“I do,” Illbane assured him, “and I am a master warrior as well as a sage. When I tell you what you can be, I speak from knowledge. As to truth, have you ever known me to lie?”
Culaehra was silent a moment, then admitted, “No.”
“Nor will I ever,” Illbane assured him. “Criticize you, yes, even insult you—but lie to you? Never.”
Now Culaehra looked up at him. “What must I do to become the best warrior I can, then?”
“You must train as hard as I push you,” Illbane told him, “and you must live by my rules.”
“Your rules!” Culaehra glared at him. “What have your rules to do with .. .” His words ran down as comprehension came into his eyes.
Illbane met his gaze, nodding gravely. “Yes, Culaehra. This defeat was not due only to Yocote's magic.”
“You mean,” Culaehra said slowly, “that if I had not broken your rule against picking fights, I would not have been defeated.”
“That is part of it.” Illbane's tone was neutral.
“And that it is my own bullying that has undone me.”
“Yes!” Illbane's satisfaction showed in his tone and his eyes. “There will always be a stronger one to bully the bully, Culaehra.”
Culaehra stared incredulously. “You cannot mean the rule was there to protect me as much as Yocote!”
“It protected you both,” Illbane confirmed—but did not explain. He only sat, watching and waiting, a great stillness about him.
The stillness was almost as frightening to Culaehra as Illbane's anger. The warrior bent his brain to the riddle, frowning. “If I had not been cruel to the others when I was the most powerful one, they would not be cruel to me now?”
“Not these three, no.”
“But I have known men who were!” Culaehra burst out. “And women, too! I had been cruel to only one or two, certainly no more than any child—I even gave help and protection! But they were cruel to me nonetheless!”
“They were not folk who knew how sharply such cruelty bit,” Illbane explained. “They had not suffered it themselves.”
Culaehra gazed at him a moment, then said, “But Kitishane and the gnomes have.”
Illbane nodded.
“From me.”
“Even before you,” Illbane told him. “I have gleaned the odd remark here and there, the comment in passing, and bound them in sheaves to yield sense. Each in his or her own way knew as much cruelty as you did, Culaehra, in their own home villages. That is why you could have been sure of them, when you could be sure of few others.”
Still Culaehra gazed at him. “Could have.”
Illbane nodded.
“Before I was cruel to them.”
“Yet still may,” Illbane told him, “if they come to believe you will not be cruel again, if you ever gain the power.”
Culaehra's gaze drifted. “I am not sure that I would not be.” Then, with great reluctance, “I cannot be sure that I would not want to be.”
“Then wait until you are.”
Culaehra looked up at him again. “You mean that it is not too late to gain the protection of the rules, by living them.”
“There is still time,” Illbane said, “but I must tell you that my rules are not merely my own inventions. They are laws that govern any band of people, and there are more of them than I have taught you. Without them all villages, all tribes, either fall apart or kill one another off.”
“What other laws are these?” Culaehra asked, but Illbane only shook his head, smiling.
“You must discover them for yourself, Culaehra. I will tell you, though, that there are not very many of them.”
“Not even all of yours make sense.” Culaehra scowled. “What is the purpose of ruling that the strong should protect the weak? Does that law arise so that those who live by it will protect me when I become weak?”
“That is one of its effects,” Illbane said.
The next day everyone was very quiet—oddly, Yocote most of all, marching with brows knit, eyes downcast. Now and again he stopped to pick up something—a pebble of unusual shape or hue, a few stalks of grass that he braided into a cord, a limber rod that he thrust into his belt, a tubular reed—but Lua recognized an excuse when she saw it; collecting such scraps gave him a reason for downcast eyes and a solemn, almost grim, air. Lua's eyes filled with tears as she watched him, but whenever she made a move toward him, Illbane caught her eye and shook his head.
All these weeks, they had been marching steadily northward, through land that bore no sign of people except the charred ruins of villages and cattle roaming wild, with pigs and dogs who had quickly reverted to the ways of nature.
When first they came to such a village, Lua stared in shock, Yocote began to look angry, and even Culaehra felt a chill at the postures of some of the skeletons they found.
“What has happened here?” Kitishane cried.
“Bolenkar's agents have come among these villagers,” Illbane told her grimly. “They have found cause for war between neighbors, then between hamlets, and finally between villages. The victorious villagers then fought one another, and this country now is stripped to a few small cities that live in an uneasy truce, each waiting only for some advantage over the others before it strikes.”
“Is there no remedy?”
Illbane shrugged. “Destroy the agents of Bolenkar.”
“Then let us do so!”
But the sage shook his head. “We are not yet strong enough. Meanwhile, more of his emissaries work among the cities of the south and the nomads of the steppe, and in time both will march to conquer this land. Their armies will chew one another to bits and strew these plains with the dead and dying.”
Even Culaehra blanched at the thought of death on such a scale, but he said stoutly, “They will all deserve it.”
“They will not deserve it, for they would have been peaceful enough without tempters to puff them up and tell them that each of them deserved dominion over all the others.” Illbane glanced keenly at the outlaw. “Would you not stop it if you could?”
Culaehra started to answer, then bit his tongue, remembering to gauge Illbane's mood. Carefully he said, “They are nothing to me, Illbane, and would probably cast me out if I had been born among them. Why should I care?”
The sage never took his gaze from the outlaw's face, only nodded and said, “You must discover that.”
He would not say why or how, only led them away from that village and on toward the north. All Culaehra's pestering would not draw an answer from Illbane, and when the outlaw perceived that the sage's mood of the day was patience, he grew bold, even to the point of hectoring. “You seem to think that I should take another person's troubles upon me, let them become my troubles! Why ever should I do that?”
Illbane stopped and gave him a long, penetrating look, his face so grim that Culaehra's heart sank and he readied himself to fight even though he knew he would be beaten and punished. However, Illbane merely said, “Only experience can teach you that.” He turned away, and Culaehra followed slowly, dying to ask what he meant, but too wary.
He found out when they came to the cliff.
The cliff happened at the end of their path. They were following a faint animal trail toward a line that they took for a ridge, a trail that suddenly veered aside to a spring that jetted from a crevice, then ran to splash off the side of the ridge. Illbane halted and held out a hand to stop them. Glad of any rest, Culaehra dropped the packs with a sigh, but Yocote peered through his goggles. “Why did the animals who made this trail turn away? The stream runs to the ridge.” Then he frowned. “Come to that, if it is a ridge, why does the spring run over it without pooling first?”
“A good question.” Illbane leaned on his staff, watching Yocote intently. “Seek the answer carefully, you who are now a shaman.”
Yocote glanced up at him, frowning, then turned to follow the animal trail, dropping to all fours at the spring. He crawled as he followed its course.
Culaehra snorted. “Yes
, Yocote, crawl like the worm you are!”
“Do not make your ignorance march where all can see, Culaehra!” Illbane snapped. “He mimics the deer who made the trail so that he may take in their thoughts.”
The outlaw glared at him. “Take in their thoughts? You mean think like them, do you not? Oh, I do not doubt that Yocote thinks like a timid antelope!”
“He takes in the thoughts of the animals who made the path!” Illbane strode over to him, his voice dropping to an angry mutter. “It is shaman's work, to bring the memories buried in the stone and the earth into his own mind, that he may know what they know! Do not speak of what you cannot understand!”
Culaehra's head snapped up as if he had been slapped, and within, he vowed revenge on Yocote for Illbane's insults. The amulet at his throat chilled him, but he shook off its spell angrily.
Yocote stiffened, then shied away. “It is no ridge, Illbane, but a cliff's edge!”
“Is it truly?” Illbane sounded quite interested, but Culaehra felt sure he had known it all along, and silently cursed him for making them go through this game. The sage strode up to the edge of the cliff and nodded. “Indeed it is, and we can see an amazing distance from it! Come up, my companions, and look upon your path for the next sennight—but come carefully.”
Slowly, they came up, Yocote to one side of him, Kitishane to the other, dropping to their knees for the last pace or two. They gasped in awe—and Lua, finally curious, crept forward to join them.
None stood right next to Illbane, of course; they maintained their respectful distance—and Culaehra suddenly realized that now, even now, he could run at the sage's back and push him off the edge. His blood quickened even as the amulet turned so cold that he almost yelped in surprise—but it reminded him to be cautious. For all he knew, Illbane might sprout wings and fly! And, come to think of it, Illbane had stepped up quite close to the edge, turning his back on him, ignoring him quite deliberately—almost as if he were inviting the assault. Illbane was angry at him; Culaehra knew that, and he also knew the old man must have eyes in the back of his head. He wouldn't put it past Illbane to sense when he was rushing, and step aside at the last second, to let him go hurtling over the edge of the cliff. Culaehra's blood chilled at the thought—or was that only the amulet's effect running through him? No, he decided, the risk was too great. He went forward after all, but slowly, moving up beside Yocote and fighting down the urge to kick the little man off the precipice instead.
Then Culaehra saw the view and forgot all thoughts of revenge or assault.
The plain stretched away to another range of mountains far in the distance. It was grassy, with three lines of trees winding across it. One had deep curves, even an oxbow. He wondered why the trees grew in lines, then caught the glint of water from the oxbow. The trees showed the courses of rivers! Was water so scarce in this land that trees could grow only on the banks of streams?
It would seem so, but the grass was lush green with the summer rains—summer, and Illbane had caught him in early spring!—and the sky arched huge above all, almost awing him with the depths of its blueness and the streams of clouds that streaked it like rivers in the sky.
He stood spellbound by the vista until Yocote's voice brought him out of his daze. “How are we to climb down there?”
A good question! He glanced at Illbane—and saw the sage watching him with a thoughtful, weighing look, almost as if he were suspecting there might be some good in him after all. Culaehra flushed and turned away—to find Kitishane watching him with a look that was much the same, but held some difference in both kind and intensity. Culaehra turned quickly back to the vista before him. “Well asked, Illbane. How do we climb down?”
“There is a broad ledge some twenty yards below us,” the sage answered, not even looking. “It runs down the face of the cliff like a ramp, switching back on itself three times.”
“I see it!” Yocote lay on his belly, looking down over the edge.
“All well and good, once we come to the ledge!” Culaehra replied.
“There is a coil of rope in my pack. I shall lower you down one by one.”
Culaehra's blood ran cold. Lua whimpered. If it hadn't been for his slender stock of remaining pride, he would have joined her.
“You need not carry the packs while you descend,” Illbane told him. “I shall lower them to you.”
“To me?”
“Of course. You do not think I would trust you behind my back while my hands were occupied, do you?” Illbane stepped over to take the packs from Culaehra's back. “Besides, you are the largest. If any of the others slip, you will cushion their fall.”
“Oh, how very considerate of you!” Culaehra brayed. “How if I do not trust you to hold the other end of the rope from which I hang?”
Illbane looked up from rummaging in the pack. “Why, you have no choice,” he said. “I do.”
Culaehra stared into his eyes and thought they were the coldest he had ever seen. He licked lips gone suddenly dry and said, “I could flee.”
Illbane spread an arm, bowing. “Attempt it.”
Culaehra knew just how far he would be able to flee. True, there were no resin-laden pines here, but he did not doubt that the sage would find some other magic trick to bring him down.
“You are going over that cliff, Culaehra.” Those frigid eyes held his again, breathing the chill of glaciers into him. “With or without that rope.”
“You've said you need me for some purpose of your own,” Culaehra croaked.
“Perhaps it is to be a sacrifice to the goddess,” Illbane told him. “Perhaps this is the place of sacrifice.”
Culaehra didn't believe that for a second—but he would not have put it past the sage to let him go through all the pains of death, then haul him back to life for his own nefarious purposes. He spat an oath of disgust and held out a hand.
Illbane took the rope from the pack and held it out to him, his eyes glowing—with amusement? Or triumph? Or something else? Culaehra couldn't be sure, but whatever it was, he hated Illbane for it. The sage told him how to arrange the rope about him so that he could lower himself. Illbane would only need to anchor his end of the cable.
“You have great faith in the strength of my arm,” Culaehra grumbled, stringing the strand.
“On the contrary—I have great faith in the strength of the rope.” Illbane wrapped his end around the trunk of a stunted pine that grew nearby, then took a firm hold on the six-foot length of rope that was left. “You see? You have this tree holding you, as well as me!”
“Aye, provided you do not let go of your end,” Culaehra said sourly. He sat on the edge of the cliff, took one brief glance downward—and felt his heart sink. Fear filled him, bawling within him to run, to fight, to do anything but drop off that mountainside—but greater fear held him still, fear of Illbane's staff and his magic. He took a deep breath, said, “If I die, Illbane, my ghost will haunt you,” then took another deep breath and shoved himself off the side.
Somehow, he did not think Illbane feared ghosts.
The rope jerked on his arm but held firm. Culaehra planted his feet against the face of the cliff, resolutely not looking down. His heart hammered in his chest, reverberated through his head.
He wondered if Illbane liked him that day.
Chapter 10
Walk down the cliff face now,” Illbane called cheerfully. “Let the rope slip about you as you do—but make sure you let it out, handhold by handhold.”
“Very sure,” Culaehra assured him. He started down the cliff face, his heart hammering like a dozen blacksmiths. Illbane's good cheer could be a good sign—but Culaehra remembered the harsh words he had just now spoken, and swallowed against a thick lump in his throat. He looked up resolutely, even though all he could see was Yocote's goggled face peering over the cliffs edge, and pure sky beyond—anything was better than looking down. He felt mildly surprised that the gnome wasn't grinning at his discomfort—in fact, Yocote seemed genuinely anxio
us. Why should that be?
“Too fast!” Illbane called, and sure enough, the slipping rope burned his palm. How could the old demon have known without looking? But Culaehra forced himself to move more slowly, even though all he wanted was for this nightmarish descent to be over.
“Only a few yards more!” Yocote called, and relief almost made Culaehra go weak—but why should the gnome be helping him, even in so slight a way? He clung to the rope for dear life, letting it slip about him slowly, walking step by slow step down the cliff face. Finally, his reaching foot struck a horizontal surface. Scarcely daring to believe, Culaehra lowered both feet, let out another foot of rope—and felt it go slack. He ignored the spurt of panic that raised, and stamped his feet to make sure the footing held. Then, at last, he looked down, and saw solid rock beneath his feet.
“Unwind the rope!” Illbane's voice was thin with distance.
What if Culaehra did not?
They would be stranded up there, and he could escape down the ledges! The amulet stabbed his throat with coldness, but Culaehra rapidly considered the idea. He couldn't run away without letting go of the rope—but he could tie it to a huge boulder, if he could find one ...
And Illbane would slide down that strand and catch him with that blasted staff. Culaehra heaved a sigh of regret and unwound the rope. At least Illbane seemed to like him today; perhaps he should do nothing to lessen that. He stood waiting, watching as Yocote's legs dropped over the edge, the rope wound around him just as Culaehra had worn it. He crept down the cliff face like a snail—or had he himself gone so slowly? Culaehra wondered.
Suddenly, he realized that he would be alone with the gnome for at least a few minutes. What was there to keep him from throwing the little man off the ledge? His heart leaped at the thought, even as the amulet chilled his throat—and that spreading numbness made him remember Yocote's magic. A bare beginner in shamanry, Illbane had called him, but Yocote was still able to counter all Culaehra's strength and size. Of course, he probably couldn't work much magic while he was falling to his death ...
But perhaps enough to save his own life?
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