The web of wizardry (19 page)

If only she were not a sorkra. ...

The talisman was pleasantly warm, lying on his heart. Lira's gift to him, to guard him against enemy sorkra. And like Lira, the carved stone that should be cold and hfeless seemed to throb with spirit, past fathoming. Lira was whims and surprises never-ending, a mystery that tangled Danaer closer each time they met.

He braced himself to take a ribald teasing when he returned to the barracks. Shaartre and many of his unit mates would have seen that kiss, and they would be quick to draw lewd conclusions. No matter. There were

dangers ahead, and much of it dark magic—but he had a wizard's taUsman now, and Lira was coming with the caravan. Ulodovol and the officers were making plans, and so would he. He would not be greedy or think in such grand terms as the Traech Sorkra and the Royal Commander. Danaer would be content with a small conquest—only one small part of Sarlos, in the person of a woman, a lady artful in magic.

X

All Shall Belong to Markuand

The island of Tor-Nali was bathed in moonlight, the rays reflecting on the harbor waters, rivahng the bright array of torches ringing the Markuand encampment. Darkness veiled scenes of warfare and butchery, now ended. Tor-NaU's men were dead, their bodies flung into pits and burned without ceremony. A few of her women, those sufficiently beautiful to please the conquerors' tastes, had been taken in slavery. Their laments floated from the castles of the slain princes of their island, a wail of shame and sorrow.

The warlords had established a command post overlooking the bay. From here they had dispatched supply fleets and troop barges against the Clarique mainland, and all had gone weU. But the generals were uneasy as they entered the tower where their cruel viceroy strolled among cauldrons and consulted arcane tomes.

The wizard's assistants stirred frothing decoctions and mixed powders to his directions. They never questioned or uttered a sound he did not command. After a long hesitation, the most famed among the warlords spoke to the master. "Our spies tell us their chief magician repelled your magic, and that this Krantin alUance is holding fast."

Priceless kash fur robes swirled as Markuand's

142 ' The Web of Wizardry

mightiest sorcerer spun on his heel, confronting the committee. "You doubt me—still?"

"No, Master. We ... we are balancing the odds for the coming battle. The emperor bade us complete our victory ere the snow flies again .. ."

"So you shall." He seized air, symbolically clutching the sprawling land that lay before Markuand's armies. "Before snow falls on our homeland, we shall climb the mountains of this Krantin. And we shall rule the northern forests of this place they call Irico, and the fens and meadows of their Sarlos. All shall belong to Markuand ..."

"Their wizards, though? Our spies speak of a thing termed a sorkra, and a web of these magicians."

"Your spies," he said with withering pity. "I have my own, far cleverer than those dogs you employ. My spies can be sorkra, too, or a serpent who knows the heart of our prey, and where to strike to cause the most pain."

The hero among them would not be put off. "But your magic did not crush them, they say ..."

"Silence!" Tongues cleaved to roofs of mouths, and for an instant even his minions gulped and forgot their tasks. "It was a bad casting of the lots. I play them, to tire the game and make its taking the sweeter. They think they have bested me. Ah! This adds savor to the hunt." He licked his lips.

"Yes, they have their alliance—and so have we, one they do not know. We begin to strike on every hand. Soon they will have no wits to withstand us. They will confuse reality with . . . nightmare!" His laugh was dreadful.

The spokesman for the warlords must clear his dry throat ere he could blurt the rest of their worries. "You promised they would be crushed before now, swept away Uke smoke. Yet they still stand and grow ever stronger, joining with those who were their enemies . .."

"An alliance hke a goblet of thin crystal, and as easily broken." He pointed at a shelf of dehcate Clarique wine vessels, shattering the contents merci-

lessly. The warlords jumped at the sound. "As easily as that, my generals."

They waited long, eyeing one another, not daring to question further. In the end, he condescended to ask, "And what else disturbs you?"

"Great One, these . . . these soldiers—this weird silence you give them with your potions. Must it be so in all our battles?"

"Each man will fight until he dies, You have seen its results in your conquests."

"But ... but they do not act like . . . like men."

No one uttered the fear that ruled them all—-that these silent warriors were in truth the wizard's soldiery, no longer the followers of the warlords. Bit by bit, their power slipped through their hands and was taken mto his. And they had no weapon to wield against his awful force.

"So they do not act like men. They may be beasts, if I choose. I permit them to sate themselves on drink and women and strip bare the larders of these Clarique. And you—have you not enjoyed those same spoils? On the morrow, your soldiers will drink my wine, and then they will once more go into battle, feeling no wound, fighting and conquering for Markuand."

They bowed their heads. He gestured, and a map glowed on the tile floor where a simple design had been. "Now you will disperse your troops as I have instructed you. To the north and to the south. Seek out the remnants of the Clarique and the soldiers of that bitch from Krantin, Ti-Mori. And find that SarH who plagues us from those fetid marshes near the river. I want his head. Keep the Irico locked above their falls; it is Krantin I want, now that this Clarique is ours. I have found fellow wizards to serve me, in Krantin's own fortress. Tomorrow we close the noose forever around Laril-Quil and move to take that city on the river. When we breach her walls, their alliance—and their wizard Web—will be in shambles! I vow this! Hear me, and obey!"

They fled him, and the sorcerer went to peer out a window, across the water. His minions faithfully stirred

the potion that made Markuand's armies invincible, and their master contemplated his triumph-to-be.

"Yes, you on the mainland, you in Krantin—struggle like insects. I shall toy with you, and treachery shall taunt you from the rear." He clenched his fists and nodded. "In the end, you will all die. And I alone will reign, the monarch of New Markuand."

XI

Mirages of the Vrastre

"Then can we reach here?'* Yistar jabbed at a mark on the map a bit farther west than he had first selected. Wagon breakdowns, inexperienced troops, bad weather, and a steady plague of mirages had taken a toll of Yistar's already fragile temper. Even Lieutenant Branra, who stood to one side talking to other staff aides, made no attempt to interrupt. But he glanced sympathetically at the scout.

Danaer clutched the map as a nagging plains wind fluttered the cloth. "We can manage it, Captain, if there are no more delays or misturns."

"Bog' take those mirages which guided us amiss! And there will be no more delays. Do you need this?" Yistar asked, indicating the map. Danaer tapped a finger against his temple to assure the ofiBcer he had the chart memorized, and Yistar rolled the cloth with savage haste. "Then take the point again and get us moving. Lieutenant..."

Glad to escape, Danaer mounted at a run and spurred toward the head of the caravan. Two recruits had been assigned to him to learn the art of scouting. Xashe and Rorluk sat on a grassy slope, passing time while they waited in braggmg and barracks gossip. Danaer dropped down from his roan and quickly drew a crude copy of the map in the dust. The young soldiers

leaned over his shoulder to watch. They were apt pupils, luckily. In days to come, they might well faU heir to Danaer's post and be forced to guide a part of the army back along this path. Keen memories would be needed, and sharp eyes. At least these novices were anxious to learn.

When they had time to look over the map, Danaer scraped it away with his boot. "Xashe?"

The youth had been a peasant herdsman in a mountain valley, and he knew horses and how to find his way even in strange country. He closed his eyes the better to recall the chart and recited, "Two candle-marks' travel through the lee grass of this dry lake. We take Zaetre Canyon, angling north. Then we cross another waterway at Many Rocks and then must look for the blazes on the willows. We take the main route thence to Jsersotka Springs."

"Good!"

"When do I get a turn?" Rorluk asked. Rorluk was younger than his peasant friend. The son of a merchant, he had hopes of emulating Captain Yistar and someday rising to be an aide or junior officer. Danaer had not discouraged such dreaming, out of kindness.

"The next time we stop," he promised. "Which had best not be soon. Yistar is much fretted by too many delays already."

They led off the caravan as it started forward once more at a groaning pace. During his years at Nyald Fort Danaer had escorted many a pack train, and he did not expect heavily laden wagons to make much time. But the supply caravan for Deki was as slow as mud seeping from a geyser pool. Little wonder the Captain chafed and cursed their creeping progress.

Before another mark had passed, the watercourse appeared, too soon. Even as Xashe and Rorluk expressed their own doubts, remembering the map, Danaer twisted in the saddle, looking back the way they had come.

Dust thrown up by the caravan obscured most of the horizon, but he could pick out enough landmarks to place them on the trail. When Danaer swung around

again, he realized the watercourse was a hundred king's-measures west of where it should be.

But the illusion was magnificent! Without the map and alertness, _he v/ould have been fooled—again. Danaer caressed Lira's amulet absently, as he had often done under mounting problems.

"Troop Leader?" Rorluk asked uneasily. "Is it. .. ?"

"Another mirage? Yes."

The youths whistled and slapped their thighs, and their blacks jangled at the bits. "At then," Xashe said in quaint mountain accent, "we saw this one ere we led the caravan awrong."

"Thanks for that, or Yistar would have our hides. Ignore the illusion. Our horses scent no water, you notice. When we do near the springs, the drivers will have their hands full, keeping the brutes from bolting to drink."

They proceeded on the true route, muttering over the strangeness of these things. It was the fifth such trick of the eyes they had met in less than two-days' journeying. Though Danaer had never ridden the eastern Vrastre, he knew well the ways of the grassland from the taletellers and minstrels. His companions put his own worries into words. "We thought mirages only happened when it was hot and Peluva shone brightly. Today it is cloudy and the heat not so great. .."

Danaer nodded, giving no answer. Lira had not elaborated on the powers of the talisman, but plainly some magic lurked in the obsidian. Thrice he had been deluded by mirages, and to his shame he had turned Yistar into dead-end paths, where they must retreat and find the correction after much difficulty. The fourth time he had felt an eerie, invisible touch, one he had first sensed when he encountered the fog creatures. He had responded and caressed the amulet, and suddenly he had been able to see through the mirage and know it as false.

His apprentices had voiced it—these were no ordinary mirages. But the less they knew of wizardry, the safer they would be. Danaer himself had tasted more of these secret things than he ever would have wished.

Once safely past the illusion, the landmarks were clear and where they should be. After many a quarter-period's riding, Xashe stood in his stirrups and pointed to a cloud of dust ahead. Danaer tested the young soldier. "Name me the riders, if you can. How good are your eyes?"

"I think . . . they are roans, Troop Leader. Destre-Y? The leader appears to be a giant of a man. Is it. .. Gordyan?"

"Ai! None else!"

Since the caravan had left Siank, the Siirn Rena's bodyguard and his warriors had paralleled the army's path. Usually they remained just out of range of the train's outriders, causing little alarm. Now and then Gordyan would veer in and meet with Yistar. But for the most part, the two groups kept separate.

Now Gordyan rode directly toward the three scouts, drawing rein at the last moment to challenge the soldiers' courage, throwing up much dirt. Xashe and Rorluk spat out the dust and glowered, but handled their blacks well.

Gordyan brayed cheerfully, "Is this all the faster your wagons can move?"

Danaer had not let his roan break stride, bumping through the other horses and leading his apprentices straight ahead. Gordyan grinned and swung around, matching his animal's pace to that of Danaer's. Danaer returned that smile and said, "They hope to make better time on this leg. Yistar plans to camp at Jsersotka tonight."

"We will travel by starlight, then. It is good you have my warriors to defend you against any brigands who do not honor the truce. You are like helpless babes crawling on your hands and knees."

Danaer chuckled sourly. "You have not seen the troop muster. That would make you smack your lips and myself desert to join those brigands."

"You? Not you," Gordyan said. "I hope you will not be so unwise as to die for that army of yours, though."

One of Gordyan's men spoke up. "I thmk I know

you, soldier. Did you not win the lancing contest at the vrentru?"

"He did." Gordyan cut off further questions with a glare. Then his expression warmed. "And how does your infantry handle itself under this steady marching?"

The abrupt change of topic made Danaer eye the big man thoughtfully. Gordyan seemed easy enough, so long as his besting in the contest was not mentioned. Danaer shrugged. "The infantry has sore feet to match the cavalry's sore thighs and buttocks. A ten-day trek will toughen all the newcomers nicely."

"That is good. Deki needs this food, but it needs fighting men as well."

Gordyan rode by Danaer's side for the rest of the morning. He reminisced at length over his past adventures, regaling Danaer's young companions. They drank in his stories with awe, though Danaer reserved judgment. It was possible all these tales were true; with such a giant, heroic deeds seemed very believable.

Shortly before center-stand, Gordyan and his men left. Danaer watched his going with regret. Gordyan's company had protected them from any outcasts who would not honor the truce, and his diverting tales had passed the time most entertainingly.

The wagons creaked to a stop and sentries went out to take their posts, passing the three scouts coming in to report. Yistar fretted about the lead wagons, establishing a temporary command post for this needed halt. Danaer noted that the cart-horse blacks were foaming with sweat. The rest period would likely be a long one. Yistar growled at him, "Poor time, poor time. Even the Destre-Y are sneering at us."

The scout followed Yistar's frowning stare and saw some of Gordyan's men quartering just beyond the army lines. They were stringing rope corrals between scrub brushes and tsyoda stumps, as if they planned to be here for days and set up a Zsed. It was a patent display of their contempt for. the caravan's sand-lizard pace.

"And some of that bandit's warriors have been rid-

ing too close upon our rear, trying to shame us into more speed," the Captain complained. "It makes for bad order. You know the tongue. Go over and tell Gordyan I would speak with him, at his convenience, of course." Yistar walked away, muttering, not bothering to answer Danaer's perfunctory salute.

Danaer did not obey the order at once. For a while he wandered about the forefront of the caravan, pretending to cool his horse. Finally he caught sight of Lira. She was perched on one of the high wagon seats, nibbling some of the crumbly grain cakes that were the army's staple. She nodded at him and rewarded his search with a smile. She had not been as delicate as she seemed; on a trek Uke this she did not ride her mare, but bounced about on the boards like any hardbitten driver. She wore a boy's uniform, her hair tied back. The garment was too large for her, and she might well have been taken for a youth of exceptionally feminine features and tender years, one ill-suited to rough living.

There were too many men all around. Danaer knew the evening would offer more privacy. Then he would ask her further about the power of the talisman, and perhaps about other things as well.

He rode toward the Destre-Y corral on the nearby hill. Warriors squatted about a hastily built fire. Gordyan had joined them, saying as Danaer dismounted, "Hai! Have you decided to come to my lances at last?"

"I should call yow Long-Fang, rather than Yistar; you never quit worrying an idea," Danaer greeted him. "No, I came to tell you the Captain wishes to speak with you, after your meal."

"Oh? Then eat with us, Destre. We offer far better fare than those baked rocks the army calls food. First, help me pen these." Gordyan went to a pair of ground-hitched roans, one of them his big blue horse and the other a rangy, skittish red. He swung up on the blue and dug in his heels, riding into the makeshift corral. Danaer thought nothing of the request, or of riding those few short paces. No Destre would go afoot un-

less his mount needed rest. He seized the second roan's mane and leaped up on the bare back.

He had made a mistake.

Gordyan most certainly had not forgiven his besting in the lancing contest.

The roan seemed to explode beneath Danaer. He gripped desperately with hands and legs. The twists and turns and rearings were those of a fractious brute anticipating its rider's every move. Danaer tried to outguess the animal, clinging to the heaving back with all his considerable skill.

Just when he thought he would prove its master, the roan made a charge at one of the stumps supporting the corral ropes. Danaer tried to turn its head, but the beast was past control. Man and roan crashed into the stump and went down, thrashing in the dust.

Danaer threw himself clear, but as he did he landed off balance. His right ankle gave agonizingly and he rolled, biting back a cry of pain. Then he looked about sharply, expecting the half-wild roans to trample him as they broke from the corral. But Gordyan, still atop his blue roan, blocked the opening. One of his men was quickly restringing the ropes to keep the herd penned.

The big man grinned at Danaer and jumped down. Danaer managed to get to his feet, carefully favoring his screaming ankle. Gordyan's warriors howled at this spectacle—a Destre and an army scout, thrown like the greenest boy. Danaer himself saw the humor in the prank, a typical Destre jest. He started to laugh along with them.

Then he was startled to hear his name called. A woman's voice—Lira's! She was hurrying up toward the camp. It could only mean she had seen him thrown so ignominiously. Danaer's pride easily tolerated the good-natured gibes of Gordyan and his men, but this!

His laughter faded, and Gordyan's grin was as salt on a fresh wound. Danaer snarled, "If you were of a size a normal man might challenge, I would lesson you, stander."

He hobbled away along the ropes, around a small slope, trying not to limp. After forcing that stride as

long as he could bear, Danaer half fell against brush and the corral. With a grunt, he sat down and tugged off his boot. There was no bruismg or heat yet, but he knew the joint would stiffen badly if not tended. He began rubbing his ankle to combat a growing tightness.

The initial rage at Gordyan was spent, and now he felt emptiness. How would Lira look at him? He knew so little of her ways. This would have been no more than friendly roughhouse, if she had not witnessed it. Danaer cursed and chafed his foot painfully.

Suddenly, large hands pushed his away and began a massage much firmer and more useful than Danaer was capable of. Gordyan bent over him, sincere concern in his manner. Unnerved to be caught off guard, Danaer glanced around, ashamed that he had not heard the man approach. Gordyan must move like a dust-crawler, to come so silently.

For long moments neither of them spoke. Gordyan concentrated on his work and Danaer on swallowing any sound of distress. Finally Gordyan said gruffly, "How comes it now?"

"It begins to warm and loosen."

Gordyan nodded and rubbed even more vigorously. "I should not have given you that roan."

Touched by the clumsy apology, Danaer hurried to take his own guilt in hand. "I should have been able to handle it."

"La! That one answers only to my weight. You are not the first one he has thrown, nor will be the last." Gordyan's leathery features were taut with remorse. "I had not counted on that stump. This ankle was none of my intention. You might have been crippled, and the maiming my doing."

He was so ingenuously earnest, Danaer bore no grudge. "It is even. We are paid equally—lancing for horse handling."

"Ah! I knew you would taking a throwing well. But I am sorry to have timed it poorly. I would not have used that trick had I known your qedra watched. That is unfair, especially for a man who has an lit woman..."

"Lira Nalu is not . . . not so strong a word as *qedra' .. ."

Gordyan cocked his head. "You would not tell me so had you heard her. I did not understand half the insults, so learned were they." Gordyan looked at Danaer with respect. "A sorkra, and you her qedra."

"Not qedra. Not. . . yet."

Gordyan chuckled and said, "She was convinced I had killed you and hidden away your broken body. It took no small talking to change her mind on that, I swear. She wished to come looking for you, but I thought perhaps ..."

"Thank you for that."

Gordyan sat back and said, "Try it now, warrior."

Danaer caught the proffered hand and let Gordyan help him to his feet. Gingerly, he tried his weight on the bad ankle. "It pounds with blood. I think it will serve."

"Will you be able to ride?" Speechless with surprise, Danaer gawked at him until Gordyan said, "I forgot. In that uniform you look so much like an lit that ... of course you can ride, Destre." He picked up the discarded boot and sUpped it on Danaer's foot. The scout steadied himself against Gordyan's shoulder, marveling to feel the muscle rippling under the Destre vest. Could such a man ever be defeated in battle by any ordinary foe? He could imagine a lance striking that big chest cleanly and being plucked out and cast away as disdainfully as if it were a splinter.

Together they returned to the campfire. One of Gordyan's guards lifted a bird from the spit and tossed it across the flames. Danaer came up with his boot knife fast enough to spare himself burned fingers, and won applause.

Lira was nowhere about. Danaer bit into the fowl and complimented their fare. "Sling game? This is fine xorlya."

One man twirled a sling strap around his fingers. "It is the season in this area. We have bagged quite a few so far."

"Gordyan, could you lend me two slings?"

"You already have a sling, warrior. Have you grown extra hands?"

"No, but I have two novice scouts," Danaer explained. "I have a mind to make sling handlers of them."

Gordyan's men whooped at this outrageous plan, sure that no lit could master the weapon. When they had done eating, they tossed a leathern bottle to Danaer, and he took a healthy swig before he learned the wine was uncut. He brought it down choking and grinned, then finished more cautiously, to more laughter. Shortly after, Yistar beckoned him back to the wagons and he made a hasty farewell, praising the Destre hospitaUty.

The Captam was agaui poring over a map when Danaer knelt beside him, balancing on his left foot to ease his sore ankle. Yistar said sternly, "We must push faster these next few periods."

"I beUeve, with the goddess to help us, we still may make the Springs when you hoped ..."

"We will, then. I do not want to arrive at Deki with exhausted troops, but these supplies will do the city no good out here on the plains." The ofl&cer sighed and mopped his forehead with his sleeve.

"This map is not army issue, Captain. Where comes it?"

Yistar paused in the act of rolling up the chart. He opened it once more and eyed it with suspicion. "It was given to the Royal Commander by Gordt te Raa. Why? Is it inaccurate?"

"Much the other way. It is Azsed, and might have been designed for my use."

"As some horses are not?" Yistar said wryly. Then he asked, "Were you hurt in that spill?"

"A twisted ankle. No more. Gordyan loosened it well."

"Gordyan? But the Lady Nalu said ..."

"Has she mentioned to everyone what happened?" Danaer said with irritation.

"Only to me, and only because I inquired. If you were badly injured, I should need to find a replacement."

Danaer was not deluded by the offhanded tone, and he appreciated the Captain's concern. He put off any further discussion curtly and rode back to the point. The caravan moved forward again under a hazy sky and through rising temperatures. Several times there were hints of mirages. But now that Danaer knew he could penetrate the illusion with the aid of the taUs-man, he kept to the trail with no trouble.

Despite Yistar's urgings to speed, the pace remained very slow, slow enough to give Danaer much leisure to introduce his two unit mates to the art of sling handling. The youths were doubtful, as Gordyan had been. But once the slings' tricks were demonstrated, they showed interest and learned swiftly. By a period later, when they scattered a covey of xorlya, the novice scouts actually brought down a few birds. They were much helped by the close winging of the creatures as they panicked and flew. Nevertheless, the beginning hunters had game to show. Xashe and Rorluk strung their catch from their saddles and rode on jauntily.

The long afternoon passed more quickly for occasional game taking. Danaer let his students hunt landmarks as well as birds, pleased to see they were becoming adept at both. They had much to master, but they displayed early talent.

When the order came to halt, the sun rested on the horizon. The willows and bubbling springs of the camp lay close, and the weary men and horses gathered wagons and baggage near the best water and grass. Danaer again passed outgoing sentries and rode to Yistar's command area. The Captain was acting more cheerful now. "We did make better time, ai?" Yistar fingered the birds dangling from Danaer's pommel. "Getting a Uttle sling game along the way, are you?"

"Only while pursuing our course. Captain. We stumbled across a few and thought to provide you with some fresh meat for your mess."

Yistar snickered and tugged at his mustache. "I wager you thought that." He took a few of the squabs and tossed them to his orderly. "But I will take my

bandit toll all the same. Enough. Get you to your units and your own mess, and some sleep. We make an early start on the morrow."

Xashe and Rorluk chattered all the way to their unit camp, basking in the envious stares that followed them. As they reached the picket lines and dismounted, a wave of pain swept up from Danaer's ankle. He clung to his roan, gritting his teeth and choking on a rush of nausea.

"Troop Leader . . . ?"

"It is nothing. Away. See to your mounts and go show oS. your catch." Hearing the strong warning in that, they obeyed, though they looked back at him anxiously several times. Danaer bit down any shameful outcry, slowly recovering from shock. Then he swore an oath at his own stupidity—to ride so long with his foot out of the stirrup!