The web of wizardry (38 page)

Lira sighed and did not pull away from him. She held out the string of rubies, "It needs a companion," she said. "Do you think rubies and gold go well with obsidian?" He saw her intent and smiled. "Will you fasten it for me? There is a clasp, a cunning Destre

device, no doubt." She spoke in that low, throaty voice which made his pulse race.

Awkwardly, he took the delicate jewelry. Lira tugged at her cloak, untying the rope. In a lithe, lovely motion, she cast both away and stood revealed in a bright dress. Somewhere she had found red cloth, perhaps purchased from one of the women of ease who followed the caravan. The gown was a mere wisp of fancy, caught by a thin Httle cord. Both would yield quickly to a touch. Danaer feasted his eyes and then his hands, and Lira came against him eagerly, a woman clad in silk and gems, responding to his every wish.

"To think that this spark lurked beneath your Sarli manners," he marveled as her passion matched his.

"My people are restrained until they have found their desire, and then we give ourselves completely," Lira said breathlessly. "A ruby necklace, and red is Argan's color, is it not? Do you wish to deck me in her jewels, to add a finishing stroke to the ceremony at her ahar?"

He could not tell if she teased, but the necklace still dangled from his busy hands. Danaer slipped it against her throat, and as he did Lira pulled off her headband. Her dark hair tumbled about her shoulders and framed her face. It was as intimate a gesture as when an Azsed woman took her eiphren pendant from her forehead. Both actions could only be a prelude to Argan's most joyous worship.

In the next instant. Lira's lips and body were one with Danaer's, her intensity feeding the fire that ruled them both. Briefly, Danaer was aware that the rubies and the handsome dagger had dropped to the earth beneath them. Then he forgot all about such trifles.

Andaru

Danaer seemed to see an immense cloud of dust stirred by hundreds of men and beasts. Weapons flashed and rang and screams filled the air. Everywhere there was blood. He did not want to be part of this thing, yet he must. Old Osyta was woven through its fabric, and her prophecy. It was a terrible battle, and lit and Destre-Y fought side by side, Krantin reunited, as his kinswoman had said it would be. Andaru—the time of glory to come, to crown the destiny of the plains people. Andaru would come swiftly on wings of blood and fire, against evil forces powerful beyond dreaming.

The cloud-obscured battle raged, and Osyta's leathery face wavered before Danaer. Accompanying the din he heard a heavy, ominous rumbling. It was the smoking mountains of Krantin, waking, joining the battle.

A woman lay dead. It was not Osyta, whose haggish image danced transparently across the scene. Through her wizened face Danaer saw the beautiful corpse. Detail was strangely blurred, however; he could not clearly discern her face and hair nor even what sort of garments and jewels she wore. The woman was young, he knew, broken and lifeless and covered with blood. Wails of grief rose from around the body, and Danaer would have joined that mourning.

Osyta's quavering voice tore into his soul, a cry echoing from the regions beyond the world: Andaru, and you will witness it, kinsman!

This was the sacrifice, the unknown woman. Her blood was to begin the long-promised day of rebirth for Azsed and all Krantin. Danaer struggled, trying to learn her identity, growing frantic. But a blood-red veil remained between him and the body.

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He must know who she was—who was to be slain to bring Osyta's prophecy into being? Was it Lira?

Osyta spoke again, words she had not given him ere she died: She will be an Azsed woman, and evil magic is part of her death and sacrifice. It must be, kinsman, for it shall give us Andaru.

A scream of fierce denial caught in Danaer's throat as he came awake. He was lying on Gordyan's pallet. Lira was curled up at his side, still asleep. He was bathed in his own sweat, his heart pounding as from the exertions of battle, his hand clenched on a sword that was not there. After a shudder of horror, he calmed himself. Gradually he tried to put aside the awful vision. It was merely a dream, though one most terrible. Lira moved and yawned, then smiled and clung to him. Dawn was near, and they chased the remnant of his nightmare into nothingness with joy in Argan.

Danaer had hoped that would make an end of the thing. But it had not. It returned to haunt him through the hours that followed. He had said nothing of it to Lira, not wanting to alarm her. But again and again the vision came back. And always he feared that this time the veil would fall away and he would see what he dreaded—that the woman was Lira, slain in the battle, her death the price of Andaru.

Too dear a price! He would not pay it!

When day had come, he had parted from her, with much regret, then resumed his duties at the point. Once when he had returned to consult with Branra over the caravan's progress, he did not see Lira. And to his un-subtle inquiries Branra replied that she had withdrawn to one of the wagons. Danaer knew, with misgivings, what that must mean: Lira was casting spells, and seeking her Web, now that they were safely beyond Vidik. When he had returned to her the graven obsidian, he had assumed he would again be an ordinary man, untouched by her wizardry. Now he knew it was not so; the familiar tingling warmth was at his belt, where Gordyan's dagger rested. Though he was not a sorkra, he realized now that he was still linked to her wizardry, could not escape it.

At nightfall, Lira greeted him warmly, but he detected an earnestness of purpose in her manner that he had not sensed since they had left Deki. While the business of the camp eddied around them, they spoke softly. "You have touched minds again with Ulodovol," he guessed, before she could tell him so.

Lira nodded, very somber. "I have informed him of all that happened. He says that the attacks upon The Interior ceased quite abruptly at the moment the snake-bird died."

"It may be a ruse, some trick of the Markuand and Chorii."

"Perhaps," she admitted reluctantly. "We will find them. Now we have bait to catch Chorii of the Valley of the Hawks. We have her lover."

"Diilbok? How will that serve? Surely she but used him while he suited her evil schemings. If Malol has discovered his treachery and removed him from his rank, Chorii will not care. She will find another tool."

Lira smiled up at him. "Women do not always command their hearts in these matters. I think it very possible she may come to his aid. Certainly he loved her, for the Traech Sorkra says Diilbok never showed such deviousness before he became Chorii's man. He abandoned his safe castles and easy life and sought out his cousin's plans, leaving the mountains, all for Chorii's sake. If she returns even a part of such devotion to him, our bait will trap her."

"You have learned all this, across many a king's-league, with never a word on parchment nor horseman to carry it?" Danaer marveled again at her arts.

"I am recovered, as you are, and able to serve the Captain once more."

"Mine was a wound of the body, not of wizard's charms." Danaer drew her close and whispered, "And what of your body, my woman? Shall we find a place apart from the caravan and take joy?"

For the briefest moment, he felt an odd hesitation. Whatever disturbed her, she put it aside. "Come to the command tent near dawn. I will be waiting outside. That will be a time when I can . . . when I will freely welcome your love, qedra." Again she paused,

worry in her eyes. Then she said, "I wish it could be now." Like a woman newly initiated to this lusty delight, she clung to him for a minute, then ran back to Branra's staff area.

Danaer stayed where he was for a while, muttering curses and mastering his frustration. Till morning! He would survive his eagerness, he supposed. Lira had taken oath, as he had. And as he must go where his officer commanded, so must she now leave him.

But only till dawn. He remembered the promise and smiled in anticipation, then hurried to find his units. When the night began to ebb, he woke and stole through the camp, avoiding sentinels. Lira had not forgotten, and none of her doubts or hesitation came with her. The reward of that early waking was all Danaer had hoped for, a sating of their senses.

The day and the night that followed were the same. By day Lira must practice her sorkra skills. She reached out to her Web, and then she turned and cast the glamour over caravan and the outspreading warriors of Gordyan's train. Somehow, she both maintained the glamour and spoke to her Web, and no mirages or storms pursued them. At night, she again came out of her shelter near dawn to share joy with Danaer. He feared to distract her, knowing well the burden she carried. But Lira seemed to rehsh his kiss and their mating, a blissful escape that made her woman, not oath-bound sorkra. They must rob the lords they served of this time with each other, at least until the battle was won.

Until the battle was won . . . and the price paid in blood.

Three days after Vidik, drawing very near to Siank, that same grim thought recurred another time to Danaer. He could not fend it off. The vision's horror had not faded but had grown in intensity.

"Bedding your woman does not please you?" Gord-yan remarked slyly. "Surely Lira is no shrew or hag to give you rough sleeping?" Danaer reaUzed he had been riding beside his friend for many a minute without speaking, and Gordyan taunted him to bring him out of woolgathering. Gordyan grinned and said, "It

is good that your apprentices know the landmarks. You have not been heeding them for a quarter-period."

"It ... it is a dream which troubles me," he confessed, the secret broken at last. His fear must be mirrored in his face, for Gordyan sobered at once, taking his words most seriously. It was a thing he could tell his blood friend, if no one else, and Gordyan hs-tened to it all.

"Ah!" Gordyan shook a fist at the sky. "The priests speak of such omens, Danaer, that some people, not all of them sorkra or far-seers, have the foretelUng gift at times. Smile, Argan! Let us slay the Markuand and you can feed on their carcasses! Maen, this prophecy of your kinswoman is most wondrous! It is at one with your drearn."

"Andaru," Danaer said slowly. He and Gordyan spoke in the Azsed idiom, though neither Xashe nor Rorluk showed any impolite tendency to eavesdrop. The young men rode ahead of them, honoring Danaer's conversation with his friend. "Andaru," Danaer repeated. "But to know it must be a woman's death that brings its beginning ..."

"Warriors know that some of them will fall in battle, hyidu. Then their names sing to Argan. It is much glory."

"It was terrible to see." Danaer shivered. "I woke with a cry frozen on my lips. I have not been able to speak of it till now, not even to Lira. Most especially not to Lira!"

"A woman." Gordyan was gentle with Danaer's fear. "Could you see the woman's face?"

"No! And it is that which tortures me! I saw lit and Destre-Y fight Markuand, and wizardry was mixed with the weapons. And I knew that the woman lying dead was an Azsed." Danaer nearly choked on those words. "Gordyan, Lira sacrificed to Argan. She is pledged to me. She is Azsed. If it is her death that must fulfill this prophecy—"

"Still, hyidu!" Gordyan gripped his shoulder hard. "You have interpreted it wrongly. Lira is no warrior woman. How can she die in battle?"

"She is part of it, the Royal Commander's sorkra,

who has fought most fiercely with the Markuand's master wizard." Danaer yearned to accept Gordyan's argument. He had begun to fear sleep, dreading that the dream would return. But it had not. Argan acted most powerfully when man and woman took joy in her name, and it was said the prophetic visions that came then were the truest.

He felt somewhat eased, though, now that he had told the dream to his friend. Gordyan did not dismiss the omen. Rather, he sought an explanation that would comfort them both.

"Ti-Mori," the big man said suddenly, pouncing on her name. Danaer eyed him, puzzled. "There is she who will die, that lit devil. Warrior woman, indeed. Even now she fights the Markuand, engaging them and their wizard. If she does not gauge her fight-and-turn scheme perfectly, she will die."

"But the sacrifice must be an Azsed woman, and Ti-Mori is an unbeliever."

Gordyan's hand still lay on his shoulder, and now he shook Danaer Ughtly. "It will not be Lira. If an Azsed woman must die to gain us Andaru, it will be . . . will be . . . Wyaela!" They looked at one another. The Lasiirnte of Vidik was much respected, but she was neither friend nor lover. Gordyan hammered at his idea. "Ai! Wyaela to Fihar. She is with my warriors and her own, and she vows to stand on the line of blood when we meet the Markuand in battle. She is a most fierce war mistress, maen. And she is Azsed."

"She does not scorn lance and sword," Danaer said, agreeing. "I would mourn her death . . ."

"As would we all, and sing her fame to the portals of Keth. Wyaela would die content in such glory. And if it comes to pass, we shall be the first to proclaim her part in Andaru. But ... for now, say nothing. It might alarm her followers from Vidik and endanger the coming battle. We must pray all goes well and that your woman and her wizardly companions continue to hide the truth of our alliance from the Markuand."

"And from others," Danaer added.

"Ai! And it is time I assembled my men, Danaer.

I must go forth to rejoin the Rena. When next we meet, it may be side by side in battle." They clasped hands tightly as they had across the fire when they mingled blood. "To the death of Markuand!"

"And to the destruction of their evil wizardry!" Danaer added.

During the past days, Destre bands moving beside the caravan had begun to drift away, taking their own diverse paths westward over the grassland. Groves and streams broke the Vrastre now, and the land was green and rich. There were many places to camp, many places to lie and wait and hope to be first to spot the Markuand as they came and carry the warning to the Rena.

Branra knew of their going but locked the knowledge out of his conscious mind, away from wizard spying. The Destre-Y were supposed to be his enemy, and on Lira's instructions he brooded much on his campaigns amid the Tradyans, making his thoughts those of a merciless lord of The Interior whose only relation with the plains people was to kill as many of them as he could.