The web of wizardry

by Coulson, Juanita

  bore a coward, and her an lit's slave to the bargain, no doubt!"

  By now Danaer's mood had turned cold. He was annoyed by the naive boy and the woman who had put this affair in motion. The Destre, however, was a matter that could not be shunted aside. Danaer spat at his feet. "I will not wager my life over a woman of ease. There are better things the goddess means for me."

  "An Azsed woman?"

  "None of your kind." As the man puzzled the remark, Danaer rasped. "Har-shaa!" and simultaneously kicked him in the belly. The Destre doubled over, gasping, his knife spinning away. Still choking, he tried to scramble toward it, but Danaer stepped on the blade. With another kick he drove his opponent away from the weapon, then tossed the knife far up the rise on the other side of the stream. The man brought his hand away bloody from a cut lip, glaring his hatred.

  "I draw no knife on a man not seeking honest challenge," Danaer said. "Get out of here. The woman is free to stay, if she wishes."

  The woman studied both groups, then slipped her bejeweled arm around Rorluk's waist. With a snarl, the defeated Destre staggered to his feet and edged away.

  "Well to decide that!" Gordyan was striding purposefully down the slope. He ignored all but the fight-bent warrior. The man attempted to sidle past him, with no success. "Know what your witlessness nearly cost you—I call this man hyidu. Now I will call you challenge, since you seem to wish it so much."

  The Rena's bodyguard struck with a stunnmg backhand, knocking the Destre several paces back and sprawling to the ground. Clutching a bloody nose to match his lip, the would-be challenger grunted on his pain as his companions helped him to his feet.

  Gordyan said heavily, "If it is women of ease you want, there are many more of them at' the Zsed. Argan will readily accept your gifts from their hands. But if you want to fight, come to me. I will oblige you

  all, to your grief." They scurried away, their bruised and bloodied leader throwing Gordyan a look smoldering with hate.

  "And you, to your work. The entertainment is over," Danaer ordered, and with dragging feet the soldiers moved off, gossiping on what they had seen. When he and Gordyan were alone, Danaer smiled at Gordyan and said, "You time your entrances well, maen hyidu."

  "I was watching from those willows up there, to see how far that sand-crawler would test you. This is more than hot blood over a woman, I fear." Danaer nodded. "This is Hablit's realm, or it was his. And I have seen that bejit we just lessoned before, wearing Hablit's colors."

  "Has Hablit been found?"

  Gordyan was vexed. "He has seemed to disappear. There is no explaining it." He shook his head. "That warrior might claim to follow Lasiirnte Wyaela, yet I think he is still Hablit's man. This disturbance was much worse than it seems."

  "Hablit swore he would destroy the alliance, and would join with the Markuand and their magicians to do so." Danaer knelt by the creek and dabbled his hands in the cool water, splashing it over his sweaty face. Gordyan hunkered beside him, worriedly mulling the problem. "If he is a spy for Hablit, was that blow you dealt him wise? Now he will waste no opportunity to kill you, Gordyan."

  "Him? He could not handle lance or knife well enough to reach me in one strike, and he would not get a second."

  "Perhaps he will not seek open challenge but strike at your back."

  "No Azsed warrior would come at a man's back."

  "He came at mine," Danaer said. "The motives can be HabUt's. The stakes are high, and there could be wizardry mvolved." They stood up, and Gordyan's concern worsened. He had a pious dread of such things, as did Danaer. "I have coped with mirages where there should be none, hyidu. I thought my eyes were past deceiving, but some evil power deluded me."

  The big man was unwontedly solemn, much impressed. "Ai! Lira warned us that there are traitor wizards, some even within Krantin. They too may strike at our backs. But we will win this game, for the Siim Rena and for your Royal Commander. The goddess will make it so." Heartened by that vow, Gordyan slapped Danaer's bicep, then left to check on his Zsed.

  The conversation lingered in Danaer's mind through evening mess and into the night. But before long the revelry began. Gradually his grim thoughts were put by. Few men of spirit could resist the gaiety spreading through the encampment. Women of ease were everywhere. Their ornaments and bright garments among the drab uniforms were like a scattering of stars brought to the dust. The women were young and old, fresh beauties and jades past their best years. But the invitation was always the same. Men who feared what might await them on the walls of Deki were not overly discriminating. Drunk with wine and the darkness, they kept even the plainest wenches busy.

  With the women had come the merchants, hawking wine and baubles and confections for the army's gold and silver. Most were Azsed, wearing the traditional wide-sleeved merchants' cloaks over their Destre shirts and breeches. But a few were Sarli or Irico. Some of the latter were clad in somber blues and were white-haired, reminding Danaer unwillingly of Lira's wizard master, Ulodovol.

  "Hssst! Danaer." Shaartre and his fellow troop leader had been watching the festivities from the sidelines, exchanging ribaldries on the scene. Now Shaartre pointed to newcomers, a group of Sarli. Unlike Lira's people, these stocky little folk wore heavy tunics and knee breeches, and ribbons at waist and shoulder and anywhere else they could.

  "Nortea," Danaer said. "From the high desert of Sarlos. They are most likely minstrels and tumblers. Commonly found in the Destre Zseds."

  "Ah! Then there will be a show."

  One of the Sarli set a small drum throbbing and another began a wail on some tamsang reeds. Drawn by the music, the women approached, their men fol-

  lowing like curs greedy for food. The eldest of the minstrels marked off a pattern in the dirt around the campfire close by, and one of the women of ease danced into the circle. Her feet pattered in rhythm to drum and fife, her bangles jingling accompaniment. She swayed with animal abandon in a dance well calculated to arouse the soldiers and make them bid for her favors and those of her friends.

  Danaer, too, moved a bit in time with the infectious music, then shook off the temptation.

  Then, as he surveyed the area beyond the dance circle, Danaer was delighted to see Lira perched up on one of the wagons. He threw a quick farewell to Shaartre and started to work his way through the crowd toward her.

  "Troop Leader . . ." Yistar was also wending through the press. "Watch for trouble. I am having all the officers and Troop Leaders put on alert. Enjoy yourself, but stay wary. We have had several close brushes."

  Danaer had not bothered to report his own encounter by the stream. Apparently such stillborn brawls had happened elsewhere in the camp. "Ai. I will do my best. Captain."

  Yistar glanced around and noticed Lira, then grinned understandingly at Danaer. "Behave yourself. See you do not tire the lady. She has much sorkra dealings under way, and more on the morrow."

  When the officer had gone, Danaer squirmed past dancers until he got to the wheel of Lira's wagon. Nimbly he swung up and sat beside her. She was gazing after Yistar. "It is strange. I think he wants very much to send away all these women, but he does not."

  "It was the same in the southern campaigns and the Kakyein wars," Danaer told her. "Yistar always allows his men license on the eve of battle, even though he disapproves wantonness ..."

  "Harshaa, Azsed!" Gordyan plowed through the twisting bodies and grinned up at Danaer and Lira. "A good vrentru this, eh?"

  "Hardly a vrentru, but Peluva will be well on the

  journey across the sky ere we get this drunken rabble on their feet and moving," Danaer said.

  "And what heads they will have!"

  "Hai! Troop Leader!" An example of Gordyan's prophecy reeled close to the wagon. Rorluk and his unit mate Xashe were flanking the woman of ease who had caused the argument at the stream. Rorluk had one arm about the female, and with the other he embraced a bottle. It was plain most of its contents already filled his belly. He was clinging to the woman as much
for support as out of lust. Xashe also reeled, but seemed in better condition. He snatched the bottle from his friend and held it out to Danaer. "Here! For that scrape by the water. You saved Rorluk's salt."

  "You had best keep it yourself, soldier," Danaer said tolerantly.

  "There is plenty. Plenty." Rorluk owlishly wagged a finger. "Many wine merchants here. Many."

  Gordyan shrugged and said, "He is right. The same merchants visited the Zsed earlier, and most of my warriors are drunk, too. The ones who are still conscious are riding into Vidik to try to drink it dry."

  "Well, at it then, you two," Danaer said with a sigh. He wondered how much longer the young conscripts could stay on their feet, or if their virility would survive the wine. The woman might earn her fee for doing nothing. "Keep away from the wagerers, though. You will lose both your weapons and your horses to those quick-fingers."

  "Ah, no fear. Troop Leader. We like our mount and will keep her." Rorluk winked lewdly and the woman giggled. Danaer nervously eyed Lira. Sarli" women were reputed to be prissy in such matters. Lira seemed unoffended, however.

  "The fool," Gordyan remarked, holding up the bottle the threesome had left. "It is half full. That boy had best pinch his money."

  "Rorluk has enough to waste. His family is wealthy."

  "And the conscripters got him?" Gordyan laughed at this irony.

  "Malol te Eldri obtained a royal decree that could

  touch even a merchant's son. But I understand Rorluk wished to join. He has Ustened to hero tales and wants to do great deeds."

  "He may get his stomach of deeds at Deki," Gordyan said, then took out the cork with his teeth and swilled at the wine. He and Danaer traded turns at the bottle. Lira daintily rejected their offer to share. Instead she tapped her feet and sang softly with the minstrels.

  The dances grew ever wilder. Men linked arms and performed athletic leaps to display their strength. Women formed twining serpents, gamboling like Argan's imps, Hfting high their knees to send their gowns flaring and advertise their trade shamelessly. Again Danaer studied Lira. She remained undisturbed. She did not appear to approve all these gross postur-ings, but she was not shocked, either.

  Suddenly one of Gordyan's men was there. Gordyan cut off his cheerful whistling and leaned down to receive a message. His face darkened ominously. "Trouble has found me, friend. There is a fight near the army's horse pens—some Destre again. Your pardon, Lira..."

  "Gordyan, wait! Lira, I will only be a short while. .."

  Gordyan had surely drunk far more than he, but the big man had sobered quickly. Danaer stumbled trying to catch up with him, running along in the Destre's wake. He was still a number of strides behind when Gordyan reached the corrals.

  It was hardly the riot Danaer had feared it would be. Most of the men were content to be spectators, cheering on five or six soldiers and Destre-Y who rolled about in the dirt, pummeling and kicking. Bets were changing hands, but no one else wished to join the fray. Wine and women had mellowed them too much.

  Wading into the brawl, Gordyan seized arms, legs, or clothing and heaved first one man, then another, out of the thrashing mass. All the while he roared oaths and kicked at those he had not yet reached.

  One of the men Gordyan had tossed aside got to

  his feet with knife in hand. At once he charged back toward the fight, his blade aimed at Gordyan's broad back.

  Danaer flung himself at the man, grasping his arm. They both went down hard, wrestling furiously. Danaer fended the knife off his throat, then a boot smashed into his shin. A moment later a knee came close to ending all his will to continue.

  No quarter was ever the rule in such a Destre fight, and as a last resort, half blinded by dust and knowing he was outweighed, Danaer sank his teeth into the knife hand pressing close to his face.

  "Shaa!" His opponent's face screwed up, but the cry was one of self-encouragement, as Danaer would expect from a Destre warrior. Staring up, Danaer suddenly recognized the man—^it was the combative warrior from the squabble by the stream.

  Then his head snapped back as a fist struck his jaw. The knife was coming again, dimly seen through the lights sparkling in Danaer's vision.

  Suddenly he was no longer pinned. Danaer sat up, wiping dirt from his face as Gordyan held the would-be assassin—hfting the man over his head.

  "Fair challenge!" the warrior yelled.

  Effortlessly, Gordyan set him on his feet, then waited, arms akimbo.

  "Fair challenge," Danaer's erstwhile foe demanded, less loudly.

  "No man who comes at my back deserves a fair challenge. But I will give you one," Gordyan answered.

  Paling, the man exclaimed, "Not you! I will fight him." His knife was clutched in a tooth-marked, bleeding hand, and he used it to point at Danaer, who started to draw his boot knife. Gordyan stopped him with a curt gesture.

  "This is a Destre challenge. So my size bothers you, eh? But only when I face you." Gordyan took out his belt knife and his attacker shrank m dismay. "Hyidu," Gordyan said, tossing the dagger, and Danaer deftly caught first that, then his friend's boot knife. "Now. Does that even it sufficiently for you, devil spawn?"

  Danaer dared not protest such rashness; that would insult Gordyan's courage. He waved back gawking soldiers as the assassin rushed at the big man. Gordyan avoided the murderous slash, laughed, and dehvered a blow on the neck as his challenger lunged past. Stumbling and shaking his head, the man regained his balance just short of a headlong fall.

  He eyed Gordyan with new caution. He had assumed, as many did, that Gordyan's size would make him awkward, easy prey. The truth was a distinct surprise.

  There was a flurry of feints, a rapid shuffling to one side, then the other. This time the attacker parried Gordyan's large hands well enough to cut the giant's thigh.

  "Two!" Gordyan's lips drew back in an awful grin. "You get one more."

  Cocky after his little victory, the man struck at Gordyan's belly. But those powerful hands shot out with astonishing quickness, seizing wrist and throat. The challenger fought to free himself, beating at Gordyan with his free hand. He attempted to reach over to his knife, held uselessly in his left, but could not.

  Gordyan's grin was terrifying. His fingers tightened and the bloodied knife fell to the dust. A gray pallor covered the man's features, and Gordyan's eyes narrowed.

  His opponent went limp, and Gordyan let the body fall. "I should save your carcass and throw it in Hablit's face, once I run him to earth. You were a poor Azsed, but an Azsed still. I will sing you to the gates, and you may hope Keth does not remember your nanie. Kant, prodra Argan, ai, te prodra graat . . . receive his soul, goddess, and judge him as he deserves."

  Danaer chased away the soldiers and their women, then handed back Gordyan's weapons. As his friend sheathed the knives, he bellowed at the Destre-Y who had lingered. "Out, all of you. If another warrior starts a fight this night, you may expect the same as this bejit got. Make this carrion's pyre far from my

  tent. I will not abide his stench polluting my nostrils." Several men bundled the body into a blanket and toted it off while the others melted into the darkness, glad to escape Gordyan's anger.

  "Best tie that up," Danaer suggested, indicating the dripping cut along Gordyan's thigh.

  "Bah! It is not deep. He could not possibly have done more than scratch me, coming in at that angle."

  Two more of Gordyan's guards hurried up to join the man who had summoned their leader. "You should not have troubled yourself, Gordyan. We could settle filth like that while you enjoyed ..."

  "You cannot be everywhere." Gordyan patted their shoulders, brushing aside their words. "I have something else for you to do now. Get to Lasiimte Wyaela, in Vidik. Take this with you." Danaer was startled to see Gordyan give them a fragment of the dead .man's mantle. Not even his keen eyes had observed the taking of the trophy. "Tell her I shall meet with her later and we will talk of this, and of Hablit."

  As they left on their errand, Gordyan turn
ed to Danaer and asked, "Did that cur hurt you much?"

  Danaer gingerly pressed his groin, deciding he had been fortunate. "Nothing of concern."

  "Then get you back to your qedra. I must attend to other matters."

  Danaer studied him anxiously. "Hablit meant to kill, through that assassin. Stay here in the camp, where I can continue to guard your back."

  Gordyan smiled, touched by Danaer's worrying. "I will be cautious, no fear. And I must warn Wyaela so that she too can take measures against Hablit's treachery. The man must be mad, a victim of the lash of Kidu."

  "And probably there are other conspirators, some traitors within The Interior, Lira has said."

  They commiserated over the shame of this thing. Then Gordyan nodded and gave Danaer a gentle nudge. "Go now. Do not keep Lira waiting. And be certain you guard your back, hyidu, while I am not here to defend it."

  By the time Danaer returned to the wagon, the

  crowd had become even more boisterous. He could barely make himself heard when he repUed to Lira's questions, explaining briefly w]iat had happened at the pens. He brushed over much of the danger, presenting the deadly encounter as no more than a rough argument. Reassured, Lira relaxed, and she and Danaer again enjoyed the dancing and music.

  Two of the minstrels performed in the circle, wheeling and jumping dramatically, acting out a story. Both wielded the pecuharly curved Nortea swords, swinging the blades about wildly. It was a dance done to the glitter of hammered steel, a mock battle scene, in rhythm to the drum. Their fellow minstrels chanted a disonant tale which carried the listeners far away to the barren Nortean high desert.

  Swords tore the air mere fingers'-breadths from bodies. The song became one of sexual conquest, veiled in terms of warfare. The onlookers cheered and offered suggestions to the dancers.

  With a cry of pretended defeat, the woman let her sword be struck out of her hand. Her partner capered victoriously and then swung her up to his shoulder, bearing her out of the circle amid drunken, congratulatory shouts.