Safar's orders, however, had been quite plain. If he failed-and all was lost-she and the two Favorites were to carry Palimak to safety. The child, he said, must survive at all costs. He'd entrusted her with one other thing, nearly as precious, he said.
Leiria patted her breast pocket. Inside was a small book, the Book of Asper. She was to keep that safe as well.
'Give it to the boy when he's old enough,' Safar had said. 'He'll know what to do once he's read it.'
Just then, Safar made a gesture and green flame and smoke burst from the earth. The crowd went silent.
Not a child cried, or a goat bawled. And when next Safar spoke his voice rang out like a great temple bell.
Leiria leaned forward, swept up like the rest.
'Gentle people,' Safar said, 'the moment is upon us, so listen to me closely. You will need courage and boldness this night, but you will also need your good common sense. No one here has had experience in magical battle, but I can assure you it isn't much different than the ordinary kind. There'll be lots of noise, smoke and confusion. The trick is to concentrate on your duties, whether it's to help me or assist a child or sick family member. Pay no attention to anything else and we'll be just fine when this is all over.'
Safar saw all the wise nods his remarks drew, but he also saw the glazed, wide-eyed look in them that comes from facing a nightmare. He wondered if any of them really understood what he was saying. Hells, he wondered if they were even capable of hearing what he had to say.
As he struggled for words to break through their fear Iraj launched the first attack.
CHAPTER NINE
He was only a boy, too young to be alone in the mountains and he came out of the night crying, 'Help me, Renor! Help me!'
The boy was a ghostly figure whose plaintive cry cut into every human heart gathered in the fort. His father collapsed, his mother shrieked and his brother shouted, 'Tio! Tio!'
Kalasariz laughed as he manipulated little Tio's ghost. He put all the pain he could into its voice as it cried,
'Help, me, please! Help me!'
He fed on the crowd's hysteria, straining to conjure up more ghosts. Kalasariz was new to shape-changer's magic and he found it difficult to concentrate.
Then Renor ran to the top of the fort's walls and clawed at the sky, weeping and flailing at nothingness in his effort to help his brother.
Kalasariz laughed again and made stronger magic.
Nine other ghosts faded into being.
They were the slain Kyranian sentries, with Rossthom at the their head, pleading with all their families and friends, 'Help me, please help me!'
Now the crowd in the fort went from hysteria to blind madness. To Kalasariz' delight they rushed the walls wailing comforts to the dead.
The spy master's blood boiled with delight. As he liked to tell Luka and Fari-his demon rivals for influence over Protarus-native intelligence was more important than magical prowess. Even with his lesser magic, he could accomplish much by simply knowing his target's weaknesses.
He gloried at the agony he'd caused, drawing in more power from that pain and adding other little touches to his handiwork, like a bloody scar on Tio's face and a gory stump on Rossthom's right arm where a hand used to be.
Kalasariz struggled mightily and gave them all a voice, crying, 'Help me! Help me!'
He basked in the misery, his black spirit wallowing in it-sinking and rising then sinking again in the heady musk.
And then he heard a voice shout, 'Kalasariz!'
His spirit head jerked down, looking from sky to ground for the source of the shout-spectral eyes honing in like an eagle owl hunting a squeaking rodent. When he found the source of the squeak he would blast it from existence. But instead of a puny creature his eyes fell on a tall man with fiery blue eyes that cut across the great distance to sear his heart.
It was Safar, posing on a stone platform in the classic frieze of a bowman, heavy weapon bent tip to tip, string making a high-pitched whine as the flaming arrow leaped from the bow.
Kalasariz loosed his own killing bolt, but the fiery arrow speeding toward him made him jerk, spoiling his aim, and he desperately flung himself to the side.
In the fort Safar heard the boom! of his arrow exploding, heard Kalasariz wail, then swiveled, grabbing up another arrow as his eyes swept the skies for his next target.
Behind him, a huge gray wolf leaped onto the walls. The creature's claws gripped the rough stone and there was a flash as the wolf transmuted himself into demon form.
It was Prince Luka, eyes aglow, fangs bared, sword lifted high. Although people screamed warnings it was almost too late for Safar, who whirled, falling and firing at the same time. A tongue of flame arced from Luka's sword, but Safar's own arrow exploded simultaneously. He heard Luka shriek then felt pain sear his own back as the prince's bolt blasted close overhead.
He came to his feet with difficulty, stifling a groan as he picked up his third arrow and fixed it into his bowstring.
Lord Fari watched Safar shuffle in a clumsy circle, pain-dulled eyes searching for the next point of attack.
But the canny old demon wasn't so foolish that he'd mistake his enemy's stumbling show for real weakness. Safar was hurt, yes, he could see that. But how badly? Long ago, when Safar was the prize jewel in Iraj Protarus' crown, Fari had noted Safar's talent at showmanship. It was a thing that Fari, who was a purist when it came to sorcery, particularly disliked in him. Still, he had grudging admiration for the way Safar used his magical theatrics to convince the entire royal court, demon and human alike, that he was a most powerful wizard truly deserving of the title Grand Wazier.
So Fari assumed that much of Safar's present difficulty was a sham to draw him out.
Instead of leaping onto the walls of the fort, Fari crept up on them. He put his spirit self into its demon presence and scrambled to the high point at the ruined gate. Then he made his spell, chuckling at his cleverness as he did so.
Even Leiria, who had seen all the terrible things a soldier could see, was shaken by what happened next.
The stone walls of the fort came suddenly and horribly alive as the rubble was transformed into small mountains of gore that moved and squirmed and streamed torrents of blood. People screamed and fled this way and that, bouncing from one horror to the other. Then pustules of gore bloomed on the walls and each pustule became a face and each face was a Tio or a Rossthom or any of the other slain sentries.
But this time instead of begging for help, the ghosts snapped at their friends with long teeth and spewed obscenities.
Leiria gathered up a struggling Palimak and was preparing to flee when Safar fired his arrow.
Automatically her eyes followed its fiery flight and she saw it was hurtling toward the north corner of the wall. There were dozens of human faces there, shouting filth or begging for assistance.
Then she saw the target and the moment became quite still. Just below center, between two faces that were both Tio's, she saw Lord Fari. The demon was scowling with concentration, putting all his clever old ways into the apparition that was the wall of blood.
