Wolves of the Gods

'What a puny,' Gundara scorned. 'Tired out from a little cloud squeezing.'

Gundaree slapped his forehead in exasperation. 'Why must you always contradict me?'

'I don't,' Gundara said.

'Yes you do.'

'No I don't.'

'You're contradicting me now.'

'That's because you're stupid, stupid!'

'What about this?' Palimak broke in. 'If I get some bread and cheese for you, Gundaree. And some honeyed figs for you, Gundara. And you ate them all up. Why, you probably wouldn't be tired anymore, right? And we could keep on making it rain.'

Both Favorites were delighted at this solution.

'I must say, Little Master,' Gundaree commented, 'you do have the makings of a most remarkable diplomat.'

Palimak frowned. 'What's a diplomat?'

'I'm not sure,' Gundara said. 'But I think it has something to do with always having lots of nice treats for your Favorites.'

Palimak snorted. 'That's ridiculous. Who'd make up a word to mean something like that?'

'Some very wise men, Little Master,' Gundaree said. Then, to Gundara, 'Amazing how sensible you can be sometimes, brother dear.'

'Oh, shut up!'

The guard aimed his crossbow straight into Safar's face. He fingered the trigger that would send the bolt crashing forward. 'Don't try anythin' funny,' he said, 'or I'll put this right between your eyes!'

Safar rattled his chains and laughed. 'What am I supposed to try?' he said. 'You've got me shackled, manacled and chained to my bench.' He indicated the others in the cell. 'Plus, I'm surrounded by six crossbowmen who have been commanded never to leave my side.'

The guard beetled his forehead, looked at Safar who was weighed down with twenty pounds of chain, then at his companions who were all relaxing on barrels that had been dragged into the cell for makeshift seats. They were grinning at him, amused.

'Jus' remember what I said,' he growled. But he lowered the bow.

'Yer better watch out, Tarz,' one of the men teased. 'He might bust outta all them chains and kiss yer!'

'Aw, stuff a dirty loincloth in it,' Tarz shot back. 'He's a wizard, ain't he? Wizards can … well, you know, do stuff.' He thought. Then, 'Real bad stuff, too.' He nodded, firm.

'If I really were a wizard,' Safar said, 'why would I be here in chains? Why would I allow myself to be captured?'

Tarz shrugged. 'How the hells do I know?' he said. 'Maybe yers messed up. Made a mistake, like.

Makes no never mind to th' likes of me.'

Safar had no answer for this. The man, dumb oxen that he was, had hit the nail squarely. Safar had

'messed up' as the man said. And at the present time there was nothing he could do about his dilemma.

Outside thunder crashed and rain drummed against the steel roof of the cell compound. Thank the gods for the rain, Safar thought. Or else he'd already be on the road to wherever Iraj was camped. Then he smiled to himself. Thank the gods, indeed! And here he was a man who firmly believed the gods were all asleep and paying no attention to human affairs. It was enough shake a man's faith in his disbelief.

He glanced at Tarz and the other men who perched on their barrels quietly talking among themselves.

Very well, he thought, however he'd come by whatever time the storm provided, he'd best start putting it to some good use.

Safar examined his surroundings. His cell was one of twenty contained in a single story stone building with a steel roof and heavy bars on all the windows and doors. The whole building had been emptied of prisoners, mostly rowdies arrested during the festival. The six guards normally assigned to oversee the compound were now gathered in Safar's cell to provide air-tight security.

He shifted, sneaking looks at the heavy padlocks on his chains. Those he could open. As for the rest, they probably wouldn't be that difficult once he was free of the chains. If he started gesturing and muttering spells he'd have six crossbow bolts in him at the blink of an eye.

Then he felt the amulet grow warm on his chest and he thought of the fantastic stallion who was destined to be sacrificed when the rain stopped. He had absolutely no doubt now that the horse was the reason Asper had sent him to Naadan. He had to act quickly, or all would be lost. All I need, he thought, is some small advantage. A means to divert their attention so I can cast a spell. It wouldn't take much for one man. But six!

He felt a tickle on the back of his hand and he looked down to see a mosquito getting ready to drill.

Safar was about to brush it away, then realized the sudden clatter of chains might accidentally get him drilled by something much worse than a mosquito's beak.

Then necessity wed inspiration and he quickly made a fist, trapping the mosquito in the tightened skin. He closed his eyes, pretending to sleep, but instead he was focusing inward, making his mind slender and sharp like the mosquito's beak. He pierced an artery and went snaking along through his own blood stream suddenly filled with the knowledge of all the loops and turns so he was ready when he shot into the heart, felt the immense pressure of contraction, then was released and hurled onward. He raced to the place where the mosquito's beak came through and then he released his fist and let the insect draw his spirit self up along with the blood.

His world became a place of powerful odors and strange lights and images, but somehow it all made sense when he realized he'd become the mosquito. And he wasn't a he, but a She! And this she was ravenous. She could smell the hot blood all around and it was driving her mad with hunger. Safar tightened control and gave her a mission first. A mission that had to be accomplished before she could feed.

The mosquito buzzed through the cell bars, vertical massifs from her point of view, gleaming with oily moisture. She called to her sisters, a high pitched whine of a song. A song of a place of plenty, where the prey was huge and slow and clumsy. And full of hot blood, rivers of it, torrents of it, floods of the stuff of life.

They came to her, lifting up from stagnant pools in the nooks and crannies of the cell house. First by the scores, then by the hundreds. Her song grew louder, clearer, and the little mosquito larvae in those pools burst wings and legs through skin and became full grown adults who joined their sisters by the thousands.

She led them all to the cell, a swarm so thick with flying insect life that it looked like a black wall moving along the corridor. They were all singing together now, singing the blood song and the sound of them all was a shrill skin-crawling wail.

At that moment Safar snatched his spirit self back and he became fully aware, eyes opening just as the guards were turning to see what was happening. He made a quick warding spell as the hungry black cloud swarmed into the room and attacked. The men slapped at themselves, cursing. Then the slaps became frantic and the curses wild. More mosquitoes poured in, all ignoring Safar and going for the guards. They were rolling on the floor in agony now, or curling up into balls of pain.

Safar came to his feet, chains rattling in odd counterpoint to the mosquitoes' song. He made a simple spell, then clapped his hands together, shouting, 'Sleep!'

The guards all sagged, unconscious. The black cloud of insects settled onto them, covering them like a blanket. But this blanket was alive and ravenous, draining them of their blood.

Safar took pity on them. He quickly whispered an unlocking spell and the chains fell away and the cell door clacked open. Then he snatched a torch from its bracket, whirled it around his head until it was sparking and shouted, 'Begone!'

He hurled the torch to the floor, white smoke exploded upward and outward, filling the cell with a harsh, oily odor. Then the smoke cleared away and all the insects had vanished. The guards were sprawled out on the floor in whatever position the sleep spell had caught them.

Safar smiled at them. 'Pleasant dreams,' he said and slipped out into the corridor.

He went to the main door, barred inside and out for extra security, and peered through the peephole. It was night and the rain was so heavy he couldn't make out the guard post at the main gate. When he'd entered the compound he'd seen a dozen soldiers led by a lieutenant. He'd assumed they were to secure the outside of the small prison in case someone tried to rescue him. At the moment, Safar guessed, those soldiers would be huddling