The Sorcery Within

by Dave Smeds

  “Lerina,” he whispered softly.

  Now, whatever the result of the quest, their offspring would leave a mark for all Elandris to note. He could offer that much to her legacy.

  * * *

  XXVIII

  THE BLISTERED LANDSCAPE STRETCHED from horizon to horizon, bereft of movement, greenery, or human construction. They saw eroded hills, deep gorges, cliff walls of yellow, brown, and orange strata. The sky was clear, the air hot and dry as it flowed past their faces. Alemar was awed. How could so much land be so empty?

  He hung hundreds of feet above the world, dangling, with nothing between himself and the uncompromising badlands below. All his instincts told him he should be falling, but he wasn't. In fact, he and Gast were rising, carried by a thermal that seemed to grow stronger as they sailed higher. Gast laughed, his peals only half bridging the broad gap between his glider and that of Alemar. The rest of his mirth was stolen by the sky.

  They didn't talk. Even on earlier flights, the only words spoken in the air had been Gast's instructions or Alemar's questions, but now the younger man had mastered the art of the glider well enough that they had no need to converse. They paid silent obeisance to the wind.

  Now I'm a dragon, Alemar thought, not missing the irony.

  * * * *

  Alemar stared wistfully at their campfire, watching scarlet cinders rise into the night sky. Their gliders lay at the edge of the shadows. They themselves had to maintain a substantial distance from the flame; the dry brush burned fiercely and quickly. Strangely, they had had no trouble finding the fuel. Desolate as the land seemed, it supported a wide variety of life. They knew where to obtain what they needed.

  “What do you see in the sparks?” Gast asked.

  Alemar shrugged. Gast had a blunt way of asking questions, though he rarely asked. Alemar wasn't sure he was prepared to analyze his state of mind.

  “She's been in your thoughts a great deal."

  “I miss her. Is there something wrong with that?"

  Gast didn't say it, but Alemar could tell that the answer was partly yes. It made him angry.

  “Master—we've been out here for months, and all we've done is wander about, or fly, or eat and sleep. I came with you to learn to heal."

  “The first step is to heal yourself."

  The answer puzzled Alemar. “I'm healthy,” he protested.

  “Are you?” the Hab-no-ken answered, a twinkle in his eye.

  “Yes, of course."

  “Is there nothing that troubles you?"

  Their campfire popped. Alemar stared back at Gast, unable to read the healer's expression. The latter wore his straw hat, though it was night, and the shadow concealed his face.

  “Naturally, I'm troubled, now and then. Does that mean I'm not healthy?"

  “Exactly."

  Alemar frowned. “Then how is any man healthy? Name someone who is perfectly content."

  The glitter of teeth from Gast's smile was visible within the shadow. “I am not talking about any man. I am talking about Hab-no-ken. You may be a vigorous individual with no sign of infirmity. That is fine if you are to be a warrior, a shepherd, a merchant. To be a healer you must rethink your concept of health. You cannot give to another what you do not have yourself."

  Gast threw a chip of dung on the fire. “The power to heal is like fire. When it is blazing, it is awesome. But when nothing is left but embers, it must be banked and nurtured, or it will expire. Think of the wounded you have healed—could you have helped them if you had been injured at the same time?

  “Do you imagine that magic falls out of the sky for us to toy with? That is a myth. The only magic is the sorcery within. For example, consider this trinket.” Gast lifted the chain of Alemar's amulet. “You think it gives you strange abilities. That is not accurate. The wizard who made it created it as a means of focusing powers he had within himself. Around another man's throat, it is only a necklace. It works for you because you have the same abilities as the maker, and because the pattern of your energies matches his closely enough to trigger the device. I might suspect he was your ancestor."

  Alemar said nothing.

  “Men like to wrap their magic in talismans. It saves them from searching within themselves each time they weave a spell. But the sorcery itself does not come from the object. Once the creator has died, the device loses its power. Ultimately, an adept needs only inspiration and practice to allow him to focus his gift. Dragons are said to know this—they use no talismans. Neither do Hab-no-ken.

  “Your talent can be affected by what would otherwise be minor factors. Right now, one of the things standing in your way is your guilt at having abandoned your sibling."

  “Isn't a certain amount of that natural?” Alemar asked defensively.

  “Of course. But nevertheless, your ability is going to be affected by it, and by anything else that causes you stress. You have to be able to measure the degree to which you are hindered and take that into account. You've seen for yourself what may happen if a Hab-no-ken tries to stretch himself too far. I let my curiosity get the better of me when you arrived. I nearly killed your son because I ignored the fatigue that sent me into Retreat.

  “Your talent has been allowed to stagnate. The sorcery within you has been directed in other ways for most of your life. In time there would have been no chance to awaken the Greater Art. The energies would have been sapped to other purposes. You must realize how fragile your internal magic is, and give it succor.

  “There are good reasons why Hab-no-ken observe the ritual of Retreat. It may seem that I am teaching you in reverse, but you need to understand how vital this time of recuperation is. Before you come into your power, you must know how to preserve it. If you can't cope with the concerns you have now, then you will be lost, because they are nothing compared to those you'll have after you become Hab-no-ken. What will happen when you face a situation when you have three people badly in need of healing, and you have only the strength to save one of them? You can try to help them all, and fail—perhaps at the cost of your own life. Or you can help the one you can and leave the others to fate, and be grateful that you made a difference. In the end, you must still be able to live with yourself.

  “This is why Hab-no-ken have the authority to refuse to heal. If they exhaust themselves, they may never aid anyone again. The power needs a clear, unworried mind. If need be, we go on Retreat every year, sometimes for two months, sometimes as much as five, and during that time we forget the world and its tensions.

  “This is your first step. We will stay here in the badlands for as long as necessary. We will fly, we will sleep, we will stare at rocks. There is plenty of time. Once you realize that, you will be ready to start learning."

  It bothered Alemar to realize how hard a labor it would be, simply to do nothing at all.

  * * *

  XXIX

  THE FORT AT ZYRAII-NI-ZYRAII, which the traders called Xurosh, straddled the gorge through which the trade route flowed. The main structure had been erected on the northern cliff, accessible only via a small side road that branched off from the highway a mile to the west, where the grade was not as vertical. The smaller building, across the chasm to the south, could be reached only by the bridge that connected it to the main fort. The small keep commanded a site where arrows could easily be fired through archery slits at the highway, or great stones, already prepared, dropped. Boiling oil could be poured through machicolations in the bridge battlements. The barracks could hold a small battalion.

  “Give me your opinion, war-second,” Lonal requested.

  “Formidable,” Elenya answered.

  They had come, alone, to a hilltop where they could get a clear view of the fort without being themselves noticeable. She scanned farther. There were no alternate courses through the pass other than the road and the riverbed next to it, and these were equally vulnerable to attack from above. Cargo could only travel via the road. Even unburdened, oeikani would have difficulty negotiating the ridges.
To get to their present vantage point, Lonal and Elenya had climbed like goats. The next good pass was a hundred leagues away.

  “It's a perfect ambush point,” she said.

  “This was true even before the fort was built,” Lonal said, “and the traders have made sure to secure their advantage. The only way to gain control of this spot now is never to have lost it."

  He pointed to the small keep. “That was where my father died. The merchant's army trapped him there with about two dozen men of the T'lil and the Olot. They wanted the spot because that's where the spring is, the only permanent source of water in this region. They starved him for a fortnight, and when they feared to wait any longer, they stormed the summit. They must have lost hundreds of men in the attempt, but they took it. They built the keep on his bones."

  He sighed bitterly. Elenya had heard much of the story before. Joren had led Po-no-pha of the T'lil to the aid of warriors of the Olot, who had been taken unaware by the mercenaries the Azuraji merchants had hired. When it was clear that the traders intended to seize the pass, Joren sent messengers begging reinforcements from other Zyraii tribes. But the Buyul and the Fanke refused to do so unless their own war-leaders commanded the defense. There was no time to resolve the issue. Surrounded, Joren held the cliff tops for as long as he could. Men of the Alyr came, but they arrived too late.

  “We should have taken the mountain back immediately, no matter how many men it would have cost,” Lonal declared. “But the tribes would not band together. My father was perhaps the one man they might all have followed, given time enough to swallow their obstinacy. They argued with one another until the fortress was completed. Now we are left to face this monstrosity."

  That was a good description, Elenya thought. Xurosh didn't belong in a land whose people built no permanent structures. The great stone battlements broke the natural lines of the gorge. It was a blot of civilization against the otherwise pristine scenery. The land was no longer as God had made it.

  As she watched Lonal stare at the outpost, she understood things about him for the first time. There was more than grief at work. Joren's last stand had determined the focus of his son's ambitions. On the one side, Lonal had to vindicate his father's failure. On the other hand, the defense of the mountaintop had become legendary. Thanks to its fame, and Joren's impressive early career, Lonal might actually win the loyalty of all the tribes. The myth-loving Zyraii wanted the vendetta fulfilled.

  Xurosh was the key. It was the root of the war-leader's single-mindedness. It didn't really matter to him what else he did with his life, as long as he dealt with this place.

  “I will take it down,” he said. “Have you thought of a way to help me?"

  “Yes."

  * * * *

  “We poison the well,” Elenya said.

  The tent was filled with the war-leaders and war-seconds of the T'lil, Alyr, and Olot. Toltac, opsib of the T'lil, sat to one side with Gham, opsib of the Olot. Many were disgruntled by Elenya's presence. She was not only a woman—though none would voice this objection aloud—but was also only recently promoted to war-second. It did not seem appropriate that she should be spokesman, but Lonal clearly deferred to her, and made it obvious that he expected everyone else to do so as well.

  “We all agree that we don't have the lives to waste taking Xurosh by storm,” she continued, “so we have to use their weak point against them. There is only one well. If it is tainted, everyone in the fort will be affected."

  “There are women inside. They would be killed, too,” pointed out the war-leader of the Olot.

  “We've thought of that. The poison we will use won't kill anyone. It will only paralyze. We'll make sure that the women recover, but the men don't."

  “What poison are you speaking of?"

  “Mother's Breath."

  “Only sorcerers can make Mother's Breath. Where do you plan to get it?"

  “I can make it."

  Murmurs echoed off the goat-hide walls. A few pairs of eyes gazed at her with alarm. Sorcery not of the ken was just short of demons’ work.

  “It will require a large amount of human blood,” Elenya said. “But if we take a little from all of the men in the camp, it should be enough."

  The war-leader of the Olot stood up, facing Lonal. “You're going to let a witch bleed us?"

  Lonal's tone was offhand. “Are you afraid, Quasham? Would you rather spill your blood on the walls of Xurosh, until you have none left?"

  “Who is to say if the blood will be used only to make poison? Should we endanger our souls?"

  Lonal shrugged. “I will be the first. Thereafter, if you don't wish to donate, I will be glad to take it from you. We could get all we need from a single corpse."

  Elenya smiled. Lonal was stretching the facts in order to enforce the bluff. In fact, Mother's Breath required that the blood be utterly fresh, dripped hot from the wound directly into the mixture at an exact point in time. The blood of a corpse would only be effective for moments after death.

  “We aren't as worried about tainting the well as what happens afterward,” Elenya said. “We may take the fort, but we have to keep it. The T'lil are not sufficient alone. We can hold Xurosh, yes, but the supply lines must be kept open. We need enough Po-no-pha to harass the traders, should they try to lay siege. They must be convinced that it will be too dear a cost to them to retake the outpost."

  “If we can keep Xurosh for one season, we will have won,” Lonal stated. “The merchants of Azurajen cannot afford to lose business for long. They will soon be willing to negotiate. Paying us the tribute will rest easier on their minds than having the trade route completely blocked."

  “How are you going to reach the well?” asked the war-leader of the Alyr. “It is guarded."

  “That's true,” Elenya said. “But it is guarded from men, not women."

  “For good reason,” the man continued. “We would not permit a woman to become involved in acts of war. Are you suggesting heresy?"

  “It's not necessary to use women,” Elenya said. “It will be enough if the traders merely believe that only women are near their well. The reality will be different. We happen to have at least one Po-no-pha who can disguise himself as a woman very well."

  * * * *

  During a break in the discussions, Lonal was relaxing by the edge of the oasis. Toltac joined him.

  “How do you think it will go?"

  “As soon as they're done with their cavilling, they'll accept the plan,” Lonal said confidently. “They have nothing to lose. They don't have to commit their forces until after they know if the poisoning of the well has succeeded. Once that occurs, they will hurry to be on the winning side."

  “Yes. That was my perspective, also."

  The Bo-no-ken seemed pleased with himself, in the mood to talk. Lonal didn't mind. As war-leader and opsib, they had no peers within the clan. Their political relationship kept them from becoming confidants, but they had often conversed at great depth and, quite unknown to themselves, would have regretted losing the chance to continue.

  The high priest chuckled. “Do you remember that night when you brought back Yetem and Tebec?"

  “Of course. Why?"

  “That was the longest night of my life, save the night I spent in the caves of Setan. A time of hard decision. I have never told anyone this before, but I am convinced God spoke to me that night.” He lowered his voice to a whisper.

  “What did He say?"

  “He said, ‘The problem is faith. When you believed she was a man, all things were correct. What is simpler than to believe once again she is a man? With sufficient faith, all things are possible.’ I then knew God's mind. The whole matter was a test of our belief. But I knew He wouldn't leave it there. There had to be a reason why He would test us in this particular way. Now it is obvious."

  “It is?"

  “Yes. How else would we have this needle to thrust in Xurosh's eye? As was said, it would be heresy to endanger a female. So God has provided for
us a man who looks like a woman. I see now why He had to speak to me."

  “He indeed works in fascinating ways,” Lonal said.

  “What I also never understood before tonight,” Toltac added, “was why you wanted the westerners. It could not have been only what you told us that night in council, though that was no doubt true. Now I perceive your plans. How far ahead you think! I am impressed."

  Lonal demurred. “I had hardly thought of the plan of the well back then. I didn't know Yetem could make Mother's Breath until very recently."

  Toltac chuckled. “No, not that. I was watching carefully today.” Indeed, observing was all Toltac could do. Though his authority was deep, the Bo-no-ken had no voice in military matters. “The idea of poison was not popular. It is not manly."

  “But it is our only hope."

  “I agree. But still, it was wise of you to divert the dissension to another target. You place Yetem, with all his ‘oddness,’ to the forefront. It is then easy for all concerned to direct their dissatisfactions at him. You, though you are the policymaker, are safe in the background."

  “I suppose you could see it that way,” Lonal said, but his face clouded.

  “It is a good scheme. In the event of failure, the blame can fall on Yetem, yet you can claim most of the credit for a success. If your father had possessed that sort of subtlety, he could have become opsha."

  “Perhaps I am like you,” Lonal said presently. “Perhaps God speaks to me, and tells me what to do. I only see the significance of the acts later. Perhaps He sent Yetem to me for this very purpose—to be my foil.” He faced Toltac. “It is comforting, to have His presence, guiding my destiny. But is that all there is to it? Are we all merely players in God's game? Are we the dice, once thrown, that have no choice in how the roll is thrown? Sometimes it seems that God is on my side. But what should happen if I choose not to do what He asks of me?"

  “Do not speak of apostasy,” Toltac said firmly. “You have always been a devoted servant of God. Even the noblest have doubts. What is better than to fulfill your destiny? Especially one as glorious as yours seems it will be."