Winged Magic

13

The moment the Gryphon vanished from the balcony, the citizens of Cangora hurried back to their shops and homes. Disgruntled and fearful, they paid little attention to the beggar boy with the idiot’s smile who crouched with his bowl and his mongrel dog near a column in the promenade. He laughed and chattered to someone only he could see with his great black eyes, and merely grinned all the wider when his bowl remained empty.

At last the court and the promenade had emptied of everyone but the many guards who watched the palace. One of them strode over to the boy and told him to move on. The urchin nodded extravagantly, his mouth hanging open, and he shuffled away with the dog at his side. The guard frowned, thinking Zukhara should do something about the riffraff in the city.

The “riffraff,” meanwhile, continued his way down the streets and eventually reached the Copper Gate. A large contingent of the Fel Azureth commanded the gates, led by a giant of a man whose very appearance gave most men no thoughts of arguing with his decisions. Under his harsh eye, the guards scrupulously examined every cart and wagon going through, interrogated everyone, and refused entrance to anyone they thought suspicious. Undaunted, the dirty urchin wandered over to the captain of the guards and held out his bowl.

“Go on, simpleton,” the man growled, too busy to deal with the likes of street rats.

The boy grinned wider, whistled to his dog, and trotted out the gate. The guards didn’t give him a second look. He continued on, apparently aimlessly, up the caravan road, past the fields and a few outlying buildings and businesses until he reached the high hill. At the top he paused to look back; then a triumphant smile replaced his idiot’s grin, and he sprinted out of sight of the city. Laughing to himself, Tassilio raced his dog along the road and, as soon as the way was clear, he angled left into a wide dale partially obscured from the road by a belt of wild olive trees. The Clannad had set up camp there in a scattered grove of trees while they tried to decide what to do and Hajira and Sayyed mended.

Tassilio could hear Sayyed even before he reached the outskirts of the camp. He waved to the outpost guards and ran directly to the healer’s tent where the brothers stayed under the watchful eye of the Clannad healer.

“Where is that boy?” Sayyed was yelling. “He has been gone since sunrise.”

Tassilio understood the sorcerer’s sharp, angry pitch the moment he sauntered into the tent. Sayyed was on his side, his back to the entrance, his fists clenched, while the healer tried to clean the infected pus and flesh from the hole in his ribs.

“You’re a good man,” the clansman said through clenched teeth. “But on the whole I’d rather have Kelene as a healer.”

Before he could stop himself, Tassilio blurted out, “I saw her! With Zukhara.”

His unexpected voice caused everyone in the tent to startle, including the healer who accidentally poked Sayyed a little too hard in the tender flesh.

The clansman uttered a vile curse even Hajira had never heard. Ignoring his aching leg, the guardsman neatly collared Tassilio and pulled him to a seat near Sayyed. “Do not ever sneak up on a sorcerer who is in pain,” Hajira warned. “He might.turn you into a toad.”

Tassilio’s eyes widened. “Could you do that?” he asked Sayyed breathlessly.

Sayyed glared at him. “Don’t tempt me. Where in the name of Sargun have you been? And what do you mean you saw Kelene?”

Before Tassilio could answer, Hajira limped to the tent flap and called for Helmar. The lady chief came quickly, slapping dust from her pants and hands.

She cast a sympathetic glance at Sayyed and an irritated one at Tassilio. “Heir or not, young man, you do not leave this camp without telling one of us first,” she admonished. “We looked everywhere we could for you, and I will not allow you to add further to our troubles by getting yourself lost or killed or captured. Do you understand?”

Momentarily chastened, Tassilio hung his head and kicked his bare feet at the ground. He knew he deserved the reprimand—he had snuck out without asking—but he felt his news was worth the risk. His irrepressible good spirits came bounding back. “Yes, ma’am,” he said, his face alight with his tale. “But I did see Kelene. And Father, too. He is still alive!”

Helmar knew a lost cause when she heard it. “Then you’d better tell us,” she said with a sigh and sat down by Hajira.

Tassilio told them in excited tones how he had entered the city that morning, learned of Zukhara’s proclamation, and mingled in with the crowds at the palace. He repeated Zukhara’s speech almost word for word and described exactly what his father looked like and what Kelene was wearing.

“She is so beautiful!” exclaimed the boy who was obviously verging on manhood. “And her chin goes up when she’s mad, and her eyes are thunderous!”

Sayyed, bandaged and sitting upright, chuckled at Tassilio’s description. “So she has not been drugged or broken yet. That is a good sign.”

“But four days!” Tassilio exclaimed. “Zukhara said he will perform the Ritual of Ascension then. We’ve got to do something to help Father!”

“What is this ritual?” Helmar asked.

Hajira grimaced at the memory of the texts he had read about the rites. “It is an ancient ceremony that is intended to purge the throne of one monarch to make way for another. Ritualistic murder. Zukhara intends to behead the Shar-Ja and burn his body. He then takes a wife that same day and begins his own line on the throne of Cangora.”

“Where does Gabria fit into all of this?”

“My guess is she is being used as a lever against Kelene,” Sayyed answered.

“I hope she is still alive,” Helmar said.

Sayyed sighed so softly only Helmar heard him. “So do I,” he said.

Something in his tone unaccountably pricked Helmar’s feelings. There was more than mere worry in his voice; there was what . . . yearning? She mentally kicked herself for thinking such a thing, let alone letting it bother her, but her self-inflicted reprimand did little good. Immediately an unbidden, jealous pang insinuated itself into her thoughts and reminded her that Sayyed himself had admitted to loving this woman once. How many men put themselves in such jeopardy for someone else’s wife without good reason? Helmar flung herself to her feet before her thoughts got any more ridiculous. She strode out of the tent without another word.

In surprise, the men watched her go. Only the healer, an old and trusted friend of the chief, thought he understood. “She has never been married,” he tried to explain. “She does not yet understand.”

“Understand what?” wondered Sayyed.

The healer shrugged his bony shoulders. “How she feels about you.”

Stunned, Sayyed looked at his brother, then at the healer, and he felt his face grow hot. Despite having deeply loved two women and having been married to one for eighteen years, he had not understood either. He liked Helmar and respected her more than he thought possible, but he had never imagined she would feel the same for him. After Tam’s death he firmly believed there would be no other love for him. Now he examined his feelings and, for the first time, he realized his desire for love had not died but merely slept within his heart. Could Helmar be the one to revive it? He suddenly smiled. It was like discovering a beautiful box intact in the ruins and not knowing what he would find inside.

Intent on his own musings, he pulled on his loose tunic over his bandaged ribs and walked out of the tent in a direction opposite to the one Helmar had taken.

Tassilio grinned at Hajira and winked at Sayyed’s departing back.