“I was fighting to stop the tyranny of the cult you’ve fallen into,” Maslow said. “How long have they been brainwashing you?”
“Don’t do that,” Dex said. “Don’t insult the Guild. It’s the best thing that ever happened to me. It’s my home, my family.”
“It’s not your family, Dex. What happened to your mother?”
“You mean after you disappeared and forgot about us?” Dex said, scooping some of the soft fried potatoes into a bowl, along with a slice of salted pork and a chunk of crusty bread. He handed the dish to his father with a spoon. “She married someone else.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know,” Dex admitted. “I wasn’t really welcome anymore and wasn’t around much. When Kyp’s parents died, I went with him to Rycaster.”
“That figures, I’m surprised she waited until I was gone,” Maslow said trying to get comfortable with his back to the rock and his legs tied together.
“You don’t get to talk about mom like that,” Dex said. “You left us, remember?”
“No, as a matter of fact I don’t remember,” Maslow said testily. “But I can tell you what I do remember. If you want to hear it?”
Dex sat down on the horse blanket he was using to soften the rocky ground. He had his back against the sun-warmed stone of the wind break they were sheltering behind, and his feet stretched out toward the fire. It was cold, but the fire made their little camp tolerable, and Dex was grateful for the warm food. He nodded at his father to continue.
“I remember the storm,” Maslow said. “It was a bad one. The wind kept changing directions and the waves were pushing me out to sea. I was nearly exhausted from trying to row to shore. I still have scars from the blisters I rubbed on my hands trying to row back. It was no good, but I never gave up. I fought like hell to get back to you and your mother.”
“So what happened?”
“I’m not sure. The next thing I remember is the boat being half full of water, the mast had broken in two, and I could barely move. I got hit on the head by something. I’ve always thought it was a kindness that I couldn’t remember those awful days at sea, but I didn’t just forget the accident. I forgot everything, even my name. I must have been out for a few days straight. When I woke up I didn’t know who I was or where I was, just that I could see the shore. So I made for land, but no one knew me. I was alone, frightened, with nothing of value to even buy something to eat.”
“How’d you survive?” Dex asked, thinking to himself that he’d been just as desperate as his father claimed to be, for a long time with Kyp in Rycaster. He knew what it was to have no family, no money, no place to live and very few prospects.
“I stole food,” Maslow admitted. “Got caught and thrown in the stocks. I met a man named Crane, well Master Crane really. He took me in and helped me to see the true path.”
“Oh, here we go. The true path is to murder Marshyls, right?”
“Listen, Dex, what do you really know about that cult?”
“Cult? Are you serious? Do you really expect people to believe that the Marshyl Guild, protector of the people for hundreds of years, is a cult?”
“Isn’t it? Don’t they dictate what you can and can’t do? Aren’t they led by a charismatic Lord Marshyl whose word is law? Aren’t you taught what to believe about magic?”
“We’re taught the truth,” Dex said.
“Oh, really. And what is that truth? That only the Marshyls are worthy to possess magic?”
“No, of course not. We protect the people from wizards, mages, and sorcerers. We stand up for those who can’t stand up for themselves.”
“Nice propaganda, son,” Maslow said. “But let’s be honest. The Marshyl Guild is the biggest magical cult in the realm. Or if you don’t like the term cult, substitute gang.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Actually I do and there’s quite a bit about magic that you don’t. I suppose you know what the Marshyls do with the magical items they steal from the wand casters and ring mages they kill.”
“They’re collected and stored,” Dex said, “so they don’t fall into the hands of lawless men.”
“And why, do you suppose, no one other than a Marshyl can wield magic justly? Is every other magic user an outlaw? That’s a little too convenient isn’t it? And what about the Source? Have you risen high enough in the cult to know about the source of all magical power in the realm?”
Dex knew what his father was talking about and it made his blood run cold. He, Kyp, and Squirrel found the caverns called Laskis where the Sylykron was kept. He had seen the wonders of that magical place, from the fantastic botanicals to the wondrous creatures that thrived in the light from the powerful crystal known as the Sylykron, the source of all magic. And Maslow wasn’t the first person to question if the Marshyl Guild was wrong to hide the Sylykron away. Dex had first heard of the fabled source from Ranger Einard, who, like a common outlaw, had turned his back on the Marshyl Guild and almost killed Dex in Northia
“It’s a powerful crystal and the source of all magic,” Maslow said, assuming his son knew nothing of the fabled stone. “Some call it the Creation Stone because all life sprang from it. Others call it the Source, because magic and magical creatures arise from its power. It’s been lost for centuries, at least, that’s what the Marshyl Guild tells the world. Men have been searching for it for a long, long time, son. Men who know that it is the key to a world where magic is available to everyone, not just a lucky few, and certainly not just for one powerful guild.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dex said again.
“Oh yes, I know. I’ve seen it,” Maslow declared.
Once more Dex felt his heart nearly stop with fear. How in the world had his father seen the Sylykron? Had he been to Laskis? If so, it had to be after Dex and Kyp had left Squirrel to watch over the sacred cavern. How could Maslow have traveled to the Marshyl compound so quickly? And what about Squirrel? If the cavern was attacked by Maslow and his master Crane, had Squirrel been killed by Dex’s own father?
“Master Crane has the gift of sight,” Maslow went on, oblivious to his son’s distress. “He can show us visions from the Source. It reveals its wonders to all with the eyes to see. It’s the most wonderful thing I’ve ever witnessed, Dex. Magnificent creatures, from dragons and griffins, to elves, and fairies. They thrive in the light from the Source. And the world is filled with such beauty. In the light of the Source every rock is a gemstone, every wildflower a beautiful bouquet, every fruit is filled with the succulent nectar of life. It is the gift of the gods, son. The source of everything you’ve ever wanted, and not just for whoever possesses it, but for the entire world. But the Marshyl Guild doesn’t want everyone to thrive in the glorious light, where they would just be common folk. They want a world starved of magic, a land where they alone are powerful.”
“That isn’t true,” Dex said. “The Marshyl Guild has representatives in every kingdom, to protect the people and work to make the Dragon Isle a peaceful place.”
“Don’t be naive,” Maslow muttered. “Their ambassadors and rangers are nothing more than spies. Their loyalty is to their cult leader and when they feel powerful enough, they will overthrow the head of every kingdom and bring the entire realm under their control.”
“You’re mad.”
“Am I? What about you, Dex? What are you willing to do for the vaunted Lord Marshyl? Have you denounced your own family? Have you sacrificed the possibility of finding a love of your own? Have you crossed half the kingdom to hunt down your own flesh and blood for a man who rules your guild with an iron fist?”
Dex wanted to deny every accusation, but he couldn’t. He wanted to shout and scream that his father wasn’t being fair, but in his own mind Dex was thinking about Lalyn. He wasn’t sure what to think. He needed rest and time to clear his head.
“I’ve heard enough of your preaching,” Dex said. “None of that explains why you didn’t c
ome home.”
“I didn’t know where home was, or even who I was,” Maslow said. “Master Crane didn’t even know my real name. I spent the last decade training to become a Sage Regulator, a liberator of truth, an usher of the Source’s power.”
“I think you just wanted to be a wizard. And you became a murderer.”
“That’s not true.”
“It is true. You killed how many Marshyl Knights?”
“They’re the enemy of the Source.”
“You’re insane.”
“Am I? Am I insane because I’m not afraid to speak the truth, son?”
Dex lifted his sword.
“Are you comfortable?”
“You don’t have to do that,” Maslow argued.
Golden light erupted from the sword and Maslow, the Elusive Executioner, was frozen in place, struck down by the elvish ending curse that would keep him paralyzed through the night and allow Dex to get some much-needed rest.
He threw some more dried shrubbery onto the fire. It crackled and flared to flame quickly, sending a wave of heat toward the rocks where Dex and Maslow sheltered. Sleeping in armor was difficult, but Dex refused to take it off. He propped himself up on his saddle, and closed his eyes. The night was silent except for the crackling of dry wood in the fire, but Dex still heard his father’s voice. It echoed in his mind, finding cracks in Dex’s firm beliefs, and wedging into the chinks in his resolve.
What are you willing to do for the vaunted Lord Marshyl? Have you denounced your own family? Have you sacrificed the possibility of finding a love of your own? Have you crossed half the kingdom to hunt down your own flesh and blood for a man who rules your guild with an iron fist?
Chapter 11
Outrider Reegan was almost to the border. The snow was mostly gone, and the wide open plains of Northia gave the older Marshyl a sense of security. No one could sneak up on him here, and there were no boundaries, nothing to hem him in. He loved the freedom of being an outrider, going wherever the needs of the guild took him, spending most of his life out on his own. The solitude suited him, but unlike his many missions in the past, his mind was restless and kept returning to Dex as he traveled across the snowy plains. He had to admit he was worried about the young questor, which was why he had traveled so far north. Eventually, he would have to turn east and thread his way through the Devil’s Horn Mountains to reach his destination.
He had been sent to check on the Ambassador at Yangor, and there were certainly faster routes than the one he had taken, but something inexplicable was drawing him north. Perhaps it was just concern for the young Marshyl he had taken under his wing. Dex was a resourceful young man, and had proven himself a formidable opponent in battle. Reegan still had trouble believing that Dex had stopped the Executioner when the Lord Marshyl had failed, but most of the Marshyls defending the compound had seen it, so Reegan knew it had to be true. Still, Reegan didn’t think that a young man was ready to pursue such a deadly foe. The fact that the Executioner was Dex’s own father only made the assignment that much more dangerous.
Reegan knew the power a father often had over his sons. He still remembered how much he had loved his own father as a young child. He honestly believed his father was the biggest, strongest man in the entire realm. Reegan had wanted to be just like his father, who was a woodsman, spending most of his time out in the wilds. As Reegan had gotten older he’d begun to resent how much time his father was away, and they butted heads more and more often as Reegan tried desperately to prove himself to his father. He wanted to be seen as an equal, as someone to be respected, not simply told what to do all the time.
And then his father had run into a wand caster on one of his few trips into town from the cottage in the forest where Reegan had grown up. Reegan hadn’t gone with his father on that excursion, and he still regretted it. Not that he could have done anything to stop the outlaw who murdered his father, but he wished he could have at least been there with his father when he died. Perhaps that was why he felt the need to follow Dex. The last thing he wanted was to ignore his intuition, which was telling him the young Marshyl was in danger. If something happened to Dex Reegan didn’t think he would be able to forgive himself.
Reegan saw North Gate in the distance and decided to make his way there. The old brewer in the small village was a master at his craft, producing some of the finest ale in Northia, and Reegan hoped he might hear a little news about Dex. The only thing he knew for certain was that Dex was moving fast. Reegan had set out a few days after his protégé, but the Outrider had gone directly to the mountain pass and expected that with Dex winding through the Bitterroots on game trails, that he might catch up to the younger man somewhere in Northia. Yet Dex was pushing hard after his father, and Reegan had gotten word in the small villages along the northern road that the young Marshyl was still several days ahead of him.
Reegan’s gut told him that he needed to stay close to Dex, so he had taken a northerly route, not quite shirking his duties. Yangor wasn’t going anywhere, and for the time being they had neutralized the threat of the Executioner. The Lord Marshyl was recalling everyone to the compound. They needed to take stock of their losses and make sure there weren’t more of the dreaded Executioners on the prowl. Reegan didn’t disagree with that strategy, the Marshyls were first and foremost protectors of the guild and of the magical treasures stored for safe keeping at the compound. No one had ever dared attack the Marshyl stronghold before, and reinforcing their numbers was prudent. Still, something told Reegan that Dex needed help, and no matter how hard he tried he simply couldn’t deny the feeling that he was needed in Northia.
“Good morning to ya, Marshyl,” said one of the villagers as Reegan rode into North Gate. “Fancy seeing you here.”
“I’m just passing through,” Reegan said.
“O’course you are, no one in their right mind comes here to stay,” the villager joked.
Reegan made his way to the town’s hall, the ancient longhouse that had probably been around since before the Marshyl Guild existed. Reegan loved the history of the realm. So much of it was gone, lost to time and memory, but occasionally something survived. On his wide-ranging travels he occasionally discovered a gem among the more modern structures, something that pointed back to the ingenuity of the people who settled on the Dragon Isle long ago. Reegan appreciated the concept of a large family, or group of families, living and working together to make a life for themselves. The longhouse was partially below ground, the builders digging down into the earth for insulation against the elements. The timber above ground was thick and heavy, chosen to endure anything except for a fire. The large stones at ground level made the building strong, and protected the wood above them from rotting due to the moisture leaching up from the ground. The thatched roof had to be replace each year, but it made for a cool refuge in the summer and a warm, safe retreat in the winter.
“Outrider Reegan,” Aines said, as he popped out of the thick oak door. “To what do we owe the pleasure? Running low on ale?”
“Always,” Reegan said. “Is your man still brewing?”
“Cossnyr will brew until the day he dies. His teeth are falling out, but he says he doesn’t mind. Says he doesn’t need teeth to drink.”
“Right he is,” Reegan said, dismounting and shaking the town leader’s hand. “It’s good to be back in North Gate.”
“What brings you here, if I may be so bold?”
“I’m crossing over to Yangor,” Reegan said. His mission wasn’t a secret and there was no sense lying about his business. “But I was hoping there might be a little news.”
“Normally people bring us news, Marshyl. Not much happens around here that’s of much concern to folks outside North Gate.”
“A young Marshyl may have passed this way,” Reegan said.
He saw the look of distress on Aines’ face. The man looked away as he spoke, trying to act as if the question hadn’t bothered him, but failing.
“Oh, I don’t know nothin
g about any young Marshyls.”
“Come on Aines, don’t lie to me. I know he was headed this way. Pursuing a very dangerous wizard. Did you see either one of them?”
“We don’t go looking for trouble.”
“Nor do I, but it seems to find me often enough,” Reegan said. “Did you see them?”
“The older man arrived first,” Aines admitted. “Didn’t make no fuss. He had coin, so we fed him. He kept himself to himself. Never even shared his name.”
“Dark hood - possibly wounded across his chest?”
“I didn’t see no wounds, but he wore a dark, tattered robe,” Aines admitted. “Cossnyr went to fetch more ale and spotted your young Marshyl watching the village. The brewer always could see in the dark better than anyone I ever met. He told us a Marshyl was moving in and the stranger threatened to curse us all and burn down the village if we didn’t help him. He had a wand, so we did what we could. He stayed in the shadows and we helped him sneak out of the hall. The next morning your man was pretty riled, but he set out after the other man at dawn. We gave ’im food and water. It wasn’t our idea to help an outlaw, but we’re not Marshyls. We did what we had to in order to protect what’s ours.”
“I understand,” Reegan said. “How long ago was this?”
“A few days back,” Aines said. “I tried to dissuade the lad, but he wouldn’t listen.”
“That sounds like Dex,” Reegan said. “He’s like a dog with a bone. Never a dangerous situation he wouldn’t rush headlong into.”
“You staying the night? We’ve got fresh meat, and plenty of ale.”
“I can’t,” Reegan said, suddenly making up his mind. “I’m going after them. I could use water and whatever food supplies you can spare.”
“I’ll give you what we gave him. Salt pork, potatoes, some bread. I might even throw in a little bacon if you’ve got the coin.”
“Two silver?”
“Three for the bacon,” Aines said. “Four if you want a cask of ale.”
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