gang of bandits that they trotted out fifteen of their prettiest virgins for us to deflower.'
He laughed. I gave up after five.'
He turned to Safar. Or was it six?'
'Actually, it was seven, Safar answered.
Iraj's grin told him that he'd lied correctly.
'Seven it was, Iraj said. But that was nothing compared to my friend here. He deflowered the remaining eight, then strolled out of his tent, easy as you please, and announced he was still feeling peckish and wouldn't mind a few more.'
The aides and guardsmen roared laughter and crowded in close to slap Safar on the back and praise his prowess as a fighter and lover.
'Mind you, Iraj said, he wasn't playing fair. Even as a boy Lord Timura was a mighty wizard. He confessed to me later that he had a secret potion for such occasions.'
Again, Iraj turned to Safara frown of mock accusation on his face. If I recall, my friend, he said, you promised to supply me with some. A promise you never kept.'
Safar held out a hand, palm up. I was hoping you had forgotten that, Your Highness, he said, adding the royal honorific for the first time and pleasing Iraj immensely. You see, there were only five virgins left in all Kyrania. And I didn't want us to quarrel over them.'
More bawdy laughterled by the kinggreeted his clever reply. The royal party continued on and there were many manly jests and many manly boasts to mark the journey.
They wended their jocular way past scenes of incredible brutality. Sampitay's dead and wounded littered the battlefield. Captives, working under the stern direction of Iraj's fierce soldiers, piled the dead in mounds. Oil was poured on the corpses and they were set on fire; greasy black fumes, smelling like sacrificial sheep, rose to mix with the smoke of the burning city. Other soldiers moved across the field, slitting the throats of the groaning wounded. Thousands of civilians were being separated into groups of young and old, men and women. Construction crews were hammering together execution blocks for the aged and infirm. Sharp-eyed slavers were moving through the rest, drawing up estimates of the price each would bring and whether it would be worth the care and feeding they'd require.
Safar felt as if he were trapped in the worst kind of nightmareone that required him to wear a mask of light- hearted unconcern amid all that horror. And soaring above that was the dark raven of his fear for Methydia.
Although Iraj had greeted him warmlyas if only a few months rather than years had separated themSafar didn't let down his guard. His old friend had the same easy, open manner. Other than the beard he looked much the same as before. His manner was casually royal, but it had always been so. He'd also matured. With the beard, which Safar suspected Iraj had grown to look older, he appeared to be in his thirtieth summer, rather than in his early 20's like Safar. He still had that cunning look in his eyes, a cunning he'd had develop at an early age to survive family wars. But Safar could see there was no malice, no cruelty.
Somehow Iraj had drawn on the mantle of a conqueror, had been the cause of much bloodshed, yet seemed untouched by it.
It made Safar, who was wary and secretive at heart, warier still.
Iraj still had the look of a great dreamer. There was an innocence about himthe innocence of all dreamers. That was what confounded Safar the most. How could Iraj appear so innocent, yet move through scenes of such awful crueltywhich he'd orderedwith his innocence intact?
He glanced at Iraj, once again noting his remarkable resemblance to Alisarrian.
For the first time Safar truly understood the enigma Gubadan had unknowingly posed when he'd asked his favorite rhetorical question: Who was this man, Alisarrian? A monster as his enemies claimed? Or a blessing from the gods?'
Safar wondered if he'd ever learn the answer.
He put confusion aside. His first duty was to Methydia and his friends. After that he'd try his best to keep his promise to Methydia and see what he could do to ease the suffering of the people of Sampitay.
Beyond those two immediate goals was a chasm, deep and wide. Fate seemed to be driving him toward the brink of that chasm.
And there was nothing he could do about it.
After Safar had bathed, changed into fresh clothes and heard a promising first report regarding Methydia's health, he was summoned to Iraj's private quarters.
Other than its size and placement, there was nothing to mark Iraj's tent as the dwelling place of a king. It sat in the center of scores of similar tents, all made of a plain, sturdy material. The hillside encampment was a bustle of uniformed officers and clerks and scribes in drab civilian garb. Safar later learned Iraj conducted all of his business from tents like thesea kind of traveling court, moving from one battlefield to the next. Iraj ruled a vast new kingdomranging from The God's Divide to the most distant wildernesswhile on the road.
The furnishings in Iraj's tent palace were spare and utilitarian. Chests were used as tables, saddles were mounted on posts to make chairs. A plain portable thronewith Iraj's banner hanging over itsat on a raised platform against the far wall. When Safar entered the throne was empty. The two aides assigned to him ushered him past officers and sergeants who were bent over maps, or absorbed in reports.
Heavy curtains blocked off one large section of the tent and as Safar approached he caught the scent of perfume. Surprised as he was by this oddity in a place of such military bearing, he was even more amazed when the curtain parted and two young women dressed like soldiers stepped out. Although they were both remarkably beautiful, they had eyes as fierce as the weapons belted about their slender waists.
Without a word they searched him for weapons. It was an odd sensation being handled so intimately by such beauteous, deadly women.
When they were satisfied they escorted him into the room. In the center, wine cup in hand and lolling on soft pillows, was Irajsurrounded by a dozen other women warriors.
'Safar, he called out, come join me. It's been a long time since we've had a drink together.'
He clapped his hands and women rushed about to fetch food and drink while others plumped up pillows to make Safar comfortable.
It was all very bizarre being waited on by these mailed, perfumed handmaids and Iraj chortled at Safar's bewildered expression.
'What do you think of my royal guard? he asked.
Safar shook his head. I'm not sure whether I'm supposed to fight them or make love to them, he joked.
'I've often wondered that myself, Iraj said, smiling. Sometimes we do both just to keep the nights interesting.'
The women laughed at the king's jest and their eyes and actions were so adoring there was no mistaking their pleasure was genuine.
'You of all people know my weakness for women, Iraj said.
Safar grinned. Very well.'
'Then you will admire my military solution to that weakness, Iraj said. Instead of a baggage train of courtesans and their belongings to slow me down, I've hand-picked a platoon of beautiful women to make up my royal guard. They are all highly-skilled fightersI saw to their training myself, and let me tell you there is not an assassin in existence who could get by them. And they are marvelous bedmates as wellalso due to my personal training.'
Safar laughed. It's a hard job being king, he said. But I suppose someone has to do it. He toasted Iraj with the goblet that had been thrust into his hand. Here's to royal sacrifice.'
Iraj roared enjoyment at this. He banged his goblet against Safar'swine sloshing over the brimthen drained what remained in the cup.
He pulled one of the women onto his lap, nuzzling her. Tell me, Leiria, he said to the woman, what do you think of my friend, Safar? Isn't he all that I described?'
Leiria gave Safar a sloe-eyed look, guaranteed to light a fire in any manany man but Safar, that is, whose complete attention was fixed on the situation.
'And more, Majesty, Leiria answered, smoldering gaze still fixed on Safar. Except you didn't say he was so
