Angus Wells - The God Wars 01 (45 page)

 
          
He
nodded and trailed after the Kem, through the scrub that decorated the rim,
glancing constantly at the fires. He was unaware of the red stone at his
throat, too intent on moving in silence, too aware of the brigands' proximity,
to notice when the stone began to glow.

 
          
He
felt its heat in the instant that light burst before them, as though some
separate bonfire was lit directly in their path, smelling almonds then and
cursing as his horse shied, rearing and screaming, seeing Bracht's animal do
the same, the freesword clinging grimly to the reins, falchion in hand even as
he swung into the saddle. He felt a hot wind gust, hurling him to the ground,
hooves flailing above him as the horse fought free of his grip and charged
madly into the night. He saw Bracht turn, fighting his panicked animal, and
lift from the saddle as if plucked by some giant, unseen hand.

 
          
The
Kem thudded to the ground and the same wind sent him rolling, over and over
until he stmck Calandryll, and the gusting shifted, blowing from above,
downward, pressing them flat, helpless against its force. The timbre of the
shouting about the bonfires altered as men came running, and the light faded,
the wind dying as threatening swords ringed them and a mild voice announced in
faultless Lyssian, "I have been waiting for you. I am called
Anomius."

 
          
“Intriguing,”
Anomius continued, as if no time had passed, no cords been bound about
their wrists or angry hands dragged them to the rains of a building, once a
cowshed by its smell, lit by the glow of the fires outside, all shifting shadow
within. "A warrior of Cuan na'For and a young noble, unless I miss my
guess, of Lysse traveling together. With a magic stone, a small fortune in gold
coin, and a map of Gessyth that purports to show the location of fabled
Tezin-dar. Intriguing. Absolutely intriguing."

 
          
He
paused, studying them speculatively, a small man, unimpressive in his soiled
black robe, strands of age-yellowed hair escaping from beneath his headdress to
coil about a sallow face in which watery eyes sat too close to bulbous nose.
They stared back, not speaking, resting against the wall.

 
          
"Adventurers?
Seekers after the lost city's gold? Or something else? Rumor has it that
Tezin-dar holds secrets forgotten since the gods fought. Power then? Do you
seek the gramaryes of tne Old Ones?" He smiled, pale lips exposing stained
teeth, eyes twinkling with something that might have been amusement—or
madnessspeaking again without awaiting reply, more interested, it seemed, in
his own musings than in any response. "And yet not versed in the occult
arts—no warlocks, for sure. Are stone and map stolen, then? Trophies?
Happenstance thefts from some Lyssian mage, taken up in hopes of for tune? And
the coin—from the same source?" He chuckled softly, a twittering, avian
sound, and shook his head. "That stone might have saved you, boy, had you
known better how to use it. It warned you of my little watcher, did it not?
Back there in the cowherd's bam? You frightened him, you know, for he's a timid
creature. But my bird you could not frighten. Did you see him, watching you,
his eyes mine? No matter: you are come here and now I shall have answers of
you."

 
          
"Arrhiman
and Laphyl are dead."

 
          
A
figure blocked the doorway, hiding the light, the voice angry. Anomius shrugged
carelessly and stepped aside.

 
          
"My
lord Sathoman ek'Hennem, Lord of the Fayne."

 
          
"Burash!"
Sathoman grunted, "Give me light. Am I a bat that I can see in the
dark?"

 
          
"I
forget, my lord, that you lack my ability."

 
          
Anomius
raised a hand and brilliance sparkled in his palm, spreading to illuminate the
shed. Calandryll stared at the renegade lord. Sathoman was huge, perhaps the
largest man he had seen, his head close to what remained of the roof. He stood
bareheaded, a mane of reddish hair falling about a dark and furious face, mingling
with beard and thick mustaches so that he appeared wild, like some beast, or
changeling. Heavy brows overhung deep-set eyes, the black glinting in the light
of the wizard's magical torch. He wore a cuirass of dragon's hide, red as his
hair, and vambraces of the same hue on muscle-corded arms, greaves on columnar
legs. A longsword was sheathed on his waist, and a hand ax. He eyed the
prisoners: Calandryll felt as must a sheep, inspected by a butcher.

 
          
"Kill
them."

 
          
Sathoman
turned away, halted by the wizard's soft voice.

 
          
"Unwise,
my lord; yet."

 
          
"What?"

 
          
The
great head swung to face Anomius, hairy lips parted in a snarl of animal
ferocity. The wizard smiled, untroubled.

 
          
"My
lord, I warned you of their coming. Arrhiman and Laphyl were careless—they
should not have let the Kern get close."

 
          
"The
Kern slew them? Then kill him. Have your way with the other."

 
          
"I
think not," Anomius said. "I sense a joindure here— a shared
purpose—and something else. I think the one useless without the other."

 
          
"Riddles,"
Sathoman barked. "Burash's eyes, mage, why must you always talk in
riddles?"

 
          
"It
is my way," Anomius replied, unabashed.

 
          
"And
it is my way to execute those who slay my people," roared the giant.
"Arrhiman and Laphyl lie with slit throats and I've a town to take.
Burash, man, we've planned this long enough! It was your magic brought that
cursed lictor out where we could kill him, and now I need you to pave a way
into Kesham-vaj. Kill them—or watch as I do it."

 
          
He
drew his sword. The blade glittered in the unnatural light: Calandryll felt his
stomach clench, his mouth dry. From the corner of his eye he saw Bracht tense
and knew that even bound, the Kern would not go easily.

 
          
"My
lord—wait!" Anomius needed to crane back his head to meet the giant's
eyes, but in his manner there was nothing of subservience; rather, Calandryll
sensed, he focused his will on Sathoman. "Now or tomorrow, what does it
matter when they die? We have them and they shall not escape. You've my word on
that—and you know my word is good."

 
          
Beneath
the mild tone there was a hint of steel: Sathoman faltered, chewing at his
mustaches. Calandryll licked his lips.

 
          
"They
offer no threat, not now," the wizard said. "Kesham-vaj shall be
yours, and from Kesham-vaj you'll hold the road. Command the way into the
Fayne. You'll hold the Tyrant at bay—Kesham-vaj's the gate to the northern
Reaches, just as I told you. I'll give you Kesham- vaj; and Mherut'yi, after.
You'll rule the Fayne undisputed, and all the eastern coast from the
Shann
Desert
to Mhazomul. These two are no threat to
that."

 
          
The
sword lowered. Sathoman glowered at the diminutive mage, then sheathed the
blade.

 
          
"Why
plead for them?"

 
          
"Not
for their lives, my lord. I plead for a little time, no more. I'd know why a
Lyssian and a Kern travel
Kandahar
. Indulge my curiosity—it shall cost you nothing, and perhaps gain you
some advantage."

 
          
"You'll
give me Kesham-vaj?"

 
          
"Within
days, my lord. My word on it."

 
          
The
giant grunted, shrugged.

 
          
"After
..." Anomius smiled, "Kill them at your will."

 
          
Sathoman
nodded slowly, snaggy head turning to settle angry eyes on the prisoners.
"So be it, mage. They're yours for the moment. But I'd make an example of
them."

 
          
"Of
them and Kesham-vaj both, my lord." Anomius inclined his head slightly.
Sathoman favored him with a brief, feral smile and spun on his heel, striding
into the night. The wizard returned his attention to Calandryll and Bracht.

 
          
"So
impatient—all blood and fire, like his father before him. Burash knows, it took
me long enough to persuade him to this plan and with success in sight he wants
it now. Always now! He'd slay you and regret the loss later—if regret were in
his nature."

 
          
He
sighed sadly, shaking his head as if discussing the behavior of a willful
child, folding his hands inside the voluminous sleeves of his robe, for all the
world like a pedagogue.

 
          
"But
we have a little time and much to learn. Shall we commence with names? Who are
you?"

 
          
Calandryll
stared at him, confused by his manner. Anomius clicked tongue against teeth.
Bracht said, "Do you not know, wizard? Does your power not extend to so
simple a thing?"

 
          
Anomius
sighed again, his parchment features mournful.

 
          
"The
folk of Cuan na'For were ever obstinate. You've witnessed what I can do—would
you have me draw out your names with magic? You might not enjoy the
experience."

 
          
"I
take no joy of bonds or threats of death," Bracht snarled defiantly.

 
          
"So
be it."

 
          
Anomius
withdrew a hand from his sleeve. Leveled a finger tipped with a blunt, chipped
nail at the Kem, and murmured soft words. Bracht gasped, mouth opening.
Calandryll felt the red stone pulse heat against his chest, aware of its glow
even as he stared, aghast, at his comrade. Bracht struggled against the
sorcerer's will: his lips drew back from gritted teeth, tendons standing out
along his neck, sweat on cheeks and brows, a strangled growling that gradually
shaped words bursting unwillingly from his straining throat.

 
          
"I
am ... Bracht ... ni Errhyn ... of ... the clan ... Asyth ... of ... Cuan
na'For."

 
          
"Excellent,"
murmured Anomius, lowering his hand.

 
          
Bracht
coughed, spat, his chest heaving.

 
          
"And
you?"

 
          
The
warlock turned to Calandryll.

 
          
"I
am Calandryll," he said quickly, seeing no point in struggle against that
power, "late of Secca."

 
          
Anomius
frowned.

 
          
"Your
family?"

 
          
"I
am outcast," he said. "I have no family."

 
          
"Come,"
said Anomius gently, "we all have family. To whom were you born?"

 
          
"Deny
him!" Bracht rasped. "Fight him! We're dead once he's done."

 
          
The
wizard swung a negligent hand in the Kem's direction and Bracht shouted, head
slamming back against the rough stone of the wall. He began to tremble,
palsied, spine arching, his legs thrusting straight, heels dramming furiously
against the dirty floor. Spittle flecked his lips and the whites of his eyes
showed bright, surrounding the blue. Anomius closed his hand in a fist and
Bracht screamed, back bending until he was supported on heels and head alone.
It seemed his spine must snap, or his heart burst.

 
          
"No!"
Calandryll yelled. "I'll tell you!"

 
          
Anomius
nodded and gestured, and Bracht slumped, panting, stretched on the floor.

 
          
"Calandryll
den Karynth. My father is Bylath, Domm of
Secca."            
.

 
          
Interest
sparked in the wizard's small eyes. His head cocked, birdlike, to one side, a
finger stroking his turges- cent nose.

 
          
"So,
the son of Secca's domm. But outcast, you say?