The Steward and the Sorcerer, James Peart [novels to read in english .txt] 📗

man.  Tolke was uncertain as to what it was he planned to do but he guessed it involved confronting the steward Longfellow in some way.  Tolke shook his burly head.  Given a one on one encounter, measure for measure, the Druid would have the upper hand but the steward would never allow that to happen.  He enjoyed the constant protection of his cadre of guards, some of whom it was said were secretly sorcerers themselves, all of them loyal to him.  Was the Druid strong enough to get past these?  Politically, Longfellow was the most ruthless steward ever to sit on the King’s throne at Brinemore.  He was tactically very astute and had an unerring knack for separating advice to make the best possible decisions.  Advisors who talked a false game were known to have been thrown from the top of the Derg tower.  He had ambitious plans for Brinemore that involved the submission and control of most of the Northern Earth and it would not be very long before his influence extended south as far as Manor Harmon.  He wasn’t about to let his plans be disrupted by a single man, especially one he considered a rogue sorcerer.

The Druid was formidable, however, Tolke reflected, and had plans of his own.  Who knew what manner of assistance he could summon from within the walls of Fein Mor?  Whatever it was it would have to be strong enough to break through the citadel fortress that surrounded Karsin Longfellow. He reflected on the matter before being caught up in the various duties provided by his daily rounds, his thoughts drifting elsewhere.

4.

The hard stone of Fein Mor stood imposing over the land that surrounded it, its slate cone turrets rising pointed to the azure sky, its bulwark parapets running the length of the top of the walls.  Old weapons jutted through the squared openings along the ramparts, rusting, many of them no longer in function, directed at enemies long since departed from the Northern Earth.  Beneath them the white mullioned windows, revealed by open shutters, reflected the sun brightly, warm in the first heat of summer.

The first Magus of the new order of Druids stood outside the keep for a time, gazing at it, taking in its ancient splendour.  All the help he would need in his confrontation with Brinemore lay within its walls.  The Druid was contemplating the nature of this assistance.  He had mulled over the issue on his long journey back from Manor Harmon.  He could of course enlist help of the non-magic variety from the territories that lay south and east of here.  To the east lay the Drague Territories.  They were mainly composed of a loose collection of warring tribes that had occasionally been involved in skirmishes along the coasts of the Earth, yet never in a proper war.  Some of those tribes had tended their support as mercenaries, taking payment for their involvement in battles without the passion of true commitment.

The inhabitants of lands further east and south were, if anything, worse, lacking the glue of society that sought to unify their communities.  They had never traditionally come to the Druids’ assistance in times of war or need and they would be unlikely to now, especially since Brinemore had begun to exert political power over the Northern Earth.  Daaynan had visited some of the merchant houses and taverns on his way back to Fein Mor, had sat in the corner of ale houses and held talk with whoever was willing to converse over matters taking place in the north.  They had confirmed Tolke Straat’s statement that Brinemore had become a formidable power over the last five years, that Karsin Longfellow was bent on further expansion south-east toward Fein Mor and south toward Manor Harmon and beyond.  Some said that he had enlisted the help of those in the Drague Territories to colonise the lands in the east, that he had his own army to assist the Drague tribes in his expansion.  He would enable the birth of confederate states in the east first, then travel south and presumably do the same there.  Those he talked to seemed to accept what was to happen as a matter of course.  What impressed Daaynan as he sat there listening to people talk was their indifference to what they were sure was about to happen, an indifference underpinned by fear, he reflected.  Longfellow must be stopped.

He lowered the drawbridge by means of a sequence of gestures drawn in the crisp evening air and walked inside the keep.  Fein Mor as it stood was invulnerable to attack.  Nothing short of the right kind of magic was needed to enter inside its walls and he was sure that Longfellow’s sorcerers did not possess this.  The magic that warded it belonged to the Druids.  Only one of them could summon it.  Sorcerers had tried over the years to replicate this form of magic, creating only a hybrid version that fell short of expectations.

He was safe here.  But sooner or later he would have to confront what was happening in the world around him, sooner rather than later.  Daaynan had thought about this on his way back to Fein Mor.  He had an idea, one that he thought might work.  It would take time and preparation, however, so he must start now.

He walked through a series of narrow corridors that led to one of the corners of the stronghold, turning right and left, stopping once to light a passage torch to guide his way and continuing until he came to a chamber beneath the north tower.

Lifting his hands to the chamber wall, he summoned green fire from his fingertips.  Green flame could draw matter back into the world of real things. He wove his hands quickly to form an intricate knot in the space before the wall and stood back.  For a time, nothing happened.  Then, pooling in the cracks of stone, the life-force of the Brightsphere began its seeping intrusion into the