Allan COLE - Wizard of the winds

The only fortunate thing was no one got hurt, beyond skinned fingers, knees and pride.

Finally, there was nothing to be done but have Safar attempt it himself. Everyone protested, Iraj the loudest.

"I'll not have my Grand Wazier killed before the battle even starts, he said.

"I'm a child of the mountains, Safar pointed out. And the only one with climbing experience. Besides, I'm eventually going to have make the climb anyway. The team was just supposed to set up ropes so they could hoist me and my mages into place."

He shrugged. It seems silly to risk all our plans over something so easily solved."

Finally, Iraj assented and Safar found himself next to the western column, peering up at the crown. He made a few cautious experimental attempts, fingers and bare toes skittering on the smooth rock, searching for hairline cracks just deep enough to give purchase.

The whole army was watchingan army that feared heightsand each time he fumbled and slid gently to the ground they gasped in unison as if he were plummeting to his death.

It reminded Safar of the nail-biting crowds at Methydia's Circus when great acrobatic feats were being performed. The thought brought back the skills he'd learned from Arlain and Kairo, and so on his first true attempt he scampered up thirty feet without pause.

The fifty-thousand man army cheered and applauded like the greatest audience ever gathered under one tent. Safar became carried away with the moment. Although he had good purchase, he pretended otherwise and made as if he'd lost his grip and was falling.

The army moaned in horror. It was an awful sound, a frightening sound. Nothing like a circus audience, which know deep in their hearts the performer will ultimately prevail.

It came to Safar the warriors were putting all their hopes in him. Yes, they knew Protarus was a great king and a mighty general who had carried them through the worst circumstances. Iraj was not a monarch who believed in wasting his soldiers lives. But they feared the demons, especially demon magic and they were looking to Lord Timura, the Grand Wazier, wizard above all wizards, to save them. Hadn't King Protarus himself attested to Lord Timura's abilities? And hadn't they already seen his early successes with the demons who'd held Kyrania, and in the shadow fight with Manacia?

To them, if Safar fell to his death it might very well portend their own. Safar took pity and ended his antics.

But he was showman enough to free a hand so he could wave while he nodded his head to show it was all in good fun.

A huge explosion of nervous laughter carried him the next ten feet.

He resumed the climb, but cautiously, soberly. It turned out to be much more difficult that way. Without the crowd-stirred energy of a performer to aid him he quickly became tired, his fingers and toes numb and a few times he really almost did lose his grip and come off the wall. When it happened he was at a height that would have crippled him, or spelled his doom.

He was exhausted when he finally reached the top. Although the cheers were thunderous, he felt nothing when he sent down the ropes to let the others up.

All he could think of was the other stone column. There was no getting around the fact it too had to be climbedand by him and him alone.

The only true blessing the Old Gods granted living things, and this grudgingly, was that all ordeals, all pain, must eventually endone way or the other. It was Safar's good fortune his ended well. And now he was perched on the first column he'd climbed, a little tired, but certainly ready for Manacia.

After awhile he saw the dust ridge rise up under the Demon Moon and knew the enemy was approaching. He flashed a palm mirror to signal Iraj. Orders were shouted from below, trumpets blared, and there was a shifting sea of warriors coming to life and moving into position.

The dust ridge grew larger by the hour, soon walling the entire horizon. Still it approached, until there came a point when Safar could almost make out the dark outlines of mounted demons. Then all forward motion halted and the ridge became a huge dusty boil. It was like an old, weary dog who'd found a suitable place to rest and was turning round and round, to finally settle nose to tail.

Safar signaled againManacia was making camp.

The demon king scoffed at the battle map. It was clear to him what Protarus meant to do.

"He wants to use the stone columns to make us come to his center, he said to Luka. That's where his main force is gathered."

He gestured at the wooden markers to the left and right of the main forces. And he'll try to use his cavalry to pinch us in from the sides to make certain we stay on the course he prefers."

Manacia slammed his taloned fist onto the table, toppling the markers.

"Well, I don't intend to meekly follow this king's commands, he said. I've fought this battle before. Hells, I've fought it four or five times at least."

He tapped his horned head. It's all here, he said to his son. A game of minds. I almost feel sorry for Protarus. It's clear he doesn't know who or what he is up against."

Fari cleared his throat for attention. What of the wizard, Timura? he asked. He'll most certainly figure into Protarus plans."

Manacia scowled. It's true we haven't located him, he said. Or any source of human magic for that matter. I suppose he's shielded himself. It's not an easy thing to do, so I mustn't underestimate him. Still, I've got similar shields in place, protecting a much larger wizardly force.

"We'll wait until he strikes and reveals himself. He won't stand a chance when we reply."

Luka and Fari exchanged quick looks. Each could tell the other was impressed with Manacia's reading of the situation.

The Crown Prince bitterly accepted his father's military expertise. He had no doubt when the battle commenced Manacia would prevail.

"We'll attack at dawn, Manacia said. Just as the humans are stirring at the camp fires."

He gestured at the Demon Moon hanging over the northern horizon. We'll have that at our backs to confound them, he said.

Manacia slapped his thigh in delight. There's nothing I enjoy more than attacking an enemy with the light in his eyes."

Iraj surveyed his assembled troops. He let a broad grin play through his beard. Here we are again, lads, he said. Up to our callused behinds in hyenas and no way out!"

His voice, magically amplified by an amulet Safar had given him, rang with manly good cheer. The warriors roared laughter at their king's humor.

Iraj pointed a dramatic finger through the stone pillars, which perfectly framed the Demon Moon.

"Once again, he said, we're facing a fellow who doesn't think we're fit to empty his piss pot."

The warriors rumbled their disapproval.

"But we've taught royal prigs like that a thing or two in the past, haven't we lads?"

The warriors shouted agreement.

Iraj waved them to silence. It so happens that this time the prig we're facing is a demon."

There were low mutters, manly mutters, but forced.

Iraj thumped his chest. I've fought demons before, lads, he said. I fought them as a boy. And it was the demons who fell, not your king, boy though he was.

"You've never heard this story. It's a secret Lord Timura and I have kept for many years. But now I think it's time for all Esmir to know."

Iraj commenced to deliver an abbreviated, but highly dramatic account of the event.

"So you see, my lads, Iraj said when he was done, demons bleed the same as all of us. They have magic, but so do we in Lord Timura. They have us outnumbered, but I've just told you a story of outnumbered boys so you know that's no problem to men like yourselves.

"But I won't lie to you. The demons are formidable foes. Yet, what would be the pleasure of fighting if all our foes were weak?"