In the Realm of the Wolf (21 page)

E
KODAS LOVED THE
forest: the majestic trees living in quiet brotherhood, the plants and flowers cloaking the earth, and the serenity born of eternal life. When the world had been young, the earth still warm, the first trees had grown there, living, breathing. And their descendants were still there, endlessly watching the small, fleeting lives of men.

The young priest, his white robes now stained with mud, moved alongside a huge oak, reaching out to lay his hand on the rough bark. He closed his eyes. The tree had no heart to hear, yet there was still the pulsing beat of life within the trunk, the slow flowing of sap through the capillaries, the stretching of growth in new wood.

Ekodas was at peace there.

He walked on, his mind open to the sounds of the forest: the late birdsong, the skittering of small animals in the undergrowth. He sensed the heartbeat of a fox close by and smelled the musky fur of an old badger. He stopped and smiled. The fox and the badger were sharing a burrow.

An owl hooted. Ekodas glanced up. The light was fading, the sun dipping into the western sea.

He turned and began the long climb toward the temple. The debate came back to him then, and he sighed, regretting the weakness that had driven him to betray his principles. Deep down he knew that Dardalion himself was now unsure of the path on which they stood. The abbot had
almost
wanted to be free of the destiny he had planned for so long. Almost.

Yet if love had won the day, then everything Dardalion had striven for would have seemed as nothing. A tragic waste of life and talent. I could not do that to you, Dardalion, thought Ekodas. I could not make a mockery of your life.

The young priest drew in a deep breath, seeking to feel once more the calm of the forest. Instead there came a sharp, jagged stab in his mind. Anger. Fear. Arousal. Lust. Focusing his talent, he scanned the trees. And sensed two men … and … yes, a woman.

Pushing his way through the bushes at the side of the track, he traversed the hill until he came to a deer trail leading down into a deep gully. He heard the sound of a man’s voice.

“Be sensible, woman. We’re not going to hurt you. We’ll even pay!”

Another voice cut in, harsh and deep. “Enough talk! Take the bitch!”

Ekodas rounded the final bend and saw the two men, foresters by their garb, standing with knives drawn and facing a young Nadir woman. She also held a knife and was waiting, poised, her back to a rock face.

“Good evening, friends,” said Ekodas. The first of the men, tall and slim, wearing a green tunic of homespun wool and brown leather leggings and boots, swung toward him. He was a young man with sandy hair tied in a ponytail.

“This is no place for a priest,” he said.

Ekodas walked on, halting immediately before the man. “The forest is a wonderful place for meditation, Brother.” He sensed the man’s confusion. There was little that was evil in him, but his lust had been aroused and had clouded his reason. He wanted the woman, and his mind was seething with erotic thoughts and images.

The second man pushed forward. He was shorter and stockier, his eyes small and round. “Go back where you came from!” he ordered. “I’ll not be turned aside by the likes of you!”

“What you are planning is evil,” said Ekodas softly. “I cannot permit it. If you continue along this gully, you will find the road to Estri. It is a small village, and there is, I understand, a woman there who has a special smile for men with coin.”

“I know where Estri is,” hissed the second man. “And when I want your pigging advice, I’ll ask for it. You know what this is?” The knife blade came up, hovering before Ekodas’ face.

“I know what it is, Brother. What is your purpose in showing it to me?”

“Are you a half-wit?”

The first man took hold of his friend’s arm. “Leave it, Caan. It doesn’t matter.”

“Matters to me. I want that woman.”

“You can’t kill a priest!”

“Pigging watch me!”

The knife swept up. Ekodas swayed aside, caught the man’s wrist, and twisted the arm up and back. His foot snaked out, hooking behind the knifeman’s knee. The forester fell back. Ekodas released his grip, and the man tumbled to the earth.

“I have no wish to cause you pain,” said Ekodas. The man scrambled up and charged. Ekodas brushed aside the knife arm and sent his elbow crashing into the man’s chin. He dropped as if poleaxed. Ekodas turned to the first man. “Take your friend to Estri,” he advised. “And once there bid him good-bye. He brings out the worst in you.” Stepping past the man, he approached the Nadir woman. “Greetings, Sister. If you will follow me, I can take you to lodgings for the night. It is a temple, and the beds are hard, but you will sleep soundly and without fear.”

“I sleep without fear wherever I am,” she said. “But I will follow you.”

Her eyes were dark and beautiful, her skin pale yet touched with gold. Her lips were full, her mouth wide, and Ekodas found himself remembering the images in the forester’s mind. He reddened and began the long climb.

“You fight well,” she said, drawing alongside him, her knife now sheathed in a goatskin scabbard, a small pack slung across her shoulders.

“Have you traveled far, Sister?”

“I am not your sister,” she pointed out.

“All women are my sisters. All men my brothers. I am a Source priest.”

“Your brother down there has a broken jaw.”

“I regret that.”

“I don’t. I would have killed him.”

“My name is Ekodas,” he said, offering his hand. She ignored it and walked on ahead.

“I am Shia.” They reached the winding path to the temple,
and she gazed up at the high stone walls. “This is a fortress,” she said.

“It was once. Now it is a place of prayer.”

“It is still a fortress.”

The gates were open, and Ekodas led her inside. Vishna and several of the other priests were drawing water from the well. Shia stopped and stared at them. “You have no women for this work?” she asked Ekodas.

“There are no women here. I told you, we are priests.”

“And priests have no women?”

“Exactly so.”

“Only sisters?”

“Yes.”

“Your little tribe won’t last long,” she said with a deep throaty chuckle.

The screams died down, and a hoarse, choking death rattle came from the slave. His arms relaxed, sagging into the chains, and his legs spasmed. Zhu Chao slashed the knife into the rib cage, sawing through the arteries of the heart and ripping the organ clear. He carried it to the center of the circle, stepping carefully over the chalk lines that marked the stones, zigzagging between the candles and the wires of gold that linked the chalice and the crystal. Laying the heart in the chalice, he drew back, placing his feet within the twin circles of Shemak.

The Fourth Grimoire lay open on a bronze lectern, and he turned the page and began to read aloud in a language lost to the world of men for a hundred millennia.

The air around him crackled, and fire ran along the wires of gold, circling the chalice in rings of flame. The heart bubbled, dark smoke oozing from it, billowing up to form a shape. Massive rounded shoulders appeared, along with a huge head with a cavernous mouth. Eyes flickered open, yellow and slitted. Long arms, bulging with muscle, sprouted from the shoulders.

Zhu Chao began to tremble and felt his courage waning. The creature of smoke threw back its head, and a sibilant hissing filled the room.

“What do you want of me?” it said.

“A death,” answered Zhu Chao.

“Kesa Khan?”

“Exactly so.”

A sound issued from the creature of smoke, a slow volcanic hissing that Zhu Chao took to be laughter. “He wants your death also,” said the demon.

“Can he pay in blood and pain?” countered Zhu Chao, aware that sweat was trickling down his face and that his hands were trembling.

“He has served my master well.”

“As have I.”

“Indeed. But I will not grant your request.”

“Why?”

“Look to the lines of your life, Zhu Chao.”

The smoke dispersed as if a clean wind had swept through the room. The chalice was empty, and the heart had vanished without a trace. Zhu Chao turned to where, moments before, the body of the young slave had hung in chains. It, too, was gone.

The sorcerer stumbled from the circle, not caring about the lines of chalk his sandaled feet smeared and scattered. Taking up the Third Grimoire, he carried it to a leather-topped desk and searched through the pages. The spell he needed was a small one, requiring no blood. He spoke the words, then traced a pattern in the air. Where his finger passed a shining line appeared, a spider’s web forming. At last satisfied, he pointed to various intersections. Small spheres sprang into being at each spot, some blue, others green, one gold, two black. Zhu Chao drew in a deep breath, focusing his concentration. The web began to shift and move, the spheres spinning, circling the golden globe at the center. The sorcerer took up a quill pen, dipping it into a small well of ink. He found a large sheet of papyrus and began to write, occasionally glancing up at the swirling pattern in the air.

After an hour he had filled the page with symbols. Tired, he rubbed his eyes and stretched his back. The swirling web disappeared. Taking the sheet, he walked back to the chalice, said the six words of power, and dropped the papyrus into the golden bowl.

It burst into flames, which reared up, forming a burning sphere, a great globe that rose from the chalice, hanging in the
air before his face. The sphere stretched and flattened, the flames dying down, and Zhu Chao saw a man dressed in black moving along the high walls of his palace. In the man’s hand was a small crossbow.

The scene flickered and changed. There was an ancient fortress with high twisted walls and tilted turrets. An army was gathered there, scaling ladders and ropes at the ready. Upon the wall, on the highest turret, stood Kesa Khan. Beside him was a woman, also dressed in black.

The vision shimmered, and Zhu Chao saw a dragon high in the sky, circling above the fortress. But then it turned and flew straight toward Gulgothir, passing over the quiet homes and flying like an arrow toward Zhu Chao’s palace. Its shadow swept over the land like a black demon, flowing over the palace walls and into the courtyard. There the shadow froze on the flagstones, blacker than night, rising up and becoming a man.

The same man, carrying the crossbow.

Faint now, the image swirled once more, and Zhu Chao found himself gazing at a cabin in the mountains. The man was there again, as were the bodies of the nine knights. The sorcerer was shocked. How had Waylander overcome his knights? He knew no spells. Fear flickered in Zhu Chao’s heart. The dragon in the dream had flown to his palace, promising death and despair.

Not mine, thought Zhu Chao, fighting down the beginnings of panic. No, not mine.

His weariness was forgotten as he moved up the winding stair to the upper rooms. Bodalen was there, lounging on a couch, his booted feet on a silver-topped table.

“What is there that you have not told me about Waylander?” demanded the sorcerer.

Bodalen rolled to his feet. He was a tall man, wide-shouldered and lantern-jawed, his eyes blue beneath thick brows, his mouth large and full-lipped. He was the image of the younger Karnak, and his voice had the same resonant power. “Nothing, my lord. He is an assassin—that is all.”

“The assassin has slain nine of my knights. You understand? Men of great power.”

Bodalen licked his lips. “I can’t explain it, my lord. My father talked of him often. He said nothing about magic.”

Zhu Chao fell silent. What reason would Waylander have for coming to his palace save to kill Bodalen? If Karnak’s son was no longer there … He smiled at the young Drenai. “He will not thwart us,” he said. “Now there is something you can do for me, my boy.”

“Gladly, my lord.”

“I want you to ride into the Mountains of the Moon. I will give you a map to follow. There is a fortress of great antiquity there, a curious place. There are many tunnels below it and chambers filled with gold and jewels, so it is said. Take ten men and plentiful supplies and move into the fortress. Find a hiding place in the underground caverns. Within the next few weeks Kesa Khan will journey there. When he does, you can emerge and kill him.”

“There will be many Nadir warriors with him,” objected the younger man.

Zhu Chao smiled thinly. “Life offers many dangers, Bodalen, and a brave man can overcome them all. It would please me if you agreed to undertake this small quest.”

“You know I would give my life for the cause, my lord. It is just—”

“Yes, yes,” snapped Zhu Chao, “I understand. You were born with the looks of your father and none of his courage. Well, know this, Bodalen: at his side you were of great use to me. Here, as a runaway, you are valueless. Do not make the mistake of displeasing me.”

Bodalen paled. “Of course not, my lord. I … I would be happy to … a map, you say?”

“You shall have a map and ten trustworthy men. Very trust-worthy. And if you do this successfully, Bodalen, you will be rewarded beyond your desires. You will become king over all the Drenai.”

Bodalen nodded and smiled. “I will serve you well, my lord. And you are wrong: I do not lack courage. I will prove it to you.”

“Of course, my boy. Forgive me. I spoke in anger. Now go and prepare for the journey.”

*    *    *

Ekodas led Shia through the dining hall and up through the second and third levels to where Dardalion sat in his study. The young priest tapped at the door.

“Enter,” called the abbot. Ekodas opened the door, ushering the young Nadir woman into the room.

Dardalion rose and bowed. “Welcome, my dear. I am sorry that your visit to Drenai lands should have had so unsettling a beginning.”

“Did I say it was unsettling?” countered Shia, walking forward and scanning the study, her mocking gaze drifting over the burdened shelves and open cupboards stacked with scrolls, parchments, and books.

“Do you read?” asked Dardalion.

She shook her head. “What would be the purpose?”