Angus Wells - The God Wars 01 (49 page)

 
          
Calandryll
and Bracht settled against the wall again. The morning dragged slowly on, their
stomachs reminding them they had not eaten in some time, nor been offered
water, the pain of bound hands and cramped shoulders a constant thing, going
almost unnoticed now.

 
          
Toward
noon
the smoke serpents began to roil and
dissipate, breaking up like the cloud, and Anomius visited them again.

 
          
"You
saw my little trick?" he asked proudly. "I find it especially
satisfying to turn an opponent's magic against him. There'll be red eyes and
roughened throats in Kesham-vaj now. Could your Varent den Tarl do that?"
 
         
"I
think not," Calandryll said. "I think Lord Varent a lesser
mage."

 
          
"And
your father," Anomius beamed, flattered, "does the Domm of Secca
employ sorcerers of like power?"

 
          
"None
to match you."

 
          
Anomius
nodded, still smiling, hugely pleased with himself. "I've his measure now,"
he declared. "I think tonight I'll test him further. Perhaps tomorrow
Sathoman's impatience shall be ended."

 
          
"You'll
take the town?"

 
          
The
wizard beamed and tapped his bulbous nose.

 
          
"I
think it's time. I think we've lingered long enough, and likely word of these
events finds its way to Nhur- jabal ere long—perhaps the Tyrant will send an
army. I'd see Kesham-vaj secured against that."

 
          
"And
then," Calandryll asked, "what becomes of us?"

 
          
Anomius's
smile dissolved into a thoughtful frown, parchment features creasing into a
myriad wrinkles, the watery eyes hooding.

 
          
"I've
thought on your story," he said softly, "but I've yet to decide your
fate. Sathoman would execute you now, did I not persuade him to delay a
while."

 
          
"There's
a thing I did not tell you." Calandryll paused, thirst-furred tongue
licking over dry lips, heart beating furiously. "Lord Varent is not the
only one to seek the grimoire.”

          
 
“What! Anger flashed in the warlock's eyes.
"You hold things back? Best tell me all, Calandryll den Karynth, lest I
test your faulty memory on your comrade's body."

 
          
"There's
a mage--Azumandias, he's called—who knows of the book. And of the map."
Calandryll swallowed, his throat ashy, his mind working furiously. "He has
some inkling of Tezin-dar's location, but needs the stone—needs me!—to reach
the grimoire."

 
          
"A
race? You say there's a race for this fabulous book?"

 
          
"Yes."
Calandryll fought the discomfort of his bound wrists, the hunger that
threatened to confuse his thoughts when most he needed cunning, deciding that
again truth—or a basis of truth, at least—offered him the most effective ploy
in this deadly game. "On the road to Aldarin he sent demons against us.
And when we sailed from Secca we were pursued by his agent. In Mherut'yi, I was
attacked by one of the Brotherhood."

           
"The Chaipaku take a hand in
this?" Anomius demanded.

 
          
"It
seems so," Calandryll nodded, regretting the movement when his head spun
and began to ache. "At least, I woke to find one in my room."

 
          
"And
lived?"

 
          
Anomius
was doubtful. Calandryll began to nod again; thought better of it and said,
"As you see—yes. Bracht intervened."

 
          
"You
defeated a Chaipaku?"

 
          
The
wizard transferred his attention to the Kern, his gaze met with a cold, blue
stare.

 
          
"Yes,"
Bracht said, "I slew him. But he was only a boy."

 
          
"Nonetheless
impressive," Anomius said. "The Chaipaku are not easy to
defeat."

 
          
"At
least we are safe here," said Calandryll. "Though Azumandias may find
some other way to locate the grimoire."

 
          
"With
neither map nor stone to aid him?"

 
          
Suspicion
danced in the small eyes: Calandryll cursed his slip; struggled to find a
convincing answer.

 
          
"Perhaps
not," he said. "I know only what Lord Varent told me—that the map
shows the way to Tezin-dar, and the stone the way to the book. I am no
sorcerer—I know not what powers Azumandias wields."

 
          
"But,
like Varent, he seeks the grimoire?" Anomius demanded.

 
          
"Aye.
And Lord Varent feared him. Feared he might succeed. Perhaps there are other
ways; perhaps the stone simply offers the swiftest."

 
          
"More
food to nourish thought," Anomius murmured. "I'll ponder what you
say."

 
          
Without
further delay he rose and left them alone.

 
          
"Does
he take the bait?" Calandryll asked.

 
          
Bracht
frowned. "He nibbles, I think. I cannot say; but you can do no more."

 
          
The
day grew older. The cloud that had edged the horizon swept closer, white
hammerheads lofting from the billows. A wind got up, bringing the smells of
cookfires to worsen their hunger. Sathoman's men busied themselves about the
town, and late in the afternoon Anomius returned, a soldier with him. It seemed
a favorable omen that the man brought food: cold meat and bread, a little
cheese, a flask of water. He set his burdens down and stood back, hand on sword
hilt as the wizard faced them.

 
          
"I'll
loose your bonds,"Anomius said, "so that you may eat. The door spell
remains—make no attempt to cross the threshold."

 
          
He
pointed at them, each in turn, and muttered something that loosed the cords
from their wrists. Calandryll groaned as the freed blood flowed like fire
through his fingers. Beside him Bracht flexed his hands, and worked at
shoulders cramped by long confinement. Neither touched the food or water until
some measure of mobility had returned, but then they drank long and deep, and
consumed the food with a voracity that left no room for conversation until the
last morsels were gone.

 
          
"I
doubt," Bracht said carefully, "that he would bother feeding men
about to die."

 
          
"And
our gear remains."

 
          
Calandryll
gestured at the satchel, the swords, left carelessly in the angle of the shed's
broken wall.

 
          
"For
what good it does us." Bracht buckled on his falchion. "Though
perhaps it means something."

 
          
"We
can only wait," Calandryll said, taking his own blade. "Wait and
hope."

 
          
They
waited through a night filled with the alarms of battle, both usual and
magical. They heard arrows sigh through the darkness, and the shouts of men,
attacking and ambushed, the clash of steel on steel. Twice it seemed the sky
over Kesham-vaj took fire, and twice a wind not of natural making roared,
gusting against the flame. Three times great thunderclaps dinned across the
plateau, and once they watched as spectral beasts fought in the sky,
things
composed of many parts
joined in abnormal union, ripping at one another until only shimmering tatters
remained, fading back into a night sweet with the scent of almonds, the
talisman at Calandryll's throat pulsing fiery. Red-eyed, they saw dawn overtake
the darkness, and that misty pearl give way to sunshine that lanced through
heavy banks of cloua.

 
          
Then
Anomius came to them again. Dark shadows ringed his eyes and his sallow skin
was blanched with an unhealthy pallor, but he appeared mightily pleased with
himself.

 
          
"An
impressive display, do you not agree?" he asked amiably, settling himself
on a stool, uncaring of the blades they wore. "The Tyrant's mage is close
to exhaustion, and he's reached the limits of his ability. I shall have a
victory today and Sathoman ek'Hennem shall enter Kesham-vaj as conqueror. My little
spy tells me that Mherut'yi has fallen, so once we've taken this place my lord
will truly rule the Fayne. Whatever force the Tyrant may send against him, his
position is strong. By Burash, am I not a giant among sorcerers?"

 
          
"Indeed,
you are," Calandryll agreed.

 
          
"And
you wear your swords as if ready to depart," Anomius chuckled. "Or to
sell yourselves as dear you may."

 
          
"Which
is it to be?" Bracht demanded.

 
          
"Blunt,"
said the wizard, "so blunt. The warriors of Cuan na'For have near as
little patience as Sathoman."

 
          
"If
I face death," Bracht said evenly, "I'd know it."

 
          
Anomius
chuckled again, a whispering sound, its humor coldly threatening. He scratched
an armpit, staring at them.

 
          
"With
Kesham-vaj taken," he murmured, "Sathoman can hold the Fayne without
my help. For a while, at least. And did I hold this fabulous grimoire, I'd
wield such power as must cause the Tyrant's puppets to bow before me. Yes! And
the Tyrant, too."

 
          
He
paused, studying them each in turn. Beyond him Sathoman's men readied for an
assault, checking armor, whetting blades. Calandryll returned his stare, aware
that his heart beat nervously against his ribs, aware that his life—likely even
the world's survival—hung on the decision of this little man.

 
          
"I
think," Anomius said at last, "that perhaps I shall leave Sathoman to
fend for himself for a while. I think that perhaps I shall journey with you to
Tezin-dar."

 
          
Calandryll
heard his breath come out in a long sigh and realized for the first time that
he had held it.

 
          
"Yes,"
Anomius continued, "I do not think your Varent den Tarl worthy of this
book. Nor this Azumandias. I shall have it! And you shall bring me to it. Do
you make that bargain with me? In return, I offer you your lives."

 
          
"We
take it," Calandryll said.

 
          
Anomius
smiled and turned to Bracht.

 
          
"The
men of Cuan na'For hold their word sacred—do you give yours? That you will do
all you can to bring me safe to this grimoire?"

 
          
Bracht
stared at the warlock, and for a long, breath- held moment Calandryll thought
he would refuse: that honor would deny him the chance to survive. But then he
ducked his head.

 
          
"I
shall do all I can to bring you to the grimoire."

 
          
"Good,"
smiled Anomius, "I scarce need add that any treachery must unleash my
anger. Or that my anger is a terrible thing."

 
          
"We
have seen what you can do," Calandryll said.

 
          
"Then
you know what I can do to you," beamed the wizard. "Now I must leave
you—there's a town to be taken. You remain here for the while, but stand ready
to flee on my word."

 
          
They
nodded and watched him go, making for Sathoman's pavilion. Calandryll turned to
Bracht, his gaze worried.