Relics of War

Chapter Nineteen

Lord Dakkar caught the wand, but then stood, shoulders hunched, staring at the shatra, the black weapon seemingly forgotten.

“Try it,” Tesk repeated. “You wished to use my magic.”

The baron’s brows lowered and his mouth turned down. He turned and held the rod out to the leader of the band of soldiers behind him. “Try it,” he said.

Startled, the soldier hesitated, but Lord Dakkar thrust the wand at him. “Take it!”

The man took it, then looked questioningly first at his lord and master, and then at the shatra.

“Point it at your target,” Tesk said. “Then set your thumb on that oval.” He indicated the relevant spot. “When you feel a faint warmth, press.”

“I don’t…my lord, where should I aim it?”

Lord Dakkar looked around, then pointed. “That fence.”

“Wait…” Grondar began, but several hands flew up to warn him away, and he did not finish his protest.

The soldier aimed the wand as he had been directed, then hesitated. “Like this?”

“Yes!” Lord Dakkar snapped.

“Your thumb on the oval,” Tesk said. “You should feel a faint warmth almost immediately.”

“I don’t feel anything,” the soldier answered. “It just feels like a stick.”

“Press anyway,” Lord Dakkar growled.

The soldier jammed his thumb down on the oval, but nothing happened. He repeated the gesture, jabbing futilely, then turned, eyes wide and worried, to the baron. “It’s not working, my lord.”

“Should I try?” one of the other soldiers asked, stepping forward, and Garander recognized Burz.

“There’s no point,” Lord Dakkar said, waving the offer away. “It won’t work, will it?” He glared at Tesk.

“It will not work,” Tesk agreed. “None of my magic will work. Ask Grondar and his son about my shelter cloth.”

Lord Dakkar looked at Grondar, and again dismissed the suggestion with a wave.

“I would like to hear about this shelter cloth,” Lady Shasha said.

“It’s…it’s a piece of cloth that Tesk put in a tree over his head when it was snowing,” Garander said. “It was warm and stayed dry no matter how much snow fell. It clung to the tree branches. When my father and I tried to move it, we couldn’t. We didn’t see any nails or anything holding it in place, and it just looked like ordinary cloth, but we couldn’t pull it loose no matter what we did.”

“But the shatra could?”

Garander nodded, and Tesk said, “It was created for my use, and no other person’s. All my tools and weapons were. Even the talisman I dropped for Ishta to find, the one that Lord Dakkar claimed-it will not work properly for anyone but me.”

“But it glowed,” the baron said. “And showed us glyphs.”

Tesk nodded. “Those say that it is the property of the Empire and should be returned to the nearest military people immediately. That is all it will do until it is in my hand again.”

“You said it wasn’t any use anymore!” Garander said.

“It is not. But if I hold it, the glyphs will say that I have no new orders.”

“None of us read Shaslan,” Lord Dakkar said. “It could be saying anything.”

“You saw three sets of glyphs, no more,” Tesk said. “Those are the three lines of the message asking the finder to return it to the military.”

“So you say,” Lord Dakkar growled, but Garander did not really think he disbelieved the shatra.

“Yes,” Tesk answered.

“Perhaps you could tell us how to bypass these restrictions, or create new devices that don’t include them,” Lady Shasha suggested.

Garander tried to judge Tesk’s reaction from his expression, but the shatra’s face had never been easy to read. He seemed more puzzled than anything else. “I am not a sorcerer,” he said.

“But you have all these weapons!” Velnira protested.

Tesk pointed at the soldier who still held the black wand. “He has a sword,” he said. “Does that mean he is a smith?”

“It’s not…” Velnira stopped in mid-sentence, looking from Tesk to Lord Dakkar and back.

“I am not a sorcerer,” Tesk repeated. “I know how to use my tools and weapons. I know nothing of how they are made or why they work.”

“Weren’t you taught to repair them if they were damaged?” Lady Shasha asked.

Tesk shook his head. “The demon portion of me could make certain small repairs, and I have a device that would summon a fil drepessis, a…a thing that would fix damaged talismans. I could not make any repairs without the help of either the demon or a fil drepessis.”

“You still have the demon.”

“The demon is asleep. You do not want it to wake.”

Garander certainly agreed with that, but from what he saw on certain faces he did not think everyone else present did.

“Perhaps a demonologist could be useful in that,” Lady Shasha suggested.

“Oh, blast the demon,” Lord Dakkar said. “Just let a sorcerer at your talismans! He should be able to figure them out.”

“I do not think so,” Tesk said.

“And what if we try?” Lord Dakkar said.

“I would advise against it,” Tesk said. “It has protections. If nothing else will convince you, though, I will not stop you.”

Lord Dakkar stared at him for a moment, then turned to the soldier with the wand and said, “Take that thing to Sammel. See what he can do with it.”

“This is not safe,” Tesk said.

“Your lordship,” Garander said, surprised at his own courage in addressing the baron directly, “Northern sorcery is dangerous! Someone could get hurt.”

“Sammel knows something about Northern sorcery, boy.”

“I know!” Garander said, a trifle desperately. “He’s the one who told me how dangerous it is!”

“Then trust him to know how to handle it safely!” Lord Dakkar turned away. “Velnira,” he called back, “you talk to him! See if we can’t make some arrangement.”

“Excuse me, Tesk,” Lady Shasha said, before Velnira could react. “What will happen when this sorcerer tampers with your wand?”

“One of two things,” Tesk replied. “Either nothing at all, if he cannot penetrate its protective magic, or it will kill him.”

“Kill him how?”

Tesk did that odd shoulder bob that Garander knew was his equivalent of turning up an empty hand. “I do not know.” He looked down at Ishta, and his face darkened. “Ishta should not see this,” he said.

“I’m not a baby,” Ishta protested.

“You are not a baby,” Tesk agreed, “but you are still a child. If the sorcerer breaks the protection, it will be ugly and bloody.”

“I’ve watched Father slaughter hogs,” Ishta answered.

“A hog is not a man,” Tesk said.

“Come on,” Garander said, putting a hand on Ishta’s shoulder. “Let’s go inside. It’s getting chilly.”

She shook off his hand. “No!” she insisted. “I want to see what happens to Tesk!”

“You said maybe nothing will happen,” Grondar said.

Again, Tesk’s shoulders bobbed. “Perhaps nothing will. But there is a reason your people know so little of Northern sorcery.”

“How interesting!” Lady Shasha exclaimed. “So you cannot live among other people, and no one else can use your magic?”

“That is true,” Tesk replied.

“It’s as if the magicians who created you wanted to make you worthless to anyone else.”

“They did,” the shatra said. “They did not want capturing one of us, alive or dead, to be of any value to your side.”

“But you aren’t of any possible value to their side now,” the Ethsharite said. “Their side doesn’t exist anymore.”

“Then I am of no value to anyone,” Tesk said. “You have come here for nothing.”

Lady Shasha gave a sort of half-nod, but before she could say anything more Ishta said, “What about the mizagars?”

Velnira, the baron, and Lady Shasha all looked at her. “What mizagars?” Velnira asked.

“Those mizagars,” Tesk said, pointing at the woods to the northeast.

Garander turned, as did most of the others, and saw dark shapes emerging from the forest.

They were hideous, unnatural things, standing between three and four feet high, with legs that projected out to the side and then bent downward, so that their bellies were almost touching the ground. They did not seem to have necks; their heads were just extensions of their long, barrel-shaped bodies. Their eyes were so small as to be effectively invisible at this distance, while their mouths were huge, practically splitting their heads in half. Their skins were black, and they remained partly under the shadows of the trees, so that it was very hard to make out any further details.

There were four of them, by Garander’s count.

“They obey my orders,” Tesk said. “I told them to come here today to show you another reason you should leave me alone where I am. For twenty years I have kept them from attacking farmers or travelers. If you force me to leave, I cannot restrain them.”

“We can kill mizagars,” Lord Dakkar said.

“I am sure you can,” Tesk agreed. “But I save you the trouble.”

“Tesk,” Lady Shasha said, turning her attention from the mizagars back to the shatra, “what do you want?”

Tesk seemed puzzled by the question. “I do not want anything from you or your master.”

“That’s not what I asked,” she said. “What is it you do want? Why do you stay here? You could have stayed hidden in the wilderness forever, if you wanted to, but you didn’t. Why?”

Tesk stared at her for a moment, and just when Garander thought he was not going to answer at all, he said, “I was lonely.”

Lady Shasha nodded, as if she had expected that response, but it was Lord Dakkar who spoke next. “I can get you women,” he said.

Tesk’s mouth quirked in a half-smile. “I do not want women,” he replied.

“But you just said…”

“I want companionship, not female bodies.” Tesk straightened up. “I want to live as I always have, but to visit with friends sometimes. That is all I want.”

“Well, we want you to help us learn about Northern magic,” Lord Dakkar said. “We can see to it that no one bothers you if you do that.”

“No, you can’t,” Lady Shasha interrupted. “You can’t keep everyone away if they’re determined.”

Lord Dakkar turned to her angrily. “We can do better than you can! This is our territory, not part of your hegemony.”

“You are permitted to think yourselves independent because the overlords of Ethshar were reluctant to shed Ethsharitic blood in the years immediately after the war, but if you provoke them sufficiently, I assure you that they are capable of reasserting their authority.”

“Are you threatening me?” The baron’s hand was on the hilt of his sword.

“I am warning you, and all your so-called fellow barons, that the patience of the overlords is not infinite,” Lady Shasha calmly replied. “Lord Edaran already thinks it was a mistake to allow you so much freedom, but up until now Lord Azrad and Lord Gor have restrained him. They are old men, and long since tired of fighting, but do not assume they cannot be roused to anger. And who knows what their heirs may say, when the time comes?”

“Wait a minute,” Garander said. “Are you threatening a war?”

“If that’s what it takes to establish the Hegemony’s authority,” Lady Shasha replied.

“You wouldn’t take our land without a fight,” Lord Dakkar growled.

“It isn’t your land in the first place!” Lady Shasha snapped. “Ask Grondar!”

“This is my farm,” Grondar said, “but I…I think we’re Sardironese here.”

“There’s no such thing as ‘Sardironese’ outside the walls of Sardiron,” Lady Shasha told him. “This is all Ethsharitic territory. All the World outside Old Ethshar rightfully belongs to the Hegemony.”

“Not any more!” the baron shouted.

“You’d fight a war over Tesk?” Garander asked, astonished.

“I’ll fight a war if that’s what it takes to keep the overlords out!”

“Lord Edaran is prepared to fight if that’s what it takes to restore order to the northern territories,” Lady Shasha said.

“That’s crazy!” Garander said. “Father’s told me about the war-you can’t seriously want to go through that again, and fighting amongst ourselves. We’re all descended from Ethshar, no matter what we are now.”

“Tesk isn’t,” Ishta said.

“But the rest of us all are!” Garander said.

“Now that the Northerners are gone, maybe it’s time to straighten out the enemies among those who claim to be our own people,” Velnira said.

“But you don’t need to,” Garander said. “There’s nothing worth fighting a war over!”

“That is not for a mere farm boy to decide,” Lord Dakkar said.

“But this is about Tesk, isn’t it?”

“He’s just the excuse, son,” Grondar said.

“What?” Grondar had had so little to say that Garander had almost forgotten he was there. Now he turned to look at his father.

Grondar held up a hand. “We’ll talk later,” he said.

“But…”

Grondar shook his head, and Garander subsided, but now it was Tesk’s turn to speak. “You both say you have come to bargain for the magic I hold, yes?”

“That’s right,” Lady Shasha replied.

“You understand now that I cannot use your money or live in your cities, and that I cannot simply give you my equipment or teach you how to make more.”

“I understand you say that,” Lord Dakkar answered.

“Perhaps we should take time to reconsider our positions,” Tesk said. “I will try to think of what I want that you can give me, and how I might be useful to you. You can think of what you want of me that I can give, and what you can offer me, what promises you can make to persuade me. We will meet here again in a few hours’ time-at dusk, perhaps?-to resume negotiations.”

“That sounds good to me,” Grondar said.

“Some time to gather our thoughts might be useful,” Lady Shasha acknowledged.

Velnira glanced at Lord Dakkar, who frowned. “All right,” he said.

With that, the gathering broke up. Lord Dakkar, Velnira, and the baron’s soldiers headed for the baron’s camp; Lady Shasha returned to the still-hovering flying carpet, where one of the other passengers offered his hand to help her up.

Grondar collected his family, using his outstretched arms to herd them toward the house. “Come on,” he said. “We’re going inside. Your chores can wait; we need to talk.”

“May I walk with you?” Tesk asked.

Startled, Grondar threw him a glance, then turned up a palm. “As you please,” he said.

As they walked, Shella the Younger said, “I don’t understand what’s going on.”

“I do,” Grondar said. He looked at Tesk again. “I think you do, too.”

“I think so,” the shatra agreed.

“What did you mean, he’s just the excuse?” Garander asked.

“Just what I said,” Grondar replied. He sighed. “Lord Dakkar is a young man, too young to have fought in the war. Lord Edaran is even younger, little more than a boy. Young men want to prove themselves. Lord Dakkar wants to show everyone he deserves to be treated as an equal in the Council of Barons. Varag is a small, unimportant town, and the other barons, from Sardiron and Aldagmor and the Passes, probably treat him like a child. As for Edaran, he’s been called an overlord since he was nine or ten, but from everything I’ve heard his mother and his advisors have really run everything in Ethshar of the Sands, and the other two overlords, Gor and Azrad, have run everything outside the city walls. He was treated like a child because he was a child, and he wants to prove he’s become a man.”

“How does fighting over Tesk prove anything?” Garander asked.

“It’s not about Tesk,” his father answered. “Tesk is just an excuse. Those two both needed something to show that they’re strong and decisive leaders, men who go out and accomplish things and don’t back down, and Tesk is an opportunity to demonstrate their resolve.”

“But Lord Dakkar and Lady Shasha talked as if they were ready to start a war!”

“Lady Shasha is probably just doing as she’s told; it’s Lord Edaran you’re hearing when she speaks.”

“That’s not my point,” Garander said. “How could anyone want to start another war?”

Grondar sighed. “Because they don’t remember the last one. Have you ever listened to the men in the village when they talk about the war?”

“Of course!” Garander said.

“Most of them make it sound like a big exciting adventure, don’t they?”

“Well, they…” Garander blinked. That was exactly what they did. “But you don’t talk about it that way,” he finished.

“Never?”

Garander paused, remembering.

The stories Grondar told at home were about how horrible the war was-the boredom and fear and horror, dead friends and family, years spent living in crowded, miserable conditions while waiting for battles that never seemed to matter. But the stories he told when he and his friends got together to sample the new beer or prepare a bridegroom for his wedding were different; they were funny, or exciting. He never made himself out a hero the way some of the older men did, but in the village he didn’t talk about corpses in the mud, or about huddling under a bush, trembling in fear, while magic fire blazed overhead; he told stories about outwitting Northern scouts, or finding a way around some unpleasant duty.

“I always wanted you and your sisters to understand what the war was like,” Grondar said. “I don’t think everyone else was as careful. After all, why should they be? The Northerners were gone, so there couldn’t be any more wars, could there?”

The bitterness in his father’s voice startled Garander. “But there shouldn’t be any more!” he said.

“But there will be, sooner or later. In fact, I hear there have been wars in Old Ethshar all along-all the self-proclaimed kings and councils fighting over who’s the true heir to the Holy Kingdom.”

“But…would the barons really fight the Hegemony?”

“If they think they can win, yes. And they probably do think they can win, because the Hegemony is run by two tired old men and an untrained boy, and its people have gotten soft after twenty years of peace down there in the warm south.”

“Could they win?”

“I doubt it.” He glanced at Tesk. “Unless maybe they had a shatra on their side.”

“I am not interested in fighting for either side,” Tesk said.

“Neither am I,” Grondar said. He looked at Garander. “And I don’t want my son to fight, either. I don’t want my daughters taken to sew uniforms and bind wounds. I want no part of another war.” He turned back to Tesk. “I assume you’re going to vanish into the woods, to stay clear of the fighting?”

“I have not decided,” the Northerner replied.

Grondar nodded. They had reached their front door, and he paused with his hand on the latch.

“If you do,” he said, “can you take us with you?”