The Lady's Man

by Greg Curtis

  “Missed me again Mayfall. Getting old like your spells? Or are your eyes failing?”

  Strangely enough he felt nothing as he taunted the wizard. Somewhere along the road to vengeance Yorik had almost reached that stage where the wrong done to him, the pain he had suffered simply didn't make sense to him any longer. What had been done was so great, so overwhelming that now he almost couldn't feel it. It was like being beaten. At some point the pain became so overwhelming that any more pain didn't matter.

  Nor did pleasure. It was simply lost in the overwhelming mass of suffering that already owned him. Rather than to bring him some measure of satisfaction he taunted the wizard simply because it was the smart tactic. His many years of training told him that wizards had to be single minded to use their magic. Anything he could do to break the wizard's concentration was good.

  The only response was a grunt from the mage, and then a circular shimmer of light appeared on the ground between the two of them. It was a summoning spell as Mayfall tried to draw allies to his cause.

  “You are already becoming weak, like an old hedge wizard. Calling for help so soon. Are you sure you even have the strength to control them?”

  It might have been true, or it might not. Certain the wizard had to be tired from his weeks on the run. Yorik didn't know if he was weakening and he really didn't care. Whatever came through he would handle. What he did care about was the way the light circle started flickering as he taunted him, as it told him that Mayfall's concentration was faltering. It wasn't much, and in a few more heartbeats the circle was once more solid, but Yorik knew the wizard had spent a lot more of his strength just holding it together after his lapse in concentration. It had been a costly mistake. He was already being drained.

  Suddenly Yorik caught a glimpse of a gigantic black troll appearing in the circle and he abruptly ceased talking and concentrated on the battle, as he had to dodge a gigantic black club being swung at his head. Had it hit him he would have been instantly killed, and even as agile and well protected as he was, it barely missed. Mayfall had gone all out in summoning his most powerful defender, and there was no doubt the creature was both powerful and deadly as the wizard intended. Few could hope to stand against such a monster. Unfortunately for Mayfall, Yorik was one of those few, and he knew from a dozen battles exactly how to fight trolls. Even giant black ones. You just had to use their size and weight against them.

  No sooner had the club passed him by then Yorik slipped around the side of the troll in the opposite direction, opening up a large gash along the creature's side as he did so. It was almost too easy as the creature's extra size and power made it slow to react.

  And what a slice it was! In a man it would have been the end of the fight as half his innards fell to the ground. Even in a ten foot high thousand pound troll it caused him to scream and clutch at his wound. Summoned creature or real it didn't matter as Yorik knew he'd scored a direct hit. Muscles had been torn and rivers of black blood were now pouring down its side. Whatever world the creature had been summoned from, it wasn't staying long in this one.

  A second pivot behind the creature's back brought Yorik to its other side, and even as it held its hand and club to one wound, Yorik opened up a second gash just as deep. It was another killer blow and the troll fell to its knees screaming, all thought of attack forgotten in its pain. It was just the effect Yorik had hoped for as he swung his great sword for all it was worth into the back of the creature's neck, nearly decapitating it.

  With a single strangled screech the creature fell the rest of the way to the ground and lay still, dead if it had ever truly lived, while a second scream came from somewhere beyond the rocks. Caught as he was in his spell, trying to keep his monster under control, Mayfall had felt his creature's death, almost as though it was his own. That was the danger of summoning; that the bond between summoner and that which was called forth, was so strong it could actually kill the master. Sadly Yorik knew he wouldn't be that lucky. Mayfall was too experienced for that. But he was hurt, and perhaps more important still, surely shocked and frightened at seeing his most powerful champion defeated so easily.

  Emboldened by his success Yorik advanced quickly on the stone wall, only to feel the air around him become hot with magic. Reactions born of years of training made him leap once more to one side, just as a white hot beam of sunlight came out of nowhere to bake the ground where he had been standing, and turn it into an inferno of lava and fire. The mage had thrown a sunburst. It was the most powerful of the fire mage's spells, and also one of the most draining.

  Picking himself up off the ground before the wizard could hurl anything else at him, Yorik knew that Mayfall had to be getting close to his limit by then. Dozens of traps, two massive lightning bolts, a master level monster summoning spell, and now a sunburst; he couldn't have much left.

  The hail of fire arrows that came his way immediately after though told him that the wizard wasn't dead yet. There was still work to be done. But at least they were fire arrows and not sun bursts. Being of much lessor strength his own spelled armour could protect him from them if he was too slow and got hit. But he didn't plan on being that slow.

  Advancing once more, Yorik watched scores more of the fire arrows come flying at him, and simply dodged as though they were flying snakes. It wasn't hard. They were poorly aimed and not nearly as fast as they should have been. Meanwhile the fire raging through him made him far faster. The wizard was weakening. None of his arrows had hit him, and with each new magical volley, Yorik approached another three or four paces towards the wall, while the wizard slowly tired and began panicking.

  Soon Yorik was within twenty paces of the wall, where his prey hid. And though he didn't realise it Mayfall was simply waiting to feel Yorik’s steel in his gut.

  “Frightened wizard?”

  Yorik managed a smile to make sure the mage knew just how badly he was losing. That he hoped would scare him senseless.

  His answer was a snarl, but this time from a lion rather than the wizard himself as he'd hoped for. Yet it was nearly as good. A lion was a much easier creature to summon than a magical troll; another sign of how much strength Mayfall had already squandered. He had no more true monsters left to summon.

  A heartbeat later the lion attacked, striking with all the speed and deadliness its kind was famed for, but it was out of luck. Yorik had prepared himself for the attack from the instant he'd seen it, and he quickly pivoted to one side, letting the lion sail right by him, while running his sword along its side. Two or three heartbeats later saw the lion lying on the ground behind him in a bloody heap, its side opened up and some of its innards spilling out on the green grass. It was still alive, though not for long and Yorik knew it would not pose him a threat any longer. It would die where it lay.

  With a few quick steps he reached the wall and vaulted over it, landing lightly on the other side even in full armour. It was then that he finally saw his prey and a savage joy ran through him as he knew the end was in sight. After long weeks of hunting, tracking and chasing Mayfall down, his end was finally at hand.

  Mayfall knew it too.

  The wizard looked like little more than a frightened old man by then. An old man who was on his hands and knees crawling away from him as fast as he could. He hadn't realised that Yorik had jumped the wall and was still trying to hide as he fled. That was about to change, and it was with a feeling of savage joy that Yorik sheathed his great sword and drew his heavy crossbow.

  “Heads up little man!”

  Even as he called out and watched the wizard turn around, fear in his eyes, Yorik had drawn and released the first bolt, and he watched with pleasure as it lodged itself securely in the wizard's shoulder. It was a good clean shot, and the wizard was thrown backwards onto the grass, screaming in shock and fear. As a respected mage he had never feared physical attacks, never known the pain. None would dare strike him. None could.

  None that was except Yorik. Now it was time for him to learn about pain, an
d his first lesson had been a good one. Yorik knew his arm would never work properly again even if he survived. The joint had been smashed by the heavy bolt, and blood was trickling down his back.

  “Feel good wizard? Learning the price of your treachery? You were given food and shelter when you came to the city. Your clothes were mended and you were guided through the city. All by my family. Good people that you owed. And how did you repay their kindness? With dark magic, defilement, lies and murder.”

  Though he hated to think of what had been done to his family it was important that the wizard should hear his crimes and know why he was suffering. Why he was going to die.

  Slowly, methodically, Yorik redrew the crossbow's cord, and placed another bolt in the slot, all the while listening to the wizard's screaming. Used mainly for killing slow moving monsters and knocking down doors, it wasn't his favourite weapon by any means, and the two other double action crossbows on Crysal's neck were far quicker and easier to use. Just then however, that heavy old crossbow was like magic in his hands.

  “Tell me again of your power mighty wizard. Of how you will strike me down like a pesky fly.”

  The wizard had said that very thing not so long ago. He had of course been boasting to his peers in the Ender's Fall wizard's guild hall, apparently uncaring that the words would get back to Yorik as he sat locked up in his chambers in the chapter house. But he had probably been feeling pretty good about himself then, having managed to elude Yorik's brothers in the Order time and again. He had been laughing at them. At Yorik, at his dead family, and at the entire Order.

  Yorik put the second bolt directly into the buttock of Mayfall as he was trying to rise, and watched him be flung once more to the ground screaming. The trace of magical fire that had been forming in his hands suddenly vanished as if it had never been and he knew the wizard was out of spells. He couldn't concentrate through his pain and fear. But he could bluster.

  “You bastard child! I'll cast you into the pit of a thousand demons for this!”

  The wizard even waved his hands around as though he was preparing a spell, but Yorik wasn't fooled. He knew Mayfall had nothing left. He simply concentrated on reloading the crossbow, and let the words flow on by. In a few more seconds it was loaded once again, and he was staring directly into the wizard's terrified eyes as he raised the weapon.

  “This is for my sister, Amy. The sweetest girl to draw breath in this or any other world, and the most innocent. This is for your defilement of her.”

  He watched the wizard's eyes widen in terror as he guessed the target, then released the bolt, and heard the scream as the bolt struck home on Mayfall's manhood, doubling him over in agony. He would never harm another girl in that way again.

  Yorik patiently reloaded the crossbow, listening to the wizard's screams as though they were music. It might have been wrong and no doubt the priests would have some things to say to him when he confessed his sins later – always assuming he was allowed to return even for that blessing – but right then he couldn't care. The anger was so great and the look of fear and pain on his enemy's face, too good. In time his crossbow was loaded again, and the wizard had stopped screaming as his fear robbed him of the power of even sound.

  “This is for my mother, Lucinda. A good, kind, generous and loving woman who never harmed another. She fed you, clothed you, and gave you shelter when you needed it, and in return you sent ghost vipers to her room as she slept. She screamed in agony for many hours as the poison worked its way through her body before death finally released her from her suffering. But at least she could tell the priests who had done this terrible evil, and why. Remember her as you suffer.”

  He put the bolt directly into the middle of the wizard's gut, just below his belly button. It was a painful and crippling blow and one that would eventually kill him. But not before he had suffered many days of torment. This time though, Mayfall did little more than grunt and gasp as the bolt skewered him. The breath had been ripped from his lungs by the force of the blow.

  “This one is for my father, Heric of Stowe, a good and kind man. A man of big heart, stout humour and strong arm. As a knight he fought for justice and his lord all the days of his life, and he never would have agreed to your dark desires had he known. So instead you cursed him. You cast the twin demons of disease and madness upon him until he no longer knew his own name, until he could no longer get out of his bed to defend his family. You hoped that others would believe he had killed his own family in his madness. As if anyone could ever believe such a thing.”

  This bolt he put directly into the wizard's other shoulder. Depriving him of his sole working arm and causing him to cry out once more. A feeble sound rather than a true scream. He was still able to feel pain, and that was good. He still had much more to suffer for.

  “Now this bolt is for the lies you told about my family after you killed them. For accusing them of your own evil, of your own pact with the demons. In doing so you took not just their lives, their futures, their hopes and dreams, but even their good name in death.”

  The crossbow loaded he drew the small vial of basilisk blood he'd purchased just for the occasion, and dipped the tip of the bolt in it, while all the time Mayfall stared at him, lying there hurting and helpless, and above all, terrified.

  “Basilisk blood. They say that evil should be burnt out. Now burn.” With a single touch of the trigger the bolt sailed directly into the wizard's knee, and the basilisk blood began doing its work immediately. It burned directly into the flesh, causing the very blood around the wound to boil, and made the wizard cry out uncontrollably as his leg began to turn black from the inside out. In time Yorik knew, it would be burnt right off, perhaps with half his stomach as well if he was lucky.

  “Mercy.”

  “Like the mercy you showed my family? I can do that!”

  It should have been a triumph, hearing the wizard beg. Yet strangely the wizard's pleas had suddenly come to mean less to him. With every bolt that he had fired into Mayfall, and with every scream he uttered, Yorik had found less and less satisfaction, and he didn't know why. All he knew was that as he lay there screaming and begging for mercy Mayfall was too pitiful to fear, and with his death already assured from his wounds, not even worth killing.

  Gone was the rush of righteous anger, rage, hatred and fear, and in its place was only grief, which was welling up out of nowhere. For the wizard, lying on the ground only a few feet away, crying like a baby, he could suddenly feel very little. Neither hatred nor sympathy. He was only a thing. Unimportant in the scheme of things, and no longer a threat to anyone.

  It was a strange thing for him to understand, but as he stood there, watching his most hated enemy dying by painful inches in front of him, Yorik discovered that he no longer wanted to kill Mayfall. He didn't even want to hurt him any longer. If anything he simply wanted to walk away and forget that he had ever existed as he went home and grieved for his family. And that grief was rising within him like an ocean tide.

  Except that he couldn't. He had caused Mayfall’s injuries out of hatred, and now even in the face of his victory, all he had left was emptiness. A gaping chasm in his heart.

  His family was gone. All those he had known and loved had been taken from him, and he had thrown away his life in the Order as well. The only thing he had left was the Lady. But as his family had been taken from him he in turn had pushed her aside as well. And as he stood there, supposedly in triumph, in truth he knew that he was simply watching the last of his life being destroyed.

  He had nothing left to live for.

  “Lady, forgive me.”

  It was only then that Yorik truly understood how terribly he had failed his teachings. He finally realised that the edicts of the paladin council had been right and proper, and that hurt in itself. That he had failed his vows to the Lady hurt worse. Far worse. Killing the evil wizard would have been acceptable under some circumstances, provided he did it for the right reasons. But he hadn't done that.

&nbs
p; He could have killed him to protect life and love, and there was no doubt that Mayfall would cause more suffering to others should he live. Or perhaps in self defence, but he was no longer in any danger from the wizard. Instead Yorik had acted out of vengeance, and that was an evil in itself. The path he should have taken was to capture the wizard and bring him back for trial. But that was the path he could not take. It was the course set for him by the Order that he could not listen to.

  In the end he had allowed himself to fall so far as to become the very evil he had been raised to fight.

  And he still didn't know why it had happened. Any of it. He didn't even know why Mayfall had done what he had. When Mayfall had come to the city he had been touted as a good man. A capable wizard with a good heart if a haughty manner. A wizard fallen on hard times in Doverion as his peers fought for work and there was little available. The Lord Mayor had offered him the position of his wizard advisor for that very reason. And his Father had invited him to meals in the family home because he had thought the man a friend in the court.