There was an explosion and the Cloudship became a shatter of burning wood splinters and smoldering cloth. Methydia sagged and he caught her in his arms.
Mailed horsemen charged out of the boiling smoke, flailing about with curved blades that cut anyone down who got in their way.
A banner, carried by the lead horseman, fluttered over them. It bore the ancient symbol of the demon moon and silver comet.
The warriors were shouting, For Protarus!'
Six horsemen split off from the group and rushed toward Safar. He let Methydia drop to his feet, and grasped his sword in both hands.
He made a spell of strength and power surged through his body until he felt like a giant. He made a spell of sharpness and sliced the air with his blade. It shimmered with the force of his blow.
Then the horsemen were on him. He cut the legs out from under the first steed, slew its rider, then leaped on the horse's body to confront the rest.
A spear floated toward him and he ducked it easily, coming up to deal a death blow to the one who'd hurled it. A huge man with a black beard struck at him with a scimitar. Safar parried and the man's bearded mouth became a wide O as Safar's sword pierced his throat. Then there was a horseman behind him and he whirled just as the soldier's mount trampled on Methydia's prone body.
Safar howled in fury and leaped at the man, his weight carrying horse, soldier and himself to the ground. The quarters were too close to swing his blade, so he hammered at the soldier with the haft of his sword, crushing the helmet.
Then he was up again, parrying the next blow, killing the next man.
He fought for what seemed like an eternity. But no matter how many he struck down, there were always others crowding in to take him.
Then there was a sudden respite and he was swinging at empty air. Cutting back and forth, meeting nothing, but still slashing, still fighting, as if there were invisible devils all around him.
He stopped, finally realizing no enemy was within reach.
Safar looked up and all was a haze in his battle-lust view. Then he saw a grizzled old veteran mounted on a warhorse about ten paces away. Safar's head swiveled. He was surrounded, but now instead of swords there were raised bows confronting him, arrows drawn backwaiting for the order to fire.
'You've done yourself proud, lad, the old veteran said. Now put your sword down and we'll spare you.'
Safar grinned. He was covered with the gore of other men and made an awful sight.
Then, instead of tossing his sword down, he pushed it point first into the ground and leaned on it.
'Tell Iraj Protarus, he said loudly, that a friend awaits him. And begs the pleasure of his company.'
The veteran reacted, surprised. And who might that friend be, lad?'
'Safar Timura of Kyrania, he replied. The man he once called his blood oath brother.
'The man who once saved his life.'
CHAPTER TWENTY
It was well past dawn when Iraj finally came.
The smoke and soot from the burning city was so thick it made the day more like night. The air was filled with the stench of death and the loud weeping of Sampitay's survivors as they were led out to meet their fates.
Safar was pacing within the same circle of bowmen. Although they'd lowered their weapons, he noted they were ready to lift them again and fire if he made a wrong move. They were all fierce plainsmen, small in stature, muscular in build, with misshapen legs from so many years on horseback. They wore flowing robes, cinched by wide leather belts bearing scimitars on one side, long daggers on the other. Their boots were felt, with sharp spurs strapped to them. They had turbans for head coverings, with steel caps beneath and most sported long, drooping mustaches, giving their dark faces a grim, determined look.
A small part of Safarthe child that weeps for its mother even at a great agequaked at the sight of them. The rest was armed with a cold, tightly-gripped rage he was ready to release at the slightest pretense.
The soldiers didn't know what to make of Safar. He was either the mightiest of liars or truly the king's blood oath brother. The only thing certain was Safar had more than proven himself as a warrior. It was for this reason, almost more than his claim of friendship with the king, that had stayed their hands. Safar had leaned heavily on their respect to rescue most of the members of the troupe and he'd bullied the old sergeant into letting them join him.
He used the circle like a shield, pacing the perimeter to keep it intact, pointing the tip of his sword accusingly at any soldier who dared stray closer. In the center the troupe was silently tending the unconscious Methydia. Safar feared for hershe'd been badly trampled by the warhorsebut he didn't dare show his concern in front of the bowmen. He knew it would be taken as a sign of weakness.
Then he heard a great horn blare and war drums beat a tattoo. Orders were shouted and the ring of bowmen suddenly parted.
A tall warrior mounted on a fiery black steed cantered down the path they made. He wore the pure white robes of a plains fighter. His head was wrapped in a white turban, with the tail pulled about his face like a mask.
The warrior pulled the horse up a few paces away. He studied Safar for a long moment, taking in the gore stained costume, bloody sword and soot-streaked face. Safar stared back, making as insolent a grin as he could manage. Finally the warrior's gaze came to Safar's eyes and there was a sudden jolt of recognition.
'Safar Timura, you blue-eyed devil, Iraj cried, sweeping away the mask, it is you!'
'In the flesh, Safar said, although as you can see that flesh is a little worse for wear and definitely in need of a bath.'
Safar, remembering the first time he and Iraj had met, pointed at the soldiers and said, I think I could use a little help here. It seems I'm completely surrounded by the Ubekian brothers.'
Iraj roared laughter. The Ubekian brothers! he shouted. What a sorry lot they were!'
Then, to the amazement of his soldiers, the king leaped off his horse and threw his arms around Safar, gore and all.
'By the gods I have missed you, Safar Timura, he shouted, pounding his old friend on the back. By the gods I have missed you!'
Iraj called for a mount and personally escorted Safar back to his command tentset on a hill overlooking Sampitay. When Safar indicated the unconscious Methydia and the others members of the troupe Iraj asked no questions about Safar's odd company, or even acted surprised. He immediately issued orders all were to be well cared for and the best healers summoned to tend to Methydia.
'And I want hourly reports on her progress, Iraj demanded. I don't want my good friend, Lord Timura, to worry unnecessarily.'
Lord? Safar thought. How did a potter's son suddenly become a lord? He glanced at Iraj, saw the look of warning in his eyes and realized it wouldn't do for a king to have a blood oath brother who less than noble born.
During the ride back to his command post Iraj kept the conversation light, loudly regaling his aides and guard with exaggerated tales of his youthful adventures with Lord Timura.'
'Why, if it weren't for Safar, he said, I wouldn't be here today. And you'd all be serving some other king, a weak-kneed, inbred bastard, no doubt. Someday I'll tell you the story of how he saved my life. You've already witnessed how bravely he fought here, so you can all rest assured it is a stirring tale that will take a long winter's evening to give it proper justice.
'But I will tell you this. After the battle the people of Kyrania were so grateful to us for saving them from that
