Fire And Ice (Book 1) (62 page)

             
“After three times not showing,” Katelyn told him roughly.  “I need to know what we are facing magically, and what you have to counter it.”

             
“That is not so easily answered,” the wizard began.  “We have had nothing to compare so you might not realize that there are relatively few in the West who are taught to use their power, except when it comes to healing.  That talent is always taught to some degree.  As you know, the power has to be taught for the student to gain any real power.  Without teaching, someone can do only a little.  That has been the philosophy of those of us in the West.  We only teach those who can handle the power responsibly.  As a result the numbers are limited.”  He cleared his throat.  “The other side does not have so many scruples.  They teach those who will be the strongest.  Of those, the best become part of the Maji, which I have already explained.  As for numbers, I told you.  There may be a score or so.”

             
“So what are you saying?”  Oran asked.  “That he has more than we do?”

             
The wizard shrugged.  “Basically, yes, but the real question is Elthzidor himself.”  Gelarus’ expression turned grim.  “Like I said he has taken on an enormous amount of power.  It is a power that I would not wield even if I could.  It is a power for destruction and nothing else.”  He saw their long faces.  “But that is a problem that will hopefully be dealt with.”  He tried to give what assurance he could.

             
“If he is so powerful, who will be the one to deal with it?”  Oran asked.  “Should we call on Dios to aid us?” he said somewhat sarcastically.              

             
“You still do not believe in Him?”  Gelarus questioned the Lord.  “Do any of you?” he said to all of them.   

             
They were silent for a time, contemplating the words of the wizard.  “I do,” Margery stated.  Then she looked to Katelyn.  “Father once said that he believed.  He said that we believe in the Creator without ever seeing real proof that he exists, so why not Dios?  He told me that when the time came that we needed his help, the god of Midia would come.  So I believe.”

             
“I hope you are both right,” Katelyn told them truthfully.  If Elthzidor wielded such powers, then whatever they did militarily might be for naught.  That was a sobering thought.  It was also frustrating for her since she was the one charged with protecting the Alliance.  How could she protect it from magic?  That was something that was out of her hands.  Or was it?  Coran read something in the prophecies that gave them a clue, maybe she could find something that would help with Elthzidor.  Whatever it took she would not let her people down.

              Alys entered the rooms set aside for her use while she stayed in Summerhall.  There was a small sitting room with a small table beside the wall, and two chairs lined with yellow cushions in front of a modest fireplace.  A carpet of red and yellow patterns covered the stone floor.  As she closed the door she was surprised to find someone already there.

             
“I have been waiting for you,” her father said from where he stood in front of the unlit fire.  He wore his armor and cloak for traveling.

              “I thought you had gone,” she replied nervously.  She wanted to order him out of her rooms, or at least demand why he was there without her permission, but knew how that would go.  She decided to save herself the pain.              

             
“You are not disappointed I hope?”  The tone of his voice said she should be careful how she answered.

             
“Of course not, Father.”

             
“Good.”  He moved to stand directly in front of her, then lifted her chin with a finger until she was looking up into his face.  “Have you thought about what we discussed last time?”

             
“I...I have,” she replied trying hard not to tremble.

             
“Then are you ready to do your part for your family?”

             
“I will do what I can.”

             
“Then you can prove it by telling me where Coran Tyelin really is.  I know he did not go to Tyelin as everyone was told.”

             
It was not exactly what she had expected.  “Why do you need to know?” she asked, trying to sound humble in order to avoid his anger.  She failed.

             
He removed his finger in order to put his hand around her neck, then he squeezed.  “That is not your concern,” he told her and she believed the threat in his eyes.  “Are you going to tell me where he is?”  She nodded vigorously until he released her throat.  “Tell me.”

             
“Yes, Father,” she said meekly and told him what he wanted to hear.

              Shirri preferred the light gray dress with the flowers on it that she wore.  She liked the plain clothes better than the finery that Margery stuffed her into.  She liked the older Princess, so put up with it, even though she was older by a couple of years.  Margery was kind and wise beyond her eighteen years.  She had a way with people.  Katelyn was very good at reading people too, but not yet wise enough to fully understand what she saw.  It would come with time.  Shirri  hadn’t quite made up her mind about Katelyn yet.  She wanted to like the dark haired Princess, but it was difficult when that person did not seem to like you.  That too would take some time. 

             
She waited patiently in the bottom level of the tower the wizard used for his home.  Glancing out the arrow slit she could see part of the city below.  The walls gleamed in the sun and banners waved from the towers.  It was such a beautiful city that the thought of going home was not as pleasant as it once was. 

             
That always made her think about Coran and why she was here in the first place.  The man was a fool to go off like he did.  If she wasn’t there and something happened it would be his fault, not hers.  She would just have to trust in fate that it was meant to be.  She couldn’t do anything about the situation anyway since all she knew about Herrinhall was that it was very far to the north. 

             
A scuffling from outside the tower made her turn around to face the entrance.  With his white hair and well trimmed beard Gelarus looked the ideal wizard from all the stories she had ever heard. 

             
He noticed her and wasn’t surprised to find her here.  “I thought you would have come to see me sooner.”  He sounded like a wizard too, all knowing and wise.

             
“I wish to ask for your help.  In teaching me I mean,” she said it quickly.  She was taught not to bother a wizard who did not want to be bothered.

             
His gaze was penetrating as he stood before her.  He seemed to take all of her in with the first glance.  “You have She’al for that.”  He did not admonish her for asking, but sounded curious about why she would ask.

             
“She’al is not here.”

             
He smiled at the response.  “So she is not.  Have you been judged?”               She licked her lips anxiously.  “I was hoping you might do that.”

             
His smile widened a bit.  “I already have.” 

             
She relaxed at his now friendly tone.  “Then you will teach me?”

             
“First tell me what visions you have had.”  His tone was more seriously now.

             
She told him about the one with Coran and how she had to be there to heal him.  He was silent for a few moments.  “Now tell me the other one.” 

             
She swallowed.  How did he know about that?  She had told no one.  Then she remembered that he was a wizard.  “I don’t know what it means, but when I saw Coran and Katelyn together for the first time it just came over me.  They were both in it, standing together.  I don’t know where.  I only remember them.”

             
“What happened then,” he said and an excited light came to his eyes.

             
“They touched hands and there was a spark.  Then it grew into...”

             
“A blinding light that consumed everything but them,” Gelarus finished for her.

             
“You have seen it too?” she wondered.

             
“Yes, I have.”  His eyes grew distant for a second.  “The first time they met I saw the spark.  That was when I knew...”  He broke off and glanced at her as if he had said too much.  “Come on.”  He started for the stairs leading to the upper levels of the tower.  “Let us see what you are capable of learning.”

             
Shirri, pleased at the prospect, gathered her skirts to keep them from tripping her on the stairs and followed Gelarus.  “Do you think I can really see visions?” she called up to him.

             
“Most likely, yes,” he answered back down.  “But they are not really visions.  That term applies more to the fools who drug themselves with smoke and talk to spirits, or pretend to have mystic convulsions.”              

             
“What should I call them then,” she asked wanting to please the old man. 

             
“I prefer to call them glimpses of the future.”

             
She liked the sound of that.  Then a thought came to her.  If he knew about the vision he might be able to tell her more about it.  “That vision.  With the two of them together.  Do you know what it means?”

             
He stopped and she had to look up at him standing higher on the stairs.  “It means many things.  If you think about it you may come up with some of them on your own.”  That was it.  She knew better than to press a wizard when he said as much as he was going to.  She only wished he had said a little more.

             
Katelyn lay in her bed reading all the scraps of prophecy she could find by the light of the candles sitting on her bedside table. She even went into Coran’s ante-room and found the more important passages that he had copied down and stuffed between two books on a shelf of the bookcase.  That was where she started.  Besides the normal things about the last wars she found very little that made much sense.  She looked for anything that might be hinting at a way to win.  One passage said:

             
“The spark of their union will consume the world with Light.”

             
That part was only in a copy she found in her father’s desk.  Nowhere else had she found it.  So what union was it talking about?  And how will the world be consumed?  That didn’t sound very good. 

             
She did find Coran’s and her father’s copies of the part about the Queen of battles and the Champion of Light.  That gave her something to think about.  Who was the Queen?  And she shuddered, wondering if she already knew.  And the Champion?  Somehow that passage made all too much sense now.  But did it help her?  Not that she could see. 

Chapter 32

Advantage of Surprise

             
The simple track through the land that was supposed to be a road was obscured by the new fallen snow.  The indentations made by the hooves of their horses were the first to break the pristine surface.  The boughs of nearby trees were weighed down by the accumulation.  The cloud-covered sky was clear for the first time in almost a week.  Their mounts nickered in the cold and their breath steamed the air.

             
Coran switched the reins to his left hand and stretched the right to relieve the stiffness felt through the leather gloves.  The number of trees thinned out and finally ended all together.  In the middle of the broad valley he got his first look at the fortress of Northwatch.  The trees were cleared on every side for a thousand paces.  The walls were tall and made from large blocks of gray stone.  Square towers appeared at regular intervals along those walls to keep watch over anyone coming near.

             
They approached the city slowly, letting their tired horses pick their pace.  Men could be seen walking the walls as they got closer.  One of them pointed down in their direction.  The wooden gates stood open and an iron portcullis was already raised.  Guards baring swords and pikes blocked the way in.  They had the crossed swords on their white sur coats that was the sign of the Lord of Northwatch.  They were clean shaven and clearly suspicious. 

             
One of them with a scar above his left eye squinted against the glare coming off the snow.  “Sorry, m’Lords, but I have to ask your business here.  With the tensions running high we have to be careful who we let in.”

             
Coran nodded his understanding.  “I have some business with Lord Nevil before passing through.”

             
“Your name?”              

             
“I am Coran of Tyelin.”  He jabbed a thumb at his companion.  “This is Devon of Anders.  Actually you might be able to help us.  Do you happen to know Irne’s tavern?”

             
The guard looked from one to the other.  “I know it, but I thought you wanted to see my Lord?”

             
“At Irne’s is some information that your Lord will be very interested in.”

             
The man thought it over.  “I will show you the way.” 

             
He turned and walked through the gates.  They followed after a brief glance.  Two more guards followed behind them. 

             
“Such honor,” Devon stated casually.  “To be given a proper escort.  I rather like it.”  He grinned at his own wit.

             
The lead guard turned his head to look back at them.  “I thought you might need some help if you are intent on going to Irne’s.”

             
“That bad?”  Coran asked in surprise.

             
The man bobbed his head.  “Fights there all the time.  Usually with knives.”

             
They continued on in silence.  The town was the usual Midian architecture with narrow streets running between tall buildings of stone and wood with more thatch for roofs than tile.  The people out and about wore their long heavy coats unbuttoned in the moderate cold.  Devon had his cloak wrapped around him tightly.  He wasn’t used to cold such as this which only came to Anders in the heart of winter.  Coran was more used to it since he was from the mountains where this was like early spring.  He noticed something else as well.  The faces of the people they passed were serious, very serious.  Obviously, they had little to lift their spirits lately.                

             
As they turned down another twisting street he noticed the quality of the buildings lessen.  These showed more signs of neglect.  Their guide stopped before a three story wooden building.  Two steps ran up to a door with no sign to say what the place was.

             
“After you,” the guard offered.

             
They dismounted and the third member of their escort held the reins while they took the steps up and into the tavern.  The interior was dark so it took a moment for their eyes to adjust.  When they did he took a look around.  Despite the hour there were several roughly dressed men around crude benches and rickety tables.  They watched as the party entered.  Coran spotted the man who had to be Irne behind a short counter to the right.  He walked over and leaned on the dusty counter top.  Irne was tall, thin and completely bald.  His chin ended in a narrow point.  His eyes were narrow as well, and dark.  He glanced past him at the guards who stood by the door.

             
“Are you Irne?”  Coran asked him.

             
“Depends on what you want,” the owner replied warily.

             
Coran leaned over the counter and spoke softly.  “I am looking for Irne.  The one involved with Gorod.”  The man’s reaction was evidence enough.  He took a hesitant step backwards and cast fervent looks around the room.  “Or I could say it louder and leave you to your patrons.  I bet they would be real happy to show you how they feel about your friend’s actions of late.”

             
Irne swallowed hard and looked to the men watching.  “All right.  I’m Irne.  What do you want?”

             
“For right now I want you to come with us.”  He indicated the door to outside.

             
“Just a minute,” Irne assured them.  “Ben!” he called to one man.  “Look after the place while I am gone.  I have some business to take care of.”  Irne glanced at Coran.  “Could be a few days.”              

             
They went outside and stopped in the middle of the street.  Irne appeared truly miserable at being caught.  “How did you find out?”

             
“That is not important,” Coran stated.  “What should matter to you is getting out of this with your head attached.”  Irne swallowed again.  “You know where Gorod is, don’t you?”

             
“Ah. No,” he replied, his eyes darted between them.

             
Devon stepped behind him and put his arm around the man’s skinny neck.  “I don’t think you understand the situation.  Either you talk or you die, by me or by the headsman.”

             
“Okay!  I know where he is.” 

             
“And you are going to take us there.”  Devon punctuated his sentence with a tightening of his grip.

             
“All right.  I will take you.”  Devon released him and he staggered a step before straightening and putting a hand to his neck.

             
Coran turned to the lead guard.  “You can take us to Lord Nevil now.” 

             
“Wait a moment,” Devon suggested and pulled Coran to the side of the street, away from the rest.  “I was wondering what you are going to say to Lord Nevil?”

             
“What do you mean?  I was going to tell him we know where his niece is.”

             
“And then what?  He will muster his men and go with us?  That is not what we want right now.  Midian soldiers crossing the border is exactly what we are trying to avoid.”

             
Coran had to admit he was right.  That would start the war they desperately wanted to avoid.  “What do you have in mind?”

             
“I am not sure, but if you tell him he will try and get her back.  If it was my relative I would, no matter what.”

             
Coran turned back to the others.  “What is Nevil planning?  Is he going to go north soon?”              

             
The guard answered.  “It is no secret.  As soon as the rest of his men arrive from the south and west he is going to lead them north and find out who did it.  Maybe in a week or so.”

             
“And how does he plan on finding out who did it?  By questioning every village he comes across?” 

             
The guard shrugged.  “That I do not know.”

             
Coran addressed his next question to the bald man.  “Irne.  How many men does Gorod have with him in his camp?”

             
“No more than ten.  He gathered up over a hundred for the raid, but they left him after the attack went more brutal than they thought it would.  The ones that stayed with him already have large bounties on their heads so they have nowhere else to go.”

             
“We can handle ten if we catch them by surprise,” Devon mused.  “But if we rescue the girl how are we going to bring her back to stop Nevil before he crosses the border?  We don’t have the time ourselves to waste.”

             
Another good point.  Coran thought he had a solution to that.  “I will think of something.  Our problem right now is leaving without our guard friend running to Lord Nevil and telling him everything.”

             
“And having a few hundred of his soldiers chasing after us,” Devon agreed.  “You could try talking to him.  Explaining it so he understands the need for silence.”

             
“I will try.”  Coran gestured to the guard who had escorted them through the city.  The man came over.  “We don’t want to start a war here, so my friend and I will go and get Nevil’s niece.  I do not want you keeping things from your Lord so if you could give us the rest of the day before telling him it would be the best for all.”

             
The man thought it over carefully.  “I can do that, but he will be angry with me.”              

             
“Wait.”  Coran told him and dug into his pocket underneath the mail shirt.  He produced the letter Katelyn had given him in case he needed to prove he was on the business of Summerhall.  He held it out for the man to read, who whistled when he finished.  “So you can say that you were ordered by the Queen not to tell him right away.  He cannot be too angry with you for that.”

             
The guardsman smiled.  “I will do it.  I don’t like the idea of fighting Northmen if I don’t have to.  After what they did... If you can get the ones who did it without starting a war that would be worth a dressing down.”

             
“Good.  Now all we need is a horse for our friend here.” 

             
“Carl has a stable near the north gate.  He sells and rents out horses,” the guard explained.

             
“Thanks.”  They gathered their reins from the guard holding them and pushed Irne forward.  “Let’s go.”

             
Carl’s stable was a moderately sized place with a loft on top to hold the hay and about twenty narrow stalls.  Only seven were occupied at the moment.  Carl himself was an average sized man with crooked teeth and an unshaved face.  He wore heavy boots, brown pants, and a faded red shirt.  He had a pipe clenched between his teeth.

             
“Need a stall or a horse?” he asked them in a wheezing voice.

             
“Horse,” Coran answered the man. 

             
“Only got three for sale now,” he informed them as he led the way to the three occupied stalls towards the back.  Dust hung in the air and Coran had to stifle a sneeze.  “What with men going north they need mounts.”              

             
Devon stepped in front to go over the horses.  He was a better judge of horse flesh than Coran was.  Even he could see that the first horse, a tall gray was sick.  The second was much better.  A docile brown with strong legs and a straight back.  “This one,” Devon stated.  “We need a saddle and tack.”

             
“Over here.”  Carl gestured to a room in the corner.  A thin trail of smoke issued from his mouth and hung in the air.

              Irne said it would take them about three days to reach the durges.  That was what the area Gorod was hiding in was called.  A nasty name for a difficult terrain.  Irne’s assessment of the land coincided with Naras’ description. 

             
They camped out that night, Devon and Coran exchanging watches over their prisoner whose hands and feet were bound together for the night.  They were not about to trust someone associated with murderers no matter how much he protested his innocence in taking any part in the raid.             

             
They set out again as the sun broke above the horizon in the east.  Coran estimated that they crossed the unmarked border into Nyeland an hour later.  Unlike the borders recognized by men which were clearly drawn on a map, there was nothing to distinguish between the lands in nature.  The rolling, snow blanketed, and tree filled landscape was the same as it was before.  The clouds were higher in the sky today, filmy and white. 

             
They encountered no one so far even though they had kept to the road most of the time.  Luckily, they were able to spot the smoke from chimneys over the next rise and avoided the village by circling around it.  At one point they saw through the trees a thatched cottage surrounded by a waist high stone wall.  Any other time it would have been a tranquil and welcoming view, but not now.  Not when they were the foreigners.  The irony of the fact that he was trying to avoid running into Northerners while heading towards a city that would be filled with them was not lost on him.  He only hoped that at Herrinhall he would have a chance to speak first, and that the right people would be there to listen.