Winged Magic

by Mary H. Herbert

  The wagon gave a sudden lurch, and Kelene lost her precarious perch on the bed. Unable to catch herself, she crashed to the floor on her injured arm. The pain almost knocked her out again. She lay on her back and gritted her teeth on the gag while tears trickled along her temples. Her stomach felt nauseated.

  On the pallet above her, Gabria rolled over to the edge and looked down. Her green eyes were shadowed and sunken in her thin face, but they gleamed with awareness and concern.

  The creak of the door alerted both women, and they lifted their heads just as daylight flooded the interior. A dark silhouette stood balanced in the open doorway in a block of light so strong neither sorceress could see who it was.

  “Good. You’re awake,” a flat voice said. The speaker ignored the fact that Kelene lay on the floor and went on in a cold, deadpan tone. “We will be arriving at an oasis soon. I will bring you food and water then. If you cause any trouble, try to raise attention, or cast any spell I will kill your Hunnuli.” The figure stepped down and slammed the door shut without further speech.

  The women’s eyes met in a silent exchange of confusion, worry, and anger. Kelene lay back on the floor. It seemed better to stay where she was than to struggle painfully back to the raised bed. At least her arm had quit pounding with such intensity.

  She closed her eyes and turned her mind inward to the spells she had used the winter before to repair her crippled ankle. She wished she had the healing stones from Moy Tura, for one was spelled to help set broken bones. Some medicinal herbs like comfrey or boneset would be nice, too, but those and the stones were in her healer’s bag and the gods alone knew what had happened to that. Her bag, their cloaks, boots, and jewellery were gone, probably stolen or thrown away.

  She concentrated instead on the magic, turning it inward to seek the damage to her upper right arm. At least that part of the arm had only one bone to work with, unlike an ankle and foot that were a puzzle of small bones and tendons. She knew the bone was not shattered, but it felt badly bruised and probably fractured. Using only a small pulse of magic in her spell, she smoothed over the crack in the bone and gently increased her body’s natural defence against pain.

  The throbbing eased to a dull ache and, as the spell ended, Kelene became drowsy. In spite of the dust and the hard floor, she bowed to her own medicine and soon fell asleep.

  Zukhara.

  Kelene’s eyes flew open in surprise at the name that appeared so clearly in her mind. She stared up through the darkness and wondered why she should think of the Turic counsellor now. He was an unpleasant person who had little regard for the Shar-Ja or the peace council. He was well out of her life. Here, Kelene’s thoughts faltered. Something had brought him to mind. Some memory or clue had jogged her overworked thoughts and brought him clearly and vividly to her attention.

  She glanced around and saw night had come. The wagon had stopped swaying, and the world had fallen quiet beyond the wagon walls. The words of their visitor came back to her — he would be coming with food and water when the caravan halted at an oasis.

  Kelene stiffened in her bonds. The words and the man’s voice echoed in her head. The voice had meant nothing to her when she was distracted by her own pain and discomfort, but it struck a note of recognition now. Of course, she growled to herself. The silhouette now had a face: Zukhara’s.

  Soft footsteps crunched on gravel outside. The door opened, and the same lean figure climbed into the wagon and closed the door behind him. He was so tall he had to stoop under the wagon roof. He carried a small lamp, a waterskin, and several plates of food which he laid on the fold-down table.

  Saying nothing, he bent over Kelene, picked her up, and set her effortlessly on the bench on the wall, Gabria, too, was shifted off the pallet and placed beside Kelene. Both women glared in unspeakable hatred at man who had taken them prisoner.

  Zukhara ignored their silent anger and set the food and water in front of them. He sat on the edge of the bed and let them stare for a long while at the refreshments set so tantalizingly close.

  “Listen to me,” he said finally. The tiny lamp flickered, sending harsh shadows shifting over the sharp angles of his face. “You are in the middle of the Turic realm. There is no escape. Your Hunnuli are safely sedated and will remain that way until we reach our destination. I know you will not leave them, but if you foolishly try to escape or cause any trouble while we with this caravan, I will not hesitate to kill them, you understand?”

  Both women nodded, their eyes wide.

  Zukhara continued, his words forceful and precise. “As long as you obey me, I will bring food and water twice a day. Defy me and one of you will die.” He used and pulled something out of the front of his robe. “I also have this.” He showed them a small ball on golden chain.

  Kelene looked blank, but Gabria jerked in recognition. The ball was a beautiful piece of handcarved ivory, cut in a delicate tracery of interlocking knots. Within the ball were two more, one within the other, equally as intricate. Gabria had had a similar ball once, given to her by the high priest of the Cult of Krath. The balls, creations of an older age, were magic wards that protected their wearers from spells. There was no guessing how a Turic had found one or if he knew how use it.

  Zukhara acknowledged Gabria’s recognition with a nod. “Now, if we understand each other, you may eat.” With surprising gentleness, he untied the horsehair ropes around their arms and carefully eased the gags from their mouths. He left their feet tied.

  Kelene and Gabria could do nothing more for while than work some feeling back into their hands and arms. Their jaws ached miserably from the release the tight gags, and their mouths were so dry they could barely swallow.

  Zukhara poured water in mugs for them and watched impassively as each woman painstakingly sipped the liquid.

  The first question Kelene thought to ask as soon as she could voice a word was, “Why?”

  The counsellor stroked his long, elegant chin while he considered how much he wanted them to know. “Let’s just say I have need of you and your abilities.” He would not elucidate further, and the clanswomen were too desperately thirsty and hungry to force the question. They ate and drank as best they could. The food was stew, surprisingly soft and tasty, and the water had been drawn from the fresh, clean springs of the oasis. It tasted marvellous to their parched mouths.

  As soon as they finished, Zukhara swept away the dishes and faced them both over the empty board. “I brought you here,” he said without preamble, “because I need your help.”

  A look of surprise slipped over Kelene’s face at the change in the counsellor’s attitude and tone. The belligerent aggression had been tempered by politeness; the cold harshness in his voice was gone, and the rigidity of his shoulders and limbs had relaxed into an almost neighbourly slouch.

  He leaned forward, his elbows on the table, and went on. “You must understand, it was not an easy decision to kidnap two sorceresses.”

  “Why?” Kelene said sarcastically and gestured at the wagon’s walls. “You had plenty of room.”

  The counsellor shrugged off the question as he might a fly. “I did not wish to disrupt the peace council, but after Bashan’s death, I thought I had no choice. When the Shar-Ja left Council Rock last night, I brought you with us.”

  “We didn’t kill Bashan.” Gabria spoke for the first time.

  “I know, Lady Gabria, but I’m afraid I do know who did and, because of that, I had to move fast.” He smiled then, and Kelene drew a sharp breath at the amazing transformation. The predatory anger that lined his face was wiped away by a pleasant, disarming smile of friendliness and good humour. If Kelene had not felt his rage and seen the hate in his eyes at the council, if she had not spent the last twenty-four hours in misery and been threatened by this same man, she would have liked him for this smile alone. She knew then that Zukhara was even more dangerous than she imagined, for he was not only influential, powerful, merciless, and ambitious, he could wear charm like a beautifully crafted
veneer.

  “What do you want?” Gabria replied warily.

  “You have in your clan a man who is half Turic and half clan. His parents had twelve children, yet only he inherited enough clan blood to be a magic-wielder.” The man steepled his fingers and met Gabria eye to eye. “There have been other half-breed children along the border; this aberration could turn up again.”

  Gabria’s expression tightened into a frown. “Of course that could happen again. But such a child has not yet been brought to my attention.”

  His mouth widened to what most people would have seen as an expression of delight. To Kelene and Gabria, his broad grin resembled more the victorious leer of a wolf about to eat its kill.

  “Perhaps now, then,” said Zukhara, and he opened out his palm, spread his fingers, and formed a small sphere of greenish light directly over his hand. The implications struck both women at the same time, and they shrank away from the harmless little light.

  “How can you do that?” gasped Kelene.

  “My mother was raped by a Wylfling while she was on a journey. She was so terrified of her husband’s jealousy she told him the baby was his. It wasn’t until he died a few years ago that she found the courage to tell me.” He gave them another friendly smile. “It explained some questions that had been bothering me.”

  Gabria and Kelene said nothing to his revelation. The same suspicion was brewing in both their minds that the counsellor knew more about magic than how to form a simple sorcerer’s light, and they watched him quietly and waited for him to explain more.

  Zukhara bounced the little light gently in his palm; then with a snap his fingers closed over the sphere and crushed it out. “I had thought to visit you these past few years to study sorcery with your clan students, but other matters kept me busy. Now there is little time left. I must control this power now, and for that I have brought you with me.” The charm cracked from his voice, turning his words hard and bare. He turned suddenly and pointed a finger at Kelene. “I want you to teach me how to use my power, how to control it, and how to turn it to my will.”

  Kelene was so startled by his choice, she exclaimed without thinking, “Me? I’m no teacher. I’m a healer!”

  “You know sorcery. It is enough to begin. Lady Gabria may watch and contribute if she wishes. We will start tomorrow.” He stood then and pulled Kelene to her feet. With deliberate care he slipped the gag back into her mouth and tied her wrists tightly together. His eyes glittered in the lamplight as he stared down at her angry face. His hands lingered on her arms for a moment longer than she thought utterly necessary before he lifted her back onto the bed. Kelene did not even try to sense his emotions but shut her mind and turned her head away for fear of what she might find.

  Gabria was gagged and tied again and returned to her place beside Kelene. This time Zukhara did not bother to fasten their arms to their sides. He picked up the lamp and dishes. “Until morning,” he said pleasantly and climbed out, locking the door behind him.

  His footsteps had barely passed away before Kelene pulled her bound wrists up and used her fingers to wrench the gag out of her mouth. “That—!” she spat furiously, too angry to think of a worthy epithet.

  Gabria removed her gag, grateful for the small relief. “That man is crazier than a mad dog in the summer heat,” she observed dryly.

  “Half-clan!” Kelene hissed. “Gods’ truth!” She lay beside her mother, trembling with rage. Although she could not bring herself to say anything to Gabria, she realized she was fuming not just because of Zukhara’s audacious kidnapping or his demand that they teach him sorcery, but also because of the brilliant look in his eyes when he pulled her up and the slow touch of his hands on her skin. It was enough to make her flesh crawl. Gabria tilted her head toward Kelene. “You know,” he said slowly, “I would wager Nara that Zukhara was one who killed the Shar-Yon.”

  “I won’t take that wager,” Kelene answered. “Mother, we can’t teach that viper sorcery. He is already a menace to the Turics and the clans!”

  “No, we must not if we can help it.” She paused and thought of Athlone’s description of Bashan’s seared body. “But perhaps we should teach him the rudiments of control. Wild magic, in his hands, is more dangerous than a controlled spell.”

  “What if he pushes me to teach him more?”

  Gabria’s thin smile was lost in the darkness. “Then perhaps we should convince him that his abilities are not as strong as he hopes. If his spells were to go awry...”

  Kelene gave a dry chuckle. “You’re not suggesting disrupting his spells.”

  “Nothing blatant. Just a nudge here and there to sour the effect.”

  They fell silent, their thoughts heavy with their dangerous predicament. After a long, unhappy pause, Kelene whispered, “Should we try to escape him?”

  “Would you leave Demira in his hands?” Gabria asked heavily, although they both knew the answer.

  “No. So we deal with Zukhara until we can leave with the Hunnuli.”

  “Or someone reaches us.”

  Lying there in the darkness, tied hand and foot, far from home and desperately worried, Kelene felt very much the daughter in need of her mother’s reassurance. “Do you really think they would dare search for us here?”

  In the darkness Gabria felt for her daughter’s bound hands and clasped them tightly in her own. “Athlone, Rafnir, or Sayyed will find a way. I know it.”

  The certainty in those words was enough to satisfy Kelene and reinforce her own belief in her kin. Calmer now, she set her mind on her immediate problems of teaching sorcery to Zukhara and dealing with captivity.

  Suddenly she gave a rueful laugh at herself. “Just before Gaalney came to Moy Tura,” she explained to her puzzled mother, “I was riding Demira above the city and feeling sorry for myself because things weren’t going my way.” She chuckled again and felt better for it. “Right now I would happily trade all of this to be back in that mere muddle. I promise, if we make it back to Moy Tura, I won’t feel sorry for myself again... for at least another three or four years.”

  Gabria laughed softly with her, and their tension eased enough to let them rest. They slept fitfully through the night, until Zukhara returned at dawn. The Turic brought food to his prisoners, allowed them to attend to their needs, and waited while they ate their morning meal. Gabria and Kelene watched him like a pair of hawks, but the man remained mute and did nothing to give the women any hope of escape. His movements were brusque yet meticulous, and his eyes burned unabated with their fierce zeal.

  As soon as the captives finished eating, their hands were retied, and they were returned to the pallet. Instead of leaving right away, Zukhara stepped to the barrier and glanced over at the Hunnuli. Kelene craned her head around to see what he was doing, and her heart jumped in hope when Demira tossed her head. A hoof crashed against the wooden gate, but the two mares were so crowded, Kelene could not tell which one had kicked.

  Zukhara did not flinch at the impact. He drew a glass flask from a pocket in his dark blue robe and uncorked it. A pungent, medicinal odour filled the interior of the wagon, alerting Kelene’s curiosity. She strained her neck to watch Zukhara pour some thick greenish liquid onto a cloth and rub it on Demira’s haunch. Nara was treated with the same liquid, and shortly after, the mares’ stall was silent again,

  Kelene cursed under her breath. Whatever drug he was using to sedate the mares must be very potent to affect the big horses so quickly. The door slammed and locked behind the counsellor, leaving the clanswomen in darkness again. Shortly thereafter they heard whips crack, voices shout, and animals call. There was a great deal of noise and some jerky starts as the baggage train sorted itself out; then the wagon bounced forward, once more under way.

  The weather that clay seemed sunnier, for the light shining through the chinks in the wagon’s walls was bright and full. Kelene watched one whip-thin beam move slowly across the wall and down to the floor in a course that indicated they were moving south, deeper in
to Turic territory.

  In spite of their thirst and discomfort, evening came all too soon for Kelene and Gabria. The light dimmed and disappeared into twilight; the caravan reached its next stop along the Spice Road. Unbeknownst to them, Rafnir and Sayyed were eating their meal and talking to Turics not more than several hundred paces away.

  No one came near the wagon for a long while, and the sounds of the camp dwindled to sleepy tranquillity. They heard several sets of footsteps pacing past their prison, but not one person stopped to look in their wagon or check on their condition.

  Kelene squirmed against the Hunnuli-hair ropes that held her fast. Her hands were swollen, red, and painful; her body ached from lying on a jolting board all day. She dreaded seeing Zukhara again, yet she reviled him with every scrap of her fury for not coming and getting this ordeal over. Her tongue had dried to thick leather, and her throat burned with thirst. “Where is he?” she ground out between clenched teeth.

  She felt her emotions kindle the power of the Trymian force in her bones and blood. It burned like a spark on touchwood, ready to ignite at her will.

  Without any warning, the door swung open, and a tall figure loomed in the entrance. In that split second Kelene’s thoughts exploded with her pent-up fear and rage and, before she could control herself, a wild burst of the Trymian force flamed from her hands. Kelene gasped in horror.

  Gabria reared up and tried to evaporate the blast, but it flew too fast and struck Zukhara full on the chest, where it exploded in a cloud of blue sparks. The counsellor staggered backward from the force of the blow. Only the ivory ward around his neck absorbed the searing power and saved his life.

  Kelene’s eyes grew enormous, and her heart beat painfully as Zukhara climbed to his feet. The tall Turic stepped back into the wagon, placed the tray he took from a servant on the table, and deliberately closed and locked the door behind him. Swift as a striking cobra, his hand shot out and clamped around Gabria’s throat. His fingers found her jugular and her windpipe and began to crush her neck within his ferocious grip.