by Curtis, Greg
His writings, many volumes of work covering everything from his research and the way in which he had deliberately created the misaligned portal, to his observations of the void wyrms or wyrmlings as he named them, and the defences and wards he had finally created to hold them back, had been prohibited by the Guild, as had his writings. They didn’t necessarily believe him when he spoke of what he had found, of what had come through from the void, but they didn’t disbelieve him either and they couldn’t allow any others to repeat the experiment. And so the only copies of his works had been bought and sold through the various private magic emporia that weren’t so bound by the Guild rules.
For five long centuries those various tomes had passed back and forth between various wizards and the emporia, bought and sold, and for the most part become a legend more than anything else, collectors items revered for their almost mythic status more than any actual knowledge they might contain. Marjan was just the latest wizard to own a selection of his works, though sadly the only volume he had with him was a single edition which dealt mostly with the wizard’s life in his shambles of a cottage as he called it after leaving Tenfellows, but it did have some of the engravings and etchings of the wyrmlings that he’d spent so long creating.
Back in his old cottage, which some days he imagined was similar to the ancient wizards final retreat, he had perhaps another eight tomes written by Gallanar, and at least as many of several other wizards who had started looking over his works and studying them, even repeating them under controlled conditions over the centuries, though none with such terrible consequences. Before his death Gallanar had created a series of wards that could hold back the void creatures, even stop them from possessing others, and with that knowledge those who had followed in his footsteps had been able to do so in relative safety, according to gossip. Until perhaps now. Because he suddenly realised, that if the void had been opened and the wyrmlings had escaped even through the defences Gallanar had created, than they were in serious trouble. Especially if the void was still open.
Staring at the engraving, Marjan knew that all he really had in the end was a name for their enemy, and at best some partial defences if he could remember what else he had read, while the enemy had been growing in strength month after month. It was nowhere near enough. Yet it was more than they’d had before.
Those other tomes stored in his library he knew, contained much more about the battle and the fight than did the single one he had brought with him, several of them spoke about the opening of the misaligned portal and the battle to close it, and a couple described his wards in detail. They would be of far more use to the elders than what he had. Still there was nothing that could be done about that, and at least he had the images to confirm what he believed.
It was then that Marjan knew he had to bring the tome back to the council, and also that he discovered he truly didn’t want to. Having a name for their enemy was one thing, and if it helped them strengthen their defences that was also to the good, but they had no way if what he feared was true, to completely destroy the enemy, only to fight them, and that if what the ancient wizard had feared was true, might well be a war without end. The true numbers of wyrmlings was unknown, but through his arcane studies, Gallanar had estimated their true number as without end. That was a terrifying thought, especially when the only way to kill them was to kill whatever host they had possessed.
It was with a heavy heart that he placed the bookmark at the correct page, closed the tome and held it to his chest as he began the long, slow march from the ranger’s house to the Council chambers, such a difference from the way he had arrived not ten minutes before.
Still no one commented on it. No one said much at all as he passed them on the walkways. Perhaps they saw the dour expression on his face. Even the guards at the entrance to the chamber didn’t greet him. They simply waved him through.
Walking back down the aisle, the book in his hand bookmark already placed at the correct page, trying to breath more steadily, maybe he needed to get some more running practice after all, Marjan approached the elders and Sir Brevalle, who were still deep in conversation. They were busy trying to match the resources of the town with yet five hundred more mouths to feed, a third of them human, a third gnomish and which really upset a few, a third of them dwarven, and only another few dozen broken down paladins to help defend it. Lost in their troubles it took a while for them to notice him standing in the aisle in front of them and he suspected most hadn’t even noticed him leave.
“Mage Marjan?” Elder Felesily seemed at least open to the possibility that he might have something important to say, a welcome surprise when there were so many other more important people in the chamber all speaking at cross purposes to one another, but he suspected she and her husband kept an eye on him more than the rest, for personal reasons. He bowed to her as was expected before speaking.
“Might I approach Sir Brevalle Elder?” She saw the haunted look in his eyes and the leather bound tome clutched tightly to his chest and a question appeared in her own eyes as she guessed he had something important to say, and with a small nod allowed him the moment he asked for. He bowed to her again in gratitude and then after taking perhaps the longest dozen steps of his life, opened the tome in front of the paladin, his hands trembling slightly as he feared his response.
“Sir Brevalle, do these look like your shades?”
Before the first words even made it out of his mouth Marjan knew the answer. It was written in the sudden look of horror that dominated the paladin’s face, the fear in his eyes, the way the blood drained from his face leaving him looking pallid and ill, the shock etched into the suddenly deep lines around his gaping mouth. He didn’t need to nod. It was written in the faces of his companions as they in turn started staring at the single image he had of the enemy. One by one the gold clad warriors stared at the picture, nodded to him, and turned pale, confirming all that he’d feared. But at least he now knew why his wards around the village weren’t working as well as he’d expected. That was something, and he could fix them. He would, but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t nearly enough and he wasn’t sure what would be after the enemy had been loose in the world for so long.
“Master Silas.” Knowing it wasn’t his place to say any more, and perhaps more truthfully, that he didn’t want to, he gave the tome to the master wizard for him to peruse and decide what needed to be said. To him of course, the image meant nothing, he’d likely never even seen it. Only someone with a true love of the most ancient and esoteric of wizard myths, who’d spent far too much time digging up long forgotten legends, perusing the journals of wizards long since lost to time, reading about them when he should have been studying his lessens, would have seen the carefully detailed artwork, especially when the tome itself was both ancient and not kept in the Guild library. It wasn’t considered important enough, or scholarly enough for that matter, just the sad delusions of a rather ancient wizard who’d no doubt drunk too much before he went completely mad and died alone and in ruin. But he would know the name, it was a legend, and now the Guild could guess why he’d abandoned all civilization and gone mad, and Marjan watched as the Master’s face formed many of the same expressions as the paladins. It would have been funny, if it weren’t so tragic.
“Wyrmlings.” It was only a word, whispered in shock, and yet in that suddenly silent chamber it seemed to be so much more, at least to Marjan. Most of the rest had never heard the term, though he’d just given a name to their enemy, maybe. The Master looked straight at him, his face a mask of shock and sorrow, but underneath it, the forged steel of determination. He knew what had to be done, and he got to his feet in a hurry to begin just that.
“Boy, you were right to bring this to me, but it needs checking. Go back to your quarters and return to your normal duties. Say nothing of this to anyone. I will call you when I know more.” Trained by years as a student Marjan was about to do just as he’d been told to, despite being a little annoyed at being called boy by the
master, when the option was unexpectedly taken out of his hands.
“Stay right there Mage Marjan. If you have found something and by the looks of these poor paladins it seems you have, then we need to know.” Marjan turned back to face Elder Lorelli, the head of the village council and a stern looking woman, especially when she drew herself up to her full height which had to be at least a couple of inches taller than his own, grasped her gnarled staff firmly with both hands to support her aging spine, and stared him directly in the eyes. He all but wilted before her stern green eyes. Fortunately he didn’t have to answer her. He wasn’t given the chance.
“Elder Lorelli, what Marjan has found is interesting and frightening if true, but we are a long way from knowing its truth. If it is false it will frighten people needlessly and perhaps cause poor decisions to be made, while the simple use of a name improperly spoken too often could endanger all the people in the future. If it is true and that which we fear is truly in this world, then the risks are greater still and the words must not be spoken until we can prepare the proper wards. Marjan go to your quarters.”
“Stay Marjan. Master Silas, we will decide what we need to know, and we are not so easily frightened as you seem to believe.”
Go! Stay! Frozen to the spot with doubt Marjan was starting to feel like a dog caught between two masters, and he didn’t quite know which way to turn, but at least while the two of them bickered, he was only an afterthought. On the other hand things were starting to become quite tense in the chamber as the two started testing each other’s metal and the rest looked on, curious, perhaps even a little worried. Maybe he should have waited until after the session to show the paladins the picture.
Yet in the end while the two of them continued to stare each other down, he discovered there was only one decision he could make, and it surprised him even as he realised it shouldn’t have. The decision had been made long ago, though never by him. First though, he had to wait until the two adversaries had found a little peace as they each thought about what to say next to break their impasse. It was some considerable time before he felt that moment had arrived, neither of them liked the idea of giving up.
“Master Silas, I’m no longer a member of the Guild. I am true to the vows I made the day I was admitted, and I have great respect for you and the Guild, but for better or worse I have been accepted as a mage among the people of Evensong, and as such my duty is to them and their elders. You cannot give me orders any longer, so instead you must persuade me to your cause with reason.” There was sadness in his heart as he finally admitted the simple truth of his situation, and a brief flash of shock and outrage on the master’s face that he quickly hid. Students didn’t refuse him. Yet he should have known the same as well. After all if Marjan had been expelled, the Guild had also been the ones to expel him. They could neither expect nor demand his blind obedience any longer. Still the Master was nothing if not polite as he answered him, and he had reasons for his words, good reasons.
“You know my cause, my purpose. It is the same one that made you give the tome to me rather then any others. The knowledge is dangerous, the defence improperly prepared more so. To give name to the enemy before we are ready would be to draw them to us if it is they. To even give name to them before we are ready should they not be here would be to weaken the chasm between our realm and the void, and yet the wards to defend against them if they are who you believe they are, require the knowledge of their essence and their names. We must be prepared before we speak of such things, and only speak of them if and when we need to.” He was right of course, and Marjan had always known it. But it was good to hear the words spoken by another. Good that the council should hear it as well. It would make his decision easier and he doubted that they would like it any more than Master Silas.
“How long will it take you to confirm this?”
“Three hours, perhaps four, and then we must begin the warding if it is confirmed, all in silence.” That was much as Marjan had expected and he slowly turned back to face the council, uneasy about how they would take his decision but knowing at least that it was the correct one.
“Elder Lorelli, I must accept what Master Silas has said. There is a danger in much wild magic and in the naming of various ancient and magical creatures that danger is even greater in that it may attract unwanted attention, especially when those creatures may already be in this world. I cannot place the people here in danger. First do no harm, it is one of the first vows I took when I was admitted to the Guild as an apprentice, and I must remain true to it.”
“With regret and the greatest of respect for yourself and the rest of the council, I will keep my silence until Master Silas returns, and then if the enemy is found to be who we fear, until the proper wards have been placed.” He bowed low to the elder knowing that she would be far from pleased with his decision, and knowing also that it wasn’t a choice.
So why did he feel as though he’d just offended both the Guild and the elves? Because he probably had.
The elders stared at him, and even in his most wild of imaginings Marjan would never have thought them pleased with him or his decision, but eventually they apparently decided that enough had been said on the matter, for the moment, and instead they turned their attention to the more practical matters of accommodation and mutual defence, while Master Silas stomped off out of the chamber book firmly in hand, and he quietly retook his seat. Marjan knew he wouldn’t be allowed to leave, not when he potentially knew the name and nature of the enemy, but neither he was certain, would they want to hear anything more out of his mouth until it was time to tell them of his finding.
Every so often one or other of the elders or the paladins or even the fairy, would fix him with a probing stare, but they refrained from asking the questions they knew he wouldn’t answer, and in turn he maintained his silence and tried to look respectful, while in truth he was more nervous than he could admit.
It was the longest council meeting he’d ever been to.
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Chapter Eleven.
“I must be mad.” Not for the first time Marjan repeated the phrase to himself, almost as though it was some sort of defence against the insanity of the day and what he was doing. It wasn’t and it wouldn’t have helped against the enemy either, but somehow it still made him feel better.
He hoped it helped Willow as well, though he suspected she didn’t need it, the poor horse was actually enjoying her run. It wasn’t often she got to run as fast as an arrow in full flight, surely five or ten times as fast as any horse before her ever had, and without effort, without tiring. Harvas’ spell was working in perfect harmony with his, the mare had boundless vitality and the quickness to react to the blur that was the land all around them, while her hooves made no noise at all as they impacted on the air scarcely a finger’s width above the road and a magic of displacement made her every stride five times the length it normally would have been. On the other hand it had been a very long time since he had ridden hard, and his back and legs were paying the price for their impossibly fast journey, and he suspected he would be unable to walk easily by the time he returned. Sitting would be worse. But that was a small price to pay.
Already they’d been galloping for four full hours and in that short time he suspected they’d covered at least half of the distance back to his old home, little more than a blur to whatever might have seen them, and in all that time he hadn’t had to draw a weapon or raise his magic against anything even once. The enemy if he was about simply didn’t have the time to react, and despite his fears neither did he seem to have the ability to communicate with those ahead and warn them that they were coming, or for that matter the intelligence to set a trap. It was that that Marjan had counted on when he’d cobbled together his insane plan.
He’d wondered from time to time what the elders would say when they found out about his little jaunt, or Master Silas for that matter, he was most unimpressed with him since the meeting in the council chamber a tenday be
fore, even though he’d sided with him. Even the captain would be upset as his wayward student was supposed to be practicing with the bow this morning, and helping to prepare the midday meal. But in the end that had to matter less than the results, and now that the Guild had determined the truth of the enemy and started preparing wards, he needed his library. They all did.
It still annoyed him that he hadn’t brought it with him. He hadn’t thought to at the time, and in truth it had never been a realistic option. It was vast and heavy, consisting of hundreds and hundreds of tomes and many more scrolls, while he and the children had been fleeing for their lives at the time. He’d had to pick and choose only the most important of his works, the ones he still needed to study and the ones he most enjoyed reading. Besides who would have thought that he, a disgraced and expelled wizard, little more than an adept in training, and with a fascination for ancient myths and fables, would have had the very tomes of knowledge they suddenly needed? Certainly not him, not when he had first set out, fleeing an unknown enemy with a small group of children in tow.