The Steward and the Sorcerer by James Peart (small books to read .TXT) 📗

“So, you don’t need to use your magic?”

“No, Englishman.  But the question is, whom will it bring back?”

Simon shrugged.  “Hadn’t we better discuss this later, after we’ve investigated what’s behind the other door?”

“You are right.  It is almost certainly the steward’s private chamber, but we must be sure.”

There was a noise from behind that door now.  A lantern, carried by someone, provided light which flickered into the hallway, guttering against its walls.  “Who’s there?” a querulous yet commanding voice cried out.

“Karsin Longfellow?” the Druid answered.

“I am that, and there had better be a good reason for interrupting my slumber.  Is it the Northern Army?  Have they arrived?”

The light from the lantern sputtered and went out.  Its holder fiddled with the settings and stepped out into the hallway, brightness flooding the narrow landing, washing over the face of Karsin Longfellow.

The trio stared back in disbelief.  Standing before them was the tall, elegant form of the Earl of Ainsworth, Lord Christopher Went.

He was carrying some kind of instrument, holding it at his side in one hand while the other gripped the lantern.  Now he raised it, staring from Christopher to Daaynan and back again, registering Simon only with a fleeting glance.

“Druid!” he said finally.  Looking at Christopher again, unable to take his eyes off him.  “What manner of sorcery is this?”

Simon and Daaynan looked from Christopher to the steward and back again.  The two of them could have been identical twins.  Every detail, from the set and structure of the face to the natural marking on the skin, was exactly the same.  The two stared at each other in disbelief.

The fright on the steward’s face gave way to suspicion, and from there to action.  He hefted the instrument he was carrying, a long-handled blade, and swung it toward Christopher, yelling.

Daaynan acted faster.  Grasping both Simon and Christopher, he shoved them both through the door into the first room.  Stepping onto the plinth that rested beneath the platform, dragging the young men with him, he pressed the buttons on the platform in the proper sequence from left to right.

Nothing happened for a time.  Outside, Karsin Longfellow shouted for his guards and came through into the room himself, wielding his blade.  He had it raised at the level of Christopher’s head, swinging forward to strike his twin, when a blinding light speared from the platform, embracing the trio who stood on it.  Moments later they were gone.

10.

Caught in the temple’s blinding whiteness, surrounded by pillars throwing out shooting flares of light, the three intrepid travellers fought to regain control of their senses.  The sense of urgency they experienced moments ago vanished in a numbing calmness that stilled their minds to the point of stupor.  Only the Druid acted, searching for something on the pillar they stood/lay beside shaking his head, frowning.  Simon thought he heard him say, “the markings have almost worn off.”  He picked up Simon and Christopher once more, walking them along a row/column of pillars for a time, appearing to count something in his mind.  The light seemed to pervade everything, effulgent beams combining to form a halogenic blaze.  Simon heard Christopher shriek, but not in pain.  He remembered thinking that it was the most incredible sound he’d ever heard.  The Druid ignored it, looking around as he walked/floated through the light.  They could sense the presence of someone else, far off to their right, barely registering at the edge of their vision.  He/it was walking/floating toward them yet the Druid did not appear troubled by this.  He stopped instead at one of the pillars, examining it, seeming to reject it, then walked toward another.  This time he appeared satisfied.  Getting hold of the two young men, he walked them right up to it and they all stepped inside, falling/floating inside its glare, leaving the surroundings of the temple once more.

11.

When Simon found his wits again he discovered that he was standing in a poorly lit room built entirely of stone in which there wasn’t a single piece of furniture.  Christopher stood beside him, unsteady on his feet, yet pliant, ready to move when he did.  Poor Christopher, he was being dragged everywhere by him and the Druid and without a word of protest.  It occurred to him suddenly that he owed his friend’s life to Daaynan back in Italy.  It was a gratitude he would never express however, as the Druid was acting out of his own self-interest and had not spared a single thought about what would happen to him afterward.  He didn’t know where they currently were but he was willing to bet the other had reneged on his promise to send them back to Italy, or at the very least suspended it indefinitely.

He was aware of someone else in the room.  A tall figure dressed from head to foot in a black cloak that could only have been Daaynan.  The sorcerer looked around him much in the same way as Simon had, only this time there was recognition etched on his features.  This was the Druid’s home, Simon thought bitterly.

Daaynan gathered the young men about his tall form, crouching slightly and whispering.

“We have arrived in Fein Mor!”

Simon was about to speak when the other gestured him sharply to be quiet.

“No, Englishman, save your recriminations for later.  I promised I would return you to your world system and I shall do so.  We have other, more urgent matters to discuss and we must do so quickly.”

Without speaking further, he led them out of the chamber and through a complex series of rooms and corridors, each of them dark and windowless.  He walked quickly and purposefully, not stopping once to change direction.  The young men walked/half-trotted behind, unable to see much in the darkness beyond the tall form of the Druid.  When he stopped, Simon could see that they now stood in a room much like the one they had left, if brighter, though he was at pains to determine where the extra