Allan Cole - Wolves of the Gods

"Ah, well," Safar said to himself, taking comfort from the sound of his own sighing whisper. "Ah, well."

He tested the arrows again. They were ready.

Safar gathered them up, along with a sturdy bow, and slipped from the tent to confront the night.

Leiria gritted her teeth as the next chorus of howling began. It was a sound that first pierced the ears, then jabbed the brain with hot spear points. All around her the villagers crouched down in misery. Some wept and covered their heads to drown out the sound, while others held their heads high in stoic defiance.

Palimak stirred beside her. She'd promised Safar that she'd guard the child until the danger had passed.

"If I were bigger," he said, "I could magic their howls right out of their throats." He lifted up both hands, cupping them into paws like a cat's. Needle point claws emerged from his fingertips. "I'd do like this…"

and he slashed the air with his claws … "and cut those howls right out!"

Not for the first time, Leiria felt a shiver when confronted with the demon side of the child's nature. Claws and glowing eyes are damned hard to get used to! She wondered, also not for the first time, if she would've been able to adopt the child as her own as Nerisa had done. The thought of Nerisa made her feel momentary resentment. The woman had remained her rival even beyond the grave. Then she remembered her resolve and smiled at the lapse. She and Safar were friends, not lovers. So there was nothing to resent.

Then the howling stopped. The silence came so abruptly it was like falling off a cliff into nothingness.

Leiria tensed for danger, one arm going around Palimak.

"Look, Aunt Leiria," the child said, "there's my father!"

Her eyes swept left and she saw Safar walking from the small shelter to the raised platform in the center of the field. People called out to him as he passed and he had a quick smile and word of reassurance for each of them, but he never paused, always moving easily and quickly along towards his goal. Leiria remembered when he'd done the same at Iraj's great court in Zanzair, giving cheer to his followers while hurrying to an appointment with the king. Except then he'd been moving through a dazzling royal chamber instead of a makeshift campground full of frightened peasants and their flocks.

Palimak struggled to get up. "I'd better go help him," he said.

Leiria gently pulled him back, saying, "Your father said you had to stay with me."

Palimak frowned. "Well, maybe he did," he admitted. "But I still think I ought to help. This is going to be a really, really hard spell. Maybe harder than he thought. I can feel it all the way over here."

His voice was mild, but Leiria could tell he was worried and a little angry with her for holding him back.

His eyes were beginning to glow yellow and his little pointy claws were emerging unbidden.

"But if you disobey your father," Leiria said, "you might spoil his spell. I mean, what if he's so worried about you that he can't concentrate? Then what'll happen?"

Palimak sighed dramatically and slumped down. "I suppose you're right," he said. Then he brightened.

"But we can be his … his … reserves, right?" he said. "Like they do in the army?"

Leiria chuckled. "That's exactly right," she said. She patted her sword. "We'll be his brave and loyal reserves. I'll provide the steel." She nodded at the stone turtle clutched in his hand. "And you can provide the magic."

Palimak chortled. He lifted up the little idol. "Did you hear that, Gundara? We get to be reserves. You too, Gundaree. Won't that be fun?"

There was no answer, at least any Leiria could make out. But Palimak seemed satisfied so the two little Favorites must have heard. She looked up and saw Safar mounting the platform, waving to the crowd, while at the same time directing some men who were quickly encircling the platform with a pile of wood.

That circle was the center of a great four-pointed star also made of wood. Many barrels of oil, magically enhanced by Safar, had been poured on the wood, as well as on the mounds of additional wood scattered strategically about the field.

It would be a strange kind of fight, Leiria thought. Logs and bundles of brush instead of spears and swords. Like Palimak, she wished she could join Safar. Perhaps even more so. Finer feelings aside, Leiria had been Safar's personal bodyguard for many years. She'd turned away assassins' knives in the dark and had even charged into battle with him to protect his back.

Safar's orders, however, had been quite plain. If he failed-and all was lost-she and the two Favorites were to carry Palimak to safety. The child, he said, must survive at all costs. He'd entrusted her with one other thing, nearly as precious, he said.

Leiria patted her breast pocket. Inside was a small book, the Book of Asper. She was to keep that safe as well.

"Give it to the boy when he's old enough," Safar had said. "He'll know what to do once he's read it."

Just then, Safar made a gesture and green flame and smoke burst from the earth. The crowd went silent.

Not a child cried, or a goat bawled. And when next Safar spoke his voice rang out like a great temple bell.

Leiria leaned forward, swept up like the rest.

"Gentle people," Safar said, "the moment is upon us, so listen to me closely. You will need courage and boldness this night, but you will also need your good common sense. No one here has had experience in magical battle, but I can assure you it isn't much different than the ordinary kind. There'll be lots of noise, smoke and confusion. The trick is to concentrate on your duties, whether it's to help me or assist a child or sick family member. Pay no attention to anything else and we'll be just fine when this is all over."

Safar saw all the wise nods his remarks drew, but he also saw the glazed, wide-eyed look in them that comes from facing a nightmare. He wondered if any of them really understood what he was saying. Hells, he wondered if they were even capable of hearing what he had to say.

As he struggled for words to break through their fear Iraj launched the first attack.

He was only a boy, too young to be alone in the mountains and he came out of the night crying, "Help me, Renor! Help me!"

The boy was a ghostly figure whose plaintive cry cut into every human heart gathered in the fort. His father collapsed, his mother shrieked and his brother shouted, "Tio! Tio!"

Kalasariz laughed as he manipulated little Tio's ghost. He put all the pain he could into its voice as it cried,

"Help, me, please! Help me!"

He fed on the crowd's hysteria, straining to conjure up more ghosts. Kalasariz was new to shape-changer's magic and he found it difficult to concentrate.

Then Renor ran to the top of the fort's walls and clawed at the sky, weeping and flailing at nothingness in his effort to help his brother.

Kalasariz laughed again and made stronger magic.

Nine other ghosts faded into being.

They were the slain Kyranian sentries, with Rossthom at the their head, pleading with all their families and friends, "Help me, please help me!"

Now the crowd in the fort went from hysteria to blind madness. To Kalasariz' delight they rushed the walls wailing comforts to the dead.

The spy master's blood boiled with delight. As he liked to tell Luka and Fari-his demon rivals for influence over Protarus-native intelligence was more important than magical prowess. Even with his lesser magic, he could accomplish much by simply knowing his target's weaknesses.

He gloried at the agony he'd caused, drawing in more power from that pain and adding other little touches to his handiwork, like a bloody scar on Tio's face and a gory stump on Rossthom's right arm where a hand used to be.