Wizard of the winds

CHAPTER TWENTY

King Protarus quick marched his army to the place of the Two Stones.

His scouts told him King Manacia's main force was two days away. Protarus had perhaps fifty thousand fighting men, nearly all mounted. With these he would oppose about three hundred thousand demons, some mounted, most afoot.

On the surface these odds seemed insurmountable. Protarus generals told him so in daily meetings. They pointed out he had another seventy-five thousand men spread over his realm, keeping the peace. To this he could add two hundred thousand men who had recently volunteered to fight the hated demon enemy. If Protarus waited a month that number would easily reach five hundred thousand. So many hot-blooded young men were pouring in, begging to fight, Protarus recruiters were nearly overwhelmed.

"I mean to fight now, Protarus told them. Not a month from now. A month is too late. A month is certain defeat.

"And we don't have two days to prepare for Manacia, but a day and a half. I want him here faster. I want him here in time to settle into a comfortable camp. He'll want to feed his men, rest them and then surprise us with a dawn attack."

"How can get we get him here more quickly, Your Majesty? one his aides asked. We can't command Manacia to speed up."

"True, but we can entice him, Safar said.

Then king and grand wazier explained how this thing could be done.

The desert heat formed twin devils that attacked Manacia from above and below. The appalling discomfort made him angry and his slaves kept well out of kicking range. Manacia thought the gods were being unreasonable to the extreme. They'd determined his fate, hadn't they? They'd decreed he would be King of Kings. If this were the caseand Manacia had no reason to doubt itit seemed unfair and undignified to make him suffer so.

Angry as Manacia was at the gods, his wrath knew no end when he considered the pretender, Iraj Protarus. Manacia had heard reports that Protarus shared his ambitions to rule Esmir. How dare he? Why, he was nothing more than a dirty plains savage.

Manacia's belly lurched uncomfortably with each roll of the elephant. The smells around himbeast smells, unwashed demon smellswere so thick it was difficult to breath without gagging. The sounds were so chaotic it was impossible to thinkgroaning life on the hard march, shrieking wheels in the heat, distant cries of demon kits and the babble of their complaining mothers.

And Manacia thought, Children? How did we end up carrying children with us?

He twisted around and although he couldn't see them, he knew there were thousands upon thousands of demon harlots straggling behind his army. He snorted, disgusted. Apparently he'd been in the field long enough for the harlots to breed.

Looking back, Manacia could see the Demon Moon, red glow smearing the northern horizon. Hovering above it was the lightspear of the comet. When the Demon Moon and comet had first appeared, the king had taken heart. He claimed it as his sign, the Sign of Manacia. A demon king for the Demon Moon.

But in the weariness of the long march to meet Protarus, King Manacia had begun to curse that moon. It was always present, day or night. He felt haunted by it, as if it were a heavenly force driving him on to who knows where?

Manacia felt a stony clatter against his magical shield. He jolted around to face the southhis enemy's lair.

His big demon head came up, yellow eyes drilling the far horizon.

The first thing Luka saw were his scouts racing back to his lines.

Next he spotted watery figures charging across the desert after the scouts. The figures firmed and became mailed horsemenhumans!

His first thought was, It's so hot! How can they keep up such a pace?

His second thought was, By the gods, he's coming! Protarus is coming!

Trumpets sounded the alarm all around him. Action only needed his signal.

He gave it.

His demon brothers howled their war cries and charged, carrying him along at their head.

Fari saw the twister snaking towards him. It was six feet high, which became twelve, and then double that and then it became a towering, screeching force of nature.

All about him he could hear the fearful cries of his colleagues as they leaped from their wagons to abandon Manacia's wizard caravan.

Fari ached to run with them, but he was too old to run and had to use his wits.

The twister struck the first wagons, lifting them up and hurling them in all directions. Fari calmed himself enough to see a human face staring out of that twister. It was many faces, actually, but the same facea blur of sameness whirling with the twister. It was beardless, hawked nosed and Fari could swear he could see blue skies through eyeholes in the dust-and-debris-choked tornado.

And now it was coming for him, roaring his name, Fa-ri! Fa-ri!"

Safar saw the old demon wizard and knew who he was. He called his name again, Fa-ri! Fa-ri!"

He pointed his finger and Gundara hopped over to the twister and pushed it toward the demon wizard.

Tornado and demon were among many miniature ghostly figures spread out on the campaign table in Iraj's headquarters tent. At Safar's command, Gundara moved among them, towering over the living map like a giant.

Safar concentrated, barely noticing Iraj's presence next to him, much less the generals and aides crowding close to the table. His gaze swept over the field, taking note of the key figures.

Not far above the destroyed wizard caravan was Manacia, clinging to the howdah as his elephant mount stamped its feet and trumpeted in panic. Demon soldiers rushed all around him, adding to the confusion.

Some distance from Manacia he could see the diminutive figures of Prince Luka and his cavalry of monsters charging across the desert.

Safar turned his attention back to Fari and the twister. He nodded at Gundara, who gave the whirlwind another push and it leaped forward to close the distance.

Fari saw the trick just in time.

He felt the twister suck at him, saw the whirling faces, heard them shouting, Fa-ri, and looked down the whirlwind's column until he saw its tail. It was a small, leaping serpent, no bigger than a demon kit's wrist.

Fari saw in an instant this was where its power resided. He marveled at how such a large force could come from so little energy. Then he made a slicing motion with his talon, cutting it in two.

The twister shattered, showering rocks and bits of debris everywhere. Fari suffered only a small cut on his left claw. But he was badly shaken.

He looked at the chaos raging around him and heaved a long sigh of relief.

Luka took his fear and made it his courage. His battle cry was drowned out by his brother warriors, but it took life from them at same time, wailing out in a long single ululation that resounded across the desert.

They were almost on the human cavalry, which was charging toward them unfazed by the sight and sound of so many demon killers.

Luka saw a tall horseman with a blonde beard and long golden locks flowing from under his helmet. Riding beside him was a dark-featured man, just as tall but beardless. Despite the blur of the charge Luka could see the man's burning blue eyes.

Those eyes were looking at him now.

The bearded man turned his head and caught sight of Luka.

Both humans changed course and charged toward the demon prince.

Luka waved his sword wildly and braced for the shock.

But no clash came.

Instead, he found himself shouting and slashing and jabbing at… nothingness. He whirled his beast about and saw his warriors fighting empty air.

The humans had vanished.

Luka blinked. But as it was fully sinking in that he'd faced and fought only his imagination, he saw a humana real human, not a ghostleap up from the sand.

The man cried out when he saw the prince. Luka heard similar cries all around. Then the human lifted up a long tube. Luka noted with dazed interest that the tube had probably allowed the man to breathe while he lay in wait buried in the said.

Then he saw the men load the tube with a dart, lift it to his lips… and blow.

The dart took Luka's mount in the eye. The beast howled in pain, then collapsed under him. Luka rolled off, taking shelter behind his mount's body. It had died so quickly that he knew the dart was poisoned.

He lifted his head and was amazed to see his human attacker running away. He jumped up to follow, but had taken no more than a few steps when he stumbled over a mailed body. It was the corpse of one of his brother warriors.

Luka came to his feet. The ground was littered by many other demon corpses.

Then he came out of his shock and realized most were still mounted and uninjured. They were only confused, milling about wondering where their enemy had gone.

Luka saw the fleeing humans racing south toward a group of low dunes. They'd thrown down their dart tubes in their haste to escape an overwhelming demon force. From the dunes he saw a long line of horsemen dash out, each leading another animal.

The prince shouted for his fiends. He did not mean to let the humans escape.

Someone brought him a mount and Luka bounded into the saddle and led his warriors on yet another charge. But this time he had the enemy's back to him.

Snarling as wildly as his clawed-mount, Luka closed on the humans. He was so close he could hear their laboring breath.

He dropped his sword point low to take the first man in front of him.

"Now, Master? Gundara asked.

"Yes, now! Safar answered.

The little Favorite stomped on the table.

There was a deafening explosion and Luka's mount reared, shrieking in fear, claws pawing the air.

A cloud black as night and stinking of sulfur burst up between him and the fleeing humans.

Monstrous forms, all frighteningly ugly, all human, swirled out of the cloud, gnashing and grinding their flat teeth.

Luka heard his warriors howl in terror and knew they were experiencing the same thing. He tried to call out to them not to panic, to keep going until they reached the other side of the smoke curtain. But no one could make out his commands from the cries of hysteria.

Then it came to him that he was alone.

All his warriors had retreated and he was alone in the sulfurous darkness, filled with nightmare forms.

Luka wheeled his mount and retreated as calmly as he could.

When he'd cleared the smoky curtain he saw his father bearing down on him on his big white elephant.

"Why did you stop? his father shouted. Why didn't you go on?"

There was a thinly failed accusation of cowardice in his father's questions and Luka hated him for it.

"The humans caught us by surprise, Majesty, he said. It seemed best to regroup. Besides, it was only a small force, and most of that was illusion."

Manacia jabbed a talon at the ebbing curtain of smoke. Are you telling me Protarus isn't waiting out there?"

"I don't believe so, Majesty, Luka answered. I think he waits where our scouts say he waits. Near the place of the Two Rocks. This was only a diversion. He was testing us."

"Well, you're a fool to think that! Manacia snarled. He's out there, all right. I can feel it. He rapped his golden mail. In here I can feel it. He tapped his demon nose. And I can smell him. I can smell the human wizard, too."

Lord Fari had come up in time to hear the last. Are you certain, Your Majesty? he asked. I too sense a presence out there. But perhaps it is only another illusion."

Manacia snorted. Bah! I'm surrounded by fools and cowards."

He shouted for an aide. Sound the attack, he commanded.

A moment later the air was filled with the cacophony of trumpets and drums and booted feet and clanking mail as Manacia's vast army poured across the empty plain, seeking humans to kill.

To support them, Manacia gathered his best wizards together, including Fari, and they made a mighty spell.

Boiling clouds filled the skies. Lighting cracked Thunder rolled. Horrible beasts, dragons and winged lions, raged across the heavens.

Manacia worked himself to exhaustion, forming and casting war spell after war spell.

Several hours passed and the first scouts returned from the main force to report there were no signs of even a small band of humans to be found, much less a whole army.

By now Manacia had collapsed on his traveling bed, surrounded by his wizards. He'd just heard Fari report that the huge magical hammer they'd created had been for naught.

After Fari heard what the scouts had to say, he dared to approach his king. I think it is clear, Your Majesty, he said, that all our efforts are being wasted. There's no one out there."

"So I'm the fool, am I? Manacia raged.

"Not at all, Majesty, Luka broke in. Lord Fari meant nothing of the kind."

The old demon was surprised to see this unprecedented show of support from the Crown Prince.

"It is Protarus who is the fool, Majesty, Luka said. How dare he toy with you? And such empty gestures. A few were hurt, even killed. But it's like a flea bite on a camel's ass. Nothing more."

Manacia was roused from his weariness. He slammed one taloned fist into the other. I'll teach him to trifle with me, he said.

Again, the demon king shouted for his aides. We march for the Two Rocks at dawn, he commanded. We've seen Timura's magic. And it's nothing. Now let's see if Protarus can fight!"

Safar waved and the battlefield vanished. Gundara hopped onto his shoulder and quietly accepted his sugary reward. Safar turned to Iraj.

"Manacia should be good and angry now, he said.

"Good, Iraj said. He gave a hard jerk of his head. Now, he'll get here quicker."

The night before the battle Safar and Leiria made love for the first time in a long time.

In the beginning Leiria was fierce, but later she wept.

Safar held her, letting her weep. Suddenly she raised her head, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"I would never betray you, Safar, she said, hoarse. Never!"

Safar was surprised at this announcement. He wondered what could be its cause.

But all he did was hold her closer.

And all he said, was, Of course not. Murmuring it over and over again. Of course not."

Until she fell asleep.

On the second dayjust as the sun reached its highest pointManacia's scouts came to the place of the Two Stones. There they found Protarus waiting.

His forces were arranged strangely. The main group was focused in the centerbut pulled well back from the rock columns as if they offered some sort of shield, rather than just two incredibly tall pillars springing out of an otherwise empty wasteland.

Out to the side were cavalry wings, all bristling with the small bows of the plains warriors. Behind them were ranks of slingmen, all on foot. The slingmen were thinly guarded by small cavalry detachments and a few well-armed foot-soldiersmuscular men with short heavy spears in each hand and axes in their belts.

The scouts roamed the edges, letting their witch sniffers loose to find the magical center. The creatures looked like squat dogs with hyena faces. They dashed about, scratching at the ground and sniffing the air.

In the end they returned to their demon masters, tails between their spavined legs to show failure.

Safar watched the scouts ride offheading north toward the Demon Moon where Manacia's forces were slowly moving forward.

He was perched on the crown of the westernmost rock column and had an excellent view. With him were Leiria, and four wizard helpers. There was a similar number posted on the opposite column, commanded by Horvan, his most able mage.

The spells he'd cast to shield the rock columns from the witch sniffers had been child's play. What had not been child's play was getting on top of those rocks. The task had been so difficultthe rocks so sheerSafar's plan had nearly been wrecked before he started.

Iraj's soldiers were all men of the plains. Mountains were unknown to them. The highest any had ever climbed was to the backs of their horses.

Safar had watched in awful suspense as the team Iraj had selected attacked the first rock column and failed time and again. They would get no higher than ten feetfifteen at the mostthen come off the smooth rock all flailing arms and shrill cries, like clumsy chicks falling from their nest.

The only fortunate thing was no one got hurt, beyond skinned fingers, knees and pride.

Finally, there was nothing to be done but have Safar attempt it himself. Everyone protested, Iraj the loudest.

"I'll not have my Grand Wazier killed before the battle even starts, he said.

"I'm a child of the mountains, Safar pointed out. And the only one with climbing experience. Besides, I'm eventually going to have make the climb anyway. The team was just supposed to set up ropes so they could hoist me and my mages into place."

He shrugged. It seems silly to risk all our plans over something so easily solved."

Finally, Iraj assented and Safar found himself next to the western column, peering up at the crown. He made a few cautious experimental attempts, fingers and bare toes skittering on the smooth rock, searching for hairline cracks just deep enough to give purchase.

The whole army was watchingan army that feared heightsand each time he fumbled and slid gently to the ground they gasped in unison as if he were plummeting to his death.

It reminded Safar of the nail-biting crowds at Methydia's Circus when great acrobatic feats were being performed. The thought brought back the skills he'd learned from Arlain and Kairo, and so on his first true attempt he scampered up thirty feet without pause.

The fifty-thousand man army cheered and applauded like the greatest audience ever gathered under one tent. Safar became carried away with the moment. Although he had good purchase, he pretended otherwise and made as if he'd lost his grip and was falling.

The army moaned in horror. It was an awful sound, a frightening sound. Nothing like a circus audience, which know deep in their hearts the performer will ultimately prevail.

It came to Safar the warriors were putting all their hopes in him. Yes, they knew Protarus was a great king and a mighty general who had carried them through the worst circumstances. Iraj was not a monarch who believed in wasting his soldiers lives. But they feared the demons, especially demon magic and they were looking to Lord Timura, the Grand Wazier, wizard above all wizards, to save them. Hadn't King Protarus himself attested to Lord Timura's abilities? And hadn't they already seen his early successes with the demons who'd held Kyrania, and in the shadow fight with Manacia?

To them, if Safar fell to his death it might very well portend their own. Safar took pity and ended his antics.

But he was showman enough to free a hand so he could wave while he nodded his head to show it was all in good fun.

A huge explosion of nervous laughter carried him the next ten feet.

He resumed the climb, but cautiously, soberly. It turned out to be much more difficult that way. Without the crowd-stirred energy of a performer to aid him he quickly became tired, his fingers and toes numb and a few times he really almost did lose his grip and come off the wall. When it happened he was at a height that would have crippled him, or spelled his doom.

He was exhausted when he finally reached the top. Although the cheers were thunderous, he felt nothing when he sent down the ropes to let the others up.

All he could think of was the other stone column. There was no getting around the fact it too had to be climbedand by him and him alone.

The only true blessing the Old Gods granted living things, and this grudgingly, was that all ordeals, all pain, must eventually endone way or the other. It was Safar's good fortune his ended well. And now he was perched on the first column he'd climbed, a little tired, but certainly ready for Manacia.

After awhile he saw the dust ridge rise up under the Demon Moon and knew the enemy was approaching. He flashed a palm mirror to signal Iraj. Orders were shouted from below, trumpets blared, and there was a shifting sea of warriors coming to life and moving into position.

The dust ridge grew larger by the hour, soon walling the entire horizon. Still it approached, until there came a point when Safar could almost make out the dark outlines of mounted demons. Then all forward motion halted and the ridge became a huge dusty boil. It was like an old, weary dog who'd found a suitable place to rest and was turning round and round, to finally settle nose to tail.

Safar signaled againManacia was making camp.

The demon king scoffed at the battle map. It was clear to him what Protarus meant to do.

"He wants to use the stone columns to make us come to his center, he said to Luka. That's where his main force is gathered."

He gestured at the wooden markers to the left and right of the main forces. And he'll try to use his cavalry to pinch us in from the sides to make certain we stay on the course he prefers."

Manacia slammed his taloned fist onto the table, toppling the markers.

"Well, I don't intend to meekly follow this king's commands, he said. I've fought this battle before. Hells, I've fought it four or five times at least."

He tapped his horned head. It's all here, he said to his son. A game of minds. I almost feel sorry for Protarus. It's clear he doesn't know who or what he is up against."

Fari cleared his throat for attention. What of the wizard, Timura? he asked. He'll most certainly figure into Protarus plans."

Manacia scowled. It's true we haven't located him, he said. Or any source of human magic for that matter. I suppose he's shielded himself. It's not an easy thing to do, so I mustn't underestimate him. Still, I've got similar shields in place, protecting a much larger wizardly force.

"We'll wait until he strikes and reveals himself. He won't stand a chance when we reply."

Luka and Fari exchanged quick looks. Each could tell the other was impressed with Manacia's reading of the situation.

The Crown Prince bitterly accepted his father's military expertise. He had no doubt when the battle commenced Manacia would prevail.

"We'll attack at dawn, Manacia said. Just as the humans are stirring at the camp fires."

He gestured at the Demon Moon hanging over the northern horizon. We'll have that at our backs to confound them, he said.

Manacia slapped his thigh in delight. There's nothing I enjoy more than attacking an enemy with the light in his eyes."

Iraj surveyed his assembled troops. He let a broad grin play through his beard. Here we are again, lads, he said. Up to our callused behinds in hyenas and no way out!"

His voice, magically amplified by an amulet Safar had given him, rang with manly good cheer. The warriors roared laughter at their king's humor.

Iraj pointed a dramatic finger through the stone pillars, which perfectly framed the Demon Moon.

"Once again, he said, we're facing a fellow who doesn't think we're fit to empty his piss pot."

The warriors rumbled their disapproval.

"But we've taught royal prigs like that a thing or two in the past, haven't we lads?"

The warriors shouted agreement.

Iraj waved them to silence. It so happens that this time the prig we're facing is a demon."

There were low mutters, manly mutters, but forced.

Iraj thumped his chest. I've fought demons before, lads, he said. I fought them as a boy. And it was the demons who fell, not your king, boy though he was.

"You've never heard this story. It's a secret Lord Timura and I have kept for many years. But now I think it's time for all Esmir to know."

Iraj commenced to deliver an abbreviated, but highly dramatic account of the event.

"So you see, my lads, Iraj said when he was done, demons bleed the same as all of us. They have magic, but so do we in Lord Timura. They have us outnumbered, but I've just told you a story of outnumbered boys so you know that's no problem to men like yourselves.

"But I won't lie to you. The demons are formidable foes. Yet, what would be the pleasure of fighting if all our foes were weak?"

This struck the men of Plains of Jaspar particularly well and they all thundered their approval.

"What do you say, lads? Iraj shouted. Shall we wait until Manacia brings the fight to us?"

This was met with a resounding NO!"

"Shall we carry to the fight to him?"

This drew an overwhelming YES!"

"Then let's go to him, lads! Iraj thundered. Let's catch him with his breeches down and buried to the hilt in some demon whore."

The skies shook with their roared approval.

As it so happened, Manacia was pleasuring himself with an enthusiastic demon maid when the news of the attack came. He wasn't buried to the hilt, but he was definitely considering such an action when someone scratched at the entrance to gain his attention.

Manacia tumbled out of his harem tent, buttoning up his breeches. Why do you disturb me? he roared.

His aide gibbered, then pointed south. Forgive mmm-mmm-me, Mmm-ajesty! But Pppp-protarus is attacking!"

Manacia's eyes shot south. It was dusk, but it was the eerie dusk of the Demon Moon, and the figures he sawhuman warriorswere cast large and bloody red.

The demon king was no hysteric. He'd dealt with surprise attacks before. He calmed his fears and shouted for his generals to counter.

It was a Jaspar blood charge. No quarter given, none asked.

It was a screaming mass of horsemen, but not a man among them offered himself as a target. Each rode bareback, a thick leather harness girdling the horse's body, a slender rope lead to its mouth.

They whirled about the harness strap, sometimes to the left, sometimes to the right, sometimes hanging beneath the horse's belly. As they circled their mounts, they fired a constant stream of arrows from their small bows, so many that the sound was like a plague of biting flies descending in a black cloud on a cattle herd.

It was a mad charge, a charge where death was no consideration.

Arrow swarms disturbed the dusk with their black flight.

The screams of the demon wounded defied the desert calm.

And then they were among the demons, dropping their bows and drawing scimitars. Slashing this way and that.

They drove straight up the middle, nearly reaching Manacia himself, who was clambering aboard his elephant.

Iraj led that charge. He was a monster soldier, a soldier who could not be hit when the demon arrows swarmed back. His sword was a monster sword no blade could counter, no pike could match, no battle ax could confront.

He swept through the demon ranks. He was the arrow point, his men were its wounding flare, and the Demon Moon was his target.

He drove through the massed soldiers, aiming for the moon's blood spot, then he whirled and attacked the other way.

Iraj saw Manacia clambering on his elephant. A king-against-king fury took him and he struck toward his ultimate enemy.

But then Manacia's guard swarmed around him, spears tipped with deadly magic were hurled at himcountered by Safar's amulet which he wore about his neckand Iraj wisely turned aside.

He led his warriors out of the demon horde, doing even more damage in his retreat than in the initial assault.

Gundara shouted, Shut up, shut up, shuuuttt up!"

Safar broke in. Quit arguing with your brother. I'm trying to concentrate."

"It's not my fault, Master, the little Favorite whined. Gundaree won't stop bothering me."

Safar fought for calm. He'd learned from Methydia that Art and Temperament came in the same package. If you couldn't deal with the Temperament you had no business telling Art what to do.

He offered some treats.

"Here's two for you, he said, and two for Gundaree. And if you behave yourselves, and aren't greedy little Favorites, there'll be two more for each of you when the job is done."

Leiria nudged him. They're coming, she said.

Safar looked north. Night had fallen, but the Demon Moon was so bright all was clear. He saw Iraj and his menabout two hundredstreaming toward him. Behind them came Manacia's army. It was huge thing, a black plains gobbling beast, gathering momentum as it came.

As Manacia had guessed, Iraj wanted the his enemy to come at him through the pillars where the main human force waited. If Iraj could squeeze the demons in from the sides, packing them so densely when they came through the pillars that they could barely move, the odds against the humans would be vastly reduced.

Although Manacia had fallen for Protarus trap, the surprise attack and false retreat, he was no fool. The pursuit was orderly. Only one large group of demons, led by Crown Prince Luka, Safar guessed, was directly involved in chasing Iraj. The rest of the army was spread out across the plain, sweeping toward the humans in a broad wave so deep and strong they'd almost certainly be overwhelmed.

Safar motioned to his wizards. They touched brands to a heap of desert brush and dried dung. It burst into flames, flaring out so quickly the wizards had to jump back. Then it became steady, returning to a more comfortable size, and the wizards started tossing special powders on the fire. It hissed and boiled, sending up a shower of multi-colored sparks. Safar saw a similar glow on the eastern pillar and knew Horvan had joined him in the spell.

He let his mind slip down and down and then he was in a cold gray place with no top or bottom or sides. He called out, Where are you, Ghostmother? It is I, your friend Safar Timura, come to find you."

There was no answer. Safar called again, Come to me Ghostmother. Come to me please. I am in difficulty and have need of you."

Safar suddenly felt a presence. It was heavy and animal-like and smelled powerfully of cat. Then the grayness wavered and he could make out the faint of image of the old lioness.

"I am Safar Timura, Ghostmother, he said. Do you remember how I helped you with your cubs?"

The lioness whined, the sound coming close to his ear.

"Will you help me, Ghostmother? Safar asked. As I helped you."

Another whine. And it came to him the old lioness had agreed.

"Thank you, Ghostmother, Safar said. Wait here until I call, please."

Safar's head came up and he was suddenly back on the rock pillar again, the flames of the magical fire dancing and showering sparks only a few feet away.

He saw Iraj and his troops had almost reached the gap between the pillars.

"Get ready, he said to the wizards.

Manacia felt a warning buzz of enemy magic bloom into life. At the same time he saw the magical fires burning at the tops of the rock pillars.

The demon king gnashed his fangs in delight. There you are, Timura! he growled. I've got you!"

He pulled back his claw, readying a soul-blasting spell.

Iraj and his cavalry swept through the gap.

"Go! Safar shouted.

Four glass globes were hurled into the fire.

Out on the red-lit plain four white hot explosions erupted along the western edge of Manacia's oncoming army.

Then four more shattered the sky on the east as Horvan's wizards hurled their globes.

"Again! Safar shouted.

Manacia was nearly hurled from the howdah by the force of the explosions. He was momentarily blinded, but when his vision cleared his first thought was that it'd returned too soon.

The explosions had punched big holes in his army's outermost wings. Other blasts followed and he heard screams of terror and pain. Then the wings started folding in on themselves as the soldiers on the edges scrambled toward the center to escape the blasts.

Manacia shouted orders to make them return to their positions, but in the chaos no one heard.

Furious, the Demon King's eyes swept up to westernmost tower of rock. He felt the presence of a powerful enemy wizardTimura!

Manacia shrieked in fury and hurled his spell.

Safar was ready.

He sensed the pressure of the oncoming attack, and cried out, Come, Ghostmother! Come!"

Manacia screamed an oath as he felt his spell blocked.

His attacking spell backblasted and he struggled for a shield and got it up just in time. A hot wave burst over his magical shield, spattering his spirit with hot drops of sorcery.

Before he could recover and strike again, he heard a mighty spine-cracking roar and a huge lion leaped out of nothingness and was on him.

Manacia grappled with it, and the lion's body was so cold it was like fighting death itself. He flung it away, and the lion tuck rolled and came to its feet.

It was then Manacia realized he was fighting a ghost. He could see right through the creature and when it opened its mouth and roared defiance, the sound had the ring of the unreal, the distant.

The lioness came for him again and Manacia dug as deep as he could into his bag of magical tricks.

Just before the massive jaws closed him he cast the spell.

The lioness vanishedreturned to its ghost world.

Manacia sagged back, exhausted of all his powers.

Iraj whirled his horse about and prepared to meet the demon onslaught pouring toward the gap, Demon Moon at their backs.

They were packed tightly into a black river of warriors, but not as tightly as Iraj wanted. He signaled his flanks and the slingmen let loose, aiming at the edges of the demon column. At the same time the cavalry units charged in, backed by fast running ground troops.

A heavy swarm of missiles fell on the demons, killing and maiming many. Another swarm struck, dealing out more pain and death.

The human cavalry units slashed in, one from the east, the other from the west. They played a dancing game, darting in to savage the edges and darting out again before the demons could close on them. The ground troops struck immediately afterward, hurling their heavy spears, then grabbing axes from their belts and wading into the fight.

Gradually, the demon column narrowed more and when it finally struck through the portal between the two rock pillars the warriors were so densely packed they were easy pickings for the humans.

Iraj killed so many his sword arm grew tired, then his sword broke and he fought with a hand ax grabbed up from one of the fallen.

He saw Luka, separated from his guard, desperately fighting off three horsemen.

Iraj saw his three soldiers fall and Luka dash back into the demon ranks, a feat which drew Protarus cold admiration.

Iraj fought on, raging against the demon tide.

Then slowly the battle changed. The sheer size of the demon army finally overcame all its flaws.

Iraj and his men found themselves being driven back as hammer blow followed hammer blow.

It wouldn't be long, he realized, before his lines cracked. And that would be the end of his army, his dreams and most certainly his life.

He chanced a look up at the western rock column.

And he thought, come on, Safar! Come on!

Safar readied his Grand Illusion.

It was the last weapon in his magical quiver.

He had no time to admire his father's artistry as he cast the spell that sent the fleet aloft.

Luka's fighting hopes were at their highest.

They were through the gap now and his army was spreading out, leaving themselves more room to use their weapons against the humans.

Luka could feel the enemy crumbling before him. One more hard effort, no more than two, and victory would be his.

Then, even above the noise of battle, he heard a murmur running through his troops, followed by collective gasps and cries of alarm. He saw several fiends pointing talons in wonder at the red-lit sky.

He looked up and it was all he could do not to gasp himself.

Sky borne warships were hurtling across the heavens to join the battle. They were the strangest vessels Luka had ever seenfighting ships, suspended under big balloons, all crammed with warriors bearing spears with glowing tips. He couldn't tell what size they were. The ships seemed small and so he assumed they were at a great height. But certainly they were large enough to hold hundreds of warriors.

Then the ships were overhead and those warriors were hurling their spears into the demon masses. The spears grew before his eyes as they fell, each becoming easily as large as a tall demon.

They struck like lightning, glowing tips exploding, sending out great sheets of flame.

Another wave of spears hit. Then another. Blasting holes into the demon ranks. Filling the air with thunder and the smell of sulfur.

Then the demon army lost its nerve.

Luka could feel it, feel the fire go out of his warriors, smell the acrid stench of their fear.

They turned and ran. First a trickle, then a stream, then a full-sized river of shrieking demons, throwing down their weapons, shedding their armor and running over their own comrades to escape the horror from the skies.

Luka ran with them, spurring his mount to keep up. He wasn't running out of fear, although he was certainly frightened enough. He was racing to keep up, shouting for calm and order, doing his best to contain the rout.

Behind him he could hear the crack and thunder of the flying ships.

And the howls of Protarus pursuing army.

Hours passed before Manacia restored order. But when he did the best he could manage was to wheel his forces about and set up a fortified camp.

In the distance Protarus paused and set up a camp of his own.

"The fight isn't over yet, Manacia railed, striding about his command tent, kicking and clubbing any slave who got in his way. He can't stand up to me again. I'll hammer him into dust!"

Iraj paced his command tent, but his pace was measured, his manner calm.

"I hope we don't have to fight him again, he said to Safar. If we do, it'll be out in the open on ground of his choosing. He won't fall for our tricks again."

"I suppose this where luck comes in, Safar said.

Iraj paused, considering, then nodded. Yes, he said. Now we get to see how lucky we really are."

"He's lucky, that's all, Manacia said, voice still shaking with fury. Moreover, he was aided and abetted by cowards in my own court."

Luka, who'd been listening as patiently as possible, turned cold.

"What is it you are suggesting, Majesty? he asked, not bothering to hide his anger.

Manacia turned on him. I'm not suggesting anything, he said. It's clear enough my son is a coward, who leads a band of cowardly fiends."

"Ah! Luka said as if he'd suddenly made a great discovery. You intend to blame me, is that it?"

"You've shamed me, Manacia said. But I'll not hide that shame. Fault will be directed at its source, no matter if that source is my son and heir."

Luka came closer, as if to appeal for reason.

Instead he said, Father, tell me about the time my mother accused you of rape. It's such a humorous incident it will give us all good cheer."

Manacia frowned. What's wrong with you? he snapped. This is no time for humor."

"Oh, but it is, father, Luka insisted. This is the very kind of situation that does call for humor."

Manacia drew himself up for another angry bellow.

But Luka quickly drew his sword and cut the bellow off at its source.

He watched his father's headless body flop to the floor.

Luka turned to the others, calmly wiping his blade.

"Any objections? he demanded.

The generals and aides were frozen, gaping at this turn of events.

Fari was the first to speak. Not at all, Your Majesty, he said.

Stiffly and with much joint cracking he lowered his aged bulk to its knees.

"Long live King Luka! he cried.

The generals followed his lead, dropping to the ground and abasing themselves and shouting, Long Live King Luka!"

Luka peered at his father's head, eyes open and staring.

"What's wrong, father? he asked. You're not laughing!"

Some weeks later Iraj crossed the Forbidden Desert, leading a grand victory procession down the road to Zanzair.

Kalasariz had carried Luka's surrender terms to Protarus and acted as a go-between in the ensuing discussions. The demon army was broken up into small groups and sent home. Luka offered himself as hostage, sending Fari back to ZanzairManacia's head stored in iceto arrange for Iraj's arrival.

To Safar's displeasure Kalasariz was rewarded with much gold and a high position on Iraj's staff. Safar advised his king against it, but Iraj had brushed off his advice, saying there was always a desperate need for good spies.

At last the day arrived when the gates of Zanzair came into view.

They were marching along a misty highway, banners fluttering, drums rapping time.

Iraj rode Manacia's great war elephant, Safar at his side. A large flag made of fine Sampitay silk hung from the howdah. On it was the Crest of The Conqueror, the red Demon Moon and silver comet.

But it was no longer Alisarrian's flag. Iraj had claimed it as his own.

In a week an elaborate ceremony would be staged in Manacia's former palace. Dignitaries, both human and demon, would crowd the grand throneroom and humble themselves before Protarus.

There he would be declared King of Kings, supreme monarch of all Esmir.

The breeze stiffened and Safar saw the mist lift. Directly ahead were the gates of Zanzair.

"Look! Iraj said, excited as a child. We're almost there."

Hanging from a post above the gates was Manacia's gory head.

The gates swung open and an enormous crowd of demons poured out to hail their new king. Iraj waved a mailed hand in return.

The demon cries became wilder, chanting: Protarus! Protarus! Protarus!"

Iraj turned to Safar, a broad smile on his face.

"My friend, he said. I owe all this to you."

Then the smile became a loud laugh of surprise.

"I said that in the vision, didn't I? he reminded Safar.

"Or something close enough to it, Safar answered.

Iraj clapped him on the back. And it's all come true, he said. Everything you predicted."

Safar smiled. I suppose it has, he said.

But the smile hid gnawing worry. His vision had carried him to the gates of Zanzair, but no farther.

And now all he could think was… What happens next?