Angus Wells - The God Wars 01 (77 page)

 
          
"I
show you place to rest now ... Then you eat, sleep. Syfaba say you be strong
for test ... Tomorrow you face test."

 
          
Weary
as he was, Calandryll would as soon have undergone the trial immediately, but
he bowed to the elders' decision, allowing Yssym to lead him away as the five
aged halflings stood watching, their gaze impassive. The crowd parted to let
the visitors through and Yssym brought them to a structure set between huge
slabs of fallen stone, its roof a mass of flowering creepers, filling the
interior with a pleasant scent, its floor an exotic mosaic of colorful tiles. A
small fire, unnecessary but nonetheless welcome, burned in a pit at the center,
the smoke escaping through a hole in the arboreal roof, and cushions and
fleeces were set about the walls.

 
          
"You
sleep here," Yssym explained. "Come, I show you baths. Then you
eat."

 
          
They
followed him through the village to what had once been a covered bathhouse, its
roof gone now, leaving the great tubs open to a sky transformed to velvet with
the coming of night, the crescent of a new moon bright silver above, shining on
the fresh water that spilled from channels in the wrecked walls. The women were
directed to a pool modestly hidden from that to which the men were taken by a
divide of stone and wicker, rough soap and soft towels set out in readiness,
and soon the night was loud with their laughter as they luxuriated in the
near-forgotten comfort of clean water, scrubbing industriously at sweaty skin and
filthy hair.

 
          
Their
clothing was taken as they bathed and when they emerged they found short robes
and sandals left in place, dark blue for the men, white for the women. Their
weapons, too, were gone, occasioning momentary alarm, until Yssym explained none
in the village bore arms and that theirs were stored in the sleeping quarters.
He took them then back to the central court, where fires burned, meat roasting
on spits, and all the village gathered, men and women and children in a curious
mass, eager to observe the strangers at close quarters.

 
          
They
were given mugs of the drink Yssym called
chrysse,
a pale distillation
akin to wine, but stronger, and platters of clay onto which the halflings piled
generous nelpings of meat and vegetables. After the poor fare of the past weeks
it was a banquet, the better for the cheerful hospitality of their strange
hosts, and they relaxed, grateful to be dry and able to eat without fear of
dragons or insects or predatory fish. The halfling folk plied Yssym with
questions, though Calandryll noticed that the elders, who sat across the
circle, said nothing, merely listened, their yellow eyes intent on the
strangers. This was perhaps, he thought, a part of the judging; but only a
part: tomorrow they would face the test that, passed, should bring them to
Tezin-dar.

 
          
For
that, allied with the effects of the
chiysse
and a belly that felt
filled for the first time in weeks, he was thankful when the elders rose and
the gathering dispersed. Yssym and several others took torches, escorting the
visitors to their quarters.

 
          
"Sleep
now," he advised them. "Elders call you tomorrow."

 
          
Calandryll
nodded, yawning, and the halfling barked laughter. "Better than island in
swamp," he said cheerfully. "You sleep safe here."

 
          
"Far
better," Calandryll agreed, aware that his eyes grew heavy. "You've
our thanks, Yssym."

 
          
The
halfling ducked his head and backed out, letting the hide curtain fall into
place across the entrance. Calandryll yawned again, hugely, and found a place
on the cushions as the rest composed themselves for sleep. Bracht went to the
weapons laid out by the door, extricating his falchion.

 
          
"Shall
you need that?" The cushions were mightily comfortable and Calandryll felt
no desire to rise. "Surely these folk intend us no harm."

 
          
The
freesword shrugged, tossing Calandryll's blade to him. "I sleep the better
for sharing my bed—with this if no softer company should offer."

 
          
He
grinned at Katya as he said it, and she blushed, prettily now that hair and
face were clean, murmuring, "You gave your word . . . bring my own sword
if you would."

 
          
The
Kern nodded, still smiling, and delivered her blade with a flourish.

 
          
"And
that word I shall keep. Until Vanu is reached."

 
          
She
took the sword and set it on the tiles at her side "Until Vanu,
Bracht."

           
He sighed, shaking his head, and
flung himself down, the sheathed falchion cradled in his arms. "Oh,
Calandryll," he whispered, deliberately loud, "know you that women
can be harder than steel?"

           
Calandryll heard Katya chuckle and
smiled into the shadows, seeking some witty response. None came, his thoughts
too soon overtaken by sleep, and he found himself drifting in mellow darkness,
dreamless.

 
          
He
woke not certain where he was, confused by the absence of swamp stench and
sound, no longer used to waking dry, on soft cushions. No insects buzzed about
him
nor dragons bellowed, and he experienced momentary alarm as he sat up, eyes
opening on a chamber harlequin-patterned with the sunlight that filtered
through the viny roof. Bracht was already awake, stroking a whetstone lovingly
over the edges of his sword, and as he stirred Katya yawned and stretched.
Outside he heard the sounds of the village, children rattling laughter and the
sibilant language of the Syfalheen, he looked to Bracht, who shook his head in
answer to the unspoken question.

 
          
"Yssym
came early—it would appear the elders are in no great haste to judge us and
await our rising."

 
          
"I'd
not delay," Katya said. "We've been long in the swamp and still
there's Tezin-dar to reach—whatever waits us there—and Tekkan must grow
anxious."

 
          
"Aye."
Calandryll smoothed his robe, wondering if he should belt on his sword;
deciding against it. "Do we go out to judgment?"

 
          
"I'd
eat first," Bracht said.

 
          
"And
I'd bathe," added Katya.

 
          
The
other Vanu folk woke as they talked, and together they went out into the
village, finding Yssym squatting nearby, deep in conversation with the elders.

 
          
All
rose as they approached, the elders no more communicative, only nodding
greeting, saying nothing as Yssym asked, "You eat now? Bathe?"

 
          
Bracht
said, "Eat," and Katya, "Bathe." Calandryll asked when they
should face the test.

 
          
"Soon,"
said Yssym, "Elders make ready ... First you bathe, eat ... then time for
test."

 
          
They
went to the bathhouse and then to the courtyard. It seemed all meals were taken
communally, for halflings sat eating there and when the outlanders arrived they
were given bowls of some sweetened porridge and clay mugs of a hot herbal
infusion, loaves of something akin to bread, and wedges of sharp-tasting
cheese. By day's light Calandryll could better make out the details of their
surroundings, convinced now that the halfling village was built among the ruins
of some vast, and vastly ancient, hold.

 
          
"The
Old Ones built this?" he asked.

          
 
"Old Ones, yes," Yssym answered.
"Long, long time gone. Old Ones build here."

           
"When did they leave
it?" He wondered how many ages had passed since the walls stood, and why they
had fallen.

           
"Long, long ago."
Halfling and human concepts of time were different: Yssym's shoulders rose
helplessly.

           
"How did it come to ruin?"

 
          
"Old
Ones say the gods fight." Yssym's webbed fingers shaped a design in the
air. A warding gesture, Calandryll thought. All bad then .. . Gods angry .. .
Father, Mother of gods angry .. .They stop war ... but this fallen then."

 
          
"He
speaks of the war between Tham and Balatur," Katya whispered. Calandryll
nodded agreement and asked "Did the Old Ones dwell here then?"

           
"Here, yes," Yssym said. "Other
places, too ... Swamp not swamp then ... No dragons, no
grishas;
no
yennym
or
shivim
... Gods make those when fight godwar. Old Ones here then
... after, too, but this fallen ... Old Ones say belong Syfalheen. They go to
Tezin-dar ... Say Syfalheen not come there ... better Syfalheen not know men
"

           
"But they told
you to watch." Calandryll was intrigued. "They told you men would
come seeking the Arcanum—the book."
          
 
"They tell Syfalheen watch for men,"
Yssym nodded Say one day men come for book . . . Perhaps evil men perhaps good.
They say good be three, like you . . . Show

elders way to know. Say bring good men to Tezin-dar "

           
"And the evil men?"

           
"They say test all
... If evil men not die in swamp they die in test ... or die on road to
Tezin-dar. Syfalheen guard Tezin-dar for Old Ones long time now."

           
"Little wonder the
city remains a legend." Calandryll spoke mostly to himself, bemused by the
notion of such incredible antiquity. If Yssym's account was true, these ruins had
stood when the gods fought and men had dwelt here. Here and across Gessyth, by the
Syfalheen's word. He touched the stone at his feet, staring round with reverent
eyes: when this was done, when the Arcanum was destroyed, he would write all
this down. By Dera's love, Reba had spoken true when she said he should travel
far!

 
          
A
movement across the yard disturbed his musings and he saw the elders come out
from the rotunda, two standing to either side of the entrance, the fifth beckoning.

 
          
"Elders
say you come now," Yssym informed him. "Three who go to
Tezin-dar."

 
          
Calandryll
drained his mug as his mouth went dry and climbed to his feet. Bracht rose
beside him, to his right; Katya stood on his left. The Vanu folk moved to join them,
and Katya waved them back, speaking in their own language. They remained
standing as the trio followed Yssym across the yard to the waiting elders.

 
          
The
ancient standing before the entrance spoke to Yssym and the halfling said,
"Elders take you now ... You obey them."

 
          
He
bowed and turned away. The foremost elder raised his staff, indicating the
black opening of the door. Calandryll glanced at Bracht, at Katya; took one
deep breath and stepped into the rotunda.

 
          
He
was blind, lost in the darkness permeated with the pungency of incense, panic
rising, with it the instinctive desire for the sword left in their sleeping
quarters. He fought that trepidation, standing still as he heard the others
enter, the rustle of the elders' long robes. A flint scraped and flame took
hold on wick, the smell of incense growing stronger as pale gold light
fluttered before him. It was a small flame, not strong enough to illumine the
walls, barely sufficient to reveal the face that studied
him
across its
feeble glow. He glanced sidelong, to left and right, finding Katya and Bracht,
their features shadowed, elongated and planed flat, the woman's hair a glowing
halo about her head. More substantial shadows moved along the walls and he saw
the fifth elder joined by his companions, their staffs held out, horizontal
across their chests. They formed a circle, shuffling softly closer until the
silver tips of the staffs touched, surrounding the trio.

 
          
Calandryll
smelled the fresh-washed scent of Katya's hair; heard Bracht's nervous breath;
wondered if they could hear the pounding of his heart. He felt a staff against
his back and stepped forward as the elder facing him retreated and he was
herded across the floor of the rotunda. The elders halted; lowered their
staffs. They made a soft, musical clatter on the flagstones. One gestured and
Calandryll saw an opening at his feet, smooth steps winding down into ultimate
darkness. The elder gestured again and he swallowed, commencing the descent.