The Lady's Man (32 page)

Yorik drew in another painful breath, trying to ignore the taste of blood in his mouth, and called her again, called for her magic, and still found nothing.

Maybe it was for the best. The thought came out of nowhere as he kept falling, the wind tearing at him, the pain of his broken flesh ripping him apart. Maybe it was for the best that it would all be over soon. After all, he'd failed. Myral was probably dead. Genivere was dead. They were all dead. And he had been completely useless against Mayfall. He had completely failed to protect them. In fact it was worse than that. Mayfall, whatever he was now, was only alive and so powerful because he had either killed him before or because he hadn't. Whichever was the case, Yorik knew that he had failed and the black hearted wizard had grown impossibly strong because of his failure. Death would be a mercy for someone who had failed as badly as he had. Maybe too, that was why the Lady no longer spoke to him.

“I am sorry my Lady.”

He apologised as he watched the top of the cliff suddenly shoot by. Though it hadn't actually moved at all. He was simply plummeting past it falling to his death. Still knowing it was his fault he didn't want to die without having at least apologised. Especially when he could see the land below approaching so very quickly. The steep chasm wall was getting closer and closer as he fell, and he knew the end was close. Yorik took another deep breath and closed his eyes, hoping that it would at least be quick.

It wasn't.

He kissed the steeply sloping cliff face and instead of dying bounced a little. It was so steep that he didn't so much hit it as simply start sliding, bouncing a little, cartwheeling, and then sliding some more down its hard rock. That should have been a good thing, but it just wasn't. It only added to his suffering. He slid and bounced, and every so often smashed into something, a small bush or a tiny lip of rock, and it was like being hit by an ogre with a club, even through his armour, or what remained of it. And all the time, with every smash and punch of the chasm wall on his broken body, he was heading for his death, sliding out of control, almost as fast as he had been falling.

“Lady!”

He had nothing left, no strength, no hope, nothing but her, and he cried out with his dying breath as he saw the rocky floor approaching fast, and finally it worked. He felt her, not all of her as he normally did, but enough to allow him a little magic, a trace of her grace, as death grew closer.

“Irol.”

He screamed the prayer through his damaged lungs, calling for her strength, and at least a little of it came. Not a lot, but just enough that he could find the strength to reach out with a gauntlet, and grab desperately at the rock sliding past so very quickly, just enough that his gold clad fingers could start digging grooves into it as he tried to slow himself down. Of course there was no reward without cost, and even as he felt himself slowing, he knew still more pain as it seemed his arm was being torn free from his shoulder. And all the time the ground was getting closer.

“Partium.”

It was only a plea for vitality, a simple spell every novice was taught, and it seemed to help, driving away the worst of the pain, and letting him breathe a little easier as he prepared himself for the worse suffering yet to come.

“Sola!”

With the last of his strength he called out for the speed he so desperately needed, and finally it came. Little and late perhaps, but it came, and with the ground barley fifty feet below him, he knew the sensation of time slowing down, and almost cried with relief.

The magic was more than just the slowing of time. It also allowed the one who had slowed it to act as if it was truly slowed, and an out of control plummet abruptly became a strange floating descent. Slow enough that finally he could reach out with his hands and feet and start looking for things to hold on to. Things to slow him down and stop him tumbling. Then, despite it being impossible, he started to treat the fast disappearing cliff face as if it was a wall he was simply descending like a climber, gripping here and there for handholds, walking down the rock wall instead of falling.

How the magic did that he didn't know. That was a matter for the priests and the scholars to explain. All he knew was that it worked, and somehow the last few feet he clambered down to somehow find himself sliding down the rocky foothill, instead of being spread all over it like butter.

“Thank you.”

He gave his thanks as he always did, though of course he knew he wasn't safe yet. The rocky foothill itself was still sloping down, though at a far less steep angle, and he knew he had to walk down it quickly before the magic faded. As damaged as he was he knew he wouldn't be able to hold the Lady's magic to him for long, and even a minor fall could kill him.

A glint of gold caught his eye as he walked down, and when he looked further down towards the river he saw his great sword disappearing into the distance, likely to end up at the bottom of the raging torrent of water. He had to find his sword and heal himself, neither of which would be easy when he knew how badly he was injured.

Yet he had to. It wasn't a choice, and somehow he called a little more of the Lady's magic to him and began slipping and sliding his way down the rocky slopes more easily, weaving his way between trees and bushes which barely moved in the breeze, heading directly for where he had last seen his sword. A paladin without his blade was a sorrowful creature indeed.

Along the way he called more healing magic to him, filling his flesh with it, knowing he was still badly wounded, no matter how well he could hide it with his spells. Bones were broken, his ribs were badly damaged, his lungs might even be punctured, and every part of his flesh had been smashed. He felt as though he had been pummelled by an ogre. Yorik knew he was going to need to rest and recover for many weeks if he had the time. But he didn't have the time. So he'd have to live on the magic of the Lady and hope it was enough.

His duty was clear. Myral was beyond his help; all he could do was pray that the wizard had survived. The others were almost certainly dead. And Mayfall was completely beyond his ability to vanquish. Especially now that he apparently could somehow cut off his contact with the Lady.

He had to return to the Order, and he had to tell the elders what had happened. As much as he knew of it anyway. And then he had to tell them of the deaths of his companions. It was only endless training and discipline that kept him from breaking down and weeping as he thought on that sad duty. That and the feeling of love that the Lady granted him as he carried on. He needed her strength just then. More than ever before. But others needed her too.

“Lady you must warn the others. Let them know what has happened. That Mayfall has returned and become so dangerous. And that maybe it is him not the Dark One who is our enemy.”

She didn't answer him of course. Speaking was not her way. But he felt her happiness at his thought and her understanding that it was already under way. That the warning was being sent.

That was all he could ask for as he walked and slid down the foothills chasing his sword. That and that he would finally kill Mayfall.

And that this time he would stay dead.

Chapter Nineteen.

The pain was awful. It was like being kicked by a mule, except worse, and the cold of the bitter wind blowing all around was beyond anything she had ever known. The tumbling through the air was causing her to feel sick, as she spun wildly in every direction, completely out of control, while the roar of the wind made everything worse. There was the terrifying experience of being unable to breathe as if she'd had the wind knocked out of her lungs. But by far the worst was that she couldn't feel her connection to the Mother. All her life Genivere had known that joy but in the very moment the dark wizard had shown up it had been taken from her. It was like being blind – but more than that. Deaf as well, unable to smell or taste, not even to touch.

Somehow she eventually managed to take in a few tiny gasps of air; bitterly cold and thin air that hurt her throat for some reason, and then a little later, she even opened her eyes. Unfortunately what they showed her was more confusing and frightening than she'd imagined. It was pure chaos.

She was impossibly high up, so far above the ground that she could actually see the distant horizon of the world bending around even through the tears streaming from her eyes as the chill wind tore at them. And the spinning, meant that even what she could see was a fast moving, stomach churning blur.

Far below Genivere could see the ground. It was approaching with indecent haste and despite it being foolish, she closed her eyes again, not wanting to see her own death approaching. The dark wizard had surely killed her, because there was no way she could survive such a fall. It was best that she didn't let him destroy her with fear as well.

Never give in to fear. All the soldiers she'd trained with had told her that from the first. Go into every battle knowing that it would probably be your last, and count yourself lucky when it wasn't. There was wisdom in that.

Besides, she wasn't the only one dying this day. She had seen the others being blown away in the distance as well, and she knew that they were facing the same fate as her. Men and women that she knew. Rangers that she liked. Friends. But they would not give in to their fear, and there was no call for her to do so either. Death in the end, was simply a part of life.

But it was so cruel. She mourned the loss of their lives, stolen from them so unfairly, and knew that even more were going to suffer and die in time. The dark wizard was not going to be satisfied with just killing them. Whatever he was, death would walk with him until the end. Death and suffering. It was his very heart. That and hatred for those who had defied him. He was a wizard who could draw his hatred to him like a weapon and then, somehow, release it to devastating effect.

And he truly hated; it was like a living thing within him. That was the source of his magic, and the cause of her current pain. So much pain. But there was more to him than hatred. There was chaos as well. Some sort of primal hunger. She didn't understand it, but she had seen it in him.

And then there was whatever he could do to sever the links between those who followed and their lords and ladies. It was a devastating weapon. It had destroyed them. With the strength of the Mother beside her she would have stood a chance against the wizard. Without her she was doomed. And she wasn't the only one.

She could still see the look of shock and anguish in Yorik's eyes, as he had been simply picked up and smashed into the stone wall of the ancient temple. Tossed like a leaf in a wind storm. She could still hear the sickening sound his body had made as he had been crushed against the stone, smashed so hard the stone itself had broken around him. She could still see the blood beginning to flow down his golden armour, spurting from his broken body, leaking through the joints in the armour. It was amazing that he had even survived that first terrible blow. But he had and she knew that that might not have been a good thing. Even while she was still falling to her death, she knew he was probably suffering far more. The dark wizard had a score to settle with Yorik, and it would not be an easy death he had planned for him.

Yorik had called him Mayfall, and she recognised the name as that of the wizard he had killed. The one who had murdered his family. It was impossible. And yet here he was, back from the dead, and with vengeance in his heart. He believed that Yorik had wronged him somehow.
The guilty often did, refusing to accept that their punishment was righteous. But even though the wizard believed he had been wronged and Yorik was ashamed of what he had done, Genivere considered his actions just. For the murder of a family, especially in such a foul way, death was the only proper punishment.

But somehow it had all gone wrong. Justice had been overturned, and now Yorik would suffer anew. He would suffer terribly. Mayfall would kill him and it would not be an easy death.

As she fell Genivere somehow found the strength to mourn his passing, and to understand that it was a true loss. To the world and to her.

Yorik was a good man. A sweet man. Too hard and too brutal maybe, but a simple soul. He was a sword tempered in the fire of his faith, burnt even hotter from the personal tragedy of his loss, but still with a straight edge. He would only strike true. It had taken time to understand that, particularly after seeing him fight the other paladin. Seeing him tear the man to pieces. But in the end she understood why he'd done it. Why maybe, he'd had to. In the end he was a soldier. He fought for what he stood for.

And now he was broken, probably close to death if he wasn't dead already, and defenceless against a dark wizard with impossible power and a hatred for him. An enemy he couldn't fight. An enemy that had murdered his loved ones. It would not be right to give in to her fear while he faced such evil alone and defenceless.

He wouldn't.

And what of Myral? She'd barely noticed him in the attack, her attention totally on Yorik and the dark wizard. But somehow she was sure the ancient wizard hadn't been sent flying with the rest of them. Why? Was he somehow strong enough to fight the dark wizard? Or had he simply been left for later? Naturally she had no answers, and but wished that she did as she finally fell far enough to make out the dark green of the forest far below. Maybe she just wanted to have something to think about other than the oncoming pain.

A sound came from out of nowhere, catching her by surprise as it was loud enough to break through even the noise of the rushing wind. But she was far more surprised when she felt something sharp dig into her shoulder, drawing blood. It hurt, but when she looked around to see what had attacked her, it was to discover that she shouldn't complain.

A hawk had found her, a huge bird surely the size of a pet cat and with a wingspan as wide as a man's arms. It had grabbed her and with all its strength it had managed to stop the worst of her tumbling. It might even slow her fall.

But even if it couldn't then it would seem that more could. For behind it she could see another dozen birds of the same feather lining up, preparing to grab her as well. She stared at the bird for the longest time, looking into its cool dark eyes, and wondering if she was going crazy, if it was really happening. But it was.

“Mother, thank you.”

She whispered her small prayer of thanks even as the next hawk grabbed her other shoulder and drew some more blood through the fabric of her robe. But the pain was worth it she thought as the two of them even by themselves, were already slowing her fall. Moreover the rest weren't there just to watch. They had been sent to save her. Sent a long way. Hawks like these weren't local to this land.

Instinctively she reached for the Mother and found her with her once more. It was a blessing beyond words. Suddenly she could see again, feel again, and she celebrated. And with her presence she knew she had her magic back. Back as if it had never been gone. But it wasn't the Mother who had sent the birds. It was another. Someone smaller. Someone who could understand what it was to be a mortal falling to her death. And someone who wanted to stop that from happening.

That was important because Genivere couldn't. Her magic – gained as it was through the Mother – did not allow her the ability to fly. She could not transform into a bird as could a master druid. She could not float as could a wizard. The most she could do was what was already being done for her.

Genivere held out her arms, and celebrated the pain as two more of the great birds dived in and grabbed her sleeves. The pain as their talons scratched the skin of her arms was welcome as it told her she was still alive and likely to remain that way. Others dove in as her fall became more orderly, and dug their talons into her legs and back one by one. Each one drew a little more blood and dug out small chunks of her flesh, but still they slowed her down in her wild plummet to her death, and by the time they were done, maybe a dozen of the birds were supporting her. It was crazy, impossible and wonderful, but as the trees below slowly grew larger, she began to realise that she wasn't really falling any more. With so many birds holding her aloft, she was almost flying, or at least gliding. The landing she guessed, would be rough, but at least there was a good chance she'd survive it.

Maybe, she dared to hope, the others would be given the same chance as the great hawks came for them as well? Maybe they too would survive? But try as she might to look around, she couldn't see them. Besides, her eyes kept returning to the ground as it approached. It was very hard to look away.

Who had sent them? That was the question she had to ask herself. The Mother hadn't. She seldom acted directly, and when she did it wasn't usually on such an insignificant scale as saving a single follower. Least of all a follower whose connection to her had been broken. She was simply too vast to be able to concentrate on such a small thing. Myral? But he had seemed at the very least busy as he faced the dark wizard. Yorik? But he had not the power normally, and in front of the dark wizard, he had no power at all. Not with his link to the Lady broken. She had seen that loss in his eyes. Someone else then. But who? She could find no answers, and the ground was getting nearer all the time. That dominated her thoughts.

Little by little she began to make out more details of the trees below, the colour of their leaves, their branches swaying in the gentle breeze, even the dark of the forest floor beneath them, and the surprising speed with which they were whipping by beneath her. The hawks might have slowed her fall, but to do it they'd turned her into an arrow streaking across the sky, and that she guessed as the trees got closer, was going to be almost as much of a problem. Smashing into the side of a tree at speed wasn't likely to be that much more gentle than hitting the ground.

But someone had thought of that too. She knew that first when she heard the splashing sound of someone hitting water at speed from somewhere up ahead, and then cursing loudly about it. And then when they finally skimmed over the last of the trees barely a few feet above their tops, she saw the lake in front of her.

It was gorgeous. Deep and blue and soft, she hoped, and more than that, already filled with others from her party all busy trying to swim their way out of it. Of course fully clothed, most of them in light armour as well, that wasn't easy, and she could see the splashing as they swam furiously for the shore, arms churning the water like paddle wheels.

Then it was her turn. Genivere knew it when without warning the hawks all banked sharply, stopping their forwards rush in a heartbeat, and let her go maybe ten feet above the lake, sending her falling into the ice cold water.

She hit it hard, quite a lot harder than she'd expected, and a little of the shockingly cold lake water made it up her nose, causing her to cough and splutter. But not enough to let her forget that she too was wearing leather armour over her robes, and that she had to get out of there fast. The buoyancy from her robes still puffed up with air would not last for long.

Instinctively she began swimming for the shore, grateful she'd spent so many days as a young girl playing in the lakes and rivers of her home, and tried to ignore the cold seeping into her bones. She could survive a little cold and wet. Drowning was the true danger.

It wasn't a long swim, a hundred paces maybe, and by the time she was beginning to breathe a little more heavily, her feet were already touching the lake floor. That was a miracle.

The instant she felt her toes sink into that soft mud, she knew a moment of transcendent relief. It was like being born again, and despite herself, despite it being completely unelven, she stopped and threw her head back to the sky, and cried out her wordless thanks to whoever had saved her. Strangely she wasn't alone. She could hear others screaming, laughing like mad men, letting out their shock and relief as they too discovered that they were alive when they had been due to die.