Wizard of the winds

CHAPTER TWELVE

Unlike Kalasariz, Safar slept little that night. Every straw in his mattress and lump in his pillow made itself known. A few days before the only major worry he'd had was a vague and somewhat academic fear that the world faced some great threat. At the age of twenty summers he was incapable of taking it personally. The spy master's visit, coupled with his recent difficulties with Umurhan, made him feel less immortal. He was in trouble and that trouble had grown from the granite hills of Umurhan's displeasure to the bleak peaks of Kalasariz suspicions.

In short, he was besieged from all sides and was in a confusion about what he ought to do. Adding to that morass was the confusion created by Nerisa's gift plus his fears about Nerisa herself. Someone, for whatever reason, had marked her.

Everyone on the streets knew Nerisa ran personal errands for anyone at the Foolsmire with a copper or two to pay. Most certainly some of the young men who hired her held controversial views. That didn't make Nerisa a conspirator. This was also a fact all knewincluding any of Kalasariz minions who made the Foolsmire their territory. So why had the informer lied? Why had he singled Nerisa out?

Then it occurred to Safar that he was the target. Someone might be striking at him through Nerisa. But once again came that most important of all questions: Why? Then he realized that answer or not, his fate might be racing toward an unpleasant conclusion. The only intelligent thing to do was to flee Walaria as quickly as he could. Such an act would certainly turn Kalasariz suspicions into an outright admission of guilt. Safar thought, however, it would be even more dangerous to remain in Walaria at the mercy of the spymaster.

He decided to run. He'd flee home to Kyrania as fast as he could. But what about Nerisa? He'd have to come up with some plan to protect her from any reprisals his flight might cause.

Safar was relieved as soon as he made the decision. He'd learned much in Walaria, but it had been a mostly unpleasant stay in an unpleasant city. He missed his family and friends. He missed the clean mountain air and blue skies and molten clouds and snowy slopes.

Only one thing stood in his waya lack of money. To make a successful escape he'd require a hefty sum. He'd need a swift mount and supplies for the long journey home and money for Nerisa as well. Where could he lay hands on it? There was no sense asking his sponsor, Lord Muzine. Not only would the money be denied, Safar thought it likely the request would be immediately reported to Kalasariz.

There was only one person he could think of who could help.

But once that approach was made, there'd be no turning back.

Safar rose before first light. He washed and dressed and made a quick trip to a nearby bakery and bought a sticky roll filled with plump currants. He rushed home, brewed a pot of strong tea and while he drank it he summoned Gundara.

The little Favorite popped out of a cloud of magical smoke, coughing and rubbing sleepy eyes.

"Don't tell me you get up early too! Gundara whined. The gods must hate me. Why else would they allow me to fall into the hands of such a cruel master?"

Instead of answering, Safar held up the sticky roll. The Favorite's eyes widened. Is that for me, O Wise and Kind Master?.

"None other, Safar said.

He extended the roll and the Favorite grabbed it from his hand and gobbled it up, moaning in pleasure and scattering crumbs and currants all over the floor.

When he was done he sucked each taloned finger clean, smacked his lips, then said, If you gave me another, I'd kill for you, Master. From his tone Safar knew it was no jest.

"You'd kill for a piece of pastry? Safar asked.

Gundara shrugged. Money is no good to me. Or jewels or treasures. I live in a stone turtle, remember? But a bit of something sweet… mmmm… Oh, yes, Master. Lead me to your victims this instant. I can help you conjure a decent poison guaranteed to reduce an entire city to a hamlet."

"I don't kill people, Safar said.

"More's the pity, Gundara answered. Killing's much easier than most tasks. He stretched his arms, yawning. If it isn't killing, Master, exactly what is it you want me to do?"

"Make yourself as small you can, Safar said, and hop up on my shoulder."

"How boring, Gundara complained, but he clicked his talons together and instantly shrunk to the size of a large flea. Safar had to look very hard to see him. Gundara called out, voice just as loud as when he was full size, You'll have to help me with the shoulder part, Master. It's too far to hop."

Safar held out his hand and the black dot that was Gundara ran up it, scrambling over the rough cloth of his sleeve until he reached his shoulder.

"I have some important business to conduct this morning, Safar said. I want you to keep a close watch for any danger or suspicious people."

"Do I get another roll when I'm done, Master? came Gundara's voice.

"If you do a good job, Safar promised.

"And one for Gundaree too? the Favorite pressed.

Safar sighed. Yes, he said. Gundaree can have one too."

"Make it with berries, next time, the little Favorite requested. Currants give me gas."

The city was stirring to life when Safar set out. Traffic was light but a few shops were opening and workmen were gathering in the front of others, munching olives and black bread while they waited for their employers arrival. Safar passed the wheelwrights shop, which always started early to repair wagons that'd broken down on the way to market. A hard-eyed man leaned against the wall near the entrance. He stared at Safar when he went by.

Safar bent his head closer to shoulder. Any trouble there? he asked.

"Just a cutpurse, the flea speck that was Gundara answered. Don't worry. You're too poor for his taste."

Safar went on, but kept his pace slow so his Favorite could sniff for spies. He was certain Kalasariz would order his informers to trail him. Although Safar was only a mountain lad, unwise in the ways of the city, he had much experience with nature to rely on. Animal or human, hunters always behaved the same way. Wolves on the stalk, for instance, might post a sentry near their intended victim. When the flock moved about the sentry would keep close watch on the sick sheep that had been chosen for dinner. As the flock moved from place to place the wolf would follow only so far, passing on his duties to another sentry so as not to arouse suspicion. And so on throughout the day until the intended victim fell behind the flock, or strayed too far from the rams. Then the sentry would howl the news and the pack would strike.

This is how Safar imagined Kalasariz informers would work. They'd post a spy on the street near his home, who would alert the others when he emerged. Then he'd be passed along from spy to spy until he returned home for the night.

As he neared the end of his street an old woman with rags for clothes and a torn horse blanket for a shawl rose up from beside her push cart. There were pigeons cooing in a wooden cage on one side push cart, hot meat pies steaming from a basket in the other.

"Fresh pigeon pies? she called out to Safar. Two coppers a pie, sir."

"No thank you, Granny, Safar said, moving by.

The old woman gripped his sleeve. That's my usual price, sir. Two coppers a pie. And fresh and hot they is, sir. Fresh killed this morning. But you're such a handsome lad, sir, if you don't mind me saying so. You make this poor granny's heart sing like she was a maid. For you sir, for bringing back my girlhood, I'll charge only a copper for two."

The spy saw Safar hesitate, then nod and hand over a copper in exchange for two pies which he tucked into his purse. He said thank you to the granny, polite as you please, and passed onturning the corner and heading down a broad street. The old woman waited until he'd disappeared from sight then quickly opened the door to the pigeon cage. She grabbed the only white bird, which was also much larger and fatter than the others. She petted it, whispered soothing words and threw it high into the air, moving with a surprising agility for someone who appeared so old and bent.

The pigeon flew up and upcircling the street as it oriented itself. Then it shot for the high tower that marked the entrance to the Central Market. The spy smiled, knowing what would happen next. The pigeon was trained to circle the tower three times. This would alert all the informers planted about the city that Safar was on the move. Then the pigeon would return to the pushcart for a nice treat and whispered praise that it was such a smart and pretty bird.

The old woman, who was the spy, was quite fond of the pigeon. She'd raised it from the egg and spoiled it more than any other bird she'd had. She watched proudly as her little darling flew toward the tower. Then she gasped as a deadly black figure winged its way over the rooftops and headed for the pigeon. The hawk hurled itself at her prize bird, talons stretching out. The pigeon sensed its peril and tried to dodge but the hawk was quicker and there was an explosion of blood and feathers. The hunter flew away, the remains of the pigeon clutched in its claws.

The spy groaned in dismay. She'd not only lost her favorite pet, but Safar as well. Quickly she grabbed a passing boy by the ear and gave him a coin to mind her cart, promising more if all was safe when she returned. Then she hurried off to warn her superiors that a hawk had spoiled their plans.

Two streets away Safar cut around a corner at top speed, then slowed to a fast walk. It was a tenement neighborhood with high, crooked buildings. There was no one about except housewives illegally emptying chamber pots into the street, instead of paying the slopwagon men to carry away the filth. Shutters would bang open, slop would stream into the street, then they'd bang shut before anyone in authority could see. And woe betide the passerby who didn't jump in the correct direction when he first heard the shutters open.

Safar slipped smoothly to the side as a murky stream poured down the heavens, avoiding getting even a spatter of filth on his robes. He whistled and the hawk darted down from a roof. It landed on his shoulder, beak and chest feathers clotted with blood. Safar made a face at the mess, then gestured and the hawk transformed into Gundara who became a flea spot on his shoulder.

"Look at me! I'm covered with pigeon blood, the Favorite complained. The gods know I hate the taste of blood, especially pigeon blood. You don't know where the filthy things have been. They're worse than chickens."

"I'm sorry, Safar said. Still, you did a good job."

"I have a ninny for a master, Gundara said. Of course I did a good job. What did you think, that I'd just been spellhatched? I've been doing this for more centuries than I care to mention because it depresses me so much.

"Yech! There's blood in my mouth, too. And feathers. You have no idea what it does to you when you bite down on a feather."

Safar felt sorry for him and soothed him as best he could. A few streets later he bought a dish of pudding, floating in sugared rose water. He ate half the pudding, then pushed the remainder aside with his wooden spoon so Gundara could jump in and bathe.

He continued on, Gundara a fat wet black spot on the shoulder of his robe.

The Favorite burped. Maybe you're not such a bad master after all, he allowed. Do you eat rose pudding every day?"

"I will from now on, Safar promised.

"You hear that, Gundaree? the Favorite said to his invisible twin. I'm absolutely soaked with sugar water! Existence is wonderful. And I have the best master in all the world. So go sod yourself, see if I care!"

Safar grimaced at the one-way conversation. He was glad he only had to deal with one Favorite at a time. Together they'd drive him mad.

He was moving under a large awning shading the entrance to a rug shop, when he heard someone hiss from overhead"Safar!"

It was Nerisa. He covered his surprise, looking around to make sure no one was near. Then he chanced a look upward and saw a dark eye gleaming through a hole in the awning.

"Don't look! the girl commanded.

"I'm sorry, Safar whispered back. He toyed with a pile of rugs near the entrance, pretending to examine them for quality. Are you all right? he asked under his breath.

Nerisa snorted. Scared half to death, is all. What'd I do to get Kalasariz after me?"

"You saw him?"

"I hid outside until he left. I thought I was seeing things at first. Or maybe I was in the middle of a nightmare and couldn't wake up. Then he went by my hiding place and I got a good look and knew it was no nightmare. Who could miss that face of his? Looks like somebody who doesn't see the sun much. Or a ghost."

Safar nodded, fingering another rug. Listen, he said. I don't have time to explain what's happening. They're just using you as an excuse to get to me. I don't know why. But I'm going to do something about it now. Just keep low. Stay away from the Foolsmire. And meet me tonight."

"Okay, Safar, Nerisa said. Tonight then. Say three hours after last prayer?"

"Where? My place isn't safe."

"Don't worry, Nerisa said. No one will see me. Just be there. I'll come to you."

He started to argue, but there was a slight rustling noise above and when he looked up at the rent in the awning the eye was gone.

Safar was troubled as continued on his way. Nerisa took too many chances for his liking. But there was nothing he could do about it now and so he pushed away the worry as best he could to concentrate on his mission. Before long he reached his destination. He smiled to himself as he approached, thinking all the spies who'd been set on his trail would be scurrying all over the city looking for him. But he'd be hiding in plain sight in a place they'd never think to lookthe Grand Temple of Walaria.

It was an ugly edificea series of massive buildings and onion-domed towers enclosed by high, fortress-like walls. The temple had begun as a simple stone structure. It had been built centuries before by the first high priest in the days when Walariawhich meant the place of the waterswas little more than a few ramshackle buildings encircled by immense corrals to hold the great cattle herds that enriched the original settlers. Legend had it Walaria was founded by a wandering wizard. It had been nothing more than a dry thorny plain then. According to the myth, the wizard had thrust his staff into the ground. The staff instantly grew into a tall tree and a spring had burst out from under its roots. Over time a great market city had been born from that spring, with a king to rule it and a high priest to build and tend that first temple.

Afterwards each high priest constructed another holy structuremore to glorify his name then those of the gods. Temples were hurled up willy nilly, with each high priest competing with the bad taste of the man he'd replaced. Most of the buildings were dedicated to the many gods worshipped by the people of Esmir. It was Walaria's boast there were idols to as many gods as there were stars in the heavens.

Safar went through the main gate, passing by scores of shops and stalls catering to the business of worship. There was incense of every variety and price, holy oils, special candles and thousands upon thousands of idols of the different godslarge ones for the household altar, small ones to make talismans to hang from a chain. On both sides of the thoroughfare were hutches and small corrals containing animals and birds that could be purchased for sacrifice. Blessings and magical potions were also on sale and if you were a pilgrim with foreign coin, or letters of credit, there were half-a-dozen money changers eager to service you from first prayer to last.

A crowd was already gathering when Safar arrived and he had to elbow his way through the throngs. He turned right when he reached the end of the main boulevard and here the street was empty except for a few students like himself hurrying to the universitya low-slung building two stories high and three deep.

The top level was where Umurhan and the other priests livedalthough Umurhan's quarters took up almost half that space. The ground level was for offices and classroomsand the great meeting hall where they all gathered for special ceremonies and announcements. Two of the below-ground levels were given over to dormitories for students too poor to come up with the price of a private hovel or garret such as Safar's.

Leering gargoyles decorated the portals leading into the university. Safar shivered as he passed under them.

"There's no danger, Gundara said from his shoulder. It's only stone."

Safar didn't need the reassurance. He knew quite well the gargoyles were nothing more than lifeless symbols to ward off evil spirits. Still, even after being confronted with those leering stone faces every day for nearly two years, he couldn't help the reaction.

Just beyond the portal was a large courtyard with stone steps leading to an altar. It was here the students practiced making blood sacrifices to the gods. An animal would be driven out from barred cages to the left of the altar. The animals were always drugged so they rarely gave any trouble. A priest would direct a youth in the grisly task of slicing the creature's throat. Others would dash in to catch the flowing blood before the animal fell. Then prayers would be said as the animal was butchered out and the meat and blood burned in sacrificial urns to glorify the gods. Safar had always been uneasy about blood sacrifices and the more he learned the less he thought they were necessary. He'd also noticed that the best cuts of meat were set aside for Umurhan and his priestshardly an act that would please a deity.

As he went by the altar he saw five acolytes cleaning up after a recent sacrifice. Their shabby robes were hiked up and they were on their hands and knees scrubbing the steps and platform with worn brushes.

Safar remembered a time when that grisly task was his sole and constant duty.

As he passed by the laboring youths he recalled the moment when he'd first met Umurhan.

It was a dreary winter day and the skies were as ashen as the altar stone. Safar had lost count of the weeks he'd spent on scabby knees washing the steps and platform. It was so cold that every time he plunged his brush into the scrub bucket a film of ice formed moments after he withdrew it.

He'd reported to the repetitious priest each morning, asking when he'd be allowed to attend classes. The answer had always been the same"You came late in the year. Late in year. Keep working. Working. Soon as there's an opening… an opening… I'll let you know. Let you know."

And Safar would say, Yes, Holy One, as contritely as he couldjust as Gubadan had instructed him before he'd left Kyrania. As each day blended into miserable day he became more impatient. He'd come Walaria to learn, not to scrub floors. Moreover, Coralean was paying a high price to fund his studies. Safar was supposed to be a student, not a slave.

On that particular day he'd reached the sheerest edge of his patience and was thinking mightily of packing his kit and setting off for homeand to the Hells with Walaria. He was actually in the act of rising from his knees when there came a sudden hubbub of activity.

The repetitious priest rushed into the courtyard, surrounded by other priests and a great crowd of acolytes from the Walaria school of wizardry. It was an elite group of less than a hundred. These were the students deemed to have talent enough for intense instruction in the magical arts. Safar's own sights were not raised that high. At that time all he wanted was a chance to join the main student body and get a thorough grounding in general knowledge. But when he studied the group, saw their look of immense superiority, noted the weak buzz of their magic, he experienced a momentary flash of jealousy. He brushed it aside and as the excited group crowded into the courtyard he grabbed up his bucket and moved to a far corner where he could watch without being noticed.

From the murmuring of the acolytes he gathered that an important man had approached Umurhan for a great favor. It seemed the man had committed some wrong the group was evenly divided between betrayal of a relative, and the murder of a slave and wanted to make sacrifice to the gods beseeching their forgiveness. But he wanted to do it as privately as possible, so he'd made a large donation to the temple to pay for a non-public ceremony. After the cleansing, Safar heard the acolytes say, rich gifts would be passed out among the students to buy their silence.

When he heard this he made himself even less obtrusive, ducking behind a column overgrown with thick vines.

A moment later cymbals crashed and two men strode into the courtyard, boys scampering before them tossing petals onto the path and waving smoking incense pots to sweeten the air they breathed. There was no mistaking that one of the men dressed in the flowing robes of a master wizard, was Umurhan. Even if he were blind, Safar would have sensed the man's presence, for the air was suddenly heavy with the stink of sorcery. Then Safar was rocked by another surprise. For the richly dressed, heavily bejeweled man striding beside Umurhan was none other than Lord Muzine. Although he'd never been personally introduced to Muzine, the merchant prince had been pointed out to him one day when he passed in his luxurious carriage, drawn by four perfectly matched black horses. Muzine had a face like a double-headed hammer turned handle up. It was long and narrow until it reached the chin which bulged out on both sides.

The courtyard was hushed as the two men mounted the platform and approached the altar of Rybian, the king of the gods and the deity who created all living things from holy clay. Umurhan and two brawny lads in robes of pristine white solicitously helped Muzine kneel before the stone idol of that kindly visaged god.

Umurhan turned to face the acolytes, his eyes fierce under his bat-winged brows.

"Brothers, he said, we are here today to assist a good man, a kindly man, who by unfortunate circumstance has stumbled off the path of purity he has tenaciously traveled his whole life. We are not here to judge him, for who among us could judge a man known far and wide for his sweet disposition and generous charity? This man has come to me, his heart bared, his soul in torment. He has sinned, but who among us has not? So we will not judge him. Instead we will beseech the great and merciful Rybian, father of us all, to take pity on this poor mortal and forgive him for any transgressions the Fates forced him to commit.

"And so I ask you today, my brothers of the spirit, to join me willingly and wholeheartedly in this mission of mercy. The man you see humbled before you is one who deserves no less and it is an honor for our university and temple to help him in this most delicate of matters."

While Umurhan spoke the lads in white gently removed Muzine's tunic, leaving him bare to the waist, the soft pink flesh of his heavy richman's torso revealed to all. Then they uncoiled small whips, belted about their waists.

"Are there any objections? Umurhan asked. Is there anyone present who cannot find it in his heart to help this man? If so, I kindly ask you to withdraw from our company. You will be thought no less of for making such a decision. Your conscience, we all know, must be your guide."

Umurhan swept the crowd with his fierce eyes, but no one stirred.

He nodded and said, More to your credit, brothers. The gods will bless you for this."

Safar heard someone nearby mutter under his breath, So will my tavern bill, Master."

There were a few chuckles at this, covered by Umurhan's signal for all to kneel. The acolytes dropped to the ground as one, bowing their heads low and beating their breasts.

Umurhan announced, Let the blessing ceremony begin."

From somewhere came the sound of lutes and bells and drums. Priests led the acolytes in song after song, begging Rybian's attention.

The first song was Umurhan's famous Last Prayer that everyone heard every evening at the close of day.

"We are men of Walaria, good men and pious. Blessed be, blessed be. Our women are chaste, our children respectful. Blessed be, blessed be…

While the assembly sang, the white-robed lads gently touched their lashes against Muzine's flesh in the motions of whipping. Muzine wailed as if he were being severely tormented, believing, as all did, that the louder his cries, the more painful-sounding his shrieks, the more the God Rybian would be fooled into thinking Muzine was being sorely punished.

Finally, Muzine gave a scream more terrible than the others and collapsed on the floor. His minders quickly anointed his backwhich was unmarkedwith soothing oils, kissing him and whispering words of sympathy in his ear. When Muzine deemed sufficient time had passed for him to make a recovery, he rose up with much pretended difficulty and pain. Tears streamed down his long face, which was split by the beatific smile of one who has found the Light again. The lads helped him with his tunic and gave him a tumbler of spirits. Muzine drank deeply, wiped his eyes and then joined in the songs.

Safar became bored with the farce and looked about to see if there was a way he could creep off without being noticed. Just then the iron gates of the animal cage clanged open and his head swiveled back to see what poor creature Muzine had chosen to bribe Rybian's forgiveness.

To his surprise, he saw an old lioness being led out on a slender silver chain. Muzine must have done something really awful, Safar thought. He'd been at the temple long enough to know that a lion was the most expensive and therefor rarest single animal to be sacrificed. Safar decided the sin must have been murder, and probably not that of a slave.

He looked closer at the huge lionesswhich stood nearly as high as the white-robed boy who led her. Her movements were slow, paws dragging as she took each step toward the altar. Her eyes were so heavy from the drugs she'd been fed that they were mere slits on either side of her broad face. Despite the size of the lioness, Safar's heart gave a wrench, for she reminded him of his family cat in Kyrania who patrolled the goat stalls for greedy rodents. It had sat on his lap for many an hour, cleaning itself and consoling him when he told it his boyhood miseries.

Then he noticed the lionesses large, swinging pouch and heavy teats and knew she'd recently given birth. Even drugged, he thought, she must be in a torment wondering what had happened to her cubs.

Umurhan signaled and the singing stopped. He turned to the altar, saying, O Rybian, Merciful Master of us all, take pity on this poor mortal before you. Forgive him his sins. Accept this humble gift he presents you. And let him sleep once again in all innocence."

Umurhan motioned and one of the boys led Muzine to the lioness. He handed the merchant a large sacrificial knife. The other boys crowded close, holding elaborately decorated jars to catch the blood. Muzine gingerly gripped the lioness by her scruff. She made no motion or sign that she understood what was happening. The Muzine drew the knife across her throat. Blood dribbled from the cut, but the flow was so slight that Safar knew Muzine's nerve had failed and he hadn't been able to cut deeply enough to end the lioness suffering.

Muzine tried again and this time a boy gripped his hand, pushing hard and making sure the deed was properly done. The lioness moaned and blood gushed into the bowls.

She sagged to the floor.

Everyone cheered and jumped up, praising Rybian and welcoming the sinner Muzine's return to the fold. Muzine came forward, Umurhan at his side, to accept the acolytes congratulations. Behind them the three white-robed lads got busy butchering the lioness out to prepare for the next stage of the ceremony.

Then the din was shattered by a spine-freezing roar and everyone's heart stopped and everyone's head jerked toward the half-skinned corpse.

The air above the dead beast turned an angry red and then all gasped as the lioness ghost emerged, crouching on the body, tail lashing, lips peeled back over long yellow fangs, screaming her hatred.

The ghost lioness leaped and the frozen tableaux became unstuck. There were screams and the crowd ran for cover, tangling and jamming the exits with their bodies.

Safar stayed in his hiding place and saw that despite the hysteria a dozen priests and acolytes quickly surrounded Umurhan and Muzine and got them to safety through a small door at the edge of the altar.

Meanwhile, the ghost cat sailed into the mass of fleeing figures. She struck out with her translucent claws. Blood sprayed in every direction and there were screams of pain from the wounded. Then she caught someone in her jaws and held him down while the others scrambled awayjamming the exits and hugging the walls.

The ghost lion crouched over her victim, gripping him by the shoulder and shaking him furiously back and forth. The young man she'd caught was still alive and wailed most piteously.

Suddenly what felt like an unseen hand pushed Safar out of hiding. He walked slowly toward the raging lioness, one part of him gibbering in fear, the other intent only on the soul of the poor Ghostmother, alone and agonizing over her newborn cubs the only way she knew how.

The ghost saw him and dropped the screaming acolyte. She snarled and paced toward him, extended claws clicking on the stone. But Safar kept on, his pace slow and measured. He held out his right handtwo fingers and a thumb spreading wide in the universal gesture of a wizard forming a spell.

He spoke, his voice low and soothing. I'm sorry to see you here, Ghostmother, he said. This is a terrible place for a ghost. So much blood. So little pity. It will spoil your milk and your cubs will go hungry."

The lioness ghost kept coming, eyes boiling, jaws open and slavering. Safar went on, closing the distance between them, talking all the while.

"Evil men did this to you Ghostmother, he said. They trapped you and slew your cubs. They brought you to this place to die. But the guilty ones aren't in this courtyard, Ghostmother. There are only human cubs, here. Male cubs, Ghostmother. And it your duty to see that no harm comes to male cubs."

The stalking ghost growled, but her fury seemed lessened. A few more steps and then the two metand stopped.

Safar steeled his nerves as the lioness, instead of killing him on the spot, sniffed his body, growling all the while. When she was done she looked him in the face, cat's eyes searching deep into his own for any lie that might be hidden there. Then she roared and it was so loud he was nearly lifted out of his sandals. But he held steady, and then the ghostly form of the lioness sat back her heelsface level with his own.

"You see how it is, Ghostmother, he said. I had nothing to do with your sadness, although I mourn the loss. He gestured at the cowering acolytes. And these male cubs are as innocent as I. Please don't harm them, Ghostmother."

The lion ghost yawned its anxiety, but sank down at Safar's feet.

"It's time you thought of yourself, Ghostmother, Safar said. Your cubs are dead and their little ghosts are hungry. You should go to them quickly so they don't suffer. Think of them, Ghostmother. They have no experience in this world, much less the next. Haven't you heard them crying for you?

"Why, listenthey're crying now."

Safar made a gesture and there came the faint sound of mewing from far away. The ghost's ears shot up and she cocked her head, eyes wide with concern. Safar gestured again and the mewing grew louder and more frantic. The lioness whined.

"Go to them, Ghostmother, Safar said. Leave this place and find peace with your cubs."

The lioness bolted up. Safar forced to himself not to react in alarm. Then she roared a final time and vanished.

For a moment the only sound was the echo of the lioness roar. Then all became confusion as everyone shouted in relief and ran to Safar to thank him. Then, in the midst of this chaos, the crowd suddenly went silent and parted. Safar, still dazed and weary from his effort, saw Umurhan approach as if in a haze.

"Who is he? he heard the wizard ask.

"Safar Timura, Master. Safar Timura. A new acolyte. He's new."

Umurhan's eyes swiveled to Safar. They looked him up and down, measuring. Then he asked, Why didn't tell anyone you had the talent, Acolyte Timura?"

"It's nothing, Master, Safar said. My talent is very small."

"I'll be the judge of that, acolyte, Umurhan answered. He turned to the repetitious priest. Begin Acolyte Timura's education tomorrow, he ordered.

Then, without another word or look at Safar, he stalked away.

All became confusion again as Safar's fellow students crowded around to clap his back and congratulate him for being admitted to the ranks of the university's elite.

Safar hurried down the long main corridor of the first floor. There was no one to be seenmost of the students and priests would be gathered in prayer in the main assembly hall at this hour. The classrooms and offices he went by were empty and he could smell the stale stink of old magic from the practice spells his fellow students had cast the day before.

At the end of the corridor he came to the vast stairwell that joined the various levels. One group of stairs led downward, into the bowels of the university. The other climbed to the second floor where Umurhan and the priests lived. Safar hesitated, torn between his original purpose and the sudden thought the knowledge he sought in Umurhan's library would most likely be unguarded. He'd have about half an hour before the daily assembly ended and Umurhan and the other priests returned to the top floor.

"You can go either way, Gundara whispered from his shoulder. Both are safe."

"Maybe later, Safar muttered, and then he ran down the stairs before the new idea could delay him from his most important task.

Although Safar met with Umurhan many times after the incident with the lioness, the wizard never thanked him or even raised the subject again. As Safar's education progressed and it soon became clear to all that he was a remarkable student of sorcery, Umurhan not only kept his distance but seemed to become colderand Safar would look up suddenly from his studies and find the wizard watching him. Gubadan had warned Safar about Umurhan before he'd left Kyrania. Although he'd never told the old priest about his abilities, Safar got the impression during that last conversation somehow Gubadan had guessed something was upand that there was magic behind it.

"Lord Umurhan has the reputation of being a jealous man, Gubadan had told him. He doesn't like students or priests who show off their intelligence or powers. So beware, my lad. Every teacher doesn't receive his reward from guiding a young man to heights they could never achieve themselves. Go carefully in Lord Umurhan's presence, is my best advice to you. And never, never show him up."

Safar took Gubadan's advice to heart. As he progressed through his classes and spell-casting sessions he was always careful not to outshine Umurhanalthough it soon became apparent to him that he could, especially as he learned more and delved on his own into the arcane arts of sorcery. He occasionally made purposeful mistakes when he thought Umurhan was becoming suspicious. Umurhan always took particular pleasure when Safar pretended to bumble, chastising him loudly, calling him a mountain bumpkin and other names intended to humiliate.

Umurhan loved to lord his mastery over the acolytes. He also held back his knowledge. When the classes became more advanced and the students were closing the ground on Umurhan, he protected his self esteem by teaching only so much and no more. When a spell was particularly powerful Umurhan tended to make his explanations so obscure no one could follow them, much less duplicate the spell. He also had a way of excusing himself when a thorny question was asked. He'd nervously plead other business, disappear for a short time, then return and answer the question with a confidence his previous demeanor hadn't shown.

Where he went during that time was no mystery to any of the students. They were at a cynical age, an age when details older people might overlook were easily apparent to them. It was an open secret Umurhan retired to his private library during those moments, cribbing from ancient masters to shore up his own facade. No one but Umurhan was allowed to peruse the books in that library. The excuse given was that there were forbidden books and scrolls on the black arts stored there that were so deadly, so evil, that no one but the High Priest of Walaria should read themand then only in an emergency and only to ward off black spells cast against the city.

Safar's intense curiosity had led him to investigate the library. The library did contain material on black magic. But it was mainly a massive and confused collection of knowledge gathered by Umurhan's predecessorsrare scrolls, books by forgotten masters, volumes in strange languages and hand-written dictionaries of those languages, with magical symbols added by later men as marginalia. Using the books at Foolsmire, Safar had gradually deciphered the languages. His late night studies and secret visits put him on the trail of Asper, the ancient master of all master wizards, who also happenedSafar suspectedto have been a demon. One of the bits of marginalia even gave him strong reason to believe Asper's work was hidden somewhere in the chaos that was Umurhan's private library.

He'd been searching for it when he was discovered.

Safar crouched in the darkest of the library, a candle stub his only aid, as he hurriedly combed through cob-webbed scrolls and books with cracked bindingsearching for the strange, four-headed snake symbol he knew to be Asper's seal.

Then an oil lamp had flared into life behind him and he whirled to find Umurhan hovering over himeyes blazing like spear points fresh from the forge.

"What are you doing here, acolyte? he thundered.

Safar fumbled excuses"Forgive me, Master. I was worried about the exam and, I, uh… uh… I thought I, uh…"

"Are you claiming to be a cheat, Safar Timura? Umurhan roared. Is that your puny reason for violating my privacy?"

"Ye-es, Mas-ttter, ye-ye-yes, Safar stuttered.

"Then why are you among the forbidden books, acolyte? Umurhan shouted. He pointed down the narrow aisle to the front of the library. Why didn't I find your filthy, cheating personage up there? Why weren't you stealing your answers from writings that have not been condemned?"

Safar wanted to shout that no knowledge should be forbidden. And that, as a matter of fact, even the supposed innocent works in this library were denied to all but Umurhan. Instead, Safar pretended to panicwith Umurhan looming over him it wasn't hardbabbling that he was only trying to hide from the light and had come here by accident. He streamed forth such a mad babble of half-confessions and false apologies and pleas for mercy that Umurhan's suspicions were quieted.

"Silence, Umurhan shouted, cutting Safar off in mid babble. You do understand I could have you seized this moment and charged with heresy?"

"Yes, Master, Safar answered, humble as he could.

"The only reason I'm not going to do so is that I believe you are nothing more than a low cheat."

"Yes, Master. Thank you, Master. I'm sorry, Master. It won't happen again, Master."

"Oh, I know you won't do it again, Acolyte Timura. I will see to that. I will withhold my punishment just now. I want you to contemplate your sins while I consider your fate."

"Yes, Master. Thank you, Master."

"The only reason I'm not immediately expelling you… or worse, by the gods, because I could do much worse! You understand that, don't you acolyte."

"Yes, Master. I understand."

"The sole reason I don't condemn you on the spot is because of the respect I have for your mentor, Lord Muzine. For some reason I shall never fathom he has a certain regard for your future and well being."

"Yes, Master, Safar mumbled, knocking his head on the ground. But he knew that what Umurhan was really remembering was the lioness and her ghost.

Although Safar had never been called into Muzine's company, his allowance had been increased after the incident. It had been coldly announced by Muzine's major domo, who harshly cautioned him about ever mentioning the ceremony or the event. It was plain to him now Umurhan feared the incident would get out if Safar's crime became a public matter. Questions would be raised about the sin Muzine wanted expunged. And even greater questions would be asked about the quality of Umurhan's magic. How could such a great wizard allow something like that to happen? And worst of allperhaps Umurhan wasn't as powerful as he claimed.

Safar had been granted a reprieve, but he knew now it was a short reprieveand getting shorter every moment.

"Hsst! came Gundara's warning. Danger ahead!"

Safar stopped. Below him was the final bend in the stairwell. It spilled out into the deepest and least glamorous level of the university. It was a place of boiling kitchen pots, foul garbage bins and huge clay pipes running overhead that carried water in and sewage out. Safar listened closely and after a moment made out the sound of a cleaning brush being rubbed against stone.

He resumed his journey, but at a slower pace. When he rounded the bend he saw a young acolyte kneeling on the steps. There was a bucket of water beside him and a brush in his hands. He was making lazy, half-hearted swipes at the steps with the brushdoing little more than dribbling water on the begrimed stone. But soon as he sensed Safar's presence the lazy swipes were replaced with vigorous scrubbing. The young man looked up, brow furrowed deeply as if the job required great concentration. But when he saw Safar he relaxed. He sat back on his heels, a wide, insolent grin splitting his face.

"Oh, it's only you, Timura. Gave me a start there for a minute. Thought you might be that whoreson, Hunker. Sneaking down here to catch me taking a little break."

Hunker was the priest in charge of punishment details. Any student in trouble learned to hate him on sight. He assigned the filthiest jobs and drove the workers like the spavined ox of the meanest miller.

Safar snorted. That's me, Hunker, in the flesh. And I'm down here to set all you sinful bastards a good example. That's why I'm going to spend my entire day crouched over a shithole and setting it on fire. Love the smell of that stuff burning. Love to show all you lazy swine how a real wizard works."

The acolyte, whose name was Ersen, had the reputation of being the most indolent troublemaker in the university. Ersen was a constant, unruly presence on the punishment details. It was well know that the only reason he hadn't been expelled was because his father was an elder on King Didima's court. Despite his noble background, Ersen was popular with everyone. He took his punishment in good humor and always presented a sympathetic ear to his fellow miscreants. A sympathy many hoped would translate into protection for that miscreant through his influential father.

Ersen burst into laughtera loud donkey braying Haw-Haw-Haw that endeared him to every student, but was hated by the priestssince they were usually the object of his uncontrollable laughter.

"I would love to see that, Timura, he said after he'd recovered. Why, I'd trade my father's fortuneand throw in his flabby old balls as a bonusto see old Hunker down here burning the shitters."

Safar chortled. What about your own equipment? he said. Would you throw them in, as well?"

Ersen acted shocked. What, and disappoint all the whores in Walaria? Why, the whole city would be filled with females weeping if their little Ersen was denied them. Besides, my father doesn't have much use for his anymore. He already made me. And there's no way he can improve on that historic feat."

Safar rewarded the reply with more laughter. But the whole time he kept thinking of Gundara's warning. Was Ersen the source of the danger? On the surface it seemed ridiculous. He was the class jester, the instigator of the best practical jokes aimed at authority. It there was mischief, everyone knew instantly that Ersen would be at the bottom of it. How could he be an informer? Then he recalled the comet streaking across the House of the Jester and it dawned on Safar just how good a cover Ersen's behavior would be if he were a spy. Everyone spoke freely in his company because what was there to fear from someone who was always in trouble himself for mocking authority?

Cold realization knotted in Safar's gut. This was exactly the sort of subtle game Kalasariz would play. He looked at Ersen with new eyes and saw the twitch in his cheek, the nervous, preoccupied drumming of his fingers on the stepssmall leaks through his genial facade.

Safar sighed and stretched his arms. Well, it's nice to dream about Hunker taking my place on the punishment detail, he said. But that's not getting the shitters burned."

"What did you do to deserve that, Timura? Ersen asked. Set fire to Umurhan's beard, I hope."

Safar scratched his head. I don't think so, he said. The last thing I remember was getting drunk at the Foolsmire. Hunker jumped me when I showed up this morning. He screamed a lot, called me the usual names, and ordered me to report for shitter burning. But now that I think of it, he never did say what for."

"It must have been something pretty bad, Timura, Ersen said. It'll probably be all over the University before the day is over."

Safar grimaced. Let me know when you find out, he said. And I pray to the gods that whatever I did was worth it."

With that he strolled away, Ersen's bray echoing after him"Haw Haw Haw."

When it was safe Safar whispered to Gundara, Was he the one?"

"How could anyone miss it? the Favorite replied. I swear, when the gods made humans they must have run short of intellect to stuff into your skulls."

Safar had no grounds to disagree at the moment, so he continued on in silence, taking a corridor that led away from the kitchens and stank of sewers. The tunnel finally spilled into an immense room pocked with great pits. The sewer pipes emptied into those pits and Safar thought the odor was rich enough to give a starving pig convulsions.

As he entered the room he saw a group of acolytes tending to a pit on the far side. They dumped big jars of oil into it, someone threw in a flaming brand and then they all jumped back as red and yellow flames towered up with a whoosh. Clouds of sewer smoke followed the flames, billowing out over the acolytes who cursed and choked on the filthy air.

The smoke was thinning as Safar came close and one of the acolytes saw him. He shouted something at the others, then ambled forward to meet Safar.

"That's Olari, Safar whispered to Gundara. The one I have business with."

"I can't say if he's entirely safe, Gundara answered. Only you can judge that. But I can say thishe isn't a spy."

Safar whispered thanks to a few gods for this answer, hedged though it was, and made a hurried prayer to a few others to help him with his plan.

Olari was the second son of the richest man in Walaria. As such he would not inherit command of the family fortunes and so some other worthy occupation had to be found for him. His magical talent was as small as Ersen'sso small that if he had been an ordinary youth he would never have been permitted into the school of wizardry. Everyone knew this, including Olari's father. It was assumed Olari would enter the administrative side of the business of magic, where canniness and family contacts were much more important than sorcerous ability. Safar did not underestimate him because of this. He knew that was the same road Umurhan had taken to power. Olari's reputation was as controversial as Ersen's. Except where Ersen presented himself as a jester and the laziest of all the lazy students, Olari was a rebel.

He was one of the student ringleaders who constantly and loudly challenged the status quo in Walaria. Safar had spent many an evening at the Foolsmire listening to Olari and his band of committed brothers debate the great issues of the day, fueled by copious quantities of strong spirits. They deplored the oppression of the common man, which Safar thought humorous since the only common men Olari and his rich friends knew were the slaves who waited on them and the tradesmen who catered to their exclusive tastes. Olari and the others roundly denounced the heavy taxes Didima demanded and the corruption of a system where bribery was the rule, not the exception. They condemned the city's leaders as old men, cowardly men, greedy men, who lacked all capacity to understand the new ideas and grand reforms offered by their far-seeing children.

Olari and his companions had tried to recruit Safar into their company. He was popular with all the other acolytes and if he joined them it would do much to strengthen their appeal with the university's intellectuals. Safar had always diplomatically refused, saying he wasn't a citizen of Walaria, nor did he intend to remain here when his studies were completed. He had no stake in Walaria, he said, and it would be wrong of him to take sides. Actually Safar considered the young rebels ideals empty. Except for Olari, he thought their protests and petty conspiracies nothing more than spoiled children defying their parents. He excepted Olari because he thought it entirely possible the young nobleman was mapping out a shortcut to power. But the main reason he refused was that Olari and the other ringleaders were protected by their noble births. They were coddled by their families, who correctly said they'd soon grow out of this hot-headed stage. So it took no courage at all for them to express their views at the top of their lungs. Someone like Safar, however, would quickly find himself being hauled before Kalasariz as a traitor. In the past that fate had been only a strong probability. But now that Safar had actually met Kalasariz he knew it as a fact.

Another blast of fire and smoke thundered from a sewer pit, adding an odd drum beat of drama to the moment when Safar and Olari took the last few steps that closed the gap between them.

"I won't offer you a glad cry of welcome, Timura, he said, because you'd curse me for it."

"And no one would blame me if I beat you about the head and shoulders as well, Safar laughed.

"Soon as I saw you, Olari said, I thoughtI'll be poached in shit sauce, if it isn't Safar Timura! The only time he's put on a work detail is when the whole class is being punished."

Safar shrugged. It's my country upbringing that saves me, he said. I'm good at ducking for cover and not getting caught."

"And did you? Ersen asked. Get caught, I mean. And what in the hells for?"

"Ersen asked the same thing, Safar said. He seemed as surprised as you to see me here."

"And what did you tell him? Olari asked.

"I lied, Safar answered, and said I was here to help you burn the shitters. And that whatever it was I did to deserve it I'd forgotten because I was drunk."

Olari cocked his head, a small smile playing on his lips, considering what Safar's statement meant. Tall and darkly handsome, with deep brooding eyes offset by a dazzling white smile that charmed all who knew him, he was every inch a patrician, even in work robes and daubed with smoke and filth.

After a moment he nodded in satisfaction, smile spreading wider. Come into my office, and we'll talk."

He gave Safar a follow me gesture and led him to a rubbish heap that hid a small cavelike opening in the wall. Olari dropped to his knees and crawled into it, Safar close behind. After a few feet the hole broadened into a small room. Olari lit a candle, revealing that the room was decorated with old mattresses and blankets. There were makeshift shelves bolted to the wall filled with sealed jars of food.

Olari lit a few more candles and a little smoke pot of incense to cover the sewer smell. Then he sank onto one of the mattresses and laid back, hands behind his head.

"What do you think of my office? he asked.

"Considering the place it's in, Safar said, I'm impressed."

"We take turns hiding out here, Olari said. One group keeps watch while the other sleeps, or eats and even… he reached to a low shelf, grabbed a stoppered jar and tossed it to Safar… drinks."

"This is starting to take on the air of a palace, Safar said as he uncorked the jar. He took a long drink of what turned out to be a fine wine, then passed the jar to Olari.

The youth sat up and raised the jar, saying, Here's to lies. And he drank.

As he passed the jar back to Safar he said, I'm guessing that you're here because you've reconsidered my offer."

"That I have, Safar said. I've decided to take you up on it."

"And why is that, my friend? Olari asked. What has suddenly made you see the light and decide to join our cause?"

"To be absolutely honest, Safar said, I have no intention of joining anyone's cause. Although I'm risking the loss of your good opinion of me, I'll tell you straight out, OlariI have a sudden need for a large sum of money. Call it a family emergency, if you will."

"There's no shame in that, Olari said. Although I'd prefer it was your heart that guided you to me, not your purse."

"Oh, my heart's always been with you, Safar said. You know I agree with most of what you say. I just don't feel involved because this is your home, not mine. If we were in Kyrania you'd feel the same."

"Perhaps I would, Olari said. Perhaps I would."

"When we last spoke, Safar said, you asked me to do a bit of creative sorcery for you."

Olari became as excited as his patrician mask would allow. Which meant his brooding eyes lit up and he crossed his legs. Are you sure you can still do it? he asked. There isn't much time, you know. The Founder's Day festival is only two days off."

"There's time, Safar said.

"Are you certain? We need something really big. Something that will knock them out of their boots. Something that will show everyone what kind of fools we are ruled by."

"I think everyone in Walaria already knows that, Olari, Safar said. They just don't talk about it much. Especially in public."

"Well, they'll talk after Founder's Day, Olari said. If your magical event is big enough and public enough. The timing is crucial."

"I've thought of that, Safar said. The spellcast I have in mind would work best if it came off at the Last Prayer ceremony. Right after the bells and the song when Umurhan does his annual magic trick to impress the masses."

"Where would you do it? Olari asked.

"In the stadium, where else? Safar answered. Right in front of altar where Umurhan and Didima and Kalasariz will be holding court."

Olari whistled. Right under their noses, he said. I like that. And I can follow it up with spontaneous demonstrations and protest parades all over the city. He slapped his thigh. That'll make them sit up and take notice."

Absently, Olari took another drink from the jar. What exactly do you intend to do? he asked.

"If you don't mind, Safar replied, I'd really rather not say. It's a very complicated spell and very very delicate. Just speaking about it could disturb one of its parts and have a disastrous effect on the whole. He was lying. He hadn't had time to come up with the kind of magical disturbance Olari wanted. But I promise you, he continued, that it will be beyond your wildest wishes. This was only a partial lie. Safar did intend to deliver the spellcast, he just didn't know what it would be.

"The word of Safar Timura, Olari said, pricking Safar's conscience, is good enough for me."

Safar hesitated, then took the plunge. About the money, he said.

Olari gave a dismissive wave. Don't worry, he said. I've not forgotten. I promised you fifty gold coins. But I can see now I was being tight-fisted. Make it a hundred."

Safar's heart jumpedso much? That's very generous of you, he said. My, uh, family, will be more than thankful. But there's, uh, one other thing I'd like to ask."

"What's that?"

"Can I get it in advance?"

Olari stared at him long and hard.

"Just so you have all the facts you need to make up your mind, I'll tell you this, he said. I intend to leave Walaria right after I do the casting. I know I'm putting a very large burden of trust on your shoulders, but I assure you I wouldn't ask if it wasn't necessary."

As Safar had hoped, the negative bit of information about his leaving helped sway Olari's decision.

"I think I can manage that load easily enough, the young nobleman said. I'll do as you asked. Meet me at the Foolsmire tonight."

Safar thanked him and they shared a few drinks from the jar.

"I wish I could persuade you to stay, Olari said. Things really will be different when we get rid of this lot."

"I'm sure it will be, Safar said. But I worry about you. You've caused them no end of grief of late. Big demonstrations that have nearly turned into riots. Broadsides condemning them spread all over the city. What if they tire of it? Or worse, what if they suddenly think you are a great danger to them?"

"I want them to, Olari said. That's my intent. How else can we achieve change?"

"I understand that, Safar said. But you know, times really have been troublesome the past two years. And you can't blame it all on the Unholy Trio, as you call them. The weather has become increasingly unpredictable. As have the harvests. And there's been locust swarms and outbreaks of flux and plague. Not just in Walaria, either. It's happening all over Esmir."

Olari shrugged. The gods are in charge of those things, he said. And since it's their responsibility, what can I do? Besides, times will get better. They always do. History tells us that. And things aren't really so bad as you say. Deaths have been few. There's no mass starvation. Actually, many people live in relative plenty. And there's good news in the land as well. What of Iraj Protarus? He's our age. And look at all he's doing to change Esmir for the better."

"I don't call wars and raids on other people's kingdoms change for the better, Safar said.

Olari gave him a puzzled look. I thought you two were friends?"

"We are, Safar said. Or were, anyway. But that doesn't mean I agree with him."

Olari chuckled. It seems Protarus and I have both had the same experience with you, he said. You give us your friendship but not your company in our cause."

"I suppose you're right, Safar said. But I've never been enamored of causes. Politics don't interest me. Only the science and history of magic."

"I suppose you'd like to put that interest to real use someday, Olari said. To help people, for instance. To better their lot, their condition, with your skills."

"I'll admit I've thought of such things, Safar said.

"That's a cause isn't it? Olari said. Your cause, of course. But a cause just the same."

"I suppose it is, Safar said.

"So why do you shun my cause, and the cause of your friend Protarus. We're all the same age. We all have similar ideals. It's time for a change, dammit. A massive change. We've lived under the heels of old men for too long."

Safar couldn't say he theorized change might already be occurring. But it was a change on a scale much greater than two young men who wanted to be king.

Instead he said, Allow me my delusions, Olari. I'm sure you and Iraj will soon prove me to be a blind fool. And I hope you forgive me when that time comes."

"You're forgiven already, my friend, Olari said. Just make sure that when the time comes you know which way to jump."

"That's wise advice, Safar said. I'll remember it. But I hope you'll also remember mine. Be careful of Kalasariz. I have a feeling he's becoming anxious."

"What if he does? Olari said. What can he do to me? The brutal truth of the matter is that there are two kinds of people in Walaria. Those who have reason to fear Tulaz blade. And those who do not. And I, my bookish friend, belong in the first category by reason of my birth and my father's fortune."

Just then Gundara whispered in Safar's ear. The spy approaches!"

Safar held up a hand to silence Olari. A heartbeat later they heard Ersen's sarcastic voice. Do I hear sounds of merrymaking within?"

Ersen ducked into the room and saw the wine jar in Olari's hand. What a greedy lot of beggars, he said. Keeping the wine for yourself when your poor friend Ersen is nearly dying of thirst."

Olari laughed and handed the jar over. Ersen took a long drink, then sat on a mattress. What are you fellows up to? he asked. Plotting the overthrow of the world as we know it, is my guess."

Ersen was not a member of Olari's group. He was too much of a jester to be welcomed. Still, Safar was worried that Olari would say too much. He made a hidden gesture of warning, then said to Ersen:

"You found us out, you canny devil. We've been sitting here for hours planning our revolt. We're thinking of starting with Didima. I've got a recipe we can slip into his food that'll make him limp as a wet rag."

"That's a good start, Ersen said. What about Kalasariz? I've heard he doesn't have a tool at all."

"Exactly what I've been telling Timura, Olari said. We have to come up with something different for him."

"Well, I'm just your man, Ersen said. See if you can find another jar of wine in there, Timura. There's a good fellow. Conspiracy makes thirsty work."