EXILED Wizard of Tizare

by Matthew J. Costello

  “He’s not coming, is he?”

  Falon nodded. “He asked for our help, and he’ll get it.”

  “By the All-Mother, now I know why the highlanders live in the hills. They’re too stupid to come down to the cities.”

  Ashre shut his chest with a sharp snap and then popped up.

  “I’m ready.” Whatever he was bringing was packed in a small satchel slung over his shoulder. A long dagger was also strapped to his side.

  Caissir was at least standing now, but still holding the warm rags close to him. “And what, no breakfast?”

  “I know a place just outside of Fahl. We can find fruit there, and fresh water in the stream,” Ashre said eagerly.

  “I’m used to having breakfast on awakening.”

  Falon stepped outside, looking left and right, checking that they were indeed alone. But this small house—perhaps a cottage for guards—was off by itself, almost outside the city itself.

  “Come, Ashre. Get us out of here.”

  He saw the young mrem run past him, grinning. The kit didn’t look back.

  •

  By midday, Fahl was far behind them. And after a lunch of berries, not-yet-ripe boomu fruit, and icy water from the River Clawn (all of which Caissir grumbled about), they reached a main road.

  Now they wouldn’t be alone, thought Falon. He had already seen some solitary travelers making their way back from the city, and they passed a few farms getting ready for the harvest.

  Ashre became oddly silent. Falon wondered what could be bothering him. When they met a caravan, he figured out what the problem was.

  The caravan was not unlike the ones that occasionally visited the mountains of his home. It was the only way his people could see, and trade for, the wondrous goods of the city. Much of what the caravans brought was just too beautiful and too unnecessary for the tough life on the hills. Still, the highlanders loved to come up and run their hands over the lustrous fabrics and handle the graceful cups and fine bows.

  The caravan they ran into must have been returning from some such expedition.

  Ashre, who had been acting very glum and quiet, hid behind Falon as soon as they came upon the caravan.

  “Thank the Mother,” Caissir said. “Now we can get a decent meal. Merchants like to travel on full bellies.”

  “With what?” Falon laughed. “We have no gold coins—”

  He felt Ashre pressing shyly against his side.

  Is this the same tough little mrem who saved his life?

  “I ... I have some gold,” Ashre said quietly.

  Then Falon knew the reason. Fahl had been Ashre’s city, his playground. Now, for the first time in his life, he was in a different world, a world where the strangers weren’t thieves.

  He’s a bit like me, Falon thought. Both of us leaving our homes behind.

  The merchants were squatting by the roadside, sipping some hot tea out of steaming mugs. Their wagons were heavily loaded with goods gathered from the small villages and distant cities, Rough tarps, tied down tight, kept the wagons covered, but Falon could see small chinks revealing a hint of silver, or some fine carved wood. Each of the three heavy wagons was pulled by a tired-looking uxan.

  “Hello,” Falon called out.

  One of the merchants stood, his hand sliding close to his sword. Despite the heat, he wore layers of fine capes and sashes.

  “Good day, friends.” The merchant was cautious.

  Ashre’s hand dug into the rough material of Falon’s kilt. Another merchant stood up, openly resting a hand on his sword.

  “A bit jumpy ...” The highlander said quietly.

  “The trail’s a dangerous place,” Caissir said. “There are no kings, and no lords here. For these merchants to survive, they had best be prepared for anything.”

  The apparent leader of the merchants, a tall, dark colored mrem with black eyes, came close to them. “You are heading to Tizare?”

  “Yes,” Falon answered.

  Another merchant came beside the leader. “It’s a closed city.”

  “Closed?” he looked at Caissir for explanation. His friend shrugged.

  “Closed.” The leader explained. “No one gets in unless they have official business. Only merchants licensed by the king are permitted inside. No wanderers permitted. It’s much too dangerous.”

  Falon looked at Caissir. So, perhaps this had been his reason for sticking with the highlander. Without Falon’s help, Caissir might be unable to get into Tizare.

  “I—we are on official business. For Lord Rhow.”

  The leader looked at Falon and his party very carefully.

  “If that’s the case, you’ll have no problem. Things are getting very bad. There are rumors. More cities that may fall ...”

  Caissir stepped closer to the merchant. “Rumors? Of an invasion? Have any cities joined the Eastern Lords?”

  The merchant shook his head. “No, not yet. But along the trails we hear stories of farms being raided, and border villages destroyed.” He looked Falon right in the eyes. “Nobody knows how many agents have already secreted their way into the cities. The city of Ar itself might even be in danger.”

  There was a smell in the air, a delicate, sweet smell of fresh meat. Falon couldn’t help but let his nostrils flare.

  The leader couldn’t help but notice. “You’re hungry?”

  “Most definitely,” Caissir said.

  “You’re welcome to join us ... and travel on to Tizare.”

  “Thank you.” Falon smiled.

  Caissir was already hurrying over to the fire and the crackling trumpeter fowl roasting above it.

  •

  Ashre had felt it—just at first, when they came upon the caravan. Something that scared him.

  But when he went and stood next to Falon it faded. His fear went away, and all he could think of was getting a piece of the fowl.

  But it had been there. Like a breeze blowing off the desert, sending tiny grains of sand scratching against his house.

  There was danger. Maybe not here. Maybe not now. A new danger ... stronger than bandits, stronger than those who chased him down the dark alleyways of Fahl.

  But right now, all he wanted to do was eat.

  •

  “Tell me, what is your business in Tizare?” The caravan master, called Krirr, poured himself another cup of tea.

  Falon took a long sip of his tea, and thought of his answer. “I’m to help Lord Rhow with his herd-beasts. He’s lost many to poachers, and more to disease. He thinks that the ways of the highlanders might help his stock.”

  Krirr arched an eyebrow. “I didn’t know the lord kept animals. Where do his herds graze?”

  Falon smiled good-naturedly, trying to keep any recognition of his blunder off his face. “I really don’t know ... I was just asked to come.”

  Krirr nodded. “And those two?” he said, indicating Ashre and Caissir, both still picking at the remains of the roasted fowl.

  “The young one is an orphan. I hope to find someplace for him to stay. The other ... well, he is my traveling companion.”

  Krirr looked right at Falon and lowered his voice. “Let me warn you, highlander. These are dangerous times. Just as I don’t know you, I won’t trust you. And I suggest that if you don’t know those two you had best be careful.” He dumped out his tea. “It grows late and we won’t get to Tizare until tomorrow. That means a camp on the main road.”

  Krirr stood up and signaled his companions to begin leaving. Falon walked over to Caissir and Ashre.

  “We’re leaving.”

  “Well,” laughed Caissir, “I’ve had my fill. They,” he pointed at the merchants, “must be pretty nervous being on the road to just invite us along.”

  “Yes, wizard, I imagine they must be.”

  Caissir’s expression cha
nged. He stepped close to Falon.

  “Look, Falon, I’d much appreciate it if you would not call me ‘wizard’—at least until we are in the city. Merchants can be amazingly provincial about such things.”

  “Yes, Caissir.” Falon grinned. “Your magic secrets are safe with me.”

  Falon looked down. Ashre’s face was a greasy mess, the gray hair all dark and matted, Falon took a corner of his own kilt and gave the young mrem’s face a swipe. “There! At least you look a bit less like some half-starved mynt.”

  The uxen were being pulled out onto the road, grunting their displeasure at being moved. The carts rattled noisily, and their axles creaked. Krirr took the lead uxan and pulled it hard, setting a brisk pace on the trail.

  Caissir dallied behind, fiddling with his sash. “Probably too full to fit anymore!” Falon called back at him.

  And Ashre laughed.

  A small, almost tentative giggle.

  It was the first time Falon had heard Ashre laugh. And when was the last time the kit had had any cause to laugh out loud?

  Falon put an arm around him.

  •

  The evening camp was no small thing. Once Krirr decided that enough ground had been covered, and before it grew too dark, he selected a flat, grassy spot just off the road. His fellow merchants, who were obviously old hands at this, brought the wagons around to form a wall. A fire—much bigger than the lunchtime blaze—was built.

  One of the wagons held the food stores, and an amazing array of fruits, vegetables, small wheels of cheese, and strips of what looked like dried uxan. When great flagons of wine were brought out—three different varieties, at least —it was a meal Falon looked forward to.

  But while they were eating a steady stream of travelers passed their cozy camp.

  “Busy road,” he said to Krirr, helping him arrange the platters for the meal.

  “We’re close to Tizare. Those mrem will march on, getting there before midnight. I don’t like to push the beasts, though. They have journeyed long and hard.”

  Caissir had been pressed into hauling armfuls of wood to the campsite, and he looked his usual discomforted self. Ashre was nowhere to be seen.

  “Caissir ... have you seen—”

  “He’s around the side ... with the uxen,” Caissir said, rolling his eyes.

  Falon finished laying out the trays for the food, and then walked around the wagons to where the uxen were tied up.

  Ashre was standing next to the lead beast, his head pressed close to its huge nostrils. Almost as if ...

  “Ashre ... are you all right?” Ashre nodded.

  Falon waited for him to say something. What was he doing here with the animals?

  But he just kept rubbing the beast’s great head, his own small nostrils pressing against the uxan’s dark hide.

  “Come on then, let’s get something to eat. Tomorrow we’ll be at Tizare ... and we’ll find you some kind of home.”

  Falon walked back to the fire. The merchants were already eating, as was Caissir, and talking excitedly of the next day. He heard them mention the various wonders they were bringing to sell ... and the prices they hoped to realize. After a while, Ashre wandered over, grabbed a plate, and ate.

  But none too heartily.

  Falon wished he knew more about young mrem. He was the only offspring of his parents. They had probably taken one look at his markings and said, “Enough.”

  But whenever he asked his mother why he never had any brothers or sisters, she always turned funny, busying herself with something in the house. At other times she’d say ... maybe if your father hadn’t died ...

  A father he never knew. There were pictures, drawn by the old female who collected gold pieces for her drawings. And the pictures looked nothing like him.

  His friends—the ones that didn’t join in teasing him about his swirled markings—sometimes had young kits for brothers and sisters. He saw how they liked to play, how the older ones made such a great fuss over them.

  But Ashre was no young village mrem. He had taken care of himself for a long time. He had scavenged his own food and avoided the thieves who would have liked to catch him.

  Perhaps he had even killed.

  And now? Does he think of himself as mine? I just brought him out of Fahl to help him.

  Not to adopt him.

  He watched Ashre finish his small plate of food and then wander off.

  “Stay near,” Falon called quietly to the kit.

  After the sumptuous dinner, he and Caissir helped clean the trays and prepare the site for the night.

  “We’ll post a guard,” Krirr said. “It’s too tempting for thieves, this close to the city.”

  Falon volunteered for a watch but Krirr smiled, and shook his head.

  Don’t trust strangers, Krirr had warned. And he followed his own advice.

  Later, before going to sleep, Falon found Ashre curled up, sleeping near the uxen. He bent down, scooped him up, and carried him back to the warmth of the fire.

  FALON’S FIRST glimpse of Tizare was a great winding line, leading from what he imagined to be the gates of the great city up to surrounding hills.

  “And what do we do now?” he asked Krirr.

  “You get on line with the rest of us and wait. It moves quickly.”

  He seemed to be speaking the truth. Krirr was continually urging his oxen to pull the wagons a few steps forward. As they reached the crest of a small hill, Falon got his first glimpse of the walls of the city.

  It was a fortress, nothing less than an immense walled city. Guards prowled the parapet, protected by shiny metal armor that caught the early morning sun. And just as many travelers were streaming out through the gates—moving much more quickly, though.

  “It doesn’t look particularly inviting.”

  “Security,” Krirr snorted. “Actually the old king ordered the walls built. The city, for those that get in, is a friendlier place.”

  “I hope so....”

  The line moved briskly and, when Ashre asked if he could run up and down its length, studying the merchants and Tizarians in line, Falon gave his permission.

  Amazing! One day the kit was throwing daggers at thieves, and the next he was asking permission to play.

  I’m not your father, he wanted to say. But Ashre would learn that soon enough.

  To hear Krirr describe it, Tizare was one of the lesser cities. Lesser, but with wealth and resources that could only be guessed at. It was rumored among the nobles at court, Krirr said, that the Eastern Lords would surely attack Tizare before making a large-scale invasion on Ar.

  The wall kept that fear in check, he had explained. Most of the city-dwellers were united behind a strong defense—meaning a strong army—for the city.

  But Tizare was too lucrative to be left free from internal power struggles. The king played one faction against the other, always seeking to consolidate his hold over the independent nobles. When all else failed, he had his army.

  And so did the nobles.

  That was the part that really amazed Falon. Each noble maintained his own personal army. As long as he contributed soldiers and gold to the city’s forces, a noble was free to organize whatever personal protection he or she wanted.

  Falon had attempted to probe Krirr about Lord Rhow.

  The nobles, Krirr informed him, kept their affairs secret. Whatever Falon would learn about Rhow, it would have to be firsthand.

  The line meandered closer to the gates, and now he could see the purple-cloaked officials looking at papers and documents presented by the weary travelers.

  Would they let him in? he wondered. Would the message in his cape get him past the wall of guards? He fingered it then, feeling the outline of the message sewn between the layers of material.

  Caissir had been terribly quiet during the slow approac
h to the city’s walls. Now, he slid next to Falon.

  He was nervous, Falon thought ... fidgeting, craning his neck to see how far they had left to go. Then he heard Caissir clear his throat.

  “You’ll take me in with you? I mean,” he said, trying very hard to smile, “I had hoped that you’d help me ....”

  “Don’t worry.” Falon smiled warmly. “You’ve earned your free passage. Just stick close and I’ll say you’re with me.”

  Caissir gave out a great sigh. “Thank you, Falon. I knew I could rely on you.”

  Ashre came running back. The entry gate was only a few steps away.

  He looked worried.

  “There are soldiers there!” he said breathlessly.

  “Of course,” Falon answered. “And there’ll be more inside. Come now ... stay close to us.”

  His explanation did nothing to change Ashre’s expression. He looked nervously at the gate, and then back at Falon.

  “We should wait ... until later.”

  “I’m not waiting. It hasn’t been easy getting here, Ash.” He reached over and rubbed the kit’s small pointy ears. “Just relax, and stay here.”

  Krirr’s caravan was at the gate, and Falon watched the merchant present a thick stack of papers to the officials. Then he had to remove the tarps from the tops of the wagons. The guards came around, lifting up Krirr’s treasures, poking around in the pile.

  Caissir stood right beside him.

  “You haven’t been in any trouble here, have you, Caissir?”

  “Trouble ... me? Whatever gave you that idea?”

  “Best to tell me now, Caissir. Before we try to get in.”

  Caissir licked his full lips. “All right ... once, I was forced to leave. A small misunderstanding—I prophesied many offspring for a rich, young noble. Turned out that he didn’t consort with females.”