by Allan Cole
The laughter soon stopped and they all fell into the dreamy motions of the exercise.
When Gubadan was satisfied, he led them through the ancient portals, graced by etchings of Felakia in all her forms - from graceful swan to gentle mother to the beautiful armored maid who protected Kyrania. The temple was a crumbling place that kept the village busy repairing it when the stormy season passed. The classroom was a small room next to the chamber where the incense was stored so it was always filled with godly odors that made even the most unruly child feels serious about his work.
Although Kyrania was remote and the people made their living by hard toil, they were not ignorant. They held learning to be a sacred duty and took pride in their ability to read weighty texts, figure complex sums and write a hand as fair as any taught at the best schools in Walaria. Kyranians were particularly proud of their ability with languages and all could speak half-a-dozen or more. The tradition of scholarship dated back to the legends of Alisarrian, who was reputed to be a learned man as well as a mighty warrior king. Legend had it that the first Kyranian school was founded by the Conqueror for the men he left behind. True or not, all those skills learned in at the temple school were not put to idle use. Kyranians required agile minds and an understanding of foreign tongues to deal with all the caravans that came through. Otherwise the shrewd traders would have skinned them of all their goods long before. Instead, the Kyranians were the ones who profited most from the hard bargaining sessions that always followed the llama trains into the valley.
That day, however, Safar couldn’t keep his mind on scholarship. He earned several stern warnings from Gubadan and stumbled when he was called on to name the brightest constellation in the spring heavens. He knew it was the Tiger but when asked the answer fled his mind.
"Is this a game you are playing with old Gubadan, boy?" the priest scolded. "You are my best student. All know this. Your family pays me dearly to spend extra hours with you so you can learn even more. And yet you mock me, boy. And by mocking me, you mock the gods who gifted you. Do you think you are better than others, Safar Timura?"
"No, master," Safar said, ducking his head in embarrassment.
"Then why do you pretend ignorance of the obvious?" the priest roared. "Tell me that!"
"I honestly couldn’t think of the answer, master," Safar said.
"Then you are lazy!" the priest shouted. "Which is a worse sin than mocking? Mocking I could excuse to high spirits. But laziness! Inattention! Unforgivable, boy. You should be setting an example to the others."
Safar wanted to say he couldn’t help it, that his mind was fixed on the absent boy whose name was Protarus - the name of the king in his vision.
Instead he said, "I’m sorry, master. I’ll try to do better."
He did try, but the day progressed slowly and not well. Finally he was free and he dashed out, trying to ignore Gubadan’s fierce looks in his direction.
Safar was relieved he had a task to perform for his father and didn’t have to walk with his sisters and listen to them tease him about his performance in school. He headed immediately for the clay beds where his father had left buckets for him to fetch home a fresh load. His path took him beyond the temple through a fragrant wood, where he dawdled in the clean air and sighing breezes.
He was just emerging from the wood and turning toward the clay beds on the lake’s edge when he heard angry voices. The voices had a familiar ring to them and he wasn’t surprised when the angry words became shouts and then sounds of fighting erupted. He hurried up the hill to investigate.
When he reached the summit he looked down and saw a tangle of flailing and arms and legs.
Four brawny youths had another pinned to the ground and they were pummeling him unmercifully.
The attackers were the Ubekian brothers, considered the greatest bullies in Kyrania. They came from a rough, unclean family that’d wandered starving and half-frozen into the valley one winter and begged charity. The Ubekians had claims of kinship, which although distant were strong enough to make their appeal undeniable under Kyranian tradition and law. To everyone’s dismay the family settled into a cave near the main village and set up permanent housekeeping. They also got busy making general nuisances of themselves.
Safar had more reason than most to dislike the Ubekian brothers. They’d fixed instantly on his odd, blue-eyed appearance and had mocked him unmercifully. In fact, until the arrival of the family no one had commented on his looks at all. But now others, such as the old woman at the lake, had become bold enough to torment him.
One by one, Safar had caught the brothers alone and thrashed them. Now they no longer mocked him - at least not in his hearing.
Safar had no doubt the brothers were to blame in the fight he saw below. His dislike of the brothers plus the unpleasant events of the day made his blood sing in furious joy as he ran down the hill and threw himself into the fray.
Cries of pain and surprise greeted his attack. But the brothers quickly recovered and turned on him. Safar was hard-pressed for a moment, catching a blow to his nose that made stars brighter than those that formed the Tiger.
Then the brothers’ victim jumped up and barreled in. Everything became a fury of fists, knees, elbows and butting heads.
Suddenly the fight ended and the brothers scampered away, pausing at the top of the hill to hurl empty threats to salve their pride. But when Safar and his companion moved forward the brothers dashed off, shouting obscenities over their shoulders.
Safar turned to see who he’d rescued. The youth was about his height and weight. But then shock hit when he saw that the boy was fair skinned with blonde hair, moody eyes and a strong beaked nose.
The features were disturbingly familiar.
The strange boy grinned through bruised lips, showing bloody teeth. "You arrived just in time," he said. "In a moment I would have lost my temper and risen up to break their heads."
Safar recovered his wits. "From where I stood," he said, dryly, "you didn’t look like you’d be getting up soon."
The strange boy laughed. "That’s because I have such a peaceful nature," he said.
The comment broke the ice and Safar laughed with him. "Next time you meet the Ubekian brothers," he said, "lose your temper as quick as you can. Or it’ll be your head that’s broken."
The strange boy stuck out his hand. "I’m Iraj Protarus," he said.
Safar hesitated, remembering his vision. But the young man’s face was so friendly he couldn’t see any harm.
He clasped the offered hand. "I’m Safar Timura."
Iraj looked at him oddly. "Safar, eh? I had a dream about a fellow named Safar."
Safar didn’t reply. The coincidence froze his tongue.
Iraj noticed, thinking, perhaps, that Safar was only being shy. He shifted his grip into the handshake favored by brothers. "I think we’re going to be very good friends, Safar," he said. "Very good friends, indeed."
* * *
Chapter Two
The Demon Riders
Badawi shifted in the saddle, seeking a more comfortable position for his haunches. His gray mare chuffed in complaint, stumbling as she moved to accommodate his bulk. The fat man nearly fell, grabbing wildly at the saddle to save himself.
He lashed the mare, growling, "Watch how you go, you fly-blown daughter of a dung beetle."
The animal was used to such treatment and, other than a painful grunt, showed no reaction as she picked her way across the rocky ground. It was not yet midday and although the worst hours were still ahead the high plains sun was hot enough to make the overburdened gray miserable. The ground was hard on her feet, the brush dry - offering little relief for her growing hunger and thirst. But Badawi had no pity and raked her with his spurs and cursed her again to prod her on.
The mare’s breathing quickly became labored, nostrils foaming, coat darkening with sweat. Badawi ignored her plight. He wasn’t worried about grinding the beast down and leaving himself afoot. His final destination was in th
e rolling foothills to the south, no more than five or six miles away. Towering above those foothills were the snow-capped peaks of the mountain range he knew as the Gods’ Divide. To his east was the dusty wasteland that marked the border of the Forbidden Desert.
Badawi rode the gray hard a few score paces then suddenly remembered - sawing hard on the reins to slow the mare. "You are a fool, Badawi," he chastised himself. "An unfeeling fool."
He turned, chins descending in a cascade of sorrow, to look at the animal trailing behind. It was a graceful young camel, padding easily across the rocky ground. A rope lead looped from its neck to Badawi’s wood-framed saddle.
"Forgive me, little one," he called. "For a moment I forgot you were with me." He lashed the mare. "Blame the foul temper of this ugly daughter of a bonegatherer’s ass. She tested my kind nature and I had to teach her a lesson."
Badawi gave the rope a gentle tug and the camel obediently quickened its pace to come to his side. His greedy little heart warmed and he smiled fondly at the animal, who presented him with dark pleading eyes framed by long, upswept lashes. The camel was pure white - white as the snows, Badawi thought in a rare moment of romantic reflection, powdering the peaks of the Gods’ Divide.
He pulled honeyed figs from a pouch and the camel’s head swept out for the treats. "I can deny you nothing, Sava," he said, shivering as the camel’s tender lips nibbled at his fat palm. "Not even the food from my very mouth." He sighed. "What a lucky man I am. The gods must truly love one such as I. To have a thing of such beauty."
Badawi was a man much pleased with himself. Any who knew him would’ve instantly realized his enjoyment came at the expense of another. They would have guessed, correctly, that he’d ground another man into the dust to win the pretty white camel. He was a man of low cunning who’d made his fortune farming and breeding fine horses and camels in a region no one else would approach. The land he owned was rich, but cost him nothing because of its proximity to the Forbidden Desert.
Years ago his first wife had reacted first in fear, then in rage when he’d announced the news of the place he’d found for their new home. After he’d beaten her into submission he’d given her a good husbandly talking to.
"Don’t be such a stupid cow," he’d advised. "The only reason people are frightened of that place is because it’s close to the Forbidden Desert. I say, bah to that! Pure foolishness. So what if the demon lands are on the other side of that desert. I mean, it is called Forbidden, after all. The demons can’t cross it any more than humans can. Besides, there hasn’t been a demon seen for hundreds of years. And the only reason there’s land for the taking is because people are not only stupid but have no vision.
"I, on the other hand, am not stupid. I see fortune where other see fear. And wife of mine, if you don’t have the household packed and ready to move before the week is out I’ll whip you within an inch of your life. Then I’ll send you back to your father. Let him see if he can knock some sense into such a silly cow."
Badawi’s lips curled into a sneer as remembered that conversation of long ago. He’d prospered mightily since then, raising his herds on the lush grass of the foothills and selling them for fat profits to the settlements and nomad encampments in the so-called safer regions. He’d worn out the first wife and three others in the process, as well as many children, all of whom labored on his land like slaves.
Then his grin suddenly became a growl as his mare snorted in alarm, head jerking back and almost striking him in the nose.
"What’s this," he shouted, slashing its flanks with his whip.
This time the gray reacted. It shrilled fear, rearing onto its two hind legs. Badawi plunged to the ground. He struck hard, breath whooshing out, but was remarkably unscathed. He was just coming to the realization the mare had been frightened by something other than himself when he heard his beloved Sava bawl in fear.
The camel attempted to bolt away but became tangled with the rope and the plunging mare. The two animals screamed and fought the rope, trying to escape.
Badawi, who could be agile when called upon, rolled about beneath them, shouting for his maddened animals to stop. Then the rope parted and the mare and camel raced off toward the familiar foothills and the safety of home.
Badawi leaped to his feet crying, "Come back my Sava! Come back, my sweet!"
But his pleas went unheeded and soon both the camel and the mare vanished over a hill.
Badawi cursed the fates. Then he sighed, resigned to the long walk home. It was the gray’s fault, he reassured himself. He swore that low creature would suffer miserably for causing him such trouble.
Then a sudden chill gripped him. Danger wormed about in his belly and his hackles rose, stiff and bristly as a desert hedgehog’s spines. Instinct made him turn to look out across the Forbidden Desert.
He shaded his eyes but nothing was immediately apparent. Then he saw a dust cloud churning up and wondered if it might be an approaching storm. His wonder turned to dismay as the dusty veil parted and a long column of dark figures emerged.
They were coming toward him fast and he tried to turn and run. But fear turned his feet to stone and he found himself standing there gaping at the approaching figures, trying to make out who they might be.
Then the figures took form so swiftly and with such startling clarity Badawi’s bowels broke.
Demons!
Monsters in battle harness, with broad snouts and mottled green skin. The steeds they rode were more horrible than their masters - not horses, but creatures vaguely looking like horses - with long curved fangs to tear flesh and great cat’s claws instead of hooves.
Badawi came unstuck and whirled, stubby legs carrying him forward. He’d taken no more than a few steps when his spurs tangled and he pitched face forward to the ground.
Then the monsters were all around him, howling spine-chilling cries. Weeping and crying to the gods, Badawi curled into a ball, trying to avoid the snapping fangs and slashing claws of the demons’ mounts. Spear points jabbed at him and he screamed like a pig and jumped each time they pierced his skin.
He thought he heard shouted orders and suddenly there was silence and the torment stopped.
A voice said, "Get up, human. I wish to look upon you." The voice was cold and harsh and quite alien.
Badawi remained curled, but whined, "Please, master. Don’t hurt me. I am only a poor horse merchant who means no harm to anyone."
Then he heard another inhuman voice say, "Let’s just kill him and cook him, Sarn. I’m hungry! We’re all hungry!"
The remark brought growls of agreement from the other demons and chants of, "Eat, Eat, Eat!"
Fear sparked inspiration. Badawi uncurled, scrambling to his knees, arms raised to plead for his life.
Sarn, the demon who’d spoken first, and another smaller monster stared down at him from their steeds, drooling amusement.
"Please, master," Badawi wailed. "Spare the life of this undeserving insect. I have daughters, master. I have sons. I have a wife. Take pity, master! Spare old Badawi!"
His pleas brought howls of laughter from all but Sarn. He peered at Badawi with immense yellow eyes. Then he raised a taloned claw for silence, which he got.
"You ask pity of me?" Sarn said, scornful. "Sarn pities no one. Much less a human."
"You misunderstand, master," Badawi babbled. "I don’t want you to spare me for my own sake. But yours."
"My sake?" Sarn said. "What can you possibly do for Sarn, human?"
"Why, ease your hunger, master," Badawi answered. "If that is what pleases you. However, if I may be so bold as to point out... there’s only one of me. And many of you. It grieves me to say that ample as I am some will still suffer the pangs of hunger when there’s no more of me left. However, master, at my home - which isn’t far away - there’s more than enough to satisfy every single one of you."
"The daughters and sons you mentioned?" Sarn asked, scaly lips curling back.
"Yes, master," Badawi replied. "And my w
ife as well. A tender morsel, if I do say so myself. Fed her only the best since she’s come to live under my roof."
Giff, the other demon, snarled disgust. "You’re offering your family, human? To save your own life? What manner of creature are you?"
Sarn made an ugly noise - a chuckle to demon ears; a horror to humans. "He said he was a horse merchant, Giff," he said. "That should explain everything."
Badawi ignored this, saying to Sarn, "Let me lead you to my home, master. You’ll see that all I claim is true."
Sarn stared long at the ugly mound of flesh that was Badawi.
Any other time he’d have quickly dispatched this cowardly human to the cooking pot. They could find Badawi’s household on their own. Sarn and his band were one of many bandit clans who stalked the lawless regions in the demon lands. Until recently he had no more ambition than to raid and kill at will. Then King Manacia had sent an emissary to offer a bargain. Sarn would be granted royal permission to strike across the Forbidden Desert, seeking human riches and prey. The King wanted nothing in return but information. Sarn was to sweep west along the Gods’ Divide, mapping all major byways. Manacia was particularly interested in a particular place - a route that legend said would lead over the mountain range. Sarn didn’t ask why King Manacia wanted such information. Whatever the reason, Sarn was certain it’d be soldier’s work - dangerous, with little hope of booty - and therefore of no concern to Sarn and the other bandits. When he was done Sarn would return across the desert, saddlebags and pack animals laden with treasure.
As he weighed Badawi’s fate it occurred to him his foray might be made easier if he had a willing human guide. And Badawi certainly appeared willing.
"Tell me, human," he said, "Do you know of a place called Kyrania?"
