by Dave Smeds
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The Sorcery Within
by Dave Smeds
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Fantasy
* * *
Scorpius Digital Publishing
www.scorpiusdigital.com
Copyright ©1985, 2001 by Dave Smeds
First published by Ace Books, 1985
NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.
* * *
Under the sword lifted high
There is hell making you tremble;
But go ahead
And you have the land of bliss.
Musashi Miyamoto (1582-1645)
* * *
I
THE THE WATER HOLE WAS A TINY POOL virtually hidden in the rocks, an unexpected blessing in the middle of tracts of scoured hardpan and powder-dry arroyos. The lichen growing on the stone at the water's edge was the only green growth they had seen for two days. In the far west, barely visible as early morning sun illuminated their slopes, the Ahrahikte Mountains lay across their rearward trail.
Alemar dipped his fingers into the water and brushed them tentatively against his lips. The feel of liquid was almost alien, a cool, soft sensation that vanished almost immediately, absorbed into the cracks and dust on his skin. He took a small sip. It was gone within moments, without ever reaching his throat.
“It's good,” he said hoarsely.
Elenya stooped beside her brother, away from her sentry position. Leaning to the water's surface, she relieved her swollen lips. Alemar sprinkled drops on his face and stayed back, as there was no room for two. Anywhere else, the water would have been brackish and unworthy of consuming. He didn't complain. Elenya filled her mouth, held it, and sat back. She pulled the cowl and veil around her face again, blocking out the glare.
They drank by turns, relearning how to swallow. After a small amount, Alemar felt dizzy, and lay back against the rock that shadowed the pool. As his head settled onto the rough surface, he felt vibrations.
Hoofbeats.
He rolled to the side. Two daggers landed heavily on the spot he had just vacated. Elenya flipped over the water hole, already reaching for her rapier. Another knife narrowly missed her.
The attackers were three desert riders, clad in loose white robes and veils much the same as the twins’ own, mounted on oeikani. They bore down at a gallop, drawing long, slightly curved blades.
Alemar flung himself flat. A blade snipped a seam in his cowl, just touching his hair. A second rider was on him before he could draw a weapon. He sprang to the balls of his feet, and as the scimitar came down, he sidestepped it, grabbed the man's wrist, and pulled down. The oeikani galloped past, while its surprised rider plunged headlong into the rock, uttering a sharp expletive in an unfamiliar tongue. Alemar kept his grip on the arm through the tumble, hearing and feeling it snap. He took the weapon.
He glanced to the side. Elenya was ducking the third rider. The man sliced viciously, contemptuous of her thin blade. The cut would have killed a slower opponent, but it missed her entirely, and Alemar saw the glint of metal from her return blow. The rider continued on for several paces, and abruptly fell from the oeikani. A dark stain spread across his midsection. He didn't move again.
The first rider, having circled, plunged toward Alemar in a slightly less headlong fashion. He pulled up, parried Alemar's thrust, and harassed him from his superior position. As Elenya turned toward them, the rider pressed, hoping for a quick victory. Alemar avoided the oeikani's hooves, slipped his dagger out of his belt with his left hand, and flung it. The rider blocked the dagger with a small shield bound to his empty hand, but wasn't fast enough to catch the thrust that followed. He fell from his mount, partially disembowelled.
The moaning of the man with the broken arm turned their attention toward the east. There, twenty riders waited at a standstill only fifty paces away, where moments before there had been none. Their robes and the markings on their oeikani were the same as the three attackers. As a group, they raised their scimitars and lifted reins to whip their animals forward. One man in the center held back.
"Na tet," he shouted. Abruptly, the other men lowered their weapons. He gave a few more terse commands, and the group rode quickly forward to surround the twins.
When the circle was complete, its center well within range of the throwing daggers that all the warriors bore, the leader spoke again. "Ai natt dor kem?"
“We use the High Speech,” Alemar answered.
The man regarded them. He was taller than most of the group, a bronzed, handsome forehead showing above the veil. He bore himself like a man accustomed to authority.
“The tongue of the Calinin is seldom spoken here,” he said. His inflection was wrong, but his construction was excellent. “Who are you, and what are you doing here?"
“I am Tebec."
“And your brother?"
Before Elenya could answer, Alemar said, “He is Yetem. We come from Cilendrodel on our father's business."
“You have come a long way.” The leader pointed to the water hole. “Here, among Zyraii lands, the penalty for stealing water is death."
“We are not dead."
To Alemar's surprise, the leader smiled, the expression visible in the creases around his eyes. “That is true. And you say you came from the west?"
“Yes."
“God has indeed been merciful to bring you through the eret-Zyraii.” He waved at the wasteland. “Even we do not go there."
The last two days had not seemed merciful to Alemar.
“Foreigners are rare in the steppes. Where are you bound?"
“Setan."
An animated murmur spread immediately through the riders. The leader laughed momentarily without amusement. “You and every bastard child of ten nations. At least you're honest about it."
Alemar hesitated.
The leader said, “I am Lonal, and these are my brothers. We are of the T'lil tribe. You have taken our water without permission.” He toyed with his knife hilt, but his expression seemed to soften, the aggressiveness replaced by curiosity. “Nevertheless, I offer you an alternative to death."
He gestured toward the dead and wounded. “I have never seen anyone deal with mounted attackers quite so efficiently."
Alemar inclined his head at the compliment, for he could see that this was the appropriate response. Lonal did not seem overtly angry that his men had suffered. He pointed to the two riderless oeikani that had been rounded up during the conversation. The man from whom Alemar had stolen the scimitar was being shoved onto his saddle, arm tucked in front of him. “The laws of the So-de'es allow me to use my discretion in certain cases. You have taken our water,”—he shrugged—“but the rains have been good this year. The T'lil need all our fighting men, and you have deprived us. If you will take their places, and become our brothers, holy law may yet be observed, without requiring your deaths."
Alemar searched the leader's face three times over, wishing the veil didn't hide half of it. He had already begun to detach himself, preparing to die, and it was difficult to shake the mood. He hadn't expected this. There were hidden motives at work, but if it were a trap, Alemar couldn't fathom it—their lives were already in the hands of the desert men.
“How many of them understand the High Speech?” Alemar asked of Lonal's companions. “Do they know what you propose?"
“I am Lonal,” the leader said simply. “They wil
l do as I say."
“What of Setan?"
Lonal scowled. “Does greed dull your wits? You were rational enough to wear Zyraii robes as you tried to pass our borders.” He fingered his own garment. “Foreigners are not allowed in Setan."
“It's not treasure we're after."
“Now you mock me. Are you going to accept my offer or not? The sun climbs....” Already since the fight, the temperature had increased.
Abruptly Elenya slipped her rapier into its scabbard and climbed into the saddle of one of the oeikani. Alemar paused a moment longer. He was not angry at her impulsiveness; it merely meant that she had already thought of what he was just realizing—in their circumstances, they shouldn't question luck.
Lonal traded words with his companions after Alemar had mounted. Two of them asked short questions, which the leader answered even more briefly. He told the twins, “Forget whatever life you had in the world that is outside Zyraii. This land will never let you live unless you are committed to it, and to its people. The sooner you accept this, the sooner you profit.” It was hard to tell if this were advice, or a command. He ordered them to the middle of a double column, and the group set out.
As soon as they were away, carrion birds began circling the bodies of the two dead men. Alemar looked back at one point. Lonal noticed the hesitation.
“Those who die in battle need no ceremony,” he said. “God will care for them.”
* * *
II
TTHE FOREST OF CILENDRODEL stretched entirely across the northern edge of the Dragon Sea. The village of Eruth hid within the silent giants that made up the wood, buildings interspersed between the boles of the largest trees, the underbrush and smaller trunks removed to make way for the community. Even then the forest attempted to reclaim its own; many of the house yards were swamped in berry bushes and decorated with vines that sometimes concealed all but the windows and doors. The late hour had doused the lights of most of the houses, but lantern glow paraded out of the larger of the town's two taverns, full of belly laughs and the scent of rich woodland ale.
The main room contained heavy beams of wood set high and many rough-hewn tables and chairs. Approximately half were occupied by villagers wearing brightly colored clothing made of the durable quarn silk for which this part of Cilendrodel was famous. They took little notice of Keron as he entered, dressed as he was in an identical manner. Eruth was on the trade road and accustomed to newcomers. He strode to the bar, and the barkeeper recognized him.
“Hello, Ampet,” Keron said.
If the man was surprised, he hid it. He gestured toward a door just to the side of the bar. “Wait in there. Have you eaten?"
“Not recently."
“I'll see that something is sent in. He'll be with you when we close—it shouldn't be very long."
Keron did as he was told. The room behind the bar was small, containing a table, four chairs, and a narrow bed. A rear door led to the compost pile, outhouse, and forest. A stairway from the inn on the second story ended just to the left. Even next to the building, the overhead foliage was thick, and stole the starlight.
Keron stood in the rear portal and whistled—a single, quick note. Soon the same note, sounded twice, came from somewhere in the nearby underbrush. Satisfied, Keron reentered and secured the door with a heavy bar.
The decor was wooden—extremely so. Except for a small carpet near the bed and the straw tick mattress, everything was hard and uninviting. A large cask of ale stood in one corner, and every wall contained shelves or racks of steins, bowls, and other utensils. Keron lifted the carpet and inspected the planks of the floor to be certain they were immobile.
A boy brought a slab of cold meat, vegetables, and a loaf of bread. The bread was stale, and the vegetables had simmered to the point of formlessness, but it hardly mattered. As soon as he was sure that the boy would not return, Keron disposed of the entire meal on the compost pile, leaving only enough scraps to make it seem as if he had eaten it. Then he drew a stein of ale and sipped tiny amounts to pass the time.
Presently the noise of the drinking room stilled. Not long after, an obese man wearing an evening suit embroidered with silver walked in, alone, and closed the door behind him. Their gazes met, the straightforward glances of men who have learned to lie.
“Good evening, Master Luo,” Keron said.
“I've been expecting you, Captain."
“I'll wager you have."
“It was a fine trick, capturing the Dragon's frigate like that.” He drew himself an ale and sat down across from his guest.
“One gets inspired when one's own ship is sinking out from beneath one's feet."
“Indeed."
Keron leaned forward. “I don't like losing my ship, Luo."
“Is that an accusation?"
“Let's just say I'm suspicious that it happened so soon after we had last done business."
Luo cleared his throat. “I am the biggest silk producer in this province, and you Elandri royalists are my best customers. What motive would I have to betray you to the Dragon?"
“I haven't solved that one yet. Yet there was a betrayal."
“If you think I'm the one responsible, why are you here?"
“My people need silk. The last shipment is blanketing crabs and octopi off the reef.” Keron stroked his close-cropped beard. “That's a problem. I can't let the smuggling be hamstrung, but I can't proceed blindly, either. We both know it was unlikely that the Worm's ship was there by coincidence. Either you or your men gave me away, or one of my own men has turned traitor."
Luo folded his hands firmly around his stein. “Agreed,” he said presently. “But may I point out that I didn't know the drop point until that very night?"
“I've taken that into account."
“And what have you decided?"
Keron shrugged. “I've decided to buy some silk."
Luo sipped his ale, feigning disinterest. He cleared his throat. “I'm not sure I dare, Captain. If your security has been breached, my own is endangered."
Keron frowned. “How much to soothe your fears?"
Luo shrugged. “Sixty-six droels per bolt."
“That's expensive insurance."
“The Dragon's blockade is becoming tighter all the time. I would have had to ask for an increase soon anyway."
“Sixty-four droels."
“Captain..."
Keron drew out a small pouch and poured several large pearls out on the table. Luo picked one up and examined it, a hungry look in his stare.
“Currency is a problem. These will have to do. I'm sure you'll be satisfied with the quality."
“These are amath, aren't they?” Luo said reverently.
“Yes."
“Sixty-four, then.” With the blockade in force, amath pearls were hard to come by in Cilendrodel. The exchange rate improved almost weekly against oyster pearls and gold. Odds were Luo could realize a substantial gain simply by holding them for a short time. “But two more for the violet."
“Eh?"
“You know we make violet dyes from wendruil root. We import that from the Syril Mountains. Either we pay the Dragon his new tariff or pay more for overland shipment."
“Very well. Can you have it ready by the fourth of Three Moons?"
Luo calculated absently with his fingertips. “Yes. The green and blue are still being dyed, but the timing should be no problem. I'll have the wagons ready."
“Done."
Luo rose, as if well aware of the intimidation value of the movement of so much weight, and set his stein back on its perch. He clutched the pouch of jewels tightly in his palm. “I am sad that it came to this, Captain. Perhaps, if the Dragon allows it, we won't have such ... strained times ... in the future.” He glanced toward the rear of the room. “You'll be leaving immediately, I trust."
“Yes. It's best."
“True. Good night, sir. Pleasant journey.” Luo reached for the door back into the tavern.
“A moment,” Ker
on called.
“Hmmm?"
“The password is faernak."
Luo grunted. “Ah. Of course. May the rythni keep you well."
“Good night,” Keron said.
As Keron listened to Luo's footsteps recede, the uneasiness that had possessed him ever since arriving at the tavern intensified. Luo was not a forgetful person. But the conversation had revealed nothing untoward. Keron stepped over to the outer door and whistled as he had before.
Two long heartbeats later, a double whistle came from just on the other side of the wall.
The signal was correct. Keron lifted the bar off its cradles and began to open the door. Only then did he remember that his men were supposed to remain in the forest, not next to the building.
Too late.
The door slammed inward, knocking him to the floor before he could let go of the bar. Three men surged inside. A heavy blue glint reflected off the steel in their hands.
Keron kicked, catching the first man in the groin, sending him crashing into the ceiling. A rafter cracked open the man's skull. The body, however, landed on Keron, thwarting his attempt to rise. The other two assassins closed in.
Keron felt the knives pierce him. One peeled loose a section of his scalp. Another slid along his ribs. He took a stab in the thigh. Only the interference of the corpse prevented a fatal blow.
By then, Keron had a grip on the ankle of one of his attackers. He yanked, pulling the man's knee out of its socket. The man screamed and fell to the side. The effort had left Keron exposed. It cost him a knife in the back, close to the heart. He nearly fainted from the pain. He struck blindly. His elbow connected with something that caved in like a melon.
After that, neither of the assassins lasted very long.
Keron collapsed against a wall. He could sense the blood spurting from the wound in his back. He tried to control his breathing, staving off the shock that would doom him. A few seconds. If he could just last long enough...
He felt the sorcery kiss him, soothing and strong. It worked quickly. The river in his back was stemmed. His tissues begin to knit.