The Seven Towers (10 page)

“For part of the day, at least. I have no wish to spend a month or more away from my troops when we can be there in five or six more days.”

Jermain swallowed hard and nodded. “Of course, my lord.” And I was the man who didn’t want to get involved with sorcery, he thought wryly. Ah, well, if the real threat comes from sorcery, I could not have kept from it. Better to know what I will face before I must face it.

“You are not comfortable with magic?” Carachel said, echoing Jermain’s thoughts with uncomfortable accuracy.

“I admit that I lack knowledge,” Jermain retorted. “But is anyone truly comfortable with magic?”

Carachel laughed. “Even wizards are not always at ease with their craft. Forgive me.” But his expression as he watched Jermain held a hint of worry, and after a moment he went on, “You have had no previous experience with magic, then? So many men carry amulets or talismans that I had assumed you knew at least a little.”

“Such things are not common in Sevairn, and I have never carried any of them. If there is anything you wish me to know, I fear you must teach me from the beginning.”

“But since you left Sevairn?”

“I have spent most of my time with the Hoven-Thalar, and they do not use amulets either. Is it so important?”

“No, no, I was only wondering.” Carachel hesitated, then seemed to realize that some additional explanation was needed. “The spells I cast could not find you at first, and I thought perhaps you carried a protective charm. Something similar to the one I use to prevent the Guild of Mages from finding me. When I found you near a river, I was sure of it; such spells are weaker there.”

“I am afraid you were wrong, my lord; I carry no such talisman.”

“Well, perhaps it is natural talent, then.” Carachel gave Jermain a speculative look.

“Natural talent? I did not know sorcery could be acquired except through study.”

“For the most part, that is true, but like anything else some people have greater ability than others. Normally, it develops in persons who have spent much of their lives surrounded by magic; I would be surprised to find it in someone from Sevairn. I suppose you have never been tested for such talent?”

“No, my lord,” Jermain replied. “And I must admit, I have no great wish to be. But if you think it will be of help to you, I am willing.”

Carachel nodded thoughtfully, watching Jermain. “It may come to that. For now, however, there is no need.” He looked at Jermain a moment longer, then smiled reassuringly. “Put it out of your mind now, and rest. I will take the first watch.”

Jermain was too tired to argue; he wrapped his cloak around him and lay down where he was. In a few moments, he was asleep.

He awoke abruptly to the sound of birds in a dim, predawn light. The fire was a bed of glowing embers; of Carachel there was no sign. Jermain sat up and shook the last wisps of uneasy dreams from his mind. “My lord Carachel?”

“Here.” Carachel’s voice came from behind him. Jermain turned and saw the wizard walking out of the shadows, carrying an armload of wood. “I’m sorry if I alarmed you, but the fire was getting low and I thought it best to get a little more fuel before it died completely.”

“So I see. Why didn’t you wake me?”

“There was no need. I am accustomed to little sleep, and we shall travel farther today if you are completely recovered from yesterday when we start.”

Reluctantly, Jermain nodded. He could not argue with the logic of it, but he had agreed to serve Carachel and he felt strange letting Carachel bear the brunt of the work. He started to rise, intending to assist Carachel with the fire, but the wizard motioned him back.

“Stay; I will not be long with this.” Carachel bent to set the wood beside the remains of the fire, and something flashed on the middle finger of his right hand.

Jermain blinked and looked more closely. He saw it clearly for an instant as Carachel laid a stick on the embers. It was a ring, made in the shape of two serpents, one of polished gold and the other of black iron, twisting around each other. Jermain opened his lips to comment on it, then stopped and turned the gesture into a yawn. He suspected rather strongly that the ring had something to do with Carachel’s magic, and he was sure Carachel would not welcome questions that pried into matters of wizardry. Carachel might be willing to answer such questions anyway, but Jermain did not want to strain their brief fellowship by making rude or awkward inquiries. “I will take the next watch,” he said instead.

Carachel looked up from the wood. “I told you I am accustomed to little sleep. That is not necessary.”

“Little sleep is not the same as no sleep at all, my lord. Do you plan to travel in the same manner as we did last night?”

“Yes, of course. I thought I had made that clear.”

“Then I would most respectfully urge you to sleep, and let me watch until sunup. My reasons are somewhat selfish, I admit; I have never heard that magic is safe, and I can’t say I like the idea of being enchanted by a tired wizard.”

For a moment Carachel stared at Jermain, then he began to laugh. “You are right, of course,” he said at last. “Very well, I will rest.” He rose and walked a little way from the fire. For a moment, he fumbled with the clasp of his cloak; then he wrapped it around himself and lay down while Jermain busied himself with the fire.

When the flames were burning steadily once more, Jermain sat back to consider his situation. The abrupt change from fugitive to nobleman required some adjustment. Carachel’s sorcery made him uncomfortable; still, Jermain reflected, he had served Marreth for years, and Marreth had done many things that made Jermain far more uncomfortable than Carachel’s magic.

Not that he had seriously considered refusing Carachel’s offer. His other alternatives were unpleasant enough to make the wizard’s proposal seem like a gift straight from Arlayne, though Jermain was more likely to attract the attention of the War Goddess Morada than the Lord of Mercy. But even under happier circumstances Jermain suspected that he would have accepted Carachel’s offer, and not merely out of ambition, though serving the Wizard-King of Tar-Alem was undeniably prestigious. I like Carachel, Jermain thought, and that is more important than prestige or magic.

The remainder of the night passed swiftly. Shortly after dawn, Jermain woke Carachel, and as soon as they had eaten they saddled their horses. Jermain noticed that the wizard’s right hand was bare, and he was therefore not greatly surprised when Carachel informed him that they would travel most of the morning without sorcerous assistance.

They rode until noon, when they stopped to eat again and rest their horses. At midafternoon they mounted once more, and this time Carachel worked his spell. Jermain was quick enough to see the serpent ring on Carachel’s upraised hand before he entered the shadow world, and then he was too occupied with Blackflame to notice anything at all.

It was night when they stopped at last, and Jermain felt as if he had been riding for a week without sleep, food, or water. He forced himself to see to Blackflame and swallow a few gulps of water before he slept, but he was too tired to eat. Carachel woke him up after a few hours. The wizard seemed more tired than he had the previous day, and Jermain took the watch without complaint.

The next three days fell into the same pattern. The two men rode slowly during the morning, then stopped to eat and rest. At midafternoon Carachel cast his enchantment, and for endless hours they would travel in the shifting gray world of the spell. By the time they stopped for the night, Jermain and his horse would be exhausted.

The terrain changed rapidly. By the second evening they were in the middle of the North Plains, and on the fourth morning they reached the Morlonian Hills. Jermain was amazed at the effectiveness of Carachel’s sorcery; they had made nearly a month’s journey in four days. He was also glad that the trip was nearly over. Despite Carachel’s assurances, Jermain had never become accustomed to the wizardry that had brought them so far so quickly, and he was looking forward to the time when he would not be utterly weary at the end of the day.

Late in the evening of the fifth day they arrived at the place where Carachel’s army was camped, just inside Tar-Alem on the opposite side of the Morlonian Hills. Carachel had used his traveling spell for only a brief time that afternoon, so Jermain was not as tired as he had been on the preceding days. Still, he was glad to see the flickering dots of the watchfires ahead, signaling the journey’s end.

Carachel answered the sentry’s hail with a flare of light that announced to everyone in the camp precisely who had arrived. The sentry stammered apologies as he bowed and let them past. Ahead, Jermain saw messengers speeding between the rows of tents, shouting that the King had returned. Jermain and Carachel rode slowly on through a steadily increasing confusion.

The center of the camp was occupied by a circle of decorative pavilions, and the two men rode into it and stopped. A boy in black-and-gold livery leaped to take their horses as they dismounted, and, after a moment of irrational reluctance, Jermain let him have Blackflame’s rein. He watched the boy until he vanished among the soldiers, then turned to Carachel.

“Will you do me the honor of joining me for dinner this night, my lord?” Carachel said before Jermain could speak.

A murmur of surprise rippled through those bystanders close enough to hear the exchange, and Jermain knew it would be recounted throughout the army by the following morning. He felt a wave of appreciation for Carachel’s public demonstration of esteem; it would make the task of taking charge of the army much easier. “I am at Your Lordship’s service,” he replied, bowing.

Carachel nodded and turned away. Jermain followed him to the central pavilion, which was painted gold with a black curtain for the door. As they approached, a hand reached out of the curtain and pulled it aside. Jermain stopped in surprise. The figure in the doorway was a woman.

She was tall, and almost too slender to be considered attractive. Once, perhaps, she had been beautiful; now the stubborn pride in her bearing only served to emphasize the faded weariness of her face. She wore a cream-colored gown, and her long blond hair was held in place by a circlet of gold. “Welcome home, my lord,” she said in a low voice.

Carachel bowed to kiss her hand, then drew her forward. “My lady, this is Lord Jermain Trevannon, lately of Sevairn, who has agreed to command our army. Lord Trevannon, this is my wife, Elsane.”

“Your Majesty,” Jermain said, bowing low. He was surprised to find her with the army instead of in Tar-Alem’s capital; as he remembered, she had no reputation as a warrior. In fact, she had very little reputation for anything. Only child of the old King of Tar-Alem, she had married the younger son of the King of Vircheta thirteen years ago. On her father’s death a few years later, she had immediately handed the kingdom over to her husband, and since then had played no real part in the politics of the Seven Kingdoms. Except, of course, to provide an heir to the throne; if Jermain’s memory served him correctly, the child was now nearly three.

“Welcome, Lord Trevannon. I am glad my husband’s errand prospered,” said the lady, without any particular pleasure.

“Has there been any trouble while I was gone?” Carachel asked.

“No, my lord,” she said in the same neutral tone. Jermain had a sudden memory of his first conversation with Carachel, and abruptly he understood. If the wizards of the Guild of Mages were trying to stop Carachel, they might well attack his wife and son. No wonder he kept Elsane with the army! Jermain was surprised that Carachel had left her long enough to find him and bring him here.

“I am glad,” said Carachel. “Now, shall we dine, my lady?”

“Of course, my lord.” She swept a curtsy, and led the way into the pavilion. Jermain thought he saw Carachel’s lips tighten briefly, but the expression vanished so quickly that he was not certain, and the two men followed Elsane in.

Dinner was as formal a function as could be expected in a temporary camp. Jermain thought it strange that Carachel had not even taken time to brush the dust of travel from his clothes, but he had little chance to speculate on Carachel’s reasons. Carachel was apparently accustomed to dining with his captains and chief advisers, and his first action was to introduce Jermain to all of them.

Elsane took little part in the conversation that followed. The talk was mainly of military matters, in which she seemed to have no interest: how many of the newly levied soldiers would have finished training by the end of the month, how many weapons would be needed to supply them, and whether the latest levies from the northern part of the kingdom would arrive before the main army began to move.

“I think they will make it,” a gray-haired commander said. “Kird is a good captain; he knows when to force his men.”

“I don’t disagree, but he isn’t dealing with trained soldiers, remember,” said a short, brown-haired woman who had been introduced to Jermain as one of Carachel’s advisers. “Even Kird can’t do much with raw peasants.”

“If we have another week of good weather, he’ll be here,” the commander said stubbornly.

“I am afraid you are wrong, Suris,” Carachel said, looking up from his own conversation with a stiff little man in red. “Kird and his men will not reach us in time.”

“What?” Commander Suris jerked his head in Carachel’s direction.

“Kird will not reach us before we begin to move,” Carachel repeated.

“Why not, my lord?”

“Because I cannot wait any longer. We march south tomorrow.”

M
arreth’s face grew even darker. “New information? Ridiculous! You weren’t even here when Trevannon was exiled.”

“Pity about that; I might have been able to keep you from getting into this mess,” Vandaris said. “Not that you’d ever listen to me.”

“Trevannon was plotting against me!”