by Allan Cole
Iraj shook his head in admiration. "That’s something, Safar," he said, sounding like a boy watching a circus performance. "Really something."
Safar kept his features immobile. He couldn’t help but play the stony-faced master performer. Besides, he’d noticed it didn’t hurt to keep Iraj’s awe of his magical abilities stoked to the fullest.
"When I cast the spell," he said, "you must sit absolutely still. Do or say nothing. You’ll see me here beside you. But I won’t be in my body."
He gestured toward the cave mouth. "My spirit will be out there someplace." He pointed at the stone idol. "Keep your eyes on that," he said, "and you’ll see everything my spirit sees."
Iraj squirmed. "Remarkable," he breathed.
"Are you ready?" Safar asked.
Iraj licked his lips and nodded. Safar tossed a handful of glass pellets on the floor. Iraj gasped. Curling up were columns of thick smoke, all of a different color, all filled with glittering bits that floated up and down the columns.
This wasn’t something that was really necessary, but Safar had learned from Methydia to put on a good show.
He drew in his breath. Deeper and deeper, drawing as if his lungs were a giant’s. The columns of smoke, coiling around each other like ribbons, wreathed into his mouth, following the inrushing air.
Then he exhaled. It made a sound like a hard wind whistling through a narrow opening. The ribbon smoke, now tightly coiled into a hazy rope, shot out, bursting over the stone idol like a waterfall.
Safar’s vision hazed and he saw things as if in a dream. He saw Iraj look startled, mouth gaping open. He saw Gundara, the object of the king’s amazement, leap out of the stone and crouch there, chittering. He heard Gundara squeak one, "Shut up!" Then gleap and snap his jaws shut when he saw Iraj.
Suddenly wings burst from the little Favorite’s back - large gossamer wings, pearly like the snow butterflies that come in early spring. Gundara reached out a claw. It stretched, then stretched more, reaching beyond belief - longer and longer, closing the distance between Favorite and master.
Safar raised his own hand. A spectral image of that hand emerged from his body.
His spirit self gripped Gundara’s claw.
Then he was flying, flying through mountain stone, then erupting out of the mountain itself and taking to the air. He had no sense of Gundara’s presence. It was as if Safar were doing the flying, soaring with the wind, moving his arms to correct his flight.
He flew north, over the topmost peaks of the Bride and Six Maids. Far below he saw a boy leading a flock of goats to pasture. He cleared the last peak, so close he was tempted to see if his spectral hand could disturb the snow.
He soared down the mountain slopes, caught a warm wind, then sailed out over the great northern desert.
Above him thick clouds skated under a blue sky. Below, the white desert sands glittered in the sunlight. Beyond, a limitless horizon.
Safar shifted his arms and flew up to the clouds. He caught a wind and skimmed beneath them, heading for the thin blue line marking the spot where sky and earth met.
He flew on for a time until he came to a place where two enormous rocks speared out of the stony ground. They were sheer on all sides and each seemed to be formed from a single piece a hundred feet high. They were so large they seemed close together, but when Safar came upon them he could see they were a less than half a mile apart.
He flew on toward the still empty horizon.
When he first saw the army he didn’t know what he was looking at. It emerged as a long dirty line rising from the horizon’s rim. Beneath the line he saw a streak of solid black. The closer he went the broader that streak became, but fading grayer, like charcoal on a sketch. Slowly the streak separated into figures. And then the figures became soldiers.
Demon soldiers.
Safar shot over them, spectral heart fluttering against spectral ribs.
The whole desert plain swarmed with demons, a colossal colony of monstrous ants streaming south toward the Gods’ Divide. They flowed beneath him, wide columns of demon soldiers, led by thick spears of mounted cavalry. Hundreds of great baggage trains followed in their wake, winged by immense herds of animals to supply fresh food and mounts.
It took a frighteningly long time to come to the end of the demon army. When he did, he swung around and flew toward the front - looking for the heart of this great creature.
He found Manacia and his court just behind the main cavalry units. The demon king lolled in a rolling howdah perched on a glorious white elephant. Safar recognized the elephant immediately. It was the same one he’d seen Iraj ride in that long ago vision.
Steeling himself, he flew nearer. Manacia’s huge head and massive jaws were just becoming clear when Safar felt the sting of magic. It was like running naked through a swarm of bees.
Safar shot upward, rising as fast as he could, then the stinging sensation was gone and he knew he was beyond Manacia’s reach. When he’d recovered he realized it was some kind of shield, or warning net, or both. Safar tested for danger and was relieved when he became certain Manacia hadn’t noticed his presence. Then, gathering his nerve, he flew around the shield, testing its width and breadth. Soon not the only size became apparent, but also that he was safe as long he kept to the edges.
From far off he heard someone call his name. "Safar... Safar..."
A hole opened up and he fell into it, plunging down and down, through smoke and heat and then boom! he was back in the cave, crouched on his knees and spewing his guts onto the floor.
When he was done Iraj wet the edge of his cloak and gave it to him to wipe his face, then he handed him a cup brimming with strong brandy. Safar drank it down like water. One more and his nerves steadied.
"I thought I told you to keep silent," he said. "You could have killed me."
Iraj looked surprised, then sorrowful. "I’m sorry," he said. "I thought it was seeing all those demons that made you sick. I was almost ill myself."
"Sure, it scared the Hells out of me," Safar said. "But it was being snatched back so quickly that made me sick! I know you’re my lord and master and all, but have a pity, Iraj! Go easy, next time."
While Iraj hung his head and muttered apologies, Safar braced himself with another cup of false courage. Then he picked up the stone idol, whispered a promise of rewards to come for good little Favorites and returned it to his pouch.
"When I saw Manacia’s army," Iraj said, "I thought, this is hopeless! Unstoppable! I might as well go dig myself a deep hole and pull the dirt in after me."
"I had similar thoughts," Safar said, "but I couldn’t see how I could dig a hole deep enough."
"In the entire history of Esmir," Iraj said, "there is no precedent for what we’re facing. No army that size has ever been fielded. And if we closed with him, there’s no comparison to any battle ever fought."
"Let’s not close with him," Safar said. "That’s my strong advice to you."
"Actually," Iraj said, "that’s advice I’ll immediately reject. The only way we can win is to meet him head-to-head on the field of battle."
"Come, Iraj!" Safar objected. "Put a little more brandy in your blood. And quickly. Senses must be regained."
"I’m not joking," Iraj answered.
"I know you’re not," Safar said. "That’s why I am! Otherwise I’d be frightened to death. You wouldn’t say such a thing if you didn’t mean it.
"Sometimes I wonder about your sanity, my friend, but never your ability."
"After I was done quaking," Iraj said, "it came to me that if an army that size had never been fielded before, it was also true no army that size has ever been commanded before."
Safar nodded. "I see what you mean. Manacia would be have to be not only the greatest general ever, but so far above all the others he’d be a giant among generals."
"He’s able enough," Iraj said. "I’ll give him that. I’ve gathered some very reliable intelligence on his battles. He’s no fool. And he has that son of his
, Luka, leading every attack. There’s no fear in them - at least that they show - which is fairly impressive in itself.
"Luka’s demons attack so fiercely, so professionally, it takes the heart right out of the enemy. Several times Manacia hasn’t had to do much more than mop up."
"Then you have to eliminate Luka," Safar said.
"Perhaps," Iraj said. "I don’t know. I’m thinking about the big army, right now. That’s what I have to beat."
"Assuming we survive Luka," Safar said.
"I’m not saying it’ll be easy with Luka," Iraj said. "But I have to jump past that. Return to it later. Otherwise I can’t think of a way to solve the big problem."
"Do you have any ideas?" Safar asked.
"A few," Iraj said. "But very vague. Number one, I have to use his size against him. Number two, I have to make him smaller."
"Don’t forget," Safar said, "it won’t be just demon soldiers we’ll encounter, but demon magic as well."
Iraj’s contemplative look turned to concern. "What of it?" he asked. "What did you see... if that’s the word for a wizard looking at another wizard."
"Close enough," Safar said. "As close as your problem as a general is to my problem as your Grand Wazier.
"Manacia is very strong. Stronger than me, perhaps. I can’t say because I have no experience in such things. I’ve never fought a battle. Hells, I had more two-fisted fights as a boy than I’ve ever had magic against magic."
"I was there for your first sorcerous fight," Iraj reminded him. "And it so happens it was against demons."
Safar started to protest, but Iraj waved him down. "Don’t tell me you were lucky," he said. "Of course, you were. I’m lucky. Not just good, but lucky. So are you. And lucky wins."
"I won’t argue," Safar said. "We’ll find out if you’re right soon enough."
"But you do have some ideas about Manacia?" Iraj asked.
"Only one just now," Safar said. "And that’s this - Manacia may be the wizard of all wizards, but he’s no magician."
Iraj looked at him, puzzled. "What are you talking about?"
"Something I learned in the circus," Safar said. "Smoke and mirrors.
"The art of the Grand Illusion."
* * *
While the demon army marched, the humans prepared to meet them.
Manacia’s progress was slow. The sheer size of his forces, as Iraj had predicted, made him unwieldy and kept the pace to that of a desert tortoise. He also had to maintain huge supply lines stretching all the way to Caspan.
The humans used that time well. Gear was repaired, horses shod, weapons honed. New training instituted in which speed and quick thinking were emphasized. Iraj wanted no brave death charges. Against Manacia’s might, he couldn’t afford the losses. Loads were lightened; they’d take only what they needed into the desert. Supplies would also be the minimum required to reach Manacia.
If they lost there’d be no return. If they won they could take what they wanted from Manacia.
As they prepared, Iraj’s musings became full blown ideas. He introduced new tactics and had special equipment made.
Safar was similarly occupied. He had only a few wizards, but although their powers were weak they had battle experience. They told him what he could expect and he prepared remedies.
Safar made everything as simple as possible. He created small amulets and used some of the tricks he’d learned from the Book Of Asper to make them very strong. The wizards mass produced these amulets and passed them out to the men.
He dispensed with the need for large quantities of magical supplies - instead he commandeered several heavy chariots, drawn by triple teams. In each he put several kegs of certain oils and powders he’d mixed - another idea he’d borrowed from Asper.
The most important thing Safar did, however, was meet with his father.
It was like old times in his father’s shop, the kiln glowing merrily, his sister, Quetera, at the wheel, his mother mixing glaze.
Apparently Myrna thought the same thing, for she said, "This is like the old caravan season days, Khadji. I used to love those times. All of us together making pots and plates as fast we could to sell to the caravan masters."
Quetera groaned. "The last time we did that," she said, "I was pregnant." She held her hands out from her sides. "I was this big. I could barely get close to the spoke, and when I did it reminded me of that devil husband of mine who’d put me in that condition."
"As if you had no part in it," Myrna sniffed.
Quetera laughed. "Oh, I got my pleasure, true enough," she said. "But so did he. At the time it didn’t seem fair I had to do the rest by myself. It still doesn’t."
Leiria, who stayed close to Safar even when he visited his family, stirred in the corner.
"I’m glad I chose my path instead of yours, Quetera," she said. "Fighting always seemed like it was less painful than birthing."
"It is," Quetera said. "But it got me Dmitri."
She smiled at the little boy in the corner, making a messy business with his child’s potting wheel.
"I was happy in the end."
Quetera suddenly laughed and covered her mouth. "What am I saying? My end was definitely not happy."
Everyone laughed, even Khadji who was embarrassed by discussions of that nature. But since it was Quetera who said it, and he loved her humorous nature, he allowed himself enjoyment.
Over in the corner little Dmitri had tired of the clay and was playing in his washing up bucket. He put a straw in the soapy water then held it up and puffed.
A bubble formed on the end of the straw. Delighted, Dmitri puffed more. The bubble became huge, then broke off and floated across the room.
"Look mother," he cried. "A balloon! I made a balloon!"
They all turned to look. The bubble, kiln light wobbling on its surface, sailed slowly into the other corner. It hovered over the glass-making equipment, then burst.
Everyone made automatic noises of sympathy.
"Don’t worry, everybody," Dmitri crowed. "I can make more. Lots more!"
He happily dipped his straw in the bucket and started blowing streams of bubbles.
Safar’s smile died. He turned to his father.
"I want you make something for me, father," he said.
Khadji frowned, wondering what was in his son’s mind.
Safar pulled over some sheets of sketching paper and drew. "Make it like this," he said as he drew. "But make it thin. As light as you can. Don’t worry about it being too fragile."
Khadji held up the sketch. "I’ll do it, son," he said, "but whatever on Esmir for? What do you want with one of these?"
"Not one, father," Safar said. "It’ll take a least a score."
* * *
"You’re returning me to Manacia?" Kalasariz quavered. "But whatever for? What have I done, Your Majesty, to deserve such a fate?"
Kalasariz was standing before Protarus and Safar. He was blindfolded. He’d been blindfolded and kept out of the sight of the military preparations, since Iraj’s arrival in Kyrania.
"Don’t remind us about what you may or may not deserve," Safar said. "We probably have strong differences on that small matter."
"Don’t worry, my friend," Iraj said. "Manacia won’t kill you. We’ll make it look good. You can claim you escaped. You have an agile mind. And I’m sure you can make it a very brave escape. What really happened will be our little secret.
"Make of it what you will. Gamble that I’ll lose and join them. Gamble that I’ll win and keep your faith with me. You can do either, or both at the same time. Just choose well. Act well. And if you see me again in person you’ll know what to expect."
"I have every faith in your eventual victory, Majesty," Kalasariz said. "I’ll do anything you instruct me to."
"I have only one instruction," Iraj said. "I want you to deliver a message. And this is what I want you to say..."
* * *
The Demon Moon was rising when Kalasariz put spurs to horse and th
undered across the desert.
It hovered just above the night plain, red as new death. The landscape had an orange tint to it and was pocked with inky shadows. Kalasariz steered his horse around the shadows, praying to the gods he was correct each time he changed course, digging in his heels to make the horse run faster still.
Low as it was, the Demon Moon captured the whole northern sky, wiping out any sign of the star houses that reigned there. Just above the Demon Moon was a comet so bright it was the only other light that bleared through.
It’s the Sign of Alisarrian, Kalasariz thought.
Manacia claimed it was meant for him. Protarus believed the same. Kalasariz had no idea which way to jump.
In his madness he cursed the gods for not allowing him spies on the court of the Demon Moon.
* * *
Luka stared at Kalasariz in amazement.
"This is insane," the demon prince said. "How dare you approach me in such secrecy? If my father hears about it he’ll have us killed!"
"If you’ll forgive me for pointing this out, Highness," Fari said, "I think this human expected us to understand that... and therefore say nothing."
He looked at Kalasariz, yellow eyes glowing. His tones, however, were mild when he said, "Either by foolish design, or cleverness, it seems you have made us all conspirators.
Kalasariz kept his features blank. This was no time for arrogance to creep through. "I’m hoping it was by clever design, Exalted One," he said. "Clever for all of us, that is."
The Crown Prince was not mollified. "What angers me most," he said, "is for some reason this Protarus, this upstart king, believes I am such a traitorous son that I’d not immediately speak out."
"And me as well, Highness," Fari murmured. "I’m here beside you."
Again he glared at Kalasariz. But again his tones were mild. "I suppose you told him about the habits of our court," he said. "Filled him in on our personalities."
"I said as little as I could... under the circumstances," Kalasariz replied.
Fari’s talon shot out. A burning light speared into Kalasariz who shrieked in pain.
"You really should learn to scream with less vigor," Fari said, letting the talon drop. "Someone might hear us and the conspiracy would be exposed."
