Allan COLE - Wizard of the winds

Nerisa was shocked. The fear she'd fought against since her capture rose up to grip her heart in icy fingers.

She clutched at hope Your grandfather will never allow it, she said. Katal doesn't believe in slavery."

Zeman snickered. Don't look to my grandfather for help, he said. Then he made a mournful face. Poor old dear. He's dead you know. Something he ate didn't agree with him."

Nerisa became numb. She had no doubt Zeman had poisoned the old man. Tears welled. She shook her injured head violently, using pain to quell the tears. She'd be damned if she'd give Zeman the satisfaction.

"You are looking at the sole proprietor of the Foolsmire, he said. And the sole owner of you, as well."

"What do you want with me? Nerisa snarled. You know I'll run the first chance I get. Either that, or kill you in your sleep."

"Oh, I don't intend to own you very long, Zeman replied. I've already approached a buyer who's willing to take you off my hands. I'm making a handsome profit, if you must know. Although not as much as your buyer is going to make. Apparently there are certain menrich men, I'm toldwho have an appetite for little whores like yourself."

Zeman pasted on another of his ugly smiles. And after you've grown breasts and are no longer any good to your new owner, I'm sure he'll make other arrangements for your future."

Zeman snickered. He gave me his word on that."

Nerisa screamed in fury and launched herself at Zemannails coming out like a cat's to rake his eyes from his head.

The warder stepped in and clubbed her down. She fell to the floor, unconscious.

The warder raised his heavy stick to strike again.

Zeman stopped him, saying, Let's not damage the merchandise."

Safar huddled in the slender shade of a desert succulent. His robe was hitched up over his head to protect himself from the merciless sun. A hot wind blew over the desolate landscape, intent on wringing every drop of moisture from his body. His tongue was a thick raw muscle, his lips cracked and drawn back over his teeth. He scraped at the hard ground with a jagged piece of rock, trying to dig a deep enough hole to expose the moisture held by the succulent's roots. He'd been working at it for hours but was so weak he'd barely managed a slight depression.

The sun had only just reached its zenith. The hottest and longest hours were still ahead. It was unlikely that he'd last until nightfall. But he kept at it, knowing neither hope or despair. He was like an animal with no thought in its head except survival.

A few days before he'd had life enough left to know joy when he saw his pursuers turn back. The hunters from Walaria had tracked him doggedly for a week, forcing him to flee deeper into the desert. With Gundara's help he'd cast spells of confusion to shake them off. Although he'd managed to elude them several times, the hunters kept reappearing on his trail. Gundara said it could only mean they had magic of their own to assist them.

The hunters gave up when they ran out of water. Safar, who didn't have that luxury, had run out long before. Divining spells proved to be uselesshe never had a chance to stop and resupply himself. Finally he was even denied Gundara's company and help, the intense desert causing the little Favorite to grow weak and retreat into the stone idol. After that, Safar had paused when he could to kill a lizard or snake and suck out its moisture. It was a losing battle, with the sun and wind draining his life as quickly as he'd drained those poor creatures.

Safar made one more swipe at the dry depression. Then all his strength fled and the rock fell from his grasp. He sagged back on the ground, gasping for breath.

Then even breathing seemed to require too much effort and he thought, Well, I'll just stop. But to his disgust his chest insisted on heaving in and out, drawing in air filled with sharp bits of grit. Then he thought, it has to end sooner or later. I'll lie here until it does. He sighed and shut his eyes.

Then Safar heard musicdistant pipes and bells. He thought, this must be what it's like to die.

The sound grew louder and he was overcome with a vague curiosity to look this strange, music-playing Death in the face.

He opened his eyes and wasn't disappointed. A huge low-flying creature swept across the desert towards him. It looked like an immense head, swirling with all sorts of marvelous colors. There were no wings or body attached to the head, but in Safar's daze this seemed quite natural. The creature flew closer and now he could make out its face.

He had strength enough to feel surprise. He thought, I didn't know Death was a woman. And such a beautiful womana giantess with sensuous features painted in glorious colors like a savage tattooed queen.

The music seemed to be coming from her lush mouth as if she had a voice composed of wondrous pipes and bells and harp strings.

The woman's head was hovering over him now. Safar smiled, thinking Death was finally going to take him. He closed his eyes and waited.

Then the music stopped and he heard someone speak. It was a woman's voice, but smaller than he thought a giantess would possess.

"Merciful Felakia, the woman said, spare me this sight. He's only a lad. And a handsome lad at that."

"Handsome or plain, makes no difference to the buzzards, came another voicea deep baritone"He's dead, Methydia. Come on! The Deming fair's only two weeks off and we gots a long ways to go."

Safar was disappointed. This wasn't how Death was supposed to behave. Was she going to leave his body here? Abandon his ghost to this wasteland?

He stretched his lips and tried to speak, but only managed a croak.

"Wait! said the woman. Sweet, merciful Felakiahe's alive."

No I'm not, Safar tried to say. I'm dead, dammit! Don't leave me here!

Then from above he heard a loud whoosh of escaping air and he felt a huge presence drifting down to him.

Safar smiled. Death was on her way. He ached for her embrace.

Part Three

Wizard of the Winds

Do you see anything, Luka?"

"No, Majesty. I see nothing."

King Manacia frowned, his royal brow a deeply plowed field of displeasure.

"Are you certain, Luka? he asked his oldest son and heir. He jabbed a long talon at a point on the horizon. Isn't that something, or someone, moving over there?"

Prince Luka shielded his yellow eyes with a clawpeering out over the Forbidden Desert. Manacia and his court were camped on the edge of the blackened wasteland. The King sat on his traveling throne, placed on thick carpets and shaded by a white canopy, billowing in the desert wind. Behind him was the main campa city of gaudy tents that housed his court.

After looking long and hard the prince sighed and shook his bony heada dozen heavy golden chains of office rattling against his armor.

"I don't believe so, Majesty, he said. Then, soothing, But it's early, yet. Perhaps Your Highness is hungry, or thirsty. Why don't you retire to your tent and I'll send for the stewards. Possibly you'd enjoy a little nap. You look so weary, Sire, that it nearly breaks my heart.

"I'll alert Your Majesty the instant Lord Fari returns."

Manacia exposed his fangsa wide, multi-rowed smile of fatherly pride. You're a good and loyal son, Luka, he said. No king could ask for a better prince. But it wouldn't be seemly. A king must not fear to suffer the same trials and tribulations as his subjects."

Prince Luka laid a claw of sincerity across his mailed heart. You are an inspiration to us all, Majesty, he said. I worship and study at your feet, praying I will have half Your Highness courage and wisdom on that most regretful day when the gods decree that I must succeed you to the throne."