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Angus Wells - The God Wars 01
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by Angus Wells
THE BOOKS OF THE KINGDOMS
WRATH OF ASHAR
THE USURPER
THE WAY BENEATH
and don’t miss Book 2
in the all-new series of magic,
myth, and adventure
THE GODWARS
DARK MAGIC
Coming in September 1992
from Bantam Spectra
books
Skeins
of Prophecy
"You
will seek that which cannot be had and find disappointment. But you will gain
much; more than you lose. You will leam those things you reject and find that
friendship is the strongest bond.
"There
is water—beware the water, Calarfdryll! You must cross it to find what you
seek, though men say it does not exist. There is danger, but you will be
protected, not alone. There is a teacher, though you may not welcome his
lessons. Trust him! And one will come after, also to be trusted.
"You
will travel far and see things no southern man has seen, perhaps no man at all.
There is ... No! I cannot see it... It hides behind itself. It is forbidden ...
I cannot..."
The
voice grew harsh, choking. Reba began to cough, and the strange spell was
broken.
Alarmed,
Calandryll sprang to his feet....
Please be sure te ask yeur
beckseller
jar these ether Bantam Spectra becks
by Angus Wefts:
The Books of the Kingdoms
WRATH OF ASHAR
THE USURPER
THE WAY BENEATH
Forbidden Magic
Angus Wells
FORBIDDEN MAGIC
A BANTAM SPECTRA BOOK / MAY I992
SPECTRA and the portrayal of a boxed
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All rights reserved.
Copyright ® 1992 by Angus Wells.
Cover art copyright ° 1992 by Kevin
Twedell.
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For Liz and Laurence, Linda, Sylvia,
Nick and Rob,
who joined in battle with the witch ...
And,
after all, what is a lie? ’Tis but The truth in masquerade.
Bylath
den karynth,
Domm of Secca, Lord of the Eastern Reaches and Chosen of Dera,
stared moodily from the embrasure, his expression saturnine, as if the breeze
that skirled about the palace walls enhanced his naturally dour temperament.
Fingers calloused by a sword's hilt tugged at his leonine beard, the yellow
streaked with grey now, like his hair, and fell in a fist to the stone of the
sill. Below him, on the sanded practice ground, his sons worked under the
vigilant eye of Secca's weaponsmaster, Torvah Banul, the younger the object of
the Domm's dissatisfaction. He grunted, nodding, as Tobias parried a cut of
Torvah's, riposting to land his blunted blade neatly against the older man's
ribs, eliciting a smile of approval from his father: Tobias was cut from the
same cloth; the den Karynth blood ran true in his veins.
Of
Calandryll, the Domm was less sure. It seemed too often the boy was of stranger
stock—though Bylath had no doubt he sprang from the same seed—as though he were
a throwback or a changeling, for all he bore the characteristic yellow hair of
the den Karynth line, his body beneath the heavy padding of the protective
gambeson muscular and tall like his father and brother. It was in his attitude
rather than in any physical differences; it was obvious as Torvah turned toward
him, gesturing with his sword. Where Tobias sprang eagerly to battle, evincing
a ready joy in such manly arts, Calandryll was lackadaisical, negligent; Bylath
sighed as the word
effete
entered his thoughts. He was skilled enough
with the blade, but he showed no enjoyment of its use, no will to win. He
answered Torvah's probing attack with a halfhearted parry that left his flank
open to a thrust, avoiding that only by dint of agile footwork, then awaiting
Torvah, rather than taking the fight to the weaponsmaster. It seemed the
aggression that was so much a part of Bylath's nature had entered Tobias alone,
leaving none to spare for Calandryll. Bylath's hands clenched in angry fists as
he watched. If Calandryll only showed the application he devoted to books on
the practice ground; if he only spent the time he gave to useless scholarship
learning the arts of governance, there might be hope for him. But he showed no
interest in the duties of his bloodline: had he not informed Bylath only
yesterday that his dearest wish was to be left alone with his books? That he
preferred the palace archives to the practice sand? The Domm ground his beard
between his teeth, a decision forming. Such bookish ways were suitable to
philosophers or pedagogues, not to one of High Blood.
He
turned from the window, drawing his robe tighter about him as he stalked the
balcony, Torvah's admonitory shout ringing like confirmation in his ears.
''Dera's
love, Calandryll! You hold a blade, not a book!"
He
strode to where the balcony descended in a winding stairway to the lower levels
of the palace, his expression sending servants scurrying from his path,
straightening the rigid backs of the guardsmen stationed along the corridors,
and came to a door of black wood, inscribed with arcane symbols of scarlet and
green. Thrusting it open he paused, eyes narrowing in the dim light cast by
nine smoking torches set in sconces of black metal about the walls of the
windowless chamber, their effluvium pinching his nostrils, the flickering
shadows they cast seeming tonide things better unseen. At the center of the
room a
man
looked up from behind a dusty table on which rested several
skulls, the mummified remains of a blind cat, and a jar containing the tiny
corpse of a stillborn child. He was small and bald, his eyes birdlike above a
wart-infested nose, blinking nervously as he rose to greet the Domm.
"Lord
Bylath? You seek an augury?"
Bylath
grunted an affirmative, wondering if the paraphernalia displayed was necessary,
or merely artifice.
The
man came from behind the table, scuttling to close the door, his black robe
flapping, prompting Bylath to think of spiders, or carrion birds. For all that
he was Domm of Secca, and consequently ruler of the most powerful city in all
eastern Lysse, he felt uncomfortable in the presence of the necromancer.
"I
have made a decision regarding my sons, Gomus," he declared. "I would
have it confirmed."
Gomus
nodded, dragging a stool from the darkness; sweeping a sleeve across its
surface. By lath glanced at the proffered seat with a look of distaste and
settled himself. Gomus moved to the far side of the table and studied the Domm
across the piled skulls.
"And
it is?" he asked, his voice papery as his yellowed skin, as though neither
had seen day's light in too long a time.
"Tobias
must inherit," Bylath said. "That's obvious. I would make Calandryll
a priest."
"A
priest?" Gomus murmured. "He will not welcome such office. The
priests of Dera have no time for books."
"What
he wants has nothing to do with this," snapped the Domm. "Did he show
more aptitude for the blade I'd send him to Forshold; but he's no
soldier."
"No,"
agreed the necromancer diplomatically.
"And
there's no room in the palace for a scholar- prince," Bylath continued,
seeming unaware of the brief interruption, "his presence would threaten
Tobias—there are families enough would see the den Karynth brought down. I'd
not give them a puppet to use against my announced heir."
"Surely
Calandryll would never lend himself to such treachery," Gomus murmured.
"He's bookish, yes; but never a traitor."
The
Domm made an angry gesture, the movement causing something skulking in the
shadows to hiss. "Not willingly," he agreed, "but his head's so
firmly in the clouds he'd likely find himself used unwittingly."
"I
think you underestimate him," Gomus ventured.
Bylath
snorted; the necromancer smiled deprecatorily.
"And
for all he's a milksop, I'd not see him slain," the Domm went on.
"There's little love lost between him and his brother, and should Tobias
consider him a threat he'd not hesitate to use the Chaipaku."
"No,"
Gomus murmured, nodding vigorously.
"As
a priest he'd be no threat," Bylath said. "As a priest he must
renounce all worldy ties."
"Including
his books," Gomus said; then frowned. "What of marriage, Lord Bylath?
Does he not entertain hopes in that direction?"
"He
makes cow's eyes at Nadama den Ecvin. But that's no more than puppy love, and
I've other plans for that maiden—Tobias favors her and she returns his
affection. I'd see them wed and bind the den Ecvins to the den Karynth."
"A
wise move," Gomus complimented. Bylath grunted, fleshy lips twisting in a
sour smile.
"Wise
moves secure bloodlines, sage. With the den Ecvins joined by marriage, Tobias
will stand inviolate."
"And
you would have me cast an augury on this?" Gomus asked.
"I'd
know where the spirits stand," Bylath nodded.
"Your
wish," Gomus simpered, "is my command."
"Yes,"
said Bylath, wiping at eyes rendered tearful by the pungent smoke.
He
watched as the necromancer busied himself with the tools of his occult trade,
rising to bring a stubby candle of nigrescent wax from a shelf, a phial of dull
green jade from a locked trunk, a stick of scarlet chalk from a drawer. He
cleared a space on the cluttered table and selected a bleached skull,
surrounding it with a chalk circle, inscribing symbols in a minute hand around
the circumference, another, thicker, circle to contain them. Unstoppering the
phial, he took a pinch of yellow powder that he sprinkled between the fleshless
jaws, into the sockets of the eyes. He set the candle atop the cranium and lit
a taper from a torch, using it to light the candle.
Pale
greenish light flickered and Gomus passed his hands through the flame,
murmuring softly. The candle began to melt, glistening ebony wax dripping over
the bone. As it touched the eye sockets and the jaw, they glowed a dull red, as
though fire burned within the empty cranium.
"The
Lord Bylath, Domm of Secca, asks for guidance, the necromancer intoned.
"Do you who are dead hear him?"
"I
hear him."
The
answer was the beat of sullen waves on a forsaken shore; a cold wind rustling
the leafless branches of a withered tree. Bylath shivered, suddenly cold.
“Ask,"
Gomus advised.
Bylath
cleared his throat: familiarity with the forms of necromancy did nothing to
render the asking easy.
“I
would see my elder son, Tobias den Karynth, secure," he said hoarsely.
"I would marry him to Nadama den Ecvin."
"He
shall wed Nadama den Ecvin; he shall be Domm of Secca after you."
The
voice was everywhere and nowhere. Bylath heard it in the pulsing of his blood
and the pounding of his heart, rather than through his ears. It seemed to
reverberate in the tissue of his flesh; he shuddered.
"And
I would make my younger son, Calandryll, a priest," he said.
"Calandryll
shall serve Dera."
The
timber of the voice shifted: Bylath wondered if he heard dry laughter.
"He
will offer no threat to Tobias?"
"Tobias
shall inherit what you leave," came the whis- pery answer.
"Calandryll shall not contest him."
Bylath
realized that, despite the chill he felt, he sweated. "My thanks," he
said.
"I
was summoned—I had no choice but to answer. I have no choice save truth—I tell
you what you want to hear."
The
stub of candle liquefied, black wax coating the skull. The wick flickered and
went out; the red light behind the eye sockets died; the voice trailed into
silence. Bylath shook himself.
"That
last," he murmured. "What did that mean?"
The
necromancer shrugged.
"The
dead are enigmatic."