Free Dark Magic by Angus Wells Page B

make them the designers of such a quest, and so it was felt some other agency lay behind them. Word came of a Vanu warboat traveling from Kharasul to Gessyth, and when Anomius was freed he spoke of Calandryll den Karynth and Bracht ni Errhyn. The rest is simple logic—those two appear in Vishat’yi on board a Vanu boat, but . . .” He paused, studying their faces with dreadful intensity, “You do not have the Arcanum with you.”
    Calandryll shook his head: “No.”
    “Then,” said Menelian slowly, “either you failed, or the book was wrested from you. Not by Anomius, for he still lusts after it. Then mayhap by the one who sent you?”
    Now Calandryll nodded: “Aye. By Rhythamun.”
    “Rhythamun?” Menelian asked.
    Calandryll heard Bracht’s sharp intake of breath, ignored it. “He is a mage,” he said. “He tricked us. We believed him honest when he told us he sought to destroy the book. We reached Tezin-dar and the Guardians gave it into our keeping, but then Rhythamun appeared and seized it.” He paused, grimacing, anger and disgust in his voice as he added, “He gave me a magical stone to wear. To aid me and guide me, he said. The stone brought him there! Now we go after him.”
    “And he knows what the Arcanum is?” The sorcerer’s voice was low, harsh with horror.
    Calandryll ducked his head. “Aye. He’d raise the Mad God.”
    “Insanity!” Menelian’s aplomb was vanished; suddenly he looked young and frightened. “Are his wits addled?”
    “By lust for a power he believes he can control.” Tekkan set down his tankard, his soft voice somber. “The holy men of my land scried this—that Rhythamun sought the book, but could not approach Tezin-dar himself, only through the agency of others. Calandryll was one, Bracht another, my daughter the third.”
    “Your daughter?” Menelian frowned confusion.
    “Katya,” Tekkan said, “who waits now in the harbor.”
    Menelian nodded slowly. “The three,” he murmured. Then, louder, “And know you where this Rhythamun has gone?”
    “He wore the form of Varent den Tarl of Aldarin,” Calandryll said, “and likely returned there. Beyond that . . .”
    He shrugged helplessly. Tekkan said, “Katya wears a stone given her by the holy men that points us to the one Rhythamun gave Calandryll. The wizard took it when he seized the book and now it points to Aldarin.”
    “Then you must go there,” Menelian said urgently. “With all haste! I’ll send word to ek’Nyle that you’re to be given all assistance, that no hindrance be set on your departing.”
    “Why?”
    Bracht’s question cracked out like a whip. Calandryll and Tekkan swung to face him, seeing a visage set in lines of doubt. Menelian frowned and asked softly, “You ask me why?”
    “I’ve scant love of magic,” Bracht returned coldly, “and little enough for its practitioners. You and these other sorcerers—do you not lust for that power the Arcanum can bestow?”
    “Burash, no!” Menelian raised hands in rejection. “To raise the Mad God is rank insanity.”
    “Rhythamun thinks not,” Bracht said. “And if Anomius knew that what we sought was no grimoire but the Arcanum, I think he’d harbor the same mad lust.”
    “I think Rhythamun must be insane,” Menelian retorted, “and Anomius . . . Anomius is a miserable worm.”
    “A worm your Tyrant has freed,” Bracht pressed.
    “Because he holds the key to Sathoman ek’Hennem’s defeat,” Menelian sighed. “Without his aid Kandahar must suffer the ravages of civil war. Only he can unlock the gramaryes he left to defend the Fayne Lord; without him the Tyrant must fight a long campaign . . . a bloody campaign that must surely cost Kandahar dear. Listen, warrior! If I were your enemy—if I sought the Arcanum—do you think I’d free you? No! I’d use my power to bend you to my will, not aid you. Not warn you.”
    “I’ve heard no warnings yet,” Bracht said.
    The sorcerer smiled grimly. “No, so hear me