The Western Wizard (59 page)

Suddenly, Mitrian’s scream shattered the silence behind Colbey. The ground trembled. Instinctively, Colbey caught a trunk to steady himself. As the ground again became stable beneath him, he charged toward his companions. Garn’s howl of pained frustration nearly deafened Colbey. The Renshai skidded up beside a deadfall that now spanned the trail, though it had not been there when he had passed this section of pathway moments earlier. Mitrian sprawled on the ground beneath it. She had fallen flat to the ground. Luckily, the tree’s branches braced it at a crooked angle that had spared her back. Though shocked, she was alive, and Colbey saw no blood.

Concerned that the branches might shatter beneath the weight of a trunk nature had never made them to support, Colbey mobilized the rest. “Tannin, Garn, Korgar!” He included the barbarian, though he did not see Korgar. “Get your hands beneath that tree and lift. Rache, pull her free. But be careful.” The others sprang to obey.

Before the men could find their positions, Mitrian wriggled free on her own. She rose with a slowness that seemed more cautious and dazed than pained. Clearly, she had taken no serious injuries.

Colbey left Mitrian’s solace to the others, finding the timing of the tree’s falling too convenient for coincidence. He dropped to his knees, searching. At length, he
found the slim, dark wire that had triggered the trap and the notched sticks that had held it until Mitrian tripped it. “Camp,” Colbey snarled. He glanced in Tannin’s direction, his eyes narrowing. Tannin had chosen the route, and the self-proclaimed “Western Renshai” would have answers if Colbey had to rip them from his head. With a sigh of grim annoyance, Colbey went to tend Mitrian’s bruises.

*  *  *

That night, Colbey left Rache’s earliest session of training to Garn, while the old Renshai sought out Tannin. The shuffle of boots on leaves and twigs wafted clearly to him, interspersed with the swish of a blade cutting air. He followed the familiar music of a
svergelse
, brushing through a line of pine to the edge of a nearby clearing. There, Tannin practiced, his sword slashing and jabbing the night air, his face crunched in concentration.

Colbey folded his arms over his chest and watched. He saw a bold commitment that would have pleased him and a simplicity of pattern that would have bothered him, if either of those things mattered now. Colbey knew that he would probably have to kill his newest student, and it enraged him. He had accepted so much ugliness in the Renshai’s history and so many changes over the course of his lifetime. But Colbey believed he had finally found one force he might never learn to handle, though it had come gradually. In his youth, a man’s word was law. The idea of breaking a promise did not just seem wrong, it had no precedent for consideration. Colbey wondered whether he could ever adjust to judging every man he met, every statement, and every promise. The survival of all Renshai depended on it.

Tannin continued his practice, blithely unaware of his audience.

Colbey considered. He could easily catch Tannin from behind and cut the youth down before he could think to defend. The thought lasted less than a fleeting instant, and it merited no deliberation. Neither the Renshai’s code nor Colbey’s personal honor would allow such a thing. That Tannin may have discarded that same honor was immaterial. Colbey knew that the very substance of honor
involved sticking to its tenets despite the nature or methods of the enemy.

Colbey frowned, studying Tannin as he hacked through a wild flurry of attack. Here, following his principles came easy to Colbey. He could confront this problem head-on and without fear, as Renshai were meant to do. Facing Episte’s slayer, when it happened, would become another matter, one Colbey tried to cast aside for now.
If I got the opportunity to kill that madman dishonorably, would I take it? Can result ever justify chaotic action or corrupted intent?
Colbey tried to forget questions that had little to do with his current task, but they would not be banished. He considered the dilemma of the Northmen: It is evil to murder, and evil should not exist. So is it evil to murder those who follow evil just because they are evil? Clearly, the Northmen had answered this paradox to their own satisfaction, since they slaughtered that which they considered evil gleefully, without a war of conscience. At times, Colbey wished the world could be as direct and simple for warriors of neutrality.

Colbey forced his thoughts back to the problem at hand. The previous night, he had believed Tannin’s story; but the Northmen had no reason to suspect that the Renshai would veer eastward. Whoever had constructed the trap had done so to catch men, and Tannin alone had known the path the Renshai would take. Though circumstantial, the evidence seemed irrefutable. Still hating what he felt a need to do, Colbey stepped into the clearing. A single upstroke stole the weapon from Tannin’s hand. Catching the hilt, Colbey jabbed both swords for the youngster, backing him against an oak.

Surprise shocked through Tannin, easily read. It fluttered into confusion. He met Colbey’s gaze, then glanced swiftly away. The confusion strengthened and channeled into a fear Colbey could not refute.

Afraid. Is that because he’s innocent or guilty?
Colbey hated the need to try a man based on radiating emotion, though he knew he would receive more evidence than any judge. “Why did you lead us into a trap?”

“What?” Tannin flipped up his wrists to indicate surrender. He seemed too startled to answer the question.

Recalling how Tannin had danced around his previous
queries, Colbey stuck to the point. “Why did you lead us into a trap? Reply directly and quickly, if you value your life or your honor at all.”

Emotions flickered and changed. At first, Colbey believed that Tannin intended to comply docilely. A flurry of thought followed, too quick for Colbey to sort. Then came a tiny glimmer of amusement, nearly masked by fear. Finally, Tannin’s consciousness settled into a familiar acceptance of death, and all fear disappeared. Despite the threat, Tannin skirted the interrogation. “The way you phrased the question, I couldn’t possibly answer it directly without condemning myself.
Why
did I lead you into a trap? I’m innocent,
Gullindjemprins.
I didn’t lead anyone into anything. I chose my route for two reasons only. First, to take you to the Fields of Wrath where my people . . . 
our
people eagerly await you. Second, I took us toward the nearest town where I knew we could get rations.” His eyes again rolled to meet Colbey’s cold gaze. This time, the youngster did not look away.

Colbey wanted to believe so badly it hurt. He tried not to let hope color his objectivity. “How did the Northmen know where to put that trap?”

“I don’t know.” Tannin glared in defiance. “Maybe they found us. Maybe they overheard something.”

Colbey considered. He had explored the minds of enemies before, and now he walked the borders of propriety.
If Tannin is untrustworthy, he must die. If he’s a friend, I must trust him implicitly. But I have to give him at least the same chance as I gave Valr Kirin and his troop at the dam.
Tentatively, Colbey spread his consciousness, threading into Tannin’s mind. Recalling the agony he had caused Valr Kirin, he kept his touch light.

Tannin continued, apparently oblivious, “Man traps don’t fit Northmen’s methods anyway. They’re more likely to charge into single combat. Maybe the tree just happened to fall then. Or maybe the trap was set by someone else for someone else, and we just came along at the wrong time.”

Colbey heard the words in stereo, once from Tannin’s lips and the other as a brash echo in his head. His exploration brought details he would otherwise have missed. The mass of conflicting emotions that assailed Tannin
included frustration, the sorrow of loss, and a respect that could pass for awe. Tannin’s aggressive bluster covered a fear that stemmed less for his own life than for losing the finest treasure his tribe could find: the Golden Prince of Demons. And Colbey found an eagerness to learn that he searched for in every student, raw and unprotected by normal, outward defenses. He discovered a pocket of comments, the things Tannin would have liked to have shouted, but wisely held back:
If I wanted to kill Renshai, I only had to poison the food I passed around. And I’d be a fool to start with anyone but you.
Colbey’s invasion revealed that Tannin was exactly what he claimed to be.

Guilt assailed Colbey. Having established Tannin as an ally, he withdrew instantly, feeling offensive and cruel. Still, though he knew he had used his gift in a manner that Shadimar would not approve, he felt better for having done so.
Had I not found a means to and a comfort in trusting Tannin, I would have had no choice but to kill him.
Colbey lowered his arms, the weapon in each fist feeling inappropriately heavy. He flipped Tannin’s sword so that its hilt faced its wielder. Though he had done it tens of thousands of times with hundreds of different swords, this time the maneuver seemed awkward. Only a sudden shift kept him from cutting his hand, and even that movement felt slowed. A new fatigue plagued Colbey, appearing to have no source, and Colbey remembered then how much his mental techniques drained him. He sheathed his own sword cautiously, without wasted motions.

Tannin reached for his hilt, his stance crouched and uncertain.

Colbey revealed his change of heart without explanation. “Drop
Gullindjemprins.
It’s a title of disrespect against the Renshai.”

Tannin paled, hand closing over his hilt. “I didn’t know.”

“It comes from the Westerners’ belief that our skill stems from magic and chaos. They called us the Golden-Haired Devils from the North. The Golden Prince of Demons, I believe, is merely their way of naming me a leader of Renshai.”

Tannin sheathed his sword. “Then what can I call you, sir? It feels wrong to use anything but a title. I’m not partial to Bringer of Evil or to Deathseeker.”

Colbey let the silence build. Despite the simplicity of the question, he knew the response he was about to give would mean more to Tannin than any vow or death threat. He offered more than a means of address. With his answer would come a responsibility without equal, one that went beyond any bonds of blood, as well as a promise. “Call me your teacher.”

“
Torke.
” Tannin spoke the most important word in the Renshai language without the trace of Western dialect that had pervaded his speech. His lips twitched, then his grin spread to encompass his entire face.

*  *  *

The city of Wynix huddled in a steep-walled valley like a fetus in a womb, and sunset struck highlights from its enclosing stone wall. Colbey examined the layout from a broad stretch of forest, with the eye of an invader. Clearly, its citizenry had built the town with the same hopes and specifications as the auspicious trading town of Pudar, though on a smaller scale and with little success. Less accessible and with a more stable population, Wynix could never attract the richer merchant caravans, nor, thankfully, the riffraff and pestilence that seemed to accompany them. Colbey also noticed that the fools had designed the city wholly indefensibly. Archers could annihilate the populace or an infantry siege them without a casualty. Yet Wynix boasted no fertile soil for farming nor mineral wealth, and its low ground would be as difficult to protect for the invaders as the Wynixans. Therefore, Colbey believed, Wynix had almost certainly enjoyed peace in the decades since the Renshai had razed the West.

Colbey turned, heading back to his waiting companions. “I think it’s safe. It’s not well-defended, but I doubt the Northmen would assault an entire Western village without exhausting peaceful methods of getting us first. I don’t think the Northmen will guess that we’ve swung eastward.”

“They know.” Mitrian shook a pebble from her sandal, fully recovered. “Someone set that trap.”

The fading light stole color from vision and made Tannin’s hair seem nearly as dark as Mitrian’s.

Colbey turned his attention to Tannin, smiling slightly. “Someone reminded me that traps aren’t the Northmen’s way. Anyone could have set it. Apparently, this road is well-traveled, so it could have been meant for someone else. Or it might simply have been the work of a highwayman. A cruel trap, but that sort isn’t known for chivalry.” Colbey did not voice his deeper concern, that the person or group who had violated the headless corpse was responsible. The memory of movement in the woodlands haunted him, and he wished he had tracked their stealthy follower more persistently.

Always practical, but rarely pensive, Garn fidgeted. “I don’t see it makes much difference. We need food and horses. We can get them there.” He pointed toward the valley.

Rache stared in the direction of Garn’s finger, though he could not see Wynix through the foliage. “If the Northmen can recognize Mama alone, they’d know any of us. I think we’re safer together.”

Colbey nodded his agreement. “We’ll need rations, seven horses, and a sword for Korgar.” He caught a glimpse of Rache’s notched blade and winced. “At least one sword.”

“We’ll need something else,” Mitrian added. “We’ll need gold. Horses don’t come cheap, and I couldn’t even pay for my own meal in Porvada.”

Colbey turned his attention to Tannin hopefully.

The Western Renshai shook his head. “I have a handful of copper. It’ll buy us a modest meal at
The Merchant’s Haven.
That’s Wynix’s inn. One meal. One. It won’t cover horses and weapons.”

Colbey frowned. In the past, he had won food and lodging for himself and his companions with his healing arts or by selling his skill. In his youth, the Renshai had swept, slaying, through the West, taking what they wished. Money had no value to him.

Garn glanced from Colbey to Tannin. “I’ve been known to . . . um . . . take . . .”

Mitrian silenced her husband with a glare, but not before Colbey recognized his intentions. As a gladiator,
Garn had stolen from the guards who kept him prisoner. For the moment, Colbey discarded this option, leaving it as a distant possibility if no better ones appeared.

Tannin kicked at his nearly empty pack. “In the years I’ve been traveling looking for you, I’ve been doing odd jobs for barter or money. That’s kept me fed and clothed. If we hang around the tavern at a busy time like . . .” He studied the sky, assessing the time. “. . . now, we’re bound to find someone who can use a group of able-bodied Renshai.” He laughed. “So long as we don’t tell them that’s what we are.”