by Allan Cole
Iraj dreamed of horses-a great wild herd flying across the plains. He sailed with them, moving at breathtaking speed, the air full of fresh spring currents, the horizon a joyous thing of blue skies meeting lush green earth. He felt like a boy again, a fully human boy with innocent dreams and youthful yearnings.
He was skimming just above the herd, which moved in graceful unison like a flock of birds flying to some glorious home that was free of all earthly cares.
Iraj quickened his pace, moving along the herd until he came to the leaders. There were two of them, the first creamy white, the other hearthstone black, and both were so magnificent he loved them at first sight.
The black was a fiery mare, the white a tall, noble stallion.
He chose the stallion and settled down, down, and just as he touched the world spun and he suddenly found himself crouched in a canyon, the stallion standing next to him. Now the horse was saddled and harnessed and he was holding the reins loosely in one hand.
Iraj heard the sound of fast-moving riders and he knew his enemies were hunting him just over the ridge.
He didn't know or care who that enemy was, but he thrilled at the prospect of an encounter. The horse nickered, sharing his excitement. Laughing, Iraj came to his feet and vaulted into the saddle.
Astride the horse he felt strong and swift, a man who feared nothing. The horse was magic under his hands, moving with easy fluidity. It was as if he were part of the animal and it was part of him.
Blood sang in his ears and he shouted in glee as he and the horse surged forward. They practically flew up the steep sides of the canyon, dust and rocks boiling behind them as they plunged up and up and then they were over the rim charging across a hilly plain.
When he spotted the scouting party he brought the horse to a skittering halt. Iraj was startled at the animal's quick obedience. He'd barely touched the leather straps and the horse had stopped on a skinned copper. It was as if the action had been communicated by thought alone. Now the stallion stood trembling under him, ready to charge into the fight, or turn and run like the winds.
Iraj waited, keeping a rein on his own high-pitched emotions. He felt wonderful. Full of life and spirit and clean purpose. Gone were the ravenous urges of a shape changer. He had no overpowering lust for blood and misery. No fiery dreams of grand thrones and bowing subjects. He didn't even hate his enemies who were thundering toward him. He only wanted to bedazzle them, confound them. That would be enough to make a joyous victory.
He patted the horse, soothing it as the scouting party came closer. There were twenty: six main scouts astride fast horses in the lead, and eighteen demons, bristling with arms and riding the huge, cat-like beasts that could take a charge and turn it back with their ferocity.
When the scouts were near enough to see him, Iraj raised his fist high in challenge. He stood his ground until he heard excited shouts of recognition: "It's him! Don't let him get away!"
At the last moment Iraj wheeled the stallion and raced away across the plain, the soldiers in thundering pursuit.
It was a ride like no other and Iraj whooped in joy as they sped over rocky ground as if it were meadow grass, leaping wide ravines as if they were merely narrow clefts. Sometimes he got too far ahead of the soldiers and he had to turn back to swoop just outside of their range, then wheel and charge away again.
He led them far from the main track, through rough hills, barren valleys and dusty canyons full of tricky switchbacks and false trails. He never stopped, riding on through the night, the horse never tiring under him. The scouts grew weary, their animals ready to drop. Laughing at their plight, Iraj gave them no mercy, prodding and teasing whenever they tried to rest.
He rode that way for many a day, until he finally abandoned the soldiers, exhausted and lost in the middle of a desert.
A few hours later he came to a small wooded area with a creek running through. A tall willow shaded a pool where the creek widened. He dismounted and led the horse to the pool for a cool drink and shady rest. The two of them drank long and deep, a warm feeling of comfort and satisfaction shared between them.
Iraj splashed water on his face, breaking the mirrored surface with his cupped hands as he sluiced dust and grime from smooth cheeks.
Strange, he thought, I remember a beard.
Curious, he peered into the water and saw a wavery reflection floating up at him. He couldn't make it out at first, but then the surface calmed and the image resolved itself.
With a shock he realized he was looking at the face of Safar Timura!
Safar jolted back, nearly losing his balance and falling into the water. Khysmet nuzzled him, wondering what was the matter.
"It's nothing," Safar said, stroking the soft nostrils. "I'm just tired, I guess."
Even so it was with some trepidation that he leaned forward again to peer into the water. Floating there was the reflection of his own smooth features.
A moment before he would have sworn an oath that he'd seen the face of Iraj Protarus staring back at him. The illusion, surely caused by exhaustion, had been so strong he'd even felt a beard under his fingertips when he washed.
Ridiculous as the notion was, Safar was vastly relieved. To calm himself he washed and groomed Khysmet, then gathered some sweet grasses for a treat. He also found berries all fat and full of juice and he fed them in alternating handfuls to Khysmet and himself. Then he slept. It was a sound and dreamless sleep and when morning came he felt refreshed and full of energy. Khysmet evidently felt the same, for he pranced about and kicked up his heels like a colt. Safar was eager to get into the saddle and be on his way. He had many miles to cover before he reached home. Although it was nothing more than a tented encampment soon to be on the move again, home was how he thought of it and so home it was.
As they cantered out of the woods, Safar thought of his wild ride-the ride that seemed as if it would never end. Khysmet snorted, tossing his head, as if sharing the memory and enjoying it equally. Then Safar thought of the soldiers he'd left in the desert. They were so exhausted and so lost he doubted they'd survive. To his surprise he felt not one pinch of pity for them. They'd chosen the wrong side and too bad for that.
It was a cold, just so, feeling and it was discomforting how easily it sat upon his soul.
And he had a flash of awareness of what it was like to be Iraj.
In Iraj's most private quarters the king paced the room, fighting to control his emotions and retain his human form. He kicked at the pillows and snarled at a terrified serving wench to fetch him some wine and make it quick or he'd tear her heart out.
The dream was gnawing at him. Although to call it a dream would be an exaggeration, because Iraj never slept. That was one of the things he missed most about his previous life. Sleep, blessed sleep. As a shape changer he only dozed, or, as Fari explained it, he entered a neutral state where he was vaguely aware of his surroundings but was resting.
Iraj knew all this, but he still thought of the experience as a dream. And it had left him with a feeling of great loss. Normally, if normal it could be called, Iraj's neutral state was full of quick, bloody images mixed with snatches of voices; some screaming, some wailing, some babbling, some shouting in fury.
When he came "awake" he was angry, always angry and the only relief was causing pain. The greater the pain the closer he came to a state of-joy? All that had somehow been welded to his overweening ambition and combined into a ferocious desire to always be on the move-doing something, crushing something, killing something.
It was like a furnace, Iraj thought, an immense furnace straight out of the hells that could never be satisfied.
But the dream, ah the dream, if only he could capture it and make it into a potion then drink it down and quench that angry fire.
Wine was thrust into his hand and he drank and paced and drank some more, letting the dream spill out.
The horse! That magnificent creature, a plainsman's treasure unmatched by any Iraj had ever seen. And the ride! By th
e gods that was a chase to end all chases! Iraj chuckled, remembering how he and the horse had fooled the soldiers. Most of all he remembered the feeling of being whole and human again-the sense of freedom so strong it was like being lifted up to the skies.
Then he came to the uncomfortable part, the part that had smashed him out of his dream into dismal reality.
He thought of the moment when he'd stared into the pool and seen Safar's reflection instead of his own.
Everyone knew dreams sometimes had deep meaning, but what was that all about? The strangest thing was although seeing Safar had been a shock there had been no feeling of hatred for him. And for certain Iraj hated Safar with passions only a shape-changer could know. Iraj hated him now as he paced and thought and wondered, thinking, if he had Safar in his grasp at this moment he'd rip off his limbs and devour them before his still living eyes.
However, for a brief span, just as Iraj was recovering from his surprise at seeing Safar, there was no hate. In fact, the first thought he had was being glad that he'd met an old friend in his dream.
He was still worrying that bone an hour later when Kalasariz begged an audience. The spy master entered, cool and smooth as ever, with only a few spots of wolfishness to show his inner excitement.
"I bear good tidings, Majesty," he said. "Our witches' net has proved itself already. There's still some rough spots, such as communications, to burnish, but I do believe we are on the right path with this."
"A sighting of Lord Timura?" Iraj asked, nerve endings burning with interest and he remembered his bargain with the strange witch known as Old Sheesan.
"Better than that, Majesty," Kalasariz said. "A witch over in Naadan not only sniffed out Lord Timura in a festival crowd of thousands, but she was able to alert the authorities in time so he could be captured."
Caught by surprise, Iraj's wolf snout erupted from his face. "You mean, we have him?" he snarled.
Kalasariz sighed. "Unfortunately, he was able to escape, Majesty," he said. "His magic was too strong and his kinsmen were too clever for the local king. Disappointing perhaps, but only when looked at from a certain angle."
"And how should we look at it?" the king growled. "How can Lord Timura's escape be viewed as anything other than abject failure?"
Kalasariz had been ready for this. "Why, Majesty, Old Sheesan only just set up the witch network. And already we have proof that no city in your kingdom is safe for Lord Timura." He shrugged. "Nest time we'll get him! We only have to improve the response of the local authorities. They have no experience in dealing with wizards."
"You'll see to that?" Iraj demanded.
Kalasariz smiled. "Gladly, Majesty," he said, "except I fear I'd be treading on Prince Luka's territory.
He's in charge of dealing with local authorities, if you recall."
Iraj looked at him coldly. "You've certainly managed to wriggle off that hook," he said.
Kalasariz acted hurt. "Why, Majesty," he said, "you've misconstrued my intent. I was merely reporting what I thought was the best news since this whole exercise began."
Iraj decided to ignore this large chunk of dissembling, saying, "Tell me the details. Exactly what happened in Naadan?"
Kalasariz reported as fully as he could, from the tavern encounter to Safar's strange challenge of the wrestler, Ulan, to his capture and eventual escape.
"Now, here's where it really gets interesting, Majesty," he said. "We nearly had him twice. The Naadanian messenger was on the road to this camp and luckily encountered one of your scouting parties a few miles from Naadan. They went in pursuit."
"Yes?" Iraj said.
Kalasariz took a long breath. This was another dangerous area to be bridged. Then, "Well, I can't say what happened exactly after that. The soldiers never returned. I suspect they were ambushed by Lord Timura's forces."
Iraj was rocked by the news, his features becoming more wolflike. Not at the defeat. He was thinking of the dream, the mad chase into the desert. The soldiers-his soldiers! — in pursuit. Could this be true? Had it been a vision, not a dream?
"There's another way Prince Luka can aid our cause," the spy master went on. "We should post similar scouting units in each city, backed by sufficient troops to prevent another ambush. Then we don't have to leave things to chance."
Iraj was drifting now, not really paying attention. He was thinking of the dream in a completely different light, which had an odd calming effect on him.
It was a human hand that he waved at Kalasariz, saying, "Yes, yes, tell Luka to do all that."
"And the witch, Majesty?" the spy master asked. "Old Sheesan? Shall we increase the reward? I'm a great believer in financial incentive."
"Fine," Iraj said absently. "Double it if you like." He paused. "And send for the witch. I want to speak with her."
"Yes, Majesty, it will be done, Majesty, just as you say." Kalasariz hesitated. He'd won every point thus far and was willing to try his luck once more. "One other thing, Majesty."
"Say it."
"Prince Luka informs me he plans to punish Naadan for allowing Lord Timura to escape."
"Whatever he decides," Iraj said.
"Yes, Majesty," Kalasariz said, "except Naadan is such a rich area-one of the few bright spots in your kingdom that can pay real taxes, instead of chickens and scrawny goats. And the king who was responsible for letting Lord Timura get away-King Quintal-suddenly died. He was probably scared to death. Ulan the wrestler is king now."
Iraj shrugged. "Luka knows my views on that issue. I assume he took them into account when he made his decision."
"Yes, I'm sure he did, Majesty," Kalasariz said, "and I meant no criticism."
He slipped an object out of his sleeve and held it up for Iraj to see. "However, I don't think he took this into account, Majesty," he said.
Iraj goggled at the object. It was the horse amulet he'd given to Safar long ago! Hurled it at him, actually, in his anger at Safar's defiance over the woman, Nerisa.
"King Ulan sent this to you as a gift, Majesty," Kalasariz said, "and he begs you to spare his people."
Iraj took the amulet with trembling hands. He had no doubt the spy master knew the tale behind the amulet. But Kalasariz could have no idea that it now had even deeper meaning.
"It's true," Iraj murmured. "The horse really exists."
"Pardon, Majesty?" Kalasariz asked.
Iraj shook his head. "Leave me."
"But what about Naadan, Majesty?" the spy master asked. "Shall we spare them?"
Iraj snarled, "Yes, dammit! Now get out of my sight!"
Kalasariz left, vastly pleased with himself. He cared nothing about Naadan's fate. However, he'd just won a major victory over Luka by having his orders reversed.
When he was gone, Iraj hung the amulet about his neck. He felt the warm glow of its magic against his chest. Once again he was astride the great horse running free with the winds. The reverie ended with a crash and he shouted for his officers.
They came running and he issued orders to break camp immediately. He would march within the hour, never mind there wasn't time to rouse the whole army. "They can catch up to us later," he said, dismissing the men.
The furnace in his belly was burning full force. He knew exactly where to go to pick up Safar's trail.
Somewhere outside Naadan there was a canyon where Safar had lain in wait for his soldiers.
Iraj had no doubt he'd recognize the spot the moment he saw it.
Palimak felt like he was swimming in camel curds, which he hated more than anything, especially if the milk camel had grazed in an onion field and then it was really awful because all the onion juice seemed to concentrate in the curds. Grandmother Timura said it was good for him and made him eat it anyway, but why was she making him swim in the stuff? It was thick and slimy and hard to swim in and he kept on bumping into big pieces of curd and then he'd sink down and down and get it in his nose and mouth.
Then he thought he heard voices. He wasn't sure whose voices they we
re but he heard his name so he turned over on his back and floated on the curds to listen.
"Palimak's been sick since the storm," he heard his grandmother say. He knew she wasn't really his grandmother, although she acted like one and talked like one and cuddled like one, and scolded like one, so that's what he called her.
The same with Grandfather Timura and that's who he heard talking now. He heard him say, "We've been scared to death. First it was a fever, which seemed to hit when the rain stopped."
"I got the fever down just fine," his grandmother said. Her voice quavered. "Then he went to sleep and we haven't been able to wake him up." She sniffled, trying to hold back tears. "It's been more than a week, now."
Someone answered but Palimak couldn't tell who because he sank under those stupid curds again and he was swimming and swimming and then he was whirling around and around in all that onion tasting stuff and then … Nothing. A long, long time of nothing. Then he smelled incense, except not just one kind because there were so many layers of scent-rose and sage and lemon and cinnamon-that it was like he was smelling a rainbow … if only you could break off a rainbow hunk and put it in an incense burner.
Then he sensed light and he heard someone chanting, but they were whispering so he couldn't make out what the chant was all about.
He thought, talk louder, please! and just like that someone said, "Wake up, Palimak!"
The boy opened his eyes to find his father bending over him. His threw his arms around his Safar's neck, crying, "Oh, father, I'm so glad to see you!"
Safar hugged him back and told him what a good boy he was, and brave too, and other things like that until the world was whole again.
Then Palimak remembered and became alarmed. "What about Gundara and Gundaree?" he asked, fumbling around his bedclothes for the turtle idol. "They've been sick too!"
"Don't worry," his father said, slipping the turtle from his sleeve. "I had to take care of you first." He laid it on Palimak's chest. "Just leave it there for awhile," he said. "Before you know it they'll be out here driving us crazy again."