Angus Wells - The God Wars 01 (67 page)

 
          
"Drink
this." Katya filled the cup, passing it to him. "This and a night's
sleep and you'll walk a boat like a sailor bom."

 
          
Bracht's
eyes said that he set no faith in her promise, but he grinned wan thanks and
drained the cup, grimacing at the taste.

 
          
"You'll
sleep now," Katya informed him. "And when you wake, the malaise will
be gone."

 
          
"Your
word on it?" Bracht asked, stretching willingly enough on the bunk.
"And whose bed do I take?"

 
          
"My
word on it," she smiled. "And the bunk's mine."

 
          
"The
sweeter for that," the Kem yawned. "Though I'd ..

 
          
What
he intended to say was lost in the sigh that followed. With the heavy
deliberation of a man close on slumber's verge, he loosed the fastenings of his
scabbard and cradled the sheathed falchion in his arms, turning drowsily on his
side. Another yawn and he slept,

 
          
"It
works swift." Katya stoppered the flask and returned it to the cupboard.
"He'll not wake before dawn, but he'll suffer no more. Now come, we've
things to talk of."

 
          
She
beckoned Calandryll from the cabin, leading the way along the deck to the
forecastle, where they leaned against the rail, watching Kharasul slide away to
starboard, the mouth of the Ty River beyond, and beyond that the dark jungles
of Gash.

 
          
"Do
you trust me now?" she asked, her eyes frank.

 
          
"Aye,"
he nodded, answering her gaze. "I was a fool."

 
          
There
was bitterness in his tone: Katya shmgged, head turning to observe the jungle.

 
          
"I
think not. But tell me how you came to this quest."

 
          
They
hung close to the coastline, beating north against the wind, fetid now with
the reek of the vegetation that clung in hues of livid green to the shore, no
beach discernible, only the great mass of exotic foliage. He began to speak,
openly, holding nothing back, the telling a kind of absolution, and a
commitment to tmst. He told her of how his father would make him priest, and of
his hopes for Nadama, of Tobias and the meeting with Varent, the ambassador's
promises and the finding of Orwen's chart. He spoke of his meeting with Bracht,
and Varent's magic, that had brought him out of Secca, and of everything Varent
had told him. He spoke of the encounter with the demons and of the
byah
;
of Bracht's misgivings, and of the stone,- the crossing on the
Sea Dancer
,
she chuckling at this, saying how the wind he had somehow conjured came close
to sinking them, and of how they had beaten steadily south after counting on
his arrival in Kharasul. He told her of the first Chaipaku attack and the
escape from Mherut'yi; of Sathoman ek'Hennem and Anomius, their flight from the
wizard, her face clouding then; and finally of their coming to the square where
she had met them.

 
          
She
was silent for long moments when he was done, her eyes fixed on the passing
jungle, then she said, "I think that this Varent must be Rhythamun; and he
will not let go easily."

 
          
"That
so," he murmured, watching dark birds wheel above the trees, "How old
is he?"

 
          
"Azumandias
saw Thomus crowned," she answered, "and Rhythamun saw him die."

 
          
"Five
hundred years?" His voice was hushed, awed. "How can that be?"

 
          
"There
are ways." She shook her head in distaste. "They are not pleasant and
known to few."

 
          
"How?"
he insisted.

 
          
Katya
turned toward him, then away, her eyes troubled. "It is a matter of assuming
another's life," she said softly. "It is not easy, nor without
danger, but it may be done. By such as Rhythamun. Likely he stole this Varent's
life—and in time will seek another."

 
          
Calandryll
shuddered, horrified; worse as a further thought entered his mind. "Then
he can pass unrecognized," he gasped. "He is able to assume what form
he chooses."

 
          
"Aye,"
Katya nodded, "but I think he has reason to remain as Varent for now—you
say he has the trust of Aldarin? In such office he wields considerable power, and
that must suit him well. The raising of the Mad God demands more than
gramaryes—sacrifice is called for; spilled blood beckons them forth."

 
          
"The
fleet?" he asked, staring at her.

 
          
"Likely,"
she nodded. "You say this brother of yours spoke for war with
Kandahar
; and he is to command— snould Rhythamun
persuade Aldarin's domm to war, would Secca follow?"

 
          
"Not
my father," he said, "but Tobias, yes. Tobias would welcome such a
venture."

 
          
"And
already Tobias employs the Brotherhood." Her meaning lay tacit between
them, an ugly thing. His eyes widened in disgust. "To slay our father? No!
Surely not that! To murder me, perhaps,- but not our father."

 
          
"It
is not unknown," Katya said quietly, "and should

 
          
Tobias
heed Rhythamun's blandishments . . . You know him for a persuasive
deceiver."

 
          
"Dera!"
he groaned. "He would bring Lysse and
Kandahar
to war? To further his own ends?"

 
          
"To
raise the Mad God," she said, "aye—to win the power he seeks. He'd
need find the lost places, and possess the spells of raising to achieve his
purpose. But were Lysse and
Kandahar
embattled, that letting of blood would make the raising easier.
Rhythamun seeks power infinite; and madman that he is, he'd bring the world
down to gain that end."

 
          
"That
cannot be.
Must
not be," he said.

 
          
Katya
smiled then, her expression minding him of Bracht's, when the Kern faced
swordplay. "We have Orwen's chart," she said, "and in time we
shall reach Gessyth. We need but seize the Arcanum and bring it safe to Vanu.
There, it may be destroyed forever."

 
          
"A
long journey," he muttered; doubtful. "And its return by Lysse's
coast. What if Varent has Tobias's ear by then? We'd surely face the
fleet."

 
          
"There's
chance of that," she agreed, "but what other course lies open? We
lack the means to destroy the book."

 
          
"Such
was not given you by these holy men?" he asked.

 
          
"No."
She shook her head, the long tail of her windswept hair tossing. "I have
no magic save this stone, and that only a guide to you. To destroy the Arcanum
calls for great power, for occult knowledge possessed by few."

 
          
"Then
why do they not accompany you," he demanded, "these holy men?"

 
          
"They
have no power beyond Vanu's boundaries," she said. "Their choice is
to leave the world to its own devices, and to that end did they limit their
power; of their own choosing. Only when they read the augury did they choose to
intervene in these affairs, knowing that else they must watch the world brought
down in bloody min."

 
          
Off
the port bow the sun touched the western horizon, a vast disk of crimson that
painted the ocean with its fire. Calandryll looked in that direction and it
seemed to him that a wound opened in the sea, a livid gash awash with blood. He
shook his head in silent rejection and turned once more toward the forbidding
coast of
Gash
. The jungles were dark now, already tinted
with the shades of descending night, and from them, faint on the wind, came
strange, shrill cries. The filled moon hung low to the east, cold as the sun
was hot, and although the air was yet warm he shivered, weighted by the
immensity of all they attempted. He looked back along the length of the
warboat, seeing the women setting braziers on the deck in preparation of a
meal, bringing food from the lockers as the oarsmen held their pace, driving
the sleek craft steadily northward into the wind, tireless it seemed, moving
like cheerful automata.

 
          
"These
are warriors?" he asked.

 
          
"All,"
Katya answered, "women and men, both."

 
          
Suddenly
they seemed few enough to attempt what they attempted, for if what Katya suspected
should prove true, on their return they would likely face odds far greater than
any he had anticipated.

 
          
Perhaps
his doubt showed on his face. Or perhaps Katya read his mind, for she said,
"We must find the Arcanum before we concern ourselves with what might be,
and I think that will be hard enough."

 
          
"Aye,"
he agreed, smiling tightly. "What knowledge have you of Gessyth?"

 
          
"It
lies to the north," she said, "and Tezin-dar stands inland, deep in
the swamps. Beyond that—nothing."

 
          
"And
on that you sailed from Vanu?" He stared at her, amazed at such daring.

 
          
"You
come with little more," she shrugged. "You and Bracht."

 
          
"We
have Orwen's chart," he said, "and the stone to lead us to the
book."

 
          
"Little
enough." White teeth flashed in the fast-dying light. "But I'd study
that map. Shall you show me while we eat?"

 
          
"And
will you tell me of Vanu?" he asked. "The land beyond the Borrhun-maj
is a mystery."

 
          
He
thought she paused then, as if reluctant, but her face was in shadow and he
could not read her expression, only see her nod as she beckoned him toward the
braziers, the smell of food reminding him of hunger so that he quickly forgot
that small hesitation.

 
         
None
on board save Katya and Tekkan spoke other than their own tongue, and that
a language unlike any Calandryll had heard, a lilting, almost musical confusion
of sounds of which, try as he might, he could make little sense. The crew made
him welcome enough as he settled on the boards, a smiling woman passing him a
bowl piled with a stew of fishes and vegetables, a
man
handing him a mug that another filled with pale wine, but when
he sought to converse with them they only smiled the broader and shrugged,
returning him words like song, pleasant to the ear but leaving him none the wiser.
Katya and Tekkan joined him then, the sea anchor dropped to hold the boat
against the wind as the oarsmen took their rest, settling cross-legged beside him
as, between mouthfuls, he plied them with questions about their homeland and
they inquired of his.

 
          
Of
the two, the woman was the more fluent, trading him question for question,
often pausing to relay his words to Tekkan and the others who listened and
awaiting their response before replying, so that he became unsure whose answer
he received, though that seemed of little moment. Vanu lay, as he knew, beyond
the Borrhun-mai, where, did he accept the fables, the First Gods, Yl and Kyta,
had withdrawn. Katya laughed at that
and
told him the land was peopled with human folk, not gods, translating
for her fellows, which set them to laughing. It was a lonely place, she agreed,
the great mountain chain a barrier to the south, and more ringing the land,
cutting it off from outside contact. Sometimes, she admitted, seafarers
traveled to Nywan, on the Jesseryn Plain; but seldom, the Vanu preferring to
keep to themselves, the mountainous coastline deterring much seagoing. There
were cities, he learned, in the mountains and the grasslands of Vanu's center,
and commerce between them, the metropolises each governed by a council, each of
those electing three representatives to attend what passed for central
government, which met twice a year, in spring and autumn. So loose an
arrangement surprised Calandryll, more accustomed to the autocratic rule of
Lysse's domms, or the singular prominence of
Kandahar
's Tyrants. And did the cities of his
homeland not fight, Katya asked, and what of the civil war brewing behind them
in
Kandahar
? In Vanu there was no such conflict, she
said, though he wondered at that, seeing warriors all about him. But he could
not press the point, for she subtly changed the direction of their
conversation, steering it to matters more mundane, speaking of the mountains
and the harsh winters, the forests and the plains, and he grew sleepy before she
was done, accepting readily enough the pallet that was spread for him on the
deck.

 
          
He
woke with the sun hot on his face, rising to eat bread and cheese, washed down
with cool water, and as he finished, Bracht emerged from the little cabin. The
Kem approached warily, eyeing the ocean as if in anticipation of attack or a
return of the malaise, but his pallor was gone and he braced against the
warboat's rolling like a seaman bom.

 
          
"Ahrd,
but whatever Katya gave me works well," he declared cheerfully as he
settled beside Calandryll, proving the point by consuming a loaf of bread and a
sizable wedge of cheese. "Where is she?"

 
          
Calandryll
pointed to the stem, where the woman stood in conversation with Tekkan. Bracht
nodded, taking more cheese, and looked to the east, where the coastline of Gash
sat livid in the early morning light. "You spoke last night, whilst I
slept?" he asked, and when Calandryll nodded, "Of what?"

 
          
Calandryll
told him and Bracht grunted thoughtfully, his natural pragmatism dismissing idle
speculation for the hard facts of their situation.

 
          
"I'd
know more of the holy men," Calandryll murmured. "They chose to
intervene in this—so must be aware of the outside world. Can they truly destroy
the Arcanum?"

 
          
Bracht
shrugged, rising to clutch a line, no longer daunted by the sea, and said,
"The spaewife advised us to tmst her, and I do. So we have no alternative
but to tmst them."

 
          
Calandryll
studied his face, thinking that such unreserved faith was out of character.
Since they had first met it had been Bracht who doubted, he who tmsted. The
freesword's nature was, it had seemed, to cast a suspicious eye on whoever
crossed their path, but now he appeared committed to Katya—even before Ellhyn
had scried their joined destinies he had shown a willingness to believe in the
warrior woman. He wondered if Bracht's obvious admiration clouded his customary
skepticism, then cast the thought aside: Katya had intervened on their behalf
against the Chaipaku, and the spaewife had declared her comrade—likely his own
judgment was affected by the disconcerting knowledge that Varent had seduced
him so successfully. And yet he could not entirely shake off the feeling that
Katya held things back. She had spoken openly enough, or so it had seemed last
night, and yet there remained questions he would have asked had she, or some
comment of Tekkan's, not turned the conversation in another direction.

 
          
"I'd
speak with her." Bracht's voice brought him to his feet and he followed
the Kem along the deck to the low poop, where Katya stood with the helmsman.
"You slept well?" she asked, smiling.

 
          
Calandryll
glanced at his companion as Bracht ducked his head in agreement.

 
          
"I
did. And now I feel settled." He swung an expansive arm, the gesture
embracing warboat and ocean. "I'd never thought to feel at home on the
sea—I owe you thanks."

 
          
His
eyes were on her face as he spoke, his smile as much in compliment as
gratitude. And she was, Calandryll could only agree, a sight to stir the blood.
The sun struck silver sparks from her hair, its binding emphasizing her proud
features, dominated by the grey eyes. She had shed her breeks, her tunic kilted
by her swordbelt, the white cloth vivid contrast to the dark tan of her long
legs, her feet bare for better purchase on the deck. She was lovely—and
challenging, her eyes darkening an instant as she recognized the import of
Bracht's smile, her own faltering. Beside her, Tekkan frowned briefly, and
murmured something in the Vanu tongue. Katya nodded.

 
          
"I'd
not bring you sick to Gessyth," she said. "And it may well be your
sword skills will be needed before we reach that place."

 
          
"You
anticipate attack?" Calandryll peered sternward: the sea stood empty.
"Are we pursued?"

 
          
"The
danger lies there." It was Tekkan who spoke, leaving go his tiller to
point landward. "In Gash."

 
          
"We
must take on fresh water," Katya expanded. "Our supplies cannot last;
nor our food. Eventually we must anchor and go into the jungle,- and the folk
of Gash are not noted for their hospitality."

 
          
"Ambush?"
Bracht's smile did not waver. "Against an armored landing party?"

 
          
"Perhaps
not," Katya shrugged, "but the danger is there."

 
          
"And
there," Bracht declared, pointing ahead, and then astern, "and there.
Danger surrounds us, I think."

 
          
"I'd
not lose men," Tekkan said. "Nor time battling the creatures of
Gash."

 
          
Bracht
laughed carelessly: Calandryll wondered if his confidence stemmed from the
effects of the nostmm or a desire to impress the woman. "How long before
we shall need attempt it?" he asked.

 
          
"Ten
days if we drink sparingly," Tekkan answered. "And ten after that,
all the way to Gessyth. This boat was built for coastal waters, not the deep
sea."

 
          
There
was a hint of disapproval in his voice, suppressed but discernible, his eyes
flickering to Bracht as he spoke.

 
          
Perhaps
the Kern heard it, Calandryll could not tell, but he saw Bracht's smile fade,
his expression serious as he looked to the helmsman. "My blade is at your
command," he said formally, eliciting a nod from Tekkan. Then, to Katya:
"I robbed you of your cabin—my thanks for that. Shall I sleep elsewhere
tonight?"

 
          
His
gaze fixed frank on her face and Calandryll thought he saw a blush suffuse her
cheeks, the tan an instant darker. He saw Tekkan's lips purse, the helmsman's
stare cold.

 
          
Katya
said, "Your need was greater than mine—last night. Tonight you have choice
of deck or hammock.” Her voice was cool: Bracht bowed, grinning.

 
          
Tekkan
favored the Kem with a dark look then said, "There are charts I must
study. Do you make yourselves at home, I shall speak with you later."

 
          
He
relinquished the helm, pausing to speak with Katya in their own tongue,
sternly, she replying in kind, and then, with a last glance at Bracht, he was
gone.

 
          
"Come."

 
          
Katya
beckoned them forward, to where the dragon's head prow curved proud above the
waves. Calandryll decided she sought that privacy for what she would say,
likely to relay Tekkan's words. For a long moment she stared at the freesword,
her expression unfathomable, Bracht's easy to read; then she shook her head, somewhat
nervously, Calandryll thought.

 
          
"You
presume much," she said, but gently.

 
          
"Aye,"
Bracht replied, his own voice soft.

 
          
"We
embark on a quest, we three." She paused, her gaze encompassing
Calandryll. "And we are not alone."

 
          
She
paused again, as though seeking words. Bracht said, "No. But if we were
..."

 
          
"We
are not," she said, quickly, grey eyes hooding a moment. "And this
... your ...
admiration
... is more likely to hinder than help. I'd ask
you curb your ... feelings."

 
          
Bracht
nodded and said gravely, "They are there, and that I cannot help, but I
gave my word that I would endeavor to bring Calandryll safe back from
Gessyth—that stands, still. Even though the one who hired me has proven
traitor, that stands. Now you are become part of that warrant and I find it
difficult to mask what I feel."

 
          
"Still
I ask that you put ... what else there is other than our quest... aside."

 
          
She
faced him square, her look solemn. No less serious, he said, "Be that your
wish, then until we have brought the Arcanum safe from Tezin-dar I will. But
after—there are things need be said between us."

 
          
"The
Arcanum will not be safe until we bring it to Vanu and it is destroyed,"
she said. "Do you give me that?"

 
          
He
looked into her eyes and ducked his head.

 
          
"Until
that is done."

 
          
"Your
word on it?"