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

There was the King’s magic, for one. He had told the two Englishmen that he had been stripped of his powers but the truth, as with most things, was not as simple as that.  The magic of that other had been stirring in him since they left Fein Mor, since before that when Iridis had taken hold of him in the castle and he had fallen unconscious.  His magic- the pink flame that surrounded his form always- had protected him from dying.  A somnolent veil, it also warded its user against those who sought to attack him.  Yet it hadn’t been enough to stay the current of Iridis’s power.  It had lingered inside him while he had lain on the castle floor, coming alive when the Englishmen had treated and revived him, its soul cry sounding the birth of some terrible awareness inside him.  But this was nothing compared with what he felt now.  He was desperately sick, he knew, and if things continued this way, without attention he would die.  It was a question of his own magic’s acceptance of the King’s.  It had tried to reject it at first, but the other’s presence inside him had been overwhelming- too much to cope with- and had brushed aside his powers.  Now it seemed it would finish him off.  He could still use some of the Druid fire, that much was true, and outwardly he appeared to be fine but there would soon come a time when he would have to tell the others what was happening to him.  Preferably after he had confronted the Steward, he thought.  It might be too late by then, but if they didn’t reach Brinemore in time it would be too late anyway for all of them.

He brought the company to a stop.  They had reached a forested peak that sloped down on one side toward the town of Dhu Nor, offering a clear view of their destination.  The town was situated at the bottom of a valley bounded by the mountainous forest, a natural trough in a deep pool of shadows, a dark haze that appeared to repel the sunlight.  The buildings that comprised the town were tumble-down structures, decrepit and crumbling, made of cheap stone and rickety wood.  The windows and doors were barred and fenced-off, some of the former sheeted with thick paper instead of glass.  The buildings were hunkered down at the bottom of the valley save for a few that had been constructed on higher ground bordering the woodland.  Yet these seemed stripped down and deserted like lookouts that were no longer fit for purpose.  For such a town it was well populated. From this distance they could see movement everywhere, people darting in and out of houses or stores, and down busy streets, their passage brisk, furtive looking.

Daaynan turned to the members of his group. “This is Dhu Nor.”  He looked at the three of them in turn.  “Before we go down there I need to tell you what you should expect.  Mereka, you have been here before.  It isn’t like Carasan or most other towns or hamlets in the Northern Territories mainly because it is filled with the worst sort of humanity that has been cast out from those places.  Thieves, murderers and other troublemakers.  Desperate people who value life so cheaply they would cut your throat for the price of a meal.  And magic users.”

“Magic users?” Simon repeated.

“Karsin Longfellow banned sorcery in Brinemore and some of its surrounding regions.  To protect himself as he expanded his domain south and east of the city no doubt, but regardless of his reasons it had the effect of branding those who practice magic as criminals and Dhu Nor is a magnet for this kind of person.”

“Are there other Druids here?”

Daaynan shook his head, smiling in irony.  “You think so little of me?  No.  Petty magic users at best.  Those able to perform small tricks for the most part, lacking the training and preparation necessary for a life spent devoted to the art of the Magus.

“Be wary, all of you.  Don’t stop to talk with anyone, should they approach you.  Stay close to each other.  We should move now since we have little time to find this man Drett Peers.”

“He’s in a tavern called the Axe and Stump,” Mereka said.  “It’s to be found in the centre of Dhu Nor along with most of the other ale houses.”

As they began to climb down the peak, Simon walked up to the Druid, falling in step beside him.  Mereka and Christopher were a few paces behind, watching the song birds dart over the tree awning as they descended.  Daayan turned to face the Englishman.  “You have more questions of me?” he asked, his earlier, ironic smile still in place.

“I suppose,” Simon said, “that I just want to know how you’re doing?”

“I am fine, Englishman.”

“I don’t really believe that.”

“Oh?”  A look that might have been irritation crossed the sorcerer’s features, yet it was hard for the other to read properly.

“It’s just that...when Christopher and I revived you back at the castle you seemed different...changed somehow.  We saw what happened when the King touched that Faerie creature.  It collapsed instantly, and those others- the Furies it had come with- fell like dominoes. They’re as dead as Kennedy.  He was a powerful leader too- never mind.  You’re the only one he touched who survived, and I’m wondering what effect it had on you.”

“The pink flame protected me...” Daaynan began.

“Yes, so you said, but you fell into what seemed to be a coma, only to reawaken later.  I wonder what was inside you to keep you alive and not those others?  Don’t say it was the Druid fire because those creatures had magic as well.”

Daaynan said nothing for a long time.  The Englishman was unnaturally curious and it was evident he had tried to work this out like a puzzle using his own brand of logic and had come up short.  Perhaps he deserved an answer.

“When