by Allan Cole
When he was done Safar called for silence. He prepared Leiria and himself, coating their clothes and skin with a smoky herb that would confound sensitive demon noses. He made a spell to shield their human auras from demon wizards. Last of all he hauled out the stone turtle and alerted Gundara to keep watch for danger.
The little Favorite and his twin, Gundaree, were back to normal again. Drawing inspiration from Lord Asper’s book, Safar had devised a healing program to hasten their recovery - special powders mixed with warm honey and wine. For two weeks the stone idol had rested in that potion, which Safar refreshed daily. At first nothing had changed. If anything the faint buzz of life had grown fainter.
Then one morning Safar awakened to a familiar - "Shut up, shut up, shuuut upp!" And he knew things were well again in the small world of the Favorites.
Safar turned to Leiria. "I know it’s your habit to lead the way," he said.
"It’s more than habit, my lord," she said. "It’s my duty. I am your bodyguard. I must keep you safe."
"Yes, yes," he said, impatiently. "And you perform your duty well. But this time we have to change the order of things. I was raised here. I was once a boy roaming these hills. I know all the secret places boys know. I know all the secret paths boys favor.
"I want you to follow me. Keep close as you can. Walk in my tracks if possible. Do all I do. And nothing that I don’t. Do you understand?"
Leiria swore she did and a few moments later they were hurrying down an old deer trail, so faint it might have been made by a population of mice.
They hadn’t gone a hundred yards before Safar suddenly veered to the right and was gone.
Leiria nearly panicked, looking madly about for some sign of Safar. Then she saw where the leaves wavered and plunged after him. She heard him hiss before she saw him, jerking back just in time to avoid stepping on his heels. They traveled in silent tandem for a time, jumping onto to trails and jumping off again, veering left and then right and then straight ahead. But from the tension in her calves Leiria could tell the general direction was downward.
Down - to the broad lake and rich fields of Kyrania.
* * *
Khadji Timura slipped his trowel into the claybed. He felt the blade grate through sand and gravel and he pushed it in a little deeper. He lifted the load up, hiding his distaste at the poor quality of the clay and all the trash it contained, and dumped it into the waiting bucket.
"Hurry up, old man," the demon said. "I’m weary."
"Forgive me, master," Khadji said. "I am old, as you have repeatedly reminded me this entire day, and my joints give me pain. If I had help, which you have wisely informed me is not possible, I could work more quickly."
The demon, whose name was Trin, scowled at Safar’s father, saying, "You think because you are human and demons can’t read human expressions that I don’t realize you’re mocking me."
He swatted Khadji with his club. Khadji grunted and nearly fell. He steadied himself with a hand and blinked away tears that were more from humiliation than pain. Trin was experienced at such things. He knew how to rap a human skull with just enough force to gain their attention, but not so hard they’d be incapacitated.
"You are probably cursing me and your fate right now," Trin said. "This is good. It teaches you how you stand with me. I have better things to do than spend my days here in the damp and cold watching you dig up clay. If I had my way I’d empty your brains from your skull and join my mates in some spirited drinking."
"You’re right, exalted one," Khadji said. He’d recovered and was rising, full bucket in hand. "And I thank you for the reminder of what a fortunate person I am.
"Why, what would become of me and family if your superiors weren’t so wise? What clever fiends they are. I’ve often remarked on it to Myrna, my wife.
"Good Timura pottery equals much gold on the marketplace. Gold your king requires to fight his wars."
Trin snorted. "A pot’s a pot, as far as I’m concerned," he said. "You put something in it. And you empty it out. I used to pinch them out by the dozen when I was young. Some broke when they were fired. Some didn’t. Who cares? The clay costs nothing. And the fire only wants a little fuel."
"Who am I to quarrel with such an expert on pottery?" Khadji said.
"No one," Trin agreed. "I was a potter before I was a soldier. I know good work when I see it."
He looked at the bucket, then dug a tentative claw into its contents. "A little gritty, isn’t it?" he said.
"All the beds are nearly worked out, master," the potter lied. The best clay was on the other side of Lake Felakia, snuggled in grit-free beds he had no intention of showing the demons. "This is the best we can do under the circumstances."
Khadji saw two figures steal out of the brush behind the demon. As if sensing their presence, the demon started to turn in that direction.
The potter lifted up the bucket to capture his attention.
"It only needs a little cleaning, exalted one," he said. "And if there are imperfections, why we’ll cover them up with the glaze. Like you said, master, a pot’s a pot. But when I put my name on it - Timura - there are plenty of fools at the marketplace who think the name is more important than actual quality."
"My father," Trin said, wiping a talon on Khadji’s smock, "who was a potter of great renown, used to tell me the same thing."
"He sounds as wise a fiend as his son," Khadji said.
The demon glared at him. "Are you mocking me again, human?" He raised his club. "Are you?"
There was a thunk. The demon’s yellow eyes suddenly widened and club fell from his hands. An arrow point protruded through his throat.
Trin pitched forward, quite dead.
Khadji upended the bucket on the corpse and spit.
"A pot’s just a pot, is it?" he growled. Then he opened his arms to embrace Safar. "Welcome home, son," he said.
To Safar’s immense embarrassment, Khadji started to weep.
"It’s all right, father," he murmured, patting him uncomfortably. "It’s all right."
* * *
"We’d heard about all the troubles in Esmir," his father said, sipping from the mug of trail wine. "Droughts and plagues and wars. But it’s always been so in the outside world. And although we worried, especially for you, Safar, we never thought those troubles would arrive to take up residence before our very hearths."
Leiria and the soldiers were gathered about Safar and his father, listening closely to the old potter’s tale. Less than an hour had passed since the demon had been killed, his body hidden in the brush. The group was gathered in a safe place high above Kyrania. Guards were posted to give warning if anyone came.
"Not long ago Lord Coralean came this way," Khadji said, "and we heard the news of the demon invasion and capture of Caspan." He looked at Safar, eyes red-streaked, skin sagging from his long ordeal. "We all remembered the demons you and Iraj encountered up in the passes of The Bride And Six Maids."
Khadji sighed. "Lord Coralean was wrong, wasn’t he, when he said they were only rogues who’d strayed into the humanlands?"
It was a question that didn’t need answering. Safar refilled his father’s cup. The old man took another sip of the restorative.
"Anyway, that’s when we started worrying," he said. "It seemed only logical the demons would have to come through Kyrania to attack the other side. We’ve always been blessed by peace in these mountains. But now it seemed that peace would be no more.
"The Elders met. There was much talk of this and that, but it was mostly nonsense, for who among us had ever faced such a situation before? Coralean had promised us he would plead with King Protarus for help, but we didn’t know if the help would come at all, much less in time. So we decided to mount our own defenses."
Khadji made a bitter laugh. "The lads drilled and trained and we rebuilt the walls of the old fort. But it was clear that although Kyranians can fight well enough, none of us have the killing instincts of a soldier." He glanced at Leiria
and the others. "I hope you don’t take offense," he said. "I was only speaking of professional training, not doubting the human kindness I’m sure is natural to you all."
"No offense given, or taken, Father Timura," Leiria said. "We know what you meant."
Khadji looked up a Safar, anguished. "In the end," he said, "there was no time for resistance. They took us in our beds. And then they rounded us up and put us all in that fort we’d labored so hard to rebuild. They killed some of us to set an example. They were humiliating deaths.
"They made us watch."
Khadji brushed away a tear. "I learned what it was to be a weak and selfish mortal," he said. "Much as I mourned the deaths of my friends, I’m ashamed to say I knew joy because I still lived. And your mother and your sisters."
He drained the cup, covering the mouth when Safar offered more.
"And Gubadan?" Safar asked.
"Gone," his father answered. "He was among the first. The demons have witch sniffers, you know. Gubadan didn’t have much magic. But it was enough for them to find him out."
He touched Safar’s hand, tentatively, as if amazed his son wasn’t a ghost. "It’s a good thing you weren’t here, son," he said. "We’ve all heard what a great wizard you’ve become. They would have found you out immediately."
"I’m surprised they let any of you live, Father Timura," Leiria said. "We have the gods to thank for that."
"Not the gods," Khadji said, "but a human traitor. And it isn’t thanks we owe him, but all the curses we can manage."
Safar’s eyes narrowed. "There was a human leading them?"
"Not leading, actually," his father answered. "Although they listen to his counsel with much respect. Apparently this human has powerful friends among the demons. Some even say he has the ear of Crown Prince Luka."
"Who is this man?" Safar demanded. "Do I know of him? Would I recognize his name."
"I believe so," Khadji answered. "He certainly knows you."
When he said the name Safar jumped as if he’d been stung.
* * *
Kalasariz strolled out of the Temple Of Felakia into the warm sunlight. It was late afternoon and the atmosphere in the temple, which he’d turned into his quarters, had suddenly felt too close. So he’d left his scribe to complete the report to Prince Luka and ambled outside to refresh himself.
It was a day of sharp colors and deep shadows. The sun was spun gold, the clouds pure silver, the lake and sky startling blue. He filled his lungs with air, which was heavy with the scent of blossoms. He breathed out, savoring the air’s fruity aftertaste. A few birds sang a melody from the small grove down near the lake. Their song made Kalasariz smile.
Another delightful day in Kyrania, he thought. So different from the bustling, smoky squalor of Walaria. Kalasariz, who had spent his entire career eliminating surprise, was amazed at how his life had turned out. Turned upside down, actually, he thought. The only thing unsurprising was that he’d managed to land on his feet when the great emptying had begun. Kalasariz was an agile master of balance. Even his enemies would say that. He grinned - Especially his enemies!
Another bird joined the songfest at the grove. The chorus was quite compelling.
Kalasariz let his feet carry him toward the lake so he could enjoy the concert close up.
He supposed things had gotten rather... stressful... when King Protarus had shown up at the gates of Walaria. Not surprising, though. Kalasariz refused to accept that description of his feelings those many long months ago when panic raged all about him. He’d kept calm. Kept his footing. Formed his plan. And taken action.
He’d been rather...alarmed? No, no. Too strong a word. Disappointed, perhaps. Yes, he’d been disappointed when his carefully laid plan to join Protarus had failed. His secret messages and doctored files claiming friendship with Safar Timura had not found a receptive audience in King Protarus. At first he’d been...irritated. Not angry, but irritated. Kalasariz admired suspicion. It was a tool no worthy monarch should be without. But in his view Protarus had taken suspicion beyond reason.
So what if there were a few lies in Kalasariz’ messages? He’d honestly intended to fulfill his side of the bargain. Hadn’t he seen to it that a certain gate was left unguarded at the appropriate time? Hadn’t he delivered Didima and Umurhan just as he’d agreed? And hadn’t he promised long and faithful service to his new king?
Kalasariz was sorely wounded Protarus hadn’t seen what a valuable ally he would have been. Good spies are difficult to find. And Kalasariz, who wasted no time on things like false modesty, knew he was the best of all.
The best proof of that were the spies he had in Protarus’ court. They’d warned him just in time the king meant to betray him and he’d barely escaped with his life.
Kalasariz found it amusing the king’s betrayal had ended up being a blessing. Why, if he had joined the king he wouldn’t be here in Kyrania so well placed on the winning side. So what if they were demons? They had what Kalasariz considered an enlightened attitude toward human abilities. Luka had immediately seen Kalasariz’ potential. As had Lord Fari. Of course, the two would probably appreciate him less, but admire him more, if they knew he’d made separate arrangements with them both.
He stopped at the edge of the grove. The birds broke off their concert and flew deeper into the shadows. There they perched on an old nut tree, branches bursting with bounty, and took up their song again. The music was sweet, very sweet. I must see what sort of birds these are, Kalasariz thought. Then a sudden vision came to him of one of the birds leaping down on his finger. In the vision he carried the creature away and put it in a cage where it serenaded him all the night long.
Teased by the vision, he followed the birds into the woods.
Kalasariz hadn’t deluded himself about his safety from Protarus anywhere on the Walarian side of the Gods’ Divide. Even if he could have found a suitable place, he had no intention of spending his days as a man without influence, without power, ducking and dodging through alleyways. So he’d decided to cross the mountains and see what kind of life he could make in Caspan. He had well-placed spies in that city, which was an even better start than the fat pouch of gems he’d carried away with him when he’d escaped.
Those were exciting days, he thought with the fondness that distance and success give to anxious times. Disguised as a merchant, he’d hired a place in a caravan traveling to Caspan. He’d crossed the mountains at Kyrania with that caravan, noting with much interest the richness of the valley. He’d even purchased a fine set of wine cups from Khadji Timura, enjoying much private amusement as the old man and his wife smiled and chatted while they wrapped the cups in felt and packed them carefully away in a carved box for his journey. He’d nearly laughed aloud when the dear old couple had boasted of their son, Safar Timura, who was a great scholar and boyhood friend of Iraj Protarus.
He remembered the conversation as if it were yesterday.
"Perhaps you’ve heard of him?" Khadji asked.
"Safar Timura?" Kalasariz replied. "No, I’m sorry I haven’t had that honor."
"No, Iraj Protarus, I mean," Khadji said.
"Certainly I have," Kalasariz said. "Who hasn’t heard of the great King Protarus and his famous victories."
Then Myrna shyly asked, "Some say he’s cruel. Is this true?"
"Not at all, good mother," Kalasariz said. "Why, he’s the kindest of kings. Oh, there have been deaths, of course. But when isn’t there in a war? No, he’s a grand king, this Protarus. And good for business as well."
Myrna acted much relieved. "I’m pleased to hear that," she said. "He lived here for a time, you know. He was a good lad. A little wild and strong-willed, of course. But a good lad. His mother would have been proud, may the gods bless her dear departed soul."
Kalasariz chuckled at the memory. He looked up and saw the birds had moved, but only to a lower branch. He wondered what kind of nut tree it was. Cinnamon, perhaps?
He’d barely settled in Caspan - reacquaintin
g his spies with the solidness of good Kalasariz gold - when the demons struck.
Once again he found himself in a city under siege, hysteria raging all about him. But he’d kept his head low, ordered his spies to do the same, and once the demons had taken the city he’d poked it up again. The demons had engaged in the usual slaughter. But when they thought the lesson had been taught - and taught well - they set up an administration to run the city. Some of those administrators were from the previous government. They were all low level bureaucrats - the kind who do most of the real work and take little notice of who or what might be the current resident of the throne. Among them were Kalasariz’ spies.
Once he knew the lay of the land, Kalasariz had approached Luka and Fari - separately, of course. He had many things to offer. The most valuable of all was Kyrania. The key that would unlock the gate to Protarus’ kingdom.
He paused under the tree, the birds just above him, but silent now.
So here I am, he thought, enjoying my reward. The first of many and greater rewards to come.
The birds fluttered, catching his attention. He noticed one bird in particular. It was bright green, while the others were drab brown, and seemed to have a large red spot on its breast. It was a plump little fellow. Deliciously so.
Kalasariz recalled that song birds were supposed to be the best meat of all. The sweeter the song, it was said, the sweeter the flesh.
He looked closer at the tree. He was certain now it was a cinnamon. Ah, he thought, a song bird fed on cinnamon. What a meal I could make!
Kalasariz held out his finger. "Fly down, fly down my pretty little bird," he called. "Light upon me. I have nice things for you."
He was mildly surprised when the bird hopped from the branch and perched on his outstretched finger. He’d only been amusing himself - thinking of the vision. But now it seemed that vision was about to turn into dinner.
