Wolves of the Gods

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

As beautiful as Caspan had seemed from a distance, up close it was a horror. It was late afternoon when they reached the city. Plague bells were tolling and there was an awful stench of death rising from the great ditch encircling the city's walls-a sure sign even routine burials had been abandoned. The gates were wide open and people with the wild looks of refugees were streaming out, their belongings piled onto carts or on their backs. The walls, which had appeared so pristine white from the hills, were a filthy gray, marked further by crumbling stone and breaks in the wall due to civic neglect.

Palimak shuddered. "Do we have to go in there, father?" he asked.

"No, thank the gods," Safar said. "Coralean never liked city life. Too many people spying on you from alleys, is how he puts it."

They traveled a few miles more until they came upon a magnificent villa built on a hill that overlooked a graceful bay. In the dying sunlight Safar could see scores of white sails sitting off the coast and he idly wondered why so many ships were anchored in the same place.

As they approached the villa's gates-closed and barred against the coming night-Palimak suddenly said,

"Look out, father!"

Before he could react a hard voice rang out from behind them. "Hold, stranger!"

Startled as he was, Safar knew better than to whirl around to see who was challenging them. He reined Khysmet in and sat quite still, whispering to Palimak that he shouldn't move a muscle. He heard heavy boots moving toward them, estimating by the sound that he was being confronted by at least half-a-dozen men.

Then three heavily armed thugs came into view, sidling up on either side. A crop-eared man grabbed Khysmet's reins while the others spread out, crossbows cocked and ready. Behind them, Safar could hear the other men cock their bows.

The scar-faced thug spoke to the others. "If the bastard moves, kill him! Don't wait for orders."

"What about the boy?" one of the men asked.

Crop Ear shrugged. "Kill him too."

Then he turned to Safar. "Talk," he commanded. "And you'd better make it good. We've got some graves down the bottom of the hill dug specially for liars."

Safar grinned down at the man. "It sure is good to see your ugly face again, Gitter," he said. "And I notice you still have one ear left. You're either a better thief than you used to be, or you've made good your promise to end your evil ways."

Gitter jerked back. Then he peered closer at Safar, an ugly smile slowly spreading across his face as recognition dawned.

"Ease off, lads," he ordered the men. "And, you, Hasin, run and tell the master Lord Timura's come for a visit."

"I once believed that Coralean was the luckiest man in the whole history of Esmir," the caravan master rumbled. "I thought that when the gods coined luck they must have kept back the fattest purse for Coralean's glorious arrival to this world."

He raised a crystal goblet in toast. "But now I know that I, Coralean, who has prided himself these many years for not only being lucky, but also on being rarely wrong in his judgment, was most grievously in error. You, my friend-not Coralean-won the fattest purse of all."

Safar clinked goblets with him. "Thank you for the words of hope," he said, "but I fear that when it comes to luck … I'm down to my last few coppers of the stuff."

They were taking their ease in Coralean's spacious study, which sat atop a specially built garden tower looking down on the bay. It was night. From the huge window Safar could see a forest of ships' lights playing on the waters. It was a peaceful scene, an idyllic scene, marred only by the face of the Demon Moon peering through a high cloud cover.

Both he and Palimak were bruised from the big man's hearty embraces of welcome. Coralean had then ordered his wives to see his visitors were fed, bathed and massaged with soothing oils. Palimak had fallen asleep during his massage. Now he was peacefully slumbering in a soft bed with silken sheets and perfumed pillows-the finest bed he'd known since he was a babe in Nerisa's luxurious care.

Coralean refilled Safar's goblet, then topped off his own. "I must confess I had grave doubts this meeting would ever occur. In fact, if I had any worthy competitors left, I would have suspected them of concocting a wild plot to diminish Coralean's hard-earned fortunes. Consider, my friend. A fellow in red robes and fiendish eyes shows up at my gates with news of your imminent arrival. It had been so long since I had heard anything of you, I thought you dead."

"We've been stranded in the Black Lands for quite awhile," Safar said.

"So you've told me. That also explains why I've heard nothing about Iraj Protarus' progress. It was as if his whole army had disappeared from the face of Esmir while hunting you. An impossibility, of course.

Which gave Coralean hope that Safar Timura still survived. Otherwise our good king would be marching through these streets at this very minute, proclaiming victory over the evil Lord Timura."

"Which is why you listened to Hantilia's courier," Safar said. "Otherwise, Gitter would have planted him in your little garden of liars at the bottom of the hill."

Coralean grimaced. "What a world we live in, my friend, where a gentle man-a man who is loathe to kill a flea, who is, after all, only going about his honest purpose-could be forced to condone such deeds."

Safar buried a smile. Coralean was not a casually brutal man, but he had not made his great fortune by avoiding bloodshed. Many a new caravan track had been opened by Coralean over the years-all well-marked by the heads of bandits-and other enemies-stuck up on posts.

"But to return to our wild-eyed stranger in red," Coralean said. "He was not a man I would normally take seriously. I would have given him a few coins and sent him on his madman way. However, when he presented me with a bag of gold-a gift from his queen, he said-well, I felt obliged to listen. I'd never heard of this Queen Hantilia, but the payment was so unnecessarily large I thought only royalty could be that foolish. I think the crowns they wear are to blame. They squeeze their heads so tightly there's no room for common business sense."

Safar chuckled. Then, "I still find it amazing you believed him. If someone-even if it were the royal personage herself-told me that a fellow hunted in every corner of Esmir would show up at my door, dragging a thousand people behind him, I'd have declared them insane to their face and called in a guard to escort them from my presence."

Coralean stroked his beard. "Is it really a thousand, Safar?" he asked. "You really did manage to carry away your entire village? All of Kyrania? Without fatalities?"

Safar's face darkened. "I wish I could say no one died," he replied. "I'm to blame for many deaths in this mad contest I've been caught up in with Iraj. Besides war dead, many old people, who should have been sitting at home spoiling their grandchildren, have given up the ghost before their time." Then he smiled. "But there's still at least a thousand of us," he said. "More, I suspect, than when we started because so many of our women have given birth on the trail."

The old caravan master eyed him, considering. Then he nodded. "Now I understand why you never claimed credit for saving my life," he said. "You let Iraj take the greatest share of the glory. This puzzled me at the time, because I suspected what you had done but was loathe to embarrass you by asking for an explanation."

Safar blinked, seeing the mental image of a young Iraj leaping on the demon's back to rescue Coralean from certain death.

"It was Iraj who saved you," he objected. "Not me. No matter what has happened since you can't deny that he was once a hero."

"This is true, my friend," Coralean said. "Iraj was … and is … a brave man. And I think that once he had good in his heart. Coralean is the most ambitious of men and he truly understands how ambition, however well meant in the beginning, can turn the most charitable men into devils. So understand, I was not slighting that particular deed. However, we still would all have fallen to those demon bandits if an avalanche had not suddenly, miraculously, swept that band of fiends back into the hells they came from."

He oiled his throat with a sip from his goblet. "Coralean is a believer in many things. In repose, with his wives begging his favors, he is quite a romantic fellow." He snorted, sounding like a bull. "But I am always suspicious of coincidence. You must admit, Safar, that the avalanche was too convenient to be marked up to coincidence. Then I didn't know, although I suspected, that you were a wizard. Now you are alternately cursed and hailed as the greatest wizard in all Esmir. So confess, my friend. It was you who caused the avalanche, was it not? It was you who ultimately spared my wives the awful grief of losing their dear, sweet Coralean."

Safar grinned, mischievous. "I'll never tell," he said. "Was it chance, or was it purpose? Come now, Coralean. You'd never expect a wizard to reveal something like that!"

Coralean slapped his thigh. "Well said," he rumbled. "You should have been king instead of Iraj. With me to advise you, we would have built the grandest fortune the world has ever seen."

Safar turned serious. "Thrones or fortunes," he said, "mean nothing in these times. Perhaps they never did. Perhaps they never will. It's useless to speculate."

Coralean shrugged. "Speculation is my nature," he said. "Speculation is the sole reason I not only listened to the red robed one, but waited many days after my planned departure from Caspan to see if what he said was true."

He pointed to the bobbing ship lights. "I even hired ships on the doubtful word of an insane messenger, who claimed to speak for an unseen queen whose name had somehow escaped Coralean's notice."

Coralean paused to empty his goblet. "I told you I thought you lucky. Luckier even than Coralean. You are also wise. Not as wise as I am, to be sure, but that would be an impossibility." He tapped his head. "No, in wisdom I am your superior. Just as I am every man's superior when it comes to the art of pleasing women. Strong brain, strong loins, those are things that make Coralean, Coralean."

"I'll grant you both with no argument," Safar said. "Especially wisdom. Who else but Coralean would be calculating enough to remain Iraj's confident, but still place a wager on his worst enemy?"

Coralean grinned. "Only a portion of it was due to calculation," he said. "The rest was because of my deep feelings of friendship towards you."

"And my luck."

Coralean's grin widened. "And your luck. Especially your luck."

Safar nodded at the ships sitting offshore. "What happens when Iraj finds out what you've done?" he asked.

The caravan master grimaced. "Coralean has no intention of lingering in Caspan long enough to realize the depths of Iraj Protarus' wrath. My original intention was to seek retirement as far away as my gold would take me. My thinking was, once Iraj caught you he would start looking at men like me with suspicious eyes. And that would be my end. Once that decision was made, I didn't know where to run. Either Iraj would eventually find me, or I would die a trivial but agonizing death in the chaos that has afflicted Esmir."

Safar laughed. "Now I understand," he said. "You couldn't flee Esmir, because no one really knows what lies beyond the Great Sea."

"Except for you," Coralean said. "One of the things that madman told me was that you had a goal. A peaceful island you knew of far across the sea."

"Syrapis," Safar said.

"Yes," Coralean said. "Syrapis. I like the sound of it. A good place for business."

"You really are casting the dice, my friend," Safar said. "Things must be desperate for you."

"Desperate enough," Coralean replied, "to consider things that go against my generous nature. A lesser man than I might threaten to deny you passage on those ships if you did not agree to carry him away from this cursed place."

"I have no objection to your company," Safar said. "In fact, I welcome it."

Coralean refilled both their goblets. "Good, it's settled then. A nice bargain for both of us, with each thinking he got the better of the other, but not too much to injure friendship."

Safar started to speak, then hesitated, thinking. Finally he shrugged and dug an old map from his pocket.

"You gave me maps once," he said. "They saved my life and the lives of my people. Now, let me return the favor."

He unrolled the map, copied in his flowing hand from the Book of Asper. It showed the Great Sea from Caspan, to a large island many miles away.

Coralean studied it with an expert eye. "Yes," he said. "I see how to go."

Safar rolled the map up and handed it to him. "Here," he said. "Take it."

The caravan master was so surprised by this gesture that his mouth fell open and for a moment he looked like a huge, bearded fish.

His jaws snapped shut. "Surely you have another."

"No, that's the only copy," Safar said. "I have three days to accomplish what I have to do. If you don't see me by then, sail without us."

Coralean grinned. "How do you know I'll wait?" he asked. "Coralean is a man of his word, but sometimes urgent business forces a man of industry and ambition to make regretful decisions."

Safar looked at him, measuring. Then he nodded. "You'll wait," he said, flat.

"I suppose if I don't," Coralean pressed, "you will cast some wizardly spell of misfortune upon me, correct?"

Safar chuckled. "Another sort of question no wizard will ever answer, my friend," he said. "But let me tell you this. If I do, your wives will be the first to notice!"

The caravan master roared laughter, leaping to his feet to drag Safar from his chair for another tortuous embrace of Coralean friendship.

"What a man you are, Safar Timura!" he cried. "What a man!"

Then he broke away to refill their goblets.

"More drink, Safar," he said. "More drink. It's the only honorable way to seal a bargain between such like-minded brothers.

"To Syrapis!" he shouted, raising his glass.

"To Syrapis!" Safar replied. "And may we live long enough to see it!"