Time passed, the wind chill at this elevation, and Bracht returned, a solidity emerging from the darkness, hair and face and clothes all better suited to such work than Calandryll's, his boots silent as he came up, setting his mouth close to Calandryll's ear.
"There were two guards." Were two? "The rest are camped beyond, outside the town. We crest the rim and ride south, around."
He passed the Kem the reins and they led the horses up the final slope, the road angling at the last past a great stone pillar to devolve upon the flatland of the plateau. Beside the pillar, resting against the stone as if at ease, sat a man, a bow across his outthrust legs, his chin on his chest. Moonlight lit him briefly and Calandryll saw the dark stain that covered his chest. Across the way, between a clump of bushes and a windblown tree was another, lounging, it seemed, with his back against the tree, an arm flung careless over a bough. A closer inspection revealed loose, lifeless legs, the string of his bow wound supportive about the trunk, the same dark stain beneath the dropped chin.
"You killed them both," he whispered.
"Yes. They'd have seen us else." Bracht favored him with a curious stare, as though he had stated the obvious. "Now come; this way."
He turned from the two dead brigands as the Kem moved along the rim of the plateau, not yet daring to mount, Sathoman's men too close to risk a gallop. Kesham-vaj stood some little distance off, a huddle of low, stone houses, similar to Mherut'yi, but larger, and lit far brighter by the fires that burned inside and those beyond the buildings. In a ring around the town the brigands had erected tents, and bonfires, invisible from below, but atop the plateau providing sufficient light he could see the horses tethered on picket lines and the groups of men who watched, waiting like hungry wolves for their prey to weaken. Sparks cascaded upward, incongruously cheerful, and he heard voices raised, shouting across the distance between the fires and the town.
"We must walk around." Bracht's whisper tore him from his study. "Likely most of the night. But by dawn we should be clear. If they see us, mount and ran westward."
He nodded and trailed after the Kem, through the scrub that decorated the rim, glancing constantly at the fires. He was unaware of the red stone at his throat, too intent on moving in silence, too aware of the brigands' proximity, to notice when the stone began to glow.
He felt its heat in the instant that light burst before them, as though some separate bonfire was lit directly in their path, smelling almonds then and cursing as his horse shied, rearing and screaming, seeing Bracht's animal do the same, the freesword clinging grimly to the reins, falchion in hand even as he swung into the saddle. He felt a hot wind gust, hurling him to the ground, hooves flailing above him as the horse fought free of his grip and charged madly into the night. He saw Bracht turn, fighting his panicked animal, and lift from the saddle as if plucked by some giant, unseen hand.
The Kem thudded to the ground and the same wind sent him rolling, over and over until he stmck Calandryll, and the gusting shifted, blowing from above, downward, pressing them flat, helpless against its force. The timbre of the shouting about the bonfires altered as men came running, and the light faded, the wind dying as threatening swords ringed them and a mild voice announced in faultless Lyssian, "I have been waiting for you. I am called Anomius."
11
“Intriguing,” Anomius continued, as if no time had passed, no cords been bound about their wrists or angry hands dragged them to the rains of a building, once a cowshed by its smell, lit by the glow of the fires outside, all shifting shadow within. "A warrior of Cuan na'For and a young noble, unless I miss my guess, of Lysse traveling together. With a magic stone, a small fortune in gold coin, and a map of Gessyth that purports to show the location of fabled Tezin-dar. Intriguing. Absolutely intriguing."
He paused, studying them speculatively, a small man, unimpressive in his soiled black robe, strands of age-yellowed hair escaping from beneath his headdress to coil about a sallow face in which watery eyes sat too close to bulbous nose. They stared back, not speaking, resting against the wall.
"Adventurers? Seekers after the lost city's gold? Or something else? Rumor has it that Tezin-dar holds secrets forgotten since the gods fought. Power then? Do you seek the gramaryes of tne Old Ones?" He smiled, pale lips exposing stained teeth, eyes twinkling with something that might have been amusement—or madnessspeaking again without awaiting reply, more interested, it seemed, in his own musings than in any response. "And yet not versed in the occult arts—no warlocks, for sure. Are stone and map stolen, then? Trophies? Happenstance thefts from some Lyssian mage, taken up in hopes of for tune? And the coin—from the same source?" He chuckled softly, a twittering, avian sound, and shook his head. "That stone might have saved you, boy, had you known better how to use it. It warned you of my little watcher, did it not? Back there in the cowherd's bam? You frightened him, you know, for he's a timid creature. But my bird you could not frighten. Did you see him, watching you, his eyes mine? No matter: you are come here and now I shall have answers of you."
"Arrhiman and Laphyl are dead."
A figure blocked the doorway, hiding the light, the voice angry. Anomius shrugged carelessly and stepped aside.
"My lord Sathoman ek'Hennem, Lord of the Fayne."
"Burash!" Sathoman grunted, "Give me light. Am I a bat that I can see in the dark?"
"I forget, my lord, that you lack my ability."
Anomius raised a hand and brilliance sparkled in his palm, spreading to illuminate the shed. Calandryll stared at the renegade lord. Sathoman was huge, perhaps the largest man he had seen, his head close to what remained of the roof. He stood bareheaded, a mane of reddish hair falling about a dark and furious face, mingling with beard and thick mustaches so that he appeared wild, like some beast, or changeling. Heavy brows overhung deep-set eyes, the black glinting in the light of the wizard's magical torch. He wore a cuirass of dragon's hide, red as his hair, and vambraces of the same hue on muscle-corded arms, greaves on columnar legs. A longsword was sheathed on his waist, and a hand ax. He eyed the prisoners: Calandryll felt as must a sheep, inspected by a butcher.
"Kill them."
Sathoman turned away, halted by the wizard's soft voice.
"Unwise, my lord; yet."
"What?"
The great head swung to face Anomius, hairy lips parted in a snarl of animal ferocity. The wizard smiled, untroubled.
"My lord, I warned you of their coming. Arrhiman and Laphyl were careless—they should not have let the Kern get close."
"The Kern slew them? Then kill him. Have your way with the other."
"I think not," Anomius said. "I sense a joindure here— a shared purpose—and something else. I think the one useless without the other."
"Riddles," Sathoman barked. "Burash's eyes, mage, why must you always talk in riddles?"
"It is my way," Anomius replied, unabashed.
"And it is my way to execute those who slay my people," roared the giant. "Arrhiman and Laphyl lie with slit throats and I've a town to take. Burash, man, we've planned this long enough! It was your magic brought that cursed lictor out where we could kill him, and now I need you to pave a way into Kesham-vaj. Kill them—or watch as I do it."
He drew his sword. The blade glittered in the unnatural light: Calandryll felt his stomach clench, his mouth dry. From the corner of his eye he saw Bracht tense and knew that even bound, the Kern would not go easily.
"My lord—wait!" Anomius needed to crane back his head to meet the giant's eyes, but in his manner there was nothing of subservience; rather, Calandryll sensed, he focused his will on Sathoman. "Now or tomorrow, what does it matter when they die? We have them and they shall not escape. You've my word on that—and you know my word is good."
Beneath the mild tone there was a hint of steel: Sathoman faltered, chewing at his mustaches. Calandryll licked his lips.
"They offer no threat, not now," the wizard said. "Kesham-vaj shall be yours, and from Kesham-vaj you'll hold the road. Comman
d the way into the Fayne. You'll hold the Tyrant at bay—Kesham-vaj's the gate to the northern Reaches, just as I told you. I'll give you Kesham- vaj; and Mherut'yi, after. You'll rule the Fayne undisputed, and all the eastern coast from the Shann Desert to Mhazomul. These two are no threat to that."
The sword lowered. Sathoman glowered at the diminutive mage, then sheathed the blade.
"Why plead for them?"
"Not for their lives, my lord. I plead for a little time, no more. I'd know why a Lyssian and a Kern travel Kandahar. Indulge my curiosity—it shall cost you nothing, and perhaps gain you some advantage."
"You'll give me Kesham-vaj?"
"Within days, my lord. My word on it."
The giant grunted, shrugged.
"After ..." Anomius smiled, "Kill them at your will."
Sathoman nodded slowly, snaggy head turning to settle angry eyes on the prisoners. "So be it, mage. They're yours for the moment. But I'd make an example of them."
"Of them and Kesham-vaj both, my lord." Anomius inclined his head slightly. Sathoman favored him with a brief, feral smile and spun on his heel, striding into the night. The wizard returned his attention to Calandryll and Bracht.
"So impatient—all blood and fire, like his father before him. Burash knows, it took me long enough to persuade him to this plan and with success in sight he wants it now. Always now! He'd slay you and regret the loss later—if regret were in his nature."
He sighed sadly, shaking his head as if discussing the behavior of a willful child, folding his hands inside the voluminous sleeves of his robe, for all the world like a pedagogue.
"But we have a little time and much to learn. Shall we commence with names? Who are you?"
Calandryll stared at him, confused by his manner. Anomius clicked tongue against teeth. Bracht said, "Do you not know, wizard? Does your power not extend to so simple a thing?"
Anomius sighed again, his parchment features mournful.
"The folk of Cuan na'For were ever obstinate. You've witnessed what I can do—would you have me draw out your names with magic? You might not enjoy the experience."
"I take no joy of bonds or threats of death," Bracht snarled defiantly.
"So be it."
Anomius withdrew a hand from his sleeve. Leveled a finger tipped with a blunt, chipped nail at the Kem, and murmured soft words. Bracht gasped, mouth opening. Calandryll felt the red stone pulse heat against his chest, aware of its glow even as he stared, aghast, at his comrade. Bracht struggled against the sorcerer's will: his lips drew back from gritted teeth, tendons standing out along his neck, sweat on cheeks and brows, a strangled growling that gradually shaped words bursting unwillingly from his straining throat.
"I am ... Bracht ... ni Errhyn ... of ... the clan ... Asyth ... of ... Cuan na'For."
"Excellent," murmured Anomius, lowering his hand.
Bracht coughed, spat, his chest heaving.
"And you?"
The warlock turned to Calandryll.
"I am Calandryll," he said quickly, seeing no point in struggle against that power, "late of Secca."
Anomius frowned.
"Your family?"
"I am outcast," he said. "I have no family."
"Come," said Anomius gently, "we all have family. To whom were you born?"
"Deny him!" Bracht rasped. "Fight him! We're dead once he's done."
The wizard swung a negligent hand in the Kem's direction and Bracht shouted, head slamming back against the rough stone of the wall. He began to tremble, palsied, spine arching, his legs thrusting straight, heels dramming furiously against the dirty floor. Spittle flecked his lips and the whites of his eyes showed bright, surrounding the blue. Anomius closed his hand in a fist and Bracht screamed, back bending until he was supported on heels and head alone. It seemed his spine must snap, or his heart burst.
"No!" Calandryll yelled. "I'll tell you!"
Anomius nodded and gestured, and Bracht slumped, panting, stretched on the floor.
"Calandryll den Karynth. My father is Bylath, Domm of Secca." .
Interest sparked in the wizard's small eyes. His head cocked, birdlike, to one side, a finger stroking his turges- cent nose.
"So, the son of Secca's domm. But outcast, you say?
"Yes," Calandryll nodded, eyes flicking from the gasping Bracht to the wizard, "My father would make me a priest—I fled that fate with my comrade. We took ship to Kandahar to escape. The money, the stone—I stole them."
Watery eyes came closer, suspicious, the warlock's finger raised in mute threat,
"And the map? How came you by a map men say does not exist?"
"I stole that, too," he extemporized. "I was ... am ... a scholar. I'd read of Tezin-dar and thought to seek the lost city. To win fame."
Anomius sniffed noisily, finger extending to touch Calandryll's chin, tilt back the head. Then the mage winced, snatching back his hand as though from unseen flame, eyes hooding as they studied the young man.
"I am not sure I believe you. I sense occult power in you, but no matching knowledge."
"I am no sorcerer," he said quickly.
"No," Anomius agreed, "were you magician, you'd not have fallen so easily to my snare. But still ... you hold things back. Tell me about this stone."
"I stole it," he repeated. "From a palace magician."
Again the warlock's tongue clicked against his teeth. He shook his head, leveling his finger.
"Tell me the truth."
Calandryll felt a shock akin to buffeting wind. It seemed that probing fingers explored the contours of his brain, the touch urging truth, softly, but threat behind the caress. He felt his mouth open unbidden, his tongue move to shape the words. Then he felt the stone grow warm against his chest, red glow spreading about his face. The pressure inside his skull eased and was gone. Anomius frowned.
"So." His voice was thoughtful; soft, like a serpent's hiss. "So, the stone protects you. And well—I cannot touch it, nor you. Yet, at least. In time, who knows? Meanwhile, your comrade enjoys no such protection— shall you witness his suffering in silence? Shall you watch him die? I sense a bond between you—linked destinies. Shall he be the key that loosens your tongue?"
He pointed at Bracht. Calandryll said, "Slay him and I've no reason to speak."
The wizard chuckled, the sound obscene.
"I need not slay him, Calandryll den Karynth. Only turn him a little on the spit of agony. I think his screams might well unlock you."
"A hired man?" Calandryll struggled to make his tone scornful. "A Kern freesword? He's a mercenary; a mere bodyguard. And one who led me into your trap. Why should I care for his suffering?"
"But you do," said Anomius. "I sense that—and no denial of yours persuades me otherwise. I think I'll put fire in his lungs and listen to his screaming a while. Or shall I melt his eyes? Which do you prefer to witness, Calandryll den Karynth?"
Desperately Calandryll sought some answer, some delaying tactic with which to forestall the warlock. He doubted neither Anomius's ability or intent: did he not speak, he would see Bracht writhe in agony, or die; yet to reveal their purpose in Kandahar seemed likely to end their quest here, in a dung-reeking cowshed. Did Anomius but grasp that what they sought was the Arcanum, surely he would seek the book for himself, or ally with Azumandias: it seemed already clear that he had scant concern for human suffering. He needed time; his mind raced, close to panic, but time was not a commodity the warlock offered.
Until a brigand appeared in the doorway, glancing warily at the prisoners, eyeing the wizard nervously.
"Lord Sathoman asks that you attend him, mage."
"Why?" .
Anomius turned to face the man, his question mildly put, but still prompting the brigand to step back a pace.
"The defenders make a sally—Lord Sathoman would have you deal with them. An example, he said."
Anomius sighed, head swinging to face Calandryll again.
"It would appear our ... conversation ... must wait. Whil
e I am gone, think on what you've seen; and what I can do." He waved the messenger back, pausing in the doorway to mutter a spell. Calandryll felt the stone warm briefly; smelled almonds. "This place is bound by magic. Do not attempt to leave it, on peril of your lives. Remember that Sathoman will treat you unkinder than I."
He walked away, leaving them in the shadows. Calandryll sighed his relief ana looked to where Bracht lay.
"Are you hurt?"
It seemed inadequate; Bracht grunted, forced a gnn.
"No. Though I'd not suffer that again. You?"
Calandryll shook his head.
"It seems the stone protects me." He studied the Kern's face. "But if he makes good his threat . .."
"A hired man?" Bracht got his legs under him, wriggling up the wall to a sitting position. "A mere bodyguard?"
"I could think of nothing else. I thought he might leave you be."
Bracht snorted grim laughter.
"Sadly, not. The cursed wizard saw through that. I think in time he'll have his answers, by one means or another."
"Should I tell him," Calandryll mused, "what then? What might he do?"
"Slay us both, I think," Bracht said. "The man's mad. Likely he'd take the map and seek the Arcanum for himself."
"Would Sathoman let him go? It seems this would-be lord needs his magic."
Bracht shook his head: "You heard Anomius—Sathoman seeks to establish himself as Lord of the Fayne. It seems Kesham-vaj's the gateway to the north. Sathoman takes the town to command the road, and once established here it's likely more dissidents will flock to his cause. He takes Mherut'yi and commands the coast—it's civil war we see fomenting and the next step must be to seize the Tyrant's crown. Sathoman will not release the mage."
Angus Wells - The God Wars 01 Page 28
