"Why must you go now?"
It was the first time Marta could remember someone expressing sincere regret at the thought of her departure. "I have business to attend to, Brother Akaen; I've tarried here longer than I should have in any case. I...I do hope to return and visit on way home, if you have no objection, but I don't know how long that will be."
"Certainly not; you're always welcome." Akaen sighed. "I suppose it was inevitable, but it has been nice to hear a thought other than my own down here. Mostly the king sends for what he wants, and it's my job to find it. Well enough, but one does weary of tax rolls and ancient points of protocol. This search of yours has been invigorating. I hate to see it end."
"I don't think it's ended," Marta said, "I don't think it ever will. But if Bone Tapper returns this evening as he should I'll be leaving in the morning."
"Well, then. Let's do what we can while we can, yes?"
Marta didn't have much hope that they could complete an understanding in a few hours what she'd failed to finish in as many weeks, but there was no point in not trying. There were references to magicians aplenty, and some of the information was accurate, at least so far as Marta could judge. Some was hateful. Much more was just rumor, speculation, and gossip. Marta had heard of dark magicians of course, names like Tymon the Black and Dommar the Beast weren’t unknown to her—even her own mother had used them to frighten her into good behavior as a child. Yet she'd never associated them with anything her mother was, and she certainly didn't see anything of them in herself.
At least, not much. She hadn't forgotten Master Lokan, and what Bone Tapper had said about her enjoying what she had done to him.
Perhaps that's how it starts. I must be careful.
Marta wondered if being careful was enough. By most of Karsan's opinion she was well on her way to full sisterhood with The Beast as it was.
"Akaen, I need to ask you something. I don't want to create a debt-bond between us, yet I really would like to know."
"I don't know what you mean by 'debt-bond' unless you're talking about the obligations of supplicants to an Arrow Path magician. Yet you're asking me."
"Well, debts are serious matters and I don't pretend to fully understand them at this point. I have to be cautious."
Akaen shrugged. "My charge from the king is to help you with your search. I'm sure your question will fall under that."
"It's more personal."
"Even so," Akaen said.
Marta took a deep breath. "How did people view my mother?"
Akaen stopped smiling for a moment. "The truth? Yes, of course the truth. What else is of any use in the long run? They feared her, Marta. Even the ones who were fond of her."
Marta frowned. "Fond? You mean anyone was?"
Akaen laughed. "Well, a few certainly. Mistress Thornap for one. For another, the king... though in His Majesty's case perhaps 'fond' isn't quite the right word. Better to say they understood one another. He respected her, I know, even if their dealings were not always without friction."
Marta had personal witness to one of those less affable dealings, but it hadn't seemed to go anything beyond that, even then. She hoped she could earn as much from Alian, since sooner or later he would seek something from her.
The king is always reluctant to ask. That's to his credit.
"Then there was me," Akaen said.
Marta blinked, not certain if she had heard right. "You were my mother's friend?"
"Of course. She often visited the archives when she was in Karsan."
Marta shook her head. "Yes, of course I knew that. No offense, but she didn't speak of you often. Or the archives, come to that, though I know she was fond of them."
Akaen shrugged again. "She seldom mentioned a meal at the Apple Branch either, I fancy, nor Master Lokan's fish soup. Yet I think she was rather fond of that, too. It was just something she did."
Marta nodded. That sounded like her mother. "What was she looking for?"
Akaen closed the book very carefully and took it back to the shelves for storage. "I was never certain. I don't think she was sure herself. Anything, really. She had very broad interests. I think she wanted to visit the library at the Temple of Amatok at Morushe, but I don't think her health or duties permitted it... oh."
Marta, deep in her own thoughts, didn't notice what had brought that reaction from the monk. "What is it?"
"This book." Akaen held up a different, newer volume. "I've never noticed it before."
"There are so many. Perhaps you'd forgotten?"
Akaen shook his head, looking slightly affronted. "I most certainly would remember..." He opened it, read a bit. "Curious."
Marta left the table and joined him by the massive shelves. "What is it?"
"A listing of the major Shrines on the mainland...plus one or two in the outer isles. Routes, some facts—at least, one hopes they are such—about each one. I didn't know anyone had ever compiled such a list. See? The Karsanmon Shrine is listed."
Marta read what was there. "The author had an eye for beauty. I share his opinion of the gate...though I think he rated the temple much too highly."
"As do I. The newer Temple of Amatok at Borasur is much finer, though of course it was after that man's time. Still, the rest seems accurate enough, so far as I know. There are a few sites I've never heard of. But how did the book get here?"
Marta was barely listening. "I don't know... May I see it?"
"Hmmm? Oh, certainly. You have an interest in places of worship?"
"Not as such," Marta said dryly. "But the subject? Yes."
"Like your mother," Akaen said.
Marta didn't say anything else for a while. She took the book back to the table and settled back into her chair. She skimmed the section on the Karsanmon shrine again and found a reference to the grotto. It didn't say much other than speculate a bit about the site probably being at least part of the location of the original shrine, but the fact that the anonymous author had mentioned it at all gave Marta more confidence in the narrative. Certainly the current Priestess thought the place of little concern, but Marta certainly knew better.
This is new...
Marta read intently for a while. When she looked up again it was later than she'd thought, though Akaen was still there, deep in a history of the Lyrsan Wars.
"Akaen, have you ever heard of a Power called 'Astonei'?"
"Certainly. She has two major shrines. One's in Wylandia and the other..." he frowned in concentration for a moment, then brightened. "Of course. Near Westas, far south and east of here before you reach the coast." He looked over her shoulder at the book. "Yes, just as I thought. It was on the old pilgrim route through Sendale."
Marta frowned. "I've never heard of Sendale."
"It no longer exists. A Sea-King raid destroyed the town and it was never rebuilt; it was already in decline." Akaen pulled another volume off the shelves, opened it to a page he well knew. "It's here in the Chronicles of the Wind-Singer."
Marta read the passages quickly, then looked up. "But the shrine is due south of where Sendale was?"
Akaen nodded. "Right enough. It's usually just called the Basilisk Shrine; I almost forgot Astonei was the patron. Why do you ask?"
"Is it true about the skull?"
"Depends. What does the book say?"
"That whoever sleeps in the basilisk's skull will have one true thing revealed to them. This privilege is very hard to win, naturally."
"Both are true, or at least that's the rumor. I don't know anyone who's actually done it."
Marta frowned. "You don't sound as if you believe it's true."
Akaen shook his head. "No, it's just that I don't really care if it's true or not. I do believe that's the sort of question one shouldn't be asking a dead monster, Marta."
"I suppose you're right..." Marta said, but her thoughts were elsewhere. A Law of Power could be a revealed truth...well, maybe not directly. But perhaps it could point the way... Marta didn't notice that Bone Tapper
had returned until he landed on her shoulder.
"I'm returned," Bone Tapper said.
"So I see," Marta started to turn back to her book, but something caught her attention and looked more closely at the raven. "You're bleeding!"
"Not now but I was, and thanks for noticing. A goshawk tried to eat me."
"Are you all right?"
"Why do you ask? Afraid I'll die and avoid my debt?" Bone Tapper's voice fell off to a low grumble, but he submitted to Marta's examination meekly enough. Akaen brought a bit of damp cloth and Marta cleaned the wound on the raven's back.
"Just a scratch and a few feathers," Marta said finally, trying not to let her relief show, "Don't carry on so."
"You were the one getting upset at the blood," Bone Tapper said. "Whereas I—"
Marta closed his beak firmly between two fingers. "When I let you go, tell me what you found, without additional commentary. Can you manage that?"
"Mrwrp," said Bone Tapper and Marta, taking this for assent, released his beak. Bone Tapper opened his beak and closed it again a few times as if to make sure it wasn't broken. He finally gave his report: "The road is fine; there's no snow to speak of save for a few patches in the deep woods and the northern slopes."
"What about our friend?"
"No definite word, but strangers have been passing through Wittanplace. I would have asked, but people tend to be too startled to make coherent responses when I speak to them."
"No matter. I would have to go in any case." Marta closed the book reluctantly. She wanted to read more about the Basilisk Shrine, but enough that she knew where it was. Once they had resolved their business in Averdale it seemed the logical next step. Or at least worth pursuing. For now there were more pressing matters, business that had been left unresolved for far too long.
"Mistress..." Bone Tapper hesitated.
"What is it?"
"At the risk of 'further commentary,' I have to say that you don't look well."
"I'm fine," Marta said.
"I have to agree with your friend," Brother Akaen said. "Marta, you look tired. Almost feverish. I was about to suggest you go get some sleep."
"I will, before tomorrow. Good bye, Brother Akaen...and thank you."
"So it's certain, then? You're leaving us for now? That's a pity—you'll miss the wedding."
Marta went a little numb. "Wedding?"
"Feran and Kerasa, of course. It's tomorrow, in the king's own chapel. People have been in preparation for days. You didn't notice?"
"No," Marta said.
"Lovely couple. Have you met them?"
"I've met Feran," Marta said softly. "I hope... I hope they will be happy."
"As do we all. Go with Amatok," Akaen said. "Good luck on your journey."
Marta just smiled, and thanked Akaen for his good wishes, but any Power's blessing was the last thing she wanted now. She would do what she had to do, and sod the Powers or anyone else who got in her way.
Enjoy your freedom, Treedle. It's about to end.
CHAPTER 13
"It's a wise king who loves sad songs. Melancholy reminds all men of what they share."
— Bruga the Deliberate
The breeze stirred Duke Kon's thinning red hair. "We know they're coming," he said. "Why don't we just kill them all?"
Laras kept his eye on the pass. The raiders weren't visible yet, but the scouts said they were on their way and there was no reason to doubt them. "Because it's not enough to kill a desperate man, Your Grace, because there are always more desperate men. We have to frighten them, and that's much more difficult. Yet I will do it."
Kon's duchy of Fellmark was almost a little kingdom in itself, on the northeastern border between Morushe and Calyt. Though Kon by law and custom owed fealty to the kings of Calyt, in practice he was left alone to do as he saw fit.
Duke Kon was not a particularly stupid man. He knew that this state of affairs had both advantages and disadvantages, as he had been quick to point out to Laras when Laras first entered his employ: "The raiders come mostly from the eastern borders of Wylandia. The Chiefs of the Eastern Highlands owe fealty to the kings of Wylandia as I do to Calyt, but Wylandia does not control them. So, when they raid south, Wylandia rightly says it was none of their doing, and in any event which of the many chieftains is responsible? I have no answer for him. If I ask my sire of Calyt for aid, it comes at the expense of the precedent, and he takes too much interest in my affairs as it is."
Laras, for his part, blessed his good sense in leaving Junland before the spring thaw, despite his dislike of the cold. It had been easy enough to become accepted at court there, in the sense that his presence was tolerated. Yet Old Junland hadn't trusted the young magician for a moment and, far worse, had no particular need for him. "Whenever I think I have need, I see the pendant you wear, Laras, and it gives me pause." Laras could not bring himself to admit that he had no idea what the king was talking about. Junland, for his part, had never felt any need to explain. So their relationship had gone for a month, until Laras had been able to gather enough news from the court gossips to realized that Duke Kon would make a far better patron. Fellmark wasn't overly wealthy, but the Duke needed help and was willing to pay for it. This was all Laras required of a patron, and so far it had worked out very well indeed.
Laras gathered his new rich blue robes about him then walked to a flat rock overlooking the narrow valley below. It had taken him less than an hour to find what he needed among the rocks on either side of the valley leading out of the White Mountains, and now all he had to do was wait. When he released his grip on the edges of the cloak it billowed around him in a fresh spring breeze quite dramatically. Laras could only imagine the effect on anyone in the valley below.
Fortunately the warriors of the eastern highlands aren't known for their archery.
Not that this was a great fear in any case, but Laras didn't want any distractions, and certainly no twanging of arrows to spoil his dramatic moment. It was important that it play out just as he planned, both to observers in the valley and those standing behind him on the ridge.
One of the scouts slipped down out of a line of trees on the high ridge. He was a wiry and scarred little man from Kon's northern holdings, of the same stock who had suffered most of the raids. He reported to Duke Kon, but of course Laras was listening.
"Your Grace, if any are wearing a chieftain's insignia I haven't seen it, though I doubt any of the Lords in the highlands would be fool enough to show their hand."
"Doubtless they're all at fault, at one time or another," Duke Kon said, "though it would certainly help to find one to single out for blame. A show of force on my part might be enough to make the others turn on him as like as not. There are a lot of old feuds unsettled for want of an excuse."
"Perhaps, Your Grace," Laras said loud enough to be heard, "yet after today it won't much matter. All will get the word and your men needn't lift a sword."
"Magician," said one of Kon's barons, "some men like lifting their swords now and then. Keeps the arm strong."
Laras sighed. "There will always be a need for swords, Lord Polas. Just not today."
"So you say," Polas replied, but let the matter go at that.
Laras took no offence. He knew the time had come to prove what he said. He looked into the distance. "So I will show," Laras said. "They are coming."
The scout hurried off for a closer look, but Laras ignored him. The man had been warned of what areas to avoid; if he didn't listen it wasn't Laras's problem. Laras stepped back from the edge of the cliff; he didn't want the raiders to see him until they were well into the pass. The cliffs on either side made any other approach unlikely, but once they were through this next section they'd be able to send scouts out over the ridges, and doubtless they would. Timing was everything, so Laras waited well back and out of sight until the first faint sounds of men on the march came drifting up. Laras stepped back into view.
"Greetings," he shouted.
The man in
the lead held up his hand and the armed men behind him suddenly stopped. As one all their swords were drawn, except for the few carrying spears. There were one or two archers among them but those moved uncertainly, arrows on the string, but their eyes were on the leader. Laras' quick count put the number of men at just over a hundred. They were a rough looking lot, and their equipment and armor was a mishmosh of different styles and origins, everything from rough scale brigandines to a full set of plate. The leader was mounted on a small mountain pony and so was lightly armored, and he was the only one riding. He was also showing his apparent contempt for danger by being several yards ahead of the main body.
They'll assume it's an ambush, Laras thought, and waited until they did just that, but before they could form anything like either a charge or a defensive formation, Laras brought the cliffs down on them.
It was as easy as thought, indeed it was a thought. Not a word, not a shout, not an incantation. Laras had found that these worked well enough but, in a pinch, weren't really needed. There was light, and sounds of thunder, and a blue balefire that seemed to spear out from Laras to the sides of the valley, but those were all just for show. Laras liked the tricks that came naturally to him now; they intensified the effect. He knew that's all they were: tricks and drama. The Laws were what mattered, and here he only used the First.
The stones on both side of the valley roared down the hillside and met at the bottom where the raiders, much against their will or preferences, were waiting for them. It was over in seconds. In a moment nothing was stirring in the valley below save dust.
And the former warband's leader. He sat on his pony, staring in shock and disbelief at the mess of rubble and dust that had been a formidable raiding party. Laras was fairly sure the man was trembling. Probably with rage, now, but the fear would come.
Laras called down to him. "My name is Laras. If anyone brings more men to raid south next time I'll drop the whole mountain on them. Tell your chieftains."
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