The web of wizardry

by Coulson, Juanita

  "Danaer, Hsten to me . . ." Lira said, trying to take his hand and soothe his hurts.

  "Now you strike at me with your wizardry!" He drew back his arm to deUver a blow, then froze, horrified by what he was doing.

  "Nothing! I swear, qedra . . ."

  "Upon Rasven? Upon that sorcerer god of yours?"

  Tears welled in Lira's dark eyes. "You must listen. There is no lover save you ..."

  "Then share joy with me." For a precious moment the unwonted fury left him, and Danaer felt the warm yearning again. "Be my qedra, my woman, if I am your lover."

  "I cannot! Not . . . yet. Please wait a bit longer. I must remain chaste."

  "For another man?" The anger returned, double, an overwhelming hot rage that brooked no argument. It bade him take her, crushing her will, like a coarse peasant of an unbeHever ...

  Or like the Markuand who ravaged the women of Clarique!

  He shrank from that comparison. He twisted his anger to deal with Lira's rejection, making a knife of words she had struck into his heart. Coldly, not

  recognizing his own voice, Danaer demanded, "Is it the time of your courses? Is that the reason you deny me?"

  "No, no, Danaer ..."

  "I know I am crude and unlettered, not of your birth and breeding."

  "Danaer, do not! It is only my wizard oath which keeps us apart."

  An invisible hand clutched his vitals. It both intensified his ardor yet turned it oddly off the path. "That is a wall as strong as Deki's, a wall you always will put between us. You were not slow to meet my embrace a minute ago. Now you put me aside. Such a woman has a name among the plains people." Lira wept and tossed her head from side to side in her confusion and desperation. He would not hear her tearful begging. "Hablit was right. Like Kandra, you promise what you will never give. Kandra's wall against men is her rank, and yours is your sorkra calling. You are owned by that wizard Web."

  He rushed toward the door and she grasped his shirt, shouting, trying to break through the anger. Roughly, Danaer thrust her aside. "Slake your desire with sorcery, then." He stormed out into the hall and down the stairs. With unnatural satisfaction, he heard Lira running after him and calling to him. The sound touched him, made him want to turn back.

  It would be difficult, but he would ask her forgiveness and say he accepted and understood, even if he did not. He would tell her that he would wait. Was he not a man of honor? Had he not sworn ...

  Do not be trapped. She has trapped you again and again and laughs at your torment and foolishness!

  Danaer was lashed by conflicting impulses, helpless to stop himself. He ached for Lira—^but he could not stop running. He fled the inn and down the street, easily outdistancing Lira's short stride. In a few tens of paces he had left her far behind, the demon which had seized him riding him at its will.

  Fury and self-pity fought and faded and were swallowed in the pain of the lash of Kida. A kind of

  madness took him, and Danaer walked without knowing where he went.

  Gradually, after much aimless wandering in Deki's narrow streets, he began to come back to himself and knew profound shame. Why had he been so perverse? It was as if he had no power over his tongue or brain. Something had used him and done these things. He halted, rubbing his temples to chase away a deep aching there.

  Yet his hunger remained, seemingly strengthened by that mad storm of anger. Dimly Danaer remembered Shaartre's invitation. The Green Skirt? Had he not seen a sign of such a name over an inn not a few doors back? He retraced his steps, moving like a man already drunk, finding the place of revelry. Light and music and laughter spilled through the door.

  Danaer stood on the threshold, trying to see Sha-artre amid the crowd. A group of minstrels played raucously and women of ease danced to entertain the patrons. The mood was that of celebration, in victory. There were no dancing couples, for the eastern tribes did not Hke that custom. But men pulled at the women's skirts, and one lost most of her garment to a quick-fingered patron. Unashamed, she wriggled about lewdly, bringing herself a rain of coins.

  Danaer pushed his way through the noisy throng to Shaartre's table, and his friend welcomed him jovially. "You finally did come to us! Here! Wine for my comrade!" Danaer was told that a wealthy wine merchant, grateful to the defenders for saving his city and his wares, was treating every military man in the inn. Danaer gulped down the strong vintage, wanting the forgetfulness it would bring. Soon he joined the ribald singing of Shaartre and the others.

  He knew he should be chary with the drink, that they might be recalled to the walls at any time. But the same heedlessness that had made him cruel with Lira governed him now. He drank, tempted to stay just a while longer, until the last bitter moments with Lira were lost in the wine.

  A woman of ease sat beside him and refilled his cup. She said to Shaartre, "I see you have brought us

  another customer, and a handsome young one, too."

  "Not him! He waits only for one woman, and her a—"

  "Not tonight," Danaer said sharply. Shaartre raised an eyebrow but said no more. The woman pursed her lips and regarded Danaer frankly, then squirmed close to him, her hip against his. She shared his cup, touching the spot his lips had pressed.

  "Are you truly Azsed? I see your eiphren, but . . ."

  "I am faithful to Argan, and I would worship her this night." She smiled and Danaer gazed at her with growing ardor. Her eyes were very large and warm brown in color, and her face was full, her dark hair falling in ringlets. "Does Sarlos sing in your blood?" he asked.

  She was surprised but said lightly, "My father was Sarli, or so my mother claimed. And my hair proves it, ai?" She twisted a curl around a small finger and laughed. It was the same sort of seductive, low sound Danaer had learned to like in Lira's voice. He called for another bottle and let the woman draw him into conversation—the sort of talk women of ease employed to excite their potential customers.

  She was neither loud nor obvious. Her amusement at his jokes seemed genuine. Danaer began to relax in her company, enjoying the wine.

  "Tell me, pretty one, do you give pleasure to a man apart from his gift to Argan? Do you ever, for the night, take that man as you would a ... a qedra?"

  "The question belies your young face, soldier. Or is it because of the character of this night?"

  "Mostly the night," Danaer admitted.

  "As to the question—it depends on the man." She pushed a stray curl off her forehead with a graceful gesture.

  "And am I such a man?"

  "Shall we see?" She stood up, gathering her green sht skirt with modesty unusual in her calling. Her restraint contrasted with the general lewdness of the surroundings, and ironically, it strengthened Danaer's desire. He picked up the bottle and followed the woman. She did not hurry, moving like a lady, not a

  jade. Her concessions to his unspoken wishes made Danaer vow to pay her well with his gift to Argan.

  For a short while, in her little room above the inn, they did no more than talk. Music and laughter continued to float up through the curtained door and window. She told him her name was Ildate, but she was not offended when Danaer, more than half drunk, called her Lira. He said stumblingly, "You are . . . are SarH, in part. Do you know the ways of the southern women? Do they hold themselves aloof even when they want to take joy?"

  "Some of the Sarli customs are strange. But I am sure, in time, that a SarU woman can learn to delight in the body of a Destre man—more than she would a man of her own people. / would." Ildate was skillful with her hands as well as words, and Danaer gave himself up to her talents, believing what she would have him beUeve. She shrugged off his lame apology, that he had spoken of another woman. "Sarli women have hot blood, I promise you. It needs patience to gain one's love, warrior. But her joy will come to you. My father learned to gift Argan, did he not? And my blood sings in joy to Argan ..."

  She proved that statement well. Her kiss was one to fire Danaer with sweet and lustful imaginings. This body was not d
enied him, and her welcome was full and heated. Though it was her profession, Ildate brought an eagerness to pleasuring, a deUght quite apart from the silver it would earn for her.

  In such matings, it was said there was true worship of Argan. Danaer gave his being unto that worship, appeasing a hunger he had known since he left Nyald. When, in his ecstasy, he whispered Lira's name and lived in his dreams his strongest desires, Ildate did nothing to shatter the illusion.

  XVII Poor Little Enemy Wizard!

  The Markuand had taken possession of the fer-rymen's village and, with the labor of many Clarique slave children, had made a part of it into a fitting palace for their leader. It was to this place that the warlords now came, on the eastern bank of the broad river, a river thickened with Markuand blood.

  They were angry and had overcome their fear of him enough to cry accusingly, "You said your wizardry would conquer them!"

  He did not seem to hear them, brooding over some new magical device, a cunningly wrought ice-sphere in which particles of light and shadow tossed and danced. His refusal to look upon them infuriated the warlords the more.

  "They have turned back all the assaults!"

  "And we have lost many soldiers!"

  "How can enchantments defeat them if we have no men left to fight? We have attacked those impossible bluffs and deadly marshes, as you bade us. We have used costly siege towers and thrown sixties of our, troops against the walls. What has become of the sappers you said would dig tunnels to . . ."

  "You have plenty more soldiers. The Emperor has sent reinforcements." That voice, coming after his long silence, chilled the generals. When they were absent from him, they forgot his awesome aura. Now their fury began to fade into fear.

  He did not put aside the ice-sphere but deigned to regard them with a piercing stare. "Do not waste yourselves defying me. You would find yourselves exceedingly sorry if ever you attempted to usurp my authority." A terrible smile split his face. "I hope you have not forgotten that the enemy, too, has wizards."

  One commander mumbled, "Wizards who have forestalled us, and you ..."

  The remark was overheard, and he smiled the wider, a grin that made the generals retreat a few steps. "It is true they have many arcane arts. And if you challenge me, I may leave you naked to the vengeance of their spells. Your doubt amuses me, for now. My attitude might change." In the shadows, his apprentices hid their eyes and moaned hke terrified children.

  He gazed into the ice-sphere, seeing things no other could. At last he said, "Yes, they have wizards. In particular, there is a pretty little wench who dwells in yonder city and opposes me fiercely. But she has weaknesses of the flesh, and she is young." Those who watched him were reminded of a pitiless hawk about to strike a fluttering dove. "She is far from her master and his other wizards. In any case, their wizardry is no match for mine."

  He spun the ice-sphere between his fingers, and the shadows crawled across the light, turning its inner surface black as night. "But our foes are not the only ones who can seek aUies. I too have found allies, some who did not heretofore realize what power we might wield when we act in unison. Some have been afflicted by concerns of the flesh. But now ... my ally joins me, seeing her error. To be a wizard is to put aside all humanity." He spoke for his own ears, reUshing what was to happen.

  "So, you have lost men. But now the time is ripe. I have discovered the weakness of our youthful enemy, and my allies are within the city and ready to strike. They have done my bidding, stealing her focus, disarraying her charm-making." The master wizard clasped the arm of his chair and leaned forward, his expression intent. "I want your best assassins, those most adept in stealth and murder."

  His attention locked on the foremost among them, and somehow the man found strength to reply. "They ... they shall be at your command."

  "And they will enter the city and slay the sentinels guarding the water gates. I will shroud you in mag-

  ical fog until you are underneath the cover of the walls, and then the gates will be thrown open by our assassins. Those defending the walls will be trapped, and you may slaughter them at your leisure."

  "But how ..."

  He grimaced at them, like a tutor with a group of dull-witted boys. "It shall be done, as I promise."

  "We do not understand."

  "Nor shall you. There will be little resistance," he said, and steepled his fingers. "Poor, pretty little enemy wizard! She is but an apprentice, and her master has been occupied by treachery within his own land. His thread connecting him to her is badly frayed, about to be severed. And then ..."

  The master wizard of Markuand formed a fist, snatching at empty air. When he opened his hand, the warlords gasped. A diamond lay upon the wizard's palm, and the priceless gem was shattered. He laughed cruelly and cried, "Deki!"

  XVIII

  Magic from the Smoking Mountain

  The w^owan had tried to warn Danaer earlier. Her words had come to him through a fog of sleep, meaning Uttle. Now he had awakened abruptly, trying to comprehend what had jolted him from dreaming. Ildate was gone, and she had taken with her all those feminine possessions which had made the room specially hers. Puzzled and disturbed, Danaer dressed.

  Then that thing which had wakened him recurred: outside, in the streets, there were screams—and in the distance cries of agony and death. Danaer ran to the small window. Dawn barely streaked the sky above the towering stone houses. People were running in

  panic, knocking down the weak and elderly in their haste, all of them jfleeing westward.

  He quickly buckled on his sword and raced downstairs. The main room of the inn looked as if it had been the scene of a riot. The stout innkeeper shrieked in fear, "It was not me! I did not kill him, soldier, 1 swear!"

  "Kill who?"

  The man pointed to some overturned tables. The body of a troopman lay beneath the clutter. It was no one Danaer knew. "I swear I did not . . . you . . . you are an Azsed?" The innkeeper saw Danaer's eiphren, and reUef swept his fat face. "Then you^ will understand. I could not stop them, you see. I myself am a man of peace, but the Dekan warriors found him here, only minutes ago. He was drunk from reveling all night and too proud to guard his tongue. Any lit the warriors find now, they will—"

  "You are making no sense. What warriors? Why are the Dekans kilUng unbeUevers who helped them defend the city? And why are the people fleeing?"

  "You do not know? The Markuand! They are here!"

  "What? How?" Danaer exclaimed. "When has this happened?"

  "In the hour just before morning, they say. Through wizardry—magic! A witch, some lit woman ..."

  Surely the innkeeper did not refer to Lira? Furiously, Danaer shook him and demanded details. "What witch?"

  "She . . . she walked atop the walls. Many saw her. Gaudy, she was, and clad in jewels and finery, a woman most beauteous and elegant and tall. And when any accosted her, she . . . vanished before their eyes, they say. I heard it from many lips! The same story, always! And while she worked her spell and held all attention, somehow the gate sentinels were slain and..."

  Danaer set his helmet firmly about his ears, heading for the door. "I must to the walls."

  "You fool! I tell you the Markuand are within the city! The goddess protect us!" the man babbled. "It is

  said they opened gates and magic tunnels through the walls themselves. Wizardry! Argan save me!" The man clasped his hands in pious dread. "Like flood waters through a burst dike they come, impossible to stop. Best to the west gate while you can. Deki is falling!" With that, the innkeeper rushed out into the street and joined the fleeing rabble, leaving behind all he owned.

  Danaer's head spun with the shock of this news. If what the man said was true ... he must get to Yistar's headquarters, and to Lira! If fortune was kind, she would already have fled the city. But she was stubborn and devoted to her sorkra responsibilities. It might be she remained, still fighting her evil opponent in the Markuand camp.

  His anger and bitterness of the night befo
re brought hurtful memories. He knew now that he had been bewitched—as the men on the walls had been! Danaer ran through the streets, ruing every word he had spoken when he and Lira last parted.

  As he rounded a corner, he came upon a Markuand mounted on a Destre roan, pursuing a merchant's family. The civilians huddled in their cart and whipped their pony, but it was obvious they could not escape their well-armed foe. Danaer leaned back into the shadows until the Markuand drew abreast of his position. Then he shouted a command to the roan, and the horse came to a sharp stop, spilling its rider across its neck and half out of the saddle. Danaer struck before the Markuand could regain his balance, shoving the body off and claiming the mount for his own.

  The civilians had been looking back fearfully, and now they waved their gratitude and called, "Argan favor you!"

  "Argan favor us all!" Danaer kicked up the horse, riding hard toward the command center.

  The building appeared deserted from without, but as Danaer galloped in through the open doors he was barely quick enough to dodge a bench thrown past his head. Yistar and several of his aides were sword to sword with their equal in number of Markuand. Danaer used his roan to advantage to help them. The Markuand were younger than those who had come

  against the walls. Were their generals now conscripting children to fill the ranks? Unblooded and inexperienced, they fell without much of a fight.

  "Watch at the door, Aseyi. Make sure we are not surprised again," Yistar ordered one of his aides. The man went to keep lookout as Danaer jumped down from the roan. "Have you heard?"

  "I ... I was at an inn, Captain. Do you want me to report to the walls?"

  Yistar was gulping for breath. "By the Black Mare's Mane, no! That is hopeless. We are forced to withdraw from Deki at once. Your units are already gone. Luckily Ti-Mori is safely away, and Qhorda as well. And they broke through at the bluffs now, Gordyan says. We cannot save Deki with twice the troops we have. The Siim has been slain. Branra is getting the wounded away, gathering what is left us in the Square of the Ryerdon. Gordyan is there, too, trying to keep the Dekans from killing us as we retreat." The ofiicer paused, then said with rage, "The Markuand knew everything! Every guard post! Every weakness in the walls!"