The Lady's Man (48 page)

“The thane is a storm that has consumed the dark wizard. And like all storms it is powerful and yet aimless. Dangerous but only accidentally. But unlike any other storm this one is alive in a strange way. It has no great will, no knowledge of self. No more than a worm does. But when it consumes a man it absorbs a little of the will of the man it consumes. And when it consumed Mayfall it absorbed a little of his soul. More than normal because he had resisted it for so long.”

“Now the storm truly believes it is the traitorous wizard. Mayfall's anger has become its anger. His hatred has become its hatred. His desire to strike out at those who harmed him has become its desire.”

“It does not know that Mayfall is dead. That it is not him. It will not accept that knowledge. It cannot hear it because Mayfall was so terrified of being consumed by it before the end, and that fear is part of the thane. So the thane does that which Mayfall would have done were he still alive. But in the end it is only a memory, the trace of the man's will that the thane consumed. What you see as Mayfall is actually a part of the thane as a dream is a part of you. It needs to wake up.”

“Name it as dead however, show it that the one called Mayfall is no longer, and it will no longer have the will to do anything. It will no longer be anything. And the thane will return to its true self, the worldly aspect of the Nameless. Still dangerous but directionless.”

“This is how thanes have been fought in the past. It is the only way. But it has not always been successful. When you dream as a man you are still a man, and somewhere deep within you you know that for truth. But when the thane dreams it is Mayfall there is no other knowledge within it. No competing voice. It truly believes it is him. You will have to become that other voice.”

Maybe that made sense, Yorik wasn't completely sure. It sounded like the confused memories of daydreams. But when he turned to see if his companion accepted the sylph's words the wizard nodded. Myral seemed to agree with his words, and Yorik trusted his judgement in these matters. After all, he was the only one of them who seemed to have any idea at all of what was happening. So Yorik carried on his questioning hoping that the wizard would explain to him what he didn't understand. For the moment he was a warrior, and warriors knew one thing above all else. Battle.

“And how do I do that? Especially when I'm completely helpless against him.”

“You speak of two different problems. The first I cannot tell you save that you were there when the wizard died. You saw him depart the world and that is the truth the thane has to hear. The second though is an easier matter. You must take the power and grace of your Lady unto yourself before you next face the thane. All that you can hold within yourself.”

“Even with it you will be weak against him, but not helpless. It may be enough. Enough to give you the time you need to make him face the truth.”

“He knows the truth. He spoke of his death when last we met. He laughed.”

Yorik had to tell the winged man that. The sylph was making it sound as if it would be all so easy. It wouldn't be. It probably wouldn't even be possible.

“Of course he laughed. Because he believes he yet lives. He believes he is Mayfall. Therefore death, even his death does not scare him. He believes he has survived death. That he will continue to survive death.”

“As for you druid,” The sylph turned back to face Myral, “– your power comes directly from the world without the intercession of another between you. The thane cannot take that connection from you. But his power comes from the Nameless. It will always be stronger than yours. There is no way a wizard can fight a thane. Not directly. Do not imagine it to be otherwise. If you fight him you will die. And you were not witness to the dark wizard's end so you cannot convince the thane that you saw Mayfall die. Only one was there at the end; Yorik, and so like it or not this stripling has to be our hope.”

“How does this thing sever bonds?” Yorik ignored the comment about him, and asked what mattered. Because he knew that if his bond could be maintained in the dead wizard's presence, he would be far stronger. That would surely be the key to defeating him. The Lady could defeat anyone.

“He is a thane. He is part of the Nameless. He consumes. He consumes will among other things, and the bond between servant and master is always one of will. It cannot withstand his presence. With true wizards there is no bond. There is a connection but it is not one of will. It is one only of knowledge. The will resides within the wizard.”

“Then I must remain powerless against him?”

“Against him? Yes of course. Everyone is defenceless against a thane. Your mistress herself would be powerless against the Nameless. Elemental or not it would consume her as it would consume you. The gods would fare no better. The Nameless is an endless void and it can never be filled. Not by anything short of everything, and perhaps not even by that. But whatever you can hold within yourself you can use to aid yourself in the battle. As long as you don't use it to strike at the thane.”

“And that is as much as I can tell you. I cannot aid you in the fight. All my people together could not aid you. The thane cannot be fought let alone defeated. And we must prepare for his arrival since your chances of victory are small.”

“And how -?”

“By scattering, running and hiding. It is the only protection there is.”

“Then why -?”

“Because you have a chance.” The sylph cut him off for a second time. “It is a small chance but it is there. And if we have any hope to save our realm we must take every chance we can.”

The sylph became quiet and stared off into the distance. Waiting in case there was anything more that needed to be said, but not expecting there to be.

He was probably right Yorik realised. They had got as much as they were going to get from the sylph. He had told them what he could. It wasn't a lot of use but in the end he didn't know any more.

Yorik looked across to Myral and the wizard looked back at him, each wondering if the other had anything else to ask. And each knew that they didn't. Which left them with only one thing to do. If there was only one defence, running and hiding and scattering like leaves in a wind, then that was what had to be done. By everyone.

“Generan you will send messages to every city you can that houses a chapter of the Iron Hand, warning them that Mayfall will strike at them. To the chapters and to the rulers. The Order may be doomed, but the people of the cities don't have to be. They have to know how to save themselves. You will save as many as you can.”

The sylph nodded slightly. What he could do Yorik didn't know but at least they might finally try to do something instead of simply hiding and waiting. And maybe the Lady herself could do something. Since she knew of what had happened in the cities there were obviously still some in them that spoke to her. She could speak to them.

“We should go.” Myral announced it as if it was simply a fact, nothing more. Yorik knew why. They had learned what they could and they did have to travel. But they weren't about to take their leave of the sylph. That would have been polite and the wizard didn't feel he deserved such politeness. Not for what he had done. Or his people had done. They just turned and headed for their horses.

“Wait!” The sylph called after them before they had taken more than a couple of steps. “There is one thing more that I can help you with.”

They turned back to find him still standing there, but with the reins to two magnificent white horses in his hands. Horses that Yorik was certain hadn't been there moments before. Each of them stood at least seventeen hands and each of them was rippling with the muscling of the finest thoroughbreds. But more than that, each of them sported a glowing patch of white on its nose. A patch that was whiter than white. In the same place where a unicorn would have its horn. And that told them what they were.

Acornia, half breeds of unicorns and horses. The offspring of the matings that sometimes happened in the land of The Sky. They had no horns and none of the magic that their unicorn sires had. But they were always white and powerful, and gifted with great speed and stamina. They were also the symbol of the land of The Sky and the sylph, and a beast that they jealously guarded. None other than a sylph could ride an acornia. None other was worthy in their eyes.

“Acornia from our herds. You may borrow them so that they can carry you swiftly back to your people.”

“No!” The sylph shouldn't have said it. Yorik was in no mood for half gifts disguised as generosity and so his words instantly made him angry. “They are gifts as will be the other hundred you will bring to the elves of Hammeral and each of the other cities Mayfall has destroyed. They are barely the beginnings of the restitution you and your people will make for what you have done. A symbol of your apology.”

“But -.”

“You will also look after our horses here and see to it that they are found good homes. They may not be thoroughbreds but they have served us loyally.”

Did he have the right to demand such things? Yorik didn't know. But he knew that it was right that the sylph be held to account for their mistakes. And he knew that the sylph had no idea whether he had the right to demand atonement either.

Demands made Yorik headed for his riding mare to retrieve his saddle and bridle. Myral walked beside him with a small grin turning up the corners of his mouth. Maybe it was inappropriate, but Yorik understood it perfectly. A pair of acornia claimed was perhaps a small thing to demand, but it was about pride. The sylph valued their acornia. It was a symbol of prestige for them to ride the beasts that others couldn't claim. A sign of their superiority. Now, if they accepted his demands, they would lose that symbol. The sylph would have to learn a new lesson in humility and maybe even decency and the wizard liked that. He proved how much he liked it a heart beat later as he added to Yorik's demands.

“No doubt there will be more apologies and restitution demanded in due course.”

Chapter Thirty Six.

It was late and Yorik was all but exhausted as he practised his spells. He wanted to sleep. He needed to sleep as his injuries were still hurting him terribly and all the healing magic in the world couldn't remove the need for rest. But he had to practice. Five days ride from the Land of The Sky had taught him a lot but he had to learn a lot more.

The shapes themselves were easy enough. As a paladin he was used to variations of many of them anyway. So invisibility was not new to him. Nor was muffling his sounds or running quickly. Projecting his voice was something he only occasionally used, and it was surprisingly difficult. Not because of the shape of the spell, but because he naturally wanted to speak out loud even as he projected his words. Keeping his own mouth shut was a problem for him, something the ancient wizard seemed to find amusing.

He was also adapting slowly to holding the Lady's power within him. It was a strange thing to do, but as both she and Myral kept telling him that he would be facing Mayfall on his own, he was forcing himself. Whatever he could hold would be all the magic he would have.

The Lady had been clear on that. There was nothing she could do to preserve the link between her and him in the presence of the thane. And he did not ever want to be powerless before Mayfall again. So he was forcing himself to take and hold as much of her gift as he could, regularly filling every nerve and fibre of his being with her power, and then using it all. Casting spell after spell – the half dozen or so that they kept telling him he needed to use – until there was nothing left. It was about stretching his meagre ability as a magical vessel to its absolute maximum, and then using what he held as efficiently as he could.

It was an unnatural way to cast for him. Normally when he cast he simply reached for the magic and found it waiting for him. Not within him but rather within the bond he shared with the Lady. And because that bond was maintained by her and the magic was hers, he never had to think about where the magic came from nor how much to use. He could be wasteful with it and it simply did not matter. There was always more.

That was why priests were the most powerful of all casters. Their magic came from their bonds with their deities. And the deities were all but unlimited in their power. Wizards on the other hand had to find the magic within themselves and shape it completely of their own will. For that reason they were generally not nearly as powerful as the priests. But what Myral and the Lady were doing was effectively training him to cast as a wizard, something that came no more naturally to him than walking did to a fish.

Still, as a paladin he at least had some experience with the magic, and some feel for it, and that was helping. The practice was also helping even if he was so tired after a day in the saddle that he really just wanted to fall down.

The true problem he had with the spells he was learning was actually his task master. Myral was tough and the slightest hesitation or imperfection in his shapes was unacceptable. The invisibility spell had to be flawless. He could not reveal even the slightest ripple of light to distort the air. If he cast his voice it had to sound exactly as he did and without the slightest hint that it was anything other than him speaking. When he ran he had to run with all the speed and grace he could possibly find. And above all else he could not be distracted. These few spells he was being taught he had to learn to cast almost without a thought. Without hesitation or doubt. Myral simply gave him the command and he did it.

So as the night wore on and the ancient wizard kept snapping instructions at him, Yorik did exactly as he was told. Unfortunately Myral never seemed to be satisfied.

“You're not concentrating!”

Yorik could have told him that he was exhausted. His injuries were really starting to ache. His body was also sore from riding as well – these acornia were so much more powerful than normal horses and so much broader that he was saddle sore as he hadn't been since he was a child. But there was no point. Myral wouldn't have listened. So he carried on as best he could, casting each spell as quickly and cleanly as he could and trying to ignore the smell of the brace of rabbits cooking over the fire. The moon was high, it was well past dinner and he hadn't eaten more than a few handfuls of berries and an apple since breakfast. He was hungry.

“Invisibility!”

Yorik immediately cast the magic and thought he'd done a good job. But it obviously wasn't good enough.

“Too slow! Now release it and cast your voice from that rock!”

The wizard pointed at a rock fifty paces away from where they sat and Yorik did as ordered. “Done. Dinner smells good.”

The acornia snorted a little as his voice came from somewhere behind them. They never liked the thought of being crept up on. But that was good. At least he was able to fool them. Not Myral though.

“Not done well enough child. You're still moving your mouth and that can lead to mistakes. You cannot afford a single mistake. Forget your stomach and concentrate. Now stillness!”

Yorik cast the magic, masking every sound that he made, be it the movement of air through his lungs or the crunch of gravel underfoot. And to show that it had worked he picked up a pebble and tossed it a little way from him. It landed in perfect silence. He was actually a little surprised that he could still cast. It had been over an hour since he had last drawn from the Lady, and normally by this time he had little magic left. Obviously he was getting better at holding more of her magic and using it more carefully. But that success didn't come without a price to pay. Because of it he would still be practising well into the night.

“Now some fast running please while holding the stillness.”

Reluctantly Yorik got back up and started sprinting around the camp. It wasn't easy. The magic made him faster, a lot faster, but his injuries slowed him down as did his fatigue. And trying to hold two different magical shapes, haste and stillness as he ran was difficult. Still, he did it.

“And now let’s add the invisibility as well please.”

Yorik cast the shape as he ran, and somehow managed it. He even managed it cleanly, the magic coming to him with barely a thought. Suddenly he was holding all three shapes at once. Invisibility, haste and stillness, all while running, close to exhaustion, and in pain. There was no doubt that he was improving. At least in his thoughts. And with these three shapes and a little luck, he had the beginnings of a defence against Mayfall, assuming he was as gullible as Myral hoped he would be.

That seemed like a big assumption to him. But if the thane really was the Nameless thinking he was Mayfall and not Mayfall himself, it might be right. The Nameless had no great intelligence as far as anyone knew. That was the hope they had to cling to. Because if anything of Mayfall's wit remained, the dark wizard would guess the trick and it would all be over.

It seemed a thin hope to wager one's life on. But so many others were wagering theirs on that same hope that it didn't seem right to doubt it.

“Good child, good.”

Myral praised him, probably for the first time ever, and Yorik almost fell over in surprise.

“Your touch is improving, slowly. The shapes are more precise. But your control, not so much. Remember as you run that the people you love are dying. Your home is gone. And many others are facing that same fate. It is for them that you must try.”

He shouldn't have said it. In a heartbeat Yorik was back with his family in the house. He was closing their eyes for the last time, talking to the priests as they prepared them for burial, and trying to keep himself from screaming as he saw the terrible things that had been done to them. Those images would be with him for the rest of his life.

And when he was with his memories he wasn't with his magic.

Abruptly his spells wavered. They didn't collapse completely but they wavered enough that they weren't perfect. And he had to put more concentration into holding them. That cost him strength. And while it would cost even a true wizard some of his magic, for a partial wizard like himself working with borrowed magic, it cost him a lot more. And even though he knew why Myral had said it, he’d failed the test.

Still, he held the shapes. He managed to prevent them from failing and quickly strengthened them, all while continuing to run.

“Control!” Myral called out, unhappy with his lapse. “It is always about control child! No matter what happens, no matter how terrible things seem, you must always remain in control of your spells. Otherwise you will die!”

He was right of course and Yorik wasn't about to argue with him. Not on that. He knew that if he ever gave in to his pain or weakness he would die. And if he died the Thane would continue his rampage and then thousands and maybe millions more deaths would follow. Yorik couldn’t let that happen. He could not fail. And so as he ran and Myral lectured him he kept repeating the mantra of control. In the end the greatest danger he faced was losing control.

And then in a heartbeat his world changed. Without any warning Mayfall himself appeared in front of him and he forgot everything. All he could see as he ran was that evil smirking wizard. His eyes full of cruel laughter his mouth about to release it. All he knew was hatred.

Yorik screamed with rage, unable to contain himself.

He couldn't be here. It simply wasn't fair. And it couldn't be allowed. Yorik drew his great sword. He charged the wizard screaming, nothing but hatred in his heart. All pretence of civility was gone as he truly became the wild heart barbarian he had so often pretended to be.

The wizard raised his arms to cast a spell and Yorik leapt on him, sword extended, thinking to slice out his beating heart in one strike. But of course he couldn't.

His sword passed straight through the wizard as if he wasn't there. As if he was no more than air. And then Yorik himself followed it, passing through the wizard and finding himself on the grass on the other side of him.

That couldn't be! Yorik spun as fast as he could, great sword extended in a murderous arc, and watched as it sliced through the wizard's stomach without making so much as a mark. In fact the only thing that happened was that Mayfall smirked some more and raised his arms to cast something at him.

Then he vanished and Yorik was left standing there breathing heavily and screaming inside, trying to work out what was happening. But he couldn't. He spun around and around on his heels, desperately trying to find where the wizard had gone, but couldn't spot him anywhere. That meant he could be anywhere out there in the darkness, waiting to strike. The thought filled him with alarm.

“Enough child!”

Myral's yell came from the fire, and Yorik suddenly realised he was still sitting there by the rabbits as they cooked on their spit. That he was completely unconcerned by the presence of the dead wizard in their midst. And that could only be because he hadn't actually been there. It had been another test.

“What spells are you still holding?”

It wasn't a question. The wizard was ordering him to check his spells. To see what was still there. And after five long days of practising he knew enough to do that instantly.

It wasn't good. He'd dropped his shape of invisibility enough that he had become a blurred ghost. The shape of stillness had gone completely as he'd screamed his hatred without a thought. Only the shape of haste was still intact. He'd given away his position and allowed the sound of his footsteps to slip through the shape of silence. Yorik quickly pulled them back realising that he needed them to fight the wizard. Save that he finally remembered he couldn't fight him. As the sylph had said, as both Myral and the Lady had said again and again, to fight him was to die. He could not fight him.

Moreover the fact that he had tried meant that he had failed. The fact that he was still alive meant that it was all a test of some sort. An illusion. If it hadn't been he would already be dead, and whatever else he was doing Myral wouldn't still be sitting by the fire calmly cooking the rabbits.

“Myral?”

“Come. The meal is almost prepared. We can discuss your mistakes and as you well know there were many.” The wizard smiled at him sadly.

“But they all come back to the same things. Anger, pain and fear.”