by Bell, Hilari
“Then why didn’t the wind blow it away?”
Reddick grinned and kicked his mule forward, returning no answer.
Chapter 7
The city of the Cenzar perched on a cliff, high above the valley floor. Dayven gasped when he first saw the sweeping walls and towers.
“It looks like the Town-within-the-Walls,” he said.
“It should,” Reddick told him. “Pull off here.”
“Why are we stopping?” Dayven studied the fortifications. “How do you plan to get in? Sneak through the gates in disguise? Do we have disguises?”
“I knew I forgot to pack something.” Reddick guided the mule behind a clump of bushes and dismounted. “Don’t worry, the city admits wizards. Most places do.”
“Why don’t wizards live here then?” Dayven asked. Why didn’t the Cenzar have their own wizards? He knew that other peoples did. “Is it something to do with their goddess?”
“Not at all,” said Reddick. “Or at least, not exactly. A long time ago, the church’s handmaidens used to act as judges. They said that justice came from their goddess, and her miracles proved people’s guilt or innocence. But if a miracle refused to show up when the handmaidens needed one, guess what they did?”
It wasn’t hard to figure out. “They faked it?”
Reddick nodded. “And it was the wizards, the old Cenzar wizards, who exposed them. The High Chieftain of that time transferred the administration of justice to his own courts, but the handmaidens still had a lot of power. They accused the wizards — accurately enough — of meddling in church matters, and that old High Chieftain may have been worried that they’d start meddling in his affairs as well. He kicked out all the Cenzar wizards. There are still a few of their descendants living in the small villages on the other side of the city, but most of them are long gone.”
“That’s not fair,” said Dayven indignantly. “The wizards may have meddled, but they exposed the handmaidens’ cheating. They did the right thing!”
Reddick shrugged. “We did the right thing back at the lake, when we cut those peasants loose, but do you think the guards who report it are going to be fair?”
Dayven was silent.
“In any case,” Reddick went on, “the Cenzar don’t trust wizards. They won’t let any of us stay in the city for long, and then only if someone vouches for our conduct.”
“So we’ll have to sneak in,” Dayven concluded. “Most cities close their gates at sunset, and it will be almost dark by the time we get up there.” He gazed up at the twisting road that was the only approach to the city gates. Anyone on it would be visible to the guards on the walls. “Wouldn’t it be better not to call attention to ourselves by being the last ones through?”
“Good question.” Reddick was digging in his pack. “You might as well get down. We’re going to be here a while.”
“And sneak through the gates in the morning.” Dayven nodded, then led his horse over to join Reddick and began to unsaddle it. “Should we camp this close to the road? I know there’s water here, but we could follow the stream to a safer place.” They might admit wizards, but Dayven’s scalp still prickled from being this close to the enemy’s stronghold.
“Ah.” Reddick pulled a bottle from his pack. “Let’s have some wine and discuss it.”
“You’re joking. Not a mile from the Cenzar walls and you’re going to get … you’re going to drink?”
“No, I’m going to get drunk.” The wizard uncorked the bottle and took a swig. “Courage from a jug. Haven’t you heard of that?” He drank some more.
“You’re not going to be in any shape to fool the guards tomorrow.” Dayven eyed him grimly.
“Maybe you should meditate,” Reddick told him. “You look a little upset.”
“One of us has to make camp.” Dayven unfastened his horse’s bridle and looked for a place to tether it. “Besides, I hardly need to meditate to find power now.”
“You’re learning fast. You’ll make a wizard yet.” Reddick took a long pull at the bottle.
A puzzled frown tugged at Dayven’s brows; in all the days they’d traveled together, this was the first time he’d seen his tutor drink. “How long do I have to study to be a wizard?” If he could keep a conversation going while the wizard became intoxicated he might learn something.
“It isn’t a matter of how long, or even how much you know. It’s a way of looking at things, how much you see and how you think. I suppose it’s, well, perspective.” Reddick chuckled foolishly. “When you start seein’ five sides to a four-sided object, that’s when you get the gray robe. That’s why some wizards are young and some old men are still appren’ices.”
“Why gray?” Dayven probed. “Why not white or black?” Had the wizard drunk enough to be loose-tongued? He seemed to be getting drunk awfully fast.
“Black’s too hot in the sun.” Reddick poured some of the wine on the front of his robe, capped the bottle and thrust it into his pack. “And white gets dirty too easy. Come on now.” He mounted the mule. It took him several tries. “We mus’ be going.”
“Going where?” Surely he couldn’t be that drunk? On just a few swallows?
“The city.” His tutor blinked owlishly at him. “Where els’?” He wheeled the mule and started up the road at a canter.
“Wait! Reddick, stop!” Dayven spun for his own horse, but the animal wore neither saddle nor bridle and it would take too long to put them on. If Reddick encountered the Cenzar in this condition, anything might happen! Dayven turned and ran after his tutor on foot.
He could have caught the wizard if he hadn’t been trying to keep out of sight of the city guards. Scrambling from one level of the road to the next, under the scant cover of brush and rock took time — too much time — curse the sot!
Struggling through the bushes in his long, tangling robe, Dayven saw that his tutor had no qualms about being noticed. Trotting happily up the road in the gathering dark, he appeared to be singing.
Dayven was only about a hundred feet behind him when Reddick reached the great gate. It was closed. If the sot would be quiet for just a few minutes…
“Open up!” the wizard roared. He banged on the gate with his fist. “I demand admitshenshe … a’mishensh … I want in!”
Dayven sank into the bushes and swore. Reddick sounded more drunk than he had earlier.
Several torches were thrust through holes in the gate, illuminating the wizard, but leaving the top of the wall in shadow. How efficient. Dayven shivered.
“There are twelve arrows pointed at you, wizard.” The Cenzar voice came from the wall above. “Get off the mule. Do nothing else. We’ve been watching you for some time. You and the shadow who tries so hard to conceal himself. Do nothing.”
Dayven froze behind the screen of branches. They had spotted him, despite his care. Could they see him now? Was he out of arrow range? He thought not. He lowered himself to the ground, looking for some cover that arrows wouldn’t pierce. There wasn’t any. He wished he’d tried harder to learn the hiding spell.
“…have come to visit the ‘daffi Jeman.” Reddick staggered as he came down from the saddle. He clung to it to hold himself upright. “I am his chief medical advishor. Must see ‘im. ‘Portant matter. He’ll be very upset, you don’ let me in.”
A murmur of conversation arose on the wall, but Dayven couldn’t hear what they said.
“What about your shadow? Does he also have an appointment with Endaffi Jeman?” It was a new voice, full of authority.
“Shadow?” Reddick looked around him. “Don’t have a shadow, silly. S’ almos’ dark.”
“I mean the person who followed you up the road.”
“Oh, thas my ‘prentice,” said Reddick happily. “Be gentle when you pick him up, aright? He’s a bit…” He waved one finger vaguely in the direction of his temple. “A bit … you know.” Dayven snarled silently.
The gate was opening. They were going to take Reddick into the city. Then they would come hunting for Dayven. He took a d
eep breath.
“Master!” he shouted. He rose slowly to his feet, flinching as the light found his body. No arrows flew. “Master, wait!”
Lifting his hands to show they were empty, Dayven ran to the wizard and flung himself against the broad back, burying his face in Reddick’s robe, the perfect picture of a frightened simpleton.
The wizard reeked of wine. Dayven wanted to clench his fists and drive blows into the stocky body, but he didn’t dare.
“Reddick?”
They had confined them in a guardhouse near the gate. Separate cells. They had searched them, taken Dayven’s knife, said they would send for Endaffi Jeman in the morning, and gone.
“Reddick?” From the barred portal in his door, Dayven could see Reddick’s cell. “Answer me, curse you, I know you can hear me!”
A faint snore came to his ears.
“Curse you!” Dayven pounded on the cell door. “Stupid sot.” But he didn’t believe it. Not anymore. They had entered the Cenzar city safely, without arousing a shadow of suspicion. An efficient man, this wizard. A formidable enemy.
Dayven sank down on the hard cot. He should rest. No doubt his devious companion would have them out of here shortly. And then he would discover just what the wizard was doing in the city of the enemy. It was a long time before Dayven fell asleep.
He was awakened by the rattle of keys in the lock.
Reddick was grumbling his way down the hall, like a man with sousing sickness. At the guard’s gesture, Dayven hurried after him.
They were released into the custody of a tall Cenzar, whose immaculate white robe made Dayven feel even more grubby. His features were narrower than most Tharns’, and a trim black beard decorated his chin. His appearance was strange to Dayven’s eyes, but the assurance of his manner was impossible to mistake.
“…a good healer.” Dayven heard only snatches of the reassuring murmur the tall Cenzar directed at the guard commander as they walked. “Endaffi Jeman will take full responsibility … old friends … no trouble I’m sure…”
Dayven wondered if a purse had changed hands. It wouldn’t surprise him.
Reddick winced theatrically as they went out into the sunlight. Dayven remembered him doing the same thing the first time they met. Had his drunkenness been faked then as well? And if it was, who was he fooling then, and why? The warmth of the sun did nothing to alleviate the cold that crept through him. Dayven resolved to keep a close watch on his deceitful tutor.
Dayven’s horse stood, saddled and waiting, with Reddick’s mule and another horse. The guards must have gone down and found it. Dayven crushed down his gratitude. This was the enemy.
Reddick maintained a grumpy silence until they were out of the guard’s sight. Then he turned to the tall man and a broad smile spread over his face.
“Ameen. I’d hoped to see you. How are you doing? How’s your wife? That leg still giving her trouble?”
“All in my household are well, thanks to you, Master Reddick. The zondar is nearly empty today as there are horsemanship exercises in the field, but Endaffi Jeman remained behind. He is waiting for you.”
“Good, he’s just the man I want to see. Ameen, this is my apprentice, Dayven. Kid, Ameen is Endaffi Jeman’s right hand. You want to stay on his good side.”
Dayven nodded stiffly to the Cenzar. “May I ask a question? Who is Endaffi Jeman?” And why did Reddick want to see him so badly?
“He’s head of the zondar, the warrior school where you’ll spend the next couple of weeks. Remember? We talked about it. I’ll settle it when I talk to Jeman. After that… We’ll see. I’m going to be too busy here to spare much time for teaching you, I’m sorry, but there are other things I have to do.”
“You mean you’re just going to leave me at the zondar?” Dayven’s heart sank. The thought of being abandoned among his enemies was bad enough, but if he was trapped in this zondar, how could he learn Reddick’s true intentions? “Alone?”
“You will be most welcome in our school,” Ameen put in kindly.
“You’ll be all right. Trust me,” said Riddick.
As if anyone could trust a wizard.
Reddick turned to Ameen and began asking about people he had healed. It sounded as if Reddick, and other wizards, visited the city regularly to work their healing magic, despite the Cenzars’ distrust. The Tharn tolerated them for the same reason. Dayven let his horse fall behind and brooded. Even Reddick admitted that wizards were meddlers. The Cenzar were right not to trust them, and so was Lord Enar, even if sometimes they might do good. But how could he spy on Reddick if he wasn’t with him? Dayven tried to think of some way to stay with the wizard, but the sights kept distracting him.
The streets teemed with people, and with the people came color — enough color to leave Dayven staring. The Tharn wore tastefully subdued shades. Peasants generally wore deeply dyed fabric that would survive many washings, but these people… A man carrying a basket of honking geese caught Dayven’s eye — could he possibly believe a purple tunic over a butter-yellow shirt and scarlet pants became him? Everyone they passed looked like a festival performer. Their bright, flowing clothes and dark faces made Dayven feel increasingly conspicuous in his plain brown robe, but none of the Cenzar paid them any attention as Ameen guided Dayven and his tutor through their midst. Dayven remembered hearing that the Cenzar thought it rude to stare.
He rode up behind Reddick, and seized on a lull in the conversation. “Why is everyone dressed like … like…”
“Like Cenzar?” The question stung.
“But the Cenzar peasants in the valley don’t wear colors like that!”
Reddick’s brows rose, but his voice was mild. “They do on festival days. People always wear better clothes in a city. We look drab to them.”
The idea of considering anything from a Cenzar point of view silenced Dayven. He fell back, staring at the bustling crowd, but eventually he was able to look past the people to the city itself. The houses looked like those in the Town-within-the-Walls, but they were roofed with slate instead of wooden shingles. Dayven could see that slate would last longer than wood, but how could the roof and walls support the weight of all that stone?
When the others rode through a wide gate into a tree-lined courtyard, Dayven was watching a workman who was balancing two stone blocks on his head and almost rode past them.
Reddick rode to the steps that led to the door of the central tower and dismounted, looking around.
Ameen dismounted too and spread his hands expressively. “Alas, the stablemen have gone to watch the exercises. You know how it is; any excuse for a holiday. Will you wait while I stable your beasts? Then I will be pleased to announce you to the Endaffi.”
“Don’t worry about that.” Reddick tossed his reins to Dayven. “The kid’ll take care of the animals.”
“If you would be so kind?” Ameen gestured to a low building. “The stable is there. You may choose any empty stalls. I’m sure you’ll find all you need. We will be in the north corner of the main building on the highest floor, if you wish to join us when you’re finished.”
“Fine,” Dayven muttered.
Ameen and Reddick vanished through the main door. Dayven turned and led the horse and mule to the stable.
The wizard escaped him this easily. But it would have been out of his role to refuse to take the horses. It was going to be hard enough to spy on Reddick from a school — it would be impossible from a cell. He would have to pretend to accept the wizard’s plan, at least for now.
The stable door hung open a crack. Dayven pushed through it and a bucket fell over his head. Something thick and sticky ran over his face, behind his ears, and down his robe. Dayven gasped and honey filled his mouth. He reached up and yanked off the bucket, swiping at his eyes. An explosion of color burst in his face. He flinched, but the explosion had no force. He looked down at himself. He was covered with honey and flower petals.
“A sweeter fate than you deserve after the way you used your spurs ye
sterday, you foul… Oh Lady!”
Dayven wiped his eyes again. A green and sky-blue blur resolved itself into a slim youth, about his own age, with curly black hair and a mobile face, which at the moment expressed surprise and dismay.
“You’re not Rustaf,” said the youth.
“No,” said Dayven. “You half-baked, lame-brained, sorry-excuse-for-a-jackass, I’m not.”
“I don’t blame you for being angry,” said the stranger apologetically. “I was expecting someone else. I knew he was planning to sneak away from the exercises and ride out to visit his lady friend.” The youth was trying to keep his face straight, but the corners of his mouth kept twitching. Dayven’s hands clenched into fists.
“I really am sorry,” he finished. “My name is Vadeen.” His fingers formed a polite steeple.
It would be stupid for a spy in enemy territory to offend people. Dayven lifted his hands, awkwardly returning the unaccustomed gesture. They were covered with petals.
Vadeen burst out laughing.
Dayven lost his temper. His leap knocked Vadeen to the floor; they rolled together in the straw, grappling and pummeling each other. Vadeen was taller, but he was handicapped by fits of laughter.
Dayven was on top, swinging wildly, when a hand closed over his collar and hauled him to his feet.
“What the—” Reddick stared at his disheveled apprentice. “Oh. I see.” His mouth twitched.
All the frustration of dealing with the wizard, of the whole impossible situation, boiled up. Dayven swung a fist at Reddick, but his tutor caught it before the blow could connect.
“None of that now.” Reddick turned to Vadeen.
The Cenzar boy, held fast in Ameen’s grip, was almost as sticky and dirty as Dayven. A scrape along one of his cheekbones was beginning to darken. He had been laughing too hard to hurt Dayven.
“Well, kid, since you’re now a student in the zondar, I guess you and this scoundrel are Jeman’s problem.” Reddick looked Dayven up and down and his lips twitched again. “It’s not the way I’d dress to meet the head of the school, but it is … colorful.”