Authors: Greg Curtis
“Myral, how did your magic work when mine did not?”
“Were you not listening boy?” The wizard pursed his lips in what seemed like annoyance. “I am a druidic mage. My magic does not come from my link to the Mother, so while he could sever my tie to her, he could not remove my power. Unfortunately I am no match for a thane.”
“And the sylph are the same?”
Yorik knew nothing about them save for legends, most of which he'd always thought were simply the tales of drunken bards retold.
“The same?” Myral looked at him strangely. “No ... and yes.”
“Their magic does not come either from a god or from within themselves but from the world as does that of a druid. But they call that world, all worlds a god. And they worship it. They believe there is a bond such as yours with the Lady where there is not. And they speak as priests when they are not.”
Something about that bothered Myral, Yorik realised. What exactly he didn't know. It didn't matter though.
“If they can fight this thane, then we must ask for their help in the battle.”
Something Yorik knew they would not willingly give. The sylph had never helped anyone as far as he knew. And they did not welcome visitors either.
“And we shall. But they will not fight by our sides. That is not their way. The most we can hope for is that they will grant us the knowledge and maybe the magic to fight the thane ourselves.”
“And the Dark One?”
“It is not him. Darryndell was clear on that. The great demon remains trapped in his prison, eternally bound and safe. Or at least until the end of the world. But if he is somehow involved then yes. For all their arrogance and power the sylph have no desire to see the world end any more than we do.”
“Then we have to go.”
His bandages were in place and the wizard's healing magic was flowing through him – taking away the worst of the pain. So feeling a little bit stronger Yorik started hunting for some armour to wear. Any of the pieces of it lying around the ground that were still serviceable. But there were precious few. What he remembered of the battle should have told him that. The breast plate and back plate were both damaged beyond any hope of being worn again. At least not in battle. They would need to be melted down and reforged. And without them he couldn't wear the rest of it; there was nothing to tie it to and his helm was missing. Which left him with the linen vest and a chain shirt that he was already wearing. And that wasn't enough. As for weapons he had only his great sword. The rest were lost somewhere.
Then a sudden dark thought hit him and he forgot those woes.
“I caused this Myral. In my wrath and vengeance I brought this about. If I hadn't killed Mayfall he wouldn't have been taken by the thane. But I hunted him down like an animal. I broke all of my vows and murdered him. And while he lay there dying in agony he must have been taken by the thane.”
“And now the others – Genivere – they're all dead because of me. I killed them. And many more. Because he will kill many more.”
“Whatever damage he does from now on, no matter how many people he kills or towns he destroys, it's all because of my failure. My crime.”
The pain of that understanding was far worse than all the pain of his injuries as one. And it crippled him. It left him truly broken. To have not just failed but to have then helped the enemy. To have even created him and then have had his creation kill his companions. That was beyond anything he had ever known. The darkness tore at his very soul in a way he had never felt.
He could not go on.
“You should kill me now. I cannot help you in the battle ahead. I will slow you down even in getting to Hammeral. And it is truly the fate I deserve for my crimes.”
Yorik fell to his knees – it was easier than standing – wanting nothing more than the mercy of death. No man should have to carry the guilt and shame that dwelt within him.
“No.”
“Yes!”
“No!” This time Myral raised his voice to him. He sounded angry. “I will not do that and you will not ask again child.” And then to make his words completely clear he back handed Yorik across the cheek, surprising him, disciplining him as though he was a hysterical child, and making certain he heard.
“I understand your pain, but in the end it is useless. And it is wrong. Had you brought the wizard back for trial he would have been hung and the same would have been true. Had you let him be he would have continued killing the innocent until he died and then likely the same would have happened.”
“Besides, you don't know that the others are dead. I don't know. But I know that I have hope. And I know that you should too.”
“And I know one thing more child. Dying would be the easy thing to do. And you are not a man who takes the easy path. You take the right path always no matter how difficult, because you believe it to be the right path. And in this case the right and difficult path is to battle this creature. To destroy him if you can or hold him at bay until he goes away if you can't.”
“I will not release you from your duty and you will not release yourself. Is that clear?” And in case it wasn't the wizard slapped him again.
“Yes.”
In the end it was clear. Myral was right. He was a paladin and his role was to fight, always. The wizard knew his duty better than he did. Yorik would fight until his last breath. There would be no excuses. There would be no giving in to shame and despair. And he would carry his burden of shame and guilt until the end. There was no choice in that. There never had been.
This was the price of his wrath, and he would pay it in full measure.
Chapter Twenty Four.
That night when they finally stopped to rest Myral called to his old friend. Partly to ask what was happening further afield now that the thane had revealed himself, but mostly to tell her of his fears. His fears first and foremost for the broken paladin.
Yorik was not well. He used the magic granted by the Lady to sustain himself, to push himself beyond what was possible, but in the end magic could do only so much when it came to healing. Especially when they were on foot. He needed rest. He needed food, and the handful of berries they'd found along their path was nowhere near enough to sustain a young man. And most of all he needed some surcease from his guilt. Because while it was driving him on, it was also tearing him apart, and the look in his eyes was a terrible thing to behold.
They had covered three or four leagues that afternoon, much of it up and down hills and through bush until they had found the trail. And when the sun had fallen the paladin had still wanted to do more. He would not stop until he was dead, and perhaps not even then.
In the end the only way Myral had been able to stop them for the night was to tell him that he was too tired to carry on. That must have been a sign of some sort because no sooner had he said it than the paladin had nodded to him, fallen to his knees and passed out. Now he was lying face down on the grass where he had fallen, deeply unconscious, while Myral had been left with the task of building a camp around him and wondering if he would even awaken.
Meanwhile the Lady was strangely unconcerned. Myral didn't understand that as he sat leaning against a tree beside the fallen paladin and staring into the flames of the fire. He didn't understand it at all. She considered all of the Order as her children, yet she was not worried for her most broken child?
“Lady he is in a terrible state. His body is broken and he will not give himself the time he needs to heal. His mind wanders in realms too dark to see. And his soul is shattered. He needs help.”
“He needs to do what he is doing. That will be his help.”
“It will kill him.”
“It is the only thing that can save him. Where is your faith old friend?”
For once he could hear a smile in her voice as he hadn't in far too long. He hoped she had a reason.
“Faith?” That struck Myral as a strange thing to say. Almost as if the Lady was claiming to be a god when they both knew she wasn't. She was in all likelihood an elemental, a being of immense power, but not of the heavens. “In you?”
“In my people. Yorik is being tested, body and soul. That was always going to happen. But long ago I knew that my people would be placed in harm’s way and I prepared them for that.”
“Always going to happen?” Myral shook his head as he realised she was speaking of her foretelling. He'd never understood the gift. Not in her, not in Annalisse. How could you know the future and then change it? It had always seemed that if you could change it then it had never been the future at all. But that was a debate for a different night. He shook his head to help clear his thoughts. “Never mind.”
“Lady, truly he can fight. He is more than capable with that over large blade of his. But this is not some enemy he can overcome with his weapons.”
“No, it is an enemy that he can and will overcome with his purpose. I said I prepared my children for these difficult times, and I do. But it is not by teaching them to swing a sword. They teach themselves that. And it is not by teaching them of my gifts either. They can master those by themselves. And it is not by getting them to swear oaths or learn my ways. Again that is of them.”
“It is by taking only those who already are paladins into my Order.”
“Yorik like all his brothers, is not a paladin in my Order because he has learnt my ways. He never had to learn them. They are him. He was a paladin long before he ever picked up a sword. Before he was even brought by his father into the Ender's Fall chapter. He was born to be what he is.”
“All the training that was done, the study and the lessons learned, the vows taken, the struggles undergone; they did nothing more than reveal the man inside. He was not trained to become tougher. He was trained to discover how tough he truly was. He was not taught what I hold precious. He was taught that he holds those same things precious as do the rest of us.”
“There was a great sculptor once who was asked how he created his master works. His answer was that he didn't. He selected the stone and simply chipped away at the stone that concealed the work until what was within shone through. That is what every member of my Order is. Whether ranger or paladin, cleric or wizard. They are the essence within the stone. And that is why my children are so strong. They cannot be anything else.”
“They can be dead.”
Myral was in no mood for sophistry and though he heard her words he was in no way certain that they were anything more than just that – pretty words.
“But he won't die. Not now. He has work to do and deep in his soul he knows it. He will not allow himself to die until it is done.”
“You don't know that.” He almost threw the words at her like an accusation.
“But I do. Because I know that Yorik is the same as every other member of the Order. He is the same as me. And I know that were any of us or even myself in his place, that would be exactly what we would do. We can do nothing else.”
Myral didn't respond for a while after that. He wanted to think on what she'd said and try to work out if she was saying what was right, or merely what she wanted to believe was right. And in the end while there was a difference, he realised he wasn't sure that he'd be able to tell.
It was the same when she'd worn the flesh of a mortal woman all those years ago. She was never the dryad she'd appeared to be. He'd known that and never cared. But always he'd known somewhere deep inside that just as he didn't truly know her, she didn't truly know him either. She thought she did. But in the end there was a difference between living as a mortal and actually being one. And eventually when he'd marshalled his thoughts into some semblance of order he tried to tell her that again. Just as he had before. But this time she had a new answer.
“Myral, people say that I created an order through my teachings and my magic. They're wrong. I didn't create anything at all. The Order created itself around me. And people call it the Order of the Lady, as if it is my Order. But again they're wrong. It is only my Order in that I am a part of it. Just as is Yorik. Just as are many thousands of others. I serve.”
“That's why I eventually left the world and returned to my own realm. So that I could serve the Order.”
That caught Myral's notice. He'd wondered when he'd awoken how things could have changed so much and why she was no longer in the world. It had been for the longest time the only thing on his mind. And for the life of him he could think of no reason that she would leave and return to her home. Not the woman who had so completely loved the world that that love had almost consumed her.
When she had walked as the dryad prophetess with no name, she had been a creature of pure love. A woman who would stop and stare at a flower for hours and days, enraptured by its beauty. Who would fall to her knees at the sight of a new born baby simply out of awe. Who would simply stand and stare at couples as they walked hand in hand, entranced by the emotion they felt. For fifty years she had been the same, the wonder never growing old with her. And he could not understand how she could have ever left that behind. He had asked of course, but she had not answered him. Now it seemed she finally would and despite everything else that was happening in the world he was curious. So instead of interrupting her with questions he listened.
“You had begun your long sleep by then and I knew that despite your words it would not be for just a few short months. It would not even be for a few short years. But still I could have stayed. I could have spent those years in the world, exploring and learning and savouring as I wished until you finally returned to me. I wanted to wait. But I couldn't.”
“The longer I remained in your world the more I became aware that for all its beauty there was darkness. Terrible darkness. There were so many who would kill without remorse. Who would unleash terrible evils upon others. Who would shatter the bonds of family. Tear husbands from their wives, children from their families. Murderers, slavers, corrupt officials and nobles. And too often those who should have been there to stop these things happening instead ignored them or worse participated.”
“It could not be permitted.”
“By then as I was wandering and talking with people, telling them what I knew, others were talking with me and telling me the same things. And I was surprised that there were so many who held exactly the same values and dreams that I did. And that they were willing to fight for those things.”
“But I was more surprised to find that I was willing to fight for them.”
“That is a thing unknown among my kind. We do not fight. We do not get involved. We watch and take our amusement in that way. It is enough for us. But it was no longer enough for me. After fifty years of wandering the world it was far too little.”
“So I decided to fight. And it was then that I knew I could not remain in the world. Because while I walked as a mortal woman, my power was limited. I could have fought, but only as a single mortal woman. And as such I could not have fought as I needed to. However back in my realm in my own form I am a thousand times more powerful. I could fight as I needed to.”
“But to enter your world in my own form would be to do terrible damage to it. I would destroy that which I love simply by my presence. I could not do that either.”
“There was only one way that I could fight for what I loved without destroying it, and that was to allow others of your people to fight in my place with the aid of my magic granted to them. It was not what I wanted. I did not want to return to my realm. I wanted to stay and enjoy your world. But it was what I had to do.”
“It was then that I made the bargain and a bond was created between myself and the rest of the Order. I would remain in my realm and through that bond impart a fraction of my strength to those who fought for my hopes and shared my dreams.”
“It is hard. The toughest thing I have ever done. That I still do. I yearn to return to your world. To once more wear the flesh of a mortal woman and walk its fields and speak with its people. To eat and drink in its wonder. I hunger for that pleasure in a way that I cannot describe. But in five hundred years I have never done so, and I will not. If I am to fight for what I hold precious I cannot.”
“This is how I know that Yorik will not yield to death or despair. For five hundred years I have not yielded to my desires, and if necessary for five hundred or five thousand more I still will not yield. I cannot take the path of my desires. I cannot yield in the battle. Life and love – these things must be protected no matter the cost. And in the same way Yorik cannot. None of my children can. It is simply not who we are.”
“I am heartsick for my child, his pain is beyond bearing. But I know he will endure. And when he needs me I will be there. But until then, he knows what he must do and he will do it. As will I.”
She left him then, but her words lingered.
Was she right? Could she be right? It seemed impossible to Myral as he sat there staring into the fire and occasionally glancing at the broken paladin collapsed in front of it. And yet he believed her. She might not be right, but she was true.
And all he could do was hope that was enough.