Angus Wells - The God Wars 03

by Wild Magic (v1. 1)

  Calandryll watched her, admiring the undulation of her hips, the way the rising moon struck silver sparks from her raven hair, thinking that she bore the hardships of the trail without complaint. Nadama, he thought, would never accept this journey with such equanimity. He shook his head, admonishing himself: this was no place to contemplate a woman's charms, no place to think of amorous dalliance.

  But later! said an eager voice, deep inside his mind. Clear of the Kess Imbrun, what then1

  He did not know. He was not sure how Cennaire felt. Perhaps she saw him only as a rough warrior, a frees word welcomed for the aid he gave her, but no more than that. He had little experience of women and the courtly manner he could affect was, were he honest with himself, a defensive camouflage. In truth, he felt like a fumbling boy. Regretting his inexperience, he carried journey bread and cheese to where the others waited.

  Bracht and Katya sat side by side on the blankets, Cennaire to the warrior woman's left. He took a place beside her, using his dirk to carve slabs of the hard bread and wedges of the scarcely softer cheese. Bracht cut the cured meat, passing them each a slice, and they began to eat.

  Hunger satisfied, they agreed the order of their watch, Bracht taking the first spell. The three quest- ers were tired, less from the physical effort of the descent than the degree of concentration required, and when the cold food was consumed Calandryll and Katya settled down to sleep, huddling close against the falling temperature. Cennaire felt the cold only as an objective sensation, neither was she tired, but she feigned a shiver and a yawn, wrapping herself in Calandryll's borrowed blanket.

  “Shall you be warm?" she asked him shyly, amused by his response, her innate vanity flattered by his gallant reply.

  "I've my cloak," he declared stoically, "and that's warm enough for me."

  "You're kind," she murmured, stretching out, deliberately arranging herself so that she lay close beside him. "My thanks for all your kindness."

  "What else should I do?" Calandryll responded, aware that his heart beat faster as he felt her rump press against his thigh. It seemed to him that even through the thickness of the blanket and the cloak he felt her warmth.

  He lay down, thinking for a moment to settle an arm about her and draw her closer; thinking then that she might not welcome such a gesture. He wondered what Bracht would do—the Kern had seemed, at least before he met Katya, to hold few reservations where women were concerned. But this was no serving wench, he told himself, no maid to he casually brought to bed. Nor would he, with his comrades so close, even though he breathed the scent of her hair, could feel her body against him: he did his best to dismiss the lascivious images that filled his mind, willing himself to sleep.

  Beside him, Cennaire pretended slumber, shifting a little, increasing their contact. For her part it was as much habit as design. She was not yet ready to seduce this handsome young man: she was not yet certain what path she would take, did they succeed in seizing the Arcanum from Rhythamun, and so was not yet ready to risk the enmity of his companions. There was, she decided, time aplenty for such decisions. It appeared impossible they should overtake the sorcerer in this godforsaken place: she would bide her time.

  With that thought in mind, she allowed herself to relax into an approximation of sleep, lulled by the pleasant warmth of Calandryll's body and the gradual descent of his breathing from a nervous panting to a steady rhythm.

  KATYA woke him with the sky black above and he rose carefully, not wishing to wake Cennaire, unaware that she was instantly alert to his movements, contemplating joining him, but deciding it was too obvious a ploy. Instead, she stirred sleepily and drew the blanket closer about her shoulders as Calandryll paced across the shelf to the egress of the trail, leaning against the spine that jutted there, listening to the silence. The Kess Imbrun was quiet, the night disturbed only by the occasional snorting of the horses and the song of the wind. It blew cold against his face and he wrapped his cloak across his chest, a hand resting light on the straightsword's hilt, struggling to resist the memories of Cennaire's body pressed against his.

  He was grateful for dawn's arrival, and he went to wake his companions. The sky shone blue as they set to preparing a meager breakfast, and when they were done eating, and the horses fed what little oats remained, they loosed the hobbles and started down once more.

  The Blood Road remained vertiginous, the going no easier. Then it seemed they came to the detritus of the chasm, as if whatever force had carved the great rift had left the riven stone piled about the foot. Gullies and canyons spread randomly: Bracht's promised maze. Great slabs of rock tumbled like discarded building blocks, the way winding intricate among shadowed avenues of red stone until, past a boulder large as a house, it ran out onto a stony beach lapped by the river. From the rim of the Kess Imbrun it had seemed no more than a thread, a ribbon of distant blue: no great obstacle. Now Calandryll saw it ran half a league wide, a band of furious energy channeled by the confining rock, murmuring angrily, as though daring them to attempt its crossing. He rode out onto the beach and reined in, sheathing his sword, staring at the water in the dying light.

  "Dera! How shall we cross that?" He gestured at the torrent as Bracht and Katya brought their horses alongside.

  "There's a ford," the Kern said confidently. "A league or two westward."

  Calandryll heeled his mount around, starting in that direction, halted by Bracht's cry: "The morrow's soon enough to find it. We'll camp here this night."

  "There's light yet." Calandryll gestured impatiently at the sky, to where the sun painted the rimrock with hues of red. "And every hour we delay grants Rhythamun more time."

  "And Rhythamun may well have left some guardian at the ford," came Bracht's response. "And likely dusk will be on us before we find the cross ing place. And this river's no thing to attempt in darkness, even be it unguarded. Better we wait for full daylight."

  The Kern's tone was amiable but firm, brooking no argument, and Calandryll felt a flash of resentment at that casual assumption of authority. He glanced again skyward. The sun was close on the western rim now, and already the light began to fade. It seemed they sat within the very bowels of the world, and it came to him that (lawn must come late to these depths, delaying them still further. For a moment he thought to argue, but Bracht had already dismounted and was helping Cennaire to the ground, and he realized the Kern was right. The river alone was obstacle enough, and if Rhythamun had left some guardian behind, it was better met by day's light. He grunted, embarrassed, and swung clear of his saddle, angry with himself for such lack of caution, for he felt it diminished him in Cennaire's eyes, and then angry again that he should find that his first consideration.

  He resolved to put all thoughts of the woman from his mind, avoiding her eyes as he turned to Bracht and asked, "Here?" his voice gruff.

  "It seems as good a place as any." The Kern nodded. "We've wood for a fire and fresh water aplenty."

  In his haste, Calandryll had seen only the watery barrier. Now he looked around, and saw that stands of scrubby bushes and tenuous pines grew among the jumbled stone; grass, too. "Aye," he admitted, "you're right. Dawn is soon enough."

  He busied himself unsaddling his horse, and when all three were stripped and watered, he offered to take them where they might graze. He led them to the lushest patch of greenery, though that was poor enough, and tied the hobbles in place. That done, he set to cutting wood, expending his self-directed anger on the timber.

  Katya came to join him, her expression unreadable in the rapidly descending twilight. For a moment she studied his face, then said, "You've no need to try so hard, Calandryll."

  "What?" He lowered his blade, turning to her.

  "I suspect it's less the desire to catch Rhythamun than another that drives you now," she murmured gently. "Cennaire is very lovely."

  He was thankful for the shadows: they hid his blush. Still, he said, "I'd grant him no more time than we must." ·

  "I know." Katya ducked her he
ad. "Nor would Bracht, or I. But we know something of his wiles, and to ride headlong into danger can only favor him."

  "Aye." He felt his embarrassment grow, for all Katya spoke gently, friend to friend. "I was foolish."

  "No more than Bracht, on board the warboat." She laughed softly. "Did you not urge him to patience then?"

  He nodded, grateful for her diplomacy, and she continued, "She'll be with us awhile, I think; and I think she looks with favor on you. Do you take a woman's advice, I'd tell you to be yourself. That alone is sufficient."

  "Think you so?" he asked eagerly.

  "Most surely," Katya replied, smiling now.

  "And do you trust her?"

  The warrior woman's smile faltered, her lips pursing an instant. "She has given me no reason to doubt her," she said softly.

  "But?"

  "I am not sure." Katya shrugged, her mail shirt rustling. "I sense something about her. What, I cannot say; and so will not judge her."

  "Surely she is no more than she claims." Calandryll frowned. "I perceive no guile in her."

  "I suspect we see her through different eyes." Katya smiled again. "I do not say she is untrustworthy; neither more nor less than what she claims and seems. Only that your vision is . . . enhanced . .. by her beauty."

  He thought she might have said entranced, and shook his head, less in negation than puzzlement.

  "You've no need to impress her," Katya went on, "only be yourself, and let matters take their course."

  "Aye." He gathered up the splintered branches, smiling ruefully now. "I'll heed your advice—and thank you for it."

  Katya nodded companionably, taking up her own burden, walking beside him as they returned to the beach, where Bracht and Cennaire had spread the blankets and were preparing food.

  Soon a cheerful fire drove back the shadows and a stew bubbled over the flames. Calandryll, resolved to heed Katya's words, curbed his desire to impress the raven-haired woman, behaving—as best he could in her intoxicating presence— normally. It was not easy, for his eyes were drawn constantly toward her, marveling at the play of light on her skin and hair, her beauty a temptation to boast of exploits past, to impress her with his feats and his learning. He had never, he knew, felt so drawn to a woman. Nadama paled in comparison, a callow girl whose face he could now hardly recall. He wondered if he was in love; if such emotion could strike so swift. In Bracht's case, yes: the Kern's feelings for Katya had been immediate. He, on the other hand, was of different mettle, raised to a more courtly, a more sedate, approach, and such a background made it all the harder for him to understand the fierce attraction he experienced. Confusion once more gripped him, and he fell silent, joining in the conversation in desultory manner.

  Cennaire sensed a change in him, and wondered what the Vanu woman had said as they talked among the trees. Something concerning her, she guessed, deciding that as yet she was not entirely trusted by Calandryll's companions. Whatever course she might ultimately choose, she knew she must for now earn their confidence, and so made no attempt to charm Calandryll, but pretended weariness, and a degree of unease that was not entirely feigned.

  Indeed, all their talk of Rhythamun rendered her nervous. He appeared a mage of dreadful power and she marveled that these three had survived so long in their pursuit of the wizard. They spoke almost casually of entering a hostile land, of the likelihood of traversing the Jesseryn Plain to whatever lay beyond the Borrhun-maj. They were prepared to face Jesserytc warriors and demons with equal equanimity, trusting in themselves and the benevolence of the Younger Gods: they entertained no doubt but that they go on, no matter the odds against them. Such conviction she found almost frightening. She thought of the magic mirror hidden in her baggage, and wondered how Anomius fared. Did her master fret? Did he wonder where she was? At some opportune time, she thought, she must contact him, but not yet; not while use of the mirror must surely reveal her for his creation.

  The night passed sJow and she was glad when she saw the sky above begin to pale and the camp began to stir, the questers readying for departure with the efficiency of long practice. The fire was blown to fresh life and breakfast set to cooking, the horses saddled while water boiled, Bracht and Calandryll drawing dirks across their stubbled cheeks as the two women washed in the icy water of the river. Before the sun's light had reached the lowermost deeps they were mounted, Cennaire again settled behind Bracht's saddle, and riding for the promised ford.

  The crossing lay a good two leagues to the west, its presence announced by sullen thunder, in a curve of the Kess Imbrun where the great rift broadened, the beach widening before a loarrier of tumbled stone high as the walls of a city.

  Calandryll, in the lead, halted, staring awed at the natural dam, waiting for Bracht to come up. The hypabyssal blockage rose skyward above him, the boulders at its foot transforming the riverbed into a wild terracing of rocky cascades over which white water foamed, ferocious as it gushed between the stones. Along the face, spreading in a haze of silvery gold, a mist rose from the spray, glittering rainbows arcing as the sun struck the great fountains jetting from high among the boulders.

  "The ford lies beyond." Bracht shouted his opinion, leaning from his saddle to put his mouth close to Calandryll's ear. "Above the rocks."

  They climbed awhile, through a shimmering haze, cloaked against the watery fog that soon engulfed them, the clatter of hooves on stone lost in the thunder of the cascade, the horses fretting nervously at the sound. Calandryll remained in the lead, squinting through the mist until he saw an opening between two enormous stones, indicating the gap with an outflung arm: to speak in that dinning would be useless. He urged the chestnut into the dim-lit pass, the way rising steep there, tortuous and slippery.

  He emerged onto a broad shelf, its edge overlapped by the great expanse of water pent behind the dam, the river become more akin to a lake. Calandryll studied the ramparts of the dam with uncertain eyes, waiting as the others aligned themselves beside him. The topmost level of the barricade was wide and smooth as a made road: ten horses might go easily abreast, no more than a finger's depth of water spilling over the stones. But to the one side lay a drop that would send a rider tumbling into the cascades below, and to the other . . . he studied the vast pool, wondering at its depths, and the currents that must surely rage there beneath the surface. The mist hung sparkling above, a spectrum of colors set to dancing by the morning light, beautiful and at the same time eerie, as if spirits pranced there, tempting the unwary. Cautiously, he urged his mount forward.

  The horse began to stamp and snort, liking this ford no better than its rider, and Calandryll held a tight rein, his eyes narrowed against the film of moisture that covered his face, dripping from his hair, finding whatever openings his clothing offered to trickle irritatingly down chest and back. The edges of the way were soon lost behind a curtain of swirling colors, and he could see scant feet ahead. It seemed he traversed a way akin to the magical road that had brought him to Tezin-dar, a place where time was without meaning, distance become abstract, the morning filled with the threatening rumble of the torrent below, the strange silence of the lake beside, the aural contrast disorientating. It occurred to him that if Rhythamun left some monstrous creation to ward his trail, here would be a fine place, and thought then to draw his sword, and then thought better of it, deciding it was the wiser course to hold the reins firm against the panicky fretting of his mount.

  In that negation of time he had no idea how long the crossing took, and was surprised when suddenly the mist brightened, the shifting colors resolving into a soft golden haze. He wiped his eyes, peering ahead, and saw the gold darken, merging with a reddish-grey, and realized that he could discern shapes, like huge sentinels, waiting.

  In a little while they resolved into the primeval detritus of the Kess Imbrun, the great stone blocks that marked the limits of the dam, spreading across the northern beach in welcome announcement of the ford's end. He lifted the roan to a faster pace, the horse responding
willingly, and they came out of the mist onto a broad shelf.

  Calandryll sprang down and turned to see Bracht emerge from the haze, Cennaire disconsolate behind him, Katya coming after. He went to meet them, giving Cennaire his hand as she slid from the stallion's back. She clung to him a moment, her face against his chest, and he held her awkwardly, watching as Bracht and Katya dismounted. Then she stepped back, smiling faintly, and said, "I thought that road would never end."

  "Nor I," he returned, studying her face, unsure whether he felt relief or reluctance that she let him go.

  "Ahrd, but that was a wet crossing." Bracht's voice interrupted his contemplation. "Do we find timber and get a fire started before night finds us?"

  Calandryll looked about. The sun hung low’ in the western quadrant now, not far off its setting, and he realized that the fording, of the river had taken the better part of the day. A breeze drifted cool down the chasm and he shivered, the involuntary motion prompting Cennaire to ape him. Katya bent, wringing out her long hair,* Bracht, who appeared not much discomforted, pointed toward the northern cliffs.

  "Likely we'll find the makings there. Do you take Cennaire a while, and I'll go ahead."

  "What of Rhythamun?" Calandryll asked.

  "Did he plan aught, I think we'd know ere now." Bracht shook his head, sending droplets flying. "I think we're safe enough here."