Relics of War

by Lawrence Watt-Evans

“But this is about Tesk, isn’t it?”

  “He’s just the excuse, son,” Grondar said.

  “What?” Grondar had had so little to say that Garander had almost forgotten he was there. Now he turned to look at his father.

  Grondar held up a hand. “We’ll talk later,” he said.

  “But…”

  Grondar shook his head, and Garander subsided, but now it was Tesk’s turn to speak. “You both say you have come to bargain for the magic I hold, yes?”

  “That’s right,” Lady Shasha replied.

  “You understand now that I cannot use your money or live in your cities, and that I cannot simply give you my equipment or teach you how to make more.”

  “I understand you say that,” Lord Dakkar answered.

  “Perhaps we should take time to reconsider our positions,” Tesk said. “I will try to think of what I want that you can give me, and how I might be useful to you. You can think of what you want of me that I can give, and what you can offer me, what promises you can make to persuade me. We will meet here again in a few hours’ time—at dusk, perhaps?—to resume negotiations.”

  “That sounds good to me,” Grondar said.

  “Some time to gather our thoughts might be useful,” Lady Shasha acknowledged.

  Velnira glanced at Lord Dakkar, who frowned. “All right,” he said.

  With that, the gathering broke up. Lord Dakkar, Velnira, and the baron’s soldiers headed for the baron’s camp; Lady Shasha returned to the still-hovering flying carpet, where one of the other passengers offered his hand to help her up.

  Grondar collected his family, using his outstretched arms to herd them toward the house. “Come on,” he said. “We’re going inside. Your chores can wait; we need to talk.”

  “May I walk with you?” Tesk asked.

  Startled, Grondar threw him a glance, then turned up a palm. “As you please,” he said.

  As they walked, Shella the Younger said, “I don’t understand what’s going on.”

  “I do,” Grondar said. He looked at Tesk again. “I think you do, too.”

  “I think so,” the shatra agreed.

  “What did you mean, he’s just the excuse?” Garander asked.

  “Just what I said,” Grondar replied. He sighed. “Lord Dakkar is a young man, too young to have fought in the war. Lord Edaran is even younger, little more than a boy. Young men want to prove themselves. Lord Dakkar wants to show everyone he deserves to be treated as an equal in the Council of Barons. Varag is a small, unimportant town, and the other barons, from Sardiron and Aldagmor and the Passes, probably treat him like a child. As for Edaran, he’s been called an overlord since he was nine or ten, but from everything I’ve heard his mother and his advisors have really run everything in Ethshar of the Sands, and the other two overlords, Gor and Azrad, have run everything outside the city walls. He was treated like a child because he was a child, and he wants to prove he’s become a man.”

  “How does fighting over Tesk prove anything?” Garander asked.

  “It’s not about Tesk,” his father answered. “Tesk is just an excuse. Those two both needed something to show that they’re strong and decisive leaders, men who go out and accomplish things and don’t back down, and Tesk is an opportunity to demonstrate their resolve.”

  “But Lord Dakkar and Lady Shasha talked as if they were ready to start a war!”

  “Lady Shasha is probably just doing as she’s told; it’s Lord Edaran you’re hearing when she speaks.”

  “That’s not my point,” Garander said. “How could anyone want to start another war?”

  Grondar sighed. “Because they don’t remember the last one. Have you ever listened to the men in the village when they talk about the war?”

  “Of course!” Garander said.

  “Most of them make it sound like a big exciting adventure, don’t they?”

  “Well, they…” Garander blinked. That was exactly what they did. “But you don’t talk about it that way,” he finished.

  “Never?”

  Garander paused, remembering.

  The stories Grondar told at home were about how horrible the war was—the boredom and fear and horror, dead friends and family, years spent living in crowded, miserable conditions while waiting for battles that never seemed to matter. But the stories he told when he and his friends got together to sample the new beer or prepare a bridegroom for his wedding were different; they were funny, or exciting. He never made himself out a hero the way some of the older men did, but in the village he didn’t talk about corpses in the mud, or about huddling under a bush, trembling in fear, while magic fire blazed overhead; he told stories about outwitting Northern scouts, or finding a way around some unpleasant duty.

  “I always wanted you and your sisters to understand what the war was like,” Grondar said. “I don’t think everyone else was as careful. After all, why should they be? The Northerners were gone, so there couldn’t be any more wars, could there?”

  The bitterness in his father’s voice startled Garander. “But there shouldn’t be any more!” he said.

  “But there will be, sooner or later. In fact, I hear there have been wars in Old Ethshar all along—all the self-proclaimed kings and councils fighting over who’s the true heir to the Holy Kingdom.”

  “But…would the barons really fight the Hegemony?”

  “If they think they can win, yes. And they probably do think they can win, because the Hegemony is run by two tired old men and an untrained boy, and its people have gotten soft after twenty years of peace down there in the warm south.”

  “Could they win?”

  “I doubt it.” He glanced at Tesk. “Unless maybe they had a shatra on their side.”

  “I am not interested in fighting for either side,” Tesk said.

  “Neither am I,” Grondar said. He looked at Garander. “And I don’t want my son to fight, either. I don’t want my daughters taken to sew uniforms and bind wounds. I want no part of another war.” He turned back to Tesk. “I assume you’re going to vanish into the woods, to stay clear of the fighting?”

  “I have not decided,” the Northerner replied.

  Grondar nodded. They had reached their front door, and he paused with his hand on the latch.

  “If you do,” he said, “can you take us with you?”

  Chapter Twenty

  Grondar had not been happy with Tesk’s response. The shatra did not think he could keep the entire family alive and safe if they fled into the hills, and while Grondar knew that was reasonable, he was not eager to accept it. He argued for several minutes.

  Finally, though, he had gone inside, with his wife and two daughters, leaving the shatra outside.

  Garander had also remained outside. He had seen his father look at him and say nothing, and he knew that Grondar approved.

  Tesk looked at him, but also said nothing. He began walking toward the woods, not in his usual rapid zigzag, but at a casual stroll. Garander followed him, and for a moment neither of them spoke.

  Then Garander asked, “What are you going to do?”

  “I have not decided.”

  “If you do try to disappear, they’ll come after you.”

  “I know.”

  “If you don’t choose a side they’ll try to kill you, no matter what you do.”

  “I know.” The shatra smiled. “Will they send a dragon after me?”

  Garander considered that, then shook his head. “I don’t think anyone still has any tame dragons. They were all supposed to be destroyed at the end of the war.”

  “Do you believe they all were destroyed?”

  Garander thought for a second, then said, “No. But I don’t know where they are. I mean, dragons are big, aren’t they? Where would you hide one?”

  “I do not know.” Tesk seemed to hesitate for a moment, then said, “I have seen a dragon, east of here. I do not think it was tame.”

  Startled, Garander asked, “You’ve seen one?”

  “Ye
s. A very large one.”

  “So my father’s warnings about dragons in the woods were right?”

  “It was many miles east of here.”

  “But there could be others, smaller ones.”

  Tesk moved his shoulders. “I have not seen others.”

  “What did you do when you saw it?”

  “I hid.”

  Garander nodded. Tesk surely knew his limitations, and even a shatra wouldn’t want to meet a wild dragon.

  “So they do not have dragons,” Tesk said.

  “I don’t think so,” Garander said. “But they have wizards. Lots of wizards.”

  “I cannot hide effectively from wizards’ spells.”

  Garander nodded again. “So you’ll have to choose a side.”

  Tesk smiled again, humorlessly. “Then only one side will be trying to kill me.”

  “And the other will try to protect you! It’s better than both of them trying to kill you.”

  “I do not know how much they will try to protect a Northern half-demon.”

  Garander knew the shatra had a point. “Can the mizagars help guard you?” They had reached the edge of the forest; Garander glanced around, but saw no trace of the monsters Tesk had summoned earlier.

  “They would die trying,” Tesk answered. He noticed Garander’s gaze and added, “I sent them away. They were an empty threat.”

  “So you think you’re going to be killed no matter what you do.”

  “It seems likely.” Again, his shoulders moved. “All my people died twenty years ago. I have had more time than any of the others, but I cannot live forever.”

  “Not even with your demon half? Don’t demons live forever?”

  “Demons do. I will not.”

  “You might live longer if you chose one side, though.”

  “I might.” Tesk cast a glance at Garander. “Which side do you think I should choose?”

  “I don’t know,” Garander said. “My father always said we were Sardironese now, not Ethsharitic, but…I don’t know.” A thought was stirring in the back of his mind. “Tesk, you can do things ordinary people can’t, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can you stop your heart? Without dying?”

  “You suggest I fake my death?”

  “Well…I was thinking that if we could make each side think the other had killed you…”

  “Then they would have a cause for war, would they not?”

  “For killing a left-over Northern monster?”

  Tesk did not reply immediately. The two proceeded another three or four steps before he asked, “How could this be done? Would they not examine me closely, to be certain? Would they not fight over my equipment?”

  “I don’t know,” Garander admitted. He looked at the shatra, studying the rods strapped to Tesk’s back. “How much equipment do you still have, anyway?”

  Tesk took another step before replying, “That is an interesting question.”

  “It is?”

  “Yes. For twenty years I have been traveling through land where the Empire and Ethshar fought. Soldiers are not always tidy. Sometimes they must flee without warning. Sometimes they die without warning. Sometimes when this happens, they leave equipment behind.”

  “Yes?”

  “I did not want your people to find old Northern equipment. I have been gathering it.”

  Garander started. “You…what?”

  “I have been gathering all the Northern equipment I have found in twenty years,” Tesk told him. “I have used my own talismans to find… I cannot think of the word. Caches? Places where equipment was hidden for later use. There is a lot of it now.”

  Garander was stunned into momentary silence. Then he said, “If Lord Dakkar and Lord Edaran knew that, they would really want you. It isn’t all enchanted so only you can use it, is it?”

  “No. There is some anyone can use, and some no one but a Northern sorcerer can use.” Tesk stopped, then leapt up into a tree, leaving Garander on the ground below.

  “Then…” He looked up at the shatra. “If you showed us where it is, and how to use it, maybe my parents and sisters and I could survive out here to get away from a war.”

  “Most of it is either weaponry, or devices that are of no use any more, like the talisman Ishta found. I do not think you want to live in exile in the wilderness, in any case.”

  “Not really, no. But I don’t want to be a soldier, either.”

  Tesk had no answer for that. He sat back on his branch and leaned against the trunk of the tree.

  “I don’t want you to be killed,” Garander said.

  “I do not want to die,” Tesk replied. “We cannot always have what we want.”

  “Can you stop your heart?”

  Tesk sighed. “Yes. But I do not think that will be sufficient.”

  “Would you do me a favor?”

  Tesk looked down at him. “What is it?”

  “Can you go to one of your hiding places and bring back some equipment? Things you don’t mind losing, enough to look like it’s everything you normally carry. In fact, twice as much as that.”

  “Why?”

  “I have an idea.”

  Tesk considered Garander’s face, then made that odd shoulder motion. “When?”

  “I think…I think we’ll need them tomorrow morning. Before dawn, if possible.”

  “I have said I will meet those people again at dusk.”

  “I know. You’d need to leave after that. You can see in the dark, can’t you?”

  “I can. But do not depend too much on my magic, Garander. There are many things it cannot do.”

  “I know. But if you can bring things that look like the things on your back, things as harmless as possible, I think we may be able to save your life. Maybe. I’m not sure. I’m still working it out.”

  “I do not think they will believe I am dead merely because I do not move. They have heard stories about shatra just as you have.”

  “I know. But there’s another story I heard once.”

  “Will you explain this to me?”

  Garander shook his head. “I’d rather not, not yet,” he said. The truth was that he was afraid Tesk would point out flaws in his plan, and talk him out of trying it at all.

  “Perhaps when we meet at dusk?”

  “Maybe.”

  Tesk nodded. “Then I will see you then. For now, I think I will take a nap. It seems I may be traveling tonight.”

  “Good,” Garander said. “Thank you. I’ll see you later.” Then he turned, and with one final glance at the shatra relaxing in the tree, he headed back toward the family farm.

  When he emerged from the trees he paused and looked around, taking in the situation.

  The sun was getting low in the west, and shadows were stretching across the fields. The flying carpet had set down again, in the field south of the house; its passengers were spread around the vicinity, some standing, some sitting. They seemed to be talking amongst themselves.

  The baron’s party had mostly regrouped around their remaining tents, and several people were walking around the burned area where the destroyed tent had been, apparently studying it.

  Another tent had been moved, though, and set up well to the north of the main group, away from everyone else. Garander was unsure what that was for, and debated whether to go to the house and point it out to his father, but decided not to. There was someone else he wanted to talk to, so instead of turning his steps toward the house he headed for the main group of tents.

  As he expected, a soldier stopped him. “What do you want here?”

  “What business is it of yours?” Garander asked. “This is my family’s farm; I can go where I please.”

  The sentry looked uncertain. “Wait here,” he said. Then he turned and called, “Captain!”

  Another soldier turned, and Garander recognized him as Hargal. He had not realized Hargal was a captain.

  Hargal took in the situation in an instant, and came over to the
m.

  “Hello, Garander,” he said. “What do you want?”

  “I wanted to ask Azlia something; is she here?”

  Hargal frowned. “What did you want to ask her?”

  “About something Zendalir the Mage, the wizard from Ethshar, said.” That was not true in any way, but Garander had decided that telling the truth had gotten him in enough trouble lately. He wanted to see whether lying might work better.

  Hargal considered that for a moment, then turned up a palm. “This way,” he said.

  Garander followed for a dozen paces; then Hargal pointed. “That’s her tent,” he said.

  There was nothing remarkable about the indicated shelter; it was a plain tent, not an elaborate pavilion like the baron’s. “Thank you,” Garander said.

  He walked up to the tent, moving cautiously through the camp, hearing a steady babble of voices all around him; he could not make out words, for the most part. This was more simultaneous conversation than he had ever before heard, and not all of it sounded like ordinary Ethsharitic.

  At the tent he paused, unsure of the correct etiquette; there was no door, as such, and he could not very well knock on canvas. He cleared his throat, and called, “Hello, Azlia?”

  As he waited for a response, Garander looked around and realized that at least a dozen of the camp’s residents were staring at him. That was not good. He did not want to draw that much attention. He tried to look casual.

  A flap was flung back, and the wizard’s face appeared. “Garander?” she said, startled.

  “I was wondering if I might have a word with you,” Garander said.

  She glanced back over her shoulder, then said, “I was just talking to Sammel; would you care to join us?”

  Garander frowned. “I thought he was working on Tesk’s wand.”

  Sammel’s face appeared beside Azlia. “I looked at it, but it’s beyond me,” he said. “I turned it over to Arnen of Sardiron.” He leaned out and pointed at the tent set off to the north. “He’s over there. In case something goes wrong.”

  That explained why that one tent was isolated. “Oh,” Garander said.

  “Would you like to join us?” Azlia asked again.

  “Ah…actually, I would prefer to speak to you alone,” Garander said. “It’s about something one of the wizards from Ethshar said.”