Allan Cole - Wolves of the Gods

Iraj tugged at his beard, growing angry at the delay.

Then one of the kites broke free, wrenching groans from the wizards who knew they'd suffer Fari's wrath for the delay the accident would cause.

Iraj watched the kite fly free across the boiling night sky and he had a sudden yearning to fly with it, to sail away to a place where he could shed crown and scepter and become an ordinary man, with ordinary cares and ordinary dreams.

And then the thought struck him-isn't that what Safar had said he'd wanted all along?

Just then a bolt of lightning struck the kite and Iraj was suddenly, unreasonably, gripped in the jaws of despair. He groaned as the kite burst into flames and plummeted toward the earth, coming apart as it fell, shattering into thousands of fiery bits. Before the burning mass hit the ground a blast of wind swept it up again, carrying it high into the sky-like a meteor shower in reverse.

Iraj's hopes soared with it, climbing higher and higher, then pausing to hang just beneath the blood-stained heavens.

There it took on a strange form-a human-like figure with a familiar cap and beaked nose. All sputtering with multi-colored fire.

Then it dawned on him-It was the Jester. The playful god. And the Crown Prince of Luck.

Iraj smiled at the omen, confidence flooding back, making him feel stronger than ever before.

It was a promise, he thought, of things to come.

Biner stood in the center ring, resplendent in his dashing ringmaster's costume. "Ladies and gentlemen,"

he cried. "Lads and lasses of all ages. Welcome to the circus!"

The Kyranians were rapt, all wearing huge smiles, clutching their jester amulets and listening closely to Biner's every word.

"This is a special program today," Biner continued, "for all our Kyranian friends. So we won't begin the usual way. First off, I want to tell you that our little company has always held Kyrania dear to our hearts.

We had the rare good fortune of meeting one of your sons long ago and heard all about you." He grinned. "That young man, by the way, is known to you as Safar Timura. Some might even call him Lord Timura. But when he performed with us he was known far and wide as 'Safar The Magnificent!'"

He chortled and the crowd laughed with him, especially Khadji and Myrna and the other members of Safar's family who had front row seats of honor.

"Can you imagine, Myrna," Khadji whispered. "Our Safar who was always so clumsy when he was little?"

"That was from your side of the family," Myrna teased. "From my side he got 'Magnificent!'"

Khadji pretended he didn't hear. "Quiet, please, Myrna," he whispered. "I'm trying to listen."

He pointed at Biner, who was saying, "It was a name well deserved, my good people. For as we all know our friend Safar is remarkable in many ways."

Led by Myrna and Khadji, the crowd made loud noises of agreement. Biner used the diversion to palm a handful of explosive pellets.

"So put your hands together, ladies and gentlemen, lads and lasses, and give warm welcome to the one, the only…" Biner made a dramatic gesture, at the same time flinging the pellets to the ground, shouting,

"…Safar The Magnificent!"

There was a heart-stopping blast of fire and a cloud of smoke, red and green and white, burst up. The crowd gasped and all eyes were fixed on the thick, swirling mass. The smoke cleared and there were more gasps as three figures emerged, posing nobly on a small platform decorated with magical symbols.

In the center was Safar, wearing ceremonial wizard's robes. On his right was Palimak, decked out in his miniature soldier's outfit. To his left was Leiria, proud and tall in her glittering armor. In her hands was the black box containing the model of the airship.

The stands exploded as all the Kyranians came to their feet, clapping and cheering their village heroes.

Safar motioned to his companions and they all bowed together, boosting the applause to even greater heights. He'd lost none of his skills with an audience, knowing how to take people to the edge, then bring them back again just before exhaustion crept in, making them dull and less receptive for a performance.

But this time he had to press them past that point-treating the opening of the show as if it were the last encore after a long evening's entertainment. He wanted them limp and receptive to all his suggestions, so when the cheering started to fade he turned, sweeping a hand out to indicate Palimak.

The boy had been well-rehearsed and he drew himself up and gave them all a snappy salute. It had its desired effect-another long round of thunderous applause. And when that began to diminish Safar immediately turned to Leiria. She held the black box over her head as if it were a trophy and although no one in the audience had the faintest idea what was inside, this triggered a new burst of cheering.

His eyes swept the crowd and he felt an all-too familiar pang of guilt when he saw all the happy grins pasted on their faces. Safar's first job was the complete opposite of what any circus performer desired.

He had to turn those smiles into grimaces of misery. Then his gaze fell on his father and mother and he saw the merry insanity in their eyes. The machine's spell made them look foolish and his parents would rather be dead-much less miserable-than not to have all their considerable wits about them.

So he steeled himself and when he felt the audience reach its last dregs of energy he threw up his arms and shook his head, urging them to stop, saying, "Thank you, thank you, my friends. But, please. Please."

His voice was magically amplified and had the ring of command, not pleading.

Then he brought his hands down and although there was no magic involved, it seemed like sorcery when the crowd noise sank along with his hands. And the people dropped into their seats with happy obedience. Their spirits were like soft clay waiting to be molded by him.

He whispered to Palimak, "Are you ready?"

Palimak glanced down, checking the two black dots on his sleeve. They weren't dirt specks, but Gundara and Gundaree shrunk to the size of fleas. "Ready, father," he whispered back.

Safar nodded and turned back to the crowd. "I hope you'll all forgive me," he said conversationally, "if I seem a little clumsy up here. It's been more years than I like to admit since my circus days." There were chuckles of understanding from the audience. "And if you can't find any forgiveness to spare," he added,

"please don't blame my assistants." He smiled at Palimak and Leiria. "Anything that goes wrong will be my fault, not theirs." More chuckles.

Somewhere close by, Elgy and Rabix started a drum roll-low, but building quickly.

"And so," Safar said, "without further ado…" and his voice rose to a shout:

"Let the show begin!"

Drums crashed like thunder and Safar stabbed at the sky with his silver dagger. All eyes jerked up, like puppet heads responding to a string. A single cloud, golden in the sun and ridged like a broken cliff face, floated overhead. A red beam of light leaped from the dagger point, lancing the cloud. Harp music swelled and the audience sucked in air as one, then let it out in a long sigh of wonder as a slender stream of golden light spilled from the cloud, arcing down like a waterfall. It fell on the platform and for a moment all was obliterated by brilliant light. People threw up their hands to shield their eyes. The harp music shifted to teasing pipes that made everyone smile.

Hands came down and wonder of all wonders the light was only a faint shimmer, like curtains of the sheerest yellow silk. Palimak stood alone on the platform, bathed by the golden light. The crowd gaped at him, because instead of a small boy, they were presented with a towering, but childishly slender figure, nearly twelve feet tall.