by Greg Curtis
“But -.”
“You will also look after our horses here and see to it that they are found good homes. They may not be thoroughbreds but they have served us loyally.”
Did he have the right to demand such things? Yorik didn't know. But he knew that it was right that the sylph be held to account for their mistakes. And he knew that the sylph had no idea whether he had the right to demand atonement either.
Demands made Yorik headed for his riding mare to retrieve his saddle and bridle. Myral walked beside him with a small grin turning up the corners of his mouth. Maybe it was inappropriate, but Yorik understood it perfectly. A pair of acornia claimed was perhaps a small thing to demand, but it was about pride. The sylph valued their acornia. It was a symbol of prestige for them to ride the beasts that others couldn't claim. A sign of their superiority. Now, if they accepted his demands, they would lose that symbol. The sylph would have to learn a new lesson in humility and maybe even decency and the wizard liked that. He proved how much he liked it a heart beat later as he added to Yorik's demands.
“No doubt there will be more apologies and restitution demanded in due course.”
Chapter Thirty Six.
It was late and Yorik was all but exhausted as he practised his spells. He wanted to sleep. He needed to sleep as his injuries were still hurting him terribly and all the healing magic in the world couldn't remove the need for rest. But he had to practice. Five days ride from the Land of The Sky had taught him a lot but he had to learn a lot more.
The shapes themselves were easy enough. As a paladin he was used to variations of many of them anyway. So invisibility was not new to him. Nor was muffling his sounds or running quickly. Projecting his voice was something he only occasionally used, and it was surprisingly difficult. Not because of the shape of the spell, but because he naturally wanted to speak out loud even as he projected his words. Keeping his own mouth shut was a problem for him, something the ancient wizard seemed to find amusing.
He was also adapting slowly to holding the Lady's power within him. It was a strange thing to do, but as both she and Myral kept telling him that he would be facing Mayfall on his own, he was forcing himself. Whatever he could hold would be all the magic he would have.
The Lady had been clear on that. There was nothing she could do to preserve the link between her and him in the presence of the thane. And he did not ever want to be powerless before Mayfall again. So he was forcing himself to take and hold as much of her gift as he could, regularly filling every nerve and fibre of his being with her power, and then using it all. Casting spell after spell – the half dozen or so that they kept telling him he needed to use – until there was nothing left. It was about stretching his meagre ability as a magical vessel to its absolute maximum, and then using what he held as efficiently as he could.
It was an unnatural way to cast for him. Normally when he cast he simply reached for the magic and found it waiting for him. Not within him but rather within the bond he shared with the Lady. And because that bond was maintained by her and the magic was hers, he never had to think about where the magic came from nor how much to use. He could be wasteful with it and it simply did not matter. There was always more.
That was why priests were the most powerful of all casters. Their magic came from their bonds with their deities. And the deities were all but unlimited in their power. Wizards on the other hand had to find the magic within themselves and shape it completely of their own will. For that reason they were generally not nearly as powerful as the priests. But what Myral and the Lady were doing was effectively training him to cast as a wizard, something that came no more naturally to him than walking did to a fish.
Still, as a paladin he at least had some experience with the magic, and some feel for it, and that was helping. The practice was also helping even if he was so tired after a day in the saddle that he really just wanted to fall down.
The true problem he had with the spells he was learning was actually his task master. Myral was tough and the slightest hesitation or imperfection in his shapes was unacceptable. The invisibility spell had to be flawless. He could not reveal even the slightest ripple of light to distort the air. If he cast his voice it had to sound exactly as he did and without the slightest hint that it was anything other than him speaking. When he ran he had to run with all the speed and grace he could possibly find. And above all else he could not be distracted. These few spells he was being taught he had to learn to cast almost without a thought. Without hesitation or doubt. Myral simply gave him the command and he did it.
So as the night wore on and the ancient wizard kept snapping instructions at him, Yorik did exactly as he was told. Unfortunately Myral never seemed to be satisfied.
“You're not concentrating!”
Yorik could have told him that he was exhausted. His injuries were really starting to ache. His body was also sore from riding as well – these acornia were so much more powerful than normal horses and so much broader that he was saddle sore as he hadn't been since he was a child. But there was no point. Myral wouldn't have listened. So he carried on as best he could, casting each spell as quickly and cleanly as he could and trying to ignore the smell of the brace of rabbits cooking over the fire. The moon was high, it was well past dinner and he hadn't eaten more than a few handfuls of berries and an apple since breakfast. He was hungry.
“Invisibility!”
Yorik immediately cast the magic and thought he'd done a good job. But it obviously wasn't good enough.
“Too slow! Now release it and cast your voice from that rock!”
The wizard pointed at a rock fifty paces away from where they sat and Yorik did as ordered. “Done. Dinner smells good.”
The acornia snorted a little as his voice came from somewhere behind them. They never liked the thought of being crept up on. But that was good. At least he was able to fool them. Not Myral though.
“Not done well enough child. You're still moving your mouth and that can lead to mistakes. You cannot afford a single mistake. Forget your stomach and concentrate. Now stillness!”
Yorik cast the magic, masking every sound that he made, be it the movement of air through his lungs or the crunch of gravel underfoot. And to show that it had worked he picked up a pebble and tossed it a little way from him. It landed in perfect silence. He was actually a little surprised that he could still cast. It had been over an hour since he had last drawn from the Lady, and normally by this time he had little magic left. Obviously he was getting better at holding more of her magic and using it more carefully. But that success didn't come without a price to pay. Because of it he would still be practising well into the night.
“Now some fast running please while holding the stillness.”
Reluctantly Yorik got back up and started sprinting around the camp. It wasn't easy. The magic made him faster, a lot faster, but his injuries slowed him down as did his fatigue. And trying to hold two different magical shapes, haste and stillness as he ran was difficult. Still, he did it.
“And now let’s add the invisibility as well please.”
Yorik cast the shape as he ran, and somehow managed it. He even managed it cleanly, the magic coming to him with barely a thought. Suddenly he was holding all three shapes at once. Invisibility, haste and stillness, all while running, close to exhaustion, and in pain. There was no doubt that he was improving. At least in his thoughts. And with these three shapes and a little luck, he had the beginnings of a defence against Mayfall, assuming he was as gullible as Myral hoped he would be.
That seemed like a big assumption to him. But if the thane really was the Nameless thinking he was Mayfall and not Mayfall himself, it might be right. The Nameless had no great intelligence as far as anyone knew. That was the hope they had to cling to. Because if anything of Mayfall's wit remained, the dark wizard would guess the trick and it would all be over.
It seemed a thin hope to wager one's life on. But so many others were wagering theirs on that same hope th
at it didn't seem right to doubt it.
“Good child, good.”
Myral praised him, probably for the first time ever, and Yorik almost fell over in surprise.
“Your touch is improving, slowly. The shapes are more precise. But your control, not so much. Remember as you run that the people you love are dying. Your home is gone. And many others are facing that same fate. It is for them that you must try.”
He shouldn't have said it. In a heartbeat Yorik was back with his family in the house. He was closing their eyes for the last time, talking to the priests as they prepared them for burial, and trying to keep himself from screaming as he saw the terrible things that had been done to them. Those images would be with him for the rest of his life.
And when he was with his memories he wasn't with his magic.
Abruptly his spells wavered. They didn't collapse completely but they wavered enough that they weren't perfect. And he had to put more concentration into holding them. That cost him strength. And while it would cost even a true wizard some of his magic, for a partial wizard like himself working with borrowed magic, it cost him a lot more. And even though he knew why Myral had said it, he’d failed the test.
Still, he held the shapes. He managed to prevent them from failing and quickly strengthened them, all while continuing to run.
“Control!” Myral called out, unhappy with his lapse. “It is always about control child! No matter what happens, no matter how terrible things seem, you must always remain in control of your spells. Otherwise you will die!”
He was right of course and Yorik wasn't about to argue with him. Not on that. He knew that if he ever gave in to his pain or weakness he would die. And if he died the Thane would continue his rampage and then thousands and maybe millions more deaths would follow. Yorik couldn’t let that happen. He could not fail. And so as he ran and Myral lectured him he kept repeating the mantra of control. In the end the greatest danger he faced was losing control.
And then in a heartbeat his world changed. Without any warning Mayfall himself appeared in front of him and he forgot everything. All he could see as he ran was that evil smirking wizard. His eyes full of cruel laughter his mouth about to release it. All he knew was hatred.
Yorik screamed with rage, unable to contain himself.
He couldn't be here. It simply wasn't fair. And it couldn't be allowed. Yorik drew his great sword. He charged the wizard screaming, nothing but hatred in his heart. All pretence of civility was gone as he truly became the wild heart barbarian he had so often pretended to be.
The wizard raised his arms to cast a spell and Yorik leapt on him, sword extended, thinking to slice out his beating heart in one strike. But of course he couldn't.
His sword passed straight through the wizard as if he wasn't there. As if he was no more than air. And then Yorik himself followed it, passing through the wizard and finding himself on the grass on the other side of him.
That couldn't be! Yorik spun as fast as he could, great sword extended in a murderous arc, and watched as it sliced through the wizard's stomach without making so much as a mark. In fact the only thing that happened was that Mayfall smirked some more and raised his arms to cast something at him.
Then he vanished and Yorik was left standing there breathing heavily and screaming inside, trying to work out what was happening. But he couldn't. He spun around and around on his heels, desperately trying to find where the wizard had gone, but couldn't spot him anywhere. That meant he could be anywhere out there in the darkness, waiting to strike. The thought filled him with alarm.
“Enough child!”
Myral's yell came from the fire, and Yorik suddenly realised he was still sitting there by the rabbits as they cooked on their spit. That he was completely unconcerned by the presence of the dead wizard in their midst. And that could only be because he hadn't actually been there. It had been another test.
“What spells are you still holding?”
It wasn't a question. The wizard was ordering him to check his spells. To see what was still there. And after five long days of practising he knew enough to do that instantly.
It wasn't good. He'd dropped his shape of invisibility enough that he had become a blurred ghost. The shape of stillness had gone completely as he'd screamed his hatred without a thought. Only the shape of haste was still intact. He'd given away his position and allowed the sound of his footsteps to slip through the shape of silence. Yorik quickly pulled them back realising that he needed them to fight the wizard. Save that he finally remembered he couldn't fight him. As the sylph had said, as both Myral and the Lady had said again and again, to fight him was to die. He could not fight him.
Moreover the fact that he had tried meant that he had failed. The fact that he was still alive meant that it was all a test of some sort. An illusion. If it hadn't been he would already be dead, and whatever else he was doing Myral wouldn't still be sitting by the fire calmly cooking the rabbits.
“Myral?”
“Come. The meal is almost prepared. We can discuss your mistakes and as you well know there were many.” The wizard smiled at him sadly.
“But they all come back to the same things. Anger, pain and fear.”
“You can master the shapes and you can hold the magic within you. But before all else you must first master your emotions. You have to remember that Mayfall is dead and gone. And that he exists only in one place; the darkness of your heart.”
“You are not fighting Mayfall. You are fighting the Nameless, and he cannot be fought. All you can do is show it the truth of itself.”
“Now eat and gather your strength, and in a little while we will start again.”
Yorik quietly took his seat by the fire, feeling ashamed of himself. He was supposed to be a paladin of the Order of the Lady, and yet deep down inside he was nothing more than a wild heart barbarian. A savage filled with hatred and anger. And he knew that the wizard was right. That was who he could not be. Not if he was to have any chance of winning.
It was going to be a long night.
Chapter Thirty Seven.
Ten days later they reached their destination and Yorik was grateful for the sight of the elven village ahead. More than grateful. He'd spent fifteen long days in the saddle, wondering for all that time how many more towns and cities Mayfall was destroying when he should be stopping him instead of riding. If he could stop him. Soon that challenge would be upon him and he prayed to the Lady and all the gods that he was able to do what needed to be done. But at least then he could finally do something instead of just riding and practising his spells.
He was tired and sore. Fifteen days in the saddle since they had met with the slyph had taken a lot from him. But the fifteen nights spent around a fire mastering the half dozen magical shapes that Myral and the Lady thought he should know had helped. He was stronger now. He knew how to hold the Lady’s magic within him. To use it sparingly and well. He was not a wizard but he had some ability, and they were teaching him how to use every bit of it. He was also learning how to master his emotions. Naturally he was exhausted. But he had hope.
The village ahead looked like any other elven village to him. Not that he had seen a lot of them to compare it with. But there was a clearing in the forest filled with crops and grazing animals, while the homes were built into the trees surrounding it. One thing was different though. This clearing was filled with tents. Thousands of tents, most of which looked as though they had been built by children and blind men using whatever scraps of material they could find.
These Yorik guessed, must be home to the survivors from Hammeral, or some of them at least, and the fact that there were so many tents brought him hope. After having been to the city he hadn't known who or how many had lived, but he had feared it would be only a few. At last he had some evidence that it was more than that and the sight lifted his spirits.
There was another sight that brought him cheer. There were a lot of people waiting for them and some of them were wearing the gold.
It appeared that some of his Order still lived and he was infinitely grateful for that.
“What is this place?”
For once it was Myral asking the questions, and Yorik found that a little amusing. He had to take his amusement wherever he could. After fifteen days in the saddle riding hard, his body was a mass of pain. He was saddle sore as he hadn't been since he was a young boy first learning to ride. These acornia were simply so powerful and so broad that riding them was an exercise in pain. And his body still hadn't fully recovered from the hammering Mayfall had given him. His shoulder and back still ached. He suspected they always would. There was only so much healing a man could do even with magic to aid him.
Still, they had ridden nearly four hundred leagues in fifteen days. That was an amazing ride. The acornia were everything the wizard had said they were and more. They could run a league in far less than ten minutes and then only needed a few more to recover. And even when they were recovering their breath they trotted far faster than a normal horse. Yorik had never seen a unicorn before; he’d only ever heard the tales of them as had most people. But if these were half of their blood and this powerful, it made him think that the tales of their sires he had heard were not exaggerated at all. If anything they were too modest.