The Guardian

by Angus Wells

  He took my arm and led me to the pavilion. My clansmen followed, like restless hounds on my heels. Kerid shouted that they be fed and wined, and brought me to the woman who stood between two braziers that lit her golden hair with sparks of light. She was very beautiful, and seemed much older than Ellyn, but she held a regal stance and surveyed me with calmly imperious eyes. She wore a silvery gown that seemed to be constructed of mail, and clung to the contours of her body as do a fish’s scales. Rings glittered on her fingers, jewels from her ears. Her small waist was encircled by a narrow belt that held a long, thin knife.

  “This,” Kerid said, “is Mother Hel. She commands this army we’ve brought to aid you.”

  It seemed that the girl expected some acknowledgment, and I’d not disappoint any allies I might find, so I offered a Highlander’s obeisance to an equal. I bowed my head and lowered a knee.

  “Do you come to aid Ellyn of Chaldor in her rightful war, I welcome you and thank you.”

  “We do,” Kerid said.

  “Mother Hel?” I stared at this beautiful, imperious woman. She reminded me of both Shara and Ellyn. “Then this army you bring must be the Hel’s Town pirates.”

  “Not all of them.” She turned away, beckoning me into the pavilion. “Perhaps one third. The rest hold the Durrakym against Danant, that Talan not bring more soldiers to his cause, or find any trade.” She glanced fondly at Kerid. “I was … persuaded … to support you, and so Hel’s Town has taken a side.”

  She gestured that I sit. There was a table of some dark wood inlaid with silver motifs, matching chairs, silver plates and decanters, goblets of crystal. The one she took was set with jewels. I wondered how so much opulence was transported without horses.

  “I break all precedent,” she said. “Hel’s Town does not take sides in the land wars, but …” She glanced again at Kerid, who stared at her much as Roark did at Ellyn. Or perhaps I at Shara. “I was persuaded that it were better Hel’s Town aid you than stand neutral. So I offer you an army.”

  “And they’re fine fighters,” Kerid said.

  “Why?” I asked. I’d know my allies before I trusted them.

  Mother Hel blushed, I thought. “I have come to trust Kerid,” she said. “And he convinced me of your cause. I’d not see Talan of Danant own the river—nor his Vachyn hireling. Say me nay, and I’ll go home. I’ll go back to my ships and leave the river clear.”

  I said, quickly, “I’d not see that, Mother. I’d sooner have you on my side, and see Ellyn on Chaldor’s throne. I thank you for your aid, and welcome you to our side.”

  She nodded imperiously. “And how goes your war?”

  I told her, and she said, “Shall we make a difference against a Vachyn sorcerer?”

  “Shara’s with us,” I said. “And Ellyn owns magic now. Can Danant not send more men …”

  “They’d find it hard,” she said coolly. “The Durrakym’s held by my—pirates, you call them? No matter—there’s not a Danant vessel can cross the river without a bloody fight they’ll likely lose. So what do we do here?”

  “Talan and his Vachyn sit in Chorym,” I said. “They’ve made no major move against us yet, but Shara wonders if Nestor gathers some great power.”

  “And what do you do?” she asked.

  “I’ve siege engines ready,” I said. “And now you’re with us, I think we can attack.”

  “Even against the Vachyn?”

  I shrugged. “I cannot know what Nestor plans, but all the Highlanders are ready. We must begin soon, win or lose.”

  “How far to Chorym?” she asked.

  I said, “Six leagues.”

  “We’ll be there on the morrow,” she said. “Close on first light. Do you wait for us to come up before you start your engines?”

  I nodded.

  “We’ll take the city,” she said. “I think that not even a Vachyn sorcerer can stand against the combined might of the Highlands and Hel’s Town.”

  I grinned at her. I liked her. I said, “Thank you, Mother.”

  Kerid said, “You’ll stay with us tonight?”

  I shook my head, hoping I offended no Hel’s Town protocols. “Thank you, but no. I’d bring Ellyn this news as soon as I can.”

  Mother Hel said, “Then we’ll talk more tomorrow. I’d speak with Ellyn and this Shara. Come the dawn we’ll be with you.”

  I smiled and rose and made my farewells, and rode back to Chorym with the good news.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  The chamber had once been pleasant—a room filled in summer with light from the high windows, warmed in winter by the heat of the great hearth, set round with comfortable chairs in which a visitor might sit and peruse one of the many books or scrolls that filled the shelves along the walls. Now the windows were hidden behind sable drapes, and the books and scrolls and parchments were all given to the fire that blazed under the high arch, giving off a rank odor of putrescence that suggested the pages of the library burned things more mortal than paper.

  The chairs were all shoved to the sides of the room, the center of which was occupied by a single table on which Nestor had set the instruments of his magic. Some were inanimate—pieces of bone and stone, crystal vials containing fluids that seethed and bubbled, skulls and the drying wings of dismembered birds—others were living, and moaned as the Vachyn performed his arcane magicks.

  Nestor moved around them, mouthing incantations that set little sparklings of dark light to dancing about the chamber, and his living objects to screaming. He seemed not to hear the cries—or did not care. He only went on with his cantrip, taking up a knife when it was needed to carve through flesh, selecting those organs necessary to the spell and casting them into the flames, adding a bone or a wing, or a skull so that the fire sputtered and blazed and gusted foul, stinking smoke that filled the room before the chimney took it and raised it up over Chorym’s walls.

  Outside, men watched the smoke rise and spread, un-commanded by the wind, obeying only the Vachyn’s diktat.

  There came a knocking at the door and Nestor hesitated an instant. Heard Talan’s voice, and slashed a cut across a woman’s eyeball and another over the curve of her throat as he continued to mouth his spell. He dug the eye out and drenched it in the spouting blood, then tossed the horrid burden into the fire. Only then did he open the door.

  Talan gagged as he entered the awful chamber. His eyes clenched shut as the foul smoke assaulted, then watered as he forced them open. He swallowed noisily and pressed a scented handkerchief to his mouth.

  “What do you do?” His voice was muffled by the ’kerchief.

  “Your will,” Nestor said. “A glass of wine?”

  Talan shook his head. He clearly wanted to swallow nothing that came from this chamber.

  “I am sure now that my erstwhile sister stands against me.” Nestor smiled confidently. “She and Ellyn. I sensed two magical presences when I sent that bolt against our observers.”

  “And they deflected it.” Talan’s voice came thick through the cloth, heavy with the desire to vomit. “They live, and the Highlanders build siege equipment.”

  “It means nothing.” Nestor leaned back against the table. His hands rested in pools of blood that he ignored. “I conjure such a spell now as defeated Andur. It shall succeed again, against these clansmen.”

  “Why not strike them again with that lightning? Destroy their machinery, their leaders?”

  Nestor smiled. “Because my sister can deflect it. She’s strong, and she has Ellyn to support her.”

  “You told me Ellyn was weak in the talent.”

  “She grows daily stronger,” Nestor said. And before Talan could protest, “It’s as I told you—let the wasps come to the pot and they’re trapped.”

  “As we are?” Talan gestured at the walls, flinging out both his arms. Then stifled on the stench and began to choke, so that his words came thick and muffled. “We are surrounded. Barbarian clansmen ring our walls, and it seems the Hel’s Town pirates command t
he Durrakym. Tell me who’s the pot and who’s the wasp, eh?”

  “We’ve all our enemies gathering here,” Nestor said, “just as I promised you. Let them all come, and I’ll destroy them in one fell swoop.”

  “Can you? Truly?”

  Nestor ducked his head. “Do you not trust me any longer?”

  Talan hesitated a moment before answering. Then: “I wonder if more force comes against us than even you can defeat.”

  The Vachyn barked impatient laughter. “Let them come. I shall defeat them all—on your behalf. I shall destroy my sister and Ellyn, the Highlanders. The Hel’s Town pirates, do they dare oppose you. All of them! Just as I promised.”

  Talan said, “I hope so.”

  “Believe so.” Nestor gestured at the door. “I’ll give you such a kingdom as this world has never known. Only trust me, eh? And leave me alone now to defeat your enemies.”

  Talan smiled—a wan curving of his frightened mouth—and left the stinking chamber.

  Talan went to the ramparts, where the air was cleaner, and found Egor Dival.

  The old man was still bandaged—there were few healers left in Chorym, and none the invaders trusted save their own who were in short supply—leaning morosely on the battlements and surveying the army that now surrounded Chorym.

  “So, does your Vachyn offer answers?”

  “He works a cantrip even now,” Talan said. “He promises victory.”

  Dival spat over the new brickwork. “Look at that, eh?” He gestured at the plain below. “Do you see what they do?”

  Talan stared at the distant army. “They build siege engines, I suppose. Just as we did.”

  “Which no Highlander army ever did before. And is all I hear true, they’ve two sorcerers to support them. And likely an army of Hel’s Town pirates coming to their aid.”

  “I’ve got Nestor,” Talan said, defensive. “Not some hedgerow wizardess and her protégé.”

  “And they’ve got every god-cursed clansmen the Highlands ever produced. And folk—do I not miss my guess—from Cu-na’Lhair, and farmers and shepherds and just about everyone they’ve picked up along the way.” Dival sighed, easing from the wall to nurse his hurting arm. He stared at his king. “Do you believe we can defeat them?”

  “It’s as you said—these Highlanders are not accustomed to siege warfare.”

  “Nor are we—from this side of the walls.”

  Talan frowned. He longed for a glass of wine, but it would look amiss did the Lord of Danant and Chaldor ask for drink here, so he fought the desire and made his face stern. “Chorym is mine; I’ll not give up the city. And we’ve Nestor …”

  Dival barked sour laughter. “He sent his magicks against them once before, no? And what did we see?”

  Talan closed his eyes a moment, remembering that strange cloud of translucent light that had settled about the three Nestor promised to destroy. The bolt had been deflected like an arrow from a shield. “Nestor promises me victory,” he said, praying as he did that it be so. “He conjures a great magic even now.”

  “But in the end,” said Egor Dival, “I think it shall come down to honest swordwork.”

  “Then you’re well fit for the task,” Talan snarled, and quit the ramparts.

  Dival watched him go, thinking that soon they both must die. He wondered why did he not feel sorry.

  The smoke rose from the chimney and streamered against the sky. Then it turned, unbidden by the breeze, and gathered, coalescing into a great mass of darkness that hid the sun and then the moon and the stars, and then grew until there was only drifting shadow. It ran from over Chorym to descend across the surrounding forces like the horridly whispering voice of nightmares, and as it fell men began to shiver, and some to weep, and think of lost hope and lost loves, of betrayals and death.

  “This is Vachyn magic, no?” Ellyn asked.

  Shara nodded. “The foulest kind, I think.”

  “What can we do?”

  “Nothing as yet.”

  “There must be something.” Ellyn’s voice was forlorn.

  Shara’s was stern with purpose. “Only hold on, and wait for Gailard to return.”

  “And is this new-come army from out of Danant?”

  “Then we’ve lost. Or we die here.”

  “Only those choices?”

  “Save we’ve allies.” Shara raised her shoulders in a shrug. “Had we the Dur women with us, perhaps we could foretell the outcome. But …” She shrugged again and forced a smile. “We’ve not, so we can only wait.”

  “Until?” Ellyn asked.

  “Gailard returns,” said Shara, “with news that’s good or ill.” She shivered, as if she wondered at his return.

  “You love him,” Ellyn said.

  Shara met the younger woman’s gaze. “Don’t you?”

  Ellyn paused awhile before answering. Then, carefully: “Not as I thought I did.” She laughed nervously. “I hated him at first. I thought him an uncouth savage. But then … He’s not, is he? He’s a noble man, and I should have known that. My father named him friend, and my mother trusted him. So I should have. But …” She shrugged in turn. “I thought I loved him, and so I hated you—because you stole his heart. I saw the way he looked at you—and you at him—and I knew. I wanted to send you away then. I thought that I’d banish you and have Gailard for myself. Save I needed to learn from you, and so I must suffer your presence.”

  Her voice trailed off. Her eyes grew moist.

  Shara said, “And now?”

  “There’s Roark,” Ellyn answered shyly. “I love him.”

  “And what of Gailard?” Shara asked.

  “He does not love me,” Ellyn said. “Not in that way He loves you as I love Roark.”

  Shara ducked her head in acknowledgment.

  “Are you … ?” Ellyn asked. “Have you … ?”

  “No.” Shara shook her head. “Not until Chorym is won and you take your parents’ throne.”

  “Nor we,” Ellyn said, smiling.

  “Then best we take the city soon, eh?”

  Ellyn began to reply, but then Mattich came into their tent. His visage was fearful. “Best you come quickly,” he declared. “This god-cursed Vachyn magic frightens our warriors, and your presence can strengthen them.”

  “Come.” Shara rose, holding out a hand to Ellyn. “Come, sister, and let’s to our duty.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  I pushed my bay hard on the return, leaving the smaller, slower Highland ponies behind me. I’d bring word of our newfound allies to Ellyn and Shara as quickly as possible, and it would not be the first night I’d spent sleepless in battle’s cause. Did Mother Hel and Kerid bring up their army as they promised, we might commence our attack that day.

  By dawn, the Mother had promised—and I thought her a woman who’d keep her word. The Hel’s Town pirates would march through the night and be with us early. Then those siege engines my Highlander kin did not properly understand might be brought into play and we assault Chorym’s walls without fear of attack from the rear. I laughed into the night.

  Then gasped as I saw what lay ahead of me.

  Mist drifted across the road like the trailing threads of spinning spiders, insubstantial at first, so that I assumed it no more than the combination of the day’s heat with the rain-dampened ground, but then thicker … So thick that, within paces, it became a wall of grey that hid the Hunter’s Moon and all the stars. I could not understand it. Vapors rising from the fields might account for some part, but this was such a brume as decorated the Highlands’ woods in deepest winter. It was clammy and chill at the same time, so that I felt sweat bead my brow even as I shivered at the cold that struck into my bones. I felt my knee begin to ache, where a year and a lifetime ago that pike had struck me, and also the wounds Nestor’s hunters had delivered; and my mare began to fret, slowing her pace and turning her head nervously as I urged her on. Soon I must dismount and lead her, else she’d have thrown me and run off. Her eyes rolled an
d her ears were laid back, and she swung her head from side to side as if she heard, or saw, or sensed, things within the fog that I could not.

  I guessed that Nestor had begun his work. I drew my sword and cursed the mare as she began to buck and I let go the reins before she plunge her hooves onto me. She snorted once and turned around to disappear into the mist. I pressed on.

  And in time saw somewhat of what I’d witnessed in the Darach Pass and across the Durrakym.

  Dawn was gone and the sun shone over Chorym. But from the city’s walls, like smoke from the nostrils of a pipe user, there rolled great banks of grey mist. They encompassed the surrounding army and the countryside a league beyond. It was as if clouds fell from the sky to roll across the land, and all was grey and lost save for the thunderbolts that struck from above.

  They descended in lancing flashes of brilliant light that crashed against the land beneath and left the heavens ringing. I saw columns of fire, and recognized the shapes of my siege towers and catapults burning. I shouted as despair filled me—another reminder of the Darach Pass—and stumbled forward even as I saw answering flashes rise from the ground to strike against Nestor’s magic, so that both the darkened sky above my army and that over Chorym were lit by counterpoised brilliances. I ached and hurt, and felt a terrible desire to throw away my sword and buckler and flee. It was as if the mist whispered that I could not prevail and had better run.

  I had experienced this before, so I fought my doubts and fears and pressed on. Roark came out of the brume. He carried a torch that did little to light his way. Strands of hair hung lank about his face and his eyes were haunted. He held a sword that he pointed toward me, and gasped in relief as he recognized me.

  “Thank the gods, Gailard, that you’re safe. Thank them more that you’re back.”

  “What happens?” I asked.

  “It began awhile ago,” he said. “At midnight, I think. This mist came up and then …” He ducked his head as a peal of thunder roiled above us and light came down from the sky. I heard a horse scream briefly. “Ellyn and Shara do what they can. But …” He shook his head. “Best they explain, for the gods know I cannot.”