She tried her hands. The rope was tight around her wrists and there was no hope of breaking it. Then she tried a spell, a simple spell that should soften the strands of the rope. It didn’t work. She couldn’t find the words; the shaman’s curse had buried them beneath a layer of dark emptiness. Now she knew she was helpless. She slumped, exhausted, and with a cheek pressed to the cold stone floor, she cried.
CHAPTER 26 - HOMECOMING
‘Out like a doused torch,’ Jurgis said. ‘Twin must’ve been exhausted.’
‘Argyr made good sons,’ Maud said, gazing down at Basil’s sleeping form. ‘I wouldn’t have given it to him.’
‘Nor would I,’ Jurgis said. ‘But then, neither of us knows my father.’
‘True.’ Maud tilted his chin and gave him a hard kiss. ‘There. It’s been too long, love.’ Jurgis caressed her face with his hands and felt her shiver.
‘Can you cope?’ he asked.
She put her arms around him. ‘Yes. Still, I’d love to be alone with you.’ She patted him and stepped back. ‘Can you fish?’
Jurgis grinned. ‘That’s a great way to change the subject. Yes, I can. I often fished in Brisa; it beats eating rat.’ He patted his pockets and smiled. ‘I should go and kiss that old woman who sewed the secret pockets into my pants. All my little tools are still safe. I had bought line and tackle in Towne, thinking to do some relaxed fishing on the voyage here. Ha, those cannon runs and wrestle matches put it clear out of my mind.’ He turned. ‘Wargall, can you ...? Curse it, he’s gone again. Wargall?’
The boy sat on his knees, shifting through the heaps of rubble in the tower with the intentness with which he did everything.
Jurgis raised his eyebrows. ‘What are you doing? Looking for gold?’
‘You never know,’ Wargall said, looking serious. ‘Ruins always hide treasure, don’t they?’
‘You’re a romantic. Have you ever done any fishing?’
Wargall shook his head. ‘I can cook them, but catching fish was a woman’s job.’
‘Now’s a good time to start. We must have food, mate. Come on, I’ll show you how it’s done.’
‘Don’t you need a fishing pole, or something?’
‘Nope, just a spindle. Find yourself a piece of wood the size of your wrist. You hold the one end and tie the line around the other. When you catch anything, you turn the spindle, wind the line around the upper end and drag your meal onto the riverbank. Now, let’s hurry; I’m hungry.’
The fish were bitey after the storm and a few hours later, they had collected eight big ones.
‘They look nice,’ Wargall said with satisfaction. ‘Real nice.’ He raised his voice. ‘While we clean them, do you think we could ask the lioness to make a fire?’
‘The lioness will,’ Maud’s sleepy voice answered from within the ruined tower. ‘Don’t try to be subtle, boy; just ask me. And call me Maud.’
‘I cannot,’ Wargall said. ‘You’re my superior officer, ma’am.’
Maud appeared in the door. ‘It wasn’t a request.’
Wargall stiffened for a moment and then he sighed. ‘Yes, ma’am.’
Beside him, Jurgis burst out laughing. ‘Why do you insist on being formal? She hates it.’
‘It’s not proper,’ Wargall said stubbornly. ‘I’m a warrior now, and I want to behave like one. I haven’t earned the right to be familiar with a lioness, so I won’t.’
Jurgis gave Maud a questioning glance, and she shrugged.
‘All right,’ he said. ‘Let’s do the fish, before they jump back into the river.’
‘Not the way I walloped them, they won’t,’ the boy said. ‘Now, let’s see, those vine leaves creeping all over the walls are nice to wrap the meat in.’
‘Isn’t that dangerous? I heard ivy was poisonous.’
‘It is, but this isn’t ivy. We grow these same vines in our kitchen gardens.’ Wargall rolled a leaf between his fingers and held it under his nose. ‘The very same. Here, smell it.’
Gingerly, Jurgis sniffed, and a fresh scent filled his nostrils. ‘It doesn’t smell bad,’ he admitted. ‘Still ...’
‘Wargall is right,’ Maud said from within. ‘Our instructors call it dish vine. It’s said to grow everywhere in Old Kell. You learned to cook, Warrior?’
‘Yes, ma’am. I hated most things they tried to teach me, but cooking was all right. I can do needlework as well, but my fingers aren’t suited for it. And no, I don’t sing.’
Jurgis wanted to laugh at the admission, but something in the boy’s face warned him not to. ‘What’s wrong with singing?’
‘It’s what males are supposed to do. Sing pretty love songs; be cute, be available. I won’t do it.’ Wargall spat the last words and Jurgis took a step backwards.
‘No, of course not,’ he said, shocked. ‘Be cute indeed. Men sing about quite different things. Come; let’s gather those vines, while I teach you the sea songs we men in Brisa sang.’ Growing up in a seaport, where drunken sailors caroused, he’d learned shanties that weren’t meant for tender ears. But they suited Wargall’s mood, and soon he roared them full-voiced over the Vanhaari fields, his face glowing.
‘What’s that bloody bellowing?’ Basil, still bleary-eyed, limped from the tower.
‘I’ve taught him some men’s songs,’ Jurgis said. ‘He likes them.’
‘I heard.’ Basil pulled a face. ‘I don’t think Yarwan would approve of them aboard his ship.’ He stared at the sky, as if gauging the weather. ‘The wind has lessened. I could fly out and search for the Magonaut.’
‘You can’t.’ Jurgis was very serious now. ‘It would be useless and far too dangerous. The Magonaut could be anywhere; you’ll never find her. Then your spell runs out and you end up in the ocean. Besides, we need you here.’
His brother hung his head. ‘I know. But the uncertainty is driving me crazy.’
‘They’ll be all right. The Magonaut is a stout ship. The storm will have blown her off course, but there’s no reason to think anything worse.’
‘There should be a harbor town not too far from here,’ Basil said. ‘I remembered it from Yarwan’s charts. Seatome—perhaps we can get word of the Magonaut there.’
‘Dammit, Basil; don’t be an idiot.’ Maud stormed from the tower. ‘We can’t just walk into a large town, with enemy guards, a castle and whatnot. You two pretty boys won’t look like the local Vanhaari. And we, none of us knows what they think of Kells over here.’
Basil stared at her. ‘But the ship ...’
‘Will have to fend for herself.’ Maud waved a big fist at Basil. ‘This isn’t Malgarth, Spellwarden. Vanhaar is enemy territory. That means not foolin’ around, asking questions, getting noticed. We have one goal—Bitter’ights, with Kelwarg and that bloody book you want. After we’ve got the book, and I’m very optimistic now, we have a new goal—getting back to Malgarth. Perhaps we can steal a fishing boat, whatever. The Magonaut is Yarwan’s problem; not ours. Got that?’
Basil blinked at her unexpected anger. ‘Yes,’ he said, and he swallowed against the lump in his throat.
Maud’s face softened. ‘I know,’ she said. ‘You’re worried sick. So am I; worried and frustrated. But this is war, Basil. You must forget everything but the four of us and the goal. Do you really get it?’
Basil sighed. ‘Yes. I’m sorry.’
‘We’ll have to improvise.’
‘Again,’ Jurgis said. ‘We’ve been improvising ever since we boarded that dirigible at Brisa.’
The lioness showed her teeth. ‘That’s how it is. “You can plan what you want, but then Fate takes a hand.” That’s about the first thing a tenderfoot learns when she joins the army.’
‘Listen!’ They all looked at Jurgis, who had jumped to his feet, kicking aside the remains of their meal. ‘A lynching mob!’ His face had gone gray, and his eyes had a haunted look in them.
‘I hear them.’ Maud’s face was imperturbable. ‘They do sound like those merchants in Brisa. That fellow is still lo
oking for you, thiefboy.’
Jurgis looked ashamed at his moment of panic. ‘They’ll be hunters.’
The noise of yapping voices came closer. High-pitched, triumphant voices, howling for blood.
‘Basil, wait.’ Maud followed the Spellwarden outside, sword in hand. ‘I don’t like the sound of it.’
‘No.’ Basil halted, legs apart, and planted his staff in the grass. ‘Twin was right; it’s a manhunt.’
Now they all heard the sound of someone running, gasping for breath and sobbing. A disheveled young man broke through the shrubbery, running for the river. When he spied them, he gave a cry of despair and swerved. His leg gave way, and he tumbled face down at Maud’s feet.
A group of armored men on sleek mounts crashed into the clearing.
‘Ho!’ the first rider cried; a lean, gray-faced fellow in a blue robe and a wide-brimmed hat. ‘We caught a whole den of rebels, men.’
Six grinning soldiers lined up behind him, bows and swords at the ready.
‘You, lowborns,’ the blue robe said. ‘Where’s the one we hunted?’
Basil turned to face him and stood there, in the incongruous green knit trousers and overlarge purple tunic he used as his broom-flight uniform. He didn’t look at the soldiers; he focused his attention on the blue-robed man facing him. A singer? The thought ignited his anger, and he fought to stay calm. Look at him! He could have been one of us. But he isn’t, not with that ... soulless mug. He doesn’t believe in anything anymore.
The blue robe’s face twisted into a sneer as they locked eyes, and around them, all fell still.
He’s trying to force his will upon me! Basil chuckled and braced himself as the man gave a mind-push. Then they battled, will against will, invisible, but no less dangerous than a duel with swords.
With a small part of his consciousness, Basil studied the singer. A gaunt face, partly hidden beneath the brim of his soaked hat. As he looked, he saw the singer’s gray skin darken with every heartbeat while he threw his mind-power at the boy before him. Basil, motionless, resisted without even blinking, his anger stiffening his defenses.
At last, the singer looked away. ‘Stop playing games, boy.’
Basil noted how the man’s voice and his hands shook. His mind isn’t all that strong. My low-level sparring partners at home did better than he.
‘We want that one.’ The singer pointed at the fallen stranger before Maud. ‘Get him, men.’
‘Not another step,’ Basil said. Such was his assurance that the soldiers hesitated. ‘Who are you?’
The blue robe straightened in the saddle and his bony face regained its original sneer. ‘I am the Skymage Erwal. And you just joined my retinue of slaves, insolent one.’
Basil hissed. ‘You keep slaves! For that alone you deserve death, Erwal.’
For some reason, this made the soldiers gasp, and they exchanged fearful looks.
The blue robe’s face turned purple. ‘Death!’ roared he. ‘Yes, your death, lowborn!’ A wave of his staff sent a mass of hailstones at Basil.
Basil’s laugh mocked as the razor-sharp pellets bounced off his shield, spangling the wet grass with frozen bits. ‘You fight like a child. It’s clear why your goddess abandoned you, bungler; your incompetence is disgusting. Brace yourself, because it’s my turn now.’ The dragon on his staff pranced with open beak, and massive energies crackled all over Basil’s body. Let’s give those boys a bit of a show. He spread out his arms and willed his image to grow. In a deep voice he intoned, ‘I am the Spellwarden, bold Unwaari. I have returned to my land to avenge my people.’ Raising his staff to the sky, he cried, ‘Behold your doom!’ Now I sound like Saul, thought he, hiding a snicker.
His little act had effect, for Erwal cringed. ‘A warlock? Impossible!’ Then he cursed. ‘They’re all dead! We killed them at Casterglade. All of them. For Aera!’ An icicle as long as his arm appeared in his hand and he threw it like a lance.
It bounced off Basil’s shield, but its impact made the boy stagger for a second. ‘Ha! No, you won’t!’ he said, and swung his staff in a wide circle above his head. At the last moment, a giant fist sprang from the dragon’s mouth to the singer. Driven by a tiny gale of wind, it slammed through the singer’s defenses and crushed him. Blood ran down the blue robe as he collapsed. Then, his broken body slid along the scaled side of the mount to form a careless heap on the grass.
Basil gulped at the effect of his spell. ‘Holy gods!’
A low moan escaped the soldiers. The plumed officer who had ridden beside the blue robe rose in the stirrups. ‘We have failed! Kill the warlock!’ With a cry of despair, he vaulted over the head of his mount to get at Basil.
‘Oh, you stupid man!’ With a quick twist of his wrist, Basil threw a shaft of black light at the officer’s midriff. The Unwaari folded without a sound and crumbled.
The faces of the other soldiers emptied of all emotions. They sprang from their mounts and went for Basil.
A hard hand pulled the Spellwarden back. Then, bellowing like a bull, Wargall charged. ‘Kell! For Kell and the M’Arrangh!’
‘For Aera’s Return!’ a soldier shouted, but the sky goddess didn’t hear him and he died gurgling on the young warrior’s sword.
Maud joined the fray, with Jurgis a step behind her.
Basil growled. ‘Spoilsports!’ he muttered as he backed away from the battle.
The remaining Unwaari fought with the same suicidal disregard of their safety the Magonaut’s original crew had shown, and soon the skirmish was over.
Jurgis kicked the last enemy from his spear and stood panting, sweat dripping down his face. Basil saw how he sagged as the fighting spirit left him and stooped to wipe his spear on the dead soldier’s tunic.
Then, Jurgis looked up and grinned. ‘Behold your doom?’
‘I got carried away,’ Basil said, feeling shame heat up his cheeks. It was childish! he thought. Damned fool, you’re the Spellwarden! Then he almost went to his knees as Maud slapped his shoulder.
‘That fist you threw at him! A mighty punch, mate.’
Basil shook his head. ‘It was just silliness. Illusion with a shock of wind, that’s all. The whole thing should’ve knocked him out, not killed him. I must have used too much power. A pity; I had questions for that singer.’
Jurgis wiped his sweaty face and looked around at the dead bodies littering the clearing. ‘A real comfy Welcome Home. And those mounts are gone. I was afraid of that; they had a spooky, magical feel to them.’
‘They were summoned beasts, you mean?’ Basil said. ‘I never went into Summoning, but that sounds interesting.’
A sound like a sob made him whirl around, nearly stumbling as his toeless foot hit a stone. The hunted young man had come to, and lay in the wet grass, looking at them with fear and defiance warring in his face.
‘You’re lucky to be alive, friend,’ Maud said. ‘Now why are you staring at me like that?’
The other gnashed his teeth. ‘You’re a Kell. I’ve heard of you people. What is it you want with me? I’m an important man; not one for your awful rituals.’
‘Rituals?’ Maud frowned. ‘What ... Oh!’ Her eyes flashed and the intense anger glowing in her face made the young man quake. ‘Those shamans. Do they still have rituals using people?’ Then she added, ‘Don’t worry, I’m not one of them. You’re safe with us.’ She extended her hand. ‘I’m Maud of the M’Brannoe. What’s your name?’
The other shrank back, staring at the hand as if it was a monstrous claw. In desperation, he took it, and looked embarrassed when she shook hands with him.
‘I’m Noah, a hedge mage, from Seatome.’ He tried to sit up, but a spasm of pain crossed his face. ‘Damn bastards got me.’
Only then did Basil see the blood staining the young man’s side.
Maud kneeled down beside the hedge mage and tore open his shirt.
‘Hey,’ Noah said.
‘Don’t worry; you can always sew on new buttons.’ Then she saw the bleeding ga
sh in his side, just above the hipbone. ‘Nice sword cut.’
The mage nodded, his eyes closed. ‘One of them slashed at me. They were ... playing.’
Basil looked down at the young man; he was in his mid-twenties, passably good-looking with a round face and his hair clipped short. He looked an outdoors type, wearing serviceable clothes. Not much of a magic-worker, he thought. I’ve no idea what a hedge mage is. More hedge than mage, perhaps.
At his side, Maud pursed her lips. ‘You look peaked; been running for long?’
‘Miles,’ said Noah in a hoarse whisper. ‘They could’ve caught me in the first five minutes; those spelldrakes are fast. Instead they kept me running; that singer bastard wanted his sport out of me. I was trying to reach the river. Spelldrakes can’t swim and I hoped he would give up.’ With a wry grin he said, ‘He’d just have blasted me instead.’
Maud looked at Basil. ‘Could you give him some spare energy, like you did for Darquine? I must sew him up, but I’d like him regaining strength first.’
Basil studied the hedge mage. ‘I don’t know if I can ... It’s very personal, you know. What I do stimulates all his body functions, including a strong sexual reaction.’
Maud frowned at that. ‘I didn’t realize that. Still, it would help having him walk out of here on his own two legs. I don’t fancy carrying him.’
Basil sighed. He knelt next to the mage and put his hands on the young man’s chest. ‘This will be an intrusion. For both of us. Brace yourself.’ He saw the hedge mage shudder as the energy flowed into his body, caressing his nerves. Basil felt his own body react in sympathy. He knew it didn’t mean anything, but that didn’t make it less embarrassing. Sweat ran down his face and he gritted his teeth.
After another minute, the mage gasped. ‘Are you ... almost done?’
‘Remarkable,’ Maud said, business-like. ‘The wound is closing under my eyes. Your energy heals, Basil.’
Basil grunted and lifted his hands. He wiped his brow. ‘Finished. Damn, this was far worse than with Darquine. She is my dear friend, but her sexuality is solid marble. She gave no reaction whatsoever. You, Noah the Vanhaari hedge mage, are hot.’ He fought down his disgust and forced a crooked smile. ‘It’s good to know my self-restoration works on others as well. Don’t expect me to set up as a healer, though. I don’t think I could stand it.’
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