The web of wizardry

by Coulson, Juanita

  "There is no offense. It is only that I did not know the sorkra could pledge to Argan. Does it not violate the oath to your Web? And if we take joy, does that not break your oath as well and weaken your powers?"

  Behind the love in her dark eyes shone something Danaer could not name. If it was doubt, she shrouded it at once. "No, I will be strengthened. For now, no other sorkra touches me, not even the Traech Sorkra. Tonight I am woman, not sorkra. Teach me what Ildate learned."

  Danaer put her up on his roan and they galloped toward Vidik. With Lira sitting before him, the ground flew back beneath them and Vidik's spires and towers rose before them, smoke streaming from her walls, drifting east in the night breeze. Lasiimte Wyaela would supervise Vidik's destruction until she had to leave, and the Markuand were drawing in sight of her ruined city. Danaer hoped she would not already have razed the temple. They found the gates open wide and the streets nearly deserted. Brick pavements were cluttered with debris, and inns and houses were empty. The people had fled.

  Starkly magnificent, Argan's altar house dominated what had been the heart of Vidik. It was hulking stone and not yet scorched by the fires. Danaer helped Lira down and they entered the holy place. The interior gleamed with bright colors, and Danaer hated to think of the Markuand defiling the frescoes and tapestries. Better that Wyaela, in pious sacrifice, should destroy it and send it to the goddess. Danaer slid back his mantle, baring his head, as he and Lira walked toward the altar stones.

  A lone priest stood before the fire, sadly bundling together tokens of worship, casting them into the flames. He turned toward them and began to say, "Yaen of the . . ." then hesitated as he saw Lira and knew her for no Destre woman.

  "I would sacrifice to Argan," she said simply.

  The priest shook his head, bewildered. "This is a passion few lit may understand."

  "I will try."

  "For this warrior?" Danaer felt his inner being stripped clean under the priest's steady gaze.

  "I seek not his soul," Lira assured the holy one. "Merely devotion of the flesh. Argan can never be rivaled by mortals."

  The priest considered matters, then said, "If your woman wishes this, I will not refuse her, warrior. But it will be something to tell other priests once we reach Siank." He started a chant, not wasting time, for they were very aware of the conflagration consuming Vidik around them.

  Lira fumbled within a fold of her cloak and took out an object which she held tightly. "Your sacrifice?" Lira gave the priest a gold coin, and then, at his nod, she went to the altar stone and flung her offering into the fire. Danaer saw a glint of metal and bright ribbon and knew it must be something of great value to Lira, for she was not a woman who would stint once her love was given.

  "Yaen ve te Fihar," the priest cried. "Kant . . ." Danaer repeated the solemn prayer with him, and Lira waited till it was done. She did not know the language, but her attitude was all piety could demand.

  As they left the temple, Danaer whispered to her, "Feel you now the goddess?"

  "I would not lie to you. She is your goddess, qedra, and in that sense I know her well, but..."

  "Through me you shall come to adore her, and to share her joy," Danaer promised.

  "It were ever a good thing for an lit to come to Argan," a deep voice welcomed them as they stepped out of the doors. Danaer and Lira stared in surprise at Gordyan. "I followed you here, but I did not want to interrupt holy matters."

  Appreciative, Danaer asked, "Did your man give you Branra's message?"

  "Ai. It has been dealt with. Then I saw you bound for Vidik and thought to overtake you, until I saw where you headed." Gordyan looked fondly at Lira. "Now you are sworn to my hyidu?"

  "I am sworn." Her words rang sweetly in Danaer's ears. She touched his eiphren stone, and Argan's fire ran up his fingers to his soul and heated his blood.

  "Come to my Zsed," Gordyan said.

  "Branra.. ."

  "I have spoken to Bloody Sword. He favors me in this, question it not."

  Danaer let himself be persuaded, and he and Lira rode with Gordyan out of Vidik and to the nomad encampment. There were more tents and people about now than there had been a short while earlier when Danaer had delivered the Captain's message. Plainly refugees from Vidik had joined those of Deki and fur-

  ther swelled Gordyan's ranks of warriors and camp followers.

  With a mysterious air, Gordyan led them to the largest of the Zsed's tents. It was no palace of cloth, as the Rena's was, for this was constructed of leavings from Vidik's disaster and Gordyan's retreat across the Vrastre. Nevertheless, it was obviously the property of this Zsed's chieftain—Gordyan. They dismounted and he ducked beneath the flap, beckoning Danaer and Lira inside. "Well appointed, eh?" he said with a laugh, indicating the meager possessions within, no more than a pallet and a few small pouches and blankets.

  "It suits you as a warrior leader," Danaer said.

  "Ai, it does." Gordyan rummaged through his personal blanket, the one he carried behind his cantle and that would contain his most precious belongings. When he stood up, Danaer was amazed that his friend was blushing deeply and sounding thick-tongued. "I ... I know not the proper courtesies for such as this . . . but, Lira, to swear to Argan for my hyidu . . . then . . . well, it is that I would give you this."

  Lira gasped as Gordyan clumsily dropped a golden chain set with rubies into her cupped palms. "Oh, how handsome it is!" she cried.

  "Now, that is no caravan plunder," he assured her anxiously. "It was my dead sister's, and too fine a thing for me to lavish on any woman of ease. And I cannot see myself wearing it." Gordyan chuckled nervously at his poor joke, then held out his hand to Danaer. "Maen, I know you lost your belt knife in that devil snake. I would give you something to fill the empty sheath."

  Danaer stared at an exquisite ceremonial dagger. It was no common blade but set with a silver hilt and guard, and the cutting edge was made of glassy black stone. Gordyan said with some embarrassment, "It is no proper weapon, of course. I had it to wear at vrentru, before I came into the Rena's service. Now 1 may wear only his badges and my lady's." He slapped his well-worn knife, the hilt wrapped in thongs of black and gold and green.

  "I will treasure this, Gordyan, for never have I beheld such a fine knife, in truth."

  Lira touched the obsidian blade and the silver, seeing, as Danaer had, the purity of the materials. They exchanged a speaking glance, their thoughts as one on the value of this gift. Indeed, it had value far beyond what Gordyan believed. In Danaer's keeping, allied as he was with Lira, this became a weapon against Markuand's magic.

  Gordyan patted their shoulders. "You are kind to allow me to gift you with such trifles."

  "We receive them most gladly." To Danaer's pride, Lira had learned the manners of Destre gift-giving, for she went on to say, "The honor is ours, warrior. These rubies will quite overwhelm my person."

  "And the knife will make me look like a beggar wearing a Siirn's blade," Danaer added.

  Gordyan beamed and said, "And now you will stay in my tent the night. This is another gift for my hyidu and his woman."

  "I ought to report to my units," Danaer began.

  "Do not anger me. I said I had dealt with Branraediir. You will stay. I would provide finer quarters if I could, but I am sure a pallet designed for me will be big enough for the two of you." With a loud laugh, Gordyan left, pulling tight the tent flap behind him, locking them away from the rest of the world.

  Savoring the unexpected, Danaer and Lira looked at one another and at the things Gordyan had given them. Again Lira caressed the dagger. "My own talisman against wizardry," Danaer said. "Now you must take back your amulet, and the obsidian and silver will work together." Lira agreed. He slipped off the thong and gently threaded the head of Rasven down through her curly hair, returning it whence it had come, his hands lingering on her breasts.

  Lira sighed and did not pull away from him. She held out the string of rubies, "It needs a companion," she said. "Do you
think rubies and gold go well with obsidian?" He saw her intent and smiled. "Will you fasten it for me? There is a clasp, a cunning Destre

  device, no doubt." She spoke in that low, throaty voice which made his pulse race.

  Awkwardly, he took the delicate jewelry. Lira tugged at her cloak, untying the rope. In a lithe, lovely motion, she cast both away and stood revealed in a bright dress. Somewhere she had found red cloth, perhaps purchased from one of the women of ease who followed the caravan. The gown was a mere wisp of fancy, caught by a thin Httle cord. Both would yield quickly to a touch. Danaer feasted his eyes and then his hands, and Lira came against him eagerly, a woman clad in silk and gems, responding to his every wish.

  "To think that this spark lurked beneath your Sarli manners," he marveled as her passion matched his.

  "My people are restrained until they have found their desire, and then we give ourselves completely," Lira said breathlessly. "A ruby necklace, and red is Argan's color, is it not? Do you wish to deck me in her jewels, to add a finishing stroke to the ceremony at her ahar?"

  He could not tell if she teased, but the necklace still dangled from his busy hands. Danaer slipped it against her throat, and as he did Lira pulled off her headband. Her dark hair tumbled about her shoulders and framed her face. It was as intimate a gesture as when an Azsed woman took her eiphren pendant from her forehead. Both actions could only be a prelude to Argan's most joyous worship.

  In the next instant. Lira's lips and body were one with Danaer's, her intensity feeding the fire that ruled them both. Briefly, Danaer was aware that the rubies and the handsome dagger had dropped to the earth beneath them. Then he forgot all about such trifles.

  Andaru

  Danaer seemed to see an immense cloud of dust stirred by hundreds of men and beasts. Weapons flashed and rang and screams filled the air. Everywhere there was blood. He did not want to be part of this thing, yet he must. Old Osyta was woven through its fabric, and her prophecy. It was a terrible battle, and lit and Destre-Y fought side by side, Krantin reunited, as his kinswoman had said it would be. Andaru—the time of glory to come, to crown the destiny of the plains people. Andaru would come swiftly on wings of blood and fire, against evil forces powerful beyond dreaming.

  The cloud-obscured battle raged, and Osyta's leathery face wavered before Danaer. Accompanying the din he heard a heavy, ominous rumbling. It was the smoking mountains of Krantin, waking, joining the battle.

  A woman lay dead. It was not Osyta, whose haggish image danced transparently across the scene. Through her wizened face Danaer saw the beautiful corpse. Detail was strangely blurred, however; he could not clearly discern her face and hair nor even what sort of garments and jewels she wore. The woman was young, he knew, broken and lifeless and covered with blood. Wails of grief rose from around the body, and Danaer would have joined that mourning.

  Osyta's quavering voice tore into his soul, a cry echoing from the regions beyond the world: Andaru, and you will witness it, kinsman!

  This was the sacrifice, the unknown woman. Her blood was to begin the long-promised day of rebirth for Azsed and all Krantin. Danaer struggled, trying to learn her identity, growing frantic. But a blood-red veil remained between him and the body.

  303

  He must know who she was—who was to be slain to bring Osyta's prophecy into being? Was it Lira?

  Osyta spoke again, words she had not given him ere she died: She will be an Azsed woman, and evil magic is part of her death and sacrifice. It must be, kinsman, for it shall give us Andaru.

  A scream of fierce denial caught in Danaer's throat as he came awake. He was lying on Gordyan's pallet. Lira was curled up at his side, still asleep. He was bathed in his own sweat, his heart pounding as from the exertions of battle, his hand clenched on a sword that was not there. After a shudder of horror, he calmed himself. Gradually he tried to put aside the awful vision. It was merely a dream, though one most terrible. Lira moved and yawned, then smiled and clung to him. Dawn was near, and they chased the remnant of his nightmare into nothingness with joy in Argan.

  Danaer had hoped that would make an end of the thing. But it had not. It returned to haunt him through the hours that followed. He had said nothing of it to Lira, not wanting to alarm her. But again and again the vision came back. And always he feared that this time the veil would fall away and he would see what he dreaded—that the woman was Lira, slain in the battle, her death the price of Andaru.

  Too dear a price! He would not pay it!

  When day had come, he had parted from her, with much regret, then resumed his duties at the point. Once when he had returned to consult with Branra over the caravan's progress, he did not see Lira. And to his un-subtle inquiries Branra replied that she had withdrawn to one of the wagons. Danaer knew, with misgivings, what that must mean: Lira was casting spells, and seeking her Web, now that they were safely beyond Vidik. When he had returned to her the graven obsidian, he had assumed he would again be an ordinary man, untouched by her wizardry. Now he knew it was not so; the familiar tingling warmth was at his belt, where Gordyan's dagger rested. Though he was not a sorkra, he realized now that he was still linked to her wizardry, could not escape it.

  At nightfall, Lira greeted him warmly, but he detected an earnestness of purpose in her manner that he had not sensed since they had left Deki. While the business of the camp eddied around them, they spoke softly. "You have touched minds again with Ulodovol," he guessed, before she could tell him so.

  Lira nodded, very somber. "I have informed him of all that happened. He says that the attacks upon The Interior ceased quite abruptly at the moment the snake-bird died."

  "It may be a ruse, some trick of the Markuand and Chorii."

  "Perhaps," she admitted reluctantly. "We will find them. Now we have bait to catch Chorii of the Valley of the Hawks. We have her lover."

  "Diilbok? How will that serve? Surely she but used him while he suited her evil schemings. If Malol has discovered his treachery and removed him from his rank, Chorii will not care. She will find another tool."

  Lira smiled up at him. "Women do not always command their hearts in these matters. I think it very possible she may come to his aid. Certainly he loved her, for the Traech Sorkra says Diilbok never showed such deviousness before he became Chorii's man. He abandoned his safe castles and easy life and sought out his cousin's plans, leaving the mountains, all for Chorii's sake. If she returns even a part of such devotion to him, our bait will trap her."

  "You have learned all this, across many a king's-league, with never a word on parchment nor horseman to carry it?" Danaer marveled again at her arts.

  "I am recovered, as you are, and able to serve the Captain once more."

  "Mine was a wound of the body, not of wizard's charms." Danaer drew her close and whispered, "And what of your body, my woman? Shall we find a place apart from the caravan and take joy?"

  For the briefest moment, he felt an odd hesitation. Whatever disturbed her, she put it aside. "Come to the command tent near dawn. I will be waiting outside. That will be a time when I can . . . when I will freely welcome your love, qedra." Again she paused,

  worry in her eyes. Then she said, "I wish it could be now." Like a woman newly initiated to this lusty delight, she clung to him for a minute, then ran back to Branra's staff area.

  Danaer stayed where he was for a while, muttering curses and mastering his frustration. Till morning! He would survive his eagerness, he supposed. Lira had taken oath, as he had. And as he must go where his officer commanded, so must she now leave him.

  But only till dawn. He remembered the promise and smiled in anticipation, then hurried to find his units. When the night began to ebb, he woke and stole through the camp, avoiding sentinels. Lira had not forgotten, and none of her doubts or hesitation came with her. The reward of that early waking was all Danaer had hoped for, a sating of their senses.

  The day and the night that followed were the same. By day Lira must practice her sorkra skills. She
reached out to her Web, and then she turned and cast the glamour over caravan and the outspreading warriors of Gordyan's train. Somehow, she both maintained the glamour and spoke to her Web, and no mirages or storms pursued them. At night, she again came out of her shelter near dawn to share joy with Danaer. He feared to distract her, knowing well the burden she carried. But Lira seemed to rehsh his kiss and their mating, a blissful escape that made her woman, not oath-bound sorkra. They must rob the lords they served of this time with each other, at least until the battle was won.

  Until the battle was won . . . and the price paid in blood.

  Three days after Vidik, drawing very near to Siank, that same grim thought recurred another time to Danaer. He could not fend it off. The vision's horror had not faded but had grown in intensity.

  "Bedding your woman does not please you?" Gord-yan remarked slyly. "Surely Lira is no shrew or hag to give you rough sleeping?" Danaer reaUzed he had been riding beside his friend for many a minute without speaking, and Gordyan taunted him to bring him out of woolgathering. Gordyan grinned and said, "It

  is good that your apprentices know the landmarks. You have not been heeding them for a quarter-period."

  "It ... it is a dream which troubles me," he confessed, the secret broken at last. His fear must be mirrored in his face, for Gordyan sobered at once, taking his words most seriously. It was a thing he could tell his blood friend, if no one else, and Gordyan hs-tened to it all.

  "Ah!" Gordyan shook a fist at the sky. "The priests speak of such omens, Danaer, that some people, not all of them sorkra or far-seers, have the foretelUng gift at times. Smile, Argan! Let us slay the Markuand and you can feed on their carcasses! Maen, this prophecy of your kinswoman is most wondrous! It is at one with your drearn."