The Sage (36 page)

“Only
a few days, as you know, Kitishane,” the sage replied, “but winter has been
growing about us as we have marched northward, and has come all the quicker up
here in the mountains. It will only grow colder from this point onward, for
when we come down from these hills, we will not come very far; the northern
land to which we go is a high plateau, and we have yet some farther distance to
go.”

“To
the north?” Culaehra bleated. “That is the wrong way, Illbane! I must go south
now!”

“You
must have a sword first, Culaehra, and I cannot forge it for you until I have
found the Star Stone. Come, let us march!” He led the way off toward the north
again. Culaehra stared after him, thunderstruck, then lowered his head and
slogged off through the snow after the sage, muttering darkly. His companions
followed, sharing glances of amusement.

They
only marched for a few hours more that day; sunset came quickly, and they were
happy to camp under a huge fir. Culaehra chafed at the delay, ready to march
out into the night in his enchanted armor. “I must go south, Illbane!”

“In
good time, Culaehra,” the sage returned, and sipped from his spoon.

Good
time certainly was not the next day; they set off toward the north again, and
Illbane sent the hero in his enchanted armor ahead, to forge a path through the
drifts for them all. Culaehra grumbled continually, but not at the cold. “I go
the wrong way, Illbane! Bolenkar lies to the south!”

“So
does sunshine and warmth, Culaehra. Can you not suffer the chill for a few
weeks more?”

“A
few weeks!” the hero bawled in distress, but Kitishane caught up with him and
squeezed his hand. “Patience, big man. I am not eager to see you go to brave
dangers, but even less eager to see you without a sword.”

Culaehra
looked up at her in surprise, then subsided into grumbling as he turned back to
slogging ahead. But he glanced up at her again and could not help smiling
before he set to his work.

That
work became harder, for the wind blew more and more briskly. Then snow began to
fall, but Culaehra felt it only on his arms; even his toes stayed warm in the
bronze sandals the Wondersmith had fashioned for him. Kitishane slipped around
to his back, letting him break the wind for her, and the gnomes followed close
behind her. Illbane came last, striding through the drifts with his head high,
long grizzled hair whipping in the wind, disdaining to show any sign of chill.

That
night around the campfire, Culaehra seemed resigned to his fate; he laughed and
chatted with the others, replying to Yocote's sour remarks with gibes of his
own, then lay down by the fire, reminding Yocote to waken him for his watch—but
when his companions breathed with the deepness of sleep and the gnome had
fallen deeply into his trance, Culaehra rolled slowly to the side, farther and
farther out of the gnome's line of sight, so slowly and gradually that he did
not disturb the little shaman's contemplation of whatever arcane mystery
occupied his meditations. When he was sure he was far enough out of sight,
Culaehra climbed to his feet and moved quietly into the darkness beneath the
evergreen trees. He picked his way away from the campsite with stealthy
movements until the light of the fire had disappeared behind him. Then he
increased his pace until he came out from beneath the pines onto a broad,
windswept slope, stark beneath the starlight. There he drew a long breath,
grinning at the feeling of freedom. He looked up to find the North Star, turned
his back upon it and set off toward the south, walking quickly.

His
path twisted between giant boulders. He set himself against the wind, thinking
that he would welcome a brief respite among those rocks. He stepped in among
them, relaxed as the wind's pressure let up, turned and turned again to follow
the shallowest depth of snow, then braced himself as he saw the end of the
outcrop ahead. He stepped out into the wind—and stopped dead in his tracks,
staring at the black-robed, white-haired figure before him.

Illbane
smiled, amused. “How rude of you, Culaehra, to leave your friends without a
word of parting!”

“How
.. . how did you come here, Illbane?” Culaehra stammered.

“Very
quickly, I assure you.”

“But
how?”
Then Culaehra realized how useless that question was with a shaman,
and changed his tack. “How did you know I had gone? You were asleep!”

“Never
so deeply asleep that I would not know where you were,” Illbane assured him. “I
shall be alert to your every movement from this night forth, Culaehra, no
matter how deeply asleep I may be! Come now, let us go back to our friends, for
it would be uncivil indeed to leave them alone in this wild land.”

There
wasn't the slightest trace of threat in his voice, but he set both hands upon
his staff as he said it, and the gleam of anticipation in his eye was enough to
remind Culaehra how poorly he had fared against his teacher in the past. For a
moment, though, the feel of the magical armor on his body was almost enough to
tempt him to resist, and the memory of the thousand drubbings that staff had
given him sparked enough anger to drive him—but he remembered also how he had
come to have that armor, and how Illbane had stood by him in danger, and
realized that he could no longer summon even mild dislike for the old man. He
sighed and capitulated. “As you will have it, Illbane. Back to the campfire,
then.”

The
sage laughed, clapped him on the shoulder, and went with him back into the
outcrop of boulders.

That
was not his last try, of course. With all the fervor of the penitent, Culaehra
now burned to make amends for all his past wickedness, even at the peril of his
life. He tried cajoling, nagging, and exhorting Illbane for hours on end as
they marched.

“The
deed must be done, Illbane! The younger races cannot wait! Every hour that we
tarry, Bolenkar's agents are corrupting another gnome, another elf, another
human! Every day of delay yields another battle, building to another war! We
must go south!”

“We
must go south when we have a chance to win,” Illbane corrected. “Let it ride,
Culaehra. If you strike before you are ready, Bolenkar will win, and there will
be a thousand times more misery than arises while you wait for your sword!”

But
Culaehra would not let it ride—he kept after Illbane until Yocote finally
snapped at him to stop, for he was boring them all to the breaking point.

The
next day, Culaehra started in on Illbane again, nagging and pleading until the
sage finally rounded on him and said, “Go south without that sword and the
final readiness it bestows, and you die yourself, with nothing accomplished and
nothing to show for your life, Culaehra! Do you truly wish that?”

“I
certainly do not!” Kitishane stepped up to him wide-eyed. “Don't you dare to
make me a widow before you have even made me a wife!”

Culaehra
turned to her in surprise.

Kitishane
blushed and lowered her gaze. “Well, perhaps you had not planned to ... but I
had flattered myself that—”

“Of
course I had! Or desired to, more than anything in my life. Though I had no
certainty you would agree if I asked.”

Her
eyes lighted with merriment and delight; she tossed her head and invited, “Try.”

“I
dare not,” Culaehra said through thick lips. “I dare not ask until all this
turmoil is done. Then, if Bolenkar lies dead and I live, I may dare to ask.”

Kitishane
quivered with a sudden surge of desire that amazed her, and pressed close to
his arm. “I cannot bear to think of you lying dead! But perhaps I spoke
foolishly, about waiting to be a wife—”

“You
do not,” Illbane said sternly. “Wed him or bed him, and you weaken his stroke
out of fear for your fate. You must remain a maiden, Kitishane, a maiden and an
archer until this war is aborted or ended. Then you may begin your world, when
it is new.”

Kitishane
lowered her gaze. “It will be hard, Illbane, hard to wait.”

“Never
let me say that there are no wonders in the world,” Culaehra breathed, his gaze
fast upon her, and he said nothing more about going south for the rest of that
day.

That
night, though, he tried to escape again.

Once
more he waited until everyone slept; once more he crept out by inches; once
more he climbed to his feet and ran silently through the night. This time,
though, he stopped at a rocky outcrop, then walked backward very carefully,
setting his feet in his own footsteps until he neared a tall pine. There he
crouched, jumped high, caught a limb, and pulled himself up. He climbed twenty
feet, then settled himself next to the trunk with one arm around it, waiting
for morning.

He
had no chance to wait nearly so long, though. In less than half an hour a huge
bear came ambling across the snow. Culaehra watched it with curiosity—what
manner of bear would be abroad in winter? And what had wakened it from its long
winter's sleep?

Hunger!

Suddenly,
Culaehra's curiosity was anything but mild. He watched the bear with the first
tendrils of fear snaking through his vitals as the beast meandered here,
meandered there—and came to his tree!

The
bear stood as if stretching itself, then looked up through the boughs. Its gaze
met Culaehra's. He stared back in horrified fascination, then found himself
whispering, “Go away, bear! Go away!”

It
was a very contrary bear. It set its huge claws into the bark; it began to walk
up the trunk.

The
fear gripped Culaehra's belly now. He ached for the sword Illbane had promised
him, but not having it, he slid his common sword from its sheath.

The
bear reached the limbs and began to use them as a sort of ladder, pulling
itself up on a branch, then catching its huge feet on the one below. Higher and
higher it climbed, closer and closer. Culaehra glanced up; he might climb
another five feet before the trunk became too thin to bear them both. He
glanced at the next tree over, wondering if he could jump the intervening space
without falling to his death. He decided that he could not and turned back, his
eyes going cold as he set himself for the battle. If he must die, better to die
fighting than running—and he might not die at all, if Agrapax's armor was as
virtuous against bear's claws as against men's swords.

The
bear climbed a little higher; its head was just below his foot, and Culaehra
readied himself to kick when it gained one more branch. But the bear gazed up
at him, its eyes neither hungry nor angry. Its muzzle opened but it did not
snarl, only said, “Come down, Culaehra. There is no point in your spending the
night in so uncomfortable a place when I will only find you in the morning.”

The
voice was Illbane's.

Culaehra
sat, staring. Then he unfolded himself and began to climb down, cursing.

The
bear listened with interest as it backed down the trunk, watching him. When
Culaehra dropped into the snow again, the bear said, “Let us go back to the
campfire; you must be chilled to the bone.”

“No,
Agrapax's armor keeps me warm, even as you said it would.” Culaehra fell in
beside the huge animal. “I am rather stiff, though.”

“Not
surprising, in this weather,” the bear said judiciously. “You know, we both
lose sleep this way, Culaehra.”

“It
would have been worth it, if I could have slipped away to the south.”

The
bear sighed. “You wished for a sword to fight this bear.

How
do you think you will fare against Bolenkar, if you cannot even fight a bear
without a sword?”

“There
are many swords,” Culaehra muttered.

“Yes,
and most would be of use against a bear—but only one can strike down Bolenkar.”

Culaehra
raised his head, frowning. “What would make this particular sword so powerful?”

“The
Star Stone, the shard of Lomallin's spear that fell to earth during his battle
with Ulahane. With the virtue of Lomallin's touch within it, it will prevail
against the son of the Scarlet One.”

“The
power of the human-lover will be vested in a piece of his spear?” Culaehra
frowned in skepticism.

But
the bear nodded. “Virtue, not power—the unselfish, outgoing spirit that still
resides within Lomallin's ghost. So rich was that aura that it spread to
anything he touched. His staff would have great power indeed, if any could find
it—the staff he carried when he took human guise. But the scrap of his spear
has far more virtue in battle, for he used it to fight the Scarlet One, and it
is might imbued with goodness directed against Evil.”

Culaehra
was silent, plodding on beside the bear, turning the matter over and over in
his mind. He hated to delay a single day when he might be traveling south to
the battle that would make amends for all his past deeds, and he knew the
forging of a sword took many days, perhaps weeks! But what the bear said was
true: there was no use going up against Bolenkar with ordinary human arms.

“Ah,
warmth!” the bear said.

Culaehra
looked up and saw the campfire ahead of them— with Illbane sitting beside it,
gazing into the flames! The warrior stared, astounded, then whirled to ask the
bear how this could be—but the great beast was gone as if it had never been.
Culaehra stared foolishly at the space where it had stood, then looked down
and, sure enough, saw huge prints in the snow, prints that turned and went back
in the direction from which he and it had come, though they angled off a bit
toward the west. The bear had moved quickly, though, for it was already lost in
the night.

Scowling,
Culaehra strode through the snow and sat himself down by the campfire, hissing,
“How did you manage that, slave driver?”

Still
Illbane sat, then slowly lifted his head, turning to Culaehra, and the warrior
realized that he had come out of a trance. He smiled and said, “The bear is my
totem, Culaehra, and the shape in which I visit the shaman world. This bear was
quite willing to be host to my spirit; I roused its limbs from its winter's
sleep, and have sent it back to its cave now. It will not even remember the
waking.” His tone turned to reproach. “But it was unkind of you to create a
need for the poor beast to waken.”