Fari was the first to speak. Not at all, Your Majesty, he said.
Stiffly and with much joint cracking he lowered his aged bulk to its knees.
'Long live King Luka! he cried.
The generals followed his lead, dropping to the ground and abasing themselves and shouting, Long Live King Luka!'
Luka peered at his father's head, eyes open and staring.
'What's wrong, father? he asked. You're not laughing!'
Some weeks later Iraj crossed the Forbidden Desert, leading a grand victory procession down the road to Zanzair.
Kalasariz had carried Luka's surrender terms to Protarus and acted as a go-between in the ensuing discussions. The demon army was broken up into small groups and sent home. Luka offered himself as hostage, sending Fari back to ZanzairManacia's head stored in iceto arrange for Iraj's arrival.
To Safar's displeasure Kalasariz was rewarded with much gold and a high position on Iraj's staff. Safar advised his king against it, but Iraj had brushed off his advice, saying there was always a desperate need for good spies.
At last the day arrived when the gates of Zanzair came into view.
They were marching along a misty highway, banners fluttering, drums rapping time.
Iraj rode Manacia's great war elephant, Safar at his side. A large flag made of fine Sampitay silk hung from the howdah. On it was the Crest of The Conqueror, the red Demon Moon and silver comet.
But it was no longer Alisarrian's flag. Iraj had claimed it as his own.
In a week an elaborate ceremony would be staged in Manacia's former palace. Dignitaries, both human and demon, would crowd the grand throneroom and humble themselves before Protarus.
There he would be declared King of Kings, supreme monarch of all Esmir.
The breeze stiffened and Safar saw the mist lift. Directly ahead were the gates of Zanzair.
'Look! Iraj said, excited as a child. We're almost there.'
Hanging from a post above the gates was Manacia's gory head.
The gates swung open and an enormous crowd of demons poured out to hail their new king. Iraj waved a mailed hand in return.
The demon cries became wilder, chanting: Protarus! Protarus! Protarus!'
Iraj turned to Safar, a broad smile on his face.
'My friend, he said. I owe all this to you.'
Then the smile became a loud laugh of surprise.
'I said that in the vision, didn't I? he reminded Safar.
'Or something close enough to it, Safar answered.
Iraj clapped him on the back. And it's all come true, he said. Everything you predicted.'
Safar smiled. I suppose it has, he said.
But the smile hid gnawing worry. His vision had carried him to the gates of Zanzair, but no farther.
And now all he could think was… What happens next?
PART FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY
She was a rare woman. She had beauty, she had wealth, she had power.
She was also a woman of mystery, which in the time of the Demon Moon made her the rarest of women among men.
Her crestthe sign of the House of Fatinahwas a silver dagger and there was much talk of how it had come to be.
Some said it had been the crest of her late, unlamented husband, Lord Fatinah, a merchant among merchants so smitten by his young wife he'd left her his fortune. The Lady Fatinah, it was said, hastened her husband's departure from this world with his own dagger, which was made of silver. That the woman wore rich gowns all of mourning black and bearing the silver dagger crest added credence to this story.
Others speculated she'd once been the favorite courtesan of a king, perhaps even Protarus himself. In this version she'd come up the loser in a harem war and was driven out, but with many chests of gold and rare stones to speed her departure. Some said she'd slain her rival with a silver dagger, but the death caused such a scandal she was banished from the harem. Once again the tale of the aging Lord Fatinah came into play. Rumor mongers said the marriage was arranged to sidestep the scandal. They also said Lord Fatinah died before the marriage was consummated. Again, the dying nobleman had been so enamored of his beauteous wife that he'd bequeathed her all his worldly goods.
The curious throngs of Zanzair, with nearly as many humans as demons among them, babbled those tales and others when she passed by in her carriage, with the silver daggers emblazoned on each door.
The Lady Fatinah had demon outriders to push the throngs back and a human driver to hurry the matched black team of horses along. A burly demon guard sat next to the driver, sweeping the crowd with his ever watchful eyes.
Inside, Lady Fatinah's representative to Zanzair gushed on about all the arrangements he'd made in anticipation of her visit.
'You will see with your own eyes, My Lady, the man said, that you chose wisely when you picked Abubensu to tend to your business in Zanzair.'
He gestured out the window. They were traveling through the bazaar, an exotic scene of demons and humans haggling with stall keepers, or munching strange delights from the food carts; of families strolling along, purchases in hand, trailing human children and demon kits in their wake.
'Zanzair is surely the most marvelous city in the whole history of Esmir, Abubensu said. Since our beloved king, Iraj Protarus, made it the center of his empire seven years ago, beings of every variety have flocked here, hoping against hope they can clutch the king's cloak and fly away with him to prosperity.'
He raised a cautioning finger. But Zanzair is also a most dangerous place, My Lady, he said. Some who came were honest business folk, like myself. But many were thieves, both of the common and noble-born variety.
'And the intrigue! He shuddered. I can tell you stories about the intrigue and disgraceful goings on at the Royal Court that would set your teeth on edge.'
'I'm sure you can, Lady Fatinah said smoothly. And I'd be delighted to listen to your delicious tales at another time. But I hope you understand I have other things on my mind just now. Such as the living arrangements.'
Abubensu beamed. What a genteel and soft-worded employer he had. Quite unlike a woman who'd supposedly killed her husband. And so beautiful! Abubensu had never been this close to such a woman. She filled her expensive black gown quite pleasingly. Her lips were full, dark eyes sparkling with what he dared dream was promise.
'You'll love the house I've found for you, My Lady, he said. It sits on a hill, quite by itself. The night view of Zanzair is simply overwhelming. Especially the view of Protarus palace. It's solid gold, you know, and when all the lights are turned on and the fountains are at play, why you would think it was the heavenly palace of a god.'
'The view sounds most pleasant, Lady Fatinah said, wiping the chin of her childa boy whose age was just past suckling and just short of speech. His name was Palimak, the Walarian word for promise.