The Way Into Magic: Book Two of The Great Way (38 page)

“Fire pass us by,” Granny said. “What times we live in. What terrible times. Tell me about this translation stone. Where did you get it and where is it now? It would be worth a year’s lodging in a holdfast for the lot of us.”
 

Tejohn thought back to the day at Fort Samsit when Cazia Freewell made it for him. She had remained behind when Lar Italga set out on his quest, and... By now, she was either dead or transformed. “I took it off a corpse,” Tejohn said. “And it was taken from me at the gates of Ussmajil.”
 

“Feh. I bet they don’t even know what they have.
 
Pity. It would have made us rich, and the rich are always safest in a siege.”
 

There was no point in quibbling over her use of the word “us.” Tejohn shrugged and said, “A great deal has been lost.”

“Any other terrors you want to tell us about?” Granny’s tone was almost challenging.

“Have any of your people disappeared in the night? Maybe you assumed they ran off?”
 

Everyone in the circle shook their heads. “Is that what grunts do? Snatch people in the middle of the night?”
 

“No. Grunts aren’t stealth hunters. It’s the ruhgrit who carry people off. Those are the giant eagles people have been telling stories about. I saw them over Fort Caarilit, but they’re mostly in the northeast and in the Sweeps.”
 

There was a commotion over this, and Tejohn met Granny’s appraising look. He shrugged. “I don’t know anything about merfolk or the lost goatman city, though.”
 

One of the men in the circle blurted out, “What do you suggest we do?”
 

Tejohn became very still. They should not have been asking him for orders; he was not the one in charge, and he didn’t want to usurp anyone’s authority. “Granny already has you doing it. Post guards at night. Keep watch. If you meet anyone who says ‘bless’ or ‘blessing’ every other sentence, check their body for bite marks or patches of blue fur.”

“Because they might already be blessed,” someone said.
 

“
Cursed
.” Tejohn corrected immediately. “They might already be
cursed
.”
 

“Do you think we could hold off an attack from a pack of grunts?” the young man who promised to kill himself asked.
 

No
. “With Granny Nin’s permission, we can practice a few footwork drills in the morning before we set out. Nothing extensive or over-taxing, I promise.”
 

She drained her cup and stood. “Thank you, Ondel”--the way she said his false name made it clear she knew it was false--“You’ve saved me the trouble of asking.”
 

In the morning, Tejohn showed them how to stand to hold the line, how to sidestep an attack, and how to advance quickly but carefully. If they had been real soldiers, they would have spent hours practicing each until it was habit in even the most trying circumstances, but that would never do here. He demonstrated, they copied, he corrected, and they were done.
 

Before they started, he had been worried that his lesson would give them unfounded confidence in themselves, but it was clear that wasn’t happening. He had unnerved them the night before and they looked haunted.

The day’s journey was even harder than the previous, because the road was cruelly steep. After a while, Granny Nin began to sing a slow-paced but cheerful work song, and the whole troupe joined in. Even Tejohn sang along, although the people near him winced when he missed notes, as he often did. Their footsteps kept beat with the tune and they reached the top of the pass shortly after midday.
 

There were stone markers by the side of the road, indicating the border between holdings. He was relieved to be leaving Bendertuk lands, but where were they entering? The empire was dotted with minor tyrs and small holdings, especially in the mountains and down in the southernmost waterlands.
 

They came upon a painted sign standing at the place where the road turned directly north and became a gentle slope. It had been freshly painted, showing a white circle in a green field. Within the circle were the dual-finned humps of a serpent or eel as it might appear above the water.
 

Tejohn thought he ought to recognize it, but he didn’t. Prince Lar had been drilled in the banners of his tyrs. Tejohn had been concerned with their spears, shields, and swords, not how they were decorated.
 

Shortly beyond the painted banner was a curved wall that stretched across the road from one cliff face to another. It wasn’t a high wall, but the way it commanded the long, flat slope leading up to it would have created a deadly killing ground for archers and siege engines.
 

The wooden gate stood wide to receive them, and he saw the pennants flying above them: two humps of a water serpent. It was almost familiar, as though he’d met the local tyr years ago at some function at the Palace of Song and Morning but had forgotten him since.
 

The holdfast was small even by the standards of petty tyrs: the building was made from lashed logs and stood only two stories tall. The small balconies had been built solidly, like miniature towers, sporting arrow slots in every direction. A few flaming brands and a bucket of pitch would have undone it, but perhaps they thought themselves too small to be worth an assault. The doors of the grand hall swung open and a dozen people hurried out; some were soldiers, some were bureaucrats with wax tablets tucked under their arms.
 

“Granny Nin!” cried the tallest of them. He was a weedy-looking man with a skin pallor that suggested he hid from the sun. His gray-toothed smile was broad and genuine. “Granny Nin, it is always a pleasure to welcome you.”

“Thank you, my good friend. I have a gift for your mighty tyr, but first, you must ask your questions. Ask away!”

“I’m afraid I must. Do you have all the same merchants as last year?”

“Granny Blacktree passed last midwinter, I’m afraid, and her kin weren’t interested in keeping up the wagon. So, we are doing without her.”

The bureaucrat made a sympathetic face. Tejohn was startled to realize he was wearing shell decorations like the Durdric Holy Fighters he’d fought in the Sweeps. Were they Durdric sympathizers? The man was also wearing an iron ring, which would have been blasphemy to them. “The poor dear. We all liked her.”
 

“But it was hard on her these past few years,” Granny said, “so it wasn’t a surprise. However, we’ve also picked up a wandering beacon and his armsman.”

The bureaucrat glanced at Tejohn--who had left his spear in Granny’s wagon and had his shield on his back--then looked away without interest. To Javien, he said, “Where are you from and where are you bound, Beacon...”
 

“Beacon Javien Biliannish, out of Ussmajil. We are passing through to the Sweeps on a mission for the temple.”
 

But the bureaucrat was distracted by a messenger running out of the hall. The young girl whispered a few words, then bowed. The bureaucrat thanked her, excused himself, then moved toward the doors.
 

Granny Nin looked surprised to see the man turn his back, and she was even more surprised when the soldiers at the side of the holdfast suddenly lowered their points and rushed forward.
 

Tejohn stepped in front of Javien and slid his shield off his back. He was reaching for his sword--and cursing his decision to set down his spear--when Granny cried out, “No!”

She was in charge. Tejohn moved his hand away from his sword and let his shield fall to the ground. The soldiers did not shove their steel into his guts, but he saw no indecision in their expressions. When the order came--if it came—they would kill everyone in the caravan.
 

“What is the meaning of this?” Granny Nin called, but no one was paying her any attention. Two of the shutters on a holdfast balcony banged open, and everyone turned their attention to the gray-haired man staring down at them, tears in his eyes.
 

It was Doctor Twofin.

To be concluded in THE WAY INTO DARKNESS

Author's note

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