The Guardian (49 page)

Talan gagged as he entered the awful chamber. His eyes clenched shut as the foul smoke assaulted, then watered as he forced them open. He swallowed noisily and pressed a scented handkerchief to his mouth.

“What do you do?” His voice was muffled by the ’kerchief.

“Your will,” Nestor said. “A glass of wine?”

Talan shook his head. He clearly wanted to swallow nothing that came from this chamber.

“I am sure now that my erstwhile sister stands against me.” Nestor smiled confidently. “She and Ellyn. I sensed two magical presences when I sent that bolt against our observers.”

“And they deflected it.” Talan’s voice came thick through the cloth, heavy with the desire to vomit. “They live, and the Highlanders build siege equipment.”

“It means nothing.” Nestor leaned back against the table. His hands rested in pools of blood that he ignored. “I conjure such a spell now as defeated Andur. It shall succeed again, against these clansmen.”

“Why not strike them again with that lightning? Destroy their machinery, their leaders?”

Nestor smiled. “Because my sister can deflect it. She’s strong, and she has Ellyn to support her.”

“You told me Ellyn was weak in the talent.”

“She grows daily stronger,” Nestor said. And before Talan could protest, “It’s as I told you—let the wasps come to the pot and they’re trapped.”

“As we are?” Talan gestured at the walls, flinging out both his arms. Then stifled on the stench and began to choke, so that his words came thick and muffled. “We are surrounded. Barbarian clansmen ring our walls, and it seems the Hel’s Town pirates command the Durrakym. Tell me who’s the pot and who’s the wasp, eh?”

“We’ve all our enemies gathering here,” Nestor said, “just as I promised you. Let them all come, and I’ll destroy them in one fell swoop.”

“Can you? Truly?”

Nestor ducked his head. “Do you not trust me any longer?”

Talan hesitated a moment before answering. Then: “I wonder if more force comes against us than even you can defeat.”

The Vachyn barked impatient laughter. “Let them come. I shall defeat them all—on your behalf. I shall destroy my sister and Ellyn, the Highlanders. The Hel’s Town pirates, do they dare oppose you. All of them! Just as I promised.”

Talan said, “I hope so.”

“Believe so.” Nestor gestured at the door. “I’ll give you such a kingdom as this world has never known. Only trust me, eh? And leave me alone now to defeat your enemies.”

Talan smiled—a wan curving of his frightened mouth—and left the stinking chamber.

Talan went to the ramparts, where the air was cleaner, and found Egor Dival.

The old man was still bandaged—there were few healers left in Chorym, and none the invaders trusted save their own who were in short supply—leaning morosely on the battlements and surveying the army that now surrounded Chorym.

“So, does your Vachyn offer answers?”

“He works a cantrip even now,” Talan said. “He promises victory.”

Dival spat over the new brickwork. “Look at that, eh?” He gestured at the plain below. “Do you see what they do?”

Talan stared at the distant army. “They build siege engines, I suppose. Just as we did.”

“Which no Highlander army ever did before. And is all I hear true, they’ve
two
sorcerers to support them. And likely an army of Hel’s Town pirates coming to their aid.”

“I’ve got Nestor,” Talan said, defensive. “Not some hedgerow wizardess and her protégé.”

“And they’ve got every god-cursed clansmen the Highlands ever produced. And folk—do I not miss my guess—from Cu-na’Lhair, and farmers and shepherds and just about everyone they’ve picked up along the way.” Dival sighed, easing from the wall to nurse his hurting arm. He stared at his king. “Do you believe we can defeat them?”

“It’s as you said—these Highlanders are not accustomed to siege warfare.”

“Nor are we—from this side of the walls.”

Talan frowned. He longed for a glass of wine, but it would look amiss did the Lord of Danant and Chaldor ask for drink here, so he fought the desire and made his face stern. “Chorym is mine; I’ll not give up the city. And we’ve Nestor …”

Dival barked sour laughter. “He sent his magicks against them once before, no? And what did we see?”

Talan closed his eyes a moment, remembering that strange cloud of translucent light that had settled about the three Nestor promised to destroy. The bolt had been deflected like an arrow from a shield. “Nestor promises me victory,” he said, praying as he did that it be so. “He conjures a great magic even now.”

“But in the end,” said Egor Dival, “I think it shall come down to honest swordwork.”

“Then you’re well fit for the task,” Talan snarled, and quit the ramparts.

Dival watched him go, thinking that soon they both must die. He wondered why did he not feel sorry.

T
he smoke rose from the chimney and streamered against the sky. Then it turned, unbidden by the breeze, and gathered, coalescing into a great mass of darkness that hid the sun and then the moon and the stars, and then grew until there was only drifting shadow. It ran from over Chorym to descend across the surrounding forces like the horridly whispering voice of nightmares, and as it fell men began to shiver, and some to weep, and think of lost hope and lost loves, of betrayals and death.

“This is Vachyn magic, no?” Ellyn asked.

Shara nodded. “The foulest kind, I think.”

“What can we do?”

“Nothing as yet.”

“There must be something.” Ellyn’s voice was forlorn.

Shara’s was stern with purpose. “Only hold on, and wait for Gailard to return.”

“And is this new-come army from out of Danant?”

“Then we’ve lost. Or we die here.”

“Only those choices?”

“Save we’ve allies.” Shara raised her shoulders in a shrug. “Had we the Dur women with us, perhaps we could foretell the outcome. But …” She shrugged again and forced a smile. “We’ve not, so we can only wait.”

“Until?” Ellyn asked.

“Gailard returns,” said Shara, “with news that’s good or ill.” She shivered, as if she wondered at his return.

“You love him,” Ellyn said.

Shara met the younger woman’s gaze. “Don’t you?”

Ellyn paused awhile before answering. Then, carefully: “Not as I thought I did.” She laughed nervously. “I hated him at first. I thought him an uncouth savage. But then … He’s not, is he? He’s a noble man, and I should have known that. My father named him friend, and my mother trusted him. So I should have. But …” She shrugged in turn. “I
thought I loved him, and so I hated you—because you stole his heart. I saw the way he looked at you—and you at him—and I knew. I wanted to send you away then. I thought that I’d banish you and have Gailard for myself. Save I needed to learn from you, and so I must suffer your presence.”

Her voice trailed off. Her eyes grew moist.

Shara said, “And now?”

“There’s Roark,” Ellyn answered shyly. “I love him.”

“And what of Gailard?” Shara asked.

“He does not love me,” Ellyn said. “Not in that way He loves you as I love Roark.”

Shara ducked her head in acknowledgment.

“Are you … ?” Ellyn asked. “Have you … ?”

“No.” Shara shook her head. “Not until Chorym is won and you take your parents’ throne.”

“Nor we,” Ellyn said, smiling.

“Then best we take the city soon, eh?”

Ellyn began to reply, but then Mattich came into their tent. His visage was fearful. “Best you come quickly,” he declared. “This god-cursed Vachyn magic frightens our warriors, and your presence can strengthen them.”

“Come.” Shara rose, holding out a hand to Ellyn. “Come, sister, and let’s to our duty.”

I
pushed my bay hard on the return, leaving the smaller, slower Highland ponies behind me. I’d bring word of our newfound allies to Ellyn and Shara as quickly as possible, and it would not be the first night I’d spent sleepless in battle’s cause. Did Mother Hel and Kerid bring up their army as they promised, we might commence our attack that day.

By dawn, the Mother had promised—and I thought her a woman who’d keep her word. The Hel’s Town pirates would march through the night and be with us early. Then those siege engines my Highlander kin did not properly understand might be brought into play and we assault Chorym’s walls without fear of attack from the rear. I laughed into the night.

Then gasped as I saw what lay ahead of me.

Mist drifted across the road like the trailing threads of spinning spiders, insubstantial at first, so that I assumed it no more than the combination of the day’s heat with the rain-dampened ground, but then thicker … So thick that, within paces, it became a wall of grey that hid the Hunter’s Moon and all the stars. I could not understand it. Vapors rising from the fields might account for some part, but this was such a brume as decorated the Highlands’ woods in deepest winter. It was clammy and chill at the same time, so that I
felt sweat bead my brow even as I shivered at the cold that struck into my bones. I felt my knee begin to ache, where a year and a lifetime ago that pike had struck me, and also the wounds Nestor’s hunters had delivered; and my mare began to fret, slowing her pace and turning her head nervously as I urged her on. Soon I must dismount and lead her, else she’d have thrown me and run off. Her eyes rolled and her ears were laid back, and she swung her head from side to side as if she heard, or saw, or sensed, things within the fog that I could not.

I guessed that Nestor had begun his work. I drew my sword and cursed the mare as she began to buck and I let go the reins before she plunge her hooves onto me. She snorted once and turned around to disappear into the mist. I pressed on.

And in time saw somewhat of what I’d witnessed in the Darach Pass and across the Durrakym.

Dawn was gone and the sun shone over Chorym. But from the city’s walls, like smoke from the nostrils of a pipe user, there rolled great banks of grey mist. They encompassed the surrounding army and the countryside a league beyond. It was as if clouds fell from the sky to roll across the land, and all was grey and lost save for the thunderbolts that struck from above.

They descended in lancing flashes of brilliant light that crashed against the land beneath and left the heavens ringing. I saw columns of fire, and recognized the shapes of my siege towers and catapults burning. I shouted as despair filled me—another reminder of the Darach Pass—and stumbled forward even as I saw answering flashes rise from the ground to strike against Nestor’s magic, so that both the darkened sky above my army and that over Chorym were lit by counterpoised brilliances. I ached and hurt, and felt a terrible desire to throw away my sword and buckler and flee. It was as if the mist whispered that I could not prevail and had better run.

I had experienced this before, so I fought my doubts
and fears and pressed on. Roark came out of the brume. He carried a torch that did little to light his way. Strands of hair hung lank about his face and his eyes were haunted. He held a sword that he pointed toward me, and gasped in relief as he recognized me.

“Thank the gods, Gailard, that you’re safe. Thank them more that you’re back.”

“What happens?” I asked.

“It began awhile ago,” he said. “At midnight, I think. This mist came up and then …” He ducked his head as a peal of thunder roiled above us and light came down from the sky. I heard a horse scream briefly. “Ellyn and Shara do what they can. But …” He shook his head. “Best they explain, for the gods know I cannot.”

“Do the clans stand?” I asked.

“So far.” He nodded and wiped at his mouth. “But does this go on …” He shrugged, glancing nervously around. “My Quan will hold, else I’ll have all their heads. But … This frightens them, Gailard.”

It frightened him, too. I could see that, and must admire him for his steadfast purpose. Perhaps he
was
fit for Ellyn.

“Bring me to them,” I said. I could no longer find directions in this fog. “And spread the word that an army of Hel’s Town pirates comes to support us. They come up the Coast Road, and they’re welcome.”

He nodded and shouted orders to his men, which impressed me. And then impressed me more as he asked, “The warriors I sent with you, they’re safe?”

“I left them behind,” I said, “to bring our allies safely in.”

“The gods be thanked for that.”

“Thank them when we’ve won,” I grunted. “Now bring me to Shara and Ellyn, and send for Mattich and Jaime.”

I found them where we had established our command center. It was no grandiose thing—only a cluster of tents with one large enough that we might confer at the middle of the ring—guarded by nervous clansmen who flinched at
each skyborne blast and stared at me like puppies experiencing their first storm. That sense of horrid dread that accompanies Nestor’s magicks was less present here, which I supposed was due to the proximity of Shara and Ellyn.

I found them inside the tent. They sat to either side of a small table, their hands stretched out that they might link their fingers, four hammered-tin bowls between them. One held earth, the second water, the third a candle, and the last was empty. Both their faces were pale, and their eyes were hollow. I hesitated, unwilling to break their obvious concentration.

And Shara said, “It’s begun. Nestor has summoned all his power. He looks to destroy the siege engines. I …”

The tent shook like a rag doll tossed into a gale as light filled the morning. I felt the ground tremble beneath my feet, and for a moment I was blinded even through the canvas. I clutched at a pole and shook my head, rubbing at my eyes.

“We can defend the men,” Shara continued out of a dry mouth, “but not the engines. They’re mostly gone.”

I ducked out of the tent and saw more pyres loft through the mist.

“What next?” I asked. I stared at Ellyn, who seemed oblivious to this conversation. Her eyes were rolled back so that only the whites showed. “Shall more—worse?—magic come against us, or honest battle?”

Shara said, “I don’t know—I cannot know! Only that I and Ellyn hold Nestor’s magicks off the warriors. For now …”

New thunder rolled across the sky. I watched as Shara trembled and shuddered—as if her very bones, the templates of her brain, the blood running through her veins were seared.