"You're right, he replied, mechanical as a clockwork toy. We must inform the king."
Leiria winced at his pain. But she said nothing. She walked back to the men to order a withdrawal. It would be done quickly, but silently. Weapons and gear were strapped down so they wouldn't rattle. Rags stuffed with brush were tied onto the horses hooves so all noise would be pillowed.
When all was ready Leiria returned to say it was time to go. She touched him and he suddenly came back to life.
"I must see for myself, he said.
"You can't, Leiria protested. We might be discovered."
Safar insisted. He made it clear the only way he'd leave now was if he were bound and gagged and tied to the back of a horse.
Everyone was terrified of committing such an indignity to Lord Timura, the Grand Wazier. But they were equally as terrified of his plan.
"The king will have our heads if you're captured, Leiria protested.
"No he won't, Safar said. Here. I'll make sure of it."
He scrawled a hasty message to Iraj. No one was to be held accountable for his actions. He added a brief report on what he'd seen so far and what should be done if he didn't return. The message was placed in the care of Rapton, the young lieutenant who commanded the warriors. Strict orders were given. If Safar and Leiriawho insisted on accompanying himdid not return by dusk Rapton and the troops were to make all speed to Sampitaywhere Iraj and his court were currently ensconcedand deliver the news.
When he was done Safar called for silence. He prepared Leiria and himself, coating their clothes and skin with a smoky herb that would confound sensitive demon noses. He made a spell to shield their human auras from demon wizards. Last of all he hauled out the stone turtle and alerted Gundara to keep watch for danger.
The little Favorite and his twin, Gundaree, were back to normal again. Drawing inspiration from Lord Asper's book, Safar had devised a healing program to hasten their recoveryspecial powders mixed with warm honey and wine. For two weeks the stone idol had rested in that potion, which Safar refreshed daily. At first nothing had changed. If anything the faint buzz of life had grown fainter.
Then one morning Safar awakened to a familiar"Shut up, shut up, shuuut upp! And he knew things were well again in the small world of the Favorites.
Safar turned to Leiria. I know it's your habit to lead the way, he said.
"It's more than habit, my lord, she said. It's my duty. I am your bodyguard. I must keep you safe."
"Yes, yes, he said, impatiently. And you perform your duty well. But this time we have to change the order of things. I was raised here. I was once a boy roaming these hills. I know all the secret places boys know. I know all the secret paths boys favor.
"I want you to follow me. Keep close as you can. Walk in my tracks if possible. Do all I do. And nothing that I don't. Do you understand?"
Leiria swore she did and a few moments later they were hurrying down an old deer trail, so faint it might have been made by a population of mice.
They hadn't gone a hundred yards before Safar suddenly veered to the right and was gone.
Leiria nearly panicked, looking madly about for some sign of Safar. Then she saw where the leaves wavered and plunged after him. She heard him hiss before she saw him, jerking back just in time to avoid stepping on his heels. They traveled in silent tandem for a time, jumping onto to trails and jumping off again, veering left and then right and then straight ahead. But from the tension in her calves Leiria could tell the general direction was downward.
Downto the broad lake and rich fields of Kyrania.
Khadji Timura slipped his trowel into the claybed. He felt the blade grate through sand and gravel and he pushed it in a little deeper. He lifted the load up, hiding his distaste at the poor quality of the clay and all the trash it contained, and dumped it into the waiting bucket.
"Hurry up, old man, the demon said. I'm weary."
"Forgive me, master, Khadji said. I am old, as you have repeatedly reminded me this entire day, and my joints give me pain. If I had help, which you have wisely informed me is not possible, I could work more quickly."
The demon, whose name was Trin, scowled at Safar's father, saying, You think because you are human and demons can't read human expressions that I don't realize you're mocking me."
He swatted Khadji with his club. Khadji grunted and nearly fell. He steadied himself with a hand and blinked away tears that were more from humiliation than pain. Trin was experienced at such things. He knew how to rap a human skull with just enough force to gain their attention, but not so hard they'd be incapacitated.
"You are probably cursing me and your fate right now, Trin said. This is good. It teaches you how you stand with me. I have better things to do than spend my days here in the damp and cold watching you dig up clay. If I had my way I'd empty your brains from your skull and join my mates in some spirited drinking."
"You're right, exalted one, Khadji said. He'd recovered and was rising, full bucket in hand. And I thank you for the reminder of what a fortunate person I am.
"Why, what would become of me and family if your superiors weren't so wise? What clever fiends they are. I've often remarked on it to Myrna, my wife.
"Good Timura pottery equals much gold on the marketplace. Gold your king requires to fight his wars."
Trin snorted. A pot's a pot, as far as I'm concerned, he said. You put something in it. And you empty it out. I used to pinch them out by the dozen when I was young. Some broke when they were fired. Some didn't. Who cares? The clay costs nothing. And the fire only wants a little fuel."
"Who am I to quarrel with such an expert on pottery? Khadji said.
"No one, Trin agreed. I was a potter before I was a soldier. I know good work when I see it."
He looked at the bucket, then dug a tentative claw into its contents. A little gritty, isn't it? he said.
"All the beds are nearly worked out, master, the potter lied. The best clay was on the other side of Lake Felakia, snuggled in grit-free beds he had no intention of showing the demons. This is the best we can do under the circumstances."
Khadji saw two figures steal out of the brush behind the demon. As if sensing their presence, the demon started to turn in that direction.
The potter lifted up the bucket to capture his attention.
"It only needs a little cleaning, exalted one, he said. And if there are imperfections, why we'll cover them up with the glaze. Like you said, master, a pot's a pot. But when I put my name on itTimurathere are plenty of fools at the marketplace who think the name is more important than actual quality."
"My father, Trin said, wiping a talon on Khadji's smock, who was a potter of great renown, used to tell me the same thing."
"He sounds as wise a fiend as his son, Khadji said.
The demon glared at him. Are you mocking me again, human? He raised his club. Are you?"
There was a thunk. The demon's yellow eyes suddenly widened and club fell from his hands. An arrow point protruded through his throat.
Trin pitched forward, quite dead.
Khadji upended the bucket on the corpse and spit.
"A pot's just a pot, is it? he growled. Then he opened his arms to embrace Safar. Welcome home, son, he said.
To Safar's immense embarrassment, Khadji started to weep.
"It's all right, father, he murmured, patting him uncomfortably. It's all right."