Angus Wells - The God Wars 01 (63 page)

 
          
At
the center of the little square, the woman saluted the Kern's victory.

           
"You fight
well."

         
  
Bracht faced her, sword still in hand, his
eyes both suspicious and admiring.

           
"As do you."

 
          
Calandryll
saw that she stood between them and the alley: he hoped, not knowing why, that
she would make no attempt to halt them. Her saber remained on guard, the grey
eyes intent on the Kern's face. Like two wary animals, he thought, assessing
one another. Dimly he became aware of an absence, of a weariness close to
nausea, and knew that whatever unknown power had aided him, it was gone now. He
smelled blood, heated by the sun, and spat, eyes straying to the corpses; back
to the woman.

 
          
"I
have sought you," she said calmly. "It was fortunate I found you when
I did."

           
"Perhaps," Bracht
acknowledged.

 
          
"The
Chaipaku would have killed you," the woman said. "In time."

 
          
The
Kern shrugged.

 
          
"Even
with your friend's magic to aid you. Chaipaku are very hard to kill."

 
          
"Aye,"
Bracht said, "but I think we should have slain them, even without your
aid."

 
          
"Now
they'll claim blood debt." She smiled briefly. "Remain in Kharasul
and your lives will likely be short."
 
          
"We
do not intend to remain in Kharasul."

 
          
"No.
You seek passage to Gessyth. To Tezin-dar. You go in search of the
Arcanum."

 
          
She
smiled as the falchion shifted a fraction, Bracht tensing, the slight stiffening
of his features masking surprise. Dera, Calandryll prayed, must we now slay one
who came to our aid?

 
          
"We
need not fight," she said.

 
          
"You
seek to stop us," Brach returned, his voice wary.

 
          
“No—I
seek the Arcanum." Grey eyes fixed solemnly on the freesword's face;
shifted just far enough to encompass Calandryll in their gaze. "I propose
an alliance. I have a warboat at my disposal."

 
          
"Why
should we trust you?" Bracht asked.

 
          
"I
aided you." The saber swung, indicating the bodies that littered the square.
"And in Kharasul—anywhere in Kandahar—the Chaipaku will hunt you down. Our
forces joined, we stand better chance of gaining what we seek."

 
          
"Or
we of dying," Bracht said. "On your warboat."

 
          
The
woman sheathed her blade and said, "Save that you have my word."

 
          
Bracht
ducked his head briefly, his eyes not leaving her face, and surprised
Calandryll by sliding the falchion into its
scabbard.

 
          
"I
am Bracht ni Errhyn of the clan Asyth," he said. "Of Cuan
na'For."

 
          
"And
I am Katya."

 
          
Bracht
glanced sidelong at Calandryll: shrugged, and said, "Let us talk of this
then, Katya."

 
         
They
followed Katya to the harbor, hurrying to put the square behind them before
Chaipaku or Tyrant's soldiers came to question or to kill, not speaking until
they reached the safety of the open wharf, where the armored men in their
scarlet puggarees seemed guarantee against further attack. What remorse stirred
in Calandryll's conscience at the slaughter they left behind was drowned
beneath the questions that seethed in his mind, the doubts he felt concerning
the mysterious woman, and when he glanced at Bracht he saw the Kem's face set
in comtemplative lines, the blue eyes fixed on the woman's slim figure, as if
he, too, ponaered the reasons for her intervention and found answers elusive.
They both kept silent, however, until she halted on the water's edge, beyond
earshot of the soldiery, pointing to a sleek black boat, its dragon's head prow
familiar.

 
          
"I
can bring you to Gessyth on that," she declared, settling easily on a
bollard, sheathed saber across her knees.

 
          
Calandryll
studied the vessel, seeing it different now to the Kand warboats; subtly, but
to an eye with some experience of sailcraft out of no shipyard he could name.
He returned his gaze to the woman, curious and more than a little wary.

 
          
"My
question remains," Bracht said. "Why?"

 
          
Katya
smiled, shoulders rising in negligent shrug.

 
          
"I
do not think you will find another to take you."

           
Her gaze shifted to encompass the
harbor. There were noticeably fewer vessels anchored in the estuary now, and
even as they watched two merchantmen set sail, escorted by four warboats flying
the Tyrant's pennant. A squad of armored men marched by, flanking a ship's
crew, toward the longboats that would carrv them out to yet another impressed
merchantman. And of the warboats that remained, Calandryll wondered, how many
can we trust?

 
          
"You
evade answers," Bracht said.

 
          
"Ask
me questions then," Katya offered, "and judge my honesty. But I tell
you this—you will not find a trustworthy captain to bring you north, and to
remain in Kharasul must surely mean your deaths. I do not think you have
another choice."

 
          
Bracht
nodded, lips hinting at a smile, and settled on a crate, facing her, studying
her face.

 
          
"Who
are you?" Calandryll asked.

 
          
"As
I told you—Katya." She smiled then, chuckling softly as she shook her head.
"Forgive me—Bracht is right: I 
am
evasive. It has become a
habit."

 
          
"A
habit that does little to promote faith," Bracht said.

 
          
Katya
nodded. "Aye
_;
but have you been always open?" Her face
assumed a gravity then and she said, "I am of Vanu, beyond the
Borrhun-maj."

 
          
"Vanu?"
Incredulity echoed loud in Calandryll's voice. "Surely Vanu is the domain
of the Old Gods. Do you name yourself goddess?"

 
          
"No,"
she returned evenly, meeting his eyes with a calm grey stare. "I am flesh
and blood, like you; whose name I do not know."

 
          
"Calandryll,"
he said automatically.

 
          
Katya
nodded. "And why do the Chaipaku seek to slay you?"

 
          
"My
brother sent them." Briefly, he explained the Brotherhood's hiring by
Tobias, halting at Bracht's frown.

 
          
"This
does little to allay doubt," the Kern said. "You promised answers,
then answer this—why do you seek the Arcanum?"

 
          
"Our
purpose is the same, I think," she replied. “The Arcanum leads to the Mad
God—who owns the book, do they have the knowledge to read it and the spells
necessary for the doing of it, owns the means to raise Tharn. And that no sane
man would see." A frown creased her brow and she sighed. "He stirs
yet, I think, sensing in his limbo what transpires here. You've heard the talk
of Lysse's war fleet? And the civil war that threatens Kandahar? Is that not
chaos stirring?"

 
          
"The
Lyssian fleet is to defend against Kand pirates," Calandryll said.
"That, surely, is order, not chaos."

 
          
Katya
smiled bitterly and shook her head again.

 
          
"A
war fleet is a war fleet, and surely the means to ending Kand attacks is to
deal with the Tyrant. Who first suggested its founding?"

 
          
"Aldarin,"
he returned promptly. "Lord Varent den Tarl came as ambassador to Secca.
Tobias is to command."

 
          
"Whilst
Kandahar's Tyrant engages in war with the Fayne lord." Katya ducked her
head as if his words confirmed hers. "And your brother seems, from what
you say, no reasonable man."

 
          
Calandryll
was reminded of Tobias's bellicose attitude, of his suggestion that the fleet
sail on Kandahar itself. He frowned, confused. "You say that Lord Varent
plans war?" he asked.

 
          
"I
say there would be no better time to attack Kandahar." Katya shrugged.
"And there are men easier prey to the temptations of chaos than others.
Who sent you on this quest?"

 
          
Bracht
raised a hand then, silencing his answer. "Questions and more questions,
but still few answers. Who sent you?"

 
          
Katya
ducked her head in acceptance, grey eyes clouding. For several moments she
stared out across the harbor, then smiled again.

 
          
"I
haste," she murmured. "I feel the chaos winds gather and I'd come to
Tezin-dar swift as I may: fear renders me impatient. So—listen, and I shall
tell you all I know."

 
          
Tanned
hands braced firm on her scabbard and she met their doubtful eyes with even
gaze.

 
          
"The
holy men of Vanu scried an augury that spoke of the Mad God's raising and sent
me forth to prevent this. Their scrying foretold a sorcerer of Lysse with means
to return Tharn to life, though to accomplish this he had need of the Arcanum.
They foresaw two I should encounter, our purpose joined. They sent me to find
the book and bring it back to Vanu, that they might destroy it and leave the
Mad God forever in limbo. We of Vanu have little to do with your southern
kingdoms, but that boat was built and I traveled to Lysse, where I learned of a
fairhaired young man and a warrior of Cuan na'For gone questing for the book ..
."

 
          
"How?"
Bracht interrupted bluntly.

 
          
"These
same holy men gave me a talisman." She reached inside her shirt, bringing
out a silver chain from which hung a red stone akin to that worn by Calandryll.
"It is a thing of power; it points like a compass to magic. It brought me
to Aldarin, and there I learned of a mage whose ambition waxed large."

 
          
"Azumandias!"
Now it was Calandryll who interrupted her, gaping when she shook her head;
gasping when she spoke again.

 
          
"Azumandias
is dead. Long dead. Oh, he sought to secure Orwen's map whilst the ink was still
fresh on the parchment, but he was slain by one he trusted—his own son, who
lusted for that power himself."

 
          
He
could not contain nimself. Unthinking, he blurted, "But Lord Varent
learned his skill from Azumandias! This cannot be!"

 
          
The
grey eyes found his and in them he saw only sincerity.

 
          
"If
this Lord Varent studied with Azumandias, then he lives far beyond the years of
mortal men and is a sorcerer of very great power. Was he the one sent
you?"

 
          
Calandryll
ignored her question. "Azumandias sent demons against us," he said,
accusation in his voice. "If he is dead, how could that be?"

 
          
"Do
you know it was Azumandias?" she asked.

 
          
"Who
else?" he snapped.

 
          
"Varent,"
said Bracht, the flat statement snatching Calandryll's head round to stare in
frank disbelief at the Kem.

 
          
"Lord
Varent? Do you lose your wits? Why should he?"

 
          
"We
argued then," Bracht said. "Do you remember? I found myself hired to
guard the runaway son of Secca's domm and had little liking for that task. I
doubted your ability and you borrowed Varent's sword to prove me wrong. He knew
what we did and the demons came then—and were easily defeated. Too easily, it
seemed."

 
          
"So?"
Calandryll frowned. "That proves nothing."

 
          
"Unless
Varent conjured them to persuade me of your worth," Bracht said. "My
opinion of you was higher after that. Nor should you forget the
byah
s warning."

 
          
Calandryll
shook his head: the suggestion was preposterous. No doubt the
byah
had
warned them of Katya.

 
          
"This
Varent, then, is the one who sent you," she said. "And he told you he
learned his skills from Azumandias?"

 
          
Calandryll
nodded, confusion for the moment rendering him speechless.

 
          
"Then
perhaps Varent is Azumandias's son. Though he called himself Rhythamun
then."

 
          
"This
is insanity!" His hand chopped air, dismissing her. "Lord Varent is
ambassador of Aldarin. A noble. Trusted adviser to the domm. You say he is a
patricide? And lived in the time of Orwen? How many hundreds of years have
passed since then? Lord Varent sent us seeking the Arcanum that he might
destroy it. It is Azumandias who seeks to raise the Mad God."

 
          
"Azumandias
is long dust," she replied, undeterred by his rank disbelief. "And
there are ways a man—a wizard—may live beyond his natural span."

 
          
"Lord
Varent shows no sign of age," he retorted, angry. "And how should he
come full-grown to such prominence in Aldarin?"

 
          
"He
changed your shape," Bracht said, voice soft, his eyes moving from one to
the other, "and I never trusted him."

 
          
"You
sought to slay us." Calandryll ignored the Kem, glaring at the woman.
"You came against the
Sea Dancer
and sought to end us there."

 
          
"I
sought the chart you carry," she replied, "or whatever guide you have
to Tezin-dar. I did not seek to slay you. Had I sought that I should have sunk
your vessel."

 
          
"A
man was wounded and more might have died," he barked, "when your
archers fired upon us."