“Certainly,” Eltiron responded immediately. “I’m sure you’ll excuse me, Lord Lassond; good evening to you.” He nodded in Terrel’s direction as he turned away, thoroughly relieved to have come through the encounter as well as he had.
Vandaris chuckled softly as they walked away. “Not bad,” she said when they were out of earshot. “The tone of voice could have been better, but the little nod as you left was just right.”
“Just right for what?” Eltiron said, puzzled.
“Just right to make Terrel look a little foolish—no, don’t look back, numb wit! You want to spoil the effect? Right now about a quarter of the people in this room think they saw you casually dismiss Terrel Lassond, which is going to make them think better of you and worse of him, and neither one would be a bad idea.”
“I can’t say I would object, but I didn’t do anything, really. You did all the talking.”
“So? Nobody was close enough to overhear us. All anyone knows is what they saw, and what they saw was Lassond looking foolish. What’s more, he knows it; if eyes shot arrows, you’d look like the straw dummy after target practice right now.”
“Just because we walked away from him?”
“Every pebble helps. And people will remember it tomorrow, when Terrel has to explain why he isn’t having his demonstration match with you, the way he’s been telling people he would. Why else do you think he’s so angry?”
Eltiron did not reply at once. He knew Vandaris was exaggerating the effects of the encounter to make him feel better, but he was more interested in his own sudden comprehension of one possible reason for some of Terrel’s behavior. Terrel had always been the one who bowed and walked away from a conversation, leaving Eltiron standing awkwardly and uncomfortably in the middle of the floor. It was one of the things Eltiron disliked about Terrel, but he had never thought that it might be a deliberate attempt to make him look foolish.
“Eltiron!”
Vandaris’s whisper interrupted his train of thought, and he looked up with a jerk. “What?”
“Look awake; the fun’s just starting.” Vandaris nodded at something to her right. Eltiron turned his head and suddenly found himself wishing he were somewhere else. Marreth was bearing down on them, and he did not appear to be in the best of tempers.
“Vanderis!” Marreth’s roar stopped conversations all over the Great Hall. “What do you think you’re doing here?”
“Enjoying myself,” Vandaris said imperturbably. “Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do at parties?”
“You were not asked to attend this dinner!”
“So? In case you’ve forgotten, I’m your sister.”
“You’re a disgrace to the throne of Sevairn!”
“That depends on who’s sitting on it. Most people think joining the mercenaries is fairly respectable.”
“I am not most people—”
“Thank Viran the Wise for that,” Vandaris muttered.
“—and I consider your conduct disgraceful. It’s embarrassing to have a member of the royal family of Sevairn serving as a common soldier!”
“Oh, never that.”
“What?” Marreth stopped short and stared at his sister.
Vandaris smiled sweetly. “I am never common. And you’ll notice that I’m a captain now.”
Marreth snorted. “Why you refused to buy a position suitable to your rank at the very beginning, I’ll never understand.”
“No, I don’t suppose you will. What bothers you more, the fact that I didn’t take any help from you to start with or that I was made a captain anyway?”
“Enough of this! I have lost my patience.”
“I noticed.”
Marreth turned a darker shade of purple. “Leave! At once!”
“Oh, strap it down and sit on it,” Vandaris advised. “You can’t exile me, you can’t throw me out, and you can’t have me imprisoned or beheaded without evidence, so stop trying to chop ironwood with a kitchen knife. We have more important things to discuss.”
Marreth’s eyes narrowed. “Such as?”
“A little matter of treason and injustice. I have some new information regarding the affair of Jermain Trevannon.”
CHAPTER 6
Jermain stared at Carachel for a long moment. “Before I answer you, I think you must explain a little more, my lord. Tar-Alem is far enough north that the Hoven-Thalar are unlikely to be a threat to you. Even if a few of them come that far, why would you not command your army in person?”
“I have other things that must occupy my time.”
“Such as? If I do choose to serve you in this, I will need to know more than that.”
“You cannot—” Carachel stopped. “No, you are right. If I am to trust you in one thing, I must trust you in the rest.”
The wizard stopped again and stared into the fire. Finally he shook his head. “It comes back to the Hoven-Thalar. Do you know why they are moving north this year?”
“The southern wells are going bad. The clans from the southern waste have already come north, and there isn’t enough food or water to support them as well as the clans that normally live there. By midsummer they’ll have to move north again, into Mournwal.”
“They will move long before midsummer,” Carachel said. His lips tightened and he struck a fist against his leg. “If I only had more time! Another year, or even six months, would be enough.”
“Enough for what?”
There was a long pause. “I need time to be sure I will be strong enough to win this war completely. I cannot afford a partial victory; none of us can.”
Jermain frowned. “You would destroy the Hoven-Thalar?”
Carachel hesitated briefly, eyeing Jermain. “The Hoven-Thalar are not the only ones who move northward,” he said finally. “The Matholych comes behind them, and that is not something which can be dealt with by a mere army.”
“What is a Matholych?”
“It is a creature of sorcery; I doubt that I can explain any better than that. The Hoven-Thalar call it the Red Plague.”
“I have just come from four and a half months with the Hoven-Thalar, and I heard no talk of such a thing,” Jermain said skeptically.
“Had you stayed another month, I think you would have. I doubt that your friends knew the nature of the being poisoning their wells, but they soon will. Do you see why I need you? No man can do two things at once and do them well. I cannot command an army and still discover how to keep the Matholych from wreaking destruction on what little the Hoven-Thalar will leave behind them.”
“You expect to find your answer alone?”
“I must.” Carachel looked suddenly tired. “This is a thing only sorcery can manage, and the others would not listen to my warning. Indeed, there are some who seek to stop me.”
“Who, and why? If the danger is as great as you say . . .”
“It is greater! The Matholych will kill what it finds alive, and turn cities into ruin. It will smash the foundations of magic for years to come, and in its wake it will leave plague and famine. There is no protection from it; if it is to be stopped, it must be fought. And it must be stopped.” Carachel stared into the fire with unseeing eyes, and his voice was almost a whisper. “Whatever the cost, it must be stopped.”
“Why would anyone want to keep you from doing so?”
Carachel started as if he had forgotten Jermain’s existence for a moment. “Wizards are no more reasonable than other men. Stopping the Matholych will require more power than any single wizard has amassed in centuries, and since the Guild would not take my advice I must try alone. Many see the power I am gathering as a threat. If they had believed my warning, we could have worked together, but it is too late for that now.”
“But when this Matholych thing arrives in the southern kingdoms, some of them will have to believe you.”
“If common sorcery could prevail against the Matholych, you would be right to think that that would make a difference. But even if the wizards were willing to
help, I have not time to teach what it has taken me years to learn.”
“Years? How long have you known about this?”
“Fifteen years.” Old anger and bitterness colored Carachel’s voice. “Fifteen years ago I went to the seven wizards who headed the Guild of Mages and told them what little I knew of the Matholych. I told them it would come north in sixteen or seventeen years, and I begged them to search the records for more information if they would not believe me. They refused, and when I persisted they barred me from the Guild.”
For a moment, there was silence; then Carachel looked up from the fire with a slightly strained smile. “So you see, we are both outcasts. Will you help me?”
Jermain did not reply at once. It was impossible to overlook the similarity between Carachel’s experience and his own, and it shook him to the core. He was no longer alone; this man, too, had been disregarded and unjustly punished. Even their goals were similar.
“I would be honored to assist you in any way I can, my lord,” Jermain said at last.
The strain left Carachel’s face. “Thank you. That is a great relief to me.”
“However, there is one thing I should tell you before you accept my service. I do not believe that Marreth is content to let me live in exile; I think he is trying to kill me. Six of his Border Guard nearly succeeded a few days ago. If he hears word of where I am and sends an assassin . . .”
“I doubt that any assassin would succeed. I have ways of protecting those who serve me; after all, I am a wizard.”
“You mistake me, my lord,” Jermain said. “I have no doubt that you can do what you say; my intention was to let you know of Marreth’s hostility before you let me join you. If he discovers that you have aided me, it may be awkward for you.”
“If Marreth is foolish enough to try meddling in the affairs of Tar-Alem, he will regret it, be sure.”
“Then I offer you my service.” Jermain drew his sword and held it out, hilt forward.
Carachel drew the dagger from his belt and touched the hilt of Jermain’s sword, first with the point of the dagger and then with its hilt. “I accept your offer.”
The two men sheathed their weapons, and Carachel rose. “I suggest that we leave for Tar-Alem at once, if you are agreeable,” he said.
Jermain blinked. “Will an hour or two of travel make so great a difference?”
“It can, if you do not fear sorcery. But I am more interested in getting away from the river; we are too easily found here.”
“Found?”
“Certain types of magic are weakened by running water, particularly protective spells. The Guild of Mages is far more likely to locate me if we remain near the river than if we move.”
“Then let’s go,” Jermain said, rising. “Fighting sorcery is not my idea of a pleasant evening.”
Carachel laughed and went to untie his horse, while Jermain kicked dirt over the fire to smother it. In a few moments, both men were mounted and ready to leave. Carachel looked at Jermain.
“Can you keep your horse controlled under . . . unpleasant circumstances?”
Jermain felt a flash of anger that anyone would question Blackflame’s abilities. “He is battle trained.”
“Very well. Follow me closely, and do nothing to distract me.”
Jermain nodded, and reached forward to pat his horse’s neck reassuringly. Blackflame snorted and tossed his head, and Carachel turned away. For a moment, the wizard fumbled at his breast, then he slipped something on his finger and raised his arms.
A pale, hard light formed like a ball of mist around his right hand, growing gradually clearer but not brighter. Carachel swept his arm down in a wide circle, and all around the two horsemen the forest and river grew suddenly dark and quiet. In another moment, the color had leached out of the trees and grass and water, leaving only a picture in smoke and shadow against a background of charcoal.
Carachel lifted his reins in his left hand. A faint light still clung to his right, and he held it out in front of him like a beacon as his horse began to move. Mindful of his instructions, Jermain urged Blackflame into motion.
As the horse stepped forward, the shadowy forest twisted and blurred into a nightmare of constantly shifting black fingers. Jermain’s stomach lurched, and he transferred his attention hastily to his horse. The animal had begun to tremble, and it took all Jermain’s skill to keep him moving. Jermain was almost glad to have a task to occupy his mind, but no matter how he concentrated he could not shut out the darkness dancing around the corners of his eyes.
For what seemed like days, Carachel’s bay moved steadily onward into darkness and deadly quiet. Jermain sat tensely in the saddle, trying not to look around as he spoke soothingly to his horse. Abruptly, the shadows steadied and grew darker. Jermain looked up and felt a moment of panic when he did not see Carachel’s light ahead of him. Then he realized that he could hear the wind and the small noises of night insects. Jermain blinked, and around him was an ordinary, night-shrouded forest.
Carachel turned in the saddle. “I think this is far enough for one night, and it is not a bad place to camp. I suggest you tend to your horse first; we have a long way to go tomorrow.”
Jermain nodded without speaking. Carachel swung out of his saddle and tethered the bay. Rather stiffly, Jermain followed his example, then went to unsaddle his mount. He felt weak and light-headed, and his legs and shoulders were tense and sore. Blackflame’s condition was no better; the horse was trembling and covered with sweat, as if he had been ridden at top speed all day instead of at a slow walk. Jermain had to spend some time calming and rubbing down the exhausted animal before he could attend to his own needs. When he finally turned to seat himself by the fire Carachel had just finished building, he found that his legs were so weak that they nearly collapsed under him.
“I am afraid that sorcerous travel is very wearing at first,” Carachel said apologetically. “But you will soon become accustomed to it.”
“You plan to keep traveling like that tomorrow?” Jermain said, repressing a shudder.
“For part of the day, at least. I have no wish to spend a month or more away from my troops when we can be there in five or six more days.”
Jermain swallowed hard and nodded. “Of course, my lord.” And I was the man who didn’t want to get involved with sorcery, he thought wryly. Ah, well, if the real threat comes from sorcery, I could not have kept from it. Better to know what I will face before I must face it.
“You are not comfortable with magic?” Carachel said, echoing Jermain’s thoughts with uncomfortable accuracy.
“I admit that I lack knowledge,” Jermain retorted. “But is anyone truly comfortable with magic?”
Carachel laughed. “Even wizards are not always at ease with their craft. Forgive me.” But his expression as he watched Jermain held a hint of worry, and after a moment he went on, “You have had no previous experience with magic, then? So many men carry amulets or talismans that I had assumed you knew at least a little.”
“Such things are not common in Sevairn, and I have never carried any of them. If there is anything you wish me to know, I fear you must teach me from the beginning.”
“But since you left Sevairn?”
“I have spent most of my time with the Hoven-Thalar, and they do not use amulets either. Is it so important?”
“No, no, I was only wondering.” Carachel hesitated, then seemed to realize that some additional explanation was needed. “The spells I cast could not find you at first, and I thought perhaps you carried a protective charm. Something similar to the one I use to prevent the Guild of Mages from finding me. When I found you near a river, I was sure of it; such spells are weaker there.”
“I am afraid you were wrong, my lord; I carry no such talisman.”
“Well, perhaps it is natural talent, then.” Carachel gave Jermain a speculative look.
“Natural talent? I did not know sorcery could be acquired except through study.”
“For the mos
t part, that is true, but like anything else some people have greater ability than others. Normally, it develops in persons who have spent much of their lives surrounded by magic; I would be surprised to find it in someone from Sevairn. I suppose you have never been tested for such talent?”
“No, my lord,” Jermain replied. “And I must admit, I have no great wish to be. But if you think it will be of help to you, I am willing.”
Carachel nodded thoughtfully, watching Jermain. “It may come to that. For now, however, there is no need.” He looked at Jermain a moment longer, then smiled reassuringly. “Put it out of your mind now, and rest. I will take the first watch.”
Jermain was too tired to argue; he wrapped his cloak around him and lay down where he was. In a few moments, he was asleep.
He awoke abruptly to the sound of birds in a dim, predawn light. The fire was a bed of glowing embers; of Carachel there was no sign. Jermain sat up and shook the last wisps of uneasy dreams from his mind. “My lord Carachel?”
“Here.” Carachel’s voice came from behind him. Jermain turned and saw the wizard walking out of the shadows, carrying an armload of wood. “I’m sorry if I alarmed you, but the fire was getting low and I thought it best to get a little more fuel before it died completely.”
“So I see. Why didn’t you wake me?”
“There was no need. I am accustomed to little sleep, and we shall travel farther today if you are completely recovered from yesterday when we start.”
Reluctantly, Jermain nodded. He could not argue with the logic of it, but he had agreed to serve Carachel and he felt strange letting Carachel bear the brunt of the work. He started to rise, intending to assist Carachel with the fire, but the wizard motioned him back.
“Stay; I will not be long with this.” Carachel bent to set the wood beside the remains of the fire, and something flashed on the middle finger of his right hand.
Jermain blinked and looked more closely. He saw it clearly for an instant as Carachel laid a stick on the embers. It was a ring, made in the shape of two serpents, one of polished gold and the other of black iron, twisting around each other. Jermain opened his lips to comment on it, then stopped and turned the gesture into a yawn. He suspected rather strongly that the ring had something to do with Carachel’s magic, and he was sure Carachel would not welcome questions that pried into matters of wizardry. Carachel might be willing to answer such questions anyway, but Jermain did not want to strain their brief fellowship by making rude or awkward inquiries. “I will take the next watch,” he said instead.
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