Lawrence Watt-Evans - Relics of War

“But he was always out there somewhere?”

“I guess so.”

“Where does he live ?” Ishta’s mother asked, as she tugged at a seam.

“In the woods, he says.”

Her mother glanced up at her. “He has a cabin somewhere?””

“I don’t think so,” Ishta said. “I think he sleeps in the trees, on the branches.”

“Blood and death, why would he do that ?” Grondar asked.

Ishta turned up a palm.

Grondar frowned again, and said, “From what I saw just now, he dresses strangely.”

Ishta nodded.

“All in black.”

She nodded again.

“Does he always dress like that, or was it because of the snow?”

“He always does.”

Ishta’s mother had finished pinning one side, and transferred her attention to the other.

“It looked like he was carrying some things.”

“He has a pack, and he carries stuff on his back,” Ishta said. “He doesn’t have a home, so I guess he carries everything with him.”

“So he doesn’t have a home, but he does have belongings.”

Ishta nodded.

“Like that magical cloth.”

Ishta’s mother looked at her husband, startled. Her elder daughter said, “Magic cloth?”

“A sort of tent,” Grondar said. “It stayed warm and dry even in the snow.” He met Ishta’s eyes. “That was in his pack?”

“I guess,” Ishta said. “I never saw it before today, and he already had it hung in the tree when I got there.” She hesitated, and then added, “I didn’t know he had it. I went out there to make sure he was all right-since he doesn’t have a home to go to, I thought the snow might make things hard for him.”

“But he had his magic.”

She nodded again.

“Did you know he was a magician?”

Ishta glanced at Garander, then nodded. “I knew he has magic stuff.”

“What kind of a magician is he? A wizard?”

Ishta shook her head. “He’s not a wizard.”

“A witch, then? Some of them like to wear black.”

“No.”

“Ishta, tell me what kind of a magician he is. Because the only other kind I know of that usually wears black is demonologists…”

“No! He’s not a demonologist, Father. He’s a sorcerer.”

Garander grimaced, glad that the others were all too focused on Ishta to pay any attention to him. He knew, and he thought Ishta knew, that Tesk was not a sorcerer in the usual sense. He was something much worse.

“Ah.” Grondar leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest as he considered his youngest child. “A sorcerer. Who lives in the woods, with no home to go to. Who talks to children, but runs away at the sight of an adult.”

“Yes, Father.”

“Do you know how ridiculous that sounds?”

“If I were making up a story, Father, I’d do a better job of it.” Ishta looked insulted. “I’m telling the truth.”

Grondar considered that for a moment, then abruptly turned his attention to Garander. “And you,” he said. “Why did you follow me out there? Did you know she was meeting this mysterious friend of hers?”

“I…thought she might be,” Garander admitted.

“So you knew he existed?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did you meet him the same time your sister did?”

“No, sir.” Garander shook his head. “I only found out a couple of sixnights ago.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me about it? Or your mother?”

“I…I felt I owed Ishta a favor for letting the baron keep her talisman, sir, so I agreed not to say anything. He seemed harmless.”

“Harmless? She says he’s a sorcerer !”

“Well, but…she’s been meeting him for months, and he hasn’t done anything. He’s just lonely.”

“ Why is this sorcerer so blasted lonely? Why is he lurking out there in the woods instead of coming out in the opening and earning an honest living?”

Ishta and Garander exchanged glances. “I…I don’t know, sir,” Garander said.

That was his first outright lie. He had shaded the truth, and answered vaguely or selectively, but this time he was simply lying.

Grondar stared at him. Garander could almost see his father thinking.

He knew his father was not a stupid man, so he was not surprised to see Grondar’s mouth open slightly.

“Oh,” he said, staring at his son. “A sorcerer. Sorcerers don’t generally go leaping about like that. Not ordinary sorcerers, anyway. Not our sorcerers. But this man-is his name really Kelder?”

“No,” Garander admitted.

“Did he tell you his real name?”

“Yes.”

“Well?”

“I…I can’t pronounce it. We call him Tesk.”

“A sorcerer dressed all in black, with a name that isn’t Ethsharitic, hiding in the woods, afraid to let anyone but children see him-he’s a Northerner, isn’t he?”

Garander nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“He’s been hiding in the wilderness for twenty years ?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You knew he was a Northerner?”

“Yes, sir.” For a moment silence fell; Garander could almost feel Grondar’s glare, and finally he said, “The war’s been over since before we were born , Father. He knows it’s over, and his side lost; he doesn’t want any trouble. If he meant us any harm he could have killed us all in our sleep, but instead he’s just talked to Ishta and kept her company.”

“If he killed us, that would alert the baron that there was something dangerous in the area.”

Garander didn’t have a good answer for that. In truth, he had not thought of it.

“It’s been twenty years,” Grondar said thoughtfully. “How much magic can he have left?”

“I don’t know,” Garander said.

Grondar turned to Ishta.

“I don’t know, either,” she said. “He won’t talk about things like that.”

“Grondar,” her mother said, “are you seriously telling me there’s a Northern sorcerer still alive in the forest near here?”

“Oh, yes,” Grondar said. “And he definitely still has some magic-there’s that magic cloth, and you should have seen the way he moved! He didn’t even look hum…”

He stopped in the middle of a word, staring at his wife.

“What is it?” she asked, frightened.

“He’s not just a sorcerer, is he?” Grondar asked, turning back to Garander.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Garander said-lying again.

“He isn’t entirely human, is he?”

“What else would he be?” Shella the Younger asked.

“ Shatra ,” Grondar said.

“I don’t-”

“It’s a shatra , isn’t it?” Grondar interrupted, straightening up and glaring at his son. “That’s how it could survive alone in the woods for twenty years. That’s how it can move like that. That’s why it doesn’t dare let anyone who remembers the war see it-it knows that we might let an ordinary Northerner live, but shatra are just too dangerous. It’ll be hunted down and destroyed if the barons or the overlords find out it’s there.”

Garander didn’t say anything, but Ishta wailed, “He’s my friend! I don’t want him to be destroyed!”

“But it really is a shatra ?” their mother asked, looking up from her pins.

“Yes,” Garander said. “He is. But he’s been there for twenty years and never hurt anyone! We didn’t even know he was there until he got so bored and lonely he let Ishta find him!”

“But it’s a shatra !” Grondar replied. “It probably killed hundreds of good people during the war!”

“And our people wiped his out ! He says there wasn’t a single survivor when he went back to his home village.”