The Steward and the Sorcerer

by James Peart

  The Druid stirred and opened his eyes. An old man with a careworn face was peering down at him. There were crow’s feet around his eyes, weathered lines grooved on his forehead and grey hair falling to his temples. There was a large dimple on one cheek. His eyes were the most youthful thing about him. Clear and aware, they shone into his own.

  “Is this...a healing centre?” His voice was weak, and slightly metallic from lack of use.

  Tolke smiled. “This is the Manor, yes. You’ve been ill and you’ve just come out of a coma, but you’ll do fine. Can you do me a favour and try to move your arms?”

  The Druid did as he was asked, lifting both arms into the air.

  “That’s fine. Now your legs, if you don’t mind? That’s great. We were worried you had lost mobility. Can you remember what happened to you before you arrived here?”

  Daaynan told him in general terms but did not mention any names and he did not say what had happened to his cousin Jareth. When he finished recounting his story, Tolke stood back from him and said “that’s quite an adventure you’ve been on. A lesser man would not have survived. So, you were alone in being attacked, no one else was injured?”

  He nodded, thinking of his cousin Jareth’s condition. It was technically the truth.

  “Alright. We don’t as a rule treat individuals from so far North but we made an exception in your case. I’m glad we were able to treat you successfully.” Tolke’s wizened face beamed at him.

  “Why?” he whispered.

  The elderly man seemed amused. “Why did we make an exception or why don’t we handle people from your part of the Northern Earth?”

  “The second.”

  “Well, Fein Mor is situated in an area close to Brinemore’s...political reach, shall we say. In fact, at the rate things are going, should the current steward get his way, it will soon be governed by that city state, and the steward has already effectively disallowed trade of any kind between Brinemore’s occupied states and others further south.”

  “How has he managed this?”

  “That’s a conversation for another time. As strange as this sounds, given what you’ve been doing up until now, you need to eat something solid, drink and rest some more.” Despite the other’s protests, Tolke ushered the others to leave the chamber and disappeared with him.

  It was a full two days before he returned, his face beaming in what Daaynan gradually realised was his natural way.

  “You’re looking hale and hearty, my friend. My assistants tell me you’ve been a model of cooperation and that you’re so well rested you could climb Mount Atterpeak in a single day,” his tone became sombre, “stopping for the odd tea-break of course- no one is that strong, even a Druid.”

  Daaynan smiled. He liked the old man. “When am I going to be released from here?”

  “Straight to the point as ever! You cut quite an imposing figure, you know. Some of my helpers are even a little afraid of you. I told them ‘he’s just blunt- we have a sorcerer in the Northern Earth who likes to be direct,’ but they persist in their fear.”

  “You haven’t answered my question, old man.”

  “That’s funny, I thought I had. I can’t allow my staff to walk around afraid so I’m going to let you go tomorrow, early morning so you can arrive back in Fein Mor by nightfall.”

  “I wanted to ask you some questions.”

  “I hadn’t forgotten. It was concerning Brinemore, am I right?” Daaynan nodded. “What do you know of trade between Brinemore and its neighbouring states? What advice would you give me?”

  “Only that if I were you I’d step down from my role as Druid and leave Fein Mor to the city.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “There have been developments since you locked yourself away from the world, training to be a sorcerer. Brinemore has expanded east and south and taken stewardship of the many towns and villages it found there, forming a trade alliance with the states they belong to, although imposing an alliance would be a more accurate term. This new Confederation is far more powerful and influential than Brinemore ever was when it was a lowly Kingdom, covering vastly more territory.”

  Tolke leaned forward. “And let me tell you something, their policy on magic and those who wield it is somewhat less than tolerant.”

  Daaynan said nothing, but the old man was watching him carefully. “You never told me who it was that caused your injuries.”

  “I did battle with an ancient creature from the world of faerie. I was lucky to survive.”

  “That may be so, but you have at least one other enemy.”

  “Oh?”

  “Come now, a faerie creature would not stab you with a knife.”

  “It would not.”

  “Not unless it was suffering from the delusion that it was a mere human being with no magic at its disposal.”

  Daaynan was silent for a long moment before answering. “This human being in question, he might have been sent by the steward of Brinemore.”

  “Did it occur to you that the faerie might also have been sent by Longfellow’s Confederation? As much as he claims he detests magic, he’s not above using it to further his own ends.”

  Daaynan nodded. “I had thought of the possibility.”

  “That’s why you came all the way down here to be healed, isn’t it? Someone wants you gone up north, and it seems they will stop at nothing to achieve that end.”

  “I won’t return to Fein Mor. There are people here I need to get in contact with, individuals who might assist me in this matter.”

  Tolke furrowed his wrinkled brow. “I can provide you with lodgings, a house not too far from here. You would be safe, at least for the time being. Take my advice, use it while you mull over your options.”

  Daaynan reached out with his hand and held the old man’s arm. “Thank you.”

  Tolke Straat went about his daily rounds, administering the organisation of the centre from the distribution of medicine to supervision of the patients and other, sundry details. He considered the offer he had made to the Druid and the other’s seeming acceptance of it. As far as the offer went it had been genuine enough, but he didn’t think the Druid would ultimately accept it. He knew enough of him to know that he wasn’t the type to go into hiding, not that man. Tolke was uncertain as to what it was he planned to do but he guessed it involved confronting the steward Longfellow in some way. Tolke shook his burly head. Given a one on one encounter, measure for measure, the Druid would have the upper hand but the steward would never allow that to happen. He enjoyed the constant protection of his cadre of guards, some of whom it was said were secretly sorcerers themselves, all of them loyal to him. Was the Druid strong enough to get past these? Politically, Longfellow was the most ruthless steward ever to sit on the King’s throne at Brinemore. He was tactically very astute and had an unerring knack for separating advice to make the best possible decisions. Advisors who talked a false game were known to have been thrown from the top of the Derg tower. He had ambitious plans for Brinemore that involved the submission and control of most of the Northern Earth and it would not be very long before his influence extended south as far as Manor Harmon. He wasn’t about to let his plans be disrupted by a single man, especially one he considered a rogue sorcerer.

  The Druid was formidable, however, Tolke reflected, and had plans of his own. Who knew what manner of assistance he could summon from within the walls of Fein Mor? Whatever it was it would have to be strong enough to break through the citadel fortress that surrounded Karsin Longfellow. He reflected on the matter before being caught up in the various duties provided by his daily rounds, his thoughts drifting elsewhere.

  4.

  The hard stone of Fein Mor stood imposing over the land that surrounded it, its slate cone turrets rising pointed to the azure sky, its bulwark parapets running the length of the top of the walls. Old weapons jutted through the squared openings along the ramparts, rusting, many of them no longer in function, directed at enemies long since depart
ed from the Northern Earth. Beneath them the white mullioned windows, revealed by open shutters, reflected the sun brightly, warm in the first heat of summer.

  The first Magus of the new order of Druids stood outside the keep for a time, gazing at it, taking in its ancient splendour. All the help he would need in his confrontation with Brinemore lay within its walls. The Druid was contemplating the nature of this assistance. He had mulled over the issue on his long journey back from Manor Harmon. He could of course enlist help of the non-magic variety from the territories that lay south and east of here. To the east lay the Drague Territories. They were mainly composed of a loose collection of warring tribes that had occasionally been involved in skirmishes along the coasts of the Earth, yet never in a proper war. Some of those tribes had tended their support as mercenaries, taking payment for their involvement in battles without the passion of true commitment.

  The inhabitants of lands further east and south were, if anything, worse, lacking the glue of society that sought to unify their communities. They had never traditionally come to the Druids’ assistance in times of war or need and they would be unlikely to now, especially since Brinemore had begun to exert political power over the Northern Earth. Daaynan had visited some of the merchant houses and taverns on his way back to Fein Mor, had sat in the corner of ale houses and held talk with whoever was willing to converse over matters taking place in the north. They had confirmed Tolke Straat’s statement that Brinemore had become a formidable power over the last five years, that Karsin Longfellow was bent on further expansion south-east toward Fein Mor and south toward Manor Harmon and beyond. Some said that he had enlisted the help of those in the Drague Territories to colonise the lands in the east, that he had his own army to assist the Drague tribes in his expansion. He would enable the birth of confederate states in the east first, then travel south and presumably do the same there. Those he talked to seemed to accept what was to happen as a matter of course. What impressed Daaynan as he sat there listening to people talk was their indifference to what they were sure was about to happen, an indifference underpinned by fear, he reflected. Longfellow must be stopped.

  He lowered the drawbridge by means of a sequence of gestures drawn in the crisp evening air and walked inside the keep. Fein Mor as it stood was invulnerable to attack. Nothing short of the right kind of magic was needed to enter inside its walls and he was sure that Longfellow’s sorcerers did not possess this. The magic that warded it belonged to the Druids. Only one of them could summon it. Sorcerers had tried over the years to replicate this form of magic, creating only a hybrid version that fell short of expectations.

  He was safe here. But sooner or later he would have to confront what was happening in the world around him, sooner rather than later. Daaynan had thought about this on his way back to Fein Mor. He had an idea, one that he thought might work. It would take time and preparation, however, so he must start now.

  He walked through a series of narrow corridors that led to one of the corners of the stronghold, turning right and left, stopping once to light a passage torch to guide his way and continuing until he came to a chamber beneath the north tower.

  Lifting his hands to the chamber wall, he summoned green fire from his fingertips. Green flame could draw matter back into the world of real things. He wove his hands quickly to form an intricate knot in the space before the wall and stood back. For a time, nothing happened. Then, pooling in the cracks of stone, the life-force of the Brightsphere began its seeping intrusion into the world of the keep. Slowly, almost cautiously, it took form, its lines and contours stretching, breaking and re-shaping themselves until it took on an appearance that was basically manlike in impression. It grew skin, dispensing with some of its form as it did, the dying embers of the mass that had created it discarded like shredded hide, pooling on the chamber floor. It turned to face Daaynan, addressing him in a voice that chafed like grinding stone, its elemental voice, rent from its existence in another age and time, the pregnancy in its tone hinting at unimaginable power:

  “Why do you summon me?”

  “I have need of you once more. An adversary I must confront.”

  The outline of the elemental rippled, and the chamber seemed to shake in response. Daaynan shifted his stance, never taking his eyes off the Sphere. “I am not here to be at your beck and call, Druid, nor to fight your enemies for you. In making you Druid I have imbued you with great strength and ingenuity, enough to deal with any problems you may face...”

  “I understand that, but if I may...this adversary of mine is most likely the one who sent the creature from the world of Faerie to Fein Mor, summoned him here by means I don’t yet understand. He also dispatched a second assassin to my door, and very nearly finished me. This problem I face now is essentially the same as the one I did before. This man wants me dead.” He explained the role Karsin Longfellow had put himself in, his aggressive ambition to turn most of the Northern Earth into a confederacy ruled by a city state he alone governed.

  The being inside the Brightsphere listened. When he was finished, it said: “It does not matter whether it is one problem or ten you face, these are your affairs. I am aware of this person Longfellow. He is no more ruthless than any ruler who wishes everything for himself. You have the skills to deal with him. You are underutilizing the gifts that were bestowed on you when you were made inside me.”

  Daaynan frowned. “I have an idea, one which may work. I want to enlist help from other worlds, individuals to help me as I stand against this man. But I need you to direct me in choosing the right people, given your knowledge of worlds that lie beyond this one.”

  The other grew quiet for long moments. Its outline shimmered in the shadowed recesses of the chamber, a vague manlike presence that was hardly substance at all. When it spoke again it said: “This is something you can do for yourself.”

  “How can I do this?”

  “Summon the black flame, enter through it and select those you need.”

  “But green fire draws matter into this world. If I use black, I will have to pass through into those other worlds myself.”

  “That is so.”

  “Forgive me but I have no knowledge of what lies beyond the Northern Earth. I need your help in determining what manner of people I can recruit.”

  “I have not much more knowledge of those places than you do. I live between them yet also in the netherworld, beyond all other existences. The little I do know is seen from this perspective.”

  “But...do you know if there are magic users there?”

  “Some perhaps. Some employ magic that you would not consider to be sorcery but is nevertheless effective when used against an enemy.”

  The image of the Brightsphere elemental began to grow faint. “You will find who you are looking for in the end. You must exercise caution and good judgement, and above all patience. To rally men- or women- to your cause you must display those leadership skills you have learned in your five-year sojourn with the Brightsphere, the knowledge you have amassed in your instruction as Druid. Everything you need in order to succeed lies within those skills and that knowledge. Exercise them well. This is the greater test for which you were born. Now I must leave you and I shall not return. Your training is complete. You have identified your adversary and with luck you will prevail over him and others like him.

  “Goodbye Druid.”

  The image suddenly faded and was gone, Daaynan left standing in an empty chamber staring at a blank wall.

  5.

  The recently appointed Magus of Fein Mor slept a single night in the keep before crossing over into other worlds.

  He slept well beneath a somnolent veil, a thin summoning of the pink flame which protected him as he slumbered, barely visible above the surface of his skin. A version of the flame also protected the Druid keep from intrusion of any kind, drawn from beneath the earth and rising to the height of the turrets and over the top of the stronghold. He did not strictly need it here in Fein Mor, yet it was good
practice to put it to use, considering where he was about to go.

  He woke at dawn, washed and dressed himself, then went downstairs to the dining chamber to fix himself a breakfast of dried meat and some fruit, washed down with some cold mountain-stream water. He picked at the food on his plate, his thoughts on what he would encounter in those places he needed to go to find assistance with his struggle against Karsin Longfellow. It was pointless trying to imagine, he decided, as he had never utilised the black fire before. He had been schooled in the procedure used to summon it, but as to whether it would bring him directly to one of those other worlds, or to some intermediary plane, or an ordered series of places, he had no idea. How many other worlds were there that lay beyond his own? Were they fixed in number, for example, or infinite? The world of Faerie, where that ancient creature had been drawn from, did it exist in this set of worlds? Did it belong to a dimension of existence that ran alongside his own? Were these worlds in fact simply dimensions that existed in some great timeless vacuum?

  It was late in the evening of that day before he decided to find out.

  He explored the interior of the keep before he did so, walking through the castle’s many chambers on each level, past private studies and game-rooms; rooms that were used for individual contemplation, rooms that hadn’t been used in centuries, belonging to a time when there had been many Druids involved in various projects together that occupied their time. The keep had been much like the way it was now, the intricate network of rooms and corridors it held tunnelling beneath the earth, rising to the height of the turrets and steeples that looked out over the domain of the Magi. He could smell crops and heather outside through the vents and windows, rich and fertile. He performed one last survey of what lay hidden within the chambers, assessing and making note of the property he would shortly leave.