Meran and Dubaku appeared and, seeing us waiting, hurried across the bridge.
“Ishal was under guard. They are dead. He had help. Two freedmen, they both fell before they reached the gates. And Tahal Samant is gone; the freedmen were his. My guess is the damn fool has gone rogue, though he may have been coerced in some way we don't know about.”
I'd meant to ask after Tahal, and confront him, but I had forgotten. “The last king's amulet was destroyed, or so I was told.”
“I had a truth spell cast to verify it,” uncle Orlyn confirmed. “But there are other forms of coercion.”
I should have cornered Tahal when I'd had the chance. I hadn't thought of it. I berated myself for it now. To the best of my knowledge he still had a ten carat stone and I knew that Jocasta had a great deal of knowledge in her young head. Now Ishal had what he wanted, the same thing Kukran had wanted, stone and someone to teach him. That, if nothing else, made him the enemy of the city. We are jealous of our magic, and do not suffer others to have stone or knowledge, either one.
“He was questioned. Ishal. What did you learn from him?” I said.
He gave me a sideways glance, pretended to control his mount's non-existent skittishness as Meran and Dubaku took to the saddle. I noticed that Dubaku was remarkably agile for a man of his age, unnaturally so if he were well over a hundred as I'd heard he claimed.
I let my Uncle's silence pass. “I'm going to need supplies, armor, weapons.”
“It's all being organized. Sapphire told me of your decision. You'll have everything my brother promised and everything you need.”
“Except information.”
He didn't answer.
“Family secrets.”
He nodded, turned his mount and led off. We all followed, picking up the pace. I wanted to go faster but dared not, not here where so recently stakes had been driven into the ground to fence off the pasture for cattle. Hitting a hole left behind when we had stripped the place would break a horse's leg. As it stood, it would be light soon, and soon enough then for speed. I would still be two hours behind. I hoped Sapphire would get the job done, but couldn't bank on it. I would speak to Orelia before I left. Who knew what she might know? I had time. Jocasta might not. Ishal was no lich, but I doubted he would take time out to rape her any time soon, not when he must know he would be pursued. I wondered what I would do if she were raped. Apart from torture Ishal to death, of course. That was a given.
#
Orelia would have a scar on her face.
“There is nothing more I can do,” the healer said patiently.
I had the feeling this was not the first time he had said it. Orelia was sitting up in bed, pale but seemingly whole. She was holding a hand mirror and crying as if the fresh-looking scar on her face were the worst of her problems. There were two slave-girls present, and my uncle. She was a noble woman alone in a military camp; the proprieties would be observed.
“Oh, Sumto, what am I going to do?” She must have seen my face, because she suddenly paled. “Oh! Poor Jocasta! You will go after her won't you?”
Of course I would go after her. "And Tahal Samant?"
Her attention drifted back to the hand mirror, as though she would find the answer in her own reflection. "He is implicated in the murder of my brother, Sumto. Even if he proves innocent, I can't possibly marry him now, can I?"
It seemed like a long time ago that she had asked me to rescue her betrothed from his captivity in the Eyrie. Her idea of love had ever been fickle; she had once been betrothed to me, after all. Narrow escape. Still, she had a point. I let it drop.
“The large stone that Jocasta... borrowed from her family. Where is it?”
Orelia looked blank. “I don't know. I mean, there...” She pointed across the room to a strongbox. Even from here I could see it had been opened. I didn't need to look but crossed the room anyway. Inside the chest were my weapons and armor, which was a surprise. I checked; there was nothing else. I pulled the armor out, and turned with the question on my face.
She sniffled, wiped her eyes. “Yours.”
I knew that. “I know that. Why are they here?”
“Jocasta was going to gift them to you on your wedding day.” Today. “She had tracked them down, and my dear brother bought them for her to gift to you, the ring, the armor and the swords.”
I searched the strongbox more intently. Found the belt that was in itself a covering of magical protection, but no ring. Then I smiled, bundled up the armor and weapons and left.
“Good luck, bring her back safe!” She called out after me. “Are you sure you can do nothing about the scar?” She asked more softly. I didn't hear the response. I didn't care.
#
“You are smiling.” Orlyn was striding to keep up with me.
“They took my ring,” I told him.
“And?”
I strode on, heading for the healers and battle mages. “Who is your most accomplished battle mage, the best all rounder?”
“Balaran. Three colleges. Why?”
“This stone in my skull is Jocasta's. It is linked to mine. She could find me with her stone, and now I can find her with mine. Ishal took my stone, as well as the eighty carat monster.”
“Gods,” Orlyn swore. “Eighty carats?! Thank the gods they don't have the knowledge to go with it! Still, they must pay, these Necromancers. I could send a troop with you.”
I didn't contradict him. “Meran, you head south. You have your instructions.”
He stopped in his tracks and I stopped and turned to face him.
“I know you want to come with me. Think that everything has changed. It hasn't, and I don't have time to argue.”
“You will need me. I know the language, the people, and the terrain. And when you free Jocasta, who will escort her south in safety?”
I thought about it, quickly. He was right, and I was on the verge of changing my mind, but there was something I had been forgetting.
“Lendrin Treleth,” Orlyn dropped the name into the conversation like a brick.
“What?” Meran said.
I frowned at my Uncle but answered Meran. “Not what, Meran. Who. He is my father's client and wants to set up a trading post in the north. He will expect to find me here, expect me to lead him and a hundred men wherever he wants to go. I already accepted the commission. As my client you can take my place for now, so lead them north to join me, but at no great speed.”
“I'll loan you a tracker, and an extra hundred men; as soon as he arrives they can follow your trail. That should mollify him.”
I shrugged. My uncle was being very helpful. I tried to feel grateful, and failed. “Good enough. I'll join them as soon as I can. Or they can join me. Hell, Treleth isn't even here yet, and might be days away. Either way, you stay and represent me to him. I'll give you something in writing so he can't ignore your authority. Now, let's see this Balaran, and see if he can teach me what I need to know.”
It felt like nothing I can describe. When Balaran was finally content that I had the spell down pat and let me cast it, I knew where she was. I felt it, a sensation, off to my left and it changed as I turned my head, drifting over my skull, or inside my skull, until I faced that way and felt it on my face, like the warmth of the sun, in my face.
“I have it.”
“I'll pay for the teaching,” Orlyn chipped in. “Consider it a gift.”
I was half surprised, half accepting. It was the first thing my uncle had ever done for me. Well, possibly from his point of view, not. He probably thought the summer spent training with him was for my benefit, and maybe it was. Still, he was being very helpful. He wanted me to succeed... of course, he was a noble of the city and as keen to deal with a rogue mage as I. If it was confirmed Tahal had gone rogue, there would be a reward, or advantage from Tahal's family for keeping the fact quiet.
“Thank you. Is everything prepared?”
“Two horses, coin, a pack horse with tent and provisions, Alendi armor and
clothing.” Orlyn listed his preparations; he hadn't stinted, and I was glad of it but I stopped listening as he began going into detail.
I'd picked up my armor, the swords strapped to my waist, the belt chafing. I headed for the command tent. All was in readiness, Dubaku waiting with the horses. The sword belt stung my tender skin with every movement. I'd take it off and put the swords in the saddle, I decided, looping them over the pommel or whatever else worked. I was ready, the sun was well above the horizon, and I wanted to be moving.
I eyed the horses. Local stock, I saw, smaller than the southern bred animals. But then, we were heading into the mountains. Orlyn was taking the long view. I would have preferred animals bred for speed but changing them would take time. I'd live with his decision.
I pulled myself into the saddle, stripped the sword belt from my waist and hooked it over the pommel. That would do for now.
“Good luck,” Orlyn said.
I nodded and we moved.
First task, find one of the traders who supplied the camp and buy a few flasks of whiskey.
#
The Eyrie rested on a stark outcrop. Beyond it, the land was already fragmented into green foothills, ragged and irregular; the low mountains clear and stark beyond them. I picked out a trail that led up a broad but shallow incline between a long, rounded hill and a lower but more rocky mound. I set the pace at a canter, knowing I would have to slow the animals to walk periodically. I wondered how hardy they were, how well they would hold up to the pace I intended to set. Dubaku handled his horse with enough skill that I didn't need to worry about him and he handled the pack animal without drama. My enemy had two hours' head start on us. If Sapphire had caught up to him already, there was no need for this pursuit, but I wouldn't count on that. Nothing is certain; even if he had found them there was always the chance he had failed. I couldn't imagine that but still, rationally, I had to acknowledge it. He had the best chance to catch them quickly; over two hours' head start in this terrain could be anything from six to twelve miles or more. And I would not realistically be able to make up that loss so long as they were moving at the same kind of speed I was. I would catch them when they stopped travelling for a day, or deemed themselves safe from pursuit and relaxed their pace. Catching them was going to take time. I tried not to brood about it.
My awareness of their direction faded before we topped the first rise and I recast the spell, finding the tug of the stone in my mind and pushing in the way I had been taught. I wanted the practice, to fix the spell in my mind. Repetitive casting was the only way. The sensation returned, clear and strong. It was my only link to her, and I tried not to think what might happen if Tahal and Ishal split up. I might end up following a false lead, following Tahal alone and having to backtrack to find Jocasta with no clear notion of where to look. But I didn't see a choice; tracking would be even slower, even if I were competent at the task, and I had never attempted it before. Even if Dubaku were a tracker we would be moving too slowly to suit me and there was no point in thinking of it. We were not on their trail now and finding it would be a hopeless and unnecessary task. I wanted to travel faster as it was, not slower, but knew it would be counter-productive in the long run. The discomfort of riding intruded into my awareness constantly. I needed a distraction. I pulled rein and let my horse walk. The shallow incline was almost enough encouragement for her to obey.
“How many ancestors can you call on?”
“All of them,” Dubaku said.
I put the question on my face but it wasn't enough to prompt him. “All of them?”
“I carry the history of my people in me. From the first to the time when I lost them. Every name and every deed. All of them are known to me.”
“How many?”
He thought about it, not seeming to pay me much attention. “Hundreds. More. I don't know. I never counted.”
“They all have powers to aid you? Hundreds? Thousands of them?”
He smiled, and I had the feeling he almost laughed. “No. Some. Only some. Those who had a skill or awareness or desire in life that become an obsession after death, those have some ability that they will sometimes use on my behalf. To find water, to bring rain, other things.” He shrugged his bony shoulders. “Others have knowledge, experience or wisdom. Some have become too far removed from life to communicate with. Most.”
I digested that. We do not permit religion in the city; the ability of the priests to call spirits is a competition for our magic that we have never welcomed. And those who adopt a belief structure become irrational and unreasonable. Allow them, and they would rule according to strictures dictated by their interpretation of the words of spirits. And life, as we say, is for the living. As a consequence I did not know much about the doings of spirits or of what one such as Dubaku, as shaman, could do.
Those who developed a skill or awareness or desire that they had in life, I thought.
“Dreams,” I said, thinking aloud. “Like the dream of healing a loved one?”
“Yes. Like the revered ancestor who answered your call to heal Sapphire; probably she was a healer in life who failed to heal someone.”
“Probably? You don't know?”
“The story of my people is only in my mind; it isn't like a book; I can't open to a page and read; I would have to begin at the beginning and tell the whole story. If I began to tell the history of our people I would reach the story of her life at some point, and then tell you her whole story. The desire, the longing, the regret, these emotions and some knowledge were doubtless strong in her. She desired it enough to continue to contemplate it, to view it from her new perspective, to develop the ability to accomplish her desire. And her name was known, her connection to life supported by the shamen. Eventually she became what she is; a powerful ally.”
We crested the rise and began a descent into a long, dry valley between regular hills. The going would be clear and easy for as far as I could see, for some three miles perhaps. The trail did not lead directly in the direction I felt we should travel, but not far enough from it for me to want to climb higher or leave the trail.
“You said, sometimes. I remember you said that before, 'sometimes they answer.' Why only sometimes?”
“Have you never heard someone call your name and ignored it?”
More times than I cared to think about. Usually someone I owed money to, or a favor that I was not ready to repay at just that moment. More rarely, I was genuinely too busy with another task, had a more critical imperative.
“Do you think about your own death?” I asked.
“All the time.”
Well. There really wasn't anything I could say to that. I hadn't asked the question I meant to ask, and so had not received the answer I expected. I had meant to ask if he himself planned to develop a skill that might bring aid to another shaman. “I meant...”
“I understood. Yes. I think about it. Also, I worry that I might not find a son to teach before I die. It may be that all my skills will die with me, that all the names I know will be lost.”
“That would be...”
“No more or less tragic than any other sad thing,” he smiled. “The world is full of such inequities... is that the word?”
“In the sense of unfair, yes. I suppose it is. Do your spirits have anything to say about how damned unfair life can be?”
“Not much, no.”
I had utterly failed to steer the conversation the way I wanted it to go. I had eight cantrips of very little use to me, and one offensive spell that I had not enough stone to make useful. It worried me. I needed more, and had wondered if my own ancestors might aid me. It was contrary to our traditions, and not something I would normally contemplate, but if I could learn from Dubaku I might gain from it. I knew the names of my ancestors, seven hundred years' worth of spirits who might aid me if I could make them hear me; if I could persuade Dubaku to teach me how to call on them. And I still had in mind to experiment with the idea that had occurred to me when I was Kukren Epthel
's prisoner; that what spirits accomplish and our magic might in essence be the same thing, that if I could call a spirit and show it illusory spell forms, it might be able to tell me what that form would do should I create it in reality. That would allow me to research new magic safely, something our sorcerers had never been able to do. Spell forms are non-intuitive, you cannot guess what a spell will do by its shape and form, so to create a new spell is risky. Sorcerers who frequently indulge in spell research die of it, sooner or later. If my idea worked, then the risk would be removed from the process. Having the ability to call spirits would make me a priest in the eyes of my peers, and should that secret become known to them I would doubtless be exiled for life. But nothing is without risk. I resolved to broach the subject again as we travelled. I had time. This was not a race, no matter how much I wanted it to be.
#
After a few miles the long valley turned too far east for me to be comfortable with, so we left the trail and climbed out of the valley on the shallowest slope we could find, coming to a rolling hilltop that ran several miles north-west. The hill was covered in uniform short grass and peppered with rocks and small outcrops, broken by mounds and shallow depressions.
The link between the stone set in my forehead and my own black stone gave me confidence that I was heading the right way. At least so long as I believed that Ishal Laharek carried it, and so long as Jocasta was his captive, neither of which supposition I could be a hundred percent confident in. It was a worry, but I had no better plan.
My thighs hurt, the tender skin chafing against the saddle as the horse moved under me. It got worse as time passed and there was little enough to take my mind off it. There was whiskey, and it helped a little. I worried that I had not brought enough but there was a limit to how much I could carry. Eight flasks. I would need to supplement it with beer, so there would be no choice but to stop at settlements along the way. Going without alcohol was not an option. I recalled the list of equipment Orlyn had spoken of, recalling as best I could the items he had listed. Clothes, he'd definitely said 'appropriate' clothes. So barbarian made clothing would be there. Hopefully everything else, or at least most of it, was of barbarian manufacture. I would have to travel as Pel Epmeran, the name I had used to gain entry to the Eyrie. Sapphire had supplied a clan name that was accepted, a small clan but I couldn't remember the name right away. When I did, it would be the clan name I used. I spoke the language fluently, and had the same look as the Gerrian; I would pass. I remembered that Sapphire had given the clan name Liani, so I would be Pel Epmeran of the Liani. It would serve. But Dubaku would not pass. He was dark skinned, a man from the far south. I smiled and almost laughed at the idea of trying to pass him off as a northerner. I imagined a group of Gerrian as I introduced him as Tan Epthanad; the shocked looks on their imagined faces. Well, no. It wouldn't do.
The Key To The Grave (#2 The Price Of Freedom) Page 4