The Sage (15 page)

So
Culaehra learned exactly how powerful he was, and how to control his vast
strength, while Kitishane and the gnomes developed the muscles of their arms
and shoulders to their fullest extent. Their reflexes became almost as fast as
Culaehra's, and all of them became much more skilled in unarmed combat, until
Illbane pronounced them able to defeat three opponents at once, and to disarm a
man equipped with sword and shield.

Then
he set them to practicing with staves. Their deftness without weapons quickly
lent itself to the use of them, and they gained the new skills quickly. Then,
and only then, did Illbane let them begin to practice with wooden swords. This
they learned quickly, too, but there was more of it to learn.

Here,
at least and at last, Culaehra finally excelled, though Illbane was rarely
satisfied and only expressed approval when Culaehra had not yet executed the
movements perfectly, and Culaehra began to think he would never be able to
sense the old man's moods well enough to avoid disaster.

So
the days passed in slow travel, for they spent as much time in practice as in
walking—and in Illbane's exacting insistence on Culaehra's cleanliness
afterward, which the others began to imitate from sheer boredom in waiting at
first, then from pleasure later—though Kitishane was always careful to find
some sheltered pool where she and Lua could seek privacy. Illbane also insisted
on stopping the day's travel while the sun was still well above the horizon,
for he tutored Yocote in magic while Culaehra cooked dinner.

There
were whole days when they had to wait in idleness, while Illbane sent Yocote
off on errands by himself. When Culaehra asked what they were, Illbane told him
curtly to attend to things he could understand. Simmering with anger, Culaehra
imagined extravagant revenges on the sage, until the bite of the amulet grew
too painful to ignore.

So
northward they went, but their progress was very slow, with Culaehra bearing
the burdens and forced to behave by Illbane's staff and wand. They came out of
the woods into open, rolling land and found that streams were smaller and
farther between. Kitishane fashioned water skins from the stock of pelts she
saved from the meat she shot for meals. Northward they marched, with Culaehra
continually kicking against the goad of Illbane's stern discipline, and trying
to sneak chances to beat or intimidate the others. Illbane frustrated the worst
of them, though, and Kitishane was instantly defiant, lashing back with words
that held no hint of mercy, both for herself and for Lua; and she was quick to
call for Illbane if Culaehra threatened to strike. As for Yocote, he gave worse
than he took in insults, for his were always barbed with wit, and Culaehra
could only simmer about them for hours after, unable to forget the gnome's
sallies, for there was always some kernel of truth to them that smarted. No one
had dared tell him the truth about himself for a dozen years, and having to
face all his flaws was a new and very unpleasant experience. He spent most of
his marching time trying to think up excuses for his behavior, and
counterinsults to throw back in Yocote's teeth—but he rarely had a chance to
use them.

Then,
one evening when they were finishing their meal, such a chance came. They had
dined on roast boar, and Culaehra pointed out the resemblance between the
gnome's face and that of a pig—though truthfully, there really was very little.
Yocote replied, “I would rather look like a swine than behave like one. Don't
bother trying to shape insults, Culaehra, for you really are a bore.”

The
pun rankled, and Culaehra grinned with anticipation as he picked his teeth with
a sliver of bone and said, “Do you not feel like a cannibal, Yocote, when you
eat the flesh of a swine?”

“No,
Culaehra,” the gnome retorted, “for I would never bite into you; you are
scarcely a man of good taste.”

With
a roar, the outlaw leaped up and kicked at the gnome.

He
was fast, moving with almost blinding speed, but Yocote had learned from the
same teacher and started falling backward before the foot struck him. Even
then, it was his leg that caught the blow, for he had raised his thigh to
guard. He yelped with pain, but the kick sent him rolling faster and farther,
and he uncurled to dodge behind a tree as Culaehra followed him with another
kick.

“Stop
him, Illbane!” Kitishane cried, but the sage only shook his head, standing
stiffly, taut, his face pale.

Kitishane
turned back with a cry of pain, drawing her sword, but before she could leap to
intervene, a shower of sparks burst from the tree as Culaehra's kick lashed
out.

“Not
the salamander!” Kitishane would have thought Illbane were giving instructions
to his pupil, if his voice hadn't been so low. “Only its skin!”

Culaehra
shouted with pain and hopped around behind the trunk—and Yocote came backing up
into sight, following the curve of the tree, hands miming strange actions,
mouth droning incomprehensible syllables. It was a yard-thick trunk, so he was
almost out of sight again before Culaehra came hopping around the bole, face
dark with rage. He threw himself forward, hands outstretched to catch the
gnome's neck. Yocote's words shut off with a gargle—but the earth suddenly gave
way beneath Culaehra's feet. He shouted in alarm as he fell into the pit—and
let go of Yocote. The little man hopped back away from the edge, rubbing his
throat.

“No
time!” Illbane whispered. “There is no time, little shaman! Hoarse or croaking,
speak the spell!”

Almost
as if he had heard, Yocote began to chant in a cracked and reedy tenor, hands
sawing the air. Then he scrabbled in the dirt, coming up with a handful of
fallen acorns, and began to juggle them as Culaehra's arm slammed over the edge
of the pit. Then came his head, face swollen and dark with anger. He clambered
up and went for Yocote, hands outstretched to throttle.

The
gnome gestured, and hailstones rained down upon the outlaw. He squalled in
surprise, then clamped his jaw and ran at Yocote again—but the hailstones
rolled under his feet; he slipped, bleated as he windmilled his arms, striving
for balance before crashing to the ground as the hard rain fell about him.

Kitishane
stared in surprise, then gave a shout of mirth, a shout that turned into loud
and long laughter.

Red
with embarrassment as well as anger, Culaehra staggered to his feet, fell again—but
threw himself forward as he did and seized the gnome's ankle.

“Oh,
Illbane, help him!” Lua cried, but the sage only shook his head, lips pressed
thin.

Yocote
had been preparing another spell as Culaehra had been trying to catch his
balance. He shouted a last phrase as Culaehra managed to find bare grass and
struggled up, holding the gnome hanging upside down—but the air thickened about
him, thickened into a fog so dense the watchers could not see him. “You'll have
to do worse than that, little man!” he shouted, and Yocote came arcing up out
of the cloud as Culaehra swung him high to dash him against the ground. But
Yocote shouted a phrase in the shaman's tongue, and the fog suddenly lightened
with a brilliant flash. A thunderclap drowned Culaehra's bellow of shock and
pain as he tumbled out of the cloud and lay still, Yocote flying from his
grasp.

Lua
cried out in fright and ran to him.

“He
is only stunned.” Illbane knelt by the big man, felt at his throat, then nodded
with satisfaction and turned to grasp Yocote by the hand and set him on his
feet. “Well done! You called upon the elements—all, earth, air, fire, and
water—and they gave answer! Well done indeed—shaman!”

Flushed
with triumph, Yocote grinned up at him. “I thank you, Teacher!” Then he turned
to see Lua rising from Culaehra to run to him, and a shadow darkened his face.

Lua
saw and slowed abruptly, but still came on toward him. “Praise the gods you are
well, Yocote!”

“I
thank you for your concern, Lua.” Yocote inclined his head with grave courtesy,
and if there was a tang of irony to his words, it was slight enough to pass
unnoticed. He turned back to Illbane, and his eyes began to shine again. “Am I
truly a shaman, then?”

“You
are,” Illbane told him. “One who has a great deal more to learn, of course—but
yes, a shaman you are.” He let the grin show again and clapped his small pupil
on the shoulder.

Culaehra
groaned.

“Lie
still.” Kitishane knelt beside him. “Roll to your back if you wish, but no
more.”

Culaehra
rolled over, then moaned with pain. “What ... happened?”

“You
fought with Yocote.”

“I
remember.” Culaehra lifted a hand that virtually fell to his forehead. “The
fog, and then ... with what did he hit me?”

“Lightning.”
Illbane knelt beside him, across from Kitishane. “Fire, from the water in the
air. You were foolish enough to pick a fight with a shaman, Culaehra.”

The
big man squinted up at him. “When did the gnome become a shaman?”

“While
you were brooding in your misery.”

“But
how?” Culaehra struggled up on one elbow. “When I first caught him, he could
scarcely manage to conjure up a puff of smoke! How has he come to be a wizard?”

“Not
a wizard yet, nor even a powerful shaman, but certainly one who is strong
enough to defend himself,” Illbane said, musing. “However, he was born with a
strange talent. Most gnomes are born with the knowledge for working earth-magic
and are mighty in that, for they live by rock—but Yocote was born with an
affinity for all four elements, not earth alone, so his instinct for
earth-magic was diminished. His talent needed training—and with that, he gained
power over not merely earth, but also over air, fire, and water, even so much
as to make air and water conjoin to produce hail, or to make them both join
with fire to produce lightning. Oh, he shall be a most puissant shaman when he
is fully trained, I assure you, mastering not only the elements, but also the
trees, the flowers, the fish, and the beasts—all manner of living things.”

“Including
men,” Culaehra muttered. He looked down the length of his fallen body, still
filled with tremors from that blaze of light. “The wheel has turned now, has it
not? Yocote has been raised up, and I am now the lowest of the low.”

“Far
from it.” Amazingly, Illbane's tone was sympathetic. “You are a strong and
courageous man, Culaehra, one who has learned some skills of fighting, and you
will become truly mighty when you have learned them all.”

Culaehra
looked up at him in surprise. “But even a gnome can beat me! I might as well
kill myself now, for if I don't, someone else will surely do it for me!”

“A
shaman
beat you,” Illbane corrected, “and only a fool fights a shaman. When
you are done with your training, Culaehra, you will be so mighty a fighter that
few will be able to stand against you—few other warriors, that is. You will
never again be so foolish as to go up against a shaman if you do not have to.”

Culaehra
sat still a moment, looking at the ground. Then he said, “Do you tell me truly?”

“I
do,” Illbane assured him, “and I am a master warrior as well as a sage. When I
tell you what you can be, I speak from knowledge. As to truth, have you ever
known me to lie?”

Culaehra
was silent a moment, then admitted, “No.”

“Nor
will I ever,” Illbane assured him. “Criticize you, yes, even insult you—but lie
to you? Never.”

Now
Culaehra looked up at him. “What must I do to become the best warrior I can,
then?”

“You
must train as hard as I push you,” Illbane told him, “and you must live by my
rules.”

“Your
rules!” Culaehra glared at him. “What have your rules to do with .. .” His
words ran down as comprehension came into his eyes.

Illbane
met his gaze, nodding gravely. “Yes, Culaehra. This defeat was not due only to
Yocote's magic.”

“You
mean,” Culaehra said slowly, “that if I had not broken your rule against
picking fights, I would not have been defeated.”

“That
is part of it.” Illbane's tone was neutral.

“And
that it is my own bullying that has undone me.”

“Yes!”
Illbane's satisfaction showed in his tone and his eyes. “There will always be a
stronger one to bully the bully, Culaehra.”

Culaehra
stared incredulously. “You cannot mean the rule was there to protect me as much
as Yocote!”

“It
protected you both,” Illbane confirmed—but did not explain. He only sat,
watching and waiting, a great stillness about him.

The
stillness was almost as frightening to Culaehra as Illbane's anger. The warrior
bent his brain to the riddle, frowning. “If I had not been cruel to the others
when I was the most powerful one, they would not be cruel to me now?”

“Not
these three, no.”

“But
I have known men who were!” Culaehra burst out. “And women, too! I had been
cruel to only one or two, certainly no more than any child—I even gave help and
protection! But they were cruel to me nonetheless!”

“They
were not folk who knew how sharply such cruelty bit,” Illbane explained. “They
had not suffered it themselves.”

Culaehra
gazed at him a moment, then said, “But Kitishane and the gnomes have.”

Illbane
nodded.

“From
me.”

“Even
before you,” Illbane told him. “I have gleaned the odd remark here and there,
the comment in passing, and bound them in sheaves to yield sense. Each in his
or her own way knew as much cruelty as you did, Culaehra, in their own home
villages. That is why you could have been sure of them, when you could be sure
of few others.”

Still
Culaehra gazed at him. “
Could
have.”

Illbane
nodded.

“Before
I was cruel to them.”

“Yet
still may,” Illbane told him, “if they come to believe you will not be cruel
again, if you ever gain the power.”