Seeker of Magic

by Susanne L. Lambdin

  Octavio looked pleased. He pointed toward the north. “Then ride with us to my camp where you and your friends may rest for the night,” he said. “You will find the Ghajar are most hospitable to people we consider our friends.” He threw his arms in the air and turned toward his men. “Drom va! We take to the road!”

  His dapple-gray horse was led over by one of his men, and the Shan mounted the large animal in one smooth leap. With a whistle, he whipped the reins across the side of horse and set off into the dark, laughing loudly. His men rode after him, leaving the Ravens and Zarnoc standing beside their horses.

  “You don’t seriously mean to go with them?” Roland asked. He walked to Taliesin and Zarnoc, leading Kordive. “I think it best we go on without them.”

  Taliesin sensed Roland was jealous of the Shan’s attraction to her, as well as being nervous about going to the gypsies’ camp. “I’ve accepted the Shan’s offer,” she said. “We need to rest, and we need their protection.” She didn’t know what they were getting into at the Shan’s camp, but she did know what waited in the dark. “Wolfgar is still out there, and so is Sertorius. We’re unarmed and out-matched, Grudge. We need the gypsies’ help if we’re to get through the Volgate. Of course, you can leave if you are uncomfortable with my decision.”

  “I’m sworn to protect you, Raven Mistress,” Roland said. “I’m going with you.”

  Climbing into the saddle, Taliesin found Zarnoc wiggled right behind her. He slid his arms around her, tighter than necessary, she thought. She felt the cat moving between them, and wasn’t startled when it hissed. She was relieved when the wizard loosened his grip and Ginger settled down. As soon as she confirmed everyone was mounted, she gave a parting look at the burning bodies and nudged her horse, heading in the direction taken by the Ghajar.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Fourteen

  The Ghajar camp was set among a cluster of white birch trees beside a stream. Campfires blazed among more than forty wagons, painted bright red, blue, or yellow. Taliesin noticed the wagons had three shapes: cottage-shaped, bow-topped, and spindle-sided. Women and girls sat around the inner fires and cooked dinner as the boys ran out to meet the Shan and the returning riders. A large campfire surrounded by wagons was circled with cut logs to provide seats and tables set with food.

  Taliesin and Wren were mobbed the moment they arrived. She felt a hand tugging on her pant leg and looked down at a young boy with buckteeth eyeing her. Dismounting, she allowed the boy to take the Thalagar’s reins. He also took the reins to Kordive as Roland walked to her. Both horses were taken to a yellow wagon, and the boy quickly provided a bucket of water and a mound of hay for them. Another boy, with hair as long as Wren’s, took the other three horses and led them to a red wagon, while the mule was taken to a bright blue wagon. Zarnoc walked beside Shan Octavio and waved the Ravens over, heading toward the main campfire for dinner.

  “They seem friendly,” Taliesin said, keeping close to Roland. “Are you worried?”

  “Don’t let their smiles fool you,” Roland grumbled. “If Zarnoc were not a friend of the Shan, I assure you, our reception would be much different.” His hand slid under her elbow, guiding her through the press of bodies; everyone seemed to want to meet the Ravens. “If the Shan asks again if you are claimed, tell him you are mine or you will end up in his bed this night. Most of these women have already been there, and many of these children are his, Taliesin. I suggest you try to resist speaking your mind freely with these people.”

  A young man in a red vest came over and bowed his head to Taliesin. He pointed at the campfire and escorted the Ravens to where they were expected to sit. Taliesin removed her cloak as she and her friends joined the men. Roland kept his hood over his head and tried to remain hidden, but as the second largest man present, after the Shan, it was impossible not to be noticed. Men turned to watch as she and Roland were led to Shan Octavio, seated on a large overstuffed chair. Zarnoc, smoking his pipe, sat beside him on a smaller chair, with Ginger curled on his lap. Hawk, Rook, and Wren sat on large pillows to the right of Zarnoc and gratefully accepted glasses of wine. Hawk chatted with a tall man with gray eyes and a long, braided beard, who Taliesin had seen slice a Wolfman in half with his scimitar.

  As she and Roland approached the Shan, the young man in the red vest pointed at the pillows at the foot of the large chair. Taliesin sat at the feet of the Shan and Roland sat beside Hawk, directly in front of Zarnoc. The moment she was seated, Taliesin felt the tip of the Shan’s boot brush across her backside. She scooted forward, and heard his deep laughter.

  “You know what this is?” Hawk said. He picked up a flask. “This is baju. With a name like that, you know this must be a strong brew. Drink up, Grudge. Don’t look so dour, we are among friends. There’s going to be dancing, too.”

  Wren sat between Hawk and Rook, and her long, blonde hair had drawn a number of people who wanted to touch it. Among them was a beautiful gypsy girl with long, curly, black hair and dark eyes. She knelt behind Wren and leaned over her shoulder to talk to her, fingers sliding through the girl’s blonde hair.

  “That’s the Shan’s daughter,” Hawk said. “Her name is Jaelle.”

  “You’re certainly winning friends fast,” Taliesin said, laughing. She watched Roland drink from Hawk’s flask and lick his lips. “Maybe you should have joined the Ghajar and not the Raven Clan, Hawk. A number of girls are staring at you. I don’t think you’ll sleep alone tonight.”

  Hawk turned to look where she pointed. “I think I may have died and gone to Mt. Helos,” he said. “How am I ever going to choose just one?”

  “Why pick?” Roland said. “Ghajaran guests are allowed to sleep with whoever they want and with as many as they can handle. It is a man’s paradise, I’ll grant you that.”

  Many gypsies were trying to trade with Rook and Wren for their warm, wool cloaks. Wren handed her cloak to Jaelle in exchange for her short red jacket with yellow trim and big silver buttons. The gypsy girl soon had Wren on her feet, pulled her away from the fire, and they vanished in the crowd. As Rook started to rise to follow, Hawk pulled him to the pillow.

  “She’ll be fine, brother,” Hawk said. “Stop worrying and drink.”

  Hawk took the flask from Roland. It had a silver mouthpiece shaped like a swan’s neck and beak. After he drank, he handed it to Rook, who was surrounded by children eager to touch his long braids. A girl started weaving silver beads into his dreadlocks. Rook smiled, delighted, and let the children maul him. Hawk was busy flirting with the young women standing off to the side, pointing at him and giggling as they batted their painted eyelashes. One stepped forward and tied a purple scarf around his head, giving him the appearance of a pirate, with his dangling pearl earring. He pulled the girl into his arms while another woman hugged him from behind.

  “I hope they bring us a plate of food,” Taliesin said. “I’m starving.” She leaned against Roland and rested her arm on his leg. The tip of the Shan’s boot kept nudging her in the butt, as if she didn’t know he was seated right behind her.

  “Drink up, brother,” Hawk said. He tossed the flask to Roland again and laughed as the two girls started fighting over him. Somehow, he managed to pull the second girl onto his lap and traded kisses with each one, ending their quarrel.

  Roland drank from the flask and offered it to Taliesin, but she shook her head, wanting water, not wine. She was thirsty, certainly; wine would only make her drunk, especially on an empty stomach. Everyone around the campfire seemed intent on getting drunk. Zarnoc dropped a flask into her lap that felt cool and damp. Taking off the cap, she sniffed, detected water, and with a grateful nod at the wizard, drank her fill.

  “Just water?” Roland asked. “I have no intention of remaining sober. Tonight, I am Grudge again, and anything goes.”

  “Good. Because I’m still mad at Roland, but not at Grudge,” Taliesin said, softly. She didn’t care if it made any sense or not. A smile spread across her face as he leaned close and
kissed her cheek. She quickly turned her head, and his lips brushed across hers.

  Music started; a hypnotic rhythm played on lutes, a violin, and several drums. A number of shapely young women walked to the fireside and started dancing, using scarves, which they lifted and lowered as they wiggled their hips. The tip of the Shan’s boot touched her backside again, and Taliesin wondered how long it would take before she was forced to turn around to set him straight. Taliesin turned to see a girl with long brown hair and dark eyes wriggling against Roland. The girl pulled back Roland’s hood and revealed his bald head and whiskered jaw. She tied a peacock-blue scarf around his head.

  Roland grinned. “Thank you,” he said. “My ears were starting to get cold.”

  The girl pulled a red-and-yellow checkered scarf from between her large breasts, and Taliesin groaned as the girl tied the scarf around her head. The girl laughed and threw herself into Roland’s arms, kissing him, and rather rudely pushed Taliesin aside. Trying not to react with anger or jealously, Taliesin reached to adjust the scarf. Something was inside it and she pulled out a Tareen fortune-telling card. One side of the card was solid black, but on the other side was the figure of a skeleton holding a sword in one boney hand and a torch in the other. Minerva owned the same deck of Tareen Cards, and had often told fortunes at Raven’s Nest when everything was quiet and still. Taliesin had never asked for a reading, but she knew enough about the cards to know the skeleton represented ‘death.’ She wanted to ask the girl why she’d given it to her, but Roland had pushed her aside. The gypsy girl stole the cloak off his back and slipped away into the crowd.

  “Not much of a fair trade,” Roland said, drinking more of the baju. He reached for Taliesin’s hand and nodded as Hawk and the two gypsy girls drifted away from the fire. Rook was right behind them, taking the crowd of children.

  Another girl came to Zarnoc and presented him with a fine pair of silver slippers to replace his worn boots. The wizard giggled with delight and wiggled his feet before him. “Oh, these are comfortable,” he said, lighting his pipe.

  Flasks, along with long pipes of feather leaf, were passed around the circle of gypsies seated on pillows around the campfire, and platters of food were laid out on colorful blankets at everyone’s feet. When a pipe reached Taliesin, she smelled it, wrinkled her nose, and passed it to Roland. Whatever it was, she wanted no part of it; smoking wasn’t something she liked to do. She watched Roland take a large puff, cough hard, then handed it to the wizard.

  Feeling a tap on her shoulder, Taliesin turned. Shan Octavio held out a flask to her. “It’s baju,” he said. “Drink and make merry, Raven Mistress. Everyone drinks baju at my camp. It’s tradition. Even Ravens have traditions, yes? I would consider it an insult if you refused.” He smiled, his eyes never leaving her face as she drank from the flask.

  “Oh, this is so sweet,” Taliesin said, not liking it at all.

  Whatever baju was made from, it had a sickly-sweet taste that reminded her of honey mead and blackberries. She wiped her hand across her mouth and handed the flask to Roland; not that he needed more alcohol. Another tap caused her to look at the Shan once again. The Shan wasn’t going to give her a moment’s peace; that much was certain. Another flask was handed to her, and taking a cautious sip, she found it to be wine. Not bad at all, she thought. Roland took the flask from her and drank what he wanted.

  “Will you dance for me, Taliesin?” The Shan pointed at the dancers. “It is a tradition female guests dance for the host?”

  “Me?” she said, horrified. “Dance? No, no, no. Dancing isn’t for Ravens.”

  With a roar of laughter, Octavio crossed one leg over the other, and a pretty girl with long, curly, black hair sat on his lap. Another girl, with her black hair pulled into a braid on top of her head, pulled the Shan’s beard and nibbled on his ear. Taliesin turned and slid her arm through Roland’s, pulling him close. He drank from the flask containing the sickly-sweet baju, having put aside the wine.

  “You are beautiful,” Roland said. Already drunk, he gave her a goofy grin. “I’d very much like to see you dance.” He took another drink, and the reddish baju dribbled off his chin. She wiped it off, and he grabbed her hand and licked her fingers clean.

  “Tastes like blackberries,” Taliesin said. “I don’t like it, but you seem to like it too much. Slow down, Grudge. You’ll make yourself sick.”

  “I like baju,” the knight said. He took a swig, and then another.

  “If you’re going to get drunk,” Taliesin said, “then eat something.” She been given a plate of food—lamb and rice—and tried to feed it to him. He grunted and refused to eat, so she ate a few mouthfuls. “You’re missing out. It’s tasty.”

  “I’m not hungry…for food.” Leering, Roland reached for her breast. She swatted his hand away. “I know you have feelings for me,” he said. “Admit it, or I’ll return to Fregia.”

  Taliesin was overcome with an urge to tell him the absolute truth. “I love you,” she said, kissing him. “All I can think about is making love to you.”

  Roland grabbed her plate and started eating. Taliesin turned to talk to Zarnoc, who was curled in his chair and puffing on his pipe. Tossing aside the plate, Roland stood, yanked Zarnoc out of his chair, and sat in it, leaving the wizard to find a new place beside Taliesin. A young woman sat in Roland’s lap and his arms wrapped around her as she covered his face with kisses. So much for his wanting to know what she really felt, thought Taliesin. It was too easy to tell him how she felt; she knew it had something to do with the baju, and vowed not to drink another sip.

  Zarnoc found the Tareen Card she’d cast aside, and held it up. “Where did you get this?”

  “I found it under my scarf. Someone clearly wants me to get the hint.”

  “It doesn’t only mean death, but also rebirth and change.” Zarnoc placed the card in the sleeve of his robe. “Tareen cards have two messages, one good, one bad, but this particular card means you will be given a choice in the future that will forever affect your life. What it is, I cannot say. I may be the last of the Lorians, but just because my people were fairy folk doesn’t mean I know everything.”

  Taliesin had heard of Lorians. The fairy folk had vanished hundreds of years ago, but people still talked about them when a rainbow was seen or when the fires sparked and seemed to reflect images within the flames. Zarnoc dropped his pipe. She picked it before it burned a hole in the pillow and heard a loud hiss. Ginger was cowering beneath the chair Roland sat in, hissing at her. Placing the pipe between her teeth, she grabbed a small-fringed pillow and placed it behind Roland’s boots, blocking the cat so it couldn’t try to scratch her. Before she knew what she was doing, she’d taken a toke from the pipe and found the weed tasted of honey.

  Careful not to burn Zarnoc’s beard, she placed the pipe into his mouth, removed the flask of baju that had started leaking onto his robe, and handed it to a girl who had fallen off the Shan’s lap and landed on her butt. The girl took the flask and crawled back onto Shan Octavio’s lap. As he caressed the girl’s breast, she felt the toe of his boot tap her buttocks.

  “Where did you meet the Shan?” Taliesin said.

  “Octavio found me living at the tower when he was a boy,” Zarnoc said, puffing on his pipe. “He was even more fearsome when he was eight years old and eager to make a name for himself. I was tired of running from the king’s guard; always hiding, always in fear for my life, and he took pity on me and gave me his protection. A boy of eight, just imagine.” He blew a smoke ring into the air. “Not long after we met, I learned an illness had spread through the wagons and many had died. I was still powerful back then, so I brewed a magical cure and earned their respect.”

  “Your visit was long overdue, Great Zarnoc.” Octavio’s deep voice was as low as the playing drums. “Taliesin, come sit on my knee. Your companion has found another, and I would have you enjoy yourself this night.”

  The Shan turned when she didn’t obey, and talked to the tall man with
the long beard and gray eyes who had killed the Wolfman with one swipe. The man gave Octavio a lit pipe, made of clay painted bright blue. The Shan puffed on it, eyes closed, and smoke rolled out of his nostrils. He opened his eyes and blew out the rest of the smoke from the corner of his lips. Taliesin shook her head when he offered her the pipe. He gave the pipe to Roland, who stopped kissing the girl, made sure Taliesin was watching, and took the pipe. The Shan grabbed Taliesin by the arms, and before she could resist, jerked her onto his lap.

  A cheer came from the men. Taliesin found a pair of strong arms wrapped around her waist. Aware Roland watched, she leaned against the Shan’s chest and let him hold the pipe to her lips, took a deep draw, and exhaled a puff of smoke.

  “We are to leave before another full moon,” he said, his mood serious. “Dark times are upon us, Taliesin. There is much unrest in the realm. Trade and bartering are no longer profitable. It’s dangerous everywhere we go. I dare not let you venture west. Not when the Wolf Pack is hunting you.”

  “I am worried,” Taliesin said, finding she couldn’t lie to the Shan. “Master Osprey and my clan have been captured by the Wolf Clan. I fear I will never see them again. But we are not only hunted by the Wolfmen. Prince Sertorius visited Zarnoc a few days ago; he’s looking for me as well. Our only hope is to slip through the Volgate unseen and find the Raven sword before him or the Wolf Pack. I’m the only one who can find it. I have to go.”

  The Shan nodded. “I understand,” he said. “But I cannot allow you to go with so few people. I will select my best men and send them with you.”

  “I don’t want to involve you or your tribe.”

  “Many allegiances have been made and broken in these last few weeks,” Octavio said, his lips against her ear. “I was told by a reliable source the dukedoms of Fregia, Thule, Erindor, and Bavol have sided with King Frederick. However, the lords of Aldagar and Scrydon have pledged to help Almaric. Garridan has yet to choose sides. I believe Prince Sertorius is headed to Garridan to convince Duke Richelieu de Boron to help the king, but whether that is true or not remains to be seen.”