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

When Longfellow gave no immediate answer, he asked “was this demon charged to protect us in the first place?”

“Did it not do that?” came his answer, spoken in an uncertain voice.

Outside the citadel, the air seemed to break in a thunderous clap.  There was the sound of wrenching iron and an almighty crack of metal tearing from stone.  Longfellow flinched, his eyes widening in shock.  Dechs, however, never moved, his gaze not leaving the Steward, his expression one of granite.

“My Lord, please answer the question,” he said.  “Do you know what’s going on here?”

“I do,” came a voice from behind the two men.

A man approached the trio from the direction of the Steward’s quarters, a man who in appearance was an exact copy of the one he was addressing.  His finely wrought features, the lines etched on his face, the deceptively soft eyes, even the length of his hair, all were identical to the man standing before him.  It was Dechs’ turn to be shocked.  He looked from one to the other in disbelief.  Only the man’s gait, his air of false deference, and studiedly neutral expression- mottled slightly with indignation- told him that the second man was the true Steward.  Some of his men sensed it, nodding respectfully despite their confusion, responding to the natural authority that emanated from him in invisible yet unmistakable waves.

Addressing the other, he said “My Lord, is it really you?”

“It is, Commander,” Longfellow said.  He walked up to Christopher and Simon, circling them slowly, seeming to recognise Simon equally.

Dechs looked from one to the other, marvelling at their similarity.  “Is it sorcery?” he whispered.

“Yes.  This one,” Longfellow pointed at Simon, “fits the description of the individual who helped the Druid when one of my...my scouts...confronted him in the Druid’s keep, a little while ago.”  He turned to the Legionnaires.  “Arrest them both.  Place them in the stronghold.”

“Tell him the truth,” Simon said to Longfellow.  “It was a creature of magic that you sent to Fein Mor.  A Faerie being.  You have banned sorcery in the Northern Earth, but still find it convenient to use it to further your own ends.”

“Sire?” Dechs asked.

“He is a liar,” the Steward said without hesitation, “just like his companion who pretends to be something he is not.”  He leaned his face close to Simon’s.  “Your Druid does not have the courage to face me, just as he did not back at Fein Mor.  Nothing can save either of you now from the Tochried.”

As if in answer, a crash sounded from outside the compound, iron tearing free from its moorings in stone.  The gates had been torn open, Dechs thought.  The demon was inside the citadel, approaching the compound.

Longfellow turned to Dechs and his men.  “The Tochried is coming.  Rest assured, he will respond to me alone.  You are safe from harm.”

Simon addressed the Legionnaires as well, spreading his hands in appeal.  “That thing out there does not discriminate between foe and ally.  You have witnessed it for yourselves.  Your Steward has commissioned it to stand against two sorcerers he has claimed are enemies of the state, but he also hasn’t learned to discriminate.  Iridis may be an irredeemable evil but The Druid Daaynan works for the good of mankind.  He doesn’t want to overthrow your Steward.  He merely wants good relations between your state and Fein Mor.  He acts for the...”

Longfellow cut Simon off.  “Would you listen to a sorcerer’s dogsbody?” he asked with biting sarcasm.  “I control the Tochried.  Whatever you may think of me for bringing it into being, whatever remaining loyalty to me you have left in this time of crisis, remember this: I am the only thing that stands between you and that demon.  Stand by me now and you won’t regret it.”

But Simon shook his head, his expression filled with bitter contempt.  “He doesn’t want your support!  He merely wants you not to attack him before he can issue orders to this monster.  And what will those orders be?  That’s what you should be concerned about.  It’s entirely possible that this creature, or whoever has really controlled it till now, wants only to attack your Steward.  He has conditioned you against the use of sorcery.  If you are really loyal to him, judge him by his own standards.  Arrest him instead for violating his own rules.  Or leave him to the creature.  You decide.”

The soldiers looked at one another, then at their Commander.

An instant later, the doors to the compound crashed open.

34.

Iridis placed his hand on the Tochried and instantly his surroundings changed.

This was not like a mind at all, the Naveen King thought, as his vision was filled with a glaring white light, reducing the battlefield on which he stood to the tiniest point at the furthest corner of his vision.  The power he felt here was all-encompassing and intoxicating.  Alive with its own intelligence, it pulsed and thrummed along lines he was unfamiliar with, weaving and threading to form a singular contour that pounded with an alien stroke.  It was something beyond what he would consider a mind.  Quickly, reaching out, seeking routes of thought within it, he found none; just this vast pulse.  It did not think in the ordinary way, or maybe not at all.  He tried to communicate with images instead, enjoying the same success.  Wherever this thing dwelled, nothing physical featured there.  It seemed to respond to impulse.  Perhaps it fed off...

Hello, Iridis.

Iridis wheeled about in alarm, taken completely by surprise.  Tan Wrock.  Of course.  Somehow, he had allowed himself to forget what was controlling this creature.  He thrashed against the walls of the creature’s awareness, seeking release, finding in his effort an inability to move, not even the tiniest shift.

Different, isn’t he?  He comes from a realm of existence that precedes space and thought.  Place has no importance here.  Nor does time, as such.  He does not have a name for it- there are no names for things where he hails from-