Magician (33 page)

Dolgan returned to the lantern and
said, “Why did you do that, lad?”

Tomas said, “I . . . don’t
know.” Feeling suddenly self-conscious at having disobeyed the
dwarf’s instructions, he said, “But it worked. The thing
left.”

“Aye, it worked,” agreed
Dolgan, removing the shutter from the lantern. In the light he
studied the boy.

Tomas said, “I think your
ancestor’s hammer was too much for it.”

Dolgan said nothing, but he knew that
wasn’t the case. The creature had fled in fear from the sight
of Tomas in his armor of white and gold. Then another thought struck
the dwarf. “Boy, how did you know to warn me the creature was
behind me?”

“I saw it.”

Dolgan turned to look at Tomas with
open astonishment “You saw it? How? You had shuttered the
lantern.”

“I don’t know how. I just
did.”

Dolgan closed the shutter on the
lantern again and stood up. Moving a few feet away, he said, “Where
am I now, lad?”

Without hesitation Tomas came to stand
before him, placing a hand upon his shoulder. “Here.”

“What—?” said the
dwarf.

Tomas touched the helm, then the shield
“You said they were special.”

“Aye, lad. But I didn’t
think they were
that
special.”

“Should I take them off?”
asked the worried boy.

“No, no.” Leaving the
lantern upon the floor, Dolgan said, “We can move more quickly
if I don’t have to worry about what you can and can’t
see.” He forced a note of cheenness into his voice. “And
despite there being no two finer warriors in the land, it’s
best if we don’t announce our presence with that light. The
dragon’s telling of the moredhel being down in our mines gives
me no comfort. If one band was brave enough to risk my people’s
wrath, there may be others. Yon wraith may be terrified of your
golden sword and my ancient hammer, but twenty or so moredhel might
not be so easily impressed.”

Tomas could find nothing to say, so
they started moving off into the darkness.

Three times they stopped and hid while
hurrying groups of goblins and Dark Brothers passed near by. From
their dark vantage point they could see that many of those who passed
harbored wounds or were aided by their kinsmen as they limped along.
After the last group was gone, Dolgan turned to Tomas and said,
“Never in history have the goblins and moredhel dared to enter
our mines in such numbers. Too much do they fear my people to risk
it.”

Tomas said, “They look pretty
beat up, Dolgan, and they have females and young with them, and carry
great bundles, too. They are fleeing something.”

The dwarf nodded. “They are all
moving from the direction of the northern valley in the Grey Towers,
heading toward the Green Heart. Something still drives them south.”

“The Tsurani?”

Dolgan nodded. “My thought also.
Come. We had best return to Caldara as quickly as we can.” They
set off and soon were in tunnels Dolgan knew well, taking them to the
surface and home.

They were both exhausted when they
reached Caldara five days later. The snows in the mountains were
heavy, and the going was slow. As they approached the village, they
were sighted by guards, and soon the entire village turned out to
greet them.

They were taken to the village long
hall, and Tomas was given a room. He was so tired that he fell asleep
at once, and even the stout dwarf was fatigued. The dwarves agreed to
call the village elders together the next day in council and discuss
the latest news to reach the valley.

Tomas awoke feeling ravenous. He
stretched as he stood up and was surprised to find no stiffness. He
had fallen asleep in the golden mail and should have wakened to
protesting joints and muscles. Instead he felt rested and well. He
opened the door and stepped into a hall. He saw no one until he came
to the central room of the long hall. There were several dwarves
seated along the great table, with Dolgan at the head. Tomas saw one
was Weylin, Dolgan’s son. Dolgan motioned the boy to a chair
and introduced him to the company.

The dwarves all greeted Tomas, who made
polite responses. Mostly he stared at the great feast of food on the
table.

Dolgan laughed and said, “Help
yourself, laddie; there is little cause for you to be hungry with the
board full.” Tomas heaped a plate with beef, cheese, and bread
and took a flagon of ale, though he had little head for it and it was
early in the day. He quickly consumed what was on the platter and
helped himself to another portion, looking to see if anyone
disapproved. Most of the dwarves were involved in a complicated
discussion of an unknown nature to Tomas, having to do with the
allocation of winter stores to various villages in the area.

Dolgan called a halt to the discussion
and said, “Now that Tomas is with us, I think we had best speak
of these Tsurani.”

Tomas’s ears pricked up at that,
and he turned his attention fully to what was being said Dolgan
continued, “Since I left on patrol, we have had runners from
Elvandar and Stone Mountain. There have been many sightings of these
aliens near the North Pass. They have made camp in the hills south of
Stone Mountain.”

One of the dwarves said, “That is
Stone Mountain’s business, unless they call us to arms.”

Dolgan said, “True, Orwin, but
there is also the news they have been seen moving in and out of the
valley just south of the pass. They have intruded on lands
traditionally ours, and that is the business of the Grey Towers.”

The dwarf addressed as Orwin nodded
“Indeed it is, but there is naught we can do until spring.”

Dolgan put his feet up on the table,
lighting a pipe. “And that is true also. But we can be thankful
the Tsurani can do naught until spring, as well.”

Tomas put down a joint of beef he was
holding. “Has the blizzard struck?”

Dolgan looked at him. “Aye,
laddie, the passes are all solid with snow, for the first winter
blizzard came upon us last night. There will be nothing that can move
out there, least of all an army.”

Tomas looked at Dolgan. “Then . .
.”

“Aye. You’ll guest with us
this winter, for not even our hardiest runner could make his way out
of these mountains to Crydee.”

Tomas sat back, for in spite of the
comforts of the dwarven long hall, he wished for more familiar
surroundings. Still, there was nothing that could be done. He
resigned himself to that and returned his attention to his meal.

T
he
weary group trudged into Bordon.

Around them rode a company of Natalese
Rangers, dressed in their traditional grey tunics, trousers, and
cloaks. They had been on patrol, had encountered the travelers a mile
out of town, and were now escorting them. Borric was irritated that
the rangers had not offered to let the exhausted travelers ride
double, but he hid it well. They had little reason to recognize this
group of ragamuffins as the Duke of Crydee and his party, and even if
he should have arrived in state, there was little warmth between the
Free Cities of Natal and the Kingdom.

Pug looked at Bordon with wonder. It
was a small city by Kingdom standards, little more than a seaport
town, but far larger than Crydee. Everywhere he looked, people were
hurrying about on unknown tasks, busy and preoccupied. Little
attention was paid the travelers except for an occasional glance from
a shopkeeper or a woman at market. Never had the boy seen so many
people, horses, mules, and wagons all in one place. It was a
confusion of colors and sounds, overwhelming his senses. Barking dogs
ran behind the rangers’ horses, nimbly avoiding kicks by the
irritated mounts. A few street boys shouted obscenities at the party,
all obviously outlanders from their look, and most likely prisoners
from the escort. Pug was vaguely troubled by this rudeness, but his
attention was quickly distracted by the newness of the city.

Bordon, like the other cities in the
area, had no standing army, but instead supported a garrison of
Natalese Rangers, descendants of the legendary Imperial Keshian
Guides and counted among the best horse soldiers and trackers in the
west. They could provide ample warning of approaching trouble and
allow the local militia time to turn out. Nominally independent, the
rangers were free to dispose of outlaws and renegades on the spot,
but after hearing the Duke’s story, and at mention of the name
Martin Longbow—whom they knew well—the leader of the
patrol decided this matter should be turned over to the local
prefects.

They were taken to the office of the
local prefect, located in a small building near the city square. The
rangers appeared pleased to be shed of the prisoners and return to
their patrol as they gave over custody to the prefect.

The prefect was a short, swarthy man
given to brightly colored sashes about his ample girth and large
golden rings upon his fingers. He smoothed his dark, oiled beard as
the ranger captain explained his company’s meeting with the
Duke’s party. As the rangers rode off, the prefect greeted
Borric coolly. When the Duke made it clear they were expected by
Talbott Kilrane, the largest ships’ broker in the city and
Bornc’s trading agent in the Free Cities, the prefect’s
manner changed abruptly. They were taken from the office to the
prefect’s private quarters and offered hot, dark coffee. The
prefect sent one of his servants with a message to the house of
Kilrane and waited quietly, only occasionally making noncommittal
small talk with the Duke.

Kulgan leaned over to Pug and said,
“Our host is the sort who sees which way the wind blows before
making up his mind, he waits word from the merchant before deciding
if we’re prisoners or guests.” The magician chuckled.
“You’ll find as you grow older that minor functionaries
are the same the world over.”

An angry storm in the person of Meecham
appeared suddenly in the door of the prefect’s home a short
time later, one of Kilrane’s senior clerks at his elbow. The
clerk quickly made it clear that this was indeed the Duke of Crydee
and, yes, he was expected by Talbott Kilrane. The prefect was
abjectly apologetic and hopeful the Duke would forgive the
inconvenience, but under the present conditions, in these troubled
times, he could understand? His manner was fawning and his smile
unctuous.

Borric indicated that, yes, he did
understand, all too well. Without any further delay, they left the
prefect and went outside, where a group of grooms waited with horses.
Quickly they mounted up, and Meecham and the clerk led them through
the town, toward a hillside community of large, imposing houses.

The house of Talbott Kilrane stood
topmost upon the highest hill overlooking the city. From the road Pug
could see ships standing at anchor. Dozens of them were sitting with
masts removed, obviously out of service during the harsh weather. A
few coast-huggers bound for Ylith in the north or the other Free
Cities were making their way cautiously in and out of the harbor, but
for the most part the harbor was quiet.

They reached the house and entered an
open gate in a low wall, where servants ran to take their horses. As
they dismounted, their host came through the large entrance to the
house.

“Welcome, Lord Borric, welcome,”
he said, a warm smile splitting his gaunt face. Talbott Kilrane
looked like a vulture reincarnated into human form, with a balding
head, sharp features, and small, dark eyes. His expensive robes did
little, to hide his gauntness, but there was an ease to his manner,
and a concern in his eyes, that softened the unattractive aspect.

In spite of the man’s appearance,
Pug found him likable. He shooed servants off, to make ready rooms
and hot meals for the party. He would not listen as the Duke tried to
explain the mission. Raising a hand, he said, “Later, Your
Grace. We can speak at length, after you have had rest and food. I
will expect you for dinner tonight, but for now there are hot baths
and clean beds for your party. I will have warm meals delivered to
your quarters. Good food, rest, and clean clothes, and you’ll
feel like a new man. Then we can speak.”

He clapped his hands, and a housecarl
came to show them their rooms. The Duke and his son were given
separate quarters, while Pug and Kulgan shared another Gardan was
shown to Meecham’s room, and the Duke’s soldiers were
taken to the servants’ quarters.

Kulgan told Pug to take the first bath
while the magician spoke with his servant for a while. Meecham and
Kulgan went off to the franklin’s room, and Pug stripped off
his dirty clothes. In the center of the room was a large metal tub,
filled with scented water, hot and steaming. He stepped into it and
pulled his foot out quickly. After three days of walking through
snow, the water felt as if it were boiling. Gently he placed his foot
back in and, when he had become used to the heat, slowly entered the
water.

He sat back in the tub, the sloping
back providing support. The inside of the tub was enameled, and Pug
found the slick, smooth feeling strange after the wooden tubs of
home. He lathered himself over with a sweet soap and washed the dirt
from his hair, then stood in the tub and poured a bucket of cold
water over his head to rinse off.

He dried himself and put on the clean
nightshirt that had been left for him. In spite of the early hour he
fell into the warm bed. His last thought was of the sandy-haired boy
with the ready grin. As Pug slipped into sleep, he wondered if Dolgan
had found his friend.

He awoke once during the day, hearing a
nameless tune being hummed, while water was being splashed about with
great zeal as Kulgan soaped his large body. Pug closed his eyes and
was quickly asleep again.

He was hard asleep when Kulgan roused
him for dinner. His tunic and trousers had been cleaned and a small
rent in the shirt mended. His boots were polished and shone with a
black gleam. As he stood inspecting himself in a mirror, he noticed
for the first time a soft black shadow on his cheeks. He leaned
closer and saw the early signs of a beard.