by DAVID B. COE
Driving his mount northward, with the Moriandral on one side and the sun descending toward Tobyn’s Plain on the other, Sartol found himself compelled to consider the possibility that he would have to kill Baden after all. Just as the Owl-Master’s support would have been invaluable, Baden’s opposition or, even worse, his accusations of treason would probably be enough to keep him from becoming Owl-Sage. Sartol had two choices. He could wait until they arrived in Amarid and, if Baden declared himself in opposition to Sartol’s appointment, publicly trade accusations of treason with the Owl-Master. In an open battle of that sort, however, Sartol knew that his chances of prevailing were no better than even. Or, he could rid himself of Baden on the plain, justify it as self-defense, and accuse the dead Owl-Master of collaborating with the traitor Orris. He might get away with that. Presented correctly, Baden’s staunch advocacy of the journey to Theron’s Grove, and Orris’s last-minute request to be included in the delegation, could be made to appear rather suspicious. Trahn would oppose him, but, given the Hawk-Mage’s close friendship with Baden, Sartol could argue convincingly that he, too, had been part of the conspiracy. He would have, he realized with some reassurance, the staffs of Jessamyn and Peredur, which remained the only physical evidence of what had transpired by Theron’s Grove. He felt his thoughts coalesce into resolve. He had made his decision; he might even have nodded reflexively as he did. Not that it mattered. Baden remained in front of him, all his energy and attention focused to the north, on Amarid. Sartol allowed himself a small smile. The course he had chosen carried tremendous risks, but he felt better for having made his choice. He would have to do it soon: tonight, perhaps; tomorrow night at the latest. After that they would enter Tobyn’s Wood, and, for logistical reasons, he did not wish to chance a battle with Baden in the forest.
His mind set, Sartol found the rest of the ride much easier to endure. They paused briefly at sundown, allowing the horses to drink from the river, and enjoying a light meal themselves. Then they remounted and went on, initially by the dying light of day, and then by mage-light. About an hour after their rest, they espied a large cluster of lights far to the north, and on the far side of the river. Baden slowed his horse so that Sartol could pull abreast of him.
“I believe that’s Watersbend,” Baden said, his voice carrying over the wind and the hoof beats. “We can stop there for the night.”
“You mean in the town?” Sartol asked with some alarm.
Baden shook his head. “No. Not after our encounter with the villagers in Tobyn’s Wood. We can stay on this side of the river, but I thought it would be a good stopping point. If you’d like, though, we can keep going.”
It was Sartol’s turn to shake his head. “I’m ready to stop. That’s as good a place as any.”
Baden nodded and spurred his mount forward again, leaving Sartol to rue his misfortune. He could not risk attacking Baden with mage-fire this close to a town; there would be too many witnesses. He could claim that Baden had tried to attack Watersbend, but no one in the Order would believe that Baden had made such an attempt while traveling with Sartol. And Sartol could not kill Baden the way he had Jessamyn and Peredur; Baden was far too powerful for that. Baden’s death would have to wait until tomorrow night. He watched the Owl-Master as they galloped along the river’s edge, wondering if this had been coincidence, or if Baden was clever enough to sense Sartol’s intent and thwart him in this way. I may have underestimated him, Sartol told himself, his anxiety increasing. He may have a devious streak after all. It wouldn’t matter, though. Baden would never reach Amarid alive.
A few moments later, Baden slowed again. “We’ve covered a lot of distance today,” he said amicably. “I hope we can maintain this speed when we reach the wood.”
“I’m sure the forest will slow us a bit,” Sartol offered in a tone that betrayed no hint of his thoughts, “but I expect to be in Amarid within a week.”
“I hope you’re right.”
Baden grinned awkwardly and then started to say something else. He never got the chance. Suddenly, the sky over Watersbend erupted with crimson light, and a few seconds later bright yellow and orange flames began to send a dark cloud of smoke over the town. Over and over the strange, red flashes illuminated the night sky, and, as they did, the glow of the fires intensified.
Baden jerked back on his horse’s reins, abruptly stopping the animal. Sartol did the same.
“What in Arick’s name is that!” Baden breathed, his eyes fixed on the glowing sky. Then, before Sartol could answer, the Owl-Master’s eyes widened in alarm. “It’s them,” he cried, “they’re attacking Watersbend.” Immediately, without waiting for Sartol, he kicked his horse into motion and began thundering toward the town.
Sartol took a deep breath and drove his horse forward as well, trying to keep up with Baden. He had seen the dread etched across Baden’s angular features, and he guessed that he wore a similar expression. Which was fortunate, because while his concern, no doubt, ran as deep as Baden’s, it flowed from a different source. He cared little for the people of Watersbend; their lives were of little consequence, given what was at stake. What had frightened him was his immediate recognition of that initial flash of red light, and his knowledge of whom they would find when they reached the town.
Distances on the plain often could be deceptive, particularly at night. Watersbend had seemed close, but another half-hour passed before they came within sight of the stone bridge that crossed the river and led to the town commons. By then, the entire village appeared to be engulfed in flames, and explosions, coinciding with the bursts of crimson light, echoed repeatedly off the riverbank. Shrieks of pain and horror reached them now, drifting across the river with the smoke, and the smells of burning wood and charred bodies. Racing toward the town, Sartol had time to determine what he had to do.
Unfortunately, Baden’s mount proved significantly faster than his own. Baden reached the bridge and started across well before Sartol. There was little Sartol could do about that. He could hope that this would give the attackers an opportunity to kill Baden, but he knew better. And so, he urged his horse on, covering the last bit of ground as quickly as he could, and preparing himself for the coming encounter with Calbyr’s men.
14
The sights and sounds of the attack—the bright, angry flames and the dark smoke that poured from them; the incessant flashes of red light; the reverberating explosions and, as he drew closer, the wails of despair and anguish—hammered mercilessly at Baden’s consciousness, upbraiding him again and again for his own impotence. People were dying at the hands of mages, or men posing as mages. They were dying for the Order, because the Order had been reluctant, or unable, to stop the killing. The thought of it appalled him, made him nauseous; and it drove him toward Watersbend with a fury that bordered on desperation. He realized that he was risking his horse’s life by driving the animal so hard. He could feel the creature laboring as they approached the stone bridge, but he could not bring himself to slow down. He also perceived that he had pulled ahead of Sartol, that he would reach the town before the other Owl-Master. And he knew that this mattered, knew that he needed to remember why it should be important. But, hearing the cries for help, seeing the flames and smoke, he could focus on nothing else.
Baden steered his mount onto the bridge, noting as he did that the attackers had only begun their assault on the village square, and that the farmhouses in the southern half of the village had not yet been burned. He also realized that, with his approach, the flashes of red light had abruptly ceased. Grimly, the Owl-Master took his staff in hand, reached with his mind for Anla, who flew just above him, and readied himself for battle. Coming off the bridge, he turned sharply left and rode into the town’s market area. He saw a crowd of villagers fleeing in his direction, many of them bleeding from wounds, others suffering from burns. But he could find no sign of their pursuers. Checking his horse, Baden scanned the storefronts and the hordes of people. Nothing.
“Where are
they?” he yelled to one of the townspeople.
The man looked up at him and shied away, refusing to break his stride.
“I want to help you!” Baden shouted. “Where are they?”
“Behind us!” came the reply, over the man’s shoulder as he continued to run.
“I know that,” Baden said, more to himself than to the villager. He only realized later that the man’s refusal to assist him had saved his life.
Turning back toward the northern side of the town, shaking his head in frustration, Baden saw the two crackling bolts of red fire already hurtling in his direction. He just barely had time to react, and still, he almost died. He managed to shield himself by throwing up a shimmering orange curtain of power that blocked, with a bone-rattling concussion, the one blast that had been intended for him. The other, however, crashed unimpeded into the right shoulder of his mount, bringing a nightmarish shriek from the animal, and knocking the creature off its feet. Thrown free of the horse, feeling himself cartwheel helplessly through the air, Baden could do nothing to cushion his fall. He landed heavily on his shoulder and side, rolled a short distance on the hard, dusty road, and then lay still, dazed and aching, trying to remember how to breathe.
At the sound of Anla’s urgent cries, Baden struggled to raise himself painfully on his one good arm. Gazing over the smoking, prone body of his horse, he froze. The Owl-Master had never doubted that Jaryd had related accurately his vision of the mage at Taima. By the same token, however, he had also never thought to take the young mage’s description of what he saw so literally. But here, tonight, he beheld Jaryd’s vision for himself, doubled, actually, though that seemed impossible.
Advancing toward him, cautiously, came two men, both of them dressed in green hooded robes that resembled his own, and both of them carrying staffs with crimson cerylls. And in front of them, flying toward him with a swiftness that belied their huge size, Baden saw two black birds with eyes of gold, whose talons shone with blood. Scrambling to recover his staff, which had landed a few feet away, Baden thrust his ceryll out before him and propelled a stream of seething orange fire toward the closest of the hawks. It wheeled to the side, evading the mage-fire. This, however, Baden had expected. Already, a second orange blast was on its way, this one too sudden for the creature to dodge. It caught the bird full in the chest. Baden heard one of the mages cry out in dismay as the power of the blow sent the bird spiraling backward to land in a heap of flame and smoke and dust at the feet of its now powerless mage.
Keeping low to the ground, so as to shield himself from the other mage’s fire, Baden then spotted the second hawk. It had attacked Anla, and was, even now, driving the brown owl toward the ground. Anla was by no means a small bird, and, like all owls, she was a skilled flier and hunter. But Baden knew, as soon as he saw her struggling with the black creature, that she was hopelessly overmatched. The other bird appeared to be three times her size, and just as agile. And, with the two birds darting and swooping so close together, Baden could not try to kill the hawk with his mage-fire without risking Anla’s life as well. Instead, he closed his eyes and reached for his owl, projecting into her mind an image of what he wanted her to do. Without pause, she broke away from the larger bird and retreated directly over Baden’s head. The larger bird followed, and Baden readied himself to kill it. But rather than simply flying over the Owl-Master, the black creature, seeming to anticipate the trap, soared in low over the dead horse, and slashed at Baden’s head with its claws. There was little pain, really, but Baden could feel the blood flowering from the wound and flowing over his brow into his eyes. Clawing at the blood to keep his vision clear, Baden twisted onto his back in time to see the bird pivot sharply and dive back toward him, its outstretched talons reaching for his throat. With an effort that tore a gasp from his chest, Baden sent another burst of orange fire from his ceryll straight into the air, catching the bird as it descended upon him, and knocking it in a fiery somersault back into the sky and then to the ground beside him.
The Owl-Master allowed himself a deep breath and a moment of rest on the ground. It was over. He climbed tenderly to his feet and leaned heavily on his staff. Then he raised his arm for Anla and started walking toward the mages, watching his owl descend as he did. That brief glance toward his bird nearly killed him.
Hesitating only for an instant, the two strange men, dispossessed of their familiars, and thus stripped of their powers, at least according to the natural laws that had governed the Mage-Craft for a thousand years, lowered their staffs and threw two torrents of red fire toward Baden, who found himself utterly unprepared. Fighting through his astonishment, compelling himself to respond to a deadly attack from two men who should have been no threat at all, Baden managed with another wrenching exertion to shield himself from their assault, staggering and falling to one knee with the force of the hot, crimson blasts. Stunned by the attack, hardly able to respond, Baden blocked a second volley, bracing himself this time for the impact. He prepared to strike back, hoping to debilitate his adversaries somehow without killing them. But, as he did, he heard a horse approaching rapidly. Sartol, he thought.
He considered shouting a warning to the Owl-Master, but suddenly, there seemed to be no need. Seeing Sartol ride up to Baden, watching him dismount, the two strange mages appeared to waver. They looked at each other for a second. The larger one spoke, and then the other one turned toward Sartol and pulled back his hood, revealing a dark beard, misshapen nose, and deep-set eyes that appeared to widen with recognition as he gazed at the Owl-Master. He took a step forward, looking as if he might say something. Then he stopped, his eyes widening again, but in a different way. Baden looked up at Sartol in time to see the Owl-Master level his staff at the two men.
“No!”Baden cried out, flinging himself against Sartol’s legs, trying to throw the mage off balance. But he was fatigued and hurt, and he was still on his knees from the force of the strangers’ blasts. Sartol knocked him onto his back with a hard knee to the chest, and then turned back toward the two men. Baden tried to scramble to his feet, but, before he could, yellow mage-fire shot from Sartol’s staff, forking at the last instant to hammer the two men to the ground, and consuming them in a whirlwind of flame that killed them instantly.
A cheer went up from the men and women of Watersbend and, in a moment, Baden and Sartol were surrounded by townspeople thanking them for their assistance and begging the Owl-Masters to heal their wounds.
Ignoring the crowd and the blood running down his face, Baden grabbed Sartol’s arm and forced the Owl-Master to face him.“What in Arick’s nameis the matter with you!” he shouted, silencing the townspeople, who looked with confusion from one Owl-Master to the other.“You killed them!”
“Yes,” Sartol responded coldly, yanking his arm out of Baden’s grasp. “Despite your best efforts to stop me. You would have preferred that I wait for them to kill us?”
“That didn’t seem to be their intention!” Baden said pointedly. “Not after you arrived!”
Sartol narrowed his grey eyes. “I don’t know what you mean by that, Baden. All I know is that you tried to keep me from protecting these people. I succeeded despite your efforts, and now you’re acting as though I killed your best friends.” He indicated the crowd with his hand. “No one else here disapproves of what I did. Perhaps you can tell me why you do.”
“Because now we can’t question them!” Baden answered, driving each word into the Owl-Master. “We had two of the men who had committed these attacks right in our hands! They could have told us who sent them; they could have told us why they were doing this! But instead, you killed them, and we still know nothing!”
“So you wanted me to chat with them,” Sartol stated in a maddeningly placid voice. Several people in the crowd snickered.
Baden tried to control his temper. “Of course not. I would have liked you to injure them in some way that would leave them harmless, but alive. That was what I intended to do.”
“Come now, Baden!�
�� Sartol snapped. “Have done with this farce! You tried to save their lives and I still managed to kill them! So now you’re trying to put your actions in the best possible light! Well, it won’t work! The rest of you saw!” the Owl-Master went on, raising his voice so all in the crowd could hear. “He tried to stop me from killing your attackers!”
Most of the people in the crowd nodded, and many shouted angrily for Baden’s death.
Sartol bared his teeth in a triumphant grin. “He is a traitor to the land!” he went on, indicating Baden with his hand. “He must be arrested and returned to Amarid! There he will be tried by the Order and punished for his crimes!”
Baden suddenly felt himself being seized from behind. Anla hissed in alarm and then leapt into the air.Fly, Anla! Baden sent to her, fearing that Sartol might try to kill her.Fly! We will find each other again! He and Sartol both watched her disappear into the night sky, and then Sartol turned back to Baden and grabbed his staff.
“Don’t worry,” the dark-haired mage told the townspeople, a dark grin still stretched across his features as he tied Baden’s staff to his horse’s saddle. “Without his staff and his bird he cannot harm you.”
“This isn’t going to work, Sartol,” Baden said with quiet intensity. “These people may believe you, but the rest of the Order won’t.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Baden,” Sartol returned smugly, his voice lowered. “Of course they will. I’ve got a town full of witnesses. I saved these people’s lives, and they will repay me by helping to convict you of treason.”
“Should we take him to the jail, Owl-Master?” asked one of the men who had taken hold of Baden.
Sartol smiled broadly at this confirmation of what he had said. “Yes,” he replied, still eyeing Baden. “And keep a close watch on him. He’s quite clever.”