The Magic of Recluce - L. E. Modesitt [175]
Yee-ah…
The echoing cry of the vulcrow reminded me there was more of the same—or worse—yet to come.
At one time, the hills had been farmed. The stone pillars of fences remained, as did a few rotting split rails. Every so often, we passed a chimney emerging from a thicket of bushes or even standing alone and rising out of a hummock of grasses.
The hills were not wild again, nor were they tame, but somewhere in between. Abandoned apple trees still ran in orchard rows with gaps showing those that had died and not been replaced. Taller blocks of mixed oaks and conifers outlined old woodlots, while scrub oak and redberry meadows indicated once-cleared fields.
With each hill, we neared the circling vulcrows, and an underlying sense of white menace.
Yeee-ah, yee-ah…
To the west, the clouds kept building. My stomach continued to churn.
Finally, I put a shield around me. Not one that would just keep me from being seen. Like me, any chaos-wizard could have seen through a visual reflective shield. This shield would keep someone from throwing energies at me. Light is energy, and if I could keep light from touching me, I ought to be able to keep from being turned into white ash. The only problem was that I still couldn’t see with my eyes because the shield kept light and energy from touching me.
I wondered why I didn’t cool off, but my body did generate heat. That brought up another question—like why my body heat didn’t fry me inside my shell—but I let my thoughts work on the shield…and the shield let energy escape.
Could I build a shield that worked both ways—letting no energy enter or escape? Probably, but for what reason?
Wheeee…eeee
Yeee-ah…
By now it was early afternoon, and we had nearly reached the top of a particularly long hill. From what I could tell, the vulcrows were circling over the next hill.
I cast out my senses.
The fight was over, for the soldiers were methodically moving on foot, their horses tethered or picketed.
A point of white resided there as well, a living point of white, a chaos-wizard.
There was no point in trying to avoid the soldiers, not with more than a score of them plus a wizard who could track me. But I didn’t like it. I had no desire to be any sort of hero. I just had less desire to be run down until I was too exhausted to fight. Besides, the soldiers couldn’t fight what they couldn’t see.
The wizard was another question.
Still…I looked behind me, as far as my senses would carry me.
I wished I hadn’t.
Wheeee…Gairloch tossed his head, as if in warning.
More than twoscore cavalry had passed over the Southbrook bridge and now trotted onward, less than two long hills behind. Behind them…much further behind, I could sense a rolling wave of chaos; and I couldn’t tell for sure, but would have been willing to bet that it centered on a white-gold coach and Antonin. Where he had been when I disrupted the prefect’s chaos-fountain, I didn’t know, but he was definitely on my trail.
All of this had developed because I’d wanted to do something to repay Destrin for his support and to ensure a future for Deirdre. But given the results, and Justen’s warnings, and Antonin’s meddling in the war between Gallos and Kyphros…it wasn’t as though I had much choice. Someone thought there was a real wizard loose, and all my actions had pointed to me—and I scarcely knew what I was doing.
So they wanted me, whatever the cost. All too predictable.
I glanced back over my shoulder.
Wheeee…uhhhh…wheeee.
Gairloch’s protest jerked my head back toward the crest of the hill before us.
Right-handed, I chucked the reins. “Come on, old fellow. We can’t exactly turn back.”
Whheee.
“No, we can’t. The prefect might let you haul baggage carts, but I’d end up at the festivities in his central square. The central attraction, you might say.” I extended my left hand toward the staff, still safe and waiting in the saddle holder. “Oooo…” The subjective heat flashed to my fingers even before they reached the black lorken of my staff.
Something was definitely waiting over the crest of the trail, where