Wizard of the Grove (37 page)

Enthralled, Jago stared as the tiny image of the Lord of Air passed over the lands of men, heard singing and stopped to listen—little knowing that he heard his doom as well.

As the song changed, so did the vision; the blue sky of Laur-anthonel's domain replaced by a tower room in a stone keep where the King of Valen's youngest daughter sat at her loom and sang. The shuttle flicked in and out as, with Crystal's voice, Kara poured out her heart, weaving her hopes and dreams into the music. Ten thousand years later, in the air over the camp in the mountains, Laur-anthonel lost his heart again. He paused at her window, and she, feeling the breeze, turned and met his gaze. They exchanged a look so piercingly impassioned that Crystal fell silent, fearing the music might shatter it, and for an instant the image, and that look, hung in the air alone.

Kara found her tongue before the Lord of Air, and Crystal sang of her sudden love for this man who had come in answer to her dreams. She let her own undefined yearning seep into the music, lending Kara's words a sweet poignancy. In the pause between verses, as she drew a breath to continue, a strong rich baritone took up Laur-anthonel's response.

At first, Crystal thought the breezes sang with her, for they often did, and then she realized, shocked, that it was Raulin. She whirled to face him, the image in the air fading as her attention moved from it. Still singing Laur-anthonel's pledge of eternal devotion, Raulin raised an arm and indicated the barely visible lovers. They firmed as Crystal let the music take her up again.

Laur-anthonel, Jago was certain, had never behaved in such a way before for he could see the image of the Lord of Air take on his brother's mannerisms. And his brother's strengths. And, as the courtship progressed, his brother's feelings. He wondered if he should be watching such an outpouring of emotion, decided the music excused him, and knew that, right or wrong, he couldn't leave before the last note faded.

Free to sing Kara's part alone, Crystal found herself involved as she'd never been before. Her heart nearly broke with Kara's anguish at what she thought was love's betrayal and her spirit soared along with her voice as love proved true in the end. She forgot Jago listened, forgot everything outside the music, and sang to Raulin only; her yearning no longer undefined.

When Kara and her love were joined at last, the lines between the passion of the song and the passion of the singers blurred. Their joy rose into the night clear and strong, and then, as though they had rehearsed it, both voices fell to barely above a whisper as they spoke their vows to love.

Never before,
Jago thought as the final vow gave way to silence, Raulin's voice wrapped around the core of silver that was Crystal.
And never again.
An intensity like that happened once in a lifetime and he thanked the Mother that he'd been allowed to hear it.

As the crackling of the fire and the movement of the trees surrounding the camp began to fill the quiet, Raulin, never taking his eyes from Crystal's face, held out his hand. Silently, for all that was necessary had been said, Crystal laid hers in it. He pulled her into his arms and bent his head to hers . . .

Jago shook himself free of the spell and for his own sake, for he knew they had forgotten his existence, went for a walk in the woods . . .

 . . . where he discovered he had not been the music's only audience.

“What can I give her to stand with that?” Lord Death demanded. “How . . .” He buried his face in his hands and gave a long shuddering sigh. When he looked up his face showed red from the pressure of his fingers. “I can't even touch her, you know.”

Jago nodded. “I know.” Without thinking, he held out his hand.

Lord Death stared at it until he drew it back, and then, with only a small bit of the pain still in his face, he left Jago alone in the night.

Behind him, from the circle of firelight, Jago heard another song rise, the oldest song of all, and was glad Lord Death had at least been spared hearing it.

A motionless silhouette against the winter's sky, the giant faced into the wind and read the news from it. The weather would hold, and that was all to the good. Giants seldom worried about weather, able by both sheer bulk and temperament to wait out the fiercest storm, but she wanted to remain on schedule. Both her pace and her path were carefully planned. She would meet up with the wizard and her companions close enough to the tower to be of obvious assistance.

A breeze ruffled her close-cropped brown curls and she smiled at the information it volunteered. It seemed that at the moment the young wizard had little interest in ruling the world and had found a more pleasant pastime.

And I wish her joy of it,
she thought, picking a careful way down the steep and icy trail,
for the Mother knows she's had little enough joy in her life until now.

*   *   *

According to the demon's map, Aryalan's tower lay north and west of the forest. As the sleigh could not be maneuvered through the trees, the way due north was closed. Therefore, they moved west for three days, skirting the edge of the woods until the forest dropped down into a valley which angled almost exactly in the direction they needed to go.

“This,” Raulin declared upon seeing it, “was on old frog-face's wall.”

As Raulin remembered their path in greater detail than either Jago
or Crystal, and as the valley offered shelter and obvious signs of game, they descended into it, still following the forest.

*   *   *

Jago watched Raulin's and Crystal's backs and grinned. They weren't holding hands, but they might as well have been; he doubted he could slip a dagger blade, between their shoulders. Separated by the sleigh and the length of the traces, he couldn't hear what they said, but he had a pretty good idea they weren't whispering lovers' platitudes. For starters, he didn't think Raulin knew any.

As though aware of his thoughts, Crystal raised her voice, “. . . because it's a woman's song and when you change the lyrics so that a man can sing it you change the meaning!”

Raulin's reply was pitched too low to carry back to his brother but Crystal's response of “I am not being sexist!” filled in the words. They disagreed without the tentativeness of most new lovers and through that Jago recognized the depth of their feelings. It sounded remarkably similar to the way he and Raulin argued and they'd had over thirty years together.

To his surprise, he felt no jealousy at this closeness. Not of Crystal for coming between him and his brother. Not of Raulin for monopolizing the only woman they would likely meet for some time. Crystal hadn't come between them; while they hadn't exactly grown closer, the rising tension was gone. And Raulin, he knew, did not demand that Crystal remain exclusively with him. Their mother had raised them to believe in a woman's choice, and the brothers had shared bed-partners before. Somehow, though, Jago couldn't see himself with Crystal. It had nothing to do with his mistrust of wizards; he'd lost that back in the demon's cave and in a short time she'd become almost as important to him as Raulin. That was it. She felt like the sister he'd never had.

He watched her reach up to tug on Raulin's mustache and nodded sagely. Yes, like a sister. His sister and his brother and . . . He shook his head and left that line of thought dangling. Taking the analogy too far dropped him into murky waters indeed. Enough that they found
pleasure in each other and that he in no way felt excluded from their company because of it.

Besides, the gear had never been in such good repair. Now he went over it for at least an hour each night before retiring to the shelter the three of them still shared.

*   *   *

Crystal found Raulin both an enthusiastic and a considerate lover, as straightforward and uncomplicated in bed as out of it. She thanked the Mother-creator that Jago approved of their relationship and treated the inevitable silliness with amused tolerance. Two things disturbed her. Avreen had made no attempts at freedom in spite of the amount of energy directed toward her aspect. For that matter, none of the goddesses made their presence felt during her nights with Raulin, almost as if something blocked them out . . .

I've seen more fire in wet wood.

 . . .
although Zarsheiy made a number of sarcastic comments during the day.

She wasn't complaining, lovemaking had never felt so, well, so complete, but Avreen's silence puzzled her. The second thing that disturbed her was the continuing absence of Lord Death. Not for years had he gone so long without appearing. In spite of the companionship of both men, she missed him. He was, after all, her oldest friend.

*   *   *

Raulin had decided early in life that women and men were not intended to understand each other. He therefore refused to analyze the experience during those few times when they seemed to. He stuck to that principle now. Lovemaking with Crystal lifted him to the heights every night. He cherished it, he enjoyed it, he didn't worry about it. Fortune beckoned, and he traveled to it with a beautiful woman by his side and his brother at his back. What more could any man ask for?

*   *   *

Their first morning in the valley, they crossed rabbit spore three times, and once a huge buck, his head held high under a majestic spread of antlers, regarded them somberly for an instant before spinning and bounding away.

“Snares tonight,” Raulin declared, rubbing his hands in anticipation, “and meat tomorrow!”

Crystal laughed, suddenly looking wild and fey. “Meat tonight, I think.”

*   *   *

Doan sprawled in the curve of a giant stone foreleg, his brow furrowed in thought. He often came to the Dragon's Cavern when he had a particularly knotty problem to work out and wanted to be uninterrupted. His brother dwarves had developed the habit of avoiding the cavern when the dragon had been alive—not from fear; a large dragon in a confined space in warm weather smelled impossibly unpleasant—and now, although the dragon curled about the center pillar had returned to stone, the habit remained.

“I could,” he said, “let the giant handle it.” He twisted into another position and drummed his fingers against his thigh. It bothered him that the giants considered Aryalan's tower enough of a danger to get involved. The notion that Crystal herself might
be
a danger rather than
in
danger, he discarded completely. He admitted, reluctantly, that the centaurs might have reason for paranoia, considering how the last wizards they trained had turned out. He also admitted, more reluctantly still, that this wizard was an image of the Eldest, of Milthra, the Lady of the Grove, and that might, perhaps, be influencing his thinking.

Snarling at nothing in particular, he swung down to the ground.

“Only one way to be sure,” he informed the dragon, slapping it affectionately on its sandstone nose. He hitched up his pants and went to collect his weapons from the forge.

“Heading off again?” asked a brother, glancing up from his anvil where a vaguely axehead-shaped piece of iron glowed red hot.

Doan pulled his favorite sword off a wall where a large number of
weapons hung. It annoyed him that so few of them ever got used. It annoyed him even more that no one paid attention to his complaints. “You got a problem with that, Drik?”

“Nope.” The smith swung his hammer and the iron sprayed sparks. “Just curious. This trip got anything to do with the Call?”

“Might.”

“I thought the Council decided to let the giants handle it.”

“Yeah, well you know what they say,” Doan buckled on the swordbelt and settled the familiar weight across his back, “if you want a thing done right, do it yourself.”

“Figure you'll need your sword?”

“What do you think, slag brain?” Grumbling beneath his breath that anything in Aryalan's tower would be a welcome change, he picked up a dagger and stomped from the room.

“Pleasure talking to you too, Doan,” Drik called after him, shook his head, and returned to work.

*   *   *

The huge white owl opened its talons, releasing the hare it carried into Raulin's arms. Raulin staggered a little under the weight of the dead animal, then shifted his grip and held it out by the ears.

“Fresh meat!” he exclaimed.

“So I see.” Jago set a pot of snow on the fire to melt. “Are you going to clean it or do we spend all night looking at it?”

Raulin tossed him the carcass. “You do it. You need the practice.”

“I'll do it,” Jago agreed, pulling out his knife and laying the hare on a patch of clean snow, “because
you
are inept.” He slit the belly and scooped out the entrails. “You want these, Crystal?”

She stepped into the firelight and bent to pick up her clothes. “Not now thanks, I just ate. Maybe later.”

“You know I consider you my heart's delight,” Raulin said, watching her dress with deep enjoyment, “but that's disgusting.”

Crystal pulled the sweater over her head, her expression thoughtful. Lord Death had said much the same the night things between them
had fallen apart so badly. Was he still angry with her? She hadn't seen him since . . . since the demon's cave, weeks ago. Uncertain whether anything could go wrong with the one true son of the Mother, she still began to grow uneasy at his absence.

“Crystal?” Raulin gently lifted her chin. “Please don't look worried. I didn't mean it.”

She managed a smile, pushing her concern for Lord Death back out of sight. “It's okay.” She snaked her arms under his open overcoat and around his waist. “When I'm not in feathers I find it pretty disgusting, too.” Leaning forward, she kissed him hard and when her mouth was free again, added: “I try not to think about it.” Which, she suddenly remembered, releasing Raulin to pull on her boots, was exactly what she'd said to Lord Death. All the concern came tumbling back.

Best make up your mind,
Zarsheiy taunted.
The quick or the dead.

What?
Usually Crystal ignored her, but usually the goddess' jibes made sense.

Poor child, don't you know your own mind?
False sympathy dripped from the thought.

That's hardly surprising,
Crystal gave a mental snort,
since I've squatters in most of it.
Her hair, she realized as she straightened, curtained her face from Raulin's view so she carefully schooled her features before it fell back and he grew upset again. For reasons unknown, it didn't seem right discussing Lord Death with Raulin. Maybe if she had some time alone with Jago . . .

“That tickles,” she said lightly, as he traced a finger along the edge of her left ear.

He grinned and winked. “You know, I've never kissed a bird before.”

“A number of birdbrains,” Jago put in, skewering the cleaned hare and setting it over the fire. He shielded himself with the teapot as Raulin took a quick step in his direction. “Hurt the cook and the cook burns dinner!”

“As you're just as likely to burn it without my help that's not much of a threat I'll . . .”

They never heard just what Raulin planned as an anthem of wolf
howls drowned out his next words. The three froze as the chorus climbed up the scale, then faded.

“Great bloody Chaos,” Jago breathed, trying to wet his lips with a tongue gone dry.

“Great bloody Chaos' balls,” Raulin expanded, swallowing convulsively. “Both of them.” He drew a long shuddering breath and added, “In a sling.”

Crystal clutched at a wandering breeze. “They have us surrounded . . .” She twisted, seemed to reach for something neither brother could see, and threw up her hands in disgust. “There's more, but it won't tell me.”

She seemed frustrated rather than afraid, so the brothers took their cue from her. They began to breathe almost normally again. Raulin continued to stare into the darkness, but Jago sank down to tend the fire.

“Think the meat attracted them?” Raulin asked, trying to forget that howl despite the chills still running up and down his back.

“Perhaps.” Crystal tossed her head. She stepped toward the trees, then back, then twisted her hair with her hands. “But there's lots of game around here. They can't be hungry enough to approach the fire.”

“Well, they haven't yet,” Jago offered, pouring the snow, now transformed to boiling water, into the teapot, dumping it, tossing in a handful of herbs, and refilling the pot.

Suddenly, golden eyes glowed just outside the ring of light and then just as suddenly disappeared.

“And then again,” he continued, his voice steady but the hand that set the pot back on the coals shaking visibly, “who wants first watch?”

“Wolves do not attack people.” Crystal pronounced each word clearly and calmly, but whether she spoke to convince herself, the brothers, or the wolves, not even she was sure.

“Maybe they don't,” Raulin admitted, his head jerking back and forth as he tried to watch all directions at once. He pulled off his mitts and wiped his now sweaty palms. “But they don't act like this either. Jago, you take first watch. Crystal second. I'll take last.”

Not even Crystal's wizard-sight saw the wolves that night, but they continued to make themselves heard. No golden eyes broke the darkness, but howls shivered through the silence, time after time. Crystal wove a net of power about the shelter, blocking the noise so the two within could get some sleep.

Nashawryn stirred each time the wolves called.

Sitting alone on second watch, she fed wood to the fire and power to the barriers that held the dark goddess confined.

At dawn, the howling stopped. Daggers drawn, while Crystal stood by ready to help if necessary, Raulin and Jago slipped into the woods and separated, each circling half the camp. Just before they completed the circle, following tracks now deserted by their makers, Jago dropped to one knee and beckoned to Raulin. “Come take a look at this.”