Allan COLE - Wizard of the winds

"This is it, Luka thought as he led his fiends into the battle. This is when I die."

The humans were horrid things, ugly as the devils from the Hells. Flat faces, piggy little eyes and filthy little mouths that screamed hate and fury as they fought.

They had good armor, sturdy weapons and were mounted on huge mailed warhorses that reared up to fight the demon steeds with iron-tipped feet. It was hoof against claw, talon against hand, swords and axes flailing about at close quarters, blood spraying everywhere.

Archers and slingmen sent shower after shower of missiles into the melee, not caring who fellfriend or foeso long as the demons were kept from the gates.

Two horsemen crowded Luka from either side. A pikeman reared up in front of him. His mount slashed at the pikeman, disemboweling him. But as he died he plunged forward, burying his pike into the beast's shoulder. The animal screamed in pain, but kept its feet. Luka swung left, sword biting through human mail and finding flesh. His opponent toppled from his horse, but before Luka could turn to meet the other he felt a sharp pain in his side.

The human had struck first.

Howling in agony, Luka slashed at the man with sword. In a haze he saw blood gout, feared it was his own, then he saw the human fall and felt relief rush in to dull his pain.

His mount staggered and Luka leaped off moments before it crashed to the ground. Now he was standing in the middle of plunging horses and demon beasts, dodging blows from every side. He saw one of his fiends topple from his mount and Luka vaulted into the saddle and grabbed the reins.

"Victory! he bellowed. For the gods and the king!"

His cry rallied his soldiers and they returned his shout"Victory! For the gods and the king!"

They charged the humans with spirits renewed, smashing and slashing them down.

Finally, the humans broke, fleeing through the gates.

Luka and his fiends pursued them, hacking their way through the gates defenders.

Suddenly there was no one to kill anymore. Luka and his soldiers found themselves in a large square, panting and heaving and bleeding from many wounds.

Behind him he heard trumpets sound.

His father's trumpets.

Then there was a great roar of demon voices and a sea of Manacia's soldiers poured through the gates.

Rising out their midst was his father's royal elephant. The huge animal moved smoothly across the square to Luka.

Manacia grinned down at him from the howdah, fangs displayed in full gleam.

"Thank the gods you are still with us, my son, he shouted. I saw you fall and feared for the worst."

Luka bowed, fighting not to show pain.

"Caspan is yours, Majesty! he cried. It is my gift to you, and demon history!"

And he thought, this was for you, Mother, for you!

And Manacia thought, how dare he make a gift of what is already mine? Then he remembered the day when he'd said something similar to his own father.

The next time Luka falls, he thought, I must make certain he doesn't rise again.

Manacia was a dutiful king, a hard working king, and he had at least twenty other sons to take Luka's place.

I'd best choose the youngest to succeed him as heir to my throne, Manacia thought. Princes grow up so quickly these days.

Why, I was nearly thirty winters old before I slew my father.

"Coralean is desolate, the caravan master said. He is a coin clipped of its worth. A sway-backed camel with more fleas than spirit.

"It seems it is Coralean's fate that each time he greets you, my king, whom I dare call friend, that he drags demons, or news of demons, into your highness august presence."

"Come now, Coralean, Iraj protested, I'm not one of those city-bred despots who forgets his friends soon as he wins the throne. And I'm certainly not one to harm the messenger who brings ill tidings.

"Isn't that right, Safar?"

Safar stirred in his seata smaller version of Iraj's traveling throne.

"Actually, he deadpanned, Iraj had his royal torturers put out the eyes and slit the tongue of the last fellow who was in here babbling about demons."

Iraj frowned. What a thing to say, Safar, he protested, I gave the man a purse of gold. Don't you re he broke off, laughing. You're joking again, he said.

Then, to the caravan master, You see how it is, Coralean? My friends are always making jests at my expense!"

"King Protarus speaks the truth, Safar said. You'll notice I still have both my eyes and a whole tongue, and yet I bring him bad news daily."

He gestured at the empty main room of the command tent. Why, our king is so grand a monarch he even permits his friends to use his common name in private.

"Isn't that so, Iraj?"

More laughter from the king. Don't pay any attention to him, Coralean, he advised. Safar is just punishing me for ignoring his advice."

He leaned out from his throne. I had to let my men sack the last city we took, he said. I was short of gold and they hadn't been paid all winter. Safar was opposed to the sacking. He said it was bad business."

Coralean's merchant smile lit the dim room. An honest dispute among right-thinking men, he said. One looks at future profits. The other at more immediate concerns. There is no right or wrong in such a disagreement."

He bowed his craggy head in Iraj's direction, saying, The pity should go to the master, who must torment himself for being forced to ignore his advisors and act according to his best judgment."

The look of pleasure on Iraj's face made Safar fully appreciate why Coralean had been so successful in his long and dangerous career. Despite his common man pretense, Iraj had proven to be a prickly monarch. His dark moods had made the winter long. Then spring had brought the first news of the demon invasion and had plunged him deeper into depression. Iraj had allowed the first city he'd taken to be sacked not to please his men, but to vent his rage.

"What a lucky man I am to have two such loyal friends, Iraj said. One uses wise and well-put phrases to guide me, the other amusing barbswhich also serve to remind me I am only human."

Don't forget money and magic, Safar thought. We bring you that as well.

Safar had created and cast his first battle spell to help Iraj take the city he later sacked. Coralean, that canny old merchant, had funded Iraj's ambitions from the start. He'd been handsomely rewarded with exclusive trading contracts.

You haven't done so badly either, Safar chided himself. In the short time he'd been at Iraj's side Safar had become a wealthy man by anyone's measurement. As Grand Wazier he had been given vast tracts of land and chests of rare gems and metals.

"So tell us your news, my friend, Iraj said to Coralean. Don't spare my feelings. I'm braced for the worst."

"Caspan has fallen, Coralean said.

Coming from such a normally loquacious man, his brevity was a shock. Iraj flinched, then tried to cover his concern.

Fingers rapping on the arm of his throne gave him away. I see. Well, we were expecting that. Weren't we Safar?"

Safar nodded. They'd heard rumors of Manacia's drive toward Caspan and he'd made a castings that did not bode well for the city's defenders.

"Coralean barely escaped with his life, the caravan master said. I sent my wives into hiding and fled the city just in time."

He went on to describe the series of battles that led to the taking of Caspan. Trying to add a note of cheer he went into some detail on the great losses Manacia had suffered in the campaign.

But Iraj kept rapping his fingers against wood. So few, he murmured. I'd hoped he would have suffered more."

He looked up at Coralean. I suppose it won't be long before he comes over the mountains, he said.

"I fear so, Coralean said. The last I heard he was preparing his army and searching for the route to Kyrania."