The web of wizardry

by Coulson, Juanita

  The thing fell, flopping obscenely, a severed limb spewing unnatural gore. For a heart-stopped moment Danaer was rooted, unable to move.

  Other creatures renewed the attack. More of them were forming out of thin air, circling the three mortals. They closed particularly upon Ulodovol. The old wizard sank to his knees, barely coherent, fighting back their magic. Lira wept but maintained her precarious balance, desperately chanting spells through her sobbing.

  A great hairy dog-thing materialized, jaws carmine and dripping, and leaped at Danaer. He had no time to stab or slash, but quickly raised the sword to protect his throat. A tremendous force hit the blade, knocking Danaer backward into a table.

  The furniture broke under him, the dog-thing scrabbling and snarUng and trying for his throat as it bore him down. Danaer tightened his grip on the sword hilt and twisted it aside, then thrust up into the creature's belly.

  Fangs sank into Danaer's forearm as the demon-dog collapsed. Its stench was suffocating, and Danaer struggled to get free of its crushing weight. The animal that never was contorted in its death throes—if such a thing could die! Danaer was drenched in the beast's vitals and ichor, and his own blood welled from its vicious bite.

  Through the confusion of monsters and a rising smoke of illusion formed by Ulodovol and Lira in their magic, Danaer saw the Royal Commander and Nurdanth and Yistar. They stared incredulously from the doorway as Danaer had done.

  The distraction proved a new weapon for the sorkra. The attacking demons were suddenly swept by an enveloping smoke, and from the smoke were coming other beasts—true and natural animals, obeying the will of Ulodovol and Lira. Ecar and golhi and woods wolf and eagle formed in smoke and fell upon the demon things.

  There were other things in the smoke: people. Danaer gazed into castles and villages of The Interior, into Krantin's palace and the King's own court. In each

  scene there was a wizard of Ulodovol's Web. And each fought this same battle against the beasts of nether regions.

  The visions enlarged to include the snows of Irico and the marshes of Sarlos—and here too were members of the Web, and here too were the attacking demons of Markuand's wizard!

  Malol te Eldri and his fellow officers were steeling themselves to enter the fray, drawing swords, moving forward bravely. Even as they did so, Ulodovol came back to his feet, raising himself to his full, impressive height.

  "Away!" he shrieked, his bony hands clutching the air and flexing in warning. Lira dupUcated his cry, flinging her own counterspells.

  And the creatures of Bogotana were banished, all the furies melting instantly—as did the animals and the visions in the smoke.

  The small chamber was left to the humans, and the four soldiers gawked at one another, stunned by what they had seen. Then Ulodovol toppled toward Lira and she called in alarm, "Traech Sorkra!" For a moment she bore all his weight. At once the men moved to help, finding the old wizard an easy weight. His physical strength seemed utterly spent, but his mind was clear, and he continued to mutter incantations to insure that the demons could not return.

  They laid the wizard on a cot, but Ulodovol waved a hand weakly, indicating he wished to be propped into a sitting position against the waU. Lira knelt by her mentor. Tears wet her cheeks and his garment as she said, "Traech Sorkra, you defeated him! You defeated him and his minions!" Her reverence came through her shaking voice.

  Ulodovol managed to raise a blue-veined hand and touch Lira's curly hair. "It was the Web, my dear. I could not have succeeded without the Web, and without your courage, young man. My blessings on you ..."

  Danaer had been sucking at the bloody bite on his arm. The officers reacted to Ulodovol's praise with approving nods of their own. Danaer hoped his apprehension did not show in his manner; but what would

  these compliments serve if the bite had been filled with poison? Would he die, writhing in agony as the creature had?

  Where was the beast he had slain? No entrails were on the floor, nor was there trace of the purplish blood. The only mark of the demon thing was the oozing wound on Danaer's arm.

  "They attacked the King," Malol said, aghast, the memory of the smoke images coming home to him. "The King!"

  "Yes, it was a most fearsome testing of our Krantin, Royal Commander." Ulodovol spoke weakly, pausing often. "You cannot know its vehemence. How . . . how powerful he is, this Markuand wizard, to conjure such illusions . . ."

  "Hardly illusions," Yistar murmured, anxiously looking at Danaer's arm. "Not to draw blood. Get to the surgeon ..."

  Danaer did not move, fearing that the hurt would have no healing by mortal medicines. "Master Ulodovol, I thought ... I thought you saw through the powers of other sorkra of your Web. Yet there were no Markuand wizards among us . .."

  Lira gasped, her eyes meeting UlodovoPs, their mutual dismay obvious. With great reluctance, she said, "That is so, Danaer."

  "We have suspected, since you rode to Siank Zsed, that the Markuand wizard has his allies even in Krantin, among us," the old man muttered. His head dropped back against the wall and his rheumy eyes closed. "Sorkra, our own people—helping the enemy. All around us, as those beasts came into being all around us, through the help of Markuand's minions."

  "Treachery, in our midst," Nurdanth whispered. "At our backs . .."

  "And how to protect the King?" Ulodovol shuddered violently. "I must remam here, close to Kirvii and the palace. But . . . but I was to accompany the trek to Deki, to guard against the magic of the enemy wizard."

  "We will deal with the Markuand, be he soldier or sorcerer," Yistar said proudly. But the Captain's ruddy

  complexion was unusually pale, and there was a crack in his voice Danaer had never heard before.

  A curious group of soldiers had clustered around the door, and Yistar vented his rattled composure by bellowing at them and chasing them away. As he did, Malol was saying, "We cannot spare you, Traech Sorkra. The King must be kept safe. And you are not fit for such an arduous journey. The caravan—and Deki—will have to do without your skills."

  Ulodovol sighed and patted Lira's shoulder. "I fear there is wisdom in that. Age and infirmity are my burdens. I must not tax my body, or my powers. There may be much evil yet unknown to be dealt with in the future. I will send Lira Nalu in my place. Our Web will help her, and me, while I ferret out these traitors. We must find the Krantin-Y who would give us to the enemy, find them, crush them and their magic ..."

  "You shall. Master," Lira assured him. But Danaer sensed her dismay. She accepted the awful responsibility Ulodovol had put upon her, and without question. Yet there was doubt in her face, which she hid poorly.

  The old wizard beckoned the officers close, wanting to talk of strategy and protection for King Tobentis. Lira spread a robe over the thin legs, then drew back. Though still much worried about her master, she took Danaer's arm and led him aside. She examined his wound intently, then began passing her talisman over the bleeding punctures. The obsidian pendant felt oddly cool on the fang marks, and to Danaer's surprise, the swelling subsided at once. Blood clotted and scabbed and fell away before his amazed eyes, the arm healing—whole!

  A wound of black wizardry, cured by Lira's own magic!

  "Sorkra, I ... I give you thanks again. I thought I would die from that brute's ravaging."

  "It could have happened." Lira gazed up at him, as concerned for his hurt as she had been for Ulodovol's frailty. "It was sorcery most powerful, and it might well poison you. Not now. You have courage beyond most men, for few would have risked those demons' teeth and claws. And had you not distracted them at the

  height of the Markuand wizard's attack, I do not know if Master Ulodovoi could have defeated him. You turned the battle for us, Danaer."

  He chuckled nervously, probing his arm. "It was my battle as well. But because of your arts, now I will ride with the captain, not languish in some healer's tent, dying of venom."

  "And I will go to Deki with you." That was not a happy statement.


  "It is too hard a journey," Danaer said. A Destre warrior woman was bred for war from girlhood. But Lira was made for more tender existence. "You are gently born—"

  She cut him off with some pique. "I am not. I am a commoner, a tanner's child. The Web makes no distinctions of age or sex or birth. A sorkra serves where needed, and where the Traech Sorkra bids. I am needed on the trek to Deki. I will go willingly."

  Her retort was too fierce. Danaer remembered his first caravan raid, when he was but an unblooded youth—and he knew that Lira quaked inwardly. Pride would not let her admit her fright, though.

  Suddenly Lira favored him with a warm smile. "You fear for me? You must not, my Sharp Eyes. No sorkra is ever alone; my Web will go wherever I go. Others will comfort me and guide me, our minds speaking together."

  "It was not only your mind which interested me," Danaer said, indulging in a grin.

  Lira's full, throaty laugh made the officers glance at them both for a moment before they returned to their whispered conference with Ulodovoi. In her easy acceptance of his remark. Lira was indeed like a Destre woman—unafraid of life's pleasures. "Then how dare I fear for the safety of my body when I have your sword to protect me?"

  "On my faith, I will protect you—from swords or magic."

  Her smile faded, and Lira caught at the thong about her neck. She pulled off the talisman, then lifted aside Danaer's helmet. He saw what she wished and bent his head, letting her slip the shiny black stone down to rest

  upon his chest. The medallion was carved with the head of a man. "Is this your god?" he wondered, touching it carefully. "You must keep a holy thing for your own sake. ..."

  "No, it is not my god," Lira said. "And wearing it will offer no offense to your Argan, I promise. Rasven is . . . not divine. But I want you to wear his image always. Give me your oath on it."

  She was most determined, and Danaer did not refuse. Perhaps the talisman meant more magic, but after what he had felt of Markuand's wizardry, he would take Lira's black stone as a help against worse evil. It was not a man's adornment, and Danaer began to feel embarrassed by the trinket. Lira did not object when he sUd it inside his shirt, against his skin. She led him outside to the porch.

  Breeze played at Lira's long gown, whippijig her white ribbons and tousling her hair. Sweat beaded her brow, the aftereffect of her struggle against demons. Danaer looked at her steadily, relishing the sight, even that honest sweat. Kandra had touched him but little, despite her sexuality. He had been roused to delight by many a woman of ease and her carnal offerings. Yet Lira's power over him was different.

  Lira might have read his thoughts. She stood on tiptoe and kissed his lips. Even the kiss was not what he expected. She did not give him moist promises with her laughter. This was a kiss of sweet longing and modest uncertainty, bound into one heady moment. Before he could embrace her, Lira was gone, back into Ulodovol's room.

  If only she were not a sorkra. ...

  The talisman was pleasantly warm, lying on his heart. Lira's gift to him, to guard him against enemy sorkra. And like Lira, the carved stone that should be cold and hfeless seemed to throb with spirit, past fathoming. Lira was whims and surprises never-ending, a mystery that tangled Danaer closer each time they met.

  He braced himself to take a ribald teasing when he returned to the barracks. Shaartre and many of his unit mates would have seen that kiss, and they would be quick to draw lewd conclusions. No matter. There were

  dangers ahead, and much of it dark magic—but he had a wizard's taUsman now, and Lira was coming with the caravan. Ulodovol and the officers were making plans, and so would he. He would not be greedy or think in such grand terms as the Traech Sorkra and the Royal Commander. Danaer would be content with a small conquest—only one small part of Sarlos, in the person of a woman, a lady artful in magic.

  X

  All Shall Belong to Markuand

  The island of Tor-Nali was bathed in moonlight, the rays reflecting on the harbor waters, rivahng the bright array of torches ringing the Markuand encampment. Darkness veiled scenes of warfare and butchery, now ended. Tor-NaU's men were dead, their bodies flung into pits and burned without ceremony. A few of her women, those sufficiently beautiful to please the conquerors' tastes, had been taken in slavery. Their laments floated from the castles of the slain princes of their island, a wail of shame and sorrow.

  The warlords had established a command post overlooking the bay. From here they had dispatched supply fleets and troop barges against the Clarique mainland, and all had gone weU. But the generals were uneasy as they entered the tower where their cruel viceroy strolled among cauldrons and consulted arcane tomes.

  The wizard's assistants stirred frothing decoctions and mixed powders to his directions. They never questioned or uttered a sound he did not command. After a long hesitation, the most famed among the warlords spoke to the master. "Our spies tell us their chief magician repelled your magic, and that this Krantin alUance is holding fast."

  Priceless kash fur robes swirled as Markuand's

  142 ' The Web of Wizardry

  mightiest sorcerer spun on his heel, confronting the committee. "You doubt me—still?"

  "No, Master. We ... we are balancing the odds for the coming battle. The emperor bade us complete our victory ere the snow flies again .. ."

  "So you shall." He seized air, symbolically clutching the sprawling land that lay before Markuand's armies. "Before snow falls on our homeland, we shall climb the mountains of this Krantin. And we shall rule the northern forests of this place they call Irico, and the fens and meadows of their Sarlos. All shall belong to Markuand ..."

  "Their wizards, though? Our spies speak of a thing termed a sorkra, and a web of these magicians."

  "Your spies," he said with withering pity. "I have my own, far cleverer than those dogs you employ. My spies can be sorkra, too, or a serpent who knows the heart of our prey, and where to strike to cause the most pain."

  The hero among them would not be put off. "But your magic did not crush them, they say ..."

  "Silence!" Tongues cleaved to roofs of mouths, and for an instant even his minions gulped and forgot their tasks. "It was a bad casting of the lots. I play them, to tire the game and make its taking the sweeter. They think they have bested me. Ah! This adds savor to the hunt." He licked his lips.

  "Yes, they have their alliance—and so have we, one they do not know. We begin to strike on every hand. Soon they will have no wits to withstand us. They will confuse reality with . . . nightmare!" His laugh was dreadful.

  The spokesman for the warlords must clear his dry throat ere he could blurt the rest of their worries. "You promised they would be crushed before now, swept away Uke smoke. Yet they still stand and grow ever stronger, joining with those who were their enemies . .."

  "An alliance hke a goblet of thin crystal, and as easily broken." He pointed at a shelf of dehcate Clarique wine vessels, shattering the contents merci-

  lessly. The warlords jumped at the sound. "As easily as that, my generals."

  They waited long, eyeing one another, not daring to question further. In the end, he condescended to ask, "And what else disturbs you?"

  "Great One, these . . . these soldiers—this weird silence you give them with your potions. Must it be so in all our battles?"

  "Each man will fight until he dies, You have seen its results in your conquests."

  "But ... but they do not act like . . . like men."

  No one uttered the fear that ruled them all—-that these silent warriors were in truth the wizard's soldiery, no longer the followers of the warlords. Bit by bit, their power slipped through their hands and was taken mto his. And they had no weapon to wield against his awful force.

  "So they do not act like men. They may be beasts, if I choose. I permit them to sate themselves on drink and women and strip bare the larders of these Clarique. And you—have you not enjoyed those same spoils? On the morrow, your soldiers will drink my wine, and then they will once more go i
nto battle, feeling no wound, fighting and conquering for Markuand."

  They bowed their heads. He gestured, and a map glowed on the tile floor where a simple design had been. "Now you will disperse your troops as I have instructed you. To the north and to the south. Seek out the remnants of the Clarique and the soldiers of that bitch from Krantin, Ti-Mori. And find that SarH who plagues us from those fetid marshes near the river. I want his head. Keep the Irico locked above their falls; it is Krantin I want, now that this Clarique is ours. I have found fellow wizards to serve me, in Krantin's own fortress. Tomorrow we close the noose forever around Laril-Quil and move to take that city on the river. When we breach her walls, their alliance—and their wizard Web—will be in shambles! I vow this! Hear me, and obey!"

  They fled him, and the sorcerer went to peer out a window, across the water. His minions faithfully stirred

  the potion that made Markuand's armies invincible, and their master contemplated his triumph-to-be.

  "Yes, you on the mainland, you in Krantin—struggle like insects. I shall toy with you, and treachery shall taunt you from the rear." He clenched his fists and nodded. "In the end, you will all die. And I alone will reign, the monarch of New Markuand."

  XI

  Mirages of the Vrastre

  "Then can we reach here?'* Yistar jabbed at a mark on the map a bit farther west than he had first selected. Wagon breakdowns, inexperienced troops, bad weather, and a steady plague of mirages had taken a toll of Yistar's already fragile temper. Even Lieutenant Branra, who stood to one side talking to other staff aides, made no attempt to interrupt. But he glanced sympathetically at the scout.

  Danaer clutched the map as a nagging plains wind fluttered the cloth. "We can manage it, Captain, if there are no more delays or misturns."

  "Bog' take those mirages which guided us amiss! And there will be no more delays. Do you need this?" Yistar asked, indicating the map. Danaer tapped a finger against his temple to assure the ofiBcer he had the chart memorized, and Yistar rolled the cloth with savage haste. "Then take the point again and get us moving. Lieutenant..."