A Dragon From the Desert, page 8
Mistress Iliana took her hand away and stood for a moment considering her handiwork. The flesh of my face felt numb, as did my nose. I could not stop myself from reaching up to touch it. My hand felt the outline of my nose. The part of my face underneath it might have been frozen in a block of ice for all the sensation I picked up from it.
There was no pain, but I never wanted to experience her magic again if it could be avoided.
“What have you done?” I asked.
“I healed you and set the bone. You’ll always have a dent in it unless you pay a fleshsculptor to make it look like it once did, but you’ll be none the worse for it. How do you feel?”
“Very, very tired,” I said. I felt elated and numbed as men sometimes are after chewing certain narcotic leaves, but I also felt wearier than I ever had in my life.
“That’s one of the side-effects of healing magic,” she said. “Come. Let us get you back to the camp while you are still capable of walking.”
It felt as if we walked for a score of leagues instead of a hundred yards. She had to partially support me with the last few strides and I all but crashed to the ground beside her tent. I lay there barely able to keep my eyes open as she laid out the elder signs around us. It seemed she had been serious about that at least.
I fell into a dark and dreamless sleep.
The sunrise woke me or rather the sound of the camp coming awake around me did. I picked myself up. My mouth felt dry. My eyes felt gritty. I smelled horses and men and food cooking over an open fire.
I touched my face and it felt different. My nose was sore and sensitive, and its shape was just plain wrong, flattened in one part and bent in another. I pulled out my dagger and studied my features in the reflection on the blade. My skin was still dark, my eyes still brown. My hair remained black. My lips were broad and my cheekbones high. But my nose looked like a huge wart, bulbous and distorted. My reflected eyes narrowed, and my lips twisted into a snarl and I slammed the dagger back into its sheath.
When I looked around, I saw that Mistress Iliana was watching me. She always seemed to be able to pick moments of extreme sensitivity to observe me.
“It could be worse,” she said. She was already dressed. Her hands danced through the patterns of some subtle magic. Once again, I felt the air and something else ripple around me in response to her will. She bent down and picked up the stones and returned them to her sack.
I became aware that she was not the only one watching me. A dozen sets of eyes were upon us. All the soldiers were curious about what had happened. All they had to do was look at my altered face to see someone had hit me very hard.
“Get water and food, servant,” Mistress Iliana said loudly in the voice of a bored householder talking to the lowliest of servants. “Don’t think taking a beating from your betters excuses you from your duties.”
She sounded so convincing that I half suspected that she really meant the words. I got up. I felt a light headed and very weary. I remembered how I had felt when I was recovering from the breakbone fever. This was worse. I took the plates and the mugs and made my way to the cook wagon.
The foot soldiers got out of my way. All of them looked at me. Some gazes held curiosity. Some held mockery and there were more than a few that held something like sympathy.
I staggered a little as I walked, and I was surprised to find that someone had stepped beside me.
“You good?” said a voice I recognised as Ghoran’s. “Your face look like it head-butted boot.”
“It was a fist this time,” I said. I kept my voice low.
“I guess who fist belong to,” said Ghoran. I looked at him sidelong to see if he was taunting me. He smiled and there was no mockery there, just friendliness. It occurred to me that he too was an outsider and a potential ally.
“I’ll bet you can.”
“It take hero of sagas to hit unarmed servant,” he said loudly. I heard a few sharp intakes of breath then and people edged away from us. One of the men, a hulking brute, with a cauliflower ear and a nose even more broken than mine looked at Ghoran intently. He was so big, he made the Northman look small, which was no easy thing. He seemed to be paying particular attention. I remembered the mountainous shadow who had accompanied Vorster the previous evening. It was him.
Ghoran moved towards him. “What you think, Todd?”
The big man looked as if he was considering breaking Ghoran in two and eating him, like an ogre in the storybooks would. “I think some people had better watch their mouths,” the giant said. “When they are talking about their betters.”
“This Todd,” Ghoran said, turning to me. “Todd big as troll. Not so good looking.”
A low rumbling sound started somewhere deep in Todd’s chest. His two plate sized hands came together and he cracked his knuckles.
“I kill troll once,” said Ghoran conversationally. “Big but slow. It ask about son before it die. It tell me say hello to little Todd if ever I meet him.”
This maniac was not in the least frightened by the huge warrior. He seemed determined to provoke him. The pleasant smile never left his face. “By chance, Todd, was mother troll? If so, she say hello.”
Todd’s face had gone red. I noticed two other men standing near him were watching closely. They were his friends or his allies. If he attacked Ghoran, they would to.
“No?” Ghoran said. “Mother not troll? Just passing resemblance. Anyway, Grinner’s servant here for food. Best not keep her waiting.”
Before anything else could happen, he stepped aside and allowed me to get to the cook. The bowls and mugs were filled, and I backed away not taking my eyes from Todd and his friends. All the others were watching now as well.
I thought Todd was about to launch himself at Ghoran when everyone suddenly straightened up and made themselves look presentable. Spider was there, his eyes went from Ghoran to Todd and then came to rest on me. I thought I saw a flicker of sympathy stretch the tattoo on his cheek.
It seemed like Ghoran had picked his moment well. No one was going to start a fight with Spider watching. I gave him a respectful nod, raised the plates and mugs by way of explanation and began to back away towards where Mistress Iliana stood.
Ghoran walked along beside me. “Who is Todd and why do you want to start a fight with him so badly?” I asked.
“Todd and his two buddies Vorster’s men,” Ghoran said. “I think maybe they trouble you, so I distract them.”
“They might try to kill you,” I said. “But thank you.”
“They try, they die.” He was not joking, just stating a fact. I noticed for the first time the aura of confidence about him, and the air of relaxed violence he had. The idea of killing three men did not bother him in least. In this he was like my mistress.
“Did you really kill a troll?” It did not seem impossible.
He shrugged. “I lie a bit about that.”
“I thought so,” I said.
“Troll no ask about son Todd before I kill it,” he said. My jaw dropped. He laughed that good-natured laugh and I found myself joining in. It was hard to tell whether he was mocking me or not, but I did not mind. I felt like maybe I had found a friend.
I glanced back over my shoulder. I could not help but notice the monstrous Todd was glaring at us, hatred in his eyes.
“You tried to use the stone last night,” Mistress Iliana said. “Before I found you. After Vorster broke your nose.”
We rode through the parched landscape on the wagon. Ahead of us the knights raised their dust cloud. Desert hares loped through the brush at what they thought was a safe distance. Sometimes they stood on their hind legs and studied us as if passing judgement on the foolish strangers moving through their land.
“How did you know?” I asked. There seemed little point in denying it despite the disapproval I heard in her voice.
She gave the reins a little tug and the beasts moved a little faster. The wagon bounced more on the cobbles. I noticed a Solari waypost by the roadside. It had toppled over on its side. The elder sign and the runes were still visible despite the erosion wind and the occasional desert storm.
“When a spell is cast, unless the caster takes some pains to shield it, another wizard can sense it.”
“I did not cast any spell. I looked at the runes.”
“Spells don’t cast themselves by accident,” she said. “It takes a wizard to work his will on the surrounding aether to make magic. It’s close to being the definition of what a spell is. Whether you knew it or not, that is what you were doing. Unless there is another caster in camp that I do not know of. Which seems unlikely.”
“I looked at the runes” I said. “I thought I saw a faint glow.”
“Was this before or after Vorster punched you?”
“After.”
She drew a sharp intake of breath. “He did not see you working the spell? It was not why he hit you?”
I shook my head. The movement still made me feel a bit dizzy. My breakfast continued to crawl around in my stomach.
“You are sure?”
“I am certain, mistress.”
“You are telling me that even with your nose broken you managed to draw a response from that crude glyph I drew?”
“I am not sure I would call it a response, mistress. There might not even have been anything there. I thought I was imagining things.”
“Take it from me, you were not.” She paused for a moment and then took the flask out of her satchel. She unstoppered it and took a sip. The alcohol smell made my nose twitch.
“What?” she said.
“Nothing, mistress.”
Her face twitched. Her eyes narrowed. “You think it is perhaps too early to be drinking?”
“No, mistress.”
“Then why did you look at me like that?”
“Like what, mistress?”
“I don’t need your approval or your silent criticism. If you are going to be my apprentice, you need to understand that.
“I don’t understand mistress.” She stared at me as if trying to decide whether I was mocking her. She must have read the bafflement on my face for she shook her head and put the bottle away. I noticed the way the white makeup on her face had cracked, like the neglected plasterwork on the side of my parent’s cottage. I wondered if the dark circles of makeup around her eyes simply hid real dark circles.
“You should not use the stone unless I am there,” she said. “I understand the temptation to do so but much could go wrong, and you might attract the wrong sort of attention. Even out here in these wilderlands. Perhaps particularly out here.”
Then why did you give it to me, I wanted to ask, but did not dare. A few seconds reflection gave me the answer anyway. She had left me with the pebble as a reminder. She had not believed I would be able to do anything with it.
“What sort of attention, mistress?”
“Well aside from the likes of your friend Vorster, there are Old Ones and elementals and aetherials in these wastes. Some of those might be drawn to you?”
“Even within the wardstones, mistress?”
She looked pleased by the question, as if I was being a particularly sharp pupil.
“There will not always be wardstones,” she said. “And you should not come to rely on them for protection. When you work with the Power you always need to think about what you are doing. There are always consequences.”
She spoke with utter seriousness and it came to me that she was not treating me as an illiterate farm boy and a servant. She was talking to me as one who was also involved in a dangerous enterprise, albeit as a junior partner.
“I understand, mistress.”
“You cannot yet, but you will.”
“As you say, mistress.”
“Give me back the stone. I was foolish to leave it with you.”
She held out her hand, palm upwards then gestured towards herself by folding her fingers.
I fumbled in my pocket. The stone felt cool to my fingers and I felt a curious reluctance to give it up. It meant something to me. It was a tangible link to the moment when I had first touched the Power. It was, to me, something magical, even if all it was to anyone else was a pebble with some scratches on it.
She saw my reluctance. Her eyes became flat mirrors, her expression cold. Her skull smile was suddenly menacing, and I knew without having to be told that there would be consequences for any disobedience.
I considered claiming that I had dropped the stone, but I feared she would know I was lying. Even if I could fool her this once, she had already proved she could tell when I was looking at it. If she sensed me doing so at some future date, after I had claimed to have lost it, it would be so much the worse.
It came to me once that magic was already tempting me to lie. It was a small temptation on a dark path, and I resolved to resist it. I produced the stone.
Her smile became a little wider and it looked to me like a sneer. “Good,” she said. “You are obedient.”
I did not like that word. It made me sound too much like a dog.
Chapter Nine
In the distance ahead of us a cloud of dust churned. Some of our scouts cantered off to investigate. They returned escorting a peddler’s wagon. I recognised the driver. It was old Zhul the Pedlar.
Zhul visited our farm from time to time with stuff to sell. My father sometimes traded him a lamb for some cloth. In the days when my father had done well at the markets in Khorba, we had bought spices and trinkets and toys from him.
The old man sat on his wagon now. He smiled amiably but his face was paler than usual and I could tell that he was wondering whether all of these armed men were going to plunder his stock. His two sons sat beside him, frozen-faced. Normally they were there to protect their father but this time there was nothing they could do.
Vorster and a couple of the others rode alongside the wagon. I could tell that Vorster had enjoyed himself. No doubt he had done his level best to intimidate the old man. Now Zhul confronted Spider.
“Greetings, master,” he said. “Greetings – what can I show you? Clothes for your good lady? Rings to win her heart. Spices to add savour to your meat.”
Spider laughed. “I doubt there’s anything you have with you that we can’t buy cheaper in town.”
“You never know, sir. You never know until you ask.”
The merchant seemed reassured that Spider had not put a sword to his neck and taken his stuff. His smile warmed a fraction then his gaze came to rest on Mistress Iliana. His face froze and his flow of words died away.
“Do you have red bindwort?” Mistress Iliana asked. Her voice had the odd nerve-grating sound she had used to intimidate me during our first meeting. Zhul opened his mouth but no words came although her request was for a common enough herb.
“Yes, mistress,” he said eventually. “A penny a packet.”
Iliana’s eyes simply narrowed.
“A farthing for you,” he said. “A special price for your blessing.”
“I have no blessing to give,” she said.
“Then for your goodwill,” said Zhul. He noticed me. His head suddenly tracked back as if he had not recognised me at first glance. His look was not missed by Mistress Iliana.
She tossed the coin down into Zhul’s hand. “Give it to my servant,” she said.
I scrambled down from the wagon. The trader said something to his sons and one of them fumbled beneath some sacks, produced a wooden chest and from it withdrew a paper pouch. He handed it to Zhul who handed it to me. I caught the rich tang of the herb.
The march had come to a halt as Spider talked with Zhul. Soldiers set down their packs and rested against them, producing hard tack to chew and flasks of water to drink. With march discipline temporarily relaxed, some of our troops pressed around the cart to make purchases. Zhul’s gave his spiel once more. It gained strength as he went on and only had to deal with normal men.
I went back to the wagon and gave the herbs to my mistress. “He knows you,” she said.
“His name is Zhul, mistress. He is a travelling pedlar. He sometimes visits our farm when his route takes him this way.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes, mistress.”
“Anything else?”
“He carries messages from town to town and place to place. So I’ve heard. Sometimes it’s just a sentence. Sometimes it’s bits of paper with words inscribed on them.”
“That can be a profitable business if the words are the right words,” she said. There was an odd flatness to her tone, and she studied the trader closely.
“What do you mean, mistress?”
“Some pedlars trade in information as much as in goods. They report what they see as they travel to those who take an interest in such matters.”
“You think he is a spy, mistress?”
“When did he last pass this way?”
“About three moons ago, mistress.”
“And before that?”
“Maybe six moons before that.”
“And before that?”
“Half a year, mistress.”
“So six moons would be the normal interval between his visits.”
I did some swift calculations in my head. “Yes, mistress.”
She noticed my baffled look and her narrow smile widened. I tried to follow her line of reasoning and thought I grasped it. “You think he is here now for a reason, mistress?”
She spoke very softly. “Armies march across the land. Soldiers are being recruited and your friend Zhul is on the road at the same time as us. It might just be coincidence.”
The tone in which she spoke made it clear that she believed it was no such thing.
“What are you going to do, mistress?”
She shrugged. “The man has the same right to use the road as we do. And we have no idea who he reports to. It may be that he provides eyes for our liege lord.”
“Or for our lord’s enemies, mistress?” I asked not because I really wanted to know but because I was hoping she would say that our employer had no enemies. It was a stupid thing to think really.
