The Lords of Anavar

by Jim Greenfield

  "Gerrand is the one twisting the truth."

  "If I believe that, then it means he learned it from his tutor, does it not?"

  "Now, you are the one twisting the truth."

  "Macelan, you are as foolish as I expected. Wolk, he will betray you."

  "Strong words for such a novice," said Petyr Wolk.

  "Yes," agreed Macelan. "Strong words indeed. What shall we do with him?"

  The shadows deepened in the courtyard and although it was still afternoon, the shadows forced their way across the bare ground. Artus knew the cloaked figures moved with them and tried to decide on a course of action. His power tingled at his fingers and he knew Wolk's sorcery waited to respond. The shadows drew closer and Macelan grinned although he had no sorcery ready himself. Artus puzzled at that, and then struck at Wolk and the shadows sending blue flames cutting across the dirt. Wolk threw up his hands spreading his power around him but Artus' attack was not at him rather at the sorcery of Wolk, changing it. Too late, Wolk realized what had happened. The new golden glow drew the cloaked figures to Wolk surrounding him, absorbing him.

  Macelan laughed as Wolk collapsed and the demons vanished, leaving Macelan and Artus alone in the courtyard with the unconscious sorcerer.

  "He underestimated you Artus Endria. But I shall not. Go! You are free to rejoin Gerrand. I know now what I am up against. Tell Gerrand I look forward to seeing him once again."

  "You are really letting me go?"

  "Yes," he grinned. "You were not my prisoner. Your captor is helpless. And I have no servant strong enough to guard you for me. Perhaps later on I shall to do something with you, but now it interferes with my plans."

  Artus turned to the gate without another word and pushed it open with his power. The road looked inviting and he found himself running. The soft chuckle of Macelan followed him for miles.

  Chapter 16

  Deah Vole still stared at the spot where the skeleton vanished. A faint shimmer of color completely faded from his sight before he could determine what shade it was, and a fly buzzed near his ear.

  "Gerrand?" asked Deah Vole.

  "Not my doing." He looked around them slowly. There seemed a taint to the freshness of the air and hinted at a memory, long faded but not forgotten.

  "Nor mine," said Faeya Ryr.

  A gaunt figure stepped onto the path from the shadows of a tree, its cloak dusty and torn. The hollow eyes peered at them above a crooked smile. There were traces of blood around the mouth.

  "Artus?" whispered Faeya Ryr. He turned toward her, his eyes hooded. He had aged years since they saw him last. He licked his lips as if they were very dry.

  "Well met, my young friend," said Gerrand. "How did you escape?"

  "I did not." Words came slowly and forced. He looked at each of them closely as if to convince him that they were real. "I turned Wolk's magic against him and his demons did the rest. Macelan said I was not his prisoner and let me go."

  "Macelan!" cried Faeya Ryr.

  "You met him?" asked Gerrand softly.

  "Yes. He appears much like you, but many years older. Are you related?" Artus rubbed his hands as if trying to remove some stain.

  "An innocent question, perhaps. And deserving an answer. Perhaps. Let me rest a moment. You say Macelan is now in Wolk's castle, walking in his own form and he let you go after seeing your strength?"

  "Yes. He said he didn't have anyone strong enough to hold me and he was far too busy."

  "Be thankful for that. Is Wolk dead?"

  "I do not think so. The demons descended on him and they vanished. He was screaming." Artus smiled, recalling a memory. The smile did not resemble the Artus they knew. It was more a grimace than a smile.

  "Small comfort. He would be screaming under Macelan's thumb as well. Now, the decision is where to go from here."

  "Go and destroy Macelan," said Deah Vole.

  "I am glad you survived," said Artus Endria to the soldier.

  "Yes. It is good Deah survived," said Gerrand. "But we would not be fighting Macelan directly. His strength is still green and mine ebbs. We must find the other players in the drama and fit the puzzle together. The sorceress is key. We must find her and all the remaining Mages."

  "Remaining Mages?" asked Faeya Ryr.

  "I'm afraid things have not gone our way. Macelan laid his plans too well."

  They began walking back the way they had come. Gerrand glanced at Artus several times and hummed to himself. He found himself to be light on his feet, not what he expected after his wound. It was this new puzzle of Artus invigorating him.

  "Tell me, Artus. Just how did you turn Wolk's magic against him?"

  "It was strange. It was as though I could see the flows of the sorcery he was weaving and I reached out with my mind and grabbed a loose end, wrapping it around him."

  "You could see the flows?"

  "Or feel them. I knew they were there. I grabbed a thicker one and used it as a rope to confine him."

  "Thicker one? The differences were noticeable?"

  "Yes. Gerrand, what is the matter? Am I not supposed to notice them?"

  He stopped and leaned on Faeya Ryr. "My injury is bothering me some. I must rest." He gave Faeya Ryr a warning glance as he sat down on a fallen tree. She tried to read the expression in his face, but she frowned and walked to Deah Vole. Artus Endria stood over Gerrand.

  "What can I do to help you?" asked Artus. "My skills are much greater than they were when I left you."

  "Yes, I can see that. It is puzzling to me. Can you explain the change?"

  "No. Is there something you find suspicious?"

  "A curious choice of words, Artus. But perhaps a correct one."

  "If Artus' strength is greater, cannot the three of us overpower Macelan?" asked Faeya Ryr. "Gerrand, you told us your strength is far greater than anyone imagines. What is keeping us from finishing him now?"

  Gerrand looked at her, his lips pressed tight. She noticed the anger in his eyes but said nothing.

  "I am not ready to confront him. You do not understand my position."

  "True, because you do not explain yourself, or this danger to us. Keeping knowledge from us does not help us. Gerrand, why do you no longer trust me?" Faeya Ryr reached for him but he turned away.

  "Come, we have far to go. There is a hunting lodge several miles east. There I shall tell you many things, but we must hurry. I fear the night comes hard upon us."

  "Gerrand, you have not said if I did well on my mission," said Artus. "I did as well as I could. Are you pleased?" He grinned and they saw he missed two teeth and the gums were dark.

  "I am pleased," said Gerrand. "But we have to get you some place where you can heal. You haven't been eating well, and haven't seen much of the sun."

  "You don't want to know what I've eaten. I am on the edge of my sanity, although I expect you guessed it. You didn't voice it, but I am the reason you do not want to attack Macelan. You are not sure what spells may be woven around me, or what I may do."

  "There is some truth in your words."

  "So you are not sure of me. Yet, you trusted me with so much knowledge. Did you expect Wolk to tear it out of me, is that why you gave it to me?"

  "You needed the knowledge to survive, to understand what was being done to you. I did not have a choice if I wanted to see you again. Otherwise you would be serving Wolk as a slave too low for Macelan to notice. But you had too much knowledge on your own, so don't think you were subjected to anything special because of what I gave to you. No, Artus, you are formidable on your own. Especially now. Wolk alone could not withstand you. Macelan may have been speaking the truth."

  Artus' head snapped up and he looked behind them.

  "We are pursued."

  Gerrand stared in the same direction. "Your senses are sharp, Artus. I fear Macelan has sent stalkers after us."

  "Stalkers?" said Deah Vole. "No one has seen any for a couple hundred years."

  "True. However, it was Macelan who created th
em. I should have guessed he would start over again."

  "How far away are they?" asked Deah Vole.

  "Five miles," said Gerrand and Artus together. Gerrand gave the young Mage a sour look.

  "They will catch us before we've gone two miles," said Deah Vole. "Can you travel like Macelan?"

  "I can, yes," said Gerrand. "But you cannot. I will not leave the three of you to Stalkers. Let us find shelter we can defend."

  They followed Deah Vole up an incline to a rocky area. Once over the larger rocks the ground gave way and sloped steeply to a narrow ravine where a creek meandered over smooth stones. They splashed in the water following it downstream to hide their tracks. The water was icy cold and soon their teeth chattered.

  Faeya Ryr found herself looking back to the edge of the ravine for the shaggy feline heads of the Stalkers. Once the creatures spotted them there would be no escape. The Stalkers had been bred for speed and no animal could outrun them. If they hunted in packs larger than four, it would be nearly impossible to escape them. Stalkers stood seven feet at the shoulder and their quickness proved lethal. Faeya Ryr remembered that a single sword or arrow could not kill them. She looked back again.

  The air was humid in the ravine and she found her breathing laboring. The warmth did not refresh her and sweat beaded on her skin. Gerrand followed Artus Endria and Deah Vole followed her, his hand on her back nearly pushing her. She could feel the tension in his hand. No doubt he would push her hand if he spotted the Stalkers.

  It was at times like this when her mind would become crystal clear. Each thought timeless and penetrating. She remembered that the Stalkers had another name. Something more elegant and descriptive, yet the precise term still eluded her. She tried to ask Gerrand, but their pace was too great and she did not have the breath for it. She thought Gerrand was hiding something for he seemed changed since the questions of Macelan had come up. He admitted knowing much more sorcery than ever before and there seemed to be something about his relationship with his former mentor that he wanted to suppress. Faeya Ryr found it fascinating and wanted to know more.

  Suddenly, Deah Vole hissed and pushed hard on her back.

  "They're in sight!" he called to Gerrand.

  "Might as well stand here," puffed Gerrand. "I can run no farther. If you wish to run, go ahead. I will hold them as long as I can."

  "We stay with you," said Faeya Ryr. She began to shimmer as she drew her power to her. Artus did the same. Deah stepped back, frustrated that he could not help.

  Gerrand walked forward waving his arms across the ground and speaking softly. The grasses and rocks seemed brighter after he passed. He proceeded to walk in a circle surrounding them with the sorcery. Then there was a howl. Three Stalkers paused at the crest of the hill. A soft noise behind them revealed two more, waiting ahead of them.

  "We would have run right into them," said Deah Vole.

  "They always hunt this way," said Gerrand. "Of course, few remember now. They shall be very deadly in this era without knowledge of how to defense them."

  "But of course, you know how to defense them," said Faeya Ryr.

  "Why of course, my sweet Faeya. I wouldn't lead you into danger would I?"

  "Do you really wish for my true opinion on that, old man?"

  "Perhaps later. Everyone stand back to back, and hold hands."

  "Hold hands?" said Deah Vole. "This is a new defense for me."

  "Quiet! I have to concentrate. Do not let go, no matter how close the Stalkers come to us. Keep the connection and no one will be injured."

  They grasped hands and stood, backs to each other. The Mages eyes were closed but Deah Vole's were wide as the creatures closed in on them. The Stalkers sensed something but couldn't tell what awaited them. They slowed and circled their quarry. All five Stalkers moved closer. Deah Vole felt their breath on his neck and closed his eyes.

  He felt something tug at his arms, trying to loosen his grip on the others. He pressed his eyes closed and struggled to keep his grip despite the burning now building in his muscles. He felt compelled to open his eyes. Slowly he peeked at what had a hold of him. The long feline face was inches from him; he felt the whiskers tickle him. It was the eyes that chilled him. They were human eyes, full of rage and hunger, and then suddenly fear filled them as Gerrand's spell tightened about them. Deah Vole now stared with both eyes as the creatures blackened and withered, but the creature's eyes stared back until they glazed over.

  "Those were human eyes," said Deah Vole.

  "You may be right," said Gerrand, softly. "I no longer remember their origin. Only Macelan could tell you for sure."

  "You don't want to know," said Artus Endria. "Keep ignorant."

  Deah Vole reached down to touch one of the creatures.

  "Don't!" cried Gerrand, too late.

  Deah Vole's hand tingled and colors washed over his eyes. He felt himself falling, as the years seemed to drift away. Trees grew shorter; some vanished, and he found himself on a hill overlooking the Stalker pens of Macelan. The mountains beyond the hills appeared to be the ones he knew, but the landscape was alien. He recalled no structures or traces of them in this area. Suddenly he remembered to get out of sight. He had been standing exposed on the hill.

  Dozens of the creatures pounded the iron fences surrounding them. Eerie cries rose from the buildings near the compound. The Stalkers shied away from the noise as if afraid. Deah Vole marveled at what might frighten Stalkers. The creatures were of different sizes and colors which surprised him. As he watched he noticed the personalities of the Stalkers and the evident pecking order. The image in his mind was a merciless killing machine but here were creatures, social and vulnerable. His image of Macelan darkened considerably.

  Suddenly, he realized he was not alone. A young man stood next to him. He seemed familiar but Deah Vole knew he had never seen the man before. A full head of brown hair draped over the shoulders of the ragged cloak barely keeping the chilly wind from the man who did not seem to feel the wind. Deah Vole pulled his cloak tighter.

  "It's where they are created," said man. Even the voice nudged at Deah Vole's mind, but brought no recollection.

  "Macelan makes the Amogrihens in those buildings. I went in once. It's more than even I can stand."

  "He makes them? From what?"

  The young man turned to Deah Vole and glared at him. Now, he knew.

  "You do not want to know. I shall not tell you."

  "Gerrand? You are Gerrand aren't you?"

  "I sense you are not of this place so I shall not answer. For all I know Macelan is testing me again. It will end. Tell him it will end." The young man turned and dashed into the trees across the gully. Deah Vole found himself unable to move.

  He felt hands shaking him. He looked up into the man's eyes, yet the face had changed.

  "Deah? Are you okay?" asked Gerrand.

  "You had us worried," added Faeya Ryr.

  "Never touch the work of Macelan," said Artus Endria. "I learned that to my sorrow. I pray you are unscathed."

  "Gerrand…"

  "Hush. I know what you saw."

  "You knew? All these years?"

  "Now you begin to understand. You were not the first to make such a journey. There are others who are to be tried so. Keep it to yourself lest you jeopardize the lives of those who follow you."

  "But you know, each one, don't you."

  "Let it drop, Deah Vole. I will not continue this discussion."

  "What is it?" asked Faeya Ryr.

  Gerrand looked and smiled. "I shall not reveal the future to even you, my dear. The consequences are too great. Let us just say that Deah dealt with an experience I knew he would have, even before I met him when he was but a teenager. Please grant me the right to hold back these tenuous futures lest we foul them from happening. I do not know what will happen if we do."

  "You know the future?"

  "Better say that I know the past."

  "Gerrand, I don't understand, and I so want to know
the burdens you carry."

  "I know you do my dear, but it is not time. Do not fret that I am being valiant. I have seldom been accused of that, however no one else can carry these burdens as you can them. I prefer to think of them as merely the price of a long life.

  "Come, we have spent too much time here. I want to enter Jespin as soon as possible. We must be ready for Macelan and Petyr Wolk."

  "You really think he survived?"

  "Macelan would make sure such a valuable servant survived. He is not prone to waste."

  Deah Vole led them away from the carcasses of the Stalkers. Amogrihens. They were called Amogrihens. Those eyes would haunt him always.

  They climbed a slope back into the thick trees. The progress slow, but Deah Vole needed to be sure no one could track them. His path proved laborious to Gerrand but the ancient sorcerer did not voice complaint. Gerrand knew the turmoil in the soldier's mind.

  As the day wore on the air became humid as the heavy branches of the trees closed in around them.

  "This is the deepest part of the forest," said Deah Vole. "We can rest here, and then continue to Jespin."

  "Very good," said Faeya Ryr. "I am very thirsty." She sat on a moss-covered log and leaned against Gerrand. The sorcerer stared ahead and did not seem to notice her rubbing his shoulder.

  They sat quietly for several minutes, each within their own thoughts. Deah Vole fighting the images he had seen, Faeya Ryr piecing together the puzzle of Gerrand, and Artus Endria fleeing from whatever dark demons followed him from Macelan's grasp. Gerrand closed his eyes and breathed slow and deep. He had a decision to make and quickly. He knew these people well, but did he know them well enough to know their breaking points? Could they withstand the true knowledge of what he withheld from them? He did not have much time and he worried about Artus Endria. There was too much at work here, more than just his plan. Macelan, Petyr Wolk, the sorceress, and perhaps Lord Gharom as well. Gharom always kept his own council and may have outwitted Wolk, but Gerrand couldn't be sure. He believed himself prepared, but events have moved much too fast for him. Where there was certainty, was now doubt. He sighed and tried to relax. In a short while they would be walking again, but in darkness or light, Gerrand could no longer tell. For good or ill, he had made his decision.