by W. C. Conner
“And, once again, I feel it is not yet time,” Caron replied She placed her hand upon his and pushed it gently back toward him. As he hesitated, she took the chain with its gemstone from his hand and returned it to its place around his neck, her breath warm against his cheek as she did so.
“Without doubt many will die this day,” she said, placing her hand upon the elfstone where it had come to rest on his chest. She could feel the steady beat of his heart through his shirt as she spoke. “All of the sacrifices and hopes and prayers – and deaths – of those of us who have worked to make you a reality in time for this encounter will be for naught if you do not prevail. If the Gleneagle elfstone can tip the scales even the smallest amount toward victory, then there is only one place it belongs.” And she patted the stone where it lay outside his shirt.
She stepped away from Wil at that point. “It is time for you to meet my father,” she said. “I can feel his eyes boring holes in my back, even from this distance.” So saying, they turned and strode beside one another up to where Gleneagle stood patiently awaiting his daughter and her creation. As they walked, the rest of the companions whose fates had been thrown together in Wisdom fell in behind them.
“Wilton,” Caron said, “this is my father, Prince Gleneagle.”
Wil dropped to one knee. “Your Highness,” he said, “I am here to serve.”
“Stand, Wilton,” the prince commanded. “Caron has told me of you at great length and I have no doubt that you will serve in a way that no one else now alive is able. And I, in my turn, here pledge myself to serve you. If there is anything that I can do to help you in the coming battle, you have only to name it. If it is in my power, it will be yours.”
“Thank you, Highness,” he replied. “But just as I will not be able to help you on the field, so too will you be unable to help me. Your ancestor, the elf Gleneagle, told me that I must face Greyleige alone in a contest of magics. I have no experience with the magics of battle and hatred as he does. I know only the magics revealed to me in the Old Forest.” Wil drew from his shirt the lock that Kemp had fashioned and held it up for the prince to see. All eyes turned to it as it shone, twisting slowly upon its chain.
“This is the talisman that was constructed using the knowledge gifted to me through the elven scrolls in the Old Forest,” he said. “The scrolls revealed that it derives its power from the opposite of that which Greyleige summons.” Wil’s eyes turned briefly to Caron, then back to Gleneagle. “The talisman summons the antithesis of hate; it summons love. Turning the key within this lock will call to it the magic of the powers of growth and love of land, of home, of plant and animal and of one another that the elves left stored within the Old Forest. I found within the scrolls the instructions to call forth its power, but they did not disclose the knowledge of how its magic works or what form it will take.”
“And what of this key,” Gleneagle asked.
Caron smiled. “Wil is the key, father,” she said. “Do you not remember what I told you? That we had found the key?”
“I do remember,” the prince said, returning his daughter’s smile. “And what now, Sir Key?” But there was no mirth in Gleneagle’s smile despite the lightness of his words.
“I will leave for Blackstone as soon as the enemy attacks, for I sense I will be invisible to them once the blood lust of hatred is loosed.”
Wil turned to Morgan. “Have a care for yourself, my friend, and have a care also for your beautiful daughters.” They embraced briefly before Wil turned to Tingle.
“Thank you for drawing me out of myself enough to confront what I was when we met.” Leaning in close to Tingle’s ear so that the rest could not hear him as they embraced, he whispered, “And take good care of that beautiful tavern owner. You two were born for one another.” As he backed away, Tingle uncharacteristically blushed for perhaps the first time in his life while at the same time his expression reflected his concern that Wil’s words sounded like those of a man saying his last goodbyes to life.
He gave Thisbe and Peg quick hugs, then turned his attention to Mitchal. “Take good care of our princess, Mitchal.” They clasped hands and bowed their heads in mutual gestures of respect.
Wil held out his hand as if to shake Caron’s, but she stepped past it and put her arms about his neck, holding him tightly as she whispered into his ear. “Come back to us, Wilton. I didn’t spend all this time to find you and make you what you are just to lose you. There will be much to do after we are done here.”
Wil said nothing, but merely nodded as she released him from her embrace.
At last, he turned to Scrubby who was looking plain miserable. “I know what you’re thinking Scrubby, but the shade of the elf Gleneagle told me I must do this alone,” he said to his friend’s down-turned eyes.
“I know that, Wil,” Scrubby replied, “Caron told me that, too, but it just isn’t right. A man shouldn’t face something like that mad man alone. You oughta at least take me. I don’t count for anything so you’d really sort of be doing it alone, anyway. I mean, I’m no great warrior, or a great anything else for that matter. I’m just a plain old swineherd. You oughta let me come.”
Wil smiled fondly. “You are the one person in the world I would want with me, Scrub, but the shade was very clear that I must go alone to Greyleige.”
As he finished speaking, Scrubby at last smiled wanly. “I know, Wil, and you’ll go alone. I promise.”
At that moment the blare of horns sounded from Blackstone, joined upon the same moment by the cry of thousands of voices as the gates opened wide and a flood of fell warriors rushed forth as would water from a broken dam. Above the vanguard of the wizard’s army the four remaining seekers flew, sending their aura of hate and terror before them. The answering call of horns sounded from the allied armies of Gleneagle, Confirth, Altamont and Beramor, and their units began an orderly advance to meet the onrushing horde.
To the side of the war leaders on the crest of the hill, Eldred and the wizards emerged from the various tents to which they had been taken to recover and formed a semi-circle where they could see the field of battle upon which the two forces approached one another. Their voices quickly blended into a single note as they began the chant they hoped would turn the tide against Greyleige’s army.
Wil turned to Gleneagle. “Our moment is at hand. Make this battle one that your ancestors will tell of until the end of time and I, for my part, will do all in my power to do the same.” With a final look around the circle of companions, he strode off down the hill to where a groom held his horse in readiness. Swinging into the saddle, he saluted his companions on the hill, spurred the horse to a canter, and headed straight into the teeth of the battle just then beginning before the gates of Blackstone.
Morgan exhaled loudly. “There goes the bravest man I’ve met in my life, and I’ve met more than a few.”
“Either the bravest or the craziest,” General Kolburn said, shaking his head.
“Be assured, Kolburn,” Gleneagle said quietly, his mouth pursed grimly, “he is the bravest.”
Caron stood watching Wil as he rode away, much as she had watched her father as he rode at the head of his army in the heat of that first battle before Blackstone, her fear and her pride swelling within her breast. We are all of us braver than we have any right to be, she thought. Then she reached out with her heart toward the man heading into the maelstrom. You must prevail, Wil. You must come back if you wish to return the gemstone to me.
34
Wil could feel Greyleige’s power calling him to Blackstone as he rode. Around him was pain and death as the two forces strove against one another. He felt each slice and stab from sword, arrow or spear and each blow from club or mace as if it were aimed at him. He could sense the shuddering of the earth as the hooves of horses struck it, and the aversion of the earth to the blood of men’s lives that was being spilled upon it, and he sensed what it was about man that had driven the elves away from the land of which they were a part.
Partway a
cross the field he felt the tickle of the spell being placed on the battlefield by the wizards chanting on the hilltop. As the enemy host arrived at the invisible line drawn by the wizards they would stop and mill about briefly much as ants do when faced with an unanticipated barrier across their path before attempting to break through the surface tension of the spell or turning to follow the invisible fence into the funnel leading to the dry stream bed.
Everything surrounding him was indistinct and appeared to move in slow motion as he rode. The enemy forces seemed unaware of his presence for none turned toward him nor stepped out of his way, nor did his horse strike any of these, for he was indeed of no substance to anyone except those on the hill.
He arrived at the gates of Blackstone and passed through without hesitation, his eyes ever on the tower at the center of the old Wizards’ Compound. Unlike the host outside the gates, all those who saw him here inside the fortress marked his progress with their eyes, but none moved to hinder him. At last he stopped before the tower and dismounted. Leaning back as he looked up, he could see the single unglazed window at the top which left the impression in Wil’s mind of the lidless eye of a serpent.
He turned back to his horse and patted him fondly on the neck before giving his rump a firm spank to send him on his way back to the Gleneagle lines. The horse galloped off as if pursued by demons, which Wil grimly acknowledged was disturbingly close to being true.
His legs trembled slightly as he paused for a moment at the entrance to this innermost part of Greyleige’s keep. Then, with a last look up toward his imagined eye of the serpent high above, he passed through the arched entry and began the climb up the staircase which circled around and around inside the tower. As he climbed he found himself breathing more heavily than the amount of exercise itself would normally demand and he realized his own anxiety would defeat him if he could not control it.
It will be your potential in which you must trust, the shade had told him. Believe in yourself.
When he arrived at the top, he paused and took a deep breath to steady himself before entering the tower room. After calming his mind in preparation for the battle he knew awaited him on the other side of the door, he twisted the heavy metal door handle and pushed inward.
Gleneagle watched as the two forces threw themselves at each other with a recklessness and ferocity that defied rationality. The wizards’ invisible funnel devised by Eldred to urge the flood of fell creatures to the rocky stream bed was working well, effectively allowing only a few of the enemy at a time into a killing zone. The invisible line itself was holding, though it wavered, moving out and then back, bulging here and recovering, then bulging there and not recovering its original position. The wizards were keeping the flood unleashed by Greyleige from sweeping away all before it, but not without price. For every five of the fell warriors destroyed, Gleneagle’s forces suffered one of their own. He shook his head as he watched the enemy continue to issue from the fortress like ants from an anthill that had been disturbed. It appeared that there were so many of the unwholesome warriors, however could they prevail?
At the left side of the battle where the four remaining seekers flew above the dark army, one length of the wizards’ invisible line stretched out and suddenly burst as would a bubble. The enemy surged through, driving directly toward where the Prince and the others stood upon the hill.
“To horse,” called Gleneagle as he turned and raced to his mount. “They are broken through. Attack at once.”
Roland, Morgan and Mitchal dashed to their horses, surprised but pleased that they were being joined by Generals Kolburn and Galwan who they had expected would remain behind to monitor the progress of the battle. They did not see Tingle, Kemp, Thisbe and Caron mount up and follow shortly after them as they galloped toward the oncoming threat. Peg stood watching as Kemp galloped off, indecision and longing warring on her face.
Greyleige looked up expectantly as the door opened slowly and Wil stepped into the room. “Welcome,” he said, setting the piece of meat at which he had been nibbling back on the plate and rising from where he sat at a long table sumptuously laid with foods of every description. He dipped his fingers in a bowl of water in which slices of lemon floated and fastidiously dried his hands on a pure white linen napkin. “Please join me. I have been looking forward to this meeting for a long, long time.”
Wil looked from Greyleige to the table and back to Greyleige. They were alone in the room. “Are you, then, Greyleige?”
“I am,” Greyleige replied, disarming Wil completely with the openness of his smile, “but I do not have the pleasure of your name.”
“I’m Wil ... that is, my name is Wilton.” As he spoke, his hand went to his chest and touched the spot where the gemstone lay upon the talisman beneath his shirt. The reassurance that both were still there relieved his mind.
“Would you join me for a glass of wine?” Greyleige asked, pouring from a beautiful cut crystal carafe into matching wine goblets and holding one of them forth.
Wil took the goblet in his hand but did not drink as Greyleige did. His head was reeling such that there was no need for wine to further addle his senses. He had steeled himself for a battle of magics with a Great Wizard at the height of his powers, but this man, if indeed he was Greyleige, gave no indication of readying himself to unleash fell magics. What was it the shade of the elf Gleneagle had said to him? “... should you elect to confront Greyleige, you will do so alone. Your battle will be with him alone. Not his minions, not his armies, not his demons.”
Across the table from Wil, Greyleige had resumed his seat. Following his lead, Wil seated himself as well. The older wizard maintained a studied nonchalance as he observed the younger man across from him, his doubts rapidly easing. This is the powerful wizard I have been working to prevent? he mused. Certainly he can’t believe himself more powerful than I. But how other to explain why he has not brought the talisman with him? It would seem foolhardy, yet I cannot sense its presence. This is hardly a wizard to fear.
Setting his own wine glass down, he spoke. “Wilton, you have come late to the knowledge of your status as a member of the most elite class of beings in the world. It undoubtedly came as a surprise to you, perhaps even as a shock, but you have obviously accepted that you are a wizard.
“Surely, all your life you have sensed a destiny – a future of greatness and power. Surely you have known deep down you were different, that you were special.” He watched Wil’s face carefully for any trace of recognition. “When you were young, did you not feel haunted and taunted? Did you never have bouts of restlessness for which you could find no explanation? Of course you did. We all did – all the great ones.” He looked down briefly as he noted at last a reaction from Wil.
“When you brought the talisman to life, did you not feel the power? Were you not taken with the wonder of that ability to affect an object? If you have managed any other magics, did they not make you wonder just what you could make of this world with that power?” Another hit, and it was a strong one. Greyleige hid a satisfied smile behind his wine goblet as he raised it to his lips and took a drink, indicating with a gesture that Wil should do the same.
Wil’s hand started to lift the cup to his lips, but he hesitated and put the goblet back onto the table. “You are not what I expected,” he said. “In fact, this whole thing is not what I expected.”
“You were expecting a foul troll of a man hurling lightning bolts of magic at you,” Greyleige said with a light laugh as if enjoying a marvelous joke. “Of course you were, Wil. Everything you have heard of me has been foul, I would warrant.” At the affirmation in Wil’s eyes he continued. “Did it ever occur to you that such things are said about me because people are jealous of me? Jealous and afraid of us? Yes, I mean us – you and me and the brotherhood.
“Those who don’t have what we have covet it but know they can’t share it, so they paint us as evil and depraved and power hungry. But we want only to be the shepherds of life that the world has bee
n lacking since the elves abandoned us along with the lesser mortals.”
“But this fortress,” Wil began.
“Protection only,” Greyleige interrupted dismissively, “intended to shelter us from people such as those who are attacking us even now as we talk. It is people such as them who covet all that our special powers give us.”
He leaned forward and lowered his voice as if inviting Wil to share confidences as one close friend to another. “Tell me, Wil, have you managed any magic on your own? I mean other than the spell given you by the dead elf?”
“Only one,” Wil admitted, feeling inadequate in the admission. “I restored the blacksmith shop in Confirth by imagining it back as it was before it was destroyed.” So overwhelmed was he by the spell being woven around his mind by Greyleige’s words that he was unaware of the subtle look of shock on the wizard’s face and the slight shifting of position in his chair at the description of his one piece of magic.
I have misjudged badly, he thought. This one carries power beyond belief but has no understanding of how it could be used. Greyleige’s heart beat faster with the now certain knowledge that Wil was the tool to the culmination of his ambitions. His one use of magic was of an immense magnitude that will open him easily to the desire for more. It is but a matter of time before I take command of the Old Forest and every living thing in this world.
His eyes narrowed slightly as he smiled at Wil. “And how did you feel after you managed that minor bit of magic?” he asked casually.
“It was ... I felt ... I don’t know. It felt like the power was calling to me to do more.”
Greyleige reached over and patted Wil’s arm. “Of course it was, Wil. You are among the greatest of the Great Wizards. I have been searching for years for a successor worthy of continuing my work when I go at last to the other side.” He sighed and smiled as if in relief. “And I have found him. The world can be yours, Wil, yours and mine. We are special, you and I. We are not just better than the others, we are alone in our potential.