The Spirit Stone

by Katharine Kerr

  ‘Oh very well! It was a dweomermaster who can turn himself into a bird at will, and he just stole an enchanted stone from me.’ Salamander grinned when Gerran’s jaw dropped in surprise. ‘There! Now you know.’

  Salamander stalked off, heading for the horse herd. In a few long strides Gerran caught up with him.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Gerran said.

  ‘Fetching my horse. I’m going after him.’

  ‘You’re doing no such thing. It’s almost dark, and you can’t ride into an unknown forest in the dark. Get back to camp.’

  ‘Who in all the hells are you to—don’t you give me orders!’

  ‘I happen to be the captain of Tieryn Cadryc’s warband, and you’re one of his servitors. You can take my order, or I’ll knock the shit out of you and carry you back to camp.’ Gerran’s voice was perfectly mild, and his face showed not a trace of any emotion. ‘Well, which is it?’

  Salamander considered putting up a fight, dismissed the thought as a death wish, and took a deep breath to calm his nerves.

  ‘Camp it is,’ Salamander said. ‘If dweomer could turn someone into a frog, though, you’d be hopping hard for the nearest stream.’

  Gerran’s mouth twitched in what might have been a smile. During the walk back, neither of them said a word. Although Salamander considered contacting Dallandra and telling her what had happened, he quite simply felt too embarrassed. The morning, he decided, would be time enough for yet another humiliation.

  By the time Laz returned to the cabin, night had fallen. In his beak he carried the cloth bundle, dangling by its thong. Even though she’d scried him out earlier, Sidro felt a wave of relief at actually seeing him physically. He dropped the bundle onto the table, then hopped up onto the log perch.

  ‘I’ll turn around,’ Sidro said.

  She saw the flash of blue light and turned to see him jump down from the log, back in human form, and grinning in triumph, though his sweat carried the strong scent of exhaustion. He grabbed his brigga from the floor and put them on, then sat down on one of the stump chairs.

  ‘Well,’ he said, ‘aren’t you going to tell me I was stupid to take such a chance?’

  ‘I’m just glad you’re not dead.’

  ‘I am, too, actually. The archers were too far away to loose a shaft at me, if indeed they even knew what was happening.’ He grinned, then bent over to pull on his boots. ‘Where’s my shirt? I want to be properly dressed to savour this moment.’

  With a weary shake of her head, Sidro tossed him the shirt. He finished dressing, then swung around on the chair to face the table and the odd-looking bundle. Beside it lay the white pyramid in its nest of sacks. He unwrapped the white first and set it down carefully on its silk pouch, then laid a hand on the bundle containing the black.

  ‘It seems,’ Laz said, ‘that our minstrel friend has wrapped his treasure in an old shirt.’

  ‘That used to be in the shrine. Rocca sewed it to a strip of cloth to make a banner. She insisted he’d worked a miracle and had joined the ranks of the holy witnesses.’

  Laz rolled his eyes in disgust, then cut the thong with his hunting knife. Among the folds of cloth the black pyramid gleamed under the dweomer light.

  ‘The spirit’s gone,’ Sidro said. ‘It had a spirit bound in it when it stood on our altar.’

  ‘One of the Ancients probably released it, then,’ Laz said, ‘and a good thing, too. Who bound it?’

  ‘I have no idea. The holy witness Raena, maybe. It was always there as far as I know.’

  ‘Ah, I see. Well, most likely it was releasing the spirit that brought the twins back to their full glory. Look at the sparks between them. You won’t even need to use the Sight.’

  With her ordinary vision Sidro could see a bluish flow, heavier than air but much less substantial than water, and flecked with silver, between the white pyramid and the black. When Laz pushed the white a little closer to the black, the flow increased and began to spit like a fire in green wood.

  ‘I wonder what would happen if I touched them together?’ Laz picked them up, one in each hand.

  ‘Don’t!’ Sidro suddenly felt so cold and sick that she could barely speak. ‘Laz, don’t! It’s dangerous. Look at them! Can’t you see?’

  He flashed her his knife-edge grin, then brought his hands together. The tips of the pyramids, a bare inch apart, began spewing silver flames like tiny fire mountains.

  ‘Stop it!’ Sidro hissed. ‘Please—’

  Too late. He touched the tips one to the other. Silver sparks exploded all around him. Blue light flashed, blinding her. A sound like thunder rolled around the cabin. She heard a woman scream, realized that the scream was hers, screamed again and again as she blindly groped for him. Her hands found only the table edge.

  ‘Laz! Laz!’

  She spun around, flailing open-handed. The air smelled oddly clean with the tingle of lightning. From outside she heard footsteps, men’s voices, and Vek, howling as if in agony. The cabin door banged open. In a silver-tinged blackness she turned towards the sound.

  ‘Sidro!’ It was Pir’s voice. ‘What happened?’

  ‘I don’t know. Where’s Laz? I can’t see! Is he dead?’

  ‘He’s not in the cabin. What happened?’

  The only thing that prevented her from collapsing onto the floor was her grip on the table. She began to sob, and the tears eased her vision. The darkness turned to a smear of reddish-gold light that floated in front of her like a mask. When Pir threw an arm around her shoulders, she turned to him and let her head rest against his chest while she wept, fighting to bring her tears under control. The red-gold mask shrank down to a point, freeing her vision at last. Pir let her go and stepped back, looking around him wide-eyed.

  ‘What happened?’ he repeated.

  Men filled the cabin, she realized, staring at her. Faharn shoved his way through the mob and stood in front of her, his blue eyes narrow with rage.

  ‘What have you done to him?’ Faharn said.

  ‘Me?’ Sidro took a step back. ‘Nothing! He’s the one who—’ The tears rose and drowned her words.

  ‘Leave her alone!’ Pir snapped. ‘She’s trying to tell us.’

  Faharn crossed his arms over his chest and glared, but mercifully he stayed silent. Young Vek was shaking so badly that she knew he was close to having one of his seizures. Nothing else looked the least bit unusual. The wrappings for the two crystals still lay on the table among the remnants of their noon meal. Nothing had burned, nothing had broken, not one object had moved from its place. Except of course for Laz.

  ‘I don’t know what happened,’ she whispered, then steadied her voice. ‘It was the two spirit stones. Laz brought them together and touched them, tip to tip. Everything seemed to explode. He stood right here but a moment ago. Now he’s gone.’

  Faharn swore under his breath.

  ‘Do you believe me?’ Sidro said to him.

  ‘Yes, yes, of course,’ Faharn said. ‘He’s talked about nothing but those damned gems for days.’ His voice wavered and threatened to choke. ‘It’s just like him, somehow, to do something like that.’

  The men began to murmur, just a word here and there, and look slantwise at each other. A few laid their hands on their dagger hilts for the comfort of it.

  ‘Do you think he’s dead?’ Pir asked Sidro.

  ‘I don’t know. I just don’t know.’

  Vek sobbed once, then choked, making a growling sound deep in his throat. Everyone turned towards him as his head began to sway from side to side. He threw his arms into the air, then his head suddenly flopped forward. He staggered and fell to his knees among the rushes.

  ‘Alive,’ he stammered. ‘Alive but gone, gone. Alive but gone. Alive but—’ He fainted, sprawling face down onto the boughs.

  The two men nearest to him grabbed him and hauled him up. His head flopped back, and drool ran from his open mouth.

  ‘Take him back to his shelter,’ Pir said. ‘And stay with him til
l he comes round.’

  When they carried Vek out, the cabin began to empty. A few at a time, the men slipped out, whispering among themselves. Faharn lingered, tried to speak, then turned and ran up the steps and out. Sidro sat down on the stump and concentrated on keeping herself from weeping. Pir leaned against the table and considered her unspeaking until the last of them had left.

  ‘You’re our leader now,’ he said. ‘Until we find Laz, of course.’

  ‘Of course? Do you truly think we can find him? Alive but gone, gone—what does that mean? What can it possibly mean?’ Sidro held up her hands, noticed they were shaking, and tucked them into her lap. ‘How can we even search with the dragons lurking right nearby?’

  ‘The dragons? It’s the Lijik men I’m worried about. Without Laz and his sorcery we can’t hide if we stay here. We can’t travel without leaving a trail they’d have to be blind to miss.’

  ‘Ai, may every goddess help us! We’ll need them all. How can I lead you? I’m all to pieces, I can’t think, I—’

  ‘Hush!’ Pir held up a hand and let a scent flow out to her. ‘I’ve been thinking about things.’

  This scent smelled like horses, sharp, sweaty, and yet oddly calming. Sidro took a deep breath. Her hands lay still in her lap, and her thoughts steadied with them, though her grief still burned in her soul. Laz, Laz, how could you desert me again? A childish thought, ridiculous, even, she knew—yet she ached as badly as if it were true. Pir’s voice shocked her out of self-pity.

  ‘My idea is this,’ Pir said. ‘What if we surrendered to the Ancients in that army?’

  ‘What?’ Sidro stared gape-mouthed at him.

  ‘Why are we here? Because the Alshandra people hate us. Why are the Ancients and their allies here? They hate the Alshandra people. They have sorcerers among them. Our sorcerer is gone. That black stone was theirs. They likely want it back. We want Laz back, and he likely still has the black stone.’

  ‘They’ll kill him if they find him.’

  ‘Not if we strike a bargain with them.’

  ‘They’ll kill us if we try.’

  ‘No, I don’t think so. They’re Gel da’ Thae, not tribals, in their own way. The dragons obey them, you know. They could call them off.’

  ‘What do we have to bargain with?’

  ‘We hate their enemies, and we can tell them what happened to the stone. Besides, I can heal wounded horses.’

  Sidro got up and walked over to the window that faced away from the rest of the camp. She leaned on the sill on folded arms and looked out, breathing the night air, the soothing scent of pine and fern, of running streams and a soft wind.

  ‘I know a few weak little magicks,’ she said. ‘It’s not enough.’

  Pir walked up behind her. ‘I know,’ he said. ‘We’re going to need help to find him.’

  ‘That’s true, but it’s not what I meant. I can’t lead these men. Even though I’m a woman, I just can’t. I don’t know how, and they frighten me. A herd’s not going to follow a weak bell mare.’ She straightened up and turned around. ‘Well, do you think they’ll take my orders?’

  Pir looked away, considering his answer for a long moment. ‘They will at first, until you do something they don’t like.’

  ‘Something like suggesting we surrender?’

  ‘Um.’ Again he stayed silent, thinking. ‘Something like that, yes.’

  ‘The only person who can lead this wretched excuse for a herd is you.’

  Pir looked down at the floor. Since he was standing with his back to the wizard-light over the table, shadow fell across his face and made it impossible for her to tell what he might be feeling. Finally, just as she was ready to question him, he looked up.

  ‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘Especially if they know you’ve passed the leadership to me.’

  ‘I’ll tell them, if you think they’ll listen.’

  ‘They should.’ Yet Pir sounded doubtful.

  Sidro wondered at her sudden fear. As a Horsekin woman despite her human blood, even as a Gel da’ Thae slave, she had always been perfectly confident that men would never harm her sexually unless her owner, another woman, allowed them to—not that Borgren would have let them. She remembered Movrae and shuddered. These men were outlaws, fugitives from the Gel da’ Thae world, as lawless as the savage tribes of the far north. She would need more protection than her weak magicks could give her. The ancient customs would have to provide it.

  ‘You know that Laz will always be my First Man,’ she said.

  ‘Oh yes.’ Pir’s face showed no expression at all, but she could smell a change in his scent.

  ‘I don’t see why you couldn’t be the Second. That should make everything perfectly clear.’

  ‘I was hoping you’d say that.’ He smiled, just briefly. ‘I’m going to build a fire. The men need to know what’s going to happen.’

  Sidro stayed inside the cabin until she saw flames leaping from the firepit. The men had already assembled around it by the time she gathered enough courage to leave the cabin. Pir was talking fast, dramatizing his points with a shake of a fist here and a slap of his hands there. Many of the men were listening intently. A few at a time, they strode over to stand behind or next to him until some nine men had gathered on his side of the fire. The holdouts stood, scowling, behind Faharn.

  Sidro took a deep breath to steady her nerves and walked over. Pir held out one arm, and she slipped into the comfort of his embrace. At that, four of the holdouts smiled and walked over to Pir’s side of the fire.

  ‘The rest of you can do what you want,’ Pir finished up. ‘You’ve got till the morning to, um, well, think about things.’

  ‘Pir, I can’t believe you’d come up with such a mad scheme,’ Faharn said. ‘Huh, Laz thought this woman loved him. Look at how fast she’s deserted him! Or have you been scheming all along to take her away from him?’

  ‘If I had,’ Pir said levelly, ‘I’d have come to you for help. You would have been happy to give it. You’d have done anything to have Laz all to yourself again.’

  Pir’s supporters whooped with laughter, and even the men standing with Faharn broke into broad grins. Faharn started to speak, blushed, scowled, tried again, then flapped his hands in the air and turned away. He strode off as fast as he could and retain his dignity. A few at a time, the men who were staying with him followed. Most nodded pleasantly enough as they walked away to disappear into the darkened camp. The loyal men clustered around Pir and Sidro for a last reassurance.

  ‘I’ll ride down to the Ancients first,’ Pir said. ‘If Vek’s well enough, I’ll take him with me. His omen-sense might come in handy.’

  The men—his men, now—nodded their agreement.

  ‘We’ll arrange the surrender,’ Pir went on. ‘If it looks like they’re going to be treacherous, then we’ll leave. If Vek and I run into trouble, Sidro will know.’

  ‘And we’ll come after you,’ one of the men said.

  ‘No, don’t! It won’t be worth it. There’s a wretched lot more of them than there are of us. Get Sidro somewhere safe. That’s all I’d ask of you.’

  They pledged him, hands on knife-hilts, with the ancient chant, ‘hai! hai! hai!’

  The men smothered the fire, then drifted away, talking among themselves. Pir took Sidro back to the safety of the cabin. Seeing the wizard-light still glowing where Laz had left it pierced her with grief like a spear. She stood staring at it while Pir watched, unspeaking, with shadowed eyes that revealed nothing of what he might feel. Finally she forced herself to turn away. She walked to the forest-side window and leaned out, breathing in the cleaner night air.

  ‘Sidro?’ Pir said at length. ‘Should I go get my gear, or do you want to be alone tonight?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ She turned to face him and leaned back, half-sitting on the windowsill for support. ‘I’m so weary, but I’m afraid of being alone.’

  ‘I’ll tell you what. I’ll go get my blankets, but I’ll sleep outside, across the doo
r. You need rest.’

  ‘Yes, I do. I’m sorry.’

  Yet once she was lying down, she could not sleep, even though she knew that she’d be safe with Pir right outside. Her thoughts swung back and forth between a certainty that Laz was dead and an equal certainty that he’d come back to her in the morning. Surely he’d be able to understand the magic of those two pyramids, surely he could think his way out of any danger. Couldn’t he? Not if he’s dead, her mocking mind would answer, and round she would go again. When she finally did manage to sleep, she dreamt of him floating in a lake, his unseeing eyes staring up at the stars, and woke screaming right at dawn.

  She sat up in bed and clasped her hands over her mouth just as Pir, dressed only in his trousers, came rushing into the cabin.

  ‘What is it?’ he said. ‘Nightmares?’

  She nodded and forced her trembling hands away from her face. Pir stood yawning and rubbing his eyes with the backs of his hands.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘You probably wanted to sleep longer.’

  ‘No.’ He paused for another yawn. ‘I’m going to dress and then fetch Vek. It’s time to ride down to the grasslands and see about that surrender.’

  The sun was just rising when Salamander went down to the stream to scry. He knelt and stared into the sun-gilded water while he sent his mind out to the stone. Nothing. He felt nothing, saw nothing. Not the slightest trace of any sort of hint about the stone’s whereabouts came to him. He scrambled to his feet and spun around, staring at the dark swell of the forest, like a wave on the northern horizon. Once again he reached out for the stone. Once again, nothing.

  ‘How could I have been so witless, doltish, and in general, stupid? Ye gods, what am I going to tell Dalla?’

  The stream ventured no opinion on the subject. Tieryn Cadryc, however, quite unconsciously saved Salamander from the grim task of admitting the truth by sending Clae to fetch him.

  ‘The tieryn says we’ve got to ride out as soon as soon,’ Clae said. ‘He wants you to write a letter to go ahead with the messengers.’

  ‘Splendid! I need to send a note to Branna myself about her father. Do you want to tell her anything?’