The Rar glanced around, tempted by the plump mrem. Falon hissed, and the Rar spun around quickly, instinctively recognizing the warning sound.
Now if it just doesn’t figure out that I might be in over my head.
The highlander could see that the Rar was getting ready to spring. If its teeth should close around his throat, the contest would be over. But if he tried to lunge, and missed the creature, he wouldn’t get a second chance.
Falon backed up a bit.
“Help!” the fat mrem in the tree bellowed as he lost his grip and plunged down onto the leafy ground. The Rar started to turn.
“Over here!” Falon yelled at the Rar, as he kicked up the dirt at his feet.
Not much of a gesture, he admitted, but it brought the creature’s attention back. With no warning, it leaped into the air.
And just as quickly, Falon rolled toward and under the Rar, neatly ducking under its powerful front legs. Falon sprung to his feet quickly—quick enough, he hoped, to get the jump on the Rar.
The young mrem spun around, and he saw the Rar looking left and right, as if his lunch had just vanished in thin air.
Falon wasted no time running to it and bringing his sword back for a great slashing blow.
Not too sporting, he admitted. But hey, these creatures were supposed to be extinct.
The Rar’s head twisted and fixed on Falon, and then on his blade, with dark, soulless eyes. It tried to dart away.
But it just wasn’t quick enough and Falon’s blade chopped into its midsection. The dull, bloody sound of the blade chopping into the Bar’s body seemed to hang in the small glade for a second.
It howled, then sprung back, alive and ready to attack.
“By the All-Mother, you’ve got it mad now, you have,” the other mrem whined.
Falon ignored the complaining voice of the mrem he just saved.
The Rar wasted no time attacking. This time it galloped towards Falon, taking care that there’d be no more tricks.
Falon held his blade close to him, the bloody, pointed end aimed right at his attacker.
It stopped, snarling, while its blood cascaded down to the forest Boor. It snarled, and then, with a final, almost wistful glance at the plump mrem, it darted away.
Falon lowered his blade.
“Lucky thing for you, I’d say. Real lucky. I thought for sure that the monster would make short work of you, before turning his unwanted attentions to me.”
Falon looked carefully at this living wellspring of gratitude.
The smaller mrem was a sorry sight. His cape, what was left of it, was in tatters, and his kilt was in three pieces. Numerous small nicks and cuts marred his pelt. The odd dabs of color and makeup only made him look all the more disheveled.
He smiled and made a small bow towards Falon. “I do, of course, appreciate your help.”
“That’s good to hear.” Falon was wiping his blade against the splintery bark of a parra tree. He sheathed the sword and started to walk away.
“In fact ... I’d be glad to accompany you on your journey. I was, er, heading that way myself.”
“And which way was that?”
The chubby mrem waved a hand in the general direction of the South. “Why, that way—you know, the way you’re going.”
“Yes.” Falon laughed. “Well, I think I might travel a bit faster alone.”
The mrem hurried to keep up with him. “Why, yes, but I can help you ... in other ways.”
Falon trudged on.
“And how, my friend, is that?”
“I am Caissir. I passed that way more than a few times. I was in the city of Fahl just shortly before it was abandoned. I am known to many nobles in the great cities. There are dangers ahead, my friend, and I can help you avoid them.”
Falon looked at him, his golden eyes trying to see beyond the tattered and scarred mess struggling to keep up with him. His golden eyes narrowed. “I don’t know—”
Caissir grabbed Falon’s arm.
“And,” he said breathlessly, “I am a wizard.”
IT WAS perhaps a foolish move, Falon thought.
Letting this Caissir, this ‘wizard,’ come along might only make for trouble. But it was pleasant having someone to listen to, even if much of what he said was utter nonsense.
“I can see,” said Caissir, “that you are having a bit of trouble believing me.”
The highlander nodded. “Where I come from, Caissir, magic is for the herd-beasts.”
“Of course,” Caissir said good-naturedly. “Much of it is. I mean, it’s nothing more than some simple danger sense among most beasts, that’s all. But I offer a more sophisticated kind of magic.”
Falon looked around. It was getting dark already. And it was hotter than the day before. According to the map Plano had given him, they were nearing the end of the great woods. Soon, they should come to farm country, villages, and a main road.
Before passing quite close to the city of Fahl.
“Why, if you had any magic ability whatsoever you could sense my own powers in that regard,” the wizard rambled as they walked. “Suffice it to say, my power to predict what will pass, as well as move material through the air, well ... it has to be seen to be believed.” Caissir’s hands Buttered and waved in the air, emphasizing each of his points.
“Tell me, Caissir ...” Falon said, arching his eyebrows, “why didn’t you use this fabled ability of yours to see that hungry Rar coming your way?”
“Good question, Falon. An excellent question.” Caissir raised one finger in the air, then paused as if thinking of an answer. “You see, even my abilities are severely limited. That was an unfavorable spot for any magician. It’s altogether too complicated to explain, but there was something ‘wrong’ with the woods. But even with that problem, I did foresee the event sufficiently to climb up a tree.”
“His growls didn’t help?”
Caissir shrugged, and looked to his left. “I see I shall never convince you, my friend. Until you need my help, that is.”
When he turned away, the cape parted and Falon noticed something that hadn’t caught his eye before.
Caissir’s tail. It was a stub. Mrem tails aren’t very long to begin with, but this looked as though something had happened to it. Not used to restraining any comments that might occur to him, Falon mentioned it.
Caissir’s pout deepened. “That is an indignity suffered upon me by some more of your enlightened highlanders. Some village elders objected to my magic. This was their way of warning me away from their good and trusting females.”
Falon smiled, his short whiskers catching the mottled, late afternoon light. He could imagine the domestic trouble that this ‘wizard’ might get into.
“And is that how you ended up on a little cart trail days away from the nearest village?”
Caissir nodded. “Yes, and if truth be told I’m quite eager to get back to the city and ply my trade. There are many city dwellers who pay well for useful magical information.”
“I’m sure.”
Caissir looked at him, his whiskers twitching in concern.
“You’ll let me accompany you, won’t you? All the way to Tizare.”
“Perhaps ...”
“There are rumors, you know.”
“Of what?”
The chubby mrem pressed close to Falon, as if there were anybody there to eavesdrop.
“Another city may have fallen to the Eastern Lords ... a city on the ocean.”
And for the first time, what Caissir said gave him pause.
The highlanders now considered themselves above the skirmishes and battles that riddled the city-states of the mrem. They traded with the city merchants, tended their crops and herds, and, when the spirit moved them, were not above raiding the wealthy cities. It mattered not who ruled.
But the Eastern
Lords were something that every mrem—no matter where he was born and who his mother was—feared. Once thought defeated after the great wars, it became clear that the Eastern Lords had simply been biding their time.
When the great invasion from the East began, even the highlanders knew they would have to come down to fight and save the world of the mrem. So the clansmrem had promised long before Falon had been born.
“That’s not good....” he said quietly.
He remembered his mother then, threatening him when he was young. You’d better be good, she said, or the liskash will come and get you.
His good friend Patje, a natural artist, would draw him pictures of the reptile armies of the Eastern Lords ... pictures so clear and frightening they kept Falon awake at night.
“And worse, it is said that the city fell too easily,”
“Collaborators?”
“Some say that there are mrem who take their orders, secret orders, from the East.”
It had turned a shadowy dusk. Before long, travel would be difficult, perhaps dangerous. “We should stop for the night here,” Falon said.
Caissir looked around. “I had hoped we could at least get out of the forest.”
“I don’t know how much further there is to go. Let’s make the most comfortable camp that we can. You can start gathering some wood.”
Caissir grumbled and mumbled, but, though easily twice Falon’s fifteen years, he did as ordered.
He also went on talking, of the great cities, of the ships that traveled the Southern islands, and of his own adventures as a wizard ... long after Falon had curled up close to their smoldering fire, ready to sleep.
Falon was awakened by some mud-encrusted foot pushing at his face.
“What are you—” he started to yell.
“Easy off the ground, my striped friend. I’d hate to shave those fine long whiskers of yours.”
His claws moved, searching for the carefully formed holes of his sword hilt. It was, of course, gone.
“Nice and easy ... no funny moves.” The mrem towered over him. He was pointing a graceful rapier right at Falon’s nose.
Bandits. Uncommon in the hill country. What, after all, was there to steal? But they were the plague of the unguarded roads between the cities. With all the cities looking after their own self-interest, the roads and highways were left to these ragtag squads of thieves.
These were decorated with odd bits of jewelry, hung strangely from their noses, their ears, even their tails. A few seemed to be wearing bones as an added decoration.
Falon slowly brought himself to a standing position. “We have nothing worth stealing,” he said quietly, “You can see the tattered condition of my friend there.” He paused, and looked right at the greenish eyes of the leader. “Let us be.”
The leader stood taller than Falon, unless, it was merely the effect of the boots he wore. The raiding party consisted of five other mrem, all loaded down with a couple of blades each.
A nasty bunch to run into ...
“Nothing worth stealing, eh?” the leader said, his unusually furry lips curling into a sneer. “Then what’s this?” The leader dangled the small satchel of gold pieces before his eyes. “And that cape you’re wearing?”
Falon touched the folds of his cape, feeling the message he carried.
“Off with it!” the leader barked.
Caissir started yelping. Falon turned and saw them poking at the chubby wizard with their blades. “No, stop!” the wizard screamed. He spun around, trying to avoid their giddy thrusts, while they laughed at him.
“Tell them to stop,” said Falon.
“They’re just having some sport.”
“You’ve got what you want. Let us be.”
The leader stepped close to Falon, and put his nose right up to him. “You’re in no position to give orders; highlander. Just be glad that we don’t leave you all cut up for the Rars.” He held the eyeball-to-eyeball position and removed the cloak carefully. His eyes never left Falon’s, Stepping back, the leader said, “Tie them up ... let’s be gone from here.” He sounded pleased with the easy loot.
Falon saw one of the bandits lean close to another and mumble something. Then they came and tied him up, pulling the knots so tight that they dug painfully into his skin.
When they had Caissir tied up next to him, they vanished into the woods, heading north.
“I thought for sure they’d kill us,” Falon said.
Caissir shook his head. “Bandits are tolerated by the cities, Falon. Murderers are not. Though who knows what happens in the forest here. Well, so far I haven’t seemed to bring you much luck.”
The highlander struggled—against the cheap frayed rope around his wrists. It was tied tightly, he noted, but with some effort it should snap pretty easily.
“Where ... were ... your fabled powers?” he asked as he twisted and squirmed on the ground.
“For the life of me, I can’t tell you.”
Some wizard! I’d do better if I had brought along the lead buck from the herd. At least he could tell when some kind of danger is arriving.
Falon crawled backwards, on his rear end, rubbing his stubby tail into the leaves and needles of the forest floor.
“Where are you going?”
He didn’t answer Caissir, but just continued bumping and sliding his way towards a nearby parra tree. He stopped when he felt it against his back.
“Got an itch?” Caissir called to him.
Falon rubbed the rope against the scratchy bark of the tree, back and forth. He heard the strands snapping, first Singly, then whole bunches. In a moment, he was able to shake off his binds.
“Hooray!” Caissir called out. “Now do me, quickly.”
He walked over to the now ever more-suspicious wizard. “Do you still want to come with me?” Falon asked.
“Why certainly, I expect—”
He put a hand on Caissir’s shoulder. “I won’t be going to the City of Tizare ... not directly.”
Caissir gave him a cagy glance. His plump tongue snaked out and licked his puffy lips. “Please ... untie me, Falon.”
“You were near the mangy crooks. Did they say where they might be headed?”
“No ... I mean I heard something, but—”
Falon gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. “What did they say, Caissir?”
“They said something about Fahl, but I’m sure that was only—”
Falon stood up, a small grin crinkling his face. “Good. Now tell me about Fahl.”
“Please, Falon … the ropes ...”
“Soon.” Falon smiled.
“It’s a city, almost totally destroyed, just a lot of rubble, and caverns—”
“In other words, the perfect place for a band of thugs and looters to hide out.”
“Well, yes—”
“Then that’s where we’ll go.”
Caissir smiled. “No, I don’t think I want to do that, Falon.”
“Nor do I. But without that cape, I’m back tending the herd-beasts. Or worse.”
“But I don’t want to come.”
“I’m afraid I may need your help.” Falon took a step away.
“Wh-where are you going?”
“Will you help me recover my stolen property, my magical friend?”
Falon watched Caissir struggle against his bonds. But his layers of fat and too-thick fur made it unlikely he’d be able to free himself.
“Very well. I’ll come. By the All-Mother, you’d probably get lost without me and wander into the desert.”
Falon hurried back to Caissir, crouched down, and undid the many knots that held the wizard fast.
He watched him rub the matted fur.
“Take the lead, Caissir. And while we walk, tell me about Fahl. ...”
Fahl! To hear
Caissir tell it, the fall of this border city was one of the great tragedies in the history of the mrem. It was a small garrison city, a first line of defense against the Eastern Lords. But the invaders’ true power, and their true plans, had not even been guessed at. When the walls were overrun, only a suicidal last stand saved the fleeing White Dancers, the villagers, and the beleaguered remnant of the army.
“But why didn’t the Eastern Lords hold the city?” Falon asked.
Caissir trudged slowly now. He seemed to find all this hiking very difficult.
“Fahl was not the prize they sought. An obstacle, yes. But for them to try and defend it when they had no real use for it ... well, it made no sense.”
“And the cities chose to leave it abandoned?”
“It was left in ruins. To reestablish it as a garrison was beyond the resources—or desires—of the various nobles. Besides, when the Eastern Lords invade again it will surely not be through that city.”
As they talked, the lush forest was changing. The tall parra trees gave way to scrubby shrubs and clumps of spindly trees. Their leaves were narrow, designed to catch whatever moisture fell. Falon had never seen them before. There were more bird sounds as well, sweet chirps and calls that made the late afternoon seem almost pleasant.
Falon couldn’t get used to being without a weapon. Since the day he reached his maturity he’d always had some kind of blade strapped to his side. Rich capes and gold were foreign items to him. His sword, though, was his constant companion.
For a long time it had been his only companion.
“Much further?” he asked Caissir.
“We should come to a bridge to take us across the River Clawm. If we don’t stop for dinner, we should get near the old city before nightfall.”
“Good. Then we won’t stop.”
Caissir groaned. “I wish I knew what they took that was so all-important to you.”·
Falon laughed. “You’ll learn every thing—I promise.”
If we live, he thought. If we can find the bandits and get the cape back.
They climbed a small rise, and as they climbed they heard the rush of water.
“The river ...”
Falon nodded. The water made him uneasy. Even when he used to watch the herd-beasts wallow in the shallow streams of Mount Zaynir it made him uncomfortable. How could they enjoy all that splashing, all that wetness? It made him shudder just to watch them. Water was for drinking. And grooming was something best done under the moonlight, an attractive female arching her back up against him—just sol—while he let just the tips of his claws run through the downy fur.
EXILED Wizard of Tizare Page 8