The Lords of Anavar

by Jim Greenfield

  Artus numbly nodded. He watched Gerrand and Faeya Ryr walk off into the dimly lit corridor still faintly tinged with the aroma of sulfur.

  The morning came too quickly for Artus Endria. The bright sunlight warmed his face through the dirty streaked windows. He stretched and dressed; splashing his face with cold water from the bowl on a table next to the bed. A servant knocked on the door just after sunrise. When he opened the door he found two stern guards with the servant.

  "I'm sorry you have to leave, sir. These men will accompany you to the gate. There you will be given rations for two weeks."

  Artus nodded. The servant watched him for a moment.

  "I hope you return soon, sir."

  "Thank you very much. I hope so too. Well, we must be off." He gathered his pack and followed one guard down the corridor. The other guard brought up the rear. The corridors seemed lighter; full of fresh air. His heart felt light and his back unburdened. Did the Council oppress him that much? Or was it the expectations of his father that weighed him down?

  Gerrand and Faeya Ryr waited at the gate. Tyman Stile stood at a window of the keep smiling down at the scene. Alec Endria walked out of the shadows and hugged his son. He pressed something into Artus' hand. "For later, when you are alone."

  It was a thick letter. Alec turned away, wiping his eyes. Artus put it in his cloak. Suddenly, the intoxicating fragrance surrounded him again.

  "Artus, I wish you luck," said Faeya Ryr. "Your good deed will turn out well in the end." She hugged him and kissed him. He turned back and saw all the Mages watching at windows. Perhaps they were ashamed in his banishment for a deed they wished they would have the courage to attempt. Only Tyman Stile showed outward pleasure.

  Gerrand took his arm and walked him through the gate. He stared long into the young man's eyes.

  "Artus, I wish your experience was greater for I fear you may have a pivotal role in this great adventure before us." "What is happening?"

  "Macelan returns," He whispered.

  "Wha.." Gerrand covered Artus' mouth with his hand.

  "Not now. Think on it. He will come from the mountains of Curesia, but in what form I cannot say. Speak to no one. Especially not Petyr Wolk. He spent much time in those mountains, never explaining why or speaking of it at all. He replied to questions about his doings with a blank stare. Now, he has not appeared here and Techna saw him on the road, but Wolk rebuffed him. That is where we stand."

  "How do you know about Macelan?"

  "I know much the Council does not know. You will learn the rest of the story from the spell I set. Remember; in two days find a secluded place so you can listen with all your facilities. I cannot guarantee that someone next to you will not hear my voice. Be alone and ward yourself. You must go now. Be strong, be true. This task will prove your place in the Council. Do not despair." He grasped Artus' hand.

  "Thank you, Gerrand. I do feel better after your words. I shall do as you ask and find out as much as I can. How shall I relay information to you?"

  "I will find you when the time comes. Do not fear. I shall keep an eye on you."

  "How can you do that?"

  "I learned much from Macelan. One such spell allows me to find anyone I want no matter where in the world they are."

  "Then you know where Wolk is?"

  "No, I do not. He is shielded from me. That is a trick he does not have the power to do so I am especially concerned. Plus, to block such a spell necessitates the knowledge of it. No one but you knows of this spell. That is one reason why I believe Macelan's eyes are watching this world. Be wary, be careful. Trust no one. Absolutely no one. Even if you see Faeya Ryr without me, do not trust her."

  "Faeya Ryr? I don't understand."

  "Trust and die. Remember that, Artus Endria. Times are treacherous. Good-bye."

  "Good-bye, Gerrand."

  Artus waved to those at the gate and walked down the road intending to take the east road at the fork two miles away. He thought about Gerrand's words and found he was scared. How could he cope against such beings as Petyr Wolk? What of Macelan? Even though he knew Gerrand's age and acknowledged the reality of it, Macelan had been dead five hundred years. How could one comprehend such things?

  He seldom traveled without his father. Was he really such a young man? Was this his first outing alone? He shook his head. Sweat began to ease its slow way down his forehead and he felt it under his hair. The pack was heavy; the Council proved generous.

  The sun rose high overhead. He would need to find an inn or a nice quiet place by a creek where he could bathe the sweat off him. He never looked back after walking away from Gerrand. He felt his father's eyes on his back until he cleared the last hillcrest. For the first time in his life, he walked alone. He was not only leaving the Council and castle, but his home. The feeling, while unfamiliar, was uplifting. His steps came strong and certain; his future lay before him; and it gleamed with promise.

  Chapter 4

  Gerrand bit his fingernails. It was an old habit but old habits were often the most enjoyable. The earthy taste was comforting, reminding him of his garden. Faeya caught his eye and frowned at him. He pursed his lips, wiping his fingers on his shirt. He sighed and rubbed his eyes. He did not appreciate changing his habits for Faeya. Yet, he did it. Why was this happening to him? He had not changed anything in a hundred years. He grasped for understanding.

  They waited for Tyman Stile and Techna Vole in the library. Tyman elected to meet with them before he spoke to the entire Council. Tyman exasperated Gerrand the way he called meeting after meeting to discuss subjects that did not require such formal atmosphere. Stile had been a court official before he found his talent for magic. Apparently, some skills never fade.

  The door creaked open and Gerrand opened his eyes, surprised that he had nodded off.

  "What is she doing here?" asked Tyman Stile as he walked into the room with Vole behind him. Stile set down a cup of streaming liquid. Gerrand frowned; he did not want to know what it contained. The aroma was more than he could stand.

  "Good morning to you, too," said Faeya Ryr.

  "She goes where I go," said Gerrand gruffly.

  "Harrumph! Very well. Cehana is here, finally. She arrived just before dawn looking like something the cat got at. The fear in her eyes paralyzed me. I don't recall seeing her without that contempt in her expression. It had been scared completely out of her. She mumbled a few words then went straight to her room to sleep. I heard few details other than what she sent weeks ago. What little I did hear supports the need for this council. I wish I had overreacted, but that is not the case." He hovered over them, trying to gain the upper hand if only in appearance. Such things were important to Tyman Stile. He wished to be a power. The desire for power drove him to ignore good advice from Gerrand often.

  "I could have told you that," said Gerrand. "I came here amazed that no one else could feel the stirrings in the world. I do not need to hear of a violent act of nature to know Macelan is awake. I feel his presence in the breeze. Can't you?"

  "Unfortunately, I do not have the skill you possess. Also you knew Macelan and you have lived many more years than any of us. It is likely you have forgotten more spells than all of together hold in our heads. As it is, we must make do with any means to gather information. Cehana will speak first, and then I will briefly describe my proposal for the Council. Then I ask that you speak. Comment on Cehana's words and my own. Tell us what you remember of Macelan and the work that you did together. Tell of his failings and downfall. Then tell us what to do. If Macelan walks the earth again, how can we stop him? I admit differences with you, Gerrand, but this situation is grave. We must work together."

  "I hear wisdom in your words, Tyman, much to my pleasant surprise. However, I feel there is an important aspect to consider. This return of Macelan's cannot be kept secret, especially if he is successful. The rulers of Anavar shall not lie idle, nor will they refrain from meddling in our affairs. They will want to conduct this as a military campa
ign and that we must avoid at all costs. It would camouflage Macelan's actions and make it so much more difficult for us to find him. I would not be surprised if Queen Beatrice has already gained much information on our activities from Alec Endria."

  "Endria!" he snorted. His face paled as a thought suddenly hit him. "What about young Endria? What harm will he do?"

  "He is not his father. Artus has no strong love for Queen Beatrice. He will not undermine our goals. I believe he will hover on the fringes of our activities in the hope of being asked to rejoin the Council. He has no political motives."

  Stile raised an eyebrow at that comment.

  "Tyman, what will be your proposal?" asked Faeya Ryr. Stile hesitated; surprised that she would speak at a meeting she had not been invited to. Then Stile decided to go the smooth road; he badly needed Gerrand's help.

  "I will keep it to myself until the meeting. Frankly, there are a number of points I wish to consider again before I utter them. I do not want to sow confusion. The Council must have a strong and clear purpose in this endeavor."

  "Yet we must follow your lead blindly?" asked Gerrand.

  "Okay, okay. I propose a three prong action. One, to protect the castle and research the archives; two, to send word of warning to the kingdoms, and last, to directly contest Macelan."

  "Fair enough," said Gerrand. "I don't see anything wrong with that."

  "Good. The meeting will begin promptly on the hour." With those words he turned and left the room. Techna Vole, sighed, and then followed him.

  "That was nearly a waste of time," said Gerrand, shaking his head. "He changes his moods so fast, it seems unlike him. Normally it would be months before he could make up his mind on an issue. I wonder what he is really up to."

  "You don't believe his words?" She pretended to study her fingernails.

  Gerrand sat silently, thinking. "I do not believe their meaning. There is no deceit in his words, but he left out something, I think. Tyman is positioning himself for something, but I cannot say what it is. We will have to wait and hear what he says at the meeting."

  Faeya Ryr moved closer to him and leaned against him.

  "What do you fear?" she asked.

  "Shadows, just shadows. If I could articulate my fears, I would tell you."

  They sat in silence until the bells summoned them for the council meeting.

  Gerrand had dozed and woke startled, and pleased to find Faeya Ryr leaning against his shoulder. A servant gently shook him awake.

  They entered the meeting room last of all the members. Two seats remained vacant in the front. Tyman tapped his fingers while they seated themselves. Gerrand did not hurry.

  "I am glad everyone arrived promptly," said Stile. Gerrand took no notice of Stile's remark. Instead, his attention focused on Cehana.

  Tyman spoke truly; Cehana looked like death itself. Her long blonde hair, streaked with gray, appeared thin and burnt as if she had walked through fire. Her eyes, wide and nervous, darted their glances around the room, noting everyone who entered. Her skin pale and dirty accented her ghoulish appearance. Gerrand could hear her quick breaths and the tapping of her fingers on the chair arm. She wrapped herself in a velvet robe that looked out of place on her. He shivered involuntarily.

  Everyone sat quietly as Stile raised his hand. He gazed over the room, certain that he had everyone's attention. Gerrand felt impatient. He wanted to hear Cehana's words.

  "Cehana brought news to the Council that must be shared. I will not bore you with an introduction. This news is vital and must not be delayed. Cehana."

  She rose slowly as one just regaining her strength. Gerrand tried a brief health sense on her and pulled back when her head turned toward him. Her eyes remained on him as she began to speak. What Gerrand saw appalled him; how could she be standing? Her energy depleted; she appeared to be moving by reflex only.

  "Friends, I have traveled far to reach you." Her voice was a hoarse whisper, but grew in strength as she spoke. "I left my home a week ago but the cost was great. Forgive me if I must pause to rest during my oration. The great volcano of Oraeland erupted and destroyed two cities killing over three thousand people. If I did not possess such power, I too, would have died. As it is, I barely survived." She paused to rest. She bowed her head, breathing slowly. Stile moved toward her but she waved him off.

  "I must tell you, this was no natural disaster. It struck with cunning and malevolence."

  "What do you mean?" asked Hile Berbac.

  "Cunning? It was a volcano."

  "Please, let her speak," said Stile.

  "I heard voices in the thunder, shrieking and howling with the wind. Voices! Those that know me best know I do not give in to fancies. There were fell voices. The force of the volcano struck each settlement with a determination that belied logic. Every home, every building, every farm was destroyed by the blast or lava. Nothing was left. Nothing! Vast fields around the cities were spared but the populated areas were annihilated. I cried out to the sky, sending my power upward. In my grief I believed I could undo the devastation, but I knew not what to do. Then I thought I heard laughter drifting down with the ash. It struck my soul with a force unthinkable. Fell voices chilled our very marrow. I looked up at the blackness in the sky and I saw a face. I did not recognize the face, but I can recreate it here for you." She took a deep breath and cast a small glamour of colors that enlarged and changed into a man's face. Iron-grey hair and pointed beard surrounding blue eyes and a sneering mouth. The eyes glowed with hatred and the Mages gasped even from the copy.

  "It was worse in person, believe me. It covered the sky. Well, Gerrand, this is the face. Tyman suspects you may have seen it before."

  Gerrand nodded and looked around the room. "It is Macelan."

  Gasps filled the room and murmurs hissed among those gathered.

  "It can't be."

  "There is no record of his likeness," said Stile. "It couldn't have been faked. Only Gerrand knows what Macelan looked like."

  "No, it could not have been reproduced. You are right," said Gerrand. "There is no likeness of him recorded anywhere. Cehana saw the face of Macelan in the ash clouds."

  "Legend says a sign shall appear in the sky to herald Macelan's return," said Stile in a broad voice.

  "Aren't we jumping to this conclusion?" asked Doad Bess. "We have had many disasters in the last five hundred years. Why is this one different?"

  "Because of the face in the clouds," said Stile. "Plus the other things Cehana witnessed. I am convinced."

  "The face could be a younger Gerrand," said Yanor.

  "Not really," said Faeya Ryr. "Perhaps from an angle."

  "Gerrand said it was Macelan," said Tyman Stile, raising his voice.

  "There appears to be enough evidence to warrant caution," said Gerrand. "I would not wish the Council to err here. Even without Cehana's witness I know Macelan has returned. I sense Macelan's presence as I used to when he was alive. There cannot be two people with such similar magic signatures."

  "You sense him?" asked Doad Bess. "Can you sense all of us as well?"

  "Yes." They looked at each other, surprised at Gerrand's power. "Yes, I can sense when you are near, but it varies according to strength. If you were across the world I might not be able to detect your presence, but Macelan's strength is awesome."

  "Then you also know if Petyr Wolk still lives."

  "He does," said Gerrand. "However, I have no way of knowing where he is. He has veiled himself somehow."

  "Let's return to the important subject," said Alec Endria.

  "Good point," said Stile. "Gerrand, what does your great wisdom tell you?"

  "It is time for lunch." Gerrand rose and left the room with Faeya Ryr in tow. "I shall answer your question after lunch. I need to think a bit. There is something nagging my memory but I can't dislodge it."

  "Will wine and cheese help?" asked Zae Pol.

  Gerrand smiled and waved.

  Later, they gathered again. Gerrand appeared sleepy
.

  "Get enough to eat?" asked Stile.

  "Yes, thank you. Your concern is touching. Now, may we hear your plans for the Council? You said you would speak before me."

  "I did. So I shall. Friends, we have a crisis before us. I wish to put forth a plan of action for the Council. One group shall prepare a defense of this castle against all threats that may occur. We shall raise a spell to seal the castle from the world. First, we shall make it impregnable. Then, we shall raise an illusion so no eyes may see what we do. While protected, we shall review the Histories the Gerrand wrote and the other manuscripts safeguarded here, that may help us determine the route to victory. I believe Macelan will try and destroy the histories here. They may have some clues to his weakness in them.

  "Another group shall prepare to seek out Macelan and his devices and counter his moves. They shall walk among the enemy and actively encounter Macelan's allies and sow discord where they see fit. Any movement by the enemy that can be thwarted will be, and quickly.

  "The last group shall be embassies to the courts of the world. We must have their cooperation and they must learn of the grave peril that we all face. They shall go to Queen Beatrice first, then to Curesia and Calendia after that. It would be best if Queen Beatrice could be thoroughly convinced of the peril and send officials from her court to the other courts. Failing that, our embassies must move with utmost speed.

  "I suggest Lar Vokas and Zae Pol as our embassies because of their noble families. Their voices will carry additional weight. I will remain here with Alec Endria, Cehana, Techna Vole and Yanor to protect the castle and do the research. Gerrand will lead Faeya Ryr, Hile Berbac and Doad Bess against Macelan. After Gerrand speaks, then discussion will be opened to the validity of my choices."

  Gerrand stood and walked to Stile. He contemplated Stile's face for a few moments. "Your choices seem wise. I remember much of what I recorded in the Histories but fresh eyes reviewing them seem prudent. However, I will speak of Macelan. Many of you have read my histories but words on a page cannot move us like the image Cehana projected for us. Yes, that was Macelan. His appearance changed much in the last few years of his life giving him the wild, zealot eyes that bore through you. Once he appeared well groomed; often mistaken for a noble. He was more fastidious about his dress than Yanor." Laughter danced around the room. Yanor's neck reddened.