Free Spell of the Crystal Chair by Gilbert L. Morris

understand these things, Olah. These are matters that warriors must decide.”
    Seated at Balog’s right was his father, Magon. He was old now, but in his day he had been a fabled warrior. No one could stand before him, and the songs of the tribe included many sagas of Magon’s battles against the enemies of the Yanti. He had passed along his chief’s office to his son some years ago when he was grievously wounded in battle and was unable to go out anymore. He rarely spoke in council. But when he did, everyone listened, for it was well known that Magon never gave bad advice.
    “My son, there is truth in what your mate says.”
    Balog respected his father, although the two did not always agree.
    “But, Father,” he complained, “they ran away!”
    “I ran away more than once in my day as war chieftain.”
    “Impossible!” Balog said. “I cannot believe it!”
    “If I had not run away when the odds were overwhelming, there would not have been another day to fight. From what I understand of Dakar’s news, they were badly outnumbered. As a matter of fact, they were foolish to attack such a large group.”
    Dakar nodded eagerly. “I see that now, sire. That was my mistake.”
    “Denhelm is a valiant warrior, and his daughter, Fairmina, is the equal of most men,” his father said. “I think no shame has attached itself to our warriors.”
    Balog wanted to argue, but truly he had great respect for his father.
    “May I say a word?”
    Balog turned to the one stranger in their midst. Heknew him. He had spotted him as soon as he had seated himself. The visitor was shrouded from head to foot in a black cloak. The hood shadowed his face, but his voice came clear.
    The chief shifted uneasily. “We have a guest,” he said rather grudgingly. “You have heard of him. This is Zarkof, sometimes known as the pale wizard.”
    A murmur went around the council, for all had heard of Zarkof. It was known that he had strange powers and was closely allied with the Dark Lord himself. His stronghold had never been taken, and, although there were some rather terrible tales told about the pale wizard, none dared speak of them to his face.
    “I am a self-invited guest, Chief Balog. But if I might say one word, I may be of some help to you and to the Yanti people.”
    Balog’s eyes ran around the council. He saw apprehension in some eyes, curiosity in others. Taking a deep breath, he nodded. “We will always hear our guests, Zarkof.”
    “Thank you, Chief Balog.” Throwing the hood back, Zarkof revealed his face. It was a sharp-featured face with deep-set, murky eyes. The color was impossible to tell. Unlike the others, who were tanned and weatherbeaten by the elements, Zarkof’s face was as smooth as old marble. He had an aristocratic look and something of cruelty as well, although now he spoke gently and politely.
    “Those of us in Whiteland live on the edge of the great world,” he said. His voice took on a magnetic quality, almost hypnotic. Though it was not a loud voice, power was in it as he continued. “There are great things afoot in the world today. The struggle that began some years ago is reaching its climax. All of theopponents of the Dark Lord have been vanquished except for a few ragtag followers of that fellow they call Goél.”
    At this word, Balog saw his father narrow his eyes.
    Magon said nothing, but his gaze locked with that of Zarkof, and for a moment the two seemed to be engaged in some sort of struggle. It was an emotional and a spiritual clash of wills. More than Balog must have noticed that it was Magon that Zarkof seemed to challenge rather than the chief himself.
    “What is your interest in our people?” Magon asked steadily.
    “To provide help. It is time for the Yanti to take their place in the sun. Why should you sit here half frozen, fighting with the other tribes for a bit of territory, when, with the help of my friend the Dark Lord, you could rule all of Whiteland.”
    An excited murmur ran