“If it ever gets here.” One person was heard to mutter, but the rest of the villagers cheered, reinforced in their beliefs by the tale of the invisible wizard.
Maolmordha watched the distant crowd, scanning it for any sign of the wizard that had escaped her master. She was sure the filthy rat was amidst them. She had heard his voice, witnessed his magic as he had stirred up the wind. Any fool for leagues around would be able to taste the tang of a focus in the air, and it seeped into her through every pore. Maolmordha shared her master's distaste for focussing. Maolnemrhyth on the other hand had never acquired such a distaste, and observed the gathering dispassionately. This was the student's first test. To be placed yet again within proximity of those that had once been most loved, and to see how she would react. So far nothing adverse had shown. Perhaps the magic of the Golem was as strong as it had once been for her.
“What do you feel?” She sent the thought into the minds of both people, but the question was obviously intended for her student.
“I feel nothing,” was the reply. “If there is a wizard down there, then he is shielding himself, or is too subtle to be sensed by others.” That was not what Maolmordha had meant, but she took that as a positive answer. She had been testing for any sign of an emotive memory driven by the proximity of those that had once been very dear to the figure clad in black beside her. It appeared that the focus was doing its work well. Glancing over at the man who called himself Thrasher, a stupid name at best, she caught him leering at her once more. She glanced down at herself as she looked away. It was true that she had blossomed into what many would call a beautiful woman, but she cared not for the shape of her body. It was the will of her master that dominated her, and the magic of the Golem that gave her such power and control. “You,” she said aloud, “what do you think?”
Thrasher turned his attention from her and looked to the distant crowd; they were hidden behind bushes on the crest of a hill that was close enough for them to observe unnoticed, for that was their way. “I think, mistress, that those idiots down there killed a lot of my men and should be sent on their merry way just as soon as we can get down there and run spears through their chests.”
“Fool, this is about more than your useless mercenary bands running into a trap.”
“Is it? Well if O'Bellah had sent the bands I asked for this would not have happened.”
“Silence,” Maolmordha hissed in what came as close to anger as her subdued emotions could muster.
“No woman, I don't think so. You asked for my opinion, well you got it. We need decent bands doing this sort of work, not some ragtag group of…” Thrasher broke off into a fit of choking. Maolnemrhyth watched as her teacher released a thread of emotive magic, causing his throat to lock up in fear. In an instant the man became so terrified, so desperate to continue his own miserable existence that he dropped to his knees, supplicant and obedient.
“You will witness your vision if you wait patiently. If you burst out when we should be observing again, I will not cease this flow.” In saying that, the thread of magic stopped. Maolnemrhyth knew that her teacher had paid a terrible price to cast even that tiny spell, losing a bit more of herself to the Golem.
The price to pay must have been worth it, for suddenly the big man seemed that much smaller. “I will do as you wish, mistress,” he replied, his eyes full of a fear that was dreadful to behold, for his fear should have remained private but instead it was written on his face for all to see. That was the kind of hold evil had over anybody. Too easily were they ensnared.
“Yes, you shall do as I wish,” she replied, her eyes flashing at him in the light of the day. “You shall have your army of mercenaries, but you shall not lead them. Your path lies with us now. You shall be known as Maolgatot, and be the third of our group. In that way we will be able to travel faster. We are no longer needed here. Our master has other plans for us.”
If any further outburst was forthcoming, Thrasher hid it well. Only a slight tightening of his eyes gave anything away. He would not take any of this lying down. Maolnemrhyth looked at her teacher, and a simple meaning was conveyed between the two. “This is dangerous. I am aware that I had a life before this, but I am also aware that magic will change me, make me stronger. This man has no such preconceptions.”
In a rare moment of agreement, Maolmordha looked at the darkened hood of her student and agreed with her. “You have a valuable insight, my student. And you are right, but we have no choice. Our master commands this and through the Golem he controls us, therefore letting us know his needs. This man thinks with a man's thoughts, has a man's urges. If he cannot be controlled, he will be killed and we shall find another third.”
The fact that they had been communicating without sound was not lost on Thrasher. He was a shrewd man despite his bulk and rough exterior, and he knew that he had a better chance of survival with this woman and her child than he did with the failing camp of O'Bellah. Always one to take a chance, he knew that he had made the right choice but this lack of inclusion annoyed him. “When are you going to include me in your silent speech?”
“When you are able, and willing,” came the short reply.
“I am willing now, and more than able to listen to a few silent words.”
“ARE YOU? ARE YOU SURE?” The words exploded into his mind with the force of an anvil, sending pain searing through his head. Thrasher, or Maolgatot threw out an ear-piercing scream as the words echoed around his mind. He had not been prepared for that. He dropped to his knees and vomited, tears streaming down his face as he emptied his stomach. He grabbed onto his head to stop it from exploding, for that was surely what it was about to do.
“You are not ready for our communion yet, you primitive excuse for a man. See how those few words almost render you unconscious. You had better learn that when I speak to you, then you reply. Otherwise you will suffer the same agony.”
Maolgatot looked up into the face of fear, the source of pain, and nodded weakly. He was suddenly a lot less sure of himself, and the failing mercenary camp suddenly seemed a better choice. He could not go back though; something was keeping him here, something magnetic. He looked up and saw the power behind the beautiful woman in front of him, and the cruelty that gave it a jagged edge. Of all the places he had been, finally here on this grassy hill had he found the kindred spirit he had never before sought. She would be his. He would find a way to make her his own, and then the world would tremble at their passing. He had no idea who her master was except that he was in some way related to what O'Bellah was doing, but at this moment he did not care.
Noise alerted him, and he stood next to this remarkable woman, this new obsession. “They come.”
“They will not catch us,” she replied, “we run now. Nothing can stop that. We go where we are needed. We go to hunt us a wizard.” Her words were true, for by the time any of the villagers reached their hiding place, all that was left were a few imprints in the ground, and no tracks. Unknowingly, the villagers turned away, oblivious to the fact that for a moment, they had stood on the brink of death under a cloud of utter sorrow.
Chapter Eighteen
Every springtime the city of Bay's Point erupted in a display of gaudy appreciation of the season's changing. The latitude meant that the festival was held much nearer to the longest day than it would have been had the city been down nearer the southern coasts. The temperature did not detract from the lavish displays put on by all in the city. There was colour on every street. Would-be criminals danced and mingled with their intended victims as all crime was put on hold for this one day, and food was distributed wherever possible. Much of the gaiety was paid for by a fund called the 'Duke's Levy', which came from the city taxes. It was a magnanimous gesture by a rare Duke named Beswetheric, some time in the past. Aside from being a pirate, he knew the value of loyal men and his gesture had been returned in kind. From that point onwards the gesture had become as traditional as the festival. Only once had a Duke tried to withhold the money given out so gener
ously, and the carnage that had followed had threatened to reduce the city to the state those once vengeance-seeking flotillas of ships had done. So it was that Ju found himself strolling through streets clogged with banners and ribbons. A city normally so bleak and dark had erupted into a bloom to rival the best of flowers. He reasoned that they must have warehouses full of the stuff. What it did do was provide him all manner of places in which to pass unobserved, especially in the guild area, which seemed over-decorated. Barely was there a single part of any building visible. “Such is their wealth.” He said to himself. Ju appreciated the accumulation of wealth. As he had done much accumulating himself, he had begun to appreciate it even more. Then the dream came with Zya, and he remembered his promise and how temporary this actually was. He had cast off any trappings that would make him stick out, and except for his bow he carried not a thing. The ostentation around him drove Zya's point home. These people did not appreciate the difference outside of their walls. Whoever it was that O'Bellah was working for would reduce the world outside to nothing and these people would probably live on in ignorant bliss. Thus was he charged with getting into the mercenary guild to try and find out what was going on. The message had been delivered to Tarim, Lorn and Darrow, the latter uncharacteristically subdued when he heard that he would finally get his wish. It seemed that the warning he had received to save his fellows had been taken very seriously, and now he knew that the time was almost at hand. Lorn and Tarim had simply closed the carpentry, leaving it to passers-by to witness a shop boarded up and nothing more. It was not uncommon in a city of this size; the nomads respected privacy. On hearing what Zya had asked Ju to do, Tarim had said one thing.
“Be careful,” he had said with one hand laid atop the young boy's shoulder.
“Know that we sail on the evening tide boy, and we cannot wait for anybody,” Darrow had added. “There is more afoot here than anybody can guess perhaps, and we are leaving. You know the place from which we sail. The tide will turn one hour after sunset, and we shall sail at that time and no later. We shall only make one stop before we leave Bay's Point.”
“I will be there,” Ju had replied, and that was the last time he had seen his foster family. They all knew enough about what was going on to act swiftly and decisively, but they did not know, could not know as much as he had shared with Zya during their dreams. Thinking about it distracted him from the chore at hand, and he almost found himself wandering in front of a party of well-armed men. If they saw him they did not notice, for they were swaying with the awkward gait of those already too far in their cups. A chime sounded, and it was the ringing of the bell. From the count he had been keeping, it was four watches until sunset, five until the ships sailed from the underground refuge of the pirates. He had to get busy.
Stepping out boldly behind another crowd of people in the guild quarter he found himself blending in with ease as there were as many children, all of differing ages, as there were adults. Even better for him was the fact that they seemed to be heading near to the great grey monolith of the mercenary guild. He loitered around the back of the group, looking for all intents and purposes like the bedraggled elder child who just could not be bothered to keep up. He studied the children in front of him. Some were quiet, others eager. Several had tears streaming down their faces but none were speaking. The adults were all grim-faced, even the women though they tried to maintain the party atmosphere. It was obviously false to Ju, but there were enough drunks around to make it look convincing. As they approached the mercenary guild they made a beeline for the great entrance doors. The only concession to the gaiety of the day had been to put a few maroon ribbons up around the door, but the fact that it stood wide open was fact enough that something was different. Pleased enough that his job had been made easy, he stayed close to the group.
“Remember, if you are to get anything out of your lives you should be like the people within these walls,” one particularly grizzled man said to a couple of the children.
“But papa, what if we don't want to go?” Asked one small boy.
“Don't speak nonsense boy!” The man replied, half-moving to cuff his son around the head. This was met with a huge flinch from the child, obviously the recipient of more of those in the past. “These are the best fighting men in the Duchy, and they are taking comers of all ages to train in their ways. It is a better life that you can live once you have discipline and training to back you up. It made me the man I am today.” If this man who was so full of himself impressed the children, they did not show it. Ju certainly did not like him. A bully he was, and Ju had seen his type time and again back as far as he could remember. This man had nothing but personal gain on his mind. The plot thickened. Ju remained close as he passed doors that he had previously never been allowed through, even as a trusted message carrier. None of the usual guards were evident, and certainly none of the challenges from boisterous mercenaries. In fact the further Ju walked, the more he was certain that something was up. The guild had been positively bulging with mercenaries to the point that certain rooms were packed wall to wall with particular mercenary bands. There was space now, and a sort of serene tranquillity about the place. That lasted until they reached what Ju assumed was the core of the guild. Doors bigger than the main entrance stood slightly ajar, impressive in their decoration, covered from top to toe with beaten gold. From within came martial chants and shouts of varying degrees. It was through the crack in the doors that they were all headed. Ju was intrigued and instead of breaking off and hiding as he had thought to do, he stayed with them, for this room was obviously the focal point of whatever was occurring. The family entered the room and Ju tucked in behind the father. When he peeked around the side of the family he could see that they were not alone. There were between two and three score of them watching a group of men in the square at the centre of the room. The group he recognised immediately. They were called Gnang's Black Marauders, and were amongst the more well-known of the mercenary bands. Gnang himself stood off to one side, a broad-shouldered man with a love for chain mail. He wore it on his head and had it draped about his body, almost forming a dress as it dropped to the floor. He carried it easily for all of the weight, and would have dwarfed Darrow had he stood next to him. The band was dressed in identical uniforms, the only difference being in the marks of grade and experience, ribbons pinned to one shoulder. Word had it that many of the marauders had been in the band for twenty seasons or more, and had become vastly rich on the spoils of war. It was not enough though, and it was evident. Many a hungry gleam came from the men in the middle of the room. They were not done yet with their warring.
“Square! Break!” Bellowed Gnang in his Kimarullian accent, a musical voice that sounded deceptively meek for all that it was shouted out. The men responded swiftly, breaking formation and reordering themselves into a phalanx with shields slung impossibly quick and razor-sharp swords whisked out with a chorus of steely rasps. It was an imposing sight, and many of the younger children stepped back behind their parents at being presented with the tips of swords. Ju chose this moment to step around the hall a bit to try and get a better view. He carefully wove his way through the crowd, working his way back to a rise where he could see.
“Come now my friends,” entreated a particularly smooth and melodic voice, “do not be afraid of men such as this. They are what we all aspire to become, the pinnacle of training and education, of war and of peace. These men would not harm a hair on a boy's head, but for the battles they fight so righteously. Come see for yourselves.”
Ju climbed up the base of a column with good footholds to see who was speaking. A large man stood from the table at the front of the hall, and from the connection he shared with Zya, he knew immediately that it was O'Bellah. This was not the man described to him though. Instead of the bully in armour stood a man in robes doing his best to appear kind and reassuring. It was obvious from his bearing that he was neither, but the forced façade was fooling just about everybody else. There was something
in the air, something dark. Magic was being used; Ju would have put money on it. Hesitantly, one and then a few more of the children walked forward, to push at a sword or touch a shield. The marauders held themselves rigidly straight, only making sure the children did not cut their fingers. In Ju's opinion they looked like they wanted to cut the children to ribbons, but he was sure that he was the only person noticing this. While the sword-feel was going on, O'Bellah had turned from the crowd and was conferring with Gnang, another man, and a buxom blonde lady who looked as though she would rather be somewhere else. In fact she was dressed more for court than for a mercenary guild. Ju thought he recognised her, but he could not make out her face from so far away. What did stand out was that she played with a blue jewel around her neck constantly. She seemed afraid to let go of it.
“If you would be kind enough to stand off to one side, we shall show you more of the things you will be learning as part of the guild of educated warriors.” O'Bellah announced grandly. Ju decided to move, but found that the spot he had vacated had now been filled as many more families brought their children into the hall. The chamber was packed with them, and Ju had no idea where they had come from. They looked like the dregs of humanity, and as he watched the parents he realised that he had seen some of them before. A man with one arm and no hair caught his attention, and he realised that he had seen the man begging on street corners. The man had two boys with him, both younger than Ju by appearances. “He has a family?” Ju whispered to himself. As he looked around now he recognised more of them from his street capers. They had all brought children with them, all sharing the gaunt, half-starved look that they portrayed. Ju was moved almost to tears that their begging was the only means of providing welfare for their young. The people around him did not share his moment of emotion; their attention was fixed on the unfolding spectacle in front of them. A variety of men entered from a side door, each bowing ritually and intoning a different phrase. The murmur was such that Ju could not hear the words properly but some sounded like 'Raessa', or 'Ciaharr', if they had been spoken strangely. What did vary was their size, which varied from huge men, almost giants to small men, boyish in appearance but for their scraggly beards and shoulders that were too broad for any child. It appeared that all had been considered for this band, which was unlike any Ju had ever seen before.
The Path of Dreams (The Tome of Law Book 2) Page 56