The Book of Athyra (6 page)

After an uncomfortable silence, Savn said, “Why did you say that?”

“Say what?”

“About . . . bodies.”

“Oh. I wanted to know.”

“It was cruel.”

“Was it? In fact, I meant the question. It surprises me to walk into a place like this and find that a body has followed me in. It makes me uncomfortable. It makes me curious.”

“There have been others who noticed it, too.”

“I’m not surprised. And whispers about me, no doubt.”

“Well, yes.”

“What exactly killed him?”

“No one knows.”

“Oh?”

“There was no mark on him, at any rate, and my friends told me that Master Wag was puzzled.”

“Is Master Wag good at this sort of thing?”

“Oh, yes. He could tell if he died from disease, or if someone beat him, or if someone cast a spell on him, or anything. And he just doesn’t know yet.”

“Hmmm. It’s a shame.”

Savn nodded. “Poor Reins. He was a nice man.”

“Reins?”

“That was his name.”

“An odd name.”

“It wasn’t his birth name; he was just called that because he drove.”

“Drove? A coach?”

“No, no; he made deliveries and such.”

“Really. That starts to bring something back.”

“Bring something back?”

“As I said, I think I recognize him. I wonder if I could be near . . . who is lord of these lands?”

“His Lordship, the Baron.”

“Has he a name?”

“Baron Smallcliff.”

“And you don’t know his given name?”

“I’ve heard it, but I can’t think of it at the moment.”

“How about his father’s name? Or rather, the name of whoever the old Baron was?”

Savn shook his head.

Vlad said, “Does the name ‘Loraan’ sound familiar?”

“That’s it!”

Vlad chuckled softly. “That is almost amusing.”

“What is?”

“Nothing, nothing. And was Reins the man who used to make deliveries to Loraan?”

“Well, Reins drove everywhere. He made deliveries for, well, for just about everyone.”

“But did his duties take him to the Baron’s keep?”

“Well, I guess they must have.”

Vlad nodded. “I thought so.”

“Hmmm?”

“I used to know him. Only very briefly I’m afraid, but still—”

Savn shook his head. “I’ve never seen you around here before.”

“It wasn’t quite around here; it was at Loraan’s keep rather than his manor house. The keep, if I recall the landscape correctly, must be on the other side of the Brownclay.”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“And I didn’t spend much time there, either.” Vlad smiled as he said this, as if enjoying a private joke. Then he said, “Who is Baron now?”

“Who? Why, the Baron is the Baron, same as always.”

“But after the old Baron died, did his son inherit?”

“Oh. I guess so. That was before I was born.”

The Easterner’s eyes widened, which seemed to mean the same thing in an Easterner that it did in a human. “Didn’t the old Baron die just a few years ago?”

“Oh, no. He’s been there for years and years.”

“You mean Loraan is the Baron
now
?”

“Of course. Who else? I thought that’s what you meant.”

“My, my, my.” Vlad tapped the edge of his wine cup against the table. After a moment he said, “If he died, are you certain you’d know?”

“Huh? Of course I’d know. I mean, people see him, don’t they? Even if he doesn’t appear around here often, there’s still deliveries, and messengers, and—”

“I see. Well, this is all very interesting.”

“What is?”

“I had thought him dead some years ago.”

“He isn’t dead at all,” said Savn. “In fact, he just came to stay at his manor house, a league or so from town, near the place I first saw you.”

“Indeed?”

“Yes.”

“And that isn’t his son?”

“He isn’t married,” said Savn.

“How unfortunate for him,” said Vlad. “Have you ever actually seen him?”

“Certainly. Twice, in fact. He came through here with his retainers, in a big coach, with silver everywhere, and six horses, and a big Athyra embossed in—”

“Were either of these times recent?”

Savn started to speak, stopped, and considered. “What do you mean ‘recent’?”

Vlad laughed. “Well taken. Within, say, the last five years?”

“Oh. No.”

The Easterner took another sip of his wine, set the cup down, closed his eyes, and, after a long moment, said, “There is a high cliff over the Lower Brownclay. In fact, there is a valley that was probably cut by the river.”

“Yes, there is.”

“Are there caves, Savn?”

He blinked. “Many, all along the walls of the cliff. How did you know?”

“I knew about the valley because I saw it, earlier today, and the river. As for the caves, I didn’t know; I guessed. But now that I do know, I would venture a further guess that there is water to be found in those caves.”

“There’s water in at least one of them; I’ve heard it trickling.”

Vlad nodded. “It makes sense.”

“
What
makes sense, Vlad?”

“Loraan was—excuse me—is a wizard, and one who has studied necromancy. It would make sense that he lived near a place where Dark Water flows.”

“Dark Water? What is that?”

“Water that has never seen the light of day.”

“Oh. But what does that have to do with—what was his name?”

“Loraan. Baron Smallcliff. Such water is useful in the practice of necromancy. When stagnant and contained, it can be used to weaken and repel the undead, but when flowing free they can use it to prolong their life. It’s a bittersweet tapestry of life itself,” he added, in what Savn thought was an ironic tone of voice.

“I don’t understand.”

“Never mind. Would it matter to you if you were to discover that your lord is undead?”

“
What?
”

“I’ll take that as a yes. Good. That may matter, later.”

“Vlad, I don’t understand—”

“Don’t worry about it; that isn’t the important thing.”

“You seem to be talking in riddles.”

“No, just thinking aloud. The important thing isn’t how he survived; the important thing is what he knows. Aye, what he knows, and what he’s doing about it.”

Savn struggled to make sense of this, and at last said, “What he knows about what?”

Vlad shook his head. “There are such things as coincidence, but I don’t believe one can go that far.” Savn started to say something, but Vlad raised his hand. “Think of it this way, my friend: many years ago, a man helped me to pull a nasty joke on your Baron. Now, on the very day I come walking through his fief, the man who helped me turns up mysteriously dead right in front of me. And the victim of this little prank moves to his manor house, which happens to be just outside the village I’m passing through. Would you believe that this could happen by accident?”

The implications of everything Vlad was saying were too many and far-reaching, but Savn was able to understand enough to say, “No.”

“I wouldn’t, either. And I don’t.”

“But what does it mean?”

“I’m not certain,” Vlad said. “Perhaps it was foolish of me to come this way, but I didn’t realize exactly where I was, and, in any case, I thought Loraan was . . . I thought it would be safe. Speaking of safe, I guess what it means is that I’m not, very.”

Savn said, “You’re leaving, then?” He was surprised to discover how disappointed he was at the thought.

“Leaving? No. It’s probably too late for that. And besides, this fellow,
Reins, helped me, and if that had anything to do with his death, that means I have matters to attend to.”

Savn struggled with this, and at last said, “What matters?”

But Vlad had fallen silent again; he stared off into space, as if taken by a sudden thought. He sat that way for nearly a minute, and from time to time his lips seemed to move. At last he grunted and nodded faintly.

Savn repeated his question. “What matters will you have to attend to?”

“Eh?” said Vlad. “Oh. Nothing important.”

Savn waited. Vlad leaned back in his chair, his eyes open but focused on the ceiling. Twice the corner of his mouth twitched as if he were smiling; once he shuddered as if something frightened him. Savn wondered what he was thinking about. He was about to ask, when Vlad’s head suddenly snapped down and he was looking directly at Savn.

“The other day, you started to ask me about witchcraft.”

“Well, yes,” said Savn. “Why—”

“How would you like to learn?”

“Learn? You mean, how to, uh—”

“We call it casting spells, just like sorcerers do. Are you interested?”

“I’d never thought about it before.”

“Well, think about it.”

“Why would you want to teach me?”

“There are reasons.”

“I don’t know.”

“Frankly, I’m surprised at your hesitation. It would be useful to me if someone knew certain spells. It doesn’t have to be you; I just thought you’d want to. I could find someone else. Perhaps one of those young men—”

“All right.”

Vlad didn’t smile; he just nodded slightly and said, “Good.”

“When should we begin?”

“Now would be fine,” said the Easterner, and rose to his feet. “Come with me.”

*  *  *

She flew above and ahead of her mate, in long, wide, overlapping circles just below the overcast. He was content to follow, because her eyesight was keener.

In fact, she knew exactly what she was looking for, and could have gone directly there, but it was a fine, warm day for this late in the year, and she was in no hurry to carry out the Provider’s wishes. There was
time for that; there had been no sense of urgency in the dim echo she had picked up, so why not enjoy the day?

Above her, a lazy falcon broke through the overcast, saw her, and haughtily ignored her. She didn’t mind; they had nothing to argue about until the falcon made a strike; then they could play the old game of You’re-quicker-going-down-but-I’m-faster-going-up. She’d played that game several times, and usually won. She had lost once to a cagey old goshawk, and she still carried the scar above her right wing, but it no longer bothered her.

She came into sight of a large structure of man, and her mate, who saw it at the same time, joined her, and they circled it once together. She thought that, in perhaps a few days, she’d be ready to mate again, but it was so hard to find a nest while traveling all the time.

Her mate sent her messages of impatience. She gave the psychic equivalent of a sigh and circled down to attend to business.

S
AVN HAD THOUGHT THEY
would be going into Vlad’s room, but instead the Easterner led them out onto the street. There was still some light, but it was gradually fading, the overcast becoming more red than orange, and accenting the scarlet highlights on the bricks of Shoe’s old house across the way. There were a few people walking past, but they seemed intent on business of their own; the excitement of a few short hours before had evaporated like a puddle of water on a dry day. And those who were out seemed, as far as Savn could tell, intent on ignoring the Easterner.

Savn wondered why he wasn’t more excited about the idea of learning Eastern magic, and came to the conclusion that it was because he didn’t really believe it would happen.
Well, then
, he asked himself,
why not? Because
, came the answer,
I don’t know this Easterner, and I don’t understand why he would wish to teach me anything.

“Where are we going?” he said aloud.

“To a place of power.”

“What’s that?”

“A location where it is easier to stand outside and inside of yourself and the other.”

Savn tried to figure out which question to ask first. At last he said, “The other?”

“The person or thing you wish to change. Witchcraft—magic—is a way of changing things. To change you must understand, and the best way to understand is to attempt change.”

“I don’t—”

“The illusion of understanding is a product of distance and perspective. True understanding requires involvement.”

“Oh,” said Savn, putting it away for a later time to either think about or not.

They were walking slowly toward the few remaining buildings on the west side of the village; Savn consciously held back the urge to run. Now they were entirely alone, save for voices from the livery stable, where Feeder was saying, “So I told him I’d never seen a kethna with a wooden leg, and how did it happen that . . .” Savn wondered who he was talking to. Soon they were walking along the Manor Road west of town. Savn said, “What makes a place of power?”

“Any number of things. Sometimes it has to do with the terrain, sometimes with things that have happened there or people who have lived there; sometimes you don’t know why it is, you just feel it.”

“So we’re going to keep walking until you feel it?” Savn discovered that he didn’t really like the idea of walking all night until they came to a place that “felt right” to the Easterner.

“Unless you know a place that is likely to be a place of power.”

“How would I know that?”

“Do you know of any place where people were sacrificed?”

Savn shuddered. “No, there isn’t anything like that.”

“Good. I’m not certain we want to face that in any event. Well, is there any powerful sorcerer who lives nearby?”

“No. Well, you said that Lord Smallcliff is.”

“Oh, yes, I did, didn’t I? But it would be difficult to reach the place where he works, which I assume to be on the other side of the river, at his keep.”

“Not at his manor?”

“Probably not. Of course, that’s only a guess; but we can hardly go to his manor either, can we?”

“I guess not. But someplace he worked would be a place of power?”

“Almost certainly.”

“Well, but what about the water he used?”

“The water? Oh, yes, the Dark Water. What about it?”