A Wizard and a Warlord

7

Not off from me you can’t!” Alea swung her staff, knocking the sergeant’s hand away.

“Well now, you shouldn’ta done that,” the sergeant said, aggrieved, and sudden hands caught her shoulders and arms, yanking the staff out of her hand as the sergeant bent to seize her hair and drag her head back, laughing low in his throat as his broken-toothed grin came down over her lips.

It never touched. Gar erupted, roaring, yanking the sergeant off his horse and swinging him around in a circle, knocking the others away. He was a terrifying sight, eyes bulging, face swollen with rage, teeth flashing white in a space-tanned face, huge muscles rolling under naked skin as he threw the sergeant back across his horse and caught up Alea’s staff to thrust it back into her hand, then crouched behind her, holding his staff like a baseball bat and bellowing, “Go! Leave sister ‘lone!”

The sergeant pulled himself upright in his saddle, face white with fear—but as he felt his spear in his hand again, his courage came back and his look darkened. “Hold her, Arbin!” he snapped, then rode around to level his lance at Gar. “Ye don’t strike Gin’ral Malachi’s men, y’hear?”

Gar crouched cringing but roared defiance wordlessly—and clearly gathered himself to spring.

Even the sergeant took an involuntary step back, but he said, “Look around you, moron! There’s four spears pointing at you and another three at your sister!”

“Not at sister!” Gar tensed, foam at his lips, the light of murder in his eyes.

“You didn’t tell us that, now, did you?” The sergeant made it sound like a threat. “If we’d known she was your sister—well, we’d never trouble a sister where her brother had to watch, would we, boys?”

The bandits chorused doubtful nays, but Alea heard their thoughts and clamped her jaw against the bile that tried to rise in her gorge.

“We might stay to have some fun with you, though,” the sergeant concluded.

Gar growled low in his throat, lifting the staff a little higher over his shoulder, and the light in his eyes turned to madness.

“Sergeant,” one of the men said uncomfortably, “this ain’t what we’re sent to do.”

“No, it ain’t,” the sergeant told Gar grimly, “and lucky for you that is, for we can’t take the time to punish you now. But if you see the Gin’ral’s soldiers again, you do what they tell you and do it quick, you hear?”

Gar’s growl rose, his muscles bulging.

“I don’t think he can understand so many words at once, Sergeant,” Alea said quickly.

“Well then, you take your time and explain it to him, woman,” the sergeant said with heavy emphasis.

“It would be too bad if he went and skewered himself on our spears, it would.”

Gar rose slightly from his crouch, the staff still high, the growl still in his throat. .

“You’re warned!” the sergeant said, and turned his horse. He trotted off down the road; his men followed, looking back with glances that were either lustful or fearful, then turning away to ride on behind the sergeant.

Alea watched them go, trembling with relief and fear—of them, the fear had to be of them, and as soon as they were out of sight she turned on Gar. “You interfering lummox! I was afraid I was going to see you turned into a pincushion! Didn’t you realize you could be hurt?”

“I was more concerned about you,” Gar said gravely.

Something melted inside Alea, but she coated it with steel and ranted on. “I would have survived—and you don’t think I would have let them really do anything to me, do you? Believe me, every one of them would have paid dearly for what he did!”

“I don’t doubt it,” Gar replied, “but I would rather they didn’t do it in the first place.”

Alea ignored him. “Never mind that you straightened up! They must have seen how tall you are! By now they’ll have realized you’re the man they’re hunting and be calling up a hundred more to bring you in!”

Gar gazed off into space a moment, his face going blank; Alea could have screamed until she realized he was listening for the patrol’s thoughts. She tried it herself and caught a jumble of accusations and counteraccusations, of denials and insults; none of the men would admit having been afraid of the mad halfwit. All agreed he should be locked up, not allowed to wander the roads. None, however, volunteered to go back with a net and chains.

“It never even occurred to them,” Gar told her. “I went from being a toad to a gorilla and back to a toad. None of them thought I might be the man and warrior for whom they’re looking.”

“They were ready to kill you on the spot!”

“None of them could admit they were afraid,” Gar explained. “They had to threaten me enough to prove it, but they weren’t really about to push the simpleton so hard that he might attack again.”

Alea frowned. “How could they tell?”

“I didn’t explode until they threatened you,” Gar explained. “They knew ‘poor Gar’ wouldn’t mind what they said about him, only about his sister—unless they actually attacked.”

“You don’t really think you drove them away, do you?”

“Not really, no,” Gar said. “I only made them realize that the cost of their fun would be higher than they wanted to pay.”

“But they might have stabbed you six ways at once! You could have left it to me! I could have talked them out of it without coming to blows—I’ve done it before!” But she remembered the terror she’d felt when the hands seized her from behind and wasn’t so sure.

Gar frowned, studying her, then said, “I’m sure you could have. Very well, I’ll try to be a little more circumspect in the future.”

Alea eyed him narrowly. “What does that mean?”

“It means I’ll give you a chance to talk them out of it,” Gar said, “and if they won’t talk, I’ll use telekinesis to make them have accidents, such as two of their horses stumbling at the same time and throwing their riders into each other—coincidentally, of course.”

“Of course,” Alea said dryly. “Well, thank you for trusting me enough to let me try—and for trying to protect me this time.”

“You helped me escape General Malachi’s camp,” Gar reminded. “You guard my back, I’ll guard your back.”

“That sounds like a good bargain,” Alea said, relenting. “Just wait until I need it, all right?”

“All right,” Gar agreed, and fell in beside her as she turned away to take up the journey again. She found his presence very reassuring, and felt a secret glow within her knowing that he had tried to protect her.

They were welcomed in the next town with the delight with which everyone greets a break in monotony. The trade was brisk; this village’s specialty’ was exquisitely carved figurines of several different kinds of hardwood, and they were all eager for new pans, beads, needles, pins, and even some of the pottery from the village only a few miles away—Gar found that amusing, and Alea, raised in a hamlet herself, wondered why.

Again Gar and Alea were invited to spend the night with one of the village family; Gar was amazed that these people felt they could trust total strangers and thought that perhaps they really didn’t know what theft and violence were.

Alea was concerned about one of the children who coughed all evening and found a chance to ask his mother Celia, too quietly for little Orgo to hear, “Is he ill?”

“Only a cold, pray the Goddess,” Celia said, but her face was shadowed with concern. “He’s had it for two weeks, though, and I think it’s growing worse.”

“Don’t you have a doctor here, or a wise woman?”

“Only old Priscilla,” Celia said. “She’s told me to put hot compresses on his chest at night and have him breathe over a steaming bowl when his head feels too full. I should take him to the temple.”

Alea was surprised to hear a temple mentioned instead of a doctor but reminded herself that monks and nuns o£ many different faiths had been healers. “That might be well,” she agreed.

In the middle of the night, a rasping and gargling woke her. She lifted her head, frowning and looking about—then saw Orgo, his face turning blue.

Celia reached the little boy a second before her. “What’s happened, Orgo? Here, try to spit, then breathe!”

Orgo opened his mouth and made a hacking sound, but nothing came out and no breath came in. “My boy is dying!” Celia cried, beside herself. “Gorbo! Gorbo, call the priestess!”

The oldest boy, pale with fright, pulled on his trews and ran out the door. His father came over, wide-eyed with apprehension.

Alea pressed her lips thin in exasperation. Surely the consolations of religion were important, but wouldn’t a doctor … Then she remembered that here, the priestess probably was the doctor.

The temple must be far away, though; she hadn’t seen it in the village. She turned to Gar, who was levering himself up. Do something!

“Go find me a clean piece of hollow straw with thick walls,” Gar told her. He knelt and laid his ear against the boy’s chest, then thumped with his thumb. He looked up at the anxious parents. “Bartrum, Celia—I can save his life, but I’ll have to make a small cut in his skin. Do you wish me to do it?”

They stared in shock. Then Celia said, “But … but you’re a half-wit!”

“Bandits struck him on the head two years ago,” Alea said quickly. “Since then, his wits come and go. Thank your gods that they have come back now.”

Inside her mind, Gar’s voice spoke with approval: Good improvisation.

“I thank the God indeed,” Bartrum said fervently, and Celia cried, “Do what you have to! Only save him!”

“Hold him still, Bartrum,” Gar said to the father, “and don’t be frightened by what I do.” To the mother, “Bring me the candle; I must heat the blade.”

She brought the candle with a trembling hand. Gar held the blade in the flame; then Alea watched closely as he performed an emergency tracheotomy. Celia cried out in despair as she saw Orgo’s blood—then wept with relief as she heard his breath whistle in.

The blueness faded from Orgo’s face. His breath rasped, but he began to regain the ruddiness of health.

“His voicebox was clogged with the mucus from his chest,” Gar explained to Celia and Bartrum. “He can’t breathe forever through that straw, but it will keep him until your priestess can come.”

“Thank the gods that you knew what to do,” Bartrum said in a shaky voice.

“He won’t have that thing there forever, will he?” Celia asked anxiously.

“No, but there will probably be a small scar.”

“Little enough price for his life,” Celia said. “Oh, thank you, Gar! The Mother-Goddess must have sent you here!”

Gar didn’t answer, but Alea could see his face glow in the candlelight.

“Thank you, thank you a thousand times, Gar,” Bartrum seized his hand and pumped it fervently. Gar frowned vaguely, looking down at their joined hands, then back up at Bartrum’s face, and the light of intelligence faded from his eyes. “Thank?” he asked. “Why?”

“For my son’s life, of course!” Then Bartrum realized what was happening and dropped Gar’s hand. “Oh … my friend…”

“Yes,” Alea said softly. “His wits have fled again. It was only Orgo’s dire need that brought them back, I guess.”

“Or the goddess.” Celia stroked sweat from her child’s brow. “Lie easy, son. The priestess will be here soon enough.”

She was indeed; not even half an hour later, the priestess came in the door, face taut with urgency, and looked about her. “Where is the child? … Oh!”

“The strangers saved him,” Celia told her.

The priestess came over to study the tracheotomy closely and frowned. “This was well done, but it will not endure. Still, it will hold till we have brought him to the temple.” She called over her shoulder, “Take him up!”

Two brawny young men in leather jerkins and hose came into the house. They wore bows and quivers slung over their backs and thick knobbed sticks at their belts. They spread a stretcher next to Orgo and lifted him onto it.

“Lie still, my son.” Celia stroked his brow. “They will carry you to the temple, and how many other boys can say they have had such a privilege?”

In spite of it all, Orgo’s eyes lit with eagerness. The priestess reached out a hand to the boy’s throat. “This took skill and great knowledge.” She turned to Alea. “You did well, lady.”

“Oh, not I,” Alea protested. “There sits your surgeon.”

The priestess turned and stared at Gar.

The big man sat on his heels against the wall, rocking back and forth, staring at the coals on the hearth with a vacant face.

“How is this?” The priestess frowned. “Do you mean to tell me a simpleton could work such surgery?”

“He is more than he seems,” Alea said quickly, “and perhaps less, too.” She caught a wordless but indignant burst of thought from Gar and stifled a smile.

The priestess studied Gar, still frowning, and for a moment Alea was afraid she was reading his mind but she turned to Celia and said, “There is some urgency still. Come if you wish.”

“I shall,” Celia said instantly, and turned to Bartrum. “Stay with the others, my dear!”

Bartrum could only nod, mute, and the priestess gestured to her escort. They lifted Orgo onto the stretcher and carried him out—but two more came in and stood to either side of Gar.

Alea looked up, tensed to fight.

The priestess said, “The one with the damaged mind must come, too.”

Gar only blinked around him, confused. One of the guards caught him by the arm and said, “Come along now, fellow. We’ve a nice soft bed for you, and good food.”

“Food?” Gar asked hopefully.

“Sweet food,” the guard confirmed, “good food. Come on, now.” He started toward the door and Gar came willingly. His thought spoke in Alea’s mind: I’ll be back soon enough, I’m sure. Wait here.

Hanged if I will! Alea hurried after him and said, “May I not come too, lady? He’s my brother, and I’m concerned for him!”

“Yes, of course, lass,” the priestess said with gentle sympathy. “Mind you, I’m not saying we can cure him.”

“I don’t want to be parted from him, that’s all—at least, not while he’s like this!”

“You’re a good woman to take care of him so,” the priestess assured her. “Come with us, then.”

Alea remembered her manners and turned back to say quickly, “Thank you, Bartrum and Celia. Your hospitality…”

Celia cut her off. “Hospitality! My child’s life! Thank you, Alea, and your brother! May the gods watch over you as you have watched over us!”

“My life is yours,” Bartrum said fervently. “Anything I can give, you’ve but to ask.”

“Come along, child,” the priestess said with a touch of impatience.

“Good-bye, then,” Alea said to her host, and hurried out the door beside her hostess.

The temple stood atop an oblong hill a mile outside of the village, all columns and pediments, gleaming silver in the moonlight. Across from it stood a second temple, similar but of a darker stone—it was impossible to tell its color in the moonlight.

From the summit, Alea could look down at half a dozen other sleeping villages and understood that the temples weren’t located in any one because they had to serve all.

A boy god and a girl god … Alea remembered the child’s statement of their religion and concluded that one temple must be for the god, the other for the goddess—but the priestess was going toward the silvered temple, Celia close behind, and Alea went with her.

They came up a broad flight of steps, then in among the columns, and Alea saw they were of marble, very pale. Great bronze doors decorated with sculptured motifs opened to them; they went through.

Alea stopped, awestruck by the huge statue of a woman with a strong but gentle face, simply robed, smiling with affection and welcome. In one arm she held a cornucopia, in the other a bow.

“Why, child,” said the priestess, “have you never seen a statue of the goddess?”

“Never … never quite like this.” Indeed, the statue seemed very much like Freya but also very much like Idun. There was something of the Valkyrie about her, too. It was as though all the Germanic goddesses had been blended into one.

She forced herself to turn away and was surprised to discover that she automatically spoke in a hush.

“You cannot work cures in a place of reverence such as this.”

“No. That we must do below.” The priestess gestured toward her right.

Looking, Alea saw the guards disappearing down a broad stairway, Celia right behind them. With a little cry, Alea started after.

“Gently, child, gently.” The priestess touched her shoulder.

Looking back, Alea saw that she smiled with kindly amusement.

“Your brother will wait for us,” the priestess assured her. “First, though, it is you who must wait for him.”

She led Alea to an anteroom where there were padded chairs with small tables between. Pastel frescoes brightened the walls.

“Bide here in patience,” the priestess said. “An acolyte will bring you refreshment. Your brother will be with you in an hour or so. Then we shall tell you if we can do anything to heal his brain.”

“Heal his brain?” Alea started up in alarm. “What do you mean to do?”

“Now, now, we only mean to discover the cause of his wits coming and going,” the priestess said in a soothing tone. “We will not truly do anything to him without telling you and having your consent.”

Alea sat back but eyed the priestess warily.

“Trust the goddess, my dear,” the priestess said with a reassuring touch on her hand, then turned through the curtained archway and was gone.

Alea sat alone, frowning at the murals and trying to puzzle out the story from what was shown there. She saw a young man in rough garb gazing through the rushes at the side of a pond; within the water stood a young woman, and the positions of her hands showed that she was bathing, but her body was only a burst of brightness, and the expression on the young man’s face was awe. The young woman, however, seemed irritated, as any young woman might be in her place. Nearby, six hounds lay; two were coming to their feet.

Footsteps padded; and Alea looked up to see a sleepy teenage girl bearing a tray with some small cakes, a tall pitcher, and a cup. She set them on the little table beside Alea, then stepped back, saying, “Do you need anything more, Lady?”

“No … no, this will do well.” Alea smiled at the younger woman. “I thank you—and I am sorry to disturb your sleep.”

The girl smiled in return. “We who would serve the goddess must be ever ready to come to her service; Lady. Do not hesitate to call out if you have need.”

“Thank you,” Alea said. “I shall.”

“I saw you studying the picture.” The girl turned to gaze at the mural, too. “It would seem to be only the huntsman coming upon the goddess unadorned, in her role as maiden and hunter, for which offense, unintended or not, he died—but the priestesses tell me there is a deeper meaning hidden in the story, even a Mystery.” She turned back to Alea with a smile of embarrassment. “I have not yet discovered it, though. I have a great deal to learn.”

“So have I,” Alea said, “but since I must wait here, I shall contemplate the scene. Perhaps I shall discover what it represents.”

“Perhaps so. I wish you good fortune.” But the girl’s eyes went round in awe and she made a small curtsy before she went out again.

Alea frowned after her, wondering what had bothered the girl—then realized that the lass thought Alea must needs be an initiate to be able to speak of discovering a Mystery.

Well, perhaps she would at that, though not in the way the acolyte thought. Alea composed herself, gazing at the mural as though in meditation—but as her body relaxed and stilled, her mind opened, seeking the thoughts of the people within this temple—first Orgo, who was still in peril despite Gar’s temporary surgery, then Gar himself.

If she could still find him.