Wolves of the Gods

Esmir, so it is only right that final responsibility must rest on my shoulders.'

He paused dramatically, throwing an arm around Vister's shoulder. 'However … This…' Aand he dabbed at one of Vister's wounds with a napkin. ' … This was never my intent! I have made it plain from the very beginning that I dislike having the lives of my soldiers shed needlessly.'

'I assume you are speaking of the pass currently in dispute, Majesty?a€ Luka said.

'Of course I'm speaking of the pass!a€ Iraj roared, eyes turning to red coals. 'What else what would I be talking about? We've lost two hundred of our best so far. And not an inch of gained ground to show for it!'

He patted Vister. 'Instead we have won only pain and torment for those I value most.'

Luka wanted to laugh. Protarus thought nothing of hurling a thousand demons and men to their doom-if it won him what he wanted. But now he was presenting the face of an innocent. Posing as a king who wished only the best for his subjects and required little for himself-except for their kind opinion of him.

Fari rapped his cane and Kalasariz coughed, bringing Luka back to reality. Just in time he realized his wolf's snout was about to break through.

To cover, Luka bowed low and thumped his breast abjectly, murmuring, '…a misunderstanding, Majesty.

The fault is entirely my own.'

When he'd regained control over his shape-changer's body, he straightened, saying, 'Your words have given expression to the confusion of all our most worthy ideas, Majesty.a€ He gestured at Fari and Kalasariz. 'The three of us were only just discussing this most terrible of affairs. And we all agreed that we have failed you, Sire.'

Fari broke in. 'Except, perhaps I am more to blame then the others, Highness,a€ he said. 'After all, this is sorcery we are fighting in that pass. And things involving sorcery are my responsibility and no other.'

'I beg to differ, my great and good king,a€ Kalasariz said. 'Lord Fari and his wizards have done their utmost. It is I who is most at fault for not discovering what we were up against before we sent men such as this…' he nodded respectfully at Vister, who grinned like a baby and burped-' … correction, heroes such as this … into battle.'

'Some of what you say is true, my brothers,' Luka said to Kalasariz and Fari. 'But in the end, it is I who direct all special missions. I should have been at the forefront … leading both attacks. But I listened to my cowardly aides who claimed the King would be badly served if I were killed.' The Prince shook his head. 'I'll dismiss them from my service the moment I return to my headquarters.'

Vister croaked laughter and everyone swiveled to see him hoist himself upright on his elbow. 'Sounds like we're gonna have a nice day o' executions tomorrow, lads,' he said. 'There's nothin' like a couple of whacked necks to fix a soldier's mind on his job, I always say.' He leaned closer, elbow nearly slipping out from under him. Grinning at Luka. 'Course, you'd be talkin' about officers and such, wouldn't you, Sire? Maybe that's not such a good idea. Neck whackin' don't come so easy with the officer class.

Might not have the same affect it does down in the ranks. Maybe it wouldn't be so good for morale.'

Then he lifted his haunches and farted.

Iraj slapped his thigh, howling laughter. 'That's telling them, Cousin!' he said. 'The truth-and from deep, deep within you, by the gods!'

Vister chuckled drunkenly, lifting the flask to his lips. Then he frowned, turning the flask upside down.

Nothing came out. He shook it, frown growing deeper.

'It's empty,' he said in a voice so mournful you'd have thought he was announcing the death of his dear mother. One of the maids traded it for a full one and he was happy again.

He drank, then thumped his chest. 'I was the only one!' he said. 'Me! Vister! The rest are dead and rottin' in that pass. We all went in. Like so.' He wriggled his fingers, making walking motions. 'Then along comes the ghosts and whack!' He chopped at the air. 'Ever'body's dead … 'cept Sergeant Vister.' He settled back in his chair, chuckling and drawing a maid onto his lap. 'Now I'm guest o' the King! Ain't that a tale to tell!' He tapped just beneath his right eye. 'And these are the eyes what seen it!'

'A marvelous tale indeed,' Kalasariz murmured. He turned to Fari. 'Pardon, my good Lord Fari,'

he said, 'but it seems the good sergeant is too modest to tell his story more fully.'

Fari nodded. 'He's too tense, poor fellow,' he said. 'That's his trouble.'

Luka took the cue. 'Wouldn't it be prudent, Majesty,' he said to Iraj, 'to see if we could learn more?' He laid a ringed claw of sincerity across his breast. 'Let the good sergeant be our teacher, Majesty. And we his humble students.'

Kalasariz muttered from the side of his mouth. 'A little thick, don't you think?'

'What was that?' Iraj demanded.

'I was only agreeing with Prince Luka, Highness,' Kalasariz replied.

Now Fari was up to speed. 'Yes, let this humble hero instruct us, Majesty,' he said. 'As all know, I have always been particularly sensitive to the lower classes. Like Your Majesty, I pride myself on listening most intently to their crude words of wisdom.' He shrugged. 'Of course, sometimes we need a little assistance to understand their meaning.'

Iraj raised an eyebrow. 'What's to understand?' he said. He turned to Vister. 'Tell them what you told me, my friend. And leave nothing out.'

Vister struggled upright and the maid slipped off his lap and resumed her place with the others.

'Sure,' he said. He snapped his fingers. 'Nothin' to it! Simple as all the Hells! The problem is this, see. There's ghosts in that pass. Hundreds, maybe thousands of 'em. And they can kill you, but you can't kill them. And that's all there is to it!'

He gave Luka an owlish look. 'So all's you officer sorts gotta figure out is how to turn the whole thing around. Like we get to kill them, but they don't get to kill us.' He tapped his nose. 'Simple as the nose on your face.' He gave Luka another look and giggled. 'Oops!' he said. 'Didn't mean to speak outta turn there, Sire. You bein' a demon and all, I'm not so sure that's a nose you got stickin' out there. Could be another horn, for all's I know. No offense intended, Sire.'

Luka dipped his head. 'None taken,' he murmured, thinking he'd like to rip this filthy human's heart out. Fari's cough and Kalasariz' sudden grip on his elbow helped steady him. He turned to Iraj. 'As first field reports go, Majesty,' he said, 'that was most enlightening. But I, for one, would certainly want to know more.'

'That's why I called you here,' Protarus said. 'To listen and learn.' He turned back to Vister. 'Tell it again,' he said, 'but in more-' a loud snore cut him off. Vister was sprawled his seat, head lolling on his chest, sound asleep.

Iraj chuckled kindly. 'Let him rest,' he said. 'He deserves it. We'll question him later.'

'Pardon, Highness,' Fari said. 'But what I had in mind will be much easier while he sleeps. What I propose is that we witness his travails first hand. I don't need much in the way of preparations.' He indicated an ornate charcoal brazier that had been brought in to warm up the throne room during the snow storm. 'In fact,' he said, 'I can use that for our stage.' He pulled a pouch from his wizard's belt, opening it to sniff at the contents. He nodded in satisfaction. 'I have everything we require, Majesty,' he continued, 'for all to be revealed.'

Iraj studied the Unholy Three from beneath lowered eyelids. He appeared bored, but he was observing them closely-growing warier by the minute. At first he couldn't put his finger on what was bothering him.

Then it came to him that the three were displaying remarkable unanimity. He certainly didn't feel violent waves of tension between them-which was by far the more normal state of affairs within his inner court.

For a panicked moment he wondered if they had uncovered his secret-the spell the witch, Sheesan, had given him that would not only destroy Safar, but free him from the Unholy Three. Were they were conspiring to foil him?

Then he relaxed. How could they know? Say what he might about his brothers of the Spell of Four, they had worked hard to bring him this close to his goal-the capture and ritual slaying of Safar and Palimak.

If the Unholy Three knew about his plans, they certainly wouldn't have pressed so hard to bring them to fruition.

So-what were they up to? Were they seeking a means to break the bonds with him? That would certainly be the worst case conclusion he could make. But the more he thought on it, the more unlikely such a scenario seemed.

Very well. The best way to find out what was going on, he thought, was to give way to their suggestions and