Wolves of the Gods

CHAPTER NINE

He was only a boy, too young to be alone in the mountains and he came out of the night crying, "Help me, Renor! Help me!"

The boy was a ghostly figure whose plaintive cry cut into every human heart gathered in the fort. His father collapsed, his mother shrieked and his brother shouted, "Tio! Tio!"

Kalasariz laughed as he manipulated little Tio's ghost. He put all the pain he could into its voice as it cried,

"Help, me, please! Help me!"

He fed on the crowd's hysteria, straining to conjure up more ghosts. Kalasariz was new to shape-changer's magic and he found it difficult to concentrate.

Then Renor ran to the top of the fort's walls and clawed at the sky, weeping and flailing at nothingness in his effort to help his brother.

Kalasariz laughed again and made stronger magic.

Nine other ghosts faded into being.

They were the slain Kyranian sentries, with Rossthom at the their head, pleading with all their families and friends, "Help me, please help me!"

Now the crowd in the fort went from hysteria to blind madness. To Kalasariz' delight they rushed the walls wailing comforts to the dead.

The spy master's blood boiled with delight. As he liked to tell Luka and Fari-his demon rivals for influence over Protarus-native intelligence was more important than magical prowess. Even with his lesser magic, he could accomplish much by simply knowing his target's weaknesses.

He gloried at the agony he'd caused, drawing in more power from that pain and adding other little touches to his handiwork, like a bloody scar on Tio's face and a gory stump on Rossthom's right arm where a hand used to be.

Kalasariz struggled mightily and gave them all a voice, crying, "Help me! Help me!"

He basked in the misery, his black spirit wallowing in it-sinking and rising then sinking again in the heady musk.

And then he heard a voice shout, "Kalasariz!"

His spirit head jerked down, looking from sky to ground for the source of the shout-spectral eyes honing in like an eagle owl hunting a squeaking rodent. When he found the source of the squeak he would blast it from existence. But instead of a puny creature his eyes fell on a tall man with fiery blue eyes that cut across the great distance to sear his heart.

It was Safar, posing on a stone platform in the classic frieze of a bowman, heavy weapon bent tip to tip, string making a high-pitched whine as the flaming arrow leaped from the bow.

Kalasariz loosed his own killing bolt, but the fiery arrow speeding toward him made him jerk, spoiling his aim, and he desperately flung himself to the side.

In the fort Safar heard the boom! of his arrow exploding, heard Kalasariz wail, then swiveled, grabbing up another arrow as his eyes swept the skies for his next target.

Behind him, a huge gray wolf leaped onto the walls. The creature's claws gripped the rough stone and there was a flash as the wolf transmuted himself into demon form.

It was Prince Luka, eyes aglow, fangs bared, sword lifted high. Although people screamed warnings it was almost too late for Safar, who whirled, falling and firing at the same time. A tongue of flame arced from Luka's sword, but Safar's own arrow exploded simultaneously. He heard Luka shriek then felt pain sear his own back as the prince's bolt blasted close overhead.

He came to his feet with difficulty, stifling a groan as he picked up his third arrow and fixed it into his bowstring.

Lord Fari watched Safar shuffle in a clumsy circle, pain-dulled eyes searching for the next point of attack.

But the canny old demon wasn't so foolish that he'd mistake his enemy's stumbling show for real weakness. Safar was hurt, yes, he could see that. But how badly? Long ago, when Safar was the prize jewel in Iraj Protarus' crown, Fari had noted Safar's talent at showmanship. It was a thing that Fari, who was a purist when it came to sorcery, particularly disliked in him. Still, he had grudging admiration for the way Safar used his magical theatrics to convince the entire royal court, demon and human alike, that he was a most powerful wizard truly deserving of the title Grand Wazier.

So Fari assumed that much of Safar's present difficulty was a sham to draw him out.

Instead of leaping onto the walls of the fort, Fari crept up on them. He put his spirit self into its demon presence and scrambled to the high point at the ruined gate. Then he made his spell, chuckling at his cleverness as he did so.

Even Leiria, who had seen all the terrible things a soldier could see, was shaken by what happened next.

The stone walls of the fort came suddenly and horribly alive as the rubble was transformed into small mountains of gore that moved and squirmed and streamed torrents of blood. People screamed and fled this way and that, bouncing from one horror to the other. Then pustules of gore bloomed on the walls and each pustule became a face and each face was a Tio or a Rossthom or any of the other slain sentries.

But this time instead of begging for help, the ghosts snapped at their friends with long teeth and spewed obscenities.

Leiria gathered up a struggling Palimak and was preparing to flee when Safar fired his arrow.

Automatically her eyes followed its fiery flight and she saw it was hurtling toward the north corner of the wall. There were dozens of human faces there, shouting filth or begging for assistance.

Then she saw the target and the moment became quite still. Just below center, between two faces that were both Tio's, she saw Lord Fari. The demon was scowling with concentration, putting all his clever old ways into the apparition that was the wall of blood.

Safar's arrow flashed toward that face and Leiria had a jolt of pleasure when she saw Fari's yellow jaws widen with fear.

Then, crack! as the arrow struck. Flame running all around the walls. And then they were nothing but blank stone again. Leiria saw a spot of blood where Fari's face had been and prayed that Safar had done heavy damage.

On the platform Safar took his time as he fitted the fourth arrow into his bow. Iraj would be next, he thought. But from which direction would he strike … and in what manner?

The answer came in a great shout from above: "Safar!"

It was Iraj's voice and Safar's head shot up and he saw the face of the Demon Moon suddenly split down the middle and yawn open like a gigantic mouth. A ghostly cavalry charged out of that mouth, lead by a mighty warrior in golden armor.

It was Iraj.

And he shouted a challenge-"Safar!"

Iraj yanked back on his horse's reins and the huge ghost animal reared up, pawing the night, sparks shooting from its hooves.

Then horse and rider plunged down toward the fort, a horrid cavalry of demon riders sweeping after them.

Safar fired and the arrow arced toward Iraj. It exploded just in front of him and there was a blinding flash as magic collided with magic.

Iraj paused, but only for an instant. Then he and his demon riders continued their charge.

In the fort the crowd shrieked in terror. But Safar paid no attention to their panic. As calmly as he could he swept up his final bolt. As Iraj and his spectral army closed in he whispered the spell that brought the arrow into fiery life.

He drew back, aiming for Iraj, then at the last moment he swiveled and fired the bolt into the dry mass of wood encircling the platform.

The oil-soaked fuel ignited with an enormous blast that nearly hurled Safar off the platform into the roaring flames. He teetered on the edge, but recovered his balance just in time.

The soles of his feet prickled with the intense heat and his scalp hair bristled like so many hot needles. He smelled scorched cloth and knew it came from his own robes. They smoldered at the hems and sleeves and the smoke curled up to bite his eyes.

But now it was Safar's turn to laugh. He saw flame tongues leap across the arena, shooting along the paths of wood he'd laid out, leaping from place to place until the entire arena seemed to be engulfed-with Safar and the blazing platform at its center. The whole mass finally combusted into a blazing pentagram of magical flame that smashed upward like a massive shield.

It caught Iraj and his cavalry in midstride, lifting them up and up, hurling them back at the Demon Moon.

A clap of thunder, then the sky turned white. The white shattered and became snowflakes that drifted down and down until they struck the pentagram shield blazing over the arena and flashed out of existence.

The sky was empty and there was a momentary quiet as the crowd sagged in relief. Then the air was rent with cheers as the Kyranians congratulated themselves and Safar for turning back such a deadly force.

Safar shouted to them, his voice thundering across the arena. "It isn't over yet!" The cheers vanished, swallowed by this bad news. "Iraj will be back," Safar warned. "But we'll be ready for him, my friends!

We'll be ready!"

Then he shouted orders and a select group, Renor among them, sprang into action. They ran to the spare piles of brush and fed them into the flames. The fiery pentagram took on new life, soaring brighter and higher, forming a sparkling shield above the fort..

Iraj came again. As did Kalasariz and Luka and Fari. But each time the flaming pentagram hurled them back. Safar shouted orders until he was hoarse, urging his fellow villagers to feed the fires, whipping them past exhaustion while hour piled on hour and still the attacks were unrelenting.

Many horrors were lived that night. Many threats were posed, many ghosts were roused, but somehow Safar and the villagers managed to turn them back. They burned all the gathered wood, then broke up the carts and ripped off their clothes to feed them into the magical fires.

They were exhausted when dawn finally came and the attacks ended. The pentagram was nothing more than an ugly black smudge with foul smelling heaps smoking and sputtering in the morning's wet chill.

People shuddered with relief and collapsed to the ground. There were no choruses of self-congratulation.

The enemy had been defeated, yes. But all knew the defeat was temporary. Iraj would return, but now he'd be backed by a real army, not specters in the sky.

Safar slumped on the platform and looked around at all the spiritless people. It was as if they had been the losers, instead of Iraj. Even so, he had to rouse them, enthuse them, convince them that all was not lost. Then somehow he had to prepare them for a challenge far more daunting than Protarus and his army of demons and wizards and human savages. To do this he would have lie to them, manipulate them, then keep on lying and manipulating until either the goal was achieved or they were all dead.

Suddenly the whole thing seemed hopeless. His people's weary despair had infected Safar and now his plan seemed foolish, impossible in the extreme.

A voice cut through, "We haven't much time, Safar."

He looked up. Leiria was standing there, a sleeping Palimak in her arms. Her eyes were red from the smoke, her armor blackened. But her back was straight, shoulders square, and there was a gleam of determination in her tired eyes.

She nodded at the slumbering Kyranians. "We have to get them up and going," she said, gently lowering Palimak to the platform. There he curled up to sleep on, the stone turtle clutched between grimy paws.

"We have maybe two days at the most," she continued, "before Iraj shows up with his whole damned army."

"I know that," Safar said, a little sharp.

Leiria snorted. "Good for you," she said. "Now, would you mind enlightening me about what we're supposed to do next? All you've said is that somehow we're going to make an entire village of over a thousand people disappear." She chuckled. "I know you are a wizard above all wizards, Safar Timura, but that's magic I'm going to have to see to believe."

As she spoke, Leiria returned the Book of Asper. The sight of the book and the buzz of sorcery when he put it away firmed his resolve. A greater tonic, as always, was Leiria's presence. Her attitude had always been, show me the mountain and we'll both figure out how to climb it together.

Safar slipped Coralean's maps from his belt. "Actually, there's no magic to it," he said, unrolling the maps.

"Well, not much, anyway. It's more of a trick, really. Sleight of hand, except with two thousand hands."

"That's still one hells of a trick," Leiria said.

"Not when you consider that Iraj will be dragging along of tens of thousands of soldiers," Safar said, "plus baggage trains that'll stretch from one horizon to the next."

He showed her one of the maps. "Look here," he said, tracing a finger north from the Gods' Divide to the Great Sea. "There are so many canyons and hills and secret roads and trails between Kyrania to the Port of Caspan we could hide a small city of people, much less a village."

Leiria studied the map, eyes narrowed. Then she nodded. "It could be done," she said. Leiria glanced over at all the people collapsed on the ground. "But I don't know if it can be done by them! They've lived in one place all their lives. They know nothing about life on the road, much less life on the road with the dogs of war on your heels."

"We can teach them," Safar said. "If you're still willing to help me, that is. A sensible person would laugh in my face and walk away with her skin still safe on her bones."

"I told you before, Safar," Leiria said. "That I'm with you. No matter what. So we've got two thousand miles or more between us and the sea. So there's who knows how many hundreds of sea miles more to go to reach Syrapis. And us not knowing if there'll even be ships to hire in Caspan to take us there."

She grinned. "If that's what his lordship wants, that's what he gets!"

They both laughed, although Safar's laughter was weak. Already his mind was running ahead.

Between skirmishes, Safar had managed to tell Leiria about his vision in Asper's tomb. Although he'd held some things back-like the mysterious side trips to Naadan and Caluz. He had two reasons for his silence. First, if it became too difficult he might skip them entirely and head straight for the sea. More important: whenever he'd been about to relate exactly what Asper's ghost had said magical alarms went off. All his sorcerous instincts warned him that by telling all he'd be putting Leiria in grave danger.

Safar was especially worried about mentioning Caluz. He knew something about the region from his days in Iraj's court. It was strange place where mysterious forces had been at work for eons.

"Come to me through Caluz," Asper had commanded. But Safar dreaded the moment of decision-if they lived to see it-when he finally reached the road that led to that dark region.

Lost in thought, he was surprised when he heard Leiria say, "There's only one thing that worries me, Safar."

"What's that?"

She indicated the villagers. "Maybe they can do it. Maybe they can't. The thing is … how are you going to convince them to try?"

"Magic," Safar said.

And he heaved himself to his feet and started getting ready.

An hour later, washed and refreshed, Safar once again stood before his people, Leiria and Palimak beside him.

Exhausted as the Kyranians were, they seemed to sense hope in the air and their faces were bright with expectation.

Safar cracked an amplifying pellet, then spoke: "You fought well and bravely, my friends. I'm sure that even now Iraj Protarus is cursing your courage and nursing a battle-sore behind!"

The laughter was weak. No one had to tell these people that Iraj wasn't done with them. Methydia used to say that the best way to get an audience in your palm was to make a dream for them … and keep them reaching for that dream. But first, she'd said, you have to scare them. Well, Iraj had done that unpleasant little job for Safar. Unfortunately, he needed to scare them in a whole different way.

"But I didn't rouse you from your well-earned rest to praise your courage, my good people," Safar said.

"Besides, everyone knows that courage is something no Kyranian lacks."

Faces brightened, especially among the young bravos like Renor. He saw them flex their muscles and swagger from side to side.

"But it's another brand of courage I want from you today," Safar continued. "One that calls for even greater sacrifices than before."

The crowd stirred, a little fearful. What was he talking about? Wasn't dealing with Iraj Protarus enough?

"Not just your lives, but the lives of untold millions are at stake. In fact, the very world we stand upon depends on you, the Goddess Felakia's Chosen Ones, the People of the Clouds, the People of the High Caravans."

Safar definitely had their interest now.

"Behold!" he shouted, making a gesture and his magical dagger leaped out of nothingness into his hand.

Then, quieter, "Let me show you the world of the future, my friends. Even if by some miracle we could make Iraj Protarus and his forces vanish from Esmir, this is what the world would look like in not many years."

Safar made a circular motion with the knife, as if cutting a hole into the air itself. The crowd jumped as a fierce wind blew, shrieking through the hole he'd made.

Then a miniature tornado leapt off the dagger point. It swirled madly about the platform for a moment, then steadied, spinning in place like a top.

"Behold!" Safar shouted again and there was a loud pop! as the little tornado suddenly disappeared. The air where it had been shattered like glass, leaving a great dark hole gaping into nothingness.

There were gasps and fearful cries all around as everyone realized there was more than a blank void beyond the jagged edges of the hole.

"Look, my friends," Safar intoned. "Look hard and deep. See the world as it will be. With or without Iraj Protarus."

They looked and it was a terrible sight. A familiar range of mountains beckoned from the other side. It was the Bride and her Maids, but they had been shorn of all their glory and stood there black and wind-torn under a lunatic sky. There was not a patch of snow, tree, or blade of grass upon the range.

The scene shifted and there were fearful shouts as the crowd suddenly found itself looking down into the barren valley that had once been Kyrania. There were no fields or homes, or even the holy lake of Felakia.

Then the ground seemed to move and people shouted in horror as they realized that millions upon millions of scaly insects made up the floor of their beloved valley. They swarmed over and under each other, feeding on rock and dust.

Just as everyone thought they could stand this nightmare no more Safar clapped and the scene vanished, the hole was healed and everything was the same as before.

"That is what we must prevent from happening," Safar said. "Only we can do it. Only the people of Kyrania have the will and the means. But to accomplish it, you must come away with me. You must come out of the clouds and walk the land and swim its rivers and climb its hills. We must walk until the land ends and there is only sea. And then we must find boats and cross that sea until we come to a new land, a place of safety and peace."

He jabbed at the air with his dagger point and again it shattered. But this time, instead of darkness, a warm yellow light poured out. Everyone looked and this time the gasps and shouts were of marvel, instead of fear.

A glorious island, looking like a wondrous emerald lizard, rose out of a shimmering blue sea. It had thick forests and high mountains on its back, with soft white clouds caught in the peaks. Silver streams coursed down the mountain slopes, leaping over cliffs and boulders and sending up fantastic rainbows from their spume.

"Friends and family," Safar said, "I give you Syrapis! The island of dreams!"

He clapped again and the vision dissolved. Safar turned back to the crowd. He took note of the faces.

Some people's eyes were alight with the wonder they had beheld. These mostly belonged to the young.

Others appeared withdrawn, suspicious. These mostly belonged to the old. Among the vast majority, however, was a mixture of the two, plus confusion.

Palimak piped up. "Was that our new home, father? Is that where we're going to live?"

Safar answered as if he and the child were alone, instead of surrounded by a thousand people. "If it pleases our friends to do so," he said.

"Is Syrapis very far?" the boy asked.

"Yes, son," he said, "it's very far. Farther than anyone has ever been before."

"If it's so far," he asked, "how will we ever find our way?"

Safar pulled the tube of maps from his belt. "Lord Coralean gave me these," he said. A quick side glance showed that Coralean's name was having a great affect on the Kyranians. All of it positive.

"These are secret maps that only caravan masters possess," Safar said. "They show every road and path in all of Esmir."

He raised his head slightly, making sure all heard. "You know how great a friend Lord Coralean is to all of us. He gave us these secret maps to save us from Iraj Protarus."

"Secrets!" the boy exclaimed, eyes glowing yellow in delight. "Does that mean if we go down those secret roads and paths no one will be able to find us? Even that … that…" Palimak automatically scanned the crowd for his grandmother's face. The words he had in mind would surely earn him a scolding. "That …

wolf thing, or man thing, or whatever he is. He wouldn't be able to find us, would he?"

"It would be a pretty hard thing for him to do," Safar said. "And if he found us, we could always lose him again."

"Then what are we waiting for, father?" Palimak asked.

He turned to the crowd, putting his hands on his hips, looking like a circus midget in his little uniform.

"Who wants to go to Syrapis with us?" he shouted. "You get secret maps and a chance to save the world, and … and…" He spread his hands wide as if encompassing a huge world of wonders …

"Everything!"

Everyone was laughing now, enjoying the show. In their laughter, Safar knew he'd found acceptance.

Palimak, however, wasn't satisfied. He stamped his little foot.

"You're not answering!" he shouted. "Who wants to go?

"Who wants to go to Syrapis?"