The Lady's Man

by Greg Curtis

  Easily an hour passed as the three of them spoke, and though it would not have seemed possible, the others became bored. Yorik watched them taking seats on the ancient stone benches, stretching their legs and talking quietly among themselves as they waited. None of them by then seemed particularly impressed by the fact that there was a huge dragon in their midst.

  For him though, he could never be bored. Not when the will of the Lady flowed through him. Yorik's only desire was that he could understand what was being said so that he could better help with whatever was needed. But he guessed that wasn't to be. He knew it for certain when things finally came to an end.

  The end was more abrupt than he would have expected. One moment the three of them were talking, and then there was a change in their words. Or more in their tones. He still didn't know what was said, but he understood it was farewell as both he and Myral bowed to the ghost dragon, just before it vanished, leaving behind only a whisper of smoke. A whisper that the soft breeze quickly dispersed.

  The Lady left him too, with a smile he could feel in his heart, and Yorik was left standing there alone again. He was getting used to her departures, but they still left him feeling a little bereft each time.

  “I need to think.” Myral simply announced it to all of them suddenly, before taking himself off to the far side of the ruined temple to sit on a fallen stone and stare moodily off into the distance. They gathered he didn't want to be disturbed. Which left Yorik in a strange position as the others stared expectantly at him. He knew that they had the same questions he did. And he knew where their thoughts would lead them. He held up his hand to stop them before they asked.

  “I'm sorry. You'll have to ask Myral. I don't know the answers. I can't speak the language and I don't know what was said. The Lady was speaking through me.”

  Did they believe him? He didn't know. Genivere probably did he thought. But the others? They looked at him with varying degrees of suspicion, Captain Ysabel most of all. Funnily enough she was wearing the same expression on her face that she had so long ago when he'd told her he didn't know where he was going. That the Lady was guiding his path. He knew better than to show any sign of amusement though. Somehow he doubted that she'd take it too well.

  By then it was late, the sky was darkening, and they hadn't eaten all day. It was time to build a fire, set up camp and prepare for the night. In the morning Yorik was sure as he set about gathering some fallen branches for firewood, they would have the answers they wanted. Or at least they would have some answers.

  Chapter Eighteen.

  The horses were the first to know that something was wrong. They whinnied in fear and started trampling the ground and tearing at their restraints, waking up the rest of the camp. Horses had good survival instincts and they knew a predator when they smelled one. Even if it wasn't a wolf. But the people weren't so clever. They awoke, saw the panicked horses, but couldn't see what had so frightened them. There was nothing there.

  It was early in the morning, the sun hadn't yet crept over the horizon but the sky was blue and there was enough light to see by. But there was nothing there. No wolves or wild animals. No undead either. The land looked completely calm.

  “Anyone?” Yorik got to his feet – a little stiff from having spent the night on the cold ground – and asked the obvious question as he hunted out the danger. But from the fact that no one answered him he guessed they could see no more than he could.

  “There's a wizard here, hidden behind a veil of air.” Myral made the call, and whether he knew it or was just guessing, it was enough for Yorik. He drew his sword in preparation for battle and started his prayer.

  “Ahh, the great Myral. I'm so happy to see you came. Just as I expected.”

  From the first threatening word Yorik's blood went cold, and his prayer died on his lips. It wasn't just because he knew it was an enemy. It was because he knew the voice and it was the stuff of nightmares. Actually it was worse than that. But it also couldn't be. Even as he held his blade before him and spun frantically, he was telling himself it couldn't possibly be him. But it was. He knew that voice.

  Then the air in front of them shimmered and a heartbeat later a dead man stood there smirking nastily. It was no illusion no matter how impossible it might be. He was as large as life barely thirty feet in front of them, and by the look on his face and the way his eyes were darting around assessing everyone, planning on doing something terrible. But then what else did Mayfall do?

  Mayfall showed not the slightest sign of an injury, let alone the fact that he was dead. In fact, behind his evil smirk, and underneath his gloating tongue, he looked to be in the very peak of health. Not bad for someone who had only a few short months before had been skewered by half a dozen of his bolts and then had his eyes removed by a demon's claws.

  “Mayfall.”

  Yorik uttered his name in shock, and though it was only a whisper, the wizard turned to stare at him and smiled. A cruel and mocking smile that spoke of all the terrible things he had already done, and all the others he was looking forward to doing shortly.

  “Yorik. You look so tiny there.”

  He was gloating of course, simply using his words to undermine his faith, to make him doubt himself. Yorik knew that. Paladins were trained to use such techniques themselves in battle. But despite his knowing what he was doing, it worked, and Yorik felt doubt and fear tearing apart his insides, and there was nothing he could do.

  “My Lady!”

  Yorik called for her, frightened and desperate. But for the first time she wasn't there. He heard no answer and there was no feeling of her strength flowing within him. That had never happened before. Normally at the very least he received a touch of her grace, a little strength, a little magic, but this time there was nothing. Here he was facing something that was dead and yet somehow alive, something that was as terrible as anyone who had ever lived, and something that burned with power, and she was nowhere to be found. Yorik's throat went dry as he gripped the handle of his great sword and prepared for battle for the first time in his life, alone.

  “Not coming is she?” The dead wizard laughed at him, mocking him, somehow knowing his weakness. “Of course not. She wouldn't dare show herself. Not here. Not against me.”

  Yorik controlled his fear as he'd been taught and raised his sword for the charge. “I killed you once Mayfall, I will kill you again.”

  “Perhaps.” Mayfall studied his finger nails as if looking for dirt and really just trying to tell him that he was no threat to him. But he was smiling as he spoke, and Yorik knew he didn't expect to lose this time. It was just more mockery. “I doubt it. But even if you could I would only return again, stronger than before.”

  “Prepare to face my steel wizard!” Yorik readied himself for the charge, but even as he tried to run at him he found that his legs wouldn't move. He could push and strain with them as hard as he liked but they just wouldn't move. Something was pinning them, holding them to the ground.

  “Perhaps a little taste.”

  As he said it Mayfall gestured at him, a tiny little movement of his fingers, and from out of nowhere a hammer of force simply smashed into Yorik, hard.

  Instantly Yorik found himself flying, and wondered as he felt his body being pummelled from head to foot, how it could be. There had been no warning and none of his counter spells was working. Added to that the dead wizard now possessed enormous strength. So much strength. All his training and knowledge was completely useless against this new Mayfall. He was just too fast. But most terrible of all the Lady wasn't answering him.

  An instant later all his wondering ceased as Yorik smashed backwards into the unforgiving stone wall of the ancient temple, and even through his spelled armour he discovered the pain. A lot of pain.

  From the moment he hit, Yorik knew that things in his back had been broken, even through his armour. Bones had been fractured maybe even snapped, his shoulder had been smashed, his head was ringing from the hit, and he could taste blood in
his mouth even as he tried to gasp for air and barely managed to draw breath. It was by far the most powerful hit he'd ever taken. Without his armour he knew, he would have been killed instantly, his body crushed by the force of that impact. As it was he was in bad shape and he wondered if he would even survive.

  Falling to the ground, Yorik somehow managed to land on his hands and knees, and as he felt some more bones crunch under the impact Yorik knew he was going to be too weak to put up much of a fight. But he still had his sword in his hands, and when he finally found the strength to look up and see the ancient, dead wizard still standing there, smiling at him, he knew his duty. Quickly, though nowhere near as quickly as he should have been, he staggered his way back to his feet, and lowered the blade as he prepared to attack. Whatever he was, Mayfall had to finally die.

  However this new Mayfall seemed all powerful and with another effortless display of magic Yorik found himself picked up and plastered against the remains of the temple's stone wall, spread eagled and helpless. He couldn't move, he could barely breathe. Worse still, the dead wizard wasn't even paying him any attention. He had cast his spell and moved on almost without a thought. As if he was nothing.

  “And you other puppies.” The dead wizard smiled coldly at them. “Why do you even bother to breathe?”

  With a single sweep of his hand he sent all of the others save Myral, flying, just as Yorik had, and they took to the air, screaming. Yorik all but screamed himself with shock as he saw them torn from his sight. He knew that they were all likely to die if they weren't already dead from the power of the blast. None of them were wearing spelled armour after all. Yet even if they had been, just the fall from so great a height would have killed them, and even though they were surely the best part of five hundred paces in the air a heartbeat later, it was only getting worse. They were still climbing as they disappeared into the distance, tiny little specks flying away from him like arrows. He could barely even hear them scream. Not even Genivere.

  “Santas Fey.”

  Myral did something similar as he cast his arm in the same way as Mayfall had, but whatever magic he had cast, it wasn't enough. Mayfall didn't even move. He just smiled some more, and Yorik started to wonder where he could have gained such power.

  “Is that the best you have relic?” He gloated some more. “I was hoping for something a little better from such a great wizard. At least a little challenge.”

  But he wasn't really Yorik knew. It was just another of his endless lies. He had always wanted only one thing, Myral's death. All their deaths. And it seemed he was going to get his wish.

  “What are you creature?” Myral asked the question, but not one Yorik had expected. Why did he ask “what” instead of “who”? Why did he call him a creature?

  “Stronger than you old man.” Mayfall laughed. “You should have remained a tree, sleeping. I would have left you alone. And then you had to go and summon that pesky lizard and that annoyed me.”

  “The time of those flying lizards is long since passed even if they still linger. The time of the mortal races is gone too. Now it is my time, and those I choose to let live will bow to me.”

  “So bow to me old man.”

  “Burn in the underworld!”

  Myral didn't look at all happy as he said it. In fact he looked to be in some sort of pain, and Yorik knew that he too was outclassed by the dead wizard. He needed time to draw his power to him. To prepare himself. And Yorik knew it was up to him to get him that time.

  “You filthy bastard! It was good to see you dying in such pain.”

  It wasn't much in the way of defiance, especially when he could barely whisper the words out through his broken body, but maybe, just maybe Yorik hoped, it would give Myral some time to prepare himself. He was the only one of them who had any power at all against the dark wizard.

  “Are you still here? Still alive?” Mayfall turned back to face him again and smiled, the grin of a tiger about to pounce. He then gestured once more. “Well, not for long.”

  As a child Yorik had been kicked by a horse once and sent flying. It was like that only a thousand times worse, and that was through thick spelled plate. The armour on his chest simply buckled on him and with it he felt a few ribs break and his broken back plate – still pressed hard against the ancient stone wall – also buckled under the force of the blow. But then the crumbling stone wall itself gave way and like the others he found himself unexpectedly flying backwards through the air, flying faster and faster, and higher and higher. He would have screamed with the pain and fear, with the grief he was experiencing for his friends, but he didn't have the breath. He didn't have any breath at all.

  At least it would all be over soon. He knew that as he saw the chasm walls they had spent all day ascending disappear beneath him as he sailed over them. It was only a matter of falling to his death after that.

  And Genivere was already gone the same way, probably dead by now. So sweet and pure, innocent and fun. So full of life, and now dead. Killed in the blink of an eye. How could that be? If he'd had the strength he would have wept for her, for his time with her, but he didn't. All he had the strength left to do was to get angry, and wonder where everything had gone wrong.

  How could Mayfall be so powerful? How could he even be alive? They were terrible questions to be troubling himself with as he tried to take in a few painful breaths through his damaged lungs. Pointless when even if he had an answer he could do nothing with it. And a waste of thought when he was in such pain. It was agonising but he had to breathe, and despite the pain he did it somehow, knowing he would have to do it again and again no matter the pain. But not too many more times he realised, when he eventually ceased flying upwards and began to fall towards the land so far beneath him.

  And what about the knowledge the ghost dragon had shared with Myral? Whatever the three had spoken of only those three knew of it, and only one of those three was mortal and could bring it to the others. Yorik only wished that Myral had shared it with the rest of them instead of spending the night alone and silent. Though it might not have mattered when the rest of them were all surely dead anyway.

  Besides, now he knew it wasn't the Dark One who had left the wolves around Myral's tree. Maybe none of it was the Dark One. Maybe all of this death was Mayfall's doing. Though how one man could do all that by himself he didn't know.

  And where was the Lady?

  He kept asked himself that most terrible of questions as he fell, tumbling head over heel, out of control. She'd never left him before. Even when he'd failed her she'd been there for him, forgiving him, accepting his service. So where was she? Her absence was a gaping wound in his heart as he called for her once more, and still found nothing. But more than that, her magic could have helped him, could maybe have healed him and slowed his fall. Without her he was doomed.

  Yorik drew in another painful breath, trying to ignore the taste of blood in his mouth, and called her again, called for her magic, and still found nothing.

  Maybe it was for the best. The thought came out of nowhere as he kept falling, the wind tearing at him, the pain of his broken flesh ripping him apart. Maybe it was for the best that it would all be over soon. After all, he'd failed. Myral was probably dead. Genivere was dead. They were all dead. And he had been completely useless against Mayfall. He had completely failed to protect them. In fact it was worse than that. Mayfall, whatever he was now, was only alive and so powerful because he had either killed him before or because he hadn't. Whichever was the case, Yorik knew that he had failed and the black hearted wizard had grown impossibly strong because of his failure. Death would be a mercy for someone who had failed as badly as he had. Maybe too, that was why the Lady no longer spoke to him.

  “I am sorry my Lady.”

  He apologised as he watched the top of the cliff suddenly shoot by. Though it hadn't actually moved at all. He was simply plummeting past it falling to his death. Still knowing it was his fault he didn't want to die without having at least apolog
ised. Especially when he could see the land below approaching so very quickly. The steep chasm wall was getting closer and closer as he fell, and he knew the end was close. Yorik took another deep breath and closed his eyes, hoping that it would at least be quick.

  It wasn't.

  He kissed the steeply sloping cliff face and instead of dying bounced a little. It was so steep that he didn't so much hit it as simply start sliding, bouncing a little, cartwheeling, and then sliding some more down its hard rock. That should have been a good thing, but it just wasn't. It only added to his suffering. He slid and bounced, and every so often smashed into something, a small bush or a tiny lip of rock, and it was like being hit by an ogre with a club, even through his armour, or what remained of it. And all the time, with every smash and punch of the chasm wall on his broken body, he was heading for his death, sliding out of control, almost as fast as he had been falling.

  “Lady!”

  He had nothing left, no strength, no hope, nothing but her, and he cried out with his dying breath as he saw the rocky floor approaching fast, and finally it worked. He felt her, not all of her as he normally did, but enough to allow him a little magic, a trace of her grace, as death grew closer.