Red Magic (10 page)

“Yes,” the centaur stated. “We haven’t been able to learn much from outside Thay. Inside the country, posing as Thayvians, it should be another matter. Of course,” he added softly, “spying is dangerous. If we’re found out, we’ll likely be put to death.”

The sorceress dug into her pocket to retrieve her gold hair clasp and began picking the dirt out of it with her long fingernails. “I know it’s dangerous, but I’m doing it for my home country.” She glanced at the druid. “Look, Galvin, you don’t really have a home. I mean, you live in the woods. It’s not like feeling you’re a part of a country. When it comes right down to it, you’re only responsible for yourself. But when you live around people, as I do, you feel responsibility toward them.”

“I have a home,” Galvin said tersely. He propped himself up on his elbows and frowned at Brenna. Standing up, he brushed the dirt from his tunic. His home was the wilderness of Faerun, and he considered himself the protector of the animals who lived in it.

“Fine. You have a home.” Brenna ignored the centaur’s gentle nudge, not sensing when to quit. “It’s just that my home has lots of people—people who may be in grave danger.” She paused to blow her hair away from her eyes. Several stubborn strands stuck to her sweat-stained forehead and she had to move them aside with her hand.

“Our country’s history is wrapped up with the Red Wizards. We’ve battled them on and off for decades.” She paused again, this time to untwine a braid and take another deep breath. Galvin had her started, and she wasn’t going to stop until she finished her say or passed out from exhaustion.

“In the past when we’ve fought the wizards’ forces, like in the battles of Singing Sands or Brokenheads, we were able to defeat them, but our casualties were high. Our ruler, the Simbul, doesn’t want another war. Or if we must fight, she wants to know it’s coming so we can be prepared.”

The druid turned his back to Brenna and resumed his course along the riverbank. The centaur bent at the waist and extended a hand to help the councilwoman up. This time she took it.

“We’re not making good enough time to reach the First Escarpment today,” Wynter said. “We’ll probably travel another couple of hours, then camp for the evening.”

“We can make it. I’ll walk faster,” she volunteered, although she knew she had pushed herself hard already and would have trouble keeping up with only one boot.

The trio, with Brenna in the rear, continued along the bank. Close to the river, ancient willows, one with a trunk nearly as thick as Galvin was tall, dug their roots into the earth to drink thirstily from the river. Their long, whiplike branches danced in the breeze and swept the ground. Galvin carefully moved a few branches aside and disappeared under the largest willow’s umbrellalike canopy.

Dozens of small yellow parrots perched in the giant tree chittered excitedly. When Wynter and Brenna passed through the willow branches and emerged on the other side of the tree, they saw two of the birds sitting on the druid’s shoulder. Galvin was several yards ahead, and he appeared to be talking to them. Wynter moved quietly toward the druid, but Brenna kept her distance.

She stared at Galvin as he chittered back at the birds. Finally curiosity got the better of her, and she took a step forward, her bare foot landing on a sharp rock. “Ouch!” she gasped, balancing herself on her booted foot. Standing on one leg, she pulled the other up in front of her, turning the bottom of her foot up so she could inspect it. Dirt clung to her heel and the ball of her foot, and blood flowed from a gash just behind her toes.

Some distance ahead, out of hearing distance, the centaur and druid conversed, oblivious to Brenna’s discomfort.

“I don’t want to get too close to Thay’s border tonight anyway. We should camp a ways back from it,” Wynter said. “At least one of the wizards uses patrols of undead.”

Galvin shivered at the thought. “I prefer to deal with living creatures.” He nodded in Brenna’s direction and added, “But I’m not sure about that one.”

“Good thing she’s too far away to hear you,” the centaur replied. “She’s spunky, though. She’ll make it. I just don’t think she’s used to this much walking. Maybe I should keep an eye on her.”

“Are you coming?” Galvin yelled back to Brenna as the birds flew from his shoulder.

Brenna wiped the blood from the bottom of her foot with the hem of her dress and limped to catch up. The centaur fell back and matched Brenna’s stride. He noticed she paused every few steps. She had pulled up the hem of her skirt and held it in her right hand, leaving her legs exposed from the knees down. It made for faster hiking, but her legs and one bare foot were getting scratched by the weeds and bushes.

“He’s mad at me,” she sputtered. “And he’s just walking fast to humiliate me.” Brenna watched Galvin, noticing that he took long steps and didn’t look down at the ground. Chipmunks, rabbits, and other small creatures accepted his presence, not bothering to run at his approach. But when she and the centaur came near the animals, they scattered into the dense foliage. The land reminded her of rain forests she had read about in Aglarond’s libraries, and she suspected she would have enjoyed the scenery under different circumstances.

“If he likes animals so much, why does he have anything to do with the Harpers or anybody else?” She winced as a branch of a thorn bush grazed her calf, leaving a pink welt. Hiking with one booted foot and one bare foot was decidedly awkward. Bending over, she pulled her other boot free and hurried to keep pace with Wynter.

“The Harpers needed someone with his talents. He’s been with them for quite a number of years, helping them with various problems in and around Thesk, Aglarond, Yuirwood, and the coast. He was even involved with the godswar a while ago.”

Brenna lowered her voice so the druid couldn’t hear. “What’s so special about Galvin that the Harpers wanted him?”

The centaur frowned. “Remember, he’s a druid, what some people call a nature priest. He has talents neither you nor I could fathom. And with the Harpers, he puts those talents to good use. Listen, it’s simple. The Harpers are a diverse group of people. The organization’s strength lies in its diversity. I didn’t hear you asking me why I’m with them. I would think that to you I’d be more out of place in the Harpers than Galvin.”

“No … you’re different. You’re …” For once, she was at an impasse for words.

“I’m Galvin’s friend,” Wynter finished. “He brought me into the Harpers.” The centaur explained that several years ago a group of bandits were raiding farms. It was just after the farmers had taken their crops to market and had been paid in gold coins. The centaur’s farm was among those hit, and he helped Galvin catch the thieves. After that, Wynter joined the Harpers. “I’ve no regrets,” he concluded. “I still find time to tend my farm between Harper missions. And when I’m away, well, at least it gives the weeds an opportunity to grow.”

“But what about your families?” Brenna brushed against the centaur to avoid another thorn bush. There seemed to be a growing number of the annoying plants. She noticed that while the trees remained thick, blotting out some of the sun, the ground cover seemed to be increasing.

Wynter smiled ruefully. “Galvin and I have no families. My relatives are in Thay. I haven’t seen them since I was a child. As for Galvin, his parents were killed when he was young. He’s been on his own—and alone—since then.”

“How did his parents die?” she persisted, puffing to keep up and hopping to avoid rocks and thorns.

“It was … an accident,” he said, continuing to plod forward, staring at the horizon. Through an opening in the vine-covered trees, he thought he caught a glimpse of the First Escarpment. Galvin had told Wynter about his parents stealing something from an ambassador—a Thayvian ambassador. Even though the stolen items were returned, the ambassador demanded their deaths and their property. The ambassador’s wishes were fulfilled, and Galvin grew up hating Thay and civilization in general.

“So he’s not married,” Brenna mused. “But he’s got the Harpers.”

“He has some friends in the Harpers,” Wynter admitted, “But few of them are really close. Basically he’s a loner.”

“What if I wanted to join the Harpers?” Brenna asked. Her voice was somewhat muffled, since her head was directed at the ground to avoid obstacles.

“That depends on you,” Wynter replied, speeding up his pace. “It depends on how much time and effort you’re willing to sacrifice. It depends on whether you’re willing to put your life on hold and on the line for whatever cause might come up.”

“Are there any politicians in the Harpers?”

“Sure.”

“Who? Name some,” she encouraged.

“I can’t do that,” Wynter stated flatly. “We’re a secret organization, remember. Part of our strength lies in our anonymity.”

For the next hour, the pair fell into silence, and the gap widened between Brenna and Wynter and Galvin, who was several hundred yards ahead of them. At times they lost sight of Galvin in the trees, and the sorceress struggled to close the distance, knowing the centaur was lagging behind with her out of courtesy. Her feet burned, and it took considerable effort to keep going. She yearned to stop to rest and tend to the blisters on her feet.

Eventually she and Wynter lost sight of Galvin altogether, and she was worried they had become lost. However, the centaur concentrated on the ground, spotting signs of the druid’s passage here and there and assuring her they were on course. The centaur tried to increase the pace, but Brenna could move no faster.

“He won’t let himself get too far ahead of us,” Wynter offered.

“Shhh! Listen,” Brenna whispered.

“I don’t hear anything.”

“That’s just it,” she said, her voice barely audible. “No birds … nothing.”

The flora had remained as lush as when they first entered the woods many hours ago, but now there were no parrots, chipmunks, or other signs of life. Only a few miles ago there had been so many colorful birds that they looked like flowers on the trees. Straining her eyes, she couldn’t spot even one.

Ahead, she and Wynter saw Galvin step out from behind a tree and motion them to stop. The druid placed his palms against the trunk of a willow and closed his eyes. He laid the side of his head against the bark.

“What’s he doing?” Brenna asked, puzzled.

“He’s talking to the tree,” Wynter explained.

“Yeah, sure he is,” the enchantress retorted sarcastically. But she was glad for the opportunity to stay put. Her side was aching from hiking so long, her feet felt as if they were on fire, and she welcomed the rest.

After several minutes, the druid stepped back from the tree, opened his eyes, and started back toward the centaur and Brenna. He appeared drained, Brenna noted, while a short time ago he had seemed reasonably fresh and energetic.

“We’ll camp over there,” he said, pointing at a patch of ground near the willow. Thorn bushes were still plentiful, but there was enough space between them to accommodate the three travelers.

A rush of relief washed over Brenna. She prayed the trip tomorrow wouldn’t be as long; if it was, she’d never be able to make it. She didn’t believe she could take another step without shoes. As she looked for a spot relatively free of thorn bushes, she listened to Galvin and Wynter.

“Mushrooms and nuts—for dinner?” the centaur complained.

“There aren’t many animals around here.”

Wynter grumbled. “Even the animals know it’s not safe this near Thay, eh?”

Wynter glanced at Brenna and dropped her rolled-up tent and bag at her feet. She considered the tent, and for a moment she thought about unrolling it, setting it up, and crawling inside. But only for a moment. Instead, she dropped to all fours, slumped to her stomach, placed her head on the canvas, and immediately fell fast asleep.

Brenna woke shortly after dawn to the smell of something cooking. The land was bathed in a thick fog, and through it, she saw Wynter standing before a small fire turning on a makeshift spit what looked like the leg of a deer. Nearby, Galvin was rubbing something into a piece of hide. The young councilwoman struggled to a sitting position. Her legs ached and felt like lead, and her neck was stiff from sleeping at such an awkward angle.

However, she refused to appear beaten. Standing and smiling weakly, she greeted her companions good morning, grabbed the smaller of her bags, and looked around. It was so foggy she had to ask the druid directions to the river, which she was surprised to hear was only a few yards away. She returned about half an hour later, feeling her way through the fog and wearing a new dress, which was beige and decorated with tiny pink flowers. It was no more practical than the ruined blue one she tossed on top of her tent.

“Well, shall we be moving on?” she inquired, feigning being chipper, rested, and ready to go. It was a good performance, she decided. Actually she felt like curling up in a ball and sleeping for a month. Still carrying her bag, she cocked her head in the direction of the First Escarpment.

“Put these on first,” Galvin instructed, tossing a pair of hide moccasins in her direction—the hide he had been working on. “Antelope skin. It’s thick enough to be comfortable and provide some protection.”

The sorceress dropped to the ground and gratefully pulled on the moccasins. She cast a glance in the druid’s direction, wondering if he had killed the antelope in order to make the moccasins.

The druid kicked dirt over the flames to douse them while the centaur packed a large chunk of roast antelope into his bag. Then Galvin started toward the escarpment, and Wynter bent to pick up Brenna’s tent and larger bag.

“Just the bag,” she said, not wanting to bother the centaur with something she wouldn’t have the energy to unwrap. “Leave the tent behind. Sleeping under the stars is just fine.”

The morning fog hung low to the ground and extended upward about fifteen feet. The thick haze looked ghostlike, giving the woods a haunted appearance. Even Galvin had difficulty moving through it, since it cut visibility to only a few feet. The druid wended his way slowly through the trees with one arm extended in front of him and the other off to the side. He looked like a blind man feeling for obstacles. The thorn bushes tore at his leggings, and he tried to push the treacherous branches aside so they wouldn’t prick Wynter and Brenna.