“I doubt if your god had anything to do with those bolts of fire,” the fellow said. “You know sorcery, don’t you?”
“What?” Gallo gaped at him like a dolt. “But that’s unclean!”
“Sorcery such as my friend Caswallinos studies is not unclean.” He pried himself off the tree trunk and walked over. “My name, by the by, is Evandar.”
Rhodorix dropped to his knees. “Forgive my brother, Mighty One,” he said. “He can’t kneel before you. He’s badly hurt.”
“So I see,” Evandar said to him, then turned back to Galerinos. “Your master, in fact, that very same Caswallinos, asked if I might find you for him. Come walk with me.”
Galerinos obeyed, striding uphill to join the being that everyone in the migration of the Devetii assumed was a god. Together they moved a few paces off. As Rhodorix got up to keep a watch downhill, he felt the air turn cool around him. He glanced up and saw a mist forming in the sky, a strange opalescent cloud shot through with pale lavender gleams and glints. The hairs on the back of his neck rose.
“Ye gods!” Gerontos said abruptly. “They’re gone!”
Rhodorix spun around to look where his brother pointed. Sure enough, Evandar and Galerinos both had vanished. As he watched, the cloud of peculiar mist began to shrink into a swirl of gray and lavender. In a heartbeat, it had disappeared as well.Rhodorix tried to speak, then merely shook his head in bafflement.
“Do you think Gallo will bring us back some aid?” Gerontos said.
“I hope so,” Rhodorix said. “I’d think so.” Yet he felt that he lied. Why would the clan care about two shamed men such as themselves? Especially me, he thought, I’m the one who led us right into the trap.
With a curse and a groan of pain, Gerontos let himself slide down against the boulder until he sat upon the ground. Rhodorix sat down next to him and prayed that the gods would allow his clan to take mercy on his brother.
To Galerinos, it seemed as if he and Evandar had walked but a few feet away. The god, or so he thought of the being next to him, paused and turned to face him.
“Your master worried when you lads didn’t come back,” Evandar said. “He and some of the other men found that battlefield, if you can call it that. A slaughter yard, more like.”
“So it was,” Galerinos said. “I’m surprised that any of us got away.”
“They assumed you’d been taken prisoner, so I said I’d fetch you back.”
“You have my humble thanks.” Galerinos glanced around and saw nothing but mist all around them. “Where are the other two?”
“Back where I left them. I told Casso that I’d bring you back. He said naught about your friends.”
“I can’t desert them!”
“You already have.” Evandar grinned with the wide-eyed innocence of a small child and pointed off in the distance.
Galerinos spun around to look downhill. The mist was lifting, revealing a clear view of the camp, only some five hundred yards away. Horses, wagons, people—they spread out in a dusty spiral on the plain, desolate except for grass, crisping in the autumn heat, and a few straggly trees. A faint umbrella of brown dust hung in the air above the conjoint tribes of the Devetii, refugees from the Rhwmani wars.
Out in the open grass stood Caswallinos, his hands on his hips, his staff caught between his side and the crook of his left elbow. For someone so blessed by divine power, he was an unprepossessing fellow, almost as skinny as his staff and bald except for a fuzz of gray stubble round the back of his skull. As they hurried down to join him, Galerinos was expecting his master to kneel before the god. Instead, the old man merely smiled and bobbed his head in Evandar’s direction.
“My humble thanks for returning this stray colt to me,” Caswallinos said. “I take it the other lads are all dead.”
“Two were still alive last I saw them,” Evandar said.
“Then where are they?”
“Still up on the mountain. They were wearing iron, and so I left them there.”
Caswallinos sighed and ran a hand over his face as if he were profoundly weary. “What have I told you about wyrd?” he said. “And how things undone redound upon you?”
“Do you think those two are part of my wyrd?” Evandar said.
“They are now, since you left them somewhere to die.”
“But they were wearing iron.” Evandar stamped his foot like an angry woman. “Iron swords, iron shirts. It aches me.”
“I know that,” Caswallinos said. “No one was asking you to touch them.”
The supposed god—Galerinos found his belief in Evandar’s divinity crumbling—stared at the druid for a long moment then turned away. He seemed to be watching the white clouds drifting in from the south.
“We need our two lads back,” Caswallinos said, “and we need water.”
“You’re not far from a big river.” Evandar kept his back to the druid. “Head to where the sun rises. It won’t take you long to reach it.”
“I wish you’d told me that this morning.”
Evandar merely shrugged.
“If you had,” Caswallinos went on, “those lads wouldn’t be dead, and the last two stranded on a mountainside.”
“Oh.” Evandar turned around to face him. “Mayhap their wyrd is mine, then.”
“It is.”
Evandar pouted down at the ground for a long moment. “I suppose you’re right,” he said at last. “But I shan’t bring them here.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’ll be leaving to find that river.”
“Will you bring them to me there?”
“I shan’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because the river’s too wide. Too much water!” He vanished, completely and suddenly gone without even a shred of the opalescent mist to cover his departure.
Caswallinos muttered a few words under his breath, something highly unpleasant from what Galerinos could hear of it.
“Master?” Galerinos said. “Is Evandar truly a god?”
“Of course not! I’m not sure what he is, mind, but he’s most assuredly not divine.”
“But he opened the sea road for our ships, and he comes and goes—”
“Just as the gods are supposed to come and go?” Caswallinos snorted profoundly. “In the old tales, fancies of the bards, lad, fancies of the bards. I’ll explain later. Come with me. We need to tell the vergobretes about this river.”
“True spoken. We’d best get there today. The horses have to have water.”
“Indeed. My heart aches for your two friends, but I’m afraid we’ll have to leave them to Evandar.” Caswallinos paused to look Galerinos over. “Ye gods, your arms, lad! It looks like you’ve been fighting a few savages yourself. By the by, did Evandar drive your attackers off?”
“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 wordl
essly 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.”
The 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.
The Silver Mage Page 6