The web of wizardry

by Coulson, Juanita

  The warning echoed repeatedly, fading. Gradually Osyta's withered form dissolved, hke all the other dream shapes, releasing him. He seemed to be rising to the surface of Deki's river. Danaer was a Destre and could not swim. But in this world he was leaving, he could swim, not wondering how, accepting it.

  For a long while he had been vaguely aware of great heat, when the nightmares were particularly terrifying. There had been worse—periods when he had known nothing, his spirit held by the thinnest of threads and liable to snap at any moment and send him to join Osyta.

  Now that was fading, as had the dreams. It was some minutes before he opened his eyes, but Danaer grew aware of sounds—the nickerings of horses, the slap of leather, men calling to one another, their accents Siank-thick. This last puzzled him, for Gordyan had said the warriors were strangers. Then Danaer realized his mind was unclouded. The sounds were real, not the companions of dreams. His shoulder still

  pained him, but not severely. He parted his eyelids narrowly, letting his vision adjust after long unconsciousness.

  He was in a tent, sunlight streaming through an open flap to his right. At his feet, Lira was sewing a garment. She turned to catch the light for her needle and Danaer studied her face. Her cheeks had lost fullness and her eyes were rimmed with dark flesh. Guilt twisted at him as he recalled the many times he had wakened and found her always ready with comfort.

  Danaer's throat was so dry that his first attempt to speak failed. He tried again, and when he called her name. Lira started with glad surprise. She knelt by him, pressing his bare chest, touching the amulet. "Qedra! When did you waken?"

  "Just now. Is there water?"

  She steadied the canteen for him, for he was very shaky. Danaer drank slowly, savoring, wanting to drain the skin yet fearful of using too much water if they were camped in the Sink. Vlien he nodded that he had had enough for the present. Lira set down the canteen, then went to the tent flap and summoned Gordyan. The big man came in at once, very worried. But when he saw Danaer conscious and sitting up, he beamed. "Hai! The scout found his way back alone. How do you feel?"

  "As if I were in Nyald, where the game is scarce."

  "We all hunger, though you suffered most, with Httle food kept in your fevered belly."

  "I can still taste some of that," Danaer said. "How long have I been out of my wits with this wound?"

  "Half a ten-day." Danaer stared as Lira explained, "You fainted when Gordyan applied the cautery. And then the wound became infected despite it. I beUeve you were nearly dead when the herb-healer lanced it."

  "I remember it not at all. An herb-healer? Are we in Siank, then?"

  Gordyan chuckled sourly. "Not yet! This is a small camp of my men. We met with them a few periods' ride beyond that first fire. They managed to save some of our horses and equipment from the rout of Deki,

  but little food. The army emptied all the caches along the caravan trail, of course." Gordyan shrugged and grinned. He acted as if he very much wanted to drag Danaer into one of those rib-cracking hugs, but he forbore, careful of his friend's wound. "Maen, I am joyous to see you with us again!"

  "It is a joy I share." Danaer brought his weight down tentatively on his right hand.

  "Care," Gordyan warned him.

  "The pain is well down. I would see if I can stand." Gordyan helped him up. Danaer swayed uncertainly, wincing at the sharp tingling in the soles of his feet. Cautiously, he took a few steps to the tent flap and peered out, seeing haggard warriors and roans with gaunt ribs. Lira was obviously hungry, and even Gordyan looked a bit thin. "Have you any food at all?" Danaer asked.

  "We killed a roan a few days ago," Gordyan said, feigning unconcern.

  "How goes the war, or have you news?"

  Lira seemed troubled. "Gordyan's warriors learned that the Markuand keep their reputation, bummg and looting, taking no men alive, and only the most beautiful women and sturdy children past their initial using." She added with unwonted fury, "I trust that she-golhi bitch who betrayed us delights that the women and men of her own land suffer because of her!"

  Much disheartened, Danaer sat down again on the pallet. "How far are we from Vidik?"

  "With these roans, it is hard to say. Perhaps a three-day."

  Danaer doubted that the pitiful beasts could last that long. "What word of the army?"

  "They are regrouping, what is left of them. The main camp is a period's ride distant, but..."

  "There is your water and food, Gordyan. You said they collected the caches Lorzosh-Fila and Yistar had set along the way. They would not scorn to share with allies..."

  "Much has happened while you suffered that fever, maen," Gordyan said morosely. "Much to destroy the Rena's alliance. Too many army stragglers were slain

  in the first rush of hatred for all lit. Because of that, the caravan has grown most wary, even of refugee civilians, fearing a ruse that will mean more dead soldiers. The Destre are now beginning to realize it was but one treacherous harlot from The Interior who betrayed Deki, not all the people of the mountains. But I fear the army has been too sorely hurt to trust them. It turns in upon itself like a sand-crawler and keeps at bay anyone but army."

  "What of Branra? What of Ulodovol and your sorkra web. Lira? Can you not speak to their minds and help us?"

  She was silent a long while, then said, "I do not know what happened to Branra. And . . . and I cannot touch my Web. I cannot, and I dare not. The Markuand wizard may be hunting for us even yet. If I use my arts to communicate with the Traech Sorkra, he may find you through me, and lead the enemy to us."

  Lira might have confessed she was crippled, stricken deaf and blind. Danaer took her hand in sympathy. He disliked her wizard dealings but knew how she must feel, thus cut off from all her own kind, here in the Markuand magician's conquered territory. Without her skills, they were all blind and lost, and the caravan as well.

  "Gordyan, this war between Destre and army is senseless. It v^ll mean death for both.",

  "I know, hyidu. The fugitive Dekans and the other Destre trying to cross the Sink are unUkely to reach Vidik unless we get food. The army has water and food but will not share it, out of fear. And because of that, they will be crushed when they do arrive at Vidik. If Wyaela te Fihar learns they refused to aid starving Destre-Y, she will treat them ruthlessly. The Rena and the Royal Commander have lost. Their alliance bound none but the two of us. I have failed my Rena. Deki is lost..."

  "It was my fault," Lira corrected him. "I . . . she came at my heart, when I was least guarded ..."

  Danaer drew her into the crook of his unwounded arm, understandmg what had robbed her of her skills

  at that critical moment, and his part in it as the witch's dupe. "You were overborne by awesome powers, as were we all. Not your fault, qedra, nor yours, Gordyan. There is no lack of honor among us, and Argan does not will that we accept defeat meakly. The army and Destre must reunite, or Markuand will wait till we slay each other, then take what is left."

  "How? We dare not approach the caravan. Outriders would kill us before we could come close enough to vow our friendship," Gordyan said.

  "There is a way," Danaer said in sudden resolve. "Gordyan, can you reconstruct enough of my uniform to garb me?"

  The big man was doubtful. "Your shirt and tunic are bloody rags, and your helmet and sword are long gone."

  "A scout need not always wear a helmet. And it would be best for me to go unarmed, anyway."

  His friend eyed him warily. "I will try. But you are very weak yet."

  "You will ride with me to the caravan's outposts. I can manage from there. If I cannot, well, I have faced starvation before in Nyald. Better for all of us to die quickly than from that slow dying."

  Tents were pulled down and Gordyan went among his warriors, gathering a few garments necessary for Danaer's plan. Lira fashioned a tunic from scraps, and a Destre donated a shirt that would pass for army issue. With his breeches once more loose from his boots, Danaer's makeshift uniform was comp
lete. He left off his tribal mantle, not wanting to risk flaunting that badge until he saw what his welcome would be. He must pass the scrutiny of the sentries. "If I can encounter Shaartre or a man from my units, all will be well," he said. "How do I look? Will I pass inspection?"

  "You frighten me," Gordyan said. "Were this the old days, before the alliance, I would take you as the foe and strike."

  "What, an unarmed man?"

  Sheepish, Gordyan said, "I am sorry for the loss of your sword. But it had to be. Had those Dekans dis-

  covered you were a soldier, they would have given you a fresh wound in the throat, and then I would have had to kill them—and they are good Azsed-Y."

  Danaer knew his friend would have tried to slay the entire camp, and perhaps come close to succeeding. There had been so many risks taken so far, and more to come. He worried over the authenticity of his dress. How many times in the past had sentries challenged him because he looked too much a Destre? And then he had worn a better uniform by far. But Danaer looked at Lira's pinched face and put aside his reservations.

  The ride to the caravan's position told heavily on him. None of the others were wounded, but they too rode slowly. It was nearing evening when Gordyan called a halt and pointed down a slope, saying, "There is your army, maen, camping for the night."

  The caravan was larger than Danaer had expected. Then he saw some flags of Ti-Mori's troops and part of Qhorda's Sarli rabble and knew those people had escaped the debacle and joined with the army. That would further tax the food supplies. Would they be willing to feed Destre as well, and accept the drain on dwindling resources?

  Danaer kicked his hungry horse and rode down the slope, taking his time. Already the first challenges were coming as outriders loped to head him off. Danaer raised his hands waist-high, his palms upward..

  "That is far enough, Destre!"

  "I am army, and I would speak with your commander."

  The sentries whispered to one another, occasionally glancing up at Gordyan's group on the hill above. One guard said, "You look not army to me: no helmet, no weapons . . ."

  "I lost my equipment in Deki. I am Troop Leader Scout Danaer in the service of Captain Yistar, may his god favor him at Keth's portals."

  "A Troop Leader, eh? When you devil worshippers imitate us, you do it by rank!"

  "Is Lieutenant Branra with you? He will identify me," Danaer said.

  "You would dare to let him confront you?"

  Danaer took hope, for the soldier spoke in the present. So Branra was alive. Danaer's sacrifice had been rewarded. It seemed the ofi&cer had escaped Deki, slipping through the enemy wizard's magical net. He smiled wanly and said, "I like to think the Lieutenant owes me something, if only provisions. Will you take me to him, and permit my friends to stay there unmolested until I am vouched for?"

  Finally the sentries nodded. "Dismount and come with me," one of them said,

  D-anaer's wound was aching and his knees shaky, but he did not protest. He followed the sentry through rows of wagons and tents, curious stares tracing his progress. A red and black banner flapping above a command tent was one of the most welcome sights Danaer had ever come upon. The sentry ordered him to wait, and Danaer leaned against a wagon. He refused to look at a pot of food bubbling over a nearby fire, but the scent made his empty belly tighten and complain.

  When the guard returned, he eyed Danaer with wonder. "He is busy, but he will see you. For a famous slayer of your people, he is very tolerant of the Destre breed."

  "Did you tell him my name?"

  "I have forgotten it, but you may recite it to him, before he orders your execution."

  Several oflScers were clustered in a circle within the tent. They pored over maps, arguing. Branra's back was to Danaer, but his posture made him immediately familiar. There was a bandage about the officer's head. After debating with an aide, Branra turned in response to the sentry's salute and saw Danaer. Shocked delight spread over the nobleman's square face and he hurried toward the scout. Danaer enjoyed the sentry's stupefaction at this friendly reaction. Then he saw that Branra meant to greet him with a comradely slap on the back. "I pray you, my lord, not that shoulder," Danaer said, and winced away.

  "You are wounded? But how did you escape Deki? You said you would mount behind, but..."

  "I took a Markuand arrow before I could, my lord. Gordyan and Lira helped me, or I would not be here. He and Lira and some of his men are waiting at the edge of your camp. I beg your favor and ask that I may take food and water to them."

  "Hold! You embarrass me, Troop Leader. They shall be welcomed at once."

  "Is that wise?" another officer asked. "The bandits will kill us in our sleep—"

  Branra rounded on the man. "I have fought against the Destre-Y and fought with them—and I tell you this warrior is to be trusted with my life, he and all of his friends. He freely offered me his own life in Deki. Food and water are small repayment. Guard! Bring those people to me at once. Unharmed! Treat them with all gentleness."

  Danaer sighed, and then an ominous shuddering overcame him and he sank to the ground. Branra cried, "It is his wound! Fetch surgeons!"

  "No, my lord. This is because of an empty belly."

  A bowl of hot gruel was thrust into his hands. Danaer had taken but a few bites when he began bolting the food. Branra caught his hand. "Slowly, or it will not stay down." With difficulty, Danaer obeyed. He had finished half the bowl when Gordyan and Lira were ushered into the tent. They too were fed, Lira sitting beside Danaer, color creeping back into her pale cheeks.

  Gordyan ate a third bowl and shared some roast horsemeat Branra had given them. Then he winked approvingly at Danaer and Lira and turned to the young officer. "This is a bad pass for the alliance, Bloody Sword."

  Branra grinned at 'the epithet, unoffended. He pointed at a map he held, and Gordyan noted what he had indicated and looked grim. "What do you suggest?" Branra asked amiably. "I cannot send out my troops to bring in Destre-Y. They would be killed." He glanced at Lira. "My lady, if you could employ your sorkra arts..."

  She hid her face, shamed by her weakness. Danaer

  said in her defense, "Her hunger prevents that at present, Lieutenant."

  Branra accepted that without question, solicitous, sending a servant for still more of his own food.

  Gordyan found a solution to the dilemma. "My warriors are your key, Branraediir. Let my men ride out with your soldiers and strike a truce, as Danaer did when he brought us to you. An Azsed can reach through the hatred of other Azsed-Y, for he can swear honor on his goddess. The refugees will believe that. They will hold their weapons if they are assured their safety is promised in the sacred tongue of Argan."

  "Will they not suspect it as some trick and turn on your men?"

  It was the same worry his aide had broached, but Branra merely presented it now as a thing to be weighed. Gordyan put it aside. "I think not. My Rena's colors, on our mantles, are known throughout the Vrastre. At even, is it not worth the attempt, to salvage the alliance?"

  "We shall try it, Destre. Instruct your men, and I 'will summon my heralds." Gordyan showed few signs of his ordeal by hunger as he rushed from the tent. Branra gazed after him, bemused, then came over to Danaer and Lira. "I almost believe this plan can succeed. Before that giant arrived, I had given up hope for the Commander's union of Destre and The Interior. I had steeled myself to confess failure to him and General Nurdanth, that I had lost their army for naught—that is, if I lived to return to Siank at all. You have been a lucky mark for me, scout, or perhaps a curse. I have never known such close escapes as I have since I met you."

  "How is your wound, my lord?" Danaer asked, thinking of one such escape.

  "It was bad for a space." Branra fingered the bandage. "I credit that roan for my life. I was in no condition to ride the brute, but it got me safely out of Deki. I will return it to you with thanks. In truth, I had given you up for dead."

  "Well you might!" Lira exclaimed. "He lay near Keth's
portals so long he frightened me."

  Branra smiled fondly. "That is no surprise to those of us who have eyes. I give you welcome back into our ranks also, lady sorkra, you and Danaer."

  "I shall try to serve you better than I did the Captain." Lira's face was sad, but she squared her small shoulders. "Now that I know the tactics of the Markuand wizard and his treacherous conspirators, I shall no longer be such easy prey. The Markuand's evil lord does not know I live. When you slew the snake-bird, you wounded his powers. There has been no probing of my presence, no reaching toward the Vrastre. We have . . . fallen between the cracks of their fathoming," sh& said, trying to explain her arcane methods in terms they could understand. A sly smile curved Lira's mouth. "I shall endeavor to keep us well hidden, my lord."

  "Put on a mask, eh? As they masked themselves from us at Deki with fogs and wizardry."

  "Yes, my lord. I shall cast a glamour to conceal the caravan from them till we approach nearer to my Web. Once the Traech Sorkra knows of our plight, and of the witch's treachery, we will have much help."

  "Ah! This time we shall be the tricksters and they the tricked!"

  Lira added in a tiny voice, "But feed me well, I pray, so that I will have strength to work. I must . . . must do it all alone, for a while."

  "You may have my own rations, if that will help," Branra promised. "Your skills are worth any price, lady wizard. Whatever you desire, but ask it. This will buy us time—and time is the thing we must have now, above all."

  Take Joy of Argan

  Danaer had been cheered to learn that Shaar-tre and a goodly number of his unit were among the survivors of Deki. But to his annoyance, he had not been allowed to join those comrades. At the insistence of Lira and the Lieutenant, he had been sent to the surgeons' wagons until they should feel he had sufficiently recuperated from injury and hunger. As soon as he could, by midday, he escaped their clutches and found a roan, then rode toward the head of the caravan.