Wolves of the Gods

'We do know it isn't Safar Timura or his Kyranians who are killing our soldiers,' Fari said. 'All my castings at least show that.'

'Then Timura must have an ally,' Luka said. The careful tone of the others had made him feel awkward.

Unpolished. Definitely not royal. So he tried to be as smooth and diplomatic as he could when he said-'I know that's so obvious it may make me seem foolish to say it. However, knowing such a thing and understanding what it means are not the same. For instance, the King believes Lord Timura chose Caluz for his destination because he wants to form an alliance with the Oracle of Hadin.' He shrugged. 'This could be true. However, I've never heard of an Oracle with an entire army at its disposal.'

'All excellent points,' Kalasariz said.

'Yes, yes, I agree,' Fari said, impatient. 'But we're all forgetting we have an actual eyewitness to what occurred in that pass.' He pointed at the king's pavilion. 'And right now he's in there with Protarus telling him the gods know what! So how can we, uh … guide our master-if you understand what I mean- if we don't know what is being said? Much less his reaction to it.'

There was an uncomfortable silence as each being considered. Finally Kalasariz said, 'Let me start. To begin with … might I be so bold as to propose a truce?'

The others considered. Brows furrowing. Weighing what this might entail. The first-and by far the largest-was trust, which slowed down the thinking considerably.

Kalasariz hastened to fill the gap. 'Only a temporary truce, of course.'

Fari's brows climbed in approval. 'Ah!' he said. 'That might work.'

'Yes, yes, it might,' Luka agreed. 'Go on, please.'

'Well, as Lord Fari so wisely pointed out a moment ago,' Kalasariz said, 'King Protarus will summon us soon. None of us can predict how he will behave. What he will do or say. Except we do know this-no matter what passes, he will demand an immediate response.'

He paused, looking each demon in the eyes by turn. 'True?'

Luka nodded. 'True.'

'I most fervently agree,' Fari said.

'So, to protect ourselves,' Kalasariz said, 'wouldn't it be prudent to see what transpires before we act?

Then instead of each fighting the other … we can examine the situation calmly … rationally … without fear of attack from our own ranks. Finally, when we speak we should speak with one voice. None of us trying to win the advantage as long as the truce lasts.'

'I can see much value in that line of reasoning,' Fari said.

'As long as we remember the truce is temporary,' Luka added. 'There's no sense pretending it could be anything but that.'

'No, there isn't,' Kalasariz said, 'In fact, why don't we make the truce for the duration of our visit? In other words, when we leave the king's company the peace will end.'

A harried aide rushed out of the pavilion. 'King Protarus calls, my Lords,' he said. 'Hurry, if you please!

He's in no mood to be kept waiting.'

To the amazement of the aide the three burst into laughter as one.

Then Kalasariz said, 'Well, my Lords. What is your thinking? Are we in agreement?'

Luka eyed the aide, who was shuffling about, wondering what was being said. 'What about him?' Luka said, jabbing a talon at the aide.

Kalasariz smiled. 'Don't worry,' he said. 'He's one of my flies.'

More laughter.

Then Luka stretched out his right claw. 'To the Unholy Three,' he mock intoned.

Kalasariz and Fari caught the spirit. 'To the Unholy Three,' they chorused, layering hand and talon with his.

Then, chuckling and shaking their heads, they stomped the snow off their boots and went inside to see what was in store for them.

Iraj was waiting-lolling in his throne, booted legs supported on the naked back of a comely slave. He was completely at ease-frighteningly so for the Unholy Three. He was in his human form and they'd rarely seen him in such control. Only the red glow of his eyes gave him away.

Sitting to his right-on a smaller throne-was the soldier, Vister. He was wearing only a clean white loin cloth and was being tended by several pretty human and demon maids, who had just finished washing him and were now rubbing scented oil into his limbs. In one hand he had a silver flask of wine, from which he took frequent pulls. In the other, he clutched a thick sandwich of roasted lamb with several large ragged wounds in it.

Heaters had been brought in when the storm began and the throne room was uncomfortably hot. Sweat poured from the soldier's body, mixing with the oils and coating his heavily muscled torso with an heroic sheen. Vister's age and experience were apparent in the thatch of gray hair on his battle-scarred breast.

When the Unholy Three were announced, Vister's head wobbled up to blear at them through half-closed eyes. He was drunk, he was exhausted, he was wounded in body and soul. The maids had to keep at him constantly, bathing away blood and sweat, changing the bowls of scented water frequently as they became discolored and fouled.

At first he didn't recognize them and waved a drunken hand. 'Come and join us, friends,' he shouted.

'Me and my cousin, the King here, are havin' a party!'

Under Protarus' glare, the Unholy Three chuckled kindly, covering their reaction at being addressed so rudely. In normal circumstances Vister would have been beheaded before he finished the first sentence of his greeting.

Then the old plainsman's eyes cleared and he realized who they all truly were. He choked on a mouthful of meat, the wine he'd just taken to wash it down dribbling from the corners of his mouth.

He pushed weakly at the maids and tried to come to his feet, sputtering apologies.

'Please, my dear fellow,' Kalasariz said smoothly. 'Don't trouble yourself.' As much as this foul peasant's manners turned his stomach, under the circumstances he had to be treated with the utmost respect.

'Yes, yes,' Fari came in. 'Don't interrupt your meal, my friend. You must replenish your strength after such a trying day.'

'We salute you, brother,' was Luka's skillful addition, touching ringed talons to royal brow, 'for all you have suffered in our service.'

Still, Vister was clearly overcome. He fell to his knees, babbling, 'Please, Masters. I am not worthy!'

His words snapped Iraj's crossbow trigger. The King leaped from his throne, roaring, 'Never say master to ones such as these! You are a soldier from the Plains of Jaspar! Worthy of any company!'

He helped Vister back into his seat, casting foul looks at the Unholy Three as if they had tried to humiliate the old soldier. Making much of the gesture, Iraj personally fetched up the flask that had fallen from Vister's hands, feeding the wine to him as if he were a child.

'There, there,' he said. 'Rest easy, Cousin. Your brave toil is done. Only honors await you.'

Vister gurgled down the wine, eyes glazing over. Finally he pushed the flask away, wiping his lips and belching. A bold, drunken grin spreading over his features. Iraj patted him and sat back, coldly observing the Unholy Three.

'Speak to them, kinsman mine,' he said to Vister. 'Tell them everything you told me. Explain to them in the simple, common logic of a plainsman what they have been doing wrong.'

Vister belched loudly. Then he said, 'They're killin' too many of us, that's what!'

Iraj sneered at Fari and the others. 'Do you hear, my brothers?' he growled. 'The answer is as plain as the frowns on your ugly faces-which I have grown to despise more with each passing day. By the gods, you're killing too many of my soldiers! And I won't stand for it. Everyone knows how much I love my soldiers. Demons as well as humans, they are more brother to me than any of you. And be damned to your Spell of Four!'

He gestured at Vister, whose attention was now totally fixed on human needs. He was staring at either hand, trying to decide what to do next-bite another hunk off the sandwich or slobber down more wine.

In the end he did both, biting and drinking, biting and drinking. Crumbs and dribbles of wine splattered his lap-the maids giggling and fussing over the mess as if it were all a marvelous jest.

Iraj turned his full attention on the Unholy Three. 'I told Sergeant Vister that I-Iraj Protarus, his kinsman, his king, was to blame,' he said. 'And this is true. I am not only king, but king of all kings in