by Allan Cole
Her instincts told her only Safar could fight the dark tide.
As soon as she thought this she knew she’d lost him. It wasn’t possible for Safar to remain with the circus. It would be a much happier life for him, but it was Safar’s tragedy that all such happiness would be denied him. And one day it would be Methydia’s sad duty to point him down the bleak road of his fate.
She said nothing of this to Safar. When she thought the time was right she gently quizzed him about further details of his past. Everything he said confirmed her view. He told her about the vision of Hadin and its destruction, his fears of future disasters, his search for knowledge in Walaria, his discovery of the demon Asper and how in the end the master wizard’s works had been denied him. He showed her the stone turtle Nerisa had given him and she mourned with him the faint pulse of nearly dying life inside.
"I was a fool for even trying to find the answer," Safar said bitterly. "What would it matter if I did? There’s nothing a potter’s boy from Kyrania could do about it."
Then he swore he’d always love her, always stay with her and he’d never return to the dull, heavy existence of earthbound mortals who stared up at the sky in wonder as the Cloudship sailed overhead.
Methydia kept her silence. It would do him no good to tell him what she thought. But she had to be certain Safar was prepared for whatever was in store for him.
She determined that in the time remaining to them she’d teach him everything she knew about magical guile and peoples’ artifice. She’d give him all the love she had in her - emotions she’d kept locked away to better arm herself against the world. She’d bolster his confidence, free him as best she could from his own self-imposed restraints.
And when the time came she’d steel herself and make him confront his destiny.
* * *
The storms continued with barely a day between each new blow. The winds drove them onward - across the plains of Jaspar.
They saw much misery in the land the Cloudship passed over. Ruined villages, stripped fields where great armies had passed. Even in the heaviest rains they saw thousands of refugees slogging along the roads, making their way to the gods knew where. They saw the aftermath of fighting; huge muddy fields littered with corpses of men and animals.
The sight made them all moody. Only the most necessary words were exchanged. Safar was moodiest of all, staring out over the bleak landscape before them. Then one day they crossed a low mountain range. And when they broke through the clouds the skies were sunny, the air brisk.
They were floating over a large, peaceful valley. The valley floor was a patchwork of bright green orchards interspersed with blue creeks, gaily-painted villages, bordered by shaded gardens. All looked healthy and prosperous and there was no sign of the troubles they’d encountered before.
A fresh wind pushed the Cloudship forward. At the far edge of the valley was a small city with pearly walls and graceful buildings rising up from behind them.
Safar leaned out over the rails to get a closer look. The sight brought a smile to his face.
"What is this place?" he asked.
"The city of Sampitay," Methydia said. "We’ve never played there before. But I’ve heard good things about it. An entertainer’s paradise, I’m told."
Safar mused, dimly recalling Gubadan’s geography lessons. Then he recognized the orchards - white mulberry trees. Sampitay was well known for its fine silks and the royal yellow dye taken from the roots of the trees.
"Sampitay," Biner said. "That’s a lucky place. Now I’m sorry I cursed the gods so harshly for all that bad weather."
Safar turned and looked back at the mountains. Big banks of clouds, driven by a far off storm, were scudding across the sky after them. It was about time, he thought, that the winds of fate took a gentler turn.
* * *
Chapter Nineteen
The Return Of Iraj Protarus
Safar knew there was something wrong before the first performance.
The crowds greeting them were enthusiastic enough, as were the soldiers who directed them to the field outside the city gates. The roustabouts set the circus up in record time and the seats for the first show were sold out before the ticket booth was in place.
The good citizens of Sampitay were so hungry for entertainment they lined up, begging to be relieved of the price of admission, while the Cloudship was still unloading. Methydia’s troupe was forced to give a hasty first performance, cutting the encores short so an impatient second audience could be admitted.
No art was required to please them. They roared laughter at the slightest clown antic, gasped in terror at the merest slip of an acrobat, moaned in suspense at Methydia’s and Safar’s slightest magical gesture.
Oddly enough the troupe was discontented.
"I could fart and get a laugh," Biner complained.
"I could whistle through my fangs and they’d be thrilled," Elgy said.
"They’re tho eathy I want to thpit," Arlain said. "And the godth know what happenth when I thpit!"
Green as he was, Safar felt a wrongness in the overly-wild applause he received when he cast the first purple-colored smoke pellet that began his performance. He sensed an hysterical edge to the crowd’s huzzahs.
During his mind reading act he announced a maid named Syntha was to be wed soon and her love would always be true. The young woman in question shrieked such joy at this news - which Safar had received courtesy of a big-eared roustabout - the entire audience was reduced to tears.
"What’s wrong with them?" he asked Methydia between performances.
Methydia smiled thinly. She seemed distracted, applying her makeup with a heavy hand. "Are you so accustomed to applause," she asked, "that you’ve already begun to question it?"
"Come on," Safar said. "I’m not the only one. Elgy said the last time he played before an audience like this it turned out his troupe had wandered into the middle of a plague."
"The fear of death," Methydia said, "does have a way of exciting people’s interest in life."
"Do you know something the rest of us don’t?" Safar asked, growing irritated.
"Only this," Methydia said, passing him a large ornate card with a distinctive seal of gold wax. "We are to give a command performance tonight for Queen Arma and her royal consort."
Safar looked at the card, an honor at any other time, and said, "Why is this bad news?"
"Because it was accompanied by a chest of silk," Methydia said. "And that silk, according to the messenger who delivered it, is an advance payment on a week’s worth of free performances for the queen’s subjects."
"A morale booster?" Safar asked.
"I’m talking about a dozen bolts of the finest Sampitayan silk," Methydia said.
Safar, who’d spent his life on a caravan route, had a good idea what that was worth. "How much morale-boosting do they need?" he said. "And why?"
"I don’t know," Methydia answered. "The messenger was quite polite, but he worked hard to avoid answering my questions. It was as if he expected us to pack up and leave at the slightest hint of trouble. He went on for an hour about what a wonderful ruler Arma was, the excellent health of her children, the esteem all her subjects hold her in. And the soundness of her kingdom."
Safar winced. In Walaria he’d learned to read fear on the face of royal posture. "Maybe we’d better go," he said.
"I’ve arrived at the same conclusion," Methydia said. "I told the messenger we had pressing business elsewhere. And we couldn’t stay longer than the week purchased by Her Majesty."
Safar, remembering the incident at Kyshaat, said, "What if we slipped off tonight?"
"I’ve also considered that course," Methydia said. "Much can happen in a week. But I don’t think we dare cut our visit too short. We might bring down the wrath of Queen Arma by making a hasty exit. I think it’d be best if we gave the queen the command performance she asked for, then quietly loaded the circus back on the Cloudship. We can do without some of the sets. And make
it look like we’re unloading things while we’re actually putting them aboard. Three nights, no more, and we’ll be on our way."
"But the queen paid in advance," Safar pointed out. "What about all that silk?"
"I’ll leave it behind," Methydia said. "It’s bad money and I don’t want any part of it."
* * *
As it turned out three days was too long. The circus overshot its luck the night of the command performance.
Knowing she was going to abandon Sampitay as soon as possible, Methydia roused the troupe to put on its best show ever.
Safar, drawing on his years of schooling in Walaria, had created a new kind of magical lighting. The circus tried out his ideas for the first time the night Queen Arma held court in the main tent.
A blazing full moon greeted the royal visitors as they entered the tent. Safar made the moon a spotlight, picking out the grand moment of each performance, then dimmed it with onrushing clouds during costume changes. Flares burst up in the arena during the featured performances, turning all into a mystical herky-jerky of amazing motion.
To close the first half Safar and Arlain debuted a new act they’d been working on for some time.
From the time of its inception - which had merely been to improve on the old "saw the maid in half" gag - the trick had grown into a full-blown tale. Safar cast himself as the villain of the piece - an evil wizard. Arlain and Biner were the odd lovers - the ugly dwarf and the beautiful creature who was part woman, part dragon.
In the story Safar hunts the lovers in bleak otherworlds full of swirling lights, fountaining smoke and spurting flames. Eventually he corners them, appears to slay Biner, then captures Arlain. She fights off his attempts to ravish her but is punished by being put into a deadly trance. In that trance Safar levitates her, then proceeds to slice her in two with his sword. Defiant to the last, Arlain breathes fire. Then the fire is gone. Suddenly Biner is aroused. He heals Arlain. A fight commences. And in the end the two lovers defeat Safar and embrace. Then a lovely note piped by Elgy and Rabix brings the lights down.
Tears and cheers greeted the three performers when they took their bows.
Despite his worries, Safar was feeling mightily pleased with himself as he rushed off to get ready for the second act. The high wail of a herald’s horn brought him up short. He turned, alarmed at this sudden interruption of circus routine.
In the royal box Queen Arma was on her feet. In front of her was a boy dressed in the elaborate livery of a court herald. At a signal from the queen he raised his horn and blew again - commanding all present to be silent and attend to the queen.
Arma was a middle-aged woman, running to fat. She had a round pleasant face made to seem rounder still by the tall forepeaked crown she wore. Sitting beside her was her consort, Prince Crol, a handsome, silver-haired man in the glittering dress uniform of a general. The queen drew in her breath to speak and just before the first words issued from her lips Safar saw the soldier gesture and felt the sting of magic. He knew immediately the man was a wizard and the gesture was a magical spell to amplify the queen’s words so all could hear.
"Citizens of Sampitay," Queen Arma said, high-pitched voice filling the main tent. "I am sure we are all having a lovely time tonight, are we not?"
The richly dressed crowd answered with loud applause. Arma turned her head, nodding at Methydia who stood near the performers’ exit - regal-looking in her own right in a dazzling red gown and slender tiara, decorated with a tasteful spattering of gems.
"We have the good Lady Methydia and her talented troupe of entertainers to thank for bringing a bit a joy to Sampitay during its crisis," the queen said.
Methydia bowed low, but from the stiffness of her bow Safar could see she was as surprised as he at the queen’s remarks. And what was that Arma said about a "crisis?"
"As you all well know," Arma continued, "your queen and her representatives have been in almost constant communication with King Protarus and his emissaries for over a month now."
The crowd murmured, troubled - as was Safar at the mention of his old friend’s name.
"We have kept you all well informed regarding the nature of those communications," Arma said. "The first message was a demand that this kingdom end its long and historic policy of neutrality. Protarus commanded it - and it would be wrong of us to use a weaker word to pretty up his barbaric diplomacy. Our answer to that outrage was a firm although courteous reply that this queen is not his to command!"
A thunderclap of applause greeted this statement. Safar thought of Iraj and knew it would have been unlikely for him to take the queen’s refusal well.
"Shortly afterward," Arma went on, "Protarus’ emissaries arrived with new demands. He was no longer asking us to ally ourselves with him against his enemies. Instead, he commanded our immediate surrender. He even gave us this..." and Safar saw her raise up a familiar banner, bearing the red demon moon and silver comet that was the sign of Alisarrian "... to hoist over the palace, marking our subjugation."
The crowd reacted angrily, shouting words of defiance.
Queen Arma waited until the shouts died down, then said loudly, "We refused!"
More shouts and thunderous applause. The queen waited, then at a key moment she signaled for silence.
"It would dishonest of me, my loyal subjects," Arma said, "if we didn’t admit our nights were long and sleepless with worry after we made that reply. King Protarus, whose armies now range at will across the Plains of Jaspar, is not known to brook any defiance from any kingdom or monarch whom he deems to stand in his way. Fearing reprisals, we put our own troops in a state of readiness. We were prepared to die to the last defending the sanctity of our realm."
Pandemonium reigned for many long minutes as the crowd roared its approval.
When they had quieted, Arma said, "Tonight it is our supreme pleasure to announce to you the gods have stood firm with the good and righteous people of Sampitay."
She’d dropped the banner and was now holding up a long slender parchment roll.
"This is the latest communication from Protarus," she said. "I received it only this morning.
"Apparently the young King Protarus has seen the error of his ways. He now understands the value and rightness of our neutrality. He has taken back all his demands and now only asks - quite politely, I might add - that we sell his army badly needed supplies at a fair price."
The queen’s news charged the crowd into an even greater fever. They shouted joy until they were hoarse, applauded until their fingers were numb.
Then Arma said, "What say you, my loyal subjects? Shall we be magnanimous in our victory? Shall we show King Protarus what civilized people are like?"
Shouts of agreement sealed the bargain. People wept and clutched one another, praising the gods for coming to their aid in this time of need.
In the middle of the chaos, Safar crept over to Methydia. "This isn’t good," he said. "I know Iraj. He’d never back down so easily."
Methydia nodded. Safar had told her about his boyhood friendship with Protarus and the vision he’d had of Iraj’s conquering army. He’d left out only the fight with the demons.
"We’ll finish this show and make ready to leave," she said, not bothering to lower her voice in the din of all those tearful, joyous people. "We’ll depart at dawn," she continued. "The whole city will be so sick with from celebrating no one will notice."
They completed the show, although the whole troupe - sensing the wrongness in the air - was much subdued. The queen thanked them when it was over and rewarded Methydia with more bolts of rich Sampitayan silk.
* * *
It wasn’t easy to make preparations to slip away. There were so many well-wishers and celebrants about the troupe could do little more than pack their things and place them as close to the Cloudship as possible. The roustabouts were given strict orders to rouse everyone an hour before dawn so they could board the Cloudship and flee.
They slept in the tents that night, their m
ost important belongings close at hand so they could make a hasty exit.
"I wish I could send a message to Iraj," Safar said as he and Methydia settled down for a few hours sleep.
"What would you say?" Methydia asked, wiping away the last vestiges of her makeup with a damp sponge. "Spare the city? Or just spare us?" She gave him a cynical look. "I’d like to know the proper way to appeal to a blood-thirsty barbarian."
Safar shook his head. "Iraj is no barbarian," he said.
"You saw the burned cities," Methydia said, "the refugees by the thousands. If that isn’t barbaric, I’d like to know what is."
"The whole world is barbaric as far as I’m concerned," Safar said, growing angry. "Iraj is no more a savage than those who confront him. Walaria is supposed to be the civilized center of Esmir. There’s nothing but self-serving cutthroats in command there. Look at Sampitay. It’s not much better. Queen Arma and her court have their silk trade, their riches. But what of the common folk? They are as poor and put upon as the people of Walaria."
"Perhaps King Protarus is merely ill-advised," Methydia said coolly. "Perhaps he didn’t notice all the misery we saw in our journey. Misery caused by his armies."
Safar was silent for a moment, thinking about what she’d said; trying to sort out his boyhood from his adulthood.
"I haven’t seen Iraj for a long time," he finally said, "but I don’t think he could have changed so much. There was good at the heart of him."
"Maybe you were that good," Methydia said. "Maybe your presence brought out whatever finer feelings he had."
"Iraj is his own man," Safar insisted. "The good I saw was his own. It needed nothing from me. He’s also a warrior born and although I disagree with his methods, in the end Iraj is seeking a better place than we have now.
"Iraj didn’t make the droughts, the plagues or the horrors like the worm at Kyshaat. He didn’t make the old kings and nobles who are as great a plague on Esmir as the ones nature sends us."
