Angus Wells - The God Wars 01 (21 page)

 
          
"It
is no fable," Varent said earnestly. "Tezin-dar exists and the
Arcanum is there; of that I am certain. Calandryll secured me a map that—with
one I already hold—will show the location of Tezin-dar. Go there with
Calandryll and bring me the Arcanum—or see the world destroyed."

 
          
Bracht
sipped the distilled wine. Calandryll studied his face, willing him to agree.
He asked, "Why do you not go there yourself? Why does Aldarin not raise an
army to secure the book?"

 
          
Varent
smiled briefly.

 
          
"Your
wits are quick as your sword, my friend, but that I cannot do. Like you,
Aldarin's Domm is by no means sure the Arcanum exists, and should I endeavor to
persuade him to such a venture word would undoubtedly reach Azumandias. An army
is a clumsy thing: its raising would give my enemy time to use his magicks
against me; perhaps enable him to secure the charts. No, I cannot risk that.
Secrecy is my greatest weapon—the Arcanum must be destroyed and with your aid
Calandryll may find Tezin-dar and bring out the book before Azumandias has
chance to thwart us."

 
          
"Why?"
Bracht demanded, suspicion in his voice.

 
          
"Why?
I do not understand," said Varent.

 
          
"Why
bring out the book?" the Kern amplified. "Why not destroy it
there?"

 
          
"If
it were only that easy," Varent murmured regretfully, "but the
Arcanum is a magical thing itself. Spells render it indestructible by normal
means. Only magic may destroy it."

 
          
"And
you have such magic?"

 
          
Varent
nodded: "I do."

 
          
Bracht
lounged in his chair, feet thrust out, his expression speculative. "You
ask much," he said. "You ask that I escort the errant son of Secca's
Domm to Gessyth— itself a place of unknown dangers—to find a city men call
legend and secure a book you say may raise the Mad God. Already demons have
opposed us, sent—you say—by a crazed warlock who seeks the book himself. What
other dangers might we face along the way?"

 
          
"I
cannot tell you." Varent fixed the mercenary with a dark stare, his
handsome face grave. "I can only ask that you agree to do this. In return
I offer my undying gratitude. And five thousand varre."

 
          
Calandryll
was unable to stifle a gasp of surprise: it was a fortune. Bracht's face
remained calm, revealing nothing. He said, "That is a very high
price."

 
          
Varent
nodded. "Enough to compensate you for the additional dangers?"

 
          
Bracht
smiled then, a tight grin empty of humor. "You offer much, Varent."

 
          
"The
fate of the world lies in the balance," answered the ambassador. "Do
you accept?"

 
          
Bracht
ducked his head.

 
          
"Half
when we reach Aldarin; the rest on my return. Whether we secure the book, or
not."

 
          
Varent's
lips pursed, and for a moment Calandryll thought he would argue, but then he
shrugged and smiled and said, "Done. Your word on it?"

 
          
"You
have it."

 
          
"Excellent!"
Varent was once more affable. "I am delighted we are able to settle this
.. . misunderstanding."

 
          
"Yes."
Bracht rose. "And now I would sleep. Hopefully undisturbed."

 
          
"I
doubt Azumandias will attack again," Varent said. "Not for some
days—the raising of such creatures as you described requires effort, and likely
his strength is depleted. Besides, I'll change our route so he'll not be able
to guess our whereabouts. And once in Aldarin, you'll be protected."

 
          
"Good."

 
          
Bracht
moved to the door. Calandryll rose to follow him, glancing at Varent. The
ambassador waved a hand, dismissing him, and he went with the Kem into the
darkened corridor.

 
          
Their
rooms were adjacent and as they reached them Calandryll frowned, turning to
Bracht.

 
          
"Would
you have reneged?" he asked.

 
          
Bracht's
face was shadowed, rendering his expression unreadable. "I'd not
anticipated demons," he murmured, "but nor had I expected to find the
son of Secca's Domm placed in my charge."

 
          
"What
difference does that make?" wondered Calandryll.

 
          
"You
don't see?" He thought Bracht grinned then. "Had I refused, what do
you think Varent would do? He need only send word to your father that I aided
your escape and I'm outlawed in Secca. He's the ambassador of Aldarin, so I'd
likely find myself outlawed there, too. Two cities placing a price on my head?
Those are heavy odds,- powerful enemies. This way at least I have an ally in
Aldarin." Now Calandryll was sure he grinned. "And five thousand
varre, besides."

 
          
"Is
the money so important?" Calandryll sought to probe the darkness that hid
the Kem's face. "Does the quest not excite you?"

 
          
"The
money sweetens it," Bracht said. Then added as if in explanation,
"I've no great liking for Varent."

 
          
Calandryll
sighed: it had not occurred to him that the two comrades of Reba's prophecy
would be other than friends, but he heard in the Kern's tone an implacable
coldness. It appeared that Bracht had weighed Varent and found him wanting. At
least, he thought, the freesword accepted him, and was surprised to find
himself thankful for that: they had little enough in common, but he realized
that he wanted the Kem's friendship. He yawned, unable to conceal his
weariness.

 
          
"Sleep,"
Bracht advised, amiably enough.

 
          
Calandryll
nodded sleepily and opened his door, half expecting to discover something
monstrous inside the chamber. He saw only a plain room, moonlight falling
across a mightily tempting bed. He stepped inside, aware that Bracht waited at
the door, hand on the falchion's hilt: he smiled his thanks.

 
          
Bracht
nodded and said, "We'd best find you a blade tomorrow."

 
          
"Yes."
He watched as the mercenary turned to his own chamber, and closed the door.

 
          
The
very simplicity of the room helped dispel his apprehension. It was a place to
rest, not a venue for magic, and Varent had said Azumandias was likely weakened
by the conjuration; and he trusted Varent: there would be no further assault.
He crossed the slightly creaking boards and dropped wearily to the bed, bending
to unlace his boots and tug them off. A small wardrobe provided space for his
clothes and a cache for the map, and he climbed beneath cool sheets, seeing the
full moon beaming enigmatically from a sky of darkest blue velvet pocked with
stars. That same moon had lit the bam when Azuman- dias's demons attacked ...

 
          
A
sudden thought widened his sleep-heavy eyes: when Varent had materialized on
his balcony the ambassador 'had explained that such magic enabled him to
transport himself only to a known location. Therefore Azumandias must be
familiar with the caravanserai.

 
          
He
frowned, the thought denying him the sleep his body craved. To do that,
Azumandias must have visited the place ... might therefore have visited every
potential stop along the way ... might be able to produce demons anywhere. For
a moment he felt the chilly grip of dread. Then he smiled, remembering that
Varent had foreseen that possibility and announced his intention of altering
their route. He turned his face from the moonlight, drawing the comforting
sheet up to his chin, alarm fading as welcome sleep crept over him. Until a
further doubt crept in: how coula Azumandias have known he would be in the bam?

 
          
And
why send demons against him?

 
          
Why
not attack Varent?

 
          
Without
the ambassador, the whole quest must surely falter. He and Bracht were merely
agents, Varent the mastermind, so why direct the attack against the lesser
players?

 
          
The
thoughts disturbed him, rendering sleep, for all he craved its peace, elusive,
the lack of answers setting him to turning restlessly, his mind refusing to let
go the problem. Varent's magic protected him, he decided at last: that must
explain it. Or part of it: he was still wondering how the wizard could have
known where he would be as exhaustion overcame him and at last he drifted into
welcome slumber.

 
          
Sunlight had replaced the moonglow when he
woke, a little after dawn to judge by the noise that rose from the courtyard
and the height of the sun in the cloud-flecked blue sky. He thrust back the
sheets and climbed from the bed, washing and dressing swiftly. The map lay
where he had left it in the wardrobe. He stared at it for a moment, then
settled it against his skin, beneath his shirt: It seemed the safest hiding
place for now. Satisfied, he hurried to the common room with the questions that
had plagued him rising afresh in his mind.

           
The spacious room was mostly empty,
Varent beaming a welcome from a table set against one wall where he sat alone,
beckoning. Calandryll was pleased Bracht was not there, or any of the
ambassador's men: he felt a need to discuss his doubts in some measure of
privacy.

 
          
"Your
ordeal seems to have left no lasting marks," Varent greeted him.
"Break your fast with me—this fruit is truly delicious."

 
          
He
pushed a bowl of apples across the table and called for the landlord to bring
another mug. Calandryll helped himself to the fruit, and the fresh-baked bread,
as Varent filled the mug with steaming tea.

 
          
"Where's
Bracht?" he asked.

 
          
"Tending
his horse," said Varent cheerily, "what they say about Kems is true,
you know—they place the comfort of their animals above their own."

 
          
He
sliced an apple with a slender dagger; added a sliver of yellow cheese. He
appeared completely at ease, as if he had forgotten the events of the previous
night. Calandryll said, "I was thinking about the demons."

 
          
"I'm
not surprised," Varent murmured smoothly, "but as I told you, I
believe we may safely dismiss such threat for a while."                                                                           
. , .

 
          
"No."
Calandryll shook his head. "I was thinking about
how
they came to
be there."

 
          
"Indeed?"
Varent raised a napkin to his lips. "By courtesy of Azumandias, I
assume."

 
          
Calandryll
frowned. Varent was the picture of relaxed urbanity, his manner suggesting that
he found the subject more than a little tedious.

 
          
"How
could he know where I was?" he insisted.

 
          
"He
is a powerful wizard," Varent said, helping himself to bread.

 
          
Calandryll
refused to let it go: "You suggested he had guessed our whereabouts."

 
          
"You've
an inquiring mind, Calandryll; I like that!

 
          
Varent
nodded, smiling. "You are wondering how he could have known we should halt
here? Apply that scholarly logic—this is the first way station on the route
from Secca to Aldarin; Azumandias has traveled extensively in his search for
Orwen's charts; no doubt he anticipated I should make this my first halt."