by Allan Cole
"Sing to me little bird," he cooed. "Sing to Kalasariz. Sing as sweetly as you can, my pretty. And then I’ll wring your little neck and have you for supper."
To his delight the bird opened its beak as if to sing.
"Shut up, shut up, shuutt uuuup!" it said.
Kalasariz’ jaw dropped. "What? What did you say?"
"I said shut up, Gundaree," the bird went on. "I saw him first. I don’t care if he smells like a demon. He’s a people. Look for yourself, you stupid thing!"
I’m dreaming, Kalasariz thought. I fell asleep in the temple and I dreamed I took a walk. And now I’m dreaming this bird is talking to me. He lifted his hand, examining the red spot on the bird’s breast. How odd, he thought. It’s in the shape of a turtle.
Suddenly the bird sank sharp claws into his finger.
Kalasariz shrieked and tried to fling the creature off.
"Get away, get away!" he cried.
But the bird only sank its claws deeper, grating against the bone.
Screaming, Kalasariz flung himself about, trying to shake the bird from his wounded hand.
"Stop that you stupid human!" the bird shouted at Kalasariz. "You’re hurting me."
Then the bird transformed into a snarling little fiend with long sharp teeth. It leaped onto Kalasariz’ face, clutching his cheeks with its talons. Then it bit him on the nose.
Kalasariz froze. He felt pain, felt the creature clinging to his face, felt blood flow into his mouth, but he couldn’t move. Couldn’t even twitch, much less make a sound.
He heard footsteps and saw a figure step from the tree.
And Kalasariz, a man who refused to recognize even mild surprise, much less stark terror, knew both.
"You’d better let go of him," Safar said. "You’re getting blood all over your clothes. And you know how you hate that."
Gundara released Kalasariz, then hopped to the ground. The little Favorite examined his gore-stained costume.
"Now, look what you’ve done," he accused Kalasariz. "If you’d have stayed still like you were supposed to there’d have only been a little pinch. And almost no blood."
Kalasariz, stricken dumb as well as spellbound, could only manage a strangled gag. He saw Safar haul out a stone idol, shaped like a turtle.
"Why don’t you go clean yourself up," Safar said to Gundara. "You can have your treats later."
"What a good master," Gundara said. "What a kind master."
He hopped up on the stone, shrinking in size so he’d fit. He hesitated, clearly torn. "You won’t forget, will you?" he said to Safar. "The sweets I mean."
"I won’t forget," Safar reassured him.
"Promise?"
Safar sighed. "I promise," he said, as patiently as he could.
Gundara squealed delight. Then - "Look out, Gundaree! Here I come!"
And he vanished into the stone.
Safar put the idol away and approached Kalasariz. He looked him up and down. The spymaster felt another shock when he saw how blue Safar’s eyes were - blue as that sky, blue as that cold lake he’d admired only minutes before.
"I suppose you’re wondering why you are still alive." Safar said, so mild it was frightening.
Kalasariz hadn’t reached that point yet, but as soon as Safar mentioned it his mind made the leap. His reaction was so violent that a faint tremble of fear made its way through the numbness.
"Good," Safar said. "I can see it in your eyes. Now that you traveled that far you’re a bright enough fellow to know the answer. Am I right?"
Kalasariz made a gagging sound.
Safar looked disgusted. He snapped his fingers and Kalasariz suddenly had the ability to speak. Although he was still as immobile as a statue.
"Thank the gods you’ve come, Safar!" Kalasariz blurted. "You’re just in time to-"
Safar snapped his fingers again, returning him to dumbness.
"Don’t bother with your lies," Safar said. "I’ve spoken to my father. I know what’s going on here. And I know you’re responsible."
He leaned closer, face inches away from Kalasariz. "For your sake, I hope I’ve made myself clear."
Kalasariz choked on an answer rising up in his frozen throat. Another snap of the fingers and it burst out.
"Yes! Very clear!"
"I’ll decide whether to continue to let you live after you’ve helped us with the demons," Safar said. "How many pieces of you remain to enjoy that life is entirely up to you."
Some of Kalasariz’ craft returned to him and with it, boldness.
Still, he stumbled on his first attempt. "I can do more than rid Kyrania of the demons, Aco - I mean, my friend."
Safar seemed amused. "You almost called me acolyte, didn’t you?" he said. "Odd, isn’t it, how things change? The grand become small." He gestured at Kalasariz. "The small become grand." He touched his breast.
Kalasariz recovered from his mistake. He smiled that old thin smile.
"Yes, it is odd, Lord Timura," he said. "But you see how easily I can change with the events? Your new title flows smoothly to my lips, sir. And I must say it fits you very well."
Safar chuckled. "You’re good, Kalasariz. I have to admit that."
The spymaster moved for that gap. "Good enough, Lord Timura, to be of immense value to your king. I know the demon court well. I know King Manacia, Prince Luka and their Grand Wazier, Lord Fari. I know their weaknesses, which are legion, and other important things as well.
"King Protarus might be very angry with you if something happened to me and he missed such a great opportunity."
"Oh, it’s an absolute certainty that Protarus would want to hear all these things," Safar said. "Preferably from your living lips, rather than a dry report I made after I tortured the information from you.
"But understand this, Kalasariz. The king and I are friends. Close friends. If I killed you I would go to him and confess my error. Then I’d excuse myself, saying, ‘But I couldn’t help it, Iraj!’"
He paused, chilling Kalasariz with his easy grin. "I call him Iraj in private, you know. And he calls me Safar. Just like when we were boys playing together."
Then he went on, "Anyway, I’d say, ‘I couldn’t help it, Iraj! I had this sudden hate for him. I wanted his blood to answer for his crimes against me and my family.’ Then I’d hang my head in shame and wonder aloud if my mistake was so grave that it might cost us many more lives to win the war.
"And you know what he’d say? He’d say," and Safar deepened his voice to sound like Protarus, "‘Well it couldn’t be helped, Safar. I’d have done the same thing in your place. When blood cries, it must be answered. Come, my friend. Let us send for the women and strong drink. We’ll mourn your failings like men should. We’ll get drunk together and pleasure ourselves until dawn!’"
Kalasariz’ stomach burned as if lava had flowed into it.
Safar laughed at his discomfort.
"You see how it is for you?" he said to Kalasariz. "You understand your position."
"Yes, Lord Timura," Kalasariz said, barely controlling the quiver in his voice. "I understand quite well."
He heard a rustle in the woods and saw several soldiers step out behind Safar. They wore the uniforms of Protarus’ men.
Then he noticed the soldier leading the group was remarkably handsome.
No... beautiful! And it was a woman, not a man.
She came up to Safar. "That was magnificently done, Lord Timura," she said.
But her voice was low and the way she spoke revealed that she called him by more loving names in private.
She gave Safar such a look of adoration it crept past Kalasariz’ numbness and lit his cunning.
Adoring women, he thought, can be very dangerous.
Both to the enemy of the man who’d earned that devotion.
And to the man himself.
* * *
Kalasariz raised his cup in a toast. "My friends," he said, "this night is just one more proof - no matter how small - of King Manacia’s grand vi
sion of a united Esmir."
He glanced around the open air banquet area. Rough board tables were spread across a freshly mowed lawn. Immense mounds of food were heaped on the tables, with jugs of heady Kyranian wine running down the center. Demons, scores of demons, sat before the tables, fixing him with their yellow eyes. Cups lifted expectantly, waiting for him to end his toast.
"Even here in far Kyrania," he continued, "a human sits among his demon brethren, supping and drinking. An equal among equals. A mortal-"
"Oh, finish the damned toast, Kalasariz!" the big demon sitting beside him growled. "I’m thirsty!"
"Yes, well, uh," Kalasariz faltered, "Uh - Here’s to King Manacia! Long may he reign."
The demons shouted approval, downed their drinks and turned back to their tables, refilling goblets and stuffing their maws with steaming food.
Nervously, Kalasariz slopped wine in his cup and downed it in one quick gulp. Hidden under his clothing - next to his skin - was the stone idol, so warm with anticipation it was almost hot. Once in awhile he even heard - quite faintly - Gundara’s excited hiss of "Shut up, shut up," to his twin. Kalasariz had been warned that any suspicious action would bring the little Favorite boiling out to punish him.
Moving through the tables were human slaves, heads low, platters high, going from demon to demon to offer more delicacies. The demons ate greedily, as if all the free food supplied by Kalasariz in this spontaneous banquet had made them more ravenous than normal.
"Would the master wish more wine," murmured a voice at his elbow. It was Safar, dressed as a slave and bearing a jug. The other humans in the banquet area were his soldiers posing as slaves, all waiting for the signal to strike.
"Yes, please," Kalasariz said, offering his cup. It was refilled and Safar bowed humbly and stepped back.
"Why are you so polite to him?" the demon - whose name was Quan - asked. "Are you drunk?"
"No, no, I’m not drunk," Kalasariz said.
"That’s your problem, then," Quan said. "You’re distracted by a low level of spirited fluids. That’s why you’re spoiling our slaves, instead of giving them good solid blows for asking, instead of anticipating.
"Your cup was empty. He should have filled it!"
Quan turned to Safar. "Do the same to me, you little human worm," he said, "and I’ll bite off your head."
"Yes, exalted one," Safar said, bobbing his head. "Thank you, exalted one."
Quan turned back to Kalasariz. "You see? That’s how it’s done!"
"I’ll remember that, Quan," Kalasariz said. "It’s good advice."
A beautiful slave girl - Leiria in disguise - moved along his table, bearing a tray of roasted kabobs. They smelled so delicious Kalasariz almost forgot the danger he was in. As she approached, hot kabob grease sputtering and splattering, his mouth filled with water.
He reached out a hand to grab a spear as she went by. Safar stepped between them, raising the jug and then leaning over, pretending to top up the wine cup.
"Don’t eat the kabobs," he whispered, then withdrew.
Kalasariz suddenly found his mouth had gone dry thinking about what he’d almost done.
Beside him Quan munched with much gusto. "This is delicious, Kalasariz," he said. "You should try it!"
He waved the spear of savory meat beneath Kalasariz’ nose. The delicious odor, magically enhanced, was so powerful he nearly forgot himself again. He snatched his hand back just in time.
"I wish I could," he said, making a mournful face. "It does smell wonderful. But I’m forbidden to eat lamb this month. My religion, you know."
All over the banquet area the other demons were gobbling down the kabobs, smacking their lips, wiping their chins and shouting for the slaves to bring more.
"That’s the trouble with religion," Quan said with some sympathy. "Always forbidding this and forbidding that. There’s so many forbiddens that a poor fiend barely knows what to do."
He stripped the rest of the meat off the spear and popped it into his maw. He chewed mightily, then swallowed, a look of pure bliss on his face.
"You know the first thing I’d do," he said, "if I were king?"
"What’s that?" Kalasariz asked.
"I’d banish religion. Toss it right out. Start my own religion. And the first thing I’d do after that is turn the forbiddens on their head. All that was forbidden would become compulsory. And everything that was compulsory would go the king’s committee for a good long study."
He gave Kalasariz a friendly jab with his claw.
"I’ll bet I’d be damned popular," he said. "The most popular king in his-"
And Quan broke off as his eyes suddenly glazed over and he pitched forward.
Kalasariz yanked his arm away and Quan’s head struck the table with much force.
The banquet area was suddenly filled with similar sounds of demon heads slamming into wood. Then there was silence.
Kalasariz looked about and saw the demon guards had noticed something was amiss and were running forward.
Leiria shouted a war cry, ripping off her robe to show the mail beneath. She drew her sword and rushed the guards. Other cries rang out as Safar’s soldiers revealed themselves and leaped into the fray.
It was quick, bloody work. Before Kalasariz knew it all the demons but three were dead. And Leiria, along with half a dozen human soldiers, was pressing in to end that annoyance.
Safar dumped Quan’s corpse out of the chair and slid into it. He cleaned a winecup with his sleeve and filled it up.
"I won’t ask you for a toast," he said to Kalasariz. "Your friend was right." He indicated the dead demon slumped on the ground. "You’re much too long winded."
And Safar drank the wine down.
* * *
Chapter Twenty Three
Prelude To Battle
Safar slipped the stone idol from his pouch. He patted it, long soothing strokes like a child caressing a cat.
He leaned close, whispering, "Behave yourself, now. We’re in the company of the king."
Still stroking the idol, he walked over to Iraj, who was staring up at a painting, deep in thought.
They were in Alisarrian’s cave, torch light reflecting off the luminous walls. The picture Iraj was musing over was the magical painting of the Conqueror in his heroic pose.
"I still feel like a boy," Iraj murmured to Safar.
Then he turned, a wry smile on his face. "When we were here before," he said, "I was hiding from my uncle and his friend. As it turned out, neither were more than petty chieftains. But at the time what I had to overcome seemed like the greatest problem in the world."
He gestured at the heroic figure of Alisarrian, who had Iraj’s golden beard, but Safar’s blue eyes. "When I saw that - somehow, for reasons I can’t explain - it made my dream of ruling all Esmir seem not so difficult." He shrugged. "I mean, all I had to do is defeat my uncle, then Esmir would crack like an egg. It felt that easy.
"Now I see the picture differently. I see a man whose accomplishments I truly admire. I’ve stood in lesser boots and fought in lesser battles. It’s difficult enough to hold on to what I’ve won, much less win more."
"I’m sure Alisarrian had similar doubts about himself," Safar said. "Maybe even more so. He didn’t have a great Conqueror to emulate, after all. You know it’s possible because it’s been done before. He didn’t have that advantage."
"And the demons," Iraj said, brightening a bit. "He also had to face the demons."
"Exactly," Safar said. "Not only that, but no human king had ever defeated a demon army. You know that can be done as well, thanks to Alisarrian."
Iraj frowned again. "Except Alisarrian was not only a great general, but a great wizard as well. I’m only good at war. I know nothing of magic."
"You’ve got me," Safar said.
"Sometimes that worries me," Iraj said. "What if I didn’t have you?"
"That’s nonsense," Safar said. "The Fates have apparently decided to put us together. Why worry yourse
lf over something that couldn’t have happened?"
"Yes," Iraj said, eyes gleaming, "but what if you decided to leave me?"
Safar snorted. "That’s ridiculous," he said. "Why would I do that? For money? You’ve made me rich. To be richer? Money doesn’t mean anything to me anyway. What’s next?
"Power? As in power over others? You know I have no such desires."
Iraj’s mood lightened. The dangerous gleam in his eyes vanished. "That’s true," he said. "You don’t even have any respect for power. As I am always reminding you, my friend, when you give a kingly fellow like myself such a difficult time."
Safar grinned. "I know you’re human," he said. "I saw the Ubekian brothers beating on you like a temple drum."
Iraj made a face. "At the time I thought, ‘wait’ll I get to be king. I’ll chop off your tiny heads.’ Now that I am king it doesn’t seem so important."
Safar guffawed. "Can you imagine their faces," he howled, "if you came walking up to them right now and..." the rest was lost in laughter.
Iraj joined him and the cave rang with the sound of the amusement of two old friends. But there was an edge to it and it went on too long. It was the kind of barely controlled laughter that grips people when they are facing a fearful task.
When it stopped, it ended abruptly. The two young men avoided each other’s eyes, embarrassed.
"We’d better get started," Safar said, voice a little thin.
Iraj nodded. "Yes, we’d best."
"Sit over there," Safar ordered, pointing to a place at the edge of faded pentagram inscribed on the cave floor.
Iraj did as he was told and Safar sat across from him. Within the pentagram were a host of ancient magical symbols, the ones that had once so mystified him. Some still did, but he was learning more daily from the Book Of Asper.
Safar placed the turtle on one of the symbols. The stone began to glow, but very faintly.
"That’s the comet," he said.
Then he slid the idol onto another symbol. The idol glowed a little brighter.
"That’s the demon moon."
He moved the turtle to a point between them.
"That’s us," he said. "Approximately, that is. The real heavenly bodies are moving together right now. In fact, we should see the demon moon very soon."
