Angus Wells - The God Wars 3 - Wild Magic

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WHEN she saw the riders approaching, she felt

genuinely thankful, for her own sake, as if

she were truly lost. She watched them, crouched in

the grass, until she was certain they were not

clansmen, then rose, waving and calling.

They came toward her at a canter: a beautiful

woman, whose flaxen hair streamed out, glinting in

the morning sun, mounted on a grey horse; a dark-

skinned Kern astride a big black stallion, his hair

black and bound in a long tail, his eyes hard and

blue as he sighted her; a younger man, tanned dark,

but Lyssian to judge by his features and the sun-

bleached mane that he wore in the Kernish style,

his expression puzzled.

She ran toward them and they slowed, eyeing her

curiously, hands lightly touching their swordhilts,

glancing round as if anticipating some trick, wary

of ambush.

"Praise all the gods you've come," she cried. "My

name is Cennaire."

^ Calandryll stared, torn between surprise and sus-

2 ANGUS WELLS

picion, wondering how she came here, and in equal

measure how she could appear so lovely. Hair tan-

gled and dusted with tares fell in raven folds about

a dirt-smudged face, that discoloration seeming

only to emphasize the lush redness of her full lips,

her great brown eyes. She wore traveling gear of

soft brown leather, disheveled and stained, the tu-

nic loose, so that as she approached he saw full

breasts outlined against her dirtied shirt, long legs

beneath the breeks. He thought her the loveliest

woman he had ever seen. He reined his horse to a

halt and bowed from the saddle, letting go his

swordhilt: he perceived no danger. He smiled as he

dismounted, ignoring Bracht's warning grunt, the

open suspicion in Katya's grey eyes.

"Cennaire?" He moved a pace toward her. "I am

Calandryll."

Cennaire repeated his name, softly, scarcely need-

ing to feign the relief she felt at finding her long-

sought quarry. So this was Calandryll den Karynth,

this muscular young man. From Anomius's de-

scription she had anticipated something else—a fop-

pish princeling, an effete scholar—but this man had

the look of a freesword, hard and lean as the blade

he wore, his movements gracefully economic as he

came closer. His eyes were brown and concerned,

his hair a ponytailed mane of sun-bleached gold;

he was handsome. She made a faint moaning sound

and went to him, throwing herself against him,

his brown leathern shirt warm against her cheek,

redolent of sweat and horseflesh/ the arms he put

around her comforting, his very presence after so

long alone in this wilderness—after what she had

witnessed—reassuring. It was easy to play her part.

Calandryll held her, not sure what else to do,

murmuring soft comforts as he felt her tremble

against his chest, wondering that sunlight could

WILD MAGIC 3

strike such sparks from hair so black, aware that

his companions dismounted now, still wary.

"How came you here?"

Cennaire raised her head from the refuge of

Calandryll's chest, looking to the speaker. Shirt and

breeks of soft black leather, jet hair drawn back

from a hawkish face in which eyes of a startling

blue surveyed her impassively, a falchion of

Kernish style sheathed on the narrow waist: this

must be Bracht. And the woman, her hair near sil-

ver, her eyes grey and grave, clad in a shirt of fine

mail and breeks that emphasized the length and

shapeliness of her legs, that must be the Vanu

woman, Katya. Her right hand, like Bracht's,

touched lightly on the hilt of her sword, that a

gently curved saber.

Cennaire drew in a rasping breath and moved a

little back from Calandryll's embrace, sensing

without needing to look into his eyes that he re-

gretted that loss of contact. Rapidly, almost bab-

bling, she blurted out the bones of the story

Anomius had suggested, fleshing that skeleton

with embellishments of her own.

She was, she told them, a Kand, formerly pos-

sessed, of some wealth, that invested in partnership

with a Lyssian trader out of Gannshold. She had

looked to protect her investment with her pres-

ence, she said, and so gone out with the caravan,

circuiting the western quadrant of Cuan na'For.

They had journeyed peacefully, until they came to

the Kess Imbrun, moving eastward, and were at-

tacked by raiders come south out of the Jesseryn

Plain. She affected a shudder here, and essayed a

tear, letting her voice trail away as she spoke of the

running fight and how she became separated from

her companions, who must now surely be dead.

When she was done with her tale she sighed and

^ ANGUS WELLS

sniffed and asked if she might moisten her lips.

Calandryll passed her his canteen and she drank,

watching their faces.

Calandryll, she thought, was disposed to believe

her without undue questioning. Of Bracht, she was

less sure; and of Katya, not at all. She thought it

did not much matter; these were honorable folk,

and would hardly leave her abandoned. Nor did

they have spare mounts, to give her one and send

her on her way. She thought they must surely take

her with them, which was exactly as Anomius de-

sired. And, if she was to free herself of the ugly lit-

tle wizard's domination, what she desired. Still, as

she passed the canteen back and smiled her thanks,

she thought on the trump she held, and chose to

play it.

"Burash!" she said as Bracht eyed her quizzically,

Katya enigmatically. "That alone was horrible—to

see so many die. But then ..."

She thought on what she had seen and had no

need of dramatic artifice to shiver, to lower her

voice to a horrified whisper, the sentence tailing

off.

"Then?" Bracht demanded.

"Dera!" Calandryll protested. "Can you not see

she's distraught? Hungry, too, no doubt."

"I am," Cennaire agreed, lying, "but I'll tell your

friend my tale first."

Calandryll made a sound pitched somewhere be-

tween agreement and irritation, and she smiled at

him, thinking fleetingly of how easy it was to mold

a man's emotions. Or some men's, she corrected

herself—Bracht appeared impervious- Because, she

decided, he loved the Vanu woman, that notion giv-

ing rise to another: what was it like to command

such love? She pushed those brief musings away

and told the truth, entire and unadorned.

WILD MAGIC 5

"My horse died nearby," she said huskily, "and I

came here. I thought I was saved when a rider ap-

proached, but something ... I cannot say what, for

I did not properly understand it... prompted me to

caution. I sensed evil in him ... a malign aura ...

and hid myself. As well I did, for I was right."

She paused, frowning as she relived the experi-

ence. She had all their attention now.

"He lit a fire and brought meat from his saddle-

bags. I watched him eat. Burash, it was ghastly! He

roasted pieces of a man and ate them!"

Calandryll said, "Rhythamun!" The single word

was invested with massive loathing. Katya's full

lips pressed tight together, thinned with revulsion.

Bracht spat his contempt and said/ "Go on."

Cennaire wiped her mouth as if to rid herself of

some unpleasant taste, the movement instinctive,

her own revulsion real. "I was afraid," she contin-

ued, still telling only the truth. "Afraid that he

should sense my presence and afraid to flee, lest he

see me. I remained hidden in the grass, watching. I

could think of nothing else to do."

"How did he look?" demanded Bracht curtly.

"Describe him."

"Sand-haired," she returned, "with a broken

nose. His eyes were brown."

The three exchanged confirming glances. Bracht

motioned for her to continue.

"He used magic," she said. "It must have been

magic, for some timeJater five Jesseryte warriors

came up out of the chasm and he set them to fight-

ing. The air smelled of almonds when he spoke.

They fought until only one was left alive and—

Rhythamun, did you name him?"healed his

wounds- That one threw the bodies into the chasm;

the horses jumped on a word. Then ..." She closed

her eyes, shaking her head.

6 ANGUS WELLS

Calandryll placed strong hands on her shoulders,

his tanned face grave. "Then what?" he asked, far

milder than Bracht's harsh questions,

"That one he possessed!" she gasped. "He chant-

ed some gramarye and the almond scent came

strong again. Something passed between them . - .

as though flame flowed from his mouth into the

Jesseryte. Then the sand-haired man fell down. Oh,

Burash!"

She turned toward Calandryll/ throwing herself

into his arms, pressing her cheek afresh against his

chest.

"He—the Jesseryte now—threw the body after

the others. Then he took the one remaining horse

and went down the trail."

She heard Calandryll say, "The Daggan Vhe. He's

gone onto the Jesseryn Plain."

"Aught else?" asked Bracht.

"There was a book," Cennaire said. "It was the

only thing he took."

She felt Calandryll stiffen, his voice urgent as

he demanded, "Tell us of the book."

She shrugged helplessly, certain now that the

thing she had seen was that volume for which

Rhythamun would so casually shed blood. Or

Anomius.

"It was small," she murmured, "and bound in

black. But it seemed to radiate a dreadful power."

Calandryll said, "The Arcanum."

"I know not what it was called," Cennaire lied,

"only that he seemed to value it."

"Aye," said Calandryll bitterly. "He values it."

"The warrior whose shape he took," Bracht

rasped. "Can you describe him?"

"He was short," she told the Kern. "With bowed

legs and oily hair. Armored; he wore a helmet, a

veil of metal over his face."

WILD MAGIC 7

Bracht chopped air with an impatient hand: "You

describe every Jesseryte horseman on the Plain.

Tell us of his face, that we shall know him."

"You'd go after him?"

For all she knew—anticipated accompanying

them—that this should be the way of it, still

Cennaire found it easy to put surprise in her ques-

tion: it seemed an impossible pursuit.

"We must," Calandryll told her, gentler than the

Kern. "Can you describe him?"

She shook her head. "Not well—he looked not

very different from the others. His face was broad,

his eyes slitted." She paused a moment, frowning

in genuine concentration. "He wore a mustache,

and I think he was young."

"Ahrd!" Bracht snapped. "The god who made the

Jesserytes lacked imagination—she describes a

thousand of them. More!"

Katya motioned for him to be patient, speaking

for the first time. "How long ago was this?" she

asked.

Her voice was calm, deliberately soothing in

counterpoint to the Kern's urgency. Cennaire

smiled wanly: one woman thanking another for her

support, and said, "Three days ago."

Bracht's curse rang loud in the warm air. "Three

days? Oh, Ahrd, could you not have sped us

quicker here?"

More reasonably, Katya gestured at the depths of

the Kess Imbrun and asked, "Klust he not go down

the Daggan Vhe? And then climb the farther wall?

Do we ride hard, might we not take him in the

chasm? He travels alone, after all."

"Hardly." Bracht shook his head, indicating the

massive rift with jutted chin. "The Blood Road's no

easy descent; no place to hurry. And below? Down

there the rocks are tumbled like a maze, like a for-

S ANGUS WELLS

est of stone. No—with such a lead he's the advan-

tage of us. Again."

Katya nodded, accepting his superior knowledge

of the terrain, nibbling an instant on her lower lip

as she thought.

"And he's taken another's form," Bracht grunted

sourly. "Filthy gharan-evur! Ahrd, but every cursed

Jesseryte looks alike, and none with any love for

strangers. He needs only continue onto the Plain to

find refuge."

"I should know him again," Cennaire ventured,

"did I but see his face."

Bracht's eyes narrowed at that, and she felt

Calandryll tense once more- Katya studied her curi-

ously and she feared she overplayed her hand, af-

fecting a trembling of her lips, a tearful blinking-

"We've no spare horse/' Bracht said.

"Shall we leave her here then?" asked Calandryll.

"She knows his face," said Katya.

"She'll slow us." Bracht drove an angry fist

against his thigh, teeth gritted in frustration. "Do

we bring her with us, one horse must always carry

double."

"She's light enough," Calandryll offered. "And

once before, we found a stranger on the road. The

aid we gave her was repaid surely enough." He

touched the hilt of his straightsword, reminding

Bracht of that encounter with the disguised god-

dess, Dera-

"She knows his face," Katya repeated. "And as

Calandryll says—shall we leave her here?"

"Please, no," cried Cennaire, her fear of abandon-

ment quite genuine.

She would not die. Indeed, she could not since

Anomius had removed her heart and locked that

still-beating organ in his enchanted pyxis, and

while it remained bound by his cantrips she was

WILD MAGIC

immortal. Neither hunger nor thirst held meaning

for her, the sating of appetite a pleasure only, not a

necessity. But did they leave her/ then she must

surely earn the displeasure of the mage, perhaps

suffer his wrath. Did they leave her, surely she

could never find opportunity to free herself of his

mastery, but remain forever his puppet, to be dis-

carded when her usefulness was done, or be de-

stroyed by those sorcerers who would destroy

Anomius. Whether she obeyed her master and

brought the Arcanum to him, or found some way,

through the quest, to possess her heart once more,

she was loath to find herself again alone.

It came to her that she had not known fear since

Anomius had excised her heart and made her his

revenant, and that these past days, solitary on the

grass, the memory of Rhythamun's fell magic hot in

her mind, had changed her in ways she did not

properly comprehend. She clung tight to Calandryll,

willing him to take up her cause.

She heard him say, "We cannot. Dera, Bracht, af-

ter all she's seen? How long would she survive

alone, on foot?"

"And to bring her to some camp would take

days," Katya added. "Rhythamun gaining on us all

the while."

"Aye, there's that," the Kern allowed with obvi-

ous reluctance.

Cennaire sensed a mellowing, heard Calandryll

say, "She can ride with me. Perhaps we can find her

a horse on the Jesseryn Plain."

"The Jesserytes are not a hospitable folk," Bracht

returned. "They're more likely to slay us than sell

us a horse."

"Then we'll steal one," Calandryll declared. "But

I'll not leave her here. Remember Dera, Bracht!"

The Kern grunted and fixed Cennaire with cold

10 ANGUS WELLS

blue eyes. "Are you a goddess?" he demanded

roughly. "Be that so, I'd welcome revelation."

"I am no goddess," she returned meekly.

Bracht grunted, turning his gaze to Calandryll.

"If not a goddess, then perhaps some creation of

Rhythamun's, left here in ambush."

Calandryll removed his arms, gesturing at Cen-

naire, never guessing how close was his question to

the truth. "Does she seem the creation of magic?

Besides, we've a way to know." He smiled as he

drew his sword, assuring her he meant no harm,

saying, "Only touch the blade and show my doubt-

ing friend you're what you claim."

Cennaire paused, cautious now. She knew not

what power the straightsword held, wondering if it

would unmask her. It seemed she had little other

choice than to obey; refusal equated with revela-

tion. Were she revealed, she decided, she must

throw herself on their mercy, tell them of Anomius,

and hope to persuade them to alliance. Should that

fail, then she would attempt to flee.

Mistaking her reluctance, Calandryll said gently,

"No harm shall come to you, of that I'm sure. Only

place your hands on the blade."

Had she possessed a beating heart, it would have

raced as she fastened her grip carefully about the

steel.

Nothing happened and Calandryll said, "You see?

Dera's magic vouchsafes her honesty. She's no

more than she claims—a luckless refugee."

"No longer luckless, I think," Cennaire mur-

mured as he sheathed the sword.

Bracht grunted his acceptance of her honesty and

said, "You're set on bringing her?"

"What else can we do?" came the answer. "Save

go back and find the closest camp? That way we

WILD MAGIC

grant Rhythamun even more time. And she knows

his face—does that not lend her value?"

Bracht nodded reluctantly and looked to Katya.

"How say you?"

"That we've little choice but to take her. And

she may well prove valuable."

The Kern sighed and shrugged. "So be it then—

she comes with us." He returned his gaze to

Cennaire. "We ride hard, and into danger. You may

well find a death less pleasant in our company than

if you remain here."

"I'd accompany you," she said with absolute con-

viction. "Wherever you go, I'd not pass another day

alone here."

"Then we're four." He looked up at the sky,

where cloud scudded, driven on the strengthening

of the ever-present wind, the sun moved closer to

the western horizon. "We'll start down come

dawn."

"Not now?" asked Calandryll. "Shall we grant

Rhythamun another day?"

Bracht ducked his head, "Do we start down now,

night shall find us on the Daggan Vhe. That,de-

scent will take two days—at least"—this with a

glance in Cennaire's direction—"and the Blood

Road's ill-equipped with stopping places. Better we

have a full day and rested animals."

"As you say," Calandryll allowed, "but I'd see

this fabulous road now."

Bracht grinned then and pointed toward the Kess

Imbrun; "There it lies."

Cennaire clung to Calandryll's arm as he walked

toward the chasm, risking a brief indulgence in her

enhanced senses. Through the mingled odors of

musky sweat and horseflesh and leather that ema-

nated from him she caught a welter of scents. She

aroused him, she recognized, but also that such

12 ANGUS WELLS

feelings confused him, as if they came unexpected,

distracting him from the greater purpose of his

quest. She smelled determination, as if he struggled

to set aside his desire, and wondered if he was a

virgin, that thought intriguing. She needed no rev-

enant's skills to tell her he was strong and after

that swift investigation, she forced her senses dor-

mant, still unsure what powers these three quest-

ers commanded.

The air shimmered on the updraft from the Kess

Imbrun, the latening of the day shrouding the far-

ther rim in misty blue haze. The grass of Cuan

naTor ran to the very edge, ending abruptly where

the ground fell away as if cut by some unimagin-

ably gigantic knife, sheer cliffs falling down vast

and smooth into depths masked now by shadow,

night already descended there. The immensity of

the rift was seductive, beckoning observers, tempt-

ing them to take one more step and give them-

selves over to the emptiness, so much space below

it seemed impossible a body should ever find the

ground, but float, riding the air currents like the

black birds that spiraled beneath them. Unthink-

ing, Cennaire pressed closer against Calandryll's

side, and felt his arm encircle her shoulders. She

leaned against him as Bracht pointed a little way

eastward, where the rimrock was split, a gully cut

down through the cliff. Lower, it widened and bled

out onto a ledge, broad enough for several horses to

pass abreast, running across a buttress around the

farther edge of which the trail was lost.

"The Daggan Vhe/' Bracht said.

"Dera!" Calandryll's voice was awed as he

looked from the trail to the immensity of the Kess

Imbrun. "It's vast."

"Aye," returned Bracht, "and not the easiest of

rides."

WILD MAGIC

"Which way shall Rhythamun take?" asked

Katya, less impressed by the chasm for her famil-

iarity with the mountains of her homeland. "Shall

he go east, west, or north?"

"If he moves toward the Borrhun-ma) as we be-

lieve," Bracht answered, "he'll go a little westward

and take the closest trail up."

"With three—now four—days' start," Katya mur-

mured, "and into a land we know little of, save

that we shall likely be unwelcome there."

"But with one who knows his Jesseryte face,"

said Calandryll, his arm still comfortingly about

Cennaire's shoulders, his next words alarming her:

"And surely there are sorcerers among them. Shall

they not discern our purpose, as did the ghost-

talkers of Cuan naTor?"

"If the warriors don't kill us first," said Bracht.

"That threat's been ever present." Calandryll

grinned. "Shall it halt us now?"

The question was rhetorical and neither Bracht

nor Katya deigned to answer, only grinned back and

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WHENshesawtheridersapproaching,shefeltgenuinelythankful,forherownsake,asifsheweretrulylost.Shewatchedthem,crouchedinthegrass,untilshewascertaintheywerenotclansmen,thenrose,wavingandcalling.Theycametowardheratacanter:abeautifulwoman,whoseflaxenhairstreamedout,glintinginthemorningsun,mountedonagreyhor...

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