Luka ran with them, spurring his mount to keep up. He wasn't running out of fear, although he was certainly frightened enough. He was racing to keep up, shouting for calm and order, doing his best to contain the rout.

Behind him he could hear the crack and thunder of the flying ships.

And the howls of Protarus pursuing army.

Hours passed before Manacia restored order. But when he did the best he could manage was to wheel his forces about and set up a fortified camp.

In the distance Protarus paused and set up a camp of his own.

"The fight isn't over yet, Manacia railed, striding about his command tent, kicking and clubbing any slave who got in his way. He can't stand up to me again. I'll hammer him into dust!"

Iraj paced his command tent, but his pace was measured, his manner calm.

"I hope we don't have to fight him again, he said to Safar. If we do, it'll be out in the open on ground of his choosing. He won't fall for our tricks again."

"I suppose this where luck comes in, Safar said.

Iraj paused, considering, then nodded. Yes, he said. Now we get to see how lucky we really are."

"He's lucky, that's all, Manacia said, voice still shaking with fury. Moreover, he was aided and abetted by cowards in my own court."

Luka, who'd been listening as patiently as possible, turned cold.

"What is it you are suggesting, Majesty? he asked, not bothering to hide his anger.

Manacia turned on him. I'm not suggesting anything, he said. It's clear enough my son is a coward, who leads a band of cowardly fiends."

"Ah! Luka said as if he'd suddenly made a great discovery. You intend to blame me, is that it?"

"You've shamed me, Manacia said. But I'll not hide that shame. Fault will be directed at its source, no matter if that source is my son and heir."

Luka came closer, as if to appeal for reason.

Instead he said, Father, tell me about the time my mother accused you of rape. It's such a humorous incident it will give us all good cheer."

Manacia frowned. What's wrong with you? he snapped. This is no time for humor."

"Oh, but it is, father, Luka insisted. This is the very kind of situation that does call for humor."

Manacia drew himself up for another angry bellow.

But Luka quickly drew his sword and cut the bellow off at its source.

He watched his father's headless body flop to the floor.

Luka turned to the others, calmly wiping his blade.

"Any objections? he demanded.

The generals and aides were frozen, gaping at this turn of events.

Fari was the first to speak. Not at all, Your Majesty, he said.

Stiffly and with much joint cracking he lowered his aged bulk to its knees.

"Long live King Luka! he cried.

The generals followed his lead, dropping to the ground and abasing themselves and shouting, Long Live King Luka!"

Luka peered at his father's head, eyes open and staring.

"What's wrong, father? he asked. You're not laughing!"

Some weeks later Iraj crossed the Forbidden Desert, leading a grand victory procession down the road to Zanzair.

Kalasariz had carried Luka's surrender terms to Protarus and acted as a go-between in the ensuing discussions. The demon army was broken up into small groups and sent home. Luka offered himself as hostage, sending Fari back to ZanzairManacia's head stored in iceto arrange for Iraj's arrival.

To Safar's displeasure Kalasariz was rewarded with much gold and a high position on Iraj's staff. Safar advised his king against it, but Iraj had brushed off his advice, saying there was always a desperate need for good spies.

At last the day arrived when the gates of Zanzair came into view.

They were marching along a misty highway, banners fluttering, drums rapping time.

Iraj rode Manacia's great war elephant, Safar at his side. A large flag made of fine Sampitay silk hung from the howdah. On it was the Crest of The Conqueror, the red Demon Moon and silver comet.

But it was no longer Alisarrian's flag. Iraj had claimed it as his own.

In a week an elaborate ceremony would be staged in Manacia's former palace. Dignitaries, both human and demon, would crowd the grand throneroom and humble themselves before Protarus.

There he would be declared King of Kings, supreme monarch of all Esmir.

The breeze stiffened and Safar saw the mist lift. Directly ahead were the gates of Zanzair.

"Look! Iraj said, excited as a child. We're almost there."

Hanging from a post above the gates was Manacia's gory head.

The gates swung open and an enormous crowd of demons poured out to hail their new king. Iraj waved a mailed hand in return.

The demon cries became wilder, chanting: Protarus! Protarus! Protarus!"

Iraj turned to Safar, a broad smile on his face.

"My friend, he said. I owe all this to you."

Then the smile became a loud laugh of surprise.

"I said that in the vision, didn't I? he reminded Safar.

"Or something close enough to it, Safar answered.

Iraj clapped him on the back. And it's all come true, he said. Everything you predicted."

Safar smiled. I suppose it has, he said.

But the smile hid gnawing worry. His vision had carried him to the gates of Zanzair, but no farther.

And now all he could think was… What happens next?

PART FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY

She was a rare woman. She had beauty, she had wealth, she had power.

She was also a woman of mystery, which in the time of the Demon Moon made her the rarest of women among men.

Her crestthe sign of the House of Fatinahwas a silver dagger and there was much talk of how it had come to be.

Some said it had been the crest of her late, unlamented husband, Lord Fatinah, a merchant among merchants so smitten by his young wife he'd left her his fortune. The Lady Fatinah, it was said, hastened her husband's departure from this world with his own dagger, which was made of silver. That the woman wore rich gowns all of mourning black and bearing the silver dagger crest added credence to this story.

Others speculated she'd once been the favorite courtesan of a king, perhaps even Protarus himself. In this version she'd come up the loser in a harem war and was driven out, but with many chests of gold and rare stones to speed her departure. Some said she'd slain her rival with a silver dagger, but the death caused such a scandal she was banished from the harem. Once again the tale of the aging Lord Fatinah came into play. Rumor mongers said the marriage was arranged to sidestep the scandal. They also said Lord Fatinah died before the marriage was consummated. Again, the dying nobleman had been so enamored of his beauteous wife that he'd bequeathed her all his worldly goods.

The curious throngs of Zanzair, with nearly as many humans as demons among them, babbled those tales and others when she passed by in her carriage, with the silver daggers emblazoned on each door.

The Lady Fatinah had demon outriders to push the throngs back and a human driver to hurry the matched black team of horses along. A burly demon guard sat next to the driver, sweeping the crowd with his ever watchful eyes.