The Lords of Anavar (11 page)

"Artus Endria, it is good to see you again. You have found much character since our last meeting. And Deah Vole. It is unfortunate that your brother does not have your courage. It is something that could have made him a formidable presence."

Several shapes appeared at the edge of Artus' vision.

"Well, the question remains what to do with you? There is no reason for you to be here accidentally. The Council would not have moved so quickly so I assume Gerrand sent you of his own accord. He is one man who outlived his usefulness years ago. He has kept great stores of knowledge to himself. Did you know that? He doles it out in minuscule portions to those he deems worthy. That is to be changed. I have found my own cache of learning and I shall master it and then Gerrand will not lord over me again."

"Show yourself Wolk," said Artus. "Or do you fear us?"

"Little Artus. You are special. There is a fire inside you that I did not expect. Perhaps Gerrand does possess a singular insight. However, I shall not show myself until you have surrendered. I saw what you did with that blast of power and I do not wish to show myself plainly. It would make a most horrible delay in my plans."

Suddenly, an arrow flew out of the darkness and pierced Deah Vole's jersey. He gasped and slumped to the ground. Artus screamed in rage and moved to unleash his power on their attackers. As he turned, something exploded in the back of his head and he remembered no more.

Petyr Wolk walked into the open space of the shelter and nudged Deah Vole with his boot. Then he motioned for Artus to be picked up.

"Leave the other for the scavengers." They faded back into the shadows leaving Deah Vole bleeding to death.

Artus came to while they still carried him. His head throbbed and he fought nausea. When the ringing in his ears softened, somewhat he listened for clues to where they were bringing him. His captors were silent and he could not determine Petyr Wolk's whereabouts. He estimated they carried him several hundred yards before dumping him on the ground.

"Oof!"

"He's awake," said one of the men.

"Leave him to me," said Wolk. "You do not have the skill for one such as him."

"I knocked him out, didn't I?"

"You were lucky once, Grosey. Do not push your luck. It never lasts."

The barrel-chested man sniffed and walked to the fire to join his companions. Wolk watched him, and then looked to another man who nodded. Wolk returned his attention to his captive.

"Well, Artus. Are you well?"

"Your concern touches me, Wolk. I mean it. The only thing that surpasses your compassion is your stupidity."

"Artus, Artus. What have you done? You have angered me and you have no recourse against my anger. It will prove difficult for you to survive your time here. I will not allow anyone who does not serve me to live."

"I'm sorry to hear that, but I am with Gerrand and against you."

"Ah, Gerrand. What if I convince you that Gerrand and I are on the same side? The poor old man just does not realize it. That Faeya Ryr clouds his mind. Didn't you see that? For the last two years, she has filled his mind with her image, her fragrance, and his aged memory no longer is clear. It is a sad thing, especially for one as noble as Gerrand."

"You can't make me believe you," said Artus.

"Make you? Why would I want to make you believe me? All I want is to tell the truth and you can decide if you want to believe the truth or lies and misrepresentations. The choice will be yours and I mean choice. I will not compel you. I respect you too much, Artus Endria. You will choose your own mind."

Wolk moved Artus to a sitting position and gave him water to drink. Artus thought is useless to resist. He sensed a spell hovering around the camp. It was unfamiliar to him and he did not mention it to Wolk. Perhaps his abilities were stronger than Wolk suspected. He would not give anything away. It had not occurred to him before that Wolk might cloak his camp with a spell. Artus and Deah Vole might have walked into them unknowingly. Wolk must be on edge if he used a cloaking spell this far from people. Still, he was proved right when Artus and Deah Vole followed them. How would he have known? Unless Macelan is telling him. Has Macelan returned already? How should the subject be approached? Gerrand would want to know.

"Here is some stew. I will free your hands, but be forewarned. There is a spell around you that will snap tight, cutting off your air should you try to move beyond this circle of logs. Do you understand?"

"I do."

Wolk freed him and watched Artus dig into the stew with his hand. Artus felt as if he had not eaten in a week.

"Tastes like my stew."

"It is yours. I found your cooking pot wrapped in your saddlebag. Much tastier than mine. You must share the recipe with me."

"As soon as I get home, I will send it to you."

Wolk smiled at Artus. "When we reach our destination you will give me everything you know."

"I thought you said it will be my choice to follow you or not."

"That is true. However, I shall still remove any interesting information from your mind and I shall enjoy the process. You will not. Eat up; you will need your strength."

Wolk left Artus to eat in silence. Artus looked around the camp. The shadowy shapes that he had seen when Wolk attacked seemed to linger just beyond his sight. At first, he thought them to be the men with Wolk, but they were all around the campfire. What were the beings around the perimeter of the camp?

He thought of Deah Vole and hoped the man would survive. Perhaps he would prove tougher than Wolk expected, but Artus remembered all the blood pouring from Deah's chest. He shook his head. He was alone. Still, the stew tasted excellent and would strengthen him. In the days to come, he knew he would desperately need that strength and perhaps more.

Artus' dreams that night proved the worst of his life. Thunder roared through his mind filling all crevices and corners with a throbbing pain. Waves of blood washed over him. He climbed a tree, slippery with blood. Splinters of wood bit his fingers and tore at his face. He fell and fell and fell, landing sudden on a soft bed. Light flared around him and he heard the hissing of the serpents. Snakes of magic bored through his eyes devouring his gray matter. He opened his mouth to scream but blood flowed out like water over a dam, spreading across the ground. The level rose and rose until he had to stretch to keep his chin above the blood, still more poured out of his mouth. He started to gag.

Wolk shook him awake.

"Artus! Are you all right? You were having a bad dream."

"You are a bad dream. You and Macelan."

"Ah, I see. Macelan is the key to your feelings toward me. I told you I would need to scour your mind for all the information you have because of Gerrand. You do not know him as I do. You may have spells woven about you of which you are not aware. Gerrand is crafty. He may have told you information then spelled you to suppress the information until he felt you needed it. Has he done so? Why wouldn't he give the information to you instead of weaving it in a spell? Why delay the knowledge? Because he wants you to be beyond turning back when you discover your course of action. Is that not so?" He looked at Artus, seeing the sliver of doubt create its shadow in the young man's mind. Wolk nodded his head.

"Believe me when I say I have no animosity towards you, Artus."

"What about Deah Vole?"

"He has always been a tool of Gerrand's. Gerrand has many tools and all woven with a nasty spell or two. You must realize that Gerrand has spent most of the five hundred years since Macelan's end building his power slowly, subtly. Gerrand had firsthand knowledge of how Macelan stumbled in his quest for power."

"Why didn't Gerrand do something before now? What does he wait for?"

"I do not know Gerrand's mind, I must admit. But Faeya Ryr has a power over him that I did not expect. Perhaps he has fallen to a base human urge of some kind. Perhaps he hopes to impress her, I do not know. What I do know is Gerrand represents a terrible danger to the world. If it is possible to contain him, I shall. I would ask you to consider my friendship and work with me at my side. No, don't answer now. Think about it for a few days. We will speak no more of it now."

"Very well, I will think on your words."

"I can't ask more than that. Be ready to depart within the hour. We have a long journey ahead of us."

"Where are we going?"

"Trust me, Artus. Trust me."

Wolk walked to a scout who just returned to camp.

"Well?"

"I went back like you said, but he wasn't there."

"What?"

"I checked the entire area. There was a blood spoor leading back the way they had come."

"You said your archers were the best. Deah Vole must be found."

"I sent two men after him. They will catch him. He bled a lot."

"Do not underestimate Deah Vole. He is twice the man as any of you. If he finds his way to Gerrand I will flay you alive!" He struck the man with the back of his hand and turned away heading toward his tent.

Artus watched Wolk and wished he had heard Wolk's words. Something did not please the sorcerer. Artus sighed and put his head in his hands, whispering Gerrand's name, but only the howling of the wind among the branches answered him.

The first courier reached the Lathor castle at dawn. The hooves echoed in the courtyard as the lathered horse brought its rider to the steps of the castle. The rider stumbled up the steps then bowed low. His breath labored and he waited a moment before he could discharge his duty. Gerrand waited at the door. He knew of the message when the courier left Finald fifty miles to the north. He did not doubt he knew the content. He opened the seal and quickly scanned the flowing script. The message came from High Priestess Melena of the Isle of Cothos herself, commanding Gerrand and Faeya Ryr to return at once. He felt puzzlement as to why the High Priestess wrote the message in her own hand. Did she fear spies in her own palace? He thought Faeya Ryr had eliminated them all. He looked at the message again. The threat of war being so great, the High Priestess needed the security of her Mages to feel safe. Gerrand read the message to Faeya Ryr in the garden and joined their colleagues in the library. He showed it to Tyman Stile and told the others its content.

"You are going?" asked Alec Endria.

"Of course not. We have important things to do."

"But your High Priestess calls you."

"Alec, the Council and the protection of the world from Macelan are far more important than some petty war." He sighed. Alec Endria always brought up this argument.

"I could not begin to count all the wars and kings and queens that have turned to dust in my lifetime. Only the Council has outlasted them."

"Have you no feeling for your country?"

"You forget. I have lived in Isle of Cothos for only a few hundred years. I have lived many places and cannot call one home more than another. However, if I had allegiance it would be to the land, not the government. No, I will not return to the Isle of Cothos until I have completed the task before me."

"I fear we shall all receive such messages," said Hile Berbac.

"The Council must stay focused on our task," said Tyman Stile. "We must not allow nationalist feeling to cloud our thinking. Our one task is to turn back any attempts of Macelan to wield his power over the land. Even if we must turn our backs on a kingdom as a sacrifice to the greater good. We cannot turn our focus away from our goal. The goals of the Council must override any goals of a country. Is that clear?" He pointedly looked at Alec Endria.

"Yes," said Alec Endria. "It is abundantly clear."

"I want my group to meet in my chambers in one hour," said Gerrand. "We do not have time to waste."

"Good idea," said Tyman Stile. "We must work with urgency."

"Techna, why is your army massing near our borders?" asked Alec Endria. He stood close to Techna Vole who hated people close to him. He tried to step back but the table blocked him.

"I do not know," said Techna Vole through his teeth. "I have nothing to do with it. I do not mettle in government, unlike you."

"Your High Lord Gharom is trying to expand his borders again. His father was especially covetous of our great farmland. Too bad he had no abilities to carry out his desires."

"Expand? You mean reclaim our traditional land from your greedy queen. For centuries Sloss was a city of Curesia until the deceitful envoys came to Jespin. Wierland tricked us out of that land and now tries to keep it by misleading treaties and forged documents."

"Nothing was misleading! If you thought so, then your High Lord should not have signed the paper! Do not blame me if he is an idiot!" He raised his fist but Gerrand grabbed it roughly.

"This has gone far enough," said Gerrand. "Tyman, do you really want them sealed in the castle with you?"

Tyman Stile shrugged. "I need their skills. There is much to do here that I will not be able to do alone. My strength would not be enough if we were attacked while involved in our projects. I need their strength to protect the castle. Once we begin our work I believe they shall be occupied enough not to bark at each other."

"I hope you are right. It may be a long time before they can go their separate ways."

"It shall provide entertainment at any rate," smiled Tyman Stile.

"I am no one's entertainment!" shouted Alec Endria.

"You have entertained me for years," said Tyman Stile. "I am always interested in what you will come up with next. I admit to surprise that your son provided me great delight with his poor judgment."

"Leave my son out of this."

"Yes, he is out of this, isn't he?"

"Gentlemen!" snapped Zae Pol. "Gerrand said to end it. Please do so. You are not helping advance our work. Plus, you two are very irritating."

Stile and Endria broke off their glares. Endria left the room without a word. Gerrand sighed and put his hand on Stile's shoulder. He increased the pressure.

"Do not bait him. I warn you Tyman. You will feel the heat of my anger. Am I understood?" He spoke softly yet Tyman Stile's face whitened and he nodded vigorously. Gerrand took Faeya Ryr's hand and left the room.