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

one which had covered Mereka’s, back in the forested cove, one of skin and tissue that pulsed and fluxed across his features, livid and pounding, a mass of shifting tissue that slowly transformed the landscape of his face.  When it ceased, the veil igniting in a flashing spot and disappearing, the small company found themselves staring at the point where Wade Torn had sat.

In his place was a woman.

Mereka gasped.  Christopher glanced down at his beer.  Simon and the Druid looked at each other and then at the person that had replaced Torn.  He/she still had some of the barman’s features.  The eyes were the same, pliant and yielding...and yet, Daaynan thought, was there a more intelligent spark in them?  He thought so.  And the shoulders, if not the face, were still broad and strong, perhaps even for a man.  It was the face which registered most of the change.  It was pale, and had a delicate structure and cast, as if made from bone china.  It seemed to absorb the light in the room with a discreet, calming tranquillity.

“You’re a crossling,” Mereka whispered.

“And you used to be one,” Torn said, “but you are only a woman now.”

“How did you know?”

“Because you never sensed what I was.  A crossling is born with a sixth sense.  It features more with some but it is always there.  I knew you weren’t one when I first saw you, but I admit that I was confused as you seemed to bear the hallmarks of one of our kind.  It was in the way you held yourself, much like those of us do in the female state.  Then I saw the meta-crystal and understood it was yours and I knew for certain.”

“If all this is true,” Daaynan said, “and you are what you say you are, then why didn’t you already know what we had to trade?  Why go through this routine in the first place?”  Out of the corner of his eye, the Druid saw Simon shake his head and heard him mutter something about not believing what was staring him in the face.  If he’d had the courage to voice his words louder, he would have told him that what you see and what you hear are two different things and your life might depend on knowing the difference.  “Why didn’t you use your extra sense?”

“We can...” Mereka said, before correcting herself, “...could...only do that as women.”

Torn nodded.  “Your friend is right.”  “As a man I am unusually perceptive, but in me as I am now, this sense is very strong.  For example, I know you are a Druid of immense power and that you are currently struggling with this power.”  She lifted her hand.  “Don’t worry, I will not speak of this to anyone.  Someone has infected your magic with a brand of their own and you are chasing that same someone north to Brinemore in the hope of confronting him.  You know him as the King, but he is an ancient sorcerer, lifted from the vaults of the dead, alive in a time when such sorcerers had absolute reign over their lands.”

“This is true,” Daaynan said slowly. “Can you tell us where he is at the present moment?”

“I can, but you already know or sense this.  He is within reach of the city.  He too is struggling with this fusion of both your magics.  Listen to me, Druid.  It is not just your magic that is combining.  Your minds are locked in a battle for supremacy, one vying against the other for control.  This is the sickness you are feeling: each of you finds the other distasteful yet neither of you wishes to give up control.  Access to the other’s magic is too tantalising a prospect to leave aside, I would imagine.”

Daaynan leaned forward, his hands spread before him, flattening on the counter.  “If I were to gain control, if I somehow subdued him, would that be enough to put a stop to the Steward?”

“The Steward of Brinemore.  This is your ultimate goal, to destroy or replace him.”  Here, Torn glanced quickly at Christopher before turning back to Daaynan.  “On your own you will not be successful.  Together with the King’s strength, you might succeed, but the Steward knows you are coming, knows how many of you there are, though he is not aware of the man you have in mind to replace him with.  Oh...the Steward has drawn a Tochried into this world!”  Torn’s entire body flinched with the impact of some dark understanding and he broke his gaze on the Druid.

“What is a Tochried?” Daaynan asked.

There was no answer.  “Tell me.  What is it?”

“It- it is a Maegera.  An elemental being of the dark.  They existed so long ago but never on this plane...whoever or whatever persuaded this one to come here must have been powerful, or extremely influential.”

“Is it like those Faerie creatures he sent to Daaynan’s castle?” Simon asked.  “Creatures from another era?”

“No, no.  The Faeries had their spell here.  This being exists independent of time and place.  Until recently, they weren’t aware of countries like the Northern Earth, or any lands whatsoever.”

“Like in a different dimension,” Simon spoke in mild wonderment.  “in light bodies...pure spirits.”

Torn shook her head.  “You don’t understand.  They come from Outside.  To us, in their natural state they would be invisible.  I don’t know if they’ve ever taken on physical, or even ethereal, form before.”

“Can you tell us about this one?” Daaynan asked her.

“The Tochried that has crossed over into this world is wild, unpredictable.  It identifies as male, but in reality it has no gender.  It...”

“What magic does it possess?  What can it achieve?”

“Anything you can imagine, and more besides.  I don’t know much about this one as, to my knowledge, they have never expressed themselves in this way before, but if it decides to invest itself with powers it could have near unlimited physical strength.”

“What about the person who brought it into being?  Surely the Steward was not responsible for