Colbey rolled to his side, feeling the chorus of aches shift through him, then settle into silence. After Tokar’s death, he had spent months living in the Wizard’s cave, long enough to know it as a haven, to grow familiar with its furnishings, and to add touches of his own. Though songbirds flittered and played before the entrance through the day, never before had any creature chosen to enter the cave. Men walked right by without seeing it; Colbey, too, would have missed it his first time had the Western Wizard not summoned him with explicit instructions and called out to him on arrival. He did not know for certain how the permanent magic of the wards worked, whether as simple camouflage or active defense. He felt certain that Odin’s Laws would forbid the other Cardinal Wizards from invading his haven, but he no longer trusted rules alone to bind them.
Colbey reached his left hand to the floor beside him. His fingers touched naked steel, his two swords reassuringly within reach. The staff lay beside them, warm and vibrating. Only now, Colbey realized that the pain in his head came, not from injury, but from a force repeatedly battering against his barriers, seeking entrance. *I am here.*
Sleep beckoned, but Colbey knew he must first deal with the staff if he did not want to spend the rest of his life with a pounding headache. He concentrated on mental fortifications that seemed natural, though Shadimar had stated otherwise, prying open a gap just large enough for communication. He could feel the other hovering outside, massive, its lifelike force tangible. *What do you want?*
Surprise quivered through the entity, stretching to lengths far beyond those Colbey had any desire to follow. Its size seemed infinite. *I’m here, and I can help.*
*I know where you are and what you are. Stop bothering me.*
*We are one, and you are my champion.* It tried to squeeze through the crack Colbey had opened, but he blocked it with a wordless aura of threat.
*I’m your champion, not your slave. I’m the Master; you’re the tool.* Colbey recalled the day Shadimar had given him Harval. At first, he had refused, concerned that the magic of the sword might wield him, protect him, or that he might become dependent on its feel and power. Renshai honor forbade him from relying on luck or artificial defenses, on anything but his own skill. *If you try to control me, I’ll destroy you.*
*And the world with me.*
*Grand generalizations irk me. Whether or not dispatching you would affect our world remains to be seen. For now, I want your promise that you won’t try to sneak into my thoughts again. It’s rude at the least; Shadimar taught me that. And I won’t tolerate it. I want a vow from you that you’ll work with me and that my judgment will always take precedence. You won’t enter my mind without permission.*
*You want a vow from ME?* The staff seemed both insulted and incredulous.
Exhausted and wanting the matter finished, Colbey did not mince words. *Yes.*
*I’m older than mankind. Can’t you trust that there will come times when I know better than you?*
*Then you may advise me. And I’ll choose whether or not to act on that advice.*
Resentment flowed through the staff, but it presented no new argument.
*Shadimar used the same older equals wiser point. Age, by itself, doesn’t make a man clever. Elders only become wiser if they seek experience and wisdom. But you’re a force with a specific goal. All you know is what you are. My judgment is clearer, no matter how men, gods, or Wizards see me. I’m not always right, but I won’t trust the world itself to another’s insight.*
Shock radiated freely from the staff. *You truly believe your judgment is superior to mine? To all other men’s? To the other Cardinal Wizards’? Even to the gods’?*
Colbey laughed aloud. *I doubt there’s any man who secretly does not believe the same about himself. It’s one of the things that has always made me proud of being mortal: the ability to question even that which we know as truth.*
The staff made its disgust obvious. *You’re not fit to wield me.*
*Clearly, Odin believes I am.* Colbey gave his own smug satisfaction free rein. *The promise, please.*
*Consider it made, though it’s a mistake. It’s not your job to champion balance. I am your charge.*
*If it’s my cosmic purpose, eventually I’ll find it. The Renshai not only had a strict code of honor, they also taught me to think for myself. Over the years, men and Wizards have called me and my judgment many things, few of them kind. None of those matters now. I’ll champion the cause I feel is right. And I sincerely believe that, in the long run, it will work out best for us all to find a compromise.*
*You already make me regret my vow. Between law and chaos, there can be no compromise.*
*And that, in a phrase, is your blind spot.* Colbey shut off the contact with a finality that said more than words. The staff quivered beneath his touch, though whether in frustration, fear, or anger Colbey could no longer tell. He freed one of the blankets, pulling it over his body. He felt dirty in the tattered silks he had now worn for days, and the urge to change nearly overwhelmed him. But for now, sleep had to take precedence. Early in his career as a healer, he had learned that the body could repair damage most quickly and easily when its unnecessary functions shut down. He had long held the theory that sleep itself was the body’s way of fixing the stresses and strains that occurred throughout the day. Men who spurned sleep shortened their own lives.
Still, despite an exhaustion that had dragged Colbey to a previous unconsciousness, devoid even of his usual instinctive wariness, the pain of his injuries now stole his ability to rest. Each breath jabbed his lungs into shattered ribs and set off a wild clamor of bruises and strains. He felt battered in every part, and his muscles tensed against the pain, making sleep impossible. He rolled, trying to find a comfortable position, the movement only waking every ache again.
The aristiri fluttered from the upper shelf to the desk, studying Colbey through one redly-glowing eye.
Colbey tried to resist the urge to shift position again. As before, his mind promised respite in a new pose, and he accepted it. He rolled to his back, tensed for the jangle of pain that raised frustration. “Damn it!” he said aloud.
The hawk flapped to the floor beside him. It perched on the grounded staff, loosing a delicate squawk that sounded sympathetic.
Colbey sighed. Its nearness gave him one more thing to distract him from sleep, and he considered driving it away. Even as the thought came to his mind, the bird threw back its head and started singing. The notes warbled forth in a mellow rush so unlike the shrill chirps and tweets of normal songbirds. Music echoed through the cavern, and the aristiri seemed to match its own notes to the reverberations, so that the melody sounded more like a planned duet. It anticipated the repeated notes and their changes, matching its tones into perfect chords.
Colbey smiled, captivated by the beauty of the song. He focused on its mild harmony, and his consciousness seemed to float and glide with the song. He let it take his concerns and his pain, sparing no guilt for the sleep his body needed. Later, he would need his wits fully about him. For now, he was safe.
As darkness settled around Colbey, he recalled his mother’s voice and the lullaby she had used to sing him to sleep as a babe:
“Soft, little Renshai
Time’s come for dreaming
Of battles and honor
And swords brightly gleaming.
“The morning sun will dawn
With glimmers of sword light
And chance for glory comes
Once sleep has filled the night.”
Buoyed by the memory, Colbey found sleep.
* * *
Forest travel became a pleasure now that Khitajrah had discovered the road. The packed soil yielded spongily, but the crushed stone kept her from sinking deeply with each step. The earth smelled pleasantly of damp, and it mingled with the aroma of greenery and pine. There were other odors: a momentary tinge of musk where a fox had marked, the decay-smell of brackish water, and others unfamiliar to Khitajrah. Together, t
hese came to define the woodlands. Without the ceaseless need to tear, duck, and clamber, she came to enjoy her time in the Westland forest.
In the Eastlands, the closely packed population kept her from finding privacy, except among the more ancient, crumbling sectors of the city or by slipping to a rooftop where few would think to look. The idea of walking miles without seeing anyone intrigued and frightened her. Early on, the occasional passage of rattling horse carts or riders cheered Khitajrah. Later, they seemed only to disturb her solitude.
On the ninth day of Khitajrah’s journey to Béarn, lacy clouds blotted the sky. Sunlight struggled through the latticework of clouds and branches, lending the forest a dull, gray-green glow. Concern touched Khitajrah for the first time in days. The guilt for her lie in Ahktar’s court had faded quickly, and the long-held repentance for slaughtering Diarmad and his companion in Stalmize’s graveyard seemed finally to have evaporated with it. What’s done is done.
Chaos concurred. *The Eastern veterans got what they deserved. And the one not-quite-true word you spoke in the courtroom hurt no one. In the end, Khita, that single word will save your son’s life.* An internal calmness accompanied its assessment.
Khitajrah nodded absently, though there was no one to see the gesture. Though not fully laid to rest, she had managed to suppress the twinges of conscience that accompanied actions that did not fit the rigid loyalties and faith she had known since birth. For now, something more basic bothered her. She had agreed to meet Lirtensa in Pudar in two weeks. Yet, after nearly a week and a half of travel, she had not even reached Béarn. Irritated by the thought, she tossed back shoulder-length, black hair curled into frizzled tangles by moisture-laden air. She still had to arrive in the kingdom, manage an audience with its monarch, and travel to the great trading city. *I’ll never make it.* A more horrifying thought struck her. *What if I went the wrong way?*
*That’s impossible,* chaos soothed. *Lirtensa said this trail would take you to Béarn. You haven’t veered from it.*
Khitajrah sighed, knowing chaos was right, though not pacified by the realization. She had seen Lirtensa riding out of town on a hardy, buckskin mare. Only now did it occur to her that he must have expected her to have a mount as well. *If I did, I’d probably be through with Béarn and halfway to Pudar by now.* The mistake agitated her. The clouds darkened, and a light sprinkle fell, pattering hollowly to the leaves overhead. The rain only added to her exasperation. *What now?*
For a moment, chaos seemed to have no answer. *Continue. Perhaps Béarn’s king will know Colbey’s location, and you won’t need to meet with Lirtensa. Otherwise, you’ll just arrive late. If he’s a guard, as he claimed, he shouldn’t be hard to find.*
The idea that Lirtensa might lie about his job had never occurred to Khitajrah.
Chaos responded to the flicker of idea. *That’s because you’re still chaos-innocent. I’m working on that.*
Khitajrah still cared little for arriving late for a promised meeting, but she did take some solace from chaos’ explanation. The rain quickened, drumming against the foliage. Strands of hair dribbled into her eyes. She pawed them away, only to find herself staring at a crossroads. To her right, the path made a ninety-degree turn. It headed north, away from the mountains, and Khitajrah dismissed that direction easily. Two other pathways radiated from the meeting point. The larger, the more obvious continuation of the path, headed west or slightly northwest; without the sun, Khitajrah found exact pinpointing of direction difficult. Though poorly defined, the other showed signs of recent traffic and it clearly bent southwest. Aware Béarn nestled in the Southern Weathered Range, the southernmost city of the Westlands, Khitajrah froze in indecision.
The rhythmic rattle of rain on leaves became the only sound in the Westland forest. Khitajrah approached, not daring to believe she faced a choice now, when she had already fallen well behind schedule. Her dress clung wetly to her legs and body, and she tugged irritably at the fabric. She approached the crossroads slowly, hoping something would send her in the right direction. Within a few steps, a wooden sign came into view. The squiggles and lines of the printed Western letters meant nothing to her. *I don’t suppose you read. . . .*
Chaos did not wait for Khitajrah to finish the thought. *No.*
Khitajrah stared at the sign, as if time might make the writing comprehensible. But after several moments, the lettering seemed equally incoherent. Needing a target for her irritability, she turned to her only companion. *I thought chaos represented knowledge.*
*Concept and idea. Writing as creation is chaos. Its structure and form come of law.*
Khitajrah considered, glad to be drawn from her dilemma for a moment. *How can that be?*
Though chaos had seemed capable of reading intention before, this time it ran with words. *Chaos is creation and destruction; law is building and execution.*
Khitajrah defined her point. *If chaos is needed for creation, how did mankind come up with language in the first place? Or anything else for that matter?*
*From the gods.* Chaos drove the point home, its aura triumphant. *I told you they worship me.*
Wet and confused, Khitajrah found little patience for theology or vanity. Not wanting to contemplate the significance of such power in her own mind, she turned sullen. *Fine. If you’re so damned almighty, you tell me which way to go.*
*Follow the straight path. That makes the most sense.*
*But this seems to head more in the direction I would expect Béarn to be.* Khitajrah pointed at the southwest track.
*So take that way.*
Khitajrah sighed, getting nothing of use from her mental companion. *You‘re no help at all.*
*Roads, paths, not my strong point. Any way has to get you somewhere.*
At first Khitajrah thought chaos mocked her. The simplicity of the statement made it seem like sarcasm. But she soon abandoned that line of thought, guessing that a creature without form from a world without dimension might not have much understanding of destination and location. If only the gods would point the way. She edged into the crossroads, studying each direction cautiously. Again, she disregarded the northward path. The straight course did seem like her best possibility, but the southwest path better fit her image of heading toward Béarn. And it offered the additional advantage of thicker brush with more protection from the rain. When you don’t know where you’re going, one way seems as good as another. Slinging her few remaining supplies more securely on her shoulder, she took the smaller trail.
Khitajrah had taken only half a dozen steps, when a rustling in a bordering copse caught her attention. She went still, listening. Rain clattered on the leafy overhang. Otherwise, she heard nothing. Shrugging, she dismissed the noise, preparing to take her next step. Before she lifted her foot, the sound recurred.
Khitajrah went still, one leg poised to move. She swiveled her head, seeking the source of the sound. It seemed to come from her left. Cautiously, she edged toward the copse. Once upon it, she jerked vines aside to reveal the ground beneath. Sticks cracked. Leaves scattered to the black dirt in a wash. Nothing unexpected met Khitajrah’s vision. She stepped back, considering. An animal? A person?
Khitajrah did not have long to contemplate before the underbrush swished more loudly and obviously ahead. Curious, she followed. Within half a dozen steps, she found herself on the pathway she had rejected, headed due west. What? Rain soaked through her dress until its floral pattern appeared to be painted onto her skin. Khitajrah cocked her head, alert for more movement that did not come. Whatever she had followed seemed to have disappeared.
Turning, Khitajrah saw the crossroads behind her. With a sigh, she headed back the way she had come, again turning southwest at the intersection. This time, she passed the copse in silence, and she managed to walk for nearly half an hour before she heard movement in the brush again. She stopped short, unnerved by the presence. In the East, wild animals had always run from men. Her earlier walks through Westland forests had given her reason to believe a
nimals here behaved the same way. Many times, she caught a glimpse of undefined brown creatures scuttling through foliage or a line of snapped twigs growing more distant as they fled. Occasionally, squirrels had perched on branches far beyond her reach, scolding her intrusion with rapid, high-pitched chirps. She had heard remote birdsong, but those nearest made more raucous calls, as if to warn every animal in the forest of her presence. Khitajrah’s imagination warned her that a creature not fearing humans might have a reason for its boldness. If there’s something out there that eats people, I’d better find it before nightfall.
The sound came again.
Khitajrah had heard that even predators backed down from creatures they perceived as more dangerous than themselves. Loud noises, sudden movements, and directed stares might prove useful as bluff. She knew the first thing she needed to do was overcome her own nervousness; many animals could sense fear. “Who’s there!” she shouted, holding her voice as steady as possible. “I’m bigger and meaner than you. Go away!” Though she knew no animal would understand the words, they helped her maintain courage.
Once again, she heard the noise. It seemed not to have changed location.
As a young child, Bahmyr had told his mother about a massive wild dog he and his elder brother, Nichus, had disturbed in a field. Apparently, it had seen the two small boys as prey, charging with teeth bared and hackles raised. Nichus had held his ground, shielding Bahmyr with his body, and staring down the attacking dog. But Bahmyr had lost his nerve and fled, his terror drawing the beast’s attention like a beacon. Desperate to save his brother and himself, Nichus had rushed the dog as fast as his legs could carry him, without wavering. Apparently fearing for its own life, the dog had checked its attack. Swerving from the sobbing Bahmyr, it had retreated across the field.
Child of Thunder (Renshai Trilogy) Page 27