by James Erich
But being in magical limbo didn’t prevent him from fuming. Sael was an arrogant ass, like all noblemen. Worse than that, he was a coward. Not afraid of a fight, Koreh had to admit—he’d handled himself well against the emperor’s men. But Sael feared the Taaweh, just as all city men did. And he was afraid to disobey his own gods, which Koreh considered to be pathetic. It was one thing to treat the gods with respect but quite another to crawl before them. True, the Stronni were harsh and unforgiving, and it was likely that a man or woman who offended them would never see the Great Hall, but Koreh wasn’t certain he wanted to spend eternity in constant adoration of the Perfect Order, anyway.
The alternative was oblivion, but Koreh didn’t fear that. And at times he wondered if the Taaweh might offer another alternative. He wasn’t sure. They seemed to have some power over death, but did that extend to granting some kind of existence after physical death? He didn’t even know if they were gods or not. They certainly seemed like gods, and he had come to rely upon their aid. But they hadn’t asked for him to worship them, and he saw no real reason to do so.
Hopefully the old man would be well enough to walk in the morning, and the two would leave. Koreh didn’t like dwelling on thoughts like this.
While he was brooding about these things, Koreh somehow drifted off into a semidreamlike state. He wasn’t really asleep—he doubted he could sleep while buried in the earth like this—but images began to come to him as if he were dreaming. He saw one of the ancient Taaweh warriors kneeling over a fallen companion, laying his hands upon a dire wound in the man’s chest. Koreh felt the odd, but by now familiar, silent stirrings in his mind that always accompanied Taaweh magic. And when at last the vision faded, for the first time since the dreams had begun coming to him, Koreh cursed them.
SAEL had tried to stay awake in case Geilin needed him, but he fell into a fitful sleep, waking just before dawn. The sky was pale gray and the air chill. The towers of gü-Khemed were barely visible to the west, peeking up over the top of a grassy hill, and to the east the old Empire Road wound its way through miles of hills and gentle valleys, shrouded in the morning mist. The next village was somewhere off in that direction, Sael knew, but too far away to be seen. Far to the north, craggy mountain peaks glowed with the light of Atnu, though it was still below the eastern horizon. They were the only things illuminated against a backdrop of gray.
The first thing Sael did was check on Geilin. The old man hadn’t fared well during the night. He was breathing very shallowly, and the symbol of Atnu on his forehead shimmered only faintly. Sael feared he wouldn’t last much longer. He administered another healing draught and noted grimly there were only three left. It was doubtful there was enough to help Geilin recover the strength he would need to continue the journey, even if he did survive.
The fire pit was cold, and Sael was tempted to light it with a simple incantation. But he was afraid the smoke might be visible and bring the assassins back.
For a brief moment, he permitted himself to indulge in feelings of despair. He was alone for the first time in his life. Not only was Geilin his mentor, but he’d been Sael’s constant companion and guardian since Sael was a small boy. Geilin was far more of a father to him than the distant vek had ever been. Even when he’d resided at the castle in Worlen, Sael never felt close to his father. Vek Worlen wasn’t a bad man, but what little affection he could spare, when he wasn’t busy with affairs of state, was directed at his eldest son, Seffni. Sael had been well-treated but mostly ignored.
Seffni inherited Harleh Keep and the title of Dekan of Harleh when he came of age, and Sael was allowed to stay in Harleh with him under Geilin’s tutelage. When he was twelve, Sael was sent to the capital city with his tutor, not only to continue his magical studies with access to the great libraries and other resources in the capital, but also to learn the role of court magician.
What would become of him now? There was no returning to the city, but the way ahead was extremely dangerous. He and Geilin might be able to reach Denök and buy some supplies there; there were supposed to be horses waiting for them as well. But Koreh was probably right about the lack of ömem in such a small town. If Geilin did somehow recover, Harleh Keep was still leagues away, through little-traveled forests and swamps. The Empire Road passed directly through the center of Old Mat’zovya. This “town” was supposedly abandoned, but Sael had heard tales of bandits camping in the ruins. And Mat’zovya proper would be crawling with the emperor’s spies.
He was lost in these dark thoughts when a hand fell upon his shoulder. He whirled, drawing his dagger in one smooth motion, and then saw it was Koreh. For the first time, he saw the young man’s face clearly, and his breath caught in his throat.
Koreh was beautiful. Skin pale and flawless, a face framed by tousled raven-black hair, and eyes so clear a blue they seemed almost crystalline.
Sael didn’t know what to make of his reaction—an almost overwhelming desire to reach out and run his fingers along those smooth cheeks; to see if the raven hair was as soft as it looked—so he pushed it out of his mind. In any case, Koreh’s return filled him with a sense of relief. Whatever else the young man might be, he appeared to be an ally. Had he been a thief or an assassin sent by the emperor, he could have struck far sooner than now, when Sael was sleeping.
There was still, however, a chance he could be a spy, sent to uncover more of the vek’s plans. Sael would have to remain cautious.
“The next time you sneak up on me,” he muttered darkly, “you might find yourself skewered.”
Koreh snorted. “I’m only here because I was told I had to help you.”
“By whom?”
“By the gods of this place.”
Sael didn’t much like the sound of that. According to ancient texts, the Towe had possessed great powers, but they were certainly not gods. To call them so was the greatest sacrilege. And the powers of the Towe had been dark and frightening—not something to be coveted by decent men.
Something else was bothering him too. The scrolls that told of these ancient beings were locked away in the royal archives, accessible only to court magicians and their apprentices, and none of the spells of the Towe had been written down. How had a simple peasant come to know them? Was it possible Koreh was really receiving teachings from beings who’d been dead for a thousand years? The idea seemed ludicrous, but what other explanation was there?
Koreh bent down to rest a hand on Geilin’s chest. Sael made a move to stop him, but Koreh gave him a sharp look, and that was enough to make him hesitate.
“What are you doing to him?”
Obviously irritated, Koreh replied, “I’ve been shown how to heal his wounds. But it needs to be done quickly, before the Eye rises.”
“Why?”
“Be quiet!”
Sael did as he was told. He knew Geilin’s chances were slim, at best, under his own awkward ministrations. Yet it seemed impossible that Koreh knew any sort of healing magic. The spells taught to men were for combat and defense. Only the ömem knew healing magic, and that was done through sacred magical brews and tinctures, the formulas of which were handed down from mother to daughter and closely guarded.
Koreh closed his eyes and placed his hands on Geilin’s chest. He made no sound, and Sael couldn’t see whether or not he was actually doing anything at all.
But when Geilin’s eyes fluttered open, Sael’s relief overwhelmed any other concerns.
“Master Geilin!”
The old wizard’s eyes rested upon Koreh first of all. He searched about for something, an anxious look crossing his face.
“Sael…,” he said, his voice weak. His apprentice moved closer and, at the sight of him, Geilin smiled.
Koreh pushed the rough peasant cowl back from Geilin’s shaved head and touched his hand to the old man’s forehead in a surprisingly tender gesture, though he avoided contact with the shimmering Eye of Atnu there. “Don’t try to speak. Sael is safe. You can sleep for now.”
A
t that, Geilin closed his eyes, and it was mere seconds before he slipped back into unconsciousness. But his breathing was stronger than it had been before, and his face, where it was not burnt, seemed less pale. Even the burns somehow looked less severe.
Sael looked at the old man in amazement. “Koreh… how did you learn these spells?”
Koreh grabbed his arm and pulled him away, none too gently.
“Hey!” Sael protested, but Koreh interrupted him.
“The Eye is almost up,” he said, his voice low and tense, as if this were something of great import rather than an event that occurred every morning. “You need to promise me. Nothing I tell you about the Taaweh can be talked about when the Eyes are in the sky.”
“What?”
“The Eyes of Atnu and Druma are the spies of your gods!” Koreh hissed. “I’ve seen what the Stronni did to the Taaweh. And I know I’ll receive no mercy from them if I help the Taaweh.”
“I need to know—”
“Hush!” Atnu had just peeked above the mountains and a swath of light was creeping into their camp. Koreh once more put his face uncomfortably close to Sael’s. “Or I won’t help you any further.”
He let go of Sael and went to sit down beside the cold fire pit.
Sael didn’t know what to make of this. He’d seen examples of magic he couldn’t explain. Was Koreh really learning these spells from the Towe? If so, would Sael be betraying his own gods—and possibly men as well—by not revealing the source of Koreh’s power?
He glanced over at Geilin. His master might be horrified if he learned that some kind of… dark magic… had been used upon him. Particularly if Sael had allowed it. Yet wasn’t that preferable to dying?
Sael didn’t know. He decided that, for now, he and Geilin needed Koreh. He had a hard time believing Koreh was a threat, despite his gruff manners. And as long as Geilin was alive, there was still the possibility of making choices. If Sael refused Koreh’s help and let his master die, that choice would be irreversible.
Sael would wait for Geilin to recover further, and then discuss it with him.
Chapter 4
SHORTLY after daybreak, Koreh watched as Sael folded his legs under him and sat, eyes closed, facing the Eye. “What are you doing?”
“Be quiet, please.”
Irritated, Koreh considered lobbing kanun seeds at him, but decided to take a brief nap instead.
When Sael finally stirred, Koreh opened one eye and looked at him quizzically. But the apprentice wasn’t finished yet. He stood, raising his hands above his head, and began intoning something. Koreh didn’t know the language but assumed it was the language vönan used for spellcasting—the language taught to them by the Stronni.
That was the final straw. Koreh swung his leg in an arc and knocked both of Sael’s legs out from under him. Startled, Sael shrieked and tumbled over sideways onto the soft turf.
“What did you do that for?” he demanded as he climbed back onto his feet, brushing bits of grass and leaves off his breeches.
“Don’t do your magic here, little mage,” Koreh said.
“I wasn’t doing magic,” Sael replied, curtly. “I was meditating and drawing power.”
“What for?”
“Vönan draw their power from the Eye of Atnu. During the night, our power wanes, so we have to draw more power at daybreak—the hour of Penent.”
“So you can’t do magic at night?”
“Of course we can,” Sael replied, affronted. “If the Eye of Druma is open and in the sky, we can draw some power from it. Just not much. If her eye is closed, we draw on whatever power we have left over from the day.”
Koreh was bored now. He rolled onto his back, looking up at the sky. A flock of blackbirds flew overhead. “Fine. But don’t use the language of the Stronni in these ruins.”
“I don’t see that it really matters.”
“It matters,” Koreh said, his voice rising, “because I say it matters. Don’t do it!”
Sael looked as if he were about to argue, but perhaps he could see by Koreh’s expression that it would get him nowhere. Instead he went to sit down beside Geilin, looking sullen.
The rest of the morning went slowly. Geilin was doing better, but he was far from fit to travel, so they were forced to stay where they were. There was little to keep the young men occupied and, since Koreh had chastised him, Sael had ceased being conversational. Apart from his frequent requests for Koreh to use more healing magic on the old wizard, he said little. As it was, these requests were mostly communicated through gestures and facial expressions, to avoid speaking of it aloud.
Koreh dared not use the ancient magic when the Eye was in the sky, watching, despite Sael’s anxious pestering. But the two were finally able to compromise in late morning, when the sparse cloud cover thickened enough to obscure the Eye. Still, Koreh kept a watchful eye on the heavens as he administered to the old man.
He had the feeling the magic he was manipulating could easily have made Geilin whole in short order. Taaweh magic always made him feel as though he were standing in a powerful stream, directing tiny rivulets of the water with his hands, and that just a small change in the way he held his fingers could increase the power of the magic a hundredfold. But for now, Koreh wasn’t strong enough to completely heal the wizard. The best he could manage was to gradually guide the man back to health, and Koreh suspected this could take quite a while. At least he knew his efforts were considerably more effective than those foolish potions Sael had brought with him.
At midday, Sael sannounced he would have to perform the ritual for the hour of Cabbon, whether Koreh liked it or not.
“Another one?” Koreh asked in disbelief. “How many of them are there?”
“There are eight hours in the day—”
“I know how many hours there are, nud,” Koreh growled.
Sael seemed startled by Koreh’s sudden anger. “I didn’t mean to imply anything. I was simply explaining. If I were apprenticed to a priest, I would be expected to follow ritual observations for all the hours—my first few years, anyway. But a vönan observes only Penent, Cabbon, and Nemom. Some vönan observe Manduccot, but that’s more religious than practical.”
Koreh was beginning to regret asking. “Fine. But you’ll have to do it outside the circle.”
Sael looked irritated by his insistence but wisely chose not to argue the point. He removed himself to a spot in the field about thirty feet away and began his meditations. Koreh watched him, wondering how much power the boy would be able to draw from the Eye with the sky so overcast, and whether this ritual would alert the ömem of the emperor to their location. But asking these questions would probably get him another condescending lecture, and he didn’t have the patience for it right now.
It was Koreh who made the decision, later in the day, to bury the bodies of Thuna and the four guards by using magic to push them down into the earth, while there was still cloud cover to hide his efforts. Sael had protested that Thuna, at least, deserved a proper burial.
Koreh coolly replied, “What do you intend to dig the grave with? Your hands? If we leave them in the road much longer, they’ll rot and attract vultures or wolves. Besides, eventually somebody will come along and stumble across them. Merchants go through here every afternoon. That’s what the assassins wanted to happen—with you and the old man among the bodies.”
They compromised by carrying the bodies of Thuna and the guards who had remained loyal to a spot away from the road, under a large oak tree. There, Sael recited as much of the Service for the Dead as he could remember before Koreh pushed them down into the ground.
The dead body of the traitorous guard, which for some reason had been left behind—perhaps to make it look as if the entire party had been killed indiscriminately by common bandits—they buried without ceremony where it lay, in the center of the road.
“I wonder,” Koreh mused, “if the plan had been to kill him all along and leave him here. How would it have looked, if only th
ree of the guards’ bodies were found?”
Sael surprised him by angrily spitting on the ground where the man lay. “I hope they planned to kill him. For what he did to Thuna, he deserves to be trampled on by every man, horse, and wagon that passes this way until he rots!”
BY LATE afternoon, Geilin could sit up and take a small amount of broth. Koreh had left briefly during the day to track and kill a hare—something that earned him some grudging admiration from Sael—and they mixed it with some tubers to make a thin soup. They’d risked lighting a small fire to cook with, though there had been a few travelers along the road, as Koreh had predicted. So far, none of them had noticed anything unusual in the ruins. Most had hurried by, not wanting to linger by them.
“It’s good,” Sael admitted of the soup, filling a second bowl after he settled Geilin in to sleep further. “I wish I’d been able to salvage some of the bread, though.”
Koreh grunted. “I can’t remember the last time I had bread.”
“How long have you lived like this?” Sael asked him, shocked.
“I left the city a couple years after the plague.”
The epidemic had been about seven years ago, two years before Sael had arrived in the city. The ömem were able to keep it in check among the noble houses, but deaths among the peasantry numbered in the thousands. They’d been given little aid. This blatant lack of concern for the lower classes was one of many reasons Vek Worlen detested the emperor.
The tunic and breeches Koreh wore weren’t five years old, or they would have been far too small for him now and rotting off his body. As it was, they were moderately clean, but worn through in several places. Stolen, perhaps? Sael decided not to ask.
“And you survive by hunting and foraging?”
“What’s ‘foraging’?”
Sael reminded himself Koreh wouldn’t have had much schooling. “It means gathering wild plants and roots. Things like that.”
“Then why not just say ‘gathering’?”
