Wolves of the Gods

CHAPTER FIVE

She rode in from the north, keeping the Demon Moon at her back and staying well within its long shadows. Her horse's hooves were muffled, as were her weapons and armor. The night wind was up, moaning through trees and gullies so the only discernible sound was the occasional creak of her harness, or the faint rattle of pebbles when her horse misstepped.

Leiria drew up when she neared the bend where the first sentries should have been posted. She knew where they'd be because it was Leiria herself who had reformed Kyrania's methods of guarding the approaches. She'd not only drawn up the map but had trained the sentries. She'd also imposed an orderly system for challenges and knew what passwords the lead sentry would use when he demanded if she were friend or foe. The plan was that as the approaching party or parties considered the response, two other guardians of the trail would move in on opposite flanks. If she appeared threatening, they'd cut her down with their crossbows while she was still focusing on the lead sentry.

That was the plan-as foolproof as anyone could make it. She'd drilled her charges thoroughly, warning all the while that the fools she was attempting to guard them against were on their side.

"If the enemy presents himself," she'd told Rossthom, the man she'd schooled to take her place when she left, "it's safer to assume he isn't a dimwit. If he's to be worth anything at all as a potential enemy, he'll have scouted your defenses before the approach. He'll know very well who is the greatest dullard on your side. The one most likely to fall asleep. The one who favors a nip or three on the jug to keep off the chill. When you issue your challenge he'll pause to consider for an arse scratch or two, while his best men cut your laggard friend's throat. By the time you repeat the challenge his entire force will be on you."

Rossthom had heeded her well-and to a lesser degree, so had her other charges-so she was quite disappointed when no one challenged her when she came to the barricade. Her disappointment deepened when she found Rossthom's bloody remains sprawled next to the barricade. There were no marks on the muddy ground so she knew he'd died without a struggle. There were only his footprints and the depressions his body made as he flopped about while his attacker slit him from stem to stern.

Leiria dismounted and considered the situation. She thought it quite odd there was no sign of the enemy's approach. As carefully as she searched, there were no other marks on the ground. It was as if Rossthom had been attacked from above. She searched further and found the corpses of the other two sentries.

Once again, there was no spoor left by the enemy.

She led her horse into a grove of trees overlooking Kyrania. In the light of the Demon Moon the fields and homes were quite clear. A few chimneys glowed, a few candles were guttering down in distant windows and far off she could hear a young rooster mistake the Demon Moon for dawn and crow an eerie welcome.

All in all, everything seemed quite peaceful. If it weren't for the dead sentries she might have thought her mad rush to Kyrania was not only a waste of time but a humiliating one at that.

Since she'd left Safar's side she had been making a decent if precarious living by selling her sword. Only a few weeks ago she'd been wriggling into the comfortable post as captain of a minor king's guard. The pay was good, the king's ambitions small and she had a comfortable room with a soft bed, easy access to the privy and a fireplace to warm her on a winter's night.

Then one night she'd had a dream. The dream had started well enough-she was in Safar's arms, snuggling up after making love and drifting off to sleep. This was a planned dreamed, a dream she'd conjured on many a night to carry her away from a difficult day.

On that particular night, however, the dream continued on. She found herself being pulled into another embrace. She went willingly, sleepily enjoying the caresses of her re-awakened companion. Then the arms holding her were suddenly somehow unfamiliar-but familiar-at the same time. It was not an embrace she welcomed. Leiria felt as if she had been drugged and had awakened in the arms of a monster.

In her dream, she opened her eyes and saw it was not Safar, but Iraj preparing to mount her. She shouted, catching him by surprise, then gripped his hair and flung him to the side. She came to her feet, grabbing a candleholder for a weapon. Iraj rolled away just in time as she hurled it at him and the heavy base thudded uselessly into the feather mattress.

Her sword was lying next to the bed where she always kept it and she snatched it up just as Iraj rose from the floor.

Except now it wasn't Iraj she was facing. Instead she was confronted by an enormous wolf! She slashed at it, but the bed between them was too wide and the wolf too agile.

Then it turned to her, red eyes boring in. The wolf opened its jaws to speak. She was too numb to be surprised when she heard Iraj's voice issuing from the wolf's mouth.

"Slut," it hissed. And, "Whore!" Then, "I gave you to Safar Timura. Now I want you back!"

Naked as she was, those words armored Leiria in the strongest mail. "I was given once," she said. "I won't be given again. Back, or otherwise."

And she hurled herself across the bed, slashing with all her might.

Then she was sitting up in bed, striking with her fists at nothing but innocent darkness.

Instead of confusion, however, Leiria had one thought fixed in her mind-Safar was in danger. She didn't question this thought, much less dwell on the nightmare. Her soldier's instinct said this was so and therefor she acted.

Two hours later she was riding for Kyrania. She didn't even bother to tell her employer, the king.

Now, looking down at the peaceful scene, she wondered for an instant if she'd gone mad. Love mad, that is. Had the dream been nothing but an excuse to be in Safar's presence once again? Admit it, Leiria, she said to herself, you still love him. But then she thought, No, I'm over that. If there's any love, it's because I love him as a sister loves a brother.

Then she had the skin-crawling awareness that there must be a spell on the trail to make her feel so confused about her mission. Behind her were dead sentries. Ahead of her was a seemingly peaceful village. Only a fool wouldn't realize that it didn't add up.

She moved closer to the hill's edge. Just below she could see Safar's home peeking out of the cherry grove that was Kyrania's unofficial boundary. There was a strange silvery glow streaming out of one of his windows. She frowned, remembering the layout. The light was coming from Palimak's room. At any other time she would have thought the child was up to some magical mischief.

But not this time. Not this night.

She loosened her weapons, took up her horse's reins and led it quietly down the trail.

Iraj turned back from his charges, sneering at Safar. "And what a f riend you proved to be, Timura," he said. "To think I once swore a blood oath with you."

Then his eyes met Safar's and there was a long, frozen moment as the two enemies regarded each other from across the room. The only sound was the harsh breathing of the wolves and Gundara's frightened whimpers from his perch on Safar's shoulder.

Even through thick lenses of hatred, Safar could see that Iraj was as handsome as ever-muscular frame draped in black, white teeth glittering through his golden beard. A simple crown of black onyx encircled his flowing locks. But his eyes were fiery red-red as the Demon Moon. Red as the wine he'd shared with Safar when they'd pledged eternal friendship and brotherhood. Red as the blood that had stained Nerisa's snowy breast when Iraj slew her. And now Iraj had returned to threaten the life of the one he loved most. A sleeping child-half demon, half human-named Palimak.

Blood infused with shape-changer's hate, all senses heightened to the painful extreme-it was all Iraj could do to check his murderous rage. Safar's obvious good health and strength infuriated him. Safar should be diseased and mutilated, with barely strength to draw breath for what he'd done to Iraj. At the same time, Safar's strange blue eyes penetrated his heart and saw his shame and guilt, which made Iraj fear him-and hate him even more.

Safar exhaled and the moment came unstuck, slamming his emotional gate shut before those old wrongs could overwhelm him. Revenge was an unpredictable sword that cut in all directions. It was enough for Safar to recognize that Iraj was his enemy-an enemy so powerful he'd risen from the grave to confront him.

Quick-so quick Old Man Time Himself couldn't take its measure-Safar formed the killing spell and his little silver dagger rose to blast Iraj back into whatever hells he came from. The two wolves sensed the danger. As he formed the spell they growled and as the dagger rose they gathered to leap-long fangs dripping, claws anxious to rip out his heart.

They'd be fast, Safar thought, but not fast enough.

Iraj's mind, however, was racing ahead of the killing moment. He knew Safar, knew him well, and could see his enemy consider the murderous possibilities. Safar blinked, deciding, and Iraj immediately knew what he'd do next.

Iraj instantly visualized the action from Safar's point of view. Safar would attack Iraj first. Then the wolf on the right. Finally he'd whirl to confront the third creature. But it'd be too late and Safar would be ripped from throat to groin. However, in the killing the wolf would also die. Except Palimak would be safe and that's all that would matter to Safar.

Yes, Iraj thought. That's his greatest vulnerability. The child.

Safar had the spell set and had all but cast it when Iraj raised a cautioning hand.

"Beware, Safar!" he said.

Instantly, he turned on his companions, shouting, "Hold!"

And they held, snarling and gnashing their fangs. Eyes sparking in terrible frustration.

Safar stayed his hand as well. The dagger point dropped, but he only had to raise it less than an inch to hurl his spell.

"Consider before you act, Safar," Iraj said. He gestured at Palimak, who stirred in his spellbound sleep, moaning as if suffering a bad dream, saying, "Anything you do against me is certain to harm the boy."

Gundara stirred uneasily on Safar's shoulder. "He speaks the truth, master," he whispered. "One wrong move and Palimak is doomed."

As low as he'd spoken, Iraj's hearing was so acute he overheard. He smiled, saying, "If you won't heed me, heed your Favorite. And I promise you the child will not only die, but will suffer greatly in the dying."

Safar let the dagger point dip lower. It wasn't a surrender, but it was an admission of momentary defeat.

Small as the gesture was, Iraj was thrilled by it. His overcharged shaper-changer's emotions frothed over and he couldn't help the wild laugh that exploded from his throat.

Safar winced. "You look better than you sound, Iraj," he said. He was surprised when he realized he hadn't meant to be sarcastic, or wounding. It was simply a natural comment between old friends. Or old enemies, as the case seemed to be.

"Never mind what I sound like," Iraj snarled. He knew very well the laugh seemed like that of a jackal and felt humiliated by showing that weakness. It spoiled his momentary thrill of victory.

Grinding to gain the upper hand again, he said, "You should be worrying about what I want instead of thinking up empty insults."

"Very well, then," Safar said, evening the game by making his voice and manner mild, "What do you want with us?"

Another jackal bark. This time purposeful. "Why, I only want your misery, my friend," Iraj replied.

"Whatever injures you is my pleasure." He nodded, indicating the wolves. "Or should I say, our pleasure!

When you tried to destroy me, they were also injured most severely."

He gestured at the wolf on his left. "You remember King Luka, I presume?" Then to his right. "And Lord Fari?"

Safar remembered them very well. Luka had been the crown prince of Zanzair before he'd conspired with Iraj to overthrow his father, King Manacia. Fari had been Manacia's chief wizard and Grand Wazier. In their original forms both were not men, but demons.

"Where's Kalasariz?" Safar asked, dry. He was speaking of the old human spy master who had been his nemesis for many years. "It's my fondest hope he's absent from this impromptu party because I killed him."

Iraj let his eyes widen in mock surprise. "Of course you killed him, my friend," he said. He motioned, his gesture taking in himself and the others. "You killed us all! However, as you can see we've risen from the dead. Including Kalasariz. He's busy elsewhere and sends his regrets and apologies that he had to miss this reunion."

"Call him forth, then," Safar said. "I promise you this time there will be no messy resurrection."

As he spoke he let the dagger tip rise. He felt the weapon turn warm in his hand. He didn't have to look to know the point was white hot as if it had just been lifted from a forge.

Iraj saw what he was up to and laughed.

Leiria was rocked to the core when she peered through the window and saw Iraj.

Braced as she was by the dream that had driven her to Kyrania, she wasn't prepared to see her old lover in the flesh.

In the first shock wave of recognition her practical side was hurled into a gully of confusion. Battered logic rose to demand that her senses were badly mistaken. You're dreaming again, this practical side argued. In fact the whole thing is a dream. You never quit your post, much less rushed off on an insane journey to rescue Safar.

Nothing else made sense. Iraj was dead, wasn't he? Hadn't she seen his palace explode into flames with her own eyes? As well as the city surrounding it? Safar's spell was so powerful that nothing or no one could have escaped it.

She rubbed her eyes but the vision remained. Iraj was still hovering over little Palimak, two giant wolves standing on their hind legs on either side. Safar was still motionless in the doorway, Gundara chattering with fear on his shoulder. She saw the little magic dagger glowing in Safar's hand. She noted the ridge of concentration on his brow and knew he was gathering his strength to strike.

Mind racing with a thousand possibilities for action, all suicidal, she bent closer to listen.

"Let me tell you what I learned about dying," Iraj said to Safar, very calm as if the burning dagger presented no threat. "To begin with, it isn't necessarily fatal." He laughed again, bitterly. "Now isn't that a good jest?" he said. "One that few could make. Unfortunately for you, I am one of those few. And I owe it all to them."

Another gesture at the wolves. "Thanks to them we were already exploring … how shall I say it … new forms of life? Or afterlife, if you will. And when you struck we were able to escape into one of those forms-Shape-changers!"

Iraj was crackling with inner fire. As he spoke he seemed to grow larger, shoulders broadening, chest deepening, head rising almost to the ceiling. It wasn't posturing, but a spell he was making with the help of Fari and Luka. He was using that spell to strike fear into Safar's heart, attempting to hammer his enemy into submission.

He smiled, his long teeth making him look like a wolf. "We can move in and out of this flesh at will. It's a bit painful, but after time you learn that pain gives strength as well as pleasure. There's more hope in pain than you might guess, Safar. You can see things, horizons and possibilities you never dreamed of before.

As a boy my greatest dream was to be King of Kings. Well, I achieved that dream. But great as it was, once won, it was nothing. I felt hollow, Safar. Empty of all achievement, even though I'd matched my boyhood hero, the Conqueror Alisarrian."

Protarus saw the dagger in Safar's hand waver. The spell was working! He pressed harder, pushing against Safar's defenses with all his might. The dagger point dropped lower still and it was all Iraj could do to keep from smacking his lips in anticipation.

Instead he gestured at the wolves who were Luka and Fari. "My friends saw this. They understood even more than I-even more than you-what I truly sought." He leaned closer, his breath hot on Safar's face.

"Now, I can be King of Kings of both worlds-magical as well as mortal. I suppose I should thank you for opening the way for me. My ambitions, my dreams, have always been greater than the flesh that could hold them."

The spell was so strong that Safar-who was already stretched to the breaking by his twin effort to protect Palimak plus hold Iraj and the wolves at bay-was nearly overcome. Gundara sank sharp claws into his shoulder, hissing, "Master! Master!"

Safar rallied, beating back the spell. He said, "If you are so all powerful, Iraj, why don't you just do away with me now? Kill me. Kill the child. Blast Kyrania to dust with your most powerful spell. What's stopping you?"

Iraj forced laughter. He was shocked at Safar's swift recovery. This wasn't how it was supposed to work! On his right Fari growled, urging him to keep on.

"Think about it," Iraj said, swiftly trying to repair the spell. "The only thing that held me back from true greatness before was my lack of magical abilities. You were the one whose powers were so awesome even demons feared you."

"That's hardly my fault," Safar said, mentally brushing aside the spellweb. Looking for his chance. "I was born with those talents. And you weren't. What more can I say?"

"Still," Iraj said, "you could have given me those powers. They could have been a gift to your oath brother and king." He gestured at Luka and Fari, who growled at his motions. "They were certainly willing to give me such a gift. Why wouldn't you?"

"You won't believe this," Safar answered, "but even if I'd wanted to, I didn't know how. Not safely, anyway. With these two-plus Kalasariz-you formed the Spell of Four. Very powerful. But also a two-edged sword. It is dangerous not only to others, but to yourself. You don't realize it now-perhaps you never will-but the pact you made was your downfall. I did nothing to you. Not really. True, I made a spell of destruction. But it depended upon your own nature for it to work."

"You're right," Iraj said. "I don't believe it."

Safar shrugged. "I didn't think you would."

"As for destroying my kingdom," Iraj said, "it was only temporary. Even as we speak my armies are putting it back together again."

Safar ignored this. "You still didn't answer my first question," he insisted. "Why all this talk? It's really quite unlike you, Iraj. Why not just kill us now?"

"The answer is simple, Safar," Iraj said. "I'm here to collect your powers." He nodded at Palimak. "And the boy's."

Now, Safar thought. Now! And he let himself sag a little, as if in spell-induced shock.

Iraj's temples hammered with sudden elation. He gestured at the sleeping child, grinding in his perceived advantage.

"My friends and I are perfectly willing to drain those powers from your dying bodies. And put them to better use." He shrugged. "The result would be rather weak, but it'll do, it'll do. Alive would be better, of course. And with your full cooperation it'd be better still."

"You'd still kill us," Safar said. "Eventually."

Iraj barked humor. "Oh, I promise you that, old friend. As I said, I owe you much. But if you surrender now, I'll let the boy live."

"That's no bargain," Safar said, pretending unconcern. "I'd still be dead."

Iraj frowned, as if deeply concerned at an impasse that did not exist. "But I require the boy alive. He's the key ingredient to what I need to secure my new throne." As he spoke, he and his Brothers of the Spell poured all their powers into their assault on Safar's will.

"I know the child's just a foundling," Iraj continued. "So you probably don't have any deep feelings for him. You won't suffer greatly when I tell you we intend to make the boy's life as miserable as possible.

And believe me, there's nothing about misery I don't know, Safar Timura."

Safar let a soft moan escape. Iraj grinned, excitement so great that he lost control of his human shape and a wolf snout suddenly erupted from his face.

"What luck!" he growled. "You do love the boy, you poor sad fool." He sniffed the air, licking his chops.

"Marvelous," he growled. "I can already taste your pain."

Iraj sniffed again, liked what he found even more, and drew in a long breath, shuddering from the infusion of fear and servile misery Safar was pumping into the atmosphere.

I am small and weak, Safar thought, and you are large and strong. Mercy, Lord, mercy. If I must die make it swift. Mercy, Lord, mercy. And spare the child. I beg you, spare the child. Mercy, Lord, mercy.

Iraj gloried in the rich scent of Safar's humiliation. Grinned at the sour sweat running off of him in streams.

It made a quite a heady concoction.

When he relaxed his guard Safar struck.

It wasn't his strongest spell. In fact, it was rather weak. But it was the best he could do without killing Palimak in the backblast.

A fiery arc leaped from his dagger point to Iraj's crown. There was a flash of light and a howl of pain as Iraj was hurled back by the force of Safar's attack, slamming against the far wall.

Hoping against all the odds Safar turned to his left, aiming a second blast at the demon wolf who was Lord Fari.

"To Palimak!" he shouted to Gundara.

The little Favorite leaped from his shoulder onto the bed.

Fari was almost on him when Safar let loose the next sorcerous blast. But it was weak, too weak and the demon wolf shrugged it off and kept coming. From the corner of his eye he could see Luka leaping for him. Just beyond Iraj was rising up, shaking off the affects of Safar's attack.

Then he felt a heatshudder as Gundara threw a protective shield over the spellbound Palimak.

He reached deep for his strongest spell but even as he formed it he knew he was too late.

All was lost but he kept going, praying his enemy would make the smallest mistake or misstep.

It was a foolish prayer because there were claws scything toward him and the euphoria of certain death leaked into his brain, numbing him for the shock.

Then there was a thunder of hooves bearing a chill war cry and the house shook as an enormous weight struck the wall.

Safar's three attackers stumbled about in surprise as the whole wall crashed inward-showering them with debris-and they hurled themselves to the side just as a mailed warrior on horseback smashed into the small room. And then everything was a confusion of flying hooves and slashing sword and shrill battle cries.

Iraj and his demon/wolves were flung apart. They roared in pain and fury as horse and rider whirled about, barreling into them.

Safar leaped back through the doorway as the horse swerved toward him. He glanced over at Palimak's bed and saw the boy was still asleep; Gundara crouched over him, his shielding spell keeping bed and boy miraculously untouched by the chaos.

Safar turned back to the melee. He had his killing spell ready but there was no clear target. A slight miss and his rescuer would die as well.

Then the equation became simpler as the two demon/wolves were driven through the shattered wall and horse and rider plunged after them. And then there was only Safar and Iraj, who was coming up from a pile of debris. As Iraj rose a powerful light radiated from his body. He began to transform into a giant wolf, black as a starless night with the fires of the hells in its eyes.

The wolf turned its huge head toward Safar, maw coming open. Their eyes met … and held for what seemed like an eternity. It was only a moment but it was time enough for an arc of recognition to leap between them. It was like two souls brushing together-souls from another place and another time when they were just boys, fast friends, with only clear horizons before them.

Then hate rushed back and Safar let loose his spell.

He meant to kill and held nothing back but when his sorcerous bolt struck there was a white hot flare, a loud crack of overheated air, and when his eyes cleared the demon wolf who was Iraj had vanished.

Cursing, Safar sagged back against the shattered door frame. Iraj had escaped unscathed. And he was certain to return-in one form or another-with even greater forces than before.

Safar looked over at Palimak and knew a small bit of joy when he saw the boy was still sleeping peacefully as if nothing had happened. There was debris all around the bed and spatters of blood on the lower frame.

Gundara stood over the boy, chest puffed up under his elegant little doublet, standing as tall as he could, a sharp-toothed grin gleaming in his little demon's face.

"Never fear, Master," he said, bold as can be. "Gundara is here."

Safar sighed and nodded his thanks.

He heard the clatter of hooves and the creak of harness and looked up to see the mounted warrior canter up to the gaping hole that had once been a little boy's bedroom wall.

The warrior reached up with a mailed glove and swept the helm away.

Safar was too numb for surprise and he barely reacted when he saw Leiria grinning down at him.

"Are they gone?" he croaked, exhaustion overcoming him.

"Vanished, is more like it," Leiria said, still burning with the odd joy battle fever can cause. "Good thing, too. They were coming at me from both sides and I thought I was in for a helluva fight. Then, poof! they disappeared."

At that moment Palimak sat bolt up in bed. He rubbed sleepy eyes and looked all around him, noting the destruction of his room.

He looked up at Safar, still a little dazed, a worried frown creasing his brow.

"I didn't do it, father," he said. "Honest, I didn't."