by Allan Cole
When the noise died down he said, "We're going to need that spirit in the days ahead, my friends. The future of all Kyranians depends on your strength.
"Nay, the world itself depends on it!"
There were murmurs and puzzled looks but Safar pushed on. His next words, he knew, would dash the little enthusiasm he'd won.
"Brave as you all are," he said, "you will need to be braver still. At this moment we are stalked by a great enemy. A royal enemy who has somehow escaped from the grave to become the king of the shape changers. He and his minions have killed innocent Kyranian children and young men."
Safar gestured at Masura and people turned to look at him. "I know you have all heard the controversy regarding those tragedies. It's said that the only reason Iraj Protarus brings such bloody actions to our peaceful valley is because he seeks revenge against me."
Masura jerked his head in dramatic agreement. Safar ignored him, signaling Leiria to lift Palimak high for all to see.
"You've also heard that Iraj demands we hand over this child," he said. "This is a child you all know. A child who is an orphan of the storms that ravage the outside world."
Not understanding the seriousness of the situation, Palimak kicked his heels in glee and shouted to the other children in the crowd-his playmates. "Look at me!" he laughed. "Look how big I am!"
Some people joined his laughter. But not enough, not nearly enough. Safar pressed on.
"It's true that Iraj demands my head," he said, "just as it's true that he requires you to hand over little Palimak. And if I thought for one minute that Protarus would spare you, pass the people of Kyrania by to savage other poor, helpless souls, I would march down the mountain to his camp and throw myself and Palimak on his mercy."
A few people, Safar's family among them, shouted, "No, no! We'll fight him. We'll never give you up!"
Safar smiled, pretending it was resounding chorus of majority approval. He took Palimak in his arms.
"I'm overjoyed by your support, my friends," he said. "Palimak and I thank you for your loyalty and love."
Saying this made it so in many hearts and this time the cheers were louder as he passed the boy back to Leiria. When he turned back to speak the crowd grew quiet in anticipation.
"Unfortunately, the issues aren't so simple. The fact is, Iraj Protarus will not be satisfied until every Kyranian, from our oldest, most respected leaders down to our newborn babes are wiped from the face of Esmir. This is what we face, my friends. Not choices, but certain annihilation. This is how Iraj Protarus plans to repay you for your generosity to him when he was a boy."
Murmurs of fear ran thought the crowd. Even Masura looked grim-faced with sudden worry. Harsh reality was gradually boring through his vanity.
Meanwhile, Palimak was greatly moved by Safar's words. "Let's fight him, father," he cried. His shrill voice carried across the arena as if he were a giant's child. "To the death!" He raised his toy sword in defiance.
Fully half the crowd joined in the cheering that followed. Fired by a child's boldness, they roared for the chance to give battle and somehow bring Protarus down. Masura, however, seemed to have regained his composure and with it much of his former stupidity.
When the crowd sounds faded, Masura shouted, "You have no right to speak, Timura! You and the boy have been banished by order of the Council."
Since the vote hadn't been announced, some people were taken by surprise and started muttering among themselves. Masura and his supporters took advantage of the confusion, shouting, "Don't listen to him!"
and "He's just trying to save his own skin."
Safar cracked another capsule of amplification, then spoke, voice so strong it drowned out his foes.
"People of Kyrania!" he thundered, flinging his arms high. "Heed me!"
Everyone froze. Even Masura was cowed by the thunder of his voice. "Whether I leave or whether I stay, Iraj Protarus will come this night to slay you in your beds! Unless you act with me now, that is your fate. If you doubt me … then witness this!"
He snapped his fingers and there was a crack! like a glacier rock exploding in a campfire. At the same time his other hand shot out, snatching at the air. There were gasps of amazement as he drew first one long yellow bone, then another, from thin air.
Safar made a great show of it, displaying the casting bones for all to see. He fanned them out and a thousand pairs of eyes were compelled to count them, one, two, three, four, five!
Safar chanted, feeling his power growing over them with each word he spoke: Has the day falsed us?
Promising nights
With strong shutting doors?
Did the light halt us?
From seeing skull eyes
Dark and void?
The bones made a ghastly rattle as Safar hurled them onto the platform. Two thousand eyes followed their progress, saw them bounce and scatter. The crowd was deathly silent as Safar peered long and hard at the ivory pattern.
"Will Iraj come?" Palimak asked, posing the question for all.
Safar raised his head. He looked first at the crowd, then Palimak, finally, straight at Masura. The man's eyes were bright with fearful suspense, his defiance smothered in Safar's hypnotic spell.
He stretched the moment to the fullest, then whipped out his silver dagger and jabbed its point at the jumble of bones. "Speak, O great spirits!" he commanded. "What is your answer?"
He waved the dagger and the bones floated off the platform. He motioned again and they reformed themselves, shifting from one pattern to the next, until finally they formed the skeletal head of a giant wolf.
"Speak!" Safar again commanded. "Speak!"
There were wild shrieks of alarm as fire burst from the wolfhead's empty sockets. The big jaws grated open, unleashing a blood-chilling howl! Suddenly, the head flew forward-straight at Masura! Howling and snapping its jaws.
Masura ran away, screaming, "Help me! Help me!" But everyone fled from his path, crying out in fear. At just the right moment Safar jabbed his dagger at the head and an explosion ripped the bones apart and they vanished into nothingness.
"There is your answer, my friends!" Safar shouted. "Iraj will come! The Fates have decreed it!"
Masura realized he was safe and fell to his knees, babbling, "Save us, Lord Timura! Save us!"
First Masura allies joined in, then the rest of the crowd, all shouting, "Save us, Lord Timura! Save us!"
Safar had won. The victory disgusted him.
Another sin to add to his ledger.
It was a warm night, a night that drew roiling mists off the lake. Under the Demon Moon the mists made ominous shadows, deep oranges and reds bleeding through fantastic black figures that spilled over hollow and hill and got caught up in the branches of trees where owls waited to hoot at darkening skies.
In the village all the homes were shuttered and dark. The chimneys were cold, the cobbled streets empty and the only sound was the belly rumble of a llama and the long soft tramp of its feet.
Renor was leading the llama, an old thing who had seen more of life than she liked but pressed on anyway from habit. She was carrying a heavy load of thorny brush that shifted painfully from side to side as she walked. The llama groaned and Renor dodged just in time as she tried her best to step on his foot.
"Don't bother complaining, Granny," Renor said. "I won't feel sorry for you no matter what you do." He shook his head at the swaying burden on her back. "I did my best to tie it down tight. But you blew yourself up like an old horse and now all the knots are loose. It's your fault, not mine."
The llama swung its head to the side, there was a rumble in its guts, and then it coughed up a good spit.
Once again Renor dodged to the side and a stream of smelly stuff splattered against an alley wall.
"Threats won't do you any good either, Granny," Renor said, brushing away the few drops that had spattered onto his cloak. "You'll still have to carry this load all the way to the fort. And if there's time you'll have to go back an
d fetch another."
The llama grumbled in protest, but Renor was unmoved. "I don't know why Lord Timura wants all this wood," he said, "but if he says to fetch it, and the more the better, then we'd better fetch it!"
They rounded the corner and Renor saw the dark shape of the fort looming out of the gathering gloom.
The llama stopped its complaining and quickened its pace.
"Ho! So you go quickly now, do you?" Renor said. "You think your day's work is over. Lazy old thing."
He looked up at the Demon Moon, growing deeper red as night rushed in. "I sure hope you're right," he grudged. "I don't want to go back out into this again."
He thought of the huge mound of brush and timber already piled in the center of the fort. When he'd delivered his last load Captain Leiria had been directing people to spread the wood out into some kind of design. No one seemed to know its purpose. Only that Lord Timura had ordered it done and so they were doing it. Just like Renor and a score of other village lads were unquestioningly scouring the countryside for wood. Lord Timura had said it was to protect them from Protarus and after seeing the magical wolfhead chase after Masura, nobody was going to argue.
Personally, Renor hadn't needed any convincing. After what had happened to Tio and his adventure by Lord Timura's side in the meadow, he was burning for revenge. He imagined himself advancing on a cowering devil wolf, spear raised to strike.
Just then the llama bawled and Renor almost jumped out of his skin. The animal surged forward, breaking into a fast lope. Renor shouted at it and ran to grab the load, which was tilting dangerously to the side. As he reached for it he heard an ungodsly howl.
The young man whirled and his breath froze in his chest when he saw the four huge gray shapes bounding toward him.
Renor turned and ran, scrabbling his sharp work knife from his belt. Behind him the four creatures shattered the night with their howls. He ran faster, catching up to the llama. Renor slashed at the ropes and the load fell away. The animal stumbled, bawling in terror, but he yanked on its halter, helping it keep to its feet.
"Run, Granny, run!" he shouted and the llama leaped away.
Heavy bodies, moving at a frightening speed, were closing on him.
Renor was only twenty feet from the fort entrance, but the beasts were coming on so fast it might as well have been a thousand.
Then he saw a figure leap from the ruined walls. It was Lord Timura! Safar landed in front of the entrance.
"Get down!" he shouted.
Renor dropped to the ground, bracing for the scything claws he was sure would follow.
Then there was a sound like the wind and a hot breath whooshed! over his body. Behind him the howls turned into yips of pain.
Renor looked up and saw Lord Timura beckoning him.
"Come on!" he shouted. "I can't hold them for long!"
Renor scrambled up and ran for it. He turned his head and saw a wall of hot light. Just beyond the four wolf shapes howled in pain and rage.
Then he was sprinting past Lord Timura into the safety of the fort.
People rushed to him, shouting what was wrong and was he all right and other such nonsense. Struggling for breath, Renor pushed them away and turned to see what was happening.
Just as he did he saw the wall of light-some sort of magical shield-vanish and the four wolf figures crashed through.
Lord Timura backed up quickly and at the same time Renor saw Captain Leiria and some men pushing a big cart of wood into the entrance.
"Now!" Lord Timura shouted and someone threw a burning torch onto the wood.
The wood caught and there was a great blast of white light, blinding Renor. Then his vision cleared and he saw the wagon was engulfed in eerie flames that sparked and shot off long tongues of fire.
Beyond the flames, which seemed to have sealed the entrance, Renor could no longer hear the howling.
A small hand tugged at his cloak and Renor looked down to see little Palimak standing beside him, his toy soldier armor glittering in the fire.
"We're safe now," he said. Still, he had a worried look on his face. "But I think they'll come back pretty quick."
It was like an omen, because as he spoke the howling resumed.
Safar crouched in the little tent, assembling his magical arsenal by candlelight. He was mixing herbs and votive powders in a strange little pot with a five-sided mouth, working quickly and expertly in the near dark. He was used to such difficulties. When he'd been a young acolyte in Walaria he'd often lacked the price of lamp oil and so he'd had to practice his spell making under similar conditions. Although it had been much more pleasant to hear the watchman call the hour, rather than listen to the incessant howling outside the fort.
Never mind he was fairly certain Iraj and his friends were merely waging a war of nerves while they gathered their strength for the next attack. If that were the intent, by the gods it was working. The awful sound of the howling had everyone's nerves stretched taut. Safar had the village busy with a myriad of tasks, trying to keep their minds off the four savage creatures bounding and baying about the walls. The Kyranians went about their duties silently, whispering prayers to the Lady Felakia.
When the attack came, Safar had no idea how much force Iraj could muster. The only thing he was sure of was that it would be entirely magical. Coralean had no reason to lie when he'd said that Iraj's army was two days distant. Safar guessed it was even farther away than that-the terrain they had to cover was all treacherous mountains. Also, if there'd been an army behind him, the massacre of Kyrania would already be over. No, tonight would be a night of horrors meant to intimidate the villagers. To soften them up for his army.
To help in his work Iraj had three of the most cunning creatures in the history of Esmir. Two had been demons in their previous forms and therefor magical by birth, although Prince Luka was nowhere near as powerful as Lord Fari, who had been chief wizard to several generations of demon kings. Iraj's other ally was the human spymaster Kalasariz, who had no natural magical powers but was so ruthless and clever he hadn't needed them. The three had preyed on Iraj's many weaknesses, promising him even greater powers then being the mere king of kings of all Esmir. The result was The Spell of Four-the shape changer's spell-that bound them together forever.
Safar poured a silvery liquid into the pot, whispered a chant until the mixture began to bubble, then set it aside for his next task. He slipped five heavy-headed war arrows from a bundle and dipped them into the liquid one by one.
The defensive spell he was concocting was much weaker than he'd like, but he had no choice. With over a thousand people to protect he was going to be spread very thin. A more powerful spell-a spell capable of doing any real harm to Iraj but still safeguarding the villagers-would be impossible to maintain.
His preparations done, Safar opened his wizard's pouch and lifted an amulet out by its leather thong. It was made of some rare black stone that had been carved into the shape of a wondrous horse. The amulet had once belonged to Iraj-a gift from Coralean for saving his life. Safar had received the silver witch's dagger at the same time and for the same reason.
He remembered the moment as if it were yesterday, instead of nearly twenty years before. Safar and Iraj had been mere lads then. Even so, they'd first warned and then rescued Coralean and his caravan from a marauding army of demon bandits who'd broken out of the Forbidden Desert.
The gifting had come at a meeting of the Council of Elders and both boys had been bursting with pride as Coralean praised them.
Safar slipped back in time, remembering…
"First, I must thank my friend Iraj," the caravan master said. He took out a black velvet pouch.
Iraj's eyes sparkled as Coralean withdrew a small golden amulet. It was a horse-a wondrouslyformed steed dangling from a glittering chain. "Some day," Coralean said, "you will see theperfect horse. It will be a steed above all steeds. A true warrior's dream, worth more than akingdom to men who appreciate such things. The beast will be fast
er and braver than any animalyou could imagine. Never tiring. Always sweet-tempered and so loyal that if you fall it will chargeback into battle so you might mount it again.
"But, alas, no one who owns such a creature would ever agree to part with it. Even if it is a colt its lines will be so pure, its spirit so fierce, that the man it belongs to would be blind not to see what a fine animal it will become." He handed the horse amulet to Iraj. "If you give this magical ornament to that man he will not be able to refuse you the trade. But do not fear that you will be cheating him. For he only has to find another dream horse and the man who owns it will be compelled to make the same bargain when he gives him the amulet."
Tears welled in Iraj's eyes and they spilled unashamedly down his face as he husked his thanksand embraced the caravan master. "When I find that horse," Iraj said, "I promise that I will ridewithout delay to your side so you can see for yourself what a grand gift you gave me."
A great chorus of howls, louder than before, broke through Safar's reverie and he jolted back to the present. He checked the arrow tips, but the potion smeared on them was still damp. A few more minutes and he'd be ready.
Safar glanced down at the amulet. Iraj had never found that horse. He remembered that Iraj had cursed Safar for that failing, as if he were to blame. Then he'd hurled it into Safar's face, demanding that he take it in payment for Nerisa. At that moment the war between them had begun.
"Ah, well," Safar said to himself, taking comfort from the sound of his own sighing whisper. "Ah, well."
He tested the arrows again. They were ready.
Safar gathered them up, along with a sturdy bow, and slipped from the tent to confront the night.
Leiria gritted her teeth as the next chorus of howling began. It was a sound that first pierced the ears, then jabbed the brain with hot spear points. All around her the villagers crouched down in misery. Some wept and covered their heads to drown out the sound, while others held their heads high in stoic defiance.