Allan COLE - Wizard of the winds

"What an excellent thought, he said brightly. Then he frowned, Unfortunately, that can't be. At this particular time I need him by my side."

He clicked his claws against the arm of his throne, pretending to ponder further. Then he smiled. I've got it! he said. And I have you to thank for the idea, Fari. For it made me focus on who my most loyal subjects were. And the answer was there in an instant. For other than my own son, who could be more loyal than you, my dear fiend?"

The Grand Wazier was aghast. Me, Your Highness? You want me to cross Forbidden Desert? His voice quavered. As much as I'd love to have the honor to serve in you this, I fear I am too old, Majesty."

"In this case, Menacia said, advanced age makes you even an even better choice. To begin with you have many years of wizardly experience to draw upon. And if by some distant chance the experiment meets with failure, why you can't be that far away from your natural death.

"It would be tragic, of course. But not as tragic as if a younger wizard were cheated out of a long life."

Fari realized it was hopeless to argue with the king. It was obvious the choice had been made before Menacia summoned him. The advice seeking had only been for appearance's sake.

The Grand Wazier acceded to the king's command with as much grace as he could muster. Preparations were made, detailed instructions were given, and in less than a month Fari and a small expedition set out across the Forbidden Desert. Their orders were much simpler than Sarn's. Once they reached the humanlands they were to turn back immediately and report their success to the king.

Demon scholars estimated the crossing and return journey should take no more than eight weeks. When the time drew near for Fari's return King Manacia became so anxious he ordered his whole court transported from Zanzair to the edge of the Forbidden Desert.

There he sat, day after talon-biting day, waiting for his Grand Wazier. Eight weeks became nine. Nine became ten. The king was so restive he rose before dawn and paced before his traveling throne until late at night.

He'd all but given up hope when Lord Fari finally appeared.

It was at dusk and the sun was just disappearing beneath the horizon. The western-most rim of the desert was a thick red smear that drew the king's eyes like an insect drawn to flame.

His whole being flew out to the rim. He whispered prayers and curses to gods and devils alike. Then his heart bumped hard against his chest. Shadowy figures formed at the horizon. They seemed to be moving, growing larger as they approached. Fearing to spoil his luck the king said nothing, waiting for his lookouts to shout the news.

The cry came and still the king said nothing. He remained motionless, giving no sign of the chaos raging inside.

Then night fell and far out in the desert a score of torches flared into life, bobbing in the darkness like fireflies.

There was no doubt now that it was Fari.

The riddle of the curse of the Forbidden Desert had been solved.

Prince Luka shouted his congratulations, pounding his father on the backwishing his hand held a knife. Officers and courtiers crowded around the king to praise his wisdom and perseverance.

Manacia was not moved. His excitement had died quicklyhe'd waited too long for joy to find a resting place.

When the weary, bedraggled expedition bearing Lord Fari arrived the king was already huddled with his generals in the command tent.

Prince Luka had the great pleasure of seeing the aged demon's shock of disappointment at his poor reception. The journey had taken a heavy toll on Lord Fari.

Slumped in the saddle, every bone aching, he peered first at Luka and then the lights of the tent city.

"Where's the king? he asked, voice quavering from age and weariness. He despised himself for letting the weakness show in front of Luka, but he couldn't help it.

"My father asked me to relay his apologies, the prince answered. He said you'd understand that he couldn't actually be present to congratulate you.

"He's busy right now, you see, planning the invasion of the humanlands."

For a long time Safar floated on a balmy sea. Below were mysterious depths where nightmares were sea dragons pursuing his dreams.

He dreamed of Kyrania and its fruited fields. He dreamed of clouds melting in the Sun God's forge, dripping colors on the land. He dreamed of clay that leaped into fantastic shapes the moment he touched it. He dreamed of maids bathing in the lake and they were blessed with figures as beguiling as Astarias and faces with winsome smiles and starry eyes like Nerisa.

But each time a dream popped into being it was devoured by the swift-moving nightmares. He saw the volcano overwhelm the people of Hadin. He saw the demon cavalry charging the caravan. He saw Tulaz lift his sword, saw Kalasariz peeping through a dungeon grate, saw Katal die at Zeman's handsand Didima's soldiers slay Nerisa.

He dreamed of Alisarrian's cave where he crouched beside Iraj, watching smoke form into a woman's seductive lips and he saw them move and he heard the Omen speak:

"Two will take the road that two traveled before. Brothers of the spirit, but not the womb. Separate in body and mind, but twins in destiny. But beware what you seek, O brothers. Beware the path you choose. For this tale cannot end until you reach the Land of Fires."

Eventually the intensity of this sleeplife lessened and Safar became aware of the world around him. It seemed as mysterious as the ocean of dreams.

He still felt buoyant as if he were floating on that sea, except now he seemed to be lying on a cushioned raft. Instead of hissing surf he heard the flutter-drum of the winds and the whistle and ping of it singing through taut lines. He heard the rhythmic pumping of bellows and the low roar of a furnace.

Strong, gentle hands lifted his head. A spoon touched his lips, which parted and he lapped up a meaty broth. The spoon dipped up more and he ate until he heard the hollow scrape of wood, signaling the bowl was empty and he drifted away again.

The next time he became aware he heard odd voices saying even odder things, like, Tighten that carabiner. Or, Work the mouth, dammit! Work the mouth! And, Who's minding the burner? It's almost out!"

Once he heard the woman whom he'd thought was Death cast an incomprehensible spell.

"Come to us Mother Wind. Lift us in hands blessed By the warm sun. We have flown high. We have flown well. Take us in your arms, Mother Wind. And when you are done, Set us gently on the ground."

Safar wondered at the purpose of the spell. While he was puzzling he fell asleep.

Time passed. A time of dreamless drifting. Then a current of cold air washed over him and he opened his eyes.

There was the shock of sudden sunlight and then vision cleared.

He seemed to be lying on a firm surface at the bottom of a fantastic canyon with dazzling walls of many colors. The walls curved inward until they seemed only a few feet apart. Through that hollow he could see skies as blue as the high vaults above the Bride and Six Maids.

Then hazy reason formed and he thoughtThat's no cliff. It's too smooth. AlsoI've never seen slate with all those colors. And so bright! Like they were painted. Then he realized the canyon walls were moving as if they were made of living skin.

Maybe a giant swallowed me, Safar thought, and I'm looking up into his guts. But that conclusion made little senseit didn't allow for the sky.

I must still be dreaming, he thought. Then a leg muscle threatened to cramp and he stretched the limb until the pain eased.

And he thoughtThere is pain, which proves I'm awake. But exactly where am I awake? He considered. Then it came to him that he was flyingor, lying upon something that was flying, at any rate. Perhaps he was awake, but in the middle of a vision and in that vision he was perched on a mighty eagle flying to wherever the vision commanded.