Feynard

by Marc Secchia

  Echoes of ‘brother, brother, brother,’ resounded from stone walls and iron bars in cold mockery, until there descended a silence so thick that it seemed born in a tomb. The moment stretched unbearably thin. Kevin vomited violently.

  “Faugh!” Brian spat, holding his nose delicately between thumb and forefinger. “Is that any way to greet your loving brother? Some things just don’t change, do they, old chap?”

  Kevin glanced at Alliathiune, stricken, but the expression frosting her features was pure betrayal and loathing. She, snarling like a wolf, declared, “I will never give up the Magisoul–not to you, nor to anyone!”

  “Your choices are rather limited at this point,” Brian said conversationally, marching over toward the Dryad, still standing beside Hunter. “I have no compunction about adding to the mess you and your companions have made in this chamber, Dryad–save if you choose to serve me in capacity I outlined at the Well. I trust that you’ve taken the opportunity to think my proposal through meantime?”

  For answer, Alliathiune spat at his face.

  “I had a feeling that might be your response,” said Brian, wiping her spittle with a vicious backhand blow. “I shall punish you for that indiscretion, wench. But for now, I wish to thank you for retrieving the Magisoul for me. With the Magisoul to hand I shall complete what I began with the Blight–the conquest and subjugation of all Driadorn. You see, little Dryad, I rather fancy the title of ‘Emperor of Driadorn’ or perhaps ‘Your Dreadful Highness’. Feynard has much to offer to him who desires ultimate power.”

  The word ‘power’ flew from his mouth with rich nuances to Kevin’s perception. In a flash of insight he understood what had never been clear to him before–that Brian was not motivated by base cruelty, although that was clearly part of his nature, but rather by a consuming lust for dominion over others. That was what he had been doing all these years, what his abuses had meant. Exerting power over his brother’s weakness. Having control. Having the ability to command fear in others. Kevin had never hated so completely, nor felt so miserably afraid.

  But Brian was an idiot! What did he know of dark wizardry?

  Alliathiune said, “So the Blight was an impious plot to gain the Magisoul?”

  “An elegant plan,” Brian corrected. “In which, might I add, you’ve surpassed my every expectation. Do not try my patience. Hand it over, little brother–or I will find ways to enforce your compliance.”

  “He will not, Dark Wizard.”

  The Dark Apprentice leered openly at Alliathiune. “Has he no voice of his own, that this pocket harridan must speak in his place?” He waved his staff languidly, freezing the approaching Lurks with a single word of magic. “No sneaking around back there! I despise sneaks and thieves.”

  “Here,” said Kevin. “Take it, Brian. I cannot fight you any longer.”

  Brian stared at his brother kneeling upon the dungeon floor, holding the Magisoul out in his damaged hand. Slowly, sarcastically, he began to applaud. “A very convincing impression of a dead jellyfish there, brother. But a small fly in the ointment–indulge me for a moment as I explain. Ozark, once styled the Dark, was a Human who came from Earth to Feynard just as you and I did. He was a wizard, through and through. But unlike me, he was overly greedy for power, and did not have the brains to match his ambition. He was defeated by the Tomalia, who stripped him of his powers and returned him to Earth as a broken man. Part of his spirit was captured here at Shadowmoon Keep. He became the Dragon of Shadow that guarded the Magisoul. Oh, he was a tricky old blighter, I’ll grant. You probably guessed Omäirg, am I right?”

  Brian pointed disdainfully at Izzit, lying broken beside Amadorn. “Omäirg’s remains lie right there. Doubtless he too hoped you would gain the Magisoul and release him from his bondage.”

  “Now, brother dearest, it so happens that there is a secret spy-eye planted above the Magisoul–Ozark had that done many, many seasons ago. So I know about the living dead stunt you pulled. Ingenious. You have done us both a favour, you little weasel. Consider this: how did Brian Jenkins come to Feynard? What does he know about magic? Let me tell you. Ozark was none other than our own father Harold.”

  “What?”

  Kevin could not believe his ears. First Brian, now Harold? He had killed Harold? Yes, there had been something familiar about that old man–but he was ancient. Did time run differently on Feynard? How was that even possible?

  “Oh, come now, little brother,” said Brian, clearly enjoying himself. “You surely don’t believe both of us somehow invented a mastery of magic? Some skills are learned; some are inherited. We’re the two sons of the greatest wizard Feynard ever knew.”

  The Dryad began to shout an offensive spell.

  Brian snapped his fingers. “Don’t.” Alliathiune gave a hiss of pain. “Here, this will give you something to think about.” Raising his staff, he conjured up a silver collar and poised it upon his fingertips. It was about an inch wide, woven of multiple strands of metal, with small red jewels similar to rubies set at intervals around it. “This is not a crown, in case you were wondering. It is a collar designed especially for a Dryad.”

  “I am not some hound to pull at the leash!”

  “No, but you are a woman, and a comely wench at that,” he sneered. “One thing I despise in a woman is intransigence, and another is pride. I prefer servitude–humble servitude–and chains to dresses. This collar has a special property that you will soon discover. I will enjoy breaking your spirit, Dryad. I’ll break you like a twig!”

  With a snap of his wrist he flicked it towards her. The collar appeared to shimmer and change shape mid-air, and though she raised her hands defensively it somehow passed between them and wrapped with the speed of a striking snake about Alliathiune’s neck. She frantically tugged at it and explored it for links or a catch, but there were none.

  Brian grinned. “It suits the niece of the Dryad Queen. Nighty night.”

  Alliathiune’s eyes closed and she appeared to fall fast asleep!

  Trying to ignore his soiled trousers, Kevin rose to his feet, processing this new information at a furious rate.

  Brian favoured him with a pitying smile. “Now, returning to our previous conversation, squirt, Harold was great and powerful, but he was also a fool. When he returned to Earth he began to tear apart a secret organisation known only as the Order, which opposes to the practice of the dark arts everywhere. Great-Grandmother founded it. They call us the Enemy. Well, our precious father hired a set of assassins to start the ball rolling, but he pretty soon got bored of that and began to kill people himself. He had an admirable knack for murder. I’ll spare you the details, because you know the result. He spent several years moving between Feynard and Earth, killing people wherever he went. But after the Unicorns defeated him, Father returned to Earth, completely unable to do magic. All that he had spent years learning was utterly lost–and that was when I convinced him to teach me what he knew.”

  “Dear God!”

  “If you think God’s going to help you now, you craven little worm, then you’re in for a rude awakening.”

  “I killed Father?”

  “What was left of him, anyway. It gets very complicated when part of your spirit is stuck in a hole on Feynard and the rest of you his millions of light years away on Earth. No wonder he became an alcoholic. It beggars belief, but for once in your life you did the right thing! Good riddance, I say.”

  Brian raised his staff. “Now, I’ll take that, thank you very much.”

  Kevin cried out as the blue gemstone was snatched off his palm by an invisible force and shot over towards his brother. His magic-reamed fingers would not close in time. His magic lay inert, confounded by the confusion and horror in his mind. Snatcher and the Lurks were paralysed. Alliathiune was insensate to the proceedings. His other companions were already dead.

  Brian reached out to catch the Magisoul.

  There was flicker of movement. Brian’s outstretched hand separated lazily from his wrist in
a spray of crimson. Hunter! The Mancat groaned as she crumpled at the Dark Apprentice’s feet.

  Brian stumbled backward, his face a white sheet. For an instant, his person wavered and Kevin thought he saw the Kraleon peering out of his brother’s face. Then there came a deafening concussion and Brian vanished, along with the Dryad.

  Kevin wanted to scream his anguish until Shadowmoon Keep fell around his ears. Alliathiune! What in heaven’s name was going on?

  Chapter 27: Return to the Well

  Akê-Akê was dead. The Witch was dead. Amadorn lay in a coma, but Hunter he had been able to succour. Alliathiune had been abducted. Kevin mopped his brow.

  Snatcher roared, “I will tear this Keep stone from stone to find that dastardly Dark Apprentice!”

  “He’s wounded. He’ll make for the Well,” Kevin said. “We need to track him down. Somewhere, he has transportation. Could he have teleported far?”

  “Blood!” Snatcher agreed. “Let us search for traces of his blood!”

  He whirled to the Greymorral Lurks at his back, still steadily filing up from the Labyrinth, and let fly in rapid-fire Lurkish. Snatcher was growing in stature by the hour, Kevin thought, smiling both for this reason and to dull his fear for Alliathiune’s fate. To imagine what Brian might do to her–that way lay madness. No, he must outthink his brother. He must not give in to the old, seeping fear that had settled in his bones like a premature winter. Kevin of Earth was a creature of the past, a shadow that had no place in his present.

  Brian, the Dark Apprentice! Other families had skeletons in their closets. His had evil wizards! Two of them, the son worse than the father.

  Where else would Brian go? It had to be Elliadora’s Well. There, Brian would find a way to force them to give up the Magisoul, because he knew they had to return to the Well to deal with the robot and heal the Forest. Could the Forest even be healed without its Dryad Seer? And what was the connection between Brian and the Yamka creature, the Kraleon–raised by his brother amidst a bloody massacre of nasty wizard experiments … dear God! Was Brian truly that powerful? His influence so far-reaching, his plans so comprehensive, his appetite for destruction apparently unbridled?

  Blast this sudden inability to control his babbling to God! Here was yet another form of weakness percolating into his psyche, probing the gaps in his once-invulnerable mental shield. Please let Brian not lay hands upon the Dryad–hand singular, he thought grimly. He rubbed his temples tiredly. How long before this was ended?

  “Drink this,” said Snatcher, handing Kevin a flask.

  “Toad oil?” Kevin slugged a mouthful and gasped. “Phew!”

  “Kê! Clears the mind, doesn’t it? Give me a hand shutting this thing, would you?”

  “Like you need a hand!” Kevin spluttered, but lent his shoulder as they heaved the massive block of wood back over the stairway leading down into the Labyrinth. “What did you tell the other Lurks?”

  “I sent them to find sign of the Dark Apprentice–drops of blood, primarily, that he might have spilled during his flight.” And his great eyes turned upon Kevin. “Do not gauge your self-image from your father or brother, good outlander, nor reckon from their evil deeds the measure of your worth. No measure of guilt on your part, nor anything you can do, will redeem them from the judgement and doom of Shäyol. From this lighttime onward you must forge your own path and find your own destiny. Only then will you truly be free.”

  “Wisdom distilled from toad oil?”

  “We swamp-dwellers are ever practical in matters of wisdom, good Kevin,” averred the Lurk. “We find lessons in the restless stirring of the mists, or the call of the reedling, or the flow of the seasons. Many are the Forest’s lessons.”

  And just then, from deeper within the dungeons, came the spiralling song of a Lurk hunting-call, which Lurks make within their elastic throats in much the same way that a bullfrog makes its call.

  “What news?”

  Snatcher raised his club to his shoulder. “Let’s go find this Dark Pretender, good Kevin, and complete what our friend Hunter began.”

  “Even if we hack off one body part at a time,” the Mancat agreed, weak but unbowed.

  * * * *

  The Lurks rapidly formed up around Snatcher and began to carve a path through Shadowmoon Keep. Evidently, swamp-dwellers hunted by more than drops of blood–Kevin caught sight of them passing Brian’s severed hand about to sniff it for the scent!

  But the Dark Apprentice had done more than just arrive in his shiny new boots. He had stationed several thousand Trolls in the central Keep to secure it while he beat his hasty retreat. Tight wedges of Lurks bludgeoned their way up from the dungeons, rolling over the Troll troops like an implacable, grim grey tide. The Trolls braced their spears against the steps, but the Lurks smashed through them with barely a pause. Soon, the steps ran thick in blood. Kevin saw Lurks fall. The Trolls stabbed for the eyes. When closed, Lurk eyelids could deflect a spear-thrust. But he saw an arrow feather from a Lurk’s left eye, and she fell. Another fell to a javelin that pierced the back of her throat.

  “Let me through!” he demanded. “Let me help!”

  They fought through to the main courtyard, courtesy of several lightning-bolts even Amadorn would have been proud of, before Kevin felt the ground lurch beneath his feet. Bellowing Lurks charged past him and smashed into the massed Troll ranks. Lurk clubs rose and fell with terrible effect, threshing the Trolls like so much gathered wheat, flinging them into the air or crushing them where they stood, causing even the experienced Troll warriors to flinch in dismay.

  “Snatcher?”

  “Right here, good outlander.” Snatcher knelt, placing his hands on the ground. “Oh–this is bad.”

  “What? I can’t hear you!”

  “The Dragon of Earth is down there, stirring–”

  “We’ve got to leave! Now!” The Lurk stared at him. “Don’t you see, it’s going to destroy the Keep!”

  The ground shook as though struck by a monstrous hammer-blow from beneath. The Trolls staggered.

  “Get twenty Lurks and we’ll find that aircraft. The rest have to leave, now! Leave everything and run!”

  Kevin was aware that he must look a wild sight, but Snatcher barely paused. He raised his full roar above the clamour of battle and began to shout at the Greymorral Lurks. Suddenly, the forces split. Kevin found himself swept along by a tight-knit group of Lurks, with Snatcher in the lead, charging toward the stone steps leading to the upper part of Shadowmoon Keep. The other Lurks whirled and reversed course, out of the Keep, pushing with their combined tonnage so hard and fast that a bow-wave of Trolls developed, shovelled en masse out of the huge doors and over the steps leading down into the enormous staging area below.

  Ahead, Snatcher body-slammed three Trolls against the Keep wall. They barged up the steps, meeting little resistance. The Lurk tracker was hot on the scent. The ground heaved again. Cracks snaked up the walls as if by magic; cracks in blocks of solid stone which weighed many tons each. Masonry and roof tiles cascaded down from the towers above. Smoke suddenly began to billow from the slit window as a conflagration took hold.

  Kevin’s boots pounded along a stone corridor. A Lurk grabbed him up as she accelerated to the full speed of a Lurk, far faster than any Human could sprint. He did not care! What did dignity matter when the world was about to cave in? They bounded up the next set of stairs ten at a time.

  “Up!” roared Snatcher, pointing. “There!”

  Two advancing Trolls took one look at the Lurk charge and dived out of the way to save their hides. They charged up a stone rampart to a great flat paved area Kevin would never have guessed existed atop the Keep, overlooking Anurmar Gorge. And, beneath an enormous metal frame, he saw the tail of what could only be an aircraft. An aircraft–on Feynard!

  “That’s it!” he screamed, pointing.

  The Lurks pounded across the open space. Kevin was startled to notice Indomalion was just peeking over the horizon. Was it dawn already? Had t
hey spent an entire darktime in Shadowmoon Keep? He shrieked as his Lurk leaped a wide crack with the springiness of a mountain goat, and the cool morning air whipped through his hair as she leaped after the others, down into the hanger area.

  Two outsized catapults, he saw. Two ramps jutting out over Anurmar Gorge. One was empty, but the other held an aircraft–a great, bulky transport craft, painted in camouflage colours. He hoped to goodness it could take twenty Lurks, Snatcher’s bulk, and the weight of a paltry Human.

  Snatcher’s grin showed all of his teeth. “I hope you know how to fly, good Kevin.”

  “I’ve read a few books!”

  The aircraft had no doors where he expected them, so Kevin ran in through the open cargo flap. He flapped his arms. “Get the Lurks in and settled. Strap the Mancat over there–is that Amadorn? You brought him? I’m going to the front.”

  Kevin charged into the cockpit, thinking, had he seen any engines on this thing? How did one build an aircraft on Feynard with no engine technology, no computers, no … oh, no. The cockpit was almost bare. A couple of dials and levers, a wooden steering-contraption, a seat for the pilot, and that was it.

  Snatcher pushed his shoulders through the doorway. “I found a map, does that help?”

  “It probably works by magic,” Kevin said, tearing at his carroty curls. “It doesn’t help that there are no words or pictures on the controls, no obvious engines to speak of, and no handy user manual hidden beneath the captain’s seat. Every moment we tarry, Brian gets further away. And he has Alliathiune with him!”

  “He won’t hurt her, as he needs her to bargain with,” Snatcher put in.

  “Oh, very helpful, you great big lump!” he shouted. “Why don’t you fly this benighted hunk of metal, then? I don’t see you coming up with any useful ideas!”

  “Peace, good Kevin,” replied the Lurk, shrugging off these hot words as easily as he slipped beneath swamp waters. “Are we too heavy for this sky vessel?”

  “I’ve no earthly idea!”

  Kevin plopped his tired, sore behind into the pilot’s chair. He scanned the controls one more time. It looked simple. He was sure he was missing something. But then the aircraft rattled so hard he was nearly flung to the floor. Kevin took the seatbelt and strapped himself in, shouting: