Lawrence Watt-Evans - Relics of War

He walked up to the tent, moving cautiously through the camp, hearing a steady babble of voices all around him; he could not make out words, for the most part. This was more simultaneous conversation than he had ever before heard, and not all of it sounded like ordinary Ethsharitic.

At the tent he paused, unsure of the correct etiquette; there was no door, as such, and he could not very well knock on canvas. He cleared his throat, and called, “Hello, Azlia?”

As he waited for a response, Garander looked around and realized that at least a dozen of the camp’s residents were staring at him. That was not good. He did not want to draw that much attention. He tried to look casual.

A flap was flung back, and the wizard’s face appeared. “Garander?” she said, startled.

“I was wondering if I might have a word with you,” Garander said.

She glanced back over her shoulder, then said, “I was just talking to Sammel; would you care to join us?”

Garander frowned. “I thought he was working on Tesk’s wand.”

Sammel’s face appeared beside Azlia. “I looked at it, but it’s beyond me,” he said. “I turned it over to Arnen of Sardiron.” He leaned out and pointed at the tent set off to the north. “He’s over there. In case something goes wrong.”

That explained why that one tent was isolated. “Oh,” Garander said.

“Would you like to join us?” Azlia asked again.

“Ah…actually, I would prefer to speak to you alone,” Garander said. “It’s about something one of the wizards from Ethshar said.”

Azlia looked at Sammel, who turned up an empty palm. “Guild secrets, maybe?”

“It seems unlikely,” Azlia said. “I’m curious, though, so if you don’t mind?”

“Go ahead. If you think it’s any of my business you can tell me about it later.”

“Would you like to come in, then?” she asked Garander.

He looked around, then said, “There isn’t really much privacy in a tent. Anyone could listen through the canvas. I thought we might take a walk.”

Azlia looked up at him, her head tipped to one side. “You have certainly piqued my curiosity,” she said. “Should I bring my pack?”

“I think it might be a good idea,” Garander said.

“Just a moment.” She ducked back inside.

Garander waited, and a moment later she emerged with a leather bag slung on one shoulder. “Where shall we walk?” she asked as she straightened up.

“This way,” Garander said, pointing to the northeast, away from the camp and the house and the downed carpet, toward the bushes behind the barn and woodshed.

They began walking, at an easy stroll. The wizard stumbled occasionally; she was obviously not accustomed to rough ground.

When they had covered perhaps a hundred feet she asked, “What’s this about, Garander?”

He glanced back at the camp; no one appeared to be following them, though a few people did seem to be watching them-not with the sort of intense scrutiny that might worry him, but with mild interest.

“Tesk and my father think that Ethshar and Sardiron are on the verge of going to war over Tesk,” he said.

“I don’t know that they’ll go that far,” Azlia said, “but Lord Dakkar certainly doesn’t intend to back down.”

“My father says he and Lord Edaran want to prove themselves. They were too young to fight in the Great War, so they want a little war of their own.”

Azlia frowned. “Your father may be right. But they aren’t the sole rulers here; Lord Dakkar answers to the Council of Barons, and Lord Edaran is only one of the three overlords. I don’t think Azrad or Gor wants another war, and the Council of Barons certainly won’t be unanimous. In either direction.”

“Do they need to be unanimous? I don’t know how the council works.”

“No, they don’t need to be unanimous. But really, I don’t think…”

“Gor and Azrad are old men. What are their heirs like?”

“I…” Azlia frowned. “You’re starting to worry me.”

“I was…”

Before Garander could complete his thought he was interrupted by a sound unlike anything he had ever heard before, a high-pitched squeal; he and Azlia turned to look for its source.

The isolated tent where the Sardironese sorcerer was studying Tesk’s weapon was glowing an eerie blue, but they only had an instant to observe that before it vanished in a flash of red-orange light, with a noise like a gigantic lantern blowing out. It did not explode; it vanished, leaving a circle of bare earth that seemed to shimmer briefly.

Someone screamed, and several people raised their voices. Azlia took one step toward the spot where the tent had been, but Garander caught her arm.

“You can’t do anything,” he said.

“I’m a wizard,” she snapped, shaking off his grip. “You don’t know what I can do.”

“That was sorcery,” Garander said, “and you can see there’s nothing left.”

“You don’t know that!” Azlia insisted. “Not everything is visible.” But she did not try to leave again; they could both see other people, including magicians, rushing to the site.

“I’m sorry,” Garander said, “but Tesk did warn Lord Dakkar. Was Arnen a friend of yours?”

Azlia shook her head. “I barely knew him,” she said.

For a moment the two of them watched as assorted Sardironese explored the area where the sorcerer’s tent had been, apparently finding nothing. Garander glanced over in the direction of the flying carpet; he could see some of the Ethsharites watching, as well, but none of them were approaching.

“I thought it would explode,” Garander said. “Not do that . Whatever it was.”

“Magic can do the unexpected,” Azlia said. Then she turned her attention from the vanished tent to Garander. “What was it you wanted to talk to me about? This war your father thinks is coming?”

“That’s part of it,” Garander said. “We think there might be war, and we don’t want that. And we don’t see any way this can end without Tesk either dying, or taking one side or the other, and we don’t want him to die, and if he chooses a side-well, I don’t like that idea, either.” He gestured at the cluster of people where the sorcerer’s tent had been. “I don’t like the idea of either side doing things like that.”

“Oh, that’s nothing much,” Azlia said. “We already have far worse magic than that. But your point is taken.”

“If he won’t choose a side, they’ll kill him,” Garander said. “If he does choose a side, the other side will kill him eventually. It’ll just take a little longer.”

Azlia sighed. “You’re probably right.” She watched the investigators poking at the ground where the tent had vanished.

This was the moment when Garander had to reveal his scheme. He knew it was a risk; if Azlia decided her loyalty to the baron was more important than preventing a war or saving the shatra , this would ruin everything. But he needed a wizard; he needed a particular spell that he had heard about in old war stories. He took a deep breath.

“So we need to make everyone think the other side already killed him,” he said.

“What?” Startled, the wizard looked up at Garander.

“We need to convince Lord Dakkar that Lord Edaran killed the shatra , and we need to convince Lord Edaran that Lord Dakkar did. That’s where I need your help,” Garander said.

“What are you talking about?”

“There’s a spell my father told me about. Tesk knew about it, too. It makes someone look dead-really horribly dead, with blood everywhere. Ethshar used it during the war to fool Northerners into leaving live soldiers on the battlefield, instead of taking them prisoner.”