Hargal gave the magicians a disgusted glance.
“Ordinarily,” Sammel said, “we wouldn’t take reported sightings of leftover shatra very seriously, but in this case we recognized your father’s name and remembered the talisman your little sister found, so we knew there had been Northern activity near here during the war. If a real shatra survived anywhere, this is as likely a place as any.”
“I wouldn’t know,” Garander replied.
“Where’s your father, boy?” Hargal demanded. He was obviously not inclined toward patience with this farmboy, regardless of what the magicians said.
“I’m not sure,” Garander said, carefully not looking toward the south field. “We’re getting ready for the spring planting; he could be anywhere.”
“Then we’ll wait until he comes home for supper. Come on.” Hargal started marching past Garander, toward the house.
“Wait a minute!” Garander protested. “This is our land; you can’t just come bursting in here!”
Hargal stopped, and turned to stare at Garander. His hand dropped to the hilt of his sword, and slowly, deliberately, he drew his blade and brought it around, then raised the point and pressed it to Garander’s throat.
Garander tried to step back, but found the other soldier was behind him, his own weapon unsheathed and held ready. The youth turned to see that Azlia had drawn her own dagger, and her other hand was groping for something in her pack. Sammel had unslung his pack, and was holding it ready.
“I think,” Hargal said, “that we can go wherever we please. Did you not understand that we are here on the baron’s business?”
“But…but it’s our land!”
“It’s within the baron’s domain, and you are the baron’s subjects,” Hargal answered. “Do you deny that?”
Garander looked down at the steel blade at his throat, and said nothing.
“We mean you no harm,” Hargal said, “but you will not interfere with us. Is that clear?”
“I don’t understand what this is about,” Garander said. He glanced toward the house, and saw his sister Shella watching from the window.
“It’s about the shatra,” Hargal said. “What do you know about it?”
“Nothing!”
Hargal glanced at the two magicians.
“The talisman isn’t ready,” Sammel said. “I can’t tell whether he’s lying.”
“I don’t sense any magic,” Azlia added.
“I don’t understand!” Garander repeated.
He was stalling for time, but he was unsure why; he did not have any plans that would be helped by a delay. All he could really hope for was that a few more minutes would give him a chance to think of something.
He was not even sure why he did not simply admit that yes, he knew there was a shatra living in the forest beyond the north field. It was not as if he thought these two soldiers would be any threat to Tesk.
But the magicians were an unknown element. His father’s superiors, during the war, had said that if anyone encountered a shatra they should call for magicians, but were these two what those officers had had in mind? Garander had always assumed that all the powerful wizards and sorcerers lived far away, in one of the Ethshars—Azrad’s Ethshar, or Ethshar of the Sands, or Ethshar of the Rocks, or Old Ethshar. Azlia was probably a real wizard, but Garander had not actually seen her perform any magic when he had first met her in Varag; Sammel had seemed knowledgeable about sorcery, but he, too, had not really done anything magical. Tesk, on the other hand, was loaded down with sorcery. He could burn a tree down by pointing a stick at it; he could stay warm and dry in a blizzard. Was there anything Azlia and Sammel could do to him?
Perhaps, Garander thought, he should tell them about Tesk…
But no. The real danger was not so much that they would harm Tesk, but that Tesk would kill them, and the baron would blame Garander and his family.
“We have come here,” Hargal said, “to determine whether or not a shatra has somehow survived, and is living in this area. There is nothing very complicated about that, is there?”
“But…aren’t shatra extremely dangerous?” Garander asked. “When my father told me about them he said his orders during the war, if he saw a shatra, were to get away from it as fast as he could and call for a dragon. He said a shatra and a full-grown dragon were a pretty even match. What would you do if you found one?”
“You let us worry about that!”
Garander glanced at the magicians, who were listening with interest—and perhaps some concern. “But look, sir, if a shatra kills the four of you, the baron might take it out on my family. I don’t want that!”
“So there are shatra around here?”
“I told you, I don’t know!”
“Garander,” Azlia said, “we aren’t here to fight whatever it was your father saw. We just want to know what it is. As you say, shatra are dangerous. It’s important for Lord Dakkar to know about anything that threatens his people, and that includes any leftover Northern monsters.”
“If it was really a shatra,” Sammel said, “we’ll go back and tell Lord Dakkar. We aren’t going to get killed, and no one is going to blame your family for anything.”
“You won’t try to put a spell on it?”
“I wasn’t planning to,” Azlia replied.
“I don’t think you could,” Sammel said.
Azlia threw him an irritated glance, then turned her attention back to Garander. “So, let’s start at the beginning. Your father saw something in the forest?” She gestured toward the trees visible beyond the farm. “Over there?”
Garander decided that sooner or later, at least some of the truth would come out. “Yes,” he said. “It looked like a man dressed all in black, carrying a big pack.”
“Did you see it?”
Reluctantly, Garander nodded.
“When?”
“Around the time of the first snowfall.”
“Not since then?” Hargal demanded.
“No,” Garander said. He was giving an almost honest answer to that one—he had seen the smoke from Tesk’s signal fires, but he had not seen Tesk himself in months, not since the brief meeting after the second snow.
“Have you seen any tracks in the snow?” Sammel asked. “Since then, I mean?”
“What kind of tracks?”
“The kind a man might leave.”
Garander shook his head. “Just my family’s. And some birds and small animals.”
The magicians exchanged glances. “If it was a shatra, it’s probably long gone,” Sammel said.
Hargal finally lowered his sword. “So we’ve come here for nothing?”
“Not necessarily,” Sammel said. “We might be able to pick up its trail.” He hefted his pack. “I have some sorcery that might help.”
“And I have spells that might, as well,” Azlia said.
“Assuming there’s anything to find,” Hargal said. “I’m not convinced these people really saw anything.”
“Neither am I,” Garander said, startling the soldier. “We saw a dark shape in the snow, but it could have been almost anything, really.”
“You said it was a man,” Azlia said.
“I said it looked like a man,” Garander said. “It was snowing, and it’s easy to get fooled by trees and shadows in the forest.”
“Hmph.” Hargal sheathed his weapon, and said, “We still need to talk to your father. You don’t know where he is?”
Garander shook his head.
“Then we’ll wait at the farm. Come on.” Without waiting for Garander or the others he marched past him, headed for the house.
Garander could not think of any way to further deter the invaders, and instead turned and hurried to keep pace with Hargal. As he turned he glimpsed Shella dropping the window-curtain back into place; he hoped Hargal had not seen it. Perhaps his mother and sisters would stay quiet, and not let the big man know anyone was there. He struggled to keep up with Hargal’s long strides.
The ma
gicians and the other soldier followed, not quite as briskly.
When Garander and Hargal were perhaps three-fourths of the way across the west field when the farmhouse door opened and a small shape dashed out, headed away from them—Ishta.
For a moment Garander thought she was headed for the forest to warn Tesk, but at the corner of the house she turned south, rather than continuing to the east, and Garander realized she was going to fetch their father, not to warn the shatra. He relaxed slightly, and only then noticed that he had been tensed, his shoulders hunched, ready to run or fight.
That was stupid, he tried to tell himself; he wouldn’t stand a chance in a fight with a trained soldier like Hargal, and probably couldn’t outrun him, either.
Even if he did outrun him, what good would it do? What would he do? Where would he go? He didn’t know how to find Tesk, and finding him would probably only make matters worse.
He glanced to the south and saw Ishta running across the field; Grondar looked up from his work as his daughter approached.
Hargal apparently did not notice; he marched on toward the house.
A moment later the soldier’s gloved fist pounded on the door, and Garander heard his mother’s voice call, “Who is it?”
“We’ve come on the baron’s business!” Hargal shouted, as Garander came up beside him.
“Why should I believe you?” Shella asked. The door remained firmly shut.
Hargal’s disgust was obvious. “I’m wearing Lord Dakkar’s uniform, and who else would it be? Does it even matter? I’m the man with a sword. Open the door!”
“My husband will be here soon!”
“Good! That’s who I came to see.”
“What do you want with my Grondar?”
Hargal sighed. “That’s none of your business—it’s his.”
“What have you done with my son?”
“Nothing! He’s right here!” He turned and jabbed Garander with a finger. “Calm your mother down, boy.”
“Mother, it’s all right!” Garander called. “They’ve come about those stories Father told the neighbors!”
“What stories?”
“About seeing a monster in the woods!”
There were a few seconds of silence, and then the latch lifted and the door opened. Shella of the Green Eyes peered out. “What monster?”
“Your husband claimed he saw a shatra,” Hargal replied.
“He did?”
“Yes!”
The magicians and the other soldiers finally caught up, gathering at the door. “Hai,” Azlia called. “I’m the wizard your son met in Varag.”
“She is, Mother,” Garander confirmed.
“The baron’s wizard?”
“Yes.”
Shella considered that for a moment, then said, “My husband will be here soon.” Then she closed the door.
Chapter Eleven
Grondar came around the corner of the house with a hoe in his hand and Ishta at his heel. “What’s this?” he demanded.
“Are you Grondar of Lullen?” Hargal demanded in reply.
“I am,” Grondar said, stopping a few feet away and raising the hoe. “Who are you?”
“Hargal of Varag, in the service of Lord Dakkar,” Hargal replied. “The baron sent us to talk to you.”
“The baron?” He looked past Hargal’s shoulder at Garander, who nodded. “What does he want with me?”
“You reported seeing a shatra in this area, did you not?”
Again, Grondar looked at his son, but this time Garander kept his face as blank as he could. He saw Ishta, standing behind their father, look frightened, and hoped none of the baron’s representatives noticed—or if they did, that they misinterpreted her concern.
Grondar considered for a second or two, then lowered the hoe and said, “Yes, I did.”
“The baron takes an interest in potential threats to the safety of his people,” Hargal said. “A shatra would qualify, don’t you think?”
“Of course I think it’s dangerous!” Grondar replied, thumping the hoe on the ground. “That’s why I warned my neighbors. But I didn’t think the baron would concern himself with it! I’m not even sure we are his people, and not Lord Edaran’s.”
Hargal smiled an unpleasant smile. “Well, Lord Dakkar certainly thinks this is part of his own domain, and he’s sent us to investigate.”
“Very well,” Grondar said. Then he looked expectantly at the soldier.
Hargal barely hesitated before asking his first question. “You saw a shatra?”
“I did,” Grondar said firmly.
“You’re sure?”
Grondar hesitated. “Fairly certain,” he said.
From Hargal’s reaction, Garander did not think that was the answer he had expected. “Tell me about it,” the soldier said. “Where did you see it? When? What did it look like?”
Grondar looked at his son again, but then turned up a palm. He pointed to the northeast. “In the woods, over that direction, around the time of the first snowfall—maybe the end of Leafcolor?”
“Not since then?”
“No.”
“What did it look like?”
“Like a man dressed all in black, with a strange black helmet—all his clothes were strange. He had a big pack on his back, with several carved sticks tied to it.”
Hargal glanced at Sammel, who nodded. This evidently did not satisfy the soldier, who asked Grondar, “Why did you think it was a shatra?’
“Because it fit the description my lieutenant gave us back during the war perfectly!”
“But the war is long over and the Northern Empire is gone. What made you think it wasn’t just a strangely-dressed man? Perhaps someone who found some old Northern gear?”
“Because nothing human ever moved like that! It ran up a tree and then jumped from branch to branch as if it was swimming through the air, faster than any fish ever swam in water. Just the way the lieutenant said shatra moved.”
Garander saw the two magicians exchange glances. Sammel adjusted his pack, then asked, “Where did you see it, exactly?”
Grondar pointed again. “Over there. In the forest.”
“How far inside the forest?” Sammel asked, as he fished in his pack.
Grondar hesitated, and turned to the direction he had been pointing, considering the question. “Fifty or sixty yards, perhaps?”
“What were you doing that deep in the woods in the snow?”
Grondar blinked. “Gathering mushrooms,” he said.
“In the snow?” Hargal demanded. Meanwhile, Sammel had apparently found what he had been looking for; he pulled an object from his pack that Garander could only describe as a big golden egg with a handle. He began fiddling with it, squeezing the handle.
“Well, if we’d waited, they’d be buried, wouldn’t they?”
“They were good mushrooms,” Garander volunteered, before anyone could argue. “The orangey-brown ones. They’re all gone now.”
Sammel turned, the egg-thing in his hand. “You were with him?”
“Sort of. I was looking a little ways away. I told you I saw something, but I wasn’t as close as my father was.”
“Anyone else?”
Garander was careful not to look at Ishta. “No.”
Hargal asked Grondar, “Did anyone see it besides you two?”
“Not that I know of.”
Garander was pleasantly surprised to hear his father tell this outright lie—but then, he was protecting his daughter. Garander knew that however unhappy his father might be about Tesk’s presence, however displeased he might be with his children’s actions, he still loved them and wanted to keep them safe.
“Do you have any evidence?” Hargal asked. “Any way to prove the two of you didn’t just make it up?”
“No,” Grondar replied, “but why would we make anything up?”
“To keep people away, perhaps? You might have something in the woods you don’t want anyone else to find?”
Grondar
looked genuinely puzzled. “Like what?”
Sammel was pointing the egg-thing at Grondar; Garander guessed it was a talisman of some sort. “You really saw a shatra, as you described?” he asked.
“Yes, I did,” Grondar answered.
Sammel looked at his talisman and said, “He’s telling the truth.”
“So there really is a shatra?” Hargal asked.
“Well, there was,” Sammel replied. “That was months ago, according to these two.”
“Show us where,” Hargal ordered.
Grondar looked from Garander to Ishta, then spread both hands. “This way,” he said.
Garander and Ishta followed along as their father led the four outsiders past the barn, around the woodshed, across the north field, and into the woods. As they walked, Sammel put his golden egg-talisman back in his pack and dug out a boxlike blue thing with two handles and four shiny inset squares.
Snow still covered parts of the forest floor; the springtime sun had not penetrated to melt it as much as in more open areas. Last year’s leaves made a sodden layer beneath and between the snowy patches, providing a soft surface that gave uncomfortably beneath their feet. Still, the party of seven trudged on until they came to the tree where Tesk had set up his magical shelter. There was no sign of the cloth there, but Garander remembered the shape of the branches, and was sure his father had found the right tree.
“Here,” Grondar said, pointing. “That’s the tree it ran up.”
Hargal looked at Garander.
“This is it,” Garander said.
“You’re sure?”
Father and son nodded, and Hargal looked to the baron’s sorcerer.
Sammel raised his blue device and waved it around slowly, watching the shiny insets as he did. One of them seemed to flash, Garander thought, but it might have just been catching the sun through the branches overhead.
“There’s been sorcery here,” Sammel said. “Probably not recently, though.”
“Could it be left from the war?” the other soldier asked.
Sammel shook his head. “It’s not that old.”
“It’s consistent with Grondar’s story?” Azlia asked.
“I’d say so, yes.” The sorcerer frowned at the blue talisman. “But I think the shatra, if that’s what it was, may have come back once or twice since then. There are traces that might be from only a few sixnights back, not Leafcolor.”
Relics of War Page 10
