losses to speak of. Where did he find the will, much less the power?
His spell brothers-Fari, Luka and Kalasariz-had promised their king once Safar and the demon child were captured all their powers would be his. Then he would be not only king of kings, but the most powerful sorcerer in Esmir.
Once, that promise had been what drove him. Capturing Safar and taking his powers had been Iraj's obsession, his burning goal. But not any longer. Not since Sheesan. Now he had an even greater reason to bring Safar to ground. He had the witch's spell that would free him from his spell brothers forever.
Then he could be a true King of Kings. A great emperor unchained from those foul creatures who had tricked him into spell bondage.
It was this new goal-a shining promise-that kept Iraj from falling into despair. But sometimes he couldn't help but wonder-what was it that kept Safar going? What did he see that Iraj didn't see?
And most of all, what did Safar want?
To Iraj, that had always been Safar's greatest mystery. Even when they were boys and fast friends he'd never been able to get Safar to admit his deepest desires. He kept saying he only wanted to remain in Kyrania and be a potter like his father and grandfather. Which had to be a lie, for how could someone as powerful as Safar be satisfied with so little?
Iraj's spell brothers said Safar wanted Iraj's throne. This made a great deal of sense-for what could be a greater goal for one such as Safar Timura?
Yet sometimes Iraj wondered. When his moods were the darkest and most foul he thought, what if they are wrong? What if that's not what Safar wants at all?
And if that were true-what in the hells could he want?
A hot blast of wind swept the yellow fog away. The Demon Moon was at its brightest and the barren landscape leaped up under its harsh red glow. Many miles distant Iraj could see the huge black range where the road ended. Just beyond, his officers and aides all agreed, was Caluz.
Blood suddenly boiling with eagerness to get at his prey, Iraj lifted his wolf's snout to howl. Just then the shield dissolved and the howl was strangled off by the thick yellow fog rushing in again.
Iraj gasped for breath, shifting into human form and rising on two legs. Then the wind shifted and it was easier to draw breath-big, gulping lungsful of the hot, foul substance they called air in the Black Lands.
He heard Fari roaring orders to his mages and turned to see twenty demons in wizard's robes lofting five spell kites into the sky, each so large that it took four strong demons to control them. The wind whipped the kites high into the air, lighting crashing all around them. Electrical fire ran down wires to the ground, where they were attached to large jars with magical symbols painted on them. The jars glowed with every lightning strike, slowly building up the spell charge. When they were 'filled up,' Fari and his wizards would create yet another shield to protect the army for a few more hours.
Iraj tugged at his beard, growing angry at the delay.
Then one of the kites broke free, wrenching groans from the wizards who knew they'd suffer Fari's wrath for the delay the accident would cause.
Iraj watched the kite fly free across the boiling night sky and he had a sudden yearning to fly with it, to sail away to a place where he could shed crown and scepter and become an ordinary man, with ordinary cares and ordinary dreams.
And then the thought struck him-isn't that what Safar had said he'd wanted all along?
Just then a bolt of lightning struck the kite and Iraj was suddenly, unreasonably, gripped in the jaws of despair. He groaned as the kite burst into flames and plummeted toward the earth, coming apart as it fell, shattering into thousands of fiery bits. Before the burning mass hit the ground a blast of wind swept it up again, carrying it high into the sky-like a meteor shower in reverse.
Iraj's hopes soared with it, climbing higher and higher, then pausing to hang just beneath the blood-stained heavens.
There it took on a strange form-a human-like figure with a familiar cap and beaked nose. All sputtering with multi-colored fire.
Then it dawned on him-It was the Jester. The playful god. And the Crown Prince of Luck.
Iraj smiled at the omen, confidence flooding back, making him feel stronger than ever before.
It was a promise, he thought, of things to come.
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
Biner stood in the center ring, resplendent in his dashing ringmaster's costume. 'Ladies and gentlemen,'
he cried. 'Lads and lasses of
The Kyranians were rapt, all wearing huge smiles, clutching their jester amulets and listening closely to Biner's every word.
'This is a special program today,' Biner continued, 'for all our Kyranian friends. So we won't begin the usual way. First off, I want to tell you that our little company has always held Kyrania dear to our hearts.
We had the rare good fortune of meeting one of your sons long ago and heard all about you.' He grinned. 'That young man, by the way, is known to you as Safar Timura. Some might even call him Lord Timura. But when he performed with us he was known far and wide as 'Safar The Magnificent!''
He chortled and the crowd laughed with him, especially Khadji and Myrna and the other members of Safar's family who had front row seats of honor.
'Can you imagine, Myrna,' Khadji whispered. 'Our Safar who was always so clumsy when he was little?'
'That was from your side of the family,' Myrna teased. 'From my side he got 'Magnificent!''
Khadji pretended he didn't hear. 'Quiet, please, Myrna,' he whispered. 'I'm trying to listen.'
He pointed at Biner, who was saying, 'It was a name well deserved, my good people. For as we all know our friend Safar is remarkable in many ways.'
Led by Myrna and Khadji, the crowd made loud noises of agreement. Biner used the diversion to palm a handful of explosive pellets.
'So put your hands together, ladies and gentlemen, lads and lasses, and give warm welcome to the one, the only…' Biner made a dramatic gesture, at the same time flinging the pellets to the ground, shouting,
'…Safar The Magnificent!'
There was a heart-stopping blast of fire and a cloud of smoke, red and green and white, burst up. The crowd gasped and all eyes were fixed on the thick, swirling mass. The smoke cleared and there were more gasps as three figures emerged, posing nobly on a small platform decorated with magical symbols.
In the center was Safar, wearing ceremonial wizard's robes. On his right was Palimak, decked out in his miniature soldier's outfit. To his left was Leiria, proud and tall in her glittering armor. In her hands was the black box containing the model of the airship.
The stands exploded as all the Kyranians came to their feet, clapping and cheering their village heroes.
Safar motioned to his companions and they all bowed together, boosting the applause to even greater heights. He'd lost none of his skills with an audience, knowing how to take people to the edge, then bring them back again just before exhaustion crept in, making them dull and less receptive for a performance.
But this time he had to press them past that point-treating the opening of the show as if it were the last encore after a long evening's entertainment. He wanted them limp and receptive to all his suggestions, so when the cheering started to fade he turned, sweeping a hand out to indicate Palimak.
The boy had been well-rehearsed and he drew himself up and gave them all a snappy salute. It had its desired effect-another long round of thunderous applause. And when that began to diminish Safar immediately turned to Leiria. She held the black box over her head as if it were a trophy and although no one in the audience had the faintest idea what was inside, this triggered a new burst of cheering.
His eyes swept the crowd and he felt an all-too familiar pang of guilt when he saw all the happy grins pasted on their faces. Safar's first job was the complete opposite of what any circus performer desired.
