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  When Devayani saw her long-lost master Dahaka, his monstrous throat savagely torn, she beat her mighty breast in fury and grief. She rose up on her haunches screaming, taking up dust with her great paws, and wiping it on her face and head. She raised her fists to the night sky in grief, firelight shining on her raw, bloody body.

  She came down, aiming her feet to land on Atar. The ground shook with the force of her weight, but Atar was not beneath her feet. He rolled aside just in time, clutching the dagger in his hand. He had rolled into the monster’s undercarriage, as he had planned. Using strength no ordinary man could possess, Atar raised the dagger and cut into the monster’s hot intestines. As the seething organs poured out, Atar only had enough strength left to scurry out from under the massive creature.

  The colossal tail swatted him as he fled and darkness closed in around him, welcoming him. He sank to his knees then fell senseless to the floor.

  The magi, those who had had the courage to stay, crept out from their hiding places, mouths gaping. Whispering, they rushed toward the fallen hero.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Bulliwuf looked down at his dear charge and licked his face again. The young man was deathly pale, but at least his face had lost that gray look. The clerics watching over the Golden Savage had learned not to try to stop Bulliwuf from fussing. Both of the attendants were girls today and they were acting giddy with the honor of tending to the Golden Savage.

  Atar’s eyes snapped open and they gasped in surprise, throwing their arms around one another. Bulliwuf let out a yip of joy and smothered his friend in kisses.

  “Ah, lay off. I feel like shit,” he remarked weakly. He noticed the girls and smiled in a friendly way. Then he turned his anxious eyes back to Bulliwuf. “Did Devayani the Dragon die? Did she flee? Did my father return?”

  He is gone, and the dragon is dead. Bulliwuf used mind speak, as there were others in the room. My Atar, my dearest love, I almost lost you! He continued to assail Atar with his lapping tongue.

  Atar turned his head slightly. He regretted the small movement instantly as a bolt of white-hot pain shot through his entire body. There were more bandages than skin showing on the young barbarian. He moaned and saw the concerned faces of the clerics pop into view. One pressed a cold glass of wine to his lips.

  Atar noticed his lush surroundings. The scent of the hundreds of flowers surrounding his bed wafted to him. He was in a large tent. The morning sunlight poured in through the half-open flap. A crowd of silent, expensively dressed spectators gaped at him like some kind of exotic beast. God, he hurt. He felt so confused. What was all this stuff surrounding him? Rich carpets, oddly shaped bottles gilded with gold, little silver statues, precious jewels, and flowing fabrics almost filled the room.

  One of the girls rushed over to close the flap and whispered something harsh at the people gathered outside. There was a steady pounding inside his head and he was grateful for the coolness that suddenly pressed against his forehead.

  There was a rustle of cloth and Atar opened his eyes, gritting his teeth in pain. An old man was walking toward him. His foot dislodged a bolt of red silk and Atar watched it fall as the old man stood over him. He was clad in white, like the girls. He had a big amulet slung over his neck and judging from the embroidery bordering his robe, Atar figured he must be a big shot.

  The man seemed surprised to meet Atar’s eyes. He took a step back as if he were a little afraid. Tentatively he poked at one of Atar’s bandages and Atar gave him a wild look.

  Bulliwuf, how long have I been here? What is this place?

  The priest jumped. His eyes became as round as saucers.

  Two weeks.

  What?

  Bulliwuf scratched an ear as the clerics tried to push him back down onto the bed. He shrugged their hands off and surged to his feet. He wobbled dangerously and cast around for his gear. There was his tiger skin, but look how it had changed! He took two wobbly steps toward it and touched the leather, now as soft as silk.

  They had it cleaned while you were asleep, Bulliwuf said.

  Atar could hardly believe it. The eye sockets had been replaced with realistic glass eyes and the teeth had been tipped with wickedly sharp gold points. The clawed feet were similarly decorated. The fur had been brushed so that the natural shine of the hair was brought out. His other clothing was nowhere in sight, but piles of unfamiliar clothes vied for his attention.

  He sat back down on the bed, suddenly assaulted by a hot flash of memory. Bulliwuf, did you kill Zohak?

  Bulliwuf did not reply for a moment. Atar could feel his friend’s anger and knew the truth.

  No. I nibbled a bit, but ugh! Even a werewolf has to watch his diet. Anyway, there will be more to his story. His fate is not yet fulfilled. Dahaka, his father, and your evil uncle, well, I thought I killed him. Later I learned that his body was missing. He has the magic for resurrection. He is as foul a spirit as one can imagine. I should have eaten his corpse, but ugh! He smelled like a rotted corpse. My guess is that he has been dead for some time now. He was a reanimated corpse. A wizard of the Black Magic religion.

  Another cleric walked in bearing a huge golden platter heaped with every kind of imaginable delicacy. Atar realized he was ravenous and stared at the tray. The young man carrying the tray was so busy staring at Atar that he did not notice the bolt of red silk that had toppled over into his path. He stumbled over it and the tray danced dangerously in his hands. Atar darted forward and caught the tray just as it began to fall.

  The clerics gasped, even more wide eyed. He smiled and sat down, not really caring what the fuss was about. He didn’t even bother asking if the food was for him either. He was so hungry, he didn’t care. He bit into a hunk of meat with savage glee.

  What a waste of time! Why didn’t you wake me up? Atar asked, sounding annoyed.

  Because you looked so cute asleep, my lover.

  Atar growled at him, pissed off. Juice was dripping off his chin and Bulliwuf suddenly leapt forward and licked at it. The clerics whispered as Bulliwuf grabbed a piece of meat off of the tray and joined Atar. What’s all this crap here for? Atar asked in an ill humor.

  At least I get some new boots out of this miserable experience. There must be at least six pairs of them—look at those black ones. Atar said.

  Atar realized the Priest was watching him, waiting, or so it seemed. Atar bit into a neat slice of melon, eating half the peel as he glared at the Priest. What the hell did he want?

  Haltingly, the priest began, “My greeting—err—well…” He seemed to be talking in heavily accented Scythian, but it was a dialect too distant for Atar to understand.

  The tent flap opened yet again and a breathless man strode in. He was wearing emerald green robes and an amulet different from the one the priest was wearing. He said something fast to the priest, never taking his eyes off of Atar. That wide-eyed stare was really starting to grate on the nerves. Atar needed to get out of the tent and see the sky.

  We really need to get out of here. We’re surrounded by strange people.

  Atar would have gone on, but looked up when he heard the man in green give a little shriek of pain. He had his hands clamped over his ears. His eyes were shut tight. He eased up a little.

  What the hell is his problem?

  The man buckled over, this time screaming loudly.

  Then from a far off distance, Atar thought he heard a muted, weak voice.

  Please sir, don’t shout. You voice is so terrible. It is like a god’s. You must whisper or my mind will shatter.

  Atar was so startled that for a moment he didn’t respond. In a very, very soft voice he asked, who are you?

  The man took his time. He still appeared to be in considerable pain. My name is Heslin. I am the most powerful Speaker Mage in the Seven Kingdoms. I was recognized in the Ceremony. I have come to greet you, oh, most honored Firestarter. They know now that you speak through the mind, and I am skilled in that way. That is why I have been sent.

 
Huh.

  No one knew the Great Anacharsis had a son! Everyone wants to know where you came from.

  Atar seemed to think about this for a time, chewing solemnly. I have a headache.

  The mage before him didn’t skip a beat. All the kings and queens will want to meet you at the Great Banquet tonight. Everyone wants to meet you.

  Huh. Hey Bulliwuf what do you think about that? They want to meet the Idiot. Atar realized he must have raised his voice again because the man was doubled over.Sorry. He paused then said, I don’t want to talk to any more rich folk.

  The man straightened, but his look was agitated. Oh but you must! The feast will be held in honor of your bravery. You should hear the songs they are singing about you. There’s a new one every day! You must come, you have duties as the Firestarter. Of course, how much you intervene is really up to you, but we need you! Desperately! The Northern Savages are upon us again and in even greater force than before. Emperor Hergor is ready to war with King Mena for his daughter, Princess Sophene the Sharp, and the Twin kingdoms are about to start in again because Terhool ran out of silver to mine. The unrest is causing riots everywhere. Please. We need you!

  Atar frowned deeply. What are the Northern Savages? What am I supposed to do about all that?

  The mage looked blank, You are the Firestarter. You have the power to help—you and you alone. The banquet will be tonight. The man bowed deeply and backed off a few feet. The Priest followed him out, whispering frantically.

  Free food. Maybe I’ll go just for that, what do you think Bulliwuf?

  In that case, I will accompany you in my human form. I have to keep those women off of you. I have been quite jealous lately.

  Atar tore at the bandages on his arms, causing the clerics to flutter and coo in distress. He sighed and lay back down, mulling over what to do. You can’t do that, Bulliwuf. You look really different when you change. You are not at all very human-like with that silver hair and eyes.

  Don’t worry your empty head over that my little lover. I’ll do as you say, but I know it is because you are jealous. I can have any woman I want, is that not so?

  Atar woke suddenly and realized he must have drifted off. The tent was empty except for Bulliwuf.

  They ran. One of them figured out that I am a werewolf.

  Atar smiled at him and got up to look at all the riches heaped around the room. He was momentarily overwhelmed and as he looked around, he began to peel off the bandages. He walked over to where a pile of what looked like clothes had been heaped. Some of the costumes were outrageous, but they all looked better than anything he had ever owned. He pulled on the black leather boots he had noticed earlier, marveling at the feel of good leather. They were a perfect fit, which made him wonder if they had come in here while he was asleep and measured his feet. Lying near where the boots had been was a black leather loincloth and something else, obviously made by the same craftsman. He shucked off the cotton towel they had tied around his waist and donned this new article of clothing. It was a bit snug, but very well made. Then he picked up the other thing and turned it over in his hands, trying to figure it out. He stuck his arm into it and waggled his fingers in the holes provided. Hmm, how to wear these things. He rooted around for a time, and eventually found some of his old clothes.

  Then he took a look around him. There was an assortment of weapons lying against the far side of the tent, but his heart skipped a beat when he did not immediately see his mace. He whirled around and let out his breath in relief when he saw the gleaming mace propped against his bed. He turned his attention to the tiger skin. He touched the fur, marveling once more at the beauty of it. Picking it up, he noticed something even better. Inside the skull of the tiger, a gleaming helmet had been fixed into place. He tried it on, delighted. It fit wonderfully.

  What else would he need? He wasn’t going out for long, but if he didn’t get out of this tent, he might go crazy. He grabbed a belt beautifully worked with silver. Fixed to the belt was a sheath containing a long, sharp knife. Perfect!

  He strapped it on, then drew it out, cutting an exit for himself in the rear of the tent.

  Come on Bulliwuf, this will be fun!

  He slipped out the back door he had made, only to come face to face with a mob of wide-eyed people. He backed up hastily and stumbled onto his bed.

  Oh, damn it. What do you… Do you think… I suppose I’m going to have to stay here for the rest of the day.

  Atar settled back onto the bed and then figured that since he was trapped in here, he might as well make the best use of his time. He turned his attention to the heaps of riches. Some of this stuff was pretty cool. He could maybe use it for his trip.

  Some hours later, a wild-eyed mage rushed into his tent gesturing. Atar looked over, bemused, while the mage struggled to make his way through the sea of gifts strewn everywhere. Atar was sitting under a huge hole he had carved in the tent ceiling. He was on top of a pile of brightly colored fabrics. He had a gaudy ring on every finger and he was in the process of examining his weapons. On his head he wore a jeweled purple turban and around his neck, a double row of pearls from the Coastal Kingdom. He had experimented with the little pots of color he had found and had streaked paint on his face, chest, and arms. He had accidentally smashed some of the valuable items as he investigated them and they lay in scattered heaps. Bulliwuf was chewing vigorously on an intricately worked sandal. He had swallowed a heap of brightly colored gems while complaining about their lack of taste. They had had an interesting afternoon.

  At first, Atar did not recognize the mage because he was clad in a bright gold robe and his expression was so wild.

  My lord, came that faint voice. Forgive me, I beg you. Have mercy! The man sobbed, inching forward, arms outstretched pathetically.

  Atar leapt to his feet. What’s wrong? He whispered.

  The feast is about to begin, but the mage I sent to tell you was so frightened by the wolf that he hid under a pile of rugs. We have only ten minutes!

  There was a desperate edge to the man’s voice and tears were beginning to show in his eyes.

  I thought it was going to be a hassle, but I didn’t expect it to reduce you to tears. You’re used to these weird customs and if the feast did this to you, I’ll probably be hysterical in five minutes. Atar had risen and was shedding rings and riches. He donned his tiger skin and turned to Heslin the Speaker. I’m ready whenever you are. Hey Bulliwuf? Remember what I said. You better stay in your wolf form. Your human form is even scarier!

  Heslin the mage backed away from Bulliwuf, his face a mask of terror. Heslin gasped as he stared at the great wolf. His knees knocked together, making his robes flutter strangely.

  Bulliwuf gave him his best wolf grin and then approached the man, who began to mewl in terror. He sniffed Heslin’s crotch and said, Well, most interesting… in his Germanic accent. Atar knew he was having a great deal of fun frightening the human.

  Atar walked toward the bed and got his mace. A mace was always a good thing to have at a feast. He remembered that in legends, feasts were often the venue of attacks by one’s enemies. Perhaps that was the reason for Heslin’s fear.

  Atar gave Heslin a funny look then strode out the door, Bulliwuf at his heels. As he stepped out into the fresh evening air, gasps of surprise and hushed whispers greeted him. He blushed and was glad for the cover of the tiger skin. He slung his mace over his shoulder and attempted to proceed. It seemed to take forever for the crowd to part. They were so engrossed in staring that they forgot common decency. Finally, Heslin had to take the lead, shoving people aside.

  The crowd parted then and Atar’s eyes widened. Before him, in a great clearing, with servants hurrying to and fro was an enormous banquet set on a huge table. Delicate glasses filled with sparkling liquid, strange silver implements, and platters of oddly dressed meats were arrayed in a stunning display. A greenish blue bird, still in its glorious feathers, caught his eye in particular. The candles, unnecessary right now, sat atop intri
cate stands, casting a luminous glow over the bird and over the faces of the people around the table. The bird had a tail that spread out in a huge fan. It dazzled his eyes. There was so much food.

  The people seated around the table stood at his approach and he gawked shamelessly at them. They were decked out in the most peculiar costumes he had ever seen. He recognized some of the styles from the gifts he had received, but the impact of seeing such elegance in a group of people was overwhelming.

  He heard a squeal and a few muttered comments in languages that he didn’t understand. His face was expressionless as he stood there, his bare chest gleaming with the sunset light. Traces of the terrible battle still lingered. Scars of healing wounds stood out in the light of the banquet.

  Over his shoulder, he carried an enormous silver tipped mace with a handle of shining black wood. The monstrous wolf by the barbarian’s side had the same wild, untamable look. His tongue lolled out of his mouth, showing off his teeth. He looked sleek and powerful and very alert.

  Are you showing off your teeth? Never mind. What the hell am I supposed to do now, Bulliwuf? You are royalty. What do you do?

  Don’t worry, Atar. Just follow my lead.

  All of a sudden, he felt his old awkwardness come back, and he even looked at Heslin for guidance. Heslin showed him to a chair at the head of the table and he managed to sit down without shaming himself. He set his mace down on the table with an authoritative thunk that made the others jump in surprise.

  The rest of the people seated themselves and Atar took the time to stare his fill. They stared back, just as interested. His eyes were momentarily caught by the luminous green eyes of a girl seated in toward the middle of the table. She had hair the color of fire. The man seated to his right gave him a meaty, painful slap on the shoulder, and said something in a gruff, man-to-man voice that Atar did not understand. He was tempted to slap the man back. His hand twitched for his mace, but he thought better of it at the last second.