The Western Wizard (50 page)

“Sirrah,” Jackie drawled. “If ye bring health t’ me heifers, I’ll gi’ ye me whole harvest.”

Colbey hoped cows responded to the same treatments as people. He relied heavily on Shadimar’s knowledge and judgment, and the laws constraining the Cardinal Wizards confused him. Still, as far as he could tell, the Wizards’ vows did not extend to animals. Most of the barriers seemed to apply to violence, humans, and the wanton or blatant use of magic. “I can’t promise we’ll heal all your animals, but we can try. We’ll start this evening.”

The men exchanged glances that alternated between
nervous and hopeful. Angus explained. “Nay, sirrah. Begin tomorrow. Tonicht be Midsummer’s Eve.”

Schaf took a huge gulp of ale. “While we’uns be here, the rest o’ tha toon be preparin’ fo’ tha festival. Tonicht, there be dancin’ and feastin’. E’ery’un o’ tha toon’ll be there. Ye should be there, too.”

Colbey smiled. “That’s all very well. My younger companions may want to join you, but Shadimar and I have had our fill of dancing.” Colbey tried to picture the reserved Eastern Wizard twirling farm girls and guzzling mead, and the image turned his grin into a laugh.

“Ye donna understand.” Cammie glanced about the table, as if afraid he was giving away a secret. “Flanner’s bane come curse tha toon. No man gaes safe alone, and noo ’t be best if all people stay toge’er.”

“Flanner’s bane?” Colbey encouraged.

“Flanner be an evil ’un,” Angus pulled up a chair among his fellows. “Forced hisself upon a girl richt near Yvesen’s temple. Brocht the curse upon us.”

“The blight?” Colbey guessed.

“Noo!” Cammie broke in, shaking his head with a vigor that sent his hair flying. “Tha bane be a thing, a creature.” He pointed from one side of the common room to the other to indicate size. “’Ts haid be tha o’ a wolf, but ’ts eyes be fire red. ’ts body be tha o’ a man with a tail o’ a sarpent.”

Colbey willed his expression serious only with effort. He had heard the stories that mothers told their errant children, grim tales of bugbears spiriting away little boys and girls who did not go to bed on time. Colbey had always thought it ludicrous to send toddlers off to bed afraid to sleep.

Blacki finished the description. “. . . ’t has wings of leather, talons sharp o’ a eagles, and sets homes afire.”

The final piece struck home, and Colbey’s forced somberness became reality. He pictured the wreckage of their camp in the cornfield, and Episte’s words returned to haunt him: “A winged monster attacked me. It spit fire at me.” For a moment, Colbey considered the possibility that Episte had spoken the truth, then immediately discarded the possibility.
I’ve traveled throughout the world for seventy-six years and never seen any real animal more
frightening than a jaguar. Surely, if such a thing as this bane existed, I would have heard stories.
Colbey thought of the strangest circumstances in which he’d ever found himself. In all his time with the Wizards, first Tokar, then Shadimar, he had experienced nothing worse than the illusions that came with Tokar’s ceremony of passage.

The turn of his mind brought the early stirrings of pain memory, and Colbey recalled the fiery, manlike creatures that had claimed the Western Wizard, and nearly himself. Yet the pain seemed so much more real than the visual remembrance that Colbey felt certain those creatures had been illusion, that the pain came from another source, perhaps from the dying Wizard himself. When Shadimar had questioned Colbey about the ceremony, he had said that different people see different images, which only confirmed the falseness of the beings Colbey had seen that day and never before or since.

Colbey had seen other grand phenomena, but none without explanation. When Rache died in the Great War, Colbey had seen a
Valkyrie
come to claim the soul for Valhalla. His sword practice with Sif on the route home from that battle still held a warm corner of his memory. Both of those came from his own mind, nurtured, he hoped, by the gods. But an abomination like the peasants had described made no sense, except to haunt children. Even accounting for exaggeration, physical laws could not allow a creature of its size to fly, nor any creature to spit fire. “Has this bane hurt you?”

“Noo.” Loo shivered. “But we found tha burnt patches in tha fields.”

Now the tale had returned to a more classical peasants’ horror story, and Colbey dismissed his doubts good-naturedly. “I’ve yet to meet a creature nastier than me. Shadimar and I will tend the cows.” He rose, excused himself with a wave, and returned to his companions who were gleefully devouring homemade bread topped with cheese.

That night, Episte watched flames leap in a wild dance from the last piled hay from the previous harvest. The dark shapes of the citizens of Greentree threaded through moon glow, firelight, and darkness, alternately featureless shadows and vividly detailed individuals. Episte ignored the dancing weave of revelers at the Midsummer’s Festival, holding his gaze on the fire. If he kept his attention centered, he could see the grate fires that had warmed him and his mother on winter nights. Deeper, he found his mother’s face haloed in the flames, oval as an egg with its familiar snub nose.

Hay shifted, and the fire broke to sparks that sprinkled the image with freckles. Its contour broken by the movement, the illusion became lost to Episte, yet the emotions it inspired remained. Longing filled him, a horrible, haunting need to replace the world that had shattered around him. He closed his eyes against tears, searching deep inside himself. For a moment, he was four years old again, cradled in his mother’s lap and arms while she rocked back and forth on her favorite old chair. He relived the raw innocence that had allowed him to believe, without doubt, that he was secure. Nothing could harm him so long as she held him.

The urge to cry receded, and a smile replaced it. Episte opened his eyes. Almost immediately, his gaze riveted on a young woman at the edge of the crowd. She could have fit Emerald’s description. Straight, dark hair fell around a rose petal face with a small nose and large eyes. She lacked only the plump curves that come with years. He guessed that she was a year or two younger than himself.

The crowd milled, blocking Episte’s view of the girl.
Enthralled, he pushed through the throng toward where he had last seen her.

Rache’s voice came from behind him. “Episte!”

Swearing softly, Episte ignored the call. He pressed forward. Finding himself facing a dense crowd of women, he waited for them to pass.

Rache caught Episte’s shoulder. “Take a bowl and join us.”

Episte twisted to look at Rache. The younger Renshai held a bowl of steaming vegetables balanced on one hand. He pointed with the other. “Mother and—”

“Later.” Episte shook free of Rache’s grip and darted into the masses. He found no sign of the girl, and he cursed the delay Rache had caused him. He stood, gaze sweeping the area for some glimpse of the youth he sought.

A female voice came from so close behind Episte, it startled him. “Hallo.”

Episte whirled to face a young teenager. Her black eyes held a shy twinkle, and her lips were full and pink. She was unattractive by a farmer’s standards. Her frame was lean and angular, without the bulges and waves that rewarded affluence. But her small, firm breasts made Episte forget the girl he followed. “My name is Episte.” He lowered his voice, trying to sound composed and experienced.

“I hight Elanor,” she said in the slurred Greentree dialect that made Episte cringe. “Hoo’s yere bonny friend?”

Episte’s stomach lurched. “My what?”

“Yere friend,” she repeated. “I ken t’ meet him.”

“My friend.” Episte’s mood withered. “My . . . little companion? Rache?” The words sounded foolish, even to him. Though younger, Rache weighed nearly twice as much as Episte.

Elanor giggled. “Oh, aye. Yere
little
friend.”

Elanor’s laughter ruptured Episte’s fragile pride. “Come with me,” he said, feeling numb. Turning, Episte hurried Elanor back to where he had last seen Rache, then headed in the direction in which the boy had pointed. They caught up with the youngest Renshai before he reached his parents.

At a touch, Rache whirled.

“Rache, this is Elanor.”

Rache looked confused and embarrassed. Balancing the bowl on his forearm, he made a gesture of greeting that sent the bowl careening off-balance. He caught it before it hit the ground, though vegetables scattered over the grass between them. “Oh,” Rache said. “Elanor.” He looked to Episte for guidance.

Ignoring Rache’s silent plea, Episte walked away.
It’s not fair!
Self-pity dragged at him, and he could feel hot tears of rage building. Suddenly, anger overtook him. He froze, hands opening and closing like the mouth of a gaping fish. He whirled. His sword swept from its sheath as he rushed down upon Rache.

Elanor screamed. Gasping villagers darted from Episte’s path. He sprang at Rache with a crazed howl of anger.

Rache met Episte with a parry and a question. “What’s this?”

Episte’s reply was a thrust for Rache’s chest that the younger Renshai scarcely dodged. He fell silent then, and their swords flickered like sparks in the moonlight, their strokes fast as fire. Episte hissed through gritted teeth. “You get everything you want! Even when you don’t want it!”

Rache said nothing, concentrating on fielding Episte’s blows. Fury had granted Episte strength, and he had always been the quicker of the two. He could see Rache tiring visibly, and the need to guide his strokes more cautiously only fueled his anger. He wanted to slash in blind fury, to dispel his rage in a directed flurry of hack and parry.

Suddenly, Rache stepped aside and hurled his blade toward the ground at Episte’s feet.

Episte pulled his blow, instinctively catching Rache’s hilt. Reversing to hold the blade, he offered the grip.

Rache made no move to accept it.

“Take your sword, Rache, or I swear I’ll kill you.”

Rache moved closer, but he did not reach for his weapon. Episte tossed it back in a gentle arc. Rache stepped aside. The sword landed in the grass near his feet.

Incredulous at the disrespect, Episte stared from sword to companion. “Why did you do that?”

Rache met Episte’s gaze. “Because I don’t understand. Because I promised myself long ago I would never try to strike my brother in anger, and I would rather dishonor my sword and myself than you.”

A cold shock of guilt drained Episte’s frenzy. “Damn you, Rache!” He felt the tears returning. As much as Rache’s honor touched him, it made his own tantrum seem evil and petty.
Maybe the gods can see that Rache deserves parents and girls and strength and looks and dedication. Maybe Colbey loves him more because he’s a better person.
The tears came faster now, hot and painfully violent. He whirled, ignoring the awed press that look as pale and shaken as rescued drowners. For now, Episte needed to be alone. The darkness hid him from the stares of strangers, and he knew he could outmaneuver Rache’s attempts to find him. For the moment, Episte needed to find a way to escape from himself as well.

*  *  *

A night spent wrestling and medicating cows and goats left Colbey with the pleasant fatigue that rewarded hard labor. Shadimar and Secodon had already retreated to the loft, leaving Colbey reclining, alone, on the gathering house porch. The thin whine of music from the Midsummer’s Festival occasionally broke through the constant shrill of crickets. A red moon glowed faintly through wispy clouds. Colbey gazed at the colored halos the festival smoke formed around the moon. Then, his lids drooped closed, and he relaxed into sleep.

Almost immediately, a subtle shift in the wind awakened Colbey with a premonition of imminent peril. He snapped open his eyes to a sky sprinkled with stars. From the heavens, a dark shape hurtled toward him, obliterating the moon.

Colbey sprang from the porch to the grounds. A wall of flame blasted from the figure, charring the inn porch where he had lain seconds before.

“Modi!” The Renshai drew one sword and swung. His blade cleaved air.

The creature spiraled upward, its form now silhouetted against the moon. The farmers had exaggerated little. It
was as large as two cottages, yet it flew with an
aristiri
hawk’s grace. At the top of its arc, it spun to face Colbey. The moon flashed from scarlet eyes in a rodent’s head, and Colbey could see the white glimmers of fangs as long as his forearm. It plunged for him, a massive shadow etched across the moon.

It’s real.
For an instant, Colbey knew only remorse for the wrong he had inflicted on Episte. Then, the great head reared back as the creature moved, revealing a cat’s body trailing two lizard tails. Jaguar’s paws held toenails as long as its teeth.

Colbey dodged aside. A bolt of flame slashed the spot where he had stood. An instant later, he reversed his direction, returning to his previous position. Heat singed the hair from his left arm with a pain that made him shout. “Modi!” Momentum carried the beast toward him.

The redness of its rat’s eyes seemed to swallow Colbey. He hacked, thrust, and swept, his blade slicing into the muscle of its wing and through. Yet, oddly, the sword drew no blood.

The creature soared upward. Its claw tore blistering furrows in Colbey’s left hand, driving the hilt from his grasp. Its tails swept for his head. Incapacitated by pain, Colbey barely sprang out of the way. “Modi! Modi!
Mo-deee!
” The cry gave him enough clarity of mind to catch his sword in the opposite hand. He tried to draw the other blade in a reverse grip with his injured hand, but his fingers would not function.

Abruptly, Colbey sensed a presence behind him that seemed to disappear as quickly. A bolt of blue light screamed past his ear, slamming into the creature’s flank with a force that sent it lurching into a spin. A beastly bellow formed a duet with Colbey’s battle cry. The creature plummeted awkwardly, as if injured, though Colbey’s blade seemed not to have touched it at all. As it struck the ground, Colbey charged. The beast burst into flames. Heat struck Colbey in a wave, setting his clothes ablaze and stinging his eyes. He rolled, snuffing the flames, and forced his lids open. Through vision blurred by agony, he saw fire flickering as red as the blood from a severed artery. It held the creature’s shape, except
where its flank had been. There, a smaller blaze flickered sapphire blue.