by Greg Curtis
“Could the ghost dragon not tell you more?”
“Ghost dragon?” Myral stared at him as if he'd said something incredibly stupid. “You believe Darryndell is a ghost?”
Yorik nodded, a small gesture that sent a lance of agony raging through his shoulder. Darryndell? He remembered speaking the word during the conversation Myral, the Lady and the dragon had had, and so he guessed it had to be the dragon's name.
“Darryndell is no ghost. To be a ghost he would have to be dead and he is most certainly not that.”
Yorik ignored the obvious questions about what the ghost dragon was if he wasn't dead or a ghost. It could wait for another time. “Then if he's alive could he not tell us more of the thane? Perhaps fight him?”
“No.” Myral shook his head decisively. “He could tell us that it was not the Dark One breaking free of his prison. The great demon is as completely trapped now as he was when the dragons imprisoned him. And that will not change. But he was blind as to the true enemy. And my thought is that it is for the same reason that you cannot link with the Lady, nor the priests with their gods.
“The dragons have gods to call on for their strength?” That did not make any sense to Yorik. The dragons were already as close to gods as any living creature could be. They surely didn't need any help even from the divine.
“No! The bond between priest and god works two ways. The priest gains his power and magic through the bond. The god gains the priest's eyes and will and connection with the world. And when the bond is broken both are cut loose until it's restored. In the thane's presence the Lady cannot act or see you. When you were cut off from her she was also cut off from you. She could not see or know what was happening to you as you could not draw from her.”
“The dragons are of the divine, bound with the Mother to the celestial world. It is the deal they struck long ago. And in the thane's presence they are unable to act or see. Just as the Mother is. Just as the Lady is.”
“Then if the divine is cut from the world none of the gods can help us. Not only are the priests powerless, but so are they. Then how do we fight such a thing?”
For an answer the ancient wizard just shrugged again, a surprisingly common gesture for an elf, but one that spoke volumes. Myral was just as lost as he was. When he was a five century old wizard, that could not be good. And that left him with only the routine matters to consider.
“If we are to make this journey to see the sylph, we should still find the others and report back to the elders at Hammeral first.”
It was the logical thing to do, but the ancient wizard shook his head, and far too quickly for Yorik's liking.
“We cannot go back to the temple. We cannot risk the thane realising that we yet live. We cannot face him, and he may still be near the ancient temple, hunting out others. It took us half a day to climb the canyon on horseback. On foot, with you badly injured and no provisions it would be the better part of two, and then we'd have to hunt them out. The others, assuming that they yet live, will have to make their own path.”
That could not be. Yorik could not allow it. The wizard's words upset Yorik more than a little. Or maybe it was the truth behind them that upset him so. Still, he could not face that truth.
“Our duty is clear. We do not abandon our own. We must help our friends and comrades, and then when we have done so and once more have horses and provisions return to Hammeral and warn the people. They need to know this thane is around.” But even as he spoke Yorik knew he was wrong. That he was trying not to face the truth. That the wizard was right.
“We will pray for them as best we can. But we cannot go to them. It is beyond our ability and far too dangerous. It also would slow us down in warning the elders. The others if they still live must look after themselves.”
He was right, the trained soldier in him knew that and Yorik hated it even as he had to accept it. He hated it more than he could say. Not knowing if Genivere was alive or dead, if she needed protection or healing, and being unable to go to her. It was torment. But there could be no argument. Maybe some of that anguish showed on his face as the wizard rushed through his plan.
“Our path must take us straight to Hammeral where we can give warning of our new enemy soonest. Report all we have seen and now know. And there we will acquire some horses and provisions and ride as fast as we can for the Land of Sky.”
“But the others have hope. Be at peace young Yorik. I sent the birds of the great forest after the others, and the Lady heard my spell and added to it. It is very likely that your lady friend lives still, and the others with her. And they can take care of themselves. Your lady friend follows the Mother and is capable with her magic. The rest are soldiers. And the Lady will guide them if they choose to hear her.”
He wanted his words to be reassuring, Yorik knew. But they weren't. The ancient wizard was guessing at best. Hoping. And if the thane could sever the bonds with the Lady then there might be little she could do. But it did raise another question for him. Something that made no sense.
“Myral, how did your magic work when mine did not?”
“Were you not listening boy?” The wizard pursed his lips in what seemed like annoyance. “I am a druidic mage. My magic does not come from my link to the Mother, so while he could sever my tie to her, he could not remove my power. Unfortunately I am no match for a thane.”
“And the sylph are the same?”
Yorik knew nothing about them save for legends, most of which he'd always thought were simply the tales of drunken bards retold.
“The same?” Myral looked at him strangely. “No ... and yes.”
“Their magic does not come either from a god or from within themselves but from the world as does that of a druid. But they call that world, all worlds a god. And they worship it. They believe there is a bond such as yours with the Lady where there is not. And they speak as priests when they are not.”
Something about that bothered Myral, Yorik realised. What exactly he didn't know. It didn't matter though.
“If they can fight this thane, then we must ask for their help in the battle.”
Something Yorik knew they would not willingly give. The sylph had never helped anyone as far as he knew. And they did not welcome visitors either.
“And we shall. But they will not fight by our sides. That is not their way. The most we can hope for is that they will grant us the knowledge and maybe the magic to fight the thane ourselves.”
“And the Dark One?”
“It is not him. Darryndell was clear on that. The great demon remains trapped in his prison, eternally bound and safe. Or at least until the end of the world. But if he is somehow involved then yes. For all their arrogance and power the sylph have no desire to see the world end any more than we do.”
“Then we have to go.”
His bandages were in place and the wizard's healing magic was flowing through him – taking away the worst of the pain. So feeling a little bit stronger Yorik started hunting for some armour to wear. Any of the pieces of it lying around the ground that were still serviceable. But there were precious few. What he remembered of the battle should have told him that. The breast plate and back plate were both damaged beyond any hope of being worn again. At least not in battle. They would need to be melted down and reforged. And without them he couldn't wear the rest of it; there was nothing to tie it to and his helm was missing. Which left him with the linen vest and a chain shirt that he was already wearing. And that wasn't enough. As for weapons he had only his great sword. The rest were lost somewhere.
Then a sudden dark thought hit him and he forgot those woes.
“I caused this Myral. In my wrath and vengeance I brought this about. If I hadn't killed Mayfall he wouldn't have been taken by the thane. But I hunted him down like an animal. I broke all of my vows and murdered him. And while he lay there dying in agony he must have been taken by the thane.”
“And now the others – Genivere – they're all dead because of me. I killed them.
And many more. Because he will kill many more.”
“Whatever damage he does from now on, no matter how many people he kills or towns he destroys, it's all because of my failure. My crime.”
The pain of that understanding was far worse than all the pain of his injuries as one. And it crippled him. It left him truly broken. To have not just failed but to have then helped the enemy. To have even created him and then have had his creation kill his companions. That was beyond anything he had ever known. The darkness tore at his very soul in a way he had never felt.
He could not go on.
“You should kill me now. I cannot help you in the battle ahead. I will slow you down even in getting to Hammeral. And it is truly the fate I deserve for my crimes.”
Yorik fell to his knees – it was easier than standing – wanting nothing more than the mercy of death. No man should have to carry the guilt and shame that dwelt within him.
“No.”
“Yes!”
“No!” This time Myral raised his voice to him. He sounded angry. “I will not do that and you will not ask again child.” And then to make his words completely clear he back handed Yorik across the cheek, surprising him, disciplining him as though he was a hysterical child, and making certain he heard.
“I understand your pain, but in the end it is useless. And it is wrong. Had you brought the wizard back for trial he would have been hung and the same would have been true. Had you let him be he would have continued killing the innocent until he died and then likely the same would have happened.”
“Besides, you don't know that the others are dead. I don't know. But I know that I have hope. And I know that you should too.”
“And I know one thing more child. Dying would be the easy thing to do. And you are not a man who takes the easy path. You take the right path always no matter how difficult, because you believe it to be the right path. And in this case the right and difficult path is to battle this creature. To destroy him if you can or hold him at bay until he goes away if you can't.”
“I will not release you from your duty and you will not release yourself. Is that clear?” And in case it wasn't the wizard slapped him again.
“Yes.”
In the end it was clear. Myral was right. He was a paladin and his role was to fight, always. The wizard knew his duty better than he did. Yorik would fight until his last breath. There would be no excuses. There would be no giving in to shame and despair. And he would carry his burden of shame and guilt until the end. There was no choice in that. There never had been.
This was the price of his wrath, and he would pay it in full measure.
Chapter Twenty Four.
That night when they finally stopped to rest Myral called to his old friend. Partly to ask what was happening further afield now that the thane had revealed himself, but mostly to tell her of his fears. His fears first and foremost for the broken paladin.
Yorik was not well. He used the magic granted by the Lady to sustain himself, to push himself beyond what was possible, but in the end magic could do only so much when it came to healing. Especially when they were on foot. He needed rest. He needed food, and the handful of berries they'd found along their path was nowhere near enough to sustain a young man. And most of all he needed some surcease from his guilt. Because while it was driving him on, it was also tearing him apart, and the look in his eyes was a terrible thing to behold.
They had covered three or four leagues that afternoon, much of it up and down hills and through bush until they had found the trail. And when the sun had fallen the paladin had still wanted to do more. He would not stop until he was dead, and perhaps not even then.
In the end the only way Myral had been able to stop them for the night was to tell him that he was too tired to carry on. That must have been a sign of some sort because no sooner had he said it than the paladin had nodded to him, fallen to his knees and passed out. Now he was lying face down on the grass where he had fallen, deeply unconscious, while Myral had been left with the task of building a camp around him and wondering if he would even awaken.
Meanwhile the Lady was strangely unconcerned. Myral didn't understand that as he sat leaning against a tree beside the fallen paladin and staring into the flames of the fire. He didn't understand it at all. She considered all of the Order as her children, yet she was not worried for her most broken child?
“Lady he is in a terrible state. His body is broken and he will not give himself the time he needs to heal. His mind wanders in realms too dark to see. And his soul is shattered. He needs help.”
“He needs to do what he is doing. That will be his help.”
“It will kill him.”
“It is the only thing that can save him. Where is your faith old friend?”
For once he could hear a smile in her voice as he hadn't in far too long. He hoped she had a reason.
“Faith?” That struck Myral as a strange thing to say. Almost as if the Lady was claiming to be a god when they both knew she wasn't. She was in all likelihood an elemental, a being of immense power, but not of the heavens. “In you?”
“In my people. Yorik is being tested, body and soul. That was always going to happen. But long ago I knew that my people would be placed in harm’s way and I prepared them for that.”
“Always going to happen?” Myral shook his head as he realised she was speaking of her foretelling. He'd never understood the gift. Not in her, not in Annalisse. How could you know the future and then change it? It had always seemed that if you could change it then it had never been the future at all. But that was a debate for a different night. He shook his head to help clear his thoughts. “Never mind.”
“Lady, truly he can fight. He is more than capable with that over large blade of his. But this is not some enemy he can overcome with his weapons.”
“No, it is an enemy that he can and will overcome with his purpose. I said I prepared my children for these difficult times, and I do. But it is not by teaching them to swing a sword. They teach themselves that. And it is not by teaching them of my gifts either. They can master those by themselves. And it is not by getting them to swear oaths or learn my ways. Again that is of them.”
“It is by taking only those who already are paladins into my Order.”
“Yorik like all his brothers, is not a paladin in my Order because he has learnt my ways. He never had to learn them. They are him. He was a paladin long before he ever picked up a sword. Before he was even brought by his father into the Ender's Fall chapter. He was born to be what he is.”
“All the training that was done, the study and the lessons learned, the vows taken, the struggles undergone; they did nothing more than reveal the man inside. He was not trained to become tougher. He was trained to discover how tough he truly was. He was not taught what I hold precious. He was taught that he holds those same things precious as do the rest of us.”
“There was a great sculptor once who was asked how he created his master works. His answer was that he didn't. He selected the stone and simply chipped away at the stone that concealed the work until what was within shone through. That is what every member of my Order is. Whether ranger or paladin, cleric or wizard. They are the essence within the stone. And that is why my children are so strong. They cannot be anything else.”
“They can be dead.”
Myral was in no mood for sophistry and though he heard her words he was in no way certain that they were anything more than just that – pretty words.
“But he won't die. Not now. He has work to do and deep in his soul he knows it. He will not allow himself to die until it is done.”
“You don't know that.” He almost threw the words at her like an accusation.
“But I do. Because I know that Yorik is the same as every other member of the Order. He is the same as me. And I know that were any of us or even myself in his place, that would be exactly what we would do. We can do nothing else.”
Myral didn't respond for a while after that. He
wanted to think on what she'd said and try to work out if she was saying what was right, or merely what she wanted to believe was right. And in the end while there was a difference, he realised he wasn't sure that he'd be able to tell.
It was the same when she'd worn the flesh of a mortal woman all those years ago. She was never the dryad she'd appeared to be. He'd known that and never cared. But always he'd known somewhere deep inside that just as he didn't truly know her, she didn't truly know him either. She thought she did. But in the end there was a difference between living as a mortal and actually being one. And eventually when he'd marshalled his thoughts into some semblance of order he tried to tell her that again. Just as he had before. But this time she had a new answer.