The Golden Shield of IBF (28 page)

So she set about the ship doing little things: water-logged charts were restored, food and drinking water supplies were replenished, the processes of rust and corrosion attacking the metalwork of swords and spears were reversed, and such tasks were seen to.

While she was searching her memory for a spell which could produce wood to be used for deck planking, Erg’Ran came to stand beside her. He seemed at once physically rested, but on edge. “You realize that your magic grows more powerful each time that you must rise to meet the dangers your mother thrusts upon us.”

“I have been thinking about that, yes. Do you know why, Erg’Ran?”

“All that I can say, Enchantress, is that I had anticipated it, with great expectation and great dread.”

“You fear that I will become more and more like my mother as my magic becomes stronger and stronger.”

“Yes, Enchantress. We need your magic if we are to win against her. Yet I cannot help but ask myself at what cost to you, to Creath’s future, do we attempt to win? Do you understand?”

“I understand that you love me very much, and always have been concerned for my welfare, ever since you brought me to the summer palace for the very first time.”

Erg’Ran set his weathered face, cleared his throat, then laughed. “How else should an uncle treat his niece, but with kindness and care to her well-being, Enchantress?”

They stood in the bow pulpit, and Swan sank against the rail. “You are—” So many things were suddenly confused, so many things clear as well, things which she had never understood. “That is why my mother hates you so? More than organizing the last of the K’Ur’Mir to resist her. More than getting them to use their magical energy to create the aura surrounding the summer palace. And even more than whisking me away from her before I reached womanhood! You are her brother, Erg’Ran?”

“Yes, Enchantress. I am her brother.”

Swan threw her arms about her old friend’s neck, pressed her cheek against his chest. “I love you, dear uncle!”

Erg’Ran laughed. “I never doubted that, Enchantress.”

Swan pushed back from his chest, kissed him quickly and lightly on the lips. “To you, I should not be the Enchantress!”

“To me, dear one, you will always be the Enchantress,” Erg’Ran confessed.

“How... what—How did—?”

Erg’Ran smiled down at her benignly. “And why did I choose this very moment to tell you? Is that another question for which you wish an answer, Enchantress?”

“Yes, Erg’Ran—uncle.” She noticed his searching the pockets of his robe for flint and steel. Swan did not want him to be distracted, so she lit his pipe for him. Something dawned on her which she had never before considered. She asked, “Why is it that you will use magic not at all to aid yourself? You could light your own pipe with magic any time that you wished.”

“That’s part of the answer to the questions you’ve already asked of me, Enchantress.” He puffed busily on his pipe for a short time, then looked at her across its bowl, smoke curling from his lips and nostrils, dragonlike. “I was a young man,” Erg’Ran began, “son of the Queen Sorceress, brother to the Daughter Royal. Your grandfather, our father and my mother’s husband, was the most respected man in all of Creath, for his mind and for his sword. Only man that I’ve ever seen as good as, perhaps better with a blade than our Gar’Ath.

“Creath was a happy place, then, Enchantress, and, like most young men, I was very full of myself. In those days, there was nothing really to do. Periodically, the Gle’Ur’Gya, who would raid coastal shipping whenever given the opportunity, would find themselves with a young chieftain who had conquest in his blood. And he’d come inland with his band. I longed for such times, so that I could have adventure, test my skill with a sword, feel the blood in my veins. My father and my mother preached to me that while it was every man’s duty to be proficient at arms, it was also everyone’s duty—female or male—to study the ancient prophecies, to learn all that could be learned of history. Even as a male, I was encouraged to study the use of magic. Some K’Ur’Mir men, in those days, Enchantress, could give a K’Ur’Mir female a good challenge in magic.”

“I’d heard of such things,” Swan told him.

“But, of course, the woman would always prevail, because magic is natural to the female. At any event, Enchantress, my father was most noted for his studies of the dark times before the coming of Mir. Much against my desires, I was persuaded by my parents to accompany my father on an expedition to what was suspected of being the site of one of the ancient cities. I consoled myself with the thought that such a trek might bring me a little of the excitement which I craved.

“And that, Enchantress, is how it all began, with that fateful expedition.”

“How what began, Erg’Ran?” Swan inquired earnestly.

“Your mother’s turning to the blackest of magic and the near-total destruction of the K’Ur’Mir.” His pipe was going out and she not only relit it, but restuffed it magically. “Oh! Thank you, Enchantress.” Erg’Ran leaned heavily against the pulpit rail, staring toward the summer palace, which was far too many lancethrows away to be seen, except with the second-sight. He turned away from the unblemished surface of the sea and toward the cyclonic wave. “It was during that expedition that your mother first began to learn the arts which led to that! And,” Erg’Ran tapped at his wooden peg, “this and all of the dark times which followed and will follow until she is destroyed utterly.”

“Sit, uncle. Please?”

Swan dropped down to the second from the top step leading to the bow pulpit, gathering her skirts close around her legs. Erg’Ran—Swan knew that he would not want her to help, because of his pride—managed to seat himself on the top step. Swan gazed up at him, watching the smoke rising from his pipe, only to be swept away in the morning breeze. “Eran had already asked our father if she could come along. He was pleased that she wished to do so, worrying more gravely and more frequently than he would admit that she was obsessed with her study of magic. And, because both of her children were going, our mother decided to come, too. Of course,” Erg’Ran chuckled, “mother and father were wildly in love, despite how long they’d been married as much taken with each other as young lovers sharing a first kiss.”

That was a wonderful thought, a wonderful image that Swan wished that she had in her memories, her grandparents in each other’s arms, deeply in love.

“So, Enchantress, we all set out with a retinue of assistants and a squad of palace guard, from the summer palace. Your grandparents, by the way, loved it there. Even before the aura was lain in place by the dying K’Ur’Mir, it had been a wondrous place to behold.”

“Is that why you chose it, Erg’Ran? Is that why the summer palace was picked out of all of Creath?”

“Selfish of me, I know, Enchantress.”

“No. It was sweet,” Swan told him honestly. “It was very sweet. So tell me what happened next.”

“Well, we set out, as I said, and we traveled overland for a great many lancethrows, eventually reaching Edge Land. My father, you see, always interviewed travelers who’d come from distant parts of Creath, always assembled every fact that he could concerning his studies. He’d come to the conclusion that one of the oldest cities on Creath, dating almost from the mists of time, was located there. Also that there had been a great civilization which had arisen there, only to be destroyed by some natural cataclysm. Over the years, he’d collected relics perhaps attributable to it.

“It was one of these relics, in fact, which had secretly ignited my sister’s passion to accompany him in the search. She had her own agenda, Eran did, to which none of us was privy.”

“There was something in that old city which would enhance her magical abilities?”

“Exactly, Enchantress.” Erg’Ran drew heavily on his pipe, exhaled as he went on, saying, “Our mother, your grandmother, second-sighted for us, projecting it through birds and other creatures in an attempt to locate what still-standing ruins or even blemishes on the ground there might remain.

“Edge Land was a harsh place, even in those gentler days, and the journey took its toll on us all. After some rather harrowing experiences—sandstorms, ice storms, an attack by witches—”

Swan interrupted. “Witches!” Incredulous, she repeated the word. “Witches? In those days.”

“It was a happy world, but never perfect. There was a tribe of witches, warriors also, which had been rumored to have survived since before the coming of Mir.” Erg’Ran s face looked suddenly odd, as if he were somehow embarrassed. “They were a female only society,” he said. “At any event, at last your grandmother’s second-sight—”

“Tell me about this tribe of witches, first.”

“You wouldn’t really want to hear about them, Enchantress.”

“Must I command that you tell me, Erg’Ran?” Swan felt awkward even saying it. “Please,” she added after an eye blink’s pause.

Erg’Ran shrugged his still powerful shoulders. “I suppose you’d have to hear about them anyway, Enchantress. Very well then. The witches were female only. Some of your mother’s less pleasant tendencies when it comes to the men in her life may have something to do with their influence.”

“She associated with them?”

“That was to be, yes. The witches needed males, of course, for the obvious reason of procreation. They would waylay travelers, slaughter the females and kidnap the males to be used—you get the idea. Most of the male prisoners were killed, of course, after it was certain that fertilization had taken place. A witch can tell immediately, of course, if she’s with child. Some of the males—the less lucky ones, by my reckoning—were gelded and kept as slaves. The witches didn’t treat their slaves well, and when these wretches would fall ill or show the first signs of age, they were put to death. There were stories—never substantiated—that the witches ate human flesh. I don’t believe those stories, although there is truth to the tales that they would consume the hearts of those who died bravely.”

“How is it that I have never heard of this tribe?” Swan wanted to know.

“I never thought it decent to tell you, Enchantress,” Erg’Ran smiled, albeit a little awkwardly. “Now, Enchantress, I pray that I might be permitted to continue.”

“Of course,” Swan conceded, but there were more questions about the witches, more answers that he must know and she would pry from his memory.

“At last, as I said, our mother’s second-sight prevailed and we were able to locate on a plain not far from the very tip of Edge Land what appeared to be the site of a long forgotten city. From the subtle indicators along the ground, it had been very large. There were a few monoliths standing, on one of them a few lines of runes faintly discernible, apparently in the Old Tongue, or something earlier. Your grandfather was very excited; for the very first time, I saw what had always so fascinated him with learning. It was exciting! Of course, I wasn’t about to mention that, young as I was. But I think that he realized my interest, because he made certain that I accompanied him throughout the examination of the area.”

“And what did you find, Erg’Ran?”

Erg’Ran cocked his eyebrow as he exhaled. “More than we’d bargained for, Enchantress.”

His story-telling techniques perennially irritated her, Erg’Ran’s flare for the dramatic always interfering with his narrative flow. But Swan endured it as well as she always had.

“So, with my mother’s help and some considerable help from your mother, my sister, the few lines from the early dialect of the Old Tongue found on that monolith were translated. It appeared that we might have found the legendary Barad’Il’Koth—”

Swan gasped.

“—as, indeed, time has proven that we had. Several things happened almost at once. A messenger, who had taken up after us once it was no longer possible to send messages by arrow shot, brought word that a fearsome Gle’Ur’Gya chieftain whom I later learned was named Ag’Riig had decided to raid inland. My father was our greatest warrior, and duty called. I prevailed upon him that I might accompany him. Practicality dictated that three men—he, the messenger and myself—stood a better chance should we encounter the witches again. Your grandmother ordered that your grandfather and I should depart and the squad of guards from the palace would remain behind.”

“And?”

Erg’Ran smiled. “We were off on another adventure, your grandfather and I. We managed to avoid the witches, thanks in large part to a spellcasting my mother made. To reach the shoreline where Ag’Riig’s vessel would be awaiting his return, the shortest route was through the great wood which we had meticulously avoided on the journey to Edge Land, avoided at the cost of several days’ travel.”

Somehow, Swan knew what Erg’Ran was going to say. It was no magic, just an unpleasant guess. “When it was too late to turn back, we encountered the tree demons.”

“Ugh!” A shiver of disgust ran along Swan’s spine. “Don’t tell me the details. Please!”

“I hadn’t planned to, Enchantress. Suffice it to say, your grandfather and I were both injured, and our companion, the messenger, was lost. We escaped the wood with our lives, racing toward the Woroc’Il’Lod coast to rendezvous with our warriors and confront the Gle’Ur’Gya chieftain.

“But, meanwhile,” Erg’Ran went on, “something far more important was about to transpire on the plain where my mother and sister had remained behind.

“Unbeknownst to us all, the artifact which Eran had discovered within my father’s collection was the key which would allow her to unlock the secrets of the old magic from the days when Barad’Il’Koth was the center of power on Creath. She was about to take that power into her hands.”

Erg’Ran stood up with some difficulty. Swan watched him as he paced about, his peg tapping rhythmically on the deck planking. She shifted position, perching now on the edge of the step, knees nearly to her chin, feet drawn under her, lost beneath her skirts. “Barad’Il’Koth ceased to exist as a city a very long time before the coming of Mir. What befell its inhabitants is still unknown. It is as if they vanished from the face of Creath. Perhaps some few remained behind and it was their legacy which Eran discovered. But whatever befell the evil ones of Barad’Il’Koth, a cache of tablets graven in stone was left behind. This legacy became our woe, yours and mine and all of Creath’s.