Free Alutar: The Great Demon by Richard S. Tuttle Page B

Zynor, the old Zaroccan hermit, sat across the fire from Fakir Aziz, and he smiled at the game the Mage was playing. With a flick of his wrist, he began helping the spell in the area before him where it was weakest. The sudden magical help caused Kalmar’s feet to become covered in sand, and Valera laughed when she saw Kalmar’s face register annoyance. The Koroccan healer shot a glare at Valera, but her joy was contagious. He soon was laughing also as he joined in the spell and sent the pile of sand that covered his feet towards Valera. The Vinaforan bookworm was ready for the act of revenge. She deftly joined the spell and kept the sand moving in a circle. Within minutes, all of the mages were helping in sending the sand around and around.
    Fakir Aziz smiled as he observed the group of mages laughing like children. At first the exercise resulted in contests to see who could pile the most sand at the feet of another, but the nature of the mages soon demanded perfection, and they voluntarily focused on working together to create a seamless whirlpool of sand. The Mage suddenly abandoned his participation in the exercise, but his loss was quickly adjusted to by the other mages. Fakir Aziz rose and left the circle. He walked down to the shore of the Sea of Tears and removed his boots. He waded into the surf and squatted, lettings his hands feel the salt water. He closed his eyes, and a few minutes later, he sighed deeply. The time for confrontation was fast approaching.
    * * * *
    General Forshire rose from the bunk opposite Colonel Donil and paced around the floor of the small barracks on the grounds of the Imperial Palace in Despair. He mulled over what he and Donil had been talking about but his mind was distracted by thoughts of the coming confrontation.
    “Have I failed you, General Forshire?” asked Colonel Donil.
    Clint stopped his pacing and turned to face the A Corps colonel. “No, Donil, you have done as I requested. If you had been more aggressive in ferreting out their secrets, you would have destroyed your position here, and I am not ready for you to abandon this post. I am troubled by other thoughts, not your reports. Go to sleep. I will go sit on the bench so as not to disturb you with my pacing.”
    General Forshire left the barracks and made his way towards the Sea of Tears. The moon was high, and he glanced across the grounds of the Imperial Palace and saw the huge tent that Colonel Donil had described. He pondered its purpose as he made his way to his favorite bench, but the mystery of the tent soon faded to other more pressing thoughts. He sat on the bench and stared out at the darkness of the Sea of Tears as he tried to formulate his plans.
    “Do you sleep on this bench now?” a soft voice asked. “Has Donil thrown you out of the barracks?”
    Clint shook his head at the sound of the intrusion. He was not sure how long he had been sitting and thinking, but he berated himself for being caught unawares. He turned and looked up at Colonel Taerin.
    “And has Kyrga locked you out of your room in the Palace?” Clint quipped with a slight smile. “It is unlike you to traipse around the grounds at night.”
    Colonel Taerin sighed and nodded as he sat on the bench next to General Forshire. “I sleep little these days. I had not heard that you had arrived in Despair.”
    “Nor will you,” admitted Clint. “I just stopped by to speak with Donil. I will be gone before morning.”
    “Then you did not plan to seek me out?” frowned Colonel Taerin. “Not even to gloat over your victories in Alcea?”
    Clint stiffened. He stared into the colonel’s eyes and asked, ”How do you know about the war in Alcea?”
    “So it is true,” sighed Colonel Taerin. “I have only managed to pick up rumors and small snippets of hushed conversations. Emperor Jaar and Grand General Kyrga have been livid the past few days. What happened over there?”
    “The Alceans won every battle,” answered Clint. “We have taken