The Shaman Read online

  “Tell him that I thank him,” Ohaern said, “and trust him m-deed, for I think we must be friends who fight the same foe.” He passed the spear to Lucoyo. “I give his weapon to the friend who gave me the shaft to give him, in token that we both give and accept the trust of the homunculi.”

  Manalo translated. The homunculi set up a positive buzz of approval this time.

  But Lucoyo gave the spear a jaundiced glance. He wasn’t all that certain that he wished to be an ally of such creatures, no matter how doughty. However, he reminded himself that he did not wish them for his enemies, at least not in such numbers, so he took the shaft, forced a smile, and made a slight bow.

  Then the leader beckoned. Manalo said, “He asks that you hold to both shafts, as he does.”

  Lucoyo was only too glad to give back the spear.

  Ohaern held it out, and the homunculus clasped it a foot above Ohaern’s hand. He held forth the arrow; Ohaern grasped it, but the homunculus held fast. With both of them holding both shafts, the homunculus began to drone.

  “He says that you are comrades in arms now,” Manalo said, “and that if his people call upon yours, you will come to their aid.”

  Lucoyo stared in alarm, but Ohaern said, “We shall set forth on the instant.”

  Manalo translated, and the homunculus nodded, eyes glinting, and rattled on again. “For his part,” said the sage, “he promises that he and his people shall do likewise, that they shall come on the instant at which you call them, and that if you have need of them, you have but to call out this phrase ...”

  The homunculus proceeded to make a series of sounds that, to Lucoyo, sounded like nothing so much as the chipping of flints and the clatter of metal.

  “Repeat it,” Manalo advised, “so that he knows that you know.”

  Ohaern tried, but apparently had it wrong, for the homunculus shook his head and repeated the phrase, much more slowly. Ohaern tried again, and Lucoyo could have sworn he had duplicated it, but the homunculus corrected him and repeated the phrase in pieces, waiting for Ohaern to repeat each section, then recited it all again, and Ohaern recited it, too. After two more repetitions, the homunculus nodded, satisfied, and let go of the arrow.

  “He is satisfied that you can call him at need,” Manalo said. “Surrender the spear to him again and go your way.”

  Ohaern let go, saying, “Shall I not give him a gift?”

  “It is not necessary, and might be misunderstood. He has your goodwill; he knows, and has felt it. That is all that is necessary.”

  Then, with much bowing and mutually unintelligible protestations, they took leave of the dough-men. When they had disappeared around a rocky outcrop, Lucoyo let out a long breath and suddenly felt wobbly in the knees. He clutched at the nearest boulder for support.

  “Buck up, my friend.” Ohaern’s arm was about Lucoyo’s shoulders, though he did not look terribly well-braced himself. “I am sure we shall see more strange sights than that before we are done.”

  They saw the next when darkness fell that night.

  They camped in the lee of a rocky outcrop, but as Lucoyo knelt to lay the fire, Manalo said, “Not so close to the stone, archer.”

  “Why not?” Lucoyo looked up in surprise. “When the sun goes, the fire will warm the cliff and give us heat from back as well as front!”

  “That is true,” said Manalo, “but this cliff face is no ordinary stone.”

  “No, I see that—it is black, and glitters so that I could swear I see my face in it!”

  Manalo nodded. “‘It will also burn.”

  Both men stared at him as if he were insane. Then Ohaern asked, “Burning rock?”

  “There are many marvels in this world,” Manalo told him, “and this is one among them. Be sure, this rock will burn. If you doubt me, gather up the pebbles that have fallen at the base of the cliff and use them to feed your fire. But first, I pray you, kindle it farther away.”

  They did as he asked, and sure enough, the black rocks began to send up flames themselves. Oh, they sat in the wood fire for a goodly while indeed before they began to burn—but burn they did, and Ohaern knelt marveling, staring into the flames.

  Lucoyo, however, clapped his hands in glee, cried out in delight, then turned to skewer the bird he had shot during the afternoon and set it upon a spit over the flames.

  When they were done with their meal, Ohaern knelt to bank the fire for the night—but it roared, and shot up as tall as a man.

  “Back!” Manalo cried, but Ohaern had already leaped away, and Lucoyo was farther still. The sage retreated slowly, though, still facing the blaze.

  The flame shot up higher and higher, twice the height of a man and higher still, till it towered as tall as a tree.

  “What has happened, Teacher?” Ohaern cried.

  “Ulahane has sent more evil magic against us!” Manalo called in answer.

  Then Lucoyo realized that there were eyes near the top of that flame hill, eyes that glowed more brightly than the fire itself, white-hot amidst orange, glaring down at him. He stared back, rooted to the spot, suddenly unable to move, for he could not find the will. The flames drew in, shaping themselves into a tall slender shape that tapered to a point at the bottom, was rounded at the top—and, dimly, Lucoyo could perceive some sort of a snout below the eyes, a snout that opened to let a ruby tongue of flame lick out to taste the air.

  “What it is, Teacher?” Even Ohaern’s voice shook.

  “It is a salamander,” Manalo replied, “a creature formed of the element of fire. Indeed, you might say that it is the spirit of fire itself. O Spirit! Wherefore do you visit us?”

  “Why, at the behest of Ulahane,” the creature replied, in the voice of a furnace blast.

  “How is it that you serve the Scarlet One?” Manalo’s voice did not shake.

  “I do not serve!” the furnace-voice roared, and the eyes shot jets of flame. “I do as I please, and Ulahane has told me that there is fuel for my flame here. He has asked me to consume the overwhelming mortals I shall find around this fire! Who are you, small and kindling-fat, to question a salamander?”

  “I am Manalo, a teacher among the human folk!”

  The salamander’s eyes brightened to actinic sparks, and the elemental boomed, “Perhaps, but I can see that you are more; it hovers about you like a mantle twice your size! Will you burn?”

  “My body will burn as readily as any, I doubt not,” Manalo answered, “but I hope you will not consume me, nor my friends.”

  “Wherefore should I not?”

  “Why, because it is not your pleasure.”

  Lucoyo couldn’t believe it; the elemental hung in midair, humming and roaring for long minutes. Then, at last, it said, “Consuming fuel is always my pleasure.”

  “True,” Manalo agreed, “but there is so much water in these weak human bodies that it would cost you as much to ignite them as you would gain by their burning.”

  “Nay, more,” the salamander admitted.

  “Then wherefore should you do it? Out of friendship to Ulahane?”

  “He is no friend of mine!”

  “No, nor of any, and that is his boast. But if it is not your pleasure to do what he wishes done, then you should not.”

  “That is true.” The salamander bent, swaying down over the sage. Manalo braced himself and stood firm. “Let me look more closely upon you,” the monster said, “for I seldom see living creatures that make so much sense.”

  “I thank you,” Manalo said simply.

  “There is no need; I but speak my mind. Yet my thoughts are such that, if I have come to this camp, I would not waste the effort. What can you give me to make this journey other than useless?”

  “Black rock,” Manalo answered.

  Chapter 13

  Fetch more, quickly!” Manalo told Ohaern and Lucoyo as he stooped to catch up pebbles from the pile they had gathered to feed the fire. “Chop it from the cliff face with your sword, if you must—it will only dull the blade, and
we can sharpen it later!” Without waiting for an answer, he threw a double handful of the black pebbles into the flames that were the salamander.

  The flames roared higher for a moment, then sank lower. “Good,” the elemental judged. “Very good indeed! More, mortal, more!”

  “More you shall have!” Manalo began to toss the pebbles one by one, aiming as high as he could, near the salamander’s mouth.

  But Lucoyo and Ohaern had already turned away, hurrying back to the cliff face. Lucoyo drew his knife, but Ohaern caught his arm. “No, we need speed! Let us try this first!” So saying, he picked up a boulder as large as his own head, hefted it high, and hurled it against the cliff face. The crack of its impact was drowned by the salamander’s cries for more, but as the stone rebounded, a shower of fragments fell loose and a huge slab of the black rock fell to the ground.

  “Take it!” Ohaern grunted as he hefted the boulder again. Lucoyo darted in, caught up the huge shard, and hefted it back to Manalo. In a lull between the salamander’s calls, he heard the boulder crack into the cliff face again.

  “Hurl it in anywhere!” Manalo said, and Lucoyo heaved. The giant flake of black stone arced high, then fell into the salamander’s belly. A grin of fire spread under its snout, and it smacked unseen lips with a sound like the falling of a burning branch. Lucoyo shuddered and hurried back to Ohaern.

  The smith was just lifting the boulder again, but as he saw Lucoyo coming, he lowered it to the crook of his arm and stood panting. “Aye, take another for him, Lucoyo! Belike I shall join you soon enough—my arms feel leaden already. I cannot keep this up much longer!”

  “I hope you will not have to.” The half-elf dashed in, then grunted as he heaved a huge lump into his arms. He was amazed to see how the pile of black boulders had grown. He turned away and lugged the second lump back to the salamander, hearing Ohaern’s boulder crash into the cliff behind him.

  Manalo nodded, and Lucoyo heaved the great rough stone into the salamander’s belly. Again came the crackling of appreciation, and the elemental grunted, “More!” This time Manalo turned away to accompany him. “Not a great deal more, I suspect.”

  Lucoyo looked up with hope. “How do you know?”

  “Because it only said ‘more’ once this time.”

  Ohaern stood bent over, hands on his thighs, heaving great lungfuls of air. His hammer-stone lay on the ground by his feet. Manalo surveyed the black heap and nodded. “That will be enough, I think.”

  “What ... wizardry is this,” Ohaern wheezed, “that can make .. . stone burn ... or satisfy ... a salamander?”

  “The burning stones are no magic of mine, but that which the world itself fostered as it grew. As to the salamander, fire will always feed on what it finds next, but it can be assuaged by banking.”

  “And we are . . . banking it?” Ohaern gave him a keen glance.

  “That we are. Come, Lucoyo! Bear up!”

  “I bear,” the half-elf grunted, staggering under a huge piece of rock.

  “That ... is mine.” Ohaern plucked it from Lucoyo’s grasp. “Do you take . .. another.”

  The half-elf squalled protest. “You are wearied, Ohaern!”

  “I recover,” the smith said grimly, “and we have need of haste. Do not make me lift, Lucoyo. Take another.”

  Grumbling, Lucoyo turned back—but he had to admire Ohaern’s tact. The big man had managed to make him feel guilty at the thought of taking the bigger lump. Still, to show Ohaern, he took another almost as large and lugged it to the salamander.

  Back and forth they went, hauling huge lumps to throw into the elemental. When the pile was gone and only rubble remained, Manalo said, “Will that content you for a time, O Fiery One?”

  “A time,” the monster allowed. “In truth, the taste and the bulk inclines me to warm feelings toward you.”

  “What other kind could he have?” Lucoyo muttered, but Ohaern shushed him.

  “I would repay this kindness,” the salamander told them, “when you have need of my flame. If you do, call me thus.” And it made a sound like a series of explosions, such as come from green, resinous wood thrown into a blaze. Lucoyo stared, incredulous that the monster could think such sounds could be made by a human throat—then even more amazed as Manalo imitated them exactly.

  The sage turned to Ohaern. “Do you say them, too, Ohaern. Like this.” He repeated the pops and booms, one by one, until the chieftain could imitate them perfectly, both singly and in series.

  “It is well,” the salamander told .them. “You are friends now, and need never fear me again! Farewell!” Then the blaze of his form seemed to double, roaring upward toward the heavens. The mortals leaped back, raising their forearms to shield their faces—but the blaze shrank as swiftly as it had swelled, then dwindled away to a mere campfire again.

  Ohaern breathed out a shaky breath. “You have a most amazing gift for making friends, Teacher!”

  “It is convenient,” Manalo admitted, “though there are many with whom I have failed.”

  “How is it done—making a friend of an enemy?”

  “By first being sure he is an enemy.” Manalo turned to him with a smile. “Those Agrapaxians we met held no ill will— they simply happened to be in your path, and the two of you startled one another. In similar fashion, this salamander had no personal reason to wish us ill, so I asked him why he did. Always ask, Ohaern. If they will talk, they may become friends, or at least not enemies.”

  “I have known many who would talk all day and still slit my throat if they could,” Lucoyo said darkly.

  “So have I.” Manalo’s face turned grim. “And if a man seeks to kill you, of course, you must disable him before you can ask him questions.”

  “You may kill him in the disabling,” the half-elf reminded.

  “You may, and you must take no chance that he will slay you,” the sage agreed. “However, if he does not attack at once, but takes time to threaten, you can usually find an opportunity for a question. Come, let us seek something calming, then sleep.” He turned away to the fire, drawing a small bag out of his robes. “Set a pot of water over the fire again, Ohaern.”

  They drank an infusion of herbs in hot water as they sat and discussed the day’s events. Whether it was the talk, the heat of the fire, the brew, or all three, Ohaern and Lucoyo soon found themselves growing sleepy. They rolled up in blankets, feet toward the fire, and slept, while Manalo watched, meditating.

  In the morning, when they had breakfasted and buried the fire, Manalo took up his staff and turned to them. “I am now confident that you can survive any danger that comes your way. Remember only to be careful and quick, ready for any mishap that may befall.”

  “Or any enemy that may spring out at us,” Lucoyo said.

  But Ohaern frowned. “You speak as if you would leave us, Teacher!”

  “And so I must,” the sage said. “You Biriae cannot go up against Kuru alone and hope to win. There are many other tribes who would join you if they knew of your venture: those with grievances against Ulahane or Kuru, those who fear one or the other only from what they have heard, and those who are ready for any quest so long as it promises glory.”

  “And those who are ready for any quest that promises loot,” Lucoyo said with a wicked smile.

  “Such as they are usually dedicated to Ulahane already, though they may not know it yet. At any rate, no tribe that might aid us can rise and march if they do not know of the campaign.”

  “So you must go to bear word to them?” Ohaern asked.

  “Word, and a bit more,” Manalo admitted. “Some will not come unless they see it is I who ask it; some will not come unless they are given good reason. Nay, it is I myself who must go, and accompanying me would delay your progress intolerably. Go south without me, Ohaern. You have much to do on the way.”

  The smith frowned. “What manner of doings?”

  “You shall find them as you go.” Manalo turned to the half-elf. “Do not be so desolate, Lucoyo. You
can manage well enough without me.”

  Lucoyo smoothed his face on the instant. He had not known that his feelings showed so.

  “He feels no worse than I.” But Ohaern looked somber, not bereft. “Still, we managed without you when we went to Byleo to bring you out of prison, and we shall manage again if we must.”

  “Stoutly spoken!” Manalo clapped him on the shoulder. “Be sure you shall see me again, at Kuru if not before. When the time has come for the attack, I shall be there—but by the same token, I shall ask you not to assail Ulahane’s city without me.”

  “Oh, we promise,” Lucoyo said fervently. “Be sure, Teacher—we would not wish to begin the festivities without you!”

  Manalo laughed and set a hand on the half-elf’s head. For a brief instant Lucoyo felt a strange tingling, as if something flowed from the sage into him—but Manalo took his hand away and it was gone.

  The sage turned to Ohaern. “You must give me your promise, too, Ohaern.”

  “Oh, I promise.” The big smith grinned. “I am not so much a fool as to attack a city without you, Teacher, or with only one tribe behind me. Nay, we shall wait for you, and for those you bring.”

  “Well said! Then I shall go to find them. May your journey be smooth and your road straight!” So saying, the sage turned away, striding off toward a huge wind-sculpted bluff. Beneath it he turned back to wave once, then set off around the huge outcrop and was gone from sight.

  Lucoyo felt a surge of panic and started after him, but Ohaern put out an arm to stop him. “Let him go, Lucoyo. We are not children, after all, nor he our parent. Come, let us find the southern road.” He took up his pack and turned away.

  Lucoyo felt as if the smith’s words had plunged his head into an ice-cold pool. Smoldering within, he shouldered his pack. Of course Ohaern was right—of course they needed none but themselves—and the smith could not have known how the mention of a parent would galvanize him.

  He had fared without a father thus far, and he would go on faring without one surpassingly well! In fact, now that he thought of it, he was reluctant to have so much as a single road companion, even one so likable as Ohaern.