The Silver Mage (9 page)

“He didn’t.” Galerinos paused, wondering if his master would believe his tale. “I, uh, well, er, I did. Not that I know what I did. I mean—”

“What, by all the hells, do you mean?”

“I cursed them by the power of Great Belinos, just as you taught me. I pointed my staff at them, but then these long bolts of blue fire leaped out of it. Evandar called it sorcery.”

Caswallinos glared at him with narrowed eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, seemed to think better of it, opened his eyes wider, then shrugged. “He warned me, Evandar that is,” the old man said, “that our magic would be a fair bit stronger here than in the homeland. I had no idea what he meant until this moment.”

“What did he mean?”

Caswallinos smiled. “Let’s find Adorix,” was all he said. He turned and strode away with Galerinos hurrying after him.

The tribes folk stood beside their horses or sat on the ground in the little squares of shade cast by the loaded wagons. A fine film of brown dust covered everyone and everything. Children whined or wept while exhausted women tried to comfort them. The horses stood head down; the dogs were panting openmouthed. As Caswallinos walked through, people turned to him and wordlessly held out desperate hands.

“There’s a river ahead!” the elder druid called out repeatedly. “The gods have promised us water. Not far now. Big river ahead!”

The news spread in ragged cheers. Even the slaves, white savages captured in one battle or another, managed tired smiles in their chains.

Eventually the two druids found Adorix in conference with the cadvridoc, Brennos, as well as Bercanos, head of the Boar clan, and Aivianna, the Hawk woman and moon-sworn warrior. Although none of them wore armor or carried shields, each had their long sword slung in a baldric across their chests, and all four of them had warriors’ hair: bleached with lime until it stood out stiff and straight, as if a private wind had blown it back from their faces. The faces in question were all grim, tight-lipped, narrow-eyed, as they turned to the druid and his apprentice, though Aivianna’s was the grimmest of all, scarred as it was by the blue tattoo of the crescent moon on her left cheek.

“Water straight ahead to the east,” Caswallinos said. “Evandar his very self told me that a big river lies nearby.”

Brennos smiled briefly. The others nodded.

“I don’t suppose,” Adorix said, “that he had any news of my two cubs.”

“He didn’t.” Caswallinos lied smoothly. “But Galerinos does. They’re alive up on the mountain. He can lead some horsemen back to them.”

“There’s no time for that now.” Bercanos stepped forward. “If the savages attack us, our men and horses are barely fit to fight. We’ve got to reach that river.”

Adorix laid his hand on his sword hilt and turned toward him. Aivianna stepped between them. She stayed silent, merely looked at each in turn, but Adorix took his hand away from the sword hilt and Bercanos moved a good pace away.

“There’s no time for arguing amongst ourselves, either,” Brennos said.

The heads of the two clans agreed in sullen mutters. Aivianna’s expression never changed as she returned to her place by the cadvridoc’s side.

“Evandar brought my apprentice back but not the others,” Caswallinos said. “I don’t know why. The gods are like that, truly. But Gallo here can tell us what happened.” He cocked a thumb at Galerinos. “Tell them the truth, lad.”

“Just at dawn we rode out to find water,” Galerinos began. “I chanted the prayers and held out my staff, but we rode till the sun was halfway to zenith before my staff began to tremble. It seemed to be tugging toward the hills, so that’s the way we went. We saw a little valley twixt two of the hills where the trees looked fresh and green. You couldn’t see clearly into it, though, and our god sent me an omen about it. Just as we reached the trees, a raven flew up, squawking and circling over the valley.”

“Here!” Brennos interrupted. “Didn’t Rhodorix realize you were riding for an ambush?”

Galerinos felt his stomach clench. He hated to betray his cousin, but Caswallinos was glaring at him, his arms crossed over this chest, in a way that brooked no argument.

“He didn’t,” Galerinos said. “He led us right into it. I tried to warn him, truly I did, but Rhoddo just spurred his horse forward, and everyone followed him.”

Adorix grunted once, then shook his head. “Let them rot, then.” He held out his hand to Bercanos, who laid his own palm against it.

“Forgive me,” the Boar said. “My foul temper—”

“Mine’s no better,” Adorix said. “We’ve got more to worry about at the moment than my stupid son. If he was coward enough to live when his men died, then he can freeze in the hells for all I care. I have other get to take his place.”

“But—” Gallo began then swallowed his words. Arguing with Adorix was a good way to die young. “As you wish, honored one.”

“Well and good, then.” Brennos took command. “We can’t stand here jawing like a pack of old women. If there’s a river ahead, let’s get on the move. We can’t risk losing our horses.”

“Let us hope that Belinos and Evandar lend us their aid,” Caswallinos said and folded his hands with a pious expression on his face, one that Galerinos had seen before, whenever his teacher was hiding something.

Shouting orders, the warleader strode away with the other warriors trotting after. Galerinos turned to Caswallinos. “I thought you said Evandar wasn’t a god.”

“He’s not,” the old man said, grinning. “But they don’t need to know that, do they now? Keep silence, lad, whenever you can, and your life will be a fair bit easier. Now let’s find you a new horse and move out with the wagons. Tonight, however, I want to hear more about this curse of yours.”

T
he sun crept down the western sky and shone full-strength onto the hillside. Gerontos’ face had turned a dangerous shade of red. “If only we had some water,” he whispered.

“True spoken,” Rhodorix said. “This cursed stretch of country is all dust and thorns.”

“I wish we’d stayed by that harbor. We could have built a city there.”

“The omens weren’t right.”

Gerro nodded and closed his eyes.

“It’ll be cooler when the sun goes down,” Rhodorix said.

Gerro never answered.
It’ll be too cold, most likely,
Rhodorix thought,
and us with not one cloak between us.

As if in answer to his thoughts, a shadow passed across the sun. He looked up to see a lavender cloud, a small smear of color at first against the blue. The cloud grew larger, sank lower, and formed a perfect sphere of mist. Out of the mist swooped a hawk, an enormous red hawk, shrieking as it glided down toward them. For the briefest of moments it hovered a few feet from the ground, then with a shimmer of silver light Evandar dropped down lightly and stood, back in his more-or-less human form. The lavender sphere vanished.

“I’ll take you somewhere safe,” Evandar said. “Can you get your brother onto his feet?”

“He can’t stand up,” Rhodorix said. “Maybe I can carry him over my back.”

The god frowned, considering Gerontos, who had slumped down against the boulder. Rhodorix had a panicked moment of thinking him dead, but he opened his eyes with a groan.

“I’ll bring help.” Evandar snapped his fingers and disappeared.

And how long will that take?
Rhodorix wondered if Gerro would live long enough for this promised help to arrive. He scrambled up and stood between his brother and the sun to cast a little shade. He heard Gerontos mutter something and glanced back to see him trying to swat away the flies that were crawling on the blood-soaked bandage.

“Leave them be,” Rhoddo said. “Save your strength.”

When he returned his gaze to the hillside, he saw the lavender mist forming in midair. A vast cloud of it hovered in the form of an enormous ship under full if ragged sail, which first settled to the ground, then began to thin out, revealing Evandar and a tall man wearing what seemed to be a woman’s dress, a long tunic, at any rate, with gold embroidery at the collar and hem. Around his waist, he wore a belt from which hung a good many pouches. This fellow had the same peculiar ears as Evandar, and his hair was just as yellow, but his cat-slit eyes were a simple gray. He started to speak, saw Gerontos, and trotted forward, brushing past Rhodorix to kneel at the injured man’s side.

The last of the mist-ship blew away. Four stout young men appeared, carrying a cloth litter slung from long poles. They wore plain tunics, belted with leather at the waist. From each belt dangled a long knife in a leather sheath.

“A healer,” Evandar said, “and his guards.”

“You have my humble thanks, Holy One,” Rhodorix felt himself stammering on the edge of tears. “My humble undying thanks! I’ll worship you always for this. If I swear a vow, I’ll seal it with your name.”

Evandar smiled in the arrogant way gods were supposed to smile, judging from their statues, and waved one hand in the air in blessing.

The healer pulled a glass vial filled with a golden liquid from one of the pouches at his belt. He slipped one arm under Gerontos’ shoulders and helped him drink, one small sip at a time. Gerontos’ mouth twitched as if he were trying to smile. The healer got to his feet and began barking orders in a language that Rhodorix had never heard before. With a surprising gentleness the guards lifted Gerontos onto the litter. The healer put the vial away, then from another pouch took out a peculiar piece of white stone—a crystal of some sort, Rhodorix realized, shaped into a pyramid. For a long moment the healer stared into it, then nodded as if pleased by something and put the pyramid away.

No time for a question—the lavender mist was forming around them with a blessed coolness. Everyone followed Evandar as he led them uphill, only a few yards, or so it seemed, but when the mist lifted, they were standing on a different mountain, and the sun was setting over its peak. Rhodorix felt as giddy and sick as if he were drunk.

He tipped his head back and stared uphill at a massive fortress above them, huge, far grander than anything the Rhwmanes had built in the homeland. To his exhausted eyes it seemed almost as big as an entire Rhwmani walled town. Over the stone walls, he could see towers rising and the slate-covered roof of some long structure in their midst. Beyond, at the peak of the mountain, three huge slabs of stone loomed over the fortress, dwarfing it. The sun had just lowered itself between two of the slabs, so that a long sliver of light flared and gleamed like a knife blade on the mountainside.

“Garangbeltangim,” Evandar said. “And safety, at least for now.” He tipped back his head and laughed in a ringing peal. “Indeed, at least for now.”

His laughter lingered, but the god had gone.

As they walked the last few yards, massive wooden gates bound with bronze bars swung open with barely a squeak or puff of dust. Rhodorix looked around him, gaping at everything, as he followed the healer inside. Big slabs of gray-and-reddish slate covered the courtyard in a pattern of triangles that led to a long central building. Its outer walls gleamed with tiny tiles of blue, white, and green, set in a pattern of half circles so that the enormous rectangular structure seemed to be rising out of sea-foam. To either end stood towers, built square like Rhwmani structures, but far grander, taller, and the top of a third tower, standing behind the main building, was just visible. Off to each side he could see various small huts and houses. Even the lowliest shed bore a smooth coat of bright-colored paint.

A number of people were standing around, watching their procession straggle into the courtyard. They all had the same furled ears and cat-slit eyes as the healer; they all wore tunics and sandals like his as well. Off to one side someone was leading a horse around the end of the main building, a stocky warhorse whose coat shone like gold and whose mane and tail flowed like silver. Rhodorix had a brief moment of wondering if he’d died without noticing and now walked in the Otherlands, but his thirst drove the fancy away. Dead men didn’t long for water.

Bells chimed over the courtyard, followed by the louder boom and reverberation of huge metallic gongs. The sound came from the top of the tower to his left. When he looked up, Rhodorix saw men on the roofs, and the gleam of metal swinging as they struck the gongs. Up on the mountain peak the sun slipped a little lower. The long knife blade of light disappeared. The gongs fell silent as the healer urged his men forward again.

They entered the largest building by a narrow door at one end. More colors, more mosaic walls—they turned down a corridor with walls painted with images of trees and deer, then passed red-curtained alcoves and went through a gilded room into a mostly blue corridor, decorated with a long frieze of circles and triangles. Glowing cylinders topped with flame burned in little tiled alcoves on the walls. In this maze of design and brightness, Rhodorix could barely distinguish what he was seeing, nor could he tell in what direction they walked.