The Steward and the Sorcerer

by James Peart

  The goal of reaching England was shared by Simon among only himself. Christopher could not have cared less for it. His happiness was temporary at best. He was distracted by their plan. It amused him in some obscene way, Simon thought, like an overfed Roman watching a gladiator strategize his way toward victory in some ghoulish Carthaginian re-enactment.

  Still, it had been a long time since he had witnessed his friend to be so alive, so ‘there.’

  “What’re you thinking about?” he ventured to ask him.

  “Just wondering what dear Mama would be doing at this particular moment.”

  “You miss her?” Simon thought about his own family for the first time. It simply hadn’t occurred to him earlier, what with all that had occurred and the speed in which it had happened. They must be worried out of their minds.

  “Oh no,” Christopher said, a look of almost tender abandonment on his face that disquieted Simon. “I merely wish she would stop trying to take care of me. All my life, she’s done it. Now, for a change, I’m helping to take care of someone.”

  “You mean...Daaynan?”

  “I knew you wouldn’t understand.” His eyes drifted to the stonework of the external wall as they walked along, lost in private contemplation.

  “No, I really do. What do you mean?”

  “He’s important to you, this Druid, isn’t he? You’d do anything for him.”

  “Are you mad?” Simon choked the words out. “He’s obsessed with that steward of his. He’s blindly devoted to a cause, would do anything in its name, regardless of the consequences to him, or for that matter those around him.”

  Christopher smiled. “I know. You’re so like him.”

  Simon let out an absurd burp of laughter, his reaction tempered between hilarity and outrage. “This is rich! So, you think you’re helping me, as if I were as lost as he is?” But Christopher had retreated into silence once more and would not be tackled further on the subject.

  He could not let the comment pass, however, and tried several different tacks to get him to open up again. Nothing would do, until he asked him if they didn’t succeed, would he miss England?

  “I would miss the medievalism of places in England...and other things...” his mind seemed to wander, “...perhaps the folk festival.”

  “And this place isn’t barbaric enough for you?”

  “I suppose...what do you think of it?”

  “It has all the hallmarks of a feudal system. That steward Daaynan talks about seems little better than a military Shogun, conferring favours on occupied states for remaining loyal to Brinemore. Daaynan told me he forbids trade between occupied and free states. And he governs his city with a constabulary that would our post war bobbies to shame. No, we’ve stepped back in time coming here. A one man show like Daaynan couldn’t ordinarily hope to exist in a system like this, but his magic sort of levels the playing field. I suppose I’m curious as to what will happen between the two men. It’s like Heracles versus Eurystheus’ army, when Heracles was aided by the Olympians.

  “I’m fascinated by that temple. If the worlds in it were more clearly marked, and it didn’t rob you of your strength, I would like to rove about in them for a while. Just imagine what sort of information I could bring back to the Think Tank at Downing’s. They’d have to make me an honorary Don just for the stories alone. I could parcel them out at lectures over a long, distinguished career. I could take women back there...folk singers maybe; the possibilities would be endless.”

  They arrived at the North Tower before they realised it, walking past the stairwell until Christopher pointed it out. Ascending the coiling tower steps, they spotted the other half of the Drey torch on the ledge of a window that overlooked the view from the keep’s North Wing. Motioning Christopher to stand back as before, Simon tried to match the broken piece against each of the stick halves he carried, drawing the two ends together. Nothing happened with the first of the sticks, or the second. Then, as he drew it against the third stick, green flame sparkled in a crown that circled the broken pieces of the torch, and an image issued before him from inside the crown. The image displayed tall white pillars bursting with light that stretched high beyond the frame of the image and numbered more than they could count. The green fire pulsated, drawing them toward it, and, spellbound, they almost leaned right into the flame had it not been for Christopher’s hand quickly grabbing Simon’s and pulling it back, thus breaking the connection between the two torch halves.

  Simon dropped his hands to his sides, still holding the Drey torch.

  “That was the temple,” he gasped.

  “Yes.”

  “But- but it should have been England, or Italy. I don’t understand.”

  They stood facing each other for a time, not knowing what to do. “Perhaps,” Simon ventured, “the other torch halves will give us a different result. All we have to do is test them against each of the halves we’re carrying.”

  “They won’t,” Christopher said. “They’ll show us exactly the same thing.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because it’s the same fire: green for drawing matter into your world of origin from another world.”

  “We’ll try it anyway, but...” Simon slapped his forehead, “of course!”

  “What?”

  “It’s the ‘world of origin,’ that’s the problem. We’ve been thinking all along that England was our world, but since we’ve been through the temple, that substituted England as our origin. Daaynan told me this. The temple overrides any other world if you pass through it. Stupid!”

  “That’s it, then. It’s over.” Christopher’s expression was one of serene detachment.

  “It’s not over by a long shot. Give me a moment...

  “We can still use the fire to send Iridis back to the temple and out of harm’s way. Or use it on the Faerie creatures outside...”

  “That won’t send them to the temple. They haven’t been there.”

  “Yes, it will! The magic in the torch sends matter to the user’s point of origin, remember? Like it or not our origin is the temple. We’ll have to get close to them, of course, close enough to spit.” He eyed his friend speculatively. “We have no other strengths, no magic at our disposal save the torches. You’re a dead ringer for that Longfellow chap, but they won’t believe he’s here and I very much doubt they’ll take instruction from you. They’ll take one look at us and charge.”

  “We have to decide something first: which of the two present a greater threat, Iridis or the Faerie creatures?”

  “We’d be relatively safe in here were it not for Iridis. He has to come first. Of course, he’s not simply going to walk into the flame; we’ll have to use some form of chicanery to get him close.”

  He looked at Christopher. “For the life of me I don’t know what that could be.”

  “Maybe,” Christopher said, “we can use one threat to get rid of the other.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We have to make contact with Iridis.”

  13.

  “The Druid mentioned he had use of a study. Perhaps this was the chamber we emerged in when we arrived on this level.” Simon was running his finger along the edge of the Drey torch, crouched in repose beneath the North tower window. Christopher was watching him, his face animated by an expression which was nowhere in evidence until yesterday.

  “So?”

  “So, we have to find a way to talk with Iridis without his being able to approach us.”

  “I don’t get you.”

  “If we could find a part of the castle which overlooks a room or corridor to which there is no easy access, then we might be able to converse with this devil safely.”

  “Sure, but what good would reading books from a study be?”

  “Blueprints, Chris! Blueprints.”

  Christopher shot him a look of amused, almost queer pride. “That’s good, that’s very good. Wait a minute. If he’s broken out of there, won’t he be headed in our direc
tion back the way we came?”

  “If he has stolen onto this floor, there’s no reason to think he’ll be headed in our direction. We’ve been quiet, and you might have noticed that our footfalls have carried no echoes.”

  “There’s a lot about this place that’s strange.”

  Simon nodded. “It’s creepy, but we can use it to our advantage. Now, if we manage to succeed in finding the design plans and the kind of arrangement we’re looking for exists, there’s the trifling matter of what we’re going to say to him.”

  “We tell him what we know about Longfellow, that he’s a threat to the Northern Earth and we’re trying to protect the Druid and blah blah. He’s so moved by the nobility of our quest that he decides to help us.”

  “Don’t be a fanny. We have to impress upon him that his survival in this brave new world depends on his getting rid of the Faerie creatures. It’s the truth, after all. I doubt they were sent here to distinguish one enemy from another. It’s all the same to them. Everyone in Fein Mor is a target.”

  “We could tell him they were sent here to put an end to him personally.”

  “That’s not such a brilliant idea. You saw what he was like. He’s sharp and can think on his feet. He’d see through the lie quick as that.

  “No, we have to find out what he wants. He may want to go back to where he came from, or he might want to confront the powers that be in the Northern Earth, which may or may not involve attacking those creatures outside.”

  “We’ll have to talk to him first to discover a thing like that.”

  “You’re right. First things first.”

  The route back to the Druid study seemed to take no time at all. Simon’s attention was immediately drawn to the trap door leading down to the dungeon-like basement and saw that the lock had been broken, the hinges on the door ripped from their moorings. The heavy door itself had been thrown against the window and had cracked two of the panes, suggesting that whatever had burst into the room carried great physical strength.

  He turned to Christopher, putting an arm on his shoulder. “Don’t worry. He’s not likely to come back. He’s somewhere in the keep looking for us and his every step is taking him away from this room. Here, help me search for the plans. We’re looking for rolled up pieces of paper, scrolls, maybe parchments.”

  They swept through the chamber, raking the shelves with their fingers, knocking aside large bound volumes and smaller books alike, opening the bigger tomes in the hope that the blueprints had been inserted between their oversized pages. When that proved fruitless they started opening cupboard drawers and wooden cabinets, ejecting their contents onto the chamber floor. They turned the room inside out and found nothing.

  Simon turned to Christopher, putting his hand through his hair. “That’s it. Maybe there’s another study somewhere, we just have to go and find it.”

  “Meanwhile that thing is walking around inside, hunting us.”

  “I don’t know, Christopher, he won’t hear us easily, at least we have that comfort.”

  “And we won’t hear him. We could stumble on him in the dark where we wouldn’t recognise a statue from a living soul and it’d be curtains for us. Let’s look again. There must be a secret drawer somewhere.”

  “I pressed the back of every damned shelf in here. There’s no secret compartment, trust me.”

  Simon bent forward in reflection. After a moment he said “There’s a landing just outside this study. I noticed it on our return. It connects two flights of stairs and overlooks a hall of some kind. I don’t think the steps lead down to the hall- it was dark and hard to see, but if I’m right...”

  Before he could say anything further the door to the study crashed open. Standing in the entryway was the Raja Iridis, his eyes brimming with a mirthless shine.

  He was draped and hooded in a broad cloak similar to the one Daaynan wore, its colour so dark blue it appeared almost black. His eyes- somehow normalised from the time he had first encountered the Druid in the world of the red sun- were only a faint yellow. They danced slowly from one Englishman to the other, a terrible focus evident in their gaze.

  Christopher acted first, reaching over to Simon and grabbing the Drey torch from his pocket. He held the two severed pieces, one in each hand, and brought them together until they were nearly touching. A fiery crown exploded about its ends. Inside the green flame stood an image of the temple as before. Christopher held it there, controlling the burst of light, and walked toward the King.

  “You see this? This will send you back to where we came from, that in-between place. When you’re there you can look around for your world but I doubt you’ll find it- that place is a maze.”

  Simon walked toward Iridis, careful to step clear of the flame. “My friend’s right. Look at the image, don’t you recognise the temple?”

  “A trick,” the other said. “You are both sorcerers like the Druid.”

  Christopher shook his head. “We aren’t. But this is real, believe us.”

  The King stared at it and at the two Englishmen. His expression was one of disbelief; disbelief and contempt. But he stayed where he was.

  “I have a plan,” Simon said, “and it’s really very basic. There is a group of people outside this castle. They mean to do us harm. They’ll come through you to get to us and they won’t be stopped by conventional weaponry.”

  “I know about them. I shall make them swear their undying loyalty to me before I kill them.”

  “Are you going to listen to my plan?”

  “Let’s have it then.”

  “These people, creatures really, can’t be put out of harm’s way by the Druid’s fire. He told me as much after he encountered one like them. However, your magic comes from another age, like theirs, and it might be a match for theirs. There’s no guarantee that this is the case, however...”

  “There is that guarantee, halfling. No one can stand against me. Kings, Queens, Titans and Emperors, they have all fallen with a single touch.”

  “Well, that’s what I was hoping, your majesty,” he said, avoiding a cautionary look from his friend, “but you still need to get close to them for your magic to work. My idea is this: we draw them into the keep, have them chase us to a point outside this room. Once we have them where we want them, you can step out from a place of hiding and render them harmless, just like you did with Daaynan.”

  The Raja appeared to consider this statement, assessing the parameters of its logic, looking at Simon in a gauging way that turned his blood cold. Finally, he nodded his assent. “Why do we need to lead them to this chamber? Surely I can confront them in the hall beyond the entrance?”

  “I- I didn’t know there was a hall there.” Simon gestured to the study door. “There are two staircases outside on a landing that lead down to a sub-ground level. It’s dark and difficult to find the stairs from there. Christopher and I- after I’ve lead them here- will be safe on the landing.”

  The other nodded. “I understand. You are concerned for your fellow halfling. But there are things you do not understand about those who wield power. It is dark everywhere here, and these creatures, should they be resourceful enough to confront a Druid, will not be led through the rooms of this palace like a common mongrel chasing a stick.

  “I shall help you, however. I do not want to return to my world. It was dying. The proximity of our sun had displaced all life there. I want to explore new arenas, extend my influence beyond what was possible on Naveen. There is great life here, I can sense it. This home to the Druids watches over a terrain that is vast and varied and few save those who await us outside have access to real magic.”

  “How can you know that?”

  The King looked at Simon with acute disdain. “I put my hands on the walls of the palace. Echoes of the once living are buried inside them. I felt the repository of their combined thoughts, feelings and actions, dead as those things are now.”

  “You put an end to them when you killed Daaynan.” When Simon heard himself s
peak he was taken aback to discover more than a measure of bitterness in his words.

  “This is not true. They are stored, in a manner of speaking, in the Goldonyte records. But I digress. To confront those who wait for us we need to do more than entice them inside.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because they are serving a purpose by simply standing guard outside the Druid’s palace. The one who sent them, this King with no magic of his own, either wants to put an end to the Druid or keep him trapped here. Both outcomes suit his purpose.”

  “You know about the steward of Brinemore?”

  “Is that his title? How dull. Once he has sworn fealty to my Kingdom I shall grant him a more interesting one. His Kingdom lies northwest of here, the best part of three days on horseback.”

  Weighing the matter, Simon shook his head. “They’ll have to come inside eventually, to confirm that Daaynan is dead. That means they’ll want to finish us first, before they get a chance to inspect the keep. The steward has plans to extend his power base over the Northern Earth and Daaynan gets in the way of that. Getting rid of him is key for Longfellow. You did kill the Druid, didn’t you?”

  “Enough!” Iridis shouted, moving toward Simon in a sudden feint.

  Christopher swung the Drey torch in response, and the image of the temple filled the King’s vision, the glaring light of its pillars seeming to reach out beyond the limits marked by the green fire and swallow him up. For the first time, his eyes registered fright and he backed away. When he looked at the Englishmen again, the fear had gone, though there was caution in his expression.

  “I asked you did you kill the Druid?” Simon pressed. When the other didn’t answer he said “I think you didn’t.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Because if you had, you would have already decided to show the Faerie spirits. It would simply have been a matter of dragging his corpse to the curtain wall and hanging it from a flagpole outside a window overlooking the drawbridge. Everyone would be happy.”