brother rulers on Safar's death warrant. His name did not go on ita remarkable absence in its own right. Kalasariz rolled it up with another document which did bear his name. It was an official protest of the decision, praising Timura as a young man of many notable qualities and virtues. He locked them away in his special hiding place behind the third panel from the entrance of the bedchamber.
Kalasariz had no ambitions besides survival in his current position as co-ruler of Walaria. He certainly had no more desire to see Didima dethroned than he did to see himself king. But as Didima had said, these were dangerous times. If by some distant chance the young upstart, Iraj Protarus, should someday be in the position to seek revenge for the death of his friend, Kalasariz preferred to be viewed as one of Timura's champions. The spymaster had little doubt he was right to support the decision for Walaria to ally itself against Protarus. But there was a slight chance the alliance would fail and Protarus and his army might someday show up at the gates. Didima and Umurhan would pay for their crime with their heads. Tulaz would most likely perform the honors, since good executioners are difficult to find and he'd be instantly welcomed into the new king's service. Armed with the documents proving his innocence, Kalasariz would also be welcomed. Protarus would need a spymaster, and who could be a better man for the job than Kalasariz himself?
Timura had presented Kalasariz with a unique opportunity. One the one hand, as a friend of Iraj Protarus it was necessary to remove whatever danger he might represent. On the other, as an outsider great blame could be heaped upon him. He would be declared the ringleader of all the young hotheads who opposed Walaria's rulers. A dozen or more of his lieutenants'in reality the real leaders of the oppositionwould also earn the ultimate punishment. This would not only quell their followers and sympathizers, but outside and unnamed influences would get the ultimate blame.
There was a saying about getting your sweet and eating it too.'
Kalasariz wasn't fond of sweets. But he did enjoy the sentiment.
The spymaster slept well that night. But just before First Prayer he had a dream about a strange little creature with a man's body and a demon's face. It was gobbling up a sweet roll, scattering crumbs, left and right.
When it was done it brushed itself off and looked him square in the eye.
'Shut up! it said. Shut up, shut up, shut up!'
He didn't know what to make of the creature or its antics. But for some reason it frightened him.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Unlike Kalasariz, Safar slept little that night. Every straw in his mattress and lump in his pillow made itself known. A few days before the only major worry he'd had was a vague and somewhat academic fear that the world faced some great threat. At the age of twenty summers he was incapable of taking it personally. The spy master's visit, coupled with his recent difficulties with Umurhan, made him feel less immortal. He was in trouble and that trouble had grown from the granite hills of Umurhan's displeasure to the bleak peaks of Kalasariz suspicions.
In short, he was besieged from all sides and was in a confusion about what he ought to do. Adding to that morass was the confusion created by Nerisa's gift plus his fears about Nerisa herself. Someone, for whatever reason, had marked her.
Everyone on the streets knew Nerisa ran personal errands for anyone at the Foolsmire with a copper or two to pay. Most certainly some of the young men who hired her held controversial views. That didn't make Nerisa a conspirator. This was also a fact all knewincluding any of Kalasariz minions who made the Foolsmire their territory. So why had the informer lied? Why had he singled Nerisa out?
Then it occurred to Safar that he was the target. Someone might be striking at him through Nerisa. But once again came that most important of all questions: Why? Then he realized that answer or not, his fate might be racing toward an unpleasant conclusion. The only intelligent thing to do was to flee Walaria as quickly as he could. Such an act would certainly turn Kalasariz suspicions into an outright admission of guilt. Safar thought, however, it would be even more dangerous to remain in Walaria at the mercy of the spymaster.
He decided to run. He'd flee home to Kyrania as fast as he could. But what about Nerisa? He'd have to come up with some plan to protect her from any reprisals his flight might cause.
Safar was relieved as soon as he made the decision. He'd learned much in Walaria, but it had been a mostly unpleasant stay in an unpleasant city. He missed his family and friends. He missed the clean mountain air and blue skies and molten clouds and snowy slopes.
Only one thing stood in his waya lack of money. To make a successful escape he'd require a hefty sum. He'd need a swift mount and supplies for the long journey home and money for Nerisa as well. Where could he lay hands on it? There was no sense asking his sponsor, Lord Muzine. Not only would the money be denied, Safar thought it likely the request would be immediately reported to Kalasariz.
There was only one person he could think of who could help.
But once that approach was made, there'd be no turning back.
Safar rose before first light. He washed and dressed and made a quick trip to a nearby bakery and bought a sticky roll filled with plump currants. He rushed home, brewed a pot of strong tea and while he drank it he summoned Gundara.
The little Favorite popped out of a cloud of magical smoke, coughing and rubbing sleepy eyes.
'Don't tell me you get up early too! Gundara whined. The gods must hate me. Why else would they allow me to fall into the hands of such a cruel master?'
Instead of answering, Safar held up the sticky roll. The Favorite's eyes widened. Is that for me, O Wise and Kind Master?.
'None other, Safar said.
He extended the roll and the Favorite grabbed it from his hand and gobbled it up, moaning in pleasure and scattering crumbs and currants all over the floor.
When he was done he sucked each taloned finger clean, smacked his lips, then said, If you gave me another, I'd kill for you, Master. From his tone Safar knew it was no jest.
'You'd kill for a piece of pastry? Safar asked.
Gundara shrugged. Money is no good to me. Or jewels or treasures. I live in a stone turtle, remember? But a bit of something sweet… mmmm… Oh, yes, Master. Lead me to your victims this instant. I can help you conjure a decent poison guaranteed to reduce an entire city to a hamlet.'
'I don't kill people, Safar said.
'More's the pity, Gundara answered. Killing's much easier than most tasks. He stretched his arms, yawning. If it isn't killing, Master, exactly what is it you want me to do?'
'Make yourself as small you can, Safar said, and hop up on my shoulder.'
'How boring, Gundara complained, but he clicked his talons together and instantly shrunk to the size of a large flea. Safar had to look very hard to see him. Gundara called out, voice just as loud as when he was full size, You'll have to help me with the shoulder part, Master. It's too far to hop.'
Safar held out his hand and the black dot that was Gundara ran up it, scrambling over the rough cloth of his sleeve until he reached his shoulder.
'I have some important business to conduct this morning, Safar said. I want you to keep a close watch for any danger or suspicious people.'
'Do I get another roll when I'm done, Master? came Gundara's voice.
'If you do a good job, Safar promised.
'And one for Gundaree too? the Favorite pressed.
Safar sighed. Yes, he said. Gundaree can have one too.'
'Make it with berries, next time, the little Favorite requested. Currants give me gas.'
