Master of the Cauldron Page 9

  She sniffed and added, "Though 'sun' is the wrong word to describe what the King's become in a thousand years of rule and a thousand more of exile."

  The Councilors murmured a final word, their voices slurring together so that even though they spoke louder Cashel couldn't have repeated it. Not that it would've meant anything except to another wizard, of course.

  A man who must be at least a mile high appeared in the middle of the terrace, facing the eastern horizon. His whole figure shone slickly. The feathered cap on his head by now should be catching sunlight the way tall trees do while the ground beneath them remains in darkness, but his boots had the same gleam. He raised a golden trumpet to his lips and blew a long call.

  As the sweet, rolling note died out, the sun rose above the horizon and threw the dawn's first real shadows. The trumpeter melted back into the air.

  The spectators resumed their conversations in quicker, brighter tones. The foreigners were jabbering among themselves in wonderment; one of the tall, fur-clad men had half-drawn a long sword before the spectral giant vanished.

  "You're not afraid, Cashel?" Mab asked with a knowing smile.

  "No ma'am," he said. "But it was a pretty thing."

  The Councilors were silent. They'd drawn together like sheep in a thunderstorm; a couple of them were so tired that others had to steady them. It'd been an impressive illusion, but for seven wizards working together, well, Cashel saw what Mab meant about them not being powerful.

  "Yes, very pretty," Mab said as she looked out toward the barren hills. The sunlight falling on them somehow made them seem all the darker. "There are many pretty things here in Ronn, but only the Queen could withstand the King when he led his Made Men back from the hills."

  "The Queen's a wizard too, Mab?" Cashel asked. People were dispersing, either going down broad staircases built onto the city's gleaming flanks or simply promenading along the terrace.

  "The Queen is a great wizard, Cashel," Mab said, still looking northwards. "For a thousand years she kept back the King, and her Heroes led the people of Ronn against the Made Men. But—"

  She turned to face Cashel. For a moment he thought her eyes blazed with the same perfect blue as the nails of her right hand.

  "—the Heroes all sleep in a cavern beneath Ronn... and yesterday, the Queen vanished."

  * * *

  Ilna felt momentarily as though her skin had been turned inside out and bathed in ice water. A flash of crimson light left her sitting on pebbly soil at the base of an escarpment. It was night, and blinking afterimages of the wizardlight filled her eyes.

  There was another flash, silent but so vivid that Ilna's ears rang with the expectation of a thunderclap. Light rippled up a section of the rock face nearby.

  "Don't move!" shouted a voice, unfamiliar but the same one which had warned them to get away in the ruined garden. Too late, of course, but Ilna couldn't complain since the person speaking was the one who'd been transformed from a statue when she severed the spell binding him. "The troll can't hear, but it sees well even in the dark."

  What does he mean by troll?

  A second flash outlined a section of the escarpment. It scaled off of the surrounding rock, crackling and popping like a much louder version of the sounds a treelimb makes when the weight of ice breaks it.

  Landslide! Ilna thought, but she was wrong. It was a stone figure, walking away out of the wall it'd broken free from. Her eyesight was returning, but from what she could see in the moonlight the creature was featureless—a lump of head on a squat torso with arms and legs as crude as a child's clay figure. It was easily four times her height, however.

  "We're all right unless it happens to walk toward one of us," the voice said. "If it does, run—and pray if you're of that persuasion. Generally a troll will wander into the desert, though, so we ought to be all right."

  "Ilna, my heart?" Chalcus called from Ilna's right, the other side from where the stranger was speaking. "Are you in this place as well?"

  The figure—the troll—was between them, but as the stranger said, it was shambling away from the cliff without taking notice of the humans nearby. Its limbs bent where the knees and elbows would've been on a human being, but the joints made a squealing hiss. Its weight shook the ground.

  "Yes," Ilna said. "Merota, are you here?"

  No one answered, just the wind and the wheeze of the troll walking away from them. The girl had been standing just a little behind Chalcus on the other side of the wisteria when Ilna made the final cut. Was there a range beyond which the broken spell had no effect? There must be or all Volita would be here in this stony wasteland!

  "Merota, child?" Chalcus called. She still couldn't see him or the stranger on the irregular ground, though they must be close. "Can you hear my voice, dear one?"

  Still no reply. Perhaps the child was safe, then.

  A pine tree grew within a furlong of the escarpment, silhouetted against the brighter sky. Dead limbs thrust straight out from the sides all the way up the trunk, but at the top sprays of needles formed a flat brush. The troll stumbled into the tree—literally, it seemed to Ilna. The creature walked with the rolling gait of a sailor on land, and the ground's slight slope nudged it toward the tree in a slow curve.

  The troll's right arm lashed horizontally at the thick trunk. Splintered wood sprayed outward. The stone hand smashed through the tree so swiftly that the top portion hung for a moment, then fell straight down onto the stump instead of being flung outward by the blow.

  The troll staggered on. It'd destroyed the pine tree in no more than the time it'd take to sneeze. The severed bole wobbled, then toppled sideways onto the creature's head.

  Wood splintered on stone. The tree rolled off and crackled into the ground, shedding branches. The troll didn't seem to have noticed the impact. Ilna could hear the wheeze of rock bending and the thud of heavy footfalls long after the creature was out of sight in the darkness.

  "There's no danger now," the stranger said, rising into sight beyond a patch of wormwood whose white-dusted leaves glowed in the light of the quarter moon. He was nude; as the statue had been, of course, but it was still a surprise to see what had been a crude carving reformed in tightly muscled flesh. "Not for us, at least. If it stumbles across a village in the night, it'll treat the huts and the people in them just as it did the tree."

  Ilna got to her feet, patting the grit off her tunic. Chalcus rose also. His sword drew a figure in the moonlight, then slipped back into its sheath as quickly as it'd appeared. He stepped over to Ilna and hugged her fiercely—but only with his left arm, as his eyes continued to dart about the landscape.

  He stepped away from her. "My name is Chalcus, friend," he said to the stranger, "and the lady is Mistress Ilna."

  His tone was friendly, but the quick dance his blade had made a moment before was as much threat as anyone with eyes needed. "Who would you be, then? If you don't mind my asking."

  "I'm Davus," the man replied. "And since you must be the ones who freed me, then you have my thanks and my sincere regrets that the backlash brought you to this place also when it snatched me home."

  Davus picked up a pebble, caressing it with the thumb of his other hand. Chalcus was poised to move with what Ilna knew was lethal speed, but Davus dropped the stone by his side instead of throwing it. He seemed to have wanted nothing more than contact with the pitted surface.

  "When we saw you," Ilna said carefully, "you were a statue. Were you alive, then?"

  Davus laughed. "That I can't say, milady," he said. "I wasn't aware, that I can tell you with certainty. I was in a garden, a lovely green place. A wizard had brought me there, pulled me there, I think. And then the garden was a ruin. I saw you bending over me and I was slipping back here. I didn't know anything in between."

  He chuckled. "Time will have passed, I'm sure. Likely a good deal of time."

  "Tenoctris said the buildings on Volita were destroyed a thousand years ago," Ilna said. She tried to imagine a thousand years.
She couldn't. All it meant was a time long enough to throw down the walls of Carcosa, that were still a mountain range in their ruin.

  "Then a thousand years," Davus said, shrugging. "It doesn't seem to matter when you're stone. Though I wouldn't mind having clothing again, for the nights here near the rim can be chilly and the sand the wind blows stings me."

  "Here," said Ilna, loosing the redoubled silken noose she wore in place of a sash. She lifted off her outer tunic and tossed it to him. "This may be a little short for you and you may feel that the pattern doesn't suit, but perhaps it will serve for the time being."

  Davus held the tunic to the moonlight and let his thumb trace the swirls woven into the hem of the garment's sleeve. Ilna'd used gray fleece from three ewes. The shades were so subtly different that she hadn't thought anybody else would notice the distinctions. She'd been wrong about that.

  "I'm honored, Mistress Ilna," Davus said. "This is your workmanship?"

  "Yes," said Ilna, letting the syllable stand for itself.

  "Honored indeed," Davus said, and shrugged the garment over his head. It was a little tight at the shoulders until he loosened the neck laces, but otherwise there was nothing to complain about in the fit.

  Ilna started to tie the rope around her waist, then thought again about it. In daylight she usually depended on her knotted patterns for defense. Now with only the doubtful light of the moon to display her work to an enemy, she supposed the running noose in the silken cord was the better weapon. She held the coil in both hands, ready to cast if necessary.

  Animals too small to see clearly scurried in the shadows, movements rather than shapes. Quail called, and once she heard was the whit-whit-whit of an owl. The landscape wasn't familiar, but it seemed normal enough.

  Apart from the fact that pieces walked away from cliffs.

  Chalcus stretched his arms up, then back, without ever ceasing to scan his surroundings. "So, Master Davus," he said. "Are these trolls a common thing we'll meet here?"

  "That was a small one," Davus said easily. "I once saw one hundreds of feet tall."

  He scooped up pebbles, a handful of them this time, and began to juggle with the same unthinking skill as Chalcus sometimes spun his dagger while his mind was working. "There's a good deal of power in this place," he went on. "The sort of power wizards use, I mean. But you'll have known that, I suppose, since the way you freed me shows that you're—"

  He nodded first to Chalcus, then to Ilna.

  "—wizards yourselves."

  Chalcus said nothing. There was enough light for them to see one another's features but not enough to read them.

  "I see patterns," Ilna said harshly. "I broke the pattern I saw in the vines that were holding you, Master Davus. I'm not a wizard."

  "No offense meant, mistress," Davus said contritely. He gave her a small bow. "But there's power in this land, as I say; in the earth more than in the air or the water. When it builds, or a spell like the one you broke pours itself over the landscape, the rocks can come alive. As you saw."

  Ilna stared in the direction the troll had taken. She couldn't hear it any more, though she thought she felt its tread through the soles of her bare feet.

  "I hate rocks," she said, musing aloud rather than intentionally talking to her companions. "They're bad enough when they lie still like they're supposed to, but walking around like this...."

  Davus laughed, tossing his pebbles one at a time over his shoulder. They fell to the ground in a tight group. "There's good rocks and bad rocks, mistress," he said. "Like everything else."

  He walked a little way out on the plain and turned to view the escarpment. It curved for as far as Ilna could see in either direction.

  "The king who ruled in my day," Davus said, "was a great wizard. He ordered trolls back into the cliffs here, then turned them again to rock. But that hasn't happened for a long time."

  He gestured. "See the niches in the cliffs? And at the bottom of each there's the chips that fell where the overhang weathered out after the troll walked away."

  Ilna dutifully turned and looked. Chalcus gave only a quick glance before he resumed scanning the brush and sparse trees of the plain into which the troll had gone. The sloping cliffs were notched, right enough, and there were spills of pebbles and larger rocks at the base of them. That was nothing that would've seemed unusual if Davus hadn't called her attention to it. He seemed to be an expert, though.

  "Who rules now, then," Ilna said, "if your wizard-king doesn't?"

  "I don't know," said Davus with a smile. "I know only that the Old King wouldn't have allowed this to happen. Therefore—"

  He turned his palm up as if holding the proof in it.

  "—he no longer rules."

  In a more sober tone he went on, "He wasn't perfect, the Old King. It's not good for any man to hold the power he did. He kept a loose rein on this land in the main, but he wouldn't abide kings or armies. When folk made enough problems that he took notice, he changed them into stone. Like enough he made mistakes; he was human, after all. But he took his duties seriously."

  "If they say no worse of me when I die...," Ilna said. It was only when she heard the words that she realized that her thoughts had reached her lips. "Then I'll have no right to complain."

  She cleared her throat and looked sharply at Davus, bringing her mind back to the present. She'd been lost in memories of the things she'd done in the past. "Was it your wizard-king who made you into a statue, then, Master Davus?"

  Davus chuckled. "Not that I recall," he said, "and not that I believe, either. A wizard of your world drew me to him, for purposes that were none of mine. But who turned me to stone... I don't know."

  "There's a thing I see in the distance there," Chalcus said. He pointed, his left arm to the first two fingers indicating a glitter where the dark gray sky met the black horizon to the north. "That looks like the face of a glacier; which is nothing I'd expect to see in these warm latitudes. Can you tell me what it is, friend?"

  "I could say that it's new to me as well...," Davus said, following the line of Chalcus' arm with a grim expression. "For it's been built since I was snatched away. In my time the Citadel was in that place, the king's dwelling, on a tall spire of rock standing out from the plain."

  Chalcus nodded. "That's the palace, then," he said, seeming to settle inside now that he had a name to give what had been unknown and therefore threatening.

  "You can call it that if you like," Davus said, his tone cool but leaving no doubt of his disagreement. "They say the King lived as simply as any peasant, though; the King that was, I mean. And those crystal spires that're so high we can see them even from here on the rim, well, they're nothing that King built in the thousands of years he ruled this land."

  He grinned with a sort of humor that made Ilna realize that Davus, whoever he was, wasn't out of place in company that included folk as hard as Chalcus and herself.

  "So there's a new king in the land," he said, sweeping up more pebbles. "And he's a wizard too, a great one to have built such a splendid thing as we see. But he's not so good for the people of this land as the man he replaced, I fear; and maybe he's not a man at all."

  He turned slightly. Instead of resuming his juggling he drew back his right arm, then snapped a pebble toward the base of a stand of thorn scrub several double-paces distant. Ilna heard the thwock! of the stone hitting flesh. A quail shot straight into the air, thrashing wildly but silent. It flopped back onto the dry ground, still twitching. It'd been dead from the instant the stone took its head off.

  "Well thrown, friend," Chalcus said, his voice neutral but leaving no doubt at all the praise was sincere.

  "It won't make much of a dinner for three," Davus said. "Still, it's something to sleep on, and at dawn perhaps we can do better."

  Ilna grinned as she walked over to clean and pluck the bird. Davus was obviously proud of his skill, but the quiet fashion he displayed it was one she found familiar from her own life.

  Chalcus began
shaving twigs to make tinder into which he'd strike a spark from back of his dagger. Davus cleared his throat, looking at neither of them. "Mistress," he said uncomfortably, "I saw three persons around me in the moment you broke the spell. The third would be the child Merota you were calling?"

  "Yes," said Ilna. Then, with emphasis, "Yes. But she wasn't caught in this... trap the way Chalcus and I were. That's right, isn't it?"

  "From where Mistress Merota was standing," said Davus, his eyes on the far-off crystal glint, "I'm afraid she must have been caught as well. If she's not here on the rim of the land, close by the rest of us—"

  "She'd have answered if she was," Chalcus snapped. "Unless she was hurt?"

  "The transition would no more have hurt her than walking through a doorway would," Davus said, dipping his chin in negation. "But if she's not here at the edge, then she's at the center. She's at the Citadel."

  Ilna eyed the jagged glitter on the horizon. Normally moonlight softened the lines of what it fell on. It wasn't softening that thing; or if it was—

  She chuckled, a brittle sound in keeping with her present mood. She began to pluck the quail, anger and her strong fingers making up for the fact she hadn't been able to scald the feathers first to loosen them.

  "If that's a mast of rock, then it's a very long way from here," Chalcus said as he laid his fireset methodically. He looked up at Davus. "Not so, sir?"

  "Very much so," Davus agreed. "Since we've only our legs for transport it'll take us many days to get there."

  "Us," repeated Ilna without expression. "You plan to come with Chalcus and me, Master Davus?"

  "I'm the reason you and the child are here, mistress," Davus agreed. "It's only justice that I should help you as much as I can. Don't you think so?"

  "Yes," said Ilna, thrusting the point of her bone-cased paring knife under the quail's breastbone and slicing its belly open. "I do. And the fact you do as well, Master Davus—"

  She looked up at him with what was for her a warm smile.

  "—is the best news I've heard in this place!"