Angus Wells - The God Wars 01 (17 page)

 
          
Varent
nodded, beaming.

 
          
"The
only true map in existence, Calandryll. A map that shows exactly where
Tezin-dar is to be found. More, it shows the dangers that lie in wait. Without
both, Tezin- dar remains hidden in the swamplands; a legend. The two combined,
however, enable staunch-hearted explorers to locate the fabled city; warns them
of the perils they must face."

 
          
He
paused, his aquiline features growing solemn.

 
          
"You
have done much already. Are you sine you would do more? Safer to remain in
Secca, let there be no doubt of that."

 
          
"And
risk Azumandias's success? Risk his raising the Mad God?" Calandryll shook
his head. "No, Lord Varent—I am with you."

 
          
Varent
grasped his hands. "Dera guided me to you, Calandryll, and I thank her
that she gave me so stout a comrade."

 
          
Calandryll
smiled. Varent gestured at the map.

 
          
"Best
keep that with you. I do not entirely trust your father to leave my baggage
unexamined. Now, as to your ... is
escape
the right word? I found your
mercenary and he will be waiting for us beyond the walls. I have paid him one
hundred varre, and promised four hundred more on arrival in Aldarin,- another
five hundred on your return from Gessyth—his loyalty is secured.

 
          
"As
for you, my promise stands. Can you gain my quarters unseen?"

 
          
Calandryll
nodded.

 
          
"Good,"
said Varent. "I depart after the morning meal—come to me then."

 
          
"There
will be ceremony; my father will escort you to the walls," Calandryll said
nervously. "How shall I go unseen? I am forbidden to venture beyond the
confines of the palace, even. The guards have orders ..."

 
          
Varent
waved a casually dismissive hand, stilling his protests.

 
          
"Trust
me. Come to my quarters and I assure you, you shall depart Secca with me."
His dark eyes twinkled with amusement, conspiratorial. "We play a magical
game, Calandryll, and magic shall win you freedom."

 
          
Calandryll
would have plied him with further questions, but Varent smiled and retrieved
his cloak, draping the sable cloth about his shoulders as he crossed to the
window. Once again Calandryll gazed in wonderment as he stepped onto the
balcony and murmured a few words in a voice too low to decipher, seeing the
moonlit air shimmer, like water disturbed by the submarine passage of a fish,
rippling silvery where Varent stood and then was gone, the scent of almonds
fading behind him.

 
          
He
closed the window, bemused by the ambassador's occult talents.

 
          
Magic
was not unknown in Lysse, but by no means common, and those glamours he had
experienced were of more mundane variety. He had seen magicians perform for the
amusement of the court, producing live animals from thin air, causing borrowed
objects to disappear, and the Domm's necromancer had several times raised
ghosts on Bylath's command, but he had never witnessed a man transport himself
as Varent did. Perhaps that was how the ambassador intended to bring him out of
Secca. With that thought in mind, he hid the chart among his clothing, then
prepared to sleep.

 
          
He
dreamed again, but this time there was no fear, no apprehension of danger.
Instead, he flew above the city, looking down on the close-packed, crowded streets,
where his father and brother scurried hither and thither, seeking him but never
thinking to look to the sky, where he soared. Excitement filled him as he
drifted toward the walls, passing over the ramparts to sail above the fields
beyond, and then laughter as Secca dwindled behind him and he tasted the heady
wine of freedom.

 
          
He
woke with the dream fresh in his mind and early sunlight on his face, leaping
instantly from his bed so that he was waiting when servants brought hot water
and food.

 
          
He
bathed swiftly and gobbled his breakfast as he dressed. Breeks of supple brown
leather and high boots, a loose white shirt, a jerkin of sturdy leather:
clothes suitable for travel, but not so obvious that alert eyes might discern
his intent. He thought to buckle on a sword, but forwent that protection,
deeming it too manifest an announcement of his hopes. He tucked the map beneath
his jerkin and, assuming a casual air, left his chambers.

 
          
Servants
worked in the corridors of the palace, but they paid him little enough
attention as he strolled toward

 
          
Varent's
quarters, accustomed to his random wanderings, so that he reached the
ambassador's door without attracting undue notice.

 
          
Outside,
he glanced around. Three women scrubbed the tiled floor, their faces turned
from him: he tapped on the door and slipped inside.

 
          
Varent
awaited him behind the remains of a hearty breakfast. He was already dressed,
splendid in blue and gold, the insignia of Aldarin emblazoned on his chest, his
dark hair oiled, held back from his handsome face with a fillet of silver. He
rose, beaming, as Calandryll entered.

 
          
"You
were not seen?"

 
          
"No."
Calandryll shook his head. "Only some servants, and they did not see me
come in."

 
          
"You
have the map?"

 
          
Calandryll
nodded, patting his jerkin.

 
          
"Good."
Varent beckoned. "Now come here—it is time to effect your disguise."

 
          
He
moved close to Calandryll, his hands raised, palms outward, and began to murmur
softly. The smell of almonds wafted on the air. Varent extended his hands,
cupping Calandryll's cheeks, the touch intimate and oddly embarrassing.
Calandryll felt his skin tingle, his hair prickle; Varent placed both hands on
his head, still murmuring: a droning undertone. The odor of almonds grew
stronger, then dissipated. Varent stepped back.

 
          
"It
is done: you will not be recognized. Stay close to me and any who see you will
assume you one of my retinue."

 
          
Calandryll
looked down: his clothes remained unchanged. He turned to a mirror: saw
himself. He frowned.

 
          
"Trust
me," urged Varent. "You see yourself as you are because you know
yourself. To anyone else you now appear a somewhat homely fellow, with brown
hair and a sizable wart on your chin. I rather like that touch."

 
          
"Shall
I remain so?" Calandryll asked warily.

 
          
"No!"
Varent laughed, shaking his head. "Once we are beyond your father's
boundaries I shall change you back. I promise!"

 
          
Calandryll
nodded, nervous now despite his excitement.

 
          
"We
need only await your father's summons," Varent said, confidently,
"and then we shall be gone. There's no need to look so wary—my word on
it."

 
          
Calandryll
nodded again: he was anxious to go, to end this waiting. His mouth was dry now
and his heart beat alarmingly against his ribs. For all Varent's casual
confidence, he was still not entirely sure of success, and the servant who
brought the announcement that the Domm awaited the ambassador seemed both the
harbinger of good tidings and the bringer of alarming news; he was not certain
which.

 
          
"So,
let us go."

 
          
Varent
clapped him on the shoulder and strode confidently from the chamber, leaving
Calandryll no choice but to follow in his wake.

 
          
In
the corridor outside, the ambassador's small retinue waited, accompanied by an
honor guard of palace soldiers. Varent beamed at them, offering cheerful greetings,
and walked leisurely to the wide staircase that descended to the main entry
hall. Calandryll stayed close behind the tall man, his heart pounding loud
enough, he thought, it must sound an alarm of his escape.

 
          
Bylath
waited for them near the doors, dressed formally in a robe of green, a heavy
ceremonial chain about his neck. Tobias stood beside him, wearing light armor,
a sword on his belt, a silver helm in the crook of his arm. Behind, a squadron
of twenty lancers stood at attention, silent and stem as the Domm bade his
guest farewell.

 
          
Calandryll
stood listening to the formal exchanges, his eyes downcast. He felt sweat bead
his brow
_;
swallowed hard as his father's eyes strayed in his
direction, and gaped as they passed over him without the slightest hint of
recognition. He raised his head then and stared at Tobias. His brother glanced
at him incuriously, a cursory look devoid of comprehension: no more than the
casual inspection of a faceless servitor. He heard his father offer apologies
for his absence, and Varent dismiss it, then they were moving out through the
doors into the courtyard beyond.

 
          
A
small, gaily decorated wagon stood there: Varent's servants loaded the baggage
on board and the ambassador nudged Calandryll.

 
          
"Take
the wagon."

 
          
He
climbed onto the seat beside a solemn-faced driver wearing the livery of
Aldarin and clearly too conscious of the occasion to engage in casual
conversation. His taciturnity suited Calandryll, who settled himself
comfortably, beginning to enjoy the benefits of his disguise.

 
          
Varent
mounted a tall chestnut horse, caparisoned in blue and gold to match his
clothes, flanked by Bylath and Tobias, and the ambassador's retinue took up
position behind. The lancers mounted, forming into two squads at the head and
rear of the party, and Bylath nodded to Tobias, who raised a hand and bellowed
the order to proceed.

 
          
The
wagon's driver shook his reins, calling to the four matched white horses, and
the beasts lunged against the traces, the metal-shod wheels rumbling over the
flagstones of the courtyard, accompanied by the clatter of hooves. Ahead, the
palace gates stood open, guardsmen lined in ceremonial columns with upraised
halberds, saluting as the riders went past.

 
          
Calandryll
began to smile as the shadow of the arch crossed his face and he saw the broad
avenue leading through Secca stretch out before him. Townsfolk stood there,
waving and cheering as the party moved at a walk into the town: obviously
Varent's magic was as strong as promised.

 
          
They
paraded the avenue and passed into the Lords Gate, where nobles stood on their
balconies to see them go by. Calandryll saw Nadama there, lovely in a white
gown, her hair caught up in a net of gold filigree, and his smile waned as
Tobias bowed in his saddle, the greeting answered enthusiastically. She did not
see Calandryll, her gaze rapturous on his brother, and he slumped, his
excitement dulled by the knowledge that he would not see her until he returned;
that she could not know of his great quest until it was done.

 
          
But
then ... What would she think then? Might her smile not be for him?

 
          
He
consoled himself with the thought as the wagon rumbled on through the quarter
into the Fletchers Gate, then through the Bridlesmith Gate into the Brewers
Quarter and the city walls loomed ahead.

 
          
The
sun was shining out of a clear blue sky, painting the white stone of the walls
with an overlay of golden light, glinting on the armor of the legionaries
paraded along the ramparts. The massive bulk of the west gate swung open and
the column halted as Tobias raised his hand. Calandryll sat, forgetting Nadama
as his excitement rose afresh, watching Bylath lean across in his saddle to
embrace Varent; Tobias take the ambassador's hand. Then they were moving again,
the lancers parting to either side, Varent lifting his chestnut to a brisk
trot, his own escort matching pace. Calandryll passed his father, passed
Tobias, looking at them both, their own eyes focused on the figure of the
ambassador.