


WHEN she saw the riders approaching, she felt
genuinely thankful, for her own sake, as if
she were truly lost. She watched them, crouched in
the grass, until she was certain they were not
clansmen, then rose, waving and calling.

They came toward her at a canter: a beautiful
woman, whose flaxen hair streamed out, glinting in
the morning sun, mounted on a grey horse; a dark-
skinned Kern astride a big black stallion, his hair
black and bound in a long tail, his eyes hard and
blue as he sighted her; a younger man, tanned dark,
but Lyssian to judge by his features and the sun-
bleached mane that he wore in the Kernish style,
his expression puzzled.

She ran toward them and they slowed, eyeing her
curiously, hands lightly touching their swordhilts,
glancing round as if anticipating some trick, wary
of ambush.

"Praise all the gods you've come," she cried. "My
name is Cennaire."

^       Calandryll stared, torn between surprise and sus-

y

2                                                   ANGUS   WELLS

picion, wondering how she came here, and in equal
measure how she could appear so lovely. Hair tan-
gled and dusted with tares fell in raven folds about
a dirt-smudged face, that discoloration seeming
only to emphasize the lush redness of her full lips,
her great brown eyes. She wore traveling gear of
soft brown leather, disheveled and stained, the tu-
nic loose, so that as she approached he saw full
breasts outlined against her dirtied shirt, long legs
beneath the breeks. He thought her the loveliest
woman he had ever seen. He reined his horse to a
halt and bowed from the saddle, letting go his
swordhilt: he perceived no danger. He smiled as he
dismounted, ignoring Bracht's warning grunt, the
open suspicion in Katya's grey eyes.

"Cennaire?" He moved a pace toward her. "I am
Calandryll."

Cennaire repeated his name, softly, scarcely need-
ing to feign the relief she felt at finding her long-
sought quarry. So this was Calandryll den Karynth,
this muscular young man. From Anomius's de-
scription she had anticipated something else—a fop-
pish princeling, an effete scholar—but this man had
the look of a freesword, hard and lean as the blade
he wore, his movements gracefully economic as he
came closer. His eyes were brown and concerned,
his hair a ponytailed mane of sun-bleached gold;

he was handsome. She made a faint moaning sound
and went to him, throwing herself against him,
his brown leathern shirt warm against her cheek,
redolent of sweat and horseflesh/ the arms he put
around her comforting, his very presence after so
long alone in this wilderness—after what she had
witnessed—reassuring. It was easy to play her part.

Calandryll held her, not sure what else to do,
murmuring soft comforts as he felt her tremble
against his chest, wondering that sunlight could

WILD   MAGIC                                                       3

strike such sparks from hair so black, aware that
his companions dismounted now, still wary.

"How came you here?"

Cennaire raised her head from the refuge of
Calandryll's chest, looking to the speaker. Shirt and
breeks of soft black leather, jet hair drawn back
from a hawkish face in which eyes of a startling
blue surveyed her impassively, a falchion of
Kernish style sheathed on the narrow waist: this
must be Bracht. And the woman, her hair near sil-
ver, her eyes grey and grave, clad in a shirt of fine
mail and breeks that emphasized the length and
shapeliness of her legs, that must be the Vanu
woman, Katya. Her right hand, like Bracht's,
touched lightly on the hilt of her sword, that a
gently curved saber.

Cennaire drew in a rasping breath and moved a
little back from Calandryll's embrace, sensing
without needing to look into his eyes that he re-
gretted that loss of contact. Rapidly, almost bab-
bling, she blurted out the bones of the story
Anomius had suggested, fleshing that skeleton
with embellishments of her own.

She was, she told them, a Kand, formerly pos-
sessed, of some wealth, that invested in partnership
with a Lyssian trader out of Gannshold. She had
looked to protect her investment with her pres-
ence, she said, and so gone out with the caravan,
circuiting the western quadrant of Cuan na'For.
They had journeyed peacefully, until they came to
the Kess Imbrun, moving eastward, and were at-
tacked by raiders come south out of the Jesseryn
Plain. She affected a shudder here, and essayed a
tear, letting her voice trail away as she spoke of the
running fight and how she became separated from
her companions, who must now surely be dead.

When she was done with her tale she sighed and

^                                                   ANGUS   WELLS

sniffed and asked if she might moisten her lips.
Calandryll passed her his canteen and she drank,
watching their faces.

Calandryll, she thought, was disposed to believe
her without undue questioning. Of Bracht, she was
less sure; and of Katya, not at all. She thought it
did not much matter; these were honorable folk,
and would hardly leave her abandoned. Nor did
they have spare mounts, to give her one and send
her on her way. She thought they must surely take
her with them, which was exactly as Anomius de-
sired. And, if she was to free herself of the ugly lit-
tle wizard's domination, what she desired. Still, as
she passed the canteen back and smiled her thanks,
she thought on the trump she held, and chose to
play it.

"Burash!" she said as Bracht eyed her quizzically,
Katya enigmatically. "That alone was horrible—to
see so many die. But then ..."

She thought on what she had seen and had no
need of dramatic artifice to shiver, to lower her
voice to a horrified whisper, the sentence tailing
off.

"Then?" Bracht demanded.

"Dera!" Calandryll protested. "Can you not see
she's distraught? Hungry, too, no doubt."

"I am," Cennaire agreed, lying, "but I'll tell your
friend my tale first."

Calandryll made a sound pitched somewhere be-
tween agreement and irritation, and she smiled at
him, thinking fleetingly of how easy it was to mold
a man's emotions. Or some men's, she corrected
herself—Bracht appeared impervious- Because, she
decided, he loved the Vanu woman, that notion giv-
ing rise to another: what was it like to command
such love? She pushed those brief musings away
and told the truth, entire and unadorned.

WILD   MAGIC                                                       5

"My horse died nearby," she said huskily, "and I
came here. I thought I was saved when a rider ap-
proached, but something ... I cannot say what, for
I did not properly understand it... prompted me to
caution. I sensed evil in him ... a malign aura ...
and hid myself. As well I did, for I was right."

She paused, frowning as she relived the experi-
ence. She had all their attention now.

"He lit a fire and brought meat from his saddle-
bags. I watched him eat. Burash, it was ghastly! He
roasted pieces of a man and ate them!"

Calandryll said, "Rhythamun!" The single word
was invested with massive loathing. Katya's full
lips pressed tight together, thinned with revulsion.
Bracht spat his contempt and said/ "Go on."

Cennaire wiped her mouth as if to rid herself of
some unpleasant taste, the movement instinctive,
her own revulsion real. "I was afraid," she contin-
ued, still telling only the truth. "Afraid that he
should sense my presence and afraid to flee, lest he
see me. I remained hidden in the grass, watching. I
could think of nothing else to do."

"How did he look?" demanded Bracht curtly.
"Describe him."

"Sand-haired," she returned, "with a broken
nose. His eyes were brown."

The three exchanged confirming glances. Bracht
motioned for her to continue.

"He used magic," she said. "It must have been
magic, for some timeJater five Jesseryte warriors
came up out of the chasm and he set them to fight-
ing. The air smelled of almonds when he spoke.
They fought until only one was left alive and—
Rhythamun, did you name him?"healed his
wounds- That one threw the bodies into the chasm;

the horses jumped on a word. Then ..." She closed
her eyes, shaking her head.

6                                                   ANGUS   WELLS

Calandryll placed strong hands on her shoulders,
his tanned face grave. "Then what?" he asked, far
milder than Bracht's harsh questions,

"That one he possessed!" she gasped. "He chant-
ed some gramarye and the almond scent came
strong again. Something passed between them . - .
as though flame flowed from his mouth into the
Jesseryte. Then the sand-haired man fell down. Oh,
Burash!"

She turned toward Calandryll/ throwing herself
into his arms, pressing her cheek afresh against his
chest.

"He—the Jesseryte now—threw the body after
the others. Then he took the one remaining horse
and went down the trail."

She heard Calandryll say, "The Daggan Vhe. He's
gone onto the Jesseryn Plain."

"Aught else?" asked Bracht.

"There was a book," Cennaire said. "It was the
only thing he took."

She felt Calandryll stiffen, his voice urgent as
he demanded, "Tell us of the book."

She shrugged helplessly, certain now that the
thing she had seen was that volume for which
Rhythamun would so casually shed blood. Or
Anomius.

"It was small," she murmured, "and bound in
black. But it seemed to radiate a dreadful power."

Calandryll said, "The Arcanum."

"I know not what it was called," Cennaire lied,
"only that he seemed to value it."

"Aye," said Calandryll bitterly. "He values it."

"The warrior whose shape he took," Bracht
rasped. "Can you describe him?"

"He was short," she told the Kern. "With bowed
legs and oily hair. Armored; he wore a helmet, a
veil of metal over his face."

WILD   MAGIC                                                       7

Bracht chopped air with an impatient hand: "You
describe every Jesseryte horseman on the Plain.
Tell us of his face, that we shall know him."

"You'd go after him?"

For all she knew—anticipated accompanying
them—that this should be the way of it, still
Cennaire found it easy to put surprise in her ques-
tion: it seemed an impossible pursuit.

"We must," Calandryll told her, gentler than the
Kern. "Can you describe him?"

She shook her head. "Not well—he looked not
very different from the others. His face was broad,
his eyes slitted." She paused a moment, frowning
in genuine concentration. "He wore a mustache,
and I think he was young."

"Ahrd!" Bracht snapped. "The god who made the
Jesserytes lacked imagination—she describes a
thousand of them. More!"

Katya motioned for him to be patient, speaking
for the first time. "How long ago was this?" she
asked.

Her voice was calm, deliberately soothing in
counterpoint to the Kern's urgency. Cennaire
smiled wanly: one woman thanking another for her
support, and said, "Three days ago."

Bracht's curse rang loud in the warm air. "Three
days? Oh, Ahrd, could you not have sped us
quicker here?"

More reasonably, Katya gestured at the depths of
the Kess Imbrun and asked, "Klust he not go down
the Daggan Vhe? And then climb the farther wall?
Do we ride hard, might we not take him in the
chasm? He travels alone, after all."

"Hardly." Bracht shook his head, indicating the
massive rift with jutted chin. "The Blood Road's no
easy descent; no place to hurry. And below? Down
there the rocks are tumbled like a maze, like a for-

S                                                   ANGUS   WELLS

est of stone. No—with such a lead he's the advan-
tage of us. Again."

Katya nodded, accepting his superior knowledge
of the terrain, nibbling an instant on her lower lip
as she thought.

"And he's taken another's form," Bracht grunted
sourly. "Filthy gharan-evur! Ahrd, but every cursed
Jesseryte looks alike, and none with any love for
strangers. He needs only continue onto the Plain to
find refuge."

"I should know him again," Cennaire ventured,
"did I but see his face."

Bracht's eyes narrowed at that, and she felt
Calandryll tense once more- Katya studied her curi-
ously and she feared she overplayed her hand, af-
fecting a trembling of her lips, a tearful blinking-

"We've no spare horse/' Bracht said.

"Shall we leave her here then?" asked Calandryll.

"She knows his face," said Katya.

"She'll slow us." Bracht drove an angry fist
against his thigh, teeth gritted in frustration. "Do
we bring her with us, one horse must always carry
double."

"She's light enough," Calandryll offered. "And
once before, we found a stranger on the road. The
aid we gave her was repaid surely enough." He
touched the hilt of his straightsword, reminding
Bracht of that encounter with the disguised god-
dess, Dera-

"She knows his face," Katya repeated. "And as
Calandryll says—shall we leave her here?"

"Please, no," cried Cennaire, her fear of abandon-
ment quite genuine.

She would not die. Indeed, she could not since
Anomius had removed her heart and locked that
still-beating organ in his enchanted pyxis, and
while it remained bound by his cantrips she was

WILD MAGIC

9

immortal. Neither hunger nor thirst held meaning
for her, the sating of appetite a pleasure only, not a
necessity. But did they leave her/ then she must
surely earn the displeasure of the mage, perhaps
suffer his wrath. Did they leave her, surely she
could never find opportunity to free herself of his
mastery, but remain forever his puppet, to be dis-
carded when her usefulness was done, or be de-
stroyed by those sorcerers who would destroy
Anomius. Whether she obeyed her master and
brought the Arcanum to him, or found some way,
through the quest, to possess her heart once more,
she was loath to find herself again alone.

It came to her that she had not known fear since
Anomius had excised her heart and made her his
revenant, and that these past days, solitary on the
grass, the memory of Rhythamun's fell magic hot in
her mind, had changed her in ways she did not
properly comprehend. She clung tight to Calandryll,
willing him to take up her cause.

She heard him say, "We cannot. Dera, Bracht, af-
ter all she's seen? How long would she survive
alone, on foot?"

"And to bring her to some camp would take
days," Katya added. "Rhythamun gaining on us all
the while."

"Aye, there's that," the Kern allowed with obvi-
ous reluctance.

Cennaire sensed a mellowing, heard Calandryll
say, "She can ride with me. Perhaps we can find her
a horse on the Jesseryn Plain."

"The Jesserytes are not a hospitable folk," Bracht
returned. "They're more likely to slay us than sell
us a horse."

"Then we'll steal one," Calandryll declared. "But
I'll not leave her here. Remember Dera, Bracht!"

The Kern grunted and fixed Cennaire with cold

10 ANGUS WELLS

blue eyes. "Are you a goddess?" he demanded
roughly. "Be that so, I'd welcome revelation."

"I am no goddess," she returned meekly.

Bracht grunted, turning his gaze to Calandryll.
"If not a goddess, then perhaps some creation of
Rhythamun's, left here in ambush."

Calandryll removed his arms, gesturing at Cen-
naire, never guessing how close was his question to
the truth. "Does she seem the creation of magic?
Besides, we've a way to know." He smiled as he
drew his sword, assuring her he meant no harm,
saying, "Only touch the blade and show my doubt-
ing friend you're what you claim."

Cennaire paused, cautious now. She knew not
what power the straightsword held, wondering if it
would unmask her. It seemed she had little other
choice than to obey; refusal equated with revela-
tion. Were she revealed, she decided, she must
throw herself on their mercy, tell them of Anomius,
and hope to persuade them to alliance. Should that
fail, then she would attempt to flee.

Mistaking her reluctance, Calandryll said gently,
"No harm shall come to you, of that I'm sure. Only
place your hands on the blade."

Had she possessed a beating heart, it would have
raced as she fastened her grip carefully about the
steel.

Nothing happened and Calandryll said, "You see?
Dera's magic vouchsafes her honesty. She's no
more than she claims—a luckless refugee."

"No longer luckless, I think," Cennaire mur-
mured as he sheathed the sword.

Bracht grunted his acceptance of her honesty and
said, "You're set on bringing her?"

"What else can we do?" came the answer. "Save
go back and find the closest camp? That way we

WILD MAGIC

11

grant Rhythamun even more time. And she knows
his face—does that not lend her value?"

Bracht nodded reluctantly and looked to Katya.

"How say you?"

"That we've little choice but to take her. And
she may well prove valuable."

The Kern sighed and shrugged. "So be it then—
she comes with us." He returned his gaze to
Cennaire. "We ride hard, and into danger. You may
well find a death less pleasant in our company than
if you remain here."

"I'd accompany you," she said with absolute con-
viction. "Wherever you go, I'd not pass another day
alone here."

"Then we're four." He looked up at the sky,
where cloud scudded, driven on the strengthening
of the ever-present wind, the sun moved closer to
the western horizon. "We'll start down come
dawn."

"Not now?" asked Calandryll. "Shall we grant
Rhythamun another day?"

Bracht ducked his head, "Do we start down now,
night shall find us on the Daggan Vhe. That,de-
scent will take two days—at least"—this with a
glance in Cennaire's direction—"and the Blood
Road's ill-equipped with stopping places. Better we
have a full day and rested animals."

"As you say," Calandryll allowed, "but I'd see
this fabulous road now."

Bracht grinned then and pointed toward the Kess
Imbrun; "There it lies."

Cennaire clung to Calandryll's arm as he walked
toward the chasm, risking a brief indulgence in her
enhanced senses. Through the mingled odors of
musky sweat and horseflesh and leather that ema-
nated from him she caught a welter of scents. She
aroused him, she recognized, but also that such

12 ANGUS WELLS

feelings confused him, as if they came unexpected,
distracting him from the greater purpose of his
quest. She smelled determination, as if he struggled
to set aside his desire, and wondered if he was a
virgin, that thought intriguing. She needed no rev-
enant's skills to tell her he was strong and after
that swift investigation, she forced her senses dor-
mant, still unsure what powers these three quest-
ers commanded.

The air shimmered on the updraft from the Kess
Imbrun, the latening of the day shrouding the far-
ther rim in misty blue haze. The grass of Cuan
naTor ran to the very edge, ending abruptly where
the ground fell away as if cut by some unimagin-
ably gigantic knife, sheer cliffs falling down vast
and smooth into depths masked now by shadow,
night already descended there. The immensity of
the rift was seductive, beckoning observers, tempt-
ing them to take one more step and give them-
selves over to the emptiness, so much space below
it seemed impossible a body should ever find the
ground, but float, riding the air currents like the
black birds that spiraled beneath them. Unthink-
ing, Cennaire pressed closer against Calandryll's
side, and felt his arm encircle her shoulders. She
leaned against him as Bracht pointed a little way
eastward, where the rimrock was split, a gully cut
down through the cliff. Lower, it widened and bled
out onto a ledge, broad enough for several horses to
pass abreast, running across a buttress around the
farther edge of which the trail was lost.

"The Daggan Vhe/' Bracht said.

"Dera!" Calandryll's voice was awed as he
looked from the trail to the immensity of the Kess
Imbrun. "It's vast."

"Aye," returned Bracht, "and not the easiest of
rides."

WILD MAGIC

13

"Which way shall Rhythamun take?" asked
Katya, less impressed by the chasm for her famil-
iarity with the mountains of her homeland. "Shall
he go east, west, or north?"

"If he moves toward the Borrhun-ma) as we be-
lieve," Bracht answered, "he'll go a little westward
and take the closest trail up."

"With three—now four—days' start," Katya mur-
mured, "and into a land we know little of, save
that we shall likely be unwelcome there."

"But with one who knows his Jesseryte face,"
said Calandryll, his arm still comfortingly about
Cennaire's shoulders, his next words alarming her:

"And surely there are sorcerers among them. Shall
they not discern our purpose, as did the ghost-
talkers of Cuan naTor?"

"If the warriors don't kill us first," said Bracht.

"That threat's been ever present." Calandryll
grinned. "Shall it halt us now?"

The question was rhetorical and neither Bracht
nor Katya deigned to answer, only grinned back and
turned away from the great dividing rift.

IT was easy for Cennaire to maintain her role as
they lounged about the fire- Whatever magic Calan-
dryll's sword possessed, it had not shown her reve-
nant, and they all three accepted her as a natural
woman cast adrift by misfortune. What questions
were directed at her, she could readily answer, they
being far more concerned with Rhythamun than
her past, and she with excuse enough to question
them.

Playing her part—though whether for Anomius
or herself now, she was not certain—she acted the
innocent, gleaning the bones of their story as she
pretended hunger and wolfed down meat.

1-f

ANGUS WELLS

"In Varent den Tarl's form Rhythamun duped us
and snatched the book when we thought it safe,"
Calandryll explained, "using his magic to transport
himself from Tezin-dar back to Aldarin. There he
took the body of Daven Tyras—the man you saw
ensorcell the Jesserytes—and we have chased him
since. North across Lysse, and then the length of
Cuan na'For. We think he travels to the Borrhun-
maj; to the lands beyond."

"Does aught lie beyond?" Cennaire wondered.

Bracht answered that with a curt, barking laugh:

"That we shall likely discover, do we live long
enough/'

"Perhaps Tharn's resting place," Calandryll said,
softer. "It's Rhythamun's intent to raise the Mad
God, to stand at Tharn's elbow and rule the world."

"I'd thought Tharn and Balatur were both sent
into limbo by the First Gods," Cennaire whispered,
"banished by their parents for the chaos their war-
ring brought."

"Aye, they were," Calandryll agreed solemnly.
"But Yl and Kyta did not slay them, only sent them
into the limbo of eternal sleep, their resting places
hidden. The Arcanum reveals those places, and
Rhythamun already holds the gramaryes of raising.
Does he reach his goal, then he'll bring all the
world down in chaos."

"And you three quest against him," she mur-
mured, impressed despite herself, "and the Younger
Gods themselves come to your aid."

"In Kandahar, Burash saved us from the
Chaipaku"—Calandryll nodded—"and brought us
swift across the Narrow Sea to Lysse. There, Dera
appeared to us; she blessed my blade that it might
stand against fell magic. In Cuan na'For, Ahrd
saved Bracht from crucifixion, and sped us through
the Cuan na'Dru."

WILD MAGIC

15

"Not quite swift enough," Bracht remarked wry-
ly.

"But closer than we've been ere now." Calandryll
smiled at Cennaire. "And with one who knows his
face. Perhaps you were put here by the gods to aid
us."

She answered his gallantry with a smile of her
own, that freezing on her fresh-washed face as a
new thought filtered into her mind. Suspicions and
fragments of knowledge, both those imparted by
Anomius and those picked up on her own quest,
came together, and she saw the true enormity of
what Rhythamun intended. It alarmed her, for she
realized that the sorcerer was bent on the destruc-
tion of the world, and that did he succeed in his
aim, she, too, was likely doomed. With such power
as Tharn would grant him, Rhythamun must sure-
ly stand supreme among sorcerers, a madman with
ultimate power. Anomius was no less insane, and
no less likely to confront Rhythamun—and lose,
she thought, for with Tharn's aid, Rhythamun
must be omnipotent. What should her fate then be?
As Anomius's creation, as his agent, she must
surely be condemned with him: did Rhythamun
succeed in raising Tharn, then likely she was
doomed as certainly as these three.

Her agile mind assessed the dilemma, reaching
only one conclusion: that for her own sake she
must lend the questers what support she could, for
the defeat of Rhythamun was as much in her own
interest as theirs, or the world's. After that. .. after
that, she must decide again. To take the Arcanum
and bring it to Anomius? What then? Should her
usefulness not then be ended and she discarded as
Anomius took up the same mad game? Perhaps
better to give wholehearted aid, and throw herself
on the mercy of the Younger Gods when—if!—the

16

ANGUS WELLS

quest was won. Were she to share in that victory,
surely the Younger Gods would forgive her many
past transgressions. She did not, could not, know:

only that for now she was bound to these three,
their quest become hers in a manner she dare not
reveal to them.

Calandryll misinterpreted her silence. "The gods
move mysteriously." He smiled. "Perhaps they did
put you here, but whether or not, it's of no
matter—we found you and now we ride together."

She found cause for hope in that and smiled
afresh, saying, "I think mischance put me here, but
still I'll do all I can to aid you."

"Well said," applauded Calandryll.

Across the fire, Katya smiled and Bracht nodded,
taciturn, and suggested they sleep, mounting a
watch against the possibility that Cennaire's fic-
tional raiders remained in the vicinity.

Katya took the first shift, waking Calandryll to a
night bright with stars, undisturbed by anything
save the distant howling of the wild dogs that
hunted the grasslands. It was warm, the summer
by now well advanced, and he rose, taking up his
bow and walking a little way off from the fire to
hunker down where flame-glow should not hinder
his night vision. In his mind he saw, clear,
Cennaire's face.

DAWN came early, heralded by the myriad small
birds that inhabited the grasslands, their chorus be-
gun while the sun still lay below the eastern hori-
zon. The sky there brightened, lightening to pale
blue as great radiant shafts drove upward from be-
neath the world's rim. Random billows of cumulus
drifted on the breeze, ethereal islands in the vast-
ness of the sky. The loud chorusing of the birds dis-

WltD MAGIC 1.7

persed into individual songs as the avians com-
pleted their daily welcome and went about their in-
dividual business. Calandryll rose, shaking dew
from his blanket, and scooped handfuls from the
grass to bathe his face before rummaging through
his saddlebags in search of comb and mirror. Bracht
was crouched by the fire, their breakfast cooking,
grinning as he watched Calandryll perform his
careful toilet.

"Handsome as a prince—she'll surely be im-
pressed," he murmured, just loud enough his friend
should hear, the comment eliciting an embarrassed
grin in response. It had been a while since he took
such care of his appearance.

Katya and Cennaire woke, rising and walking a
distance off to perform their own ablutions, the
one limber, the other feigning a degree of stifmess,
Calandryll watched her, his mind no less troubled
by her presence for what little sleep he had man-
aged.

She seemed cheerful enough as she came back to
the fire, which he put down to her relief at finding
herself no longer alone, and he wondered if she
truly comprehended the enormity of the journey
she was about to start. He pushed the thought
aside: without alternatives there was no point to
worrying.

For her part, Cennaire pretended a healthy appe-
tite, consuming the portion of the stew Bracht
handed her with gusto, returning Calandryll's
greeting with a demure smile, nodding obediently
as the Kern advised her she should ride with him.

"My black's the strongest horse," he explained,
"and likely the surest-footed. The Daggan Vhe runs
steep at times, and often narrow. Hold tight to me,
and if you fear the heights, close your eyes."

"I shall," she promised.

IS

ANGUS WELLS

Calandryll experienced some small prickling of
resentment that Bracht so casually assumed to
command the raven-haired woman, then silently
cursed himself for such foolishness. What Bracht
said was right, and only sensible; there was no
more in it than concern for safety and speed. He
quelled his momentary jealousy, though he could
not help regretting it would be Bracht's waist her
arms encircled rather than his.

They finished eating and stamped the fire dead,
then saddled the animals and mounted. Gallant-
ly, Calandryll helped Cennaire astride the black
horse, excited despite himself by the contact. Her
skin was soft and smooth, and when she murmured
thanks he bowed as if he were back in the court at
Secca. Then blushed as he saw Katya studying him
speculatively, amusement in her eyes, and hurried
to his own mount.

"Who leads?" he wondered, thinking that Rhytha-
mun might well have left some occult creation be-
hind to ward his back. "What if the way is guarded?"

"In Kandahar, Anomius was weakened by much
use of magic/' Bracht returned. "Think you Rhytha-
mun is different?"

"Anomius still found the power to create the go-
lem, and Rhythamun is a greater mage." Calandryll
walked his horse level with the Kern's, touching
the hilt of his sword. "I've this—best I take the
van."

Bracht shrugged and said, "So be it," though his
expression suggested he thought perhaps Calandryll
looked to impress Cennaire with his courage. "But
carefully."

Calandryll nodded and turned the chestnut horse
into the gully, down through shadow to the sunlit
ledge beyond.

From the rimrock the Kess Imbrun had been im-

WILD MAGIC 19

pressive enough, but now it seemed he stood at the
world's edge, infinity yawning below him. To his
right, the cliff fell down immense, precipitous
walls and massive spines transforming the land-
scape into a ragged labyrinth of mazed canyons that
tumbled chaotically downward, obscuring the river
at the chasm's base. The farther cliffs were hidden
behind a curtain of bluish mist and birds hung on
the air currents, so that it was as though he looked
down on the sky itself. His horse fretted, sensing
its rider's awed uneasiness, and he urged it left-
ward, closer to the reassuring inner rockface. Be-
hind him, he heard the clatter of hooves on the
stone floor of the gully, and Bracht's shout.

"What is it?"

He swallowed: it seemed the sheer vastness of
the descent clogged his throat. "Naught," he called
back. "No danger, only this place."

He walked his horse onward, leaving the others
room, and heard Cennaire cry out, Katya's gasp.

"This is the wider part." Bracht's voice was ca-
sual; Calandryll wondered if such nonchalance was
assumed. "The trail will narrow lower down."

Calandryll went on, across the roof of the but-
tress that formed the shelf, and found the road
turned back past the edge, traversing a sheer,
smooth rockface. It was unnervingly narrow there,
and he concentrated on the way, not wanting to
look leftward, to where the trail dropped off, un-
aware that he rode with gritted teeth until the
muscles of his jaw began to ache. He saw an eagle
soar past, on a level, unblinking yellow eyes fixing
him for a moment before the great bird dipped a
wing and drifted clear. The sun rose higher, fill-
ing the chasm with light, the cliffs shining myr-
iad shades of red and brown and yellow, the light
growing steadily to finally reveal the thread of blue,

ANGUS   WELLS

20

distant below, where the river ran. It seemed im-
possible they should ever reach that goal: Calan-
dryll chose not to think that after that they must
climb the farther side.

Down and down they went, along a zigzagging
switchback, across ledges scarcely wider than the
horses' girth, where they dismounted and led the
animals; across more slabby buttresses; through
clefts, where the rock walls offered comfort; along
shelves that widened a little while before the trail
turned again. None spoke: it was as though the
enormity of the Kess Imbrun leeched their breath,
leaving only concentration and the desire to reach
the foot of the rift.

The light faded, shadow pooling below, the air
ahead translucent as the sun closed on the western
horizon, and from behind, Bracht called, "Best we
halt at the next wide place. I'd not attempt this in
darkness."

Calandryll nodded without speaking, peering
into the rapidly blueing air for sign of some suit-
able place.

He saw it as they rounded a spur, the way narrow
there, but spreading beyond into a ledge of a size
large enough to accommodate them all, with room
for the horses. "Here?" he suggested, sighing his re-
lief when Bracht voiced agreement.

The platform was reassuringly broad, marked at
its farther perimeter by a tall jut of stone around
which the Daggan Vhe continued its descent, the
edge sharp, but the slope there angled and less
sheer than the wall behind. It was a cheerless place,
bereft of timber or water, but as good a stopping
place as any other they might find; and dusk came
fast here, the sun already dropping below the west-
ern cliffs.

"We make cold camp this night," Bracht re-

WILD MAGIC 21

marked, fetching a hobble from his saddlebags.
"Cold food and no fire."

Calandryll nodded in reply, hobbling his own
mourn, and asked, "Shall the horses be safe?"

"All being well," came the answer, and then the
Kern walked to the farther side of the shelf, peering
into the shadows that now masked the descending
trail.

Calandryll joined him, but there was little to see,
only rock that darkened to the color of dried blood,
blank night falling beyond. They went back, find-
ing Katya busying herself with the spreading of
blankets and cloaks, setting them between the
horses and the rimrock.

"Is Vanu much like this?" Bracht asked as he
joined her.

"A little." Katya brushed hair that in the gather-
ing night was the color of old silver from her face.
"There are some trails like this, but the mountains
are higher and the ways mostly wider."

"Ahrd, but I've seen enough of mountains to last
me a lifetime," Bracht muttered, his grin belying
his morose tone.

"You'll likely see more." The warrior woman
smiled at him across the blanket they spread, toss-
ing her head in the direction of the chasm's far
side.

"Still, on the Jesseryn Plain we'll ride flat land
again." Bracht answered her smile with his own.
"Ahrd be praised."

Cennaire went to where Calandryll was bringing
food from their packs and asked, "What may I do?"

He passed her dried meat. "Take this, if you
will," he said, thrilling as her hands touched his,
adding, to conceal his excitement, his embarrass-
ment, "It's poor enough fare, but all we'll manage
here."

22 ANGUS WELLS

Cennaire nodded, aware without any use of her
preternatural senses that her proximity aroused
him. Best, she decided, to play the part of demure
maiden. Did he come to love her, better it be nat-
urally, in his own time, and without overmuch en-
couragement from her. She had no doubt she could
ensnare him with her wiles, with artful guile—she
had employed such artifice enough before—nor any
that he would succumb unwitting, but with the
others present such tactics would be dangerous.
Bracht, she sensed, was not yet entirely convinced
of her honesty, and Katya ... of Katya, she was un-
certain. The Vanu woman had barely spoken with
her, and while no disapproval had been expressed,
she felt that Katya, for all she had voted in favor of
augmenting the party, as yet reserved a measure of
her judgment. So she smiled and took the meat and
walked away.

Calandryll watched her, admiring the undulation
of her hips, the way the rising moon struck silver
sparks from her raven hair, thinking that she bore the
hardships of the trail without complaint. Nadama, he
thought, would never accept this journey with such
equanimity. He shook his head, admonishing him-
self: this was no place to contemplate a woman's
charms, no place to dunk of amorous dalliance.

But later? said an eager voice, deep inside his
mind. Clear of the Kess Imbrun. what then!

He did not know. He was not sure how Cennaire
felt. Perhaps she saw him only as a rough warrior,
a freesword welcomed for the aid he gave her, but
no more than that. He had little experience of
women and the courtly manner he could affect
was, were he honest with himself, a defensive cam-
ouflage. In truth, he felt like a fumbling boy. Re-
gretting his inexperience, he carried journey bread
and cheese to where the others waited.

WILD MAGIC 23

Bracht and Katya sat side by side on the blankets,
Cennaire to the warrior woman's left. He took a
place beside her, using his dirk to carve slabs of the
hard bread and wedges of the scarcely softer cheese.
Bracht cut the cured meat/ passing them each a
slice, and they began to eat.

Hunger satisfied, they agreed the order of their
watch, Bracht taking the first spell. The three quest-
ers were tired, less from the physical effort of the
descent than the degree of concentration required,
and when the cold food was consumed Calandryll
and Katya settled down to sleep, huddling close
against the falling temperature. Cennaire felt the
cold only as an objective sensation, neither was she
tired, but she feigned a shiver and a yawn, wrapping
herself in Calandryll's borrowed blanket.

"Shall you be warm?" she asked him shyly,
amused by his response, her innate vanity flattered
by his gallant reply.

"I've my cloak," he declared stoically, "and that's
warm enough for me."

"You're kind," she murmured, stretching out, de-
liberately arranging herself so that she lay close be-
side him. "My thanks for all your kindness."

"What else should I do?" Calandryll responded,
aware that his heart beat faster as he felt her rump
press against his thigh. It seemed to him that even
through the thickness of the blanket and the cloak
he felt her warmth.

He lay down, thinking for a moment to settle an
arm about her and draw her closer, thinking then
that she might not welcome such a gesture. He
wondered what Bracht would do—the Kern had
seemed, at least before he met Katya, to hold few
reservations where women were concerned. But
this was no serving wench, he told himself, no
maid to be casually brought to bed. Nor would he,

ANGUS   WELLS

with his comrades so close/ even though he
breathed the scent of her hair, could feel her body
against him: he did his best to dismiss the lascivi-
ous images that filled his mind, willing himself to
sleep.

Beside him, Cennaire pretended slumber, shifting
a little, increasing their contact. For her part it was
as much habit as design. She was not yet ready to
seduce this handsome young man: she was not yet
certain what path she would take, did they succeed
in seizing the Arcanum from Rhythamun, and so
was not yet ready to risk the enmity of his com-
panions. There was, she decided, time aplenty for
such decisions. It appeared impossible they should
overtake the sorcerer in this godforsaken place: she
would bide her time.

With that thought in mind, she allowed herself
to relax into an approximation of sleep, lulled by
the pleasant warmth of Calandryll's body and the
gradual descent of his breathing from a nervous
panting to a steady rhythm.

KATYA woke him with the sky black above and he
rose carefully, not wishing to wake Cennaire, un-
aware that she was instantly alert to his move-
ments, contemplating joining him, but deciding it
was too obvious a ploy. Instead, she stirred sleepily
and drew the blanket closer about her shoulders as
Calandryll paced across the shelf to the egress of
the trail, leaning against the spine that jutted there,
listening to the silence. The Kess Imbrun was
quiet, the night disturbed only by the occasional
snorting of the horses and the song of the wind- It
blew cold against his face and he wrapped his cloak
across his chest, a hand resting light on the

WILD MAGIC                           25

straightsword's hilt, struggling to resist the memo-
ries of Cennaire's body pressed against his.

He was grateful for dawn's arrival, and he went
to wake his companions. The sky shone blue as
they set to preparing a meager breakfast, and when
they were done eating, and the horses fed what lit-
tle oats remained, they loosed the hobbles and
started down once more.

The Blood Road remained vertiginous, the going
no easier. Then it seemed they came to the detritus
of the chasm, as if whatever force had carved the
great rift had left the riven stone piled about the
foot. Gullies and canyons spread randomly:

Bracht's promised maze. Great slabs of rock tum-
bled like discarded building blocks, the way wind-
ing intricate among shadowed avenues of red stone
until, past a boulder large as a house, it ran out
onto a stony beach lapped by the river. From the
rim of the Kess Imbrun it had seemed no more
than a thread, a ribbon of distant blue: no great
obstacle. Now Calandryll saw it ran half a league
wide, a band of furious energy channeled by the
confining rock, murmuring angrily, as though dar-
ing them to attempt its crossing. He rode out onto
the beach and reined in, sheathing his sword, star-
ing at the water in the dying light.

"Dera! How shall we cross that?" He gestured at
the torrent as Bracht and Katya brought their
horses alongside.

"There's a ford," the Kern said confidently. "A
league or two westward."

'"••     Calandryll heeled his mount around, starting in
that direction, halted by Bracht's cry: "The mor-
row's soon enough to find it. We'll camp here this
night."

;;     "There's light yet." Calandryll gestured impa-
^   tiently at the sky, to where the sun painted the

26 ANGUS WELLS

rimrock with hues of red. "And every hour we de-
lay grants Rhythamun more time."

"And Rhythamun may well have left some
guardian at the ford," came Bracht's response. "And
likely dusk will be on us before we find the cross-
ing place. And this river's no thing to attempt in
darkness/ even be it unguarded. Better we wait for
full daylight."

The Kern's tone was amiable but firm, brooking
no argument, and Calandryll felt a flash of resent-
ment at that casual assumption of authority. He
glanced again skyward. The sun was close on the
western rim now, and already the light began to
fade. It seemed they sat within the very bowels of
the world, and it came to him that dawn must
come late to these depths, delaying them still fur-
ther. For a moment he thought to argue, but Bracht
had already dismounted and was helping Cennaire
to the ground, and he realized the Kern was right.
The river alone was obstacle enough, and if
Rhythamun had left some guardian behind, it was
better met by day's light. He grunted, embarrassed,
and swung clear of his saddle, angry with himself
for such lack of caution, for he felt it diminished
him in Cennaire's eyes, and then angry again that
he should find that his first consideration.

He resolved to put all thoughts of the woman
from his mind. avoiding her eyes as he turned to
Bracht and asked, "Here?" his voice gruff,

"It seems as good a place as any." The Kern nod-
ded. "We've wood for a fire and fresh water
aplenty."

In his haste, Calandryll had seen only the watery
barrier. Now he looked around, and saw that stands
of scrubby bushes and tenuous pines grew among
the jumbled stone; grass, too. "Aye," he admitted,
"you're right. Dawn is soon enough."

WILD MAGIC                          27

He busied himself unsaddling his horse, and
when all three were stripped and watered, he of-
fered to take them where they might graze. He led
them to the lushest patch of greenery, though that
was poor enough, and tied the hobbles in place.
That done, he set to cutting wood, expending his
self-directed anger on the timber.

Katya came to join him, her expression unread-
able in the rapidly descending twilight. For a mo-
ment she studied his face, then said, "You've no
need to try so hard, Calandryll."

"What?" He lowered his blade, turning to her.

"I suspect it's less the desire to catch Rhythamun
than another that drives you now," she murmured
gently. "Cennaire is very lovely."

He was thankful for the shadows; they hid his
blush. Still, he said, "I'd grant him no more time
than we must."

"I know." Katya ducked her head. "Nor would
Bracht, or I. But we know something of his wiles,
and to ride headlong into danger can only favor
him."

"Aye." He felt his embarrassment grow, for all
Katya spoke gently, friend to friend. "I was fool-
ish."

"No more than Bracht, on board the warboat."
She laughed softly. "Did you not urge him to pa-
tience then?"

He nodded, grateful for her diplomacy, and she
continued, "She'll be with us awhile, I think; and I
think she looks with favor on you. Do you take a
woman's advice, I'd tell you to be yourself. That
alone is sufficient."
:     "Think you so?" he asked eagerly.
^     "Most surely," Katya replied, smiling now.
I?     "And do you trust her?"
f     The warrior woman's smile faltered, her lips

28 ANGUS WELLS

pursing an instant. "She has given me no reason to
doubt her/' she said softly.

"But?"

"\ am not sure." Katya shrugged, her mail shirt
rustling. "I sense something about her. What, I can-
not say; and so will not judge her."

"Surely she is no more than she claims."
Calandryll frowned. "I perceive no guile in her."

"I suspect we see her through different eyes."
Katya smiled again. "I do not say she is untrust-
worthy, neither more nor less than what she claims
and seems. Only that your vision is ... enhanced
... by her beauty."

He thought she might have said entranced, and
shook his head, less in negation than puzzlement.

"You've no need to impress her," Katya went on,
"only be yourself, and let matters take their
course."

"Aye." He gathered up the splintered branches,
smiling ruefully now. "I'll heed your advice—and
thank you for it."

Katya nodded companionably, taking up her own
burden, walking beside him as they returned to the
beach, where Bracht and Cennaire had spread the
blankets and were preparing food.

Soon a cheerful fire drove back the shadows and
a stew bubbled over the flames. Calandryll, re-
solved to heed Katya's words, curbed his desire to
impress the raven-haired woman, behaving—as
best he could in her intoxicating presence—
normally. It was not easy, for his eyes were drawn
constantly toward her, marveling at the play of
light on her skin and hair, her beauty a temptation
to boast of exploits past, to impress her with his
feats and his learning. He had never, he knew, felt
so drawn to a woman. Nadama paled in compari-
son, a callow girl whose face he could now hardly

WILD MAGIC 29

recall. He wondered if he was in love; if such emo-
tion could strike so swift. In Bracht's case, yes: the
Kern's feelings for Katya had been immediate. He,
on the other hand, was of different mettle, raised to
a more courtly, a more sedate, approach, and such
a background made it all the harder for him to un-
derstand the fierce attraction he experienced. Con-
fusion once more gripped him, and he fell silent,
joining in the conversation in desultory manner.

Cennaire sensed a change in him, and wondered
what the Vanu woman had said as they talked
among the trees. Something concerning her, she
guessed, deciding that as yet she was not entirely
trusted by Calandryll's companions. Whatever
course she might ultimately choose, she knew she
must for now earn their confidence, and so made
no attempt to charm Calandryll, but pretended
weariness, and a degree of unease that was not en-
tirely feigned.

Indeed, all their talk of Rhythamun rendered her
nervous. He appeared a mage of dreadful power and
she marveled that these three had survived so long
in their pursuit of the wizard. They spoke almost
casually of entering a hostile land, of the likelihood
of traversing the Jesseryn Plain to whatever lay be-
yond the Borrhun-maj. They were prepared to face
Jesseryte warriors and demons with equal equanim-
ity, trusting in themselves and the benevolence of
the Younger Gods: they entertained no doubt but
that they go on, no matter the odds against them.
Such conviction she found almost frightening. She
thought of the magic mirror hidden in her baggage,
and wondered how Anomius fared. Did her master
fret? Did he wonder where she was? At some op-
portune time, she thought, she must contact him,
but not yet; not while use of the mirror must
surely reveal her for his creation.

30 ANGUS WELLS

The night passed slow and she was glad when she
saw the sky above begin to pale and the camp began
to stir, the questers readying for departure with the
efficiency of long practice. The fire was blown to
fresh life and breakfast set to cooking, the horses
saddled while water boiled, Bracht and Calandryll
drawing dirks across their stubbled cheeks as the
two women washed in the icy water of the river. Be-
fore the sun's light had reached the lowermost deeps
they were mounted, Cennaire again settled behind
Bracht's saddle, and riding for the promised ford.

The crossing lay a good two leagues to the west,
its presence announced by sullen thunder, in a
curve of the Kess Imbrun where the great rift
broadened, the beach widening before a barrier of
tumbled stone high as the walls of a city.

Calandryll, in the lead, halted, staring awed at
the natural dam, waiting for Bracht to come up.
The hypabyssal blockage rose skyward above him,
the boulders at its foot transforming the riverbed
into a wild terracing of rocky cascades over which
white water foamed, ferocious as it gushed between
the stones. Along the face, spreading in a haze of
silvery gold, a mist rose from the spray, glittering
rainbows arcing as the sun struck the great foun-
tains jetting from high among the boulders.

"The ford lies beyond." Bracht shouted his opin-
ion, leaning from his saddle to put his mouth close
to CalandrylPs ear. "Above the rocks."

They climbed awhile, through a shimmering
haze, cloaked against the watery fog that soon en-
gulfed them, the clatter of hooves on stone lost in
the thunder of the cascade, the horses fretting ner-
vously at the sound. Calandryll remained in the
lead, squinting through the mist until he saw an
opening between two enormous stones, indicating
the gap with an outflung arm: to speak in that din-

WILD MAGIC 31

ning would be useless. He urged the chestnut into
the dim-lit pass, the way rising steep there, tortu-
ous and slippery.

He emerged onto a broad shelf, its edge over-
lapped by the great expanse of water pent behind
the dam, the river become more akin to a lake.
Calandryll studied the ramparts of the dam with
uncertain eyes, waiting as the others aligned them-
selves beside him. The topmost level of the barri-
cade was wide and smooth as a made road: ten
horses might go easily abreast, no more than a fin-
ger's depth of water spilling over the stones. But to
the one side lay a drop that would send a rider tum-
bling into the cascades below, and to the other . ..
he studied the vast pool, wondering at its depths,
and the currents that must surely rage there be-
neath the surface. The mist hung sparkling above,
a spectrum of colors set to dancing by the morning
light/ beautiful and at the same time eerie, as if
spirits pranced there, tempting the unwary. Cau-
tiously, he urged his mount forward.

The horse began to stamp and snort, liking this
ford no better than its rider, and Calandryll held a
tight rein, his eyes narrowed against the film of
moisture that covered his face, dripping from his
hair, finding whatever openings his clothing offered
to trickle irritatingly down chest and back. The
edges of the way were soon lost behind a curtain of
swirling colors, and he could see scant feet ahead.
It seemed he traversed a way akin to the magical
road that had brought him to Tezin-dar, a place
where time was without meaning, distance become
abstract, the morning filled with the threatening
rumble of the torrent below, the strange silence of
the lake beside, the aural contrast disorientating. It
occurred to him that if Rhythamun left some mon-
strous creation to ward his trail, here would be a

32 ANGUS WELLS

fine place, and thought then to draw his sword, and
then thought better of it/ deciding it was the wiser
course to hold the reins firm against the panicky
fretting of his mount.

In that negation of time he had no idea how long
the crossing took, and was surprised when sud-
denly the mist brightened, the shifting colors re-
solving into a soft golden haze. He wiped his eyes,
peering ahead, and saw the gold darken, merging
with a reddish-grey, and realized that he could dis-
cern shapes, like huge sentinels, waiting.

In a little while they resolved into the primeval
detritus of the Kess Imbrun, the great stone blocks
that marked the limits of the dam. spreading across
the northern beach in welcome announcement of
the ford's end. He lifted the roan to a faster pace, the
horse responding willingly, and they came out of
the mist onto a broad shelf.

Calandryll sprang down and turned to see Bracht
emerge from the haze, Cennaire disconsolate be-
hind him, Katya coming after. He went to meet
them, giving Cennaire his hand as she slid from the
stallion's back. She clung to him a moment, her
face against his chest, and he held her awkwardly,
watching as Bracht and Katya dismounted. Then
she stepped back, smiling faintly, and said, "I
thought that road would never end."

"Nor \," he returned, studying her face, unsure
whether he felt relief or reluctance that she let him
go.

"Ahrd, but that was a wet crossing." Bracht's
voice interrupted his contemplation. "Do we find
timber and get a fire started before night finds us?"

Calandryll looked about. The sun hung low in
the western quadrant now, not far off its setting,
and he realized that the fording of the river had
taken the better part of the day. A breeze drifted

WILD MAGIC

33

cool down the chasm and he shivered, the involun-
tary motion prompting Cennaire to ape him. Katya
bent, wringing out her long hair; Bracht, who ap-
peared not much discomforted, pointed toward the
northern cliffs.

"Likely we'll find the makings there. Do you
take Cennaire a while, and I'll go ahead."

"What of Rhythamun?" Calandryll asked.

"Did he plan aught, I think we'd know ere now."
Bracht shook his head, sending droplets flying. "I
think we're safe enough here."

Not waiting for an answer, he swung astride the
black horse. Katya followed him into the saddle.
Calandryll shrugged and mounted, reaching down
to help Cennaire clamber up behind him. For all he
was damp, and not a little miserable, it was a pleas-
ant sensation to feel her arms encircle his waist,
her body pressed against his back. He thought to
voice some gallantry, but all he found was, "We'll
build a fire soon enough, and then be dry."

"Thank the gods," came her response: that she
was wet afforded her no physical discomfort, but
her vanity was offended. And she thought it wiser
to pretend a degree of suitable defection, so she
contented herself with holding him, pressing hard
against his back. As he turned his mount after
Katya's grey, he could not see her smile.

Like the southern bank, this side of the Kess
Imbrun was a labyrinth of tumbled rock and the sun
was almost set before they came to a place where
the boulders formed a circle that afforded shelter
from the strengthening wind. Bushes grew there,
sufficient that they could build a fire, and forage for
the horses. They cut branches enough to construct a
hearty blaze and Bracht and Calandryll delicately
withdrew, rubbing down the animals while the two
women shed their wet clothing in privacy.

3-f ANGUS WELLS

The evening grew chill as the sun set, darkness
layering the chasm, the rumbling of the torrent be-
low them a murmur dulled by distance and the in-
tervening canyons, the lake invisible behind the
sheltering stones as they set food to cooking, aware
that their supplies dwindled and they must soon
hunt, or ride hungry.

"We've enough for two days more," Bracht de-
clared, fetching out falchion and dirk to wipe the
blades, "do we eat sparingly."

Calandryll drew a rag over his own weapons, ap-
plied a whetstone to the edges, testing his work
with a thumb- "The Jesserytes surely eat," he re-
marked. "There must be game we can hunt down
on the Plain."

"Which must delay us." Katya glanced upward,
at the looming darkness of the cliffs. "Rhythamun
has surely reached the rim by now."

"And likely taken his place among the Jesserytes,"
said Bracht somberly, "save they recognize him as
gharan-evur."

"Your folk did not." Calandryll slid his sword
home in its scabbard. "Dera, but this pursuit is like
the finding of a single straw in a haystack. Even
though we've one who knows his face."

He looked to Cennaire as he spoke, and she
smiled gravely. "I shall not forget that face," she
murmured, shuddering at the memory. "Do I but
see him. I shall know him."

"That," Bracht said with a sardonic grin, "is the
easy part. Bringing you to him, the hard."

"Still, we've found his trail thus far." Katya
stretched bare arms toward the fire, her tone
thoughtful. "And that has been no easy thing. Does
Horul aid us as have Burash and Dera, then we've
another godly ally in our quest."

Bracht shrugged diffidently, making no com-

WILD MAGIC 35

ment. Calandryll said, "Perhaps the Younger Gods
design it so," not sure whether he spoke from con-
viction or the need for optimism. Certainly it
seemed a monumental labor to hunt down a single
man in the unknown country of the Jesseryn Plain.
"I pray it be so," he added.

"And I." Bracht chuckled, his lean face hawkish
in the fire's glow, "For the gods know, we need all
the aid we can muster."

Cennaire glanced surreptitiously from one face to
another, marveling at the determination of these
three. She was not much given to admiration—her
experiences in the bordels of Kharasul, as a courte-
san in Nhur-jabal. had taught her more of misprize-
ment than respect—but now, she admitted with
surprise, she could not help but feel a grudging ad-
miration for the singularity of their purpose, for
their courage. Did she, she wondered, develop some
notion of morality in their company? A conscience,
even? Could that be so, given her revenancy?

Her contemplative mood went unnoticed, or they
assumed she was wearied by the journey, and soon
it was agreed they sleep, Calandryll taking the first
watch.

He had little thought of danger: it seemed, as
Bracht had said, that Rhythamun was confident
enough he left no traps behind him, nor did it seem
likely they should encounter hostile Jesserytes in
this place.

How wrong he was, he discovered when some-
thing whistled out of the darkness, wrapping
around him so that his arms were pinned, his legs
entangled, and all he could do was cry out once as
he toppled sideways, crashing hard against a
stunted pine before he thudded down-




CALANDRYLL heard Bracht shout, and in the
same instant saw figures dart from the shad-
ows, running past him, one halting to kneel beside
him, settling a cold hand about his throat, the
other displaying a knife, the steel gleaming briefly
in the moonlight. He thought to die then, but the
blade was tapped warningly against his cheek as
the hand tightened on his windpipe, threatening to
choke him, and the wielder made a guttural hush-
ing sound, cautioning him to silence.

He could offer no resistance. Whatever had felled
him now bound him firm, and the strangling hand
denied him the air with which to vent a cry. Such
would, he realized despairingly, have been useless
anyway: he heard the sounds of brief protest, but
no hint of battle, and knew that his comrades were
taken as swiftly as he had fallen. Uselessly, he
cursed himself for failing in his watchman's duty.

Then the hand let go his throat and he felt his
legs loosed. He was snatched unceremoniously up-
right, spun round before he had opportunity to

WILD MAGIC 37

identify his captor, and shoved toward the glow of
the fire. Bracht, Katya, and Cennaire lay beside the
deceptively cheerful blaze, like animals trussed for
slaughter. Around them stood figures clad in dark
armor, their faces masked behind veils of woven
mail. Like executioners, Calandryll thought.

A kick sent him down, gasping as he struck the
ground, stretched beside Bracht. The Kern's eyes
were closed, but his chest rose and fell against the
bonds encircling his body. Calandryll saw that they
were some manner of throwing device—long
leather cords weighted at their ends with small
metal balls. He looked across the supine Kern and
saw that Katya and Cennaire were similarly entan-
gled, though both the women were conscious.
Katya's expression was angry, her grey eyes stormy
in the fire's light; Cennaire appeared confused and
thoughtful. He assumed she wondered what fate
awaited her and said, "Did they plan to slay us, it
would be done by now,"

He intended to reassure her: he could not know
she thought of snapping her bonds and fleeing. He
was about to speak again, but a boot drove the air
from his lungs, and a hand gestured for him to be
silent. He groaned and turned his gaze to his cap-
tors.

Nine of them stood there, what expressions their
faces might have held masked by the concealing
veils. He studied them, seeing conical helmets
from under which dangled ringlets of oiled hair,
dark as the armor they wore. Breastplates covered
their chests, rerebraces and vambraces their arms,
gauntlets their hands, cuisses and greaves their
legs, all black save where the fireglow was re-
flected, red as blood. Wide belts circled their tas-
sets, each holding two scabbards, one for the
deep-curved swords they wore, the other for the

38 ANGUS WELLS

wide-bladed knives. They were menacing figures,
the more so for their silent contemplation.

Calandryll wondered what thoughts passed be-
hind the veils. Those curtains were cut with eye
holes, but he could read no expressions there: it
was as if nine automatons regarded him, creatures
of metal standing in judgment.

Then one spoke, a few harsh words, and the cap-
tives were hauled to their feet, their legs unbound.
Bracht groaned, swaying dizzily, and two men—
Jesserytes, Calandryll assumed—took his arms/
supporting him until he steadied himself, shaking
his head and blinking.

"Ahrd! Are we taken? I heard you shout ..."

The Jesserytes' leader spoke again, clearly order-
ing the Kern to silence. Bracht spat, the gobbet
landing between the man's boots. He laughed, as if
he approved such defiance, and barked another or-
der, pointing toward the cliff, then touching a hand
to Bracht's lips, withdrawing it to make a slicing
motion across his throat that was clear indication
of his meaning. A further burst of curt orders set
leathern gags in the prisoners' mouths, and the
Jesseryte pointed again at the cliff, then beckoned
and strode away.

Five warriors formed about the prisoners, shov-
ing them roughly after, and the remaining three
loosed the horses from their hobbles, bringing up
the rear.

It was an ominously silent procession. None
spoke, and their passage was marked only by the
creak of leather, the slow clopping of hooves, as they
clambered among the rocks, moving, Calandryll as-
sumed, toward the north foot of the Daggan Vhe.
He drew some measure of hope from that, small
solace, but all he had. He had spoken instinctively
to Cennaire, looking to reassure a woman he as-

WILD MAGIC 39

sumed was terrified, but now saw the truth of his
statement: did the Jesserytes intend to slay intrud-
ers in their land, they would surely have killed
them where they lay. No less, was Rhythamun
numbered among the faceless warriors, he would
surely have destroyed the questers on sight. For
some reason he did not comprehend, they were
kept alive. For subsequent execution? For reasons
obscure to any save the Jesserytes? He did not
know, but that they were alive allowed a degree of
optimism.

He clung to that thought as he stumbled, awkward
with tight-bound arms, through the rock-strewn
shadows.

In a while they reached a ledge where small, ca-
parisoned horses stood tethered, tended by a single
warrior who barked a greeting as the Jesserytes'
leader approached. It was answered in the same in-
comprehensible tongue and the guard brought one
animal forward, dropping on hands and knees that
the leader might use his back for a mounting step.
Another guttural exclamation had the captives dis-
armed and slung roughly astride their own mounts
with wrists lashed to the saddle horns, thongs
binding ankles to stirrups. Cennaire was tossed
astride Katya's grey, behind the warrior woman, a
cord passed about both their waists. The Jesserytes
mounted, a man taking up the reins of each larger
horse, another falling into station immediately be-
hind, and they started across the ledge.

Calandryll wondered if their captors knew the
way so well they dared attempt the trail by dark-
ness, or if their night vision was unusually devel-
oped. Whichever, they moved at a brisk pace
through the maze of gullies and basal canyons
spread about the foot of this northern wall of the

40 ANGUS WELLS

Kess Imbrun, trotting where the way allowed, hold-
ing to a fast walk where the road climbed.

In time it rose clear of the lower convolutions
and the elevation allowed the moon to light the
way- The lunar disk was fattened and the night was
clear, cloudless; Calandryll saw the ribbon of the
Blood Road winding precipitously ahead, an un-
nerving path for a man with bound arms. He
clenched his teeth against the threat of panic, tell-
ing himself these strange and silent men were
not—at least, not yet—ready to see him die. Even
so, it was a disconcerting prospect that he sought
to combat by studying them closer.

Their armor, he saw, was polished jet, marked on
chest and back with yellow symbols. Some form of
clan insignia, he guessed, for the leader wore the
same sign, though his back also bore another
marking—of rank, presumably—and the cloths that
dressed the little horses were similarly decorated.

He forced himself to relax in the saddle, knees
firm against the chestnut gelding's ribs as it duti-
fully followed the smaller animal ahead. The
Jesseryte beasts were not much larger than ponies,
but surefooted, taking the dizzying trail without
hesitation, climbing steadily upward, as if they tra-
versed some gentle gradient rather than a road that
before long dropped away on one side or the other
into a moonlit infinity. Their hooves clattered a
busy counterpoint to the sighing song of the night
wind, rising above the grumbling of the cascades,
those soon enough lost in the distance. There were
no other sounds. The masked men said nothing/-
nor, under threat of blows, did the captives protest,
only rode, each in turn wondering where they
went, and why.

WILD MAGIC

CENNAIRE, pressed hard against Katya's back,
thought again of snapping her bonds and flinging
herself clear of the grey horse, and again discarded
the notion- In part it was from fear of bringing the
horse down with her, both tumbling over the prec-
ipice that loomed scant feet to her right. She was
confident the fall would not—could not—kill her,
but by no means so sure she would escape injury.
Without a living heart to animate her body, she
knew she must defy death, but it remained possible
her bones would break, and the thought of lying
broken, perhaps helpless, in the depths of the Kess
Imbrun was an idea unappealing as the thought of
what such a descent must do to her beauty-
Equally, such action must end her alliance with the
questers, and so it was better, she decided, to con-
tinue in her role of mortal woman, to act the help-
less prisoner and see what the future held.

Did things come to such a pass, she could free
herself later. For now, she would wait.

BRACHT, his head still ringing from the blow that
had felled him, thought mostly of holding his seat;

the black stallion afforded him concern enough he
had little room for much else. The horse resented
the indignity of a lead rein, snatching against the
leathers and snorting irritably, ears flattened back
and head tossing whenever the halter slackened.
The Kern did his best to calm the beast, urging it
on with knees and soft murmurings, aware that did
it succeed in breaking free it would certainly attack
the smaller animals ahead and behind, and in the
process no less certainly find its way over the
road's rim.

He did not think the Jesserytes would let him
live—the hostility of the horseclans of Cuan na'For

42 ANGUS WELLS

and the folk of the Jesseryn Plain was ogygian,
long-rooted in times past, a matter of tradition. He
assumed they were taken alive only that their
deaths might be prolonged, an amusement for their
captors. All he had heard of the people of the For-
bidden Country suggested that—that they were
little more than beasts, savages who pleasured
themselves with the torture of prisoners. That, or
the transformation of captives into slaves, which
was the worse option—involuntarily, he shuddered
at the thought; male slaves were gelded.

He bit hard on the thong that gagged him, abrupt-
ly aware of the pressure of his saddle between his
thighs, chancing a swift glance back, to where
Katya was led, behind him. She was no woman to
accept slavery, to allow herself to become the play-
thing of some Jesseryte lordling—she would die,
rather.

That thought, and the simple determination that
while he yet lived he must not give up hope of de-
feating Rhythamun, held him back from the alter-
native he would have taken had he been alone.
Were he alone, he would have given the stallion its
head, urged the great horse to vent its anger, and
taken a Jesseryte or two over the cliff with him. In-
stead, he sought to calm the beast, the sullen
pounding in his skull resolving into sullen anger.

For now he would cling to life.

FOR her part, Katya rode confused. She knew noth-
ing of the Jesserytes save what she had heard from
Bracht, and none of that promising. Yet the strange
warriors, for all their treatment of the prisoners
was brusque, had offered no real harm. They had
come out of the night so suddenly, so silently, they
seemed, in their dark armor, like ghosts. She had

WILD MAGIC 43

heard Bracht's shout and woken with hand on
swordhilt—only to find her arms pinioned before
the saber had chance to clear the scabbard, her legs
an eyeblink after. She had seen Bracht come to his
feet and fall in the same moment, thinking at first
an arrow took him—such thought horrifying—then
seeing that he was bound by the curious throwing
ropes that whirled and whistled from the shadows.
A gauntleted hand had clubbed him down when he
struggled to rise, but that had been all: there had
been no further violence offered.

She wondered why she—why all of them—lived
still. Everything Bracht had told her of the
Jesserytes suggested they slew intruders on sight,
yet these appeared bent on taking them captive.
Why?

A possible answer chilled her: because Rhythamun
had ordered it so.

Because the mage had found himself in some el-
evated station in his new form, and sent minions
to ward his back, with orders to take his pursuers
alive- Such would likely be his way: to gloat before
commanding their execution.

Yet, were that the way of it, surely questions
must arise. Surely Rhythamun must justify his
knowledge—and how else could he know he was
pursued, save through magic? In which case, she
told herself, as calmly as she was able, he must
reveal himself for a wizard. Would whatever sorcer-
ers the Jesserytes bred accept him so readily? Were
her suspicion correct, yes. In which case, the quest
was ended, Rhythamun victorious.

She bit hard against her gag, seeking calm against
the despair that threatened to overwhelm her. She
must not give in! She must hold to the vows made
in Vanu and Tezin-dar, and while she still lived,

ANGUS   WELLS

cling to what tenuous fragments of hope yet ex-
isted.

So it was that each of them, in their own fashion,
chose to live on, to cling to hope until that pre-
cious commodity should be finally expended, as
the procession wound its way up the Daggan Vhe.

They climbed through what was left of the night,
the sky above paling toward dawn before a halt was
called, on a massive ledge where a wide-mouthed
cavern ran back into the cliff's wall-

The Jesserytes' leader walked his mount into the
cave and dismounted, his men not following until
he barked an order, then swinging down, bustling
about with the economic efficiency of a well-
disciplined band entering a familiar refuge. Calan-
dryll watched, puzzled and intrigued, as the ponies
were led in, tethered to one side, fodder obviously
stored against such visitation piled in mangers of
rock. Two men built a fire, fetching kindling and
cut logs from niches in the cave walls, and others
brought provisions from similar caches. Flambeaux
were lit, their flames joining with the fire to illu-
minate the interior. One man remained watchful
beside each prisoner, waiting stoically until their
leader issued another order that had the bonds
about the captives' ankles freed, the thongs binding
them to the saddle horns loosed. They were still
confined by short lengths of leather around their
wrists, dismounting awkwardly to find themselves
pushed into the cave. Men took their horses, and it
came to Calandryll that the Jesserytes were some-
what awed by the larger animals, Bracht's stallion
in particular, for their silence was broken by anx-
ious mutterings when the beast whickered irritably
and began to plunge against the reins.

WILD MAGIC

Bracht turned back then, his sullen face abruptly
anxious as the black horse threatened to fight
loose, to plunge over the cliff. A warrior blocked
his way, hand raised to halt the Kern, who
mouthed a muffled curse, his eyes flashing angry as
the stallion's. Calandryll feared he would be
clubbed down anew, but a word from the Jesseryte
chieftain—if such he was—set the man aside, al-
lowing Bracht to go to the stallion, murmuring
soothingly through his gag, taking the reins and
leading the horse after the others.

The stallion continued to fret somewhat, seem-
ing vexed by the presence of the smaller animals,
and Bracht kept up his mumblings until the beast
calmed, allowing him to pass the reins back to a
Jesseryte.

Relieved, Calandryll looked about the cave, see-
ing it was not entirely natural, but enlarged by
men, as if used as a staging post. The fire burned in
a crude hearth, its smoke carried away up a rocky
chimney; a grotto, part natural and part man-made,
stabled the animals, stout poles penning them se-
cure; to one side a spring bled water into a bowl.
The place was dry, warm, and smelled of horseflesh
and salted meat, as if regularly used. From that,
and the pace they had taken, he calculated they
were midway up the north face of the Kess Imbrun.
He waited to see what the Jesserytes intended.

No harm, it seemed; at least, not yet. The leader
walked bowlegged toward the captives, loosing the
latches of his helmet. He removed the bowl and
shook his head, freeing a tangle of blue-black ring-
lets, studying them slowly. His eyes were fulvous,
tawny as a cat's, and narrow, slanted above high
cheekbones, a prominent nose. Thin lips slashed
his lower face, bracketed by a curving mustache. It

ANGUS   WELLS

was a cruel face, without any expression Calandryll
was able to interpret.

The man touched his chest and said, "Temchen,"
then beckoned one of his men, speaking briefly in
his own language.

The gags were removed and the leader tapped his
breastplate again, repeating, "Temchen."

Calandryll licked his lips, sensing that the man
announced his name. He said, "Temchen?" gestur-
ing with bound hands at the Jesseryte.

The man nodded, saying, "Ai, Temchen," then
jabbed a finger toward Calandryll, saying some-
thing in the Jesseryte tongue that Calandryll as-
sumed was a demand for his own name.

For a moment he thought to conceal his identity,
wondering if such revelation should result in death.
It seemed unlikely: were these warriors sent by
Rhythamun, either they knew who their captives
were, or would find out soon enough. Perhaps, by
giving his name, he might learn something, even
were it that he was taken by the warlock's allies.
He raised his hands, touching his chest in turn, and
said, "Calandryll."

Temchen ducked his head: "Kah-lan-drilL"

His tongue found its way around the syllables
with difficulty, no easier around the others' names.

"Brak." This with a stare Calandryll thought
speculative, a gesture toward the cavern's mouth,
as if Temchen pointed southward, a babble of inde-
cipherable sounds.

Bracht shrugged and Temchen tapped his chest,
pointed at himself, then touched his swordhilt,
pantomiming combat. Bracht grinned tightly and
said, "Aye, we fight you. Give me back my blade
and I'll fight you now."

The Jesseryte's eyes narrowed, hearing the hostil-
ity in the Kern's tone, then laughed, calling some-

WILD MAGIC

thing to his men that was answered with chuckles
and catcalls. Calandryll said, "For Dera's sake,
Bracht! Would you provoke him?"

"I'd as soon die now as see myself unmanned,"
the Kern muttered, falling silent as Temchen
turned to Katya.

The Jesseryte seemed awed by the Vanu woman's
flaxen hair. He touched it as she spoke her name,
fingering it as though it were rare silk, or precious
metal-

"Cat-ee-ah." He stroked her hair a moment, re-
luctant, it seemed, to leave it go. "Sen-air."

He was far less interested in Cennaire. Likely,
Calandryll thought, because the Kand woman was
much closer to his own kind in coloration; Katya
was a rarity.

He ended his inspection with a nod, more gut-
tural words, and turned away, going to the tire,
where meat roasted and dough sizzled on a skillet.
The captives were ushered forward, motioned to
settle themselves against the cave wall, the
Jesserytes interposed before the exit. No further at-
tention was paid them, save when food and water
were passed them, each receiving a slab of greasy
meat and a cake of unleavened bread.

They ate in silence, the three hungry, Cennaire
feigning an appetite, as the arc of sky visible be-
yond the mouth grew brighter, the opalescence of
early dawn giving steady way to sunwashed blue.
When they were done, the Jesserytes bound their
ankles again, and passed loops around their chests,
pinning their arms. The tying, for all the cords
were firm, was not ungentle, and when they were
secured each was draped with a blanket, and
Temchen performed another little pantomime, in-
dicating they should sleep.

The Jesserytes set a watch, two men, while the

ANGUS   WELLS

rest bedded down, and the cavern grew silent, save
for the snuffling of the horses, contented now, and
the snoring humans. Calandryll lay between Bracht
and Katya, no more able than they to sleep for the
confusion of thoughts, doubts, bewilderment, that
raced through his mind. Thinking to avoid a blow,
he waited until he was confident the Jesserytes
slumbered soundly, then wormed his face close to
Bracht's.

"They cannot intend to slay us," he whispered.
"And I doubt they're Rhythamun's men."

"You think not?" Bracht's voice was low in an-
swer, sharp with an undercurrent of tension.

"How can they? Were we for execution, why feed
us? Why bring us here? And Rhythamun? Temchen
showed no expression when he learned our
names—did he go about Rhythamun's business,
surely he'd have shown triumph then."

"I'll grant they're not likely allied with the sor-
cerer," Bracht allowed. "But for the rest . .. Execu-
tion is not the worst fate."

"How so?"

The Kern's teeth gritted a moment, then: "The
Jesserytes take slaves. Male slaves are gelded."

Calandryll bit back the gasp of horror forming in
his throat. Instinctively, he pressed his legs tight
together, shuddering as horrid chill crept down his
spine. "You're sure of this?" he forced himself to
ask.

Bracht grunted confirmation-

"Even so." He licked his lips, his mouth abruptly
dry. "We live still."

"Gelded? You call that living?"

"Even so, we've hope. Why did they come after
us? Surely there must be some reason for that?"

"They planned to raid into Cuan na'For. As did

WILD MAGIC 49

the band that attacked Cennaire's caravan. They
found easier prey."

"Think you it can be so simple?"

"I think I am taken by barbarians who unman
their slaves. I think Katya is a great prize—you saw
that strutting whoreson finger her."

"I grant he found her exceptional. But still .. ."
Calandryll paused, the ugly churning deep in his
stomach that Bracht's blunt announcement had be-
gun worked its way ominously lower. It was an ef-
fort to calm that horrid trepidation, to impose
some measure of logic. "But still it may be they
were sent, though by some other agency."

Bracht snorted softly, dubiously.

"Perhaps some Jesseryte sorcerer sensed our pres-
ence," Calandryll insisted. "We've spoken before of
a design in this, of the Younger Gods lending what
aid they can. Perhaps this capture is a part of that;

perhaps we are brought to the Jesseryn Plain
swifter than had we traveled alone."

He was no longer certain whether he spoke from
conviction or the need to reassure himself, and
Bracht offered no help. The Kem scowled, noncom-
mittal, saying nothing.

"Do you concede the victory then? Do you grant
Rhythamun the fight?"

"I concede I go bound into an unknown land; I
concede I'm mightily concerned. For us all. Do we
find the opportunity, I say we must escape."

"How?" Calandryll tested his bonds: they held
him tight, and how could they escape, here,
perched on the wall of Kess Imbrun, surrounded by
warriors?

"I know not," Bracht replied. "But does the
chance arise ..."

"Aye, Does the chance arise."

He did not think it would: Temchen seemed too

ANGUS   WELLS

so

careful a man to let his vigilance waver. It seemed
far more likely they should be brought captive to
whatever destination the Jesseryte rode. But then
.. . perhaps then. But if they did . .. what then?

They would be fugitives in a strange land/ pursu-
ing Rhythamun in a form only Cennaire could rec-
ognize. There was no longer any magical talisman
to guide them, no longer any one of them familiar
with the country they must traverse. It seemed un-
likely, did they escape and flee, that they should
find allies; still less likely they should happen upon
their quarry. The odds seemed suddenly weighted
against them, fate showing them an unkind face.
Despair threatened and he struggled not to contem-
plate the fate Bracht outlined, forcing himself to
consider his own words, endeavoring to believe his
own optimism.

It was not easy, but surely, he told himself,
Horul is the god of the Jesserytes. and Horul is kin
to Burash and to Deia, to Ahrd. Surely Horul must
favor this quest, else he, like all the Younger Gods,
see Tharn raised up, himself destroyed. Surely
Horul must league with us, and be that so, then
perhaps there is some measure of divine interven-
tion here. Perhaps Temchen was sent by the ecniine
god, some indiscernible pattern working to our fa-


vor.

I must believe that, he told himself. / must not
give in to despair. I must continue to hope.

That thought lingered as a great weariness pos-
sessed him, lulling him so that he did not know he
slept until a boot nudged his ribs and he opened his
eyes on sunlight and a masked face, a Jesseryte
kneeling to strip off the blanket, loose his feet and
arms that he might rise. He stood on command, his
comrades with him, going over to the fire to re-

WILD MAGIC 51

ceive a bowl of thin porridge, a cake of hard, sweet
bread, a mug of bitter tea sharp with herbs.

That breakfast was taken swiftly and then they
were set back on their horses, gagged and bound in
place again. A man knelt to afford Temchen a
mounting stool, and the Jesseryte once more led
the cavalcade along the Blood Road, upward, climb-
ing briskly toward the sky-

THE sun was not much advanced along its west-
ward path, not yet close to noon, and Calandryll
realized their sopum in the cavern had been only
a brief respite, likely taken to rest the horses and
men who had spent the night descending this same
steep road. They seemed not to hurry overmuch—
the trail was precipitous, narrow enough in too
many places that undue haste must be dangerous—
but still they progressed at a good pace, as though
Temchen were anxious to reach the rimrock swift
as possible.

Their faces masked by the metal veils, it was im-
possible to discern expression there, nor did the
Jesseryte physiognomy lend itself to interpretation
when the veils were lifted, when they halted
awhile in the afternoon.

The prisoners were dismounted then, given wa-
ter and a little food, but there was no more attempt
made to communicate, as if the learning of their
names was all the information Temchen required
of them. Neither did the Jesserytes speak among
themselves, but went about their duties with the
precision of well-drilled soldiery, their tasks suffi-
ciently familiar as to render words unnecessary.
When Calandryll spoke, Temchen glanced his way
and raised a finger to his thin lips; when Bracht re-
plied, a man raised a hand in threat. The Kern,

52 ANGUS WELLS

though clearly galled, fell silent, and Calandryll
deemed it the wiser course to follow suit. Katya
said nothing, only studied her captors with storm-
laden grey eyes; and Cennaire merely waited, not
speaking, to discover to where they went.

The food consumed, the gags were replaced, the
prisoners remounted and again restrained, and they
continued the ascent.

Onward, ever upward, through an afternoon of
sunlight that bathed the ramparts of the Kess
Imbrun with golden light, the fantastic crenella-
tions shining like great red spires, many-hued, the
canyons pooled with misty darkness, or glowing
where the sun invaded as if fires burned within
their depths. The yellow disk moved across the
sky, westering, the crags and buttresses dulling as
the light shifted, hurling great shadows eastward-
The filling moon hung above the horizon, stars vis-
ible as the heavens were transformed from shim-
mering azure to shades of deepening indigo. The
western sky burned crimson-gold awhile, and twi-
light fell. Calandryll thought they might halt
then—knew that did he ride with his comrades
alone, they would, for the road was too hazardous
to attempt by dusk's light—but Temchen showed
no sign of slowing their pace, and he wondered
again if the catlike eyes pierced the darkness better
than his own.

It was no less unnerving for the experience of the
previous night to take that way by darkness. Soon
there was only moonglow by which to negotiate
the trail, and that deceptive, shadows concealing
rocks, the pale silvery radiance tricking the eye, de-
ceitful. Bats once more fluttered, their roosts seem-
ingly located about the midparts of the chasm, and
that flocking did nothing to make the going easier.
But still the Jesserytes pressed on, climbing, climb-

W1LD MAGIC 53

ing, until it seemed they must rise up to meet the
moon along its way and ride in company with the
stars.

What haste possessed them? Calandryll won-
dered. Or was it their habit to travel so, heedless of
the sun's passing, as if the night were their do-
main? Certainly, clad in their beetle-black armor,
silent, they seemed akin to nocturnal creatures,
and he wondered what motivated them, that mus-
ing bringing back Bracht's dire warning.

He fought the unpleasant sensation that thought
delivered to his bowels, telling himself that surely,
did they view their captives as nothing more than
slaves, handily found and taken without undue dif-
ficulty, they would not press so hard. Neither could
he believe they served Rhythamun—that argument
he had put to Bracht, and now, with little else to do
save think, he found it the more convincing. But
what answers there were to this captivity, to this
urgent nighttime journey, he could not surmise.

You will travel far and see things no southern
man has seen ...

He smiled around the gag, cynically, as Reba's
words came back, whispered on the night wind,
taunting. That, surely, was the truth—what else,
from the lips of a spaewife? All she had foretold
was come true. His father's anger had driven him
from Secca; his own brother proclaimed him out-
law, renegade, patricide. He had known betrayal
and found true comrades; had traveled roads no
man had trod. She had prophesied danger, and that
he had met in quantity. But the ending . .. that she
had not scried along the many branching paths of
the spaewives' art.

Perhaps—the ugly chill of doubt grew colder—
this was the ending. Perhaps Bracht was right, he
wrong: they were taken as slaves, to be gelded, the

ANGUS   WELLS

5-f

women placed in some Jesseryte harem, a bordel,
while Rhythamun continued unhindered, to find
Tharn's resting place and raise the Mad God. He
shivered, willing himself to calm, to logic, invok-
ing the litany of past experience to quell doubt, to
impose hope.

In Kandahar, Sathoman ek'Hennem had threat-
ened the quest, taken him and Bracht prisoner, but
they had escaped the rebel lord.

Anomius had used magic against them, but they
had eluded his gramaryes.

The Chaipaku had sought their lives, his and
Bracht's and Katya's, but thanks to their own skills
and the intervention of Burash, the Brotherhood of
Assassins was no longer a threat.

They had survived the swamps of Gessyth, evad-
ed the trap Rhythamun set in Tezin-dar.

In Lysse, he had passed within hailing distance of
Tobias, who would surely have slain him on the
spot had his brother recognized him. But he had
not, and they had gone free.

Into Cuan na'For, into the arms of Jehenne ni
Larrhyn, who had crucified Bracht, only to see the
Kern saved by Ahrd, the Lykard woman slain by
Katya.

Dera herself had set an enchantment on his
blade; Burash had brought them down his watery
ways in safety; Ahrd had shown his benevolence:

the Younger Gods themselves stood in alliance
with their quest.

How then should it fail?

Because, said the cold, mocking voice of the
wind. the Younger Gods are lesser creatures than
their elder kin, weaker than their predecessors.
Have they. themselves, not spoken of their limita-
tions^ Have they not told you they may do only so
much, and no more} Shall that be enough}

WILD MAGIC 55

Surely, he said.

Think you so? asked the wind. Did Burash bring
you swift enough to Lysse that you found Rhytha-
mun there} No. you were too late. the sorcerer was
gone on. shape-changed.

But we found his way. We sundered his alliance
with Jehenne. And Dera blessed my sword.

The wind laughed about the moonlit spires, rus-
tling down the canyons, and said, A small enough
gift, that. Nor too soon given. You were delayed
there, and Rhythamun still went on. no} Not Dera,
not Ahrd could halt him.

But still they lent us aid.

A skirling then, a taste of dust, like ashes blown
contemptuous from a funeral pyre: Ahrd could not
bring you fast enough through his own sacred for-
est to catch the mage.

But not so far ahead. And one with us now who
knows his face.

The wind paused, turning back on itself, and
came again, renewed, vigorous. Much help that,
when you ride a prisoner to your unmanning.
When you ride into the unknown country, where
men wear masks across their faces and carve off
manhood as if the bearer were a beast.

Into a land where Horul is worshipped! And
Horul is a Younger God—he cannot stand by!

Perhaps he cannot; perhaps he will not. But is he
strong enough} Rhythamun goes before, drawing
ever closer to Tharn. Think you Thorn knows not
his salvation approaches, even in his limbo} Even
dreaming} Think you he shall not do all he can to
aid his savior}

What can he do} The First Gods cast him
down—Yl and Kyta, his own progenitors. Shall he
break their enchantment}

Does he not already} asked the wind. His raising

56 ANGUS WELLS

calls for blood; blood calls for his raising—is blood
not shed aplenty nowf Think on Kandahar, fool!
Think on the rebellion of the Fayne lord, think on
the war the Tyrant presses. Think on your own
brother—Tobias den Karynth, Domm of Secca!—
who builds a navy and argues for war with
Kandahar. How much blood shall spill when that
dream is fulfilled!

Be it fulfilled! It is not yet.

Perhaps, or perhaps it is. Perhaps e'en now the
warboats sail from Eryn. Perhaps the Narrow Sea
runs red.

Tobias must convince his fellow domms, and in
Cuan na'For fehenne looked to war, but was
thwarted.

A small victory: one little battle in a far greater
combat. And you a captive now, riding virgin to
your fate, while Rhythamun goes on ... and on ...
on ...

"No! It cannot bei"

The denial came distorted through the gag, a muf-
fled defiance, more moan than shout, but still loud
enough the Jesseryte ahead glanced back, wamingly,
the man behind came up, driving a rough hand at
CalandryU's shoulder. The chestnut—the gelding!—
skittered, and its rider grunted, seeking with knees
and bound hands to calm the horse, thinking, star-
tled, that the quest might truly end, for him, did the
animal panic, take him off the road. He blinked, re-
alizing he had dozed in the saddle, that the night
waned and the wind was died away. He saw the sky
brighten in the east, and wondered if he had, truly,
heard that silent voice, or only the pessimistic mus-
ing of his own mind.

/ must hope, he told himself. Hope, now, is all I
have. Hope, and faith in the Younger Gods.

WILD MAGIC 57

In silence, he voiced a prayer to Dera, to the god-
dess and all her kin, asking that this capture be
part of some design/ or that he and his comrades—
Cennaire he counted now among that number—be
allowed escape. He hoped it was not selfishness to
ask they escape entire, whole in all parts: the no-
tion that it might go otherwise was ugly.

He could do no more, not now, only sit his horse
and watch the road unfold in day's clean light, the
breeze no longer insidious with doubt but merry, a
cheerful zephyr redolent of warm earth and grass.

That fact did not, at first, strike him, for the
gloom of his nocturnal reverie still dulled him
somewhat. But then his nose registered the change,
that the hard, dry scent of timeless stone was re-
placed with hint of growth, and he looked up, past
the horseman who led him. and saw the rim of the
Kess Imbrun.

The great rift's edge was both welcome and om-
inous, the one for its marking of a step along the
way ended, the other for its announcement of im-
pending fate, of resolution of his fears. He steeled
himself, seeing the Daggan Vhe traverse a shelf,
wind back, steep and wide, then run out between
walls similar to the gully that had begun this jour-
ney into captivity. The gelding quickened its pace,
urged on by the warrior ahead, willing enough, as
though it, like its rider, saw the finish of heights
and depths, and welcomed the prospect of flat land
once more with equine innocence.

They crossed the shelf and climbed the steepened
way, then rode a spell through the twilight im-
parted by the cleft. It was a broad road there,
smooth and gently angled, the walls sheer, the sky
a wide blue band above, the sun as yet only hinting
along the eastern edge. At the farthest extent of the

ANGUS   WELLS

58

gully the way rose again, clear sky visible, bright
blue and shadowed red meeting on a line.

Calandryll heard Temchen, at the column's head,
call out, heard a shouted response. Then the
Jesseryte topped the ridge line and was gone from
sight. His men seemed to take reassurance from
the brief exchange, urging their horses on at a
canter. The hooves rang loud on stone, filling the
gully with their clatter, and the cavalcade emerged
onto the Jesseryn Plain.

Calandryll looked about, eyes widening in
amazement. To either side stood man-made walls,
great blocks of sandy-yellow stone set unmortered
one upon the other, high as five men, how thick he
could only guess. They ran parallel a way, a funnel
down which any seeking ingress to the Kess
Imbrun must pass, a killing ground for any climb-
ing the Blood Road. They ended at a barbican, a
great squat block of dull yellow that rose above the
walls, featureless save for the narrow embrasures
cut across its face and the massive gates of metal-
studded wood standing open below. Beyond those
gates there was only darkness: Temchen waited
there, dwarfed by the massy structure.

He raised an arm, beckoning them on. As they
came closer, Calandryll experienced a strange chill,
for it seemed an atmosphere, an indefinable aura,
hung about the place, something beyond its natu-
rally forbidding prospect, greater and more omi-
nous, as if ghosts lingered there, or the smell of
recently shed blood. His horse shied, the enthusi-
asm it had earlier shown gone, and from behind he
heard Bracht's stallion whinny a protest. He
turned, and saw the black horse plunging against
the leading rein, ears flattened, eyes rolling white.
The mood communicated and he saw Katya's grey
curvet even as his own animal began to dance ner-

WILD MAGIC

59

vously. Indeed, the Jesserytes' small beasts were no
less agitated, their riders grunting irritably and
holding them tight-reined, too occupied then to re-
monstrate with their prisoners' recalcitrant beasts.

It took an effort to drive the horses forward, and
as they approached the barbican it seemed to
Calandryll the chill grew deeper. He eyed the gates
with apprehension, wondering if the charnel odor
he caught on the breeze was real, or a figment of
his imagination, and knew, though not why, that
from the blockhouse emanated a sensation of
dread, of insensate horror.

He felt his mouth go dry as he passed between
the gates, and then wanted to spit, badly, for it
seemed a sour, bilious clot filled his throat. Nor, he
saw, were the Jesserytes insensible to the sensa-
tion: they fingered swordhilts. shaped warding ges-
tures, veils rustling metallic as heads turned warily
from side to side. Only Temchen appeared un-
moved, and that, so Calandryll thought, was a re-
sult of innate discipline, a grim determination to
show no dread. The armored man barked a com-
mand, hand chopping air, urging his men on down
the tunnel that filled all the center of the fortifica-
tion.

Calandryll saw gates, dim at the farther end,
these closed and barred, and lesser openings to ei-
ther side, shut off with heavy doors. Overhead were
machiolations, and then a band of welcome light,
albeit faint, as a door was flung open, Temchen
turning aside there, down some inner corridor.

The lesser tunnel gave way to a small bailey, sta-
bling around three sides, more sable-armored war-
riors standing in postures of expectancy, alert,
crook-bladed pikes and curved swords in their
hands, as if unsure what they might expect of the
reluctant visitors. Archers manned the ramparts,

ANGUS   WELLS

60

arrows nocked, downward aimed. Temchen dis-
mounted, bowed to a man whose armor was
marked with symbols in yellow and silver, who an-
swered in kind and lifted his veil, the better to
study the captives.

Calandryll found little in his features to distin-
guish him from Temchen. Save that he wore a stiff,
triangular beard and seemed a few years older, they
might be brothers, the elder apparently superior in
rank, for it was he who issued the order that
brought the captives down from their horses to
stand before him, another that had their bonds re-
moved, all save the cords about their wrists, the
gags in their mouths.

Temchen spoke their names, indicating them
each in turn, and the older man nodded, and con-
versed briefly with the younger. Then, without rur-
ther word, he spun on his heel and marched briskly
to an inner stairwell. Temchen pointed after him,
barking orders that set a guard about the four, mo-
tioning them to follow, he bustling past to fall into
step with the other as they climbed into the depths
of the barbican.

The stairs led to a corridor beneath the roof,
banded with light from the embrasures running
down its length, the omnipresent sensation of dread
somewhat abated here, that relief almost physical,
as if a weight were lifted. Calandryll wondered if
that easing was a result of the hieroglyphs he saw
daubed at intervals along the walls or the censers
wafting pungent smoke in the still, dry air, and
what it meant. The glyphs, he guessed, were im-
bued with magic of some manner, and likely the in-
cense, too, though by whom and why remained a
mystery. He could only follow his captors as they
walked the gallery to a door of black wood, where
Temchen and the other man halted, removing their

WILD MAGIC 61

helms before tapping softly; respectfully, Calandryll
thought, wondering what awaited within.

A voice responded, presumably granting permis-
sion to enter, for Temchen nodded and a guard
swung the door wide, standing back as the two
Jesseryte chieftains went in, halted, and bowed low.

There followed a murmured conversation and
then Temchen beckoned, the guards herding the
captives into a chamber longer than it was wide, lit
dim save where a circular opening in the ceiling
bled light across a rectangular table of black lac-
quered wood at the center. Backless seats, more
stool than chair, were set down both sides of the ta-
ble, jet as the Jesserytes' armor so that they were
near invisible in the shadows that pooled to either
side. The walls were no lighter, paneled in some
dark wood, unadorned save for more of the strange
symbols, those painted in yellow and silver and red
that seemed to glow in the dimness-

Calandryll squinted as Temchen and the other
man marched forward, bowed again, and motioned
for the guards to bring the prisoners closer. The far-
ther end of the chamber lay beyond the limits of
the poor illumination, and the guards halted before
Calandryll's eyes were able to pierce that gloom.

From out of it came a voice, dry and soft as the
rustle of autumn leaves stirred by a breeze, but
somehow clear for all it was faint, as if generated
by a power that transcended vocalization.

* "Welcome," it said, and it seemed the shadows
themselves spoke. "I have awaited your coming."

Calandryll started as he realized the words were
uttered in the Jesseryte tongue, and that he under-
stood.




LAUGHTER then, like the rattle of ancient bells,
the timbre occluded by rust—Calandryll won-
dered if his mind was read, or the startlement on
his face. He looked to his companions, seeing he
was alone in neither understanding nor surprise:

Bracht stared with narrow eyes, suspicious visage,
into the shadows; Katya frowned; Cennaire ap-
peared frightened, and he stepped a pace closer,
that movement eliciting a warning glance from the
elder Jesseryte, a prohibiting grunt from Temchen.

"Easy, easy," said the unseen speaker, startling
Calandryll once more. "What harm do they offer
me? What harm can they offer me?"

The questions were mildly put, seeming empty
of threat, albeit massively confident. The bearded
man answered, but his words were incomprehensi-
ble. Calandryll suspected he protested for the soft
voice replied: "Chazali, had they such power surely
they'd not allow themselves taken. And be it some
ruse, I believe I've the strength to oppose them. I

WILD MAGIC

63

say—loose their bonds, remove those gags that we
may converse as civilized folk."

There followed further protest, seemingly
quelled by some gesture visible only to the
Jesserytes, and the voice again, a hint of steel now
evident. "Free them, I tell you. Be you so con-
cerned, then remain and ward me against this
mighty danger."

Amusement echoed in the last words and the one
named Chazali shook his head, shrugged, and mo-
tioned Temchen forward, the two of them loosing
the cords about the prisoners' wrists, taking the
gags from their mouths- They both stepped back,
wary, hands resting light and ready on swordhilts-

"Neither have we need for so many guards," said
the voice. "Dismiss your men, but leave whatever
things you took from our guests."

"Guests?" Bracht's voice was low, harsh with an-
ger.

"So I trust," came the response from the dark-
ness, "for all the manner of your coming. I crave
forgiveness for that indignity and shall, in time, ex-
plain the need. For now, though, do you seat your-
selves? Will you take wine?"

"No."

Bracht's eyes followed the warrior who stepped
forward, swords and saddlebags in his arms, clat-
tering down onto the table. Calandryll saw the ten-
sion in his body, knowing the Kern calculated his
chances of reaching his falchion, drawing. No less
Temchen and Chazali, whose curved blades slid a
little way clear of the scabbards, the faint susurra-
tion of steel blades against leather akin to the
warning hiss of a serpent. He looked to Bracht, a
hand half raised, and said, "Be we truly guests,
you've much to explain. For now"—this directed at
Bracht—"we'll hear you out."

64 ANGUS WELLS

He sat then, willing the angry Kern to follow
suit, certain that should fury gain the upper hand
they must all die. He was grateful to Katya, who
sank onto a chair; to Cennaire, who did the same,
her great brown eyes fixed intently on the shadows.
as if she saw the hidden speaker. With a grunt of ir-
ritation, Bracht did as he was urged, and across the
table, Chazali and Temchen took seats.

The guards filed out; the door thudded shut, and
for a moment there was silence.

Then silk rustled, soft as gently falling rain, and
the speaker stepped within the radius of the light.
Calandryll stared, thinking he had seen no living
creature so old since the Guardians of Tezin-dar.
Hair like polished silver fell in sweeping wings to
either side of a face so wrinkled as to resemble an-
cient leather left long in sun and rain and wind,
and of much the same hue. Dark eyes glittered be-
tween canalicular lids, striated flesh combining
patterns of furrows that radiated outward and
downward, deep grooves arcing in parentheses
about a sharp, proud nose, descending behind a
wispery mustache of the same argental shade as the
hair, the mouth thin-lipped and wide, exposing
large, yellow teeth as it smiled. The neck—surely
gaunt as a turtle's—was hidden beneath the high
collar of an elaborate tunic, a green the shade of
new spring grass, the shoulders exaggerated, stiff-
ened to extend beyond the deep sleeves. A silver
sash bound it narrow at the waist, fastened with a
brooch of gold so that the hem flared above loose
pantaloons of shimmering jet, tucked into ankle
boots of some soft, silvery hide, with toes curled up
and back, tipped with little golden points.

So grandiose an outfit seemed somehow at vari-
ance with the ancient face, which now expressed
an apologetic humor.

WILD MAGIC 65

"\ am named Ochen," he said. "Temchen, you
have already met; this other is named Chazali."

Both armored men ducked their heads slightly as
their names were spoken, but neither took their
eyes off the four, nor their hands from their swords.
It was clear to Calandryll that they trusted their
unwilling visitors no more than Bracht trusted
them. For his own part he felt a great curiosity join
his wariness: there seemed no enmity in this vener-
able creature; though, he thought, that was a thing
to be decided later.

"\ fear we begin with misunderstanding," Ochen
said, settling himself gracefully on the faldstool at
the table's head.

"I understand we are taken captive," snapped
Bracht, "Brought bound to this keep."

Ochen nodded, his smile fading, his reply voiced
grave. "That I shall explain, warrior," he promised.
"And when I do, I think you'll see the need for
such caution. For now, I'd ask you accept my word
that be you dissatisfied with what I tell you, you
shall be free to leave—to return whence you came.
or go on with whatever help I am able to give. Do
you accept?"

"The word of a Jesseryte?" Bracht glowered.

Calandryll said quickly, "We'll hear you out."
There seemed little other choice—no other that
made sense—and the faint hope of aid, should this
mysterious ancient prove a friend.

Ochen ducked his head in thanks and said, "A
moment then."

Calandryll watched as he reached forward, draw-
ing the blades and bags laid upon the table toward
him. He fingered each item gently, almost rever-
ently, frowning a little as his fingers danced over
Cennaire's small satchel, murmuring too soft any

66 ANGUS WELLS

could hear the words as he touched Calandryll's
straightsword.

"Yours," he remarked, looking into Calandryll's
eyes. "The goddess would gift such as you with
this."

"A sorcerer!" Bracht snarled. "A Jesseryte sor-
cerer!"

"That I am," admitted Ochen cheerfully, "and be
you who I think, you'll have need of my art where
you go."

Bracht's mouth curled scornfully. Calandryll
said, "You know who we are?"

"I've some notion." Ochen ended his examina-
tion, pushed their gear away. "I and my kind have
foreseen your coming."

Calandryll frowned at that and the ancient
chuckled. "Think you we've not the art of scrying
in this land?" He shook his head, the network of
wrinkles deepening a moment. "Perhaps we've hid
too long; stood too long apart from the world."

"You stood not apart when your Great Khan
looked to invade my land," said Bracht, gruff-
voiced. "You stand not apart when you raid Cuan
na'For for slaves."

"That myth?" Ochen sighed, exasperation in the
sound- "I tell you, friend, we take no slaves."

"Name me not friend," Bracht grunted. "Do you
say there was no invasion—attempted, at the
least?"

"That, aye," said Ochen, sadly now. "There was
a madness in the land then—a part of what I must
tell you; a part of the evil you look to halt. Of that,
I would speak later—for now, I say to you that the
Great Khan was possessed; that he forced his will
on all the tengs of the Plain; and that he is long
dead. We Jesserytes have no wish to invade Cuan

WILD MAGIC 67

na'For. Horul knows, we've sufficient to occupy us
here!"

"And you take no slaves?"

Bracht's tone was dismissive: Ochen sighed
again, and said, "Only the tensai stoop so low, and
they are godless outcasts- Neither do we copulate
with horses; nor geld men; nor force women to go
with whom they'd not." He shook his head, his
tone soft as if he remonstrated with a child, a thin
smile on his lips as he continued: "Listen—there
are some in this land who believe you folk of Cuan
na'For eat human flesh; that the merchants out of
Lysse who come to Nywan hide tails beneath their
breeks; that the folk of Vanu are all twice a man's
height and thrice as strong, with but a single eye—
we've cut ourselves off too long, and such stories
grow like weeds fertilized by ignorance."

"Even so," Calandryll interjected, "it was folk
from your land who attacked Cennaire's caravan,
and slew all save her."

Ochen looked toward the Kand woman, his face
inscrutable, the twinkling eyes lost a moment as
the furrowed brows hooded. In a swift flow of
sound he repeated Calandryll's words to his fellow
Jesserytes, and across the table Chazali grunted,
Temchen shook his head. "Perhaps . .." the mage
said slowly, his voice carefully neutral, "perhaps
there was an outlaw band. Your coming was not
scried. Lady. Only these three."

Cennaire held her face impassive, answering his
stare with her own, willing herself to stillness even
as her senses urged that she flee. Beside her, Calan-
dryll said, "Still, now she is one with us. Save," he
turned to Cennaire, "you prefer to return, as this
mage has promised you may."

It was a test: of Ochen's intent and Cennaire's
purpose. He was not sure what answer he hoped

68 ANGUS WELLS

for, but felt a confused relief when the raven-haired
woman shook her head and said, "No. Do you al-
low it, I shall remain with you."

Ochen said, "My word is good. Lady, do you wish
to go back, I'll send men with you, across the
Daggan Vhe. You shall have a horse and food
enough to see you safe."

Again, Cennaire shook her head and murmured,
"No."

"So be it." Mottled hands steepled beneath
Ochen's chin, his voice musing. "Perhaps that, too,
is writ."

Katya spoke for the first time then, grey eyes in-
tent on the sorcerer's face, her tone level, neither
accepting nor accusing: "You speak much of scry-
ing, of knowing that we three came. You offer us
apologies for the manner in which we were brought
here, and promise explanation. But as yet I've heard
none."

The hands unfolded, settled flat upon the table,
Calandryll saw that the nails were long, and lac-
quered golden. Ochen met Katya's bold stare and
smiled.

"Aye, you speak the truth, and directly. I shall
explain, but that must surely take some time, and
must perforce involve both Chazali and Temchen-
So—do you grant me permission to enhance that
gramarye that allows us to converse, that they may
understand? It is in my power to give you the
tongue of this land."

"More sorcery!" Bracht muttered.

"But mightily useful," Katya said thoughtfully,
"if we are to go on."

"You'd let this wizard put his magicks in you?"

Bracht shook his head in vigorous dismissal, his
blue eyes wide and wary. Katya met his gaze and
said, "I think that if he wished to do so, there is lit-

WILD MAGIC 69

tie we might do to prevent him. He has not; nei-
ther has he yet offered us harm. Is that not some
token of his good faith?"

Calandryll said. "Aye, it would seem so."

Bracht sniffed, grunted, thought a moment, then
shrugged. "Perhaps," he allowed, unconvinced.

"What harm in it?" asked Calandryll.

"What harm in any wizard's workings?" an-
swered Bracht. "What other gramaryes might he
not work on us?"

"Perhaps I've the answer to your doubt," offered
Ochen, and tapped a nail against the hilt of
Calandryll's sword. "This blade has power, no? 1
feel it—the strength of a goddess, of Dera herself, is
in this sword. Were I to attempt fell magic, to de-
ceive you, would the blade not reveal my treach-
ery?"

Bracht, Katya, Cennaire, all turned their eyes to
Calandryll for answer. He pondered a moment,
unsure, then slowly said, "It may be so. Certainly
it revealed"—he was about to say "Rhythamun,"
amended that to—"the creature that possessed Mor-
rach."

Bracht shook his head, not yet willing to forget
long-held prejudice, gestured at the glyphs marking
the walls. "We sit surrounded by his sortilege," he
argued. "Might that not overwhelm even Dera's
gift?"

"You flatter me." Ochen chuckled, face crin-
kling. "I am not so great a mage as to overcome the
power of a goddess. And these sigils are for all our
protection."

"Test him," suggested Katya. "Surely, if his
magic is fell the blade must reveal it."

Still Bracht remained doubtful, but Calandryll
nodded, saying, "Aye—do you submit to such
proof?"

70 ANGUS WELLS

"Happily," Ochen conceded.

Unthinking, Calandryll reached toward the sword,
and a stool fell clattering, his hand halted by Tem-
chen's blade. Dera, but the man was near as fast as •
Bracht, the curved steel glinting in the circle of sun-
light, the edge a razor across his wrist. Chazali, too,
was on his feet, sword drawn, raised ready to attack.
Bracht was no slower, coming upright swift as a
flighted arrow, plunging forward, left hand slapping
Temchen's blade aside, the right grasping the fal-
chion's hilt- Calandryll saw hairs, cut from his wrist,
drift in the circle of sunlight, Chazali moving to di-
rect a blow at Bracht's head, Katya rising, a storm
building in her grey eyes as she, too, readied for bat-
tle.

"Stop! Enough!" Ochen's voice was no longer a
dry-leafed rustling, but thunder, booming loud, au-
thoritative, brooking no disobedience. "In Horul's
name—by the names of all the gods!—are we
squabbling children?"

There was such power in his command that the
words fell like blows, numbing. Temchen, Chazali,
froze. Bracht sprawled across the table, the drawn
falchion still in his hand. Calandryll was surprised
to see the old man was seated, not on his feet.

"Sit!"

It was a command addressed to the Jesserytes;

they obeyed. Bracht was slower, and Calandryll
said, "Aye, rest easy," waiting until the Kern sank
back, tanned features morose. Katya touched his
arm, ducking her head in agreement, urging him to
calm. Calandryll glanced toward Temchen and
Chazali, to Ochen, who nodded, and drew the
straightsword.

He turned the blade to the sorcerer and said, "Do
you take it then? In both your hands."

WILD MAGIC 71

"Be I liar, may the goddess destroy me," said
Ochen, and set his hands firm on the steel.

Calandryll studied the gnarled face, concentrated
his will, seeking knowledge of the sword. Surely,
did Ochen lie, were he false, the blade would know
it and show him for a betrayer. He felt nothing: the
ancient showed no discomfort. Calandryll said, "I
deem him truthful."

"Which is good enough for me," said Katya, add-
ing. softer, "for now, at least."

Ochen let go his hold and Calandryll sheathed
the blade, looking to Bracht. The Kern shrugged,
not speaking, and Calandryll said, "I say we allow
this gramarye."

"Aye," Katya agreed.

Bracht shrugged again, which Calandryll took as
acceptance. It did not occur to him to ask
Cennaire's opinion, nor did he see the shadow of
alarm that passed across her face as he returned his
gaze to Ochen and said, "So be it—work this
magic."

The ancient smiled and rose, his eyes level with
Calandryll's mouth. "I think," he said, smiling,
"that you had best seat yourself."

"And hold your sword," Bracht muttered.

"If you wish." Ochen's response was negligent,
confident.

Calandryll drew the sword closer, slipping it
once more from the scabbard, settling it across his
thighs, right hand firm on the hilt, left loose about
the edges, and Ochen stepped toward him.

The long-nailed hands were dry and warm as
they touched his cheeks, papery. He let them tilt
back his head so that he looked into the near-
hidden eyes. Ochen spoke, the words in a tongue
unknown, and the eyes—a yellow, Calandryll brief-
ly realized, akin to the feline shades that seemed

72 ANGUS WELLS

common among the Jesserytes, but brighter, more
golden—expanded, glowing, until all else was lost
in hues of swirling light. He caught the scent of al-
monds, and thought an instant of Menelian, in
Vishat'yi, then of nothing, for he plunged into the
light and it consumed him, filling him.

There was darkness for a moment then, and he
shook his head, as does a man waking from sleep,
unsure how long the mage had held him, blinking
as his vision cleared, seeing Ochen stood back,
smiling. He glanced at the sword: straight, edged
steel, no hint of magic in it, and looked a question
at Bracht, at Katya.

Both shook their heads. The woman said, "There
was no sign."

"I felt nothing," he replied, and wondered why
she frowned.

Because, he realized with a shock, he used
Jesseryte words, and said the same again, in the
Envah.

"A most useful gramarye," she murmured. "A
gift worth the accepting."

"Then take it," Ochen said, and touched her
face-

Calandryll watched, intently, the words the sor-
cerer spoke no more comprehensible than before,
the almond scent as pungent. No light, though, this
time, only the small, old man standing over the
taller woman, her flaxen hair streamed back as she
tilted her head, accepting. It did not take long, no
more than a few heartbeats before he released her,
and she sat a little while, seeming confused, rub-
bing at her eyes. Then she smiled and said, "I feel
no different,"

Like Calandryll, she spoke in the Jesseryte lan-
guage-

Bracht flinched as Ochen came toward him, body

WILD MAGIC                            73

t

9

stiff with tension, distaste writ clear on his lean
features, but still he submitted, allowing the mage
to instill the gift of tongues.

"Was that so painful?" Ochen asked gently, and
Bracht shook his head, answering. "Tak," which in
Jesseryte was "no."

The sorcerer went then to Cennaire, who
flinched like Bracht, so that Calandryll thought her
fearful and said, seeking to reassure her, "There's
neither pain nor harm."

He could not know she feared revelation, feared
that Ochen must look into the depths of her be-
ing and expose her. She thought a moment of re-
sisting—and knew that, too, must reveal her, close
to panic then, contemplating flight. To where,
though? How far might she get, two armored men
across the table, more outside? And the mage close-
Menelian she had defeated—would Ochen see that?
See the blood on her hands?—but he had contested
alone: did she resist this wizard, fight him, might
Calandryll not take up that goddess-blessed blade
and use it on her? That, she thought, she could not
defeat.

Then gentle hands rested warm against her skin.
Almost, she clutched the wrists; might, she knew,
have snapped them, but Ochen spoke, soft, whis-
pering.

"We each do what we must; play the part as-
signed us. But fate's road makes many turnings,
there are many branches. Fear not, your decision
must be later come."

Somehow she knew that she alone of all within
the chamber heard him, and felt a calm descend,
confident—though she knew not how—that did he
pierce the secret lodged beneath her ribs, he would
not speak of it. At least, not yet; perhaps never. She

ANGUS   WELLS

forced her trembling body to relax and gave herself
up to his magic.

"You see?" Calandryll was smiling at her. "Was
it so hard?"

"Tak," she answered. "]o ke-amrisen," and re-
turned his smile, relieved.

Ochen studied her a moment, inscrutable, then
nodded as if satisfied, turning away to resume his
seat.

"We may now converse freely," he announced.
"Let us properly introduce ourselves, as civilized
folk do."

He performed a seated bow. indicating that the
four—guests or still prisoners, they were not yet
entirely certain—should speak first.

One by one they named themselves in full,
which took no great time, and then Ochen said
formally, "I am, as you know, Ochen. By full title,
I am Ochen Tajen Makusen, of Pamur-teng, home
hold of the clan Makusen. I hold the title of
wazir—sorcerer and priest of Horul."

He bowed again and Chazali came to his feet, ar-
mor rattling, head ducking in ritual greeting, a
hand slapping his breastplate in formal salute.

"I am Chazali Nakoti Makusen of the clan
Makusen, kiriwashen of Pamur-teng."

Again, he bowed, and resumed his place as
Temchen rose, performing the same ritual salute.

"I am Temchen Nakoti Makusen of the clan
Makusen. I am kutushen of Pamur-teng."

The titles were unfamiliar, even granted Ochen's
gift of comprehension, military ranks as best the
four could understand. The kiriwashen was the
senior, commander of thousands, the title meant,
the kutushen leader of a hundred. Calandryll, dip-
lomatic, asked, "How shall we address you?" even
as he wondered what brought officers of such sta-

WILD MAGIC 75

tus to a keep that could surely not hold a garrison
of more than a century.

"With honored guests it is our custom that the
birth-name be used," said Ochen. "Shall that suit?"

Calandryll answered in the affirmative, the ten-
sion eased somewhat, but not yet dissipated, trust
a promise yet to be grasped firm. Bracht sat silent,
his face set in controlled lines, as if he was not yet
convinced- Cennaire was thoughtful. Katya ap-
peared better at ease, and asked, "Shall you now ex-
plain?"

"As best I may," Ochen returned, and gestured at
the glyphs covering the walls. "These, as you sur-
mise, are sigils of gramarye; set to defend us
against such prying as my kind command. Within
this chamber, none may know what we say or do."

"Why?" Bracht demanded.

Ochen sighed, fingers entwining, his silvered
head lowering a moment, as if he collected
thoughts, then: "We embark on a lengthy tale.
Shall it be told over wine?"

Without awaiting a reply, he nodded to Temchen,
who rose and strode to the door, calling out that
wine and cups be brought- They waited until a man
returned, bearing a tray of lacquered wood that he
set down on the table, bowing low and withdraw-
ing. When the door was closed behind him, Tem-
chen took the golden jug and filled the seven
porcelain cups with a dark yellow liquid. Calan-
dryll saw that Bracht waited until the Jesserytes
had sipped before tasting the vintage; and that his
reticence was noticed by Ochen. For his own part,
he drank readily enough, not anticipating treach-
ery, and found the wine good, rich, and slightly
sweet.

"You know my land as the Forbidden Country."
Ochen set down his cup, nodding thanks as Tem-

76 ANGUS WELLS

chen poured another measure. "Few venture here—
visitors/ wanderers, are discouraged. Those mer-
chants trading out of Lysse—what few Vanu folk
come down the coast—are confined in Nywan, the
Closed City: we have our reasons for such secrecy.
Those reasons are our history and, I ofttimes think,
our curse.

"Some claim our land was shaped and we put
here by the First Gods. This may be true—I do not
know—only that to south and west the Kess
Imbrun is a barrier few attempt; our eastern coast-
line is bleak: little reason for any to make landing.
And to the north lies the Borrhun-maj." He paused,
sipping wine, wiping delicately at his long mus-
tache. "Beyond those mountains . . . some say the
world ends; others claim the First Gods dwell there
.. . none know for sure because none go there. That
passage, its attempting even, is forbidden on pain of
death. Though"—a rueful chuckle—"such edict is
hardly needful, the Borrhun-maj being impassable."

"You say it so?" Katya demanded when he
paused again.

"I say it so," he confirmed, "even though you'd
attempt it."

"You forbid us?" snapped Bracht.

And Ochen raised a hand. mildly gesturing the
Kern to silence. "I say that magic of inconceivable
power is vested there," he answered. "That layer
upon layer of barriers exist. Do you folk of Cuan
na'For—folk known for your courage—not avoid
the Geff Pass, that place you name Hell Mouth? Do
such creatures as inhabit nightmares not dwell
therein? I tell you that worse exist in the Borrhun-
maj, and that they are no more than gatekeepers."

"Gatekeepers may be avoided." Bracht said, "and
monsters slain."

"Oh, that I know. And that you've done as much."

WILD MAGIC

77

Ochen smiled briefly as the Kern frowned. "Much of
what you three have accomplished we wazirs have
seen. But I tell you still that such creatures as you
encountered in Tezin-dar are as nothing to these."

Now Calandryll frowned, wondering how the an-
cient mage came by such knowledge of their jour-
neyings. What magicks did the wazirs of the
Jesseryn Plain command, that they might know of
Tezin-dar?

"Think you that your travails go unnoticed?"
Did Ochen read his mind? His expression? "What
you have done, what you attempt—that affects the
occult fundus. The aethyr is not a thing apart, but
a realm that coexists with our mortal plane—and
you are known there."

"More riddles!" Bracht reached across the table
for the jug. "Must sorcerers always speak in rid-
dles?"

"At times perforce we must," said Ochen, not of-
fended; more amused, it seemed, for all a terrible
gravity lay beneath his words, behind his gentle
smile. "The aethyr is a hard thing to explain/ nei-
ther do we who are gifted with the sight, the talent
for sorcery, always comprehend that realm—so,
aye: betimes we've only riddles to use, not plain
words."

"I," said Bracht. "am a plain man."

"Plainly," agreed Ochen, "and you've my word I
shall do my best to set this out in simple language.
But I crave your indulgence—hear me out and ask
what questions you will. My word on honest an-
swers; though not, I fear, always simple."

Bracht was a little mollified by that return and
ducked his head, gesturing for the mage to con-
tinue.

"For now accept that your quest was noticed,"
Ochen went on, "that our magicks showed us such

ANGUS   WELLS

78

disturbance within the occult realm that we
guessed a part and saw another. Much, I suspect, as
did the mages of Vanu." This with a glance at
Katya, who nodded confirmation. "And doubtless
others. Though it would seem they saw it un-
clearly, or chose to do nothing, or were otherwise
occupied."

"Menelian said as much'" Calandryll could not
help himself: he found trust in this wizened old
man burgeoned, and a tremendous curiosity. "In
Vishat'yi he said the same."

"He was a sorcerer?" asked Ochen.

"In service to the Tyrant of Kandahar," Calan-
dryll replied, choosing to ignore Bracht's warning
grunt. Did Ochen see so much, what reason to at-
tempt concealment? "Busied with civil war."

"Kandahar rises against its Tyrant? Aught else?"

For an instant the narrow eyes blazed golden,
alarmed; Calandryll nodded and said, "In Lysse my
brother would raise a navy, go to war with
Kandahar. In Cuan na'For, Jehenne ni Larrhyn
spoke of bellicose alliance, the invasion of Lysse."

"He stirs! All the gods help us, he stirs! Thank
Horul you were found!" Ochen grew agitated a mo-
ment, calmed himself with visible effort. Across
the table, Temchen and Chazali radiated palpable
tension, their armor rattling as they shifted uncom-
fortably, like warhorses sensing impending battle,
Then: "Endings and beginnings entwine here, and
we had best join all we know together do we dare
hope for success."

"You speak of Tharn?" asked Calandryll. "Of the
Mad God?"

"None else." Ochen answered with a solemn
nod, "But let me seek the start of this thread and
spin it out in ways we may all understand. So: the
Borrhun-maj is formidably guarded. Vile creatures

WILD MAGIC

• 79

roam those slopes, and did you avoid them, then
still you must face the mountains, which touch the
sky and howl with such cold winds as still the
blood, even at summer's height. More—there are
gramaryes set there by the First Gods, by Yl and
Kyta themselves, that none may approach those
places where they set their sons, Tharn and
Balatur, when the godwars were ended."

"And yet," said Calandryll, "there is a way, no?"

"Aye," said Ochen. "The which—may the gods
forgive me—prompts me to wonder if even gods are
truly all-knowing. There is a way, were the traveler
possessed of such knowledge and such power as to
attempt it. And were he mad enough!

"Listen, legend has it that we Jesserytes were set
down in this place to ward those approaches—for
that reason, and that alone, we cut ourselves off,
became the Forbidden Country—that none should
find their way to Tharn's resting place. Nor
Balatur's, lest that balance brought by the Younger
Gods be disturbed and all the world fall down in
chaos.

"That trust we have held down all the span of
centuries; and well enough, I think. But still, long
and long ago, the wazirs of that time perceived
such portents as suggested the way was found, or
known of, at the least. Then, little could be
done—it was scried only that the presence of the
book—the Arcanum!—was known, and that one
sought it. Who, remained a mystery, and it was be-
lieved that Tezin-dar itself was lost in terms both
physical and magical."

He broke off. taking more wine, as if needing
such fortification. Calandryll said bitterly, "Rhytha-
mun!"

"Is such his name? I had thought none lived so
long."

ANGUS   WELLS

80

"He changes shape," said Katya. "His presence
became known to the holy men of Vanu. He has
lived for centuries, taking one body after another.
He has the form of a Jesseryte now."

"Horul!" Ochen shook his head. "And you quest
after him?"

"He tricked us." Calandryll encompassed Bracht,
Katya, with a glance. "We found the way to Tezin-
dar—that we might secure the Arcanum and bring
it to Vanu, that the holy men might destroy it—but
Rhythamun duped us and seized the book. We
three have followed him since. We made a vow, to
the Guardians of Tezin-dar."

"And now he is on the Jesseryn Plain." Ochen
looked to Temchen, Chazali, whose faces sat grim.
"And even in his limbo, Tharn senses his coming
and lends what aid he may. War in Kandahar, you
say? The Domm of Lysse waxing bellicose? Tharn
calls for blood and his lust shakes the world."

"Cennaire knows his face—Rhythamun's." Calan-
dryll nodded in the direction of the Kand woman.
"Do you lend us your aid, perhaps we may catch
him."

"Perhaps." Ochen fixed Cennaire with a hooded
stare. "Perhaps it is not so easy."

"You would not aid us?"

The mage turned to Bracht and said, "Warrior, I
promise you all the aid it is in my power to com-
mand. But that may not be enough. No, wait." The
same authority that earlier had stilled sword
strokes rang in his voice: Bracht frowned, quench-
ing whatever comment formed. "I have told you
that your coming was foreseen, and so it was—that
three should enter this land in friendship—but
Tharn moves to cloud the aethyr, camouflaging
his disciple's purpose, easing the passage of this
Rhythamun.

WILD MAGIC 81

"For that reason were you brought to me bound,
gagged—for fear you were not those scried, but
agents of that other. This land is closer than most
to that limbo the god now occupies—we are not
immune to his fell workings"—a bitter laugh inter-
rupted his discourse—"no; though since the Great
Khan fell we had thought it so. Aye, Bracht, we
looked to invade your land then. Because the Khan
was tainted by Tharn's dreaming magicks, and led
his clan out from Kesh-teng to conquer all the
Plain and bring all the clans under his single rule.
For a while he enjoyed success, but then the wazirs
of that time, and such clans as escaped the taint,
fought him. And won—Kesh-teng exists no longer!
It was razed, and only dust remains. We believed
such threat could never again bespoil the Plain. But
we were wrong—like Kandahar, we fight a war."

Sorrow, and more than a little anger, etched the
lines upon his face deeper then, and his voice fal-
tered, as if this announcement pained him beyond
speaking. He dropped his head, motioning for
Chazali to continue-

The kiriwashen said, "The tengs of Zaq, Fechin,
and Bachan form an alliance. Pamur-teng, Ozali-
teng, and Anwar-teng stand in opposition. A mad-
ness stalks our land: the rebel horde now closes on
Anwar-teng."

Anwar, Calandryll realized, meant "the Gate."
An ugly suspicion stirred: he asked, "What impor-
tance does Anwar-teng have?"

Ochen composed himself with visible effort,
taking up the tale again. "With the ending of the
Great Khan's tyranny the land was, for some while,
in disarray. Families vied for supremacy, outlaw
bands roamed at will. Order was restored only when
the wazir-narimasu—the greatest of the sorcerer-
priests—leant their support to the Soto-Imjen, de-

82 ANGUS WELLS

claring that clan supreme by birth and blood. Even
then, that the Soto-Imjen should not wax prideful
as had the Great Khan, the clan was required to
renounce its ancestral hold and reside in Anwar-
teng, sworn to the defense of that place. They took
up residence in the holy city, peace reigned ..."
He paused, barked a single, bitter laugh. "Until
recently! But I run ahead of my tale—that none
should again seek to establish himself supreme, it
was decreed that while the Khan should be of the
Soto-Imjen, each hold should send representatives—
Shendii—to Anwar-teng to sit in the Mahzlen, the
Great Council, advised by the wazir-narimasu, Our
Khan is now Akija Soto-Imjen, who is but seven
years of age. Therefore, a regent was named—
Nazichi Ojen-Canusi, of Bachan-teng—which was
thought a wise decision until Nazichi declared him-
self Khan! He looks to establish the Canusi in place
of our rightful ruler, and in his support the repre-
sentatives of Zaq-teng. Fechin-teng, and Bachan-
teng withdrew from the Mahzlen. Now the armies
of those holds march out in battle array.

"Anwar-teng lies under siege. Do the insurrec-
tionists take that place, then they possess a dread-
ful threat to hold over those loyal to the Soto-Imjen
and the Mahzlen."

"The loyal Shendii would die in battle first,"
Chazali declared, his voice dour as his face. "Or
take their own lives before surrender."

"Whichever," Ochen said, "chaos must surely
follow. Do the rebels take Anwar-teng, they will
next move against Pamur-teng and Ozali-teng.
Such bloodshed must be food and drink to Tharn;

and such warfare must render the finding of this
Rhythamun mightily difficult."

"Ahrd!" Bracht's voice was soft. "We ride into
another war."

WILD MAGIC 83

"But you say Anwar-teng houses these wazir-
narimasu," Calandryll said, "and that they are your
most powerful sorcerers. Can they not defeat the
attackers?"

"Were it so simple." Ochen spread helpless
hands. "But the wazir-narimasu are sworn to peace.
Theirs is another duty, and they are bound by such
gramaryes as divest them of all power do they turn
to warfare. Thus are they helpless in this matter."

Calandryll was about to speak, to put another
question, but Bracht forestalled him. "And you."
the Kern demanded, "the wazirs like you—are you
so bound?"

"No." The old man shook his head. "We may use
our talents in hostile manner; though we prefer we
should not."

"Save those traitors with the rebellious tengs,"
Chazali grunted. "Their conscience is not so fine."

"Then why," Bracht began, halting as Ochen
once more raised a hand, anticipating the question-

"Fd ride with the loyal armies," the wazir de-
clared, "as would Chazali and Temchen, were there
not other matters—likely of greater import. This
keep"—he waved a hand, indicating the chamber,
the walls beyond—"is manned by one hundred cho-
sen men. By turn and turn about each teng sends a
century to guard the Daggan Vhe. For this turn, it
was the task of Pamur-teng, which sent its soldiers
honestly. A century of warriors out of Pamur-teng
occupied this keep—all are dead now. Slain by fell
wizardry.

"Your coming, as I have told you, was scried. A
messenger was sent, to alert the kutushen here that
you might be met and brought to me. No word
came back, and with my art I saw slaughter done.
It was obscure—clouded by Tharn's design, I
believe!—but of such a magnitude that Chazali

8-f ANGUS W-ELLS

deemed it wise to come here. We found only
corpses; a keep held by occult creatures."

"Rhythamun warded his back!" gasped Calandryll.

"So it would seem." Ochen spoke gravely.
"There were such creatures in possession as took
all my power to defeat, and not a few lives."

"They slew fifty of my warriors," Chazali added,
grim-voiced. "And my men do not die easily."

"But Rhythamun was recently shape-shifted,"
Katya protested, looking from kiriwashen to wazir.
"And that must surely weaken him. How was it
possible he could raise such things?"

"It is my belief," Ochen replied in somber tones,
"that as he draws closer to Tharn, so his strength
waxes. No less, as all the world—or so it seems—
turns warward, so does the Mad God's dreaming
power increase. The disciple feeds his master and
the master strengthens the disciple. Close as this
land is to Tharn's limbo, the war we fight must
greatly aid him."

"And make our way harder," Bracht offered.

"Wait, please." Questions swarmed in Calandryll's
mind, like troubled bees, fast buzzing, so that it was
difficult to find the words that might dispel his
growing alarm. It seemed a pressure built within the
confines of his skull, a dull ache starting there, and
he rubbed at his temples, frowning. "Cennaire saw
Rhythamun take the form of a Jesseryte warrior, saw
him summon men across the Daggan Vhe. They
must have come from here, no? So it must be the
body of a warrior out of Pamur-teng he possesses.
Shall you not know him, then?"

Ochen might have shrugged—beneath the wide-
spread shoulders of his tunic it was hard to tell—
and answered bluntly, sadly, "The men we found
were riven, butchered like meat: they were beyond
recognizing one from the other- And this Rhytha-

W1LD MAGIC 85

mun did not linger—I'd know—but traveled on
about his filthy purpose."

"To the Borrhun-maj?" Calandryll stared at the
seamed face, wondering why his head pounded so.
"Or to some other place?"

Before Ochen had chance to reply, Bracht spoke:

"Shall this war not slow him? If he wears the body
of a warrior out of Pamur-teng, then must he not
find himself ranked with others? Forced to play a
part?"

"Perhaps. But that shall be no great hardship, nor
much hindrance. Does he but play the part of sim-
ple warrior, then he must find himself marching
northward—to the relief of Anwar-teng—and that
is the direction he seeks, is it not?"

Bracht mouthed a curse, scowling reluctant
agreement. Katya frowned and asked, "Shall your
fellow sorcerers not scry him for what he is, and
employ their powers to thwart him?"

"It may be so," Ochen replied. "I pray it be so! But
I fear the god he seeks to raise will strengthen those
magicks with which he conceals himself. He may
well defeat such scrying; defeat their power, even."

"Then when the army of Pamur-teng joins with
the others," asked the warrior woman, "shall there
not then be sufficient wazirs as shall know him
and defeat him?"

"Then, aye," Ochen conceded. "But then he shall
stand even closer to his master, his strength duly
augmented. And in the midst of battle it cannot be
difficult for him to elude pursuit. And it is entirely
possible those wazirs of the hostile tengs might aid
him, should he go to them."

"Knowing what he is?" Katya's eyes grew wide,
aghast at the notion. "Knowing what he would do?"

"They move against Anwar-teng," Ochen said
slowly, "and that alone is a madness surely born of

86 ANGUS WELLS

Tharn's influence- Be they seduced by the god, then
perhaps ... aye, they might."

Storm built afresh in the grey eyes; it seemed, al-
most, lightning flashed there as Katya shook her
head in horrified denial, frightened acceptance. "Is
all the world gone mad?" she whispered.

"Perhaps," came the sorcerer-priest's answer,
"save for a few still sane. See you now why I set
these protections about us?"

Katya nodded; Calandryll fought the throbbing
pain inside his head to say: "All roads, it seems,
lead to Anwar-teng. Why?"

Ochen paused, his expression troubled. Calandryll
heard the soft intake of Temchen's breath, saw
Chazali's impassive features stiffen, and guessed he
struck to the heart of the matter. He waited, shafts
of stabbing pain behind his eyes, as the mage looked
to the kiriwashen, to the kutushen, wishing he knew
better how to read those inscrutable visages, for he
sensed hesitation, a heartbeat of doubt, as though
this were a matter they would prefer be left alone.
He saw Chazali incline his head a fraction—granting
permission? Agreeing whatever unseen question he
read in Ochen's look? Calandryll was unsure- In a
voice calmer than he felt, he said, pressing, "Truth
was promised between us, an honest exchange."

"Aye." Ochen turned to face him, solemn. "That
was so, and truth you shall have—though none
others beyond our lands, and none too many here,
have ever been granted this revelation.

"The Borrhun-maj is but one entryway to that
limbo where the Mad God lies- Anwar-teng guards
another."




THE sun had shifted westward as they spoke,
the light entering from the circular opening in
the roof no longer a vertical column pooling over
the angles of the table, but slanted now, limning
Ochen with dramatic intensity. His silver hair glit-
tered, the lines mapping his ancient face deepened,
emphasizing the gravity of his expression. Calan-
dryll stared at him, struck momentarily dumb,
numbed by the import of the aged sorcerer's an-
nouncement. The drumming ache within his skull
grew worse and he closed his eyes an instant
against the pain. Motes of dust danced in the light;

silence hung heavy in the chamber. It was Katya
who broke it, her voice somber.

"If Anwar-teng is a gateway ... if Rhythamun
should reach it ..."

She broke off, eyes wide, fearful. Bracht took up
the stream of her thought, his voice harsh: "He's
won! And he might well change his shape again,
ensuring he stands on the victor's side. Rebel or

88 ANGUS WELLS

loyal ... Ahrd! It can make little difference to him.
He needs but enter the city."

"And reach the gate."

Katya spoke softly, awed/ and it seemed to
Calandryll her words came muffled, slow as the so-
norous beat of a distant drum, pounding against his
senses, each syllable striking a fresh spark of agony.
He thought his skull must burst and stretched his
jaw to fashion a response that came out a strangled
moan. The pain consumed him, and he felt his
muscles gripped with a strange torpor, his vision
clouding, as if blood vessels burst behind his eyes,
so that faces, the sunlight, blurred into a misty red.
He fought a terrible lassitude, despondent thoughts
filling his head. He had believed they found valu-
able allies in their quest, such men as could speed
their passage across the Jesseryn Plain, bring them
to Rhythamun. With Ochen's aid and all the might
of Chazali's warriors at their back it had seemed
they had at last an advantage, such as could grant
them the upper hand in that ultimate confronta-
tion. Now all that was dashed, the tables, so it
seemed, once more turned in favor of their quarry.
For all the Younger Gods gave what help they
could, still there seemed a greater design worked to
hinder them, to advance Rhythamun on his way.
With hostile armies marching, Anwar-teng be-
sieged, how could they hope to find the warlock?
How prevent him broaching the gate? Once more
the odds seemed impossible, too great to dare hope.
For a dismal while he thought perhaps they had
better concede the victory—there seemed scant
likelihood now of thwarting Rhythamun's foul in-
tent.

He struggled against the assailing doubts and it
was as though he battled with hot and bloody fog,
tendrils of awful despair swirling, mocking, reas-

WILD MAGIC 89

sembling even as he sought to drive them off. The
chamber dimmed before his eyes, Ochen's face no
longer lit but lost, all become ensanguined, mias-
mic, hopeless, and he trapped there, a helpless fly
in some painful psychic web.

He groaned, starting, as he became aware of a
hand upon his shoulder, firm, that touch like a
rope thrown to a drowning man, faint words cut-
ting through the pain.

"What ails you?"

He heard Bracht's voice as if from a great distance
and shook his head, unable to form an answer, feel-
ing sweat cold down his back, the aching pressure
of tight-clenched teeth, overwhelming despair.

"Gramaryes."

That was Ochen's voice, faint as a whisper, fol-
lowed by light and the indistinct mumble of words
in a tongue unfamiliar. The bloody fog dissipated
and his vision cleared, sharpened, until he saw the
mage on his feet, hands moving in strange, intri-
cate patterns, seeming to paint sigils on the empty
air. The scent of almonds wafted sweet and he was
unsure whether he truly saw streamers of crimson
brume dull and fade, or if that was merely an
imposition of a mind that demanded physical ex-
planation of the inexplicable. He watched with
tear-blurred eyes as the sorcerer completed his in-
cantation, clapped his hands three times, and re-
sumed his seat.

"I should have foreseen this cunning. He left
more than monsters behind." Ochen drew the wine
jug closer, filled Calandryll's cup, pressed shaking
hands about the porcelain. "For those who stand
close to the occult, he left other devices. But gone
now; from this chamber, at least, and soon from all
the keep."

Calandryll held the cup in both his hands, won-

90 ANGUS WELLS

dering at the effort it took to raise so slight an ob-
ject to his lips. He drained the wine in rapid gulps,
not speaking until all was gone.

"Dera, what say you? That I am easy prey to his
magicks?"

Ochen studied him awhile, thoughtfully. "I say
that some stand closer to the aethyr than others;

that in some there is a ... power . . . that may be
used. Sometimes against them."

"Menelian discerned as much," Bracht mur-
mured, a steadying hand on Calandryll's shoulder,
concern in his eyes.

Calandryll looked to the Kern, to Ochen, and
reached for the jug, his grip firmer now as he
poured. "I am no sorcerer," he argued.

"No—you are no sorcerer," the wizard said,
agreeing. "But still there is that in you that might
make you such. The talent is raw, I think, and
you've not the knack of its usage, but you stand
close to the aethyr."

"And thus I am vulnerable?" Calandryll wiped
wine from his lips and barked a sour laugh, fright-
ened. "Do you say that? That Rhythamun may bet-
ter cast his spells on me than on my comrades?
What does that make me, then? A lodestone to his
fell magicks? Perhaps a threat to those about me?"

"Perhaps," said Ochen bluntly, "but listen—this
blade"—he tapped the sheathed straightsword—
"what is it? A sword in most hands, and no more,
to be used for good or ill—that depends on the
wielder. Your goddess blessed it, gifted it with that
power you know it holds, and that power that rests
in you is much the same."

"Save that Rhythamun's gramaryes touch me
deeper, it would seem." Still his voice was harsh,
edged with doubt. "Does that not render me a dan-
ger?"

WILD MAGIC 91

"It need not." Ochen shook his head, speaking
calmly. "Aware, you are forewarned, armed against
his trickery."

"But why now?" Calandryll demanded. "Ere now
I've stood closer to him, faced his creations even,
but not felt that ..."

He shuddered, remembering skull-bursting pres-
sure, the cloying sensation of dread and despair, of
hopelessness. Ochen waved a haftA and said, "Be-
cause he waxes stronger, because he draws closer to
Tham. Because the Mad God grows stronger. Be-
cause"—a smile now, incongruously mischievous—
"the god fears such as you."

Calandryll gasped, wine dribbling unnoticed
down his chin. "Why should Tham fear me?" he
muttered. "Why am I singled out?"

"I think because of that power," Ochen replied.
"And you are not singled out—I suspect the god
fears all who move against him."

"But surely he rests in limbo." The notion that
Tham should be aware of his existence was fright-
ening: to oppose a man, albeit a warlock of dreadful
strength, was one thing; to believe that he opposed,
directly, a god was an entirely—daunting!—
concept. "How can he know of me? Of us?"

He turned, encompassing Bracht and Katya with
his gaze, seeing their faces stem, Cennaire's beyond
no less grave.

"I do not think that gods sleep as men do, nor is
their dreaming harmless." Ochen's tunic shifted,
rustling; perhaps he shrugged. "We speak of mat-
ters that have occupied the wazir-narimasu for cen-
turies, and I am too humble a mage to pretend full
knowledge of such affairs, but I suspect that just as
Tham is aware of those who seek to raise him, so
is he aware of those who stand against that end.
Perhaps not of you, personally, but in the way that

92 ANGUS WELLS

a dog—forgive me—is aware of the fleas that roam
its hide."

"So now," said Bracht softly/ "we face an enemy
greater even than Rhythamun."

"Have you not all down your road?" The slitted
eyes turned on the Kern. "Has your way not always
been opposed?"

"By men," Bracht said. "Sometimes by creatures
of the occult."

"And you have overcome those obstacles."
Ochen nodded, confirming his own observation.
"Neither have you faltered."

"We had not thought to face the god himself,"
Calandryll murmured. "Rhythamun, aye. But the
Mad God himself?"

"Shall you turn back then?" Ochen wondered.
"My promise remains—safe passage across the Kess
Imbrun."

"No!"

The denial was voiced unthinking, echoed by
Bracht and Katya. The Kern said, "We've come too
far."

Ochen chuckled, the sound musical, and clapped
his hands in approval. "Perhaps it shall not come
to that," he said. "Perhaps we shall halt this
Rhythamun before he reaches Anwar-teng. Or"—an
afterthought—"the Borrhun-maj."

"WeF asked Bracht.

"Of course." The silvered head fragmented
shards of brilliance as it nodded. "Did you think to
go on alone? What aid is ours to give, you shall
have in full measure."

Across the table, their faces shadowed now,
Chazali and Temchen grunted their agreement.

"I propose," said Ochen, "that we quit this place
as soon we may. Do I employ myself, I can banish
the last of Rhythamun's gramaryes ere long, and

WILD MAGIC 93

then we may proceed to Pamur-teng. The warriors
march by now, but there may be news; if not, then
we go on to join the armies."

"At Anwar-teng?" Calandryll wondered.

"There they march," Ochen confirmed. "There, I
think, Rhythamun must surely go."

"And should he avoid the hold? Make for the
Borrhun-maj?"

"Anwar-teng is closer, its defenses made by men/
not gods." Ochen stroked a moment at his mus-
tache, musing. "Does he go past the hold, then I
shall know—and we shall pursue him."

"The wazir-narimasu," offered Katya, "shall they
not deny him access to this gateway?"

"As best they may," Ochen replied/ "but theirs is
a way of peace, and I fear this close to Tharn,
Rhythamun may find the strength to overcome
them."

"How is this gate so easily broached?" Bracht
clenched a fist, opened it, frustrated.

Ochen sighed and said, "Anwar-teng was built to
guard the gate, to conceal it. The secret has been
ever close-kept, and few know of its existence—the
wazir-narimasu, the clan sorcerers, none others ere
now. Until I deemed it needful neither Chazali nor
Temchen thought Anwar-teng more than the hold
of the Soto-Imjen, of the Mahzlen. It was never
thought any should be so crazed as to seek entry,
and so the wazir-narimasu look to prevent exit
rather than ingress."

"Shall Rhythamun know it?"

Calandryll clutched straw, snatched from him by
Ochen's solemn answer: "I think he must. Even
does he not already, then I think Tham will find a
way to alert him."

"Ahrd!" Bracht's hand was fisted again, crashing
angrily against the table's top, wine jug and cups

ANGUS   WELLS

rattling, the action eliciting grunts of disapproval
from the two armored officers. "Does all favor the
gharan-evur?"

Ochen's brows rose, but he offered no reply.
Katya said, "He must yet reach the teng; enter to
reach the gate. What chance have we of overtaking
him?"

"Some." Ochen's voice remained solemn. He
turned to Temchen: "Do you find us a chart?"

The kutushen nodded and rose, disappearing into
the shadows that filled the farther reaches of the
chamber. There was the sound of wood scraping, a
cover lifted and replaced, and Temchen returned to
the table, spreading a scroll within the radius of the
sunlight, weighting the corners with cups as all
rose, clustering round as Chazali indicated the
map, his guttural voice identifying the places
marked thereon.

"The Kess hnbrun; we are here." A blunt nail
tapped, moving on a line, northward. "This is
Pamur-teng; this, Anwar-teng."

Ochen's spell did not extend to comprehension of
the written word, but as Chazali pointed to each
hold, Calandryll saw that Pamur-teng and Ozali-
teng stood much on a line, the tengs of Zaq and
Fechin to the east, above and below, hostile
Bachan-teng a little south of the lake, closest to the
besieged city. He asked, "How far to Pamur-teng?"

"Thirty days do we ride hard," advised Chazali.
"To Anwar-teng, another thirty. Far slower at the
army's pace."

"The armies march now?" Calandryll stared at
the map, willing himself to recall the lessons in
strategy, tactics, he had suffered long ago in Secca,
thinking them then no more than vaguely interest-
ing historical studies.

"They do," the kiriwashen confirmed.

WILD MAGIC 95

Calandryll peered, frowning, and touched a finger
to the dot that marked the site of Bachan-teng.
"This hold will come out to block them, no?" he
asked. "You'll meet in battle?"

"You've the grasp of it." Chazali smiled grim ap-
proval, nodding. "Aye, they'll likely act as rear-
guard. They've already warriors about Anwar-teng's
walls, though it's the others that form the main
force."

"Shall Pamur-teng and Ozali-teng march to-
gether?" Calandryll looked from chart to dark,
stern face. "Or look to divide the opposing army?"

Now Chazali barked laughter, glancing at
Temchen, at Ochen. "He's the gift of strategy be-
sides whatever else," he applauded. To Calandryll,
"The warriors of the clan Tessana will march north
out of Ozali-teng, to the southern shore of Lake
Galil; our Makusen make directly for Anwar-
teng—aye, we look to divide and weaken the en-
emy."

"But still these others lay siege." Calandryll set a
finger to the marking of Anwar-teng. "And
Rhythamun will likely hold the shape of a
Makusen warrior until it serves him better to take
another."

"That, or go on alone," grunted Bracht. "To
Anwar-teng, and there steal another's form."

"Aye." Calandryll nodded absently. "But for now
he's likely served best by the shape he has. Do we
ride hard, perhaps ..."

"We can do little else," said Katya.

"We can overtake the army," Chazali declared,
and looked to Cennaire. "Perhaps then you might
recognize him."

The Kand woman ducked her raven head, not
speaking, her lovely face grave.

96 ANGUS WELLS

"Still no easy task," Bracht murmured. "To find
one man in an army? Of how many?"

"Thousands," said Chazali. "Three thousand
from Pamur-teng alone."

Bracht said/ "Shall it be possible?"

"I've sight beyond my eyes," said Ochen. "I've
known something of his magicks, and that must
make it the easier to recognize him, even does he
look to guise himself with occult means."

"It seems," Calandryll declared, still studying
the chart, "that for now all we can do is chase the
army; and hope. How long before we may leave?"

The mage succeeded in shaping his wrinkles in
an expression of apology. "To cleanse this keep of
all the befouling gramaryes will take another day,
at least," he murmured.

Calandryll frowned. Bracht waved an irritable
hand: "No sooner? Ahrd, can we not leave now?
Must we grant him more time?"

"This keep must be manned," said Chazali.
"That duty belongs to Pamur-teng, and the clan
Makusen does not renege its promises. Nor will I
leave men in a post cursed by fell sorcery."

Voice and face were firm, brooking no argument;

Bracht shrugged, muttering an inarticulate oath.
Katya suggested, "Might some not go on?"

"That would be ... unwise." Ochen pointed a
golden nail at Calandryll. "I've the feeling Rhytha-
mun may know now of your coming—at least sus-
pect it—and perhaps leave ... hindrances ... along
his way. You'll travel safer in my company, but I've
a duty to my clan—Temchen remains here with his
century and I'd not leave him prey to occult crea-
tions- So, no—I fear you must curb your impa-
tience."

"Before, you gave us leave to go," said Bracht.
"Would you now halt us?"

WILD MAGIC 97

"Horul, but I'd heard you folk of Cuan na'For
were headstrong." Potential insult was defused by
the sorcerer's smile, his friendly tone. "You'd travel
an unknown land, strangers, unescorted? Hostile
armies on the march? And roving bands of tensai?
How far should you get, think you?"

"We've come thus far," snapped the Kern, "and
traveled stranger lands than this."

It was difficult, Calandryll realized, for him to
forget long-held prejudices. The self-imposed isola-
tion of the Jesserytes, all the tales told of them, stilL
rendered them suspicious in Bracht's eyes: for am
the friendship shown, trust was not yet entire. Helk_
smiled and said diplomatically, "That's true, but al-
ways aided by friends along the way—Yssym in
Gessyth, Menelian in Kandahar, the drachomanii in
Cuan na'For. We should not forget that, Bracht. Nor
spurn the advice of newfound allies."

"Likely Ochen speaks true," added Katya, laying
a hand on the Kern's arm. "And likely we shall
travel the faster in his company."

Bracht looked, for an instant, as if he would ar-
gue, but then he shrugged, essaying a somewhat
embarrassed smile- "Aye, perhaps you're right," he
admitted, bowing his conciliation. "Forgive me."

"We'd none of us delay longer than we must,"
said Ochen. "But nor would we leave clan brothers
in jeopardy."

That reasoning was such as Bracht understood:

he nodded, murmuring further apologies.

"I think/' said the mage, his voice mild, "that we
must all accustom ourselves to unforeseen alli-
ances. The Mad God threatens us all, and that
should make us comrades, no?"

"It should," Calandryll said firmly.

"Aye," said Bracht, Then grinned, adding, "But
still I'd see us on our way as soon as we may."

98 ANGUS WELLS

"Then best," returned Ochen, himself smiling,
"that I commence my task. Do you go with
Chazali, and he'll show you your quarters."

"And feed you," said the kiriwashen. "Or would
you bathe first?"

Katya and Cennaire said, "Bathe"; Calandryll and
Bracht said, "Eat." And Chazali laughed; for the
first time, Calandryll realized, the simple sound
rendering the impassive visage suddenly friendly,
confirming the bond that formed between them.

"I suggest," said the Jesseryte, "that we defer to
the women. Do I show you to your quarters and
then to the bathhouse?"

Calandryll bowed, gesturing that Chazali lead on.

THE chambers assigned them were Spartan, little
more than cells built into an inner wall, each with
a narrow window, shuttered but lacking glass, that
afforded a view down into an inner courtyard, across
to the keep's ramparts. Each contained a single bed,
alcoves cut into the sandy-colored stone of the
walls, a washstand, a locker; nothing more. The un-
carpeted floors, the walls, the ceilings, and the doors
were marked with Ochen's magical sigils, the paint
not yet completely dry. They left their gear inside
and followed Chazali to the bathhouse.

The corridors and halls they traversed were dim-
lit, painted with more glyphs, the armored figures
of Makusen warriors parting before the kiriwashen,
observing the strangers with slanted, incurious
eyes. The bathhouse itself was on the lowest level,
a wide, low-roofed hall misty with steam from the
huge tubs set into the floor. There were no win-
dows, the sole illumination a series of fat yellow
candles set on sconces along the walls, those
painted with yet more sigils.

WILD MAGIC 99

Chazali ushered them inside, hesitating a mo-
ment as if wary of offending guests, and said, "I am
unfamiliar with your customs. Do you bathe to-
gether, or alone?"

Bracht grinned at Katya, not speaking, and
Calandryll thought the Vanu woman blushed,
though in the dimness it was hard to tell- He found
himself wondering how Cennaire would react did
he suggest they bathe together, and what it would
be like to share a tub with her, his own cheeks
warming at the thought's excitement. He fought
the temptation, saying, "Alone," in a voice gone
suddenly gruff, so that Bracht's grin turned from
Katya to him and he felt the flush suffuse his
cheeks the more.

Chazali ducked his head and strode halfway
down the hall, near lost in mist and shadow, reach-
ing out to draw a screen from the wall, a cunningly
articulated construction of lacquered wood that ex-
tended across the room, hiding one tub from an-
other. Turning to the women, he said courteously,
"Do you remain here, then. When you are finished,
a man will bring you to your quarters." To the
men, he said, "Do you come with me," and led
them back through the door, along a corridor to an-
other entrance.

He left them and they stripped, sliding gratefully
into the tub, finding it deep, and filled with water
close to boiling. From beyond the dividing partition
came the sound of splashing and the low murmur
of voices, reminding Calandryll that only that thin
screen stood between him and the naked Cennaire:

excitement returned.

"Such modesty." Bracht's voice was deliberately
grave. "I commend you."

The water's heat was such that his skin was al-
ready red, the Kern's face indistinct behind the ris-

100 ANGUS WELLS

ing steam. He was grateful for that as he muttered,
"I'd not embarrass her. Or Katya."

Bracht's answer was a loud laugh. Calandryll
blushed deeper and said, "Katya advised me not to
press too hard."

"I suspect you'd not find her unwilling," came
the reply. "I saw her face as we spoke and she had
eyes only for you, save when Ochen addressed her
directly. I believe you find favor there."

Calandryll sought a suitable response, but found
none, contenting himself with a noncommittal
grunt as he wondered if Bracht spoke true, or
merely bantered with him. He hoped it was the
truth, albeit he was unsure what steps he should
take were it so.

"Still, we shall have time enough, it seems," the
Kern remarked, deliberately casual. "A night, an-
other day, in this place—what might happen?"

"Likely nothing," returned Calandryll, sharper
than he intended, aware embarrassment lent an
edge of irritation that Bracht cheerfully ignored.

"And then days—and long nights—on the road to
Pamur-teng."

"The which applies in equal measure to you and
Katya."

"Ah, but we made a vow," said Bracht, quite un-
abashed- "While you suffer no such stricture. Only
temptation."

"Not long ago you spoke for sending her back,"
Calandryll declared.

"Aye." The bantering tone departed, the Kern's
voice become serious. "And I would still, save you
appear fixed on bringing her."

"She knows Rhythamun's face," he replied.

"Ochen seems confident enough of recognizing
him," Bracht countered. "And should he take an-
other's form ... what use is she then? Save she

WILD MAGIC 101

warms your blankets along the way, I say she's bag-
gage."

Calandryll felt irritation grow—the more for the
accuracy of the Kern's words: with Ochen for ally,
Cennaire did seem supernumerary; but still he was
loath to bid her farewell. He hid ire and confusion
behind a lathering of soap and vigorous scrubbing.

"Well?" Bracht insisted.

Forced to respond, Calandryll shrugged soapy
shoulders. "Does it not seem strange we found her
there, at the Daggan Vhe?" he asked. "And she ob-
server to Rhythamun's taking of another shape?
Perhaps there was a design in that."

"Perhaps," Bracht allowed.

"And still all we agreed there stands," Calandryll
went on, not certain whether he spoke to convince
the Kern or himself, only that he wished Cennaire
to remain. "The Jesserytes would bring her across
the Kess Imbrun, but what then? Must she cross
Cuan na'For alone?"

"Aye, there's that," admitted Bracht.

Calandryll pounced on the reluctance in his
friend's voice. "Think you she could make such a
journey?" he demanded. "A solitary woman? Help-
less? Would you condemn her to that?"

"Ahrd!" Bracht grunted. "I concede the argu-
ment—she stays, and I'll say no more. Save"—he
chuckled lewdly—"that you, being under no vow,
follow my advice."

"Perhaps I shall," Calandryll muttered, and sank
beneath the water as the Kern laughed again and
said, "It would do you good ..."

"... like a young stallion with ..."

Calandryll submerged again.

"... mare," he heard as he broke surface, reply-
ing more coolly than he intended, "I'd not name
her mare."

102 ANGUS WELLS

Bracht heard the indignation in his voice and
said, "My friend, I only jest. No, she's certainly no
mare; and do you bed her or not, that's between the
two of you, and none other,"

Mollified, Calandryll nodded.

"So, I'll not speak of it again." Bracht tossed soap
away and sank himself awhile. "Now, do we drag
ourselves from this cooking pot before our blood
boils?"

Benches were set along the walls and they rested
there awhile, cooling, discussing all they had
learned, all that lay ahead.

"We've at least a destination now," Calandryll
remarked, "albeit an army stands betwixt it and
us."

"That may well delay Rhythamun in equal mea-
sure," Bracht grunted, toweling his long hair, "and
we've allies to speed our passage."

Calandryll turned his head, studying the Kern
with a grin. "Your tune changes," he said. "Are the
Jesserytes no longer monsters?"

"It would seem not," Bracht answered with a
shrug, a somewhat shamefaced smile. "Ahrd, but I
grew up with tales of their depravity—which now
appear no more than that: tales—and that's a hard
burden to shed. But I learn, you see? I learn to trust
sorcerers, so should I not trust those who offer aid?
Perhaps there is a design in this; perhaps Horul
sent these Makusen to aid us."

"Aye, perhaps." CalandrylTs murmured response
was thoughtful.

Bracht chuckled: "With all we face, best hope it's
so. For now, however, I hope to fill my belly. So, do
we find the dining hall?"

As if reminded they had eaten nothing since the
morning, Calandryll's stomach rumbled. "Aye," he
agreed.

WILD MAGIC 103

Dressed, they found a man waiting outside the
bathhouse, half-armored, his manner deferential as
if they now occupied a new status, no longer cap-
tives but respected guests. He bowed, murmuring
that they should follow him, and brought them
through the shadowy corridors to their quarters,
politely explaining that such outfits as were more
suitable to the company of wazir and kiriwashen
were prepared for them.

Within his cell, Calandryll found candles burn-
ing, lighting the simple chamber to a more, to him,
normal level, confirming his belief that the Jes-
serytes possessed such eyes as saw better in the
dark than his. He looked about and saw the gear he
had tossed carelessly on the bed was now neatly
stowed in alcoves and locker, his sword set upright
on a stand of dark red wood. On the bed he found
clothing of Jesseryte fashion—a shirt of pale blue
silk; a wide-shouldered crimson tunic embroidered
with a snarling dragon in gold and green that
wound sinewy across the chest, an emblem he as-
sumed was that of the Makusen clan sewn in black
and silver on the back; loose white trousers; and
ankle boots of soft green hide. So 'grand a costume
brought back memories of Secca, and for an instant
he recalled that the last time he had dressed in
such finery he had hoped to win Nadama den
Ecvin, and that her rejection of his suit had sent
him out, chagrined, to drown his sorrow and thus
encounter Bracht .. . that this whole long journey
into the unknown had begun there, in that instant
he knew Nadama was lost to him. He smiled as he
drew on the tunic: her face was blurred now, and
when he endeavored to find it, he saw Cennaire's
instead. Perhaps, he thought, he should take
Bracht's advice; or Katya's, which was to allow
events to take their natural course. Bracht's way

104 ANGUS WELLS

was direct, Katya's more subtle; and she was, after
all, a woman. Therefore, he told himself as he
wound a sash of iridescent gold about his waist,
Katya should know best, and he be better advised
to heed her. Aye, he would bide his time and judge
the moment rather than press headlong onward.

He was certain that did he press Cennaire and
she reject him, he would be mightily hurt. Such
pain he would not welcome; and therefore it seemed
the wiser course to wait, to hold back. Cowardice?
he wondered. Or sense? No matter—he felt some-
what less confused, less pressured; or, perhaps, safer.
And as Bracht had said, they faced long days to-
gether. He tied the sash and surveyed his splendid
costume, deciding that he cut a rather grand figure.

He moved to buckle on his sword, thinking bet-
ter of it—likely the Jesserytes would take offense
did a guest come armed to table—but instead took
his dirk concealing the blade beneath the tunic,
grinning as he thought that the innocent who had
fled Secca would never so instinctively seek that
protection.

Still grinning, he quit the room and went to
Bracht's door.

The Kern was dressed no less magnificently, al-
though he was considerably less at ease in the un-
familiar costume. He shifted restlessly, setting the
dark blue silk of his tunic to rustling, tugging at
the silver sash, glancing down at the loose jade-
green trousers.

"Ahrd, but I feel a popinjay," he grumbled.
"Could we not wear civilized clothes?"

"You look most handsome."

Katya emerged from her chamber and Bracht
stopped his fidgeting, jaw dropping as he gaped at
the Vanu woman. She wore a robe of glistening
black, all sewn with twining silver birds, high-

WILD MAGIC 105

collared, descending to her feet, the tips of silver
slippers peeking from beneath the hem. Her flaxen
hair was unbound, falling smooth over the gown's
shoulders, dramatic contrast to the sable silk, a
match to the embroidered birds. She smiled at the
Kem's expression, which remained amazed.

"And you ..." he mumbled. "Ahrd, but I've
never ..."

Katya laughed, waiting. Bracht shook his head,
helplessly. Calandryll said, "You look superb,"
then gaped himself as Cennaire came into the cor-
ridor.

Her gown was a reflection of Katya's, shimmer-
ing silver, the birds all black and green, her hair a
spill of blue-black, falling to the swell of her
breasts. Her lips shone red and her eyes were huge,
emphasized with kohl, flickering from one to the
other, fixing longest on Calandryll.

He bowed, as if once more in his dead father's
court, and said, "You are lovely," hearing the words
come out hoarse from a mouth gone suddenly dry.
Abruptly, he felt awkward, grateful to the armored
man who emerged from the shadows, bowing, in-
viting them to follow him to the dining hall. It was
hard to take his eyes from Cennaire's face, exciting
to offer her his arm, to feel her hand warm through
the silk. He struggled to remember the courtly
moves, the conversation, aware of Bracht's muffled
chuckle at his back. No words came and he swal-
lowed, cursing himself, his mind gone blank of
compliments.

At his side, Cennaire needed no augmented
senses to recognize arousal, or embarrassment, and
deemed it wisest to affect modesty, murmuring a
demure "My thanks. You, too, are splendid," con-
cealing her smile as he cleared his throat, opened

106 ANGUS WELLS

his mouth to reply, thought better of it, and mut-
tered, "Thank you," in a near groan.

To Calandryll, it was almost a relief to enter the
hall and find himself in such company as distracted
him a little from the woman.

The chamber, like all others in the keep, was cre-
puscular, the flambeaux mounted along the dark-
paneled walls shedding no more than flickering
pools of light, their smoke sweet-scented, mingling
with the odors of roasting meat and wine- There
were windows, but shuttered against the night
now, so that the colorfully garbed Jesserytes who
occupied the five long tables were near ghostly fig-
ures, their dark faces lost, as if the bright tunics
themselves were animated, their conversation fall-
ing away to a murmur as the guests were escorted
to the farther end of the low-ceilinged room.

There, set at a right angle to the rest, stood a
smaller table, flanked along one side by backless
chairs, allowing the diners there to survey the
chamber, Chazali occupied the central seat, Ochen
and Temchen to either side, the warriors resplen-
dent in outfits of extravagant colors, empty places
between them. Calandryll was unsure if it was a
welcome relief or a disappointment to find himself
located between the wazir and the kiriwashen,
Cennaire to Ochen's right. Katya, too, he noticed,
was placed at the table's farther end, on Temchen's
left, assuming it a Jesseryte custom that the
women should occupy the most remote seats.

"I trust your kitai suit," Chazali inquired. "I had
feared we should find none to fit you."

"Excellently." Calandryll found it easier to con-
verse without the distraction of Cennaire's pres-
ence. "You've our thanks for such hospitality."

"We are not"—Chazali smiled, glancing at
Bracht—"entirely barbarous."

WILD MAGIC 107

"Indeed not," Calandryll agreed as the kiriwashen
filled his cup with pale golden wine. "Mystery
breeds phantoms, I think—folk tend to fear what
they do not know."

Chazali nodded soberly, his face again grave, in-
scrutable. "I have never met a Lyssian before," he
remarked.

"You do not visit Nywan?" Calandryll sensed
this was not the time to discuss the war, their
quest: the kiriwashen appeared bent on trivial con-
versation, and he accepted that cue. "Our mer-
chants trade there."

"No." Chazali shook his head. "Nywan is the
province of the kembi."

The word, despite Ochen's magic, had no obvious
translation, though the note of contempt was clear
enough- Calandryll's face expressed his lack of un-
derstanding.

"I am kotu," Chazali explained. "Of the warrior
caste. Kotu do not dabble in trade, which is the
concern of the kembi."

Calandryll nodded, his natural curiosity aroused—
there was much to leam of this strange and isolated
people. He asked, "Are all here kotu?"

"Save Ochen," said Chazali, "who is wazir."

"And the Shendii?"

"Kotu. The wisest of the kotu, usually the old-
est," Chazali explained, and laughed again. "A war-
rior must survive to learn wisdom, to win the
respect of his clan."

"Are there other castes?" Calandryll was intrigued.
"Or are all divided between warriors, mages, and
merchants?"

"There are the gettu—the farmers," said Chazali,
"and the artisans, who are of the machai caste-
There are others, but of no account. It is not so in
Lysse?"

108 ANGUS WELLS

"No," Calandryll replied/ and found himself in-
volved in a lengthy description of his homeland as
men in simple white tunics and yellow pantaloons
served the meal.

It was plain fare, such as soldiers eat, but tasty
enough, and plentiful—the Jesserytes seemed pos-
sessed of hearty appetites—and the talk meandered
back and forth, all there learning more of one an-
other's customs and countries. The tengs of the
lesseryn Plain, Calandryll discovered, were less cas-
tles than cities, each containing a population of
many thousands, all linked by birth or marriage or
adoption to one clan. Beyond the walls, the holds
were surrounded by farmland, the gettu living
under the protection of the warrior overlords, while
beyond the arable steadings the country lay wild,
unclaimed by any save the outlaw bands of dispos-
sessed kotu Chazali named, with massive con-
tempt, the tensai. It seemed, to Calandryll, a
society far more rigid than his own, a hierarchy
dominated by the kotu, who in turn were domi-
nated by their kiriwashen and wazirs, the Khan lit-
tle more than a figurehead, subservient to the
Mahzlen.

It came to him that Chazali was a very powerful
man—indeed, one of the leaders of Pamur-teng—
and that his presence demonstrated the weight he
placed on Ochen's warning. That the kiriwashen
should come himself to the keep indicated the
alarm he felt at thought of the Mad God's awaken-
ing. No less was it a further guarantee of true alli-
ance.

"And Anwar-teng/' he asked, hoping he broke no
protocol, "is that hold solely the domain of the
Soto-Imjen?"

"Anwar-teng is different," Chazali advised him.

WILD MAGIC 109

"It is the home of the Soto-Imjen, but also of the
Mahzlen and the wazir-narimasu."

"But if the rebels are gone from the Mahzlen . .."
Calandryll paused, choosing his words with infinite
care, sensing that he trod delicate ground. "How
stand the kotu of Anwar-teng?"

Chazali grunted, staring a moment at his wine
cup. Calandryll feared he gave offense, but then the
kiriwashen chopped a dismissive gesture and said,
"Those who left are tensai. No more than that!
They may claim no man's allegiance. Those who
follow them are tensai. Worse'"

His voice, guttural by nature, was harsh, like the
growl of an outraged hound. Calandryll would have
inquired more about the war, the order of march,
and the likelihood of the rebel armies broaching
the walls of Anwar-teng, but Chazali's tone, his
stance, even his expression, which was no longer
inscrutable but sharp-edged with fury, disallowed
further questioning- He filled his cup, drinking
deep, as though to rid his mouth of an unpleasant
taste deposited by the condemnation, and afterward
concentrated angrily on his plate.

Calandryll thought it more diplomatic to shift
the subject, and turned to Ochen.

The wazir, however, was engaged in animated
conversation with Cennaire, and Calandryll found
himself left awhile in silence, watching them.
Dera, but she was beautiful! He studied her ani-
mated face, thinking of all the things he might
have said to her, all the things he might in the fu-
ture say, did his tongue not stumble again and the
pretty compliments dissolve in gangling awkward-
ness. He cursed himself afresh for such naive em-
barrassment, and then she caught his eye and he
thought her smile lit the dark room, and he felt his

110 ANGUS WELLS

cheeks grow warm and could not understand why
he had to look away, fumbling for his cup.

He found it, and Chazali's gaze on him, specula-
tive, he thought, though it was difficult to judge.
Less so the raised eyebrows, and not at all the qui-
etly murmured question.

"She belongs to you? I fear these are warrior's
quarters and we've no chambers larger."

"No," Calandryll mumbled. "No matter- She's
not ... My chamber suits me well."

Chazali, as if seeking to atone for his display of
anger and himself sensing a delicate topic, smiled,
returning his attention to the fruit the serving men
had placed before him.

No more was said, to Calandryll's relief, of war
or women, their talk returning to commonplace
matters, and in a while the meal was ended and
Ochen announced that he would leave them and
continue his magical cleansing of the keep. His de-
parture seemed taken as cue that all should retire,
and Chazali summoned a man to lead the guests to
their quarters.

Cennaire again took Calandryll's arm, and he
found himself murmuring banalities concerning
the food and their hosts, thinking that he babbled,
though she smiled and answered in kind, seeming
not to notice his awkwardness. Indeed, she ap-
peared a trifle withdrawn, as if concerned with her
own thoughts, murmuring a soft "Good night" at
her door and entering the chamber without a back-
ward glance.

Katya was already gone, and Calandryll ignored
Bracht's amused stare, waving a farewell as he
turned into his own cell and closed the latchless
door.

The window revealed a rectangle of star-
brightened sky, the moon close to full, and he

WILD MAGIC ill

leaned awhile on the sill, aware that the night wind
blew cleaner, the tainted aftermath of Rhythamun's
magic fading. Even so diminished it was an insult
to the senses, to propriety, and he shuddered as he
thought of that visitation, of the awful despair that
had earlier gripped him, reminded then of Ochen's
warning, wondering if his enemy could, indeed,
sense his presence, could reach out through the me-
dium of the aethyr to touch him. It was as well, he
thought, that the Jesseryte wizard should accom-
pany him, a sentry against Rhythamun's fell sorti-
lege. Then, briefly from across the yard, he caught
the scent of almonds, a pale flickering of light that
for an instant was shaped in the form of the strange
sigils Ochen painted, and guessed that the silver-
haired sorcerer went about his magical business/
tireless it seemed. The impression of chamel stench
faded more, and he yawned and turned away, taking
off his unfamiliar clothing and folding it carefully
before snuffing the candles and throwing himself
gratefully on the bed. He closed his eyes, the image
of Cennaire's face clear as sleep took him.

IN her own chamber, Cennaire undressed and sat
awhile combing her hair absently, lost in troubled
thoughts.

That Ochen was a wizard of power, she did not
doubt, and wondered if he knew her for revenant.
He had said nothing; indeed, throughout the meal
he had proven an amusing companion, witty and
informative, but still she wondered- Did he recog-
nize her for what she was, why had he not spoken
out? He had touched her mind, with his gift of lan-
guage, and she had thought then to be discovered,
but he had seemed, rather, to reassure her. Perhaps
he had not seen so deep; perhaps he concealed that

112 ANGUS WELLS

knowledge for reasons of his own. She could not
tell and such lack of certainty unnerved her, ren-
dering her indecisive, for she felt herself sur-
rounded by hazards, her choices leeched off, like a
deer that hears encircling hunters drawing ever
closer, seeing no avenue of escape save headlong
confrontation.

The mirror stood propped within an alcove, and
as she studied her face, she thought of Anomius,
contemplating a summoning, perceiving her master
as another threat to her own safety. Did he wonder
where she was, how she fared? Did he grow impa-
tient? Or was he occupied with the Tyrant's war,
too involved to concern himself with the doings of
his creation? Almost, she spoke the words, but
knowledge of Ochen's presence, awareness of his
power, left them still-born on her tongue. Did she
contact her master, surely the Jesseryte sorcerer
must know it, and how he might then react, she
had no idea. Instead, she completed her toilette,
telling herself she had, anyway, nothing to say, cer-
tainly nothing of any great interest to Anomius.
She sighed, setting mirror and comb, both, safely in
her satchel, thinking that she was caught in di-
lemma.

Did Anomius wax impatient, was it possible he
could find a way to escape the attentions of the Ty-
rant's sorcerers, return to Nhur-jabal, to wreak
some magic on her living heart? Did he do that,
then she was surely powerless against him. Yet to
assuage his impatience, she must use the mirror
and thus—surely!—reveal herself to Ochen, who
likely would advise Calandryll and the others. And
then .. . then perhaps such magicks as could de-
stroy her should be brought to bear. To act, or not,
both seemed paths fraught with danger: she caught
a lip between her teeth, worrying at the soft flesh,

WILD MAGIC 113

feeling herself trapped, her choices narrow as her
miserable cell.

Patience, she decided finally, and hope—that
Anomius was burdened with sufficient as would
prevent him both from wondering what she did and
returning to Nhur-jabal. Equally, that Ochen's
magic had not identified her, would not be used
against her. There appeared no other choice but in-
action, and while such inertia sat uneasily on her
mind, she could perceive no alternative, save
flight—which must surely earn Anomius's dis-
pleasure.

With that poor comfort, she killed the candles—as
would any creature with beating heart—and climbed
between the sheets to await the morning.

The night grew older as she lay sleepless, turning
thought over thought without finding satisfactory
conclusion. Then the soft tapping of knuckles
against her chamber's door brought her instantly
alert.

For a moment she delayed responding, feigning
the confusion of one caught asleep as her mind
raced. Calandryll? Certainly he had shown great in-
terest, and great confusion, that night, and in the
midst of all her doubts she held the single certainty
that he was mightily attracted to her. She had en-
joyed the stumbling compliments he paid her, even
his innocence, that being a rare commodity in the
life she had known, and she wondered if he
plucked up the courage to come to her. Another
man, one less courteous or perhaps more confident
of himself, would not have delayed so long. She
smiled, thinking that she would welcome his at-
tentions; he was, after all, a handsome young man.
And should he come to love her—that she could
ensnare him, she did not doubt: did he spend the
night in her arms, the morning must surely find

ANGUS   WELLS

]lf

him love-struck—then she must surely win herself
a powerful ally. Both thoughts excited her; which
the most, she was not sure.

The tapping came again and she ran swift fingers
through her hair/ a tongue over her lips, drawing
the sheet modestly over her nudity, and bade her
visitor enter.

She was unable to stifle a gasp of surprise when
the door swung open to reveal Ochen.

"Hush."

The mage raised a warning finger, closing the
door silently behind him, plunging the room into
darkness as Cennaire mouthed a silent, and most
unladylike, curse, hoping he took her startlement
for the genuine surprise of a demure woman find-
ing a man entering her sleeping chamber.

"Who is it?" she demanded, endeavoring to pitch
the question somewhere between outrage and
fright, remembering belatedly that mortal folk
lacked her nocturnal vision. "Who are you?"

Soft laughter—mocking?—answered and she
tensed, preparing to fight for her undead life. If
worse had come to worst, then she would seek to
overpower the mage/ slay him if she must, and flee
the keep. Anomius would surely be angered, but
still she could likely follow the questers at a dis-
tance, which might satisfy her master. Beneath the
thought hung a barely recognized regret, and fleet-
ingly she wished it had been Calandryll who
knocked. She steeled herself, taken once more
aback by Ochen's next words.

"You perceive me well enough, I think. And do
you only utilize those senses I understand your
kind possess, then you'll know I intend no harm.
Do that, and you shall save us both time."

The suggestion was entirely unnecessary: Cen-
naire had, unthinking, opened all her preternatural

WILD MAGIC 115

senses, finding fresh cause for confusion in what
she learned.

She smelled no threat from Ochen. Curiosity,
rather, and a dry amusement as he arranged his
overrobe, settling himself on the bed casually as if
he visited an old friend. Confidence, too, that per-
suading her he was warded with spells against at-
tack. She found no indication of desire in him, but
nonetheless drew the sheet closer about her, pre-
tending modesty even as she struggled to assemble
her bewildered thoughts.

"No harm," he repeated, his gnarled features
clear in the darkness. "Nor shall you harm me—as
you doubtless sense, I am guarded, and with such
cantrips as would defeat even your kind."

His voice was calm and utterly confident; all
Cennaire could think of to say was "What do you
want?"

"A little of your time, an honest exchange." She
saw him smile. "Did you think to conceal what
you are from a wazir? The gift of tongues requires
that I enter the mind. I saw that power that invests
Calandryll, the presence of Ahrd in Bracht's veins—
did you believe I'd not see what you are?"

Cennaire frowned- Had she owned a heart, it
would race now. She shrugged, saying, "I won-
dered."

"And wondered, too, what I should do, no? And
when I did nothing—said nothing—you hoped
you'd gone unrecognized. Eh?"

She nodded, wondering what game he played.
That of Anomius, of Rhythamun? Was she fallen
into the hands of another ruthless warlock?

It seemed her doubts showed, for Ochen chuck-
led again and she smelled his amusement, his de-
sire to reassure.

"I'd not see the Mad God risen, be that what you

116 ANGUS WELLS

fear/' he murmured. "Nor—for now, at least—
would I reveal you, or destroy you."

"For now?" she whispered, not doubting he could
make good that veiled threat. "What then do you
want?"

"An explanation," he returned. "I'd know why
you league with these questers, who know not
what you are."

"And then?"

"And then I must decide."

He had no need to add, "Your fate," and Cennaire
ran a pink tongue over lips that seemed abruptly
emptied of blood. In that instant she was abso-
lutely confident this ancient mage could destroy
her, and that her existence depended on satisfying
him. Her initial impulse was to lie, to concoct
some yam, but Ochen's gentle voice put thoughts
of subterfuge aside.

"No Jesseryte band attacked your caravan," he
said with absolute certainty. "Neither kotu nor
tensai. That was merely a ploy, no? To win the
sympathy of those three honest folk? A wizard of
great power made you, and my guess is he sent you
out after the Arcanum. Do you tell me true, per-
haps we shall reach some accommodation. Do you
lie—and I shall know it, doubt that not!—then ..."

A hand, mottled dark with time's spotting, ges-
tured, the movement implicit. Cennaire drew deep
breaths, aware that she was firmly snared, trapped
in her deceit; that truth appeared the sole avenue of
escape. She looked him in the eye and said, "I was
taken from the dungeons of Nhur-jabal, in
Kandahar, by a warlock named Anomius. He ...
made me what I am ... he took my heart ..."

The telling of it, cold and clear, seemed some-
how to set the act in starker light, to grant her an
awareness, objective, of what had been done to her.

WILD MAGIC 117

It seemed, perhaps because she felt Ochen radiate
sympathy, as much a curse as gift now, and as she
spoke she felt resentment of Anomius grow.

She told the ancient sorcerer everything, holding
nothing back, and when she was done, it was as if
she had enacted some penance, Ochen's response a
benediction.

"Such magic is foul," he murmured with disgust.
"This Anomius must be a filthy creature to so
abuse his talent."

"But still he holds my heart," she said.

"And would you have it back?"

The question was mildly put; it rang in her ears
like a clarion. She saw his eyes between the wrin-
kled, hooded lids, bright, studying her, and said
without hesitation, "Aye."

"Why?" he asked bluntly. "As you are, you pos-
sess such powers as mortal folk only dream of. As
you are, you need not die."

Cennaire paused, wondering if he baited her, or
set some subtle trap. She watched his face: it was
inscrutable. At last, slowly, she said, 'Td name no
man my master, save I choose it be so."

"Calandryll?" His voice was even, empty of ex-
pression; she felt his magic as a shield about him,
the wafting scent of almonds denying her senses'
interpretation.

"Calandryll?" she returned, seeking time, con-
fused.

"He's a comely youth. He's clearly enchanted by
you. And I've the feeling you find his attentions
not unwelcome."

"No," she admitted, struggling to rally her
thoughts. "He is ... Perhaps . .. But how should he
react to what I am?"

Ochen cocked his head, birdlike. "At this mo-
ment," he said cheerfully, "I suspect he'd find the

118 ANGUS WELLS

notion revolting. Did he learn you go about
Anomius's business, he might well use that en-
glamoured blade on you."

"Think you so?" Cennaire asked, injecting the
question with more confidence than she felt. "I
think perhaps he would not."

"You've a high opinion of him, or of yourself,"
the mage returned. "Perhaps you speak aright, but
did he not, then surely Bracht would seek to slay
you."

"I think he could not/' she said. "Save you aid
him."

"Aye." Ochen chuckled, nodding. "And that I
could do. And should, did it come to that—those
three are of paramount importance, while you ... I
am not yet sure what part you play."

"Then why let me survive?"

Ochen drew thoughtful fingers through the silver
strands of his mustache, observing her awhile with
twinkling, enigmatic eyes, and she grew uncom-
fortable under his scrutiny, feeling herself in some
manner judged, wary of the outcome. She was
thankful when he answered: "I've my reasons—
which need not concern you for the moment."

"And you'll not expose me?"

She spoke as calmly as she was able, utterly con-
fused. Ochen smiled, shook his head, and said,
"No, save you force me to it."

"Why not?" she asked again.

And again he replied, "I've my reasons," amplify-
ing a little: "I've the feeling of a design in this. Be-
yond my comprehension, or yours, for now, but ...
something."

Cennaire's bewilderment increased. Ochen sat si-
lent, as if lost in thought. When he spoke, it was as
though a judgment was delivered, though how, or
what the sentence might be, she could not tell.

WILD MAGIC 119

"The time will likely come when you must
make a choice. It will likely be a difficult
choice—I'd urge you make it wisely."

"1 do not understand," she murmured, brow fur-
rowed.

"No," he returned equably, "you'd not. Nor shall
until the time arrives. When that day dawns, re-
member this conversation. And along the road
'twixt now and then, learn."

Cennaire stared at the wrinkled visage, puzzled,
wondering if he spoke honestly, or if he hid inten-
tions, designs of his own. Trust was an unfamiliar
element in the world she knew, but for now it
seemed he offered an alliance of some kind, a mea-
sure of safety, and that she snatched eagerly.

"Until that time," she agreed.

"So be it." Ochen rose, smoothing his overrobe.
"1 bid you good night, then."

"Wait!" She reached out, clutching at his arm,
snatching back her hand as the almond scent grew
instantly stronger and she sensed the gathering pow-
er of his magic, like a blade poised to strike. "What
of Anomius? I am commanded to report as opportu-
nity permits, and should he wax impatient ..."

She fell silent, Ochen completing the sentence
for her: "He may decide to prick your heart a little,
Aye, there's that; nor would I have him interfere at
this juncture." He stroked his wispy beard, lost
awhile in thought. "So: contact him. How is that
done?"

"I've a mirror," she answered.

The wazir said, "Then use it. But remember that
such magic will be known to me. always."

"What shall I tell him?" she asked, bewildered.

Ochen chuckled softly- "What he doubtless
wants to hear," he suggested. "That you ride with
the questers, north toward the Borrhun-maj. Make

120 ANGUS WELLS

no mention of me, neither of Anwar-teng nor the
war. Does he wish to know where you are, tell him
you find refuge in a keep, among simple warriors
who suspect nothing. Think you that shall satisfy
him?"

"Aye." Cennaire nodded. "So long as he believes
I continue after the Arcanum."

"Which"—Ochen smiled, rising—"you do."

She watched, dumbstruck, as he went to the
door, pausing there to glance back. She thought she
saw the slitted eyes twinkle as he murmured, "And
my apologies—I regret it was not Calandryll who
came to you."

The door closed on his laughter; on her bewilder-
ment.

She sat awhile, staring at the wood, her assump-
tions all in disarray, thrown into turmoil by the
wazir's seemingly equanimious acceptance of her
condition. She had thought to find sorcerers ever
her enemies, save she serve them. Did she, then,
serve Ochen in some fashion beyond her fathoming?
Was she become part of the quest? Was Ochen
friend or enemy? The answers lay beyond her grasp:

all she knew for certain was that Anomius still con-
trolled her heart, was still her master in that, but
that now, to some extent at least, it seemed she
danced to another's tune.

She drew deep breaths, seeking a measure of
calm, and when she found it, took out the mirror
and began to speak the words of the gramarye.




THE sweet scent of almonds filled the chamber,
the smooth silver surface of the mirror chang-
ing, swirling, like clear water disturbed by a
thrown pebble, a whirlpool of color forming there,
fading gradually into a darkness that seemed lit by
distant, flickering fires. Cennaire frowned, staring
at the strange image, wondering if somehow, so far
from Kandahar, communication with her master
became impossible, or if Ochen's magicks denied
the contact. She gasped as the image shifted, dis-
torting, revealing for a moment a brazier in which
coals glowed red, then darkness again, a hint of
some night-lit brightness beyond, something splat-
tering against the surface, as though a stone were
tossed back, toward her. Instinctively, she drew
back, seeing whatever had struck the companion
mirror smeared, all black then, then clear again,
Anomius's face filling the disk.

The ugly little sorcerer drew a sleeve across his
mouth, particles of food dislodging, some remain-

122 A^JGUS WELLS

ing about his fleshy lips as he peered at her face,
his own irritated as he said, "A moment."

Ceimaire saw the mirror obscured once more and
almost laughed as she realized he ate, and in his
haste spat food upon the surface. She quelled the
impulse, waiting.

Then, curtly: "It's been long enough. Where are
you?"

"Across the Kess Imbrun," she replied, "on the
Jesseryn Plain."

"What else lies across the Kess Imbrun?" he
snapped, churlish as ever. "Where exactly?"

"In a Jesseryte fort," she told him. "A keep that
guards the Daggan Vhe."

"With them?" His face came closer, the mirror
again marked by the food he still chewed. "With
Calandryll and the others?"

"Aye," she said. "They found me as you prom-
ised, accepted my story. I go with them now."

"And they suspect nothing?" He rubbed a grimy
hand over his mouth, turned away an instant to
spit. Cennaire heard the faint sizzle as the gobbet
struck the brazier. "They trust you?"

"I am not sure," she answered truthfully.
"Calandryll, 1 think; but Bracht holds reservations,
and Katya, perhaps."

"Perhaps?" The mirror swayed as he reached
aside, settling as he brought a cup to his mouth,
drinking noisily. "How mean you, perhaps?"

"Bracht would have sent me back," she said,
"but Calandryll spoke for me."

Anomius snorted laughter, like a pig, Cennaire
thought, snuffling in dirt. "He takes a fancy?"
asked the warlock. "As I thought one of them
would?"

Cennaire ducked her head, saying, "Aye, he does.
He's a gentle man."

WILD MAGIC 123

Further laughter answered her words, contemp-
tuous of such definition, and Anomius demanded,
"Has he taken you to his bed yet?"

"No," she said, and again, "he's a gentle man."

"He's a man and nothing more," the wizard
grunted, dismissive, "but no matter—work those
wiles you know so well and it shall come about.
Bind him to you."

Cennaire nodded again, not speaking.

"So," Anomius said, "you're with them and
trusted; enough at least you shall continue with
them, no?"

"Enough," she returned, "aye. Remember that I
saw Rhythamun's new face, and that—"

The warlock overrode her words. "Aye, Rhytha-
mun!" he barked. "What of him? What of the
book?"

"He travels north, as best we know." She paused
a moment, ordering her thoughts, recalling what
Ochen allowed she might tell this disgusting little
man, what to hold back. "He slew the soldiers of
this keep with magic. Calandryll believes he left
gramaryes behind, to ward his back, knowing he is
pursued."

"And yet they survive?" The sallow face con-
toned in a frown. "How so?"

Cennaire realized her mistake, extemporized
with truth and fiction: "Calandryll possesses a
sword, englamoured. He slew the creatures."

"Tell me," Anomius commanded, "of this
sword."

"It was enchanted by the goddess Dera," she re-
plied, nervous now, for her master's face grew an-
gry. "In Lysse, they said,"

Anomius grunted, a finger probing in his mouth,
emerging with a sodden lump that he wiped on his

124 ANGUS WELLS

robe. "So the Younger Gods aid them?" he asked
thoughtfully.

Cennaire wondered if an element of doubt, of
fear even, put the stridency in his voice, and nod-
ded solemn agreement. "They say that Burash
brought them across the Narrow Sea, and in Cuan
naTor, Bracht was taken prisoner and crucified, but
Ahrd drove the nails from his hands and gave him
back life. Even brought them through the Cuan
na'Dru."

Breath whistled wet from the sorcerer's nostrils
and for a while he was silent, his liquescent eyes
pensive as he rubbed at his nose. Finally he said,
softer, "But they could not halt Rhythamun, the
Younger Gods."

Thinking it a question, Cennaire answered, "It
would seem not."

"Nor have they halted you." If he heard her re-
sponse he gave no sign, rather pursuing the train of
his own thoughts. "I think they must be weak, or
limited in some way. No matter—so long as you
continue unhindered about my business."

"I do," she assured him, now, more than ever,
unsure whether that was truth or fable.

"And Rhythamun travels northward, eh? Toward
the Borrhun-maj?"

"They believe that," she said, dissembling. "That
Tharn must lie beyond the mountains."

"How shall they get there? I know no more than
any other of the Jesserytes, but they are acknowl-
edged an inhospitable folk. Shall they not turn you
back?"

The question took Cennaire by surprise. A
woman less versed in dissimulation would likely
have let fall the truth then—have shown on her
face, or by her reaction, that she hid things—but

WILD MAGIC 125

Cennaire was practiced in concealment, and re-
tained her calm, though it cost her effort.

"It seems not," she said smoothly. "The people
of this keep are friendly enough."

"What people?" Anomius's voice was an abruptly
suspicious bark. "Did you not just advise me
Rhythamun slew the soldiery there?"

Almost, she was caught then; only her quick
wits saved her as she wove an elaboration. "Aye,"
she said, "that's true. But some escaped to carry
word, and others came. By the time they arrived,
Calandryll had slain the creatures Rhythamun left,
and so the Jesserytes hail him a hero."

Anomius was mollified: Cennaire vented a sigh
of relief she hoped went unnoticed- "And you with
him?" he demanded.

"I am counted one of them," she agreed, expand-
ing on her fabrication. "Now the Jesserytes offer us
aid. They grant us free passage over the Plain."

"Do they know of Rhythamun?" the warlock
snapped. "Of the Arcanum? Do they suspect your
purpose?"

"No and no," she said, thinking fast, thinking to
herself that this sorcerous game grew mightily haz-
ardous, "and again, no. They believe we travel to
Vanu—Katya's homeland—which lies within the
foothills of the Borrhun-maj. No more than that."

"Good," said Anomius. "But how far ahead is
Rhythamun?"

"Some few days," Cennaire returned.

"Then do not linger," ordered the mage.

"Save you bid me quit their company, I must
travel at what pace they set," she said. "But they'd
not grant him advantage."

"No," he allowed, "likely they'd not. Stay with
them, for I still believe they must be the key to

126 ANGUS WELLS

Rhythamun's undoing, and thus most useful tools
to my purpose."

He chuckled at that, a horrid, bubbling sound.
And I, thought Cennaire, am no more. Only a
tool—to be discarded when my usefulness is
spenU Aloud, she asked, "When we find him .. .
what then? I think that sword Calandryll bears
could slay even me. And that he'd use it, did I at-
tempt to take the book from him."

"Perhaps it could," Anomius agreed carelessly.
and favored her with a pride-filled smile, "but
think you I fail to see that far ahead?"

"I know not what you think or what you see,"
she replied honestly.

"Thus are you the servant, and I the master,"
came the smug response. "But fear not—when the
time is right, I shall be there."

"How?" Cennaire made no attempt now to con-
ceal her surprise. "I thought you bound by magicks.
Did the Tryant's sorcerers not set enchanted fetters
on you?"

"They did, curse them." The unhandsome little
man grew uglier as he scowled. "But I shall rid my-
self of those hindrances ere long."

"How shall you do that?" she asked, hiding sud-
den alarm behind a veil of flattery. "Are you so
mighty a sorcerer?"

"I am," he told her with total, frightening con-
viction. "And soon these accursed bracelets shall
be removed. How need not concern you; only that
when I deem the moment right, 1 shall translate
myself to where you are."

Cennaire overcame her alarm, struggling against
confusion, seeing only one way his promise might
be kept, and that a fascinating thing, for it afforded
her speculation of her own. "Through the mirror?"

WILD MAGIC 127

she asked, carefully adding, "You are truly a great
mage."

"Did you doubt it?" he asked vainly. "Aye,
through the mirror, do you but show me what it
reveals."

"Of all the world's mages," she said, her tone de-
liberately adulatory, "I think that only you might
overcome Rhythamun."

Anomius beamed, preening, basking in her
wisely chosen praise- "Aye," he agreed, "and so I
shall, when the time comes."

"Where are you now?" she asked, deliberately
humble, pandering to his conceit.

"Outside Mherut'yi," he told her, vanity render-
ing him loquacious. "The town lies under siege, de-
fended by such gramaryes as only I may undo."

"And then?"

"Likely south to take those other bastions
Sathoman now holds. Wait!" The mirror was ab-
ruptly dark, as if he thrust it into a sleeve. Cen-
naire heard faint voices, too muffled that she could
make out the words. Then Anomius's face re-
turned. "These petty wizards require me," he an-
nounced. "Contact me when next you may."

"That may well be difficult," she warned. "We
ride out soon and there will likely be little chance
to speak unobserved."

She spoke only the truth, albeit her motives were
mixed. In such close company as their progress
across the Plain must bring, with Ochen in attend-
ance, it would, indeed, be hard to use the mirror
unnoticed; but also she sought to buy herself time,
to allow an ordering of her thoughts, perhaps even
a settlement of her loyalties, but without incur-
ring suspicion or wrath. She watched the mirror,
Anomius's face there, puckered in a frown, or a

128 ANGUS WELLS

scowl—his visage was such the two were indistin-
guishable—awaiting his response.

"Aye," he said at last, though reluctantly. "When
you may, then."

"I shall," she returned.
He nodded/ grunted, and mumbled the words
that ended the enchantment, his image fading, re-
placed a moment by the spectral colors. The al-
mond scent strengthened, then was gone, and the
mirror became again only a disk of glass. Cennaire
set it aside, not moving, staring at the rectangle of
night framed by the window as her mind raced, as-
sessing all she had learned, and how it might be
turned to advantage-
She was more than a little frightened, for
Anomius was clearly confident he would soon rid
himself of the occult confinements that bound him
to the Tyrant's service, and were he able to travel at
will he might feel no further need of her. Save, she
thought, that he must have the mirror's sight to de-
fine his location. She knew enough of magic that
she was aware a sorcerer might translate himself
safely only to a known destination, one he could
see or clearly reconstruct in memory.

So, the thought reassuring, he would likely leave
her to continue with the questers until such time
as they came upon Rhythamun or secured the Ar-
canum; and that time he could know only through
her agency. Until then, did she but placate his im-
patience, she was safe.

Comforted by that conclusion she turned her
mind to those other tidbits of knowledge he had so
casually let slip. He had taught her the cantrip of
transportation—she had used it before—but it had
not until now occurred to her that by that means
she was able to translate herself to his chambers in

WILD MAGIC 129

Nhur-jabal. The notion excited her: her heart, he
had told her, lay there, in the pyxis.

Almost, she conjured the image of the room,
spoke the words, thinking that did she but go
there, she might find her heart and once again own
herself, define her allegiances for herself- Common
sense stopped her, the half-formed words dying on
her tongue. He was not so careless, not so foolish.
Vain, undoubtedly; crazed, too. But imbued with a
horrid cunning that would surely have prompted
him to encompass the pyxis with protective gram-
aryes. Likely he had placed such enchantments on
the box, on the chamber, even, as would destroy
her heart did she attempt its removal.

No, that thought accompanied by a bitter curse,
that was not the way, save in desperation. Still she
must dance to his tune, reliant on his humors as he
was on her enforced loyalty. It was an impasse
from which she could see no escape but to go on,
ostensibly his servant still.

Even so, there was power in knowledge; not yet
of much use, but in the future, did she but con-
tinue to learn all she could of wizards and wizardry
... then, perhaps, she might regain her heart, be-
come again her own woman.

What she would do, she did not know. As Ochen
had remarked, there were many who would envy
those powers she now commanded. She was per-
haps immortal, certainly she owned a strength and
a stamina beyond mortal imagining, her preternat-
ural senses alone granted her tremendous advan-
tage over human folk, and one gramarye was
already hers—might she not learn others?

Outside, a night bird sang, and its call seemed to
mock her. She was powerful beyond men's envi-
sioning, and yet still trapped: heartless, she was
prepotent; heartless, she was at the mercy of her

130 ANGUS WELLS

heart's possessor. She stared blindly at the night
sky, all set with stars, the near-full moon westering
toward its setting. A bank of silvered cloud drifted
leisurely on the wind's idle breath. Men moved
along the ramparts: plain, simple men, whose con-
cerns were ordinary. For a moment she envied
them, then her nostrils caught the faint odor of al-
monds and she thought again of Ochen. Another
hand on the strings of her destiny? She was not
sure; confused by the wazir's promises and warn-
ings, she could not know whether he was friend or
foe. His words had implied friendship, rather than
enmity; at least an alliance of sorts. But what were
his reasons, what his motives? Those remained hid-
den, inscrutable as the ancient face that revealed
only what he chose to show.

She wondered then if she should tell him every-
thing Anomius had said. No doubt he would in-
quire, and that the warlock believed he should soon
be free of magical bonds was dramatic news. But
how would Ochen react? Would he destroy the
mirror, for fear of its aiding Anomius; and what
might Anomius do then? Would Ochen expose her?
Fleetingly, she thought of Calandryll, of his reac-
tion, then pushed the thought firmly aside, for it
served only to confuse her further and she felt now
that she balanced her own survival.

To warn Ochen, or not?

It was a quandary from which only one certainty
emerged: she did not want to die.

Whether or not she wished for immortality—
whether or not that was possible—she was not
sure. But she was certain she was not yet ready to
give up her unnatural life.

Therefore, she decided as the sky outside paled to
the opalescent grey of heralded dawn, she would
continue to play the double game, to tell each

WILD MAGIC 131

mage in turn only so much and no more. She
would hold back from Ochen the news that
Anomius believed he should soon be freed just as
she kept Ochen's existence from Anomius. She
would continue in her role of willing servant until
such time as she must finally choose her side, hop-
ing along the way to glean more knowledge, to find
answers to the dilemma.

It was all she could think of, and she turned from
the brightening window, lying back on the bed,
closing her eyes in simulation of ordinary sleep.

MORNING delivered no better answers, serving,
rather, to muddle her the more.

She heard the keep wake, birds singing, men call-
ing in the Jesseryte tongue, the snort and stamp of
exercised horses, the rattle of metal and leather,
the ring of hooves and boots. Scents rose in profu-
sion, intoxicating: the sweat of animals and men,
fresh dung, woodsmoke, cooking food, the pristine
odor of stone overlaid with the aftermath of
Ochen's cleansing magic, and still, loud to her
senses, the lingering offense of Rhythamun's. She
rose and performed her toilette, wondering whether
she should dress in the finery of the previous night
or the robust leathers worn when she crossed Cuan
na'For. The resplendent Jesseryte costume was
more to her taste, but she thought it perhaps exces-
sive. and so chose the simpler outfit, likely more
acceptable to her . . . She was not sure . . . Compan-
ions? Comrades? She cursed, unladylike, angry
with herself; for her own confusion, and no less
with the men who tugged the strings of her des-
tiny. She laced the leathers and went to lean, idly,
on the embrasure's sill, watching the bustle in the
yard below, the wash of early morning sunlight

132 ANGUS WELLS

over the ramparts, until a knocking on her door
distracted her.

She found Katya outside, simply dressed, con-
firming her own choice of clothing, the Vanu
woman smiling a greeting, the suggestion they
avail themselves of the bathhouse in privacy. She
agreed, wondering if this were some subterfuge, a
pretext to questioning. Instead, Katya appeared
only friendly, engaging in casual conversation, as
though the previous night, Ochen's acceptance of
her, confirmed her allegiance, dispelling any doubts
the warrior woman might have entertained. She
spoke of the quest and Bracht's vow—that seeming
mightily strange to Cennaire—and of the journey
ahead. In turn, Cennaire constructed a tale of her
life in Kandahar, of a brief marriage, tragically
ended, that left her with funds sufficient to invest
in the imaginary caravan and a desire to see some-
thing of the larger world.

Katya laughed at that and said, 'That much, at
least, is granted you. I think none have gone where
we shall travel."

Cennaire laughed back and said, "I wonder if I
shall ever see Kandahar again."

Then Katya's face grew solemn and she said,
"You might yet go back. It would surely be hard
journeying, but likely easier than where we must
go."

Cennaire shook her head. "No, I think I could
not do that now." She brushed long strands of hair
from her face, affecting a degree of embarrassment,
that she might watch the flaxen woman from
under lowered lashes. "1 cannot say exactly why,
but I feel .. . destined ... to go with you."

"Perhaps," said Katya in serious tones, "you are,
It would seem a strange coincidence that you came

WILD MAGIC 133

to the Daggan Vhe at that particular time, that you
should meet us as you did."

Cennaire nodded, busying herself with soap as
she utilized her senses to determine if suspicion
lay behind Katya's musing words. She found none,
only acceptance, a proffered friendship, a trifle
wary, but nonetheless genuine. It seemed then that
her initial assumption had been correct: that
Ochen's approbation was sufficient guarantee of
her probity.

"Perhaps," Katya went on when Cennaire offered
no reply, "the Younger Gods brought you there.
They take a hand in this, as they may, and perhaps
you've a part to play."

"Think you so?" Cennaire had no need to feign
puzzlement. "How might that be?"

"I make no pretense of understanding the work-
ings of the gods," Katya answered. "But that you
were in that particular place, at that particular
time ..." She shrugged, water streaming from
bronzed shoulders, and smiled mischievously,
"Certainly Calandryll believes it so."

Cennaire lowered her face, pretending modesty,
and said, "He is very handsome. And a prince of
Lysse—I was surprised he is not wed."

"He's a prince no longer, but an outlaw," Katya
replied. "He was in love once, but she wed his
brother."

"And is he still?" Cennaire asked.

"With her?" Katya said. "No."

Cennaire smiled then, and murmured, "Good."

Katya nodded without offering further comment,
instead suggesting that they quit the bath and find
their breakfasts, with which Cennaire agreed, not
wishing to overplay her hand.

They found the hall, Calandryll and Bracht al-
ready settled, eating, Ochen and Chazali with

134 ANGUS WELLS

them, greeting the two women courteously as they
approached. Cennaire looked toward the wazir, but
his wrinkled face remained inscrutable behind its
smile, and he went rapidly back to his conversation
with the kiriwashen. Katya took a place at Bracht's
side, answering the Kern's smile with her own,
their voices soft as they spoke, excluding the oth-
ers. Cennaire favored Calandryll with a demure
smile as he drew back a stool, murmuring her
thanks, pleasantly amused by the flush that
promptly suffused his cheeks.

"We may leave tomorrow," he advised her, strug-
gling to hide the confusion her proximity aroused.
"Ochen will have cleansed the keep by then, he
says, and we depart at dawn."

Cennaire nodded, accepting the food a servant set
before her, eating with pretended appetite as
Calandryll made small talk that to his ears sounded
clumsy, to hers charming. Her life, her beauty, had
put her often enough in the way of compliments
and men's boasting, and usually their approach had
been direct—the negotiation of a commercial trans-
action larded with fine words—and she found
Calandryll's innocence refreshing. That he had not
the least idea she was once a courtesan made little
difference: he might well have boasted of his own
exploits, which far outweighed the petty feats of
her sundry other admirers, but that was not his
way. He complimented her, yes, but awkwardly,
and honestly, as if quite unaccustomed to the ritual
interchanges between men and women, and that
she found entirely engaging. She eased his way a
little; not too much, for she remembered her part
and forwent the myriad tricks and subtleties she
might otherwise have employed, but just enough
he began to feel more at ease, less embarrassed.

Then, as the plates were cleared, Chazali an-

WILD MAGIC 135

nounced that he would leave them, to find
Temchen and check the keep's defenses. The depar-
ture of the kiriwashen emptied the dining hall as if
on a signal, and Ochen, too, excused himself, leav-
ing the four alone. They might well, Cennaire
thought, have taken their ease, enjoyed some de-
gree of leisure before departing on what seemed
certain to be a long and hazardous journey, but
Bracht suggested they attend their horses and the
others offered no protest: they made their way to
the stables.

Their animals had been watered and fed, but
stood in need of grooming, and it seemed still, from
the attitudes of the Jesserytes in the yard, that the
larger horses, Bracht's great stallion in particular,
were regarded with awe, and more than a little
nervousness. The Kern laughed and set promptly to
currying the black, crooning endearments that
were answered with snickers of contentment, as if
man and horse conducted a conversation in some
language known only to them.

"I think," Calandryll remarked as he set to work
on his chestnut, Cennaire watching from the gate,
"that Bracht loves that horse near as much as he
does Katya."

"And you?" she asked, the coquetry slipping out
unbidden, a habit. "Who commands your affec-
tions?"

The stable was shadowy, but she thought he
blushed. Certainly, he bent his head closer to the
gelding's glossy flank, applying the brush with re-
newed vigor as he mumbled, "A man's horse is a
valuable thing ... it deserves care."

Cennaire laughed gently, looking to dispel his
awkwardness, asking, "Shall you choose a mount
for me? I know little of horses."

ANGUS   WELLS

136

"Better that Bracht do that," he replied modestly.
"He's a far better )udge of horseflesh than I."

She nodded, choosing not to pursue the conversa-
tion, content to simply stand and watch, some-
times handing him a tool he needed/ aware of his
tentative smile as their fingers touched. It was a
companionable silence, and for a while she felt her-
self far younger, the intervening years slipping
away so that she could imagine herself a girl again,
watching a brother tend their plow horse on the
farm she had almost forgotten.

It was a brief enough respite, for soon the groom-
ing was done and Bracht emerged from the black
horse's stall with the suggestion they practice their
swordplay. Katya and Calandryll agreed readily and
they returned, not without difficulty in the maze of
crepuscular corridors, to their quarters, to gather
up the weapons left there in deference to the
Jesserytes' hospitality.

The keep bustled now and they were hard put to
gain more than fleeting directions to a yard suitable
for sword practice, those men they encountered
hurrying about their duties, with little time to
spare to call instructions over their shoulders as
they trotted briskly on. Consequently, the four
found themselves often lost. wandering seemingly
deserted corridors lined with closed doors, often de-
void of windows, helpless until some other group
of busy men was met. The place was unlike any
fortress Calandryll had seen, as if constructed of a
single vast block of stone through which passages
and chambers had been cut, the exterior walls not
separate but integral with the interior parts, the
courtyards found suddenly, where corridors ended
in balconies or windows, or low doors- It reminded
him somewhat of an anthill, the Jesserytes its hy-
menopterous inhabitants.

WILD MAGIC 137

Their social hierarchy, too, seemed as rigid as the
insects', for when the four finally descended a nar-
row stairway into a yard where warriors clad in
mail and leather drilled with swords and hook-
bladed pikes, they were turned away.

This was not, they were told by a meticulously
polite officer, a training ground suitable for such
honored guests. Better—the suggestion couched in
terms that brooked no argument—that they find
the yard used by the kotu-zen. A man was ordered
to bring them there and they followed him along
yet more twilit passages to a second yard, this oc-
cupied by warriors in the fet armor worn by
Chazali and Temchen.

All activity ceased as they entered, abruptly fro-
zen by their presence. Their escort bowed low and
barked an explanation that was answered with a
grunt and a dismissive wave. He scurried quickly
away, leaving them facing an audience of the kotu-
zen, whose stance, Calandryll thought, expressed a
mixture of curiosity and outrage, as though some
protocol was breached-

The warrior to whom their escort had spoken
raised his veil and bowed, his tawny eyes carefully
impassive as he studied them-

"What service may I render?" he asked.

Bracht slapped his sheathed falchion and said,
"We'd unlimber our sword arms."

The kotu-zen's eyes rounded as his gaze encom-
passed the saber hung on Katya's belt. "The ladies,
too?" Surprise lent his voice a roughened edge.

"Aye," Bracht answered cheerfully, grinning in
Katya's direction. "This lady wields a blade better
than most men."

The comment aroused a murmuring, clearly
shocked, among the onlookers, and Calandryll set a
warning hand on Bracht's arm.

138 ANGUS WELLS

"Is it not your custom?" he asked.

The kotu-zen shook his head vigorously, his ex-
pression suggesting he was torn between horror at
so outlandish a notion and the desire to remain po-
lite. "No," he gasped at last. "The women of the
kotu do not..." He caught himself with visible ef-
fort. "They do not indulge in the manly arts."

"Manly?" Bracht shook off Calandryll's restrain-
ing hand. "Ahrd, man, I'd wager this woman could
take any of you."

More familiar now with the Jesseryte's physiog-
nomy, Calandryll saw outrage on the warrior's face.
Quickly he said, "In Cuan na'For and in Vanu—
from whence my friends come—it is the custom
that women bear arms and understand their use.
Does this offend, we apologize."

He aped the Jesseryte's bow, awaiting a reaction.
The kotu-zen swallowed, clearly taken aback. He
seemed to find the idea preposterous. Finally he
said, "Such is not our way."

Bracht opened his mouth to argue, but Katya
murmured, "I'd not offend our hosts. Best we leave
it," stilling his protest.

Now the kotu-zen appeared embarrassed, strok-
ing a gauntleted hand over the oiled mustache he
wore. Calandryll smiled, seeking to put the man at
ease, and suggested, "Perhaps there is some private
yard where we might practice?"

The warrior thought a moment, then nodded, al-
beit a trifle reluctantly.

"And gear we might borrow?" added Bracht.

Again the kotu-zen nodded, grunting an affirma-
tive, and spun on his heel to snap out brisk orders
that sent two men running to fetch jerkins of pad-
ded leather, instructing another to conduct the out-
landers to a more suitable ward. Calandryll and
Bracht shouldered the jerkins, voicing their thanks,

WILD MAGIC

139

and followed their armored guide from the practice
yard. Behind him, Calandryll heard someone mut-
ter, "Barbarians," and another, the voice disbeliev-
ing, "Their women fight?"

Bracht chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief;

Calandryll threw him a warning glance, indicating
their guide and gesturing the Kem to silence. These
folk did, indeed, seem strange, but they were no
less allies—vital allies—and it was as well to honor
their customs. And we, he thought as they strode
more of the dim-lit corridors, likely seem as odd to
them.

They were brought to a small yard, the sky a
rectangle of blue above, the walls high all around,
and windowless, as if the place were chosen for its
obscurity, that none might witness this breach of
etiquette that put blades in the hands of wom-
en. Their guide bowed, unspeaking, and left them
there.

"Strange folk," Bracht murmured as he tugged on
a jerkin. "Do they cosset their women, then?"

"It looks so." Calandryll shrugged. "But while
we go among them, we'd best respect their ways."

"Then best hope we go unopposed." Katya
laughed. "For are we attacked, I shall likely shock
them more."

"Or turn their ways over"—Bracht grinned—"do
their women take your example."

Cennaire, whose life was somewhat more at-
tuned to the ways of the Jesserytes, found it not at
all odd that women should not fight, and started in
surprise when Bracht handed her a thick-padded
jerkin.

"You say you've no blade skill?" he queried, and
when she shook her head, "then as well you learn
a little."

The suggestion alarmed her, for she thought'such

140 ANGUS WELLS

practice might well reveal her superior strength,
and she hesitated, her pause misinterpreted by
Calandryll, who said gallantly, "No harm shall
come you."

"And your life perhaps be later saved," added
Katya, she, too, thinking Cennaire's reluctance
stemmed from some natural delicacy. "Look you,
I'll work with you. Best we start with knives, I
think."

There seemed no ready escape and Cennaire
could only agree. She donned the jerkin, gingerly
drawing the dagger sheathed on her waist, thinking
that did she forget herself, she could likely cut
clear through the leather Katya wore to wound the
Vanu woman. Katya, thinking her unnerved by the
blade, murmured encouragement, explaining how
the weapon should be held, how her feet be placed
to balance her weight.

"Forward and up," she advised/ pantomiming the
move. "Drive the point in below the ribs, toward
the heart. Your thumb should rest against the quil-
lon. When you strike, strike from the shoulder,
with all your weight behind the blow. Now, try it."

Cennaire obeyed, holding back her full strength,
and was surprised to find her thrust deflected,
turned aside by a seemingly casual flick of Katya's
wrist that sent her arm out to the side, the tip of
the flaxen-haired woman's dagger touching lightly
on her jerkin.

"No signals," Katya warned. "Your eyes told me
of your intention, and your feet. Give no warning
of your move. Now, look you . .."

She proceeded to demonstrate and Cennaire
found herself intrigued by the lethal ballet, realiz-
ing that strength alone was not enough, and that
she might learn much from this tutor. She applied
herself, following Katya's instructions, seeing how

WILD MAGIC 14]

a movement of the wrist could turn a blow, how a
feint could deceive and unbalance an attacker. It
was not unlike the learning of dance steps, and at
that she had always been adept; equally, it was a
matter of anticipating her opponent's intentions,
and in that, too, her past life stood her in good
stead. Soon she found herself enjoying the lesson,
her only concern that she limit herself to what a
mortal body might accomplish.

She was barely aware of the clangor of steel on
steel as Calandryll and Bracht set to with their
swords, intent on Katya, on the intricacies of step
and counterstep, attack and parry and riposte, find-
ing it a fascinating game. One, she thought, that
might well prove most useful in the uncertain fu-
ture. It occurred to her that did she but become
adept, she would likely be unbeatable: to the ad-
vantage of strength she could add those preter-
natural senses that would allow her to forecast
her opponent's moves, and thus few could defeat
her. And if they did, what matter? A blade be-
tween her ribs could not kill her. She resisted the
temptation to experiment, however, intent for now
on learning the basic skills of this deadly art with-
out such secret reserves.

Time passed unnoticed, so intent was she on the
lesson, until Katya called a halt, smiling. "Enough
for now," she cried as Cennaire stood poised to at-
tack again. "You learn fast."

"Sufficient practice and she could be a passable
bladeswoman," Bracht said, and Cennaire turned to
find the Kem and Calandryll watching, their own
weapons sheathed now.

"The gods grant she's no need," said Calandryll,
his face grave, as if he feared for her future safety.

"Did I not do well?" she asked.

"Excellently," he replied. "But even so ..."

ANGUS   WELLS

142

He shrugged, then staggered as Bracht slapped
him on the back, chuckling. "Ahrd," the Kern de-
clared cheerfully, "do you subscribe to this odd no-
tion of our hosts now?" and Calandryll grinned
ruefully, shaking his head.

Katya said, "Were the world not so disordered
there'd be no need. But given where we go and who
we go against, it's as well Cennaire be able to pro-
tect herself."

Calandryll nodded, sobered by that reminder, and
they shed their jerkins. returning along barely re-
membered corridors to the yard where the kotu-zen
had drilled.

The sun stood beyond its zenith now and the
place was emptied of the black-armored warriors,
men in tunics of grey cotton—presumably,
Calandryll decided, denoting some lower caste—
busily tending an array of weaponry. Fletchers
feathered arrows, others worked on mail armor,
two grinding wheels filled the air with the shriek of
sharpened steel. It seemed the keep readied for the
war, though all fell still as the outlanders entered,
the grey-clad men watching them in silence, rein-
forcing the somewhat unnerving feeling that they
were, indeed, strangers in this land.

None spoke until Calandryll asked where they
should stow the practice gear, and then a man
stepped forward, bowing deferentially, offering to
take the jerkins, as if so humble a task were be-
neath the dignity of the four.

"Ahrd, but all this subservience sets my teeth on
edge," Bracht muttered in the Envah.

"I think they rank us kotu-zen," Calandryll re-
turned. "And it seems the kotu-zen enjoy such
privilege."

The Kern snorted, glancing round at the still-
silent onlookers, who appeared to await further in-

WILD MAGIC

143

structions, or for the departure of the visitors,
before commencing their duties. "I'm more at ease
with the ways of Cuan na'For," he murmured.
"Even Secca was not so formal."

"Still, we're here." Calandryll grinned and
handed the waiting man his jerkin. "And in a for-
eign land we'd best accept foreign ways."

Bracht grunted, but made no further comment,
merely tossing the padded leathers into the waiting
arms. Katya and Cennaire passed theirs over and
the man scurried off.

"Do we find the dining hall again?" Katya sug-
gested. "I've an appetite."

"Save we lose ourselves in this maze," Bracht
agreed, his earlier good humor a little waned. "The
sooner we take the road, the better."

"Bracht," Katya advised Cennaire with deliberate
solemnity, "is never entirely happy save he sits his
horse awhile each day."

"So Calandryll suggested," Cennaire replied,
smiling.

And was abruptly struck by the odd thought that
she felt at ease with these three, as if they were,
truly, comrades. She held her smile, frozen, as the
concomitant thought came hard on the heels of
that first, instinctive, feeling: that it would be a sad
thing were she forced to slay them.

She drove the notion away, assuming a careless
gaiety, as they quit the yard and found the dining
hall.

The great room was no better lit than before, and
deserted by all save Ochen, who sat alone at the
high table, platters of cold meat, cheeses, and bread
before him, a cup of wine in his age-gnarled hand.

He greeted them cheerfully, motioning them to
the seats on either side, explaining that the midday

ANGUS   WELLS

meal was taken some time past, the cold cuts left
for their delectation.

"I fear," Calandryll said, filling a cup with pale
wine, "that we breached some protocol with our
sword practice."

The wazir nodded/ chuckling. "The kotu-zen are
a trifle rigid in their sense of etiquette," he de-
clared. "But no matter; it need not concern you."

"We've much to learn," Calandryll apologized.

"No less do we," said Ochen. "We've closed our-
selves away so long our customs stultify some-
what. The notion that a woman should bear a
sword is anathema to some here. Yet did you
not"—he smiled in Katya's direction, managing to
encompass Cennaire in the same look—"I think
perhaps Rhythamun should already have won the
day."

"And we two be likely slain," Bracht agreed, rais-
ing a cup in toast to the warrior woman. "Had
Katya not come to our aid in Kharasul, I think the
Chaipaku might well have left us dead."

Katya smiled, more intent on the food than flat-
tery. Calandryll said, "Even so, I'd not offend our
hosts. Have you time, some outline of your cus-
toms would be welcome."

"I've time now," Ochen returned. "The keep is
cleansed; better, I've set the walls with occult de-
fenses. Chazali and Temchen look to the physical
aspects, so save you've some better way to pass the
afternoon ..."

Calandryll feared Bracht would suggest they put
the horses through their paces, and said quickly,
giving the Kern no time to speak, "Aye. that would
be useful."

"Well then." Ochen topped his cup, sipped, lean-
ing forward with elbows on table. "Some little I
think you know already, from Chazali."

WILD MAGIC

145

"Who is kotu," Calandryll said, nodding. "The
warrior caste."

"All here are kotu," Ochen explained. "But even
among the kotu there are degrees of rank. Chazali,
Temchen—those warriors you encountered this
morning—are kotu-zen, who are the highest of the
caste."

"And wear the black armor?" asked Calandryll.

"Indeed," said Ochen, his wrinkled face splitting
in a deeper smile. "Only the kotu-zen may wear
such armor, which in turn is marked with the in-
signia of their rank and clan. Did my magic allow,
I'd invest you with knowledge of our written lan-
guage. But, sadly, that is beyond my powers."

"The gift of your tongue is great enough."
Calandryll returned the wazir's smile. "Who, then,
are the men clad in mail and leather?"

"Kotu-anj," said Ochen. "They are usually foot
soldiers, though they may ride as need dictates."

"The men I saw, across the Kess Imbrun," Cen-
naire interjected, "they wore mail and leather. The
one Rhythamun ... took ... he was so dressed."

"Then he was kotu-anj," Ochen murmured,
thoughtful now. "Which must render him the hard-
er to find—the kotu-zen are relatively few in num-
bers, the kotu-anj many."

Bracht mouthed a curse, met with a rustling of
the wazir's tunic as he shrugged, saying, "That
shall not prevent our hunting him down, Horul
willing. But do we forget Rhythamun and his foul
intent for the moment? We can do nothing now—
nothing until dawn—so let us speak of more palat-
able matters."

Calandryll was content enough with that: his
curiosity about this strange land was mightily
aroused. "The servants," he said, "those men we
met in the grey tunics—are they kotu?"

146 ANGUS WELLS

"All here are kotu/' Ochen repeated. "These
keeps that ward our borders may be maimed only
by warriors. Hence there are no women, save"—he
ducked his head to Katya, Cennaire—"such hon-
ored guests as you. Those who serve at table, who
perform the more menial duties, aie kotu-ji. They
aspire to become kotu-anj, but must first prove
themselves/'

"And the kotu-an)," asked Calandryll, utterly in-
trigued now by this multilayered society, "do they
aspire to become kotu-zen?"

"They cannot," Ochen told him. "The kotu-zen
come only from the highborn families. Theirs is a
privilege of blood right."

"Ahrd, but you inhabit an odd land." Bracht
shook his head, frowning. "In Cuan na'For all men
are equal. Or can make themselves so."

Ochen's wrinkles assumed a vaguely apologetic
expression. "So it has been down the centuries," he
murmured blandly. "I think that perhaps Cuan
na'For is a freer land than most, for are Lysse and
Kandahar not ordered in similar degrees of rank?"

"The Tyrant rules Kandahar," said Cennaire.

"And the cities of Lysse are ruled by their
domms," Calandryll added. "After them, the great
families."

"And Vanu?" Ochen asked of Katya. "What of
that mysterious land?"

"All are deemed equal," she replied, "and all
choose who shall speak for them in our councils,
that the voice of every man and woman be heard."

"To each his own," Ochen murmured, seeming a
little taken aback by so revolutionary a notion.
Then he chuckled: "Horul, but a fresh wind should
blow through this land did our women take up
such ideas; or the lesser castes."

He appeared to find the idea greatly amusing, for

WILD MAGIC 147

he sat awhile shaking his head and rocking slightly,
his eyes narrowed to slits as his smile grew
broader. It seemed to Calandryll he found the no-
tion not without appeal, as if he might even wel-
come the wind of change.

"And the wazirs?" Calandryll asked. "Where
does your caste stand in all of this?"

Ochen sobered a little, though still his smile was
wide. "We are privileged above all, I think," he an-
swered, "for any—man or woman—gifted with the
occult talent may become wazir, no matter their
family's station. The talent is noticeable in child-
hood and those so gifted are watched carefully, un-
til it is agreed they should train as ki-wazir.
Sometimes the gift fades, but those who go on to
become wazir are considered equal with the high-
est of the kotu-zen. Save for the wazir-narimasu,
who stand with the Shendii—the greatest of all."

"But still, for all their greatness," Bracht re-
marked, "unable to defeat these rebels who
threaten Anwar-teng."

"So it is," Ochen confirmed. "But look you, did
the wazir-narimasu turn to the dark ways their
ability to hold closed the gate should be gone, and
then . .. Then did Tharn awake, how should they
deny the god entry into the world?"

Bracht frowned, swirling wine around his cup,
then said, "// the Mad God wakes, why should he
come back by way of Anwar-teng? Might he not
cross the Borrhun-maj? Or do the wazir-narimasu
guard that road, too?"

"A good question," Ochen said, grave now, no
longer beaming, "and no, the wazir-narimasu do
not guard that road. The First Gods set such
magicks about the Borrhun-maj that not even
Tharn may come that way."

Now Calandryll frowned. "But you believe

ANGUS   WELLS

148

Rhythamun might reach Tharn by that route," he
said carefully. "Across the mountains or by way of
Anwar-teng, you said. How is that possible, be
there such wardings and guardians in attendance?"

"I say the crossing of the Borrhun-maj is nigh im-
possible for any mortal man/' replied the wazir
slowly. "And the existence of the gate in Anwar-
teng is a secret kept close. But ..." He paused,
sighed, his face suddenly ancient beyond even the
years etched there. "But .. . Rhythamun has the
Arcanum, no? And that book is both guide and
guardian—with that, Rhythamun doubtless knows
of the gate, and holds the means to survive the
crossing of the Borrhun-maj-"

The import of his words struck deep, like a
honed blade. Calandryll swallowed, his next ques-
tion voiced gruff: "Say you then, does he succeed in
reaching either goal—teng or mountains—the day
is his?"

Ochen looked into his eyes, at each waiting face,
solemnly, and shook his head once, a small move-
ment, suggestive of doubt. "It may be," he said
softly, "but not necessarily so. To use the hold's
gate, he must first reach Anwar-teng, enter the city.
Guised as he is in stolen shape, he can likely do
that, but it will not be easy. More likely—does he
choose that path—he'll league himself with the reb-
els, hoping the siege proves successful and he find
entry in the confusion. Should he choose to at-
tempt the Borrhun-maj, then still he must travel
there, and even bearing the Arcanum I think his
progress must be slowed. Horul willing, we shall in-
tercept him ere then."

"And if we do not?" It was Bracht who spoke,
blunt as ever: Calandryll sat silent, momentarily
awed by the terrifying prospect of failure. "If he re-

WltD MAGIC

149

mains ahead of us, crosses to ... whatever lies be-
yond?"

"Then those who can must go after him," Ochen
said. "The crossing alone is not the end of it. Even
does he reach Tharn's resting place, still he must
work the gramaryes of raising."

"Those who can}" asked Katya. "What mean you
by that?"

"That such magicks ward the gates as deny entry
to most," the wazir answered. "There have been
those of my calling, in the past, who dared the at-
tempt, seeking to destroy the Mad God. Instead, it
was they who were destroyed."

Bracht snorted sour laughter, drained his cup.
"The odds stack daily higher against us."

"Would you turn back then?" asked Ochen, his
voice deceptively mild. "It is not too late."

"All men must die." The Kern stared at the an-
cient sorcerer as if puzzled, or affronted. Reaching
for the decanter, he shook his head. "Is that reason
to give up?"

"No," murmured Calandryll, the single negative
echoed by Katya, who added, "Think you we
should survive?"

"You've encountered a gate before, no?" Ochen
met the gaze of her grey eyes with the tawny twin-
kle of his own. "And lived to tell the tale, no? Did
the spaewife in Lysse not speak of three? And in
Gessyth, did the Old Ones not say the same? I
think perhaps you three in all the world might sur-
vive."

"We three?" Calandryll looked to Cennaire, al-
most reached out to take her hand. "Are we not
four now? Five, do you take a part."

"For now, aye." Ochen nodded, agreeing, looking
himself toward Cennaire. "It is my belief the Youn-
ger Gods brought you four together, and you shall

ISO ANGUS WELLS

have all the aid I may command. But be it needful
you go beyond this world .. . then—there—I cannot
know."

"You'll not make the attempt?" demanded
Bracht. "Be it needful?"

"All men must die." Ochen succeeded in aping
the Kern's earlier expression, even mimicking his
tone- "No, I do not tell you I'll not make the at-
tempt. Only that I may not survive it."

"I think perhaps you've the blood of Cuan na'For
in your veins." Bracht's teeth flashed white in the
gloom, his blue eyes crinkling as he laughed ap-
proval of the old man's courage. "Was there insult
in my words, I apologize."

"You need not," said Ochen, "but I thank you."

"Likely, then, we three alone; be it necessary."
Calandryll turned from the wazir to Cennaire,
back. "Shall Cennaire be safe, do we attempt this
crossing?"

Ochen looked to the Kand woman, not speaking
for a moment. Cennaire met his unfathomable
gaze, wondering what thoughts passed behind his
furrowed brow, what doubts, what judgments.
Then he smiled again and ducked his head, saying:

"It may be the three are become four. But fear not,
the lady Cennaire rides under wardship of the clan
Makusen, and shall be safe."

"Perhaps," Calandryll suggested, "it were better
she remain in Pamur-teng."

"No!" Cennaire blurted. "I go where you go."

What motivated her then, she was not sure.
Whether fear of Anomius's wrath were she left be-
hind, or genuine reluctance to leave Calandryll's
side, she did not know; only that/ somehow, she
must remain with the questers. That above all else;

the reasons, could she ever define them, could
come later.

WILD MAGIC

151

"Lady .. . Cennaire." Now Calandryll did take
her hand, earnestly. "It may be you cannot go
where we must. And surely Pamur-teng must be a
safer refuge than the battlefield or the Borrhun-
maj."

"I'll not leave you," she returned, fervent in her
confusion, willing him to accept.

He squeezed her hand, smiling gently, and said,
"If we must go through this gate, or attempt the
mountains, either might destroy you. I'd not have
that on my conscience."

"Then do not; let it be on mine," she answered,
wondering if—as Anomius had once, cynically,
suggested—she did indeed grow a conscience. "But
still I'd go with you."

His smile brightened, as if some scarcely dared
for hope was confirmed by her words. Almost, she
felt guilty as he took her other hand and said, "I'd
not see you face such hazard. No, this task is ours,
as it was scried. You've no need to put your life in
jeopardy."

His eyes were alight, yet still grave; she had no
need of preternatural senses to know his ardor
then, and almost cried out that she had no life to
risk, only the hope of becoming again her own
woman, free to choose her own course, masterless.
She shook her head, seeking the words that might
persuade him, frightened of revelation and of fail-
ure, no longer certain which she feared most.

Ochen came to her rescue. "Pamur-teng is a long
ride distant," he murmured. "Do we reserve such
decisions until then?"

Gratefully, Cennaire nodded. Bracht and Kaiya
exchanged glances, partly surprised, partly amused.
Calandryll let go her hands, once more blushing as
he saw his comrades' speculative stares. Less confi-
dently, he agreed: "Until we reach Pamur-teng."

ANGUS   WELLS

152

"Which journey/' Bracht opined, "may well
prove hazardous enough itself."

"How so?" Calandryll turned to face the Kem.
"We ride with Ochen, with Chazali's warriors as
escort. Think you the rebels, or these tensai, shall
threaten us?"

"The rebels, no." Ochen answered in Bracht's
stead. "Perhaps the tensai, do they grow bold
enough. But I suspect your comrade thinks of an-
other danger."

Calandryll frowned incomprehension, met with
Ochen's bland stare, Bracht's grim chuckle.

"Do you forget the gramaryes Rhythamun leaves
behind?" asked the Kem, his visage abruptly seri-
ous. "The dire-wolf in the Gann Peaks? His posses-
sion of Morrach? The affliction in this keep? Think
you he'll not set his trail with similar obstacles?"

"Dera!" Calandryll gasped, nodding, and sighed.
"Aye, I'd put those things behind me."

"It may well be," Bracht warned, "that more lie
ahead."




THE sun was only a little way risen when they
quit the keep, the air offering a chilled re-
minder that summer aged, ground mist swirling
ethereal about the fetlocks of the horses, a brumous
sea that dulled the steady pounding of their hooves.
Chazali, his jet armor glistening beetle-bright, led
the way, a retinue of fifty kotu-zen in loose forma-
tion behind, protective about Calandryll and the
others, Ochen riding with them, the brightest of all
in a brilliant traveling robe of gold and silver. The
Jesseryte warriors were armed with swords and
long, recurved bows, and it seemed to Calandryll
they were a formidable enough force to deter any
save the largest of tensai bands. Of defense against
Rhythamun's magic, he was less confident, re-
membering Ochen's suggestion that the mysterious
power discerned in him rendered him more vulner-
able on the occult plane. Still, he told himself as
they cantered briskly northward, Ochen had also
suggested that forewarned was forearmed, and the
wazir's own power was surely protection against

154 ANGUS WELLS

fell sortilege. Such doubts he relegated to the
hinder part of his mind, concentrating on the way
ahead.

There, the mist began to dissipate, melted by the
climbing sun and the wind, revealing a flat land-
scape of grass duller than the lush verdancy of
Cuan na'For, as if thirsty. There was no formal
road, but the passage of centuries had eroded the
green for a width of some fifty paces, exposing a
swath of yellowish-brown earth packed hard as
stone by hooves and wheels and tramping feet. It
ran straight for leagues, a ribbon that passed be-
yond CalandrylFs vision, lost in the featureless blur
of the horizon. Overhead, birds wheeled on the
thermal currents rising from the Kess Imbrun, dark
specks against the steely blue expanse of sky, that
marked to the east by narrow streamers of white
cloud.

There was something indefinably forbidding
about the terrain, a brooding sensation that re-
minded Calandryll of the unpleasant presentiment
he had felt on approaching the keep. It seemed, al-
most, that the land waited, aware of their passage,
watching silently like some vast beast, and he shiv-
ered involuntarily despite the burgeoning warmth.

"You feel it, too?"

He turned, startled, to find Ochen close by his
side, looking up, the ancient face shaded by the
brim of a fanciful cap, though not so much he
missed the inquiring gleam in the wazir's slitted
eyes.

"I felt . .." He shrugged, unable to express the
sensation clearly.

"Watched?" the old man asked. "As though hid-
den eyes are on you?"

Calandryll nodded, glancing swiftly to Bracht and
Katya, riding side by side, apparently unconcerned.

WILD MAGIC 155

Surely were there anything tangible, the Kern's
keen senses would have noticed, but neither one
showed any hint of foreboding, only pleasure at the
freedom of the open country, of being again ahorse.

"What is it?" he queried/ growing nervous, think-
ing that if Ochen felt it, then it was not an imagi-
nary experience.

"The land is troubled/' Ochen called over the
steady drumbeat of the hooves. "The aethyr is dis-
turbed. War spills blood, and that is felt in the oc-
cult realm. Linked as you are to the aethyr, so you
feel the land's bane."

Calandryll frowned. "I've not known such feel-
ings ere now," he shouted. "Save on entering the
keep; and that was surely the aftermath of
Rhythamun's magicks."

"Moment by moment we draw closer to those
portals Tharn may use," Ochen returned. "And
that same spilled blood strengthens the god. You
feel that, I think."

"Then shall it get worse?" The thought was ugly,
disconcerting. "Shall it grow daily stronger?"

"Likely it shall." Ochen's equanimous agreement
was alarming. "But doubtless you'll learn to live
with it; learn to accommodate it."

Calandryll swallowed, tasting dust on his tongue,
and wiped his mouth. "None others seem aware of
this."

"They are not," called Ochen. "But they are not
invested with that power residing in you,"

Calandryll grimaced: did this strange power sor-
cerers discerned in him offer any advantages, he
had yet to find them; so far, it appeared chiefly a
disadvantage.

Ochen saw his expression and smiled, albeit a
trifle solemnly. "I believe," he declared, "that

156 ANGUS WELLS

when the time comes, you'll find that strength a
greater boon than bane."

"When the time comes?"

He waited for an answer, but the wazir gave
none/ only nodded, still smiling, and allowed his
mount to drift a little distance away, deliberately
precluding further conversation. Calandryll
watched him awhile, thinking that Bracht had spo-
ken aright when he complained of the riddles spo-
ken by mages. Even so, the explanation went some
little way to easing his discomfort, for it was one
thing to feel watched, unaware of the reason, and
another to know the cause. He still felt as if invis-
ible eyes bore into his back, but Ochen's words—as
likely had been the intention—rendered the experi-
ence more bearable and he squared his shoulders,
endeavoring to ignore the sensation.

It grew easier as the day grew older, though there
was little enough to occupy his attention. The land-
scape continued monotonous, a flat plain devoid of
features other than the brown line of the track that
ran ever onward through the grass; the Jesserytes
seemed indisposed to conversation, the which, any-
way, was difficult at the pace Chazali set; Bracht
and Katya appeared lost in their delight at the ride;

and Cennaire seemed too occupied with holding her
seat to risk the distraction of words. As the hours
passed, Calandryll became familiar with the feeling,
resisting the impulse to rise in his stirrups to scan
the surrounding countryside, settling more easily
on his saddle, letting the chestnut gelding match
the gait of the accompanying horses.

They halted at noon, where a low well of yellow
stone stood beside the trail, and Calandryll found
himself seated next to Chazali, the kiriwashen un-
latching his face-concealing veil from the down-
sweeping cheek pieces of his helmet and pushing

WILD MAGIC 157

back the metal that he might eat- Hoping he gave
no offense. and intrigued by the custom, Calandryll
ventured to ask why the Jesserytes favored such
masks.

Chazali swallowed bread, meticulously brushing
crumbs from his short beard, and said, "That those
we slay shall not take our image with them into
the next life," in a tone that suggested the answer
was obvious.

He appeared to consider that explanation enough
until he caught Calandryll's dubious frown and ex-
panded: "Must I slay a man, he is likely to curse
me for it. Does he die with my face in his eyes, his
ghost will remember and perhaps come back to
haunt me. Is it not so in Lysse?"

"No." Calandryll shook his head. "We believe
the dead are gone from this world. Save a necro-
mancer call them back, they go to face Dera's judg-
ment and may not return."

"That is odd," Chazali said, carefully polite. "I
had wondered why you rode unmasked."

"Does Horul not judge your dead?" Calandryll
wondered.

"When it is their time, aye," answered Chazali,
seeming now a little disturbed by the tenor of the
conversation. "But these are matters better an-
swered by a wazir—Ochen might explain better
than I."

It was clear enough indication of reluctance on
the part of the kiriwashen and Calandryll let it go,
determining that he would question Ochen later,
for that part of him—albeit diminished somewhat
by the exigencies of the quest—that remained
scholarly hungered for knowledge of the strange
people become his allies.

The afternoon passed without event; without, in-
deed, any change in the terrain or the pace of their

ANGUS   WELLS

158

passage. The Jesseryte horses, for all they were of
lesser stature than the Kernish animals, were hardy
beasts, cantering tirelessly onward, devouring the
leagues between the well found at noon and that
beside which they halted as the sun touched the
western horizon.

The moon, a sliver cut now from its fullness,
rode above the eastern skyline, the first stars glint-
ing faintly in the blue velvet twilight. The kotu-
zen, although usually attended by kotu-ji, seemed
entirely familiar with the necessities of travel,
stringing the horses on a picket line and starting
cookfires with taciturn efficiency. A guard was
mounted, the bows broken out from their stowage,
and food set to cooking. Darkness fell as they be-
gan to eat, the night still save for the strengthened
wind that rustled, eerily to Calandryll's thinking,
through the grass. The familiar stamp and snort of
horses, the cheery blaze of the fires, even the si-
lent, sable-armored warriors, were comforting—the
sensation of brooding, watchful eyes increased with
the coming of the night, as if the darkness coagu-
lated, solidifying beyond the fireglow into a vital,
physical presence.

It was the desire to stay that feeling no less than
genuine curiosity that prompted Calandryll to en-
gage the wazir in a dialogue.

"These wells," he began, as casually as he was
able, "do they mark all the road?"

"Aye." Ochen drew his robe closer about his
slender frame, the fantastic embroidery painted
crimson by the fires, his gnarled hands lost in the
wide sleeves. "Between all the tengs—at least, as
often as is possible—the trails are set with wells
that riders may find each noon and evening.
That"—he chuckled—"was one gift the Great Khan

WILD MAGIC

159

gave us. It was on his order the wells were dug—
that his armies might always find water."

"The Great Khan," Calandryll murmured. "You
never speak his name."

A hand, the painted nails glinting bright,
emerged from the wazir's sleeve to shape a gesture
in the empty air as he shook his head- "Nor is it
written," he said. "Nor do any of the monuments
he built to himself stand still. Such was decreed by
the Mahzlen and the wazir-narimasu: that all the
Great Khan wrought should be forgotten, never
again repeated. When he died, his body was burned
and the ashes cast into Lake Galil, that they might
be carried out of the land."

Calandryll nodded, feeling the wind stroke his
hair. For an instant he thought spectral fingers
brushed him, and fought the urge to duck his head.
Instead, he settled a hand about the hilt of his
sword, finding reassurance in the contact, and said,
"I'd not give offense, but I spoke this noonday with
Chazali, about the veils worn by your warriors."

He repeated what the kiriwashen had told him,
and Ochen bowed his head a moment, then said, "I
think your Dera is very different to our Horul, as
your land is different to mine. Our lives are differ-
ent, and perhaps so are our deaths—here we believe
that none lives a single life, but several, the
number determined by the deeds performed in each
existence. When a body dies, the spirit enters
Zajan-ma—that place beyond this, where spirits
not yet sundered from their worldly existence
dwell—and there await rebirth; his, or her, next cy-
cle upon the land. Horul sets each soul a task that
the reborn must dispense before they go on. Fi-
nally, when the cycle is completed, those souls
who have satisfied Horul are granted eternal rest in
Haruga-Kita."

160 ANGUS WELLS

"This is very different," Calandryll agreed. "But
still I do not understand why it is so important a
warrior's face be hidden."

"Because," said Ochen, his voice patient, his ex-
pression amused, "there are some spirits that wax
vengeful. The Zajan-ma is a place of waiting—
think of it as a chamber with many doors, from
which a soul sufficiently misguided, sufficiently
determined, may flee. So, does that spirit know the
face of its body's destroyer, it might seek revenge.
Might return to haunt the one who slew its body.
Better, then, it does not see the face; and that is
why the kotu conceal their faces."

"And yet," Calandryll murmured, "you do not
cover your face. But you have told us your magic
may be used belligerent."

"This," Ochen returned with massive confi-
dence, "is my final cycle upon the land. Those
gifted with the occult talent are in their last exis-
tence and need no longer fear the petty vengeances
of ghosts."

"What of us?" Calandryll gestured to where
Bracht and Katya lay upon their blankets, speaking
softly, privately, together; to Cennaire, who sat a
little way oft, listening to the conversation. "Shall
we go to Haruga-Kita, do we die along this road? Or
shall we come back?"

Ochen's face grew thoughtful then and for a time
he stared at the sparks drifting from the fires. "I do
not know," he said at last. "Perhaps you shall each
go to your own gods. Or perhaps this is your last
life. I know only the beliefs of my own land."

Calandryll thought a moment, then asked: "Are
you afraid of dying?"

"Of dying, no." answered Ochen soberly. "Of the
manner of it, aye. I am no more immune to pain
than any other man, and I should much sooner

WILD MAGIC 161

breathe my last in some comfortable bed, with
friendly faces all about me, than, oh, say slain
along this road by tensai arrows."

"Think you that is likely?" Mention of the tensai
shifted Calandryll's thoughts from the metaphysi-
cal to the more immediate dangers of the journey.
"Would tensai attack such a band as this?"

"Were theirs large enough," said Ochen, "or hun-
gry enough."

His tone remained cheerful, dismissive of such
danger, or philosophical. Calandryll's grip tightened
on the hilt of the straightsword, his eyes moving
automatically from the wazir's face to the guards
pacing the camp's perimeter, the moonlit shadows
beyond. Ochen saw his gaze and chuckled.

"Fear not," he said. "At least, not yet. We stand
too close to the keep that danger should threaten.
Do tensai look to attack, that will come later."

"Later?" Calandryll found poor reassurance in
the sorcerer's words. "How much later?"

"Perhaps two days," returned Ochen. "Ere long
this flat country breaks up into hills and valleys,
better watered than this plain, more fertile. There
are villages there, settlements of gettu the tensai
find easy prey. Usually, the warriors of Pamur-teng
hold the bandits in check, but with this cursed
war .,." He paused, his manner become suddenly
somber. "I fear the patrols are called to fight, and
the tensai thus ride free. Horul! The Mad God
thrives on blood and chaos, and it would seem this
land of mine descends into that morass."

"Do the gettu not fight?" Calandryll asked.

"The gettu? They are farmers," Ochen said, his
tone akin to Chazali's. earlier. Then he shook his
head, chuckling, and said, "Forgive me, I forget
how little you know these Jesseryte domains. The
gettu do not fight because Horul has assigned them

162 ANGUS WELLS

the duty of farming, not that of bearing arms.
Theirs is to raise crops, cattle—those things farm-
ers do—not to fight; and so they rely on the kotu to
defend them. Does that prove impossible, they give
the tensai what the tensai demand."

Calandryll pondered that explanation, bemused
by so strict a social structure, one that seemed, to
him, overly rigid, designed—by the ^esserytes' god,
or by the holders of power?—to favor those born
into the warrior caste. That whole villages should
meekly submit to the depredations of outlaws
seemed an affront, an abomination. In Lysse all
men were free to bear arms, and what few outlaws
existed were soon enough brought to justice either
by the city legions or the local inhabitants.

He forbore to question Ochen on that, for fear of
giving offense, and asked instead, "And the tensai?
Are they assigned their role by Horul? Does the god
give them the duty of outlawry?"

Some measure of doubt, of innate disbelief, re-
mained in his voice, for Ochen eyed him a mo-
ment, and he was reminded of his tutors in Secca,
when he had asked some question that ran wither-
shins to their formal discourse.

He was relieved when the wazir smiled and said,
"Two schools of thought exist concerning that.
Some claim it so—that Horul makes souls tensai;

the other that they are dissatisfied spirits escaped
from Zajan-ma to claim what life they can."

"And you?" asked Calandryll. "To which school
do you belong?"

"A third," said Ochen blandly. "A very small,
dissenting school that allows for doubt. In a
nutshell—I do not know."

His wrinkled face contorted in a huge smile, so
friendly that Calandryll could do little but return
it, laughing as the wazir laughed and added, "And

WILD MAGIC 163

every hour I spend with you—your comrades—
prompts me to doubt more. I suspect, my friend,
that your presence here will change this land be-
yond imagining. Look you, even now Chazali ac-
cepts that your womer bear arms—an unprecedent
thing!—and that you ride unmasked. He acknowl-
edges you equal to kotu-zen or wazir—and he has
never laid eyes on foreigners before; already you
change his way of thinking! And mine."

This last was said softer, thoughtfully, and
Calandryll inquired, "How so?"

"Your questions." Ochen shrugged, his expres-
sion become pensive now. "You prompt me to con-
sider ways of life I had not before thought much
about. You prompt me to wonder why outlanders
come to battle with the Mad God. Why was that
undertaking not given to we Jesserytes? We wazirs,
the wazir-narimasu, all know of Tharn, yet when
this Rhythamun threatens to awake the god, who
comes? An outlawed prince of Lysse; a clansman of
Cuan na'For; a warrior woman out of Vanu."

"Only we three?" Calandryll studied the old
man, turned his eyes toward Cennaire, who rested
silent on her blanket, seemingly intent on the ex-
amination of her clothing. "Are we not now aug-
mented?"

Ochen followed the direction of his gaze. "Per-
haps," he said. "Certainly I think all have a part to
play. But at the end ... ?"

He shrugged again, noncommittal, his features
suddenly enigmatic. Calandryll would have ques-
tioned him further, but just then Chazali ap-
proached, asking that the wazir employ his magic
to guard the camp and Ochen excused himself, go-
ing off with the kiriwashen to set warding cantrips
about the perimeters, leaving Calandryll alone.

He looked about, seeing each fire surrounded by

164 ANGUS WELLS

a group of kotu-zen. Sometimes a face would turn,
inscrutable, toward the outlanders, but none
moved to join them, or engage them in conversa-
tion, for all they must have appeared as fabulous to
the ^esserytes as did those warriors to them. The
fire beside which he sat seemed boundaried by
some unspoken, invisible fence, left to those not
born on the Jesseryn Plain, Ochen the only one
readily willing to bridge the gap established by
their different cultures, their mores and beliefs.

Those differences had been emphasized that
dawn, as they prepared to depart the keep. Kotu-ji
had stood with waiting horses, some even bold—or
dutiful—enough that they held the Kernish ani-
mals, each beast flanked by a second grey-clad
man. As the group approached, those had dropped
on hands and knees, human mounting stools for
the kotu-zen. Chazali and his warriors had used
them untliinking, stepping from yard to back to
saddle with the casual assumption of habit.
Calandryll had stared at the man kneeling beside
his chestnut, and Bracht had scowled and asked,
"Why do they so debase themselves?" Fortunately,
he had thought to speak in his own tongue, so the
precise meaning of his words had gone unknown.
But not the import, for Chazali had glanced down
from his saddle, and while his expression was hid-
den by his helmet's veil, the angle of his head, the
set of his armored shoulders, had radiated disap-
proval. In the Jesseryte language Bracht had said,
"Get up, man. I need no aid to mount my horse,"
and the kotu-ji had stared, uncomprehending and,
so Calandryll felt, afraid. For his own part he had
thought an instant that he might—perhaps
should—follow the custom of the land, but it had
seemed so great an affront to another living being
that he should so use a man that he had beckoned

WILD MAGIC 165

the kotu-ji away, bowing in Chazali's direction and
saying, "It is our custom to mount unaided." He
had feared then that offense was taken, but Ochen
had spoken briefly and softly with the kiriwashen,
and Chazali had grunted and barked orders that the
kneeling kotu-ji remove themselves, and the out-
landers had sprung unhelped astride their animals.

No further mention had been made of the inci-
dent, and Chazali had remained courteous, but
Calandryll felt the kiriwashen observed them
somewhat askance. Difference piled on difference,
he thought, and must surely continue so: he prayed
their alliance should not be threatened.

"You are pensive."

Cennaire's voice brought him from contempla-
tion and he smiled, turning toward the woman. She
sat studying him, fireglow dancing in her raven
hair, her dark skin ruddy in the light. Her eyes
seemed huge as he looked into them.

"I thought on all the things that separate us from
our newfound friends," he murmured. "How differ-
ent our ways are, and how easy it is to offend
them."

Cennaire nodded solemnly, thinking that he
looked very young as he frowned; and very hand-
some. She said, "They are a strange folk, but surely
they make allowance for our ways."

"So far, aye," he returned. "But when we reach
Pamur-teng, what then? A city will surely impose
far greater formality than the trail."

Cennaire shrugged carelessly: a courtesan grew
accustomed to difference, to accommodating differ-
ing habits, else she did not prosper long. "We shall
likely learn their ways as we travel," she suggested,
"and in Pamur-teng we must go carefully. Observe,
and perhaps change our ways."

Calandryll nodded, then grinned as he ducked his

166 ANGUS WELLS

head in Bracht's direction. "I am not so sure that
Bracht will agree/' he said.

"Bracht, too, must learn," she responded.

Calandryll shrugged tentative agreement. "We
must all learn, I suppose. But even so ..." He
frowned again, shaking his head in rue and reluc-
tance. "I cannot bring myself to use a man as a
mounting stool, and that is but one small thing the
Jesserytes take for granted."

Cennaire, that morning, had been perfectly will-
ing to use the kotu-ji. It seemed to her that if such
were the custom of the land, then it was no more
than polite acceptance to follow that custom. She
had abstained only because the others had done so.
Now she wondered if she should voice such opin-
ions, or if that expression would distance Calan-
dryll. She opted for tact and said mildly, "If that is
their way ..."

Distaste showed on Calandryll's face and she fell
silent. He said, "No," firmly, "\ cannot use a man
so. I cannot agree with that."

"Then in Pamur-teng we had best be on our
guard," she said.

"Aye," he agreed. "And likely we shall not re-
main there long."

Cennaire was uncertain whether he spoke of
himself, Bracht and Katya, or of them all, and that
doubt troubled her. She could not allow herself in-
terred in the city, but for now could find no sound
argument to convince him she should remain with
the questers. The only certainty was that she must
be present when—if!—they secured the Arcanum.
Somehow, therefore, she must find a reason to con-
tinue in their company; but what that reason might
be, she could not for now decide. Did she seduce
him, he might well still insist she remain in
Pamur-teng—indeed, would likely feel the greater

WILD MAGIC 167

need to see her safe, were he finally infatuated—
and that she could not countenance. Somehow she
must find a reason. It came to her that Ochen
might well be helpful in the matter, for it seemed
the enigmatic wazir had his own reasons for keep-
ing her present, and perhaps he would furnish the
justification. Pragmatic, she decided to wait: the
city lay long leagues distant, and before they
reached the teng she trusted she should find a way.

Aloud, she ventured, "We've much to face before
then."

"You heard Ochen speak of the tensai?" Calan-
dryll assumed a reassuring smile, gesturing at the
armored men around the fires. "Likely he is but
cautious—we're well enough protected, I think."

And bandits offer me little harm. thought
Cennaire, affecting a shudder as she played her part
of innocent, favoring him with a nervous look,
saying, "I've encountered such men before, remem-
ber."

Calandryll, entirely unaware she lied, smiled gal-
lantly. "No harm shall come you while I live," he
promised. "And all Chazali's warriors stand be-
twixt you and any tensai so foolish as to attack

us.

For all she acted a role, Cennaire was touched by
his chivalry. Surely he was unlike any man she had
met before, and the thought that she might one day
betray him was a thing she pushed away, a thing
she realized she preferred not to contemplate. It
had been far easier before she met him, when he
had been only a faceless quarry and her purpose
singular.

Now her purpose clouded, as if his presence cast
a stone into the clear water of her intentions, and
she felt herself, in a way, lost, desultory as a rud-
derless vessel blown by contrary winds. Her only

168 ANGUS WELLS

course seemed to be go on, to play her part and
wait to see which wind prevailed. It was not a cir-
cumstance she welcomed; it was a measure of her
dissatisfaction that she allowed it to show on her
face, scowling at the fire's merry blaze.

Misinterpreting, Calandryll said, "Surely we're
too strong a party bandits will chance attacking.
More likely they'll hide from such as we, and seek
easier pickings."

"Aye." Swiftly, Cennaire transformed scowl to
smile. "I am well protected, sir," she murmured.
"And fortunate to have encountered so brave an es-
cort."

Calandryll felt his cheeks grow warm at the
compliment, trusting that the fire's light should
hide his sudden embarrassment as his tongue tied
and foundered for want of some glib response.
Cennaire recognized his confusion—that awkward-
ness, she thought, rendered him all the more
charming, for it served to emphasize his innocence,
his lack of guile—and she chose to ease him, yawn-
ing deliberately, apologizing prettily, and express-
ing a desire to sleep-

Calandryll agreed readily enough, watching as
she drew an unneeded blanket to her chin, her head
resting on her saddle, and closed her luminous
eyes. She was, he thought, without doubt the love-
liest woman he had ever encountered, and pos-
sessed of admirable courage. He cursed himself for
his clumsiness, wishing his tongue more subtle,
that it might better express his feelings; wishing he
were able to better define them. For a while, he
continued to watch her, assuming her already
sleeping, then himself stretched out, drawing up
his own blanket.

4-

WILD MAGIC ]69

SAVE for the crackling of the fire and the soft
sounds of the horses, the night was still. No noctur-
nal birds sang, nor insects buzzed; there was no
hint of predators ranging the darkness. The moon
lay yet easterly, silvering drifts of cloud in a sky
that spread like a great indigo canopy pricked
through with the glitter of stars. It seemed that
whatever magicks Ochen set about the camp dulled
the sensation of watching eyes, for while he still
felt a vague discomfort it was not enough to stave
off the demands of weariness: he felt his eyes grow
heavy, closing, slumber's embrace welcome.

And then he thought he woke, roused by some
summons now echoed into silence. He looked
about, and gasped, though when he did he heard no
sound/ but felt terror grip him, for he looked down
on the still and silent form of a fair-haired man he
knew to be himself, sleeping soundly. Cennaire lay
beside that shape, Bracht and Katya side by side
across the fire. He saw the sleeping kotu-zen, rec-
ognized Ochen and Chazali, the wazir stirring as if
he felt that bodiless observation, the dark shapes of
the guards, the horses- It seemed he rose, spectral,
spirit and body separated, helpless, for though he
willed a return to physical form, he continued to
ascend, as if drawn up by some power beyond his
understanding or comprehension. Desperately he
struggled, and in his struggling saw—if sight was
what he used—that he was formless, without mate-
rial shape.

Panic threatened. He shouted Bracht's name,
Katya's, Ochen's, but still no sound emerged and
none save the wazir shifted, and that but restlessly,
as might a man in dream's grip.

This, though, was no dream, and were it night-
mare it was one he knew, instinctively, contained a
horrible reality, drawing the essence of his being

170 ANGUS WELLS

out from its fleshly shell. He thought then of
Rhythamun, and had he possessed his body he
would have shuddered, but all he could do was
watch the forms of his comrades and allies recede
as he rose, upward like a feather or a drift of smoke
borne on the faint wind, toward the distant stars.

In moments they were only blurs, indistinct
about the pinprick glow of the fires, those lost as
the wind, or whatever force carried him, changed
his direction, he flotsam on its breath, drifting
northward. Or so it seemed, for he watched pass be-
low the flatlands, breaking up into the corrugated
terrain promised by Ochen. Fires shone there, dis-
tant among wooded hills and watered valleys, and
he saw villages, tilled fields, the shapes of sleeping,
pastured animals.

He moved faster, gathering speed all the time,
the land below blurring, the stars above seeming to
shift in their courses, trailing light like blown
sparks. He saw a great fertile plain dominated by a
massive hold he thought must surely be Pamur-
teng, standing square, a vastly enlarged sister to the
keep. all sparkling with the radiance of myriad
lamplit windows, all lost, left behind as he traveled
on.

More lights then, thousands, far below, tiny in
the distance, and tents, horses, men: he guessed he
looked upon an encamped army. And ahead lay an-
other, greater, fires lit along both banks of a river
that ran red with their light from a vast, moon-
silvered lake. Lake Galil! And that hold beside the
water, where the river ran out, must be Anwar-
teng.

He drew closer, slowing as if contrary forces
tugged in opposed directions, permitting him a
clearer view.

More than campfires illumined the night, he saw,

WILD MAGIC 171

for from the great press about the hold, even from
the surface of the lake, where shapes too dark to
define floate^d, there came streamers of gold and
crimson, incandescent, rising in sparkling, fiery
arcs to crash against the walls of Anwar-teng, to de-
scend beyond the ramparts, in explosions of searing
brilliance. Almost, he thought to hear cries in the
night, or feel the emotions of the folk below. It was
as though tides battered him. Anger, fear, outrage,
hatred, lust and hunger for what the city meant,
what it represented; no less the determination of
those within, solid purpose underscored with fear
of defeat, rapine, and worse.

He felt his soul assaulted then, that terrible out-
wash more than he thought he could bear, and
struggled, as dreaming men do, to return himself to
the normality of sleep. He could not, but briefly,
like a promise shouted from afar, he glimpsed the
sleeping shapes of Bracht and Katya, saw Cennaire,
her hair spread raven-lit about her face, Ochen
starting up from his blanket, pushing silver locks
from a face that creased in a multiplicity of wrin-
kles, each one a beacon of concern.

Then, helpless, he was dragged onward, over a
bleak wasteland of grey and silent stone like a
sandless desert, toward the wall that bulked massy
ahead, white-dressed, craggy and sharp as dragons'
teeth. He knew that barrier for the Borrhun-maj,
and knew with a dreadful certainty that some thing
beyond it, past its physical limits, within the oc-
cult realm, called him, summoned him. Knew, too,
that were his pneuma drawn there it might never
return, that soul and body would be sundered, the
one trapped, the other locked in eternal sleep until
it should waste and die.

He fought the driving pressure of the psychic cur-
rent and it was akin to swimming against a fearful

172 ANGUS WELLS

tide. The night whispered that he should give in,
that he could not resist, that he was weak, too
weak to fight a power so much greater than his
poor resources, and though he did his utmost, still
it was as if his limbs grew lax, his muscles ached
and screamed for respite, to drift and let the tide
carry him, that he could do no more, only suc-
cumb.

He saw the mountains come closer, so high they
melded with the sky, the sheen of snow and star-
light, moonglow, become one, as if land and heav-
ens coalesced in occult haar, the world ending,
giving sway to another place. The fulgent misting
shimmered, trembling and glittering with horrid
appetite, and he knew in his soul that beyond it lay
that limbo where Tharn resided; and that did he
pierce that barrier, he should be forever lost, the
quest damned, the Mad God free to await his resur-
rection.

He weakened, tugged onward, driven, and it
seemed he heard laughter, confident and mocking,
horribly triumphant. He recognized the sound—it
was imprinted on his memory. He had heard it be-
fore, in Aldarin, when he and Katya had stood in
the private chambers of Varent den Tarl and seen
the contemptuous shape of Rhythamun appear
from the discarded talisman that he, duped and all
unwitting, had carried to Tezin-dar that the war-
lock might seize the Arcanum. Then—in the lost
city and in Aldarin, both—he had felt a vast and
righteous anger, a conviction wordless and beyond
doubting that he had no choice, nor wanted any,
save to oppose the chaos the Mad God would
wreak on the world. Now that same anger gave
him strength, enough he was able to fight the aw-
ful psychic current sweeping him toward the argen-
tal barrier,

WILD MAGIC

173

He fought. In the names of all the Younger Gods;

in the name of humanity itself. And his progress
toward the aethyric haar slowed a little.

But not enough. Still he was drawn and driven, a
swimmer caught in the buffeting of occult tides,
grown soul-weary beyond physical comprehension.
Had he existed then on the mundane plane, his
limbs should have been leaden, his lungs aching,
his eyes red-weary, his muscles screaming protest
and surrender. But he refused that: he fought on.

And still was washed ever closer to the curtain
betwixt the worlds of men and dreaming gods. The
silver shimmering pulsed, hungry. The laughter in-
creased: a crescendo of victory. It numbed his ears,
threatened to drain his waning strength.

Then faltered.

His progress toward the occult barrier slowed. He
hung a moment, suspended; with a tremendous ef-
fort turned the eyes of his pneuma back from the
haar, toward the place of men.

He saw only the bleak, night-black steppe of the
northernmost reaches of the lesseryn Plain, no
light there save what the moon and stars cast,
lonely.

Then, far off, a beacon. A warm, golden glow like
the sun rising through chill mist, calling travelers
home, promising warmth and food, friendship and
safety.

Like a swimmer treading water, he fixed his gaze
on the light, only dimly aware that the laughter
faded, more intent on summoning the last reserves
of his strength to make the final effort, to go back.

Something, someone, called him. Not in words,
but in terms of pure emotion, lending strength to
his own outrage, encouraging his efforts, urging
him on. It seemed impossible, hopeless, and a se-
ductive whisper from beyond the fog, from some-

ANGUS   WELLS

174

where else, told him it was so, that he had best
surrender, or be forever lost. That voice hinted at
reward, at pleasures undreamt of; and dreadful pun-
ishment did he continue to resist. The other, the
voice of the golden light, cried Lies, and Strength,
and Courage, and he struck out, reversing his direc-
tion, moving away from the haar, that, like the
laughter, fading irresolute. Had he looked back
then, he would have seen the jagged peaks of the
Borrhun-maj become again no more than moun-
tains, impressive, vast, but only snow-clad stone
now. But he did not look back, too intent on re-
turn. feeling himself drawn by different pressures,
benign. The laughter became a memory tinged
with disappointment and frustration, and that lent
him resolve as he felt his passage speeded, his
pneuma winging southward again, steady toward
the light of the beacon.

He crossed the steppe, saw Lake Galil; felt
Anwar-teng beneath him, the hold seeming to em-
anate a gust of warm and comforting wind that
strengthened his passing, like a friendly draught
filling the sails of a homebound ship.

Briefly, he felt psychic hands clutch at him, a
pang of fear replaced by hope as their grip proved
weak, unable to halt him. A sensation of angry dis-
appointment, of malign frustration, radiated from
somewhere, from someone—from Rhythamun!—
far below, and he reveled in that small triumph.

He sped faster and faster, uncaring now, confi-
dent again, heady and gleeful with the velocity,
winging steadily closer to the light, to safety.

And halted with an abruptness that left him
dizzy as he hovered, looking down on his supine
body, Ochen beside it—beside him—kneeling with
upraised hands, mouth moving in near-silent mut-
tering.

WILD MAGIC 175

Bracht and Katya and Cennaire crouched close to
the wazir; all the camp was awake, Chazali and his
warriors watching, grim sentinels, only the guards
not intent on the sorcerer and his occult working.

Calandryll descended, reclaiming his corporeal
form.

And opened his eyes to see Ochen smiling,
shoulders sagging in exhausted relief.

"Horul, but 1 thought you lost then."

"Ahrd! What happened?"

"Praise all the gods you've returned."

They spoke together, tumbled words, Ochen and
Bracht and Katya. Only Cennaire was silent, her
eyes huge and awed, studying him with ... he was
not sure . - - anxiety, welcome, reverence? He
smiled wanly, opening his mouth to speak, finding
it dry, blinking as sweat ran into his eyes. He shiv-
ered, feverish a moment, and Bracht carried a cup
to his mouth, an arm about his shoulders as the
Kern bled water between his lips.

The water was refreshing, the solidity of Bracht's
arm a comfort; he rested back against that support,
drinking deep, and sighed, a long, shuddering
sound.

"What happened?" he asked.

To feel his lips move, to know that cords vi-
brated in his throat, to be aware of the coolness of
the water on his tongue, to hear his own voice
again, all were wondrous sensations. No less the
fire's warmth, the reality of the hard ground under
him, the scents of leather and human skin. horses
and woodsmoke. To know himself returned was
unimaginable joy: he laughed.

Ochen set hands about his chin then, turning his
face—the feel of the dry, warm flesh was in itself a
comfort—and stared deep into his eyes. For an in-
stant he felt himself almost lost again, falling into

176 ANGUS WELLS

the tawny light of the sorcerer's gaze. But this was
not like before—this light was akin to the beacon
that had brought him back. He heard the wazir
speak/ softly, the words arcane, unintelligible.

Then Ochen said, "All is well. No taint re-
mains."

"Taint?" Calandryll thrust abruptly forward,
away from Bracht's arm, hearing his voice come
harsh. "How say you, taint?"

"I suspect," the wazir said gently, "that our en-
emy sought to ensnare you. Perhaps to delude and
seduce you. But he failed—no ill remains."

Calandryll swallowed, his throat dry again;

Bracht proffered the cup, refilled, and he took it,
able now to drink unaided. Ochen said, "Do you
describe to me what happened and I can better ex-
plain it."

Calandryll nodded and told his story.

Ochen listened in grave silence, and when the
telling was done said, "Rhythamun waxes ever
more powerful—I warned of that, no? He closes on
those portals through which Tharn's dreaming
comes strong, and the Mad God knows it—reaches
out to aid his minion. God and man, both, sought
then to draw your pneuma from you, to deliver you
into limbo. Had you entered that mist you saw—
had you traversed that barrier between the
worlds—I doubt you'd have returned."

"Then you've my thanks," Calandryll whispered.
"For I'd not the strength to resist."

"But resist you did." Ochen laughed, an accolade,
triumphant, his eyes sparkling between the narrow
slits of the lids. "I gave you some help, aye; so did
the wazir-narimasu of Anwar-teng, but you it was
who defeated the enemy's intent."

"I was caught," Calandryll protested. "I was a
leaf blown on the wind, no more."

WILD MAGIC 377

"Much more," said Ochen. "Far more. There's a
strength in you that withstands the blandishments
of Rhythamun. Even Tharn's wiles! Horul, but they
must be chagrined now!"

"You speak of this power in me?" Calandryll
frowned, lost. "Was it not that allowed Rhythamun
to suck out my pneuma?"

"Aye," said Ochen. "At least, it was your conti-
guity with the aethyr let him find you, but that
same power gave you the strength to fight him—
and Tharn—and that's a mighty gift."

"You name it gift?" asked Calandryll. "That a
mage such as Rhythamun is able to part my soul
from body? That seems more curse to me."

"Were you not so powerful as to resist, aye."
Ochen nodded, absently patting Calandryll's shoul-
der, as might a parent or a pedagogue, explaining-
"But you were able. Do you not see? No, of course
not—forgive me, I assume knowledge you've no
way of having. So, listen—most men—those not so
gifted—would have been drawn out and forever
lost. A 'normal' man, such as Bracht"—this was
with an apologetic smile to the Kern—"is armored
against such depradation by his very normality. He
stands distant enough from the aethyr that he is, in
effect, invisible. You, however, stand close—as I
told you before—and so Rhythamun is able to find
that part of you that exists on the occult plane."

He paused, and Bracht muttered, "Ahrd be
thanked that I be normal. I stand with Calandryll
on this—it seems more curse than blessing."

"Are the two not often the mutual faces of the
same coin?" Ochen said. "The power in you,
Calandryll, allows Rhythamun knowledge of you,
and that knowledge waxes greater the closer he
draws to his master. But equally, that same power
grants you the ability to fight him better. Had you

178 ANGUS WELLS

not that power, you should have crossed the barrier
and been lost—we should now observe a body be-
reft of its animus, a wasting husk.

"But you possess that power! Horul, do you not
see it? You withstood the blandishments of the
Mad God! You were able to fight the machinations
of Rhythamun!"

"I felt anger/' Calandryll said, shrugging. "Anger
and disgust at all Tharn stands for. No more than
that."

"Which anger and disgust, righteous as they are,
afforded you the power to deny the god/' said
Ochen. "I think that is a very great power."

"When first we saw the Vanu warboat ..."
Bracht spoke slowly, thoughtfully. "When we be-
lieved Katya our enemy . . . You called up that tem-
pest to drive her off."

"And in Gash, when we were attacked," now
Katya took up the theme, her grey eyes wide and
wondering, "then you drove back the canoes. It was
as though you summoned up a terrible wind."

"And in Kharasul," Bracht said, "when Xanthese
and his Chaipaku looked to slay us ... As in Gash,
you fought like a man possessed."

"Or in fear of his life," said Calandryll.

"The spaewife there—Ellhyn—she said there was
a power in you," Bracht murmured. "Do you not
remember?"

"Varent's—Rhythamun's—stone." Calandryll
shook his head. "That gave me the power."

"That is not what Ellhyn said." Katya studied
him with wide, thoughtful eyes. "I recall her
words."

There is power in you that you could use with-
out the stone, did you know the way of it.

"So," he admitted, "do I. But even so .. ."

WILD MAGIC 179

"And in Vishat'yi/' Bracht pressed. "Menelian
said the same, or so you advised us."

"And did you not bring Burash himself to our
aid?" Katya added. "When the Chaipaku would
have drowned us?"

Calandryll threw up protesting hands: to fight
these arguments was as hard as the struggle against
Tharn's summons, Rhythamun's force; harder, for
they came from friends.

"So be it," he allowed. "So it is, if you all say
so—there's some power in me I cannot understand.
Only that it renders me prey to magic. That it en-
ables Rhythamun to find me; to draw me out like
some vampire leeching my blood, my soul."

"Against that," Ochen said gently, "there are
cantrips of defense that I can teach you, be you
willing."

"Willing?" Calandryll hawked bitter laughter.
"Should I refuse such gramaryes as relieve me of
that fear? I'd sooner go sleepless than bed down
each night wondering if I must journey to Tharn's
domains."

"And yet," the wazir said, "there's some advan-
tage may be gained from that."

"Advantage?" Calandryll fixed the ancient face
with a disbelieving stare, wary of what thoughts
lay behind those musing eyes. "I'd sooner keep my
soul, Ochen, be it all the same to you."

Ochen smiled, bowing his head. "I'd not see you
lose your soul," he declared, his voice earnest, "but
I think you able to go where few others may. I am
not without occult resources, but even I could not
have resisted that tide that swept you along."

"You brought me back," Calandryll said, almost
a shout, for he began to sense the direction of the
mage's thinking; and liked it not at all. "Had you
not used your talent, I'd be lost."

180 ANGUS WELLS

"1 tell you again," Ochen said; carefully now, his
voice pitched low, insistent, "that it was your
power as much as mine that brought you back.
Alone, I could not have done it."

"You were aided by the wazir-narimasu. You said
as much." Calandryll's response came hoarse, trep-
idation mounting apace. "Your magic and theirs,
you said."

"Nor did I lie," promised the wazir. "But still,
had you not that unknown power, ours should not
have been sufficient to stand against those forces
that looked to destroy you. To destroy the threat
you mean to them."

"What say you?" asked Calandryll, softer, almost
resigned: he felt sure he would not enjoy the an-
swer.

"That you are better able than any wazir in this
land to confront, to observe, Rhythamun," Ochen
replied. "I do not pretend to understand how this is
so—save it be some gift of the Younger Gods; or
some duty imposed on you—only that I believe you
may go to, and return from, places none others
may."

"I do not understand." Again Calandryll shook
his head. "You speak in riddles."

He looked to Bracht for support, and found none,
for the Kern, like all of them, was intent on the wa-
zir.

"There is much of riddling in sorcery," Ochen
agreed with what Calandryll felt was an altogether
unseemly cheerfulness. "It is a riddle in itself, I
sometimes think. But heed—you were able to come
close to Tharn and yet return. Rhythamun sent you
there, to end your threat, and so may you go to
him. You've the power for it, and he knows it .. ."

"I'd put my blade in him, were I able,"
Calandryll snapped.

WILD MAGIC 181

"Aye." Ochen nodded absently, caught in the
flow of his own thoughts. "And perhaps it shall
come to that; but edged steel is not the only way to
destroy Rhythamun. Could we draw out his
pneuma, as he did yours, ihen so might we ensnare
him just as he endeavored to trap you."

Presentiment, trepidation, fear, all came together
in unwelcome understanding: Calandryll said,
"You'd ask me to hunt him on the occult plane?"

"Only after I've taught you the cantrips of pro-
tection," said Ochen. "Only when you're armored
with such sortilege as can wholly defend you. And
only with the aid of the wazir-narimasu."

"You ask much of me." Calandryll ducked his
head, staring at the straightsword that rested,
sheathed, beside him; touched the hilt. "I'd face
him man to man. But there ... ?"

"It may be that," Ochen said. "Perhaps you shall
face him at sword's point. But were you able to de-
feat him within the sphere of the aethyr ... Is it
not his defeat you seek?"

Calandryll looked up, feeling himself almost de-
feated, and nodded: "Aye."

"We speak," said Ochen, "of a future some time
distant. There's much you need to learn before
such attempt may be safely made. I need teach you
the cantrips, the gramaryes . . . until you know
them sound, I'll round you with protections. Only
when I know you safe, would I ask you attempt the
aethyr. And that not until we close on Anwar-
teng."

"Then round me," Calandryll said wearily, "for
I'm mightily tired now, and I'd sleep—be it safe."

"Safe for now," Ochen promised. "He'll not
make another attempt this night, and we'll speak
again on the morrow,"

Calandryll nodded, and lay back. Ochen left him;

182 ANGUS WELLS

Chazali and his watching warriors returned to their
blankets; Bracht and Katya murmured reassurances
that he answered with a yawn. Cennaire said, "You
are very brave," and he smiled, thinking that a
wonderful compliment, for he felt very afraid.




JT was some comfort that they must stand far
closer to Anwar-teng before Ochen would ask
him to go voluntarily into that strange bodiless
state, for he felt entirely inadequate to the task,
and not at all eager to again face those malign for-
ces he had felt buffet him. He did not properly
comprehend why that proximity was necessary,
save—as Ochen explained, somewhat vaguely as
they broke their fast and struck camp—that the
power of the wazir-nanmasu was limited by the
hostility surrounding the hold, that emotion
strengthening the Mad God's estivatious sendings,
and that without their anchoring support it was too
hazardous an undertaking. It was enough for
Calandryll that the attempt should be delayed. Be-
sides, there was much else to occupy him.

In the days and nights that followed he was
largely in Ochen's company, to the exclusion of all
other, become once more a scholar, his thirst for
knowledge reawakened, titillated by the recondite
vistas the wazir gradually revealed, no longer ab-

184 ANGUS WELLS

Stract but of practical, perhaps even vital, impor-
tance.

Tutored by the patient sorcerer, he learned better
to understand the nature of the aethyr, to see that
plane not as some arcane dimension, but as one si-
multaneous with the physical- It was, Ochen ex-
pounded, as though two worlds existed contiguous,
one—the aethyr—invisible to most inhabitants of
the other, only those gifted with the talent able to
perceive the existence of the neighboring plane
through such windows as their thaumaturgical
skills created. Likewise there were doors could be
built, through which the inhabitants of one plane
might enter the other.

"And like any door," he explained one night as
all around them the camp settled to sleep and
Calandryll struggled to hold open weary eyes,
"they may close behind you- Be barred, even,
against your going back. Such is what Rhythamun
attempted."

"And doubtless would again," Calandryll re-
turned around a stifled yawn. "Save this mystic
door be propped open."

"Which it may be/' Ochen assured, seeming not
the least tired, so that Calandryll wondered if he
needed sleep at all. "One adept in the sorcerous
arts does that instinctively. But such a level of skill
requires years of tutelage."

Calandryll nodded sleepily, and Ochen chuckled
and said, "Enough for now. Go find your bed, rest—
and we'll speak again come dawn."

That seemed not far off as Calandryll stretched
himself blear-eyed on his blanket, for the moon
was past its zenith and closing on the western ho-
rizon. He sighed, luxuriating in the prospect of at
least a few hours' sleep, and looked to where
Cennaire lay, little more than an arm's length from

WILD MAGIC                          185

his makeshift bed. He did not know she watched
him from under hooded lids, marveling at all she
had heard; only that he was disappointed they had
so little opportunity now to speak together.

No more was he able to converse much with
Bracht or Katya, for each morning he woke to
Ochen's cheerful summons, given barely sufficient
time to perform his ablutions and snatch a plate of
food before the wazir embarked again on his tutor-
ing.

He learned, slowly, how to recognize those oc-
cult pressures that warned of aethyric scrutiny, and
to wrap his tongue around the complex syllables of
the protective cantrips. Not yet so well that Ochen
failed to ward him round with gramaryes each
night, nor yet so well that he might defend himself,
but enough he began to believe that in time he
should be able to master the sortilege, and that was
a reassurance. So, too, was his preoccupation with
the task, for he practiced dutifully as he rode, and
that inured him to the still-present feeling of obser-
vation, that now better understood as he learned
more about the occult plane and the interaction of
aethyr and mundane.

It was both boon and bane, for even as he came
to accept that he did, indeed, possess some power
unfathomable, some occult talent that would, as
time passed and he learned to employ it, stand him
in good stead to battle Rhythamun in the realm of
the aethyr, so he began to comprehend the enor-
mity of that other world. He had pursued the wiz-
,    ard thinking purely in terms of the physical—that
^   he and his comrades must overtake the sorcerer
and face him with naked steel. Now, his knowledge
i,   daily broadening, he began to understand that
^   Rhythamun—the essence, the animus, of that
^   being—barely existed in physical terms, save what

186 ANGUS WELLS

he stole. Now it came to him that he and his
comrades—for still those prophecies that had
brought them together surely pertained—must con-
front the warlock on another level. Rhythamun, he
realized, had become over the centuries of his evil
existence a creature of almost purely aethyric en-
ergy, his fell powers waxing ever stronger as he
drew ever closer to Tharn. Calandryll began to
doubt that steel alone might end the threat.

That doubt he put to Ochen/ and more.

They sat, as had become their custom, a little
way distant from the rest, cloaked against the cool-
ing of the summer as the sky darkened and the fast-
waning moon climbed above a range of low hills.
Timber grew thick along the flanks, leaves that be-
gan already to assume the hues of autumn rustling
in the wind that blew soft from the north, the
wells that had daily marked their passage no longer
needed, for little streams plashed down the ridges
to striate the bottomlands with rivers. Chazali had
increased the nightly watch against the possibility
of tensai attack, and for a while each dusk the air
grew pungent with the almond scent of Ochen's
sortilege. On the morrow, so Calandryll under-
stood, they would reach a village, a settlement of
gettu, where there might be news of the war and
the more immediate danger of predatory outlaws-
For now he felt a different concern, outlining his
doubts to the silver-haired mage.

"He can be slain," Ochen said. "Doubt that not,
for no man is truly immortal, and some part of
Rhythamun remains yet in this world. Were it oth-
erwise, he should be a ghost."

"And yet surely he must have outlived his mor-
tal span," Calandryll responded. "Is your—forgive
me, for I intend no disrespect—concept of the after-
life correct, then has he not entered your Zajan-ma

WILD MAGIC 187

as each life terminates? And come back—escaped!—
from there?"

"Likely so- Think you the Younger Gods are in-
fallible?" Ochen accepted the suggestion without
demur, chuckling. "Were that so, how should such
as Rhythamun exist at all? Horul and his kin
would surely order the world to their design, and
none should ever threaten their dominance. But
that is not the way of things—no, it seems to me
the gods are bound by some order beyond their
breaking; certainly beyond my understanding. Have
you not said that Burash and Dera, both, spoke of a
design past their changing? I suspect the Younger
Gods need men as men need them; that Yl and
Kyta, or perhaps even a power beyond them, left
behind a structure neither man nor god can alter."

"So?" Calandryll demanded.

"So Rhythamun has attained such knowledge as
enables him to shake off the ties that bind other
souls in Zajan-ma," said Ochen. "He is ... How
shall I put this?.. . a free spirit. He defies the bonds
that govern our existence; defies the gods them-
selves. He returns from Zajan-ma not as a ghost,
neither as a reborn soul sent by Horul, but as and
by his own agency, escaping the judgment of mine
or any other's god. And that is surely an abomina-
tion."

"On that," Calandryll said, "we agree. But still
it's a metaphysical concern. I ask you again—shall
steel prevail against him?"

Ochen thought a moment, then said: "1 believe
that did you put a blade in his fleshly form, then,
aye, you would slay his stolen shape. That blade
Dera blessed likely has the power to sever his hold
and send his pneuma into the aethyr, where it
would likely wander in limbo forever. Unless ..."

He paused and Calandryll demanded, "Unless?"

188 ANGUS WELLS

"He has such power as could bring him back
again," said Ochen.

"Dera!" Calandryll drove clenched fists against
the wind, voice harsh and horrified. "You say he is
truly immortal! That even be he slain, he will
come back. That his threat is ever-present."

"Evil is an ever-present threat," Ochen re-
sponded. "But were he thus slain, then that part of
him that lived on might be hunted down within
the aethyr and destroyed. Do you not see? His
strength is his weakness—he lusts for domination,
for mortal power. Why else should he seek to raise
the Mad God? Only because he looks to stand at
Tharn's elbow, the god's temporal lieutenant. He
loves life too much to leave it—why else prolong
his existence? Only because he cannot let go his
hold on this world of men.

"That is his weakness—that love of fleshly be-
ing. He is loath to quit this world; too loath, and
were his pneuma sundered from his flesh, then he
must surely be greatly weakened. Oh, aye, I know
he counts his life by long ages, and must certainly
be most difficult to destroy, but still it can be
done."

"To achieve that victory, we must apprehend
him before he has opportunity to use the gate in
Anwar-teng," Calandryll said carefully, exploring
the tenons of his doubt. "Or before he crosses the
Borrhun-maj, no? Do I understand properly every-
thing you have taught me, then to be certain of vic-
tory, we must take the Arcanum from him before
he gains a portal to Tharn's limbo. And to take the
Arcanum from him must surely mean slaying
him."

"Aye," said Ochen, face bland and enigmatic in
the pale light of the moon. "You put it well, and I
think you understand your lessons."

WJLD MAGIC 189

Calandryll nodded brief acknowledgment and
said, "And everything you teach me serves to pro-
tect me. Yet if the scryings I've heard are true, then
three must face Rhythamun—Bracht and Katya
must stand with me. How shall they be protected if
we must go into that place beyond the Borrhun-
maj?"

Ochen drew golden nails down through the
strands of his mustache; tugged a moment on the
wisps of his beard. Then: "I do not know."

"You do not know!"

The wazir shook his head; a slight, wary move-
ment.

"Nor if they shall—can'—survive?"

Again that negative movement.

Calandryll stared aghast at his mentor. He was
tempted to shout accusations, arguments; he forced
himself to calm, to reason, and when he spoke was
pleased to hear his voice come even, disciplined.

"Surely, then, you must tutor them as you do
me—afford them what defenses you can."

"Were that possible, think you I'd not?" the wa-
zir asked. "I cannot, for they've not the talent. You
alone command that power."

"Then I alone must do it," Calandryll said.

"I do not believe that is the way of it," Ochen re-
turned. "A design exists beyond my comprehension
and it binds you three to this duty. It may be bro-
ken, aye—you've but to turn about, go back ..."

Calandryll cut him off with an angry gesture.
"No! That I'll not countenance; neither my com-
rades."

"Then you and they have little choice," said
Ochen. "Have you?"

"You say they're doomed," Calandryll sighed.

"I say that if Rhythamun is to be defeated, if
Tharn is to be denied resurrection," Ochen replied,

190 ANGUS WELLS

"then you, all three, must go on. Perhaps ..." He
paused, chewing a moment on the tails of his mus-
tache, thoughtful. "Perhaps even Cennaire must go
with you."

"No!" Now Calandryll's voice rose loud in de-
nial, forced quieter by effort of will as he con-
tinued; "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 fur-
ther stroking of his beard. "What need was there
she met you at all?" he asked.

"Chance," answered Calandryll. "Her misfor-
tune."

"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 sus-
pect she's a part to play."

"Defenseless as the others?" The slight hesita-
tion 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 re-
mains safe in Pamur-teng. Also that we put all this
to Bracht and Katya—grant them the freedom of
choice."

WILD MAGIC 191

"I think you know their choice." 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 Cen-
naire?"

"Should be allowed some say in her own des-
tiny," 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 meet dangers, but not such as you promise."

"It may still be that we find Rhythamun in
time," Ochen said gently, his words designed to re-
assure. "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 scru-
ples of mortal men."

"Aye." The wazir's wrinkled face puckered, moon-
lit. "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?" Calan-
dryll 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 dark-
ness. "Had it, the aethyr should ring loud with the
event."

192 ANGUS WELLS

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 por-
tal; 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?" Calan-
dryll 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," mut-
tered 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 sur-
render now. Would you take that course?"

"No." Calandryll grinned, resolution strength-
ened by the sorcerer's admonishment. "You know
I'd not."

"Then we press on," said Ochen firmly. "Trust-
ing 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

WILD MAGIC 193

ensconced safe in Pamur-teng, for I'm not yet con-
vinced 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 men-
tal 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

194 ANGUS WELLS

sky grew light in the east and the fires were fresh-
stoked, the kotu-zen saddling their horses in prepa-
ration 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 dis-
pel 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, Cermaire, sat beside their fire, and the prom-
ises of the past night came back: he nodded and
thrust off his blanket, weary head spinning an in-
stant as he rose. He smoothed his rumpled clothes,
belted on his sword, and went to take his place be-
side 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."

WILD MAGIC 195

"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 un-
known, 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 ar-
guments, but even as he searched, Bracht spoke
again.

"We talk of future dangers," the Kem 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

J96 ANGUS W£LLS

small and secret smile, as if he approved her re-
sponse.

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 or-
ders, 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 ven-
ture 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 af-
forded 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, to-
tal concentration is needed. That journeying is
done only when the body has nothing else to con-
cern 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."

WILD MAGIC 197

Calandryll might have felt chastened, had the
wazir not grinned then, ruefully, and mouthed a
foul curse as his animal faltered where the slope,
emptying of trees, angled steeper, the grass slip-
pery. Instead, he chuckled and cried, "Then I'll not
burden you with more questions. Save one—might
we not this night go out to seek the tensai camps?"

"We might not," returned Ochen, "for you are al-
together too vulnerable and I'd not lead Rhytha-
mun to you- Now, for Horul's sake, leave me be
lest I come to grief and tumble down."

Before them, the mist rolled back, revealing a
narrow expanse of valley, a river glittering blue-
silver along its length, alders shining golden beside
the water. Beyond, the slope was gentle, spread
with maples and birch, conifers like sentinels along
the ridgetop, black against the azure of the early
morning sky. Chazali's scouts climbed the gradient,
halting among the pines to wave the travelers on,
and Calandryll urged the chestnut across the shal-
low water, heeling the gelding up the rise.

Over the crest a wide saddleback stretched be-
tween two low hills, the timber there cut through
with narrow trails, running down the incline to the
valley beyond. From the vantage point of the ridge,
a clearing was visible at the roadway's foot, timber
cut back alongside a ribbon of sunlit water, smoke
rising in thin streamers, lining the sky's clear blue
with misty grey pennants that swirled and broke
on the wind. They went down the trail, meander-
ing between the trees, emerging on the river, a ford
there, and where it left the water a palisaded vil-
lage. Chazali's scouts stood their horses between
open gates, men in dun-colored shirts and grubby
breeks standing nervously about them, bowing as
the jet-armored kotu-zen came closer, bowing

198 ANGUS WELLS

deeper as they saw the kiriwashen at the column's
head.

Chazali raised a commanding arm/ shouting for
his men to halt and wait beyond the walls as he
rode in through the gates. Ochen followed him,
waving the outlanders to come after.

Within, Calandryll saw a collection of rough and
ragged huts, all timber-built, with smokeholes in
their roofs, small, overhung verandahs about their
sides. From among them watched women and chil-
dren, eyes wide and, he thought, frightened, wary
and as ready to flee as the deer in the woods. He
thought to see Chazali dismount, and certainly the
village menfolk appeared to stand ready to pros-
trate themselves to receive the kiriwashen's foot.
Instead, Chazali waved them back, remaining in
his saddle as he unlatched his veil and threw the
metal back to reveal his face.

"We do not halt here," he said. "But we shall
take supplies, for three days."

A man bowed, as if this were a great honor,
though his face was blank, and Calandryll thought
that the victualing of the band must surely be a
drain on the resources of the village.

The man—the headman, Calandryll supposed—
barked brief instructions and folk began to bustle
about, fetching sacks and yellow haunches of dried
meat that were carried out to the waiting kotu-zen.

"You've news?" Chazali demanded brusquely.

The headman bowed again, refusing to meet the
kiriwashen's eyes, and answered, "Three days ago
tensai came. They took two cows."

"How many?" asked Chazali.

"There were nineteen came here," the headman
told him, "but I think there were more in the hills.
They grow stronger."

Chazali grunted, nodded, and said in a somewhat

WILD MAGIC 199

milder tone, "When the war is finished the patrols
will come back. Do we encounter these outlaws,
meanwhile, they shall die."

"Thank you. Lord." The headman bowed duti-
fully. "May Horul guide your blade."

"And may he bless your crops," returned
Chazali. Then, without further ado, spun his horse
round and heeled the animal back through the
gates.

He wasted no time on explanations, only dropped
his veil in place and waved his men forward, as if
the village and its problems were beneath his con-
siderations, already dismissed. The scouts were al-
ready gone ahead, cantering up the slope, and the
remaining warriors fell into line behind their com-
mander, the outlanders and Ochen at the center of
the column.

They topped the rise and saw a broader valley be-
fore them, the trail cutting down through heavy
stands of timber to another river, a second village
twin to the other, tiny in the distance. Calandryll
had thought to halt again there, but Chazali led
them fast to the ford, splashing across in great
sheets of sunlit silver spray as his outriders can-
tered to meet him, reporting to the kiriwashen
before returning to their stations, Chazali main-
taining his pace as they cantered on. From the
village gate inscrutable Jesseryte faces watched
them go, bland as the sky above. They did not halt
until noon, in a clearing just off the trail.

As had become their custom, Calandryll sat with
Bracht and Katya, Cennaire and Ochen, separate
from the kotu-zen. He was somewhat surprised
when Chazali approached, bowing formally and
asking permission that he might join them. It
seemed entirely unnecessary, but he nonetheless re-
turned formal invitation, for which the kiriwashen

200 ANGUS WELLS

offered equally formal thanks before seating him-
self.

"The news is not good," he declared, looking
from face to face. "The tensai grow bold. They took
food from both villages, and the headman of the
last believes they number forty men. He thinks
they have a camp within a day or two's ride."

Ochen nodded, making no comment, Bracht
asked, "Shall you hunt them?"

Chazali's answer was a smile, brief and, Calan-
dryll thought, regretful, accompanied by a shrug.
"Not hunt them, no. Our duty is to reach Pamur-
teng. Do they look to attack us however ..."

The smile grew fierce, predatory. It seemed to
Calandryll he resembled nothing so much then as
some great cat, anticipating a killing.

"Ghan-te is little more than a day now," said
Ochen, answered with a curt nod.

Calandryll asked, "Ghan-te?"

"A larger steading," the wazir explained. "It has
an inn, a temple, a market."

"And perhaps news," Chazali said.

THE settlement lay at the center of a hill-ringed
bowl, the slopes all cleared of timber and terraced,
streams diverted through sluices and little dams to
water the levels where gettu toiled, looking up
from their labors to watch the column approach. A
wall of tree trunks encompassed the town, rectan-
gular and set at intervals with watchtowers,
breached by great gates banded with metal, those
opening on a narrow avenue that ran into the cen-
ter. The outriders had alerted the place to the ar-
rival and folk thronged the avenue and the
peripheral streets that crossed it with geometric
regularity. A few wore the drab earth tones that ap-

WILD MAGIC 201

peared the uniform of the farmer, but most were
dressed in more lavish outfits, their clothing and
its ornamentation suggesting prosperity. They
formed a curious audience as Chazali led his party
inward, riding proud between buildings of two sto-
ries height, with long verandahs and stone chim-
neys, the woodwork bright-painted, looming
tight-packed above the avenue.

The sun was just set, dusk thrusting long shad-
ows over the ground, and lanterns were suspended
all down the way, setting the black armor of the
kotu-zen to glittering, like the carapaces of huge,
exotic beetles. None spoke, only bowed and
watched as the kotu-zen rode past stiff-backed,
their masked faces set rigidly forward, looking to
neither left nor right, but only to their leader, as if
casual communication with the inhabitants was
beneath them.

Chazali brought them to a plaza, a wide square
set with massive flagstones that rang loud under
the hooves, walled by four of the largest structures
in Ghan-te, two strung with lanterns, one less lit,
the third dark. Chazali halted before it, and from
its construction, Calandryll deduced this was the
garrison formerly occupied by the kotu-anj now
called to the war. Facing it across the square was a
more welcoming structure, its facade painted a bril-
liant red, the windows outlined with blue, the ve-
randah hung with vermilion-tinted lanterns. He
guessed that was the inn, and the dimmer building
alongside a stable. The fourth, boasting an elevated
fascia decorated with a black horsehead on a back-
ground of gold, was surely the temple.

Chazali sat his horse a moment, surveying the
square, then barked a command that brought
townsfolk scrambling forward to prostrate them-
selves that the kotu-zen might step down. Those

202 ANGUS WELLS

most eager, Calandryll noticed, were the most ex-
pensively accoutred, who appeared to consider it an
honor that they be used as footstools. He found a
man in an ankle-length robe of silver-threaded
green kneeling beside the chestnut, and turned the
gelding away, springing down before the figure had
time to scrabble on hands and knees to his new po-
sition.

The man climbed awkwardly to his feet, frown-
ing, seeming disappointed, then bowed and walked,
head lowered, away. Calandryll took the reins and
led the gelding over to where the others waited
with Ochen. The wazir said, "We sleep here this
night," indicating the shadowy bulk of the garri-
son. "Likely we shall eat in the tavern."

Bracht asked, "And our horses?"

"The stable." Ochen pointed absently to the
neighboring building, his eyes wandering to the
temple, as if he noted some irregularity.

"I thought only the kotu-zen rode," Calandryll
said, and Ochen replied, "Only the kotu-zen may
own war-horses. The other castes are allowed asses
or mules. Horses are the gift of Horul, creatures
special to the god."

He appeared preoccupied, his attention on the
temple, and Calandryll asked, "Is aught amiss?"

"I wonder at the priest's absence," the wazir
murmured, frowning. "Where is he?"

"Do we see our animals bedded?" Bracht de-
manded, far less concerned with the missing priest
than the comfort of his stallion.

"Once Chazali establishes order." Ochen nodded
vaguely, gesturing in the direction of the kotu-zen
who moved purposefully about the square, pro-
pelled by the kiriwashen's barked commands. Some
strode, Calandryll saw, to the tavern, others to the
stable, while more entered the garrison building,

WILD MAGIC

203

shouting for lanterns to be brought. It seemed to
him they commandeered townsfolk at random,
prosperous-looking burghers hurrying to obey with
ambiguous alacrity.

"Leave me your horse," he offered, troubled by
the wazir's uncharacteristic air of impatience. "I'll
see it bedded while you speak with the priest."

"My thanks."

Ochen wasted no time passing the reins, hurry-
ing toward the temple, calling his whereabouts to
Chazali. Calandryll took the animal and led it with
his own to the stable. The kotu-zen moved in the
same direction, though while they left their horses
in care of townsfolk clearly anxious to be of ser-
vice, the outlanders looked to their own, even Cen-
naire, following their example, applying the brush
and ascertaining the manger held fresh hay, the
trough clean water.

Those tasks dispensed, they returned to the garri-
son, lit now, and bustling with activity as the kotu-
zen took up occupation. The place was dark and
simple as the keep, a warren of dim-lit corridors
and chambers filled with the empty scent of deser-
tion, musty and slightly damp. At ground level was
a central hall, a kitchen behind, an armory dug be-
low, and a bathhouse. Stairs went up to the second
floor, that mostly given over to a single dormitory,
individual chambers built around the outer walls.
Townsfolk scuttled, lighting fires, airing bedding,
bowing nervously as they eyed the strangers with
open curiosity, the kotu-zen with a curious mix-
ture of expectation and fear.

Chazali took it upon himself to escort them to
their rooms, those humbler, even plainer than the
chambers of the keep: walls of bare wood, a single
bed, a chest, no more.

"This place was not built with honored guests in

204 ANGUS WELLS

mind," he apologized, "but we shall remain only
this night."

He bowed and left them. Bracht said, "Ahrd, but
did you see these folk grovel? This is, truly, a
strange land."

"And we strangers in it," Calandryll replied,
crossing to the window to peer down into the
plaza. He saw Ochen leaving the temple, hurrying
across the square, the sorcerer's gait, the set of his
shoulders, spoke of anxiety and Calandryll felt pre-
sentiment stir. The ancient glanced up and saw his
face, raising a hand to beckon him down. Presenti-
ment became certainty and Calandryll turned to
his companions: "Something's amiss."

Not waiting for any response, he quit the win-
dow and went into the corridor, the others hard on
his heels as he descended the stairs.

The hall below was lit now, dimly as seemed the
Jesseryte custom, a fire started in the hearth.
Ochen stood with Chazali by the fire, speaking ur-
gently, both their faces grave. The kiriwashen had
removed his helm, but not yet his armor, and one
hand clenched and flexed around the hilt of his
sword as the other tugged angrily at the oiled trian-
gle of his beard. The outlanders joined them, and
even before Ochen spoke, Calandryll sensed his
news was not good.

"The priest is dead." The words came flat, in-
toned as if this were the grossest outrage, an enor-
mity beyond comprehension. "Slain by tensai."

"Here?" Calandryll gestured, encompassing the
town.

"Not in Ghan-te." Ochen shook his head,
reached to lift strands of disarrayed silver from his
face. "In the woodland. He rode to a naming cere-
mony in that last village—he did not return."

He paused, sighing, and Chazali expanded: "For-

WILD MAGIC 205

esters found his body and brought it here three
days agone. It was butchered, they said. As if torn
apart by rabid dogs." His voice was harsh, stony as
the cold rage burning in his slitted eyes.

"Then likely the tensai lie behind us," Bracht
said, "and no threat."

Chazali fixed the Kem with a savage glare. "You
do not understand," he snarled, pent rage finding
small outlet in the words-

"How should he?" Ochen waved a placatory
hand, his voice somber as he said, "Albeit he was
of lesser skill, still this priest was of the wazir
caste. No tensai would dare harm such as he, for
fear of damnation. To slay a priest is to consign
oneself to eternal torment; to risk attacking a wazir
is to face dangerous magic."

"Still I fail to understand," said Bracht.

Calandryll watched as Ochen looked, grim-faced,
to Chazali, comprehension dawning, confirmed by
the mage's next words.

"That they dared it—that they succeeded—can
mean only one thing: they've magic of their own.
Rhythamun's magic! And be that so, we can surely
count on ambush ere long."




CALANDRYLL studied the two Jesserytc faces,
seeing horror writ there, such open expression
of outrage somehow lending far greater import to
the alarming news. It had been, he knew, rank
optimism to think their enemy should let them
pass unchallenged. That was not Rhythamun's way,
and that the warlock should leave defenses behind
him was hardly unexpected; but the rage that lit
Chazali's eyes, the repugnance in Ochen's, sug-
gested this was a matter that struck to the core of
their beliefs, a thing they had not anticipated, as if
their world was shaken by the murder.

"I must advise my men," the kiriwashen
growled. "Do we encounter those who slew
him . . ."

His smile grew feral. Ochen put a hand to his
wrist, the golden nails bright against the jet of the
vambrace, and said firmly, "Remember we've a
higher duty, friend. And I suspect we shall meet
them soon enough, save Horul bring us safely past
them."

WILD MAGIC 207

Ungently, Chazali took his arm from the sorcer-
er's grip, his lips compressed in a narrow line of re-
jection- He seemed about to move, to bellow orders
that would send his kotu-zen out into the night af-
ter the tensai, but Ochen fixed him with a stare
and said, "It's my belief you'll have no need to find
them. I think it likelier they hunt us, and these are
but servants of a larger cause. The murder of a
priest is an abomination, aye. But that Rhythamun
should go on to raise Tharn, that is far worse."

He spoke softly, but each word was weighted,
binding Chazali, and with a frustrated groan the
kiriwashen ducked his head in reluctant acknowl-
edgment.

"Aye, you speak aright, though it sits ill with me
to let this go unpunished." His head lowered, chin
to chest. Then he looked up, squaring his shoul-
ders, and clapped his hands. Silence fell, and in a
somber voice he informed the kotu-zen of the
slaying. They took it grimly, calling curses on the
blasphemers, promising vengeance, grumbling
when Chazali repeated Ochen's admonishments,
reminding them that their foremost duty was to de-
liver the questers safe to Pamur-teng.

Katya asked, "Can you be certain Rhythamun
took a hand?"

"Who else?" said Ochen, his rhetoric glum.
"Only the wazir command such powers as might
destroy a man who wards himself with magic; not
tensai."

"Then is he close?" she demanded-

"He need not be." Ochen shook his head, and on
his face was an expression Calandryll had not seen
before: a look, almost, of fear. "I think he likely en-
countered tensai—perhaps they thought to waylay
a solitary traveler." He barked a short, ugly laugh.
"I suspect they found him no easy prey. Indeed, I

208 ANGUS WELLS

suspect they found themselves the prey; that he
possessed them, or sufficient of them to serve his
purpose. And that he leaves them behind, guardi-
ans of his path."

"Still they are only brigands," Bracht said, san-
guine.

"Aye," said Ochen, "but brigands gifted with fell
magic, which 1 like not at all."

"Nor I." The Kern chuckled grimly. "But when a
man's only the one path, then he must follow it to
the end."

"And we've perhaps more than just your magic
at our beck," said Katya. "Remember Calandryll
wears a blade that offends our enemy's gramaryes."

"There's that," allowed the wazir, though with
little enough conviction.

"Then lose that gloomy visage," suggested Bracht.
"We've faced Rhythamun's magic ere now and won
through. Likely we shall do so again."

Ochen smiled then, wanly/ as if he welcomed the
Kern's encouragement but found it ill-placed.
Calandryll said, "What choice have we, save to go
on? Better we do that in hope, no?"

"Aye." Ochen's smile lightened somewhat as he
nodded. "Forgive me, but that a priest should be
slain ... It is an unprecedented thing."

"So," said Calandryll, "is the resurrection of the
Mad God."

THE dinner they ate that night, in a tavern emptied
of all save their party and the serving folk, was a
glum affair, for the slaying of the priest, and all it
implied, sat heavy on all their minds. The kotu-zen
radiated a palpable discomfort, compounded of dis-
gust and righteous anger and frustration. Were they
not sworn to bring the questers to Pamur-teng,

WILD MAGIC 209

Calandryll was sure they would even then be out
in the hills, hunting down the tensai like rabid
dogs. No less were the townsfolk disturbed by the
murder, looking to the warriors of the hold to
which they swore allegiance to bring the killers to
justice. The innkeeper and his people served them
in wary silence, as though momentarily anticipat-
ing an announcement of retribution against the
tensai, and though the food was good enough, and
the wine served with it palatable, none took plea-
sure in the meal, and when it was done they quit
the tavern to find their beds, leaving behind folk
utterly confused by such disruption of accepted or-
der.

For his own part, Calandryll felt mightily uneasy,
his mood enhanced by the Jesserytes' ominous re-
action. To face armed men was one thing, and none
too forbidding with fifty trained warriors in escort.
To face creatures of the occult was an unpalatable
hazard, but still something he and his comrades
had previously overcome. To know that both dan-
gers, conjoined, lay ahead was poor recipe for com-
fortable sleep, and he lay on his narrow bed staring
at the play of light over the boards of the ceiling. It
seemed that he grew aware for the first time that
he might well die, that Rhythamun might well suc-
ceed, and all the long months of the quest count for
naught.

The fear he pushed aside, reminding himself that
the knowledge of possible death had always been
present and that fear alone was insufficient to deter
him. That he should consider the possibility of
Rhythamun's victory was, he told himself, to grant
his adversary an advantage, to open gateways to
trepidation, to vacillation: he set doubt aside. And
found he was left with anger, which strengthened

210 ANGUS WELLS

him, firming his purpose again, so that in time, not
knowing his eyes closed, he slept.

He woke to early sunlight and the faint chill of
autumn's advent, birds chirruping about the eaves
of the garrison, the sounds of a town already
awake. He rose without delay, going out to bang
impatiently on Bracht's door, which opened on the
instant, the Kern buckling his swordbelt, eyeing
Calandryll with a small, fierce smile.

"Come," he declared, "let's rouse Katya and
Cennaire and break our fast."

Both women were awake and ready, Katya's
tanned face grave as she came out into the corridor,
the mail of her hauberk rustling softly, a hand upon
her sword as if she thought perhaps some mon-
strous conjuration might momentarily appear.
Cennaire seemed calm, though she stepped with-
out preamble or excuse to Calandryll's side, and he,
unthinking, set a hand upon her arm, proprietory.

"I fear we bring you into ever greater danger," he
murmured as they found their way to the hall.
"But be assured that no harm shall come you for
lack of my protection."

"I know that," she returned, and in the instant of
the saying was aware that it was true: that she had
no doubt but that he would lay down his life for
her.

Without thinking, without intention of artifice
or coquetry, she moved closer to him, so that for a
moment their bodies pressed tight. She felt him
start, from the comer of her eye saw him glance
down, smiling, embarrassed, and then they reached
the stairs and moved a little way apart again,
though still he held her arm. From the dim-lit hall
she saw Ochen watching, his face clear, though his
expression was enigmatic and she wondered if he
approved, or merely observed, his interest moti-

WILD MAGIC

211

vated by his own concerns. She could not tell, and
none others appeared aware of the wazir's subtle
observation, settling to table as food was brought
out with the determinedly cheerful air of folk com-
mitted to a path from which there could be no
turning.

They ate well, as if this might be their last meal,
their conversation of the way ahead, Ochen and
Chazali, who joined them, speaking of the road and
the settlements along the way. It ran, they said,
northward out of Ghan-te, through forest for sev-
eral days before emerging at the foot of the great
central plateau that gave the Jesseryte lands the
name of Plain, where lay another town, Ahgra-te.
There were more villages, but for most of its
length, it wound lonely through densely wooded
cordillera that afforded natural advantage to the
tensai.

It was not, Cennaire thought, encouraging infor-
mation, and she found Calandryll's eyes across the
table. They were grave, his expression resolute,
breaking into a smile as he met her gaze, as if he
sought to reassure her. She answered his smile,
thinking that of all there present she was likely the
least endangered, warded against physical harm by
her very revenancy, and perhaps immune to what-
ever magic Rhythamun left behind, were it de-
signed to act upon the living only. Almost, she felt
guilty, dropping her gaze to her plate as it came to
her that she might see all these folk slain, she left
.. . she could find no other word save alive. And
then that did she succeed in regaining her heart,
should it be better to reclaim it—were some sor-
cerer such as Ochen able to perform that counter-
ing magic—or only hold it for herself, within the
pyxis, and remain as she was.

The thought was simultaneously intriguing and

212 ANGUS WELLS

confusing. To be again mortal, or continue reve-
nant? To choose the one would be to relinquish all
the powers, all the strengths, afforded by the other.
She had gloried in her newfound senses, in the pre-
ternatural awareness they gave her—and yet she
had suppressed all those abilities during the days
spent in company of these questers. And they, mor-
tal flesh and blood, seemed no more caring of dan-
ger than was she, as if they accepted their lives
with relish, living them day by day, prepared to
face the unknown she no longer had need to con-
front. Because, she decided, they devoted them-
selves to their purpose, to their quest, pursuing a
higher ideal than mere existence.

Once, she would have laughed at that: dismissed
it as foolishness, as mortal frailty. Yet, in their
company, she had ofttimes near forgot her immor-
tality, had learned again to enjoy small things: their
acceptance, Calandryll's smile/ the touch of his
hand. Certainly she had forgotten much of her past:

abruptly she wondered how Calandryll would react
did he know she had been a courtesan; did h& learn
she went about Anomius's business; did he dis-
cover she had slain men in that cause.

"Fear not." Ochen's voice interrupted her mus-
ing, and she raised her head, aware that the others
looked toward her. "You've blades and magic, both,
to defend you."

She essayed a smile, quite unable to interpret the
wazir's expression. His tone, the words, suggested
he sought only to reassure a nervous woman. Yet
he knew her for what she was, and so knew that
she, of all there present, had the least need of com-
forting. Did he then pretend? Or did he, like
Anomius, look to use her for purposes of his own?
She could not decide; still could not entirely under-
stand why he had not exposed her. He had spoken

WILD MAGIC

213

of her having some part to play in the quest, and
that had then suited her own purpose well
enough—but what part? On whose behalf?

"Aye," she answered, smiling again. "And as
Bracht said—have we not but the single path?"

"Well said," Calandryll applauded.

"Indeed," said Ochen. "And therefore but one di-
rection."

"Which we shall now take." Chazali was entirely
unaware of the undercurrent beneath their words.
"We depart!"

He shoved his plate aside and rose, his kotu-zen
on their feet in the instant, already armored, fixing
the final strappings, moving toward the door be-
hind their kiriwashen.

The questers followed. Bracht said, "Ahrd and all
the Younger Gods be with us," and Katya smiled at
him, touching his cheek and saying, "Are they
not?"

The Kern answered with a laugh and a nod. tak-
ing her hand as they fell into step behind the
Jesserytes, the two of them more like sweethearts
going to some country fair than warriors expecting
battle.

Cennaire found herself between Calandryll and
Ochen, Calandryll's hand once more courtly on her
arm. She had rather he took her hand, as Bracht
had taken Katya's, but still the slight pressure of
his fingers, as if he sought some contact he was not
yet ready to openly express, was pleasurable.

Buiash, she thought, / am like a tripsy girl on
the arm of her first lover.

She ventured a sidelong glance, finding it again
returned, though this time he did not look away,
but smiled at her, an expression in which admira-
tion and regret mingled, as if he would see her safe

214 ANGUS WELLS

from danger, but was nonetheless happy they
should face it together.

And he, she thought, my swain: nor any less be-
wildered by this than I.

Then all became disciplined confusion as they
crossed the square and entered the stable. Towns-
folk thronged the plaza, more inside, aiding the
kotu-zen with their horses, stooping that the war-
riors might mount, Bracht cursing as one particu-
larly determined kembi crawled vigorously to place
his back where the Kern's foot might use it for a
stool, his efforts ended by the black stallion that,
nervous, kicked out, sending the man tumbling.
Bracht chuckled wickedly and swung astride. Katya
was already mounted; Calandryll helped Cennaire
into the saddle and waved a man intent on helping
him away, springing lithe onto the chestnut.

In the plaza, the kotu-zen formed a column.
Chazali raised a hand, brought it down, and they
trotted back along the avenue, lined with towns-
folk, toward the gates of Ghan-te, and whatever
awaited them along the road beyond.

The way ran north across the dish of the bowl,
Ghan-te at the center of the declivity, a crossroads
just outside the town, their path climbing the slope
through the terraces to the trees that rimmed the
edge. Chazali sent two men ahead, which Calandryll
thought a measure rendered somewhat redundant
by the murder of the priest: ambush seemed a cer-
tainty now, and the forest stretching out before
them as they crested the rise provided ample cover
for any number of attackers, the outriders more
likely to alert the enemy than give warning of their
presence. The woods spread wide and dense, the
road a shaded avenue overhung with branches,
spruce and cedar joining the maples now, thick
enough it was impossible to see any distance into

WILD MAGIC 215

the forest. An army might have waited there, with-
in bowshot, and still gone unseen.

It was an eerie feeling, and the rustle of the wind
through the leaves assumed the aspect of whisper-
ing, warning voices reminiscent of the chattering of
the Gruagach that patrolled the Cuan na'Dru. But
those strange creatures had proven allies, Ahrd's
servants and therefore friends, while here there was
no sensation of amity, only apprehension. Calan-
dryll told himself they had faced dangers aplenty
before, and lived; and then recalled that Ochen had
warned their enemy's strength waxed greater as he
drew closer to his master. It seemed then that he
felt the land again, felt its unhappiness ooze into
him, discomforting as sweat that chills in the
wind. He looked about, seeing only ominous shad-
ows, the sun not yet high enough to strike through
the timber, night there, with all its lurking ter-
rors.

Something moved and he opened his mouth to
shout a warning, hand tightening about his sword-
hilt, seeing the kotu-zen who rode to his right turn
veiled faces toward the disturbance, their blades
flashing clear of the scabbards, some swinging
nocked bows to line. Then a body crashed through
the undergrowth, a scut showed white, and a stag
started from cover. A warrior barked brief laughter
and Calandryll let go a breath he had not known he
held, grinning at his own apprehension as the stag,
his harem about him, went bounding to safety.

They rode on, safe to a stream where they halted
to take their noonday meal, that brief and eaten
quickly, bowmen pacing the edges of the makeshift
camp, waiting only long enough to rest the animals
before commencing their journey.

216 ANGUS WELLS

THEY continued on through an afternoon bright
with sunlight, the sky a clear and cloudless blue
swathe overhead, lighting the timber so that it
seemed a little less threatening, as if the radiance
dispelled those monsters of imagination's creation/
birds fluttering, singing, their chorus a tuneful reas-
surance.

It was a brief respite.

The day aged, shadows once more lengthening as
the sun westered. The road traversed gentler slopes
than they had known, the broken country to the
south giving sway to a more undulating terrain, the
wide trail cut straight for most of its length, curv-
ing only where the land occasionally thrust up in
timbered drumlins.

Around one such monticule they found the
scouts.

Chazali was in the lead, flanked by kotu-zen, rid-
ing hard. Abruptly his mount shrilled a protest and
tossed its head. The kiriwashen threw up a hand,
halting the column. Calandryll had not known he
unsheathed his sword, only that it was in hand, on
guard as he shouted, "What's amiss?" seeing horses
stamping, curvetting where the foremost riders
drew up, milling about the edges of the trail.

From ahead came Chazali's bellow, summoning
Ochen-

The wazir urged his mount on. Calandryll yelled,
"Wait here!" to Cennaire and heeled his chestnut
after the sorcerer. Bracht and Katya came with him,
heads swinging from side to side as they surveyed
the forest, the hillock ahead.

No arrows flew, nor battle shouts, and the
Jesseryte horses, war-trained, were quickly calmed,
so that an ominous silence fell.

Calandryll's gelding broke the quiet as he fol-
lowed Ochen around the curve, breath whistling

WILD MAGIC 217

nervous from its flared nostrils, its ears flattening,
hooves drumming a staccato tattoo before he
fought it still. He felt the animal tremble, himself
shudder.

Bracht said, "It smells the blood."

There was much to smell. It spread viscous
across the trail, thick with flies that buzzed and
rose reluctantly from the gorging, swarming back
when none immediately approached. Crows and
ravens perched, beaks bloodied, among the trees,
cawing protest at the intrusion. Calandryll stared
aghast, horrified by the slaughter laid before him.

The body of one of Chazali's scouts lay beside
the road, his sable armor no longer black, but col-
ored with the blood that spilled from the gaping
rent in his cuirass. His head, still wearing its helm,
the face still veiled, lay some distance off, speared
on the broken branch of a maple. The second out-
rider rested on the grass that grew up the flank of
the drumlin, the green slick and red now. His right
arm was torn from the shoulder, still clutching the
sword that protruded from his chest, his head
twisted round, crushed down into the stained
sward. Their horses lay dead farther along the road,
a hideous barrier of severed limbs and dripping en-
trails, the equine heads placed atop, grinning ob-
scenely at the horrified onlookers.

Calandryll tasted bile sour in his mouth, and
spat.

Bracht said, "Ahrd!" softly, and Chazali muttered
a curse, masked face turning to Ochen. "What did
this?" The kiriwashen's voice was hoarse, metallic.
anger and outrage mixed with undisguised horror.
"No mortal hand, surely."

"Save fell magic invests it," Ochen said. His face
was grave, studying the bloody work. "This is
surely Rhythamun's doing."

218 ANGUS WELLS

Calandryll scanned the hillock, the surrounding
timber, seeking sign of movement, warning of am-
bush. Between his shoulder blades the skin prick-
led, the sensation of watchful eyes magnified. It
seemed the whole forest quickened, imbued with
malign observers, and he thought to hear the song
of flighted arrows, see he knew not what charge to
the attack. He saw only trees, the black carrion
birds; heard only their raucous protests, the buzz of
the flies.

"Why?" Bracht, too, inspected the landscape,
blue eyes narrowed, cold and angry. "Why this?
Why do they not attack?"

"I think them gone, save perhaps a few concealed
watchers." Ochen sat slumped in his saddle, face
older, sad. "I suspect they play with us—look to
wear us down."

"In Horul's name I swear this shall be avenged."
Chazali spoke through gritted teeth, fury resonant
in his promise. "Have we the opportunity, they
shall answer for this."

"Aye, and you'll have my help," promised
Ochen. "But now, do we attend our lost brethren?
They deserve that much."

Chazali nodded and roared orders that had a pyre
swiftly built, men and horses both committed to
the flames Ochen summoned with his magic, the
scent of almonds brief on the afternoon air, soon re-
placed with the smell of burning wood, the sickly
odor of roasting flesh. Ochen chanted a prayer,
echoed by the kotu-zen, and in solemn silence they
watched the thick column of smoke rise black into
the sky.

The ceremony was short enough, but still the
day darkened as they went on, the ribbon of azure
visible through the trees seeming itself shaded by
the flames that licked red behind. Dusk ap-

WILD MAGIC 219

preached, the forest caliginous and menacing again,
and none eager to proceed through the night. There
was a palpable sense of relief, even from the impas-
sive kotu-zen, when Chazali called Ochen to his
side and soon after announced they would make
camp.

The chosen site was a clearing to the side of the
road, lush grassed, a spring there filling a pool, the
surrounding rocks mossy, sufficient space for all
the horses and their riders. A guard was instantly
mounted, the perimeter of the clearing ringed with
watchful men, the animals set to grazing on picket
lines, fires—as much for spiritual comfort as
cooking—were soon built, and those not designated
sentries grouped tight about the flames. Ochen
paced slowly between the encircling trees, mur-
muring softly, leaving in his wake the sweet per-
fume of his defensive magic. Even so, there were
none who relaxed, the kotu-zen making no move to
shed their armor, the questers alert, hands stroking
absently at swordhilts, and when they sat, it was
with sheathed blades across their thighs, ready.

Calandryll found a place beside Cennaire, she
shirting instinctively closer, finding comfort in his
proximity, for she was disturbed by what she had
seen. She no longer felt so confident of surviving
this journey, for it came to her that those creatures
that had rent armored men like rag dolls could
likely rend her as easily. The notion was horrible:

she thought she might not die, but live on, in
pieces, and that seemed a fate far worse than hon-
est death. She shuddered, staring wide-eyed into
the flames, and Calandryll turned toward her,
opening his mouth to speak.

Before the words came out a ghastly shrieking
filled the night, and she gasped, pressing closer
against him.

220 ANGUS WELLS

It began as a bubbling moan, such as a man with
riven lungs might make in his dying. It rose, high-
pitched, to become a dreadful yammering that rang
through the trees, echoing, reverberating to a
ghastly crescendo that ended with an abruptness
somehow more frightening for the silence that fol-
lowed.

"Ahrd, but you've strange-sounding wolves in
this land."

Bracht's grim humor drew a tight smile from
Chazali that froze as a second wail rang out. The
kiriwashen rose. There was a third shriek, and a
fourth, all from different directions, and then a cho-
rus to chill the blood. It seemed the singing of
souls in torment, of things agonized and filled with
hatred, the desire to inflict their suffering on oth-
ers, utterly malevolent-

Chazali's face was blank, held firm by rigid self-
discipline alone. Calandryll sprang to his feet,
Bracht and Katya with him, all with swords drawn.

"They look to frighten us." Ochen remained
seated, hands extended toward the fire.

Bracht's mouth stretched in a sour grin and he
said, "They make a passable good attempt," and
the wazir nodded and said, "They're not close. Nor
likely to break through the cantrips I've set."

"Only likely]" asked the Kem.

"This place is ringed with gramaryes they'll find
mightily hard to defeat, but"—Ochen shrugged—"I
know not what magicks Rhythamun employs, what
sorceries he's put in them."

"Can you not seek them out?" asked Calandryll,
voice raised to be heard over the horrid yammer-
ing.

"That would be unwise." Ochen shook his head.
"Do I venture into the aethyr. then my protections
here are weakened. And still there remains the dan-

WILD MAGIC 221

ger that Rhythamun might locate your pneuma
again."

Calandryll gestured helplessly at the stygian
darkness beyond the fires' glow. "His creatures
would seem to have found us," he declared. "Shall
they not alert their master?"

"In which case," returned Ochen patiently, "I
had best remain close, no? And perhaps they've not
such communion with him—I think it likely he
worked his filthy magicks on these tensai and left
them to their task."

"Then you can do nothing?" Calandryll stared
around. It seemed the shrieking pierced his ears,
drove hammer blows against his skull. He shook
his head, suddenly aware that Cennaire had risen
and clutched his arm. "We must endure this?"

"I fear so," said Ochen with a composure near to
irritating.

Silence fell, hard and sudden, deafening as the
awful sounds- Ears remembered the shrieking, its
cessation ominous, like the lull preceding a storm,
the quiet before attack. It seemed then that the
creaking of the timber, the rustle of wind-stirred
leaves, presaged some greater assault. The fires
crackled/ horses snickered; armor rattled as men
peered, waiting, anticipating, into the darkness.

"I'll check the animals," Bracht said. "This un-
nerves them."

"I'll accompany you."

Katya sheathed her saber. Calandryll caught her
eye and saw it troubled. He felt sweat run cold
down his back, Cennaire's hand tight on his arm.

"I'll speak with my men," said Chazali.

"Tell them my cantrips shall give full warning of
attack," said Ochen. "And that I think none shall
come."

222 ANGUS WELLS

The kiriwashen frowned. Calandryll said, "Then
why this?"

Ochen barked a single, humorless laugh, and an-
swered, "Were they ready to attack, think you
they'd give us such warning? No, they look to wear
us down. The attack will come later—and unan-
nounced."

Chazali grunted and stalked away. Calandryll set
a hand over Cennaire's and forced a smile, his voice
to calm. "Ochen is likely right," he said. "So, do
we prepare our dinner?"

She answered with a wan twitching of her lips,
releasing her grip, though she had rather held him
close. She knew herself frightened in a manner she
had not experienced since first she had been cast
into the dungeons of Nhur-jabal; and comforted in
a manner she had never known by his presence.
She ducked her head and settled on the grass.

Calandryll sat beside her, studying Ochen as he
set a pot to boiling, fresh meat to cooking.
"When?" he asked softly.

"Their attack?" The wazir shrugged. "I claim no
ability to scry the future, only to guesses; but, by
day's light, I think. Rhythamun knows you've a
sorcerer for company and so he'll surely know I
ward our camp with gramaryes each night. No less
that I cannot work such magic as we ride." He
raised a hand as Calandryll frowned a question,
opened his mouth to voice it. "To maintain a can-
trip about so large a group, moving, is more than
any save the wazir-narimasu might do; and then
difficult, needing more than a single mage. I sus-
pect Rhythamun uses men and magic, both, and so
will have instructed his minions to attack us as we
ride."

It was scant comfort, and all Calandryll could
find by way of answer was a grunt, a weak smile.

WILD MAGIC 223

He reached for the meat, spitting fat where it hung
over the flames, that distraction denied him by
Cennaire, who murmured, "Leave that to me.
You've surely weightier concerns."

"Than this?" he asked, wincing as the howling
started up once more.

"Do you not leam of the occult?" She looked to
Ochen as she spoke, rearranging the strips of meat.

"There will be no instruction this night," the
wazir said, loud over the screaming. "In that,
Rhythamun wins the day."

"A small enough victory," Calandryll retorted,
more for Cennaire's sake than any real conviction.

"Aye." Ochen smiled. "And tomorrow ... ? Per-
haps he'll taste defeat."

"Dera willing."

Calandryll spoke sincerely, though he wondered,
as the dreadful cacophony climbed to fresh heights,
if the Younger Gods took no further hand in this
strange war, but left its waging to men. They sat
among dense timber—but where was Ahrd? Could
the tree god of Cuan na'For not send his byahs to
quell the howling, destroy the howlers? Water bub-
bled from the spring—but where was Burash?
Where was Dera? The goddess had spoken of re-
strictions imposed on her and her godly kin—did
the Kess Imbrun mark the limit of their aegis?
Were they, perhaps, without power in the Jesseryn
Plain? And Horul—what of the Jesserytes' equine
god? He must surely side with the questers, but he
remained aloof, it seemed; or overwhelmed by the
dreaming emanations of Tharn.

Calandryll felt doubt grow with the shrieking.
He would have expressed it to Ochen, but conver-
sation was entirely impossible now, drowned under
the shrilling that rose up to fill the forest, the
night, his mind, and all he could do was wonder,

224 ANGUS WELLS

longing to press hands against assaulted ears, but
unwilling to seek that escape for fear he should
miss the warnings of attack, not entirely convinced
by the wazir's reasoning.

It was a dismal night, wearying and fraying
nerves, so that when the sky at last paled into
dawn's promise and the howling ceased, they broke
their fast in silence, saddled horses skittish with
fear, and rode grimly north, pushing the animals to
the limits of their strength, hoping to outdistance
their unseen escorts.

At noon, they halted to rest and eat, grouped
about a stream, watering the horses. Bowmen stood
in a wary circle around the animals, others bringing
food to their companions, that eaten standing, eyes
never still, but constantly scanning the minatory
woods. The sun stood high and hot, shafts of gold
lancing down through the trees, the air heavy, filled
with the buzz of insects and the trilling of birds.
Then sudden silence.

Bracht shouted, "Ware attack!"

And bird song was replaced with the susurration
of arrows.

A horse screamed, a shaft protruding from its
flank. A man cursed, lengths of feathered wood cut-
ting from his armor. He snapped them, hurling
them aside, peering round with upraised sword,
finding no ready target for his anger as the sentries
loosed an answering volley at the shapes that
darted among the bosky shadows. Another horse
shrilled, three shafts embedded in its neck/ blood
starting from nostrils and mouth as it plunged, lift-
ing the man who held it off his feet, sending him
stumbling, then went down on its knees. Five more
arrows struck it, and it rolled, kicking on its side,
its screaming horrible.

Then silence again, broken only by the faltering

WILD MAGIC                          225

to-

gasps of the stricken horse. Bracht cursed, dragging
his stallion after him, the big black horse snorting,
eyes rolling as it was hauled closer to the wounded
animal- The Kern slapped reins into the hand of the
kotu-zen whose mount it was and drove his fal-
chion into the animal's neck, severing the artery
there, ending the beast's agony. Unspeaking, blue
eyes filled with rage, he snatched back his reins.

Bird song returned: the forest regained a measure
of normality, and Bracht said, "They're gone."

Katya, her voice grim, her eyes stormy, said,
"Until the next time."

Cennaire, standing shielded by Calandryll, said
softly, "I did not think it would be like this."

He stood with blade defensive, smoked meat
and hunk of bread forgotten at his feet- "Thought
you it would be easy?" Then, embarrassed that he
turned his anger in her direction: "Forgive me—
Rhythamun's wiles shorten my temper."

She shook her head and smiled a troubled smile.
"I chose the way." she said. "You've no need to
apologize to me."

She hoped—a fresh concern—that no arrow
should strike her. She was confident the shafts af-
forded her no threat, but that very absence must
expose her. She hid her thoughts behind a shudder
that Calandryll took for fear.

"We survive," he said gently. "Another victory."

She nodded, sunlight striking blue-black sparks
from her hair. Calandryll sheathed his blade, again
wondering at her courage, turning away as Chazali
roared orders, angered by the attack, and the col-
umn mounted, the horseless warrior finding a seat
behind a comrade.

The road narrowed, running by the foot of a low
ridge, the slope grassy, treeless save for a scattering
of pines, the eastern trailside clustered thick with

226 ANGUS WELLS

timber- The width allowed for no more than three
horses to move abreast and attention was focused
mainly on the forested side: it seemed more likely
an attack should come from that direction. Instead,
it came from the ridge.

Had it been mortal, then likely the mounted
archers would have felled the ambushers and the
riders been able to gallop clear- It was not, how-
ever, mortal flesh that raced with unhuman speed
down the slope, but something other, perhaps once
quickened by humanity, but now imbued with
Rhythamun's fell sortilege: changed.

It was impossible to define exactly what rendered
them other than human. Easier to see the arrows
that sprouted, ignored, from their chests. Easier to
see them leap, yowling, at the horse carrying the
two kotu-zen. Calandryll gained an impression of
elongated limbs, of distorted bone that thrust out
the jaws, those filled with fangs; of red, mad eyes,
and nails grown into talons. He saw them spring
outward and up, like grey shadows in the sunlight,
smashing the double-mounted men from the sad-
dle, the horse bucking, shrieking as a hand—a
paw?—thrust out, almost casually, an afterthought,
to rip away the windpipe. The horse fell down,
twitching, already dead. The kotu-zen were carried
away, each held tight by one of the creatures, into
the trees.

He heard them scream, the sound contesting
Chazali's bellowed commands, and looked to
Ochen even as the surviving warriors dismounted
and took battle stations-

The wazir sprang from his horse with an agility
that belied his age, running for the trees after the
captives. Calandryll dismounted with the gelding
still plunging terrified under him, sword in hand,
racing after the sorcerer. He was aware of Bracht

WILD MAGIC 227

and Katya to either side, Ochen a little way ahead,
raising a hand and shouting a warning as they came
up. There was the smell of almonds, and a burst of
brilliant light, silver and gold mingled, overwhelm-
ing the shafts of sunlight that pierced the wood-
land. Ochen spoke, low and rapidly, the words
strange, arcane, and the light expanded to envelop
the questers, cocooning them in its glow.

"Stay close," the wazir warned, and reverted to
the language of the occult.

Beams of gold-veined silver pulsed out, fluid, like
airborne water, winding swift among the trees,
their piney perfume replaced with the almond
scent, the ethereal streamers shimmering, questing
deeper and deeper into the forest. Screams then,
such as they all had heard that last night, but brief
now, abruptly dying.

"Remain within the aegis of my spell." Ochen
beckoned them on, currents still pulsing from the
globe that contained them, his voice dropping as he
added, "But I fear we shall find little enough."

He spoke aright: they followed the nimbi to a
small clearing redolent of almonds and burning in
equal measure, and found the kotu-zen. Both men
were dead, their throats opened, their armor
gashed. Of the creatures there was no sign, save
tatters of skin, fragments of bone, little pieces of ar-
mor and clothing, the brush painted with blood.

Ochen sighed, shaping a sign of blessing over
each corpse. "I'd hoped to take one, at least, alive,"
he murmured. "We could leam much of Rhytha-
mun's magic from them, but he outthought me."

"At least we know they may be slain," said
Bracht. "Whatever they are."

"Slain, aye." The wazir snorted, shaking his
head, gesturing at the remnants of the creatures.
"But only at dreadful risk to whomever they hold."

228 ANGUS WELLS

"How so?" asked Katya. "Your magic destroyed
them. After they had killed these warriors, I
think."

"Exactly," said Ochen. "After. Had these men
lived when my magic struck, they'd have suffered
the same fate."

Katya frowned a question. Calandryll perceived
the thrust of the sorcerer's thinking. "Your magic
exploded the creatures," he said, "and had these
kotu-zen lived then, they, too/ would have been
consumed/'

"Aye." Ochen nodded- "You see the way of it—
whatever gramaryes Rhythamun employed to
make these things reacts thus to offensive magic.
The fatherless creature counts on that to limit me,
may Horul consign him to eternal suffering!"

"I hear more wizardly riddling," Bracht said. "Do
you explain in words a simple man might under-
stand?"

"Do these sad monsters take a man," Ochen ex-
plained patiently, "then they'll kill him."

"That much," said Bracht, head ducking toward
the luckless kotu-zen, "I had understood."

"And you saw the arrows hit?" Ochen asked.
"With little enough effect?"

Bracht nodded.

Ochen said, "So magic becomes the best
defense—the expected defense. But Rhythamun has
countered that, for do I act to protect those his
creatures seize by destroying his minions, I slay
those held- Thus, he limits me."

"But these men were not destroyed," said Bracht.
"Not by your magic."

"They were already dead," returned the wazir,
"and so impervious to my sortilege. Magic is a
thing that works against the living, a thing of this

WILD MAGIC 229

world, not much designed to work against the
dead."

"Ahrd!" Understanding dawned; Bracht's eyes
opened wide. "You say that if one of us is taken,
your magic shall slay us."

"You've the grasp of it," said Ochen, his voice
somber. "Should I attempt the destruction of your
captor, I destroy you."

"Why then take these warriors?" Katya asked.
"Why not me? Or Bracht, Calandryll?"

"Such creatures as Rhythamun has made of the
tensai are not very intelligent." The wazir
shrugged, stroked the wispy silver of his long mus-
tache. "Strong, aye. Mightily difficult to slay by
any means other than magic. Filled with hate and
blood lust. In fact, little better than rabid wolves,
and not much more discerning. They attack—they
care little whom they take—only that they slay."

"You know something of them?" Calandryll
asked. "What they are?"

"A little/' said Ochen. "Not much, save what
any wazir learns: none in these lands practices
such foul magic. Am I right, then they are what we
name uwagi. They are men changed by magic into
semblance of animals, were-things that answer
only to their appetites and their creator- They are
very determined and very hard to slay."

"And these are what we face?" asked Bracht.

"I believe it so, aye," said the wazir gravely.
"Uwagi and tensai still men yet."

"So—we face brigands." The Kern raised the
thumb of his left hand; the index finger: "Were-
creatures." The middle finger rose: "Rebellious ar-
mies." The next digit: "Rhythamun." The little
finger: "And—do we survive all of them—perhaps
the Mad God himself."

230 ANGUS WELLS

Ochen nodded soberly. "That would seem the
way of it."

"Then let's not delay/' said Bracht, his face rig-
idly solemn. "Such a panoply of enemies awaits us
we shall need time to deal with them all."

For a moment Ochen stared blank-faced at the
Kern, then his lined features composed into a grin.
"Aye," he said. "We'd best hurry, lest they all grow
impatient."

Bracht laughed then, and they took up the fallen
kotu-zen and carried the bodies back to the road,
where Chazali waited.

Another funeral pyre was built, ignited by
Ochen's magic, and the corpses given to the cleans-
ing flames.

Calandryll watched the sorcerer-priest perform
the rites, aware that each such delay afforded
Rhythamun further advantage, thinking that the
enemy need not slay him, or Bracht, or Katya, but
only take Chazali's men, one by one, slowing them
that the warlock find his way, unhindered, to the
gate in Anwar-teng, or on to the Borrhun-maj, and
work those gramaryes that should raise Tharn and
give the world to the Mad God. He curbed his im-
patience, telling himself that men who had died for
the quest deserved those services their beliefs de-
manded, and waited to ride on.

THAT night the howling came again, the worse for
its repetition, the horses fretful, frightened, and
sleepless, the humans little better. Immediate fear
was set aside, for Ochen ringed the camp with such
gramaryes as hung like silken fire among the sur-
rounding trees, glimmering, burning the few ar-
rows that shafted out of the darkness and holding
off the uwagi and the tensai, both. But sleep was

WILD MAGIC 231

again impossible, ruptured by the screaming, so
that tempers shortened, the kotu-zen growing anx-
ious to confront enemies in honest combat, frus-
trated, loosing arrows at random into the darkness
beyond Ochen's warding occult light. And the
questers no less so, aware that their adversary
likely suffered no such delay, but pressed on to-
ward his fell goal.




THEY rode more wary than ever, swift between
the trees, heads swinging ceaselessly in antici-
pation of ambush, eyes smarting from weariness,
tension their constant companion. But no attack
came that morning. The sun rose into a blue sky
flagged with pennants of high clouds white as
driven snow. A breeze blew cool from the north,
fresh and scented with pine. Birds sang among the
timber. Twice deer leapt across the road, once a
huge, tusked boar charged snorting from their path.
Toward noonday they came on a village.

Calandryll stared at the silent pastoral scene,
calling up those exercises Ochen had taught him to
open his senses to awareness of the occult. Imme-
diately he felt the horrid aftermath of fell magic,
akin to the sense of dread that had filled the keep
on the Kess Imbrun. It seemed then the pine scent
the breeze carried was undercut with a charnel
reek, a hint of almonds. He drew his sword; saw
Ochen frown, squinting at the palisaded huts. The
fields stood empty, devoid of animals or toiling

WILD MAGIC 233

gettu. Neither was any sign of movement visible
between the open gates; no smoke rose, no dogs
barked. There was only stillness, a sense of waiting
that prickled at the skin between his shoulders.

"None lives here," the wazir murmured softly,
sadly.

They splashed across the stream, the kotu-zen a
wall of black armor around the questers as Chazali
halted, peering between the gates. He barked a
command and five men sprang to the ground,
swords drawn, running into the village.

They returned soon enough, to report all dead
within. All slaughtered, butchered like the scouts-

Chazali mouthed a curse that was muffled by his
veil. The kotu-zen muttered angrily. Ochen said,
"They look to unnerve us." Calandryll thought he
held his voice controlled.

"Do you perform the rites?" Chazali seemed
both enraged and subdued, wrath balanced by the
enormity of the massacre, for the first time unsure
of himself. "Have we time?"

"We owe them as much." Ochen dismounted,
calling over his shoulder for torches to be fash-
ioned. "Albeit briefly."

He walked, chanting, to the gates, arms raised as
brands were quickly made, sparks struck. He ges-
tured, and the kotu-zen ran once more among the
rude huts. putting them to the torch. The timber
was dry: within moments fire began its cleansing
work, a roiling tower of black smoke insulting the
azure purity of the sky. Calandryll pinched his nos-
trils against the stink of burning flesh, aware that
the oppressive sense of evil magic faded as the wazir
ended his incantation. Ochen lowered his arms, his
chant dying, and walked weanly back to his horse.

234 ANGUS WELLS

THE road climbed after, the terrain no longer a suc-
cession of valleys but a series of tremendous steps,
as though terraced, each gradual ascent leading to a
wide shelf before rising again. Spruce, hemlock,
and larches rose tall and dark, the shadows be-
tween them the more menacing for the carnage left
behind, the knowledge that further assaults must
surely wait ahead.

They went on past noon, riding until the pall of
smoke was no longer visible before a halt was
called, and that to rest the animals, for none pres-
ent had much appetite for food, as if the taint of
the uwagis' work lingered, sour.

"Ahrd," Bracht muttered as he watched the black
stallion forage, "but I think I'd sooner they coined
in battle than this."

"Aye." Calandryll nodded. "This kind of warfare
plays hard on the mind."

"It's as Ochen says," Katya remarked. "They
look to wear us down."

"And succeed," said Bracht. "Shall we sleep this
night, think you?"

The Vanu woman shrugged, sighing, shaking
flaxen hair from her face. Like Bracht's, like
Calandryll's, her eyes were dulled, hollowed by the
dark crescents beneath. Of them all—save Ochen,
who seemed inured by his occult talent—only
Cennaire showed no sign of exhaustion. Her eyes
remained bright, her complexion vital, and
Calandryll, intending a compliment, said, "Adver-
sity favors you, it seems."

"How so?" she asked, instantly cautious.

"Lady," he murmured, smiling, "you appear fresh
as these pines. While we ..." He chuckled ruefully,
wiping at his eyes.

Alarm grew: Cennaire had not thought that so
small a thing might betray her. Nervous, she

WILD MAGIC 235

glanced from one to the other, seeing them all
weary, the badges of fatigue stamped clear on their
faces, in their eyes. Deliberately, she let her shoul-
ders slump, her mouth slacken a trifle, and shook
her head.

"You are kind, sir. But"—she shaped a yawn—
"I'd as soon a good night's sleep as any here."

"Perhaps tonight," he said gallantly, echoed by
Bracht's disbelieving snort.

She smiled, hoping it was suitably convincing,
aware that Katya looked her way, the grey gaze
thoughtful, and rubbed at her eyes. She was grate-
ful that Chazali called for them to mount then,
preventing further conversation, further examina-
tion. I must be more careful, she told herself. I
must remember to act always ordinary, to show no
sign of what I am. And beneath that precautionary
consideration ran another thought, an undercurrent
faint as the rustling of the breeze among the tim-
ber: that she might sooner tell them everything,
throw herself on their mercy, swear allegiance to
their cause and so terminate this endless subter-
fuge.

Then, No/ To do that was to risk too much. To
risk everything; to chance losing all hope of re-
gaining her heart; perhaps to risk death. Certainly
to risk Calandryll's revulsion: she wondered why
that troubled her so.

THE day closed toward evening. The breeze died
away, the pines silent, ominous as the light grew
dusky. Cloud thickened overhead, squadrons of
birds winged roostward. The road widened a little,
and Chazali bellowed over the steady drumbeat of
the hooves that they should find a site soon, halt
for the night.

236 ANGUS WELLS

And from where Ochen rode, behind the
kiriwashen, there came a warning shout, a flash of
light, silvery gold lanced through with crimson,
like darting flame.

Confusion then: arrows that sang from the twilit
trees, and the dreadful yammering screams of the
uwagi, the shrilling of struck horses. Chazali's
breastplate was suddenly decorated with shafts. A
horse went down, its rider tumbling, rising with
sword in hand, roaring a battle shout as he charged
headlong at the trees. Arrows burned, tinder in the
fiery light that lashed from Ochen. A racing, howl-
ing creature evaporated in a gust of noisome flame.
The archers among the kotu-zen loosed answering
shots; men screamed and died. Things once men
slashed with nails become talons, fangs that thrust
from elongated jaws, at men and animals, indis-
criminate.

Chazali bellowed, heeling his horse to a charge,
curved blade raising high, falling, rising again. A
man shrieked, staggering a scant few steps from the
shelter of the trees, blood gouting from his riven
chest, a sundered arm flapping useless at his side.

In the fading light the shape of fallen pines
showed across the road, a barrier too high to jump,
bowmen there.

Chazali shouted again, bringing his horse round,
hard, back to the road. Red light like serpents'
tongues darted from where Ochen stood, and where
it struck uwagi died, exploding in eruptions of hid-
eous fire.

Then they were in close, the tensai not altered by
Rhythamun's fell magic holding back, the wazir,
afraid of destroying friend with foe, forced to con-
centrate his gramarye on the human, unchanged
attackers.

Bracht's falchion shone silver in the magical radi-

WILD MAGIC 237

ance, hacking down, darting swift as Ochen's bolts,
the black stallion shrilling, kicking, deadly as its
rider. Katya's saber moved no slower, though she
fought her untrained mount even as she struck.
Both blades and hooves clove flesh, gore spouting
from the howling grey shapes that closed like rabid
wolves on the grouping kotu-zen. But with scant
effect, as if the changeling creatures lived beyond
pain, ignoring wounds that would have felled any
mortal thing, driven by Rhythamun's sorcery.

Where Calandryll struggled to control his pan-
icked chestnut, the uwagi carved a path through the
kotu-zen. Men were dragged from their mounts;

horses fell, screaming. Calandryll's straightsword
was lifted, about to fall even as Ochen shouted,
"No/ For Horul's sake—remember, lest you die!"

He remembered: sheathed the blade and drew his
dirk instead. Drove the lesser blade into a snarling
face that tore itself away, careless of the wound
that severed its cheek, returning to the attack even
as he struck again. Uselessly: the uwagi crushed
against the gelding, the sheer force of its assault
sending the animal stumbling, its footing lost.
Calandryll caught brief sight of jet armor, a sword
that stabbed past him to score a red hole in a chest
covered with thick-sprouting hair. Then hands,
horribly strong, clutched his wrists and dragged
him from the saddle of the falling horse. A blow
landed hard on his temple. The gelding's weight
pressed down on him. Light burst in his eyes, pain-
ful. He thought he shouted; knew vaguely that he
was held, hauled from under the horse.

THE fight was brief, more skirmish than battle.
The tensai—those yet human—were not enough to
stand against Chazali's kotu-zen. Their armor was

238 ANGUS WELLS

makeshift, a random assortment of bits and pieces
owned when they became outlaw or looted from
their victims, their weapons not much better. They
were more accustomed to preying on defenseless
villagers than trained warriors and they did not
last long. The kotu-zen grouped defensive at first,
then dismounted and moved out into the trees on
foot; those brigands who did not flee were cut
down. Eleven of Chazali's men were slain, and five
horses. Five tensai were taken alive. Four throats
were slit on Chazali's order—the fourth was brought
to Ochen, thrown down on his knees before the
wazir.

Katya and Bracht pushed urgently through the
watching kotu-zen, blades naked in their hands, an-
ger and fear in their eyes.

"Calandryll's taken!" Bracht wiped blood from
his falchion; set the point on the tensai's cheek.
"Where? Do you tell me, or do I prick out your
eyes?"

The Jesseryte warriors murmured approvingly;

the outlaw moaned. Blood dribbled from a cut
across his forehead, more from a wound on his
shoulder. Then a flow from his cheek as the Kern's
blade dug deeper. The acrid stench of urine soiled
the evening.

"Where?"

Ochen said, "Wait! There's an easier way to this."

"Save I carve out his answers, I see none," Bracht
snarled. "And in a while he'll see not at all."

"Trust me," the wazir said. "Put up your blade."

The Kern eyed him a moment. Katya said, "And
Cennaire. Where is she?"

"Wait!" Ochen's voice became commanding. He
motioned them away. Reluctantly, Bracht sheathed
his sword, though his hand remained menacingly

WILD MAGIC 239

on the hilt. Ochen said, "This way lies truth, with-
out subterfuge."

He gestured to Chazali, who took hold of the
tensai's unbound hair and yanked the head back.
Ochen set a hand under the tensai's chin, raising
the man's face. Tears streaked the dirt there, min-
gling with the blood as the wazir fixed his eyes,
tawny gimlets now, on the captive's.

He spoke softly, the words sending the almond
scent swirling on the cooling air, his free hand
moving to shape sigils, and the prisoner's body
went slack, the fear-filled eyes becoming vacant,
unfocused.

"He came to us and we thought to take his
horse, his armor ., . But we could not ... He had
such power .. . Like a wazir .. . More ... A wazir-
narimasu!"

The man shuddered, spittle flecked his lips;

Ochen passed a hand across his face, the perfume
of almonds stronger.

"He had power ... He slew too many of us, nor
could we flee him then .. .Only obey him ... He
made uwagi and left us with a duty ... To halt the
followers. Three, he said, outlanders, not Jesserytes
. - . Strangers ... A woman and two men, from the
lands beyond ... He put their faces in the minds of
the uwagi ... We could not disobey .. . The uwagi
would have slain us, did we ... We could not ...
Only obey ..."

"Where?" Bracht demanded. "Where have they
taken Calandryll?"

The tensai shook his head, as best he could with
his hair bunched in Chazali's fist. The tendons
down his neck stood out; the veins there throbbed;

tears and blood mingled down his cheeks; drool
streamered from his gaping lips.

240 ANGUS WELLS

"I know not . .. the uwagi obey him . . . Only
him."

"He knows no more than that," Ochen said.

"Their camp?" Bracht stared at the wazir. "Shall
they not take Calandryll there?"

Unless Calandryll is already dead hung un-
spoken on the air.

Ochen gestured again and the tensai said,
"We've no camp any longer . .. only riding, follow-
ing you . .. The uwagi were commanded to take
him . .. You .. . The Kern or the woman with the
pale hair . , . One should be enough, he said , ..
Which one, no matter ... It would end then."

"He knows no more."

Ochen glanced at Chazali, nodding, and the
kiriwashen drew his knife and severed the tensai's
throat.

"Ahrd!" Bracht kicked the twitching body, grief
in his cry, frustration. "To horse, then! After
them!"

"We'd not catch them." Ochen swept an arm to
indicate the forest, the darkened sky. "These woods
are too thick, and night comes on."

"I'll not desert him!" Bracht turned toward his
horse. "Must I go alone, still I'll go. Katya, are you
with me?"

"Wait." The warrior woman set a hand on the
Kern's arm, her grip hard, her eyes clouded doubt-
ful, troubled. "Must we go, then aye. But first a
word."

"A word?" Bracht shook loose of her hold, set
foot to stirrup. "Calandryll's taken, and be we no
longer three, then likely Rhythamun takes the day.
Takes the world for his master! I say we ride,
woods or no, and Ahrd damn the uwagi."

"Wait!" Katya clutched at his shoulder, strong
enough to drag him back. The stallion whickered,

WILD MAGIC 241

stamping impatient hooves, yellow teeth snapping
at the bit. Katya swung Bracht round, pointing at
the Jesserytes. "These folk know the forest better
than we. Ochen knows the uwagi better than we.
Do we learn what we can, and then decide."

Bracht stood tense, blue eyes locked with grey,
his hawkish features planed in furious lines. Katya
met his gaze unflinching, and slowly, almost re-
sentfully, his head lowered in acceptance.

"So?" Katya let go the Kern's shoulder, turned to
Ochen, Chazali. "What advice have you?"

The metal mask concealing the kiriwashen's face
turned toward the wazir, conceding precedence.
Ochen scraped painted nails through the strands of
his beard. In the dying light his features were
graved with apprehension. "Do I seek him with my
magic," he said, "then 1 slay him."

"That much we know," Bracht snapped, "and so
must seek him ahorse. On foot, if needs be."

"These woods are no easy place for horsemen,"
Ochen returned. "And night comes on to render
tracking difficult. In Horul's name, my friend! Do
you not think I'd be riding now, did I believe we
had chance to take him back?"

"You say he's lost?" Bracht shook his head in
helpless denial. Katya reached out to take his hand.
"We can do nothing?"

"What I must say is hard," Ochen replied. "For
me, no less than you. Listen—the uwagi have taken
Calandryll, and it may well be that he is already
dead ..."

"No!" Bracht shouted his rejection.

"Save," Ochen continued, "that Rhythamun
looks to gloat."

"He's that fondness," Katya murmured, a spark
of burgeoning hope lighting in her eyes. "In
Aldarin, and when he possessed Morrach ..."

242 ANGUS WELLS

"And such pride may be his weakness," said
Ochen. "That he'll seek to sport with Calandryll."

"Sport?" Bracht stepped a pace toward the wazir,
his body rigid/ fury stark in his eyes, so that
Chazali, too, moved a defensive pace forward,
halted by Ochen's upraised hand.

"Be it so, then Calandryll perhaps lives still," the
wazir said. "Which is likely our only hope.
Save ..."

He paused, frowning, thoughts dancing across
the wrinkles that striated his gnarled visage.

"Save?" demanded Bracht.

"He's what tutoring in the occult I was able to
give him," Ochen said. "And perhaps his sword,
too. Has he his sword still?"

Bracht spun, roughly shouldering the kotu-zen
aside as he went to Calandryll's horse. Behind,
Chazali shouted, "Calandryll's blade! Did he bear it
with him? Do you seek it!"

"I saw the uwagi take him," a warrior said, "and
he wore it then. I stabbed the creature when
Calandryll held back his blow."

Another said, "His mount went down, but 1
thought he had the sword still."

Bracht returned: "I found no sign of it."

"Then we've hope." Ochen nodded. "He heard
my warning."

"That he may not use his blade?" Bracht ges-
tured helplessly. "You name that hope?"

"Does he use it, then he destroys the uwagi and
himself, both," Ochen said slowly, as if he tracked
a thought to its source, to its conclusion. "Rhytha-
mun is horribly cunning—and daily stronger—and
looks to trick us, to beguile us. But ... Calandryll
is no fool, and does he only remember all I've
taught him, all we've learned of these foul crea-
tures, then perhaps there remains a chance."

WILD MAGIC 243

He paused, nodding to himself, as if confirming
his own musings. Impatiently, Bracht said, "Do
you elaborate?"

The sorcerer nodded more, but this time to the
Kern. "Aye," he murmured. "Think on this—does
Calandryll retain his sword and his senses, then he
knows he can destroy his captors." He raised a
hand as Bracht began to protest. "Wait, bear with
me a moment—he knows, too, that does he use
that blade, he destroys himself."

"Then Rhythamun needs only the sacrifice of his
creations," Bracht grunted, "and I suspect he's little
enough concern for them. He needs only one to
throw itself on Calandryll's blade."

"Save he looks to gloat," said Katya. "And so de-
lays."

"Aye." Ochen's nodding became enthusiastic.
"Save he looks to gloat, which I believe may prove
his undoing."

"How so?" Bracht demanded. "Even be you right,
and the uwagi have not yet slain Calandryll, then
still he's captured. Does he defend himself, he dies.
You say we cannot go into the forest after him—so
Rhythamun has time to gloat. And then slay him.
I say we seek him now!"

"I think," said Ochen, "that did the uwagi hear
us coming—as undoubtedly they should—that our
enemy would forgo his pleasure and have Calan-
dryll slain."

"Ahrd!" Bracht pounded a frustrated fist against
his thigh. "You say we lose, no matter what we

do."

"No!" Ochen shook his head, his voice gaining a
measure of confidence. "I say we've a chance; that
Calandryll's a chance. Perhaps even two."

More gently than Bracht, Katya said, "Do you ex-
plain?"

ANGUS   WELLS

Ochen ducked his head in agreement. "But
first—Chazali, do you see the fallen cleared away
and a fire built? We must halt here awhile. Our
dead I shall attend when I may." The kiriwashen
nodded and issued the orders, no less intrigued
than Bracht or Katya. Ochen continued, "So, does
Calandryll yet hold his sword and his wits, he's
hope of survival. Rhythamun, does he look to
gloat, must travel the aethyr for that pleasure—and
on that plane I may be able to delay him. The
wazir-narimasu are alerted to Calandryll's pres-
ence, and they can likely aid me—together we
might slow Rhythamun and win Calandryll a little
time."

"Which must surely leave him to the mercies of
the uwagi," Bracht said, angry. "Who are com-
manded to slay him.

Katya touched the Kem's arm, motioning him to
patience- "You spoke of two chances," she said.

"Aye," Ochen returned. "You say Cennaire is
gone?"

"Cennaire?" Bracht asked, surprised.

"Aye," said Ochen.

"Her horse is there." Katya stabbed a thumb in
the direction of the animals milling, still nervous,
at the center of the road. "But she? I did not see her
body."

"The uwagi took her I suppose," Bracht said,
"and slew her. Likely she lies within the trees." He
frowned. "A pity—I'd grown to like her. She had
courage."

"Without doubt," said Ochen, and turned to
Chazali. "Do you ask your men to seek the body of
the lady Cennaire?"

The kiriwashen issued fresh orders. Bracht said,
"We talk and talk, and hunt corpses. When do we
act?"

WILD MAGIC 24S

"When I know what I must know," said Ochen.
"Soon, but until then I beg your patience."

The Kern shook his head, looking to Katya. "I've
no stomach for this," he declared. "Do we mount
and ride in search of Calandryll?"

"And see him slain?" she asked. "No, Bracht,
wait. This is not Cuan na'For, that things be sim-
pler. We know Rhythamun stronger here, Tharn
stronger—I tell you, we should listen to Ochen."

"Who bids us do nothing," Bracht snarled. "Save
leave our comrade to his fate. I'd sooner act!"

"Even so," Katya urged, "wait a little while."

Their argument was interrupted by Chazali-

"The lady Cennaire is not among the dead," the
kiriwashen announced. "Her body is neither on the
road nor in the trees."

"Then likely she lives still," said Ochen, smil-
ing. "Good."

"What is this?" asked Bracht. "Does Cennaire
live, I'm glad- But it seems unlikely. Surely they
took her off and she lies within the forest, dead."

"I think not," said Ochen. "I think you should
pray to your tree god she survives."

"I do not understand," the Kem said.

"Nor I," said Katya.

"I've not the time to explain," said Ochen. "Only
trust me. And Cennaire."

"Cennaire? Ahrd!" Bracht turned away, moving
to the stallion. "Riddles and yet more riddles,
while Calandryll faces Rhythamun. I ride!"

"No!" Ochen motioned to Chazali. "Trust me!"

The kiriwashen stepped between Bracht and the
stallion. The big horse pawed ground, ears flattened
back, eyes rolling. Chazali was wary of the beast,
but obviously determined to prevent Bracht mount-
ing. Both men touched the hilts of their swords.

Ochen looked to Katya and said, "In Horul's

246 ANGUS WELLS

name! In the name of all the Younger Gods! For
Calandryll's sake, trust me!"

The Vanu woman studied him an instant and
then moved between the Kem and kiriwashen.

"I trust him." She looked into Bracht's eyes,
deep. "For all I like not the way of it, I see no alter-
native."

"You say we should do nothing?" Disbelief
harshened the Kern's voice. "Stand here while
Calandryll likely dies?"

"Think, Bracht/' she urged. "Shall we go blun-
dering through a night-dark wood, our every move
a herald of our coming? Tell the uwagi time runs
out? I think that way we should likely condemn
Calandryll to death. I love him no less than you,
but I suspect our aid is useless now, while Ochen's
magic at his command, and I say that's our chiefest
hope—to trust in his powers, in him."

"m him, perhaps," Bracht allowed. "But this talk
of Cennaire? What part has she to play?"

"I know not." Katya shrugged. "Do we ask
him?"

The night was dark, the moon waned and not yet
reborn, cloud had built, scudding between the land
and the impassive stars. Bracht's face was shad-
owed, the blue of his eyes hooded between nar-
rowed lids, his lips compressed, frustrated, and
belligerent- For a long moment he stared at Katya's
face, then a slow sigh escaped and his shoulders
slumped, his right hand moving from his swordhilt.

"Think you so, then so be it."

Katya nodded, her teeth flashing, briefly white,
as she smiled- At her back she heard Chazali's low
grunt, sensed the kiriwashen relax. "Let us ask
him," she said.

But it was too late: a fire was already built and
burning, and Ochen squatted before the flames,

WILD MAGIC 247

staring blank-eyed into the light. His hands were
hidden in the wide sleeves of his robe and his body
was rigid, only his lips moving to spill out a torrent
of muttered syllables, too low, too guttural, to be
heard, even were they comprehensible. As he mut-
tered, the scent of almonds wafted.

Bracht mouthed a curse; Katya set a hand upon
his shoulder. Chazali, his veil lifted back, came to
stand beside them. "Ochen is a great sorcerer," he
murmured, "in not very much time he will be
wazir-narimasu. As the lady Katya says—trust him,
for if any can help, it is he."

"And Cennaire?" Bracht asked. "How shall she
help?"

"That I do not understand," Chazali replied. "But
if Ochen says she does, then she does."

The Kern blew breath between his teeth. "Would
that this world were simpler. Honest sword work,
horses, those I understand. But all this sorcery?"
He gestured at the wazir, raised his face to the dark
and rolling sky. "That remains a mystery."

"I understand it no better than you," said
Chazali. "And had I my way, we'd resolve matters
as would you—warrior against warrior in honest
combat: there's honor in that—but that's not the
way of it, eh? Magic lives in this world of ours, and
we must live with it. Trust Ochen, my friend, for
he can achieve what our blades may not."

"I've little other choice," Bracht murmured,
looking to the wazir, who sat immobile, as if the
animating spirit had quit his body for another
place.

CENNAIRE had sensed the ambush in the same in-
stant Ochen had shouted his warning. She had
learned enough from observation, from listening to

ANGUS   WELLS

248

Bracht, to Katya, that she utilized her preternatural
gifts in defense of the column. Consequently, she
had grown aware that the forest fell silent: she
could hear only the steady drumming of hooves,
the clatter of armor, the sounds of horses and men,
not bird song, or the movements of the animals
that inhabited the woods. Then Ochen had shouted
and she had seen the light of his magic flash out,
and in the same instant the flight of arrows, the
shapes of the uwagi. She had screamed a warning,
but it had gone unheard—or mistaken for a scream
of fear—as the attack came. Then all had been con-
fusion, and she had fought for her life as much as
any there.

Her horse had panicked, terrified by the weird-
ling creatures that raced out of the shadows, and
she had found herself unseated, dumped unceremo-
niously on the dirt of the road as all around her
men shouted and fought.

She had risen, confused by the tumult, angry
enough she felt no fear, and seen the grey man-
beasts carving a path toward Calandryll. She had
moved, unthinking, in the same direction, pushing
Umber amid the struggling throng, darting between
horses, ducking under swinging blades- A tensai—
man, not were-creature—blocked her path, and she
had drawn her knife, moving as Katya had taught
her to evade his blow, drive her own blade deep
into his belly- Gutted, he had moaned, falling for-
gotten as she pushed on, intent only on reaching
Calandryll before the uwagi might slay him.

One, fiercer than its malignant kin, was already
close, reaching for him, he lowering his sword on
Ochen's shout. Cennaire had stabbed the beast, the
knife sinking between its shoulders, and it had
snarled and turned on her. She clutched its wrist,
turning the talons aside, and snapped the arm, and

WILD MAGIC 249

the uwagi had only grunted and smashed its arm
back against her, oblivious of the hand—the paw?—
that flapped useless at the limb's end. She was
thrown back then, tumbling, reminded of the were-
men's terrible strength, and found herself amid a
sea of pounding hooves, all confusion and battle
shouts, scuttling undignified to safety. Climbing
once more to her feet in time to see the chestnut
gelding bowled over, Calandryll lifting from the
saddle, a leg trapped as the horse went down. Seen
the uwagi close about him, drag him clear.

She had moved toward him, but before she could
reach him, the creatures had lifted him up and car-
ried him off. And she had gone after them—after
him.

They had run into the forest, and on its edge she
had halted, wondering what she did. They could
rend her, these creations of the occult. She had
seen their filthy work, and entertained no doubt
that they possessed such strength as could tear her
limb from limb, leave her alive still, perhaps con-
demned to eternal suffering.

She did not know for sure; only that Calandryll
was taken and that senses deeper than those her
revenancy gave her told her to go on, to do what
she could for him. What spoke to her then ran
deeper than blood, than bone, and she did not un-
derstand it, nor have the time to consider it.
Anomius's diktat—that the questers must survive
to win the Arcanum, that the ugly little warlock
might take it for his own? That he should grow
wrathful, did she allow Calandryll taken captive,
slain, without she attempted his rescue? That she
might earn the displeasure of the Younger Gods did
she do nothing?

No.'

250 ANGUS WELLS

All she knew in that instant was that Calandryll
was taken: it did not occur to her to desert him.

She paused only to assess her path/ head raised,
listening.

She heard the noises the uwagi made, carrying
off their burden, the sounds of snapping twigs, the
pad of running feet. She smelted them, a lingering,
sour odor, sweat and decay mixed with the pine
scent of the woodland. She peered into the trees,
the night no obstacle to her vision.

Then she began to run, questing anxious, venge-
ful.

The ground was soft with the underlay of nee-
dles, of coarse grass- Thickets of brambles and
brush obstructed, ferns crushed sappy under her
feet. Branches hung low and thick; she ducked be-
neath them, or snapped them off uncaring, ignoring
the twigs that snagged her hair, sprang sharp
against her face. She ran, pursuing, darting around
the massive boles of pines, cedars, larches, the
dendrous perfumes mingling with the reek of the
uwagi, the scents of terrified animals, deer and rab-
bits and wild hogs that fled the occult abomina-
tions, and through all that the single odor of life:

Calandryll's. That, she clung to, knowing that
while she could taste it on the air he lived still,
that the uwagi had not slain him, but bore him
away for some reason she did not understand, nor
cared to consider; only that so long as she could
smell it he lived.

It was enough: she raced on.

And then she slowed, for ahead the sounds of
flight had ended-

She moved more cautiously now, taking care
where she placed her feet, avoiding obstacles, stalk-
ing the obscene hunters- Then halted, pressing

WILD MAGIC 2S1

tight against the trunk of a pine, driving herself
into its shadow, watching, listening.

There was a clearing. Grass grew thick where the
encircling trees allowed (he sun entry, dark now
beneath the clouded nighttime sky, but that no
hindrance to her sight- Pines like the walls of a
temple ringed the space, and Cennaire was minded
of the shrines dedicated to Burash, in Kandahar,
where circles of great stone pillars stood about the
altar. But no altar here, nor any god, save Tham
made his presence felt; neither priests, unless the
uwagi stood in stead.

And Calandryll the sacrifice, for he stood ringed
by such creatures as nightmares make, votaries of
the Mad God.

Cennaire reached for her knife and found it gone,
likely still lodged in the back of the uwagi she had
stabbed. No matter: she had other, greater strengths.
Silent as a hunting cat she stepped forward, to the
very edge of the trees, pausing in their shelter,
studying the tableau before her, not certain what
she witnessed; no more sure what she should do,
what she could do.

CALANDRYLL opened his eyes onto darkness, a
strange pattern of shifting shades that blended so
fast, one with another, that he at first thought he
once more traveled the plane of the aethyr. Then
he felt pain and realized he traversed a more mun-
dane landscape, a place of night-dark trees, of rus-
tling branches overhanging and brief glimpses of
cloudy, moonless sky. His head throbbed; a leg—
which, he could not be sure—felt pounded, aching;

his arms and his ankles were held as if set with
manacles. A smell invaded his nostrils, fetid and
foul, like rotting flesh left overlong in the sun:

252 ANGUS WELLS

knowledge returned and he bit back the cry that
threatened to escape his mouth.

He was carried off by the uwagi, held by the crea-
tures and borne through the forest.

Panic threatened and he forced himself to
calm—at least a measure, imposed over the desper-
ate thudding of his heart, the terror that slunk
about the edges of his awareness—and assessed his
situation.

It was a gloomy prospect. Four of the uwagi held
him firm, casually as if they bore a sack at break-
neck speed along trails too wild, too narrow that
mounted warriors might easily follow. The hands
that held him were iron bands/ unbreakable: he re-
alized he lacked the strength to fight free. The crea-
tures leapt tree trunks, thickets, or charged
carelessly through. His teeth jarred in his jaw, his
head spun, bouncing. He feared the sheer speed of
their going should kill him, break his neck, or shat-
ter his skull against a stump. The sword hung still
from his belt, a useless, tantalizing weight.

But he lived.

He did not understand why: the changelings
might have slain him, easily, back on the road; or
killed him within the shelter of the timber. But he
lived: it was a straw he clutched avidly.

He had no way of telling where they went, save
deeper into the forest, each loping pace taking
him farther from his comrades, from Ochen, and
Chazali's kotu-zen. He felt horribly alone, defense-
less, wondering if perhaps the uwagi carried him
off to some ritual slaughter, a slow and painful
dying. He felt the sword's quillons snag on bram-
bles, tear free, and wondered why they had not
stripped him of the blade. A flash of reason then,
light through the darkness of fear; perhaps they
could not handle the blade. Perhaps the magic Dera

WILD MAGIC 253

had set in the steel rendered the sword sacrosanct,
beyond the touching of such foul things as the
uwagi. Was that of aid, hope? He thought on
Ochen's warning—if not aid, then perhaps, at least/
escape. Did worse come to worst—and the chance
present itself—he could destroy his captors with
the sword. He would die, but that should surely be
a swifter end, and less painful than anything the
creatures planned for him. Save if he took that
course ...

.. . The quest ended with him!

Three, always three: every prophecy, every scry-
ing, had spoken of three. It was scribed on his
mind: Katya, Bracht, himself—the questers, those
ordained to stand against Rhythamun's fell design,
against the resurrection of the Mad God. Did one
fall, all was lost. The thought filled him with sad-
ness. Not for the loss of his life, for that had been
a consideration, even a likelihood, since this quest
began, and while he had no wish to die, still he ac-
cepted that someday he must. Rather, it was a sad-
ness that after so much travail the quest should be
ended, that Rhythamun should win. Anger stirred
then, hot, righteous, dispelling sorrow, and he de-
termined to sell himself as dear he might.

Abruptly, he realized that the darkness overhead
assumed a different hue, that motion ceased. He
gasped as he was dropped carelessly to the ground,
the leg on which his horse had rolled throbbing. He
grunted a curse that was no less a prayer, and
fought upright, hand falling instinctively to his
swordhilt-

The blade whispered from the scabbard, defen-
sive, defiant, and he stared, eyes narrowed in an at-
tempt to penetrate the shadows, confused that no
attack came. Gradually, his night vision returned
and he stared around, wondering what obscene

254 ANGUS WELLS

game was played, what tune his captors plucked on
his taut-strung nerves.

They stood in a circle about him, seven of them,
behind them a ring of high, wind-rustled pines, state-
ly and solemn. The uwagi seemed to wait, leashed
by some imperative beyond his understanding, be-
yond sword's reach, watching, their breath like the
panting of wolves, or rabid dogs. Indeed, they ap-
peared as much lupine as human, a hideous blending
of characteristics: creatures out of nightmare. They
stood shorter than the Jesserytes they had been, for
their legs were bowed and curiously bent, as if the
bones, the joints, changed shape, and their shoulders
were hunched, massive, extending into unnaturally
long arms that ended in hands like paws, great tal-
ons thrusting where once nails had been. Muscle
bulged and corded over their torsos, bursting the
clothing, the armor, they had worn, tatters of cloth
and mail hanging like cerements, like memories of
their forsaken humanity. Tufts of grey hair, coarse
and thick, sprouted from pallid skin, from features
horribly shifted to semblance of animals. Their
brows were low, flattened, ridges of bone extending
over deep-seated eyes that glowed with a red, unholy
fire. Nostrils flared wide above prognathous muz-
zles, the lips stretched back from long fangs, sharp
as daggers, slaver hanging in streamers that swayed
with their panting. One sported a hand that flapped
loose, the arm broken between wrist and elbow. It
showed no more sign of discomfort than the one
that still wore his dirk in its cheek.

They reminded Calandryll of nothing so much as
a wolf pack. No, for irrelevantly he recalled
Bracht's words—that wolves did not attack man-
kind. A pack of hounds, then. Great, foul, ensorcel-
led hounds, set to the hunt, now waiting ... On

WILD MAGIC 255

what? The order to attack? Their master's com-
mand?

Aye! Of course—they waited on their creator!

Calandryll turned slowly round, his sword on
guard, and as he turned, so the changeling creatures
backed away, drawing clear of the blade's threat.
His own breathing came deep and urgent, and he
could no more deny the fear that stirred than he
could the throbbing of his bruised leg—the uwagi
waited. Perhaps even some vestiges of humanity re-
mained within their contorted shapes, within their
deformed souls, and they feared the blade, them-
selves feared the death it might bring them. Per-
haps he had a chance.

"So, are you afraid?" He lunged at the closest
monstrosity; saw it dart back, the circle shifting to
hold him at its center without coming in range of
a blow. "You fear my sword? You know what it can
do?"

The uwagi growled/ shuffling, studying him with
horrid red eyes, like coals glowing in blackened
pits. He felt a little encouraged, and sprang closer,
whirling the blade, taking care it should not quite
strike. The changelings backed away, circled, pac-
ing, snarling, continuing to hold him within their
aegis. He wondered what they might do did he
charge them, and raised the straightsword high,
feinting an attack.

One spoke, and it was like the rumbling growl of
a dog, the words thickened and distorted, spraying
drool and fetid breath in equal measure.

"Attack and you die. We die, but you, too. Our
master commands—wait."

The creature emphasized its order with a slash of
its taloned paw: Calandryll retreated, not yet quite
ready to sacrifice himself. He lived yet, and so
there was yet hope. Perhaps his comrades would

256 ANGUS WELLS

come, would somehow find a way through the for-
est. Perhaps Chazali's archers would rain shafts on
the beast-men; Bracht and Katya/ all the surviving
kotu-zen, fall on the creatures; Ochen come with
his magic.

Then: No, he thought, for he had already seen
what Ochen's magic did to these things, and knew
that its use must ensure his own death as certainly
as if he drove his blade into the mocking, snarling
face. Seen, too, how little use plain steel was
against them; and the forest was too deep, the way
they had come too trackless, that he should be
found-
He was trapped: he lowered the sword, waiting,
not sure for what, other than death.

It was unnerving, to stand thus surrounded,' and
he sought a measure of reassurance in the psychic
exercises Ochen had taught him, concentrating, fo-
cusing his mind, seeking calm. What had the uwagi
said? Our master commands—wait, and Rhytha-
mun was their undoubted master, but why did he
not order his creations to attack?

Save he intended some worse fate than mere
death! Calandryll thought then of the terrible pres-
sure that had driven him across the aethyr, of the
sense of awful dread as his pneuma had been drawn
ever closer to Tharn. That should be a fate infi-
nitely worse, to "live" eternally in the power of the
Mad God. His mouth was suddenly dry; his body
abruptly chilled. He struggled to retain calm, and
low, the words little more than a rumble in his
throat, voiced the cantrips that should ward his
pneuma, his essential spirit, from kidnap, hold
it—he hoped!—firm against occult assault.

And the uwagi that had spoken was suddenly
rigid, shoulders flung back, the ghastly features
straining upward, howling at the clouded sky, the

WILD MAGIC 257

taloned hands opening and then clenching as the
body shuddered and seemed to shift, another image
imposed over its brutish form: the shape of a
Jesseryte warrior, the vei-I of his helmet thrown
back to reveal a face, indistinct, beastly and hu-
man, both, that smiled malign mockery.

Calandryll stared, scenting the odor of almonds
mingling with the reek of the creatures, seeing the
form of the Jesseryte imposed on the flickering
shape of the uwagi, one then the other, dreamlike,
like the shifting, darting movements of a fish
glimpsed through rippling, sun-lit water.

He braced himself, favoring his bruised leg, the
straightsword extended, knowing beyond doubt
what—who!—possessed the were-thing.

And Rhythamun chuckled and said, "A tidy trap,
no? Use that blade and you die, leaving me the vic-
tory. Do not use it, and my pets rend you limb
from limb. You've seen their work, I think—shall
you enjoy that fate? No matter, for I take the day.
The day and the Arcanum, both, with all the world
to follow when I raise Tharn. And for you, suffering
beyond your imagination."

The warlock laughed, or the uwagi laughed, for
they both occupied the same temporal space.
Calandryll snarled, not now unlike the ferocious
growling of the were-beasts, for rage burned in him,
and hatred, exiling all fear, all sorrow, leaving only
wrath.

"Which do you choose?" Rhythamun asked.
"The one death is, perhaps, swifter than the other,
but whichever—your quest ends here. In a lonely
place, with none to mark where you fall. Does that
sit bitter, Calandryll den Karynth? Do you see now
how foolish it has been to oppose me; to oppose
Tharn's raising."

"No./"

258 ANGUS WELLS

It was a challenge and denial, together, and met
with mocking laughter. He saw the armored shoul-
ders of the Jesseryte, and the hulking width of the
uwagi, shrug.

"No? How say you, no? What shall you do, save
die? Die knowing your quest comes to naught, that
I am victorious. That in time your allies shall die.
The Kern and the Vanu woman, the upstart sor-
cerer who aids you—all of them! While I go on to
raise my master and stand at his right hand, fa-
vored. And you? Your body shall lie here, riven by
your own sword or by my creations, while your
spirit suffers tortures past your comprehension.
Yet, at least; though you shall find them soon
enough." Again, the horrid laughter, confident and
contemptuous. "Was it such a gift your feeble god-
dess gave you? It seems to me a curse now—the in-
strument of your death, if so you choose."

"Save I strike you," Calandryll roared. "What
then, warlock? Dera set holy magic in this blade,
and I think that do I plunge her power into that
body you use, then your pneuma shall feel the
blow."

The uwagi that was Rhythamun in his lesseryte
form howled horrible mirth. Slaver fell on Calan-
dryll's face, distasteful; ignored as he waited, poised.

"You take lessons in sorcery, eh? Doubtless from
the mage who came to your aid before. My
pneuma, you say? You think to harm me within
the aethyr? You pride yourself, boy. Think you a
scant handful of lessons, a smattering of that lore
I've studied down the ages, can aid you or harm
me? I say you again, no! Strike and discover!"

Calandryll held back, his mind racing, delving
frantically into all Ochen had told him, into all the
lessons—few enough, Dera knew!—he had re-
ceived. Aloud, he said, not sure whether he be-

W1LD MAGIC 259

lieved his own words, or merely looked to buy
more time, "You send your animus into this thing
you made—you meld with it—so do I strike it, I
strike you. What then, Rhythamun? Are you
greater than the Younger Gods?"

"I am," said the shifting thing, with awful con-
viction. "Ere your blow can land, I shall be gone,
and that blade your puking goddess blessed strikes
the flesh of my creation—which shall be your de-
struction, and the ending of your quest. Tharn's
blood, boy, you've seen what magic does to these
things! You've lost, and all you've done comes to
naught- So strike; or do I set them on you? It mat-
ters little to me."

"I think you are afraid," Calandryll said.

"Afraid?" The obscene laughter filled the clear-
ing, howling off the trees. "I afraid? Strike, then,
fool!"

"Aye!" Calandryll shouted, and sprang to the at-
tack, the blade carving swift at the mocking face.




CALANDRYLL was emptied of fear in that mo-
ment: the rage that gripped him left no space
for any other emotion. He knew only that Rhytha-
mun's animus dwelt in the uwagi, and hoped—
trusted to Dera and all her kindred gods—that his
blow should land ere the warlock might quit the
body. That he would be consumed in the occult
devastation was no longer a consideration, a matter
of scant importance were he able to slay the sor-
cerer. Even did the blow serve only to banish
Rhythamun's pneuma to the aethyr it might still
prove a victory—Pyrrhic, but what matter that, if
Ochen, if the wazir-narimasu of Anwar-teng, were
able to hunt the warlock there? It seemed a small
enough sacrifice, his life against the sorcerer's de-
feat: he put all his strength into the cut.

And saw, as if time slowed, as if he stepped aside,
occult and corporeal existences divided and he be-
come observer of his own actions, the blade swing
down, true, at the cranium of the beast that was
Rhythamun.

WILD MAGIC 261

He saw rank terror glint startled in the red eyes;

triumph in the tawny Jesseryte orbs. Smelled fear
sweat and almonds; heard mocking laughter. Saw
the were-form flicker again, no longer possessed,
but wholly uwagi; and knew he was defeated, that
Rhythamun fled the body faster than his sword fell,
and that as edge clove skull he was dead, the tri-
umvirate broken, the quest doomed to failure.

The blade sang down its trajectory, sure as death,
unstoppable, carving air that soon should be re-
placed by bone and brain, and then the explosion of
opposed magicks- He saw his death draw remorse-
lessly closer.

And a shape burst from the pines, fleet as
flighted arrow, too fast his peripheral vision had
chance to discern what moved. He saw the uwagi
hurled aside, bowled howling over, the straight-
sword crash against empty turf, driving deep, the
wrath-filled force of the blow jarring his arms, his
shoulders. He snatched it free, hearing the laughter
falter, lost under the uwagi's scream as the were-
beast was hauled upright, the hands that gripped
its throat tugging back the neck as a knee drove
against the spine. Time resumed its natural passage
then, as the creature was bent, arched over until
the horrid sound of snapping bone announced the
breaking of its spine. Its scream pitched shrill and
abruptly died. Calandryll saw it lifted and flung
across the clearing, tumbling three of its kindred
monsters like skittles, and then he was grabbed,
spun round, and hurled toward the tenuous safety
of the trees.

He landed on his face, winded and momentarily
stunned, pine needles sharp, pungent, against his
mouth. Bewildered, unsteady, he pushed up on
hands and knees, retrieved his sword, and clam-
bered to his feet, staggering, dizzy, back to the

262 ANGUS WELLS

clearing's edge. And gasped in naked amazement as
a second were-beast was felled.

Cennaire?

He wondered momentarily if he dreamed—how
could it be Cennaire who stood there?

Yet it was; like a wildcat, furious, moving with a
speed, a strength, he could scarce believe, ducking
beneath a reaching paw to clutch the arm and snap
it, to crush the windpipe and drive a fist against the
gaping )aws so hard, so savage, the bones crumpled,
lifting the bulky creature to hurl the thing as
though it were no more than a weightless rag doll,
at its confused companions.

Two of the monsters lay dead then. Others yam-
mered rage and bewilderment- One stood, arms
raised, its form flickering, possessed by Rhytha-
mun, the scent of almonds growing stronger.

Calandryll shouted, "Cennaire!" and began to
move out of the timber.

The woman shouted, "No, flee! I can hold
them!"

And light, eye-searing, burst from the outthrust
hands of the thing that was owned by the sorcerer.
It struck Cennaire, smashing her down, blackening
the grass where she stood as if foul poison sullied
the night-dark green- Calandryll thought her surely
dead then, but she rose, shaking long hair from her
face, and moved once more toward the uwagi.

Calandryll raised his blade, unthinking now, in-
tent only on defending the woman. Four of the
uwagi stood before her, while the fifth again raised
its arms, though now the eyes looked not at
Cennaire, but to where Calandryll came out from
the trees.

"In Burash's name!" Cennaire screamed. "Do
you get yourself to safety! Leave me, for the gods'
sake. For your sake!"

WILD MAGIC 263

Calandryll shouted, "No," and saw fresh light,
bright beyond color, beyond belief, soul-searing,
lance from the Rhythamun-uwagi.

It seemed then that an ax collapsed his chest, a
garrotte wound about his throat. It seemed his eyes
melted in their sockets, that all his limbs shat-
tered. He did not know he fell, for a while knew
only a darkness crimsoned by agony, as if all his or-
gans burst and flooded his body with ruptured
blood, and a dreadful tugging, like a cord drawn
tight about his soul, about his spirit, seeking to
drag his pneuma out into the aethyr, into a limbo
of eternal suffering. Not knowing he did it, he once
more mouthed the gramaryes Ochen had taught
him, warding his animus against the occult attack,
careless of his body, concerned only that Rhytha-
mun not take his soul. Then he became aware that
his mouth clogged, gagging on turf and needles,
which mattered little, for he was choking and
burning. The scent of almonds was pungent in
his nostrils and he knew that he was dying, was
killed.

And then he was lifted again and some measure
of sense returned, enough that he realized Cennaire
held him, her hair soft on his cheek, her arms in-
credibly strong, carrying him into the trees even as
the uwagi howled and all around them the forest
flamed, wracked by sorcery.

Trees-toppled, felled by the blasts of Rhytha-
mun's sortilege; the night was loud with detona-
tions, the crash of falling timber, the explosion of
burning branches, the crackle of burning bushes.
He felt himself laid down, softly, and for an instant
Cennaire knelt beside him. Her eyes were huge and
brown, moist as if she wept, but she smiled and
touched his face gently, and said, "Flee! Better you
survive than I. I will earn what time I can."

ANGUS   WELLS

264

He shook his head, wincing as pain knifed his
skull, and mumbled, "I cannot," the words thick
on a tongue that felt scorched and befurred.

"You must," she said urgently, putting her
mouth close that she might be heard through the
thunder of destructive magic. "They'll slay you
else, and your quest be ended. Now go!"

He began to ask, "Why?" but she dammed the
question with a touch, her fingers gentle, and rose,
smiling briefly, and said, "Because- Ask no more;

only save yourself. Before those hunters come
again."

Then she was gone, running back through the
flames and the tumbling trees.

Calandryll rose awkwardly to his feet. The
straightsword was still in his hand and he needed
rest on it a moment as his head swam, sucking in
deep breaths that, to his surprise, came clear and
clean down a throat he thought was crushed. He
hefted the sword, looking about, to find the way
Cennaire had gone. He did not think of flight: that
was desertion, betrayal; instead, he went after her.

It was easy enough to locate her, for fire burned
where she went, the night air grown thick with
the resinous odor of pine smoke, the howling of the
uwagi an aural beacon. Sparks smoldered on the
leathers he wore, in his hair; his eyes watered, his
hurt leg throbbed dully. He stumbled and staggered,
dodging falling trunks, going after her.

He was not sure how he survived the devastation
Rhythamun hurled at the forest, blindly it seemed,
seeking to destroy by sheer overwhelming force
what Cennaire had denied his subtlety, what
Ochen's tutelage had denied his occult trap.
Calandryll knew only that he did, that he lived and
that he found the clearing again, and saw Cennaire,

WILD MAGIC 265

a little way inside the ring of flaming pines, a dead
were-thing at her feet, three others circling her.

The fourth—Rhythamun—stood aloof, uwagi and
Jesseryte warrior simultaneously, reeking of al-
monds, the man's mouth forming the arcane sylla-
bles that shaped the blasts, the other drooling and
shrieking.

Then sudden silence. A pause, an immense still-
ness, as if the world's turning halted. The flames
consuming the forest sputtered and died; Rhytha-
mun's chanting ceased; the uwagi's howling faded
away.

Soft, clear light, like the lambent radiance of the
sun rising over the horizon at midsummer, or the
perfect clarity of its setting, shone across the sky
above the glade/ folding the pines, the grass, within
a dome of brilliance. The almond scent, somehow
softer, gentler, replaced the acrid smell of smoke. A
curse rang loud from the distorted mouth of the
uwagi Rhythamun possessed and the creature's
form shimmered, leeched of its Jesseryte shape, be-
come again only a were-beast, falling to its knees,
paws outthrust, head hanging as if a blow drove it
down.

Inside Calandryll's head a voice without sound
said. Ward yourself! Get down. and he dropped,
flat, obeying the command without thought, aware
through that part of his mind still attuned to the
occult that an aura of benign power enveloped him.

Lucent bolts flickered then, lancing down from
the sky, shafts brighter than lightning, dazzling.
They struck the uwagi, and as they touched the
creatures, the were-things exploded. Blinded,
Calandryll yelled, "No!" thinking Cennaire con-
sumed in that destruction, horrified, a void opening
in him, gaping empty. But when his vision cleared
he saw her standing still, swaying as if she strug-

266 ANGUS WELLS

gled against tremendous wind, shaken by the gust-
ing, but living still. Blood soiled her clothing and
her hair was wild, one arm flung up to protect her
eyes. Of the uwagi, or Rhythamun's animus, there
was no trace, only little tatters of skin hung on
scorched branches, tiny fragments of hair and
clothing draped on burned bushes. But Cennaire
lived!

Calandryll rose, limping clear of the sheltering
trees, sheathing the straightsword as he went to-
ward her. There was nothing left of the uwagi, nor
any lingering hint of magic, save the dead patch of
grass were Rhythamun had cast his first spell, the
blackened trunks ringing the clearing. The light
that had filled the sky was gone. the welkin again
cloud-struck, a moody dark.

Cennaire seemed stunned, unaware of his ap-
proach until he put his hands upon her shoulders
and turned her round to face him. Then she
moaned and fell against him, held him with arms
that seemed once more soft, no longer imbued with
the strength he had felt before. She shuddered, and
he stroked her hair, her face, glad beyond dreaming
that she survived. She looked up and in her eyes he
saw a terrible desperation, a fear. Mistaking it for
something else, he said, "They're slain. I know not
how, save Ochen intervened, but they are gone."

She trembled against his chest, and he tilted her
chin, lowering his face to kiss her, her lips respond-
ing eagerly, her body pressing hard, urgently,
against him.

When they drew apart, their arms still comfort-
ing about each other, she said softly, "\ feared you
dead. I thought ..."

Tears glistened in her eyes and he shook his
head. "No. I live," he murmured. "Thanks to you."

"Praise all the gods," she whispered.

WILD MAGIC 267

"But you?" He raised his head, chin tilted to in-
dicate the clearing. "When that magic struck, how
did you survive? Ochen said the destruction of the
uwagi should destroy the living. Yet—thanks be to
Dera!—you live."

She nodded, her eyes clouding, and murmured,
"Ochen said their destruction should slay the
living."

"I do not understand," he said.

"No." Fear grew in her eyes and she bit a mo-
ment at her lower lip. "There is much to be ex-
plained."

Again she shuddered, and he held her tight, not
understanding. "Do we find the others?" he sug-
gested, thinking that the best reassurance.

For a moment she hesitated, holding him, not
wanting to face what now must be told, what could
no longer be hidden. Then she said, very softly, for-
lornly, "Aye. Do we find them and speak of all
this."

CALANDRYLL'S bruised leg pained him, aching dul-
ly as they made their way back toward the road, so
that he leaned against Cennaire, letting her help
him over obstacles, avoid the hindrance of thickets
and brambles, content enough to feel her arm
around his waist, his about her shoulders. The for-
est was very dark now, the night aging toward
dawn, and he found it difficult to discern the path,
while Cennaire seemed not to hesitate, as if her
eyes found the obfuscation no problem.

He wondered at that, and then at all he had wit-
nessed: her strength, the way she had faced and
overcome the uwagi, that she was not destroyed
with the were-breasts, and had stood immune to
Rhythamun's magic.

268 ANGUS WELLS

But neither was I, he thought, so perhaps what-
ever gramaryes protected me protected her.

Perhaps, he thought, she is chosen by the Youn-
ger Gods, and they protect her.

And yet, had Ochen not said that the magicks
that might destroy the uwagi must also destroy the
living? That had been the trap Rhythamun set, so
why—how—had Cennaire lived through that as-
sault?

Her arm was warm where it rested about his
waist. He smelled her hair, the scent of her skin;

could feel the softness of her as he held her; had
tasted the vitality of her lips. And yet . . . How had
she slain the uwagi? How had she found him? How
had she survived?

He did not understand, and when he turned his
face to look at her, to voice the questions, he saw
hers set grim/ determined, as if she moved toward
confrontation, not away from a victory. She seemed
... he was not sure . .. wary, fatalistic, and he left
the words unsaid, the doubts unsettled, skirling
troublesome about his mind. She had saved his life,
preserved the quest—surely that spoke for itself,
that she had risked her own life for his sake. There
could surely be no doubt of her integrity. He
pushed such thoughts aside, remembering the soft-
ness of her lips, her embrace, and without thinking
nuzzled her glossy hair.

Cennaire started at the touch, glancing up, her
eyes troubled. Her mouth curved in a brief smile
and then she looked away, concentrating on the
path. She was afraid—of what must now become
revealed, and of how he might react, how his com-
rades would react. Perhaps Ochen—who had so far
kept her secret—could sway them, could persuade
them against . . . She was uncertain what they
might do. Look to slay her? Banish her from their

WILD MAGIC 269

company? Demand the wazir bind her with his
magicks? For an instant she contemplated desert-
ing Calandryll, leaving him to make his own way
back to the road. Then dismissed the notion: he
could barely walk unaided and might lie lost
within the forest, or Rhythamun might return in
some guise to slay him. That thought she could not
bear, so she stifled her fear and pressed on. She
would bring him to the road's edge at the least, and
then ... Then she would decide. She could leave
him there, safe, and follow after. Save then she
must trek to Pamur-teng and likely onward to
Anwar-teng, and all her gear lay in her saddlebags.
Doubtless, did she simply disappear, the mirror
Anomius had given her should be discovered, and
with it her secret. Then, if she were gone, the
questers must surely deem her enemy, and turn
against her; and did that come to pass, she could
entertain little hope of success, either of satisfying
the strictures of her master, or of regaining her
heart.

It was an enigma, a mandala, twisting about it-
self so that each possibility, every consideration,
returned to the starting point: that whichever
course she chose, she must stand revealed as reve-
nant.

There seemed, in it all, only the one sure fact—
that she must return Calandryll to safety and reach
whatever decision she must make after she knew
him secure.

As chance had it, or fate, or whatever design
wove their destinies, the decision was taken from
her.

THE night descended into the absolute absence of
light that precedes dawn. The forest was utterly

270 ANGUS WELLS

still. Then the sky was filled with grey opales-
cence, birds began to chorus, announcing the as-
cension of the sun, and the blank etiolation was
transformed. The heavens paled, grey replaced with
soft pink, brightening to silvery gold, hints of
azure. Cennaire heard the searchers long before
Calandryll, and thought again of leaving him. Dis-
missed the thought as she felt his weight against
her, and went on, toward the sounds. She felt sud-
denly very weary, leeched of judgment, indecisive,
even careless of her fate. What came would come:

she would see Calandryll safe, and that would be
enough.

Suddenly, bright as the radiance that filled the
sky, she experienced a kind of freedom. She thought
no longer of herself, but only of him. She smiled
and asked, "Do you hear? We come to the road. To
safety."

Calandryll frowned, head cocked, listening, then
nodded and grinned: "Aye, I hear them now."

Then figures came through the trees, Bracht and
Katya, Ochen, Chazali, kotu-zen. Cennaire called,
"Here," and she was surrounded, passing her
limping burden to the Kern and the kiriwashen, the
wazir and the warrior woman either side of her,
questions clammering until she shook her head and
trod wearily toward the road.

Pyres burned there, consuming the slain, the sur-
vivors of the battle moving farther off, upwind, to
where more welcoming fires blazed, giving off the
smell of roasting meat and tea. Ochen caught
Cennaire's eye and smiled wanly, she answering in
kind, helplessly, allowing herself to be carried
along, seeing Calandryll settled on a spread blan-
ket, against a saddle, Ochen kneeling to massage
his damaged leg, murmuring softly, his sorcery
healing.

WILD MAGIC

271

Katya said, "We feared you slain," her grey eyes
wondering.

Bracht looked up from over Ochen's shoulder and
said, "What happened? Where were you?"

Calandryll said, "She saved me. Dera, but had
she not come ..." and then halted, staring, puz-
zled, at the Kand woman, dawn's early light, the
company of comrades, reawakening all the ques-
tions the night and relief at living still had stifled.

Ochen said, "Do we take tea, and speak? I think
the time has come that certain truths be told."

Cennaire glanced round, thinking that she might,
even now, flee. Might burst through the ring of cu-
rious watchers and escape into the woods. She had
fought with uwagi, had lived through occult
assault—these mere men could hardly withstand
her. Then she met Ochen's gaze, and saw a ques-
tion in his narrow eyes, and a measure of hope, and
she shrugged, filled with careless exhaustion, a las-
situde that leeched her of purpose, leaving behind
only a numb fatalism, and nodded, seating herself.

Calandryll, looking hard into her eyes, said, "Had
Cennaire not come, I should be dead now.
Rhythamun set his snares well, and without her
aid, he'd have slain me."

His voice was firm, but she saw a question in his
eyes and wondered if he did not dredge that author-
ity from a sense of loyalty, from the attraction she
sensed he held. She was flattered, smiling her grat-
itude, albeit wanly, but still felt careless of her fate,
in a manner she did not properly understand grate-
ful that it was now taken out of her hands.

"How so?" asked Bracht. "Her?"

"Aye," Calandryll said. "I owe Cennaire my
life."

"Ochen sent his magic to your aid," Katya said,

272 ANGUS WELLS

"augmented by the wazir-narimasu. Do you tell us
what happened?"

Cennaire sat waiting, irresolute, committed now
to revelation, starting when Calandryll reached out
to take her hand, answering his smile with hope-
less determination, then turning toward Ochen,
saying, "Aye, tell it."

"They seized me," said Calandryll, "on Rhytha-
mun's instruction, and took me into the forest..."

Cennaire listened as he told the tale, her eyes on
his face, aware of the gasps that escaped the others,
surprised, all save Ochen, who took up the story:

"\ found the wazir-narimasu as I hoped I should,
and we brought our power into the aethyr, joined
and channeled. Rhythamun's trap was triple set—
that the uwagi might slay Calandryll; or he destroy
himself by slaying them; or Rhythamun slay him.
All that in the physical plane; far worse that
Rhythamun leech out his animus, entrap his
pneuma in the realms of the aethyr. It was a design
of diabolic cunning, and without Cennaire it
should have succeeded. She it was saved Calandryll
where I, and the wazir-narimasu, should have
failed. Without her, Calandryll would now be dead,
and his soul ensnared by the warlock, by Tharn.
Had she not intervened, your quest would be
doomed to failure. What hope remains, you owe to
her."

"How," asked Bracht, studying the Kand woman
with confusion in his blue eyes, "did she survive
that destruction? You say you placed a protection
about Calandryll; but she stood alone when your
magic struck."

"And how," Katya asked, softer, the beginnings
of suspicion in her voice, "did she find Calandryll?
You told us pursuit was useless. That we might do
nothing, save trust in you and her."

WILD MAGIC 273

"Aye, so I did," Ochen returned.

"And that magic that destroys the uwagi de-
stroys the living with it," Bracht said. "So how
does Cennaire survive?"

"Dera, she saved me!" Calandryll said, defensive,
not liking the direction these questions took.
"Does the how of it matter? The why of it? She
saved me—I owe her my life! Without her I should
be slain now, or worse."

Cennaire felt his fingers clutch tighter on her
hand, and smiled thanks for his trust. Their eyes
met, a hope, a warning, in his that she chose to ig-
nore as she shook her head and said, "Ochen
knows how I survived." Then she sighed and asked,
"So, wazir, do you tell it, or I?"

Ochen fetched the kettle from the fire, filled
cups with tea, and passed them round, his wrinkled
face creased deeper as he pondered. When all, wait-
ing, bewildered and impatient, had accepted, he
said, "First, understand that I have known since
you came into this land what you are, all of you.
That is why I league with you—that Rhythamun
shall be defeated, that Tharn be not raised, the Ar-
canum destroyed. I saw in each of your souls the
measure of your spirit, the hope and the purpose in
you. Those things that cannot be concealed from
one who views the aethyr ..."

"Riddles," Bracht grunted. "Speak plain, Ochen."

The wazir nodded, hesitating. Cennaire extracted
her hand from Calandryll's grip, no longer able to
wait, wanting only that all be laid open so that she
know, for better or for worse, how they—how he!—
might view her when the truth was told.

"I am magic's creation," she said quietly,
"Anomius made me."

"Anomius1" The falchion was suddenly in

274 ANGUS WELLS

Bracht's hand, leveled on her heart as the Kern
sprang upright. "You're his creature?"

"Bracht!" Calandryll moved to push the blade
aside. "For Dera's sake! For Ahrd's sake! She saved
my life."

The Kem shifted balance, away from Calandryll's
grasp, the sword still angled at Cennaire's breast.
Katya glanced briefly at Ochen and motioned
Bracht to wait, though Cennaire saw her own right
hand drop to her saber's hilt.

"He made me what I am," she said, her smile be-
come cynical, her eyes fixed on the falchion's
point, uncaring. "He took me from the dungeons of
Nhur-jabal and cut out my heart."

"We thought him dead," Calandryll murmured
softly, looking from Cennaire to Bracht, to Katya
and Ochen. Pain lay in his eyes, a rejection of her
statement-

"He lives," said Cennaire. "Oh, aye! He lives,
and would have the Arcanum for his own. He'd
slay Rhythamun for that prize. And all of you, save
he believes you shall lead him to the book."

"With you as guide!" Bracht's blade pressed
against her jerkin. "I wondered how you came to
join us."

"She saved my life," Calandryll repeated help-
lessly.

The note of sadness in his voice grieved Cen-
naire. She lowered her eyes to the blade: no threat
to her, to what she was, but she could no longer
face Calandryll.

"He took my heart and placed it in a box he
bound with his gramaryes," she said, gaze locked
on the falchion. "1 knew not he should do that; nor
what he should ask of me. Only that he gave me
powers undreamt."

"And made you his creature!"

WILD MAGIC 27S

The falchion cut leather as Bracht drove the
sword forward. And gasped as Ochen reached out,
taking the blade casually as if it were a twig, the
age-mottled hand closing around the razor edges,
turning the sword. The scent of almonds joined
the fire's smoke; tendons corded along the Kern's
arm as he fought the magic that held back his
blow. Ochen said, "You cannot defeat such magic,
Bracht. Neither mine nor what Anomius has put in
her. Sheathe your sword and let us talk like civi-
lized folk, eh?"

"Civilized?" For a while Bracht strained against
the wazir's grip, then gave up the unequal struggle
and sheathed his blade, anger stark in his blue eyes.
"Civilized, you say? That we should listen to this
... thing ... this revenant? I say use your magic to
destroy her now. Ere she follow her creator's com-
mands and take the Arcanum for him."

"I say you should listen," Ochen returned, "All
of you."

Bracht raised his arms, spread wide in frustra-
tion. "Ahrd, wizard! Whose side do you take?" he
cried. "Hers? Anomius's? She condemns herself—
use your magicks to end her threat!"

"Did I believe her a threat, do you not think I'd
have done that?" Ochen demanded. "I knew her
from the first."

"And kept her secret?" Bracht spun round, eyes
finding Katya's face, Calandryll's. "I say we fall
among traitors—that this sorcerer works his own
design, and forfeits our trust."

Calandryll, torn by doubts, bewildered, said, "Do
we hear him out, Bracht? I cannot believe him a
traitor." And softer, with a hopeless glance at
Cennaire, "Or her. She held my blade without
harm ..."

The Kern looked to Katya for support, and she

276 ANGUS WELLS

shrugged, her grey eyes clouded, stormy with
doubt.

Ochen said, somewhat irritably now, as if the
Kern's hostility drove his patience to its limits, "As
Calandryll has told you—she saved his life at risk
of her own."

"That he should live to bring her to the Arca-
num!" Bracht retorted. "That we three should liye
to find the book—that she might deliver it to
Anomius. For what other reason?"

"Sit down," Ochen said, "and perhaps you shall
hear some other reasons. Listen"—as the Kern
shook his head, glaring furiously from wazir to
Cennaire, to Calandryll and Katya, encompassing
them in his outrage, as if their lack of immediate
support branded them, too, with the marks of
treachery—"do you hear me out, or must I force
you?"

Bracht glowered at the ancient. Katya said, "Sit
down, Bracht. Ochen is our friend, I believe, and
you should hear him out."

The Kern grunted and sat down, tension in the
set of shoulders, disbelief writ clear on his face.

"So, first"—Ochen retrieved dropped cups, fastid-
iously wiping them, setting them orderly
aside—"do you truly believe 1 am your enemy?"

"You hid her secret," Bracht snarled, his angry
eyes accusing. "Perhaps you'd have the Arcanum
for your own."

Ochen sighed. Katya said slowly, choosing her
words with care, "He's offered us only aid, Bracht.
Had he not intervened, Rhythamun should surely
have entrapped Calandryll within the aethyr. That
first time and again now. No less, he could have or-
dered us slain."

"Save we are destined to find the Arcanum," the
Kem snapped back, refusing to be mollified, "and

WILD MAGIC 277

so he needs us. As does Anomius." He turned his
face, hard and cold, toward Cennaire. "What orders
did he give you, your maker?"

Cennaire flinched beneath that cold contempt.
She gave her preternatural senses full rein now—
what reason to hide them any longer?—and it
seemed the cold morning air crackled with myriad
emotions. From Bracht came hostility, an anger
bordering on blood lust. In Katya she sensed suspi-
cion mingled with doubt, a wariness, a desire for
reason, a willingness to listen. Calandryll was
shocked, dismayed, torn between outrage and de-
jection, bewildered. Ochen was closed to her, save
in his calm determination that the discourse con-
tinue.

Staring at the fire's flames, she said, "He com-
manded me to find you. His first intention was that
I should slay you. but then he learned of the
Arcanum—what it is, the power it holds—and then
he told me to bring it to him. To leave you live un-
til the book was found."

"Anomius believed we sought a grimoire."
Calandryll spoke, his voice hoarse, the eyes he
fixed on Cennaire's face hollow. "How did he learn
otherwise?"

Cennaire paused, then shrugged—the path she
trod now was irrevocable, there was no turning
back—and said, "At first, he did not know. From
Menelian, in Vishat'yi, I found you had sailed for
Aldarin."

"From Menelian?" Bracht fixed her with a hate-
ful glare. "Menelian aided us. He'd not have be-
trayed us, save . .. Does he live still?"

Cennaire shook her head. "He looked to slay me
with his magicks. I fought for my life ,.."

She held her eyes firm on the fire, not wanting to

278 ANGUS WELLS

see their faces, loath to meet Calandryll's gaze/
hearing his gasp of horror.

"You killed him." Bracht's voice was harsh, con-
demning. "On your master's orders, you slew him."

"I ..." She shook her head again, filled with a
terrible regret- "I had no choice- He allowed me
none ... It was my life or his."

"Your life7." Bracht snorted bitter laughter.

"And then?" asked Katya.

"Anomius dispatched me to Lysse, where I
picked up your trail-1 learned you sought the Arca-
num from two Kerns, Gart and Kythan ..."

"Whom you doubtless also slew," Bracht grunt-
ed.

"No." Cennaire gestured a negative. "They were
honorable men. I tricked it from them and left
them living."

"Are we to believe that?" the Kern demanded.

"Why should she deny it?" asked Katya. "Al-
ready she admits to Menelian's murder—why
should she halt with Gart and Kythan?"

Bracht sighed and shook his head. Katya said,
"How did you find us?"

"Anomius guessed you must move toward the
Borrhun-maj," answered Cennaire, dull-voiced-
"He sent me to the Kess Imbrun, to the Daggan
Vhe, to await you there- Along the way I saw
bones—human—and the marks of riders. I came to
the chasm and saw Rhythamun ..." She shuddered
at the memory. "The rest you know—it was as I
told you."

"Save there were no tensai attacked your cara-
van," said Bracht, "for there was no caravan. Only
you, going about your creator's business. So shall
we believe you truly saw Rhythamun?"

"I did!" she declared. "Aye, there was no caravan;

WILD MAGIC 279

but the rest... I saw him feast on human flesh and
possess the lesseryte. All that is true, I swear."

"Doubtless by all the gods' names," Bracht mut-
tered, and turned to Katya. "Do you believe this
farrago?"

The Vanu woman looked long at Cennaire, her
eyes appraising, then she said, "I believe she saw
Rhythamun take Jesseryte form. I believe she slew
Menelian, but left Gart and Kythan alive. Beyond
that..." She opened her hands in a gesture of won-
derment. "Whether she leagues with Anomius, to
take the Arcanum, I cannot say- Save she did aid
Calandryll against the uwagi."

"That he might continue the quest!" Bracht
shouted. "Obeying her master's commands. For
what other reason?"

"I am not sure," Katya replied. "Perhaps Ochen
might answer better than I. Or Cennaire herself."

"If we may trust him still." Bracht muttered.
"She I trust not at all."

The wazir nodded solemnly, narrow eyes moving
from one face to the other. "You've cause enough
for doubt," he agreed, "and in face of all you've
learned I can ask only your indulgence. I do not
seek the Arcanum—no sane man would, save to
destroy it—and all I wish is that you succeed. So,
how shall I convince you?"

"You might start by telling us why you hid your
knowledge of this creature," Bracht said.

"Because I sensed in her a changing," Ochen re-
turned, "a shifting of the patterns that bind all our
destinies. Her allegiance shifted from contact with
you, and I believed—I believe still—she has a part
to play in the design."

"Ahrd!" Bracht grumbled. "We hear more sorcer-
er's riddles."

"Think you so?" asked Ochen. "Listen, warrior—

280 ANGUS WELLS

have you not told me of your first encounter with
Katya? How you believed her an enemy? Did your
feelings not change, later?"

"The spaewife in Kharasul found her true," said
Bracht, "and she proved herself, in Gessyth."

"But was there not also something else?" Ochen
asked, his tawny eyes probing the Kern's face.
"Something in you, beyond doubting?"

"What mean you?" Bracht demanded.

"That you loved her," said Ochen. "That in your
heart, from the first, you saw her true."

Bracht's eyes hooded then, and he shrugged, hes-
itating before he admitted, "Aye, I love her. But
what's that to do with this creature? Katya's a
woman of flesh and blood, not ..." He gestured
dismissively.

"Think you that's not flesh covers her bones?"
The wazir indicated Cennaire. "Blood runs in her
veins, red as Katya's."

The Kern frowned. "She names herself revenant,
wizard. Do you tell me she lies?"

"No, only that she is made something other than
human, but can yet retain those emotions human-
ity feels," Ochen replied, a hand raised to quell the
outburst Bracht's face threatened. "And that
Calandryll, in his own way, is more than just a
man. You know there's a power in him, and you ac-
cept that. Might you perhaps accept that that
power imbues him with a vision beyond the nor-
mal? That he might, through that power, perceive
the truth in Cennaire?"

"He saw her not for what she is," Bracht re-
turned, "but for what she seems."

"Perhaps." Ochen turned then to Cennaire and
asked her bluntly: "Do you love Calandryll?"

Like the Kern before her, she hesitated, caught
off balance by the question, unsure. Love was not

WILD MAGIC 281

an emotion with which she was familiar. What did
it mean? That she was prepared to risk her exis-
tence that he should live? That she would have his
approval; could scarcely bear the pain she felt radi-
ating from him? That she would—had!—turned
from Anomius's service for fear he be slain, uncar-
ing of her own fate? That she could not properly
understand what she felt for him, but knew his
touch, his smile, excited her in ways she had never
before known? If that was love, then aye: she
ducked her head, silent, gaze still locked on the
fire.

"The uwagi might well have destroyed her,"
Ochen continued. "She's great strength, but even
so those creatures could have rent her limb from
limb—Horul, you've witnessed their power!—but
still she chose to face them. For CalandrylPs sake."

"Or Anomius's," said Bracht, obstinate.

"Think you she's no feelings?" Ochen asked.
"Think you she does not fear death?"

"How can she?" the Kern demanded. "When
she's no life to lose."

"And is that better?" the wazir countered. "Aye,
she might not have died, but still been sundered.
Think on it—to be rent apart and live still?
Anomius holds her beating heart within the aegis
of his cantrips, and so she would not have died.
Only been torn apart, to live on, suffering."

"What do you say?" asked Katya.

"That she was prepared to face a fate perhaps
worse than honest death," said Ochen. "For
CalandryU's sake."

Katya nodded thoughtfully; Bracht frowned.
Calandryll sat bemused, their words, their argu-
ments, beating against ears numbed by revelation,
an assault on the bewildered thoughts that filled
his mind, racing, confused as the tumult of dreams.

282 ANGUS WELLS

Cennaire was revenant? Anomius's creation, sent
to snatch the Arcanum? But he had held her, tasted
her Ups on his, and those lips had felt entirely hu-
man. Yet those same lips had voiced the truth of
her making—and he could no more doubt that than
he could doubt the now frightening realization that
he loved her. It washed over him with a terrifying
force, awful for all he heard, could not deny or
doubt: he loved her. Not knowing he did it, he
moaned, head lowered, lost in absolute confusion.

Ochen's voice came unwelcomed through the
miasma of his thoughts: "Calandryll, did she not
save you?"

"Aye," he said numbly. "She held me off from
striking Rhythamun, when he stood in the uwagi's
place. She carried me to safety, and she fought the
beasts to save me."

Because she is a revenant; because she has that
strength. The strength of the undead.

"And did she not bring you back to safety?"

"Aye, she did."

Because she survived where living beings could
not. Because magic affects the living, not the dead.

"And yet, she could have fled, no? She might
have gone into the forest. Followed us to Pamur-
teng, to Anwar-teng, hidden from us, concealing
what she is. But she did not—she chose to return,
to bring you back."

"Aye."

Because she obeys her creator's commands? Be-
cause she is Anomius's creature^ How can I love
her, then}

"And do you love her?"

In his turn he hesitated. He wanted to deny it,
wished that he might, and could not. Low-voiced,
tonelessly, he said, "Aye."

He raised his eyes then, helpless, hopeless, won-

WILD MAGIC 283

dering what it made him, that he confessed his
love of a woman dead/ undead, creation of magic,
and that the magic of a sorcerer sworn his enemy.
He saw Bracht's face, unbelieving; Katya's, enigmat-
ic/ troubled; Ochen's calm/ approving, he thought.
Most of all he saw Cennaire's eyes shine hoperul.
He nodded and said again, "Aye."

"This is madness," Bracht snarled. "You're en-
tranced."

"Perhaps he sees to the heart of it," said Ochen.

"The heart?" Bracht's clenched fist carved air/
angry. "Her heart lies with Anomius."

"No!" Cennaire was encouraged by the helpless
light she saw in Calandryll's eyes. The unmasked
hostility she saw in Bracht firmed her somewhat: if
they were to have the truth, then it should be all
the truth. "My heart lies in that box he made/ in
Nhur-jabal. He travels with the Tyrant's sorcerers/
warring against Sathoman ekTHennem. He is con-
fined by their cantrips/ to the Tyrant's cause, and
may not quit the host."

"Then why do you serve him?"

Katya's voice was deliberately calm/ though she
radiated a controlled tension, and Cennaire could
sense the loathing the warrior woman sought to
conceal, the suspicion. She sighed and said/ "Per-
haps I no longer do. Revealed/ I can be of little use
to him. I think that does he leam you know me for
what I am, then he will destroy me."

Calandryll moaned/ "No/" head lowered, rocking
where he sat.

Katya nodded and demanded, "But until now—
before we knew—you obeyed his commands. Yet
you say your heart lies safe in Nhur-jabal, and I ask
again: why?"

Cennaire raised her eyes to meet the impassive
grey stare. Judgment lay there, and threat/ but rea-

284 ANGUS WELLS

son, too, a willingness to hear out the tale in full
measure before verdict was reached. "I live by cour-
tesy of his magic," she answered. "He's only to lay
hands on the box to destroy me. And he boasts that
soon he shall be freed of the gramaryes that bind
him. That so, he might return to Nhur-jabal; or
when the war ends."

"He boasts?" Bracht interrupted, harsh. "You
commune with him?"

"He gave me a mirror," Cennaire advised him,
"ensorcelled. Through it I am able to speak with
him."

"AhrdI" The Kern was on his feet in the instant,
striding to where the horses stood, rummaging
through her saddlebags until he found the cloth-
wrapped glass. He returned to the fire clutching the
package as though he held a serpent. "This?"

"Aye." Cennaire ducked her head as she sensed
the disgust emanating from the man, mixed with a
measure of fear. "But worry not—save I voice the
cantrips he taught me it remains but a mirror. It
can do you no harm, neither can he see us, or hear
what we say."

"It is as she says," Ochen murmured. "No more
than a glass until magic wakes it."

Bracht set the mirror down, his expression be-
come speculative. He glanced from it to Ochen, to
Cennaire. "And do I shatter it? What then?"

"Then likely Anomius will realize he's found
out," said Ochen.

"And have no further way to know what we do,
or where we go," said Bracht. A wolfish smile
curved his mouth as he drew his dirk, reversing the
long knife, the pommel poised to strike.

"Wait!" Ochen's hand rose, stilling the blow. His
painted nails glittered golden in the fire's light, his

WILD MAGIC 285

eyes burned into the Kem's, and Bracht hesitated,
frowning.

"Why? You name yourself our ally, yet you'd
leave her the means to commune with her mas-
ter?"

"Think on it," urged Ochen. "Does Anomius be-
lieve his emissary discovered, he's no further use
for her. What then?"

He turned to Cennaire, a question framed in the
wrinkles of his face. She shrugged and said, "I
think he'd likely destroy me for such failure. He's
an unforgiving master."

Bracht chuckled wickedly and raised the dirk
anew.

Calandryll cried desperately, "No!"

"No?" Bracht stared, amazed. "You say 'no'?
You'd give Anomius eyes?"

"Strike and he'll likely destroy Cennaire."

Calandryll closed his eyes, head flung back. Oh,
Dera, what path do I tread^ This is surely mad-
ness.

"Aye," said Bracht. "So?"

Calandryll opened his eyes to face the Kern. It
seemed a void opened inside him, a great, dark pit
of pain and confusion, from which only one awful
certainty emerged clear, all else chaos. He voiced
it: "I love her."

Bracht's voice grew soft now, filled with horror,
with disbelief. "How can you say you love her?"

"She saved my life," Calandryll muttered.

"For her own reasons!" Bracht bellowed, so loud
the horses started behind them, whickering and
stamping.

"I . .." Calandryll shook his head, rubbed sweat-
damp palms over a chilled face. "I do not think it
so. I do not believe it so ... She might have died

286 ANGUS WELLS

herself- She might have fled . .. left me .. . but she
did not. She risked herself for me!"

He fell silent, aware of Bracht's disbelieving gaze,
Katya's pitying stare. He could scarce bring himself
to look at Cennaire.

"There are other reasons," Ochen said into the
silence, placatory. "Do we set aside Calandryll's
feelings, then still there seems to me sound cause
to leave that glass intact. First, do you shatter it,
Anomius will likely send some other minion, and
we cannot know its face."

"It would need find us," Bracht said, the dirk still
poised.

"Aye, and we've a head start," Ochen agreed
calmly, "but magic's a way of eating the leagues,
and we might well find ourselves pursued by some
creature we cannot recognize. We've a saying in
this land—better the known demon than the strang-
er. While if we leave the glass, and allow Cennaire
communication with Anomius ..."

"Madness!" Bracht snapped.

"... Then we may deceive him," Ochen contin-
ued. "Mislead him and trick him."

"With his creature in tow?" grunted the Kern.
"Free to commune with him, and advise him of all
we do?"

"Hardly." The wazir shook his head, his tone be-
come exasperated, as if the Kern's belligerent obsti-
nacy tried his patience afresh. "Think you she can
use the mirror without we know it? I'd sense such
use, even if you failed to see it. No, what messages
she might send Anomius shall be of our devising."

"Better we smash the mirror now," said Bracht,
"and end this thing's miserable existence."

Ochen shrugged, as if the Kern's suggestion was
taken under consideration. He turned to Katya:

"Two opinions are voiced clear. Bracht would see

WILD MAGIC 287

Cennaire slain; Calandryll would have her live—
how say you?"

For long moments the Vanu woman met the wa-
zir's stare with silence, as if she sought answers in
his narrow eyes, the lines that furrowed his face.
Finally she said slowly, "I believe you our friend,
old man, and yet you tell us you've known Cen-
naire for a revenant since the first. Therefore, I sus-
pect you've some other reason. Do you tell it, and
then I'll answer."

"Women were ever more sensible than men,"
Ochen murmured, smiling approval. "Aye, I'll tell
it—I recognized her when I looked into all your
pneumas, back there atop the Daggan Vhe. I saw
the purpose in you three like honest fire burning in
a dark night. In Cennaire I saw a murkier flame,
confused, torn between those strictures laid on her
by Anomius and that part of her, that anima, en-
tirely her own. I saw a creature lost, affected even
then by your company. It was as though the fire
that burns in each of you scoured the darkness in
her, cleansing. Also, I sensed she had a place in the
design that governs us all. What, I cannot say—
only that she become",:' •nemb0'' of your quest, and
1','* T hfhf •" 't n.Jst tail without her."

Ka-         ' Vrac'it  \A '"^hree and three and
.h:^e     ,ra. .  ' ,' r v -pafcw^vc- have prophe-
sied thiee. Hov.' ., '!- we become four?"

"That powci chc spaewives, t^e gijans, own is
not mine," said Ochen. "Theirs is a different tal-
ent, but do I hazard a guess, I'd tell you that those
scryers you consulted in Lysse and Kandahar spoke
of what was then, when this woman had no part
because she did not then exist."

"You weave a web of words and half-seen
thoughts," the Kem retorted irritably.

"Surely the future is a riddle," Ochen replied.

288 ANGUS WELLS

"Did the spaewife in Secca warn Calandryll of
Anomius? Did the spaewife in Kharasul tell you of
Jehenne ni Larrhyn? Did you"—a hint of accusa-
tion, or mischief, entered his voice—"deem fit to
warn your comrades of that woman's interest in
you?"

Bracht had the grace then to look embarrassed,
and Ochen continued: "Cennaire was not then
what she is now. The future is a many-branching
road, each turning taken leading to another, all of it
complex beyond ready understanding, easy discern-
ment. And even when you spoke with spaewives,
Tharn's dreaming clouded the occult plane, likely
dimming their vision. I believe they could not see
Cennaire's role then."

Katya, grave, asked, "So you tell us Cennaire's
some part in our quest?"

"Have I not said it?" Ochen nodded. "I believe it
so, but as we speak honestly now, I tell you I can-
not be sure."

"How shall you—we—be sure?"

"She is now what she is," the wazir answered,
"and fixed in that state while her heart lies ensor-
celled in Nhur-jabal. Therefore a scrying may be
had—I suggest we continue on to Pamur-teng and
consult a gijan there."

"Save you influence her prophecy," said Bracht,
doubtful.

"That, even the wazir-narimasu cannot do."
Ochen laughed, shaking his head. "Oh, warrior,
had I the time I'd explain it to you; though I won-
der if you could understand."

"Therefore I must trust you?"

"What other choice have you?" asked Ochen,
sharp again. "Think you truly that I league with
those madmen who'd own the Arcanum, see the
Mad God raised?"

WILD MAGIC 289

"1 do not," said Katya, and turned toward the
Kern. "Put up your dirk, Bracht—what Ochen says
makes sense."

For a while the Kern met her gaze, then he
grunted, and sheathed the dagger. "And this?" He
gestured at the wrapped mirror. "What do we do
with it?"

Cennaire spoke then, hope rising inside her:

"Why do you not hold it?"

Bracht shook his head. "Not I. I'd have nothing
to do with Anomius's creations."

"Give it to me, then," Katya suggested, and
smiled. "Save you no longer trust me."

"Take it." Bracht tossed her the small bundle.
"You I trust. But . . ."

His eyes encompassed Cennaire and Ochen.
Katya tucked the mirror beneath her hauberk and
turned toward the revenant- "Do you prove our en-
emy," she said, "I shall break this thing. And be it
in my power, I shall slay you."

Cennaire ducked her head in acknowledgment. It
seemed a weight was lifted from her, for all
Calandryll still refused to meet her eyes, though
when she spoke, her words were directed at him.

"I'll not betray you," she said. "I've learned from
you, and be it in my power I'll aid you all I can.
even does Anomius destroy me for it. I'd own my
heart again, be that possible- You need not trust
me, but I tell you that I'll not betray you. You've
my word on that."

"Your word?"

Bracth's voice cut bitter into her burgeoning hope
and she looked to Calandryll for some measure of
support, but he was sunk in gloom, staring at the
ground between his feet, and that cut deeper still.




OCHEN left them then, called to the funeral
pyres by Chazali, that he might perform the
rituals for the dead. The wazir's absense afforded
the questers a chance to talk among themselves
that was entirely unwelcome to Calandryll, who
felt his mind, his soul, benumbed by what he had
learned. He had sooner be left alone, or talk more
with the sorcerer, seeking resolution of the bewil-
derment, the confusion, raging inside him. That he
loved Cennaire, he could not deny: it was a fact
that burned through all the chaos of surrounding
knowledge. What repercussions it might have, he
dared not contemplate, nor knew what that love
made of him. A monster? A necrophile? Surely
Ochen had said she wore flesh, that red blood
coursed her veins, that she was capable of human
feelings; and yet that blood was pulsed by
Anomius's magic, the bones and muscles beneath
that flesh imbued with a terrible strength. Her lips
had tasted soft when he kissed her; but was that
softness the product of sorcery? She had promised

WILD MAGIC 291

her aid, even at risk of her creator's wrath, at risk
of her own destruction; but could that promise be
trusted? Bracht had suggested he was entranced—
could that be true? Was he deceived by the woman?
Did magic beguile his heart, )ust as it did hers? He
felt despondency settle on him, bleak and grey as
the spell Rhythamun had left behind in the keep,
robbing him of purpose, leeching resolution. Into
his mind came memories of tracts read in Secca,
dissertations found in the palace libraries, of vam-
pires, the ungodly allure they exercised on the liv-
ing.

Was he thus seduced? Was there some weakness,
some darkness, in him that was drawn to Cen-
naire? Reluctantly, he looked toward her—and
found he saw only a beautiful woman, the great
brown eyes that met his grave, perhaps even afraid.
But of what? Certainly not of his blade, for she had
touched that and the power in it had left her un-
harmed. Of Ochen's magic, then, should he call
upon the wazir to destroy her? But he had already
spoken against that, in her defense. Yet still she
was subdued, almost timid, he thought, and in that
moment she seemed to him only a woman, born
down, afraid, and he wished that he could smile
and reassure her.

He could not, then; only turn his face away, help-
less, starting as Bracht said, "Do we speak?
Alone?"

Unthinking, he gestured around, at the kotu-zen
grouped about the pyres, chanting their responses
to Ochen's prayers, and said, "We are alone."

"Aye?"

Bracht's eyes hung cold and blue on Cennaire,
and she ducked her head, rose, and said quietly,
"I'll not intrude."

She smoothed her dirtied leathers and walked a

292 ANGUS WELLS

distance off, solitary, head hung. Bracht watched
her go, then rose himself, beckoning Calandryll and
Katya to follow him, walking to where the horses
cropped grass/ the stallion snickering a greeting,
tossing its head as the Kern stroked the glossy
neck.

Soft, glancing to where Cennaire stood, he asked,
"Think you she can hear us?"

"She's eyes that cut the night," said Katya.
"Likely she's ears to match."

"What matter?" asked Calandryll dully. "Katya
holds the mirror, Ochen stands close—what if she
does overhear?"

"She'll know our every move," the Kern replied.
"Nor I am yet convinced we can trust the sor-
cerer."

"Dera!" Calandryll sighed, weary. "As he said—
what other choice have we?"

"That's what I'd discuss," said Bracht. "I like this
situation not at all."

Nor /, Calandryll thought. I'd far sooner Cen-
naire were just a woman, not magic's creation.
Dera. but I wonder if I'd rather we'd never found
her. Or I not love her. But I do, and I think I can-
not change that. be it for worse or better. Aloud, he
asked, "What would you do about it?"

"We might quit their company," Bracht said.

"And lose ourselves in this unknown land?"
Katya shook her head. "Ochen's yet my trust, and
I believe he told it true when he spoke of war rag-
ing here. How should we gain entrance to Anwar-
teng, save in his company?"

"And there's the gijan," said Calandryll. "Do we
consult her when we reach Pamur-teng, then per-
haps our doubts may be resolved."

"If we can trust her," Bracht countered. "Cen-
naire's Anomius's creature. Made what she is by

WILD MAGIC 293

him, and he's surely our enemy. And Ochen knew
that, and concealed his knowledge."

Calandryll nodded, struggling to rise above the
despondency that gripped him. "How should we
have reacted," he demanded, "had Ochen told us
what he knew?"

Bracht frowned, a hand fastened on the falchion's
hilt. Katya said, "We'd surely have left her behind.
Or looked to slay her."

"Better we had," the Kern muttered.

"Ochen believes she's a role in this quest."
Calandryll shrugged. "And whatever her reasons,
she did save me."

"Ahrd!" Bracht's hand left the falchion to shape
an angry fist. At his back, the stallion snorted, nos-
trils flaring. "We've talked that through—she
obeyed her master. No more than that!"

Calandryll felt a pressure on his shoulder and
turned to find the chestnut gelding nuzzling at his
hair. The animal's placid affection was somehow
comforting, and he rubbed absently at the velvet
muzzle, saying, "Perhaps; perhaps not. I know only
I was mightily glad of what she did- Perhaps she
did act out of"—he paused—"love."

"How can a thing without a heart feel love?"
Bracht grunted.

"Ochen said she yet has feelings," said Katya-
"And even did she act on Anomius's orders when
she went to Calandryll's aid she might have fled,
after. Think on it, Bracht—whichever course she
took, she must have known she should be re-
vealed."

"You say you trust her?" asked the Kern.

"I say I am not sure," returned the Vanu woman.
"Ochen, aye. Him I trust, and he believes she's a
part to play—so I cannot but wonder if he be right,
and Cennaire becomes a player in this design."

29-f ANGUS WELLS

Bracht shook his head in helpless frustration. "1
say we can trust none of them," he declared.

"And you'd ride out alone?" Katya asked. "We
three, across all these Jesseryte lands? With warring
armies in our path? I think we'd not last long."

"And be my doubts sound?" Bracht fixed her
with an angry stare. "How long shall we last
then?"

Katya offered no immediate answer. Instead, she
turned to Calandryll. "How say you?" she won-
dered.

He shrugged, wishing himself elsewhere, in some
safe place/ away from dubiety, from decisions and
choices; knowing even as the thought formed that
such refuge was denied him.

"I think," he said slowly, painfully assembling
thoughts that raced and fluttered like light-
bewildered moths, "that we cannot succeed with-
out Ochen, without the kotu-zen. I know that
Ochen's magic joined Cennaire to save me from the
uwagi—from Rhythamun—and that otherwise I
should be dead. I see no choice save to go on in
their company."

"Do you trust Ochen?" Bracht asked.

Calandryll thought a moment longer, then nod-
ded: "Aye. And listen—even be your doubts true,
surely he'll look to see us safe along the way. Save
you doubt everything we've done, we are the three
scried. Save the spaewives and the Younger Gods
themselves deceived us, we are the three. There-
fore, even does Ochen work some subtle betrayal
beyond my comprehension—beyond my belief!—he
must still seek to deliver us safe to our destina-
tion."

Doubt lingered in the Kern's eyes: Katya said,
"This is logic, Bracht; irrefutable. Like Calandryll,
I've faith in Ochen, but even were he treacher-

WILD MAGIC 295

ous, he must aid us. Just as Anomius would have
us deliver the Arcanum, so should Ochen,"

Bracht studied them both awhile, a hand tangling
absently in the stallion's mane, then ducked his
head. "So be it/" he allowed. "There's sense in
what you say, and so I'll trust him for the nonce."

"And Cennaire?" asked Calandryll.

"Her not at all," answered the Kern. "And I tell
you—does she turn against us, I'll take that sword
from you and trust in Dera's blessing to destroy
her."

Calandryll looked into the cold hardness of the
Kern's eyes and lowered his head; brief, a sad ac-
knowledgment. "You'll find no need," he said
hoarsely. "Be she traitor, I'll look to slay her my-
self."

Doubt flickered in the steel of Bracht's gaze, but
Katya motioned him to silence and set a hand,
comforting, on Calandryll's arm. "The gods will-
ing, there'll be no need."

Her voice was soft and he looked into her grey
eyes and smiled wan thanks for the commiseration
he saw there, aware the while that behind that
sympathy lay a determination firm as Bracht's.
Should the time come, his would be the last hand
turned against Cennaire; his comrades, unhindered
by gentle emotions, would not hesitate- He nodded
in mute understanding.

"This shall not be a pleasant ride, 1 think," he
murmured.

Bracht grunted tacit agreement. Katya said. "Let
us hope it may be swift. Perhaps, in Pamur-teng,
our doubts shall be resolved."

Aye, perhaps yours shall, Calandryll thought.
But mine^ Does the gijan assure you of Cennaire's
integrity, then you may rest easier in her company.

296 ANGUS WELLS

But mef How can I rest easy knowing I love a
woman undead1

He turned away before Katya's obvious compas-
sion grew hurtful, going back to the fire, where he
filled a cup with tea, listless, wanting some occupa-
tion of his hands; wishing his mind might be sim-
ilarly occupied. Dera, but the journey would be
unendurable while these doubts circled, like vul-
tures awaiting the final weakening of a stricken
beast.

He gasped as sudden pain exploded in his hand,
looking down to see the cup shattered, droplets of
blood oozing from between his tight-clenched fin-
gers. He opened his fist, shards falling, and began to
pick the china splinters from his palm.

"Here, let me."

He turned to find Cennaire at his side, taking his
injured hand as she spoke, her fingers delicate, pre-
cise, as they plucked the jagged fragments loose.
For an instant he was prompted to snatch his hand
away, but she glanced up then, and in her eyes he
saw a plea for understanding and stilled the im-
pulse. She smiled briefly and bent to her task, so
that the rising sun struck sparks of raven brilliance
from her hair and he smelled the scent of it, pine
and woodsmoke mingled, and felt himself dizzied
with confusion.

He sat immobile, benumbed, leaving her to per-
form her surgery, seeing Bracht and Katya come up
and halt, staring. The Kem's eyes were filled with
disgust, as if he watched a victim go willing to a
vampire's caress. Katya's were clouded, enigmatic.
She spoke softly to Bracht, her mouth close to his
ear, and they moved past, to stand closer to the
kotu-zen. Calandryll felt a soft pressure, a warmth
against his palm, and looked down to find Cennaire
sucking at his wounds.

WILD MAGIC 297

That, for all his reaction ashamed him, was too
much: he snatched his hand away, as if from a
flame-

Cennaire wiped blood from her lips, her expres-
sion apologetic. "It's clean," she said hesitantly,
and smiled sadly, "and I'll not contaminate you."

"I did not think . .." His voice faltered, he shook
his head, helpless. "Forgive me."

"How should I forgive you?" she murmured-
"Should it not be I who ask that?"

"I do not know." He sighed and shook his head
again, meeting her gaze. Dera, but those were eyes
to drown in! "I am not sure what I know any
longer."

Only that I love you.

He took refuge in formality, retreating behind the
punctilios learned in his father's court. Carefully,
rigidly, he said, "Lady, I take you at your word. I
owe you my life, and you've my thanks for that,
but until we reach Pamur-teng and consult the
gijan there ... I trust you understand."

Cennaire's gaze fell away as she answered, "Aye.
It were foolish of me to expect else."

Save how can you not knowi Buzash, but I have
never felt like this before. Can you not feel that!

She rose, pausing as she heard his voice, soft;

"Cennaire? I pray it be as you say."

She found his eyes on her face, hopeful, fright-
ened, and answered solemnly: "As do I, Calan-
dryll."

He nodded, and for all his expression was forlorn,
she felt hope rise, like a kindled fire.

THE morning was advanced as they rode out, the
sun topping the surrounding forest to shine bright
from a sky all cloud-streamered blue, the breeze

298

ANGUS   WELLS

that gusted from the north hinting at the year's ag-
ing. It skirled the smoke rising from the funeral
pyres, drawing out the black in long pennants of
mourning that drifted away over the trees like
waning hope-

Calandryll rode deep in thought, and it seemed
the omnipresent sense of dread he had felt before
grew stronger, as if the drumming of the hooves be-
came a threnody, the freshened breeze assumed a
charnel taint, whispering of loss, of defeat and fu-
tility. He looked up, and it seemed the sky was
livid with threat of storm, the clouds lamenting,
the blue fouled with blood. The trees beside the
road stood ominous, looming dark; bird song died,
lost under the rattle of the breeze; the air became
filled with the stench of dung and death. He
groaned, his soul weighed down, and into his be-
deviled mind came, subtle as a serpent, the thought
that Tharn must surely win resurrection, that
Rhythamun must doubtless ride too far ahead to
halt, and cross into the Mad God's limbo, to use
the Arcanum to raise his master.

He felt himself sinking into despair, megrims
tugging at him, loosening soul from the confines of
his body.

Does love do this1 he wondered. Does what I feel
for Cennaue bring me so lowi

Almost, as the wind rustled an affirmative, he
answered himself yes and gave up, let go to the aw-
ful despondency; almost, he felt his pneuma drawn
out again, trawled by the despondent breeze. But
somewhere deep a flame yet burned, hopeful, and
he shook his head and told himself no, not until
she be proven false. Until then she's the right to
my trust. He remembered the cantrips of protec-
tion Ochen had taught him then, and mouthed
them, and felt the shield of honest magic rise

WILD MAGIC 299

around him, denying the horrid suction of despair.
He recognized then, as the sky became again blue
and clear and the breeze clean, that he was as-
saulted on the occult plane, that Rhythamun, or
Tharn, once more sought 10 suck out his pneuma,
to lure him into the realm of the aethyr and trap
him there. He smiled as the pressure eased and was
gone, feeling freed, and suddenly triumphant: a
small victory won.

He loved Cennaire. Aye, he loved her! That he
could not deny. But that love he would not allow
to endanger the quest. Paramount was the secur-
ing of the Arcanum, its delivery to Vanu that the
holy men might destroy the book. Did Cennaire
have a hand to play in that, then good; if not ...
He pushed the thought aside, praying that in
Pamur-teng she be proven true and all doubts re-
solved. Bracht would learn to trust her, and they—
all of them—go on to thwart Rhythamun's fell
design. Until that was done he would set his feel-
ings aside, that they not endanger the higher pur-
pose.

Aye! He laughed, throwing back his head, drinking
in the now-clean air, wrapping himself round with
the defensive gramarye, challenging Rhythamun,
challenging the Mad God himself, to defy that pur-
pose.

It seemed that the wind snarled a moment then,
disappointed, but when he cocked his head, listen-
ing, it was once more only a rustling among the
pines. The birds sang again, squirrels chattered, and
from the undergrowth ahead a wild sow burst, fol-
lowed by three plump yearling hogs as she scam-
pered, snorting irritably, across the road.

The warriors to either side turned toward him
and he smiled at them, confident in his newfound
resolution.

300 ANGUS WELLS

IT was easier found than held as they journeyed on,
for when they halted, at noonday and at dusk, he
was forced into company with his comrades and
Cennaire, and the divisions imposed by knowledge
of her revenancy came to the fore.

It was easy enough to promise himself that he
would set aside his feelings, defer judgments and
decisions until they reached Pamur-teng; far harder
to attain that objectivity as twilight shaded the
road and he saw Cennaire dismount and hesitate,
clearly unsure of her reception. Bracht ignored her
with a painful ostentation, busying himself with
the stallion and then gathering wood for their fire.
Katya, while less obviously hostile, remained aloof,
and the kotu-zen, alerted to her condition, with-
drew to their own groupings. Calandryll found
himself facing a quandary: should he risk Bracht's
displeasure by inviting the woman to join them?
Or should he go to her, which would doubtless an-
ger the Kern the more? He paused, torn between
loyalty and pity.

And smiled thanks for Ochen's diplomatic inter-
vention.

The wazir sprang down from his horse with an
agility that belied his years, smoothed out his opu-
lent robe, ran fingers through his mustache, and
bowed in a courtly manner to Cennaire as she
stood indecisive.

"Do you join me. Lady? I should welcome your
company."

He offered his arm, escorting her to a place a lit-
tle way apart from Bracht and Katya, but yet
clearly within their aegis, the signal clearer when
he beckoned Calandryll to fill the gap.

"Doubts exist," he said as the fire kindled, "and

WILD MAGIC 301

it would be foolish to pretend else. But I tell you
this—that we ride together and should at the very
least allow a truce."

Bracht carved meat and said, "Those arguments
we've heard, wizard. I ride with you, but I need not
like the company."

"Horul!" Ochen shook his head. "I've often
thought my own people an unforgiving lot, but it
seems we meet our match in you Kernish folk."

Bracht shrugged, spitting the meat on sharpened
twigs, not bothering to articulate a reply.

"Mistrust breeds disaster," Ochen went on. "Did
you not feel the touch of Rhythamun's magic to-
day?"

Bracht shook his head. Katya, silent and thought-
ful, passed out hard journey bread, smoked cheese.

"Aye." Calandryll nodded. "It seemed he sought
once more to seduce me into the aethyr. But I
spoke those cantrips you've taught me, and the
feeling was gone."

"It will come again," the wazir declared. "He
waxes ever stronger, and he's a new key to your un-
locking now. You must be ever vigilant against his
attacks."

Calandryll frowned, his eyes shaping a question.

"What did you think about," asked Ochen,
"when the world grew grey and the wind smelled
of blood?"

Calandryll paused a moment, then said, "Of
doubts. I thought of Bracht's mistrust of Cennaire.
Of ... what I feel for her .. . and what she is ..."
From the corner of his eye he caught her glance
then, hurt, and past her pained face, he saw
Bracht's, angry and scornful. "I feared we should be
sundered, fall to quarreling, be divided, and
Rhythamun win the day."

"Which he looks for," Ochen said, nodding

302 ANGUS WELLS

grimly. "Like some poison seeking out the wounds
into which it may flow, he looks to divide us, to
prey on doubt and distrust."

"I felt nothing," Bracht said obstinately. "It was
a fine morning."

"You've not that power Calandryll owns," Ochen
returned. "I felt his attack; Calandryll felt it. He
knows of Cennaire now, and likely guesses she's
his enemy; what she feels, what Calandryll feels.
No less, that mistrust comes between us."

"How?" Bracht demanded, suspicious. "How can
he know what I feel? What Katya feels? Or any of
us?"

Ochen sighed. "Have I not told you?" he asked.
"There are two levels of existence—the one mun-
dane, the other on the plane of the aethyr. Those
with the occult power are able to cross betwixt the
two, and their spirits—their pneuma—are strong on
the occult plane. Calandryll is one such, though
he's not yet the precise knowledge of it—that's a
lifetime's study—but still he's strong there, and so
Rhythamun is able to discern him. To learn some-
what of what he feels, and through that knowledge
what those about him feel."

"What do you say?" Katya asked. "That Rhytha-
mun can see us through Calandryll's eyes?"

"Not see us," Ochen answered patiently. "For
that he would need send out a spy, what you name
a quyvhal, but that he ... senses . . . what Calan-
dryll's pneuma feels, learns of our dissension and
mistrust. He knows now that a bond exists be-
tween Calandryll and Cennaire, and that it drives a
wedge between those who oppose him. Between
you three. He looks to drive that difference wider,
until none trusts the other and all fall down into
confusion. The which must surely benefit him."

"So you say we should trust you?" Bracht said,

WILD MAGIC 303

and stabbed a thumb toward Cennaire, "and this
revenant?"

"I say that the wider you let the gap grow,"
Ochen returned, "the easier you make it for
Rhythamun to attack Calandryll on the occult
plane. Do you doubt him—because of his .. . sym-
pathy ... for Cennaire—then you build a barrier be-
tween you. You isolate him, and thus weaken the
shield your comradeship builds, and Rhythamun
may find a way through those chinks."

"I thought him protected by your magicks," the
Kem snapped. "Have you not taught him cantrips?
Has he not said already that he used them this day,
to defend himself?"

"Aye," said Ochen, "but Rhythamun's strength—
Tharn's!—grows more powerful by the day, and
these assaults shall increase. And do you doubt one
another, then you make his task easier."

"You ask for trust where that commodity is hard
won," Bracht said. "It seems to me it were far
easier if we were three again and riding alone."

"Aye, but you are not," said Ochen, "and that's
the way the design runs."

Calandryll sighed as the argument turned back
on itself, Bracht's obstinacy like a dog intent on
pursuing its own tail. He looked at the Kern's hard-
set face; at Katya's—enigmatic, as if she pursued
the course of her own thoughts—and then at
Cennaire.

She sat silent, her eyes downcast, her face par-
tially hidden behind the sleek spill of her raven
hair, her shoulders slumped. She seemed to him re-
signed, as if accepting whatever judgment might be
delivered on her, as though she forsook hope and
cast her destiny to the winds of fate. She seemed
terribly alone, and he felt an impulse to reach out,

304 ANGUS WELLS

take her hand; and at the same time a dreadful re-
vulsion.

This, he thought as Bracht and Ochen flung
words like bouncing shuttlecocks at one another,
might well continue throughout the journey to
Pamur-teng. Even beyond, should the gijan there
fail to persuade the Kern, and all the while
Rhythamun would doubtless prowl the aethyr,
seeking the chance to strike, strengthened by
Tharn and doubt. He thought then of that day's as-
sault, and for all he had defeated the attack, knew
that he would not welcome another, wondered how
long he might resist, did mistrust continue to grow.

Ochen had suggested the power within him in-
vested him with a sight capable of penetrating to
the soul, to the truths within; abruptly, he chose to
trust the wazir's observance, to put it to the test.

"I'd speak with Cennaire," he said, rising, beck-
oning her to her feet. "Alone."

She looked up then, startled, hesitating as Bracht
frowned. Katya's brows shaped a question, Ochen
smiled in seeming approval. Calandryll nodded, en-
couraging, and she rose, instinctively, nervously,
smoothing her tunic. He took her arm, courtly, and
she allowed him to lead her away from the fire, to-
ward the trees, docile.

The moon was risen now, a slender crescent
again, wan against a hyacinthine sky pricked
through with silver stars. The wind sung cold
among the trees, its melody echoed by the lament
of wolves, the soft hooting of hunting owls. He
walked away from the tires, past the picketed
horses, the guards Chazali had set, aware of all
their eyes on his back, aware of their expectations
and their fears, their doubts. He continued on, his
hand formal on Cennaire's elbow, back down the
road until they were beyond earshot.

WILD MAGIC 305

Then, a few short steps distant from the road,
where tall pines swayed, rustling in the wind as if
they gossiped, circling a narrow patch of coarse
grass, he let go Cennaire's arm and turned to face
her.

For a moment he stood silent, voicing a prayer to
Dera that the goddess guide him to the truth.
Then, aloud, he said, "Lady, we needs must talk."

"Of what?" Cennaire brushed back hair streaked
silvery with stars' light, her eyes luminous on his
face, her voice subdued. "What may I say that I've
not already?"

It was as difficult to fight the urge to take her in
his arms as it was to forget all she had done, who
had made her what she was. He set a hand about
his swordhilt, saw her eyes register that movement
and shifted his grip, thumbs hooking his belt.

"Bracht believes . .." He paused, contradictory
emotions a turmoil in his mind. A deep breath
then, a rush of words, best spoken swift lest his
tongue should falter: "Bracht believes that what I
feel. .. that because I love you ... I am blinded. He
believes you a traitor."

It was hard to face her as she smiled/ wistfully he
thought, and said, "He's made that clear enough."

"And yet Ochen claims you've a part to play in
this quest of ours. I must decide ere this mistrust
tears us apart."

Cennaire nodded then, her starlit features sol-
emn, her eyes grave, and said, "And do you decide,
shall Bracht accept it? He's an unforgiving man, I
think."

"Aye." Calandryll smiled, brief and without hu-
mor. "There's that, but even so—do you convince
me, then perhaps I may persuade him."

"How shall I convince you?" she asked, turning
a moment away, head thrown back, eyes studying

306 ANGUS WELLS

the velvet sky, closing an instant as if in resigna-
tion, then open again/ returning to his face. "Shall
I tell you that I made a choice when I saw the
uwagi take you? That I thought then only that you
might die, and I could not bear that thought? You
say you love me? I tell you, Calandryll den
Karynth, that I love you. No!" She gestured him si-
lent as he was about to speak. "Hear me now; now
that we may speak alone, without interference or
interruption—I'd have you know what I am, ex-
actly. After, when you know it all, judge me."

Her voice was edged hard as Bracht's face, steeled
to decision: Calandryll ducked his head, accepting.
He suspected, looking into her intense eyes, that he
should not welcome this confession, that he should
learn of things he might better prefer remained un-
said. It seemed the wind grew colder, the susurra-
tion of the trees more ominous. Dera be with me
now, he thought. Be with me and guide me.

Cennaire, for all the chill breath of the night
wind meant nothing to her, shivered, folding her
arms across her breast. She locked her gaze, un-
blinking, on his face, determined now that he
should learn it all. Did he turn from her after, then
so be it: for now she felt a need the truth b^ told in
its entirety, that there no longer be secret   „ v  i
them. She did not properly understand her mucrvta,
only knew that along the way from Kandahar to
this forest clearing she had changed, become some-
thing other than the revenant Anomius had sent
out, something other than the woman she had
been, and that she must unburden herself to this
man.

"I was a courtesan," she said, only determination
preventing her voice from faltering, praying even as
she spoke that he might understand—should
believe—she was no longer the person she de-

WILD MAGIC 307

scribed. "I was condemned to death for stabbing a
lover. He refused me payment, and when I took his
purse he threatened to denounce me—I put a knife
in his belly, and I was condemned to death.

"Anomius found me in the dungeons of Nhur-
jabal and ordered me freed. I knew not why,
save . . ." She shrugged, the meaning explicit. "He
worked his magicks on me and I was his creature.
His gramaryes lent me such powers . . . Oh, I had
known hunger before, but invested with his
magicks food was pleasure, only; nothing more. I
was strong; I need not sleep. I can see, hear . . .
Burash, but you know that. How else did I find
you, when the uwagi took you? It was intoxicating.
And he owned my heart—save I did his bidding, he
would destroy me! He sent me out like a hunting
dog, to find you, and Bracht. He knew nothing then
of Katya. That he learned after I went to Vishat'yi."

She hesitated, lips pursed. An owl hooted, but
otherwise the forest was grown still. Even the
wind, it seemed, waited on her confession, the tall
trees leaning closer, anticipatory.

"I learned of Katya, and where you went, from
Menelian. That knowledge he gave me because he
was confident of destroying me. He looked to slay
me with his cantrips, but magic works better
against the living, not against ... what I am. I slew
him." This in a dull, dead tone. "And then I spoke
the cantrip Anomius had taught me and was back
in Nhur-jabal ..."

"How?" Calandryll asked, hoarse-voiced. "By
magic?"

"Aye, how else?" Cennaire nodded. "He taught
me that spell that I might return to him the
easier."

"Then might you not have gone back," Calan-

308

ANGUS   WELLS

dryll said slowly, "even go back now? And take
back your heart?"

"Wound round with Anomius's gramaryes?"
Cennaire shook her head, starlight playing over the
darkness of her hair. "Think you he's not set pro-
tections? I think that did I attempt that, I should
die. That he should know of my coming and de-
stroy me."

"Aye." Calandryll remembered the ugly little
sorcerer and could only agree. "Go on."

"\ went to Aldarin," she continued, "where I
learned that Varent den Tarl was dead. I learned
that from a man named Darth, who served den
Tarl."

"I knew him," Calandryll said, his voice hollow
as he added: "And did you slay him/ too?"

Cennaire nodded. "He looked to take his plea-
sure of me. I'd have let him live, else. But he gave
me scant choice."

"Dera!" Calandryll said, aghast. "You leave few
alive behind you, Lady."

She ducked her head again. He stared at her,
wondering that he could still love her: that he did,
he could not doubt, even were it insanity.

"I learned from Gart and Kythan what it is you
seek," she said as he motioned her to continue.
"Those two I did not slay—you've my word on
that. Though likely you'll not take it."

She laughed a hollow laugh and studied him with
eyes that seemed haunted. He was not sure why he
believed her, but he did—she had confessed to
other murders. Why not, then, to those? "I take it,"
he said.

And she smiled; a glimmer of hope, and said,
"From them I learned the rest, which you mostly
know. I used the mirror to speak with Anomius,
and he commanded me to find you and join you.

WILD MAGIC 309

The rest you know—I came to the Kess Imbrun, to
the Daggan Vhe, and there I saw Rhythamun for
the first time."

She broke off, shuddering at the memory. She
seemed then, for all Calandryll knew her undead, a
woman imbued with preternatural powers, one
who had slain men in obedience to her creator, en-
tirely vulnerable. He steeled himself and de-
manded, "Aye? Continue."

"What I told you of him was true," she said. "/s
true. I felt. -, Burash! It was horrible, what he did.
To eat human flesh? To steal another's form?"

"And yet you still obeyed your master." It was
an effort to hold his voice calm, to hide the revul-
sion he could not help but feel. "Anomius bade you
join us, to take the Arcanum from us."

She looked at him then, her fate in his eyes, and
nodded. "Aye, then." She swallowed air, cold, hope
fading. "I joined you to take the Arcanum from
you, for Anomius."

"So is Bracht right?" he demanded, the question
chill as the wind. "Do you look to seduce me to
that end? Is that why you saved me from the
uwagi? In service of your master?"

"No!" Her voice rose loud, helpless; hopeless.
"Burash, but I cannot ask you to believe me, even
though all I've said is true! I know not what has
changed me, but I tell you—I love you! I cannot
bear the thought of your dying. What can I say? I
have traveled with you—with you and Bracht, and
Katya—and something in me has changed in your
company. I'd have back my heart and be mistress of
my own destiny again. I'd not see Rhythamun, or
Anomius, own the Arcanum. I'd not see Tharn
raised. Calandryll, I've not the right to ask or ex-
pect belief from you, but I tell you this—that I
shall do all I may to see your quest succeed.

310 ANGUS WELLS

Burash! Does it cost me my heart, still I'll see you
succeed' Believe me or not, that is the truth."

The night hung still about them, the wind died
down, wolves and owls, all the predators of the
dark hours, fallen silent. The moon was a curved
blade against the sky, the stars cold and distant, an
impassive jury. Calandryll felt the weight of
decision—of indecision—heavy on his shoulders as
he studied her face. Her eyes were wide and shin-
ing, though whether in hope or defiance, he could
not be sure. He felt certain she had told him the
truth about her life—about what she had been, and
what she had done in service to Anomius. But the
rest? Could he believe she had changed so much?
That a creature made by magic, her heart no living
organ but some product of thaumaturgy, might so
dramatically shift her allegiance?

What if she lied, hiding her real intentions?

What if all she said was truth?

He wiped a hand over lips gone dry, sighing,
aware of a pressure building behind his eyes,
thoughts racing madly about his mind. He wanted
to believe her. But was that a wanting born of emo-
tion, of what he felt for her? He coughed a bitter
laugh, thinking a moment of his father, thinking
what Bylath might have said, were he present. He
could imagine his father's scom, his brother's con-
tempt. And yet ... and yet what he felt for this
woman surpassed all he had felt for Nadama den
Ecvin.

That, in the midst of all his confusion, remained
a fact hard as stone, as steel; and like a steel blade,
it cut him deep.

Did she lie, then he might likely need to slay her-
And would: of that he had no doubt. The notion of
the Arcanum in Anomius's grubby hands was as

WILD MAGIC 311

abominable as the thought of Rhythamun's suc-
cess.

Dera. he asked into the silence, do you show me
the way of it! Show me the truth. I beg you.

Not Dera, for this is not her domain but mine.

Calandryll gasped as the words struck his ears.
For a moment it seemed the night, the world, spun
whirling around him. He saw Cennaire start back,
eyes wider, turning to seek the speaker, even as he
recognized the sound came not from among the
trees, was not shaped by any human throat, but
rather echoed inside both their minds. She looked
then afraid as that realization dawned, and he
touched her, saying, "Wait," softly, and she looked
at him, and drew closer, as if seeking his protection
as shadow coalesced among the pines, taking solid
form.

He heard her give a small, frightened cry as the
shape emerged, and, unthinking, lay an arm about
her shoulders, holding her against him as he began
to smile, head bowed in obeisance.

Your land of Lysse, that is my sister's domain.

From between the trees came a horse, huge,
larger again than Bracht's great stallion stood above
the Jesseryte ponies. The stars were reflected in its
coat, or shone therein, for it seemed a thing of
shadow and light, not entirely distinct, but rather
shimmering, as if the force of life itself played and
danced within its form. Brilliance sharded where
hooves struck grass, it seemed the eyes shone
moonlight.

Calandryll said, "Horul!"

Aye. the god returned, for this is my domain.
and I heard your call.

The shape changed then, flickering in the instant
of an eye's blinking, faster, becoming no longer
equine, but a man-shape, naked and muscular, sur-

312 ANGUS WELLS

mounted with a horse's head, the mane flowing
proud over massive shoulders, the eyes bright with
intelligence.

Calandryll felt Cennaire press closer, trembling,
and said, "There's nothing to fear. Save you lied."

She shook her head, but it was the god who an-
swered.

She did not. All she told you was truth.

The weight of doubt oppressing Calandryll lifted
somewhat at that. "Then she's one with us?" he
asked. "She's a part to play in this quest?"

Aye, said the god. Though it may cost her, or
you, dear.

"Do you explain?"

I cannot. A hint of laughter, rueful, light like
falling stars shed from between the equine lips. /
am bound—did my sister, my brothers, not say as
much! What aid is ours, we give you: but what aid
ve may give you is limited by designs beyond our
making, by powers greater than us.

Calandryll looked up—the man-horse form of the
god overtopped him by a head or more—and said,
"But I should trust her?"

Do you not love her1

"I do."

Without trust, what value has love!

"But ..."

She was a courtesan! A mage stole out her heart,
made her revenant! She has slain men you named
friend!

"Aye! All that."

But still you love her?

"Aye. But ..."

Think you change is impossible! Forgiveness!
Look into your soul, and trust what you find there.

"You say Menelian's death, the others, count for
nothing?"

WILD MAGIC 313

I say you look for answers, and that 1 offer you
those within my power to give. To take them, or
not, that is for you to decide; but that te fleshly or-
gan you name the heart is not the repository of the
soul. but only a mechanism. The pneuma rests
elsewhere, in every fiber of the being. In the flow
of blood and the tissue of the muscle; in the bones
and the skin. It is all of you mortal folk, the total-
ity of you; not some single, isolated part. This up-
start wizard may hold her heart, and so control her
physical existence, but he cannot govern what she
is. That shifts and changes, is altered by time and
the influence of others, by folk such as you and
your comrades.

Again, then, that spectral laughter, like the dis-
tant dance of stars in the night sky, far off, like the
hint of sunlight rising through the mists of dawn.

/£ is your choice. Calandryll den Karynth—to
trust her, or not. But if you love her, I tell you that
you had best trust her. Put aside all she was. and
trust in what she is now. Those deaths you spoke
of! No, they are not nothing—they cannot be, for
each life taken leaves a debt that must, in some
fashion, be settled. But this woman may atone for
her sins. Has she not already risked much on your
behalf, on behalf of your quest!

"Aye, she has." He drew Cennaire tighter against
him, suddenly aware of her arm about his waist,
the pressure welcome. "But what further part has
she?"

That I cannot say. Forces move within the realm
you name the aethyr ... Horul paused then, the
great, black-maned head craning back, moving
from side to side, nostrils flaring as though scent-
ing the night. . . - Forces far greater than mine,
than any commanded by we Younger Gods. Tharn
stirs, and would see us gone, and even now his

314 ANGUS WELLS

strength is growing apace. Men feed it; men may
defeat it.

"You speak," Calandryll said, aware that he
echoed Bracht, "in riddles. If men feed Tharn's
power, and may defeat the god, why do you not
show us the way?"

More laughter then, self-mocking, light dribbling
from between the widespread lips to tumble down
onto the grass, great arms spread wide as burning
eyes locked on his face.

/5 life not a riddle} Why did Yl and Kyta quit
your world} Why give it over to Tharn and
Balatur} Why not take it back, when the godwars
came} I cannot answer you. Calandryll; not with
simple words. You are bonded to what you are.
and I—and all my kindred gods—bonded to what
we are. There are chains about us all. and we none
can break them; only seek to slip them. or learn to
live with them. You must do what you must do, as
must I; and more than that I cannot tell you.

It was on Calandryll's lips to retort: "More rid-
dles," but he bit back the words and said instead,
"But did you Younger Gods only lend us your aid,
then surely we might defeat Rhythamun. Only
bring us to him, and let us take the Arcanum from
him, and we none of us need fear Tharn's resurrec-
tion."

Could we. Horul answered, do you not think we
would} We cannot! Men look to raise Tharn, and
men must prevent that resurrection.

"That's much to ask of men," Calandryll said.

Perhaps. But is it more than men ask of us}

"Then a lesser boon—do you lend your voice to
convincing Bracht, Katya, be that needful?"

Were they here now, then I think they should
believe.

WILD MAGIC 315

"But they are not! Let me bring them; or come to
where they are."

We've not the time.

Again the great head swept round, about the con-
fines of the trees, up toward the twinkling stars.
. Were they a little dimmed? Calandryll felt the un-
pleasant prickling of trepidation, as if the air grew
sullen with impending storm.

Tharn would deny even this much. were he able.
But he's not yet so strong. Even so ...

The god broke off, head again flung back, the
equine nostrils flaring. Calandryll followed his gaze
and it seemed a curtain was drawn across the heav-
ens. The stars, the moon, were lost, not behind
cloud or the pale misting of dawn, but gone, as if
they existed no longer.

He stirs, he waxes angry. Horul's eyes returned
. to Calandryll, to Cennaire. I've no more time. I

must depart, lest his wrath descend on you. Go on
' your way in knowledge that your heart speaks
true, and that atonement may be won. Now—
farewell.

He turned, moving across the clearing, becoming
again a horse, stars' light and moon's shine, trailing
brilliance as he reared and galloped skyward, to-
ward the heart of the oppressive absence that lay
across the firmament. Calandryll stared, awed, as
the god rose, a shooting star now, a comet, that
raced headlong into the vacancy.

Then light exploded, blinding, and the pines were
shaken, bent, by a silent wind. So fierce was the
blast, Calandryll felt himself totter, Cennaire's grip
firm about his waist, her eyes wide and frightened
J as she trembled, pressing against him as if, even in
s- her terror, even as she held him upright, she looked

to him for strength, for support.
-^  The searing flash died, leaving only afterimage,

316 ANGUS WELLS

the trees sighed upright, and all was still a mo-
ment. Then shouts disturbed the night, and the
whickering of unnerved horses, torches flared, and
the shapes of kotu-zen, of Bracht and Katya, ap-
proached.

"Come," Calandryll urged gently. "We must tell
them what Horul said."

"Shall they believe?" Cennaire asked.

"Perhaps. I do."

This time, as they walked back toward the road,
he took her hand.




THE others met them on the road, swords
drawn, alarmed, only Ochen seeming calm, as
if he sensed what had transpired. Calandryll as-
sured them all was well, returning to the fires to
answer the questions that came in aural bombard-
ment, He had hoped that Horul's divine interven-
tion would convince his comrades of Cennaire's
integrity, but he was disappointed. They had not
witnessed the appearance of the god, and it seemed
impossible to dissuade Bracht from hostility, his
hawkish features planing into lines of hard skepti-
cism as Calandryll recounted all the god had said,
his audience silent, reserving judgment until he
was done, the Jesserytes looking then to Ochen for
confirmation, though it was Bracht who broke the
silence.

"A trick," he declared with sour finality. "Some
gramarye of Anomius's making, designed to be-
guile, that his creature become trusted. None oth-
ers saw the god, only you. Can you surely say it
was not some conjuration?"

318 ANGUS WELLS

"Had you been there," Calandryll told him,
"you'd not doubt."

"But I was not," the Kern replied. "Only you and
she. And you are clearly entranced."

Calandryll flushed at that, in part embarrassed,
in part angry. He looked toward Cennaire, who
smiled helplessly and shrugged; he turned to
Ochen, asking, "Can you not convince him? Or do
you, too, believe I am beguiled?"

"I believe you speak the truth. But ..." The wa-
zir, like Cennaire, shrugged, as if he doubted his
ability to persuade the obdurate Kern, looking then
to Bracht, his voice solemn. "A magic greater than
man's walked this night. Power immeasurable
strode the aethyr, and I felt it. That was no making
of sorcery, neither Anomius's nor Rhythamun's,
but of godly proportions. Did you not see the sky
cloud, Bracht? Could you not feel it?"

"I saw cloud hide the stars," Bracht answered. "A
storm built, and there was lightning. I saw that,
and no more."

"Horul!" Ochen sighed. "You see with your eyes,
not your soul. Had your god only gifted you with
that other sense when he drove those nails from
your hands ..."

He shook his head, resigned into silence. Bracht
frowned and demanded gruffly, "Do you insult my
god, wazir?"

"No," Ochen replied, "I say only that your vision
is limited by prejudice."

Bracht barked a dismissive laugh. "Is it prejudice
that I mistrust a thing created by a sorcerer sworn
to slay me? I hear her condemned out of her own
mouth. Ahrd! Do you wonder I find it hard to ac-
cept this tale?"

Cennaire listened to their debating less with her
ears than with those other senses granted by her

WILD MAGIC 319

revenancy, Bracht was firm in his doubt, his refusal
to trust her sharp and hard as tempered steel. In
him, dubiety was like the falchion he carried:

edged and rigid, unbending. Calandryll emanated a
confusion of emotions. Love bled from him, but
like fever sweat—tainted with the poisons of
squeamishness at all she had done, all she had
been, the fear that he might lose Bracht's friend-
ship. She turned her preternatural attention to
Katya, and found a confusion similar to Calan-
dryll's: belief was there, that Calandryll spoke only
truth, that had he been deceived, Ochen should
know it, therefore that Horul had appeared and de-
clared her true. Katya wanted to believe, to accept,
but mingled inextricably with that acceptance was
a doubt born of Bracht's disbelief, a desire to take
the side of the man the warrior woman loved, the
result confusion.

Is this what love is then? she wondered. Cer-
tainty and doubt all tumbled together} The opin-
ions of friends balanced against heart-felt
emotions} Trust where common sense declares
none can existf To believe when belief is impossi-
ble!

She turned her attention to Ochen, and found
him protected by his magic, unreadable. A natural,
instinctive defense? Or something else?

Chazali was far easier: his emotions gusted out,
fierce, hidden only from natural senses by the disci-
pline of his caste, which hid his feelings from men,
but not—never—from her. He believed Calandryll,
believed that Horul had appeared, and conse-
quently believed all he had heard. That she had
been a courtesan meant nothing to him, only that
his god had declared her true. That she was created
by Anomius troubled him—distaste there—but not
distrust. He was angered by Bracht's re)ection—of

320 ANGUS WELLS

his god, as he saw it—and tempted to take the
Kern's argument from Ochen's hands and answer it
with his sword.

Burash! she thought suddenly, does this go on,
we play into Rhythamun's hands. We fall on oui-
selves in doubt.

Then, beyond hesitation, firmed now by forces
beyond her understanding she knew with utter
surety that she was committed to the quest. She
chose not from sudden emotion, but from an inner
deliberation, a certainty past questioning, as if
Horul had somehow washed away her doubts, the
uncertainties and self-interests disjected by the
god. And yet it seemed her presence drove a wedge
between the questers, that mistrust set them at
loggerheads-

"Listen!" Her voice forced silence on their argu-
ing and their faces turned, startled, toward her. She
looked to Bracht, allowing her gaze to encompass
Katya. "You do not trust me. I cannot blame you
for that, and no matter what I tell you, you'll likely
not believe. But, do you hear yourselves? You argue
round and around in pointless circles—Calandryll
tells you Horul vouched me true, Bracht claims it
was a conjuration. Trust flees, and its going aids
only Rhythamun. Your disbelief breeds doubt like a
festering sore."

Her voice was fierce and for long moments the
Kern faced her with narrowed eyes, a hand upon
his swordhilt, as if he anticipated she might attack
him. She faced his stare unflinching, willing him to
believe even as she sensed his refusal, thick on the
night air. Then he shrugged without giving answer.

"Do we face facts?" Ochen asked into the silence
that fell then. "Trust or no, we go on together, and
in Pamur-teng consult a gijan. Perhaps the spaewife
shall persuade our obdurate friend. If not"—he

WILD MAGIC 321

shrugged, sighing—"mayhap Horul will appear
again. Whatever, we've little enough choice save to
continue. So—do we set this arguing aside for now
and find our beds? Or do you prefer we debate the
night away?"

"And be I right?" asked Bracht, not at all molli-
fied.

"I tell you that you are wrong/" said Ochen wea-
rily, "but even be you right, Cennaire offers you no
harm. Even does she serve Anomius, she needs you
alive, no? Save all the prophecies be wrong, it is
you three, and none others, can wrest the Arcanum
from Rhythamun, and save you succeed in that, the
book is useless to her creator. That, my doubting
friend, is simple logic."

"Aye," the Kern allowed with a reluctant gri-
mace.

"Then do we sleep?" the wazir suggested, an-
swered by Bracht with a sullen nod.

They settled in their blankets then. Bracht and
Katya across the fire from Cennaire, Calandryll and
Ochen like guardians to either side, the night
heavy with distrust.

THE days that followed were little better. Bracht
spoke to her only at need, and then but curtly, in
monosyllables. Katya was more generous, but cau-
tiously, aware of the Kern's hostility and unwilling
to fuel his animosity. Calandryll, for entirely differ-
ent reasons, grew distant, troubled by the divisions
and his own confused emotions. Chazali and his
warriors were meticulously polite, their attitudes
shaped by the knowledge that their god accepted
her, but only Ochen seemed untroubled by her con-
dition, as if he saw her now as a victim, certainly

322 ANGUS WELLS

as a potential ally, and consequently she found her-
self much in the wazir's company.

He was still greatly occupied with Calandryll's
instruction in the occult, and while no further sor-
cerous attacks manifested, he devoted time each
night to warding their camp with protective
magicks, but when not so busied, he sought out
Cennaire and spoke with her as a friend. He was,
she recognized, looking to set an example, to break
down the barriers risen among the party, and at the
same time intent on learning all he could of
Anomius. It mattered little enough to her, far more
that the wrinkled mage offered her a friendship
otherwise denied, and she told him all she could re-
member of her creator and his plans.

"I believe," he remarked one night as they sat
about the fire, "that the time fast approaches you
should use that mirror."

"What say you?" Bracht glowered from across
the flames. "That she should advise her master of
our intentions?"

"To an extent, aye." Ochen's face was fissured,
simian as he beamed at the suspicious Kern.
"Think you Anomius does not wonder where we
go, what we do? Likely he grows impatient for
news."

Bracht readied an angry response that was cur-
tailed by Katya's hand upon his arm, her voice soft
in his ear, bidding him be patient and hear out the
wazir. Calandryll, intrigued, motioned for Ochen to
continue.

"From all Cennaire has told me of this sorcerer,"
Ochen declared, ignoring Bracht's low-voiced cor-
rection of that title to "her master," "there are lim-
its to his patience. So—let us give him such news
as will placate him awhile."

"Why?" came Bracht's blunt question.

WILD MAGIC 323

"For several reasons," Ochen returned patiently,
"foremost that we learn where he is."

"What matters that?" the Kern grunted.

Ochen drew in a slow breath, as though forcing
himself to patience. Softly, soothingly, Katya
murmured, "Do we hear out the reasons, Bracht?"

The wazir smiled his gratitude for that interven-
tion and answered, "Does he escape those grama-
ryes binding him to the Tyrant's cause, think you
he'll not come seeking the Arcanum himself? I'd
know him still fettered, lest we find a powerful en-
emy at our back,"

"Could he find us, even freed?" Calandryll asked.

"It might be." Ochen's face composed in lines of
gravity. "I've the feeling this Anomius commands
great power, and so I'd know precisely where he is.
Does he grow impatient, I say we should placate
him with such news as we choose to impart—
enough he's satisfied Cennaire goes loyal about his
business."

"And you'd trust her in this?" Bracht's voice was
weighted heavy with sarcasm.

"My god has vouchsafed her integrity," Ochen
returned, ignoring the Kern's dismissive grunt, "so,
aye. But for your sake, I say she shall use the mir-
ror only while observed."

"And reveal ourselves to him?" Bracht barked.
"Ahrd, man, you know he can see out through that
cursed glass."

"He shall see only so much as we'd have him
see." Ochen chuckled, grinning as if delighted at
catching out the Kern. "We shall all of us be pres-
ent, to hear what Cennaire tells him." He paused,
his grin widening as Bracht frowned, clearly revel-
ing in the Kern's incomprehension. "You seem to
forget"—he chuckled—"that I, too, am a sorcerer,
and not without some small talent."

324 ANGUS WELLS

"For riddling," Bracht muttered, his expression
sullen, aware that Ochen toyed with him.

"We shall be invisible," said the wazir. "All of
us, save Cennaire."

He paused again, smiling mischievous glee.

"And he'll not know it?" Calandryll asked cau-
tiously. "Not sense our presence?"

"No." Ochen shook his head, his smile still
wide, as if he delighted in the notion of tricking an-
other wizard. "The mirror is a device of communi-
cations only. It shows what any window would
show, and no more. He shall see nothing save
Cennaire and the room she uses."

Calandryll nodded, accepting. Bracht offered no
comment, save the thinning of his lips, the dismis-
sive flash of his eyes. Again diplomatic, Katya said,
"This seems a sound enough plan."

Beside her, the Kern voiced an inarticulate
sound, shrugging, and settled to the honing of his
sword, deliberately distancing himself from further
discussion.

"We are agreed, then," said Ochen. "In Ahgra-te,
Cennaire shall become our spy."

"When shall that be?" she asked.

"Another day should see us there," Ochen told
her cheerfully. "So, by dusk on the morrow."

She nodded, saying nothing more, for all she felt
horribly afraid. That Ochen might work a gramarye
of unseeing, she had no doubt, nor that it should
delude Anomius. But she? Should she be able to
conceal that knowledge from the warlock? And did
he sense betrayal, surely he would destroy her. She
looked then to Calandryll and knew she had no
wish to die, for different reasons now, and simulta-
neously that she was resolved to give whatever aid
was in her power. She would, she recognized, fol-
low Ochen's instructions, even at cost of her exis-

WILD MAGIC 325

tence: it was a strange realization, unfamiliar for its
altruism.

She felt a hand touch hers then, and turned to
find Calandryll smiling grave encouragement,
knowing from his expression that her emotions had
shown upon her face. Burash! she thought wonder-
ingly, do I change so muchi Did Horul change me,
or does lovef She met his smile as he squeezed her
hand, albeit briefly, and murmured, "No harm
shall come to you."

She nodded, aware of Bracht's disapproving
glance across the fire, and replied, "I trust not."

"Trust Ochen," he encouraged, "and the Younger
Gods."

She answered him, "Aye," but even as she said it
she thought on Horul's words—that the Younger
Gods were limited by strictures beyond man's com-
prehension, and that Tharn waxed stronger, and her
trepidation grew. Doubt tumbled over doubt then,
for did Anomius, in his own malign way, not serve
Tharn? And was she become a true member of this
quest, should her demise not serve the Mad God's
purpose? Therefore might Tharn not in some fash-
ion alert Anomius to her shifted allegiance, and her
maker know her for turncoat?

She felt Calandryll's hand withdraw, wishing
that he would hold her, comfort her. She yearned
then for such reassurance, and had Bracht not
squatted disapproving across the fire, Katya enig-
matic at his side, she would have turned to
Calandryll and put her own arms about him, to feel
him close. And what then! she wondered. Would
he hold me, or would he turn away1 She stifled the
sigh that threatened to escape her lips, fixing her
eyes on the flames as she endeavored to quell her
fears, and the disappointment that rose as Calan-

326 ANGUS WELLS

dryll busied himself with the small repairs of tack
and harness necessitated by their journeying.

Overhead the sky stood dark, cloud blown up on
a freshening wind to obscure the stars, the moon
flirting among the rack. The omnipresent sensation
of dread hung like an aftertaste m the night, held
off by the cantrips taught him, but growing stron-
ger with each passing day, with every league that
brought them closer to the battle waiting ahead.
Beside that confrontation his tumbled feelings
seemed small, but still he wished they might be re-
solved. And knew that likely such resolution
should be denied, save that, somehow, in some
manner he could not imagine, Cennaire regain her
heart and become once more a natural woman.
Could that be accomplished, he thought, then all
should be well.

He tied a final stitch and set his work aside,
yawning. The camp was silent, save for the night
sounds of the animals and the crackling of the fire.
Bracht and Katya were already wrapped in their
blankets, and those of the kotu-zen not warding the
perimeter were dark and silent shapes, slumbering.
Ochen lay a little distance off, his feet toward the
flames. Cennaire lay still but not, he thought,
sleeping. He looked toward her and smiled wanly.
If she saw, she gave no sign, and he stretched out
himself, unpleasantly aware of the distances be-
tween them all.

AHGRA-TE lay on the northernmost limit of the
forested country, a boundary marker between
woodland and plain. The road rose up for half a day,
climbing to a final wide terrace that ran timbered
to a line of solid darkness stretching as far as the
eye could see to east and west. That, the questers

WILD MAGIC 327

were advised, was the edge of the true Jesseryn
Plain, the Ahgra Danji, which in the Jesseryte
tongue meant "Great Wall." It loomed above the
town, towering vast over the wooded country, as if
storm clouds solidified and lay upon the land. It
was visible even as they traversed the final stretch
of roadway, daunting as the trees gave up their hold
to fields and farmland, a barrier near as impressive
as the Kess Imbrun itself, lit by the rays of the
descending sun.

The town was built at the foot, where falls cas-
caded down the rockface, mill wheels turning furi-
ously in the torrent, the river that subsequently
gouged a path across the flat terrain diverted by
dams and barrages to form a semicircular moat that
warded Ahgra-te to the west, south, and east. To
the north, the Ahgra Danji was an ample buttress,
and from its foot, within the confines of the moat,
the town was further defended by high walls of
wood set at intervals with watchtowers. It was a
place, Calandryll thought, that should be mightily
difficult to take, did the war raging on the Plain
spread to the south of the Jesseryte lands.

As they drew closer he realized the place was
more akin to the city-states of Lysse than those few
other centers of habitation he had seen in this mys-
terious land, tor proximity impressed its sheer mag-
nitude on the approaching riders. The wall that
faced them spread for close on half a league, and he
calculated the eastern and western walls no less,
turning in his saddle to see his comrades staring
awed at the ramparts, albeit they were dwarfed by
the rockface behind.

Two bowshots from the walls, Chazali barked a
command that sent two men at a gallop toward the
guardpost set on the southern edge of the moat.
They paused a moment there, then thundered

328 ANGUS WELLS

across a drawbridge to disappear behind the walls.
The kiriwashen reined his mount to a slower pace,
his men forming into a column behind. Ochen
brought his animal alongside Chazali's, and the
questers fell naturally into pairs. Calandryll
flanked Cennaire, glancing down from his taller
horse to see the Kand woman studying the place
with wondering eyes.

"If they name this a town," he called, "what
must their great holds be like?"

"Vast, like Nhur-)abal," she answered, with a
smile he thought was nervous, assuming she antic-
ipated her contact with Anomius.

"You've naught to fear," he said by way of reas-
surance. "Only do as Ochen advises, and Anomius
shall be none the wiser."

She nodded, unspeaking, and he fell silent, star-
ing at Ahgra-te as the walls began to fill with folk,
like an audience lining the upper levels of an am-
phitheater, and Chazali's two forerunners came
thundering back- Faces peered from the ramparts,
and from the gates came a double column of half-
armored pikemen who formed an avenue between
guardhouse and gate.

"I thought all kotu gone to the war," he called
ahead.

Ochen turned briefly, swaying awkwardly in his
saddle, and answered, "Kotu-anj are left here as
rearguard."

It was all the explanation the wazir had time to
give, else he should have lost his precarious seat as
they crossed the bridge and the drumming of
hooves on wood gave way to the clatter of shoes on
stone. There was a moment of darkness as they en-
tered the gates, and then light and confusion as
they emerged into a shadowed square filled all
around with the figures of kembi and other digni-

WILD MAGIC 329

taries. Chazali and Ochen reined in, though neither
made any move to dismount as a deputation—of
notables, Calandryll assumed from the magnifi-
cence of their robes—stepped forward, bowed low,
and offered profuse welcome to the honorable
kiriwashen of Pamur-teng, the revered wazir, and
their most honored guests.

Calandryll guessed that Chazali's forerunners
had warned the leaders of Ahgra-te that outlanders
rode with the column, but even so he was aware of
sidelong stares, filled with curiosity, as the
kiriwashen gave formal answer and the notables
shouted for the crowd to part, the pikemen trotting
ahead, leading the way into the town.

It was, to eyes better accustomed to the avenues
of Lyssian cities or the open spaces of the world, a
claustrophobic place. The streets were barely wide
enough a cart might pass between the buildings
that stood to either side, four stories high, so that
they reached almost to the inner walkways of the
walls against which they were built, as if the entire
town were a single huge fortress cut through with
narrow passageways. Dusk was falling now, and
though lanterns were lit and windows bled light,
still the path was gloomy, oppressive despite the
welcome of the inhabitants. The air. after the clean
scent of the woodlands, was heavy with the myr-
iad, near-forgotten odors of any city, but here the
stranger for the mingling of unknown spices, the
scented sticks that burned in doorways, the smell
of exotic food. Faces peered from every opening,
and now that he was more familiar with the
Jesseryte physiognomy Calandryll could see the cu-
riosity writ there, the wonder that kiriwashen and
wazir should ride in company with foreigners.

It was a relief to emerge into an open square for
all the bulk of the Ahgra Danji loomed overhead; at

330 ANGUS WELLS

least the sky was visible here, dark blue and al-
ready sprinkled with stars, the risen moon a prom-
ise to the east.

Like Ghan-te before it, this square was faced
with a temple, stables, and inns. The kotu-anj dis-
appeared into the most splendid of the latter, while
the kembi and their fellow notables offered their
backs for footstools, precipitating the same confu-
sion as had arisen in Ghan-te. When Calandryll fi-
nally succeeded in dismounting unaided, he saw
the kotu-anj herding folk from the inn, guessing
the hostelry was cleared for occupation by the vis-
itors.

He stared about, intrigued by this odd city—
"town," Chazali and Ochen had named it, but it
seemed too large for such diminutive appelation,
prompting him to wonder again about the size of
the northern tengs—and through the milling crowd
saw a priest emerge from the entrance of the tem-
ple. This was a vast structure, occupying most of
the square's north flank, the horsehead symbol of
Horul magnificent with gold leaf and jet above the
wide doors. The priest was equally splendid, his
robe iridescent silver, sparkling in the lanterns'
light, but. Calandryll saw, much younger than
Ochen, He was attended by six acolytes in robes of
green and gold, each bearing a thurible, all swing-
ing in perfect unison, trailing faint streamers of
perfumed smoke. He halted a few steps from the
doors, the acolytes moving into precise line at his
back, and raised his hands, chanting a prayer that
was also a greeting.

Formality reined now, Ochen explaining that he
and the kotu-zen must pay due respect to their god.

Calandryll answered with a bow. "We'll see our
animals stabled and await you in the tavern."

Ochen murmured his thanks and walked toward

WILD MAGIC

331

the waiting priest. Chazali followed, his men com-
ing after, leaving their horses in care of the kotu-
anj. None seemed overly eager to take charge of the
larger horses, and the outlanders led their mounts
toward the stable, finding stalls readied- They un-
saddled and set to currying the animals, seeing
them comfortable before making their way to the

inn.

The place was empty, save for the owner and his
serving people, a large, low-ceilinged room set
round with long tables and the faldstools that were
the usual seating of the Jesserytes. What windows
existed were cut into the frontage of the building,
small and square and already shuttered. Lanterns
were lit at intervals along the walls, but they af-
forded no more light than those of the keep, so that
the chamber was dim, shadow pooling beyond the
scant radiance. Instinct sent Calandryll's eyes rov-
ing the shadows, aware that Bracht and Katya fol-
lowed suit. He smiled and called a greeting. And
saw the Jesserytes flinch, gasping, stark surprise
showing on their faces as they heard their own lan-
guage issue from the mouth of an outlander.

"Are we so strange?" he heard Bracht mutter,
and nodded, murmuring, "Aye, to them we are."
Then to the innkeeper and his folk, "Greetings. We
ride in company of the kiriwashen, Chazali Nakoti
Makusen, and the wazir, Ochen Tajen Makusen, of
Pamur-teng. They bade us await them here."

The innkeeper took a wary step forward, folding
his ample belly in a bow. Calandryll saw his head
was bald, though he wore both mustache and
beard. He ran a pink tongue nervously over fleshy
lips and said in a faltering voice, "Greetings to you,
honored guests. We were appraised of your coming,
and bid you welcome. I am Kiatu Garu, owner of
this humble establishment. How may I serve you?"

332 ANGUS WELLS

"Ale, do you have it," Bracht declared, cheerfully
ignoring the man's obvious discomfort. "Wine,
else."

"I'd take a bath," said Katya.

"All is available," Kiatu assured them, bowing
afresh.

"Then, Katya, do you and Cennaire use the bath-
house," Calandryll suggested, "while Bracht and I
await you here?"

The Vanu woman nodded, Cennaire an instant
later: this would be the first time she was alone
with Katya since confessing her revenancy, and she
wondered what might be said. No matter, she de-
cided, for she was committed now, and did Katya
scorn her, or decry her, still words should not harm
her. She followed the taller woman across the ill-lit
chamber, to the door Kiatu indicated, where a ner-
vous serving woman waited.

Calandryll, for his part, wondered what might
pass between him and Bracht in this moment of
privacy, thinking that it might well be an opportu-
nity to speak openly of their differences. He felt ab-
ruptly nervous: they had spoken hardly at all since
the night of Horul's manifestation, and he was
afraid that free discussion might drive wider the
rift between them. He followed the Kern to a table
set along one wall, taking a seat beneath a lantern
as Kiatu brought them ale-

Bracht took a healthy swig and grunted his ap-
proval. Calandryll drank slower, unsure whether he
should broach the subject of Cennaire or remain si-
lent. It was, as it happened, the Kern who spoke
first.

"We've not said much, you and I," he declared,
glancing first at Calandryll and then at his mug.

To his surprise, Calandryll realized Bracht was
embarrassed. He said, "No. Not since ..."

WILD MAGIC 333

He shrugged, letting the sentence die. Bracht
took another swallow and finished for him: "Horul
appeared to you."

Calandryll turned on the faldstool to face the
Kern- "You believe he did? It was not some conju-
ration?"

"I've spoken long with Katya on this," Bracht
answered slowly, frowning at his ale, "and she's
persuaded me it was likely Horul. Ochen is con-
vinced, and you've no doubts. So ..."

He broke off. shrugging. Calandryll said, "It was
the god, Bracht. Of that I've no doubt at all, nor of
what he said."

"That Cennaire becomes our ally?" Again Bracht
shrugged, his frown deepening. "Perhaps. But I can-
not forget what she is, nor who made her that. Nei-
ther that you love her—even knowing all she's
done."

Calandryll was silent awhile. Then: "Aye. But
think you that does not trouble me?" His voice
trailed away and he shook his head helplessly.
"Dera, I know not whether I should love her or
loathe her! Horul said I should forget her past, fol-
low my heart—that she's reborn, and should be for-
given what she's done. But think you I can forget
that? No, I cannot!"

"This is no easy thing." Bracht tilted his mug
and called for more. "And these past days I've
thought only of my own feelings, not at all of
yours."

Calandryll recognized the apology and smiled
briefly. "Save that I love her, I'm no more certain
what they are," he said softly. "The killings—aye,
those I can forgive. At least, I think I can, for she
acted then on pain of Anomius's wrath, in fear of
her .. . life . .. and I've shed blood enough along
this road."

334 ANGUS WELLS

"None innocent," Bracht interjected.

"Perhaps," Calandryll sighed. "Perhaps that's a
thing for the gods to decide."

Confidently, Bracht said, "The Younger Gods can
find no fault in you, my friend. Ahrd! Those you've
slain, you've slain for this quest's sake."

"And now Cennaire becomes a part of that," re-
turned Calandryll. "Horul said as much, and
Ochen believes it so. Yet what am I become, that I
love a woman without a heart?"

"Unlucky," said Bracht, his mouth shaping, a
tight and humorless grin.

"Would that she might regain her heart and
become no more than mortal," Calandryll mur-
mured. "It should be easier then,"

"Perhaps Ochen might find a way," Bracht sug-
gested.

Calandryll glanced sharply at the Kern. "How so?
Save we reach Anwar-teng and defeat Rhythamun,
my concerns are of no importance."

"Perhaps after, then," Bracht said, and chuckled.
"Do we succeed. Do we not, I think all our con-
cerns shall be ended."

Calandryll nodded, himself chuckling at that
grim humor. "Aye. But meanwhile? Shall we go on
as before, or do you name Cennaire ally now?"

Bracht paused before replying, toying with his
mug. "Katya is largely convinced," he said slow-
ly, "and she persuades me that Ochen is a true
friend. I think perhaps my doubts were born of an-
ger. Ahrd, but I thought these Jesserytes our enemy
before I came to know them better. I was mistaken
then—perhaps I was wrong, too, about Cennaire."

Calandryll stared, wondering if the Kern was
truly won over, or if he merely looked to patch
their friendship.

Bracht shrugged, drank ale, and went on: "I'll not

WILD MAGIC

335

say I like what she's done, nor that I trust her yet.
But there have been divisions come between us,
and those can only threaten this quest—I'd not see
them grow wider. I tell you now—can I trust this
gijan we're to consult, and she pronounces
Cennaire one with our cause, then I'll name her
ally."

It was, Calandryll knew, as close as the Kern
would come to confessing a wrong, an elaborate
apology offered by a proud, hard man. He accepted
it gratefully, thankful that the gap sprung up be-
tween them was closed.

"But does she prove false," Bracht added grimly,
"then I'll slay her if I can."

"Aye." Calandryll ducked his head, accepting
that. "And betwixt here and Pamur-teng? Shall you
treat her as a friend?"

Bracht/ in turn, nodded. "I'll not promise 1 can
forget what she is," he said, "but you've my word
I'll endeavor to be more courteous."

"My thanks," said Calandryll.

"Ahrd, shall comrades such as we fall out over a
woman?" The Kern chuckled, some measure of
good humor returned. "Even be she heartless.
Now—do we drink more of this Jesseryte ale?"

"Surely." Calandryll shouted for fresh mugs, his
spirits lifted, as if a weight were taken from his
soul.

Katya and Cennaire joined them in a while, and
from the expression on the Hand woman's face, and
the way they spoke together, Calandryll saw that a
similar conversation had taken place in the bath-
house. It cheered him that their differences were
mended, for all he must still wrestle with his own
conscience; that Bracht and Katya chose to accept
Cennaire resolved but one problem—there re-

336 ANGUS WELLS

mained the disquieting fact that he loved a woman
animated by sorcery.

It was difficult to think of her as such when she
smiled and he felt his heart lurch, marveling at the
perfection of her face, the glossy spill of her raven
hair, and he once more took refuge behind a screen
of formality. It was easier when Ochen, accompa-
nied by Chazali and the kotu-zen, entered the tav-
ern. Easier, too, for Kiatu and his staff, though
Calandryll could still read amazement on their
faces, that wazir and kiriwashen should so casually
accept the presence of foreigners, indeed, should
converse with them as if with old friends.

That discipline that seemed a natural part of the
Jesseryte character stood the landlord in good stead
then, as he oversaw the serving of the meal, for all
his eyes wandered frequently to the outlanders'
faces and he started each time he heard them speak
his language.

The fare was excellent, a luxury after the long
days on the road, fish served in spicy sauces, and
cuts of pork and venison roasted with strange
herbs, a gravy fragrant with wine- They ate well,
listening to what news of the civil war had come
south. The siege of Anwar-teng continued, they
learned, though the sorcerers standing with the
rebel forces worked hard to prevent the transfer of
news by occult means, what messages had
broached their barriers sporadic- The priest had ad-
vised Ochen that the armies of Pamur-teng and
Ozali-teng moved north, while the rebellious kotu-
zen of Bachan-teng remained within their hold,
ready to block the line of march. As best he knew,
no major battle was yet fought, the main forces of
the rebels still en route to Lake Galil, where
Anwar-teng yet stood inviolate.

WILD MAGIC 337

"And Rhythamun?" asked Calandryll. "Is there
news of him?"

Ochen and Chazali exchanged a look at that, and
the wazir nodded somberly, the kiriwashen's face
dour.

"Ten days past a kotu-anj came here," Ochen re-
plied. "He declared himself a messenger sent from
the keep, riding for Pamur-teng. He took a fresh
mount and continued northward without delay."

"Did the priest not recognize him for what he
is?" gasped Calandryll.

"No." Ochen shook his head regretfully. "He'd
no cause to suspect the man, and only wished him
godspeed on his way."

At his side, Calandryll heard Bracht mutter a
curse. For his own part, he sighed and murmured,
"Ten days? Dera, but he gains on us."

"We've one small advantage," said Ochen. "He
gave his name as Jabu Orati Makusen."

"A very small advantage," Calandryll observed.

Ochen smiled faintly, nodding agreement, and
said, "But still a gain, for we know his clan now."

"What use is that?" asked Bracht.

Chazali answered, his voice grim: "Does he look
to join the army out of Pamur-teng, he must first
explain his presence—why he did not remain at the
keep. Does he succeed, then he must continue his
charade, and find himself assigned to the column of
the Orati clan."

"Ahrd! Think you if we call out his name, he
shall spring forward?" Bracht grunted, shaking his
head slowly. "Or shall the clan stand in line while
Cennaire studies each face?"

Chazali took no offense at the Kern's bitter hu-
mor, only shrugged, opening his hands in a gesture
of helplessness. "We can overtake the columns," he
declared. "That, at least. Then, do I speak with the

338 ANGUS WELLS

kiriwashen of the Orati, he can check through his
men."

"Save Rhythamun possess some other," Calandryll
said. "Or avoids the army altogether."

"He must still enter Anwar-teng to reach that
gate," Ochen said quietly. "Or go on to the
Borrhun-maj."

"And Anwar-teng stands yet/' Chazali added.
"And the Borrhun-maj is a long ride off."

"And Rhythamun ten days ahead," said Bracht,
"with more delays likely left in our way- And he
able to shift his shape again."

A ruminative silence settled then, the enormity
of their task daunting. It seemed impossible they
should overtake the sorcerer, but rather trail for-
ever after him, until he reached his goal and Tham
was raised. They each became lost awhile in pri-
vate thoughts, none happy, until Ochen broke the
spell.

"But still we go on, no?" he asked. "Do we but
gain Anwar-teng, we've the aid of the wazir-
narimasu."

They each then looked at him, surprise in some
eyes, solemnity in others, and Bracht said, "Aye, of
course we go on. What else?"

The Kern's tone suggested the wizard's question
was redundant, a foolishness. Calandryll chuckled,
his spirit rising. "Dera, but we've seen only a little
bit of the world yet," he announced. "Think you
we'd leave the Jesseryn Plain unexplored?"

"Or the Borrhun-maj," Bracht added.

"Or whatever lies beyond," said Katya.

"Nor forget Vanu," the Kern continued, grinning
now. "Remember there's a matter I'd discuss with
your father."

Katya's smile grew broad, laughter sparking in
the grey of her eyes, though her voice was deliber-


WILD MAGIC                        339

ately grave as she said, "But only after the Arca-
num is delivered safe to destruction."

"Oh, aye," Bracht replied, matching her tone.
"Only after that small matter is settled."

Calandryll saw Chazali watching their exchange
with narrowed eyes, as if he wondered at their san-
ity, and found himself laughing. Across the table,
Cennaire looked from one to the other, herself be-
mused that they found such humor in a situation
so fraught with peril, and realized her own lips
stretched in a smile: such optimism, such laughter,
was infectious.

"We depart at dawn," Chazali declared, his
tawny eyes solemn, wondering if he would ever
properly understand these strangers.

"And there's some small business to conduct this
a   night," said Ochen, turning toward Cennaire, "be
you ready."

Her laughter died; her expression grew somber.
She ducked her head: "As you wish."

THEIR rooms were located on the topmost floor of
the inn—the height commensurate with status,
Ochen explained—with narrow windows affording
a view over the rooftops of Ahgra-te, the beds wide,
the floors richly carpeted. They were spacious quar-
ters, but still Cennaire's grew crowded as they
gathered there, listening to Ochen advise the
woman what she should tell Anomius, and what
hold back.

She nodded solemnly at his instructions and
Katya drew the mirror from beneath her shirt, pass-
ing it to Cennaire. The Kand woman took the glass
from its pouch, warily, as if she mistrusted the de-
vice. Calandryll saw her lick her lips, a hint of fear
in her dark eyes, and gently touched her shoulder.

3-fO ANGUS WELLS

Ochen said, "Now do I work my own gramarye,
and then you shall use the glass."

She nodded again, watching as the sorcerer mo-
tioned the others to stand together, raising his
hands as he began to intone the arcane syllables of
the spell. The scent of almonds flooded the cham-
ber, the forms of the questers and the wazir shim-
mering, disappearing.

Ochen's voice came out of nowhere: "Do we
keep silent now. Cennaire/ do you summon him?"

She ducked her head and mouthed the cantrip
taught her. The mirror swirled, colors vying in its
surface, the almond scent again sweet on the air.
fading as the kaleidoscope resolved into the un-
pleasant features of Anomius.

"You take your time, woman."

The voice was faint, but still distinct: Calandryll
heard it and grimaced as he peered over Cennaire's
shoulder. Anomius grew no lovelier; nor, it seemed,
better humored-

"I've not had opportunity ere now," she an-
swered.

A snarl of disapproval, then: "So tell me how you
fare about my business."

"Well enough I think. We are in a place named
Ahgra-te, riding north after Rhythamun."

"You're close?"

"He's yet some distance ahead, but we hope to
overtake him."

"When?"

"I cannot say for sure. We ride for the Borrhun-
ma) still, where they believe he must go. Also,
we've learned his name."

"That's little enough."

"Aye, but something, surely. And what more
might I do?"

WILD MAGIC 341

"Um. They trust you still? They do not sus-
pect?"

"No. They trust me—I am accounted one with
them now."

"Good. And Calandryll, Bracht? Do you find fa-
vor with one or the other?"

Almost, Cennaire blushed then. Certainly, she
feared she should give herself away: it was an effort
to hold her expression confident as she replied,
"Aye. I believe Calandryll favors me."

"Excellent. What of the Jesserytes?"

"They help us on our way. As I told you before—
they count Calandryll a hero for the slaying of
Rhythamun's creatures back on the Kess Imbrun.
They still believe we travel to Vanu."

"I suppose 1 must be satisfied."

"I can do no more, save I quit their company and
roam ahead of them. Would you have me do that?"

"No! That you remain with them is paramount.
It's still my belief that only they may wrest the Ar-
canum from Rhythamun, and you shall be present
then, the mirror ready."

"And you? Shall you come then?"

"1 shall. Oh, most definitely I shall."

"Are you freed then? Have you vanquished the
Tyrant's sorcerers?"

"The time is not yet ripe. But fear not, my crea-
ture- It shall be as I promise."

"You'll come when they've the Arcanum?"

"Have I not told you so? Aye, so long as you've
the mirror, I've the means to join you. But not yet;

for now it's far better they know not my hand in
this."

"And the war? How goes that?"

"It draws to a conclusion. Xenomenus holds all
the coast now, with only Fayne Keep to take.
Sathoman lairs there, like a beaten animal. Were it

342 ANGUS WELLS

not for the cursed Lyssians, I should have taken
that hold."

"What part do the Lyssians take?"

"The god-cursed Domm of Secca raises an inva-
sion force. Our spies advise us he's a fleet at his
command, and the support of the western cities.
They raise their army, thinking to strike while we
fight with Sathoman. Ha! Tobias den Karynth shall
learn the error of his pride, does he come against
me."

"You?"

"Aye, me. Were it not for his ambition, I'd have
delivered Sathoman to the Tyrant ere now- But
Xenomenus would have all his sorcerers strengthen
the defenses along the coast against the Lyssian
threat. In consequence, we delay the final con-
quest. E'en now I'm in Ghombalar, warding against
Lyssian attack."

"Alone, or do you work still with the Tyrant's
sorcerers?"

"I am forced to work with them. But enough now
recognize my powers that I am counted the might-
iest among them."

"And shall they therefore free you?"

"Once Ghombalar and Vishat'yi are secured
against the Lyssians, we turn north again, to finish
Sathoman. That done, I'll have my freedom. By
their will, or my own."

"You are truly the mightiest of sorcerers, that
you can break the gramaryers binding you."

"Indeed, I am. And even now some speak to free
me. Only mewling fools argue against that."

"But what if their voices are heard?"

"Of that, I've thought, woman. Xenomenus
would have me deliver him Sathoman's head, and
for that I must broach the magicks defending Fayne
Keep- Only I may do that, and once I have—think

WILD MAGIC 343

you I'd not pondered the future? I left such occult
devices in Faye Keep as shall cut these fetters like
melted butter. And then I shall be paramount. I
need only delay until you've found me the Arca-
num, Now, enough. They approach, and I'd not
have them suspect what I do. Use the mirror again
when you may. Until then, go about my business."

"Aye, master. Farewell."

A swirl of color, the scent of almonds, the mirror
once more only a glass, a simple vanity. Cennaire
let go a long, slow breath, staring at her reflection
a moment, suddenly aware how very afraid she had
been of facing Anomius, of lying to him. She felt a
wash of relief as she replaced the glass in its pouch
and returned the package to Katya. Only then did
she turn, and Calandryll saw her shudder, her
smooth forehead moist. He moved toward her even
as Ochen mouthed the cantrip that restored him to
sight, the chamber once more perfumed with al-
monds, taking her hands as he saw them tremble.
He felt her fingers tighten on his and smiled, look-
ing to comfort her, for he saw that she was anxious
and more than a little afraid.

"Was that done well?" she asked nervously.

"Excellently," Ochen declared. "I learned much
from that. Anomius is far stronger than I'd thought.
We must play him carefully."

"You name that excellent?" Bracht's voice re-
gained a measure of suspicion. "Did I hear aright,
Anomius has the means to break his bonds and go
where the mirror is. Is that excellent?"

"To know that much of our enemy?" Ochen
countered. "Aye, I'd say it so."

"Do you explain?" Katya suggested,

"We've some measure of his strength now,"
Ochen replied- "We know his whereabouts, and
that he'll not attempt to interfere until he knows

344 ANGUS WELLS

Cennaire has the Arcanum in sight. Thus, we may
forget him for the while, save I think we might
send him another message when we reach Pamur-
teng. But we need not fear his presence yet."

"Riddles," Bracht grunted.

The wazir chuckled, his ancient visage creasing
in myriad wrinkles. "Anomius suspects nothing,"
he said confidently. "Do you not see? By means of
that glass, thanks to Cennaire, we may control
Anomius. Now, the hour grows late, and we depart
at dawn—do we therefore find our beds?"

The Kern and Kakya nodded, voicing agreement.
Calandryll moved to follow them, but Cennaire
clutched his hands, a plea in her eyes as she stud-
ied his face-

"Do you remain awhile?" she asked softly. "I'd
have your company a little while, save you cannot
bear to be alone with me."

For an instant he hesitated, embarrassed. Katya
was already gone into the corridor, but Bracht
paused, his expression equivocal, then shrugged,
going after her. Ochen smiled mischievously, and
before Calandryll had entirely made up his own
mind, went out, quietly closing the door.

"Do you ask it, Lady," Calandryll replied.

Cennaire said, "I do."




A single lantern, encased in amber glass, lit the
chamber; starlight came faint through the
narrow window, affording the room a crepuscular
intimacy that was augmented by the absence of
furniture. There was the bed, on which Cennaire
sat, and a faldstool. Calandryll would have gone to
that, but the woman still held his hand and he was
loath to break that contact: he took a place beside
her, on the bed. It was, he noticed, easily wide
enough for two. He caught the scent of her fresh-
washed hair, the musky perfume of her skin, and
was suddenly aware of the proximity of her body.
He felt a dryness in his mouth and swallowed, ran
a tongue over his lips, looking down at her hand in
his. It was a small hand, and delicate, the skin
smooth, warm: he could scarce believe the strength
he had witnessed there. He was simultaneously
afraid to turn his head, to look at her, and impelled
to do so.

Her skin was very tan in the dim light. Sparks of
red and silver glinted in her hair. Her eyes were

346 ANGUS WELLS

huge, liquid pools. Her mouth seemed red as blood.
He swallowed again, those senses that were male
and basic, unthinking, urged him to draw closer, to
put his arms around her and press her to the bed.
He did not think she would object; rather, he felt,
as she returned his gaze, she would welcome it. But
still there remained, in that other part of his mind
that was objective, distanced and logical, the
knowledge of what she was. He saw the tiny tic of
pulsing blood beneath the soft skin of her throat,
and thought how good, how sweet, to put his lips
there, to taste her flesh beneath his tongue. And
then, a mental hand tugging at the sleeve of his de-
sire, that no mortal heart propelled that blood
along its course. He closed his eyes a moment, an-
guished, and cleared his throat.

"Lady?" His voice came gruff and awkward to
his ears and hers. "You'd speak with me?"

Cennaire ducked her head, studying him from
beneath long lashes, disappointment in her eyes,
rapidly hidden, lest he should believe she looked to
seduce him, as Anomius had commanded. Might
he not believe that was her intent, even with a god
as her guarantor? Burash, but she wished he would
hold her; indeed, could scarce resist the impulse to
touch his face, draw his mouth toward hers, bring
him down beside her on the bed. And was horribly
afraid he should pull back, that she would see
loathing in his eyes.

"I feared Anomius should know what I did," she
murmured, unable to repress the shudder that
thought brought. "I feared he should see through
me, and destroy me. I'd not be alone for a little
while."

"Nor shall you be," he promised. "Though
you've naught to fear—he suspected nothing. You
played your part well."

WILD MAGIC 347

She smiled/ wan, and said, "But still he has that
power over me." She was reluctant to say out loud
"my heart" for the reminder it should give.

Calandryll said it for her: "That he holds your
heart in his ensorcelled pyxis? Aye, that's a terrible
power. But ..."

He paused, frowning/ those thoughts that had
wandered the avenues of his mind since first she
had told him of her creation, of the power Anomius
commanded, of the mirror, of all she'd done, taking
distinct shape, forming a potential resolution.

Cennaire waited, studying him with a longing
she could barely conceal. This was, beyond all
doubt, love, that she could take such pleasure from
the simple observance of his features, of the play of
lantern's light in his sun-bleached hair. Desire, too,
but of a kind she had not known before, gentle as
it was fierce, needing his approval, his reciproca-
tion, in equal measure with the simpler lust. She
made no move, only waited, content for the mo-
ment that he should still hold her hand and not
spurn her.

Slowly, a note of caution in his voice, he said,
"I've thought on that. Perhaps the mirror holds the
answer."

"How so?" she asked tentatively when he fell si-
lent again.

His eyes narrowed as he pondered/ looking not at
her now, but into some future possibility. Then:

"It's clear what Anomius would have you do—ride
with us until the Arcanum is secured, then have
you use the glass to bring him where we are.
Doubtless he counts on surprise and his own occult
strength—likely your aid, too—to wrest the book
from us."

"Aye." Now Cennaire frowned/ wondering where
his musing led. "That much seems clear."

348 ANGUS WELLS

"And," he continued, "his power appears limited
by distance, no less than those fetters he wears.
Why else send you about his business?"

"I do not understand," she whispered, as hope
arose.

"Were we to deceive him," he murmured, "to
persuade him to come to some place far from
Nhur-jabal, where Ochen—the wazir-narimasu—
might entrap him with their magic, then perhaps
he could not harm your heart. But you, knowing
that gramarye of transportation, might return to
the citadel .. . Aye! Ochen with you, perhaps, if
that be possible. Or I. Then, it might be you could
secure the pyxis unharmed, and bring it to Anwar-
teng, where the wazir-narimasu might return your
heart, and you become again ..."

He broke off, face flushed with embarrassment,
the fear that he should insult her, hurt her.

Now it was Cennaire who completed the unfin-
ished sentence: "Mortal? Think you that possible?
That the wazir-narimasu might give me back my
heart?"

"Be they great as Ochen claims," he said, nod-
ding. "Then aye, I do- Though I'd speak of this with
Ochen ere such attempt be made."

"But you?" Excitement was in her voice, hope.
"Think you it might be done? Truly?"

He faced her then, solemn, and said, "'Twas sor-
cery took your heart; surely then, sorcery might re-
store it to you."

"The gods grant it may be so," she said fervently,
hands tightening on his. Then lowered her eyes,
herself embarrassed now, and that an unfamiliar
feeling. "And then should you truly love me?"

"Lady," he answered, "I love you now."

"But this"—she loosed one hand to touch her
breast, Calandryll's eyes following the movement,

WILD MAGIC 349

his breath a sudden intake—"this . .. absence . - .
stands between us."

He was abruptly flustered, cheeks reddened, his
gaze shifting, from where her hand pressed tight
the material of her shirt, to her face. Awkwardly,
honestly, he answered, "Cennaire, I cannot tell you
it be otherwise. Dera, but could I only forget that!
Could I, then I should; but I cannot. I love you, but
I cannot forget that."

She wondered then what clouded her vision, sur-
prised to realize it was the moisture of tears: it was
an unfamiliar sensation. She let them flow, unable
to stem that flood, uncaring, staring blindly at his
face as she wept in mournful silence.

Calandryll reacted without thought, simple emo-
tion controlling him as he loosed her grip upon his
hand and reached to touch her cheek, his fingers
gentle, moving as though of their own accord to her
shoulders, to her hair. He drew her close, his arms
around her, his face buried in the raven hair, feeling
her embrace, the trembling of her body against his
chest. Helplessly, he whispered, "Cennaire, I love
you. I pray we may regain your heart. I love you."

"And I you," he heard her mumble, her lips soft
against his throat, where his shin hung open. "But
still this stands between us."

It was pain to them both as he answered, "I can-
not deny it. Forgive me, but I cannot."

"You've nothing to forgive." A shock ran through
him as her mouth moved against his flesh. "It is I
should ask that. For all I've done, and all I've
been."

"No!" He pushed her back, a hand upon her
shoulder, a hand against her cheek. "What you've
done and been, that lies in the past. It means noth-
ing! Has Horul himself not absolved you? Should I

350 ANGUS WELLS

deny a god? Dera, but even Bracht admits error in
this, agrees you become one with our quest."

He forbore to mention the Kern was not yet en-
tirely resolved. That would come to pass, he was
certain—for now he wished only to reassure her, to
comfort her. The tears that glistened on her cheeks
struck pain into him. each droplet a needle prick-
ing his soul.

"Katya said the same/' she murmured, endeav-
oring without success to stifle her sobs. "I hoped,
therefore ..."

Her voice tailed off and she sat, her shoulders,
her breast, shaking as she wept, her eyes lumi-
nous, shedding tears that ran unhindered down her
cheeks. Calandryll was barely conscious what he
did then, compelled by a need that transcended
logic, dismissed memory, banished hesitation. He
saw before him only a weeping woman: the woman
he loved; not sorcery's creation, but a woman,
beautiful, sobbing. He knew not how the distance
between them closed, only that he kissed her, that
she responded, that her lips were soft, salted with
her tears. It seemed that gravity laid them across
the bed, that a force beyond his understanding
commanded his hands, his fingers. He was not sure
how it came about that his clothing was gone, and
hers, only that now he knew no reservations, that
what she was no longer had meaning, save that she
was a woman and he loved her. He was little
enough experienced, and she, for all she was well
versed in such matters, felt herself virginal, even as
she held him and guided him, her tears drying, re-
placed with joy as he came to her.

She felt reborn as they lay together, the past—as
he had told her—dismissed, she with her first true
lover. He had not known it should be like this, so
urgent and so fond, such pleasure found in her plea-

WILD MAGIC 351

sure, his a wakening fire answered by hers/ desire
augmented by love.

THEY lay together, entwined, as the night fell down
into still darkness and then the pearly announce-
ment of dawn. A cock crowed, a dog barked,
Ahgra-te began to wake. Calandryll stirred, at first
unsure where he lay, wondering at the soft warmth
that pressed against him, the musky scent that
filled his nostrils. He opened his eyes/ the sun not
yet above the horizon, and in the gloom saw
Cennaire's sleeping face, her hair a blue-black
spread across the pillows, her body outlined be-
neath the tumbled sheets. He felt desire move
anew, and then, as if she sensed his eyes upon her,
hers opened and he wondered—a fleeting/ guilty
thought—if her preternatural senses told her she
was watched.

An instant of remorse then, a pang of guilt, ban-
ished as she opened her arms and murmured, "I
love you."

"And I you," he answered, going to her again.

When both were spent, stretched languid with
their arms about each other, he wondered what
Bracht, what Katya, should think of this, and then
day and all its concerns impinged. Gently, he dis-
engaged her arms and pushed aside the sheets, once
more awkward, embarrassed as he wondered what
his comrades might say did they learn that he and
Cennaire were now lovers.

"We depart at dawn," he said. "I had best find
my chamber."

"Do you tire of me already?"

There was coquetry in her question that he, in
his lack of experience, failed to recognize, answer-
ing earnestly, "Never! But ..."

ANGUS   WELLS

352

She rose to her elbows, careless of the sheet that
fell from her breasts, aware of the excitement in his
eyes as he turned and again saw her nudity. Aware,
too, of the hesitation in his voice, realizing its
source as he fumbled with his discarded clothing.

"You'd not have the others know of this night,
that we are lovers now?"

"I think .. ." He broke off, awkward, not wishing
to offend. "Did they . .."

Cennaire laughed, rising to her knees, moving
close to him, that she might hold him, her lips
against his neck, smoothing the tangle of his
golden hair.

"They should disapprove? I'd shout it. I'd publish
it abroad."

"That would not . . . They might not ... I
doubt..."

She silenced him with her lips, briefly, pushing
him gently away then, smiling as she said, "But I'll
not, do you deem that the wiser course. Though it
be hard not to declare my love, still I'll be silent if
that's what you wish."

Calandryll touched her cheek, returning to the
lacing of his shirt. "They might not"—he shrugged,
uncertain—"understand. I'd not see fresh differ-
ences arise."

"Nor I." Cennaire grew solemn, slipping lithe
from the bed, seeking her own clothing. "For both
our sakes. That you understand, that you love me,
is enough."

Calandryll found his boots and tugged them on,
buckled his swordbelt in place. "It shall be might-
ily difficult," he declared, musing.

"Do we spend nights along the trail, aye,"
Cennaire returned, chuckling. "For I shall find it
hard to sleep alone now."

"And I," he replied. "Dera, Lady, but I love you."

WILD MAGIC 3S3

She looked up from her dressing, not going to
him, only smiling, seeking in her turn to ease his
doubts, wondering the while that she should feel
like this.

"Shall it then be our secret?" she suggested.
"We've declared our love, but none save we need
know ..." She gestured at the crumpled bed. "And
along the road to Pamur-teng, beyond, we shall
each sleep solitary."

"That shall," he answered gravely, "be hard. But,
aye, I think that likely the wiser course. Until, per-
haps, Pamur-teng."

"How shall that change matters?" she asked.

"The gijan—the spaewife—there shall confirm
your role," he answered, utter conviction in his
voice, "and then all must recognize the part you
play. None shall object then, that we be lovers."

"Save ..." She once more touched her breast,
and was suddenly afraid that such reminder should
again set a distance between them.

"That you are revenant?" Calandryll wondered
how he could find it so easy to pronounce that ugly
word. Had it not been that alone had held him back
from coming to her earlier? Now it seemed that
had no meaning: she was what she was, and did
mortal heart or conjuration propel the blood along
her veins, the courses of her arteries, still that
blood flushed her cheeks, warmed her lips. That
she was revenant no longer mattered, was no
longer a barrier between them. He had seen her
weep, and those tears had tasted salt, had been en-
tirely natural. They had, he realized, washed away
his doubts, his fears. He could no more think of her
as an undead creature than he could believe him-
self a necrophile. She had become, weeping, only
Cennaire, only his love. "Shall you be different
then, do we recover your heart? Shall that render

354 ANGUS WELLS

you worse, or better? I love you now, and I shall
love you then. Do any find fault with that, then the
fault is in me, and they must direct their objections
at me."

Her smile was radiant in the faint light of the
early morning, and she went to where he sat, put-
ting her hands upon his cheeks, cupping his face as
she bent to kiss him, soft and swift, holding him a
moment after, gently, his head against her breast.

"You are gallant," she murmured fondly. "Once,
in the keep, when Ochen advised me I should
speak with Anomius, I told him—Anomius—that
you were a gentle man. I meant it then, and now I
know it true. But still ..."

She let him go, stepping back, studying his up-
turned face with affectionate eyes, those growing
serious as she continued, "But still—as you have
said—think you Bracht, Katya, shall approve?"

"I know not," he answered. "I care not. They
must accept the scrying of the gijan."

"But you must care!" she told him, urgent now,
their arguments reversing. "Is Rhythamun to be de-
feated, there can be no dissension."

He shrugged defiantly; he loved this woman—
how should his comrades object once the gijan had
scried her true?

Cennaire saw that in this she was the wiser, tar
more experienced than he in such matters. Fleet-
ingly—a memory from a past she would sooner
now forget—she thought of other young men, inno-
cent like him, who had come to love her. They,
too, had been careless of opinion, guided by their
lust, their love, and had learned to their cost that
not all their friends saw the world through their
passion-clouded eyes. That, she could not let hap-
pen now, neither for his sake or her own, not for
the quest's sake.

WILD MAGIC 355

"I'd not come betwixt you and your comrades,"
she declared, touching a hand to his lips as his
mouth began to form a protest. "No, hear me out.
I love you, and were it possible I'd spend each night
'tween now and the world's ending in your arms.
But that should be foolishness, did it sunder you
from your comrades. That Bracht no longer names
me enemy is a great step forward—let us not jeop-
ardize that."

"But we speak of times after Pamur-teng," he
' protested. "Once the gijan scries your future, surely
Bracht can find no fault."

"Save I've not yet my heart," she returned, "and
so he might well object."

"No!" he cried fiercely. "I do not, so how should
he?"

"But you did," she said. "Before."

Calandryll felt a warmth suffuse his cheeks at
that, and sighed, shrugging. "I'd ask forgiveness for
that," he muttered. "I was a fool."

"No, you were not," she told him gently. "You
were a natural man, and felt a natural revulsion."

Her tone, her smile, removed the sting of re-
proach from her words, but still Calandryll sat
shamefaced, so that she could not but move toward
him, stroke his hair, his cheek.

"There's no blame," she murmured. "Ask not for
forgiveness, for there's no need."

He took her hands, holding them, and repeated
back her words, precisely, so that they both smiled
again.

"But still," she pressed, "Bracht remains a natu-
ral man, and he does not love me, and so might
well find fault that we be lovers. At least, were we
to express ourselves openly."

"I am not ashamed of it," he argued.

"Nor I," she replied, "but we speak now not of

356 ANGUS WELLS

us, but of those who ride with us, who are our al-
lies and our comrades, whose confidence we must
surely retain. Do you not see it?"

For a while Calandryll sat staring at her, frown-
ing as he clutched her hands, then, reluctantly,
nodded. "Aye," he allowed at last, "I do."

She said, "Let us agree that this night be our
secret, at least until we reach Pamur-teng and
consult with the gijan. Do I then win Bracht's—
Katya's—wholehearted confidence, then shall we
declare it."

"And do they, as you fear, object still?" he asked.
"What then?"

"Then," she said, herself reluctant now, finding a
strength she had not known she possessed, finding
it in him and what she felt for him, "we shall be-
have as do they. Are they not bound by their vow?"

"That—their vow—" he answered slowly, "is dif-
ferent. Katya is of Vanu, and the customs of Vanu
demand such obligation. You are of Kandahar, I of
Lysse, and it is not the same."

"But still perhaps the wiser course," she re-
turned.

"Perhaps," he allowed, and grinned. "But I am
neither of Vanu nor Cuan na'For, and I am not at
all sure I should find it possible to observe such a
vow."

"Think you it should be easy for me?" she asked,
answering his grin with her own smile. "It shall be
very hard indeed."

His expression then reminded her of a child de-
nied some coveted pleasure, and she could not help
but laugh, and take his face again in her hands, and
kiss him briefly, drawing back before he had chance
to clutch her, for fear they should fall again onto
the bed and reveal to their companions all she
looked to hide.

WILD MAGIC 357

"Listen," she urged, holding him at arm's length,
"do we agree on this to Pamur-teng, at least, and
after speak again?"

He studied her awhile, then sighed, and ducked
his head in slow agreement. "Until Pamur-teng.
But we must surely halt awhile there. A day or
two—a night or two ..."

His eyes asked a question, and she nodded, and
said, "Can we hold it a secret between us, then
aye—come to me there, and you shall find a wel-
come."

"And does the gijan convince Bracht?" he asked.

"Then all is well," she told him.

"And if even that scrying fails?" he demanded.
"What then?"

"Then we go on as if vowed," she said, "to
Anwar-teng."

For a moment Calandryll's brow creased, his ex-
pression become dark, then he smiled again and
said, "Where we shall find the wazir-narimasu,
and, the gods willing, they shall restore you your
heart, and none can object."

Cennaire's smile grew wistful at that, her answer
soft: "The gods willing. I pray it be so."

"As do I," he declared, his voice fervent. He
reached then for her hands, seizing them before she
had a chance to step back, holding them as he rose
to stand before her, his expression grave now.
"And, Lady, do we survive this quest, and deliver
the Arcanum safe to destruction, I ask—be your
heart returned you, or no—that we be wed, and re-
main always together."

Cennaire had not thought to blush—had not
since taking up her former profession—but now
she did, looking up into his solemn eyes, wonder-
ing.

358 ANGUS WELLS

"Sir," she asked, "would you truly wed me?
Knowing all about me that you know?"

"I would," he answered, sincerity writ clear on
his face, loud in his voice. "So—how do you re-
ply?"

"That you honor me," she said.

And he returned her: "No. Rather, you would
honor me."

"Then, sir, I answer you aye, with all my heart."

Almost, they laughed at that, for now they could,
those reservations that had stood between them
dispelled and forgotten. Instead, they kissed, ten-
derly at first, and then with mounting passion, un-
til Cennaire pulled back and set firm hands against
his chest, holding him off.

"No, not yet, not now," she gasped. "Remember
we are vowed until Pamur-teng. Better that you go
now, ere we are discovered."

"This shall be mightily difficult," he remarked,
and she answered him, "Aye, it shall," and pro-
pelled him gently to the door.

He paused there, studying her face as if to com-
mit her features to memory. He touched her cheek,
and she held his hand an instant there, glorying in
the warmth of his callused palm, then again drew
back, motioning that he should leave.

He sighed and ducked his head, listened awhile,
then opened the door and stepped out into the pas-
sageway beyond.

It was dim, lit by a single window at its farther
end and that illumination faint, for the sun was not
yet fully risen, but only a handspan as yet over the
eastern horizon. Sounds came from the rooms be-
low, but the corridor was silent, empty, as he paced
toward his own chamber. He was almost to the
door when another across the way opened to reveal
Ochen.

WILD MAGIC 359

The wazir was dressed for the road, his expres-
sion difficult to interpret in the crepuscular light,
but Calandryll thought he smiled. Knew it as the
ancient mage came close, his features creasing in
striated wrinkles as he raised a hand in greeting, or
perhaps in blessing.

"I trust," he murmured, a hint of mischief in his
voice, "that you passed an agreeable night."

"Aye." Calandryll nodded, not knowing what
else to say. confused and a little fearful that Ochen
might disapprove, did he learn the truth.

"And Cennaire is well?"

"Aye."

Ochen's smile announced a knowledge of what
had transpired, confirmed by his next words:

"What passes between you is your concern and
hers, none others. You've my blessing, do you ask
it; and my advice, too."

"I'd have them both," Calandryll returned.

"The one is yours," Ochen said, "sincere and
whole of heart. The other—perhaps it were better
to keep this from your comrades."

"We'd agreed on that," Calandryll explained. "To
Pamur-teng, at least. After shall depend on the
gijan and Bracht, Katya."

"A wise decision," the sorcerer remarked.

Calandryll nodded his thanks, paused an instant,
and said, "We spoke of regaining Cennaire's heart.
Of taking it back from Nhur-jabal, that it be her
own again. Shall that be possible?"

"She'd have it so?" asked Ochen.

"She would," said Calandryll. "Do you but ask
her, and she'll say the same."

"Excellent." The wazir's smile grew a moment
wider, then faded as gravity overcame his face and
he said, "It may be done, though only with power-

360 ANGUS WELLS

ful magic. And no little danger. I cannot, alone, but
the wazir-narimasu . .. Aye, they could, perhaps."

"Then do we reach Anwar-teng, and ask they do
it," Calandryll declared.

Ochen paused a moment before replying, and
when he did his voice was solemn, a note of cau-
tion there. "Ask, certainly," he said.

Calandryll frowned at the delay, at the tone.
"You doubt they'll agree? Why should they re-
fuse?"

"I do not say they shall," the mage answered- "I
say only that I cannot speak for them, and that
what you ask is a difficult thing, and perilous."

Fear drove a sudden dagger into Calandryll's soul:

Ochen's responses seemed to him equivocal. "I like
this not," he said. "Do you speak plain?"

The sorcerer's answer gave him no more comfort-
"I cannot scry the future as does a gijan," Ochen
told him, somewhat evasively, he thought. "Nor do
I say it shall not be—only that I do not know."

"But do you doubt it?"

The ancient spread his hands wide, succeeding in
expressing both regret and a lack of knowledge, of
certainty. "I would suggest," he said, "that you put
that matter aside until we reach Anwar-teng."

Calandryll would have questioned the old man
further, for the absence of immediate confirmation,
the hint of doubt he discerned in Ochen's voice,
worried him, but the inn began to stir now, and
Ochen denied him the opportunity with the obser-
vation that he had best enter his room, lest he be
found already dressed in the corridor and his secret
be guessed. He could only agree, albeit with reluc-
tance, halting by the open door to ask that they
speak again along the road.

"Do you wish it," Ochen agreed, and Calandryll
must be content with that.

WILD MAGIC 361

He went into the chamber, closing the door be-
hind him, and readied what little gear he carried for
departure. It was an afterthought to disarrange his
bed, rumpling the sheets and indenting the pillows,
as if he had passed the night here, not with
Cennaire. The memory stretched a reminiscent
smile across his mouth, and then he sighed at
thought of his imposed celibacy. Dera, he mur-
mured, do you giant that Bracht and Katya. both,
shall understand and I am forever in your debt.

Then a fist pounded and he heard the Kern's
voice: "Do you sleep still?"

"No," he answered, composing himself, "enter."

Bracht came through the door, saddlebags across
his shoulder. He studied Calandryll's face and
grinned. "Ahrd, but did you sleep at all? You've a
night bird's look about you."

"Not much," Calandryll returned truthfully.

The Kem's grin faded, replaced with a specula-
tive expression, and he said, "I left you with
Cennaire ..."

A question hung between them, and almost,
Calandryll blushed, turning away as if busying
himself with saddlebags. Casually as he was able,
he said, "We talked—she was afraid." It was not
entirely a lie.

"Afraid?" Bracht's response confirmed the wis-
dom of secrecy. "What's a revenant to be afraid of?"

"Anomius," Calandryll returned, defensive now.
"Dera! Bracht, think you she knows no fear?
Anomius yet holds her heart ensorcelled, and
might well destroy her, did he but learn she takes
our side."

"Aye," the Kem allowed without overmuch en-
thusiasm, "that's true, I suppose."

"Suppose?" Calandryll felt anger rise. "He's but
to return to Nhur-jabal, to that pyxis. Think you

362 ANGUS WELLS

she's without feelings? I tell you, no! She was terri-
fied he should discern she betrays him—she sought
my company awhile."

"Hold, hold." Bracht raised both hands in mock
defenses. "I asked only a simple question."

"With subtler meaning," Calandryll snapped.

Bracht frowned then, studying him with quizzi-
cal eyes, and he feared he had let too much slip,
cursing himself, reminding himself that he must
set tight rein on his temper.

"I know you love her," the Kern said, softer,
"and I thought perhaps .. . But no, surely you'd not
bed her, knowing what she is."

It was hard to hold back the truth, hard to hold
back his anger. Deia, he thought, shocked, do we
already fall to arguingf I must be careful. As
mildly as he was able, he asked, "And if I had?"

"I'd count you"—Bracht shrugged—"strange.
Ahrd, what mortal man would bed a dead woman?"

"Cennaire is hardly dead," Calandryll replied
curtly.

"Nor yet alive." Bracht fidgeted with the bags
slung on his shoulder, clearly ill at ease with the
path their conversation took. "Hear me, my friend,
for I know you love her, and that cannot be easy for
you. I've yet to come to terms with what she is—
perhaps I shall not—but I'd not see that come be-
tween us."

"Nor I," Calandryll declared.

"Then do we make compact?" asked the Kern.
"Agree we'll not discuss her condition further, or
what you feel for her?"

"Aye," said Calandryll eagerly. "Save one last
question—were she to regain her heart, how should
you think then?"

"You think it possible?" asked Bracht, curious
now.

WILD MAGIC 363

"Ochen believes the wazir-narimasu might ac-
complish it," Calandryll explained, setting aside
his doubts.

"And you'd see it done."

It was not a question and Calandryll nodded: "As
would she."

"She'd lose much," Bracht murmured.

"But regain her mortality," Calandryll said. "Be
once more only a woman."

"For your sake? Does she love you so much?
Truly?"

"I believe it so," Calandryll replied, "in equal
measure with my belief that she becomes one with
our quest."

Bracht shrugged, eyes narrowed as he pondered
this- Then: "For me, the gijan's yet to confirm her
part in our quest, but be that done, and the
Jesseryte wizards make her again mortal, you've
my word I'll name her friend. And for the nonce
our compact shall stand."

"So be it," Calandryll agreed, anger dissipated.
"Now, do we find our breakfast and depart?"

The tension that had arisen was gone as they
quit the chamber, meeting Katya and Cennaire
emerging from the latter's room- Calandryll greeted
them formally, and Cennaire replied in kind,
though their eyes locked, bright with their hidden
knowledge. Katya responded more casually, her
grey gaze lingering awhile on Calandryll's face, as if
she saw some change in him. She said nothing,
however, and they found their way down through
the levels of the hostelry to the main room, where
Chazali and his kotu-zen, and Ochen, were already
seated, eating.

It was difficult for Calandryll to maintain the
camouflage of formality. Cennaire, by chance or de-
sign, was seated to his left, and he found it hard to

364 ANGUS WELLS

resist the urge to turn toward her, to speak fondly,
to touch her. Proximity brought a flood of remem-
brance, filled with images of that night, and he
found himself regretting the necessity of pretense.
More than once he caught Katya's eyes upon him,
speculative, and while she gave no overt sign of
awareness, he began to wonder if she guessed that
he and Cennaire had become lovers in more than
name. Perhaps, he thought, she saw such signs as
Bracht and the other men along the table missed;

perhaps some female intuition allowed her to read
the truth upon his face and Cennaire's. He was re-
lieved when the meal ended, and they departed.

Ochen spoke briefly with the priest as Chazali
saw his men formed in a column, a squad of pike-
bearing kotu-anj waiting to escort them to the
gates. The foot soldiers trotted ahead, clearing a
way, their warning shouts loud in the early still-
ness. The sun was only a little way above the ho-
rizon as yet, invisible between the towering
buildings and the high walls, and Ahgra-te seemed
scarcely better lit than at twilight, a close-packed,
claustrophobic place that Calandryll was not sorry
to leave.

Beyond the walls the open space and morning of-
fered welcome freedom, the great bulk of the Ahgra
Danji looming vast over the town, its dark stone
brightening as the rising sun sent lances of bril-
liance flashing over the rockface. Their path swung
north at the crossroads outside the walls, .running
alongside the fast-flowing river, past mills and scat-
tered smallholdings, where gettu paused from their
labors to bow in obeisance to the higher caste kotu-
zen. Within half a league they had reached the foot
of the cliff, where two black stelae, twice the
height of a mounted man, marked the commence-
ment of the road.

WILD MAGIC 365

Beyond the great pillars the way rose gently at
first, wide enough several riders might go abreast
without danger of falling, then, still wide, angled
steeper up the cliff. It proceeded in a series of tra-
verses, winding east and then west, and back again.
In places it was built out from the rock, that wag-
ons and the like might pass more easily, or halt
awhile, those terraces walled, and supported by
huge buttresses. It seemed to Calandryll they
climbed with the sun, pacing the orb as it rose
steadily higher into the blue sky, lighting their way
as if in welcome, striking colors from the rock as
choughs and ravens wheeled level with the col-
umn, screeching, turning curious yellow eyes on
the riders. The scarp deflected the breeze that had
previously blown from the north and the morning
grew warm, the azure above streamered with pen-
nants of cirrus like the windblown tails of great
white horses. At the head of the column, Chazali
set a swift pace, climbing remorselessly upward, as
though, the hindrances of the forested country left
behind, he would reach Pamur-teng as soon he
might.

That suited Calandryll well enough, for besides
the urgency of the quest, he now had a more per-
sonal reason to wish an early arrival in the hold of
the Makusen clan. He turned in his saddle, looking
toward Cennaire, smiling, and she looked back, her
teeth white between the luscious red of her lips.
She had left her hair unfastened this day, and it
fluttered about her face in the thermals rising up
the cliff, sleek and black as the wings of the avian
escort. He thought she had never looked lovelier,
and then melancholy that they must keep up their
pretense: it would be hard this night to sleep alone.

The sun continued its ascent until it stood di-
rectly above them, and then moved on toward the

366 ANGUS WELLS

west, but Chazali called no halt, holding a steady
pace until early afternoon, when they breasted the
last heights of the Ahgra Danji.

As at the foot, the summit of the road was
marked with stelae, set like great sentinels on the
very edge of the cliff. Chazali rode on a little way
and raised a hand, calling for a halt beside a stone-
walled basin fed from the river that splashed
nearby before tumbling in a rainbow spray over the
rimrock. The kotu-zen began to dismount, but
Calandryll sat his gelding awhile, staring at the ter-
rain ahead.

It was unlike any he had encountered in all his
traveling: a panorama of flat grey-green that swept
away as far as the eye could see, unbroken save for
stumpy turrets of grey in the distance that seemed
scoured smooth by the wind. That blew stronger
here, and far colder than across the lowlands, set-
ting the surface of the odd landscape to rippling,
like the water of a scummy pond. He sprang down,
aware now that the coloration was that of scrubby
grass covering arid, stony soil. The wind struck
sharp on his skin, a reminder that autumn ad-
vanced, bringing with it the threat of winter. He
brought the chestnut to the drinking trough, still
staring northward, thinking how this Jesseryn Plain
must be under snow: it was a disturbing thought,
knowing Rhythamun ten days ahead.

"You are pensive."

He turned at the sound of Cennaire's voice, see-
ing her hair streamered on the wind, a sable con-
trast to the clouds above, and smiled, resisting the
urge to draw her close, at least take her hand and
hold it awhile. Instead, he nodded, running fingers
through the gelding's mane, and answered, "I
thought of how this Plain must be in winter."

She, better used to the warm clime of Kandahar,

WILD MAGIC

367

shivered, and said, "Aye. I think it must be an in-
hospitable place."

Chazali/ overhearing their words, said, "It is cold,
aye. But not so bad. Our winters are mostly spent
within the holds, protected and warm."

"But this season," asked Calandryll, "with the
war raging? Or shall it halt for winter?"

The kiriwashen shook his head. "I think this war
shall continue. I think Tharn fuels the hearts of
those mad enough to warm their hands at his fire."

"Save we overtake Rhythamun," Calandryll re-
plied, "and take the Arcanum from him."

"Horul grant it be so," Chazali returned gravely,
and favored them both with an impassive stare.
"At least we shall make better time here. Save the
warlock has left another rearguard."

His remark prompted Calandryll to savor the air,
easing a fraction the occult protections he now set
up by habit. Immediately, he drew them close
again: the land stank of evil, of malign chaos. It
was, in physical terms, as if a thousand carcasses
rotted, their stench carried on the wind. It insulted
his nostrils, assailed his senses, leaving a filthy
taste on his tongue. Now he shivered, and Cennaire
asked, "Does this cold afflict you?"

He shook his head, palming water from the well,
that he might swill out his mouth and rid it of the
aethyric sapor. "Not that," he answered, "but the
malignity that rides the wind. Do you not sense
it?"

She frowned, shaping a negative gesture. "I've
not that power you command."

"Almost, I'd sooner not possess such ability." He
shuddered, looking to the north, toward the wind's
source. "It's a charnel thing."

"Tharn's dreaming breath." Ochen joined them
as the kotu-zen brought food from saddlebags re-

368 ANGUS WELLS

plenished in Ahgra-te. "Do you hold close those
protections I've taught you/ Calandryll."

"I shall," he replied decisively. "Dera, but to
know that reek could leech out the senses."

"Aye." Ochen nodded, agreeing, his seamed face
grave. "That and worse. Overmuch of that aware-
ness can overturn the mind, bring the pneuma
more readily within the aegis of the Mad God."

"Then I'm glad I've no such talent," Cennaire
observed, "for it seems as much curse as blessing."

"Is not all power?" asked the wazir, his voice
mild. "The occult talent, swordskill, wealth, they
all may work for good or ill. Their use is dependent
on the owner."

"There are philosophers in Lysse claim power
corrupts," Calandryll remarked, "that the greater a
man owns power, the greater becomes his corrup-
tion."

"It is likely so," Ochen returned, "for men are
generally far weaker than they think, and shorter of
sight. Certainly, the wazir-narimasu are of similar
opinion—hence do they forswear the belligerent us-
age of the magicks they command."

"They must be very wise," Cennaire opined.

"And I'd speak of them," said Calandryll. "What
they might accomplish."

"Aye, do you wish it." Did Ochen's face cloud
then? "But not now. Tonight, perhaps, have we
time."

And Calandryll must be content with that, for
the kotu-zen already ate, and Bracht called for him
to follow suit, lest he ride hungry through the af-
ternoon. He had sooner done that, and talked with
Ochen, hut the wazir answered the Kern's shout
with his own, and they went to where Bracht and
Katya lounged on the impoverished grass.

It was a meal taken swiftly, Chazali soon enough

WILD MAGIC 369

calling for them to mount and be gone, and they
climbed once more astride their horses, commenc-
ing their northward journey at a steady canter.

AFTERNOON advanced toward dusk. The turrets
Calandryll had seen from the rim of the Ahgra
Danji came closer, resolving into squat, smooth
buttes of yellowish-grey. They stood like stubby
fingers, pointing in reprimand of the wind that
scoured their flanks, and as the sun closed on the
skyline and a moon now waned to a sliver clam-
bered up the sky, and stars pricked through the bur-
geoning twilight, it seemed almost that they
supported the heavens, like pillars.

The sun fell below the far horizon, painting the
sky there red for a while, then giving up its hold,
leaving the welkin to the moon and its attendant
stars. The grass shone silvery in that light, and it
seemed they rode the surface of a vast, shimmering
lake. The buttes stood black and starlit in the
night, suddenly mysterious as the piles of some in-
conceivably gigantic temple, fallen down into
ruins. The wind increased, chilling the air, whis-
tling eerily over the surfaces of the stone columns.

Chazali brought them to the shelter of a butte, a
spring at its foot feeding a well carved with the in-
signia of the Makusen clan. Grass grew denser
there, sufficient that the horses might graze on
their picket lines, and wind-tortured trees provided
fuel for fires. A guard was mounted, and Ochen
worked his magic to establish further defenses;

soon meat roasted and kettles bubbled as they set-
tled for the night. Calandryll was delighted, al-
though little surprised, to find Bracht true to his
word: Cennaire was included in their conversation,
as if the censorious silences of their approach to

370 ANGUS WELLS

Ahgra-te had never been. He spread his blanket
next to hers, across the fire from the Kern and
Katya, feeling a small, traitorous regret that they
were not alone.

He had, however, little enough time for that, as,
immediately they had done eating, Ochen called
him away, that he might continue his occult tui-
tion.

The wazir led him away from the fires, past the
watching sentries, to where starlight painted the
wall of the butte pale silver, easing himself gingerly
to the ground. Calandryll recognized the source of
his discomfort and asked why he did not employ
his magic to ease his riding, or at least his soreness.

"Too easy," Ochen returned/ wincing as he
sought a softer spot, "and perhaps hazardous."

"How so, hazardous?" Calandryll wondered.

Ochen bunched his robe beneath his buttocks be-
fore replying. "Each gramarye registers within the
occult fundus," he explained. "Think of the aethyr
as a pool, and every cantrip as a stone—the great-
er the spell, the more noticeable the ripples.
Rhythamun knows by now you've a grasp of that
talent he saw from the first; he knows a mage rides
with you. Perhaps he watches the aethyr, and I'd
not yet tell him where we are. Also, each gramarye
requires an expenditure of strength, and albeit such
a spelling as you suggest would be but a tiny effort,
still I'd hold all my power close."

Calandryll nodded his understanding, then
frowned as he saw a contradiction. "But if
Rhythamun might sense your spelling," he asked,
"how shall he miss the defenses you erect each
night?"

"A good point," Ochen commended. "It hangs,
however, on a subtle difference—the gramaryes I
employ to defend our camps are general things:

WILD MAGIC 371

warding spells attuned to no particular person." He
chuckled ruefully. "On the other hand, do I use my
talent to ease my poor, aching buttocks, then the
gramarye must be of an individual nature, attuned
to me alone. That might, were our enemy obser-
vant, reveal me to him."

Calandryll murmured understanding, then asked:

"But in Ahgra-te, when you rendered us invisible,
was that not a personal spell?"

"It was," Ochen agreed, "but there I'd spoken
first with the priest, who is also, of course, himself
a wazir, and together we established a protection."

Again Calandryll nodded, and again found a ques-
tion. "And now? When you tutor me, does that not
reveal us?"

"We work within the aegis of the gramarye ward-
ing this whole camp," Ochen answered, "and for
now you do little more than memorize the can-
trips, master the invocations and the mental con-
cepts. Such should be protection enough for the
nonce. Later, perhaps, there may be danger."

"As we come closer to Tharn's limbo?" asked
Calandryll.

"Aye. You felt him on the wind today," the wazir
said, "and you felt his reek come stronger. The far-
ther north we travel, the worse that will become,
the greater the Mad God's influence."

"What of the wazir-narimasu?" Calandryll frowned,
assembling his thoughts. "Shall their influence not
wax greater as we close on Anwar-teng?"

"That's true," said Ochen, "but remember they
strive to defend the hold against the rebels' siege.
And likely strive the harder to hold closed the gate
they guard."

Each explanation seemed to raise a fresh ques-
tion: "Save Tharn wakes, how can that be?" Calan-
dryll demanded.

372 ANGUS WELLS

The wazir's robe rustled as he shrugged, starlight
glinting a moment off his painted nails. "I thought
you understood that the slumber of a god is not
like that of men," he said. "Tham rests in limbo,
sleeping, aye; but he dreams, too, and feels the
blood that flows on this mortal plane, the wars
men fight, the dreams they entertain of conquest.
Such feed him and strengthen him, and even
dreaming he affects our affairs. Likely he probes the
gate in Anwar-teng, or alerts Rhythamun of its ex-
istence, and so, likely, the wazir-narimasu exert
their powers to hold that portal secure.

"Now, be that explanation enough, do we con-
tinue your tutoring? Or have you further questions
for a saddle-weary sorcerer?"

"None more than what I've asked before,"
Calandryll said, "concerning Cennaire."

Ochen sighed; Calandryll felt suddenly uneasy.

"Your lessons first," the wazir declared. "After,
be we not both too weary, we shall speak of
Cennaire, and of her heart."

Something in his tone sent a shiver of apprehen-
sion down Calandryll's spine.




^^TECROMANCY such as Anomius has em-

l.y ployed," Ochen said when the lesson was
done and Calandryll pressed him further on the
matter of Cennaire's heart, "is not practiced here—
nor by any civilized folk, for that matter—and con-
sequently is not a thing with which I am overly
familiar. Nor would I be, save I'd aid Cennaire."

"You told me her heart might be restored her,"
Calandryll protested, alarm edging his voice.

"It may be done." Ochen raised defensive hands.
"But..."

He paused, and Calandryll waited, breath baited,
his own, living, heart pounding nervously, for he
heard in the sorcerer's voice a hesitation that set
his nerves to tingling, apprehension growing.
"But?" he prompted.

Ochen sighed, hands folding, lost in the wide
sleeves of his green robe. For a moment his gaze
encompassed the night, the stars, the sickle of the
moon, then his eyes turned to Calandryll's face,
somber. "You deserve the truth, unalloyed," he

374 ANGUS WELLS

said at last/ "and that I'll give you. But first, a
warning: the truth may not be what you want to
hear. No, wait," as Calandryll's mouth opened, his
eyes narrowed. "Hear me out, knowing that I speak
holding insufficient knowledge, that I speak of the
worst that may be, and that—Horul and his kin-
dred gods willing—the worst may not come to pass.
It may be that you and she gain your hearts' de-
sires."

Calandryll ducked his head, indicating accep-
tance even as his lips pressed tight together. It
seemed an icy hand ran down his spine.

"So," Ochen went on, low-voiced, "let us con-
sider the situation. To restore Cennaire to mortal-
ity requires that her heart be freed from Anomius's
clutches. To achieve that end, the pyxis must be
brought from Nhur-jabal—and I'd wager Anomius
has set it round with powerful gramaryes. That
alone should be hazardous, none here knowing the
citadel. But—does Cennaire describe that place in
minute detail—it might be accomplished."

He broke off, nodding as if approving, or confirm-
ing, the statement: Calandryll felt his spirits soar.
Then fall again as Ochen continued, "But that may
not be the way of it, may not be a pattern in this
design. I've told you before that it is not my talent
to scry the future, and also that it is my belief a de-
sign exists in all of this. Perhaps Balatur, like his
brother, dreams and sends you help; perhaps those
powers that govern even the Younger Gods take a
hand. I cannot say, only that it seems to me it was
fated Cennaire should join you, and that she should
become your ally."

"Then," blurted Calandryll, unable to hold silent
any longer, "surely Balatur—the Younger Gods—
whatever power exists beyond them, must aid us in
this?"

WILD MAGIC

375

"Perhaps," said Ochen slowly, "but think on
this—were it fated that Cennaire become one with
your quest, then perhaps her revenancy is needful.
Perhaps she must remain revenant, is she to aid
you."

"No!" Calandryll's voice rose in denial, in frus-
tration. "That cannot be!"

"What may and may not be is for the gods, for
destiny, to decide," the wazir replied, "not mortal
men. But heed me—I do not say it must be so, only
that it may be. Perhaps you shall have your wish."

"And perhaps not," muttered Calandryll, his
voice grown bitter.

"And perhaps not," echoed the sorcerer. "Be that
so, would you turn from your purpose?"

Calandryll stared at him, disbelief in his eyes,
and shook his head. "No," he answered. "In Tezin-
dar I—we three—vowed to pursue this quest to its
end. I'd not renege on that undertaking, no matter
what. But still I'd see Cennaire regain her heart."

"And if that's not to be?" asked Ochen.

Calandryll turned his face from the wazir to the
sky, aware that tears threatened to course his
cheeks, that he ground his teeth in frustration, that
his hands bunched in angry fists. Dera, but it was
hard! And, as Bracht was wont to remark, it
seemed all dealings with the occult resulted in the
piling of riddle upon riddle. There seemed no clear
answers, only a shifting webwork of possibilities.
He swallowed, forcing himself to calm, his hands
unclenching to wipe absently at his eyes, and
strove to hold his voice even as he replied, "Then
it shall not be, and I must accept that. It shall not
alter my course."

"Were she mortal, you should be dead ere now,"
Ochen remarked, seeking to offer what comfort
was his to give.

376 ANGUS WELLS

"A part of this design you perceive," Calandryll
muttered.

"Likely," said the wazir. "tor it seems to me one
thing piles upon another in ordered sequence—
Anomius sends Cennaire out ahunting, she his
creature then. She encounters you and finds her—
forgive me?—heart is changed. Your company, your
influence, shifts her allegiance to such extent she is
willing to sacrifice herself. She becomes, sincerely,
your ally. None of this should have come about
were she not revenant, and so it may be that she is
destined to remain so."

"Surely only while this quest lasts," Calandryll
returned. "Do we succeed, then surely she's played
her part and the wazir-narimasu cannot refuse to
return her heart."

He waited on Ochen's reply, but when it came
the sorcerer's voice was held carefully calm: "I've
little doubt but that they should make the at-
tempt."

It was equivocal, and Calandryll felt his mouth
dry, presentiment mounting. Ochen's hesitation
was unnerving and he motioned for the old man to
elaborate.

"You ask no easy thing," Ochen said slowly,
thoughtfully. "To undo such magic, reverse those
gramaryes ... If any can, then the wazir-narimasu,
in concert ... Aye, they might."

"Only might2" Harsh, that question, tinged with
fear.

"I can promise no more." Ochen sighed, ducked
his head as if unwilling to meet CalandrylTs fer-
vent eyes. "Such sortilege is dangerous—it might
well leave Cennaire without life of any kind, a
heartless shell."

Calandryll said, "Dera!" in a voice soft with
dread.

WILD MAGIC 377

"This need not be. 1 cannot answer for the wazir-
narimasu. Perhaps it can be done successfully; but
I know it cannot be done without great risk." The
wazir met his gaze now, a hand emerging from the
folds of his sleeve to gesture helplessly. "I warned
you I should speak plain."

"Aye." Calandryll laughed: a single, bitter sound.
"That you did."

"Better you should know it now," said Ochen,
"than when we reach Anwar-teng. I believe you'll
need all your senses alert then."

Calandryll ducked his head, silent awhile, shoul-
ders slumped, staring at the dark ground. Then he
looked up, at Ochen, and forced a smile, sad.
"Aye," he admitted, the word a sigh. "Best I be pre-
pared for the worst."

"Should the worst not be that Rhythamun suc-
ceeds?" the sorcerer asked mildly. "That Tharn be
raised and all these concerns count for nothing?"

"Aye." Calandryll's voice was resolute, and very
weary. "Now do we find our beds? Or would you
tutor me more?"

"We've done enough for one night," Ochen re-
turned him, "and Chazali will ride out come first
light. So ..."

He rose, groaning, a hand pressed to his back,
muttering vivid obscenities concerning horses and
saddles and the frailty of his aging flesh, so that
Calandryll felt a reluctant smile stretch his lips.
which was likely Ochen's intent-
Save for the sentries, the camp slept. Bracht and
Katya lay a little way apart by the banked fire,
Cennaire across the smoldering timber. Calandryll
stretched beside her, wondering if she slept; won-
dering, too, if he should advise her of Ochen's dour
warning- Did she ask, he decided, thinking it were
better they held no secrets from each other.

378 ANGUS WELLS

He saw her eyes, then, the fire's glow reflected
there, and her hand extended from beneath the
blanket that covered her. He took it, the touch of
her skin, the pressure of her fingers, a shock of ex-
citement, desire. Low, she whispered, "What did he
say?"

Soft enough he should not disturb their slum-
bering companions he told her, seeing her fice
grow grave, her grip upon his hand tightening. "So
be it," she murmured when he was done. "I'd ask
the gods grant the doing of it, but if that's not to
be ..."

"What I feel for you shall not change," he told
her.

"Nor shall my feelings. But still I'd have back my
heart," she returned, and laughed softly, her smile
bemused as she added, "I'd not thought to want
that so. Not until I knew you."

He brought her hand to his lips then, kissing her
fingers. Pulling back as the temptation to draw her
close, to told his arms about her, became almost ir-
resistible. Dera. he thought, is this what Bracht
and Katya have felt each nightf I'd not believed it
could be so hard.

Aloud, he whispered, "Lady, this is not easy."

"No," she answered, "but still we made a vow."

"Aye," he groaned, the sound loud enough Bracht
stirred, eyes opening an instant, hand tightening on
the falchion's hilt, where it lay upon the Kern's
chest. He rose on one elbow, saw Calandryll, and
grunted, closing his eyes.

"Sleep," urged Cennaire, and Calandryll an-
swered her, "Aye," softly now, and let her retrieve
her hand.

He composed himself with difficulty, his mind
filled with thoughts of Cennaire and all Ochen had
said, the one tumbling over the other so that he

WILD MAGIC

379

slipped unknowing into dreams of passion and de-
spair, restless under his blanket.

FIRST light found him bleary-eyed and dry of
mouth, grunting as he rose, the blanket tangled
from his oneiric musings. He kicked it away, yawn-
ing as he surveyed the desolate landscape. The sun
was not yet over the horizon, the sky there opales-
cent, pale herald of the new day. Birds sang as he
splashed his face and set to drawing his dirk over
the stubble that decorated his cheeks and )aw. The
kotu-zen moved with their customary silent effi-
ciency, setting kettles to boiling, preparing their
horses for departure- Katya tended the questers'
fire, and Cennaire went to aid her, while Bracht
gave his stallion its usual morning attention.
Calandryll smiled wearily at the two women and
wandered away, finding privacy along the lee of the
butte. That need satisfied, he returned to the fire,
drinking the tea Cennaire offered him, accepting
the smoked meat and journey bread Katya had
warmed over the flames.

The night's fast broken, they saddled their
mounts and kicked the fires dead, then rode out
from the shelter of the butte. Beyond the stubby
prominence the wind blew hard from the north,
beating cold against faces, setting the horses'
manes to tossing. Calandryll sniffed the air, won-
dering if he caught the scent of impending snow.
Certainly, it seemed the farther north they trav-
eled, the closer they came to winter; the sky was
now become a hard, cold blue, what clouds it car-
ried long mares' tails of pennanted cirrus, white
against the cerulean heavens. The sun that climbed
above the eastern edge of the world shone fulgent,
more silver than gold, offering little warmth.

380 ANGUS WELLS

That came as the morning aged, Chazali setting
the same swift pace as the previous day, holding it
until the sun stood directly overhead, then halting
where another butte marked another spring. They
drank the crystal water and chewed hurriedly on
cold meat, a little bread, and then recommenced
their journey.

As dusk approached, the buttes that had dotted
the plain thinned, finally disappearing behind
them, the way ahead devoid of landmarks other
than the ravines and occasional stands of stumpy,
twisted trees that grew in defiance of the arid soil
and the seemingly eternal wind. They halted in the
poor shelter of one such stand as twilight gave way
to full night, their fires small for want of timber,
the wind, unchecked by bastions of stone, a fierce
presence, howling over the flatlands to rattle
branches and streamer the flames, scattering sparks
into the night.

"You spoke aright," Bracht remarked as they ate,
and when Calandryll frowned his incomprehen-
sion: "That this is a glum place."

"There are worse," Ochen, sitting with them,
remarked. "The Borrhun-maj is a harder land than
this."

"But, at least, mountains," Katya observed wist-
fully.

"Likely we'll see them soon enough," Bracht
said, grinning. "Shall you be happy then?"

Katya smiled back. "I'd sooner my own moun-
tains of Vanu; with the Arcanum safe in our
hands."

THE days passed, the leagues eaten up as a hungry
man wolfs food. The terrain broke up into ridges of
low hills and shallow valleys, streams more numer-

WILD MAGIC 381

ous, and little hursts of stunted trees. Once great
banks of dark cloud blew southward on an icy
wind, and once snow fell, no more than a brief
flurry, but clear warning of winter's advance- They
saw no sign of habitation in the empty landscape,
neither villages nor farms, nor much indication
that any form of animal life existed on the Jesseryn
Plain. It was, to Calandryll's way of thinking, a de-
pressing place, and on those few occasions he
opened his senses to the occult, he found the horrid
reek of mounting evil ever stronger, as if he came
steadily closer to the gates of a charnel house new-
filled with rotting corpses. Ochen continued to tu-
tor him in the lore and usage of thaumaturgy, and
those lessons, lasting long into the ever colder
nights, were a kind of boon, for he found his blan-
ket chilled and weary, his head abuzz with all he
learned, and that made it a little easier to resist the
temptation Cennaire's presence afforded. When
they found time to speak they said no more of her
heart and its restoration, tacit agreement between
them, though neither could forget the possibility
that she not become again mortal, or perhaps die in
the attempt.

Then, on a day when cloud hung low in the sky,
stretching a forbidding grey curtain across the
heavens, they came in sight of Pamur-teng.

The hold stood at the center of a wide strath,
banded to north and south by ridges of gentle hills.
It looked, in the distance, akin to the keep on the
Daggan Vhe: a square, squat block of yellowish
stone, rendered dull by the overcast, but as they
thundered closer Calandryll saw the resemblance
to the keep was one of design alone. This hold was
infinitely larger, far greater than Secca even. It grew
before him, vast and cubic, utterly unlike any city
he had seen. There were no external walls such as

ANGUS   WELLS

382

surrounded the cities of Lysse, nor a moat, or barbi-
cans. Like Ahgra-te before it, Pamur-teng was for-
tress and city in one, its outer defenses intrinsic
with its internal buildings, all melded together in a
single homogenous entirety. It was constructed so
that each enormous wall faced a compass point,
the southern facade, toward which they came,
marked at its center by a huge double gate, the
outer surfaces covered with sheets of hammered
metal inlaid with the sigils of the Makusen clan.
Closer still, he saw embrasures like watching eyes
set in the stone, commencing high on the wall and
running in regular lines out to either side, upward
almost to the ramparts that soon loomed above.
From those, suspended from long beams, hung
metal cages that a further examination showed
held prisoners. Some, he saw, held only bones: he
wondered at the nature of Jesseryte justice.

Then Chazali shouted a command and two men
brought their horses out of line, galloping ahead to
halt at the gates and pound upon the metal. The
gates swung ponderously open, revealing a tunnel,
black as night, from which kotu-anj came running,
forming in two pike-bearing lines. As Chazali and
Ochen drew level with the foremost pikemen the
kotu-anj raised their weapons, bringing the butts
thudding down as they roared a greeting. More
lined the tunnel beyond, and within that confined
space the sound was deafening.

The tunnel spanned the width of two buildings
before emerging on a crepuscular plaza, the build-
ings that contained the square six stories and more
high, with stone stairways and windows from
which expectant faces gazed, narrow passageways
running between. The sheer weight of stone, the
smooth, high faces of the buildings, was daunting,
oppressive: Calandryll was reminded of an anthill.

WILD MAGIC

383

The more so as they progressed farther into the
teng, following a smooth-paved road flanked on ei-
ther side by pavements, those packed with cheering
folk, more staring from windows, or from small
stone balconies that added to the obliteration of the
sky. His first impression, he saw, had been
correct—this was as much a fortress as a city, a
place easily defended, and horribly difficult to take.
It seemed they passed between night and day as
they went on, traversing avenues where shadow
pooled, into squares—always squares, geometric
and precise—that allowed a little of the day's dull
light to enter. On and on, the shouting of the on-
lookers echoing off the high walls, until they rode
down a passageway that ended at a metal gate, the
wall above set with slender windows at which dark
faces showed. Chazali reined in, halting the col-
umn, and Ochen turned awkwardly in his saddle to
explain that they entered the kiriwashen's home.

The gate was opened by two elderly kotu-anj and
the outlanders found themselves riding down a sec-
ond tunnel, this devolving on a courtyard different
to any they had seen before.

A marble fountain played at the center of an
atrium large as a Lyssian city square, paved with
flagstones set in a pattern of black and white rect-
angles, a colonnaded portico surrounding the enor-
mous plaza- Above, balconies extended in serried
ranks, climbing up to the topmost level, men and
women in outfits of varying degrees of magnifi-
cence standing there, watching eagerly. Calandryll
gasped as it dawned on him that this was, in fact,
the home of the entire Nakoti clan, a virtual town
within the city. He stared about, identifying sta-
bles, smithies, workshops, armories, as the yard
filled with smiling, excited Jesserytes.

Servants came running to assist the kotu-zen

384 ANGUS WELLS

from their horses, tour halted by a gruff command
from Chazali that held them back from the foreign-
ers. Calandryll watched as a woman came forward,
three children at her side. She was short, and deli-
cate as a porcelain doll, her dark hair gathered in a
long tail, her slanted eyes accentuated with cos-
metics, her lips small and painted a bright red, the
same vivid color evident on her long nails. {She
wore a robe of pale blue, chased with golden
threading about the hem and cuffs, and as she ap-
proached, its swaying revealed golden slippers, the
toes pointed. Two of the children were girls,
dressed in miniature facsimiles of the woman's
robe, the other a boy, wearing a scarlet tunic over
loose pantaloons of shiny black silk, a child-size
dagger sheathed on his belt, his feet encased in low
boots of black leather. The woman bowed low; the
children followed suit. Chazali bowed. Then re-
moved his helmet to expose a huge smile as he
opened his arms, sweeping up the woman, who
laughed and draped her arms about his neck.

"The Lady Nyka Nakoti Makusen," Ochen mur-
mured by way of explanation. "The girls are Taja
and Venda; the boy is Rawi."

It appeared that Chazali's greeting of his wife
marked an end of formalities; folk came from all
four sides of the great courtyard to fall upon the
kotu-zen in noisy welcome as servants led their
horses away to stables that Calandryll realized
occupied one entire side of the atrium. Several hov-
ered close to the outlanders' mounts, clearly un-
sure what protocol governed here, that settled by
Bracht's suggestion that they see their own animals
stabled.

They waited, however, until Chazali had released
his wife and taken up each child in turn, his ex-
pression no longer impassive, but alight with plea-

WILD MAGIC 385

sure as he held them. When he was done, he
turned, ushering his family forward to meet his
guests.

The Lady Nyka bowed deep, murmuring that
they were welcome in the home of the Nakoti,
while the three children eyed the strangers with
curious looks, the two girls giggling nervously as
they were beckoned forward to offer carefully prac-
ticed bows before edging back to the shelter of
their mother's skirts. Rawi, although clearly dis-
concerted by the presence of these tall, oddly
dressed outlanders, marched up to them with a stiff
back, bent almost double, and declared in a loud
voice that they were, indeed, welcome if they were
friends of his father.

"They are," said Chazali, favoring his son with a
proud look, and raised his voice that all should
hear him: "These are my guests, and friends to the
Makusen. Indeed, friends to our land and our god.
Count them as blood kin, and serve them well
while they sojourn in our teng."

"And shall that be for long?" asked his wife, to
which Chazali shook his head and answered, "I fear
not. The war calls, and we ride out on the mor-
row."

Nyka nodded as if she had expected no other an-
swer, her expression unaltered, but in her eyes
Calandryll read sadness that their reunion should
be so brief. She gave no other sign, but turned to
Ochen, bowing, and said, "I bid you welcome, as
always, wazir."

"And I you, Lady," the old man returned, an-
swering her bow with his own. "And ask your for-
giveness that this visit be so hurried, and we with
much to attend while we are here."

"Better a short visit and a long peace," she mur-
mured, and turned her tawny eyes on the questers.

386 ANGUS WELLS

"Baths are prepared, and chambers- I trust you will
find the attire selected pleasing."

Calandryll said, "We are in your debt, Lady
Nyka."

"No." She shook her head. "Rather say that we
stand in your debt, for what you attempt. Do you
leave your animals here, they shall be well at-
tended."

"I've no doubt of that," returned Calandryll with
a smile, "but I suspect your servants had rather we
executed that duty. And it is our custom to attend
our own mounts."

"Aye." When she smiled she seemed scarce old
enough to have borne three children. "They are
somewhat in awe of your great beasts, especially
the stallion. Be it your custom then, I'll have a man
await you, and when you are done, he shall bring
you to the baths and your quarters."

"Our thanks," he replied, and bowed again.

She clapped her hands and a servant, dressed in a
tunic of russet silk and yellow pantaloons, came
forward. She spoke briefly, the man bowed and
turned toward the guests, his face held carefully
composed, as if the arrival of foreigners fluent in
his tongue was an everyday occurrence.

"Do you follow me, honored gentlefolk?"

Calandryll paused, looking to Ochen, and the
wazir nodded, saying that he would find his own
quarters and meet them later, with the gijan.

They saw their mounts bedded down and fol-
lowed the servant out, across the atrium again, and
through a low doorway into a hall, up dim-lit stairs
that climbed steadily higher to the topmost level
of the building. The servant—Kore, Calandryll
learned was his name—bowed them each into ad-
joining chambers, waiting patiently as they stowed
their gear in cabinets of inlaid rosewood, their

WILD MAGIC 387

weapons on racks, before bringing them to separate
bathhouses, whose ceilings were great panes of
glass that offered a view of the sky as they luxuri-
ated in near-boiling water, soaps scented with san-
dalwood removing the grime accrued on their
journey. More servants, these in short white robes,
gathered to douse them with cold water when they
emerged, offering afterward huge towels of soft cot-
ton that they would have applied themselves, had
Calandryll and Bracht not chosen to perform that
task unaided.

They found their own clothes gone when they re-
turned to the outer chamber where Kore waited,
explaining their leathers were taken to be cleaned
and should be delivered to their quarters ere night
fell. As temporary replacement he offered loose-
fitting robes of dark blue, and soft slippers, that
they donned for the walk back to their chambers.

"Do you find the clothing the Lady Nyka has se-
lected unsuitable," Kore murmured at the door,
"then I shall bring you more. Do you require aught
else, you need but ask—I shall await you here."

He bowed, watching as they each went into their
room.

Calandryll explored his quarters, marveling that
the interiors of these Jesseryte buildings should be
so different to their dull exteriors. The floor was
constructed of some highly polished wood, warm
underfoot and scattered with thick rugs of brilliant
colors, a wide bed covered with a blue and scarlet
spread occupied the center, at its foot a padded
stool. There was a washstand, and a small table of
rosewood, inlaid like the cabinet, held a decanter
and four goblets of delicate ruby crystal. The walls
were hung with sheets of soft green silk that lent
the chamber the feeling of an airy tent, save that it
was dim, the only sources of illumination the sin-

388 ANGUS WELLS

gle lantern suspended from the white plaster ceil-
ing and the tall, glass-paneled doors that opened
onto the balcony running the length of the outside
wall. He crossed to that, noticing with a thrill of
excitement that the balcony gave access to Cen-
naire's room, and with surprise that the roof he
could see across the width of the atrium was a gar-
den, filled with small, exotic trees, shrubbery, and
vines that wound about little pergolas. He returned
inside to dress, thinking that the nature of Jes-
seryte architecture reflected the personality of
these mysterious folk.

Clad in the borrowed outfit, he inspected himself
in the mirrored panels mounted in the cabinet. As
in the keep, a shirt, a tunic, pantaloons, and boots
had been provided, though here, in Chazali's home,
the outfit was far grander. The shirt was silk, of a
white so brilliant it seemed to sparkle even in the
poor illumination of the chamber; the pantaloons
were dark blue, faintly iridescent; the boots of soft,
black hide, sewn with silver, the toes curling up-
ward to points; the tunic was of a green akin to the
drapery of the walls, bulked out at the shoulders
and fastened around his waist with a golden sash.
A )et horse pranced within a circle of crimson on
chest and back, the perimeter of the disk embroi-
dered with the emblems of the Nakoti Makusen. It
felt strange to wear such finery: he had grown ac-
customed to his leathers.

He turned from his examination as a fist
pounded the door, opening it to greet Bracht, the
Kern dressed in similar fashion and no more com-
fortable than before.

"I'd feel happier had I my own plain gear," Bracht
grumbled, crossing to the table to fill a glass. "Still,
their wine is palatable."

Calandryll followed him, taking a goblet for him-

WILD MAGIC

389

self. "We sojourn here but the single night," he
said. "And after, I doubt we'll enjoy such hospital-
ity again."

Bracht grunted a noncommittal reply and wan-
dered to the balcony. The day waned fast, the sky
still heavy with louring cloud, the square below al-
most lost in the burgeoning shadows. The cham-
bers situated about the surrounding walls showed
as dim rectangles, emitting a low babble of sound.
The Kern returned inside, filling his glass afresh as
he shook his head in puzzlement.

"These are curious folk, these Jesserytes," he re-
marked. "Ahrd. but to see these places from the
outside .. - Yet behind their walls, they live in pal-
aces. But so dim."

"It's their way." Calandryll chuckled as Bracht
set down his goblet to fidget with sash and tunic.
"And tomorrow you shall have your own plain gear
back, and ride the open country again."

"Praise Ahrd for that," the Kern muttered.

A discreet tapping brought them both to the
door. Kore stood there. "Forgive me," he murmured
blandly, "but the wazir Ochen Tajen Makusen re-
quests your presence."

"A moment."

Calandryll went to the table, setting down his
goblet. Bracht's was already there and they quit the
chamber, each going to a woman's room, knocking.

Cennaire's voice answered Calandryll; "Enter."

He opened the door and halted on the threshold,
gape-mouthed. In leather riding gear she was
lovely; in the robe provided in the keep she had
been splendid. Now—he could only stare, wide-
eyed, lost for words. Her hair was piled up and fas-
tened with jeweled pins that sparkled against the
black, emphasizing the slender column of her neck.
Her eyes were outlined in the Jesseryte fashion

390 ANGUS WELLS

with kohl, her lips and nails with bright crimson.
She wore a high-collared robe of pale pink silk that
seemed to flow over the contours of her body, fas-
tened with tiny amethyst buttons, the hem and
sleeves embroidered with a red that matched her
cosmetics, slippers of pink visible beneath. She
would, he thought, grace any palace; and then
thought to tell her so.

"Thank you, my lord," she said with mock for-
mality, performing an adroit curtsy.

Calandryll was about to reply in kind when
Bracht's loud cry of "Ahrd!" brought his head
around. He saw the Kern gaping at Katya. The
Vanu woman was coiffured as was Cennaire, her
piled flaxen hair all set with pins of jet. Her robe
was a pale blue, her lips and nails a roseate pink.
Bracht stood shaking his head and muttering
"Ahrd!" as if he could think of no other word.

"The Lady Nyka sent a hairdresser to us,"
Cennaire explained. "And a woman skillful with
cosmetics."

"They did you justice," declared Calandryll, re-
gaining a measure of composure, "though their
task was surely easy for what they had to work
with."

Katya heard the compliment and studied Bracht
with a mock haughty expression. "Do you perhaps
take lessons from Calandryll?" she suggested.

The Kern could only nod, wide-eyed, his jaw
dropped. "I. .." he spluttered. "Ahrd! I... You ...
Never ..."

His embarrassment was alleviated by Kore, who
coughed diplomatically, reminding them that
Ochen awaited their presence. Calandryll offered
his arm to Cennaire as if at court, and Bracht, after
a moment's hesitation, did the same to Katya. The
Vanu woman chuckled as they proceeded down the

WILD MAGIC 391

twilight corridor, calling over her shoulder to
Calandryll, "Do we have time along the way, per-
haps you'll attempt to school this barbarian in his
manners."

"A difficult task," he answered, "but I'll do my
best."

At his side, Cennaire leaned closer and whis-
pered, "You've noticed the balcony?"

Calandryll felt his cheeks grow warm, unsure
whether embarrassment or excitement caused the
flush. "I have," he said.

"It's not so chill a night my windows need be
closed," she murmured, and he returned her,
"Lady, I shall be there."

"Good." She pressed a moment against him,
smiling, then drew apart as Kore halted and tapped
on a door, calling through it that they were arrived.

They entered a chamber set with a food-laden ta-
ble, the wazir seated at the farther end. Calandryll
saw that candelabra had been placed about the
room, as if in deference to the guests, and that the
table was set with six places. Ochen motioned
them to the stools set either side and dismissed the
waiting Kore-

When the door was closed he said, "I thought
perhaps it better we should eat here, alone. Chazali
and Nyka have little enough time together, and I'd
introduce you to the gijan."

As if that cue had been rehearsed a figure came
in from the balcony. Calandryll assumed it a fe-
male figure because she wore a robe of black, high-
throated and sewn with silver horseheads, the
argent a match with her hair, that piled up like
Katya's and Cennaire's, fixed in place with sable
pins. Her face gave little indication of her sex, be-
ing both devoid of cosmetic and webbed with even
more wrinkles than Ochen's. She seemed so old as

392 ANGUS WELLS

to have somehow passed beyond the definitions of
gender, though beneath snow-white brows her eyes
glinted with intelligent light. When she spoke, her
voice was a rustling whisper that seemed too soft
to be heard so well.

"I am the gijan Kyama," she announced. "Ochen
tells me you'd have a scrying of me."

Calandryll said, "Aye, do you agree."

"Readily." She laughed, and the sound was a
twinkling as of silver bells. "But first, do we eat?
And you shall tell me all you've done to bring you
here."

She took the empty place, at the table's farther
end, facing Ochen, who filled a glass with wine and
passed the decanter to Calandryll. It rounded the
table, back to the wazir, before the gijan spoke
again.

"So, you come together from the world's four
corners," she rustled- "The first outlanders to visit
Pamur-teng, or any other hold. Do you tell me this
tale from its beginning?"

Calandryll nodded, and glanced toward Bracht, to
Katya, both of them indicating he should speak on
their behalf.

When he was done, the food was almost gone,
and none there wished for more- He drank a glass,
his mouth somewhat dry from the recital, and
awaited Kyama's response.

She studied him awhile in silence, her face so
mapped with lines he could read nothing there,
then turned her attention slowly to the others. He
thought perhaps she weighed them, each in turn,
and that this was a very different manner of scrying
than was practiced by the spaewives of Lysse or
Kandahar. The silence stretched out: none spoke,
only waited on her.

WILD MAGIC 393

Finally she said, "Ochen, do you call a man to
clear this table?"

Calandryll had anticipated some weightier pro-
nouncement, not so prosaic a request, and he found
he must struggle not to frown and ask her what she
had discerned from her lengthy examination.
Ochen, however, appeared to find nothing odd, and
rose, going to the door, two servants on his heels as
he retook his place.

All waited in silence as the debris of their meal
was removed, only a single decanter and their
glasses left behind. Then, when the last plate was
taken away and the door closed on the departing
servants, the gijan said, "So, now I've knowledge of
your past—do we look toward your future?"

Beneath the level of the table's edge, the move-
ment hidden, Cennaire took Calandryll's hand,
finding courage in the contact. It felt. for all she
knew she bore no heart, but only what Anomius
had put there in its place, that the organ pounded a
fierce drumbeat against her ribs. She felt her mouth
go dry and with her free hand raised her glass to her
lips. It was a conscious effort to stay the trembling
that threatened to spill the ruby vintage over her
robe, for she believed she fast approached a cross-
roads in her destiny, and that what this ancient
woman scried in her, and all of them there present,
should likely decide her future. Carefully, she set
the goblet down, grateful for the pressure of
Calandryll's fingers and the confident smile he
turned toward her.

It was a confidence he did not, entirely, feel, but
rather an attempt to reassure the woman he loved.
No less himself: as did Cennaire, he felt the future
hung now in balance, and he voiced a silent prayer
to Dera—to all the Younger Gods—that this scry-
ing give him what he wanted to hear.

39-f ANGUS WELLS

"What must we do?" he asked/ pleased that his
voice came clear, unsullied by the trepidation that
knotted in his throat.

"Do you each take one another's hand," Kyama
said. "Ochen's no part in this, but only you four."

They did as she bade, Calandryll lifting the hand
he still clutched from under the table, reaching
across to take Katya's. she taking Bracht's, the Kern
and Cennaire each reaching toward the ancient
spaewife.

"I know not how this is done in those lands you
come from," she said, "but here I'd ask you remain
silent while I trance. What questions you may have
I'll answer later, as best I may. Now ..."

She closed her eyes, head tilting back, the dry,
creased skin of her throat stretching taut. For a
while she was still, then she began to rock gently,
and to chant, little more than a murmur, too low
the words might be discerned. With Ochen's les-
sons to aid him, Calandryll understood this was
not sorcery but rather communication with the in-
osculation of fate's skeins, the giian imbued with
that particular talent that granted her knowledge of
the intertwining network of her clients' destinies.
Such vision of the future was limited, both by the
ability of the spaewife and the complexity of the
web she sought to observe. He waited, nervous.

Kyama's droning chant ended abruptly. Her head
fell forward, chin to chest, then snapped back, up-
right, her eyes still closed as she spoke, her voice
no longer a rustle, but deeper, louder.

"You four take a hazardous road. Do you follow
that path to its end you shall face dangers unimag-
inable .. . Dangers worse than plain death, even for
that one of you who owns no heart. Powers move
against you, to thwart you and destroy you. They'd
have their revenge of you, those powers. And they

WILD MAGIC 395

are mighty - .. Greater than any one of you, though
together, four, you are perhaps strong enough.

"I cannot see so far. Those you'd defeat, those
you oppose—who oppose you—cloud my vision.
The strands run out into darkness, but for a little
way your purpose sheds light. You may succeed—it
is within your power. Or you may not—victory is
within the power of your enemies.

"They are several, your enemies. One is close,
the others distant. One may, unwitting, aid you,
and be that so, his wrath shall be great. Keep your
wits about you, do you go where likely you must.
Strength, sword skill, shall not alone be enough,
you shall need also that power one of you com-
mands, and that another holds. Trust—let trust be
the keystone of your union. Without trust you be-
come nothing and shall be defeated.

"No more do I see. It is too dark, too complex.
The strands entwine, a maze. I ... No! Too late.
There is no more."

Kyama's head fell forward again, her body limp.
A thin streamer of spittle hung from between lips
gone slack. Her hands loosed their hold and she
would have pitched facedown against the table had
Bracht not moved to halt her. She moaned softly,
stirring, and Cennaire brought a goblet to her
mouth.

The gijan sipped, then swallowed stronger, and
murmured her thanks, straightening on the fald-
stool. She looked from one to the next, her eyes
again bright.

"Did you hear that which you wished to hear?"

"That we are four," Calandryll said, looking at
Cennaire, "aye."

He turned his gaze on Bracht, who shrugged and
found sufficient grace to smile shamefaced and say,

396 ANGUS WELLS

"You're owed an apology, Cennaire, and that I of-
fer."

"And I accept," she answered. "Gratefully,"

"But," the Kern added, turning toward Kyama,
"there's much I fail to comprehend. You spoke of
several enemies, and those I think we know—
Rhythamun, Tharn himself, Anomius—but which
may unwitting aid us?"

The gifan shaped a gesture of helplessness: "I
cannot say. Only that do you use your wits you
may deceive one to your advantage."

"And the powers we command?" asked Calan-
dryll. "You spoke of two with power."

"There is power in you all," she answered- "The
power vested in you burned bright, and that shall
be both beacon and blade in your battle. But the
other .. . that was darker and I could not clearly
see in which of your companions it lies."

Across the table Bracht exhaled slowly and mur-
mured under his breath, "Riddles."

Kyama laughed at that and said, "This talent of
mine is no precise thing, warrior. It is not like your
sword, to be drawn and used as you command, to
strike where you'd put your cut. I look into a shift-
ing. tangled future, and what I see I tell you. But
those skeins I'd follow turn and twist and are not
always easy to track. Were you four simple folk
looking to forecast your destinies, then 1 could give
you plain answers. But you are not; you go against
a god, and you've such enemies as can turn fate on
its head. That makes my task the harder."

"But we are now four?" Calandryll said. "And
should trust one another."

"Do you forgo trust," Kyama replied firmly,
"then you are not four, and only be you tour may
you hope to achieve victory. That much I read
clear."

WILD MAGIC 397

Calandryll smiled and took Cennaire's hand,
openly now.

She offered him a smile in answer and looked to
the gijan. "You know me for a revenant, no?" It
was easier, now, to say it, though still she felt a
pang of trepidation, fearing the response should not
be that she wished. "Shall I get back my heart?
Shall I become again what I was?"

The ancient spaewife paused a moment, then
reached out to pat Cennaire's left hand where it
rested, clenched, on the table, the gesture reminis-
cent of a grandmother comforting a nervous daugh-
ter. "Already you are not what once you were, but
something better," she said- "I think perhaps the
Younger Gods have touched you, and taken from
you your sins. But more than that I cannot tell you,
for of all the skeins I saw, yours was the most tan-
gled. I am sorry, child, but whether you shall win
back your heart, or no, I cannot say."

She paused then, and Calandryll, intent on all
she said, thought perhaps she frowned—so fur-
rowed was her face he could not tell for sure. Then:

"You've a part to play, though, and that of great im-
portance. Of that much I am certain, but I cannot
tell you, precisely, what or how."

"Do you tell us shall we be together at the end?"
he asked.

"The end?" Kyama spread wide her hands.
"There are too many ends, each one dependent on
the steps taken before." She glanced an instant at
Ochen: "I thought you'd schooled him better, old
friend." Then to Calandryll again; "Do you not un-
derstand? What we gijans scry is nothing fixed, but
a changing pattern. Had this warrior of Cuan na'For
not elected to welcome this woman as a comrade,
your quest might well have failed, for she's vital to
it. Did she elect to remain safe here, as you once

398 ANGUS WELLS

suggested, you'd have little hope of victory. Should
some rebel slay this warrior woman of Vanu, the
future shifts.

"I do not tell you what must be, but what may
be. That is the nature of my art. And you four op-
pose such enemies as make my task the harder—
you go against a god, and gods, even dreaming, own
such power as can change the future. All well, then
aye—you shall be together at the end. And
Cennaire shall have back her heart, and you shall
deliver the Arcanum to Vanu's holy men, who shall
destroy it, and Vanu shall be wed to Cuan naTor,
Kandahar with Lysse, and all shall, as those who
spin tales for our children have it, live happy after.

"But I'd not deceive you and tell you it shall be
so, for I do not know. You've the chance, and I pray
Horul you succeed; but shall you win or lose, I can-
not say with any certainty."

It was as Reba, in far off Secca, had told him, and
he ducked his head in acknowledgment, loiowing
he asked too much, dared hope too high: the future
was no straight road, but a branching thing. But
still he could not help but feel a measure of disap-
pointment. He squeezed Cennaire's hand, seeking
to comfort her for what he thought must be a
blighting of her hopes, and was surprised to hear
her say, "We can ask no more. That we be truly
now four is enough."

"Said well," Kyama complimented. "And now I'd
ask you excuse me, for I am wearied by this scry-
ing."

"Aye." Ochen stood. "We've a long road ahead,
and I suggest we all of us find our beds."

Did his eyes linger a moment, amusement twin-
kling there, on Calandryll and Cennaire? Calandryll
knew not, only that the suggestion was greatly wel-
come: he sprang enthusiastically to his feet. "Our

WILD MAGIC

399

thanks for what you've done." He bowed to Kyama,
to Ochen, offering Cennaire his hand as she rose-

IN his chamber he shed his borrowed finery for the
robe Kore had provided, waiting as long as his rac-
ing heart allowed for Bracht and Katya to find their
beds, then slipped silent on bare feet from his room
to the balcony. The glassed doors of Cennaire's
chamber stood ajar beneath closed drapes. He eased
through.

She lay beneath the sheets, her hair loosed now.
spread raven over the pillows. The cosmetics were
gone from her face. and she was smiling. He shed
the robe and went toward her, thinking that did his
heart beat faster it must surely explode. She said,
soft, "Do we not speak of the future, and what may
be, but only of now."

Calandryll answered, "Aye," and went to her.




5 NOW met them a day out of Pamur-teng, not a
full-blown storm, but clear enough warning
they rode headlong into winter. It came in flurries,
gusted on the fierce wind coming down from the
north, from the Borrhun-maj, a wind strong enough
it should have driven off the cloud that hung low
and grey across all the sky, but did not. The over-
cast remained, sullen, foreshortening the horizons,
denying the pale sun passage through its drab bar-
rier, the land below gloomy for want of light. Be-
tween dawn and dusk the day remained somber.
depressing, as if the elements themselves contrived
to Rhythamun's purpose.

Chazali set an urgent pace, eager to join the army
sent ahead from his home hold, marching now a
little east of north, on a line that would bring the
warriors of the Makusen directly to Anwar-teng.
Bachan-teng lay due north, the bulk of its warriors,
as best the kiriwashen was informed, still within
their hold, poised to march against either the
Makusen forces or those advancing out of Ozali-

WILD MAGIC

401

teng. He hoped, he had told the questers as they
made swift war council on the morning of their de-
parture, that the engagement of forces should oc-
cupy Bachan-teng sufficiently they might slip by
unopposed. How they should pass through the
siege lines to enter Anwar-teng. they chose to leave
for later decision, when they might better view the
obstacles in their way.

That decision had come swift enough: the alter-
native was to delay while the kotu-anj of the
Makusen were examined in hope of identifying
Rhythamun in his Jesseryte form—did he remain
in that stolen body. It seemed as likely he should
have taken another's shape, or gone on alone; and
that must mean granting him further advantage by
the search. Better, they had decided, to alert the
sorcerers traveling with the army that one among
the kotu-anj was perhaps a warlock, and trust that
were it so, the wazirs should uncover him and halt
him there. Better they should reach Anwar-teng,
consult with the wazir-narimasu, that the most
powerful of all the lesseryte mages be able to lend
what help was in their power.

"Can you not alert them to the danger?" Bracht
had asked. "Speak with them from here?"

And Ochen had shaken his head, his wizened
visage troubled, and said, "Were I able, I should
have done that ere now, my friend. But I cannot—
Tharn waxes daily stronger, and those misguided
wazirs who lend their support to the rebels find
their powers increased. Between the Mad God and
them, communication through the aethyr is made
impossible now. Anwar-teng stands alone in terms
both physical and occult."

"But not for long," Chazali had declared, his
voice flat with barely suppressed anger, "for the
loyal tengs march, and soon enough shall fall on

402 ANGUS WELLS

the insurgents, and the Khan and the Mahzlen be
freed."

Ochen had nodded at that, but said nothing, and
on his face Calandryll had thought to see doubt, as
if the sorcerer found it impossible to share the cer-
titude of the kiriwashen. He had found, however,
no opportunity to discuss that doubt, for Chazali
had shortly announced their departure, impatient,
albeit he was clearly loath to quit his family so
soon after arriving, to join the Makusen army, the
sooner to restore his homeland to order and bal-
ance.

They had found their horses then, and ridden out
of the kiriwashen's palatial home, an image
blazened on Calandryll's senses. The Lady Nyka
stood with her children at the center of the atrium,
beside the fountain. The sun was not yet high, and
the surrounding walls cast gloomy shadow over the
little group, for all their robes were brilliant.
Chazali had taken up his daughters, Taja and Venda
hugging him, near to tears. Rawi had Stood man-
fully holding back his disappointment, bowing
formally, then hurling himself into his father's
arms, declaring that should Chazali fall in battle he
would be avenged.

"Aye, of that I've no doubt/' Chazali had said,
pride in his voice. "But for now you've a duty here,
and that important."

Then he had embraced his wife, and stroked her
cheek with a tenderness Calandryll had not before
seen in him, and donned his helm, swiftly locking
the veil in place, as if he would hide tears.

He had mounted, barked a command, and led his
men out through the gates at a brisk trot.
Calandryll had looked back a moment, and seen
Nyka and her children standing forlorn, watching:

four innocents caught up, like all the world it

WILD MAGIC 403

seemed, in the crazed machinations of the Mad
God and his insane acolyte. Calandryll had looked
to Cennaire then, seeing her lovely face set pur-
poseful, and wondered if they should survive; and
pushed the thought away, seeking to fix his mind
on thoughts of victory.

They had quit Pamur-teng to a dinning chorus
from the folk who lined the narrow streets, the
shouting echoing from the great gates until those
closed behind them, ponderous, sealing off the vast
citadel. Chazali had driven hard heels against his
horse's flanks then, lifting the animal to a gallop
that carried them swift across the valley to the
northern hills, not speaking or looking back, riding
like a man who seeks to leave memories behind
him.

ON the third day out of the hold the snow began to
fall unceasing. The sky assumed a livid hue, like
diseased flesh, the wind easing a little, as if its task
were done, sufficient cloud piled across the heav-
ens that it might rest awhile. The flakes came drift-
ing down careless at first, sizzling on the fires as
they broke their fast, then thicker as they rode out,
blowing directly into faces that stung with the
cold, melting on the heated bodies of the horses,
limiting vision so that they progressed blindly into
the pale opacity. Chazali called no halt, neither
slowed their pace, but continued on at a steady
canter even as the masking veils of the kotu-zen
were painted with the flakes, and the folds and
edges of their jet armor, so that they resembled
strange creatures, all black and white.

At least the Jesseryn Plain was firm enough to
withstand the onslaught, Calandryll thinking that
had they ridden the gentler terrains of Lysse or

404 ANGUS WELLS

Cuan na'For, the ground should soon be mired, the
snow transforming the land to a marshy consisten-
cy that would surely have slowed their progress. As
it was he began to wonder how long the storm
should last, how deep the snow might layer on the
unyielding soil.

That night, as they built fires from what little
timber was available from the hurst that did its
poor best to fend off the wind, he asked Chazali
how they should fare, did the snowfall continue
unabated.

"Poorly," was the kiriwashen's curt answer. "For
a few more days we may go on unhindered, but
does this Horul-damned snow keep up, it will begin
to bank and slow us."

"Shall it?" Calandryll asked. "Keep up?"

Chazali had raised his veil, and paused a moment
to wipe his face, looking up at a sky gone too early
black, then grunted. "Likely," he said. "It's the
look of a long fall. And the feel of thaumaturgy—
such a storm should not come so early in the sea-


son.

He had excused himself then, pacing off, soon
hidden behind a curtain of white, to inspect the
guards he set, and Calandryll had gone to the
warmth of the fire.

Bracht and Katya sat there, and Cennaire, all
huddled in cloaks, preparing tea and warm food.
The tent found them in Pamur-teng throbbed in
the night wind. Calandryll took a place beside the
Hand woman, sharing the oiled canvas she had
spread. He told them what Chazali had said, and
Bracht shrugged.

"Does it slow our progress, then surely it must
slow Rhythamun," he suggested.

"Save Rhythamun likely employs sorcery to aid
his progress," Calandryll returned.

WILD MAGIC 40S

"Is Rhythamun able to employ magic to speed
his progress," Cennaire suggested, "then might not
Ochen?"

Their faces turned to Calandryll, acknowledging
his larger understanding of such occult matters. He
frowned, uncertain, and said, "I am not sure. He
tells me that the employment of such gramaryes as
benefit individual folk are like beacons in the
aethyr, and so might alert Rhythamun to our loca-
tion."

"And enable him to attack you on that plane?"
Cennaire shuddered, snow falling from her cloak's
hood as she shook her head, alarm widening her
eyes. "I'd not see that. Even must we go slow."

Calandryll smiled at her concern, for all he knew
frustration at the prospect of delay. "I am but a
novice in such matters," he said. "Best we ask
Ochen himself."

"Ask me what?"

The wazir came out of the snow, wrapped in a
fur-lined cloak his face like some small animal
peering from the burrow of the hood. He settled on
a corner of the spread canvas, extending his hands
toward the fire, turning inquisitive eyes from one
to the other. Calandryll outlined the gist of their
conversation.

"Calandryll speaks aright," he said. "Do I speed
our passage with cantrips, 1 risk sending Rhytha-
mun notice of our position. Save it becomes un-
avoidable, I'd not chance that."

"And does it become needful?" Calandryll asked.
"Do we find our way blocked?"

Beneath the voluminous folds of his cloak Ochen
shrugged. "Then perhaps I must risk it." he said
quietly. "I'd sooner not, but should it prove the
only way ..."

Cennaire voiced a small, inarticulate sound of

406 ANGUS WELLS

helpless negation. Calandryll smiled at her, turned
to Ochen. "Surely we must reach Anwar-teng as
soon we may," he said. "Is that not of paramount
importance?"

Ochen nodded. "Aye—so long as we may reach
the hold intact." He laughed, the sound empty of
humor- "The choice would seem to be betwixt skil-
let and fire: we must reach Anwar-teng swiftly, but
without alerting Rhythamun, and perhaps it shall
prove impossible to do the one without the other.
He's an advantage in that."

"Ahrd!" Bracht exclaimed. "Does everything fa-
vor him?"

"Here, now," Ochen said, "Tharn favors him.
The god would he freed, he senses his minion draw-
ing ever closer—he does all he can to aid
Rhythamun-"

"Did Chazali speak aright, then?" asked Calan-
dryll. "Is this storm of occult origin?"

"It's the dimensions of wizardry," Ochen re-
turned. "Cold winds, rain, those are the natural
characteristics of the season. This snow comes too
early and too hard, as if between one day's ending
and the next's dawning we plunge into winter."

"And little we may do about it," murmured
Bracht sourly.

"Save press on," said Calandryll.

"Aye." The Kem gave him a brief, grim smile.
"Save press on as we have always done."

They ate then, electing by common, unspoken
consent to leave the subject of Rhythamun, and
talked instead of the war, the battle plans of the
loyal tengs.

It remained a conversation that offered scant re-
assurance, for no matter how sound the strategy its
execution must surely lead to a great letting of
blood—which should strengthen Tharn. And did

WILD MAGIC 407

the god wax strong enough, and Rhythamun gain
entry to his limbo, then all was for naught. It came
full circle back to Rhythamun; whatever the out-
come of the war, its prosecution must inevitably
aid the Mad God.

It was a notion dismal as the sullen sky, and it
weighed heavy on Calandryll's mind even as Ochen
tutored him further, his responses abstracted
enough the wazir called an early end to the lesson,
sending him thoughtful to his bed.

He woke to a world become pristine under a
blanket of snow. It lay thick over the ground, to his
knees as he went shivering out, the tents white
hummocks, the black armor of the kotu-zen a stark
contrast; and the fall continued. The wind had died
in the night and now the flakes came vertical from
a sky all forbidding grey, silent and thick, promis-
ing to drift, to block the road. He cursed as he saw
it, knowing they must be slowed, that Rhythamun
thereby win further advantage.

They blew their fire to fresh life and took a hur-
ried breakfast, tending horses irritable at such dis-
comfort, likely thinking, did they think at all, that
the stables of Pamur-teng offered warmth and bet-
ter food than the grain doled out. And then Ochen
surprised them.

They were mounting as the wazir came up. "I've
spoken with Chazali," he announced, "and we're
agreed we must make all speed to join the army.
Therefore, I shall employ my magic to clear us a
path."

Cennaire spoke before any other had chance;

"What of Calandryll?" There was urgency in her
voice, fear. "Shall you not endanger him?"

"I think not," Ochen answered her. "Not while
we ride with the kotu-zen. Does our enemy inves-
tigate the occult plane, he'll find a party coming

ANGUS   WELLS

408

from Pamur-teng, aided by such sorcery as all the
wazirs must now surely employ, Horul willing,
he'll look no deeper, but assume us only latecom-
ers. All well, the size of this group shall camouflage
us. Even so," He paused, looking to where
Calandryll sat the chestnut gelding. "Do you em-
ploy those protections I've taught you."

Calandryll nodded.

"Then we proceed," said Ochen.

He heeled his mount to where Chazali waited,
moving a little way ahead as the kiriwashen
formed his men in column of twos- Then he ex-
tended a hand, his painted nails glittering even in
that dull morning, shaping sigils on the air, that
redolent of almonds as he murmured his cantrip. It
was a powerful gramarye. The air shimmered, pale
light forming an aura about the slumped shape of
the wazir, growing, the nimbus an ethereal, golden
mist that swept abruptly forward as his voice rose
to a shout and he pointed, as might a man send out
a questing hound. It seemed then a silent wind,
hot, rushed before them. Snow swirled in whirling
white clouds, dissolving, a path clearing, a tunnel
shaping, invisible save as the falling flakes defined
it, denied entrance by the spell. Ochen lowered his
hand, urging his horse forward.

They followed the glow, a friendly will-o'-the-
wisp, riding the path it plowed, the exposed ground
hard, frozen grass crackling under the hooves.
Calandryll voiced the protective cantrips, his
senses alert to warning of occult attack even as he
smiled reassurance at Cennaire, where she rode be-
side him, concern writ clear on her lovely face.

Within the aegis of the gramarye it seemed they
rode through a spring day, almond-scented, the
light that preceded them leaving warm air behind,
even though the snow still fell all about, the land-

WILD MAGIC •f09

scape to either side carpeted deep in whiteness, the
trail behind rapidly filling. Chazali brought his
mount alongside Ochen's and their pace quickened,
a hard canter once more. Calandryll, closer attuned
to the occult by the spell he wove, again caught the
charnel reek that came from the north. He voiced a
second cantrip and the air was cleansed, but still he
rode wary, knowing Ochen gambled, that his soul
was the stake, did the gamble fail,

By noon he felt more comfortable. No attack ma-
terialized, and their speed seemed such that they
must soon catch up with the army. But then, he
thought, after—what thent We five ride on alone,
and does the snow continue this gramarye be-
comes as much hazard as help. He pushed the
thought away: let tomorrow take care of itself.
Only let us halt Rhythamun. Only let us wrest the
Arcanum from him.

For two more days they followed the light of
Ochen's magic without attack or hindrance, and
then, as if conceding the struggle, the snowfall
abated. The sky cleared, the miserable grey re-
placed with a hard, steely blue. The sun shone sil-
very gold, offering no warmth, and the wind got up
again, a wolf wind that howled out of the north,
knife sharp, raising drifting clouds of icy particles
from the deep-drifted snow. It was a relief to all
their spirits, to see the sun, to see clear again, but
still the wazir must maintain his gramarye, for the
land was laden heavy from the storm, and save he
clear their way, they must flounder through chest-
deep banks.

THEY found the army where the land lay flat, a
ridge line of low hills far off to the west, beyond
them, Ochen said, Bachan-teng. Ahead, the ground

410 ANGUS WELLS

was trampled in a vast swath, a great roadway
chopped through the white blanket by magic and
men, more men than Calandryll had ever seen
gathered in one place. They spread across the flat
in a line of darkness that reminded him of his first
sight of the Cuan na'Dru, stretching out to east and
west almost farther than his eyes could see. Before
them went a sweeping cloud of golden light that
shimmered brilliant in the afternoon sun, snow
shifted from the horde's passage as if by some in-
conceivable shovel. The icy air was sweet with the
perfume of almonds, so strong it almost overcame
the odors of horse droppings and metal, oil and
wood, canvas and men's sweat; all the myriad, min-
gled smells of an army on the march.

Cavalry—at least a thousand men, he thought—
formed the rearguard, more flanking the baggage
train and the plodding infantry. The vanguard
stretched beyond sight, led, he assumed, by the as-
sembled wazirs, whose magic cleared the way. The
sheer enormity of the Makusen forces was impos-
ing; the thought that this was but one army, from
a single teng, that it joined with another of similar
size, that the rebels must field equal numbers, was
more than his mind could hold. It seemed as if half
the world must march to this war.

As if his thoughts were read, he heard Ochen say,
"Tharn must delight in the prospect of so much
bloodshed."

He answered softly, awed by the incredible pros-
pect spread before him. "Aye."

There was no need now for the wazir to maintain
his own gramarye: the massed sorcerers heading
the army had cleared the way well enough, and
Chazali heeled his mount to a gallop over the
churned ground, hailing the riders who spun to
meet him, they answering with shouts of welcome.

WILD MAGIC 411

His men, Ochen, and the questers galloped after
the kiriwashen, an escort forming about them,
speeding them past the long line of marching sol-
diers to where the commanders rode behind the
van of wazirs. Calandryll wondered if Rhythamun
watched them go past, looking out from the eyes of
Jabu Orati Makusen.

There were fifteen kiriwashen, Chazali the six-
teenth, each representing a family lieged to the
Makusen- Each commanded a thousand kotu-zen—
more kotu-anj and kotu-ji—all the clan warriors,
save those few left behind on the march. The din
was tremendous, a cacophony of hooves and thud-
ding feet, creaking wagons, snickering horses, the
braying of mules, the clatter of weapons and armor,
the voices of the men. Chazali must raise his voice
to a near shout to be heard as he introduced the
questers and advised his fellow kiriwashen of all
that had transpired. He offered a succinct report,
the details left for later, when the army should
make camp, and as he spoke Calandryll was aware
of the eyes that studied him and his comrades,
speculative, from behind the concealing veils.

In turn the commanders told of their progress,
unopposed as yet, while of the armies advancing
from Zaq-teng and Fechin-teng there was little
news: those insurgents already stationed outside
the walls of Anwar-teng maintained the siege,
awaiting the arrival of the main forces, content un-
til then to hold the citadel isolated. And that con-
dition extending beyond the physical, they said, for
there was such a clouding of the aethyr now that
contact with the wazir-narimasu, or occult obser-
vation of the rebels, was become impossible.

It seemed to Calandryll that to locate Rhytha-
mun's stolen form in so vast a horde was no less
impossible. Had the warlock elected to Join the

ANGUS   WELLS

412

army he likely knew by now the questers had
caught up, and would therefore take measures to
conceal himself, either by once more shifting his
shape, or by slipping away. Both seemed possible,
even easy, among so many men. More likely, Calan-
dryll thought, he had gone by the army, eschewing
its slow progress to ride solitary to ... Anwar-teng?
Or farther, to the Borrhun-maj? Did he attempt the
former, then the questers must make all haste to
the citadel, hoping to overtake their enemy. Did he
choose the latter, then it still appeared their most
favorable course remained the ride to Anwar-teng.
There, did they succeed in overtaking Rhythamun,
they might find the powers of the wazir-narimasu at
their beck, and prepare a fitting welcome. Did he at-
tempt the Borrhun-maj, then they could go through
the gate and set an ambush in the world beyond.
That they should come upon him along the way,
and defeat him there, Calandryll could not believe;

they had dogged Rhythamun's footsteps for too long
that he might hope for so simple a solution.

He waxed impatient as the Makusen horde con-
tinued its inexorable march, the kiriwashen un-
willing to halt while the day still granted sufficient
light they might draw closer to their destination.

He must wait, however, until the wan sun de-
scended behind the western ridge and shadows
lengthened across the snowfields. And then wait
longer as the great mass of men and animals biv-
ouacked for the night. Only then, when tents and
pavilions had been set up, guards posted, fodder
doled out, and fires been lit, did the commanders
and the sorcerers agree to hear in full council what
Chazali and Ochen, the questers, had to tell them.

They gathered in a pavilion that might have
housed a family, the wind setting the Makusen
standards to crackling overhead, the symbols of the

WILD MAGIC

413

clan emblazoned on walls and awning. Inside, bra-
ziers were the sole source of light, the wood they
burned aromatic. The canvas of the floor was
spread with carpets, and kotu-ji erected a long table
flanked by faldstools. Food and wine were served
and the kotu-ji departed. Aijan Makusen, supreme
commander of Pamur-teng, sat erect at the table's
head. He was old, for all he sat stiff-backed, stern,
and soldierly, his ringleted hair white, his beard the
same. He it was led the premier clan, to which all
others swore fealty, and it seemed to Calandryll he
radiated a palpable sense of authority. Chazali and
Ochen sat with the questers at the table's foot, not
speaking until Aijan Makusen gestured his permis-


sion.

Kiriwashen and wazir introduced the outlanders
then, fleshing Chazali's earlier brief report with de-
tail. Calandryll, elected to speak on behalf of his
comrades, was invited to describe their quest to the
crossing of the Kess Imbrun. When he was done
and sipping wine to assuage a mouth gone dry with
the telling, tawny eyes studied him in silence, that
finally broken by a wazir he dimly recalled was
named Chendi.

"This is a frightening tale you bring us," Chendi
declared, "and did Ochen Tajen and Chazali Nakoti
not speak on your behalf I'd find it hard of believ-
ing. But ..."

He paused, slanted eyes pensive, a hand stroking
at the oiled beard he wore. Another—Dakkan,
Calandryll thought was his name—spoke into the
gap: "But do we not all feel what stirs now, fouling
the aethyr? Is our aim not the securing of Anwar-
teng against the Mad God, in equal measure to the
rescue of Khan and Mahzlen?"

"Aye, so it is," said one named Tazen. "And
what Ochen saw we all have seen, in greater or

414 ANGUS WELLS

lesser measure, and this war, the clouding of the
aethyr, all the signs indicate they speak the truth."

"You'd have us examine every kotu-anj of the
Orati?" asked a wazir whose name Calandryll had
forgotten. "That should take two days or more."

"As long—or longer—to allow this woman," a
kiriwashen named Tajur grunted, eyes skeptical as
they rested on Cennaire, "to study their faces."

"And that with no surety of success," said a wa-
zir, "for be this Rhythamun what these outlanders
claim, he might well assume another's body while
we search."

"Which should mean we must examine every
warrior in our companies," said another.

"Horul!" declared a kiriwashen Calandryll
thought was named Machani. "How long should
that take? With Anwar-teng in jeopardy each day!"

"This warlock shape-shifter is not among the
Orati." This defiantly from the wazir of that clan.
"I'd know it, were it so."

"He's a sorcerer of great cunning," Ochen said,
his tone diplomatically mild, "and great power.
That waxing greater the closer he comes to Tharn."

A kiriwashen nodded, eyes moving from Ochen
to Chazali. "You're persuaded to their cause,
Chazali Nakoti?" he asked.

"I am," Chazali replied. "I believe all they say.
I believe we renege our duty to Khan and
Mahzlen—to Horul himself!—do we not aid them."

Aijan Makusen spoke then for the first time, and
all fell silent -

"Shall Ochen Tajen not soon be named wazir -
narimasu? Can any here doubt the loyalty of
Chazali Nakoti? Can we then doubt their belief,
that these outlanders war with Tharn himself?
That some among them have spoken with our god?
I say we must aid them as best we may."

WILD MAGIC                            415

Protests erupted then: that the giving of such aid
must halt the army's advance too long, work to the
advantage of the rebels; that there could be no cer-
tainty of finding Rhythamun among the massed
humanity of the Makusen forces; that perhaps
these outlanders were employed by the rebels to
slow the army; that perhaps they ensorcelled both
Ochen and Chazali.

The tumult died as Aijan Makusen raised a hand.
"For my own part I cannot believe a wazir of
Ochen Tajen's undoubted power might be so se-
duced," he declared, "and so, that Chazali Nakoti
is not enspelled, for Ochen should know it. There-
fore, I cast my vote for belief and aid."

Dark faces turned toward the old man, tawny
eyes studying him, some with acceptance, Calan-
dryll thought, but others with disbelief. Chafing, he
wondered how long this debate should continue,
how it should be settled. He turned a grateful gaze
on Ochen as the wazir offered a solution, looking
first to Ai]an Makusen, speaking when the supreme
commander nodded his assent.

"I am not ensorcelled/' he said, "neither Chazali.
But that none here present entertain doubt I sug-
gest you examine us. Look into our minds, and
then into those of our outlander allies, and you
shall know the truth of what we tell you."

"That would seem a satisfactory resolution,"
. Aijan Makusen said. "Do you others agree?"

There was a murmur of consent and the assem-
bled wazirs rose, beckoning Ochen forward.

The ancient sorcerer faced them almost defiantly
as they locked their eyes on his wrinkled face.
They began to speak, in unison, and the great tent
^   filled with the scent of almonds. It took no more
than a few heartbeats, not so long as Ochen him-
self had taken to enter the minds of the questers,




416 ANGUS WELLS

back in the keep atop the Daggan Vhe. "So, do you
see clearer now?" he demanded when it was done,
and the wazirs nodded, murmuring their agree-
ment.

Chazali rose then, accepting the examination for
all Calandryll read resentment on his face, and
then, in turn, each of the questers. Calandryll felt
the thirty eyes fasten on his, and it was as though
he pitched headlong into darkness, falling- He stag-
gered, shaking his head, as he felt their hold re-
leased, the insubstantial tendrils that had wandered
the pathways of his brain withdrawing. For an in-
stant his ears rang, and then he heard the wazir
named Tazen say, "There can be no doubt. All we
have heard is true."

"Horul!" said another. "Shall we see Tharn
raised then?"

"It shall not be through any want of our aid,"
Aijan Makusen said, his slanted eyes narrowing as
they turned to Ochen. "What would you have
done, wazir?"

"I'd go on to Anwar-teng," Ochen answered, "in
company with these four—I deem it the wiser
course that we apprise the wazir -narimasu of all we
know, as soon we may. For the rest, I'm in agree-
ment with these others that Rhythamun may
evade discovery—may perhaps not be among the
Orati even—but still I'd have a search mounted."

"To search the army—to thus delay—can only
aid the rebels," a kiriwashen murmured. "Shall
that not favor the Mad God?"

"'Does Rhythamun gain that limbo where Tharn
rests the rebels shall need no further aid," Ochen
said.

"No less shall the bloodshed of this war aid the
god," a wazir whose name was Kenchun offered.

WILD MAGIC 417

"Save these outlanders succeed, it would seem the
Mad God gains whichever way we turn."

"I cannot stand idle by and see Anwar-teng de-
spoiled," Aijan Makusen warned. "Mad God or no,
we've a duty to Khan and Mahzlen, and that we
cannot forswear."

"Aye," said Ochen, "that I know. I'd find a com-
promise."

It seemed to Calandryll as he listened to them
that the Jesserytes were not a people much given to
compromise of any kind. On the faces of the
kiriwashen he could see alarm at the prospect of
granting the insurgents such time to strengthen
their position as the searching of the army must
take; on the faces of the wazirs he saw the contra-
dicting pull of clan duty and fear of Tharn's resur-
rection.

"A compromise?" he heard Aijan Makusen say.
"How may we achieve that, without betrayal to
our duty or our god?"

Ochen thought a moment. Then, a wry smile
curving his lips: "Only with difficulty; only with a
little patience I fear some shall find hard come by."

"Does it not conflict with those duties we owe
the Mahzlen," Aijan Makusen said, his eyes scan-
ning the assembly, issuing an unspoken command,
"then we shall find such patience."

Ochen nodded and said, "Then this night I'd ask
the kiriwashen and the kutushen—all the officers—
to pass word among their followers. Is any man
aware of strangeness—a friend who seems not him-
self, sickness, anything untoward—let him report
it. I'd ask that the ranks of the Orati be searched
for ]abu Orati Makusen. Does he come forward"—a
doubting smile curved the wazir's lips—"then let
the wazirs bind him with gramaryes and slay him.
Does he look to flee, the same. Does Rhythamun

418 ANGUS WELLS

yet hold that luckless form, he may well seek to
take another. Be that the case, Jabu Orati will be
dead, but likely the occupation of Rhythamun's
next victim will be noticed. Remember always that
you deal with a sorcerer of terrible strength!

"All this, I know, must delay the march, but
Horul willing, not for too long."

He paused for breath and the wazir of the Orati—
Kellu, Calandryll remembered was his name—said,
"Must we examine every kotu-anj among our war-
riors, that shall delay us longer."

Aijan Makusen spoke again: "We shall allow two
days for such investigation, occult and physical, as
you require. Does that commence this night it may
be done in such time, I think."

"Do we all bend to the task," said Kellu, "then,
aye."

"Shall you not join in this, Ochen Tajen?" asked
another.

Ochen sighed, shaking his head. "I fear that all
this may prove fruitless," he murmured, ignoring
the gasps, the grunts of outrage that met the an-
nouncement. His voice grew stronger as he contin-
ued, "But nonetheless needful! Does Rhythamun
seek to conceal his foul self amid the men of
Pamur-teng would you have it said we failed in our
duty? That we, lax, allowed him such refuge?"

He waited as the kiriwashen and the wazirs
voiced denial.

"The search shall be made," said Aijan Makusen.
"Even be it time wasted, I'd not have such accusa-
tion made. But swift! We've another call on our
loyalties."

"Aye, that I know," Ochen said, "and would not
ask for more. As for me—I ride on, to Anwar-teng."

"You'd have an escort?" Aijan Makusen asked.

"No, though I thank you," Ochen returned, and

WILD MAGIC 419

encompassed the questers with a gesture, "we five
shall go alone. The insurgents are less likely to find
so small a party, while a larger group must surely
be noticed. Horul willing, we shall gain the teng
unharmed."

"And do you not?" asked Kellu, to which Ochen
shrugged and smiled a silent answer.

"Should we find Rhythamun," asked Dakkan,
"what are we to do with the Arcanum? How shall
we recognize the book?"

Ochen looked to Calandryll, motioning that he
should speak. He said, "It is a small book, bound in
black, the title inscribed in red. It seems an insig-
nificant thing, save for the malign aura it bears. We
are sworn to deliver it to Vanu, as I have told you,
that the holy men of that land might destroy it."

"Then do we find it, and you be slain," said
Aijan Makusen with blunt pragmatism, "we shall
deliver the book there. My word on that."

"Then you've our thanks," Calandryll said.

A grim smile divided the old man's stern features
for a moment. "I'd no more see the Mad God raised
than concede the rebels Anwar-teng. I pray Horul
you succeed." The smile disappeared as his eyes
swept the table. "So, we've much to do and long
leagues yet to march. Do you kiriwashen go to
your duties, then; and you wazirs to yours."

The commanders and the sorcerers rose, quitting
the tent. Chazali paused, studying the questers.
"I've another duty now," he said, "and must go to
my Nakoti. Should we not meet again ere you de-
part, know that my prayers go with you, and you
shall be ever welcome in my home." He turned to
Ochen. "Horul be with you, old friend. I pray we
meet again ere long."

"And I," the wazir murmured.

They clasped hands, and then Chazali bowed

420 ANGUS WELLS

deep to the questers, again to Aijan Makusen, and
spun round, marching briskly from the pavilion.

"I, too, have duties I must attend," said Aijan
Makusen, "do you excuse me,"

It was a tactful dismissal: Ochen bowed and the
questers followed suit, going after the wazir out of
the tent.

The night was loud now with more than the
natural clamor of a bivouacked army as the
kiriwashen and the wazirs went about their tasks.
Orders rang out, riders cantered by, soldiers came
from tents and cookfires; all was disciplined confu-
sion, the unprecedented presence of foreigners in
the midst of a Jesseryte army ignored. They found
their horses where the standards of the Nakoti flut-
tered over the ranked tents and saw the animals
bedded as comfortably as was possible, bringing
their gear to the pavilion Ochen indicated.

It was smaller than the great tent of Aijan
Makusen, but still luxurious, divided into compart-
ments, with rugs scattered about the floor and bra-
ziers filling the interior with warmth. Ochen
showed them where they might sleep, Calandryll
and Bracht separated from the two women by a
wall of heavy silk. The forward area was set with a
table and faldstools, open to afford a view of the en-
campment, and the wazir stood there, looking out
at the bustle.

"Think you he's here?" Calandryll asked, coming
to stand beside the smaller man.

"No." Ochen shook his head, his next words
confirming the doubts Calandryll had earlier felt.
"Was he ever here, he saw us arrive and took his
cue to depart. He draws too close to his goal that
he'd risk discovery."

"Then why suggest this search?" Bracht gestured

WILD MAGIC 421

at the camp, buzzing now like a disturbed hornets'
nest.

"For fear I'm wrong." Ochen sighed weanly, his
voice dropping close to a whisper as he added,
"And to slow the army's advance, Horul forgive
me."

"What?" Confusion set a frown on the Kern's
face. "Why?"

Ochen moved from his observation, crossing the
vestibule to a brazier. He stretched out his hands,
palms forward, to the flames. "I believe," he mur-
mured, almost too low they might hear him, "that
Rhythamun likely avoided the line of march. Did
he join the Nakoti legions, he must travel at the
army's pace, and he's likely impatient now; eager
to reach his goal. I believe he goes on, to Anwar-
teng or the Borrhun-maj.

"And the closer he comes to Tharn, the stronger
he becomes, the greater the likelihood of his reach-
ing the Mad God. You know that shed blood is
meat and drink to Tharn, that war augments his
power. Think then what the arrival of this army at
Anwar-teng must mean, think what blood must
spill when these loyal forces encounter the rebels."

He turned from the brazier, and in its dim light
his face was grave, hollowed with a dreadful doubt.
Calandryll nodded, understanding. Bracht contin-
ued to frown, and Ochen explained, "Do all these
thousands and all the thousands of Ozali-teng fall
on the thousands of the rebels, then the land must
stink of blood. There's the irony of it—the loyal
forces would defend the gate; but to defend that
gate can only strengthen Tharn." He shook his
head, sighing again, and it seemed to Calandryll the
weight of all his years sat heavy on him, his vital-
ity suddenly drained, "I'd not give the Mad God
that feasting sooner than is inevitable. The longer

f22 ANGUS WELLS

that battle is delayed, the better your chance of de-
feating Rhythamun, tor does full war commence I
believe our enemy shall find such power granted
him as to render him unvanquishable.

"I cannot halt the war. Horul, but I'm by no
means sure I should! It's a conundrum to defeat the
wisest mage—does battle commence, then likely
Rhythamun becomes insuperable; does Anwar-teng
fall ..."

His voice trailed off, exhausted. Callandryl said,
hoarse, "Then likely Rhythamun wins."

Bracht said softly, "Ahrd!"

Ochen said, "And so I gamble. I hope that we
may enter Anwar-teng before full battle is pined. I
hope the wazir-narimasu shall lend you such aid
that you defeat Rhythamun before he grows too
strong. I pray Horul that I do the right thing."

There was anguish in his voice, doubt writ clear
on his face. Calandryll said, "You do what you can;

what you must," seeking to reassure him, and
Ochen laughed, once, a harsh, bitter sound, and
said, "Aye, and in the doing, do I betray my clan?
Do I grant the insurgents entry to Anwar-teng?"

"What if you be wrong?" asked Bracht, offering
support. "What if Rhythamun does still own the
body of this Jabu Orati, and rides with this horde?"

Ochen looked up at the Kern, a rictal smile
stretching his lips. "Then we had best hope he be
soon found," he answered, "and sleep wary this
night. But I doubt I'm wrong."

Katya spoke then, for the first time- "I believe
you right," she said gently. "In all you do."

Ochen nodded his thanks, but Calandryll saw he
took little enough comfort from their reassurances.
He struggled for some formula that would resolve
the wazir's dilemma, but could find none, save:

"Surely the defeating of Rhythamun, of the Mad

WILD MAGIC 423

God, is a duty higher than that owed your clan.
Surely it's a duty owed Horul, owed all the Younger
Gods. Dera, should Tharn be woke the Makusen
shall likely exist no more! Do we defeat Rhytha-
mun, then all the world stands in your debt."

"But still," Ochen said softly, "my blood is
lesseryte blood, and all my life I've served the
Makusen. To deceive my fellows so sits hard with
me."

"There's no deceit," said Katya- "As Bracht
says—it may be that Rhythamun remains within
these ranks, and therefore such investigation as
you've suggested is needful."

"But I perceive it as deceit," Ochen returned,
"for I remain convinced he's gone on."

"Two days is scarce time enough to swing the
balance of this war," Bracht said, "You take over-
much blame upon yourself."

"Perhaps." Ochen shrugged. "But then again, per-
haps I had done better to speak honestly with my
peers."

"No." The Kern began to protest, but the wazir
raised a hand, effecting a wan smile, and said, "No
more, my friends, I beg you. I know you look to
convince me, but this is a matter for my own con-
science and none other. I must wrestle with it
alone, and I am mightily wearied. Do we find our
beds?"

Bracht would have argued further, but Katya took
his hand, drawing him away. Calandryll said, "Un-
til the morrow, then," and turned toward Cennaire,
offering his arm, courtly, bringing her to the parti-
tioned sleeping quarters. He would have kissed her,
but both entrances stood open and so he bowed,
smiling for all he was concerned at Ochen's dis-
comfort, bidding her good night. She answered in
kind and stepped into the chamber, dropping the

ANGUS   WELLS

424

entry curtain behind her. He stood a moment,
frowning, then went to )0in Bracht.

There was no brazier and the chamber was shad-
owy, the canvas wall vibrating softly under the
wind's caress. The sounds of the vast encampment
came through. Calandryll yawned as he shed his
swordbelt, resting the scabbard against the frame of
the low bed. He tugged off his boots and padded to
the washstand- As he splashed chill water on his
face he heard Bracht say, low, "Ahrd, but it pains
me to see the old man so torn. I've grown fond of

him."

"Aye." Calandryll stretched on the bed. The pil-
low was hard, but after so many nights with only
his saddle it seemed a great luxury: his eyes grew
heavy. "He's proven a true friend."

Bracht said something else, but he failed to dis-
cern the words, nor could he summon the energy
to question his comrade. Sleep beckoned and he
could barely murmur the protective cantrips taught
him before he gave in and allowed slumber sway.

DAWN came bright, the sun a white-gold disk at
the horizon's rim, the sky poised undecided be-
tween blue and grey, the wind died away, the air
sharp-edged. Smoke rose in myriad columns over
the camp, and the odors of cooking food mingled
with the scent of almonds as the wazirs went about
their searching. Of Chazali there was no sign, and
the questers ate their breakfast with Ochen,
brought them in the pavilion by two kotu-)i.

Immediately they were done they found the
Nakoti commissary and secured such supplies as
they should need for the remainder of the purney
to Anwar-teng. None made reference to Ochen's
doubts of the previous night, and the ancient mage

WILD MAGIC 425

seemed to have set his misgivings behind him. He
was, however, somewhat subdued, and when
Calandryll solicitously inquired the reason, he re-
plied that such constant use of magic as he had em-
ployed to clear their path to the army had wearied
him.

"Horul willing," he declared as he heaved him-
self awkwardly astride his mount, "the snow shall
be frozen hard enough I may rest a little as we
ride." Then he chuckled, a measure of his custom-
ary good humor returning. "As much as my an-
cient bones can rest upon so unyielding a creature
as a horse."

"Do I break trail?" Bracht suggested, and Ochen
waved his agreement, looking about a moment as
though he bade kinsmen and friends farewell. The
Kern tapped heels to the black stallion's flanks and
trotted out, the others behind, past the ranks of
tents and men, the mules and horses, the wagons,
all spread in orderly formation, as if some nomadic
people wintered on the desolate flatlands.

It took the better part of a hour to clear the camp,
and then they traveled virgin snow, crusted hard
and scoured by the wind. Their pace varied, swift
where snow was frozen, supporting the weight of
animals and men, slower where the horses must
plunge through drifts banked up and soft.

By noon, when the pale sun hung overhead like
an impassive, watchful eye, the great encampment
was lost behind them, ahead the glittering sweep of
the unbroken snowfield. It shone bright in the
sun's harsh light, threatening the fresh hazard of
snowblindness, and Bracht called a halt, fetching
kindling from his saddlebags to start a small fire.
They brewed tea and ate sparingly of the provi-
sions, and when they were done the Kern took
sticks from the flames, allowing the blackened tips

426 ANGUS WELLS

to cool and then daubing the charcoal around his
eyes. He applied the same rough protection to each
of their faces, and they stared at one another,
laughing at the clownish effect.

"Dera, but we resemble a flock of owls,"
Calandryll declared, chuckling. "Do we also pos-
sess their legendary wisdom?"

"In Kandahar the owl is a symbol of death,"
Cennaire observed, instantly regretting it.

"Here, it may save our lives." Bracht flung the
last stick away. "We'll have little chance of success
do we go blind."

That night, and for fifteen more, they camped on
the snowfield, in tents secured from the commis-
sary, Katya and Cennaire in one, the three men in
the other. Their fire was, of necessity, small, and
even wrapped in the heavy cloaks Chazali had
given them—their blankets draped protective over
the horses—they were chilled. At least the wind re-
mained quiescent, as if they had traveled in a mat-
ter of days from autumn's ending to dead of winter.
Darkness came early and dawn late, and the air lay
still, keen as a knife's edge in nostrils and mouths,
numbing on exposed skin. By day the sky was a
blue so pale it seemed almost white, blending im-
mutable with the land. By night it was a black so
dense the new-filled moon and the stars seemed
not to pierce the obfuscation, but to struggle
against a darkening that was wholly unnatural. De-
spite the protective gramaryes he employed,
Calandryll could no longer entirely fend off the ol-
factory manifestation of Tharn's sending. The char-
net stench intruded on his senses as if the reek
became so strong it found chinks in his occult ar-
moring, and he found he must once more struggle
against the horrid feeling of desolation, of despair,
that threatened to leech out his will. Almost, it

WILD MAGIC •f27

seemed the land lay already under the dominion of
the Mad God.

On the morning of the sixteenth day they strug-
gled up a snow-encrusted ridge that ran like the
backbone of some buried monster across their path.
Stone showed, dull grey and shocking after so long
traversing the blank whiteness of the snowfields,
along the crest. There, as if the stone marked a
boundary, the snow ended; beyond, the ridge sloped
gently down/ rock giving way to winter-dulled
grass that spread over a shallow river valley. The
river ran. grey-blue and broad, from a great expanse
of water- On the north bank, diminished by dis-
tance, stood a hold. On the grass before the citadel,
along both banks of the river and partway along the
shore of the lake, stood an array of tents, horse
herds like shirting shadows on the land, men too
far away to see.

"Anwar-teng," Ochen said.

"And none too easy to reach," murmured Bracht.

"Save these approaching riders," said Cennaire,
whose eyes were the keenest there, "be a welcom-
ing party."




THEY had come down off the ridge's crest to put
the stone concealing at their backs; it seemed
impossible any should have sighted them.

"Can you be sure?" Bracht asked.

Cennaire said, "There are twenty horsemen.
Kotu-zen by their armor, and riding hard toward
us."

The Kern mouthed a curse. Ochen said, "Magic!
The turncoat wazirs use their powers to espy in-
truders, Horul damn them."

Calandryll said, "Do we follow this ridge along,
might we avoid them? Might we reach Anwar-teng
before they reach us?"

"Thaumaturgy guides them," Ochen replied.
"Likely they'll follow wherever we go."

Bracht was already unshipping his bow from its
protective wrappings, adjusting the quiver against
his saddle. "Then we must fight," he declared.

Ochen nodded absently, turning to Cennaire.
"Are there more?" he asked.

She shook her head. "No, only these twenty."

WILD MAGIC

429

The wazir nodded, thinking a moment. Then:

"Do we follow the ridge toward Lake Galil, and
fight only when we must."

Bracht glanced up at the sky and said, "It's a
while before the light goes, and until then they've
the advantage of us."

Calandryll and Katya brought bows from their
packs; strung them. Ochen said, "Let us gain what
time we may. Do we close on Anwar-teng, perhaps
we'll find help from that quarter."

"Do we stand here debating?" asked Bracht. "Or
do we ride?"

They rode. Pell-mell across the downslope of the
ridge, grateful for the sounder footing of the grass,
thankful they need not flee across the snow. Bracht
led the way, the black stallion stretching into a fu-
rious gallop, Katya urging on her grey behind, then
Ochen, bouncing and cursing in the saddle, fol-
lowed by Cennaire, Calandryll alongside.

Cennaire turned, peering northward, and
shouted, "They change direction to head us off."

Calandryll returned her, "How far?" and she an-
swered, "A league, perhaps."

And they on fresher horses than our poor tired
beasts, he thought. How long before they intercept
usi Ahead, the ridge curved a little, turning north
before petering out onto the grass that swept gentle
down to the lakeshore. There were tents there: the
rebel forces- It seemed they ran from one danger
into another. It seemed impossible they should
reach Anwar-teng unscathed, nor any more likely
they could fight a way through the armies sieging
the citadel. Dera, Horul, he thought, do you aid us
nowi Have we come so far, only to fall heref

There was no answer, only the furious drumming
of the hooves, the gusty breath of near-blown
horses. The sun looked down, indifferent, from the

430 ANGUS WELLS

bleak sky and it seemed the fetid reek grew stron-
ger, anticipatory. The kotu-zen drew closer, enough
that now he could just make them out, twenty
black shapes galloping hard at an angle toward the
questers' path, guessing—or told by sortilege—their
intention.

They reached the ridge's ending and Bracht
snatched on the reins, the stallion wickering irrita-
bly as it halted. Katya was taken by surprise, al-
most colliding as she steered her grey around the
curvetting black, turning to come back alongside
the Kern.

"What do you do?"

Bracht flung out his bow/ indicating the terrain
ahead, the shadow line of tents along the lake. "Do
we go on, we're caught. Better we face them here."
A savage smile stretched his lips. "They're only a
score, and we've the advantage of height here."

"And do we defeat them?" Calandryll dragged
the chestnut to a stiff-legged halt. "What then?
There shall surely be more sent out."

"Can we stand them off until dusk we've dark-
ness for our ally." Bracht sprang down, bringing his
quiver from the saddle. "And perhaps Ochen's sor-
cerers. Or his magic."

Calandryll looked to the wazir, undecided.
Ochen studied the land ahead and nodded, "Bracht
understands these matters better than I," he called.
"And have the rebels seen us, then likely the
wazir-narimasu, also."

"And your magic?" Katya asked. "Can you use
that now?"

"That should be hazardous still," Ochen said. "It
may be they take us for scouts, and so better if you
can defeat them without my aid."

"Then do we see our mounts safe among these

WILD MAGIC

431

stones." Battle joy flashed in Bracht's blue eyes.
"For it's a long walk to Anwar-teng."

Without awaiting a response he led the stallion
in among the lithic detritus that marked the ridge's
end, tethering the snorting beast. The others fol-
lowed suit, leaving the animals protected by the
rocks.

Swift, Bracht barked orders, sending Katya and
Calandryll out on a line where the stones looked
down onto the grass. Cemiaire and Ochen crouched
at the center, a little way back. Calandryll glanced
at the Kand woman and smiled, she answered him
with a wave, her dark eyes worried as she watched
him take his position.

It was a place easily defended. The slope, for all
it was gentle, must slow the riders somewhat, and
if they chose to match the questers with arrows,
they must fight without cover. Did they attempt to
charge, bringing the fight to close quarters, they
must climb the gradient under fire. Calandryll set
his quiver close at hand, upright against a boulder/
and nocked a shaft, waiting.

It was not long before the twenty kotu-zen
showed distinct on the plain: it seemed an eternity.
They came on at a gallop, slowing as they saw their
quarry had not broken cover, reining in to study
the cuesta. Their armor was dark crimson, marked
on chest and back with the sigils of their clan.
Longbows stood in scabbards behind their saddles;

all wore swords; two held long-hafted war axes.
They conferred, out of bowshot, heads turning to
survey the ridgetop, faces hidden behind their hel-
met veils. One motioned with the ax he carried,
sending the rest into line on either side. For a
heartbeat that seemed to Calandryll to stretch out
for long moments there was a silence broken only
by the stamping of impatient hooves. He drew his

432 ANGUS WELLS

bowstring taut, sighting down the shaft. There was
a shout, soon followed by a medley of war cries,
and the riders charged.

They came within bowshot; Calandryll loosed
his shaft- Saw it imbed in crimson armor even as
he snatched another from the quiver, nocking and
sighting in a single fluid motion, wondering in the
instant that action took how strong was ^esseryte
armor. The man he hit seemed unaffected, even
when the second arrow sprouted from his breast-
plate.

"Their faces!" Bracht roared. "Aim for their
faces!"

Calandryll adjusted his aim, and saw a veil
pierced. Likely the hit man screamed: battle shouts
and hoofbeats hid all other sound. He saw the
Jesseryte sway in his saddle, sword dropping from
his hand. He nocked and swung leftward, bow-
string throbbing as the shaft was flighted. His tar-
get rose in the stirrups, rigid as his head flung back,
tumbling over his horse's hindquarters. The first
warrior still sat his mount, urging the animal on,
his fallen sword replaced with a wide-bladed dag-
ger. Calandryll fired again, the range far shorter
now, the arrow driving deep into armor, the
lesseryte shuddering as it hit, then slipping side-
ways from the saddle, dragging his horse's head
round before his gauntleted fingers let go their
hold. The horse screamed angrily, bucking, almost
on the rocks, then cantered away, downslope. Its
rider lay awhile on his side, then staggered to his
feet, retrieving his dagger. The broken lengths of
three arrows protruded from his breastplate, an-
other from his face. Calandryll thought he saw
blood running from under the veil as the kotu-zen
began to weave an erratic course toward the boul-
ders.

WILD MAGIC

433

Seven men lay dead; twelve were still mounted
their armor decorated with shafts. They seemed
less deterred by the slaughter of their comrades
than enraged. They spun their mounts, thundering
partway back down the slope to turn and charge
again. The wounded man continued his solitary ad-
vance, halted by the arrow Katya sent with dread-
ful accuracy into the right eye hole of his veil.
Calandryll heard his scream then, shrill as he fell
to his knees, a hand beginning to reach up, then
halting, suddenly, his head dropping forward- He
pitched onto his face and lay still.

Three more died in the charge, flung from their
horses as feathered shafts sprouted lethal from
their veils, driving hard through the vulnerable
links into the softer flesh beneath, finding targets
in eyes and mouths and brains. The rest turned
back, regrouping out of bowshot.

Bracht shouted, "Cennaire, do you see them rein-
forced?"

She came from where she waited with Ochen,
running to Calandryll's side, looking out toward
the distant huddle of tents, and answered, "No.
There's none others approach."

"Good, for I run short of shafts." Bracht laughed,
a wild cry of battle lust, and glanced at the sky.
"Dusk draws closer. Do we stand off these few left
and then, save we've slain them all, slip away."

Calandryll felt Cennaire's hand resting on his
shoulder and turned his head a little, to rub his
cheek against her grip. She smiled grimly and
stroked a hand over his long hair as he called to
Ochen, "Shall they not know us gone, with magic
to aid them?"

"Likely," replied the wazir. "But we've little
other choice, save to go back."

"And have them find us out on that snow?"

434 ANGUS WELLS

Bracht shook his head. "No, my friends. We stand
or fall here."

Further debate was curtailed by the enemy. They
charged with drawn bows now, sending long,
crimson-painted shafts winging before them.
Calandryll ducked, pushing Cennaire back, as three
arrows rattled off the boulders to either side. He
heard Bracht shout, "Hah! They replenish our quiv-
ers," and brought his own bow to bear.

The defenders still enjoyed the advantage of
height, the attacking kotu-zen forced to expose
themselves as they rose in their stirrups to use
their longer bows. Two more were slain, the charge
turned back again.

"Here!"

Calandryll found Cennaire beside him, her out-
thrust hand clutching gathered Jesseryte shafts. He
took them with a grunt of thanks and waved her
back to cover, forgetting in the heat of the moment
that arrows offered her no harm.

The riders charged a fourth time. The waning af-
ternoon filled with the susurration of exchanged
fire. Calandryll found his quiver emptied and
nocked a crimson shaft. He noticed the head was
viciously barbed. Then saw it lift a man from his
saddle, spilling him down among the bodies already
littering the slope. Horses went riderless now, mill-
ing on the gradient, some turning to canter away
from the fight, others running wild alongside the
remaining attackers, halting only at the rocks, to
rear and flail their forehooves, shrilling madly, as if
they joined the surviving kotu-zen in outrage at the
slaughter.

The questers resisted the impulse to shoot the an-
imals, less from any altruistic motives than the
need to conserve ammunition: for all they sent the

WILD MAGIC

435

Jesserytes' own shafts back/ still they stood peril-
ously close to finding themselves without arrows.

A final headlong rush saw three more crimson-
armored bodies dispatched to Zajan-ma—and the
four surviving warriors into the rocks.

They dropped their bows as they came close
springing limber from their plunging animals for all
the weight of their armor. The riderless beasts af-
forded them cover, a living, surging barricade of
flesh and muscle they drove before them, in among
the stones, swords in hand.

Calandryll tossed his bow away, the straight-
sword flashing from its scabbard to parry a blow
that would otherwise have divided his skull. His ri-
poste glanced off a red breastplate and he flung
himself to the side as the heavy Jesseryte sword en-
deavored to carve his ribs. He struck again, the
blow slowing his attacker even though it failed to
sunder the man's helmet. He was driven back,
seeking some chink in the crimson armor; finding
none. The Jesseryte advanced, fulvous eyes glaring
from behind the masking veil. Through the rocks,
Calandryll saw a second come running to take po-
sition beside the first, the two moving apart, that
they should attack from both sides. He heard the
clamor of steel on steel, on armor; heard Bracht's
bellowed curse. From the corner of his eye he
caught fleeting glimpses of the Kern and Katya re-
treating back through the jumbled stones, forced
like himself onto the defensive by the seemingly
impregnable armor of the kotu-zen.

He stepped past a boulder and damned his ill
luck as he realized he now stood in a cleared spot,
wide enough the two Jesserytes might easily flank
him. Then something clattered off a helmet and
one man staggered, loose kneed, his sword arm
dropping. There was a second impact and his veil

436 ANGUS WELLS

drove inward. Red gouted from the eye holes and
the kotu-zen fell down. Calandryll parried an at-
tack. Saw his attacker halt as a stone bounced from
the sweeping cheek-piece of his helmet, then totter
as another struck his breastplate. A third whistled
past Calandryll's head to strike the helmet where it
protected the warrior's brow. For an instant the
head was snapped back by the force of the blow:

Calandryll lunged, driving the straightsword up,
the point piercing the Jesseryte's jaw, his brain. The
man grunted and collapsed, his weight threatening
to wrest the sword from Calandryll's hand.

He snatched it loose and saw Cennaire standing
with a rock in each hand, poised to throw, her ex-
pression fierce. "Lady," he cried, "you save me
once again."

She smiled, fleetingly, and darted away, to where
Katya faced an opponent, driven back against a
semicircle of boulders, unable to retreat farther, or
to find a weakness in the man's armor. Calandryll
followed her, in time to see her hurl the stone with
terrible force, sending the kotu-zen staggering side-
ways. She flung another missile, that crashing
against the crimson helmet, the man groaning and
dropping to his knees. Katya sprang toward him
then, her saber darting, searching out the vulnera-
ble places in his armor, severing his throat.

Cennaire scooped up new stones and ran to
where Bracht dueled, the falchion a blur in the
dimming light, fending off the attack of the
Jesseryte's heavier blade. One stone smashed with
deadly accuracy against the kotu-zen's helm, the
second against his knee. He toppled, one leg
twisted at an unnatural angle, and Bracht leapt
astride him, a hand tugging back the helmet as the
other slashed the falchion across the windpipe.

"My thanks." The Kern raised his bloodied

WILD MAGIC 437

sword in salute. "Now do we quit this place ere
they send more."

They hurried to the horses, Ochen there before
them, reins gathered in his hands, muttering oaths
as he manhandled the recalcitrant beasts toward
them. Overhead, the sky darkened swifter than it
should, as if a storm gathered. To the west the sun
painted a band of sanguine light across the horizon;

to the east the moon was hidden behind the
strange obfuscation. To the north fires pricked the
plain with myriad distant glows. They mounted,
studying the way ahead, all with the same thought:

that it should be mightily difficult to pass un-
scathed through the massed ranks of the enemy.

"I think," said Ochen, "that the time has come
to take a chance."

Bracht laughed hugely at that and said, "We've
not already?"

"I'll chance the use of magic." Ochen's answer-
ing smile was fleeting. "I'll attempt to contact the
wazir-narimasu."

"Do we wait," asked Calandryll, "or do we ride?"

"Ride," said the mage. "Ride and pray."

They heeled their horses down the slope, Bracht
in the lead, holding the stallion to a fast canter, re-
serving the animal's strength for a final gallop. The
sky assumed a midnight hue, unlit by moon or
stars, though sullen light played, balefire that flick-
ered a morbid red. The reek of Tharn's malignity
grew, with it the sense of horrid, hopeless oppres-
sion. Riding hard on Ochen's heels, Calandryll
caught the brief waft of almonds. He turned, reas-
suring himself that Cennaire remained alongside,
and voiced a half-spoken prayer.

Do you Younger Gods hear me now. Do you aid
us, be it in your power, that we enter Anwar-teng
unharmed.

438 ANGUS WELLS

The fires ahead came closer; brighter, threaten-
ing. The sounds of men and animals drifted over
the grass. The pounding of their horses' hooves
counted out the minutes, the steady diminishment
of the distance between them and the hostile ranks
before. Calandryll rode with straightsword in hand,
thinking that did the Younger Gods, the wazir-
narimasu, not come to their aid, they must surely
die outside the walls of Anwar-teng- Overhead, the
balefire seethed, the air sullied with its stench, as if
flesh corrupted, burned. They drew closer to the
encircling fires ...

. - . Closer still, enough now that they heard the
alarums ringing strident from the enemy camp.
Bracht shouted, "Gallop! Ride for your lives!" and
gave the black stallion its head.

... And a riderless horse coined their charge, a
great horse, taller than the stallion, its hide a jet in
which starlight danced, as if it were composed not
of flesh but elemental matter. Its eyes flashed fiery,
and where its hooves struck the ground/ brightness
like splintered shards of sun erupted, silent despite
the tremendous speed of its passage. It overtook
them, and it seemed they were caught up in the
vortex of its passing, their mortal mounts dragged
onward, hooves seeming no longer to touch the
earth, but to run above it, on the air itself, unhin-
dered by the limits of physical existence.
Calandryll said, "Horul! Praise be!"

And in his mind—in all their minds—there came
a silent voice:

What aid is mine to give you shall have. Was
that not promised? Did you doubt then! Think
that I and all my kin should forsake youf Nay, we
stand with you as best we may. Remember that
where you go.

WILD MAGIC

439

Ahead, riders came out to meet them, lancers
and mounted bowmen.

Misguided fools, came Horul's thoughts, con-
tempt and pity mingled. They know not what they
do.

Arrows lofted and disappeared in sparkling corus-
cations as they neared the god. The lancers charged
and the leading horsemen were bowled over, flung
back against their fellows as if by an unimaginable
wind. Several yelled in terror and turned from the
god's headlong rush. Behind him the questers thun-
dered through the perimeter of the camp, fires
flung wild beneath their hooves to ignite pavilions,
stacked bales of hay. The insurgents' horses
shrilled their fear, plunging on the picket lines,
tethers snapping as they bucked and reared, freeing
them to run wild through the contusion that
gripped the bivouac.

The walls of Anwar-teng loomed above, beacons
bright with promise of refuge along the ramparts. A
blue radiance, pale, but strengthening steadily, rose
from the citadel to confront the balefire that gath-
ered concentrated overhead. The charnel reek of
Tharn's manifestation was opposed by the sweet
scent of almonds. From the embrasures along the
walls shafts flew, and faint through the tumult of
pandemonium that rose from the besiegers came
shouts of encouragement.

The teng's gates creaked open, blue light bright
there, and armored men, archers, running a little
way clear to form an avenue into which the god
brought the questers.

Horul halted, rearing, within the aegis of the
gates. Vast hooves pawed air, and from the flared
equine nostrils fumed brilliance, like tumbling
starlight.

/ leave you now. Where you soon go I cannot fol-

440 ANGUS WELLS

low, nor any of my kindred, save in spirit. Know
that you go with our blessings, with our gratitude,
and our hope that you succeed, that you return
safe.

The warriors of Anwar-teng—their armor a blue
to match the radiance overhanging the hold,
Calandryll dimly noticed—drew back. Horul's great
haunches bunched and the god sprang skyward,
light trailing behind, the hooves striking silent on
the air. The balefire gathered before him, as if ma-
lign power massed in opposition within the aethyr.
The gates swung to even as Calandryll followed the
god's progress, the thud of their closing over-
whelmed an instant later by a tremendous thunder-
clap, a fireglow that leapt across the heavens,
momentarily bathing Anwar-teng and all the sur-
rounding plain. Lake Galil, in fierce red light.

Then darkness as eyes near blinded adjusted to
the ensuing gloom. Calandryll felt the chestnut
move under him, blinking as he struggled to regain
sight, finding a kotu-zen leading him into the bow-
els of the citadel. He rubbed at his eyes and called,
"Cennaire?" hearing her answer him, her voice
hushed, awed, from close behind. Ahead, as sight
returned, he saw Katya, Bracht at her side, Ochen
before them, deep in conversation with the three
brilliantly robed men who strode briskly alongside
the wazir's horse.

None spoke further as they proceeded into the
hold, down avenues and roadways crepuscular for
all the lanterns hung from the high, surrounding
buildings, toward the center.

A square there, entered by four roads extending
toward the cardinal points of the compass, the
buildings that formed its walls each marked with
the horsehead emblem of the Jesserytes' god. They
dismounted—none came to aid them. but rather

WILD MAGIC

441

stood back respectful—and on Bracht's insistence
saw their animals safely stabled. Then haste,
Ochen and the three robed men bringing them
swift down corridors and across dim-lit halls, up
winding stairways, to a great chamber set high, its
ceiling pierced like that chamber in the keep with
a roundel of clear glass. Through it, Calandryll saw
the sky was once more dark and baleful, layered
with ominous light, though here there was no
sense of oppression, no redolence of Tharn's fell
emanation. He looked about.

As if in deference to stranger custom, the cham-
ber was lit with lanterns and candelabras, their
glow reflecting off bare stone walls, the plain wood
floor. It was a simple chamber, unadorned, at its
center a round table, that ringed with faldstools,
more standing empty than were occupied by the
men who waited there, studying the incomers with
wondering, narrow eyes. The three who had met
the questers at the gate moved away, taking places
among their fellows, and Ochen stepped forward,
bowed, and named the questers one by one.

Calandryll studied the men seated around the ta-
ble. All were old, their faces wrinkled, to greater or
lesser extent like Ochen's, most white-haired,
though a few yet boasted grey, and some even de-
parting vestiges of the Jesserytes' characteristic
black locks. All wore robes of splendid color, the
spectrum displayed in magnificent combinations.

The introduction done, a man at the table's far-
thest limit motioned the newcomers to seat them-
selves. He, it seemed, was elected spokesman, for
when they took their places the rest remained si-
lent as he said, "We bid you welcome to Anwar-
teng, friends. We are the wazir-narimasu, and I
am named Zedu. We owe you thanks for what you
have attempted ..."

ANGUS   WELLS

"Have attempted?" Calandryll caught the omi-
nous meaning of that past tense and interrupted,
courtesy dismissed as sudden fear arose. "How
mean you, have attempted?"

Zedu studied him a moment, and in the slanted,
fulvous eyes, Calandryll thought he saw despair.
None others spoke, the silence filling up with men-
ace. Zedu sighed, summoning his next words with
obvious effort, each one a hammer blow. driving
another nail into the coffin of hope.

"A day agone a rider came to Anwar-teng. A mes-
senger from the loyal holds, he claimed; slipped
through the rebel lines by dint of cunning. Jabu
Orati Makusen, he named himself."

"Ahrd!" Bracht's cry was loud; his fist thudded
on the table. "Rhythamun! He came here."

Calandryll heard Cennaire's sharp intake of
breath; was aware of her hand, tight upon his arm.
He heard Katya, her voice harsh with urgency, de-
mand, "And you hold him? In the names of all the
gods, tell me you hold him."

Zedu's face, the faces of his fellow sorcerers, gave
mute answer: Calandryll felt a hand clench within
his belly, tight and hard on his entrails. His mouth
was abruptly dry, and as he saw Zedu's head move
in negative gesture, an inarticulate cry burst from
his lips.

"We do not hold him. Horul forgive us, but . . ."

The mage's answer was drowned by Bracht's
shout: "You let him go? Ahrd's holy blood! How?
Did you not know him for what he is?"

The faldstool clattered to the floor as the Kern
rose, fists bunched in helpless anger, his eyes blaz-
ing cold and blue at the wazir-narimasu who sat
shamefaced before his wrath. Katya reached out,
touching his arm, urging him to calm even though
her own grey orbs flashed stormy.

WILD MAGIC

443

"Tharn waxes powerful," Zedu went on, apology
in his tone, a recrimination directed inward. "Even
dreaming, he sends what fell aid he may to those
who'd see him risen. He contaminates the minds of
men ..."

"And fuddles yours?" Bracht snatched the stool
upright, set it down with angry force. He turned to
Ochen. "Help, you promised, from these hedge-
wizards. They'll know Rhythamun for what he is
you said."

Ochen gave no answer, his ancient face ashen
now, his eyes wide with horror, his head slowly
shaking, as if he would deny all that he heard.
Bracht retook his seat, glaring furiously at the as-
sembled mages. They offered no response to his in-
sult; could only sit, eyes downcast, withered by the
Kern's scorn, his outrage.

Had this news come outside the walls of Anwar-
teng Calandryll thought he should likely have suc-
cumbed to desolation. Here, though, he could think
clearer, as if the magicks of these shamefaced sor-
cerers created an atmosphere of calm, in which he
was able to overcome despair, to think beyond dis-
appointment and rage. To Bracht he said, "Do we
hold in our tempers and hear Zedu out?"

"To what end?" Bracht snarled. "He tells us
Rhythamun is come here unrecognized, and roams
free. To where think you he roams?"

Calandryll motioned the furious Kern to silence.
turning back to Zedu. "Do you continue?" Even as
he spoke, he knew the answer to Bracht's rhetorical
question.

The wazir-narimasu smiled wan thanks. "We
were duped," he said. "Perhaps, were we less
concerned with this accursed war, we should
have known Jabu Orati Makusen for what he was."
He snorted, a bitter sound, filled with self-

444 ANGUS WELLS

condemnation. "We grew pndeful, I think, believ-
ing none should pass our scrutiny, even when our
attentions were focused on those forces gathered
beyond our walls. So it was this man was granted
entry, Tharn's fell power like a concealing shroud
about him. Horul, but he wasted no time! That
communion he holds with the Mad God was his
guide, and he found the gate - ..

"Aye, he found the gate and went through it!"

His voice faltered into silence. Calandryll drew
deep, rasping breath. It seemed the tissues of his
throat congealed, that his heart hammered on his
ribs, driving blood in hot and heavy pulses through
his skull. Hoarse, he asked, "When?"

"Today," came the low-voiced response. "At sun-
set, when Tharn's power waxes strongest."

"As we fought," he heard Bracht gasp. "Ahrd, but
that attack was intended to delay us, were we not
slain. Even as Horul came to our aid, Rhythamun
moved ahead of us."

We stand with you as best we can. Remember
that where you go.

Rhythamun gone through the gate, the Arcanum
with him. Had that been Horul's meaning? Had the
god known, even as he delivered them safe to
Anwar-teng, that the citadel was but a waystation
along their road? He struggled to order his
thoughts, to achieve a balance, a coherency of pur-
pose, that they not concede the struggle. Had they
not talked of crossing the Borrhum-ma)? Of pursu-
ing Rhythamun wherever the warlock ventured? Of
entering the gate themselves, should it be needful?

Aye, they had. But that had been before, when
hope—albeit faint—existed of overtaking their foe,
Of confronting him on mortal terms. Now that
hope was gone and two poor choices waited stark
for the taking: to give up, to concede Rhythamun

WILD MAGIC 445

the victory; or to pursue him into that limbo where
the Mad God lay, where the power of both master
and servant must surely wax overwhelming. The
thought, no longer some far-off notion but forbid-
ding reality now, was frightening. Ochen had spo-
ken of the wazir-narimasu lending their powers to
the quest, of schooling him further in those skills
the wazir deemed he needed, were he to confront
Rhythamun on the occult plane. There should be
no time for that now—were they to clutch what
slender strands of hope remained, they must go un-
prepared into limbo.

He turned to his companions, needing to speak
before dread clogged his mouth, before the enor-
mity of what he knew they must do became too
daunting.

"Then do we sit here debating, or do we go on?"

Katya's eyes met his, lit stormy grey: "Through
the gate?"

"After Rhythamun."

"We took a vow in Tezin-dar," said Bracht. "I'd
not renege my given word."

"Aye, we did," Katya said, and smiled a cold
smile. "And so we go on."

Calandryll turned to Cennaire, and she said, "I
go where you go."

"Then"—he encompassed the wazir-narimasu in
his gaze—"do you bring us to this gate? Swift, ere
Rhythamun has chance to employ the Arcanum's
gramaryes."

The sorcerers glanced one to the other, hesitant,
their expressions ranging from disbelief to naked
wonder. Zedu drew a nervous hand down the silver
length of his beard and said, "No mortal man has
ever returned from that place beyond the gate. Do
you venture there, it may well be you go to your
deaths."

446 ANGUS WELLS

"And if we do not go through?" Calandryll fixed
the mage with angry, urgent eyes. "Shall we wait
here to bid Tharn welcome? Does Rhythamun suc-
ceed and the Mad God be raised, I think our lives
shall not be very long. Save, perhaps, in count of
suffering, for Rhythamun has sworn to take his re-
venge of us."

His voice was flat, filled with a deadly calm:

Zedu and all his fellows flinched at its lash. Zedu
asked, "Be you set on this course?" Another said,
"Dare we risk the opening of the gate? Is Tharn
raised, it were better that portal be held shut." And
then another: "Be Tharn raised, think you we can
hold the gate closed?" And another: "This is a de-
cision for all, in council."

"Shall you sit debating while Rhythamun goes to
his master?" The table shuddered under the impact
of Bracht's fist. Blue eyes flung a challenge at the
sorcerers. "Shall you talk out the hours to the Mad
God's raising?"

Katya made no physical gesture, but her voice
was a goad, like a storm wind blowing: "From
Vanu I came, to deliver the Arcanum to destruc-
tion. The world I've traveled on that quest. It does
not end here!"

Calandryll turned to Ochen. "In Dera's name, in
Horul's name, do you persuade them? We've no
time now to lose!"

The ancient wazir seemed borne down by what
he had heard, sunk beneath an awful weight of de-
spondency, sitting slumped, his eyes closed as if he
fought back tears. For a moment Calandryll
thought his words had gone unheard, but then
Ochen's eyes opened and he shuddered, as if wak-
ing from a bad dream. He raised his head, staring
down the length of the table, and nodded.

"You are the wisest, the greatest, of us all," he

WILD MAGIC

447

said, and though his voice was soft, still it carried,
clear in all their ears, "and I only a wazir, not one
of you. But this I tell you—that these four have
walked with gods, and go about the business of the
Younger Gods; foreordained are they to this pur-
pose. They alone may defeat Rhythamun; they
alone may prevent Tharn's resurrection. Do you
stand in their way, you stand condemned by Horul
and all his kindred gods. Do you delay them, do
you not give what aid you may, then in Horul's
name I tell you that you league with Tharn!"

There came a murmuring from the wazir-
narimasu at that, a susurration of affront and out-
rage, support and dissent. Calandryll stared about,
wild-eyed in his impatience, thinking that did he
but know the location of the gate he would go
there, fight his way there if need be. It seemed the
minutes ticked out in long ages, each one taking
Rhythamun a step closer to his fell goal: he ground
his teeth in frustration, roundly damning the sor-
cerers' vacillation. Bracht sat raw-featured in his
anger, Katya tense beside him, lightning in her grey
eyes; Cennaire sat still and solemn, a hand unno-
ticed on Calandryll's arm.

Then Zedu motioned for silence, raising his
voice to be heard over the hubbub- "Does Ochen
speak the truth, he's every right to address us so,
and we do. indeed, stand condemned." Argument
died, the wazir-narimasu turning toward their
elected spokesman. Zedu paused, the chamber fall-
ing silent, "And I believe him. Ere long—do we
survive—he shall be counted among our numbers,
and I've no doubt but that he speaks aright. I cast
my vote in favor—I say we bring these folk to the
gate, and swift."

"And what of those others who've say in this?"

448 ANGUS WELLS

demanded one dissident. "Shall their voices not be
heard?"

"They man our defenses," said Zedu. "We've not
the time/ I think."

"We've not the right to make such decisions save
in full convocation," the other argued. "Let runners
be sent to them."

It looked to Calandryll that argument should
erupt afresh, that proposal and counter should tick
and tock the minutes out until the dialogue be
ended by Tharn's coming. In his ear he heard
Bracht hiss, "Ahrd! Be these the wisest of all
Jesserytes? They babble like children, squabbling
out the world's ending." He nodded, grunting help-
less agreement, and turned to Ochen.

"Might you not bring us to the gate alone?"

Ochen shook his head wearily, and said, "To the
gate, were we not halted. But not through it—I've
not the cantrips of opening, and seven are needed
(or that task."

Calandryll groaned, returning his attention to
the debate in time to hear Zedu declare, "Do we
send runners then time wastes. And do we sum-
mon all here, who shall maintain the gramaryes of
protection? I tell you we must forgo convention
and agree this thing among ourselves, now."

A supporter said, "Aye! And my vote is cast with
Zedu, with Ochen."

"Ochen's not a vote in this," returned the quib-
bler.

Ochen seemed then to summon an inner strength.
He rose to his feet, straight-backed, his voice a toc-
sin, commanding. "Nay, I've not a vote, save that
which every being in this sad world of ours has—to
choose betwixt the Younger Gods and Tharn—and
that I cast for Horul and his kin. Nay, I'm not
among your number—and be this the manner of

WILD MAGIC 449

your governance, the way of your counsels, I'd not
deem it any great honor, for I perceive you little
different to ordinary folk. This brave Kern has said
it—'They babble like children, squabbling out the
world's ending.' Horul, already you've admitted
yourselves duped by the Mad God's servant, let
him pass through the gate! And now you sit quar-
reling like fishwives as he draws ever closer to his
master." He paused, the eyes that ranged the wazir-
narimasu glinting tawny, furious, subduing them
so that none voiced objection or interrupted, as if
they sat transfixed by his wrath. "I say again—your
vacillation serves only Tharn's purpose! I tell you—
bring these brave folk to the gate and send them
through! They'd chance their lives, and more, to
save this sorry world of ours, while you . .. You'd
quibble and debate matters of protocol as the world
falls down about your ears. You'd argue pro and con
until the Mad God walks our world. Send them
through, I tell you! Put an end to this fainthearted
caution and send them through!"

His oration ended on a shout, after it a long si-
lence, broken at last by Zedu.

"I say we heed Ochen's words. We stand cen-
sured, and I say we send them through the gate."

From around the table came sundry eager Ayes,
then slower agreement from the more hesitant, un-
til only a handful remained objecting, and they fi-
nally swayed by their fellows, so that concord was
at last reached.

"You'd go now?" asked Zedu/ looking from one
to the next.

The questers looked in turn at one another, and
it seemed to Calandryll they stood at the brink of
a precipice, an aethyric chasm far greater, far
deeper, than even the Kess Imbrun. To leap into
that rift was to suffer only physical wreckage; the

450 ANGUS WELLS

step he knew they would take now promised far
worse. He saw Bracht's fierce, grim smile; Katya's
resolution writ firm on her lovely face. He found
Cennaire's hand and met her eyes, saw her nod.
"Aye," he said, speaking for them all. "We'd go
now."

"Then may Horul and all his kin walk with
you," said Zedu, rising. "Do you follow and we'll
bring you there."

BACK then, descending stairways, traversing corri-
dors, until they came once more to ground level
and passed out into the plaza, the wazir-narimasu a
bustling throng of color about them, Ochen beck-
oning them close, speaking urgently as they went.

"I'd have had more time to verse you the better
in matters occult. But ... Remember those lessons
you've had, Calandryll. That knowledge should
stand you firm, do you but call on that power
within you. Remember, all of you, that you are as
one, a gestalt where you go. And you've that blade
that Dera blessed . .. there's power in that. Horul,
but I'd have had more time . .. No matter; fate de-
cides. Katya, you've the mirror? Aye? Excellent."

The roiling mutter of thunder drowned out his
words, and through one narrow window cut into
the wall of the corridor they hurried down,
Calandryll saw malign crimson lightning engulf
the sky, momentarily dimming the blue radiance
that domed the teng. A dreadful wind, noisome,
gusted, sending the beacon fires along the ramparts
to streaming lines of turbulent flame. A second em-
brasure revealed scintillating tendrils of blue that
wavered under the wash of red, trembling, assailed,
but then interweaving to reestablish the protective
vault.

WILD MAGIC 451

They passed along a loggia where the colonnades
and the roof trembled, quivering under the sonic
impact of thunder. Across the sky passed bolts of
man-made lightning, fireballs hurled from the be-
siegers' catapults, some consumed by the blue radi-
ance, a few landing in showers of sparks and gouts
of flame on rooftops or streets. And all the time,
through the rattle of the thunder and the eerie
howling of unnatural wind, Ochen spoke, as if he
would, urgently, impress upon them what knowl-
edge was his to impart, remind them of all he had
given, and all they had learned.

"Remember what the gijan, what Kyama, scried:

'You may succeed—it is within your power.' "

Calandryll held silent his memory of her subse-
quent words: "Or you may not—victory is within
the power of your enemies."

"Remember," Ochen continued as they crossed
the plaza, "that 'one may, unwitting, aid you, and
be that so, his wrath shall be great. You shall need
also that power one of you commands, and that an-
other holds. Trust—let trust be the keystone of
your union. Without trust you become nothing and
shall be defeated.' "

Bracht said, "Trust we have now—the rest re-
mains a riddle still."

"Aye, perhaps," said Ochen as a door was opened
and they plunged into a lightless corridor, "I'd
hoped the wazir-narimasu should enlarge on that.
Oh, Horul, had we only more time!"

"We've not," said Calandryll bluntly, seeing a
torch flare ahead, shedding scant radiance along the
gloomy passage. "Do you give us your interpreta-
tion?"

"I've wondered what it should be," Ochen re-
turned, and fell silent awhile as they descended a

452 ANGUS WELLS

narrow stairwell, the walls cold and smooth, press-
ing close.

The stairs ended in a low-ceilinged chamber that
smelled of ancient stone, unused, a metal door
black at the farther side. Zedu went to it and
pressed his palms against the surface, murmuring,
the words filling the chamber with the scent of al-
monds. Six of the wazir-narimasu followed him in
turn, and then he grasped a ring and swung the
door open, speaking again so that pale, achromatic
light, sourceless, illumined a farther descent.

"You've two enemies, I think," Ochen said.
"Rhythamun and Anomius."

"This is not," Bracht remarked over his shoulder,
wryly, "unknown to us."

"But perhaps the one might be turned against the
other." Ochen's voice faded as the stairway angled,
returning as it straightened, falling ever deeper be-
neath Anwar-teng: " 'One may, unwitting, aid
you.' "

"How?" asked Calandryll.

"I know not." Ochen sighed- "Only that I've
sensed some design in Cennaire's presence since
first I met her. What else did Kyama say? Aye,
that's it—'You shall need also that power one of
you commands, and that another holds.' "

"I've my sword," Calandryll said, "and whatever
power you say rests in me."

"And Bracht's Ahrd's sap in his veins," said
Katya. "Might that be it?"

"I cannot say for sure." Ochen shook his head
ruefully. "Perhaps. And there's power in Cennaire,
too; both that Anomius gave her, and some knowl-
edge of magic."

Another door then, ensorcelled, again opened by
seven of the wazir-narimasu. As they voiced their
cantrips, Cennaire said, "I've those enhancements

WILD MAGIC

4S3

revenancy gives me, but what use shall they be
where we go? And magic? I know that gramarye of
transportation Anomius taught me, and that which
works the mirror, none others."

"Time, time," Ochen muttered. "Had I only pon-
dered more on this ..."

"And none now," said Calandryll as Zedu led the
way down yet another steep stairs, his magic once
more conjuring wan radiance to light their passage.
"Save we descend into the very belly of the world."

"Perhaps it's enough," Ochen murmured. "The
power in you, the sword; Ahrd's sap in Bracht's
veins; those gramaryes Cennaire commands.
You've the mirror still, Katya?"

"Aye," answered the Vanu woman, tension
leeching her voice of amusement. "I've not lost it
betwixt your last asking and now."

"Forgive me." Ochen shook his head, speaking
absentmindedly.

The stairs ended in a final chamber, carved from
the bedrock on which Anwar-teng stood, doorless
save for the entryway, lit only by that glow Zedu's
magicks produced. Doorless, but—to eyes become
familiar with such portals—gated. It was a small
chamber, cubic, crowded with the press of bodies,
the farther wall decorated around all its edges with
sigils, those seeming to vibrate and pulse with in-
sensate life, as if they fought unseen pressure from
an unseen place. Between them stood plain stone,
and it seemed that from the stone, oozing from its
lithic pores, came a miasma that struggled with the
surrounding cantrips, seeking release, seeking to
penetrate the mortal world, as if occult powers
pressed hard against the barrier.

Zedu said, "This is the gate. This is the reason
Anwar-teng was built—to hold it closed."

Bracht said, "A pity you failed to guard it better."

454 ANGUS WELLS

Calandryll said, "Do you work your magicks
then? And send us through?"

Zedu nodded. Calandryll took Cennaire's hand
and said, "But first I'd ask a boon of you."

The wazir-narimasu ducked his head: "Be it in
our power, it is yours."

"I'd ask," Calandryll said, "that do we return
safe, you bend all your occult skills to restoring
Cennaire her heart. Likely you know her for a
revenant—if not, Ochen shall recount the story—
and I'd have you make her again mortal."

As had Ochen before him, so Zedu hesitated,
looking to Cennaire. "You'd have this?" he asked.

"I would," she said. "Do we return; be it in your
power."

"What you ask is not done easily," he warned, "if
it can be done at all. There's danger in it—the pos-
sibility of failure. Better, perhaps, that you remain
as you are."

"No!" Cennaire's voice was firm. Her grip tight-
ened on Calandryll's hand. "I'd have back my heart
and be once more mortal, no matter the danger."

"As you wish." Zedu ducked his head. "Do you
return safe, then you've my word we'll attempt it."

The answer was not so confident as Calandryll
would have wished, and he feared he saw doubt on
Zedu's face, but there was no time left for further
questioning. "Then we've a battle to fight, do you
send us to it," he said, and unsheathed the
straightsword.

He drew Cennaire to his side. Bracht and Katya
moved close, blades naked, ready,

Ochen said, "Horul go with you, my brave
friends. I await your safe return."

Calandryll smiled grim thanks as Zedu and his
fellow mages commenced their cantrip.

The chant mounted in volume and the sigils

WILD MAGIC

455

blazed bright as the perfume of almonds filled the
chamber. It seemed the primordial stone of the
wall blurred then, melting into an absence, beyond
which lay nothing save a terrible darkness. The
blade of Calandryll's sword seemed to flicker as if
possessed of independent life as foulness gusted
from the vacuum before him, a corpse-breath vent-
ing. He glanced sidelong at his comrades, seeing
their faces set grim, resolute, and knew his own
held a matching expression. He paced a step for-
ward, toward the limbo beyond the stone, beyond
mortal ken. It seemed to beckon. It seemed a maw
waiting to devour them. The chamber faded from
his sight, Ochen, the wazir-narimasu, with it. He
heard Bracht say, "So, do we stand here watching?
Or do we bring the fight to Rhythamun?"

And he laughed, wild, and walked into the dark-
ness of the void.




UNLIKE the gates that had brought them to
and from Tezin-dar, this. Those transitions
through the interstices of the worlds, mundane and
occult, had been mercifully brief. Not so this pas-
sage; this was a descent into a vortex of turbulent
color, incandescent, blood that was fire, fire that
was blood, crimson and scarlet, vermilion, car-
mine, a sanguine spectrum, as if they were swal-
lowed by some inconceivably vast beast, a creature
of nonsubstance down whose gullet they were
sucked, microbes in its immensity. There was heat:

a roaring, pulsing holocaust, fervid, sucking air
from straining lungs, forcing tongues of leeching
flame down seared throats, melting, it seemed—it
felt—the pulpy matter of eyeballs, devouring the
organs the probing flames searched out. And
stench: a fetor of moldering flesh, putrid and cor-
rupt/ mephitic, unendurable in nostrils that surely
must be roasted, watering eyes that must surely be
liquescent tears on unfleshed bone. Hope was re-
dundant here: an abstraction, meaningless, impo-

WILD MAGIC

457

tent in this transition of agony. Neither did time
any longer exist: there was only the eternal now of
the gate's imposed suffering.

Then recognizable pain, as when burned flesh en-
counters ice, solidity cold beneath them, startling
in its immediacy, freezing air upon their faces, fire
and flame replaced with utter cold, with black and
white that whirled around them, stinging with
myriad pinprick blows.

Calandryll groaned, levering himself upright, the
straightsword a crutch as his head spun and tor-
mented muscles threatened to forgo their duty, to
pitch him down, loose-limbed and helpless as a
babe. Willpower alone held him up, his head turn-
ing slowly, sight returning slower. The very air
hung white about him, freckling darkness. He
sucked in great lungfuls, gasping as his lips and
tongue and throat burned afresh, seared now by
cold's fire. He squinted, surveying this shadow
world, and saw nothing save the whiteness, the
darkness. He turned from it, finding Cennaire rising
tottery to her feet, her raven hair all dusted white.
He offered her his hand, but she it was supported
him, lending him her revenant strength, so that for
a while they clung together, then went to where
Bracht and Katya clambered, looking to one another
for aid, to their feet. For a little while their memo-
ries of that dreadful passage warmed them, then the
cruel immediacy of the present intruded and they
shivered, chilled numb, each breath painful.

"Ahrd," husked Bracht, "but I thought us de-
stroyed then."

"We live," Katya said, and added, a wary after-
thought, "or so I think."

Calandryll raised his face skyward, if sky it was
that hung above them. "Aye," he said, "we live,

458 ANGUS WELLS

and this is likely the roof of the world, likely the
Borrhun-maj."

"Ochen spoke of guardians," Bracht warned
through teeth that began a castanet chattering. "If
this is, indeed, the Borrhun-maj."

"If the Borrhun-maj it be," said Katya somberly,
"we've little to fear from those creatures Ochen de-
scribed, for we shall not live long in this."

She gestured with her saber at their surround-
ings, at the candid wilderness, and the peril of it
struck Calandryll with a terrible urgency. They had
neither food nor fire, not the kindling or the spark-
ing of it; the air was thin, barely filling their lungs,
threatening to collapse those organs, slowing
blood's flow, minds dazing as limbs numbed. They
should, he realized, freeze before they starved.

"This cannot be the ending of it," he said, hear-
ing his voice come harsh, straining for the air he
needed to shape the words, those punctuated by the
chattering of his teeth. "There must be a second
gate."

"Be it like that last," Bracht croaked grim laugh-
ter, "I wonder if I prefer this."

Calandryll lacked the energy to answer the
Kern's brave sally. It seemed his lips grew too
numbed to shape a smile even, and he only shook
his head, eyes straining to pierce the night, the
snowfall, finding nothing, neither landmarks nor
hope.

Cennaire it was who saw, her vision once more
surpassing their mortal eyesight. She turned slowly
around, unaware, it seemed, of the crystals that
frosted her lashes, the flakes that caught and froze
in her hair. She pointed and cried triumphantly,
"There! Something stands there!"

They began to trudge, the snow deep, to their
knees and higher, clinging as if it would delay them

WILD MAGIC

•f59

long enough the cold might take them in its forlorn
embrace. To struggle onward was an extortionate
task: far easier to rest. to halt, to lie down, to die.
Cennaire went in front, crushing down a path of
sorts, returning to help where help was needed.
They sheathed their swords, lest hands freeze to
hilts, stumbling drunkenly, heads swimming as
the poor, thin air robbed them of sense, of direc-
tion, none objecting to the strong arms she lent
them, holding them up when they should have
fallen, bringing them on when they might have
succumbed.

They traversed a level place for a while, and then
the way rose, sloping upward, a hard climb for all it
was but gradual and not at all steep. They could see
nothing, save the snow; felt little save pain as the
dreadful cold penetrated their bodies, numbing
blood in its course, dulling the beat of tortured
hearts. It seemed to Calandryll he roved an eternity
of blank cold, no longer a living man but an autom-
aton, empowered by purpose alone, enabled only by
Cennaire's strength.

None spoke as they made that climb, which
seemed to them forever, as if they clambered step
by awkward step over the roof of the world, a life-
time of ascent, up to the unforgiving sky, where
stars shone distant, disinterested in the waning of
the lives below. They pricked out night's sable can-
opy, visible now, for the snowfall was ended here,
as if they climbed too high for that chill precipita-
tion. The stars and a moon waxed full, a vast blue-
white orb hung like cyclop's eye above. Calandryll
thought he might reach out and take it in his hand,
had he only that much strength left.

"There." Cennaire stretched out an arm. "Do
you see?"

They turned, slowly, three ice-beings, pale shapes

460 ANGUS WELLS

that blended with the whiteness all around, life
bleeding from them surely as if from wounds.
Calandryll thought it little wonder no human crea-
ture, sorcerer or no, had returned from this place;

and then how Rhythamun should have survived.
That the warlock lived yet, he was certain. He
knew not how, only that his enemy lay ahead—if
direction yet held meaning in this place between
the gates, in this place that existed, he sensed, in
both the real world and the realm of the aethyr. He
knew not how—only that within him some sensate
compass turned its pointer to Rhythamun's
pneuma.

Before them, a shadow thing marked out by its
obfuscation of the stars, stood a gate to nowhere,
two great megaliths upright against the night, sar-
sen stones crossed by a lintel, within their aegis
nothing, an absence that swallowed sky and stars.
Calandryll gaped, wondering how it could be he
had not seen so stark a monument. Then gaped
again as he perceived shapes, shifting on the snow,
moving toward them and the gate.

"What are they?" Cennaire cried, horror in her
voice as her enhanced sight outlined them clearer
than Calandryll could discern.

"The guardians, likely," was all he could force
out in answer.

"Then best we hasten," she said.

Stumbling, benumbed, they moved toward the
gate. The guardians moved swifter, spatulate feet
propelling them at a shambling run across the
snow. They stood hunchbacked, and even then
taller than a man, great bulky shapes of shaggy sil-
very fur, broad-shouldered, with dangling arms that
ended in hooked talons. As the questers staggered
toward the gate, Calandryll saw white eyes, empty
of pupils, glowering from beneath craggy brows,

WILD MAGIC

461

nostrils invisible beneath the fur that draped the
wide faces, parting where jaws all filled with ser-
rated fangs gaped wide in anticipation. They ulu-
lated, the sound eerie in the silence, thin and high/
like the howling of distant wind, full of menace,
of blood-promise. They came fast, how many im-
possible to tell, for they blended with the land-
scape, and shifted, prancing, challenging with their
yammering cries and flailing paws.

Unthinking, Calandryll pushed forward, stagger-
ing to the fore, the straightsword drawn now, in-
stinctive. He thought his fingers frozen to the hilt,
and wondered how in this awful cold he should
find the strength to fight such creatures.

We stand with you as best we may.

Horul's promise; Dera's blessing on his blade: it
seemed his blood coursed stronger then, his cold-
fused joints suddenly more limber, as if the sword
itself, or the promise, infused him with warmth.
The guardians wailed in rage, advancing: he went
to meet them.

One, larger than the rest, outpaced its fellows,
greeting his challenge with a viciously taloned paw
that slashed at his face. He brought the sword
down, cleaving the limb, reversing his stroke to
carve the furred belly. The creature screamed, in
pain now, its blood a dark shadow on the silver fur,
the snow. It staggered and was shoved carelessly
aside as its companions thronged closer, vying with
one another to confront these intruders. Calandryll
swung the blade wide as they closed upon him.
They were vast so close, their sheer size, their
numbers, blocking sight of gate and sky, his com-
panions. He cut again, desperate, fighting for his
life, intent solely on driving through this barricade
of living flesh to the waiting portal, on surviving
this attack.

462 ANGUS WELLS

He ducked beneath a questing paw that should
have taken off his head had it found that target,
and drove his sword deep between ribs that grated
on the blade as he turned the steel, gouging a livid
wound there- He had thought perhaps the sword
should dispatch these monsters as it had dealt with
occult creations before, but these seemed physical,
and were only wounded by his blows—the guardian
swayed a moment, standing when weaker flesh
should have fallen dead, and then was thrown aside
by another that looked to overwhelm him with its
bulk, its jaws agape, the fangs daggers. He thrust
the sword into the maw, gagging on the foulness of
the beast's breath, the sullen odor of its body, and
flung himself clear as it toppled, skull pierced.

They might be slain, then. But what good that,
when there were so many? How long before sheer
weight of numbers overwhelmed? He cut and
thrust and hacked, his comrades hidden in the
press. He wondered, fearfully, how they fared, they
without Dera's blessing on their steel, Cennaire
without a weapon.

A lull then, a gap between the shuffling bodies
revealing them locked in desperate combat,
Bracht's falchion darting swift, Katya's saber slash-
ing, Cennaire grappling barehanded. Speed and
sword skill alone kept them alive—but for how
long? Calandryll dodged between two grim crea-
tures, his blade a shimmering blur that trailed
blood in its wake as he hurled himself toward the
Kand woman, the guardian that threatened to bear
her down. He swung the straightsword with all his
strength against the beast's spine, bone cut and
breaking, Cennaire's face glimpsed brief, fierce, as
she turned to face another.

He fought for his own life then, aware even as he
paced out the steps of that deadly dance that

WILD MAGIC

463

Cennaire avoided the paw that reached for her and
clutched a wrist so thick her hands failed to encir-
cle the limb. She was lifted up, helplessly kicking
at the beast, its free paw questing for her throat,
she, for all her strength, barely able to fend off the
slashing talons. Calandryll dispatched his own at-
tacker and went again to her aid, slashing the crea-
ture's legs, severing hamstrings, Cennaire springing
clear as it bellowed and fell. He drove the sword
down into the neck, severing vertebrae, Cennaire
moving closer, as if she sought the protection of his
presence, his blade. Over the high-pitched shrilling
of the guardians he shouted, "We must find the
gate before they overcome us!"

Cennaire nodded, and together they fought their
way to where Bracht and Katya stood, barely able
to hold the furious beasts at bay.

The very numbers of the creatures, and their
sheer ferocity, afforded some slight advantage, for
they made no effort to attack in concert, but
sought individually to confront the questers, jos-
tling one another, even lashing at their fellows in
their eagerness to reach their prey. Numerous
shaggy bodies littered the snow, but it seemed that
for each one that fell, the darkness birthed more to
augment those already contesting entry to the gate.

It seemed a hopeless battle. That the quest must
end here, atop the Borrhun-maj, and Rhythamun
escape to raise his fell master. The guardians were
too many; they were too strong. They might be
slain, but ere long they must overcome the quest-
ers by sheer weight of numbers alone: Calandryll
roared, "Together! Back to back, and find the gate!"

He acted on his own words, spurred by fear of
Rhythamun's victory, hacking with a terrible vigor
at the howling creatures that yet stood betwixt him
and the portal. Limbs fell sundered; all around the

ANGUS   WELLS

snow grew dark with spilled blood. He knew
Cennaire fought at his side, trusted that Bracht and
Katya stood behind as he sought to carve a way
through. The guardians shrieked furiously, more
and more emerged from the night. Oh, Dera. he
thought, shall we die heiet Does it all end heref

And then, as bloodied steel clove a skull, he saw
the gate, clear, the path a moment open. He yelled,
"Now! Swift! I'll hold them off."

He swung the straightsword in a wide arc as the
guardians ran to block the way, moving aside that
the others might go by him into the gate. He heard
Bracht shout, "Together, or not at all!" and then
gasp. He turned his head, fearing the Kern slain,
and saw Cennaire move past him, dragging Bracht
and Katya bodily with her.

She halted a bare handspan before the portal,
screaming, "Calandryll/ now!"

He answered, "Aye!" and hacked at an angry,
bestial face, cut a thrusting paw, felt another scrape
his chest, and flung himself back, against them,
propelling them all into the gate.

Now they were leaves blown down the avenues of
time; flotsam on the winds of eternity. They
floated weightless, noumenal in the vacancy be-
tween tellurian and aethyric hyles. There was only
quiddity, as if flesh were stripped painless from
bone and bone dissolved in the instant of entrance.
They were pure motes of ego, no longer carnal but
become atmans, incorporeal: they existed now only
as pneuma.

As sparks rising from a god-built fire they drifted
in absence. Sensation no longer existed, nor senses;

there was only being. And in Calandryll a sudden
realization that it was toward this end Ochen had

WILD MAGIC

465

tutored him so fervently. The cantrips and the
gramaryes the wazir had taught him had been but
exercises—useful enough in that substantial world
they had quit, but meaningless in this everlasting
now—designed to prepare his atman, his pneuma
for this exigency, to shift the pattern of his think^
ing, the very fabric of his mind, toward that level
that should allow him control, the hope of survival
in this nullity.

He had not the least idea how he did it: thought
was pure here, a thing of itself, less the outcome of
ratiocination than the fact of whatever existence he
now inhabited. Perhaps it was that power sorcerers
and spaewives discerned in him; perhaps it was
some gift of the Younger Gods. The source mat-
tered no more than the cause—only the affect held
meaning. He willed it, and it was: they emerged in
the realm of the aethyr.

They stood upon a greensward, beneath a sky of
gentle azure, cumulus drifting majestic on a soft
breeze/ the sun benign on their faces. A hurst of
splendid oaks rustled softly at their backs and be-
fore them ran a river painted all blue and darting
silver by the sun. Little flowers, cerulean and saf-
fron, sprinkled the grass; birds sang. Across the
river, hazy in the distance, stood an edifice of white
and gold, splendid. Calandryll looked toward it, and
knew Rhythamun was there, and dreaming Tharn.
And that save he held this plenum extant, it should
dissolve and become another thing, a thing of
Rhythamun's creation, or Tharn's, or perhaps of the
First Gods. He turned to his companions.

They stood befuddled, staring about as if un-
trusting of their eyes, their senses, as if they antic-
ipated the dissolution of the solidity beneath their
feet, a return to that state of unbeing, or to the ice
wastes of the Borrhun-maj.

466 ANGUS WELLS

"Where are we?" Bracht asked. "What place is
this? Another Tezin-dar?"

Cennaire drew close as he answered: "This is the
aethyr—limbo. Tharn rests there." He pointed
across the river, to the mausoleum. "And Rhytha-
mun."

"This seems"—Katya stooped, plucked a flower,
and held it to her nose—"entirely substantial. I had
thought limbo should be ... different."

"Limbo is . . ." Calandryll struggled for the
words that might rationally explain concepts he did
not rationally understand, then shrugged. "Limbo
is nothing, nonmaterial ... A concept, and so may
be shaped to what you will. Ochen should explain
it better than I."

The Vanu woman studied him awhile, frowning.
Then: "Do you say this world is your mind's mak-
ing?"

"This world, what we see"—he gestured around—
"aye. I know not how, only that I was able."

"That power in you," she said softly, awed.

Bracht, blunter, said, "You create all this?"

And Calandryll answered as best he could. "Not
create it, I think, but impose my will upon the
matter of creation."

"Ahrd," the Kem said softly, almost reverential-
ly. "Are you become a god then?"

"No." Calandryll shook his head, smiling. "Were
I that, I'd find it simpler to deny our enemy. I've
that power in me, I suppose—what Ochen saw, and
the spaewives—and that combines with Ochen's
teaching, that I can better comprehend the stuff of
limbo, of the aethyr, and so shape it to my wishes.
To Rhythamun this is likely a very different place."

"To Rhythamun ... aye," Bracht murmured. "I
wonder what he sees."

WILD MAGIC

467

"Likely his sight is shaped by his pneuma "
Calandryll said.

"Then to him, this likely a poisonous place "
Bracht returned. "You say he's there?" His gaze
moved past Calandryll to the marbled splendor in
the distance,

"Aye." Calandryll nodded, certainty in his voice.
"The Mad God lies there, dreaming of resurrec-
tion."

"Then do we go there?" Bracht demanded. "And
halt his dreaming?"

Calandryll thought it should likely not be so
easy. Whatever power lay in him he thought must
be equaled or outweighed by that knowledge
Rhythamun possessed. The warlock had lived long
ages, accumulated the ill wisdom of centuries, and
now—so close to his fell goal—he should not readi-
ly concede the battle. But he said, "Aye," confi-
dently, and began to walk toward the river, aware
of Cennaire's eyes on him, admiring, almost wor-
shipping.

Bracht stepped out as if devoid of doubt; as if. at
last come close to their quarry, he foresaw only vic-
tory. It was Katya who echoed Calandryll's uncer-
tainty. "How came he here?" she wondered. "Seven
wazir-narimasu it took, to open the first gate, yet
Rhythamun went through solitary. And alone, he
survived the Borrhun-maj to reach this place."

"He's powerful," Calandrylt said. "He commands
great magicks."

Katya nodded, falling silent, a cloud passing over
her face. Her grey eyes flashed stormy, but she said
no more.

"Shall honest steel prove sound here?" demanded
Bracht.

Calandryll frowned, unsure of the answer. At
length he said, "I think it likely. We're fleshed, no?

468 ANGUS WELLS

We feel the breeze, the ground beneath our feet—
so likely solidity becomes imposed on the insub-
stantial, and our blades own the same reality as we."

"Ahrd! A simple aye or nay would have suf-
ficed." Bracht chuckled, as if he reveled in the pros-
pect of the final confrontation. "I've no head for
these metaphysics. Be all this of your making, then
only hold my blade secure and sharp-edged, and I'll
give you Rhythamun's head."

Calandryll smiled and took Cennaire's hand, re-
assuring himself that she and he were, indeed, sub-
stantial. He felt less confident of success than
Bracht, and wondered if that was the Kem's func-
tion in the gestalt Ochen had spoken of, Bracht's
foreordained part in the quest: to furnish them
with optimism, to bring them on when fainter
souls might falter, careless of danger. And were
that so, he mused as they hurried toward the river,
what role does Katya play^ What Cennairef What
is my partf

That question he could not readily answer, and
cursed himself for it: they came ever closer to their
goal, and that evasive knowledge should likely
prove vital to their success—or their failure. He
gnawed at the problem, dredging conversations
with Ochen, the pronouncements of Kyama and
the other spaewives, from his memory. Those last,
hurried words of the wazir's came clearest, but still
fragmented . . .

One may. unwitting, aid you ...

That power one of you commands, and that an-
other holds ...

Perhaps the one might be turned against the
other .. .

A notion, nebulous as yet, began to form. He
turned to Cennaire.

"When Anomius ensorcelled the horse you rode

WILD MAGIC

469

across Cuan na'For . . . Did you not tell me he
looked out from the mirror? Worked his gramarye
even from Kandahar?"

"Aye," she answered, confused. "He had me hold
up the mirror, that he might see the horse. Why?"

"Perhaps . .." He shook his head. "No, it's noth-
ing. A thought only."

It was akin to the remembrance of a dream, or its
telling to another, as difficult to pin down, to voice.

He set it aside as Bracht spoke. "Do you give
some thought to the fording of this river?"

He stared at the burn. Burn? From across the
sward it had seemed little more than a brook,
likely shallow, easily crossed. Now he saw it wider,
turbulent, the water raging angry over threatening
stones, too deep to wade, too fierce to swim.

"It changes!"

Katya's voice was warning, alarmed. He stared
about, seeing the gentle pasture across the barrier
had become a wasteland, desolate, all bleak and
rocky, scattered with sad, twisted trees. The sky
changed hue, the placid azure replaced with omi-
nous lividity, the softly billowing clouds shaping
black anvils now, on which lightning was struck by
the hammer of grumbling thunder, the wrack
driven by a whistling wind.

"Rhythamun!" he gasped. "He shapes this."

"And bleak as his cursed soul," Bracht said.
"What do we do? Shall the Ahrd-damned gharan-
evur halt us now?"

The Kern's voice was angry, his blue eyes cold as
they stared at the torrent, beyond to the mauso-
leum, that yet grand, the marble shining under the
louring sky. He fingered his falchion's hilt as if he
would draw the sword and contest with the ele-
ments. There was only wrath and frustration in his
stance. Calandryll thought that did no other course

470 ANGUS WELLS

present itself, then likely Bracht would plunge into
the torrent, rejecting the obstacle: he drew strength
from that.

"No!" He stared at the water, at the miserable
vista beyond, and inside himself, instinctively, he
found the power of creation, triggered by Bracht's
anger, fueled by his own determination. "No, he
shall not."

A bridge imposed itself across the flood, solid
stone that rose in a sweeping, elegant arch, wide
enough they might all four go side by side. Katya
gasped; Cennaire started in amazement. Bracht
said, "Well spelled," approvingly, as if he took for
granted occult powers he had once viewed with
consummate suspicion. Calandryll stared, wonder-
ing at his own abilities.

They started across, and it seemed the river raged
louder in defeat, rising against its banks to hurl it-
self at the pilings of the arch, fuming, as if it would
bring down the structure. It failed, at least until
they trod the farther bank and had no further need
of the bridge, which sighed and tumbled down, the
blocks dissolving as the black torrent washed over
them.

Bracht said, grinning, "Now do you only restore
the sun and conjure us horses?"

He jested, but Calandryll chose to take him at
his word, directing the force of his will at the
tumultuous sky, commanding the storm clouds be-
gone, the lightning cease.

He failed: the storm ran closer, fulgurant bril-
liance striding the sorry landscape like the stilted
legs of some vast insect, the wind strengthening,
carrying the odor of corruption, the thunder growl-
ing as if in anticipation. He said, injecting more hu-
mor than he felt into his voice, "I fear we must
bear this, and afoot."

WILD MAGIC 471

"Well enough." Bracht clapped his shoulder.
"Likely you need to practice."

Calandryll grinned and answered the Kern,
"Aye," but as he surveyed the cheerless vista he
knew they walked a domain of Rhythamun's mak-
ing now. It was a forbidding place, as if the oppres-
sive, doom-laden atmosphere that had invested the
lesseryn Plain assumed solid form. They trod sco-
ria, the myriad cavities peeking the slag emitting a
vile, sulfurous odor. The wind, that should have
been cold, was humid and cloying. The thunder-
heads built with impossible rapidity, rising, merg-
ing, re-forming, to fill all the sky with a darkness
pierced by the blasts of lightning. The trees shook,
bare branches clattering, the sound like the rattling
of bones. Rain should have fallen, but none came,
only the supernal storm, like an inchoate beast
challenging them with its rage.

In all that horrid panorama only the mausoleum
stood bright, grandiose; and that, Calandryll
thought, fit, for Rhythamun or Tharn—whichever's
will created this landscape—would surely deem it
proper that the resting place of the Mad God stand
out ostentatious and resplendent.

They moved on; and the storm moved to meet
them.

Calandryll bound his will tight, focusing desire,
establishing around them a protective aegis that
fended off the lightning, the shafts sparking as they
struck the immaterial shield, coruscating as had
the mundane missiles over Anwar-teng, failing to
penetrate. The storm raged in its impotence, thun-
der buffeting their ears, setting their heads to ring-
ing, speech impossible in that turmoil: they pressed
forward.

In time—though time was an imposed concept in
this place, which stood beyond time—they came in

472 ANGUS WELLS

clearer sight of the mausoleum and halted, survey-
ing the great edifice.

The storm ringed it, a fulgid diadem, ominous
calm at the center. It reached toward the sky, vast
as the tengs of the Jesserytes, appearing as a single,
solid block of purest marble, struck through with
veins of glittering gold. From those corners they
could see slender towers, each topped with a
gleaming cupola, rose. There were no windows, nor
any doors. At their feet was a moat fashioned, like
the necropolis, of marble, smooth, steep walls de-
scending to turgid liquid, red and sluggish as blood.

"Another bridge?" Bracht suggested. "Perhaps a
portal?"

Calandryll summoned his will, assembling as
best he could thit power he still did not properly
understand, and felt it somehow opposed, as if an-
other mind contested the creation. He heard ma-
lign laughter, and then a horribly familiar voice,
fulsome, sardonic:

"My congratulations—I'd not thought you
should advance so far. I'd thought to have my re-
venge of you within that other world, which soon
the Lord Tharn shall rule. But no matter. You are
here, and so my victory grows the sweeter for
knowing you stand so close, yet entirely unable to
prevent my Lord's resurrection." More laughter
then, horridly contemplative. "Aye, poor fools, you
shall be blessed ere you go into eternal suffering—
you shall see Lord Tharn in all his risen glory, and
I in mine! Think on that, fools, while you wait
powerless. Contemplate your fate while I employ
that book you delivered to me to raise my Lord.
When that task's done, your fates shall be dis-
pensed."

The voice faded, applauded by roiling thunder,
the riotous dance of lightning. Calandryll ground

WILD MAGIC 473

his teeth, willing a bridge to shape, a gate to form:

without success. He heard Katya ask, "Can you not
span this filthy pond?" and shook his head, cha-
grined.

Bracht said, "Ahrd, must we stand waiting here,
like beasts for the slaughterer?"

Cennaire asked, "Can you do nothing?" and he
shook his head, groaning in terrible frustration, and
told them, "I've not the power. So close to Tharn,
Rhythamun's will vanquishes mine. Dera, were
Ochen only here to lend me his knowledge!"

"Might not the mirror summon him?" Cennaire
wondered. "Might your magic not shift its focus?"

Like a beacon shining dim through darkest night
that nebulous thought he had earlier gnawed on
took firmer shape . . . One may, unwitting, aid
you. Perhaps the one might be turned against the
other . .. He seized Cennaire's hands, surprising
her with his sudden enthusiasm, his cry of "Aye!
My thanks for that," and beckoned them all back
from the bloody moat.

"This shall be mightily dangerous," he began,
and heard Bracht snort disbelieving laughter and
demand, "More perilous than awaiting Tharn's res-
urrection?"

He smiled grimly and shrugged, and said, "I
know- not even if it shall be possible. But ..." He
paused, assembling his thoughts, weighing doubt
against the certainty of Rhythamun's success. The
others waited, curbing impatience. "I doubt I might
shift those gramaryes Anomius invested in the mir-
ror. I know not even if those gramaryes shall have
power here. But ..."

He hesitated: this plan bore the delineaments of
desperation. Bracht said fiercely, "Go on!"

"Can it be used from this realm," he said, "and
Anomius is able to transport himself here ..."

ANGUS   WELLS

"Anomius?" Skepticism rang stark in Bracht's
voice. "You'd double our enemies?"

Katya said, "Hold, Bracht. Hear him out."

Cennaire, her eyes wide, fixed on his face, said,
"The scrying! You interpret Kyama's words'"

Calandryll said, "Aye! Anomius owns greater
knowledge of the occult than I. Perhaps he might
win us entry—use his power against Rhythamun."

"On our behalf?" Bracht shook his head, the
words sharp-edged with doubt. "Even can the mir-
ror bring him here, think you he'd aid us? And
should he defeat Rhythamun—what then? Should
he not do what Rhythamun does, and the outcome
be the same?"

"Perhaps," Calandryll admitted. "But I can think
of no other course."

He felt Cennaire's hand clutch tight on his arm.
She said urgently. "It's his belief only you three
may take the Arcanum."

"This seems to me a thing of skillets and fires,"
said Bracht. Then shrugged and grinned, "But what
other weapon have we?"

"It should be apt justice," said Calandryll, "to
bend Anomius to our usage."

"I say we attempt it," Katya said.

She turned her gaze on Bracht, who nodded, and
fetched the mirror from beneath her hauberk, pass-
ing it to Cennaire.

The dark woman took the glass, her eyes trou-
bled as they fixed on Calandryll. "What do I tell
him?" she asked.

He pondered only an instant. Then: "That we
stand before Tharn's sepulcher, but cannot enter.
That we three inspect the place, leaving you alone.
That you deemed it timely to advise him. The
rest"—he stretched his lips in dour smile—"is up
to him."

WILD MAGIC 475

She nodded and unwrapped the mirror; began to
voice the cantrip. Calandryll beckoned the others
away. It seemed the acrid reek emanating from the
grey scoria strengthened; that the gold veining the
marble of the sepulcher writhed, enlivened by
Rhythamun's wild magic; that the very substance
of the mausoleum pulsed, anticipatory.

They stood too far away they might hear
Anomius's responses, but from such words of
Cennaire's as they caught, pitched deliberately loud
enough they should hear, they gleaned a little in-
formation - - -

"Aye, we passed through . .. The war is won?
Sathoman ek'Hennem defeated ... In Nhur-jabal?
The bracelets are gone? Then you are no longer
bound ... Aye, before it. See?"

They watched as she raised the mirror, turning it
along the facade of the sepulcher, moving it slowly
from side to side. The air before the glass shim-
mered. Calandryll thought that were the stink of
sulfur not so strong, he should have smelled al-
monds. He drew the straightsword, hearing Bracht's
falchion hiss from the scabbard, Katya's saber from
its sheath.

The shimmering coalesced. A form took shape:

Anomius stood there. A predatory smile distorted
his fleshy mouth, and his bulbous nose quivered,
scenting triumph. Hands brushed the soiled front-
age of his black robe. He stared at Cennaire, a mot-
tled tongue extending to lick at pallid lips. "This
was well done," he declared, nodding his approval.
He eyed the mausoleum, then turned to survey the
landscape.

And shrieked in fury as he saw the three quest-
ers, moving swift toward him, swords extended.

He raised his hands, patulous mouth beginning a
cantrip that was halted unspoken by the straight-

476 ANGUS WELLS

sword Calandryll inserted between his teeth.
Bracht's falchion pricked his wattled throat; Katya's
saber touched his ribs/ above his heart. Calandryll
said, "One syllable said wrong and you die."

The wizard's sallow features contorted in frus-
trated rage. His watery eyes squinted angry and
malign at Cennaire. Around the straightsword's
steel, the words distorted by the blade and his im-
potent wrath, Anomius muttered, "For this you
shall suffer. I've still your heart, remember."

"But we, your body," Calandryll declared, turn-
ing his blade so that Anomius must perforce fall si-
lent/ or lose his tongue. "And a use for it. Do you
then hear me out? Or shall you die, now?"

Unmasked fury burned in the sorcerer's pale
eyes, but—as best he could with sharp steel be-
tween his teeth—he nodded. Calandryll held the
sword in place, a gag on interruption, as he ex-
plained.

"You stand before Tharn's tomb, and Rhythamun
stands within. He's the Arcanum, and he employs
those gramaryes that shall raise the Mad God.
Doubtless you sense that working e'en now—save
it be halted, Rhythamun shall emerge triumphant.
We've not the way to bridge this moat or shape an
entry to the sepulcher, but I believe you might.
So—do you lend us that aid? Or perish now?"

He eased his blade from the angry mouth, wait-
ing for Anomius to speak. When the ugly little
man did, it was in a voice laden with mockery:

"Why should I aid you?" His eyes flickered, furi-
ous, to Cennaire. "Doubtless this turncoat has told
you I'd have the book for my own, and so I ask
again—why should I aid you?"

"Because"—Calandryll forced more confidence
than he felt into his voice—"you cannot take the
book without us. And because if you refuse, then

WILD MAGIC 477

you shall die with us. Think you Rhythamun shall
let you go free?"

Blubbery lips parted in ungenuine smile.
Anomius said, "Aye, there's that, but also another
thing—I suspect you forget those occult strictures I
placed upon you and this Kern, that you may nei-
ther do me harm."

"I think," Calandryll returned, certain now,
"that those cantrips are become devalued. Shall we
put them to the test? Bracht, do you prick him?"

Bracht's grin was pitiless as he turned the fal-
chion's point against the wizard's throat. Anomius
)erked back, a hand rising to the little wound, his
eyes fixing angry on the blood he found coloring
his fingertips.

"So that safeguard is denied you," said Calandryll,
aware even as he spoke that the aethyric stuff of the
mausoleum pulsated stronger, that the sanguine
moat began to bubble, to stir. "And do you employ
some other gramarye, then you've no chance left of
taking the book; neither of surviving this place. Do
you refuse your aid, you die with us."

Anomius stared at Calandryll. "You've grown in
cunning since last we met," he blustered, "but still
I think you've not the stomach to slay a man in
cold blood."

"Calandryll, perhaps," Bracht said, his voice
cold, promising no clemency, "but not I. Do you
refuse, I'll put my blade in your belly and have the
pleasure of seeing you die before me."

The watery eyes swung toward the Kern, finding
no hope of mercy there, only the certainty of pain-
ful death: the bald head ducked in acknowledg-
ment.

"Say then I aid you—bridge this moat and grant
you entrance to the tomb—what then? I'll not sup-

478 ANGUS WELLS

pose you believe I shall watch you take the Arca-
num without I seek to wrest it from you."

"No." Calandryll smiled, the expression humor-
less. "I'd not suppose that. But we'll take that
chance."

"Then it would seem we reach impasse."
Anomius turned, studying the mausoleum a mo-
ment. "Great magicks are at work in there. Ere
long Tharn shall rise and, risen, doubtless slay you.
You cannot enter without my aid. What do you of-
fer in return?"

"Your life," Bracht said.

Anomius chuckled, a liquid, bubbling sound,
akin to the moat's horrid stirring. "You seek my
aid and threaten my death? Do I refuse, you'll slay
me. Does Rhythamun succeed, I am slain." He
shook his head. "I'd have a better bargain of you."

Calandryll thought a moment, aware that each
passing instant brought Rhythamun closer to his
goal, the Mad God closer to resurrection. "Do we
succeed," he said, "then you shall go free. We'll do
you no harm."

Again, Anomius laughed, scornful, and said,
"You know I'll have the book for my own, am I
able. Why, then, should I believe this bloodthirsty
Kern shall not slay me once my usefulness is
done?"

"You've my word," said Calandryll.

"And his?" Anomius stabbed a dirty thumb in
Bracht's direction; turned a nail-bitten finger to-
ward Katya and Cennaire. "And theirs?"

Calandryll looked to his companions, his eyes
urgent in their demand for promise. Bracht said,
unwilling, "Do we succeed, I'll not slay you. My
word on it."

"And a Kern's word is his bond," Anomius
sneered. "And yours, miladies?"

WILD MAGIC

479

"You've mine," Katya said; and Cennaire: "I'll
not raise hand against you."

"Then the bargain's struck." Anomius shook
black sleeves from pale wrists. "A strange alliance,
eh?"

Dera, Calandryll asked silently, grant this fell ar-
rangement succeed. "Do you look to deceive us,"
he heard Bracht say, "you shall taste my blade."

"As your wiser friend remarks," Anomius re-
turned, his voice contemptuous, "I've need of you,
just as you've need of me. Now do you close your
mouth and leave me to my work?"

The Kern's eyes flashed anger. Calandryll mo-
tioned him back a pace, Anomius yet within
sword's reach as he raised his hands and began to
chant, the almond scent wafting strong as he
mou'thed the arcane syllables.

Calandryll felt occult power mounting in
Anomius; felt, too, the opposition, but that ab-
stracted, as if the larger part of it was concentrated
on the rituals of resurrection, hastening toward
that end, menacingly confident of victory. Strong,
even so, that defensive magic, so that he lent
Anomius what power was his to give to driving it
back, the struggle invisible, a thing of wills and
sorcery that he did not properly understand, but
gave his aid instinctively.

Thunder roared as if in protest; lightning flashed
wrathful. Anomius's chanting rose to a crescendo—
and a bridge of black light spanned the moat, at its
farther end a narrow portal from which the odor of
corruption gusted.

"Swift now!"

Veins stood engorged at Anomius's temples, and
from his eyes dribbled tears of blood, the steps he
took toward the bridge unsteady for all his urgency.
Calandryll pushed past him, Cennaire at his side.

480 ANGUS WELLS

Bracht and Katya herded the sorcerer onward,
swords ready at his back.

The bridge was unfirm beneath their feet, viscid
as the red tendrils that rose from the moat,
questing sensate as they sped across. Ahead the
door stood black and formless as those gates that
had carried them into this occult realm, stark con-
trast to the golden veining of the marble, that flow-
ing now, trembling and vibrating, the marble itself
pulsating, all stimulated by the magic worked
within.

They hurled themselves into the portal, fetor
nauseous about that dread threshold, slowing,
awed, as they entered the resting place of the Mad
God.

Space held no more meaning here than time or
substance. Likely each one of them perceived a dif-
ferent place, informed by individual senses, by
Rhythamun's conception, which overlay their
sight. To Calandryll it was a hall of inconceivable
vastness, a single impossible chamber, extending
beyond eye's range in dazzling magnificence. Gold
burned with the intensity of suns from walls and
floor and roof. Great pillars of vibrant marble rose
to heights invisible, lost in the blazing glory above.
At the same time, the one image overlayed upon
the other, coexistant, it was a foul and miserable
crypt, dank and fetid, noisome with the scent of
putrefaction, that mingling with the cloying per-
fume of almonds, red light, as if flame shone
through bloodied glass, flickering, sending shadows
menacing across the scabrous floor.

The latter image was brief, overwhelmed by the
other as Rhythamun's will asserted itself, donating
his malign god the grandeur his crazed mind
deemed fitting. It was an unintended boon: the

WILD MAGIC                          481

light in which he bathed his master afforded the in-
truders clear sight.

At the center of the hall, too distant they might
see as clearly as they did, stood a catafalque of sol-
emn jet, a stepped construction that rose three
times a tall man's height, upon it a golden sarcoph-
agus, brilliant, bier and coffin both contained
within a red nimbus. The body the coffin held was
not visible; the man who stood beyond it was.

Rhythamun no longer wore the shape of his Jes-
seryte victim, but stood naked, himself, his
pneuma given form. Once, in Cuan na'For, Calan-
dryll had briefly seen that face. Now he saw it
clear, fleshed- It was a visage superficially hand-
some, but imbued with such innate evil that the
clean planes, the aquiline features, seemed dis-
torted by their inherent wickedness, the mask of
flesh no more than a brief imposition over the iniq-
uity beneath. The warlock wore a robe of gold, dark
hair flowing loose over broad shoulders. His arms
were extended above the sarcophagus, his hands
reverentially holding a small, dark-bound book: the
Arcanum. His violet eyes were glazed, his lips
moving as they spoke the incantations.

Calandryll shouted, "Rhythamun!" and the eyes
focused, turning toward him.

In the instant of his shout, even as the proud
head turned, Calandryll and his companions stood
at the foot of the catafalque. Rhythamun looked
down upon them- A frown sped across his face and
was gone, replaced with a leer of outrage. He low-
ered the Arcanum, head bending to survey them
over the coffin's massive bulk.

"You dare interrupt me?" He gestured at their
surroundings. "Here? You dare enter my master's
^   temple? You dare set foot within Lord Tharn's holy
sepulcher?"

482 ANGUS WELLS

"Aye!" Calandryll roared, and charged the bier
unthinking, straightsword raised, possessed with a
terrible wrath, righteous, intent on halting the un-
holy ceremony.

He flung against the nimbus and it was as though
he contested with the sea, or struggled against
quicksand. A foot touched the lowest step and he
was slowed; a weight, imponderable, pressed down.
He fought the pressure: gained a second step. He
thought his lungs must burst, that fire consumed
his innards. He thought his brain must melt and
flow out through liquid eyes, his straining mouth.
He was returned to the golden floor. He saw Bracht
make the same attempt, and also slow, straining
against the aura surrounding the coffin as if unseen
ropes bound and restrained him. Rhythamun
laughed, the sound echoing from the pillars. Bracht
groaned and collapsed upon the lowest step. Katya
sprang forward, dragging the Kern back.

"I think," said Rhythamun, "that I shall delay
your fate awhile. I shall allow you the honor of wit-
nessing Lord Tharn's resurrection with your own
eyes. After all, are you not to thank in some small
way?" He flourished the Arcanum, mocking them.
"Had I not this tome, I'd not have owned the can-
trips to bring me solitary to this place, nor those
last gramaryes of raising- So, stand you there and
await your fate."

"And I?" Anomius stepped from where he had
sheltered, behind them, hidden from Rhythamun.
"Shall I await my fate like these? I think not. I'll
have that book of you, and soon."

His hands extended, flinging magic that filled the
mausoleum with sound, as if the storm that ringed
the place was brought inside. The glitter of gold
was lost under a flash of brilliance that transcended
light, an achromatic assault felt in the raw material

WILD MAGIC 483

of nerves, visceral. Rhythamun gasped, tottering a
step backward, encompassed in wildfire blaze, his
cold eyes widening, surprised. He righted himself,
one hand upon the sarcophagus's rim, and hurled a
magical response that enveloped Anomius in
flame. The smaller man stood engulfed, wreathed
with ardent coruscation, from which emerged lu-
minous shafts, darting like lambent arrows at
Rhythamun, who struck them aside, deflected off
an occult shield, as he voiced the words of his
spell, the fire enfolding Anomius growing fiercer
with each complex utterance.

Calandryll and the others stood forgotten for the
moment, mere observers of the thaumaturgical
duel. Both sorcerers appeared imbued with equal
strength, neither gaining the upper hand, but only
holding one another to stalemate. It came to
Calandryll—a gift of Ochen's teaching—that they
both drew their power from Tharn, the god indiffer-
ent which should prevail. It mattered nothing to
him which should be victorious, for they were both
bent on the same end, which should only benefit
his foul cause. For now the Mad God was a foun-
tainhead of impartial potency, urgent only for
awakening, careless which acolyte should rouse
him from his dreaming.

The sepulcher reverberated to the tumult of their
battle, pungent with the scent of their magicks.
Overhead, the golden light was bedimmed, shadow
and flame mingling in equal measure. The impossi-
ble pillars shuddered, dust like the detritus of rot-
ted cerements drifting down. Cracks raced across
the golden floor, dark blemishes exuding the stench
of sulfur and putrescent matter.

Calandryll saw Rhythamun raise both his hands,
and realized they no longer held the Arcanum.
Through the fulgurations of warring sortilege he

ANGUS   WELLS

spied the book: it rested on the coffin's edge. He
clutched Bracht's arm, pointing with the straight-
sword, shouting into the Kern's ear, through the be-
numbing blasts.

"Think you we've our chance?"

"Do we find out?"

Bracht's features were grim. Calandryll nodded
and they darted forward, intent on gaining the bier
unnoticed. The nimbus threw them back again, un-
gently, as if it, too, gained strength.

"Ahrd!" Bracht grunted as they clambered to
their feet. "Must we stand helpless by and watch
this? Can we do nothing?"

Katya shouted over the dinning: "Save we inter-
vene, the victor shall surely destroy us!"

And into Calandryll's mind, as if whispered,
clear, mouth to his ear, came memory of Ochen's
words, in Anwar-teng: "Remember, all of you, that
you are as one, a gestalt where you go."

He beckoned the others close and said, "Have I
the proper understanding of it, we must attempt
this together. Not as four separate folk, but as
one."

"We've naught to lose," Bracht said. "Save our
souls."

And Katya: "They stand already in jeopardy."

Cennaire said nothing, only took Calandryll's
hand.

"I think blades shall not avail us in this," he
said, sheathing the straightsword. "Trust is our
strength now. And belief in our cause."

Katya thrust her saber home into the scabbard.
After a moment's hesitation, Bracht put up his fal-
chion.

It took trust to approach the bier unarmed. Calan-
dryll felt it as a palpable thing, real as the forms
they wore in this aethyric place, solid as the blade

WILD MAGIC

485

that weighted his belt. It was a dependence on one
another, a trust born of comradeship and accept-
ance, devoid now of doubts, cemented with their
shared purpose, mistrust banished. It was their
shield as hostile magic blasted all about them, the
sword that sundered the defensive aura, allowing
them to mount the catafalque, climb steps that
trembled under their determined feet, as if even
in his dreaming, Tharn sensed their coming and
stirred, nervous.

Briefly the nimbus sought to halt them, to drive
them back. Calandryll felt the opposition, and de-
nied it, aware of their four pneumas linked as one,
a single entity possessed now of a single intent, that
empowering the magic that resided in him, flooding
him with strength, just as, malign, Rhythamun and
Anomius drew strength from the dreaming god:

they climbed resolute, joined in their ambition.

And reached the platform atop the bier, the sar-
cophagus at its center, poor enough concealment as
they crouched and crept toward the book. Unholy
light sparked about them. the scents of rot and al-
monds combining miasmic, suffusing air that crackled
with the unleashing of sorcerous power. Rhytha-
mun stood close now, but diverted by Anomius, so
intent on the battle he failed to see the hand that
crept stealthy toward the Arcanum . . .

. .. Seized the book and was gone.

From hand to hand it went, Calandryll's the one
that snatched it, passing it into Cennaire's keeping,
she to Katya, the Vanu woman on to Bracht, who
held it close as they descended back down the jet
steps, those throbbing now, pulsating visibly, as if
in rage. Bracht gave the book to Katya, and she, an
expression of distaste creasing her tanned features,
as though she must embrace a serpent, placed it se-
cure beneath the mail of her hauberk. They moved,

486 ANGUS WELLS

still as one, a little way from the bier, not yet con-
fident of success, swords coming instinctive from
scabbards.

Anomius became aware of them then, and of the
absence. His fleshy lips stretched in brief, trium-
phant smile, and the cantrip he chanted faltered an
instant.

Rhythamun saw the expression, followed the
sideways flicker of the watery eyes, and prodigious
anger overwhelmed his face. Calandryll saw death,
and worse, in the furious violet gaze and then the
terrible light that struck Anomius.

The warlock was hurled from the bier, sent
crashing down the steps, perverted flame wrapping
him in obscene embrace. Tongues of black fire
lapped at his robe, his flesh. He screamed, strug-
gling to his feet, the soiled black robe disintegrat-
ing so that he stood naked, skin blackening,
crisping charred under the dreadful attack. His
mouth opened and flame gouted from his throat.
His eyes burst and more fire spouted from the emp-
tied sockets. His flesh was consumed and he stood
a burning skeleton, internal organs roasting, burst-
ing. Then the bones, blackened, collapsed, falling
in a clattering pile that was soon dissolved by the
awful sable fire. Of Anomius nothing remained
save a drifting cloud of inky smoke.

"My thanks for that diversion, but now I'll have
the book."

The questers turned to where Rhythamun stood,
a grimace of horrid triumph curling his lips- Veins
throbbed in his neck, his golden robe smoldered,
down cheeks scorched by Anomius's magic ran
tears of blood, but confidence was an aura about
him, and threatening might. He came down from
the catafalque, hands raised, weaving an intricate

WILD MAGIC 487

pattern, beginning a cantrip. Calandryll cried.
"No!" the straightsword lifting.

Light flashed anew from Rhythamun, and
Calandryll felt himself lifted, flung clear, subjective
time stretched out in the instant, so that he saw
Bracht and Katya hurled aside, to safety, as
Cennaire interposed herself between them and the
blast the warlock sent to destroy them. It washed
over her, raven hair streaming. But she lived.
Calandryll heard Rhythamun curse; Cennaire
shout wild laughter and cry, "That magic shaped to
harm the living cannot affect me!"

Calandryll came to his feet even as the mage
commenced a fresh incantation, one that surely
must consume Cennaire. He was unsure whether
his feet or his will alone sped him forward, only
that he stood before Rhythamun, and that he must
strike before the spell was shaped.

The straightsword descended in a terrible arc. It
seemed slow to Calandryll. It seemed the gramarye
must end before steel struck, that Cennaire must
be destroyed, the wizard take back the Arcanum,
raise Tharn. He saw Rhythamun's lips moving, the
eyes that shifted to focus on his face, anger and
contempt mingled there. And the blade halted in a
numbing blast of thunder, lightning exploding
where blessed steel and fell magic collided.

He felt an awful shock run fiery down the road-
ways of his nerves, the straightsword almost flung
from agonized fingers that trembled about the hilt.
It seemed he clutched a rod of molten metal that
consumed his flesh, that he must let go the sword
before it destroyed him. And knew he could not—
must not!—for from within himself, from Ochen's
teachings and his own poor understanding of the
occult, a warning voice cried loud that here, in this
battle, Dera's touch imbued the steel with that

488 ANGUS WELLS

power that alone could oppose the dreadful might
Tharn invested in his minion.

He willed himself to ignore the pain- Told his
eyes they lied, that his hands did not blacken, the
skin not crisp and curl from scorching bone. He
strained against Rhythamun's spell, seeking to
drive the sword down against the wizard's skull.

He could not; but neither could Rhythamun
force back the blade, turn his magic on Cennaire,
on Bracht and Katya, where they huddled, wary, ex-
cluded from this cataclysmic struggle.

This, Calandryll knew with awful certainty, was
his battle alone, his the power that might—Oh,
Dera, only mighU—defeat the mage. He stared into
the violet eyes, his own blazing furious, and saw
doubt flicker there. He forced a laugh then, and it
seemed the blade descended a fraction, that the ag-
ony eased a little. Rhythamun retreated a step. A
single pace only, but one that seemed to Calandryll
a confirmation, perhaps not of victory, but of its
possibility. That was sufficient: he strained anew
against the power encompassing the warlock, and
saw beads of bloody sweat burst from his enemy's
forehead. He knew not how he drew on that power
he commanded, only that it was a source within
him, strengthening, salving, imbuing him with a
vigor, a surety of purpose that transcended pain. It
was occult power and his own determination, the
joined wills of Bracht and Katya and Cennaire, of
all who would contest Tharn's resurrection, even at
cost of their own lives: it filled him, firmed him,
their strengths his. He knew not how he used it,
only that he did.

And the straightsword was no longer a molten
thing, no longer a rod of agony, scourging, but the
means to victory, to Rhythamun's defeat. It fell a
little farther, and then, of a sudden, crashed down

WILD MAGIC

489

to splinter blackened marble as Rhythamun sprang
back.

Calandryll snatched it up defensive as he saw the
doubt in the mage's eyes replaced by horrid fury.
Hands sullied by Anomius's sortilege lifted to
shape patterns in the air, to send a bolt of black
light swifter than a serpent's darting tongue against
him. He cried, "Dera!" and it was a battle cry as he
swung the sword against his enemy's magic.

Thunder bellowed anew. The fabric of the sepul-
cher shuddered. Black light became transfigured,
sharded with gold, with sparkling silver, blinding.
The perfume of almonds hung a moment stronger
than the stench of corruption. Calandryll thought
surely he was slain, felt surprise that he yet stood
living.

Rhythamun's eyes sprang wide, as if he could
scarce believe the evidence they gave him of
Calandryll's survival. For his part, Calandryll
stared narrow-lidded, near dazzled by that explo-
sion of brilliance, anger fueling him, inflaming,
lending its own righteous strength to occult power.
Before him he saw the madman who would deliver
the world to Tharn, to chaos. The man who had
duped him, used him, confident of mastery, con-
temptuous of all those mortal, ordinary folk he be-
lieved his puppets, inferior. This was the man who
would see all brought down under the foul heel of
the Mad God, helpless sacrifices to his insanity, to
his lust for power. And then, beyond the anger,
there was a kinder emotion: pity. that mingled
with contempt, and sorrow. Rhythamun was
evil—he could entertain no doubt of that—but the
sorcerer was, too, utterly insane, so consumed by
his ambition that he scarce knew what he did, and
for that, for all he must be slain, Calandryll was
able to pity him.

490 ANGUS WELLS

In that moment Calandryll became something
more than a man. He was the instrument of the
Younger Gods, the embodiment of order in opposi-
tion to chaos, of humanity confronting wanton de-
struction.

He knew then that he might win this struggle.
He should likely die in the execution, but did he
only prevent Tharn's raising then still he won.
That alone was of import now—no longer his life,
or his love of Cennaire, not Bracht or Katya; only
victory, the defeat of Rhythamun, the denial of
Tharn's mad dreaming.

He roared and launched himself forward, the
straightsword raised like the very wrath of the
Younger Gods.

And Rhythamun's hands came up again, sending
fresh magicks at him, magicks that were struck
aside by the whirling blade, dismissed to burst use-
lessly about the mausoleum, that vibrating to a dif-
ferent rhythm now, trembling as if in fear,
shuddering, cracks running like opened veins
across the floor, rents gaping in the walls. Some-
where a pillar crashed, shattering, dust blowing in
a filthy cloud. Behind him, unseen as he advanced,
a pale hand clutched upward at the rim of the sar-
cophagus, nails scrabbled a moment and fell back.
He went on, intent only on victory.

Disbelief replaced the anger in Rhythamun's eyes
now, and then fear took its place. The warlock re-
treated. Calandryll advanced. Sable flame lashed at
him; hammer blows pounded at his chest; his hair
burned; leather scorched. Such magicks as should
have slain a mortal man were flung against him
and ignored: he advanced. The straightsword was a
shield before him, glaive of wrath, a beacon of
hope. He felt the power in it, the power of the god-
dess; and more, as if all Dera's kin set benign might

WILD MAGIC

491

in the steel. And beyond even that, the power of
men, of Bracht's fierce courage and Katya's determi-
nation, Cennaire's faith, and Ochen's belief. He ad-
vanced remorseless.

And Rhythamun fell back, desperation on his
handsome, evil face as his sortilege clashed against
the blade. He stumbled, a hand reaching toward a
cracking pillar, steadying himself, the cantrip he
shaped faltering. With a terrible shout Calandryll
ran forward, the straightsword raised high.

The warlock gasped, "No!" as the blade de-
scended, no longer slowed by his sortilege, no
longer halted.

It fell against his face. the skull divided, and
Rhythamun screamed, a dreadful lingering howl of
banished hope, defeated ambition.

Calandryll felt his wrists, his arms, jarred by the
blow, a moment of pain, of wrenching nausea, as if
he touched quintessential horror, an evil beyond
comprehension. Then relief, triumph, like a clarion
in the midst of battle. Something went out of him,
as if, its work done, a power quit him: he was only
himself again. He felt a moment empty as he
watched Rhythamun's slain body shimmer, dissolv-
ing. There was no gradual dissolution, no aging of
flesh or collapse of bones into dust. Rhythamun
was simply gone, as if, defeated, those magicks that
had so long bound him to corporeal existence gave
up their hold. The echo of his dying scream faded
and there was only a bloodied golden robe, empty.
Here, in the realm of the occult, within the aethyr,
Calandryll sensed that the sorcerer's pneuma was
destroyed, his threat forever ended- Rhythamun
was at last truly dead.

He reached down, using the hem of the golden
robe to cleanse his sword, sheathed the steel, and
turned to his companions.

492 ANGUS WELLS

Cennaire came into his arms/ holding him tight,
so that he thought a moment that his ribs should
break.

"I feared you should be slain," she said against
his mouth, and he answered, "I feared you should
die, and that I could not bear."

For long heartbeats nothing else existed, only
they two, embracing, and then Bracht's voice in-
truded.

"We've the Arcanum now, and our enemies slain.
Do we flee this fell place, then, ere it fall down and
trap us here?"

Calandryll moved back from the circle of
Cennaire's arms, seeing the chamber no longer glo-
rious, but dismal, the sorry crypt of his earlier,
brief vision, the resplendent sarcophagus only a
poor stone cist now. The cavern shuddered, dust
and fragments of rock falling from the gloomy roof,
the cracks that striated the jagged floor widening
by the moment. He said, "Aye," and they ran to-
ward the egress.

Outside, the bloody moat was become a narrow
stream that sprang from an outcrop of blue-grey
granite. Clean water ran there, and the brook was
easily jumped, beyond it pristine grass, verdant
under a benign sun. They moved away, looking
back as stone groaned, seeing the cave's mouth col-
lapse, sealed under an impassable weight of rock.
Calandryll thought he heard a shriek of rage, of dis-
appointment, then, but it might only have been the
sound of falling stone. He turned his back to the
tomb and took Cennaire's hand, seeing Bracht and
Katya walking arm in arm, the Kern reaching out
to take Cennaire's elbow, all of them smiling as
they strode across the lush grass.

"1 trust," Bracht called, "that you've a way to re-
turn us to Anwar-teng. Or perhaps direct to Vanu."

WILD MAGIC

493

"To Anwar-teng, I hope," Calandryll replied, "for
we've a boon to claim of the wazir-narimasu."

He felt Cennaire's grip tighten on his hand and
elation was tainted with doubt. The battle was
won, Rhythamun defeated and the world saved
from the Mad God, but that should be a soured vic-
tory could Cennaire not gain back her heart. He
thought on that incertitude he had heard in Zedu's
voice, heard expressed clear in Ochen's words, and
wondered if there was yet a price to pay, disap-
pointment waiting drear to transform triumph to
loss. He forced a smile: he could not allow the un-
certainty he felt expression on his face or in his
voice. It must be possible they return her heart! Af-
ter all this, it must be possible!

"How shall you do it?" asked Katya. "Have you
such magic?"

He frowned then, and shook his head, sudden
alarm startling his heart. "I've not the least idea,"
he said, wondering if they must remain here, pris-
oners of the aethyr.

Cennaire said, "Is that not a gate?"

They looked to where she pointed: proud from
the grass, where none had stood before, rose a
framework of roseate stone, great upright megaliths
surmounted by bulky lintel, within their aegis not
darkness, but a spectrum of colors, welcoming.

Calandryll said, "Aye, I believe it is," and they
walked toward the portal.




THERE was no interim on this journey between
the worlds, no icy wastes or hostile guardians,
nor any pain: it seemed as though, Tharn's threat
ended, the aethyric passageways grew calm. They
stepped together into the gate, there was a moment
of nullity, a brief sensation of timeless descent, and
then they stood inside the subterranean chamber,
deep beneath Anwar-teng, The sigils decorating the
grey stone blazed an instant as if in farewell, and
then faded, leaving only bare rock behind, the scent
of almonds dissipating as the gate closed forever.
They tottered, disorientated, clutching at one an-
other for support. The chamber was cool and lit
with a soft golden glow from candles that burned
with an even flame, unmelting. They lit the star-
tled face of Ochen, rising from a faldstool, his slit-
ted eyes opening wide, soon followed by a mouth
that stretched in a smile of welcome, his wrinkles
creasing in joy.

"Praise Horul! Praise all the Younger Gods! You
return." He came toward them, arms flung wide as

WILD MAGIC

495

if he would encompass them all in his embrace.
"We feared you slain, the battle lost. But then—
Horul, it was a wonder! A sign you triumphed! No,
wait, doubtless you're wearied. Do I bring you to
where you may tell your tale in comfort? You'd
take wine? Food? Horul, but I'd hear everything."

His words tumbled out, spilling one over the
other in his eagerness, his relief, even as his hands
went from one to the other, touching as if he would
reassure himself living creatures came back. Bracht
asked, his voice carefully inquiring, "Did you
doubt our return then?"

Ochen laughed, the sound like triumphant bells
tolling victory, and answered, "For a while, aye.
Horul, my friends, you've been a while gone."

"How long?" asked Calandryll as the wazir ush-
ered them from the chamber, pausing only to lift
the warding spells. "Surely but a few days."

"Weeks, more like," said Ochen as they climbed
the narrow stairs. "We've taken turn and turn
about, waiting by the gate. Some gave you up—
thought you dead, or trapped."

"But you spoke of a sign," Calandryll said.

"Aye—that the battle was won." The silvered
head turned back, twinkling eyes regarding them
fondly. "That was clear enough, but not that you
survived it- Horul, the hours I've spent seeking sign
that you lived!"

"We do," Bracht called, his voice echoing cheer-
ful off the walls, "but where we went there was no
wine. You spoke of wine?"

"That I did." Ochen's laughter rang loud in an-
swer. "And those who'd hear your tale. So, do I
curb my tongue ere you grow bored with the tell-
ing?"

"Save first you tell of this sign," Calandryll
asked.

496 ANGUS WELLS

"Aye." Ochen nodded, solemn a moment. "Thus
it was: the armies out of Pamur-teng and Ozali-
teng converged, poised to attack. The lines were
drawn—there should have been such bloodshed!—
but then ... Then it was as if the rebels woke from
a dream, as if the blindfold of Tharn's deceit was
lifted. Their leaders sued for peace. They pleaded
for it! They threw themselves on our mercy, some
fell on their swords; their wazirs declared them-
selves beguiled. Praise Horul—praise you!—there
were but few lives lost in skirmishes. They struck
their camp and e'en now march homeward. Then
we knew you were victorious, that the Mad God
was defeated."

He paused as they emerged into a courtyard.
Overhead a pale sun hung in a steel-blue sky, not
long risen. The air was crisp, devoid of magic's
scent or the chill of unnatural winter; instead, au-
tumn perfumed the clean air. Folk stared, leaving
their tasks, converging on the group as they strode
across the yard, cheering as they entered a building
where more Jesserytes watched in awe.

"We knew that victory won," Ochen continued
as they climbed stairs, "but when you were not
then returned . .. Horul! Then I began to tear your
victory pyrrhic. Weeks passed ..."

"It seemed to us no more than a little while,"
Calandryll murmured. "A day or two."

"That place you went turns on a different clock,
I think," the wazir replied. "Tell me ... No! Wine
first, and all present to hear."

He brought them to that chamber where they
had first spoken with the wazir-narimasu, the cen-
tral glass admitting clean light now, some sorcerers
already waiting, others hurrying in as word spread
through the citadel that the questers were come
back safe. Calandryll looked for Chazali, only to

WILD MAGIC

497

learn the kinwashen had returned to Pamur-teng,
to which hold, Ochen assured him, word would be
sent instantly. Wine was brought, and food; the
room grew crowded, abuzz with questions, curios-
ity a palpable thing. Finally all were gathered and
the doors closed. Zedu took a place at the table's
head, Ochen seated on his left hand, the questers to
his right.

Zedu said formally, "To Horul and your own
gods we give praise for your safe return. To you we
give praise for all you've done—the world stands in
your debt."

Farther down the table someone murmured,
"The Younger Gods themselves stand in their
debt," which was answered with a murmur of
agreement.

Zedu asked, "Do you then tell your tale?"

Silence fell. Bracht swallowed meat and mo-
tioned with a tilled cup that Calandryll should act
as spokesman. He looked to Katya and Cennaire,
who both nodded. He began to speak.

The telling was punctuated with gasps, murmurs
of approval, and awe- When he was done Zedu
turned to Ochen: "The gate is closed?"

"Sealed." Gravely Ochen ducked his head.
"None shall pass through that portal again. And
once the Arcanum is delivered to Vanu, none shall
again find a way to Tharn."

"This was bravely done," said Zedu, "and for
that journey you'd now make you shall have such
an escort as ..."

Calandryll interrupted the sorcerer. "There's a
boon owed ere we depart."

Zedu's gaze wavered at that. Beside bim, Ochen's
smile froze, his expression troubled. The chamber
was abruptly still, as if the wazir-narimasu held

498 ANGUS WELLS

their breath, unsure what might now transpire.
Calandryll held his eyes firm on Zedu's face-

"The matter of Cennaire's heart."

It seemed to Calandryll the mage sighed. He felt
Cennaire's hand take his. Turning, he saw her
lovely face planed grim. He said, "Aye. The matter
of its return."

Zedu nodded, motioning that Ochen should
speak on his behalf, on behalf of all the wazir-
narimasu. There was a pause that seemed to
stretch out, timeless, and then Ochen faced them
both with solemn mien.

"You are fixed on this course?"

Such doubt underpinned the question Calandryll
almost shook his head, almost said, "No. Save you
be certain she shall live, I'd not risk it." But it was
not, he recognized, his choice to make. That deci-
sion belonged to Cennaire.

She said, "Aye," with a certainty absolute.

"It shall not be easy. It may not be possible.
Anomius no longer offers any threat. Might you
not reconsider?"

"I'd have back my heart and be once more mor-
tal."

Calandryll saw her eyes blaze, determined, and
in that moment, in that look, felt his love flare
afresh, heightened by the danger he heard in
Ochen's voice, the courage in Cennaire's. Dera, he
thought, / cannot lose her now. That I could not
bear.

"You've great powers as you are."

"I'd give them up. I'd have back my heart."

"It may not be within our power to regain the
pyxis, unseal the gramaryes Anomius set thereon."

"If not within yours, then whose?"

"You've great faith in us."

"Aye." Said simply.

WILD MAGIC 499

Answered with: "Think you the sorcerers of
Nhur-jabal shall readily give up the box?"

"Think you they'll not? Think you they'll leave
me be. Anomius's creation?"

"Aye." Ochen smiled wanly. "There's that to
consider- But also your existence. We might obtain
the pyxis, sate. Bring it here ... keep it here."

"No!" She did not shout, but still her voice was
thunder in the room. "What I am I'd be no longer.
What I am taints me—marks me as Anomius's cre-
ation! I'd be myself, entire, owing nothing to any
man, save what I choose to give."

This with a glance at Calandryll, a brief smile
that he answered with his own, proud for all the
fear he felt. Dera, but it was far easier to face
Rhythamun than this subtle torture. This was the
confrontation they had set aside along the road to
Anwar-teng. He wondered—traitorous thought—if
he should argue with her, and told himself again,
No, that this could not be his decision, only hers.

He heard Ochen say, "We cannot promise you
success."

And Cennaire return, "Still I'd ask you to at-
tempt it."

"Even though it risk your death?"

"That was risked not long ago. And a boon was
promised in return."

"Aye, it was, and we stand by that promise. But
even so ..."

"Even so, I'd have you do it."

"So be it. Would you rest, and we make the at-
tempt on the morrow?"

She hesitated then, her eyes finding Calandryll's,
and he saw fear in the great brown orbs. Then she
turned again to Ochen and said, loud, "Best it be
done now." And then, so soft none others there
could hear, "Ere I weaken and gainsay myself."

500 ANGUS WELLS

He held her hand tight as Ochen ducked his head
in solemn agreement, and whispered, "Would you
not rest first? Shall tomorrow not be soon
enough?"

He wondered if that were said selfishly. If he
sought to spin out the sure time left them, to delay
a little longer the possibility he should lose her.

She answered him, "No, my love. I'd do it now,
for fear it be not done at all."

In that instant he thought her courage far out-
weighed his own. He raised her hand to his lips and
said, "Then let's do it."

Neither noticed Ochen rise and come toward
them until his voice intruded. "Do you then think
on Nhur-jabal?" he asked. "Concentrate your mind
on that chamber where Anomius took your heart,
that we may see where we must go."

Calandryll let go her hand as the wazir came be-
tween them, his painted nails bright as they
touched Cennaire's cheeks, tilting back her head as
he stared into her eyes. The scent of almonds
wafted pungent. Calandryll was dimly aware that
all the wazir-narimasu concentrated their gaze on
Ochen; that Katya touched his sleeve, reassuring;

that Bracht sat grim-faced, a fist about the fal-
chion's hilt. Then Ochen loosed his hold and
stepped back, nodding to himself, turning to Zedu.
"We've the image of it," he said.

Zedu paused a heartbeat before replying. Then:

"Even so ... to travel thus on another's memory
alone."

Calandryll said, fierce now, "A boon was prom-
ised."

"Aye." Zedu looked a moment shamefaced. "It
was, and it shall be granted. Be it in our power."

Calandryll had sooner the sorcerer not added that

WILD MAGIC

501

last, but he ignored it, taking Cennaire's hand
again,

Ochen said, "Cennaire must be our guide. I go ...
Who else?"

"I," said Calandrylt, echoed by Bracht, by Katya.

"Seven there must be to hold this cantrip firm,"
said Ochen. "You've power sufficient, my friend.
But, Bracht, Katya ... I fear your presence should
only endanger this undertaking."

"I go," said Zedu, and then three more. Cennaire
said, "Do we go swift, then? Please?"

Ochen nodded and beckoned, and the seven
moved a little way apart from the rest, forming a
circle, shoulder to shoulder. Calandryll put an arm
around Cennaire, pressing her close as the wizards
began to chant, their arcane words setting the
chamber to flickering like a candle seen through
rain-washed glass. The scent of almonds waxed
strong ...

... and they stood within another chamber, this
bright-lit by autumnal sunshine, opulent despite
the dust that greyed the floor, the furniture, a
hearth standing empty, the scent of desertion clear
as magic's perfume faded.

"Anomius's quarters," Cennaire said, excitement
and tension mingling in her voice. She clutched at
Calandryll's arm. "He brought me here."

"And the pyxis must be here," said Ochen. Then,
softer, "I hope."

"And soon those who'll wonder at our presence,"
said Zedu. "I doubt Anomius hid the box in any ob-
vious place, but rather employed some gramarye of
concealment. Do we bend our will to its finding be-
fore we're interrupted?"

Like questing hounds testing the air for sign of
prey the wazir-narimasu began to examine the
rooms. Calandryll stood helpless with Cennaire,

502 ANGUS WELLS

one arm about her shoulders/ a hand fingering the
hilt of the straightsword, ready to draw should any
oppose them. Such magic as was needed for the
finding of the pyxis was not his to command, and
he felt himself supernumerary, useless save that
his presence was a support to Cennaire. She stayed
by his side as the Jessertyes went about their
search, coming with him to the door, where he set
an ear to the paneled wood, listening for approach-
ing footsteps, voices. Recognizing what he did, she
drew him back, smiling nervously, and said, "Leave
this to me. My ears are yet superior."

"Aye." He acknowledged the logic of it, even as
he cursed his inaction: it allowed too much time,
space, to fill up with fear. What if the wazir-
narimasu failed to find the box? What if the sur-
rounding gramaryes proved too strong? What if the
Tyrant's sorcerers had already removed it? He
looked from Cennaire to the busy thaumaturgists,
willing the pyxis to appear, willing some bright-
robed man to proclaim discovery.

Cennaire said, "Someone approaches."

Calandryll snatched the straightsword half its
length from the scabbard before reason prevailed:

better to plead, better to rely on the power of the
wazir-narimasu. The sword slid back and he called
a soft warning that was answered with a curse from
Ochen.

"Can you not employ magic?" he asked. "Hide
us? Seal the door?"

"I'd not contest with fellow mages," Ochen re-
plied.

"And do they look to prevent our search? Shall
you not oppose them then?"

"As best we may," the mage returned.

"This should be sufficient." Calandryll felt com-
forted. "I've seen your magicks at work."

WILD MAGIC

503

Ochen snorted, not turning from his task. Over
his shoulder he said, "I was a wazir then. I am
wazir-narimasu now, and sworn to use no belliger-
ent magic."

Now Calandryll cursed. Cennaire said, "They're
at the door. They speak."

The wood was too thick he might hear what was
said, but the sudden wafting of the familiar almond
scent told him a cantrip was voiced. More mun-
dane was the click of tumblers in the lock as a key
was turned. Caiandryll motioned Cennaire back,
settling a hand firm on swordhilt.

The door opened/ revealing a group of seven men,
their robes black and silver, decorated with
cabbalistic designs. Behind them, filling the corri-
dor, clustered soldiers, too many leveling cross-
bows. Calandryll prepared to sell himself dear.

An old man, his features patrician, raised a hand,
part warning to the intruders, part an order that
those with him hold their fire. He said, "I am
Rassuman, sorcerer to the Tyrant of Kandahar.
What do you here?" His tone was commanding, but
also curious.

It was a moment before Calandryll, his ears
grown accustomed to the Jesseryte tongue, recog--
nized the language. He ducked his head, briefly
formal, diplomatic, not taking his eyes from the
sorcerer's face, and answered, "We seek a box. A
pyxis ..."

"Anomius's creature!" Behind Rassuman a
grossly fat man pointed an accusing finger. "Slay
her!"

"No!" The straightsword was in Calandryll's
hand, defensive. He shouted, "Ochen! Ward us, for
Dera's sake!"

"Hold, hold," urged Rassuman. "And you,
Lykander, do you still your tongue a moment?

504 ANGUS WELLS

We've a marvel here, and I'd know the making of
it. They cannot elude us, and as yet offer us no
harm."

He spoke with serene confidence and the obese
sorcerer grunted, scratching irritably at a wine-
stained beard.

Rassuman looked again at Calandryll, at
Cennaire, and said, "The woman I recognize; and
as Lykander remarks, she is, indeed, the revenant
Anomius made. But you, my bellicose young
friend, who are you?"

"Calandryll den Karynth. Anomius is dead."

Rassuman said, "Ah, I see it now. You've some-
thing of Lysse about you."

Lykander said, "The domm's brother! Therefore
our enemy. Slay him! And the exotics, too."

"Given his name the relationship is unarguable."
Rassuman's voice was mild- Calandryll thought
perhaps his eyes twinkled, that he enjoyed baiting
the fat man with the soiled beard. "But our enemy?
That I doubt, as his brother proclaims him outlaw,
and poor Menelian named him friend. And these
others? I suspect it should be a harder task than
most to slay them, for I perceive great magic in
their presence. So, shall we talk awhile, ere we
fling gramaryes at one another?" He smiled calmly,
gesturing that Calandryll should continue. "You
say Anomius is dead?"

"Aye." Calandryll nodded, relaxing a fraction.
"He was slain by Rhythamun as they contested for
the Arcanum."

To Rassuman's right a younger mage smiled,
stroking a hand as if in satisfaction. On his left a
man murmured, "This is one of whom Menelian
spoke."

Rassuman grunted, ducked his head, and asked

WILD MAGIC 505

more urgently, "And that fell book? Where is it
now?"

"In Anwar-teng, on the Jesseryn Plain." Calan-
dryll lowered the straightsword as he outlined the
tale of Rhythamun's defeat, Anomius's demise, all
that had gone before.

When he was done Rassuman nodded thought-
fully and said, "So you'd remove the pyxis and re-
store the revenant her heart. Be all you said the
truth, then she deserves as much."

"You forget Menelian!" Lykander protested.

"I also choose to forget that you favored
Anomius," said Rassuman, such steel in his tone
that the fat man paled, falling silent. Then: "We
sought that box without success. Our aim"—he
glanced apologetically at Cennaire—"was to de-
stroy this lady. When Anomius slipped his bonds
and fled, we set these chambers round with grama-
ryes, lest he return. That you entered is a wondrous
thing. These ... wazir-narimasu, you name them?
... must be sorcerers of great power to defeat our
cantrips. Should we engage in battle, I suspect none
should gain much and many suffer."

Calandryll saw no reason to explain the peaceful
nature of the Jessertyes' magic. Instead he ducked
his head, smiling, and said, "I see no need for bat-
tle. Do you leave us to our search, we'll be gone
once the pyxis is found."

"We might do more," said Rassuman. "We might
join you in the hunt. Perhaps, does Kandahar join
with Jesseryn Plain, we might succeed."

The wazir-narimasu had left off their searching
as the conversation went on, awaiting its outcome
with defensive magic readied. Now Calandryll
turned to them, explaining Rassuman's offer.
Ochen it was who answered: "Such aid is welcome.
Likely, do we join our magicks, we may find the

506 ANGUS WELLS

box. But do we first gift ourselves with tongues,
and thus save yours the task of translation."

A little more was needed as Calandryll explained
the suggestion, and then the Tyrant's sorcerers dis-
missed the guards and came into the chambers. For
a while the air crackled, rich with the almond
scent as the wazir-narimasu enspelled the Kands.

"Burash!" Rassuman declared when it was done.
"Such a cantrip's a mightily useful thing. Now, do
you tell me how you managed to enter here?"

Calandryll waxed impatient as occult lore was
exchanged. Cennaire clung to his arm, still nervous
in the presence of men she had for so long believed
must seek her destruction. Indeed, Calandryll
thought, watching their faces, there were some
would still. Lykander and the one named Lemomal
yet wore hostile expressions: there was one,
Caranthus, who seemed indecisive; but the rest
were wholehearted in their offer and their efforts,
and they held sway, carrying the others with them.

Impatient he was, but even so intrigued to learn
of events in the wider world. Order was restored to
Kandahar. Fayne Keep reduced to rubble and
Sathoman ek'Hennem's head even now rotting on
the battlements of Nhur-jabal. His brother's dream
of conquest was ended with a storm—of Burash's
making? he wondered—that left the great invasion
fleet sunk at anchor, Tobias gone back in high dud-
geon to Lysse, where Nadama had borne him a son
already named heir to the High Throne. The great
affairs of the world were settled. Save for that one
that now was paramount in his mind. He began to
fret as the westering sun shone fainter through the
windows.

At last, however, the assembled wizards were
done with talking and turned to the task in hand.
The chambers grew heady with magic's perfume,

WILD MAGIC 507

droning with the chant of cantrips. And then Zedu,
working in harmony with Rassuman, shouted tri-
umphantly from the sleeping quarters.

Calandryll and Cennaire forwent etiquette as
they thrust magicians aside, bursting into the room
to see the Jesseryte, an expression of distaste on his
swarthy features, holding the pyxis.

It was a very simple thing, of plain, black wood,
undecorated. Zedu set it down as if it were poison-
ous, and all there gathered, staring.

"The gramaryes of binding are much weakened
by Anomius's death," Rassuman murmured, "but
even so, not easy of undoing. Do we attempt it, all
of us? It should be safer thus, I think."

They looked one to the other, then to where
Cennaire stood. A sorcerer Calandryll remembered
was named Cenobar said gently, "The undoing
shall be dangerous, Lady. And that but the first
step."

"The second," she returned softly. "The first was
the finding of it, and that's a step taken now. I'd
complete this journey back."

"As you will," said Rassuman.

Calandryll felt Cennaire's fingers dig hard into
his flesh as the sorcerers ringed the pyxis, their
backs, black Kand robes alternating with brilliant
Jesseryte, blocking view. His nostrils clogged with
the almond scent, intoxicating; the air shivered,
shimmering, sparking blue and silver. Outside, the
sky crimsoned with the sun's descent beyond the
Kharm-rhanna, shadow denied within the chamber
by the coruscation of occult light. Then silence and
a slumping of shoulders, the light dying, the al-
mond scent fading. Someone said, hoarse-voiced,
"By all the gods, Anomius owned power."

Then Ochen said, "It's done. Do we proceed to
the next step?"

508 ANGUS WELLS

"Best you go swift/' said Rassuman, and turned
to face Cennaire. "Those gramaryes with which
Anomius protected the box are lifted, but with
their lifting so, too, are those spells that invest you
with life weakened. You've little time left, Lady. I
pray Burash you've sufficient."

Cennaire nodded silently, staring wide-eyed at
the pyxis. Calandryll felt cold sweat bead his brow.
To succeed so far only to fail for lack of time? Dera,
should Anomius yet revenge himself? Dry-
mouthed, his voice husky, he said, "Then do we go
without delay?"

"We cannot aid you further," Rassuman mur-
mured. "May the gods speed you."

"Aye." Already the wazir-narimasu came to-
gether, Ochen reaching out to take Cennaire's
hand, to draw her within their aegis. Calandryll
went with her, holding her close as the chant began
and the darkening room shifted, flickering in and
out of sight to become ...

. .. the council chamber in Anwar-teng, Bracht
and Katya starting up as the seven figures co-
alesced, their expressions urgent, questions form-
ing that Calandryll met with an outthrust palm,
turning to Ochen.

"How much time have we? What must you do?"

"How much time I cannot tell." Ochen peered
about the chamber, his fellow sorcerers busying
themselves as Zedu barked orders. "Not much, I
think. Horul, but Anomius thought far ahead! This
must be done swift, and without hesitation."

"Say you we can be defeated?" Calandryll hugged
Cennaire close, she silent, as if, her path chosen,
she consigned herself to fate. "That even now .. ."
He bit back the words and asked instead, "Can you
not replace those gramaryes of binding? Earn a lit-
tle time?"

WILD MAGIC 509

"No," said Ochen curtly. "Once undone, those
spells may not be woven again. This is a thing from
which there can be no turning back ... There is
only success or failure now. And you've a part to
play in this."

"I?" Calandryll shook his head, confused. "Name
it, and I'll do it. But what can I do? I'm no mage.
For all you've tutored me, I scarce understand this
power I own."

"Love is seldom easily understood," said Ochen.

"Love?" Calandryll frowned at the enigmatic re-
sponse. "What's love to do with this?"

He felt Cennaire moan then, shuddering within
the compass of his arm. He turned his face toward
her and saw her pale beneath her tan, her dusky
skin become ash-hued. The eyes she raised were
wide with pain, leaking tears. Her teeth began to
chatter and she moaned again, bending, a hand
pressed to her breast.

Low-voiced, she gasped, "The spell unwinds, I
think."

"Dera, no!" Calandryll drew her close, calling on
whatever magic he commanded to aid her, calling
on the Younger Gods to ease her pain, grant her
time.

That power remained dormant; nor did any god
respond. He held her, feeling her shake as if ague
wracked her, her body cooling as if its life drained
out.

Ochen shouted, "Swift! We must act now, and
here. Clear the table!"

Hands reached for the detritus of the meal, and
wine Jugs, cups- Swifter were the falchion and the
saber Bracht and Katya swung, sending plates, cups,
all of it tumbling to the floor. Delicate china broke,
wine ran like blood. Wazir-narimasu began to
chant, urgently, others to painting sigils on the

510 ANGUS WELLS

wood, arcane symbols that glowed bright, loosing
the almond scent.

"Disrobe," Ochen said.

Cennaire's hands fumbled, her fingers shaking,
numbed, at her clothes' fastenings. Katya spun,
snatching Bracht's dirk from the sheath, roughly
shoving Calandryll away as she slashed the lacings
of Cennaire's tunic, hacked off the shirt beneath.
Calandryll tugged the ruined vestments clear, and
caught Cennaire in his arms as she cried out and
fell. Katya knelt, ungentle in her urgency as she
yanked the boots from Cennaire's feet, the dirk
slicing fast through leathern breeks, the undergar-
ments.

"Set her down."

Ochen pushed Calandryll toward the table, indi-
cating the pentagram marked there, and he lowered
Cennaire to the wood, the light emanating from
the sigils reflected in the sweat that glistened on
her naked body. Her eyes fluttered open and her
mouth moved: Calandryll leaned close to hear.

"I love you," she whispered. "I've no regrets, no
matter ..."

Her voice tailed off. Her eyes closed- Her mouth
hung slack.

Calandryll cried, "No! You cannot die! You must
not!"

"She's not yet gone." Ochen thrust him aside,
stooping over the supine form, hands moving in in-
tricate patterns that left trailers of light behind,
touching her mouth, her breast, her forehead. The
wazir-narimasu stood in a circle about the table,
their chanting soft now, so that Calandryll heard
very clear Ochen's next words.

"This part shall be the hardest. Hard for us and
worse for you,"

"Worse?" Calandryll shook his head, dismissing

WILD MAGIC

511

the question: there was no time for redundant
words. Instead he asked, "What must I do?"

Ochen glanced sidelong at Ceimaire, as though to
reassure himself the vestiges of life remained. Ur-
gently, he said, "There's a power in you that tran-
scends even such magic as we wazir-narimasu
command. And you love her! That, above all, is the
vital factor now."

Helplessly Calandryll muttered, "I fail to under-
stand."

"You need not, only act," said Ochen. "Yours
must be the hand that takes out what Anomius set
within her. Yours the hand that puts back her liv-
ing heart."

Calandryll gasped, gaping, as sudden sweat ran
chill down ribs and spine, "I cannot! I've not the
skill. I'm no chirurgeon. Dera, I'd kill her!"

"You must!" Ochen's hand fastened hard upon
his wrist, the wrinkled face tilted up, narrow eyes
burning with a dreadful intensity as he stared into
Calandryll's. "Hate it was took out her heart and
made her revenant—Anomius's hatred of you and
your companions. Love it must be that restores the
organ. Without love, we've no hope of success—
and of all here, your love is the strongest. Do it! Or
see her die!"

Calandryll moaned, a groan of heartfelt agony, of
awful indecision. He gazed at Cennaire, her body
slick with sweat now, the rise and fall of pumping
lungs slowing, her lips gone pale, as if the coursing
of blood faltered.

"Do it!" the sorcerer repeated, remorseless. "Or
see her die! It's in your hands."

Calandryll's teeth gritted, lips stretched back in
rictal grimace. He willed his hands to still their
trembling: without effect. Then fingers clutched
his shoulder, spinning him round to face Bracht.

512 ANGUS WELLS

"Do it." The Kern's voice was steady, steel-hard
as the blue eyes that locked his gaze. "Quit your
mewling and do it."

"Do you truly love her, you can." Beside the
Kern Katya's grey eyes shone tierce. "The gods will
guide you."

Dumb, he nodded/ a silent prayer shaping in his
mind: Deia, be with me now. Do you love me, be
with me. Have I served you, grant me the strength
to do this. He turned from those determined eyes,
blue and grey, to find Ochen's tawny slits, and
ducked his head in frightened acceptance.

"What must I do?"

Ochen's smile was fleeting. "Dera placed her
blessing on that blade you wear. Use that."

Calandryll drew the straightsword unthinking.
Then hesitated, staring at the blade. No chirur-
geon's tool this, no delicate scalpel but a length of
forged steel made for life's taking, not its renewal.
It seemed a clumsy, cumbersome thing now.

"That shall serve better than any scalpel." It
seemed Ochen read his mind, or the expression on
his face. "Trust in your goddess."

Calandryll licked parched lips, passed a hand
over tear-blurred eyes. Dera, I place my trust in
you. Aloud, he said, "Tell me what I must do."

Ochen touched Cennaire's ribs, one long nail
scratching a taint line, dark against the pallor of
her dying skin. "Cut here."

Calandryll took a deep breath, closed his eyes a
moment, then leaned against the table, both hands
about the straightsword's hilt. Suddenly they were
firm, steady, no longer shaking. His vision cleared-
It seemed in that instant he felt the power of the
goddess in the steel. His heart calmed, no longer
racing, but pumping an even beat. He set the blade
against the line Ochen had drawn and cut.

WILD MAGIC                            SI3

Flesh parted, peeling from the wound. A few
drops of blood oozed. There should have been
more, a flood did she still live. He forced the doubt
away.

Ochen said, "Deeper," and he cut again, down
through the underlying tissue until he saw exposed
within the cage of ribs a lump of black clay.

The chanting of the wazir-narimasu grew louder,
their words imbuing the darkening chamber with
radiant blue light. It seemed to Calandryll to wind
and flow about the blade, that pulsing of its own
now, scintilla dancing within the metal.

At his shoulder, Ochen said, "Sever those ties
that bind it."

The straightsword was light, weightless it
seemed, sure as any scalpel, his hands resolute as
he cut through the linkages of arteries and veins,
"   severing those connections with Anomius's magic.

"Take out that abomination."

He set the sword aside, unaware whose hands
took it from him, and reached into the cavity, lift-
ing out the clay. It burned his palms, a sour odor of
1   corruption and decay offending his nostrils, as if its
final moments of existence were spent in spite, last
lingering memories of Anomius's malice. He
turned, and Ochen reached to take the fell burden
from him. Zedu, still mouthing the incantation,
leaned forward, passing him Cennaire's heart. That
lay warm in his hands, and he thought, or hoped,
he felt it pulse. He saw Ochen drop the clay into
the pyxis a sorcerer extended, and the lid close.

Ochen wiped his hands and said, "Now give her
back her heart."

Gently, delicately, he set the organ in place.

"What now?"

"For you, no more. This part belongs to us."

Ochen stretched out his arms, hands palms-

514 ANGUS WELLS

downward above the wound. His fellow sorcerers
came closer, their outthrust hands a benign canopy.
Their chanting deepened and the air crackled with
the power of their magic, blue fire dancing, envel-
oping them and Cennaire in its glow. Calandryll
watched, breath held, as flesh moved, tubes writh-
ing, extending to the still organ, touching it, join-
ing, reconnecting the channels, the conduits of
mortal existence. The sundered flesh moved, the
Ups of the wound closing until only a thin pink
line remained. Then that, too, was gone, and Cen-
naire lay again entire-

Ochen once more touched gentle fingers to her
breast, her lips, her forehead, and then, one by one,
all of the wazir-narimasu did the same- Their
chanting reached a crescendo and the blue radiance
enveloped Cennaire.

Then silence, a dying of the light.

Calandryll felt his held breath come out in a
ragged sigh.

Cennaire lay still.

No hint of life lifted her ribs; no breath came
warm from her cold lips; her eyes stared wide and
sightless.

Calandryll saw, as if time slowed, as if this final
disappointment must be drawn out, lingering, that
each final particle of dashed hope be savored,
Ochen turn toward him, desolation etched clear in
every wrinkle of his face- He saw the mage's lips
move, heard each word come ponderous, a thren-
ody of despair.

"I fear we were too late. Oh, Horul! There's no
more we can do. Cennaire is truly dead."

"Nor

Calandryll flung the smaller man aside, hurling
himself at the table, at Cennaire's corpse.

"No/"

WILD MAGIC 515

It was cry of absolute denial, blind refusal of his
eyes' testimony, of Ochen's words. There was no
grief in it, not yet; rather it was a scream of rage, of
total rejection- He cupped Cennaire's ashen face,
lifting her head. Her cheeks were cold. Her raven
hair spread, dulled now that magic's illumination
was gone, a dark and lifeless shroud. He shouted,
"No," again, and, "You cannot die. Not now," and
pressed his lips to hers.

What the others there present saw then he did
not, for he held the woman he loved in his arms,
seeking to infuse her with his own life, to breathe
his vitality into her corpse, and he was blind to all
else.

What the rest saw was a manifestation of star-
light, of moon's glow, the coruscating essence of a
god bound in sparkling shadow and dancing radi-
ance, elemental matter shaped in form of a man,
save for the great jet horsehead, the eyes alight
with benevolent fire.

Horul reached out one hand to touch Calandryll's
shoulder, unnoticed.

Life you gave us, that Tharn should have taken.
A service well worthy of reward, that. And so a life
in return, in gratitude, in my name and those of all
my kin.

Gravely, the god nodded, mane of night and stars
shifting, fluttering proud. The hand left Calandryll's
shoulder, the smoldering eyes surveyed the cham-
ber, and then Horul was gone on a silent wind.

Calandryll did not see the god, neither heard him
speak, but he felt flow into him and through him a
tremendous power. Not that strength that had in-
vested him as he fought with Rhythamun, though
it was akin to that, but something greater: the very
power of life. He felt it blaze, fiery, down the road-
ways of his being, his heart become the engine that

516 ANGUS WELLS

drove lungs become a furnace that pushed the
power out, past his lips, into Cennaire. Into her
mouth, her throat, her veins, her heart, filling her.
He felt her lips grow warm and move against his,
her arms rise to encircle him, clutching him. He
felt her ribs rise, and fall again, breath sweetly sti-
fled against his mouth. He pulled back, gazing into
eyes no longer lusterless, but shining, vital; alive.
He shouted laughter and pulled her to him anew.

In time they drew apart, and by then the assem-
bly was recovered enough from the shock of
Horul's manifestation that Katya had thought to
ask a gown be brought. Cennaire drew it on, sud-
denly demure, her eyes ablaze with wonder.

"I thought," she said softly, weak as yet, resting
in the curve of Calandryll's arm, "that I was lost- I
felt ... nothing. Dead."

"You live," Calandryll returned her, his mouth
against her glossy hair. "Praise all the gods, you
live."

"And I am entire? Myself again?"

"Aye," he answered her. "Your heart is once
more yours. Yours alone."

"I think not." A hint of coquetry entered her
voice. "For it's a new owner now."

"And mine," he said, "is yours. For so long as
you'd have it."

"That," she told him earnestly, smiling, "shall
be a very long time. Indeed, for all my life."

Across the chamber Bracht said, "Ahrd, but I
sicken at all this sweetling talk. Do we find wine
and celebrate in fitting manner?"

But he was laughing as he said it, and an arm lay
about Katya's shoulders, and she drove an elbow
against his ribs and said, herself laughing, "Better
you take heed, Kern, for I'd hear the same from you
ere long."

WILD MAGIC

517

Bracht exaggerated a frown of dismay at that
then shrugged and sighed, and said, "Calandryll, do
you tutor me then? Lest I offend this woman I in-
tend to wed."

Calandryll answered him, "Willingly, though I
suspect it shall be the hardest task we've yet
faced."

. "Likely it shall," said Bracht, but Calandryll
barely heard him, because he was kissing Cennaire
again, and so did not see the Kern turn Katya's face
up and follow suit in practice of his first lesson.

THEY quit Anwar-teng under the indifferent gaze of
a wintry sun. The ground was churned by the feet
of the rebels, by the hooves of their horses, the
wheels of their departing wagons, but the season
froze it hard, and with spring's advent even those
last memories of Tharn's madness should be forgot-
ten. The wind blew clean and cold, devoid of the
Mad God's charnel reek, fluttering the banners of
their escort, a century of kotu-zen, Ochen riding
with them as they went eastward, to Vanu. To the
holy men of Katya's land, who should at last de-
stroy the Arcanum, that none of Rhythamun's ilk.
or Anomius's, again have chance to dream of do-
minion, to seek the resurrection of the Mad God.
That the world be once more safe from chaos, and
men go about their affairs under governance of the
Younger Gods alone.

They turned a moment in their saddles, hands
raised in salute and farewell to the wazir-narimasu,
the young Khan, and the Shendii, who stood by the
gate, their presence token of the respect accorded
the questers, and then looked only forward, to the
future.

518 ANGUS WELLS

"Shall you be wed in Vanu?" Calandryll asked

Katya.
She looked to Bracht and her smile was glorious

as she answered, "Does this Kern still want me,

aye."
Bracht said, "I've wanted you since first I saw

you. Ahrd, but I knew not I'd such patience."
Katya laughed long, reaching out to take his

hand, and asked, "And you? Shall you two wed?"
"It's my wish," said Calandryll solemnly.
"And mine," said Cennaire, meeting his earnest

gaze with a smile-
He was surprised as he realized he had never seen

her blush before. He thought that tomorrow, and

all their tomorrows, should be foyous.

Ahout the Aufkcr

ANGUS WELLS was bom in a small village in Kent, En-
gland. He has worked as a publicist and as a science
fiction and fantasy editor. He now writes full-time
and is the author of The Books of the Kingdoms (The
Wrath of Ashar, The Usurper, The Way Beneath), The
Godwars (forbidden Magic, Dark Magic, Wild Magic),
and Lords of the Sky. His next novel will be called Ex-
ile's Children. He lives with his two dogs, Elmore and
Sam, in Nottinghamshire.