bridge was coming from the opposite direction.
But the spymaster wasn't here for humor and certainly not to admire Iraj's brilliance. He smiled to himself as one of the scouts saw him and made a signal unnoticed by the others. Very good, Kalasariz thought, nodding to acknowledge his spy. Then he signaled back. They'd meet in an hour at the usual place.
One and a half turns of the glass later he was back in his tent examining an object under his brightest lamp. Gleaming up at him was the small figurine of a black horse, so beautifully wrought that it could only have been produced by a master potter. He turned it over and made out the name sketched in the hard-fired clay.
'Palimak,' he read. The spymaster's eyes glittered. It was from the boy-the half-breed Iraj was hunting along with Safar.
The figurine was not only beautifully fashioned and fired, but it buzzed with gentle sorcery, as if it were meant to be a magical pet. The child was obviously some sort of prodigy. Not only in magic, but in the arts as well.
What great luck, Kalasariz thought. Somehow the boy had lost a prized, personal treasure. One he'd made himself, so it would be of incredible value to Fari and his wizards. It was a direct magical link to Palimak-and where the boy was, Safar would be nearby.
I'll present it to the king myself, Kalasariz thought. I'll wait a day or two and pretend I found it abandoned on the road. Which is where the scout said he'd found it. He said it was lying next to a broken keg of honey and the whole ground was so swarming with ants he'd almost missed it. Kalasariz would tell the same tale, but with himself as the hero. It wouldn't solve his problems with Old Sheesan, but it would put him in such favor with Protarus that her advantage would be slightly lessened.
In Kalasariz' world slight was a great victory. Slight could be made into a gap and the gap could be widened into a ravine. Slight had won many battles for him in the past and in crucial moments when his life had been at stake, slight advantages had saved his neck.
He was about to send a messenger to the king to beg an audience when a second thought crept in.
Kalasariz always heeded such things, placing second thoughts above even slight advantages as plums to his trade. Second thoughts kept you wary, second thoughts gave you special insights, second thoughts kept you alive when all else failed.
What if there were some trick to this? What if Safar Timura's mind was behind the crafting of this magnificent creation? That made more sense. Lord Timura was a master potter as well as a wizard, after all. The more he thought about it, the more this scenario seemed likely. Even a child was unlikely to lose such a beautiful magical toy. He'd keep it close to him always, checking for it when he went to sleep, looking for it first thing when he awoke and patting his pockets wherever he went to make certain it was still there.
If this were a trick he could be ruined. However, if it wasn't and he didn't present it to the king opportunity might be lost. Never mind that if the king found out he'd withheld any kind of a clue, ruin would be the most pleasant thing that would happen to Kalasariz. Yes, he'd bless the possibility of mere ruin from his chains and beg to be lifted to such a high plane as the king's torturers worked on him.
They wouldn't kill him. He was bonded to Protarus by the Spell of Four so they couldn't make away with him or the king would suffer as well. As would Fari and Luka. But they could keep him barely alive.
Keep him imprisoned in perpetual pain with one of Fari's spells.
Then the solution came. Old Sheesan! Ever since the night he'd seen her reveal her true self to Protarus, he'd pondered how to regain the upper hand. After the initial shock, his old confidence had returned.
A wily master of setting plots within plots, Kalasariz had never met his match in sheer cunning. Well, Safar Timura, possibly. But he didn't like to dwell on that. But this woman-this witch-was not Safar Timura. He didn't care how much magic she possessed. Kalasariz had something better-a mind full of so many tricks and turns that he could confound mere magic and run her as easily as he ran all his spies.
He sent a messenger to the witch, politely begging her attendance.
A few minutes later she joined him in his quarters to examine the figurine. She turned it about in her hands, feeling every inch of it, blind face furrowing in concentration.
Finally her brow cleared. 'It's jus' as yer guessed, me lord. Made by the boy, Palimak, himself.' She rubbed scratched letters on the belly. 'Don't need to see the name to know it's his work.' She tapped her nose. 'I can smell him, I can.'
'And it's of some use to you, I hope?' Kalasariz asked.
She cackled. 'Sure it is,' she said. 'All kinds of spells to get at a body if yer gots somethin' real personal of his. Shrivel his head or his parts, assumin' he's old enough to have parts, that is.'
'Excellent, excellent,' Kalasariz said.
He took the figurine from her, pulling slightly to make the greedy old thing give it up. Blank as she kept her face, the spymaster had long experience in reading hidden things so he could tell she was seething with jealousy.
Good. Now for the next part.
Kalasariz wrapped the clay figurine in a piece of silk, then, to the witch's immense amazement, he put it back into her hands.
'Perhaps you wouldn't mind delivering it to the king,' he said. 'I'd consider it a personal favor if you would.'
Old Sheesan was instantly suspicious, just as he knew she'd be. 'Why the likes of me?' she asked. 'Why not take it to him yerself. Yer deserves the credit fer findin' it.'
'Actually,' Kalasariz said, 'much as I'd like to be involved I can't. I came by it by means I wouldn't want to get around.'
''Specially the king, right?' the witch said, knowing he was talking about revealing the extent of his network of spies.
Kalasariz laughed, wagging a finger at the witch. 'It's not nice to pry in other people's business,' he said.
'But you did get the general idea of my problem.'
Her suspicions satisfied, the witch made the figurine vanish into her raggedy cloak.
'I'll see he gets it, I will,' the witch said. 'And thanks fer thinkin' of Old Sheesan, me lord. Yer've made a better friend than yer know.'
'That was uppermost in my mind, Madam,' the spymaster replied. 'Uppermost.'
Old Sheesan made a remarkable transformation when she entered Iraj's tent an hour later. Instead of a cackling hag, she was once again the beautiful, sensuous woman Kalasariz had seen in the forest. And just as before her blindness was miraculously 'cured.'
She curled up against the king, purring like a sleek cat. When he fumbled for her she laughed a musical laugh and drew away.
'Wait,' she said in a most melodic voice. 'I have a surprise for you.'
'A surprise?' Iraj asked, vastly pleased. Kings and queens are like children when it comes to gifts. 'What is it?'
She handed him the cloth package containing the horse figurine. 'Oh, just a little thing I found on the road,' she said lightly. But her eyes, which were a deep shade of violet, danced with excitement.
Iraj unwrapped the package. He reacted strongly when the fantastic miniature of the black horse was revealed.
'What's this?' he said, trembling with excitement. 'Is it from the boy?'
'Turn it over and see for yourself,' the beautiful witch said.
Iraj flipped the horse upside down. He immediately saw the clumsily scratched letters.
He spelled them out. 'P-A-L–I-M-A-K.' Iraj grinned, wolfish teeth gleaming.
'Palimak!' he said aloud.
Safar and Leiria were once again hidden on the hill overlooking the bridge. They'd been bitterly disappointed Iraj had foiled their plan so easily and now they were frantically wracking their brains for some other means to stop him.
'This is the only place for miles where we can do any good,' Leiria said, not bothering to whisper.
Although Iraj's army was at rest, there was so much activity going on no one could hear them. Off in the
