by Allan Cole
Palimak giggled. "They will, won't they," he said. "Saying 'shut up, shut up' all the time." Then he remembered something else and the giggle turned into a full-bodied laugh. "You sure looked funny in all that mud, father," he chortled. "Falling down, splat! And that big wrestler, boom, splat!"
"So you were the one who made it rain," his father said, laughing with him.
"Sure," Palimak said. "Well, not just me alone. Gundara and Gundaree helped too. It was pretty hard to do. You have to sort of catch clouds and keep squeezing them to get all the water out." He made wringing motions with his hands. "And then you have to blow real hard to make a wind." He puckered his lips to demonstrate. "At first it was fun. Then we had to keep going and going until you got out of that dungeon and it wasn't fun anymore."
He shrugged. "I guess that's why we got so sick," he said. "But it was worth it. You escaped, right?"
More giggling. "All those mosquitoes!" he said. "That was really, really disgusting, father. Would you show me how to do it someday?"
"Soon as we can find some mosquitoes," his father promised. Then, "When you're well again," he said,
"perhaps we'd better talk about doing great big spells, like making it rain. You can see for yourself that it can be very dangerous."
"It was the only way I could help," Palimak said.
"I know, son, and I thank you for it. You were very brave and very smart and you might even have saved my life."
Palimak squirmed with pleasure. "Did I really save your life, father?"
"Absolutely," Safar said. "And I wasn't criticizing you for doing it. I was only saying that you have to learn how to be careful about that sort of magic. We have to go slowly, son. Sometimes you'll even have to help me keep up with you. Even though you're still a boy, there's things you can do that I can't." He smiled. "Like making such a big rainstorm!"
"Oh, sure you could, father," Palimak said, feeling quite manly in his reply. "You're much stronger than me!"
"Only because I'm older, son," his father said. "And I've studied very hard all my life. You'll catch up to me one of these days. Plus more. Much more."
"That's because I'm half demon," Palimak said with much satisfaction. "It's better than just being one or the other, right?"
"That's right, son," his father said.
Palimak had a sudden thought. "What about the horse?" he asked, worried. "Khysmet, right?"
His father looked surprised. "Yes, that's his name."
"Is he here? Did you bring him back?"
"He's outside the tent eating a big basket of corn and rye."
"That's good," Palimak said, quite solemn. "He deserves it after riding around all over the place."
His father frowned, then, "Did you see that too, son? Me on Khysmet and the soldiers chasing us?"
Palimak hesitated, then, "I guess I did, but not the same way I saw you in Naadan. It was after I got sick and I had these strange dreams. One of them was you and Khysmet."
"That was a vision, son," his father said. "Not a dream. I was wondering when you'd start having them."
Palimak wasn't listening. He was thinking of something else. "The really, real strange thing was that you weren't always on Khysmet," he said. "Sometimes somebody else was riding him."
His father's blue eyes narrowed. "Who, son? Who else did you see."
Palimak remembered and his heart gave a bump. "It was Iraj Protarus, father!"
"I'm no wizard," Leiria said, "but that sounds worrisome to me."
Safar nodded. "Exactly why I wanted to talk to you before the meeting," he said. "There's no sense getting everyone alarmed when I don't know what it means myself. I'm sure Palimak had a vision. And in that vision he definitely saw me playing my little game with Iraj's scouts. But I don't know what to make of him seeing Iraj as well. Hells, that might not even have been part of the vision. Perhaps it was a dream attached to the vision. It happens sometimes. It's the magical equivalent of the tail on a kite."
"We'd be safer assuming the worst," Leiria said. "Although only you know what that could be."
Safar thought a moment, jumping from worst case logic point to the next and so on, face growing grimmer with each leap. The moment he'd proposed that Ulan give the amulet to Iraj, he'd known that he was making Iraj's task easier. Still, with so many lives at stake he had no other choice. He considered the gloating witch in the arena who had torn off a piece of his cloak. That, too, might help Iraj. On the other hand, the magic of human witches was weak. It would take an extraordinary sorceress to make any use of it. And those were very rare, indeed. Still … still…
"The safest thing," he said finally, "would be to run as far and as fast as we can."
"You think he'll track us here?"
"Taking the bleakest view, yes."
"Then that's what we should do," Leiria said. "Run." She sighed. "At least we're ready for it," she said.
"We're supposed to move out at first light."
"True," Safar said, "but we just might want to change which way we go and how." He unsnapped the map case from his belt. "We'd better get the route plotted before the meeting. Otherwise our beloved Elders will want to debate the issue for a week."
"Honestly, Safar," Leiria said, "I don't know why you put up with them. I know the Council of Elders is a proud Kyranian tradition and all that. But they aren't organized for this kind of life. They've rarely had to decide on anything more important than when to let out the pigs and geese to keep the streets clean.
"This is war and they're just not suited for it. You need to organize some kind of military leadership.
People who can think quickly, argue when its time to argue, and no matter what they think to shut up and fall in to march with the rest of us when the final decision is made."
"You don't understand, Leiria," Safar said, unrolling the maps and picking through them. "This is the system we've always had. I'm loathe to interfere with it, much less change it. We're nomads now. But I hope that doesn't last much longer than a couple of years. In Syrapis, with luck, we can start a new life.
A new Kyrania. If we set up some sort of military command it might be hard to change things back to the way they were."
He grimaced. "From what I've seen of most places, with all the kings and generals, it's nearly impossible to get rid of them once they're installed."
Leiria pointed at the maps. "Even so, the Elders don't get to choose now, do they?" she said. "I mean, we're going to work the whole thing out in advance, right? Then you'll convince them they thought of it themselves. Why, you're already leading them by the nose. So what's the difference?"
"Simple," Safar said, "I don't like doing it."
Leiria thought a minute, then smiled. "To split a hair like that, Safar Timura," she said, "your conscience must own a damned sharp sword."
In the tent with the Elders, Safar spread out the map and placed a stone on each corner. He moved casually, although inside his anxiety was mounting. After studying the maps he knew exactly where they had to go next. He didn't like it, but it was the only thing to do. The moment he'd been dreading for months had arrived.
"It seems to me," Safar said to the Elders, "that Naadan was very lucky for us. For the first time since we left Kyrania we have enough supplies to last us for several months."
"Only if we live off the land," the always argumentative Masura replied.
Khadji growled. "I suspect that's what Safar meant and you know it, Masura," he said. "The supplies we have on hand, plus living off the land. That's how we've been doing things for close on to a year!"
Masura grumbled. "I just want to make sure things are clear to everyone," he said.
"Actually," Safar said smoothly, "I did mean that, my friend. And I'm glad you brought it up. We don't want to miss anything and the supply situation is just the sort of crucial mistake we want to avoid."
Satisfied, Masura gave Safar's father a dirty look as if to say, see, I was right to ask. Your own son says so.
The headman, Foron, peered a
t the map. He put one finger on the ink blot that marked their current position and another on Kyrania. There wasn't much distance between them.
"I don't like that," he said.
Then he measured the distance to Syrapis. He grunted with effort as he made the stretch. It was two thousand miles away. "I like that even less," he said.
Foron scratched his head. "What if we took advantage of our luck to really cover some ground?" he said.
"Instead of dodging and ducking and hiding out all the time, we could make one long dash for it."
Masura coughed. "We'd never make it all the way to Syrapis," he said.
Safar gave his father a signal and Khadji groaned. "For the gods sake, Masura," he said. "Foron wasn't saying anything of the kind. He meant we should try to get as far as the supplies will take us."
Khadji moved to the map, just as he and Safar had planned, and studied it. He pretended to search for a moment then put his finger on the prearranged spot.
"My guess is we wouldn't need new supplies until we reached here."
Everyone craned to see, including Safar who acted as curious as the rest.
"It's the Kingdom of Caluz," said the headman. Then, to Safar, "Have you heard of that place, Lord Timura?"
"Only that they have a famous temple there," he lied. "I once approved funds for a temple restoration project in Caluz. For the life of me I don't remember anything more about it. However, it must have been a rich area to possess such a temple."
Safar thought, if they only knew! He hadn't even told his father why Caluz had to be the choice. After finding Khysmet in Naadan, Safar had greater reason than before to heed the words of Lord Asper's ghost: "Come to me through Caluz!"
"If Caluz is that rich," he heard his father say, "then we can get new supplies without much trouble."
Everyone murmured agreement and the decision was made. There would no ducking and dodging and hiding in the months ahead. Instead they would strike straight for Caluz and resupply there.
"Actually," Safar observed, "Caluz might be the last place we have to raid." He indicated the map. "A short run from Caluz should put us at the Port of Caspan. On the shores of the Great Sea."
The headman smacked fist into hand. "Then it's on to Syrapis!" he exclaimed.
"Well, there's a sea to cross first," grumbled Masura. "Don't forget that!"
The men roared laughter and teased Masura-which had been Safar's intent all along.
Then wine was passed around and everyone drank to the journey ahead.
Two weeks later Iraj's army entered the wooded ravine where the Kyranians had camped. It was night and the sky was alight with the thousands of torches they carried to show the way.
The Kyranians had gone to great pains to wipe out all signs of their presence, but an advance party of Iraj's scouts had found an iron horseshoe nail, which led to the uncovering of the thrown shoe itself. From there it was only a matter of more detailed searching and enough other small signs were discovered to give the Kyranians away.
Now the army was coming, led by Prince Luka and his demon cavalry of mailed warriors astride the great cat-like horrors they used for mounts. Behind them was a huge armored elephant bearing King Protarus' royal howdah, all gold and bejeweled and with blood red curtains drawn tight so the king could not be seen. The king's army sprawled back from there, starting with his royal guard of crack troops, both human and demon. There were archers and slingmen, demons who fought with giant battle axes and short spears, fierce human tribesmen who fought on horseback with crossbows they could fire at the gallop, and long curving blades so sharp they'd slice through chain mail as if it were paper.
The army stretched for miles, torches and lanterns all gleaming in the night, back to the farthest reaches where the big supply wagons groaned like captive giants put to the rack.
In the howdah Iraj sniffed the air with excitement, wolf's snout bristling. Old Sheesan cackled in the corner, waving a scrap of cloth about like a tattered flag. "I paid her handsomely fer this," she said. "But it's right off Lord Timura's cloak, so it's worth ev'r bit a gold I could scrape together."
Iraj licked his chops and tossed her a purse of gold. "I'll give you another," he said, "if you can sniff out his spoor."
If the old witch only knew, he thought, she could get a cartload of gold from him as a reward. In all these months this was the closest he'd ever come to finding Safar. First he'd retraced the route he'd taken in the vision, finally coming to the desert spring where he'd seen Safar's reflection. His plan had been to have his scouts follow Safar's trail to the main Kyranian encampment. But his old nemesis had been too canny, using both physical and magical tricks to obscure his passage. Several times his hopes were raised when he'd caught the scent of the great dream horse he'd ridden in the vision. It was the amulet that made this possible, heightening his powers to pick up the stallion's musk. Then some spell of Safar's would interfere and the scent would be gone, his hopes dashed.
It was then that Kalasariz had showed up with Old Sheesan in tow and the witch had presented him with the scrap of cloth she said would put him on the trail again. Iraj had his doubts-the dirty old hag was hardly a figure to inspire confidence-but he'd given her the chance and now he was vastly pleased with himself for doing so. Using the cloth and her witchy powers-which even Fari had grudgingly admitted were "most remarkable … for a human!" — she'd picked up Safar's trail and carried it many miles forward until Safar confounded them again with another trick.
The trick, however, proved to be flawed. Iraj had merely scoured the area in a twenty mile radius and this time luck was with him, not Safar, and his scouts had stumbled on the ravine.
Yes, Old Sheesan had proved her value. In his wolfen state it was difficult for Iraj to think deeply. Even so, he felt an sense of affection for her and even … trust? That was strange! Iraj had only trusted one man in his life-Safar. And look what that had gotten him! Still, every once in awhile, when the witch was in repose, he caught a glimpse of that remarkable creature he'd seen for an instant when they'd first met.
Who was this woman who called herself Old Sheesan? Was she a beautiful woman hiding behind an ugly facade? Or a filthy old hag through and through … and the glimpsed visions of beauty a product of his imagination?
Just then he heard a voice whisper in his ear, low, and musical and full of seductive promise: "Together
… together … we can achieve all … together…"
He jolted around, but only saw the witch sniffing at the scrap from Safar's tunic, beaked nose twitching.
She lifted her head, cackling triumphantly. "This is his place, yes it be, Majesty," she chortled in voice totally unlike the whisper he'd heard. "Lord Timura slept here, ate here and he left it not long ago. The scent's that strong, it is. Not more'n two weeks gone, is Old Sheesan's guess, Majesty."
Iraj concentrated, transforming fully into his wolfen state. He strained to catch Safar's spoor, but he didn't have the witch's powerful magic nose, with a long lifetime of experience to separate and interpret what she sniffed.
Suddenly the amulet glowed, so hot it nearly scorched his chest and he growled with delight at the pain, pressing it tighter against his wolfish hide to feel all the more.
Then Iraj caught the spoor of the great dream horse and he lifted his head and howled with delight.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
THE SPIRIT RIDER
Once out of the wilderness the Kyranians dared the main caravan tracks for the first time since they'd fled the Valley of the Clouds. They were amazed at the pace they could maintain, averaging nearly thirty miles each day-a distance a trained army would covet. What's more, they were able to command the entire length of that thirty miles. With scouts ranging far ahead and behind their control was extended even farther-a hundred miles or more.
It was Safar's practice to alternate between both scouting parties when they were on the road, seeing little of Palimak and the rest of his family during that time. Sometimes he found h
imself too far away from the caravan to rejoin it at night and would miss seeing them altogether for days at a time.
He regretted this, particularly when it came to Palimak whose boyish experiments with magic could be worrisome. He'd learned, however, that even a wizard couldn't be all places at all times so he locked the feeling away with all the other regrets that make up a life.
Thanks to Khysmet, he was at least enjoying these lonely but necessary missions more than in the past. It was not only a joy-and sometimes a breath-taking thrill-to ride him, but the stallion was remarkable company as well. Like an old friend, Khysmet knew all his moods and how to deal with them. When Safar became absorbed in thought, usually about what might await him in Caluz, the horse took control of the journey. Uncannily guessing the route Safar intended and becoming extra wary, sensing that Safar's mind was far away from present dangers.
Once when Safar was digging into Asper's book for a spell he could use in a swamp he became so absorbed in the demon wizard's theories he forgot where he was. When he became aware again he was startled to find himself on the other side of the swamp. Somehow Khysmet had found the way even though it was riddled with pits of quicksand deep enough to swallow a team of oxen, wagon and all.
Khysmet also proved to be a bit of a practical joker and Safar had to be wary when he squatted by a stream to drink, lest Khysmet butt him into the creek. When Safar came up out of the water sputtering and swearing Khysmet would rear back, snorting and pawing the air in delight.
There was also a strange kind of magic emanating from Khysmet. Oh, he couldn't suddenly sprout wings and fly, or scratch out a spell with his hooves like a witch's goatish Favorite. But on a long run, just when Safar felt he could no longer go on, he'd feel a sudden surge of energy and purpose radiating from Khysmet and then he could continue on for as long as it took to achieve his goal. As for the stallion, Safar had yet to see his limits.
There was the smell of the earth in Khysmet's magic: tall plains grasses golden in the sun; swarms of bees and locusts swooping this way and that, all of a single mind though there were thousands of them; small birds darting through the insect clouds to feed; and sharp-eyed hawks and eagles floating above it all, watching for their chance.