Angus Wells - The God Wars 01

by Forbidden Magic (v1. 1)

  He grinned at the thought of his father's rage; then felt the smile dull: he was safe only so long he was under Varent's protection, just as Bracht had said. Without Varent he was lost, no better than a refugee, outlawed from his home city and perhaps hunted by the Chaipaku.

  That new thought chilled him and he rose, water splashing from the tub. Then shook his head, fighting that surge of panic.

  There is a teacher... Trust him ,. . And one will come after…

  He tracked wet footprints across the tiled floor as he concentrated on the words of Reba's prophecy. They had to refer to Varent and Bracht. The one had come offering him escape, refuge, offering fulfillment of the spaewife s vision,- the other was a comrade, a sword to guard his back. Bracht's dour warnings stemmed from his dislike of Varent, nothing more. He was safe while Varent protected him: he grunted, irritated with himself, irritated that Bracht should place such doubts in his mind.

  What was it the byah had said?

  Trust is your ally and your strength.

  Well, he trusted Varent. If Bracht chose not to, that was the Kern's affair.

  You must choose your friends with care.

  The tree creature had said that, too, and he had chosen Varent. For every pessimistic argument of Bracht's there was a positive view: it depended on the observer.

  His logic pleased him and he walked from the bathroom into the chamber, seeking fresh clothes.

  Varent's servants had taken his own travel-stained garments for cleaning, but there was a well-stocked wardrobe from which he selected a shirt of fine white cotton and breeks of dark blue, a pair of boots, and a loose tunic of grey silk. He decided the chart would be safe enough here, leaving it in the wardrobe, and went in search of Bracht.

  His knock was answered by a muffled voice that he took as invitation to enter and he pushed the door open, stepping into the room. Bracht and a yellow-haired girl looked up from a confusion of sheets and he felt his cheeks grow hot, mumbling an apology. The mercenary grinned.

  "Varent's hospitality is everything he promised."

  Blushing, Calandryll sprang back, closing the door, feeling the warmth that pervaded his face grow deeper as the girl's shrill laughter rang in his ears, echoed by the Kem's deeper chuckling. He cursed, angry with himself, uncertain whether he was angry once more with Bracht or merely envious, and decided to find the library Varent had described.

  A servant showed him to a chamber filled with books, shelves rising from a floor of polished pine to the white- plastered ceiling, a single window spreading light over a desk of mahogany, a padded leather chair drawn up before the bureau, two others set either side of a cold hearth.

  The books were cataloged and he had no difficulty in finding the tome Varent had mentioned, Marsius's Comparison of Religions, and settled at the desk, rapidly immersed. Bracht found him there as dusk fell, engrossed in his studies. The Kern was smiling cheerfully; Calandryll closed the book.

  "Our host's servants are most enthusiastic," Bracht grinned, leaning against the desk. "Rytha offers some small compensation for this confinement."

  "I'm pleased you're ..." Calandryll sought the right word, .. satisfied."

  "With her, yes," Bracht nodded, rising to peer from a window. "With other things, no."

  "What troubles you now?" Calandryll demanded.

  Bracht turned to study his face, frowning curiously.

  "The girl offends you?"

  "No!" he said, a little too quickly. "Why should you not avail yourself of the ... amenities?"

  Bracht shook his head, a quizzical grin exposing white teeth. "Did you not?" he asked.

  "No. I... No, I didn't."

  The Kern seemed about to say something, but thought better of it and shrugged instead; Calandryll sought to change the subject, embarrassed by his inexperience.

  "What troubles you?" he repeated.

  "Confinement."

  Bracht went to a chair; dropped into it. Calandryll said, "Varent explained why we must remain here."

  "Indeed," Bracht nodded, "And most convincingly."

  "Then why do you protest?"

  Bracht shrugged again. "We come to Aldarin by secret ways; in the city we must remain behind his walls. It smells too much of prison."

  "Hardly a prison," Calandryll argued, "and Lord Varent explained the reasons."

  "Do you notice that when you take his side you honor him with a title?"

  The question was mildly put, but still Calandryll felt himself blush, irritation stirring afresh. He shook his head, dismissing it.

  "He seeks only to protect us from Azumandias. Dera, Bracht! You've seen what he can send against us!"

  " 'Deception cloaks your path and you must choose your friends with care,' " Bracht quoted. "You heard the byah, Calandryll."

  "Yes!" he snapped, "and I believe it spoke of Azumandias."

  "I believe it spoke of Varent," Bracht returned, his voice still mild.

  Calandryll shook his head, sighing. "We come full circle again. Have you witnessed evidence of treachery? What has Lord Varent done to earn this mistrust?"

  "Perhaps nothing," Bracht murmured. "Perhaps I am wrong, but it seems to me that a man who sends demons to do his work takes a straightforward path. Deception is less obvious."

  "That's sophistry," Calandryll declared.

  Bracht frowned, uncomprehending.

  "Your argument trips on its own subtlety," Calandryll explained. "Who else sent the demons but Azumandias? Their very appearance confirms Lord Varent's integrity."

  "I am certain of only one thing: Varent wants the Arcanum," said Bracht, "Of that I'm certain, if of little else. He plays some game of his own with us as pawns."

  Calandryll shook his head wearily, tiring of the Kem's unrelenting suspicion. "I play the part willingly," he said.

  "As do I, for now," Bracht returned, grinning as he added, "Five thousand varre buys my trust. Until I know more."

  "And should you leam more?" Calandryll wondered. "Should you be right?"

  Bracht's smile grew wolfish.

  "Then we'll hold the book, and that must be the key to this riddle. When that's in our hands, we'll see where Varent stands."

  Calandryll sighed, not knowing what he could say to convince the freesword of Varent's honesty.

  7

  Varent did not return that night, so Calandryll and Bracht ate in lonely splendor, attended by servants who were politely deferential and tactfully vague when the Kem attempted to question them about their master. All he was able to extract from them was that Lord Varent den Tarl was the scion of one of Aldarin's oldest families, unwed, and a trusted adviser to the Domm, Rebus. Of Azumandias they professed ignorance, and when questioned on the subject of Varent's own occult talents murmured smooth replies that left the freesword little the wiser. Eventually, to Calandryll's relief, Bracht gave up and concentrated on the excellent meal; at least until they had finished eating and the servants had left them alone with a decanter of the distilled wine, in a comfortable withdrawing room off the dining hall.

  "They protect him," Bracht declared obstinately. Calandryll shook his head in resignation. He was enjoying the luxury of Varent's mansion, knowing that soon they must embark for Gessyth and such comforts would lie behind them: he would have preferred to savor the liquor in peace.

  "They have nothing to tell you," he said.

  Bracht fixed him with a blue stare and said, "You trust too easily."

  "And you suspect too readily," he countered.

  The Kem shrugged and rose to his feet, crossing to a window. Outside, the night was dark, moonless behind rolling banks of cumulus blown in from the sea, the sounds of the city muffled by the protective walls. Lanterns lit the room with a mellow glow, striking highlights from the richly polished furniture, a fire burning in the hearth, reminding Calandryll of the comforts of his home. He thought of fetching a book from Varent's well-stocked library, contemplating an hour or two of literary indulgence before finding his bed, but Bracht gave him
no chance.

  The freesword turned from the window and moved toward the door, pausing as Calandryll asked, "Do you retire?" Thinking that he likely sought the girl, Rytha, or some other compliant wench. But Bracht shook his head and said, "No. I'd take a stroll."

  "Where?" Calandryll inquired; a turn about Varent's gardens might be pleasant.

  "Into the city," Bracht said.

  "You heard Lord Varent," Calandryll protested. "He warned us that Azumandias likely watches this house."

  "And may send more demons against us?" Bracht shrugged. "I've thought on that sending, and it occurs to me that Azumandias's demons are somewhat clumsy— four could not defeat us, and they were slow-moving creatures. Should I encounter any, I'll turn tail."

  "Dera!" Calandryll came to his feet. "Can you not wait a little while?"

  "No," said Bracht, and quit the room.

  Calandryll hurried after him, his protests falling on deaf ears as the Kem strode to his chamber and secured the falchion about his waist. Calandryll snatched up his own blade, not sure whether he acted from loyalty to Bracht or to Varent, but determined that the Kem should not go unaccompanied.

  "Perhaps you should remain here," Bracht suggested.

  "No." Calandryll grew obstinate now. "If you're determined to ignore Lord Varent's wishes, I'll go with you."

  Bracht nodded and returned down the corridor, Calandryll close on his heels. They found the entrance hall and went out into the courtyard. The air was chilly, salt- scented and promising rain before dawn, a solitary night bird serenading the starless sky. As they reached the gates two men stepped from the shadows beneath the arch, positioning themselves before the portal. The lights shining from the mansion glinted on mail shirts and half helms.

  "I'd go into the city," Bracht said.

  "Forgive me, but Lord Varent left orders that no one is to leave."

  The man spoke politely enough, but an obdurate note underlined his statement.

  Bracht said, "Stand aside."

  "Lord Varent left orders," the guard repeated. "I believe they are for your safety."

  Calandryll heard the angry intake of the Kem's breath and feared he would attack. Instead he asked, "Are we prisoners, then?"

  "I obey Lord Varent's orders," the guard intoned doggedly. "I understand the city is dangerous for you."

  "I believe I can take care of myself," Bracht snapped.

  "No doubt." The guard remained unmoved, unmoving. "But my orders are clear."

  The Kem studied the two armored men as though weighing his chances of felling them. They, in turn, set themselves shoulder to shoulder, hands on swordhilts.

  "Bracht," said Calandryll, warningly.

  "What's amiss?"

  Calandryll turned to see Darth approaching, three others of Varent's retinue with him.

  "We are denied the freedom of the city," Bracht responded.

  Darth chuckled, shrugged, and said, "Lord Varent protects you, man."

  "I can protect myself," grunted the freesword.

  "Against blades, no doubt. But against magic?" Darth lowered his voice, glancing at the gates. "Lord Varent has enemies who'd see you slain, I think. Come back to the house and drink with us, if you've a mind. And I believe Rytha anticipates warming your bed."

  He winked as he said it, grinning. His companions smiled, but Calandryll saw that they ranged themselves, albeit casually, between Bracht and the gates.

  "Come on," Darth urged, indicating the two guards with a thrust of his chin. "These fellows only do their duty."

  "And you?" Bracht demanded,

  "I serve Lord Varent," Darth said. "And he's left orders ..."

  Bracht fingered his sword, then shrugged: "So be it."

  Calandryll breathed a relieved sigh as the mercenary allowed Darth to lead him back across the courtyard into the house. He followed, but when Darth suggested he join them, he shook his head, declaring his intention of retiring with a book, and went to the library.

  He fetched the copy of Marsius from the shelf and carried it to his chamber. He hoped to find some reference to the Arcanum in the weighty tome that would furnish more information, but it told him nothing he did not already know and after a while he set the book aside, yawning, and promptly fell into a sound and dreamless sleep.

  Sunlight woke him and he rose, wondering if Varent had returned from the palace. When servants brought hot water and the announcement that his host awaited him, he bathed and dressed quickly, eager to hear what news Varent brought.

  The ambassador was settled comfortably in the dining hall, breaking his fast with fresh-baked bread and fruit. He smiled as Calandryll entered, motioning the younger man to a chair. Calandryll sat, helping himself to food.

  "I understand there was some small misunderstanding last night," Varent murmured.

  "Bracht had a yen to explore the city." Briefly Calandryll wondered if he should advise Varent of the Kem's misgivings,- dismissed the thought: it would be a betrayal of Bracht's confidence.

  Varent sighed as if he considered Bracht a necessary but troublesome adjunct to their purpose. "Our Kem friend has an independent nature," he murmured. "Surely I explained why that is not possible?"

  He studied Calandryll's face speculatively, his own radiating a mixture of resignation and mild irritation.

  "Yes," Calandryll agreed, "but Bracht has little fondness of confinement."

  "Sadly needed," Varent said, "At least until I've arranged your passage. The sooner the better, I think."

  Bracht came into the room then. Calandryll saw that his eyes were somewhat bloodshot, purple crescents darkening the tan beneath. Varent offered a greeting that was answered with a grunt as the freesword slumped into a chair.

  "I understand you've found favor with Rytha," Varent smiled.

  It seemed to Calandryll he sought to bridge the gap between them, showing the mercenary a greater courtesy than their respective positions warranted. If so, Bracht appeared unaware of the gesture, or chose to ignore it: he nodded and said, "Your guards refused to let us out."

  "I thought we had agreed you'd not leave," Varent said, unruffled.

  "I'd not thought to find myself a prisoner."

  "A guest," said Varent smoothly. "Whose welfare I'd protect."

  Bracht glanced at him and filled a mug with aromatic tea.

  "I was saying to Calandryll, I'll find a ship as soon as possible." Varent raised a napkin to his lips. "And once you've finished eating we'll examine the maps."

  "There's my money, too," said Bracht.

  "Indeed. Half on arrival in Aldarin, as we agreed."

  Bracht nodded.

  "Less the one hundred already paid."

  "A trifle," said Varent.

  "Less that," Bracht insisted.

  "You're scrupulous," smiled Varent. "A matter of honor?"

  "Aye." Bracht nodded again, staring at the ambassador. "Honor is important, do you not agree?"

  There was a hint of challenge in his voice and Varent met it with a frozen smile, then ducked his head: "Aye, it is."

  "Shall we sail direct to Gessyth?" asked Calandryll, seeking to deflect the confrontation he feared might explode.

  "I think not." Varent shook his head. "At this time of year there are few captains will risk Cape Vishat'yi, so I'll book you passage to Mherut'yi. From there you'll travel overland to Nhur-jabal, and on to Kharasul. The Kands maintain a trade route between Kharasul and Gessyth—there's a settlement built on a headland from which you can strike into the swamps."

  He paused to peel an orange, fastidious; then glanced at Bracht with the comers of his wide mouth rising a little.

  "I'll provide you with coin to buy your way. And when you reach the outpost you can likely hire men to ferry you inland."

  "Who lives there?" the Kem asked.

  "Hide hunters," Varent returned. "They trap the swamp dragons and sell the hides to the Kand traders. The skins make excellent armor."

  Bracht frowned and asked, "Are they men?"


  "Some," Varent informed him. "Outcast Kands, mostly."

  "And the rest?"

  "Halflings."

  Calandryll had never seen a halfling. "What are they like?" he wondered.

  "Strange, I believe," said Varent. "Some are quite human in appearance, but others ..."

  He shrugged.

  "The makings of the younger gods," grunted Bracht.

  "Exactly." Varent nodded. "But doubtless you can deal with them."

  "Doubtless," Bracht said, as if there were no doubt. He pushed his plate away. "Now, shall we examine these maps?"

  Varent smiled his agreement. "But first your payment—I'd see you satisfied on that score."

  "Good," Bracht said, grinning for the first time.

  Varent led them from the dining hall to a wood-paneled chamber with a single window set high in the wall shedding light on a cluttered desk at which sat a bald man in the blue and gold tunic of a household servant. He looked up as they entered, blinking shortsightedly over the rims or large spectacles.

  "Two thousand, four hundred varre, Symeon," Varent said.

  The bald man's nose twitched. Calandryll saw that the quill he held had splattered ink over the tip.

  "In single coins, or decuris?"

  Varent glanced at Bracht, who said, "Decuris."

  Symeon studied the mercenary for a moment, as if debating whether or not to obey the order, then wiped an ink-stained hand on his tunic and rose slowly from his chair to kneel before a metal door set into the wall. He brought a key from his breeches and swung the door open, dragging out a chest that he deposited on the floor. Hiding it with his body, he began to count the heavy gold coins into a leather sack.

  Ponderously, he relocked the chest and returned it to the recess, locked that door, and then straightened, wheezing slightly, the sack in his hands.

  "Twenty-four decuris. Count them if you like."

  He passed the sack to Bracht, who shook his head.

  "I have no reason to mistrust you."