The Spirit Stone (61 page)

Penna gave him a brilliant smile and curtsied again. Once she had the rations, she trotted off, disappearing among the tents.

‘Tarro was one of Ridvar’s riders,’ Salamander remarked. ‘The gods only know what will happen to them now.’

‘They’ll have a place in my dun if they want it.’ Gerran gave him a smile twisted with irony. ‘When, of course, I get a dun. I’ll send Clae to tell them.’

Once they received their rations, much the worse for wear from their long journey, Salamander found he had little appetite. When he stowed his share of crumbling flatbread and rancid salted meat in his saddlebags, he noticed the bundle containing the black pyramid. Studying the gem would provide a splendid distraction from his grief. He carried the bundle a little ways away from camp, out in the grass to a comfortable spot not far from the forest verge, but he made sure that he stayed close enough to yell for help should there be any trouble. While he’d not received any dweomer omens, ordinary thoughts of mounted Horsekin attacks had occurred to him.

He unwrapped the banner made from his old shirt and spread it out on the ground, then sat down cross-legged and placed the crystal upon it. Once again he saw Evandar, standing upon the pier at Haen Marn, displaying the book, then fading away. Yawning, he leaned forward in hopes of seeing a different vision, but the sun was hot upon his back, and the events he’d just lived through had left him exhausted. He was half-asleep by the time he saw something move inside the pyramid.

He picked up the showstone, looked into it through the clipped apex, and saw brown eyes staring back. Dimly he could see the rest of the mazrak’s face, as sharp-edged as he’d been remembering it. The brown eyes stared, wide and unblinking.
Ye gods!
Salamander thought.
He’s trying to ensorcel me right through the stone!

‘It won’t work,’ Salamander thought to him. ‘You’ve got to be close to someone’s body to ensorcel them, you dolt!’

In his mind he heard the raven squawk. The eyes vanished. The mazrak had learned at least some of his dweomer by rote, Salamander could suppose, rather than from first principles.

Salamander wrapped the pyramid in his old shirt, secured the bundle with the thong, then laid it beside him on the grass. When he glanced at the horizon, he saw that the sun was perhaps an hour away from setting. What would Dallandra be doing? he wondered. He considered contacting her, but his stomach growled alarmingly, reminding him that he’d left his rations back at camp. He got up, then bent over to pick up his bundle. Just as he touched it, he heard the rush of wings behind him.

The raven mazrak slammed into him and sent him sprawling on his face into the grass. Salamander rolled over, got to his knees, and grabbed for the bundle, but the mazrak had seized it with strong claws. Flapping hard, he rose into the air. Salamander scrambled up, ran after, and leapt as high as could to snatch at the bundle. Not high enough—he fell flat on the ground. The raven shrieked in triumph and flew off, heading for the forest. Salamander got up and ran a few yards after him before he realized the chase was hopeless.

‘You filthy scavenger!’ he screamed after him. ‘You foul and scabrous carrion crow! You—you—’ He stopped and panted for breath. He could transform and fly after, he supposed, but by the time he stripped off his clothing and worked the dweomer, the mazrak would have such a long lead on him that he’d never catch up. He could only stand and watch while the raven dwindled to a black speck in the sky, then disappeared.

From the direction of the camp he heard a human voice yelling his name. He turned to see Gerran, running towards him with drawn sword.

‘What in the name of the Lord of Hell was that?’ Gerran called out. ‘Are you unharmed?’

‘Unharmed I am,’ Salamander called back, ‘except for my wounded pride. As to what—a thieving bird.’

Gerran stopped and sheathed his sword, then waited, his arms crossed over his chest, for Salamander to walk over and join him.

‘A bird, was it?’ Gerran said. ‘Biggest blasted bird I’ve ever seen.’

‘Well, what else could it have been?’ Salamander forced out a smile.

‘That’s what I’m asking you. It didn’t look like a young dragon. Didn’t smell like one, either.’

‘How perspicacious you are, Gerro, clear of eye and keen of mind, astute—’

‘That’s enough blather, gerthddyn. What was it?’

‘Oh very well! It was a dweomermaster who can turn himself into a bird at will, and he just stole an enchanted stone from me.’ Salamander grinned when Gerran’s jaw dropped in surprise. ‘There! Now you know.’

Salamander stalked off, heading for the horse herd. In a few long strides Gerran caught up with him.

‘What are you doing?’ Gerran said.

‘Fetching my horse. I’m going after him.’

‘You’re doing no such thing. It’s almost dark, and you can’t ride into an unknown forest in the dark. Get back to camp.’

‘Who in all the hells are you to—don’t you give me orders!’

‘I happen to be the captain of Tieryn Cadryc’s warband, and you’re one of his servitors. You can take my order, or I’ll knock the shit out of you and carry you back to camp.’ Gerran’s voice was perfectly mild, and his face showed not a trace of any emotion. ‘Well, which is it?’

Salamander considered putting up a fight, dismissed the thought as a death wish, and took a deep breath to calm his nerves.

‘Camp it is,’ Salamander said. ‘If dweomer could turn someone into a frog, though, you’d be hopping hard for the nearest stream.’

Gerran’s mouth twitched in what might have been a smile. During the walk back, neither of them said a word. Although Salamander considered contacting Dallandra and telling her what had happened, he quite simply felt too embarrassed. The morning, he decided, would be time enough for yet another humiliation.

By the time Laz returned to the cabin, night had fallen. In his beak he carried the cloth bundle, dangling by its thong. Even though she’d scried him out earlier, Sidro felt a wave of relief at actually seeing him physically. He dropped the bundle onto the table, then hopped up onto the log perch.

‘I’ll turn around,’ Sidro said.

She saw the flash of blue light and turned to see him jump down from the log, back in human form, and grinning in triumph, though his sweat carried the strong scent of exhaustion. He grabbed his brigga from the floor and put them on, then sat down on one of the stump chairs.

‘Well,’ he said, ‘aren’t you going to tell me I was stupid to take such a chance?’

‘I’m just glad you’re not dead.’

‘I am, too, actually. The archers were too far away to loose a shaft at me, if indeed they even knew what was happening.’ He grinned, then bent over to pull on his boots. ‘Where’s my shirt? I want to be properly dressed to savour this moment.’

With a weary shake of her head, Sidro tossed him the shirt. He finished dressing, then swung around on the chair to face the table and the odd-looking bundle. Beside it lay the white pyramid in its nest of sacks. He unwrapped the white first and set it down carefully on its silk pouch, then laid a hand on the bundle containing the black.

‘It seems,’ Laz said, ‘that our minstrel friend has wrapped his treasure in an old shirt.’

‘That used to be in the shrine. Rocca sewed it to a strip of cloth to make a banner. She insisted he’d worked a miracle and had joined the ranks of the holy witnesses.’

Laz rolled his eyes in disgust, then cut the thong with his hunting knife. Among the folds of cloth the black pyramid gleamed under the dweomer light.

‘The spirit’s gone,’ Sidro said. ‘It had a spirit bound in it when it stood on our altar.’

‘One of the Ancients probably released it, then,’ Laz said, ‘and a good thing, too. Who bound it?’

‘I have no idea. The holy witness Raena, maybe. It was always there as far as I know.’

‘Ah, I see. Well, most likely it was releasing the spirit that brought the twins back to their full glory. Look at the sparks between them. You won’t even need to use the Sight.’

With her ordinary vision Sidro could see a bluish flow, heavier than air but much less substantial than water, and flecked with silver, between the white pyramid and the black. When Laz pushed the white a little closer to the black, the flow increased and began to spit like a fire in green wood.

‘I wonder what would happen if I touched them together?’ Laz picked them up, one in each hand.

‘Don’t!’ Sidro suddenly felt so cold and sick that she could barely speak. ‘Laz, don’t! It’s dangerous. Look at them! Can’t you see?’

He flashed her his knife-edge grin, then brought his hands together. The tips of the pyramids, a bare inch apart, began spewing silver flames like tiny fire mountains.

‘Stop it!’ Sidro hissed. ‘Please—’

Too late. He touched the tips one to the other. Silver sparks exploded all around him. Blue light flashed, blinding her. A sound like thunder rolled around the cabin. She heard a woman scream, realized that the scream was hers, screamed again and again as she blindly groped for him. Her hands found only the table edge.

‘Laz! Laz!’

She spun around, flailing open-handed. The air smelled oddly clean with the tingle of lightning. From outside she heard footsteps, men’s voices, and Vek, howling as if in agony. The cabin door banged open. In a silver-tinged blackness she turned towards the sound.

‘Sidro!’ It was Pir’s voice. ‘What happened?’

‘I don’t know. Where’s Laz? I can’t see! Is he dead?’

‘He’s not in the cabin. What happened?’

The only thing that prevented her from collapsing onto the floor was her grip on the table. She began to sob, and the tears eased her vision. The darkness turned to a smear of reddish-gold light that floated in front of her like a mask. When Pir threw an arm around her shoulders, she turned to him and let her head rest against his chest while she wept, fighting to bring her tears under control. The red-gold mask shrank down to a point, freeing her vision at last. Pir let her go and stepped back, looking around him wide-eyed.

‘What happened?’ he repeated.

Men filled the cabin, she realized, staring at her. Faharn shoved his way through the mob and stood in front of her, his blue eyes narrow with rage.

‘What have you done to him?’ Faharn said.

‘Me?’ Sidro took a step back. ‘Nothing! He’s the one who—’ The tears rose and drowned her words.

‘Leave her alone!’ Pir snapped. ‘She’s trying to tell us.’

Faharn crossed his arms over his chest and glared, but mercifully he stayed silent. Young Vek was shaking so badly that she knew he was close to having one of his seizures. Nothing else looked the least bit unusual. The wrappings for the two crystals still lay on the table among the remnants of their noon meal. Nothing had burned, nothing had broken, not one object had moved from its place. Except of course for Laz.

‘I don’t know what happened,’ she whispered, then steadied her voice. ‘It was the two spirit stones. Laz brought them together and touched them, tip to tip. Everything seemed to explode. He stood right here but a moment ago. Now he’s gone.’

Faharn swore under his breath.

‘Do you believe me?’ Sidro said to him.

‘Yes, yes, of course,’ Faharn said. ‘He’s talked about nothing but those damned gems for days.’ His voice wavered and threatened to choke. ‘It’s just like him, somehow, to do something like that.’

The men began to murmur, just a word here and there, and look slantwise at each other. A few laid their hands on their dagger hilts for the comfort of it.

‘Do you think he’s dead?’ Pir asked Sidro.

‘I don’t know. I just don’t know.’

Vek sobbed once, then choked, making a growling sound deep in his throat. Everyone turned towards him as his head began to sway from side to side. He threw his arms into the air, then his head suddenly flopped forward. He staggered and fell to his knees among the rushes.

‘Alive,’ he stammered. ‘Alive but gone, gone. Alive but gone. Alive but—’ He fainted, sprawling face down onto the boughs.

The two men nearest to him grabbed him and hauled him up. His head flopped back, and drool ran from his open mouth.

‘Take him back to his shelter,’ Pir said. ‘And stay with him till he comes round.’

When they carried Vek out, the cabin began to empty. A few at a time, the men slipped out, whispering among themselves. Faharn lingered, tried to speak, then turned and ran up the steps and out. Sidro sat down on the stump and concentrated on keeping herself from weeping. Pir leaned against the table and considered her unspeaking until the last of them had left.

‘You’re our leader now,’ he said. ‘Until we find Laz, of course.’

‘Of course? Do you truly think we can find him? Alive but gone, gone—what does that mean? What can it possibly mean?’ Sidro held up her hands, noticed they were shaking, and tucked them into her lap. ‘How can we even search with the dragons lurking right nearby?’

‘The dragons? It’s the Lijik men I’m worried about. Without Laz and his sorcery we can’t hide if we stay here. We can’t travel without leaving a trail they’d have to be blind to miss.’

‘Ai, may every goddess help us! We’ll need them all. How can I lead you? I’m all to pieces, I can’t think, I—’

‘Hush!’ Pir held up a hand and let a scent flow out to her. ‘I’ve been thinking about things.’

This scent smelled like horses, sharp, sweaty, and yet oddly calming. Sidro took a deep breath. Her hands lay still in her lap, and her thoughts steadied with them, though her grief still burned in her soul.
Laz, Laz, how could you desert me again?
A childish thought, ridiculous, even, she knew—yet she ached as badly as if it were true. Pir’s voice shocked her out of self-pity.

‘My idea is this,’ Pir said. ‘What if we surrendered to the Ancients in that army?’

‘What?’ Sidro stared gape-mouthed at him.

‘Why are we here? Because the Alshandra people hate us. Why are the Ancients and their allies here? They hate the Alshandra people. They have sorcerers among them. Our sorcerer is gone. That black stone was theirs. They likely want it back. We want Laz back, and he likely still has the black stone.’

‘They’ll kill him if they find him.’