Allan Cole - Wolves of the Gods

"A marvelous tale indeed," Kalasariz murmured. He turned to Fari. "Pardon, my good Lord Fari,"

he said, "but it seems the good sergeant is too modest to tell his story more fully."

Fari nodded. "He's too tense, poor fellow," he said. "That's his trouble."

Luka took the cue. "Wouldn't it be prudent, Majesty," he said to Iraj, "to see if we could learn more?" He laid a ringed claw of sincerity across his breast. "Let the good sergeant be our teacher, Majesty. And we his humble students."

Kalasariz muttered from the side of his mouth. "A little thick, don't you think?"

"What was that?" Iraj demanded.

"I was only agreeing with Prince Luka, Highness," Kalasariz replied.

Now Fari was up to speed. "Yes, let this humble hero instruct us, Majesty," he said. "As all know, I have always been particularly sensitive to the lower classes. Like Your Majesty, I pride myself on listening most intently to their crude words of wisdom." He shrugged. "Of course, sometimes we need a little assistance to understand their meaning."

Iraj raised an eyebrow. "What's to understand?" he said. He turned to Vister. "Tell them what you told me, my friend. And leave nothing out."

Vister struggled upright and the maid slipped off his lap and resumed her place with the others.

"Sure," he said. He snapped his fingers. "Nothin' to it! Simple as all the Hells! The problem is this, see. There's ghosts in that pass. Hundreds, maybe thousands of 'em. And they can kill you, but you can't kill them. And that's all there is to it!"

He gave Luka an owlish look. "So all's you officer sorts gotta figure out is how to turn the whole thing around. Like we get to kill them, but they don't get to kill us." He tapped his nose. "Simple as the nose on your face." He gave Luka another look and giggled. "Oops!" he said. "Didn't mean to speak outta turn there, Sire. You bein' a demon and all, I'm not so sure that's a nose you got stickin' out there. Could be another horn, for all's I know. No offense intended, Sire."

Luka dipped his head. "None taken," he murmured, thinking he'd like to rip this filthy human's heart out. Fari's cough and Kalasariz' sudden grip on his elbow helped steady him. He turned to Iraj. "As first field reports go, Majesty," he said, "that was most enlightening. But I, for one, would certainly want to know more."

"That's why I called you here," Protarus said. "To listen and learn." He turned back to Vister. "Tell it again," he said, "but in more-" a loud snore cut him off. Vister was sprawled his seat, head lolling on his chest, sound asleep.

Iraj chuckled kindly. "Let him rest," he said. "He deserves it. We'll question him later."

"Pardon, Highness," Fari said. "But what I had in mind will be much easier while he sleeps. What I propose is that we witness his travails first hand. I don't need much in the way of preparations." He indicated an ornate charcoal brazier that had been brought in to warm up the throne room during the snow storm. "In fact," he said, "I can use that for our stage." He pulled a pouch from his wizard's belt, opening it to sniff at the contents. He nodded in satisfaction. "I have everything we require, Majesty," he continued, "for all to be revealed."

Iraj studied the Unholy Three from beneath lowered eyelids. He appeared bored, but he was observing them closely-growing warier by the minute. At first he couldn't put his finger on what was bothering him.

Then it came to him that the three were displaying remarkable unanimity. He certainly didn't feel violent waves of tension between them-which was by far the more normal state of affairs within his inner court.

For a panicked moment he wondered if they had uncovered his secret-the spell the witch, Sheesan, had given him that would not only destroy Safar, but free him from the Unholy Three. Were they were conspiring to foil him?

Then he relaxed. How could they know? Say what he might about his brothers of the Spell of Four, they had worked hard to bring him this close to his goal-the capture and ritual slaying of Safar and Palimak.

If the Unholy Three knew about his plans, they certainly wouldn't have pressed so hard to bring them to fruition.

So-what were they up to? Were they seeking a means to break the bonds with him? That would certainly be the worst case conclusion he could make. But the more he thought on it, the more unlikely such a scenario seemed.

Very well. The best way to find out what was going on, he thought, was to give way to their suggestions and see where that carried him.

"Proceed, my lord," he said to Lord Fari. "Enlighten us all with your magic."

Fari bowed low, then quickly assumed command of the shapely maids tending Vister. Naked, except for modesty patches at their loins, gleaming with a faint film of perspiration from the overheated room, giving off the scent of the most remarkable perfumes, the female humans and demons made exotic magical assistants for the old master wizard.

Taking a lesson in magic as entertainment from Timura, the Lord Fari made the most of the maids'

presence-drawing out and changing his spell so that it showed off their jiggling forms to the best advantage.

When he reached the penultimate moment he glanced at Protarus and was sorely disappointed when he saw how unaffected the king was. Instead of being flushed with excitement from all this mystery and magical erotica, Protarus sat boredly in his throne, fingernails tapping impatiently.

Fari hurled a handful of votive powders into the brazier and there was a flash of smoke, a swirl of colors.

Despite himself, Iraj's pose of unconcern dissolved and he bent closer to see. Timura was right, Fari thought. The King can't resist magic, especially when accompanied by a little showmanship.

As Iraj stared into the brazier the smoke began to shape itself into a deep canyon with high walls. He heard Vister groan in his sleep and suddenly the throne room vanished and Iraj found himself sitting on a nervous warhorse, those steep walls now towering over him on either side. He was in the lead group of a tightly-packed force of men and demons moving cautiously through the Caluzian Pass.

Iraj felt somehow diminished. Weaker-not just in muscle and bone, but weaker of spirit, of self, of … he fumbled for the word, then it came in a flash-Authority!

He glanced down and found filthy leather breeches covering his legs. He raised a hand and saw something strange and gnarled and quite unfamiliar rise up-the hand of another man! And then it came to him that he was in Vister's body, reliving the moments leading to the second battle in the pass.

"Easy, Majesty," he heard Fari murmur. Voice close, but distant at the same time. "We are with you!"

"Yes, Highness," came another voice-Kalasariz'. "I am here."

"As am I, Majesty, as am I," he heard Luka say.

He looked at the mounted soldiers on either side of him. All were grizzled and filthy. Of the lowest of the low-ranking, be they demon or human. Fari and the others were among them, but he couldn't tell which was which.

He heard a clatter of falling stone and Vister's body jerked in alarm. Eyes probing here and there, every nerve screaming ambush, but nothing real to place the feeling on no matter how hard he strained his senses.

Then he heard a steady, tromp, tromp of many marching men and he twisted in his saddle, steadying his skittish horse, looking for the source of the sound. All around him the other soldiers were doing the same and the air was filled with whispered curses and clanking armor.

A great trumpet sounded-blasting through the narrow canyon and resounding off the walls.

Iraj/Vister whirled to the front, shouting and clawing for his sword when he saw the ghastly army march into view.

They were huge men, so heavily mailed they turned the pass into a solid wall of armor. Their flesh was pale, corpselike, their lips the color of blood. They had huge hollow eyes that seemed like the darkest and deepest of caverns.