The Jester's Laugh
Safar marveled at the model of the airship, then at Biner, saying, “What do you mean, it’s real?”
The dwarf shook his big head, laughing. “You’re lookin’ at me,” he said, “like you think I just cut the last sandbag loose and now there’s no tellin’ when I’ll ever come to ground again.”
He put the glass case on the trunk between them. “Maybe you’re right,” he said. “Maybe old Biner has finally lost his way. Or maybe I was always lost, which is more likely the case. Point is, crazy or not, Arlain, Elgy… all of us… were so certain what Methydia’s gift meant that we’ve scoured heaven and Esmir to find you.
“We almost gave up a couple of times, because with you on the run from Iraj - duckin’ and dodgin’ and keepin’ out of sight - it seemed like we’d never track you down. Then a couple of months ago we ran into a party of those Asper heads.”
“Asper heads?”
Biner grinned. “That’s what we call Queen Hantilia and her crew. Not that they’re not all nice beings and such. Hospitable as can be. And you couldn’t ask for a better audience. Still you have to admit they’re damned strange. Happy all the time, but there’s something sad and maybe even a little desperate about them.”
“So I’ve noticed,” Safar said, dry.
“Anyway,” Biner went on, “as luck would have it the group we met up with was late to the party. Or whatever it is they’re throwin’ here in Caluz. They were broken down on the road and we helped them out. Naturally, we noticed the robes they were wearin’, with the Asper symbols on ‘em. And just as naturally we knew you were real interested in anythin’ to do with the old boy. So we asked and they babbled their heads off about the Oracle orderin’ them all to Caluz. Not only that, they said the same Oracle predicted you would be there. That the stars and planets were all linin’ up for a big show and you’d be the main attraction. A command performance, so to speak.
“Well, we all figured there were too many coincidences to sail over. And that crazy as those Asper heads might seem, we’d be damned fools if we didn’t see what was what. Make a long story short, we went along with them.”
He eyed Safar, chuckling. “So here we are… and here you are… so I guess those Asper heads aren’t so crazy after all.”
“Apparently not,” Safar said, smiling. “And they’re aren’t enough words to thank you for what you’ve done. You risked your lives for me.”
“Some of it was for you,” Biner said. “But mostly it was for Methydia. It’s what she would have wanted us to do.” He hooked up the wineskin and drank. Then, “Now maybe I’d better explain about the airship bein’ real and stuff.”
Safar took the wineskin from him. “Wait’ll I catch up to you,” he said. “I think I’m going to need it.” He drank deeply, wiped his chin, then said, “All right. I’m ready.”
“Actually, it’s pretty simple,” Biner said. “But I won’t begrudge a man a good drink whether he’s goin’ to need it or not.
“See, it’s like this. Methydia always told us the airship was made by two old lovers each tryin’ to get the better of the other. She had different versions of the story, dependin’ on her moods, but they all pretty much worked out the same. Which was that the airship was built of a rare wood that was extra light, but still real strong, plus it was powered by special spells to help the burners lift the balloons.”
“She also said it was one of a kind,” Safar pointed out.
“You’re as right as you can be, lad,” Biner said. “But you weren’t with us much more’n a year. So you couldn’t of heard all the things she said on the subject. Like the real particulars on how the ship was made.
“The main thing was, she said it was cast from a model. In other words, a small version was made first. And the airship proper was made from that. We got the idea it was a big damn spell, somethin’ that took days to cast. But we always thought she meant the big ship was copied from the model. Measurements taken, or whatever, and copied with saws and hammers and big planks of that rare wood.
“But soon as we found the model and saw that note we started thinkin’ differently. She was obviously thinkin’ of givin’ this to you before she died. Waitin’ for the right time, like maybe when you left the circus to go do what you had to do. And believe me, if Methydia thought this was important enough for a farewell gift, it wouldn’t be any damned toy. She didn’t hold with that kind of silliness and there was no way she’d picture you wanderin’ around with a pretty glass case under your arm all the time just so you could remember her.”
Safar touched the delicate crystal housing the model. “I see what you mean,” he said, running his fingers along the edge. “I wonder how it works.”
“She probably intended to tell you in person,” Biner said. “Which is why there’s no directions along with the note. Hells, we couldn’t even get the case open. It appears like all one solid piece with no seams, much less a lid.”
Biner sighed, eyes becoming moist. “I guess she wasn’t figurin’ on dyin’ when she did.”
Safar only shook his head. What could he say?
Then his fingers bumped against a small gold stud. There was a hot snap! of static and snatched them away. “Ouch!” he said, sucking on his fingers. Then he looked closer and saw a little red needle point sticking up from the stud.
“Hold on!” he said, excitement overriding the sad memories. “I think I see it!”
There were seven other studs arranged in a pattern. Gingerly, Safar pressed them one by one, but with the surprise gone the sensation was nothing more than a barely painful pinprick. As he touched each stud a red needle point popped up, just like the first.
Biner leaned closer to look. He scratched his head, puzzled. Then he brightened. “Maybe we have to link ‘em, somehow,” he said. “You know, like a wire or a thread, goin’ from point to point?”
Safar nodded. “Let’s try it.”
He found a rough spot on his sleeve, picked a piece of thread free and pulled it out, snipping it off with his teeth when he thought he had enough. Then he wove the thread around each needlepoint until they were all joined together in a web of thread. He stepped back, waiting. Nothing happened.
Biner shook his head. “Maybe it’s some kind of special pattern,” he said. “Trouble is, unless you got lucky it could take years before you hit on the right one.”
Safar smiled. “Fortunately,” he said, “I know a quicker way to find out.”
He slipped the little silver dagger from his sleeve and laid it across the web, chanting an old, reliable unlocking spell:
“Conjure the key
That fits the lock.
Untangle the traces,
And cut the knot.”
Suddenly there was a hiss and the case filled with smoke. The top of the case snapped open and the sides fell away and the room was filled with the smell of a heavy incense.
The airship bloomed into life, tiny burners blazing, bellows pumping, twin balloons swelling, bigger and bigger until the ship lifted off the trunk.
“By the gods,” Biner breathed, “it really does work! We weren’t crazy, after all!”
Safar caught the model before it could float to the ceiling. Instantly it became lifeless again. He gazed at it, thinking this might just be the edge he needed against Iraj.
He cradled the airship in his arms as if it were the woman who’d loved him enough to make him such a gift.
And he whispered, “Thank you, Methydia. Thank you.”
* * *
Queen Hantilia smiled down at the scene - Safar cradling the model, Biner grinning at his friend, trunks stacked along the canvas walls of the storage room.
“It’s going exactly as we wished,” she said to someone behind her.
A red-robed assistant moved closer, peering over Hantilia’s shoulder at a hand mirror lying on the Queen’s makeup table. It was a magical stage, lit by five red candles, where Safar and Biner played out their drama in miniature.
Safar’s voice floated up, “Thank you, Methydia. Thank you.”
The assistant giggled. “How sweet,” she said. “And right on schedule, too, Your Majesty.”
Hantilia waved a claw and the scene disappeared. “I’d rather allow things to boil a bit more,” she said. “So let’s give it another day. Make some excuse for the delay that won’t arouse suspicion.”
“Yes, Majesty,” the assistant said.
“It shouldn’t be difficult,” Hantilia said. “Even though we’ve forbidden it, I know Lord Timura will be simply bursting with spells he needs to cast.” She chuckled. “This will make it easier for him to hide his work.”
“Indeed, Majesty,” the assistant said.
“And that will give us time,” the Queen said, “to be absolutely certain everything is ready for The Great Sacrifice.”
“All will be done as you command, Majesty,” the assistant said.
Hantilia sighed. “What a pity,” she said, wiping an eye. “He’s such a handsome young man.”
* * *
As Hantilia predicted, Safar was vastly relieved when news was delivered that the date with the Oracle had been delayed one more day.
Leiria, on the other hand, was suspicious. “If it were a bargain sword in a smithy’s shop,” she said, “I’d pass it by, thinking the price was so cheap it’d be certain to shatter at the worst possible moment.”
The two of them were strolling along the riverbank, discussing Hantilia’s message.
“I don’t know,” Safar said, “it seemed reasonable enough. Something went wrong during the purification ceremonies. So certain steps had to be repeated. That sort of thing happened all the time to the priests in Walaria.”
“It still doesn’t smell right to me,” Leiria said. Then she eyed Safar. “And what about you?” she asked. “Why the big change? A couple of days ago you were worrying the bit to get on with it before Iraj showed up.”
Safar shook his head. “I’m still worried,” he said. “But as things stand now, if he did show up we’d be chin deep in a temple privy on feast day. To start with, all our people are wandering around in a Caluzian pink cloud and it’ll be at least two days before Palimak’s spell is ready. Then they’ll have to be organized. Soldiers whipped into shape as fast as we damn well can. Some kind of rear guard action devised so we can escape. The wagons packed and ready, animals fed and watered and everyone set to go at an instant’s notice.
“As it is now, most of the work is going to be on your shoulders, Leiria. I don’t know what’s going to happen when Palimak and I finally get to meet with the Oracle. Or how long we’ll be away. Or, hells - let’s face it - even if we’ll make it back. So, it’s going to be up to you, Leiria. Up to you - my dearest friend - and by the gods sometimes I think you must be crazy to put up with us all.”
Leiria laughed. “I’m here for the flattery,” she said. “What else?”
Then, more seriously, “Let’s go back a bit on your list of to do’s,” she said. “I’m stuck fast on the part about escaping. And I have not one, but three questions. First, what escape? Second, how escape? Third, and most important of all, where escape?”
She looked around her - the gurgling river, the idealized blue mountains beyond, the exotic city gleaming on the hillside overlooking the great stone turtle.
“Hells,” she said, “I don’t even know where we really are!”
“Think of it as a big bowl turned upside down in the Black Lands,” Safar said. “Everything under the bowl is happy and safe - for the time being. Everything on the outside is just like it was before.”
“Except, maybe worse,” Leiria said.
Safar nodded. “Except, maybe worse.”
Leiria chuckled. “What kind of leader are you?” she said. “Where’s the cheery words? Where’s the lies that things will surely be better?”
Safar pretended to be hurt. “You should have more faith in me,” he said. “Next you’ll be doubting that I have a plan.”
“Do you?”
Safar grinned. “Actually, no,” he said. “But I’m working on it. Which is the main reason why I’m glad Hantilia gave us another day. Intended or otherwise.”
“Oh, my!” Leiria said. “Coming around full circle and attacking my flanks, are we? Cutting off my argument with sneaky logic. Now, is that fair?”
“I never promised fair,” Safar said. “I only promised a plan.”
“Seriously,” Leiria said. “Do you even have an inkling?”
“A few glimmers,” Safar said. “To begin with Iraj will most certainly come through the same gate we used.” He pointed east to the high shale cliffs that divided Caluz from the pass. “So we can’t run in that direction.”
“We could delay him at the gate,” Leiria pointed out. “A small force could hold him there while the rest escaped.”
“I like that,” Safar said. “The first thing we should do then, is to take the airship as high we can and get a peek on the other side of the cliffs. That will give us an idea of how close Iraj is getting and how much time we have.”
“But how do we get out of here?” Leiria said. “Which way do we run?”
Safar pointed north, toward a low range of mountains marked by two high peaks. “Through those peaks,” he said. “Somewhere beyond those mountains is the Great Sea. If we bear a little west we ought to hit Caspan, where we can hire some ships to take us to Syrapis.”
Leiria grimaced, saying, “Yes, but how far away is it? A week’s journey? A month? And another thing, what’s between us and the sea? More of the Black Lands? Rough trails or a broad caravan track? Coralean’s maps aren’t any help. The ones for this area are too old to trust.”
“If we have time,” Safar said, “we can use the airship to find out.
“Assuming you can figure out how to turn that model into a real airship, that is,” Leiria pointed out.
“Exactly,” Safar said. “Which is another reason we need time. With luck I’ll have it worked out before I go. But chances are, once again, it’ll be you - with the help of Biner and Arlain - who will be doing the looking. And mapping the escape route.”
Leiria nodded. She was quiet for a moment, then she said, “I have to ask this. What if you don’t return? What if you and Palimak don’t make it?”
“Then you make it, Leiria,” he said, giving her shoulder a squeeze. “And, please, get as many of my people as you can out of harm’s way.”
“Should I go on to Syrapis?” Leiria asked.
“It’s the only place I know of,” Safar said, “that will be safe for awhile.”
“And after that?”
Safar face darkened momentarily, then he suddenly brightened. “What the hells’ the difference?” he laughed. “To misquote a good friend of mine, the ‘journey will probably kill you anyway.’”
* * *
Palimak eyed the cable doubtfully. It stretched from the platform he was standing on to another platform about ten feet away.
“Go ahead, my thweet,” Arlain said, “We won’t let you hurt yourthelf.”
The cable was only about six feet off the ground, but to the boy it seemed much higher. Arlain was posted on one side of him, Kairo on the other.
“I don’t know,” Palimak said, “it looks kind of scary.”
“Yez done jus’ fine when she were lower, me boy,” Kairo said. “Matter of fact, old Kairo’s never seen anyone take to the wire so quick like.”
“Letthon number one in wire walking,” Arlain said, “ith that height doethn’t matter. Anything you can do at ground level ith no harder than when you’re all the way to the top of the tent.”
Palimak giggled nervously. “Are you sure?”
“Thure, I’m thure,” Arlain said. “I thtarted out the thame way you did. And tho did Kairo. Firtht you put the wire on the ground and thee that it really ithn’t that thmall. It only lookth that way to the audienthe when it’th high up. Then you raith it off the ground a little wayth tho you can get uthed to the way it thwayth back and forth when you move.”
“We gots yez up to six feet already,” Kairo said. “After this - why, the sky’s the limit! And that’s a fact, me boy, not smoke blowin’.”
Arlain glared at Kairo. “Pleathe!” she said. “Thome of uth are thenthitive about that word.”
Kairo winced. “Sorry!” Then to Palimak. “But yer gets me point, right?”
Palimak eyed the distance again, gathering courage. Licked his lips. Nodded. “Right.”
“Lovely!” Arlain said, waving her tail in excitement. “Let’th go, then. Thout out when you’re ready!”
Palimak gulped. “Rea-dy!” he said, voice quavering.
He took his first step. The cable gave slightly under his weight, but remained steady.
“Keep yer toes pointed out,” Kairo reminded him.
“Got it!” Palimak took another step. “Toes out and eyes aimed at where I’m going.”
He took several more steps, gingerly at first, keeping his outstretched arms steady, resisting the natural but wrong-headed temptation to wave them about and overbalance himself. Arlain and Kairo paced with him, ready in case he should fall.
“Very good, my thweet!” Arlain said.
Taking heart, Palimak picked up the pace and to his immense surprise it suddenly became much easier to keep his balance.
“That’s it, me boy,” Kairo said. “When it comes to wire walkin’ the sayin’ is - ‘briskly does it… and slowly goes the fool.’”
Palimak had no wish to be a fool - or a “rube” in his growing vocabulary of circus words. A “rube,” he gathered was lower than low. An ignorant, “cud chewing civilian” - another circus disparagement.
He blanked the surroundings from his mind and instead imagined himself strolling along a garden path. Before he knew it he found himself stepping onto the opposite platform. Palimak spun about, gaping at what he’d done. Then the gape became a bright beam of pride.
“Ta-da!” he shouted, raising his arms high in victory.
Arlain applauded, shooting a sheet of smoky flame into the air, while Kairo lifted his head high above his shoulders and cheered.
“Ithn’t that wonderful?” Arlain crowed. “Lookth like we have a new member of the thircuth!”
Palimak goggled at her. “Really?”
“Abtholutely,” she said. “And it couldn’t come at a better time, ithn’t that tho, Kairo?”
Kairo let his head fall into hands and pumped it up and down in an exaggerated nod. “That’s the truth, me boy,” he said.
Palimak giggled at the strange sight - the face grinning at him from its nest between Kairo’s palms - long tubular neck snaking up to his shoulders. His body jerked and the head snapped back into its proper place.
“We’ve been short an act for months, now,” he said, looking quite normal again.
Palimak clapped his hands in glee. “Wait’ll my father hears the news,” he said. “I’ll be a circus man, just like him.”
Then he looked at them, suddenly shy. “But maybe I’d better practice some more,” he said. “If it’s all right.”
“Sure, yer can, me boy,” Kairo said.
“Great,” Palimak said. “But let me announce it first.”
“Announthe away,” Arlain said.
Palimak threw his hands wide, in imitation of Biner’s ringmaster pose. “Ladies and gentleman!” he shouted. “Lads and lasses! Beings of all ages! Methydia’s Flying Circus now proudly presents…
“Half boy, half demon, half fly and that’s three half’s rolled into one. Brought to you at… Enormous Expense!
“Palimak The Magnificent! Ta-Da!”
Then without warning he bolted out on the wire.
“Wait!” Arlain shouted, but it was too late.
In a blink of the eye Palimak was already at the midpoint of the wire while she and Kairo raced on either side of the cable trying to keep up. The boy nearly overbalanced in the center, swaying for a moment, almost looking down and losing it, but then he remembered to fix his eyes and mind on his distant goal and he kept moving, pushing through the momentary clumsiness, until he regained his balance, practically sprinting along the wire until he reached the other side.
Once again he shouted, “Ta-Da!” and made a flourishing bow to even greater cheers from his new friends.
“What’d I say?” Kairo cried. “The boy’s a natural!”
“Let’s go higher!” Palimak crowed, jabbing a finger at the dim heights of the circus tents. “All the way the way to the very, tip, tip top!”
“Thlow down, thweetneth,” Arlain laughed. “You’re going too fatht for uth.”
“She’s right, me boy,” Kairo chuckled. “Besides, before we go any higher yer gots to learn the next most important thing about wire walkin’.”
“What’s that?” the boy asked.
“Yer gotta knows how to fall,” Kairo said. “Because if there’s one thing that’s certain in this life, me boy, it’s that someday, somehow, a body’s gotta fall.”
“The trick,” Arlain added, “ith to not get killed when you do.”
* * *
Gundaree bounced up and down on his chest, chanting, “Palimak’s in luu-uve. Palimak’s in luu-uve!”
“Shut up!” the boy snarled, pulling the pillow around his ears.
“Don’t say shut up, Little Master,” Gundara admonished. Then, to his twin, “Stop teasing him! It isn’t nice!”
Gundaree giggled. “But it’s the truth!” He wrapped his arms about himself. “Ooh! Arlain,” he mocked. “I luu-uve you so much!”
At that, Palimak lost his temper. His eyes suddenly glowed demon yellow. He pointing a finger at the Favorite, who gleeped as a sharp claw emerged.
“I don’t like that!” he said.
Gundaree’s little demon face drooped into infinite sorrow. Even his horn seemed to sag. Big tears welled into his eyes. “I’m sorry, Little Master,” he sobbed.
For a change Gundara didn’t gloat over his brother’s misery. From the look in the boy’s eyes he thought it best not to draw attention to himself.
Gundaree sniffed, wiping his nose, and Palimak’s anger dissolved. He felt ashamed of himself for frightening the Favorite.
“I’m sorry first,” he said. “You were just playing. You didn’t mean it and I shouldn’t have gotten so mad.”
The small crisis past, both Favorites brightened considerably. “Who cares?” Gundaree said. “We’re back in the circus again, that’s the point.”
“The point indeed, lesser brother,” Gundara sneered as only he could sneer - little human features elevating into high snobbery. “Instead of teasing our poor master, we should be instructing him.” He turned to Palimak, face rearranging itself into something more respectful. “We learned some excellent circus tricks when we toured with your father. If I do say so myself.”
“You always say so yourself, Gundara,” his sibling mocked, hands on narrow hips. “And that’s because you’re only talking to yourself because you’re so stupid no one is listening.”
Gundara sighed. “I’m only glad our poor mother isn’t alive to see what her son has come to.”
“Don’t talk about our mother!” Gundaree shouted. “You know I hatefttuh…” The rest was lost as Palimak clamped his pillow over both Favorites, shutting off the quarrel.
Palimak laughed at the muffled sounds of protest. “I should have thought of this before,” he said. Then, “You have to promise to quit arguing, or I won’t let you out.”
He bent an ear close and heard mumbles of what sounded like surrender. “Good,” he said, lifting the pillow away to reveal two very rumpled Favorites. “Now it’s my turn to talk.”
Gundaree, a stickler for tidiness, brushed himself off. “That wasn’t nice,” he said. “Pillows have feathers. And I hate feathers. They give me a rash.”
Gundara plucked here and there, restoring a semblance of dignity. “If you wanted to speak, Little Master,” he complained, “all you had to do is ask!”
“Then I’m asking,” Palimak said. “You were talking about teaching me some circus tricks. And I wanted to ask, were they magical circus tricks? But you kept arguing and arguing until I thought I was going to go crazy because you wouldn’t let me talk.”
Gundaree shrugged. “Of course, they’re magic. That’s what we do, right? Magic. We’re not sweaty acrobats, or jugglers, for goodness sakes.”
“We do not like to perspire,” Gundara sniffed. “Call it a fault, if you like, but we were made for royalty and perspiration and royalty don’t go together at all.”
“But you like to eat, right?” Palimak asked, rummaging around in his blankets.
Both Favorites eyed his fumbling, then licked their lips as the boy drew out a greasy sack of treats, saying they certainly did like to eat.
“Here’s the deal,” Palimak said, shaking the sack. Both Favorites slavered at the smell of good things wafting out. “I’ll trade you a treat for every trick you teach me. All right?”
Gundaree and Gundara made enthusiastic noises of agreement and before very long they were stuffing their mouths, while stuffing Palimak’s brains.
He worked them hard and he worked them late and before they were done both Favorites were fat, full and happily perspiring.
Palimak was so absorbed he didn’t sense the dark figure that crept close to his tent to listen. Gundara and Gundaree noticed, but there was no danger so they didn’t mention it. Especially since the figure was Safar. He stood there for nearly an hour, face a portrait of fatherly pride at the boy’s newly discovered circus talents. Arlain and Kairo were right. He was a natural.
Then a light dawned in his eyes and his smile widened. The boy had just given him an idea. An idea that might solve two problems with one blow.
* * *
“Step right up, my friends,” Safar shouted. “Don’t be shy. Admission is free today, ladies and gentlemen. That’s right. Free!”
Dressed in the red silk shirt and white pantaloons of a circus barker, Safar was manning the ticket counter, calling out to a crowd of bemused Kyranians. Behind him the circus had been set up in the open, complete with stands surrounding a wide ring, colorful banners blowing in the breeze, and trapeze and wire walking equipment slung from high poles. Half the stands were already full of Safar’s fellow villagers, who were being entertained by the clowns. The rest of the Kyranians were either filing through makeshift gates to join the others or crowding around Safar’s booth. He was thoroughly enjoying himself in his old role as a ticket seller, delighting at the looks of amazement he was getting from his kinsmen. None of them, even his own family, had ever seen this side of him.
He kept up the patter. “You heard right, my friends. I said free.”
Safar slapped five coins on the counter. “Not five coppers, which is our usual price.”
He made a motion and the crowd gasped as one of the coins vanished. “Not four.” Another motion, another disappearing coin. “Not three… not two… not even…” He held up the remaining coin… “one clipped copper.” Safar flipped it into the air and to the crowd’s amazement it hung there, turning over and over.
Safar gestured and there was a bang! and the coin burst into colorful bits of paper. Everyone jumped at the noise, then applauded as the paper rained down on them.
When the applause faded, Safar jumped back into verbal action. “In just one hour, friends,” he shouted, “you will see sights that have dazzled the greatest courts in Esmir. Thrills, chills, and sometimes even spills. A special performance. For Kyranians only. And all for free.”
Safar held up one of Palimak’s clay amulets - the Jester hanging from a leather thong. Next to him were several boxes filled with similar amulets.
“And that’s not all you get, my friends,” he cried. “Besides the most exciting performance you have ever witnessed, we have a special gift for each and every one of you.”
He waved the amulet. “It’s the Jester, ladies and gentlemen, lads and lasses. The Laughing God! The slayer of ill humored devils. The Lord of Luck! Prince Of Good Fortune! All wrapped up in this lovely, magical amulet, guaranteed to ward off evil spells.”
The Kyranians oohed and aahed at the gift. Scores of people pushed forward, waving their hands, begging Safar to give them an amulet and let them enter.
“No need to crowd, my friends,” Safar shouted as he handed amulets out by the fistful, “there’s plenty for all.”
He stopped a blushing young mother, babe in arms, who was too shy to take more than one. “Don’t rush away, my pretty. You’re forgetting the baby. He gets one too.” She gratefully accepted it and sped away to see the show.
Safar kept handing out the amulets, reminding people to put them on so “the Jester can get to work for you right away. Wasted luck is lost luck, my friends. Remember that!” The Kyranians streamed through the gates, amulets dangling from their necks and found seats in the stands. Soon the whole village was accounted for and Safar rushed away to change costumes.
The first act was about to begin. And he was the star.
* * *
Meanwhile... far away, but too close, too close…
Iraj raged against the Black Lands, driving his troops mile after mile until they dropped, exhausted; lifting them again by his will alone to go onward, onward to Caluz, pummeled by nature and magic gone wild.
As they marched the earth heaved under them, splitting and groaning open, eager to swallow whole regiments if they were fool enough to come near. Volcanoes shuddered and burst, tornadoes and sand storms lashed out with no warning. Vicious spells, insane spells, rained from the bleak sky like ash, burning spirit and skin until they thought they could bear no more.
But then Iraj would turn his wrath on Fari and his wizards, demanding countering spells, healing spells, spells that would put heart into his troops again. He worked Fari and the wizards even harder than the soldiers. A warrior by birth and inclination, he empathized with the demons and men who made up his army. Even through the cold view of a shape changer he still bled when they bled, hungered when they hungered. If he’d had any love in him left he would have lavished it on them - human or demon, all brother warriors together.
Wizards were a different matter. A creature of magic, Iraj distrusted all sorcery. A soldier at heart, he thought wizards and war magic were only necessary evils and he was disdainful of the soft-fingered spell makers, be they demon or wizard, who made up Fari’s private corps. And that’s what it was, a private army within an army, a very dangerous situation for Protarus if he let it go on.
For now he was letting it be, even going so far as to let Fari think he was in supreme favor with the king. Just as he allowed Kalasariz to believe what he wanted - and Luka the same.
Poor Luka. He thought he was out of favor now, the fool in Iraj’s eyes. This was true as only a monarch can make things true, especially king to lesser king where every frown or sneer is an iron bolt to the heart. Soon, however, he would make the prince glad. Lift him high up in the royal favor of King Protarus. But at the moment he needed Fari and his miserable wizards, so it was Fari’s turn to smile now, no matter how weary that smile.
Iraj took joy in demanding more from Fari and his sorcerers than he did from his troops. He ground it in, commanding more than they could give, then pushing harder and getting it after all. Spell by strength-draining spell from the wizards, blister by bloody blister from his soldiers, every moan subtracting another inch from his goal.
Even so, Iraj was a commander who led from the front, demanding as much from himself as the others, so no one had reason to complain they were being asked too much.
That night, while Safar was rejoined with his old circus mates, Fari and his sorcerers had cast yet one more spell to shield the army from the ravages of the Black Lands. It was only good for three hours at the most and now Iraj - in full wolf form - was charging across the fiery landscape, leading his army as far as he could before time ran out and they had to regroup to cast another protective spell.
A poisonous yellow fog was clamped upon the land and Iraj could barely see the cratered road before him as he bounded along on all fours. Behind him he could hear the tramp of his army and over that the howls of Fari, Luka and Kalasariz, urging the soldiers to hurry, hurry, hurry!
For Iraj the most agonizing part of the ordeal was knowing that Safar and the Kyranians had passed this way before with seeming ease. Only one of his wagons had been found abandoned on the caravan track, while Iraj’s army was losing several a day. Many of the king’s animals had also died, or were too sick or injured to go on. Yet not once had they found even a lost goat from the Kyranian caravan.
He couldn’t understand how it was possible for Safar to accomplish so much single-handedly and with no losses to speak of. Where did he find the will, much less the power?
His spell brothers - Fari, Luka and Kalasariz - had promised their king once Safar and the demon child were captured all their powers would be his. Then he would be not only king of kings, but the most powerful sorcerer in Esmir.
Once, that promise had been what drove him. Capturing Safar and taking his powers had been Iraj’s obsession, his burning goal. But not any longer. Not since Sheesan. Now he had an even greater reason to bring Safar to ground. He had the witch’s spell that would free him from his spell brothers forever. Then he could be a true King Of Kings. A great emperor unchained from those foul creatures who had tricked him into spell bondage.
It was this new goal - a shining promise - that kept Iraj from falling into despair. But sometimes he couldn’t help but wonder - what was it that kept Safar going? What did he see that Iraj didn’t see?
And most of all, what did Safar want?
To Iraj, that had always been Safar’s greatest mystery. Even when they were boys and fast friends he’d never been able to get Safar to admit his deepest desires. He kept saying he only wanted to remain in Kyrania and be a potter like his father and grandfather. Which had to be a lie, for how could someone as powerful as Safar be satisfied with so little?
Iraj’s spell brothers said Safar wanted Iraj’s throne. This made a great deal of sense - for what could be a greater goal for one such as Safar Timura?
Yet sometimes Iraj wondered. When his moods were the darkest and most foul he thought, what if they are wrong? What if that’s not what Safar wants at all?
And if that were true - what in the hells could he want?
A hot blast of windswept the yellow fog away. The Demon Moon was at its brightest and the barren landscape leaped up under its harsh red glow. Many miles distant Iraj could see the huge black range where the road ended. Just beyond, his officers and aides all agreed, was Caluz.
Blood suddenly boiling with eagerness to get at his prey, Iraj lifted his wolf’s snout to howl. Just then the shield dissolved and the howl was strangled off by the thick yellow fog rushing in again.
Iraj gasped for breath, shifting into human form and rising on two legs. Then the wind shifted and it was easier to draw breath - big, gulping lungsful of the hot, foul substance they called air in the Black Lands.
He heard Fari roaring orders to his mages and turned to see twenty demons in wizard’s robes lofting five spell kites into the sky, each so large that it took four strong demons to control them. The wind whipped the kites high into the air, lighting crashing all around them. Electrical fire ran down wires to the ground, where they were attached to large jars with magical symbols painted on them. The jars glowed with every lightning strike, slowly building up the spell charge. When they were “filled up,” Fari and his wizards would create yet another shield to protect the army for a few more hours.
Iraj tugged at his beard, growing angry at the delay.
Then one of the kites broke free, wrenching groans from the wizards who knew they’d suffer Fari’s wrath for the delay the accident would cause.
Iraj watched the kite fly free across the boiling night sky and he had a sudden yearning to fly with it, to sail away to a place where he could shed crown and scepter and become an ordinary man, with ordinary cares and ordinary dreams.
And then the thought struck him - isn’t that what Safar had said he’d wanted all along?
Just then a bolt of lightning struck the kite and Iraj was suddenly, unreasonably, gripped in the jaws of despair. He groaned as the kite burst into flames and plummeted toward the earth, coming apart as it fell, shattering into thousands of fiery bits. Before the burning mass hit the ground a blast of wind swept it up again, carrying it high into the sky - like a meteor shower in reverse.
Iraj’s hopes soared with it, climbing higher and higher, then pausing to hang just beneath the blood-stained heavens.
There it took on a strange form - a human-like figure with a familiar cap and beaked nose. All sputtering with multi-colored fire.
Then it dawned on him - It was the Jester. The playful god. And the Crown Prince Of Luck.
Iraj smiled at the omen, confidence flooding back, making him feel stronger than ever before. It was a promise, he thought, of things to come.
* * *