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

mean dead?” he ventured, thinking with a sickening surety that he already knew.

“I mean his time in your world had drawn to a close,” the other said matter of factly.

Simon opened his mouth to respond, on the point of hotly disputing the Reaper’s words yet that feeling of surety crashed inside his chest, knocking the wind from it, refuting the force of any argument he could counter with.  Hadn’t he agreed with this man not moments- or hours- ago, thinking that Christopher was in great trouble, he preparing to mourn his lost friend?  Maybe here was a place that would serve him better.

As if in answer to this thought, the other said “I can tell you that where I shall take him will be somewhere he can begin to live again.  I can supply him with a place to dwell and a purpose.  There is a man I need to confront back in the world I come from.  He has made repeated attempts to...put an end to me...and it is time I repaid him the favour.  It will involve preparation and I need people from...outside...to help me, those not part of any community in the Northern Earth.  That is the name of my land.  The place we passed through to get here, the one with the pillars of light- I call it the temple- is a way station, a world between worlds, and my magic first carried me there.  Each pillar represents a world unto itself...like yours, like my own.  I drew Christopher from your world and I must draw another to assist me on this journey.  The temple offers me people whose lives have in some way come to an end in the worlds they inhabit and your friend was chosen, I read it on the pillar that corresponds to your world.  You can help me in this though I understand your reluctance to get involved.

“You should know that I have magic at my disposal.  It lends me considerable strength, enough perhaps that with assistance I can overcome my adversary in the Northern Earth.  In that land I am a practitioner of sorcery.  My training and powers were borne out of the Brightsphere, which is a living construct that hails from a world between worlds, an elemental being with power beyond understanding.  In the Northern Earth I am known as a Druid.  My name is Daaynan.”

Simon took this in.  For a long moment he said nothing.  Finally, he asked “You said earlier ‘at least he hasn’t followed us in.’  What did you mean by that?”

“I entered another world from the temple before coming to yours.  The individual selected from there revealed himself to be self-serving and dangerous.  We must avoid him at all costs.”

“If you pulled him from his time and place, surely he was already dying as you said.”

Daaynan nodded slightly, as if in approval of what he said.  “When I pressed the shield, the markings on the pillar of light that corresponds to his world, it breathed new life into him, or at least returned him to the way he was when he was alive in that world.”

“Why didn’t this happen with Christopher?”

“I could not find the shield in your system.  I had to use my magic instead.”

“Tell me about this man.  Who is he?”

“He is a King of sorts.  His name is Iridis.  I cannot tell you much else, only that he uses a type of magic I have not seen before, comparable in strength to my own.  While my magic operates by the summoning of fire, his does so by touch.  He got close to me once, while I was attempting to enter your system, and felt its nature.  It- the magic- suborns the victim by capturing his will, making it over to his own.”

Simon gave him an assessing look.  “And you brought him back to life.”  He then asked him a question the other had posed to himself many times.  “How many people are you going to draw into your Northern Earth to ‘assist’ you?”  The Druid said nothing.  “I mean you’ve done well so far.  A psychopath and an alcoholic.  I offer you my congratulations.”

“What is a psychopath?”

“They’re dangerous for one thing.  Look, I don’t know what you really expect from Christopher...”

The Druid cut him short.  “Where is he?”

They both looked around, and that was when they saw the house.  To the Druid it looked like a tavern constructed of wooden beams and stone.  The stone, however, was not like any he had ever seen before.  It was not made of individual pieces but seemed one solid mass.  Nor did it look like it had been carved intact from any rock face.  The manner of how it was built eluded him, yet he thought the building had a certain elegance.  There was a short awning and a gutter ran beneath the slightly overhanging roof, its trench made of another substance he couldn’t identify.  A sign hung on metal hinges jutting out from under the awning.  It displayed a picture of a turret and announcing the name of the tavern as The Elephant and Castle.

To Simon it looked like a public house, though his surprise at its design was merely limited to his recognition of it.  “This is the pub we sometimes go to in London.”

“You know this place?”

“I know that building.  We go there every time we want to get away from Cambridge.”

“You were displeased at the manner of its construction?”

“I’m sorry?”  The big man’s manner was off-putting to Simon, yet this obtuseness flatly irked him.  He still hadn’t decided what to make of him- in truth he feared him more than a little- and until he formed a definite opinion of the Druid he decided he had better keep his anger in check, as well as his doubts.

“I was asking whether you were bothered by the arrival of this bridge you mentioned.”

Simon gave himself time to ruminate on this statement, then he finally understood.  “Cambridge is the name of a town, not