Allan Cole - The Gods Awaken

The Goddess Lottyr.

Each face was more beautiful and yet more malevolent than the next. Painted flames shot from every mouth.

And as Safar looked at them through eyes that Iraj had provided he saw the flames bubble and move.

A terrible searing blast shot through Iraj, who moaned and shrunk in his own boots from the fiery assault.

Safar felt it too, but quickly turned the attack back against its origin.

Somewhere in the gloom of the castle keep he heard a ghostly shriek.

Then the assault ended. But he knew it wasn't for long.

He mental whispered to Iraj, This is the center. The center to the Hells. And it is through here thatwe must attack!

Iraj asked, How much time do we have, brother?

And Safar replied, Almost none at all.

That night, thick black storm clouds gathered over Hadin. At first they scudded in a few at a time, then they arrived with increasing frequency until even the face of the Demon Moon was obscured.

King Rhodes landed his forces in that darkness, crossing from his island hideout to Hadin on longboats with muffled oars. He ignored Safar's nine ships, which were anchored in the little bay. Tabusir had assured him that all but a few Kyranian troops had left the ships to march with Safar and Palimak.

When Rhodes mounted his planned attack on the castle he also knew he'd have nothing to fear from the pirate captains. Once they saw which way the battle went, they'd be clamoring to join Rhodes in return for a few purses of gold.

As soon as Rhodes hit the beach, he sent shock troops forward to secure the road and silence any stray soldiers or farmers they encountered.

Meanwhile, his longboats returned to the island and began the onerous task of hauling the portable siege engines to the shore.

His mother arrived with the last group, hissing curses at her slaves as they clumsily loaded her magical table onto her royal litter. All the gilded decorations had been daubed with lampblack so they wouldn't glitter if struck by a chance beam of light.

"That's my favorite litter," she complained to Rhodes. "And now you've ruined it with your stupid soldier tricks. You're going to have to commission me another one when we return home."

"You're the only one of us who's not walking, mother," Rhodes pointed out. He'd left all the horses behind for transport after the siege was in place. "You're the one who insisted on bringing your litter along. Plus six useless slaves to carry you!"

Clayre sniffed. "Some people would think you'd show more gratitude to me," she said. "After all, it's my magic, not your precious army, that will defeat Safar Timura."

Kalasariz knew hand that she spoke the truth. Clayre had spent hours with the Lady Lottyr casting spell after spell to pave the way for the battle.

He whispered from within : Please, Majesty. Promise her anything to shut her up! You're nevergoing to have to deliver, remember?

Rhodes took the advice. Sighing, he said, "Very well, mother. You'll get your new litter as soon as we return home."

"Nothing shabby, now," Clayre warned. "You know how tight-fisted you can be."

"Spend what you like," Rhodes said. "I'll give you a blank warrant on the treasury."

Clayre's eyes narrowed suspiciously and Rhodes realized he'd gone too far. "But half the cost will have to come out of your allowance," he hastened to say. "So don't go wild with the design."

Clayre's suspicions vanished. Rhodesa€™ caveat was much more in character. For a flickering moment she'd wondered if her son had matricide on his mind. But on reflection, that didn't make any sense. To be sure, Rhodes had no love for her. Just as she had none for him. However, they did need each other. One held the hereditary crown, the other the magical means to secure it.

"Don't cheapen your gift by bargaining with me about its price," Clayre said. "I'll pay ten per cent, no more."

"Twenty," Rhodes said.

Clayre shook her head sadly. "You are so mean-spirited," she said. "Just like your father. But for the sake of family peace, I'll agree."

The Queen Witch had her own murderous designs. She'd discussed her hateful son with Lottyr, who had promised to aid her when the battle with Safar Timura was won. Further lessening her suspicion was her own good mood: Many magical tricks had been planned to confound the great Safar Timura.

All she had to do was bear with this barbarian lout who called himself her son for another day at the most, and then the tables would be turned once and for all!

Through the king's eyes, Kalasariz observed Clayre's shifting moods. He knew what she was thinking.

He'd had his own private discussions with the Goddess Lottyr and was well aware of the Queen Witch's plans and the agreement she'd made with Lottyr.

But what neither she nor Rhodes realized was the Goddess had ambitions of her own. Ambitions that only Kalasariz could satisfy at this most historic moment.

He laughed to himself, thinking how surprised Rhodes and Clayre would be when they joined Fari and Luka in his belly.

Then he had only to capture Iraj and he'd no longer be the power behind thrones, but the throne itself.

King of Kings. Lord and master of Lottyr's worldly realm. For a single, spine-chilling moment he recalled an old Esmirian saying he had once been fond of quoting: "The deadliest poison ever made came from a king's laurel crown."

But then he dismissed this once-favored saying as nonsense. It was only a thing he used to repeat to soothe his pride when Esmir was ruled by fools like Iraj Protarus.

And as Rhodes massed his troops and organized his siege engineers the spymaster dreamed of powers he'd never held before.

Forgetting another most pertinent Esmirian saying: "When the king's spy plots his own coronation, he must first conspire against himself."

* * * *

In the Castle of the Two Kings, Safar's warning of impending doom shook Iraj from his kingly posturing.

A man of many flaws, he'd been momentarily overcome by his weaknesses.

After a long time of being denied even a human body, he'd reveled in his power over women. Never mind that Leiria believed he was Safar-and it was Safar whom she loved-he'd been anxious to master her with his lust. Never mind that Queen Yorlain thought him her handsome savior, he'd been overcome by the idea of adding another queenly notch to his bedstead.

Once he'd been a man-a princely warrior of the Great Plains-whose very smile and ardent looks could bring women into his bed like nubile mares trotting over the hills to the wild stallion's trumpeting call.

Then he'd been a shapechanger, a creature bound by an evil spell, whose lust could only be slaked by murder and blood. As a great wolf he'd delighted in the carnage of the harem of victims he'd kept. But in those rare moments when his human side had crept in, he'd despaired at all the torment he'd caused.

And yes, on occasion he'd even condemned himself for his betrayal of Safar, his blood brother and friend. But those moments were so rare, so fleeting, that they were easily replaced by rationalizations that it was Safar who was the betrayer, not him.

The saintly Safar who claimed that he never wanted anything but to save the world from itself. The lucky Safar, whose encounters with women had always been marked by a deep friendship and love that had always been denied Iraj.

Nerisa, the little thief who had stolen a great treasure for Safar, only to die at Iraj's orders. Methydia, the beautiful witch who had doted on Safar, only to be slain by one of Iraj's soldiers. And then Leiria-fantastic, lovely Leiria-who had once belonged in the literal sense to Iraj. But he'd given her away to Safar on a whim of false friendship and now she loathed her former master and thought only of Safar.