by Allan Cole
Then their voices dropped to more normal levels and Iraj couldn't hear what was said. He let the shape-changer's side of him come to the fore, snout erupting, bones cracking and shifting horribly, forming the head of a giant wolf sitting on a human body. There were involuntary gasps of terror from his men and he snarled for silence.
With his heightened senses he could hear their words with startling clarity.
"How many times must I repeat myself," Fari was raging, "before you two fools understand what I am trying to tell you. Lord Timura's trail ends here. It does not continue on through the pass."
"Something must be wrong with your sniffers, Fari," Luka said. "And as always you are too stuffed with pride to admit it when your magic fails you. I'm the one who is most at risk here. I'm the one who nearly died I don't know how many times today. I am the one most likely to die as a result of your pride.
But never mind that. The point is, this halt you ordered is not only likely to result in many unnecessary casualties, but also endangers the entire expedition. The longer we wait to clear the rest of the pass, the more time we give the enemy to regroup."
"And for Safar Timura to escape," Kalasariz put in. "Which is far more important. I guarantee you that if we bring him to ground, Protarus won't care how many of our soldiers' lives were wasted."
"I warn you both," Fari said. "If you prevail over me with the king Lord Timura has an extremely good chance of prevailing over us."
Kalasariz sneered. "You've underestimated this man all along, Fari. As have you, Luka. I have more experience with him than either of you. I first tried to kill him when he was nothing more than a ragged-cloaked student in Walaria with barely enough funds to pay for the crusts he ate. I even had him on the executioner's block. On his knees, mind you. His neck bent for the sword. He escaped despite what any rational fellow would judge as impossible odds against him. Just as he has escaped us countless times ever since."
Fari rasped laughter. "What's this?" he mocked. "You tried to kill Timura before? During a time when it was known to all he was the king's dearest friend. Why, it was my impression that you told the king you were Timura's secret ally in Walaria. You repeated that tale when we went to the king with charges that Timura was conspiring against him. A tale you told in the manner of a man who was shocked to learn of Timura's perfidy."
Kalasariz started to answer, but just then the three sensed Iraj's presence. They turned, gaping when they saw him, burying their reactions as quickly as they could.
Iraj kept his wolf's head intact for a long moment, making sure they'd worry about how much he'd overhead. The spy master, whose remarks gave him reason to have the most to fear, was the first to recover.
"Hail, O King!" Kalasariz cried. "Once again you have inspired us to win a great victory!"
Fari and Luka shouted similar bold words of praise.
Iraj resumed his human shape, flicking the reins for his horse to amble forward. He sat easily in the saddle as if he hadn't a care in the world, letting a sarcastic smile play across his face to heighten their tension.
Inside, his emotions were boiling to a froth. There were two more battles he had to win before the day was done. First, Safar. Next, his spell brothers. To build confidence and bring his emotions under control he imagined Safar's corpse under his boot while he confronted these three-his final enemies. From this moment on he had to view everything as a sport. A sport in which Iraj Protarus, king of kings, had no master. With one hand he would display a whip of fear, with the other, a broad palm heaped with the gift of the king's favor.
As Iraj closed the distance between them Fari caught a whiff of the king's intent-plus … something else.
Something he couldn't quite put a talon on, except that it did not bode well for him or his companions in conspiracy. In his long life Lord Fari had advised and survived many kings. It was his ambition that Iraj Protarus would be the last royal fool he had to suffer. A master wizard, a demon of incredible cunning, Fari knew every mask a king could present to his royal advisers. And in Iraj's face he read his demise.
His old heart bumped over the rocky road of logic. It was the Spell of Four that chained Protarus to them. A spell that he had created and cast. A bond that could be rearranged-with Fari as the ultimate mechanic-but not broken. Then suspicion, his most faithful friend, crept into his bosom. The king has a secret, he thought. A secret that did not bode well for any of them.
Before Iraj came within hearing distance, Fari whispered, "Beware, brothers! If you want to live, be with me!"
"Bugger you!" Luka whispered. "We're in the right. You are most grievously wrong."
"Who cares?" Kalasariz hissed. The spy master didn't have to reflect on Fari's warning. He too, sensed danger. "New truce. Quick!"
"And let you be the first to stab me in the back?" Luka replied. "Bugger you as well!"
"Trust me!" Fari urged. "Or all is lost!"
"Truce, dammit! Truce!" Kalasariz said.
Iraj rode up before Luka had a chance to answer. On horseback Iraj towered over them, his crown sparkling with jewels and rare metals. Shoulders squared, head uplifted, that knowing, scar-twisted smile playing across his lips, making his face unreadable.
The king raised his sword to Luka in salute. "It is you who should be congratulated for this victory, my good and loyal friend," he said. "Your bravery is an example to us all."
As the demon prince bowed in humble thanks the sense of peril became so strong his skin pebbled and began to itch as if he were about to molt.
"I am not worthy, Your Majesty," he murmured.
"Don't be so modest," Iraj said. "It is you and you alone who deserves full credit. And to reward your great deeds I will give you the honor of leading my army onward to even greater glories."
Not far away Kalasariz' assassins were roaming the battlefield cutting the throats of the enemy fallen with magical knives. Making certain no Guardian would never rise again. Luka heard the tell-tale hiss of ghostly life fleeing the temporal world and reconsidered.
"Modesty has nothing to do with it, Your Majesty," he said. "The fact is, at this time it would be imprudent of me to assume such an honor."
Iraj let his eyebrows rise as if he were surprised at this statement. "Is there some problem?"
"Only one of indecision, Your Majesty," Luka said. He gestured at his companions. "At this moment we were debating the merits of what to do next."
Out of the corner of his eye Luka saw Fari and Kalasariz visibly relax. The truce was on.
"What's this?" Iraj said. "A disagreement? At such a crucial moment for us all?"
"Only a small one, Majesty," Fari said, wringing claws of humility. "My brothers think we should continue on until we reach the end of this pass. And, presumably, come upon Lord Timura waiting for us in Caluz. I, on the other hand, believe that some sort of trick has been played on us."
Further down the pass they heard a chorus of frustrated howls from a pack of sniffers. Fari nodded toward the sound. "Safar Timura doesn't wait for us there, Majesty," he said. "At least that is my opinion. I think we will only find the machine that has been bedeviling us since we entered the Black Lands. If I am right, many of us will die before we have time to turn back. And once again Lord Timura will most certainly be laughing up his sleeve at us as he makes his escape."
Iraj peered down at Kalasariz. Although he was smiling, his eyes were deadly. "And you, my lord?"
he asked. "Where do you stand?"
"With Prince Luka, Majesty," Kalasariz said. He nodded at Fari. "No disrespect intended, of course.
Only an honest disagreement among brothers who wish to serve you well."
Iraj already knew the substance of their disagreement. But he didn't know the reason. He brought himself up short. There were many perils in the double-think necessary to this game he played. Above all things, Iraj reminded himself, you have to remember that Safar must come first. Once that game was won, the end of these traitorous bastards would quickly follow. Befo
re he shifted his attention, however, he made special note that once again his three opponents had overcome their personal animosities to oppose him as one.
Then he had another thought and his belly crawled. But what of his dream? The one that had been bedeviling him when he came upon these deadly conspirators. He gritted his teeth, remembering his terror. Yes, the dream. A dream within a dream so complicated it defied rational interpretation. And yet it was the sort of dream a man could relive in its entirety in the blink of an eye.
Iraj blinked.
And relived the dream…
He was only a boy, too young to be alone in the mountains. His name was Tio and he had spent a sleepless night guarding the goat herd against imagined horrors. Now he slept the sleep of the exhausted, the gentle dawn rising over the peaceful Kyranian mountains.
Iraj was a wolf, a great gray wolf, slipping across the meadow, leading his ravenous spell brothers to the kill. His plan was to slay the boy but leave the herd untouched. A coldly calculated murder intended to strike terror in the hearts of the Kyranians and undermine their faith in their vaunted hero, Safar Timura.
During Iraj's time with these people, who in his youth had shielded him against his enemies, he'd learned that wolves killed goats, not people. So poor little Tio, defenseless Tio, a child who whose death would wring pity from the hardest of hearts, would be his meat that day. He and his spell brothers would gut him, ravage him, and when the villagers came to investigate they'd find the goats bleating over the child's remains.
Then Kalasariz howled a warning, "Interlopers!" and Iraj spotted Graymuzzle and her starving pack descending on the goats. His rage was immediate and uncontrollable. How dare these wizened creatures plot to spoil his carefully wrought plan? His pent up shape changer's fury exploded and he charged into the pack, scattering them. All he could think of was "kill, kill," and so he killed and kept killing until there was nothing left alive on the meadow except Graymuzzle, trapped against a rock outcropping.
But as he went for her, instead of cowering and meekly accepting death, she suddenly roared in a fury as wild as his own. She leaped at him, slavering jaws snapping to do whatever damage she could before she died. Iraj caught an image of pups whining in a cave and knew the reason for her blind, suicidal attack. It made her death all the more delicious and his spell brothers crowded in close beside him to lap up her torment.
Ordering the others back, Iraj went to the little stone shelter alone, eager to feed on the child who waited there asleep. He rushed into the shelter, every nerve firing in delightful anticipation. Tio bolted up, screaming in terror, raising his puny goatherder's staff to protect himself.
Iraj bit the staff in two, then killed the boy.
Suddenly the child was sitting up again, but this time instead of screaming, he was smiling, and it wasn't Tio's face he was looking at. It was Safar's! A young Safar, the Safar he'd known long ago with those gentle blue eyes that could see the good in him.
Shocked and frightened to his core, Iraj reeled back.
Safar said, "So tell me, brother. How do you like being king?" And then he laughed.
Iraj recovered, more furious than ever, hysterically so, thinking how can this be, how can this be? Safar smiled the whole time he was killing him.
But he wouldn't stay dead. He kept rising, calling Iraj brother, his laughter becoming more mocking each time he died.
Finally, it was over and the corpse lay still under his paws and Iraj knew it would rise no more.
Exhausted, emptied of all emotion, Iraj stared down at the body.
But when he saw the youthful face staring up at him the horror came full circle.
For the face was his own!
"Majesty?" Fari was murmuring. "Is something wrong?"
Iraj blinked and he was back in the Caluzian Pass, his spell brothers looking at him anxiously.
"No," he said, shaking off the dream. "There's nothing wrong. I was only considering our problem." He turned to Fari. "I've heard all sides of the dispute," he said. "Save one thing."
"Yes, Majesty?" Fari asked.
Iraj said, "What do you propose we do? Luka and Kalasariz say we should continue on through the pass. You say we shouldn't. But you haven't said what we ought to do instead. We can't just sit here scratching our heads forever in dumb amazement at Safar's latest trick. If, as you say, it is a trick."
Fari drew himself up, confidence restored. He said, "Majesty, if you we allow me two hours-three at the most-I think I can solve the riddle of the vanished Lord Timura." He pointed at a rock outcropping bulging from a nearby canyon wall. "His trail ends there. Our sniffers have searched and double-searched the area in all directions. But they keep coming back to this point."
"Go on," Iraj said.
"I suggest," Fari said, "that I be allowed to gather my wizards together and make a casting to find out exactly what happened."
Iraj looked at Luka and Kalasariz, then back at Fari, thinking. There was good logic on both sides. It was Iraj's nature to favor quick action. But on the other hand-Iraj chopped off further speculation and made his decision. And he said to Fari:
"Call your wizards!"
CHAPTER THIRTY ONE
THE FIGHT FOR CALUZ
Leiria thought the valley was particularly beautiful that day. Blue skies, sweet breezes, joyous birds swooping over fruited fields and babbling rivers. Looking down on them from the hilltops the city of Caluz shone under the gentle sun, seemingly full of promise and hope and welcome.
Leiria thought of the palace courtyard heaped with all the Caluzian dead and turned away, choking on bile.
The business awaiting her didn't make her feel any better. At the moment she was sitting at a small camp table going over last minute arrangements with Khadji Timura and Sergeant Dario.
"No one is very happy about this latest plan of yours, Leiria," Khadji said. "They want you to reconsider. Some of them are even demanding it."
Leiria sighed, shaking her head. Civilians! What could you do with them? They kept imagining orders were open to debate.
"Tell them no," she said.
Khadji frowned. "You really ought to at least hear them out," he protested. "Frankly, I'm in agreement with many of their complaints."
Leiria's eyes hardened. It was all she could do to keep from snapping his head off. Sometimes Safar's father could be a most difficult man. Then her lips twitched with a sudden urge to smile. And so is Safar, she thought. And his mother. And his sisters. Hells, all the Timuras were absolute mules. Even Palimak seemed to have caught the disease.
Calmed, she did her best to temper her words. "I don't know how many times we've been over this, Khadji," she said. "I thought we were in agreement. It might not be the best plan, but it's the only one that might, just might mind you, give us a chance."
"I'm with the Captain, here," Dario broke in. He nodded at the nearby field where young Kyranian soldiers were pawing through their gear, keeping some things, but throwing most of it away. "And you can tell the knotwits on the Council of Elders that so are my lads."
"You don't understand," Khadji said. "We've already lost our homes and almost all of our possessions. All we have left of our old lives are the few things we've managed to carry along in our wagons. Now you want us not only to abandon them, but to leave the wagons as well. Plus most of the animals. You're even begrudging us a few extra clothes."
"You can't eat clothes," Leiria said. "You can't fight with clothes. That's a lesson everyone should have learned by now."
Dario glowered at Khadji. "And you can't eat clay pots, either," he said, "in case that's what's really stuck in your craw."
Khadji blushed. "I'll admit that was on my mind," he said. "If only I could-"
Leiria put a hand on his. "Listen to me, Khadji," she said. "I promised Safar that if Iraj found us before he got back I'd do everything I could to see that as many of you as possible escape. I'm not trying to be cruel or unfeeling, but the way I've outlined is the best I can manage."<
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Drawing on her last reserves of patience, she went over the plan one more time. She'd divided the Kyranians into two groups-those who would fight and those who would run. The latter was by far the largest group, women and children and those too old or infirm to fight. When and if they got the signal all of those people, led by Khadji who had the maps, were to head for the mountains.
"Aim for those peaks," Leiria said, pointing at the twin pillars that towered over the range. "With luck, you'll find a track there to make things easier. Just make sure the track heads north to the Great Sea."
Khadji nodded. "There's a port at Caspan," he said. "I saw it on the map."
"Yes, Caspan," Leiria said. "Safar said we might be able to get some ships there. And I've given you the gold he left to hire them to take us to Syrapis."
"What about Safar?" Khadji said mournfully. "What about my son? And little Palimak! What about him?"
"I think it would be best if you put them out of your mind," Leiria said. "Concentrate on getting to those peaks. Then set your sights on Caspan. Let the rest of us, including Safar and Palimak, worry about how we're going to catch up to you."
Then she carefully explained the rest of the plan. As Khadji and the villagers fled, Sergeant Dario and the bulk of the soldiers would follow in their footsteps as shields.
Meanwhile, Leiria and a small force of their best soldiers would attempt to hold Iraj at the breakthrough point for as long as they could. When the inevitable rout came the survivors would fall back to join Dario.
The strategy from there would be to fight a rear guard action-using every trick Dario and Leiria had drummed into the young men to keep Iraj from overtaking the refugees.
"Speed is our only real defense," Leiria said. "Iraj taught me the value of speed long ago. That, and surprise, win more battles than not. When Iraj breaks through he'll think his job is nearly done. In his mind all he'll have to do is overtake a caravan moving at the speed of the slowest group. Ox-drawn wagons and heavily laden people on foot. Which is why I want to leave all that behind and fool him at the start. We won't fool him long, but gods willing it will be just long enough."