But how? Anomius protected himself well, and it was unlikely he would allow his guard to slip. Should Calandryll slay him, then the glamour placed on Bracht must set comrade against comrade—ana of that struggle there could be only one outcome: Bracht would win. And—if he were prepared to sacrifice himself—Bracht alone could not locate the Arcanum, it would lie waiting for Azumandias. It seemed an impasse, a deadlock bom of the wizard's cunning, and he ground his teeth in frustrated anger as he grappled with the problem, for there seemed no solution.
Bracht's voice snapped him from his contemplation and he saw that they rode across a tree-encircled meadow, oaks spreading gnarled branches like suppliant hands all around.
"I said," the Kern repeated, "that if the Tyrant's army advances on the Fayne we'd best ride careful. With open
Calandryll grinned an apology, reining his horse a little so that Anomius gained distance. Lowering his voice, he said, "I was thinking of the warlock. Of how we might rid ourselves of his company."
"I, too," Bracht returned, studying the black-shrouded figure bobbing on the grey's saddle, "but with little success. You?"
Calandryll shook his head.
"I'd slay him if I could, but..."
Bracht nodded, understanding.
"And I cannot. Somehow, then, we must escape him.
"In such manner that he's not able to follow us."
"I think," Bracht said, "that we can only wait for now, and watch. If opportunity arises ..."
"Aye," Calandryll agreed, thinking that it was a forlorn hope.
"At least he aids our passage across Kandahar. Perhaps in Kharasul, or on the sea, we might lose him."
"Unless his presence attracts the attention of the Tyrant's sorcerers and we find ourselves prisoners again."
"There's that," Bracht murmured, then smiled. "But we had little hope of unhindered passage when we began this journey."
"I'd not," Calandryll returned, "anticipated civil war. Nor the Tyrant's wizards ranged against us."
Such thoughts had occurred to Anomius, too, it seemed, for when they halted that night, in a clearing ringed by great, straight-trunked beeches, he prepared once more to work his magic.
* * *
Dusk wove shadows among the timber, the aerial denizens of the forest winging to their roosts, wary rabbits watching from the edges of the glade, squirrels furtive in the branches as the sorcerer stood with arms outthrust, his voice raised in a singsong chant. Calandryll and Bracht turned from their tending of the horses to watch, seeing Anomius delve inside his robe to produce a small pouch of leather. Still chanting, he loosed the drawstrings and upended the sack over one palm. Something pale, like the shimmer of frost in early morning light, fell onto his hand and he blew gently on the glowing object, then set it carefully down. Like the golem back on the riverbank, it grew until they saw once again the creature that had watched them in Octofan's bam. It crouched on stubby legs, arms thin as a malnourished child's wrapped about its knees, the misshapen head cocked first to one side and then the other as it fastened huge black eyes on Anomius. He gestured at the sky and they saw the silvery wings spread wide, the creature rise, running awkwardly to gain the speed necessary for flight, the wings beating, bearing it aloft, no longer ungainly, but a graceful, swooping creature of the air. It circled the wizard twice, then rose into the rapidly darkening sky, climbing swiftly above the treetops, a receding glow that soon disappeared beyond the beeches.
"He'll tell us where the army lies," Anomius promised, settling himself comfortably on the grass.
"And warn the Tyrant's wizards that magic's abroad?" Calandryll asked.
Anomius shrugged negligently. "Likely they'll assume him a spy of Sathoman's—they know I'm lieged to the Fayne lord, so they'll think him sent from the highlands."
"And if they send out their own
"Aha!" Anomius clapped his hands delightedly. "You are familiar with the quyvhal!"
Calandryll dropped his saddle, spread his blanket.
"I have read of them. Both Samium and Medith mention them, Corrhum, too."
Anomius nodded, smiling. "I knew you were a remarkable young man," he complimented. "We must talk of this—Sathoman and his followers are more interested in conquest than erudition and I long for civilized discourse."
Once—in a life left behind—such a complunent might have flattered Calandryll. Had flattered him, when Varent paid it, but now he said only, "We must get a fire going "
"By all means," the wizard agreed, "but after, let us talk. Perhaps over roast venison?"
This latter was directed at Bracht, who met the tacit suggestion with a look of surprise.
"You're not afraid I'll flee?"
Anomius shook his head.
"You gave your word as a warrior of Cuan na'For—nor do I believe you'd quit your comrade." He chuckled, his smile a challenge. "And the spell I set upon you would bring you back. Stray too far and you'll know pain beyond your imagining."
"The deer may not know my limitations.
Calandryll saw fury spark in the Kem's blue eyes. An- omius shrugged again and said, "Find one within the aegis of my spell, then."
Bracht stared at him a moment longer, then nodded, stringing the bow. Calandryll moved to join him, but the wizard waved him back. "We need but one deer and you've no bow." He accepted, mind returning to the thoughts of that afternoon as Bracht faded into the undergrowth. Was the sorcerer's desire to keep him there based on need, rather than the wish for conversation? They could neither of them attack him, save that they fight together, but were they able to escape the wizard's observation ... might his spells be useless then? He said, "I'll gather wood," and when Anomius nodded, set to scouring the edges of the clearing for the makings of a
A cheerful blaze begun, Anomius motioned him to the blanket and he squatted, setting a kettle to heat water for
"So" the wizard declared, his tone conversational, amiable, as though they were two friends idling away the hours before sleep, "you have read the classics."
“The library in Secca is extensive,” he murmured, “and I've a love for books.”
"Mandradus built a sizable library." Anomius s voice was nostalgic. "But Sathoman has little concern for books. You've read Dashirrhan?"
"No." Calandryll shook his head, busying himself with the kettle. "Though I've heard of him. Wasn't he a mage?"
"One of the greatest," Anomius nodded, "and a historian, to boot. His Treatise on Magick and Gramaryes is a marvelous work. It mentions Tezin-dar, of course. But oddly says nothing of the grimoire we seek."
His voice was mild, but behind his seeming affability Calandryll heard the scrape of steel: he shrugged, adding herbs to the infusion.
"Yet your Lord Varent den Tarl sent you seeking the book. Even thought it is not mentioned by Dashirrhan. Or Samium. Or Medith."
Calandryll assumed an expression he hoped was guileless. "I know only what I've told you," he said.
Anomius scratched thoughtfully at his grandiose nose. The eyes he turned on Calandryll reflected the fire's light, suddenly akin to the glowing orbs of the golem.
"Perhaps Varent lied to you. Or you to me."
"Would you not know, had I lied?"
He forced himself to return the wizard's stare, eyes locking for long moments. Then Anomius smiled, chuckling.
"The stone protects you, boy—I cannot see past it. Were you to remove it, however ..."
"I cannot!" Quickly, Calandryll shook his head, desperately extemporizing. "Lord Varent made that clear to me, in Secca, when he explained what we must do. The stone itself is magical, and Lord Varent set further spells on it—he impressed upon me that should I remove it, or it be removed, I can no longer locate the grimoire. To remove the stone is to lose the book."
Anomius was silent for a while. Calandryll stirred the kettle, hoping the lie was convincing. Then the wizard sniffed. "So be it—I shall not attempt to coerce knowledge." He chuckled again, his casual tone returning. "But tell me more of thi
s mysterious grimoire."
"I have only Lord Varent's word," Calandryll said, resisting the impulse to express his relief with a sigh. "He said that the grimoire is one of the forgotten books—that it contains gramaryes used by the gods themselves, and must invest its owner with power unimaginable. He risked my father's wrath, perhaps even war between our cities, to bring me out of Secca, and—as you've seen—he furnished the coin to finance our travels. I took him on his word."
Anomius's eyes flickered, hooding: Calandryll hoped he saw greed rekindled.
"And so you set out for Gessyth. You and the Kern, alone."
"Lord Varent feared a larger party must alert Azumandias. That he would endeavor to seize the map."
"You forget the stone. You say the map is useless without the stone."
"Azumandias has no need of it. Lord Varent said his powers are such that he could locate the grimoire without its aid."
"Then so might I."
Despite the fire's warmth a chill raised hairs on Calandryll's neck: he shrugged, fighting alarm to answer the wizard with some kind of logic, some reasoning that would persuade him.
"Perhaps. But if not..."
Birdlike laughter twittered, then Anomius's voice grew cold with threat. "If this Azumandias has no need of the stone, then likely nor do I," he said. "And if I have no need of the stone, I have no need of you or the Kern."
"No," Calandryll agreed, the chill joined by sweat now, "but I think that without the stone it must be harder to find the grimoire. And surely Tezin-dar is guarded— Medith speaks of sentinels; Samium of demons at the portals."
"Aye," Anomius nodded, "there is that."
"So likely the finding must be rendered easier by the stone."
Again the wizard nodded. "You argue well, Calandryll den Karynth. Stop trembling now, for I'll keep you with me. Unless I find you've lied."
He ducked his head, licking lips gone suddenly dry.
"And when you've the book?"
"If what you say is true I'll be the mightiest sorcerer in all the world."
"And us?"
Anomius shook his head; effected a casual wave.
"You'll find me generous. Why should I harm the two who bring me to such power? You'll be under my protection."
"In Kandahar?" he asked. "What of Sathoman? What of the Chaipaku?"
"With such power at my command you'll be safe from both," Anomius promised. "I'll make Sathoman Tyrant and buy off the Brotherhood. Perhaps I'll make you Domm of Secca; Bracht Overlord of Cuan na'For. You see? You've as much to gain from this as I. We're allies, we three."
It seemed the moment of danger passed: lust for power seduced the wizard. Calandryll smiled and said, "And yet you don't trust us."
The birdlike laughter trilled again. "Our alliance is bom of necessity, rather than choice," the wizard tittered. "Neither you or the Kem seem overfond of my company—would you not, in my place, tread cautiously?"
"I would," Calandryll agreed; honestly.
"Nonetheless we remain allies, so we'd as well make the best of it."
"Aye," he said.
"So we travel together and there's an end to it. Serve me well and you'll be well rewarded. Seek to betray me and ..."
The wizard's right hand moved and flame gouted high, the kettle seething. It was demonstration enough: Calandryll sprang back, measuring his length on the grass as Anomius laughed.
"Now let's forget such depressing matters and speak of books, of learning," he said cheerfully. "We'll while away the time until Bracht returns with scholarly talk. What do you say to Samium's proposition that life began north of the Borrhun-maj?"
Relieved, Calandryll bent his mind to these easier matters and they talked until Bracht appeared, a bloody haunch of venison slung on his shoulder.
"Well done," Anomius applauded, "this talking's given me a rare appetite."
The Kem drew his knife and began to carve the meat, spitting strips over the fire.
"Your creature's not returned?" he demanded.
"Unless he finds urgent need he'll not be back until dawn.” Anomius replied, "The quyvhal range far, and they love the night.”
"And if he sights the Tyrant's army?”
"He'll tell me where it stands and we'll avoid it."
"And was Calandryll's question answered?"
"Which one?" Anomius asked.
"What if the Tyrant's warlocks send their own quyvhal?"
"The creatures have no magical aptitude of their own, the wizard beamed. "They are eyes in the night, no more—should one sight us it will see three travelers feasting on roast venison, not magic."
"You knew of Calandryll's stone through the creature," argued Bracht. "When it found us in Octofan's barn."
"Calandryll made reference to the stone then and the quyvhal reported that to me," Anomius responded. "That was how I knew."
Bracht grunted, satisfied, accepting the tea Calandryll offered. He sipped and glanced at the wizard again.
"The army likely lies between us and Nhur-jabal," he said after a while, "so to avoid it we must take the forest trails. Do you know them?"
"I have ways to know them," Anomius answered easily, more intent on the sizzling venison then the free-sword's question.
"And the Tyrant's road is the swiftest path to the coast, but passes through Nhur-jabal."
"Yes." Anomius nodded absently. "What of it?"
"Do all the Tyrant's sorcerers ride with the army?"
"I doubt it," the wizard murmured, and snorted scornfully. "The Tyrant is a cautious man and he'll remain safe in his palace with sufficient of his pets to ease his
"Then how do we get by them?" Bracht demanded. "They'll know you for a sorcerer, will they not?"
"Cautious as ever," chuckled Anomius. "And correct—yes, if I go to Nhur-jabal they'll sense my presence."
"Then how do we reach Kharasul?"
"The road's but one way." Anomius tapped his nose, smiling. "Nhur-jabal lies in the foothills of the Kharm-rhanna, where the Tannyth river comes down from the mountains. Above and below the city the river divides— the Yst flows down to Cape Vishat'yi and the Shemme runs west to Kharasul. We must cross south of Nhur-jabal and take passage down the Shemme."
Bracht frowned, turning the meat. "A boat?" he demanded. "There's nowhere to run on a boat."
"If we avoid Nhur-jabal we'll not need to run," said Anomius. "The Shemme's fast flowing and we'll be past aefore they know it. Trust me, my friend. And if that venison's cooked, pass me some—I grow faint from hunger."
As if to emphasize his request his belly rumbled sonorously: Bracht plucked a strip of meat from the flames and passed it across the fire. Anomius took it and began to chew noisily, oblivious of the juices that dribbled down his shallow chin and dripped onto his robe. More fastidious, Calandryll and Bracht used their daggers to carve the meat, using slabs of journey bread for platters.
The night grew older and the moon showed above the glade, a waned yellow-white disk against the star-spread due-black of the sky. There was no sign of the quyvhal and, with hunger satisfied, they rolled themselves in their blankets and slept.
It seemed that Calandryll had come to terms with the bloody necessities of the journey, for his slumber was dreamless, untroubled until the red glow of the stone penetrated his closed lids and he woke, eyes opening to find Anomius squatted before the silvery shape of his magical observer.
Dawn was close, the moon gone and the stars lost in he nebulous grey that replaced the blue velvet of night. Dew glistened on the grass and he heard a horse snort, stamping once. The quyvhal was settled on its haunches, the huge black eyes intent on the wizard's face, the slitted mouth open, emitting a high-pitched whistling sound in which Calandryll could discern no words. He saw Bracht awake, like him watching the strange conversation. The fluting ended and Anomius reached out, patting he oversized head, the quyvhal arching its back as might a cat caressed by its owner. Then the wizard opened the leather sack and murmured softly, and the quyvha
l shrank, dwindling to a glimmer of pale light that hopped into the bag, Anomius tightening the drawstrings and tucking the pouch beneath his robe. He moved closer to the fire, adding timber, and saw that he was observed.
"The army lies between us and Nhur-jabal," he declared as the fire sprang to fresh life, "perhaps three days off, by my pet's reckoning. A squadron of cavalry guided by foresters forms the advance guard, half a day ahead of the main body."
Calandryll yawned, stretching; Bracht moved to the fire, setting water to heat.
"Back at the inn the landlord spoke of a town— Bhalusteen—within a few days' ride," the Kem murmured. "Must we avoid it?"
"The army will reach Bhalusteen today," Anomius nodded, hands scratching vigorously beneath his robe, "so, yes—we'd best take the forest trails."
"We need supplies," said Bracht.
"There will be hamlets."
Anomius appeared unconcerned; Bracht turned to Calandryll.
"You have the map?"
Calandryll fetched the chart of Kandahar from his pack, spreading it on his knees. Bracht and Anomius moved closer, peering over his shoulders.
"We are here." The wizard set a ragged nail to a spot a little way past the course of the Nam, below the contour lines indicating the plateau. "Bhalusteen is here; Nhur-jabal, here. We must travel southward, then swing west again when the army's behind us."
He described a course that swung in a wide curve through the great central forest, avoiding settlements and marked trails, running well wide of the road. Calandryll saw that it brought them out in the foothills of the Kharm-rhanna, south of Nhur-jabal, where the Shemme separated from the Tannyth.
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