"Is there any other who questions my ability to match any wizard's magic and more?" The stillness had been profound, but now it seemed to deepen. The shadows receded, leaving them in firelight once more. None spoke. They scarcely dared breathe. His smile widened. "Attend my pleasure. You will wait here until I call you to hear the battle plan."
He strolled to his tent, and they remained where he had left them. The wizard's apprentices scampered before him and on every 'side, eager to serve his wishes. Within the luxurious tent creature comforts had been prepared, transported to this place at great risk and difficulty. It was a palace under cloth, on the edge of a battlefield. A throne sat before his brazier, and the ice-sphere of light and shadows rested on a bronze tripod. A girl-child, a Dekan of Clarique ancestry, knelt beside the chair. She was listless, enduring her fate.
Others also awaited him—a craggy-faced and scowling Destre warrior and a beautiful black-haired woman. The Destre was barely courteous, but the woman spread wide her purple skirts and curtseyed deeply, showing her full breasts. Then she pressed her palms together in adoration and spoke. The tone was deferential, though the words were alien, unknown to him. The Markuand wizard did not trouble to probe her thoughts, as he had probed many another mind to learn what he wished. He had found a readier tool. He sat in the throne and clasped a strong and hurtful hand on the girl's fair brow. The httle Clarique whimpered, and from her tender mind he learned the meaning of his aUies' speech, using the slave as he would an arcane machine.
"Master Wizard of all Markuand, I am Chorii of Krantin, she who would be your handmaiden in sorcery and in the empire to come." The woman glanced at her sullen companion.
With a grunt, he said, "Hablit of Vidik, outcast of the Brotherhood of the Zseds."
The wizard eyed Chorii with appreciation and Hab-lit with disdain. He sought what he needed in the child's brain. "I greet you, my allies in conquest. All is ready for the morrow?"
Through the medium of the helpless slave, Chorii said, "Exactly as you have commanded, Master."
"Good. I have removed the last thorn among my warlord generals, a splinter taken from my least finger. Now we shall have our triumph."
Hablit remained sour, disinterested in such plotting, a man of action. Chorii had been the pampered mistress of a royal lord. Yet now she stood meekly before this magician who had guided her into danger and supreme treachery. Her dark eyes glowed. "I wish to be your apprentice ..."
"And so you shall, my dear. And for what you have done, how shall I reward you? Do you want nothing more than that?" He took up the ice-sphere and its contents coruscated. Then Prince Diilbok's image appeared within it. Chorii leaned close to admire the vision, her normally sharp expression much softened. The Prince slept, his pale cheek on a downy pillow, his full lips twitching as if he spoke within a dream. "As you see, my dear, he is well treated. His noble cousin will not harm him, I promise you."
Chorii tore her attention from the illusion. "Such tenderness toward him will not make me merciful to them."
"Ai!" Hablit drew his dagger. As the wizard's minions recoiled in shock, the Destre stabbed through the billowing tent wall in his frustrated anger, ripping the cloth asunder. "So would I do with him who cast me out!"
His vehemence reached the Markuand through the Clarique child, and she screamed in pain, assaulted both by his fury and by her master's cruel hand. The slave and the Destre amused the sorcerer, but Chorii regarded Hablit warily. She did not judge his wrath so lightly.
"You want the head of this Gordt te Raa, eh?" the wizard asked.
"His blood!"
"You shall have both, and he will suffer long ere he dies. Before tomorrow is done, we will conquer all those who oppose us." He held out his free hand, demanding their oath. Chorii laid slim, bejeweled fingers on his, and after a moment's hesitation Hablit added his scarred brown paw to the pact of blackest wizardry.
"Those fools actually believe they may have countered my magic," the master said. "And perhaps they did achieve some small success at the river city. But I was not fully prepared then. I will never be so careless again."
Hablit shuffled about uneasily, disliking all traffic with these things. Hate had overruled his fear and made him strike a bargain as well with a witch from The Interior.
"I have arranged the force point you require. Master," Chorii said. With all other men she had ever wished to please, she had played the coquette. Now she did not, wantmg his interest in her dark arts, not in her body.
"A focus at which to strike." He spoke softly, but the significance of that phrase pained the slave child. "When it is done the first time, there must always be a focus. Afterward, it is more easily repeated, as it was at the river city. But now there will not need be a second time."
Chorii begged, "Master, teach me this wondrous thing! It is marvelous beyond any spell I have ever known. When you used me to serve you at Deki and carried Hablit and me within the walls . . ." Hablit shivered, not wanting to remember. The Markuand and the witch laughed at his cowardice. He was a tool who would suit their evil purposes and then be discarded.
"It is beyond your powers, my dear, beyond the powers of any other mortal," the wizard said with great pride. Her crestfallen expression made him offer his lovely conspirator a crumb of comfort. "But you will both accompany me once more, when I strike— tomorrow."
She looked forward to the experience, but Hablit
clenched his jaw", ruing the price he must pay for his vengeance. Chorii touched her breast and said, "I have put my secret mark upon my Prince—here. I set it myself with most potent and binding spells."
"Your lover did not protest?" The wizard licked his lips. "Truly, he is enthralled with love for you, yielding up his very soul and the conquest of his land and kinsmen."
"He has been most devoted to our cause, as well as he was able; and Markuand will make him a monarch in his own right, when you have won Krantin?"
"His own Httle kingdom, as we agreed." He waved his hand and the ice-sphere misted. When it cleared, Prince Diilbok again slept in the image formed there. Now his garment appeared to melt, revealing his naked skin. In that place Chorii had touched, an unnatural brand glowed, throbbing and purple. The sleeping man twisted about on his pallet, his carnal dreams plain in his face. Hablit looked away in disgust and Chorii laughed.
Beside the wizard, the Clarique child stared into nothing, her jaw sagging and drooling spittle, her mind emptied save for the stream of languages moving through her bone and flesh. The wizard turned to his minions and commanded, "Bring my warlords. I shall show them what they must do and how they will provide the diversion which will make the battle fall into our hands."
As they left, he gazed into the sphere. "Dream on. Prince Diilbok. Soon we will give you handsome new titles, my faithful cat's-paw. Sate yourself with lustful dreams. Tomorrow you will help us conquer Krantin and crush forever this alliance of the plains people and those of the smoking mountams."
The Price Is the Blood of Azsed
Danaer had awakened to the glow of false dawn and knew he had been summoned, just as he had been many ten-days past, when the goddess sent him to Osyta. Stealthily, he moved through the great camp, led by the strange urging, approaching the smaller tents near the Royal Commander's pavilion. He did not go close, for this area was the most heavily guarded of any place on the Siank Plains. He waited in a grove, and soon, as he had sensed must happen, Lira left a tent and came directly to him, into his arms. For a few moments neither of them had words or breath to spare.
Then, with a deep sigh. Lira warned, "I ... I cannot stay, qedra. I do not know what made me come here, or you await me."
"The goddess," Danaer said simply. He took her face in his hands and felt her trembling. "The battle is upon us, is it not?"
"Yes. Ti-Mori's army is now less than a quarter-day's ride east, closely pursued by the Markuand. And there are so many of them!" She shivered despite the warmth of his embrace. "Danaer, I glimpsed what the Traech Sorkr
a saw in his probings. Only a glimpse. It ... it is forbidden to do so for one of my lowly rank. But ... I have done it before." She frowned, puzzled. "This time it was unusually difi&cult, for some reason. Ah, no matter. But these Markuand, qedra —a vast, ghost-white arrow of an army, aimed at Krantin's heart!"
"Krantin's heart will withstand that arrow and fling it back," Danaer murmured. "The warriors of the Zseds are eager to engage them, for last night all the priests and ha-usfaen and delisich of all the clans
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gathered and sought Argan. Branra gave me leave to go, and it was splendid. A most fearsome ritual. None who witnessed it can fear Markuand. Nor do many of my comrades in uniform feel differently, though they worship other gods." He patted her shoulder and said, "Ti-Mori will pretend to flee and will come to us, and we will close the trap. It is an old trick, one Straedanfi knew well and used often."
Lira was not comforted, and Danaer was shut outside, unable to help. If the thing that afflicted his woman were a human enemy, he would sever its life in an instant. But no one could fight wizardry but another wizard. "Danaer, come with me," she said suddenly, hope in her voice. "I will have the Royal Commander assign you as liaison."
"We have no more need of liaison," Danaer started to say. Then he understood. "You want me there because you will be there—in Malol's command tent?"
"Yes, and also Master Ulodovol and General Nur-danth. But I have been told Gordt te Raa and Kandra must ride with their tribespeople." Danaer nodded. He would have been astonished if any Destre Siirn had done otherwise. Lira went on. "The Traech Sorkra and I must cast the Web protectively around the Royal Commander, to shield him and his plans. We will be his eyes and ears throughout the battle, swifter than any couriers can be. Ulodovol thinks the Markuand may guess, in part, that we have laid a trap. Yet so far we have concealed its exact design. Come with me, beloved. You will be safe there—"
Danaer hugged her with such force that she gasped for mercy. "You will be safe! Hai! / will not hide in a tent at the rear of the battle! I will stand on the line of blood and keep any danger from coming near you!"
"Please . . ."
Danaer silenced her pleadings with kisses. "I am a warrior. I cannot shun honest challenge," he said.
Lira wept with disappointment and he gentled her more. At last she gave up begging. "I wish—oh, qedra! But it will be as you say. I see that. You have your calling, as I do mine." She dried her tears, and with one more brief embrace, she slipped away from him
and went back to the tents, to Ulodovol, to her sorkra Web. Danaer stared at the closed flap long after she had disappeared behind it. If she were not a sorkra, he would have sent her to safety, perhaps to Nyald Zsed or, even farther west, to the Barjokt tribes of the Tradyans. But she was.sworn to Ulodovol's service. Yet he had learned she would stay in the Royal Commander's tent, the most secure position in all the battlefield. Surely she would be well protected there.
He pressed the silvery hilt of his new dagger, knowing that he had the weapon against the enemy's magic now. There would be Andaru and victory, and life for Lira Nalu, woman of Danaer of Nyald Zsed.
The candles burned away swiftly after that, time rushing upon them all. News ran through the camp, and officers roused their men, delivering the same message Lira had whispered to Danaer concerning Ti-Mori. There was a scramble for weapons as dawn broke. Unessential wagons and personnel were sent to the rear, but that would be no farther than Siank. The alUance had its back to the mountain wall. At the ritual the night before, the Destre-Y had sworn that whatever else happened, they would not let one Markuand touch Siank, Argan's holy city, the last stronghold of Azsed.
Cavalry and infantry sorted into their units, following the bellowings of Troop Leaders and the chain of command Malol had established. No one in the ranks knew the whole of the battle plan, but Malol's reputation put away their worries. Had he not mastered all the rebel lords who opposed his cousin's dynasty? And had he not struck this aUiance no one believed could be wrought? They would follow, trusting Malol and Gordt te Raa.
They climbed. Horses snorted and heaved their sides and bleated for rest. "Let them rest at the top!" Branra shouted, and Danaer and Shaartre and the other Troop Leaders relayed his stern order. Men whipped their blacks with the reins and dug in heels, and they continued upward, wading through the tall grass and brush of the hilly Vrastre.
At last they stood upon a ridge. Until now Danaer
had been too busy to look around the landscape. Now he remembered maps and that they had passed through the same valley below only yesterday. They stood atop Yeniir, the southernmost of two prominent ridges. Opposite was a height equal to this one, called Thaante. The hills cradled an arrow-shaped valley, the easiest and best route to Siank Plains. If the Markuand reached the western end of this pass, there would be no stopping them.
Danaer checked the looseness of his new sword in its sheath. He had been provided a leather shield and slung it at ready position from his saddle, then tested the handiness of the two lances slung in the scabbard under his stirrup.
"Position your units here," Branra said, coming along the ridge and personally directing the placement of his cavalry. "Watch for the pennants down slope when you begin your charge. Those mark the blinds where our archers lie. Our archers. Tradyans. Do not run them down, or Stethoj of the West will have my head. I promised him an honorable battle for his warriors, not a trampling by the army. Scout." Danaer rode out of Hne and saluted smartly. "The next forces east are Destre-Y. Go give them the word that we are in place and ready."
As Danaer loped along the crest, he saw that the slope was much overgrown and afforded good cover. There was plenty of brush to conceal archers and Destre slingmen. If the Markuand tested Yeniir, they would be hunting for their targets, while the hidden defenders could aim downward, to great effect.
To his pleasure, Gordyan looked to be the chieftain of the Destre on Branra's flank. It was only when he drew near and dismounted that Danaer discovered his friend was not in command of the assembled warriors. Gordyan's bulk had hidden the true chieftain here.
"I will take sword and lance in this battle!" It was a woman's voice.
"The Rena wishes you would not," Gordyan said gently, most deferentially.
Kandra stood before him. She tossed her head, her hair like a shimmering flag, her green eiphren spark-
ling. "I am Lasiirnte of Ve-Nya, and I will command."
Gordyan was almost abject. It was a tone Danaer had never heard him use. "Forgive me, Lasiirnte, please. You are a most skilled rider, but you are unblooded, as befits the consort of the Rena. I ... I know I speak out of place, but serve the Rena otherwise, I beg you. Offer Malol and Nurdanth advice on the fighting methods of our people and how to employ them best..."
"That is their realm, not mine. Do you think I would let Wyaela best me?" Kandra's black eyes flashed with indignation. She pointed across the valley at Thaante's height. "She makes her stand there. And I will hold here! It is done. We are warriors both."
"Lasiirnte," Danaer broke in, "your favor, but Gordyan speaks with much wisdom in this thing."
"Ve-Nya will follow only me, and that is an end of it," Kandra snapped. Her face was bright with the same battle fervor that inspired all the Destre-Y today. "How would Argan deem any chieftain who would not lead her tribe to war? The lit commander must hide behind his flags, safe from the line of blood. But we are Destre-Y. / am Destre-Y! The Rena defends Thaante's center, and I will meet the Markuand, lance to lance, here. My brother died at Deki. Now Ve-Nya Zsed has none to lead them but me, his chosen successor. And they will have that right," she finished with ferocious pride. Her attention swung to Danaer again. "Soldier, do you bring me a message?"
Impressed by her regal manner, he conveyed Branra's report. Kandra accepted it with a curt nod and turned away to speak with some of her warriors. Gordyan's gaze met Danaer's and he said, "I will be close to her left hand, with my personal guard. Yet the Rena is most worried
, and so am I. But he will not deny her this." Danaer smiled wanly as Gordyan shook his head and went on. "Truly, she is a chieftain, just as Wyaela is. You . . . you say Branraediir is on our flank? Good! Bloody Sword will not desert us when we need him."
When Danaer got back to his units, an air of expectancy hovered over them. Danaer had seen its
cause during his short ride along the ridge. Mountainous clouds of dust rolled up in the Vrastre east of the valley. The reason for those clouds must be close, and it could only be that tens of hundreds of feet and hooves broke the earth and stirred it to powder.
Everyone watched the clouds eagerly, standing by his horse and awaiting the commands. Shaartre and Rorluk and Xashe and many of Danaer's comrades murmured their restlessness. Courage was building, and they tired of doing nothing. Veteran and merchant's son and peasant herdsman were at one with each other. Like Danaer, most of these units had trekked to Deki and lost many a brave friend. They had learned that the tales of the Destre were not aU true, and that in this battle the enemy was Markuand. Though the men of The Interior lacked the customs that bound Destre warriors, Danaer had seen their valor through the years and did not scorn it. On every side now they took oath, swearing to acquit themselves well and perhaps to avenge a dead man the Markuand had slain.
Danaer made his own vow silently: For Argan, and to gift Straedanfi. May he bear with him to his god every second Markuand I slay. Drink their blood and curse their souls, Keth, Dread Guardian of the Portals.
A white pennant was raised on the slope below. Across the valley a finger of fire stabbed into the late-morning skies, spewing orange sparks. It was a device Danaer had never heard of or seen, and the loud explosion that accompanied it made the horses nervous. There had been rumors of some new signaling invention, a secret among the lords. Now it seemed Malol was using it to manage the movements of his noblemen.
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