Angus Wells - The God Wars 03 (12 page)

           
Ochen's brows rose, but he offered
no reply. Katya said, "He must yet reach the teng; enter to reach the
gate. What chance have we of overtaking him?"

           
"Some." Ochen's voice
remained solemn. He turned to Temchen: "Do you find us a chart?"

           
The kutushen nodded and rose,
disappearing into the shadows that filled the farther reaches of the chamber.
There was the sound of wood scraping, a cover lifted and replaced, and Temchen
returned to the table, spreading a scroll within the radius of the sunlight,
weighting the corners with cups as all rose, clustering round as Chazali
indicated the map, his guttural voice identifying the places marked thereon.

           
"The Kess Imbrun; we are
here." A blunt nail tapped, moving on a line, northward. "This is
Pamur-teng; this, Anwar-teng."

           
Ochen's spell did not extend to
comprehension of the written word, but as Chazali pointed to each hold,
Calandryll saw that Pamur-teng and Ozali- teng stood much on a line, the tengs
of Zaq and Fechin to the east, above and below, hostile Bachan-teng a little
south of the lake, closest to the besieged city. He asked, "How far to
Pamur-teng?"

           
"Thirty days do we ride
hard," advised Chazali. "To Anwar-teng, another thirty. Far slower at
the army's pace."

           
"The armies march now?"
Calandryll stared at the map, willing himself to recall the lessons in
strategy, tactics, he had suffered long ago in Secca, thinking them then no
more than vaguely interesting historical studies.

           
"They do," the kiriwashen
confirmed.

           
Calandryll peered, frowning, and
touched a finger to the dot that marked the site of Bachan-teng. "This
hold will come out to block them, no?" he asked. "You'll meet in
battle?"

           
"You've the grasp of it."
Chazali smiled grim approval, nodding. "Aye, they'll likely act as
rearguard. They've already warriors about Anwar-teng's walls, though it's the
others that form the main force."

           
"Shall Pamur-teng and
Ozali-teng march together?" Calandryll looked from chart to dark, stern
face. "Or look to divide the opposing army?"

           
Now Chazali barked laughter,
glancing at Temchen, at Ochen. "He's the gift of strategy besides whatever
else," he applauded. To Calandryll, "The warriors of the clan Tessana
will march north out of Ozali-teng, to the southern shore of
Lake
Galil
; our Makusen make directly for Anwar-
teng—aye, we look to divide and weaken the enemy."

           
"But still these others lay
siege." Calandryll set a finger to the marking of Anwar-teng. "And
Rhythamun will likely hold the shape of a Makusen warrior until it serves him
better to take another."

           
"That, or go on alone,"
grunted Bracht. "To Anwar-teng, and there steal another's form."

           
"Aye." Calandryll nodded
absently. "But for now he's likely served best by the shape he has. Do we
ride hard, perhaps ..."

           
"We can do little else,"
said Katya.

           
"We can overtake the
army," Chazali declared, and looked to Cennaire. "Perhaps then you
might recognize him."

           
The Kand woman ducked her raven
head, not speaking, her lovely face grave.

           
"Still no easy task,"
Bracht murmured. "To find one man in an army? Of how many?"

           
"Thousands," said Chazali.
"Three thousand from Pamur-teng alone."

           
Bracht said, "Shall it be
possible?"

           
"I’ve sight beyond my
eyes," said Ochen. "Pve known something of his magicks, and that must
make it the easier to recognize him, even does he look to guise himself with
occult means."

           
"It seems," Calandryll
declared, still studying the chart, "that for now all we can do is chase
the army; and hope. How long before we may leave?"

           
The mage succeeded in shaping his
wrinkles in an expression of apology. "To cleanse this keep of all the
befouling gramaryes will take another day, at least," he murmured.

           
Calandryll frowned. Bracht waved an
irritable hand: "No sooner? Ahrd, can we not leave now? Must we grant him
more time?"

           
"This keep must be
manned," said Chazali. "That duty belongs to Pamur-teng, and the clan
Makusen does not renege its promises. Nor will I leave men in a post cursed by
fell sorcery."

           
Voice and face were firm, brooking
no argument; Bracht shrugged, muttering an inarticulate oath. Katya suggested,
"Might some not go on?"

           
"That would be . . .
unwise." Ochen pointed a golden nail at Calandryll. "Pve the feeling
Rhythamun may know now of your coming—at least suspect it—and perhaps leave . .
. hindrances . .. along his way. You'll travel safer in my company, but Pve a
duty to my clan—Temchen remains here with his century and I'd not leave him
prey to occult creations. So, no—I fear you must curb your impatience."

           
"Before, you gave us leave to
go," said Bracht. "Would you now halt us?"

           
"Horul, but I'd heard you folk
of Cuan na'For were headstrong." Potential insult was defused by the
sorcerer's smile, his friendly tone. "You'd travel an unknown land,
strangers, unescorted? Hostile armies on the march? And roving bands of tensai?
How far should you get, think you?"

           
"We've come thus far,"
snapped the Kern, "and traveled stranger lands than this."

           
It was difficult, Calandryll
realized, for him to forget long-held prejudices. The self-imposed isolation of
the Jesserytes, all the tales told of them, still rendered them suspicious in
Bracht's eyes: for all the friendship shown, trust was not yet entire. He
smiled and said diplomatically, "That's true, but always aided by friends
along the way—Yssym in Gessyth, Menelian in
Kandahar
, the drachomanii in Cuan na'For. We should
not forget that, Bracht. Nor spurn the advice of newfound allies."

           
"Likely Ochen speaks
true," added Katya, laying a hand on the Kern's arm. "And likely we
shall travel the faster in his company."

           
Bracht looked, for an instant, as if
he would argue, but then he shrugged, essaying a somewhat embarrassed smile.
"Aye, perhaps you're right," he admitted, bowing his conciliation.
"Forgive me."

           
"We'd none of us delay longer
than we must," said Ochen. "But nor would we leave clan brothers in
jeopardy."

           
That reasoning was such as Bracht
understood: he nodded, murmuring further apologies.

           
"I think," said the mage,
his voice mild, "that we must all accustom ourselves to unforeseen
alliances. The Mad God threatens us all, and that should make us comrades,
no?"

           
"It should," Calandryll
said firmly.

           
"Aye," said Bracht. Then
grinned, adding, "But still I'd see us on our way as soon as we may."

           
"Then best," returned
Ochen, himself smiling, "that I commence my task. Do you go with Chazali,
and he'll show you your quarters."

           
"And feed you," said the
kiriwashen. "Or would you bathe first?"

           
Katya and Cennaire said,
"Bathe"; Calandryll and Bracht said, "Eat." And Chazali
laughed; for the first time, Calandryll realized, the simple sound rendering
the impassive visage suddenly friendly, confirming the bond that formed between
them.

           
"I suggest," said the
Jesseryte, "that we defer to the women. Do I show you to your quarters and
then to the bathhouse?"

           
Calandryll bowed, gesturing that
Chazali lead on.

           
THE
chambers assigned them were spartan, little more than cells built into an
inner wall, each with a narrow window, shuttered but lacking glass, that
afforded a view down into an inner courtyard, across to the keep's ramparts.
Each contained a single bed, alcoves cut into the sandy-colored stone of the
walls, a washstand, a locker,- nothing more. The uncarpeted floors, the walls,
the ceilings, and the doors were marked with Ochen's magical sigils, the paint
not yet completely dry. They left their gear inside and followed Chazali to the
bathhouse.

           
The corridors and halls they
traversed were dim- lit, painted with more glyphs, the armored figures of
Makusen warriors parting before the kiriwashen, observing the strangers with
slanted, incurious eyes. The bathhouse itself was on the lowest level, a wide,
low-roofed hall misty with steam from the huge tubs set into the floor. There
were no windows, the sole illumination a series of fat yellow candles set on
sconces along the walls, those painted with yet more sigils.

           
Chazali ushered them inside,
hesitating a moment as if wary of offending guests, and said, "I am
unfamiliar with your customs. Do you bathe together, or alone ?"

           
Bracht grinned at Katya, not
speaking, and Calandryll thought the Vanu woman blushed, though in the dimness
it was hard to tell. He found himself wondering how Cennaire would react did he
suggest they bathe together, and what it would be like to share a tub with
Irer, his own cheeks warming at the thought's excitement. He fought the
temptation, saying, "Alone," in a voice gone suddenly gruff, so that
Bracht's grin turned from Katya to him and he felt the flush suffuse his cheeks
the more.

           
Chazali ducked his head and strode
halfway down the hall, near lost in mist and shadow, reaching out to draw a
screen from the wall, a cunningly articulated construction of lacquered wood
that extended across the room, hiding one tub from another. Turning to the
women, he said courteously, "Do you remain here, then. When you are
finished, a man will bring you to your quarters." To the men, he said,
"Do you come with me," and led them back through the door, along a
corridor to another entrance.

           
He left them and they stripped,
sliding gratefully into the tub, finding it deep, and filled with water close
to boiling. From beyond the dividing partition came the sound of splashing and
the low murmur of voices, reminding Calandryll that only that thin screen stood
between him and the naked Cennaire: excitement returned.

           
"Such modesty." Bracht's
voice was deliberately grave. "I commend you."

           
The water's heat was such that his
skin was already red, the Kern's face indistinct behind the rising steam. He
was grateful for that as he muttered, "I'd not embarrass her. Or Katya/'

           
Bracht's answer was a loud laugh.
Calandryll blushed deeper and said, "Katya advised me not to press too
hard."

           
"I suspect you'd not find her
unwilling," came the reply. "I saw her face as we spoke and she had
eyes only for you, save when Ochen addressed her directly. I believe you find
favor there."

           
Calandryll sought a suitable
response, but found none, contenting himself with a noncommittal grunt as he
wondered if Bracht spoke true, or merely bantered with him. He hoped it was the
truth, albeit he was unsure what steps he should take were it so.

           
"Still, we shall have time
enough, it seems," the Kern remarked, deliberately casual. "A night,
another day, in this place—what might happen?"

           
"Likely nothing," returned
Calandryll, sharper than he intended, aware embarrassment lent an edge of
irritation that Bracht cheerfully ignored.

           
"And then days—and long
nights—on the road to Pamur-teng."

           
"The which applies in equal
measure to you and Katya."

           
"Ah, but we made a vow,"
said Bracht, quite unabashed. "While you suffer no such stricture. Only
temptation."

           
"Not long ago you spoke for
sending her back," Calandryll declared.

           
"Aye." The bantering tone
departed, the Kern's voice become serious. "And I would still, save you
appear fixed on bringing her."