Call of Wizardry, page 16
“Rantzau,” Alaric shouted back. “Is there a problem?”
The three men approached closer. “Why didn’t you take the road?”
“We felt like doing some hunting in the forest,” Alaric said. “Nothing wrong with that.”
The three men stopped again, this time only about ten feet away. The Niskanen said, “So you were in the forest earlier.” His companions put their hands on their sword hilts in a way that said violence was an option if they didn’t like Alaric’s answer.
“We were. Again, is there a problem?” Alaric didn’t shift his position at all, but Sienne was sure he was ready to go for his sword in an instant. Leaf and Ember sat to either side of him, their eyes fixed on the stranger. To Sienne, they quivered with pent-up energy. She hoped the Niskanen wasn’t as observant.
“Not for you, friend,” the Niskanen said. “Our master has informed us there are strangers in the valley. Have you seen any foreigners in your journey?”
14
“We’ve seen a few people we didn’t know,” Alaric said. “Is that what you mean?”
“People who weren’t Sassaven,” the Niskanen said. He was enormous, bigger than Alaric across the chest and an inch or two taller. He didn’t have his hand on his sword the way the other two did, but Sienne was sure that didn’t make him harmless. Her heart was pounding painfully hard. How could the wizard possibly know they were here?
“No one like that,” Alaric said. “Why would strangers enter the valley?”
“That’s what our master would like to know. He’s interested in meeting them.” The Niskanen examined Alaric closely. “Where are you from? Rantzau?”
Alaric nodded.
“Long journey. You have business in Barholt?” the Niskanen went on.
“We do.”
The smaller man—smaller in comparison; he was still as tall as Perrin—who stood behind the huge Niskanen said, “What family?”
“My mother is Gerda.” Alaric shifted his weight, and the sword hilt bobbed behind his neck. The Niskanen’s attention snapped to it. Dread filled Sienne. She should have hidden his sword.
The smaller man drew his sword. “I’m from Rantzau. There’s no Gerda there.”
“You’re no Niskanen,” the big man said, drawing his own sword. “You’re not allowed to go armed. On the ground, all of you.”
The third man, who’d been staring at Alaric with the air of someone working out a difficult puzzle, suddenly said, “By God’s own name. You’re Alaric, Detlenda’s son.”
The big Niskanen swung around. “Who?”
The third man pushed his way past his companions. “I remember you. The one who ran away. You died in the mountains. Our master said so.”
“Do I know you?” Alaric said.
“You won’t remember me,” the man said with a smile. “I’m Dag, Hildrun’s son. I was just a boy when you disappeared—”
“By Sisyletus,” Alaric exclaimed, “I do remember you. You used to follow Karlen around pretending—”
“—to be a Niskanen, yes.” Dag smiled again. “I’ve grown since then.”
Dag wasn’t as big as Alaric, but he was still clearly a Sassaven unicorn. The smaller man lowered his sword. “This is Alaric?” he said.
The big Niskanen didn’t back down. “What are you doing here?”
Alaric said nothing. Leaf stood, baring her teeth.
The big man raised his sword. “I said on the ground. All of you.”
“But, Gunndar—” Dag protested.
“He’s not here for innocent reasons. He means our master harm. And I don’t know any of his companions.” Gunndar’s sword never wavered. “We’re taking them back to Barholt.”
The smaller man raised his sword again, threatening Sienne. She held her hands where they were clearly visible and thought furiously. Alaric and Kalanath were both too close to the Niskanen for fury or shout, disarming them with grease would be temporary if they changed to their other selves, rainbow might be too powerful… She settled on force, conscious of what Alaric had said about not wanting to hurt the Sassaven if they could help it.
“You don’t know why we’re here,” Alaric said. “You don’t know we’re a threat. You don’t have to take us in. Step aside, and go on with whatever you were doing.”
Dag said, “Are you here to kill the wizard?”
Once again, Alaric said nothing. Dag’s face was a mask of indecision that hardened into resolve. “I can’t let you do it,” he said.
“You don’t want to stop me,” Alaric said.
“What I want doesn’t matter. You know that.” Dag drew his sword. “Drop your weapons and we won’t hurt you. I swear, Alaric, he just wants to talk to you.”
Alaric drew his sword. “I’ve seen what happens when all he wants is a talk,” he said. “We’re here to put a stop to it.”
Sienne began murmuring the syllables of force, drawing her target’s attention. “What did you say?” he said, taking a step closer. Sienne backed up, letting the spell roll off her tongue, and force erupted from her and knocked him off his feet. The two Niskanen unicorns recoiled.
“Magic,” Gunndar breathed. Alaric charged him.
Kalanath leaped after Dag, followed by Dianthe. The Pekkanen circled wide, clearly unwilling to interfere and possibly distract their friends, but just as clearly wishing they could. Sienne backed away, looking for a clear target.
She’d never seen Alaric fight anyone his own size before, and it was terrifying to watch the two men going at it, their enormous swords clashing with a sound like a hammer striking an anvil. Gunndar pressed the attack, forcing Alaric back a step before Alaric parried and shoved his opponent away. They circled each other, each looking for an opening. Alaric found his first and feinted at Gunndar’s head, then drove the blade toward his unprotected midsection, a move Gunndar only just avoided. Gunndar stepped back and drove his blade at Alaric’s side, scoring a line across Alaric’s jerkin. He grinned savagely. “Take care, traitor,” he said.
Alaric grinned back. “You’ll thank me later,” he said. Sienne realized he was carefully working his way around to put Gunndar’s back toward Sienne. She rapidly chanted force again and caught Gunndar square in the back of the head. The big man dropped. She felt a moment’s guilt at having effectively stabbed him in the back, but suppressed it. She’d spared his life, really.
A cry from Dianthe pulled Sienne’s attention away from Gunndar. Something struck her in the chest, knocking the wind out of her and sending her flying, then falling, then crashing into the river.
She sputtered and thrashed, flailing wildly to get her head above water. The current buffeted her along, sweeping her downstream as she swam for the bank. She couldn’t get her well-fitted boots off to make her struggles more effective, couldn’t see anything but white foam, and as she went under a second time, she wished she could cast spells by thinking. Gills would be useful now.
The river tumbled her heels over shoulders, dizzying her, numbing her with its icy chill. She had no idea which way was up until her head broke the surface once more. She gasped, sucked in waterlogged air, and struck out again for what she hoped was the riverbank. She ached with cold and tiredness. Her stupid brain insisted on presenting her with magical options for her escape that all required her to have breath to speak: gills, of course, but also float or one of the many transportation spells. Even summon companion—no, a dolphin probably couldn’t function in fresh water, or were there dolphins that could? It could tow her to shore. She was so lightheaded that sounded like a rational option.
Lightheaded. Lighter than air.
She went under again. Three times, wasn’t that the magic number? Desperate, she thrashed her way to the surface and with her last breath gasped out the three syllables of bubble.
Sweet, fresh air surrounded her head, and as she slid beneath the surface once more, the water pressed in around her without touching her face, as if a film separated her from it. Her brain cleared, and she felt a momentary hope that vanished almost immediately. She was so tired, and her arms ached from fighting the current, but she wasn’t giving up. All she could see was black water and pale foam churned up by the current. She closed her eyes and tried to roll onto her back, float to the surface, but the water buffeted her in all directions, and she kicked her legs and found they wouldn’t respond.
Averran, she thought, but something large and dark rose up in front of her. She slammed into it, her head exploded with sharp pain, and the rest of the prayer was swallowed up in darkness.
The sound of the wind roared in her ears, rising and falling like…no, it wasn’t the wind, it was the rushing tide off Fioretti. She fought the heavy hand weighing down her eyelids, but saw only charcoal darkness, too black even to be the dead of night. Someone held her upright by the shoulders, and she struggled away, or tried to; her body felt as limp as if she’d been beaten, and the hands restrained her easily.
The blackness was lightening to a pale gray, just the color of Perrin’s shield, but opaque and dull. Sienne sucked in a deep breath untainted by water. Fioretti, how had she gotten back to Fioretti? She’d lost time—there’d been the Niskanen, and the river, and the lifesaving bubble, and she’d gone under three times…but the sound was fading, replaced by the murmur of voices. She strained to hear them.
“…not until after…”
“…don’t want to carry…”
“…hair like that…”
Feeling was returning to her numb body, which tingled as if it had been entirely asleep. Her confusion faded. This wasn’t Fioretti, it was the valley. Something had knocked her into the river. She jerked against the restraining hands, and the voices went silent. Sienne raised her head. The gray haze was no more than a film over her vision now, but she still couldn’t see much. Full dark had fallen since she landed in the river, but did that mean minutes, or hours, that she had been unconscious? The trees were gone, and she caught glimpses of low stone buildings with thatched roofs, dimly lit by torchlight. Barholt. She hoped it was Barholt, anyway. The alternative was too confusing to contemplate.
Several blond Sassaven in red vests, two of them big enough to be unicorns, surrounded her. “Let me go,” she said. It came out as a hoarse whisper. She cleared her throat. “I said let me go.”
“What are you?” said one of the women. “You’re a foreigner, aren’t you?”
“Don’t be stupid, Ellois, of course she’s a foreigner,” the female unicorn said. “We need to take her to our master immediately.”
Ellois’s jaw tightened. “What if he kills her?”
“Why would he do that? She’s hardly a threat.”
“He might. And her death would be on our heads.” Ellois stepped forward to take Sienne’s chin in her hand. Sienne jerked away, but Ellois’s grip was firm.
“All right,” the unicorn said, “suppose we don’t turn her in. What do we do with her then? We can’t leave her to roam free in Barholt, and I for one am not taking her to the border and setting her loose there.”
The picture of herself as a squirrel set free from captivity irritated Sienne. “I don’t need your help. Let go of me.”
Ellois and the unicorn both examined her. “Such dark hair, and dark skin,” Ellois said, touching a hank of Sienne’s hair. It was still wet. She hadn’t been unconscious long. “Where are you from?”
“South,” Sienne said. “Far south. I’ll go back there if you let me go. No need to turn me over to the wizard.” Either the buffeting of the river had dispelled imitate, or it had worn off on its own, but either way her disguise was gone. She shivered, and couldn’t stop shivering.
The two women looked at each other. The hands of the unseen Sassaven gripping her tightened. “We didn’t say he was a wizard,” the unicorn said. “How would a stranger know that?”
Sienne groped for an answer, but was overridden by Ellois saying, “Maybe I was wrong, and our master needs to see this one, Olega.”
“No—”
“Are you going to give us trouble, stranger?” Olega said. “Because I’d rather treat you as a guest than as a prisoner.”
Sienne glared at her. “I’m a prisoner no matter what you do, since I don’t want to go with you.”
“Walk, then,” Ellois said. Sienne glanced up at the two men holding her. Only one of them was big enough to be a unicorn, but the other was still a lot bigger and stronger than her. They started walking, and Sienne stumbled over her feet before matching strides with them, scuffing the hard-packed earth of the road. Stone houses, their windows covered with oiled paper, crouched in rows to either side. Warm light leaked from most of the windows, which couldn’t be much protection against the winter winds—
She squeezed her eyes shut briefly. What was she thinking? As if windows mattered when she was a captive. Fear filled her, numbing her brain briefly. She could not be taken to Kyros. Where were her friends? If she’d been swept downstream to the town, they might be miles away. It would take one of Perrin’s blessings to locate her.
That last thought calmed her. She would eventually be reunited with the others—she just had to stay free until then. Which meant getting away from her captors. But how? Force and fury wouldn’t work on anyone this close to her, shout had the same problem, and if she cast rainbow on one of the men holding her, the other would have time to subdue her. But maybe she didn’t need to attack. She just needed a distraction.
Lowering her head, she muttered the syllables of glow under her breath. “What was that?” the man on the left said. Then he gasped and yanked his hands away from her. “Secret name of God,” he breathed.
His companion let go of Sienne’s shoulder, and exclaimed, “She’s glowing!”
Sienne didn’t wait to hear what Ellois and Olega thought. She shoved past them and ran. Jaunt rose to her lips, and she suppressed it. She might jaunt away, escape these Sassaven, but she had no memorized location nearby, and she would be unable to return anywhere closer than Esthold—six days’ journey from this place. One more spell that was useless to her now.
“Wait!” Ellois shouted. Sienne kept running. The road curved slightly, though not enough for her to lose her pursuers. She needed to find a side street.
Just as she realized she didn’t hear any sounds of pursuit, someone shouted, and a force like a sledgehammer took her square in the back, knocking the wind out of her. She stumbled, fell to her knees, and collapsed face-first onto the street. Force, except it couldn’t be, because the Sassaven weren’t wizards, but what…? She tried to force air into her starving lungs, blinked away the spots filling her vision, and scrabbled at the hard ground, trying to get up.
Footsteps approached, slow and measured. “You should have known running was a bad idea,” Ellois said, crouching beside her. “We don’t want to hurt you.”
“We’re going to be in trouble for hurting her,” a man said. Sienne couldn’t see which of the two had spoken. “If she’s a wizard like our master, maybe he knows her.”
“She would have said,” Ellois said. “What I want to know is why she thought she could outrun our magic. She—oh, she’s awake.” Ellois rolled Sienne onto her back, which hurt as badly as if it had been a real sledgehammer. “Olega was gentle with you.”
That was gentle? Olega had vanished. In her place stood a bright bay unicorn with a black horn that gleamed like oil in the lamp lights. “Sassaven…unicorn?” Sienne managed. First the blow that had knocked her into the river, now this. Probably she should be grateful the Sassaven had to be in unicorn form to use magic, but her back hurt too much for gratitude.
“You know about our master, but not about us? Strange.” Ellois helped Sienne sit. “You really should see our master. Will you cooperate, or do we need to gag you?”
Sienne concentrated on breathing and thought furiously. Dianthe would have bound and gagged her no matter what promises she made, but these people were clearly not as suspicious and devious as Dianthe. Sienne had to remain free if she wanted to escape. “I’ll cooperate.”
One of the men, the smaller of the pair, offered her a hand up. Sienne accepted it, though it was tempting to spurn his help, demonstrate some small measure of defiance. But that would have been stupid, not to mention that these Sassaven seemed genuinely kind and not interested in hurting her. She rubbed the small of her back. Well. Not interested in permanently injuring her.
Olega, still in unicorn form, stepped forward, dipping her horn in a gesture that clearly meant “after you.” Sienne followed Ellois through the torch-lit streets, painfully aware of Olega’s razor-sharp horn within stabbing distance of her throat. Surreptitiously, she brushed her fingers across the wand, still securely sheathed at her thigh. The wand was there, her pack was still strapped to her back, her spellbook—
She almost stopped walking. Only her fear of Olega overrode her closer, sharper dread. Her spellbook was gone. She made herself breathe calmly. It didn’t matter. She didn’t need it anymore. But her heart cried out at its loss, the book that had been her close companion for nearly ten years. It would probably fetch up against the bank somewhere, to be found by some Sassaven who wouldn’t know what it was, and then—the thought of Kyros pawing over it drove away her fear, filling her with fury.
No. It doesn’t matter. Stay focused. What mattered was that she was going to face the wizard, alone and unsupported, with no plan and no idea where her friends were. If she’d ever been in a worse spot, she couldn’t remember it. She breathed out again, drew in a breath of cool night air scented with the resinous smell of torches and the fainter stink of animal waste. She’d just have to do her best, that’s all, and hope the others found her soon. She tried not to think what a weak and forlorn hope that was.
15
Sienne tried to keep track of the turnings, but fear made that impossible, distracting her with thoughts of what might be happening to her friends and what the wizard might do to her. Barholt reminded her of the tiny villages on the outskirts of Rafellin, west near the border with Wrathen, places where people scrabbled for survival. The little thatch-roofed houses were built of small stones haphazardly arranged, not quarried stone, which told Sienne none of the mines Alaric had mentioned provided stone. It seemed like an oversight, and made Sienne even more angry with the wizard. Surely someone as powerful as he could provide some measure of comfort to his slaves. For a moment, anger displaced fear, and then fear came creeping back like water seeping down a rock wall, quiet and inexorable. Almost she resorted to jaunt.
