Kings of Sorcery

by Robert Ryan

She held his gaze, and there was worry in her eyes. “Don’t take him on. He’ll kill you.”

  “Perhaps.”

  She ran a hand through her hair. “I can’t make up my mind about you. You seem so smart. You seem like you’ve been far more than a caravan guard in your time, but you can be stupid too. Very stupid.”

  Brand did not answer that. There was nothing he could say at the moment.

  She dropped her hand. “Come to my wagon when we stop tonight,” she said, “and I’ll rub oil and special herbs into your back to ease the pain.”

  Without waiting for an answer, she left him then, all dark hair once more and a purposeful stride. She had fire in her, that one, and he liked her. But she would be trouble too.

  The caravan would not stop just because of the whipping of one man, and Brand had used whatever time had been allotted to him to recover. He must ride now, and more depended on it than the merchant’s schedule.

  He went to his horse, a sleek roan mare that had drawn the eyes of all the guards when he joined the caravan days ago and signed on. Gingerly, he mounted.

  One of the twenty guards drew close to him, his own mount nearly as fine. He was older than most of the group, his bushy moustache silver, and Brand had sensed his experience and skill at this business from the first day.

  “You should have cried out,” the rider murmured. “Laigern has you marked now. You challenge him, and in his mind he must break you. That’s how he thinks. He’ll be looking for an excuse to whip you again.”

  Brand shrugged, and regretted it. Pain flared in his back once more. “You’re right. But he doesn’t need much of an excuse. He didn’t have one just now.”

  The older man looked at him knowingly. “You’re right. Dismounting to help up an old man who had tripped and fallen on the road as the caravan passed isn’t much of a misdemeanor. But Laigern is like that. He has his rules, and the old man could have been a ruse to distract us while an attack was launched by outlaws.”

  “Maybe so,” Brand said. “But what others were there? The old man’s wife and grandchildren? And there was no cover for an ambush.”

  The older man let out a sigh, but did not reply.

  “You’re right,” Brand continued. “His rules may be stupid, but I should have known better than to break them.”

  “They are stupid, but it’s best not to talk that way. You’re new with us, and he likes to make sure that new starters understand right from the beginning who is in charge.”

  Brand wondered if the man had cause to remember his own introduction to Laigern, but he did not ask about it. They fell silent. Around them, all the other guards had now mounted, their expressions grim. They looked neither at him nor at Laigern, and Brand realized they sensed trouble brewing. He sensed also that they wanted no part of it, for Laigern was feared.

  The lead wagon gave a sudden lurch, and then began to roll forward. The merchant sat high in the driver’s seat, looking straight ahead and ignoring all around him. He did not like what was happening either, but Brand knew he had given him as much time as he could to recover. More than Laigern would have wished.

  Another four wagons followed the first, packed tightly with valuable goods. Around them the twenty guards nudged their mounts into a walk, Brand likewise, and the caravan began to move forward once more. They were heading toward the Duthgar, the land of the Duthenor. It was a wild land, populated by wild tribesmen.

  City boy, Tinwellen had called him, but she did not know the truth, nor any of the others. He had traveled further than she had, further than her father, and though he had come from the city and acted as such, he was born in the Duthgar. And he was returning home. But trouble would come of that, and a whipping was the least of it.

  Ahead, leading them all, rode Laigern. He sat his horse like a king on his throne, but he turned from time to time, and his dark eyes, sullen with menace, found Brand on each occasion. Brand stared back. And trouble would come of that, too.

  The caravan had started in the great city of Cardoroth. That was where he had signed on. They did not know who he was nor his history, and that was the way he wanted it. Laigern had looked him over gruffly and accepted his word that he was good with a sword. He had been forced to, for he was short of recruits. Word of his fondness for the whip had obviously reached the ears of many.

  The merchant had gazed at him shrewdly, seeing through some of his guise, seeing that despite appearances he was more than he seemed, even a man of wealth and influence. That old man said little, but saw much. Still, he did not guess the truth. Had he done so Brand would have seen shock in his eyes. What he saw instead was curiosity, and a mind that gnawed away at mysteries. That was dangerous too, for the old man might eventually work out who he was.

  The great city of Cardoroth was not his true home, if he even had one anymore. It was a haven for him though, a place of exile that he had come to love. But all things ended, and as they did something new began.

  He was returning home now, the land where he had grown up, and yet where he had been pursued as a boy by assassins and hunted from place to place and farm to farm. Only now, coming home, he was a greater swordsman than he had been, a better strategist. He was older, wiser, more confidant. And, though none in this caravan knew it, he possessed the use of magic. These were not small things, and they would stand him in good stead. Yet his enemies were powerful, and still they would seek his death. And coming back to the Duthgar, where their power was greatest, placed the advantage with them.

  Dusk came and the wagons drew to a stop. Camp was set, horses fed and rubbed down, fires lit and meals cooked over the embers. Night fell, the stars sprang into the sky and music from pipe and drums and voice filled the darkness. Brand liked it all. There were worse fates in life than traveling with a merchant, seeing new ground every day and camping at leisure under the stars. But it would not be his fate, not for long.

  By dawn the caravan was rolling again. Not long after, the river came into view. Not just any river, but the Careth Nien, the great river that divided the continent of Alithoras. Trees lined its winding path, hiding much of it, but here and there the glint of silver and wide stretches of water showed. And soon the crossing came into sight. It was here that the caravan must pass, and here that the first great danger lay. Brand looked ahead with determination.

  3. The River Crossing

  They came to the crossing before mid-morning. Nothing special marked the place, except a small group of cottages. Why this place had been chosen, Brand did not know. It was the same as any other stretch of the river. Yet even so, his instincts flared to life. There was danger here.

  The crossings were not a ford or a shallows of any kind. Perhaps the two banks were closer together, but they were still hundreds of feet apart. Between lay the river, beautiful but deadly for man or horse that attempted to swim it.

  Men came out of the cottages. Laigern and the merchant went off to speak to them. They would negotiate the fee for the crossing, and while they did so Brand studied how it would be achieved.

  His eyes were drawn first to the barge. It lay anchored in the river. It was a boat, of sorts, but very wide and flat in order to carry the livestock and wagons over the water. Large as it was though, there would need to be two trips to get all of this caravan across.

  At least the barge was on this side of the river at the moment. That would speed things up. Also, the men that had come out of the cottages were men from Cardoroth. The danger, if danger there was, would come from the other side. There would be Duthenor there, but how many and who Brand did not know.

  Would his enemies be waiting for him? It was possible. The crossing would certainly be guarded and there would be men with his description there, even men who had once known him. That was the greatest danger of all. He had taken precautions against the first, but against the second there was little he could do.

  He removed his hand from his sword hilt when he realized he was touching it. It was a sign of nerves, and nothing would giv
e him away swifter than that.

  The merchant soon returned with Laigern. The old man muttered something about being overcharged, and Brand smiled. Merchants always thought anytime they had to pay something it was too much. But they each charged as much as they could for the goods they carried themselves.

  Laigern called most of the guards forward. Brand was not one of them. These, and the first three wagons moved forward and were loaded on the barge. Eventually, it began to move across the river. It would be a long wait here with the last two wagons.

  Brand looked about. He saw that his friend had been left behind too. The older man approached, his expression slightly amused and his mustache almost twitching.

  “It seems that we are both out of favor,” he said.

  “You spent too long talking to me, it seems. I’m sorry about that.”

  The older man laughed. “To be sure, that wouldn’t have helped. But Laigern and I have never seen eye to eye. A pox upon him and his type.”

  “Likely enough,” Brand replied, “he sells information to outlaws about caravan movements. But I’ve a feeling his day is done.”

  The older man looked at him thoughtfully. “You see things quickly, especially for a man that’s new to this guard business. It’s almost like you’ve done it before. But if you had, I’d know you. I’ve been at this a long time.”

  Brand said nothing, but the older man looked at him not unkindly. “We all have our secrets, I guess. And what you say about Laigern is probably true. There’ve been rumors for years. But this much I’ll tell you for a fact. He’s killed men. He’s dangerous, and I’ve seen none better with sword, knife or fist. Stay clear of him. Let your anger go, and live. Push him too far, and he’ll leave you lying by the side of the road for the crows to eat.”

  The older man did not wait for an answer this time. He had given his advice and now he wandered off to idle away the boring break they must endure before the barge returned.

  Brand liked him, and he considered his advice. But it was hard to forgive or forget a man who had whipped you for no good reason. His back still felt raw, and he remembered the agony of the lash and the rising torrent of hatred that overwhelmed him. It had receded a little now, but not much.

  Everyone seemed on edge, for the caravan and the guards had been split into two groups and should an attack by outlaws occur each group would be isolated and vulnerable. This only added to Brand’s concerns. But he remained still, casually observing the river and trying to see what was happening on the other side without looking anxious. But it was too distant to tell much, other than that there were men there, and this he already knew.

  Eventually, the barge returned. It was now the second group’s turn to cross. The wagons rolled onto the barge first, and then the guards followed with their horses.

  Brand led his roan mare over the landing. Her hooves clattered dully on the timber platform, and he saw flashes of the river between planks. Then they walked over the barge ramp and onto the boat itself. He kept to the rear of the wagons, not wishing to be seen any earlier than necessary when they made it to the other side.

  “Cast off!” yelled the captain when all were ready.

  “Casting off!” responded the crew.

  The ropes holding the barge were untied and straightaway Brand felt the boat shift as the river current took hold of her.

  Quickly now the crew worked, and they retrieved long poles and moved to the downstream edge of the barge. The poles speared into the water and found the river bed. The barge steadied. Then they withdrew the poles and began the arduous task of propelling the craft forward.

  The current was slight at first, but then it grew stronger as the minutes passed and they ventured further out. The opposite shore remained distant. The current took hold of the barge, let her go and then gripped her again. Brand was glad that he had not attempted to swim, even with the horse. It may have been possible, but neither he nor the horse had the training for it. They would likely have died. He looked across to the far shore and wondered if he still might.

  Not for nothing was this called the Careth Nien, the great river. It was wide and it took a long time to reach the shallows. But eventually they did, and the poles splashed through the water and hit the bottom quickly.

  With a bump that thrilled through the deck beneath Brand’s feet, and then a grinding noise, the barge came alongside the landing on the far bank.

  “Tie her up, lads!” came the shouted command of the captain.

  Some of the men ran to secure the boat, while the rest remained where they were, holding the barge steady in the water with their poles.

  When the boat was securely tied, a ramp, this time at the front, was let down. The wagons rolled onto the landing and the guards followed them.

  Across the timber landing they went. But soon there was ground beneath them once more.

  Brand felt a strange sensation pass over him. This was home. He walked once more on the land in which he had been born. He felt pride and fear and love and hope all flow through him at once. He had returned from exile, had returned to right a great wrong done against his people, and the world would never be the same again.

  This moment had been long in coming. He had so much to achieve. But it could end now, before it began, if he were recognized and killed. His great enemy would be sure to have the borders watched.

  The wagons rolled forward to join the tail end of the first three. Soldiers were everywhere. And on this side of the river they were Duthenor warriors. No, he changed his mind. They were Callenor tribesmen, men of a neighboring land. Men who followed Unferth and who, by their strength of arms, had allowed him to usurp the chieftainship of the Duthenor and maintain it.

  The soldiers moved among the wagons, checking their contents and assessing the value of all goods. This would be used to calculate the taxes Unferth charged. But at the same time the men searched the wagons carefully. This may have been for contraband, but he knew they were also looking for him. Better to hide in plain sight, he thought.

  Even as he casually watched the men search, his stomach sank. Several tribesmen were also coming through, looking at the guards one by one. And Laigern was with them.

  They came to him, and his stomach sank further. Among the Callenor soldiers was a Duthenor; one that he knew of old. Yet he had been but a child then, and had changed much and now spoke differently. Would the man recognize him? Perhaps. He had recognized the man.

  Brand looked as casual as possible, merely checking the tightness of the girth strap of his mount when they approached. He made no attempt to hide his face and looked up when they neared.

  The men paused and looked at him. He felt their eyes burn into him, and saw a frown appear on the face of the one he knew.

  “And who are you?” the man asked, his eyes searching.

  “Conmar,” Brand answered, giving the same name he had given Laigern and the others.

  The man did not take his eyes off him, and Brand tried his best to look bored.

  After a moment the man turned to Laigern. “Is that so?”

  The head guard grunted. “That’s his name. Leastways the name he gave me. He signed on recently.”

  The man seemed to be interested by this. “Then he could be the one we’re looking for.”

  Brand looked surprised. “Why would you be looking for me?”

  “Where were you born?”

  “In Cardoroth city. Midwinter night it was, and the howl of the wind was so loud my father said that—”

  “He’s not interested in the wind, idiot,” Laigern interrupted him.

  The other man’s eyes were still on him, and the surrounding soldiers were growing uncertain. This was taking longer than it had with the other caravan guards, and he felt their eyes on him, weighing him up.

  “An idiot, am I?” Brand said to Laigern. “Is that what I get for working day and night for a pittance. Is that—”

  “Enough!” Laigern yelled.

  Tension hung in the air bet
ween him and the head guard. Brand hoped it was enough. No man trying to hide would draw attention to himself in that manner. Yet still the Duthenor’s eyes were on him.

  “Pay no attention to this one,” Laigern said. “I’ll sort him out afterwards. He’s a troublemaker his is, for sure. But I’ll sort him out.”

  Brand felt the threat in those words, but the Duthenor warrior spoke again. “A troublemaker, is he?”

  “Aye. The worst kind. I had to whip him yesterday.”

  The Duthenor looked at Brand once more, and then slowly shook his head as his eyes lost interest. “He’s not the man we’re looking for. That one wouldn’t allow himself to be whipped.”

  They walked away, but Brand saw Laigern look back at him, his eyes smoldering pits of hatred. If he had known the truth, he would have turned Brand in quicker than blink and enjoyed the consequences. But he was blinded by his sense of superiority to the possibility that one of his junior guards was more than what he seemed. Brand was amused by the irony of that.

  Not long after the caravan began to move again. The guards mounted and rode beside the wagons.

  “Keep a sharp lookout!” Laigern ordered.

  Brand knew why. They had now entered the Duthgar, the land of the Duthenor, but this was a wild region. It was a shadow land, ruled in name by the Duthenor king, but it seldom saw its supposed leader. Instead, it was a haven for outlaws. Most came from other Duthenor lands, but not a few from the kingdom of Cardoroth far to the east. Brand did as instructed, and kept his eyes open. But he did not look just for signs of outlaws, but also for friends; two in particular, and he would be glad to see them.

  As they traveled, the land rose slightly away from the river. But they had not gone far when by chance Brand rode a little fast and passed some of the wagons. He drew level with the lead one, and felt the eyes of the old merchant fix on him. There was speculation in them, and more curiosity than had been there before. The old man knew that the soldiers at the crossing had been looking for a man. And he had guessed it was Brand.