Iraj turned, holding his pose. Tell me, Safar, he said quite seriously. Do I look like a king?"
Safar studied him carefully. No vision followed, no great bolt from the skies, but realization boiled up from within. And he just suddenly… knew.
His mouth was dry and his voice came in a croak. You will be king, Iraj, he said.
"What? Iraj said, startled. I was only he broke off. Then his voice became fierce, harsh.
"What are you telling me?"
"You will be as great a king as Alisarrian, Safar answered. I see it… he tapped his chest…here."
Iraj's sword hand fell, the blade scraping against the stone. Don't mock me, he warned.
"I'm not."
"You're speaking of my greatest dream, he said. To create a kingdom as grand as Alisarrian's."
"I know this, Safar said.
"You don't think I'm crazy?"
"Perhaps. The young potter shrugged. You'll probably have to be."
"You've seen this in one of your visions? Iraj asked.
"Just before you came, Safar said. I saw you… wearing a crown."
"Was I sitting on a white elephant? Iraj asked, chin jutting forward in surprise.
"Yes, Safar said. You were leading a great army. In my vision you beckoned me."
Iraj came closer, as if drawn by a magnet. And I told you to sit beside me, he said. And that youSafarwere responsible for what I'd won."
"It seems we had the same vision, Safar said, numb.
"I'd believed it was just a dream, Iraj said. I only thought it might be more than that when I met you and heard your name."
"Somehow, Safar said, we got into each other's minds."
Iraj shook his head. It was your vision, he said. Such things never happen to me."
"Well they do to me, Safar sighed.
"You act like it's a curse."
"You don't know how much of one, Safar answered.
"But… if what you say is true"
"It is, Safar broke in. I'm not often wrong."
Iraj put his arm around Safar's shoulders, pulling him closer. Then, when I am king, he said, you will be my most trusted advisor. You will be Lord Timura from the moment I take my rightful place on the throne."
Then he withdrew his arm and stepped away, raising his sword with much ceremony. He gently tapped Safar on the head with the blade, saying, I, King Iraj Protarus, do so decree."
His face shone with youthful zeal. Emotion made his voice waver and crack and his eyes welled with tears. There was a smear of dirt on one cheek and standing there in his rough boyish clothes attempting to strike an heroic figure, he might have even looked a bit ridiculous.
But Safar didn't laugh.
After the impromptu ceremony Iraj investigated the chamber further, taking special note of all the magical symbols and jars.
"What do you suppose was the purpose of the cave? he asked.
"My guess, Safar replied, is that it was used by a Dreamcatcher to cast Alisarrian's future."
Iraj grinned hugely, saying, How fitting for me to have my own future told in this place. And by my own Dreamcatcher as well."
"I'm no Dreamcatcher, Safar protested. I'm just an apprentice potter."
"A potter who has visions, Iraj laughed.
Oddly, Safar was stung by his comment. Being a potter may not be as great as becoming a king, he said. But it is an honorable craft. Some even say it's an artan art blessed by gods."
"I'm sorry if I said anything to upset you, Iraj said. The only craftsmen I've ever known were sword and armor makers. But as you say, it's well known that potters are blessed because they work with the same stuff the gods made us from. Did you ever think that could be why you have visions? Maybe you got a double portion of blessings when you were born."
"It could be, Safar said. Although my father has never had anything like that happen to him."
"How do you know? Iraj asked.
"From the way he acted when Safar stopped.
"What happened? Iraj pressed. What did he do?"
Safar shook my head, refusing to answer. I'd rather not say."
"We shouldn't have secrets between us, Iraj said. Especially after what's happened."
He's right, Safar thought. But instead of confessing all, he became angry. Nothing's happened! he snapped. Just one stupid boy told another stupid boy a silly tale. That's all."
Safar stormed away, ducking between the watery curtain at the cave's mouth and clambering over the rocks until he reached the meadow where the goats were grazing.
Wisely, Iraj took his time in following. Safar raged about the meadow, kicking innocent rocks, tearing up offending plants by the roots and slapping at the llama when he approached and nuzzled him to see what was wrong. When he struck out at the animal it sprang back in shock. Safar had always treated him gently. It stared at him with accusing eyes, then turned and ambled off in that overly casual way llamas have when they don't want to show they've been offended.
A goat got in its way and it charged the animal as if it were the greatest nuisance that had ever crossed its path. The goat dashed off, then revenged its humiliation by butting a smaller animal, which did the same and before Safar knew it the whole field was full of angry animals, butting each other and hopping about like fakir's apprentices attempting their first walks across a bed of hot coals.
By the time Iraj showed up Safar was laughing so hard he'd forgotten the argument. Iraj didn't bring the subject up and the two were soon engaged in the rough play and adventuring of boy goat herders alone in the mountains.
But it hung there between them, an uncomfortable presence.
When Badawi saw the wide caravan track leading into the mountains he fell from his donkey and dropped to his knees. He thumped his breast and shouted huzzahs to the heavens for saving his life.
That morning when Sarn sent him out to scout the way the horse dealer knew this day would be his lastunless he came up with a miracle. Badawi's luck had seemed to desert him after he'd discovered the old Timura pot from Kyrania. They'd traveled over four hundred miles since then and hadn't even found a goat path, much less a full blown caravan track leading over the Gods Divide.
As he sang praises to all the holy presences he could think of, Badawi suddenly spotted a mound of camel dung a few feet away. His heart leaped with greater joy andstill on his kneeshe scrabbled over and broke the sun-crusted mound open, revealing a still-moist center.
Just then Sarn came riding up, his column of demon bandits not far behind. When Badawi saw him he scrambled to his feet. Look, Master! he shouted, displaying two big handfuls of dung as if they were a great treasure.
"What's that in your hands, you filthy human? Sarn growled.
"Camel dung, O Master, Badawi said, doing a little dance of joy, spilling the stuff on the ground. The gods have guided your unworthy slave across a thousand miles of wilderness to find the very thing you have been commanded to seek."
"Have you gone mad, human? Sarn said. What do I want with camel dung?"
Badawi didn't seem to hear. He'd seen still more of the droppings and he raced over to them, leaping from mound to mound like a fat toad, scooping up dung and throwing it into the air, crying, Praise the gods!"
At that moment Giff came up. What's wrong with the human? he asked.
"I think I've pushed him too hard, Sarn said. He's seems to have lost his senses from the strain. He sighed. I suppose he's of no use to us anymore. You can kill him if you like, Giff. Just be a good demon and don't say I told you so.
Giff grinned and started to draw his sword. But Badawi had overhead them. He hurtled over to the two demons, anger momentarily overcoming his fear.
He shouted, Kill me? Why would you do such a stupid thing? I've found your route over the mountains, haven't I? Badawi pointed to a wide track winding up into the hills. There lies Kyrania! he shouted. There lies the Valley of the Clouds!"
Badawi became overly excited from his discovery. Excitement bordering on dangerous hysteria. You'd never have discovered this on your own! he cried. Only I, Badawi, could manage such a thing.