The Shaman (19 page)

“You
have but to journey down the Mashra River; it will take you into the heart of
the city itself.”

“Up
and away, then!” Ohaern came to his feet. “If the road to Kuru begins at
Cashalo, then to Cashalo we go!”

“It
is time to divide into small bands, though,” Manalo told him, “for so large a
force as ours will be noticed by Ulahane’s sentries, and he will send his
creatures against us. Divide yourselves into bands of three and four, and journey
to Cashalo separately.”

“But
will we not then be easy meat for any Klaja or wicked men?” cried Lucoyo,
dismayed.

“The
Klaja will not trouble themselves for so few,” said Manalo, “for their Ulharl
drives them toward one particular goal that his master has set him, and only
that one. As to bandits and enemy tribes, have you never dealt with them
before?”

“Aye,”
Glabur said slowly. “We hide when we can, and fight when we must.”

“So
you must do again. Believe me, there is little to fear— none will take you for
a threat when there are so few, but there are enough to give pause to any who
might wish to prey upon the weak. Go to Cashalo as secretly as you can, but do
not skulk so obviously as to arouse suspicion. Meet there, and rally to Ohaern.
Choose your traveling companions and go by different roads.”

Lucoyo
lingered, reluctant to push himself onto any of the groups, but wishing
ardently that some would invite him. It seemed none would—Glabur and Dalvan
united with two other Biriae, and all around him others joined in threes and
fours, by bonds of kinship or long-standing friendships. But before everyone
had clustered, Ohaern beckoned the half-elf to him. Lucoyo’s heart leaped—did
he truly have a friend? He went.

“You
shall travel with us, archer,” Ohaern told him. “I need your nimble wits and
nimbler hands, and with my bulk to back you, we should be unbeatable.”

Lucoyo
grinned, sensing genuine liking beneath the excuse. “Why, thank you, smith! I
will be glad indeed of the protection of your hammer! But with whom do we
travel?”

“With
me,” said Manalo. “Or will that make you uneasy, Lucoyo?”

The
half-elf looked up at him slowly, and admitted frankly, “A little—but I shall
master it. Where do we wander, O Sage?”

They
wandered to the west, away from the path and between the great trees—but they
left last, watching the other dozen bands go off one by one, each waiting,
chatting and resting, until the one before it was a goodly distance ahead.
Three went by the path; three to the east through the forest and toward the
river; four to the south and southeast, to circle around and find the stream;
and three to the north, to swing down to the flood in their own turn. Only
Manalo, Ohaern, and Lucoyo went west, to take the longest circle and come last
to the river, so that they might catch up and aid any who might come to grief.

“The
Klaja will have a merry time trying to track
this
band, if they seek to,”
Lucoyo said with a grin. “Why do we wait?”

“For
magic.” Ohaern pointed at Manalo, who leaned upon his staff, looking back at
the campsite and singing softly as he watched. Lucoyo frowned, watching, too,
wondering what the sage was up to now. He waited and waited, growing more and
more impatient, and was about to demand they leave when he saw a small animal
come hesitantly from the far edge of the clearing. It was a stoat, and another
joined it from another quarter, then another and another. They came forward,
meeting in the center of the clearing. The sage nodded, murmuring, encouraging.
The little creatures looked up at him, then at one another, then began to
spread their scent all over the clearing and back into the trees.

Manalo
turned away to join the two Biriae, chuckling. “Let the Klaja try to track our
bands by scent raw!”

“I
could almost feel sorry for them.” Lucoyo wrinkled his nose, trying to fan away
the rancid, musky smell.

“I
could indeed,” Ohaern agreed, “if I did not remember what they would do to one
of our bands if they found them. Where did you learn
that
trick,
Teacher?”

“That
is a story in itself, and too long to tell now,” Manalo said. “But the spell is
short, and worth learning. Repeat the words after me, and I will tell you their
meaning.”

He
began to recite syllables that seemed like nonsense to Lucoyo, and that would
not stick in his mind, even when the sage explained their meaning in an ancient
tongue—but Ohaern scowled in furious concentration and nodded again and again,
repeating the syllables perfectly time after time, until Manalo was satisfied
that he had memorized them. Lucoyo stared at the smith with surprise, and not a
little awe. What manner of man was this? He was supposed to be merely a hunk of
muscle, with a brain that worked only for hunting, fighting, and forging
weapons! Was it possible that a man could be more than he seemed—more, perhaps,
than even he himself knew?

In
mid-afternoon they came out of the forest and into a rough land of rocky
outcrops, low bushes, and tough grass. Lucoyo looked about him and shivered. “What
place is this, Teacher?”

“The
Hard Country,” Manalo replied, “and though none live here, it is a sacred place
to many tribes.”

“Sacred?”
Lucoyo looked up, startled. “How could so bleak a place be sacred to any?”

“It
has a rough beauty all its own,” Manalo answered, “though that is easier to see
at sunrise and sunset than it is now. Wait until we come to higher ground and
look about you.”

Lucoyo
followed. He was willing to wait, but he doubted he would see anything to glory
in.

They
wound their way up a rocky trail, and Ohaern found himself wondering who had
worn this pathway in the rock and hard-packed earth, if none lived here. Surely
there could not be so many wild tribesmen wandering this land as to leave
trails!

They
came out onto the top, and Manalo stopped them with an upraised hand, suddenly
tense. Ohaern and Lucoyo looked up—and saw them, rank upon rank of bleached
rough human forms, like those a mother makes from a dough of meal and water to
amuse little children. Their heads were devoid of hair, they were so lumpy that
they seemed to have no joints, and their hands were rough mitten shapes with no
fingers. Their feet were long lumps, and for faces they had only two pock-marks
for eyes, another where a nose should be, and a slash for a mouth. But those
mitten hands held clubs and primitive spears, sticks shaved to a point and
hardened in fire, lethal for all their rudeness.

“What
are they, Teacher?” Ohaern asked.

“The
homunculi Agrapax made for Ulahane,” Manalo answered, his aspect somber, “and
whom Lomallin fought to free.”

The
gashes of mouths yawned open to issue a warbling wail, and the homunculi
charged.

“Archer,
your bow!” Ohaern cried as he drew his sword. As Lucoyo strung his bow, Ohaern
leaped in front of Manalo and slashed in a frenzy—but every wound that opened
in the dough bodies failed to bleed, or even to show muscle and veins. Instead
it showed inside only what was outside—bland flesh—and the wounds closed,
healing even as Ohaern cut again. The pointed sticks, though, scored his chest
and arms, and the clubs struck bruising blows on his arms and legs. The
homunculi were not strong enough for any one blow they dealt to break a bone,
but they struck the same places again and again . ..

Lucoyo
dropped to one knee, nocking an arrow, and loosed. It lanced into a dough-man
who was swinging a club, and threw the swing off just enough so that it missed
Ohaern— but the homunculus did not drop his weapon, nor cry out in anything but
anger. Lucoyo followed the first shaft with another that skewered the
homunculus through the center of the chest, if a chest it was—but the dough-man
did not even notice. He only swung his club again, and this time it struck
Ohaern’s head. He staggered and fell.

With
a keening cry, Lucoyo dropped his bow and sprang to stand over Ohaern’s body,
drawing his long knife and bracing himself for the onslaught of the
homunculi—but Manalo stood forth between the host of pale bodies and the fallen
chieftain, holding his hands up and crying out in an ancient tongue. The clumsy
advance slowed and halted. The leader of the homunculi replied in the same
incomprehensible syllables, and from the intonation, it seemed to be a
question. Manalo answered, and the leader—or perhaps the one to his left, or
the one to his right, or two or three away; they looked identical to Ohaern and
Lucoyo—responded with a statement. Manalo answered at some length, and Lucoyo
began to grow impatient. Ohaern must have seen the signs of it, for he said, “Patience,
archer. His words are our best shield now.” He made to sit up—and a dozen
homunculi raised their weapons at his first movement, but held them still as he
continued to rise, very, very slowly.

Manalo
turned to speak down to them. “The homunculi understand now why you thought
they attacked you. For their part, they could not understand why
you
seemed to be attacking
them.”

“Our
apologies, then,” Ohaern said. “It is not good for those who could be friends
to fight one another.”

Manalo
spoke to the homunculi, and there was general muttering, in thin and tinny
voices, with nods of agreement.

“Do
nods mean the same to them that they do to us?” Lucoyo asked.

“Yes,”
Manalo told him, “and that is what they mean— ‘yes,’ or in this case, agreement
and acceptance.”

Ohaern
began to stand. Again the homunculi braced their weapons, but did not strike.
Slowly, he regained his feet. “Archer, give me an arrow.”

“I
thought we did not intend to fight them.” But Lucoyo passed him an arrow
anyway—then bit back a cry of alarm as Ohaern gave the shaft to one of the
homunculi. They made noises of approval, and the leader presented his spear to
Ohaern, making a long, metallic-sounding speech.

“He
thanks you for your gift,” Manalo said, “and gives you one in return. He
realizes that by giving him the means of wounding, you have shown trust in him,
so he now shows trust in you.”

“Tell
him that I thank him,” Ohaern said, “and trust him m-deed, for I think we must
be friends who fight the same foe.” He passed the spear to Lucoyo. “I give his
weapon to the friend who gave me the shaft to give him, in token that we both
give and accept the trust of the homunculi.”

Manalo
translated. The homunculi set up a positive buzz of approval this time.

But
Lucoyo gave the spear a jaundiced glance. He wasn’t all that certain that he
wished to be an ally of such creatures, no matter how doughty. However, he
reminded himself that he did not wish them for his enemies, at least not in
such numbers, so he took the shaft, forced a smile, and made a slight bow.

Then
the leader beckoned. Manalo said, “He asks that you hold to both shafts, as he
does.”

Lucoyo
was only too glad to give back the spear.

Ohaern
held it out, and the homunculus clasped it a foot above Ohaern’s hand. He held
forth the arrow; Ohaern grasped it, but the homunculus held fast. With both of
them holding both shafts, the homunculus began to drone.

“He
says that you are comrades in arms now,” Manalo said, “and that if his people
call upon yours, you will come to their aid.”

Lucoyo
stared in alarm, but Ohaern said, “We shall set forth on the instant.”

Manalo
translated, and the homunculus nodded, eyes glinting, and rattled on again. “For
his part,” said the sage, “he promises that he and his people shall do
likewise, that they shall come on the instant at which you call them, and that
if you have need of them, you have but to call out this phrase ...”

The
homunculus proceeded to make a series of sounds that, to Lucoyo, sounded like
nothing so much as the chipping of flints and the clatter of metal.

“Repeat
it,” Manalo advised, “so that he knows that you know.”

Ohaern
tried, but apparently had it wrong, for the homunculus shook his head and
repeated the phrase, much more slowly. Ohaern tried again, and Lucoyo could
have sworn he had duplicated it, but the homunculus corrected him and repeated
the phrase in pieces, waiting for Ohaern to repeat each section, then recited
it all again, and Ohaern recited it, too. After two more repetitions, the
homunculus nodded, satisfied, and let go of the arrow.

“He
is satisfied that you can call him at need,” Manalo said. “Surrender the spear
to him again and go your way.”

Ohaern
let go, saying, “Shall I not give him a gift?”

“It
is not necessary, and might be misunderstood. He has your goodwill; he knows,
and has felt it. That is all that is necessary.”

Then,
with much bowing and mutually unintelligible protestations, they took leave of
the dough-men. When they had disappeared around a rocky outcrop, Lucoyo let out
a long breath and suddenly felt wobbly in the knees. He clutched at the nearest
boulder for support.

“Buck
up, my friend.” Ohaern’s arm was about Lucoyo’s shoulders, though he did not
look terribly well-braced himself. “I am sure we shall see more strange sights
than that before we are done.”

They
saw the next when darkness fell that night.

They
camped in the lee of a rocky outcrop, but as Lucoyo knelt to lay the fire,
Manalo said, “Not so close to the stone, archer.”

“Why
not?” Lucoyo looked up in surprise. “When the sun goes, the fire will warm the
cliff and give us heat from back as well as front!”

“That
is true,” said Manalo, “but this cliff face is no ordinary stone.”

“No,
I see that—it is black, and glitters so that I could swear I see my face in it!”

Manalo
nodded. “‘It will also burn.”

Both
men stared at him as if he were insane. Then Ohaern asked, “Burning rock?”