Taliesin caught her breath. “I thought Moonbane was destroyed long ago,” she said. “It was forged by Rivalen. This is a very generous gift, Shan Octavio. I can think of no better man than Sir Roland to use such a weapon. See if it responds to you, Roland.”
The Shan smiled as Roland reached for the axe. At his touch, it started to vibrate. He pulled his hand away and the axe grew still. Zarnoc kissed Ginger on the head and placed her on Octavio’s pillows. The cat kneaded away until satisfied the pillow was soft enough before she curled into a ball and tucked her nose into her side. The wizard returned to the table and eyed the axe with a gleam in his eye.
“Yes, yes,” the wizard said. “Moonbane is precisely what we need. Well done, Octavio. I had forgotten you owned this axe. It will be quite handy.”
“I cannot accept such a powerful weapon, Shan Octavio,” Roland said. “An ordinary silver axe will do.”
“The Wolf Pack and the Ghajar have been at war since long before you were born,” the Shan said. “Moonbane has served me well through the years, and I have no doubt it will save your life many times over, Sir Roland. You have more need of it than I do; I have all the weapons I need.” He pointed at a row of silver spears and swords that hung on the wall. “All are fine weapons,” he said, “but none as fine as Moonbane.”
Roland let his fingers run across the axe’s handle, and Moonbane vibrated, eager for his touch. He closed his hand around the handle and lifted the axe from the table. “I can feel its energy running up my arm. Had I used this the other day against Wolfgar’s men, Taliesin need not have cut them into tiny pieces. But I am a simple knight. This should go to Tamal, not me.”
Octavio stroked his triangular-shaped beard in a thoughtful manner. “Tamal is not worthy of a magical weapon,” he said. “Not until you teach him the meaning of honor, humility, and wisdom, Sir Roland. I know of your heroism at the Battle of Dunhill and at the siege of Clairmore Castle. Zarnoc has also told me that Master Osprey gave you the task of protecting the Raven Mistress. Moonbane will ensure you are able to do that, Sir Roland. Take it, and I will rest easier knowing I have done what I can for the Raven Clan.”
“If you insist, my lord,” Roland said, “then I will gladly accept the axe.”
“Good. It is settled, then,” the Shan said. “The horses are saddled and provisions have been provided for your journey. Tamal knows a way through the Volgate. He will make sure you do not encounter Prince Sertorius or the Wolf Pack. The sun is up. Come, and I will see you off.”
Octavio stood and walked to the door, keeping his head bent to avoid knocking into the pans hanging from the ceiling. He caught Nash eavesdropping as he opened the door, and the young man staggered down the steps at his father’s angry look. Nash scurried away as though a pot of scalding water had been thrown at him. Roland followed the Shan outside, but Taliesin hesitated when she heard a loud, piteous meow, and turned to see the cat lift her head from the pillow. The old wizard stroked the cat’s head and wiped his hand under his nose when he sniffled.
“You must stay here, Ginger,” Zarnoc said. “I will fare better knowing you are safe with Octavio. Keep him company and catch rats. I will return before you know it, sweet girl.”
A horrible sound came from of the yellow cat. Razor-sharp claws struck and left a deep scratch across the back of Zarnoc’s hand, and the cat jumped off the bed, passed between Taliesin’s legs, and ran out the door.
“Really! This is outrageous behavior, Ginger!” Zarnoc exclaimed. He ran after the cat and caught her on the steps of the wagon, and the gypsies and Ravens grinned as he chastised her. “Do you really want to be a meal for a wolf or a giant scorpion? Or do you think I am unable to manage without you? I dare say I was casting spells long before I picked you out of a litter of thirteen, so mind your manners and be nice to Octavio while I am away.”
A hearty guffaw came from the Shan as he took the cat from the wizard. Ginger purred when he scratched behind her ears.
“I will take good care of her, Zarnoc,” Octavio said. “We are already good friends!”
“Just remember when you pet the cat, I can feel it as well,” Zarnoc said, with a shiver. “We are connected soul-to-soul, that cat and I. If Ginger should happen to bear you a litter of kittens while I’m abroad, you may take them all, but leave me the runt. Runts make the best familiars. Most sorcerers go for a sleek black cat with eyes of green. Rank amateurs.”
“How do mice taste, Zarnoc?” Taliesin said, laughing as she walked past him.
“Not so good,” replied the wizard.
Heading to Thalagar, Taliesin saw that Rook, Hawk, and Wren, all dressed as gypsies, were already in the saddle and ready to depart. The four men she’d seen guarding the Shan’s wagon were with Tamal and Jaelle, and had silver weapons tied to their saddles. All four had a similar appearance, and Taliesin assumed they were brothers.
Tamal’s and Jaelle’s horses were of exceptional breeding and liveried handsomely with black leather saddles and bridles adorned with silver studs. By the time Taliesin had made certain the cinch was tight on Thalagar’s saddle and climbed into the saddle, the gypsies had mounted and ridden to the red wagon to bid the Shan farewell. Octavio set Ginger on the ground and spoke to his children as Hawk rode beside Taliesin, a blue scarf tied around his head and his pearl earring dangling beneath its edge. He’d exchanged his cutlasses for two silver scimitars strapped across his back, and a new bow with a quiver of black-tipped arrows hung from the saddle horn.
“Who is that girl?” Hawk asked. “I tried to talk to her, but she ignored me.”
“The Shan’s eldest daughter, Jaelle,” Taliesin said. “Octavio is sending four guards with us as well. I don’t know their names, but I suggest you stop ogling Jaelle. Her brother is possessive, and she has a murderous temper.”
“She’s beautiful,” he replied. “I think I might be in love.”
Taliesin wasn’t surprised Hawk was already smitten; Jaelle was exceptionally lovely. Her long, wavy, black hair was tied in a long braid, and she wore a bright red cape with a silver clasp in the shape of a dragon with spread wings. Silver earrings hung from her ears and rings adorned every finger. Her lips were colored red, her eyes were outlined with black kohl, and a light shade of blue powder was upon her eyelids. Finding Hawk’s scrutiny more annoying than flattering, Jaelle turned her roan gelding around to wave at the Shan, gave Hawk a hard look, and rode to her brother and the four men chosen to escort them.
Tamal was mounted on a long-legged bay that snorted and tossed his black mane as he struck the ground with his front leg, displaying a similar temperament to its owner. Tamal touched his hand to his heart as he looked at his father. The Shan returned the gesture.
Taliesin patted Thalagar on the neck as he snorted and tossed his head. “How are you, boy?” she asked. The stallion wore a bright, blue blanket and a new, black leather saddle with silver studs and tassels. The bridle was similarly adorned. The saddle was unused and the leather hard and unyielding. Nothing was harder on the buttocks than breaking in a new saddle.
Octavio walked over and Taliesin felt her stomach lurch as the older man brushed his hand against her leg. A soft squeeze from his large hand set her heart pounding; he certainly had a way with women. His eyes danced as he met her gaze.
“I am sorry I have no gift for you,” the Shan said. “John Mandrake was one of the finest swordsmiths in the realm. The silver sword of his you carry will serve you well, Taliesin. I recognized it immediately. Mandrake was a friend of the gypsies, and we shared many adventures together. When we meet again, I will gladly tell you all about your father.”
“I’d like that very much,” Taliesin said. “I promise I’ll bring Jaelle back to you, safe and sound. Her pledge to serve me isn’t binding without saying the Service Oath, so she is not obliged to remain a Raven. And Tamal is in good hands. Roland will make certain that no harm befalls him.” She noticed Nash glaring at her from beside a wagon. Tamal’s safety was paramount; the l
ast thing she wanted was to see Nash become the next Shan.
“The Volgate is a deadly place for even the most seasoned traveler,” the Shan said. “Tamal is an excellent scout, and Sirocco and his brothers are all good men. You should be able to cross the Volgate within two days. Rest for only a short while, and without making a fire. Keep to the path and never allow your horse or party to drink from the marsh waters, for it is poisonous. Once you are on the other side, Sirocco Nova and his brothers will rejoin our caravan, unless Tamal deems they should remain with you as an escort. I will leave the decision in my son’s hands.”
Taliesin stared at the horizon. The sky was blue as a robin’s egg and not a cloud was in sight. She’d never been so far from home before. Her face must have revealed her concern, for the Shan squeezed her calf again.
“A sha’tar should not fear the unknown,” Octavio said in a warm voice. “I knew the moment I laid eyes on you that you were a natural-born witch. You are a strong woman, Taliesin, and magic is strong with you. There is no reason for me to fear for my children’s safety while in your company; the gods will favor and protect you, Raven Mistress.”
The Shan tapped his hand to his forehead, turned, and returned to his wagon. Taliesin had heard the term used before, but knew as little about sha’tars as she did about witches and all other magic users. Sha’tars were spoken of in legends and stories. Glabber the Glib had written about a sha’tar in a poem she couldn’t quite remember, though it hadn’t ended well. Most of his poems were tragic, and perhaps that was why she was so drawn to his work. Although she wanted to ask the Shan how he knew so much about her when she knew so little, herself, his son stood in the stirrups and waved his hand.
“Taveachi,” Tamal shouted.
Striking his horse across the flanks, the young man rode past his father, the Nova brothers, and Jaelle, and he took the lead ahead of the Ravens. The entire camp materialized around their wagons, and, as they rode out of camp, Taliesin heard cheers and shouts, but she kept her eyes on the far horizon.
* * * * *
Chapter Sixteen
Under a clear, blue sky, the small group headed north, leaving Maldavia and entering the dukedom of Fregia. Large cavalcades of troops, carrying Scrydon and Thule banners and pulling siege equipment behind elephants, were seen coming from the east, presumably heading to the royal city of Padama. Taliesin was relieved when their guides turned northwest, leaving the enemy troops behind, and headed through hills covered with tall, green grass that brushed the bellies of their horses and slid across the riders’ legs. Small black birds with red spots on their wings rested on the tips of the tall grass and chirped in a cheery singsong as they rode past. A lone hawk flew overhead—a good omen in Taliesin’s opinion—and a fragrant floral scent that reminded her of the garden at Raven’s Nest hung in the air.
The Ghajar were disciplined riders and only rested for short periods to water the horses and attend to personal needs. Food was eaten while riding—strips of dried venison, a handful of raisins, and apples washed down with water from a flask. When the sun passed its zenith, the terrain changed from tall grass into a high-desert plain, and the ground turned to a hard layer of crust that broke into flaky chips beneath the horses’ hooves and cracked under their heavy weight, leaving behind large, jagged seams.
Roland caught up to Taliesin and rode beside her. “About a mile back was a road that leads to Ragenvald Castle, home of my order,” he said. “We’ve been following the tracks of Prince Sertorius and his troops. They passed this way a day ago. It’s not too late to turn back and go south around the Volgate.”
“Backtracking through Maldavia into Aldagar will put us in harm’s way,” Taliesin said. It seemed a little late to have doubts about the path they’d chosen. Roland was no coward, and his concern seemed generated solely for her benefit, ever the protector. “Those troops we saw must be heading to Padama. I wouldn’t dare retrace our steps into enemy territory. The Deceiver’s Map clearly shows two days are shaved off our journey by going through the Volgate. I know it’s more dangerous, but Jaelle assured me if we stay on course, we’ll avoid the town of Tunberg and will reach the bridge across the Minoc River far ahead of Sertorius and the Wolf Pack. From there, Roland, it’s a straight shot to the caves.”
“That’s if your map is telling the truth,” Roland said. He wore a red scarf tied around his head, and his beard had grown thicker. In his gypsy garments, he looked relatively cooler than when wearing the heavier Black Wing hauberk; he’d rolled up the chainmail shirt and tied it across Kordive’s back.
“You’ve got that look on your face. Why didn’t you say something at the gypsy camp? I’ve never been this way before, so I’m relying on you and Tamal to get us to the Cave of the Snake God more than I’m relying on the map.”
His brown eyes narrowed. “There’s a thousand miles between us and the cave. A few days of backtracking would have been safer than going through the Volgate,” he grumbled, “but I’m not leading this expedition; you are. See that fog bank ahead? That’s the Volgate, Taliesin. Best pray there’re no clouds blocking the moon tonight or we won’t be able to see a thing in this fog, and one misstep on the path means death.”
“When you offered to make me a Black Wing, I’m sure the last thing you expected was for me to lead a mission,” she replied. “Be supportive. That’s what I need from you, Roland, especially since there’s no going back. I mean, it’s not like I haven’t seen fog before.”
“Not fog like this. It clings to your skin and stings your eyes. Best pull your scarf up. The last thing you want is to breathe too much swamp gas and pass out.” Roland led by example, as always, and tied the scarf from his head around his face, leaving only his eyes visible.
Taliesin did the same, and noticed everyone else was also doing so, even Zarnoc. If Tamal and the guards thought it a bad idea to venture into the Volgate, she wished they’d said something earlier. Squawking about poisonous swamp gas and low visibility in the encroaching fog only made her nervous, and she wanted to appear as confident and calm as possible. The gypsies kept turning to glance at her and the Ravens, as if the gypsies expected them to bolt as they neared the enormous fog bank. Being a sha’tar, if she really was one, didn’t seem at all important, not when she didn’t instinctively know what she was getting into. She couldn’t see into the future like Wren with her visions, nor did she have Jaelle’s foresight of reading Tareen Cards.
The sun was setting as they neared the fog bank. Taliesin felt moisture in the air that dampened the saddle and her clothes. There was an odd smell in the air, like rotten eggs, and the hard ground softened beneath the horses’ hooves. Large mud pits appeared, surrounded by wisps of fog, ringed by tall reeds, and home to long-legged cranes with slender, blue beaks and fat, green, bullfrogs with ridges that covered their backs. The riders rode in single file with Tamal in the lead, followed by Sirocco, Jaelle, Hawk, and then Taliesin. Roland was directly behind her, then Zarnoc, Rook, and the other Nova brothers in the rear.
The moment they entered the fog bank, Taliesin found it difficult to see Hawk’s white stallion ahead of her and felt her heart start to race. Thalagar lifted his head, showing signs of uneasiness, and she patted the stallion’s neck as she glanced to the side. The fog parted beneath the horse’s legs and revealed the path, and on either side, thick, yellow mud that surrounded small pools of stagnant, black water. Tufts of reddish grass and spindly black reeds grew beside the rank water. Ankle-deep in the yellow mud, the horses made slow progress, as if the Volgate were designed to keep anyone who entered from leaving.
Tamal’s whistle caught her attention, and she glanced over, unable to see him, but able to hear his voice carried on the foul breeze. “Stay on the path! Watch the horse in front of you and keep up,” he shouted.
Taliesin did the opposite and glanced over her shoulder.
“I’m still here,” Roland said. “Try looking at Thunder’s tail instead of me, woman.”
Taliesin refraine
d from saying something rude in response to his deep chuckle, and concentrated on Hawk’s horse, which he’d named Thunder. The gypsies had braided each horse’s tail with strips of material that glowed in the fog. Thunder was a handful and pranced nervously as a loud screech from a vulture brought Taliesin’s gaze upwards. Out of habit, she lifted her gaze to the moon, able to make out the silhouettes of five vultures, which could only mean one thing; something lay dead on the path ahead.
Seeing vultures wasn’t a bad omen, it was a reality check; where dead things lay, the thing that killed them was nearby, as well. She knew, though, Osprey would have considered it negative, like most members of her clan. The Raven Clan was a superstitious lot. A crow seen at dusk meant bad luck and hearing a robin sing at the break of dawn meant a baby had been born. A wren always meant good luck, and a lone, frantic starling meant a lover was pining, but ravens…ravens had several different meanings. A raven at dawn foretold of bloodshed later that day, but at night it meant a calm evening ahead. To see a murder of crows acting calmly meant a funeral was in progress, but seeing them agitated meant someone had just been killed or died a violent death.
But vultures had only one meaning, and as messengers of death, she wondered if they’d soon find the corpses of Prince Sertorius and his men on the path ahead.
A shout from Roland made Taliesin look at the ground. The fog parted for a brief moment, allowing her a glimpse of dead men partially hidden among the reeds and beneath the surface at the water’s edge. Most of the corpses wore silver armor, and she was certain a Maldavian flag floated on top of the stagnant water before it sank.
“This battle was recent,” Roland said, his voice a deep rumble. “The Wolf Pack caught up with Prince Sertorius. Keep your hand on your sword, Taliesin. Those fanged devils could be anywhere. They’ll be able to see the glow of the horses’ tails, the same as us, but we’ll hear their howls before they attack. Arrogant bastards.”
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