Seeker of Magic

by Susanne L. Lambdin

  Wren threw her arms around Taliesin and sniffled ever so slightly. Taliesin reached up and stroked Wren’s hair. The tent flap opened, and Roland entered with a tray of food, a curious look on his face. “I just came to say goodnight,” Wren said. She got up, blew Taliesin a kiss, and dashed out of the tent.

  Roland placed the tray on the table. He had brought a bowl of stew and a loaf of bread. There was also a chunk of cheese, though it looked hard, and a flask of wine. He took a seat on a rug at her feet, and he watched while she spooned in large bites of the hot stew. “Jaelle said you ran into Prince Sertorius at a tavern. If he follows the instructions Jaelle gave him,” he said, “he won’t be crossing the river until morning. She said he’s a very handsome man, not overly nice, but I could have told you that. I know the man. Know him quite well, in fact, and I’ve never liked him.”

  “Sertorius wanted to slit Jaelle’s throat,” Taliesin said, slurping. The stew was delicious and tasted better when she dipped a chunk of bread into the broth and soaked it up. “Maybe all princes are cruel, but this one takes delight in terrifying women. All of his men give me the impression they are brutes. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’d been bitten by Wolfgar’s men. They act like animals, that’s for certain, and Sertorius most of all.” She wanted to tell Roland she’d known the prince as a boy, yet couldn’t bring herself to tell him, nor understand why the secret stuck in her throat.

  “Sertorius wants one thing only,” Roland said. “He wants Ringerike. Trust me when I say he doesn’t have his father’s best interest at heart. Nor yours. When I think how close you came to being captured, it convinced me I should never let you out of my sight.” He smiled as she sliced off a piece of cheese. “Goat cheese,” he said. “It’s palatable, but I found a worm in mine, so watch out.”

  “I’m so famished, I don’t care. This is delicious. What else is there to eat?” Taliesin looked around the tray, spotted a fig, and popped it into her mouth, moaning with pleasure as it burst open in her mouth. A dribble of juice slid down her chin. Roland caught a drop on the end of his finger, licked it off, and grinned.

  “Is that an invitation?” she asked. “I can stop eating, and we can get undressed and climb into bed. We’ll have to be very quiet. No one will know what we’re doing as long as you don’t groan and moan, Sir Roland.”

  “I picked up armor on the way,” he said, changing the subject. “A traveling salesman gave me a good price. I bought two more hauberks for Hawk and Rook. It’s hot wearing armor in the desert, but it will come in handy if—and when—we run into trouble. Did you enjoy your bath? I’m sorry I was gone so long, or I’d have washed your back.”

  “Absolutely,” Taliesin said, feeling slightly guilty at being so comfortable, and alone with her lover, while everyone else had to share a tent. The chainmail he’d mentioned lay folded on a pillow; it had silver links and was expensive. She watched him remove his coat and shirt, and his hairy back made her smile. When he sat on the bed to remove his boots, she slid off the mattress, took the Deceiver’s Map out of her pouch, spread it on the bed, and lay beside it. The map had rolled out like heavy parchment, which is what she’d wanted, and she traced a path to the Cave of Chu’Alagu. On the way there was a red star; somewhere in the desert was a magical item buried in the sand. She glanced at Roland, checking on his progress, and had a full view of his pale buttocks as he bent over to place his clothes in a neat pile. She turned to the map and memorized what she was looking at, noting both the landmarks etched in black ink on the tan parchment, and that it was over two hundred miles to their destination. She also noticed Sertorius’ location.

  “How many days in the desert will it take us to reach the caves?” Roland turned, completely naked; one hand rested on his hairy chest, and the other held the flask of wine. He took a drink and came to sit next to her. “Zarnoc said four days of riding, at most, so we don’t wear out the horses. I’d rather travel at night because of the heat, but with Wolfmen lurking about, it’s safer to ride only during the day and rest at night. Zarnoc has enchantments around this camp, and he can always find us water, so I don’t think we have to worry about it. Keep him safe and well-fed, and he’ll get us there.”

  Taliesin removed the flask from Roland’s hand and sipped the wine. She let him roll the map and return it to her pouch. Capping the flask, she set it aside as he crawled into bed and tossed a blanket over their bodies, his hand already pulling up her gown.

  “We need him, that’s for certain,” Roland said, able to talk and touch her at the same time. She lay still as he managed to pull the gown off, toss it aside, and return to his former position; his face nestled on her shoulder.

  “Rook was amazing today. You should have seen him brave the rapids to…,” she paused, feeling his lips on her neck and whispered, “…gypsies don’t swim. Did you know that?” He shook his head and nibbled on her shoulder. “Something else happened today. No one else knows about this, and you must swear you’ll never mention it. Rook talked. I wonder if he’s a spy. I mentioned it to Jaelle, but I was kidding; only now, I’m not so sure. It’s possible. I mean, Sertorius is after the Raven Sword. The map makes it look like he’s following our exact trail, which shouldn’t be possible, but he is. Do you think Rook is leaving clues behind?”

  Roland looked up, his dark brown eyes smoldering. “Doubtful. Not Rook,” he said. “He’s the last man who would betray the Raven Clan. They took him in when he needed shelter. That boy is loyal. Trust me.” Pulling her into his arms, he held her tight as his lips brushed against hers. “Where do you come up with these crazy ideas? Rook? A spy? Is there anything else I should know? Is that what you think of me?”

  “No,” Taliesin said. “I don’t think that about you, and I really don’t think that about Rook, either, but I’m concerned the Maldavians are right on our tail. The Wolfmen can follow our scent, I get that, only it doesn’t make sense—the prince never seems to falter or get lost.”

  “I wouldn’t say that. He was lost in the Volgate. I agree he must have hired a scout; he’d be a fool not to. The man deserves some credit; he’s a good commander, but it will take more than a scout or a spy to reach the Cave of the Snake God. He needs a magic user.”

  “And I need you,” she said.

  “Am I interrupting anything?” Jaelle, dressed in her brother’s clothes, came into the tent, not waiting for permission, and startled both Taliesin and Roland. Her eyes narrowed, and she caught her breath seeing them in bed together. “May I join you?” She came closer, kneeling at the foot of the bed.

  “I’ve no objection,” Roland said, “though it’s up to Taliesin.”

  “Not this time,” Taliesin said, wanting to be honest. “In the morning, I wouldn’t be able to bear anyone knowing. Though you are very beautiful, and I admit I have thought about it, I think you should return to your own tent, Jaelle. This can’t happen.”

  The gypsy girl’s eyes narrowed. For a moment, Taliesin saw what appeared to be hatred within her eyes and a certain coldness in the false warmth of her smiling red lips. A man might have been tricked into thinking it was passion, but it couldn’t be that; only hatred bore a black heart. Then it was gone, both the look in Jaelle’s eyes and her company, as she spun and ran out of the tent into the night, leaving Taliesin utterly confused. She heard Roland’s chuckle, rich and reassuring, and she settled against him, beneath the blanket.

  “The girl is in love with you,” Roland said, yawning.

  “Forget about her,” Taliesin said. “What you said...about being in love...are you in love with me? Roland? Is that what you meant?”

  No answer came from the knight; he’d fallen asleep beside her, one arm draped over her body. Tiny snores came from his parted lips. She snuggled against him, exhausted herself, and was content with being close to him. But they were not alone. Either Jaelle had stuck around to spy on them, or perhaps Zarnoc watched in the form of a mouse. The feeling someone or something watched caused her to pull the blankets to their chins
. She lay still, listening to the night and trembling at every little sound, until at last, her eyelids grew heavy, and she fell asleep, hearing only Roland’s snoring.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Tamal led them west across the sand dunes, the sun at their backs; the four Nova brothers brought up the rear, staying in a single line to limit the number of hoof prints left behind in the sand. The wind stirred and whipped across the sand; in the distance, Taliesin spotted a dust devil whirling across the dunes. For three days they’d ridden across the desert without seeing another soul, traveling under Sir Roland’s Order of the White Stag banner as his entourage: one squire, four guards, three grooms, two servants, and a white-bearded priest riding a mule.

  Every day, Taliesin, Wren, and Jaelle bound their breasts, braided their hair, and hid behind the appearance of grooms. The only thing that made the heat bearable was gypsy cloaks transformed to appear white; the cotton material allowed airflow, protected them from the sun, and hid their gender. Roland and Tamal, the knight helmed and the squire in a coif, bore the brunt of the stern sun and broiled in chainmail. The Nova brothers, Sirocco, Simoom, Khamsin, and Harmattan, wore the padded coats of guards, with leather belts, hose, and low-cut shoes. Hawk and Rook were allowed to wear their Raven clothes, altered by magic to appear no more than the plain, drab garments of servants. Zarnoc, dressed in a frock, rode in the middle and carried an outlandish pink parasol. Held open by wooden spokes, the parasol was, in reality, his magical staff. He had kept his pipe and smoked whenever the mood took him.

  “We’ve been lucky so far,” Hawk said. He rode behind Taliesin and spoke loud enough for her to hear. “That little toad sticks out like a sore thumb. Anyone who sees us will think your Fregian knight and his companions have a lunatic for a priest.”

  “That’s the idea,” Taliesin said, scowling beneath her cap. “You think I like having my breasts tied down? It’s painful enough for me, Wren need not bother, but Jaelle suffers the most, and all you can do is grumble about a pink parasol.”

  “Why are you angry with me?” Hawk said. “It wasn’t my idea to bind your breasts. The point is to make you women look like men. But I’m positive Jaelle hates me,” he went on. “I sleep right next to her, yet she keeps her back turned. I don’t understand why she finds me so repugnant. I am handsome, clever, always ready to lend a hand, and yet she rebukes me.”

  Taliesin slowed her horse and allowed Hawk to catch her.

  “Jaelle doesn’t hate you,” she said, keeping her voice low.

  “No? I’m pretty sure she does, yet I think she’s the most beautiful woman in the world. She doesn’t notice me. She barely talks to me; I might as well have two heads and a tail,” Hawk continued. “Nothing I say or do can soften her heart. She’s colder than you, and Heggen knows, I tried for months to win your affection.”

  “I’m not that cold. I just don’t think of you that way, Hawk. You’re family.” Taliesin glanced at the ground and watched a green lizard scurry beneath a curious, bleached skull that had belonged to a creature she wasn’t familiar with. “Jaelle’s lack of interest has nothing to do with your face or your personality. The truth is Jaelle doesn’t like men. She likes me.”

  “Of course, you’d say that. Everyone wants you. It’s always about you.” Hawk leaned forward, trying to get comfortable in the saddle. “All these days in this saddle have created sores on my backside. I didn’t realize I hated riding a horse long distance. Nor did I realize you are such a bore. You could at least try to be amusing.”

  “You mean humor you?” Taliesin snorted. “Your problem is you don’t want to work hard for anything—it’s all supposed to fall right into your lap. Roland has us dressed in this fashion to fool the Djarans that we are but pilgrims. Apparently, the desert dwellers allow knights to travel freely through their lands, but not Ghajarans. Instead of complaining about your misfortunes, you could try to be pleasant. Try to be nice to Jaelle, instead bothering her with your silly compliments. A woman wants a man to be thoughtful, not rutting about like it’s mating season, and if you’ve already forgotten, coming here was all your idea, you dumb poult.”

  “It was not,” Hawk said, offended. “Zarnoc put us up to this, and I’m not a baby turkey being raised for food, so don’t start calling me names, or I’ll call you a few that you won’t like.”

  Taliesin ignored Hawk and gazed at the horizon. The sky was bluer than a robin’s egg, without a cloud to offer shade or the hope of rain, and she knew as soon as the sun reached its zenith, they would start to bake. “We’d best find an oasis today,” she said. “I saw one on the map. We should be getting close.”

  “Eyes watch us,” Hawk said. “Felt this way for the last few days. It’s not the Wolf Pack or Prince Sertorius who are harrowing us. Did you notice that flock of desert gulls that flew overhead about a mile back? Gulls are beggar birds. I figure we’re taking a route used by Djaran caravans. The Djaran are nothing more than marauders, and if they find us out here, they’ll strip us, spread us out on stakes, and leave us to the scorpions. Or worse.”

  “There are others who live in the desert,” Taliesin said. “Bandits, thieves, and giant crabs that live under the sand to keep cool, only to reach out with a claw to pluck an unfortunate rider and eat them, slowly, armor and all. Roland says there are Swahini goat herders at the edge of the desert, and the Hammada cattle cult who live in villages all year round. But the Garunsi, they’re farmers; I can’t imagine their crops are that impressive in this climate. Did you know the Garunsi believe the sun and moon are gods, and the stars represent the souls of those who die or who are about to be born? Roland says the Garunsi think knights are servants of the gods. The women folk wash the feet of traveling knights and dry them with their hair.”

  “Sir Roland might have made me a squire,” Hawk grumbled. A fly appeared and buzzed around his head. He swatted it away. “He doesn’t know everything. I don’t know why you’re so in love with him when it’s obvious he doesn’t intend to marry you. Knights in his order cannot marry, or didn’t you know that?”

  “Who told you that? It’s not true. Tamal said...” Taliesin bit her tongue. She’d almost told Hawk about Roland’s wife, but Hawk was staring at her, and she had to finish the sentence, so she lied, “...after he’s knighted, he’ll marry, so you obviously don’t know what you’re talking about, as usual.”

  Hawk’s dark brows knit together. He glanced over his shoulder and turned right around. “I thought it was only a wind devil,” he said, excited, “but that cloud of sand is growing larger by the second. We are being followed! It has to be marauders!” Cupping his hands to his mouth, he shouted, “Roland! Tamal! We have company!”

  Taliesin turned at a shrill cry in the distance and saw a large cloud forming on the horizon that was moving in their direction. Roland spun on his big bay stallion, Moonbane in hand, and signaled for their procession to halt. Within seconds, a large group of turbaned raiders in white cloaks, riding camels, surrounded them. Taliesin felt close to panic, imagining all sorts of horrible ways to die at the hands of the Djaran, until she heard Zarnoc shout her name.

  “Taliesin!”

  As the wizard lifted his parasol high, it turned into a staff, and Taliesin stared in amazement as everyone around her froze in place; even the breeze stopped and the sand cloud hung in the air. Nothing moved. Taliesin felt her heart pounding and watched Zarnoc turn his mule and ride toward her.

  “What’s going on?” Taliesin said. The big black horse stomped his foot and nudged the mule in the side. “Are we in danger? These are Djaran marauders, aren’t they?”

  “Well, yes and no,” the wizard said. “We are in considerable danger, Taliesin, but it’s not quite as you imagine. True, there are Djaran among these men, but they serve as escort only. Look closer. Many of these riders wear the spurs of knights or the gold cloaks of Eagle legionnaires beneath their Djaran costumes.”

  “I don’t understand,” Taliesin said. “You m
ean there is a third group looking for us? How did they know where to find us, Zarnoc? I’m the only one with a Deceiver’s Map. If these men are looking for me, then they knew all along where to find us, and that would mean someone has been leaving signs for them to follow.”

  The wizard remained mounted as Taliesin slid off her horse. Thalagar gave an angry shake of his head, and she tousled his mane as she ran to the riders who were frozen in place and positioned exactly as they’d been moments before, when Zarnoc cast his spell; it was as though Taliesin were looking at a painting. She brushed her hand across a camel, raised the cloak of a rider with his mouth and eyes wide open, and examined his spurs and chainmail armor. In his hand was a Rivalen sword—the design was unmistakable—and most of the others were also outfitted with exceptionally-forged weapons. Gold spurs sparkled beneath white cloaks, and silver longswords, not the customary scimitars used by the Djaran, were held in the hands of the bearded riders, though she did see curved swords among the men with swarthier complexions.

  “These are Knights of the White Stag, and Eagle Clan legionnaires,” Taliesin said, more disgusted than shocked at the obvious betrayal by the man she loved. She glanced at Roland, stuck in a position with Moonbane held above his head, and resisted the urge to push his large body off his horse. Returning to Thalagar, she grabbed the reins and climbed into the saddle. “I’m not sure what you want me to do, Zarnoc,” she muttered. “There are more than five hundred riders. This is clearly an expeditionary force, that much I can tell, but what are they doing here?”

  “Master Xander Aladorius, son of Lord Arundel, leads these men,” Zarnoc replied. “They are here because this is where Sir Roland told them to find you. I had hoped I was wrong about Roland. When he told you he wanted to give Ringerike to King Frederick, I had a feeling his Order was working with the Eagle Clan, and that is why I have taken the opportunity to place a hold on time. You and I can go on to the Cave of the Snake God without your friends, or we can simply let things play out.”