CHILDREN OF AMARID

by DAVID B. COE

  “But something has changed this?”

  Crob nodded again. “Yes. Recently, we’ve seen a large influx of mercenaries from Lon-Ser. By itself, this isn’t surprising: Lon-Ser has always been a good place from which to recruit warriors. But the Lon-Ser authorities had always maintained a strict watch on the outflow of weapons and other advanced goods from that land. They were somewhat paranoid about it. Now, though, their vigilance has slackened, and Abborij has been overrun by men with terrible weapons. It used to be mercenaries killing mercenaries. Now it’s mercenaries killing families and destroying towns.”

  “What kind of weapons?” Orris had asked, his apprehension increasing by the minute.

  “Strange ones. Things I’ve never seen before. Things that throw fire; objects that fit in the palm of your hand and do more damage than a battering ram.” Crob shook his head. “I fear for Abborij. I wonder if maybe we should try to hire mages to protect us.”

  Crob had tried to laugh, as if he had meant the last comment as a joke. But the look in his eyes had made it clear to Orris that the trader found nothing funny in the situation. And now, looking down on the remains of this bizarre and deadly bird that had found its way to a small town along the Moriandral, Orris began to fathom what Crob must have felt that day. Outlanders with staggeringly destructive weapons had come to Tobyn-Ser. They had destroyed its towns and murdered its people. And, like Crob’s people, Orris found himself powerless to stop them.

  The Hawk-Mage turned and wandered back to the other end of the street, where the first of the shattered birds lay. As he walked, he considered his next move. He had little choice, really. If Pordath had lived, he might have had more options. But given that he could wield only a small remnant of his usual powers, and given what he had witnessed on this night, he knew that he needed to act, that the time for waiting and observing had passed. Despite the dangers inherent in what he was considering, he saw no viable alternatives.

  Reaching the first bird, Orris stooped and moved his ceryll close to the ground. He spotted the one eye that he had examined almost immediately, but at first he couldn’t find the other. Then it caught the amber light from his crystal, sparkling in the dust of the road. Orris picked it up, holding it between his thumb and forefinger, and marveling that the false eye of this menacing creature could possess such simple beauty. Knowing that he was taking a tremendous risk, but also believing that the eye would prove helpful at some point, Orris placed it in a small pocket within his robe. With both of the eyes having been knocked free, he hoped that Sartol’s suspicions would not be aroused by his inability to find one of them.

  On that thought, he gazed toward the northern end of the town, just in time to see Sartol walking back toward the town center, alone now, except for his horse and the large owl perched on his shoulder. Concealing his ceryll once more, Orris swiftly retreated to his hiding place between the storefronts. Then he watched as the Owl-Master examined the bodies and the debris that lay in the street, just as he himself had done minutes before. Orris soon realized, however, that Sartol’s inspection of the scene was not at all like his had been. For when the Owl-Master came to the huge, ebony birds, he merely picked them up and carried them to his horse, without so much as a second glance. It seemed impossible to Orris that Sartol could look at them and not notice that they had no blood or feathers, that they were, in fact, not real. Certainly he could not have handled them without noticing. But the Owl-Master betrayed no hint of surprise at their appearance. Which could only mean that he had known what they were all along.

  I would strike you down where you stand if I had the power to do so, Orris said inwardly, gritting his teeth against the impulse to charge at the Owl-Master anyway.

  Sartol had pulled two blankets from his saddlebag, and he now wrapped one of them around the carcasses of the two creatures and tied the bundle to his horse’s saddle. He then retrieved the strangers’ staffs and did the same with them. Watching him, Orris realized, with a rush of insight that left him feeling sick to his stomach, that the Owl-Master intended to destroy both birds and both staffs. It made sense, really. Had Orris been in his position, he would have done the same. He had killed the strangers and branded Baden a traitor. By destroying the birds and weapons, he eliminated the last bit of evidence that could undermine whatever lies he intended to tell the Order.

  Orris heard someone call to Sartol from the north end of town and he watched as the Owl-Master turned calmly to face the returning villagers. He is smooth, Orris thought, I’ll give him that. Sartol and the townspeople spoke briefly, and then all of them moved off to the south. Orris followed.

  The town’s inn, it seemed, had not been damaged in the attack, and the villagers now offered Sartol a place to sleep for the night. Sartol appeared to accept, and Orris hurried around to the back of the inn to watch the windows and see if he could tell which room Sartol occupied. Soon, a lantern illuminated the window in an upstairs room. Several minutes later, the window was opened, and the room’s lamp dimmed sufficiently to reveal the faint yellow glow of a ceryll. Satisfied that Sartol had retired for the night, Orris crept back to the main street of the town and watched the last of the villagers leave the village square. Only then did he make his way, silently and in the shadows, to Watersbend’s jail.

  He would have preferred to win Baden’s release without having to face any of the town’s residents, but, under the circumstances, that didn’t seem possible. So instead, he took the most direct approach and simply walked into the jailhouse. The three men who had escorted the Owl-Master from the town center sat in the front room, two of them speaking quietly to each other. The third had fallen asleep.

  When Orris entered the building, the two who were awake rose abruptly from their chairs and backed away. One of them shook the sleeping man awake.

  “Who are you?” the biggest of the three asked, his voice unsteady, his pale eyes betraying his fear. “What do you want?”

  “Owl-Master Sartol sent me for the traitor,” Orris replied, attempting to sound disarming. “I don’t mean you any harm.”

  The three men looked at one another, their expressions uncertain. “He said they wouldn’t be leaving till tomorrow,” the big man finally said.

  Orris forced a smile. “Yes, I know. But there’s been a change of plans. We’re leaving tonight.”

  The one who had been sleeping, a wiry man with dark eyes and unruly dark hair, looked Orris up and down. “I don’t remember you from before,” he commented suspiciously.

  “Neither do I,” the big man agreed. “We’re going to have to check with the Owl-Master before we let you take the traitor.”

  He took a step forward, as if he intended to go find Sartol.

  “Don’t move,” Orris commanded, pointing his staff at the three guards and using what little power he had at his disposal to make his amber ceryll brighten menacingly. “I didn’t want to have to do it this way,” he told them, “but one way or another, I’m leaving here with the prisoner. You can die trying to stop me, or you can cooperate and tell your friends about it in the morning. It’s your choice.”

  The men stood motionless, staring at Orris’s ceryll, and the Hawk-Mage knew from what he saw in their faces that his bluff had worked. “Give me the keys,” he ordered. Still they did not move.“Now!” he exploded, shocking them into action.

  The third man, the one who hadn’t spoken, pulled the keys from his trouser pocket and handed them to the Hawk-Mage. Orris nodded once and motioned the three of them into the rear of the building.

  Baden was in the first cell, standing by its door. He had a dark gash on his forehead, and his face was still covered with dried blood. “I think I’m very glad to see you,” the Owl-Master said as Orris directed the men into the next cell and closed its door. “Should I be?”

  The Hawk-Mage looked at him briefly. “I’m not sure yet,” he responded honestly. “But I’d rather discuss that elsewhere.” He turned back to the three guards. “Which key opens his cell?”
/>   The men regarded him sullenly and said nothing.

  He leveled his staff at them once more. “Which key!” he stormed. And seeing the men flinch at his tone and at the threatening glow of his ceryll, Orris berated himself for what he was doing. In all probability, these men had lost their homes and livelihoods during the strangers’ attack. Perhaps they had lost wives and children as well. And here he was bullying them, threatening their lives as far as they knew, all for the sake of a man whom they believed had betrayed their village. He could not even say for certain that he understood what he was doing. For all he knew, Baden was a traitor who had been betrayed himself this night by his fellow conspirator. “Just tell me which key, and we’ll be gone,” he said, softening his tone somewhat.

  “The large one with the square head,” the wiry man finally told him, sounding beaten and forlorn.

  Finding the key, Orris quickly opened the door to Baden’s cell and ushered the Owl-Master into the narrow corridor. Before they could leave, however, the big guard called out to them from the adjacent cell. “Why are you doing this?” he asked. “Why Watersbend?”

  Orris would have preferred to leave without answering, but Baden turned to the man, his face looking gaunt in the dim light of the jail. “I can’t tell you why your village was chosen to suffer,” he told the men in a kind voice. “Only the gods and the two men lying dead in the street know the answer to that. But I can tell you this: I’m not a traitor, and neither is my friend here. We vowed long ago to serve Tobyn-Ser, and regardless of what you may think, that’s what we’re doing still. Have faith in the Order; it remains your friend and the land’s best hope.”

  The men stared back at them, and Orris couldn’t tell if they believed Baden. But he knew that he and the lean mage couldn’t afford to linger and find out. “Come on, Baden,” he said, grabbing the Owl-Master’s arm and compelling him to follow.

  They hurried out into the street and around to the side of the building, where Orris’s horse stood waiting for them. From there, leading the animal by its reins, they made their way stealthily out of the town and back into the tall grasses of Tobyn’s Plain. Only when they were a safe distance from the nearest of the farmhouses did Orris allow them to stop.

  “Thank you,” Baden said quietly. “Sartol told the townspeople that he was going to take me back to the Great Hall, but I have a feeling that I wouldn’t have survived the trip.”

  Orris stared at the Owl-Master for some time, offering no response. “Let me be honest with you, Baden,” he began at last, his tone icy. “I got you out of that jail because I know Sartol’s a traitor, and I know that I can’t stop him alone. That doesn’t make us friends; it doesn’t even mean that I trust you. It just means that I wasn’t sure what else to do.”

  Baden’s features hardened and he nodded slowly. “I see. So what am I supposed to do, Orris? Prove to you that I’m loyal to the Order? Give you some irrefutable evidence of my innocence? Well, I can’t. I don’t have any. But you should know that, up until last night, I was convinced that you were the traitor, and that you had killed Jessamyn and Peredur, perhaps Jaryd and Alayna as well. That’s what Sartol told us, and I believed him.”

  “But now you know that Sartol is a liar,” Orris replied calmly. “You know that I betrayed no one.”

  Baden regarded him for some time, his expression unreadable. “I don’t know anything anymore,” he finally said with unexpected candor. “I’m going by hunch and instinct right now, and I find it very disconcerting.”

  “But you told the men in the jail that I wasn’t a traitor,” Orris replied. “Why would you say that if you weren’t certain?”

  Baden shrugged. “Because I want to believe it, and because, like you, I can’t beat Sartol alone.”

  “So neither of us trusts the other, but we both need help fighting Sartol.” Orris shook his head and allowed himself a small laugh. “That’s not much of a basis for a trusting relationship.”

  Baden’s expression remained grim. “No, it’s not, but perhaps if you told me what happened by the grove the night Jessamyn and Peredur died—”

  “Would you believe me?”

  Again the Owl-Master shrugged. “I might. Try me; I can’t see that we have anything to lose.”

  “Fair enough,” Orris returned. “I’ll tell you what happened that night, but in return, I’d like an explanation of your actions as well.”

  Baden nodded. “Of course.”

  Orris remained silent for several moments, trying to re-create in his mind the events of that harrowing night. “After I left you and Trahn,” he began at last, “I went looking for Jessamyn. I had just reached the camp when I heard her scream. I ran toward the thicket where the sound had originated, and, as I reached it, I heard Alayna cry out, and saw a burst of purple light—”

  “Did you also see blue mage-fire?” Baden interrupted.

  Orris considered this. “Yes,” he said at last, the memory coming as a revelation. “I hadn’t given it much thought at the time, but, just after the purple, there was blue.” He paused, staring at Baden. “No one in our company had a blue ceryll. Where did that come from?”

  “Never mind,” Baden replied softly. “Go on with your story.”

  But the Owl-Master could not conceal the grief laid bare by Orris’s question. At another time, Orris might have used that pain as a tool or a cudgel, but he had sorrows of his own that could just as easily be exploited, and this particular grief was one which he shared with Baden. “The blue light came from Jaryd, didn’t it?” he persisted.

  Baden faltered, then nodded. “Please, go on.”

  Orris had an impulse to tell Baden how sorry he was about Jaryd and Alayna’s disappearance, about how he had belatedly come to recognize their value to the delegation and the Order. But his relationship with the Owl-Master had never permitted that level of honesty. Instead, he continued with his account of their night by the grove. “After I heard Alayna’s scream and saw mage-fire, I began to make my way into the thicket. But then I heard branches rustling and breaking, and I realized that whoever was in there was escaping through the far side. So I ran back into the clearing and circled around the trees. That’s when I saw Sartol chasing Jaryd and Alayna toward Theron’s Grove. I attacked him, and got him to break off his pursuit, but the young mages just kept running.”

  “So you saw them go into the grove?” Baden asked, apparently heartened by this news.

  “Yes.” Orris looked at him strangely. “This pleases you?”

  “I know it sounds odd,” Baden answered. “When Sartol told me the same thing, I was horrified. But as my doubts about him have grown, I’ve started wondering if he lied about that to cover up the fact that he killed them.”

  Orris shook his head. “I don’t know if they survived their encounter with Theron,” he offered, “but I assure you, they did escape Sartol.”

  “And so did you.”

  Orris looked sharply at the Owl-Master, but Baden’s expression and tone carried no hint of accusation. “Yes,” he replied simply. “Barely. He blocked my fire with little trouble, and he nearly overwhelmed me with his power. He’s remarkably strong, Baden. I never knew that a mage could be so strong.”

  “He said the same thing about you.”

  “What else did he say?”

  Baden paused, but only briefly. “He gave us the same basic story that you just told, except in his version, you were chasing Jaryd and Alayna. He managed to stop you, but you were far stronger than he had imagined you could be. You almost killed him before escaping, he said. And he had a cut over his eye and a burn on his leg to show for it.”

  “The cut over his eye came from Pordath,” Orris explained, “but I have no idea how he came by the wound on his leg. Certainly it didn’t come from me. He may have done it to himself.”

  “Possibly. It appeared quite convincing at the time. Although,” Baden added, glancing at Orris’s shoulder and side, “his injuries looked no more impressive than yours. Why haven’t yo
u—” The Owl-Master stopped, his features suddenly contorted with pained realization. “Oh, Orris,” he breathed, “I’m truly sorry. I should have noticed earlier.” He hesitated. “Did Sartol kill her?”

  “His owl,” Orris responded with difficulty. He suddenly felt self-conscious, as if all his defenses had been stripped away. He could not meet Baden’s gaze.

  “When Anla returns to me, will you allow me to heal your burns?” Baden asked with sympathy.

  “Perhaps,” Orris said gruffly. “They’re healing on their own. And we have other things to discuss.”

  Baden started to object, but, instead, he let the matter drop. “Very well. You had questions for me, I believe.”

  “I do,” Orris confirmed. “I saw you and Trahn speaking with Sartol after I fought him, and it looked to me as if the three of you had conspired in this matter. Then you went to the trouble of building the pyres for the sage and the first before leaving Trahn alone by the grove—”

  “And you concluded that Sartol and I had plotted together, and had performed the funeral rites for Trahn’s benefit.”

  “Something like that, yes. I assumed that the two of you rode north to take control of the Order; Sartol is in line to become Owl-Sage.”

  “I know,” Baden remarked. “He’s offered to make me his first, which, no doubt, would have confirmed your suspicions.”

  “Have you accepted?”

  “I haven’t responded one way or another.”

  “With you as his first, Sartol would have little to fear from me,” the Hawk-Mage observed. “You have credibility with all factions within the Order; by accepting, you would, in effect, protect Sartol from any charges of treason, or even murder.”