Michael looked around at the small dwelling; a single room structure with a living room at the right end and a kitchen at the left. The living room obviously doubled as a bedroom. For besides the two comfortable looking chairs, there was also a cot against the back wall close to the fireplace and a foot locker at its end. The whole house was no more than fifteen feet deep and twenty feet long. Michael noted a table with two chairs at the other end along with various pots, pans and utensils hanging along the far left wall. Everything was neat and clean, but the lack of personal items made the place feel sterile and unlived in.
"Not much to look at, but then I don’t require much," Mason laughed tapping a finger to his temple.
Michael followed Mason over to the chairs in front of the fire and waited until Mason sat down. He then seated himself and looked at Mason, staring at the fire. "So what can you tell me?"
Mason continued to stare at the fire for a few moments then started to speak. "A Myrkron is born to the worlds every ten thousand years. Our births are always preceded by fire in the sky. As you know, the Great One sends magic to our worlds on the backs of falling stars. These stars deliver magic to those born under them. The magic they deliver is normally divided up between those born at the time of their arrival. This is what causes such great fluctuations in the power levels of the magi. The more born during that time, the less the power of each; and the less born, the greater the power of each. This is not the case with a Myrkron. When we are born, a great many stars fall, bringing a vast amount of magic with them. All of their magic is bestowed upon only one child born during this time. We are those children, you and I."
"Why me? I mean, hundreds if not thousands of children had to be born the day I was. Why would I be the one?" Michael asked.
"Because somewhere in your ancestry there was a magi. That’s not to say that others born at the same time did not have magi as well in their ancestry, but, in your world, magic is greatly diminished. As to why you specifically, only the Great One knows. You might as well ask why the wind blows or why a mountain is the shape it is. Questions of that nature lead you nowhere and often cause more frustration than trying to catch a fish with an empty hook."
Michael sighed nodding. "You said our power is different than other magi. How so?"
"Well, as I said, they can only teach you the basics. All magi cast spells with one thing in mind, the limits of their power. The Rock Garden behind Kantwell is a very good example of this. They test their power until they find their limits. You will have discovered that your power far exceeds any of theirs. In fact, your power far exceeds all of theirs combined. When they cast a spell, they take into consideration their limits and then apply a portion of their power to the spell, measuring out bits and pieces so they do not tire themselves. With us, we may grow tired, but it is not because we have used our power to its limits. It is because our mortal bodies grow tired from the strain of channeling our power."
"If that's the case, can we kill ourselves by trying to do too much?"
"Could you kill yourself by running too long?" Mason asked, arching an eyebrow at Michael. "Yes you could, but in all likelihood you would simply pass out from exhaustion. And like running, the more you channel, the more you will be able to channel. The better shape your body is in, the better able you are to channel the magic. Your time with the Avari has improved your fitness greatly. Your time practicing magic with Merric and Mieka has done the same for your channeling."
"So all that exercising has helped me with my magic as well?"
"Yes. It has helped strengthen your body so you do not tire as easily. Think back to when you first came to Kantwell. You tired more easily when using your magic, but as you trained, both with magic and with the Avari, you were able to do more things without becoming weary. Thanks to the Avari, your body is in better shape than it has ever been. I dare say you are in better shape than I ever was as a youth. You have at your command more power than I ever did. You have more stamina, thanks to the Avari. Were I you, I would train with the Avari at every chance. It will only make you stronger and, in turn, more powerful in magic."
"What then are my limits? I mean, I lifted the biggest rock in the Rock Garden with no effort at all. How will I know if I have done something that is beyond me?"
"Stop thinking in terms of limits. You could have lifted Kantwell itself had you tried. The magic would have lifted it right off its foundation had you commanded it."
"It seems impossible to think that I could perform such a feat," Michael said flatly.
"It seems you do a great many things that are considered impossible. You drew power from Merric’s attack on your shield. You did it again with Mortow. You were able to not only detect when Mortow was scrying on you, but also to open a channel back through to him," Mason pointed out.
"Are these things unique to a Myrkron?" Michael asked.
"These things are unique to you, Michael. I could not do them. It could be linked to you being able to see the third golden door. I simply don’t know. There has not been a Myrkron of your power in over forty thousand years. My predecessor and I could only see two of the golden doors. His predecessor was like you. She could see all three. It was she who gave to him the knowledge of the third door and asked that it be passed down so that future Myrkron would be able to open it."
A sudden thought hit Michael like a physical blow and he winced. "You are telling me that I have to remain, alive and trapped, until the next Myrkron comes. That I am locked in this life, unable to join my wife, just as you have been, for at least ten thousand years." Michael leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and hung his head. "Now I think I know how Micah feels. To know all those empty years lay ahead of you and there is nothing you can do about it."
"Micah knows he could end his existence at any time he chooses. He continues so that he may atone for past deeds," Mason said quietly.
"Atone? What does Micah have to atone for?"
"It is not my place to tell you. He is your friend. It is his place to tell you if he so chooses. Remember this, if that time comes. It is within a man to change himself for better or for worse. Micah has done both in the course of his time on the worlds."
Michael looked at Mason quizzically, but Mason refused to elaborate.
"Before I go, I have something for you," Mason said rising to his feet. He walked over to the foot locker at the end of the bed and opened its lid. He reached in and pulled out a purple robe.
Michael stood and looked at the robe as Mason brought it to him. The robe appeared to be made from silk and reflected the firelight in warm spikes of yellow light.
Mason handed it to him. "I believe this will fit you well. It belonged to my predecessor, Miron. He was a good man and would want a Myrkron to have it."
Michael accepted the robe, feeling the softness of the fabric as it slid between his fingers. "Thank you Mason, but won’t my wearing it cause others to know something is different about me? Since no one else knows about the golden doors, I assume they are to remain a secret."
Mason smiled hugely and laughed. "They already know something is different about you, Michael. The presence of the three golden doors is to remain a secret between Myrkron as are their names, but beyond that, there are no secrets to keep." Mason’s smile withered. "And Michael, it is entirely up to you whether you take the oath to remain once your time on the worlds is up. No one, not even I, would ask such a thing of you. It must be a decision you make on your own. I wish we had more time Michael, I truly do, but I feel the pull of the Great One. My oath has been fulfilled. Please, Michael, don the robe of the Myrkron."
Michael looked at the robe in his hands. "I have so many questions for you; you can’t leave yet."
"Please Michael, put the robe on. I have a few things left to do and limited time," Mason said softly.
Michael set the purple robe on the chair he had been sitting in and untied his sash, folding it, he handed it to Mason, then pulled the wizard's robe off over his head. He felt ch
illed without its covering and quickly slipped the other one on over his head. The silken feel of it sliding over his skin gave him another chill as he shrugged it into place.
Mason took a step back and tossed Michael’s sash on his own chair. "Now I have a gift for you from all of the Myrkron throughout time." Mason untied his sash and reverently held it out to Michael. "This sash has been worn by every Myrkron who has ever walked the worlds. I give it now into your keeping. May it remind you of all who have come before you. It has been a comfort to me in my solitude. I pass it on to you, as it was passed to me, as it has been passed since time untold."
Michael looked at the golden sash lying across Mason’s hands; an artifact that had endured ages, an artifact being entrusted to him by the greatest magi to have ever lived. He felt tiny and unworthy, but he knew there was no one else who could claim it as their own. He slowly reached out and touched the golden cloth. It looked like spun gold, and he was surprised to feel warmth coming from it instead of the coldness its metallic appearance suggested. As his hand closed over the fabric, Mason’s hands closed as well.
"There is one last thing, Michael. When you have need of knowledge, seek the council of the Oakkrin. They are the oldest living beings, and they have vast stores of knowledge that could help you, if you have need. This valley and this place will be here for you, too, Michael, if you decide to remain." With that, Mason let go of the sash. As his hands left the material, a small pleasant smile came over his face and he faded away.
Michael stood staring at the spot where Mason had been, the sash hanging from his outstretched hand. "Now I’m alone again." Michael fell back into his chair. He listened to the crackle of the fire as he stared off into the distance. "Ten thousand years without Karin. I don’t think I can do this," he said softly. "What good is all the power in the universe without her?"
After a few minutes, Michael again noted the sash in his hand. It felt slick like polished metal, yet was as pliable as the lightest silk. The golden tone glittered richly in the firelight. He ran the sash between his fingers. He thought back to the battle in the pass, to the men dying all around him. His lip twitched up at a corner in a snarl, and he pounded a clenched fist on the arm of the chair.
"If this is how it is to be, then so be it. I am not the only one who has lost someone I love to Mortow’s insane drive for dominance. I will make him regret the day he embarked upon this quest for power," Michael said dully. "This is no longer about revenge, do you hear me?" He shouted at the ceiling, jumping to his feet. "This is about justice, for me and for all those who have been poisoned by Mortow’s corrupt lust for power!" Finished venting, Michael flung the sash around his waist and tied it snugly.
As he trailed the ends through his fists, he heard Mason’s laughter again followed by a faint female voice he did not recognize.
"Become the cleansing fire that fell from the sky the night of your birth. The power of the spheres is yours to command, Myrkron."
Michael looked at the fire in the hearth and said, "Exstinguo." Instantly the fire went out. He turned on his heels and walked to the door. Once through, he gently closed it and stepped off the porch. A short distance from the house, Michael turned around and faced the small wooden dwelling that had housed Mason for millennia.
"I have not decided if I will take this burden. I’m not certain I can even make that decision before its time is upon me." Michael waved his right hand in an arc before him and said, "Celo."
The light breeze that wafted through his mind was echoed by the wind blowing across the grass. The house faded from sight. Turning to the lake, Michael gazed at its surface. It had become calm and mirror flat. He could see the entire vista of the heavens reflected in it. Without the surrounding mountains, it would have been a disconcerting sight, lending a feeling of floating in nothingness. The wind blew again and the surface rippled, returning it to just a lake.
Michael breathed in the cool air. "If I choose to take the oath, I will return to this place," he said boldly into the night. He waited a few minutes to see if there would be any response. Only the wind and the gentle lapping of the lake intruded upon the silence. Michael nodded once to himself and spoke the words that would return him to Kantwell.
Chapter Ten
Mortow hurled the book at the wall. Mael stood in the background and watched. The sudden display of rage was even more fierce since it was totally silent.
"How did he accomplish this? There is nothing in the books that tell of this power," Mortow said seething.
"If one such as you cannot figure it out, it is beyond my reckoning, Master," Mael replied with deference.
Mortow turned to face the slight wizard, his face suddenly calm. He waved a hand at Mael apologetically. "Forgive me, Mael. Anger leads to no solutions. Do you have any insight into this that I cannot see?"
"Only the obvious, Master. Those at Kantwell have uncovered magics that we know nothing about. You studied there longer than I. Could Merric have hidden things from you?"
"Oh, I wouldn’t put it passed him, but I see no reason why he would have withheld anything to do with my training. He had no cause at the time. No, I feel this is something new, something to do with that boy. Mieka said his powers were unlike anything she had ever seen."
"Speaking of Mieka, what will you do now that you no longer have eyes and ears within Kantwell? Surely Merric has banished her from its confines by now."
"Maybe, maybe not. His affection for her runs deep. He would not want to believe his precious Mieka would turn against him." Mortow fell silent. After a few seconds he continued. "However, my father is no fool. No, we cannot risk sending her back. We will need all of our strength to combat Michael. The time for spying is done. We know all we need to know of Kantwell. They only have three wizards left to them. The others are nothing to worry about. We now have the advantage. We are almost twice their number and we now have something to neutralize the Avari."
"And, how is he? He was still unconscious when he was brought in. If he dies, then we lose our hold on the Avari Lord," Mael inquired.
"He was still unconscious the last time I looked in on him. I have Master Stevens watching over him. He assures me there is no lasting damage. Fear not, he will live," Mortow assured him.
"It is never fear that motivates me, Master, it is caution of action and consequence. What would you have of me?"
Mortow visibly relaxed. He smiled cunningly at Mael.
Seeing the change in his Master, Mael smiled back.
Noting the smile on Mael’s face, a smile completely devoid of any emotion save malice, Mortow was again reminded that Mael was the only one that did not follow him out of fear. Fear was not the sole driving force in the others, but it was always there. He could always feel it in the others, just below the surface; but Mael seemed immune to it. Looking at the seven red stripes on Mael’s sash, Mortow thought, it was well that Mael was not as powerful as the others. With more power at his command, he would challenge me, and that would be the death of one of us. Mortow finally looked away and began to pace in a slow circle with his hands clasped behind his back.
"I believe it is time to let the Avari Lord," Mortow said the title with scorn, "know his charge is now our guest. I would like for you to see to it that word is sent to Kantwell. They will inform him for us. Give them my terms and then return."
"As you wish, Master." Mael folded his arms into his sleeves and bowed deeply to Mortow. As he straightened, he vanished with the whispering of a spell.
Mortow stood for a moment regarding the empty space that Mael had just occupied. He absently muttered a phrase and flicked his hand over his shoulder. The book lying on the floor, righted itself, closed and glided to its place on the shelf. Mortow left the room and walked across the platform that encircled the inner part of the tower to the central stairs.
The walls were blocked and the floor was tiled in grayish-green granite. The central spiral stair was formed from the same stone. It was wide enough to allow two people t
o walk abreast upon it. Glowing glass spheres, set in wall cups around the platform, gave off a pure white light causing crystals in the stone blocks to reflect like stars wherever one set his eyes. The stairs had more spheres mounted at evenly spaced intervals along the inner hand rail.
Mortow needed more time to think. He began to ascend the stairs to his study, taking his time and gathering his thoughts. He'd been chipping away at the elves and dwarves long enough. Branna had been shown that they were not impervious to attack. Its citizens cowered in fear, jumping at shadows. It was time to bring the shadows to life. Mortow smiled to himself.
All those arrogant fools, who believed it was their right to command him, would soon feel the edge of his wrath. It was time to begin. In the grand scheme of things, Michael would amount to nothing. Mortow had the entire troll nation, most of the ogre tribes, all of the lower caste Weres, and the Garoliths at his command.
"Singly, the Garoliths may be no match for Michael, but let us see how he fares against a number of them. Now, I have a neutralizer for the Avari as well." Mortow stopped on the stairs. "Yes it is time to begin." The echo of his voice rumbled through the stone. He spoke the words of transport and vanished from the stair.
Materializing at the head of a heavy wooden table, Mortow surveyed his officers gathered in the war room.
Three trolls stood to his right, their gray-green mottled skin almost blending with the rock of the walls; Overlord Traug, and his two generals, Dras and Slig. They stood around nine feet tall and, though heavily muscled, were far leaner than the three ogre chieftains that stood opposite them. Oreg, the biggest ogre Mortow had ever seen, stood almost twice Mortow’s height and a full head above the two other chieftains, was rumbling and gesturing vehemently at the map spread out on the table. Dascus and Hirtov, two representatives of the Were clans, sat at the far end of the table, pointedly ignoring the heated debate between Oreg and Traug.
Myrkron (Volume Two of The Chronicles of the Myrkron) Page 7
