The Fifth Sorceress, page 38
Wigg took another forkful of the mutton. ‘Do you remember the darkness of the Vagaries – how the light shot back and forth inside the orb as if it were straining to break free of its prison? Well, the sorceresses practice the Vagaries, and the creatures they control – such as the stalker, harpy, and wiktor – are most certainly results of their incantations. Therefore, these creatures are all very closely associated with that discipline. I believe that the sorceresses and their servants are in fact so intertwined with the discipline of the Vagaries that when one or more of them dies it creates a tiny rent in the fabric of the Vagaries, in the actual substance of the orb itself, and therefore allows a diminutive amount of light and energy to escape, resulting in the disturbances we see in the skies.’ He pursed his lips for a moment, thinking.
‘Just imagine,’ he said slowly, ‘the amount of power and destruction that would occur should a truly large rent in the Vagaries ever be opened. The result would be catastrophic. And still I believe it would be nothing compared to the uncontrolled, improper combination of both the Vigors and Vagaries together, should they ever be sufficiently ruptured at the same time.’ He sat back in his chair for a moment. ‘Another of the more famous wizards’ conundrums, Tristan. The fact that the craft is infinitely powerful. Just as it is also infinitely fragile.’
The prince’s mind was once again taken back to the day he killed the wiktor. ‘Before it died, the wiktor said that we would meet again, even though it knew it was soon to be dead. Why would it say such a thing?’
Wigg smiled quietly into Tristan’s eyes. ‘Because there is truly a difference between being killed and being dead,’ he said quietly. And the practice of the Vagaries shall lead to the madness of other, lower worlds. He could hear the text of the Vigors repeating it to him as if he had read it only yesterday.
Wigg was about to speak again when Lillith returned to their table. She gave Tristan a kind but still frightened look as she began to clear away the dishes. Tristan was about to speak to her when, seemingly from nowhere, two dirty, hairy arms snaked around her waist from behind. She jumped, dropping the dishes on the floor, breaking them. Tristan immediately stood up to see the man standing directly behind her, holding her firmly in a bear hug, wetly lick the side of her face as she tried to pull away.
‘The innkeeper told me that no one has bought you yet,’ he said, smelling her hair and moving one of his dirty, gnarled hands closer to her breasts. ‘I told him I didn’t care how much it cost. Tonight you’re mine.’
Tristan’s reaction was immediate. To Wigg’s horror, the prince stood up and tore off his robe. He quickly stepped behind the man, pulled one of his dirks from his quiver, and reached around to put an arm around the man’s throat. With the other arm he placed the blade squarely between the man’s legs. Tristan raised the blade a fraction until he could hear the knife begin to cut through the man’s trousers. Lillith’s attacker froze. The room became deathly quiet.
‘She’s already spoken for,’ Tristan whispered into the man’s ear from behind. ‘And unless you want me to cut them off and have her feed them to her next customer, I suggest you let her go.’ He raised the blade yet another fraction, and he could feel the knife’s edge resting against the roundness of the man’s left testicle.
The man let her go, and she slumped forward. Wigg caught her as she fell, and helped her into Tristan’s chair. Tristan turned the man around to face him. He had a sunken, sallow face and long hair, and was missing several of his teeth.
Tristan looked him dead in the eyes and raised his dirk up to the man’s face. ‘Go away,’ he said softly.
‘No. She’s mine.’ The man stood there, defiant, despite the knife in his face.
In a flash, Tristan moved the blade even closer to his face, placing its tip against the man’s lower eyelid. A small sliver of blood started to walk the length of the blade.
‘If you don’t leave now, the least you will lose is your eye,’ Tristan growled. He could feel the endowed blood in his veins running even faster now, as if begging him to avenge so many of the wrongs he had seen. Just give me one more reason, he snarled silently. He looked down at the man’s groin. ‘And if you continue to resist me, you will lose it all, I promise you.’
As quickly as he had appeared, the man turned and ran out of the room.
Without giving Wigg the chance to speak to him, Tristan marched across the room, the dirk still in his hand, and looked into Pig-man’s eyes. He pointed to Lillith. ‘I choose her,’ he said to the innkeeper. ‘How much?’ The look on his face was not to be denied.
Even so, the innkeeper decided to play his usual game. He licked his lips with greed. ‘Let’s see,’ he began sarcastically. ‘Considering the fact that you are intent on driving away my customers, and, as far as I know, she is still a virgin, I think the price will be very high indeed.’ He spread his hands wide and flat upon the surface of the countertop, taking his time with his thoughts.
Tristan had endured enough.
In the twinkle of an eye, the prince raised the dirk high above his head, and without even looking brought it down into the countertop with all of his strength – exactly between the first and second fingers of Pigman’s right hand.
‘I said how much, you bastard?’
‘S-s-six kisa,’ the innkeeper stammered, pulling his hand away from the dirk.
Tristan reached into his trousers and pulled out ten. He threw them on the counter with a loud clang. No one in the room moved.
Leaving the knife embedded into the counter, he reached out and pulled Pig-man across the counter to him. He then took up the knife and held it before the innkeeper’s face.
‘The four extra are for another room,’ he said into the little eyes. He dropped Pig-man on the bar and walked around to join him. ‘Which is your best room?’
The innkeeper held up a key on a gold chain. Tristan took it in his hand and walked back to the table.
Wigg sat there staring at him as if he were from another world, angry beyond belief. The girl named Lillith sat in Tristan’s chair, stunned and more than a little frightened. ‘Does this mean I must go upstairs with you now?’ she asked, obviously trying to keep the fear out of her voice.
‘No,’ Tristan whispered urgently. ‘This means that were are leaving, just as soon as we can get upstairs, collect our things, and go out one of the windows. I rented the extra room only for appearances. You wanted to get out of here, didn’t you? Well, here’s your chance.’ Aghast, she looked at him as if he were out of his mind.
Wigg stood and looked Tristan in the face. ‘Are you mad?’ he asked in a low voice. ‘I agree that after that little scene of yours we will certainly be leaving, but we simply cannot take her with us!’
‘Both you and she come with me right now,’ Tristan demanded. He inched his face closer to the wizard’s. ‘I have seen enough pain and violence to last a thousand lifetimes, much of it my own fault, and I have done nothing to help my countrymen other than to stand by and take orders from you. She goes with us, or she and I go and you stay here alone.’ He looked around the room briefly. Some of the other men had stood up from their chairs and were talking angrily among themselves, and it was plain to everyone that the three of them were the unfortunate topic of conversation.
Wigg looked into the eyes of the man that he loved so much and knew that Tristan would not be denied. Finally he smiled. ‘Very well. We go. All of us.’
Tristan turned, the dirk still in his hand, and led the two of them across the floor to the stairs. With each step up he felt every angry eye in the room on his back.
They would have to move quickly.
Leaving the inn actually proved easier than Tristan had first thought. After collecting the bags of food and Tristan’s dreggan, Wigg opened a window on the far side of the room. Beneath lay a shallow pitched roof, presumably over the inn’s kitchen. It was directly across from the stables. They slid down the roof one by one, finally jumping to the ground, Tristan catching Lillith as she came down into his arms. He stood there holding her for a few moments longer than Wigg would have liked. Despite her obvious fear she managed to give him a smile, and he gave her a quick grin of encouragement back.
Tristan immediately ran into the stables to roust the stable boy and helped him saddle their two horses. At a word from Tristan, the stable boy produced a roan mare, complete with saddle and bridle. They galloped out of the stable yard and down the moonlit road, trying to put as much distance between them and the inn as possible. Occasionally Tristan looked over at Lillith to make sure she was all right and wasn’t having any trouble keeping up. The mare she was on was almost as fast as Pilgrim, and to his relief he saw that Lillith was an excellent rider. Once, she looked back and smiled, apparently happy to be away, her long red hair flowing behind her in the wind.
Wigg finally raised his hand and slowed his gelding, and the three of them stopped. The Lead Wizard closed his eyes for a moment – Tristan guessed that the old one was using his mind to search the area for pursuers. Tristan was careful not to speak, aware that there were many things that must be kept strictly between himself and Wigg for as long as the young woman was with them.
After Wigg declared them safe for the time being, they walked the horses over to a small rise by a nearby stream, and Tristan and Lillith slept there in the grass that night, side by side. Wigg settled himself closer to the road, alone, saying he should be the one to stand watch. Tristan knew why: Wigg would be able to detect anyone coming long before Tristan ever could and, provided the girl did not see it, the old one could use his powers to deal with any problems. The Lead Wizard could go without sleep for days if he had to.
The prince was glad to be outdoors, under the stars again, and he and Lillith talked for what seemed a long time before they fell asleep, despite how tired they were. When she had asked Tristan and Wigg their names as part of thanking them for taking her away from the inn, they had both given her their true first names, but Tristan had of course not mentioned the name of his family house. Lillith apparently had no clue who they really were, but as a precaution the old one had kept his wizard’s tail neatly tucked down into his robe, and Tristan had not unwrapped the dreggan.
They told her that Wigg was a blacksmith and Tristan his apprentice; that, like her, they were on their way north to escape the massacre at Tammerland. They had not been able to bring any of their tools, and would sadly have to start in business all over again in one of the northern cities.
For her part, Lillith explained that she was the daughter of one of the tax collectors of the outer reaches of Tammerland, and that it was in that way that her father, Agamedes of the House of Alvin, had known the king. She was a schoolteacher, as her late mother had been, and enjoyed her time with the children, especially the younger ones. Her brother, Chauncey, had been a lieutenant in the Royal Guard. Their home had been burned to the ground by the terrible creatures with wings, and when she had seen the bodies of her father and brother she had panicked, gathering up all her money and setting out on her horse for the north, just as so many others had done. The innkeeper had stolen all of her money and sold her horse the first day.
At the end of her tale, she broke into tears, and Tristan held her for a long time in the moonlight, knowing that despite how much she attracted him, they would have to part company on the day after tomorrow when they reached the fork in the road that led to Ephyra. That was where Tristan and Wigg would have to set out cross-country to reach Shadowood.
Despite the short time in which he had known Lillith, he already knew in his heart that he would miss her. She was beautiful, intelligent, and kind, and she had a rare sort of quiet bravery. The only other women he had ever known with such a quality had been his mother and his sister, and he lamented the fact that he could not introduce Lillith to them. He would have enjoyed that very much. It then occurred to him that the woman sitting next to him in the dew-laden grass was one of the few people he had met in his entire life who did not know him as the prince of Eutracia. But Lillith seemed to like him despite the fact that, as far as she knew, he was just a simple blacksmith. Somehow, that meant a great deal to him. Before they fell asleep, she leaned forward to give him a tentative kiss on the cheek, once again thanking him for his kindness back at the inn. He covered her with his saddle blanket and lay awake under the stars for some time, sorting out his feelings, before he, too, fell asleep.
The next day was slow going again, the road north still full of refugees. Wigg took the lead, apparently lost in scholarly thoughts, while Tristan and Lillith rode side by side behind him, talking and sharing their food. During the occasional moments of silence, Tristan tried not to look at the other people on the road for fear that someone would recognize him. He had no robe to pull up over his head, having left it on the floor of the inn when they had gone upstairs in such a hurry. Luckily, no one seemed to recognize him or the old wizard.
Many of the people on the road with them were in a very sorry state. A large number were bandaged and bloody, and limped along as best they could. Tristan reminded himself that until the Coven and the Minions had come, Eutracia had been at peace for over three centuries. These people have never seen death and destruction on a scale such as this, he said to himself. They are still in shock, simply going north to where they think they might find some safety. Anything to get out of the death and stink of Tammerland.
Most of the throng going up the road were on foot, because the Minions had slaughtered so much of the livestock. There were simply very few horses to ride, or oxen to pull the carts. Therefore, most of these wretched souls had been forced to abandon the vast majority of their possessions, taking with them only what they could carry. Food and water were in short supply, and it occurred to Tristan that fights and small riots might break out among them, as the hunger and thirst became worse. He silently blessed the knives that lay across his back, and his ability to hunt with them.
As dusk began to fall the three of them again went off the road and away from the crush of humanity to make their camp. They had been traveling alongside the same meandering stream all day, and they found a small clearing just above its banks where they could sleep. Tristan killed a pair of rabbits, which made a sufficient meal when combined with some of the vegetables they still had left in the leather bags.
The night was warm, the sky full of a thousand stars. The fire cast flickering, ephemeral patterns of shadow and light upon the three of them as they sat on the ground beside its warmth, knowing that tomorrow they would part.
Wigg turned to look at Lillith. ‘It has been a pleasure to know you, miss,’ he said, smiling. He then looked briefly at the prince. ‘I am sure that I speak for both Tristan and myself when I say that I wish our meeting could have come under different circumstances.’ He handed her a rather large handful of gold kisa from the bag that he kept at his side. ‘Please take these, with our compliments. And keep the horse, too. You will need a good horse underneath you as you continue to travel to Ephyra. I wish we could do more, but in the morning we must take our leave of you. Our business lies in a different direction.’ In the firelight Tristan could see that Lillith’s eyes were watery, and she leaned over and gave the old one an affectionate hug. Tristan believed that even the crusty old wizard had come to genuinely like her, as well.
‘Thank you, Wigg,’ she said, her voice cracking slightly. ‘I shall never forget you.’
The old one stood, clearing his throat as if slightly embarrassed, and gathered his robes about him. He looked down at Tristan. ‘I will be on watch again, up over that rise, nearer to the road for the night. I don’t believe there is anyone following us, but it always pays to be sure. I will see you both in the morning. Sleep well.’ He turned and walked up over the knoll and out of sight.
‘Such a wonderful old man,’ Lillith said affectionately. ‘I’m sure if someone had the time, there are a great many stories that he could tell them. But sometimes he acts as if he has the entire weight of the world upon his shoulders.’
If you only knew, Tristan thought to himself. ‘I owe him more than I could ever repay,’ he said simply as he watched the fire play with the highlights in her red hair.
They sat in silence for a moment, looking into the hypnotic, dancing flames of the fire. The nighttime murmurs of the woodland creatures had begun all around them, sending out soft, reassuring sounds, mixing with the occasional crackling of the fire. Lillith looked up at the stars.
‘When I was a little girl, my father told me something about the stars that I never forgot,’ she said, as if from somewhere far away. ‘He told me that the night sky was a dark blanket the spirits of the Afterlife threw over us at the end of each day, to help keep us warm. And that the stars in the sky weren’t really stars at all, but tiny holes that they had poked in the blanket, letting little beams of light through. That way the spirits could watch over us during the night, just as they did during the daytime. And that when we saw the stars at night we could sleep in peace, because the spirits were protecting us then, too.’ She looked into his eyes.
Tristan smiled at her, thinking about what a wonderful story that was. He would try to remember it for his children, if and when the time ever came. If I survive all of this, he thought. As he looked across the short space between them and into her green eyes, he allowed himself the impossible luxury of wondering what it would have been like to have fathered children with this woman. Overtaken by the moment, he gently reached his hand out to her, placing it behind her head, and kissed her deeply on the lips. She responded in kind, and a passion began to overtake him that seemed more real, more meaningful, than any he had ever known.
She looked at him with a half-mischievous, half-hungry look. Standing up, she slowly pulled the peasant’s dress off over her shoulders, dropped it to her feet, and kicked it away. Her body was magnificent, and seemed to shimmer before him in the light of the full moon. Hungrily, he pulled her to him. But she only smiled and placed her right index finger to the point of his chin, gently pushing him away.
