Out to the side were cavalry wings, all bristling with the small bows of the plains warriors. Behind them were ranks of slingmen, all on foot. The slingmen were thinly guarded by small cavalry detachments and a few well-armed foot-soldiersmuscular men with short heavy spears in each hand and axes in their belts.

The scouts roamed the edges, letting their witch sniffers loose to find the magical center. The creatures looked like squat dogs with hyena faces. They dashed about, scratching at the ground and sniffing the air.

In the end they returned to their demon masters, tails between their spavined legs to show failure.

Safar watched the scouts ride offheading north toward the Demon Moon where Manacia's forces were slowly moving forward.

He was perched on the crown of the westernmost rock column and had an excellent view. With him were Leiria, and four wizard helpers. There was a similar number posted on the opposite column, commanded by Horvan, his most able mage.

The spells he'd cast to shield the rock columns from the witch sniffers had been child's play. What had not been child's play was getting on top of those rocks. The task had been so difficultthe rocks so sheerSafar's plan had nearly been wrecked before he started.

Iraj's soldiers were all men of the plains. Mountains were unknown to them. The highest any had ever climbed was to the backs of their horses.

Safar had watched in awful suspense as the team Iraj had selected attacked the first rock column and failed time and again. They would get no higher than ten feetfifteen at the mostthen come off the smooth rock all flailing arms and shrill cries, like clumsy chicks falling from their nest.

The only fortunate thing was no one got hurt, beyond skinned fingers, knees and pride.

Finally, there was nothing to be done but have Safar attempt it himself. Everyone protested, Iraj the loudest.

"I'll not have my Grand Wazier killed before the battle even starts, he said.

"I'm a child of the mountains, Safar pointed out. And the only one with climbing experience. Besides, I'm eventually going to have make the climb anyway. The team was just supposed to set up ropes so they could hoist me and my mages into place."

He shrugged. It seems silly to risk all our plans over something so easily solved."

Finally, Iraj assented and Safar found himself next to the western column, peering up at the crown. He made a few cautious experimental attempts, fingers and bare toes skittering on the smooth rock, searching for hairline cracks just deep enough to give purchase.

The whole army was watchingan army that feared heightsand each time he fumbled and slid gently to the ground they gasped in unison as if he were plummeting to his death.

It reminded Safar of the nail-biting crowds at Methydia's Circus when great acrobatic feats were being performed. The thought brought back the skills he'd learned from Arlain and Kairo, and so on his first true attempt he scampered up thirty feet without pause.

The fifty-thousand man army cheered and applauded like the greatest audience ever gathered under one tent. Safar became carried away with the moment. Although he had good purchase, he pretended otherwise and made as if he'd lost his grip and was falling.

The army moaned in horror. It was an awful sound, a frightening sound. Nothing like a circus audience, which know deep in their hearts the performer will ultimately prevail.

It came to Safar the warriors were putting all their hopes in him. Yes, they knew Protarus was a great king and a mighty general who had carried them through the worst circumstances. Iraj was not a monarch who believed in wasting his soldiers lives. But they feared the demons, especially demon magic and they were looking to Lord Timura, the Grand Wazier, wizard above all wizards, to save them. Hadn't King Protarus himself attested to Lord Timura's abilities? And hadn't they already seen his early successes with the demons who'd held Kyrania, and in the shadow fight with Manacia?

To them, if Safar fell to his death it might very well portend their own. Safar took pity and ended his antics.

But he was showman enough to free a hand so he could wave while he nodded his head to show it was all in good fun.

A huge explosion of nervous laughter carried him the next ten feet.

He resumed the climb, but cautiously, soberly. It turned out to be much more difficult that way. Without the crowd-stirred energy of a performer to aid him he quickly became tired, his fingers and toes numb and a few times he really almost did lose his grip and come off the wall. When it happened he was at a height that would have crippled him, or spelled his doom.

He was exhausted when he finally reached the top. Although the cheers were thunderous, he felt nothing when he sent down the ropes to let the others up.

All he could think of was the other stone column. There was no getting around the fact it too had to be climbedand by him and him alone.

The only true blessing the Old Gods granted living things, and this grudgingly, was that all ordeals, all pain, must eventually endone way or the other. It was Safar's good fortune his ended well. And now he was perched on the first column he'd climbed, a little tired, but certainly ready for Manacia.

After awhile he saw the dust ridge rise up under the Demon Moon and knew the enemy was approaching. He flashed a palm mirror to signal Iraj. Orders were shouted from below, trumpets blared, and there was a shifting sea of warriors coming to life and moving into position.

The dust ridge grew larger by the hour, soon walling the entire horizon. Still it approached, until there came a point when Safar could almost make out the dark outlines of mounted demons. Then all forward motion halted and the ridge became a huge dusty boil. It was like an old, weary dog who'd found a suitable place to rest and was turning round and round, to finally settle nose to tail.

Safar signaled againManacia was making camp.

The demon king scoffed at the battle map. It was clear to him what Protarus meant to do.

"He wants to use the stone columns to make us come to his center, he said to Luka. That's where his main force is gathered."

He gestured at the wooden markers to the left and right of the main forces. And he'll try to use his cavalry to pinch us in from the sides to make certain we stay on the course he prefers."

Manacia slammed his taloned fist onto the table, toppling the markers.

"Well, I don't intend to meekly follow this king's commands, he said. I've fought this battle before. Hells, I've fought it four or five times at least."

He tapped his horned head. It's all here, he said to his son. A game of minds. I almost feel sorry for Protarus. It's clear he doesn't know who or what he is up against."

Fari cleared his throat for attention. What of the wizard, Timura? he asked. He'll most certainly figure into Protarus plans."

Manacia scowled. It's true we haven't located him, he said. Or any source of human magic for that matter. I suppose he's shielded himself. It's not an easy thing to do, so I mustn't underestimate him. Still, I've got similar shields in place, protecting a much larger wizardly force.

"We'll wait until he strikes and reveals himself. He won't stand a chance when we reply."

Luka and Fari exchanged quick looks. Each could tell the other was impressed with Manacia's reading of the situation.

The Crown Prince bitterly accepted his father's military expertise. He had no doubt when the battle commenced Manacia would prevail.

"We'll attack at dawn, Manacia said. Just as the humans are stirring at the camp fires."