Lawrence Watt-Evans: Relics of War

Sammel, Garander discovered, was stocky and white-haired, his face worn and wrinkled, and his left hand was missing two fingers. He was wearing a thigh-length leather vest over a dirty white tunic and well-worn black breeches. He marched into the room, Landin on his heels, then stopped dead and glared at Garander. He did not look friendly. “You’re the one who claims to have found a Northerner talisman?” he demanded.

“No,” Garander said. “My sister found it. I just brought it here. And I don’t know if it’s a Northern talisman or not.”

“Well, where is it?”

Garander pointed at Azlia, who held out the glowing object. Sammel strode over and snatched it from the wizard’s hand, then studied the talisman intently, holding it up to catch the sunlight just as Azlia had. The hostility in his expression faded, to be replaced with intent interest.

“It’s Northern, all right,” he said. “See these glyphs in the crystal? That’s Shaslan military cipher. This was part of some soldier’s equipment.”

Garander had no idea what a Shaslan military cipher might be, but apparently that was what those shifting shapes were. “What’s it for?” he asked.

Sammel frowned. “Don’t know,” he said. “It’s not standard issue. I’ve never seen one like this.”

“Is it dangerous?” Azlia asked.

“Sorcery is almost always dangerous,” Sammel said, studying the object. “But I don’t think it’s a weapon, and I doubt it’s poisonous. I’ll check. Wait here.” Then he turned and marched out, taking the talisman with him.

Landin and Azlia stayed, though. Garander turned to them and asked, “How long will he be?”

Azlia turned up both palms, meaning she didn’t know. Landin said, “It depends. It could be quite some time, though-would you like something to eat while you wait?”

Garander glanced at Azlia before admitting, “I’d love something to eat.” It had been a long, hungry walk from the family farm, and his bread and water had had time to settle, leaving room for more.

Garander ate the generous lunch Azlia and Landin provided, surprised to be served good sliced ham when he was a mere guest and there was no particular cause for celebration. The small beer they provided was pleasantly frothy, and tastier than the stuff his mother brewed. Sammel had still not returned by the meal’s end.

After lunch Landin returned to his duties at the front door, and Garander waited through the afternoon in the sitting room, chatting with the wizard, but growing ever more concerned, casting ever more frequent glances at the door. Still there was no word from the sorcerer.

The lamps were lit, and a page came to invite Azlia to join the baron at supper, and Sammel had yet to reappear.

“Would you care to dine with us?” Azlia asked, as she rose to follow the page.

“With the baron?” Garander asked, shocked. “No, I couldn’t.”

Azlia looked as if she was about to argue, but then paused, and Garander realized she could see on his face his terror at the idea of dining with Lord Dakkar. He tried, belatedly and unsuccessfully, to hide his fear, but he knew she was not fooled. “Shall I have something sent back to you, then?” she asked.

“No, I’ll be fine,” Garander said. “I have bread.”

Azlia hesitated, then turned up an empty palm and followed the page out the door.

Garander sat silently for several minutes, watching the daylight outside the window fade, and wondering how he had wound up in this strange and awkward position, sitting alone in the baron’s house, awaiting the return of his sister’s find. Finally he let out a sigh and unwrapped his remaining bread.

He had finished every last crumb, and the sky outside the window was thoroughly black and speckled with stars, when the sitting room door finally opened again and startled him out of a doze. He jerked upright to see Azlia and Sammel entering the room. He rose to meet them.

“Garander,” Azlia said. “I’m sorry we’ve kept you waiting.” She held out a small bundle, a napkin wrapped around something, and for a moment Garander thought she was returning Ishta’s discovery. When he accepted it, though, he found that the napkin held an apple and a wedge of hard cheese.

“Thank you,” he said, but he looked past Azlia at Sammel.

The sorcerer gazed back calmly and said nothing. His hands were folded across his belly, and if he had Ishta’s talisman anywhere, Garander could not see it. That was worrisome. “What about the thing my sister found?” Garander asked.

“Ah,” Sammel said. “You will be glad to know that it is not poisonous. No one in your family will sicken from handling it.”

“Yes, but what is it?”

“I’m afraid we still don’t know,” Sammel admitted. “I have spent the entire day testing and analyzing it, with only very limited success. It does not appear to be a weapon, nor is it obviously dangerous in any other way. My best guess is that it is intended to communicate with its user, but whether it relays messages from somewhere else, or answers questions, or warns of impending danger, or something else, I have been unable to determine. It does not appear to be working at present, but whether that’s because it’s damaged, or because it can tell we are not its rightful owners, or because it simply has nothing to say, I don’t know.”

Garander absorbed this, then said, “So it’s harmless, and useless?”

“So it appears, yes.”

That was a relief. Garander held out a hand. “May I have it back, then? My sister is waiting for its return.”

Azlia and Sammel exchanged glances. “Garander-” Azlia began.

“The baron took it,” Sammel said, interrupting her. “He’s keeping it for himself.”

Garander’s mouth fell open. “But it’s Ishta’s !” he said.

“Not anymore,” Sammel replied.

“But that’s…that’s…”

“Consider it a tax,” Azlia said, as Garander groped for words. “I think we can see to it that your family will be credited with a year’s taxes.”

A year’s taxes, as Garander well knew from his father’s complaints, came to six copper bits or the equivalent in grain. Garander knew nothing about magic, but he was fairly sure a Northern talisman would be worth many times that amount-and besides, the thing wasn’t Grondar’s to give away, it was Ishta’s.

“That’s not right,” he said.

Azlia turned up her empty hands. “It’s Lord Dakkar’s will,” she said.

“He’s just taking it?”

“He’s the baron. He has the right.”

“What am I supposed to tell Ishta?”

“She’s just a little girl,” Sammel said. “Tell her whatever you like; you aren’t getting the talisman back.”

Azlia threw her fellow magician an angry glance, then told Garander, “I’m sorry. There’s nothing we can do.”

Garander stared at the magicians in helpless anger for a moment, then fell wordlessly back into his chair.

“Do you have anywhere to sleep tonight?” Azlia asked. “It’s clearly much too late for you to go home.”

He shook his head silently.

“I’ll get you a bed at the inn for tonight, then,” she said. “Come, I’ll take you there.” She held out a hand.

Garander accepted her hand and allowed himself to be led out of the sitting room, out of the baron’s house, and down the hill to the inn by the town gate. He stood in miserable silence as the wizard bargained with the innkeeper.

What would he tell Ishta when he got home? Her discovery was gone, and they still didn’t even know what it was! She would be furious. Not only that, he had come to visit Varag, he had seen the baron’s house and met two magicians, and Ishta, the one who wanted to get away from the farm and see the World, had stayed home and seen none of it. She would be jealous, and angry about that, as well-and with good reason!