Angus Wells - The God Wars 01

by Forbidden Magic (v1. 1)

  "Is he hooked, do you think?"

  The fires outside bathed the Kem's stem features m shifting light, his smile a flash of teeth, white against the reddened tan.

  "I think you gave him reason to keep us alive a while. I think you a more accomplished liar than I had suspected."

  "Dera!" Calandryll returned the smile. "I thought each moment he'd slay us. Or dismiss the bait—give us to Sathoman."

  "There's that to consider still," Bracht murmured, his smile fading "Sathoman's bent on conquering the Fayne, and becoming Tyrant."

  "A wizard with a grimoire of ... what did I say? unimaginable power ... would make a useful ally." Calandryll rested his head wearily against the rough stone, staring at the doorway. "Perhaps Sathoman will consider that. Or Anomius choose to betray him."

  "Both choices leave us in jeopardy still," Bracht said. "Think on it—should Sathoman agree to send his wizard after this imagined grimoire, it's not likely he'll do it until he holds Kesham-vaj and Mherut'yi, both. And then he'd likely send men in escort. We should travel under guard while perhaps Azumandias comes closer to the Arcanum. If Anomius decides to leave his master, he'll need to get us out by some clandestine means. And then we shall travel with a crazed wizard; who's likely, at the end, to seize the Arcanum for himself."

  "I'd thought no farther than escape from this place," Calandryll admitted, "and I could see no other way."

  "Nor I," Bracht allowed. "Save that the stone work some magic to whisk us free."

  "It would seem not," Calandryll murmured. "Save that it prevents Anomius from extorting the truth."

  "At least we're not given to Sathoman," Bracht said. "At least we live another day. And while we live, we can hope."

  He yawned, working himself to a more comfortable position against the wall, and closed his eyes. Calandryll, too, sought sleep, but found such respite elusive. The cords were tight about his wrists and with nothing else to occupy his mind he realized that numbness was replaced with a painful tingling. His hands were swollen and his arms ached; the wall was hard against his back, rough stone probing tensed muscles, nubs forming small focuses of discomfort. No matter how he shifted he could not find ease, and after a while he gave up, staring dully at the doorway.

  In time the darkness became grey, then brighter. A few birds began to sing. The wind shifted around and he coughed as smoke from the bonfires wafted into the shed. The brightness grew, dissolving slowly to reveal a blue sky marked along its edges with heavy swells of cloud, the threat of rain. He saw the ek'Hennem soldiery stir, those who had maintained the nightlong vigil seeking tents, or simply throwing themselves to the ground, others taking their places about Kesham-vaj. Sathoman emerged from a splendid pavilion, all green and gold and white, still armored, his hair and beard wild, and stretched hugely, turning to bellow orders. Anomius, who looked to have had no more sleep than the prisoners, came to his side; words were exchanged and the would-be Lord of the Fayne glanced once, blackly, in the direction of the cowshed. Then shouting caught his attention and he set off at a run toward the town, Anomius trotting behind, his robe gathered up to expose pale, spindly legs.

  A small black cloud hung low over Kesham-vaj, and it seemed to Calandryll that lightning played within it. It drifted across the town toward the closest fires, slowing and halting, then disgorging such a weight of rain the fires were instantly doused. Men stared up, then screamed as the lightning flashed, descending in vicious tendrils to strike them down. A peal of thunder dinned over the besiegers' camp and the cloud drifted on, sweeping over fire after fire, spilling fresh floods over each, the white-silver bolts blasting more men, the morning filled with the deafening blast of its thunder. Sathoman paused, waiting for Anomius, their conversation clearly angry, the giant gesturing furiously at the cloud, the mage answering with placatory gestures. Calandryll watched as he raised his hands, pale white arms revealed now, and the air about him shimmered. It seemed then that a wind tore at the cloud, like wolves on a sheep, black streamers tearing loose, the lightning dying, until it was no more than a ragged collection of dark streaks, tatters that broke and faded against the blue sky.

  "Perhaps the Tyrant's mage is stronger than Anomius suggested," Bracht said. "Perhaps our captors face defeat."

  "Shall that be to our advantage?" Calandryll wondered. "Or not?"

  "Who can say?" The Kem flexed cramped shoulders, grunting. "I think our wisest course is to suborn Anomius."

  "Azumandias may help us there," Calandryll murmured.

  "How so?"

  "If Anomius decides he wants the grimoire, he'll not welcome rivals, I think. When next we speak I'll tell him of Azumandias—warn him that another seeks the book."

  "It might well spur him into action," Bracht agreed, grinning. "You've a head for intrigue, my friend."

  Calandryll returned his comrade's smile, though his eyes remained troubled. It was a slender hope at best, that Sathoman's wizard should choose to quit his master to risk the journey to Tezin-dar in search of a fictitious grimoire, its existence based only a fragile platform of lies and half-truths. But it was their only hope.

  "Look," Bracht said, catching his attention. "What does he do now?"

  They clambered to their feet and went to the door to gain a better view. Anomius stood with Sathoman beside a smoldering fire. The black cloud had drenched the timber and now dark smoke oozed fitfully from the wet wood. The wizard moved his hands and the smoke thickened, dark tendrils creeping like draggled serpents over the ground, twisting and joining to become a solid column that slithered menacingly toward the town. He went to a second doused pyre and performed the same ritual, producing more oily tentacles, those mingling with the first, the column growing denser, moving implacably toward Kesham-vaj. A third and then a fourth bonfire were treated in the same way, until two snakes of smoke converged on the barricades. Soon the defenses were hidden beneath the oily pall, the smoke like flowing water, filtering through gaps, rising to surge over the piled obstacles and fill the streets beyond with reeking darkness. Torches showed dimly in that obscuration, and frightened cries rang out. Sathoman laughed and clapped Anomius on the back, his enthusiasm sending the diminutive sorcerer staggering forward. Then both men turned to the giant's pavilion and disappeared inside.

  Calandryll and Bracht settled against the wall again. The morning dragged slowly on, their stomachs reminding them they had not eaten in some time, nor been offered water, the pain of bound hands and cramped shoulders a constant thing, going almost unnoticed now.

  Toward noon the smoke serpents began to roil and dissipate, breaking up like the cloud, and Anomius visited them again.

  "You saw my little trick?" he asked proudly. "I find it especially satisfying to turn an opponent's magic against him. There'll be red eyes and roughened throats in Kesham-vaj now. Could your Varent den Tarl do that?"

  "I think not," Calandryll said. "I think Lord Varent a lesser mage."

  "And your father," Anomius beamed, flattered, "does the Domm of Secca employ sorcerers of like power?"

  "None to match you."

  Anomius nodded, still smiling, hugely pleased with himself. "I've his measure now," he declared. "I think tonight I'll test him further. Perhaps tomorrow Sathoman's impatience shall be ended."

  "You'll take the town?"

  The wizard beamed and tapped his bulbous nose.

  "I think it's time. I think we've lingered long enough, and likely word of these events finds its way to Nhur- jabal ere long—perhaps the Tyrant will send an army. I'd see Kesham-vaj secured against that."

  "And then," Calandryll asked, "what becomes of us?"

  Anomius's smile dissolved into a thoughtful frown, parchment features creasing into a myriad wrinkles, the watery eyes hooding.

  "I've thought on your story," he said softly, "but I've yet to decide your fate. Sathoman would execute you now, did I not persuade him to delay a while."

  "There's a thing I did not tell you." Calandryll paused, thirst-furred tongue lick
ing over dry lips, heart beating furiously. "Lord Varent is not the only one to seek the grimoire.”

  “What! Anger flashed in the warlock's eyes. "You hold things back? Best tell me all, Calandryll den Karynth, lest I test your faulty memory on your comrade's body."

  "There's a mage--Azumandias, he's called—who knows of the book. And of the map." Calandryll swallowed, his throat ashy, his mind working furiously. "He has some inkling of Tezin-dar's location, but needs the stone—needs me!—to reach the grimoire."

  "A race? You say there's a race for this fabulous book?"

  "Yes." Calandryll fought the discomfort of his bound wrists, the hunger that threatened to confuse his thoughts when most he needed cunning, deciding that again truth—or a basis of truth, at least—offered him the most effective ploy in this deadly game. "On the road to Aldarin he sent demons against us. And when we sailed from Secca we were pursued by his agent. In Mherut'yi, I was attacked by one of the Brotherhood."

  "The Chaipaku take a hand in this?" Anomius demanded.

  "It seems so," Calandryll nodded, regretting the movement when his head spun and began to ache. "At least, I woke to find one in my room."

  "And lived?"

  Anomius was doubtful. Calandryll began to nod again; thought better of it and said, "As you see—yes. Bracht intervened."

  "You defeated a Chaipaku?"

  The wizard transferred his attention to the Kern, his gaze met with a cold, blue stare.

  "Yes," Bracht said, "I slew him. But he was only a boy."

  "Nonetheless impressive," Anomius said. "The Chaipaku are not easy to defeat."

  "At least we are safe here," said Calandryll. "Though Azumandias may find some other way to locate the grimoire."

  "With neither map nor stone to aid him?"

  Suspicion danced in the small eyes: Calandryll cursed his slip; struggled to find a convincing answer.

  "Perhaps not," he said. "I know only what Lord Varent told me—that the map shows the way to Tezin-dar, and the stone the way to the book. I am no sorcerer—I know not what powers Azumandias wields."

  "But, like Varent, he seeks the grimoire?" Anomius demanded.

  "Aye. And Lord Varent feared him. Feared he might succeed. Perhaps there are other ways; perhaps the stone simply offers the swiftest."

  "More food to nourish thought," Anomius murmured. "I'll ponder what you say."

  Without further delay he rose and left them alone.

  "Does he take the bait?" Calandryll asked.

  Bracht frowned. "He nibbles, I think. I cannot say; but you can do no more."

  The day grew older. The cloud that had edged the horizon swept closer, white hammerheads lofting from the billows. A wind got up, bringing the smells of cookfires to worsen their hunger. Sathoman's men busied themselves about the town, and late in the afternoon Anomius returned, a soldier with him. It seemed a favorable omen that the man brought food: cold meat and bread, a little cheese, a flask of water. He set his burdens down and stood back, hand on sword hilt as the wizard faced them.

  "I'll loose your bonds,"Anomius said, "so that you may eat. The door spell remains—make no attempt to cross the threshold."

  He pointed at them, each in turn, and muttered something that loosed the cords from their wrists. Calandryll groaned as the freed blood flowed like fire through his fingers. Beside him Bracht flexed his hands, and worked at shoulders cramped by long confinement. Neither touched the food or water until some measure of mobility had returned, but then they drank long and deep, and consumed the food with a voracity that left no room for conversation until the last morsels were gone.

  "I doubt," Bracht said carefully, "that he would bother feeding men about to die."

  "And our gear remains."

  Calandryll gestured at the satchel, the swords, left carelessly in the angle of the shed's broken wall.

  "For what good it does us." Bracht buckled on his falchion. "Though perhaps it means something."

  "We can only wait," Calandryll said, taking his own blade. "Wait and hope."

  They waited through a night filled with the alarms of battle, both usual and magical. They heard arrows sigh through the darkness, and the shouts of men, attacking and ambushed, the clash of steel on steel. Twice it seemed the sky over Kesham-vaj took fire, and twice a wind not of natural making roared, gusting against the flame. Three times great thunderclaps dinned across the plateau, and once they watched as spectral beasts fought in the sky, things composed of many parts joined in abnormal union, ripping at one another until only shimmering tatters remained, fading back into a night sweet with the scent of almonds, the talisman at Calandryll's throat pulsing fiery. Red-eyed, they saw dawn overtake the darkness, and that misty pearl give way to sunshine that lanced through heavy banks of cloua.

  Then Anomius came to them again. Dark shadows ringed his eyes and his sallow skin was blanched with an unhealthy pallor, but he appeared mightily pleased with himself.

  "An impressive display, do you not agree?" he asked amiably, settling himself on a stool, uncaring of the blades they wore. "The Tyrant's mage is close to exhaustion, and he's reached the limits of his ability. I shall have a victory today and Sathoman ek'Hennem shall enter Kesham-vaj as conqueror. My little spy tells me that Mherut'yi has fallen, so once we've taken this place my lord will truly rule the Fayne. Whatever force the Tyrant may send against him, his position is strong. By Burash, am I not a giant among sorcerers?"

  "Indeed, you are," Calandryll agreed.

  "And you wear your swords as if ready to depart," Anomius chuckled. "Or to sell yourselves as dear you may."

  "Which is it to be?" Bracht demanded.

  "Blunt," said the wizard, "so blunt. The warriors of Cuan na'For have near as little patience as Sathoman."

  "If I face death," Bracht said evenly, "I'd know it."

  Anomius chuckled again, a whispering sound, its humor coldly threatening. He scratched an armpit, staring at them.

  "With Kesham-vaj taken," he murmured, "Sathoman can hold the Fayne without my help. For a while, at least. And did I hold this fabulous grimoire, I'd wield such power as must cause the Tyrant's puppets to bow before me. Yes! And the Tyrant, too."

  He paused, studying them each in turn. Beyond him Sathoman's men readied for an assault, checking armor, whetting blades. Calandryll returned his stare, aware that his heart beat nervously against his ribs, aware that his life—likely even the world's survival—hung on the decision of this little man.

  "I think," Anomius said at last, "that perhaps I shall leave Sathoman to fend for himself for a while. I think that perhaps I shall journey with you to Tezin-dar."

  Calandryll heard his breath come out in a long sigh and realized for the first time that he had held it.

  "Yes," Anomius continued, "I do not think your Varent den Tarl worthy of this book. Nor this Azumandias. I shall have it! And you shall bring me to it. Do you make that bargain with me? In return, I offer you your lives."

  "We take it," Calandryll said.

  Anomius smiled and turned to Bracht.

  "The men of Cuan na'For hold their word sacred—do you give yours? That you will do all you can to bring me safe to this grimoire?"

  Bracht stared at the warlock, and for a long, breath- held moment Calandryll thought he would refuse: that honor would deny him the chance to survive. But then he ducked his head.

  "I shall do all I can to bring you to the grimoire."

  "Good," smiled Anomius, "I scarce need add that any treachery must unleash my anger. Or that my anger is a terrible thing."

  "We have seen what you can do," Calandryll said.

  "Then you know what I can do to you," beamed the wizard. "Now I must leave you—there's a town to be taken. You remain here for the while, but stand ready to flee on my word."

  They nodded and watched him go, making for Sathoman's pavilion. Calandryll turned to Bracht, his gaze worried.

  "You gave him your word, and as he said—you hold that high. You took Lord Varent
's commission on that, despite your doubts."

  Bracht nodded, smiling. "I promised to bring him to the grimoire," he said. "Only that."

  "So?" Calandryll was confused. "Does that not bind you to his service?"

  "The grimoire is a fiction," Bracht answered. "In his arrogance he failed to question you on that—how can I bring him to a thing that does not exist? Besides, he offered no payment for my services."

  Calandryll stared at the Kern, who faced him with solemn mien. Then they both began to laugh.

  12

  Throughout the morning they watched as Sathoman's men commenced the construction of several massive bonfires. Toiling squads hauled fresh-cut timber in carts and on makeshift sleds from all over the plateau, building the huge pyres facing the barricades, just beyond arrow range. The defenders, apparently sensing some pending occult attack, made one sally, but that was driven back by the archers still posted about Kesham-vaj, while the remainder of the brigand army concentrated on fetching wood and stacking it in accordance with the warlock's instructions. By early afternoon, when it seemed there could not be a tree left on the highland, Anomius called a halt and the rebels stood down. Food and water were brought to the prisoners, but although Anomius came to release the door spell, he said nothing, merely smiling and tapping his excessive nose in a conspiratorial manner. They ate by the door, fascinated by the preparations for the assault.

  It began in late afternoon.

  Anomius, protected by a squad of shield-bearing warriors and bowmen, went to each bonfire in turn, mouthing unheard words and moving his hands in complex gestures that set the air about him to shimmering. Calandryll saw that the red stone glowed fiercer as the wizard performed his rituals. Sathoman stood beneath the shadowing canopy of his pavilion, his huge hand clenching and unclenching on his sword's hilt, his eyes fixed on the tiny sorcerer, a look of savage anticipation on his bearded face. Anomius completed his rites and nodded to a soldier, who bellowed orders that sent a man running to each pyre, torch in hand. The stacked timber ignited, flame climbing hungrily over the wood, the air shining and shimmering as the heat grew, blue smoke climbing wind-tossed toward the cloudy sky. Anomius walked to where Sathoman stood and they spoke a moment, then the giant nodded and settled a dragon-crested morion on his head, beckoning his lieutenants to follow as he strode to where the main body of his force stood ready. Anomius waited until he had taken his place at the head of the phalanx, then raised his arms, wide spread, palms outward. The stone pulsed stronger: Calandryll tugged it from his shirt as it burned against his chest. The scent of almonds hung cloying in his nostrils. Then flame burst from Anomius's palms, twin balls of fire hanging in the air, his hands transformed to living torches. He brought his arms down, shouting a single word, and incandescent tongues licked out, streaking toward the bonfires, whose roaring changed in timbre, becoming less the crackling and booming of flame-consumed wood than the throaty growling of some living creatures. Each one burned higher, burned fiercer, great sheets of fire lofting, writhing as if possessed of some sensate energy. And from those conflagrations stepped beings of pure flame, manlike and beast-shaped simultaneously, malformed, malign things that emanated rage and evil as they stood, towering, burning heads turning on columnar necks as if seeking victims to satisfy their dreadful appetites.