Relics of War

Chapter Twenty

Grondar had not been happy with Tesk’s response. The shatra did not think he could keep the entire family alive and safe if they fled into the hills, and while Grondar knew that was reasonable, he was not eager to accept it. He argued for several minutes.

Finally, though, he had gone inside, with his wife and two daughters, leaving the shatra outside.

Garander had also remained outside. He had seen his father look at him and say nothing, and he knew that Grondar approved.

Tesk looked at him, but also said nothing. He began walking toward the woods, not in his usual rapid zigzag, but at a casual stroll. Garander followed him, and for a moment neither of them spoke.

Then Garander asked, “What are you going to do?”

“I have not decided.”

“If you do try to disappear, they’ll come after you.”

“I know.”

“If you don’t choose a side they’ll try to kill you, no matter what you do.”

“I know.” The shatra smiled. “Will they send a dragon after me?”

Garander considered that, then shook his head. “I don’t think anyone still has any tame dragons. They were all supposed to be destroyed at the end of the war.”

“Do you believe they all were destroyed?”

Garander thought for a second, then said, “No. But I don’t know where they are. I mean, dragons are big, aren’t they? Where would you hide one?”

“I do not know.” Tesk seemed to hesitate for a moment, then said, “I have seen a dragon, east of here. I do not think it was tame.”

Startled, Garander asked, “You’ve seen one?”

“Yes. A very large one.”

“So my father’s warnings about dragons in the woods were right?”

“It was many miles east of here.”

“But there could be others, smaller ones.”

Tesk moved his shoulders. “I have not seen others.”

“What did you do when you saw it?”

“I hid.”

Garander nodded. Tesk surely knew his limitations, and even a shatra wouldn’t want to meet a wild dragon.

“So they do not have dragons,” Tesk said.

“I don’t think so,” Garander said. “But they have wizards. Lots of wizards.”

“I cannot hide effectively from wizards’ spells.”

Garander nodded again. “So you’ll have to choose a side.”

Tesk smiled again, humorlessly. “Then only one side will be trying to kill me.”

“And the other will try to protect you! It’s better than both of them trying to kill you.”

“I do not know how much they will try to protect a Northern half-demon.”

Garander knew the shatra had a point. “Can the mizagars help guard you?” They had reached the edge of the forest; Garander glanced around, but saw no trace of the monsters Tesk had summoned earlier.

“They would die trying,” Tesk answered. He noticed Garander’s gaze and added, “I sent them away. They were an empty threat.”

“So you think you’re going to be killed no matter what you do.”

“It seems likely.” Again, his shoulders moved. “All my people died twenty years ago. I have had more time than any of the others, but I cannot live forever.”

“Not even with your demon half? Don’t demons live forever?”

“Demons do. I will not.”

“You might live longer if you chose one side, though.”

“I might.” Tesk cast a glance at Garander. “Which side do you think I should choose?”

“I don’t know,” Garander said. “My father always said we were Sardironese now, not Ethsharitic, but…I don’t know.” A thought was stirring in the back of his mind. “Tesk, you can do things ordinary people can’t, right?”

“Yes.”

“Can you stop your heart? Without dying?”

“You suggest I fake my death?”

“Well…I was thinking that if we could make each side think the other had killed you…”

“Then they would have a cause for war, would they not?”

“For killing a left-over Northern monster?”

Tesk did not reply immediately. The two proceeded another three or four steps before he asked, “How could this be done? Would they not examine me closely, to be certain? Would they not fight over my equipment?”

“I don’t know,” Garander admitted. He looked at the shatra, studying the rods strapped to Tesk’s back. “How much equipment do you still have, anyway?”

Tesk took another step before replying, “That is an interesting question.”

“It is?”

“Yes. For twenty years I have been traveling through land where the Empire and Ethshar fought. Soldiers are not always tidy. Sometimes they must flee without warning. Sometimes they die without warning. Sometimes when this happens, they leave equipment behind.”

“Yes?”

“I did not want your people to find old Northern equipment. I have been gathering it.”

Garander started. “You…what?”

“I have been gathering all the Northern equipment I have found in twenty years,” Tesk told him. “I have used my own talismans to find… I cannot think of the word. Caches? Places where equipment was hidden for later use. There is a lot of it now.”

Garander was stunned into momentary silence. Then he said, “If Lord Dakkar and Lord Edaran knew that, they would really want you. It isn’t all enchanted so only you can use it, is it?”

“No. There is some anyone can use, and some no one but a Northern sorcerer can use.” Tesk stopped, then leapt up into a tree, leaving Garander on the ground below.

“Then…” He looked up at the shatra. “If you showed us where it is, and how to use it, maybe my parents and sisters and I could survive out here to get away from a war.”

“Most of it is either weaponry, or devices that are of no use any more, like the talisman Ishta found. I do not think you want to live in exile in the wilderness, in any case.”

“Not really, no. But I don’t want to be a soldier, either.”

Tesk had no answer for that. He sat back on his branch and leaned against the trunk of the tree.

“I don’t want you to be killed,” Garander said.

“I do not want to die,” Tesk replied. “We cannot always have what we want.”

“Can you stop your heart?”

Tesk sighed. “Yes. But I do not think that will be sufficient.”

“Would you do me a favor?”

Tesk looked down at him. “What is it?”

“Can you go to one of your hiding places and bring back some equipment? Things you don’t mind losing, enough to look like it’s everything you normally carry. In fact, twice as much as that.”

“Why?”

“I have an idea.”

Tesk considered Garander’s face, then made that odd shoulder motion. “When?”

“I think…I think we’ll need them tomorrow morning. Before dawn, if possible.”

“I have said I will meet those people again at dusk.”

“I know. You’d need to leave after that. You can see in the dark, can’t you?”

“I can. But do not depend too much on my magic, Garander. There are many things it cannot do.”

“I know. But if you can bring things that look like the things on your back, things as harmless as possible, I think we may be able to save your life. Maybe. I’m not sure. I’m still working it out.”

“I do not think they will believe I am dead merely because I do not move. They have heard stories about shatra just as you have.”

“I know. But there’s another story I heard once.”

“Will you explain this to me?”

Garander shook his head. “I’d rather not, not yet,” he said. The truth was that he was afraid Tesk would point out flaws in his plan, and talk him out of trying it at all.

“Perhaps when we meet at dusk?”

“Maybe.”

Tesk nodded. “Then I will see you then. For now, I think I will take a nap. It seems I may be traveling tonight.”

“Good,” Garander said. “Thank you. I’ll see you later.” Then he turned, and with one final glance at the shatra relaxing in the tree, he headed back toward the family farm.

When he emerged from the trees he paused and looked around, taking in the situation.

The sun was getting low in the west, and shadows were stretching across the fields. The flying carpet had set down again, in the field south of the house; its passengers were spread around the vicinity, some standing, some sitting. They seemed to be talking amongst themselves.

The baron’s party had mostly regrouped around their remaining tents, and several people were walking around the burned area where the destroyed tent had been, apparently studying it.

Another tent had been moved, though, and set up well to the north of the main group, away from everyone else. Garander was unsure what that was for, and debated whether to go to the house and point it out to his father, but decided not to. There was someone else he wanted to talk to, so instead of turning his steps toward the house he headed for the main group of tents.

As he expected, a soldier stopped him. “What do you want here?”

“What business is it of yours?” Garander asked. “This is my family’s farm; I can go where I please.”

The sentry looked uncertain. “Wait here,” he said. Then he turned and called, “Captain!”

Another soldier turned, and Garander recognized him as Hargal. He had not realized Hargal was a captain.

Hargal took in the situation in an instant, and came over to them.

“Hello, Garander,” he said. “What do you want?”

“I wanted to ask Azlia something; is she here?”

Hargal frowned. “What did you want to ask her?”

“About something Zendalir the Mage, the wizard from Ethshar, said.” That was not true in any way, but Garander had decided that telling the truth had gotten him in enough trouble lately. He wanted to see whether lying might work better.

Hargal considered that for a moment, then turned up a palm. “This way,” he said.

Garander followed for a dozen paces; then Hargal pointed. “That’s her tent,” he said.

There was nothing remarkable about the indicated shelter; it was a plain tent, not an elaborate pavilion like the baron’s. “Thank you,” Garander said.

He walked up to the tent, moving cautiously through the camp, hearing a steady babble of voices all around him; he could not make out words, for the most part. This was more simultaneous conversation than he had ever before heard, and not all of it sounded like ordinary Ethsharitic.

At the tent he paused, unsure of the correct etiquette; there was no door, as such, and he could not very well knock on canvas. He cleared his throat, and called, “Hello, Azlia?”

As he waited for a response, Garander looked around and realized that at least a dozen of the camp’s residents were staring at him. That was not good. He did not want to draw that much attention. He tried to look casual.

A flap was flung back, and the wizard’s face appeared. “Garander?” she said, startled.

“I was wondering if I might have a word with you,” Garander said.

She glanced back over her shoulder, then said, “I was just talking to Sammel; would you care to join us?”

Garander frowned. “I thought he was working on Tesk’s wand.”

Sammel’s face appeared beside Azlia. “I looked at it, but it’s beyond me,” he said. “I turned it over to Arnen of Sardiron.” He leaned out and pointed at the tent set off to the north. “He’s over there. In case something goes wrong.”

That explained why that one tent was isolated. “Oh,” Garander said.

“Would you like to join us?” Azlia asked again.

“Ah…actually, I would prefer to speak to you alone,” Garander said. “It’s about something one of the wizards from Ethshar said.”

Azlia looked at Sammel, who turned up an empty palm. “Guild secrets, maybe?”

“It seems unlikely,” Azlia said. “I’m curious, though, so if you don’t mind?”

“Go ahead. If you think it’s any of my business you can tell me about it later.”

“Would you like to come in, then?” she asked Garander.

He looked around, then said, “There isn’t really much privacy in a tent. Anyone could listen through the canvas. I thought we might take a walk.”

Azlia looked up at him, her head tipped to one side. “You have certainly piqued my curiosity,” she said. “Should I bring my pack?”

“I think it might be a good idea,” Garander said.

“Just a moment.” She ducked back inside.

Garander waited, and a moment later she emerged with a leather bag slung on one shoulder. “Where shall we walk?” she asked as she straightened up.

“This way,” Garander said, pointing to the northeast, away from the camp and the house and the downed carpet, toward the bushes behind the barn and woodshed.

They began walking, at an easy stroll. The wizard stumbled occasionally; she was obviously not accustomed to rough ground.

When they had covered perhaps a hundred feet she asked, “What’s this about, Garander?”

He glanced back at the camp; no one appeared to be following them, though a few people did seem to be watching them-not with the sort of intense scrutiny that might worry him, but with mild interest.

“Tesk and my father think that Ethshar and Sardiron are on the verge of going to war over Tesk,” he said.

“I don’t know that they’ll go that far,” Azlia said, “but Lord Dakkar certainly doesn’t intend to back down.”

“My father says he and Lord Edaran want to prove themselves. They were too young to fight in the Great War, so they want a little war of their own.”

Azlia frowned. “Your father may be right. But they aren’t the sole rulers here; Lord Dakkar answers to the Council of Barons, and Lord Edaran is only one of the three overlords. I don’t think Azrad or Gor wants another war, and the Council of Barons certainly won’t be unanimous. In either direction.”

“Do they need to be unanimous? I don’t know how the council works.”

“No, they don’t need to be unanimous. But really, I don’t think…”

“Gor and Azrad are old men. What are their heirs like?”

“I…” Azlia frowned. “You’re starting to worry me.”

“I was…”

Before Garander could complete his thought he was interrupted by a sound unlike anything he had ever heard before, a high-pitched squeal; he and Azlia turned to look for its source.

The isolated tent where the Sardironese sorcerer was studying Tesk’s weapon was glowing an eerie blue, but they only had an instant to observe that before it vanished in a flash of red-orange light, with a noise like a gigantic lantern blowing out. It did not explode; it vanished, leaving a circle of bare earth that seemed to shimmer briefly.

Someone screamed, and several people raised their voices. Azlia took one step toward the spot where the tent had been, but Garander caught her arm.

“You can’t do anything,” he said.

“I’m a wizard,” she snapped, shaking off his grip. “You don’t know what I can do.”

“That was sorcery,” Garander said, “and you can see there’s nothing left.”

“You don’t know that!” Azlia insisted. “Not everything is visible.” But she did not try to leave again; they could both see other people, including magicians, rushing to the site.

“I’m sorry,” Garander said, “but Tesk did warn Lord Dakkar. Was Arnen a friend of yours?”

Azlia shook her head. “I barely knew him,” she said.

For a moment the two of them watched as assorted Sardironese explored the area where the sorcerer’s tent had been, apparently finding nothing. Garander glanced over in the direction of the flying carpet; he could see some of the Ethsharites watching, as well, but none of them were approaching.

“I thought it would explode,” Garander said. “Not do that. Whatever it was.”

“Magic can do the unexpected,” Azlia said. Then she turned her attention from the vanished tent to Garander. “What was it you wanted to talk to me about? This war your father thinks is coming?”

“That’s part of it,” Garander said. “We think there might be war, and we don’t want that. And we don’t see any way this can end without Tesk either dying, or taking one side or the other, and we don’t want him to die, and if he chooses a side-well, I don’t like that idea, either.” He gestured at the cluster of people where the sorcerer’s tent had been. “I don’t like the idea of either side doing things like that.”

“Oh, that’s nothing much,” Azlia said. “We already have far worse magic than that. But your point is taken.”

“If he won’t choose a side, they’ll kill him,” Garander said. “If he does choose a side, the other side will kill him eventually. It’ll just take a little longer.”

Azlia sighed. “You’re probably right.” She watched the investigators poking at the ground where the tent had vanished.

This was the moment when Garander had to reveal his scheme. He knew it was a risk; if Azlia decided her loyalty to the baron was more important than preventing a war or saving the shatra, this would ruin everything. But he needed a wizard; he needed a particular spell that he had heard about in old war stories. He took a deep breath.

“So we need to make everyone think the other side already killed him,” he said.

“What?” Startled, the wizard looked up at Garander.

“We need to convince Lord Dakkar that Lord Edaran killed the shatra, and we need to convince Lord Edaran that Lord Dakkar did. That’s where I need your help,” Garander said.

“What are you talking about?”

“There’s a spell my father told me about. Tesk knew about it, too. It makes someone look dead-really horribly dead, with blood everywhere. Ethshar used it during the war to fool Northerners into leaving live soldiers on the battlefield, instead of taking them prisoner.”

“I never heard of it,” Azlia said.

Garander’s heart sank. “Oh,” he said. It had not occurred to him that she would not know it; he had somehow assumed that if some ordinary soldiers had heard of it, every wizard knew it.

But on the other hand, if it wasn’t well known, then it was less likely anyone would guess what was happening. He hesitated, then asked, “Do you think any of the other wizards Lord Dakkar brought might know it?”

Azlia considered that for a moment, then said, “No, not really. There’s just the one, a man who calls himself Bardak the Dreaded, and I’m pretty sure he’s something of a charlatan, not half the wizard he pretends to be. I mean, a real wizard doesn’t call himself ‘the Dreaded.’ That’s just unprofessional.”

“Oh,” Garander said again. His scheme was crumbling practically before it even got started.

“But there are at least two wizards with Lady Shasha,” Azlia said. “One of them might know.”

Garander blinked. “But…they’re on the other side.”

“What of it? We’re all wizards, and we aren’t at war yet. I can say I need to talk to them about Wizards’ Guild business.”

Garander’s spirits lifted. Perhaps his scheme wasn’t as hopeless as he had thought. “Don’t talk to Zendalir the Mage, though,” he said. “Talk to the other one.”

Startled, Azlia asked, “Why?”

“Because Zendalir is a pompous ass. I wouldn’t trust him to keep his mouth shut; he’d probably brag to Lady Shasha about what a good job he did faking Tesk’s death.”

“Ah.” She wrinkled her nose. “Thanks for the warning. It’s fortunate that they’ve brought another.” Then she abruptly turned and started marching south, toward the carpet.

“Wait a minute,” Garander called, stumbling after her. “Where are you going?”

“To meet the wizards from Ethshar, of course,” Azlia called back.

“Should I come?”

She shook her head. “Go home. Talk to your family.”

He stopped, and watched her go.

Her suggestion was good advice, he decided; he headed back toward the house.