Wizard of the winds

CHAPTER FOUR

When Safar opened his eyes again the sun was higher, casting a peaceful glow on the morning scene. Iraj was bustling about, poking the fire into life and getting things out for breakfast. But when he saw Safar's face he spotted the misery there and asked what was wrong. Still shaken by the vision, Safar blurted out the whole tale.

Iraj made no sign of surprise the whole time Safar spoke and when the story was done he said, Don't trouble yourself, Safar. It was only a bad dream. Some of those almonds we ate were probably green."

"It was no dream, Safar protested. But a vision of something that actually happened. It was the cause of the fiery shower we saw last night."

Iraj gave his friend an odd look. Why do you think that? Have you had visions before?"

"Yes, Safar said in a low voice. Sometimes about things that are going to happen. Sometimes about things that are happening."

"Do they always come true?"

Safar shrugged, miserable. Mostly."

Iraj squatted down beside Safar. I've thought since we met you were keeping something from me, he said. Is that all of it?"

Safar shook his head. No."

"Do you want to tell me the rest?"

"Not yet."

Iraj nodded. We have time."

Safar sat numbly as Iraj did all the necessary work, packing their things, gathering up the animals, and loading the llama. When it was time to go Safar's mood had improved. Everything seemed so normal in the light of day. Visions and sorcery had no place amid such brightness. The morning air was cool and soul cleansing. The birds were out, pecking among the dewdrops for breakfast. Butterflies perched on broad leaves, drying their wings in the warming sun. Fat sleepy bumblebees peeped from the blossoms.

Iraj whistled a merry tune as they set out and he kept it up for most of the morning, although Safar saw him glance in his direction every now and then, eyes hooded, as if measuring. After a time Safar pushed the vision away and made it into the mere nightmare that Iraj had suggested. He began to feel foolish for even mentioning it. He remembered his father's caution that the mountains could create a melancholy, distrustful mood, and finally he decided that what he'd seen was no vision, but the result of a fevered imagination brought on by melancholy's chill.

In a short time his own youthful spirits rose naturally to the fore and he joined in Iraj's tune. As they whistled their eyes met and their lips twisted into grins that turned the notes into airy bleats and they both exploded with laughter. The laughter was followed by much giggling over silly boys jokes. They staged mock fights and wrestled, behaving like the striplings they were.

The day was half gone by the time the two friends reached their goal. The ground was covered with hard-packed snow, marked here and there by green shoots struggling out to greet the spring sun. The day was warm and windless and as the trail steepened they began to perspire from the effort of their climb, forcing them to shed their coats. The narrow path curved and swooped over the snowy rocks, carrying them to the summit. Progress was impossible to mark. In many places broad overhangs and outcroppings blocked their view of everything but the rocks around them and the path under their feet. The goats and llama scrambled ahead, disappearing around a sharp bend.

Even though Safar knew what to expect when he rounded that bend, the view leaped on him as suddenly and delightfully as the first time he'd come this way.

They emerged into bright light, finding themselves on a broad ledge looking out across the northern side of the mountain range. Just below was a small, grassy hollow where mountain berries abounded. A spring burst from the rock beneath their feet, plummeting down to gather in a crystal pool in the center of the hollow. The goats were gamboling among the berries, bleating with joy. The llama ignored his less-than dignified cousins of the wool, his snout already buried deep in one of the berry bushes.

Falling away from the green hollow was a wonderland of white-capped crags that tumbled down to the great desert wastelands of the north. Fat columns of towering clouds drifted across the blue skies, islands of layered browns and grays and cottony whites. The desert sands caught the sunlight, casting it back at the skies and the whole appeared to be formed of glittering, multi-colored gems.

Beyond the desert there was nothing to stop the eye. Safar's vision sailed swiftly for the horizon's rim, a dark blue line where the vault of the sky mated with the earth. He heard Iraj gasp and knew that even heborn to the vast southern plainshad never looked such a great distance. The view was overwhelming but everything also seemed enlarged in the thin air so the horizon somehow appeared closealthough Safar knew from the caravan masters that it would take much time to travel so far.

He glanced at his friend, who had a foolish grin on his face. Iraj reached outhesitantlyas if trying to touch the horizon. Safar laughed for he'd done the same thing the first time he found the place.

"Follow me, he said. There's more."

Safar shed his light pack and clambered down the rocks running along the rushing spring. About half way the water sheeted over a cave mouth. Safar pointed it out to Iraj, then showed him how to edge his way between the falling water and the rock face and duck into the cave.

He'd left materials for torches there on his last visit and he quickly assembled several, then struck sparks with his flint tool to fire one. Instantly the cave was flooded with an eerie light. The walls and floors and ceiling were carved from smooth, green stone that captured all light and flung back a ghostly glow.

When Iraj had recovered from his initial amazement he fired a torch of his own and peered about, noting the place where Safar sometimes made a fire when the weather was cold. Then he saw a mass of pentagrams and magical symbols and star signssome old, some newerinscribed on one wall and the floor.

"A wizard's den, he said.

Safar nodded, not mentioning that the clumsier and newer symbols were his attempts to copy and learn from ancient masters. He'd yet to make magic with them, hampered as he was by youthful doubts. But in the back of his mind he knew it was only a matter of time before he succumbed to the temptation to cast a real wizard's spell.

Safar pointed to a series of faded red symbols etched on the floor. They led deeper into the cave, as if indicating a path. Iraj gaped as he recognized the symbolsthe demon moon and comet of The Conqueror.

"Alisarrian came here? he gasped.

"I don't know, Safar said. But I think some of those who knew him used this place."

He motioned Iraj forward and they followed the path through the several chambers that made up the cavern. One room had a stone shelf with ancient jars still sitting on it. Although some of the magical symbols identifying them were still plain, the contents of the jars had dried up long ago. Another room featured a small pile of weapons and armor so rusted they'd bonded together. Iraj examined them with much interest, commenting with authority on their purpose and former quality.

The final room was empty, save for brackets mounted on either side of the far wall. Safar lit two more torches and placed them in the brackets.

"This is what I brought you to see, he said, pointing to the broad space between the two torches.

Iraj peered where he pointed but at first saw nothing remarkable.

"Look closer, Safar said. It takes a minute to see the first time you try. After that it's easy because you know what you're looking for."

Iraj's eyes narrowed with effort and he turned his head this way and that, trying to make out what Safar was pointing at. Then the young potter smiled when he saw the stare turn into a look of wonder as the image between the mounted torch brackets leaped out.

A large painting had somehow been created just beneath the translucent surface of the stone. It was barely visible until the torches were litand only then if it were looked at a certain way.

The picture was of a tall, handsome warrior dressed in the archaic armor of a prince. He was fair skinned and had long light hair and fierce eyes as blue as the waters of Kyrania's holy lake. The warrior carried a helmet under his right arm and about his brow was a simple gold band of kingly authority. He had a sword in his left hand, held high as if greeting or challenging another warrior. Safar had never decided which.

Above the warrior king was the symbol of the Demon Moon and ascending comet.

"Alisarrian, Iraj hissed.

"None other, Safar said.

Iraj laughed in loud delight and clapped the young potter on the back, thanking him profusely.

"A secret for a secret, he said. Although I got the better bargain, my friend."

At that moment Safar realized that sometime between the moment they'd set out on the journey and their arrival, they had become friends. The knowledge made him feel somehow more adult. He'd never had a real friend before.

Iraj gazed at the portrait again. I've studied everything about Alisarrian, he said, but I've never seen such a likeness before. He looks every inch a conqueror. A man fated by the gods to rule a great empire."

He drew his sword, flourished it, then struck a pose like that in the paintingsword held high, head lifted and eyes far-seeing.

With a jolt, Safar noticed something for the first time. You're left-handed, he said, just like Alisarrian."

Iraj nodded, face sober. And tall and fair as well, he said. But my eyes are dark. His eyes are blue… like yours."

Safar blushed. One of the many reasons he treasured this secret place was that here was another blue-eyed person like himself. It made him feel not only less strange, but superiorif only for a little while.

Iraj turned, holding his pose. Tell me, Safar, he said quite seriously. Do I look like a king?"

Safar studied him carefully. No vision followed, no great bolt from the skies, but realization boiled up from within. And he just suddenly… knew.

His mouth was dry and his voice came in a croak. You will be king, Iraj, he said.

"What? Iraj said, startled. I was only he broke off. Then his voice became fierce, harsh.

"What are you telling me?"

"You will be as great a king as Alisarrian, Safar answered. I see it… he tapped his chest…here."

Iraj's sword hand fell, the blade scraping against the stone. Don't mock me, he warned.

"I'm not."

"You're speaking of my greatest dream, he said. To create a kingdom as grand as Alisarrian's."

"I know this, Safar said.

"You don't think I'm crazy?"

"Perhaps. The young potter shrugged. You'll probably have to be."

"You've seen this in one of your visions? Iraj asked.

"Just before you came, Safar said. I saw you… wearing a crown."

"Was I sitting on a white elephant? Iraj asked, chin jutting forward in surprise.

"Yes, Safar said. You were leading a great army. In my vision you beckoned me."

Iraj came closer, as if drawn by a magnet. And I told you to sit beside me, he said. And that youSafarwere responsible for what I'd won."

"It seems we had the same vision, Safar said, numb.

"I'd believed it was just a dream, Iraj said. I only thought it might be more than that when I met you and heard your name."

"Somehow, Safar said, we got into each other's minds."

Iraj shook his head. It was your vision, he said. Such things never happen to me."

"Well they do to me, Safar sighed.

"You act like it's a curse."

"You don't know how much of one, Safar answered.

"But… if what you say is true"

"It is, Safar broke in. I'm not often wrong."

Iraj put his arm around Safar's shoulders, pulling him closer. Then, when I am king, he said, you will be my most trusted advisor. You will be Lord Timura from the moment I take my rightful place on the throne."

Then he withdrew his arm and stepped away, raising his sword with much ceremony. He gently tapped Safar on the head with the blade, saying, I, King Iraj Protarus, do so decree."

His face shone with youthful zeal. Emotion made his voice waver and crack and his eyes welled with tears. There was a smear of dirt on one cheek and standing there in his rough boyish clothes attempting to strike an heroic figure, he might have even looked a bit ridiculous.

But Safar didn't laugh.

After the impromptu ceremony Iraj investigated the chamber further, taking special note of all the magical symbols and jars.

"What do you suppose was the purpose of the cave? he asked.

"My guess, Safar replied, is that it was used by a Dreamcatcher to cast Alisarrian's future."

Iraj grinned hugely, saying, How fitting for me to have my own future told in this place. And by my own Dreamcatcher as well."

"I'm no Dreamcatcher, Safar protested. I'm just an apprentice potter."

"A potter who has visions, Iraj laughed.

Oddly, Safar was stung by his comment. Being a potter may not be as great as becoming a king, he said. But it is an honorable craft. Some even say it's an artan art blessed by gods."

"I'm sorry if I said anything to upset you, Iraj said. The only craftsmen I've ever known were sword and armor makers. But as you say, it's well known that potters are blessed because they work with the same stuff the gods made us from. Did you ever think that could be why you have visions? Maybe you got a double portion of blessings when you were born."

"It could be, Safar said. Although my father has never had anything like that happen to him."

"How do you know? Iraj asked.

"From the way he acted when Safar stopped.

"What happened? Iraj pressed. What did he do?"

Safar shook my head, refusing to answer. I'd rather not say."

"We shouldn't have secrets between us, Iraj said. Especially after what's happened."

He's right, Safar thought. But instead of confessing all, he became angry. Nothing's happened! he snapped. Just one stupid boy told another stupid boy a silly tale. That's all."

Safar stormed away, ducking between the watery curtain at the cave's mouth and clambering over the rocks until he reached the meadow where the goats were grazing.

Wisely, Iraj took his time in following. Safar raged about the meadow, kicking innocent rocks, tearing up offending plants by the roots and slapping at the llama when he approached and nuzzled him to see what was wrong. When he struck out at the animal it sprang back in shock. Safar had always treated him gently. It stared at him with accusing eyes, then turned and ambled off in that overly casual way llamas have when they don't want to show they've been offended.

A goat got in its way and it charged the animal as if it were the greatest nuisance that had ever crossed its path. The goat dashed off, then revenged its humiliation by butting a smaller animal, which did the same and before Safar knew it the whole field was full of angry animals, butting each other and hopping about like fakir's apprentices attempting their first walks across a bed of hot coals.

By the time Iraj showed up Safar was laughing so hard he'd forgotten the argument. Iraj didn't bring the subject up and the two were soon engaged in the rough play and adventuring of boy goat herders alone in the mountains.

But it hung there between them, an uncomfortable presence.

When Badawi saw the wide caravan track leading into the mountains he fell from his donkey and dropped to his knees. He thumped his breast and shouted huzzahs to the heavens for saving his life.

That morning when Sarn sent him out to scout the way the horse dealer knew this day would be his lastunless he came up with a miracle. Badawi's luck had seemed to desert him after he'd discovered the old Timura pot from Kyrania. They'd traveled over four hundred miles since then and hadn't even found a goat path, much less a full blown caravan track leading over the Gods Divide.

As he sang praises to all the holy presences he could think of, Badawi suddenly spotted a mound of camel dung a few feet away. His heart leaped with greater joy andstill on his kneeshe scrabbled over and broke the sun-crusted mound open, revealing a still-moist center.

Just then Sarn came riding up, his column of demon bandits not far behind. When Badawi saw him he scrambled to his feet. Look, Master! he shouted, displaying two big handfuls of dung as if they were a great treasure.

"What's that in your hands, you filthy human? Sarn growled.

"Camel dung, O Master, Badawi said, doing a little dance of joy, spilling the stuff on the ground. The gods have guided your unworthy slave across a thousand miles of wilderness to find the very thing you have been commanded to seek."

"Have you gone mad, human? Sarn said. What do I want with camel dung?"

Badawi didn't seem to hear. He'd seen still more of the droppings and he raced over to them, leaping from mound to mound like a fat toad, scooping up dung and throwing it into the air, crying, Praise the gods!"

At that moment Giff came up. What's wrong with the human? he asked.

"I think I've pushed him too hard, Sarn said. He's seems to have lost his senses from the strain. He sighed. I suppose he's of no use to us anymore. You can kill him if you like, Giff. Just be a good demon and don't say I told you so.

Giff grinned and started to draw his sword. But Badawi had overhead them. He hurtled over to the two demons, anger momentarily overcoming his fear.

He shouted, Kill me? Why would you do such a stupid thing? I've found your route over the mountains, haven't I? Badawi pointed to a wide track winding up into the hills. There lies Kyrania! he shouted. There lies the Valley of the Clouds!"

Badawi became overly excited from his discovery. Excitement bordering on dangerous hysteria. You'd never have discovered this on your own! he cried. Only I, Badawi, could manage such a thing.

"Furthermore, haven't I also just shown you evidence that a caravan passed this way not more than three or four days ago? He indicated the dung-strewn trail with a stained hand. Or do you suppose all these animals were out wandering in the middle of nowhere looking for a comfortable place to shit?"

As soon as his outburst ended Badawi realized what he'd done. His nerve collapse and he fell to the ground. Forgive me, Master, he begged. He beat his head against the ground and threw dust over his head. This insignificant beetle of a slave has offended you, Master. Cut off a hand, if it pleases you. Pluck out this miserable tongue that wagged without thought when the brain became overly excited by discovery. Only spare me, Master. Spare me. And I shall serve you faithfully, content with crumbs for food and lashes for praise for so long as I live."

While Badawi begged, Giff kicked his mount forward to examine the signs.

"I hate to admit this, he said when the horse dealer was done and reduced to a weeping wreck, but the human is right. A caravan did pass this way not long ago."

Badawi wiped his eyes and blew his nose on his sleeve. You see, Master, he said, I spoke the truth. Even Giff says so. And we both know how much he hates me. I deserve it, of course, although"

"Shut up, human! Giff said. If you dare foul my name again by speaking it aloud I'll cut off your head to make a pisspot!"

Badawi bowed, trembling. Please, sir, he said. I meant no harm."

Sarn ignored the exchange. He was noting the width and depth of the trailmore of a wide road, now that he really looked at it. A road worn into the very rock from centuries of use. He stared up at the snow-capped mountains, wondering how rich a prize the caravan would make.

As if reading his thoughts, Badawi said, My guess is that it's out of Caspan, Master. He pointed northwest, roughly indicating where Caspan would be. The caravan master is no doubt heading across the Gods Divide to Walaria. He pointed south across the mountains. It's a journey of several thousand milesgoing there and back, of course. As you no doubt have already supposed, Master, no merchant would travel so far if he weren't expecting to make a handsome profit for his efforts. Seize that caravan, Master, and you will possess a fortune."

Giff had been listening closely, realizing all the horse dealer had said was true. Added to these glad tidings was another fact that delighted him even more.

He clacked his talons to catch Sarn's attention and when he had it he said, quite simply, Are we done with him now?"

Badawi gawped. What do you mean, are we done with him now?

The two demons ignored him. Actually, I really don't see any further use for him, Sarn said. We've found what King Manacia wanted, plus what we wanted. And soon as we take the caravan we can return home."

"Done with who? Badawi pressed. Who do you mean, lords?"

"You promised I could kill him, Giff pointed out.

"Do you mean me? Badawi said. Then he began to weep again. Not me, he sobbed. You can't mean me!"

Sarn pulled a huge, gem encrusted ring from a taloned hand. He tossed it to Giff, who plucked it out of the air.

"I'm buying my promise back, Sarn said. I've had to put up with him more than you. I had to pretend I didn't completely loathe him. He gnashed his fangs. It's not good for a demon's health to keep things inside that way."

"I'll do anything, Master, Badawi sobbed. Anything."

Giff growled laughter and jammed the ring on his finger. Consider the promise retrieved, he said.

Sarn kicked his mount closer to the sobbing Badawi. His steed's snout curled back in disgust at the human's smell. The beast snarled in fear, but Sarn steadied him by digging a heavy heel into his ribs.

"Look at me, human, the demon said.

"No, no, I won't look! Badawi cried, trying to scrabble away.

"I said look! Sarn roared.

Badawi sagged to the ground as if the demon's shout had been a blow. They he slowly looked up. Huge yellow eyes stared down at him. Sarn gestured and the horse dealer's body suddenly stiffened. Badawi had no will of his own, but he still had thoughts and he still had fear.

"Don't hurt me, Master, he shrieked.

"I don't intend to, human, Sarn answered. I wouldn't foul my hands with your cowardly blood. No, you shall have the death you deserve, human. The death the gods must have decreed, or the idea would not have come so quickly into my head."

"Please, Master! Badawi begged.

"Silence! Sarn shouted.

Badawi was struck dumb.

"Take this knife, Sarn said, handing over an ornate dagger. Badawi's fingers, acting against his will, stretched out and took the knife.

Sarn pointed to the ground. Dig your grave there. Make it deep, so no unsuspecting jackal will poison itself with your rotted corpse. And make it wide to contain your bloat."

Like a clockwork machine Badawi came to a crouch and started digging.

"When you're done, human, Sarn said, climb into the grave and cut your guts out. I want you to do it slowly. To cause yourself as much pain as if I were doing the cutting."

He rode off laughing.

Badawi's mind screamed, No, no, I won't do it!"

But he kept digging, gouging the hard ground with the knife, scooping up dirt and rock with bleeding fingers. He couldn't slow down, much less stop. And he knew once he did stop he'd have no choice but to carry out the rest of Sarn's sentence. As commanded, he'd take his own lifeas slowly and painfully as a spirit possessed could manage.

A mad thought came to him. It was all because of a camel. That's when his luck first left him. When he fell in love with a camel and stole her for his own.

And he thought, but she was such a pretty animal, my Sava. And white, so white…

As white as the snows on the Gods Divide.

Iraj returned to the cave several times over the next few days. He went alone, never announcing his intentions when he left or speaking about it when he returned. Although he never said what he did there, each time he emerged he seemed to stand taller, his bearing more confident and his eyes more commanding.

Safar only returned once and he also went alone. Late one night he relived the nightmare of the dancers who died in the volcanic eruption. After he calmed himself and his mind became clear he remembered something he'd found in the cave several visits ago. After checking that Iraj was asleep he went into the cave to the room with the stone shelf and old jars. In one corner was a shattered pot that had caught his interest because of all the ancient magical symbols painted on it. He'd laid out the shards on the floor in a vague attempt at reconstruction.

Safar held the torch high to get a closer look at the nearly completed puzzle. This time his interest wasn't drawn so much to the symbols, but to what the pot once represented. Which was a round jar shaped like the world with a small opening that had once held a stopper. The major features of the world had been displayed on the jar, consisting mostly of the oceans and the four turtle gods that bore the lands. Here, in the Middle Sea, was Esmirwhich in the ancient tongues meant simply the land, or the earth. To the north was Aroborus, the place of the forests. To the south was Raptor, the land of the birds. Last of all was Hadin, land of the fires. Safar studied this arrangement in greater detail, remaking the pot in his mind. On the globe Hadin was on the other side of the worlddirectly opposite Esmir.

He bent to get a closer look at the large piece of shard that contained Hadin, actually a huge chain of islands rather than a single land mass. The largest island had a picture of a cone-shaped mountain with a monster's face. The monster was breathing fire. The memory of this piece of painted pottery was what had drawn Safar into the cave. He wondered now if the large island in Hadin was the place he'd seen in his vision. If vision it was.

He felt ignorant. He'd always prided himself on his mind, but now all his knowledge of the world and what made it seemed so insignificant he might as well have been an insect contemplating the heavens. He hungered to know more, which made him sad because he realized he'd reached the end of what Gubadan could teach him. And as Safar looked at the shattered glove it occurred to him that much of what he'd learned might be in error, or based on Gubadan's stirring myths. Even the old priest admitted, for instance, that there were no turtle gods carrying the continents. The lands floated on the oceans without assistance, he said. The turtle gods were symbols, not science, he said. Although he cautioned symbols sometimes hid inner meanings that might make science.

Safar determined the next time he traveled Walaria with his father he'd find books to broaden his knowledgealthough he didn't have the faintest idea what types of books those might be. To start with, however, he could look for something that could tell him about the four continents. Particularly Hadin.

He reached for the shard containing Hadin and as soon as his fingers touched it his body tingled all over with that warm, honeyed sensation he'd felt the night when the fiery particles had rained from the sky. The feeling quickly vanished and all was normal again. He shook himself, wondering what had happened. He stared hard at the pot shard with its fiery mountain. No answer came. After a time he gave up and tucked the shard away into his shot pouch to be examined later.

He returned to the campsite and his blankets. He slept and this time he didn't dream.

Over the next few days he became uncomfortable in the grotto. Although he didn't show it, there was a buzz of magic and danger in the air that disturbed him. Finally he made an excuse for the two of them to get away for awhile. He told Iraj they needed to find meat for their cooking pot. Always eager for a hunt, Iraj agreed.

Leaving the goats and llama to graze, they wandered along snow-patched trails for hours. Safar felled a few mountain grouse with his sling and Iraj shot a hare with his bow. Safar teased him because he'd brought heavy arrows better suited for bear than rabbits and the creature was so torn up by the missile it was useless.

Iraj pretended to be hurt. I just saved our lives, you ingrate. Didn't you see that mean look in its eyes? A man-eater if I ever saw one!"

"Eeek! Safar shrieked. A man-eating hare! Run! Run!"

And they both bounded down the path as if a tiger were after them.

An hour or so later they came to a promontory that overlooked the main caravan route. Passage through the Bride and Six Maids wasn't easy. It consisted of a complicated series of trails and switchbacks winding up from the desert to the first pass. The pass led to a rickety bridgebuilt, some claimed, by Alisarrian's engineersthat crossed to the next mountain. More passes and bridges joined into the final route, which traveled over the broad summit of the Sixth Maid, then dipped to catch the trail across the Bride herself and then down into Kyrania and beyond.

Safar had spent many an hour perched on that promontory watching the caravans. At the height of the season, when as many a dozen might be traveling, it was a wondrous sight. He'd once spotted four caravans moving along four different peaks at the same time. He'd never seen an ocean, but to Safar the caravans looked like a small fleet of ships sailing over a sea of clouds and snowdrifts. The Kyranians called the region the High Caravans, for it was said that in all the world there were no higher mountains that traders crossed.

As the two young men stood there that day gazing out at the snow-covered peaks, Safar felt sudden joy when he spotted a caravan, the first of the spring, moving down toward the Bride's Pass. He pointed it out to Iraj, who hadn't been in the mountains long enough to distinguish distant objects easily. As he marveled at it they could both hear the sound of jangling bells echoing strangely in the cold, dry air. Soon they could make out the small figures of people, some on foot, some mounted on horsebackfollowing the heavily-laden llamas and camels that padded over the snow. A few large ox-drawn wagons completed the caravan.

"All the places they must have been, Iraj said dreamily, and all the places they've yet to see. The very sound of those bells makes you want to join them, doesn't it Safar?"

"Why should it? Safar said, a little sharply. I'm happy here. Why would I want to live among strangers?"

Iraj gave him an odd look. You have visions, he said, but you don't dream?"

"Not of things like that, Safar answered. I'm perfectly happy where I am. Oh, I've visited the city once or twice. My father sometimes goes to Walaria to sell his best pots. But whenever I went with him I was always anxious to get back as quickly as I could."

Iraj waved his hand at the caravan and the vista beyond. But that's the real world out there, Safar, he said. Where great men determine events. And there are all sorts of mysterious people and things to see. Your valley is beautiful, I admit. But nothing happens here, or will ever happen. Don't you feel left out?"

"Never, Safar declared. I have all I want here. And all I shall ever want."

Iraj shrugged, then said, Let's go down to meet them. I've never talked to a caravan master before."

There was plenty of time left in the day so Safar had no reason to deny him. Also, as every Kyranian child knew, the first to meet a caravan were always rewarded with treats and small gifts. Safar's eyes swept the terrain, picking out a route that would intersect with the travelers at the edge of the Bride's Pass. He pointed the way and the two young men charged down to meet the caravan.

They were skirting a jumble of rock when motion caught Safar's eye. He grabbed Iraj's arm to stop him and looked closer.

A line of figures moved swiftly out of a ravine toward the caravan. They were traveling in a wide loop that kept cover between them and the caravan and Safar knew they were doing this purposely so they wouldn't be seen.

At first he thought they were bandits. He cupped his eyes so he could see better and the lead group jumped into view so clearly and so frighteningly that he cried out.

"What is it? Iraj asked. He was peering at the figures, still not able to make them out.

"Demons! Safar shouted. They're going to attack the caravan!"