Wizard of the winds

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE THE

It was the largest military gathering in the history of Esmir.

A demon armyhalf-a-million strongformed up along the edges of the Forbidden Desert, armor glowing in the pale spring sun. It looked like an enormous dragon with glittering scales and outstretched wings, poised to take flight to ravage the human lands. Whole forests of spears, pikes and archers formed its body. Huge baggage trains of arms and supplies made its tail. Trumpeting elephants and snarling cavalry mounts, mixed with the rattle of weapons and the shrieks of campfollowers gave it a voice.

Forming its head were ten thousand mounted troops, commanded by Crown Prince Luka.

It was an elite force, composed of the finest young demons in the land. All were of noble blood and all were anxious to shed that blood for Gods and King. They'd been whipped into a fighting frenzy and were impatient for the signal launching them across the desert. They grumbled loudly at any and all delays, gnashing their fangs and casting anxious yellow eyes at their adored Crown Prince, who was at the moment conferring with his father, King Manacia, and his Chief Wazier, Lord Fari.

The prince, pretending to be completely absorbed by his father's final words before the campaign began, heard their grumbling and hated them for it.

He couldn't imagine why they were so anxious to rush off to meet their Makers. The prince didn't care if they all died the most horrible of deaths. What he objected to strongly was he was expected to share their fates. He thought, they're all so inbred you could poke out both eyes with a single talon. They're all balls and no brains. They had thick necks with small heads, whose only purposeas far as Luka could determinewas to carry a helmet. Why oh why, do the gods hate me so?

"The first part of the campaign rests squarely on you, my son, King Manacia was saying.

"Pardon, Majesty? Luka said. I'm sorry, but I'm finding it difficult to concentrate. I confess I was dreaming of the victories my troops and I will lay at your feet once we are in the humanlands."

Manacia exposed his fangs in a proud grin. What a fighting prince I have for a son, Fari, the king said to his Chief Wazier. He's so anxious to be off slaying humans he's barely heard a word I said."

Fari bobbed his head, old snout wrinkling into a smile. Indeed, Your Highness, Fari said, putting claws to chest as he spoke and then adding one his favorite stock phrases: Prince Luka is an example to us all."

Luka caught the gleam of amusement in the ancient demon's eyes. Fari could read his heart and was delighted at the prince's predicament. You old bastard, Luka thought. I swear I'll live just to spite you. No matter what it takes I'll survive to piss on your grave and shit on my father's.

"It's his mother's hot blood in him, Manacia said. Then, to Luka, Did I ever tell you about the time your dear lamented mother accused me of raping her?"

"I don't believe you did, Majesty, the prince lied. I'd be most anxious to hear that tale."

Manacia burst out laughing at the memory. It was after she tried to stab me and I had to tie her down, he chortled. She… She…"

The king broke off, calming himself. He wiped an eye and resettled his crown, which had been shaken over one ear from his laughter.

"Never mind, Manacia said. We have more important business at claw. I'll save the tale for some night in the future when we're all gathered about a good campfire, sharing a roasted human haunch."

He jabbed at a map, drawing their attention back to the final planning session.

"I want you to cross the desert just as quickly as you can, Luka, the king said. Ride like the winds. Don't stop for anything. And when you're on the other side I want you to secure a basecamp.

"Give the area a good scrub, mind you. If you see humans, kill them. In fact, it would be best if you scouted out a good fifty miles around the camp. Destroy any settlements you find and make sure no humans escape to spread the news of our invasion. We want to retain the element of surprise as long as we can.

"Once I have my army set and the supply lines secured, we'll roll over them like an eight-beast chariot run amok in the market place. Within six months I predict we'll be at the sea, enjoying a good fish dinner."

Luka bowed. And it will be my great honor, Majesty, he said, to cook your meal with my own claws. But he thought, If I have the chance I'll stuff it so full of poison it'll make your scales fall off, you filthy old coward, you.

Manacia rolled up the map and handed it to an obsequious aide, who dropped to his knees and knocked his bony forehead on the rocky ground before withdrawing in a backwards crawl.

"There's only the casting of the bones remaining, Fari, he said. Then I'll give the signal for the march to begin. Assuming all bodes well, of course."

He glowered at the wizard when he said the last, making it quite obvious what would happen to Fari if the casting did not meet his liking.

"Never fear, Your Highness, Fari said, drawing his casting case from his sleeve. I ordered special bones made up for this historic moment. That human we used for the last divining session proved so lucky I kept back the knuckles of his dexter hand when we disposed of his corpse."

Fari motioned and two slaves crawled over to unroll a small carpet at his feet. The carpet was night black, with the Star Houses picked out in silver.

He took an ivory cup from his casting case and a small drawstring bag made of silk. He untied the string and upended the sack. The knuckle bones made a dry rattling sound as they fell into the cup. He shook the cup and it was like the buzz of a desert viper as the bones swirled about.

And Fari intoned:

"Unloosen thy secrets, let us behold What tale the Gods will tell of us When these blessed events unfold."

He cast the bones on the carpet. King, prince and wizard leaned over to study the result.

"What's this? Manacia said, delight in his eyes. They've fallen in a pattern across the Demon Moon. He looked up at the wizard. I believe the Demon Moon is due to rise soon, isn't it, Fari?"

"Indeed it is, Your Highness, Fari said, bobbing his head. The Star Gazers tell us it appears but once every thousand years. And they predict that cycle is about to repeat itself.

"This casting brings us good news, Your Highness, as you can see for yourself."

He pointed a talon. And look here, one knuckle has fallen on a comet. The Demon Moon and the Comet, as Your Highness well knows, is the sign of Alisarrian."

Manacia slapped his thigh in delight. The Conqueror, himself! he exclaimed. Except this time it'll be a demon, not a devil human, who does the conquering!"

Fari gave a mental sigh of relief. He would have lied, if he'd dared, to make this casting come out as the king wanted. But Manacia was the most powerful wizard in the demonlands. He could read a casting as well, if not better, than any of his royal wizards. Such things bored him, however, and he left it up to his magical minions to study bones and entrails for some signpost of the future.

Overcome by emotion, Manacia rose and threw his arms around the Crown Prince. The gods are with us, my son, he said, embracing Luka. Let their will guide you on this holy mission."

Luka returned the embrace awkwardly, wishing mightily for a dagger to plunge into his father's back.

"I will do my best, Majesty, he said.

Manacia drew back. Mount up, my son, he commanded, and I will give the signal."

Luka bowed low, then strode over to his steed, a huge mailed beast with a long graceful neck, glistening fangs and polished claws. As the prince tried to mount, the beast took a swipe at him with one of those claws. Without breaking stride the prince dodged the claw and vaulted into the saddle, raking the beast with his spurs so hard he drew blood.

The beast shrieked and reared back, pawing the air.

"Good show! Manacia shouted to his son. Nothing like a spirited mount to carry one to victory."

Luka was struggling to keep his seat, but he covered this indignity by again raking the beast with his spurs.

"To victory! he cried, drawing his sword and waving it in the air.

His warriors echoed the cry, roaring in unison. TO VICTORY!"

Luka pressed the sword against his mount's neck, his next words covered by shouts pouring from ten thousand demon throats. Get your claws on the ground, you louse-bitten piece of slime, he said, or I'll cut your throat."

The beast understood and dropped back to earth as agilely as a house cat.

Luka booted his mount to the command point in front of his demon force.

Again he shouted, To victory!"

"TO VICTORY! they roared, drawing their own swords and waving them madly in the air.

"The prince is going too far, Manacia complained to Fari under his breath. This is my moment, not his."

Fari shook his head, hiding his pleasure at this criticism of his enemy. Just high spirits, I'm sure, Your Highness, he said. I'm certain it wasn't intended."

"Maybe so, maybe so, Manacia grumbled. But we'd better hurry it up just the same."

Fari signaled and demon slaves jabbed at the king's great white elephant. It lumbered forward, grand howdah lurching back and forth. More jabs brought it to its knees and the king was hoisted up, panting a little and wondering if perhaps he was letting himself become too fat.

Never mind that, he thought as took his place in the howdah. You'll be slim enough when this campaign is over.

He signaled. Trumpets blared, drums rolled and the whole army came to attention with a great rattling of armor and weapons. A slight pause followed, just a bit longer than good drama warranted.

"For the gods sake, Fari, Manacia shouted down from the elephant, cast the damned spell!"

Fari broke out of a delightful reverie in which Manacia and Luka were shrieking and turning on a spit over a slow fire.

"Immediately, Your Highness, he called back.

He threw a glass globe to the ground. It shattered, spilling a thick yellow liquid across the stone. The liquid began to bubble, then to smoke. A sulfurous cloud boiled up, rising high into the sky.

Then the cloud took on the shape of a gigantic King Manacia. Huge lips parted, baring fangs of tremendous length.

"ONWARD, MY FIENDS, ONWARD! roared the gigantic Manacia. FOR THE GODS AND THE KING!"

"FOR THE GODS AND THE KING! a half a million voices shouted in reply.

The whole army lurched forward, shattering the air with war cries.

The elephant handlers had to give the king's animal several sharp jabs to get it moving fast enough so Manacia wasn't overrun. But in a few minutes all clumsiness was gone and the massive army clattered out onto the Forbidden Desert, an immense juggernaut aimed at the humanlands.

Far out in front Luka and his ten thousand elite were speeding over the badlands, battle cries ululating through the thin air. Within moments they'd reached the high dunes that marked the horizon's edge.

Then they vanished from view.

Despite his inner feelings, Luka was an able commander. Although he drove his fiends hard, he drove himself even harder and it wasn't long before the ten thousand thundered out of the Forbidden Desert and entered the humanlands.

All were weary from the mad dash, but Luka gave them no time for respite. He quickly found a likely campsite for his father's army. It was nestled among gentle hills and centered at what had once been Badawi's farm. There was nothing remaining of that farm, thanks to Sarn and his bandit horde, except a few charred timbers and a half-a-dozen caved-in roasting pits where Badawi's family and livestock had been cooked and eaten.

Luka sent out patrols to scout the region, but other than a few ragged families huddled in homes made of sun dried mud bricks, there were no human groups of any significance to be found. Partly this was because few dared to settle so close to the Forbidden Desert. Mostly it was because Sarn had gone about his duties enthusiastically, wiping out any of the small settlements he'd found. Luka didn't know this and so he concluded it was superstition alone that had done the work.

Several weeks passed and there was still no sign of Manacia and the main army. Luka pressed a few trusted human slaves into service, sending them deeper into the humanlands to spy out and map the region. Before they'd left he'd promised them rich rewards for success and reminded them he had their families back in Zanzair as hostages if they betrayed him.

"I'll flay every babe you call your own, he warned. I'll rip off the limbs of your women and stake out their still-living bodies on ant mounds."

They took his words to heart and by the time the first elements of Manacia's gigantic army hove into view, Luka had maps and detailed intelligence covering hundreds of square miles.

"You certainly took a lot on yourself, Manacia grumbled when Luka showed him the fruits of his efforts.

The king was tired and dirty from his long ordeal. The slowness of the pace, the constant bawling of the animals and the absence of certain creature comforts vital to a king's well-being had made his anger swell like a boil. Luka was careful not to prick it.

Luka apologized profusely, saying, I'm sorry, Majesty. There's no excuse for my behavior. I promise I won't let it happen again."

Manacia was soothed, although he complained the time would have been better spent making the royal camp more comfortable. When he'd grumbled himself out he took a closer look at the maps and reports his son had gathered.

"I suppose these will be of some use to us, he allowed. One of the maps he was studying was a rough eagle's view of all the major hamlets and towns from the Forbidden Desert clear to the great human city called Caspan. I'll have the scribes make copies and pass them out to my generals. I doubt we can rely on them too greatly, but there's no sense wasting effort well-meant."

"Yes, Majesty. You are too kind, Majesty, Luka murmured.

Meanwhile, he was thinking, You misbegotten still-birth of a camel, I've just given you the keys to the whole damned thing. But you won't admit it, you old fraud. Getting praise from you is like pulling fangs. Well, keep your praise. It's your throne I want.

You'd better watch your back, you foul old fiend, because I fully intend to take that crown away from you and mount your head on the gates of Zanzair.

The demon juggernaut swept along the Gods Divide, ravaging any force that dared stand in its way.

Mostly the humans were stricken with such terror at the sight of the demon hordes they surrendered on the spot. Believing the gods had abandoned them, they gave themselves up meekly, accepting any terms King Manacia demanded.

Some he slew, some he enslaved, but mostly he followed the practices that had won him a demon empire. If the humans threw down their arms without a fight he tended to be merciful. He let the rulers keep their posts and made them swear fealty to him, recognizing him as the one true monarchthe King of KingsMaster of Esmir; lord of all humans and demons alike.

He sealed them to their oath by requiring them to sign documents in their own blood, telling them the documents would always be by his side and if they betrayed him he would cast a spell that would let loose a voracious worm in their guts.

Manacia left only a small garrison force at each place he took, relying on fear and sorcery to keep his human subjects contrite.

First he sent his sniffers out to find and kill any human with magical talent.

Then he had small temples erected at the key cities and hamlets, with a demon wizard in charge of each edifice. Portable spell machines were installed in the temples, spewing out spells by the hour meant to keep the populace fearful and humble and strike terror in the hearts of any outside enemy who might attempt to retake the city.

Once he'd secured the spine of the humanlandsthe great mountain range called the Gods Dividehe struck toward Caspan.

That region proved more difficult. The cities were much larger as were the armies who defended them. He also no longer had the element of surprise. The human monarchs and generals he encountered swallowed their terror and fought grimly to halt the demon invasion.

The enemy generals conscripted everyone of fighting age, hurling the ragged, weeping hordes before Manacia's forces. Most of the humans died, but in dying they slowed Manacia's drive enough so the professionals could attack the weak points. True, ten humans might fall for every demon. But Manacia had no way of replacing his losses.

Manacia began losing fiends at an alarming rate. Of the half-a-million he started with, less than four hundred thousand remained when he approached the gates of Caspan.

Crown Prince Luka's shock troops had suffered the most. When the human hordes charged out to meet him he had only five thousand mounted fiends to meet that charge.

"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."

The mention of Kyrania was a heavy spear aimed at Safar's heart. Intentional or not, Safar bent a closer ear to what Coralean had to say.

"A caravan master's life isn't worth a copper on that side of the Gods Divide, Coralean said. Many of my brother merchants have been seized and tortured for the information. Luckily the demons know so little of human affairs they keep seizing the wrong men.

"But they only need one success and Manacia's army will be on the march to Kyrania."

Iraj was silent for a time; fingers rap, rap, rapping. Then he said to Coralean, voice so low he could barely be heard, Leave us for a time, my friend. I must speak with my brother."

The caravan master bowed, murmured a few kind words and departed.

Soon as he was gone Iraj turned to Safar, face full of anguish. You said I would be king of kings! he cried.

"And you will, Safar replied.

"Are you certain your talent isn't playing you false? Iraj demanded. Am I a fool, bound to a fool's vision?"

"Let me speak plainly, Safar said. There's no question that you are a fool. Who else but a fool would want to be king of Esmir? But fool or not, that is your destiny."

"Beware! Iraj snapped. I'm in no mood for insults, friendly though they may be."

"If you don't want to hear the truth, Safar said, then command my silence."

"I've given you power, Iraj said.

"Take it back, Safar replied. It's more of a burden than I care to shoulder."

"I've made you rich, Iraj pointed out.

"In Kyrania, Safar said, wealth is a bountiful harvest that all share.

Iraj grew angry. Are you saying that in your view all I've given you is worthless?"

Taking a lesson from Coralean, Safar replied, Not your friendship. I value that most highly, Iraj Protarus."

Iraj was mollified. His finger rapping ceased. What should I do, brother? he asked. How do I achieve what your vision foretold?"

"Why don't we look at the problem a different way? Safar said. Why don't we turn it about and see if luck's barren goat will still give milk?"

"I'm listening, Iraj said.

"When you started out your greatest difficulty was a family feud, Safar said. An uncle opposed your rightful claim to leadership. A few of your kin were greedy enough to support that uncle. But mostout of long family feelings and traditionsupported you."

"True enough, Iraj said. Although it was more complicated than that."

"To counter that natural feeling, Safar continued, your uncle went to an outsider. A man hated by all in your family."

"It gave him a temporary advantage, Iraj said, but in the end it was a help to me. After a few successes, my family rallied to me."

"So your uncle's alliance with an enemy, Safar said, was his downfall."

Iraj thought for a moment, then nodded. Yes. That is so."

"There you have it, Safar said. The presence of a hated outsider gave you power to rally your clan. Afterwards, you put clan together with clan to take to the road as a conqueror.

"But to those people you were the outsider. The barbarian from the Plains of Jaspar.

"They opposed you, fought you, dared to call you a greedy upstart, instead of as the savior of all Esmir. Which is how you see yourself."

"But I am, Iraj said. You saw it in the vision."

Safar didn't say he'd never seen such a thing. In the vision Iraj had been a conquering king perched on a white elephant, leading his army toward Zanzair. Whether he was a savior or not was another matter.

"Good, Safar said. I'm glad you believe that. Because that is how you will defeat Manacia."

Iraj's expression was puzzled. He didn't understand.

"The whole human world fears the demons, Safar said. Use that fear against Manacia. Raise your standard, claim all humankind as your clan… and strike him down.

"Before winter set in you faced the prospect of many years of battle to claim Caspan as your realm. Manacia has done your work in less than a season.

"Defeat him and you have the north."

Iraj brightened. And the demonlands, he pointed out. I'll have them as well."

"First we have to cross the Forbidden Desert, Safar cautioned.

Iraj gave a cheery wave. You mean the curse? Hells, I was never worried about that. You'll figure it out when we get there.

"Besides, if Manacia can do it, so can you."

"I'm glad you still have confidence in me, Safar said, again taking a lesson from Coralean and letting a measure of humility leak through.

"As I see it, Safar continued, our greatest danger will be Manacia's magic. It's well know that demons are much more powerful sorcerers than humans."

"An overblown reputation, as far I'm concerned, Iraj scoffed, gaining confidence by the minute. I saw you bring down an avalanche on a whole pack of them, remember?"

Safar had few delusions about himself. He'd spent the winter testing his powers and at first had been amazed at the newly possible. But in reading the Book of Asper, the demon wizard, he saw glimmerings of a power that might be beyond him.

"I caught them by surprise, Safar said. Besides, it was only a score or more we were faced with. Not a whole demon armywith a legion of wizards to support them."

"You just worry about Manacia's wizards, Safar, Iraj replied. I'll take care of his damned army."

Worry is not such an easy thing to limit. The mind may decree borders, but once erected those borders are immediately beset by fears both large and small. Nights become sleepless landscapes littered with innumerable difficulties and imagined pitfalls threatening the mightiest of beings. Large things may seem insurmountable mountains during those torturous hours when others sleep. Small things may suddenly erupt into fears rivaling those mountains.

In the north, King Manacia consolidated his army and searched for the route over the Gods Divide. But his nights were haunted by imagined plots involving his son, Prince Luka. Then word filtered through of a mighty human king with flowing hair and beard of gold. This monarchKing Iraj Protarusbore the standard of Alisarrian and was rousing the populace to oppose Manacia and destroy his long cherished dreams of empire.

Sitting at the right hand of that king, it was said, was a human wizard so powerful he was the equal of any demon lord of sorcery. The wizard, Safar Timura, had eyes as blue as the sunlit heavens.

When Manacia slept at all he was troubled by nightmares in which his son suddenly turned into a human with a golden beard and sky blue eyes. In this nightmare Manacia would be forced to embrace his son and heir before his court, knowing full well a dagger would be thrust into his back.

In the south, King Protarus massed his forces and toured his realm, spreading the news of the demon invasion. He gave thundering speeches, decrying the atrocities committed by the demonssome real, some created. He was a handsome young prince, a compelling speaker who quickly made his subjects forget the atrocities he had committed himself in winning his kingdom. People rushed to support him, swelling his armies, crying for revenge against the demon invaders.

But Iraj's nights were as sleepless as Manacia's.

What if Safar was wrong? What if he were not as great a seer as Iraj believed? And what if his friend was not truly his friend? If he were as powerful a wizard as Iraj believed, might he not seize the throne of Esmir as soon as Iraj had won it? And if not, why not? Which brought him back to the original worry that Safar was so weak Iraj was a fool to rely on him.

Safar was no king, which gave him ample reason to harbor fears equal to both monarchs combined.

If Iraj believed Safar was in the way he'd betray him with barely a thought. Safar wondered about the vision in which he'd seen Iraj's victorious march on Zanzair. What if that part were true, but in reality it was Safar's ghost who'd witnessed it? He'd certainly felt like a spirit during the vision. What if his dreamcatcher self had slipped past the part where Safar was betrayed and slain by his blood brother? It troubled him he'd never been able to see past that moment when Iraj's armies marched on Zanzair. And what of the other visionthe vision of Hadinin which all was for naught and the world was rushing toward its end?

Then there was the greatest fear of all.

For either kingManacia or Protarusthe key was Kyrania.

What if the two monarchs met in battle in the High Caravans?

What if Safar's valley and everyone he lovedmother, father, sisters, friendswere destroyed in that confrontation?

After a time this worried Safar even more than the destruction of the world itself.

It was impossible to imagine the last.

But frighteningly easy to see the first.

In the end it was fear for Kyrania that drove Safar. He was willing to dare anything to save it.