The Faerion

by Jim Greenfield

  "I don't know if I can stand to hear anymore," said Culver.

  Berimar watched him for a moment, then turned and led them on their way again. The walkway grew steep and narrow. Even the Tuors needed to walk in single file. Culver sensed rather than saw the edge of the path, inches beyond his feet. He scuffed several rocks over the edge and waited enormous amounts of time before they hit bottom. One rock he never heard impacted the floor. He kept his hand on Elise's shoulder. She gripped a rope Berimar extended to her to keep them close and following the correct paths. Tomen brought up the rear. His ears were alert - he heard a patter of feet behind him. He knew his business and he knew he did not imagine the footfalls. He debated whether to mention it to Berimar, but surely the sorcerer would know?

  They walked in silence, winding through the darkness. Culver's legs ached and he could barely lift his feet for the next step. Each time he shuffled his feet he kicked rocks over the edge of the walkway where they would drop into the depths or crack against another ledge below.

  "Stop that, Culver," said Tomen. "I don't like the reminders of the bottomless depths below us."

  "I'm so tired. It's hard to pick up my feet."

  "Try. You don't hear Elise complaining."

  "She's too far withdrawn into her pain; I don't think she hears anything we say. She just moves in a trance. Berimar pulls her on that rope. I'm surprised she hasn't collapsed."

  "She will make it to my home," said Berimar. "I am supporting her with my art and shall not let her fall."

  "Thank you," sighed Culver. "I don't know if I should, but thank you."

  "You think poorly of me," said Berimar. "You cannot understand."

  "Yes, yes. You gave us your sad story earlier," said Tomen. "Why keep bringing it up? Do you crave forgiveness in what you do? Hardly like the legends of the Sorcerer Berimar we heard as children."

  "No, I suppose not."

  "What was that?" asked Culver.

  "What?"

  "Behind us. There was movement. A bluish shape, but it vanished so quickly. Tomen, did you see it?"

  "No, but I heard footsteps earlier."

  "Why did you not say something?" asked Berimar, his eyes peering into the blackness behind them. "Bluish? Man shape?"

  "This is your domain. I thought you would know if something was following us."

  "Not if it is one of Galamog's Seekers. They are creatures that bow not to me. They answer only to her and are very dangerous. I purged this cavern of them once, but Galamog was very angry with me. Yet, I was firm and she agreed to keep them away from here. We must move quickly. They seldom hunt alone."

  Berimar increased their speed. The Tuors stumbled in the dark. Culver's foot slipped over the edge and he started to follow. Tomen grabbed him but it proved difficult to get the shouting Culver to calm down enough to aid in his own rescue. Berimar cursed. The sorcerer returned and yanked Culver back to the walkway heedless of the bruises and skinned knees of the Tuor.

  "Fool! Follow quickly or the Seekers will have you." Berimar stomped off pulling hard on the rope, knocking Elise off her feet and dragging her several yards before Tomen and Culver could help her to her feet.

  They kept to the pace for another hundred yards when Tomen was struck from behind. Something drove into him, knocking him into Culver and they both sprawled on the walkway; Tomen's shoulder hanging over the edge. Blue shapes stood jabbering above him. He heard Berimar curse and the red flashes that followed, but his attention was focused on the triangular face leering at him. He was reminded of a praying mantis except the eyes were feline and the mouth round, framed by razor sharp teeth.

  Stubby hands reached for him when a blast from Berimar knocked the creature away. Tomen jumped to his feet. Elise hung on Berimar's arm while Culver slowly regained his footing.

  "Hurry!" hissed Berimar. "They shall soon return with their leader. He was a vile sorcerer of old before Galamog changed him. He is very cruel."

  Culver lost his sense of direction and Tomen guided him by his arm. Tomen saw that Culver's face bore several cuts. One long slash left skin hanging over his eye. Tomen laughed to himself because he caught himself wondering if Berimar could heal Culver. He laughed because of the fate awaiting them in Berimar's cavern. Fix us up so you can dissect us. His mirth kept him going until at last they entered the red light flooding the entrance to Berimar's home. Tomen heard a sucking sound as they passed through the threshold.

  It took a moment for their eyes to adjust to the amber light that emanated from the walls. The cavern was divided into several chambers. The one they entered appeared a great hall with paintings hung on the walls, sculptures seemingly everywhere. Some were classical while others grotesque and eerie. One maned head had eyes that glowed and seemed to follow them around the room.

  "Have a seat. I shall bring refreshments."

  Berimar's courtesy after the journey they had just completed kept them off balance. Elise dropped into the long sofa in the room's center. Culver shrugged and sat next to her. Tomen returned to examining the room. He found a huge sword in a corner. It was not attached to anything and looked usable despite the rusted edges. However, a giant of a man had wielded it and Tomen could not lift it.

  "I'm afraid that it would be of no use to you even if you had the strength. You are in my domain and no weapon can harm me here. None. Not even Galamog can assail me here. It is my last refuge, my last stand if I am to be free of her."

  The cups of water he brought to them tasted cold and clean. Tomen felt himself become alert. His heart was pounding.

  "What did you do to the water?"

  "Nothing. There is no enchantment there, just crisp clear mountain water." He walked over to a basin and stood staring into it. "Now this water is enchanted." Tomen joined him and looked into the black depths of the basin.

  A hint of blue started in the center sending tendrils of color to the other edges, then it began to spin, blue and black, blue and black and for a moment Tomen thought Berimar wanted to hypnotize him. Then shapes began to appear. Three distinct figures moved down a trail descending from the mountains.

  "Shall we have a closer look?" asked Berimar. Tomen nodded.

  The features were clear. Navir, Wynne and Blackthorne traveled together.

  "Well, isn't that interesting?" asked Berimar. "That trail will lead them to us. I will have to prepare a welcome for them."

  "What kind of welcome?" asked Tomen, realizing that the trio might be their only chance of rescue. Berimar looked at the Tuor. His expression was unreadable.

  "Let me heal Culver's wounds while there is still time."

  Chapter 17

  She knew he was out there. The street was silent and the shadows draped themselves over the cobblestones dampening the outside world. Dellana knew Garlac would be coming-she had the art, but also she knew him and what motivated his actions.

  She drew her bath water, stirring the water slowly with her hand, letting the water run over her palm back into the tub. Bathing was a vice she had taken to quite greedily. She once went many weeks without bathing, perhaps longer, certainly longer, but she would not admit it to herself. The sensation of warm water running over her skin was unparalleled in her experience. She knew Garlac would wait until she was most vulnerable; he usually did. At least to his mind she was vulnerable. Dellana kept her secrets to herself.

  She rinsed the last of the soap off her skin and wrapped a thick towel around her and walked into the main chamber. Garlac sat on a chair cutting a piece of bread from a warm loaf he just purchased.

  "You always look so attractive after you bathe."

  "Hardly the words of a devout Brother of the Rose."

  "Perhaps not. But you are not offended?"

  "No. You remember where you found me."

  "Yes, I do. But I wrongly thought that it was where you had started, too."

  "What makes you think different?" She started drying herself, knowing that Garlac would be distracted.

  "I had a conversati
on with a man named Mortic, from Mordyn. It seems he is searching for the wife of Berimar. The wife of Berimar! Can you believe it? I find it hard to believe the sorcerer actually exists, and to hear he has a wife. Probably a withered old crone, eh?"

  "Perhaps. What else did you talk to this Mortic about?"

  "This and that. We talk frequently. I've learned quite a bit about magic."

  "Ah, I thought as much. This Mortic dangles Berimar's secrets in your eyes and you become his servant. You crave much yet are still a babe in the woods. You presume to learn the art of a thirteen hundred year old sorcerer?"

  "That old? You look so well preserved. You do not deny that you are who Mortic searches for?"

  "I will say nothing on that matter. However, if I were that person, then you would be in grave danger for telling me these things. One might guess that I had strong magic."

  "I considered that. I made preparations for this meeting."

  "Berimar's secrets?"

  Garlac bowed. "I do what I deem necessary."

  "Does Lord Daass know your activities?" She dropped her towel, and pulled a dress over her head. She noticed the hesitation in Garlac's reply and glanced at him. She caught him before he could tear his eyes away.

  "A gentleman wouldn't watch a lady dress."

  "A lady wouldn't allow a gentleman in the same room when she dresses. You chose to dress in front of me. Do not blame me for watching you. And to answer your question, no, Daass knows very little of what I do, but he has suspicions. As long as I execute my duties he refrains from digging too deep."

  "And what is your goal? To unseat Daass?"

  "Trivial."

  "The throne?"

  "Potential, but too little."

  "Too little? Your ambition is staggering. There are many powers in the world that will be at odds with you. You realize that even with all of Berimar's sorcery you would still be a servant of Galamog."

  "I know a way around that. The Faerion."

  She smiled at him like an indulgent parent patiently waiting for the child to find the answer.

  "Perhaps, you do," said Dellana. "But you do not have the Faerion and you do not know its secrets. Berimar, Blackthorne, even Galamog do not possess the knowledge to unlock the book."

  "So you are the sorceress after all. What about Wynne, or the Daerlan? Do they have the skill for the Faerion?"

  "Wynne would not know her potential with the Faerion. I can't speak for the Daerlan although they possessed it for many years. Navir might know. He holds many secrets in that head of his, but getting that knowledge out will be a challenge."

  "I am prepared for that."

  "Do not underestimate Navir. Never underestimate Navir. His father did and still does and it will cost him dearly ere the end. There are many bones in the earth of those who underestimated the solitary Navir. Berimar tried for years to kill that Daerlan. Navir survived everything. All of Berimar's power. What can you do different? Will you tell me what you paid for Berimar's magic?"

  "Just information. Just information. Mortic is interested in politics. Apparently, Mordyn will be invading Wierland and Calendia in the near future, depending upon the outcome of the Wierland invasion. Mordyn does not wish Calendia and Wierland united against Mordyn."

  "I see. You believed that Berimar's spells are worth mere information. Mortic could find out what he needed almost anywhere. Certainly not for the price he paid you. I should be wary, Garlac." She began to brush out her hair very slowly. She looked at him directly.

  "And you care nothing for the people here? Aren't you the Vizier of the Brotherhood? How can you have such little concern for your fellow man?"

  "Spare me the lecture. How about you? A sorceress acting the part of a follower. Who is the bigger hypocrite?"

  She sat on the bed. Garlac resisted the temptation. They sat in silence watching each other. Garlac began to fidget. He did not know what Dellana would do. He was not adept enough to sense the buildup of sorcery. She could be working a spell and he would be unaware. He began his own preparations, slowly recalling the proper phrases, remembering, too, Mortic's warnings about accuracy in a spell. The wrong words would damn his soul to the demons for eternity.

  Garlac's spell rose up in a violet light. It hummed and began to seal the room. It was designed to such the air out of the room, rendering Dellana unconscious. Too late, Garlac remembered Mortic's warning about Dellana's daggers. A sharp pain tore through his shoulder and his spell faltered. He caught a glimpse of Dellana opening the door and slipping out. He pressed his hand against his wound and started after her. However, he had forgotten about the spell. It hung in the air, unfinished. Garlac forgot where he was in the sequence. He tried to close the loop but the spell wavered and pulled itself inward and flashed and crackled, searing Garlac and he collapsed. He heard footsteps running down the hall, and then he blacked out.

  "Lord Garlac?" A hand reached out and gently shook Garlac. His eyes flickered, and then opened, slowly focusing.

  "Carle?" He glanced around. Dellana was gone. Apparently some time had passed as the light entered the window from a different direction than he remembered.

  "What happened? You are badly burned. I bandaged your cut shoulder and put some salve on your burns. You lost a bit of blood. Are you okay?"

  "I'm not sure. I'm too groggy." He moved gently, feeling the painful cracking of his burned skin. He winced as he sat up.

  "Who did this?" asked Carle.

  His mind cleared quickly and he needed to divide Dellana from her only ally.

  "Dellana."

  "Dellana?"

  "She is a sorceress."

  "I don't believe you. She is a member of the Brotherhood. A Sister!"

  "Take a look around, boy. The signs of sorcery are evident. I stupidly confronted her about her past and she grew angry. I am lucky to be alive."

  Carle helped Garlac to a chair. He brought him a cup of water. He looked around the room, searching Dellana's belongings, but could find nothing out of the ordinary. He sighed.

  "What can I do for you?" asked Carle absently.

  "Let me rest here. I shall be all right."

  "But your burns need treatment. Let me find a physician for you. There may still be time to prevent much scarring."

  "Scarring?" The thought hadn't occurred to Garlac. His fingers touched the side of his face, feeling the deformed skin, brittle under his touch.

  "Yes, yes, find a physician."

  Carle left quickly and Garlac sat, gathering his thoughts. What would he do? Should he seek Dellana out and kill her? Expose her to Lord Daass? The better course would be to betray her to King Treteste or perhaps Daass could do that. It might gain them an advantage later.

  Carle found a physician and gave him directions to Dellana's quarters. Carle needed to find Dellana. Garlac's story rang false, but Carle needed to be sure she was all right. He checked the Chapterhouse and several taverns that he knew she liked but found no trace. No one had seen her for days.

  He searched the castle. He peeked into the dungeon but there was too much confusion and the guards were suspicious of anyone. He asked the guards at the gates but no one remembered anybody of Dellana's description leaving the city. It would be impossible to leave in any case; the Wierland army still surrounded the city.

  He bought a small loaf of bread and returned to his quarters. He had a bottle of wine hidden under his bed and believed the bread and wine would taste wonderful at the moment. He opened his door and shut it, locking it securely. He went directly to the bed and pulled the bottle out. He set the bread on the table with the wine. He opened the wine and poured some into a cup. He sipped it while eating the bread.

  "Do you have another cup?"

  He nearly fell out of his chair as Dellana moved out from the curtains.

  "I waited for you for a long while. I was nearly asleep when you returned. Have you a second cup?"

  "No, I don't."

  "No matter. I will share yours." She took the cup from h
is hand and drank deeply. Her eyes locked on his. Carle felt himself slipping away.

  "Are you a sorceress?" he blurted out, breaking the mood.

  "Do you think I was bewitching you?"

  "No. I found Garlac in your room, burned."

  "Ha! The fool. It was his own spell. When I escaped he must have lost his place and the spell collapsed on him."

  "You didn't do that to him?"

  "No, of course not. Do you believe that I am capable of such a thing?"

  "No, Dellana. I don't. But I don't know what is going on anymore. I am over my head. I only wanted to be a Brother and serve the people of Calendia. What have I become?"

  "I told you before that you are too hard on yourself. You cannot do more than you are able. Why do you deride yourself so mercilessly?"

  Carle sat nothing. He thoughtfully chewed his bread.

  "Garlac will be hunting us," said Carle. "He told me to fetch a physician but I did not return with him. Garlac will want to know why. We cannot be found together."

  "Let us leave Nantitet."

  "How? The siege."

  "Ah, I had forgotten." Her expression was strange. Carle noticed it, curious to know her thoughts. He did not totally believe Garlac, yet neither could he give Dellana all his trust. He had spent enough time with Apal to know that looks can be deceiving and that all manner of people may be involved in intrigue.

  "Perhaps there might be another way. We must talk to a man I know. Come with me- we must hurry."

  They moved quickly through the commotion in the streets as the people of Nantitet prepared for the siege. They stored the food in a large storeroom near the castle and guards watched the wells day and night. King Treteste would not let the city be defeated from within. Everyone outside moved with purpose and Carle and Dellana did not stand out.

  She led him toward the inns nearest the castle.

  "Why here? Most who live here are foreigners."

  "True. There is a man from Mordyn who may be able to help us."

  "Why would he?" Carle watched her face but there was no reaction.

  "He owes me a favor. I obtained an audience with Lord Daass for him once. I hope he remembers his obligation; otherwise we cannot get out of Nantitet. Once we are admitted to his presence let me speak. Do not offer any speech. He may be a spy."