The web of wizardry (26 page)

test with almost angry desperation. Now she seemed distraught and near tears. Would this wizardry never give her peace?

More gently, Danaer said, "You must not tell him about the ha-usf aen. It is a sacred thing, not magic."

Lira gazed up at him intently a long moment, then nodded. She behaved as if she were bending some oath in doing so, and agreed only for his sake. Danaer's fingers relaxed, and instantly she slipped away from him into the darkness. He cursed his weariness that slowed his reactions. Then Danaer ran after her, hoping to catch her before she gained the sanctuary of her tent and her wizard Web.

He was too late. Lira knew the route better than he, and by the time he reached the staff area, the flap of her little dwelling was already closed and tied. Again a lamp was being lit and eerie, aUen chants had begun, as on the night before.

The encampment was very quiet. Men had been too worn to eat much, and after slaking their thirst, most had fallen on their blankets, asleep almost at once. A few sentries had been posted, leaning heavily on their lances and trying not to doze on duty. In the ofl&cers' tents, there were some lights and soft conversation; Yistar, despite his own exhaustion, would want to plan for the morrow.

Danaer stood in the clearing, listening. Lira sounded like a hurt little creature, moaning those strange phrases in a language of sorcery.

Danaer peered around blearily, wondering if Hablit and his assassins had tracked the caravan through the Sink. They were Destre-Y, familiar with the terrain, not hindered as the army was with wagons and the black horses so ill-bred to this climate. Further, Hablit was an ally of the Markuand wizard. No freakish storms or mirages would be thrown across his path to confuse him. Was he even now lurking nearby, waiting for a chance to strike? The Markuand wizard wished Lira dead, and so did Hablit and the traitors. Her magic had turned back their witchcraft and heartened the caravan, though she was only the apprentice, not the master sorkra they had earher tried to kill.

Once more he sat down outside her tent, ready to guard her from harm. His limbs ached and his eyes burned. Stars wheeled above the Wells of Ylami. Here in this green haven on the burning desert, night life croaked and sHthered near the pool and in the grasses, a softly repetitious murmuring that lulled him. Despite his best efforts, his eyelids were drooping.

Suddenly Danaer came fully awake, his hand on his knife. Someone was standing before him. He came to his feet, ready to parry a blow, then let out his breath. It was Branra who faced him.

The ofl&cer looked past Danaer at Lira's tent and the shadow on the cloth. He said quietly, "This is not the first time you have stood sentinel for our sorkra, is it?" Danaer blinked and rubbed his eyes, trying to mujBBie a yawn. He was too sleepy to deny the accusation. "If you keep to this task, you will be too weary to read landmarks tomorrow. Get to your units, and some sleep. I will stay and guard the sorkra."

Danaer was about to yield, then felt the warmth of the obsidian taHsman. Something made him say, "No, I must be close to her. I will get no rest elsewhere. And ... are you not also tired, my lord?"

"I need less sleep than most men." It did not seem a boast, but simple truth. Branra studied him a moment, then pointed to the spot where Danaer had been sitting. "Very well. Stay. But sleep. If trouble comes, I will wake you."

"Hablit has been stalking the caravan ..."

"Yes, I have heard, from the Captain. I will be wary. And I think you will allow I have some skill in coping with even the fiercest Destre tribesman."

Danaer smiled feebly and muttered, "Lira ... the Lady Nalu . . ."

"If she needs you, I will wake you," Branra promised again. He spoke no oath and called on no god, but it was a pledge, one Danaer accepted readily. Too spent to argue, he sank down and drew up his knees, pillowing his head on his crossed arms. From the comer of his eye he saw Branra's feet move this way and then that, patrolling the space before Lira's tent hke any common sentry.

Very soon, Danaer's eyes closed. He could not feel the cold touch of the web tonight. He gave himself over to Branra's care, as once he had put himself into Yistar's mercy, sinking into a dreamless sleep.

XIV Deki-Te Vond ve Exis

Yistar's troops had hoped to make but one day's journey from the Wells of Ylami out of the Sink, but in vain. The worst of the wasteland was behind them, passed in that first terrible leg. The water wagons were refilled at the wells, suflicient to sustain the slow-moving caravan through the following two days and another night's encampment. There had been more magical rainstorms, but of less fury. Danaer heard Yistar saying to Branra that surely now the enemy wizards had learned Lira's counterspells were a match for their assaults, and there would be an end to this weather soon. Danaer had shared that wish, though with less confidence. He did not doubt Lira's powers, but he had felt the force of the Markuand magic and knew it was most awesome.

Bogotana's Sink seemed loath to release the caravan from its clutches. There were many opportunities for Danaer and Xashe to stop and wait while wagons were repaired. On the second day, Rorluk was so much improved he insisted on rejoining his companions and riding point once more. Occasionally Danaer had seen Lira, riding in one of the lead wagons. She had nodded a greeting, but always appeared preoccupied. He did not disturb her, wary of distracting her from some incantation that might be the caravan's protection.

Most of all, Danaer was happy to be a scout, not a

driver. He had ridden by when a loud argument boiled between Yistar and the chief wagoneer, and pitied the hapless teamster. "It is the brakes, Captain," he had been explaining. "We will have them repaired soon."

"Bog' take the whoreson who designed your wagons! And Bog' take this infernal trail, and you!" Branra was grinning appreciation at his captain's stream of profanity. "Bejit, dog-spawn of a . . . storms, heat, mirages . . . wizardry! I declare, by the Black Mare's Mane, I will run through the next man who speaks failure to me! We will reach Deki tonight!"

Flogged by Yistar's temper, the column moved forward again. This time, it was on the descent, though the slope was so gradual that Danaer was uncertain for a while that they truly crept downward. He checked landmarks, seeking signs of change. Yistar was right. Soon they must leave this bone-dry waste of jumbled rocks and merciless sun and bones of those less fortunate.

At last, several candle-marks eastward, Danaer saw what he had been expecting. He made no annou^nce-ment, waiting for his novices to notice the subtle difference in the landscape. Rorluk was still a trifle unsteady in the saddle and not yet fully recovered. It was Xashe who cried out, "Bushes, Troop Leader! And trees! We have seen nothing growing since ..."

"The Wells of Ylami," Danaer agreed.

His apprentices grinned at one another, anticipating what lay ahead. There would be grassland and water aplenty. They were winning through to Deki, and the triumph tasted sweet.

But though they were slipping out of the claws of Bogotana, the ordeal had not ended. Only a short time after Danaer had spotted those signs of vegetation, an immense dark cloud built on the horizon, a towering column of churned-up dirt.

Danaer's first thought was that they were menaced by a priuda, the terrible dust storms which sometimes haunted the Vrastre. Priuda could trap hunting or raiding parties, cutting warriors off from their Zseds, strangling their roans with dirt. Entire sections of

Zseds had been swept away in priuda, and if this was such a dust demon, the caravan might be hard hit.

Then, at the base of the onrushing cloud, Danaer discerned life, a rolling movement—motge! A great herd of the bovines, galloping toward the wagons. His panic rose, then was quenched, his senses tingUng and the obsidian responding to a supernatural warning. Not motge! Argan guided his will and opened his eyes. He could fathom the truth of it readily now. The tossing heads and pounding hooves and fat bodies, even the swirling dirt, were wavering and shimmering before him. "It is another cursed mirage!"

"The column. Troop Leader? Will they think it is real? The cart horses may bolt and tear their traces ..."

Danaer nodded, approving his apprentices' concern for their duty. He turned to ride back to the caravan. The wagons had stopped, and all were gazmg at the oncoming stampede. The earth seemed to tremble with the weight of the thundering kine; dust appeared to blacken the sky. Lira was standing up on a wagon seat, shouting to Yistar, "It is an enchantment, Captain, no more. Order the men to stand fast and steady the horses."

Without questioning, Yistar obeyed the sorkra, sending his aides loping to carry the command along the column. Danaer saw that many drivers and troops had already reached the same conclusion the young scouts had. The trek had hardened conscripts as well as veterans, and they were learning to brave each new challenge of the journey. Fear changed to angry muttering. Soldiers tightened reins and stared belligerently at the stampede which seemed about to crush them.

Lira's head tilted back and her eyes closed. She could not see the mirage which now filled the horizon, and Danaer knew she called on her Web, and on her own powers. Her Web was very far away from her, and much engaged in other magic, dealing with wizardry on many fronts. Lira was not afraid, though. Had she the strength to deal alone with this latest attack of Markuand sorcery? She chanted into nothing, as officers and their men watched the raging beasts

approach. Then, like dew, the vision began to die in the sunUght. By ones, then twos, then tens, the motge winked out of existence, and with them the cloud of dust. A stillness covered the land. The charging animals had never been. No hoof prints marked the earth.

Lira sat down and for a moment buried her face in her hands. Danaer was about to rush to her side, but other men were closer; they offered her water and fanned her with their cloaks. After a while she regained her poise, looking embarrassed that she had come near fainting. "I sensed some abatement of the enemy wizard's magic this time. Captain."

Yistar and his aides grinned. "Well at that, sorkra lady! Now the way to Deki is clear before us!" They doffed their helmets and cheered, then passed the word to set forth once more.

Danaer continued to stare at her anxiously, though Lira forced him a thin little smile. Was her Web involved in this last conjury? He thought not. Danaer suspected she reached out into skills and arts of her wizardry that were beyond her training and experience. She had succeeded, but the strain had been extreme. She lifted her head proudly and tried to look as if nothing had happened, as if the countercharm had not been a terrible effort. He did not shame her by voicing his doubts while others could hear. But Danaer prayed there would be no more assaults on her powers, at least until they reached Deki. Perhaps there she would have time to recuperate from the ordeals of the trek. If the repelling of those demon beasts had taken Ulodovol's strength so severely, how much more must this responsibility weigh upon Lira, who had not his years of wisdom to help her.

He went back to the point, wanting to lead them directly to Deki, to comparative safety. But there continued to be delays, some of them the curse of fate, and some of them part of the Royal Commander's plan. Once, when they had barely started along the downgrade that led to the distant river, a halt was called at a rebuilt ruin. The place was a strange building of stone and brick and timbering. Generations ago, it might have been the castle of some Ryer-

don lord, soon after his people had crossed into Krantin. It had been laid waste several times since, and now the workmen of Lorzosh-Fila had come out from Deki to reconstruct its walls and roof. They were not quite done when the caravan stopped there, but enough was completed to shelter against the weather—not men, but supplies. Quickly, several wagons were wheeled out of line and their teams unhitched and corralled. Half a unit was ordered to stay and help the Dekan workmen thatch the roof. Then they must stand guard, as long as need be. With that, the caravan rolled on, toward a second such halt, and then a third, each a bit farther down the long grade approaching Deki.

The officers did not comment, but there was whispering among the men as they wondered on this procedure. Danaer and Shaartre and some of the veterans exchanged knowing looks and then took pity on the greener men. "Caches," Shaartre explained to them at the third stopping place. "The men we leave are to guard the supplies for us until we need them."

"When will we need them, Troop Leader?" Rorluk asked innocently.

Danaer grimaced, knowing the youth had spent an easy life. "When we are fleeing from the city and must have the food and water in order to cross the Sink successfully once more, back to Siank."

Rorluk's wondering stare shifted from Danaer to Shaartre and to some of the older men. "You are thinking we may not win?"

"The Royal Commander considers all possibilities," Shaartre told him as gently as he could. "A good soldier hopes he will not need such caches as these. But if disaster comes, the Markuand are not likely to let us take much out of Deki with us—// we can get free."

An even younger conscript than Rorluk was round-eyed with dread, gazing at the wagons being rolled into the buildings, at the troopmen and Dekan workmen setting barricades to guard the supplies against intruders. "Have . . . have you ever had to retreat and use such caches. Troop Leader?"

"I have," Danaer said grimly, and ended the conversation by walking away.

The wagons that went on from those places now faced a new problem. Where once they had struggled through wet sand and obstacles which slowed the caravan, now drivers stood on brakes to retard their descent. Infantry and cavalrymen slung ropes at the back of the wagons and acted as drags to help the teams. Some wagons overturned, and either the supplies were transferred to vehicles that still operated, or the drivers were ordered to make their way back to the cache points and deliver their cargoes there.

Downward, steadily, the column went, and the country changed from dust and sand to soft earth and grassland thick with brush and copses. The trail wound through pasturage and tilled fields. They were entering the Dekan lowlands, rich river country. Small forests dotted the hills, and little valleys and prairies began to be junglehke. Indeed, a bit farther south this terrain was jungle, the start of the Sarlos marshes which led to Lira's homeland.