The Lords of Anavar (13 page)

"Is she anything like her father?" asked Faeya Ryr.

"Not much. He was gruff and liked his ale. She seems too rigid, too severe in her outlook. Haetane was gregarious. It took but a moment to convince him to accompany me to a tavern. He sang often while he made his arrows. His wife, Alavie, was lighthearted too. We may need to discover why Alavaria is so weary of her life."

They waited under the shade of the tree. Gerrand kept his worries to himself. Faeya Ryr placed her hand on his to comfort him. She suspected the turmoil in his mind but would not speak of it in the presence of Bess and Berbac. She felt hot; her neck itched. She regretted not arguing stronger with Gerrand to bring her servants along. A bath sounded delicious as the sun crept high in the sky. The day would be hot. She did not know how far Gerrand planned to travel.

True to Roc's estimate, the family walked out of the hut with their packs within an hour. Gerrand nodded to Alavaria and led them back to the road. They walked the remainder of the afternoon keeping to the shady side of the road. Gerrand led, followed by Faeya Ryr, Doad Bess, Alavaria, Hile Berbac, Eva, Roc, and Damaie with Clariare watching the rear. Again, Gerrand pushed the pace, which did not bother the archers, but Doad Bess and Hile Berbac muttered under their breath, when they had enough breath. The road wound through the hills and the forest began to draw near the road. They would have to cross a wide plain when they neared Hoin. Gerrand did not know whether to pass the town or not. However, most travelers did stop and he wanted to avoid notice.

What decided him were Alavaria and her family. They were hermits most of the time and their presence in Hoin would attract more attention than travelers bypassing the town. Still, they did not hurry past Hoin and walked more than five extra miles before they turned from the road into the forest. Despite the outer appearance of a tangled web of branches and brush it proved easy to walk quickly through the old trees.

"We can no longer trust the road," said Gerrand. "Macelan will have eyes watching it and perhaps the forest is watched too, but we have no other option."

"I know a way deep within the forest," said Roc. "I can lead us."

Gerrand looked at Alavaria who nodded. "Do not think of him as a young boy. He knows more woodcraft than most men twice his age."

"Very well."

"Gerrand? Are you sure?" asked Berbac.

"Do not worry. We are not close to danger yet. I do not sense danger. We shall watch the boy and if he is as good as advertised, it will be one less worry for me. I will not turn away from good fortune."

"If you are sure," said Berbac.

"I am. Now, let me do some thinking."

Roc led them slowly through the trees. The forest thickened quickly as they moved several yards from the road. After thirty yards they no longer could see the road. Gerrand relaxed. There would be no pursuit. He worried that Macelan's people watched all roads. Perhaps they moved faster than Macelan believed they would. Perhaps they have an advantage. Gerrand felt a little easier. His memory of his mentor's skills increased the worry in his old head. He felt unsure if his memory could be accurate. He was old, much older than the eight hundred years he admitted to, and sometimes his memories jumbled together and he became unsure which recollection belonged to which century. He hoped he had the skill to defeat Macelan. None of the others had any idea what they were really up against, and now these children were to be thrown into the battle.

Alavaria was right; he sent thousands of innocents to their deaths during his existence and he would continue to do the same until all his battles were over. Still, he regretted every death and while he could not recall all his estate caretakers over the years, he knew each name of every person who died in his service. At night their faces floated out of the darkness and whispered his name.

The path Roc blazed rose and the thick undergrowth slowed them even more. Faeya Ryr took Gerrand by the hand. He did not resist although he knew Berbac and Bess would be whispering about it behind their hands. Gerrand enjoyed the fact that they could not keep up with him, even without Faeya Ryr's assistance. Roc found an open spot where the sun warmed the long grasses and the flies buzzed constantly. They rested for a brief time; the flies drove them onward.

The terrain grew steeper as they neared the steppes of the mountains. Gerrand called for camp to be set near the creek Roc found. Tents went up quickly and Gerrand allowed a hot fire, but only a small one.

One by one they turned in for the night. Alavaria and her children would take turns at the watch. Gerrand could not get her to let any of the Mages take a watch. Gerrand sat with Faeya Ryr as the stars filled the sky.

"What will the morning bring?" asked Faeya Ryr.

"Hope. Always hope. I hope Artus is near Jespin. I hope he can learn what I need to know. I hope he will head south and rendezvous with us. Those are a few of the hopes I have. What do you hope?"

"I hope you are right in all things. I hope we have a chance to hide by ourselves."

"That is a good hope. I hope that above all other hopes."

She grinned at him. "Do not let such hope muddle your brains."

"Does it show? I wasn't sure."

"Sometimes, I can see it. I do not think anyone else can, unless the gigglers pay close attention."

"Bess and Berbac act as school boys."

"That is all you Mages are, Gerrand. Schoolboys. Never ending study, holed up from the rest of the world. I would be fearful for those two if some predatory noble ladies cornered them. A Mage around the finger makes for prominence at court."

"How do you know so much about the court? I always suspected you to be a relation of the High Priestess, but I never wanted to ask."

"You don't know?" She laughed. "Gerrand, you are a fool. The High Priestess is my cousin. I am part of the court."

"What?" He nearly fell off the log onto a sharp stone. Faeya Ryr caught him and pulled him to her. She looked into his eyes and kissed him. Then she stood up.

"I must get my sleep." She walked to her tent and closed the flap. Gerrand sat dazed and glanced to where Alavaria stood. The archer shook her head, grinning. She walked further into the woods. Gerrand finally found his feet and stumbled to his tent. His heard the owl hoot before he drifted to sleep.

The dark shadow detached itself from a tree and moved away from the camp. It learned what its master required. Moving silently, it smiled at the ease of eluding the woman with the bow. It paused, wondering if one or more of the Mages should be killed. Just a sharp blade in the darkness, but it had no instructions for murder. Its master's anger proved difficult to survive. It decided to keep moving, but it guessed wrong. The hum of the arrow filled its head and the arrow pierced its neck. Alavaria whistled and the camp awoke. Her naked children ran to her, their bows ready. Gerrand stood at the opening of his tent. Berbac and Bess peered out of theirs. Faeya Ryr joined Gerrand walking to the body.

"I saw the movement. I knew it wasn't one of us." She pulled back the hood on the body.

"Another Yerasin assassin," said Gerrand. "Female. I did not know they were still on the continent."

"They are not," said Faeya Ryr. "Only in Cothos to my knowledge."

"But you no longer know everything about them," said Gerrand. "You have been misled. Torby Mola?"

"No one else would approach them. They would not care about Macelan. They were hired for gold."

"What is Mola's problem?" asked Gerrand.

"Perhaps it is me," said Faeya Ryr.

"Don't try to tell me he's doing all this because of you?"

"Wouldn't you?" She smiled at him. Gerrand opened his mouth, and then thought better of it. He didn't know what to say. Faeya Ryr watched him closely.

"How did she track you all this way?" asked Alavaria.

"I wish I knew," said Gerrand.

"What's this Gerrand? Yerasin assassins? I'm not familiar with them," said Berbac, trying not to look at the young girls. He glanced at Alavaria whose icy gaze made sure he did not look again.

"Highly trained. Very expensive. Rarely do they fail. It appears I have an enemy back home."

"Girls, retire to your tents," said Alavaria. Roc joined his sisters.

"I will bury the body," offered Berbac. He needed to get away from Alavaria. Her glance chilled him and he felt the unspoken threat.

"Could there be more than one?" asked Alavaria. "Perhaps there should be two sentries."

"No, they work alone. If there is a second, it is far away. Might be a day or two before it would appear. We can be ready for it."

"I hope so," said Faeya Ryr. "I wouldn't want to lose you after all this."

Gerrand sighed.

For days, the bumpy road to the Lathor castle of the Mage's Council ran crowded with carts and wagons hauling food and supplies to the castle. Heavily laded wagons squeezed past each other on the road sometimes knocking boxes to the ground. Servants loaded the wagons and directed them to the castle where more servants unloaded and sorted the goods under the watchful eyes of the Mages. The people of the surrounding area suspected something big happening but Alec Endria and Yanor, who purchased the supplies, said nothing. They did not respond to direct questions, instead staring down the questioners. Even the boldest citizens did not force the issue with the Mages. Besides, the Mages paid with gold.

Lathor was the center for the farming community of the area. Wagons of produce arrived once a week for the market and old friends caught up on news. Bors Taria was the lord of the area living ten miles north on his estate. Once a month he journeyed to the market. Every booth was crowded with buyers and friends engaging in a rapid-fire conversation about the Mage's strange and sudden buying spree.

"What's going on?" asked a merchant as he added more coin to his money purse. "This is a lot of supplies, even for you folk. Having a big meeting?" Silence.

"Must be the end of the world," said another man, filling the void. "They plan to lock themselves inside the castle." Still no response from the Mages.

"Good riddance," Spoken too soft for the Mages to hear.

"Is it safe for us?"

"Can't be if they're holing up. What do they have to be afraid of?"

"Maybe one of their spells went wrong and some demon now walks the earth."

"Makes sense with some of the stories we get from travelers around here. Especially from Curesia. If it isn't one kind of monster it's another. I heard a tale of a great snake flying through the air."

"You mean a dragon?"

"I heard snake, but it could've been a dragon. My wife's cousin saw it, and he didn't wait around to find out more."

"Don't blame him."

"What can we do?"

"Send a message to the Queen."

"What good will that do? It's too far. No telling what imps and demons will attack us in the meantime. Doesn't take a genius to figure out that whatever the Mages are afraid of might come here and attack them. I think we shall pay dearly if that happens. We have no protection. The Mages keep to themselves and the Queen cannot send an army in less than a month. I have a better idea. Bors Taria's estates are only a day's ride. Send someone out there. He's been good to us. Remember when Sularg died and his widow had no money? Bors Taria forgave her debts and found a new home for her."

"Not as nice as her old one."

"The point is, he didn't have to do anything, yet he did. He will listen to our entreaty. We need to send someone quickly. We don't know how much time we have."

"I'll go." The cloth merchant was a respected man and Bors Taria would listen to him. "I have a standing invitation to Bors Taria's estate and the guards will allow me passage."

As the cloth merchant ran off to find his horse, the others watched the carts of the Mages wind their way to the castle. Dark, heavy clouds grew in the sky beyond the castle.

"What is going on?" asked the first man again. He shook his head.

In the castle library, Techna Vole and Cehana sat and watched Tyman Stile read from old texts. He blew dust off the pages as he turned them. His fingers daintily took hold of the edges and he turned his whole upper body as he moved the cracking pages. He gently folded over each page being sure to smooth it out. He made a clicking noise with his tongue while he read. The others rolled their eyes at Stile and licked their lips, hoping for an excuse to open the cask of ale in the kitchen. They had given up on their research and only Stile continued to work. He jotted several words down, and then dipped his pen again. As he wiped it on the lip of the inkwell, he noticed his companions. He tapped the feather against his lip and frowned. He turned toward them. His eyes stared through them.

"Why do you just sit there?" snapped Tyman Stile. "We have work to do."

"You waste your time and ours. The information you seek is not there," said Cehana. "Gerrand has it in his head. He would never write down anything but dry history. Have you not read it before? He records nothing of value to us. Do give up. You will not find specifics about Macelan."

Tyman Stile sighed and pushed his chair away from the table. He closed his eyes. The lines on his forehead appeared deeper and his skin was pulled tight over his cheekbones. His breathing was audible. The pen snapped in his hands.

"Why wouldn't he record it?" asked Techna Vole. "Does he expect to live forever?"

"Perhaps. Perhaps not," said Cehana. "Consider the implications that what we know of Macelan comes from Gerrand alone. There is little record elsewhere in the world. Gerrand's had five hundred years to seek it out."

"Cehana! What are you saying? That Gerrand deliberately deceives us?"

"No, no. Please calm yourself, Techna. I will not say anything so scandalous. What I want you to consider is that Gerrand's records of the past are from his point of view, that's all. I just want you to consider that when we have to make life or death decisions based upon information gained from Gerrand."

"I agree," said Tyman Stile. "Your point is well taken, Cehana. We cannot rely solely upon Gerrand's words. He may be leading us in a direction we do not wish to follow."