by James Peart
“They were not up to the task?” Ledislas offered in a tone of disbelief. “I selected them carefully. The Druid’s magic cannot stand against power such as theirs, even using the Faerie Whorl.”
“There is another sorcerer which the Druid has pulled into this world. His magic operates differently. He was immune to the Faeries’ power and killed all of them with a single touch.” Karsin gestured to Tan Wrock. “My associate is wary of his strength. His mind has reached out to his, yet only to learn his name, the Raja Iridis, and the place he comes from, Naveen.”
The figure shifted within the tight core of the Darksphere, its black robe shimmering. “I have heard of this world. It is a dying one. There was a King there who had total command over his domain, who held the power of life and death over every one of his subjects. In its long history there was never a single threat to his rule- there could not possibly have been, given the level of control he had over the minds of his citizens. As an exercise in the abuse of power, it was unprecedented. As a result, Naveen was allowed to self-destruct. I thought this had happened, its people already dead, including the King.”
“The Druid must have breathed life back into some of them,” Longfellow spat. “Perhaps only a handful.”
“I see.” Ledislas fell silent, contemplating. After some moments, he said “this must be the work of my brother.”
“Your brother?”
“He dwells in the Brightsphere and his role is to develop the abilities of a sorcerer until he can assume the mantle of Druid of Fein Mor. He invests them with the magic of fires that can transform reality to different degrees.”
“If that’s true,” Longfellow said, “why hasn’t this happened before? Why haven’t the Druids that came before summoned beings from other worlds as you can?”
“Because he must have imbued this Druid’s magic with greater range and scope than he did with any of his predecessors. The question would be why?”
“I don’t care about that,” Longfellow snapped. “I need you to summon a creature that my associate can turn on Iridis and the Magus and succeed in destroying them both.”
Ledsilas considered the two men from within the shell of the Sphere, its iridescent form curiously motionless. “I can do it. There is a creature that can accomplish this task. But I will ask you for something in return.”
“Name it.”
“After this is done, set me free. Release me from the Sphere that holds me beneath your city. Let me loose so I can return to where I come from.”
Longfellow glanced over at Tan Wrock but met nothing in the other’s regard apart from a watchful disdain. Irritated, he turned back to the Sphere. “You’ve never asked me that before. Was this how things were with the other Stewards?”
“I am requesting it now. As for the time I spent serving your predecessors, I was more disposed to them, more involved in the making of decisions of state. Less prone to making errors.”
Karsin nodded, taking this in. “I am sorry that the moments we have shared have not been as productive as you would have liked, but that is not my fault. Different times call for different measures, including the level of involvement others have in my behaviour and decisions. I make no apologies for that.”
“Nevertheless, my completion of this task is conditional upon my request.”
The Steward looked at the other, measuring it, attempting to study its expression, or what passed for one. Finally, he said “alright, once this business is finished and the King and the Druid are both dead, I promise I shall let you free. You have my word.”
Ledislas nodded. “Then stand back.”
“Wait for a moment,” Karsin said, lifting one hand. “I asked you for something the last time we met. You know what that is. Before you turn this creature over to us I would remind you that my promise in turn is guaranteed on the satisfaction of that request.”
Tan Wrock frowned on hearing this. He wasn’t told of any special request Longfellow had made of the Darksphere. Had the Steward visited it in private recently? To what end? He was about to open his mouth to ask when Ledislas retreated suddenly into the depths of the Sphere, the dim light of the chamber receding into almost total blackness and Karsin signalled him to be ready for what was about to happen.
“You shall have it,” Ledislas spoke before disappearing from view. The boundary lines of the Darksphere began to ripple, thrashing with sudden fury and a monstrous form surged upward from the floor of the chamber, a titan rising from the depths of the Sphere, hulking and brutish. It lumbered forward into the room, its eyes- thickset and large beneath hairless eyebrows and a coarse pitted forehead- sweeping right and left, taking in the presence of the two men. Its skin was rough and heavily veined, casting its form in a reddish hue, and wiry shoots of crimson hair stood out in irregular clumps along its length. It stood at least seven feet tall, even bowed as its head was between crude, bulwark shoulders. Karsin Longfellow stepped back a pace as it righted itself to face the Steward and for a moment he was unsure what to say or do beyond gaze back in fear at what had crashed through into the room.
The creature lunged, reaching for him with its great arms and hands, seeking to crush the life from him. In that moment, had Tan Wrock not acted, it would have had him. Wrock employed the Thrust, pushing out at the monster with every ounce of his strength, sparing nothing in reserve. His mind touched that of the creature and, instantly, he wished it hadn’t. This dwarfed anything that resembled a mind, far greater than anything he had ever encountered before- an horrific strength of will and resolve matched by a repugnant consciousness. He wanted to recoil from such a thing yet knew that if he did, if he hesitated in the slightest degree they would both be dead. Instead he pushed further, repelling wave upon wave of nausea that threatened to overcome him, driving forward with the Thrust until he felt something give within the creature’s mind. Sensing a breach in its will, he filled it with his own thoughts, gathering them to form a single command which he repeated over and over again. “Stop!”
The creature froze in mid-step, turning its great head to face Wrock, the terrible intelligence in its eyes crossed with a pain that was new to it, laced through with something Tan finally recognised, something he had witnessed before many times in those he had chosen to prey upon. Obedience. Tan Wrock smiled.
The monster now stilled, it stood awaiting its instructions.
25.
For four hours the small company led by the Druid- and navigated by Mereka- journeyed north from Carasan, twisting its way through the thick forests that bordered the outskirts of the town in the direction of which they were headed. The wind whipped around them as they travelled, angling at them in sudden, cycling bursts, trying to wrest their flapping cloaks from their pitching frames. After a time, the overhead clouds- which had tracked them since their journey to Carasan with dogged persistence, breaking and spilling rain- shifted west, and the sun shone down out of a cobalt blue sky, piercing the broad canopy of trees in shafts of glorious light and warming the woodland shade. Movement was at times again restricted, the group forced to slow its pace as it cut past ferns and shrubs and other, larger plants, including some trees such as Maples and Birches that curled over their path, obstructing their advance as they wound upward toward the sun.
Daaynan reflected on the task that lay ahead of them. The King was close to Brinemore by now. He felt certain of it, though his senses did not work the way they traditionally had and his knowledge did not spring from the Druidic magic within him. He was close, or he was already there. Which meant it could already be too late for them to stop Iridis and there was no longer any purpose for their journey. Daaynan did not tell the Englishmen this as it might dishearten the two travellers. They must act as if there was still time, especially now that their goal threatened to slip from their hands. His goal, he amended. Those two were only here because he had promised to try to return them to their England, rather than out of a sense of duty that would protect a world they had not known existed a matter of day
s ago. Thinking of it now, though, he was not so sure. Simon, in particular, seemed more and more invested in the affairs of the Northern Earth and his chances of success in bringing the Steward of Brinemore to account for his actions. Of the two, he was the more confidant, and he liked to make decisions for Christopher, who was initially indifferent and later flatly opposed to the idea of helping him. Between them, however, they had changed their minds about the quest so many times he had lost count. Was this the way things were in their world? How did they function when they carried around so much doubt in themselves? It seemed a world of compromised values and what Simon termed ‘decadent’ behaviour, presumably when thinking about his friend. Such a person could not hope to live long in these lands. Or even his own, Daaynan considered, remembering that the other had been marked for death when he had pulled him out of it. Christopher was a member of the ascendant elite in England, Simon had told him, a Lord like Karsin Longfellow, though it seemed that, unlike the Steward, he had done nothing to earn this title other than to expect others to do things for him. His overindulgence in drink, he felt sure, was merely a result of such an attitude, not a disease as Simon called it.
Daaynan looked at the others. They were walking in single file through the forest, Daaynan cutting a path through the brush and scrub ahead of Simon. Mereka, having abandoned the task of navigating the group, had fallen back several paces and was now talking to Christopher. Mereka was another individual whose use the Druid did not value highly on this trip. At least Christopher looked like the Steward, presenting in Daaynan’s mind an idea for a plan to enter Brinemore without alerting Longfellow’s scouts. This was something the Druid’s magic could not achieve with the same results, the same attention to detail. Christopher’s face, and his shape and build were identical to the Steward’s. A virtual doppelganger. The only benefit to having Mereka come with them as far as Daaynan could see was that Longfellow’s men would be on the lookout for two people, not four (His senses told him that- that they knew the Druid was not alone- though he had only suspicions as to how he knew). It was true Mereka was helping them to find the Carrion bird so that they might reach the city in time, but he was beginning to think that this might not be necessary after all, that events were conspiring to overshadow or otherwise alter their plans.
There was the King’s magic, for one. He had told the two Englishmen that he had been stripped of his powers but the truth, as with most things, was not as simple as that. The magic of that other had been stirring in him since they left Fein Mor, since before that when Iridis had taken hold of him in the castle and he had fallen unconscious. His magic- the pink flame that surrounded his form always- had protected him from dying. A somnolent veil, it also warded its user against those who sought to attack him. Yet it hadn’t been enough to stay the current of Iridis’s power. It had lingered inside him while he had lain on the castle floor, coming alive when the Englishmen had treated and revived him, its soul cry sounding the birth of some terrible awareness inside him. But this was nothing compared with what he felt now. He was desperately sick, he knew, and if things continued this way, without attention he would die. It was a question of his own magic’s acceptance of the King’s. It had tried to reject it at first, but the other’s presence inside him had been overwhelming- too much to cope with- and had brushed aside his powers. Now it seemed it would finish him off. He could still use some of the Druid fire, that much was true, and outwardly he appeared to be fine but there would soon come a time when he would have to tell the others what was happening to him. Preferably after he had confronted the Steward, he thought. It might be too late by then, but if they didn’t reach Brinemore in time it would be too late anyway for all of them.
He brought the company to a stop. They had reached a forested peak that sloped down on one side toward the town of Dhu Nor, offering a clear view of their destination. The town was situated at the bottom of a valley bounded by the mountainous forest, a natural trough in a deep pool of shadows, a dark haze that appeared to repel the sunlight. The buildings that comprised the town were tumble-down structures, decrepit and crumbling, made of cheap stone and rickety wood. The windows and doors were barred and fenced-off, some of the former sheeted with thick paper instead of glass. The buildings were hunkered down at the bottom of the valley save for a few that had been constructed on higher ground bordering the woodland. Yet these seemed stripped down and deserted like lookouts that were no longer fit for purpose. For such a town it was well populated. From this distance they could see movement everywhere, people darting in and out of houses or stores, and down busy streets, their passage brisk, furtive looking.
Daaynan turned to the members of his group. “This is Dhu Nor.” He looked at the three of them in turn. “Before we go down there I need to tell you what you should expect. Mereka, you have been here before. It isn’t like Carasan or most other towns or hamlets in the Northern Territories mainly because it is filled with the worst sort of humanity that has been cast out from those places. Thieves, murderers and other troublemakers. Desperate people who value life so cheaply they would cut your throat for the price of a meal. And magic users.”
“Magic users?” Simon repeated.
“Karsin Longfellow banned sorcery in Brinemore and some of its surrounding regions. To protect himself as he expanded his domain south and east of the city no doubt, but regardless of his reasons it had the effect of branding those who practice magic as criminals and Dhu Nor is a magnet for this kind of person.”
“Are there other Druids here?”
Daaynan shook his head, smiling in irony. “You think so little of me? No. Petty magic users at best. Those able to perform small tricks for the most part, lacking the training and preparation necessary for a life spent devoted to the art of the Magus.
“Be wary, all of you. Don’t stop to talk with anyone, should they approach you. Stay close to each other. We should move now since we have little time to find this man Drett Peers.”
“He’s in a tavern called the Axe and Stump,” Mereka said. “It’s to be found in the centre of Dhu Nor along with most of the other ale houses.”
As they began to climb down the peak, Simon walked up to the Druid, falling in step beside him. Mereka and Christopher were a few paces behind, watching the song birds dart over the tree awning as they descended. Daayan turned to face the Englishman. “You have more questions of me?” he asked, his earlier, ironic smile still in place.
“I suppose,” Simon said, “that I just want to know how you’re doing?”
“I am fine, Englishman.”
“I don’t really believe that.”
“Oh?” A look that might have been irritation crossed the sorcerer’s features, yet it was hard for the other to read properly.
“It’s just that...when Christopher and I revived you back at the castle you seemed different...changed somehow. We saw what happened when the King touched that Faerie creature. It collapsed instantly, and those others- the Furies it had come with- fell like dominoes. They’re as dead as Kennedy. He was a powerful leader too- never mind. You’re the only one he touched who survived, and I’m wondering what effect it had on you.”
“The pink flame protected me...” Daaynan began.
“Yes, so you said, but you fell into what seemed to be a coma, only to reawaken later. I wonder what was inside you to keep you alive and not those others? Don’t say it was the Druid fire because those creatures had magic as well.”
Daaynan said nothing for a long time. The Englishman was unnaturally curious and it was evident he had tried to work this out like a puzzle using his own brand of logic and had come up short. Perhaps he deserved an answer.
“When the King touched me,” he said finally, “he altered something inside me. Our two magics began to combine in a way which I cannot explain to you other than to say that the process has not yet finished. Does that satisfy you?” The Druid’s gaze was sharp, almost threatening. Simon however appeared not to notice it.
“Y
es. I see. But what does it mean?”
“It means nothing, Englishman, other than that it causes me pain! Not everything has to signify something.”
“I didn’t know, I’m sorry.” Simon paused, considering what he would say next. “Do you think we’ll be in time to confront the Steward and the King?”
“I’m not certain,” the Druid said softly. “It doesn’t look like it. But we must go anyway. This might play out in a way we may not expect but it is important that we act as if it will.”
“Can you use the Druid fire? To find out where the King is now?”
“The blue fire? I could, but there is no need to do so. I already sense his presence near or at the city.”
“If we arrive there too late, it might all be over. The King might have already put an end to the Steward.”
“Yes, however something tells me it will not be as simple as that,” Daaynan said, and lapsed into silence.
They arrived at the edge of town, making their way along a busy thoroughfare filled with traders, dealers, street people and assorted roughnecks. A few looked at them as they passed by, their glances ranging from dull curiosity to an almost casual malevolence that made the hair on the back of the Englishmen’s necks rise. The body of an old man lay slumped outside the entrance to a tavern, his clothing stripped from around his skin. He was muttering dark oaths, presumably to whoever had left him in this condition. As the company passed him he cried out for help but Daaynan gestured to the group to continue walking. They did so, remembering the sorcerer’s earlier words of caution. No one bothered to speak to them or to look twice; they just kept on walking, the sound of their voices reaching back to them in the form of murmurings and grunts and high, droning laughter. Despite the occasional signs of merriment, Daaynan thought, this was a place devoid of life. A place of the dead lived in by those who had given up on life. Even the sight of Mereka, striking as she was in the reveal of her broad-cloak, did not attract much attention.
