Wolves of the Gods

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

Palimak was circus struck. All his cares, all his troubles, all his toils smashed away by a lightning storm of the senses-color and music and smell and thrilling action crashing here and there and everywhere, all seeming chaos.

His attention, no, his whole being was snatched from one amazement to another, each sight a new experience exploding all that had come before.

But it couldn't be chaos because everything seemed to have a direction, a goal, a point, a moral, a story with heroes and villains and a beginning and middle and end. It was madness-delicious, soul-satisfying madness-but most of all it was orchestrated madness.

Commanding it all was the circus ringmaster, a fantastic, muscular dwarf with a lion's skin tossed over his magnificent torso like an ancient hero.

He had an incredible voice that reached everywhere and everyone, booming and intimate at the same time.

At the moment he was lit by a brilliant pool of light. And he was shouting:

"And now, without further ado, we present our star attraction. A wonder of all wonders.

"A gift from the heavens!"

Music blared and the dwarf gestured-hand coming up slowly, dramatically, commanding complete attention. A slowly opening fist, reaching for the heavens, promising entire volumes of mysteries that were about to be revealed. Music somehow sliding under all that anticipation, lifting it higher and higher on a rhythmic out-rushing tide of drums and pipes and strings all running toward the Mother Moon of imagination … and beyond.

And all the while the dwarf was saying, "Only the gods themselves could have created the wonder you are about to see, my friends. A marvel, a mystery, unveiled before your very eyes.

"Look, my friends. Look high above! Look to the heavens themselves!"

As he spoke the music and the gesturing hand crept up to the penultimate point and all eyes were fixed on the dwarf's fist as it came fully open.

Palimak jumped as cymbals crashed and a shower of sparkling bits burst from the dwarf's mighty hand, shooting up and up, carrying Palimak and the whole audience with it to the very top of the tent. It hung there for an agonizing moment, swirling and boiling like a troubled, many colored cloud, slowly forming a glittering curtain of suspense. Seemingly held up only up by the building music.

And the dwarf said, "Ladies and gentlemen, lads and lasses, beings of all ages, I present to you the one, the only…"

A skillful pause as the music reached its climax…

And then, in an enormous voice that filled the tented arena:

"Arlain!"

Cymbals crashed and the curtain burst, shattering in every direction.

Palimak, along with the entire audience, gasped as all was revealed and they saw a glorious figure dancing high above them on a wire so thin it was nearly invisible.

And the dwarf roared:

"Arlain!

"She's half dragon, half woman, my friends! And oh, what a woman she is! A great beauty, a wonder, known in every nook and cranny of Esmir. Thousands, tens of thousands, have been thrilled and fulfilled by her wondrous feats."

As he spoke fiery bits rained down on the performer and Palimak oohed and ahhed at the sight-a blazing shimmer settling on Arlain like a cloak, setting off her startling body. She was a heady, enthralling sight for everyone, but especially a small boy. For beside the scraps of see-through gossamer Arlain was clothed only in the tiniest of breast coverings, plus the merest scrap of a modesty patch about her loins.

The covered part was all too human. The rest of her was just as striking and oddly seductive-an elegant white dragon who breathed fire through pearly fangs and lips, exploding all the particles drifting about her.

Palimak was instantly in love. He could see nothing, feel nothing but the presence of the strangely beautiful Arlain. And amidst all his mental bewilderment one thought leaped out from the rest: She's just like me! Except she's half dragon and I'm half demon. Other then the Favorites, Gundara and Gundaree, Palimak had never seen a being quite like himself.

The boy sat between his father and Leiria, hypnotized by Arlain, the audience's wild applause flowing over him.

He'd never attended a circus before, although he'd often tried to imagine one. The moment he entered the tent-before he'd even seen Arlain-Palimak's wildest circus imaginings became pale things. Not worth ever thinking about again.

It was a place of giddy lights and wonderful music, a place of mystery where performers did impossible things-flinging themselves across amazing heights, disappearing and appearing in clouds of fantastic smoke, hilariously costumed clowns-six of them-clambering out of a box too small for even one.

There was a turbaned snake charmer whose horn seemed to contain the sounds of all instruments, from strings to drums and pipes. But his snake was even more incredible. It rose six feet above the basket, weaving in time to the music, and it when it turned its head in Palimak's direction he gasped when he saw a man's face. Then there was the acrobat clown-a husky, seemingly normal person, except that he had a very small head, which he would continually lose-literally! The head tumbled off his shoulders and into his hands. Then you could see it still attached by a long rubbery neck and the acrobat would pretend to fumble to get it back on, his eyes and mouth contorting into a series of faces, each more comical than the other. Best of all was the master of ceremonies, the dwarf with the muscles of a giant, who spun the tales, leading the audience from one breath-taking act to the next, plus performing in half-a-dozen roles at the same time.

Palimak was stunned by all these amazements. They seemed magical, but yet there was not one bit of real magic being used. Otherwise he would sense it. The whole idea of this illusion without sorcery swept him away to the Land of the Circus!

The relief of being freed from his normal cares made him feel as light as a balloon rising in clear Kyranian skies. Although he was small, the weight of the world had been heavy on his slender shoulders. He was only trying to do his best but there were so many newly discovered shouldn'ts and oughto's-with many moral gradients of dark to light in between-that sometimes he thought it was a conspiracy concocted by adults to keep children in their place-whatever that might be.

Here in the circus, however, everyone was equal. On either side of him his father and Leiria were reacting like children, laughing and clapping in glee.

For a moment he became more aware of the audience, looking around and seeing they were all Caluzians, both human and demon, from infant to granny, completely fixed on the performance. This led to him to the realization that there was some other strange kind of magic in the air. The members of the audience all fed on one another's excitement and joy, becoming a warm, quivering whole reacting as one to the events in the big center ring. It was also the first time he'd seen honest emotion from the Caluzians.

What he noticed most, however, was their laughter. He strained hard to think what was different about it.

As close as he could get was that it seemed to come from someplace real-a sort of a home for laughter.

And this gave shape and form to their laughter instead of the hazy, spell-induced giggles he normally heard.

Thinking this made him suddenly feel very alone, apart from everyone else, examining them, looking at them through the pale, cold glow of his demon side. It was unsettling and his belly lurched. He wanted badly to rejoin them, to be once again part of that warm, quivering mass that made the audience.

Then he saw Arlain and got his wish.

Safar watched the emotions play across Palimak's face, grinning in memory of his own first introduction to the art of entertainment. It was long ago and far away, but it was this very same circus. Methydia's Flying Circus, except they no longer flew and Methydia, alas, was dead.

Even without the wondrous Methydia-who had been not only a great diva, but a powerful witch-the performance was every bit as marvelous as Safar remembered. Arlain was dazzling, witness Palimak's enchantment. And there was his old mentor, Biner, the massive dwarf, who had taught him everything he knew about showmanship and illusion. And he was pleased to see Elgy and Rabix-the snake charming/music act-were just as skilled as ever. No one would ever guess that it was the snake who was the "brains" behind the act. Poor Rabix had the mind of a mouse, playing his instrument wonderfully, but following Elgy's commands. Finally, there was Kairo, he of the small detachable head and almost superhuman acrobatic talents.

Safar didn't know how his friends came to be here, although somehow he wasn't that surprised. Circus people had a way of showing up in the most amazing places and at the most interesting times.

Leiria was as entranced as anyone, but she couldn't help looking over at Safar, trying to imagine him as one of the performers.

It was surprisingly easy. His face was alight, shedding years of care and she could suddenly seem him as a dashing young showman, dressed in tights and a swirling cloak, stealing the hearts of all the women with his magical feats and athletic derring-do.

In the center ring there was a romantic aerial ballet going on, with moody lights and contemplative music.

Music that allowed uneasy memories rise to be examined in a less hurtful light. Bursting pin bubbles of a regret you could savor and enjoy like a rare and effervescent wine. The kind of wine once tasted with a lover. And you remembered its flavor like you remembered the touch of his body.

She imagined Safar, innocent and free. A handsome young performer whose eyes were only on her as he moved from one seductive act to the next.

And she had the dreamy thought: I'd have liked to have known him then. Who knows? Perhaps things would have worked out differently.

Then the music made a sharp change and two clowns rushed out into the center ring.

And Leiria snorted, thinking, Will you be serious, woman! When Safar came into your arms it was to mourn Methydia.

Methydia!

Your first dead rival.

And the damned owner of this circus!

Methydia had not only been Safar's lover but his teacher as well-as only a skilled older woman can teach a young man.

For a fleeting moment Leiria imagined she was a wise, gray-haired beauty, coiling around a youthful Safar.

Then she laughed aloud at herself. No one noticed. They were too busy howling at the clowns-Arlain chasing Biner about the ring, shooting sheets of fire at the seat of his pants.

Leiria joined in, laughing at Biner's comic yelps and leaps, letting the circus take her away.

Palimak stood before his new goddess, blushing and gulping and wishing mightily that he knew a spell to untie his tongue so he could speak.

Arlain looked down at him, a delighted smile lighting her dragon's face. "My goodneth," she lisped.

"You're tho handthome! Jutht like Thafar!"

Palimak's tongue came unstuck. "I'm not really his son," he said to his instant humiliation and regret. He thought, what a stupid, stupid, thing to say! Not his son! What must she think of me?

They were in the wardrobe tent, a warren of trunks and costumes and circus props, with a long bank of mirrored makeup tables on one side cluttered with cosmetics and paints and colorful masks. Safar and Leiria were at the far end of the tent, surrounded by Biner and the other members of the circus. It was a glad reunion and there was much laughter and drinking and shouted remembrances of shared adventures on the road.

A moment before Palimak had been safely buried in the middle of that chaos, much fussed over by one and all, but it was so noisy and everyone was so excited at seeing his father, he only had to smile and nod in return. If he said something stupid it didn't matter, because no one could hear him anyway. But then Arlain, who had cooed and gushed over him even more than the others, had drawn him aside "tho we can talk." He was thrilled, then he was chilled, and when he stood before her-alone with this perfumed goddess at last-and opened his mouth he'd made a complete ass of himself.

Palimak struggled for words to set his mistake right. He said, "I mean, I am his son. But, uh, not his son.

I'm kind of like … you know … adopted. I don't know who my real father is. Or my mother, either."

As soon as he was done he gave himself a mental kick. Arrgh! That was just as stupid, he thought. If not stupider!

He hung his head and kicked at the tent floor, not having the slightest idea what to do or say next. He just wanted to escape before she started laughing at him.

Arlain saw his distress and sank gracefully down on a wardrobe truck, lovely white tail tucking around her legs as she sat, her eyes now closer to Palimak's level.

"Tho I gueth we have thomething in common," she said.

Palimak's head jolted up. "What?" he asked.

Arlain sighed. "I don't know who my parenth are either," she said. "I'm an orphan. Jutht like you." She shrugged. "I think my father dropped me when he wath changing the netht."

Palimak forgot his embarrassment. "Were you adopted too?" he asked, feeling very sorry and very protective of her.

"Yeth. But not by very nithe people," she said. She glanced over at Safar, who was engrossed in a story Elgy, the human-charming snake, was telling. "You're really lucky to have a father like Thafar."

Palimak threw his shoulders back, smiling and proud. "He's the best father any boy could have," he said.

"The best in the whole world!"

"That'th what I always imagined," Arlain said. "From the firtht time I met him." She leaned closer, a fellow conspirator. "I had a thecret cruth on him, you know," she said. "But don't tell anybody I thaid that.

They'll teathe me. And I don't like to be teathed."

Palimak promised he wouldn't. "I don't like to be teased, either," he added with such solemnity that Arlain couldn't help but giggle again.

This time, however, a bit of smoke puffed from between her lips along with a few flames.

"Oopth!" she said, covering her mouth with a dainty paw. "I'm thorry! Thometimeth I get all exthited and forget I'm a dragon. And I accithidentaly thet thingth on fire! I'm tho clumthy, you wouldn't believe it!

People get tho mad at me!"

Palimak was absolutely charmed by this confession. Arlain suddenly seemed less intimidating. More like an older sister with ordinary foibles, instead of a gorgeous, distant idol.

"I accidentally set my grandmother's wagon on fire once," he said, trying to make her feel more comfortable. "You can't believe how mad she got!" He sighed. "I guess it's hard for people to understand that you can't always help it."

"I uthed to worry about it all the time," Arlain said. "But now I don't worry tho much. I wath born thith way! Half one being, half another. Nothing I can do about it. I mean, nobody athked me if I wanted to be born."

She looked at him, smiling a smile that melted his heart. And then she said, "I thuppoth it'th the thame with you."

Palimak's eyes widened in astonishment. "How did you know?" he asked.

Arlain pretended confusion. "Know what, my thweet?"

Palimak ducked his head, suddenly embarrassed, although he didn't know why. He wanted to speak, but there was a knot in his throat that wouldn't allow it. He coughed, trying to clear a suddenly constricted throat.

Arlain said, "I'm thorry, I couldn't hear you," as if the cough was a statement.

Her voice was so kind Palimak chanced an answer. Head still down, wanting to get it over with in a quick mumble, but forcing himself to make his words clear.

He said, "How did you know that I'm … well … uh … what do you call it … special, I guess … Yeah.

Special. Like you."

He wanted to say more, but his throat constricted. He coughed again, trying to fight past it, but what came out was still badly crippled.

"Except I'm half demon, instead of dragon. How could you tell? I try to be really careful because people get all upset when they find out. And not just human type people. Demons act the same way."

"You didn't do anything wrong," Arlain said. "I jutht thort of guethed. Maybe beingth like uth recognize each other right away."

She giggled, purposely letting a little smoke and fire leak out. But this time she didn't say, "oops," or apologize.

Instead, she said, "Not that you can't tell thoon ath you meet me," she said, hand moving gracefully through the air, going from dragon face to lush woman's body. "I can't hide who I am," she said. "It wath written all over me by my mother and father."

He nodded, but it wasn't a nod of understanding. It was an abrupt nod, a nod urging her to go on. To explain more. Mind full to bursting with questions, questions, questions. Questions he couldn't put a name to. Questions he didn't know he wanted to ask. A whole tangled fishing net of questions suddenly dragged from the depths and needing an answer. All boiling and roiling about, tantalizing silver flashes of questions, but nothing that could be picked out in all that frantic wriggling.

As his mind raced through all these things Arlain was observing him closely with her dragon eyes-wonderful eyes, eyes like an eagle, eyes that could see far and near and everything in between, eyes that could look into your heart.

Palimak desperately wanted to make some meaningful gesture-something that would show Arlain how close in nature and kind he felt to her. But he was only a boy and he hadn't the words, so in the end he blurted:

"Look at this!" Grinning and holding out a hand, eyes suddenly flaring yellow as claws needled out from his fingers. Then he leaned forward, blew on the claws and his breath became a swirl of colors-a magical imitation of Arlain's dragonfire-playing it across the claws, turning them this way and that as if in forge. Then there was a slap! as the colors burst and Palimak held up a hand that was quite ordinarily human again.

"See?" he said, a whole flood of meanings intended in that single word.

Arlain blinked-and to Palimak she caught all his meaning in that blink-then she clapped her hands in delight, making his heart leap.

"Oh, my goodneth grathiouth," she said. "That'th marveloth! You thould be in the circuth!"

Palimak goggled. "Really?" he said. Then, doubtful. "You're not just saying that to be nice, are you?"

Arlain drew herself up, dignified. "Thirtainly not! I know a born thowman when I see one!"

Then she leaned close and asked, "Would you like me to teach you?"

Palimak's eyes became very wide and very round. "Sure," he said, heart drumming, thinking of all the things he had seen at the performance, flipping through the thrilling feats and excitement, picking what he like best.

And he said, shy, "Could I learn how to be a clown?"

Safar glanced across the tent, smiling, a little drunk at the sight of Arlain and Palimak together. Biner, sloshing drink into their cups, followed his gaze, then back again, understanding and enjoying Safar's smile.

"Damnedest' thing 'bout the circus," Biner said, "is she always finds her own." He examined his cup, grinning at memories of old times. "Look at how it was with you," he said. "Layin' out in the middle of the desert, mostly dead, then the circus comes along, sees its kindred, and swoops you up. Next thing you know you're earnin' your keep wowin' them at the fairs."

"It seemed like a miracle at the time," Safar said, remembering Methydia's great airship sweeping across the desert toward him. Then he thought of what happened later-all the glorious circus adventures, the applause, the camaraderie, the long nights of loving and learning with Methydia.

And he said, low, "I guess it really was a miracle."

Across from them Leiria peeled laughter at some jest told by Elgy. The other performers joined in, waving their arms, spilling their wine, completely wrapped up in the party.

Safar looked at Biner. "Speaking of miracles," he said, "maybe you'd better tell me about this new one before we get too drunk."

"You mean how we come to be in Caluz?" Biner said.

"Exactly."

Biner eyed him, owlish, amusement in his eyes. "Some might call it a miracle," he said, "some might call it a coincidence." He tapped his head. "Some who thinks they know it all, call it smoke and mirrors." He made a grand gesture-"Illusion! But no matter how smart they think they are, how sharp-eyed, knowin'

all the tricks, the circus always gets 'em. Pulls them in. Makes them want to believe so much they ignore the wires even when the lightman's drunk and you can see the glint plain as day."

Safar shook his head, amused. He said, "Either I'm really, really, drunk," he said, "or I'm not drunk enough. But somehow that makes sense."

Biner sloshed more wine into their cups. "In questions of drunkenness, lad," he said, "it's best to figure you ain't had enough."

They drank as Biner gathered his thoughts, then he said, "I'll give you the poster line first."

He grinned at Safar and said, "Methydia sent us!"

Safar nearly spewed out his drink.

Biner chortled. "Got your attention?"

Safar swallowed hard, wiping the spillover from his chin. And he choked, "Go ahead."

Ever the showman, Biner said not another word but climbed to his feet, hooking up the wine skin as he rose. He stumped away on his thick, short legs, leading Safar to a room off the main tent. Biner turned up an oil lamp and Safar saw the room was crowded with trunks. They were huge things, heavy with all sorts of circus gear, but Biner pushed them about as if they weighed nothing at all.

When there was enough room he perched on the lid of a vaguely familiar black trunk, covered with leather and bound by thick iron straps. He gestured at a place across from him for Safar to sit, took a slug of wine right out of the skin and passed it to Safar.

"Sad times," he sighed, "when last we met."

The sigh stirred bitter memories, carrying Safar back to another tented room where Methydia was laid out on a rough cot dying; Safar and others gathered about her. Outside a whole city was in flames, people weeping and wailing as Iraj's soldiers led them to their doom. Through the canvas doorway they could see the smoking ruins of the wondrous flying ship that was the heart, body and soul of her circus.

All dead and dying now. Methydia clutching his hand and begging him to forgive Iraj, to go with him, saying it was his destiny. That it was for the good of all.

Safar was young, easily moved by death bed appeals, and he'd agreed. There were rare days that he didn't think that he'd made a grave mistake.

Then he heard Biner speak and he blinked back to the present to hear the dwarf say, "We wasn't much of a circus after that. Methydia gone. Airship burnt. No spirit in us. So we couldn't put any into the crowds. Our acts felt flat. No spark, no suspense. All of us just going through the motions.

"Not that we didn't care, we just couldn't do anythin' about it. Worse it got, the harder it got. And pretty soon we were hardly sellin' any tickets, cause the word had gone out of ahead of us that we weren't worth seein'.

"We wandered around like that, hittin' whatever fairs we could. Sometimes workin' for not much more'n our suppers."

Biner smiled at Safar, "Not that we were in danger of starvin', thanks to you. We had that fat purse of gold you gave us. Which is how we got through those times. Hells, maybe we would've woke up sooner if we didn't have that cushion. Maybe it made it easier to mope and moan and feel miserable. So instead of the best circus in all Esmir, we were the saddest.

"After awhile maybe you even start liking being miserable, although you don't know it."

Safar nodded. "I've felt that way myself," he said. "It becomes an odd sort of addiction. The emotional version of an opium merchant who loves his wares too well."

"Ain't that so?" Biner said. Then, "But one day we woke up. Threw away the pipe and opened our eyes to what was goin' on around us.

"It was at a performance, last show of the last night at a weevily little fair. You know the kind. Where the folks don't have much more'n corn dust in their pockets-and that's wormy."

Safar smiled. He remembered towns like that when he was in the circus.

"Anyway," Biner continued, "there wasn't but maybe twenty people in the house. And they were so bored even some of them were leakin' away. Then it happened. Right in the middle of the big clown act.

Where Arlain's chasin' me around the ring, settin' my britches on fire?

"All of a sudden a kid start's cryin'. And I mean, really, cryin'! It was the most mournful cryin' you ever heard in your life. Like the world was endin' and the kid's scared and wants its momma but then he suddenly knows, way down deep, that when the world ends so does his momma and that is more than he can bear.

"It stopped me right in my tracks. I'm standin' there, ass on fire, but all I can see and hear is that kid, clutchin' at a raggedy woman beside him, bawlin', 'Momma! Momma!' My heart breakin' with every cry.

And I'm not the only one. The whole audience is lookin' at him and pretty soon they're leakin' tears and behind me I hear Arlain say, 'Poor thing,' and I know she's cryin' too. And so were the others, Elgy and everybody. Like it was a funeral instead of a show.

"Then it hit me."

"Wait a minute," Safar said, "last I heard your ass was still on fire."

Biner laughed. "It sure was," he said. "And maybe that's what got me unstuck, because the first thing that hits me is that my behind feels like it's being grilled for supper. So I put it out. Stuck my butt in a bucket of water like I always do. And there's a hiss and the steam's risin' up around me and I start laughin' at myself. For the first time in ages I could see myself as a clown again, see in my head what a silly figure I was, squattin' in the bucket. Which, when you think about, is what most of us are doin' in real life-squattin' over our troubles without much of a clue that anythin' else is happenin' 'cause our attention is fixed on our sore asses.

"Then I think, well, we're all fools goin' to a fools' hell, so godsdamn it all!

"Damn everything but the circus!

"So I come up out of my bucket and I see that I'm no lonesome genius, because Arlain and the boys are thinkin' the same thing. We all smile at each other and I give the high sign and boom! Elgy and Rabix strike up the band and boom! we start all over again. Right from the top. The whole show. But this time we're playin' right to the kid.

"Every trick, every laugh-getter aimed for the kid, who's still cryin', still callin' for his momma, but after awhile his cries get quieter, tears goin' from a river to a trickle, until just when me and Arlain did the pants on fire number again the kid gets to laughin.' Startin' with a giggle, then a snicker, then an all out belly laugh that wouldn't quit.

"The whole audience is with us now, laughin' along with the kid. Havin' the time of their lives. Don't matter what waits for them outside, how bad it might be, how bad it might get, this is the circus. And when you are at the circus you are free and nothin' can get to you long as the music's playin' and the clown's are clownin' and Arlain is flyin' high over your heads, beautiful and makin' dreams come true in the air."

Biner's eyes misted over at the memory. Then he coughed, coming back. "Jump to the chase. We put on one hells of a show. Sent the folks home happy, especially that kid. Just like the old days. Afterwards, we sat up all night and gave each other hells for forgettin' we were circus people. It's not a trade, it's a callin'. Like a holy mission. And the harder the times the more folks need us.

"But most of all we talked about how ashamed Methyida would of been for forgettin' all that. So the next day we packed up the tents and hit the road again. Playin' the fairs and festivals like before. But this time we had purpose. This time we had heart. We were a real circus and it made all the difference in the world."

There was a respectful silence as both men contemplated circus mystique, passing the wineskin back and forth.

Then Biner winked, humor a bright splinter in his eye. "Guess I've given you enough of a buildup," he said. "Maybe I ought to get on to the feature act."

"I wish you would," Safar said, dry. "I bought the ticket for the big tease. Which was that Methydia sent you. If that's not the case, I want my money back."

"Never fear, my lad," Biner said. "This is an honest circus. The sucker-I mean, the honored customer-always gets what he pays for."

He lumbered to his feet, saying in his ringmaster's voice, "Ladies and Gentleman, lads and lasses of all ages…" hauling the trunk around until it stood out clear in the light, "…I now present to you-"

He stopped in mid cry, hand flourish indicating the trunk. Then he winked again and said, abruptly normal voiced, "Recognize it, lad?"

Light dawned and Safar nodded, excited, "It's Methydia's," he said.

"That's right, lad," Biner said, throwing back the top, revealing a bright jumble of costumes and small boxes and jars and packets and glittering bits of this and that. "It's Methydia's Amazing Trunk of Tricks."

"That's what she called it," Safar said, smiling at the memory. "Her Trunk of Tricks. If you needed to fix your costume, or your act, or even if you were sick, she could always find something in the trunk that did the job."

Biner started rummaging, tossing things aside, "Arlain came on this about a year or so ago," he said, talking as he worked. "We'd forgotten all about the thing and it got lost in all our gear. But then one day Arlain had a new idea for her act and she was lookin' for somethin' to help her out and while she was diggin' around she found Methydia's trunk.

"Well, she figured she was saved, because whatever it was she needed just had to be in this trunk. So she started going through it, just like I'm doing now."

Biner was near the bottom, sweeping out the last things. Then he turned, gesturing for Safar to come closer, saying, "And then she saw this…"

Safar looked inside. At first he was puzzled: the trunk was empty. Then in the center he saw a scrap of white lace, no bigger than a thumbnail and he automatically reached to brush it aside, but it stuck there, stubborn. He plucked at it, but it remained fast.

"Just give it a bit of a tug, lad," Biner advised.

So he did, pulling gently, feeling some resistance, then it started to give and he was lifting up a rectangular lid! He goggled at it, realizing it was dangling from the lace, then, wide-eyed, he looked down and saw the hidden compartment he'd revealed. It was about six inches wide and a foot long and lined with thick black velvet. Sitting inside, cushioned by the velvet, was a glass case.

Safar looked up at Biner, hesitant. "Go ahead, lad," the dwarf said. "Take her out."

Gently, Safar lifted out the case. As it emerged into the light it glittered and shimmered with color.

Begging the eye to look closer and be amazed, so Safar did, heart tap-tapping like a cobbler's hammers, palms moist with excitement.

When he saw it he gasped like a boy.

"It's the Airship!" he cried, holding the case out to Biner as if he didn't know already. "Methydia's Airship!"

"Sure it is, lad," Biner said, a big grin lighting his ugly face. "A perfect replica from stem to stern."

And indeed it was, a wondrous ship with graceful decks dangling beneath two marvelous balloons that made it a creature of the air, rather than the sea. All in perfect scale down to the copper burners that in real life provided the lifting power.

The lead balloon bore Methydia's beauteous face, with huge exotic eyes and sensuous lips. Beneath it was the legend: "Methydia's Flying Circus of Miracles!"

"It's so real," Safar breathed, "I feel as if I'm on it."

"There's more, lad," Biner said. "You still ain't seen the whole show. Not by half!"

He pointed at the chest. "There's somethin' else in that compartment. Somethin' you missed."

Safar glanced where he was pointing and saw a small roll of white parchment with a blue ribbon tied around the middle and creased where the edge of the case had rested. He handed Biner the glass case and lifted out the scroll.

He slid the ribbon off and as he unrolled the message he could smell Methydia's perfume floating up from the parchment. It made it seem as if she had suddenly entered the room and all he had to do was turn around and see her warm smile.

Then the scroll was fully open, revealing a simple message written in Methydia's elegant, flowing hand:

"To Safar

My heart, my love

My life

Methydia "

"When we saw that," Biner said, "we knew the ship wasn't just a pretty model."

Safar raised his head, dazed. "What?"

"The airship, lad," Biner said. "It's not a toy! It's real, lad! It's real!"

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

THE JESTER'S LAUGH

Safar goggled at the model of the airship, then at Biner, saying, "What do you mean, it's real?"

The dwarf shook his big head, laughing. "You're lookin' at me," he said, "like you think I just cut the last sandbag loose and now there's no tellin' when I'll ever come to ground again."

He put the glass case on the trunk between them. "Maybe you're right," he said. "Maybe old Biner has finally lost his way. Or maybe I was always lost, which is more likely the case. Point is, crazy or not, Arlain, Elgy … all of us … were so certain what Methydia's gift meant that we've scoured heaven and Esmir to find you.

"We almost gave up a couple of times, because with you on the run from Iraj-duckin' and dodgin' and keepin' out of sight-it seemed like we'd never track you down. Then a couple of months ago we ran into a party of those Asper heads."

"Asper heads?"

Biner grinned. "That's what we call Queen Hantilia and her crew. Not that they're not all nice beings and such. Hospitable as can be. And you couldn't ask for a better audience. Still you have to admit they're damned strange. Happy all the time, but there's something sad and maybe even a little desperate about them."

"So I've noticed," Safar said, dry.

"Anyway," Biner went on, "as luck would have it the group we met up with was late to the party. Or whatever it is they're throwin' here in Caluz. They were broken down on the road and we helped them out. Naturally, we noticed the robes they were wearin', with the Asper symbols on 'em. And just as naturally we knew you were real interested in anythin' to do with the old boy. So we asked and they babbled their heads off about the Oracle orderin' them all to Caluz. Not only that, they said the same Oracle predicted you would be there. That the stars and planets were all linin' up for a big show and you'd be the main attraction. A command performance, so to speak.

"Well, we all figured there were too many coincidences to sail over. And that crazy as those Asper heads might seem, we'd be damned fools if we didn't see what was what. Make a long story short, we went along with them."

He eyed Safar, chuckling. "So here we are … and here you are … so I guess those Asper heads aren't so crazy after all."

"Apparently not," Safar said, smiling. "And they're aren't enough words to thank you for what you've done. You risked your lives for me."

"Some of it was for you," Biner said. "But mostly it was for Methydia. It's what she would have wanted us to do." He hooked up the wineskin and drank. Then, "Now maybe I'd better explain about the airship bein' real and stuff."

Safar took the wineskin from him. "Wait'll I catch up to you," he said. "I think I'm going to need it." He drank deeply, wiped his chin, then said, "All right. I'm ready."

"Actually, it's pretty simple," Biner said. "But I won't begrudge a man a good drink whether he's goin' to need it or not.

"See, it's like this. Methydia always told us the airship was made by two old lovers each tryin' to get the better of the other. She had different versions of the story, dependin' on her moods, but they all pretty much worked out the same. Which was that the airship was built of a rare wood that was extra light, but still real strong, plus it was powered by special spells to help the burners lift the balloons."

"She also said it was one of a kind," Safar pointed out.

"You're as right as you can be, lad," Biner said. "But you weren't with us much more'n a year. So you couldn't of heard all the things she said on the subject. Like the real particulars on how the ship was made.

"The main thing was, she said it was cast from a model. In other words, a small version was made first.

And the airship proper was made from that. We got the idea it was a big damn spell, somethin' that took days to cast. But we always thought she meant the big ship was copied from the model. Measurements taken, or whatever, and copied with saws and hammers and big planks of that rare wood.

"But soon as we found the model and saw that note we started thinkin' differently. She was obviously thinkin' of givin' this to you before she died. Waitin' for the right time, like maybe when you left the circus to go do what you had to do. And believe me, if Methydia thought this was important enough for a farewell gift, it wouldn't be any damned toy. She didn't hold with that kind of silliness and there was no way she'd picture you wanderin' around with a pretty glass case under your arm all the time just so you could remember her."

Safar touched the delicate crystal housing the model. "I see what you mean," he said, running his fingers along the edge. "I wonder how it works."

"She probably intended to tell you in person," Biner said. "Which is why there's no directions along with the note. Hells, we couldn't even get the case open. It appears like all one solid piece with no seams, much less a lid."

Biner sighed, eyes becoming moist. "I guess she wasn't figurin' on dyin' when she did."

Safar only shook his head. What could he say?

Then his fingers bumped against a small gold stud. There was a hot snap! of static and snatched them away. "Ouch!" he said, sucking on his fingers. Then he looked closer and saw a little red needle point sticking up from the stud.

"Hold on!" he said, excitement overriding the sad memories. "I think I see it!"

There were seven other studs arranged in a pattern. Gingerly, Safar pressed them one by one, but with the surprise gone the sensation was nothing more than a barely painful pinprick. As he touched each stud a red needle point popped up, just like the first.

Biner leaned closer to look. He scratched his head, puzzled. Then he brightened. "Maybe we have to link

'em, somehow," he said. "You know, like a wire or a thread, goin' from point to point?"

Safar nodded. "Let's try it."

He found a rough spot on his sleeve, picked a piece of thread free and pulled it out, snipping it off with his teeth when he thought he had enough. Then he wove the thread around each needlepoint until they were all joined together in a web of thread. He stepped back, waiting. Nothing happened.

Biner shook his head. "Maybe it's some kind of special pattern," he said. "Trouble is, unless you got lucky it could take years before you hit on the right one."

Safar smiled. "Fortunately," he said, "I know a quicker way to find out."

He slipped the little silver dagger from his sleeve and laid it across the web, chanting an old, reliable unlocking spell:

"Conjure the key

That fits the lock.

Untangle the traces,

And cut the knot."

Suddenly there was a hiss and the case filled with smoke. The top of the case snapped open and the sides fell away and the room was filled with the smell of a heavy incense.

The airship bloomed into life, tiny burners blazing, bellows pumping, twin balloons swelling, bigger and bigger until the ship lifted off the trunk.

"By the gods," Biner breathed, "it really does work! We weren't crazy, after all!"

Safar caught the model before it could float to the ceiling. Instantly it became lifeless again. He gazed at it, thinking this might just be the edge he needed against Iraj.

He cradled the airship in his arms as if it were the woman who'd loved him enough to make him such a gift.

And he whispered, "Thank you, Methydia. Thank you."

Queen Hantilia smiled down at the scene-Safar cradling the model, Biner grinning at his friend, trunks stacked along the canvas walls of the storage room.

"It's going exactly as we wished," she said to someone behind her.

A red-robed assistant moved closer, peering over Hantilia's shoulder at a hand mirror lying on the Queen's makeup table. It was a magical stage, lit by five red candles, where Safar and Biner played out their drama in miniature.

Safar's voice floated up, "Thank you, Methydia. Thank you."

The assistant giggled. "How sweet," she said. "And right on schedule, too, Your Majesty."

Hantilia waved a claw and the scene disappeared. "I'd rather allow things to boil a bit more," she said.

"So let's give it another day. Make some excuse for the delay that won't arouse suspicion."

"Yes, Majesty," the assistant said.

"It shouldn't be difficult," Hantilia said. "Even though we've forbidden it, I know Lord Timura will be simply bursting with spells he needs to cast." She chuckled. "This will make it easier for him to hide his work."

"Indeed, Majesty," the assistant said.

"And that will give us time," the Queen said, "to be absolutely certain everything is ready for The Great Sacrifice."

"All will be done as you command, Majesty," the assistant said.

Hantilia sighed. "What a pity," she said, wiping an eye. "He's such a handsome young man."

As Hantilia predicted, Safar was vastly relieved when news was delivered that the date with the Oracle had been delayed one more day.

Leiria, on the other hand, was suspicious. "If it were a bargain sword in a smithy's shop," she said, "I'd pass it by, thinking the price was so cheap it'd be certain to shatter at the worst possible moment."

The two of them were strolling along the riverbank, discussing Hantilia's message.

"I don't know," Safar said, "it seemed reasonable enough. Something went wrong during the purification ceremonies. So certain steps had to be repeated. That sort of thing happened all the time to the priests in Walaria."

"It still doesn't smell right to me," Leiria said. Then she eyed Safar. "And what about you?" she asked.

"Why the big change? A couple of days ago you were worrying the bit to get on with it before Iraj showed up."

Safar shook his head. "I'm still worried," he said. "But as things stand now, if he did show up we'd be chin deep in a temple privy on feast day. To start with, all our people are wandering around in a Caluzian pink cloud and it'll be at least two days before Palimak's spell is ready. Then they'll have to be organized.

Soldiers whipped into shape as fast as we damn well can. Some kind of rear guard action devised so we can escape. The wagons packed and ready, animals fed and watered and everyone set to go at an instant's notice.

"As it is now, most of the work is going to be on your shoulders, Leiria. I don't know what's going to happen when Palimak and I finally get to meet with the Oracle. Or how long we'll be away. Or, hells-let's face it-even if we'll make it back. So, it's going to be up to you, Leiria. Up to you-my dearest friend-and by the gods sometimes I think you must be crazy to put up with us all."

Leiria laughed. "I'm here for the flattery," she said. "What else?"

Then, more seriously, "Let's go back a bit on your list of to do's," she said. "I'm stuck fast on the part about escaping. And I have not one, but three questions. First, what escape? Second, how escape?

Third, and most important of all, where escape?"

She looked around her-the gurgling river, the idealized blue mountains beyond, the exotic city gleaming on the hillside overlooking the great stone turtle.

"Hells," she said, "I don't even know where we really are!"

"Think of it as a big bowl turned upside down in the Black Lands," Safar said. "Everything under the bowl is happy and safe-for the time being. Everything on the outside is just like it was before."

"Except, maybe worse," Leiria said.

Safar nodded. "Except, maybe worse."

Leiria chuckled. "What kind of leader are you?" she said. "Where's the cheery words? Where's the lies that things will surely be better?"

Safar pretended to be hurt. "You should have more faith in me," he said. "Next you'll be doubting that I have a plan."

"Do you?"

Safar grinned. "Actually, no," he said. "But I'm working on it. Which is the main reason why I'm glad Hantilia gave us another day. Intended or otherwise."

"Oh, my!" Leiria said. "Coming around full circle and attacking my flanks, are we? Cutting off my argument with sneaky logic. Now, is that fair?"

"I never promised fair," Safar said. "I only promised a plan."

"Seriously," Leiria said. "Do you even have an inkling?"

"A few glimmers," Safar said. "To begin with Iraj will most certainly come through the same gate we used." He pointed east to the high shale cliffs that divided Caluz from the pass. "So we can't run in that direction."

"We could delay him at the gate," Leiria pointed out. "A small force could hold him there while the rest escaped."

"I like that," Safar said. "The first thing we should do then, is to take the airship as high we can and get a peek on the other side of the cliffs. That will give us an idea of how close Iraj is getting and how much time we have."

"But how do we get out of here?" Leiria said. "Which way do we run?"

Safar pointed north, toward a low range of mountains marked by two high peaks. "Through those peaks," he said. "Somewhere beyond those mountains is the Great Sea. If we bear a little west we ought to hit Caspan, where we can hire some ships to take us to Syrapis."

Leiria grimaced, saying, "Yes, but how far away is it? A week's journey? A month? And another thing, what's between us and the sea? More of the Black Lands? Rough trails or a broad caravan track?

Coralean's maps aren't any help. The ones for this area are too old to trust."

"If we have time," Safar said, "we can use the airship to find out.

"Assuming you can figure out how to turn that model into a real airship, that is," Leiria pointed out.

"Exactly," Safar said. "Which is another reason we need time. With luck I'll have it worked out before I go. But chances are, once again, it'll be you-with the help of Biner and Arlain-who will be doing the looking. And mapping the escape route."

Leiria nodded. She was quiet for a moment, then she said, "I have to ask this. What if you don't return?

What if you and Palimak don't make it?"

"Then you make it, Leiria," he said, giving her shoulder a squeeze. "And, please, get as many of my people as you can out of harm's way."

"Should I go on to Syrapis?" Leiria asked.

"It's the only place I know of," Safar said, "that will be safe for awhile."

"And after that?"

Safar face darkened momentarily, then he suddenly brightened. "What the hells' the difference?" he laughed. "To misquote a good friend of mine, the 'journey will probably kill you anyway.'"

Palimak eyed the cable doubtfully. It stretched from the platform he was standing on to another platform about ten feet away.

"Go ahead, my thweet," Arlain said, "We won't let you hurt yourthelf."

The cable was only about six feet off the ground, but to the boy it seemed much higher. Arlain was posted on one side of him, Kairo on the other.

"I don't know," Palimak said, "it looks kind of scary."

"Yez done jus' fine when she were lower, me boy," Kairo said. "Matter of fact, old Kairo's never seen anyone take to the wire so quick like."

"Letthon number one in wire walking," Arlain said, "ith that height doethn't matter. Anything you can do at ground level ith no harder than when you're all the way to the top of the tent."

Palimak giggled nervously. "Are you sure?"

"Thure, I'm thure," Arlain said. "I thtarted out the thame way you did. And tho did Kairo. Firtht you put the wire on the ground and thee that it really ithn't that thmall. It only lookth that way to the audienthe when it'th high up. Then you raith it off the ground a little wayth tho you can get uthed to the way it thwayth back and forth when you move."

"We gots yez up to six feet already," Kairo said. "After this-why, the sky's the limit! And that's a fact, me boy, not smoke blowin'."

Arlain glared at Kairo. "Pleathe!" she said. "Thome of uth are thenthitive about that word."

Kairo winced. "Sorry!" Then to Palimak. "But yer gets me point, right?"

Palimak eyed the distance again, gathering courage. Licked his lips. Nodded. "Right."

"Lovely!" Arlain said, waving her tail in excitement. "Let'th go, then. Thout out when you're ready!"

Palimak gulped. "Rea-dy!" he said, voice quavering.

He took his first step. The cable gave slightly under his weight, but remained steady.

"Keep yer toes pointed out," Kairo reminded him.

"Got it!" Palimak took another step. "Toes out and eyes aimed at where I'm going."

He took several more steps, gingerly at first, keeping his outstretched arms steady, resisting the natural but wrong-headed temptation to wave them about and overbalance himself. Arlain and Kairo paced with him, ready in case he should fall.

"Very good, my thweet!" Arlain said.

Taking heart, Palimak picked up the pace and to his immense surprise it suddenly became much easier to keep his balance.

"That's it, me boy," Kairo said. "When it comes to wire walkin' the sayin' is-'briskly does it … and slowly goes the fool.'"

Palimak had no wish to be a fool-or a "rube" in his growing vocabulary of circus words. A "rube," he gathered was lower than low. An ignorant, "cud chewing civilian"-another circus disparagement.

He blanked the surroundings from his mind and instead imagined himself strolling along a garden path.

Before he knew it he found himself stepping onto the opposite platform. Palimak spun about, gaping at what he'd done. Then the gape became a bright beam of pride.

"Ta-da!" he shouted, raising his arms high in victory.

Arlain applauded, shooting a sheet of smoky flame into the air, while Kairo lifted his head high above his shoulders and cheered.

"Ithn't that wonderful?" Arlain crowed. "Lookth like we have a new member of the thircuth!"

Palimak goggled at her. "Really?"

"Abtholutely," she said. "And it couldn't come at a better time, ithn't that tho, Kairo?"

Kairo let his head fall into hands and pumped it up and down in an exaggerated nod. "That's the truth, me boy," he said.

Palimak giggled at the strange sight-the face grinning at him from its nest between Kairo's palms-long tubular neck snaking up to his shoulders. His body jerked and the head snapped back into its proper place.

"We've been short an act for months, now," he said, looking quite normal again.

Palimak clapped his hands in glee. "Wait'll my father hears the news," he said. "I'll be a circus man, just like him."

Then he looked at them, suddenly shy. "But maybe I'd better practice some more," he said. "If it's all right."

"Sure, yer can, me boy," Kairo said.

"Great," Palimak said. "But let me announce it first."

"Announthe away," Arlain said.

Palimak threw his hands wide, in imitation of Biner's ringmaster pose. "Ladies and gentleman!" he shouted. "Lads and lasses! Beings of all ages! Methydia's Flying Circus now proudly presents…

"Half boy, half demon, half fly and that's three half's rolled into one. Brought to you at … Enormous Expense!

"Palimak The Magnificent! Ta-Da!"

Then without warning he bolted out on the wire.

"Wait!" Arlain shouted, but it was too late.

In a blink of the eye Palimak was already at the midpoint of the wire while she and Kairo raced on either side of the cable trying to keep up. The boy nearly overbalanced in the center, swaying for a moment, almost looking down and losing it, but then he remembered to fix his eyes and mind on his distant goal and he kept moving, pushing through the momentary clumsiness, until he regained his balance, practically sprinting along the wire until he reached the other side.

Once again he shouted, "Ta-Da!" and made a flourishing bow to even greater cheers from his new friends.

"What'd I say?" Kairo cried. "The boy's a natural!"

"Let's go higher!" Palimak crowed, jabbing a finger at the dim heights of the circus tents. "All the way the way to the very, tip, tip top!"

"Thlow down, thweetneth," Arlain laughed. "You're going too fatht for uth."

"She's right, me boy," Kairo chuckled. "Besides, before we go any higher yer gots to learn the next most important thing about wire walkin'."

"What's that?" the boy asked.

"Yer gotta knows how to fall," Kairo said. "Because if there's one thing that's certain in this life, me boy, it's that someday, somehow, a body's gotta fall."

"The trick," Arlain added, "ith to not get killed when you do."

Gundaree bounced up and down on his chest, chanting, "Palimak's in luu-uve. Palimak's in luu-uve!"

"Shut up!" the boy snarled, pulling the pillow around his ears.

"Don't say shut up, Little Master," Gundara admonished. Then, to his twin, "Stop teasing him! It isn't nice!"

Gundaree giggled. "But it's the truth!" He wrapped his arms about himself. "Ooh! Arlain," he mocked. "I luu-uve you so much!"

At that, Palimak lost his temper. His eyes suddenly glowed demon yellow. He pointing a finger at the Favorite, who gleeped as a sharp claw emerged.

"I don't like that!" he said.

Gundaree's little demon face drooped into infinite sorrow. Even his horn seemed to sag. Big tears welled into his eyes. "I'm sorry, Little Master," he sobbed.

For a change Gundara didn't gloat over his brother's misery. From the look in the boy's eyes he thought it best not to draw attention to himself.

Gundaree sniffed, wiping his nose, and Palimak's anger dissolved. He felt ashamed of himself for frightening the Favorite.

"I'm sorry first," he said. "You were just playing. You didn't mean it and I shouldn't have gotten so mad."

The small crisis past, both Favorites brightened considerably. "Who cares?" Gundaree said. "We're back in the circus again, that's the point."

"The point indeed, lesser brother," Gundara sneered as only he could sneer-little human features elevating into high snobbery. "Instead of teasing our poor master, we should be instructing him." He turned to Palimak, face rearranging itself into something more respectful. "We learned some excellent circus tricks when we toured with your father. If I do say so myself."

"You always say so yourself, Gundara," his sibling mocked, hands on narrow hips. "And that's because you're only talking to yourself because you're so stupid no one is listening."

Gundara sighed. "I'm only glad our poor mother isn't alive to see what her son has come to."

"Don't talk about our mother!" Gundaree shouted. "You know I hatefttuh…" The rest was lost as Palimak clamped his pillow over both Favorites, shutting off the quarrel.

Palimak laughed at the muffled sounds of protest. "I should have thought of this before," he said. Then,

"You have to promise to quit arguing, or I won't let you out."

He bent an ear close and heard mumbles of what sounded like surrender. "Good," he said, lifting the pillow away to reveal two very rumpled Favorites. "Now it's my turn to talk."

Gundaree, a stickler for tidiness, brushed himself off. "That wasn't nice," he said. "Pillows have feathers.

And I hate feathers. They give me a rash."

Gundara plucked here and there, restoring a semblance of dignity. "If you wanted to speak, Little Master," he complained, "all you had to do is ask!"

"Then I'm asking," Palimak said. "You were talking about teaching me some circus tricks. And I wanted to ask, were they magical circus tricks? But you kept arguing and arguing until I thought I was going to go crazy because you wouldn't let me talk."

Gundaree shrugged. "Of course, they're magic. That's what we do, right? Magic. We're not sweaty acrobats, or jugglers, for goodness sakes."

"We do not like to perspire," Gundara sniffed. "Call it a fault, if you like, but we were made for royalty and perspiration and royalty don't go together at all."

"But you like to eat, right?" Palimak asked, rummaging around in his blankets.

Both Favorites eyed his fumbling, then licked their lips as the boy drew out a greasy sack of treats, saying they certainly did like to eat.

"Here's the deal," Palimak said, shaking the sack. Both Favorites slavered at the smell of good things wafting out. "I'll trade you a treat for every trick you teach me. All right?"

Gundaree and Gundara made enthusiastic noises of agreement and before very long they were stuffing their mouths, while stuffing Palimak's brains.

He worked them hard and he worked them late and before they were done both Favorites were fat, full and happily perspiring.

Palimak was so absorbed he didn't sense the dark figure that crept close to his tent to listen. Gundara and Gundaree noticed, but there was no danger so they didn't mention it. Especially since the figure was Safar. He stood there for nearly an hour, face a portrait of fatherly pride at the boy's newly discovered circus talents. Arlain and Kairo were right. He was a natural.

Then a light dawned in his eyes and his smile widened. The boy had just given him an idea. An idea that might solve two problems with one blow.

"Step right up, my friends," Safar shouted. "Don't be shy. Admission is free today, ladies and gentlemen.

That's right. Free!"

Dressed in the red silk shirt and white pantaloons of a circus barker, Safar was manning the ticket counter, calling out to a crowd of bemused Kyranians. Behind him the circus had been set up in the open, complete with stands surrounding a wide ring, colorful banners blowing in the breeze, and trapeze and wire walking equipment slung from high poles. Half the stands were already full of Safar's fellow villagers, who were being entertained by the clowns. The rest of the Kyranians were either filing through makeshift gates to join the others or crowding around Safar's booth. He was thoroughly enjoying himself in his old role as a ticket seller, delighting at the looks of amazement he was getting from his kinsmen. None of them, even his own family, had ever seen this side of him.

He kept up the patter. "You heard right, my friends. I said free."

Safar slapped five coins on the counter. "Not five coppers, which is our usual price."

He made a motion and the crowd gasped as one of the coins vanished. "Not four." Another motion, another disappearing coin. "Not three … not two … not even-" He held up the remaining coin-"one clipped copper." Safar flipped it into the air and to the crowd's amazement it hung there, turning over and over.

Safar gestured and there was a bang! and the coin burst into colorful bits of paper. Everyone jumped at the noise, then applauded as the paper rained down on them.

When the applause faded, Safar jumped back into verbal action. "In just one hour, friends," he shouted,

"you will see sights that have dazzled the greatest courts in Esmir. Thrills, chills, and sometimes even spills. A special performance. For Kyranians only. And all for free."

Safar held up one of Palimak's clay amulets-the Jester hanging from a leather thong. Next to him were several boxes filled with similar amulets.

"And that's not all you get, my friends," he cried. "Besides the most exciting performance you have ever witnessed, we have a special gift for each and every one of you."

He waved the amulet. "It's the Jester, ladies and gentlemen, lads and lasses. The Laughing God! The slayer of ill humored devils. The Lord of Luck! Prince of Good Fortune! All wrapped up in this lovely, magical amulet, guaranteed to ward off evil spells."

The Kyranians oohed and aahed at the gift. Scores of people pushed forward, waving their hands, begging Safar to give them an amulet and let them enter.

"No need to crowd, my friends," Safar shouted as he handed amulets out by the fistful, "there's plenty for all."

He stopped a blushing young mother, babe in arms, who was too shy to take more than one. "Don't rush away, my pretty. You're forgetting the baby. He gets one too." She gratefully accepted it and sped away to see the show.

Safar kept handing out the amulets, reminding people to put them on so "the Jester can get to work for you right away. Wasted luck is lost luck, my friends. Remember that!" The Kyranians streamed through the gates, amulets dangling from their necks and found seats in the stands. Soon the whole village was accounted for and Safar rushed away to change costumes.

The first act was about to begin. And he was the star.

Meanwhile-far away, but too close, too close…

Iraj raged against the Black Lands, driving his troops mile after mile until they dropped, exhausted; lifting them again by his will alone to go onward, onward to Caluz, pummeled by nature and magic gone wild.

As they marched the earth heaved under them, splitting and groaning open, eager to swallow whole regiments if they were fool enough to come near. Volcanoes shuddered and burst, tornadoes and sand storms lashed out with no warning. Vicious spells, insane spells, rained from the bleak sky like ash, burning spirit and skin until they thought they could bear no more.

But then Iraj would turn his wrath on Fari and his wizards, demanding countering spells, healing spells, spells that would put heart into his troops again. He worked Fari and the wizards even harder than the soldiers. A warrior by birth and inclination, he empathized with the demons and men who made up his army. Even through the cold view of a shape changer he still bled when they bled, hungered when they hungered. If he'd had any love in him left he would have lavished it on them-human or demon, all brother warriors together.

Wizards were a different matter. A creature of magic, Iraj distrusted all sorcery. A soldier at heart, he thought wizards and war magic were only necessary evils and he was disdainful of the soft-fingered spell makers, be they demon or wizard, who made up Fari's private corps. And that's what it was, a private army within an army, a very dangerous situation for Protarus if he let it go on.

For now he was letting it be, even going so far as to let Fari think he was in supreme favor with the king.

Just as he allowed Kalasariz to believe what he wanted-and Luka the same.

Poor Luka. He thought he was out of favor now, the fool in Iraj's eyes. This was true as only a monarch can make things true, especially king to lesser king where every frown or sneer is an iron bolt to the heart. Soon, however, he would make the prince glad. Lift him high up in the royal favor of King Protarus. But at the moment he needed Fari and his miserable wizards, so it was Fari's turn to smile now, no matter how weary that smile.

Iraj took joy in demanding more from Fari and his sorcerers than he did from his troops. He ground it in, commanding more than they could give, then pushing harder and getting it after all. Spell by strength-draining spell from the wizards, blister by bloody blister from his soldiers, every moan subtracting another inch from his goal.

Even so, Iraj was a commander who led from the front, demanding as much from himself as the others, so no one had reason to complain they were being asked too much.

That night, while Safar was rejoined with his old circus mates, Fari and his sorcerers had cast yet one more spell to shield the army from the ravages of the Black Lands. It was only good for three hours at the most and now Iraj-in full wolf form-was charging across the fiery landscape, leading his army as far as he could before time ran out and they had to regroup to cast another protective spell.

A poisonous yellow fog was clamped upon the land and Iraj could barely see the cratered road before him as he bounded along on all fours. Behind him he could hear the tramp of his army and over that the howls of Fari, Luka and Kalasariz, urging the soldiers to hurry, hurry, hurry!

For Iraj the most agonizing part of the ordeal was knowing that Safar and the Kyranians had passed this way before with seeming ease. Only one of his wagons had been found abandoned on the caravan track, while Iraj's army was losing several a day. Many of the king's animals had also died, or were too sick or injured to go on. Yet not once had they found even a lost goat from the Kyranian caravan.

He couldn't understand how it was possible for Safar to accomplish so much single-handedly and with no losses to speak of. Where did he find the will, much less the power?

His spell brothers-Fari, Luka and Kalasariz-had promised their king once Safar and the demon child were captured all their powers would be his. Then he would be not only king of kings, but the most powerful sorcerer in Esmir.

Once, that promise had been what drove him. Capturing Safar and taking his powers had been Iraj's obsession, his burning goal. But not any longer. Not since Sheesan. Now he had an even greater reason to bring Safar to ground. He had the witch's spell that would free him from his spell brothers forever.

Then he could be a true King of Kings. A great emperor unchained from those foul creatures who had tricked him into spell bondage.

It was this new goal-a shining promise-that kept Iraj from falling into despair. But sometimes he couldn't help but wonder-what was it that kept Safar going? What did he see that Iraj didn't see?

And most of all, what did Safar want?

To Iraj, that had always been Safar's greatest mystery. Even when they were boys and fast friends he'd never been able to get Safar to admit his deepest desires. He kept saying he only wanted to remain in Kyrania and be a potter like his father and grandfather. Which had to be a lie, for how could someone as powerful as Safar be satisfied with so little?

Iraj's spell brothers said Safar wanted Iraj's throne. This made a great deal of sense-for what could be a greater goal for one such as Safar Timura?

Yet sometimes Iraj wondered. When his moods were the darkest and most foul he thought, what if they are wrong? What if that's not what Safar wants at all?

And if that were true-what in the hells could he want?

A hot blast of wind swept the yellow fog away. The Demon Moon was at its brightest and the barren landscape leaped up under its harsh red glow. Many miles distant Iraj could see the huge black range where the road ended. Just beyond, his officers and aides all agreed, was Caluz.

Blood suddenly boiling with eagerness to get at his prey, Iraj lifted his wolf's snout to howl. Just then the shield dissolved and the howl was strangled off by the thick yellow fog rushing in again.

Iraj gasped for breath, shifting into human form and rising on two legs. Then the wind shifted and it was easier to draw breath-big, gulping lungsful of the hot, foul substance they called air in the Black Lands.

He heard Fari roaring orders to his mages and turned to see twenty demons in wizard's robes lofting five spell kites into the sky, each so large that it took four strong demons to control them. The wind whipped the kites high into the air, lighting crashing all around them. Electrical fire ran down wires to the ground, where they were attached to large jars with magical symbols painted on them. The jars glowed with every lightning strike, slowly building up the spell charge. When they were "filled up," Fari and his wizards would create yet another shield to protect the army for a few more hours.

Iraj tugged at his beard, growing angry at the delay.

Then one of the kites broke free, wrenching groans from the wizards who knew they'd suffer Fari's wrath for the delay the accident would cause.

Iraj watched the kite fly free across the boiling night sky and he had a sudden yearning to fly with it, to sail away to a place where he could shed crown and scepter and become an ordinary man, with ordinary cares and ordinary dreams.

And then the thought struck him-isn't that what Safar had said he'd wanted all along?

Just then a bolt of lightning struck the kite and Iraj was suddenly, unreasonably, gripped in the jaws of despair. He groaned as the kite burst into flames and plummeted toward the earth, coming apart as it fell, shattering into thousands of fiery bits. Before the burning mass hit the ground a blast of wind swept it up again, carrying it high into the sky-like a meteor shower in reverse.

Iraj's hopes soared with it, climbing higher and higher, then pausing to hang just beneath the blood-stained heavens.

There it took on a strange form-a human-like figure with a familiar cap and beaked nose. All sputtering with multi-colored fire.

Then it dawned on him-It was the Jester. The playful god. And the Crown Prince of Luck.

Iraj smiled at the omen, confidence flooding back, making him feel stronger than ever before.

It was a promise, he thought, of things to come.