Wizard of the winds

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

"You're too tense, the trainer complained as he kneaded the massive body stretched out before him. Can't get the kinks out less you relax."

"Slept like shit, Tulaz said. Don't know what's wrong with me. I al'ays sleep like a babe. Specially afore a work day. But it weren't like that last night. Kept dreamin about this little fiendish thing. Body like a man, face like a toad. Kept on sayin''Shut up, shut up, shut up!"

The trainer's brow knotted in worry. The executionsmoved to the main arena to handle the Founder's Day crowdswere less than an hour away. All his savings had been risked on the outcome.

"Bad luck, a dream like that, Tulaz went on. Got me all out of sorts, it did. Can't figure out what I done to bring it on."

"You purged yourself like I tole you? the trainer asked, pummeling Tulaz thick body.

The Master Executioner of Walaria snorted. 'Course. Filled five buckets, didn't I?"

"And you've been stickin to your diet?"

"Gruel and water'd wine, nothin more, Tulaz said. It's this big rush that's botherin me. I usually get some notice, you know? Couple of days at least to get into shape. Sides, I just broke me own record couple a days ago.

"Seven heads takes a lot out of a man, which most people don't appreciate. They just come and see me lop em off. Miss all the fine points. Don't know how hard I works to keep a good form. I ain't recovered from the seven, yet. Now I gotta go for eight, afore I'm even ready."

"Don't think about it, the trainer advised. It's just one more day like any other. Keep that in your noggin and it'll work out fine."

"Sure, Tulaz said. That's the trick. Just another day. Nothin special about it."

The trainer poured scented oil on Tulaz and started working it in. And each head, too, he said. Look at em the same way. Don't count how many you gots to go. One or eight, what's the difference? They all gotta come off one at a time. Nothin special about that."

"Yeah, Tulaz said. That's the only way they goone at a time. Thanks. I'm feelin much better already."

The trainer chuckled and said thanks weren't necessary. He finished his task, covered Tulaz with heavy towels and advised him to take a nap.

"I'll call you in plenty of time, he said.

He crept out of the training room, but just before he exited he looked back at Tulaz. The giant executioner was lying face up, a brawny arm shielding his eyes.

And he was muttering to himself: Shut up, shut up, shut up. Wonder what he meant?"

For the first time in Tulaz long and illustrious career he was obviously distracted and suffering from a decided lack of confidence. The trainer left the room, wondering where he could get some money quick to lay off his bets.

The crowd roared. Safar was led out first, followed by Olari and six others, all manacled and chained together. Forty two heads had already been severed and the crowd was bored by the spotty performances of the executioners. But this was the main event: Tulaz, the Master Executioner of Walaria, was going for an eighth and record head.

Safar was nearly blinded by the bright morning sun. He tried to shield his face, but his arms were brought up short by a chain linked to a thick iron waist band. A guard cursed and prodded him along with a spear butt.

When his vision cleared Safar could see that he was being taken to a large, hastily erected execution platform in the center of the arena. It had been thrown up next to the dignitaries stand, where King Didima, Umurhan, and Kalasariz sat in pillowed and canopied comfort.

When Kalasariz announced the results of the roundup, Didima had decided to make the mass executions part of the Founder's Day ceremonies. The king prided himself on making quick, tough decisions, even if others believed them too daring or tradition-breaking. He thought the executions would whet the appetites of his citizens for the festivities that would follow.

"It will bring us all together at a special time, he told Umurhan and Kalasariz. Heal the discord among our citizens."

Umurhan, a usually cautious man, had agreed without argument. Although he didn't state his reasons, the High Priest of Walaria had been troubled of late that his annual display of sorcery wasn't being greeted with the sort of respectful enthusiasm and awe it deserved. Fifty severed heads would go long way to warming up the crowd.

Kalasariz also thought it was an excellent idea, although he too chose not to mention them to his two comrades. For his purposes it was always better to get political executions out of the way as fast as possiblebefore families and friends and loved ones had time to work up a good, lasting grievance. Swift executions put the fear of the gods in them, quelling vengeful thoughts.

The crowd gathered to witness the event was the largest in Walaria's history. It spilled out of the stands onto the floor of the arena. Hundreds were packed within twenty feet of the execution platform itself and more were squeezing in every minute, crowing over their good fortune and clutching prized tickets Didima's soldiers were selling at premium prices.

Safar's guards had to push people out of the way as he and his companions in misery shambled toward the platform. People shouted at him, snaking hands past the guards to try to touch him. For luck, he supposed. If so, it was a sorry sort of fortune. Some cursed him. Some cheered him. Some cried courage, my lad."

Hawkers mingled with the crowd, selling food and souvenirs. One enterprising young man had fistfuls of candied figs mounted on pointed sticks. The figs were painted with food dye to make them look like human heads. Blood-colored food dye streaked sticks to mimic the sharpened stakes Safar and the others would soon have their heads mounted upon.

Safar was too numb to know fear. He concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. If he had any feeling at all it was to wish it would be over quick.

All eight were led onto the platform, slipping on the bloody planks. Men with buckets and mops were cleaning up the gore from the previous executions. Others sprinkled sand around the cutting block to give Tulaz decent footing. The condemned were lined up at the edge of the platform, where guards doused them with cold water and gave them wine-soaked sponges to suck so they wouldn't faint and spoil the show.

Then Tulaz himself mounted the platform and the crowd thundered its approval. The Master Executioner was dressed in his finest white silk pantaloons. His immense torso glistened with expensive oil allowing the bright sun to pick out the definition of his mighty muscles picked out by the bright sun. His white silk hood was spotless, without a crease or stray thread to spoil its symmetry. Thick bands of gold encircled his wrists and biceps.

Tulaz went right to work, paying no attention to the crowd. First he checked the steps where the condemned would kneel, then the hollowed-out chopping block where each man would stretch his neck to receive the blade. When he was satisfied he shouted for his sword case. While he waited he drew on special gloves created just for him by the best glove-maker in Walaria. The palm surface was pebbled and the fingers were cut out to improve his grip. The crowd was hushed as an assistant presented the open case and Tulaz bowed before it, muttering a short prayer of greeting. The hush turned to a deafening roar when he removed the gleaming scimitar and held it up high for the gods to see.

Tulaz lowered the blade, caressing it and whispering endearments as if it were his child. Then he removed his favorite whetstone from a slot in his wide, leather belt and he began to hone the edge. Each slow practiced movement drew cries of admiration from the crowd, but Tulaz kept his eyes averted, his attention fully on the sword.

After a few moments Tulaz walked over to the condemned, still stropping his blade. He paused in front of Safar, who looked up and found himself peering into the darkest, saddest eyes he'd ever seen.

"It'll be over soon, lad, Tulaz said, his voice remarkably soothing. There's nothin personal, you know. Law says what it says and I just do me job. So don't fight it, son. And don't jerk about. I'm your friend. Last friend you'll ever know. And I promise I'll make her nice and clean and send you to your rest quick as I can."

Safar didn't answerwhat was there to say? Nonetheless, Tulaz seemed satisfied and he turned away, stone whisk-whisking along the steel edge.

The executioner had mounted the platform still feeling edgy, unsettled. But after talking to Safar he found his nerves steadying. He thought, That's good. Al'ays nice to talk to your first head. Let's the gods know you're serious about your work.

He turned to the soldiers guarding the condemned. Get those chains off'n my heads, he said. And rub em down good afore the bodies stiffen up."

Safar suddenly felt lighter as the chains fell away. Strong hands massaged him, bringing life back to his numb limbs. Then he was guided forward and he heard Olari call to him, but the words were lost in the crowd noises.

"Steady, lad, he heard Tulaz say as he was pushed into a kneeling position before the block.

Safar raised up to take one last look at the world. He saw a sea of faces screaming for his death. Some snapped out at him with remarkable clarity. There was an old man, howling through toothless gums. There was a matron, babe at breast, watching the proceedings with a look of remarkable serenity. Then, just below him, he saw a young facea girl's face.

It was Nerisa!

She charged out of the crowd and rushed the platform. Soldiers grabbed at her, but she ducked under their outstretched hands. The nails of those grasping hands raked blood streaks on her arms. Fingers tightened on her tunic, but she pulled away with such force that all they captured was torn cloth.

"Here Safar! she shouted. Here!"

She threw something at the platform. It sailed through the air and landed next to the cutting block with a heavy thud. Safar didn't look to see what it was. Instead, he watched in horror as the soldiers reached Nerisa.

A mace crashed down on her headblood spraying everywhere.

Then she was buried under a dozen soldiers.

The crowd roar diminished to puzzled shouts and then a low buzz as people asked each other what had happened.

Tulaz voice rose above the buzz"That's it! I can't work like this. The whole thing's off!"

Safar heard another man speak most urgently"You can't quit now, Tulaz! Think of all the money riding on this, man! They'll skin you alive! It was the trainer, who'd evidently found enough coin to copper his bet.

Then a great voice thundered, Citizens! Friends!"

It was King Didima, who'd come to his feet to address the crowd, his voice magically amplified by Umurhan.

"Today is a great day in Walaria's history, Didima said. It would be wrong of us and an insult to the gods who favor our fair city to allow a malcontent to spoil these holy ceremonies. We have all had a marvelous time this morning. And we owe a debt of gratitude to Lord Kalasariz for his thoughtful efforts to present us with such marvelous entertainment, while at the same time striking a blow for all law-abiding citizens.

"Now, let us resume our entertainment, my good friends and fellow Walarians. Our great executioner, Tulaz, was about to astound us with a feat never before attempted."

The king turned toward Tulaz, shouting, Let the executions resume!"

Someone grabbed Safar by the hair and forced his head on the block. Under royal command Tulaz stepped forward, slashing the air with his sword to warm up.

"Hold him steady, he shouted.

The hand tightened its grip in Safar's hair.

Just then a small, familiar voice hissed from beside him, Shut up, Gundaree! I don't need your help."

Tulaz froze, his nightmare coming back to haunt him. Who said that? Who said shut up?"

And Gundara said, Shut up! I'm not listening, Gundaree. Uh, uh. No, no. Don't care what you say. Shut up, shut up, shut up!"

The fingers loosened and Safar jerked free. He glanced down and saw the object Nerisa had thrownit was the turtle idol. He up and saw Tulaz towering over him, scimitar raised high to strike. But the executioner was motionless, stricken with fear.

"The dream! he said. It's coming true!"

"Forget the dream, the trainer cried, pushing at the brawny executioner. Quick! Cut off his head!"

Safar grabbed up the idol. Appear, Favorite! he commanded.

There was a boil of smoke and Gundara leaped out onto the platform.

Tulaz goggled at the little figure. No! he shouted. Get away from me!"

"What's he all excited about? Gundara asked Safar.

"Never mind that, Safar snapped. Do something about the sword before he changes his mind."

"Okay. If you insist. But it looks like a pretty nice sword."

"Just do it, Safar said.

Gundara made a lazy gesture, there was a loud crack! and the sword shattered like glass.

Tulaz screamed in horror and leaped off the platform.

Gundara brushed his claws together, as if knocking away dirt. Anything else, Master?"

"The spell, Safar said. Help me cast it now!"

Gundara plucked a tube of paper from his sleeve and tossed it to Safar. It grew to full size as it sailed the short distance and Safar snatched it out of the air.

As he readied himself chaos erupted all around him. The crowd roared in fury at the interruption. Gamblers attacked odds makers and odds makers shouted for their bully boys who waded in. The fights spread like a plainsfire and the stands and arena floor became a swarming mass of struggling bodies. Didima thundered orders and soldiers rushed toward Safar and Gundara.

Safar chanted:

Here are the hypocrites of Walaria,

Cursed be. Cursed be.

King Didima and Umurhan and Kalasariz,

The unholy three. Unholy three.

Devils and felons are welcome in Walaria,

Say the three. Say the three.

The scroll burst into flames and Safar flung it into the faces of the charging soldiers. The fiery bits exploded into a white-hot mass flinging the soldiers back, screaming and twisting in pain.

Safar snatched up the stone idol and Gundara hopped onto his shoulder, crying, Run, Master! Run!"

He leaped off the platform into the madness of the crowd. A soldier slashed with a sword, but Safar dodged the blow and cracked his head with the idol.

Behind him Olari had shouted the other condemned youths into life and they all swarmed off the platform and raced for cover.

Didima's amplified voice thundered, Seize the traitors! Don't let them escape!"

Safar rushed toward the place where he'd last seen Nerisa. Gundara conjured a flaming brand that shot off spears of magical lightning. Holding tight to his master's collar, he waved the brand about, scattering the crowd. Safar came to the spot where Nerisa had been attacked.

There was nothing there but a drying pool of blood.

"She's dead, Master, Gundara shouted. I saw her die!"

Rage gripped Safar and he whirled around to face the royal stage. He saw Didima and Umurhan being rushed away to safety by Kalasariz and his men.

He was helpless in his fury. He could feel great pools of power gathering near him. He only had to reach out and take it and then strike. But his enemies disappeared before he could form the killing spell and then a mass of armed men was charging toward him.

He gestured and a white cloud formed overhead. A deadly hailstorm erupted from that cloud, ripping through the soldiers ranks. Men cried out, falling to the ground, moaning from broken heads and limbs.

Gundara kicked at him with small sharp heels. Run, you fool! he shouted. Quick, before they send more!"

Safar ran.

He bounded up the emptying stands like a mountain goat until he came to the highest wall. On the other side was a broad street leading to the main gatenot more than a hundred yards away. Just beyond was freedom. Safar jumped, tucked and rolled when he hit, and raced for the unguarded gate.

And then he was gone.

Despite the chaos Safar left in his wake, Kalasariz regained order by day's end. He shut down the city at Last Prayer, imposing a dusk-to-dawn curfew. All violators were killed on the spot. Then he sent his men out to seize anyone who might threaten the throne before Didima had a chance to recover the dignity of his office. Only one of Safar's seven companions was recaptured. The rest, including Olari, seemed to have vanished. Kalasariz wasn't concerned about the missing youths. He'd always seen them as more of a symbol to be exploited than a real danger.

He'd once viewed Safar Timura as such a symbol. Now he wasn't so certain. Umurhan certainly viewed Timura as a threat, demanding that men be sent out immediately to capture Safar, and babbling for nearly an hour about the tortures the young man would suffer for his crimes. Kalasariz saw naked fear in the High Priest's ravingsa fear that could only be caused by the magical powers Timura had displayed in the arena. The spy master was no expert on such things, but when he added Umurhan's fear and Timura's friendship with Iraj Protarus, he thought it best to take extra precautions.

The first hedge involved the group of hunters he'd sent after Timura, who were hand-picked for their loyalty. He'd given them secret orders to kill Safar on sight. They were also told if Timura managed to elude them for any length of time they were to give up the chase and return home. By no means was he to be captured and returned to the city as King Didima had demanded.

The incident in the arena prompted Kalasariz to take one other major precaution. Umurhan had unintentionally revealed that as a wizard he was all bluff. Otherwise he would've used his magic to destroy Safaror least block his spell. It was plain to Kalasariz that if Walaria were ever attacked there'd be little help from the High Priest. This was a huge hole in the city's defenses, a gap that couldn't be filled.

So the spy master penned a careful message to Iraj Protarus. In it, he deplored the actions of Didima and Umurhan. He also subtly hinted if the day ever came when Protarus might wish his assistance, Kalasariz was his humble servant and would be pleased to comply. With the message he included the documents he had hidden away: Safar's death warrant and Kalasariz letter of protest.

The message was sent the day his hunters returned with the sad news that Safar Timura was nowhere to be found.

Nerisa crouched in the corner of her cell, a blood-crusted bandage wrapped around her forehead. She was weak from hunger and loss of blood. She had no idea how long she'd been in the cell or how long she'd remain before they came to take her.

Despite her weakness, she remained stubbornly unafraid. She held firm to a prisoner's ultimate defiancethey can kill you, but they can't eat you.

She'd rescued Safar. This was satisfaction enough. No one could take that back. If she were to be sacrificed for her love, so be it. Safar would go on living and he'd have the magical idol and Asper's bookwhich she'd given to Gundarato remember her by. She was certain he would make a great future for himself and no matter what happened to Nerisa, she would always be a major part of that future.

Nerisa had one real hope. When she'd been captured her unconscious body had been dumped in a holding cell with others caught up in the arena riots. When she'd regained consciousness she'd had the presence of mind to swallow the gold coins Safar had given her. If she ever had the opportunity she intended to use those coins to win her freedom. At the very worst she could bribe the executioner to make her death swift and painless.

It was a slender hope but it was hope just the same.

A rattle of keys and heavy footsteps brought her up. She saw the warder unlocking her cell door. There was another man behind him.

"Oh, it's you, Zeman, she rasped. What are you doing here? Run out of flies to torture?"

Zeman stretched his lips into a nasty grin. You should be more polite to me, he said, waving an official looking document at her. I'm your new owner."

Nerisa spit. No one owns me, she said.

Zeman stepped into the cell. They do now, he said. You have no idea how far-thinking and kind the law is in Walaria when an underage child is involved. I've just paid out a small sum to rescue you from this cell.

"In return for my generosity you have been given to me as a slave."

Nerisa was shocked. The fear she'd fought against since her capture rose up to grip her heart in icy fingers.

She clutched at hope Your grandfather will never allow it, she said. Katal doesn't believe in slavery."

Zeman snickered. Don't look to my grandfather for help, he said. Then he made a mournful face. Poor old dear. He's dead you know. Something he ate didn't agree with him."

Nerisa became numb. She had no doubt Zeman had poisoned the old man. Tears welled. She shook her injured head violently, using pain to quell the tears. She'd be damned if she'd give Zeman the satisfaction.

"You are looking at the sole proprietor of the Foolsmire, he said. And the sole owner of you, as well."

"What do you want with me? Nerisa snarled. You know I'll run the first chance I get. Either that, or kill you in your sleep."

"Oh, I don't intend to own you very long, Zeman replied. I've already approached a buyer who's willing to take you off my hands. I'm making a handsome profit, if you must know. Although not as much as your buyer is going to make. Apparently there are certain menrich men, I'm toldwho have an appetite for little whores like yourself."

Zeman pasted on another of his ugly smiles. And after you've grown breasts and are no longer any good to your new owner, I'm sure he'll make other arrangements for your future."

Zeman snickered. He gave me his word on that."

Nerisa screamed in fury and launched herself at Zemannails coming out like a cat's to rake his eyes from his head.

The warder stepped in and clubbed her down. She fell to the floor, unconscious.

The warder raised his heavy stick to strike again.

Zeman stopped him, saying, Let's not damage the merchandise."

Safar huddled in the slender shade of a desert succulent. His robe was hitched up over his head to protect himself from the merciless sun. A hot wind blew over the desolate landscape, intent on wringing every drop of moisture from his body. His tongue was a thick raw muscle, his lips cracked and drawn back over his teeth. He scraped at the hard ground with a jagged piece of rock, trying to dig a deep enough hole to expose the moisture held by the succulent's roots. He'd been working at it for hours but was so weak he'd barely managed a slight depression.

The sun had only just reached its zenith. The hottest and longest hours were still ahead. It was unlikely that he'd last until nightfall. But he kept at it, knowing neither hope or despair. He was like an animal with no thought in its head except survival.

A few days before he'd had life enough left to know joy when he saw his pursuers turn back. The hunters from Walaria had tracked him doggedly for a week, forcing him to flee deeper into the desert. With Gundara's help he'd cast spells of confusion to shake them off. Although he'd managed to elude them several times, the hunters kept reappearing on his trail. Gundara said it could only mean they had magic of their own to assist them.

The hunters gave up when they ran out of water. Safar, who didn't have that luxury, had run out long before. Divining spells proved to be uselesshe never had a chance to stop and resupply himself. Finally he was even denied Gundara's company and help, the intense desert causing the little Favorite to grow weak and retreat into the stone idol. After that, Safar had paused when he could to kill a lizard or snake and suck out its moisture. It was a losing battle, with the sun and wind draining his life as quickly as he'd drained those poor creatures.

Safar made one more swipe at the dry depression. Then all his strength fled and the rock fell from his grasp. He sagged back on the ground, gasping for breath.

Then even breathing seemed to require too much effort and he thought, Well, I'll just stop. But to his disgust his chest insisted on heaving in and out, drawing in air filled with sharp bits of grit. Then he thought, it has to end sooner or later. I'll lie here until it does. He sighed and shut his eyes.

Then Safar heard musicdistant pipes and bells. He thought, this must be what it's like to die.

The sound grew louder and he was overcome with a vague curiosity to look this strange, music-playing Death in the face.

He opened his eyes and wasn't disappointed. A huge low-flying creature swept across the desert towards him. It looked like an immense head, swirling with all sorts of marvelous colors. There were no wings or body attached to the head, but in Safar's daze this seemed quite natural. The creature flew closer and now he could make out its face.

He had strength enough to feel surprise. He thought, I didn't know Death was a woman. And such a beautiful womana giantess with sensuous features painted in glorious colors like a savage tattooed queen.

The music seemed to be coming from her lush mouth as if she had a voice composed of wondrous pipes and bells and harp strings.

The woman's head was hovering over him now. Safar smiled, thinking Death was finally going to take him. He closed his eyes and waited.

Then the music stopped and he heard someone speak. It was a woman's voice, but smaller than he thought a giantess would possess.

"Merciful Felakia, the woman said, spare me this sight. He's only a lad. And a handsome lad at that."

"Handsome or plain, makes no difference to the buzzards, came another voicea deep baritone"He's dead, Methydia. Come on! The Deming fair's only two weeks off and we gots a long ways to go."

Safar was disappointed. This wasn't how Death was supposed to behave. Was she going to leave his body here? Abandon his ghost to this wasteland?

He stretched his lips and tried to speak, but only managed a croak.

"Wait! said the woman. Sweet, merciful Felakiahe's alive."

No I'm not, Safar tried to say. I'm dead, dammit! Don't leave me here!

Then from above he heard a loud whoosh of escaping air and he felt a huge presence drifting down to him.

Safar smiled. Death was on her way. He ached for her embrace.

Part Three

Wizard of the Winds