by Greg Curtis
Regardless, the rangers and guards in every town and city alongside the border were busy overseeing the construction of mass gaol cells and the imprisonment of those villagers who had been bitten. But keeping them locked up however securely, was a risk. Either the wolves would kill and eat the towns people, or they would bite them, thereby producing more wolves like themselves. The only way to stop the threat was to kill them all. That was what she would have done. But they were not her people and it wasn't her place to tell them what to do.
So the fae were determined to build their prisons and pray to their precious Goddess of Life. They were preparing to contain an uncontainable threat. Elan would have thought that Careyn would have been busy helping with that. Not bothering her.
“I know that your heart is black.”
“Maybe so. Again, what of it?” Elan was getting used to being told that and other similar things. So much so that she couldn't even find the strength to try arguing about it. It was the accursed priest's doing she guessed. He kept making his opinions widely known and the fae seemed to listen to him.
“You're going to attack Briagh again.”
“Attack Briagh?” Elan was surprised. Why would she attack the morph? Granted he was a nuisance. A true pain in fact. But for the moment she very much needed him alive. She needed him to help her reach the technologist. And maybe to help her kill him. The accursed morph was becoming a formidable warrior. Apart from which she owed the damned thief her life, even if she did find it galling. “No, I'm not going to attack the miserable little pile of dung. I need him to get to Barachalla.”
“And after that?”
“After what? Barachalla will be dead. My brothers and mother will or will not have their wits back. Why should I give a damn about a pestilent morph?”
“Praise Liasa! You really are cold and heartless!” Careyn stared at her with a horrified look on her face. “You've tried to murder him twice in cold blood. Now he's saved your life, and you still can't find it within you to be grateful!”
Elan stared back at her, wondering if she should bother responding. Her thought was that she wanted to. There were so many things she could say. About her family having been torn apart by this Morphia's Kiss, by a technologist, and – though it turned out Endorian might have been as much a victim as he’d claimed – by a twisted morph. About her – a princess – being assaulted and threatened by another morph. One who she still didn't believe wasn't somehow involved in this plot. And one she knew was a thief. The whole accursed race was simply bad blood! But she also knew there was no point. No one would listen to her. Instead, she concentrated on tightening the straps on the saddle.
Her task now was simple. Kill the technologist. Kill the wildred too. Restore her family to their right minds. Restore Abylon to law and order. Of course she realised she'd have to be hand-fasted to some weak-willed man to do that and control the realm through him – unless her brothers could be completely restored to health – but that was the price she was prepared to pay. Only when that was done she could start to think about other less important things.
Things like enforcing the ban on the worship of Morphia. It was becoming utterly clear to her that this faith was dangerous. More dangerous even than the morphs themselves. It had to be wiped out. The morphs were one thing, the followers something else entirely. After all, they were the one’s responsible for creating this globe. But the arcanists – technologists and wizards both – also needed to be brought to heal. After that she needed to have the barbarian Prince hunted down and brought to justice. He had escaped sometime during the battle. Run away like a coward with his tail between his legs. But he had destroyed her city. For that she intended to see him swing.
After that she could worry about a shape changing thief. And if he stayed away from her, out of her realm, she was perfectly happy to forget that he even existed. Who knew? Maybe he was even innocent, even if he had protected the other morph against her.
“Have no fear child. I will not allow her to harm your intended.” A man's voice unexpectedly entered the conversation.
Elan turned to see another of the annoyances of her life in the stables. Father Argen had come up unnoticed, his hands on the reins of one of the verdan. Lately he too had shown himself to be nothing but a problem. Maybe it was time to start rethinking the place of the Temple of the Great Sage in Abylon. But then something he said struck her.
“Her intended?!”She gave voice to her disbelief. As if someone, anyone, could want to be hand-fasted to a thieving morph! The whole race was bad blood. And the possibility of hand-fasting came with the likelihood of children. More of them! She shuddered a little at the thought.
“In time I think.” The priest smiled as if it was somehow a good thing. “The young are shy and awkward in such things. But in time.”
“How could they?” Elan didn't bother trying to hide her disdain for the idea any longer.
“Because while you have been allowing your suffering to destroy what goodness there is in you, Briagh has been regaining his. He has been learning lessons in courage and trust. He has grown into a man. You have so far learning nothing and instead have given into you anger.”
Elan bristled a little at the insult but kept her composure as she saddled the horse. “Nevertheless I have already said I have no intention of harming the morph. That morph anyway. The other I haven't decided on. That should be enough for both of you.”
“And yet it isn't Princess. Not when you've already tried to murder Briagh twice and threatened to do so again.”
“On my honour –.”
“You have none!” Father Argen interrupted her bluntly. “Every time you have agreed to do something you have broken your word. To me. To Lord Daelyn. Your word is worthless! You have attacked the innocent without warning or cause and never once apologised.”
“I am not apologising to that morph!” Finally she raised her voice, pushed too far by the priest. Far too far. And really she thought, she should have had him flogged for his effrontery. The reason she didn't was that she couldn't. The one thing that had become clear to her was that here she had no say in anything. No one respected her! No one would obey her. And when people used the title “Princess,” half the time they seemed to mean it as a slur.
But there was nothing she could do about it. Lord Daelyn would not listen to her. The soldiers would not serve her. She had become a commoner.
“What about the forty first rangers who you attacked with a siren whistle and the gorgon leather gloves? Or had you forgotten them?”
Elan stopped speaking at about that point. Because as much as she wanted to abuse the priest she knew he was right – on that at least. She hadn't apologised to the rangers. But they were soldiers, expected to deal with such things. Besides, they had not been harmed.
“And so I will be accompanying you on your journey.” Father Argen continued as if he'd said nothing at all that might have been cutting or cruel.
“Careyn must remain here. As the towns folk continue their transformations her gift makes her invaluable in controlling them. But that she has to stay while knowing all the while that you are out there hunting a man she cares about – that is not right.”
“I must follow after Briagh because my knowledge of the globe and Master Barachalla means that I may be needed. As for you, I would prefer it if you were to remain locked away in a cell somewhere. But there are non spare and in any case if there is a hope of stopping the technologist in his quest we will need all the people we can get. My knowledge will be needed. You meanwhile have the witch compass and a bow. If you must come too then I will ensure that you keep your word for once.”
Damn! How did he know about the witch compass? Elan knew another surge of anger for the annoying priest. He kept finding out about things he wasn’t supposed to know. She had bought the compass in a private transaction with no one else present. She had then stolen the morph's used bandages from the healers' tent and applied the blood from the bandages to the needle. H
aving spoken the required words it had been done. All had been done in secrecy. No one should know that she now had a device which pointed towards the morph. And yet he did.
“I do not want your company Father. Or your sermons!” But she guessed she wouldn’t have the choice, judging from the fact that he had dressed for a lengthy ride and his horse was already saddled with full saddle bags.
“And I do not want your cheek girl. But there we have it. We must each accept what we do not want and be grateful for it.” He turned away from her to the guard.
“And you child, have my word that I will do all I can to keep Briagh safe.”
“Thank you Father.” Careyn managed a small smile. “I will speak a few words for you to Liasa. As for you Princess –” she turned to face Elan, “I will promise you this. If you harm Briagh again, in any way, you will gouge out your own eyes with your own fingers. Is that completely clear?” Careyn managed another smile but this time it was not a friendly one. Rather, it looked like the smile of a very angry tiger about to pounce. And despite the fact that she was a full head shorter than Elan and of small build, the Princess flinched a little.
“I have already said I will not harm the morph.” She tried to put a little more certainty into her words, but it ended up sounding like anger – or worse – fear. She knew the threat the fae had uttered against her was serious. Briagh had threatened her once – a fact that no one seemed to mention or care about – but she could handle him. Morphs could be killed and she could stand her own with a sword in hand. The fae's gift was far more dangerous and she could not stand against it.
“Now Father, if we are to keep the scent of Briagh we must hurry.” Much as she resented his company, she knew enough about the priest to know that there would be no stopping him coming with her. There was no point in even arguing about it. So, with her horse saddled and bridled she took the reins and started to lead her horse out of the stables, letting the others follow as they would and making sure she showed no sign of weakness.
All she had left was her determination and her pride. She had a long ride ahead of her and a technologist to kill. She could tolerate an annoying priest until then. But if she couldn’t, she supposed she could knock him over the head and leave him tied up somewhere if he refused to stop talking! It seemed like a reasonable option.
Chapter Forty One
It was late and Elan was making use of the darkness of the night as she walked quietly up to the camp site, bow at the ready. She would have been more effective at hiding if Father Argen wasn't walking beside her, making absolutely no effort to be quiet or remain unseen. Did he know nothing of caution? Of the dangers of meeting strange people when you were out in the wilds? Especially when they knew Barachalla was out here somewhere.
Reaching the edge of the scrub, Elan peered through it to the camp site ahead and the two people sitting down on a log in front of the fire, and immediately forgot her annoyance. Because one of them wasn't human. He was too long, too thin, and his fingers looked like those of a corpse. She had seen a man like that exactly once before – at the stockade – and she never wanted to see another.
It was a wildred! A monster. A living dead wizard. Actually, there were over a hundred different terms for the thing she saw. Truthfully she didn’t know which one was correct. But she did know that it was deadly. Just one of these creatures had destroyed a barbarian army. It had also attacked her in the stockade. The creatures were few and far between so she thought it likely that this creature had been responsible for both attacks. This had to be that one. There couldn't be two of them. Wildred were too few and far between for it to be likely.
Quietly, she raised her bow and reached for an arrow. Then she placed it carefully and pulled back the string. This thing might be deadly, but even it couldn't do anything at all if it was already dead.
“Ahh Princess.”
Startled, Elan lost the arrow without thinking and then watched as it flew from her bow straight at the wildred's throat. But it stopped before it reached its target, hitting something unseen in mid-air, and then falling to the ground.
The creature looked up at her, somehow able to see her even in the darkness when she was hidden behind a bush.
“There's no need for that I assure you. I mean you no harm Princess. Nor you Father Argen. And my companion Abel here wishes you no harm either, despite his intimidating appearance.” Its voice was impossibly breathy, as if it had been running hard.
Intimidating appearance? He had to be jesting Elan thought. The wildred's companion looked like a street urchin with a heavy coat. Malnourished and about as threatening as a sick puppy. He certainly wasn't armed. Did the wildred jest? And why didn't it seem angry? She had just tried to kill it! Or was it simply that it knew it had never been in any danger? Uncomfortably she suspected that that the latter might be the truth. She also wondered how the creature knew who she or Father Argen were. But these questions were incidental to the real question she wanted answered.
“Where is Master Barachalla?” She just managed to keep from shouting it at him. Still, her voice was loud enough to carry in the night.
“Not here obviously. But somewhere out there on the same journey I would guess.” He gestured at the forest. “There with my student to protect him.”
“He's not here? Then why did you –?”
“I did not attack the stockade. That was Callum and Barachalla. No more did I attack the barbarian army. Again, that was my student. But we are all of us on a common path. Barachalla heads for T'illshar Ree – I think – a place none of us can reach on our own. Callum travels with him. And between the two of them and the army of wolves at their command, they believe they can cross the Forbidden Forest. And with the blessing of Lord Sylvennia, unwittingly clear a path for us to follow. Briagh heads there too, in the belief that the Goddess Morphia calls him. I follow Callum. Or I did, until he used his magic to prevent himself being followed. After that I began following Briagh in the hope that he might show us the way through to T'illshar Ree. That he is truly called there. You follow Briagh in the same hope.”
“I don't believe you!”
“Princess Elan –” The young man beside him unexpectedly spoke up. “– you should believe him. I was there at the battle when the barbarians attacked Callum. I witnessed it. And Master Zo'or showed himself only after it was over. We have been following Callum ever since. I have since seen Callum speak to Master Zo'or as a visage. He threatened my Master. We have also witnessed many things like the attack on Perna Sil through his magic of far seeing.”
“It was wrong of you to simply try to kill him just now because of his nature.”
Elan started a little at that. A street urchin was daring to tell her – a princess – that she was in the wrong?! Just what was this world coming to? And yet she realised in time, if he was telling her the truth – and she could sense no dishonesty in the boy – then he was right.
“He startled me.” It wasn't much as apologies went, but she knew she had to make one.
“Perhaps you should not have had an arrow pointing at my head, to begin with.”
The wildred still didn't sound upset Elan noticed. But she wasn't sure if that was good or bad. It might simply be pointing out how defenceless she was against it. Or perhaps it was calmly telling her that it had the same rights as any other. Maybe the wildred really was a man of some sort? She didn't know.
“But enough of that. I am Zo'or. Once Zo'or of Gold. And my companion here is Abel. My student. Perhaps you and Father Argen might wish to join us by the fire? There is much we should talk about.”
“Zo'or of Gold?” Father Argen suddenly pushed his way through the bushes and headed for the campsite as if nothing had happened. Curiosity overrode common sense in the priests of the Great Sage, Elan thought. “There was a wizard of that name many years ago.”
“The same.” The wildred nodded almost imperceptibly to him. “But sadly it brings me only shame to remember that name.”
“Sh
ame? You are remembered for some fine acts of magic.”
“Until I demonstrated my utter stupidity one day and became as I am. An entire life thrown away in the blink of an eye, and all for nothing. I learned no wisdom, ascended to no greatness, and received no supreme gift of magic. Not much can compare to that mistake. Nor can I claim that there was some noble intent in my action.” He indicated the seat on a log opposite for the priest, and when Father Argen sat down the boy promptly handed him a cup of something hot.
It was then that Elan decided to join them, and pushed her way through the bushes. There seemed to be no point in lurking in the darkness anymore. And the wildred had made one point very clear. She could not harm it. Harm him, she corrected herself. If he was or had once been a wizard, then he was a man. More or less.
Once she sat down opposite the wildred and accepted her hot drink, Elan caught another glimpse of his face and thought again. What she saw was not human. His skin looked like leather, heavily tanned and beaten, ploughed with deep furrows like a farmer's field, and then pulled back hard so that those furrows were raised. They also weren't straight and one side of his face did not match the other. It was only a brief glimpse, but it was enough to tell her that this fearsome enemy was very badly distorted. Crippled perhaps. Perhaps that also that explained his strange way of speaking? It was as if he was breathing out the words.
