Wolves of the Gods tott-2

by Allan Cole

  "Coralean's heart is bursting with joy," he boomed, "that his old friends remember him with such kindness. He comes to you out of a wilderness of great trouble and sorrow. There was many a night when he didn't believe he'd live 'til dawn. And there was many a dawn when he doubted the blessed night would come again."

  He thumped his mailed chest and it resounded like a ceremonial drum. "But here he is! Coralean, in the flesh! And damned be the eyes of all the devils who tried to strip it from me for their supper."

  "What news?" someone shouted. Others took up the cry. "What news? What news?"

  Coralean waved the questioners down. "Later, my dear people, I will tell the stirring tale of what has befallen this old dog since last we met." He shaded his eyes, searching the crowd. "But first Coralean must speak urgently with his old friend, Safar Timura. Will someone send for him, please?"

  Safar stepped forward, the crowd parting to let him through. "Here I am, Lord Coralean," he said. "It's good to see you after so many years."

  Safar was smiling, but he was not as overjoyed as the others. He liked Coralean, owed him much for past favors, but he knew the old merchant too well to trust him completely.

  When Coralean spotted Safar he leaped off his horse and engulfed him in a mighty embrace, booming,

  "Safar, my old friend! How glad I am to see you!"

  He pounded Safar's back, raising dust and a cough. Then he leaned forward and whispered, "You must call the Council of Elders together immediately!

  "I bring word from Iraj Protarus!"

  Once again the Elders gathered in the Meeting Lodge. This time it was to learn what the future had in store for them.

  "Coralean would rather the gods had ripped his tongue from its roots," the caravan master said, "than be forced to speak the words I must say to such dear friends. I am here at the orders of King Protarus, who waits with an army not two days hence. The King sends his heartfelt greetings to all his dear friends in Kyrania and begs forgiveness for the misery caused by his struggles with the traitor, Safar Timura."

  "Here now, I'll not have my son spoken of like that!" Khadji protested.

  Safar patted his arm, silencing him. "Coralean means nothing by it, father," he said. "Those are Iraj's words, not his." He smiled at the old merchant. "Go on, my friend."

  Coralean placed a meaty hand of sincerity across his chest. "I have sons and daughters of my own, so I understand full well that my words are wounding. As everyone knows, Coralean has the softest heart of any man in Esmir. Am I not easily moved to tears by a sad tale? Do I not shower charity on every beggar from Caspan to old Walaria? Why, the list of Coralean's generous deeds for the less fortunate could fill volumes, I tell you. Volumes!"

  He looked fiercely about the room as if expecting argument. None came. "Nevertheless," he said. "I would be shunning my duty to you if I softened King Protarus' words, injurious though they may be to my old friend, Khadji Timura.

  "The King commanded me to say he has no ill feelings toward the people of Kyrania. In truth, he says he has great love for them and fondly recalls the days when he was a lad and lived among you. He said he means no one here any harm. And he only asks that you lay down your arms and pledge your fealty to him. If you do this, he will reward you all greatly when he visits you with his army. And he will give much gold to the families of the young people who died in Kyrania's service to help compensate them for their great loss."

  "What of Safar?" Khadji demanded. "And Palimak? I assume we're supposed to hand them over to Iraj as part of this … this … whole extortion!"

  Coralean looked him full in eyes, then nodded. "As you say, my friend. As you say."

  There was a touch of bitterness in Safar's laugh. "You've arrived with your message at exactly the right time," he said. "It seems that my fellow Kyranians have decided to exile me. And the boy, too."

  Coralean stroked his beard, examining the faces of the other men. "That explains it," he finally said.

  "Explains what?" Khadji asked.

  "Why no one but yourself protested when I maligned your son," he replied.

  Masura broke in. "Excuse me, Lord Coralean, but do you believe King Protarus speaks the truth? Will he spare Kyrania if we do as he demands?"

  More beard stroking from Coralean. Then he nodded, "That's certainly what the King promises."

  "But did he speak the truth?" Masura prodded again. "Come, my lord, you must have an opinion."

  "Why, I have many opinions, my friend," the wily old caravan master said. "Sometimes my opinion is this.

  Sometimes it is that. All strongly held views, mind you. Coralean bows to no man when it comes to firm opinions."

  Masura was exasperated. "And what is your opinion right now, please?"

  Coralean grinned. "That you should seek an opinion other than mine, my good fellow. Better yet, form your own. This is the wisest advice I can give you."

  He looked over at Safar. "I'm returning to Caspan when I leave here," he said. "You'll understand if I don't ask you to accompany me." He laid a hand on his breast. "Our King would not be amused."

  "You're assuming that I intend to flee," Safar said, "rather than sacrifice myself to Protarus."

  "Coralean admires bravery," the caravan master said. "He admires it above all things, save one," he tapped his head, "and that's a canny nature. It's a useful tool for cowards and heroes alike."

  "What of Iraj?" Safar asked. "How did he seem to you?"

  Coralean shrugged. "I can tell you very little," he said. "I'm not permitted to actually see him. They blindfold me and lead me into his chambers. There he addresses me. Asking for the news or commanding me to perform some errand. In return, I am given free passage through the lands he controls. What's left of his kingdom, after … uh…" he glanced at Safar, "you and he had your disagreement."

  He shook his head. "If only someone had consulted Coralean. I could have negotiated a settlement that might have avoided this whole catastrophe."

  "It wasn't a business dispute, my friend," Safar said.

  "Nonsense," Coralean replied. "Everything is business. The world would be a much better place if only everyone realized it."

  "He wanted too much," Safar said, surprised at the heat in his voice.

  Coralean shrugged. "It was just a matter of price," he said. "And neither of you could see it because you had no one like Coralean to advise you." He sighed. "But what can be done about it now? We must all go on as best we can."

  There was a time when Safar would have been angry at Coralean's remarks; reducing betrayal and murder to a simple business dispute and from there to crass price. He would have shouted, he would have railed. He would condemned Coralean as a hypocrite with a miser's cold lump of gold for a heart.

  But it was only a small moment, so small that it wasn't worth considering. He'd been a firebrand student of magic in Walaria-flirting with honey-candied idealisms like purity and truth. Then Asper had taught him there was a lie behind every truth and a truth behind every lie.

  And so he said to Coralean, "You speak wisely, old friend. In the end good business is satisfaction for both sides, with the spice of promised profits on a greater scale in the future."

  Coralean tapped his head. "It is a great thing to know," he said. "But unfortunately it is not always something that is acted upon." Another big grin split his face. "This is why Coralean, who is a poor man with many wives and children to feed, is not so poor as some of his competitors."

  "I'm glad we understand one another," Safar said. He made a motion taking in the assembled Elders-his father included-their faces clouded with bewilderment. "All of us understand!" Which made the looks become even more bewildered.

  "This is good," Coralean said. "Understanding is a virtue I praise above all others."

  He plucked a long, fat leather-bound tube from his belt. It had hinged stoppers of brass on either side.

  He casually flipped it from end to end, then handed it to Safar.

  "Here," he said, "a gift fr
om Coralean to seal his side of the bargain."

  Safar eyed him, but the old pirate's face was blank. He unsnapped one end of the tube, peered inside, then unscrewed a thick sheaf of parchment papers. He fanned them out, the other men bending close to look.

  "Why they're maps," Foron said. "What do we need with maps?"

  Coralean shrugged. "Worthless things," he said, "if you plan to stay in one place. But if you intend to travel, why I expect you might find them of some value."

  "These are caravan maps," Safar said. "Worth a fortune to any trader."

  "You will note," Coralean said, bending forward and poking at one of the maps, "the detail of these maps. They show all of Esmir, including the most secret trading routes favored by peace-loving merchantmen like myself. Why bother with bandits and greedy local overlords if you can skip them out by choosing another path? And if one were being followed by a fierce competitor, why you could quickly shake him off by using an unexpected route."

  Safar quickly scanned the maps, which showed in detail the whole northern region-from the Gods Divide to the port of Caspan where ships might be for hire to get him to Syrapis. He also marked the cities Asper had said he must visit on the way-Naadan and Caluz. It would be an extremely difficult undertaking, only made possible by the many hiding places along the route which were detailed on the maps.

  He rolled the maps up and slipped them back into the tube. "What do you desire in return?" he asked.

  Coralean slapped his knee and roared laughter. "Why isn't obvious, my good friend? I want your favor. If someday I stand before you a ruined man, I'll expect your help."

  Safar made a thin smile. "In case things don't work out for Iraj, you mean?"

  Coralean shrugged a mighty shrug. "Who can say what the morrow will bring, brother? At the moment, Iraj Protarus seems to have the upper hand. He's regained a good portion of his kingdom and nothing seems to stand in the way of his winning all of it back. Few kings dare defy him and those that do are guaranteed a horrid end.

  "Also, his magic, I'm told, is most powerful. I've even heard rumors that he is a shape changer. Wolf and man in the same body. This could be true, it could be false. However you look at it, rumors are bad for business. And if he is a shape changer, why, how does an honest businessman know if he'll abide by his word? Did I make a contract with a man, or a wolf? Or something in between?"

  Coralean sighed. "And so I come to my dearest friend, Safar Timura, for whom I have done many favors in the past. True, he is a wizard. But a most amiable one who has never meant old Coralean anything but the best. I'm sure a man as great as that will understand Coralean can do the bidding of Iraj Protarus and still look out for his good friend."

  Now it was Safar's turn to slap his knee and roar laughter. "You win either way, right? No matter who loses, you win?"

  Coralean made a long face. "I suppose you could look at it that way," he said. "But it would spoil the spirit of the bargain. I truly hope you win, Safar Timura. I doubt if you will, but there is a slight chance, considering that Iraj lost out to you once before. You will appreciate, I hope, the elegance of my bargain."

  He gestured at the maps. "Coralean gives you freedom! In any direction you choose to take. I ask only your word in return. Your word that someday, if required, I may call on your favor."

  "Consider it a bargain, my friend," Safar said. "And no hard feelings if it doesn't work out my way."

  Coralean beamed. "I am most pleased!" he said. "I made a wise investment in you when you were young and I paid for your education in Walaria." He brushed his hands together and rose heavily to his feet.

  "Please, gentlemen," he said to the Elders, "I hope you will forgive Kyrania's oldest and dearest friend, but I must be on my way. Please make my apologies to your people, but the caravan must not tarry.

  We're off to Caspan where Coralean's wives wait with much anxiety for his return. I'll leave some fine food and drink for you all, in hopes that you will toast Coralean's health. Bull that I am, I will need it desperately for my loving wives when they welcome me home."

  Safar rose with him and Coralean grasped his hand, squeezing hard. "Before I depart, I will send a runner to Iraj's camp with my report. Unfortunately, the runner I have in mind-alas, the only man I can spare-is rather elderly and infirm, so it may take a little time for him to reach the king."

  "What will the report say?" Safar asked.

  "Coralean is not a man who lies," he said. "I will tell him that I delivered his proposal. And the Council of Elders is presently meeting to consider his magnificent offer."

  "How much time do you think we have?" Safar asked.

  Coralean shrugged his apologies. "Not much for you," he said. "But quite sufficient for me. I am a minor spot for Iraj to consider. His thoughts are full of you, so it isn't difficult for me to slip out the side door while he's thinking."

  He made a face. "What can I say? I have a family to care for. Children enough to fill a villa with Coraleans and wives anxious to produce more." He sighed. "Few men appreciate the burdens I bear.

  The responsibilities are endless."

  "Do you really believe," Safar asked, "that Iraj will wait two days or more for your messenger?"

  Coralean lumbered to his feet. "That's another reason I must hurry on my way," he said. "Your former master has been known to apply a little pressure when he's negotiating. So if you will forgive me, my dear friends, I must say goodbye and make haste!"

  The old caravan master stepped forward and embraced Safar in a great bear hug. "Good fortune, traveler," he said, in the age old blessing of the road. "Good fortune!"

  Then he was gone.

  Chaos followed as the Council of Elders turned into mere men-and frightened men at that! They all gathered around Safar, shouting questions and opinions and any nonsense that came into their heads. It was plain to them now that Iraj would attack no matter what they did.

  Safar felt his energy creeping back, and with it, his confidence.

  "Call all the people together," he said-no, he commanded, his old authority of office settling onto his shoulders like a royal robe.

  "We must act now, or all is lost!"

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  BONES OF FORTUNE

  They were the People of the Clouds; the men, women, lads and maids and wailing babes who made up Kyrania. When they gathered in the old stone fort there were just a little over a thousand of them. For many generations they had lived apart from the rest of the world. They lived up, up in that bowl of fruit and blossoms they called home where no evil could easily reach them.

  But at long last darkness had descended and they were blind and stumbling, not knowing what to do.

  Although he was one of them, Safar steeled himself against all empathy as they filed silently into the arena.

  There was no time for wasted emotion or leisurely debate by the tradition-bound Council of Elders.

  If his people were to survive he must rally them to accomplish the impossible. First, they must defend themselves against Protarus. Second … Well, he'd get to what came next-the most daunting task of all-if they lasted the night.

  He watched his people stream into the old fort and take their places on the big parade ground, pounded smooth by generations of young Kyranian boys who had trained here to defend their homeland. The fort had been built long ago, perhaps even before the time of Alisarrian, and only the battered walls and the remnants of ancient stone barracks were left.

  Safar had dressed with care for the occasion. He was wearing his most glittering ceremonial robes.

  Never mind he no longer held the office, the robes were the ones he'd worn at King Protarus' most important court functions when Safar had been Lord Timura, the second most powerful man in all of Esmir. Upon his breast were all the medals and ribbons and awards Protarus had granted him for his many services.

  He felt no sense of irony, much less guilt, as he raised his hands for attention, acting as much a king as Iraj. He'd forced himself to swallow a
hefty draught of manipulative leadership. And now he had to act.

  The late afternoon sun made his robes glow, leaping off his medals and dazzling the crowd. Instead of friends and family, he made himself think of the gathering as an audience, with a group attention he could capture, then form to his will like good Timura clay into a good Timura pot. Adding to his regal display was Leiria, who stood next to him on the raised platform, the steel and leather of her harness and weapons burnished to a dazzling gloss. Between them was Palimak. He was dressed like a little soldier, complete with toy sword, breast plate and helmet.

  As Safar gathered his mental forces, Palimak sensed the crowd's bewildered mood and whispered, "I like this father! I can make them do anything I want."

  Thank the gods he said it a bare moment before Safar cast the amplifying pellet to the stone. Otherwise everyone would have heard. Instead, all they noticed was Leiria clapping her hand across Palimak's mouth, saying, "Sshhh!"

  Just then the magical pellet burst and her admonishing "sshhh!" echoed loudly across the field. There was weak laughter from the crowd, who assumed Palimak had merely said something childishly clever.

  Safar grabbed the moment and built on it.

  "If Iraj Protarus heard that laughter," he proclaimed, voice resounding across the arena, "he'd be quaking in his boots. After all he's done, the people of Kyrania can still laugh at the antics of a little boy."

  There were more chuckles, stronger than before.

  Safar lifted his head as if to address the heavens. "Do you hear that, O Mighty King?" he roared. "Do you hear the spirit of the People of the Clouds? We are not afraid! We stand proud and defiant before you!"

  Shouts of approval greeted this. Faces brightened, shoulders straightened and people lifted their children high so they could see better.

  Safar smiled broadly at his audience, clapping his hands in congratulations. "That's the message we want to send to Iraj Protarus," he said. "He may do his worst, but our spirits will remain unbroken!"

  This time nearly the entire crowd roared in agreement. Some even shook their fists at the skies as if Iraj were hiding in the clouds. Only some of his enemies on the Council of Elder appeared unmoved. They were knotted about Masura, whose face was swollen with fury because Safar had upstaged him and gone directly to the people. Safar was determined to change that look.