The Sorcerer's Plague bots-1

by DAVID B. COE

  At first, Besh didn't say anything. He wanted to ask if this meant that he no longer had the eldest's permission to read Sylpa's daybook, but he realized that he was afraid to hear Pyav's answer. His friend, though, mistook the cause of his silence.

  "If you're worried about her gold, don't be. You mentioned some time ago that you thought the gold should be used to build a new well for the village. I think that's a fine idea."

  "Actually, that was Sirj's idea," he said, his voice low.

  "Then when the time comes, Sirj can lay the first stone. The point is, no one will be getting rich off of Lici's misfortune, and all of us will benefit from the coins she left behind. That's what you were worried about, isn't it? Isn't that how all of this began?"

  He knew that Pyav was trying his best to make him feel better, and he should have been grateful. But all he could say was "Are you telling me I can't go back and read the daybook anymore?"

  "I'm telling you that I don't think you should, that it a waste of your time."

  Besh didn't respond and after another moment Pyav shook his head and looked away.

  "If you want to go back, you can, Besh. It's not in my power to order you away from Lici's house. But I wish that the word of a friend was enough to make you see how foolish this is."

  "I appreciate your concern, Eldest."

  "But you're going back."

  "I still think there's something to be learned from that journal. And I still believe that Lici is alive."

  Pyav's mouth twisted sourly. "Very well. Do as you will. If you learn anything of value, I'll want to hear about it."

  Besh nodded, understanding that this was the last of their daily conversations. "Thank you, Pyay." He stood and started to walk away.

  "Why are you doing this?" the blacksmith called after him.

  Besh halted, sighed, and turned. "She left sixty-four years to the day after her arrival. Doesn't that strike you as odd?"

  "Of course it does, but everything Lici has ever done strikes me as odd. She's the strangest person any of us has ever known."

  "This is strange even for her, and I think it means something." "Isn't it possible that she chose that day to go off and die? Couldn't it be that simple?"

  "Maybe," Besh said. "But I'm a good deal closer to the day of my death than you are to yours, and I can tell you that if I was going off to die, I wouldn't leave my home as she left hers."

  Pyav smiled kindly. "Of course you wouldn't, my friend. But you would be leaving behind people you love. That would be a terrible burden to leave for Elica and Sirj. Lici had no such concerns. She was alone and I believe she hated the rest of us. I can easily imagine her doing this to the people of Kirayde. Actually, it would have surprised me if she'd shown us any more consideration than she did."

  Besh knew that Pyav was making a great deal of sense, probably more than he himself was. But he could hear Sylpa's voice inside his head, insistent and no less convincing. "You're probably right," was all he said. Pyav gave him a sly look. "Now you're humoring me."

  He had to smile. "Yes."

  "Go, then," the eldest said, smiling as well. "And tomorrow, after you've read, come and tell me what you've learned."

  "You're certain?"

  "I'm eldest of this village. I should know its history." He shrugged again. "To be honest, I find all that you've told me about Sylpa rather interesting."

  "All right, then. Tomorrow."

  Besh raised a hand in farewell and started toward home. The sky overhead was darkening and the air had grown cool. Another day gone. He couldn't remember the last time he had taken Mihas with him to the garden or found the time to play with Annze and Cam. No doubt Elica had noticed how consumed he was with Lici's disappearance and Sylpa's journal. She hadn't commented on it recently, but he knew she wouldn't remain silent for long. It wasn't her way.

  "You're going to have to tell me what you know, Sylpa," he whispered in the twilight. "I can't keep on this way forever."

  If you're so eager to know, find the passage and read it. Not Ema's voice, though the words could well have been hers. This was Sylpa, speaking to him as his dear wife so often did.

  "I wouldn't know where to look. I could just as easily skip past it as find it."

  That's an excuse and nothing more. You read at this pace because you wish to, because you like having my voice in your head.

  "Am I wasting my time then? Is this just the folly of a lonely old man?" No, the voice said. So certain, so forceful, that he almost looked around to see who had spoken. The answer is there, in the book. "But is the question worth asking?"

  He didn't need to hear her response. He knew already; he had all along.

  Before he reached the house, he saw Mihas running toward him and heard him calling, "Grandfather! Grandfather!"

  Besh smiled to see the boy and held out his hand for Mihas to take.

  "Where have you been?" he asked breathlessly, taking Besh's hand and turning to walk back home.

  "I was speaking with Pyav. And before that I was at Lici's house."

  "Did you find what you were looking for?"

  "Not yet," Besh said. "But I think I'm getting closer."

  "Does that mean you know where Lici is?" "No, I'm afraid not."

  They reached the house and went inside. Annze was placing food on the table and Elica stood at the hearth stirring a pot of stew. She cast a dark look Besh's way, but didn't say anything. Sirj and Cam were playing on the floor and Cam managed to say hello between giggles.

  They sat down to eat a few moments later. Elica's stew was quite good, but Besh could tell that she was angry with him, and neither of them said much. The children asked him question after question about Lici's house, as they always did. They'd heard so many tales about the woman that it seemed they thought Besh spent his days in the company of wraiths. As soon as he formed the thought, he grinned. Hadn't he been thinking much the same thing earlier that day, as he pondered the feelings he harbored for Sylpa?

  "What are you smiling at?" Elica demanded.

  He regarded her placidly. "My own foolishness."

  She didn't know how to respond to that and so fell back into her sullen silence.

  Sirj chuckled appreciatively. "A good answer. I'd do well to remember it." He winked at Besh.

  Elica said something cutting to her husband, but Besh didn't hear it.

  Once more, the old man found himself wondering why he'd been so dismissive of Sirj for so many years. No man who could laugh at himself and help raise such fine children deserved to be treated so. Had Besh simply allowed himself to become one of those fathers who thought no man was good enough for his daughter?

  Would it surprise you to learn that you were so thickheaded?

  There could be no mistaking that voice. Ema. Why was his mind so filled with the thoughts of the dead?

  The rest of the meal passed in relative silence and before long, Elica and Sirj shooed the children off to bed and began to clear the table. Besh would have liked to go outside, light his pipe, and think some more about what he'd read today. But after spending so much time away from the house, he felt that he should remain with his daughter, at least for a time.

  He stood and wrapped what remained of the bread in a cloth. After that, there was little left for him to do, but he lingered in the kitchen, watching Elica as she cleaned.

  "How many more days will you be going there?" she asked at last, refusing even to look at him.

  "I don't know. As many as necessary."

  "You're wasting your time."

  "Pyav told me the same thing."

  She looked at him. "Then why do you go back? What is it about that woman?"

  It took him a moment to realize that she meant Lici and not Sylpa.

  "I've told you before: I'm troubled by her disappearance. Everyone assumes that she's dead by now, but I don't believe she is. She's out there somewhere, and I won't be able to rest easy until I know where she is and what she's up to."

  "But if there w
as something in her house that could tell you those things, don't you think that you'd have found it by now? People are talking, Father. They think… they think your mind is slipping. They think you're so consumed with Lici that you're becoming more and more like her every day."

  He laughed. "Is that what they're saying?"

  She nodded, looking utterly unamused.

  "Well then, perhaps I am. As to your question, I have found something that may tell me what's become of her. Sylpa's journal. I'm making my way through it as quickly as I can. I'm not as good with my letters as you are, but I'm getting better. And I'm learning things about Lici as I go. Did you know that she came here because she lost her family to the pestilence?"

  Elica turned pale. "Did you learn that today?"

  "Yes. Why?"

  She shook her head. "It's probably nothing."

  "Tell me."

  She shrugged, as if trying to make light of what she was about to tell him, but her expression belied the gesture. "It was just something I heard in the marketplace today. Apparently there have been outbreaks of the pestilence north of here, and on the other side of the wash."

  "Ravens Wash?"

  "No, Silverwater. It's been striking Qirsi villages."

  Something I heard in the marketplace… Just as Sylpa learned of Sentaya's fate among the stalls and peddlers' carts. His mouth had gone dry, and he felt light-headed.

  "Are you all right, Father?"

  "What else did you hear?"

  "That was all. Not a lot, but enough to make me fearful for all of us."

  It had to be a coincidence, this echo of the past. What else could it be? And yet that voice within him, the one he had come to trust, even love, over the past half turn, was telling him otherwise.

  The pestilence strikes and a turn later she arrives in Kirayde. Sixteen fours pass. She leaves Kirayde and a turn later the pestilence strikes. This is more than mere chance or the random act of the gods. It's her

  He turned and walked out of the house.

  "Father?" Elica called to him. "Where are you going?"

  "Back to Sylpa's journal," he said. "Don't wait up for me. I'll be late."

  Chapter 11

  CENTRAL STELPANA, DUE WEST OF EAGLE'S PASS

  Standing outside the walls of Yorl, gazing westward at the imposing peaks of the Aelind Range, Grinsa and Cresenne had felt daunted nearly to the point of despair. Already they had endured the bitter hostility of the Eandi living in the coastal city, and if the captain of the Fortune Seeker was to be believed, every man and woman they encountered in western Aelea and Stelpana would be filled with just as much hate for all Qirsi, if not more. Even knowing that Eagle's Pass lay due west of the city gate, they had wondered how they would ever manage to make their way through those mountains. Yes, they had food and they had horses. But they were strangers in a land that felt both unfamiliar and malevolent. Had there been any true alternative to crossing the plain that stretched out before them that first day, they would have taken it and counted themselves fortunate to have the choice.

  But there were no alternatives, and, they soon realized, all was not nearly as bad as they had feared. While the plain had appeared to have few forests in which to find shelter, and fewer towns in which to find additional stores, they soon discovered that it was not nearly so barren. As they crossed the expanse they found several small woodlands, tucked away in shallow dales through which flowed rills and creeks. They also realized that the mountains had looked so formidable from the city walls because the distance to them was not nearly as great as they had assumed. As it turned out, Aelea was a small realm, at least when compared with the kingdoms of the Forelands. The distance between Yorl and the first line of mountains was but twenty-five leagues. Without pushing their mounts too hard, they were able to cross the plain in five days. And because they managed to complete the crossing so quickly, they were never in danger of running out of food and so had no reason to risk entering an Eandi settlement.

  Grinsa had worried that they might have trouble finding Eagle's Pass, but once they reached the foothills, they spied a well-worn path that wound up into the peaks. When they found the path late in that fifth day a storm hung low over the mountains, and so they made camp in the shadow of the range and hoped the weather would improve by morning. It didn't, and once more he felt his apprehension mounting. Their swift crossing of the plain would be worth nothing if they were forced to remain in the foothills, eating what was left of their supplies and making no progress.

  But late that night a storm passed over their small camp, soaking their sleeping rolls and clothes, and chilling them with a hard, steady wind. When morning broke, they were cold and wet, but the skies over the range had cleared and they were able to begin their climb into the pass.

  To this point, Bryntelle had borne what few hardships they encountered without complaint. But the wind only increased as they rode farther into the mountains, and they had no dry blankets with which to keep her warm. She fussed loudly throughout the day, and by nightfall Cresenne feared that she had taken ill with a fever.

  Once again, however, it seemed that the gods were smiling upon them. The wind died down overnight, and when Bryntelle awoke the next morning, her fever had vanished and, aside from being famished, she showed no ill effects from the day before.

  There was a reason why Eagle's Pass was so well traveled. While the surrounding peaks towered above them, stark against an azure sky and gleaming with a fresh blanket of snow, the pass was broad and low enough to be lined on either side with forests of spruce and hemlock. Rainwater from the storms cascaded off the mountains, ribbons of silver against the stone cliff faces. The roar of rushing water overwhelmed all other sound and echoed through the pass. The track was muddy from all the rain-pools of standing water reflected the sunlight-but no snow blocked their way. Before long, they were steering their mounts down the far side of the pass. Enormous mountains still loomed in front of them, but Grinsa could see a clear path through.

  Still, it took them another full day of riding before they emerged from the mountains into the dry foothills west of the range. Reaching a small clearing, they dismounted and allowed the horses to graze. Grinsa and Cresenne stepped to the end of a stone ledge and once again found themselves staring out at a broad plain. This time, however, there were no mountains in sight. Just pale heath and farmland, and in the distance, a pair of broad rivers, carving through the grasses and pastures, as dark as sapphires and running to the horizon in both directions.

  "Maifor's Wash and Ravens Wash," Cresenne said softly.

  Grinsa glanced at her. "Thank you. I'd forgotten the name of the first one."

  "There's a third, beyond these two. Silverwater, I think it called. We'll have to cross all three of them to reach Qirsi land."

  "I know."

  She shifted Bryntelle so that the child's weight rested mostly on her hip. "And we're going to need to find food in the next day or two. We're almost out."

  He took her free hand. "I know that, too. It'll be all right."

  She smiled at him, though as she faced the plain again her expression sobered. "I've never seen a land so beautiful. And I've never been anywhere that scared me more."

  "We'll find a town along the river, someplace that isn't too small, someplace that will have seen Qirsi before. There have to be Qirsi peddlers who trade in these lands."

  "How do you know?"

  "I don't really," Grinsa admitted. "But it makes sense. Back in the Forelands there was always trade among all the realms, even between the most bitter enemies. What was the old saying? 'Kings must have their wars, and merchants must have their gold'? I'd wager the same is true here."

  "And how does that help us?"

  "If we can find a town that sees some Qirsi traffic, even if it's just the occasional peddler, we'll stand out less. That's got to be better than winding up in a village that a Qirsi hasn't passed through since the last Blood War."

  "I suppose," Cresenne said. She didn't s
ound convinced.

  They made camp that night in the foothills before descending to the plain the following morning. Once on level terrain, they were able to make better time once more, and late in the day they reached the banks of Maifor's Wash.

  It was a broad river, which had looked placid and slow from a distance. But as Grinsa and Cresenne drew nearer, they could see that in fact it ran so swift and deep as to make a crossing too dangerous. The waters of the wash swirled in tight eddies and looked turbid with silt and mud.

  They followed the riverbank northward, hoping to find a spot where they might cross safely. Finding none before nightfall, they made camp and ate what was left of their food. In the morning, they resumed their search, still riding north.

  Before midday they came within view of a large settlement set just beside the river. Farmhouses and barns dotted the land around the village, and broad lanes led into it from the south and east. More important, Grinsa spotted a broad stone bridge spanning the river from near the marketplace in the middle of the town.

  "We have no choice, do we?" Cresenne said, eyeing the village grimly.

  It was a pleasant-looking place. The houses looked clean and cheerful, the crops appeared to be doing well, and there were quite a few peddlers crossing the river into the village marketplace. Had they still been in the Forelands, or even the western half of this land, they wouldn't have hesitated to ride into town. But their experience in Yorl remained fresh in Grinsa's mind. He was no more eager than Cresenne to enter the village.

  "I don't think we do," he said, his eyes meeting hers. "This may be our only chance all day to find more food. And who knows where else we'll be able to cross the river?"