Michael A. Stackpole (6 page)

The two of us rode up to the main gate, and, following Roarke’s example, I dismounted. As we turned our horses over to a pair of young men, an armored guardsman left a doorway built into the siege wall itself and marched over to greet us.

“Back already, Roarke? I thought you would stay with Haskell in Garik this winter.”

“Haskell decided to winter in Herak.” Roarke shrugged, pulled off his mittens, and blew on his hands. “A gaggle of merchants decided to make the run for Bear’s Eve before the snow closes the passes and offered Haskell enough money to make it worth my while. Besides, Aneurin, I wanted to see if you made Captain as you were bragging you would.”

The redheaded warrior hooked a finger through his ceremonial sash and displayed a badge proudly. It showed three squares of white arrayed in an arrow pattern within a circle on a background of red. “Made Captain right after you left. How many people are in the caravan?”

“Fifty and two hundred, with one hundred wagons.” Roarke looked back out toward an expanse of field a bit west of the area occupied by the other caravan. “This company is fairly self-contained and not too disruptive. A metals merchant has some simpleton sellswords attending him. If some of your fighters so desire, they can earn some money wagering on duels. If you put us on Southfield, we will not be any problem.”

“Good. I will dispatch a man to clear the way between the Guardians for you.” Aneurin looked back toward the gate. “Do you want to see Zavendir?”

Roarke nodded. “As always. I know the way.”

“Let these two pass,” Aneurin shouted to the guards near the doorway. “Good luck, Roarke. He granted me a two-Pawn advantage and still had me in thirty moves.”

Roarke answered Aneurin’s grin with a wry smile, then turned and led me on into the City of Sorcerers. The tall tunnel leading through the wall looked to be a good forty feet long to me, and at least half that in height. At the entrance, all but hidden in a dark cut near the ceiling, I saw a raised portcullis that I assumed would block the way if an invading army ever tried to enter the city. Overhead, in disturbingly neat rows, I saw two sets of archers’ ports on either side of the tunnel, and a line of murderholes drilled at the apex of the tunnel’s arch. I had no doubt that breaching the portcullis would be the rough equivalent of committing suicide for the warriors foolish enough to attempt it.

At the far end we passed through a small humanized doorway cut in the left of two stout oaken doors. Inside I noticed that a wooden bar as wide as my own chest held the doors shut. 1 also noticed some heavy blocks against which other wooden braces could be placed to help hold the doors shut.

Within the shadow of the walls I saw a smaller, seamless wall grown up out of the native granite. Tiny houses, shops, and stalls lined the double-wide street between the two walls. While I found the scene utterly normal to the eye, my ears thought they had been Irozen clean off. I saw people shopping in the bazaar, but heard none of the excited shouts or haggling that would have filled the streets on market day in Stone Rapids. Instead the lot of them—buyers and sellers both—gesticulated wildly and with such a definite purpose to their motions that I wondered if they weren’t all moontouched.

“Roarke,” I whispered, “why is everyone so quiet?”

The Chaos Rider smiled broadly and replied in a normal but subdued voice. “This is the City of Sorcerers, my friend. Working great magicks—and even training in lesser ones—requires concentration. Those who live just outside the city have developed a unique method of communication to provide the solitude needed for the magickers to do their work.”

1 blinked away my surprise. “What about inside the city itself?”

Roarke shrugged. “Only magickal adepts are allowed inside the city, so only they know what happens there.” To forestall any further questions, he raised a finger to his lips, then led me through the streets toward the west. About a tenth of the way around the circle of the city, Roarke ducked into an arched doorway leading back into the obsidian wall. 1 followed close behind as he mounted a set of stairs in the right wall and climbed up three flights to a circular landing. It had a silver diamond set three feet from the floor on the westernmost point of the circle. When I joined him on the landing, Roarke pressed his right hand to the device.

I felt an invisible force ripple over me as a split appeared in the seamless rock. It bisected the diamond top to bottom. As the split widened in front of me, I glanced backward and saw the passage back to the stairs narrowing. I thought, at first, that the sides of the circle might be shifting around on some hidden mechanism, but when I looked at where the floor joined the wall, I couldn’t see a seam. Furthermore, I saw the patterns in the rock shifting as if I were looking at them under running water. As the wall eclipsed the stairs, and the silver diamond re-formed itself there on the other side, I suddenly realized I’d just seen a practical demonstration of the magick that created the City of Sorcerers.

Roarke slapped me on the back. “These magickers greatly enjoy knowing their power impresses people. Try to act surprised.”

I choked back a laugh. “Act? Perhaps when my heart stops beating like a war drum.”

Roarke escorted me into a fair-sized room furnished with a small table, four chairs, a sideboard, and two sleeping pallets. The table had a chessboard on it, with the pieces already set up. The Emperor’s Pawn had already been advanced two rows. The sideboard had a platter of bread and cheese on it, as well as a pewter pitcher and two goblets. Until I looked at the food, and my mouth began to water, I did not realize how hungry I

was.

Off to my right, a large circular section of the siege wall’s interior lightened toward transparency, granting us a view of the City of Sorcerers. Roarke ran his fingers along a rectangular strip of silver set beside the window, with each stroke making it more clear. “Here, Locke, this is about the best vantage point outsiders get on the city.”

I did my best to keep my teeth clenched so my jaw would not gape open. The window looking out showed us to be on a higher level than the interior wall, though l felt fairly certain the stairs we had climbed had not been
that
long. M
ore magick, no doubt.

The City of Sorcerers looked, to me, like a huge wheel that had as its hub the tall, black tower swirling up from its heart. From my position I detected multiple architectural styles, each conforming to the boundaries I hat looked to comprise one-eighth of the city itself. 1 vaguely recalled someone in the caravan having mentioned eight different schools of magick, so I assume each section of the city was home to one of the schools.

“It is a very strange place.” Roarke pointed toward a sector where the buildings had a spartan simplicity about them. “That is where mages learn spells of a mar-lial nature. At night you can see flashes of light and glowing balls exploding as they practice their spell casting.”

I tried to focus my attention on another section of the city, but found that the outlines of the buildings kept shifting. At times they mirrored the city sectors on either side, then they faded or changed colors. “What goes on there?”

“Concealment magicks. That is the specialty of my brother, Zavendir, isn’t it, Zav?”

1 spun as the magicker’s image wavered into view. He sat in the chair behind the Imperial board position. “I should have known better than to try to fool you, Roarke.” He saluted the Chaos Rider with an upraised cup of wine. “What gave me away?”

Roarke pointed to the sideboard. “Three chairs, but only two cups and a line of liquid running down the front of the pitcher. Furthermore, you have drenched yourself with some perfume that I could not help but noticing.”

Zavendir shrugged. “When I heard there were two of you I hoped one was that delightful creature Eirene.”

“Liar, if you thought she was going to be here, you would have only had one pallet in this room so you could offer her more hospitable accommodations in your home.”

“You know me too well, brother.”

I looked from Roarke to Zavendir and noted a similarity to their noses that could mean they were kin. In fact they looked more alike than Dalt and I did. “Wait, Roarke, how did you notice all that with the wine?”

“How? I trained myself to be observant. Being observant is what will keep you alive in Chaos.”

“Then why haven’t you been back?”

Zavendir answered for the Chaos Rider. “There are times you can observe too much.”

I blushed. “Forgive me.”

“Curiosity is nothing to forgive, Locke, provided it does not get out of hand.” Roarke moved from the window and, pressing a hand to the middle of my back, directed me toward the chair opposite the mage. “Now my curiosity prompts me to discover how you will fare against a Master rank player.”

Zavendir looked at the badges on my coat, then glanced up his brother. “He is not even a Pawn. What is this?”

“Consider it ‘discovered check.’” He gave my shoulder a squeeze. “Go ahead, Lachlan. Show him there’s magick that can be worked on the board, too.”

1

Ouch!” I sucked at my needle-stuck finger.

Eirene glanced over and gave me a grin full of pointed teeth. “I have seen

fewer holes in a dead Chademon.”

I grumbled and shrugged, then showed her the front of my jacket. “You can see I am ranked only in swordfighting and, now, chess. A seamster I am not.”

“Nor likely to become one if you keep trying to attach that badge to your finger.” Roarke gave the bubbling stewpot one final stir, then stood, his knees creaking as he did so. “This has got the last of the spice Zavendir gave me a week ago, so you had best enjoy it.”

I filled my wooden bowl, then went back and leaned against Cruach to eat the steaming rice-and-lentil gruel. In the time since I had met Roarke and Eirene, the Chaos Riders had all but adopted me. I combined my supplies with theirs and had even taken a turn cooking—though both of them decided after that I need not share in
those
duties. To compensate I assigned myself the job of finding firewood and fetching water when we needed it, which meant Roarke and Eirene usually had a fire waiting for them when they finished their work of helping to settle the camp down.

During the days i rode mostly with Roarke as an outrider or a scout. While the rolling hills that led down to the sea plains of Herak were not exactly full of danger, to me they could have been in the very midst of Chaos itself. Roarke did not talk overmuch, but he did take time to point out things of interest and help to expand my meager knowledge of woodcraft and geography.

Eirene remained cordial, too, but aloof, which bothered me a bit at first. I thought, initially, she was just being polite in covering her dislike for me. Later 1 got a chance to contrast her behavior around others with the way she treated me, and discovered she gave me a lot more latitude in asking questions and doing things my own way than she did other caravan guards. I decided that the caution which had kept her alive in Chaos and her comment about how Chaos Riders ought not to have people to leave behind meant she didn’t let people get close to her. I gave her plenty of room to be herself, and our relationship thawed a bit.

Fairly often Roarke or other members of the caravan’s guards used me as a messenger between them and Haskell or someone else in the group. In this way 1 got to know Haskell, the burly, swarthy caravan master, and the man praised my ability to repeat messages and make reports in a clear, concise, and exact manner. Haskell even hinted that a position with the caravan could be mine if I wanted to hire on for the return trip in the spring.

The winter wind hissing through the bare branches of the trees overhead reminded me a bit of Stone

Rapids. I surprised myself when I realized I was actually weighing the good points and bad of staying with the caravan and never returning home. While I knew I would miss Geoff and Dalt and Grandfather, something inside felt hollow when I realized that 1 felt no great desire to return to Stone Rapids. Traveling with the caravan and talking with Roarke had opened up a world that I had glimpsed in books, and had kindled a desire in me to see faraway places. Stone Rapids had nothing to offer that could rival the Imperial capital and Chaos.

Sadly I discovered that I had already begun to change. In the City of Sorcerers I had actually
beaten
a chess Master! In just over a week I would be a guest at the Imperial Palace, attending the Bear’s Eve Ball. I could not imagine anyone from Stone Rapids having done what I had done and would do, then returning to the village to live contentedly. This realization both thrilled me and shamed me.

I ran my hand over the Novice patch Zavendir had awarded me. Looking up, I asked Roarke a question. “Do you think Zavendir was upset that I beat him?”

“How can you ask that?” Roarke frowned and set his bowl down. “You played him in three games. He beat you the first time, you beat him the second, and you drew the third game. Upset? He was thrilled someone was able to offer him more of a challenge than I do. What makes you ask?”

I dipped a finger into my gruel, then held it out for Cruach to lick clean. “I wondered because Zavendir made me a Novice, but I had beaten him …”

“1 see your confusion.” Roarke picked his bowl up. “Zavendir could make you a Novice, which jumped you past the rank of Pawn, but no more. While he is ranked as a Master, he only wears white thread in it. Because it is an avocation with him and he is not paid to be a

Chessmaster, he cannot confer upon you more than two ranks. He has, however, given me the name of a Gold-thread Chessmaster in Herak who, after a few games, could assign you to your proper rank.”

“I understand now, i think.” i smiled sheepishly. “Growing up in a very small village, I had little experience with ranking and testing. My grandfather only let me test up to the rank of Apprentice, obviously, and we had no one ranked in chess at all.”

“Ranking protocols can be strange.” Roarke scratched at the corner of his left eye. “Given that I started with the ax late in life, 1 will never progress above this rank. Don’t have a pedigree for my training, you see.”

Eirene pointed her wooden spoon at him. “Not that patches or ranking mean much in Chaos. There it’s just the edge on your weapon and your ability to keep wielding it that matters.”

My grandfather’s admonition to trust myself instead of patches again rang in my ears. As the caravan moved on and got closer and closer to Herakopolis, 1 found myself considering who and what I was. I knew I was a better swordsman and a better chess player than my patches indicated, but was that really important? To many people, because my father had been elevated to the rank of legend, nothing I could do would be sufficient to please them. I wondered if I would be accepted in the capital for being who 1 was, or would 1 be damned for the differences between who my father had been and what I had grown up to be?

Part of me braced for such a disaster. 1 hoped everything in the capital would be wonderful, but my nervousness at meeting the grandmother I could not remember started to gnaw away at me. In Stone Rapids I had heard enough stories about this person or that having met my father, that I dreaded hearing the same from people who had known him when he had become a hero. As we reached the plains outside the capital, and my time to leave the caravan behind drew near, my reluctance to do so grew.

1 eagerly devoured anything and everything Roarke told me about Chaos and his years spent as a caravan guard. I devoted a lot of time listening to stories told around the campfires in the caravan. In the process I discovered that many of the books I had read in Stone Rapids were hopelessly out-of-date, which helped increase my anxiety. Whereas I had studied particularly hard so 1 wouldn’t appear to be a lackwit from Garik, I found all my knowledge appropriate for the time when my father first traveled to the capital almost twoscore years before.

Then, all of a sudden, it occurred to me that my father might well have had the same concerns and fears I did when he rode to the capital at my age. Though I harbored no illusions that I was in any way my father, I knew the capital had not killed him when he arrived. 1 decided, to assume that, were I true to myself, I could avoid embarrassment. Moreover, if anyone decided to fit me with a bumpkin badge, they would be more the fools for it than I.

After supper I wandered down to the nearby stream to draw a bucket of water for washing up. A chill breeze nipped at my nose and ears, so I walked with my shoulders hunched against the cold and my eyes looking down at the twisting trail. In the twilight rocks and roots made the trek dangerous—if not to life and limb, certainly to one’s self-respect, as taking a tumble would undoubtedly make news faster in the camp than one’s return.

I made it to the stream uneventfully, dunked my bucket into the water, and turned to make my way back to the camp when I saw her standing at the foot of the path. I nodded to her respectfully. “Evening, Miss …”

Her icy blue eyes narrowed. “Who are you?”

I must have looked like a fish that had just jumped from the stream and landed on the bank, because I stared at her gape-mouthed. That question didn’t stump me, of course, but her tone of voice surprised me completely. She demanded an answer of me, but an undertone of fear colored her words.

The fear almost seemed appropriate for her because at first glance she could easily be taken for a timid thing. Small and fine-boned, she seemed almost childlike. Her flesh had a translucency that didn’t reveal the bones beneath it, but suggested she would shatter like porcelain if hit. Her large eyes contributed to the image of helplessness.

The fire in them also worked against it. Her brilliantly red hair covered her shoulders and framed a face that was pretty now, but clearly would become beautiful as she grew into womanhood. There was no real mistaking her for a child, yet it was also hard to describe her as a woman. She was caught in that in-between stage of adolescence—a stage from which I was slowly emerging myself—so I felt a vague kinship with her.

I closed my mouth, then opened it again to answer her. “My name is Lachlan. I come from Garik province, from Stone Rapids.”

She shook her head vehemently, allowing her straight hair to lash back and forth against her pale throat. “No, that’s not it. That’s not what you are called in my dreams.”

1 raised an eyebrow. “Your dreams?” I’d never had anyone say I’d been in their dreams before.

“My dreams, yes.” She frowned. Glancing down at the ground, she touched two fingers of her left hand to her left temple. “I see things. In dreams and in visions, I see them. I have seen you as a warrior—older, fatter somewhat. You fight demons in Chaos.”

“These things you see, are they of the past or of the future?”

She shrugged her slender shoulders weakly, as if the green woolen cloak she wore had been woven of Cruach’s fur. “Some is past, much is future, but I cannot distinguish which is which in some cases. With you I cannot tell.”

As much as I would have liked to believe she was seeing visions of me as a Chaos Rider, from the description I knew she was seeing my father. “They are visions of the past. That’s my father you see.”

“No, no, don’t be silly.” Her eyes flicked up toward me, sending a jolt through me. “Don’t you think I would know what I see?”

“But you just said …”

“You don’t understand!” She spun on her heel and stalked off back toward camp.

I started after her, then realized I’d forgotten the bucket. I went back for it and hurried along as fast as I could, but I couldn’t catch up with her. Somewhat bewildered, I returned to our campsite and sat myself down next to Roarke. “Something weird just happened.”

“Oh?” Roarke slid to the left as Cruach lay down between us. “What was that?”

“Down at the stream I met this girl. I think she joined us at the City of Sorcerers—I mean I think I’ve caught glimpses of her a couple of times since then. Small, red hair…”

Roarke nodded and scratched the dog behind an ear. “You met Xoayya. She did join us at the City of Sorcerers. They were sending her home.”

“Really? Why?”

“She’s a wild talent, a feral mage.” Roarke gave me a half smile. “Among warriors the equivalent would be a natural-born fighter. If you take a scrapper like that and give him some training, he usually turns out pretty well.”

I nodded. “But with magick the problem is not one that is so easy to train, right?”

“Exactly.” The Axman snapped a small stick in half and tossed it into our fire. “Haskell said Xoayya’s mother died when she was young. Her father was a fairly wealthy merchant who married into another merchant family. His bride was on her second marriage, too, and had two daughters who were slightly older than Xoayya.”

“And they treated her badly …”

“No, they actually doted on her and spoiled her. Xoayya was sheltered because they thought her very frail. When she started reporting she had visions, they thought her a bit insane and did what they could to cover up her little stories. Her father died somewhere along the line and it wasn’t until her mother’s mother intervened that anyone realized she was very talented in the way of Clairvoyant magick. By that time, though, the girl was untrainable and not much of a fan of discipline and hard work.”

I frowned. “I don’t understand that. I mean, I lost both of my parents, and yet I’m not afraid of hard work.”

“No, but you were trained to it from early on. She wasn’t.” Roarke shrugged. “There’s also some hint that, at least in the case of her father, she foresaw how he died and feels she might have been able to prevent his death.”

“Could she have?”

“You have multiple questions wrapped up there together, Locke. First you have to figure out if what she saw was accurate, or just a dream. When spells are invoked to look into the future, as 1 understand it, there is no solid way of telling if the vision is true or not. Clairvoyance is supposed to work best when the time factor is minimized.”

Roarke held up a hand. “In addition to that question, you have a more important one to look at. It is this: is the future seen the only possible future?”

I shook my head. “I don’t understand.”

“Let’s suppose you decide to get up now and go fetch more water. Or let’s suppose you change your mind and sit back down. Now what if what had been foreseen was along the time line that required you to get up and get water now? Since you didn’t do that, does that future no longer exist?”

“Ahhh, I see.” I nodded. “Or, is the fact that it’s been seen something that compels me to do everything that needs to be done to make that future come true.”