Angus Wells - The God Wars 03 (24 page)

           
"I say that if Rhythamun is to
be defeated, if Tharn is to be denied resurrection," Ochen replied, ''then
you, all three, must go on. Perhaps ..." He paused, chewing a moment on
the tails of his mustache, thoughtful. "Perhaps even Cennaire must go with
you."

           
"No!" Now Calandryll's
voice rose loud in denial, forced quieter by effort of will as he continued:
"She's no part in it, save she knows Rhythamun's new face. And save we
find him ere he makes that crossing—which must surely render this debate
redundant—then there can be no need that she attempt the aethyr."

           
Ochen's response was an enigmatic
shrug, a further stroking of his beard. "What need was there she met you at
all?" he asked.

           
"Chance," answered
Calandryll. "Her misfortune."

           
"Think you so?" the wazir
murmured. "Do you not think it a very great stretching of coincidence that
in all the vastness of Cuan na'For she should have come to that single place
where you and Rhythamun both came?"

           
It was the selfsame argument
Calandryll had used: he shook his head, helplessly. "What else?" he
asked, low-voiced, sensing defeat. "Say you she, too, is a part of this
design?"

           
"I think it likely," said
Ochen, and Calandryll felt a hesitation before the sorcerer added: "I
suspect she's a part to play."

           
"Defenseless as the
others?" The slight hesitation went forgotten. "Mortal and
unwarded?"

           
Almost, Ochen said, "Hardly
mortal," but his training was sufficient that he held back the retort,
saying instead, "If it be ordained so, then aye."

           
"I say you no," Calandryll
snapped. "I say she remains safe in Pamur-teng. Also that we put all this
to Bracht and Katya—grant them the freedom of choice."

           
"I think you know their choice/
⁷
Ochen smiled ruefully. "Such folk as those two will not give up. Even be
it at price of their lives, their very souls, still they'll go on."

           
"Aye." Calandryll nodded
reluctantly. "But Cennaire?"

           
"Should be allowed some say in
her own destiny," said the wazir. "Let us put all this to them in the
morning, and agree to bide by their decisions."

           
"Dera!" Calandryll shook
his head. "I'd thought to nleet dangers, but not such as you
promise."

           
"It may still be that we find
Rhythamun in time," Ochen said gently, his words designed to reassure.
"In mortal guise he can move no faster than mortal's pace. The body he
possesses must eat still; sometimes rest. He needs horses still."

           
"We thought as much as we
pursued him across Cuan na'For." Calandryll snorted a bitter laugh.
"And he found ways to elude us—he's not the scruples of mortal men."

           
"Aye." The wazir's
wrinkled face puckered, moonlit. "I've thought on that."

           
"To what conclusion?"

           
"That speed is of the
essence," replied Ochen, "and that Chazali and his warriors must move
slower than a small band."

           
"You say we should abandon the
army?" Calandryll demanded.

           
"I think that the wiser
course," said the wazir. "Chazali must travel with foot soldiers, a
baggage train, while you and I—the others—may proceed faster do we go
alone."

           
"Save Anwar-teng be
fallen," Calandryll said.

           
"It has not yet." Ochen
gestured at the night, as if at some entity beyond the star-pocked darkness.
"Had it, the aethyr should ring loud with the event."

           
A horrible possibility descended on Calandryll,
and almost, he offered no response. It seemed easier—at least less
frightening—to let the thought pass unvoiced; and yet, he knew, he must examine
every avenue, no matter how skeptical, how gloomy. "Which might yet
happen," he said. "And if it does, then Rhythamun wins entry to the
portal; while we shall surely be denied even access to the hold."

           
"In such event," said
Ochen with such calm as was near irritating, "we shall likely all be slain
by the rebels. Save I shall know, does that event occur, and we can avoid the
hold—go on directly to the Borrhun-maj."

           
"Without the aid of the
wazir-narimasu?" Calandryll had learned his lessons well: knew now how
vital were the high sorcerers to the quest. "With Rhythamun passed
through? No, surely does Anwar- teng fall, we've lost."

           
"Is that, as Bracht would
likely say," asked Ochen, "good enough reason to admit defeat? I tell
you, that while we live, and dare this venture, we've hope still."

           
"A commodity that seems
fast-waning," muttered Calandryll.

           
"And therefore to be clutched
the harder," said Ochen. "Horul, my friend, do we latch ourselves to
every doubt that comes to mind, we'd as well surrender now. Would you take that
course?"

           
"No." Calandryll grinned,
resolution strengthened by the sorcerer's admonishment. "You know I'd
not."

           
"Then we press on," said
Ochen firmly. "Trusting in the Younger Gods to aid us."

           
"But still advise the others of
what may lie ahead," said Calandryll. "And still I'd see Cennaire
ensconced safe in Pamur-teng, for I'm not yet convinced she need go with us
farther."

           
Ochen nodded, glancing a moment to
where the woman lay, wondering if she listened, confident of her decision. He
said, "On that matter we may well find some answer in Pamur-teng. There
are gijans there—folk you'd name spaewives—who possess such talents as discern
some measure of the future, and who may likely perceive the patterning of your
destinies better than I. Do we consult one, and you abide by what she
sees?"

           
Somewhat reluctantly, Calandryll
murmured his agreement.

           
"Then," said Ochen,
"let us take that course. And meanwhile, take each day as it comes. First,
let us gain Pamur-teng, then onward to Anwar- teng. Beyond that . . .?"

           
"The gods, or destiny, or
whatever spins out this web, shall decide," Calandryll allowed. "But—
Dera!—I wish there were fewer strands to it."

           
Ochen chuckled. "Were men
simpler creatures, and less prone to ambition, then it would be so," he
said. "But they are not, and it is not; and we've no choice but to follow
the strands."

           
Calandryll sighed, gesturing his
acceptance, and the wazir began to speak again of occult matters, of
meditations and mantras, the formulation of mental patterns and the abstruse
language that opened the ways into the invisible world.

           
SLEEP was become a commodity short
supplied and it seemed only moments since Calandryll's head had touched the
hard pillow of his saddle that he was shaken awake, Ochen kneeling beside him,
proffering a mug of steaming, scented tea. Dew decked the grass, the sun not
yet risen, though the sky grew light in the east and the fires were fresh-
stoked, the kotu-zen saddling their horses in preparation for speedy departure.
Calandryll groaned, rubbing dew-moistened hands over sleep-foggy eyes, and took
the mug. Ochen waited patiently as he drank, the sweet-flavored liquid helping
to dispel the last vestiges of a slumber he had sooner continued.

           
"They await us," the wazir
said. "But Chazali will not long delay."

           
For a moment, Calandryll did not
understand, but then Ochen gestured to where Bracht and Katya, Cennaire, sat
beside their fire, and the promises of the past night came back: he nodded and
thrust off his blanket, weary head spinning an instant as he rose. He smoothed
his rumpled clothes, belted on his sword, and went to take his place beside his
comrades.

           
"This wizardry would seem hard
work," Bracht remarked with ruthless good cheer. "Do you sleep at all
now?"

           
More sympathetic, Katya piled a
platter with hard bread, meat. Calandryll smiled his thanks, and she said,
"There is some matter you'd discuss, so Ochen advises us."

           
Calandryll nodded, swallowed, and,
with Ochen's help, outlined to them his concerns.

           
When he was done, Bracht shrugged
and said, "Have we not for some while now assumed we might likely need to
cross the Borrhun-maj? What changes?"

           
"I stand with Ochen on
this," said Katya. "There's some design in what we do, and I see no
reason to shift our course."

           
"You've not felt Tharn's
presence as I did." Calandryll looked from one to the other. "Nor
have you the gift of Ochen's teaching."

           
"We've spoken with gods,"
Katya returned calmly, "and walked roads unknown to men. I say I put my
faith in the Younger Gods and, though I cannot comprehend it, this design. I
say we go on."

           
"Aye." Bracht nodded, dew
glinting on the jet of his hair, glancing briefly at his hands. "I thought
to die when Jehenne nailed me to the tree, but I live still. I never thought to
cross the Cuan na'Dru with the Gruagach for guides, but cross the forest we
did. Must we, then, venture into some other unknown, so we shall."

           
Calandryll had anticipated no less,
but still he liked it not, for it seemed to him they spoke— bravely—of a place
beyond their understanding, of hazards beyond their comprehension. He sought
arguments, but even as he searched, Bracht spoke again.

           
"We talk of future
dangers," the Kern said, his pragmatism characteristic, "while we
likely face more immediate hazards. Let us do as Ochen suggests—gain Pamur-teng
and consult this gijan."

           
Calandryll sighed, his objections
foundered on the rock of their resolution, and looked to Cennaire. "All
prophecies have told of three," he said. "You should be safer in
Pamur-teng."

           
Cennaire met his gaze with wide
hazel eyes, aware that Ochen studied her as she replied, "Let the gijan
decide. Does she bid me remain, then so be it; does she scry the three have
become four, then I go with you."

           
And
even does she bid me stay, she thought, still I must go with you. Or after you,
clandestine; for one way or the other our destinies are joined, and do I allow
you to go on without me Anomius will surely vent his anger on my heart.

           
She saw Ochen duck his head then,
smiling a small and secret smile, as if he approved her response.

           
Aloud, the wazir said, "Then
our course is set. As far as Pamur-teng, at least."

           
Calandryll shrugged acceptance,
denied further opportunity to dissuade by Chazali's shouted orders, hurriedly
finishing his breakfast as Bracht kicked the fire dead and all about, the
kotu-zen readied for departure. It was difficult to be sorry they chose to face
the unknown with him, for, were he honest with himself, he would sooner venture
there with comrades such as these at his side than alone. To feel guilty was
far easier, and he fell into a somewhat morose silence as he slung his saddle on
the chestnut gelding and climbed astride.

           
More orders from the kiriwashen sent
two men ahead of the main party, and as he fell into line, Calandryll called
out to Ochen, asking the reason.

           
Mist, timber, and the slope they
descended afforded the wazir time to answer: "We enter the tensai lands
now. They scout the way."

           
Calandryll remembered the fires he
had seen burning, likely in these same hills, as his pneuma had been drawn
northward, thinking now they might well have been the camp lights of outlaw bands,
and a thought came to him. "Why do you not travel the aethyr?" he
wondered. "Would your spirit not prove a more reliable guide?"

           
Ochen's answer was delayed by a
thickening of the trees, their mounts forced apart awhile. Then: "Have you
not understood? To travel that plane, total concentration is needed. That
journeying is done only when the body has nothing else to concern it. For now,
I've sufficient to occupy me. Horul knows, I am but a poor horseman, and save I
concentrate I shall likely fall off this awkward beast."