Wolves of the Gods

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

Biner stood in the center ring, resplendent in his dashing ringmaster's costume. "Ladies and gentlemen,"

he cried. "Lads and lasses of all ages. Welcome to the circus!"

The Kyranians were rapt, all wearing huge smiles, clutching their jester amulets and listening closely to Biner's every word.

"This is a special program today," Biner continued, "for all our Kyranian friends. So we won't begin the usual way. First off, I want to tell you that our little company has always held Kyrania dear to our hearts.

We had the rare good fortune of meeting one of your sons long ago and heard all about you." He grinned. "That young man, by the way, is known to you as Safar Timura. Some might even call him Lord Timura. But when he performed with us he was known far and wide as 'Safar The Magnificent!'"

He chortled and the crowd laughed with him, especially Khadji and Myrna and the other members of Safar's family who had front row seats of honor.

"Can you imagine, Myrna," Khadji whispered. "Our Safar who was always so clumsy when he was little?"

"That was from your side of the family," Myrna teased. "From my side he got 'Magnificent!'"

Khadji pretended he didn't hear. "Quiet, please, Myrna," he whispered. "I'm trying to listen."

He pointed at Biner, who was saying, "It was a name well deserved, my good people. For as we all know our friend Safar is remarkable in many ways."

Led by Myrna and Khadji, the crowd made loud noises of agreement. Biner used the diversion to palm a handful of explosive pellets.

"So put your hands together, ladies and gentlemen, lads and lasses, and give warm welcome to the one, the only…" Biner made a dramatic gesture, at the same time flinging the pellets to the ground, shouting,

"…Safar The Magnificent!"

There was a heart-stopping blast of fire and a cloud of smoke, red and green and white, burst up. The crowd gasped and all eyes were fixed on the thick, swirling mass. The smoke cleared and there were more gasps as three figures emerged, posing nobly on a small platform decorated with magical symbols.

In the center was Safar, wearing ceremonial wizard's robes. On his right was Palimak, decked out in his miniature soldier's outfit. To his left was Leiria, proud and tall in her glittering armor. In her hands was the black box containing the model of the airship.

The stands exploded as all the Kyranians came to their feet, clapping and cheering their village heroes.

Safar motioned to his companions and they all bowed together, boosting the applause to even greater heights. He'd lost none of his skills with an audience, knowing how to take people to the edge, then bring them back again just before exhaustion crept in, making them dull and less receptive for a performance.

But this time he had to press them past that point-treating the opening of the show as if it were the last encore after a long evening's entertainment. He wanted them limp and receptive to all his suggestions, so when the cheering started to fade he turned, sweeping a hand out to indicate Palimak.

The boy had been well-rehearsed and he drew himself up and gave them all a snappy salute. It had its desired effect-another long round of thunderous applause. And when that began to diminish Safar immediately turned to Leiria. She held the black box over her head as if it were a trophy and although no one in the audience had the faintest idea what was inside, this triggered a new burst of cheering.

His eyes swept the crowd and he felt an all-too familiar pang of guilt when he saw all the happy grins pasted on their faces. Safar's first job was the complete opposite of what any circus performer desired.

He had to turn those smiles into grimaces of misery. Then his gaze fell on his father and mother and he saw the merry insanity in their eyes. The machine's spell made them look foolish and his parents would rather be dead-much less miserable-than not to have all their considerable wits about them.

So he steeled himself and when he felt the audience reach its last dregs of energy he threw up his arms and shook his head, urging them to stop, saying, "Thank you, thank you, my friends. But, please. Please."

His voice was magically amplified and had the ring of command, not pleading.

Then he brought his hands down and although there was no magic involved, it seemed like sorcery when the crowd noise sank along with his hands. And the people dropped into their seats with happy obedience. Their spirits were like soft clay waiting to be molded by him.

He whispered to Palimak, "Are you ready?"

Palimak glanced down, checking the two black dots on his sleeve. They weren't dirt specks, but Gundara and Gundaree shrunk to the size of fleas. "Ready, father," he whispered back.

Safar nodded and turned back to the crowd. "I hope you'll all forgive me," he said conversationally, "if I seem a little clumsy up here. It's been more years than I like to admit since my circus days." There were chuckles of understanding from the audience. "And if you can't find any forgiveness to spare," he added,

"please don't blame my assistants." He smiled at Palimak and Leiria. "Anything that goes wrong will be my fault, not theirs." More chuckles.

Somewhere close by, Elgy and Rabix started a drum roll-low, but building quickly.

"And so," Safar said, "without further ado…" and his voice rose to a shout:

"Let the show begin!"

Drums crashed like thunder and Safar stabbed at the sky with his silver dagger. All eyes jerked up, like puppet heads responding to a string. A single cloud, golden in the sun and ridged like a broken cliff face, floated overhead. A red beam of light leaped from the dagger point, lancing the cloud. Harp music swelled and the audience sucked in air as one, then let it out in a long sigh of wonder as a slender stream of golden light spilled from the cloud, arcing down like a waterfall. It fell on the platform and for a moment all was obliterated by brilliant light. People threw up their hands to shield their eyes. The harp music shifted to teasing pipes that made everyone smile.

Hands came down and wonder of all wonders the light was only a faint shimmer, like curtains of the sheerest yellow silk. Palimak stood alone on the platform, bathed by the golden light. The crowd gaped at him, because instead of a small boy, they were presented with a towering, but childishly slender figure, nearly twelve feet tall.

Palimak giggled nervously, which made the crowd laugh. Big as he was, the giggles made him seem like a harmless boy again.

Cymbals crashed and he shouted: "Is everybody happy!"

"YES!" the crowd roared back.

"How happy are you?" he cried.

"VERY HAPPY!" came the reply.

"That's good," Palimak said. "Because I'm going to need your help with this spell. All right?" There was an enthusiastic chorus of agreement.

"Great! Now, do you all have those amulets we gave you?" Everyone shouted that they did.

"Are you all wearing them? I mean everybody-especially the little kids like me, and the babies, too."

There was much rustling and adjustment as the people all checked to see.

When he was sure they were ready, Palimak said, "Now I want you all to concentrate real hard while I say this spell."

He stopped. Shook his head. "Oh, wait a minute. I almost forgot. First you have to hold on to the amulets. Then concentrate. Got it?"

Nods all around. "Good. Now, listen real close while I say the spell."

He drew his toy sword and raised it high, chanting in his high, child's voice:

"Jester, Jester,

What's the riddle?

Up, or down, or in the middle?

Jester, Jester,

Tell us quick.

Happy, to sad, what's the trick?"

He waved his stubby sword and his eyes turned huge and demon yellow. A cold shudder rolled through the audience and Palimak no longer looked like such a comic figure. He seemed huge and forbidding-a giant child with a frightening grin and alien powers. The clay amulets suddenly turned uncomfortably warm and people tried to let them drop, but their hands had become unwilling fists, gripping the jester talismans tightly.

No one cried out, but there were low moans of fear that tore at Palimak, almost making him lose concentration. He saw his grandfather and grandmother and they were staring at him in terror. He nearly stopped right then, nearly turned to find his father and go running into his arms, begging him not to make him do this. It was awful. Everybody would hate him.

Gundara's voice shrilled in his ear. "Go on, Little Master! You can't stop now!"

And Gundaree added, "This was your idea, remember?"

Palimak bore down and got his focus back. Now, for the last part of the spell:

"I'm so sorry,

I'm so blue.

But a bad spell's got you,

So what else can I do?

Happy to sad,

You're no longer glad,

And I have to make you mad

Because it's good for you!"

He paused, gathering power from the Favorites, then he lashed out with his sword, shouting:

"Begone!"

He cast the spell and the sky immediately dimmed as a huge cloud moved over the arena. It was accompanied by a chill wind that rolled over the Kyranians, wet and clammy and tasting like salty tears.

The villagers groaned as the machine's spell of gladness was swept away and cruel sanity returned.

There was a funeral-like wail as everyone realized they had been living an illusion. Dwelling for awhile in a mirage of happiness, while outside Iraj Protarus and his demon wolves waited, prowling and anxious to feed.

On the platform the golden light had vanished and Palimak was small again, a forlorn little boy, head hanging in shame because he had made his grandparents cry. Then Leiria and his father were embracing him and whispering words of comfort, which made him feel better-but only a little. Then they all took their places again, Safar in the center, raising his hands to address a much different crowd than he had faced only a few moments before.

"There's a lot of things I could say right now," he told them. "Beginning with how sorry I am I was forced to trick you. Such words, however, would be empty of meaning to you now."

His eyes moved from familiar face to familiar face, many of which were flushed and swollen with growing rage.

"Instead I want to caution you," he said. "I can see that many of you are angry with me and I don't blame you. Just be careful you don't turn it on yourselves. Soon you will all feel like fools for allowing yourself to become victims of the machine's spell. For that's all it was-a spell you had no control over. And that spell was caused by the turtle idol you all saw when you entered Caluz. It was the idol-a magical machine-that dulled your wits and feelings and made you insane."

This won some grudging nods from some people and a snort of understanding from his father, who had been glaring at him along with the rest. Of all the Kyranians, Khadji was perhaps the proudest of his ability to reason. To see things as they really are. Only Myrna was his match.

"What I want you to fix on instead," Safar said, "is who you are. Kyranians! The greatest and rarest of people in all the world. Many miles and months ago we set off from our homeland-not in flight. Not in fear. But on a holy mission to save all beingkind."

There were heartening murmurs of approval. Safar pressed on.

"But to accomplish this great deed," he said, "we must first guard our own lives. For if we perish, who will take up our banner? Who will shoulder our cause?"

The murmurs grew louder, especially from the young soldiers like Renor and Seth, who were spurred on by growls of approval from the grizzled Sergeant Dario.

"My dear friends," Safar said, building on that changing mood. "That is why I had to awaken you. We are faced with both the gravest of dangers and the grandest of opportunities."

Safar knew that when good and evil are placed side by side, human nature would instantly grab for the good and give less weight to the evil. So he wasn't surprised when he saw all the faces brighten as hope was suddenly raised from the dead at the news of "the grandest of opportunities."

"In a short while," Safar said, "I will be called to consult with the Oracle of Hadin. This meeting has been our purpose all along. This is why we had to face the terrors of the Black Lands to come here. For we have good reason to believe that many of the answers we seek will be revealed to us by the Oracle."

He saw frowns and knew his people were growing vaguely disappointed. They were expecting an instant pot of gold, instead of a possibly long wait for what might or might not be good news from some mysterious Oracle who might decide to have a cranky day.

Safar smoothly dealt up what they really wanted, saying, "But before that hour comes, my friends, I have a great miracle to show you."

He pointed at Leiria, who held up the long black box. "In there," he said, "is a great gift. A magical gift that will give us the edge we need against Iraj Protarus!"

Prickling with excitement, everyone craned their heads to look as Leiria ceremoniously presented the box to Safar. He opened the lid slowly, heightening the suspense.

Safar stomped his foot and there was a crack! as he set off a smoke pellet with his heel. Purple smoke obscured the platform for a moment, then it dissolved and the crowd gasped when they saw the miniature airship hovering just above his head. Safar gestured and the little furnaces sparked into life and the airship sailed about in ever widening circles, until it came to the edge of the grassy ring where it took up position and skimmed around the edges.

Everyone applauded. Khadji even cried out in recognition. The airship was vaguely similar to magical devices he had helped Safar with many years ago during the demon wars.

"That is only the beginning of the miracle, my friends," Safar said. "In exactly one hour we will cast a spell that will reveal an even greater wonder. To weave that spell I have asked all our circus friends to assist us. When you entered this arena you were promised a show-and a show you shall get!"

Safar raised his arms and shouted, "Let the circus begin!"

And crack! came another explosion of smoke. And boom! went the drums. Music blared and the airship swung about in a long arc. Then the ship plunged through the smoke, lifting it away as it emerged from the other side-as if drawing a curtain.

People rubbed their eyes in amazement. The platform was gone. In its place was a gigantic, blue-speckled egg. There was a low drum roll and the egg began to shake, harder and harder until cracks zigzagged through the shell. Then it burst open and a score of clowns rushed out, colliding and chasing and prat-falling about until the audience was roaring with laughter.

From high above came a wild cry and everyone looked up as Arlain, wearing the filmiest of silk costumes and little under that, swung out of the sky on her trapeze. She breathed long plumes of fire as she plummeted down. Then she was going up, and up, letting go of at the apex of her swing. Then somersaulting, once, twice, three times-shooting flames as she twirled. And at the last moment, hanging there, a breath from a fall to her certain death.

Then the trapeze bar came back and Arlain grabbed it and swung away to safety and thunderous applause.

"Quite spectacular," the Queen said as she viewed the scene through her mirror. "And I must say, the more I learn about our handsome young Safar Timura, the more impressed I become."

She waved at the scene in the mirror-Biner, bared torso rippling, performed an incredible feat of strength. "This is sheer genius!"

"How so, Majesty?" murmured her assistant. "Other than the obvious artistry of entertainment, I mean?"

Hantilia waved a dismissive claw at the mirror. "Oh, that's just a device," she said. "But our Safar is making that device do double duty. Possibly even triple duty, now that I think of it."

Her assistant frowned. "Your Majesty is obviously much wiser than one such as I," she said. "But I would hope my wits weren't so dull that I couldn't see at least one of the three."

Hantilia exposed her fangs in a smile and primped at her hair. "It's a good thing you don't, my dear," she said. "Or I would have to worry about you."

"I don't understand, Majesty."

"The genius I am speaking of," she said, "involves the art of manipulation. Which is what this circus is.

Mass manipulation by a very powerful wizard. It's a good thing for his people that he has their best interests at heart. If he were a despot they would be his slaves."

Light dawned in the assistant's eyes. "I think I see the first, Majesty," she said. "He's using the circus to rebuild their spirits. Their morale, as they say."

"Very good, my sweet," the queen replied. "But there's more to it then mere morale. If you had looked closely at the Kyranians-after he took away their false happiness-you would have seen that many of them were on the verge of rebellion. Of outright mutiny.

"They felt, possibly even justifiably, that much of what they have endured is Safar Timura's fault. And they were ready to turn against the only one who can save them. But by the time this circus is over, they will be ready to charge through the gates of the Hells for him.

"Which is a good thing, considering what we have planned for them in the very near future."

"I can see that, Majesty," the assistant said, "but what else is Lord Timura accomplishing?"

Another gesture at the mirror-Kairo, balanced on a pole, juggling three clubs and his head. "All the acts you see are part of the spell he's building. From the silly to the sublime, he is the weaver, they are his strings.

"The egg was the first part of the spell. Followed by the clown acts to call on the Jester. Rebirth from the egg. Strength from the mighty dwarf. Fire from that marvelous dragon woman. And so forth. As the entertainment goes on you'll see what I mean-if you watch closely, that is, and use your imagination.

"He's also mixing the Kyranians-his audience-into his magical tapestry. So when he casts the spell, they will be wedded to it. Co-creators, if you will, of the final result."

"Which will be?"

Hantilia laughed. "Oh, wait and see," she said. "I don't want to spoil it for you."

Hantilia was only wrong about one thing. She'd imagined the spell as a weaving, but in fact there was no object of any kind in Safar's mind. He was concentrating solely on the image of a person-Methydia.

As the circus continued-one act of amazement followed by another-Safar watched and worked from the sidelines. He was disguised as one of the roustabouts hauling equipment and cables around during scene changes. As each performance reached its climax he lofted a spell on the applause that followed.

In a way they were love missives to Methydia. Safar imagined her in the Afterlife-still the great diva-smiling through tears at all the adulation.

The idea for the spell was drawn from Asper. Long ago the demon sage had written:

"My love, Remember!

If ever I am exiled from your sight,

Know that with my dying breath

I blew one last kiss and set

It free on love's sighing winds … "

To the place where Life and Death

And things that never meet

Are destined to unite."

Safar had often wondered what had caused Asper to write such a song. Who was the object of this great love affair? What was the tragedy that had ended it? Had Asper ever cast the spell buried in the verse? It seemed to Safar there wasn't enough strength in the spell to achieve Asper's goal. Had the old master wizard used some sort of mass gathering to cast it like Safar was doing with the circus? If so, what had been the result?

He saw Leiria waiting in the wings. She was mounted on a fine horse, every inch the warrior ready to do battle-except for her face which was flushed with excitement. And possibly just a little fear. Safar thought, now, isn't it strange? If Leiria were risking her own life, instead of just an audience's scorn, there would not be one mark of emotion upon her face.

Safar conjured a spell of confidence and whispered it in her direction. Then he hurled a light bomb signaling the grand finale and rushed away under cover of its crowd-dazzling glare to join his friends.

Trumpets blared and Leiria charged into the ring, smoke and light bombs bursting all around. The audience cheered wildly when they saw the standard she was bearing-a blue lake framed by cloud-capped mountains. It was the flag of Kyrania, streaming bravely as she raced about the ring.

She was enjoying herself thoroughly, now that the stage fright was gone. The change had occurred so quickly she was sure Safar had something to do with it. One moment she'd been ready to humiliate herself by spewing her guts, then the sick feeling was gone and she was burning with eagerness to show off to the crowd. Except when she'd dressed up as a clown, Leiria had been miserable, fearing at any minute she'd make a fool of herself, ruining the performance and therefore the spell. For some reason, when she was disguised as a clown it didn't seem to matter. Any clumsiness only added to the fun. Soon, even that respite faded, as the moment approached when she would take center ring and lead off the grand finale. The closer it came, the more terrified she became. When she spoke her voice came in a croak and she had to keep a firm grip on her horse's reins to keep her hands from shaking.

Now her nerves were running with a joyful fire and she laughed, sweeping off her helmet and letting her long hair stream out behind her like the flag itself. The Kyranians cheered and stomped their approval-chopped off by the crack of magical lightning. Leiria, playing her part, suddenly reined in her horse. It reared back on its hind legs and another magical lighting bolt blasted into the ground just before it. The horse trumpeted, pawing madly, nearly throwing Leiria from its back.

Caught up in the drama, the crowd shouted a warning, pointing into the sky where thick black clouds had gathered just above the arena. But it was too late, as six figures with faces like snarling beasts swept out of the clouds, swinging down on trapeze bars to within a few feet from her, then letting go-turning once in the air-and landing like cats, instantly crouching, ready to pounce with their gleaming scimitars.

They charged and the crowd groaned as Leiria was forced to drop the banner to draw her sword and defend herself. Steel clashed in time to wild music as Leiria battled the beastmen. One of the black cloaked figures-short, but massive in girth-grabbed up the banner, roaring through his bear's mask. He displayed the flag to the audience, who hissed and booed and shouted threats as he waved the banner back and forth in victory. And, indeed, for a long, agonizing moment all seemed lost as the beastmen encircled Leiria, coming at her from every side. Magical lightning blasting in front of her each time she threatened to break free.

High above, obscured by the black cloud, Palimak peered anxiously through the gaps at the action going on below. Dressed in his soldier's costume, he was standing on a platform, anxiously awaiting his turn.

Safar was beside him, snapping a safety wire to his belt.

"I wish I didn't have to wear that, father," Palimak said. "It doesn't look right!"

Safar chuckled. "You're sounding like a star already," he said. "Don't worry. No one will see it. They'll be too busy following the action."

Palimak giggled. "More smoke and mirrors, father?"

"That's right, son. More smoke and mirrors. With a hefty dose of magic-applied frequently and liberally."

Safar rubbed the boy's shoulders. "Relax. You still have a little time before you get your cue."

Palimak licked his lips and nodded. Then, "Do you think she'll come, father?"

"I don't know. I hope so."

The boy became suddenly shy, ducking his head and mumbling. "Did you … you know … love her very much?"

"Yes, I did."

His voice dropped lower. "More than … well … you know … my mother."

"Nerisa?"

"Yes."

Safar shook his head. "I can't say," he replied. "I don't know any way to measure such a thing. I hope to never find one."

Palimak relaxed, smiling. "That's good," he said. "Thanks, father." Vague as Safar's answer was, it satisfied him. Now he could turn his full attention on the job ahead.

He patted the stone turtle in his pocket, alerting the Favorites. His father gave him a hug, saying, "It's time, son. Break a leg!"

Palimak laughed, feeling warm all over-because he was now part of the family of entertainers who knew this really meant extra special good luck. You weren't actually supposed to get your leg broken, which the boy thought was a wonderful joke.

Then Safar jerked a chain that shut off the flue of the smoke generator bolted to the top of the pole some seven feet above them. He jerked another chain, which operated a spark machine bolted just below the generator. Sparks showered through the widening gap in the cloud.

"Go!" Safar shouted, casting a spell that formed the sparks into a lighting bolt that crashed into the ground below.

Heart hammering, Palimak stepped out on the cable, which sloped to a lower platform some fifty feet away. He whispered to the Favorites, "Better get to work!"

Then he let go and slid down the wire, shouting a shrill war cry.

Safar was right, no one noticed the wires when he made his entrance. All they saw was a brave little figure in golden armor-a bow clutched in one hand-flying out of the clouds-shouting defiance at the beastmen, who had all but toppled Leiria from her horse.

When he reached the platform, he quickly drew a golden arrow from the quiver on his back, fixed it into his bow and posed his best and boldest pose-which he'd rehearsed for hours.

Palimak fired and the arrow sped toward the beastmen. It struck near the massive leader, who was still displaying the standard of Kyrania. Smoke exploded and the beastmen shrieked in anger, whirling to face Palimak. The boy fired again and this time the chieftain dropped the banner in his scramble to get away from the exploding smoke.

The tide was turned and the crowd roared in delight as Leiria recovered and attacked from the rear, knocking beastmen aside, then leaning down in an amazing feat of horsemanship and scooping up the fallen banner.

The crowd went insane, cheering their heroes on. But Safar wasn't done with them yet. Another lightning blast rocked the arena and a frightening figure dropped out of the sky. It was Arlain, dressed like an assassin in form-fitting black with a gold sash about her waist, breathing long tongues of fire at the scene below.

The Kyranians screamed warnings to their heroes but the assassin was too quick, snatching Palimak from the platform and swinging away with the boy clutched in her arms.

She dropped to the ground and held the boy high for all to see.

"Help!" Palimak shrieked. "Help me!"

Leiria saw his plight and spurred her horse forward, but Arlain froze her with a shout:

"Surrender! Or the boy dies!"

Leiria sagged, sword dropping, bowing to the inevitable.

And that's when Safar struck! A huge blast shook the arena, raising a huge bank of smoke swirling with every color. Khysmet came charging out of the smoke, horse armor picking up the colors and shattering them toward the beastmen. Another blast rocked the heavens and a great black hole opened like a gate in the cloud above. Safar, dressed in gleaming white armor and carrying a white shield emblazoned with the snake-headed sign of Asper, soared out of the cloud, roaring:

"FOR KYRANIA!"

A wire so slender it was invisible to the audience carried him down to meet Khysmet, who was circling the arena, taking his measure of the beastmen. Sparks showered out and at the same time Safar punched the release lever on his belt and dropped into Khysmet's saddle as smoothly as if he had vaulted from a sturdy fence.

And then came the organized chaos of what Biner called "The Big TBF, my lad!" Meaning, The Big Finish. It was fast, it was furious, but also quite stylized and elegant. There was none of the fake gore favored by other circus troupes. Methydia would have never permitted such a thing. "People have troubles enough," she always said, "without being reminded of the terrible things that are done. Give it art.

Give it drama. Give them a little sex, a little comedy, a clown chase. And then a nice bit of action, with a happy ending that will send them all home to sweeter dreams than they had before the circus came."

So that's what Safar did. He gave the Kyranians lots of action, but with no hidden pig's bladder of blood bursting when a sword stroke was made. The battle was one of daring acrobatics and high drama, with many illusions-some circus trickery, some magical spells cast by Safar-to tell the tale. In the end, Palimak was rescued. The three heroes regrouped. The villains were driven off. And the standard retrieved.

On horseback now, Safar, Palimak and Leiria turned to the crowd and in a flourish of trumpets announced victory over the forces of evil. Leiria waving the flag of Kyrania as fireworks shattered the black clouds away and the bright sun and sweet breezes swept through the arena again.

Any cheering that had gone before was nothing to what happened now. There were whistles and screams and shouts, hands imploding, feet stomping so hard the stands swayed and creaked. Then they all poured out of their seats and into the arena, surrounding the whole circus troupe which had come out to take its bows.

Someone shouted, "For Kyrania!"

And they all took it up as a chant-all thousand of them. Refugees, torn from a sweet land, standing in the center of the Hells, shouting:

"KYRANIA! KYRANIA! KYRANIA!"

Safar let the emotion carry him until it reached its highest point. The others must have felt it too. Leiria gave his hand a squeeze and Palimak whispered, "I'm ready, father."

A gesture from Safar brought the little airship sailing out of nothingness to soar above the arena. The crowd, as if sensing something, was suddenly silent, staring up at the magical airship. Safar cast the final spell, letting it ride up and up, like a trapeze racing to its apex.

He imagined Methydia. Her smoky almond eyes. Long black tresses streaked with silver. Cheeks bones dramatically high. Fruited lips parted in a smile. First he chanted the Balloonist's Prayer. The one Methydia had chanted every eve and every dawn:

"Come to us Mother Wind.

Lift us in hands blessed

By the warm sun.

We have flown high.

We have flown well.

Take us in your arms, Mother Wind.

And when you are done,

Set us gently on the ground."

Then he sang the words to Asper's poem:

" My love, Remember!

If ever I am exiled from your sight,

Know that with my dying breath

I blew one last kiss and set

It free on love's sighing winds … "

He heard Palimak whisper/singing with him and smiled. Then the circus troupe and the crowd joined in, singing:

" … free on love's sighing winds

To the place where Life and Death

And things that never meet

Are destined to unite."

She came in a gentle wind off the river, at first nothing more than a gray wisp of fog. But it was a fog heavy with the scent of violets and soon it grew and took form. A face gradually emerging.

Safar sucked in his breath.

It was Methydia.

And she called, "Sa-fahrr."

The voice came from everywhere, but at the same time it seemed right next to his ear, saying, "Sa-fahrr

… Sa-fahrr." Each like a long sigh.

And Safar said to the ghost, "I'm here, Methydia."

She saw him and smiled, nodding, "Safar. I see you, Safar."

He was nearly overwhelmed by the ghostly presence, her perfume and haunting voice unhinging him from his moorings. Then he saw the ghost frown-sad … disappointed.

Safar remembered. "Thank you for the gift, Methydia," he said. Then he held out empty hands, saying,

"But I have nothing so grand for you, my love. I have only this…"

And he blew her the promised kiss.

He heard Methydia's deep-throated laugh of pleasure. Saw her ghost reach up with a wispy hand to mock catch his kiss. She held the closed fist to her lips-kissed it. Then opened her hand and blew…

Her ghostly kiss came on a heady breeze and Safar drank it in, sighing, nearly drunk with the wine sweetness of it.

Then the ghost said, "Farewell, Safar. Farewell."

And Methydia was gone.

Instead, yawning over their heads as large as any galley that sailed the Great Sea, was the airship.

Transformed to full size by Methydia's ghostly kiss. The breeze singing in its lines, magical bellows pumping, fire gouting, twin balloons swollen and straining to sail away.

The Kyranians were overawed by the miracle. First there was a murmur. Then a low mutter of amazement. Then the mutter became a shouted chorus of:

"Kyrania! Kyrania!"

Biner pushed through the crowd to Safar. "By the gods," he cried, slapping him on the back so hard he was nearly bowled over. "We're ridin' the winds again, lad," he cried. "Ridin' the winds."

Queen Hantilia smiled through tears. "That was quite touching," she said, wiping her eyes.

She looked away from the scene in her mirror where the Kyranians, led by Safar, rejoiced. "I'm such an emotional creature," she said to her assistant. "My heart strings have always been plucked too easily."

"I must say, Majesty," the assistant said, "that the airship was quite a surprise. I never expected Lord Timura to do such a thing."

"He does have an amazing way of working his magic," the Queen replied. "Most of us mages just want to get the spell over with-and do the minimum required. In this case, the minimum would never have worked. Ghosts aren't easy to summon. And this Methydia was apparently a great witch-and those kinds of ghosts are hardest of all to deal with. Actually, I'm not sure anyone has ever managed what he just accomplished."

"Surely, the great Lord Asper, Majesty?" the assistant protested.

Hantilia rubbed her brow, thinking. Then she murmured, "Possibly. Just possibly." She looked at her puzzled assistant. "I'm only guessing," she said, "but part of that spell did have the ring of Asper to it."

"Pardon, Majesty," the assistant said, "but a little while ago you said that Lord Timura was attempting to accomplish three things. But you only named two. What, pray, was the third?"

The Queen gestured at the mirror, where Palimak was sitting astride Safar's shoulders, waving to the cheering crowd.

"The boy," she said. "The spell you just witnessed was a dress rehearsal for something much, much bigger. And the only way he can do it is with the boy."

The Queen sighed. "Another sad little tale in the making," she said.

She waved a claw at the mirror and the scene disappeared. "Send for Lord Timura," she commanded.

"It's time for the Great Sacrifice to begin!"

The Queen's messenger came and went and Safar retired to his tent with Palimak to get ready. They dressed in comfortable clothes-trousers, tunics, cloaks and boots-as if they faced a long journey, instead of just a short stroll to the Queen's palace.

They both carried small packs filled with magical devices and potions, as well several purses of various things hanging from their belts. Besides this, Safar had his silver dagger tucked into his sleeve and Palimak had the stone turtle containing Gundara and Gundaree tucked safely away in a large pocket inside his tunic. For weapons, Safar made sure they both had bows and a quiver of arrows. Palimak's bow was the one he'd used in the circus act, which Safar deemed more than sufficient to do the job.

As for swords, however, Safar made a little ceremony out of giving Palimak a steel blade that been especially cut down for him, as well as a knife to balance out his belt.

Palimak straightened, a few more years of added maturity furrowing his youthful brow.

Safar stood back to admire the figure he cut. "With you at my side, son," he said, "they don't stand a chance."

Palimak chortled with delight, eyes turning demon yellow with excitement. "Let's go get them!" he said.

With that they exited the tent to say their farewells.

The Timura family waited outside. Leiria stood a little away from them, holding Khysmet's reins, saddle bags packed and ready.

Safar's mother and sisters and female cousins fussed over them, weeping all the while, while his sisters'

husbands slapped them both on their backs and wished them "gods speed."

When they came to his father, Khadji knelt and embraced the boy, saying, "I'll show you some new pottery tricks when you get back." As always, Safar's father had difficulty saying what he really meant.

Palimak patted him and said, "I can hardly wait, grandfather." Trying to sound really excited about the promise and that the shining adventures he believed awaited him would be boring delays for when that moment came.

Khadji nodded, then rose to face his son. He was frowning, a little ashamed. "I guess I haven't been much help to you these last few days, son," he said.

"It was a spell, father," Safar assured him. "Nothing to do with you. There's no fault."

"Still," his father said, "I'm not happy with myself." He straightened, looking at Safar squarely. "It won't happen again."

Safar covered a confusion of emotions by giving his father a bear hug, slapping his back and telling him everything was going to be "fine, just fine."

Then they pulled apart. Safar's father seemed about to say something-lips opening, a clot of words gathering to be blurted. The moment passed and he shook his head.

"Tell the Oracle she'd better treat you right, son," he said. "Or she'll have another Timura to deal with!"

"I will, father," he said.

Safar took Palimak's hand and they turned and walked to where Leiria waited with Khysmet.

"Biner and Arlain send their apologies," she said. "They're busy rigging out the airship and loading up the gear."

"Make sure they take those packs I set aside for them," Safar said.

"They were loaded first," Leiria replied. "I watched them do it myself."

In the distance they heard Sergeant Dario curse the laziness of an errant soldier. Safar smiled.

"Sounds like you have everything else in order, too," he said.

"Dario and I are being extra hard on everyone," she laughed. "We both figure they had their fun in Happy Land. Now it's time to whip out the rest of the softness in them."

"After all these months," Safar said, "I can't think of anyone who's still soft."

"Neither can I," Leiria grinned, "but you tell that to Dario! He thinks everybody's too soft. I swear, when he dies they'll make a special rank for him in the Hells. Tormentor in chief, or something."

The two of them laughed. Palimak joined in, although a little weakly since he wasn't quite sure what they were laughing at. From what he'd seen of Dario he deserved the title, so where was the joke? There were some drawbacks to getting older and Dario, he'd decided, was definitely one of them. He shuddered when he thought of the day he'd join the older lads in training under Dario's baleful eyes and snarled insults and orders.

He snapped his fingers, saying, "I'm not worried about this Oracle at all!"

Safar and Leiria stared down at him. "What did you say?"

Palimak blushed, realizing he'd spoken aloud. He shrugged and gave the child's universal answer:

"Nothing."

Leiria gave him a hug. "No matter what happens," she said, "I want you to remember Auntie Leiria's First Rule of Soldiering-When In Doubt, Find A Big Rock To Hide Under."

More laughter, final good-byes, and Safar swung into Khysmet's saddle. He hoisted Palimak up behind him, blew Leiria a kiss and wheeled the horse to trot away.

Leiria stared after them, wondering if she'd ever see them again.