by Allan Cole
Sergeant Hamyr, along with Renor and Sinch, attended as representatives of the Kyranian soldiers. Then there were Biner and Arlain, who came to speak for the circus folk.
Finally there was Palimak, who was pale from worry. The closeness of the atmosphere made the young man feel as if everything might not be quite real-like a dream threatening to spill over into actual life. As he watched his father greet each person, he burned with the desire to shout out his great secret: Thisman was is impostor!
In reality it was Iraj Protarus in Safar's body and he was falsely commanding their respect and rapt attention. But this wasn't totally true and besides, Palimak had promised himself that he wouldn't interfere unless it became absolutely necessary.
With much difficulty, he choked back the words that crowded into his thoughts demanding to be spoken.
Safar, speaking through Iraj, quickly summed up what Arlain and Biner had discovered. Then he said,
"It's my strong guess that the storm will end at dawn. And Rhodes will immediately throw everything he has against us."
Queen Yorlain sat bolt upright in her throne. "What a fool this king is!" she said. "Doesn't he know the Castle of the Two Kings is impregnable? We can withstand months, nay, even years of any siege he can mount!"
"It's not quite that simple, Your Highness," Iraj/Safar replied. "To begin with, I doubt you've stocked the castle with all the weapons and supplies necessary to withstand even a short siege."
Yorlain started to protest, then hesitated. Finally, she said, "Unfortunately, your words have struck to the heart of our dilemma, my king. We barely had time to prepare for your coming, much less gird ourselves for war."
Biner thumped his chair arm with a mighty fist. "Never fear, me lad," he said. "We'll get the airship up at the crack of dawn and bombard Rhodesa€™ filthy hide to the hells!"
"As always, your instincts are right on target, my good and trusted friend," Iraj/Safar said. "However, I suspect Rhodes has something planned for the airship. That's what this storm is probably all about.
Clayre most likely created it to ground the airship. And it would be most unwise for us to underestimate our enemy and to doubt that he has a follow-up plan to deal with the airship when the storm passes."
"I see what you mean, lad," Biner said. "But I still think we ought to get into the sky as quickly as we can."
"It'th the only plathe the airthip ith thafe, Thafar," Arlain pointed out. "On the ground we're helpleth."
"Then we should take that into consideration in our plans," Iraj/Safar said.
Leiria broke in, saying, "The moment the storm lifts-never mind if it's dawn by then-we ought to hit Rhodes and hit him hard. Nothing big. Just a nasty little in-and-out surprise attack that lets him know we have teeth."
"Wonderful!" Jooli exclaimed. "My father's a good soldier-an excellent general and planner. He also depends heavily on surprise. On the other hand, he's terrible at anticipating his enemy's response. That's his greatest weakness. And if his enemy has some kind of quick reply ready, it rattles him something fierce."
Coralean laid a hand of sincerity across his broad chest. "As all know, I am a great believer in the art of negotiation," the caravan master said in his booming voice. "The weapons of war are most necessary in this sad world the gods have cast us into. However, talk has won more battles than any war. And at the very least, talk has allowed defenses to be strengthened whilst the enemy perused a seemingly weighty bargaining proposal."
"In other words, we strike first as Leiria suggested," Iraj/Safar said. "Followed by a flag of truce to discuss the situation to death while we build up our defenses. Is that what you're thinking?"
Coralean started to answer in the affirmative, but Eeda tugged his sleeve, winning his silence. He smiled fondly at her as she spoke.
"If my lord husband permits," she said, "I can accompany him and cast some small-and quite subtle-spells of confusion to help draw the negotiations out." She patted her rounded belly. "Even that great bitch Clayre won't suspect me because I'm obviously weak from being with child."
Then, realizing the insult, Eeda blushed deeply and turned to Jooli. "I'm sorry," she said. "That was an unforgivable thing to say about your grandmother."
Jooli laughed, waving away the apology. "I've called her worse," she said. "Besides, it's true. She is a bitch of the worst order. And may all the mother dogs of the world forgive me for slighting them."
Meanwhile, Sergeant Hamyr was having a few quiet words with Renor and Sinch. When there was a lull in the conversation, he said, "Me and the lads here," he said, "crave tha€™ honor of first blood."
He turned to Leiria and saluted smartly. "In other words," he said, "we'd be pleased to be in your troop, Cap'n, when the gates open in the morn."
Leiria laughed aloud, her dismal mood swept away by the bright prospect of battle. "Consider it done, sergeant," she said. "We'll all go out together and give King Rhodesa€™ scrotum a good squeeze!"
There was laughter all around, even from Queen Yorlain, who at first struggled mightily to keep her serene dignity. But eventually she giggled, then tittered, and finally exploded in earthy guffaws.
Drinks were poured and toasts were made. Iraj/Safar laughed and drank along with the others-but the whole time each man was considering much deeper thoughts.
Both were finding the war parlay immensely interesting. Their interest, however, had little to do with the nuggets each person in the group had to offer. From Leiria's proposal of a surprise counter-attack to Coralean's idea of false negotiations.
There was an internal understanding that was beginning to take root in each man.
Iraj realized he was deferring to Safar on all matters involving personalities and magic. While Safar instinctively gave way when Iraj was discussing military tactics and strategy.
As the conference reached its climax, to be followed by false pre-battle levity, each man became more impressed with what could be accomplished when they cooperated with one another-without hesitation, or second guessing.
Although neither man asked for a renewed truce, they ceased their internal struggle with one another. Iraj hoisted a goblet of brandy and drank it down. And Safar found himself enjoying the drink, along with the peacefulness that followed.
Then Iraj's attention was gradually drawn to Leiria. Her color was high with excitement, eyes dancing.
And then, to Safar's alarm, he felt heat rising in the body Iraj controlled. Legs that had once belonged to him, but now were no longer his to rule, moved toward Leiria.
Leiria looked up as Iraj/Safar approached and through the eyes Iraj provided Safar could see hope and love and pain and fear, all mingled together.
She dared a trembling smile of greeting and Safar could feel words that were not his own ghosting up for Iraj to speak. He did not have to wait to hear them to know they would be soft words, sweet words, and all of them traitorous to the core.
Prisoner though he was, Safar suddenly became aware that he still had a few small powers over the body that had once been his. He frothed up a bitter concoction from his belly and as Iraj opened his mouth to speak, acid flooded into the back of his throat.
Iraj felt the strong bile rise and it was all he could do not to spit. He swallowed hard, tried once again to speak, but only found more acid waiting to be coughed up.
And Safar said, Leave her be, brother! Leave her be!
He left Iraj no choice but to turn away. But through his enemy's eyes Safar saw Leiria's face fall and the hurt shoot through her as she thought that Safar had spurned her.
Although he could no longer see her reaction, he knew that most likely darkened as Iraj turned his attention on the lovely Queen Yorlain.
Again he felt the lust rise-even stronger than before. Yorlain smiled up from her throne, eyes full of equal heat and the promise of parted lips pressed together and twined bodies tossing on and on throughout some fated night to come.
Smooth, seductive words came into Iraj's mind-so full o
f must that Safar could practically hear them spoken aloud before they were uttered.
At the same time Iraj clamped on a more powerful physical control to prevent Safar from blocking him and spoiling his fun.
Except, as Iraj bent low to murmur his words, Yorlain's eyes suddenly hardened.
And she said, loud for all to hear, "You and your people are most clever, Highness. But there is far more to be concerned about than this coming battle with the barbarian, King Rhodes. In the scheme of things, he is nothing compared to with what is about to commence."
As she spoke there was a rumble beneath them strong enough to make the castle sway. And from a distance there came another, stronger rumble, followed by a short, explosive blast.
Then silence. A silence permeated by the gas stench of the volcano coming to life.
Yorlain said, "Did you forget the dance, Lord Timura? Did you forget the agony that awaits us all?"
And Iraj/Safar replied, "We didn't forget!"
For a moment a frown spoiled Yorlain's beautiful face. Then she recovered and her features became blank.
"Two kings are required," she said, "to halt the doom Lord Asper has predicted. I see you-King Safar Timura. But I don't see the other king you promised. Dare I think that you might be lying to me? And if so, to what purpose? For you will die, along with me, your friends-and, indeed, the entire world.
"What say you to that, Safar Timura?"
At Safar's suggestion, Iraj bit back a sneering regal reply. He shrugged as if unconcerned.
"I told you before, Your Highness," he replied, "the other king will be with us shortly."
Yorlain laughed, "Come now, Majesty," she said. "You're toying with me. Why don't you admit it? Why don't you come right out and confess that he is with us now?"
Then her eyes started to glow and at the same moment the room darkened so that the only light was that cast by her eyes, framing Iraj/Safar like footlights in a theater.
Outside came another rumble and explosion and the volcanic stench grew stronger.
Safar and Iraj found themselves suddenly frozen by her eyes. And from some place close by they heard drums and horns and the rhythmic slap of bare feet dancing in sand.
Then they felt their wills draining away as they heard ghostly voices lift in song:
"Her hair is night,
Her lips the moon;
Surrender. Oh, surrender.
Her eyes are stars,
Her heart the sun;
Surrender. Oh, surrender.
Her breasts are honey,
Her sex a rose;
Surrender. Oh, surrender.
Night and moon. Stars and Sun.
Honey and rose;
Lady, oh Lady, surrender.
Surrender. Surrender … "
The others in the room heard nothing but the rumble of the volcano. But they were transfixed by the strange sight of Safar standing frozen in the pool of light cast by the queen's shining eyes.
Then the area around his body started to shimmer and his form became hazy, less substantial.
Palimak suddenly realized what was happening. He leaped to his feet, drawing his knife.
At the same time the Favorites caught the deadly magical scent and shouted a warning.
But Palimak was already driving forward-sprinting past the startled onlookers.
And then he grabbed Yorlain by the hair and slit her throat!
She fell to the ground, flopping horribly. But not one drop of blood came from the gaping wound.
Leiria cried, "What have you done, Palimak?"
He didn't need to answer-for in the next moment there was a loud thunderclap and the ghostly figure of the Goddess Lottyr rose from Yorlain's corpse.
All her many mouths howled fury, poison dripping from her sharp fangs. Her six arms waved violently as if she were going to attack.
Eeda and Jooli recovered quickly enough to join Palimak's protective spell.
Then there was a bright flash of light and she was gone.
Iraj/Safar suddenly jerked, coming out of their trance.
Palimak stepped over Yorlain's body to confront the strange thing his father had become.
"Tell them!" he demanded. "Tell them who you are!"
The thing that wore his father's body only sighed.
And when it replied it spoke in the voice of Iraj Protarus: "Safar always did say you were a bright lad."
It was Leiria who first understood what had happened. She would have recognized that voice in a cave black as midnight.
She gasped in shock. "It's Iraj!" she cried.
And she drew her sword and charged.
CHAPTER FIFTY
PRELUDE TO WAR
Kalasariz never slept. Sleep was something that had been lost to him many years before when he'd pledged himself to the Spell of Four and became a shapechanger along with Iraj, Fari and Luka.
The spell had been broken, but in his new entity as a spirit-world parasite living within King Rhodesa€™
body he was permanently wide awake.
Unlike his former spell brothers, the spymaster considered this a blessing. In his previous existence he'd always hated the moment when the gods of slumber commanded his obedience. His father had been a seventh-generation priest. More to the point: his very name, Kalasariz, was the Walarian term for priest.
His mother had been a temple harlot enslaved to the priests and he had been seeded during a priestly orgy whose purpose was to cleanse sins by sinning. And to create sons for the priests to adopt and rear for their own holy purposes.
Kalasariz had soon learned he was better at ferreting out secrets to use against others than he was at religious scholarship. Better still was to forge those secrets into lies of solid gold. And Kalasariz had eventually sold out his own father with false charges that he was a heretic so that he might win his mantle as the supreme spy of all Walaria.
But deep inside Kalasariz he was still the son of a priest. And when he slept all his subsequent lies and murders sat heavily upon his soul. And so he'd always feared the night, because with it came terrible dreams of his transgressions, followed by imagined punishments for those sins.
Worse still, over the years those nightmares became increasingly and horribly complex because of all the enemies he'd made in his long career.
And so it was that when sleep overcame King Rhodes and he tossed and turned fitfully through the storm, dreaming bloody dreams much like those that had once afflicted Kalasariz, the spymaster was gleefully awake and guilt-free. Plotting his plots and conspiring in his conspiracies.
The best thing of all about his sleepless state was that he could keep constant control of Fari and Luka, who were enslaved in his ethereal belly. He kept their agonies constant and hot, so they didn't have time or energy to conspire against him.
Therefore, when Lady Lottyr came to him, spitting curses about Safar Timura and Iraj Protarus, Kalasariz was bright and alert and well aware that the goddess had suffered a defeat.
She called the incident in the castle a mere "setback," but he knew that this was only a hasty bit of fiction her pride had composed to lessen her humiliation. Failure and defeat dripped from every word she spoke.
"It was that demon brat Palimak who caught me out," she said. "Otherwise I would've crushed those fools who believe themselves to be the two kings Asper predicted would come."
Her six visages were terrible in their murderous beauty. And even though her visit to the spymaster was meant to be made in secret, she was so agitated that Rhodes would've been alerted to her presence if he had been awake.
Surely he would've caught the internal roiling Lottyr's frustration caused when she spoke to Kalasariz.
The spymaster's ambitions might have been badly harmed by this royal realization.
In all his days Kalasariz had never met another person-except for himself-as rightfully and unerringly on target as Rhodes was when he became suspicious.
Well, maybe more: There was Queen Clayre. Whose ow
n suspicious nature made her son look like a naV ve peasant. But Lottyr had made her own false bargain with Clayre and had also cast certain spells that had dulled the witch's wary senses.
Lottyr laid out all the plans she'd heard the Kyranians discuss while she'd commanded Queen Yorlain's body.
"They'll attack the moment the storm ends," she said. "They're hoping to wound you severely, then withdraw. Negotiations will follow-all aimed at drawing things out long enough for them to strengthen their defenses."
Kalasariz asked, "Have you informed Clayre about their plans?"
"No," Lottyr answered, "but I intend to the moment I leave you. And when Rhodes awakes, I want you to instruct him."
A canny master of lies and half truths, Kalasariz knew very well that Lottyr had sworn to another bargain with Clayre. The goddess admitted as much when she spoke her puny lies, saying her pledge to Clayre meant nothing, while her promises to Kalasariz were solid as gold.
But which bargain would the goddess keep? Kalasariz knew better than to trust to chance for the outcome.
And so he said, "I have the advantage of long experience with Safar Timura. And also with Iraj Protarus.
They've never been defeated-especially when the two of them put their minds together."
Lottyr was angrily abrupt. "What of it?" she asked harshly. "They are nothing compared to me-the greatest goddess of the Hells!"
"Forgive me, Holy One," Kalasariz said, "but I'm only trying to point out that in any physical fight Safar Timura and Iraj Protarus are the likely victors. That is their history. Neither one has ever failed-even against each other. Timura defeated Protarus at Caluz. But Protarus, from what you say, now rules Timura's body. Tentative though that dominance may be.
"From what you've also said, they've made a pact with each other to oppose you. Isn't that so, Holy One?"
"Why are you spewing all this defeatist sewage at me?" Lottyr demanded, her twelve eyes burning with suspicion. "Do you want Timura and Protarus to win?"