The Western Wizard (79 page)

Releasing Vashi, Colbey edged forward, motioning the others to remain in place. He tossed a gold coin to the ramparts.

The guard leaned forward and snatched the ducat from
the air, nearly falling from the parapet in his haste. Catching his balance, he examined the coin from all sides. His companion reached out a hand, but the first guard ignored the obvious solicitation. They spoke in the Eastern tongue again, their voices growing louder and their gestures more wild, while Colbey waited. At length, the first one addressed Colbey again, still clutching the coin. “What do you want to know?”

“We’re looking for a Northman. He’s heavily armored, a competent soldier, and he bears the symbol of a coiled snake on his hand. Have you seen him?”

The corners of the guard’s mouth twitched into a strange smile, which quickly faded. His companion nodded, as if in encouragement. “Yes,” the first man said.

All annoyance fled Colbey as he followed this new lead. “What can you tell me about him?”

“Nothing,” the guard said, interest flickering in his black eyes. “Unless you can prove it’s worth something to you to know.”

Money meant nothing to Colbey. He emptied the remaining contents of the pouch to his fist, ducats spilling into a neat pile. Again, he shuffled the silver to the ground. Without bothering to count the gold, he divided the stack approximately in half, pushing one part back into the bag. The other coins he threw, one by one, to the guards. “You get the rest when I get a satisfactory answer.”

“You’ll get a satisfactory answer when I get the rest,” the guard insisted. His companion grinned, nodding brisk agreement.

“If I give you the rest, I’ll get no answer at all, will I?” Colbey closed the pouch, replacing it in his pocket. “Nothing, I can get for free.”

“Very well.” The guard gave in quickly. Clearly, he had not expected Colbey to agree to the terms, though he had felt the need to try. “A few days ago, the only Northman I’ve ever seen rode to the Tower of Night, the home of our king, Elishtan the Jaded. It’s a single black tower a day’s journey north of here. On a clear day, with a good vantage point, you can see it from here.” He pointed, but LaZar’s walls blocked Colbey’s vision.

The other guard sneered. “He was a friend of yours,
perhaps? I’ve heard that our lord removed the insolent, blond head from his shoulders. That Northmen exist bothers him.” His gaze wandered over Colbey to the more classically Northern-looking Tannin, then found Vashi, Rache, Tarah, and Modrey in turn.

Colbey ignored the implication, concentrating on the Easterner’s inflection. Accent made it harder to judge, but the answer still seemed too pat, almost rehearsed. Not wanting to put himself at too much risk, he made a shallow scoop into the other’s mind. He found a vague aura of deceit and a strong, racial prejudice, but no obvious attempt to lie. It seemed more as if he was speaking words that another had given him, but he had his own doubts as to their veracity.

“Thank you,” Colbey said. As promised, he tossed the pouch of gold to the guardsmen. Then, leaving Arduwyn to cover the party against parting crossbow shots, Colbey circled them around LaZar. Behind him, Colbey could hear the rattle of the guards clambering down from the wall for the cast-off silver. The Renshai headed north.

*  *  *

Colbey and his companions skirted the filthy crumbling cottages that spread from LaZar like roots, growing sparser as fog obscured the walled city. Pallid fields gave way to scraggly clumps of trees and brush that shamed the term forest. Here, between widely-spaced, twisted trees, Colbey called the party to a halt to start their many lessons. Accustomed to the routine, Arduwyn started working on the camp, while the Renshai formed their singles and groups.

Mitrian prepared methodically. She placed a callused hand properly on her wolf’s head hilt and drew with a casual routineness that defied interest.

Though Colbey understood her sorrow, he could not tolerate it without undermining the training he had instilled in her for nearly fifteen years. No matter his mood or even his need to die, Colbey had never entered a practice without giving his all to it. To do otherwise would mean a serious offense, not only against his swords, but against the gods. Leaving the others to practice
svergelse
, he pulled the widow aside.

Late afternoon sun rays sloped through the scant array
of trees. Bare branches swayed in a winter breeze, rattling a quiet song. Chaff clung to the trunks, caught after wind threw it, unhindered, across the flat, bleak landscape. Mitrian stared at her feet.

“What’s keeping your mind from your sword?” Colbey asked gently.

Mitrian said nothing. Her head sank lower.

“Talk to me. What’s bothering you now?”

Mitrian looked up suddenly. Tears welled, obscuring her vision. “Death doesn’t mean anything to you, does it?”

Colbey hesitated, not certain whether Mitrian intended for him to answer the question or not. He deliberately kept his reply vague. “In some ways, death means everything to me. It depends on whose death it is and when and how that death occurred.” He tried to steer for the crux of the problem. Mitrian’s radiating emotions did not make her intention clear. “These tears are for Garn?”

It was an innocent question, misunderstood. “Of course they’re for Garn! Who else would they be for?” She sheathed her sword.

Rache, perhaps. Yourself.
Colbey thought it crass to mention the possibilities, again hoping the question had been rhetorical.

“You can recover from a loved one’s death overnight, but I can’t. He’s gone, Colbey. Garn’s gone, and he’s never coming back. The world will just go on as if nothing happened, but Garn is dead.” Mitrian buried her face in her palms, a tear winding between her fingers.

Colbey fidgeted, wishing he had brought Arduwyn. Though Colbey believed he felt emotion as strongly as anyone, he had never done well with comforting or putting those feelings into words. “Mitrian.” He curled an arm around her shoulders. “In my time, I’ve seen a lot of friends and loved ones die. Some of them, I had to kill myself.” He studied his own scarred hand, haunted as much by the memory of slaying Korgar as by sparing Garn.

Mitrian’s words came muffled. “If you’re going to tell me it gets easier, don’t.”

“I wouldn’t lie. To you or anyone.” Colbey’s own words raised bitterness, and the memory of Shadimar’s
accusations returned to sour his mood. “The family we’ve lost over the last few months has hurt worse than any I can ever remember. Ever. You survived Rache’s death and your father’s. You know the pain never goes away, but it does neither the dead nor you any good to dwell on it. Life has to take precedence.” Colbey waited, certain he had not said anything she did not already know.

Mitrian’s demeanor still clearly radiated vague discomfort, but now Colbey could tell something more than dealing with the death of friends and family bothered her. He could almost feel her search for the words to explain. He waited patiently, allowing her the time and space she needed.

“I guess it just seems that much worse because they died in vain.” Shuddering breaths interrupted Mitrian’s explanation. “Episte and Garn are gone. It’s one thing to die for a cause, but we haven’t gained anything I can see. We’ve lost two friends, three if you count the barbarian. We lost my father’s town, not to mention my father and more of his guards than I care to think about. Now we’re looking for a place for the Renshai, and all we have is a wasteland full of people eager to kill us. And we can’t even enter their towns.”

Colbey knew a pang of guilt, wondering how much his own depression had tainted the group’s successes. “You gave the Westlands back the finest, fairest high king they could ever have, as well as finding Sterrane advisers and friends like Mar Lon. We’ve defused a centuries-old feud between the Renshai and their cousins in the North. We’ve even managed to make allies in the West.” To Colbey these feats seemed nearly incalculable. “You’ve given the Renshai new faces and a new style, approved, I believe, by the goddess herself. Don’t lose sight of the huge victories for the losses. Few causes worth winning were ever won without bloodshed.”

Mitrian rubbed tears from her cheeks. When she spoke, her voice sounded more solid and stronger. “But why the Eastlands?”

“Why not?” Colbey asked. Then, realizing it made him sound like the LaZarian guard, he added an explanation. “The war whittled down their population, and there’s space. And, as racially intolerant as the Easterners
seem, they don’t hold any specific hatred against Renshai. For all their open-mindedness to most cultures, the Westerners do. But, if you’d rather, we don’t have to stay here. We do, however, have to face the Renshai’s last, real enemy.”

“
Last
enemy?” Mitrian denied the description.

“The Renshai will always live with prejudice. But, for now, this Exiled One is the only enemy I know willing to actively hunt us down.”

Mitrian pulled a rag from her pocket and wiped her nose. “Who is this Exiled One? Why would he hunt us? How can he do all those dishonorable things?”

“I have ideas, but I don’t know for certain.” Colbey’s speculation had not taken him far. He had no choice but to attribute the Exiled One’s actions to madness. No sane man could violate the gods’ codes or men’s laws. Colbey had seen chaos spark men’s actions twice in the recent past: once when Olvaerr had broken his father’s vow, the other time when the Erythanian knight had broken his code of chivalry to attack Colbey, outside of a challenge and from behind. But Brignar was dead, and Olvaerr did not seem worthy of the title of “unmatched swordsman.” “I do know this. Soon, there will be another battle. One or more of us will almost certainly die. But, no matter the methods of our enemy, the Renshai will live or die with their honor intact.”

“Even if it means the loss of more lives?”

Colbey slipped naturally into teaching mode. “Nearly always, Mitrian, the choice between life and honor falls into the hands of the one whose life or honor is at stake.” A sudden feeling of presence nearly lost Colbey his train of thought. Impending danger tingled through him, in the strange, random patterns that had accompanied the change in the Erythanian knight’s attack. To Colbey, it seemed less as if he had suddenly noticed a spy and more as if the spy had not been there a moment before. He continued his point, not wanting to reveal his alertness to a potential enemy, his gaze sweeping the trees around them. “Through all the battles, killing, and prejudice, the one thing our people never lost was their code of laws and their honor.” He turned his head to catch a different arc of vision. “The West called us demons not
because we lacked honor, but because it differed from their own—”

Catching sight of Shadimar and Secodon, Colbey broke off. The Wizard stood nearly behind him, leaning casually against a tree, the wolf sitting quietly at his side. Colbey spun to face the Eastern Wizard.

Shadimar spoke as if he had been a member of the conversation throughout. “If the Renshai hope to survive this battle, they had best not storm the tower without a careful examination of it. I would suggest a message first.”

Mitrian gasped, obviously noticing the Eastern Wizard only when he spoke. “Shadimar!”

Anger gripped Colbey. He faced the Wizard, deliberately curling his right fist around Harval’s hilt. They both knew he could draw it equally quickly, no matter where his hand had started, but Colbey wanted to make a point. He kept his gaze on the Wizard, but he addressed Mitrian. “Go back to the party and start the lessons, please. I’ll be there shortly.”

Mitrian stepped around Colbey until she stood at a vantage where she could see both men. “What. . . ?” she started. Her gaze passed from Renshai to Wizard and back. “What’s going on here?”

Colbey kept his voice level, though he had tired of insubordination. “It’s not your concern. The Wizard and I have some words to exchange. Right now, the most important thing you can do is train Renshai. And properly. The better prepared we are to face this enemy, the more of us will survive.”

Mitrian fidgeted, clearly torn. She studied Colbey again, then Shadimar. Finding nothing in either visage that she could influence, she turned and left the area.

Colbey waited until she had passed beyond hearing range, his keen ears tracking her progress easily despite the need to face a potential enemy. He kept his gaze on Shadimar and, at length, he turned his attention there, too. “What do you want, Wizard?”

“Wizard?” Shadimar’s eyes widened. “Are we no longer on a name basis?”

“You were the one who decided we weren’t brothers.
Nor even friends.” Colbey glared, his blue-gray eyes merciless. “Now, what do you want?”

“I thought the Renshai could use my help.” Shadimar remained perfectly still, as if locked in position.

“The Renshai have no need of companions who mistrust us.” Colbey, too, did not move. Like dogs vying for the same territory, they remained in place, each apparently waiting for the other to move and begin a challenge. Yet, despite the tension, Colbey sensed no imminent violence from the Eastern Wizard.

“I may have made a mistake.”

Shadimar’s near-apology seemed far from adequate. Colbey’s eyes narrowed, and he made a noise of mock horror. “Is it within the Cardinal Wizards’ vows for you to admit such a thing?” He glanced through the treetops hurriedly.

“What are you doing?” Shadimar demanded.

“Watching for Odin to come strike you down for showing too much humility.”

The Wizard’s features stiffened. “I don’t care for your sarcasm.”

Colbey broke the standoff with a wide gesture and a side step. “And I don’t care for a brother who calls me a liar and a demon, asks me to disarm myself, then tries to kill me. Forgive me my petty dislikes, Wizard. I don’t want you around, and the Renshai don’t need you.”

Shadimar took a deep breath, then loosed it. Secodon whined, pawing at his master’s leg. The Wizard made a sudden gesture at a patch of ground near his feet. “Lie down and stay there.” The wolf circled once, then obeyed, whining one last time to indicate his sympathy. Shadimar returned his attention to Colbey. “I believe you may be right about this exiled Northman. I think he might be Carcophan’s champion.”