Safar's arrow flashed toward that face and Leiria had a jolt of pleasure when she saw Fari's yellow jaws widen with fear.
Then, crack! as the arrow struck. Flame running all around the walls. And then they were nothing but blank stone again. Leiria saw a spot of blood where Fari's face had been and prayed that Safar had done heavy damage.
On the platform Safar took his time as he fitted the fourth arrow into his bow. Iraj would be next, he thought. But from which direction would he strike … and in what manner?
The answer came in a great shout from above: 'Safar!'
It was Iraj's voice and Safar's head shot up and he saw the face of the Demon Moon suddenly split down the middle and yawn open like a gigantic mouth. A ghostly cavalry charged out of that mouth, lead by a mighty warrior in golden armor.
It was Iraj.
And he shouted a challenge-'Safar!'
Iraj yanked back on his horse's reins and the huge ghost animal reared up, pawing the night, sparks shooting from its hooves.
Then horse and rider plunged down toward the fort, a horrid cavalry of demon riders sweeping after them.
Safar fired and the arrow arced toward Iraj. It exploded just in front of him and there was a blinding flash as magic collided with magic.
Iraj paused, but only for an instant. Then he and his demon riders continued their charge.
In the fort the crowd shrieked in terror. But Safar paid no attention to their panic. As calmly as he could he swept up his final bolt. As Iraj and his spectral army closed in he whispered the spell that brought the arrow into fiery life.
He drew back, aiming for Iraj, then at the last moment he swiveled and fired the bolt into the dry mass of wood encircling the platform.
The oil-soaked fuel ignited with an enormous blast that nearly hurled Safar off the platform into the roaring flames. He teetered on the edge, but recovered his balance just in time.
The soles of his feet prickled with the intense heat and his scalp hair bristled like so many hot needles. He smelled scorched cloth and knew it came from his own robes. They smoldered at the hems and sleeves and the smoke curled up to bite his eyes.
But now it was Safar's turn to laugh. He saw flame tongues leap across the arena, shooting along the paths of wood he'd laid out, leaping from place to place until the entire arena seemed to be engulfed-with Safar and the blazing platform at its center. The whole mass finally combusted into a blazing pentagram of magical flame that smashed upward like a massive shield.
It caught Iraj and his cavalry in midstride, lifting them up and up, hurling them back at the Demon Moon.
A clap of thunder, then the sky turned white. The white shattered and became snowflakes that drifted down and down until they struck the pentagram shield blazing over the arena and flashed out of existence.
The sky was empty and there was a momentary quiet as the crowd sagged in relief. Then the air was rent with cheers as the Kyranians congratulated themselves and Safar for turning back such a deadly force.
Safar shouted to them, his voice thundering across the arena. 'It isn't over yet!' The cheers vanished, swallowed by this bad news. 'Iraj will be back,' Safar warned. 'But we'll be ready for him, my friends!
We'll be ready!'
Then he shouted orders and a select group, Renor among them, sprang into action. They ran to the spare piles of brush and fed them into the flames. The fiery pentagram took on new life, soaring brighter and higher, forming a sparkling shield above the fort..
Iraj came again. As did Kalasariz and Luka and Fari. But each time the flaming pentagram hurled them back. Safar shouted orders until he was hoarse, urging his fellow villagers to feed the fires, whipping them past exhaustion while hour piled on hour and still the attacks were unrelenting.
Many horrors were lived that night. Many threats were posed, many ghosts were roused, but somehow Safar and the villagers managed to turn them back. They burned all the gathered wood, then broke up the carts and ripped off their clothes to feed them into the magical fires.
They were exhausted when dawn finally came and the attacks ended. The pentagram was nothing more than an ugly black smudge with foul smelling heaps smoking and sputtering in the morning's wet chill.
People shuddered with relief and collapsed to the ground. There were no choruses of self- congratulation.
The enemy had been defeated, yes. But all knew the defeat was temporary. Iraj would return, but now he'd be backed by a real army, not specters in the sky.
Safar slumped on the platform and looked around at all the spiritless people. It was as if they had been the losers, instead of Iraj. Even so, he had to rouse them, enthuse them, convince them that all was not lost. Then somehow he had to prepare them for a challenge far more daunting than Protarus and his army of demons and wizards and human savages. To do this he would have lie to them, manipulate them, then keep on lying and manipulating until either the goal was achieved or they were all dead.
Suddenly the whole thing seemed hopeless. His people's weary despair had infected Safar and now his plan seemed foolish, impossible in the extreme.
A voice cut through, 'We haven't much time, Safar.'
He looked up. Leiria was standing there, a sleeping Palimak in her arms. Her eyes were red from the smoke, her armor blackened. But her back was straight, shoulders square, and there was a gleam of determination in her tired eyes.
She nodded at the slumbering Kyranians. 'We have to get them up and going,' she said, gently lowering Palimak to the platform. There he curled up to sleep on, the stone turtle clutched between grimy paws.
'We have maybe two days at the most,' she continued, 'before Iraj shows up with his whole damned army.'
'I know that,' Safar said, a little sharp.
Leiria snorted. 'Good for you,' she said. 'Now, would you mind enlightening me about what we're supposed to do next? All you've said is that somehow we're going to make an entire village of over a thousand people disappear.' She chuckled. 'I know you are a wizard above all wizards, Safar Timura, but that's magic I'm going to have to see to believe.'
As she spoke, Leiria returned the Book of Asper. The sight of the book and the buzz of sorcery when he put it away firmed his resolve. A greater tonic, as always, was Leiria's presence. Her attitude had always been, show me the mountain and we'll both figure out how to climb it together.
Safar slipped Coralean's maps from his belt. 'Actually, there's no magic to it,' he said, unrolling the maps.
'Well, not much, anyway. It's more of a trick, really. Sleight of hand, except with two thousand hands.'
'That's still one hells of a trick,' Leiria said.
'Not when you consider that Iraj will be dragging along of tens of thousands of soldiers,' Safar said, 'plus baggage trains that'll stretch from one horizon to the next.'
He showed her one of the maps. 'Look here,' he said, tracing a finger north from the Gods' Divide to the Great Sea. 'There are so many canyons and hills and secret roads and trails between Kyrania to the Port of Caspan we could hide a small city of people, much less a village.'
Leiria studied the map, eyes narrowed. Then she nodded. 'It could be done,' she said. Leiria glanced over at all the people collapsed on the ground. 'But I don't know if it can be done by them! They've lived in one place all their lives. They know nothing about life on the road, much less life on the road with the dogs of war on your heels.'
'We can teach them,' Safar said. 'If you're still willing to help me, that is. A sensible person would laugh in my face and walk away with her skin still safe on her bones.'
'I told you before, Safar,' Leiria said. 'That I'm with you. No matter what. So we've got two thousand miles or more between us and the sea. So there's who knows how many hundreds of sea miles more to go to reach Syrapis. And us not knowing if there'll even be ships to hire in Caspan to take us there.'
