Allan Cole: Wolves of the Gods

Safar knelt beside the boy. "We've already talked about this," he said, "so you know what to do."

Palimak rubbed an eye. "Sure I do, father," he said, voice trembling.

"Do you have the book?"

Palimak patted the package in his tunic and nodded. "Yes, father," he said.

"And when you get to Caspan," Safar pressed, "what then? What did we agree?"

Palimak dodged the question. "I'm supposed to wait for you," he said.

Safar pressed harder. "Yes, but if it comes time to sail and I still haven't shown up-then what?"

Palimak started to cry, but Safar grabbed him by shoulders, stopping him.

"Then what, son?" he insisted. "Then what?"

Palimak sniffed. "We leave without you," he said.

Only then did Safar pull him close, hugging him and whispering that he loved him and calling him a brave boy, a noble boy, who could do all the things his father asked of him.

Finally, Safar stood up. "You'd better go, son," he said.

Palimak straightened his shoulders, trying to look manful. "Goodbye, father," he said.

He started to turn to leave, then stopped. "But what if they don't listen, father?" he asked.

"They'll listen," Safar insisted.

"Sure, but what if they don't?"

And Safar answered, hard-"Then make them!"

When Iraj stepped into the passageway he suddenly became frightened. Attack seemed imminent, danger a densely coiled spring ready to snap. He smelled the fear in his spell brothers and knew they were experiencing the same sudden cold dread. Never mind they were surrounded by a veteran guard of soldiers and wizards prepared to die to protect them. Never mind the passageway into Caluz had been declared safe-the enemy driven back.

The feeling of dread persisted, growing stronger with each step they took down the wide, torch-lit corridor. Where every wavering shadow seemed an assassin gathering to strike.

Moments before they had declared victory. The trouble was the victory had come too easily. True, Fari and his wizards had cast the mightiest of battle spells to clear the passageway-and beyond. They'd reamed it with magical fire, followed up by soul-shriveling spells no mortal could withstand. At the same time, expecting a counter-assault from Safar, they'd thrown up impenetrable shields designed to turn his own attack against him. Luka had quickly followed up, sending his best fighters rushing behind the spells to wipe out any force that remained.

Safar's expected counter never came and when the soldiers burst into the light on the other side, there was no one to meet them, with only the bodies of their own dead for evidence that any fighting had gone on before. Confident, Iraj had brushed aside all doubt and ordered his party forward to finish off Safar.

Now, as he moved toward the light shimmering at the end of the passage, all those doubts returned-and in greater strength. He thought, it's impossible … Safar couldn't have been defeated so easily. Then a second fear-what if he were dead? Iraj had to catch Safar alive, then kill him with his own hands or all his plans would be for naught.

Mind in turmoil, belly roiling with conflicting emotions, Iraj burst out of the passageway into dazzling light.

And found-nothing.

Iraj blinked in the strong sunlight, struggling to regain his bearings in the odd beauty of Caluz. All was serene, all was peaceful, but no matter where he looked he saw not one living soul.

He sniffed the air-Safar's spoor was so strong he knew he still must be there. His companions evidently agreed.

"It's only one of Timura's tricks," he heard Fari say.

"Yes, yes, a trick," Kalasariz agreed.

"A pitiful trick at that," Luka added. "There's no place he can hide that we can't find him."

Just then-on the hill directly opposite them-Iraj saw a lone horseman ride into sight. The man waved at him, almost cheerily, as if greeting an old friend.

It was Safar!

And he rose in his stirrups to shout: "This way, Iraj!"

Then Safar swung the horse about and cantered easily back down the hill as if he had nothing to fear in the world.

The airship hovered just above the mountain path, a sentinel for the last group of Kyranians streaming out of the Caluzian Valley to safety.

Palimak crouched in the observer's platform, watching the villagers pass under him. In a few minutes the airship would get the signal from Dario that all had crossed. Then it would be Palimak's duty to lead them through the portal to Caspan. He tried hard not to think about what would happen after that.

As the refugees passed by some of them spotted him on the platform. They cheered and waved and he forced himself to wave back, feeling like the blackest, the cruelest of liars. Because when they saw him they naturally thought Safar Timura was there, falsely raising their hopes that all was well.

He touched the package beneath his tunic-the Book of Asper. Suddenly the entire weight of world crushed down on him. What if his father didn't make it? What if his father were killed?

For a minute he couldn't breathe, then when he could he was overwhelmed by self pity. It wasn't fair! He was just a boy! Too young to be alone with so much sorrow, so much responsibility. How could they expect … and so on … and then a little voice piped up from his pocket:

"It won't be so hard, Little Master," Gundara said. "You can do it."

"That's a stupid thing is say," Gundaree broke in. "We're talking about saving the world, here!"

"Don't call me stupid!"

"Well, I don't know what else to call it. The whole thing's impossible no matter how you look at it. Saving the world, indeed! If I told Lord Timura once, I told him twice, there's no use. So why bother trying?"

Palimak broke in. "Gundaree?" he said.

"What, Little Master? How may I serve you?"

"Shut up, please!"

For some reason, he suddenly felt a little better.

Safar guided Khysmet toward the river shallows where he could cross over to the temple. The big stallion kept pulling at the reins, wanting to run, wanting to get the hells out of here before they were surrounded by all the known villains in the world.

Safar soothed him, saying "It's all right … it's all right…" Knowing all the while that it might very well not be all right! That any number of things might be happening right now, the least of which would be a swarm of arrows winging their way toward his exposed back.

To keep his nerve, Safar reminded himself that only two things could occur and he was prepared for both eventualities. The first-the worst-was that as soon as he had called out to Iraj, he would have four great wolves and an entire army charging down his back. This would be a very foolish thing for Iraj to do because Safar would make him pay with his life and still accomplish his purpose. Iraj was no fool and would know this, which led to the second possibility.

The possibility that allowed for Safar's survival, which made him rather prejudiced in its favor.

When Khysmet splashed through the shallows and still nothing had happened, Safar knew that Iraj had chosen correctly.

He started thinking he might live after all.

The Unholy Three immediately wanted to charge after Safar, but Iraj stopped them in place with a curt,

"Hold!"

His command caught them in mid transformation. They were so surprised that they froze there, an ugly mixture of parts. Skin marred by erupting patches of fur, wolf snouts bursting under demon horns, shape-changer eyes burning out of deep pits. What monsters! Iraj thought, disgusted, horrified, at the sight of them. Then he saw himself in their ugliness and hated them even more.

Iraj pointed at Safar, who was riding down the hill toward the river. "Don't you think he knows?" he hissed, finger quivering. "Don't you think he's ready?" He fought for calm. "This is Safar Timura , you fools! If we charge after him we'll all be dead before we reach the top of the rise!"