Angus Wells - The God Wars 01 (57 page)

 
          
He
glanced at Calandryll as he spoke, his eyes expressing hope and something close
to apprehension. Calandryll said, "This occult talent he says I have? I
told you then I had no knowledge of it, and nor do I now. What happened then I
cannot comprehend—if you ask me to use magic against him, I know not how."

 
          
"It
would seem our only hope," Bracht said. "Save that some other agency
intervene."

 
          
Calandryll
laughed briefly, cynically.

 
          
"Such
as Azumandias? Or the Tyrant's sorcerers? It seems that all this journey brings
us from pan to fire."

 
          
"And
yet we move toward our goal," Bracht said. 'Were it not for Anomius we'd
hang now on Sathoman's gallows. Did he not guide us through these woods we'd
ride head-on into the Tyrant's army. There's that, at least."

 
          
"You
think there's some design in this?"

 
          
Calandryll
grinned, the angling of his lips expressing disbelief rather than humor. Bracht
shrugged and said, "Perhaps not, but we do cross Kandahar fast."

 
          
That
much, at least, was true, for they traveled as swiftly as they might along the
road. Swifter, given that the road must bring them to the army and that
meeting, certainly, delay them if not halt them altogether. Anomius, thanks to
his magic, was a successful guide, bringing them in the days that followed
around the Tyrant's squadrons, avoiding the scouts who flanked the army and the
wizards left behind in the settlements along the way. Twice they hid from
outriders, and three times swung wide of their elected path to avoid outlaw
bands, but always they progressed steadily south and then west, drawing ever
closer to their destination. By day the wizard rode ahead, seeing through avian
eyes, and by night he sent out his
quyvhal,
the spectral creature
returning each dawn to report in its strange, fluting voice. What supplies they
needed, they obtained from the hamlets they found deep in the forest, small
clusters of wooden houses occupied by hunters and charcoal burners, each with a
few pigs, or some sheep grazing land cleared for that purpose, a milch cow or
two, and little plots where vegetables grew. The folk they met were incurious,
content to accept that they were travelers bound for Nhur-jabal with no wish to
meet the Tyrant's army on the road. Indeed, it seemed that gave them a kind of
bond, for the forest dwellers were private folk with little interest in the
doings of such lords as the Tyrant or Sathoman ek'Hennem, preferring to live
their lonely lives apart from the ways of Nhur-jabal and the rivalries of the
nobility. Their hospitality was plain, but freely given, and the travelers made
good speed. As the spring became summer they came in sight of Nhur-jabal.

 
          
The
terrain grew irregular, the Kharm-rhanna like a great rocky wave, sending
ripples into the heart of Kandahar, the woodland climbing and falling into
dells until they stood upon the rim of a great river valley. Across the sweep
of lowland the forest thinned, breaking like a green dendroid sea on the rocks
of the Kharm-rhanna, green giving way to blue-black granite. The great mountain
range that divided Kandahar from the jungles of Gash bulked dark across the
western sky, the upper peaks lit by the setting sun, burning defiantly fiery as
night advanced from the east, the land below already overtaken, shadowed saved
for the distant sparkling lights of the villages and towns along the banks of
the Tannyth River. The land fell away before them to the wide ribbon of the
southward-flowing Yst, foothills dim beyond to west and north. Across the
river, as though suspended in the night, they saw the lights of Nhur-jabal,
standing on the farther scarp of the valley. They made camp there, where the
timber still afforded plentiful cover, and in the morning studied the city
revealed by the new day's light.

 
          
The
goshawk was released from Anomius's enchantment, their path clear enough no
winged forerunner was needed, only cunning and a fair helping of luck. To the
north lay the Tyrant's road, emerging from the forest to cross the Tannyth on a
massive stone bridge, running on into the foothills to meet Nhur-jabal, where
the city stood on a bluff dominating the valley below, protected at its rear by
the crags of the Kharm-rhanna, the Tyrant's citadel a guardian over all.
Stone-built houses spread across the bluff, tumbling down the sides like some
frozen, rocky waterfall, fortresslike in their lofty isolation, their keep the
palace that towered above the city, elevated on a shelf that thrust from the
mountains, walled and towered, drawbridges granting access to the inner courts.
The Tannyth ran eastward past the foot of the bluff, and across the valley they
saw the gap that marked the exit of the Shemme, that river sparkling faintly in
the morning sun.

 
          
"There's
a town beyond the pass."

 
          
Calandryll
offered the map to Bracht, who nodded, studying the terrain ahead.

 
          
"We'll
find a boat there," Anomius said, "and ride the river to Kharasul.
Thence to Gessyth and Tezin-dar."

 
          
Anticipation
lent his voice an unusual stridence, and when Calandryll looked at his sallow
face he saw the watery eyes burned greedily. "Can the Tyrant's sorcerers
not sense you so close to Nhur-jabal?" he asked, studying the valley
warily.

 
          
Anomius
shrugged, fidgeting as though he wished only to be gone, to cross careless of
the danger. He seemed oblivious of the great city sprawling so close.

 
          
"We
must take a ferry across the river," Bracht said, pointing, "and
there are settlements on both banks. Horsemen from Nhur-jabal could intercept
us at the pass."

 
          
Anomius
chopped the air impatiently, parchment features creased in vexation. "Do
you dawdle now, all is lost," he complained irritably. "We have no
choice save to take the ferry and find the pass. Come—we ride."

 
          
"Wait!"
Bracht raised a calming hand. "If the Tyrant's cautious as you say, he's
likely got soldiery down there. And if his warlocks leam of your presence
..."

 
          
"A
risk we must take," Anomius snapped, interrupting. "Come!"

 
          
"Better
to attempt it by night," the Kem said.

 
          
"The
ferry stands moored by night," returned the wizard. "And we'll
attract more attention if we seek to cross then."

 
          
Bracht
studied the valley with a practiced eye. "A day's ride across," he
murmured, ignoring Anomius's angry glare. "The morning, at least, to reach
the ferry; the afternoon to gain the pass. The horses could use rest. The final
stretch is uphill, and if we must run they might well falter."

 
          
"We
take the chance," the wizard barked. "I've too much to gain to dally
now."

 
          
"Still
I say that darkness is our friend," Bracht declared, making no move to
mount.

 
          
Calandryll
stared at him, seeing the tanned features set in obstinate lines. He glanced at
Anomius and saw anger writ clear on the wizard's face. It occurred to him that
the Kem provoked the sorcerer with deliberate intent, and wondered why.

 
          
Anomius
raised a hand, extending a threatening finger at Bracht.

 
          
"Do
you mount and ride, or suffer my anger?"

 
          
"The
horses are wearied," Bracht said. "We ran them hard through the
forest, and if we must flee fresh-mounted men they need a day to rest."

 
          
"Curse
you, freesword!" Anomius snarled, and Bracht was thrown back, staggering
against the chestnut horse, which shied, snickering in alarm. Calandryll saw
the red stone flicker, caught the scent of almonds on the moist morning air. He
moved to Bracht's side as the Kem gasped, clutching at his chest.

 
          
"Shall
I slay you?" Anomius demanded. "Shall I leave you dead here, for the
crows to pick your bones?"

 
          
Bracht
rose on hands and knees, teeth gritted, his voice coming harsh through the
clenching.

 
          
"The
... horses ... need ... rest."

 
          
He
screamed as the wizard worked his violent magic again, falling on his face with
hands pressed hard to his breast, knees drawing up to his belly, trembling as
pain racked him. Calandryll shouted, "No! Remember the augury! The
spaewife said we are bonded, Bracht and I— without him I'll not reach
Tezin-dar!"

 
          
"There's
that," Anomius admitted, his voice less strident now. "So—put him on
his horse. But remember, freesword, that if you argue with me you'll know more
pain. Worse pain!"

 
          
Bracht
grunted, slowly straightening as the wizard lowered his hand. Sweat beaded his
forehead as Calandryll helped him rise, steadied him as he shuddered, reaching
painfully for the chestnut's saddle. He set a foot in the stirrup and hauled
himself astride, clumsy as Anomius for the moment. Calandryll passed
him
the reins and saw that he smiled; grimly. He opened his mouth to ask why,
but Bracht shook his head, silencing him, pointing to the roan in tacit
indication that he mount without questions.

 
          
Calandryll
left him as he wished, thinking that Bracht's provocation of the sorcerer had,
indeed, been deliberate: he wondered what the Kem thought to gain from such a
testing of the wizard's patience.

 
          
"Come,"
Anomius called, cheerful again now, "to the ferry."

 
          
A
loggers' trail descended through the timber to the Yst River, wide and muddy,
marked with the stumps of felled trees, great lengths piled to await
collection. Lower down they passed a felling party, waving in answer to the
cheerful greetings offered, continuing through the dwindling forest until they
emerged on meadowland, where sheep grazed and shepherds' huts stood lonely
beside rough pens. By noon they approached the spread of buddings along the
riverside, timber structures, with smoke rising lazy into the warm air. The Yst
lay ahead, far broader than any river they had so far crossed, with barges
moored along the bank, heavy with dressed wood. The ferry lay on the north side
and they rode directly to the raft, ignoring the inns and eating houses to
which, it seemed, most of the population had repaired.

 
          
A
bearded Kand lounged on the jetty, munching bread and cold meat, answering
their request for passage with the news that two men were needed to man the
winches and his fellow was sampling ale. Anomius looked to Calandryll,
motioning for
him
to show
coin, and he drew a var from his satchel, tossing it to the man.

 
          
"Fetch
your partner," he ordered, surprised at his imperious tone, "He can
drink later—and better for such payment."

 
          
The
Kand bit the coin, eyeing them curiously, then i shrugged and set down his
meal, ambling toward the nearest tavern.

           
They dismounted, leading the horses
onto the raft, and waited for the ferrymen. Bracht appeared recovered from the
magical attack, his face impassive as he stared north, to where Nhur-jabal
stood menacing on the bluff. Calandryll watched him in silence, sensing that
some design was afoot, curious as to what the Kem planned. Anomius fidgeted
irritably, though whether from impatience or apprehension Calandryll could not
tell.

 
          
Then
the Kand appeared with another and the two men sprang on board and, without
further word, set to turning the winches, drawing the heavy cables slowly
straight as the ferry eased from the dock into the stream. Now Calandryll
turned to watch the city, alarmed as much by the prospect of cavalry galloping
to meet them as the fear of magic. The raft swayed, tugged by the current, its
progress slow, the slap of water and the creaking of the winches metronomic,
ticking off the long minutes of the crossing. The farther bank seemed no
closer, the buildings there no larger, as if they hung suspended in midstream,
caught in time until the Tyrant's sorcerers should become aware of their
presence and magic or soldiery be sent against them. Then, gradually, riverbank
and buildings came closer, the ferry drawing inexorably toward the dock. It
grounded and they walked the horses up the landing ramp, boots lapped by
wavelets as the silent Kands watched them go.