The web of wizardry (39 page)

Couriers pursued them now, brave men who ran between Ti-Mori's retreating army and Branra's columns, risking capture and torture should they encounter Markuand skirmishers ahead of the battle line. The word was brought—Markuand had crossed the Sink and fallen upon Vidik, and had raged to find it in ashes and its wells befouled. At great labor, they had been forced to bring more water with them from the river they had conquered. Their slaves suffered, but so did many of their own kmd. Yet the Markuand warlords had no pity and seemed heedless of the waste of lives and sweat. Undeterred, grim, they came after Ti-Mori and struck at her warrior women again and again, each blow costing both armies dearly.

Branra's caravan rolled upland, toward its rendezvous with the main forces of Krantin. Each sunset found them farther west, closer to Siank, where the army of The Interior and the tribes of the Destre-Y gathered to meet the last attack of the Markuand, the attack that must decide all.

They climbed, a more gradual ascent than the one out of Deki. They had traveled this way long days ago, not knowing the full extent of the peril which lay ahead. Now, lean and hardened and blooded, the caravan made its return journey. The wagons were few, and many soldiers rode roans rather than blacks. Uniforms were not standard, and weapons were whatever a man had been able to save from the rout. But they were a better army than when they had left, in many ways.

The column wound up through a pass at the end of two parallel ridges. A broad, grassy plain lay beyond, and Siank, set against a backdrop of snow-capped mountains. A vast array of tents and rude dwellings and provision wagons was drawn up on Siank Plains, far tod many to have been accommodated within the city walls. Siank would already be bursting from the refugees of her sister Destre cities to the east. The surviving wagons of the caravan were sent on, and troops were assigned campsites along the myriad streams of the Plains. Danaer and his apprentices were told they might return to their units. The great trek was done.

The Vrastre and Bogotana's Sink had been crossed twice, and many good comrades had died. The friends they had left behind at Siank garrison greeted them with cheers. Their ranks had been swelled by tens of tens of conscripts from The Interior, peasant boys and city rabble forced to be soldiers and properly fearful in their ignorance. There would be a second city of tents north of Siank, where the Destre community would also enlarge to become the mightiest Zsed the plains people had ever known. Gordt te Raa would lead his own army, a great band of warriors gathered from Deki to Barjokt and from Ve-Nya to Kakyein. There might even be a few warriors from Nyald Zsed, Danaer knew, but he would keep the honor of his clans himself, in uniform.

He saw many faces he had almost forgotten in the ordeals of the trek. Confusion was all around, and he could only nod to most of these comrades he had known since Nyald Fort. Danaer sought out an enclave

of staff, hoping to see Lira before he must go to his units. An immense canopy had been set up at the rear of the Plains, hard by Siank. A forest of pennants surrounded the open tent, the badges of many lords of The Interior who had come to serve the Royal Commander. Above them all floated Krantin's bold, dark banner and the black and gold flag of the Brotherhood of the Zseds. The alliance still held fast.

The canopy's sides were drawn up to admit the breeze, and Danaer peered curiously into the tent. Malol te Eldri was there, looking more pale than Danaer remembered. There was tiredness in his posture, which spoke of many sleepless nights. General Nurdanth was with him, studying maps. He too looked very worn; the bulk of those who had died at Deki had been from Siank garrison, and Nurdanth was well known to weigh heavily the loss of even a single man. Gordt te Raa and Lasiirnte Kandra were there also. It gave Danaer a momentary start to see the princess; then he reminded himself this was no illusion. This woman would not seek to betray him or make him abandon his oath. Indeed, she took no notice of him, concerned, as was her lord, with whatever General Nurdanth was indicating on his map. The Destre mon-archs were dressed in their finest raiment, their bright mantles and jeweled weapons contrasting with the drab uniforms all around them.

There was one more person among these leaders, perhaps the most powerful one of them all—Ulodovol. The master wizard, unhke Malol, seemed stronger and more prideful than when Danaer had looked upon him last, as if he had taken strength from his adversary's besting at Deki. He gazed at the map expressionlessly, his mind walking paths common men could not.

Branra and his aides had ridden up outside the tent, and the officer caught sight of Danaer, pausing to salute him. "Well done, Destre. Now just a bit more work and we will finish this campaign, eh, and avenge Yistar." Danaer was giving only a fraction of his attention to the nobleman, for Lira was among Branra's staff, and he hurried to help her down from her horse. Branra was saying, "I trust your wound is

fully healed, Troop Leader. It would be too bad to be confined and miss a vrentru such as this promises to be . , . however, I do not think there is doubt that you are fit. If you do not mind, though, now other men must call upon the Lady Nalu's services for a while; only in her capacity as sorkra, I hasten to say, lest you challenge me for my impudence." He winked familiarly, ignoring the ranks between them.

Branra was laughing, and Danaer suspected his skin was showing a blush. Still chuckFng, Branra went on into the tent while Danaer seized a moment to be close to Lira.

"There is no time, qedra," she said. "I must go to the Traech Sorkra." Ulodovol's distant gaze had shifted and locked upon her. He might have been speaking, save that his lips did not move. Lira trembled, then whispered, "Keep ever close the dagger Gordyan gave you. It is mated to my amulet, as I am to you, my love." She glanced at Ulodovol and then stood on her toes, embraced Danaer, and kissed him. There was defiance in her action. Almost at once, she left him, running into the tent.

Danaer was tempted to edge closer and try to hear what might be said within, particularly what the two sorkra would say to one another after their separation and all that had happened.

"La! That is the end of fine company for you, for the present, youngling!" Shaartre poked Danaer in the ribs teasingly. "I came to fetch the mooning bridegroom, lest you lose your way."

Sighing, Danaer grinned and went along with him. They led their horses through the crowded unit camps. Shaartre chatted amiably about the latest gossip, for he was ever sharp-eared in such matters. Once he teased Danaer and asked if he intended to sneak off to his lady's tent ere dawn, as had been his wont of late. He saw Danaer's reaction and apologized.

"There will be no chance for that until the battle is done," Danaer said, accepting what must be. "She is much occupied with sorkra dealings and her wizard master."

"Well, with the gods' blessing, you will both be free

to enjoy yourselves soon," Shaartre said. He and Danaer were not green, and they spoke of what was to come without boasts, hoping for the best but knowing there would be much blood and death.

Now that Lira had returned to her mentor, Danaer was grateful that Shaartre had come to show him the path, for this was a greater assemblage than any he had ever known. Soldiers and quartermasters and weapons makers and troopmen's wives and camp women were everywhere. There were dismantled wagons formed into barricades, and trenches and pitfalls dug as last-ditch defenses to protect Siank. Countless cook fires stewed homely fare and even an occasional haunch of woolback or motge.

"There is a special business," Shaartre said, lowering his voice. He pointed discreetly, conceahng the motion behind his side. Danaer saw one tent set well away from all others and ringed about with furze and brambles and lines of ropes, patrolled constantly by stem-faced guards, some of Nurdanth's most trusted veterans. "Have you ever seen a prince in chains?"

A man sat before the tent. His chair was gilded, and he dined upon delicacies and Daran wine poured into crystal goblets, tended by his servant. Danaer lacked Shaartre's forbearance and gaped in amazement. "Diilbok!" he exclaimed.

"They say Malol and Nurdanth keep him here so that he will be under their eyes every minute of the battle, and witness what his treachery almost cost."

"And if we lose, will Malol claim his head?" Danaer wondered. "I owe him no pity, for he accused me falsely and almost killed Lira and me, in conspiracy with his mistress and Hablit. Yet I did not think Malol would dare such a thing. Diilbok is his cousin, and the King's."

"I spoke with the Royal Commander's orderly a while ago," Shaartre said. "The strange part is that when Malol came for him, the Prince seemed to expect it and even went willingly into his captivity. He treats it as a jest. Mayhap he thinks they wUl not risk harming him and offending the King . . ."

"Or it may be he believes his witch of a mistress

will work magic to free him," Danaer said darkly. "What does he hope to win from this betrayal? To reign among the Markuand?" Did the Prince, by surrendering so easily, spin a new form of treason, buying time for his woman to escape Ulodovol's sorkra web?

Prince Diilbok played the fop, dabbling his fingers on a napkin and quafling his wine with a great show of dainty manners. He was unconcerned by his shameful imprisonment, exuding arrogance and confidence.

Shaartre remarked, "The Royal Commander has ordered that the Prince be encouraged to drink, enough to put him into a stupor."

Malol's orders, or Ulodovol's? Was this a tactic to befog the Prince's mind so that his witch could not come to him with her evil arts?

"Whatever favor he enjoyed in Kirvii, for certain this does not impress Malol." Shaartre shrugged. "At least they have not done us any further harm since Deki."

Danaer knew that Malol te Eldri was hampered by rank and birth. Diilbok was too close to the crown to be dispatched hghtly, though Branra and Yistar had both muttered of political assassination. Apparently that was a thing Malol would not countenance. Danaer did not envy the Royal Commander, for the situation was thick with deadly thorns, even should he be victorious in the battle.

"Was not Deki enough?" he said with great bitterness. "Come. Let us to the units and have a good meal, ere we go to fight the Markuand."

An Unnatural Brand

The gigantic sledge had been dragged up over the desert and across the grassy plains. Whenever the terrain was rough, the white-clad drivers looked back fearfully, dreading that some slight bump or jar might anger their passenger. They sought the smoothest parts of the trail to give him ease. But when they did, his minions would ride close and flog the horses, demanding speed, saying their master must not be delayed. Always the sledge's curtains remained shut, and none dared ask whether the occupant lay ill or dreamed upon some new and awful conjuration.

Driven till their hearts burst, horses were taken from the traces and replaced with others. Yet no rest was allowed and the sledge went on. When this day's fighting had ended, the warlords were dismayed to see that the sledge—again—sat overlooking their key positions. Its occupant had followed them since the fall of Deki.

Now his minions summoned them, and the generals came at once. They had not seen him since the conquest of the river city, though his hidden presence had pursued them through the vastness of this alien land. In their souls, they had hoped to be rid of him and his dark rule.

The curtains were at last drawn, and they saw that he lay reclining upon many cushions. He seemed very pale, and there were whispers that he had been badly stricken by some countering magic. Perhaps he had summoned them only to hear his dying words, after which they could make theu: plans for tomorrow's victory.

"Yes, you shall have victory," he said suddenly. He stepped out of the sledge and glared at them, and in the shadows the soldiers watched, awed. "You did think upon victory, did you not? Yet I sense doubt."

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"It ... it is so, Master. The journey and the battles have been most arduous. We have been obliged to call reinforcements from the campaigns in north and south . . ."

"No matter. The defeat of Krantin is vital." Again he reached into their minds and revealed their secret fears. "You are wondering if the enemy alliance is truly shattered. It is not." They gasped in shock and he went on. "But it is severely taxed. They have carried before them tales of what occurred in the river city, and that will breed faintheartedness among them."

"This . . . she-devil who now blocks our way . . . ?"

"A mere delaying tactic. You will crush her, along with the rest, when her guidance is gone, the enemy's chief wizard. When a beast's head is cut off, it will die." He drew himself up proudly. "I shall wield a weapon they can never parry. We shall defeat them utterly."

Nearly all of them were cowed now, dumb and submitting to the yoke of his power. But one, the bravest, who had always nursed defiance, could not hold his tongue. "Is it the same magic weapon you used in the river city? We lost many sixties there through such magic ..."

"A minor miscalculation."

"And the enemy nearly slew you. It may be theu: wizards know the same tricks that you do, and employ them against you."

The eyes of their master flashed horribly. The night was moonless, but now a greater darkness gathered, the outspilling of a demon's cauldron, pouring over the warlords. With a hideous shriek, the challenger fell, writhing, his hands clutching his head to shut off a howling none but he could hear. He begged his companions to kill him and end his misery. Appalled and helpless, they watched him while the wizard wreaked his vengeance.

His victim wailed and guarded his throat against an unseen attacker. Even as he did, gouts of blood covered lips and hands and flowed from his ears and nose. His eyes started from his head and his tongue thrust out, life choking from him.

Then he vanished. Only bloodstained dust was left. There was no clothing or trace of the warlord, save his gore.

"Is there any other who questions my ability to match any wizard's magic and more?" The stillness had been profound, but now it seemed to deepen. The shadows receded, leaving them in firelight once more. None spoke. They scarcely dared breathe. His smile widened. "Attend my pleasure. You will wait here until I call you to hear the battle plan."