The Sorcerer's Plague bots-1

by DAVID B. COE

  Before he could finish loading his cart, however, he heard a horse approaching. An instant later he recognized the rattle of cart wheels. A peddler then.

  He knew before the cart reached him that it was Jasha, and he stepped out into the open so that the lad would see him in the moonlight. Jasha steered his cart directly toward him, stopping when his horse was only a few fourspans from where Torgan was standing.

  "Why did you do it?" the peddler demanded. His face looked white in Panya's glow.

  "I don't know what you're talking about."

  The man leaped down from his cart and strode toward Torgan, his fists clenched. "I don't believe you! You brought this here! You did to the Fal'Borna exactly what you did to C'Bijor's Neck!" He halted just in front of Torgan. "Tell me why!"

  "I didn't do anything."

  "You're lying!" Jasha said, shoving him as he spoke. He stood a full head shorter than Torgan, and even pushing with what seemed to be all his might, he barely moved the merchant at all.

  "Don't touch me again, Jasha."

  "Or what? You'll make me sick, too?"

  He shoved Torgan again, and this time the merchant hit him back, his fist catching the young man square in the jaw. Jasha staggered back a step, then fell onto his rear. For a moment he sat there in the firelight, looking dazed. Then he began to sob.

  "It was awful," he said, tears glistening on his cheeks. "Everyone around me was getting sick-all the Qirsi at least. The pestilence. It had to be. The fever, and the… the…" He clamped his teeth shut and shook his head. "But then the magic started to come out of them," he went on a moment later. "They couldn't help themselves. They couldn't stop. Fire and winds and shaping." He shook his head again, swiping at his tears, though more slid down his face. "There was a healer, and his skin just opened, like he'd taken a knife to himself."

  "You say it was only the Qirsi who got sick?"

  Jasha lifted his gaze, looking as if he'd forgotten Torgan was even there. After a moment he nodded. "Only the Qirsi. But you knew this would happen, didn't you?" he said, his voice hardening again. "That's why you left so early."

  "It's not true. I swear it."

  "You saw it happen in the Neck, and you brought it here." "No."

  "That's what the Fal'Borna think."

  He'd been frightened already. How could he not be, watching a second village succumb to this strange, terrible illness? But at Jasha's mention of the Fal'Borna, Torgan felt himself go cold.

  "They think I did this to them?" he asked, his voice falling to a whisper. Jasha's tears had ceased, at least for the moment. "You came to them from the Neck, and then you refused to remain in the village for more than a few hours. What are they supposed to think?"

  "But I did nothing!"

  "Didn't you?"

  "No! It was…" He shook his head, uncertain of what he was going to say.

  "It was what?"

  "I think perhaps it was the baskets."

  Jasha let out a harsh laugh. "The baskets? Do you think I'm a fool?"

  Saying it out loud, Torgan could hear how crazed he sounded. He briefly considered trying to explain it all-the woman, and Y'Farl, and the odd bargain they struck. But he knew that Jasha wouldn't believe him, and if he truly had made himself an enemy of the Fal'Borna, he needed to get away from here as quickly as possible.

  "No, Jasha, you're not a fool."

  He extended his hand to the young man. Jasha eyed it a moment as if it were a dagger. But then he grasped it and allowed Torgan to pull him to his feet.

  Torgan turned away and began to climb onto his cart. After a moment, though, he stopped and faced the peddler again.

  "I didn't do this. I swear it to you." He wasn't certain why he cared, but when Jasha finally nodded, he knew a brief moment of relief.

  He climbed into his seat and took up the reins. Jasha stood watching him. Beyond the young man, the sky was alive with fire and smoke.

  "Where will you go?"

  Torgan smiled grimly. "Are you asking for yourself, or for the Fal'Borna?"

  "What did you mean when you said it was the baskets?"

  The merchant shook his head. "It doesn't matter. Even if I could make you understand, you wouldn't believe me."

  "You don't know that."

  He hadn't the time for this, and yet someone should know, in case the Fal'Borna managed to hunt him down.

  "I bought the baskets from a friend. Y'Farl. He lives…" He paused, staring at the sky above S'Plaed's sept. "He lived in C'Bijor's Neck. He had gotten them just moments before from a Mettai woman who sold them to him for far less than she should have. Y'Farl thought he'd made a fine deal for himself, but I watched the whole thing, and it seemed to me that she was anxious to be rid of them, and that she let him have them, knowing full well that he would have paid more."

  Jasha just stared at him, as if waiting for more. When at last he realized there was no more, he scowled. "That's it? A Mettai woman makes a poor deal for herself, and you think that explains all this?" He gestured back toward the settlement.

  He hadn't the time to explain further, and even if he had, it wouldn't have done any good.

  "You're right," Torgan said. "It makes no sense. The baskets probably had nothing to do with this. But in that case, I don't have any other explanations. It wasn't my doing. Other than that, I know nothing." He flicked the reins, and his horse started forward. "Good-bye, Jasha," he called, without bothering to look back. "Gods keep you safe."

  Torgan had gone a fair distance before he realized that Jasha was following him in his cart. He slowed, allowing the younger man to catch up.

  "What do you think you're doing?" he demanded.

  Jasha didn't answer at first, and when he finally said something, it wasn't at all what Torgan had expected.

  "Do you think she used magic of some sort?"

  Torgan narrowed his eyes. "You mean the Mettai woman?"

  "Yes. Do you think she did something to the baskets? Put a spell on them or something?"

  "I suppose that's possible. I hadn't really thought it through. Until tonight, I'd simply assumed that the pestilence had come to the Neck, and that I was lucky to be alive. Now…" He shrugged. Torgan had never been one to crave company as he steered his cart throughout the land. But on this of all nights, he was glad to have someone with whom he could speak of what had happened, of what was still happening.

  He glanced back and saw narrow beams of yellow fire reaching to the sky.

  "Why would she?" Jasha asked.

  Torgan shook his head. "I know nothing about her, save that she makes fine baskets." He looked sharply at the younger man. "You bought one from me. Do you still have it?"

  Jasha tried to smile, failed, then shook his head. "I sold it to a Fal'Borna woman. I got three sovereigns for it."

  "You should be glad to be rid of it. Even if they had nothing to do with this, I'd be just as happy never to see the woman or her baskets again."

  The younger man's eyes widened. "No," he said.

  "No, what?"

  "We have to find her."

  "You can't be serious."

  "Of course I am," Jasha said. And indeed, he did look to be in earnest. "We have to find her and demand to know what she did to the baskets."

  "What are you talking about? I'm not searching for some Mettai woman who might have done nothing wrong except take too little money for her wares. I'm heading to the Ofirean. I'm going to roll my cart into the marketplace in Thamia, or better still, Siraam, and I'm going to stay there until the Snows have ended in the north."

  "Do you really think there's something wrong with those baskets?" Torgan hesitated.

  "Right. In that case we have no choice. We have to find her." "You're welcome to try," the merchant said. "But I'm going to the sea."

  "You'll be stopping in villages along the way, won't you?" "What of it?"

  "We can look in those marketplaces."

  Torgan found himself growing less and less pleased with his new traveling
companion.

  "I'm not doing this."

  Jasha said nothing.

  The merchant looked at him. "Did you hear me?"

  "Yes, I heard you."

  "If you want to follow me to the Ofirean that's fine, though if the Fal'Borna are after me, you probably ought to go your own way. But as for the rest, you can just forget about it."

  Silence.

  "Are you listening?"

  "Yes, Torgan. I hear everything you're saying. You're going to the Ofirean, and you're not looking for the Mettai woman."

  "That's right."

  Torgan started to say more, but he realized that he'd just be repeating himself, and clearly the young peddler had heard him. He sensed, though, that Jasha was just as determined that they should search the plain for the woman.

  "We should go our own ways," Torgan said, after a long silence. "You don't want to be with me-not if the Fal'Borna are hunting me. And I don't want you following me around, selling your cheap wares next to mine, taking gold out of my pocket."

  "All right," Jasha said.

  But he didn't stop, nor did he change directions. He kept his cart just beside Torgan's and together they drove southward, with the moons above them, and the fires of the Fal'Borna sept at their backs.

  Chapter 15

  KIRAYDE

  How many villages is it now?"

  Pyav's expression was grim as he regarded Tashya, as if he didn't wish even to answer her question. "At least three," he said at last. "We know of outbreaks in Runnelwick, Greenrill, and Tivston. There's no telling where else it's struck."

  "And these are all Qirsi villages?"

  "Runnelwick and Greenrill are Y'Qatt," Marivasse said. "As for Tivston…" She trailed off into a fit of coughing, and it seemed to Besh that the other elders leaned back in their chairs, afraid to breathe in the same air as the old woman. After a time, her spasm subsided and she wiped at her mouth with an old cloth. "I know nothing about Tivston," she said hoarsely.

  For the fourth or fifth time this day, the eight of them lapsed into silence. Most of them watched Pyav, waiting for him to tell them what was to be done. Besh could hear voices in the marketplace. A baby cried. One of the dogs that sometimes wandered through the village began to bark, only to be hushed by a sharp word from someone in the lane outside the sanctuary. But inside, no one spoke.

  Besh had been up much of the previous night, reading through Sylpa's daybook. He stifled a yawn now and shivered. The sun shone outside, but it had been a clear, cold night and chill air still lingered in the chamber.

  He'd found nothing new for all the reading he'd done by candlelight in Lici's abandoned hut. After learning the previous day that Lici first came to Kirayde because her home village of Sentaya had been devastated by the pestilence, he'd hoped that Sylpa's journal would quickly reveal the remaining secrets of Lici's past. Instead, much to Besh's frustration, Sylpa had stopped pushing the girl for more information. It almost seemed that she was as reluctant to hear more about those dark events as the young girl was to speak of them.

  And now that the pestilence had come to the plains, Besh could no longer afford the luxury of simply enjoying Sy1pa's narrative. For more than half a turn, he had been living in two times: his own, and Sy1pa's. Now, though, the exigencies of his own life were forcing him to step out of hers. He needed to know things that she had yet to learn.

  "It may be that we have nothing to fear," said Korr, another of the elders. "Each of those villages is to the west of the wash."

  Tashya shook her head. "That means nothing. The pestilence can't be held back by rivers or mountains or city walls. We may be safe now, but all it takes is a single stranger-a peddler, a bard, even a soldier."

  "So, what would you have us do?" Pyav asked, drawing the woman's gaze.

  "Close the village to all outsiders."

  Several of the elders voiced their disapproval, but Tashya didn't pause. She merely raised her voice so that she could still be heard.

  "Shut down the marketplace and have every peddler who doesn't live here escorted out of the village. And then post guards on all the roads leading into Kirayde. The only way to keep the pestilence out is to make an island of our home."

  "Even that might not work," Besh said. "I don't necessarily disagree with what you're proposing, but you should know that it might not do any good."

  "I know that," Tashya said. "That's a risk I'm willing to take."

  "People have crops they want to sell," Korr said. He was one of the older members of the council, nearly as old as Marivasse, though like her, he remained spry and sharp of mind. He'd made his living as a miller before passing his business on to his son, Ojan. He was nearly bald, with a narrow band of white hair on the back of his head. He stood a full head taller than Besh, though with his stooped back and rounded shoulders, he didn't look nearly as imposing as he had as a younger man. "Ojan has flour to sell. What is he supposed to do? Where's their gold supposed to come from?"

  Tashya shrugged. "They'll have to make do for a while. Not forever, perhaps not even for a full turn. Just until this outbreak has run its course."

  "But this is the Harvest," Korr said. "In another turn, the weather will have turned too cold. Some will lose their crops. And who's to say that when we're ready to open our village to trade again, the peddlers will want to come back?" He shook his head. "We can't do this. Too many will suffer."

  "Better to lose their gold than their children!" Tashya said, anger flashing in her bright green eyes.

  Besh had seen Tashya's hard stare cow men far more certain of themselves than the old miller. Korr was overmatched, and he appeared to know it. He eyed her a moment longer, then looked away without saying anything more.

  "What about the rest of you?" Pyav said, looking around the chamber. "Are there any other suggestions short of shutting down the marketplace?"

  "Not just the marketplace," Tashya said. "If we merely keep out peddlers while letting others in, we accomplish nothing."

  A wry smile touched the eldest's lips. "My pardon. Any other suggestions aside from closing the lanes into the village?"

  Tashya nodded her approval.

  "What about you, Marivasse?" Pyav asked. "You're our herbmistress. Surely you have some ideas."

  But the old woman shook her head. "I've yet to find a tonic that could contend with the pestilence, and I've yet to meet a Mettai sorcerer powerful enough to stave off the disease with blood and blade." She glanced Tashya's way. "I don't particularly like Tashya's solution, but I don't see that we have any choice."

  Pyav looked at Besh, who gave a slight shake of his head. The eldest frowned.

  "I'll consider this," Pyav said, turning back to Tashya.

  "What's to consider?" she demanded. "We know that the pestilence is killing people only a few leagues from here. We have to do something immediately."

  "It's more than a few leagues, Tashya."

  She started to say more, but Pyav raised a hand and she fell silent. Korr might have been afraid of her, but the eldest was not.

  "You may be right. It may come to this. But Korr makes a good point as well. The Snows are corning, and people in this village need gold to get through. Closing Kirayde to peddlers is a last resort. But the first we hear of outbreaks on this side of the Silverwater, we'll do it."

  "And what if we're the first?"

  "I'm hoping we won't be."

  There was nothing she could say to that, and a few moments later the council adjourned.

  A few of the elders continued their discussion outside, gathering in a small knot near the door to the sanctuary. But Besh started away immediately, intending to return to Lici's house and Sy1pa's journal.

  "Besh, wait a moment."

  He stopped and turned. Tashya was striding toward him, her black hair shimmering in the morning sunlight. Despite the ghosts who hovered at each shoulder-Sylpa and his beloved Ema-he couldn't help but think that Tashya was the most beautiful woman he'd ever met. Even now, well past her te
nth four, she remained as lovely as she'd been in her youth.

  Besh expected her to speak to him of their discussion in the council, but she surprised him.

  "You're on your way to Lici's," she said, a statement, not a question.

  "Yes. If

  She nodded once. "Pyav has told me what you're looking for." "He thinks I'm wasting my time."

  "I don't," she said. "And while the eldest may think there's little of use to be found in Sylpa's daybook, he admires you for making the effort. He told me so."

  It was rare for Tashya to show so much kindness. Not that she was a bad person, but she didn't often take the time to speak so to anyone. Besh wondered where all of this was leading.

  As was her way, she wasted no time in making her point. Once again, though, she surprised him, this time by suddenly growing uncomfortable, even shy.

  "I'm wondering," she said, her gaze dropping. "Have you found any mention of my father in Sylpa's journal?"

  "Your father?"

  "His name was Menfyn."

  "Yes, I remember him," Besh said.

  She looked up at that, her eyes sparkling like emeralds. Lovely indeed. "You do?"

  "Of course. He was an elder. And more to the point, his was the finest garden in the village year after year, much to my father's annoyance."

  She laughed, but quickly grew serious again. "He was also… well, there was talk After my mother died. Talk about Sylpa and him."

  Understanding at last, Besh shook his head. "I've found nothing like that."

  "You're certain?"

  "Yes. I promise."

  She nodded, looking both relieved and disappointed, if that was possible.

  "When I was younger, I didn't want to believe it was true. But later, after I lost my husband, I started to realize how selfish I'd been. I almost wish…" She looked away again, and laughed, but it sounded forced. "I don't know what I wish."