Wizard of the winds tott-1

by Allan Cole

  It was a regular stop in the troupe's circuit. Over the centuries the people of Kyshaat had turned the vast plains surrounding their walled town into wide fields of fat grain. The circus folk expected a large profit from their visit to the region and were dismayed when they saw the desolation of the usually lush fields. It was as if an enormous ravenous beast had swept through, devouring the grainstalks and allnearly to the ground.

  Hungry and pitiful eyes stared up at the Cloudship as it sailed overhead. To Safar the usually joyful circus music had an eerie edge to it as they serenaded the crowds and Biner's big booming call of Come one, Come all, seemed to be flattened and swallowed up by a thick miasma.

  "Don't know what's happened here, Biner muttered to Methydia. But maybe it'd be best if we moved on."

  Methydia pressed her lips together and shook her head. We were eager enough for their company when there was a profit to be made, she said. I'll not turn away now because fortune no longer favors them."

  Biner nodded and turned back to his duties, but Safar could see he was worried. On the ground hundreds of people followed the Cloudship's shadow, but they were so silent Safar could hear the wails of small children carried in their parents arms.

  A few minutes later the Cloudship was tied up over a barren patch and the roustabouts were swaying down the equipment.

  When Safar's feet touched ground he turned to face the onrushing crowd. To his amazement they all stopped at the edge of the field. It was as if an invisible barrier had been thrown up. They remained there for two hours while the roustabouts put the circus together. Methydia had them dispense with the tentsthe stands were set up in the open.

  When she thought all was ready she beckoned to Safar and the two of them advanced on the crowd. About twenty paces away a shout brought them up short:

  "Beware, Methydia! Come no closer!"

  Methydia's pose was unbroken. Her eyes swept the crowd.

  "Who spoke? she demanded.

  There were mutters in the crowd, but no one answered.

  "Come on, Methydia insisted. We've traveled many miles to entertain our friends in Kyshaat. What kind of greeting is this? Speak up!"

  There were more mutterings, then the crowd parted and an old man, bent nearly double, hobbled out, supported by a heavy cane.

  "It was I, Methydia, he said. I was the one who cried the warning."

  Bent over and aged as the old man was, Safar could see the skeletal outline of once broad shoulders. The fingers gripping the cane were thick, the wrists broad-bladed.

  "I know you, Methydia said. You're Neetan. The one with the seven grandchildren I always let in free."

  Neetan's wrinkled face drooped like an old beaten dog's. There's only two, now, Methydia, he said. All the rest have been called to the realm of the gods."

  Methydia's eyes widened. She took a step forward.

  The crowd stirred uneasily and once again Neetan shouted, Come no closer!"

  Methydia stopped. What happened here? she asked.

  "We are becursed, Methydia, Neetan said. All of Kyshaat is becursed. Flee while you can, or the curse will afflict you."

  Safar saw momentary fear register on Methydia's face. Then her chin came up, stubborn. I'm not leaving, she said, until I've heard what it is that has brought you to this state."

  Neetan stamped his cane. It wasn't one catastrophe, he said, but many. First we were visited by King Protarus."

  Safar was startled. Iraj was here? he asked.

  "Beware how you address him, my son, the old man said. Do not be so familiar with his royal name."

  Safar ignored this. He pointed at the barren fields. Iraj Protarus did that? he demanded.

  "Only some of it, Neetan said. And it was one of his generals, not the king, who came. The general arrived with a small troop and demanded our fealty to King Protarus and food for his armies."

  "And you granted this? Safar asked, Without at least asking payment? It was inconceivable to him that his former friend would not at least offer to pay these people.

  "What choice did we have? Neetan said. It is well known that King Protarus is not so kind to any who oppose him. Why, several cities have been sacked and burned for defying him. Then the men and old ones were killed and the rest sold into slavery."

  Safar was furious. Methydia laid a hand on his arm, steadying him.

  "You said this was but the first of many catastrophes, she said to Neetan. What else has befallen you, my friend?"

  "At least King Protarus left us enough to live, Neetan said. But then we were visited by plague to ravage our homes, birds and locusts to denude our fields and beasts to devour our flocks."

  While the old man enumerated the evils that afflicted Kyshaat, Safar caught a glimpse of a shadowy figure at the edge of the crowd. But when he looked directly at the spot the figure was gone. He suddenly caught a whiff of a foul odor. Then the scent vanished.

  Meanwhile, Neetan was saying, We are the most miserable of people, Methydia. The gods have forsaken us. Because we love you, because of all the joy you have brought us over the years, please leave this place. Leave us to our curse. Before you too fall under its thrall."

  "Nonsense! Methydia said. I fear no curse. The circus will begin in one hour. All who want to come are welcomefree of charge. This is my gift to old friends. So do not insult me by staying away."

  Then she turned and marched back to the others, leaving Neetan and the frightened people gaping.

  Safar lengthened his stride and caught up to her. There really is something here, he said. It's… some kind of… and then words failed him.

  He gestured, wanting to convey the feeling he had of a cold, greasy breath at the back of his neck. A presence, is the only thing I can think of.

  "It's watching us."

  Methydia suddenly quickened her pace. Yes, yes, she whispered. Now I can feel it too.

  "I think I made a mistake coming here. We'd better get away."

  Safar heard a sound like boulders grating against one another and then the ground heaved up beneath his feet.

  "Run! he shouted, grabbing Methydia by the hand and sprinting for the Cloudship.

  Behind him he heard the screams of the crowd and the long tearing rip of the earth itself. Ahead he saw Biner and the others scrabbling for hammers and axes and anything that would make a weapon. Soon as he reached them, Safar released Methydia and whirled around to confront the threat.

  He saw the ground coming up, the roots of bushes and small trees ripping away, gravel and earth and stones showering down a gathering hill. Before his eyes the hill became a towering earthen figure with arms and a head and a torso supported by two mighty legs. A hole opened in the place where a mouth ought to be.

  The creature spoke, rocks and gravel tumbling from its lips:

  "Mine! it said, voice grating and grumbling like it was formed in a deep cavern.

  It waved a huge arm, showering Safar and others with gravel and clods of earth.

  "Mine! it said again, gesturing at the crowd of people.

  Then an immense arm came forward, a gnarly finger as long as a man shooting outpointing at Safar and his group.

  "Now, you mine! the creature said.

  It took a slow step forward and the ground shuddered. Small bushes and trees crashed down. Instantly they took life, brushy limbs and hairy roots clawing up dirt, which formed around their woody skeletons to make bodies.

  "Mine! the earth creature howled and its spawn moved toward Safar and his friends, thorny hands reaching out to grasp.

  The creatures fanned out into a half-circle which they tightened around the troupe, their earthen creator urging them on with bellows of Mine!"

  Biner lifted up a huge crate and hurled it at the oncoming horror. The crate crashed into the center of the line, bursting apart three of the monsters. But the others moved on, dragging themselves toward the troupe.

  Arlain reared back, drawing in her breath and bracing herself with her tail. Then she jerked forwardlong flam
es shooting from her mouth. There was a series of meaty pops! like termites exploding in a forest fire. One whole side of the advancing line burst into flames.

  Then the whole circus chargedBiner in the leadflailing away with axes and hammers and spars.

  Safar gripped Methydia's hand, holding her back. He was concentrating on the earthen giant.

  "Mine! it roared, sending off more showers of rock and dirt and brush that quickly formed into new monstrosities to replace the fallen.

  "Help me, Methydia! Safar shouted, squeezing her hand tighter.

  He grabbed for her power, felt her resist and shrink back. Then the shield lifted and he had ita strong, slender fist of energy he added to his own.

  Safar turned toward the earthen giant. It was almost on them. He saw it reach out to grab for Biner, black maw gaping to expose the rocky millstones that were its teeth.

  "No! he heard Methydia cry.

  Safar drew on a cloak of calmness. Everything became exceptionally slow, like the day he'd fought the demons. Even as the earthen giant's rocky palm was closing over Biner, Safar took his time.

  He made a sharp probe of his senses and shot it forward. He felt it slip through the creature's rubble body, find the path of least resistance and drive the probe upward.

  Deep inside he found the husk of an insect's body. A locust that had been drained of all its juices. And in that locust he found something small and mean. It wriggled when his probe found it, rising up and bursting out of the locust's corpse.

  It was a worm, no more than a finger long. It was maggoty white, with a large black spot on its head that Safar thought was an eye. It was a thing that fed on misery and pain. As Safar probed around, he realized the creature was the infant form of something even more deadly. He could see half-formed legs kicking beneath the worm's skin and an arced tail tipped by a budding stinger.

  The little creature blasted him with voracious thoughts. Mine! it shrieked. I want… Mine!"

  Safar heard Methydia shout, Hurry, Safar!"

  But he took his time. He made the probe into two thick fingers. He reached for the worm, dodging small sharp knives of hunger and hate.

  Then he caught it between the two fingers. The worm struggled, fighting back, searing his senses with blasts of sorcery.

  He ignored the pain and crushed the worm.

  Immediately he was assaulted by the foul stench of death. He staggered back, drawing his spirit self with him.

  Safar heard a rumbling sound. Dazed, he looked up and saw the earthen giant crumbling into huge pieces of rock and dirt clods. As it came crashing down Biner leaped away just in time. A thick cloud of dust exploded as it hit, pebbles and debris showering everywhere.

  Then the dust settled and there was nothing to be seen but a large mound of rubble.

  Safar felt suddenly weak and confused. He turned to Methydia and recognized the look of awe in her eyes. It was the same look Iraj had given him when he'd brought the avalanche down on the demons.

  "It was just a worm, he tried to say, but it came out as a mumble. A stupid little"

  And he pitched forward on the ground.

  ****

  The people of Kyshaat got their circus. Many said Methydia and her troupe staged the best performance of their careers. Children would grow old and regale their own disbelieving grandchildren about that fateful day when the creature that had caused so much misery had been defeated. And of the wild celebration that followed.

  Safar, the hero of the hour, saw none of it. He lapsed into a coma for nearly a week. When he regained consciousness he was aboard the Cloudship and they were sailing through a storm.

  Once again he was lying on a pallet in Methydia's cabin. It was dark and outside he could hear the winds moan through the lines and rain lash the deck.

  He was thirsty and fumbled around with a blind hand until he brushed against a tumbler. He drank. It was warm wine and honey.

  There was a blast of cold air as the door slammed open. He looked up. Methydia was standing there, a hooded parka covering her from head to ankle. Lightning crash followed lightning crash, illuminating her. She glowed in it, an aura forming around her slender body. Her eyes were glittering wells, drinking him in. A gust of wind hurled the parka aside. She was dressed in a thin white gown, nearly transparent from the rain.

  Another gust of wind blasted past her, but the cold seemed to light a fire in him.

  "Close the door, he said.

  At least he thought he said it. His lips formed the words, but he heard nothing come out.

  Just the same, Methydia closed the door.

  Then he held out his arms and whispered, Please!"

  Methydia floated across the room into his embrace.

  He burrowed into the warm heart of her. Found the storm and let it loose. For a long time all he knew was the sensation of their love making and the sound of her voice calling his name.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  THE WINDS OF FATE

  King ManaciaLion of the gods, Future Lord of Esmir, Courageous Protector of Ghazban, Perfect of Zanzair, His Merciful Majestysuffered from nightmares.

  In his dreams he was pursued by naked human devils, with their scale-crawling ghoulish skins, talonless claws and thick red tongues that looked like eels grown fat from eating carrion.

  He would no sooner slake his royal lust on a concubine and close his eyes to drift off to sleep, when the human hordes would come charging out, screaming blood-curdling cries and gnashing their flat, flesh-grinding teeth. The king would try to run but his limbs wouldn't obey him. He'd stand frozen as the ugly creatures surged forward, howling their hate.

  Two tall humans always led the ravenous crowd. One was fair-skinned, with a golden beard and golden locks encircled by a crown. The other was dark and beardless, with long black hair that streamed behind him. The dark one had huge blue eyes that bored into his soul, ferreting out all Manacia held sacred and secret.

  The dreams left him shaken and weak. For a long time he tried to ignore them, telling himself they were caused by nothing more than stress from his royal duties. His plans for invading the humanlands had him overwrought, that's all.

  The planning was not going well, which added to his agitation. His generals were driving him mad with their overly cautious counsel. They wanted to gather an army so large, with supply lines so deep, that no human force could stand in their way.

  At first King Manacia had nothing against this strategy. Overwhelming force was the common sense answer to any military difficulty. But what the generals considered overwhelming, the king soon learned, was always double whatever figure he proposed.

  Manacia understood the careers and very lives of his generals and their staff depended on the outcome. The king made no apologies for his feelings regarding failure. He had no use for the weak or the unlucky, purging any and all who were associated with less than total victory. Yet his generals caution disappointed him. Where was their patriotism? Where was their sense of duty to king and Ghazban? You had to take a chance in this life, Manacia thought, or nothing great would ever be accomplished.

  When the invasion came it was true the king intended to sorely punish any failure. But in his view the rewards he was offering for success should more than overcome his generals fears.

  For some reason they hadn't. The plan was simple enough. Manacia intended to first conquer the regions north of the Gods Divide. The mountain range was a natural barrier that would allow him to work his will, then gather his strength for the final assault over the mountains. True, the ancient maps gave no hint on what route should be taken to cross the Divide. But Manacia was confidentgiven time and absolute rule over the northern humanlandsthat passage would be found. He would find Kyrania, by the gods! Or there were certain lazy, talon-dragging generals who would experience his royal wrath.

  To accomplish the first part of his planthe subjugation of the northhis forces would cross the Forbidden Desert and set up a base camp just beyond the edge. Supply trains and reinfor
cement columns would pour into that camp, while the main force leaped forward to wipe out the humans.

  It was Manacia's opinion that surprise would carry the day. Yes, he wanted a large force to mount the invasion. But it needn't be as large as his generals said, or attached to such unwieldy supply lines. No one in the humanlands had even a glimmer that their demon enemies were gathering for an assault. Manacia had made certain of this by refusing any request to send vulnerable scouting parties to investigate the humanlands. He'd already taken too great a chance by sending Sarn and didn't intend to dare the fates by repeating that error.

  His generals, however, had seized on this secrecy, saying the blade cut both ways. Yes, they said, the wise course was to keep the humans in ignorance. But that meant the demons would know nothing of what transpired in the humanlands. When the king struck, he'd be cutting at the dark. There was no way of knowing who might return the blow and with what force.

  The only safe thing, prudent thing, to do, his generals said, was to attack with a well-supplied army of such size that anyone who opposed them would be doomed.

  Manacia's generals were a backbiting lot, always maneuvering behind the scenes to attack their brother officers, but on this issue they were united. In a rare alliance, Lord Fari and Prince Luka also joined together to back the generals.

  Fari, kept from probing the humanlands with intelligence-gathering spells, had similar concerns as the military. So did the prince, who as heir to the throne was expected to lead the vanguard of the invasion.

  "If I am to have the high honor of carrying your banner into glorious battle, Majesty, the prince said, I want to make certain there is no chance it is sullied or befouled in any way.

  "I would fight to the death to prevent that from happening."

  "Quite right, too, King Manacia said. My father expected the same from me when I was Crown Prince. And I risked my life many a time for his standard."

  Prince Luka placed talon to breast and bowed low, honoring his father's youthful bravery. As he did so, he thought, You cunning old fraud. You cut your father's throat in his sleep and seized his standard. And if I only have the chance, I'll do the same to you.