Child of Thunder (Renshai Trilogy)

by Mickey Zucker Reichert

  Colbey gained new respect for the bard, Mar Lon, who held to the theory that the shortest-lived handle change most quickly and easily. He considered the Bruenian farmer’s innovations and the many more those would set in motion. He thought of the Pudarian youths and their commendable commitment to skill. Just in the years since the Great War, the West had adapted so far and so well. Still, it made no sense to argue details with a god. He doubted he could convince Loki, and it would only waste time. Now that he knew the Shape Changer had no designs against his life, concern for Khitajrah, his staff, and Frost Reaver took precedence. “You’ve given me much to consider. It isn’t often a man has the opportunity to match his sword, then his wits, against gods. But I have places to go and things to do. At the very least I have to get the staff before others do.”

  “No hurry,” Loki said. “Soon enough, your world and those in it will cease to exist.”

  Colbey pledged himself against that occurrence. For all he and Loki seemed to have in common concerning law, chaos, and the balance, he would oppose the destruction of man’s world to his last shuddering breath. Finally, he had found a cause that took priority even over the death in glory that had driven him since birth. The unsettling of his faith unnerved him, a concept that would require long contemplation. But this was not the time. “Nevertheless, I’ll be on my way, thank you.” He turned.

  “Wait,” Loki called. “There’s one more thing I have to tell you.”

  Colbey continued walking, hearing Loki’s light footsteps sweeping behind him. For now, he believed the Lord of Chaos had said enough.

  “The woman you travel with has your horse and staff. And the aristiri will join her soon enough. I’ll take you to them.”

  Colbey continued walking. He had met enough of the chaos-touched to believe Loki would find a nasty parting sentence, something that would haunt him long after the discussion had finished. “I’ll find my way.”

  Loki quoted an ancient bardic song about the Ragnarok:

  “Brothers and sisters

  In incest entwined.

  Sons slaughter fathers

  And mothers in kind . . .”

  Loki’s voice faded. Apparently, he had stopped, and Colbey left him farther behind. “Had I allowed Thor to kill you, one of the tenets of that song would have been fulfilled. And the Ragnarok would have come for certain.”

  The words intrigued Colbey enough to slow his steps. Loki seemed to be taunting him.

  “If Thor had killed his son, or the son his father, it would have brought the Ragnarok in an instant rush.”

  Now Colbey stopped, many memories merging at once: Siderin’s search for a full-blooded male Renshai that had not yielded Colbey’s name, a prophecy that had implied he was other than a mortal man, and the seer’s shock during the Tasks of Wizardry when he had sought information about Colbey’s parentage.

  “Let me explain, Child of Thunder. Afterward, I’ll return you to your staff and your lady friend.”

  Colbey turned. His self, from birth to motivation, seemed to have crumbled in the course of a handful of events and a single conversation. Suddenly, the information Loki held seemed too significant to avoid.

  Loki grinned, strange eyes blazing. And the tale began.

  CHAPTER 24

  Offworld

  Cloudy night glazed the Fields of Wrath, the surrounding forest scarcely penetrated by the light of stars and moon. Beneath the interweave of branches, Shadimar felt the vibrant presence of his two colleagues as well as the hovering power of the staff he carried. To his left, Carcophan seemed nonexistent, the salt-and-pepper patterning of his hair fading into the dappled shadows. He remained still, an unseen threat lost amid the normal structures of the forest, his only movement the flutter of his cloak in the wind. Still, to Shadimar’s consciousness, the champion of all things evil seemed as obvious and powerful a threat as the ghostly pale figure to his right. Unfamiliar with warfare, Trilless had learned little of concealment and ambush. Though she must have realized that her usual beacon white would draw attention as well as fire, she had not changed. It had something to do with honor.

  Shadimar kept judgment from his thoughts. Linked with his colleagues for the purposes of joint magic, he practiced caution. Though they had too many matters of import to consider, and wandering or touching other’s thoughts uninvited was as illegal by Odin’s Laws as it was rude, Shadimar worried for ideas that might accidentally seep through the contact. It made more sense to concentrate on the matter at hand with a fanaticism that buried his personal considerations, especially since these included the realization that once they had finished with Colbey he would have to deal with Carcophan and Trilless. Not in the same manner, of course, but there would come a reshuffling of relationships and priorities. Without the Western Wizard to support neutrality, Shadimar would need to become twice as competent; and the staff assured him this was already the case.

  Olvaerr and Dh’arlo’mé crouched quietly in the meadow, clutching leather and linen dragging slings and awaiting Chezrith’s return. Secodon lay between them. In addition to Carcophan’s expectant, vigilant presence, Shadimar sensed concern wafting from the Southern Wizard. Despite Carcophan’s insistence that his relationship with Chezrith would not hamper him, as well as the coolness that characterized his teachings and their dealings together, Shadimar now saw beneath the facade. Clearly, Carcophan cared more for her than he dared to admit, even to himself. Still, Shadimar kept his own thoughts well-hidden. Now was not the time for voicing a disapproval he had already made clear. Nearly every Wizard learned not to bond with mortals, taught by the agony of watching a loved one wither in a time that passed like days. Nothing but trouble and weakness could come of the situation, yet Shadimar simply filed away the concern. So long as the relationship between Southern Wizard and apprentice did not interfere with the plans against Colbey and the kidnapping of the Renshai, it would eventually work to his advantage.

  Trilless communicated with the other Wizards through the mind link. *The air stinks from the chaos of three double transports.* She referred to the magic necessary to bring the Cardinal Wizards, each drawing an apprentice, to the Fields of Wrath. *Is the spiritlock safe?*

  Shadimar nodded absently. He, too, could smell the raw odor of chaos on the air, stronger than from any single spell he had known except the passage of his mentor. At first it had burned his nose, the taste filling his mouth, churning his gut, and threatening to choke up dinner. Yet, with time, the scent had become familiar. He managed to carve parts from the whole of mingled smells, each unique and interesting in its individuality. *The staff assures me,* he returned simply, seeing no need to argue. He felt less concerned over the known spell, worrying more for the one that came after. Together, he believed they could carry out the transport offworld that would prevent a daring rescue by Colbey. If the Western Wizard could not find the Renshai, he would have no choice but to barter for them.

  Shadimar did not add that the odors of good and evil seemed as ugly and foreign to him as the chaos. Propriety denied the need, and it would only start a war of words between his companions. For the coming spells, concentration was a necessity he dared not risk. *Who would know the dangers of chaos better than the Staff of Law? If it believes we can cast freely now, who are we to question?*

  Carcophan answered, though Shadimar had geared his response to Trilless. *When we’re balancing the Ragnarok, it’s not wise to take chances of any kind.*

  Shadimar did not grace the comment with a reply. They all knew that the father of all gods lay at the root of the staff, and it seemed senseless to argue with its wisdom.

  At that moment, Chezrith emerged from the darkened edge of the woodlands, far closer than Shadimar expected. If not for the woman she half-dragged and half-carried, the Eastern Wizard would not have seen her approach at all. Silently, she spread the figure on the meadow grass and unwound the sling. Blood matted the long blond hair into clumps. The face lacked expression, its features as slack as the limbs, its
eyes closed. Shadimar recognized Tarah Randilsdatter, one of the so-called “Western Renshai” born and raised on the Fields of Wrath.

  Alarmed by the blood, Shadimar turned on Chezrith. “What have you done? Colbey won’t barter for dead Renshai.”

  “She’s not dead, just handled.” Though Chezrith answered Shadimar, she looked to Carcophan for approval. “That was my job, wasn’t it? To handle any Renshai left awake as a guard?”

  “You did well.” Carcophan retreated from Shadimar’s mind to address his student. “You hit her hard, fast, and quiet. You don’t take chances with Renshai. Never engage sword to sword.”

  Shadimar scowled.

  Carcophan responded to duty rather than his companion’s annoyance. “Shadimar is right about returning property. If you’re going to damage it, don’t make it something Colbey can notice before the exchange.” He whispered to Olvaerr and Dh’arlo’mé, “That rule stands for the two of you also.”

  Both apprentices whirled, the elf with a frown of harried irritation and Olvaerr with nervous anticipation. Like Trilless, Dh’arlo’mé would never consider harming another without just cause. Religion made Olvaerr no more likely to maim than his elven counterpart, and he remained too focused to let a comment that should not have applied to him bother him. Disabling another Northman, no matter what his tribe, went against honor; though he would not hesitate to kill should need or justification arise. Olvaerr stepped over and knelt to examine Tarah’s injury.

  Though Chezrith executed a bow before speaking again, her voice portrayed none of the respect her gesture did. “I never learned to knock out a warrior by patting him on the foot. It’s hard enough to judge the strength of a surprise blow in daylight.”

  Carcophan nodded agreement.

  Shadimar let the matter drop. He had little enough direct knowledge of combat to argue. He came from a village of prophets and seers. He could see the occasional rise and fall of Tarah’s leathers and left the tending of war wounds to Valr Kirin’s son.

  “The others?” Carcophan returned to the matter at hand.

  “Asleep, every one,” Chezrith confirmed. She pointed out individual cottages, though Shadimar’s eyes could not discern one from another through the blackness. “This one’s husband and the baby.” She changed her focus. “The other three each alone.” She gestured to a different location for each. “Mitrian, Rache, Tannin.”

  The three Wizards came together again for the spiritlock, Secodon moving to his master’s side, drawn by the gravity of magic. Odin’s Laws had always restricted spells to a bare minimum, and the threat of chaos had caused each Cardinal Wizard to further limit himself. Now, the anticipation of a massive blanket of magic thrilled through Shadimar. He felt Carcophan shift ponderously through his thoughts and Trilless’ lighter presence, no less strong for its gentler touch. Of the two, she seemed the more powerful, centuries the elder and more experienced for it. Yet, in battle, they would certainly prove near enough to equal to fulfill the gray god’s intentions.

  The link swelled together, magical knowledge fused and competence yielding easily to Shadimar’s touch. The power made him giddy and excited. He felt like a hawk gliding above a wooded lot, eyes sharp enough to spot a mouse among foliage at a height from which his own presence seemed a shapeless, black dot to human vision. The world split, revealing a thousand planes of existence beyond it, each promising newness and a freedom Shadimar had not considered imagining, a caged animal content for never having known the wild.

  Carcophan yelled something desperate, anchoring the magic, and Trilless worked frantically with him to focus the spell. Reeling with the power of combined forces and the staff’s vastness, Shadimar scarcely managed to draw himself from limitless concept to the confines of reality. Realizing he had strayed, he called on the staff. And it answered, nudging him toward the shapeless constructs that represented the spirits of people caught within the area of the spell. With Trilless’ and Carcophan’s help, he wound ponderous bands of enchantment around the Renshai. Wizards’ magic did not allow mind reading, and he found the souls only as unidentifiable presences that the need for concentration would not allow him to count.

  Gradually, every soul within the dimensions of the spell fell prey to spiritlock, the magics holding each at its current level of consciousness. It posed no danger to Wizards or apprentices. The former, Shadimar believed, would prove immune. He had tossed similar spells at Colbey on the Meeting Isle without effect, though whether due to the Western Wizard’s status or mental prowess, he did not know. Chezrith, Olvaerr, and Dh’arlo’mé were all alert. If the spell touched them, it would simply keep them awake until the magics faded. Aside from the usual unpredictability of chaos, the only danger Shadimar knew from the spell came from repeated castings on the same subject. Holding a subject too long in one mental state could make the spiritlock permanent. In sleep, that could become eternal coma. In a waking state, it could lead to insanity.

  Carcophan pulled free of the joining. “Get them.” He made a brisk gesture for Olvaerr, Chezrith, and Dh’arlo’mé. The elf glanced at Trilless. At her nod, all three headed toward the Renshai cottages.

  The instant the apprentices were out of sight, Carcophan turned on Shadimar. “What the hell were you doing?”

  The hostility of the question bewildered Shadimar. “Casting the spiritlock. You know that.”

  “Calling chaos, you mean.” Carcophan’s normal speaking voice sounded like a shout in the wake of their previous cautious silence. “I cast the spell.”

  “You and I.” Trilless attacked her opposite’s need to take all the credit. She spoke softly, though voices could not break sleep enhanced by spiritlock. Only time would awaken the Renshai. “We all did our part.”

  A breeze rattled the surrounding trees, and leaves spiraled down over the Cardinal Wizards. Carcophan shivered, though surely not from cold. Suddenly, the situation became clear to Shadimar. The quantity of chaos required to ensorcell six Renshai unnerved the Southern Wizard. Having the upper hand for once, Shadimar smiled. “With the Staff of Law in hand and mind, I have nothing to fear from chaos. I can examine it freely and without risk. I’m sorry if it scares you.”

  Apparently, Shadimar had hit the problem dead on, because Carcophan had no snappy comeback. His catlike eyes met Shadimar’s gray, stare for stare. “Don’t get cocky. Having a bucket of water doesn’t give a child the right to play with fire.”

  Shadimar cared little for the analogy.

  Trilless interceded before a full argument developed. “We worked together. No matter who did what. The calling of chaos, even for necessary spells, bothers us all.” Trilless directed her next words to Shadimar. “Between the transports and spiritlock, there’s already too much chaos around. And there’ll be more, whether we go offworld here or transport to do it elsewhere. Staff or no, it makes no sense to increase the danger.” She revealed her own uneasiness then. “The Staff of Law can’t feel comfortable surrounded by so much of its enemy. Perhaps the chaos might even do it harm.”

  Shadimar answered for his power. “The staff is not bothered.”

  Trilless remained relentless. “Harm is not always something one can sense or quantify.”

  Shadimar mentally dismissed the idea without bothering to argue. Never having wielded it, Trilless could not judge the might or capacity of the staff. Instead, he nodded his agreement, though he did not believe he had summoned anything more than necessary for a spiritlock that had to cover a significant amount of area. A long time had passed since any Wizard had cast anything but basic magic. Probably, Carcophan and Trilless simply did not realize the correct quantity; and Shadimar trusted the staff to judge the proper amount.

  Carcophan’s gaze shifted back to the cottages as he picked figures from shadow. Olvaerr returned first, using his sling to drag Tarah’s sleeping husband, Modrey, and the toddler. He spread them near Tarah, who breathed with a more regular ease now, then headed back for another load. Shortly, Dh’arlo’mé returned with Mitr
ian. Chezrith dogged his steps, Rache draped over her shoulder. She let him flop to the ground, then knelt to examine him more carefully.

  “Pretty,” Chezrith said, brushing aside dark blond hair to reveal the rugged, adolescent features.

  A memory tugged at Shadimar’s conscience. He recalled the day Santagithi’s Town had fallen, when the surviving warriors had come to his ruins for sanctuary. Strangely, though decades often passed in an eye blink, the scene from a year or two ago seemed like ancient history. He recalled Rache and Episte prodding him with questions about their fathers. Episte had spurned the sire/hero who had died in battle without meeting his son, while Rache had found as much pride in bearing the name of his blood brother’s father as he had in his own father’s rise from savage gladiator to honored officer.

  Shadimar glanced next at Mitrian. She lay still, as innocent in sleep as she had been in infancy. Her father, Santagithi, had become Shadimar’s favorite mortal charge; and the Wizard recalled the general’s joy at the birth of his only child. The need to watch over Santagithi and his Renshai guard captain, Rache Kallmirsson, had caused Shadimar to keep an eye on Mitrian as well. With the help of those two men, she had grown into a courageous and competent woman, though their methods had clashed horribly and nearly destroyed a bond between them as strong as that between any father and son. Shadimar had once cherished a relationship as powerful, though Colbey’s self-assurance and confidence had made it an equal friendship rather than that of elder and child.

  For the first time in months, memories of that blood brotherhood brought tears to Shadimar’s eyes. Colbey’s competence, honor, and mortal wisdom had impressed him from the start. Yet apparently Colbey had fallen prey to the most common vice of mortals: pride. The old Renshai had come to believe himself always right and never at fault. He apparently equated his own opinion with fact, paying no heed to the findings of gods and Wizards. And Shadimar dared to hope. Once we wrench the Staff of Chaos from his grip, perhaps we’ll have no need to kill him. Perhaps he can again become what he once was. The idea soothed, removing the guilt from the act of betraying Santagithi’s daughter and grandson.