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

In one hand Daaynan held a torch, waving it to brighten their surroundings until they spotted the narrow steps that led down further beneath the keep. Together they negotiated the stairs before stepping onto the floor of a vast room made of flagstone rock.  A door comprised of thick oak stood at one end of the room, joined to its frame with large metal hinges.  Daaynan pressed the sequence of brass studs on a metal pad to gain access to the room beyond, having earlier obtained the combination from Commander Dechs who had in turn got it from Karsin Longfellow.  He opened the door and they entered the chamber which housed the Darksphere.  The walls of the chamber stuck out at them unevenly, the rock they were made of protruding like mismatched teeth, dirty and jagged.  Simon and Christopher scrunched their noses at the unpleasant smell which came at them from somewhere behind the rock, seeping into the chamber through gaps in the wall.  Daaynan swung the door closed and walked to the centre of the room, facing the end wall.  The Englishmen stood either side of him.

Gathering his thoughts, he turned to the two friends.  “Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked.  They nodded immediately, no trace of hesitation showing in their features.  Satisfied, he turned back to the wall, raising his arms in a gesture of greeting and spoke:

“Ledislas, come forth!”

The air in the room flickered briefly and all of a sudden, the trio were spying past the wall at a strange light that rose from the depths of the tower.  Dense and black, it moved as if alive, a presence that watched all three as they stood before it.  After a time, a faint outline rippled in its centre, its surroundings pulled tight about its form like black robes.  The dark light grew in diameter until it formed a sphere that filled half the room.  The outline, no more than a sketch of a figure, watched the trio, its eyes barely visible points of light, moving over the Englishmen before coming to rest on the sorcerer.

“A Druid.  They have sent a Druid,” it rasped in its peculiar unearthly voice, its iridescent form turning, spiralling gently.  “Have you come finally to make good on the Steward’s promise to release me?”

“I have.  Although before I do, I have a request of you.  It concerns the two men beside me that I have carried to this place.”

“No, Druid.  No more favours.  No more requests or commands.  I have given more of those to the Steward than I care to have done.  This time you will do my bidding.  Speak now if you are to do as I ask.”

Daaynan said nothing for a moment, watching the other, studying its movement that would give lie to the emotions it felt.

“Here this then,” he said.  “I shall invoke the magic that will release you from your captivity.  After I have accomplished this and before you leave, however, I wish you to do as I ask.  These men have engaged in battle against the Steward and helped defeat him.  He is no longer a threat to these lands.  Nor does he hold prisoner as he did you any creature who was obliged to assist him in overpowering those who stood against him.  These men simply wish to be rewarded for their service by being returned to the lives they have been taken from, to their world of origin.  That is their modest request.”

“I know of their world,” the being considered.  “I shall honour this request.  Yet not before you have rid me of the Sphere which holds me.”

“Very well,” Daaynan nodded.  He turned to the Englishmen.  “This is it,” he said, looking at Simon and Christopher in turn.  “I want to thank you for what you have helped me achieve.  Without you both, none of this would have been possible.”

“Thank you, Daaynan,” Simon countered.  “I think I can say that I’ll never forget you.”

Christopher opened his mouth to speak then thought better of it and closed it instead.  Smiling, he gripped the Druid’s hand and shook it.  Daaynan looked at him.  “It occurs to me that I ought to have more to say to you.  The circumstances which led to your being here were...less than ideal.  It makes me regretful.”

Simon shook his head, grinning.  “I suppose that’s as close to an apology we’ll ever get from you.”

The Druid considered this in silence for a moment then paid them the greatest compliment that he knew how to give.  “You know what you both did?  You saved lives.  I must visit this England of yours.  If it is peopled by those such as yourselves it must be a good place.”

“We couldn’t have you,” Simon said.  “You might try to change our government too.”

“It is in need of reform?”

“Yes, but we quite like it that way.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Maybe one day you will.  For now, I recommend that you stay where you’re needed.  We have an expression: he’s the man for his time and place.  That’s you, Daaynan.”

“I suppose it is,” the other said after taking a moment to reflect on it.

“It’s truer of you than most.

“Goodbye Druid.  Don’t ever change.  We’ll think of you often.”

The Englishmen stood back as the Magus of Fein Mor recited the ancient words that invoked the releasing spell which held the being in its prison of dark light.  There was no miraculous transformation, no effect or trick of light.  Ledislas simply faded from view, the thin iridescent lines that shaped its protrusion into the world of the Northern Earth pulsing and spiralling in dying coils, turning in slow helices that gradually began to wink out of existence.

Once, just before it altogether vanished from sight, it reached out with one of its thin tendrils in a flash of barely perceptible movement and beckoned the Englishmen to join it.

Moving as one, responding to the gesture, Simon and Christopher walked into the darkness that surrounded it and became lost from view.