Relics of War

by Lawrence Watt-Evans

  “He is a weapon,” Sammel answered.

  At that, Garander almost despaired. He looked for Azlia, to see if the wizard might be more amenable to reason.

  She was standing back a little apart from the crowd, her silver dagger in her hand. She was gesturing in the air and muttering, as she had when she summoned the vision in the root cellar.

  “She’s casting a spell,” he said, and only realized he had said it aloud when Sammel and Ishta turned to look at her.

  “That’s cheating!” Ishta said.

  “We don’t know what kind of spell,” Garander said, even as he felt a sinking in his belly.

  “It’s nothing terrible,” Sammel told them. “We talked about this beforehand—she’s just testing whether her magic can affect the shatra. If she were seriously trying to harm him, she wouldn’t do it out here in the open.”

  He sounded sincere, but Garander was not entirely convinced, and he didn’t think Ishta was, either. There was not much they could do about it, though, so they merely watched as the fight continued.

  It really wasn’t much of a fight, though. Tesk continued to dodge everything the two soldiers did. There was a brief moment of excitement when blue sparks burst from Azlia’s dagger, momentarily distracting everyone but Tesk and Hargal, but other than that the demonstration had become repetitive, more tedious than thrilling. It dragged on, and on, until finally Burz staggered back, exhausted.

  “I give up,” he said. “I can’t touch him.”

  The crowd watching burst into applause.

  “You haven’t even made him angry!” Garander called. “You see? He isn’t a threat to anyone.”

  Hargal, panting, stopped fighting and lifted his blade to point skyward. “We certainly aren’t a threat to him,” he said.

  “So there’s no need to fight!” Garander exclaimed. “There’s nothing to worry about. If he wanted to hurt anyone, he’d have done it already.”

  Reluctantly, Hargal nodded. “We certainly couldn’t stop him.” He glanced at the wizard, but Azlia sheathed her dagger with one hand and turned up an empty palm with the other.

  “We did kill some shatra during the war,” Grondar said. “It must be possible.”

  Tesk looked at Azlia, much as Hargal had a moment before. “It is possible,” he said. Unlike Burz and Hargal, he did not sound tired or short of breath. Then he turned to Grondar. “But there is no need to kill me. Your children trust me, and I have not harmed them. The war is over. I want peace.”

  “Maybe he can’t hurt anyone anymore,” someone called from the crowd. “Maybe there’s a spell on him!”

  “Maybe the gods did something to him!” another voice suggested.

  Garander was about to shout out a denial, then caught himself; if the neighbors wanted to believe that, then so much the better! He could see Tesk considering the matter, and he, too, apparently decided not to insist on the truth.

  Assuming that it was the truth; Garander realized that he did not actually know. Maybe Tesk had been magically defanged somehow, whether he knew it or not, and that was why he had been allowed to survive the end of the war.

  Other voices spoke up, and in a moment the field was loud with chatter and argument.

  Garander listened, but did not follow the discussion very closely; as far as he was concerned, the most important thing was what was not said: No one was calling for Tesk’s death. There were no cries of “Kill the monster!”

  And then Ishta suddenly ran out onto the field and threw her arms around Tesk’s waist. “You’re safe!” she said. “You convinced them!”

  The conversation died as everyone stared, and then Hargal spoke, slowly and deliberately.

  “You’re right,” he said. “I’m convinced. The shatra doesn’t mean us any harm—and if he did, there isn’t anything we could do about it.”

  “So you’ll tell Lord Dakkar that?” Grondar asked.

  Hargal nodded. “Of course, he may not believe me,” he said.

  “Well, we’ll support you,” Sammel said, gesturing at Azlia and himself.

  Ishta was still hugging Tesk; Garander noticed that the shatra had not hugged her back, but was smiling happily. Now she released him, and turned to the crowd. “Tesk,” she said, “I’d like you to meet my mother, Shella of the Green Eyes, and my father, Grondar of Lullen. And these are some of our neighbors…”

  The neighbors stepped forward to be introduced; some even shook Tesk’s hand. Any fear they might have had of the Northern monster had been banished by the display of dodging and Ishta’s obvious affection for him.

  Garander did not participate; instead he watched the baron’s four representatives. They did not join in the camaraderie, but gathered to one side and spoke quietly amongst themselves. They did not seem happy or excited, as most of the others were; they seemed disappointed and worried.

  Ishta seemed to think that all the trouble was past, and that she and her special friend could now go on as before, meeting in the forest to talk without worrying about secrecy or danger.

  Watching the visitors conferring, Garander did not think the danger was over.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The baron’s party left the next morning, heading back to Varag to bring Lord Dakkar their conclusions. Garander, both his sisters, and his parents gave them a friendly send-off, watching and waving as the foursome trudged off to the west.

  Tesk was not there; he had retreated to the forest shortly after the introductions, saying that he had been alone too long to be comfortable among so many people. Several of the neighbors had seemed disappointed that they had not had a chance to talk at length with the mysterious Northern monster, but they had all gone home peacefully.

  After the four were gone, and after their daily chores were done, Garander and Ishta slipped away for a brief visit with Tesk. They found him sitting in a tree, perhaps six feet off the ground, waiting for them; Garander hoisted Ishta up to sit beside him, then climbed up and found a seat on another limb. The shatra seemed his usual calm self, and after some polite discussion Ishta asked, “Aren’t you glad they’ll leave you alone?”

  “They may not leave me alone,” Tesk replied. “They will report to their superior—the baron. He will determine what will be done.”

  “Well, yes, but you heard them say they’ll tell him you don’t want any trouble,” Garander said.

  “We do not know whether they spoke the truth. They may change their minds after taking time to consider. And we do not know how influential they really are.”

  This matched some of Garander’s own unspoken concerns, but Ishta insisted, “No one’s going to bother you!”

  “I hope you are correct,” Tesk answered.

  The next few sixnights went well; the weather stayed relatively dry, allowing Grondar and his family to get much of the plowing and planting done. Ishta was able to slip away and visit with Tesk a few times, but Garander was generally kept too busy.

  His mother suggested to Ishta she could invite Tesk for supper one night, which surprised the girl; what surprised Garander was when Ishta actually made the offer, and Tesk accepted.

  Both Shellas went all out to make the best meal they could; the elder Shella had Garander slaughter one of the hogs, and presented her family and Tesk with a spectacular rib roast, mushroom soup, boiled apples, fresh bread, and herb butter.

  The conversation was dominated by Grondar and Tesk exchanging war stories; Shella the Younger said little but seemed fascinated with the shatra, and Garander worried that she might be getting foolish romantic notions. When he got a chance he whispered to her, “Remember, he’s at least twenty years older than you, and he isn’t entirely human.”

  “Shut up!” Shella hissed in reply, and Garander thought she blushed. She did a better job of hiding her interest afterwards, though.

  After the meal they gathered around the hearth with a bottle of wine; Garander wondered whether Tesk realized what an extravagance this was. No one in the area had succeeded in growing d
ecent grapes, which meant that wine had to be bought from merchants in Varag, with cash money; the family rarely drank any except at Festival, and even then they were limited to a bottle or two. The conversation continued, but became more general; Garander’s mother asked Tesk about his family, and only realized too late that not only were they were all dead, but that most of them had been killed by the gods of Ethshar in the campaign of extermination that ended the Great War.

  When the wine was gone Shella invited Tesk to stay the night, but the shatra politely declined. Garander was relieved by that; although everyone seemed determined to treat Tesk as just another neighbor now, he was not. He was still a monster, even if a friendly one. Garander had risked his own life to prove that Tesk would not kill anyone, but that did not mean he was entirely comfortable with having the Northerner around while he slept.

  Besides, the house was small, and crowded enough with just the five of them.

  “I’ll fetch a lantern to light you home, then,” Grondar offered.

  Tesk smiled slightly at that. “It is not necessary,” he said. “I can see well in the dark.”

  “Oh,” Grondar said, looking at the shatra’s eyes. “Of course you can.”

  Tesk had set his pack by the door; now he gathered it up and left. Garander went to the door, intending to watch their guest safely out of sight, but Tesk had already vanished.

  He was pleasant company, but he really was not human.

  It was mid-afternoon about ten days later, while Garander was hoeing weeds from the west field under scattered clouds on a cool spring day, that he heard an unfamiliar voice call, “Hai!”

  He looked around, startled, but did not see anyone at first. Then he noticed a shadow, and looked up.

  A red and brown carpet was hanging in mid-air, about fifteen feet off the ground, and a man in a blue robe and pointed hat was standing on it.

  “I’m looking for Grondar of Lullen,” the stranger shouted.

  “He’s my father,” Garander replied. “What do you want with him?”

  “I understand he’s captured a shatra.”

  Garander blinked. “Ah…no.”

  “No?”

  “He hasn’t captured anyone.”

  “But there is a shatra in the area?”

  Garander did not appreciate strangers coming around making demands, especially since it probably meant someone else wanted to kill Tesk—or perhaps that Lord Dakkar had hired new, more powerful magicians to carry out the execution. “Who wants to know?” he called back.

  “Lord Edaran of Ethshar,” the stranger said.

  Startled, Garander frowned. “The overlord of Ethshar of the Sands?”

  “Exactly.”

  Apparently the news of Tesk’s existence had spread farther than Garander had expected. “Are you claiming to be Lord Edaran?” he asked.

  The stranger let out a bark of laughter. “Gods, no!” he said. “He just hired me to find the farm with the tame shatra. I’m called Zendalir the Mage. And you are…?”

  “Garander Grondar’s son. And there’s no such thing as a tame shatra.”

  Zendalir looked down his nose at Garander. “Well, I wouldn’t have thought so, but we’ve gotten pretty definite reports of one.”

  “There’s one in the area, but he isn’t tame.”

  “But it is a shatra? You’re certain?”

  Garander had to think how he could phrase his response to give away as little as possible. He did not like this arrogant fellow, but he did not want to antagonize Edaran of Ethshar, who was one of the three most powerful non-magicians in the World. In the end he kept it simple. “Yes, I’m certain.”

  “Excellent! I’d like to see it, if I may; is there someone here who can arrange that?”

  “Just see him?”

  “Yes. I’m not going to kill it, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  It was. Seeing Tesk was not so terrible, and was definitely preferable to killing him, but Garander was still wary. He said, “He may not want to see you, and we can’t make him do anything.”

  “Can’t you? I understood your family rendered it unable to harm people.”

  For a moment Garander wondered what the magician was talking about, but he quickly realized this was a bizarre misinterpretation of the demonstration they had staged, showing that Tesk could control his demon. “No,” he said. “He chose not to hurt anyone.”

  “A shatra chose not to kill Ethsharites?” The mage cocked his head. “We had assumed you had it under some sort of geas.”

  “No.” Garander shook his head. “He’s not stupid. He knows the war is over. He just wants to be left in peace.”

  “Well, that isn’t going to happen!” Zendalir said with a broad smile. “Is there some way you can arrange for me to speak to it, or whoever is in charge of it, on Lord Edaran’s behalf?”

  “No one is in charge of him,” Garander said.

  “Its representative, then?”

  Puzzled, Garander said, “Representative?”

  “Someone who can deliver the overlord’s offer.”

  “I’m his friend,” Garander said, smacking the hoe’s head on the dirt by his feet. “I can tell him what you want.”

  “A shatra has friends?”

  “This one does.”

  “Oh, very good! Tell it…”

  “Him,” Garander corrected.

  “Of course. Tell him, then, that Lord Edaran wishes to engage his services, and will pay a generous stipend.”

  It took a moment for Garander to make sense of this; he knew the words, but did not see how they could apply to Tesk. Finally, though, he said, “The overlord wants to hire him?”

  “Yes.”

  “To do what?”

  “You understand, boy, that we had thought we would be hiring your father—that he controlled this shatra somehow. You tell me that isn’t the case, so it seems Edaran needs to employ the shatra directly. Very well; that removes an unnecessary layer of administration. Yes, we want to hire him.”

  “To do what?” Garander repeated. “He’ll want to know.”

  “I should think it would be obvious. We want to study his magic, so that we can use it for the good of the Hegemony of the Three Ethshars.”

  This had not been obvious to Garander at all. It did make a certain amount of sense, though. “I can tell him,” he said. “But I don’t know if he’ll be interested.”

  “Well, I hope we can at least open negotiations.”

  Garander turned up an empty palm.

  Zendalir looked around, tapping his chin through his beard. “I can provide him with transportation to Ethshar,” he said. “Or I can bring Lady Shasha here, to conduct the overlord’s business.”

  “Who’s Lady Shasha?” Garander did not keep up with politics, or try to remember all the names, but he was fairly certain he had never heard of a Lady Shasha.

  “Oh, she’s one of Edaran’s advisors,” Zendalir said. “He’s appointed her to handle this matter. She’s actually the one who hired me, though I did get my instructions from the overlord himself.”

  That did little to convince Garander of her intelligence; the flying carpet was impressive, but Zendalir did not seem very diplomatic, and his grotesque misunderstanding of the situation was somewhat worrisome.

  “I think it might be best if this Lady Shasha came here,” he said.

  “Would tomorrow afternoon, around this time, be agreeable?”

  “It sounds fine to me,” Garander said, “but I don’t know what Tesk will think.”

  “Tesk? I thought your father’s name was Grondar.”

  “It is. We call the shatra Tesk. His real name is too hard to pronounce.”

  Zendalir looked startled. “It has a name?”

  “Of course he has a name!”

  “All right, all right!” He held up both hands. “I’ll be back tomorrow with Lady Shasha to discuss terms, then.” He paused, staring at Garander. His tone was harsher as he added, “And I certainly hope, boy, t
hat you haven’t been playing some sort of trick on me. It will not go well for you if it turns out you are not the shatra’s friend. If you have misled me in any way, now is the time to admit it—I will accept it as harmless youthful foolishness today, but tomorrow I will be far less forgiving.”

  “I certainly haven’t intentionally misled you,” Garander said, resisting the urge to say more and make it clear just what he thought of the magician’s wits. Insulting a magician to his face was at least as stupid as anything Zendalir had done.

  “Very well, then,” Zendalir said. “I shall see you tomorrow.” He raised a hand.

  “Wait!” Garander called.

  Zendalir paused in mid-gesture. “Yes? You have a confession after all?”

  “No, of course not. In case Tesk asks, though—what kind of magician are you?”

  Zendalir drew himself up to his full height, clapped a hand on his chest, and announced, “I am a wizard, boy! What else could I be? Did I not tell you I am a mage? Do you not see this magnificent carpet?”

  “Oh—does mage mean wizard? I didn’t know.”

  “A mage is a master wizard, you…lad! It denotes one who has attained a certain status in the Wizards’ Guild! And this carpet could be nothing but wizardry!”

  “All right. We don’t see much magic out here.”

  “Then how did—ah, but you claim the shatra is not enchanted.” He waved a hand. “It’s not my concern how you did it. I will see you tomorrow.” With that, the carpet rose, rotated a half-turn, and sailed off to the south.

  Garander leaned on his hoe and watched it go. It had scarcely reached the horizon when both his sisters came running toward him.

  “What was that?” Shella called.

  “A wizard,” Garander replied. “On a flying carpet. He wants to talk to Tesk.”

  Shella clapped her hands. “A real wizard?”

  “You’ve met a wizard before,” Garander pointed out. “Azlia was a wizard.”

  “But she didn’t have a flying carpet!”

  “What does he want with Tesk?” Ishta asked. She sounded worried.