Allan Cole - Wolves of the Gods

"What's the difficulty?" he asked. "Is the King in one of his foul moods again?"

"Who can tell?" Luka grumbled, horned brow made pale green by frost. He snorted twin columns of steam in the frigid air. "Foul or fair, all his moods seem for the worst these days."

Fari gestured at the Caluzian Pass, where several of his demon wizards were huddled miserably by the entrance tending smoking pots of magical incense.

"From what I can gather," the old demon said, "all our efforts have been brought to a massive halt so our master could talk over old times with some lowly sergeant." He shrugged, miniature avalanches of snow cascading from his shoulders. "It's a pity, really. All this snow is a great help to us."

Kalasariz frowned, then realized how much better he'd felt since the snow started. No more constant battering of wild Black Lands spells.

"I thought perhaps you had come up with some new shield," he said to Fari.

The old demon snorted. "Who has had the time for such experiments?" he said. "No, it's the storm that's doing it. As near as I can tell the snow blocks-or possibly even blinds-the machine at Caluz."

"Which means the devils inside that pass," Luka broke in, "ought to be ripe for the plucking. It's my guess that one more attack ought to knock them loose."

Kalasariz cocked an eyebrow, amused. "I assume you've told the King this," he said.

Luka barked laughter. "No, my Lord," he said, making a mock bow. "We were waiting for you to bless us with your esteemed presence. You seem to be in the greatest favor with our Lord and Master these days. We thought you could tell him for us."

Kalasariz grinned. "And wouldn't that make me the prince of fools," he said. "Especially when I know for a fact that neither of you are sure who exactly is opposing us in that pass."

"I really must speak to you at length someday," Fari said, "on your spying methods. Not even the flies in the latrines escape your notice."

"That's true," Luka said. "Sometimes I think you can see up our arses."

"Now you've guessed my secret," Kalasariz joked. "The flies are in my employ."

All three of them laughed-forming a temporary bond in this rare moment of shared humor.

Fari was old enough and wise enough to recognize opportunity first. "Let's speak honestly for a change, my brothers," he said. "Or should I call us the Unholy Three." He chuckled. "I've heard that name for us bandied about in the ranks. Rumor has it that the King himself calls us that behind our backs. However, no matter the intent of the fellow who originally coined the term, I think it fits us all quite well."

"The Unholy Three," Kalasariz murmured. Then he smiled. "I like that. I think we should keep it."

Luka snorted. "Forget the game playing, my Lord," he said. "Call us what you will. But please … get to the point."

Fari was careful not to take offense. "Very well," he said. "I'll dispense with pleasantries and reach down for the final sum of our woes. In a few minutes the King will call us before him. How shall we advise him?"

"How can we advise him," Kalasariz said, "when we don't know what's happening in that pass?"

"We do know it isn't Safar Timura or his Kyranians who are killing our soldiers," Fari said. "All my castings at least show that."

"Then Timura must have an ally," Luka said. The careful tone of the others had made him feel awkward.

Unpolished. Definitely not royal. So he tried to be as smooth and diplomatic as he could when he said-"I know that's so obvious it may make me seem foolish to say it. However, knowing such a thing and understanding what it means are not the same. For instance, the King believes Lord Timura chose Caluz for his destination because he wants to form an alliance with the Oracle of Hadin." He shrugged. "This could be true. However, I've never heard of an Oracle with an entire army at its disposal."

"All excellent points," Kalasariz said.

"Yes, yes, I agree," Fari said, impatient. "But we're all forgetting we have an actual eyewitness to what occurred in that pass." He pointed at the king's pavilion. "And right now he's in there with Protarus telling him the gods know what! So how can we, uh … guide our master-if you understand what I mean-if we don't know what is being said? Much less his reaction to it."

There was an uncomfortable silence as each being considered. Finally Kalasariz said, "Let me start. To begin with … might I be so bold as to propose a truce?"

The others considered. Brows furrowing. Weighing what this might entail. The first-and by far the largest-was trust, which slowed down the thinking considerably.

Kalasariz hastened to fill the gap. "Only a temporary truce, of course."

Fari's brows climbed in approval. "Ah!" he said. "That might work."

"Yes, yes, it might," Luka agreed. "Go on, please."

"Well, as Lord Fari so wisely pointed out a moment ago," Kalasariz said, "King Protarus will summon us soon. None of us can predict how he will behave. What he will do or say. Except we do know this-no matter what passes, he will demand an immediate response."

He paused, looking each demon in the eyes by turn. "True?"

Luka nodded. "True."

"I most fervently agree," Fari said.

"So, to protect ourselves," Kalasariz said, "wouldn't it be prudent to see what transpires before we act?

Then instead of each fighting the other … we can examine the situation calmly … rationally … without fear of attack from our own ranks. Finally, when we speak we should speak with one voice. None of us trying to win the advantage as long as the truce lasts."

"I can see much value in that line of reasoning," Fari said.

"As long as we remember the truce is temporary," Luka added. "There's no sense pretending it could be anything but that."

"No, there isn't," Kalasariz said, "In fact, why don't we make the truce for the duration of our visit? In other words, when we leave the king's company the peace will end."

A harried aide rushed out of the pavilion. "King Protarus calls, my Lords," he said. "Hurry, if you please!

He's in no mood to be kept waiting."

To the amazement of the aide the three burst into laughter as one.

Then Kalasariz said, "Well, my Lords. What is your thinking? Are we in agreement?"

Luka eyed the aide, who was shuffling about, wondering what was being said. "What about him?" Luka said, jabbing a talon at the aide.

Kalasariz smiled. "Don't worry," he said. "He's one of my flies."

More laughter.

Then Luka stretched out his right claw. "To the Unholy Three," he mock intoned.

Kalasariz and Fari caught the spirit. "To the Unholy Three," they chorused, layering hand and talon with his.

Then, chuckling and shaking their heads, they stomped the snow off their boots and went inside to see what was in store for them.

Iraj was waiting-lolling in his throne, booted legs supported on the naked back of a comely slave. He was completely at ease-frighteningly so for the Unholy Three. He was in his human form and they'd rarely seen him in such control. Only the red glow of his eyes gave him away.

Sitting to his right-on a smaller throne-was the soldier, Vister. He was wearing only a clean white loin cloth and was being tended by several pretty human and demon maids, who had just finished washing him and were now rubbing scented oil into his limbs. In one hand he had a silver flask of wine, from which he took frequent pulls. In the other, he clutched a thick sandwich of roasted lamb with several large ragged wounds in it.

Heaters had been brought in when the storm began and the throne room was uncomfortably hot. Sweat poured from the soldier's body, mixing with the oils and coating his heavily muscled torso with an heroic sheen. Vister's age and experience were apparent in the thatch of gray hair on his battle-scarred breast.