Wolves of the Gods

CHAPTER TWELVE

Uh, oh!" Palimak said. "Looks like my father's in trouble."

"Let me see! Let me see!" Gundara demanded, pushing forward.

"Will you please!" Gundaree complained. "You are such a rude Favorite! Mother would be so displeased!"

"Just shut up about Mother!" Gundara shouted. "You hear me? Shut up!"

Palimak, who was crouched on the tent floor peering into a wide, silvery bowl, looked up at them with an expression of utter disgust on his elfin face. The two Favorites could only appear together in his presence.

But they squabbled so much sometimes he wondered if it was worth the extra strength he got from them.

"Stop your arguing this instant," he said, copying the scolding tones adults used when chastising him.

Gundara pointed at his twin, tiny demon's face all screwed up in outraged innocence. "He wouldn't let me see," he whined.

Gundaree sneered, his little human face a portrait of lordly condescension. "I only asked him kindly not to shove," he replied.

Palimak sighed. "Why do you two always make everything so hard?" he said. "Now, look. There's plenty of room for everybody." He pointed to one end of the bowl. "You stand here," he said to Gundara, making his high child's voice as commanding as possible. "And you can stand over there," he told Gundaree, indicating the opposite side. "And hurry up, please. I told you my father is in trouble. Big trouble!"

Chastened, the Favorites obeyed. When they were set Palimak waved his hand over the bowl and a cloud of blue steam hissed up.

Gundaree sneezed. "What an awful odor," he said in cultured tones.

"Just shut up and look," Palimak said.

"Don't say shut up," Gundara admonished. "You're not supposed to say shut up."

Palimak snorted, but didn't reply. Instead he peered into the bowl. The smoke vanished and the whole inside of the bowl became a miniature of the Naadan Stadium. The audience cheered from the stands, which ran all along the side of the bowl. At the bottom was the grassy wrestling field where his father grappled with Ulan.

"I wonder why he's fighting?" Palimak mused.

"Who knows why the Master does anything?" Gundaree said. "Except, show him an impossibility and he'll attempt it."

Gundara winced as Ulan struck again and Safar was knocked backwards. "Ouch!" he said. "I'll bet that hurt!"

"We have to help him," Palimak said.

"That's all very well and good," Gundaree said. "But the question, Little Master, is how?"

Safar scrambled to his feet, dodging just as Ulan reached for him. He came around, joining his fists together into a club. He swung, connected with Ulan's kidney and heard a satisfying grunt of pain.

But the giant wrestler was used to much worse punishment and just as Safar was forming another spell of confusion a huge hand snatched out and caught Safar by the belt.

The crowd roared. The final moment had come. Now that Ulan had a grip on Safar's belt all he had to do was lift him off the ground then slam him into the earth. That would certainly be easy enough-compared to the massive Ulan, Safar was less than a feather.

Safar heard the horse shrill as Ulan hoisted him on high.

Without warning a great wind swept into the arena and bowled them both off their feet. Safar landed on top and he heard the breath whoosh out of Ulan. Some kind of miracle had just occurred, but Safar wasn't thinking about miracles just then. Instead he was backing up as fast as he could because Ulan was already bounding to his feet.

Another blast of wind struck, this one bearing rain. It hit them like a tropical torrent and in moments the whole field was turned into a slippery river of mud.

Ulan kept coming, looking like a sea god as he burst through all that rain. He didn't look so godlike when he reached for Safar, skittered in the mud and fell backward, sending up a dirty spray that struck Safar full in the face.

Safar sputtered, rocked back and then his feet abandoned him and it was his turn to go arse over hearth kettle.

He tried to rise but it was like walking on a boatload of fish and he was flailing wildly, arms and legs going every way except the intended direction. Safar finally rested on his back. Through the heavy rain all he could see was the hazy outline of the cheering crowd.

Safar sensed Ulan moving toward him and he flopped over, pushing himself to his hands and knees. He found himself looking straight into the wrestler's giant face. The Titan of Naadan was also on his hands and knees-nearly incapacitated from laughter.

"What a match, little man!" Ulan roared. "A match that will never be repeated in a thousand years. Nay, ten thousand, if the world should live that long." He reared back, muddy hands gripping Safar by the belt.

"Unfortunately, it's time for this match to end, my small friend," he said.

And he lifted Safar over his head, then gently dropped him to the ground.

Safar had lost.

Ulan was helping him to his feet when the rain stopped as suddenly as it began.

The crowd cheered and the wrestler pounded his back, knocking the wind from him. "What a brave little man you are," he said. "But let me give you some advice. If you should visit us next year, don't try it again."

"Believe me, I won't," Safar promised. "I feel as if I've been run over by a freight wagon."

He smiled at the big man, but his thoughts were on the cause of his sudden madness. Safar glanced over at the horse who was looking straight at him, head jerking up and down. The animal's hide was shining from the rain, sun dancing on the high gloss. Safar sent a silent promise that he'd be back no matter what and the horse seemed to understand for it reared back and pawed the air, whinnying loudly.

"Here, what's this?" Ulan shouted.

Safar turned to see a group of guards descending on him. Rough hands grabbed his arms and twisted them back behind him.

"This is no way to treat a challenger!" Ulan roared. He stepped forward, threatening.

"Don't do anything you'll be sorry for, Ulan," said one of the men-an officer from his rank tabs. "We have reason to believe this man is a great criminal. Wanted by Iraj Protarus, himself."

Ulan stopped. He looked at Safar with sad eyes. "Is this true, little man?" he asked. "Are you indeed a criminal? If you're not, speak up! You have won the respect of Ulan, the Titan." He gestured at the guards, all strong, tough men. "And I will break their heads for insulting you."

Safar sighed. "Don't get yourself in trouble over me, friend," he said. "I'll be fine after all this is straightened out."

As they dragged him away a familiar old woman came scampering up. "Yer've just made this old granny a rich woman, Safar Timura," she cackled. "Thankee very much fer that!"

"Oops!" Gundara said.

Gundaree grimaced. "What a terrible development," he said.

Palimak groaned. "What'll we do?"

Gundara shrugged. "Not much we can do," he said. "Oh, well. He was a good Master, as masters go."

He saw Palimak's sad face and try to cheer him up. "But we still have you, Little Master."

"Now, there's a silver lining if I ever saw one," Gundaree said in his mocking voice. "I'm sure Palimak is just so pleased to hear the news that he's about to inherit."

"Oh, shut up, you!" Gundara grumbled. "I was only trying to be thoughtful."

"What if we made it rain again?" Palimak said. "Except this time, we don't let it stop." He stretched out his hands. "For a long, long time."

"What good will that do?" Gundara asked.

Palimak frowned, thinking. "Well, if it keeps raining … they can't do anything to him, right? And they can't send anybody to tell that damned old Iraj, either. I mean, if we make it rain hard enough the roads will be too muddy. Then Aunt Leiria will have time to rescue my father."

"I don't know if I'm up to it," Gundaree said. "I'm faint from exhaustion as it is. Rain isn't easy. Especially a prolonged rain."

"What a puny," Gundara scorned. "Tired out from a little cloud squeezing."

Gundaree slapped his forehead in exasperation. "Why must you always contradict me?"

"I don't," Gundara said.

"Yes you do."

"No I don't."

"You're contradicting me now."

"That's because you're stupid, stupid!"

"What about this?" Palimak broke in. "If I get some bread and cheese for you, Gundaree. And some honeyed figs for you, Gundara. And you ate them all up. Why, you probably wouldn't be tired anymore, right? And we could keep on making it rain."

Both Favorites were delighted at this solution.

"I must say, Little Master," Gundaree commented, "you do have the makings of a most remarkable diplomat."

Palimak frowned. "What's a diplomat?"

"I'm not sure," Gundara said. "But I think it has something to do with always having lots of nice treats for your Favorites."

Palimak snorted. "That's ridiculous. Who'd make up a word to mean something like that?"

"Some very wise men, Little Master," Gundaree said. Then, to Gundara, "Amazing how sensible you can be sometimes, brother dear."

"Oh, shut up!"

The guard aimed his crossbow straight into Safar's face. He fingered the trigger that would send the bolt crashing forward. "Don't try anythin' funny," he said, "or I'll put this right between your eyes!"

Safar rattled his chains and laughed. "What am I supposed to try?" he said. "You've got me shackled, manacled and chained to my bench." He indicated the others in the cell. "Plus, I'm surrounded by six crossbowmen who have been commanded never to leave my side."

The guard beetled his forehead, looked at Safar who was weighed down with twenty pounds of chain, then at his companions who were all relaxing on barrels that had been dragged into the cell for makeshift seats. They were grinning at him, amused.

"Jus' remember what I said," he growled. But he lowered the bow.

"Yer better watch out, Tarz," one of the men teased. "He might bust outta all them chains and kiss yer!"

"Aw, stuff a dirty loincloth in it," Tarz shot back. "He's a wizard, ain't he? Wizards can … well, you know, do stuff." He thought. Then, "Real bad stuff, too." He nodded, firm.

"If I really were a wizard," Safar said, "why would I be here in chains? Why would I allow myself to be captured?"

Tarz shrugged. "How the hells do I know?" he said. "Maybe yers messed up. Made a mistake, like.

Makes no never mind to th' likes of me."

Safar had no answer for this. The man, dumb oxen that he was, had hit the nail squarely. Safar had

"messed up" as the man said. And at the present time there was nothing he could do about his dilemma.

Outside thunder crashed and rain drummed against the steel roof of the cell compound. Thank the gods for the rain, Safar thought. Or else he'd already be on the road to wherever Iraj was camped. Then he smiled to himself. Thank the gods, indeed! And here he was a man who firmly believed the gods were all asleep and paying no attention to human affairs. It was enough shake a man's faith in his disbelief.

He glanced at Tarz and the other men who perched on their barrels quietly talking among themselves.

Very well, he thought, however he'd come by whatever time the storm provided, he'd best start putting it to some good use.

Safar examined his surroundings. His cell was one of twenty contained in a single story stone building with a steel roof and heavy bars on all the windows and doors. The whole building had been emptied of prisoners, mostly rowdies arrested during the festival. The six guards normally assigned to oversee the compound were now gathered in Safar's cell to provide air-tight security.

He shifted, sneaking looks at the heavy padlocks on his chains. Those he could open. As for the rest, they probably wouldn't be that difficult once he was free of the chains. If he started gesturing and muttering spells he'd have six crossbow bolts in him at the blink of an eye.

Then he felt the amulet grow warm on his chest and he thought of the fantastic stallion who was destined to be sacrificed when the rain stopped. He had absolutely no doubt now that the horse was the reason Asper had sent him to Naadan. He had to act quickly, or all would be lost. All I need, he thought, is some small advantage. A means to divert their attention so I can cast a spell. It wouldn't take much for one man. But six!

He felt a tickle on the back of his hand and he looked down to see a mosquito getting ready to drill.

Safar was about to brush it away, then realized the sudden clatter of chains might accidentally get him drilled by something much worse than a mosquito's beak.

Then necessity wed inspiration and he quickly made a fist, trapping the mosquito in the tightened skin. He closed his eyes, pretending to sleep, but instead he was focusing inward, making his mind slender and sharp like the mosquito's beak. He pierced an artery and went snaking along through his own blood stream suddenly filled with the knowledge of all the loops and turns so he was ready when he shot into the heart, felt the immense pressure of contraction, then was released and hurled onward. He raced to the place where the mosquito's beak came through and then he released his fist and let the insect draw his spirit self up along with the blood.

His world became a place of powerful odors and strange lights and images, but somehow it all made sense when he realized he'd become the mosquito. And he wasn't a he, but a She! And this she was ravenous. She could smell the hot blood all around and it was driving her mad with hunger. Safar tightened control and gave her a mission first. A mission that had to be accomplished before she could feed.

The mosquito buzzed through the cell bars, vertical massifs from her point of view, gleaming with oily moisture. She called to her sisters, a high pitched whine of a song. A song of a place of plenty, where the prey was huge and slow and clumsy. And full of hot blood, rivers of it, torrents of it, floods of the stuff of life.

They came to her, lifting up from stagnant pools in the nooks and crannies of the cell house. First by the scores, then by the hundreds. Her song grew louder, clearer, and the little mosquito larvae in those pools burst wings and legs through skin and became full grown adults who joined their sisters by the thousands.

She led them all to the cell, a swarm so thick with flying insect life that it looked like a black wall moving along the corridor. They were all singing together now, singing the blood song and the sound of them all was a shrill skin-crawling wail.

At that moment Safar snatched his spirit self back and he became fully aware, eyes opening just as the guards were turning to see what was happening. He made a quick warding spell as the hungry black cloud swarmed into the room and attacked. The men slapped at themselves, cursing. Then the slaps became frantic and the curses wild. More mosquitoes poured in, all ignoring Safar and going for the guards. They were rolling on the floor in agony now, or curling up into balls of pain.

Safar came to his feet, chains rattling in odd counterpoint to the mosquitoes' song. He made a simple spell, then clapped his hands together, shouting, "Sleep!"

The guards all sagged, unconscious. The black cloud of insects settled onto them, covering them like a blanket. But this blanket was alive and ravenous, draining them of their blood.

Safar took pity on them. He quickly whispered an unlocking spell and the chains fell away and the cell door clacked open. Then he snatched a torch from its bracket, whirled it around his head until it was sparking and shouted, "Begone!"

He hurled the torch to the floor, white smoke exploded upward and outward, filling the cell with a harsh, oily odor. Then the smoke cleared away and all the insects had vanished. The guards were sprawled out on the floor in whatever position the sleep spell had caught them.

Safar smiled at them. "Pleasant dreams," he said and slipped out into the corridor.

He went to the main door, barred inside and out for extra security, and peered through the peephole. It was night and the rain was so heavy he couldn't make out the guard post at the main gate. When he'd entered the compound he'd seen a dozen soldiers led by a lieutenant. He'd assumed they were to secure the outside of the small prison in case someone tried to rescue him. At the moment, Safar guessed, those soldiers would be huddling in the guard shack sipping tea and trying to keep dry and warm. He'd counted on that when he'd worked the mosquito spell, figuring they wouldn't hear the cries of their victims. So far it looked as if he'd guessed right.

He motioned and both locks, inside and out, fell away. He cracked the door a few inches, saw no one about, and went out, shutting and locking the door behind him. With luck his escape wouldn't be noticed for a few hours until the sleep spell faded and the guards woke up and found him gone.

The rain was falling so hard he was soaked through within seconds. He made his way gingerly across the muddy ground, trying to work out a plan of action for when he reached the guard shack. He still needed another bit of luck to complete his escape. Actually, he needed more than a bit. He strongly suspected that to overcome twelve soldiers a mosquito just wouldn't do.

When he got close he heard a thump and a groan, then the sound of a heavy weight splashing onto the muddy ground. Safar had frozen at the first sound, pulling back into a dark recess. He heard bootsteps going into the yard and tried to make himself smaller.

Then he saw a familiar form leading four men toward the cell building.

He sagged in relief.

It was Leiria!