Authors: Greg Curtis
Fortunately he didn't have time to wonder about the impossibility of it all. The elders had clearly expected him, and Father Rubrecht twisted around in his seat and gestured for him to approach. It wasn't a request. And yet even as he approached, walking respectfully down the aisle between the seats for the audience, he wondered why the cleric was allowed in the Council chambers if the other spellcasters weren't. He was a powerful wizard by human standards at least and some of his gift encompassed the magic of the spirit. But there were other clerics present as well, and if he wasn't mistaken, some of the elven side of the Order's wizards as well, all waiting for him.
Taking the proffered position just behind the semi-circle of elders and members of the Order, Yorik gave a formal bow and studied the elders as he waited for them to speak. They were all white of hair as was in keeping with their positions. The elves strongly believed that wisdom came with age and silver hair was a barrier to any position of responsibility.
They all looked surprisingly sombre too, as if they were discussing a death. That was very unusual among their people. The elves were always a considered and somewhat serious people as he had discovered, but for all that a happy people. They simply didn't allow their more exuberant impulses free reign.
Three or four of the faces he knew from having seen them as he'd gone about his business in the city. And one of them he actually knew. Odeletta. She was the elder who had met him at the entrance to the city some months before and then sent him on to Ender's Fall with Ascollia and Genivere. She looked no less serious in front of him in the Council chamber than she had then.
Yorik didn't have to wait long to be addressed.
“Yorik son of Heric, you are recovering well from your injuries?”
It was one of the elders who had asked the perfunctory question, an ageing elf who in human terms would have surely been at least seventy by the wrinkles that lined his face. As an elf of course, he was probably much older. But like Myral there was nothing of infirmity in his voice and Yorik knew he hadn't asked out of curiosity or even concern. He had a reason.
“Yes Elder, my injuries are healing apace thanks to your excellent healers and in another week I expect to be fully fit.”
Except of course with the longbow, but he didn't mention that. There were things they didn't need to know, not when he still had his crossbows.
“That is good to hear, even if I suspect you do put an overly sunny outlook on your condition. Nevertheless, I expect you will be ready to travel by then.”
There was no doubt that the elder knew his condition exactly even before he'd asked, and that he knew Yorik's nature as well. This was not an elf to be fooled with.
“Yes Elder.”
Yorik nodded, wondering where he was to be travelling to. But wherever it was, one thing was certain; he was still being accepted as a paladin of the Order of the Lady and compared to that, little else mattered. Maybe his trial had been pushed back further because of the important affairs of the world? Or maybe because the Lady had now twice acted through him? That was important in the Order of her name. But whatever the reason, if they were assigning him missions then he was still a paladin. More than that he didn't care about.
“Good. The spellcaster Myral has requested an escort to Wind Dragon Falls in the coming days and we thought it only proper that you should form a part of it, since you were there when he first awoke.”
Yorik immediately suspected he had a number of other reasons for choosing him, given the elder's careful choice of words. The elder's thoughts ran deep and while he didn't know how deep, even he knew that the elder had far more reason for sending him than simple propriety. Nevertheless it was a mission and Yorik was already eager at the thought. Especially when it was to one of the most fabled of elven holy lands.
“I would be honoured to accompany Master Myral wherever he should choose to go.”
“We thought you might be.”
Suddenly there was a new expression on the elder's face; wry amusement and Yorik guessed that despite having never seen him before, this elder knew every single thought that was going through his mind.
“You will leave in five days with the thirteenth rangers. I believe you've already met Captain Ysabel, and explained to her at great length about how your footsteps were not always your own!”
Ohh yes, Yorik thought, there was that wry amusement showing through again, and if anything it was becoming even more obvious in the elder's voice, and he knew why. The Captain hadn't liked his explanation of why, where and how he was travelling through the Hammeral forests the first time. But she'd had little choice in letting him go then, even if she didn't know why or where. This time he was sure to get a grilling.
“I look forward to seeing her again.”
He thought it best to be polite, even though part of him was also laughing, albeit very silently, with the elder. Captain Ysabel would give him a hard time, of that there could be little doubt. But perhaps he deserved it. Intentionally or not he had been a little more vague than usual when they'd last met. Besides, there were things she had carefully avoided mentioning to him, like the existence of an elven Order of the Lady for a start. Two could play at that game.
“I thought you might.”
Yorik didn't look around at the audience but he was certain there were smiles on more than a few faces. There might also have been one on his as well if he wasn't so far from what he knew.
“Word will be sent to you of where to assemble and when.”
It was a dismissal, and Yorik understood that. The elders had important things to discuss and he was only a minor distraction at most. So he bowed as was proper to the Council, turned and bowed to the heads of his Order and then quickly left the chamber. But as he did so he was thinking about only one thing, and it had nothing to do with elves, their architecture, the strange city, the journey ahead or the cantankerous elders outside the doors. It wasn't even about Genivere, though he guessed that she would be coming too since she was assigned to the thirteenth rangers.
He was still a paladin! For however long the mission lasted and until he was returned and ready to face trial, he would still wear the gold.
Chapter Sixteen.
Five days into their journey Yorik started feeling apprehensive. He didn't quite know why.
The trails were good and they were all making good time as they headed south and east of Hammeral. In another day or two they would have left the Hammeral forest and would be in the gnomish realm of Gerwindar, a land he didn't know. Though he did know that their destination lay neither in Hammeral nor Gerwindar. It was in the borderland between them. When they hit the edge of the great forest they would turn off the trail and head due east along the river bank for another week or two before they reached the falls.
Still, even if they had entered the gnomes' realm, Gerwindar was supposed to be a safe land. The gnomes were a peaceful people who survived by trade and cropping rather than anything more unseemly. But he didn't know it for sure. And he knew nothing of their destination either. Wind Dragon Falls was a legend told by the bards. A place where the ancient dragon had seen out his last days however many thousands of years ago. Where his roar could be heard in the tumbling waters. And where on a still night his ghost could be seen flying among the heavens.
Yorik didn't like that. He didn't like being in places he didn't know. He didn't like ancient legends. And he certainly didn't like ghosts. Especially now. They were just another form of undead as far as he was concerned. Maybe some of that dislike showed on his face.
“There is something on your mind young Yorik?”
It wasn't a question, and Yorik would have wagered gold against lead that the ancient wizard even knew what troubled him. After all, he had edged around the subject for days, and each time Yorik had raised questions the wizard had rebuffed him. Myral was probably looking forward to doing that again. But maybe for once he wouldn't? Perhaps this was finally a chance to learn what he needed to know.
“It's just the thought of seeing the Wind Dragon Falls. I've heard little more than tavern gossip and rumours of them. I’ve never seen them, never met anyone who has, and I'm a little curious as to what we'll find there.”
“Not to mention why we're going there in the first place young paladin?”
Myral was laughing quietly, instantly understanding all that was in Yorik's mind. Damn, these elves were perceptive! In fact, the older they got the more they seemed to see straight through a man. In the distance Yorik could also hear Ysabel snorting away, but trying to be discrete about it, and almost choking as she held back the laughter. She was also enjoying the way the elder was constantly and cleverly avoiding answering Yorik's most pressing questions as he had been for days. But at the same time he was sure that she didn't know either. She just knew enough not to be curious.
“As you well know Elder.” He nodded to the ancient spellcaster knowing there was no point in denying it.
“Well one thing I can tell you; you do know someone who has been there before. I was there many years ago as a young man, and it was an experience that has stayed with me ever since.”
That would actually have been many centuries ago Yorik thought but he kept that to himself. Despite the fact that the wizard kept referring to him as young Yorik, he doubted Myral would like to be reminded of just how old he actually was.
“It was when I first came into my mastery as a mage of life and nature, and I needed to make a pilgrimage there to confirm my calling. All of the most powerful of the life mages have to go there at one time or another, and most of the other mages will follow in time. For us it is the home – the very essence of our magic – and when we arrive there, we know what it truly is we are a part of. It is where our magic comes from.”
“It's also there that most of us find the truest heart of our callings. Be it healing or communing with nature, transformation of the flesh or even the spirit. Until then most of us are like all other mages and wizards. We have abilities and skills, we have spells and shapes we must learn, and even magics that we seem to excel at, but the soul of our magic is hidden from us. Afterwards – well let’s just say that it transforms us, as the caterpillar into the butterfly.”
“Or the wizard into the tree?”
Yorik suddenly remembered how he had first come across the wizard in the clearing, and guessed what the heart of his calling was; the transformation of the flesh. Myral had told him of some of the other shapes he could take, and also that with them he took on the thoughts of the creatures as well. He didn't just take the shape of a bear or a wolf; he became one. That was why he hadn't made the journey to the temple alone. Without someone there at the other end to remind him, he would have forgotten that he was a wizard. He might have been able to travel faster on four legs or even wings but he would have forgotten everything including the reason for his journey. And in fact Yorik was sure though he hadn't asked, that that was the reason he'd remained a tree for five hundred years. He'd forgotten that he wasn't one.
“In truth.” The wizard chuckled a little at his jest. “But that is only a part of my gift. I can transform as you've already seen, into nine different shapes, but I can also commune closely with the animals of the forest as though they were people, see through their eyes, heal, and see through to the heart of all people. Thus I became what I truly am, an agent of the natural world. A spy when needs be, a commander of creatures and even plants as the need arises, a sooth sayer, healer and forest guardian.”
And a spirit magic user Yorik suddenly realised. That was why he couldn't enter the Hammeral Council chamber. His gift encompassed thought.
“Even among my people I was considered a wild one, more at home in the forests than in our towns, and often speaking out against so called progress. They called me a stick stuck in the mud, unable to drift with the flow of the river. But now, thanks to my advancing years, I am called a respected elder spellcaster, and my opinions are even asked for. Time does strange things to people.”
Not to mention spending five centuries as a tree. That was a legend that had gone around Hammeral many times over, and the number of people who had approached Yorik and asked if it was true, was beyond counting. But he knew the ancient wizard didn't want to hear that so he didn't mention it. Besides, he was curious about his tale.
“I thought the elves all shared those same natural values.”
“We do child, to an extent. The dryads and the satyrs though are more pure in their hearts. There are some things that we elves must do, which bring us into conflict with that which we revere. We mine iron and coal, though never in such a terrible way as the dwarves or even your fellow humans. But despite our every care, it still causes some hardships in the world, as does the size of our cities, and our diets which of late seem to have included more meat than they should. These are all compromises which the elders of the council consider carefully before they make them, and all agree upon them, except me.”
“But without such things, surely the elves wouldn't be able to prosper, or defend the very lands you prize?”
“And suddenly you sound like the Council elders. So ready to sacrifice what you cannot truly understand without looking at all the alternatives.”
The change in the wizard's tone was enough to tell him that he'd crossed some sort of a line, and Yorik quickly decided to stop speaking lest he anger the wizard further and lose his promised explanation.
“My apologies Elder. My words were not well considered.”
“You have no need to apologise child, and your words do make perfect sense, from your stance on the ground. Dressed in metal from head to toe, carrying a huge sword and countless other weapons, sworn to defend everyone and everything, and so forth. I do not deny you your opinion or even the correctness of your words, from what you know. I merely point out that because of my background, I know other things that you do not.”
“Why do you carry such a large sword anyway?”
Myral surprised Yorik with his question. But he guessed the wizard had apparently decided to change the direction of the conversation before any feelings were hurt between them. And Yorik knew he would not be returning to the last one. Myral was stubborn when he wanted to be.
“Because many of my opponents are armoured like myself. The great sword, fired as hot and strong as it is, and spelled with so many enchantments that only a master smith of the Order could make it, is capable of passing cleanly through another's armour, even good quality steel.”
“Truly I have seen your fellow warriors training with these weapons, and they are most fearsome. Yet I would wager an elf with a light rapier or short sword would be far faster and able to find the gaps in your armour, while you would be hard pressed to touch them with those great blades.”
Captain Ysabel had chosen to join the conversation, if only to point out the failings of the Order. She liked doing that, mainly he suspected because she still wasn't happy about the way he'd spoken with her the first time they'd met despite his repeated apologies. Genivere had understood something of how he was guided by the Lady, but not the captain. So she liked to make sure he knew her opinion of such things.
“I would think twice about that respected Captain.”
Yorik was about to explain that he'd trained with his armour and weapons all his life until he was at least as fast as any elf. That few if any gaps could be found in his armour, and that he had mastered techniques to combat even the most exceptionally talented of opponents. But before he could say a word, Genivere jumped in to defend him. She did that sometimes, even when there was no need.
“I have seen Sir Yorik fight three battles in the last few months, and always he has been so fast and powerful that my eyes cannot keep up with him.”
“Perhaps you need to spend some more time learning to see.”
Ysabel spoke softly, politely, and even with a wry amusement in her voice, but even so Yorik could almost feel the tension growing between the two women. The captain did not like being challenged, least of all by a wizard under her command and on a subject she knew something of. He felt the need to jump in to calm the waters as he had several times before.
“And perhaps you are both right, good elves. My brothers and I are far, far faster than any would ever expect, and we have spent most of our lives simply learning to fight with these weapons and in this armour. For us it is as natural as skin. Yet even so there are some exceptional warriors capable of using light weapons to devastating effect against men in armour. Blade dancers and the like.”
“To vie against such gifted warriors and other, faster moving less heavily armoured opponents we carry the sabres, rapiers, katanas and crossbows, each with their own enchantments. On those occasions over the years, when my brothers have met in combat even with the most legendary of blade dancers, the battles have been long and very even. But we have never lost.”
The captain stared at him as if he'd gone mad, and he could understand why. Whispered to be born of the gods themselves as they whiled their time away with the most beautiful of mortal handmaidens, and then trained in the halls of the immortal warmaster himself, a blade dancer was usually considered to be the most dangerous swordsman in the lands. They could not be beaten. But rumour and fact were in this case not quite the same thing. They were mortal and they could be beaten.
“You have fought a blade dancer?!”
Clearly she believed not a word of it.
“Not me personally. But Commander Elron did in his youth, and walked away unscathed, as have several others. The blade dancer Imrani was not so fortunate.”
Actually he had died, but in this company Yorik didn't want to say something so crude. They could work that out for themselves.
“The Sting?” Of course she knew him as the Sting he realised. All the elves did. Imrani – a deranged part dwarven blade dancer and bandit had preyed upon them for years – using his incredibly thin blade like a bee sting, stabbing at whatever unprotected parts of their bodies he could find, and crippling and killing hundreds as he laughed, and then stole their coin. Often he had sought out whole squads of their finest rangers just to test his skill, and to show off. He had been a legend and a nightmare both, until one day he had chosen the wrong man to attack, and since then he had not been heard of again. Perhaps it was time that his name was mentioned anew.
“The Sting. His body lies somewhere in the Bilban Wastes feeding the toadmen, but his blade bedecks the hall of the Enders Fall chapter house.”