Wizard of the winds

CHAPTER FIVE

As Giff watched the caravan crawl along the snowy pass, camel bells chiming, oxen grunting, horses blowing steamy blasts into the chill air, a sudden feeling of foreboding descended on him. He glanced at the other nine mounted demons waiting with him in ambush. They were tense, but professionally so, as they made last-minute inspections and adjustments to their weapons and gear. They were the best of Sarn's fiends with scores of successful raids to their credit.

Giff was not reassured.

He couldn't put a talon on it but it seemed to him that something wasn't quite right. He thought, I should have killed the human myself. It had been bad luck to let Sarn do it. He should have insisted on his rights. But then he thought, don't be so superstitious. You've always made your own luck. Besides, what could go wrong?

He studied the mounted soldiers guarding the pack animals and covered wagons that made up the caravan. The humans were well-armed and seemed skilled enough to cause alarm but this wasn't the source of Giff's worry. Sarn had sent their best scout into the caravan's encampment the night before to steal small items from each of the sleeping human soldiers. Sarn had used those items to make a spell that would confuse the soldiers and turn them into cowards when attacked.

The only defender who wouldn't be affected was the caravan master, a big brawny human Giff would dislike to meet in anything but an unequal fight. He slept apart from his men in a pavilion the scout couldn't approach without being discovered. Even so, Giff thought, when the attack came the caravan master would be quickly overwhelmed without his soldiers to support him.

The plan was simple enough: a double ambush. Giff and a small force would attack the caravan first. It would be a fierce, no mercy attack, designed to frighten the humans as much as to harm them. Be as bloody and horrific as you can, Sarn had said. Soften them well for me."

At that point Sarn, striking from another vantage point, would hit full force. The entire action shouldn't take more than a few minutes, Giff thought. Yes, it was a good plan. An artful plan that seemed to guarantee success. But why was it he still felt so uneasy?

As if he were being watched himself.

"They can't be demons, Iraj said. You must be mistaken. It's forbidden for them to be here."

"Well, I guess nobody told them! Safar snapped. Look for yourself. He pointed at the monstrous figures hiding in ambush below. What else could they be?"

Dazed, Iraj aped Safar, funneling his hands so he could see more clearly. His head jolted back as the full realization sunk in. Then he swiveled, taking in more of the scene.

"Hells! he said. You're right. And look! There's more! A second groupmoving through that ravine."

Safar spotted them immediately. It was a much larger group than the firstpossibly thirty demons or more. He watched them snake through a ravine with high, snow-packed walls. The ravine narrowed at the mouth and Safar saw the leader pull in his mount and signal the others to stop. The group paused there to reform its lines.

"I think I see what they're going to do, Iraj said. His tone was oddly casual as if he were commenting on an interesting tactic in a military text. The first bunch will jump the caravan, while the others hold back. Then when the caravan soldiers are fully committed the rest will charge out of the ravine and roll them up."

Iraj dropped his hands. It's a good trick, he said. I'll have to remember it."

Sarn made certain his demons were ready, deploying them in short-winged cavalry ranks so the ravine's narrow mouth wouldn't diminish the force of his attack. Giff's position was opposite the ravine in a clump of frozen boulders. When the caravan moved between them Giff would strike first and then, when the panicked soldiers turned their backs to confront him, Sarn would leap out and close the pincer's jaws.

The bandit chief unlimbered his sword and made a few practice passes in the air. His blood sang as his demon heart pumped battle lust into his veins. In a few moments all the riches his scouts had told him were on the caravan would be his. Then he'd speed up the mountain, following the pass to Kyrania. He doubted it would difficult to eliminate everyone in such a remote village. Sarn surmised that the humans in Kyrania might be expecting the caravan. Some could even be on their way now to meet it, which meant he might not have enough time to wipe all traces of his demonly presence from the snows. King Manacia had commanded that no witnesses be left behind. So Sarn had to make it appear that banditshuman banditshad hit the caravan. He'd do the same with Kyrania, perhaps even picking up a bit more booty in the process. Then he and his fiends could make their way home with nothing at their backs to worry them.

Sarn was already imagining the greeting awaiting him on his return. A hero ladened with so much loot that other bandit clans would clamor to join him. Better still, the king himself would be in his debt. Sarn was by now convinced King Manacia was planning an invasion of the human lands. An invasion this mission had just proved was possible.

He was wondering if he ought to press the king for some sort of noble-sounding title when a sudden uncomfortable thought occurred to him. Wasn't it Giff who'd asked if perhaps Manacia had lied about the shield he'd conjured to protect them from the curse of the Forbidden Desert? What if Sarn had been too quick to dismiss Giff's supposition? After this mission Sarn would be a much more important demon than before. For daring the Forbidden Desert and striking out at the hated humans he'd be a fiend to be reckoned with. And the king hadn't held his throne so long by being stupid, or by allowing potential rivals to live. He might consider Sarn as one of those rivals. In fact, King Manacia, who was a mighty wizard, might have foreseen such a possibility in his castings. In which case he'd want Sarn to be weakened from the start. One way to accomplish that would be to lie about the potency of his shield. Sarn might have done the same himself if he were in Manacia's place.

Another thing: what if the curse didn't kill right away? What if it allowed him to live long enough to return home with the information the king wanted? And afterwards he'd die a horrible, lingering death, made worse by the knowledge Manacia had never intended to reward him for his faithful service. It was not unlike the way Sarn had treated the human, Badawi. For the first time he felt a touch of empathy for the horse dealer.

Then he thought, you're being a fool, Sarn. Pre-battle jitters, that's all. If royal betrayal had been in the wind he would have sniffed it out at the start. The bandit chief considered himself a most devious demon who could show even a king a trick or two about the art of treachery.

Nerves steadied, all self-doubt conquered, Sarn peered out and saw the caravan nearing the mouth of the ravine.

The attack was about to begin.

His yellow eyes glowed in anticipation.

Safar watched the smaller group of demons brace for the charge. His mind was numb, his limbs oddly heavy and when he spoke his voice came in a croak.

"What will we do?"

There was nothing numb about Iraj. The tragedy about to unfold below seemed to have the opposite effect, charging him with an inner fire.

"Warn the caravan, Iraj said, eyes dancing, What else?"

Before Safar could fully register the answer, Iraj burst out of their hiding place and bounded down the hill. His action swept away all of Safar's caution. Hot blood boiled over and without a second's hesitation he leaped forward to follow.

But as he scrambled down the steep hillside in Iraj's wake he thought, My father's going to kill me."

It was a small caravan, spread out and weary from hard travel. As Safar drew closer he heard the harsh voice of the caravan master urging his men on.

"Your fathers were brainless curs, he was shouting. Your mothers were lazy mongrel bitches. Come on, you dogs! Listen to Coralean! Only one more day's travel to Kyrania, I tell you. Then you can bite your fleas and lick your hairless balls all you like."

Safar heard a camel bawl and a driver curse its devil's nature. He also thought he heard the high-pitched voices of angry women. That was impossible, he thought. Women rarely traveled with the caravans.

He strained his aching lungs for air and in a burst of speed caught up to Iraj. They reached the caravan just as it crossed the mouth of the ravine. Three outriders spotted them first. Safar and Iraj raced toward the soldiers.

"Ambush! Iraj shouted. Ambush!"

The soldiers were slow to react. Their eyes were dull, their mouths gaping holes in frosted beards. But when Safar and Iraj ran up they suddenly came to life, drawing their horses back in fear. Safar realized with a shock they thought he and Iraj were the threat.

Safar desperately grasped the reins of the nearest horse. Demons! he screamed into the face of a dull-faced soldier. Over there!"

He turned to point and saw monstrous figures storm out of the mist, sweeping in to crowd the caravan defenders closer to the ravine where the main force waited. Safar heard a demon war cry for the first timea piercing, marrow-freezing ululation.

A series of images jumped out at him. He saw swords and axes raised high in taloned paws. Crossbows lifting to aim. Black bolts taking flight.

The soldier kicked at himreining back sharply at the same time. The horse reared and Safar leaped aside to avoid its lashing front hooves. A heavy crossbow bolt caught the animal in the throat. It toppled over and Safar heard the soldier scream as the horse's weight crushed him. He'd never witnessed such agony before.

The other two soldiers turned their horses and raced away.

"Stand and fight! Iraj cried after them. Stand and fight!"

But his shouts only seemed to add to their panic.

"Ambush! Safar heard them scream. Ambush!"

The soldiers piled into the main caravan, knocking over men and animals alike. Then the air was shattered by the shrieks of what Safar realized had to be women. Their screams mingled with the bawling of beasts and the desperate cries of men fleeing death.

Safar and Iraj ran into the center of the chaos. Pack animals charged about dragging their drivers and strewing their loads into the snow. Camels careened into wagons, tumbling them over. Oxen tangled their traces. A half dozen soldiers milled around, striking hysterically at anything that came near, as if llamas and camels were the enemy.

A huge manthe caravan masterthundered up on his horse, waving his sword and shouting orders. Then, from behind, Safar heard the demons howl closer and then the distinct meaty thunk of steel cutting into flesh. Followed by the screams of wounded men.

It was his first battle and an odd calm descended on him. Everything seemed to move slowly and yet quickly at the same time.

He saw gore stain the snow.

He smelled fear's foul musk mixed with the powerful odor of demons gone berserk.

He heard men choke and die.

Then a demon loomed over him, rising high in the saddle to strike with his sword. The image seemed more dream than real and Safar became intensely curious, noting the pale green of the demon's skin, the studs on his leather armor, the short snout and sharp fangs and the small, pointed ears. As Safar studied him Gubadan's training took hold. His mind became clear, his breathing slow.

He slipped to the side as the sword sliced down. He heard the demon grunt in surprise as he missed.

Safar jabbed at him with his staff, but the demon's blade swept in and back and Safar found himself holding nothing but a mass of splinters. He gaped at his now useless weapon, dumbfounded. The only reason he didn't die then was that the demon kicked his mount forward to meet a charging caravan guard. He cut the man down, whirled to find another and plunged out of Safar's view.

Safar heard shrill human cries and turned to see two demons attacking an ox-drawn wagon. They reared their mounts and the beasts claws ripped away the canvas, revealing a writhing tangle of frightened women. They screamed and tried to fend the demons off.

One creature grabbed a girl by the hair and charged away, howling gleefully as he dragged her through the snow by long black tresses. Frozen rocks shredded her garments and for the first time Safar saw the naked limbs of a young woman who was not of his village. She cried out as a rock tore her leg and Safar found himself running forward to face the demon with nothing more than a shattered wooden staff.

Safar was not a killer by nature. He was raised to believe all life was precious, including that of the animals killed for the table. But at that moment he was stricken with a murderous furytriggered as much by the young woman's humiliation as the threat to her life.

As he charged forward words came to himthe words of a spell. And he chanted:

I am strong. You are weak. Hate is my spear. May it pierce Your coward's heart.

In his mind the ruined staff became that spear. It was perfectly formedheavy, but balancing easily in his hand. He reached back, then hurled the staff with all his strength. Before his eyes he saw the splintered wood reform itself in mid-flight.

And he had caused it to happen. Somehow he caused the splintered wood to become hard black metal. He caused the tip to broaden and become killing sharp. He caused the weapon he'd made to fly straight and true. And he caused the spear to pierce the leather armor and thick demon skin and then burst that demon's heart.

The demon fell, releasing the girl. His mount veered wide but the force of the charge carried her body forward and she slammed into Safar. His breath whooshed out. As the two tumbled into the snow together the girl flung her arms around him, fastening him in a grip made strong by fear.

Safar's breath returned and he tore away from her grasp and leaped up. The scene was madness. Demons were hewing left and right, killing men and animals without discrimination. But in that madness Safar saw the caravan master had managed to rally a small group that was beginning to fight back. His immense body weaved this way and that as he dodged blows and kicked his horse toward one of the demons. Safar gasped as another demon charged in from the side, bearing down on the caravan master with a battle ax. Before the demon could strike Safar saw a tall figure leap from a felled wagon.

It was Iraj!

His legs scissored open as he vaulted onto the saddle behind the demon, then closed to grip the mount's flanks with the ease of a practiced plains rider.

Iraj flung one arm around the demon's head, heaving to draw it backand he plunged a dagger into the exposed throat.

It was then Safar learned that demons die hard.

The creature gouted bright red blood, but reached for Iraj, talons scything out. Iraj somersaulted off the saddle just in time, landing on his feet and drawing his scimitar as he came up. The wounded demon rolled off and rushed at Iraj, fouling the snow with his bloodspray.

Iraj stepped forward to meet him but his foot slipped and he fell face forward. The demon was on him, raising his ax to kill his fallen enemy before his own life drained away.

Once again all time slowed for Safar. This time it wasn't only magic that came to his aid. His sling was suddenly in one hand. With the other he was withdrawing a heavy clay ball from his shot pouch.

Then time jumped and the demon's ax was descending.

Time froze again as Safar loaded his sling and swung it about his head.

He let loose just before the demon's blade struck. The ball caught the beast full in the mouth and Safar cursed, for he'd aimed at the killing spot between the demon's eyes. His fingers suddenly turned numb, betraying him as he fumbled for another clay ball. But it wasn't necessary.

The monster sagged back… slowly, so slowly… then toppled over into the snow.

The demon tried to struggle up on one elbow. Safar drew his knife and raced over to finish him off.

But then the demon looked at him, freezing him with his strange yellow eyes.

"I should have killed the human myself, the demon said. Bad luck all around."

Then blood burst from his mouth and he fell back, dead.

Too fired by the battle to wonder what the creature meant, Safar rushed over to Iraj to help him to his feet. As he bent down, back unprotected, a huge shadow fell over him. He looked up, thinking he'd see the face of death. Relief flooded in when he saw a bearded human face peering at him instead of a demon's. And it was an ordinary horse the man sat upon, not a monster with fangs and claws.

The caravan master's gaze went from Safar to Iraj.

"Thank you for my life, young fellow, he said to Iraj. If the gods are kind and Coralean survives this day you will learn just how much I value my skin."

Then he spurred his mount back into the action. But now the winds of fortune had shifted and it was the demons who were being routed and slain.

Safar's relief lasted only the length of time it took for Iraj to leap to his feet.

"There's more, Safar! he cried. It's not over yet!"

And Safar remembered the othermuch largerforce waiting in the ravine.

No sooner had memory wormed its cold way through the mud of his confusion then he heard the shrill ululation announcing the second attack. His head shot up and he saw the demons beginning to pour out of the mouth of the ravine.

"Stop them! Iraj shouted.

Safar gaped. Had his friend gone mad? How was he supposed to accomplish that?

"You can do it! Iraj said. I know you can!"

Then all questions and fear dissolved and he saw quite clearly that Iraj was right. He could stop them.

Once again he gripped his sling. Once again he reached into his pouch. But instead of a heavy ball his fingers touched the pot shard he'd taken from the cave. The shard that bore the picture of Hadin, the land of fire. A shock of magic clamped his fingers closed.

Instinctively letting the moment rule, Safar didn't fight the magic. He drew the shard out and carefully inserted it into his sling. He swung the weapon about his head, eyes searching for a target. He saw an immense demon leading the charge out of the ravine. But it wasn't that demon he wanted. One death would accomplish nothing.

He had to kill them all.

His eyes were drawn up and once again he noted the heavy snow clinging to the sides of the ravine. In his mind he also saw the rotten slate beneath that snow. And then the mass of boulders hanging above the frozen incline the ravine bisected. He knew what to do.

Whirling the sling, Safar pictured the pottery shard in his mind, chanting:

You were made in fire And within you fire Yet remains. It grows from spark To finger flame To kiln fire. And now I release you… Fly free! Fly free!

And he let loose the missile.

When Sarn led his demons out to fight he knew he'd already failed.

Moments after Giff had attacked a sudden blast of sorcery had seared the air. It wasn't directed toward him, but it was so strong it rasped his senses. Fear iced his heart and he thought, there must be a wizard with the caravan. How could I have missed him?

Then he'd seen Giff go down and a humana mere stripling at thatstanding over him. Sarn goggled. This was the wizard?

But there was no mistaking the aura of raw power radiating from the stripling. It was so strong it had swept away Sarn's spell of cowardice and the human soldiers were already rallying. One part of him insisted this was impossible. No human was capable of such magic. The other part took stock, recognized that impossible or not there the boy stood with all the magic he needed at his command.

Sarn saw instantly his only hope was to strike while an element of surprise still remained. Any moment now the caravan master and his soldiers would realize a threat still remained in the ravine. With the young wizard's help Sarn and his demons would be trapped in this all-too-perfect ambush.

If he were lucky he'd merely be killed. If not, he'd be captured. And he'd be damned if let himself fall into the foul hands of a human.

So he made the signal. Heard his fiends shrill their battle song. And he booted his mount forward into the attack.

As he charged from the ravine Sarn saw that the stripling wizard was already in action, whirling a loaded sling about his head and searching for a target. Just then the boy looked directly at Sarn. A chill scuttled up the demon's spine. It was as if he were being measured for the grave.

Then the human let lose and Sarn laughed because he saw immediately that the human was off his mark. The missile was arcing high into the air instead of towards him. Wizard or not, he thought, the boy was a coward. Fear had spoiled his aim.

Then the missile sailed over his head, a strong current of sorcery rippling the air, and his laughter was choked off.

The boy was no coward. His aim had been true.

Sarn's last thought was that Giff had been right. The king had lied.

Now that lie was about to cost Sarn his life.

Safar smiled as the shard sailed over the lead demon's head.

Then, in midflight it exploded into a ball of flame. The back-blasting heat was so intense it scorched his face. But he didn't shrink away. Instead he watched the fiery ball loft upward toward the big snowy brow that frowned over the mouth of the ravine. It sailed farther than he normally had strength to fling any object. He noted this with casual interest, not amazement.

Safar felt as if he were standing several feet away from his own body, calmly studying his own reactions as well as the course of the flaming missile. His separate self found it oddly amusing to see the ball of magical fire slam into the frozen ridge. It was even more amusing to note the wild joy in the boy's eyes who had made it.

A explosion shook the ridge and with calculated interest Safar pondered whether the force of the blast would be enough.

As the frozen mass began peel off, he thought, Hmm. Yes, it was… But will it have the effect I desire?

The mass crashed down onto still another ridge below.

And Safar thought, The snow and ice will shatter. But what of the shale? And if so, will the weight of the whole create a still larger force?

An avalanche was his answer.

Shale and ice and snow thundered down on the demons, moving so fast it overtook them in midcharge.

The boiling wave of snow and ice and rock swallowed them from behind, gobbling them up with an awful hunger. Then all was obscured by an immense white cloud.

Safar stood there, waiting. Then the avalanche ended and a silence as thick as the cold blinding cloud settled over him.

The mist cleared and the only thing Safar could see in the sun's sudden bright light was a broad white expanse running to the edge of a blank-faced cliff that had once been cut by a deep ravine.

Safar nodded, satisfied. The experiment had gone quite well, he thought. Then, still in his mode of the cold observer, he began to wonder about himself. The boy who'd just killed all those living beings. They were demons, of course, and deserved to die. Still.

Still.

Then someone was pounding his back and he turned to find Iraj, pounding, and was babbling congratulations of some sort. The first emotion that thawed Safar's numb interior was annoyance.

He pushed at Iraj's arm. Quit that, he said. It hurts."

Iraj stopped. Safar was surprised to see awe as well as joy on his friend's face.

"You did it, Safar! Iraj shouted. You killed them all!"

The numbness thawed more and Safar was suddenly frightened. Quiet, he said. Someone will hear."

"Who cares? Iraj said. Everyone should hear!"

Safar clutched Iraj's arm. Promise you will say nothing, he pleaded.

Iraj shook his head, bewildered by the request.

"Promise me, Safar insisted. Please!"

After a long moment Iraj nodded. I promise, he said. You're insane to ask it, but I promise just the same."

Then Safar was struck by a wall of weariness that seemed as great as the avalanche. Iraj caught him as he collapsed and then darkness sucked him down and he knew nothing more.

Terrible nightmares inhabited that darkness.

Safar dreamed he was pursued by demon riders across a rocky plain. He ran as fast as he could, leaping ravines and even canyons, dodging falling boulders, bounding over thundering avalanches. The sky was aboil with storm clouds and the sun dripped on the landscape, turning it blood red. And no matter how fast he ran the demon riders were faster.

Suddenly he was naked. He was still running, but now shame mingled with his fright. The demon riders converged on him, cutting in from the sides. Their shrill ululations drove every thought from his head until only fear remained. The demons hurled their spears and Safar saw they were spears of crackling lightning. They struck, burning and jolting his body with awful, painful shocks.

Then the demons were gone and Safar was running on soft grass and the sun was a cheery yellow, the breeze gentle on his naked flesh. He came to a hollow where Naya and the other goats gamboled and drank from the sweet waters of a spring. His mouth was suddenly dry and he knelt among the goats to quench a burning thirst.

And Naya said to him, What have you done, boy?"

"Nothing Little Mother, Safar answered.

But she stuck a lightning bolt in his heart and the lie hurt almost more than he could bear.

The other goats gathered around, baying accusations.

"He's been out killing, one said.

"Our Safar? another asked.

"Yes, said another. Our Safar has been killing."

"Is this true, boy? Naya asked, disgust in her tones.

"They were only demons, Little Mother, he answered.

"Shocking, the other goats said.

"But they were attacking the caravan, he protested.

"Oh, Safar, Naya said. I'm so ashamed of you. She butted him, knocking him down. Sharp stones jabbed into his buttocks. I suppose you used magic, Naya said.

"I couldn't help it, Little Mother, he confessed. Honestly I couldn't."

Then Naya rose on her hind legs and became Quetera, his pregnant sister. She was wearing a long white gown, swollen at the belly with new life.

"Naya says you've been out killing, his sister said. And using magic to do it."

He didn't answer.

"Look at me, Safar, his sister said.

"I can't, he said. I'm ashamed."

He pointed down. There was a demon's body at her feet.

"Did you do this, Safar? she asked.

"I had no choice, Quetera! he cried. They were killing people. He pointed at the demon. He was going to kill the girl."

Quetera's face suddenly turned kindly. Poor Safar, she said. Such a gentle lad. But now violence and death have found you. And they may never let you go."

Safar groaned and collapsed on the ground. He heard his sister come closer.

He smelled her perfume as she knelt down to comfort him. Let me take you home, Safar, she said.

He tried to get up but he couldn't rise. His limbs were numb and all he could do was groan.

Then cool water touched his temples. A soft wet cloth wiped his face and he felt as if all his sins were being sponged away.

And he was thirsty. By the gods he was thirsty! He opened his mouth. Not water, but cool milk dribbled in and he lapped it like a hungry kitten.

"Safar, a voice said. It was gentle and as soothing as that milk. Safar, it said again.

He floated out of the blackness to find a lovely face peering down at him. Dark, almond-shaped eyes full of sweet concern. Long black hair tumbling down like a silken scarf. Lips red and ripe, smoothed into a smile displaying teeth as white as the Snow Moon.

"Who are you? he mumbled, weak.

The smile became sweeter still. I'm Astarias, she said.

"Do I know you? he asked.

She laughed. It sounded like distant music. You do, now, she said. I'm the girl whose life you saved."

"Then you're not my sister, he said.

More laugher. Puzzled laughter. No, I'm not your sister. I'm Astarias."

"Well, thank the gods for that, he said.

And he slipped into a deep, peaceful sleep.