The twins moved toward the young potter, expectantly. Safar started to turn away, so full of hateful thoughts that he wanted nothing more than to escape.
'Wait, Iraj said.
Safar swiveled, anger plain on his face. Iraj ignored it, pulling away from Astarias shy embrace.
'Go to him, he ordered.
Safar was bewildered. But, I thought…'
Iraj laughed. I know what you thought, he said. I was testing you, don't you see? He grinned at Safar. You didn't do too well with that test, my friend, he said. But maybe it was unfair. So I forgive you for it.'
He gave Astarias a gentle push. Go, on, he said. If you stay much longer I'll be helpless to let you leave.'
Astarias pealed glad laughter and scurried over to leap into Safar's arms. All his noble intentions vanished as he crushed her to him. Then Safar heard Iraj call his name and broke away, gasping. His friend was standing at the curtain opening, arms around the dark twins.
'Thank you, Safar husked. Coralean might not have agreed if I had asked.'
Iraj shrugged. No thanks needed, he said. After all, we both know who the true hero of this night is. He started to exit, pulling the twins with him. Then he stopped. Know this, Safar, he said. From this day forward, all I have is yours.'
Safar grinned. And all that is mine, and all that shall be mine, he said, will be yours for the asking.'
Iraj grew quite solemn. Do you mean that?'
'I swear it, Safar answered.
Iraj nodded. Remember this night well, Safar, he said. For someday I may come to ask an equal favor.'
'And you shall have it, Safar vowed.
'No matter what it is? Iraj asked, his eyes suddenly hard and probing.
'Yes, Safar said. No matter what. And if you should ever test me again, I will not fail you.'
And with that covenant he sealed his fate.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Sarn was wrongKing Manacia hadn't lied. If the gods had still been watching they'd have been highly entertained by his error. Sarn's final torment, when he believed himself undone by royal betrayal, was a heady- enough brew of misery to satisfy any god's tastes.
In truth, King Manacia waited many anxious months for news of the bandit chief's return. As time dragged on the king became increasingly impatient, paying little attention to the business of state. He even ignored his harem and his wives and courtesans became fearful their master had wearied of them. To combat this they sought out the most beautiful and seductive demon maids to stir his lust. It was to no avail, for the king remained in his throne room until late every night wondering what had become of Sarn and drinking himself into a stupor.
It was difficult for King Manacia to admit failurea condition he'd rarely experienced in his long reign. From the beginning he'd worked patiently, gradually extending his borders until all but a few of the wildest regions had been subjugated. The others had been forced into alliances weighted so heavily on Manacia's side it meant the same thing. Soon all would recognize him as supreme monarch of the demon lands. But this was not enough. The king wanted more.
'It's not as if I do these things for myself, Fari, the king liked to say to his Grand Wazier. The future of all demonkind rests upon my shoulders.'
And Lord Fari, who never reminded the king he'd heard these words before, always answered, I thank the gods each eventide, Majesty, they made your shoulders wide and strong enough to bear that holy burden.'
The Grand Wazier was a wise old demon of nearly two hundred feastings. Skillful flattery and ruthless intrigue had allowed him to keep his head through four bloody successions to the Zanzair throne.
The king took heart from Fari's reassuring display of fealty, greeting the oft-repeated praise as if it were freshly coined. Then he'd frown, as if overtaken by yet another bleak thought. And he'd sigh, saying, Still, Fari, I'm sure there are some misguided ones in my kingdom who disagree. A few might even think me insane.'
He'd sigh again, stroking his long curved horn. And shake his mighty head in sorrow.
'Only speak the names of these heretics, Majesty, was Fari's routine answer, and I shall have their lying tongues plucked from their mouths and their throats filled with hot sand.'
'If only they understood as well as you, my dear fiend, was the king's formulaic response. Peace and plenty will always be denied us so long as more than one king commands the demon lands. It's only natural that there should be a single ruler for all.'
And Fari would agree, saying, How else, O Great One, can we ever rid ourselves of chaos? Or end the years of war and banditry? One demon must rule. And that one, the dreamcatchers portend, is you, My Lord.'
'But that isn't enough, Fari, the king would remind him. The humans must recognize me as well. I must be King of Kings. Ruler of all Esmir.'
'I have dedicated the remainder of my humble life to that end, Majesty, Fari would answer. Demon history has long been awaiting one such as you. What other fiend has had your wisdom? Your strength? Your benevolence? Your sorcerous power? The gods have gifted us with your august presence, Majesty. There's no denying it. It's as plain as the mighty horn on your royal brow.'
With that, Fari would knock his old head against the stone floor, then rise with some difficulty, gripping his great dragon bone cane and heaving himself up with much cracking of aging joints and tendons. Then he'd withdraw, his bone cane tap tap tapping against the stone, fainter, ever fainter, until he reached the distant doors to the vast throne room and disappeared beyond. He always left a contented king in his wake, a king with renewed vigor to dream his dreams and plot his plots.
There had only been one King of Kings of Esmirthe human, Alisarrian. It was Manacia's deeply held belief the time was ripe for another such historic occurrence. He was determined this time a demon would hold that scepter. There was no question that demon should be him. Manacia's entire reign had been dedicated to that goal. Yet as the years passed he began to fear he wouldn't be ready in time. That somewhere in the human lands another Alisarrian may have been bred. A conqueror with an army at his back who'd soon come knocking on his palace doors.
One night, as he prowled his Necromancium wondering if the answer to his troubles was hidden in the blackest of magical arts, there came the tap tap tap of Lord Fari's cane, the ghostly herald of the Grand Wazier's approach. When he heard the tapping Manacia turned away from a large jar containing a human head floating in brine. As he looked up Fari came through the portal, the air shimmering like the surface of a vertical pool.
'What news, Lord Fari? the king asked with exaggerated cheer. Has our wayward bandit finally returned?'
Fari, whose mind was deeply engaged in another matter, jolted up, scaly jowls rolling in a wave of surprise. What, Majesty? he asked. Then, Oh. You mean, Lord Sarn, Excellency. No, Majesty. There's still no word. I'm here on another matter, Excellency. One that requires your urgent attention.'
But Manacia abruptly turned away, plunged into as foul a mood as he'd ever experienced. I've reviewed it from every side, Fari, he said. And I still don't see where I went wrong.'
'Wrong, Majesty? Fari said. How can you think that? Give it more time. He'll appear any day now, loaded with spoils, bearing the maps you sought and demanding an enormous reward in that swaggering manner of his. Fari snorted. As if he were the only real fiend in the land.'
'It's been nearly a year, Fari, Manacia said.
'So long, Majesty? I hadn't realized…'
'I might as well face it, the king said. I've wasted enough time and energy that could be put to a more positive use. Despite all our efforts, all our experiments and labors, the shield we built to protect Sarn from the curse wasn't good enough. And somewhere in the Forbidden Desert, perhaps just out of sight, his bones and his fiends bones are bleaching in the sun.'
Fari thought, quite correctly, that perhaps the shield hadn't failed at all. Some natural misfortune might have befallen the bandit chief. But he hadn't lived so long by telling his monarchs what he truly thought. So when he saw
