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

flame shooting upwards from its fingers, concentrated into a single continuous powerful burst.

The flame struck Daaynan at the level of his head...and bounced harmlessly off him.  The Druid barely broke his stride, reacting hardly at all to the attack save issuing a small warding gesture as if to brush some unwanted dirt from his face.  The Faerie rose and stared at the other as if unable to comprehend what it had just witnessed.  A fraction of a moment later it broke its paralysis by delivering a second attack, similar to the first yet with more concentrated force, directing it against the sorcerer’s midsection and upper body this time.  It combined its thrust with a high ululating scream designed to put the other off balance, attacking with more than one sense to unman the Druid.

Neither strike was successful.  The sorcerer was right before the creature now yet the Faerie, through overconfidence or disbelief, did not shrink away.  Daaynan reached for its face with both of his rough hands, pinching its nose shut to open its mouth and with one hand summoning a ball of flame that was lighter in density than its own fire, he pitched it deep down inside its throat.  He balled his hand into a fist and pushed deeper inside, the fire shooting from his hands and fingers in white-hot contrails, setting the Faerie alight from the inside out.  Finally, he stepped back, yet not before closing its mouth with a punctuating snap, holding it firmly shut.

The Faerie creature listed to one side, unsteady on its feet, ablaze with what had been placed inside it.  It opened its mouth to scream yet no sound emerged.  It writhed and twisted in an attempt to shake free but to no avail.  Then it simply exploded in a ball of conflagration as the fire inside it detonated, large fantails of light sent shooting out in all directions, razing the earth and the night air, consuming everything in its radius.  Seconds later the creature was no more.

The Druid stood for a time at the spot where it had disappeared as if making sure it was really gone, this time for good.  The Faerie magic he had cloaked himself in had accomplished its task.  It had taken time to construct the Whorl, more than a day, yet it had been successful.  He thought of the expression to meet fire with fire and smiled grimly.  In this case he had employed Faerie fire to meet the creature’s own.  The Archives had told him that the world of Faerie was lighter in density than his own world and to render himself immune to attack from one of these beings he had needed to cloak himself in the Whorl, which was simply a shroud with a heavy density, so compact that any attack directed against him would simply be deflected.  He had combined this with fire that had a much lighter density, so light it would break past the Windwalker’s defences and destroy it.  And he had succeeded.

The first Druid of the new order finally turned and walked slowly back toward the castle of Fein Mor, stripping himself of the Whorl.  He was exhausted by his efforts but satisfied that what he had set out to accomplish had been done, the enemy bested and a normal state of affairs restored.  Yet what was normal, he wondered?  What could he expect to encounter as Druid from now on and how would it change him?  He would ponder these questions later, he decided.  For now, for right now, he would let sleep take him, a long dreamless sleep inside the heart of the keep while Fein Mor protected him from any danger that lurked outside the castle walls, from those who elected to stand against the Druids and what they represented.  He was a newly born Druid and was still discovering what that meant but there would be time to do so, plenty of time.

2.

His days in Fein Mor passed quickly over the next few weeks.  It was perhaps surprising for a man living alone in a stronghold but there was a lot to do.  The gardens outside needed tending to keep them from growing as wild as the land around them.  Atop the castle, the pennants and flagpoles needed to be cleaned while inside, the many chambers, anterooms, halls and corridors also required cleaning.  Then there were his studies.  Daaynan spent his evenings poured over books containing reference material to the Northern Earth, as well as recorded spells, thralls and incantations suited to every purpose, memorizing as much as he could, putting some of the enchantments into practice.  One of the reasons he had taken so long to dispel the Faerie wraith from Fein Mor, he thought, was his lack of knowledge of creatures or ages that did not belong to this world.  He would not make the same mistake twice.

There was much information on the Northern Earth.  He felt it would soon be necessary to introduce himself to those who governed the lands around the stronghold.  The steward of Brinemore, for example, was ruler of a vast city to the Northwest.  Once a regency, when the royal line had died out Brinemore had passed into stewardship under the care of a ruling family much like the royals.  Karsin Longfellow, the current steward, came along in a time when Brinemore elected its officials based on political merit.  He had a formidable reputation as both a politician and an astute businessman.  He would be curious about the return of the Druid order to the Northern Earth, if only to see what kind of trade negotiations he could open with Fein Mor.  He would hold talk with him soon but what would be the nature of that conversation?

Daaynan was musing over this question when he received a visit from his cousin.

Jareth Tox was the firstborn of his mother’s younger sister.  He was junior to Daaynan by almost 10 years and growing up in the village of Bottom