Angus Wells - The God Wars 01

by Forbidden Magic (v1. 1)

  "Then if we told Sathoman," Calandryll suggested.

  "He'd have no reason to hold us. We'd die."

  "And if I refuse to tell him, you die."

  "We face a quandary."

  Bracht pushed awkwardly to his feet, crossing to the doorway. Calandryll joined him, warning: "Remember his magic."

  The Kem nodded grimly. "I've reason enough. But I'd see what goes on."

  Together they peered into a night that aged toward dawn. Beyond the encircling tents the light of the besiegers' fires revealed a town unwalled, but barricaded, carts and wagons, furniture, barrels, anything portable, piled in jumbled heaps between the houses, blocking the entry points. The party they had followed down the Tyrant's road had been no more than a skirmishing band, for Kesham-vaj was ringed with a horde of armed and armored men. They were spread all round, but where the road entered the town they clustered thickest and it was at that point Anomius went to work.

  A group bearing shields moved forward, the sorcerer at the center, marching slowly toward a knot of defenders come out from behind their blockade.

  "They sought to stampede the horses." Bracht ducked his head to where the animals fretted on the picket lines, snorting and stamping, made nervous by the fires and the sounds of battle. "They failed."

  Calandryll saw that the defenders retreated under a hail of arrows that ceased on a word from Anomius. The wizard raised both hands and the shield wall parted, the little black-robed figure stepping out, careless of the danger; or supremely confident of his own invulnerability. He stood for a moment with hands held high and then fire blossomed in the air above him. It drifted slowly forward, growing. The defenders turned and began to run. The fire, still growing, swept quicker after them, catching them. Men screamed and fell. The fire reached the barricade and faltered, as though held back, then died. On the road charred shapes smoldered.

  "Why not bum the barricade?" Calandryll wondered.

  Bracht shrugged. "Perhaps Sathoman wants the town intact. A burned min's little good for a stronghold," he suggested.

  "But Anomius could surely use other spells." Calandryll stared at the sorcerer, speaking now with the giant rebel. "I think perhaps Kesham-vaj is protected by magic."

  "Octofan said wizardry was outlawed by the Tyrant."

  Bracht hobbled to the rear of the shed, easing down the wall. Calandryll settled beside him, his expression thoughtful.

  "Save for those sorcerers employed by the Tyrant himself. What if one were in Kesham-vaj? If it's so important a town—and the Tyrant knew, as he must, that Sathoman uses Anomius—perhaps he set a wizard to guard the place."

  "Perhaps," Bracht allowed, "but what good to us?"

  "I don't know," Calandryll admitted. "Unless it means Sathoman's defeat."

  "Which will likely mean our deaths," Bracht said. "If Sathoman withdraws, I doubt he'll carry prisoners with him."

  Calandryll nodded, fighting to banish fear, panic, the depression that threatened to overwhelm him. He sought calm, to still his mind and think, to impose scholarly logic on his racing thoughts. Swords would not see them clear of this impasse, so reason was all he had left: he must use it to find a way out.

  "Anomius knows I lie," he said slowly, seeking to use the words themselves to unravel his half-formed thoughts, "and if I continue to lie, he'll torture you."

  Bracht began to protest, but Calandryll shook his head for silence.

  "Listen—we've no means of escaping save that the warlock or Sathoman release us, and they're not likely to grant that boon. But Anomius is interested in the map. Perhaps that's the key to unlock this trap."

  "How so?" Bracht asked. "Tell him of our quest and he'll either take the map for himself—and kill us—or laugh at our foolishness—and kill us."

  "Perhaps; perhaps not." Calandryll frowned, concentrating. "He spoke of forgotten gramaryes, and why should he aid Sathoman save in lust for power? He's cast his lot with a rebel lord who seeks to rule the Fayne and likely—as you said!—all Kandahar. Why do that unless he, too, seeks power? And if he does, then surely the secrets of Tezin-dar must offer him powers undreamt of."

  "You'd give him the means to raise the Mad God? I'd as soon hand the book to Varent."

  Bracht stared at Calandryll, eyes narrowed. Calandryll shook his head.

  "Not that, but perhaps the promise of unimagined power."

  "And warrant of our deaths with it."

  "Not if he believes he needs us. He cannot touch the stone, remember. And the stone wards me from his magic. Perhaps it shields me enough that I may ensnare him— promise him the gramaryes of Tezin-dar in return for our freedom. Persuade him that he needs us; that he's better served joining us than aiding Sathoman."

  "That's a desperate plan," Bracht said softly.

  "I can think of no other," Calandryll returned.

  "Nor I," the Kem admitted, "but it's a snare that must surely leave us in his power—if he takes the bait."

  "It might at least see us clear of Sathoman," Calandryll said. "And whilst we remain here time passes— perhaps Azumandias finds a way to Tezin-dar."

  Bracht nodded, then hissed a warning. Calandryll turned to see Anomius approaching.

  The wizard gestured at the doorway and stepped through, spelling light into the shed once more. Calandryll thought that perhaps his shoulders slumped a fraction; that perhaps the practice of magic tired him: certainly, he appeared less vital, and a petulant expression showed on the parchment features.

  "So impatient," he murmured, "Now, now, now,- always now. He will not wait and I must use magic where arrows would serve as well. I've promised him Kesham- vaj—you heard me promise that, did you not?—but he'd have it now. Not tomorrow, not in time, but now!"

  "The virtue of patience is a rare commodity," Calandryll said.

  "A philosopher?" Anomius cocked an inquistive eyebrow. "No doubt the benefit of your father's palace. You've an education, eh? These men of the ek'Hennem have so little. No more than bandits, were the truth told."

  "Why do you serve a hedge lord?" Calandryll ventured. "Surely the Tyrant himself would prize your allegiance?"

  "A hedge lord?" Anomius chuckled softly. "Best not let him hear that, lad. But yes—of now he is little more than that. But after he's taken Kesham-vaj—ah, then he'll be more. Much more!"

  "Tyrant, perhaps?" Calandryll asked.

  Anomius stared at him, lips pursed, then smiled, nodding to himself, his mood brightening. He turned, calling for a stool to be brought, and settled himself before them, fussily arranging the folds of his grubby robe.

  "My lord Sathoman ek'Hennem is a mighty warrior," he declared when he was comfortable, his manner pedagogic again. "Men rally to him for what he is, not just the title. When his father died on the Stone Field it was young Sathoman—a youth no older than you at the time—who gathered the ek'Hennem army and swore to deny Iodrydus tenure of Fayne Keep. And he succeeded. Three times he withstood siege—aided, of course, by me!—and after that the Tyrant left him be. Now he rules the Fayne. Almost, at least: the Tyrant's lictors still lay claim to the towns, but that shall soon end. Once Kesham-vaj has fallen we'll hold the road. Take Mherut'yi and our back's protected—all the Fayne will acknowledge Sathoman. Mhazomul, Ghombalar, Vishat'yi we can take at leisure—isolate Nhur-jabal! Yes, I'll make Sathoman Tyrant of Kandahar before I'm done."

  He paused, scratching vigorously beneath his robe, his smile dreamy,- demented.

  "And that should answer your other question. Of course the Tyrant would prize my services—did he not put me to death for aiding the ek'Hennem cause—but then I should be merely one more sorcerer at court. When I install Sathoman as lord of all Kandahar I shall be paramount sorcerer. All Kandahar shall hail me and the Tyrant's puppet mages shall bow before me!"

  "Why did you halt your fire at the barricade?" Calandryll wondered. "Surely you could have razed the town?"

  The warlock's expression darkened a fraction. He sniffed; rubbed at his bulbous nose.


  "You saw that, eh? Why do you think?"

  "Bracht said you'd have no use for a ruin." Calandryll smiled apologetically. "I wondered if perhaps there's magic in the town's defenses."

  "Bracht is no fool." Anomius glanced, nodding, in the Kem's direction. "Kesham-vaj commands this highland and Sathoman has the bulk of his army here. Such a force needs a secure base—we need Kesham-vaj intact. As for magic—yes, there's a wizard of some small ability in the town. It seems dead Cenophus learned something of our plans and sent word to the Tyrant, who answered his lie- tor's request with a mage. I could, of course, overcome him, but likely our warring powers would destroy all Kesham-vaj. I prefer to whittle him down and present Sathoman with a town entire. It's a matter of time; no more than a few days."

  "But Sathoman grows impatient," said Calandryll, encouraged by the wizard's loquacity.

  "Always impatient," Anomius nodded. "Had I not counseled the division of his forces, he'd have all his army here. But—fortunately for him—he bows to my better judgment: by now Mherut'yi, too, is under siege."

  "Wise counsel," Calandryll applauded.

  "Yes," Anomius agreed.

  "You'll be the greatest sorcerer in Kandahar," Calandryll said. "Perhaps in all the world."

  "Undoubtedly." The wizard beamed; then frowned: "Perhaps? How do you mean—perhaps?"

  Calandryll paused, gathering his thoughts. He felt the bait taken, but the reeling in demanded great care. For all Anomius's pride, his overweaning ambition, he was no fool to step careless into so flimsy a snare.

  "I've thought on what you said, and I'd not see Bracht suffer," he declared. "I doubt that even protected by the stone I could deny you."

  "Wise," Anomius murmured approvingly. "That stone's a minor obstacle to one of my ability."

  "Indeed," Calandryll nodded, "Nor a thing to be damaged, for it's a key to power and set with protective magicks."

  The wizard's small eyes grew smaller still.

  "Explain yourself, Calandryll den Karynth—I find you interest me."

  "I lied earlier, just as you surmised. I thought to deceive you, but clearly that's impossible."

  "Quite," said Anomius.

  "I did not steal the stone—it was given me by a sorcerer of Lysse, Lord Varent den Tarl. He helped me escape Secca and in return I, and Bracht, undertook a quest on his behalf. You've seen the map—would you study it again?”

  Anomius's sallow features glowed with fascination. He gestured at where their gear was tossed and the satchel rose in the air, floating to his hands. He drew out the chart, smoothing it over his knees.

  "You know, of course, of the chartographer Orwen," Calandryll said.

  "Of course," Anomius agreed. A fraction too readily, Calandryll thought, as if the ugly little man sought to conceal ignorance.

  "Who was commissioned by the domm, Thomus, to make a map of Gessyth. A map showing the location of Tezin-dar."

  "You say this is it?" Anomius tapped the sheet. "This is no ancient map, but something new."

  "A copy," Calandryll said quickly. "A copy of the chart I took from Secca's archives, and another. The two combined show the way to Tezin-dar. I drew it myself."

  "And this Varent den Tarl employed you and the Kem to go there? To what purpose? Why not journey there himself?"

  "Not all magicians have your coinage," Calandryll said. "Lord Varent prefers to remain safe in Lysse while we undertake his mission."

  Anomius snorted contempt.

  "And should you succeed, what are you to fetch him?"

  Now was the moment; Calandryll heard it in the warlock's voice, saw it in his eyes. He licked his lips, knowing that his life and Bracht's hung on the precarious thread of his words: knew that death was the price of failure. The balance was delicate: to speak of the Arcanum was to give the mage too much, to risk the entry of another player in the world-shattering game—and one who, at the moment, held the upper hand—but he must offer Anomius something, some prize of sufficient worth he might be tempted from Sathoman's service, tempted to free them. He was unaccustomed to such maneuvering, to this juggling of truth and half-truth and deceits, but he must find the bait with which to hook the wizard's interest. And swiftly, for their lives depended on it.

  "There is a grimoire," he said carefully, feigning reluctance, "that Lord Varent claims is old as time. A book of gramaryes written when the world was young and the Elder Gods ruled. He believes it lies in Tezin-dar; he believes it contains forgotten spells. He said that the wizard who owns it must wield power unimaginable."

  "Ah!" Anomius raised a hand, halting him. "I repeat, why should he entrust you two with such a mission?"

  "I speak and read the Old Tongue," Calandryll said; quickly, "And so am able to read the map."

  "The Old Tongue?" Anomius leaned forward, elbow on knee, chin on hand. "That's a long-forgotten art."

  "And yet I can," Calandryll returned. "Do you?"

  Anomius shook his head, irritation sparking in his eyes. Calandryll shrugged as best he could with hands bound at his back.

  "Because I speak it, and because Lord Varent lacks your daring, he preferred that I should make the journey on his behalf. Bracht accompanies me as bodyguard." He saw irritation replaced with interest again and continued swiftly, "The one half of the map I did steal—from the archives of my father's palace—my father would have me a priest and Lord Varent offered the better bargain: to bring him that half of the map that he might match it to the half he owned, and he would bring me safe out of Secca. Yet with the way to Tezin-dar shown, he was reluctant to venture the journey himself. He urged me to undertake it—with Bracht—and bring him the book."

  "He would trust you to fetch it?" Anomius's yellow brow wrinkled, a finger rubbing at his swollen nose. "Would he not fear you'd keep it to yourself?"

  "To what end? I have no knowledge of magic—as you discerned yourself," Calandryll said. "If I possess any occult talent, it is unknown to me."

  "And yet you wear a sorcerer's stone," said Anomius.

  "Given me by Lord Varent. I have no skill with magic."

  Anomius smiled as if pleased to have scored that minor victory. "This Varent would seem a coward," he murmured, "to send others out to seek what he desires. But no matter—tell me of the stone."

  "Protection, so he told me," Calandryll said, forcing doubt, confusion, aside to concentrate on his deception, "as you saw. Save by the application of great magic, it may not be removed from me."

  "That much I recognize," Anomius agreed. "Though I could do it, the magicks required would render the stone useless. And it has another purpose, no?"

  "I think you must be a greater mage than Lord Varent," Calandryll flattered. "Aye—the stone will lead me to the grimoire. And when it has, Lord Varent said the book is guarded by magic, against which the stone shall furnish protection."

  "So," Anomius said gently, his voice soft, "if what you say is true, you are the lodestone that points to the book.

  "Aye," Calandryll said eagerly.

  "And the book offers the mage who owns it power unlimited."

  "So Lord Varent said."

  "Yet to obtain the book, you are needed."

  "Aye."

  "But not the Kern."

  Calandryll's answer froze on his readied tongue. Like a fish taken by the hook, Anomius was caught, but still he fought, still he was cunning: still the fisherman must use all his wiles to reel him in.

  "He is."

  Think! Buy time, but think! Give this dangerous little man no reason to slay Bracht— !

  "We are bonded," he said; slowly, then faster as logic came to his aid. Logic and an extension of the tenuous web of half-truths he wove: the whole tmth now. "You saw that yourself—our destinies are linked. In Secca I consulted a spaewife—Reba was her name; she was blind—and she foretold that I should encounter a true companion: Bracht. She scried an augury, that we should travel together. I think that to separate us must be to break that web she discerned and halt the journey. With
out Bracht, I shall not find the grimoire."

  "I sensed a joining," Anomius admitted, "and honest auguries are not to be trifled with."

  "And," Calandryll added quickly, "she said I should meet another. Might that be you?"

  The watery eyes fastened on his face. Like leeches, he thought. Anomius said, "Perhaps," and he felt the line reel in a little further.

  "I never trusted Varent." That Bracht should speak surprised him: he turned toward the Kern. "A man— wizard, or no—should take his own chances. Not skulk safe behind city walls whilst others risk their lives for his advantage. I've more respect for a man who faces his foes."

  Like you hung on the tail of the sentence. Anomius nodded. Calandryll licked dry lips. The shed filled up with silence as the wizard turned his colorless gaze from one to the other.

  "What do you say?" he asked at last. "Do you offer me this grimoire?"

  The fish broke water, the line taut: heart pounding, Calandryll extended the net.

  "I tell you only the tmth—obviously, there is no hiding it from you. I say that we go to seek the grimoire in Tezin-dar. That it offers powers beyond a sorcerer's dreams—but that only we may find it."

  "Your loyalty to this Varent is somewhat ..." Anomius shrugged, "... tenuous."

  "Lord Varent sleeps safe in Aldarin whilst we sit, bound, in a cowshed in Kandahar facing death. What would you do?"

  "I'd not have entrusted a beardless youth and a Kem freesword in the first place," Anomius said. "But no matter. You say you speak and read the Old Tongue ... and you've that stone—You give me cause to ponder. A man faced with death is likely to make wild promises, but there's such in what you say that you shall live a little longer while I think on your future."

  He rose, black robe rustling, pausing at the shed s door.

  "Best that you say nothing of this matter to any other."

  The watery eyes held a threat: Calandryll nodded, Bracht grunting agreement. Anomius quit the shed and the light died with his departure, revealing a sky no longer star-pocked, darkening into the ultimate nigrescence that prefaces dawn. Calandryll looked down at the red stone, wondering if some invisible eavesdropper was left behind, but the stone merely pulsed faintly, indicating the magic that barred the door, and he turned to Bracht, his breath a long, slow sigh of released tension.