Allan Cole - Wolves of the Gods

Many horrors were lived that night. Many threats were posed, many ghosts were roused, but somehow Safar and the villagers managed to turn them back. They burned all the gathered wood, then broke up the carts and ripped off their clothes to feed them into the magical fires.

They were exhausted when dawn finally came and the attacks ended. The pentagram was nothing more than an ugly black smudge with foul smelling heaps smoking and sputtering in the morning's wet chill.

People shuddered with relief and collapsed to the ground. There were no choruses of self-congratulation.

The enemy had been defeated, yes. But all knew the defeat was temporary. Iraj would return, but now he'd be backed by a real army, not specters in the sky.

Safar slumped on the platform and looked around at all the spiritless people. It was as if they had been the losers, instead of Iraj. Even so, he had to rouse them, enthuse them, convince them that all was not lost. Then somehow he had to prepare them for a challenge far more daunting than Protarus and his army of demons and wizards and human savages. To do this he would have lie to them, manipulate them, then keep on lying and manipulating until either the goal was achieved or they were all dead.

Suddenly the whole thing seemed hopeless. His people's weary despair had infected Safar and now his plan seemed foolish, impossible in the extreme.

A voice cut through, "We haven't much time, Safar."

He looked up. Leiria was standing there, a sleeping Palimak in her arms. Her eyes were red from the smoke, her armor blackened. But her back was straight, shoulders square, and there was a gleam of determination in her tired eyes.

She nodded at the slumbering Kyranians. "We have to get them up and going," she said, gently lowering Palimak to the platform. There he curled up to sleep on, the stone turtle clutched between grimy paws.

"We have maybe two days at the most," she continued, "before Iraj shows up with his whole damned army."

"I know that," Safar said, a little sharp.

Leiria snorted. "Good for you," she said. "Now, would you mind enlightening me about what we're supposed to do next? All you've said is that somehow we're going to make an entire village of over a thousand people disappear." She chuckled. "I know you are a wizard above all wizards, Safar Timura, but that's magic I'm going to have to see to believe."

As she spoke, Leiria returned the Book of Asper. The sight of the book and the buzz of sorcery when he put it away firmed his resolve. A greater tonic, as always, was Leiria's presence. Her attitude had always been, show me the mountain and we'll both figure out how to climb it together.

Safar slipped Coralean's maps from his belt. "Actually, there's no magic to it," he said, unrolling the maps.

"Well, not much, anyway. It's more of a trick, really. Sleight of hand, except with two thousand hands."

"That's still one hells of a trick," Leiria said.

"Not when you consider that Iraj will be dragging along of tens of thousands of soldiers," Safar said, "plus baggage trains that'll stretch from one horizon to the next."

He showed her one of the maps. "Look here," he said, tracing a finger north from the Gods' Divide to the Great Sea. "There are so many canyons and hills and secret roads and trails between Kyrania to the Port of Caspan we could hide a small city of people, much less a village."

Leiria studied the map, eyes narrowed. Then she nodded. "It could be done," she said. Leiria glanced over at all the people collapsed on the ground. "But I don't know if it can be done by them! They've lived in one place all their lives. They know nothing about life on the road, much less life on the road with the dogs of war on your heels."

"We can teach them," Safar said. "If you're still willing to help me, that is. A sensible person would laugh in my face and walk away with her skin still safe on her bones."

"I told you before, Safar," Leiria said. "That I'm with you. No matter what. So we've got two thousand miles or more between us and the sea. So there's who knows how many hundreds of sea miles more to go to reach Syrapis. And us not knowing if there'll even be ships to hire in Caspan to take us there."

She grinned. "If that's what his lordship wants, that's what he gets!"

They both laughed, although Safar's laughter was weak. Already his mind was running ahead.

Between skirmishes, Safar had managed to tell Leiria about his vision in Asper's tomb. Although he'd held some things back-like the mysterious side trips to Naadan and Caluz. He had two reasons for his silence. First, if it became too difficult he might skip them entirely and head straight for the sea. More important: whenever he'd been about to relate exactly what Asper's ghost had said magical alarms went off. All his sorcerous instincts warned him that by telling all he'd be putting Leiria in grave danger.

Safar was especially worried about mentioning Caluz. He knew something about the region from his days in Iraj's court. It was strange place where mysterious forces had been at work for eons.

"Come to me through Caluz," Asper had commanded. But Safar dreaded the moment of decision-if they lived to see it-when he finally reached the road that led to that dark region.

Lost in thought, he was surprised when he heard Leiria say, "There's only one thing that worries me, Safar."

"What's that?"

She indicated the villagers. "Maybe they can do it. Maybe they can't. The thing is … how are you going to convince them to try?"

"Magic," Safar said.

And he heaved himself to his feet and started getting ready.

An hour later, washed and refreshed, Safar once again stood before his people, Leiria and Palimak beside him.

Exhausted as the Kyranians were, they seemed to sense hope in the air and their faces were bright with expectation.

Safar cracked an amplifying pellet, then spoke: "You fought well and bravely, my friends. I'm sure that even now Iraj Protarus is cursing your courage and nursing a battle-sore behind!"

The laughter was weak. No one had to tell these people that Iraj wasn't done with them. Methydia used to say that the best way to get an audience in your palm was to make a dream for them … and keep them reaching for that dream. But first, she'd said, you have to scare them. Well, Iraj had done that unpleasant little job for Safar. Unfortunately, he needed to scare them in a whole different way.

"But I didn't rouse you from your well-earned rest to praise your courage, my good people," Safar said.

"Besides, everyone knows that courage is something no Kyranian lacks."

Faces brightened, especially among the young bravos like Renor. He saw them flex their muscles and swagger from side to side.

"But it's another brand of courage I want from you today," Safar continued. "One that calls for even greater sacrifices than before."

The crowd stirred, a little fearful. What was he talking about? Wasn't dealing with Iraj Protarus enough?

"Not just your lives, but the lives of untold millions are at stake. In fact, the very world we stand upon depends on you, the Goddess Felakia's Chosen Ones, the People of the Clouds, the People of the High Caravans."

Safar definitely had their interest now.

"Behold!" he shouted, making a gesture and his magical dagger leaped out of nothingness into his hand.

Then, quieter, "Let me show you the world of the future, my friends. Even if by some miracle we could make Iraj Protarus and his forces vanish from Esmir, this is what the world would look like in not many years."

Safar made a circular motion with the knife, as if cutting a hole into the air itself. The crowd jumped as a fierce wind blew, shrieking through the hole he'd made.

Then a miniature tornado leapt off the dagger point. It swirled madly about the platform for a moment, then steadied, spinning in place like a top.