Angus Wells - The God Wars 01 (24 page)

 
          
Calandryll
ducked his head in agreement: if Varent knew of the Kem's mistrust he might well
dispense with him, and Calandryll was loath to forfeit the freesword's company.

 
          
"But
I would discuss the
byah
with him," he said.

 
          
"As
you wish," Bracht agreed. "Though not my interpretation of its
warning."

           
Calandryll nodded and they waited
for the column to reach their position, then Bracht gestured toward the timber.

 
          
"The
trees grow thick down there. It will be hard going for the wagon."

           
"I know a path," smiled
Varent. "You enjoyed your gallop?"

           
"Yes," Calandryll
answered, "it was ... enjoyable."

 
          
"But?"

 
          
Varent's
dark eyes studied his face and he frowned, glancing at Bracht. The Kem offered
no response so he said, "We encountered magic."

 
          
Varent's
brows rose inquiringly, inviting explanation. Calandryll brought his mount
alongside, flanked by Bracht. "There was a glade," he offered,
"with a great oak at its center. A being—Bracht named it a
byah
—came
from the tree and spoke to us."

 
          
"I
have heard of the
byah."
Varent leaned forward in his saddle,
looking past Calandryll to the silent Kem. "Are they not manifestations of
Ahrd?"

 
          
"Yes,"
said Bracht.

 
          
Varent
beamed as though delighted with this confirmation.  
,              
, ,             ,

           
"A
byah
! Would that I
had been with you," he declared wistfully. "They appear only to
worshipers of the Oak, I understand. If I remember correctly they are benign
creatures, likely to offer sound advice. Did you receive such?"

 
          
"It
told us to beware of lies," Calandryll nodded. "It said that
deception cloaks our path, and that we should trust one another."

 
          
"Sound
advice, indeed," smiled Varent, "when you face the mendacity of such
as Azumandias. The
byah
appear only rarely, I believe, and I doubt it
would show itself again. What do you think, Bracht?"

 
          
"I
think it accomplished its purpose," the Kem answered. "It will not
appear again."

 
          
"A
pity." Varent sighed. "I'd dearly love to see such a being. But the
tree remains—will you guide me to it?"

 
          
"You
seem unsurprised," Calandryll said, himself somewhat taken aback by the
ambassador's cheerful acceptance of the creature.

 
          
"No,"
Varent said, "Why should I be? From what I have read, Ahrd is the father
of forests and his presence may be found everywhere the great oaks grow. Just
as Burash holds sway over all the oceans, so is Ahrd present in the forests."

 
          
"But
surely Lysse is Dera's domain," Calandryll said.

 
          
"Indeed,"
Varent agreed, "but still there is room for other gods. I have a most
interesting work on the subject of theogony in my library. By Marsius—do you
know it?"

 
          
Calandryll
shook his head.

 
          
"I
shall find it for you when we reach Aldarin," Varent promised.

 
          
"Might
Azumandias not have conjured the
byahV
Calandryll wondered.

 
          
"Not
here." Varent waved a hand, indicating the trees that now surrounded their
path. "How could he know our whereabouts? No, my friends, we are safe from
his glamours for the moment."

 
          
Calandryll
glanced sidelong at Bracht, hoping the freesword was satisfied with this
response. Varent accepted the manifestation too readily to fear it: his
interest was that of the scholar. Had he thought the creature warned against
him, surely he would have shown some sign of alarm, would not wish to visit the
site of its appearance. And he appeared supremely confident that it was not
some conjuration of his rival. If anything, his words agreed with Bracht's own
beliefs, save in their diverse interpretations of the warning. Bracht was
wrong, he decided: as he suspected, the Kem's dislike clouded his judgment.
Reassured, he nodded, smiling; he was fortunate to have encountered Varent.

 
          
"Well,"
the ambassador asked, "will you show me this wondrous oak?"

 
          
Calandryll
looked again at Bracht, not quite ready to agree without the Kern's approval,
and saw him duck his head, turning his stallion from the line of march. Varent
called to his men to proceed, following the mercenary into the depths of the
forest.

 
          
They
reached the glade and dismounted. The oak stood majestic at the center, but now
it seemed only a tree, huge, impressive in its age and vast size, but otherwise
mundane. The sunlight seemed brighter here only because of the space around the
tree, and the earlier stillness, the solemn silence, was replaced with bird
song and the gentle rustling of a breeze. Varent walked toward the oak, staring
up at the spreading branches. Calandryll saw Bracht watching the man, as though
anticipating some revelation of falsity, some confirmation of his suspicions,
but Varent appeared merely a scholar, fascinated by the vast growth. He drew
close, touching the bole, smiling as a squirrel chattered from a branch, and
paced slowly around the trunk.

 
          
"Do
you still believe the
byah
warned of him?" Calandryll whispered.

           
Bracht nodded without speaking;
Calandryll grunted, frustrated by the Kern's irrational obstinacy.

 
          
"Magnificent!"
Varent came toward them, beaming delightedly. "If a
byah
was to
appear anywhere, it must surely be from such a splendid tree."

 
          
He
halted, turning to study the oak afresh. Bracht said, "You seem familiar
with the ways of Cuan na'For."

 
          
Varent
ducked his head absently, absorbed in his observation.

 
          
"I
have made a study of most religions. As I mentioned to Calandryll, Marsius is
quite fascinating—you should read him." He laughed briefly, waving an
apologetic hand. "Forgive me, I forget you cannot read."

 
          
Bracht
said nothing and Varent went to his horse.

 
          
"Fascinating.
I am pleased to have seen it, but now we should rejoin the others."

 
          
He
mounted the chestnut, favoring the glade with a final glance as if hoping
something might yet appear, then urged his mount back through the beeches.
Calandryll followed, Bracht at the rear, his swarthy face impassive, and they
trotted after the column.

 
          
For
two days and a half they traversed the forest, emerging on the scam of a ridge
that descended through thinning stands of birch to a grassy plain. Feral cattle
grazed there, and horses, scattering from their approach with tossing horns and
wild waving manes. They forded three shallow streams and floated the wagon
across a river, spending the remainder of that day on the far bank, drying clothes
and gear, their horses content to crop on the lush grass. Varent's men
welcoming the leisure. Calandryll enjoyed no such respite, for Bracht declared
that it was time he improved his sword skills and as he no longer suffered from
the aching muscles and stiffness that had at first plagued him, he had no
reason to argue. They were, after all, drawing steadily closer to Aldarin and
the real start of the quest, when swordwork might well be needed.

 
          
From
noon to dusk, and then each evening when they halted, the Kem drilled him in
the finer points of swordplay as Varent and his men looked on, calling advice
and shouting encouragement. Calandryll was pleased to find that he grew more
limber with each passing day: he had, as Bracht had remarked, hardened, and he
did his best to give a good account of himself as he faced the mercenary.

 
          
Bracht's
praise as he improved delighted him and he was surprised to find that he took a
pleasure in their duels that he had never known under the instruction of Torvah
Banul on the practice grounds of his father's palace. Sleep, too, was a
newfound boon, for when they cleared the forest his dreams ceased altogether.

 
          
He
had thought them gone, but after the visitation of the 
byah
they
returned, as though the trees themselves sent visions, though of what he was
uncertain. He would drift comfortably into sleep only to find himself standing
once more in the clearing, moonlit in his dreaming, silvery light filtering
through the branches of the great oak, the night silent and still all round.
The
byah
would emerge from the substance of the tree and walk toward him
with upraised arms, the twigs of its fingers spread wide so that he was unsure
whether it raised its limbs in warning or threat. It would speak, but the words
always got lost in the wind that blew then, cold and fierce so that the
dendriform creature stood shaken by the gust, returning slowly, as if defeated,
to blend again with the oak. As it merged, Bracht and Varent would come from
the shadows at the oak's base, each man beckoning him, calling him to join
them, to left or right of the tree, and he would stand undecided, knowing he
must choose between them, but not knowing to which one he should go.

 
          
This
dream stayed with him until they reached the grasslands, as though the power of
the tree ended there, but once the forest lay behind them he slept untroubled.

 
          
He
decided, finally, that the dream was not a sending of the
byah
but a
product of his own making, the result of his increasingly divided loyalties. He
remained confident that Varent's purpose was unimpeachable, but Bracht's
mistrust was implacable, and that still disturbed him. A bond grew with the
Kem, begun when they fought the demons together, cemented by his own guarding
of the freesword's doubts, strengthened by the hours spent together. He no
longer saw the mercenary as merely a hired man, motivated by desire for
Varent's coin, but as a friend; and Bracht no longer evinced that vague
contempt for his softness, his inexperience, but seemed to regard him increasingly
as an equal, a comrade. It was as though, with their sharing of the s warning,
he had passed a further unspoken test, earning himself a higher place in
Bracht's estimation, and he valued that.

 
          
On
the other hand, he trusted Varent, enjoying the ambassador's urbane company no
less than the Kem's. At night, after sword practice was ended, and often as
they rode, Varent would discourse on the history of Lysse, the religions of
their world, a myriad topics in which the ambassador was well-versed as any pedagogue,
and Calandryll delighted in his erudition as keenly as he found himself
enjoying Bracht's more physical tutoring.

 
          
It
was a time he thought of later with some nostalgia: a time of innocence, almost
idyllic.

 
          
They
crossed the plain and saw low hills rising before them, the grass ending,
giving way to more arid terrain: hard, reddish-brown earth scattered with
thrustings of grey and black stone, as if the land was pared to the bone. Still
there was no sign of human habitation, nor any magical visitations as they
wound a devious route among the knolls, climbing steadily to emerge after three
days on a windswept plateau. Varent called a halt there, pointing ahead.

           
"Aldarin lies beyond this
grass," he announced. "On the Alda."

 
          
Calandryll
squinted into the heat-hazed distance. The wind was strong, rustling his
lengthening hair, whipping his horse's mane and tail, and on its gusting he
could smell the ocean. Far off to the west the land fell down to meet the
Narrow
Sea
, verdant green merging with the blue; and
ahead the plateau stretched lush with spring grass. He saw buildings, painted
blue, a shade akin to Varent's tunic, squat and walled, like tiny fortresses,
flat roofs bright beneath the cloud-flecked sky.