The Stricken Field (29 page)

He flushed scarlet above the edges of his beard. "That is my view, ma'am. Not because of the danger, you understand! Please believe that! I should be your champion most willingly, and honored to serve a noble kinswoman so. But you see, Drakkor will have the votes for war. I saw a war moot once, when I was young. It was as if the very air reeked of blood. Not a man but was shouting at the top of his lungs. Your message will not be heard!"

Jotunn bloodlust was notorious. Shandie could imagine what it would do to an assembly of thanes, the killers' killers-or at least he thought he could imagine it. He could imagine it as much as he wanted to.

"You make sense, Excellency," he muttered. "They will have no time for improbable tales of sorcery."

"I'm not arguing," Raspnex growled.

The ambassador sighed and visibly relaxed. "Maybe next year."

If there was a next year.

"I am so sorry," Inos said fretfully, "that you will not be able to settle the insolent Drakkor for me. It seems, then, that we must press on to Guwush and preach to the gnomes."

"I bid you good fortune," Kragthong murmured. "I wish I could have been of service."

Meanwhile was he going to scuttle home to his lair in Dwanish? Perchance even jotnar found wisdom in their old age! Shandie refrained from comment.

Certainly there could be no thought of going to Nintor now. Quite apart from both the Covin and Drakkor lurking in the background, the thanes themselves would be ravening maniacs. Shandie was ashamed to feel a life-giving sense of relief. The moot would have been a great opportunity, but a very dangerous one. Now it was clearly out of reach and really not worth bothering about anyway, since Nordland had no sorcerers.

"Guwush indeed," he said, wondering if that were any less dangerous for him. "We three head inland by coach, and send the others around the coast by ship? Has anyone got any ideas how one gets in touch with rebel-"

Kragthong let out a cry. Shandie looked up and saw that the others were all staring at the river. He sprang to his feet. A longship was going by, heading downstream. Riding the current, the low shape streaked through the water, its banked oars moving in perfect symmetry. With every stroke it surged forward, its dragon prow lifting, deadly and beautiful as a hunting shark. Beside the helmsman at the steering oar, two boys were jumping up and down waving. Their shouts drifted faintly to the watchers. One of them had red hair.

Inos rushed over to the rail and waved in reply, and then the raider had vanished beyond the end of the next pier. Shandie looked at the warlock's glare, and then at the thane, who stood aghast, his face as white as his beard. For a long moment no one spoke at all.

"Nothing will catch them," Shandie muttered. Raspnex shook his head.

The thane must know whose longship that was, for his dismayed expression mourned a lost son.

Inos was still at the rail, staring downriver, perhaps waiting for a distant glimpse as the vessel rounded the first bend.

Shandie walked over and put an arm around her. "Inos, I am truly sorry! It is partly my fault. I suppose they think it's a great joke to beat us to Nintor. This morning Gath asked me how important it was to get the word to the thanes and-"

"This morning Gath avoided me," she said quietly, not turning. "Don't blame yourself. When he spoke to you he must have known even the name of the ship he would go on. He knows we are not going and has taken our place."

"How can he possibly--"

She sighed. "I don't know, but I am certain. Gath does not play jokes. He never has. It is my fault. I should have told him of the God's prophecy." Her voice was calm and steady. She did not even sound bitter. "But how could I tell him?"

How could she be taking this so serenely? Shandie felt completely out of his depth. He removed his arm. "What has that to do with it?"

Now Inos did turn to look at him. Her eyes seemed a brighter green than usual, but there was no trace of tears in them. "Strange that a warning that sounded so awful at first should now be a comfort, isn't it? Don't you see? Gath fears that his father is dead. But the God gave the message to Rap, that he must lose a child, and that makes no sense if Rap is never to know what happened to his children. I should have told Gath of that."

Shandie groped for words. Her courage bewildered him. It seemed so cold, and yet he knew she was not cold. She smiled quirkily. "You expected hysterics, Sire? A woman need not be pureblood jotunn to feel pride in a brave son. He seeks to honor his father's memory, and this is exactly the sort of thing his father might do." Suddenly her eyes sparkled like crystal and she turned away. Shandie had underestimated her again. "You do not want to go after him?"

Inos shook her head. "I could not help. I would probably make things much worse. He may just possibly escape the Covin's attention, unless he actually gets to stand up and address the moot and announce who he is. That may be what he's planning, but it isn't very likely, is it?" She sighed. "His grandfather was a raider, you know-Rap's father, Grossnuk."

"Oh, come! Gath is not going to turn into one of those!" "No, of, course not. So what do they do with him? Set him working in the fields? I'm more worried that he'll run into that Drakkor man without realizing the danger."

Whose longship was that?

"Drakkor?" Shandie repeated. "Even he won't harm a child, surely?"

Inos smiled pityingly. "A Nordland thane? Scruples? Perhaps you don't remember Kalkor, his father?"

"But what quarrel-"

"Kalkor did not recognize my right to succeed my father as thane of Krasnegar. So Drakkor won't. So who is the present thane of Krasnegar?"

"Gath? "

"Gath," she said sadly. "Holindarn's grandson. And Drakkor will challenge him to a reckoning for it. Or just kill him to settle the blood feud-Gath's father killed his father. I'm not sure if Gath knows that."

We happy few:

... from this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remembered;
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers ...

— Shakespeare, Henry V, IV, iii

Thaile was walking the way with Teal, the Master of Novices. He was a long-winded man of middle years whose only notable eccentricity was a devotion to the color blue. He invariably dressed in blue-usually a pale sky blue when he was relaxing, a conservative ultramarine for business, and navy blue or indigo on solemn occasions, but always one blue or another. This curious idiosyncrasy did nobody any harm. He was patient and even-tempered, and he commanded respect. He was a great improvement upon his predecessor, the muddy-eyed Mistress Mearn. Thaile had never discovered what had happened to Mearn; she had vanished completely, and was never spoken of. No one seemed to mourn her absence, least of all the novices.

"These are known as the Central Hills," Teal remarked, unable to resist a chance to lecture. "We are in almost the exact center of Thume here. You might mistake them for the foothills of the boundary ranges, but you will observe that there are no true mountains in sight."

"It is a pleasant spot," Thaile commented respectfully, carefully not asking how she could observe what was not there. She was very weary of classes and studying, and glad of a chance to walk in such pleasant woods. A younger and less talkative companion would be an improvement; no one at all would be even better. There must be some reason for this excursion, but Teal had not yet explained and she had not asked.

He discoursed upon the stately elm and silvery birch, the monumental oak and chestnut. "Note that copper beech! Magnificent. A pity the rhododendrons are over." The day was stiflingly hot, even in the Central Hills, with not a hint of a breeze.

Thaile was still a novice and would remain one for several years yet, but she was no longer the naive peasant girl who had walked the Defile. A second word of power had brought her an adept's ability to master any mundane skill. She could read and write and calculate. Day in and day out she sat with her fellow novices and trainees as the tutors filled their heads with history and geography, the sociology and politics and languages of the Outside, genealogy and the lore of magic. She read until her eyes ached and listened until her head swam. She talked with sorcerers. She heard rumors of terrible events stalking the world Outside, and knew that prophecies were being fulfilled. She understood that these were not normal times; the College was nervous as it had not been for centuries.

The second word had confirmed her Faculty by bringing her the beginnings of occult skills, very rare for a mere adept. They frightened her, for they implied that she was destined to be a mighty sorceress one day. Dread years lay ahead, and she might find herself playing a part in them, and for that she had no ambition. She suspected she had no ambitions at all, except to do her duty as it had been shown to her that terrible night in the Defile.

"Ah!" Teal exclaimed. "There-see the lake?"

Thaile peered through the foliage and admitted that she could just make out a tiny scrap of polished blue in the far distance, between two hills.

Teal nodded fussily. "Now you have seen it, I can leave you. There is only the Baze Place, so you can't be mistaken. He is expecting you. When you've finished, come and see me at the Library." His eyes twinkled, waiting for her question.

"Finished what?"

He beamed. "You are to learn another word."

The baking heat of the day seemed to chill. For a moment Thaile wondered if she was being teased or tested in some strange way. She, a mage? What insanity was this?

"But, Analyst! I have been here less than four months." "We are well aware of that."

"But surely it takes years-"

"It is a great honor for you, Novice." He paused, surprised. "Of course as a mage you can hardly still remain a novice, can you? I shall arrange to have you registered as a trainee, or perhaps even as recorder, although I don't suppose you will ever be asked to perform a recorder's duties. How difficult!"

She was frightened now. The future threatened like a shadow across a path. She wanted no more occult abilities, nor the self-knowledge they might bring. "But I have years of study ahead of me yet before I will be capable of handling the powers of a mage."

"Now, now! That is not so, my dear, and you should know that. Why, Outside people become mages or sorcerers without any studying at all. We teach you about Thume and the College; we can't teach you anything about using power. That wisdom comes from the words themselves." He saw that she was about to argue further. "It was an edict, Thaile."

A stronger breath of fear dispersed her faint rebellion like smoke in the wind. "The K-k-keeper? Why?"

"I have no idea," Teal said peevishly. "As I said, it is a very great honor that her Blessedness even knows you exist, let alone takes an interest in your progress or orders it accelerated. I am sure she has her reasons. Now, off to the Baze Place with you. Remember to be patient. He is very old. Address him as 'Archon.' "

Thaile started. "Is he?"

"He was once. He may bore you with many stories. Just remember that he has dedicated his whole long life to the College and deserves respect for that. His goodwife's name is Prin. She must be almost a hundred herself."

"That is old for . .."

Teal's nod held a hint of reproof. "For a mundane? Of course she is a mundane, and yes it is. He preserves her as he preserves himself. Do you grudge him that?"

She felt her cheeks flush hotly. "Of course not." "When he dies, she will die, also. Remember therefore that what you will take from him today is doubly precious to him."

"But--"

"No, I do,not think you will kill him. Just be understanding if he seems reluctant, or takes a long time to get to the point. I am sure he will eventually. Baze has always been loyal to the College, and will not shirk this final duty. The Oopan word. He knows that, but remind him, just to be sure."

Teal swung on his heel and walked off along the Way. In a few moments he rounded a bend, and disappeared behind shrubbery in a final flicker of blue. Reluctantly Thaile continued her journey, heading down to the little lake.

In a few moments she emerged from the trees at a small clearing by the shore. The cottage under the willows was old and furry with moss, like some great forest animal dozing in the sun. In size and shape it resembled the Gaib Place where she had been born, except that the logs of its walls were thicker and sturdier. A man sat on a bench by the door, just as her father might even now be sitting by his door, wondering how his lost daughter fared. There was no sign of Goodwife Prin, either inside or outside the house.

Baze was spare and weatherbeaten, but he did not seem especially old. His back was straight. He held bony hands on the boss of a thick staff propped upright between his legs, and he was staring fixedly at the water. His hair was thin, silvery streaks on his brown scalp, his ears very long and pointed. His shirt and pants were of drab brown stuff and he was barefoot.

She approached, expecting formal welcome, but he surprised her before she was even within earshot. "Come and sit by me. You are younger than I expected. "

She moved faster, panting in the sticky heat. "Archon Baze?"

"Who else?" He did not turn his head at all, but he smiled toward the lake. "And you are Novice Thaile, sent here to become a mage. So young. Troubled times. "

Nervously she crossed the somber deep green of the grass before the cottage and seated herself on the end of the bench. Still he did not turn his head. Of course he had no need to look at her to see her, and perhaps the very old learned to dispense with unnecessary movements, but she found his immobility disconcerting.

"You are frightened." His voice was raspy, and sounded forced.

"Er, a little, sir."

"No need. I am quite harmless."

"Yes, sir. I mean, I don't doubt that, Archon. "

He did not answer for a while. A jay shrieked in a maple.

"You should, perhaps. I have slain many men in my time. Women and children, also."

She could not think what he wanted her to say to that. She wished she was not there. A squirrel bounded out of the shrubbery and stopped abruptly to stare warily at the couple on the bench.

"Most Keepers execute their own judgments," the old man told the lake. "After all, what more pain can guilt bring a Keeper? Puile, though, had a hatred of violence. When he was Keeper he gave the worst work to the archons. Once he had me destroy a village." Still he sat in perfect stillness. He sighed, but even that hardly moved his chest. "Merfolk, settling on the coast. They meant no harm."

Horrified, Thaile said, "A whole village?"

"Even the babes. I came in the night, and they knew nothing. By morning there was only grass. Do you know the worst thing about being an archon, Novice?"

No one had ever spoken quite like this to her, and she was not sure how much she should believe. She could guess the answer to that question, though. "Fearing you may be the next Keeper?"

Baze did not reply, but his head moved in a very slight nod. The squirrel decided it was safe to make three more bounds.

Thaile jumped at a sudden outburst of song. She twisted around and saw a wicker cage hanging under the eaves, a yellow bird pouring out incredible streams of golden melody, finer than anything she had ever heard. She glanced at the old man. He was smiling toward the lake, but obviously listening to the song and enjoying her surprise.

It ended as suddenly as it had begun.

"That is Sunbeam," Baze said softly. "She is an old friend. My goodwife enjoyed her company in the days when I had to travel."

Thaile nodded.

"You think it unkind to keep a bird in a cage, Novice?" She started to shake her head and then remembered that no one could lie to a sorcerer. "It seems a little unfair." "But Sunbeam has lived ten times as long as any of her nestmates could have done. Should she not be grateful for that?"

Thaile would not think so. Perhaps birds were different. The sorcerer sighed. "I think she is happy. If you wish, you may go over there and open the cage and release her. But do you know what will happen then?"

"No, sir, er, Archon I mean."

"She will be terrified! All her life her world has been that safe little cage. Without it, she will do what birds do when they are frightened-fly. Fly and fly. She will fly up and up, and on and on, never daring to come down. And eventually she will exhaust herself and fall helpless from the sky. Unless a hawk catches her first, of course."

"I see. Then I won't."

He nodded, satisfied. "Oopan, wasn't it?"

"Yes, sir." The College catalogued the words by their first two syllables.

"A very strong word," he mused. "It has made many archons. It may even have been one of Keef's own." A thin smile twisted his bloodless lips. "But the records are unreliable so far back and that claim is made for many. Everyone would like to think he had been given one of those most sacred and blessed words. I had Oopan of old Geem .. . eighty-three? No, eighty-five years ago. What happened to Quair?"

"Who? Quair, Archon? I have not heard-"

"Two days ago, I felt my power grow stronger. Now you are sent to me to learn Oopan. So it was Quair who died." Very slowly, the old man rotated his head to look along the bench at her with golden eyes as bright and clear as a child's. "How?"

She quaked. "I have no idea, sir. No one mentioned Quair to me."

"He sat where you are sitting now-oh, forty years ago, perhaps. A sturdy young man, brash for one still fuzzycheeked. I shared Oopan with him, and it hurt more to speak than any word I have ever shared. Very strong, you see."

"Yes, sir."

"But the years dealt with his fuzz. He turned out well. We considered him for archon more than once. His talents included some unusual ... Forgive my discourtesy! I have forgotten how to treat guests. So few friends left now! A cool drink? Lemon, perhaps?"

Before she could speak her thanks, a beaker appeared on the bench beside her. She was hot and dry from her walk and the day was muggy. She realized that there were no bothersome insects, though.

"Quair was not old as sorcerers measure old," Baze continued, still staring steadily at her, like an owl. "So how did he die? What kills a sorcerer?"

She choked on her drink. "Sir, I do not know. No one mentioned him to me. They did not tell me how he had died."

"He was an appraiser."

Novices, trainees, recorders, archivists, analysts, archons, the Keeper. . . .

"So you have not yet learned of the appraisers?" "No, sir. Archon, I mean."

"There are eight archons," the dry old voice said. "Although only seven at the moment, as Sheef has not been replaced. I wonder why? There may be many appraisers or none at all, at the Keeper's whim. I do not know how many there are just now." He sounded petulant about that.

Thaile muttered something meaningless. She did not want to know about appraisers. She was learning many things that she did not really want to know, and if appraisers were a secret reserved to higher ranks than hers, then she would prefer that they remain so.

Very slowly Baze turned his head again to face the lake. "Appraisers travel the world. They go in disguise, and study in detail that which the Keeper sets them to study. They are extensions of the Keeper, additional eyes for the Keeper."

Two days ago Master Teal had specifically said that no pixie ever,left Thume, except for the Keeper. The Keeper watched Outside and might choose to travel Outside in person. The Keeper could do whatever she, or he, wished and need account to no one, not even the archons, who must remain within Thume. So Teal had said, and it was not the first time he had said it, either. Had he lied, or did Thaile now know an arcane archon secret that a mere analyst did not?

Baze sighed. "Troubled times." "Yes, Archon."

"They are spelled to die, of course. If they are discovered, if their disguise is penetrated, if others' power comes upon them-they are consumed."

Thaile shivered and laid her beaker down on the bench with a clatter. Baze raised a hand and rubbed his eyes. "Now Quair is dead and I must share the word lest it die with me."