Allan Cole - Wolves of the Gods

Kalasariz ignored his enemies, addressing his rebuttal directly to Protarus. "She isn't for sport, Majesty,"

he said, "but for gain. And as for seeing us, it surprises me that ones so perceptive as Prince Luka and so intuitive as Lord Fari haven't noted the woman is blind. Ergo, she isn't here for killing, but for your Majesty's possible edification."

Kalasariz shot quick gloats of victory at Luka and Fari, thinking, There you go, you sons of pig lizards.

Root around in that trash and see if I've left anything tasty behind!

Iraj peered at the woman, noting for the first time her disfigured eyes, which were entirely white as if they had been permanently rolled up into her head. The king's wolfish features dissolved into something quite human, featuring the same bright and handsome smile that had once won him so many ardent friends and supporters.

"She really is blind," he said, smile growing broader. "I like this. Now the question is entirely open on whether we kill her or not. It's been a long time since precedent was challenged."

Iraj leaned an arm on his throne, cupping his chin in his palm. He studied the old woman for a moment, noting that although her dress was stained with dirt, the material was quite expensive. "Tell me, Granny,"

he said, "What do you have to say about all this?"

"Same as I said 'afore, Majesty," she replied. "Old Sheesan ain't for killin'. And never mind I'm blind.

Don't take eyes to know yers're shape changers. Old Sheesan can smell the wolf in yer!"

"Let me kill the old bitch, then," Prince Luka said. "Since there's no longer a question of her lack of sight saving her."

The old woman snorted and turned her blind face toward Luka. "Beggin' yer pardon, Lord," she said,

"but that'd be about the stupidest thing yers could do. Yer should count yer blessin's that I'm even here

'afore yers."

Kalasariz laughed. "It's true," he said. "We didn't capture her, you know. She turned herself in and demanded to see someone in charge." He tapped his breast. "Which is when I stepped in."

He turned to Iraj. "In case you haven't noticed, Majesty," he said, "the woman is a witch. She claims she can use her witchery to help us track down Safar Timura."

Luka and Fari made derisive noises, displaying rare agreement. Iraj made no comment, but he stared at the old woman in disbelief.

Finally, he said, "Are you saying that this hag can do what all of us combined haven't been able to accomplish?"

Kalasariz started to speak but the old woman beat him to it with a prolonged bout of cackling and coughing.

"Hag, you say?" she chortled. "Just an old bag of bones with a hank of hair on top. That's what'cher thinks of me, does yer?"

Then she composed herself, crossing her arms over wizened breasts. "All's it'll cost yers is a purse of gold, Majesty," she said. "A nice fat one, if yer please. And I'll deliver Safar Timura to yers soon enough."

"I can't believe I'm listening to this," Luka said. "An old woman dares to ask a price for what she should give us freely. What is Esmir coming to? Is there no dignity left in this court?"

"If it's dignity yer wantin', Me Lord," the old woman said, "it'll cost yers two purses, not one. Dignity spells don't come cheap, 'specially when I gots some fiend like yerself fer a client. No insult intended, I'm sure. I'm only speakin' the facts, here." She sniffed at the air and wrinkled her nose. "Shape changers make such a stink," she went on. "Can't do nothin' 'bout that. Even if yer was to give me three purses of gold."

While Luka was choking on this insult-to the vast enjoyment of the others-the witch turned her blind face to Iraj.

"Purse a gold's me price, Majesty," she said. "But most of it won't be fer the likes of me, if it gives yer comfort. Be lucky if I can keep a coin fer meself, as matter of fact. The rest'll go to me dear sisters of the crucible."

Iraj gawked at her, then he looked at Kalasariz. "What in the blazes is she talking about?" he asked.

"Purses of gold and sisters of cups, or whatever. Is this a jest, my lord? If it is, it's in damned poor taste."

The old woman started to speak again, but Kalasariz yanked viciously on the chain, silencing her.

"It's quite simple, Majesty," the spy master said. "This remarkable woman is not a thing of beauty, I admit; or at least not in any conventional sense. She's beautiful enough, however, when judged by her position and talents.

"It seems that this … this … creature … is quite an influential person in her own sphere. It so happens that Old Sheesan is an elder in the Witches' Guild, which has members in every city and hamlet in Esmir.

"What she proposes to do is to contact every member of her Guild, promising fat rewards for any and all sightings of Safar Timura. The earlier we get notice, the richer the reward. Finally, if a witch should trap Lord Timura, or one of his key people, there will be a special bounty above and beyond all other rewards."

Old Sheesan raised a finger. "And I'll be wantin' commissions on all's a them," she said. "Includin' the bounty."

"What a greedy thing she is," Lord Fari said admiringly. "But she makes such good sense I'm inclined to recommend it." He bowed to Kalasariz. "A remarkable find, my good fellow. My congratulations."

"Well, I don't like it at all," Luka grumbled.

The old woman sniffed. "What's not to like? A bit a gold gets the whole sisterhood in yer camp. Witches all over Esmir'll be on the lookout for this Safar Timura feller. And they'll be at it day and night, I tells yer.

Day and night. Sniffin' ever stranger comes to their village, tossin' bones or lookin' into their crystals for some sign of him.

"Time's are hard for witches just now. What with droughts and plagues makin' money so scarce. Use to get a bit of silver for yer spell makin'. Curin' boils, or castin' the evil eye and such. Now, yer lucky if yer can get a skinny chicken for yer pot. Which is why yer gettin' us so cheap, Me Lords. A whole army of witches for a single purse of gold."

At first Iraj had been merely amused by Old Sheesan, but the more she talked the more amusement dissolved into intense interest. As he stared at her, Iraj suddenly caught a flash of someone quite different than the toothless hag standing before him. It was as if curtains were momentarily parted to reveal a shimmering creature of incredible beauty. Then the curtains closed and the image was gone.

The old woman cackled knowingly-as if she had just shared a great secret with the king.

Iraj gripped the throne arms, so overcome by emotion that his wolf snout erupted through his face.

"Woman," he said, "if you bring me Safar Timura's head I will make you richer than any queen."

The old woman giggled, sounding remarkably girlish. "Imagine that," she said, primping her greasy hair.

"Old Sheesan a queen!"

And Iraj thought, yes, yes I can imagine.

The demon glared down at Safar, fangs bared, yellow eyes narrow with suspicion. "State your business, human!"

Safar staved off nausea as the soldier's foul breath washed over him and forced his most jovial smile.

"Profit and entertainment, sergeant," Safar said. "If not the first, why we'll settle for the second. Especially if it comes with ale."

Beside him, Leiria smacked her lips. "I hear Nadaan makes the best ale in all Esmir," she said.

The demon soldier peered at her, noting her dirty mail and even dirtier sword. His eyes swept on, taking in the ox-drawn wagon and the three heavily-laden camels. Besides Safar and Leiria, who were both leading horses, there were four other humans-a driver for the wagon and three men to tend the camels.

There was something decidedly shabby about the group. Their clothes were unkempt, the animals' fur was clotted-even the canvas covering of the wagon was filthy.