by James Peart
The Steward and the Sorcerer
The Chronicles of the Northern Earth, Volume 1
James Peart
Published by James Peart, 2021.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
THE STEWARD AND THE SORCERER
First edition. April 5, 2021.
Copyright © 2021 James Peart.
Written by James Peart.
Table of Contents
Title Page
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About the Author
THE CHRONICLES OF THE NORTHERN EARTH
1.
The first Druid of the new order stepped out of the molten core of the Brightsphere, sparks flying to each side of him, the embers of the Brightsphere dying as it retreated to a liquefied cocoon, glinting into the abyss as it returned to the world between worlds that had summoned it.
The Druid Daaynan looked to one side of him, then the other, his tall frame stooping slightly as he contemplated his surroundings as if for the first time, cloaked and hooded, nearly seven foot tall. The corner of the keep in which he stood carried the moisture of faint damp, the window slits carrying fresh air from outside to the very centre of the castle. It was a stronghold that had protected his predecessors for many years, stretching back before the time of the old histories and the recording of the course of lives they had been charged to protect had taken written form. The environment had been very different then, almost unknowable when compared to today, yet the keep had been much the same as it was now, the complex of rooms and corridors it housed burrowing from beneath the earth and rising to the height of the turrets and steeples that looked out over the vast domain the members of his order had called their own. From here through the vents he could smell everything from cultivated crops to the heather in wild fields that circled the castle. He walked through the castle’s many chambers, surveying what lay hidden within them, assessing and making note of what had now become his property.
He tilted his head fractionally. There was an alien presence outside, something he couldn’t identify easily, something that did not belong to the fields and hills surrounding the Druid fortress. He sensed it as an impulse rather than a smell, carried in the warding lines that were laid outside the building, something that tripped the invisible threads signalling an intrusion of one kind or another. It was too big to be a man, and too powerful. It carried magic of its own, and it could sense his presence here.
Daaynan stretched his arms out in front of him, his hands touching, Druid fire- blue in colour- stringing from his fingers up and through the narrow window that lay above his head and toward the source of the intrusion. The blue fire acted as a probe, giving him a mental image of the dimensions of whatever it was sent to investigate. He had never used it before, yet he had been schooled in its use from inside the Brightsphere, the birthing cocoon of the Druids.
The intruder was human-like in appearance, he saw, impossibly tall, draped in a long broad-cloak like himself, though red, not black in colour, its features obscured by a large hood. One of its hands, large and misshapen, protruded from the cloak it wore, shoots of unnatural wiry hair sticking out from beneath the cloth, growing wild and uneven. A creature of some kind. It stood motionless before the entry gate to the keep, waiting for something. Waiting for him.
Daaynan lowered his hands, the blue flame dying at his fingertips. It was difficult to ascertain what manner of being this was, shrouded as it was inside its robing. You would have to get close to it to find out, and perhaps by then it would be too late. The Druid records would be of little help as they needed a clear image to work with. That left his instincts and these told him that this was a trap of some kind. There were those in the Northern Earth who knew of Daaynan’s coming, of his rebirth as a sorcerer, those from his old life he had left behind in order to come to Fein Mor and train as a Druid. Although he had tried to keep it a secret there were always some who knew. Now he must face the consequences of that knowledge.
He was alone in the keep. There were no other sorcerers, or sorcerers’ assistants, or staff of any kind. No one to direct him in his transformation. His calling to the order had come in the form of visions expressed to him in a sequence which told him in unmistakable terms that he was to be the next governor of Fein Mor. He was living at the time in the small hamlet of his birth at the edge of the Northern Earth. The villagers of Bottom Dell knew of the visions and of the illustrious history of the Druids and they would not have been surprised to learn that he had been receiving what they called The Summons, though he had kept it a secret from everyone he knew. He had displayed magic abilities from a very early age, communicating soundlessly with animals from the woodlands surrounding his town, talking to the trees, changing their form and shape. He had started by using simple hand gestures to evoke his magic, then had progressed to speech and finally he had wrought change on his surroundings by thought alone. He had so far limited his use of magic to involve animals and stationary life. As Druid, however, he would need to confront people and win battles, and although he had amassed an enormous amount of knowledge during his time spent in the Brightsphere, he was still relatively inexperienced and the thing standing outside the keep knew it. There were elements in the world that sought to put an end to the Druid line and it was possible that this was an agent of such.
The Brightsphere, he thought. Maybe it could help him determine the nature of this creature and the threat it posed. It was worth an effort. He made his way back to the corner of the keep where he had emerged inside it transformed. The Sphere was nearly melted away, pooling in the cracks of stone on the plinth where he had stood and contemplated his surroundings for the first time as Druid. Lifting his hands, he summoned fire from his fingertips. This flame was green in colour, its magic capable of drawing back matter into the world of real things. People too, if it were tasked to do so.
Never having employed it before, he was cautious in its use, drawing an aspect of the Sphere at a time. Slowly, it took shape, its lines of power extending from the walls and floor of the keep, converging to form a solid mass once more. Sparks flew and hissed as the wellspring of its creation stirred to life, calling to him as it had earlier done in deep gravel tones, its voice unnatural, coming from another age. It was not human but an elemental, a facsimile of human life with the addition of power beyond reckoning: power to change life, to enhance or destroy it.
“What would you have me do?” It asked as it had done when he requested his transformation. “You are Druid. Is this not all you want?”
“There is a creature beyond the walls of Fein Mor,” Daaynan said. It guards the castle, waiting for me to emerge. I know nothing about
it other than that it has a forbidding presence. I wish to discover what manner of being it is, and its plan for me.”
The Brightsphere shifted, the life-force inside it stirring as it contemplated his question. Minutes passed in silence. Finally, it said “It is a Windwalker, an ancient creature whose kind were born long before I was brought into being. They were creatures of terrible intelligence, and strong. They did magic, though of a different kind to yours. This one is different somehow. I imagine it has had to be to survive in your world all this time. It is a hybrid, a combination of Windwalker and a species not known to man.”
“And its intent?”
“Simple. To confront and destroy. They are gruesomely single minded and hold no regard for other races than their own.”
“But you said this one is a cross, a mixture of species.”
Silence for a moment, then “I haven’t seen one like this before. Perhaps it is more Windwalker than not.”
Daaynan took all this in. “How did it find out about me?”
“It was drawn to your magic. Its own is peculiar in that it seeks out magic that others possess and confronts them. Ultimately it destroys them.”
“Because it feels threatened? Or wants to serve a need for self-gratification?”
“It does not feel threatened. It is curious about you. It wants to learn what you are first.”
“Am I a match for it?”
“Perhaps. You are the first Druid of an order that carries but one member. As such you have the repository of knowledge and power of all Druids who came before you right back to the first order and the beginning of recorded history in the Northern Earth.”
“Do you have any advice for me, anything you could add to what you have told me?”
“You are Druid. You have all the advanced knowledge you require.”
Daaynan was about to ask another question when the Sphere began to collapse, retreating from view, the entity inside it directed elsewhere, its mind on matters in other worlds it inhabited, other dimensions of existence that lay beyond Daaynan’s reach.
He reviewed what the Brightsphere had told him, weighing matters over in his mind. The elemental was confident he could stand against this creature, yet he was not so sure. Its kind existed before the creation of the Sphere after all, so far back in time there were no historical recordings of them, no mention of their existence whatsoever. What chance did he have against such a thing? At the same time, he could not stay within the walls of the castle indefinitely, simply hoping that it would go away. Sooner or later he would have to act.
Daaynan brooded on his problem for hours before arriving at a solution. It was a makeshift plan but held the benefit of inflicting the least damage to his person and it afforded him the opportunity to discover more about this being.
He stepped outside the walls of the keep, choosing a spot directly beneath the North Tower and away from where the Windwalker stood. Slowly, cautiously, he walked toward the creature, drawing fire- yellow this time- to his fingertips, ready to confront it should it wheel round and attack him without warning. He didn’t think it would though, at least not yet. The Sphere had told him it was curious about him, it would need to find out more about him before it decided on a more aggressive tack.
It stood motionless as he approached, in the same position it had always been. He thought of saying something, calling to it, yet tempered the impulse. He would wait for it to make the first move. When it did he would be ready, or so he hoped.
When he came within ten feet of it, it turned around to face him. It did so unhurriedly, almost casually, as if it knew he’d been there all this time. Its hands- claws, he noted on closer inspection- lifted yet only to draw back its head-cloak, its eyes visible from the deep shadow of its hood, then its forehead and cheeks as the light hit its face, running down the length of it, its features exposed.
Daaynan stood face to face with himself.
He stared, disbelieving. He was looking at a mirror image of his own face, the features, the nuance of expression identical to his own. What was this, he wondered in consternation?
The being, whatever form of creature it was, chose this moment to attack, its arms raised suddenly, yellow fire sent shooting from its claws to the spot where Daaynan stood. He could only watch, completely taken by surprise, all thoughts of constructing a defence absent from his mind, rendering him helpless.
The fire shot toward the Druid, scorching the evening air as it travelled...and passed right through him.
The image of Daaynan shimmered once and was gone. From within a chamber at the top of the North Tower, the Druid’s real form observed the scene playing out down below. The Windwalker released an unearthly shriek as it realised it had been tricked, lifting its head to the walls of the keep, its eyes- a cobalt blue like Daaynan’s own- scanning the towers and steeples for signs of the Druid, realising that what it had just confronted was an illusion. After a minute it quieted, drawing its hood over its head and turned to face the entrance to Fein Mor once again.
From within the protected confines of the keep Daaynan considered what he would do. Days passed like this, the Druid going about his normal duties- the ones that had occupied him before he had become sorcerer- as if nothing had changed. When these were done at the end of each day he visited the Druid Archive, a large chamber in the south wing of the castle that contained vast shelves of books comprising the Druid records. He browsed the information gathered there, trying to find some mention of the creatures that called themselves Windwalkers, without much luck. Finally, he stumbled on an entry containing information about them, a fleeting reference only, adding little to what the Brightsphere had told him. They were ancient beings, existing in this world before the official histories of the Northern Earth, perhaps before the recording of time itself. They were thought to have been wiped out of existence though precisely when was unclear. Daaynan learned nothing else of interest other than that they generally did not speak but communicated instead via ‘impulse impressions.’ This one was a hybrid of some sort the Sphere had told him. It could be that it was a shape-shifter, a being that could morph itself into the form and image of anyone or anything it encountered. It would explain why it looked like him. He entertained the fleeting possibility that he had imagined it all, that it was some manner of apparition brought on by the change he had endured in becoming what he was. No, he decided, it was real enough, and whether it chose to look like King or peasant it was out there stalking him, waiting for him to make a countermove.
He emerged from the keep on the sunrise of the fifth day of his confinement, not his real self but another projection while his true form observed everything from the top of the battlement. His projected image could not summon fire or conjure sorcery of any kind but that was not his intention. Instead he walked right up to the Windwalker and spoke to it, calling attention to himself in this way. The being ignored him, standing as it had before at the entrance to the keep. After a time, its eyes lifted to the battlement and met Daaynan’s own with a challenging look. The expression in its eyes was almost lifeless, unchanging, apparently fixated on him.
The Druid sighed. He would have to leave the building sooner or later. There were provisions stored in the keep to last him 6 months, maybe a year, and what then? He would have to confront the creature when his supplies ran out. Better to do it now and not postpone the inevitable, but he realised he had already decided this.
As day ran into night he thought about what he would do, what approach he would take. Finally, as the sun bordered the horizon, an orange-red haze settling everywhere as it crested the skyline, he came to a decision. He went to his bed chamber and slept through till dawn. On the morning of the next day he rose, washed and dressed himself in a fresh blue broad-cloak. Lowering the hood to permit vision, he exited the castle through the main entrance.
The creature stood where it always had, twenty feet from the entrance. It registered his presence with a slight turning of its head from within the folds
of its hood, its lips splitting open in what could have passed for a grin. Daaynan walked right up to it and lifted his arms, his cloak spread wide, yellow fire flaming from his fingertips, shooting toward the other in a single continuous burst. In the instant before it struck its target, the Windwalker conjured a shield to protect itself from the flame and it bounced harmlessly off its form inches before it touched. Daaynan continued to approach, however, the Druid fire streaming from his hands and fingers, his arms raised to the level of the creature’s face, seeking to do damage there. The Windwalker summoned fire of its own, meeting the Druid’s match for match, joining in a starburst of flame between where they stood, hammering one against the other, the ground beneath them scorched. For long moments neither gave way, each sorcerer vying for supremacy over the other, then the Druid in one fluid action drew from some great well of resolve that lay deep within him and a giant flare shot through and past him, sweeping toward the other, enveloping it in a vast conflagration, swallowing the being whole.
There was nothing left of the Windwalker but the charred remains of skin and ash.
Daaynan turned back in the direction of the keep, unsteady on his feet, utterly spent from the force of the attack. He passed through the entrance and walked to his chambers, barely able to stand upright. In his chambers there was a simple basin with fresh water and some ointments beside it. He washed his face free of dirt and applied one of the creams where the other’s fire had marked him. Then he went to his bed and lay down tiredly, falling asleep in moments.
When he woke, it was the evening of the next day. He ate a breakfast of dried fruit and some bread and began to walk through the many rooms of the keep, thinking about what he would do. As Druid he had responsibilities and he would be expected to carry them out. One of them was to recruit and train sorcerers who wished to apply to Fein Mor as helpers. He would start this as soon as he could, he decided, beginning with those who wished to apply from his home village Bottom Dell. From there he would look further to the south, where it was rumoured there were those who practised magic and were friendly to the Druid order. He walked past a window overlooking the drawbridge entrance to the keep, glancing casually over the patch of land where he had yesterday confronted and killed the being. He came about abruptly.
