Wizard of the winds tott-1

by Allan Cole

  The warrior pulled the horse up a few paces away. He studied Safar for a long moment, taking in the gore stained costume, bloody sword and soot-streaked face. Safar stared back, making as insolent a grin as he could manage. Finally the warrior's gaze came to Safar's eyes and there was a sudden jolt of recognition.

  "Safar Timura, you blue-eyed devil, Iraj cried, sweeping away the mask, it is you!"

  "In the flesh, Safar said, although as you can see that flesh is a little worse for wear and definitely in need of a bath."

  Safar, remembering the first time he and Iraj had met, pointed at the soldiers and said, I think I could use a little help here. It seems I'm completely surrounded by the Ubekian brothers."

  Iraj roared laughter. The Ubekian brothers! he shouted. What a sorry lot they were!"

  Then, to the amazement of his soldiers, the king leaped off his horse and threw his arms around Safar, gore and all.

  "By the gods I have missed you, Safar Timura, he shouted, pounding his old friend on the back. By the gods I have missed you!"

  ****

  Iraj called for a mount and personally escorted Safar back to his command tentset on a hill overlooking Sampitay. When Safar indicated the unconscious Methydia and the others members of the troupe Iraj asked no questions about Safar's odd company, or even acted surprised. He immediately issued orders all were to be well cared for and the best healers summoned to tend to Methydia.

  "And I want hourly reports on her progress, Iraj demanded. I don't want my good friend, Lord Timura, to worry unnecessarily."

  Lord? Safar thought. How did a potter's son suddenly become a lord? He glanced at Iraj, saw the look of warning in his eyes and realized it wouldn't do for a king to have a blood oath brother who less than noble born.

  During the ride back to his command post Iraj kept the conversation light, loudly regaling his aides and guard with exaggerated tales of his youthful adventures with Lord Timura."

  "Why, if it weren't for Safar, he said, I wouldn't be here today. And you'd all be serving some other king, a weak-kneed, inbred bastard, no doubt. Someday I'll tell you the story of how he saved my life. You've already witnessed how bravely he fought here, so you can all rest assured it is a stirring tale that will take a long winter's evening to give it proper justice.

  "But I will tell you this. After the battle the people of Kyrania were so grateful to us for saving them from that gang of bandits that they trotted out fifteen of their prettiest virgins for us to deflower."

  He laughed. I gave up after five."

  He turned to Safar. Or was it six?"

  "Actually, it was seven, Safar answered.

  Iraj's grin told him that he'd lied correctly.

  "Seven it was, Iraj said. But that was nothing compared to my friend here. He deflowered the remaining eight, then strolled out of his tent, easy as you please, and announced he was still feeling peckish and wouldn't mind a few more."

  The aides and guardsmen roared laughter and crowded in close to slap Safar on the back and praise his prowess as a fighter and lover.

  "Mind you, Iraj said, he wasn't playing fair. Even as a boy Lord Timura was a mighty wizard. He confessed to me later that he had a secret potion for such occasions."

  Again, Iraj turned to Safara frown of mock accusation on his face. If I recall, my friend, he said, you promised to supply me with some. A promise you never kept."

  Safar held out a hand, palm up. I was hoping you had forgotten that, Your Highness, he said, adding the royal honorific for the first time and pleasing Iraj immensely. You see, there were only five virgins left in all Kyrania. And I didn't want us to quarrel over them."

  More bawdy laughterled by the kinggreeted his clever reply. The royal party continued on and there were many manly jests and many manly boasts to mark the journey.

  They wended their jocular way past scenes of incredible brutality. Sampitay's dead and wounded littered the battlefield. Captives, working under the stern direction of Iraj's fierce soldiers, piled the dead in mounds. Oil was poured on the corpses and they were set on fire; greasy black fumes, smelling like sacrificial sheep, rose to mix with the smoke of the burning city. Other soldiers moved across the field, slitting the throats of the groaning wounded. Thousands of civilians were being separated into groups of young and old, men and women. Construction crews were hammering together execution blocks for the aged and infirm. Sharp-eyed slavers were moving through the rest, drawing up estimates of the price each would bring and whether it would be worth the care and feeding they'd require.

  Safar felt as if he were trapped in the worst kind of nightmareone that required him to wear a mask of light-hearted unconcern amid all that horror. And soaring above that was the dark raven of his fear for Methydia.

  Although Iraj had greeted him warmlyas if only a few months rather than years had separated themSafar didn't let down his guard. His old friend had the same easy, open manner. Other than the beard he looked much the same as before. His manner was casually royal, but it had always been so. He'd also matured. With the beard, which Safar suspected Iraj had grown to look older, he appeared to be in his thirtieth summer, rather than in his early 20's like Safar. He still had that cunning look in his eyes, a cunning he'd had develop at an early age to survive family wars. But Safar could see there was no malice, no cruelty.

  Somehow Iraj had drawn on the mantle of a conqueror, had been the cause of much bloodshed, yet seemed untouched by it.

  It made Safar, who was wary and secretive at heart, warier still.

  Iraj still had the look of a great dreamer. There was an innocence about himthe innocence of all dreamers. That was what confounded Safar the most. How could Iraj appear so innocent, yet move through scenes of such awful crueltywhich he'd orderedwith his innocence intact?

  He glanced at Iraj, once again noting his remarkable resemblance to Alisarrian.

  For the first time Safar truly understood the enigma Gubadan had unknowingly posed when he'd asked his favorite rhetorical question: Who was this man, Alisarrian? A monster as his enemies claimed? Or a blessing from the gods?"

  Safar wondered if he'd ever learn the answer.

  He put confusion aside. His first duty was to Methydia and his friends. After that he'd try his best to keep his promise to Methydia and see what he could do to ease the suffering of the people of Sampitay.

  Beyond those two immediate goals was a chasm, deep and wide. Fate seemed to be driving him toward the brink of that chasm.

  And there was nothing he could do about it.

  ****

  After Safar had bathed, changed into fresh clothes and heard a promising first report regarding Methydia's health, he was summoned to Iraj's private quarters.

  Other than its size and placement, there was nothing to mark Iraj's tent as the dwelling place of a king. It sat in the center of scores of similar tents, all made of a plain, sturdy material. The hillside encampment was a bustle of uniformed officers and clerks and scribes in drab civilian garb. Safar later learned Iraj conducted all of his business from tents like thesea kind of traveling court, moving from one battlefield to the next. Iraj ruled a vast new kingdomranging from The God's Divide to the most distant wildernesswhile on the road.

  The furnishings in Iraj's tent palace were spare and utilitarian. Chests were used as tables, saddles were mounted on posts to make chairs. A plain portable thronewith Iraj's banner hanging over itsat on a raised platform against the far wall. When Safar entered the throne was empty. The two aides assigned to him ushered him past officers and sergeants who were bent over maps, or absorbed in reports.

  Heavy curtains blocked off one large section of the tent and as Safar approached he caught the scent of perfume. Surprised as he was by this oddity in a place of such military bearing, he was even more amazed when the curtain parted and two young women dressed like soldiers stepped out. Although they were both remarkably beautiful, they had eyes as fierce as the weapons belted about their slender waists.

  Without a wor
d they searched him for weapons. It was an odd sensation being handled so intimately by such beauteous, deadly women.

  When they were satisfied they escorted him into the room. In the center, wine cup in hand and lolling on soft pillows, was Irajsurrounded by a dozen other women warriors.

  "Safar, he called out, come join me. It's been a long time since we've had a drink together."

  He clapped his hands and women rushed about to fetch food and drink while others plumped up pillows to make Safar comfortable.

  It was all very bizarre being waited on by these mailed, perfumed handmaids and Iraj chortled at Safar's bewildered expression.

  "What do you think of my royal guard? he asked.

  Safar shook his head. I'm not sure whether I'm supposed to fight them or make love to them, he joked.

  "I've often wondered that myself, Iraj said, smiling. Sometimes we do both just to keep the nights interesting."

  The women laughed at the king's jest and their eyes and actions were so adoring there was no mistaking their pleasure was genuine.

  "You of all people know my weakness for women, Iraj said.

  Safar grinned. Very well."

  "Then you will admire my military solution to that weakness, Iraj said. Instead of a baggage train of courtesans and their belongings to slow me down, I've hand-picked a platoon of beautiful women to make up my royal guard. They are all highly-skilled fightersI saw to their training myself, and let me tell you there is not an assassin in existence who could get by them. And they are marvelous bedmates as wellalso due to my personal training."

  Safar laughed. It's a hard job being king, he said. But I suppose someone has to do it. He toasted Iraj with the goblet that had been thrust into his hand. Here's to royal sacrifice."

  Iraj roared enjoyment at this. He banged his goblet against Safar'swine sloshing over the brimthen drained what remained in the cup.

  He pulled one of the women onto his lap, nuzzling her. Tell me, Leiria, he said to the woman, what do you think of my friend, Safar? Isn't he all that I described?"

  Leiria gave Safar a sloe-eyed look, guaranteed to light a fire in any manany man but Safar, that is, whose complete attention was fixed on the situation.

  "And more, Majesty, Leiria answered, smoldering gaze still fixed on Safar. Except you didn't say he was so handsome. And his eyes! I've never seen a man with blue eyes before. It's like looking into the sky."

  Iraj slapped her well-rounded haunch. What? he shouted, but it was a shout of pleasure, not anger. You lust for another?"

  Leiria tangled her hand in king's golden beard. Maybe just a little bit, Majesty, she pouted. But only so I can learn more and return to you with greater pleasures."

  Iraj kissed her, long and deep, then pulled away and looked at Safar, eyes filled with amusement.

  "You see how it is, my brother? he said. It will always be a problem between us. The same women want us. What shall we do about it?"

  Safar instantly felt he was walking on dangerous ground. Thankful as I am at the flattery, Majesty, he said, Leiria was only being kind, I'm sure."

  "Nonsense, Iraj said. She wants you. Very well, you shall have her."

  He untangled himself from Leiria and pushed her into Safar's lap. Leiria went willingly, cooing and snuggling and tracing patterns on his chest with her fingers. Safar shifted his positionher dagger was digging into his side.

  "I only ask that you be kind to her, Iraj said. And send her back in good condition. She's known no man but me. He waved at the others. None of them have. I am not in the habit of making my women a gift to other men."

  He smiled. In fact, it has only happened one time before. Do you remember when that was, Safar?'

  Safar remembered very well indeed. Astarias, he said. How could I possibly forget?"

  "And what was the oath we swore then? Iraj asked.

  "That all I had was yours, Safar answered, and all that was yours was mine."

  "Freely given and with no ill will, correct? Iraj pressed.

  "Yes, Majesty, Safar said. Freely given. And with no ill will."

  "Good, Iraj said. I'm glad you remember."

  For reasons Safar couldn't determine, what had just occurred had been very important to Iraj.

  "Another thing, Safar, Iraj said. When we're in private, don't call me majesty or your highness or other such silliness."

  "That's certainly a relief, Safar laughed. The first time I said itwhen we were with your officersI kept thinking, this is the same fellow my mother scolded for tromping over her clean floors with muddy boots."

  Iraj grinned, remembering. I thought she'd kill me, he said. She made me get down on my hands and knees and clean the mess up. A humbling experience for a future king, that's for certain."

  He turned suddenly serious, eyes taking on a far-away cast. But here I am, a king, he said, just as you predicted in Alisarrian's cave."

  Safar nodded, remembering.

  "And you predicted other things, greater things, Iraj went on.

  "Yes, Safar said.

  "Tell me, brother, Iraj went on, do you still see those things? Do you still see me as King of Kings, monarch of all Esmir?"

  The answer leaped up unbiddena vision of Iraj sitting a golden throne. I do, Safar said softly.

  Iraj was quiet for a moment, toying with his cup. Then suddenly he clapped his hands. Leave us! he ordered the women. I want to be alone with my friend."

  Leiria scrambled out of Safar's lap and exited the room with her sister warriors. After they'd gone, Iraj remained silent for a time, thinking.

  When he finally spoke, there was an edge to his voice"Why didn't you come when I sent for you? I practically begged, which is something I'm not in the habit of doing."

  Safar was confused. You sent for me? When?"

  "When you were in Walaria, Iraj said. I sent a letter. And a large purse of gold, as well, to pay for your expenses."

  "I received neither, Safar said. And if I had, I certainly would have come. He grimaced. Things didn't go well in Walaria."

  Iraj searched his face, then relaxed, satisfied Safar had spoken the truth.

  "I heard something of your difficulties, he said.

  "That's how you came to find me with the circus, Safar said. There are some very dangerous men in Walaria who want my head."

  "You needn't concern yourself with them any longer, Iraj said. Walaria paid most dearly for troubling you."

  Safar's heart trip-hammered against his chest. What do you mean? he asked.

  "Walaria is no more, Iraj answered. I turned it back into a cattle station. He casually refilled his goblet with wine, then poured some into Safar's cup. It wasn't entirely for you, he said. They were fools. They defied me, like these people here in Sampitay. It was necessary to make an example of them.

  "Although in Walaria's case, I took some pleasure in dispensing justice. I thought you were dead and I was avenging you."

  Safar was horrified that such a thing had been done in his name.

  Iraj noted the expression on his face. His face became mournful. I'm normally a soft-hearted fellow who doesn't like to cause pain, he said. It's my father's weakness in me and I have to guard against it. You have to be stern to rule. And much blood must be shed to make a kingdom."

  Safar saw moisture well in Iraj's eyes and was surprised at the depth of the emotion.

  "But I never knew I'd have to shed so much of it, Iraj said, voice thick.

  Then he shook himself and wiped his eyes. He forced a smile on his face.

  "You saw that too when we were in the cave, didn't you, Safar? he said. When you foretold my future you seemed sad for me."

  "Yes, Safar saidalmost a whisper.

  "But it's my fate, so there's nothing to be done about it, Iraj said. This is a terrible world we live in. And I am the only one who make it right. If only people could see into my heart and know my true intent they wouldn't resist me. I will bring peace to this land. I will bring greatness.

  "I only wish s
o many didn't have to suffer first."

  Passion burned in Iraj's eyes and for a moment Safar could see his boyhood friend staring out at him through those eyes.

  "Will you help me, Safar? Iraj pleaded. I'm not sure I can do this on my own."

  Safar hesitated, a thousand thoughts crowding into his mind, competing with one another to be heard. Then, in the middle of his mental chaos, there came a scratching at the door.

  Iraj looked up, irritated. In! he commanded.

  Two of his guardswomen entered, an old frightened man in healer's garb between them.

  "What is it! Iraj barked.

  "Forgive me O Gracious Majesty, the healer burbled, this poor worm of a healer trembles in Your Highness presence. He abases himself for daring to"

  Iraj waved, cutting him off. Stop driveling, man, he said. What is it?"

  The healer bobbed his head, saying, I've come about the woman who was placed in my care."

  "Methydia! Safar cried, leaping to his feet. What's wrong with her?"

  "I fear she is dying, my lord, he said to Safar, so frightened his legs were about to give way. She calls for you, my lord. You must come quickly before it is too late!"

  Iraj saw the torment in Safar's face. Go to her, he said. We'll talk later."

  Safar bolted away like an arrow loosed from its bow, the healer tottering behind him as fast as he could.

  ****

  When he saw her lying on the camp bed, eyes closed, face pale as bleached parchment, the troupe gathered about her weeping silent tears, he thought he was too late. And she looked old, so old he almost didn't recognize her. But as he approached her eyes came open and she was once again his beautiful Methydia.

  "Safar, she said, voice faint as a specter's.

  He knelt by her side and took her hand, fighting back tears.

  "I must look a sight, she said, voice a bit firmer. What an awful way for a woman to greet her young swain."