ger and lance. We are Krantin—two peoples, two lands "
She paused, and Danaer was held by the spell of the words, thinking of his own life, suspended in the midst of that unending rivalry.
"It is so, by the will of the divine ones—until Andaru," Osyta finished. In a peculiar singsong, she cried out in the far-seeing, the prophecy most rare. "Andaru, and you will witness it, my kinsman. Ai! Do not doubt me! You shall sit at the feet of the mighty, and new legends shall be borne. Andaru comes upon us swiftly, upon wings of fire and blood! Much, much blood! Ah! And there is evil, kinsman! Forces powerful beyond all dreaming, a great and terrible evil."
Danaer could not move. His stare was locked on Osyta's ecstatic old face. Her milky eyes swam with the visions, and she stabbed a finger toward the smoking mountain. "There lie the weapons to be found against this evil, kinsman, weapons forged together by all Krantin's gods. lit and Destre-Y must be one. They must use these weapons as one, or the evil will devour us all! From Krantin must come a strength, a magic—fire and fierce power and a matchless blow! It is in the children of the mountain.
"Andaru. Krantin must be bought with blood, kinsman. The blood of Azsed, of ancient Ryerdon. Much, much blood! Only then shall the people of the plains and those of The Interior be rejoined as they were in the old days. Hear me! Traecheus calls out for our help, and we must heed her. Krantin in its strength, new-bought with the blood of great sacrifice, must aid Ryerdon's enemy. And Traecheus will praise our name . . ."
Surely madness now seized the old woman! Traecheus was no more. The Empire of the Eastern Islands was buried with the bones of time. Ryerdon itself was no more than a dimly remembered legend, preserved only in words and by a namesake city in the interior of Krantin.
Some whim made Danaer look to the east and wonder. Was not Traecheus the ancestor of Clarique, the
people who now ruled the islands where the sun rose? And though Ryerdon was dead, did it not still live in the seed of Destre-Y and the people of The Interior?
"That was very long ago . . ." he whispered, trying to thrust away unsettling ideas.
"And it is now," Osyta said, hearing him, though he had kept his voice very low. "There will be rewards. I see beauty. It is woman, deeply tangled with your own life thread. Oh, this prophecy is not only of blood and evil—not all of it. Beauty, ai, and death is its companion, kinsman. Evil, and death. All woven finely together, like the most costly mantle. And what is this?" Osyta gasped in shock, then held out her hands to Danaer. "Let me give you my blessing. Quickly! It is very needful!"
Shaken, Danaer cast aside his helmet and knelt before her. Osyta brushed back the Destre mantle from his hair and caressed Danaer's head and face. "The goddess guard you well, you of my sister's blood." An unseen power might have flowed from her old fingers into his being. Osyta's feeble touch tightened almost hurtfully against his temples then. "What? I see it plainly now! Sorkra! The wizard kind! Ai! There is much wizardry in this prophecy, magic both good and evil, most potent and awful. You must beware of such magic, warrior. It is not wise for those of Azsed to traffic in these things. Stay to the rule of the goddess. Ride Argan's sacred path .. ."
He nodded assent willingly, wishing she had not spoken of such matters. A prophecy was the truth of the holy ones. What had she seen? Wizards? Indeed, that was nothing any warrior would treat with.
Above the Zsed, from the rocky face of the fortress, drums rumbled out a call to muster. The summons woke Danaer from a grim mood. The old woman sensed that other loyalties had ended her link with him. Her hands fell away, releasing Danaer from bonds of prophecy and dark visions.
Though she could not see his gesture, he hid his actions from Osyta as he beckoned her aged friend close. Danaer slipped a few of the King's silver coins in the crone's waiting palm and whispered, "For the
death-giving. You will chant her to Keth's portals, and favor the priest and the fire-walkers that Osyta shall be well mourned?" The herb-healer's friend wiped tears from rheumy eyes, murmuring promises that all should be fitting, according to the will of the goddess.
Still he hesitated, looking down with pity at his dying kinswoman. She seemed to be sinking back into a senile crooning once more, her power of foretelling gone. But as he took up the rein of his horse, she suddenly woke from uncaring and cried, "I have told you the truth, only the truth. I shall not see you again on this earth, warrior, for when the sun dies, so will I. Remember, you of my sister's blood, you will be part of Andaru. You go into danger, Destre-Y . . . much, much danger, and perhaps glory as well, if the goddess smiles."
Had Osyta given him a blessing or a curse? Danaer made a brusque farewell, receiving only a disinterested muttering for an answer. Duty satisfied, he vaulted onto the roan's back and drove his boots hard into its flanks, riding hard through the sulfurous miasma, leaving the Zsed behind.
Osyta's words chased him toward the cliff trail, making him urge the horse up at a risky pace through the narrow twists and turns. Not until he was well beyond the outer perimeter and approaching the drill field did Danaer begin to shrug off Osyta's spell. He was grateful to set himself to plain tasks, falling in beside Shaartre as they marshaled the sleepy troopmen and checked equipment for the long journey.
Captain Yistar was on the prowl, alert for any lax-ness. His square jaw, pocked with the marks of plague, was set, his lips thinned under his bristly red mustaches. There was a touch of gray in his hair now, but he had not weakened. He had survived the plague and many a campaign, assuming command of the fort when no highborn officer of The Interior would leave the capital and take the post. They had lacked the courage to risk disease and hardship.
His successor, a pale-faced nobleman recently ordered to Nyald by royal decree, muffled his yawns and tensed whenever Yistar's attention swung his way.
Yistar was busy with last-moment instructions, disliking to leave his fort in the hands of such an inexperienced steward. But like all who swore the oath, he must obey the King.
He halted before the cavalry escort, nodding to Troop Leaders Shaartre and Danaer. "It will do," he said by way of compliment. The Captain sighed heavily and cast a sidelong glance at the new commandant, then winced.
Near the palisades, a gathering of veterans waited to see their comrades off. Each man bore a wound that lamed him for arduous service, and in the muster they had been commanded to stay and defend Nyald. They waved and flung several last jibes at those who were leaving, a parting of warriors who had shared grief and joy.
Yistar saluted them with pride, a gesture they returned with pleasure, for he had made it plain he entrusted the fort, and the city, to them—not to the raw courtier who now wore the cloak of commandant.
Trumpets were sounded, a gaudy courtesy Yistar would have scorned, but which the young officer insisted upon. Those who now manned the fort stood watch as the caravan began to move. There were shouts and good wishes which Yistar did not quiet.
Shaartre and Danaer tidied the straggling lines, hurrying laggards along in smart order. As they passed the outer barricades, Shaartre loped up alongside Danaer*s roan and said with surprise, "It is first candle-mark, and we are well away. Yistar is ever prompt, in war or peace, eh? Which is it to be this time, I wonder?"
Like Shaartre, Danaer mulled those rumors of some distant conflict, tales only partly believed, carried from a place so far away the story had no menace. Yet a royal decree sent Yistar and the best of his troops trekking from the southern fort Yistar had used to tame the Destre-Y. Surely the army did not set such things in motion lest they had good reason to suspect trouble, even from a place beyond the sunrise.
"Did you accomplish your errand, youngling?"
Shaartre must ask that twice before Danaer came to awareness.
"Ai. It was ... the attending of an old kinswoman near death. I paid for her pyre and the priest's chants, and she gave me her blessing."
"That is good. They say the dying ones have the ears of the gods and can offer a man good fortune
because of it."
To Danaer's relief, Yistar bellowed an order and he was forced to leave Shaartre unanswered, spurring to take the point of the caravan. They did not go to war yet, and the highway had been free of banditry for many a season, thanks to Yistar's vigilance. But he never rested on the past, trusting nothing. As scout, Danaer preceded the snaking line of wagons and foot troops and cavalry.
The route wound past the river fiats where the Zsed camped. Against a backdrop of the fortress cliffs, the Destre-Y gathered to stare. There were no cheers, not even of hope now that Straedanfi, victor over the plains people, was leaving. Sullenly, tribal mantles drawn to hide plague-scarred faces and broken pride, they followed the caravan with their eyes.
Danaer was riding well ahead of the train, now and then turning to look back and gauge its speed. Once he gazed toward the Zsed, his keen sight picking Osyta's tent from among the other tattered hovels. He could see two thin female forms huddled by an almost dead fire. He would never see the herb-healer again. Indeed, it might be that he would never see the Zsed of his birth again, either.
Unbidden, Osyta's prophecy filled his mind.
Andaru — the terrible sacrifice which would buy a new destiny for all Krantin and all the Destre-Y, Wizardry — both good and evil. Danger and beauty — closely mixed with glory, blood, and death.
Danaer sucked in a deep breath and turned his face to the east, toward Siank of the White Walls and the fort that was to be Captain Yistar's new garrison. The old woman's words could not be escaped. Whatever lay ahead, this prophecy spoke the will of the goddess
and fate. He must confront it with courage, as befitted a warrior.
Ill
The Wizard Web of Ulodovol
It was late when Danaer rode at a lope up the western road from Siank back to the fort. The evening in the town had been a disappointment, but that was the way of it and nothing could be done. This ride of his had been intended as a small jaunt. But a pious attendance at Siank's temple and a bowl of Destre fare had not been worth the risks involved.
It was common knowledge—marked by orders of the fort's commandant—that Siank's older sections were forbidden to the soldiers. Danaer had thought his Destre blood would keep him safe there, and had been shown his mistake. At least Shaartre and Danaer's unit mates might enjoy the tale of his adventure.
The night air was not so cool as at Nyald, and his horse was puflBng a bit as Danaer turned into the stony outer defenses of the fort. He slacked the reins, letting the animal walk through the tortuous staked barricades and pitfall-strewn field leading to the palisades. Like Nyald Fort, this stronghold was built upon the rock of the foothills, girt well in man-made defenses of wood and stone and earth. Danaer had ridden over its length two days past, when first he had arrived at Siank garrison. He had been impressed with the height of the palisades beyond the compound and the bastions which overlooked the highway from The Interior. Great heaps of deadly boulders could be dropped across the road, the better to guard from any incursion by the Destre tribes. General Nurdanth was as cautious in his practices as Captain Yistar had been when
he commanded Nyald Fort. As a Destre-Y, Danaer would have been discouraged to learn of such clever fortifications. As a troop leader sworn to Yistar's service, he admired their building and the General who had ordered them.
Torches marked the watchtowers along the palisades, but Danaer did not need their faint light to guide him. Absently, he touched his roan with knee and rein, avoiding traps and stakes.
"Stand and call!"
Danaer jerked his mount to a sudden stop. He swallowed the retort he wished to fling back at the sentries hning the catwalks. Archers would be behind the loopholes, and Danaer knew their arrows were aimed at him and his horse.
"Scout Danaer, in the service of Captam Yistar!" Danaer shouted.
Wood scraped heavily against wood, and the gate opened enough to permit the exit of a mounted sentry and an infantryman carrying a lantern. They moved slowly away from the fort, the one man holding the lantern high and the other riding alongside, his lance at the ready.
As the soldiers came near enough for the lantern to shine on Danaer's face, his horse tossed its head nervously and shied. He curbed the animal sharply, cursing, while the sentries peered at him. Then they seemed disappointed at being cheated of prey. "It is only the scout. You had best take off that Destre cloak. Troop Leader. Less careful men might have filled you with arrows before they challenged you . . ."
"I served at Nyald Fort full eight years," Danaer said irritably. "The sentries there learned to know me well enough."
"This is not Nyald Fort. The Destre tribes here are not so well tamed as those dust-Uckers back where you came from."
Swallowing his resentment, Danaer followed inside. It was the first time he had ventured outside Siank Fort after sunset, but not the only distrust and taunting he had endured. When the train from Nyald had arrived two days ago, the regular troops had been wel-
corned as brothers in arms. However, despite Danaer's badges of rank and his acceptance among his own units, the soldiers of this garrison had viewed him with suspicion and had muttered a few insults. Danaer thought he was hardened against such scorn, for he had suffered it long ago when he first entered Yistar's service. Here the animosity of soldiers from The Interior was intact. In this region the Destre-Y were still a most formidable enemy.
The massive gate bars groaned shut and the sentries returned to their watch posts. Danaer rode toward the stabling pens. Several large fires burned cheerily, Ught-ing the compound, offering the greeting the sentries had not.
Shaartre and a few idlers from Danaer's units had been sitting near the quartermaster's cave and gossiping. But now the Troop Leader left the others and ran toward Danaer, waving. "La! You took your time getting back here."
When Danaer stopped, the horse protested the delay, wanting to get to the grain of the stabling pens. Danaer knocked the brute's head away and made a protest of his own to Shaartre. "My pass was clear, was it not? I could have stayed the night, if I wished."
"Dallying in the old section," Shaartre said with a low laugh. "I knew it was a mistake to bring you along. Down in Siank those pretty women of ease will no doubt sell their favors readily to a Destre Hke you, even if they disdain the rest of us ..."
"No, not that." Danaer was forced to smile, though ruefully. "I did find a good inn, and no small problem getting there. The innkeeper Hked my money, but not my uniform. I had barely settled to enjoy myself when a threesome of drunken recruits staggered in, ripe for fighting. I escaped that only by the hem of my mantle. Then I met a pair of Destre warriors even more eager for battle. I bought my way clear with a bottle I had planned to save for myself . . . and when I reached the fort, the sentries saw my colors and took me for a Destre-Y."
"Enough!" Shaartre's gray eyes had twinkled as Danaer ticked off the evening on his fingers. "Why not
put aside that Destre mantle whenever you approach this fort?"
"Why not cut out my heart as well?" Danaer countered.
Shaartre snapped his fingers, remembering what had first spurred him to accost Danaer. "The commandant wants you."
"Yistar?"
"No, no. General Nurdanth. And now. There is no time to go to barracks and seek better dress. The summons was most urgent, some candle-marks past."
Danaer dismounted and made an effort to straighten his dusty uniform. He was accustomed to being summoned by Captain Yistar on Uttle prior warning; but until now he had only seen the commandant of Siank garrison in parade, when the Nyald caravan had arrived.
"You had best hurry," Shaartre said, buJBBLUg Dan-aer's helmet along his sleeve, then clapping it down over Danaer's ears. He roared at a passing troopman, "You, take the scout's horse to the pens. Move lively!"
Danaer himself made haste, heading for the headquarters building, a timbered, two-storeyed structure reared close against the rocky overhang which dominated the fort. As he entered the lampUt interior, a s
oft, feminine laugh greeted him. After a moment, when his vision had adjusted to the hght, Danaer saw that the only person in the entryway was the woman from Sarlos. She had been sorting through some parchments and drawings scattered on a table. Now she looked at him and said with a teasing smile, "You are much of the night. Scout Danaer."
Her voice had a Sarli lilt, very charming, and well suited to her appearance. Like all the women of Sarlos, she was tiny, though nicely fleshed, much to Danaer's taste. Her complexion was not so brown as many of her people; her face was pert and attractive, with rather rounded cheeks and hps. A yellow scarf the same color as her simple gown was bound about her curly dark hair.
"How do you know my name, my lady?" Danaer asked.
"Oh, you are quite worth remembering." Her eyes were unusually large and a warm brown shade, and now they sparkled with promises of mischief.
Yet those were promises Danaer dared not respond to. When he had first seen her, he had watched her with much interest, as had many another soldier in his units. There had been speculation that perhaps she was the commandant's mistress. But the soldiers who had been longer at the fort told them the truth, one which cooled desires and made the newcomers awed. The lovely Sarli was the companion of a white-bearded elder, a man who wore the dark robes of a sorkra. It was apparent the woman was his apprentice, an attendant to magic.
Osyta's prophecies were strong in Danaer's memory, and he had no wish to become better acquainted with any sorkra. He tried to avoid admiring the curve of her breasts and the enticing flow of the soft gown molding against small waist and thighs. "My fellow Troop Leader informed me that I am wanted by Lord General Nurdanth, and I have come to report."
She studied him, and there was an unnerving coquetry in her expression. Then she sighed and led the way through cramped halls to the officers' sector. At the indicated door, Danaer hesitated briefly before he rapped on the wood. But his knuckles had barely struck when Yistar's familiar bellow ordered, "In! Plague! Come in, and be quick about it!"
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