A little way along they heard the muted sounds of a waking camp,- the snorting of tethered horses and the lowvoiced conversation of the guards; saw the dull glimmer of a fire; the dark bulk of a stone column thrusting against the brightening sky. Bracht raised a hand, pointing to the road's edge.
"The horses are there. Use Varent's spell if you must, but turn them loose and set them running. I'll come at them from the farther side."
Calandryll nodded silently. Bracht placed a hand on his right shoulder, staring at his face.
"They'll not let us past, do you understand?" His voice was soft, but urgent. "Likely they'll be grouped tight— when I fire, they'll scatter, and some may come after the animals. Kill them. Those left will be on our heels—or carry word to Sathoman."
Calandryll ducked his head once, not trusting himself to speak.
"Leave me time to get close," Bracht said, "and loose the horses when the first man falls."
He moved swiftly across the road, disappearing into the undergrowth. Calandryll mouthed the words Varent had taught him and felt his skin tingle briefly, the scent of almonds mingling with the freshness of the morning. He began to pace through bushes glistening silvery with raindrops, crouching sword in hand, eyes and ears straining. Birds began to sing, welcoming the dawn, and the rising sun limned the eastern sky with red and gold, its light driving off the insubstantial grey. That cleared to reveal a column of dark stone set beside the road where it fell away from the plateau, hidden by the rim. At the foot of the column the fire flared as branches were added, the sleeping watchers rising, shaking water from their bedding. One walked around the column to fumble with his breeks. Calandryll heard him sigh as he began to relieve himself. Two others busied themselves about the fire and those who had taken the last watch flung themselves down close to the warmth. He saw the horses pegged some little distance off, snickering a greeting to the light, and crept toward them.
There was no warning of Bracht's attack, only the dull thudding sound of an arrow striking home, the exhalation of the man standing by the column as he pitched forward, a shaft protruding between his shoulders. He struck the stone and fell sideways into a bush, the shrubbery supporting him so that he hung with one arm outflung as if in supplication; or accusation. A man by the fire glanced up, his view obscured by the pillar. Calandryll saw him clearly, a short, plump-featured man, streaks of grey in his black beard, his breastplate decorated with a blue sea horse. He frowned, rising, and stepped a few paces out, peering toward his fallen comrade. Calandryll saw his eyes widen in alarm and his mouth open to shout a warning cut short by the shaft that suddenly jutted from his chest. He toppled backward, across the fire, sparks scattering as his companions yelled and drew their swords. He broke clear of the bushes and ran for the horses.
They sensed his presence and set to stamping, tugging on the picket line. He slashed it through, hacking to right and left, severing the individual ropes, careless of the plunging hooves, the screaming of the panicked animals. He waved his arms, forgetting they could not see him, and used the flat of his blade to send them charging clear.
A Kand screamed shrilly as an arrow pierced his throat; another fell with a shaft buried deep in his ribs. Three ran toward the scattering horses, one succeeding in snatching up the trailing line. Calandryll charged him, sword raised, slashing the hand that held the horse, reversing the cut to send the man down with bloodied face, spinning to attack the others, who gaped and flailed their blades wildly at their invisible opponent.
He slew them both, mercilessly, all notions of honor forgotten in the urgency of the moment, remembering he was unseen only when they lay dead at his feet. Then disgust gripped him and he voiced the counterspell, becoming visible again. He began to run back down the road, to where Anomius waited, his black-swathed shape cleat now in the burgeoning light.
Suddenly he was confronted by burly Kand wielding saber, a buckler of dragon hide thnist before his torso. He snarled, eyes furious beneath the green headdress he wore, and swung the saber in a vicious arc at Calandryll's head. Calandryll parried the blow and riposted, his sword turned by the snield. He deflected a second cut, sliding his blade in over the Kand's sword arm to prick the unarmored shoulder. The brigand fell back behind his shield: Calandryll pressed the attack.
He felt no compunction now, no hesitation: this was honest combat, man to man, both visible, and a fury gripped him as he moved forward, intent only on removing tbis obstacle to his freedom. He cut at tbe brigand's head and ducked the counterstroke, driving the straight- sword in at the belly, below the cuirass. The Kand danced back, and Calandryll feinted an attack to bring the shield out, using that opening to hack at the exposed chest. His blade scored the leathery armor and he darted clear as the saber threatened his side, turning, spinning, to slash the man's sword arm. It dropped and he drove his blade in hard, into the Kand's side. The brigand yelped as the steel bit home,- Calandryll twisted the blade free and cut deep into the man's neck, stepping back as he fell, the morning abruptly bright with the blood that jetted from the wound. He watched as the brigand went down on hands and knees, shaking his head as though realization of his dying came slowly, perhaps not before he slumped facedown, still.
Calandryll left him where he lay, running to the wizard, already in the saddle, springing astride the roan and seizing the reins of Bracht's horse. His heels rammed against the roan's flanks and the gelding sprang forward, the chestnut snorting a protest as the reins snapped tight. He was dimly aware of Anomius beside him as he sent his mount headlong for the pillar, seeing Bracht come running from the bushes, the falchion a glittering thing that sent two brigands down as the Kem reached the road.
He slowed enough that Bracht could mount on the run and they galloped toward the rim, where the road fell out of sight.
More brigands blocked their way and for long moments all was confusion, shouting men struck down by charging horses, swords, and the fire that sparkled from Anomius's outflung hand. Then they were past the pillar and thundering down a road that dropped away from the rim of the plateau in a steep descent that called for concentration as the horses squealed and fought against the reins, dangerously close to tumbling on the gradient. Arrows whistled past them, rattling off the sheer faces to either side, and they crouched low until they rounded a slight curve and found the protection of the scarp.
The sun had topped the eastern edge of the highland now and they could see they went down a cut, the road masoned from naked stone, high walls rising to either side, ending on a sweeping shelf where the slope grew gentler, the road winding down to a broad river at the plateau's foot.
They took it at a run, slowing only when trees set a barrier at their backs, halting the near-winded horses when Bracht declared them out of arrow's range.
Timber grew thicker here than on the eastern ascent, trees encircling high meadows lush with grass and blue streams tumbling down to join with the wider channel below. Spread out below them they saw the heartland of Kandahar, dense forest presenting a patchwork of myriad greens, sewn with the silver-blue threads of rivers, savannah misty in the distance, the line of the Kannek-mi a ribbon of blackness between land and sky. It was a beautiful vista: it filled Calandryll with sudden remorse.
He turned in his saddle, eyes swiveling inexorably to the scene of carnage hidden above them.
"I've never ..." he paused, swallowing the bile that rose in his throat, "... never killed a man."
Bracht nodded.
"The next will be easier."
Calandryll was not sure he wanted the next to be easier; not sure he wanted a next to come. He spat, shaking his head as if that physical movement might dislodge the memories of steel biting flesh, of blood, and the screams of dying men, telling himself it was foolish to think he might secure the Arcanum without bloodshed; hypocritical to think that only Bracht's hands would be stained. It made no difference, and his stomach churned with the knowledge that men had fallen to his blade.
"Forget them," Bracht adv
ised. "Do you think they'd spare a thought for you?"
"I am not them," he returned.
"No; for sure you are not." Bracht smiled, echoing his own thoughts, "But did you believe we'd reach Tezin-dar with blades unblooded? Why did you practice your sword- work, save to use it? This world of ours is a bloody place, and a man does what he must to survive in it."
The Kern's voice was gently earnest: Calandryll showed him a brief smile of gratitude, knowing that he sought only to reassure, to assuage a troubled conscience. He murmured, "But they were not our enemies. They were simply men who happened to be in the wrong place."
"Yes," Bracht said, "in our path. They would not have let us past. They would have killed us, or sent us back to be killed by Sathoman. And then Azumandias would reach Tezin-dar and bring out the book. Would you rather that?"
"Does it not trouble you?" he asked.
"No," Bracht said, bluntly.
"Do you wait here, engaged in philosophical debate, until they catch their mounts and come after us?"
Anomius's question brought his attention back to their immediate plight. He looked to Bracht for advice, and the Kern nodded.
"Will they pursue us, or wait on Sathoman's orders?"
"How many were left?" asked the wizard.
"I slew five, I think." Bracht replied. "And wounded more."
Calandryll said, "Four."
"Then likely they'll wait on Sathoman." Anomius beamed, using the tails of his headdress to wipe sweat from his yellow skin. "You did well, my friends—but still I suggest we continue at our best pace."
"A day to get down this." Bracht walked his horse to the road's edge, studying the way ahead. "And by then Sathoman will know we've escaped."
"He'll likely search Kesham-vaj first," Anomius said, "but when word comes from above he'll know the road we've taken. He'll not risk pursuing us far into the heartland, but I'll feel safer once we're into the woods."
"We've a day's advantage, then," nodded the Kern, "more if he's unwilling to take the road by night. How many might he send after us?"
Anomius shmgged. "He's the Fayne to hold—perhaps the Tyrant's army marching against him—He'll not send too many."
Bracht expressed his impatience with an irritable gesture.
"How many is 'not too many'? Curse you, wizard, I'd know the odds!"
"A score he could spare," Anomius replied, equably. "Perhaps thirty."
"Thirty on our heels!" .
Bracht's voice was flat with anger. The sorcerer smiled, showing stained teeth. "You forget you have an ally now," he said. "One who can deal easily with thirty men."
"As you dealt with the twenty up there?" Bracht stabbed a thumb back at the plateau. "I do not remember your helping much there."
"As I told you—the raising of fire demons is taxing." Anomius refused to allow the Kem's anger to disturb his complacency. "But by dawn my full strength will be returned—I can leave ... guardians ... behind us."
He smiled as he said it, the expression horribly threatening in its confidence; Calandryll wondered what form the wizard's guardians might take, preferring not to ask.
"So, shall we descend?" Anomius inquired, as mildly as if he suggested a pleasurable day's riding. "There are places aplenty to hide below."
Without waiting for a reply he heeled his horse, bouncing in the saddle as he commenced the descent, like a bundle of black rags set insecurely on the grey's back.
"Sorcerer he may be," Bracht grunted, "but never a horseman."
It took most of that day to reach the river they had seen, its waters darkening as twilight gathered, night creeping stealthily over the bottomlands, transforming the forest ahead to a looming, shadowy mass, lightless and forbidding. The road ran alongside the river, halting abruptly at a cluster of buildings where lights showed in windows and dogs barked warning of their approach. They reined in, surveying the settlement.
"There's a ferry," Anomius told them, "and a tavern. We've the advantage of Sathoman for now, and I'd rest overnight—by dawn my strength will be replenished."
"By dawn Sathoman could be riding down that hill," Bracht objected, "and I'd not lose our advantage."
The diminutive sorcerer raised a hand, his voice petulant as he said, "I am not accustomed to riding and I'd take my leisure here."
"And I'd cross," said the Kern.
"Tomorrow," said Anomius, hand moving to point at Bracht, "and I'd not argue with you."
Calandryll heard the threat in his voice and thought of the men who had gone down to that strange fire that burst from the warlock's fingers. He edged his horse between them, sending Bracht a warning glance. "A night's comfort is tempting," he said, "and surely Sathoman cannot catch up so fast."
"A diplomat," Anomius complimented, and turned an oily smile on Bracht. "Come, my friend, what's one night? We'll sleep here and cross at dawn. And I'll ensure Sathoman cannot cross after us."
Bracht glanced at Calandryll, then shmgged. "So be it; but we leave at first light."
"Good," Anomius murmured, favoring the Kem with a watery look as he lowered his hand, "such questers as we should not argue. I'll arrange our quarters and leave the horses to you—you've more experience of such matters."
He rode imperiously into the courtyard of the inn, where the dogs set up a racket at his arrival. He looked at them as he had looked at Bracht and pointed a finger: yelping, the dogs turned tail and ran.
"He'd likely have done worse to you," Calandryll remarked as they watched the little man drop from his horse. "We'd best remember that."
"Or leave him behind," the Kem grunted.
"How?" Calandryll gestured at the ferry lying idle on the riverbank. "He'll know if we attempt to cross and use his magic against us."
"Then when we can," Bracht said.
"Yes, when we can," Calandryll agreed, "but let him use his powers to aid us first. Let him set this spell to ward our trail and then we'll flee his company at the first opportunity."
Bracht grunted reluctant assent and they led the horses to the stable. A youthful ostler appeared, eyeing them with open curiosity.
"Are you ek'Hennem men?" he asked nervously. "Word's out the rebel lord's abroad up there."
His eyes rose to the rim of the plateau, tinged red with the rays of the setting sun. Tinged red, Calandryll thought, with blood. He said, "No. We're honest travelers in search of beds; no more."
"I thought . . ." the youth grinned apologetically. "You've the look of warriors, the both of you."
Bracht chuckled and tossed him a coin. "Rub them down," he ordered as they pulled their gear from the saddles. "Carefully. And feed them oats."
The boy nodded, gathering the reins as they crossed the yard, watched by the dogs linking warily by the veranda.
Inside, the tavern was pleasantly cool, unlit logs piled in the hearth, empty save for Anomius and the owner, a fat man, the purpled veins on nose and cheeks attesting to his fondness for his own wares. He brought them tankards of dark ale, lingering by their table, curious as the stable boy, but less easily satisfied.
"You've come from Kesham-vaj?" he asked.
"Indeed we have."
Anomius's response was swift and amiable, accompanied by a hooding of his pale eyes that clearly warned his companions against speaking up.
"Heard there's trouble up there. Heard Sathoman ek'Hennem's gone to war."
"From whom?"
The landlord assumed a vague expression, hands wiping absently on his stained apron. "Folks," he shrugged. "Folks say he's raised an army and plans to take the Fayne. Not that he doesn't own it already. More or less."
"And how do you feel about such a claim?"
"He's welcome to it." The landlord studied them as if weighing where their sympathies lay. "His father was Lord of the Fayne and he's that right by blood. Battle of the Stone Field or no."
Anomius smiled pleasantly.
"Of course, the Tyrant feels different," the man continued, encouraged by the wizard's smile, "and I
've heard he's got an army marching against Sathoman. The lictor was out of Bhalusteen this week past, talking about raising levies."
"Successfully?"
The landlord answered the question with a wink, a finger to veined nose.
"Down here we mind our own business. The Tyrant wants to go to war with Sathoman, let them fight it out themselves, we say. The Tyrant's got his warlocks to call on—why'd he need ordinary folk?"
"Does Sathoman not employ a wizard?" Anomius asked, his parchment features radiating innocent curiosity.
"That he does, and a mighty powerful one, I've heard." The answer spread Anomius's smile wider across his face. "They say he's a giant. He breathes flame and fights with a huge ax and magic, both. If you came by way of Kesham- vaj you're lucky you didn't cross his path. You did say you came that way?"
"We did. But there was no sign of fighting—the town was quiet."
"Just shows, doesn't it?" the landlord remarked, shaking nis head. "Rumors get started and folk start worrying about nothing. I saw you three come in and I began to wonder if you weren't ek'Hennem men, looking the way you do. No offense, friends."
"Nor any taken," the wizard smiled. "We're merely travelers. I hope to conduct business in Nhur-jabal and these are my bodyguards."
The landlord nodded, eyeing Bracht and Calandryll.
"Well, they look tough enough—and if they brought you safe across the Fayne, they must be good at their work. You saw no sign of Sathoman?"
"None. Perhaps he lurks in Fayne Keep, awaiting the Tyrant's army."
"Be hard to winkle him out from that fortress. Still, if there is an army on its way I should turn a coin or two."
"Indeed," Anomius murmured, "and more from us if you've baths to offer. We'd wash the trail away and spend the night. In the morning we'll need the ferry."
"I've rooms and baths, and the ferry crosses at dawn." The fat man's chins wobbled as he nodded, inquiries diverted by the prospect of profit. "And I can oner you a better meal than anything in Kesham-vaj. With a fine selection of wines, too."
Angus Wells - The God Wars 01 Page 32
