Wolves of the Gods

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

After a year of desperate flight and miserable camps, the Kyranians fell into the embrace of Caluz as if it were the softest and deepest of pillows. They were warmly welcomed, with hundreds of people and demons streaming out to greet them with gifts of choice food and delicious drink and all manner of clothes and goods to replace their trail-worn things.

Queen Hantilia provided them with a large, lightly wooded field to make their temporary home and supplied them with every luxury imaginable, until soon the field seemed more like a pleasure camp for royalty enjoying a few weeks in the bracing outdoors. They settled into colorful pavilions filled with thick carpets and pillows. Cheery cooking fires were scattered among the pavilions, each with tables and benches so the Kyranians could imagine they were at home, gossiping and sharing leisurely meals.

Portable bath houses were set up along the river and the Kyranians reveled in an orgy of hot soapy baths, soaking away months of grime in steaming kettles big enough to hold a family. Then they all donned their new clothes and strolled through the trees, or along the nearby river bank, feeling clean and without care.

Special attention was paid to the soldiers and horses hurt in the encounter with the beast. The Queen sent her best healers to treat them with magical herbs and ointments and soon they were up and about, injuries fading, enjoying their new home as much as the rest.

Every day was a glorious day in Caluz. The sun always mild, the nights pleasantly cool and the remarkable absence of the Demon Moon made everyone feel as if a large weight had been lifted.

Children played, lovers swooned, mothers and fathers enjoyed many stolen moments alone, as did the grandparents. At night those who could make music made it and everyone danced and sang away their troubles.

It was a grand holiday for one and all-except Safar, who disappeared for several days of intense conferences with the Queen and the top Caluzian priests and scholars. His absence only made everyone's mood lighter. For a short time they could forget about Iraj Protarus, prophecies of a doomed world and their desperate journey to far off Syrapis. Safar was dealing with such things. And when he decided what they should do next he'd come and tell them. Who could say when that would be? So let's enjoy life, grab what we can from it for the dark days will return soon enough.

Yet there was a ragged edge to their joy. Snatched as they were from a place where fear had become ordinary, the Kyranians went about their pleasures at a frantic pace. Leaping from one activity to another.

Always glancing over their shoulders, waiting for the predestined shadow to fall.

Only Palimak and Leiria were unaffected. Only they saw the mirror cracks in the perfection that was Caluz. Leiria because she was a soldier and had a soldier's healthy suspicion of all things. Palimak because he was a newly serious boy, a self-appointed wizard's apprentice to his father, whom he was worried would leave him out of the main action. Whatever that was going to be.

One evening while they were walking together along the river looking for a likely fishing spot they came upon a small park with a dozen or more Caluzians-both human and demon. Some were taking the air alone, some in company, and there were several family groups with children or kits.

As soon as they saw the two Kyranians they all rushed over to bow and smile and murmur greetings.

Saying, "How is the Lady Leiria this evening?" Or, "Does the Young Lord Timura find himself well, we pray?" And "May the blessings of Lady Felakia be with you!"

As they spoke they spontaneously handed the two little gifts, a bracelet or necklace for Leiria hastily stripped off by the owner, a small top or a ball for Palimak, willingly given by smiling children. Leiria and Palimak made polite replies and tried to fend off the gifts but it was no use, so they stuffed them in their pockets, thanking everyone and grinning until their jaws ached.

A moment later the Caluzians all chorused farewells and trooped off, pleasant laughter trailing in their wake.

Leiria looked about the empty park. "They certainly left in a hurry," she said. "I feel like we brought something odorous to a party."

Palimak snorted. "They're just so nice they make me sick!" he said. "But they never really want to talk to you. Or play with you. They just say, 'How are you, Young Lord Timura?' And 'May the gods be kind to you!' Things like that, but soon as you try to say something back they pretend they're busy, or going someplace in a hurry, and run away."

"I thought I was the only one to notice that," Leiria said. "I went into the city the other day and you should have seen the fuss everyone made over me. Then they suddenly melted away and all of sudden the street was empty and people were closing their doors and shutters.

"The same thing happened when I went into a tavern to get a drink and some company. At first they were all my friends, buying me drinks and welcoming me to Caluz. Next thing I knew the tavern was empty and the innkeeper was making excuses about having to close up early."

"What's wrong with them, Aunt Leiria?" Palimak asked.

"I don't know, my dear," she answered. Then, thinking she might be neglecting her auntly duties, she tried to sound more kindly. "Maybe they're all just very frightened and trying to put a brave face on things. The gods know they have a right to their fears. From what your father said they're under some curse and don't have much longer to live, unless he helps them."

"Maybe…" Palimak said doubtfully. He thought a minute then said, "What if they have to be really nice and happy all the time because that's the way the machine wants it? What if they don't have any choice?"

He waved at the idyllic scene around them, taking in twittering birds and flitting butterflies. "Look at it, Aunt Leiria!" he said. " Everything's too nice! It's not natural. It has to be the machine!"

Reflexively, Leiria turned to look upstream at the great stone turtle squatting over the place where the rivers joined. Water poured out its mouth, thundering into the wide basin below, sending up a mist laced with many rainbows.

For a moment she thought she saw something. A flicker of another scene laid on top of this idyllic vision, but black like a shadow cast. In this, the turtle god was the size of a mountain with lighting crackling on its back. And instead of water pouring from its mouth, there was a river of fire. Then the vision vanished and all was the same again.

At first she thought she was imagining things, but then Palimak said, "Did you see it, Aunt Leiria?" His voice was excited with just a touch of fear. "Did you see it?"

"Yes," she said, almost in a whisper. "I saw!"

High above in Queen Hantilia's silver palace Safar was having his own problems.

He paced the lush waiting area outside the Queen's courtroom, a little red-robed serving maid trotting behind him with a silver decanter of wine to fill the glass he clutched in his hand. Behind the closed doors he could hear the low murmur of the Queen's aides, discussing his request. A request he had made three days before and still had no answer.

His mind was buzzing with all manner of questions and half-formed conclusions. Many of them quite similar to Leiria's and Palimak's.

Yes, the Queen and her subjects were strange, yes, the wonderland spells emanating from the Temple of Hadin were too good to be trusted, and, yes, the citizens of Caluz faced eventual doom from the machine and had every reason to be frightened in the extreme, but somehow they spent their days with pleasant smiles pasted on their faces as if life could be no sweeter.

Safar paused at the window, which looked out over the Temple of Hadin. If he could have seen far enough he might have spotted Palimak and Leiria strolling along the path by the river. He sipped his wine, thinking, piling still more questions on his plate.

For instance, there was the matter of the twin Caluzes-one good, one evil-which made things complicated to the extreme. When he'd queried the Queen's wizards and scholars about the phenomenon, they became blank-faced, uncomprehending. Their own situation was too complex to fathom, much less factor in such minor things as the cause of it all. Their main worry was that Safar would refuse, or be unable to help them. So they coated every difficulty with such a sweet layer of honey Safar came to doubt most of what they said.

In the courtroom there was a hush as the Queen spoke and Safar turned his head to listen. But her voice was so low it was swallowed by the thick silver doors that closed off the chamber.

Safar let the serving maid refill his cup, giving her an absent smile by way of thanks.

Hantilia was as serene as her subjects, he thought, but seemed more willing to speak her mind. Her magical resources were great, so she wasn't quite as affected as the others by the dream-spinning machine. Possibly it was because she was spinning so many of her own-and all were aimed directly at Safar. It was an innocent thing, an unconscious thing, or so he supposed. Although she was a demon and he was human, she found him attractive and was sending out many signals and spells that made her alluring. How he should or would react remained to be seen.

He pushed all this aside for another time-if there ever was to be such a time. There was urgent business to attend to before he began to plumb this and the other mysteries of the odd mirror worlds that made Caluz.

Safar resumed his pacing. He'd rarely been so frustrated. He'd expected to be rushed off to the temple immediately where he would consult with the Oracle he'd come so far to see. The queen said the Oracle of Hadin and all her people had been waiting for his arrival, so one would think they'd be just as anxious for the foretold visit to begin. Except there was apparently more to consulting the Oracle than just marching into the temple and announcing his presence. He was told there were elaborate purification ceremonies that had to be performed first. Ceremonies and spell castings that would take a week or more. So he was bathed and oiled and suffered so many hours in incense filled rooms that he felt like smoked meat.

Meanwhile, he fretted and gnawed at his growing worry that all would be for naught.

Uppermost in his mind was what to do about Iraj. The question wasn't if his enemy would show up, but when. The flash of awareness Safar had caught of Iraj's presence had been very strong-as if Protarus had been newly energized, stronger in purpose and determination than ever.

Safar would just as soon not be here when Iraj and his spell brothers showed up with their vast army.

The only reason he had tarried in this cursed place was because Asper's ghost had said the way to Syrapis was through Caluz. How this could be, he didn't know. But he had to take the chance. Safar was more convinced then ever that only in Syrapis would he find the key to the disaster that was overtaking the world.

The disaster blowing on poisoned winds in far Hadinland.

The serving maid offered more wine. Safar hesitated, then shook his head, no, and returned his now empty cup.

He smiled, thinking, many things besides Iraj Protarus could stop him from reaching Syrapis. Life being what it is he might even choke on a wine cork and that would be the rather foolish end to the saga of Safar Timura, son of a potter who rose to become the king's chief wazier, only to die trying to get at his drink.

Just then, while he was grinning at his own imagined clownish demise, the doors boomed open and a troop of robed priestesses with serene eyes and pleasant smiles came to escort him into the Queen's presence.

He tried to read Hantilia's expression as he approached the gilded throne, but all she presented was a sweet smile on her oddly-to him-beautiful demon's face. He also couldn't tell from the atmosphere of the courtroom if a decision had been reached. The Caluzians only watched his progress down the main aisle, murmuring little pleasantries as he passed.

"My dear, Lord Timura," the Queen said after he'd reached her and bowed his respects. "Please know that we've given your proposal our full attention. We've discussed it for many hours. But, frankly we find ourselves in a great quandary."

"What could be so difficult, Majesty?" Safar asked, keeping his tone as formal and distantly polite as hers. They'd met many times since his arrival, but always in more intimate surroundings. "I only want to make a casting-under the close guidance and full assistance of your best mages-to determine when we can expect Iraj Protarus.

"I've not only promised, but shown magical proof that he will be unaware of this casting. It will in no way draw his attention, or the attention of his wizards."

Safar raised his hands, turning them palm up. "What could be simpler than that?" he asked. "Or more vital? After all, you must be as concerned as I am that an army will soon show up to knock on your doors."

"I don't agree," the Queen said. "We are well hidden. How will this Protarus find us through the secret gate? You saw for yourself how well hidden it is. Only the cleverest wizard would ever find it, much less unravel the spell locks."

"Don't make that mistake!" Safar said, emphatic. "Believe me when I say that Iraj will find the way. It may take him awhile, but he has more than enough magical resources at his command."

"You forget the Guardians," the Queen said. "They will protect us now, as they always have. Nothing has ever managed to get past them! Only those we favor are permitted through, such as pilgrims and innocent wayfarers escaping the Black Lands."

"And I'm telling you that you don't know what you're facing," Safar said, deliberately letting some of his anger show. "Iraj Protarus is an enemy who once conquered all of Esmir. And he's quickly bringing it back under his command. He will hammer your Guardians into ghostly dust and crack your gates open and spill you out like an egg.

"Finally, Your Highness, this something I simply must insist on. If no one here will take the threat seriously, I'll have to gather my people and leave before Protarus arrives. And there will be no meeting of Safar Timura and your blessed Oracle of Hadin, a meeting that I am now beginning to think was a big mistake on my part for ever even thinking about."

Safar's bluff got the result he intended. There were gasps in the courtroom. The Queen gave him a look of great concern, clutching her robe at the breast. "But you don't understand, my dear Lord Timura," she said. "We aren't refusing you out of some mean-spirited motivation. Our survival is at stake as much as yours, after all. The real fear is that the casting will ruin everything we've done. You're almost ready for your meeting with the Oracle. What if your spell conflicts with the magical preparations we've already made?"

"Why didn't someone say that was the worry, Your Highness?" Safar asked, bewildered. "Why all this unnecessary secrecy? Let me meet now with your best scholars and we'll have the answer within the hour."

The Queen shook her head, no. "I'm sorry," she said. "That isn't possible. You would have to delve into things that are forbidden for you know in advance."

"I've never seen a situation in which ignorance is good for anyone, Majesty," Safar said sharply. "And if this decision is final, I really must take my leave. My people and I will be on the march again by tomorrow at dawn."

"But where will you march to, my dear?" the Queen said, finally calling his bluff. "There is only one way out of Caluz. And that's the way you came. Back through the Black Lands to face an oncoming army. As I said before, the road ahead is blocked. What I kept from you then was that we sealed it because it leads right into the heart of the real Caluz, the mad Caluz, the Caluz where no mortal could possibly exist for more than a few moments."

He caught an odd note in her tone as she spoke the last, but when he tried to catch her eyes she averted them.

"So you see, Lord Timura," she said, "there is no escape for your people. They are trapped here, it grieves me deeply to say, along with my own subjects. And what happens to us will happen to them."

At that moment Safar fully understood the nature of the trap he'd been drawn into. And if he failed in his mission here, there was no getting out.

"I'm sorry, Safar, my dear," Hantilia said, low. "But you see how it is?"

Safar saw. Just as he saw there was no malice intended by Hantilia or anyone here. It was just so.

"All of us came here at great cost," she went on. "It was and still is a holy mission. We must trust and we must believe, or everything is lost. Not just for us, but for the world itself. Perhaps it's made us a bit mad.

I'm sure you think that when you see us smile when there is only reason to weep."

Safar thought they probably all were mad, including Hantilia. Then it came to him there was more to it than that.

"When we cast the spell that made this place," Hantilia said, "the Oracle warned us we would not be the same as before. She said we would leave part of ourselves in the real Caluz, the city we fled."

Somewhere in the courtroom someone giggled. There was an hysterical edge to it. Hantilia nodded toward the sound. "It's easier to bear than weeping," she said, "so I suppose we can't complain."

Safar knew he was defeated. He had no choice but to go on. "When will I see the Oracle?" he asked.

"In three more days," the Queen answered. "After I have undergone my own purification. I won't be able to see you until then."

"What about the boy?" Safar asked. "I'll need Palimak, you know."

"When I send for you," she answered, "bring him along. He'll only need a few hours of preparation."

Safar stared at her, realizing there was still a great deal more he didn't know.

He made one more attempt. "There is one other thing I'd like to ask," he said. "Something that has mystified me more than anything else."

"And what is that, my lord?" the Queen asked.

"You are all adherents of Asper," Safar said. "You wear robes with his symbol-the two-headed snake.

You speak his name with zealous reverence. You even describe yourselves as members of the Cult of Asper. True?"

"Quite true," Hantilia said. "But what is the question?"

"Why is it none of your are curious about what I know of Asper?" he asked, noting the sharp reactions all about. "I have studied him most of my adult life. I doubt there is a mage in all Esmir who knows as much about his teachings as I do. I've even shown some of you his book, which I have in my possession."

He slipped the little book of Asper from his sleeve and held it up. "This is quite rare, you know," Safar said. "I got it at great personal cost. And yet none of you have asked to see it. I would have thought you'd have a team of scholars and clerks awaiting my arrival so you could copy down his words."

Hantilia sighed wearily, then said, "We are forbidden to speak of it to you. I can say no more."

"Yes, but do you have anything like it?" Safar pressed, waving the book. "If not, do you possess any artifacts from Asper at all?"

Another long silence, another shake of the Queen's head. "Again," she said, "I am forbidden to answer."

"Yes, yes, I know," Safar said, not hiding his disgust. "Have patience and all will be revealed."

Hantilia sighed, then leaned forward from her throne. Safar felt her cast the gentle spell that made her perfume headier, her presence soothing with just a hint of sensuality. But he pushed it away. She drew back and for a moment he thought she was offended. Good, he thought. That's how I meant it.

Then she sighed again. "It's the best I can do, Safar," she whispered. "Please trust me."

Safar was in a dark mood when he entered the Kyranian encampment. It was made fouler by the holiday spirit in the air, music and dance and hilarious chatter in the face of what he knew to be a most questionable future. Khysmet caught his bad temper, laid his ears back and nipped at the barking dogs.

They made a gloomy pair riding through the camp and when people saw them they stopped what they were doing-music and laughter cutting off in mid-peal-and stared as they passed, faces turning dark with worry. His kinsmen's plummeting emotions startled Safar from his mood and he felt guilty for being the cause of it.

He could see the dread in their eyes that maybe he'd returned to announce their brief stay in paradise was ended and they must once again resume their fearful journey.

Safar hastily pulled on his old entertainer's personality, waving and laughing and shouting jokes and words of cheer. Khysmet did the high step as if born to the circus march and soon everyone's joyous mood returned. He pushed on, smiling until his lips ached, until he came to the place where his family had set up camp.

All his sisters and their husbands were gathered about a big, rough plank table, eating and making merry while the children played games under the trees. In a little potter's shelter his mother and father were making small clay necklaces as gifts for the young ones-painted jesters, with skinny limbs and peaked hats riding jauntily over long beaked noses. Toys in the shape of the Jester God, Harle, were an ancient favorite of Kyranian children.

His mother, who was running leather thongs through holes bored into the caps, was chatting gaily with his father when Safar rode up and dismounted.

When she saw him her face lit up she dropped what she was doing. "It's Safar, Khadji!" she cried.

"Come home just in time!"

She ran over and embraced him while his father looked fondly on. "We're having a celebration, dear,"

she said. "And I was so hoping you'd come."

Myrna pulled back, eyes shining. "Thanks to you," she said, "we're safe at last. And in such a beautiful place! Why, it's almost as beautiful as home!"

Safar didn't know what to say, so he embraced her and murmured the usual loving evasions sons and daughters use when they believe one of their parents has lost all touch with reality. Such as, "I'm happy that you're happy, mother, dear." Or "Yes, I've missed you too."

And so on until his mother rushed off to fetch him a plate of the tastiest morsels from the feast. When she was gone, he eyed his father, who was painting smiling faces on the toy jesters.

"You've made your mother very happy coming home today, son," he said. "She and your sisters worked hard on this feast."

"What is she celebrating, father?" he asked, still smiling, still trying to hide his concern.

"Why, our deliverance, son," his father said brightly. "Didn't you hear what she said?"

Safar was finally tested too far and his smile dissolved. "Of course I did," he said. "But that's ridiculous."

To his surprise his father's eyes seemed to glaze over and like a child shutting out harsh words it didn't want to hear he started humming a bright little tune.

Safar kept going, trying to break through. "For the gods sake, father!" he said. "No one's been delivered.

No one's safe. You know that as well as I do. Why are you letting mother think differently?"

But the whole time he spoke his father kept up the humming. When Safar finally realized he wasn't getting through and gave up, Khadji broke off and resumed his side of the conversation.

"It's such a relief to all of us that you found this place, son," Khadji said. "To think we no longer have to go all the way to Syrapis to find our new home. The people here are so wonderful and generous. Why, I heard only yesterday that the Queen was selling you a good bit of land so that we can rebuild Kyrania right here."

He blinked back tears of joy. "You can't imagine how proud you've made your mother and me," he said.

Safar gave up. It was clear his family and friends had been afflicted with the same insane but merry spell as the Caluzians. He would have to do something about that soon, but just now he didn't have the heart.

So he hugged his father and kissed him. Then his attention was drawn to the pile of completed jester necklaces. He picked one up to examine it and felt a faint buzz of mild magic.

"Where did you get the clay for these, father?" he asked. "They're quite … uh … unusual."

Khadji pointed up the river. "There's a nice bed of it around the next bend," he said.

He grabbed some up from a pail, skilled fingers forming another jester. "Palimak discovered it," he said.

"And I must say I've never seen clay as perfect as this. A nice neutral gray color, not too sticky, not too spongy, and it fires in no time at all. And not one shattering out of the scores I've already made."

Khadji scratched his head, thinking. Then he smiled. "In fact," he said, "it was Palimak's idea to make these jesters for the children." He chuckled. "Such a thoughtful boy."

Safar narrowed his eyes when he heard that. He looked down at the large pile of completed jesters.

There were also several trays of others ready to go into the oven. Plus, Khadji was painting several dozen more.

"There's a lot more here," he pointed out to his father, "than there are Timura children."

More chuckling from Khadji. "Well, after we talked about it for awhile, it seemed like such a good idea that we decided to make enough for everybody."

Safar goggled. " Everybody?"

Khadji nodded, firm. "Before we're done every Kyranian, down to the newest infant, will have one. The best of luck from Harle, the king of luck, hanging about our necks.

"Now isn't that a grand gift for everyone?" his father asked.

Safar nodded absently, puzzling over all this. What was Palimak up to? "Sure, father, sure," he said.

"Well, it's nice talking to you son," his father said. "But I'd best get back to it. I've got more than a thousand of these to make."

He started getting busy, pinching out more jesters and laying them on a firing tray. Becoming so absorbed in his work he seemed to forget his son's presence. Safar gently took his arm, stopping him. His father blinked at him, awareness coming back.

"Where is Palimak, father?" Safar asked.

Khadji again pointed up the river. "At the claybed," he said. "He's with Leiria, so you don't have to worry. They're fetching more material for the jesters."

Safar just smiled, gave his father another hug, and swung up on Khysmet. "Tell mother," he said, "that I'm off to see Palimak. And to save us some of that delicious food."

His father didn't hear him. He was humming merrily again, totally absorbed in his work. Safar shrugged and headed up the river.

He eventually found them standing on a hill, supervising a half dozen willing lads who were digging up buckets of clay from the river.

"Be sure and clean it real well," Palimak admonished two young men who were washing the debris from the clay.

"You there," Leiria called to another group. She pointed to several pails of finished clay. "Grab a couple of those buckets and trot them down to Khadji. He should be getting pretty low by now."

The lads took all this with such good nature that Safar was immediately suspicious.

When Palimak and Leiria spotted Safar they both jumped in startled guilt. Palimak ducked behind Leiria.

"I take full responsibility," Leiria said. She said it boldly, but he detected a quivering note of embarrassment.

Safar sighed and pointed at the working youths. "Let them go," he said wearily.

"Yes, father," Palimak squeaked. Then, his voice a little firmer, "But you have to let me do it my way. If they wake up too quickly they're going to feel pretty bad."

"Go ahead," Safar said.

Palimak ventured out from behind Leiria enough to wave a hand at the boys. "You're suddenly all feeling very tired," he said, trying to sound commanding. The boys all stretched and yawned. "That's good,"

Palimak praised. "Really, real sleepy." More stretching and yawning. "So now that you're so sleepy,"

Palimak said, "you all decide to go home and take a little nap. And when you wake up you'll feel just great and you won't remember anything."

The young men all nodded, then put the buckets down and wandered back toward the encampment, yawning and mumbling sleepily as they went.

"Don't worry about them, father," Palimak said. "They'll be fine." He gestured at the buckets of clay sitting by the shore. "Besides, we were almost done anyway."

This brought a hot glare from Safar. "Ooops," Palimak said, clapping a hand to his mouth.

Leiria groaned. "I wish you hadn't said that."

"We have a awfully good reason, father," Palimak said. "Honest."

"He's right," Leiria said. "We do."

"Go on," Safar said, climbing off Khysmet. He patted the animal, drawing on its powers of patience. "I'm listening. And it had better be as good as you claim."

Palimak swallowed hard, but Leiria had a completely different reaction. She blew. "Listen here, Safar Timura," she said, standing tall and hooking her thumbs into her sword belt. "In case you haven't noticed, everybody here has gone insane. They are in hap-hap happy land, where the bees don't sting and the wolves graze on grass like the lambs."

"I noticed," Safar said, gritting his teeth. "But that doesn't give-"

Leiria stomped a boot. "That doesn't give you the right," she said, "to come storming in here to dump a camel load of grief on us, after being gone for the gods know how long, and not a word from you, by the way, and we're here with all these crazy people not knowing what to do."

Safar was rattled by this verbal assault. "Still," he said, "you have to admit-"

"Admit nothing!" Leiria stormed on. "What if something happened? What if Iraj attacked right now?

Everyone would just stare and giggle while his army cut them down!"

Now it was Safar's turn to be stung by guilt. "You have a stronger point than you realize about Iraj," he said. "But, honest to the gods, couldn't you have waited?"

"I repeat my last question, Safar Timura," Leiria ground in. "What if something happened?"

"It really is a good plan, father," Palimak made bold to say. "I got the idea when I found the clay."

He pointed at the gray, dug up pits at the river's edge. "Leiria and I went fishing right over there. Which is how I found all that fantastic clay."

Palimak glanced at his father and decided a self-serving aside might be called for here. So he made his eyes rounder and more innocent as he said: "Grandfather has been teaching me ever so much about clay, father. And I've been doing my very best to learn all I can. And so that's why I noticed the clay right off.

All because of my wonderful, wonderful grandfather, who I love more than anything anyone can mention at all. So you can imagine, father, how bad I felt when I put a spell on him. Again! I mean, that's twice, now. And I knew you'd be mad, because I was mad at myself, but like Leiria said, what were we going to do?

"Nobody would listen to me. They wouldn't even have listened to Leiria. They're all crazy, father! Just like Leiria said. So we had do something! And I figured out what to do soon as I saw that clay. I was looking at how the water comes out of the turtle. You really ought to take a close look at that turtle, father, because it is really, really strange.

"Anyway, I saw right off the clay was not only the kind of stuff grandfather thinks is the absolute, absolute, best, but it also had a little bit of magic in it. And I that's when I got the idea!"

"You should have waited," Safar said again, but rather glumly, with little force to it. "I could have talked to my father. And those lads. I could have spoken to them and convinced them with little trouble to help us make those amulets."

He shook his head. "I know what you're up to. You were going to supply everyone with an amulet of the jester-and that was clever, Palimak. But perhaps a little too mature." He looked pointedly at Leiria.

She blushed. "Guilty," she said. "I'm an outsider. Outsiders noticed things. And one of the first things I noticed about Kyrania is that the tots are crazy about anything to do with Harle, the Jester God."

Leiria gave him a defiant look, tilting up her chin. "Since adults are only children in not so pretty skin," she said, "it only seemed logical that it would be a figure loved by everyone. From children to the gray hairs."

"And at the proper moment, I presume," Safar said, "Palimak was going to cast a spell to wake everyone up to a most unpleasant reality."

Leiria nodded. "It was acting for the greater good," she said. "We were thinking about saving lives."

"That's right, father," Palimak piled on. "For the … what did Leiria call it … oh, yeah-'The Greater Good.' Sure! That's what we were doing." He threw his shoulders back, intoning, "Acting for the greater good."

"Oh, bullocks' dung!" Safar snorted. "You've both gone as mad as the others!"

He dropped Khysmet's reins, wheeled about and stalked away, muttering, "I'm raising a despot!

Befriended another as well! And I'm responsible! By the gods above, if they are awake and listening, please strike me dead on the spot!"

Leiria and Palimak trailed along, shrinking at his mutters. Although they knew they were right, so was he-perhaps even more so.

As Safar stalked up the hill he thought, what a ridiculous, quite human situation this was. It was certainly worthy of Harle, who had a darker sense of humor than most realized. What a joke we all are, he thought. Struggling with silly moral points while the whole world melts about our ears. I'm Palimak's moral mentor, hammering away at rights and wrongs as if they were real. As if they meant a damn. As if the gods were suddenly going to stir in the heavens and take notice that one small person, on one small world, was sticking to his moral principles. Principles supposedly handed down from on high and thereford objects of much heavenly interest.

He recalled a fragment from Asper:

"Why do I weep?" he'd asked.

And Asper's answer, after a few other rhymed musings was:

"I weep because Harle laughs!

So why not laugh instead, my friends …

And make the Jester's tears our revenge?"

So Safar laughed. Laughter poured from him, bursting like a pent-up flood suddenly released after much hammering on humor's gate.

He doubled up, holding his sides, wracked with laugh after laugh. What was he worried about? What did it matter if his son, aided by his best friend and former lover, cast spell nets of enslavement over his father and mother and innocent Kyranian lads? It was well meant, that was all that mattered. We're only trying to save the world, here. So we bend things a bit for the "greater good." What's the harm in that?

And wasn't he doing worse?

And wasn't he going to ask even more?

Palimak and Leiria caught up to him. They watched in silent amazement as he choked and gasped laughter.

Then he stood up straight, wiped his eyes and chin, and said, "I love you both, anyway."

He continued up the hill, taking the last few steps to the summit with his arms draped over both of them.

He was still laughing, although not so uncontrollably. Just little outbursts, with chuckles building and falling in between. They grinned crazily, not knowing what he was laughing at and if they had they wouldn't have understood. But they grinned anyway. Grinned in empathy, strangely sorry that whatever they had done had made him laugh like this.

When they came to the top of the hill Safar paused to catch his breath. Below them was a broad field decked with many festive banners. And in the center of that field was a huge tent shot with bright, dazzling colors.

A familiar voice thundered from that tent, chanting a joyous, heart-wrenching refrain:

"Come one, come all! Lads and maids of Alllll ag-es! I now present to you-Methydia's Circus of Miracles!

"The Greatest Show In Esmir!"