The Western Wizard (28 page)

“Odin damn you to Hel!” Colbey leapt to his feet, so swift and light that even the wolf did not think to move until the Renshai was finished. “If I simply wanted to die, I’m quite capable of inflicting fatal wounds on myself or anyone else.” He glared, his words verging on threat. “I’ve been plunging into every war I could find since I was born. Death has eluded me so far. What
makes you so sure it’ll happen if you take me as a champion?” Another thought dashed over the first, and it emerged before Colbey had a chance to consider it. “And if I did die? What would it hurt? You could always get yourself another champion.”

“And waste the time I took to train you.”

Colbey shrugged. “Train me to what? I already know how to fight. I’m no more afraid to die than you, and I’ll gladly give my life for anything I believe in.” It occurred to Colbey to question why he felt so strongly about the matter. Two reasons came to the forefront. With blood brotherhood came responsibility, and the Wizard’s cause might give him powerful enough enemies to find the death in battle he sought.

Shadimar laced his fingers through his beard. “Colbey, sit.”

Colbey sat.

“I’ve been a Cardinal Wizard for longer than two hundred years.”

Colbey raised his brows, wondering how the Wizard dared to call Colbey old.

“And I’ve never chosen a champion before. That should tell you how carefully and slowly I make such a decision.”

“Ah.” A light dawned for Colbey. “So slow decision-making is your weakness, too.”

“Too?” Shadimar’s hands fell into his lap. “Surely you don’t mean you.”

“No, I mean Haim. Tokar’s apprentice. Slow decision-making killed him; and, perhaps, the Western Wizard as well.”

Shadimar looked hopeful as the conversation returned to the matter for which he had summoned Colbey. “You’ll tell me the story?”

“You’ll answer my questions about some of the things that happened that I didn’t understand?”

“To the best of my ability, your knowledge, and the limits of my vows.”

It seemed fair to Colbey. “I can’t ask for more than that. And the champion thing?”

“I’ll consider it with the seriousness that you and it
deserve. But I can’t guarantee I’ll come to the decision you want.”

“And I can’t guarantee that I won’t get offended.”

Shadimar’s lips twitched upward into less of a frown, but not quite a smile. He borrowed Colbey’s words. “I can’t ask for more than that.”

Having come to a tentative agreement, both men nodded. Colbey prepared to launch into his story.

Darkness enfolded the forest north of Santagithi’s Town, and stars speckled the gaps between the branches. Moonlight slashed a line through the practice clearing, dwarfing the light from a candle jutting out of a bronze holder in Emerald’s hand. She balanced it on a deadfall, the circle of light it shed glazing into and heightening the celestial glow trapped beneath the canopy of leaves.

Beginning at one end of the fallen trunk, Emerald examined the length of it by finger’s breadths. Each crevice, every rotting piece of bark fell under her scrutiny, and she shifted the candle as she moved to highlight each new area she searched. Episte had told her that Colbey had nicked young Rache with a sword blade in spar. Propriety did not allow her to remove the shirt from another woman’s child to expose the injury; but if she could find the bloodstain that Episte had mentioned, she might gather enough proof to convince Mitrian and Santagithi that Colbey was a danger to the children.

A danger.
Emerald snorted, enraged by the understatement. That Colbey hit and cut her son seemed ugly enough. Worse, each night, she found herself dealing with issues of philosophy and concepts too adult for a four-year-old mind, concepts like death, glory, war, and the value of others’ lives. She hated to think of the emotional damage Colbey had inflicted upon her only child, whom she dearly loved, her only remaining link to the man she had loved as well.
And I’m powerless to stop Colbey from destroying my child.

Tears welled in Emerald’s eyes, blurring the clearing. She halted her search, no longer able to distinguish dappled shadows from stains. A glimpse of movement caught the edge of her vision. Startled, she whirled toward it.

A man stood at the edge of the clearing. Moonlight sent white accents shimmering through a golden hair. A dark leather jerkin and breeks covered a slender figure and sinews honed by battle. A sword hung at his hip. His pale Northern skin was clearly visible against the night’s pitch.

Rache?
Emerald froze, uncertain whether to enfold him in her arms or run screaming in terror. Eyes locked on the figure, she made a religious gesture warding against evil spirits, her fingers tracing the form repeatedly and mindlessly. Hope trickled through her, then widened to a torrent that nearly overwhelmed her. The soldiers had told her that Rache had died in the Great War, yet she had never seen his body.
They could have lied.
Need overcame all caution, and desire made her sure of things that could not be possible.
It
is
Rache. Rache’s alive! Alive!
She took a sudden step toward him, arms raised in greeting.

“Hello,” the man said in the trading tongue, his Northern accent a heavy singsong. The voice was a stranger’s.

Emerald stopped, blinking rapidly. Tears stretched into colored streamers across her lashes, then her vision cleared and she could see the man’s face was not Rache’s. He wore a short, stiff beard, while Rache had always shaved cleanly. Her arms fell to her side.
A Northman? Why? How? Northmen don’t come here.
In her twenty-seven years in Santagithi’s Town, she had seen no Northmen except Rache and Colbey. Sudden fear dried her mouth, and she backstepped abruptly, forgetting the deadfall. Her calf struck wood, knocking the candle to the ground. The flame drew a spiral through the darkness, then sputtered out.

“Hello,” the man repeated, taking a cautious step further into the clearing, his hands outstretched in a gesture of peace. “I-eh won’t-eh hurt you.” His voice rose on every second syllable, and he seemed determined to ascertain that every word contained a second sound, even if he had to create it.

“Who are you?” Emerald continued to inch backward until she bunched tightly against the deadfall.

“My-eh name-is Ivhar Ingharrson of Vikerin.” He
pronounced it EEV-har, with the nearly silent “r” sounding like an afterthought.

Emerald recognized the tribal name, Vikerin. The soldiers who had fought in the Great War spoke of the single Northern tribe that had banded with Santagithi’s army and its Western cause. Faced by an ally, she relaxed slightly and sat on the trunk. His presence still alarmed her. Northern xenophobia had become legendary; and she knew most Northmen never crossed the barriers that divided West from North: the Granite Hills and the Weathered Mountains. The rare times they did, it was to trade in Pudar. “What do you want here?”

“I-eh come for een-fra ma-sheen.”

“Information?” Emerald repeated, as much to clarify the Northman’s pronunciation as to confirm his intention. In the sixteen years that Rache had lived in Santagithi’s Town, she had concentrated on his speech patterns enough to catch most of the nuances of his accent. But Rache had come to them as a child. Over time, Western phrases and pronunciations had colored his speech until even he abandoned the Northern “Ra-keh” for the Westerners’ “Rack-ee” when it came to saying his own name.

“A-bout one-called Cull-bay.”

Emerald’s blood seemed to ice over in her veins. “Colbey?” she said, realizing that, so far, she had managed to do little more than repeat the final word of each of Ivhar’s questions.

“
You
do
know
him?” Ivhar shuffled forward to normal speaking distance.

To Emerald, the Northman seemed far too close. “I know him,” she said. It seemed pointless and rude to lie. “Why?”

Ivhar shifted from foot to foot, clearly uncomfortable. Moonlight shifted white highlights through his hair as he moved. “Lady, I-eh don’t mean to alarum you.”

Emerald looked up, meeting sincere blue eyes, so like Rache’s.

“We-eh fear he might be Renshai.”

Emerald opened her mouth, but her tongue seemed paralyzed. “Renshai,” she managed. She turned her gaze to the deadfall, no longer able to meet his eyes.

“We-eh have reason to believe he was involved in killing
Northmen without honor. He-eh is old enough to have had a hand in the slaughter of Westerners.”

Emerald became more engrossed in the bark on her seat.

Apparently wanting Emerald’s attention, Ivhar moved closer and placed a booted foot on the deadfall. “Lady, if he is-eh Renshai, he-eh is-eh danger to you all-eh. They-eh train to kill many with few. And-they don’t spare women or-eh children since they teach their own to fight-eh.”

Emerald continued to study the wood, her gaze tracing a dark, irregular stain. Realization struck with sudden and vivid clarity.
The blood. I’ve found it.
Anger accompanied the discovery. She reached out a finger and touched it, her attention swiveling to Ivhar Ingharrson. “What is it you want to know?”

“I-eh need to know for certain. It would-eh not-eh do to harm a man for being-eh Renshai he is not.” Ivhar raised his brows, apparently realizing his construction was not quite right, yet hoping Emerald had understood.

Emerald remained silent, deeply thoughtful. She could not help but realize the significance of the Northmen’s hatred for Renshai that one had traveled so far on rumor. Colbey’s life meant less than nothing to her. Yet she had to consider the risk to the Town of Santagithi, and to her own son, of revealing the information.

“If-eh he is Renshai, he-eh must be executed.”

“How?”

Ivhar seemed confused by the question. “Legally, of course. Is that-eh what you mean?”

Emerald nodded absently, aware Ivhar could have no way of understanding the minutiae of the question she wanted to ask. She knew it would take more than one man and a vast score of dedication to kill Colbey, and she needed to understand the danger to the boys. Her gaze strayed back to the bloodstain. Now that she knew its location and shape, it seemed huge, a cruel and ugly testament to one who murdered strangers and mutilated children he claimed to love. She looked at Ivhar again, fire in her eyes. “For the price of a promise, I will tell you anything about Colbey you wish to know.”

Ivhar’s expression mixed hope and doubt. Clearly, he
feared Emerald might ask a price he could not afford. “What-eh is the promise?”

Emerald held the Northman’s gaze, her finger tracing the stain repeatedly, from memory. “Whatever happens and whatever you learn, my four-year-old son will not be harmed.”

Ivhar relaxed visibly, a smile crossing war-hardened features. Surely, he never doubted that Emerald’s request stemmed only from a mother’s natural protective instincts. “Fate works in-eh strange ways, an I-eh would never-eh make a vow I could not keep. But I-eh can promise that we will do our best to keep him safe. It is not our wish to hurt anyone innocent. Will that do?”

“That will do.”

“And Colbey?”

“He is Renshai,” Emerald said. “And he is every bit the killer you claim him to be.”

*  *  *

Colbey Calistinsson felt fatigue grow strong enough to dull his reflexes. Idly, it occurred to him to tap his mind for strength and clarity, yet he let the tiredness touch him instead. He had nothing to fear from Shadimar, and the story he had promised to tell would surely seem less painful when drowsiness took the edge from the memory.

Shadimar lounged on his side, his back pressed to the chamber wall, his feet stretched across the coverlet. Despite his reclining position, he still seemed dignified. He kept his attention locked on Colbey. The wolf remained curled on the floor by the bedside, nose tucked beneath his tail.

Resigned to a sleepless night, Colbey brushed wisps of gray-flecked hair from his eyes. “Having crossed the Northlands, I arrived at the Western Wizard’s cave in the Weathered Mountains early one morning. Actually, I was lucky to find it. It didn’t seem like the kind of place I could have stumbled upon blindly. Sunlight reflecting from the cliffs seemed to form a curtain in front of the entrance, and I felt rather than saw the opening.” He glanced at Shadimar.

The Wizard’s head bobbed almost imperceptibly. Otherwise, he gave no response to Colbey’s revelation.

“I was staring at the entrance, when Tokar spoke to
me from inside. His voice was light and free as a breeze yet powerful as a gale. He asked for my name, and I gave it. He invited me inside. I went.” Colbey continued to stare at Shadimar for clues as to whether his story contained too few details or too many.

The Wizard nodded ever so slightly.

Taking this as encouragement, Colbey continued, “That was when he told me that the Northmen had annihilated the Renshai six years past. He told me I was the only survivor.” His focus on Shadimar grew even more intense as he considered a fact he had not placed into this context before. “He was wrong.” Colbey’s forehead crinkled. “I thought you Wizards have magic that makes you right all the time.”
At least, you always talk as if every word that comes from your lips is indisputable fact.
He kept the idea to himself.

“Usually we are.” Shadimar did not apologize for his comrade’s mistake. “Under the circumstances, he had reason to believe you were the last.”

“Why wouldn’t he make certain?”

“It’s not pertinent. Continue.”

Colbey kept his gaze locked on Shadimar, gradually raising his brows to remind the Wizard of his agreement to keep Colbey informed.

Shadimar sighed. “If you keep interrupting yourself, we’ll be here all night.”

Colbey did not budge. “If you keep resisting my questions, we’ll be here into next week.” He smiled. “Surprise. I can be as patient and stubborn as you.”

Shadimar returned a grudging smile. “That’s not a thing on which to pride yourself.” He sighed again. “Very well, it’s already cost me too many words. I might as well try to appease you. To confirm facts, a Wizard has to summon a creature of magic. We call them demons. Grossly understated, that would be dangerous. Since you lived only because he called you away, and the Northmen seemed certain they had slain every Renshai on Devil’s Island, Tokar had good reason to believe you were the last Renshai.”