The Sorcery Within

XXIV

AS THEPO-NO-PHA RETURNEDto the main T'lil camp in the pastures of the Ahloorm Basin, Omi ran frantically out to meet the twins at the corrals.

"Come quickly," she said.

"What's wrong?" Alemar asked.

"It's Rol."

They left their oeikani with another Po-no-pha and hurried back to their tent. Omi ran to the partition and lifted the cloth, beckoning them into the women's section. The twins knew it was serious. This was the first time the wives had ignored the sanctity of the purdah. Peyri was stooped over Rol, who lay stiffly on his mat, a feverish sudor on his brow. He grimaced and held his lower belly.

Meyr and Sesheer got out of the way, and immediately Alemar was kneeling next to the boy, face grim.

"What is it?" he asked.

"I don't know," Peyri said. Her tone surprised Alemar. There was no fear in it, only the resigned attitude of someone who has lost all hope. "It was the same with his older brother."

Alemar drew back the thin sheet and examined Rol. The boy, who in times past had shrunk from any contact with his foster father, seemed too deep in pain to care. Alemar noticed the tautness of Rol's abdominal muscles and pressed, once, lightly, on the right side above the pelvic bone. Rol cried out.

"Pus gut," he said, in Cilendri. The words were an echo from the past. Behind his heart, he felt a sore, kicked feeling, like that he had felt as a child when ridiculed by his companions or cheated of a special treat. But this was an adult hurt, not capable of being put from his mind like those of younger days.

Elenya put a hand on his shoulder. He took it within his own. "Are you certain?" she asked gently.

"Just likeher," he said hoarsely.

The twins felt the women watching, understanding neither the reasons for their reaction nor the foreign language. Alemar felt an old, useless anger grow and was determined that – this time – he would do something to stop it.

"Where can I find a healer?" he demanded abruptly. "A Hab-no-ken?"

Peyri only seemed more despondent. Finally Omi replied, "Rol is only a boy. Hab-no-ken are not summoned to heal a boy."

This made him more angry. "What is the use of healers if they won't heal?"

Omi shrugged – a Zyraii woman's shrug. "Rol is not important enough. Lonal would have to send Po-no-pha many leagues."

"Iwill go."

"Lonal will not let you," Peyri said with certainty.

"We'll see," Alemar said tartly.

"I thoughtyou were a healer," Lonal said.

"Of wounds and injuries," Alemar answered. "I can do nothing for Rol. A Hab-no-ken must be brought."

"No," Lonal said.

"Why not?"

"He is only a child. Should I waste the time of warriors on his behalf? The nearest Hab-no-ken is in the hills." He indicated the rugged terrain to the west. "It is a day's ride there, and another back."

"No one would 'waste time' but me."

"Do you think I would let you go alone?" Lonal sighed, as a parent would when a child is being petulant. "Have you no pride? A man should not be frightened that God has chosen to test his son."

"Next year, Rol will be one of your warriors. Would you abandon him then?"

"That is not the issue. What use is sickness, if not to weed out the weak? What better way for a warrior to play the Bu, than with nothing between himself and fate?"

Alemar showed teeth. "Should I unheal Shigmur, then?"

Lonal shook his head. "I am not arguing that the healers' work is not good. But if we depend on them, we will lose the cutting edge that the desert demands. Rol will have to wait until a healer visits the camp of his own accord."

"That may be too late."

"It is all I will offer."

"I'll duel you," Alemar said.

Lonal stopped. None of the others present spoke.

"If I win, you'll let me go. If you win, I'll do as you say," Alemar continued.

Lonal pursed his lips, scanning the surroundings. R'lar and Shigmur stood near him. Elenya was near her brother, with their wives cowering in the background. Several children played not far away. "The boy is not even your blood kin," he told Alemar.

"Choose your weapon." Alemar's hand wavered near the pommel of his saber.

But Lonal did not move. The two men stared at one another. Soon even the children became silent and began to pay attention to the confrontation. A locust hopped noisily between the two men.

Abruptly, Shigmur stepped forward. "I will go with him, war-leader."

Both Alemar and Lonal looked at the war-second in surprise. Alemar noticed the shift in Lonal's mood and tried to control the sweating of his palms and the slight quiver of his fingers. The pommel was hard and warm.

Finally Lonal shrugged. "According to reports, a Hab-no-ken has been spending his Retreat near the spring of Triple Spires." The war-leader pointed again to the western horizon. "Maybe you will find him there."

Alemar blinked. "I can go?"

"It seems to matter to you, far more than a duel matters to me." Lonal turned to Shigmur. "Take Zhanee and go with him. Be back within three days."

"Thank you," Alemar said.

"Don't. You have no guarantee that the healer has finished his meditations. He may choose not to come. The Hab-no-ken are not bound to cure all the ills of the world. But I'll allow you the chance. Remember it."

"I am surprised," Shigmur said, the bounce of the saddle warbling his words.

"Why?" Alemar asked, eyes riveted forward, though the hills that defined the western boundary of the Ahloorm Basin were still hazy and purple in the distance, and the configuration called Triple Spires would not be visible for many hours.

"Since he came of age, Lonal has not lost a duel. It has been two years since anyone in the camp challenged him to theju-moh-kai. I thought he would fight you, just for the fun of it."

A small chill flowed down Alemar's spine, though if it had been necessary, he would not have hesitated to fight. The son of Keron Olendim was no petty swordplayer.

They veered away from a stand ofelbraksh. Zhanee skirted the far side of the brush, his short bow strung, alert for game, leaving them alone for the moment. "I want to thank you for stepping in when you did," Alemar said.

"I owed you that," Shigmur said. "But I don't believe it had anything to do with Lonal's decision."

"No?" Alemar listened more carefully. Though he had come to know Shigmur better than any of the T'lil warriors, the war-second had always been tight-lipped about his own opinions.

"Lonal needs your cooperation. I think he understands now that he can't force it out of you. This trip is his way of showing you that he can be flexible."

"That would be nice." A sand-runner burst out of hiding nearby, snapped up an insect, and was gone again. "Why is it that he is so driven?"

Shigmur wiped the sweat off of his brow and readjusted his cowl. "Lonal is weighed down by his destiny." He sighed. "He bears the legacy of his father. I do not envy him the burden."

"Who was his father?"

"Joren," Shigmur said reverently.

"A great man?"

"He was a war-leader such as the T'lil have not produced in three centuries, though on the surface he seemed a simple man. He had faith in God's good will, a ready laugh at the antics of children. You'd never catch him lost in somber thought like you do Lonal. But when it came to battle, he could pluck a hair off the balls of a rival war-leader's oeikani before the other was aware that his camp was being raided. He made the name of the T'lil one to be respected. None would attack our caravan when he was present. The T'lil nation could have doubled in size if he had wished it, but he believed in peace with our brothers born of Cadra. He saved his enmity for the traders. When the men of Azurajen came to build a fort at the pass of Zyraii-ni-Zyraii, Joren was there to stop them. He held them at bay for two weeks, and would have won the battle altogether had he not been betrayed by the Buyul and the Fanke. All Zyraii sings of that last stand, and therefore expectations are laid on the son of Joren."

"Then the fort was built. Is it still there?"

"Stronger each year. They call it Xurosh. Many Zyraii warriors have died trying to raze it – not only the T'lil, but the Alyr, the Fanke, the Buyul. Most especially the Olot, in whose territory it was built. They stood by Joren and fell next to the cream of the T'lil. Also, there is another trade route, from Palura to Nyriya, through the lands of the Olot, Hapt, Aikal, and Zainee tribes. The traders of Palura want to build another fort along there. If they succeed, Zyraii control of the desert may be lost. It is critical that we destroy Xurosh."

Alemar recalled the maps he had studied in his youth. The cause of strife was plain. The fertile Azu region had only one outlet to the wealth of the old kingdoms – through Zyraii.

"I wonder what I would do in Lonal's place," Alemar said sometime later. "I know what it means to live in a father's shadow."

Alemar dumped out a scorpion before he put on his boot. He stood, his shadow a long, thin patch of darkness extending toward the desiccated hills ahead. Shigmur and Zhanee were breaking down the simple camp they had made the evening before.

"See?" Shigmur said of the badlands. "Much better to hunt this terrain in the light. As it is we'll have to pray the oeikani don't twist their ankles."

Alemar agreed, though he regretted the delay. He had, however, been thankful for the rest. He had only recently recovered from the healing. Shigmur no doubt was worse off. He urged them to move quickly, and soon they were riding toward the three thin rock spires that dominated the nearby landscape.

Shigmur led them to the spring in a shady nullah on the south side of the spires. It was a permanent water hole, blessed with two full-grown whitedown trees, seldom seen away from the river. The trees had just begun to shed. Alemar watched the puffs settle on the surface of the pool, each tiny black seed carried windward on dozens of white, hairlike filaments. The seeds might travel a hundred leagues before finding a rooting place with enough water to sustain an adult tree.

"The spoor of a man," Shigmur announced as he stooped over a patch of mud. "Many traces, all made by the same pair of feet, over many days."

The three men checked for other signs while the oeikani filled their seemingly bottomless reservoirs with the spring water. They found remnants of old meals, charcoal, more footprints.

"Where is he?" Alemar demanded.

Shigmur shrugged. "Obviously his permanent camp is not here. We can wait. He may need to come for water soon."

"Let Zhanee stay. We can split up and search the area."

Shigmur bowed his head. "No. It's better we stay together."

Alemar paused. "You still don't trust me, do you?"

"Lonal would have my manhood if I lost you."

"I'm hardly going to run away with Yetem still back in the camp."

"I know. That's why Lonal let you come, with only two Po-no-pha to accompany you."

"What if I said I would duel you?" Alemar asked.

"I would laugh," Shigmur said.

Alemar popped his knuckles one by one. "All right, then – we stay together. But I can't just sit and wait. You know something of this area – where else would a man be likely to be found?"

Shigmur mulled it over while he filled his waterbag. "Well, I might look for an ordinary man along the game trails or at a salt flat. Since we are seeking a Hab-no-ken, perhaps we should climb the spires."

"Why?"

"Some of them…like to fly."

"They like to what?" Alemar was certain his Zyraii was deficient.

"They fly through the air – gliding like a vulture."

Alemar decided that the Po-no-pha was not joking. "Just how do they manage this?"

"I have only seen it once. They jump from a high place, like the spires, inside a cage of light wood. The cage hangs from a great cloth canopy. The winds carry them many miles."

Alemar looked at the imposing height of the nearest spire. "I hope I live to see this miracle," he announced.

He got his wish. Two hours later, as they negotiated the convoluted trail up the spire, Shigmur suddenly reined in and pointed skyward.

"Look!"

A brilliant triangle of green had separated from the upper reaches of the rock, passing far overhead without sound. From that distance, the man and the apparatus that supported him looked like dark specks on the cloth. It flew well.

"That must be him," Shigmur said.

Alemar's hope sank. The glider sped in moments over badland terrain that would take men on oeikani-back hours to cover. Yet he saw little choice but to follow.

"Come on," he said sourly, "let's try to find him when he lands."

They had lost him. Alemar was sure of it. They had only been able to track the glider for a few minutes, and it had taken half the day to reach the point where, as best they could determine, it had landed. Now the sun was descending, and despite searching through the heat of noon, they had found no trace of the contraption or the man who allegedly flew inside it.

They meandered down a shallow gorge, the clop of their oeikani hooves echoing repeatedly from one side to the other. While Shigmur and Zhanee continued on, Alemar stopped, overcome by the sensation that he was being watched.

He jerked his head suddenly toward a glut of boulders to his left. There, a man stood so still that, though he was in plain sight, he was difficult to see, in spite of the bright green robes he wore and the wide straw hat on his head. Even as Alemar stared, the figure seemed to fade in and out. Finally the young Cilendri noticed the pulse coming from his amulet.

Of course. The man was exerting a simple spell of concealment.

The man in green realized the ineffectiveness of his magic. It abruptly ceased. The stranger called out to the two Zyraii, who had not yet noticed that they had left their companion behind.

"May I help you?" he shouted.

Shigmur and Zhanee spun in their saddles. The war-second was the first to regain his composure. "Our apologies for disturbing you, holy one. We seek a boon."

"I am on Retreat," he said. The words weighed like stones on Alemar's hope. "What do you need of me?"

Shigmur nodded toward Alemar. "It is best for him to explain."

The Hab-no-ken shifted his glance. Alemar had not seen eyes with suchextra depth since the last time he had seen Obo. The man was about fifty, though that was hard to tell for certain. The desert wore out bodies early. If his green robes – the first of that color Alemar had seen in Zyraii – seemed incongruous, so did the kindness of his face. Alemar had never thought to see that emotion so firmly set in any Zyraii countenance. He was reminded of Rictane, Lord Dran's old stablemaster, who had worn that look at his own wake.

"My…son needs a healer. I don't know what to do for him. I need your help."

"You have a strange accent," the Hab-no-ken said. "Where are you from?"

"Cilendrodel."

"Yet you wear the robes of a Po-no-pha. What tribe?"

"The T'lil. T'krt clan."

"Our war-leader adopted him by rite ofniutap," Shigmur explained.

"Indeed?" The healer seemed increasingly intrigued. Alemar had the unnerving sensation that the man was looking not so much at him as through him. "This son – did you bring him from Cilendrodel?"

"He is also mine by virtue ofniutap."

"Yet when you speak of him, I see a woman in your mind, and a forest."

Alemar jumped.

"Be at peace, Po-no-pha," the healer said reassuringly. "We will have plenty of time to talk." He jumped nimbly down the boulders and lit on a spot between the mounted men. "My name is Gast. As I said, I am on Retreat, and ordinarily I would refuse your summons. But it is not every day I find a man who can see a Hab-no-ken when a Hab-no-ken does not wish to be seen. My rituals can be broken. Let us see what is wrong with this boy of yours."