The Lady's Man (11 page)

He also gained some new insight into the level of revulsion the elves had for the dwarves. The two races had always been naturally opposed; the elves were strong believers in the beauty and value of the natural world while the dwarves were rampant miners and technologists. The two could simply not live side by side as the dwarves polluted the world around them by forging their many wares, while the elves went to great lengths to keep that pollution from their world, and even threw it back at the dwarves. Then there was the whole debate about magic versus technology, the elves being spellcasters by blood, and the dwarves wanting nothing to do with magic. Though there was nothing contradictory about the two forms of knowledge, at least to a simple man like himself, to the elves and the dwarves each was a sacrilege.

Though neither race had gone to war with the other in living memory, once upon a time they had, and it was clear that given the right circumstances, the peace loving elves would again. Even his most peaceful of companions couldn't seem to suppress her scowl whenever their name was raised. Perhaps that reflected in part her place as an acolyte of the Mother, but he doubted she was alone among her people.

He had to assume the same was true of the dwarves, who regularly toasted their company with various curses aimed at the elves. It probably explained why humans, being neutral in the conflict and powerful in war, tended to find new settlements in the lands between the two races. Lands that neither wanted to settle as it was simply too close to their racial enemy, nor to let the other settle. Thus humanity had become a buffer between them, almost as a consequence of their own hostility.

Of course where humans liked the flatter farm lands, the elves loved their forests and the dwarves their mountains. That probably had something to do with it as well.

Humanity was considered a primitive race by the elves, flirting both with magic that was too dangerous for them, and technology which was simply dark. Thus the elves looked upon them with suspicious eyes, even as they traded with them for the goods that they wouldn't accept from the dwarves, and the dwarves did likewise forcing the humans to become the traders of the lands. Naturally that had its down side as well, as the elves regarded with mistrust the human preoccupation as they called it, with gathering wealth. They distrusted the gnomes for the same reason.

None of this Yorik was sure would be totally new to his Order – but it was new to him. And as he sat there still silently cleaning his sword, soon he realised he himself would have to become tainted with that same stain. Soon he would have to find his own way in the world, gather enough wealth to live, and become that which the elves distrusted. It was a dark thought. But as the fires burned and the stench of dark magic was cleansed by them, it seemed somehow apt.

Raised almost from birth to be a paladin, he had been unconcerned with much of the material things in life as his very essence was devoted to the service of the Lady. In fact he knew very little of the lot of most others. He had never gone hungry or without shelter in his life. When he was sick, he had been attended to by able physicians. While he was neither wealthy nor some great aristocrat, he was also not a commoner. Or he hadn't been thus far. A thought which sadly led him right back to his most depressing problem of late. His future. If speaking with Genivere could brighten his day, wondering about his future could ruin it, which was why sometimes he didn't enjoy the silence so much.

As a member of the Order of the Lady, Yorik had no wealth of his own. What was his was the Order's. No more did he need a home to live in nor a stable to leave his horses in. They were both provided for him, as were the horses and his armour. Or they had been. Now, if the Order didn't take him back, and he was not at all certain that they would, he would have to become much more interested in finding a means to earn some coin, while still serving the Lady. It was that or starve.

His expulsion from the Order was a matter he hadn't shared with Genivere, though she probably guessed something of it. Elves were very perceptive to the emotions of others, and he still wasn't convinced that Annalisse hadn't worked out his predicament and then told the rest of her people long ago. The woman was sharp. But it was his private shame, and not something she should be concerned with, so if she didn't know he wasn't about to tell her the details.

It was however, something that weighed heavily on his mind from time to time as they travelled. For the moment he had a mission – a purpose – and all else was unimportant. But soon, perhaps even in the next hour or so as he waited for the undead corpses to finally become ashes, that would all change. Then what?

He was sure he could find a means of survival, even if he chose not to return to the Order. After all, all he had to do was not wear his wild heart rags, and the bandits would come one after the other at him like bees to the flowers, and he could sell their stuff later. But he didn't want to live like that, as little better than a brigand himself, even if it was legal. A paladin fought to protect, not for wealth. He could perhaps take residence as a knight within one of the kingdoms. Even within Ender's Fall. The Lord Mayor had welcomed his father's service and would surely grant him employment. It was slightly more honourable but all would soon learn his shame as soon as they saw his golden armour. He could even find work in a monastery of the Lady. Paladins, even fallen ones were welcome, and it was honourable. But it wouldn't be doing what he had been raised to do since birth. To fight for the Lady. He was a paladin, not a cleric.

The other option was to return to the Order and face sentence, something that was likely to be harsh. He had disobeyed the Commander and the Spiritual Advisor both, even before he had actually taken his revenge. Then he had done everything they had most feared him doing, and though he had found his way eventually and even been forgiven by the Lady herself, it simply wasn't good enough for a paladin.

The first time he had gone before them, they hadn't taken his armour or his crest despite his determination to seek vengeance, if only because they had hoped he would come to his senses before that would become necessary. After all, locked in the compound with sixty other paladins watching over him, they'd thought they could hold him for long enough to let the rage pass, while others tracked the wizard down and brought him to account. But when they'd failed to catch the wizard and he'd grown more frustrated and angry by the day, their precautions had proven insufficient and he'd escaped. To do that he'd used magic and skills he wasn't allowed to use other than in the cause of the Lady, he’d embarrassed the Order in the process, and had then done everything that the leaders of the chapter had feared he would.

This time he knew his armour and crest would both be taken from him, and though he hoped that they might let him remain within the Order, perhaps as a trainer or weapons master, he would never be a paladin again. This mission was his last. And yet he knew in his heart that that was the only option he could take. But at least while he was on a mission for the Lady and had yet to face the consequences of his actions, he could pretend to himself that he was still a paladin of the Order. For a while.

“I think the fires are dying down.”

Genivere, probably sensing something of where his thoughts had led him, dragged him out of his depression and he looked up to see that she was right. The fires were finally starting to fade. The wolves were now little more than mounds of embers, and though they had blackened the long green grass around them and the air was thick with the stench of burning soot, the corruption at least was gone. It looked as though he could enter the clearing once more.

“Stay back and stand ready.”

Yorik rose slowly, surprised at how weak he felt now that the excitement was over, and raised his sword once more before he cautiously walked back into the clearing. This time, unlike before, he had no sense of wrongness – nor that anything lay in wait for him. In fact he could sense nothing other than a pure meadow befouled by black smoke gradually being blown away by a gentle breeze. But he held his sword ready regardless. You could never be too careful.

A few cautious steps brought him to the nearest of the corpses, and looking down into its heart all he could see was ash and embers. The wolves at least would never trouble another. He walked carefully around the remains, and then on towards those of the necromancer himself who had fared no better. In fact the only way he could tell which pile of ashes was his was by the size. These creatures would not pose him or anyone else any danger ever again.

Satisfied with what he found he sheathed his blade and moved on to the tree in the centre – mainly because while it looked like any other tree, it was also the only thing other than grass in the entire clearing. If the person he had to seek was anywhere in the clearing he had to be there.

As he approached it Yorik noted that it was indeed a magnificent golden oak, exactly as he'd seen from afar. Its trunk was solid, its branches high and wide, and its leaves filled with life. It could have supported several elven cottages in style. But despite its glory, it was still only a tree, and there was nothing and nobody in it, behind it, or even under it, let alone a house.

Slowly he circled it, checking from all sides to see if there was something he'd missed, but no matter where he stood, it was what it was; a tree. Which only left the endless grass as something to explore. Perhaps, he speculated, there could be an underground lair of some sort? But he didn't want to start searching it, not least because Genivere would think he'd gone quite mad. Yet there was also another reason if he was honest with himself. He still had the strangest but ever more powerful feeling that he had reached his destination. The tree. Not something in it, under it, or even nearby. It was the tree itself.

“Lady?”

Having explored the oak from every angle and finding nothing, while still knowing somehow that this very tree was his destination, he called on the aid of the only one able to guide him. She who had given him the task, and the message which he still didn't know.

“Myral.” The single word came out of his mouth almost by itself, as the Lady once more spoke through him. But he knew enough to know it was a name, the name of the one he sought.

“Who calls me?”

If Yorik had been puzzled by being unable to find his quarry, he was nearly stupefied when the tree itself answered. His quarry wasn't in, under or behind the tree, he was the tree. All of it. His words were the rustling of the leaves in the wind, the creak of bark and twigs; all of it somehow bound together in a single powerful, deep voice, yet for all its strangeness, perfectly understandable.

“Don't you know me old friend?”

If the tree was rumbling like a giant talking and snoring in his sleep, the Lady's voice was whimsical and light, as she clearly enjoyed the tree not recognising her. There had always been an impish side to the Lady, which was part of what made her so endearing to her followers. “Do I need to tie your clothes on backwards again?”

“Ohhh!”

The tree rumbled its recognition for all the world to hear. “It's you again. Up to more mischief no doubt. What do you want this time?”

Was it possible for a tree to sound bored, pleased, amused and somewhat irked all at the same time? Whether it was or not, this one did.

“You of course. It's time to return to the land of mortals and stop your day dreaming.”

“But it's only been a few hours. Let me sleep a little longer.”

“It's been over five hundred years Myral. So enough with this wasting of time. You are needed once more.”

The Lady could be firm when she wanted to be, and as her voice came out of his mouth like an impatient mother's dragging her child out of bed, Yorik noticed that his foot had started tapping on the ground. It wasn't a threat – the Lady would never threaten harm to the innocent – but it was a clear statement of her intent and the tree called Myral knew it.

That was apparently enough for the aged tree – if that truly was what he was – and a great shuddering began in his tallest branches, and soon engulfed the rest of him. It was as though a tiny tornado had somehow formed around the tree, though there wasn't the slightest breeze on Yorik's skin. Soon though, he could feel both heat and magic – powerful magic – on his face, and he knew the tree was transforming into its true form. Someone called Myral.

As he watched the tree's leaves began disappearing, somehow being reabsorbed into its branches, while it shrank rapidly. Then its branches began writhing around each other like twisting snakes until they formed two great arches – the man’s outstretched arms. A few heartbeats later the tree had already reduced to the size of a small giant, and he watched as the dark brown bark suddenly began acquiring the hue of skin, while its trunk began separating into two legs. Meanwhile two eyes had appeared in the trunk itself. Two massive yellow eyes, filled with wisdom and despite their size, gentleness.