Relics of War

by Lawrence Watt-Evans

  Azlia looked at Sammel, who turned up an empty palm. “Guild secrets, maybe?”

  “It seems unlikely,” Azlia said. “I’m curious, though, so if you don’t mind?”

  “Go ahead. If you think it’s any of my business you can tell me about it later.”

  “Would you like to come in, then?” she asked Garander.

  He looked around, then said, “There isn’t really much privacy in a tent. Anyone could listen through the canvas. I thought we might take a walk.”

  Azlia looked up at him, her head tipped to one side. “You have certainly piqued my curiosity,” she said. “Should I bring my pack?”

  “I think it might be a good idea,” Garander said.

  “Just a moment.” She ducked back inside.

  Garander waited, and a moment later she emerged with a leather bag slung on one shoulder. “Where shall we walk?” she asked as she straightened up.

  “This way,” Garander said, pointing to the northeast, away from the camp and the house and the downed carpet, toward the bushes behind the barn and woodshed.

  They began walking, at an easy stroll. The wizard stumbled occasionally; she was obviously not accustomed to rough ground.

  When they had covered perhaps a hundred feet she asked, “What’s this about, Garander?”

  He glanced back at the camp; no one appeared to be following them, though a few people did seem to be watching them—not with the sort of intense scrutiny that might worry him, but with mild interest.

  “Tesk and my father think that Ethshar and Sardiron are on the verge of going to war over Tesk,” he said.

  “I don’t know that they’ll go that far,” Azlia said, “but Lord Dakkar certainly doesn’t intend to back down.”

  “My father says he and Lord Edaran want to prove themselves. They were too young to fight in the Great War, so they want a little war of their own.”

  Azlia frowned. “Your father may be right. But they aren’t the sole rulers here; Lord Dakkar answers to the Council of Barons, and Lord Edaran is only one of the three overlords. I don’t think Azrad or Gor wants another war, and the Council of Barons certainly won’t be unanimous. In either direction.”

  “Do they need to be unanimous? I don’t know how the council works.”

  “No, they don’t need to be unanimous. But really, I don’t think…”

  “Gor and Azrad are old men. What are their heirs like?”

  “I…” Azlia frowned. “You’re starting to worry me.”

  “I was…”

  Before Garander could complete his thought he was interrupted by a sound unlike anything he had ever heard before, a high-pitched squeal; he and Azlia turned to look for its source.

  The isolated tent where the Sardironese sorcerer was studying Tesk’s weapon was glowing an eerie blue, but they only had an instant to observe that before it vanished in a flash of red-orange light, with a noise like a gigantic lantern blowing out. It did not explode; it vanished, leaving a circle of bare earth that seemed to shimmer briefly.

  Someone screamed, and several people raised their voices. Azlia took one step toward the spot where the tent had been, but Garander caught her arm.

  “You can’t do anything,” he said.

  “I’m a wizard,” she snapped, shaking off his grip. “You don’t know what I can do.”

  “That was sorcery,” Garander said, “and you can see there’s nothing left.”

  “You don’t know that!” Azlia insisted. “Not everything is visible.” But she did not try to leave again; they could both see other people, including magicians, rushing to the site.

  “I’m sorry,” Garander said, “but Tesk did warn Lord Dakkar. Was Arnen a friend of yours?”

  Azlia shook her head. “I barely knew him,” she said.

  For a moment the two of them watched as assorted Sardironese explored the area where the sorcerer’s tent had been, apparently finding nothing. Garander glanced over in the direction of the flying carpet; he could see some of the Ethsharites watching, as well, but none of them were approaching.

  “I thought it would explode,” Garander said. “Not do that. Whatever it was.”

  “Magic can do the unexpected,” Azlia said. Then she turned her attention from the vanished tent to Garander. “What was it you wanted to talk to me about? This war your father thinks is coming?”

  “That’s part of it,” Garander said. “We think there might be war, and we don’t want that. And we don’t see any way this can end without Tesk either dying, or taking one side or the other, and we don’t want him to die, and if he chooses a side—well, I don’t like that idea, either.” He gestured at the cluster of people where the sorcerer’s tent had been. “I don’t like the idea of either side doing things like that.”

  “Oh, that’s nothing much,” Azlia said. “We already have far worse magic than that. But your point is taken.”

  “If he won’t choose a side, they’ll kill him,” Garander said. “If he does choose a side, the other side will kill him eventually. It’ll just take a little longer.”

  Azlia sighed. “You’re probably right.” She watched the investigators poking at the ground where the tent had vanished.

  This was the moment when Garander had to reveal his scheme. He knew it was a risk; if Azlia decided her loyalty to the baron was more important than preventing a war or saving the shatra, this would ruin everything. But he needed a wizard; he needed a particular spell that he had heard about in old war stories. He took a deep breath.

  “So we need to make everyone think the other side already killed him,” he said.

  “What?” Startled, the wizard looked up at Garander.

  “We need to convince Lord Dakkar that Lord Edaran killed the shatra, and we need to convince Lord Edaran that Lord Dakkar did. That’s where I need your help,” Garander said.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “There’s a spell my father told me about. Tesk knew about it, too. It makes someone look dead—really horribly dead, with blood everywhere. Ethshar used it during the war to fool Northerners into leaving live soldiers on the battlefield, instead of taking them prisoner.”

  “I never heard of it,” Azlia said.

  Garander’s heart sank. “Oh,” he said. It had not occurred to him that she would not know it; he had somehow assumed that if some ordinary soldiers had heard of it, every wizard knew it.

  But on the other hand, if it wasn’t well known, then it was less likely anyone would guess what was happening. He hesitated, then asked, “Do you think any of the other wizards Lord Dakkar brought might know it?”

  Azlia considered that for a moment, then said, “No, not really. There’s just the one, a man who calls himself Bardak the Dreaded, and I’m pretty sure he’s something of a charlatan, not half the wizard he pretends to be. I mean, a real wizard doesn’t call himself ‘the Dreaded.’ That’s just unprofessional.”

  “Oh,” Garander said again. His scheme was crumbling practically before it even got started.

  “But there are at least two wizards with Lady Shasha,” Azlia said. “One of them might know.”

  Garander blinked. “But…they’re on the other side.”

  “What of it? We’re all wizards, and we aren’t at war yet. I can say I need to talk to them about Wizards’ Guild business.”

  Garander’s spirits lifted. Perhaps his scheme wasn’t as hopeless as he had thought. “Don’t talk to Zendalir the Mage, though,” he said. “Talk to the other one.”

  Startled, Azlia asked, “Why?”

  “Because Zendalir is a pompous ass. I wouldn’t trust him to keep his mouth shut; he’d probably brag to Lady Shasha about what a good job he did faking Tesk’s death.”

  “Ah.” She wrinkled her nose. “Thanks for the warning. It’s fortunate that they’ve brought another.” Then she abruptly turned and started marching south, toward the carpet.

  “Wait a minute,” Garander called, stumbling after her. “Where are you going?”
/>   “To meet the wizards from Ethshar, of course,” Azlia called back.

  “Should I come?”

  She shook her head. “Go home. Talk to your family.”

  He stopped, and watched her go.

  Her suggestion was good advice, he decided; he headed back toward the house.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  His father and sisters looked up when he stepped through the door; his mother was busy with a delicate bit of stitchery and paid no attention. “What was that strange noise?” Shella the Younger asked.

  “The baron’s sorcerer finished studying that wand.”

  “You mean he figured out how to make it work?” Shella sat up. “Lord Dakkar’s soldiers…”

  “He didn’t figure out how to make it work,” Garander interrupted. “Not unless you consider blowing himself up is making it work.”

  “He’s dead?” their father asked.

  “He’s vanished without a trace, along with his tent and everything in it,” Garander said. “I’m guessing he’s dead, but it wasn’t an ordinary explosion, it was something strange, so for all I know he’s now riding the lesser moon across the sky.”

  His father frowned. “A man is dead, Garander,” he said. “Show some respect.”

  “Tesk warned him,” Garander replied.

  “Still.”

  “I’m sorry, Father.”

  For a moment no one spoke; then Grondar said, “You spoke to the shatra?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is he going to flee?”

  Garander hesitated.

  This was the moment when he should tell his family about his plan, but he could not bring himself to do it. Ever since Ishta found that talisman every time he had revealed a secret, no matter to whom, it had made things worse. He did not trust his parents or sisters to maintain appearances, even if they did not actually tell anyone what was happening.

  “I don’t think so,” Garander said. “Actually, I think he’s getting ready to die. He expects the magicians to kill him. Or if they don’t he may kill himself, in hopes of averting another war.”

  “That’s…unfortunate,” Grondar said.

  “He can’t kill himself!” Ishta exclaimed. “I don’t want him to die! He should go live in Ethshar; the baron’s wizards can’t get at him there!”

  “He can’t live in a city, Ishta,” Garander said. “You heard him. His magic won’t let him.”

  “Well, that’s stupid magic!”

  “Of course it is,” her father agreed. “It’s wartime magic, and wars make everything stupid.”

  “Can’t someone fix it?”

  Grondar shook his head, but Garander said, “I talked to that wizard from Varag, Azlia. She doesn’t want a war, and doesn’t think giving one side a shatra is going to be good for anyone, so she’s going to see what she can do.”

  “How good a wizard is she, really?” Shella the Younger asked.

  “How should I know?” Garander said, turning up a palm.

  “Will the shatra come back at dusk, as he said, do you think?” Grondar asked.

  “I think so,” Garander said. He glanced at the window; the sun was low in the west, its rays reaching the hearth in the east end of the room. “In fact, I think I’m going back out to wait for him.”

  “I’ll come, too!” Ishta called.

  “No, you won’t,” her mother said, looking up from her embroidery. “You’ll stay here and help me in the kitchen. When this big important meeting is over we’ll still need to eat.”

  “But Mother! Tesk’s life is at stake!”

  “And your presence isn’t going to change whatever happens,” Shella told her. She set down her stitchery. “Come on, let’s get this started; once everything’s cooking you can go watch.”

  Ishta started to argue, but Garander did not wait around for the inevitable outcome. He slipped back outside, and ambled around the side of the house in the general direction of the flying carpet. As he rounded the back corner, though, he noticed two figures in the shadows. He turned to look.

  The smaller figure was Azlia; the larger was a man he did not recognize. They had been talking quietly, but they looked up as he approached.

  “Garander,” Azlia said. “Allow me to introduce Ellador of Morningside.”

  The man wore a dark blue robe and a blue velvet cap with red piping; white hair spilled down over his shoulders, and a long white beard hid much of his face and chest. He looked very much like the traditional image of a wizard. “Hello,” Garander said, unsure what he should do or say when introduced to a magician.

  “A pleasure to meet you,” Ellador said. “I understand you live here, and you are concerned about whether this dispute over the shatra might trigger a war.”

  Garander smiled wryly. The man certainly got to the point. “Yes,” he said.

  “You inquired about the Sanguinary Deception?”

  “The…what?”

  The old man smiled. “The Sanguinary Deception. The spell that makes a person look very, very dead.”

  Garander straightened up, and felt his heart beat a little faster. “Yes,” he said. “Do you know it?”

  “Oh, yes,” Ellador replied. “It’s quite simple, and once upon a time every wizard in the army was expected to know it. Since the war it’s fallen out of fashion, though; it really doesn’t have many legitimate uses in peacetime. I’m sure Azlia’s master didn’t see any reason she would want to learn it.”

  Azlia made a wordless noise that Garander could not interpret, and he was more concerned with learning whether his plan was practical. The spell he wanted did exist, and this wizard claimed to know it, but was it practical? Remembering Azlia’s spell in the root cellar, Garander asked, “How long does it take?”

  “Oh, just a few seconds.”

  Garander’s breath came out in a sigh of relief; he had not realized he had been holding it. Then another thought struck him. “Do you have the…materials you need for it?”

  “We usually say ‘ingredients,’” Ellador corrected him. “And all it takes is a knife, a wizard, and the blood of the person being enchanted.”

  “That’s wonderful!” Garander said, smiling broadly.

  “Who did you want it cast on?” Ellador asked. “I’m afraid Azlia had not yet told me that, or why an apparent death would keep these young fools from fighting one another.”

  Garander had thought it was obvious, but he was tactful enough to stop himself before saying that aloud. “The shatra,” he said.

  Ellador blinked, and sucked a wisp of mustache into his mouth. “Hmm,” he said. “You think that its death would mean there was nothing to fight over?”

  Garander nodded.

  “An interesting thought. It might work. But I’m not sure the Sanguinary Deception will work on a shatra—aren’t they supposed to be as much demon as man?”

  “They’re part demon,” Garander conceded. “But Tesk says his blood is red, not black like a demon’s, so…well, does that mean it would work?”

  “It might,” Ellador said, stroking his beard. “It might. I can’t say for sure.”

  “It’s worth a try, isn’t it?”

  “I don’t see how it can make matters worse,” Ellador agreed. “What did you have in mind?”

  Garander had refined his original plan somewhat. “Tesk—the shatra—is going to be back to talk to Lord Dakkar and Lady Shasha soon, to hear their final offers. Then he’ll tell them that he’ll give them a decision in the morning, but in the morning I’ll tell each group that he decided he would rather die than serve his ancient enemies, and I’ll lead them to his ‘body.’ Which you’ll have enchanted. The spell makes the body look really horrible, right? So they won’t want to inspect it and make sure he’s really dead by cutting off his head or something.”

  “Well, I can’t be sure they won’t decide to be thorough, but he’ll look very dead indeed,” Ellador said. “If it works on a shatra in the first place.”

  “And there’s no way to see throug
h it, and tell it’s an illusion?”

  “Oh, I didn’t say that,” the wizard replied. “But it would take magic. A witch could probably tell, and I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s some talisman a sorcerer could use to test it. But no one could see through it without magic.”

  That was not quite as impenetrable as Garander had hoped, but he thought it would probably be enough. “And it won’t wear off suddenly, or anything?”

  “Well, yes, it does wear off. It starts to fade a day after the spell is cast. But it will last at least a full day.”

  “Can he move during that day?” The idea of Tesk being trapped, motionless, for an entire day had some obvious drawbacks.

  “Oh, he can move just fine. He’ll look dead, and won’t breathe, his heart won’t beat, and sometimes it makes the enchanted person smell dead, though that part doesn’t always work, but from his point of view he’ll be perfectly normal. No pain or discomfort. Oh, except that if he coughs, he’ll spew blood.” He grimaced. “It’s pretty ugly.”

  “I don’t think that’s a problem,” Garander said.

  Ellador turned up a palm. “Then I’m willing to give it a try.”

  Garander grabbed the wizard’s hand. “Thank you!” he said, with sincere gratitude.

  “I’m still not clear what you think you’ll accomplish, but then, I haven’t really followed everything that’s been going on.” He glanced at Azlia. “Your friend here probably thinks I’m a fool, but I agreed to come along in case Lady Shasha needed some sort of wizardry that Zendalir couldn’t manage, and didn’t really pay attention to any of the details. I just do what they pay me to do.” He smiled. “I thought I would mostly be working communication spells, to keep her in touch with Lord Edaran and his advisors back in Ethshar, not dredging up old-fashioned disguise spells from my army days!”

  Garander’s heart dropped at the mention of payment. “I…can’t pay you much,” he said.

  Ellador waved that away. “Don’t worry about it. I’m doing this as a courtesy to Azlia. It’s an easy spell. I haven’t used it for twenty years…no, not that long; I forgot, we used it as a prank once, about fifteen or sixteen years ago. But not since then.”