Angus Wells - The God Wars 01 (56 page)

 
          
Bracht
grunted, satisfied, accepting the tea Calandryll offered. He sipped and glanced
at the wizard again.

 
          
"The
army likely lies between us and Nhur-jabal," he said after a while,
"so to avoid it we must take the forest trails. Do you know them?"

 
          
"I
have ways to know them," Anomius answered easily, more intent on the
sizzling venison then the free-sword's question.

 
          
"And
the Tyrant's road is the swiftest path to the coast, but passes through
Nhur-jabal."

 
          
"Yes."
Anomius nodded absently. "What of it?"

 
          
"Do
all the Tyrant's sorcerers ride with the army?"

 
          
"I
doubt it," the wizard murmured, and snorted scornfully. "The Tyrant
is a cautious man and he'll remain safe in his palace with sufficient of his
pets to ease his

 
          
"Then
how do we get by them?" Bracht demanded. "They'll know you for a
sorcerer, will they not?"

 
          
"Cautious
as ever," chuckled Anomius. "And correct—yes, if I go to Nhur-jabal
they'll sense my presence."

 
          
"Then
how do we reach Kharasul?"

 
          
"The
road's but one way." Anomius tapped his nose, smiling. "Nhur-jabal
lies in the foothills of the Kharm-rhanna, where the Tannyth river comes down
from the mountains. Above and below the city the river divides— the Yst flows
down to Cape Vishat'yi and the Shemme runs west to Kharasul. We must cross
south of Nhur-jabal and take passage down the Shemme."

 
          
Bracht
frowned, turning the meat. "A boat?" he demanded. "There's
nowhere to run on a boat."

 
          
"If
we avoid Nhur-jabal we'll not need to run," said Anomius. "The
Shemme's fast flowing and we'll be past aefore they know it. Trust me, my
friend. And if that venison's cooked, pass me some—I grow faint from
hunger."

 
          
As
if to emphasize his request his belly rumbled sonorously: Bracht plucked a
strip of meat from the flames and passed it across the fire. Anomius took it
and began to chew noisily, oblivious of the juices that dribbled down his
shallow chin and dripped onto his robe. More fastidious, Calandryll and Bracht
used their daggers to carve the meat, using slabs of journey bread for
platters.

 
          
The
night grew older and the moon showed above the glade, a waned yellow-white disk
against the star-spread due-black of the sky. There was no sign of the
quyvhal
and, with hunger satisfied, they rolled themselves in their blankets and
slept.

 
          
It
seemed that Calandryll had come to terms with the bloody necessities of the
journey, for his slumber was dreamless, untroubled until the red glow of the
stone penetrated his closed lids and he woke, eyes opening to find Anomius
squatted before the silvery shape of his magical observer.

 
          
Dawn
was close, the moon gone and the stars lost in he nebulous grey that replaced
the blue velvet of night. Dew glistened on the grass and he heard a horse
snort, stamping once. The
quyvhal
was settled on its haunches, the huge
black eyes intent on the wizard's face, the slitted mouth open, emitting a
high-pitched whistling sound in which Calandryll could discern no words. He saw
Bracht awake, like him watching the strange conversation. The fluting ended and
Anomius reached out, patting he oversized head, the
quyvhal
arching its
back as might a cat caressed by its owner. Then the wizard opened the leather
sack and murmured softly, and the
quyvhal
shrank, dwindling to a glimmer
of pale light that hopped into the bag, Anomius tightening the drawstrings and
tucking the pouch beneath his robe. He moved closer to the fire, adding timber,
and saw that he was observed.

 
          
"The
army lies between us and Nhur-jabal," he declared as the fire sprang to
fresh life, "perhaps three days off, by my pet's reckoning. A squadron of
cavalry guided by foresters forms the advance guard, half a day ahead of the
main body."

 
          
Calandryll
yawned, stretching; Bracht moved to the fire, setting water to heat.

 
          
"Back
at the inn the landlord spoke of a town— Bhalusteen—within a few days'
ride," the Kem murmured. "Must we avoid it?"

 
          
"The
army will reach Bhalusteen today," Anomius nodded, hands scratching
vigorously beneath his robe, "so, yes—we'd best take the forest trails."

 
          
"We
need supplies," said Bracht.

 
          
"There
will be hamlets."

 
          
Anomius
appeared unconcerned; Bracht turned to Calandryll.

 
          
"You
have the map?"

 
          
Calandryll
fetched the chart of Kandahar from his pack, spreading it on his knees. Bracht
and Anomius moved closer, peering over his shoulders.

 
          
"We
are here." The wizard set a ragged nail to a spot a little way past the
course of the Nam, below the contour lines indicating the plateau.
"Bhalusteen is here; Nhur-jabal, here. We must travel southward, then swing
west again when the army's behind us."

 
          
He
described a course that swung in a wide curve through the great central forest,
avoiding settlements and marked trails, running well wide of the road.
Calandryll saw that it brought them out in the foothills of the Kharm-rhanna,
south of Nhur-jabal, where the Shemme separated from the Tannyth.

 
          
"We'll
lose time," Bracht said. "Why not return to the road beyond
Bhalusteen?"

 
          
"Because
there'll likely be a mage left in every town of any size along the way," Anomius
replied, "and while I could undoubtedly overcome them, such conflict will
delay us longer than a detour."

 
          
And
leech your powers,
Calandryll thought. Aloud he said, "There are no
trails marked where you propose we go."

 
          
The
wizard's answering smile was smug. Leaning closer to the fire he said, "I
told you—I have ways to know them."

 
          
Those
ways he demonstrated after they had eaten.

 
          
The
horses were saddled and the fire stamped to a charred memory, their gear
stowed ready for departure. The daylight inhabitants of the forest began to
stir as the sun broke through the overcast, blue replacing the grey, banks of
white cloud riding a warm south wind high above. Anomius delved in his
saddlebags, producing a phial from which he sprinkled a pinch of brownish
powder that he clutched in his left hand. His right he raised before him,
chanting. For an instant, the birdsong risen in greeting of the new day
faltered, then redoubled as feathered forms descended from the trees to flutter
about the sorcerer. In moments he was surrounded by a storm of multicolored
shapes, finches and thrushes, dunnocks, cuckoos, pipits and pigeons, warblers,
nuthatches, woodpeckers and tree creepers all flocking to his call. They
scattered on a word as a wide-winged goshawk swooped toward the black- robed
figure, settling like a well-trained falcon on his outthrust arm. He cooed
softly, opening his left hand, bringing it close to the bird's bright eyes,
then blowing, the brown powder swirling about the proud head. The goshawk emitted
a single harsh cry and shifted on the wizard's arm, rocking gently to and fro
as though momentarily stunned. Anomius murmured softly and flung his arm up,
like a falconer setting his bird to course. The hawk spread its blue-grey wings
and soared aloft, circling the clearing once, then winging above the trees to
disappear westward. The mage smiled, staring after the bird, and walked to
where Bracht held his horse.

 
          
Calandryll
saw that his watery eyes seemed brighter, but curiously unfocused, as though he
looked beyond his immediate surroundings to sights invisible to mortal eye. He
mounted with even less grace than usual and smiled down.

 
          
"Now
we can find the trails; and know where the Tyrant's army stands. Follow
me."

 
          
He
shook the reins, urging the grey horse across the glade, away from the road.
Bracht and Calandryll moved after him, intrigued.

 
          
It
seemed the goshawk was their guide, for several times that day they saw the
bird ahead, swooping among the dense timber, and the wizard led them unerringly
to forest paths they might have missed, taking them down ; game trails and
streambeds hidden beneath overhanging foliage, riding without hesitation at
thickets that appeared impenetrable until branches were swept aside to reveal
the narrow and secret ways of the woodlands. He
^:
saw, Calandryll
realized, through the hawk's eyes, for when they halted at noon, by a spring
that fed a little rivulet trickling among leafy oaks, he informed them that the
army had reached Bhalusteen and made camp there, and that at least six
sorcerers accompanied the force.

           
"The Tyrant flatters me,"
he declared proudly. "Six warlocks sent against one—my fame grows, I
think."

 
          
"And
when they reach the highland?" Calandryll asked, curious that the little
man could so easily forget his loyalties. "What of Sathoman then?"

 
          
Anomius
shrugged, a negligent gesture of dismissal. "Even with six warlocks, the
gaining of those heights will be hard," he said. "A handful of men
can hold the rim, and then—if need be—fall back on Kesham-vaj. Sathoman will
have Mherut-yi by now, and he's still Fayne Keep as his last retreat. And tnat
fortress is warded by spells the six will find mightily difficult to overcome.
Sathoman must manage without me for a while."

 
          
"He'll
not thank you, though," Calandryll said.

 
          
"Should
he be defeated he'fi find it a temporary reversal," the wizard answered.
"Once I've secured the grimoire I shall return and fulfill my
promise—he'll be lord of all
Kandahar
before I'm done, and he'll thank me well
enough for that."

 
          
He
spoke no more until nightfall, his attention focused on the strange communion
with the vigilant goshawk, leaving them the chance to talk, low-voiced, of
escape.

 
          
"He
promised reward," Calandryll informed Bracht, "In return for our
aid."

 
          
"And
should he discover the grimoire exists only in your imagination?" the Kem
returned. "What then? His anger? Or worse—his taking of the Arcanum?"

           
"That must not happen,"
Calandryll said firmly.

 
          
"If
he accompanies us to Tezin-dar, how can it not?" asked Bracht. "If we
bring him there, tnen he must surely realize that there's no grimoire to be
had, but a larger prize. And I trust him no more than Varent."

 
          
Calandryll
shook his head helplessly. "How can we escape him?" he wondered.
"He binds us with his magic. 5fou cannot flee him or slay him; and if I
attempt his murder, you're bound to kill me."

 
          
Bracht
nodded grimly. "The Tyrant's sorcerers might defeat him, were we able to
bring him close."

 
          
"And—if
Anomius spoke the truth—recognize whatever power I have," Calandryll said,
"and thus bind me to the Tyrant's service. Or execute me."

 
          
"There
must be something we can do." Bracht's tone suggested that he did not see
what. "Some way to escape lim."

 
          
"I
cannot see it." Calandryll looked to where the wizard jounced awkwardly on
the grey horse. "He has us caught."

 
          
"The
warboat had us caught," Bracht said, "but we escaped that."