Kings of Sorcery

by Robert Ryan

  “Outlaws, perhaps?”

  “We don’t think so,” Shorty said. “We spoke with a wandering tinker also. He was scared out of his mind. Said that he’d seen a wolf with blue eyes, and that it spoke to him.”

  “What did it say?” Brand asked a little flippantly.

  Shorty grunted. “Joke about it if you want, but you’ll see.”

  “So you believed the tinker?”

  “I believe he believed it.”

  Brand looked over at Taingern. “What do you say?”

  “I wasn’t there. The tinker was. And I have no reason to disbelieve him.”

  Brand thought about it. The news was disturbing to say the least. But he saw no direct threat, and Unferth possessed no magic nor was in league with a sorcerer. At least, he had never heard so.

  “Well, this cave is a good place to camp. And if there’s trouble, we’re prepared for it.”

  The two men seemed relieved that he took the situation seriously.

  “Speaking of trouble,” Taingern said. “If it comes, you will want these.”

  He rose and went to the horses. When he returned, he held two objects out to Brand. One was a helm, the fabled Helm of the Duthenor that had long belonged to Brand’s family. And the other a white oaken staff. These were objects of power, objects that he was known to carry and that the soldiers at the crossing would have been looking for. Shorty and Taingern had offered to take them across themselves, and they had gone separately. That way they had avoided recognition.

  Brand took them. “Thank you. Had I been carrying these at the crossing, there would have been trouble. I was nearly recognized anyway.”

  Taingern fed the fire another dry branch. “Unferth is looking for you. He knows you’re coming, and he’s worried. There will be other men in other places too, and your return to the Duthgar will be noticed quickly.”

  Brand knew it was true. What he was going to attempt was risky, and he had none of the resources he had enjoyed in Cardoroth. But that was not his home. His exile there had served its purpose, more than its purpose. It had originally been just a place to live, free of assassination attempts, but it had become so much more. First a soldier, then a captain, then bodyguard to the king himself. Then regent for the crown prince until he came of age.

  He could have made himself king, had he wanted to. King of a realm far, far greater than the Duthgar. Yet that was not what he wanted, nor would he have displaced the rightful heir. But he missed the resources at his command. With the army of Cardoroth, he could have swept through and deposed Unferth in just a few days. It was not Cardoroth’s war though, and he was no longer regent. That part of his life was over, and he must start anew.

  Shorty gave the stew a stir. The smell of it gave Brand hunger pangs. It had been a long while since lunch.

  “What now?” Shorty asked. “As Taingern says, your coming will be marked soon.”

  It was true, and Brand knew it. “I can’t remain hidden, and I can’t achieve my aims by trying to hide. So, the best way forward is the opposite of hiding. I’ll make my presence known quickly, spread word, and build an army.”

  Neither of his two friends seemed surprised. They would have given the question thought themselves, and probably arrived at the same answers.

  “And how will you gather an army?” Shorty asked.

  Brand placed the Helm of the Duthenor upon his head. To his people it served the function of a crown. Long ago it had been won by one of his ancestors through the performance of an act of high courage. The immortal Halathrin had given it to him, and it was crafted with their skill and their magic. It was worth more than all the gold in the Duthgar, but to the Duthenor it was a symbol, a talisman of everything that they were or yet could be.

  “I’m the rightful chieftain, or king as Unferth now styles himself. And the Duthenor, I think, will rally to me. Slowly at first, and then swiftly as word spreads.”

  Taingern looked thoughtful. “It may well be as you say, but Unferth will not stand by idly while you gather an army.”

  “True. But the philosophy of a warrior is to turn your enemy’s strengths into weaknesses. I’ll send him a message, one that despite all the advantages he holds will cause him anxiety and increase the fear that’s gnawed at him all these years. In this way, I may prompt him to act hastily, or do the opposite of what he should in a show of pride to prove that he’s not anxious.”

  “A dangerous path to tread,” Shorty said. “It may cause him to come against you with all he has and try to crush you before you even begin.”

  Brand shrugged. “That’s possible too. All life is a risk, is it not? Nothing is certain.”

  They offered no answer to that, nor gave any advice. They knew the risks as well as he, and if they had a better plan, they would have suggested it. But good plans or bad, they would stick with him anyway. They were the best of friends, and danger was no deterrent to them.

  The stew was ready, and Brand dished it out to them on wooden platters with a chunk of old bread each. He had rarely tasted anything better, but hunger was the cause of that rather than the food itself.

  Shorty looked over at Brand while they ate. “You could have stayed in Cardoroth, had you wanted to. You may have stepped down as regent … but afterward you could have done anything. You have wealth, lands and business interests there. You could go back still, if you wanted to. Are you sure you want to go ahead with things here?”

  “You mean why do I want to come to this backward and forsaken part of the world to risk my life?”

  “That’s what I just said,” Shorty grinned at him.

  “Because it’s home. My heart is here, and it always was. And my people need me.”

  “All true,” Shorty agreed. “But you left Arell behind as well.”

  Brand gazed into the fire. No matter what he did, he could not please everyone, least of all himself. He had no wish to be separated from Arell, and he felt a void in his life without her.

  “She wasn’t happy at my going, but she understood. More or less. She offered to come with me, you know. But the sick and injured of Cardoroth need her. Her fame as a healer continues to grow. Now, it’s not just the ill who come to see her but other healers also, from all over Cardoroth. They want to learn from her. That’s where she belongs, doing the work she’s good at.”

  They fell silent as they finished their meal. The cave was getting darker as the fire died down, and the air was full of smoke. It hung heavy just below the roof, but there must have been cracks there that slowly let it out too. It was into that quiet that the first howling of a wolf came, and it sent shivers up Brand’s spine.

  The call was taken up by a second, and then a third. In moments the whole pack voiced their beastly yowling, yet they were spread out over the land and not in one place. Brand sensed that they hunted something, sought for some trail. But it was not game they were after. It was him. He knew it with certainty, just as he sensed the touch of magic also. There may have been words in the eerie sound as his friends had suggested. These were wolves, but magic infused them and gave them life and purpose. But it was magic of a kind that he had never felt before.

  The three men looked at each other in silence. The howling faded away, and the silence after was alive with menace. Brand was glad to be in the cave, and he added more timber to the fire.

  A long while they waited, but there was no further sound. The pack had moved their hunt elsewhere, for the moment.

  “It will be a long night,” Brand said.

  His two friends nodded grimly in the flickering light of the fire, and they also added more wood to the hungry flames. There was enough to last through the night, though whether these wolves would be scared of fire was another matter.

  They did not set a watch. But they slept on the other side of the fire, keeping it between themselves and the entrance. The horses would give alarm if they scented a wolf approach, and Brand trusted his instincts to wake him if something was wrong.

  The night pass
ed. The men slept. The fire died down, and the smoke in the cave swirled in slow eddies, gradually escaping through the cracks above.

  When at last something woke Brand, it was dawn. There was light in the cave, but it was more from the slanting rays of the sun than the near-dead fire. And in the cave entrance a figure moved, but Brand could not see it clearly for the light of the new day streamed in around it.

  Brand leaped to his feet, sword in hand. Taingern and Shorty, woken by the sudden movement and sound, did likewise a few moments later.

  7. Deep and Dark

  Brand felt the weight of his sword balanced smoothly in his hand, the instincts of a warrior lending his slightest motion deadly grace. Yet he remained near still, and his other talent, magic, surfaced. It told him that something of great power was before him, something as deadly dangerous as ever had lived in Alithoras.

  It was no wolf though. The figure was that of a man. And a tall man at that. A sense of recognition began to infuse him, but he did not lower his sword.

  “Hail, Brand of the Duthenor. Warrior that was. Regent that was. Lòhren to be. Greetings, and well met.”

  Brand knew that voice. He lowered his sword, but did not sheath it. He still could not see the figure clearly. But the man sensed his uncertainty. Slowly, so as not to cause fear, he moved into the cave.

  He was a tall man, white-robed and silver-haired. He was old as the hills, yet his face had a perfect complexion. His eyes missed nothing, seeing right through whatever they saw, weighing and assessing, finding the measure of every man and every situation in a glance. Yet they were eyes that had seen terrible tragedies, and sorrow and compassion lay behind them.

  Brand let out a long breath and sheathed his sword. “Hail, Aranloth. The days have been long since last we met.”

  It was a formal greeting, but Aranloth was not just any man. He was greater than kings, more powerful than armies, deadly as an enemy but the greatest of friends to those in need.

  Aranloth grinned at him. “It’s good to see you.”

  “And you, too. Much has happened since we spoke last, but it seems that you’re well informed of events.”

  The old man walked further into the cave. “I hear much. The land tells me what I need to know. Sooner or later, one way or another.”

  Shorty and Taingern sheathed their swords as well. The old man turned to them. “I should have expected as much. You two are never far from Brand. Or he is never far from you. And just as well. Trouble has a way of finding you all.”

  They shook his hand, and Brand did as well. His grip was strong as steel sheathed in silk.

  “Speaking of finding things, how did you find us?” Brand asked.

  “Ah, well, that’s interesting. I didn’t find you. I wasn’t looking for you and this is a chance meeting, although there are some who don’t believe in chance. I was just passing through, and I sensed the wolves. I knew they were hunting something, and I put them off the trail.”

  Shorty and Taingern exchanged a look. “We thought it strange that we only heard them howl once last night.”

  Aranloth looked thoughtful. “There’s much about this whole thing that’s strange, the wolves especially. They’re more than wolves, and the shadow of dark magic is upon them. That was what raised my curiosity. Who were they hunting? For if the hunters were so unusual, so too must be the quarry.”

  “Well,” Brand said, “no one has ever accused me of being normal, so the wolves are after me.” He had felt that last night, and nothing had happened to change his mind.

  “No, you’ve never quite been normal. Not since the day we first met,” Aranloth said. “You draw trouble to you like no man I’ve ever seen. And the trouble of the wolves is not over. I put them off the trail, but that won’t last long. You must be wary of them, for they’ll find you soon.”

  Brand knew it was so, but he was not looking forward to it. He trusted in his skill as a warrior, and the sword he carried. He trusted less in the magic he possessed, but he might need it against the wolves. He retrieved the oaken staff he had long carried, and handed it to Aranloth.

  “This is yours,” he said, “and I thank you for the lending of it.”

  Aranloth looked at him keenly. “You have the magic. The staff is an aid to that. But it’s more. It’s a symbol of being a lòhren, a wizard as we’re known here in the Duthgar. Do you seek to escape that fate, to be seen just as a warrior? Is that why you offer me my staff back?”

  Aranloth always knew. Those eyes of his missed nothing, and his sharp mind even less. In truth, some of what he said was correct. Brand had no wish to be a lòhren. Yet he had accepted it was so, whether he wished for it or not. But he would be lying to himself if he did not admit that a part of him, now coming home to the Duthgar, did not want to reclaim his old life.

  “I offer it back simply because it’s yours. And I understand better what it is, and what it represents, better than I did when you first lent it to me. A staff is earned by a lòhren, given to him at a time of need by the land itself. That’s how the magic works. And this staff isn’t mine.”

  Aranloth reached out, and slowly he took the staff. Brand saw relief on his face, for it truly was the lòhren’s, linked to him by magic. But he saw worry also.

  “I don’t doubt that you’re a lòhren,” Aranloth said. “Yet I find it strange that you’ve not found your own staff yet. One way or another, and each of us in a different way, a lòhren discovers his staff. The land itself sees to that, the land which we serve and protect.”

  “Maybe it will not be so with me,” Brand said.

  “It is always so. Yet, perhaps, it will be different for you. Time will tell.”

  Aranloth gripped the staff and ran his hands over it. “Truly, it’s good to have this back. I’ve had it a very long time. It may even be that while you carried this, you could not find your own true staff. Perhaps. The ways of the future are often unseen, and even when we plan them out ahead with precision, thinking to leave nothing to chance, yet still things turn out quite differently than we expect.”

  The lòhren’s sharp eyes fixed him for a moment, and Brand knew there was a warning in his words. But then he seemed uncertain, which was not like him at all. He gave a slight shrug, as if to himself, and then spoke again.

  “It may be, in this case, that your duties as heir to the chieftainship of this land and as a lòhren are one. For while a chieftain or a king must first think of his own people, a lòhren must think of all the land. The two concerns rarely match. Yet, just now, in this time and place, they may for you.”

  Brand did not quite like that. The words signified that there was more going on than what he had thought. It tied in with the wolves. Magic was at play, and forces that he did not yet know or understand.

  “What do you think is happening?” he asked Aranloth.

  The lòhren pursed his lips. Another sign of uncertainty that he rarely showed.

  “I don’t know. But I have seen things, heard words in the wind and seen messages in the starry sky. The earth murmurs of it in the quiet of the night, and birds of the field call it out in flight. It is there, and yet not there. Call it intuition, if you like. Perhaps even imagination. But I have listened to the land for years beyond count, and know its ways. Something stirs.”

  Brand knew it was more than imagination. He had felt it with the wolves. There was a power abroad of which he knew nothing, except that it existed.

  “What do you think it is?”

  Aranloth leaned on his staff. “Trouble. That’s what it is. And it’s old, old and patient and wise in the ways of evil. Men will serve it, wittingly or unwittingly. Sorcery is at its heart, deep and dark. A power is waking, or being woken, that has long slumbered. Almost I recognize it, but not quite. It has the feel of something that long ago I knew, but it cannot be that.”

  “I’ll watch for it,” Brand said.

  The lòhren straightened. “It watches for you. That much is certain. Who sent the wolves? And why? When you disc
over that you’ll have found the power that stirs to life in the Duthgar, or whoever seeks to wake it. And whoever, or whatever, aids Unferth. For in this the enemy who you know, and the one which is hidden, are working together for a common purpose.”

  Brand felt a shiver work its way up his spine. That was all he needed. Two enemies when he thought to confront only one.

  The lòhren seemed to sense his thoughts. “Worse, I’m not able to stay and help. I’m needed in the south of the land … I would stay if I could, but it cannot be. And I must hasten away even now.”

  “I know, Aranloth. There’s a dark shadow over all Alithoras, and evil stirs to life everywhere. I wish you luck.”

  “And luck to you also.”

  Aranloth studied him a moment, his eyes keen and sharp. “Be wary Brand, just now you ride the breath of the dragon.”

  It was a term that Brand had not heard before, and his confusion must have shown on his face.

  “Forgive me!” Aranloth said. “I forget sometimes. That’s an old, old saying. It means though that you ride the winds of fate.”

  Brand did not much believe in destiny or fate, but he knew the power of being in the right place at the right time. He felt that he was meant to return to the Duthgar just now.

  “I know what you mean. There’s a sense of fittingness to what’s happening. But fate, if there’s such a thing, is a two-edged sword.”

  “Indeed it is. When the dragon’s breath falters, and it never lasts forever, you could end up in serious trouble.”

  They clasped hands, and Brand sensed the good wishes of the lòhren wash over him almost like a blessing. He truly would stay if he could, for he held grave fears for the Duthgar. The wolves had disturbed him more than he had said aloud.

  “Take care, old man,” Brand said.

  Aranloth grinned at him. “You too, boy. And if you do, you might just live to be my age.”

  He glanced at Shorty and Taingern. “Be careful lads. The Duthgar isn’t like Cardoroth, but it’s just as dangerous. More so now, for something is coming after Brand. And if you’re with him, that means it’ll be coming after you too.”