The Archmage unbound m-3

by Michael G. Manning

  “She made you think you had children?” I asked, puzzled.

  “No… idiot! I was using that as an example, it was the closest thing I could think of to convey the sort of happiness she created within me. It wasn’t just happiness, it was… everything. While she was with me I had no doubts or fears. Death might threaten but she was holding my hand, and I believed she would be waiting for me beyond death’s doors. Every action had meaning, and every moment was full of importance, all part of her plan to better humankind. No… it wasn’t just that…” He stopped for a moment, a note of shame in his voice.

  “What?” I asked. I wasn’t certain I wanted to know, but he wouldn’t have begun if he hadn’t needed to get it off his chest.

  “It was like sex, only better. The entire time I was in her service I abstained from women… I had no desire for them. Whenever I healed someone…” I saw a shudder run through him as he remembered.

  “You had an orgasm when you healed people?”

  “No! But my shame is just the same, worse, the sensation was far better than an orgasm. It was like a drug, an exaltation of the mind and spirit, as well as an ecstatic sensation of physical pleasure. Why do you think I went looking for people in need?” The look in his eyes was one of abject despair and humiliation. “I ‘wanted’ to find sick people. I needed it… and when my craving became so bad that I had dreams of hurting people, just so I could heal them… she forgave me. She told me it was normal, a weakness of flesh forced to contain the divine.”

  I couldn’t help the feeling of revulsion his words evoked, “That’s…,” I stopped myself before I finished with what I was thinking, ‘disgusting’.

  “I knew it was wrong, but I had to believe her. I needed to believe her. I was like an addict… I am an addict. Even now I have dreams… I want to go back to her so badly.” He cradled his head in his hands.

  “Yet you rejected her,” I said, hoping to remind him of his own inner strength.

  “Even in that decision I cannot claim pure motives. Truly I was angry that she refused to aid Penny… that was the moment when I could no longer pretend she had our best interests at heart. I already knew… deep down… but in that moment I was sure. Even so, I would not have had the strength to reject her if I hadn’t been so angry.”

  “Angry that she wouldn’t help Penny,” I added for him.

  “No,” he answered in a voice devoid of hope, his face was red and his eyes were swollen with tears now. “I was angry that she wouldn’t give me what I wanted… what I needed. It was the anger of an addict who’s been told he can’t have more.”

  I stared at my friend for long minutes. He had run out of words and I had none to give him. My only thought was that a man of noble spirit had been broken, and turned into this. The friend I had known so long was ruined, thoroughly, inside and out, more completely than anyone could be. Looking back I think that was the day that I realized anyone could be corrupted, that none of us were immune to evil. No matter how lofty our ideals, we are all susceptible to weakness and depravity. It was a final passage from innocence to adulthood.

  Yet we still have choices. Perhaps not good ones, and sometimes they seem insignificant, but they are still choices. At the very least every morning holds the choice, sink into despair or get up and try to do something, no matter how meaningless.

  Eventually my thoughts came together and I spoke, “So what are you going to do now?”

  He laughed, “There’s nothing to do. Let me have that bottle and I’ll do the only thing I can to dull the pain.” There was no apology in his voice, merely numb acceptance.

  “That’s just a slow death,” I replied.

  “Suits me fine,” he said. “It isn’t as if I want to live anyway. What I have become… isn’t something that deserves to live.”

  “Do you really want to die?” I asked without a hint of mockery.

  “Yeah.”

  “Then let’s do it.”

  “What?” he asked with a note of surprise.

  “Not me of course, I still have things to live for… but if you really are in that much pain you should let me help you,” I told him earnestly.

  “That isn’t funny. I’m being serious here Mort.”

  “I know. I love you Marc. You’ve been one of my best friends for as long as I can remember. If you’re hurting this badly I want to help you.” At that moment I was deadly serious, and he could see it on my face.

  “Why?”

  “Let’s look at the alternatives,” I explained. “You can drink yourself to death… over a period of months or years, hurting everyone that cares about you, forcing them to watch your slow decline. You could also end yourself in some spectacular manner, shocking everyone and hurting them even more. Or…,” I paused and held a finger up, “You could let me help you.”

  “Help me how? You’ve lost me,” Marc said, but as he spoke I could tell curiosity had replaced his anger and despair at last.

  “Help you die. Normally when someone commits suicide they do it alone, and the result usually winds up being someone gets a very nasty and messy surprise when they discover what has happened. If I help you your options are vastly better. You can choose how, when and where and I’ll make sure that no one finds your body… unless you want them too. You can just disappear and no one has to know… or I could get ‘news’ months or years later to give your family closure.”

  “You would do that for me?”

  “I don’t think I could call myself your friend if I abandoned you at a time like this, but…,” I paused meaningfully.

  “But what?” Marc asked.

  “You have to swear to let me help you.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means you can’t do it alone. If you seriously decide you want to do this you have to let me help you. You can do it however you want… I’ll help with any plan you come up with, but you have to tell me first and it can’t be something stupid like drinking yourself to death.”

  Marc stared at me carefully for a long moment; his face held more hope than I had seen in a month. “Fine, you have a deal,” he said.

  “Swear it,” I insisted.

  “I swear to let you know when and how I will die, so long as you swear to help rather than interfere,” he answered.

  “I swear to help, no matter what.”

  “What now?” he asked.

  “I have things to do this morning, how about you?” I told him.

  Marc laughed, “There’s nothing on my schedule. I had planned to drink myself into a stupor but that seems rather pointless now. I guess I’ll start planning.”

  “I suggest you take a bath and shave first, no sense smelling like a dead rat. Don’t forget though… you have to tell me first, no matter what you decide,” I stressed the last part.

  “I will. I’m not sure about the shave though, I was thinking of growing a beard.” He passed his hand over the patchy growth that had sprouted across his cheeks. Marc had never been blessed with a good beard; the hair grew willy-nilly across his cheeks, leaving some spots almost completely bare.

  “That’s probably a bad idea for you my friend,” I said, patting him on the shoulder.

  “I think you’re just afraid my beard might look better than that paltry goatee you have there,” he replied mockingly.

  “Believe what you will… but some of us have the gift and some of us have… well whatever that thing sprouting on your face is,” I teased him. We kept the banter going for several minutes after that before I finally made my way out.

  As I headed to my workshop I wondered what he would decide. My instincts told me whatever it was would be better than what he had been doing. Finally I put the thought aside and decided to trust him. I had a feeling things would work out, but I’ve always been optimistic.

  Chapter 4

  That evening Marcus made it to the dining hall, freshly shaved and looking much better. He was still pale but he was definitely sober. Dorian gave me a quizzical look… I could
almost hear his unspoken question: What did you do? Later when I had a chance I told him I had spoken to Marc, but I never did give him the details of our agreement. For that matter I didn’t tell Penny either.

  Two days later Marc caught up to me in the smithy. I had been spending so much time there lately that almost everyone knew to look for me there when they needed me now. My work was still proceeding at a good pace but it looked as if it would take me months to accomplish my goals.

  “That must be the armor Dorian was telling me about,” Marc said as he walked up. He hadn’t announced himself when he entered but that was hardly necessary anyway.

  I didn’t bother replying, gracing him with an unintelligible grunt instead. I had my hands full of red hot metal and although I wore heavy leathers to protect my body and had spelled my hands and arms for hardness and heat resistance I still didn’t dare relax my attention. Careless smiths didn’t work for long, and that probably was doubly true for mage-smiths… if that was the proper term for what I had become. Maybe wizard-smith would sound better?

  After a few minutes I found a good stopping point and set my work aside to cool, and then I gave my friend my full attention. “What’s on your mind?” I was a little worried he might have come up with a ‘plan’ but I had decided not to mention it to him until he brought it up himself.

  He gave me one of his old grins, the sort that meant he might be up to mischief. “I’m bored,” he said finally.

  “Nothing new there,” I replied. “What are we going to do about it?”

  “Well I’ve been thinking, about your offer. Now that I have that ahead of me it seems I don’t need to rush things. Instead there might be a few things I’d like to do first.”

  I kept my face smooth but inwardly I was smiling. “Such as?” I asked.

  “I’ve been thinking about what you told me before… about the things you read in that book on the history of Illeniel. I’d like to know more,” he answered.

  “You think you can do something about it,” I concluded.

  “No, but that’s the point. I don’t know. Until now I’ve been a victim, and that’s part of what makes it so painful. Not only did she manipulate and betray me, she left me with the knowledge that nothing I do will matter. No action I can take now will affect her or the other gods in the slightest. Mankind as a whole and me in particular, we are insignificant… unworthy of regard or consideration.” Marc leaned back and gazed at the cooling metal I had set aside.

  “You think there might be knowledge that will help?” I suggested.

  His eyes snapped back to my face, “Yes. The story you told me about the sundering, if true, is proof of that. If the gods were once less than they are now… then they aren’t immortal, eternal, or unchanging.” He clenched his fist as he spoke and I could see the anger simmering beneath his cool exterior.

  “And if they aren’t?”

  Marc gave me a grin that sent a shiver down my spine, “Then they aren’t gods, and if they aren’t gods then they can be brought to task for the things they have done.”

  “Even if they aren’t omnipotent it’s very likely you still won’t be able to hurt them,” I reminded him.

  “I have a friend who might be able to…,” he said, looking squarely at me.

  I suffered a moment of self-doubt, “That’s a big leap. There’s little indication anyone might have that sort of power.”

  “Moira Centyr did…,” he said bluntly.

  “She was an archmage.”

  “So are you,” he replied.

  “Maybe,” I admitted. “In any case, she only defeated one god… and that was with a lot of help.”

  “It doesn’t matter Mort. I’ll seek what knowledge I can find. If any of it proves useful then I’ll have made some sort of difference. If not… well I feel much better knowing you’re there to help me… if it comes to that,” he stopped there.

  “Where do you plan to start?” I asked.

  “Your house… there may be more histories in your father’s library. After that I’ll scour the libraries of the nobility… and if I can get to them, the records of the churches.”

  That gave me pause, there might be information there that none of us could guess at. “You’re an ex-saint, which makes you about as popular with the followers of the evening star as a skunk at a tea party. You think they would let you near their coveted records now?”

  “No… but I need a challenge,” he declared. There was a light in Marc’s eyes again. He wasn’t the same man he had been, but he was better than the broken creature I’d found in his room a few days before. Revenge might be a poor motive, but it was better than despair.

  “I’m assuming you want me to take you to the capital.”

  “Of course,” he said with a smile.

  “I’ll take you after dinner this evening. I was planning to make a trip that way in a few days anyway. Now I can use that as an excuse to check on your progress,” I informed him.

  “Why are you going to Albamarl?” he asked.

  I gave him my own evil grin, “I promised the king I would stop by and visit him.”

  A frown passed over his face before being replaced by a smirk, “You know… since you came and spent that week with me over a year and a half ago you’ve done nothing but make enemies. The list just keeps getting longer.”

  “When you have friends as good as mine you have to find a way to balance things out,” I replied jokingly. Then I took a chance and asked a more direct question, “Are you feeling better?”

  “If you were someone else I would say yes,” he answered with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m not going to get ‘better’ Mort. I’m just going to get even, if possible.”

  “So your good humor has just been a facade?”

  “Mostly. Even so, my facade is better looking than you do, even on a good day,” he snapped back.

  “Ha!”

  “Anyway, Mort, I do need to thank you. I still don’t really want to live, but you made me realize I had the choice and if I’m going to stick around a while longer I might as well do something to pay the bitch back for what she did to me. No sense in wallowing in self-pity meanwhile. When I’ve had enough I’ll let you know.” He stepped closer and embraced me in a bear hug.

  Marc left after that and I collected my thoughts and returned to my work on the armor. As I worked my thoughts kept returning to what he had said, particularly the part about Moira Centyr. I still had a lot of questions about her. I hadn’t spent much time exploring my new abilities since the day Penny and I had broken the bond. I wasn’t even sure if I should call them ‘abilities’. For the most part it just seemed like a broader form of communication.

  Things like what I was doing now… working with the metal before me, those were clearly normal wizardry. I was using my own power to shape the material in my hands. So far I hadn’t seen anything impressive about this ability that supposedly meant I was an archmage. Sure I could hear the earth, the wind, and a myriad of smaller things, but thus far it seemed to be mainly an informational ability. There were a few things that puzzled me though, such as when the earth had shaken back in Albamarl, when I threatened the banker. Or the way the wind had tossed Ariadne’s hair a few days back, just after I had thought about it. In each case something had happened, but I hadn’t felt directly responsible. Unlike wizardry, I hadn’t exerted my own power, but nevertheless something had happened which coincided with my own thoughts and feelings.

  Moira Centyr in particular was a startling example of something far beyond the ken of normal wizardry. Whatever she had done a thousand years before had changed her into a creature of the earth itself, an elemental being. How such a thing could happen was beyond my ability to guess, but as I pondered it I realized that I didn’t have to guess.

  My last contact with her had been while I was desperately trying to heal Penny. Naturally I hadn’t had a chance to ask any non-essential questions at the time, but there was no reason I couldn’t ask them now.
I had actually been considering trying to contact her since that day, but until now I had had too many things distracting me to make a serious attempt.

  The metal in my hands had gone cold. Startled, I realized I had been standing idle for several moments. I set the piece down and decided the time had come to do something. Walking outside I washed my hands and face in the water trough near the door. I should find someplace a bit more private, I thought to myself.

  I took a walk, through the village and out the gate. As I went I studied the repairs to the outer wall. During Gododdin’s siege of my home they had breached the outer wall that encircled the town of Washbrook. After our victory it had been the first thing on our list of important things to rebuild. The work had gone well and now the section of wall that had been torn down was only remarkable by the difference in color between the new stone and the older stone of the undamaged parts of the wall.

  The masons were now laying the foundation for a much larger wall that would encircle the area where our palisade had been… and more. The most uncomfortable thing about the siege had been the crowding created by the fact that some of the town was outside of the defensive walls. If it ever came to that again I intended to make sure that we had room and then some for any future sieges. Once the new outer wall was built I would have several large barracks constructed, along with storehouses for food and supplies.

  I didn’t actually anticipate needing to fill those barracks with soldiers, but if I had to shelter the people of the county again there would be plenty of space for the farmers and their families to stay. I should probably consider having a second well dug to provide easier access to fresh water, I thought.

  My steps took me beyond the walls and down the road toward the valley. I followed it for several hundred yards before I turned aside and headed into the trees that flanked the road on either side. I kept going till I found a comfortable looking spot to sit beside a large oak and there I settled myself, leaning my back against the massive trunk.