Kitabı oku: «The Gray Wolf Throne», sayfa 2

“Get behind me!” she shouted as the ladies closed the distance between them. But then something slammed into her, throwing her sideways to the ground. She rolled to her feet in time to see the Ardenine ladies go down under the card players.

Edon Byrne seized Raisa’s shoulders in a viselike grip and held her fast.

It took a moment for Raisa to gather breath enough to speak.

“What are you doing?” she spluttered, struggling to free herself. She was soaked through, muddy and shivering, her teeth chattering.

Slowly, the guards disentangled themselves and stood. The ladies lay flat on their backs, unmoving, blood and rain soaking their fancy dresses.

Run through by the card players.

“Good work,” Edon Byrne said gruffly, nodding at them. “But next time don’t let them get so close to the princess heir.”

The card players yanked their blades free, wiping them on the ladies’ voluminous skirts. One of them knelt and efficiently searched the women. He came up with three knives and a small framed picture. He scanned the picture, then mutely extended it toward Raisa.

It was a portrait of Raisa, done for her name day.

Byrne kicked something away from the two bodies, stooped and picked it up with two fingers.

It was a dagger, delicate and feminine and deadly sharp.

CHAPTER TWO
PICKING OVER OLD BONES

Han Alister encountered more traffic than he had anticipated on the road to Fetters Ford. Hollow-eyed refugees streamed north as Gerard Montaigne’s army scorched the countryside to the south. They looked witch-fixed, some of them, stunned by calamity, still dressed in the ruined finery that said they were bluebloods.

It seemed to Han that all of Tamron was on the move—country folk seeking refuge in the cities, and city dwellers fleeing to the countryside. How likely was it that he could find one girlie amid this chaos—traveling alone or with two wizards?

The road traced the Tamron River north from Oden’s Ford. To the east lay Arden and the dense broadleaf trees of Tamron Forest. To the west lay the fertile fields of Tamron, now overrun by fighting. Smoke spiraled up from charred farm buildings and manor houses.

Sword-danglers seemed to like to burn things up.

Tamron might be the breadbasket of the Seven Realms, but these days food was hard to come by even for those with money to spend. Small villages lined the road, a day’s ride apart, like knots on a frayed string. Each was guarded by a motley local militia armed with pitchforks, staffs, and longbows, ready to drive off the ravenous hordes—soldiers or citizens—that threatened to overrun them.

Fortunately, Han was used to going hungry.

In every village there was at least one inn. And in every inn, Han would ask the same questions. “Have you seen a girlie, a mixed-blood with green eyes and dark hair? She’s small, she’d be this tall.” Here he’d hold out his hand below shoulder height. “Her name is Rebecca Morley, and she might be traveling with two charmcasters, a brother and sister. You’d remember them—both tall, and the sister has white-blond hair and blue eyes, the brother has dark hair and eyes.”

Some of those he asked tried to make a joke of it. “What’s the matter, your girlie run off?” But most seemed to take a cue from Han’s expression, or the amulet that hung around his neck, or his travel-weary appearance in these desperate times.

Missing girlies in wartime were no laughing matter.

The dead were everywhere. Bodies hung from trees like grisly fruit, spinning slowly in the southern breezes. Here were battlegrounds littered with the bodies of dead soldiers, lorded over by carrion birds. Clouds of flies rose from the carcasses of animals along the roadside, and bodies fouled many of the waterways.

Han traveled most days with the stench of decay in his nose. It reminded him of Arden, when he and Dancer had traveled through on their way to Oden’s Ford. Had it really been nearly a year ago?

This was the poison that had spread into Tamron and threatened to sicken the Fells.

Stay out of it, Alister, Han said to himself. You have enough battles to fight as it is.

One innkeeper thought he remembered a girlie matching Rebecca’s description traveling alone, riding a gray flatland stallion far too big for her. It seemed a thin lead at best.

Han could hope that Rebecca’s party had passed through unmolested; that the reports that put Rebecca in the way of Gerard’s invading army were wrong.

It was possible she’d turned aside and taken refuge in the capital of Tamron Court, now under siege by Gerard Montaigne’s army. Han considered detouring west, toward the capital, but there was no way to tell if she was there or not. And nothing to be done if she were.

Han took a deep breath, released it, forcing himself to relax his neck and shoulders, to unclench his fists.

Anyway, Corporal Byrne and his Gray Wolves were headed that way. Han had his own path to follow.

If not for his worries about Rebecca, Han would have been in no hurry to reach the Fells. Why should he be eager to take his place as the magical sell-sword of the upland clans who’d misled and betrayed him? Why should he rush to confront the Wizard Council? Did he really want to play champion to Marianna—the queen responsible for so many of his losses? The queen who likely still had a price on his head.

Even when he reached the Fells, Han couldn’t trust the clans to have his back. The Demonai warriors despised him because he was gifted. He was their throwaway piece, intended to buy them a little time.

If not for Rebecca, he could have run the other way. As long as he stayed out of the mountains, he might avoid those he’d pledged to for months or years. He could always find a flatland hidey-hole and lose himself.

He snorted. As if that would ever happen. Han had loved Oden’s Ford, but he didn’t like the flatlands. Though a city boy, he’d been raised in a mountain town, and it made him uneasy to have vacancy all around him. He wanted to wrap himself in the mountains again.

Anyway, he’d never had much luck lying low. Sooner or later, he’d have a crew, a gang to support, and people depending on him. People who’d pay the price for his failures.

So he hadn’t seriously considered breaking his agreement with the clans. Not by running, anyway. It wasn’t enough to be on the winning side. He would do whatever was necessary to make sure he, Han Alister, came out on top.

Han and the clans had a common enemy. Lord Gavan Bayar, the High Wizard of the Fells, had engineered the deaths of Han’s mother and sister. He’d tortured and killed Han’s friends in an effort to find Han and retrieve the amulet he’d taken from the Bayars. The serpent flashpiece had once belonged to Han’s ancestor, Alger Waterlow, the notorious Demon King. Han now wore it against his skin.

Then Rebecca Morley had disappeared from Oden’s Ford, and Lord Bayar’s son Micah with her. If Han found no trace of Rebecca along the way, he would hunt down Micah Bayar and wring the truth from him. If Rebecca were still alive, it was an urgent mission. If she were dead, he would make the Bayars pay.

Han had been overconfident at Oden’s Ford. His own words mocked him.

You Bayars need to learn that you can’t have everything you want. I’m going to teach you.

He’d spoken truer words to Rebecca, the last time he’d seen her.

When I put things aside for the future, they disappear on me.

He was returning home, like a Ragger streetlord walking into Southbridge, with enemies on every side. Only, this time, if blood spilled, it would be on the other side.

Which meant he needed better weapons. He’d have to risk a return to Aediion and make up with his former tutor, Crow.

Crow had lied to Han, too—had played him for a fool, had ruthlessly used him to try to kill their mutual enemies, the Bayars. But Crow had taught Han more about magic during their late-night tutoring sessions than he’d learned from all of the faculty at Oden’s Ford put together.

Han wanted to get a commitment from Crow before he crossed the border into the Fells. He needed to enter Aediion from a secure place, since his abandoned body would be vulnerable during the time he was absent. About a day’s ride south of Fetters Ford, Han found a camping place in a small canyon where a creek ran into the larger river.

He spread his blankets on the slope above the stream. Scraping a rude pit in the rocky earth, he built a small, smokeless fire at the bottom, which wouldn’t be visible except from directly above.

Han ate his standard supper of waybread, cheese, smoked fish, and dried fruit, washing it down with tea made from water from the stream. Then he paged through his book of charms, leaning close to the fire so he could see.

Crow could create illusion but did not seem to be able to do magic on his own. He lacked flash, the wizard-generated energy that interacted with amulets to make things happen. So if magic was the only tool that could do damage in Aediion, Han should be safe in returning. If.

Han still wore the rowan talisman Fire Dancer had made for him, the one that had prevented Crow from possessing him during his last visit to Aediion. He had to trust that it would protect him again. It was a calculated risk, but Crow shared his hatred for the Bayars, and Han needed an ally. Crow was likely the only one able and possibly willing to teach Han what he needed to win.

Taking a deep breath, Han focused on the Mystwerk Tower room, their meeting place over his months at Oden’s Ford. He guessed it didn’t matter where he chose, but it was as good a place as any. He visualized the battered floorboards, the huge bells hanging overhead, the pattern of moonlight on the wall. Closing his hand on his amulet, he spoke the traveling charm.

Han opened his eyes to find himself standing in the belfry in Mystwerk Tower, dressed in finely tailored blueblood clothes. Quickly, he scanned his surroundings, keeping his hand on his amulet. He was alone.

He breathed in warm, moist air—southern air. Outside, a cart rattled over cobblestone streets. If he ran to the window, would he see it? If he walked outside and made his way to Hampton Hall, would he find Dancer there? He couldn’t quite get his mind around that.

Han waited. A minute passed. Another minute. Maybe he’d been wrong, and Crow wouldn’t come. Disappointment swelled within him. Patience, Alister, he thought. It’s been a month, and likely Crow doesn’t expect you back.

Finally, the air quivered in front of his eyes, brightened, then seemed to compress.

It was Crow, but different from the Crow Han remembered. The image was frail, insubstantial, his clothes rippling around him like angel wings. Han’s former tutor stood at a little distance, feet spread, arms raised as if for defense. And his hair, which had been soot black, was now a pale blond, nearly translucent, though his eyes remained the brilliant blue Han remembered.

“Hello, Crow,” Han said.

Crow tilted his head, watching Han like he might be jumped at any moment. “Why are you here?” he asked. “I did not think I would see you again.”

“This may be the last time,” Han said, as if he didn’t care either way. “But I thought I’d give you a chance to explain.”

“Why should I explain anything to you?” Crow said, eyes narrowed. “You’ve gained considerably more from our relationship than I have. I handed you the chance to be rid of two of the Bayars and you fumbled it.”

“Fine,” Han said. “Guess this is a waste of time. Good-bye, then.” He took hold of his amulet and opened his mouth as if to say the closing charm.

“Wait.” Crow put up his hands, then slowly dropped them to his sides. For once, he’d left off the baubles and the fancy rigging. “Please stay.”

Han stood, his hand on his amulet, waiting.

“Was there something specific you wanted me to explain?” Crow said, with a sigh. “In the interest of efficiency?”

“I want to know who you are, why you don’t want me to know who you are, why you have a grudge against the Bayars, and why you wanted to partner up with me,” Han said. “That’s for starters.”

Crow rubbed his forehead with his thumb and forefinger, looking done in. “Wouldn’t it be sufficient if I promise not to treat you like a fool in the future?”

Han shook his head. “That’s not enough.”

“Even if I tell you the truth, you won’t believe me,” Crow said. “That’s always the way. People unnecessarily limit themselves, and then they try to limit you.”

“I’m not learning what I need to know here,” Han said. “I’m not the most patient person.”

“Nor am I,” Crow said. “But I have had to be incredibly patient for longer than you can even imagine.” He thought a moment. “Who am I? I was once the Bayars’ enemy. Their greatest rival.”

By now it was clear that the only way Han was going to hear this story was in small bits and riddles. “And now you’re not?” Han said.

Crow smiled faintly. “I suppose you would say I am a shade. A ghost of my former self. A remnant of who I used to be, made up of memory and emotion. The Bayars no longer perceive me as a threat. And yet”—he tapped his temple—“I have something they want very badly.”

“Knowledge,” Han guessed. “You know something they need to know.”

“I know something they need to know, and I intend to use it to destroy them,” Crow said matter-of-factly. “That is the reason for my existence.”

Han was lost. “When you say you are a ghost of your former self, what does that mean, exactly?”

Crow’s image shimmered, dissolved, and then reassembled itself. “This is all that remains of me,” he said. “I am an illusion. I exist in your head, Alister. And in Aediion, the meeting place of wizards. Not in the world you consider real.”

“You’re saying you’re … dead?” Han stared at Crow. “That doesn’t make sense.” At least, it didn’t fit in very well with what he’d been taught at temple. But then he’d never claimed to be a theologian.

Crow shrugged. “What is death? The loss of a body? The loss of the animating spark? If that’s the case, I am dead.

“Or is life the persistence of memory and emotion, volition and desire?” Crow went on, as if in a debate with himself. “If that’s the case, I am very much alive.”

“But you have no body,” Han said.

Crow smiled. “Precisely. I have no corporeal body, nothing beyond what I conjure up in Aediion. And a body is required in order to get things done in the real world. A body is necessary in order to take revenge on the Bayars. Specifically, a wizard’s body, since that would allow me to use my considerable knowledge of magic.”

“And that’s where I came in,” Han said. “I could provide the flash you needed.”

“That’s where you came in.” Crow eyed Han critically, head cocked. “You seemed perfect. You are extremely powerful—surprisingly so. You’d had little to no training, which made you vulnerable to my influence and eager to spend time with me. You hated the Bayars, and, given your tawdry background, I assumed that you were ruthless and unprincipled. All good.”

“All good?” Han asked, rolling his eyes. This was a bit more honesty than he needed.

Crow nodded. “At first I was able to take control of you fairly easily, particularly when you were actively using your amulet. I even provided support at times, when you seemed in danger of being prematurely killed.”

“You mean the thorn hedge, when we were chased across the border into Delphi,” Han said. “And when we escaped from Prince Gerard at Ardenscourt.” Han had immolated several of Montaigne’s soldiers with seemingly little participation on his own part.

“Yes,” Crow said. “But eventually, as you became more adept, you put up rudimentary barriers that kept me out. Very frustrating. I looked for a way back in.”

“And then I came to Aediion,” Han said.

“To my delight, you did.” Crow threw him a sidelong glance. “In Aediion, you were still vulnerable to whatever illusion I conjured up. I could still get into your mind. We could have actual conversations, and I could teach you. That opened a realm of possibilities.”

“But …” Han frowned. “There were still times, even after we began meeting, that you possessed me in real life, right?” he said. He’d found himself on the upper floors of the Bayar Library amid old dusty books. He’d discovered a map of Gray Lady and a list of incantations in his pocket. Scribbled notes that were now tucked away in his saddlebags. “I kept losing big chunks of time on the days we met.”

“At the end of our tutoring sessions, when you were nearly drained of magic, the barriers came down. I could take possession of you and cross over with you when you left the dreamworld,” Crow said, without a trace of apology.

“Is that why you worked me so hard?” Han asked. “To wear me down so you could seize control?”

“Well, that and, of course, we had considerable work to do,” Crow said. He shrugged. “Unfortunately, you were useless for magical tasks in your depleted condition, or I might have gone after the Bayars then and there. But it did allow me to get out into the world.”

It gave Han the prickly shivers to imagine Crow inhabiting his body. “Yet you chose to spend your time in a dusty old library,” Han said.

Crow frowned at Han, looking dismayed. “You remember that?”

“You left me in the wrong place a few times,” Han said. “In the stacks.”

“I had only a brief window of time before your amulet was drained completely,” Crow said. “Several times we ran out before I could return you to where you were supposed to be.”

“Well, I thought I was losing my mind,” Han said. “What were you looking for?”

“I was only trying to stay ahead of you,” Crow said, biting his lip and shifting his gaze away. “You are a challenging student, Alister, always asking questions and demanding answers.”

“I don’t believe you,” Han said. “I think you were working your own plan. Were you maybe looking for a way to seize control of me permanently?”

Crow’s eyes glittered, signifying that Han had hit on the truth. “That would have been perfect. But impossible, it seems.” Crow closed his eyes, as if reliving it. “Can you imagine it, Alister? Can you imagine what it was like for a shade like me to experience the world again through all of your senses—vision and touch, and smell and taste and hearing?”

“I wouldn’t have gone to the library, I’ll tell you that,” Han said.

Crow laughed. “I like you, Alister. All of this would have been easier if you were unlikable. And stupid. You would have been considerably more tractable.”

“Tractable gets you nothing,” Han said, feeling like a country boy at market. Crow had dumped so much on him that he couldn’t quite see where the holes were. Questions rattled around in his brain.

“So. I have been uncommonly frank with you,” Crow said, interrupting his thoughts. “Now, tell me: why did you come back? Shall I assume that you still want something from me?”

“I’m on my way back to the Fells to go up against the Bayars and maybe the entire Wizard Council,” Han said.

“All by yourself? That seems ambitious even for you,” Crow said dryly. “What, exactly, do you hope to accomplish? Beyond flinging your life away.”

Han knew he had to give a reason that the cynical Crow would understand. A reason that would make Crow his ally, for now, anyway.

“The Bayars want to put Micah Bayar on the Gray Wolf throne,” Han said. “I’m not going to let that happen.”

“Mmm. The Bayars are nothing if not persistent,” Crow murmured. “It’s a pity young Bayar didn’t die in Aediion.” He paused, peering at Han through narrowed eyes to see if he’d felt the poke. “What is it between you and the Bayars? What did they do to you?”

“They murdered my mother and sister a year ago,” Han said. “They were all the family I had. And, recently, there was a girl, Rebecca. My … ah … tutor. She’s disappeared, and the Bayars are responsible. I think they did it to get back at me.”

Crow looked into Han’s eyes. “You poor bastard,” he said, shaking his head. “You’re in love with her, aren’t you?”

Damn my readable Aediion face, Han thought, scowling.

Crow laughed. “Let me give you a piece of advice—don’t go to war over a girl. It’s not worth it. Falling in love turns wise men into fools.”

“I didn’t come to you for advice,” Han said. “I came to you for firepower. The odds are against me. Even if you help me.”

“You’re coming back to me for help after what happened the last time?” Crow raised his eyebrows. “I thought you were smarter than that.”

“Everything is a risk,” Han said. “There’s a chance you’ll betray me again, but now I’m on the watch, so you’re less likely to be able to do any real damage. The risk from the Bayars, on the other hand, is real and imminent.”

Crow stood, legs slightly apart, head tilted, regarding Han as if he’d never really seen him before. “My, my, Alister, such big words. This young woman, this teacher of yours, she has polished you up, hasn’t she?”

Rebecca. Han’s gut twisted. In return, he’d likely gotten her killed.

“What’s underneath is still the same,” Han said. “I’m going to get what I want and nobody is going to get in my way. Including you. We do this thing my way or you’re out. Take or leave.”

“All right,” Crow said. “We’ll do things your way. But I will give you advice, and you can choose to use it or ignore it.”

“Fair enough,” Han said, his questions rekindling in his mind. “But first, I need to know—what happened between you and the Bayars, and when did it happen? Where have you been in the meantime? And how did you happen to choose me?”

“Does any of that really matter?” Crow said, turning away so Han couldn’t read his expression. “This is an alliance of convenience, nothing more. Isn’t that enough?”

“I’ve learned that whatever you don’t want to talk about is the thing I want to know,” Han said, thinking, If I know the why, if I know what drives you, I can better predict when I’ll get the blade in the back.

“As I said, if I tell you the truth, you won’t believe me.” Crow paced back and forth, his image rippling again, which Han had come to recognize as a sign of agitation. Was it such a horrible memory that Crow couldn’t stand to surface it?

“Try me,” Han said, as Crow continued to pace. “Come on. At least tell me a really good lie; you might convince me.”

“It doesn’t matter to you what happened,” Crow said. “It was long before you were born.”

You’re not even that old, Han thought, then remembered that Crow could be any age.

“Nothing you say can possibly shock me,” Han said. “But nothing happens until I know what your story is.”

Crow finally swung around to face Han. A bitter smile twisted his features. “We’ll see,” he said. “We’ll see just how foolhardy you are.” His image changed a little, sharpened, came into focus. His hair remained fair, glittering, framing refined blueblood features—eyes the color of mountain asters and a good-humored mouth. As before, he looked to be only a few years older than Han.

His clothing had become more elaborate—a finely cut coat in satin and brocade, oddly old-fashioned, its champagne color a few shades darker than his hair. He was brilliant with power—handsome as a fancy on the make.

“You’ve asked what I really look like,” Crow said, turning in a little circle, extending his arms. “Feast your eyes. This is how I looked when I went up against the Bayars.”

The wizard stoles around his neck bore images of ravens, and his coat was embroidered with a device—a twined serpent and staff, angled through a crown engraved with wolves.

The device was familiar—where had Han seen it before?

“It was an exciting and dangerous time,” Crow said. “I was young and powerful, and I competed with the Bayars in every arena—politically, magically, and in”—here he stumbled over the words a bit—“in all manner of relationships. Just as it seemed that I had beaten them for good, I was betrayed, and the Bayars captured me. When that happened, I took refuge in the amulet I carried for so long.”

Han tapped his amulet with his forefinger. “You’re saying you hid in a jinxpiece?”

Crow smiled. “Immediate disbelief, as I anticipated. I so enjoy being right all the time. As I told you, I was an innovative user of magic. I hoped that the amulet would end up in friendly hands. Unfortunately, the Bayars realized that the key to everything they desired lay in the flashpiece. Though they have been trying to extract its secrets for more than a thousand years, they’ve been spectacularly unsuccessful.”

Han struggled to assemble the bits Crow had given him. It was like working a puzzle that doesn’t reveal its meaning until the last piece is in place.

Except the image that was forming was impossible.

As if Crow had read Han’s mind, an amulet appeared at Crow’s neck, hanging from a heavy gold chain—the mirror image of Han’s serpent amulet.

“I am the original owner of the amulet you carry now,” Crow said. “I had it custom made for me when I was about your age. I needed something powerful enough to conjure magic the world had never seen before. There is not another like it in the world.”

Han stood frozen, each word he might have spoken stillborn on his tongue.

“After Hanalea betrayed me, I dared not reveal myself to the Bayars,” Crow said. “So I’ve been lying imprisoned for a millennium. When the amulet came into your hands, I seized the opportunity. Naturally, I have done my best to make sure they don’t recover it.”

Han looked down at his amulet, tracing the serpent head with his fingers. He looked back up at Crow, his mind traveling to the end of that road. “You can’t be serious,” he whispered. “That can’t be true.”

Crow still smiled, but his blue eyes were hard as glacier ice. “My name was Alger Waterlow,” he said, caressing the serpent flashpiece. “The last wizard king of the Fells.”

Han stared at Crow, speechless, his mind frothing like a potion made with incompatible ingredients.

Crow inclined his head. “You look suitably stricken, Alister. I’ll leave you with that, then, and give you time to think it through before you do or say anything rash. I am, as you’ve no doubt figured out, always here and always available. Come back to Aediion when you are ready to partner with me. If that should ever happen.”

He gazed at Han for another long moment, searching Han’s face as if hoping Han might stay with him. Then he blinked out like a fivepenny candle.