Wolves of the Gods

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Kalasariz moved cautiously through the night forest, keeping a discreet distance between himself and his quarry. His shape changer senses were tuned to their highest pitch and he could smell the sulfurous odor of the witch clinging to the brush lining the narrow trail. It was so powerful it nearly obscured the king's spoor, that mixture of fresh blood and old graves that marked all shape changers.

Behind him, sprawled on a great field, the army slept. Except for a few key sentries-all in the pay of Kalasariz-no one knew the king was out this night.

The spymaster seethed as he followed the king and Old Sheesan through the forest. Unless they were of his own making, Kalasariz detested all mysteries. And this midnight journey certainly fit that definition.

He wasn't as worried about what they were up to as he was at being left out. From the outset he'd given Old Sheesan explicit orders she was report every word and movement the king made when in her presence. This was the main reason he'd introduced the witch to Protarus. He was much more interested in knowing his king's most secret thoughts than he was in finding Safar Timura.

The witch, however, had proven to be cannier than he'd thought and now he was losing control. Old Sheesan's reports had become perfunctory, vague and of little value. She hadn't started outright lying to him yet-other than lies of omission-but he suspected she'd begin soon enough. And then he'd have to go to a great deal of bother and no little danger in getting rid of her.

The forest's edge reared up with no warning and Kalasariz nearly gave himself away as he stepped out onto open ground into the light of the Demon Moon. Hastily, he pulled back and found cover. He stayed quite still for a moment until he was sure no one had noticed him. Then he gently parted some branches and peered out.

Old Sheesan and the king were walking along a narrow strip of barren ground that seemed to be edged by a cliff. The forest was silent so the spymaster could hear the swishing of the witch's robes as she moved and the creak of Protarus' battle harness. They paused at the edge of the cliff. The witch gestured at a point on the ground.

"More magic there," Kalasariz heard her say. "A woman, methinks."

"A witch?" Protarus asked.

"No, she weren't no witch. Somethin' else, for certain. I can't quite put me finger on it."

She turned and pointed back at the forest where Kalasariz was hiding. He was so alarmed he nearly fled.

But then she said, "Both of 'em come through there. Lord Timura was on that horse that's been givin' yer Majesty fits of envy. The woman was on a mare-and that was somethin' special too. Animal magic all over the place."

"Yes, yes," Protarus said, sniffing eagerly at the air. "I can smell it myself!"

The witch chortled. "Soon yer won't need the likes of Old Sheesan to ferret out mischief," she said. "And then where will this poor old granny be?"

"She won't be poor at any rate," Protarus said. "Not after all the gold I've been dumping in her lap."

"Gold's not ever'thin', Majesty," the witch said. "Least that's what they say. Although they leave out the part about exactly what's missin' that gold won't cure."

Kalasariz made a mental note to find out where the witch had hidden all this gold she was talking about.

If he removed her little treasure cache she'd be more dependent on him.

"Anyways," the witch went on, "they came out there and rode up to the cliff where they stopped to palaver awhile. Then Lord Timura went off that way." The witch pointed to the most distant edge of the forest.

"What about the woman?" Protarus asked.

"I don't know," the witch said. "There's no sign of her after that. It's like she rode her mare off the cliff, or somethin'. Whatever she did, she didn't go with Lord Timura."

"Is that all?" Protarus asked, impatient. "When you urged me to go with you tonight you said you'd made a great discovery. Where is it? I see Safar's trail, which we've been following all along, so that's certainly no 'great discovery.' He met a woman! So what? A romantic interlude, I suspect. He's probably tired of Leiria by now and wanted something different. Again, so what? As for the woman's disappearance, if I don't care about the woman, then what do I care what happened to her?"

"Yer got it exactly, Majesty," the witch replied. "A romantic inter-lude! Yes, indeed, that's what Lord Timura was up to." She gave a nasty giggle. "In more ways th'n one, yer old granny suspects."

She gestured wide. "There's lust in the air, that's for certain," she said. "A prancin' stallion and a willin'

mare. A lusty young man and a hot-blooded maid. What could be more natural, like? Then add magic: the man's a wizard, the maid's maybe a witch. Stir the pot well, mixin' in the horse and the mare, both magic too, and we gets us a delicious broth, yer Majesty.

"We're gettin' close to Lord Timura, Majesty. Catch up to him within a week, is Old Sheesan's guess.

And yer needs to be prepared when that time comes, if yer don't mind me sayin'."

"What's to prepare for?" Protarus asked, curt. "I have an army. He only has a few hundred peasants."

"But he's slipped yer grasp afore, Majesty," the witch said. "So he might do it again. More important-how's he gonner fight back? Ferget his soldiers, good or bad. Don't matter. Neither does yer army. We're talkin' about a wizard, here. Most powerful wizard in all Esmir, some say, demons included.

"Why, it's said it was Timura The Wizard that brought down Zanzair, Majesty. And yer had a bigger, meaner army then. And yer weren't a shape-changer, neither, was yer, Majesty? That's how bad he hurt yer, ain't it? Hurt yer real bad he did, this Timura the Wizard and if yer ain't careful, he'll get yer again!"

"And you have a solution, I take it." Protarus said.

"Indeed I do, yer Majesty," she said, lifting up her blind face to him. "I can give yer power over him when yer meets. We can make a spell here and now that'll do it."

"Then cast the spell, woman," Protarus demanded. "Get on with it!"

"That's all I needed to hear, Majesty," the witch cackled. "Yer had to order it, first!"

With that she raised her hands and began to twirl. Around and around, like a slow moving top. In his hiding place, Kalasariz snorted in disgust when he saw her raggedy robes rise up and show her bony knees. Then she went faster, turning still faster, and both Kalasariz and Protarus gaped as she became a blur. The blur began to glow, radiant sparks flying off into the night. Then the witch slowed and the blur took form.

Kalasariz gasped. For instead of an ugly witch there was a wondrous woman standing before Protarus.

She was pleasing of form and face, with long golden hair and a gossamer gown of black that displayed all of her beauty.

The spymaster heard a growl of lust, thought it was his own being voiced, then realized it was Protarus.

The witch laughed, but instead of a harsh cackle it sounded like tinkling bells. "Come to me my sweet,"

she said, voice silky and smooth. "And we shall make such a spell!"

She opened her arms and Protarus gave a great howl and bounded forward to take her.

Kalasariz crept away. Before he'd been angry and worried. Now he was merely frightened. He had to come up with something quickly, before the witch had complete control over the king. What really frightened him was that it might already be too late.

If the spymaster had tarried he would have seen greater reason to fear the witch.

After she had drained Iraj of all his strength, she made herself more beautiful still, curling up to him, whispering poisoned words into his ear.

"You are a mystery to me," she said. "You are so strong, so wise, and yet you allow yourself to be guided by fools."

Iraj stirred. "If you mean my spell brothers," he said, "I don't have any choice."

The witch cuddled closer, pressing her luscious form against Iraj. "Is that what they told you?" she asked.

"That once the Spell of Four was cast, you were locked to them forever?"

Iraj sighed. "Yes," he said. "Forever."

"I can show you how to be free of them," she said. "I can teach you how to break the chains."

Even in lust, Iraj's suspicions were aroused. "Why would you do this?" he asked. "What is it that you expect in return?"

"Only to be your queen, Iraj Protarus," the witch answered. "I have waited a lifetime for one such as you.

I have powers-more power than any witch in all of Esmir. But I want more. You understand what I mean by that, don't you? To want more?"

"Yes," Iraj whispered. "Yes!"

"Together," she said, "we can have it all! Together we will at last be satisfied. But first … we must set you free from the Spell of Four."

Iraj turned to her, eyes bright with hope. "How?" he asked. "Show me!"

"First we have to catch Safar Timura," the witch said. "It would help to have the child, but it isn't absolutely necessary."

"Teach me now!" Iraj demanded. "I don't want to wait!"

The witch giggled. "So impatient!" she said. "Just like that stallion after the mare!"

He tried to take her again, but she avoided his embrace, saying, "First swear to me that you'll make me your queen."

"I swear it," Iraj said huskily. As he spoke he felt a strange sensation burn through his body and knew a magical pact had just been made. This was one promise he'd have to keep.

Sheesan smiled, eyes aglow with victory. "When the time comes to confront Lord Timura," she said, "you must make certain that your Spell Brothers are close by. The casting will not only free you, but kill them, as well as Timura. Do you understand?"

Thrilled at the prospect of all his enemies being destroyed at one blow, Iraj nodded eagerly that he did.

"Go on," he urged. "What's next?"

Laughing, the witch drew Iraj into her arms again and they made even wilder love than before. When they were done she bathed him with cool water from a forest stream. And when Iraj was entirely human-too spent from lovemaking to be overcome by his shape-changer's side-she taught him the spell.

He was amazed at how simple it was.

Leiria watched the horizontal smear of light inch toward her. The smear broadened and deepened as it came, like a slow moving storm creeping along the earth.

"No doubt about it," she said to Safar. "It's Iraj. The way he's going he'll be on to us within a week."

The two were crouched on a hill overlooking a swift moving river crossed by a sturdy bridge wide enough for two large freight wagons to pass with room to spare.

"He's moving more quickly than I expected," Safar said. "With an army that size I thought the most he could do was keep pace with us."

"It's because he's marching all night," Leiria said. "I was on a campaign with him once when he used that trick. We'd set out at dusk and march until late morning. Then hole up in the afternoon to rest. Surprised the hells out of the enemy when we showed up at his door two weeks before we were expected."

"Why didn't you tell me about that trick before?" Safar asked, a bit exasperated.

"You had enough worry on your mind," Leiria said. "Besides, there's nothing we could've done about it.

We're going as fast as we can. Scary stories wouldn't make us move any faster."

Safar sighed. "I suppose you're right." He studied the horizon a little longer. Then, "How long can he keep that kind of thing up before he exhausts his army?"

Leiria shrugged, then gestured at the approaching light. It was bright enough now to obscure the lower heavens. "In this case," she said dryly, "he's in little danger of that."

"Let's do our best to give him a nice long rest," Safar said. He pointed at the bridge. "Remove it and his engineers will need at least a week to bridge the river. From the map of this area, there's no other place to cross for miles."

"And I suppose O Great Wizard," Leiria teased, "that you have some amazing magical spell that will do the job."

Safar laughed. "Absolutely," he said. "I call it fire. Perhaps you've heard of it? It's especially effective on wooden bridges."

"My, haven't we been jolly lately," Leiria said. "If I didn't know better I'd say there was a woman involved."

When he didn't answer Leiria looked up sharply and caught him blushing. He muttered something unintelligible, mounted Khysmet and cantered down the hill to the bridge.

Leiria puzzled over this as she hurried to catch up to him. Had she somehow stumbled on a little secret?

But that didn't make sense. Where would he meet a woman way out here?

Gundara and Gundaree were perched on a keg of honey, sucking on their fingers while they watched Palimak fuss over his masterpiece.

"Looks like a dog," Gundara said. "If you put some ears on it, that is."

"It's not a dog," Palimak scorned, "and it doesn't have any ears because I haven't made them yet."

Nevertheless, the next thing he did was form small pointy things on the odd-shaped lump of clay.

"Oh, now I understand," Gundaree said. "You're making some sort of an animal. Yes, now that I look at it that way I can see four legs, a tail, a neck, and I suppose that's some sort of head, right?"

"With ears," Palimak said, showing him.

"The ears were my idea," Gundara sniffed. "Pretty stupid dog, if it didn't have ears."

"I detest dogs," Gundaree said. "Filthy creatures. Always sniffing around our little home."

"Remember the one that made water on us?" Gundara said.

Gundaree shuddered. "Like it was yesterday, instead of six hundred years ago."

"It was seven," Gundara corrected.

"Six," insisted Gundaree. "I remember because our master was-"

"I told you," Palimak broke in, "that it's not a dog!"

He held up the object. "It's a horse! See?"

Both of the Favorites studied the object, scratching their heads.

Finally, Gundaree said, "I can see why you asked for our help. I hate to say this, Little Master, but your skills as a sculptor need a bit of honing."

"I still say it's a dog," Gundara said. "A big black dog."

"Maybe a little more green than black," Gundaree said.

"All right, it's a greenish blackish dog," Gundara said. "But it's a dog just the same."

"I don't care what you say it is," Palimak scolded. "I thought horse when I made it, so it's a horse. I even put a horse hair in it from Khysmet's tail."

He picked up a sharp twig and poked holes in the clay for eyes. He examined his work and nodded in satisfaction. "All I have to do is write my name on its stomach," he said, flipping the clay over and sketching the letters with the stick.

Palimak plumped the "horse" down on the wagon bed. "Now, we can make it pretty," he said. "Make it so he can't help himself when he sees it and he'll just have to pick it up! Then he'll flip it over…" Palimak demonstrated, turning the clay so the belly and writing was exposed. "…And when he spots my name he'll read it aloud."

"And that's when the surprise comes in?" Gundara asked.

"You guessed it!" Palimak said. "That's when the surprise comes in!"

Kalasariz watched the engineers hoist the last timber in place and start to nail it down. In an hour or so the bridge would be complete and the army could march again. As he considered the rough but sturdy structure that spanned the raging river, he couldn't help but feel grudging admiration for the king.

Not long ago, when the scouts had returned with the news that the bridge had been destroyed, Kalasariz thought the task was hopeless and the canny Safar had foiled them once again. To his amazement, Iraj had been vastly amused.

"It's good see you in such humor, Majesty," the spy master had said. "Enlighten me, please, as to its source so I can join in your laughter."

"Safar just made a mistake," came the reply. "He's playing to my strength."

"To your strength, Majesty?"

"Yes, to my abilities as a general. And there's no man or demon who can match those."

Then without further explanation he'd shouted to an aide, "Call the chief of engineers! Tell him his life depends on how quickly he obeys my summons!"

A few moments later a badly frightened old demon had stumbled into the tent to get his orders.

That had been four days ago. Now Kalasariz watched that very same demon crouch with the work crew, closely overseeing the finishing touches. What Iraj had done was order the bridge built while they marched. Freight wagons were cleared out for the carpenters to work and the bridge was built in parts and by torchlight as the army moved on through the night. By the time they'd reached the river it was nearly done and only a little more time was needed to erect it over the stumps of the old stanchions the previous bridge had stood upon.

Kalasariz heard horses approaching from the other side of the bridge and looked up to see a group of weary scouts coming in to report to their officers. It was ironic, Kalasariz thought, that the first group to cross the new bridge was coming from the opposite direction.

But the spymaster wasn't here for humor and certainly not to admire Iraj's brilliance. He smiled to himself as one of the scouts saw him and made a signal unnoticed by the others. Very good, Kalasariz thought, nodding to acknowledge his spy. Then he signaled back. They'd meet in an hour at the usual place.

One and a half turns of the glass later he was back in his tent examining an object under his brightest lamp. Gleaming up at him was the small figurine of a black horse, so beautifully wrought that it could only have been produced by a master potter. He turned it over and made out the name sketched in the hard-fired clay.

"Palimak," he read. The spymaster's eyes glittered. It was from the boy-the half-breed Iraj was hunting along with Safar.

The figurine was not only beautifully fashioned and fired, but it buzzed with gentle sorcery, as if it were meant to be a magical pet. The child was obviously some sort of prodigy. Not only in magic, but in the arts as well.

What great luck, Kalasariz thought. Somehow the boy had lost a prized, personal treasure. One he'd made himself, so it would be of incredible value to Fari and his wizards. It was a direct magical link to Palimak-and where the boy was, Safar would be nearby.

I'll present it to the king myself, Kalasariz thought. I'll wait a day or two and pretend I found it abandoned on the road. Which is where the scout said he'd found it. He said it was lying next to a broken keg of honey and the whole ground was so swarming with ants he'd almost missed it. Kalasariz would tell the same tale, but with himself as the hero. It wouldn't solve his problems with Old Sheesan, but it would put him in such favor with Protarus that her advantage would be slightly lessened.

In Kalasariz' world slight was a great victory. Slight could be made into a gap and the gap could be widened into a ravine. Slight had won many battles for him in the past and in crucial moments when his life had been at stake, slight advantages had saved his neck.

He was about to send a messenger to the king to beg an audience when a second thought crept in.

Kalasariz always heeded such things, placing second thoughts above even slight advantages as plums to his trade. Second thoughts kept you wary, second thoughts gave you special insights, second thoughts kept you alive when all else failed.

What if there were some trick to this? What if Safar Timura's mind was behind the crafting of this magnificent creation? That made more sense. Lord Timura was a master potter as well as a wizard, after all. The more he thought about it, the more this scenario seemed likely. Even a child was unlikely to lose such a beautiful magical toy. He'd keep it close to him always, checking for it when he went to sleep, looking for it first thing when he awoke and patting his pockets wherever he went to make certain it was still there.

If this were a trick he could be ruined. However, if it wasn't and he didn't present it to the king opportunity might be lost. Never mind that if the king found out he'd withheld any kind of a clue, ruin would be the most pleasant thing that would happen to Kalasariz. Yes, he'd bless the possibility of mere ruin from his chains and beg to be lifted to such a high plane as the king's torturers worked on him.

They wouldn't kill him. He was bonded to Protarus by the Spell of Four so they couldn't make away with him or the king would suffer as well. As would Fari and Luka. But they could keep him barely alive.

Keep him imprisoned in perpetual pain with one of Fari's spells.

Then the solution came. Old Sheesan! Ever since the night he'd seen her reveal her true self to Protarus, he'd pondered how to regain the upper hand. After the initial shock, his old confidence had returned.

A wily master of setting plots within plots, Kalasariz had never met his match in sheer cunning. Well, Safar Timura, possibly. But he didn't like to dwell on that. But this woman-this witch-was not Safar Timura. He didn't care how much magic she possessed. Kalasariz had something better-a mind full of so many tricks and turns that he could confound mere magic and run her as easily as he ran all his spies.

He sent a messenger to the witch, politely begging her attendance.

A few minutes later she joined him in his quarters to examine the figurine. She turned it about in her hands, feeling every inch of it, blind face furrowing in concentration.

Finally her brow cleared. "It's jus' as yer guessed, me lord. Made by the boy, Palimak, himself." She rubbed scratched letters on the belly. "Don't need to see the name to know it's his work." She tapped her nose. "I can smell him, I can."

"And it's of some use to you, I hope?" Kalasariz asked.

She cackled. "Sure it is," she said. "All kinds of spells to get at a body if yer gots somethin' real personal of his. Shrivel his head or his parts, assumin' he's old enough to have parts, that is."

"Excellent, excellent," Kalasariz said.

He took the figurine from her, pulling slightly to make the greedy old thing give it up. Blank as she kept her face, the spymaster had long experience in reading hidden things so he could tell she was seething with jealousy.

Good. Now for the next part.

Kalasariz wrapped the clay figurine in a piece of silk, then, to the witch's immense amazement, he put it back into her hands.

"Perhaps you wouldn't mind delivering it to the king," he said. "I'd consider it a personal favor if you would."

Old Sheesan was instantly suspicious, just as he knew she'd be. "Why the likes of me?" she asked. "Why not take it to him yerself. Yer deserves the credit fer findin' it."

"Actually," Kalasariz said, "much as I'd like to be involved I can't. I came by it by means I wouldn't want to get around."

"'Specially the king, right?" the witch said, knowing he was talking about revealing the extent of his network of spies.

Kalasariz laughed, wagging a finger at the witch. "It's not nice to pry in other people's business," he said.

"But you did get the general idea of my problem."

Her suspicions satisfied, the witch made the figurine vanish into her raggedy cloak.

"I'll see he gets it, I will," the witch said. "And thanks fer thinkin' of Old Sheesan, me lord. Yer've made a better friend than yer know."

"That was uppermost in my mind, Madam," the spymaster replied. "Uppermost."

Old Sheesan made a remarkable transformation when she entered Iraj's tent an hour later. Instead of a cackling hag, she was once again the beautiful, sensuous woman Kalasariz had seen in the forest. And just as before her blindness was miraculously "cured."

She curled up against the king, purring like a sleek cat. When he fumbled for her she laughed a musical laugh and drew away.

"Wait," she said in a most melodic voice. "I have a surprise for you."

"A surprise?" Iraj asked, vastly pleased. Kings and queens are like children when it comes to gifts. "What is it?"

She handed him the cloth package containing the horse figurine. "Oh, just a little thing I found on the road," she said lightly. But her eyes, which were a deep shade of violet, danced with excitement.

Iraj unwrapped the package. He reacted strongly when the fantastic miniature of the black horse was revealed.

"What's this?" he said, trembling with excitement. "Is it from the boy?"

"Turn it over and see for yourself," the beautiful witch said.

Iraj flipped the horse upside down. He immediately saw the clumsily scratched letters.

He spelled them out. "P-A-L–I-M-A-K." Iraj grinned, wolfish teeth gleaming.

"Palimak!" he said aloud.

Safar and Leiria were once again hidden on the hill overlooking the bridge. They'd been bitterly disappointed Iraj had foiled their plan so easily and now they were frantically wracking their brains for some other means to stop him.

"This is the only place for miles where we can do any good," Leiria said, not bothering to whisper.

Although Iraj's army was at rest, there was so much activity going on no one could hear them. Off in the night they could hear armorers hammering, animals bawling and supply sergeants barking at their lazy charges.

Safar peered at the big tent set up in the middle of the camp. Iraj's flag flew overhead, fluttering in the light of the Demon Moon.

He shook his head, grim. "There's nothing that can be done," he said, getting to his feet. "Come on. We'd better catch up to the others and warn them."

At that moment a large explosion rent the air. The two turned to see a fiery shower bursting into the night sky.

Iraj's tent was in flames and frantic men and demons were rushing from all over to put it out Leiria could barely keep from doing a dance. "What incredible luck!" she hooted.

Safar was thoughtful, examining the dancing flames. "It wasn't luck," he said at last. Then he smiled.

"Someone's been up to some mischief again," he said.

"Palimak?" Leiria asked, incredulous.

"Who else?"

Palimak and his Favorites were peering at the small lump of clay he'd pinched off the original before he'd made the horse.

Suddenly it flared and Palimak yelped with glee. "We got him! We got him!" he shouted. He smacked his knee with a small fist. "That'll teach that mean old Iraj Protarus!"

Then the bit of clay shattered into dust. Palimak's joy turned to dismay.

"Do you think he's still alive?" he asked.

Gundaree stroked his handsome chin, examining the patterns of clay dust on the floor. "I fear so, Little Master," he finally said.

Gundara was looking over his shoulder. "But we killed somebody," he said, trying to sooth Palimak's feelings. "At least we did that."

"So what?" Palimak said, still gloomy. "It was probably just some stupid soldier."

"It wasn't an entirely cheerless event, Little Master," Gundaree said. "We did manage to hurt the king.

Enough to keep him out of action for awhile."

Palimak brightened. "That's all right, then," he said. "Maybe we didn't kill him, but at least we slowed him down."

Kalasariz watched with much satisfaction as the burial party carried the still-smoking remains of Old Sheesan to the river and dumped them in without ceremony.

In the medical tent he could hear Protarus howl in pain as Lord Fari treated his burn wounds with magical ointments and spells.

"I want that child found and killed!" the king shrieked. Another how of pain, then, "No, don't kill him! I'll skin the man or demon alive who harms a hair on his head!

"I want him for myself, do you hear? I want him for myself!"

Once again the spymaster whispered thanks to the dark god who'd overseen his birth. Without the native caution of second thought, it might have been Kalasariz' body that was being so roughly treated.

Oh, sure, the spymaster was sorry the hunt for Safar would be delayed while the king healed. But in his opinion-the only one that ever really counted to Kalasariz-that was a small price to pay for survival.

There was also a bright side-possibly even outweighing the near disaster. At least I rid myself of that witch, he thought.

He looked down at the roiling river and saw a blackened lump of flesh snagged on the shore. A freshwater crab scuttled out from a hole in the bank, snatched the flesh up in its claws and dashed out of sight.

Good riddance, you old bitch, Kalasariz thought. Then he strolled into the night, humming to himself while his agile mind searched for new plots to hatch.