"Mind if I sit with you?" asked Princess Alicae.
"No. I was just thinking."
"I believe it. You must think your life is turned upside down."
"I'm not sure it is my life anymore."
"Are you angry with me?"
Kisle Ber looked into the eyes of the Princess. He sighed and shook his head.
"I am not angry with you. I only want to know why me? Why did you choose me?"
"Did you ever think that perhaps I had no choice? This spell that drives me chose you. Not that I wouldn't have chosen you myself." She grinned and she appeared a young girl again. Kisle Ber realized magic was not the only spell tightening around him.
A cool breeze rose up and he felt her move closer to him. He could not say exactly when her head came to rest on his shoulder. His skin tingled for a moment then grew accomplished to the softness so close. He had run and fought for so long he could not recall the last time he enjoyed a quiet interlude. He did not dare move and break the mood. He did not know why and such questions were often useless. She sighed and held his hand. He sensed stillness inside himself and he was happy.
"I do not know what the coming days will bring," said Princess Alicae. "But I want you to know that I did not mean to wrong you."
"Speak no more of it. I am content sitting here. This would not have happened otherwise."
"Sitting in the forest at night with a warrior unchaparoned? Mother would have locked me up first." They both laughed.
She began to speak softly of her life in Finald. Her voice caressed his ears and he listened to her life story and told her his own story. Always close mouthed, Kisle Ber found sweet freedom in the opening of his self and his heart. She hugged him and kissed him and he felt himself falling to some wonderful place he had never seen but always knew waited for him.
"Beware!" hissed Tiante. They had forgotten the dragon could hear them.
"What is it?" asked Kisle Ber.
"Trouble approaches. I am not certain of the smell. I fear creatures of sorcery are sent against us. Warrior, if you know how to use that sword, keep the Princess safe. Wake the Mages, time is short."
Kisle Ber nudged Zae Pol and Lars Vokas awake with his sword and as they found their feet, a piercing cry froze them.
Suddenly, dozens of tiny red figures swarmed toward them. Faceless humanoids with pinchers for hands and large mouths ringed with sharp teeth. Kisle Ber sliced through dozens of them with his broadsword, but their numbers seemed endless. Zae Pol blasted a whole section of the forest but did not deter the flow. Tiante roared and let loose a blast of fire that seemed to last for minutes and when the dragon stopped, exhausted, the tiny red figures kept coming.
Kisle Ber danced aside and sliced through the attackers. Again and again he brought his weapon down. They were silent in death, as silent as their attack. The hair on his head tingled. He felt their little hands on his legs and then the sharp teeth tearing through his trousers. He jumped back and Princess Alicae flooded the area with her eerie power. The tiny creatures began to pop like bubbles and she increased the energy flow but the creatures still swarmed over her knocking her down. Kisle Ber shouted and tried to fight his way over to her but could not fight free. The creatures increased their frenzy when the Princess fell. Kisle Ber heard the fighting of the Mages but they could not help him.
Suddenly, he felt the connection to the Princess vanish. The bond was gone! He staggered and fell. His gut ached with a hollow pain no unlike hunger.
The sea of creatures faded into the shadows. Princess Alicae vanished with them! She left no trace, no mark that she was even there. They did not find any blood, footprint or other evidence of the red creature's existence. Not one dead body remained.
"Princess!" Kisle Ber screamed at the top of his lungs. "Alicae! Alicae!!"
"Easy, warrior. She is gone," said Tiante.
Zae Pol put her hand on Kisle Ber's shoulder. "I am sorry."
"It is going as planned," said Tiante.
"What do you mean?" whispered Kisle Ber.
"You played your part perfectly. Go back to your home. She does not need you anymore." Tiante flapped his wings and rose into the air. "We shall be enemies the next we meet. Beware!"
The dragon headed west, disappearing beyond the ridge.
"He said she doesn't need me anymore," said Kisle Ber. "But what about me?"
"The bond's broken," said Zae Pol. "You are free."
"No, you don't understand. I am not free. I can never be free." He walked some distance from them to the spot he had sat through the night with the Princess.
"Alicae," he whispered and then he wept.
Chapter 15
Artus Endria felt the weight of the world snapping the bones in his back. His movements were sluggish and it proved difficult to recall his name without effort. Petyr Wolk kept spells surrounding him, influencing him, and testing the limits of his mind. He knew he must resist but he could not recall why. Wolk called to him several times before his words soaked into the mist surrounding Artus' mind. He heard Wolk's laughter and it angered him, but the anger did not last.
He saw shadows of people he did not recognize although some images brought stronger reactions than others. He fought to find the memories and his mind ached. Sweat dripped off his chin; he felt feverish. An image of an old, old man, smiling, extending a hand came to him. Part of him yearned to reach out and grasp the hand yet another side of him, the side that Petyr Wolk's words could reach; that side repulsed the image of the man. Artus shook with frustration. Why did he not know these people? Why does Wolk hate him so much? He cried himself to sleep.
Artus awoke to a cool breeze, stretching his arms high overhead. He felt much better than he had in days. He thought he remembered the voice of the old man from his dreams, speaking with him, counseling him on his future. However, he lost focus when he tried to recall the words spoken. No matter, the memory although indistinct, was warm and comforting. He moved about his room regaining control of his body, shaking out the stiffness, flexing and stretching his muscles until he felt agile enough to venture out into the castle.
The room was small and cold with a narrow window high above his head. He tried the door and it opened easily. The corridors lit by smoky torches, were full of shadows and deep pockets of blackness trying to swallow all the torchlight. He did not see anyone, no guards, no servants and he ventured out of the room. His balance had returned and he no longer staggered against the cold stone wall. His footfalls firm and steady as he followed the twists and turns to the main hall. Voices rose from the lower levels and he recognized Petyr Wolk's voice speaking to his soldiers. There were also the hissing voices of the demons called to Wolk's bidding.
After a time he realized he saw more than just the shadows of Wolk's mind creeping through the corridors, he recognized the strands of sorcery woven into the fabric of the castle. He did not know where he was, other than in Curesia, but he knew the castle belonged to Petyr Wolk. The taint of the sorcerer was unmistakable.
With his newfound sight, Artus made his way through the traps of Wolk and down to the lower levels where the great hall welcomed Wolk's allies. There Artus thought he might be able to hear something to make some sense of his situation.
Several shadowy figures moved along the edges of the great room, their cloaks billowing around them. Artus could not see them clearly, but several men cowered in the center of the room. Wolk stood before them.
"Fools! I am your master. Know this! Curesia shall bow to me and that is just the beginning. I shall bring the world to my knees. Do not think I shall fail. However, I have doubts about some of you. I do not recognize the obedience promised me. Why is this? I need a show of faith from you and your men, Geral Hamem. Kill Gharom and bring his head to me."
"Kill him, why?"
"Because I command it. I am not a leader to be questioned. Do you need to learn the same lesson the late Rechle Deama learned?"
"No, I do not."
"Then follow m
y instructions. It is a simple thing."
"If it is so simple, why don't you do it?" Hamem felt strength from somewhere although he regretted his words ere they were spoken.
"Because I do not need to prove my loyalty." Wolk motioned and the cloaked figures moved forward. Geral Hamem threw his face to the floor.
"No! I will obey!!"
"Do not be foolish, my dear Geral. There shall be a place for you with me. I shall need dependable men to govern my cities. Do you believe yourself to be such a man?"
"Yes, Petyr Wolk, I do."
"Very well. I shall think better of you once Gharom's head in delivered in person by yourself. I want to hear how you personally killed him and how with your own hand you severed his head. Be a dear and do that for me."
"Yes, Petyr Wolk."
"You are dismissed."
The men quickly regained their feet and fled behind Geral Hamem. Wolk laughed at them and when the echo from the slammed door faded, Wolk turned to the stairs.
"Artus, my boy. Do join me. We have so much to talk about." There was no response. "Artus. I know you are there, I sensed your arrival. Please don't force me to send my friends to fetch you."
Artus knew he was beaten and stood. The cloaked friends of Wolk did not move and Artus slowly descended the stone steps.
"Come, come, Artus. Sit here. Allow me to pour some wine for you. Do you know that each and every day you amaze me. You show me depths to your strength that I had not realized. No wonder Gerrand was so interested in you."
"At least he has a healthy interest."
"Does he? Are you sure?"
"More sure than I am about you."
"Oh, I see. You are regaining your teeth. Well, I shall have to address that. For now you may have the run of the castle and the grounds. Do not attempt to leave the grounds for it is well guarded." Wolk gestured towards the cloaks, which Artus could see, hung in the air without anything inside them save a pair of red eyes glowing with hatred.
"What are they?"
"You really don't want to know. Not in detail anyway. They are spirits of a sort and powerful. The lesser Mages would not want to deal with more than one at a time. Run along now. I've much to think about."
Artus walked to the door, which opened before him, and he found himself in a barren courtyard. The sun streamed down and he ran to it, but it did not warm him.
Wolk mentioned Gerrand. Gerrand. That was the name of the old man in his dreams. Gerrand the Sorcerer. The mist at the edge of his mind parted and Artus remembered. He remembered and he cried, standing on the plain brown dirt of Wolk's courtyard.
Far above in the castle tower Petyr Wolk looked down upon the young Mage.
"It is too bad, my young friend," he spoke aloud to the empty room. "Too bad your strength resisted me. It would have been easier for you. Now your fate is a black one for you are too strong to allow you to live. Gerrand will use your strength to undermine me. I know it. I have known him too long, and Macelan has known him longer. Gerrand must be denied. He must!"
"You are so right," said a voice behind him. Wolk turned and gasped. Behind him stood a man, nearly twin to Gerrand but of a greater age. He wore a blood red cloak over brown clothes and his eyes were coal black. He gestured with his paste white hands as he spoke like a conductor leading a score of great delicacy. "Gerrand must be denied. I have waited so many years to repay Gerrand for tossing me aside. I taught him everything I knew and he turned his back at me." He watched the expression on Wolk's face for a heartbeat then nodded.
"I see your surprise. I had heard that I looked akin to Gerrand. I cannot say whether he took my countenance or I took his, or perhaps we grew alike over the years we worked together."
"You are Macelan? Really? I spoke with you in the cave, yet you seemed dead still. Now you are walking among us."
"Are you surprised? Did you really listen to my voice in the cave? Did you fools never listen to Gerrand? His warnings fell on deaf ears, that I see now. How rich! This is better than expected." He moved across the room to the window where Wolk had watched Artus. Wolk watched him, unsure of what to do.
"Ah, Artus Endria. Good work! He is very important. Have you found the girl yet?"
"Faeya Ryr?"
"No, no. She is merely a distraction for Gerrand. I mean the princess. The princess, have you found her?" He grabbed Wolk by the collar. Wolk sensed the power rising up around him.
"I don't know who you mean."
"Argh!!" He threw Wolk to the floor. "I know now what Gerrand had to deal with all these centuries, and you are one of the brighter ones. He must have felt like jumping off the battlements many times. I wonder at his strength to retain his sanity with such dunces surrounding him. How can you be a sorcerer with so little knowledge of the world around you?"
"What have I missed?" asked Wolk, getting to his feet.
"What haven't you missed? There is so much going on, I admit it is subtle; however a man with talent would be able to see it or at least sense it. There is a princess somewhere in this land that has the ability to become a sorceress. Her power should have thrown sparks off the world by now and you did not notice?"
"I was busy with your instructions and that was difficult enough. The language you spoke is dead and only Gerrand knew what it was. I did not want to alert him and took great pains to find out what I needed to know. I suspect he was curious about my use of his libraries, but I can't say more."
"Oh, I'm sure he knew exactly what you were doing."
"No doubt. Nothing seemed to escape him. A sorceress?" said Wolk, to himself. "How is that possible?"
"It is possible and it changes many things. You should be afraid for yourself if you fully understand what is happening."
"Will you tell me?" Wolk hated admitting a weakness, but he was in the weak position anyway.
"I may tell you, but not yet."
Macelan moved around the room waving his arms as if he had not used them in years. He stopped in front of the bookcase and ran his fingers jerkily over the spines of the books.
"Interesting titles. There are a few that I would add to your collection. No doubt Gerrand would have them."
"No doubt," said Wolk sourly.
"Have you been to his home?"
"No. It is on the Isle of Cothos. I am not welcome there."
"Nor would I be welcome. Cothos. Very curious that he would live there. How many years has he lived there would you say?"
"Three hundred? More, less, -- I don't know. He's always lived there for all I know."
Macelan sighed. "I wish I could have set up some kind of sentinel to gather information for me, but there was no opportunity. Much of Gerrand's preparation could have happened long before you were born and there is no one else of your age?"
"Not that I know of."
"What does Artus Endria know?"
"I do not know. He resisted my attempts to look inside his mind. I believe Gerrand shielded him somehow."
"Could be. However Artus has great strength of his own. I think I know a way to lower his defenses. Come, my young Petyr Wolk. You are now in the midst of a battle between two old and crafty sorcerers and what you will see will astound you." He grasped Wolk's arm with a grip like cold iron. Wolk felt the chill into his bones.
"Gerrand has prepared for my return these five hundred or so years and I had hoped to rise up with Curesia's army at my back. It appears I have to adjust. Did I hear you properly; did you send Geral to kill Gharom?"
"Yes. I did."
"Good. Then you can take over the army. I want Wierland smashed and then across to Cothos."
"Not Calendia?"
"No. We must find out how much Gerrand has invested in his adopted homeland. Gerrand is the enemy, the only enemy. We shall attempt to draw him out of hiding and lead him back to Cothos where our people shall be waiting. You already have agents there?"
"Yes, Macelan. They nearly succeeded in keeping him in Cothos except for Faeya Ryr. She is the High Priestess's niece."
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"Yes, I know. Faeya Ryr will play her part when the time comes. For now ignore her. She will not materially affect the outcome. It's Artus who draws our attention now. Let us go to him."
Wolk followed Macelan slowly. His pulse raced. He did not believe Macelan would really return and he felt his grasp of the situation slip. Macelan turned suddenly, and grinned.
"You have assumed much in my name. This will not do. You are no longer the master here, Petyr Wolk. Yet, people shall still see it so and loathe your name. Is that not what you wanted?" He laughed and turned away.
They walked out into the open air to where Artus waited for them. He did not speak. Wolk took the lead and stopped to present his companion to Artus.
"Artus, this is Gerrand. Do you remember him?"
"Wolk. That is not Gerrand. I sensed his power as you approached. He is a dead man returned to this world, not Gerrand, and his evil drives life before it." He stepped back, his eyes checking the area. He noticed the cloaked figures in the shadows all around the courtyard. He saw the aura of sorcery along the perimeter of the courtyard, except in the doorway back into the great hall. He moved slowly to shorten the distance, his own power tingling his fingertips.
"I see you have him firmly under your control," laughed Macelan.
"He is very strong. Perhaps you would like to tutor him."
"Oh, I shall, I shall. Tell me Artus, what do you know about me?"
"I do not need another tutor. Gerrand is all I need."
"Oh, but Gerrand was my pupil. Surely you will learn more from his teacher. We shall begin at once. I shall open your mind and see what Gerrand has put there. Then I shall add what is required to fulfill your promise as a sorcerer."
"I am a Mage and do not aspire to greater heights."
"You are tiresome. You spout what Gerrand tells you to say. If you do not aspire to being a sorcerer, then Gerrand has no fear of rivals. That is what he does to you. He makes you believe you cannot be as great as he is and thereby reinforces his standing in the Mage's Council. Can you not see that?"
"All I see is the twisting of the truth by your mouth."
The Lords of Anavar Page 19