Angus Wells - The God Wars 03 (53 page)

           
Zedu studied him a moment, and in
the slanted, fulvous eyes, Calandryll thought he saw despair. None others
spoke, the silence filling up with menace. Zedu sighed, summoning his next
words with obvious effort, each one a hammer blow, driving another nail into
the coffin of hope.

           
"A day agone a rider came to
Anwar-teng. A messenger from the loyal holds, he claimed; slipped through the
rebel lines by dint of cunning. Jabu Orati Makusen, he named himself."

           
"Ahrd!" Bracht's cry was
loud; his fist thudded on the table. "Rhythamun! He came here."

           
Calandryll heard Cennaire's sharp
intake of breath; was aware of her hand, tight upon his arm. He heard Katya,
her voice harsh with urgency, demand, "And you hold him? In the names of
all the gods, tell me you hold him."

           
Zedu's face, the faces of his fellow
sorcerers, gave mute answer: Calandryll felt a hand clench within his belly,
tight and hard on his entrails. His mouth was abruptly dry, and as he saw
Zedu's head move in negative gesture, an inarticulate cry burst from his lips.

           
"We do not hold him. Horul
forgive us, but . . ."

           
The mage's answer was drowned by
Bracht's shout: "You let him go? Ahrd's holy blood! How? Did you not know
him for what he is?"

           
The faldstool clattered to the floor
as the Kern rose, fists bunched in helpless anger, his eyes blazing cold and
blue at the wazir-narimasu who sat shamefaced before his wrath. Katya reached
out, touching his arm, urging him to calm even though her own grey orbs flashed
stormy.

           
"Tharn waxes powerful,"
Zedu went on, apology in his tone, a recrimination directed inward. "Even
dreaming, he sends what fell aid he may to those who'd see him risen. He
contaminates the minds of men . . ."

           
"And fuddles yours?"
Bracht snatched the stool upright, set it down with angry force. He turned to
Ochen. "Help, you promised, from these hedge- wizards. They'll know
Rhythamun for what he is, you said."

           
Ochen gave no answer, his ancient
face ashen now, his eyes wide with horror, his head slowly shaking, as if he
would deny all that he heard. Bracht retook his seat, glaring furiously at the
assembled mages. They offered no response to his insult; could only sit, eyes
downcast, withered by the Kern's scorn, his outrage.

           
Had this news come outside the walls
of Anwar- teng Calandryll thought he should likely have sue- cumbed to
desolation. Here, though, he could think clearer, as if the magicks of these
shamefaced sorcerers created an atmosphere of calm, in which he was able to
overcome despair, to think beyond disappointment and rage. To Bracht he said,
"Do we hold in our tempers and hear Zedu out?"

           
"To what end?" Bracht
snarled. "He tells us Rhythamun is come here unrecognized, and roams free.
To where think you he roams?"

           
Calandryll motioned the furious Kern
to silence, turning back to Zedu. "Do you continue?" Even as he
spoke, he knew the answer to Bracht's rhetorical question.

           
The wazir-narimasu smiled wan
thanks. "We were duped," he said. "Perhaps, were we less
concerned with this accursed war, we should have known Jabu Orati Makusen for
what he was." He snorted, a bitter sound, filled with selfcondemnation.
"We grew prideful, I think, believing none should pass our scrutiny, even
when our attentions were focused on those forces gathered beyond our walls. So
it was this man was granted entry, Tharn's fell power like a concealing shroud
about him. Horul, but he wasted no time! That communion he holds with the Mad
God was his guide, and he found the gate . . .

           
"Aye, he found the gate and
went through it!"

           
His voice faltered into silence.
Calandryll drew deep, rasping breath. It seemed the tissues of his throat
congealed, that his heart hammered on his ribs, driving blood in hot and heavy
pulses through his skull. Hoarse, he asked, "When?"

           
"Today," came the
low-voiced response. "At sunset, when Tharn's power waxes strongest."

           
"As we fought," he heard
Bracht gasp. "Ahrd, but that attack was intended to delay us, were we not
slain. Even as Horul came to our aid, Rhythamun moved ahead of us."

           
We
stand with you as best we can. Remember that where you go.

           
Rhythamun gone through the gate, the
Arcanum with him. Had that been Horul's meaning? Had the god known, even as he
delivered them safe to Anwar-teng, that the citadel was but a waystation along
their road? He struggled to order his thoughts, to achieve a balance, a
coherency of purpose, that they not concede the struggle. Had they not talked
of crossing the Borrhum-maj? Of pursuing Rhythamun wherever the warlock
ventured? Of entering the gate themselves, should it be needful?

           
Aye, they had. But that had been
before, when hope—albeit faint—existed of overtaking their foe. Of confronting
him on mortal terms. Now that hope was gone and two poor choices waited stark
for the taking: to give up, to concede Rhythamun the victory,- or to pursue him
into that limbo where the Mad God lay, where the power of both master and
servant must surely wax overwhelming. The thought, no longer some far-off
notion but forbidding reality now, was frightening. Ochen had spoken of the
wazir-narimasu lending their powers to the quest, of schooling him further in
those skills the wazir deemed he needed, were he to confront Rhythamun on the
occult plane. There should be no time for that now—were they to clutch what
slender strands of hope remained, they must go unprepared into limbo.

           
He turned to his companions, needing
to speak before dread clogged his mouth, before the enormity of what he knew
they must do became too daunting.

           
"Then do we sit here debating,
or do we go on?"

           
Katya's eyes met his, lit stormy
grey: "Through the gate?"

           
"After Rhythamun."

           
"We took a vow in
Tezin-dar," said Bracht. "I'd not renege my given word."

           
"Aye, we did," Katya said,
and smiled a cold smile. "And so we go on."

           
Calandryll turned to Cennaire, and
she said, "I go where you go."

           
"Then"—he encompassed the
wazir-narimasu in his gaze—"do you bring us to this gate? Swift, ere
Rhythamun has chance to employ the Arcanum's gramaryes."

           
The sorcerers glanced one to the
other, hesitant, their expressions ranging from disbelief to naked wonder. Zedu
drew a nervous hand down the silver length of his beard and said, "No
mortal man has ever returned from that place beyond the gate. Do you venture
there, it may well be you go to your deaths."

           
"And if we do not go
through?" Calandryll fixed the mage with angry, urgent eyes. "Shall
we wait here to bid Tharn welcome? Does Rhythamun succeed and the Mad God be
raised, I think our lives shall not be very long. Save, perhaps, in count of
suffering, for Rhythamun has sworn to take his revenge of us."

           
His voice was flat, filled with a
deadly calm: Zedu and all his fellows flinched at its lash. Zedu asked,
"Be you set on this course?" Another said, "Dare we risk the
opening of the gate? Is Tharn raised, it were better that portal be held
shut." And then another: "Be Tharn raised, think you we can hold the
gate closed?" And another: "This is a decision for all, in council."

           
"Shall you sit debating while
Rhythamun goes to his master?" The table shuddered under the impact of
Bracht's fist. Blue eyes flung a challenge at the sorcerers. "Shall you
talk out the hours to the Mad God's raising?"

           
Katya made no physical gesture, but
her voice was a goad, like a storm wind blowing: "From Vanu I came, to
deliver the Arcanum to destruction. The world I've traveled on that quest. It
does not end here!"

           
Calandryll turned to Ochen. "In
Dera's name, in Horul's name, do you persuade them? We've no time now to lose!"

           
The ancient wazir seemed borne down
by what he had heard, sunk beneath an awful weight of despondency, sitting
slumped, his eyes closed as if he fought back tears. For a moment Calandryll
thought his words had gone unheard, but then Ochen's eyes opened and he
shuddered, as if waking from a bad dream. He raised his head, staring down the
length of the table, and nodded.

           
"You are the wisest, the
greatest, of us all," he said, and though his voice was soft, still it
carried, clear in all their ears, "and I only a wazir, not one of you. But
this I tell you—that these four have walked with gods, and go about the
business of the Younger Gods,- foreordained are they to this purpose. They
alone may defeat Rhythamun; they alone may prevent Tharn's resurrection. Do you
stand in their way, you stand condemned by Horul and all his kindred gods. Do
you delay them, do you not give what aid you may, then in Horul's name I tell
you that you league with Tharn!"

           
There came a murmuring from the
wazir- narimasu at that, a susurration of affront and outrage, support and
dissent. Calandryll stared about, wild-eyed in his impatience, thinking that
did he but know the location of the gate he would go there, fight his way there
if need be. It seemed the minutes ticked out in long ages, each one taking
Rhythamun a step closer to his fell goal: he ground his teeth in frustration,
roundly damning the sorcerers' vacillation. Bracht sat raw-featured in his
anger, Katya tense beside him, lightning in her grey eyes,- Cennaire sat still
and solemn, a hand unnoticed on Calandryll's arm.

           
Then Zedu motioned for silence,
raising his voice to be heard over the hubbub. "Does Ochen speak the
truth, he's every right to address us so, and we do, indeed, stand
condemned." Argument died, the wazir-narimasu turning toward their elected
spokesman. Zedu paused, the chamber falling silent, "And I believe him.
Ere long—do we survive—he shall be counted among our numbers, and I've no doubt
but that he speaks aright. I cast my vote in favor—I say we bring these folk to
the gate, and swift."

           
"And what of those others
who've say in this?" demanded one dissident. "Shall their voices not
be heard?"

           
"They man our defenses,"
said Zedu. "We've not the time, I think."

           
"We've not the right to make
such decisions save in full convocation," the other argued. "Let
runners be sent to them."

           
It looked to Calandryll that
argument should erupt afresh, that proposal and counter should tick and took
the minutes out until the dialogue be ended by Tharn's coming. In his ear he
heard Bracht hiss, "Ahrd! Be these the wisest of all Jesserytes? They
babble like children, squabbling out the world's ending." He nodded,
grunting helpless agreement, and turned to Ochen.

           
"Might you not bring us to the
gate alone?"

           
Ochen shook his head wearily, and
said, "To the gate, were we not halted. But not through it—I've not the
cantrips of opening, and seven are needed for that task."

           
Calandryll groaned, returning his
attention to the debate in time to hear Zedu declare, "Do we send runners
then time wastes. And do we summon all here, who shall maintain the gramaryes
of protection? I tell you we must forgo convention and agree this thing among
ourselves, now."

           
A supporter said, "Aye! And my
vote is cast with Zedu, with Ochen."

           
"Ochen's not a vote in
this," returned the quib- bler.

           
Ochen seemed then to summon an inner
strength. He rose to his feet, straight-backed, his voice a tocsin, commanding.
"Nay, I've not a vote, save that which every being in this sad world of
ours has—to choose betwixt the Younger Gods and Tharn—and that I cast for Horul
and his kin. Nay, I'm not among your number—and be this the manner of your
governance, the way of your counsels, I'd not deem it any great honor, for I
perceive you little different to ordinary folk. This brave Kern has said
it—They babble like children, squabbling out the world's ending/ Horul, already
you've admitted yourselves duped by the Mad God's servant, let him pass through
the gate! And now you sit quarreling like fishwives as he draws ever closer to
his master." He paused, the eyes that ranged the wazir- narimasu glinting
tawny, furious, subduing them so that none voiced objection or interrupted, as
if they sat transfixed by his wrath. "I say again—your vacillation serves
only Tharn's purpose! I tell you— bring these brave folk to the gate and send
them through! They'd chance their lives, and more, to save this sorry world of
ours, while you . . . You'd quibble and debate matters of protocol as the world
falls down about your ears. You'd argue pro and con until the Mad God walks our
world. Send them through, I tell you! Put an end to this fainthearted caution
and send them through!"