As I entered, I glanced up at the vaulted ceiling, supported by white oak timbers set twice as close together as would be needed for a normal structure. A faint smile tugged at my lips.
Like the rest of the castle, the great room was white-white marble floors, whitened granite walls, and white-oak framing and doors. The inside wall-the one containing the poorly-fitted double doors through which I had been conducted-was of white-oak paneling, and not the best, either. Even without looking closely, I could see the small lines showing that the mitering and joins were often not flush.
My nose tickled, perhaps from the white dust that my boots had raised as I walked into the room. At the north end of the room towered a whitened granite chimney, fronted by a white marble hearth. A small pile of ashes lay on the stones, but there were no andirons, grates, or screens, and the ashes were cold.
The inside wall, the one of white oak, bore no pictures, no decorations save the paneling itself, although a half-dozen wall brackets bore unlit white-brass lanterns. Identical lanterns were affixed between the casements of the long floor-to-ceiling windows that punctuated the outside wall. Each window, composed of perhaps twenty diamond-shaped leaded panes with an amber tint, opened on pivot bars hidden in the top and bottom of the white-oak frames. Even with all the windows open to the air, the amber tint of the glass cast a golden glow on the room. Despite the open windows, the air bore a hint of ash.
At the south end of the room was the only furniture-a modest circular white-oak table about four cubits across, surrounded by five matching chairs with golden cushions. Against the wall were two serving tables of white oak. The left one bore a tray of covered dishes.
At the table sat two figures.
The silent white footman marched until we were almost at the table, bowed, then departed, leaving me standing there, staff in hand. With his reddened eyes, his gaunt and pallid face, his lank white hair, and his jerky gait, he looked like a marionette-the white wizard’s puppet.
Antonin and the dark-haired woman-Sephya-looked up from the table, the ever-present white oak under a golden varnish. Steam rose from their plates.
“Would you care to join us?” His voice was pleasant, as if I were an old acquaintance making a social call.
I smiled politely, just as I had been taught to do, but my stomach twisted at even that deception.
“Not if phrased quite that way, most accomplished of white wizards.” I bowed. Bowing didn’t bother me. He was accomplished-no questions about that.
“The young fellow has respect, Sephya. You must permit him that.” Antonin took a bite from his plate after he spoke.
“He has manners, my lord. Those are not quite the same as respect.” Her voice was deferential, not subservient… and vaguely familiar.
I turned toward the woman, studying her directly. Apparently-dark hair, but not even shoulder-length, eyes whose color seemed to shift between gray and blue, and a pale complexion. Beneath that… I swallowed, and forced my thoughts elsewhere.
One problem at a time.
“He is also perceptive.” She took a sip from the glass goblet. “A shade dangerous. He might even have been a worthy adversary, were he not so impetuous.”
I swallowed again, realizing that she was delicately trying to get me angry, in such a way that I wouldn’t realize exactly what she was doing. “You do me too much honor, my lady.”
“She is known for that,” added the white wizard. His voice bore an edge. “You haven’t exactly explained why you marched down my roads and up to my doorstep. Or a few other minor inconveniences, either.” He arched one eyebrow-the right one-and I had to admire that little trick.
I shrugged. What could I explain? That I had decided to destroy him? I decided to say nothing.
His eyes seemed to grow whiter as he watched me, but I looked beyond him, trying to measure the chaos that centered, as much as chaos could center anywhere, within and around the room.
“You’ve provided an interesting puzzle, blackstaffer. You could be rather helpful in some ways.” The white wizard smiled and lifted his arm. A small fireball appeared between the thumb and forefinger of his right hand. “Perhaps you would like to learn the workings of fire? Bringing greater knowledge to mankind?”
My skin itched, and the room felt darker, though the sky outside was as blue as ever and the golden light still filled the room.
“To all people?” I forced a laugh, which was hard, because my throat was as dry as a desert.
“You came to me. You are seeking answers, after all.” The fireball vanished as he lowered his hand, pushed back the chair, and stood.
I did not smile, but took a deep breath. Antonin was not quite as tall as I was, and his arms were still the knobby arms of a merchant. I stepped back and looked toward the wall of windows, wondering absently if Gairloch were still waiting patiently beyond the two rocky hills that flanked Antonin’s private road. “I did,” I finally admitted.
“For what? The answers that frightened Recluce refuses to share? Or the power that belongs to all true seekers of knowledge?” His voice had softened, mellowed, filled with the sound of reasonableness.
“Recluce has no fear of you, or of me.” As I said the words, the chill I felt from their truth, from my stomach not turning, almost had me shivering.
“Indeed? Then it must be true, if you say so. Yet you hesitate in joining us in the search for the answers that Recluce hides from all the world?”
“I’m not sure that a wizard’s seeking answers entitles him to receive them, any more than a ruler’s starting a war entitles him to victory.” My words were a stupid response, tumbling out almost thoughtlessly.
Antonin frowned. He had moved a step or so closer as we had spoken.
“He seems somewhat reluctant to pledge his service to you.” Sephya’s laugh was hard, and the sound tore at my chest. “Or even to carry out his own quest for answers.”
I nodded toward her, trying not to take my eyes from the white wizard.
“Do you wish to enter the white fellowship?”
“Hardly.” I laughed, except the sound resembled choking because my heart was pounding and my mouth dry.
“He is brave, Sephya,” the white wizard announced. “Brave, but not terribly bright.”
I agreed with his assessment-completely.
“So-…” Antonin raised his arms. “Let me show you some answers.”
Whssstttt…
A cascade, of fire streamed from Antonin toward me.
Instinctively, my staff blocked the torrent of flames that cascaded around me, blazed blackly.
Antonin smiled. “A good staff there. But a staff cannot answer your questions.”
WWWWWHHHHHSSSTTTTTTTTT!
Fire flowed everywhere, and my ears whistled and rang from the blaze that surrounded me.
“A very good staff.” He raised his arms once more.
The theatricality of the gesture irked me. He scarcely needed to raise his arms. Chaos and order are molded by the mind, not the hands.
UWWWWWWW1HHHHHHHHHHHHHSSSSSSSSSSTTT-TTTTTT!
The force of the fire nearly knocked me off my feet, driving me back away from the table, leaving me tottering above the stone flooring.
“Are you sure about your decision?” Antonin asked, his voice once more reasonable, as if he had not just attempted to incinerate me. His hands remained poised. “Knowledge belongs to those who seek it, not those who deny it or flee it.”
At that point, I acted on faith, not quite sure why I did what I did. Straightening up and taking my staff in both hands, I brought it down across my knee. It bent, but did not break, and a sharp pain ran up my leg.
“That’s hardly the way,” said Antonin mildly. “Just set it down.” He pointed to the stone tiles by my feet. Fire surrounded him, an unseen white blistering flame, and cold red hatred, even as he stepped toward me yet another pace.
Casting the staff aside wouldn’t be enough-that would just divide what order I possessed. But I had not been able to break it
and my leg throbbed from my failed attempt. The lorken was tough. And it was finely crafted-Uncle Sardit’s best. Yet I knew that the best of tools could be a crutch, even if a finely-crafted crutch.
“Just set it down. The staff hinders your search for answers.” Antonin’s voice was friendly, persuasive.
I gripped the lorken more firmly. Mind over matter? Was that the answer? Whatever it might be, that seemed the only hope.
BREAK-that was what I willed as the hard black wood came down across my knee again. BREAK… BREAK… BREAK! Crackkkkk…
That black lorken that had turned swords, resisted stone, and stopped iron bars-that iron-bound and indestructible staff-cracked as easily as though it had been a softwood stake. Coolness -a black coolness that quenched the burning with which Antonin’s flames tried to bathe me-flowed from the broken ends of the wood, settling in and around me.
Without a word, I cast both pieces of iron-bound black wood at his feet.
Even Antonin’s mouth dropped open momentarily, before he danced back from the cold iron on the black wood.
As he gaped and dodged, I stepped forward, drawing a reflective shield around us, except this one was inside out, directing outside energies away from us.
His mouth continued to sag as I turned toward him.
“You…”
IWWHHHHHHsssss…
His fire trickled away against the black coolness I held around me, and his hands dropped to his waist.
He tried -to raise one hand, again, but that shiny dark hair had begun to silver, even in the instants since the reflective shield had isolated us.
Whhhhssssttt!
Another blast of fire slashed at me from Sephya, spraying away from the shield I had thrown around Antonin and me.
Click.
Antonin had a short bronze sword in his hand, although wrinkles were appearing on his face. Behind Antonin, Sephya drew a thin blade. She edged toward us.
I dropped down and dived for the floor, grabbing one half of my broken staff and flinging it at Sephya.
Clunk!
“Ohhh… shit…” The staff fragment dropped inside my own shield’s edge, bouncing on the white marble, stopped cold by the tiniest residual order it bore.
Give me your energy…give it to me… Antonin’s thoughts clawed at me, demanding the sense of self I had wrapped in the blackness I held.
Now… give… give…
Like a vise, his thoughts encircled me, within the circled shield I held.
I am Lerris… I am me… me… Just as Justen had taught, I hung on to myself.
Whhsstttt… Antonin’s fire was barely more than the fireball in his fingertips earlier, but it burned at my face, and I squinted.
Sephya advanced slowly, as if unsure exactly what to do.
Thwick!
Antonin sliced at me with the short sword. I rolled away, getting my feet under me, concentrating on keeping the shield around us both.
Give! Give!… Like a white hammer, that demand pounded at me.
I circled away, concentrating on being Lerris, holding that barrier tight around us.
The chaos-master’s hair had turned totally white, and began to fall like snow.
Hsssttttt! I reeled backwards, a searing pain across my shoulders, feeling like I had been slashed from behind.
Clank!
“Oooo…” Sephya exclaimed. The blade she had held lay on the floor, white-hot from trying to pass the shield I held.
Thwick.
I skipped sideways, losing part of my tunic to the copper blade as Antonin used my lapse of attention to strike.
GIVE… give…
Thwickkk!
I dodged again.
Twickk!
… and again…
“… think… smart…” mumbled Antonin. “You’ll never go home now… you know too much…” His words slurred, and his hands were shaking, and the short sword dropped as if it were too heavy to hold.
Give… The last thought was nearly plaintive. Whhhssstttt!
Still another of Sephya’s firebolts flared against the shield.
Clunk…
Antonin lurched toward me again, after dropping the now-too-heavy sword.
I dodged, but not quickly enough, as his fingers ripped at my forearm. Each fingertip felt like a brand across my arm, and I forced order at those chaos-dripping burn wounds, shoving Antonin back at the same time.
“… damned…”
I gulped as I looked at the white wizard. The hand that had clutched at me-burning three white scars that still smoldered-that hand shriveled into ashes. And the black imprint of my hand on his shoulder burned through the white robes. As I gaped, the white-clad figure staggered, shriveling and collapsing onto the marble in a crumpled heap.
Whhhhssstm!
“Noooooooooooooo!”
Sephya’s scream echoed through the great room.
Since she had been unable to penetrate the shield I ignored her, ignored the searing in my arm, and concentrated on keeping the shield intact until the heap that had been the white wizard was truly dead.
Thhuuurruuummmmm… A low roll of thunder rumbled on and on, as if it radiated from where I stood, rolling outward like ripples from a boulder cast into a pool.
… thuuurrrummmmmmmmmm…
CRACK! A blade of lightning flashed outside from a cloudless sky, and I flinched, but clutched my thoughts tight around the shield.
… thhhurruummmm… The growling in and under the skies, and the lingering echo of the single lightning bolt, rolled and kept rolling outward and away from the castle, until the thunder and the lightning were mere echoes far out across the Westhorns.
Not merely physical, those sounds had carried far beyond my hearing, and I shivered.
With a deep breath I dropped the shield and turned toward Sephya. She had squared her shoulders.
Whhhhstttt!
The heat seared around me, but I deflected it, letting the white flame sheet around me. I took a single step toward her.
Wwuhhhssstttt!
Another step carried me through and past her firebolt.
Whhhsssttt!
Moving as though through glue or old varnish, I managed another long step.
She backed up almost to the hearth.
Whhsttt!
A knife-another one of the bronze blades-appeared in her hand. “Touch me and you lose her!”
I stopped.
She lifted the knife and reversed it.
I threw all the order I had left in me at the knife, trying to order the copper and tin, bend it away from chaos.
“Ohhhhhhhh…”
The muscles in her arms stood out as she tried to bring the knife toward her body. I staggered toward her, pouring all the order-feelings I could toward her.
“Ugffff…”
Clank…
Her legs bent, then buckled as she collapsed against a chair and bounced onto the floor.
I half-walked, half-dragged myself across the white marble squares, toward the doll-like figure sprawled between the white-oak table and the hearth.
After kneeling on one knee, I turned her face up. The slash across her fair neck was more burn than cut, ugly as it looked, although the blood didn’t help appearances much.
I left it alone, afraid that any more order-meddling was dangerous, at least until I gathered my own thoughts and strength back.
A quick look toward the white wizard showed me but a heap of white ashes. Even as I watched, the white ash turned to dust, and the dust vanished into the white haze that still filled the castle. Only the white robes and matching white boots remained upon the white tiles of the floor.
I looked back at the unconscious Sephya, noting the slight build, the reddish tinge of hair beginning to replace the black.
My stomach twisted, even as I gathered my last energies to break another mental lock-this time, the one Antonin had provided for the woman who had tried to keep eternal youth by letting Antonin’s promises ensnare another near-i
nnocent from Recluce.
I had guessed but not known what had been done to her, not as Sephya, but as another soul trapped in Antonin’s web. In a way both Sephya and Tamra had been trapped. Yet Sephya had agreed, knowing that Tamra would in time wither away under Sephya’s personality as reinforced by Antonin. The white wizard had not lied, exactly; rather, he let Tamra think she was about to learn how to control the powers she had always been denied. Tamra would not have known that Sephya would control her body.
Thanks to Talryn and Recluce, Tamra had never learned, just as I had not learned, that she already possessed that power all along. Except Tamra had refused to accept her power, insisting that someone else declare her worthy; while I had kept asking for the reasons, instead of acting, and the reasons had nearly become an excuse for not acting.
I took a deep breath, knowing what had to be done before I lost my nerve as I feared my father had.
“Lerris, you can’t do that!”
I ignored the caution from somewhere far away, too far away for me to worry about as I looked into the closed eyes of the slim, red-headed figure. Tears were streaming down my face, but they, too, were distant from what had to be done. If I had listened… but that was another question, and we all choose our own demon-inhabited hells.
One deep breath, and I plunged, deep into the darkness, away from the swirls of my own thoughts, away from the crumpled clothes that were all which remained of the white wizard upon the floor of his about-to-crumble fortress an palace.
Call the depths of the mind white darkness, the chaos that preceded chaos. Call them what you will, but they are chaos, a chaos so formless that it cannot bear description.
First, to find within that chaos the patterns that were, that had been. What those patterns really were, I did not try to discover, for that would have been yet another rape. Instead, as I discovered, touched, each gossamer thread, I restored it, not reading it, or the joys, tears, anger or boredom it held, but replacing it as it had been before Antonin had changed Tamra’s temple to Sephya’s harlotry. Even so, the hidden feelings plucked at my own fears, my own worth. Had I the right? Who appointed me custodian? To decide who should live and who should die?
I did what I had to do.
How long that took… that was how long it took… as long as destroying Frven took my father, for it had to have been him and Justen, the brothers-one building a nation to ensure chaos would never rule again, the other trying to minister to the damned and their descendants in hell. As long as crossing the deadlands… as long as my refusing to understand the eternal penance that had ensnared my father… and Justen, the damned gray wizard, perhaps the only true gray wizard.
The Magic of Recluce Page 50
