by DAVID B. COE
“Do you think it’s Baden and Sartol?” Jaryd asked, looking over the mage’s shoulder at the grisly sight.
Trahn shrugged. “It’s hard to say. For all we know, they could be the only two victims of the attack, left here by the townspeople until tomorrow. But,” he added quickly, assessing the devastation that surrounded them, “that seems unlikely. I’m more inclined to think that these two either attacked the town or intervened to save it.”
Alayna shuddered as she looked down on the corpses. “I’d much prefer to believe the former,” she said.
“As would I,” Trahn concurred.
The dark mage stood and again they continued along the street. As they moved northward, the level of destruction increased dramatically. Smithies and storefronts lay in blackened, splintered ruins, and blood stained the dirt on which the mages walked. But, other than Baden’s horse and the two bodies, any victims of the attack had been removed from this part of the village. Soon, the wrecked storefronts of the village square gave way to demolished homes, burned fields of crops, and slaughtered farm animals. And, finally, most horribly, the mages came to an open field at the northern fringe of the village, where they found the dead human victims of the night’s violence. Obviously, they had been carried there by the surviving townspeople, who had arranged the bodies with what could only be described as loving care, in column after column after column. There were literally hundreds of them, adults and children, lying beneath the stars, mutilated and burned, some of them missing limbs, many as unrecognizable as the two in the village square, and all of them beyond help. Absorbing the appalling scene, unable to avert her eyes, Alayna felt her stomach heave. Dropping to her knees, her body racked with convulsions, she retched uncontrollably until her stomach was empty. Jaryd had spun away from the nightmarish scene, and was weeping, but Trahn merely stared at the carnage, his dark face as rigid and cold as obsidian.
“Come,” he said finally as he turned away, his taut, controlled voice more terrible even than the bleak expression on his face. “We can do nothing here.”
Jaryd helped Alayna to her feet and gathered her in an embrace that felt both tender and fierce, as if he sought from it the strength he would need to wreak his revenge on those who had done this. Then he took her hand and they followed Trahn back toward the center of the village. Before they reached the last of the still-smoldering farmhouses, however, they spotted a large group of men and women, many of them carrying torches, and all of them carrying axes, pitchforks, and other makeshift weapons. These people appeared to have seen the mages as well, for the mob now moved toward Alayna and her companions.
“Are you the ones the Owl-Master mentioned?” a bald, bearded man asked as the crowd reached them. “Have you come for the traitor?”
Alayna felt her heart jump and she glanced quickly at Jaryd. The young mage was staring at the man, his face looking pale in the torchlight.
“We weren’t sent by anyone,” Trahn replied at last. “But we probably know the Owl-Master of whom you speak. What’s his name?”
The man furrowed his brow and looked at a woman who stood beside him, a question in his eyes. She shook her head. “I don’t know,” the man said, facing Trahn once more. “He killed the men who attacked our town, and,” he added, indicating a long, dark mark on his forearm, “he healed our injuries. But he never told us his name.”
“I am Mage Trahn,” the dark mage offered. “With me are Mage Alayna and Mage Jaryd.”
“I am Wenfor, leader of Watersbend’s town council.”
“We are honored, Wenfor,” Trahn returned, his voice sounding tight, though he smiled at the man. “We’ve been looking for an Owl-Master, and we believe he may have come this way. Perhaps you can describe for us the man who healed you.”
Wenfor nodded. “That I can do. He was tall and powerfully built, with dark hair and a kind face.”
The image that flashed in Alayna’s mind as the man described the Owl-Master triggered a thousand memories, all of them shaded with the now-familiar sting of friendship betrayed. “Sartol,” she said, although she realized only when the man looked at her that she had spoken the name aloud.
“So you do know him,” Wenfor observed, smiling at them.
“Was there another Owl-Master with him?” Jaryd asked, ignoring the man’s comment. “Also tall, though leaner, with orange and silver hair?”
The man narrowed his eyes warily. “You know him, too, do you?” he replied.
“You’ve seen this man?” Trahn asked quickly.
“Sure. He’s the traitor. We’re looking for him now, him and his friend.”
“What friend?” Trahn demanded, his tone growing increasingly urgent.
“He was a mage, too,” came another voice. A lean man, with dark eyes and wild dark hair, stepped forward out of the crowd. “He was stocky and muscular. His hair was long and yellow, and he had a beard.”
Orris, Alayna said to herself. He survived his encounter with Sartol. Arick be praised.
Trahn turned back to Wenfor. “You believe this man to be a traitor as well?”
“We know he is,” the man replied. “He helped the tall man escape from our jail.”
Trahn let out a slow breath. “When did all this happen?”
“Just tonight, in the last hour or so,” Wenfor told him. “When your friend—Sartol, was it?—when he learned of the traitor’s escape, he told us that he needed to hurry back to the Great Hall and alert the rest of the Order. But he told us that he would send mages back to retrieve the traitor and to escort the witnesses to Amarid. We assumed that we’d have to wait for these mages to come, but when I saw you, I thought that maybe—”
“Of course,” Trahn interrupted. “We understand. But tell me: what witnesses?”
“All of us!” Wenfor replied, opening his arms wide. “Though I expect only a few of us will be needed for the traitor’s trial.”
Jaryd shook his head, as if unable to believe what he had heard. “You saw Baden . . . You saw him do something?”
“We saw him betray the land,” Wenfor said coldly. “The Owl-Master raised his staff to kill our attackers, and the traitor tried to stop him. Fortunately, the Owl-Master was too strong for this Baden, and he killed the renegades anyway.”
Jaryd started to say something else, but Trahn stopped him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “So now you’re searching for the traitor and his friend?” the dark mage asked evenly.
“Yes,” Wenfor answered, eyeing Jaryd, his manner a bit more reserved than it had been a few moments before. “The Owl-Master said that it would be safe. The traitor has no staff; the Owl-Master took it when we first arrested him. And the Owl-Master told us that the Hawk-Mage’s bird is dead.”
Trahn glanced at Jaryd and Alayna, his expression grim. “What else did he tell you?” he demanded, turning back to Wenfor.
Wenfor straightened and looked at the three mages defiantly. “He told us to find the renegades and return them to the jail,” he replied. “And, failing that, he said to kill them.”
16
Seeing the deep blue of Jaryd’s ceryll as the three mages rode into Watersbend, Baden knew a moment of elation and relief that he would not have believed possible just a short time before. For days, the merest thought of his nephew had carried with it the ache of losing him. He had tried to believe that Jaryd and Alayna had managed somehow to elude Sartol and survive the grove, but with each day that passed with no word from Trahn, a little bit of his hope had died. And now, feeling tears of joy roll down his cheeks, he realized that, at some point in the last day or two, he had given up.
“Come on,” Orris urged, a rare smile brightening his features. “We have to find a way to get their attention.”
Maintaining a safe distance between themselves and the villagers, who also appeared to have seen the riders, and who were now hurrying toward the stone bridge, Baden and Orris crept back to the river. They then moved northward, marking their friends’ progress through the devastated town. T
hey watched as the townspeople approached the three mages, and for a moment Baden feared that the mob would assume that they were traitors as well. That did not seem to be the case, however, and, after some time, the villagers doubled back toward the town center, leaving Jaryd, Alayna, and Trahn alone.
When he felt certain that the search party was far enough away, Baden closed his eyes and conveyed a single thought to Anla. Instantly, the owl leapt from his shoulder and glided across the river to where the mages stood. Trahn saw her first, stabbing a finger into the air to point her out to his companions, as the owl wheeled above them and started back toward Baden.
“Let them see your ceryll,” the Owl-Master told Orris, his gaze still focused on the three mages.
Orris uncovered the crystal, brightened its glow, and raised it over his head for just a moment. Long enough, it seemed. Again Trahn pointed, this time right at them. Immediately, the three mages swung themselves back onto their mounts and rode to a narrow footbridge that crossed the river at the north end of the town. Moments later they were on the plain, thundering toward Baden and Orris.
Jaryd reached them first, throwing himself off his horse almost before the animal stopped moving, and enfolding Baden in an embrace so fervent that the Owl-Master actually gasped for breath. Baden and his nephew held each other for a long time, neither of them speaking. Baden heard Alayna and Trahn ride up and greet Orris, but, for the moment at least, he didn’t care.
At length, Baden stepped back and regarded Jaryd wordlessly, grinning, he knew, like an idiot, and heedless of the bright tears welling in his eyes. “By the gods,” he whispered at last, his voice rough, “this is a gift beyond my wildest hopes.” He glanced at Alayna, who favored him with a dazzling smile and walked forward to clasp him to her. She released him a moment later, but Baden continued to hold her hand, and he took Jaryd’s as well, as if by feeling their fingers on his, he might convince himself that this was not a dream. “I feared you were lost,” he explained needlessly, “that Theron . . .” He shook his head, overwhelmed by his emotions. “I thought I’d lost you.”
Jaryd was smiling broadly. He looked older than Baden remembered, although it had been only a few days; he looked taller, more poised. This is not the same boy I led away from Accalia all those weeks ago, Baden thought to himself, noting as well the magnificent hawk poised on the young mage’s shoulder. Bernel and Drina should see him now. Again, the Owl-Master shook his head.
“We were worried about you, too,” Jaryd told him. “At least I was,” he amended, glancing sheepishly back at Trahn, who, typically, had said nothing, allowing Baden and Jaryd to savor their reunion.
Letting go of Jaryd and Alayna, Baden approached his friend, and they, too, embraced. “Thank you, Trahn, for bringing them back to me,” the Owl-Master said after a moment.
Trahn stepped back and grinned. “I did nothing,” he admitted. “They dealt with Theron on their own, and without Alayna I’d still be braving the swamp.” He paused. “I’m glad to see that you’re well, Baden.” He looked at the burly mage. “And you, too, Orris. Despite my reassurances to Jaryd, I was concerned. Perhaps with good reason,” he added, frowning at the cut on Baden’s brow. “Can I heal that for you?”
Baden smiled. “Later, perhaps.”
“You know that it was Sartol?” Jaryd asked, looking at the Owl-Master. “That he killed the sage and the first, and chased us into the grove?”
“Orris told me as much,” Baden replied, “and I was starting to believe him.” He hesitated, gazing at Alayna. “I can only begin to guess what you’re feeling,” he added in a more gentle tone. “I’m very sorry.”
She offered a thin smile, but he could see in her dark eyes that the wound was still fresh. “Thank you,” she murmured. She looked sidelong at Jaryd, and, as she did, her smile deepened, and Baden saw something else in her eyes; something that made him smile to himself. “Fortunately,” she went on, “I haven’t had to deal with it alone.”
Baden glanced at Jaryd, seeing, even in the dim, strange light of their cerylls, that his nephew’s face had flushed deeply. A teasing comment leapt to his tongue, but he kept it to himself.
The young mages turned to Orris, who had kept himself apart from the others, watching the reunion in silence. Jaryd, a soft smile touching his lips, took a step forward and placed a hand on Orris’s broad shoulder. “You saved our lives, Orris. I’m certain of it. If you hadn’t challenged Sartol when you did, he would have killed us before we reached the grove. Please accept my thanks, and know that I’m deeply sorry about your hawk.”
“That’s kind of you,” Orris replied awkwardly, his voice subdued. “I’m glad to know that I helped. I feared that I was too late, that I had cost you your lives.”
“No,” Alayna told him. “Jaryd’s right. You saved us. You gave us a chance to get away. If you’ve been reproaching yourself for what happened that night, there’s been no reason.” She stepped forward in turn, and kissed the Hawk-Mage on his cheek.
“Thank you,” Orris muttered, his features reddening. He cleared his throat, as Baden and Trahn chuckled at his discomfort. After regaining his composure somewhat, Orris turned to Trahn. “I see that you recovered the horses.”
Trahn grinned. “Yes, eventually. But it took me much of the day.”
“I’m sorry,” Orris said with a shrug. “It seemed a necessary precaution.” Trahn nodded, and Orris turned to the young mages again. “I would very much like to hear how you escaped from Theron, and what, if anything, you learned from him. Baden and I have tidings to share as well. But I don’t think this is the time or place.”
“I agree,” Baden said crisply. He looked at Trahn. “How did you leave things with the villagers?”
“We’re helping them search for the traitor and his friend,” the dark mage replied with an ironic grin. “But I fear we’ll have little success.”
Baden smiled. “Good. Go back into town and tell them you found nothing. Try to get a room at the inn for the night; you all look as though you could use some rest.”
“What about you?” Jaryd asked.
“Orris and I shouldn’t be within sight of the town when the sun comes up. We’ll follow the river north two or three leagues and then find a place to sleep. You can catch up with us in the morning. You should see if you can get some supplies from the townspeople,” he continued. “Make it clear that you’re allied with Sartol. Even with the devastation they suffered, they should give you something.” Trahn looked at Baden sharply, a question in his vivid green eyes. Baden nodded grimly. “I know: I’d rather not take anything from them either, not after what they’ve been through. Under normal circumstances I wouldn’t. But I don’t want to risk a confrontation with another village, especially if word spreads of what Orris and I did here tonight.”
“Can we give you one of the extra horses?” Alayna asked.
Baden considered this for a moment and then nodded. “I don’t think the townspeople will notice. And we’ll make better time with two mounts.”
He and Orris bade the others good night, and the three Hawk-Mages returned to the town, although not before Jaryd and Baden shared a second embrace. Baden and Orris then started northward along the banks of the river, moving on foot for the first mile or so, and then mounting and riding a few leagues more before stopping for the night.
Jaryd, Alayna, and Trahn caught up with them midway through the following morning. As Baden had anticipated, the townspeople had been more than willing to give the mages what food and wine they could spare, and the company now had at least some provisions for their journey back to Amarid. Jaryd and Trahn both seemed anxious to keep moving, but Baden assured them that, at this point, they had little need for haste.
“Sartol is going to get to Amarid first,” he told them calmly. “There’s nothing we can do about that. And I’m not sure that it matters.”
“Do you have any idea what he plans to do once he gets there?” Trahn asked.
“I expect the first thi
ng he’ll do is accuse Orris and me of treason and murder,” Baden answered. “After that I’m not sure.”
“He can’t really think he’ll get away with that,” Jaryd countered. “Nobody would believe him.”
Baden grinned. “I’d believe him, given the evidence he has. Don’t forget, Jaryd, he thinks that you and Alayna are dead, killed by Theron. As far as he knows, Orris is the only living person who saw what he did by the grove. And Sartol has three witnesses who saw Orris break me out of jail.”
“But you both have friends within the Order,” Alayna pointed out. “Do you think he can convince them?”
“It’s possible,” Orris told her. “Conspiracies have a way of frightening people, and all of us have antagonized our share of mages at one time or another. We have as many enemies as we have friends.”
“I’m afraid Orris is right,” Baden confirmed. “These attacks, coupled with the defacement of the Great Hall, have scared a lot of people. And Sartol can be very convincing; he’s deceived all of us for many years.” Alayna averted her eyes, and Baden felt a pang of sympathy for her. She blames herself, he realized. She thinks she should have known.
He considered saying something, but, even as he did, he saw Jaryd move to her side and whisper briefly in her ear; saw her smile and nod in response. They are building something there, he thought, something special. Again, the idea of it made him smile to himself. Despite the warnings he had offered to Jaryd at the Gathering, despite his own painful experience with Sonel, he could not help but be pleased for them, and moved by the happiness so manifest in Jaryd’s bearing. And seeing the two grey hawks that they carried, so much alike that they appeared to be mirror images of each other, Baden found himself wondering whether the lessons he had drawn from his own unsuccessful relationship would have any relevance for them. It almost seemed to him in that moment that the gods had marked them, one for the other, and he felt his joy for them colored by another sentiment, one he had not expected at all—one he had not felt in a very long time. He was envious. He nearly laughed aloud at the realization.
