacia had suffered in the campaign.

  But Iraj kept rapping his fingers against wood. "So few," he murmured. "I’d hoped he would have suffered more."

  He looked up at Coralean. "I suppose it won’t be long before he comes over the mountains," he said.

  "I fear so," Coralean said. "The last I heard he was preparing his army and searching for the route to Kyrania."

  The mention of Kyrania was a heavy spear aimed at Safar’s heart. Intentional or not, Safar bent a closer ear to what Coralean had to say.

  "A caravan master’s life isn’t worth a copper on that side of the Gods’ Divide," Coralean said. "Many of my brother merchants have been seized and tortured for the information. Luckily the demons know so little of human affairs they keep seizing the wrong men.

  "But they only need one success and Manacia’s army will be on the march to Kyrania."

  Iraj was silent for a time; fingers rap, rap, rapping. Then he said to Coralean, voice so low he could barely be heard, "Leave us for a time, my friend. I must speak with my brother."

  The caravan master bowed, murmured a few kind words and departed.

  Soon as he was gone Iraj turned to Safar, face full of anguish. "You said I would be king of kings!" he cried.

  "And you will," Safar replied.

  "Are you certain your talent isn’t playing you false?" Iraj demanded. "Am I a fool, bound to a fool’s vision?"

  "Let me speak plainly," Safar said. "There’s no question that you are a fool. Who else but a fool would want to be king of Esmir? But fool or not, that is your destiny."

  "Beware!" Iraj snapped. "I’m in no mood for insults, friendly though they may be."

  "If you don’t want to hear the truth," Safar said, "then command my silence."

  "I’ve given you power," Iraj said.

  "Take it back," Safar replied. "It’s more of a burden than I care to shoulder."

  "I’ve made you rich," Iraj pointed out.

  "In Kyrania," Safar said, "wealth is a bountiful harvest that all share.

  Iraj grew angry. "Are you saying that in your view all I’ve given you is worthless?"

  Taking a lesson from Coralean, Safar replied, "Not your friendship. I value that most highly, Iraj Protarus."

  Iraj was mollified. His finger rapping ceased. "What should I do, brother?" he asked. "How do I achieve what your vision foretold?"

  "Why don’t we look at the problem a different way?" Safar said. "Why don’t we turn it about and see if luck’s barren goat will still give milk?"

  "I’m listening," Iraj said.

  "When you started out your greatest difficulty was a family feud," Safar said. "An uncle opposed your rightful claim to leadership. A few of your kin were greedy enough to support that uncle. But most - out of long family feelings and tradition - supported you."

  "True enough," Ira
j said. "Although it was more complicated than that."

  "To counter that natural feeling," Safar continued, "your uncle went to an outsider. A man hated by all in your family."

  "It gave him a temporary advantage," Iraj said, "but in the end it was a help to me. After a few successes, my family rallied to me."

  "So your uncle’s alliance with an enemy," Safar said, "was his downfall."

  Iraj thought for a moment, then nodded. "Yes. That is so."

  "There you have it," Safar said. "The presence of a hated outsider gave you power to rally your clan. Afterwards, you put clan together with clan to take to the road as a conqueror.

  "But to those people you were the outsider. The barbarian from the Plains of Jaspar.

  "They opposed you, fought you, dared to call you a greedy upstart, instead of as the savior of all Esmir. Which is how you see yourself."

  "But I am," Iraj said. "You saw it in the vision."

  Safar didn’t say he’d never seen such a thing. In the vision Iraj had been a conquering king perched on a white elephant, leading his army toward Zanzair. Whether he was a savior or not was another matter.

  "Good," Safar said. "I’m glad you believe that. Because that is how you will defeat Manacia."

  Iraj’s expression was puzzled. He didn’t understand.

  "The whole human world fears the demons," Safar said. "Use that fear against Manacia. Raise your standard, claim all humankind as your clan... and strike him down.

  "Before winter set in you faced the prospect of many years of battle to claim Caspan as your realm. Manacia has done your work in less than a season.

  "Defeat him and you have the north."

  Iraj brightened. "And the demonlands," he pointed out. "I’ll have them as well."

  "First we have to cross the Forbidden Desert," Safar cautioned.

  Iraj gave a cheery wave. "You mean the curse? Hells, I was never worried about that. You’ll figure it out when we get there.

  "Besides, if Manacia can do it, so can you."

  "I’m glad you still have confidence in me," Safar said, again taking a lesson from Coralean and letting a measure of humility leak through.

  "As I see it," Safar continued, "our greatest danger will be Manacia’s magic. It’s well know that demons are much more powerful sorcerers than humans."

  "An overblown reputation, as far I’m concerned," Iraj scoffed, gaining confidence by the minute. "I saw you bring down an avalanche on a whole pack of them, remember?"

  Safar had few delusions about himself. He’d spent the winter testing his powers and at first had been amazed at the newly possible. But in reading the Book Of Asper, the demon wizard, he saw glimmerings of a power that might be beyond him.

  "I caught them by surprise," Safar said. "Besides, it was only a score or more we were faced with. Not a whole demon army - with a legion of wizards to support them."

  "You just worry about Manacia’s wizards, Safar," Iraj replied. "I’ll take care of his damned army."

  * * *

  Worry is not such an easy thing to limit. The mind may decree borders, but once erected those borders are immediately beset by fears both large and small. Nights become sleepless landscapes littered with innumerable difficulties and imagined pitfalls threatening the mightiest of beings. Large things may seem insurmountable mountains during those torturous hours when others sleep. Small things may suddenly erupt into fears rivaling those mountains.

  In the north, King Manacia consolidated his army and searched for the route over the Gods’ Divide. But his nights were haunted by imagined plots involving his son, Prince Luka. Then word filtered through of a mighty human king with flowing hair and beard of gold. This monarch - King Iraj Protarus - bore the standard of Alisarrian and was rousing the populace to oppose Manacia and destroy his long cherished dreams of empire.

  Sitting at the right hand of that king, it was said, was a human wizard so powerful he was the equal of any demon lord of sorcery. The wizard, Safar Timura, had eyes as blue as the sunlit heavens.

  When Manacia slept at all he was troubled by nightmares in which his son suddenly turned into a human with a golden beard and sky blue eyes. In this nightmare Manacia would be forced to embrace his son and heir before his court, knowing full well a dagger would be thrust into his back.

  In the south, King Protarus massed his forces and toured his realm, spreading the news of the demon invasion. He gave thundering speeches, decrying the atrocities committed by the demons - some real, some created. He was a handsome young prince, a compelling speaker who quickly made his subjects forget the atrocities he had committed himself in winning his kingdom. People rushed to support him, swelling his armies, crying for revenge against the demon invaders.

  But Iraj’s nights were as sleepless as Manacia’s.

  What if Safar was wrong? What if he were not as great a seer as Iraj believed? And what if his friend was not truly his friend? If he were as powerful a wizard as Iraj believed, might he not seize the throne of Esmir as soon as Iraj had won it? And if not, why not? Which brought him back to the original worry that Safar was so weak Iraj was a fool to rely on him.

  Safar was no king, which gave him ample reason to harbor fears equal to both monarchs combined.

  If Iraj believed Safar was in the way he’d betray him with barely a thought. Safar wondered about the vision in which he’d seen Iraj’s victorious march on Zanzair. What if that part were true, but in reality it was Safar’s ghost who’d witnessed it? He’d certainly felt like a spirit during the vision. What if his dreamcatcher self had slipped past the part where Safar was betrayed and slain by his blood brother? It troubled him he’d never been able to see past that moment when Iraj’s armies marched on Zanzair. And what of the other vision - the vision of Hadin - in which all was for naught and the world was rushing toward its end?

  Then there was the greatest fear of all.

  For either king - Manacia or Protarus - the key was Kyrania.

  What if the two monarchs met in battle in the High Caravans?

  What if Safar’s valley and everyone he loved - mother, father, sisters, friends - were destroyed in that confrontation?

  After a time this worried Safar even more than the destruction of the world itself.

  It was impossible to imagine the last. But frighteningly easy to see the first.

  In the end it was fear for Kyrania that drove Safar. He was willing to dare anything to save it.

  * * *

  Chapter Twenty Two

  The Demon Feast

  Safar crouched in the flowered heights above Kyrania. It was early summer, the rains had been sweet, the heavens kind, and his valley was a misty shimmer beneath the pale morning sun. The fields were emerald green, the lake was a great blue diamond fed by springs flowing down the mountains in a silvery pilgrimage to the Goddess Felakia.

  "So this is your home," Leiria said in awe. "I’ve never seen anything so beautiful. It’s like a dream."

  Safar motioned for silence. His magical self had arrowed past Leiria’s dream and found a nightmare. In his innermost pocket the stone idol blistered warning.

  He signaled to the men - fifty of Iraj’s finest mounted warriors. They dismounted, positioned feed bags to silence their horses and quickly shifted their gear to ready themselves for battle.

  Leiria raised an eyebrow. "What’s wrong?"

  "Watch," Safar said.

  He plucked a glass pellet from his pouch and hurled it to the ground. It shattered and pale green smoke whooshed up, swirling to the height of a knee. First a landscape, then figures toiling in that landscape, took form in the smoke. There were at least two score of them - miniature humans moving through the fields of Kyrania. They seemed agonized, smoke forms twisting and leaping in pain. Larger columns of smoke funneled up, hardening into the givers of that pain. They were creatures of snouted fangs and taloned claws.

  Leiria caught her breath. "Demons!"

  Safar didn’t answer. He gestured and the smoke image va
nished. He slumped onto the boulder, so mournful it was all Leiria could do not to console him - branding herself as a weakling in the eyes of her fellow soldiers.

  "This changes everything," she said, colder than she’d intended. "We’d best return immediately and tell the king the demons have seized Kyrania."

  Safar nodded absently. His thoughts were barely of this world. He was imagining the terrors his family and friends were suffering.

  Safar had intended to warn his people of the coming peril, then set up shields to confuse the demons if and when they attacked through the pass. Iraj was even now gathering a force of shock troops to be rushed in to fill the gap until his main army had time to arrive. Safar had convinced Iraj even greater haste must be made - that he should go out in advance of the troops and prepare the way. Now it seemed his mission to Kyrania, which had required much cajolement to win Iraj’s approval, was a failure before it started.

  "You’re right," he replied, mechanical as a clockwork toy. "We must inform the king."

  Leiria winced at his pain. But she said nothing. She walked back to the men to order a withdrawal. It would be done quickly, but silently. Weapons and gear were strapped down so they wouldn’t rattle. Rags stuffed with brush were tied onto the horses’ hooves so all noise would be pillowed.

  When all was ready Leiria returned to say it was time to go. She touched him and he suddenly came back to life.

  "I must see for myself," he said.

  "You can’t," Leiria protested. "We might be discovered."

  Safar insisted. He made it clear the only way he’d leave now was if he were bound and gagged and tied to the back of a horse.

  Everyone was terrified of committing such an indignity to Lord Timura, the Grand Wazier. But they were equally as terrified of his plan.

  "The king will have our heads if you’re captured," Leiria protested.

  "No he won’t," Safar said. "Here. I’ll make sure of it."

  He scrawled a hasty message to Iraj. No one was to be held accountable for his actions. He added a brief report on what he’d seen so far and what should be done if he didn’t return. The message was placed in the care of Rapton, the young lieutenant who commanded the warriors. Strict orders were given. If Safar and Leiria - who insisted on accompanying him - did not return by dusk Rapton and the troops were to make all speed to Sampitay - where Iraj and his court were currently ensconced - and deliver the news.