The Siim was staring at the message paper, drumming his fingers along the broken seal. "According to this, I must meet this Royal Commander Malol, and soon."
Involuntarily, Danaer gasped. How very important had been the message, and his mission! He had supposed Nurdanth was sending a truce proposal or begging a safe conduct for an army caravan. But this . . . ! Gordt te Raa, scourge of the Vrastre, and Malol, commander of the armies which had so long fought the Destre-Y and their Siirn—meeting in conference! There was no precedent, not since the times before Ryerdon crossed the river.
"Malol will come to a council of the tribes, at a place of our choosing, and he will bring an entourage of no more than three." Gordyan listened attentively, gauging the interest of his chieftain. The Siirn went on with grudging admiration. "He has much courage, this Malol, to put his life in my hands thus."
Danaer seized the opportunity to praise one of the army's best. "Ai, it is said Malol fears only his gods and will not quake even before the ICing."
"And you imitate him, do you not?" Gordt te Raa's eyes now shone with good humor.
"He does that, Rena," Gordyan agreed. "I saw this troopman teach one of our hot-bloods a lesson in knifing. He could have carved the man's gullet, had he the will to do so."
"Indeed? Perhaps the besting will sharpen the chastened warrior's alertness," Gordt te Raa said. "Soldier, it speaks well for this Malol to offer to come to a Destre council. But it took far more heart to ride into my Zsed alone, at night, and in that uniform."
"I was ordered to ..."
"We both know that there are soldiers who desert the army's ranks, given such an order."
Danaer did not clutch at honors beyond his due. "1 was chosen because I am Destre-Y. The General
and my Captain hoped I might be able to reach you the easier than . .. than an unbeliever."
"And the goddess has smiled on you, Azsed," Lasiirnte Kandra reminded them. She wove the divine symbol of Argan in the air, and the men murmured piously.
Gordt te Raa leaned back, examining Danaer once more. His expression was less grim than earlier, but still made the scout most wary. "Argan uses us all, and she has brought you here. A strange warrior, this, a rider of Nyald Zsed—in the army of Krantin. Have you ever pursued your tribesfolk to their deaths, soldier?"
It was a question Danaer dreaded. "At times I have fought Destre-Y, but rarely. Nyald Zsed was ruined by plague and war before I came to manhood. There were not many left to kill. I have killed far more lit brigands, those who eluded the justice of the lords of The Interior. That has been my duty for some seasons."
Gordt te Raa nodded, seemingly satisfied. Gordyan's hand had been resting upon his belt knife, ready to strike down the soldier if his answer had displeased the Siim. Now a grin spUt the big man's craggy face. "La ben da, warrior! Well it would be to see an lit brigand trapped by the likes of you, and you wearing the army's badges!"
"This news of war in the east," Gordt te Raa cut in. "What do you know of that?"
"General Nurdanth is consulting with his sorkra, and they keep him informed on the battles—"
"Sorkra? Nurdanth has wizards at his command? La! Sorkra! And what say these sorkra-y? What of these rumors of some foreigners in white garb who seek to overthrow the islands?"
"The news is most bad; the sorkra tell us that Jlandla Hill, an important Clarique fortress, has fallen to these invaders. They call themselves Markuand, and they do not cry out in pain or death. They overcame the Clarique through black sorcery as well as by numbers and arms ..."
Appalled, as Danaer had been when he first learned
of the horror, the three stared at him wordlessly for several long moments. Then Gordt te Raa stood up and went to one of the treasure boxes cluttering the chamber. He took out a map and a writing stick, then beckoned Danaer close. Kandra and Gordyan followed him as the Destre leader spread out the chart on a table. "I have not heard of this Jlandla Hill. Show me where it is."
The map was caravan booty. The symbols were in Clarique, but Yistar had taught Danaer a bit of that language as well as Krantin. He pointed to a central island in the distant country. "Jlandla is marked here upon the large map in the General's quarters."
Frowning, Gordt te Raa touched the indicated place with the writing stick, then traced the line westward, toward Krantin. The border city of Deki was the first target. "Patkin!" Kandra whispered fearfully. Her consort gently touched her arm, concerned by her sudden pallor.
Gordyan had looked anxious, and he explained gruffly to Danaer, "The Lasiimte's brother dwells in Deki on the River."
Danaer nodded understanding, but Kandra would be a warrior woman, not succumbing to any further public display. Gordt te Raa turned back to the map. "Nurdanth says these Markuand will strike first at the Clarique capital of Laril-Quil, and at the mighty port that was ancient Ryerdon, now called Alensal. Then Deki must be taken, if they are to control the river and cross over into Krantin." He eyed Danaer calculatingly. "Your General speaks of reinforcing the army's garrison there. What say you?"
The Destre ruler's talent in war had given him his name: he who cuts. Now he had slashed aside small details and gone to the core of the crisis. Danaer was uneasy acting as a consultant to this man who was the army's most deadly foe. But General Nurdanth was seeking a truce and a council, and his courier must speak on that behalf. "Deki's garrison is very small, as well you must know. The Destre-Y have long harried the army's supply lines there. I do not think the General can hope to send many troops to their aid, though
undoubtedly he will try. He does not abandon his men."
Gordt te Raa threw down the writing stick and glared at the map. "I would that I had sorkra-y in my service, as Nurdanth does. Ai! I fear them as any Azsed should. But, by Argan, if I could pay one of those wizards to work magic for me . . .''A grim thought struck him. "Do these Markuand also have wizards?"
"Yes. Most powerful sorkra-y." Danaer did not go on, but his listeners read the ominous meaning in his words, believing it.
"I like it not," Gordt te Raa said. "The sorkra ways are not for us. Witchcraft! Yet we must deal with these wizards, and with the Markuand. Perhaps if I meet with Malol..."
Danaer remembered Nurdanth's parting comment and hoped to help seal the Destre's decision. "To seal this pact, the General has sent you a gift."
Those dark eyes focused intently upon Danaer. Gordt te Raa was an eager audience as Danaer said, "It is a roan staUion from his own stables. He asks that you will favor him by accepting ..."
"Let us see."
With no more discussion, Gordt te Raa walked through the tent. Danaer trailed him, aware that Gordyan and several of the ubiquitous guards were bringing up the rear. Kandra came also. When they reached the outermost tent flap, she waited in the entryway while Gordt te Raa inspected the scout's roan.
With some anxiety, Danaer watched also, admiring the Destre's sure touch and thorough probing of the roan's best points, even to the saddle Yistar had granted. Finally Gordt te Raa straightened and said, "Gordyan."
Danaer tensed. It was well known throughout the Zseds that Gordyan disposed of the Siirn Rena's enemies, and Gordt te Raa had spoken curtly, as if about to give such an order.
"Provide an escort for the soldier, back to his fort."
Gordyan was a large, wide-eyed child, hearing that
which he could not comprehend. "To the fort, Rena?" Lasiirnte Kandra smiled at them, as a woman might at the petty confusions of rowdy youths. In the shadows of the tent, Kandra was more than ever a living statue of superb female beauty, a woman whose being glorified the goddess.
"Not into the fort," Gordt te Raa said impatiently. "Just close enough to let Troop Leader Danaer ride in with honor."
"With all honor," and Gordyan grinned in wolfish anticipation.
His master cut his bloodthirsty joy short. "With all honor, alive and conscious and in full possession of his weapons and uniform."
Chastened, Gordyan said in a surprisin
gly meek voice, "Exactly to your orders, Rena."
"And fetch another roan for the scout." Gordt te Raa ran a hand down the stallion's flank, gloating over his new property. Absently, he told Danaer, "Your General Nurdanth will have my reply within the day. I will give him the meeting place then."
"Most well... Siim."
The Destre chieftain glanced at him with sudden sharpness. "You will not call me Rena?"
Rena, lord of a Destre-Y's loyalty. Danaer's oath to the army bound him away from that loyalty. Yet Osyta's prophecy stirred in his mind. "It is not possible. But someday, perhaps I shall be able to call a Destre the Rena—for he shall rule all Krantin."
Gordt te Raa's stern manner broke. He looked for a moment at Kandra, exchanging some personal feeling. Then he said, "Andaru. So all Azsed prays. May the time come soon."
Leaving the Zsed was far easier than entering it. Gordyan and four of his guards gathered around Danaer, and a replacement mount was brought for the scout. The Siirn and his woman disappeared inside the tent while a servant led away Nurdanth's magnificent stallion. It was all the dismissal Danaer was to receive. He shrugged and took the horse he was given, riding with Gordyan and his men through the encampment.
The fires dimmed behmd them and they cantered
beyond the Zsed's outposts, swinging northwestward. Gordyan was setting the course, and plainly he planned to use the Ve-Nya trail, moving in a long arc to arrive at the fort by a more guarded route. The six loped along a mist-soaked grassland, aiming for the shadowy bulk of the mountains.
They turned south, snaking along the foothills. There was no conversation save for an occasional noting of landmarks, signs Danaer read as readily as his escorts. The velvety night flowed past for many minutes. Then torchlight gleamed ahead, over the mountain road. Siank's walls lay below and to the left. Gordyan slowed the pace and his men moved apart, melting into the rocks, hunting for traps and army pickets, even this far from the fort.
Gordyan continued to ride beside Danaer. Was this an honor, or a precaution against treachery?
"Soldier, are you truly Destre-Y? I thought it were a disguise, but to see you move a roan and handle a knife so well, I doubt it." Gordyan's question was blunt, like the man.
"I was birthed in Nyald Zsed and bowed to Azsed and took eiphren when I was a youth. The army does not command which god a man fears, only that he swear to follow his superior," Danaer said tiredly.
"Ai! And the Nyald tribe lost much when you joined that army." The torches showed Gordyan's grin, broad and without a trace of guile. "Were you not promised to Nurdanth, I should want you to ride with my men."
Surprised, Danaer tried to reject the offer politely. "No, the army has fed and clothed me. The fortunes of Nyald Zsed were in the dust when Yistar took me in. I would have starved with many of my kinfolk elsewise."
"But they breed them brave in Nyald," Gordyan insisted.
One of his riders spurred back toward them, warning, "Your pickets are drawing bow, soldier."
"Stand and call!" roared from the knoll ahead. The sentries had lost none of their sharpness since the last time Danaer had come this way.
He stood in the stirrups and shouted, *ln the name of the General, hold your arrows. This is an escort from the Destre sovereign. If they die, you will taste the anger of both the General and Gordt te Raa!"
"Advance, then ..."
"We leave you here," Gordyan said. His men had already vanished into the darkness. Just before he too rode away, Gordyan turned and added in parting, "The goddess guard yoxir path, warrior."
"And Argan's favor on you."
When he reached the gates, he was startled to find Nurdanth and Yistar awaiting him. He knew they must have come here only minutes earlier, answering the gatekeepers' announcements. Yistar came forward and grasped the bridle and exclaimed, "Back in one piece, by the Black Mare's Mane!"
Nurdanth touched the ragged bandage on Danaer's arm, a thing the scout had nearly forgotten. "Is this a gift from Sovereign Gordt te Raa? Is this how he treats my courier?"
"No, my lord. I received a cut in a fight with a tribesman, a small matter, before I reached the Siim's pavilion. The Siim promises that you will have his answer tomorrow. But I gather it will be as you wish —concerning the naming of a meeting place for a Destre council."
"Excellent! Excellent!" Nurdanth briskly rubbed his pale hands together.
"Well done! You did proud by Nyald's units," Yistar said with a nod. "Now get you to the surgeon and have that cut dressed. Ajad turn to sleep. You have merited it."
Danaer returned Yistar's triumphant smile, then rode toward the stables. A flash of yellow caught his eye. Danaer halted, then turned to the headquarters. He had not been mistaken. The yellow was the flutter of a Sarli's headband ribbons. Lira Nalu stood on a porchway of the officers' wing, and Danaer was drawn to her. Only when they were face to face did he realize that there was no wind to flutter her ribbons. Then what had pulled his attention?
The sorkra hngered in shadow, a dark shawl thrown
over her gown. She should have been nearly invisible, from the point where Danaer had first glimpsed her. Yet he had known she waited. She moved forward a bit, the dim light catching her mischievous expression and sparkling eyes.
"Lady, have I you to thank for my life?"
The wavering torchlight gleamed highlights from her tangle of curls as she cocked her head. "Why, I have remained here at the fort. Troop Leader Danaer. What could I do but pray for the success of your mission? And it was successful, was it not?"
"How do you know that, my lady? I have only this minute reported to the General and Yistar."
Lira Nalu chuckled softly. "I am the pupil of the Traech Sorkra. His web hears all the things that he hears and knows."
There was truth in that. She did not wink and turn her shoulder as a woman of ease might, nor come boldly toward him and speak her will as a Destre would if she favored a man. Danaer had never dealt at length with a woman of Sarlos before, and he was mystified, though not unpleasantly, by her ways. Was such coquetry her country's custom, or was it some nature of her sorkra arts?
She was a sorkra, and he had felt the cold touch of wizardry this night. He should have shunned her gifts.
But a stronger urge held him, one he had known before, though never to this degree. It was more than the lust a warrior would feel for a woman of ease. He had no words for the spell this sorkra was working, but he was not entirely certain that wizardry was in-r volved.
"Do you only hear these messages of your . . . your web, my lady, or do you deliver them as well? Say, to a soldier beset by demons in the fog?"
She had no chance to answer. The gaunt wizard came to the arch behind her and called her, his temper obvious. The mischief left her face and she said hurriedly, "I must go now. Troop Leader. I am glad that you returned safely." In a whirl of shawl and bright ribbons, she was gone.
Yet she had spoken to him as woman, not sorkra.
and he suspected she was the source of his help in the fog. Magic it might be, but of a friendly sort, gentle and whimsical, as she seemed to be. Danaer smiled and turned once more toward the stables, anticipating pleasurable sleep and perhaps dreams filled with dark eyes and warm laughter.
V
The Square of the Clarique Trader
"They are coming!" That whisper ran through the assembled troops even before the posted lookouts could bray their formal news. The banners and pennants of the Royal Commander's company left the mountain road and came across the field toward the gates. Barricades had been moved aside and pitfalls were guarded to ease progress. The gates swung open and Siank garrison's flags dipped in obeisance to the royal standard. The soldiers lifted swords and spears and a cheer of greeting, pledging their fealty.
Danaer felt privileged, for he had seen these personages before, though only in the wizards' visions. The magic had not lied. Malol te Eldri was in every measure the nobleman he had appeared in the smoke pictures. As he reviewed t
he troops and accepted the welcome of Nurdanth and his aides, the Royal Commander missed nothing. He was the King's close kin and patrician by birth, but a soldier most practiced.
Close beside Malol te Eldri rode Branraediir. He lacked Malol's elegance but made an even deeper impact upon the garrison. The soldiers watched him with awe, marveling that he was so young but so famous. He gazed upon the lines of troops with a sharp manner, patently assessing if they would serve him well in battle. They must strive to equal his demands,
The Web of Wizardry dl
for he need give way to few in his warrior's skill. Now, at this short remove, Danaer could see Branra's notorious sword clearly. It was no ceremonial weapon, and he wore it ready at hand, despite the peaceful nature of this review. Those black gems within the silver were obsidian, Danaer now realized. Save for his sword hilt, Branra's appearance was plain and workmanlike, no richer than Captain Yistar's.
The Royal Commander and his protege were the chief interest of the onlookers, but there were others in the company to attract comment. One of the aides in particular made his audience gasp; his pennants and trappings marked him a prince, and his cloak and badges were brilliant. This Prince reflected no glory on his royal cousin, though, nor upon the Royal Commander, who must include him in the train. The man weaved dangerously in his saddle, wobbly from drink. His attendants supported him on either side. Malol and Branra had only their orderlies, but the Prince apparently had brought with him from Kirvii a numerous household, all flauntmg his colors, and a woman who must be the Prince's mistress. She was dressed in stunning fashion, covered with jewels, her black hair coiled in the style of The Interior. Heedless of the occasion, she teased at the Prince and coquetted with passersby, making no secret of her wantonness.
While Malol and his other aides stood to review, the drunken Prince and his woman ignored the proprieties, laughing at some ribaldry. Like the other soldiers, Danaer viewed them with contempt. It was a poor beginning for Malol's arrival at Siank, to drag with him such hangers-on. Surely politics lay at the root of it, the machinations of the lords of The Interior and affairs of the palace.
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