Through the Darkness

Sabrino didn’t want to hang around the Kaunians. In Zerbino’s eyes, he’d already given notice he was an obstructionist. Hanging around only made things worse. But he couldn’t help himself.

Though Zerbino didn’t say anything, Sabrino knew he’d drawn his notice. He also drew the notice of one of the Ice People. The old man—Sabrino assumed it was an old man, though it might have been an old woman--wore a robe covered with fringes and bits of dried plants and the skins of small animals and birds. That made him a shaman: what passed for a mage among the Ice People. As far as Sabrino could tell, though, the savages of the austral continent knew as little of sorcery as they did of everything else.

By his voice, the shaman did prove to be a man. He spoke in his own guttural language. Sabrino spread his hands to show he didn’t understand. The shaman tried again, this time in Yaninan. Sabrino shook his head. He turned away, not wanting to waste any more time on the barbarian. But the old man seized his arm in a grip of surprising strength, and surprised him again by speaking Lagoan: “You not want them to do this.”

Sabrino wasn’t fluent in Lagoan, but he could understand it and make himself understood. The shaman’s dark eyes bored into his. He was suddenly sure exactly what the old man was talking about. How did the savage know? How could he know? In whatever way, he did know. Maybe there was more to the Ice People’s sorcerous talents than most folk credited. Slowly, Sabrino answered, “No, I am not wanting that.”

“Make them stop,” the shaman said, squeezing his arm harder than ever. “They must not do this thing. The land will cry out against it. I tell you this-- I, Jeush, I who know this land and its gods.” The last word was in his own tongue.

Gods, as far as Sabrino was concerned, were more laughable nonsense. Somehow, though, he didn’t feel like laughing at this Jeush. But he shook his head again. “I cannot be doing anything to be changing this. You must be talking to Brigadier Zerbino. He is commanding here, not I.”

Sadly, Jeush shook his head. “He will no hear me.” He spoke with great certainty.

“He is not hearing me, either,” Sabrino said, which was all too true.

“If this thing is done ...” Jeush shuddered. The fringes on his robe swayed as they would have in a breeze. So did the defunct creatures and branches tied to them. In a horrid sort of way, it was fascinating to watch. Sabrino only shrugged. Had he thought Zerbino would listen to the shaman, he would have brought Jeush before the brigadier. But, as best he could guess, the old man was right: Zerbino would pay no attention to a barbarian who babbled of gods.

“What will happen?” Sabrino asked, wondering why he wanted the views of a babbling barbarian himself. Because you’re afraid, that’s why, he thought. And he was.

“Nothing good,” Jeush answered. “Everything bad. This is not your land. These gods is not your gods. You not understanding the hereness of here.” He waited to see if that would make Sabrino change his mind. When it didn’t, the old man turned his back with sad deliberation and slowly walked away.

He spoke to the leader of the band of Ice People. Whatever he said didn’t keep the nomads from selling camels to the Algarvians. Once the bargains were done, though, the Ice People rode south at once instead of hanging around the camp begging and stealing as they usually did. Sabrino seemed to be the only one who noticed or cared.

And he didn’t care for long. Getting ready for the attack on the Lagoans that would follow up the sorcerous onslaught took most of his time. During the rest, he was in the air making sure the enemy’s dragons didn’t sniff out the new camp full of Kaunians. By the time the Algarvian mages announced that all was in readiness, he’d almost forgotten about Jeush and his maunderings.

Standing before his wing of dragonfliers, he said, “This sorcery is supposed to knock the Lagoans into a cocked hat. But the mages are braggarts, remember, so we may have a little more work than they expect. Be smart. Be careful. Let’s win.”

With a great thunder of wings, the dragons leapt into the air one after another. The Algarvian army was already on the march. Only the mages and enough soldiers to guard and slaughter the Kaunians stayed behind. Every beat of his dragon’s wings took Sabrino farther from the camp that held the blonds, and he was thoroughly glad of it.

Though no mage himself, he knew when the massacre and the magecraft springing from it began. His dragon seemed to feel it, too, and staggered in the air for a moment before recovering. Maybe Jeush had known something of what he was talking about after all. “But the Lagoans are catching it worse,” Sabrino muttered.