The Will of the Wanderer

by Margaret Weis, Tracy Hickman

  Of course he believed the captain to be exaggerating; obviously the man enjoyed scaring the naive representatives of the God. Stories of djinn who lived in bottles and brought their masters gold and jewels, carpets that flew through the air—the Abbot smiled at the captain indulgently over the dinner table, wondering how the man thought adults could take such outlandish tales seriously.

  The Abbot had studied the lands and languages of the continent of Sardish Jardan. Such study was requisite for both priests and magi, for they must all speak the language of the infidel fluently in order to bring them to the knowledge of the true Gods, and they had to know something of the land through which they were going to travel. The Abbot had read, therefore, many of these stories but took them about as seriously as he took the tales of guardian angels related to him as a child. The idea that mankind could communicate directly with immortal beings! It was sacrilegious!

  The Abbot believed in angels, certainly. He would not have been a faithful representative of Promenthas if he had not. But it was only the most exalted, the most holy of men and women who were granted the rare privilege of talking with these radiant beings. And for an immortal to live in a bottle! The thought brought a chuckle to the Abbot that he immediately suppressed as bordering on blasphemy.

  One had to make allowances for sailors, he reminded himself. The ship’s captain had, after all, not been pleased at carrying the priests to Sardish Jardan. Only through the Duke’s intervention and a payment of almost three times the amount of money paid by other passengers was the captain finally prevailed upon to take the missionaries on board. The Abbot suspected the man was getting his own back by telling every gruesome tale he had ever heard.

  Unfortunately, several stories of the captain’s did, on more than one occasion, keep the Abbot awake long hours into the night: stories of slave traders, of strange Gods who decreed that those not of their faith should be put to death, of flesh-eating cannibals, of savage nomads who lived in uninhabitable deserts. The Abbot had read something of these in the books written by adventurers who had visited the land of Sardish Jardan, and he felt his qualms about this journey growing as each passing day brought them nearer.

  It was all very well to remind himself that he should have faith in Promenthas, that they were traveling on the God’s work, and that they were going to bring the light of the God’s countenance to shine upon these infidels. The Abbot, after listening night after night to the captain, had begun to think that maybe the light shining off a few sword blades might not be such a bad thing.

  A cry brought the Abbot’s thoughts back to the ship. At sight of the dolphins, the sailors lined up at the rail began casting golden rings into the sea and crying out to the dolphins to grant them a safe voyage. Apparently the young monk, excited by the sight, had nearly fallen overboard in an effort to see the dolphins catch the rings on their long snouts. Only the quick-thinking action of this friend had saved him from tumbling into the ocean.

  His feet once more firmly on deck, Brother John was wiping salt spray from his blond beard and laughing at the wizard, Mathew, whose face was so white that the Abbot feared for a moment the young magus might faint. Mathew managed a wan smile, however, when his friend clapped him on the back, and he managed to suggest—in a low, trembling voice—that they go below and play a game of chess.

  Brother John agreed readily, and the two left the deck, the long, black, gold-embroidered robe of the wizard and the plain gray robe of the monk whipping around their ankles in the freshening wind. The Abbot, watching them, frowned slightly. The young wizard had truly been unnerved by the trivial incident. He had acted swiftly and responsibly in catching hold of the monk’s rope belt and dragging him back over the railing. But Brother John had not been in any real danger; the seas were so calm that even if he had fallen into them, the dousing would have done him no harm.

  The Abbot had suspected that Mathew was overly sensitive, and this sign of weakness did not bode well, coming as it did upon the heels of the Abbot’s dark thoughts about the possible dangers they might face.

  Resolving to say a word about this matter to the Archmagus, the Abbot made his way below deck. Passing the cabin where the lower members of both Orders had their berths, the Abbot saw the two young men bent over a chessboard, the carved pieces having been fitted with pegs so that the listing of the ship did not cause them to slide around. The young wizard’s long red hair fell over his shoulders, almost touching his elbows. Absorbed in his game, Mathew had apparently forgotten his fright. The long, delicate fingers moved a piece. Brother John, not knowing the Abbot was observing them, muttered a mild oath, tugging at his beard in irritation.

  Folding his hands in his long sleeves, the Abbot made his way to the cabin of his longtime friend, the Archmagus, where he was greeted warmly and invited to sit down for a cup of tea.

  “What is the matter, Holiness?” the Archmagus asked, lifting the teapot that bubbled over a magical fire he had conjured up in a small iron brazier. “You have been unusually solemn these past few days.”

  “It is these tales the captain has been telling,” the Abbot admitted, settling himself down on a bench bolted to the deck. “You have studied this land, more than I. Am I leading my flock into the jaws of the wolf?”

  “Sailors are a superstitious lot,” the Archmagus said comfortingly. Pouring the tea carefully into a cup, he took care not to allow the swaying of the ship to cause him to dump hot water upon the lap of his companion. “You saw the goings on up there just now?” He nodded above deck.

  “Yes, what was that?”

  “They are sacrificing to Hurishta, Goddess of the Sundering Seas. Thus the golden rings. They believe the dolphins are her daughters. By giving them these rings, they insure a smooth passage.”

  The Abbot stared at him, incredulous.

  The Archmagus, pleased at the monk’s reaction, continued, “They even claim, if you will believe me, that these daughters of Hurishta bear a great love for sailors, and that if any man falls overboard, they will carry him safely to shore.”

  The Abbot shook his head.

  “And tonight,” continued the Archmagus, who was a traveled man, “you will see something even stranger. They will cast iron rings into the sea.”

  “Certainly more economical than gold,” remarked the Abbot, who had been thinking regretfully of that money falling into the ocean instead of into his church’s poor box. “That is not the reason. The iron rings are for the Inthaban.”

  “Another Goddess?”

  “A God. He, too, supposedly rules the sea, but on the other side of the world. He and this Hurishta, however, are presumably jealous of each other and constantly invade each other’s territory. Wars break out frequently, and when they do, terrible storms erupt. Therefore the sailors always play it safe, sacrificing to both during an ocean crossing so as not to offend either.”

  “Has no one ever attempted to bring these benighted souls to the knowledge that the seas are ruled by Promenthas in His grace and mercy?”

  “I would strongly advise against such a thing, my friend,” the Archmagus counseled, seeing an expression of eager, holy zeal start to light the Abbot’s face. “The sailors already fear that your presence angers both God and Goddess. They have sacrificed more than normal during a voyage, and it is only the lasting fair weather we’ve experienced that has kept them in such good humor. I shudder to think what might happen if we were to run into a storm.”

  “But this isn’t the time of year for storms!” the Abbot said impatiently. “If they only took the time to study the oceans and the tides and prevailing winds instead of believing in such childish nonsense—”

  “Study?” The Archmagus looked amused. “Most of them can’t read or write so much as their names. No, Holiness, I suggest that you do your proselytizing among the more educated people of Sardish Jardan. The Emperor, so I have heard, not only is conversant in several languages but can read them as well. His court is a haven for astronomers, philosophers, and ot
her learned men. It is this very intelligence, in fact, that makes him so dangerous.”

  The Abbot cast the Archmagus a sharp glance. “You and I have not spoken of this—,” he began in a low voice.

  “Nor should we,” the Archmagus said firmly, glancing out the door to see that no one was near.

  “I am not quite so much in the dark as you think,” the Abbot responded crisply. “The Duke sent for me the night before we sailed.”

  Now it was the Archmagus who cast a penetrating glance at his friend. “He told you?”

  “Some. Enough to understand that he and His Royal Highness view this Emperor as a threat—unlikely as that appears to me, with an entire ocean between us.”

  “Oceans may be crossed and by more than ships. If you believe the captain—”

  “Bah!” The Abbot dismissed the idea with a sniff.

  Setting down his empty teacup, the Archmagus gazed out the porthole into the rolling seas; his face, with its long gray beard, troubled. “I will not hide from you, my friend, that we are entering a strange land, populated by a cruel and savage people who believe in alien Gods. The fact that you enter as priests threatening their Gods, and that we enter as spies threatening their government, places us all in gravest danger that no ship’s captain can exaggerate. We must be wary, watchful, every moment.”

  “Why, if this is so, did you bring Mathew?” the Abbot asked after a moment’s pause. “He is so innocent, so naive . . . so . . . so”—the Abbot fumbled for a word—”young,” he said finally, lamely.

  “Precisely why I brought him. It is his youth and his very lack of guile that will protect us from suspicion. He has a gift for languages and can speak the tongue of this land better than any of us. It is the Duke’s suggestion, in fact,” continued the Archmagus, sipping his tea, “that if the Emperor takes a fancy to him—and the Emperor is known to be attracted to all things beautiful and charming—we leave him behind in the court. “

  “Is he aware—”

  “Of the true nature of our mission? No, of course not. Nor, I think, could he ever be told. Mathew’s is a transparent, trusting nature. He could not, I believe, keep a secret to save his life.”

  “Then how could you possibly think of leaving him?”

  “We will tell him that he is being placed here to study these people, to report to us on their culture, their ways, their language. He will innocently transmit all he learns through our magical means. We will be able to read between the lines and thus discover the Emperor’s true plans and motives.”

  Uncomfortable at such duplicity, the Abbot sighed and shifted about uneasily on his hard bench. Fortunately the Church did not involve itself in politics. He had only to save souls. Their talk turned to other, less dark subjects, and after an hour the Abbot prepared to take his leave.

  “I suppose I shouldn’t worry,” he said on departing, intending to snatch a nap before dinnertime and more of the captain’s night-disturbing tales. “After all, Promenthas is with us.”

  The Archmagus smiled and nodded. But after his friend had left, the wizard gazed out at the sparkling water where the dolphins played alongside, sporting with the golden rings cast to them by the sailors. His face grew troubled. “Promenthas with us? I wonder. . . .”

  Chapter 2

  The voyage eastward across the Hurn sea from Tirish Aranth to Sardish Jardan was, as the Archmagus said, a swift and a calm one. The galleon had been favored with a steadily blowing wind, warm weather, and clear skies during the whole of the two-month trip. Whether credit for this was due to Hurishta and Inthaban or to the fact that it was late winter and the storms that swept the ocean early in the year had abated depended entirely upon one’s point of view.

  So calm had been the voyage that the sailors—ever superstitious—were relieved when a minor leak was discovered belowdecks, forcing all hands to take a turn manning the pumps. This, the sailors said, cut the luck that had been running too good. Although their work nearly doubled, the sailors’ spirits improved immeasurably after finding the leak. They sang as they cheerfully pumped the seawater out of the ship, and there were only mild grumbles when the dolphins suddenly left them the morning before they were due to arrive in Bastine. The reason for this premature leave—taking of the daughters of Hurishta was undoubtedly the sight of a whale, known to be a son of Inthaban, spouting off the starboard bow. The sailors tossed iron rings in the whale’s direction and gleefully pointed out the route the daughters of Hurishta had taken for the whale’s benefit.

  Although not yet within visual contact of land, the sailors and their passengers knew they were close, and this caused a rise of spirits of everyone aboard ship. Palm fronds could be seen floating past, along with trash and other marks of civilization. There was a noticeable change in the smell of the air as well, which the sailors claimed was the “land” smell but which the Abbot thought was probably the increasingly strong stench of the bilge. There were sharks in these waters, too. The captain took grim pleasure in pointing them out, saying that they were the sons of Hurishta keeping watch for Inthaban. Be that as it may, there were no more games for wizards or monks at the ship’s rail.

  About midafternoon of the day before they were due to sail into the port city of Bastine on the western coast of Sardish Jardan, the sailors’ songs ceased. Casting grim glances at the priests, the sailors went about their duties in silence or gathered together in knots, talking among themselves. The captain walked the deck, a preoccupied, worried expression on his face.

  Catching sight of one of the monks, he motioned. “Call up your masters,” he said.

  Within moments the Archmagus and the Abbot were on deck. Looking to the east, they saw the sky turning a most peculiar color—a dreadful greenish black. Banks of heavy gray clouds floated over the water, lightning flickering along the fringes. Thunder could be heard booming sullenly across a sea.

  “What is it?” questioned the Abbot.

  “Hurricane, most likely,” said the captain.

  “But that’s impossible at this time of year!” the Archmagus scoffed.

  “You must be mistaken, Captain,” added the Abbot. “Look, the sea is completely calm!” He pointed to the waters, which were smooth and flat.

  “Lubbers!” muttered the captain, and proceeded to tell them that the seas were flat because the strong wind was cutting off the tops of the waves.

  A sharp command from the captain sent the sailors scrambling aloft to set the storm sails. Catching sight of the other monks and wizards hurrying up on deck to view the ominous-looking clouds, the captain was just about to order everyone below when a tremendous blast of wind hit the ship, laying it over on its side.

  Sailors lost their footing and fell from the masts into the sea. The helmsman fought the wheel, the captain shouted orders and cursed the landlubbers, who had scattered all across the deck, getting in the sailors’ way. The Abbot, having tumbled into a pile of ropes, was struggling to regain his feet when he saw the monster.

  “Promenthas, have mercy!” the Abbot cried, staring in shock.

  A gigantic man rose up from the ocean, rearing up out of the water as though he had been crouched there, waiting for them. When he reached his full height, he was three times taller than the ship, the deep seawater coming to his waist. His skin was the same greenish color as the sky, gray cloud banks formed his hair, seawater streamed from his bare chest in cascades. Lightning flared in his eyes, his thundering voice boomed over the water.

  “I am Kaug,” the creature roared. “Who are you who trespass upon my seas without offering the proper sacrifice?”

  “Now just a minute!” the captain roared back, glaring at the creature with—to the Abbot—unbelievable courage. “We’ve made the sacrifices! We’ve given gold to Hurishta and iron to Inthaban—”

  “What have you given to Quar?” bellowed the creature. The captain turned pale.

  “Quar? Who is this Quar?” muttered the Abbot, hurrying to the side of the Archmagus. “Some king?”

>   “Quar is the God of the infidels of this land,” said the Archmagus.

  “What is that. . . that thing?” The Abbot endeavored to control the tremor in his voice.

  “Possibly an immortal known among them as an ‘efreet,” returned the Archmagus, regarding the huge creature with an air more scholarly than fearful. “I have read reports of them, but I must say, I never believed that they truly existed. This is indeed a most remarkable occurrence!”

  “Nonsense! It is an archfiend of the Demon Prince Astafas!” said the Abbot angrily. “Sent to test our faith!”

  “Whatever he is, he seems capable of doing that,” returned the Archmagus coolly.

  “We are a trading vessel on a peaceful mission,” the captain was shouting. “Your God knows us. We carry the required sacrifices with us. Quar may rest assured that we will visit his shrine when we first set foot upon land!”

  “Liar!” snarled Kaug, his blasting breath hitting the ship and sending it rolling in the water. “You carry on board priests of Promenthas, who come here to try to turn the people from the worship of their true God.”

  “By doing this, do we offend Quar?” the captain inquired meekly, possibly for future reference.

  In answer a lightning bolt splintered the mast.

  The captain, nodding gravely, turned around. “Throw the priests overboard!” he commanded his crew.

  “Touch these holy men at your peril!” snarled the Archmagus, leaping forward to halt the attacking sailors.

  At a word from their leader, the four other wizards ranged themselves alongside the Archmagus, including the young wizard Mathew. Although his face was deathly white and he was trembling visibly, he took his place beside his leader on the heaving deck. Hastily gathering his flock around him, the Abbot stood behind the protecting wizards.