The Lords of Anavar (25 page)

Artus walked to the door, which opened before him, and he found himself in a barren courtyard. The sun streamed down and he ran to it, but it did not warm him.

Wolk mentioned Gerrand. Gerrand. That was the name of the old man in his dreams. Gerrand the Sorcerer. The mist at the edge of his mind parted and Artus remembered. He remembered and he cried, standing on the plain brown dirt of Wolk's courtyard.

Far above in the castle tower Petyr Wolk looked down upon the young Mage.

"It is too bad, my young friend," he spoke aloud to the empty room. "Too bad your strength resisted me. It would have been easier for you. Now your fate is a black one for you are too strong to allow you to live. Gerrand will use your strength to undermine me. I know it. I have known him too long, and Macelan has known him longer. Gerrand must be denied. He must!"

"You are so right," said a voice behind him. Wolk turned and gasped. Behind him stood a man, nearly twin to Gerrand but of a greater age. He wore a blood red cloak over brown clothes and his eyes were coal black. He gestured with his paste white hands as he spoke like a conductor leading a score of great delicacy. "Gerrand must be denied. I have waited so many years to repay Gerrand for tossing me aside. I taught him everything I knew and he turned his back at me." He watched the expression on Wolk's face for a heartbeat then nodded.

"I see your surprise. I had heard that I looked akin to Gerrand. I cannot say whether he took my countenance or I took his, or perhaps we grew alike over the years we worked together."

"You are Macelan? Really? I spoke with you in the cave, yet you seemed dead still. Now you are walking among us."

"Are you surprised? Did you really listen to my voice in the cave? Did you fools never listen to Gerrand? His warnings fell on deaf ears, that I see now. How rich! This is better than expected." He moved across the room to the window where Wolk had watched Artus. Wolk watched him, unsure of what to do.

"Ah, Artus Endria. Good work! He is very important. Have you found the girl yet?"

"Faeya Ryr?"

"No, no. She is merely a distraction for Gerrand. I mean the princess. The princess, have you found her?" He grabbed Wolk by the collar. Wolk sensed the power rising up around him.

"I don't know who you mean."

"Argh!!" He threw Wolk to the floor. "I know now what Gerrand had to deal with all these centuries, and you are one of the brighter ones. He must have felt like jumping off the battlements many times. I wonder at his strength to retain his sanity with such dunces surrounding him. How can you be a sorcerer with so little knowledge of the world around you?"

"What have I missed?" asked Wolk, getting to his feet.

"What haven't you missed? There is so much going on, I admit it is subtle; however a man with talent would be able to see it or at least sense it. There is a princess somewhere in this land that has the ability to become a sorceress. Her power should have thrown sparks off the world by now and you did not notice?"

"I was busy with your instructions and that was difficult enough. The language you spoke is dead and only Gerrand knew what it was. I did not want to alert him and took great pains to find out what I needed to know. I suspect he was curious about my use of his libraries, but I can't say more."

"Oh, I'm sure he knew exactly what you were doing."

"No doubt. Nothing seemed to escape him. A sorceress?" said Wolk, to himself. "How is that possible?"

"It is possible and it changes many things. You should be afraid for yourself if you fully understand what is happening."

"Will you tell me?" Wolk hated admitting a weakness, but he was in the weak position anyway.

"I may tell you, but not yet."

Macelan moved around the room waving his arms as if he had not used them in years. He stopped in front of the bookcase and ran his fingers jerkily over the spines of the books.

"Interesting titles. There are a few that I would add to your collection. No doubt Gerrand would have them."

"No doubt," said Wolk sourly.

"Have you been to his home?"

"No. It is on the Isle of Cothos. I am not welcome there."

"Nor would I be welcome. Cothos. Very curious that he would live there. How many years has he lived there would you say?"

"Three hundred? More, less, -- I don't know. He's always lived there for all I know."

Macelan sighed. "I wish I could have set up some kind of sentinel to gather information for me, but there was no opportunity. Much of Gerrand's preparation could have happened long before you were born and there is no one else of your age?"

"Not that I know of."

"What does Artus Endria know?"

"I do not know. He resisted my attempts to look inside his mind. I believe Gerrand shielded him somehow."

"Could be. However Artus has great strength of his own. I think I know a way to lower his defenses. Come, my young Petyr Wolk. You are now in the midst of a battle between two old and crafty sorcerers and what you will see will astound you." He grasped Wolk's arm with a grip like cold iron. Wolk felt the chill into his bones.

"Gerrand has prepared for my return these five hundred or so years and I had hoped to rise up with Curesia's army at my back. It appears I have to adjust. Did I hear you properly; did you send Geral to kill Gharom?"

"Yes. I did."

"Good. Then you can take over the army. I want Wierland smashed and then across to Cothos."

"Not Calendia?"

"No. We must find out how much Gerrand has invested in his adopted homeland. Gerrand is the enemy, the only enemy. We shall attempt to draw him out of hiding and lead him back to Cothos where our people shall be waiting. You already have agents there?"

"Yes, Macelan. They nearly succeeded in keeping him in Cothos except for Faeya Ryr. She is the High Priestess's niece."

"Yes, I know. Faeya Ryr will play her part when the time comes. For now ignore her. She will not materially affect the outcome. It's Artus who draws our attention now. Let us go to him."

Wolk followed Macelan slowly. His pulse raced. He did not believe Macelan would really return and he felt his grasp of the situation slip. Macelan turned suddenly, and grinned.

"You have assumed much in my name. This will not do. You are no longer the master here, Petyr Wolk. Yet, people shall still see it so and loathe your name. Is that not what you wanted?" He laughed and turned away.

They walked out into the open air to where Artus waited for them. He did not speak. Wolk took the lead and stopped to present his companion to Artus.

"Artus, this is Gerrand. Do you remember him?"

"Wolk. That is not Gerrand. I sensed his power as you approached. He is a dead man returned to this world, not Gerrand, and his evil drives life before it." He stepped back, his eyes checking the area. He noticed the cloaked figures in the shadows all around the courtyard. He saw the aura of sorcery along the perimeter of the courtyard, except in the doorway back into the great hall. He moved slowly to shorten the distance, his own power tingling his fingertips.

"I see you have him firmly under your control," laughed Macelan.

"He is very strong. Perhaps you would like to tutor him."

"Oh, I shall, I shall. Tell me Artus, what do you know about me?"

"I do not need another tutor. Gerrand is all I need."

"Oh, but Gerrand was my pupil. Surely you will learn more from his teacher. We shall begin at once. I shall open your mind and see what Gerrand has put there. Then I shall add what is required to fulfill your promise as a sorcerer."

"I am a Mage and do not aspire to greater heights."

"You are tiresome. You spout what Gerrand tells you to say. If you do not aspire to being a sorcerer, then Gerrand has no fear of rivals. That is what he does to you. He makes you believe you cannot be as great as he is and thereby reinforces his standing in the Mage's Council. Can you not see that?"

"All I see is the twisting of the truth by your mouth."

"Gerrand is the one twisting the truth."

"If I believe that, then it means he learned it from his tutor, does it not?"

"Now, you are the one twisting the truth."

"Macelan, you are as foolish as I expected. Wolk, he will betray you."

"Strong words for such a novice," said Petyr Wolk.

"Yes," agreed Macelan. "Strong words indeed. What shall we do with him?"

The shadows deepened in the courtyard and although it was still afternoon, the shadows forced their way across the bare ground. Artus knew the cloaked figures moved with them and tried to decide on a course of action. His power tingled at his fingers and he knew Wolk's sorcery waited to respond. The shadows drew closer and Macelan grinned although he had no sorcery ready himself. Artus puzzled at that, and then struck at Wolk and the shadows sending blue flames cutting across the dirt. Wolk threw up his hands spreading his power around him but Artus' attack was not at him rather at the sorcery of Wolk, changing it. Too late, Wolk realized what had happened. The new golden glow drew the cloaked figures to Wolk surrounding him, absorbing him.

Macelan laughed as Wolk collapsed and the demons vanished, leaving Macelan and Artus alone in the courtyard with the unconscious sorcerer.

"He underestimated you Artus Endria. But I shall not. Go! You are free to rejoin Gerrand. I know now what I am up against. Tell Gerrand I look forward to seeing him once again."

"You are really letting me go?"

"Yes," he grinned. "You were not my prisoner. Your captor is helpless. And I have no servant strong enough to guard you for me. Perhaps later on I shall to do something with you, but now it interferes with my plans."

Artus turned to the gate without another word and pushed it open with his power. The road looked inviting and he found himself running. The soft chuckle of Macelan followed him for miles.

Deah Vole still stared at the spot where the skeleton vanished. A faint shimmer of color completely faded from his sight before he could determine what shade it was, and a fly buzzed near his ear.

"Gerrand?" asked Deah Vole.

"Not my doing." He looked around them slowly. There seemed a taint to the freshness of the air and hinted at a memory, long faded but not forgotten.

"Nor mine," said Faeya Ryr.

A gaunt figure stepped onto the path from the shadows of a tree, its cloak dusty and torn. The hollow eyes peered at them above a crooked smile. There were traces of blood around the mouth.

"Artus?" whispered Faeya Ryr. He turned toward her, his eyes hooded. He had aged years since they saw him last. He licked his lips as if they were very dry.

"Well met, my young friend," said Gerrand. "How did you escape?"

"I did not." Words came slowly and forced. He looked at each of them closely as if to convince him that they were real. "I turned Wolk's magic against him and his demons did the rest. Macelan said I was not his prisoner and let me go."

"Macelan!" cried Faeya Ryr.

"You met him?" asked Gerrand softly.

"Yes. He appears much like you, but many years older. Are you related?" Artus rubbed his hands as if trying to remove some stain.

"An innocent question, perhaps. And deserving an answer. Perhaps. Let me rest a moment. You say Macelan is now in Wolk's castle, walking in his own form and he let you go after seeing your strength?"

"Yes. He said he didn't have anyone strong enough to hold me and he was far too busy."

"Be thankful for that. Is Wolk dead?"

"I do not think so. The demons descended on him and they vanished. He was screaming." Artus smiled, recalling a memory. The smile did not resemble the Artus they knew. It was more a grimace than a smile.

"Small comfort. He would be screaming under Macelan's thumb as well. Now, the decision is where to go from here."

"Go and destroy Macelan," said Deah Vole.

"I am glad you survived," said Artus Endria to the soldier.

"Yes. It is good Deah survived," said Gerrand. "But we would not be fighting Macelan directly. His strength is still green and mine ebbs. We must find the other players in the drama and fit the puzzle together. The sorceress is key. We must find her and all the remaining Mages."

"Remaining Mages?" asked Faeya Ryr.

"I'm afraid things have not gone our way. Macelan laid his plans too well."

They began walking back the way they had come. Gerrand glanced at Artus several times and hummed to himself. He found himself to be light on his feet, not what he expected after his wound. It was this new puzzle of Artus invigorating him.

"Tell me, Artus. Just how did you turn Wolk's magic against him?"

"It was strange. It was as though I could see the flows of the sorcery he was weaving and I reached out with my mind and grabbed a loose end, wrapping it around him."

"You could see the flows?"

"Or feel them. I knew they were there. I grabbed a thicker one and used it as a rope to confine him."

"Thicker one? The differences were noticeable?"

"Yes. Gerrand, what is the matter? Am I not supposed to notice them?"

He stopped and leaned on Faeya Ryr. "My injury is bothering me some. I must rest." He gave Faeya Ryr a warning glance as he sat down on a fallen tree. She tried to read the expression in his face, but she frowned and walked to Deah Vole. Artus Endria stood over Gerrand.

"What can I do to help you?" asked Artus. "My skills are much greater than they were when I left you."

"Yes, I can see that. It is puzzling to me. Can you explain the change?"

"No. Is there something you find suspicious?"

"A curious choice of words, Artus. But perhaps a correct one."

"If Artus' strength is greater, cannot the three of us overpower Macelan?" asked Faeya Ryr. "Gerrand, you told us your strength is far greater than anyone imagines. What is keeping us from finishing him now?"

Gerrand looked at her, his lips pressed tight. She noticed the anger in his eyes but said nothing.

"I am not ready to confront him. You do not understand my position."

"True, because you do not explain yourself, or this danger to us. Keeping knowledge from us does not help us. Gerrand, why do you no longer trust me?" Faeya Ryr reached for him but he turned away.