Relics of War

by Lawrence Watt-Evans

  Garander could not help smiling at the absurdity. “He says Lord Edaran wants to hire him.”

  Shella’s hand flew to her mouth. “Lord Edaran? Of Ethshar?”

  Garander nodded.

  “Hire him to do what?” Ishta demanded.

  “To teach him Northern magic, I guess,” Garander said, turning up an empty palm.

  Both girls fell silent at that; Garander nodded.

  “Can he do that?” Shella asked.

  “I have no idea,” Garander replied.

  “If he wants to hire Tesk, why did he leave?” Ishta asked.

  “He’ll be back tomorrow,” Garander said. “I promised I’d tell Tesk about the offer, and if he’s interested, he can meet the overlord and talk it over.”

  “Lord Edaran is coming here?” Shella squeaked. “I need to wash my hair!”

  “No, no,” Garander said. “The wizard is coming back tomorrow with the overlord’s advisor, Lady Shasha. If Tesk wants to talk to Lord Edaran he’ll have to go back to Ethshar with them.” Only after he had said this did the oddness of Shella’s comment strike him. “Wash your hair?”

  Shella blushed, and turned away, saying, “I’m going to tell Mother.”

  “I’ll tell Tesk,” Ishta said.

  “I’ll come with you,” Garander told her. “I told the wizard I would talk to Tesk.” Then he raised his voice to call after Shella, “Tell Father, too! Ishta and I are going into the forest!”

  Shella waved a hand in acknowledgment. Garander stared after her.

  He had just realized why she had wanted to wash her hair before meeting Lord Edaran. She had listened to too many old stories about farm girls marrying princes. Lord Edaran was only seventeen or eighteen, and Shella was sixteen, so the idea wasn’t completely absurd, but the overlord was already married and the father of a son. None of the overlords had ever married more than one woman at a time, so far as Garander knew, and somehow he doubted anyone was going to break that tradition by marrying Shella.

  No wonder she had blushed when she realized how silly she was being.

  “Come on!” Ishta said. “Let’s go find Tesk!”

  Garander insisted on stopping in the barn to put the hoe away, but then let Ishta lead the way into the woods.

  Tesk had apparently not been expecting them; they wandered among the trees for perhaps half an hour before he finally came ambling toward them. Garander wondered where he had been, and why, but then reminded himself that it wasn’t really any of his business; despite what Zendalir might think, Tesk was free to do as he pleased and did not need to answer to anyone.

  “Tesk!” Ishta called, the instant she spotted the shatra. “There’s a wizard looking for you, from Lord Edaran!” She ran toward him as she spoke.

  Tesk caught her up and swung her around in a circle before setting her back on her feet. Garander remembered when their father used to do that; he had stopped a couple of years ago, apparently thinking Ishta was too old for such things. Ishta apparently didn’t agree—or perhaps it was different when it was an adult friend, rather than her father. Once she was standing on her own, Tesk asked, “Who is Lord Edaran?”

  Ishta was too shocked by this ignorance to respond immediately, so it was Garander who said, “He’s the overlord of Ethshar of the Sands—a big city fifty leagues south of here. His father was General Anaran.”

  “Anaran. Ah, yes. His son rules this city, this Ethshar of the Sands?”

  “Yes.” It occurred to Garander that Tesk probably knew nothing of history after the fall of the Northern Empire, so he explained, “Admiral Azrad, General Gor, and General Anaran set up a new government after the war, with themselves as overlords, and their homes became cities called Ethshar. General Anaran died a few years ago, though, and Edaran took over as the new overlord of Ethshar of the Sands when he was just a boy, no older than Ishta is now.”

  “A boy? Ruler of a city?”

  “My father says they couldn’t agree on anyone else. His advisers actually run everything. Or at least, they did; there are rumors that Edaran’s trying to take charge.”

  “I see. There is a wizard looking for me?”

  “Yes!” Ishta exclaimed.

  “Not Azlia?”

  Garander shook his head. “No, Azlia works for Lord Dakkar. This was a man who calls himself Zendalir the Mage. He says Lord Edaran sent him.”

  “How does Lord Dakkar relate to this?”

  “He doesn’t. This is Lord Edaran’s doing—at least, that’s what the wizard says.”

  “Does every lord have a wizard working for him?”

  Garander turned up an empty palm. “I guess so. I don’t really know.”

  “You call Edaran an overlord—is Lord Dakkar one of his underlings?”

  “No, Lord Dakkar is one of the Council of Barons.”

  Tesk stared at him for a moment, then said, “You said that Azrad, Gor, and Anaran set up a new government for Ethshar, ruled by three overlords.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Then what is this Council of Barons?”

  Garander realized he had neglected to explain that, and tried to put it as simply as he could. “Oh, well—not everyone accepted the new government. Some of the commanders on the northern front said they weren’t going to take orders from anyone anymore, now that the war is over; those are the barons. Or at least, those were the first barons; some of their children have inherited their titles now. And they hold meetings at Sardiron of the Waters to discuss things, and settle any disagreements—that’s the Council.”

  “Tell him more about the wizard!” Ishta burst out.

  Tesk held out a hand to silence her. “I am trying to learn this. So after the Northern Empire fell, the Kingdom of Ethshar fell, as well?”

  “Well…” Garander hesitated. He had never thought of it in those terms, but now that Tesk asked, he had to admit it was true. “Yes, I guess so. There’s Old Ethshar in the south, and I don’t know anything about it, and then the Hegemony of the Three Ethshars in the middle, and the barons and wilderness in the north. So the World is in three pieces now.”

  Tesk smiled a tight little smile at that. “So it’s no more united now than it was during the war.”

  “Tell him about the wizard!”

  Garander and Tesk ignored Ishta’s outburst. “So Lord Dakkar of the Council of Barons sent his wizard to find me last month,” Tesk said, “and now Lord Edaran of Ethshar sends his wizard to find me.”

  “That’s right,” Garander said.

  “Lord Dakkar claimed to be protecting his people from the terrible Northerner,” Tesk said, “and you said this is his land. Why, then, is Lord Edaran seeking me?”

  “Tell him, tell him!” Ishta said, bouncing up and down with excitement.

  “He wants to hire you,” Garander said.

  Tesk looked almost stunned, an expression Garander had never before seen on the shatra’s face. “Hire me.”

  Garander nodded.

  “To do what? Slaughter his enemies? Destroy the Council of Barons, so that he and Gor and Azrad can reclaim the north?”

  Garander hesitated. Although he had not allowed himself to think about it, Tesk’s guess sounded somehow more believable than Zendalir’s story—but did Edaran really want to throw away twenty years of peace and start a new war? And a war that would be worse, because both sides would be Ethsharites, really, even if the barons no longer used the name.

  “The wizard says they want to study your magic,” he said. “I don’t know if that’s the truth.”

  “Then what do you know, Garander, my friend?”

  “I know that the wizard says he’ll be back tomorrow, with Lady Shasha, one of Lord Edaran’s advisors, to talk to you about it.”

  “On a flying carpet!” Ishta said. “Zendalir was flying on a big red carpet!”

  Tesk considered this, then asked, “And what if I do not choose to speak with them?”

  “I don’t know,” Garander said. “But…well, the wizard d
id say that I would be sorry if I had lied to him.”

  Tesk’s usual grim expression turned even grimmer. “He threatened you?”

  “Only if I was lying.”

  “And how is he to determine whether you lied? Will he use his magic, or his assumptions, to determine the truth?”

  “I don’t know,” Garander admitted.

  “I will be there,” Tesk said.

  “Mid-afternoon in the west field?”

  “I will be there,” the shatra repeated.

  It sounded to Garander just as much a threat as the wizard’s.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Late the next morning Garander and Ishta were in the barn, tending to the livestock, when Ishta said, “If Tesk goes to work for Lord Edaran, he’ll go to Ethshar, won’t he?”

  “Probably,” Garander said, as he dumped a bucket of offal in the pigs’ trough.

  “But then we won’t see him anymore!”

  “Probably,” Garander agreed.

  “But then I don’t want him to go!”

  “It’s up to him,” Garander said, as he watched the pigs eat.

  “Maybe I could go to Ethshar with him!”

  Garander started to say that was silly, that she had no business in Ethshar, but then he caught himself. Why shouldn’t she? She had never shown any great interest in staying a farmer.

  “I’d miss you,” he said.

  “You could come, too!”

  He shook his head. “I’m a farmer,” he said. “I like it here.”

  Ishta was clearly distressed at this. “It’s boring here!”

  “It’s home.”

  “You’re being silly.”

  He smiled. “I’m being silly? You’re the one who wants to run off to the big city!”

  “What’s silly about that?”

  Garander did not have a good answer for that, so he didn’t say anything more. They finished their chores in silence, and emerged from the barn into bright daylight.

  The days were growing warm quickly now. The spring rains had been a little sparse, the weather dry enough to worry their father, but it certainly made it pleasant to spend time outdoors. Garander paused to look around at the fields.

  Something was moving, off to the west, on Felder’s land. He stared.

  There were people approaching—a lot of people.

  “Ishta, go get Father,” he said.

  “What?” Ishta turned to see where her brother was staring, and spotted the advancing crowd. “Who are they?”

  “I don’t know,” Garander said. “Go get Father.” There were at least a dozen people in that group, and they were definitely heading directly toward the house. They were still too far away to make out details, but several of them could have been wearing Lord Dakkar’s livery.

  Ishta finally obeyed, dashing for the house—she and Garander both knew Grondar probably wasn’t there at this time of day, but their mother almost certainly was, and should know where her husband was working.

  For his part, Garander began marching forward to meet the approaching throng—not hurrying, but walking with a steady pace. He intended to meet them at the property line.

  He had misjudged the distance, however, and the group was already on his family’s land before Garander could reach the boundary.

  He recognized them well before that, though. Hargal and Burz and Azlia and Sammel were all near the front of the party. Behind them were at least a score of soldiers—Lord Dakkar must have sent almost his entire company of guards.

  Then Garander saw the sedan chair, and realized the baron had probably not sent them; he had brought them. He also realized not all of the soldiers wore the same colors, and some of the people who weren’t wearing breastplates and kilts were in colorful robes and fancy hats—more magicians.

  The approaching people saw him, of course; a soldier pulled aside one of the curtains on the sedan chair and spoke to the passenger. Garander could not hear what was said, but a response was relayed through the company, and the four men holding the chair lowered it to the ground.

  The entire party came to a stop a few feet from Garander, and Hargal stepped forward. “Hello,” he said.

  “Hello, Hargal,” Garander replied. “What’s going on?”

  Hargal glanced back at the sedan chair. “You’ll recall I told you I couldn’t promise the baron would agree with us that your shatra was best left alone.”

  “I remember.”

  “He didn’t.”

  “Is this mob here to kill Tesk, then?”

  Hargal smiled humorlessly. “No, not at all. We’re here to recruit him.”

  Garander smiled back. “That’s interesting.”

  “Isn’t it?”

  “Recruit him to do what?”

  “I am not entirely clear on that, to be honest. To serve as a military advisor to the Council of Barons, I think.”

  Garander considered that for a moment, then said, “Did you know this isn’t his only offer?”

  “What?” Hargal’s jaw dropped.

  “Lord Edaran’s representative will be here this afternoon to present his offer of employment.”

  “Lord Edaran? Of Ethshar?”

  Garander nodded. “One of his wizards was here yesterday, to arrange a meeting.”

  “Was he.” It was not a question.

  “It’s quite a coincidence, isn’t it?”

  “It might be,” Hargal said. “Or it might be that I have not been kept fully informed, and this explains the haste with which this expedition was launched.” He threw a glance over his shoulder.

  “I wouldn’t know about that,” Garander said, turning up an empty palm. He, too, glanced at the gathered company. “Who are all these people? Is this the baron’s entire court?”

  Hargal’s wry smile reappeared. “Oh, more than that. It seems the Council of Barons has been discussing your friend’s survival. You see here not just four-fifths of the guardsmen of Varag, and all three of the town’s magicians, but representatives of several other baronies, and half the magicians of Sardiron of the Waters. Lord Dakkar is not acting alone this time.”

  “Oh,” Garander said.

  “You said Lord Edaran is sending a representative; what about the other two overlords?”

  “No one’s mentioned them.”

  Hargal nodded. “Interesting.” His gaze rose slightly, looking past Garander. “Your father is coming,” he said.

  Garander turned, and saw that the soldier was correct—Grondar and Ishta were hurrying toward them. Garander waved in what he hoped was a reassuring fashion, to let his father know that there was no immediate threat.

  A moment later Grondar marched up and demanded, “Who’s in charge here?”

  “That would be Lord Dakkar,” Hargal said, gesturing at the sedan chair. Garander noticed that a man in an embroidered tunic was standing by the chair, leaning down to speak with its occupant.

  “Lord Dakkar?” Grondar said, in a far less assured tone than his initial question. “The baron?”

  “That’s right.”

  Grondar gathered himself, and some of the assurance was back when he said, “I want to know what all you people are doing on my land.”

  “We’ve come to negotiate with the shatra,” Hargal said. “We mean no harm to you, or him, or anyone else here, and the baron intends to compensate you for any inconvenience this unexpected visit may cause.”

  “Compensate how?”

  “That remains to be seen—but rest assured, Grondar of Lullen, Lord Dakkar does not want to antagonize you. He is aware of your friendship with the shatra.”

  “Then this is meant to be a friendly negotiation?”

  “Oh, absolutely! Now that we know it’s possible to negotiate with a shatra, Lord Dakkar has every intention of keeping this amicable. Surely you realize the shatra could be a great asset to the barony?”

  Grondar glanced at Garander, who turned up a hand. “I had not given the matter much thought,” the elder man said.

 
“Well,” Hargal said, “they sent me to talk to you first because we already know one another somewhat, but perhaps I should turn matters over to Velnira, the baron’s chamberlain.” He beckoned to someone in the crowd behind him, and a woman in a fine green gown with a heavy golden chain around her neck stepped forward.

  “Garander,” Grondar said, “go tell your mother what’s happening.”

  “And perhaps Ishta could go fetch the shatra?” Hargal suggested. “I recall she was his closest friend.”

  “There’s no hurry,” Grondar said.

  “Besides,” Garander said, “he’s already supposed to meet Lord Edaran’s representative right here in a few hours. All you need to do is wait.”

  Grondar looked annoyed. “Go tell your mother,” he said. “Ishta can stay here with me, so she can see that I’m not promising anything Tesk wouldn’t like.”

  Garander guessed that their father was more concerned with keeping Ishta out of trouble than keeping Tesk happy, but either way, it was not an unreasonable suggestion. “Yes, sir,” he said. He turned and trotted toward the house.

  He doubted that it was a coincidence that both lords had sent delegations so close together; probably one of them was spying on the other. Or both of them were spying on each other. He wondered just what they wanted to do with Tesk—and whether they even knew what they wanted. He knew, from dealing with his sisters, that sometimes people wanted something just because a rival wanted it. That wasn’t just a girl thing, either—there had been plenty of times when he was little when he would want a particular toy or food entirely because Shella wanted it. At the time he would never have admitted it, would have insisted that he had good, solid, sensible reasons for wanting whatever it was, but now, looking back, he knew that much of the time he had really just wanted to keep it away from his sister.

  He had tried to outgrow it, and had more or less managed it where Shella was concerned, but he knew the urge was still there, and he suspected that something very similar was driving at least one of the delegations.

  When he reached the house he found his mother and sister cleaning the mattresses, and quickly explained the situation. He had expected them both to rush out to see the baron’s people, but instead his mother said, “Are they going to be there for long?”