Angus Wells - The God Wars 03 (30 page)

           
He spoke softly, the words sending
the almond scent swirling on the cooling air, his free hand moving to shape
sigils, and the prisoner's body went slack, the fear-filled eyes becoming
vacant, unfocused.

           
"He came to us and we thought
to take his horse, his armor . . . But we could not . . . He had such power . .
. Like a wazir . . . More ... A wazir- narimasu!"

           
The man shuddered, spittle flecked
his lips,- Ochen passed a hand across his face, the perfume of almonds
stronger.

           
"He had power ... He slew too
many of us, nor could we flee him then . . .Only obey him ... He made uwagi and
left us with a duty ... To halt the followers. Three, he said, outlanders, not
Jesserytes . . . Strangers ... A woman and two men, from the lands beyond ...
He put their faces in the minds of the uwagi . . . We could not disobey . . .
The uwagi would have slain us, did we . . . We could not . . . Only obey . .
."

           
"Where?" Bracht demanded.
"Where have they taken Calandryll?"

           
The tensai shook his head, as best
he could with his hair bunched in Chazali's fist. The tendons down his neck
stood out; the veins there throbbed; tears and blood mingled down his cheeks,
drool streamered from his gaping lips.

           
"I know not . . . the uwagi
obey him . . . Only him.”

           
"He knows no more than
that," Ochen said.

           
"Their camp?" Bracht
stared at the wazir. "Shall they not take Calandryll there?"

           
Unless
Calandryll is already dead hung unspoken on the air.

           
Ochen gestured again and the tensai
said, "We've no camp any longer . . . only riding, following you . . . The
uwagi were commanded to take him . . . You . . . The Kern or the woman with the
pale hair . . . One should be enough, he said . . . Which one, no matter ... It
would end then."

           
"He knows no more."

           
Ochen glanced at Chazali, nodding,
and the kiriwashen drew his knife and severed the tensai's throat.

           
"Ahrd!" Bracht kicked the
twitching body, grief in his cry, frustration. "To horse, then! After
them!"

           
"We'd not catch them."
Ochen swept an arm to indicate the forest, the darkened sky. "These woods
are too thick, and night comes on."

           
"I'll not desert him!"
Bracht turned toward his horse. "Must I go alone, still I'll go. Katya,
are you with me?"

           
"Wait." The warrior woman
set a hand on the Kern's arm, her grip hard, her eyes clouded doubtful,
troubled. "Must we go, then aye. But first a word."

           
"A word?" Bracht shook
loose of her hold, set foot to stirrup. "Calandryll's taken, and be we no
longer three, then likely Rhythamun takes the day. Takes the world for his
master! I say we ride, woods or no, and Ahrd damn the uwagi."

           
"Wait!" Katya clutched at
his shoulder, strong enough to drag him back. The stallion whickered, stamping
impatient hooves, yellow teeth snapping at the bit. Katya swung Bracht round,
pointing at the Jesserytes. "These folk know the forest better than we.
Ochen knows the uwagi better than we. Do we learn what we can, and then
decide."

           
Bracht stood tense, blue eyes locked
with grey, his hawkish features planed in furious lines. Katya met his gaze
unflinching, and slowly, almost resentfully, his head lowered in acceptance.

           
"So?" Katya let go the
Kern's shoulder, turned to Ochen, Chazali. "What advice have you?"

           
The metal mask concealing the
kiriwashen's face turned toward the wazir, conceding precedence. Ochen scraped
painted nails through the strands of his beard. In the dying light his features
were graved with apprehension. "Do I seek him with my magic," he
said, "then I slay him."

           
"That much we know,"
Bracht snapped, "and so must seek him ahorse. On foot, if needs be."

           
"These woods are no easy place
for horsemen," Ochen returned. "And night comes on to render tracking
difficult. In Horul's name, my friend! Do you not think I'd be riding now, did
I believe we had chance to take him back?"

           
"You say he's lost?"
Bracht shook his head in helpless denial. Katya reached out to take his hand.
"We can do nothing?"

           
"What I must say is hard,"
Ochen replied. "For me, no less than you. Listen—the uwagi have taken
Calandryll, and it may well be that he is already dead ..."

           
“No/” Bracht shouted his rejection.

           
"Save," Ochen continued,
"that Rhythamun looks to gloat."

           
"He's that fondness,"
Katya murmured, a spark of burgeoning hope lighting in her eyes. "In
Aldarin, and when he possessed Morrach ..."

           
''And such pride may be his
weakness/' said Ochen. "That he'll seek to sport with Calandryll."

           
"Sport?" Bracht stepped a
pace toward the wazir, his body rigid, fury stark in his eyes, so that Chazali,
too, moved a defensive pace forward, halted by Ochen's upraised hand.

           
"Be it so, then Calandryll
perhaps lives still," the wazir said. "Which is likely our only hope.
Save ..."

           
He paused, frowning, thoughts
dancing across the wrinkles that striated his gnarled visage.

           
"Save?" demanded Bracht.

           
"He's what tutoring in the
occult I was able to give him," Ochen said. "And perhaps his sword,
too. Has he his sword still?"

           
Bracht spun, roughly shouldering the
kotu-zen aside as he went to Calandryll's horse. Behind, Chazali shouted,
"Calandryll's blade! Did he bear it with him? Do you seek it!"

           
"I saw the uwagi take
him," a warrior said, "and he wore it then. I stabbed the creature
when Calandryll held back his blow."

           
Another said, "His mount went
down, but I thought he had the sword still."

           
Bracht returned: "I found no
sign of it."

           
"Then we've hope." Ochen
nodded. "He heard my warning."

           
"That he may not use his
blade?" Bracht gestured helplessly. "You name that hope?"

           
"Does he use it, then he
destroys the uwagi and himself, both," Ochen said slowly, as if he tracked
a thought to its source, to its conclusion. "Rhythamun is horribly
cunning—and daily stronger—and looks to trick us, to beguile us. But . . .
Calandryll is no fool, and does he only remember all I've taught him, all we've
learned of these foul creatures, then perhaps there remains a chance."

           
He paused, nodding to himself, as if
confirming his own musings. Impatiently, Bracht said, "Do you
elaborate?"

           
The sorcerer nodded more, but this
time to the Kern. "Aye," he murmured. "Think on this—does Calandryll
retain his sword and his senses, then he knows he can destroy his
captors." He raised a hand as Bracht began to protest. "Wait, bear
with me a moment—he knows, too, that does he use that blade, he destroys
himself."

           
"Then Rhythamun needs only the
sacrifice of his creations," Bracht grunted, "and I suspect he's
little enough concern for them. He needs only one to throw itself on
Calandryll's blade."

           
"Save he looks to gloat,"
said Katya. "And so delays."

           
"Aye." Ochen's nodding
became enthusiastic. "Save he looks to gloat, which I believe may prove
his undoing."

           
"How so?" Bracht demanded.
"Even be you right, and the uwagi have not yet slain Calandryll, then
still he's captured. Does he defend himself, he dies. You say we cannot go into
the forest after him—so Rhythamun has time to gloat. And then slay him. I say
we seek him now!"

           
"I think," said Ochen,
"that did the uwagi hear us coming—as undoubtedly they should—that our
enemy would forgo his pleasure and have Calandryll slain."

           
"Ahrd!" Bracht pounded a
frustrated fist against his thigh. "You say we lose, no matter what we
do."

           
"No!" Ochen shook his
head, his voice gaining a measure of confidence. "I say we've a chance;
that Calandryll's a chance. Perhaps even two."

           
More gently than Bracht, Katya said,
"Do you explain?"

           
Ochen ducked his head in agreement.
"But first—Chazali, do you see the fallen cleared away and a fire built?
We must halt here awhile. Our dead I shall attend when I may." The
kiriwashen nodded and issued the orders, no less intrigued than Bracht or
Katya. Ochen continued, "So, does Calandryll yet hold his sword and his
wits, he's hope of survival. Rhythamun, does he look to gloat, must travel the
aethyr for that pleasure—and on that plane I may be able to delay him. The wazir-narimasu
are alerted to Calandryll's presence, and they can likely aid me—together we
might slow Rhythamun and win Calandryll a little time."

           
"Which must surely leave him to
the mercies of the uwagi," Bracht said, angry. "Who are commanded to
slay him.

           
Katya touched the Kern's arm,
motioning him to patience. "You spoke of two chances," she said.

           
"Aye," Ochen returned.
"You say Cennaire is gone?"

           
"Cennaire?" Bracht asked,
surprised.

           
"Aye," said Ochen.

           
"Her horse is there."
Katya stabbed a thumb in the direction of the animals milling, still nervous,
at the center of the road. "But she? I did not see her body."

           
"The uwagi took her I
suppose," Bracht said, "and slew her. Likely she lies within the
trees." He frowned. "A pity—I'd grown to like her. She had courage."

           
"Without doubt," said
Ochen, and turned to Chazali. "Do you ask your men to seek the body of the
lady Cennaire?"

           
The kiriwashen issued fresh orders.
Bracht said, "We talk and talk, and hunt corpses. When do we act?"

           
"When I know what I must know,"
said Ochen. "Soon, but until then I beg your patience."

           
The Kern shook his head, looking to
Katya. "I've no stomach for this," he declared. "Do we mount and
ride in search of Calandryll?"

           
"And see him slain?" she
asked. "No, Bracht, wait. This is not Cuan naTor, that things be simpler.
We know Rhythamun stronger here, Tharn stronger—I tell you, we should listen to
Ochen."

           
"Who bids us do nothing,"
Bracht snarled. "Save leave our comrade to his fate. I'd sooner act!"

           
"Even so," Katya urged,
"wait a little while."

           
Their argument was interrupted by
Chazali.

           
"The lady Cennaire is not among
the dead," the kiriwashen announced. "Her body is neither on the road
nor in the trees."

           
"Then likely she lives
still," said Ochen, smiling. "Good."

           
"What is this?" asked
Bracht. "Does Cennaire live, I'm glad. But it seems unlikely. Surely they
took her off and she lies within the forest, dead."

           
"I think not," said Ochen.
"I think you should pray to your tree god she survives."

           
"I do not understand," the
Kern said.

           
"Nor I," said Katya.

           
"I've not the time to
explain," said Ochen. "Only trust me. And Cennaire."

           
"Cennaire? Ahrd!" Bracht
turned away, moving to the stallion. "Riddles and yet more riddles, while
Calandryll faces Rhythamun. I ride!"

           
"No!" Ochen motioned to
Chazali. "Trust me!"

           
The kiriwashen stepped between
Bracht and the stallion. The big horse pawed ground, ears flattened back, eyes
rolling. Chazali was wary of the beast, but obviously determined to prevent
Bracht mounting. Both men touched the hilts of their swords.