Allan Cole - Wolves of the Gods

Safar held up one of Palimak's clay amulets-the Jester hanging from a leather thong. Next to him were several boxes filled with similar amulets.

"And that's not all you get, my friends," he cried. "Besides the most exciting performance you have ever witnessed, we have a special gift for each and every one of you."

He waved the amulet. "It's the Jester, ladies and gentlemen, lads and lasses. The Laughing God! The slayer of ill humored devils. The Lord of Luck! Prince of Good Fortune! All wrapped up in this lovely, magical amulet, guaranteed to ward off evil spells."

The Kyranians oohed and aahed at the gift. Scores of people pushed forward, waving their hands, begging Safar to give them an amulet and let them enter.

"No need to crowd, my friends," Safar shouted as he handed amulets out by the fistful, "there's plenty for all."

He stopped a blushing young mother, babe in arms, who was too shy to take more than one. "Don't rush away, my pretty. You're forgetting the baby. He gets one too." She gratefully accepted it and sped away to see the show.

Safar kept handing out the amulets, reminding people to put them on so "the Jester can get to work for you right away. Wasted luck is lost luck, my friends. Remember that!" The Kyranians streamed through the gates, amulets dangling from their necks and found seats in the stands. Soon the whole village was accounted for and Safar rushed away to change costumes.

The first act was about to begin. And he was the star.

Meanwhile-far away, but too close, too close…

Iraj raged against the Black Lands, driving his troops mile after mile until they dropped, exhausted; lifting them again by his will alone to go onward, onward to Caluz, pummeled by nature and magic gone wild.

As they marched the earth heaved under them, splitting and groaning open, eager to swallow whole regiments if they were fool enough to come near. Volcanoes shuddered and burst, tornadoes and sand storms lashed out with no warning. Vicious spells, insane spells, rained from the bleak sky like ash, burning spirit and skin until they thought they could bear no more.

But then Iraj would turn his wrath on Fari and his wizards, demanding countering spells, healing spells, spells that would put heart into his troops again. He worked Fari and the wizards even harder than the soldiers. A warrior by birth and inclination, he empathized with the demons and men who made up his army. Even through the cold view of a shape changer he still bled when they bled, hungered when they hungered. If he'd had any love in him left he would have lavished it on them-human or demon, all brother warriors together.

Wizards were a different matter. A creature of magic, Iraj distrusted all sorcery. A soldier at heart, he thought wizards and war magic were only necessary evils and he was disdainful of the soft-fingered spell makers, be they demon or wizard, who made up Fari's private corps. And that's what it was, a private army within an army, a very dangerous situation for Protarus if he let it go on.

For now he was letting it be, even going so far as to let Fari think he was in supreme favor with the king.

Just as he allowed Kalasariz to believe what he wanted-and Luka the same.

Poor Luka. He thought he was out of favor now, the fool in Iraj's eyes. This was true as only a monarch can make things true, especially king to lesser king where every frown or sneer is an iron bolt to the heart. Soon, however, he would make the prince glad. Lift him high up in the royal favor of King Protarus. But at the moment he needed Fari and his miserable wizards, so it was Fari's turn to smile now, no matter how weary that smile.

Iraj took joy in demanding more from Fari and his sorcerers than he did from his troops. He ground it in, commanding more than they could give, then pushing harder and getting it after all. Spell by strength-draining spell from the wizards, blister by bloody blister from his soldiers, every moan subtracting another inch from his goal.

Even so, Iraj was a commander who led from the front, demanding as much from himself as the others, so no one had reason to complain they were being asked too much.

That night, while Safar was rejoined with his old circus mates, Fari and his sorcerers had cast yet one more spell to shield the army from the ravages of the Black Lands. It was only good for three hours at the most and now Iraj-in full wolf form-was charging across the fiery landscape, leading his army as far as he could before time ran out and they had to regroup to cast another protective spell.

A poisonous yellow fog was clamped upon the land and Iraj could barely see the cratered road before him as he bounded along on all fours. Behind him he could hear the tramp of his army and over that the howls of Fari, Luka and Kalasariz, urging the soldiers to hurry, hurry, hurry!

For Iraj the most agonizing part of the ordeal was knowing that Safar and the Kyranians had passed this way before with seeming ease. Only one of his wagons had been found abandoned on the caravan track, while Iraj's army was losing several a day. Many of the king's animals had also died, or were too sick or injured to go on. Yet not once had they found even a lost goat from the Kyranian caravan.

He couldn't understand how it was possible for Safar to accomplish so much single-handedly and with no losses to speak of. Where did he find the will, much less the power?

His spell brothers-Fari, Luka and Kalasariz-had promised their king once Safar and the demon child were captured all their powers would be his. Then he would be not only king of kings, but the most powerful sorcerer in Esmir.

Once, that promise had been what drove him. Capturing Safar and taking his powers had been Iraj's obsession, his burning goal. But not any longer. Not since Sheesan. Now he had an even greater reason to bring Safar to ground. He had the witch's spell that would free him from his spell brothers forever.

Then he could be a true King of Kings. A great emperor unchained from those foul creatures who had tricked him into spell bondage.

It was this new goal-a shining promise-that kept Iraj from falling into despair. But sometimes he couldn't help but wonder-what was it that kept Safar going? What did he see that Iraj didn't see?

And most of all, what did Safar want?

To Iraj, that had always been Safar's greatest mystery. Even when they were boys and fast friends he'd never been able to get Safar to admit his deepest desires. He kept saying he only wanted to remain in Kyrania and be a potter like his father and grandfather. Which had to be a lie, for how could someone as powerful as Safar be satisfied with so little?

Iraj's spell brothers said Safar wanted Iraj's throne. This made a great deal of sense-for what could be a greater goal for one such as Safar Timura?

Yet sometimes Iraj wondered. When his moods were the darkest and most foul he thought, what if they are wrong? What if that's not what Safar wants at all?

And if that were true-what in the hells could he want?

A hot blast of wind swept the yellow fog away. The Demon Moon was at its brightest and the barren landscape leaped up under its harsh red glow. Many miles distant Iraj could see the huge black range where the road ended. Just beyond, his officers and aides all agreed, was Caluz.

Blood suddenly boiling with eagerness to get at his prey, Iraj lifted his wolf's snout to howl. Just then the shield dissolved and the howl was strangled off by the thick yellow fog rushing in again.

Iraj gasped for breath, shifting into human form and rising on two legs. Then the wind shifted and it was easier to draw breath-big, gulping lungsful of the hot, foul substance they called air in the Black Lands.

He heard Fari roaring orders to his mages and turned to see twenty demons in wizard's robes lofting five spell kites into the sky, each so large that it took four strong demons to control them. The wind whipped the kites high into the air, lighting crashing all around them. Electrical fire ran down wires to the ground, where they were attached to large jars with magical symbols painted on them. The jars glowed with every lightning strike, slowly building up the spell charge. When they were "filled up," Fari and his wizards would create yet another shield to protect the army for a few more hours.