by Allan Cole
Leiria studied the map, eyes narrowed. Then she nodded. "It could be done," she said. Leiria glanced over at all the people collapsed on the ground. "But I don't know if it can be done by them! They've lived in one place all their lives. They know nothing about life on the road, much less life on the road with the dogs of war on your heels."
"We can teach them," Safar said. "If you're still willing to help me, that is. A sensible person would laugh in my face and walk away with her skin still safe on her bones."
"I told you before, Safar," Leiria said. "That I'm with you. No matter what. So we've got two thousand miles or more between us and the sea. So there's who knows how many hundreds of sea miles more to go to reach Syrapis. And us not knowing if there'll even be ships to hire in Caspan to take us there."
She grinned. "If that's what his lordship wants, that's what he gets!"
They both laughed, although Safar's laughter was weak. Already his mind was running ahead.
Between skirmishes, Safar had managed to tell Leiria about his vision in Asper's tomb. Although he'd held some things back-like the mysterious side trips to Naadan and Caluz. He had two reasons for his silence. First, if it became too difficult he might skip them entirely and head straight for the sea. More important: whenever he'd been about to relate exactly what Asper's ghost had said magical alarms went off. All his sorcerous instincts warned him that by telling all he'd be putting Leiria in grave danger.
Safar was especially worried about mentioning Caluz. He knew something about the region from his days in Iraj's court. It was strange place where mysterious forces had been at work for eons.
"Come to me through Caluz," Asper had commanded. But Safar dreaded the moment of decision-if they lived to see it-when he finally reached the road that led to that dark region.
Lost in thought, he was surprised when he heard Leiria say, "There's only one thing that worries me, Safar."
"What's that?"
She indicated the villagers. "Maybe they can do it. Maybe they can't. The thing is … how are you going to convince them to try?"
"Magic," Safar said.
And he heaved himself to his feet and started getting ready.
An hour later, washed and refreshed, Safar once again stood before his people, Leiria and Palimak beside him.
Exhausted as the Kyranians were, they seemed to sense hope in the air and their faces were bright with expectation.
Safar cracked an amplifying pellet, then spoke: "You fought well and bravely, my friends. I'm sure that even now Iraj Protarus is cursing your courage and nursing a battle-sore behind!"
The laughter was weak. No one had to tell these people that Iraj wasn't done with them. Methydia used to say that the best way to get an audience in your palm was to make a dream for them … and keep them reaching for that dream. But first, she'd said, you have to scare them. Well, Iraj had done that unpleasant little job for Safar. Unfortunately, he needed to scare them in a whole different way.
"But I didn't rouse you from your well-earned rest to praise your courage, my good people," Safar said.
"Besides, everyone knows that courage is something no Kyranian lacks."
Faces brightened, especially among the young bravos like Renor. He saw them flex their muscles and swagger from side to side.
"But it's another brand of courage I want from you today," Safar continued. "One that calls for even greater sacrifices than before."
The crowd stirred, a little fearful. What was he talking about? Wasn't dealing with Iraj Protarus enough?
"Not just your lives, but the lives of untold millions are at stake. In fact, the very world we stand upon depends on you, the Goddess Felakia's Chosen Ones, the People of the Clouds, the People of the High Caravans."
Safar definitely had their interest now.
"Behold!" he shouted, making a gesture and his magical dagger leaped out of nothingness into his hand.
Then, quieter, "Let me show you the world of the future, my friends. Even if by some miracle we could make Iraj Protarus and his forces vanish from Esmir, this is what the world would look like in not many years."
Safar made a circular motion with the knife, as if cutting a hole into the air itself. The crowd jumped as a fierce wind blew, shrieking through the hole he'd made.
Then a miniature tornado leapt off the dagger point. It swirled madly about the platform for a moment, then steadied, spinning in place like a top.
"Behold!" Safar shouted again and there was a loud pop! as the little tornado suddenly disappeared. The air where it had been shattered like glass, leaving a great dark hole gaping into nothingness.
There were gasps and fearful cries all around as everyone realized there was more than a blank void beyond the jagged edges of the hole.
"Look, my friends," Safar intoned. "Look hard and deep. See the world as it will be. With or without Iraj Protarus."
They looked and it was a terrible sight. A familiar range of mountains beckoned from the other side. It was the Bride and her Maids, but they had been shorn of all their glory and stood there black and wind-torn under a lunatic sky. There was not a patch of snow, tree, or blade of grass upon the range.
The scene shifted and there were fearful shouts as the crowd suddenly found itself looking down into the barren valley that had once been Kyrania. There were no fields or homes, or even the holy lake of Felakia.
Then the ground seemed to move and people shouted in horror as they realized that millions upon millions of scaly insects made up the floor of their beloved valley. They swarmed over and under each other, feeding on rock and dust.
Just as everyone thought they could stand this nightmare no more Safar clapped and the scene vanished, the hole was healed and everything was the same as before.
"That is what we must prevent from happening," Safar said. "Only we can do it. Only the people of Kyrania have the will and the means. But to accomplish it, you must come away with me. You must come out of the clouds and walk the land and swim its rivers and climb its hills. We must walk until the land ends and there is only sea. And then we must find boats and cross that sea until we come to a new land, a place of safety and peace."
He jabbed at the air with his dagger point and again it shattered. But this time, instead of darkness, a warm yellow light poured out. Everyone looked and this time the gasps and shouts were of marvel, instead of fear.
A glorious island, looking like a wondrous emerald lizard, rose out of a shimmering blue sea. It had thick forests and high mountains on its back, with soft white clouds caught in the peaks. Silver streams coursed down the mountain slopes, leaping over cliffs and boulders and sending up fantastic rainbows from their spume.
"Friends and family," Safar said, "I give you Syrapis! The island of dreams!"
He clapped again and the vision dissolved. Safar turned back to the crowd. He took note of the faces.
Some people's eyes were alight with the wonder they had beheld. These mostly belonged to the young.
Others appeared withdrawn, suspicious. These mostly belonged to the old. Among the vast majority, however, was a mixture of the two, plus confusion.
Palimak piped up. "Was that our new home, father? Is that where we're going to live?"
Safar answered as if he and the child were alone, instead of surrounded by a thousand people. "If it pleases our friends to do so," he said.
"Is Syrapis very far?" the boy asked.
"Yes, son," he said, "it's very far. Farther than anyone has ever been before."
"If it's so far," he asked, "how will we ever find our way?"
Safar pulled the tube of maps from his belt. "Lord Coralean gave me these," he said. A quick side glance showed that Coralean's name was having a great affect on the Kyranians. All of it positive.
"These are secret maps that only caravan masters possess," Safar said. "They show every road and path in all of Esmir."
He raised his head slightly, making sure all heard. "You know how great a friend Lord Coralean is to all o
f us. He gave us these secret maps to save us from Iraj Protarus."
"Secrets!" the boy exclaimed, eyes glowing yellow in delight. "Does that mean if we go down those secret roads and paths no one will be able to find us? Even that … that…" Palimak automatically scanned the crowd for his grandmother's face. The words he had in mind would surely earn him a scolding. "That …
wolf thing, or man thing, or whatever he is. He wouldn't be able to find us, would he?"
"It would be a pretty hard thing for him to do," Safar said. "And if he found us, we could always lose him again."
"Then what are we waiting for, father?" Palimak asked.
He turned to the crowd, putting his hands on his hips, looking like a circus midget in his little uniform.
"Who wants to go to Syrapis with us?" he shouted. "You get secret maps and a chance to save the world, and … and…" He spread his hands wide as if encompassing a huge world of wonders …
"Everything!"
Everyone was laughing now, enjoying the show. In their laughter, Safar knew he'd found acceptance.
Palimak, however, wasn't satisfied. He stamped his little foot.
"You're not answering!" he shouted. "Who wants to go?
"Who wants to go to Syrapis?"
Part Two
Khysmet
CHAPTER TEN
THE COURT OF KING PROTARUS
The man's face was a bloody mask. "Please, master, please," he moaned, "we din't know no better, honest to th' gods we din't!"
Luka flicked a talon, making a greater mess of the man's face. "What a slimy little human you are," he said. "Everyone knows that Safar Timura is a desperate criminal, so why bother lying?" He flicked again and the man's shrieks echoed across the gloom that was the royal tent. "Even if I believed you, it wouldn't save your life. Your continued existence isn't at stake here, you filthy thing. Only how much pain you can bear before I send you on your miserable way."
Iraj shifted in his throne. Although Luka prided himself on his interrogation techniques, with lots of blood and moaning for entertainment, the king was clearly bored. As a shape changer some concentration was required to retain one form or another-whether human, or giant wolf. Iraj's concentration was visibly shattered by the proceedings; his body parts kept shifting back and forth from animal to human. Hand became claw, face grew a snarling muzzle, then crunched back again.
"Please, master!" the victim begged.
Iraj made a wolf snout. "Please, master, please!" he mocked, his voice a perfect imitation of the tortured villager's. His human face returned. "What a sniveling lot of fools I have for subjects. Always begging, never giving."
He turned to Fari, who sat to his left in a lower and smaller throne. "Tell my scribes," he said, "that in my next decree the phrase 'Merciful Master' is to be removed from my signature titles. King of Kings, Most Exalted Emperor of Esmir, Lion of the Plains, etc., etc., and all the others should be quite sufficient."
"Noted, Your Highness," the old demon wizard said. "All will be done as you say. And in that spirit, I propose that we examine your other titles more closely as well. For phrases like 'Peaceful Protector,' and
'His Benevolence,' which would also be suspect."
Iraj agreed. "Peace, mercy, and benevolence are out," he said. "My subjects need to have a clear idea of who I am. That's the key to good leadership. And I blame you and Luka and Kalasariz for not reminding me of this."
Fari bowed, beating his breast to show his own quick acceptance of guilt. "It's as you say, Majesty," he said. "There's been too much talk of peace and mercy of late and we ought to end it."
Iraj was calmed and became fully human in appearance. "Exactly, Fari, exactly!" he said. "And by the gods it's undermining my kingdom and I won't put up with it any longer."
He gestured, his hand transforming into a claw to indicate the grisly scene before him. Besides the man Luka was tormenting, there were five others chained to stakes. All of the townspeople were horribly maimed, with only their soft moans and the quivering of their tortured flesh to show they were still alive.
"This a perfect illustration of my point," Iraj said. "They all begged for mercy, screaming and farting at every little poke Luka gave them … and what do we get for our pains?" Another wide gesture, paw becoming a hand again. "Nothing but a great deal of wasted time because we are unsure of their respect for me.
"I tell you, Fari, we're losing far too many taxpayers to get at the truth! If I learned anything from Safar, it was that! I mean, genocide is all very well for an ordinary king recapturing an ordinary kingdom. But if you want to be truly great, you must pay a mind to the royal treasury."
Fari bobbed his big scaly head with the ease of one who had tended to the moods of many kings. "I agree entirely, Majesty," he said. "All your wishes will be put into force immediately."
"That's good, Fari," Iraj said. "We don't want to give out too much hope, you know. Another thing I learned from Safar is that hope is a coin more precious than any metal, including gold. So let's give out hope sparingly, if you please. Let's make it count."
Across the tented room, Luka did something to the prisoner again and the sound of his pain rasped against the scab of Iraj's boredom.
"Enough!" he shouted. "Enough! This exercise is making no progress whatsoever … No matter what we do, the fellow's only going to repeat what the others said."
"As always, your Majesty," Lord Fari replied, "your instincts are on target. This is the township's mayor, after all. And I don't know why Prince Luka left him for last. In my experience the post requires a good deal of moral cowardice, so the truth and pulled fingernails will out, as they say."
He made a lazy wave at the mayor, who was gibbering protests and squirming against his restraints as Luka delicately cut his flesh away. "In the end he'll confess to the same thing as the others. He'll claim that Lord Timura and his ragtag army of villagers arrived one day and forced the town to sell him food and supplies. He'll say they had no choice but to comply. And that he is as surprised as we are that Lord Timura insisted on payment."
Fari hefted a small sack of gold in his talons. "Our friend paid quite handsomely too."
"So what's the point in listening to this fellow's whining, then?" Iraj demanded. He raised his voice so Luka could hear. "Kill him and be done with it!"
The prince shrugged, cut the mayor's throat, then ambled back to his seat on Iraj's right, wiping his talons on a rag as he went and dropping it to the ground. Luka had no doubt that his work had been discussed by the king and his old rival, Fari. So he automatically protested.
"I understand your impatience, Majesty," he said, "but we should have probed deeper. After all, we still don't know where Lord Timura went when he left this township. We don't even know which direction he took."
He rattled his talons on the arm of his chair. "One thousand people, gone, vanished. Or at least that's what these fools told us." He indicated the chained forms. "Someone had to have seen what happened,"
he said. "A thousand people just don't disappear. There's no wizard in the world who could do such a thing."
"Whatever the explanation, my prince," Fari said, "this is hardly the first time Lord Timura has accomplished the trick. When we showed up in Kyrania with the army, all we found was a smoking ruin.
The homes and fields were burned, so there was nothing for our soldiers to scavenge. And all the people had vanished."
Iraj glowered at the memory, wolf jaws grinding in frustration. "Where could they have gone?" he growled. "They were there two days before."
Fari shrugged. "That remains a mystery-as Your Majesty is well aware. Our trackers found the northern trail they took through the mountains from Kyrania. But once into the desert they lost it in a warren of rifts and barren canyons so complicated only a devil god could have been the creator."
He indicated the map board posted near their thrones. All the major cities, Naadan and Caspan included, were clearly marked. As were all the known roads and byways. Ho
wever, unlike the special maps Safar had received from Coralean, none of the secret caravan tracks were shown. From the point of view of Iraj and cohorts, there was nothing but an impassable wilderness in those areas.
"Not only our trackers, but all my wizards have been confounded ever since," Fari continued. "We've been hunting Lord Timura for months without success. Sometimes he reappears at a town or city with a band of raiders to resupply his people. But when our troops reach there, he's vanished again without a trace. The next time we hear of him weeks have passed and somehow he's several hundred miles away."
To Luka's immense displeasure, Iraj smiled at Lord Fari. The demon wizard's calmly put litany of what was already known soothed the king somewhat and his face was back to normal.
"You have summed up our difficulties most succinctly, my lord," Iraj said. Then he immediately grew angry again, glaring at Luka. "At least Fari's using his gods given mind," he said. "Unlike some fiends I know."
Fari openly gloated at the demon prince. And Luka thought, you'll never change, you old fraud. First my father, now Protarus. Always posing as the all wise one, trying to appear superior at my expense.
But what he said, was, "Lord Timura will make a mistake by and by, Highness. They always do. It's the nature of such things."
Fari shifted tactics and nodded in wise agreement, "Quite true, my prince," he said to Luka. "Quite true."
But he was thinking, you're just like your father, you young fool. Nothing but cold porridge for brains.
Iraj's dark mood returned and he glowered at them both. Such useless creatures, he thought. Always quarreling and backstabbing. Telling lies to win his favor. If it weren't for the unbreakable Spell of Four that chained them all together, he'd have them taken out by his soldiers and beheaded. That would shutthem up once and for all!
"Enough excuses!" Iraj rumbled. "The point is we've failed. Despite the fact that I've had an entire army pursuing these peasants. Why, I'll soon be the laughing stock of all Esmir."