The Mad God's Muse (The Eye of the Lion Saga Book 2) (32 page)

A pox upon them all!

He could see them ahead, now,
cowering behind steel. What was the point? While he had his doubts
about some of the Nihlosians, surely the Southlanders all had the
spirit to do more. It was always so with true warriors.

Why, Mei, is everyone a
simpleton?

He shook his head in
consternation, frustrated that he knew the answer, and yet had
chosen to be part of the problem. People had to be taught, and he
and his order had been woefully neglectful of that. Sadrik was
fortunate. His young cousin? Oh, that was a tragedy, indeed.

It was a subject to be dealt
with later. He had never bothered with students, but it was high
time he started.

You should have trained
Aiul, and Elgar take Narelki’s objections.

Ariano pulled at his sleeve,
breaking him from his guilty ruminations. He turned toward her and
was shocked by her expression. She was deathly pale, her eyes wide
in what could only be described as fear.

“What?” he shouted
over the noise. “What is it?”

Ariano pointed a gnarled finger
ahead, her hand trembling. Maranath followed her gaze to the
Southlander who stood twenty yards ahead, staring back at them with
wide eyes.

It’s
him. He’s the source of the extra resistance.
He
had no idea how he knew. The information was simply in his mind, and
he knew it to be true. But why would that upset Ariano so?

He examined the Southlander
more closely as they approached, noting the way he stood, the sense
he projected of himself.
Strong,
this one. Strong as any Meite. He will be the leader.

Maranath led his group toward
the Southlanders, paying little heed to the occasional Elgie who
rushed toward them. The fools inevitably burst into flames before
getting too close, that or were chopped to bits by Maklin’s
golems. Sadrik was indeed powerful, more than he knew, and he truly
enjoyed battle. Now if no one coddled him overmuch, or conversely,
killed him for being too cocky, he’d be one of the more
powerful of their order some day.

Thus preoccupied, Maranath
didn’t recognize what Ariano was trying to point out until he
was nigh on top of the Southlander. When it did penetrate his
consciousness, it was all he could do not to cry out in shock.

Another piece of the Eye hung
about the man’s neck.

Ahmed watched the quartet
approach with a wary eye. They seemed frail, but it was illusion. He
could feel their power radiating from them like heat. He tried to
get a sense of them, to know the depths of their evil, but it was
like trying to read a language he did not know.

Chaos. Gray. White noise.

That made no sense. He focused
on the eldest man, clearly their leader, struggling to take measure
of him.
Who are you, old man?

But he was no one, or rather,
everyone, so many conflicting notions that it was impossible to sort
out. Ahmed shuddered. He had only felt such things once before, when
he and Yazid had visited a house for the sick. Ahmed had not
understood at the time that the men were sick not of body but of
mind.

They had felt like this.
Jumbled, contradictory thoughts, fractured world views, senseless
arrangements of values and impulses.
Gray
.
How could it be that all of these sorcerers were madmen, though?

They were almost upon him now.
The leader’s eyes widened in surprise that was quickly, almost
ruthlessly suppressed, but not in time to hide it. The old man knew
something! He must sense Ahmed probing him. He might even interpret
it as an attack, and who could blame him?

Ahmed shouted “Are you
friend or foe, sorcerer?”

The sorcerer waved his hand,
sending another fallen tree spinning through the ranks of swarming
Elgies. “Which does it seem to you, Southlander?”

“Both.”

The old man’s eyes
twinkled with amusement. “We should talk, then. But there are
so many distractions.” Another Elgie ran past, screaming, and
the old sorcerer nodded in his direction. “Difficult to parley
with flaming idiots running about.”

Ahmed gave him a curt nod and
shouted across the lines to his second. “Sandilianus, this
front is secure! End these Elgie dogs!”

With their flank protected by
the sorcerers, the beleaguered defenders became lions amongst
hyenas. Sandilianus shouted the battle orders, and the fighting
circle flattened and reshaped itself into a spearhead that he hurled
at the enemy with devastating results. In short order, the only
Elgies not dead or dying were in panicked flight.

Ahmed kept a wary eye on the
newcomers, all the same. The fact that they had briefly shared
similar goals was most certainly not proof of their friendly intent.
It was a good sign, then, to hear the leader of the sorcerers
himself call for and end to the fight.

“Hold!” he called
out to one and all. “We would parley!”

Ahmed nodded and gestured to
his own men. With a collective sigh, both camps of combatants
lowered weapons, shields, and themselves to the ground. Sandilianus
took up a position at parade rest behind Ahmed, and Caelwen did the
same with the old sorcerer.

The ancient fellow regarded him
with a bemused look, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Was it
fortune that brought you our way, or providence?”

Ahmed inclined his head in
disdain. “We are here by the grace of Ilaweh. We are at war
with your people, but we could not let these dogs murder you in your
sleep.”

The old sorcerer held out a
hand. Ahmed considered a moment, wary of a trap, then clasped it
with his own and shook firmly. The man’s grip was surprisingly
strong.

“I am Maranath of House
Aswan,” he declared. “My companions Ariano of House
Talus, Maklin of House Yorn, and young Sadrik of House Tasinal.”

Ahmed nodded to each in turn.
“I am Prelate Ahmed Justinius.” He gestured over his
shoulder with his head. “My second, Centurion Sandilianus al
Rashid.”

Maranath nodded at them both.
“We’ve met.”

Ahmed raised an eyebrow in
surprise and turned to Sandilianus for confirmation. Sandilianus
answered with a single nod. “They are the very ones I spoke
of.”

The old sorcerer winked. “And
perhaps we need not be at war, eh?”

Ahmed shook his head. “Who
are you to even say such a thing?”

“One quarter of the
ruling council of Nihlos.”

Sadrik cleared his throat and
spoke quickly, as if he were rushing to complete his words before
someone silenced him. “Unofficially, we’d be a third. My
cousin, the
Empress
,
is very partial to my advice.”

Ariano looked up at the younger
man and gave him a scowl. “Pity you only bothered putting a
leash on her
after
she started a war!”

Maranath shot them both icy
looks over his shoulder, and they fell silent. He smiled
apologetically at Ahmed. “You must forgive us. We are a
passionate sect.”

Ahmed shrugged. He saw nothing
out of place. “I am hardly some dainty courtier. I am an
advocate of solving disagreements with fists.”

The old sorcerer chuckled
softly as Sandilianus leaned toward Ahmed, his voice low so as not
to carry beyond their immediate circle of conversation. “He
speaks truth. It was this very man who sentenced me to death, and he
and this woman released me.” He looked at them again,
searching. “Where is the other? The dark-haired man?”

Ariano rolled her eyes. “He
means Prandil.”

Maranath placed a calming hand
against her back as he spoke to Sandilianus. “Prandil is
another Council member in our camp. He's within Nihlos, keeping a
watchful eye on our young hellion empress.”

Sandilianus’s eyes grew
wide. “The one who tried to kill you all?”

“The very same.”

“I am amazed you did not
put her to death!”

Maklin hacked and spat on the
ground. “That’s what I told them, but no one listens to
me. I might as well be a mushroom.”

The young sorcerer giggled at
this, but quickly fell silent at a glare from the elder.

Caelwen took the brief pause in
conversation to add, “My father is also a council member. I am
certain he will trust my word on the matter.”

Sandilianus gave a low growl at
this. “I have heard that tale before.”

Caelwen bowed his head,
chagrined. “So you have, to my shame. Neither I nor my father
had a hand in what happened to your people. But I had a duty to
stand by my Empress once the die was cast.”

“Aye, there is honor in
that.”

Caelwen looked Sandilianus in
the eye. “Things are different now. There will be no repeat of
Tasinalta's evil. I swear it to you.”

Sandilianus held Caelwen's gaze
for long moments, then gave him a grudging nod. “I believe
you. I have seen nothing to make me doubt your honor. Only your
sense in pledging it.”

Maranath waited a moment until
he was certain the exchange was complete, then continued, “And
there is another in our camp, as well, Narelki. Seven votes on the
Council of Twelve. That’s who I am. You may as well call me
Nihlos.”

Ahmed studied the old man a
moment, searching, grasping, but there was nothing but fog, gray
mist. It
seemed
the old man was being truthful, but who could
say? And if he were not? Did it matter? “Let us say we were no
longer at war. What then?”

The old man raised an eyebrow
and gave him a faint smile. “Well, I should say the first
order of business would be to stop killing each other.”

Ahmed allowed himself a brief
chuckle. “Truly, I can see you know the intricacies of war.
Then what?”

“We go about our business
and trouble one another no more.”

The old man made it sound so
simple, but it meant letting Yazid’s murderer escape justice.
Ahmed did not even know the villain’s name. But there had been
enough fighting. Yazid had died well, and Ilaweh’s will had
been done. What was the vengeance of one man, to stand against such
things?

“We come to hire crew for
our ship,” he said. “Our man Eleran of no house, one of
your people, says it is possible to buy the freedom of prisoners.”

Maranath raised an eyebrow in
surprise, and Caelwen gave a wry chuckle. “It is possible to
purchase prisoners. What you do with them after is your own affair.”
His face grew stern as he continued. “But I warn you,
Southlander: do not enter Nihlos. Until the council actually meets
again to call off any hostilities, I am duty bound to arrest you if
you do.”

Ahmed shot him a glare of
annoyance, and the sorcerers rolled their eyes almost in unison.
Ahmed allowed himself a smile. These sorcerers, it seemed, had as
little patience with such things as he. It was a good thing to know.
“And what of Eleran?”

Maranath again showed some
reaction at mention of the name. Caelwen nodded,as well. “I
know him. A troublemaker and a drunk, but hardly a public enemy. As
I heard it, he was told he would live far longer outside Nihlos, but
I know of no formal charges beyond drunk and disorderly.”

“He said he fucked the
wrong woman.”

Caelwen pursed his lips and
nodded bemusedly. “That should be plural, I think. Where is
he? I still owe him a thing or two.”

Sandilianus cracked his
knuckles and offered a wicked grin. “You owe
me
something, Caelwen Luvox.”

The sorcerers shared a brief
glance back and forth, and Maranath spoke for them. “I find
myself forced to agree. You gave him quite a handling in court.”

Caelwen shrugged, unmoved. “I
did my duty, and the Southlander and I have already spoken of this.
We agreed to put that business aside until things sorted out.”

Sandilianus nodded. “It
is so.”

Maklin gave Sadrik a punch in
the arm. “It seems sorted enough to me.”

Caelwen shook his head,
disappointment clear on his face. “Would that it were. I
should like very much to accept the challenge, but I am on duty. I
won't shirk it for personal matters.”

Sadrik grunted in disbelief. “A
convenient thing, that.”

Caelwen turned and shot him a
withering glare. “What would you know about duty, Meite? I’ve
kept your idiot cousin alive even though I despise her. Is that not
proof enough for you?”

Sadrik raised an eyebrow and
pursed his lips, considering, then nodded. “When you put it
that way, I suppose it is.”

Maranath gave Caelwen a
piercing look, as if probing him. “Do you want to fight,
Caelwen?”

“Of course I do!”

“Then I relieve you and
assume your post. I have that authority.”

Caelwen stared at Maranath, a
look of astonishment and gratitude on his face. “Thank you,
sir!” He snapped a salute. “I stand relieved!”

Maranath turned to Ahmed,
pleading with his eyes. “Must it be lethal?”

Ahmed was shocked at the
notion. “It will
not
!
They will go fists, or I will not stand for it. I cannot afford to
lose Sandilianus, and I will not see him kill an honorable man when
there is a choice.”

Maranath regarded him for a
moment with a quizzical smile. “We are much alike. We, too,
despise waste. Do you have rules for your fist battles?”

Ahmed nodded. “Some, but
few. We form a circle. They fight within. No eye gouges or other
attempts to maim. Fists and honor. The first man to cry off is the
loser. You and I shall judge.”

Sadrik cocked his head and
asked, “Is there a prize?”

Ahmed shot him a contemptuous
look. “
Victory
is the prize.”

Sadrik gave him a slight bow
and spread his arms. “I like you, Southlander. You are a
kindred spirit.”

Maklin cleared his throat and
raised a hand like a child in a classroom, though he didn't bother
to wait for recognition. “And wagers?”