body he was permanently wide awake.
Unlike his former spell brothers, the spymaster considered this a blessing. In his previous existence he'd always hated the moment when the gods of slumber commanded his obedience. His father had been a seventh-generation priest. More to the point: his very name, Kalasariz, was the Walarian term for priest.
His mother had been a temple harlot enslaved to the priests and he had been seeded during a priestly orgy whose purpose was to cleanse sins by sinning. And to create sons for the priests to adopt and rear for their own holy purposes.
Kalasariz had soon learned he was better at ferreting out secrets to use against others than he was at religious scholarship. Better still was to forge those secrets into lies of solid gold. And Kalasariz had eventually sold out his own father with false charges that he was a heretic so that he might win his mantle as the supreme spy of all Walaria.
But deep inside Kalasariz he was still the son of a priest. And when he slept all his subsequent lies and murders sat heavily upon his soul. And so he'd always feared the night, because with it came terrible dreams of his transgressions, followed by imagined punishments for those sins.
Worse still, over the years those nightmares became increasingly and horribly complex because of all the enemies he'd made in his long career.
And so it was that when sleep overcame King Rhodes and he tossed and turned fitfully through the storm, dreaming bloody dreams much like those that had once afflicted Kalasariz, the spymaster was gleefully awake and guilt-free. Plotting his plots and conspiring in his conspiracies.
The best thing of all about his sleepless state was that he could keep constant control of Fari and Luka, who were enslaved in his ethereal belly. He kept their agonies constant and hot, so they didn't have time or energy to conspire against him.
Therefore, when Lady Lottyr came to him, spitting curses about Safar Timura and Iraj Protarus, Kalasariz was bright and alert and well aware that the goddess had suffered a defeat.
She called the incident in the castle a mere "setback," but he knew that this was only a hasty bit of fiction her pride had composed to lessen her humiliation. Failure and defeat dripped from every word she spoke.
"It was that demon brat Palimak who caught me out," she said. "Otherwise I would've crushed those fools who believe themselves to be the two kings Asper predicted would come."
Her six visages were terrible in their murderous beauty. And even though her visit to the spymaster was meant to be made in secret, she was so agitated that Rhodes would've been alerted to her presence if he had been awake.
Surely he would've caught the internal roiling Lottyr's frustration caused when she spoke to Kalasariz.
The spymaster's ambitions might have been badly harmed by this royal realization.
In all his days Kalasariz had never met another person-except for himself-as rightfully and unerringly on target as Rhodes was when he became suspicious.
Well, maybe more: There was Queen Clayre. Whose own suspicious nature made her son look like a naV ve peasant. But Lottyr had made her own false bargain with Clayre and had also cast certain spells that had dulled the witch's wary senses.
Lottyr laid out all the plans she'd heard the Kyranians discuss while she'd commanded Queen Yorlain's body.
"They'll attack the moment the storm ends," she said. "They're hoping to wound you severely, then withdraw. Negotiations will follow-all aimed at drawing things out long enough for them to strengthen their defenses."
Kalasariz asked, "Have you informed Clayre about their plans?"
"No," Lottyr answered, "but I intend to the moment I leave you. And when Rhodes awakes, I want you to instruct him."
A canny master of lies and half truths, Kalasariz knew very well that Lottyr had sworn to another bargain with Clayre. The goddess admitted as much when she spoke her puny lies, saying her pledge to Clayre meant nothing, while her promises to Kalasariz were solid as gold.
But which bargain would the goddess keep? Kalasariz knew better than to trust to chance for the outcome.
And so he said, "I have the advantage of long experience with Safar Timura. And also with Iraj Protarus.
They've never been defeated-especially when the two of them put their minds together."
Lottyr was angrily abrupt. "What of it?" she asked harshly. "They are nothing compared to me-the greatest goddess of the Hells!"
"Forgive me, Holy One," Kalasariz said, "but I'm only trying to point out that in any physical fight Safar Timura and Iraj Protarus are the likely victors. That is their history. Neither one has ever failed-even against each other. Timura defeated Protarus at Caluz. But Protarus, from what you say, now rules Timura's body. Tentative though that dominance may be.
"From what you've also said, they've made a pact with each other to oppose you. Isn't that so, Holy One?"
"Why are you spewing all this defeatist sewage at me?" Lottyr demanded, her twelve eyes burning with suspicion. "Do you want Timura and Protarus to win?"
"Absolutely not and forgive me if I gave you that impression, Holy One," Kalasariz hastened to say.
"However, you have asked my best advice. And it is my sad duty to say that my advice is for you to prepare for Rhodesa€™ and Clayre's failure."
Lottyr pealed chorused laughter, her six voices echoing so strongly that they resounded through Rhodesa€™ bones and the king kicked and swore in his sleep.
She waited until he rested again.
Then she said, "Know this, Kalasariz: when the dawn commences, it will be not one, but two battles Safar Timura and Iraj Protarus will have to fight."
And then she was gone. There was not even a flicker between her presence and her absence. One moment she was there, the next she wasn't.
In the distance the volcano rumbled into life. There was a heavy blast and an intense, fiery light poured into the king's pavilion.
Rhodes suddenly sat up, rubbing his eyes. Sleepily, he asked, "What's happening? Is there an attack?"
Kalasariz replied, "Go back to sleep, majesty. There's no reason for alarm."
And so Rhodes fell back on his soft pallet and slept.
Despite the tempest, Clayre was resting peacefully when the Lady Lottyr came to her.
But as soon as the Queen Witch sensed the goddess's presence she bolted up from her pallet.
"Is everything all right?" she asked.
And Lottyr said, "All is ready, my dearest one. I've only come to you to make assurances."
"What of my son?" Clayre asked. "Are we ready for him as well?"
Lottyr replied, "It's just as we planned, Clayre. At the dawn, when the first enemy arrows fall, your son will die."
Reassured, Clayre smiled. "It'll be good to be rid of him," she said. "He always was just like his father."
Despite his demon strength and speed, Palimak was no match for the infuriated Leiria.
He jumped in front of her to stop her charge against Iraj/Safar, but she only ghosted to the side and kicked his legs from under him.
Worse still, Jooli was on Leiria's heels, her own sword in hand to back up her friend. But Palimak snagged out a hand, demon claws scything out, and caught her by the ankle to bring her painfully down.
None of this mattered. The instant Leiria came within striking distance, she fed all of her hate for Iraj into the sword blow she struck.
Except, in mid cut, she saw that it was Safar she was also about to kill. One part of her wanted to halt the deadly blow. The other demanded that she ram her blade through Iraj's guts.
Between Palimak's feeble intervention and Leiria's hair's-breadth hesitation, Iraj stepped in, taking full command of Safar's body.
Safar almost used his own powers to slow Iraj down, but then he realized Iraj was only using his half-empty brandy goblet for a weapon and released all of his physical energy.