The Oracle's Queen (33 page)

As he came closer, Lutha realized this was no Skalan. The man's wild, black hair hung in a mass of coarse curls past his shoulders. That, together with his dark, nearly black eyes marked him as a Zengati. Lutha watched him warily, trying to tell if he was facing friend or foe.

The fellow must have guessed what was on Lutha's mind. He stopped a few yards away, balanced his staff in the crook of one arm, and held both hands out to show that they were empty.

Then he smiled and said, in a thickly accented voice, “Friends, you need help.”

Now Lutha could see that what he'd taken for a staff was a wooden horn of some sort. The man wore a necklace
made of decorated animal teeth on a leather thong, and bracelets of the same design.

“What do you want with us?” he demanded.

The man gave him a puzzled look. “Friend.” He pointed in the direction Niryn's men had gone. “I help, yes? They gone.”

“That noise, you mean? You did that?” asked Barieus.

The man raised his horn for the others to see, then puffed his cheeks out and set his lips to the top of it. There was a sort of broad mouthpiece made of a ring of wax. A throbbing blat issued from the other end. He made a few more of those odd noises, like a piper warming up his instrument, then the sound changed and settled into the deep drone they'd heard before. Lutha found his gaze drawn to the man's feet as he listened. They were very dirty and callused, as if he'd never worn boots. His hands were grubby, too, but less so, and the nails were carefully trimmed. There were bits of dead leaves and twigs caught in his hair.

The music was as odd as the man, and there was no question that this is what they'd heard before.

“It's magic, isn't it?” Barieus exclaimed. “You're a wizard!”

The man stopped playing and nodded. “They don't hear, those riders. Don't see.”

Lutha laughed outright. “That's some good magic. Thank you!”

He started forward to clasp hands with their savior, but Caliel caught his arm. “No, Lutha! Don't you see?” he gasped. “He's a witch!”

Lutha froze. He'd have been less shocked to encounter a centaur mage, come down from the Nimra Mountains. They were more commonly met than hill witches, and a good deal more welcome. “Is that true?”

“Witch, yes. I Mahti.” He touched his chest, as if Lutha might not understand. “Maaaah-teee? Retha'noi. What you call ‘
heeel fok'.”

“Hill folk,” Caliel grated out. “Don't trust him—Probably scouting for a raid.”

Mahti snorted and sat down cross-legged on the dusty road. “No raid.” He walked two fingers across the ground. “Walk long days.”

“You're on a journey?” asked Lutha, intrigued in spite of Caliel's reaction.

“Long walking, this ‘joor-nay'?”

“Yes. Many days.”

Mahti nodded happily. “Joor-nay.”

“Why?” Caliel demanded.

“Watch for you.”

The three Skalans exchanged skeptical glances.

Mahti dug into a greasy pouch at his belt, popped something dark and wizened into his mouth, and began to chew loudly. He offered the pouch to the rest of them and smirked when it was quickly declined. “See you in my dream song—” He paused and held up two dirty fingers. “These nights.”

“Two nights ago?”

He held up three fingers and pointed at each of them. “See you, and you, and you. And I find this.”

He dug into another small pouch and held out a bent gold ring. Caliel stared at it. “That—that's mine. I lost it when they caught me.”

Mahti leaned over and placed it in the dirt in front of Caliel. “I find. I run hard to get here.” Mahti held up one bare foot, showing them a few dirt-caked cuts in the thickly callused sole. “You run, too, from friend who has—” He paused again, searching for the right word, then looked sadly at Caliel. “Your friend, he who turns his face away.”

Caliel's eyes went wide.

Mahti shook his head, then touched a hand to his chest above his heart again. “You have pain from that friend.”

“Shut your mouth, witch.”

“Cal, don't be rude,” Lutha murmured. “He's only speaking the truth.”

“I don't need to hear it from the likes of him,” Caliel shot back. “It's just some trick, anyway. Why don't you ask him what he wants?”

“I tell you,” Mahti replied. “You my guides.”

“Guides? To what?” asked Lutha.

Mahti shrugged, then cocked his head at Caliel and frowned. “First I heal. Friend who turn face away hurt you.”

Caliel leaned back, too weak to do more. But Mahti didn't try to approach him. He didn't move at all, except to raise his horn to his lips. The open end rested on the ground in front of him, pointing at Caliel. Puffing out his cheeks again, he warmed the horn.

“Stop him!” Caliel tried to struggle away, eyes fixed on the horn as if he expected it to spew fire.

Mahti ignored his protests. Fitting the horn more comfortably against his mouth, he began the spell drone. To Lutha's horror, black lines appeared on the man's skin as he played, crawling like centipedes across his skin to form intricate, barbaric patterns of lines and circles.

“You heard him. He doesn't want your magic!” Barieus cried, jumping between the witch and Caliel. Lutha did the same, ready to fend off who knew what sort of attack.

Mahti glanced up at them, amusement clear in his eyes, and the horn made a rude, laughing sound. Then the tone changed to a completely different sort of sound.

It began with a drone, but immediately fell to a deeper, softer sound. The symbols completely covered his face, hands, and arms now, and the exposed skin of his chest, too. It reminded Lutha of the markings he'd seen on Khatme people, but these markings were different, more angular and crude. The designs etched into the animal teeth and fangs that decorated his neck and wrists were the same. Barbaric; there was no other word for it. The sight of
that reminded him of all the gruesome tales he'd heard of the hill folk and their magic.

Yet in spite of his instinctive alarm, the sounds coming from the horn were strangely soothing. Lutha slowly succumbed to its mesmerizing effect and felt his eyelids grow heavy. On some level he realized that he was bespelled but was helpless to resist. Barieus was blinking and wavering where he stood. Caliel was still panting, but his eyes had fluttered shut.

The buzzing went on for a few minutes, and to Lutha's surprise, he found himself sitting on the ground beside Caliel, urging him to lie down and rest his head on his thigh. Caliel stretched out on his side, grimacing as the lacerations on his back pulled and caught on his bloodstained cloak.

The horn sound had shifted again without Lutha even noticing. Now it was lighter and higher, quick little bursts of sound followed by long trills. Caliel sighed and went limp against him. Lutha couldn't tell if he'd fallen asleep or fainted, but his breathing was easier than it had been. He looked over at Barieus; the squire was fast asleep where he sat, a peaceful smile on his lips.

Lutha fought off sleep and kept guard over the others, watching the witch with a mix of suspicion and wonder. He might look dirty and ordinary, but clearly he was a man of power. He'd gained control over the three of them with nothing more than this strange music, if you could call it that.

Stranger still was the way it seemed to draw the pain from Lutha's back. His skin itched and burned, but the worst of the pain from the lash cuts grew muted, almost bearable.

The sound died away at last and Mahti came over and rested a hand on Caliel's brow for a moment, then nodded. “Good. He sleep. I come back.”

The witch left his bundle on the ground but took the horn with him as he wandered off into the trees across the
road. The brambles there looked as thick as the ones that had stymied Lutha, but the witch passed through easily and disappeared into the trees beyond.

Now that the spell was broken, Lutha was chagrined at how easily they'd been snared. Not wanting to wake Caliel, he threw a pebble at Barieus to wake him.

The boy started and yawned. “I was dreaming. I thought—” He looked blearily around and spied the witch's bag. “Oh. Oh!” He leaped to his feet. “Where is he? What did he do to Cal?”

“Quiet. Let him sleep,” Lutha whispered.

Barieus started to object, then a look of utter amazement spread across his face. “My back!”

“I know. Mine, too.” He gently shifted his leg out from under Caliel's head and tucked his own cloak under his friend's head in its place. Standing, he lifted Barieus' cloak and shirt to examine his back. It didn't look much better, but there was no fresh blood. “I don't know what he did, but Caliel is resting easier for it. Mahti said he was going to heal him. Maybe he did?”

“He could be some kind of drysian.”

“I don't know. The stories I heard never said anything about witches doing healing. What he did, magicking the ones chasing us; that's more like what I'd expect.”

“What do you think he meant about us guiding him somewhere?” asked Barieus, looking around nervously for the man.

“I don't know.” It could be that Cal was right about him and it was some kind of trick, but if so, why would he help them?

“You think he saw us in a dream, like he said?”

Lutha shrugged. If the man was a witch, then anything was possible, he supposed. “Maybe he's a madman and wandered off from his own kind. He acts a bit crazy.”

A snort of laughter made them both jump and turn.

Mahti emerged from the brambles with a handful of small plants and squatted beside Caliel. Cal didn't wake as
Mahti rolled him gently onto his stomach and lifted the filthy cloak away from his back. The lacerations had scabbed and broken open again many times in the night, and were already red and swollen.

Mahti opened his bag and pulled out a wrinkled homespun shirt. He tossed it to Lutha, along with his knife. “Make to put on,” he ordered, clearly intending for him to make bandages.

While Lutha cut up the shirt, Mahti took something else from his bag and began chewing it as he rubbed the young plants briskly between his palms. After a moment he spat a dark juice into the crushed leaves and kneaded it all together with some water from a flask, then began patting the crude poultice onto Caliel's wounds.

“Are you a drysian?” Barieus asked.

Mahti shook his head. “Witch.”

“Well, at least he makes no bones about it,” muttered Lutha.

Mahti picked up on the tone of the words and raised an eyebrow at him as he finished bandaging Caliel's back and ribs. “My people? We scare our babies with stories of
you.”
He looked down at Cal and wrinkled his nose in disgust. “No Retha'noi do this.” He finished with Caliel's back, then touched the swollen bruises over the damaged ribs. “I mend bone now. Take out sick water.”

“What's that mean?” Barieus asked.

“I think he means pus,” said Lutha. “And you heal with that, don't you?” Lutha pointed at the horn lying next to them on the ground.

“Yes. Oo'lu.”

“And that's what you used to hide us earlier?”

“Yes. Witch men Retha'noi all play oo'lu for their magic.”

“I've heard stories of your kind using them in battle.”

Mahti just turned back to tending Caliel. Lutha exchanged a worried look with Barieus. The squire had noticed the lack of answer, too.

“We appreciate what you've done for our friend. What payment do you require?” asked Lutha.

“Payment?” Mahti looked amused.

“You helped us, so we give you something in return?”

“I tell you. You guide me when your friend can joor-nay.”

“Oh, so we're back to that?” Lutha sighed. “Where do you want to go?”

“Where you go.”

“No! I'm asking where it is you want us to guide
you
. Not that it matters. We are already going somewhere. I don't have time to wander off with you.”

It was impossible to know how much of this the hill man understood, but he nodded happily. “You guide.”

Barieus chuckled.

“Fine, we guide,” Lutha muttered. “Just don't complain to me if we don't end up where you intended!”

T
hanks to her wizards and spies, Tamír now knew the hearts of six nobles who had estates within a few days' ride of Atyion. Four were against her, all well within striking distance if they chose to make trouble.

This was cause for concern. Tamír's army still numbered less than ten thousand warriors, and many were untrained farmers and merchants' sons and daughters. Disenchanted nobles who'd fled Korin's northern court brought reports of twice that number. If Korin moved in force, Tamír would have to rely on the strong walls and carefully stocked supplies of her new capital.

Something had to be done.

S
he met with her generals and wizards around the great round table in the map chamber. This room had been used since the time of the castle's founding to plan battles. Racks of maps and sea charts filled the walls. In quiet moments Tamír had searched through the excellent collection, finding many that bore notations in her father's hand.

At the moment Lytia was reading out castle inventories of armaments, and the number of various kinds of craftsmen. Tamír tried hard to concentrate on the lists of farriers and armor makers, but her mind wandered. It was hot and still today, and the steady drone of the cicadas made her eyelids heavy. She was sweating in her summer gown. It was close to her moon time again, too, and the heat seemed to bother her more. Or maybe it was these wretched long skirts!

She drifted over to a large open window, trying to cool
herself with a delicate sandalwood-and-ivory fan. She'd found a box of them in one of the wardrobes in her dressing room and decided to put them to use. She'd felt a bit odd at first, as she did with most feminine accoutrements, but the scented breeze it created more than made up for any embarrassment. No one seemed to think it odd.