He had strength enough to feel surprise. He thought, I didn't know Death was a woman. And such a beautiful womana giantess with sensuous features painted in glorious colors like a savage tattooed queen.

The music seemed to be coming from her lush mouth as if she had a voice composed of wondrous pipes and bells and harp strings.

The woman's head was hovering over him now. Safar smiled, thinking Death was finally going to take him. He closed his eyes and waited.

Then the music stopped and he heard someone speak. It was a woman's voice, but smaller than he thought a giantess would possess.

"Merciful Felakia, the woman said, spare me this sight. He's only a lad. And a handsome lad at that."

"Handsome or plain, makes no difference to the buzzards, came another voicea deep baritone"He's dead, Methydia. Come on! The Deming fair's only two weeks off and we gots a long ways to go."

Safar was disappointed. This wasn't how Death was supposed to behave. Was she going to leave his body here? Abandon his ghost to this wasteland?

He stretched his lips and tried to speak, but only managed a croak.

"Wait! said the woman. Sweet, merciful Felakiahe's alive."

No I'm not, Safar tried to say. I'm dead, dammit! Don't leave me here!

Then from above he heard a loud whoosh of escaping air and he felt a huge presence drifting down to him.

Safar smiled. Death was on her way. He ached for her embrace.

Part Three

Wizard of the Winds

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Do you see anything, Luka?"

"No, Majesty. I see nothing."

King Manacia frowned, his royal brow a deeply plowed field of displeasure.

"Are you certain, Luka? he asked his oldest son and heir. He jabbed a long talon at a point on the horizon. Isn't that something, or someone, moving over there?"

Prince Luka shielded his yellow eyes with a clawpeering out over the Forbidden Desert. Manacia and his court were camped on the edge of the blackened wasteland. The King sat on his traveling throne, placed on thick carpets and shaded by a white canopy, billowing in the desert wind. Behind him was the main campa city of gaudy tents that housed his court.

After looking long and hard the prince sighed and shook his bony heada dozen heavy golden chains of office rattling against his armor.

"I don't believe so, Majesty, he said. Then, soothing, But it's early, yet. Perhaps Your Highness is hungry, or thirsty. Why don't you retire to your tent and I'll send for the stewards. Possibly you'd enjoy a little nap. You look so weary, Sire, that it nearly breaks my heart.

"I'll alert Your Majesty the instant Lord Fari returns."

Manacia exposed his fangsa wide, multi-rowed smile of fatherly pride. You're a good and loyal son, Luka, he said. No king could ask for a better prince. But it wouldn't be seemly. A king must not fear to suffer the same trials and tribulations as his subjects."

Prince Luka laid a claw of sincerity across his mailed heart. You are an inspiration to us all, Majesty, he said. I worship and study at your feet, praying I will have half Your Highness courage and wisdom on that most regretful day when the gods decree that I must succeed you to the throne."

The whole time the Crown Prince spoke he was thinking, I hope you choke on a bone, you horrid old fiend. I hope the sun fries your brains and the hyenas feast on your liver.

Manacia chuckled fondly. To think I nearly wrung your neck at birth, he said. I thought you'd grow to be a conspiring little savage like your mother. Instead, you've matured into the most civilized and considerate subject in my kingdom. It's a pity I couldn't let your mother live to see what a fine son you've turned out to be."

Prince Luka bowed low, humbly thanking his father for his kind words. But he thought, You old fool. You wouldn't look so smug if you knew Mother made me swear on her death bed that I'd avenge her.

Manacia gestured and a slave crawled over on his belly with a cup of cold wine. The king sipped, reminiscing.

"Looking at you, my son, he said, no one would ever guess your mother was a barbarian. You are my strong and serene right claw. And to think when I bedded her the first time she tried to stab me with a knife she'd hidden in her girdle."

He smiled at the memory. Your mother was understandably overwrought, he said, because I'd just killed her father and brothers. I had to have her tied to the bed before I could mount her."

"Your Majesty has regaled me many times with the tale of that illustrious moment, Prince Luka said. I never tire of hearing it."

The king laughed and slapped his knee. Did I ever tell you what your mother said after I'd had my pleasures?"

"Yes, Majesty, the prince said. But it was such a delicious incident I'd be pleased if you told me again."

"She said I'd raped her! the king chortled. Can you imagine that? Me, rape her?"

"She should have thanked you for honoring her with your royal seed, Majesty, the prince said. But she was young and of a savage tribe. Mother didn't know what she was saying."

The king was impatient to complete his story. Yes, yes, he said. But that's not the point. We already know she was a savage. I said so, didn't I?

"The point is she accused me of raping her. And do you know what I replied?"

"No, Majesty. What did you say?"

"I replied'that wasn't rape. That was'now get this'assault with a friendly weapon.

Manacia howled with laughter at his joke. The prince forced sounds of immense amusement.

Then the prince said, One thing you've never told me, Sire… what was Mother's answer?"

The king's laughter cut off in mid-snort. What was that? he growled, green skin mottling with building anger.

"I said, what did Mother reply after you made that marvelous jest about rape being nothing but assault with a friendly weapon?"

"It doesn't matter what she replied, the king snapped. That wasn't the joke. The joke was the friendly weapon part. Not what she said after. Who cares what that fiendbitch thought? It's what the king has to say that's important. Whole histories are devoted solely to the remarks of kings. In my case, I'm also noted for my sense of humor. The anecdote concerning your mother is only one especially revealing example."

"Absolutely, Sire, the prince said. How foolish of me not to see it right off."

The king's mood turned from fair to foul. Muttering oaths, he resumed his watchsearching the bleak horizon for some sign of his Grand Wazier.

In the king's opinionwhich, as he often said, was the only one that matteredfew truly appreciated how hard he'd labored these past few years. Nothing had come easily and every platter of victory he'd been served up always seemed to hide a nasty little insect under the tastiest morsels.

All of the demon lands had been brought completely under his control. His kingdom now bore the name Ghazban, after the ancient emperor who'd first welded all the demon lands together. Zanzair was now the seat of the mightiest kingdom since the time of Alisarrian, the human conqueror who had cut short Ghazban's long and honorable dynasty.

No sooner had the naming festival ended when trouble began to gnaw at Manacia's accomplishments. First there was the drought, which still held the kingdom in its gripturning the harvests to ashen husks. Then there were the locust swarmsgreat clouds that first blackened the sky and then the earth as the insects descended to devour whatever had managed to defy the drought.

Plagues mysteriously erupted across the land, ravaging the populaceturning cities to towns and towns to desolate villages. There were reports of ghastly phantoms rising from graveyards, giants suddenly appearing to threaten distant crossroads, Jinns crouching in ambush to devour unsuspecting travelers.