CHILDREN OF AMARID

by DAVID B. COE

  In all important respects, his plan was falling into place just as he had foreseen. One detail remained; only one. But it was the key to everything else, and it would require that he improvise, that he wait for an opportunity to present itself, recognize that opportunity, and seize it. It was the part of his scheme with which he was least comfortable, this need to allow events to show him the way. He preferred leaving nothing to chance, but that did not seem to be an option. It didn’t matter, though. In less than a day, they would be at Theron’s Grove; nothing was going to stop him now. He did some quick calculations in his head: if all had gone according to Calbyr’s timetable, the attack on Kaera would have taken place within the last two nights. By now, word had begun to spread throughout Tobyn-Ser of the newest atrocities committed by the Order. His smile deepened. Things were going very well.

  All of them knew that they would be at the grove by nightfall. Yet, this day began no differently than the rest, with the company rising with the dawn, eating a light breakfast, and riding out just as the sun appeared in the eastern sky. As they had agreed the night before, Jaryd and Alayna rode together throughout the day, sharing stories of their homes, their childhoods, and their families. They also described for each other their experiences as Mage-Attends, as well as their bindings, which, as it turned out, had been quite similar. Late in the morning, they rested beside the Moriandral, which the company’s path had rejoined and begun to follow less than an hour after breaking camp. As he sat with Alayna, Jaryd noticed that she had a staff, complete with ceryll, tied to her saddle and saddlebag.

  “Sartol gave it to me just after the cloaking ceremony that last night of the Gathering,” she explained when Jaryd asked her about it.

  “Congratulations,” Jaryd replied, as he admired the finely carved wood of the staff and the glowing purple stone with which it was crowned. “It’s very beautiful.”

  Alayna gazed wistfully at the stone. “It is. I’ll never forget the moment he gave it to me. The stone had no color or light of its own until he placed the staff in my hands. And as soon as he did, the light just burst from it.” She shook her head at the memory. “I’ll never forget it,” she repeated.

  “So why don’t you carry it?” Jaryd asked gently.

  She shrugged, a shyness in her eyes. “I don’t know.” She paused. “I guess I feel like I still have so much to learn that I don’t deserve to carry it yet.” She shrugged again.

  “You were chosen by the Owl-Sage herself to confront the spirit of one of the two most powerful men ever to walk this land,” Jaryd told her. “I think you’ve earned the right to carry that staff.”

  She regarded him for a moment, smiling slightly. “Maybe you’re right,” she conceded. “Maybe I will start carrying it.”

  “Good,” Jaryd replied. “Just don’t carry it into the grove.”

  Alayna laughed. “I’ll try to remember that.”

  A few minutes later, the company remounted and rode on. Jaryd and Alayna remained together through the afternoon, but, as they drew closer to the grove, their conversation, like those of their companions, tapered off. Their progress this day came even slower than it had the day before. The air grew hotter, and the company began to hear the muted sound of thunder rolling in the distance.

  Late in the day, well after the sun started its long descent into the west, the forest suddenly gave way to more open terrain, and they came within sight of the ruins of Rholde, looming on the other side of the river. And beyond its crumbled buildings, beyond the open grasses and scattered trees of the land surrounding what once had been Theron’s home, stood the grove. It looked no different from the Shadow Forest, which began again on its far side. It consisted of the same giant oaks and maples; it appeared just as dense and overgrown. But the power and malevolence that emanated from the place were unmistakable. Even Jaryd could sense it, though he was new to the ways of power, and inexperienced in the recognition of such things. Looking at the grove, he felt an instinctive, primal fear, as though his body was trying to flee, despite his mind’s insistence that he stay. His horse had grown restive, and Ishalla cried plaintively, her grip on his shoulder tightening until he could feel her talons through the padding of his cloak. Alayna’s bird called out in response, and Alayna and Jaryd exchanged a brief, anxious glance. Riding in single file, the company coaxed their nervous mounts across an ancient stone bridge that, though badly neglected, looked sufficiently sturdy. Once on the other side, the mages dismounted and set up camp much as they had each previous evening for the past two weeks. It almost seemed, Jaryd thought to himself, as he and the others had a light, early supper, that they all were trying to pretend that this camp and this night were just like the rest.

  The horses knew better, however, and it soon became clear that the animals would not calm down until they were moved farther from the grove. While the rest of the company, at Jessamyn’s suggestion, took some time to rest and at least attempt to relax, Baden and Trahn led the creatures back down to the river, where the sound of the rushing water might calm them. A short while after Jessamyn had gone to a different portion of the riverbank with Peredur to follow her own advice, Jaryd spotted the Owl-Sage making her way back toward the open area where he was standing in the gathering darkness with Alayna and Sartol. At one point, Orris stopped her and spoke to her briefly. She nodded once, and the Hawk-Mage walked off, alone, toward the ruins of the old city. Jaryd noticed that the wind had picked up. Thunder rumbled again in the background, closer than before.

  “There’s a storm coming,” the white-haired sage observed as she approached them. “I need for one or two of you to cover the food and gear with tarpaulins, and for someone else to find wood for the torches that we’ll be carrying into the grove tonight.”

  “Torches, Owl-Sage?” Jaryd asked.

  “Without our cerylls, we’ll need some light, won’t we, Jaryd?” Jessamyn responded wryly.

  “Of course,” he replied, feeling a bit stupid.

  “If Jaryd and Alayna would be so kind as to cover the supplies,” Sartol offered, “I’ll take care of the torches.” He winked at the two young mages and flashed a knowing smile before starting toward a cluster of trees that stood between the camp and Theron’s Grove. Alayna blushed slightly.

  “That was nice of him,” Jaryd commented with a smile, as he and Alayna hurried to where the supplies lay exposed.

  She nodded, her face reddening again.

  The wind continued to build, and the air grew colder.

  Opportunities presented themselves in the strangest ways, Sartol thought to himself as he walked away from the camp. Two nights ago, as he lay by the fire weathering the illness that he had induced in himself, attempting to keep his ailment grave enough to resist Baden’s healing power without making it so grave that he could not control it, he had listened with growing resentment to Alayna’s conversation with Jaryd. He knew they had stayed up together last night, and he had watched as they talked and laughed throughout today’s ride. After all that he had done for her over the past two and a half years, after all that he had taught her, she had never looked at him the way he saw her look at Jaryd today. It was galling; it made the thought of killing both of them, particularly Baden’s presumptuous pup, that much more enticing. Not that he had any choice in the matter. The hawks that sat on the shoulders of the young mages and the promise of power they embodied had sealed Alayna and Jaryd’s fate long ago. How fitting, then, that their little flirtation should have provided him with such an ideal opening to complete the most important part of his scheme.

  The torches, of course; it was perfect. He should have known all along. He felt almost as stupid as Jaryd had sounded asking the Hag why they needed them. It should have been obvious to him from the moment Trahn first suggested that the delegation leave their cerylls outside the grove. The torches. He shook his head at his own blindness. Actually, Sartol had little doubt that Theron would kill the delegation without any help from him, but he thought it prudent to make certain. H
e stopped in front of the small copse where he hoped to find some torch-sized branches. Gazing beyond it toward Theron’s Grove, just a few hundred yards away, he shuddered involuntarily. It was no small thing that Baden, the Hag, and the rest of them were preparing to do, he admitted to himself grudgingly. He wasn’t sure that he would have considered actually entering the grove under any circumstances.

  He shook his head again, as if with the motion he could fling these thoughts out of his brain. He had work to do. Stepping into the small thicket, he soon found several branches roughly the length and thickness of his arm. Spreading them on the ground in front of him, the Owl-Master chose one that looked slightly larger than the others. He knelt, and placing a hand over this larger stick, closed his eyes while simultaneously reaching out with his mind to the great owl that sat on his shoulder. Immediately, he felt the power surging through him as if it was an ocean tide, huge and unstoppable. If only they knew how strong I am, he thought with a smile, his eyes still closed. They had reprimanded him once, humiliating him for the sake of the fools he “served,” and they had passed him over in favor of Jessamyn when Feargus died. But soon, very soon, they would quail at the power he wielded.

  It took but a few moments. When he opened his eyes again, and removed his hand, there was a large cavity in what would be the shaft of the torch. He then reached into his cloak, and pulled out a loose ceryll, clear as glass, and just slightly smaller than the hollow he had created in the wood.

  “A gift for you, Theron,” he said quietly, a malicious smile spreading across his face. “Use it well.”

  He placed the ceryll within the branch, put his hand over the hole again, and, closing his eyes, reestablished his connection with Huvan. Almost immediately, he could feel the wood starting to close over the cavity beneath his hand.

  And just then, he heard footsteps behind him.

  “Sartol,” Jessamyn said, “I realized after you went off that we had better have two or three extras, just in case—”

  She stopped. He knew why: he hadn’t turned around yet, hadn’t acknowledged her presence there. He knew that he should, that she would grow suspicious, but he needed just a few more seconds. . . .

  “Sartol.” Her tone had grown more insistent. “What are you doing?” she demanded.

  He listened as she moved closer, and, when she had almost reached him, he whirled around and staggered to his feet, his eyes wide with fear. “Who’s there!” he gasped. He let relief creep into his voice. “Owl-Sage. It’s only you, thank goodness.”

  “Sartol? Are you all right?” she asked, regarding him warily, but with concern.

  He smiled inwardly.

  “I think so,” he replied, taking a deep breath. “I heard footsteps; I didn’t know who . . . I must have blacked out. The last thing I remember I was looking for branches to use as torches.” He wiped a hand across his brow. “I guess I’m weaker from that fever than I thought.”

  “So it would seem,” she agreed, looking at him closely. “You do look a bit flushed.” She glanced around the thicket. “Well, why don’t I help you,” she offered, moving past him, “and then we can get you back to the camp.”

  He tried to shield the branches he had gathered from her sight, but it was too late. He stood very still, waiting, knowing what would happen, and what he would have to do. Another flash of lightning lit the sky, and a loud thunderclap followed closely.

  “It looks as if you found a few that will—”

  He heard the sudden, sharp intake of breath as she spotted the altered torch, and he turned slowly to face her. Her expression looked almost comical: shock and fear chased each other across her wrinkled features as she looked back and forth between the Owl-Master and the branch with its half-concealed ceryll.

  “Are you mad!” she breathed.

  He felt surprisingly calm, relieved in a way to have the burden of his deception lifted, if only for these few seconds. And it pleased him that the Hag would know as she died that he had killed her. It was important, though, that he do this carefully; if the others saw mage-fire, they might recognize its color as his.

  She took a step back, and he grinned, baring his teeth.

  “I’m afraid, Owl-Sage,” he said as he advanced on her, “that I can’t allow you to leave.”

  She raised her staff to ward him off, and opened her mouth to scream.

  Baden shook his head at the intensifying wind. Glancing up at the sky, he saw a large cloud drift in over the ruins of Rholde, blotting out the emerging stars one by one. He and Trahn had almost succeeded in calming the horses. Almost. The animals had grown less agitated with each step they had taken away from the grove and toward the churning waters of the Moriandral. By the time the two mages tied them to a cluster of trees by the base of the old bridge, the horses had relaxed considerably. Then the storm started up, with its bright flashes of lightning, and reverberating thunder, causing the animals to renew their nervous whinnying. Baden didn’t think that they seemed overly excited, and he would have been satisfied to leave the creatures where they were. But Trahn had different ideas.

  “These horses have carried you and your food nearly four hundred leagues,” he reminded Baden pointedly, “and you’re going to leave them here, unsheltered in this storm? I think you’re getting grumpy in your old age, Baden,” the dark mage concluded with a smirk.

  “I’m not grumpy,” Baden countered in a tone that belied his words. “You Southlanders are just too soft; next thing you know you’ll want to give the animals sleeping rolls.”

  They untied the horses as they spoke and led them to the ruins of the old city, where they found what looked to have been at one time a farmhouse. What remained of the structure offered shelter from the wind and at least some relief from the rain that would surely follow, and the animals immediately began to chomp on the thick grass that grew through cracks in the decayed floor. It was, Baden had to acknowledge, a much better place for the company’s mounts to pass the night.

  As the two mages emerged from the ruined building, they spotted an amber light approaching them from what once had been Rholde’s village square.

  “Orris?” Baden asked quietly, guessing from the color of the ceryll’s light.

  “Yes,” Trahn said with certainty. “I wonder what he’s doing out here.”

  They waited in silence as the churlish mage marched to where they stood, and halted right in front of them. He glared from one to the other, his face pale, his entire frame trembling with emotion.

  “I’ve just been in contact with Ursel,” he told them in a raw voice. “She used the merging.”

  The Stone-Merging, Baden thought to himself with alarm. TheCeryll-Var, Amarid had called it, using the ancient tongue.Something must have happened. Mergings demanded more of mage and familiar than any other magic of the Mage-Craft. The difficulty lay not just in the establishment and maintenance of the mind-link, although that was draining enough. First, Ursel would have had to seek out Orris’s ceryll with her mind and project her ceryll-hue into it, thus indicating to Orris whose mind he should seek in return. Baden tried to avoid mergings in all but the most extreme emergencies. He braced himself for what was coming.

  “There’s been yet another attack,” Orris declared, his harsh, cold voice an accusation in the deepening night. “Two nights ago, the town of Kaera on the northern edge of Tobyn’s Plain.”

  Kaera, Baden repeated to himself. He had been there once, as a younger man, as a Hawk-Mage; they had passed within twenty leagues of it only a few days ago.

  “Ursel couldn’t get enough people for the patrols to cover all of the plain,” Orris was saying, as his dark eyes bored into Baden’s. “Thanks to you and Odinan, there weren’t enough people. And thanks to all of the Owl-Masters, we didn’t establish the psychic link. This attack is on your head, Baden.”

  “Orris!” Trahn snapped. “That’s enough! Baden isn’t to blame for this!”

  “Not alone, at any rate!” Orris countered, directing his fury at the
Hawk-Mage. “Your compromise put us in this position as well!”

  There was more, Baden thought, as he listened to Trahn and Orris trade accusations;Ursel resorting to the merging, the anger and pain in Orris’s eyes—there had to be more.

  “Orris!” he cut in savagely, shocking the Hawk-Mages into silence. “What happened to Kaera?”

  Orris took a deep breath. “It was destroyed,” he answered in a flat tone, “burned to the ground. Everyone who lived there is dead except for one little girl.”

  Baden felt like he had been kicked in the stomach. The entire town destroyed; every person except . . . “What happened to the girl?” he managed to ask in a strangled voice. He thought he might be sick.

  Orris shook his head. “The people from the next town over said that they found her unconscious. She’d been struck in the head.”

  “Was she just lucky?” Baden asked, and regretted the choice of words as soon as they left his mouth.

  Fortunately, Orris appeared to understand his meaning, or perhaps he didn’t notice. “It’s more likely that she was intended as a messenger,” he replied. “They found a black feather tucked into her clothing.”

  “Has she told them anything?”

  Orris shook his head. “She only came to a few hours ago, and she hasn’t said a word. Ursel did mention, though,” he added, the bitterness creeping back into his words, “that she seemed terrified of the mages who went to speak with her.”

  “I’m sorry, Orris,” Baden found himself saying. “I’m truly sorry.”

  “Sorry!”Orris mimicked, his voice rising. “You’re sorry? Tell that to the little girl. Tell that to every person in Tobyn-Ser who can’t sleep tonight because they’re waiting for renegade mages to attack their homes. We’ve betrayed them. I don’t care that we were two hundred leagues away when Kaera burned: we betrayed them.” He glowered at Baden and then at Trahn. He was breathing heavily now, and the veins on his temples stood out boldly in the light cast by the three mages’ cerylls. “I hold the two of you responsible,” Orris went on, “along with Jessamyn and Odinan, for what happened to Kaera. If we had established the psychic link and put every member of the Order into the patrols as I suggested, we could have prevented that attack; we could have saved those lives. I’m going to see Jessamyn right now, and I’m going to demand that we return to Kaera immediately to help Ursel search for whoever did this.”