The web of wizardry

by Coulson, Juanita

  As the day wore on, Danaer's suspicions were confirmed. Troopmen grumbled openly about the situation. They had not remarked on the accommodations made for the Royal Commander and Branra and the others, for those were surprisingly modest. Malol had no patience to waste on frippery. His drunken kinsman was more conscious of his rank, and de-

  manded courtesies not only for himself but for all his people. To its disgust, the garrison soon learned that he was Prince Diilbok, a blood relation of Tobentis, and one who expected to be served as well as the King.

  By the second candle-mark past midday, the newcomers were safely housed in the stonework headquarters, and all but the Prince's lackeys were content with lodgings near the regular barracks. The garrison began to return to its routine.

  Quite by accident, Danaer discovered that the problems were far from over. He had finished supervising recruits in weapons drill and was going back to his units when he heard a loud argument issuing from the officers' stables. The voices were feminine, and one of them sounded much Hke Lira Nalu's.

  Danaer pulled aside the door and went in to see to this matter, then came to an abrupt stop, suddenly wary. Several stableboys were off to one side, their mouths agape while the women harangued each other. Lira Nalu was indeed one of the squabblers, and her opponent was the Prince's woman, that raven-haired beauty who had disrupted the review.

  "My mare is accustomed to this stall, and I will not have her removed on your whim!" Lira said shrilly. She clutched the halter of her mount and defiantly blocked the other woman's path.

  Obviously Diilbok's mistress had ordered Lira's horse set aside for the convenience of her own animal. A hapless lackey held the lead rope of the gelding m question; the boy shifted from one foot to another, fearful of bringing either woman's anger upon himself.

  "Sarli, guard your words. No one insults me without regret. I am Chorii of the Valley of the Hawk, and I am Prince Diilbok's ward. Now step aside with that bony nag." Lady Chorii turned to the groom and said, "Well? Do as I ordered you! Are you deaf?"

  "Act at your peril," Lira warned, halting the groom in midstep. As the little sorkra's fury increased, her voice softened to an ominous note. The soldiers well knew her calling and treated her carefully, not wanting

  her to turn her magic upon them. Thus the groom was frozen in place.

  "Do you dare to—"

  "I dare much, as you will find to your regret if you press the point. You are neither lady nor the Prince's 'ward,' and do not presume upon titles here." Lira was much shorter than the voluptuous Chorii. The sorkra's simple homespun gown was embroidered in bright blue, but it was no rival for the purple silks and feathers of Chorii's riding costume.

  The Prince's mistress had the classic, sharp-featured beauty of women of The Interior, and her garment was cut very low across her full breasts and cinched in narrowly about her waist. Now her body strained against the cloth as her breath rushed into her lungs, her rage building with her color.

  The Prince's woman and the sorkra stared balefully at one another. Though neither moved from her spot, Danaer was reminded of two circling she-ecars. The women wore daggers, a common thing among noblewomen, or on the frontier. Danaer had seen many a fight between women of the Zsed, fights that drew blood as readily as men's quarrels. Like it or not, he must act to end the conflict before matters worsened further.

  "My Lady Lira Nalu, your favor—^may I be of aid?" he said with extreme correctness.

  The women swung to face him, and for an instant Danaer was battered by an onslaught of their emotions. Then, as if they deemed him a neutral, or perhaps unworthy of their spleen, Lira and Chorii mutually shielded their anger. Lira took Danaer's polite offer for an honest one. "You may assign a stall for her gelding. Troop Leader." She gave her opponent no name or title, a rudeness most noticeable.

  Chorii eyed her but said nothing. Instead she preened at her clothes and sleek dark hair, tightening sashes until her breasts were exposed provocatively above the purple silk. Lira's own breast was modestly covered, and a small black medallion lay upon it. Now her agitation was revealed by the rise and fall of that little tahsman, though she kept her face serene.

  Danaer nodded to the Sarli. "It shall be done, my lady. The General has commanded that his sorkra will be obeyed as he would be." He glanced anxiously at Chorii, waiting for a reaction.

  To his relief, she surrendered, though with ill grace. Chorii shrugged a bared shoulder and said with disdain, "We must not go against the orders of the General, at least not until my Prince has spoken to him. Another stall will do, for now."

  The groom sighed and at a gesture from Danaer quickly led away the woman's gelding to a stall at the far end of the stables.

  Chorii jerked around and left the stables, sauntering, putting one foot directly before the other to make her hips sway invitingly. Now and then she tossed her head to make her thick black hair catch the air. She walked like a woman of ease, a creature who would sell her body, though not for the glory of the goddess.

  Lira did not look away from her until Chorii was outside the stable door. Then the sorkra shook herself, saying with a smile, "I give you thanks, Troop Leader."

  "I spoke the truth, my lady. It is the General's order."

  "So it is, and shall be," Lira agreed emphatically. She went to the door and opened it a crack, watching Chorii. Guards at their posts and troopmen drilling stopped their work to admire the Prince's woman, and wherever Chorii went, she caused disruption. With disgust. Lira said, "The garrison soon must deal with an enemy which is evil and strong beyond measuring. She is an unconscionable burden to the Royal Commander ..."

  Then she broke olff, unwilling to say more in the presence of the grooms. Danaer approved her discretion, though it came late.

  Lira calmed herself, picking up a shawl she had dropped and plucking out loose straws. Chastely, she drew the wrap about her dun-colored dress. So modest did she seem now, she might have been mistaken for the daughter of some simple Sarli merchant. But Danaer remembered her anger, and her sorkra calling.

  "You behaved wisely a minute ago," she said. Her voice was sweet and soft, without any trace of the fury she had hurled at Chorii. "I shall commend you to the Commander."

  Danaer had thought Lira's lure had been a trick of the night, a beauty lent her by dimness and mystery. But now by sun's light, in these homely surroundings, the SarH was not a disappointment. The strange attraction Danaer had felt two nights past remamed. He had reminded himself that she was one of the wizard kind, no woman for him. Yet the spell would not go away, though magic was not in it.

  "I ... I must be about my duties," he said, sounding inane in his own ears. A trifle awkwardly, he made his leave, wondering if she would giggle if he stumbled over the threshold. Fortunately, he did not give her that excuse.

  For the rest of the day and night, he took care to avoid the headquarters building and any other place where the women would be found. Danaer busied himself with routine, hopmg he could drop back into the anonymity of the barracks.

  The grumblings about the overcrowding continued, for every day more soldiers arrived in units of tens. Most were raw and unused to the army and must be taught the simplest detail. More feed must be supplied to the crowded stables and pens, and more weapons must be taken from the arsenal and their work shown to the newcomers.

  Troop Leaders such as Shaartre and Danaer had been much occupied taking tally of recruits and making certain each man had sufiicient gear. The Royal Commander's power had been felt; there was no shortage of weaponry or clothes, as had too often been the case at Nyald.

  Two days had passed since the Royal Commander had arrived, and four since Danaer had traveled to the Zsed and back. The tale-carriers had been busier than any, and many a recruit began to question when this invader would be met. As was typical, the untried men, those who had never tasted battle, complained

  of inaction and boasted of the deeds they would perform, given a chance to fight.

  On the
fifth day, shortly after morning drill, Danaer had finished putting off one more questioner when a troopman called, "There are people riding in the gates!"

  Excitement ran through the barracks. "Is it more of the Royal Comimander's staff?" Shaartre asked of no one in particular. "Hai, you there, Rorluk—cUmb up in the window and tell us: is it more officers?"

  "No, Troop Leader. This time it is civilians."

  "What?" Both Shaartre and Danaer hurried to the defense door of the rock-bound chamber. Near the headquarters. Captain Yistar was surrounded by merchants, all of them shouting and waving their arms and creating an uproar. The merchants' distinctive, long-sleeved robes and cropped hair looked very out of place in the miUtary setting. Men held their breath as Captain Yistar stamped into the room.

  "Of all the cursed times for the Destre-Y to—a fine omen for the Royal Commander's conference! A fine omen!" Yistar roared, then rounded on the Troop Leaders. "Get units four and five ready. Cavalry only, with lances and full gear, at once!"

  Yistar paced the courtyard outside the stables while the men were saddling their mounts. He fumed and growled, pounding fist into palm. Danaer and Shaartre were not gentle with the new conscripts among their units. Most were peasants fresh from The Interior, unused to such crises. They dropped tack and startled horses and tripped over one another. Fortunately, many of the men were veterans brought from Nyald and gave the Troop Leaders little worry.

  "Step it up! Move, there!"

  "No, get the beasts in the second row of stalls. It is speed we will want, not cart horses."

  Yistar had been too impatient to send a subordinate with the orders, and now he could not endure waiting in the courtyard. He came to the doors and glared at the confusion within the stables. "Danaer! Fetch three officer blacks, good horses. That white-footed brute will do for me. Lieutenant Branraedik and Prince Diil-

  bok will accompany our units, so choose mounts accordingly. And make sure those wet-ears get their cinches properly tightened! We have a Destre riot in Siank to put down. I will have no loose saddles in the middle of a skirmish!"

  The Troop Leaders rolled their eyes. Branraediir should be capable and a help, not a hindrance, to them, but Prince Diilbok might prove quite the opposite, they feared. With grim efficiency, they rechecked details and got the units out into the compound, watching the headquarters building.

  "Eyes front now," Shaartre bellowed, and then Malol te Eldri emerged from the cavelike fortification. He stood near the heavy doors and talked to Captain Yistar and two other officers.

  Then Yistar and Branra strolled toward the waiting horses. Their heads were together, as if they were planning a method of attack, comparing past campaigns on the frontiers. Both men were stocky and muscular and bandy-legged from long riding. Both had the manner and faces of warriors weathered by battle, a thing which seemed to make the merchant's son and the Royal Commander's highborn protege close comrades.

  No one could mistake Prince Diilbok for a warrior, though. His handsome features were soft to the point of effeminacy, and set in petulance. He looked like a spoiled child forced to obey his elders and resisting an excursion. Unsteadily, he wended his way toward the troop units.

  From the corner of his mouth, Shaartre muttered, "Well is he called Diilbok the Drunk. We have our burden set on our backs—him." Then he and Danaer saluted smartly as Yistar and Branra surveyed the men.

  "A good stand of soldiery. Captain," Branra complimented Yistar. Then he moved to the officers' blacks.

  "Let us get this done," Diilbok said loudly, with courage bom of wine. Yistar and Branra were already mounted when he began fumbUng at the stirrup of his horse. A stable groom had to brace beast and man to get the Prince safely in the saddle.

  Danaer swung away from the unit and presented himself before Yistar. He was aware that Branra was looking him over with intense scrutmy. "Take the point," Yistar said curtly. "Make sure we do not get ambushed. Head for the Square of the Clarique Trader. One of the Merchants' League people will show us the way, once we reach Siank's gates."

  Leather squeaked and metal clinked and tens of hooves thudded dully on trampled earth. This was a routine Danaer had known ever since he entered Yistar's service, one he performed without conscious thought. The double column snaked out through the gates and defenses and onto the mountain hi^way, trotting down to Siank. When he had ridden to the Zsed, the road had been nearly deserted. Now carts and beasts of burden and people on foot clogged the artery. One of the merchants ran before the soldiers, screaming to clear a way. Other merchants, as Yistar had promised, fidgeted while they waited at the gates. As the column neared them, they kicked up their thin little ponies and shunted aside the teeming civiUan traflac. "Way! Make way! On decree of the Merchants' League, make way!"

  The merchants who led the troops were frantic, constantly waving and exhorting Yistar to hurry. Their comical scramblings worried Danaer. A Destre riot, it was said—in this city of the Destre-Y? Mayhap the merchants could find none among their guards who would dare raise weapons against their own kind, if the rioters were plains people.

  But why would Destre-Y attack Siank, the jewel of the goddess?

  The column clopped along stone pavements, following the twisting route the merchants traced. The crowds were thick on every side, gawking, barely moving aside enough for the soldiers. Danaer had never seen such a rich mingling of peoples, for Nyald was a smaller and far less sophisticated city. There were the tall, silver-haired men and women of Ulodovol's province, Irico; their native garments of pale blue and gray seemed a flowing extension of their white hair. Of course SarU were everywhere, busy little folk, the men

  clad in loincloths and the women in simple gowns such as Lira affected; the rainbow colors of their headbands brightened the dark streets. Siank's own citizenry either wore a wide-sleeved demicloak, like the merchants, or dressed very hke the Destre-Y. There were even a few Clarique, their height and yellow hair a magnet for the eyes.

  As Yistar's units pressed deeper into Siank, the crowds lessened. The people they passed were running, in the opposite direction from that taken by the soldiers. The citizens' eyes were bright with panic, and they fell often in the slop-strewn alleyways, their fear a mute promise of what lay behind them.

  In the better parts of the city, the avenues had been comparatively wide and easy for the troops to cross. Now, as they approached the eastern sector, the streets narrowed and the walls were crumbling and ancient. Dwellings loomed closely above the filthy streets. Danaer scouted every alleyway and portal in this warren, fearing attack from the side. Foul water puddles in the pavement cracks and the reek of offal offended his nostrils. Grimy, pinched faces peeked from slitted windows and shadowed doorways. They reminded Danaer of nightwalkers, so unnaturally pale and furtive were these people, not hke an honest dweller in Zsed or Argan's city ought to look.

  The eastern sector of Siank boasted an unsavory reputation despite its famous market, or perhaps because of it. Traffic in contraband flourished in the district, drawing much trade. Apparently such a hotbed of thievery had finally burst out of control.

  Why had Siank's merchants not turned to Gordt te Raa, though? Attacked by Destre-Y, they no longer trusted their protector in Siank Zsed, perhaps. Was it possible the Siim Rena's own men were the attackers, assaulting the merchants?

  Now Danaer heard cries of men and beasts and loud, smashing noises. They were drawing very near the Square of the Clarique Trader, and a peculiar quiet gripped all the streets radiating from the market. Even the merchants who had been leading the troops «had vanished.

  Danaer spurred forward to a place where he could look into the square while still shielded by dwellings. The angle of view was narrow, but he could assess the chaos within quite well. Traders struggled frantically to save their wares, while a few of the ineffectual private police fought a band of shouting, charging horsemen. Here and there a peasant crawled from beneath a wagon or a pile of baskets and tried to run to safety, often to be cut d
own by lance or trampled in the melee.

  The riders were Destre-Y. Every horse was a roan, and each warrior hid his face behind his mantle.

  Why such an outrage against Siank at such a time? Siank and the Zsed had worked glove to glove for generations, and now this conference with the Royal Commander was so near . . .

  Danaer signaled a halt, then rode back to Yistar. The officer squirmed in the saddle and demanded, "Well? Well?"

  "I make it forty or fifty warriors, Captam. All mounted and armed with lances ... a few cudgels and knives, though I saw no slings."

  Yistar nodded grimly. "Then we must work close in —surround the square and—"

  "Surely we can depend upon support from the locals?" That was Prince Diilbok. Now he did not look quite so much the foolish drunk. There was an odd glitter in his eyes, not the same fire for battle a warrior like Branraediir would exhibit, but something else, not quite rational. Branra glanced warily at his fellow ofl&cer, reflecting Danaer's own distrust of Diilbok's new zeal. The Prince said hotly, "Why do we wait?"

  "I saw very few of the merchants' police, my lord," Danaer said with careful courtesy, not wanting to antagonize this nobleman.

  "Nonsense! You are too cautious, Troop Leader." Diilbok stared at the scout with suspicion. "Or is it caution? Perhaps it is treachery! You hope to keep us dallying here while your Destre companions have their will with the populace—"

  Yistar cut him off. "My Troop Leader's loyalty is

  not in question, Prince. Now, as for settling this riot, we will—"

  With a roar, Diilbok drew sword. The gleam in his eyes was now awful. Danaer and Shaartre both moved to protect Yistar from possible assault.