Controlling his voice with a great effort, he said, "He is Chaos."
"Chaos..." Keridil made the sign of Aeoris; it was a reflex and he couldn't stop himself. "No -- that's insanity! Chaos is dead -- its rulers were destroyed -- our legends -- '' He stepped back.
"Banished," Yandros corrected him with a malign smile. "Not destroyed. You cannot destroy what is fundamental to the Universe, Keridil Toln -- you can only remove it from the field of conflict for a while. But a time must inevitably arise when it will return again, and challenge the wisdom of those who were responsible for its demise." Amusement lit the many-colored eyes. "The circle comes full turn, one might say. We have waited -- now we are strong again. And your good friend Tarod is about to play his part in our renaissance."
"No!" Before Keridil could react, Tarod had stepped forward to confront the golden-haired entity. "I'll not listen to any more of this, Yandros!" He was fighting against a rising tide of fear, knowing that the Chaos Lord was succeeding in alienating Keridil from him and desperate to avert the increasingly threatening consequences. "The pact we made was no pact at all -- I was deceived, and I reject any obligation you claim of me!"
Yandros sighed. The aura of color that surrounded him rippled slightly as he shrugged his shoulders. "Tarod, truly I'd expected better of you. You're thinking and speaking like a mortal!"
"I am mortal! As mortal as Keridil and Themila who stand here beside me -- I was born of a mortal woman, as they were, and I'll die a mortal death, as they will!" Tarod countered savagely.
Yandros's eyes narrowed, and he smiled again in a way that made Keridil and Themila shudder. "Will you?" he asked, so softly that the cold, silver voice was barely audible. "Or will you allow your true nature to shine at last through the miasma of humanity? You know what you are... you know your power and your destiny, my brother. Can you renounce that, in exchange for the pitiful few years of increasing age and decay that human life has to offer you? Can you live as a slave of Order, when you know you were once a master of Chaos?"
"Keridil, stop him!" Themila couldn't keep silent any longer. "If anyone has the strength to end this nightmare, it must be you!" She had taken hold of Tarod's hand again and, like a mother bird protecting her young against a marauding cat, placed herself between Tarod and Yandros. She addressed the Chaos Lord, though she was unable to look directly at him. "You claim kinship with a man who is no less than a son to me -- you say he is something other than human. I call you a liar, Yandros of Chaos!"
"And I, madam, call you a fool!" Yandros took a pace forward and Themila reflexively shrank back, pressing against Tarod. He put an arm about her waist, feeling the overrapid pulsing of her blood. She was terrified, and he felt humbled by her courage in the face of such opposition.
"Lady." Yandros stared hard at Themila, who blanched. "I can only admire your loyalty to my brother, but it is misplaced. For what manner of mortal is it who carries his soul in the stone of a ring?"
There was a terrible silence. Themila looked up at Tarod, her eyes silently pleading for a denial, while Keridil could only stare, stunned, at the black-haired man. Tarod struggled to find words that would reassure them both, but they refused to come. His left hand burned as though he had thrust it into a fire, and he could feel his ring -- the contours of the silver base, the weight of the strange, colorless stone -- like another living entity on his finger. He knew the truth, as he had known it from the moment when Yandros had called him "brother," when he had felt the old, old power flooding back into his veins and had understood the full nature of his own origins. Fragments of memory that reached across an unimaginable gulf of time had fused together into completion -- he couldn't look Keridil or Themila in the face and deny Yandros's words.
Softly, like an insinuating dream, Yandros's voice served the knot of confusion. "Tarod was born of a mortal woman," he said. "But his soul is the soul of a Chaos Lord. And he knows, as we know, that Aeoris has ruled long enough in this world. It is time for that rule to be challenged, and he is the instrument through which the challenge shall be issued!"
The affinities... the hideous, aeon-old bonds that tore at him... Hardly knowing what he was doing, Tarod pushed Themila away so violently that she stumbled and almost fell.
"I'm human!" His voice grated, barely recognizable. "And I serve Aeoris, not Chaos! This is proof enough!" With a violent gesture he jerked a fist against his own shoulder, where the Initiate's badge of rank should have been.
There was nothing there but the smooth fabric of his clothing. And then he remembered that he had given the badge to Sashka, as a token and an amulet to keep safe until they should meet again....
Tarod laughed, but there was no trace of mirth in the sound. It was a bitter and ugly irony that had snatched away the one vital symbol, however small, of his loyalty to the Circle and the powers the Circle served. And though the explanation for it was simple and innocent enough, the coincidence couldn't be ignored.
"The joke appears to be against me..."He looked at his own clenched hand, still against his shoulder. The ring on his index finger winked in the light of Yandros's aura and Tarod added, "I could take it off, Yandros. I could throw it from the northernmost point of the Peninsula and let the sea make what it pleases of the offering..."
"Could you?"
Tarod's hand flexed, convulsively, and he knew the answer to the sly question. No matter what the cost, he couldn't abandon his own soul....
"My brother, you cannot deny the destiny you carry with you." Yandros spoke quietly, yet with a power and conviction that made Themila block her ears with shaking hands. "Whatever you might say to the contrary, in your heart you know that you owe your very existence to Chaos, for you are a part of Chaos. And in spite of the human flesh in which you're clothed, our realm is your only true home, and we your only true kin. You must fulfill your quest, Tarod -- you must bring Chaos back to this world!"
"No! I serve Order!"
"You cannot serve Order, for you are Chaos!"
"Wait!" Keridil spoke up suddenly and the sound of his voice shocked Tarod, who had been so intent on the confrontation with Yandros that he had almost forgotten the High Initiate was present. Keridil had placed one hand on the short ceremonial sword that hung from his belt. He was watching Tarod, hawklike, and seemed unsure of what he wanted to say.
"Tarod... this creature, this -- this demon -- he has made many claims about you -- claims that frighten me. Is he speaking the truth?"
Tarod couldn't lie, but he couldn't bring himself to answer the question with complete honesty. In a barely audible voice, he said, "I serve Order, Keridil. I always have -- and I always will."
"And if Chaos should wish it otherwise?"
"Then I'll fight them. I took the oath to Aeoris when I became an Adept, and my loyalties are steadfast."
"Your loyalties, brother, are misguided."
Tarod and Keridil both turned on Yandros, and Keridil was the first to speak.
"What does Chaos know of loyalty?" he challenged. "Your watchwords are deception and malevolence -- we know your ways, Yandros of Chaos! Our records tell -- "
Yandros interrupted him with a laugh that made the mists of the Marble Hall shiver. "Your records tell!" he mimicked with mocking contempt. "Then if you are a historian as well as a leader, Keridil Toln, you'll know that your cherished ways are crumbling back into the arid dust out of which they were born! Order has reigned unchecked for so long that it has stagnated, and you -- " he pointed a long finger at Keridil, "have become an anachronism!"
"You dare to -- " Keridil began furiously.
Yandros made a gesture, and the High Initiate found himself silenced. "Yes, mortal, I dare! Your revered Aeoris is nothing to me, for he too has become as anachronistic as his servants!" His voice dropped in pitch, suddenly unhumanly persuasive. "Order has become so ingrained in this sad little world that its servants no longer have a reason to exist. Oh, your Circle continues, and you pass on to your new Adepts the sum total of your centu
ries of knowledge. But with no adversary to stand against you, all your knowledge is worthless. With nothing to combat, no wrongs to right, you have no value. What are you, Keridil Toln? What is the justification for your existence in a world where Aeoris reigns unchallenged? To do his will, uphold his laws? His will is done and his laws upheld without the need for your intervention -- you have no good reason to exist!"
There was a horrible echo of the thoughts that had lately been plaguing Keridil's darker dreams in what the entity said, and he was appalled to find himself half-swayed by the insidious argument. And then he remembered who, with apparent innocence, had engendered the doubts and fears in his mind to begin with...
Fighting off uncertainty, he countered, "No good reason, demon? And what of the troubles that plague our land now? What of the Warps, the brigands, the -- "
"Oh, yes. The Warps. Since you usurped the stronghold of our old servants you have singularly failed to understand their nature, haven't you? The Warps, my friend, are a manifestation of those ways of ours which you claim to know so well -- as is this very Castle in which you live, and in particular this very Hall in which we all now stand." The thin, perfect lips twitched faintly. "We like to pride ourselves that we haven't been entirely forgotten in this world."
Abruptly the concept made a terrible sense to Keridil as he recalled the efforts of generations of Circle Adepts to fathom the mysteries that the Old Ones had left behind when they were finally consigned to whatever hell Yandros and his kin designed for their followers. He no longer doubted that the pale-haired entity was what he claimed to be -- but the idea that a Lord of Chaos could manifest in a world ruled entirely by Order horrified him. It went against all the doctrines and beliefs he had learned since childhood; the doctrines that stated Chaos was gone and could never return. But the anomalies of the Warps, the Castle itself, had defeated the Circle's greatest minds throughout their history... Yandros's claim rang all too true.
"So, Keridil Toln," Yandros continued gently, "do you not agree that Chaos has its place in your world? That without Chaos, there can be no true Order?"
The being's argument was dangerously seductive, and Keridil felt his will weakening. Surely, a small voice inside him said, the forces of Order would be better for having a true adversary to fight against, a real challenger to oppose instead of merely the contrived battles of the arena --
Abruptly he pulled himself out of the train of thought, and his skin crawled as he realized how close he had come to falling under Yandros's deadly spell. To think that he could argue against a Lord of Chaos -- Keridil shook off the shudder that went through him at the very idea, and knew that there was only one thing he could do. Yandros was too dangerous -- he must be bound and banished, before his influence pervaded beyond the point of no return.
He forced himself to look away from the golden-haired being, although it took a tremendous effort of will. Then he drew the ceremonial sword from its decorated scabbard and held it upright before his face. He was sweating profusely, and some deep, subterranean force seemed to be trying to hold him back, but he made himself speak.
"Aeoris, Lord of Light, Keeper of Souls and Master of Destiny -- ''
He heard someone -- he thought it must be Tarod -- draw in a harsh, involuntary breath, but he summoned all the self-control he could muster, and continued.
"Thou who took mortal form upon the White Isle, hear this thy servant in his hour of need -- Hear thy servant and spokesman, Aeoris, who bids and binds these powers of dark corruption -- ''
"Keridil, as you love life, don't do it!"
Keridil stopped in mid-sentence, the semi-trance state into which he had already fallen shattered. Feeling suddenly violently sick, he stared at Tarod, who had broken the ceremonial words.
"What -- " Keridil couldn't formulate the question.
Tarod was shaking. He had instantly recognized the opening words of the Circle's most powerful rite, and one which could only be invoked by the High Initiate in person in a case of extreme emergency. The Seventh Exhortation and Banishment was a sacred tract for the sole purpose of disciplining an astral entity that wouldn't respond to any lesser -- and safer -- method. It was one of the most extreme measures known to the high Adepts; but Tarod was all too well aware of what its effect on Yandros could be.
"Keridil," he repeated urgently, "don't use it -- don't try to challenge him!"
Keridil stared at Tarod with a mixture of mistrust and uncertainty in his expression, while Yandros watched both men, seemingly amused.
"Damn you, Tarod, what are you trying to do?" Keridil hissed. "This is the only way!"
"It's no way at all! Don't you realize, Keridil -- the Circle's rites are nothing to Yandros! He's not some astral demon -- he is Chaos! And if he chose, he could destroy you like that!" He snapped his fingers in front of the High Initiate's face.
Keridil couldn't deny the truth of it -- but there was no other option open to him, and anger against Tarod surged.
"Then what would you have me do?" he demanded. "Welcome him among us? Stand aside and allow him free rein? Or do you think you have the power to stop this nightmare?"
Tarod glanced speculatively at Yandros and felt the silver ring pulse on his finger. He licked his lips, which were suddenly very dry. "Yes, I have the power..."
Yandros's expression darkened. "You'd not dare -- you are bound by our pact! And if you try -- "
"No, Yandros, you won't destroy me -- you can't destroy me, not now." The momentary flicker of uncertainty in the being's look had confirmed what Tarod suspected. With the realization of his own true nature -- and the nature of the ring he carried -- the old power which had lain dormant within him had come surging through in full measure. And that full measure was far greater than his wildest imaginings could have conjured -- the forces he had summoned from within himself years ago to kill first Coran and then the brigand leader were a child's trick compared with what he was capable of now. The power of Chaos itself... no; even Yandros couldn't destroy him. And though he might loathe the nature of that power, he would use it if he had to...
Keridil, too, had seen the implications of Tarod's answer to his question -- and it had brought them both, he knew, to the brink of the final and most crucial test. So much was at stake -- he had to find out where Tarod's true loyalties lay.
"Tarod." He spoke urgently, his voice shaking. "If you have that power, you must use it now. You can't serve two masters -- are you loyal to Order, or to Chaos?"
Tarod's eyes were tormented. "I serve Order!" he replied with harsh vehemence.
"Then, as your High Initiate, I order you to banish Yandros from this world!"
The ancient links were calling him, tearing at him anew -- to obey Keridil would be to betray a part of himself... but in all his years at the Castle Tarod had learned to loathe and revile Chaos and all it stood for. And to allow those affinities to take hold of him now would be a far greater betrayal; a betrayal of the land and the people he looked on as his own.
Yandros knew Tarod's intentions even before he turned to face the golden-haired being, and his face twisted.
"Don't be a fool! You are bound -- "
Tarod felt the pull increasing; wild, beautiful images assailed his mind. He gathered all his strength to fight them, and declared, "I am bound by nothing! I reject you, Yandros -- I am of the Circle now!"
"Then you betray yourself for the sake of an illusion! Tarod, brother -- "
Before he could say more, Tarod raised his left hand. The stone of his ring flared into brilliant life and he felt the power surging through him, swamping him, as the jewel reflected the Chaos Lord's aura back on itself.
"Go!" Tarod commanded thunderously. "Return whence you came, Yandros of Chaos -- I reject you, and I banish you! Aroint!"
Yandros tried to speak, but no sound came from his lips. His form twisted, warped -- for an instant Tarod's own face was superimposed over his, then, with a sound like glass splintering, his shimmering figure seemed to erupt in
a column of white fire, and he vanished.
Tarod stood rigid, breathing heavily and having to exert all his self-control to prevent his legs from buckling under him as the power-surge drained away. The Marble Hall was deathly silent, and he was conscious of Keridil and Themila flanking him. What they had seen, what they had felt as Yandros was banished, he didn't know -- but he sensed their fear like a tangible presence. And suddenly he had to get away from them. He couldn't face their confusion and uncertainty, and he was horribly afraid of their condemnation.
He turned and headed for the door, so quickly that by the time the others realized it he was all but lost in the Hall's shifting mist.
"Tarod!" Themila called, her voice echoing. "Wait!"
"No -- " Keridil pulled her back as she seemed about to run after him. "Let him go, Themila. I think it's better -- we all need a chance to recover our senses." He guided her at a slower pace until they too reached the silver door, and as they stepped through into the passage Keridil locked the door carefully behind them. Neither spoke as they walked back to the library and climbed the vault stairs, and when at last they emerged into the night, the sky overhead was quiet and still. The Warp that had been rolling in from the north as they began their work had gone.
Themila quickly scanned the courtyard for some sign of Tarod, but nothing moved and no lights shone from any of the Castle windows.
"If you're not too tired, I can offer you some wine in my rooms," Keridil said. "And the fire will still be alight -- old Gyneth staunchly refuses to bank it down until he knows I'm in bed and asleep."
He was trying to counter the shock by pulling them both back to a semblance of normality, and Themila smiled gratefully. "Gyneth's a good man... your father held him in the highest regard. Yes, I'll join you -- thank you." She glanced up at at the High Initiate's strained face. "And I think, too, it would do us good to talk this over before we try to rest."
Back in Keridil's rooms they made themselves comfortable before the fire while Gyneth, who had been waiting like a faithful shadow for his master's return, served mulled wine and biscuits, hovering solicitously until Keridil ordered him to bed. Themila sipped her wine, grateful for its warming effect, then said, "Well, Keridil, what's to be done now?"
The Initiate Page 20