or jugglers, for goodness sakes.'
'We do not like to perspire,' Gundara sniffed. 'Call it a fault, if you like, but we were made for royalty and perspiration and royalty don't go together at all.'
'But you like to eat, right?' Palimak asked, rummaging around in his blankets.
Both Favorites eyed his fumbling, then licked their lips as the boy drew out a greasy sack of treats, saying they certainly did like to eat.
'Here's the deal,' Palimak said, shaking the sack. Both Favorites slavered at the smell of good things wafting out. 'I'll trade you a treat for every trick you teach me. All right?'
Gundaree and Gundara made enthusiastic noises of agreement and before very long they were stuffing their mouths, while stuffing Palimak's brains.
He worked them hard and he worked them late and before they were done both Favorites were fat, full and happily perspiring.
Palimak was so absorbed he didn't sense the dark figure that crept close to his tent to listen. Gundara and Gundaree noticed, but there was no danger so they didn't mention it. Especially since the figure was Safar. He stood there for nearly an hour, face a portrait of fatherly pride at the boy's newly discovered circus talents. Arlain and Kairo were right. He was a natural.
Then a light dawned in his eyes and his smile widened. The boy had just given him an idea. An idea that might solve two problems with one blow.
'Step right up, my friends,' Safar shouted. 'Don't be shy. Admission is free today, ladies and gentlemen.
That's right. Free!'
Dressed in the red silk shirt and white pantaloons of a circus barker, Safar was manning the ticket counter, calling out to a crowd of bemused Kyranians. Behind him the circus had been set up in the open, complete with stands surrounding a wide ring, colorful banners blowing in the breeze, and trapeze and wire walking equipment slung from high poles. Half the stands were already full of Safar's fellow villagers, who were being entertained by the clowns. The rest of the Kyranians were either filing through makeshift gates to join the others or crowding around Safar's booth. He was thoroughly enjoying himself in his old role as a ticket seller, delighting at the looks of amazement he was getting from his kinsmen. None of them, even his own family, had ever seen this side of him.
He kept up the patter. 'You heard right, my friends. I said free.'
Safar slapped five coins on the counter. 'Not five coppers, which is our usual price.'
He made a motion and the crowd gasped as one of the coins vanished. 'Not four.' Another motion, another disappearing coin. 'Not three … not two … not even-' He held up the remaining coin-'one clipped copper.' Safar flipped it into the air and to the crowd's amazement it hung there, turning over and over.
Safar gestured and there was a bang! and the coin burst into colorful bits of paper. Everyone jumped at the noise, then applauded as the paper rained down on them.
When the applause faded, Safar jumped back into verbal action. 'In just one hour, friends,' he shouted,
'you will see sights that have dazzled the greatest courts in Esmir. Thrills, chills, and sometimes even spills. A special performance. For Kyranians only. And all for free.'
Safar held up one of Palimak's clay amulets-the Jester hanging from a leather thong. Next to him were several boxes filled with similar amulets.
'And that's not all you get, my friends,' he cried. 'Besides the most exciting performance you have ever witnessed, we have a special gift for each and every one of you.'
He waved the amulet. 'It's the Jester, ladies and gentlemen, lads and lasses. The Laughing God! The slayer of ill humored devils. The Lord of Luck! Prince of Good Fortune! All wrapped up in this lovely, magical amulet, guaranteed to ward off evil spells.'
The Kyranians oohed and aahed at the gift. Scores of people pushed forward, waving their hands, begging Safar to give them an amulet and let them enter.
'No need to crowd, my friends,' Safar shouted as he handed amulets out by the fistful, 'there's plenty for all.'
He stopped a blushing young mother, babe in arms, who was too shy to take more than one. 'Don't rush away, my pretty. You're forgetting the baby. He gets one too.' She gratefully accepted it and sped away to see the show.
Safar kept handing out the amulets, reminding people to put them on so 'the Jester can get to work for you right away. Wasted luck is lost luck, my friends. Remember that!' The Kyranians streamed through the gates, amulets dangling from their necks and found seats in the stands. Soon the whole village was accounted for and Safar rushed away to change costumes.
The first act was about to begin. And he was the star.
Meanwhile-far away, but too close, too close…
Iraj raged against the Black Lands, driving his troops mile after mile until they dropped, exhausted; lifting them again by his will alone to go onward, onward to Caluz, pummeled by nature and magic gone wild.
As they marched the earth heaved under them, splitting and groaning open, eager to swallow whole regiments if they were fool enough to come near. Volcanoes shuddered and burst, tornadoes and sand storms lashed out with no warning. Vicious spells, insane spells, rained from the bleak sky like ash, burning spirit and skin until they thought they could bear no more.
But then Iraj would turn his wrath on Fari and his wizards, demanding countering spells, healing spells, spells that would put heart into his troops again. He worked Fari and the wizards even harder than the soldiers. A warrior by birth and inclination, he empathized with the demons and men who made up his army. Even through the cold view of a shape changer he still bled when they bled, hungered when they hungered. If he'd had any love in him left he would have lavished it on them-human or demon, all brother warriors together.
Wizards were a different matter. A creature of magic, Iraj distrusted all sorcery. A soldier at heart, he thought wizards and war magic were only necessary evils and he was disdainful of the soft-fingered spell makers, be they demon or wizard, who made up Fari's private corps. And that's what it was, a private army within an army, a very dangerous situation for Protarus if he let it go on.
For now he was letting it be, even going so far as to let Fari think he was in supreme favor with the king.
Just as he allowed Kalasariz to believe what he wanted-and Luka the same.
Poor Luka. He thought he was out of favor now, the fool in Iraj's eyes. This was true as only a monarch can make things true, especially king to lesser king where every frown or sneer is an iron bolt to the heart. Soon, however, he would make the prince glad. Lift him high up in the royal favor of King Protarus. But at the moment he needed Fari and his miserable wizards, so it was Fari's turn to smile now, no matter how weary that smile.
Iraj took joy in demanding more from Fari and his sorcerers than he did from his troops. He ground it in, commanding more than they could give, then pushing harder and getting it after all. Spell by strength-draining spell from the wizards, blister by bloody blister from his soldiers, every moan subtracting another inch from his goal.
Even so, Iraj was a commander who led from the front, demanding as much from himself as the others, so no one had reason to complain they were being asked too much.
That night, while Safar was rejoined with his old circus mates, Fari and his sorcerers had cast yet one more spell to shield the army from the ravages of the Black Lands. It was only good for three hours at the most and now Iraj-in full wolf form-was charging across the fiery landscape, leading his army as far as he could before time ran out and they had to regroup to cast another protective spell.
A poisonous yellow fog was clamped upon the land and Iraj could barely see the cratered road before him as he bounded along on all fours. Behind him he could hear the tramp of his army and over that the howls of Fari, Luka and Kalasariz, urging the soldiers to hurry, hurry, hurry!
For Iraj the most agonizing part of the ordeal was knowing that Safar and the Kyranians had passed this way before with seeming ease. Only one of his wagons had been found abandoned on the caravan track, while Iraj's army was losing several a day. Many of the king's animals had also died, or were too sick or injured to go on. Yet not once had they found even a lost goat from the Kyranian caravan.
He couldn't understand how it was possible for Safar to accomplish so much single-handedly and with no
