Angus Wells - The God Wars 01

by Forbidden Magic (v1. 1)

  "We'll lose time," Bracht said. "Why not return to the road beyond Bhalusteen?"

  "Because there'll likely be a mage left in every town of any size along the way," Anomius replied, "and while I could undoubtedly overcome them, such conflict will delay us longer than a detour."

  And leech your powers, Calandryll thought. Aloud he said, "There are no trails marked where you propose we go."

  The wizard's answering smile was smug. Leaning closer to the fire he said, "I told you—I have ways to know them."

  Those ways he demonstrated after they had eaten.

  The horses were saddled and the fire stamped to a charred memory, their gear stowed ready for departure. The daylight inhabitants of the forest began to stir as the sun broke through the overcast, blue replacing the grey, banks of white cloud riding a warm south wind high above. Anomius delved in his saddlebags, producing a phial from which he sprinkled a pinch of brownish powder that he clutched in his left hand. His right he raised before him, chanting. For an instant, the birdsong risen in greeting of the new day faltered, then redoubled as feathered forms descended from the trees to flutter about the sorcerer. In moments he was surrounded by a storm of multicolored shapes, finches and thrushes, dunnocks, cuckoos, pipits and pigeons, warblers, nuthatches, woodpeckers and tree creepers all flocking to his call. They scattered on a word as a wide-winged goshawk swooped toward the black- robed figure, settling like a well-trained falcon on his outthrust arm. He cooed softly, opening his left hand, bringing it close to the bird's bright eyes, then blowing, the brown powder swirling about the proud head. The goshawk emitted a single harsh cry and shifted on the wizard's arm, rocking gently to and fro as though momentarily stunned. Anomius murmured softly and flung his arm up, like a falconer setting his bird to course. The hawk spread its blue-grey wings and soared aloft, circling the clearing once, then winging above the trees to disappear westward. The mage smiled, staring after the bird, and walked to where Bracht held his horse.

  Calandryll saw that his watery eyes seemed brighter, but curiously unfocused, as though he looked beyond his immediate surroundings to sights invisible to mortal eye. He mounted with even less grace than usual and smiled down.

  "Now we can find the trails; and know where the Tyrant's army stands. Follow me."

  He shook the reins, urging the grey horse across the glade, away from the road. Bracht and Calandryll moved after him, intrigued.

  It seemed the goshawk was their guide, for several times that day they saw the bird ahead, swooping among the dense timber, and the wizard led them unerringly to forest paths they might have missed, taking them down ; game trails and streambeds hidden beneath overhanging foliage, riding without hesitation at thickets that appeared impenetrable until branches were swept aside to reveal the narrow and secret ways of the woodlands. He : saw, Calandryll realized, through the hawk's eyes, for when they halted at noon, by a spring that fed a little rivulet trickling among leafy oaks, he informed them that the army had reached Bhalusteen and made camp there, and that at least six sorcerers accompanied the force.

  "The Tyrant flatters me," he declared proudly. "Six warlocks sent against one—my fame grows, I think."

  "And when they reach the highland?" Calandryll asked, curious that the little man could so easily forget his loyalties. "What of Sathoman then?"

  Anomius shrugged, a negligent gesture of dismissal. "Even with six warlocks, the gaining of those heights will be hard," he said. "A handful of men can hold the rim, and then—if need be—fall back on Kesham-vaj. Sathoman will have Mherut-yi by now, and he's still Fayne Keep as his last retreat. And tnat fortress is warded by spells the six will find mightily difficult to overcome. Sathoman must manage without me for a while."

  "He'll not thank you, though," Calandryll said.

  "Should he be defeated he'fi find it a temporary reversal," the wizard answered. "Once I've secured the grimoire I shall return and fulfill my promise—he'll be lord of all Kandahar before I'm done, and he'll thank me well enough for that."

  He spoke no more until nightfall, his attention focused on the strange communion with the vigilant goshawk, leaving them the chance to talk, low-voiced, of escape.

  "He promised reward," Calandryll informed Bracht, "In return for our aid."

  "And should he discover the grimoire exists only in your imagination?" the Kem returned. "What then? His anger? Or worse—his taking of the Arcanum?"

  "That must not happen," Calandryll said firmly.

  "If he accompanies us to Tezin-dar, how can it not?" asked Bracht. "If we bring him there, tnen he must surely realize that there's no grimoire to be had, but a larger prize. And I trust him no more than Varent."

  Calandryll shook his head helplessly. "How can we escape him?" he wondered. "He binds us with his magic. 5fou cannot flee him or slay him; and if I attempt his murder, you're bound to kill me."

  Bracht nodded grimly. "The Tyrant's sorcerers might defeat him, were we able to bring him close."

  "And—if Anomius spoke the truth—recognize whatever power I have," Calandryll said, "and thus bind me to the Tyrant's service. Or execute me."

  "There must be something we can do." Bracht's tone suggested that he did not see what. "Some way to escape lim."

  "I cannot see it." Calandryll looked to where the wizard jounced awkwardly on the grey horse. "He has us caught."

  "The warboat had us caught," Bracht said, "but we escaped that."

  He glanced at Calandryll as he spoke, his eyes expressing hope and something close to apprehension. Calandryll said, "This occult talent he says I have? I told you then I had no knowledge of it, and nor do I now. What happened then I cannot comprehend—if you ask me to use magic against him, I know not how."

  "It would seem our only hope," Bracht said. "Save that some other agency intervene."

  Calandryll laughed briefly, cynically.

  "Such as Azumandias? Or the Tyrant's sorcerers? It seems that all this journey brings us from pan to fire."

  "And yet we move toward our goal," Bracht said. 'Were it not for Anomius we'd hang now on Sathoman's gallows. Did he not guide us through these woods we'd ride head-on into the Tyrant's army. There's that, at least."

  "You think there's some design in this?"

  Calandryll grinned, the angling of his lips expressing disbelief rather than humor. Bracht shrugged and said, "Perhaps not, but we do cross Kandahar fast."

  That much, at least, was true, for they traveled as swiftly as they might along the road. Swifter, given that the road must bring them to the army and that meeting, certainly, delay them if not halt them altogether. Anomius, thanks to his magic, was a successful guide, bringing them in the days that followed around the Tyrant's squadrons, avoiding the scouts who flanked the army and the wizards left behind in the settlements along the way. Twice they hid from outriders, and three times swung wide of their elected path to avoid outlaw bands, but always they progressed steadily south and then west, drawing ever closer to their destination. By day the wizard rode ahead, seeing through avian eyes, and by night he sent out his quyvhal, the spectral creature returning each dawn to report in its strange, fluting voice. What supplies they needed, they obtained from the hamlets they found deep in the forest, small clusters of wooden houses occupied by hunters and charcoal burners, each with a few pigs, or some sheep grazing land cleared for that purpose, a milch cow or two, and little plots where vegetables grew. The folk they met were incurious, content to accept that they were travelers bound for Nhur-jabal with no wish to meet the Tyrant's army on the road. Indeed, it seemed that gave them a kind of bond, for the forest dwellers were private folk with little interest in the doings of such lords as the Tyrant or Sathoman ek'Hennem, preferring to live their lonely lives apart from the ways of Nhur-jabal and the rivalries of the nobility. Their hospitality was plain, but freely given, and the travelers made good speed. As the spring became summer they came in sight of Nhur-jabal.

  The terrain grew irregular, the Kharm-rhanna like a great r
ocky wave, sending ripples into the heart of Kandahar, the woodland climbing and falling into dells until they stood upon the rim of a great river valley. Across the sweep of lowland the forest thinned, breaking like a green dendroid sea on the rocks of the Kharm-rhanna, green giving way to blue-black granite. The great mountain range that divided Kandahar from the jungles of Gash bulked dark across the western sky, the upper peaks lit by the setting sun, burning defiantly fiery as night advanced from the east, the land below already overtaken, shadowed saved for the distant sparkling lights of the villages and towns along the banks of the Tannyth River. The land fell away before them to the wide ribbon of the southward-flowing Yst, foothills dim beyond to west and north. Across the river, as though suspended in the night, they saw the lights of Nhur-jabal, standing on the farther scarp of the valley. They made camp there, where the timber still afforded plentiful cover, and in the morning studied the city revealed by the new day's light.

  The goshawk was released from Anomius's enchantment, their path clear enough no winged forerunner was needed, only cunning and a fair helping of luck. To the north lay the Tyrant's road, emerging from the forest to cross the Tannyth on a massive stone bridge, running on into the foothills to meet Nhur-jabal, where the city stood on a bluff dominating the valley below, protected at its rear by the crags of the Kharm-rhanna, the Tyrant's citadel a guardian over all. Stone-built houses spread across the bluff, tumbling down the sides like some frozen, rocky waterfall, fortresslike in their lofty isolation, their keep the palace that towered above the city, elevated on a shelf that thrust from the mountains, walled and towered, drawbridges granting access to the inner courts. The Tannyth ran eastward past the foot of the bluff, and across the valley they saw the gap that marked the exit of the Shemme, that river sparkling faintly in the morning sun.

  "There's a town beyond the pass."

  Calandryll offered the map to Bracht, who nodded, studying the terrain ahead.

  "We'll find a boat there," Anomius said, "and ride the river to Kharasul. Thence to Gessyth and Tezin-dar."

  Anticipation lent his voice an unusual stridence, and when Calandryll looked at his sallow face he saw the watery eyes burned greedily. "Can the Tyrant's sorcerers not sense you so close to Nhur-jabal?" he asked, studying the valley warily.

  Anomius shrugged, fidgeting as though he wished only to be gone, to cross careless of the danger. He seemed oblivious of the great city sprawling so close.

  "We must take a ferry across the river," Bracht said, pointing, "and there are settlements on both banks. Horsemen from Nhur-jabal could intercept us at the pass."

  Anomius chopped the air impatiently, parchment features creased in vexation. "Do you dawdle now, all is lost," he complained irritably. "We have no choice save to take the ferry and find the pass. Come—we ride."

  "Wait!" Bracht raised a calming hand. "If the Tyrant's cautious as you say, he's likely got soldiery down there. And if his warlocks leam of your presence ..."

  "A risk we must take," Anomius snapped, interrupting. "Come!"

  "Better to attempt it by night," the Kem said.

  "The ferry stands moored by night," returned the wizard. "And we'll attract more attention if we seek to cross then."

  Bracht studied the valley with a practiced eye. "A day's ride across," he murmured, ignoring Anomius's angry glare. "The morning, at least, to reach the ferry; the afternoon to gain the pass. The horses could use rest. The final stretch is uphill, and if we must run they might well falter."

  "We take the chance," the wizard barked. "I've too much to gain to dally now."

  "Still I say that darkness is our friend," Bracht declared, making no move to mount.

  Calandryll stared at him, seeing the tanned features set in obstinate lines. He glanced at Anomius and saw anger writ clear on the wizard's face. It occurred to him that the Kem provoked the sorcerer with deliberate intent, and wondered why.

  Anomius raised a hand, extending a threatening finger at Bracht.

  "Do you mount and ride, or suffer my anger?"

  "The horses are wearied," Bracht said. "We ran them hard through the forest, and if we must flee fresh-mounted men they need a day to rest."

  "Curse you, freesword!" Anomius snarled, and Bracht was thrown back, staggering against the chestnut horse, which shied, snickering in alarm. Calandryll saw the red stone flicker, caught the scent of almonds on the moist morning air. He moved to Bracht's side as the Kem gasped, clutching at his chest.

  "Shall I slay you?" Anomius demanded. "Shall I leave you dead here, for the crows to pick your bones?"

  Bracht rose on hands and knees, teeth gritted, his voice coming harsh through the clenching.

  "The ... horses ... need ... rest."

  He screamed as the wizard worked his violent magic again, falling on his face with hands pressed hard to his breast, knees drawing up to his belly, trembling as pain racked him. Calandryll shouted, "No! Remember the augury! The spaewife said we are bonded, Bracht and I— without him I'll not reach Tezin-dar!"

  "There's that," Anomius admitted, his voice less strident now. "So—put him on his horse. But remember, freesword, that if you argue with me you'll know more pain. Worse pain!"

  Bracht grunted, slowly straightening as the wizard lowered his hand. Sweat beaded his forehead as Calandryll helped him rise, steadied him as he shuddered, reaching painfully for the chestnut's saddle. He set a foot in the stirrup and hauled himself astride, clumsy as Anomius for the moment. Calandryll passed him the reins and saw that he smiled; grimly. He opened his mouth to ask why, but Bracht shook his head, silencing him, pointing to the roan in tacit indication that he mount without questions.

  Calandryll left him as he wished, thinking that Bracht's provocation of the sorcerer had, indeed, been deliberate: he wondered what the Kem thought to gain from such a testing of the wizard's patience.

  "Come," Anomius called, cheerful again now, "to the ferry."

  A loggers' trail descended through the timber to the Yst River, wide and muddy, marked with the stumps of felled trees, great lengths piled to await collection. Lower down they passed a felling party, waving in answer to the cheerful greetings offered, continuing through the dwindling forest until they emerged on meadowland, where sheep grazed and shepherds' huts stood lonely beside rough pens. By noon they approached the spread of buddings along the riverside, timber structures, with smoke rising lazy into the warm air. The Yst lay ahead, far broader than any river they had so far crossed, with barges moored along the bank, heavy with dressed wood. The ferry lay on the north side and they rode directly to the raft, ignoring the inns and eating houses to which, it seemed, most of the population had repaired.

  A bearded Kand lounged on the jetty, munching bread and cold meat, answering their request for passage with the news that two men were needed to man the winches and his fellow was sampling ale. Anomius looked to Calandryll, motioning for him to show coin, and he drew a var from his satchel, tossing it to the man.

  "Fetch your partner," he ordered, surprised at his imperious tone, "He can drink later—and better for such payment."

  The Kand bit the coin, eyeing them curiously, then i shrugged and set down his meal, ambling toward the nearest tavern.

  They dismounted, leading the horses onto the raft, and waited for the ferrymen. Bracht appeared recovered from the magical attack, his face impassive as he stared north, to where Nhur-jabal stood menacing on the bluff. Calandryll watched him in silence, sensing that some design was afoot, curious as to what the Kem planned. Anomius fidgeted irritably, though whether from impatience or apprehension Calandryll could not tell.

  Then the Kand appeared with another and the two men sprang on board and, without further word, set to turning the winches, drawing the heavy cables slowly straight as the ferry eased from the dock into the stream. Now Calandryll turned to watch the city, alarmed as much by the prospect of cavalry galloping to meet them as the fear of magic. The raft swayed, tugged by the current, its progress slow, the slap of
water and the creaking of the winches metronomic, ticking off the long minutes of the crossing. The farther bank seemed no closer, the buildings there no larger, as if they hung suspended in midstream, caught in time until the Tyrant's sorcerers should become aware of their presence and magic or soldiery be sent against them. Then, gradually, riverbank and buildings came closer, the ferry drawing inexorably toward the dock. It grounded and they walked the horses up the landing ramp, boots lapped by wavelets as the silent Kands watched them go.

  The spur of the Kharm-rhanna holding the pass was clearer now, wooded slopes dark green in the afternoon sun, the gash cut by the Shemme standing bright: a gateway out of Kandahar. Anomius prepared to mount.

  Bracht said, "Can we not eat?"

  The wizard turned an angry face on the Kem.

  "Would you taste my power again?"

  "I'd eat," Bracht answered. "We've a long ride ahead and hunger sits ill on my belly."

  Anomius raised a threatening hand, then thought better of it and smiled.

  "Later—perhaps when we reach the pass."

  Bracht looked up to where the foothills hung against the sky and shrugged, making no move to mount.

  "Remember," Anomius murmured, his voice falsely affable, "that distance from me means agony."

  He dragged himself astride the grey and heeled the horse to a trot through the sleepy village. Calandryll tinned to Bracht.

  "Dera, would you have him work his magic on you again? Do you seek deliberately to anger him?"

  "I tire of his commands."

  Bracht grinned and swung astride the chestnut without further explanation. Calandryll mounted and followed him, alarmed now: fearing that perhaps Anomius's magicks had addled the Kem's mind.

  They passed through the village into farmland, increasing their pace as the trail wound among fenced fields; the land climbing steadily toward the hills. Anomius kicked the grey to a swift canter and Bracht speeded to come alongside the black-robed man.