Mage Quest - Wizard of Yurt 3 (15 page)

“Yes,” I said because there didn’t seem to be anything else to say. We sat quietly for several minutes.

“You and the chaplain have been good friends,” said Hugo at last. There was a curious intimacy of sitting near him in the dark, hearing his breath but not able to see him. “I didn’t think wizards and priests were friends very often.”

“They’re not,” I said. When the silence began to stretch out again, I forced myself to say more. Hugo, without his normal bravado and bantering manner, seemed very young and vulnerable; I did not want to dismiss him with monosylabic answers. “Wizards and priests folow different sets of laws and gain power from very different sources. But Joachim and I have been friends since a short time after I became Royal Wizard of Yurt—even though I started our acquaintance by suspecting him of ev2.”

“I think Father Joachim was always different from most priests.” I didn’t like the way Hugo put it in the past tense but made a sound of assent. “He was already Royal Chaplain of Yurt back when I was being trained in knighthood,” he went on, “but at the time I didn’t pay much attention. I think I’ve always assumed someone would become a priest only if he didn’t have the courage or the manhood to become anything else. My own fathers chaplain is wel-meaning and fussy. But the Royal Chaplain is different. He always thinks he’s right, like al priests, and wants everyone else to have the same opinion he does, but it’s stil not the same.”

I said nothing but let him continue.

“He doesn’t just preach about morality but acts as though he takes it very seriously himself. And he’s stayed brave even while dying. Do you know why he decided to become a priest in the first place?” I made myself answer. “I don’t think he felt he could do anything else. You met the Lady Claudia. She may be too old for you, but she’s a stunningly beautiful woman, and Joachim rejected her love because he felt God had caled him.”

Hugo thought this over. “Ascelin said he thinks she gave him King Solomon’s Pearl. What do you think? Do you think she stil loves him? Do you think the bandits tried to kil him on purpose because he had itP’

“I have no idea,” I said, not caring this time if I sounded dismissive.

After a few more minutes, Hugo spoke again. Our sleeves brushed as we shifted, but most of the time we could have been disembodied minds, close together in the night with death very near.

“I realize,” said Hugo, “that in spite of al my knighthood training I’ve never before actualy seen anyone dying from wounds suffered in battle or in ambush. Have you?”

“I’ve watched someone the before,” I said slowly, not liking the way he’d phrased the question.

“What do you think?” he persisted. “Is it realy true, what the priests tel us, that we go to heaven when we the?”

“That is what they tel us. Joachim, at any rate, seems fairly sure of it.”

This time Hugo did not answer. We sat in silence for hours. At any rate, I assumed it was hours; I quickly lost al track of time and it began to feel that this night had already lasted as long as most weeks.

From the sound of his breathing Hugo had dozed off, and I myself had to fight increasingly powerful waves of drowsiness. Bodies needed sleep, too, no matter who might live or the.

My mind had wandered far away, halfway between waking and dream, when a soft sound brought me abruptly back to ful consciousness. That sound was my own name.

“Hugo?” I said, but Hugo was asleep. It was Joachim who had spoken.

“Daimbert, I must apologize,” he said quietly. “I’m afraid I have given you a great deal of trouble and worry.”

I put my face down next to his. “I don’t care. It would be worth any amount of trouble and worry if I could save you from death.”

“But I’m afraid it’s al for nothing,” he continued. I was weak enough that, against my wil, tears began leaking down my cheeks. I was so unhappy that it took me five seconds to understand what he said next. “Because it looks like I’m not going to the after al.”

I shook Hugo awake, crying hard now for no reason at al. “light the lantern,” I told him and “Keep your eyes shut,” to Joachim. Hugo and I carefuly lifted my herbs away from the wound. The cut was clean, pink, no longer infected.

Hugo scrambled out of the tent to tel the others. I broke the wad of herbs open, because while it was stil damp in the center the outside had dried, and reapplied it. “Thank God,” I managed to say, although my voice no longer seemed to be working correctly.

“I’m afraid my mind may have wandered again for a while,” said Joachim, “but I have a vague recolection that, somewhere through the evil dreams, I heard talk of chicken soup. Do you think there might stil be some?”

Part Four. The Eastern Kitigboms

I

We stayed at our mountain campsite among the rocks and evergreens a week, by which time the cut on Joachim’s throat was little more than a scab and the horses were getting restive. I used the time to read Melecherius on Eastern Magic thoroughly. Ascelin hunted and made two more trips down into the vilage to buy bread and other supplies.

The fact that no one came by in al that time, not the bandits, not the king’s chancelor to check on stories of travelers ambushed less than a day’s ride from the royal castle, not any other traveler, made me even more convinced than I had been that King Warin was behind the attack on us. King Haimeric stil refused to distrust his old friend, but he had discovered during the week that he was outnumbered, four to one, with the chaplain abstaining.

I thought grimly that if they were the same bandits who had tried to attack Arnulf last fal, then this was why Arnulf had sent whatever was in the package with Joachim rather than going anywhere himself, but I did not mention this to the chaplain.

Ascelin and King Haimeric looked again at the maps. “With spring another week along, we should have even less trouble with the passes,” said Ascelin.

“Dominic’s not the only one who wants to go to the eastern kingdoms to visit his father’s grave,” the king said. “I’ve never been there, either.” When we started eastward again, Ascelin went first, his bow strung and ready, looking around with hunter’s eyes at anything that could be an ambush. I rode at the rear, probing with magic. No one would be able to attack us by surprise this time.

In spite of the tension, al of us found our spirits rising just to be on the road again. We passed a number of narrow tracks branching off from the main road, which could have gone to the royal mines and could have gone to the bandits’ hideout. The road quickly grew so steep that in several places we had to dismount and lead the horses.

As we climbed, I kept glancing surreptitiously at the chaplain out of the corner of my eye, fearing that he would find the ride too exhausting. If he did, he gave no sign, and in fact several times he appeared to be singing, half under his breath. This was the man, I reminded myself, who had thought that peril gave additional merit to the journey.

When the road finaly leveled out, it clung halfway up the side of a gorge, with peaks high above us blocking out the sky and a rushing river far below. The stonework looked ancient, as though dating from the Empire, but the road appeared sound. A cold wind blew steadily through the gorge. In several places, waterfals shot from the cliffs above toward the river below and the road went under them. As we passed beneath a solid, roaring mass of water, damp dripped onto our hair and gave life to vividly green ferns clinging to the rock wal, though on either side the cliffs were barren.

“Aren’t we up to the pass yet ?” Hugo asked as the road emerged at last from the gorge but immediately started to zigzag upward across a dry mountain slope.

“We won’t be up to the pass for two more days,” said Ascelin. “And it certainly won’t be a smooth road from then on, either.” When we stopped for the night in a holow sheltered by evergreens, Joachim asked me, “Why have you been watching me al day? Afraid your wizardry might not have healed me fuly?” There was an amused glint in the back of his dark eyes.

“I didn’t heal you with wizardry,” I said patiently. “Let me explain it again. The words of the Hidden Language by themselves have little power either to sicken or to heal. Certainly there are herbs, potions, compounds and the like, products of the earth, that wil do both, and some wizards in the old days used to do as much with such compounds as with the real forces of magic. But nowadays most wizards avoid such messiness. Al I did was what my predecessor in Yurt used to do: use the spels of wizardry to discover and, at most, augment the powers of growing things. Herbs’ attributes can provide a shortcut or even go where spels do not go, but they are inherently unpredictable. I can’t be nearly as confident about a healing herb as I could be about a modern spel.” I stopped in the middle of this academic discourse and smiled at him. “I think you know me wel enough to realize that even my modern spels don’t always work quite the way they’re supposed to.”

“I’l take my chances on the quality of your spels,” he replied, with the same almost amused look. But then he became more sober. “I’m sorry, Daimbert, that I waited so long to open Claudia’s present.

Now you’l never know what was in it.”

“It’s not worth worrying about,” I said. I didn’t want to think any more about a woman who had hypocriticaly tried to remind her brother-in-law of her former love for him, just so she could give him an object so accursed it would nearly kil him.

But Joachim had more to say. “I hope you don’t think me foolish, Daimbert, but in a way I was testing myself during our visit. I realized that, at some level, I had stayed away from my old home for so long because

I was afraid that I might regret my decision to become a priest.”

“And did you?” I asked in trepidation.

“Of course not, and that was one of the best parts of the visit. I deliberately spent time talking to Claudia and was pleased to find that I felt brotherly affection for her as my brothers wife and my niece’s and nephews’ mother, but nothing more.”

“Is that why you let her sing love songs to you?”

The chaplain stretched out his long legs in front of him. I was relieved that he took my question with new amusement, rather than as an insult. “The songs she was singing had nothing to do with me. She’s very happily married to my brother. I’m sure any particular affection she may have had for me vanished many years ago.” I looked at the chaplain thoughtfuly. Joachim always assumed that everyone was a sinner, without letting it bother him, but it occurred to me that he also resisted thinking real evil of someone whom he liked and trusted. I had always hoped that the fact that he was wiling to be friends with me was an indication that I was realy virtuous the whole time. But that he would not even consider the possibility that Claudia had been trying to seduce him—or at least persuade him with seductive hints to take a “gift” from her unquestion-ingly—now made me wonder how deep my own virtue might actualy go.

The next time we reach a place with a telephone or a pigeon loft,” said Joachim, “I wil send her a message and apologize for losing her present. I just hope it wasn’t anything very valuable.” It grew slowly colder as we climbed during the next two days; several times there were patches of snow in the ditches at the side of the road as wel as on the towering peaks above us. But late in the afternoon of the second day we finaly reached the and looked out eastward, a stinging wind in our

Before us stretched broad green meadows, scattered with low wooden buildings and clumps of stunted trees. Cows grazed in the meadows and smoke rose from several chimneys. But we were not looking at the meadows. Instead, our eyes were drawn to the mountain to our left, which rose at least a mile higher than the high saddle on which we stood. We had caught glimpses of it as we climbed, but the mountain we were on had hidden its true size from us.

“The Snow Giant,” said Ascelin, “and to our right is Diamond Mountain.” This more southerly peak was scarcely lower. Storms swirled around their upper reaches, covering them with white mist, but suddenly a gust of wind a mile above us cleared the clouds away. The peaks seemed to glare down at us with the same unbearable cold which I had felt, on a much reduced level, in the eyes of King Warin.

We turned our attention then to the scene before us. The meadows, bright with flowers, sloped slowly down from where we stood, but several miles away the land started to rise sharply again, and grass gave way first to a line of dark evergreens and then to ice. The ops of the icy peaks were touched by pink from the sun behind us.

“I hope we’re not going up those mountains,” said the king. “I’m not sure my old bones would make it”

Ascelin laughed. “Don’t worry, Haimeric. We’re out of the western kingdoms now and over the pass. Our road wil swing around the bases of the rest of the mountains we meet”

“Does the king of this kingdom have a telephone?” asked Joachim.

“We’re not in a kingdom,” said Ascelin. “Up here in the mountains most of the countries are very smal—even smaler than Yurt—and are run by elected councils. And I’d be surprised if anyone east of the pass had a phone. They’re a little old-fashioned here.”

“Come on,” said Dominic. “Lets get down out of the wind.”

For the next week we traveled through scenery so glorious that it would have been worth the journey by itself, yet so overwhelming that I felt exhausted from more than riding at the end of the day. I was constantly reminded that, while magic might draw on the powers that had shaped the earth, those powers were so immense that al the wizards who had ever lived could only move them very slightly.

Ascelin was right that the worst of our climbing was behind us. Our road stayed in the valeys, narrow or broad, beneath the peaks, or at worst worked its way across the grassy lower slope of a mountain.

With a view that often stretched for miles in al directions, we worried less about a surprise attack. We passed a number of tiny, jade-green lakes caught in folds of the landscape, reflecting the peaks above them.

The first two nights we asked hospitality from farmers near the road. In return for a few coins, they cheerfuly put us up in the haylofts in the back of their houses, warm with the breath of the cows beneath, and gave us cheese and pancakes with honey and wild strawberries for supper. At night, listening to the dul clang of bels as the cows moved below us, I began to relax for the first time since we had seen King Warm’s castle rising against the sky.