Wolves of the Gods tott-2

by Allan Cole

  The guards all sagged, unconscious. The black cloud of insects settled onto them, covering them like a blanket. But this blanket was alive and ravenous, draining them of their blood.

  Safar took pity on them. He quickly whispered an unlocking spell and the chains fell away and the cell door clacked open. Then he snatched a torch from its bracket, whirled it around his head until it was sparking and shouted, "Begone!"

  He hurled the torch to the floor, white smoke exploded upward and outward, filling the cell with a harsh, oily odor. Then the smoke cleared away and all the insects had vanished. The guards were sprawled out on the floor in whatever position the sleep spell had caught them.

  Safar smiled at them. "Pleasant dreams," he said and slipped out into the corridor.

  He went to the main door, barred inside and out for extra security, and peered through the peephole. It was night and the rain was so heavy he couldn't make out the guard post at the main gate. When he'd entered the compound he'd seen a dozen soldiers led by a lieutenant. He'd assumed they were to secure the outside of the small prison in case someone tried to rescue him. At the moment, Safar guessed, those soldiers would be huddling in the guard shack sipping tea and trying to keep dry and warm. He'd counted on that when he'd worked the mosquito spell, figuring they wouldn't hear the cries of their victims. So far it looked as if he'd guessed right.

  He motioned and both locks, inside and out, fell away. He cracked the door a few inches, saw no one about, and went out, shutting and locking the door behind him. With luck his escape wouldn't be noticed for a few hours until the sleep spell faded and the guards woke up and found him gone.

  The rain was falling so hard he was soaked through within seconds. He made his way gingerly across the muddy ground, trying to work out a plan of action for when he reached the guard shack. He still needed another bit of luck to complete his escape. Actually, he needed more than a bit. He strongly suspected that to overcome twelve soldiers a mosquito just wouldn't do.

  When he got close he heard a thump and a groan, then the sound of a heavy weight splashing onto the muddy ground. Safar had frozen at the first sound, pulling back into a dark recess. He heard bootsteps going into the yard and tried to make himself smaller.

  Then he saw a familiar form leading four men toward the cell building.

  He sagged in relief.

  It was Leiria!

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  THE BLOOD PRICE

  The priest chanted a prayer, swinging his censer by the chain, lid clack-clacking, incense smoke billowing through the altar room.

  King Quintal gagged on the smoke, making the painful throb in his temples drum harder and he cursed the very gods the priest was invoking. Quintal was sick-sick with fear, sick from too much drink and trebly sick from enforced sobriety on this most horrible of mornings.

  Two other priests joined the others in sing-song prayer, adding their censer smoke to the too-sweet perfume that already infused the air.

  Quintal shouted, "Get on with it you pack of shrieking eunuchs!"

  The head priest protested. "But Your Majesty, this is a solemn occasion. Everything must be properly purified."

  "Well, I'm purified up to my behind," Quintal roared. "My bowels are bursting with your damned purity.

  If you want to keep your head you'll get that horse out here right now. Let's kill it, and be done with it!"

  The frightened priest issued orders and a moment later the stallion was brought out by sweet-faced boys dressed in white robes. The executioner followed, a broad ax resting on his shoulders.

  Sick as he was, Quintal couldn't help but admire the animal. Besides its classic form, the stallion seemed quite calm. Not placid-his head was up and his eyes were alert. Confidence, that's what it was. Despite circumstances that would panic most animals, this one acted as if it were in complete control of the situation.

  To Quintal's right a bulk as large as his own stirred uncomfortably. It was Ulan, sitting in the traditional place of honor. He was also the sole public witness to the event. Other than the principals, the sacrificial chamber was empty. The room was large enough to hold several hundred and normally it would be packed with dignitaries and honored guests. The priests began to pray over the horse and Ulan shifted again, the ornate seat groaning under his weight.

  "I don't like this, Majesty," he grumbled. "Don't seem right to kill a great horse like that. And in such a hurry, too. With nobody around, so it's like we've got no respect for him."

  Quintal flushed, angry, but he bit off a royal curse. Ulan was the most popular man in Naadan. Not only was he a Brave Titan, fresh from victory, but he was well-known for his many kindnesses to the poor, his temperate lifestyle, and for speaking up when ordinary people were wronged. In short, he was Quintal's rival for the throne. And if the king wasn't careful he find himself deposed.

  Quintal pretended sympathy. "I know, I know," he said. "I've been in your place-declared Brave Titan of Naadan with all the honors and glories. And you want your friends to see. And your family, too.

  They'll all be proud and damned disappointed as well they can't be here."

  "I don't care about that!" Ulan said. "Killin' the horse is what bothers me. I already offered to put up a sacrifice double his value. That should satisfy the gods. I won him fair. And I oughta be able to do what I like!"

  It was all Quintal could do to keep from calling the guard to punish Ulan for his impertinence. But he needed the wrestler's support. Especially now.

  "I can't take a chance on pissing off the gods," the king said. "Especially right now!"

  Ulan was not mollified. "So why're we doin' it this way, Majesty?" he asked. "In secret and all. Like we're ashamed of something. I don't like the smell of this!"

  Quintal looked about to see if anyone could overhear him. Then, desperate to win Ulan's backing, he leaned closer to say, "I'll tell you what's happening. But I've got to swear you to secrecy."

  "Done," Ulan said. "You've got my word as a citizen, brother wrestler and fellow Brave Titan."

  Quintal hesitated, then said, "A terrible thing has happened. Safar Timura has escaped."

  Ulan gaped. "How?"

  Quintal sighed. "It doesn't matter how. He just did. I haven't told anyone other than my closest advisers, otherwise the whole city'd be in a panic."

  Ulan grimaced in painful understanding. "When King Protarus hears about it they'll be the hells to pay."

  "Exactly. I haven't sent runners out to tell him yet. I'm trying to decide what to do and how to portray it.

  But I can't delay much longer because Protarus will think I've conspired with Lord Timura."

  He pointed at the horse. "That's why I'm doing this so quickly and so quietly. My priests tell me the faster we make the sacrifice, the faster we get the gods' blessings. Which we'll need when Iraj Protarus hears what's happened. But my generals said if any kind of crowd was gathered together-especially a crowd of such important Naadanians-word was sure to get out. Then we'd have public hysteria on our hands at the same time Protarus showed up."

  Ulan frowned. Like most Naadanians of late, he thought Quintal a drunken fool. Now, it seemed he'd become dangerous as well. If Iraj Protarus was about to pay a visit with blood in his eye, they ought to be doing more to get ready than killing a poor horse in some stupid secret ceremony. Ulan was never one to keep his deep-felt beliefs silent.

  The big wrestler was weighing a reply, when a voice broke through: "Perhaps I can solve your problem, gentlesirs!"

  The men jolted around and saw Safar standing there, hands on hips, wizard's cloak thrown back to show a gleaming breast plate, steel blue eyes boring out from a face darkened by the desert sun.

  Then a second jolt as they saw the tall warrior woman standing by his side, crossbow cocked and ready.

  Behind her were at least ten other bowmen, all poised to strike.

  Quintal jumped as the executioner saw the group, let out a berserker's roar and charged, swinging his ax over his head.
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  Leiria fired and the bolt dropped him in midstride and he crashed to the floor, dead.

  Ulan was coming to his feet, but Safar stopped him with a shouted, "Hold, friend! I mean you no harm!"

  The giant wrestler sagged back.

  Safar turned to Quintal, saying, "I'm sorry for that man. He was only trying to protect you. Now, let's make certain no one else makes such a tragic error. Tell your people to keep quite still and when our business here is done we'll be on our peaceful way."

  Quintal gave the orders, although he saw it wasn't really necessary. The priests and boys were frozen with fear. Then the horse nickered, pulled free and trotted over to Safar. To the king's amazement the two seemed to know one another. They acted like old friends, too long apart. Safar touched the horse, hesitant at first, then it snorted with joy and nuzzled him. Safar patted and stroked and whispered into the horse's ear.

  Then he looked up, blue eyes moist. "Does he have a name?" His voice was husky.

  "Khysmet," Quintal said. "He's called Khysmet."

  Safar's eyes widened. The vision in Asper's burial vault leaped up and he once again heard Asper's ghost whisper, "Khysmet!" He blinked in sudden realization.

  He smiled, patting the big stallion, "Khysmet. Khysmet. Yes, now I understand!"

  Then, to Quintal, "This is why I'm here. For Khysmet."

  Dazed, Quintal waved a hand. "Then take him!"

  "We're not thieves," Safar said. "I don't intend to steal him." He turned to Ulan. "Besides, he belongs to you."

  "I'm with his Majesty," Ulan said. "If that's what it takes to get you out of here, he's yours. We've got troubles enough on account of you. Call him a gift, call him anything you want. Just take him and go!"

  "Actually," Safar said, "I had a trade in mind." He lifted the horse amulet from his neck. He came forward, Khysmet trailing him like a big dog.

  Safar handed the amulet to a puzzled Ulan. Then puzzlement turned to surprise. "It's warm," he said.

  "Like it's been toastin' next to the heart."

  "It's an old witch's charm," Safar said. "The story is that whoever owns it will someday find a great horse, a magical horse." He nodded at Khysmet. "Like him." The horse rubbed its head against him like a cat.

  "As you can see, that part is true. So the next part must also be true." He indicated the amulet. "Someday you'll find such a horse and the owner will have no choice but to trade it for the amulet. And so on and so on."

  "Who cares?" Ulan snapped. "Don't matter one way or the other if it's magic or not! Iraj Protarus is maybe gonna come down on Naadan like a hammer 'cause of you! Thousands of innocent people could die for somethin' that wasn't their fault!"

  Quintal groaned and Ulan turned to him. "Isn't that right, Majesty?" he said. "Naadan's in big trouble all because of-" The rest was cut off when he saw Quintal slumped over in his throne.

  "Ah, hells!" Ulan said. Ignoring Leiria and her warriors, he stalked over to the throne and bent to listen to Quintal's chest. After a moment his head came up and he announced grimly, "He's dead! Guess this was too much for him." He straightened, shaking his head. "Can't say as anybody'll be sorry. Even his kids didn't like him much."

  Before Safar could speak, the high priest wailed, "But who will speak for us now, Ulan? Who will plead for us to King Protarus?"

  Ulan thought a minute, then thumped his chest. "I will!" he said. "I'll tell Iraj Protarus what happened here!

  And if wants a head for revenge, he can take mine. And godsdamn his eyes!"

  "I can help you with Iraj," Safar said.

  Ulan peered at him. "Oh, yeah? How?"

  Safar pointed at the amulet around Ulan's neck. "That used to belong to him," he said.

  Ulan jumped, snatching at the amulet. Safar laughed. "Don't worry, I came by it honestly. Though not the way the charm is normally supposed to work."

  "So what about the amulet?" Ulan growled impatiently. "How will that help?"

  "Give it to Iraj as a gift," Safar said, "and all will be forgiven. I guarantee it."

  Ulan stared at him, hard. Then: "You've got no reason to lie about that. So I'll take your word for it. But don't expect any thanks."

  "I don't," Safar said, taking Khysmet's reins and preparing to lead him away.

  "One other thing," Ulan said.

  "What's that?"

  "If you're ever in this region again…"

  "I'll give Naadan a pass," Safar finished for him.

  "Yeah," Ulan said. "Like that!"

  The escape from Naadan was slow going. Supplies were low in the main Kyranian encampment and Safar had tarried long enough to force Ulan to sell him all the goods they could haul away. Now there were so many wagon and camel loads of food and other badly needed things that they had a fairly large train. Plus there was a herd of goats and fresh horses to tend, so they barely made it into the hills by nightfall. Safar didn't know how much time they had. He assumed the worst. Ulan was clearly no fool and Safar suspected the new king would send runners to Iraj the moment they cleared the gates.

  Once in the hills, Safar and his companions only rested a few hours. They set out again before dawn, using the stars to guide them and the Demon Moon to light the way. Their goal was the main camp, where all the villagers were well hidden in a woody ravine.

  When first light came Safar dropped back to the rear of the column, where Leiria and her best men were positioned.

  Leiria waved at the rumbling wagons and slow-moving camels. "We'll be a week at this pace," she said.

  "We never counted on the expedition taking that long."

  "We'll be fine," Safar assured her.

  "Are you soothsaying, or just trying to make me feel better?" she said, but she said it with a smile.

  "Neither one," Safar said. "I was merely expressing my faith in you, Leiria."

  "Then we're lost for certain," Leiria laughed.

  "I'm supposed to be the wizard in this group," Safar said, "but you're the one who's had all the magic."

  He nodded at Renor and the other men, weapons at the ready, alert for any danger. "They were all just farm lads and goat herders not many month ago," he said. "But you've turned them into a real force to be reckoned with. As professional a group as I've ever seen, even when Iraj was at his peak."

  "It wasn't that difficult," Leiria said, with not a trace of false modesty. "In a way they're better than professionals. They have a greater reason to fight than money or ambition." Once again she indicated the caravan. "They're fighting for their own. You can't ask for a better goad than that."

  Safar agreed and was about to praise her more, when she said, "All right, Safar, you've got your horse …

  Khysmet … and you've rather belatedly told me that he was the reason we were in Naadan. That it wasn't just a routine raid. Fine. Wonderful. Asper speaks and we obey, whether we know we're obeying or not! Now, what else are you holding back?"

  "I can't say," Safar replied. "I've already told you why."

  Leiria groaned. "I know! Wizard business!"

  "It's not that simple," Safar said. But before he could go on Renor whistled a warning.

  They turned to see an ominous cloud of dust puffing up on the horizon.

  Leiria examined it with expert eyes. "Not that big a force," she said after a moment. "But it's coming up fast."

  Safar frowned, concentrating until he caught a whiff of purpose in the oncoming cloud. "I think it's a scouting party," he said. "Iraj's men, that's for certain."

  "Doesn't look like there's enough to mount any kind of serious threat," Leiria said. "I'll get some men together and ride out and meet them. Make them sorry for being so stupid."

  Safar started to agree, then hesitated. "That's not necessarily a good idea," he said. "You'd have to catch or kill them all. If you failed, Iraj would be able to pinpoint us exactly for the first time since we left Kyrania."

  Leiria was irritated. "What are we supposed to do," she said, "let them follow us all the way back to camp?"


  "What are your chances of getting them all?" Safar asked.

  Now it was Leiria's turn to hesitate. After a bit, she sighed and shook her head. "Not very good," she admitted. "They're most likely Iraj's best scouts. They'll be smart. They'll be fast. And they'll never forget that mission takes precedence over all else."

  Safar nodded, then said, "Give me your water."

  Leiria was startled. "Water? What are you talking about."

  "I have an idea," he said. "Their prime mission is to capture me, right?"

  "Rii-ght." Leiria wasn't sure where this was going.

  "Fine, then I'll ride out to meet them," Safar said, "wag my tail and get them to chase me. I'll lead them off in some other direction, lose them, then meet you either on the trail or if it takes longer, at the encampment."

  Leiria gave him the hells for even thinking of the idea. But Safar persisted and in the end she saw he was determined.

  Safar patted the stallion. "Besides," he said, "I've been wanting to give Khysmet his head and see what happens. Both of us have been going crazy with this slow pace."

  "One fall," Leiria warned, "and you're done for."

  "We won't fall, will we Khysmet?" Safar said to the horse. The stallion whinnied and pawed the ground.

  "I don't think it's possible for him to stumble," Safar said to Leiria. "I can't explain how I know this. I just do."

  "Great," Leiria said, "You get to play and I get to trod along the common path."

  Her voice was heavy with sarcasm but Safar could see it was to cover real worry. "What a lucky man I am," he murmured, "to find a friend like you."

  "Just you remember that, Safar Timura," Leiria scolded as she handed over her water bags. "If you let something happen to you I'll track down your ghost and kick its behind from here to Hadin."

  Then Safar was riding away, looking like a warrior prince on his great horse.

  A large piece of Leiria's heart went with him.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  HORSE MAGIC