Fari and Luka arrived at Protarus’ headquarters but were denied entrance while the King supped with Vister. Finally Kalasariz arrived, shivering in the cold despite the thick fur cloak he wore. He was surprised when he saw the two demons cursing and stomping about in the snow.

  "What's the difficulty?” he asked. “Is the King in one of his foul moods again?"

  "Who can tell?” Luka grumbled, horned brow made pale green by frost. He snorted twin columns of steam in the frigid air. “Foul or fair, all his moods seem for the worst these days."

  Fari gestured at the Caluzian Pass, where several of his demon wizards were huddled miserably by the entrance tending smoking pots of magical incense.

  "From what I can gather,” the old demon said, “all our efforts have been brought to a massive halt so our master could talk over old times with some lowly sergeant.” He shrugged, miniature avalanches of snow cascading from his shoulders. “It's a pity, really. All this snow is a great help to us."

  Kalasariz frowned, then realized how much better he'd felt since the snow started. No more constant battering of wild Black Lands spells.

  "I thought perhaps you had come up with some new shield,” he said to Fari.

  The old demon snorted. “Who has had the time for such experiments?” he said. “No, it's the storm that's doing it. As near as I can tell the snow blocks—or possibly even blinds—the machine at Caluz."

  "Which means the devils inside that pass,” Luka broke in, “ought to be ripe for the plucking. It's my guess that one more attack ought to knock them loose."

  Kalasariz cocked an eyebrow, amused. “I assume you've told the King this,” he said.

  Luka barked laughter. “No, my Lord,” he said, making a mock bow. “We were waiting for you to bless us with your esteemed presence. You seem to be in the greatest favor with our Lord and Master these days. We thought you could tell him for us."

  Kalasariz grinned. “And wouldn't that make me the prince of fools,” he said. “Especially when I know for a fact that neither of you are sure who exactly is opposing us in that pass."

  "I really must speak to you at length someday,” Fari said, “on your spying methods. Not even the flies in the latrines escape your notice."

  "That's true,” Luka said. “Sometimes I think you can see up our arses."

  "Now you've guessed my secret,” Kalasariz joked. “The flies are in my employ."

  All three of them laughed—forming a temporary bond in this rare moment of shared humor.

  Fari was old enough and wise enough to recognize opportunity first. “Let's speak honestly for a change, my brothers,” he said. “Or should I call us the Unholy Three.” He chuckled. “I've heard that name for us bandied about in the ranks. Rumor has it that the King himself calls us that behind our backs. However, no matter the intent of the fellow who originally coined the term, I think it fits us all quite well."

  "The Unholy Three,” Kalasariz murmured. Then he smiled. “I like that. I think we should keep it."

  Luka snorted. “Forget the game playing, my Lord,” he said. “Call us what you will. But please ... get to the point."

  Fari was careful not to take offense. “Very well,” he said. “I'll dispense with pleasantries and reach down for the final sum of our woes. In a few minutes the King will call us before him. How shall we advise him?"

  "How can we advise him,” Kalasariz said, “when we don't know what's happening in that pass?"

  "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 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?” Luka said.

  "Of course I'm speaking of the pass!” 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.” 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,” 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,” 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."

 

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