"Close enough, Safar said. As close as your problem as a general is to my problem as your Grand Wazier.
"Manacia is very strong. Stronger than me, perhaps. I can't say because I have no experience in such things. I've never fought a battle. Hells, I had more two-fisted fights as a boy than I've ever had magic against magic."
"I was there for your first sorcerous fight, Iraj reminded him. And it so happens it was against demons."
Safar started to protest, but Iraj waved him down. Don't tell me you were lucky, he said. Of course, you were. I'm lucky. Not just good, but lucky. So are you. And lucky wins."
"I won't argue, Safar said. We'll find out if you're right soon enough."
"But you do have some ideas about Manacia? Iraj asked.
"Only one just now, Safar said. And that's thisManacia may be the wizard of all wizards, but he's no magician."
Iraj looked at him, puzzled. What are you talking about?"
"Something I learned in the circus, Safar said. Smoke and mirrors.
"The art of the Grand Illusion."
While the demon army marched, the humans prepared to meet them.
Manacia's progress was slow. The sheer size of his forces, as Iraj had predicted, made him unwieldy and kept the pace to that of a desert tortoise. He also had to maintain huge supply lines stretching all the way to Caspan.
The humans used that time well. Gear was repaired, horses shod, weapons honed. New training instituted in which speed and quick thinking were emphasized. Iraj wanted no brave death charges. Against Manacia's might, he couldn't afford the losses. Loads were lightened; they'd take only what they needed into the desert. Supplies would also be the minimum required to reach Manacia.
If they lost there'd be no return. If they won they could take what they wanted from Manacia.
As they prepared, Iraj's musings became full blown ideas. He introduced new tactics and had special equipment made.
Safar was similarly occupied. He had only a few wizards, but although their powers were weak they had battle experience. They told him what he could expect and he prepared remedies.
Safar made everything as simple as possible. He created small amulets and used some of the tricks he'd learned from the Book of Asper to make them very strong. The wizards mass produced these amulets and passed them out to the men.
He dispensed with the need for large quantities of magical suppliesinstead he commandeered several heavy chariots, drawn by triple teams. In each he put several kegs of certain oils and powders he'd mixedanother idea he'd borrowed from Asper.
The most important thing Safar did, however, was meet with his father.
It was like old times in his father's shop, the kiln glowing merrily, his sister, Quetera, at the wheel, his mother mixing glaze.
Apparently Myrna thought the same thing, for she said, This is like the old caravan season days, Khadji. I used to love those times. All of us together making pots and plates as fast we could to sell to the caravan masters."
Quetera groaned. The last time we did that, she said, I was pregnant. She held her hands out from her sides. I was this big. I could barely get close to the spoke, and when I did it reminded me of that devil husband of mine who'd put me in that condition."
"As if you had no part in it, Myrna sniffed.
Quetera laughed. Oh, I got my pleasure, true enough, she said. But so did he. At the time it didn't seem fair I had to do the rest by myself. It still doesn't."
Leiria, who stayed close to Safar even when he visited his family, stirred in the corner.
"I'm glad I chose my path instead of yours, Quetera, she said. Fighting always seemed like it was less painful than birthing."
"It is, Quetera said. But it got me Dmitri."
She smiled at the little boy in the corner, making a messy business with his child's potting wheel.
"I was happy in the end."
Quetera suddenly laughed and covered her mouth. What am I saying? My end was definitely not happy."
Everyone laughed, even Khadji who was embarrassed by discussions of that nature. But since it was Quetera who said it, and he loved her humorous nature, he allowed himself enjoyment.
Over in the corner little Dmitri had tired of the clay and was playing in his washing up bucket. He put a straw in the soapy water then held it up and puffed.
A bubble formed on the end of the straw. Delighted, Dmitri puffed more. The bubble became huge, then broke off and floated across the room.
"Look mother, he cried. A balloon! I made a balloon!"
They all turned to look. The bubble, kiln light wobbling on its surface, sailed slowly into the other corner. It hovered over the glass-making equipment, then burst.
Everyone made automatic noises of sympathy.
"Don't worry, everybody, Dmitri crowed. I can make more. Lots more!"
He happily dipped his straw in the bucket and started blowing streams of bubbles.
Safar's smile died. He turned to his father.
"I want you make something for me, father, he said.
Khadji frowned, wondering what was in his son's mind.
Safar pulled over some sheets of sketching paper and drew. Make it like this, he said as he drew. But make it thin. As light as you can. Don't worry about it being too fragile."
Khadji held up the sketch. I'll do it, son, he said, but whatever on Esmir for? What do you want with one of these?"
"Not one, father, Safar said. It'll take a least a score."
"You're returning me to Manacia? Kalasariz quavered. But whatever for? What have I done, Your Majesty, to deserve such a fate?"
Kalasariz was standing before Protarus and Safar. He was blindfolded. He'd been blindfolded and kept out of the sight of the military preparations, since Iraj's arrival in Kyrania.
"Don't remind us about what you may or may not deserve, Safar said. We probably have strong differences on that small matter."
"Don't worry, my friend, Iraj said. Manacia won't kill you. We'll make it look good. You can claim you escaped. You have an agile mind. And I'm sure you can make it a very brave escape. What really happened will be our little secret.
"Make of it what you will. Gamble that I'll lose and join them. Gamble that I'll win and keep your faith with me. You can do either, or both at the same time. Just choose well. Act well. And if you see me again in person you'll know what to expect."
"I have every faith in your eventual victory, Majesty, Kalasariz said. I'll do anything you instruct me to."
"I have only one instruction, Iraj said. I want you to deliver a message. And this is what I want you to say…"
The Demon Moon was rising when Kalasariz put spurs to horse and thundered across the desert.
It hovered just above the night plain, red as new death. The landscape had an orange tint to it and was pocked with inky shadows. Kalasariz steered his horse around the shadows, praying to the gods he was correct each time he changed course, digging in his heels to make the horse run faster still.
Low as it was, the Demon Moon captured the whole northern sky, wiping out any sign of the star houses that reigned there. Just above the Demon Moon was a comet so bright it was the only other light that bleared through.
It's the Sign of Alisarrian, Kalasariz thought.
Manacia claimed it was meant for him. Protarus believed the same. Kalasariz had no idea which way to jump.
In his madness he cursed the gods for not allowing him spies on the court of the Demon Moon.