by Allan Cole
* * *
The night before the battle Safar and Leiria made love for the first time in a long time.
In the beginning Leiria was fierce, but later she wept.
Safar held her, letting her weep. Suddenly she raised her head, tears streaming down her cheeks.
"I would never betray you, Safar," she said, hoarse. "Never!"
Safar was surprised at this announcement. He wondered what could be its cause.
But all he did was hold her closer.
And all he said, was, "Of course not." Murmuring it over and over again. "Of course not."
Until she fell asleep.
* * *
On the second day - just as the sun reached its highest point - Manacia’s scouts came to the place of the Two Stones. There they found Protarus waiting.
His forces were arranged strangely. The main group was focused in the center - but pulled well back from the rock columns as if they offered some sort of shield, rather than just two incredibly tall pillars springing out of an otherwise empty wasteland.
Out to the side were cavalry wings, all bristling with the small bows of the plains warriors. Behind them were ranks of slingmen, all on foot. The slingmen were thinly guarded by small cavalry detachments and a few well-armed foot-soldiers - muscular men with short heavy spears in each hand and axes in their belts.
The scouts roamed the edges, letting their witch sniffers loose to find the magical center. The creatures looked like squat dogs with hyena faces. They dashed about, scratching at the ground and sniffing the air.
In the end they returned to their demon masters, tails between their spavined legs to show failure.
* * *
Safar watched the scouts ride off - heading north toward the Demon Moon where Manacia’s forces were slowly moving forward.
He was perched on the crown of the westernmost rock column and had an excellent view. With him were Leiria, and four wizard helpers. There was a similar number posted on the opposite column, commanded by Horvan, his most able mage.
The spells he’d cast to shield the rock columns from the witch sniffers had been child’s play. What had not been child’s play was getting on top of those rocks. The task had been so difficult - the rocks so sheer - Safar’s plan had nearly been wrecked before he started.
Iraj’s soldiers were all men of the plains. Mountains were unknown to them. The highest any had ever climbed was to the backs of their horses.
Safar had watched in awful suspense as the team Iraj had selected attacked the first rock column and failed time and again. They would get no higher than ten feet - fifteen at the most - then come off the smooth rock all flailing arms and shrill cries, like clumsy chicks falling from their nest.
The only fortunate thing was no one got hurt, beyond skinned fingers, knees and pride.
Finally, there was nothing to be done but have Safar attempt it himself. Everyone protested, Iraj the loudest.
"I’ll not have my Grand Wazier killed before the battle even starts," he said.
"I’m a child of the mountains," Safar pointed out. "And the only one with climbing experience. Besides, I’m eventually going to have make the climb anyway. The team was just supposed to set up ropes so they could hoist me and my mages into place."
He shrugged. "It seems silly to risk all our plans over something so easily solved."
Finally, Iraj assented and Safar found himself next to the western column, peering up at the crown. He made a few cautious experimental attempts, fingers and bare toes skittering on the smooth rock, searching for hairline cracks just deep enough to give purchase.
The whole army was watching - an army that feared heights - and each time he fumbled and slid gently to the ground they gasped in unison as if he were plummeting to his death.
It reminded Safar of the nail-biting crowds at Methydia’s Circus when great acrobatic feats were being performed. The thought brought back the skills he’d learned from Arlain and Kairo, and so on his first true attempt he scampered up thirty feet without pause.
The fifty-thousand man army cheered and applauded like the greatest audience ever gathered under one tent. Safar became carried away with the moment. Although he had good purchase, he pretended otherwise and made as if he’d lost his grip and was falling.
The army moaned in horror. It was an awful sound, a frightening sound. Nothing like a circus audience, which know deep in their hearts the performer will ultimately prevail.
It came to Safar the warriors were putting all their hopes in him. Yes, they knew Protarus was a great king and a mighty general who had carried them through the worst circumstances. Iraj was not a monarch who believed in wasting his soldiers’ lives. But they feared the demons, especially demon magic and they were looking to Lord Timura, the Grand Wazier, wizard above all wizards, to save them. Hadn’t King Protarus himself attested to Lord Timura’s abilities? And hadn’t they already seen his early successes with the demons who’d held Kyrania, and in the shadow fight with Manacia?
To them, if Safar fell to his death it might very well portend their own. Safar took pity and ended his antics.
But he was showman enough to free a hand so he could wave while he nodded his head to show it was all in good fun.
A huge explosion of nervous laughter carried him the next ten feet.
He resumed the climb, but cautiously, soberly. It turned out to be much more difficult that way. Without the crowd-stirred energy of a performer to aid him he quickly became tired, his fingers and toes numb and a few times he really almost did lose his grip and come off the wall. When it happened he was at a height that would have crippled him, or spelled his doom.
He was exhausted when he finally reached the top. Although the cheers were thunderous, he felt nothing when he sent down the ropes to let the others up.
All he could think of was the other stone column. There was no getting around the fact it too had to be climbed - and by him and him alone.
The only true blessing the Old Gods granted living things, and this grudgingly, was that all ordeals, all pain, must eventually end - one way or the other. It was Safar’s good fortune his ended well. And now he was perched on the first column he’d climbed, a little tired, but certainly ready for Manacia.
After awhile he saw the dust ridge rise up under the Demon Moon and knew the enemy was approaching. He flashed a palm mirror to signal Iraj. Orders were shouted from below, trumpets blared, and there was a shifting sea of warriors coming to life and moving into position.
The dust ridge grew larger by the hour, soon walling the entire horizon. Still it approached, until there came a point when Safar could almost make out the dark outlines of mounted demons. Then all forward motion halted and the ridge became a huge dusty boil. It was like an old, weary dog who’d found a suitable place to rest and was turning round and round, to finally settle nose to tail.
Safar signaled again - Manacia was making camp.
* * *
The demon king scoffed at the battle map. It was clear to him what Protarus meant to do.
"He wants to use the stone columns to make us come to his center," he said to Luka. "That’s where his main force is gathered."
He gestured at the wooden markers to the left and right of the main forces. "And he’ll try to use his cavalry to pinch us in from the sides to make certain we stay on the course he prefers."
Manacia slammed his taloned fist onto the table, toppling the markers.
"Well, I don’t intend to meekly follow this king’s commands," he said. "I’ve fought this battle before. Hells, I’ve fought it four or five times at least."
He tapped his horned head. "It’s all here," he said to his son. "A game of minds. I almost feel sorry for Protarus. It’s clear he doesn’t know who or what he is up against."
Fari cleared his throat for attention. "What of the wizard, Timura?" he asked. "He’ll most certainly figure into Protarus’ plans."
Manacia scowled. "It’s true we haven’t located him," he said. "Or any source of h
uman magic for that matter. I suppose he’s shielded himself. It’s not an easy thing to do, so I mustn’t underestimate him. Still, I’ve got similar shields in place, protecting a much larger wizardly force.
"We’ll wait until he strikes and reveals himself. He won’t stand a chance when we reply."
Luka and Fari exchanged quick looks. Each could tell the other was impressed with Manacia’s reading of the situation.
The Crown Prince bitterly accepted his father’s military expertise. He had no doubt when the battle commenced Manacia would prevail.
"We’ll attack at dawn," Manacia said. "Just as the humans are stirring at the camp fires."
He gestured at the Demon Moon hanging over the northern horizon. "We’ll have that at our backs to confound them," he said.
Manacia slapped his thigh in delight. "There’s nothing I enjoy more than attacking an enemy with the light in his eyes."
* * *
Iraj surveyed his assembled troops. He let a broad grin play through his beard. "Here we are again, lads," he said. "Up to our callused behinds in hyenas and no way out!"
His voice, magically amplified by an amulet Safar had given him, rang with manly good cheer. The warriors roared laughter at their king’s humor.
Iraj pointed a dramatic finger through the stone pillars, which perfectly framed the Demon Moon.
"Once again," he said, "we’re facing a fellow who doesn’t think we’re fit to empty his piss pot."
The warriors rumbled their disapproval.
"But we’ve taught royal prigs like that a thing or two in the past, haven’t we lads?"
The warriors shouted agreement.
Iraj waved them to silence. "It so happens that this time the prig we’re facing is a demon."
There were low mutters, manly mutters, but forced.
Iraj thumped his chest. "I’ve fought demons before, lads," he said. "I fought them as a boy. And it was the demons who fell, not your king, boy though he was.
"You’ve never heard this story. It’s a secret Lord Timura and I have kept for many years. But now I think it’s time for all Esmir to know."
Iraj commenced to deliver an abbreviated, but highly dramatic account of the event.
"So you see, my lads," Iraj said when he was done, "demons bleed the same as all of us. They have magic, but so do we in Lord Timura. They have us outnumbered, but I’ve just told you a story of outnumbered boys so you know that’s no problem to men like yourselves.
"But I won’t lie to you. The demons are formidable foes. Yet, what would be the pleasure of fighting if all our foes were weak?"
This struck the men of Plains Of Jaspar particularly well and they all thundered their approval.
"What do you say, lads?" Iraj shouted. "Shall we wait until Manacia brings the fight to us?"
This was met with a resounding "NO!"
"Shall we carry to the fight to him?"
This drew an overwhelming "YES!"
"Then let’s go to him, lads!" Iraj thundered. "Let’s catch him with his breeches down and buried to the hilt in some demon whore."
The skies shook with their roared approval.
* * *
As it so happened, Manacia was pleasuring himself with an enthusiastic demon maid when the news of the attack came. He wasn’t "buried to the hilt," but he was definitely considering such an action when someone scratched at the entrance to gain his attention.
Manacia tumbled out of his harem tent, buttoning up his breeches. "Why do you disturb me?" he roared.
His aide gibbered, then pointed south. "Forgive mmm-mmm-me, Mmm-ajesty! But Pppp-protarus is attacking!"
Manacia’s eyes shot south. It was dusk, but it was the eerie dusk of the Demon Moon, and the figures he saw - human warriors - were cast large and bloody red.
The demon king was no hysteric. He’d dealt with surprise attacks before. He calmed his fears and shouted for his generals to counter.
* * *
It was a Jaspar blood charge. No quarter given, none asked.
It was a screaming mass of horseman, but not a man among them offered himself as a target. Each rode bareback, a thick leather harness girdling the horse’s body, a slender rope lead to its mouth.
They whirled about the harness strap, sometimes to the left, sometimes to the right, sometimes hanging beneath the horse’s belly. As they circled their mounts, they fired a constant stream of arrows from their small bows, so many that the sound was like a plague of biting flies descending in a black cloud on a cattle herd.
It was a mad charge, a charge where death was no consideration.
Arrow swarms disturbed the dusk with their black flight.
The screams of the demon wounded defied the desert calm.
And then they were among the demons, dropping their bows and drawing scimitars. Slashing this way and that.
They drove straight up the middle, nearly reaching Manacia himself, who was clambering aboard his elephant.
Iraj led that charge. He was a monster soldier, a soldier who could not be hit when the demon arrows swarmed back. His sword was a monster sword no blade could counter, no pike could match, no battle ax could confront.
He swept through the demon ranks. He was the arrow point, his men were its wounding flare, and the Demon Moon was his target.
He drove through the massed soldiers, aiming for the moon’s blood spot, then he whirled and attacked the other way.
Iraj saw Manacia clambering on his elephant. A king-against-king fury took him and he struck toward his ultimate enemy.
But then Manacia’s guard swarmed around him, spears tipped with deadly magic were hurled at him - countered by Safar’s amulet which he wore about his neck - and Iraj wisely turned aside.
He led his warriors out of the demon horde, doing even more damage in his retreat than in the initial assault.
* * *
Gundara shouted, "Shut up, shut up, shuuuttt up!"
Safar broke in. "Quit arguing with your brother. I’m trying to concentrate."
"It’s not my fault, Master," the little Favorite whined. "Gundaree won’t stop bothering me."
Safar fought for calm. He’d learned from Methydia that Art and Temperament came in the same package. If you couldn’t deal with the Temperament you had no business telling Art what to do.
He offered some treats.
"Here’s two for you," he said, "and two for Gundaree. And if you behave yourselves, and aren’t greedy little Favorites, there’ll be two more for each of you when the job is done."
Leiria nudged him. "They’re coming," she said.
Safar looked north. Night had fallen, but the Demon Moon was so bright all was clear. He saw Iraj and his men - about two hundred - streaming toward him. Behind them came Manacia’s army. It was huge thing, a black plains’ gobbling beast, gathering momentum as it came.
As Manacia had guessed, Iraj wanted the his enemy to come at him through the pillars where the main human force waited. If Iraj could squeeze the demons in from the sides, packing them so densely when they came through the pillars that they could barely move, the odds against the humans would be vastly reduced.
Although Manacia had fallen for Protarus’ trap, the surprise attack and false retreat, he was no fool. The pursuit was orderly. Only one large group of demons, led by Crown Prince Luka, Safar guessed, was directly involved in chasing Iraj. The rest of the army was spread out across the plain, sweeping toward the humans in a broad wave so deep and strong they’d almost certainly be overwhelmed.
Safar motioned to his wizards. They touched brands to a heap of desert brush and dried dung. It burst into flames, flaring out so quickly the wizards had to jump back. Then it became steady, returning to a more comfortable size, and the wizards started tossing special powders on the fire. It hissed and boiled, sending up a shower of multi-colored sparks. Safar saw a similar glow on the eastern pillar and knew Horvan had joined him in the spell.
He let his mind slip down and down and then he was in a col
d gray place with no top or bottom or sides. He called out, "Where are you, Ghostmother? It is I, your friend Safar Timura, come to find you."
There was no answer. Safar called again, "Come to me Ghostmother. Come to me please. I am in difficulty and have need of you."
Safar suddenly felt a presence. It was heavy and animal-like and smelled powerfully of cat. Then the grayness wavered and he could make out the faint of image of the old lioness.
"I am Safar Timura, Ghostmother," he said. "Do you remember how I helped you with your cubs?"
The lioness whined, the sound coming close to his ear.
"Will you help me, Ghostmother?" Safar asked. "As I helped you."
Another whine. And it came to him the old lioness had agreed.
"Thank you, Ghostmother," Safar said. "Wait here until I call, please."
Safar’s head came up and he was suddenly back on the rock pillar again, the flames of the magical fire dancing and showering sparks only a few feet away.
He saw Iraj and his troops had almost reached the gap between the pillars.
"Get ready," he said to the wizards.
* * *
Manacia felt a warning buzz of enemy magic bloom into life. At the same time he saw the magical fires burning at the tops of the rock pillars.
The demon king gnashed his fangs in delight. "There you are, Timura!" he growled. "I’ve got you!"
He pulled back his claw, readying a soul-blasting spell.
* * *
Iraj and his cavalry swept through the gap.
"Go!" Safar shouted.
Four glass globes were hurled into the fire.
Out on the red-lit plain four white hot explosions erupted along the western edge of Manacia’s oncoming army.
Then four more shattered the sky on the east as Horvan’s wizards hurled their globes.
"Again!" Safar shouted.
* * *
Manacia was nearly hurled from the howdah by the force of the explosions. He was momentarily blinded, but when his vision cleared his first thought was that it’d returned too soon.
The explosions had punched big holes in his army’s outermost wings. Other blasts followed and he heard screams of terror and pain. Then the wings started folding in on themselves as the soldiers on the edges scrambled toward the center to escape the blasts.
