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IN SILENCE THEY TRAVELED back the way they had come to Escavia City on the Great Road. They were heading towards Laraid, where they soon came to a village, and Astocath hired rooms there. Mordrak and Jorlon sat on Astocath’s bed and the mage sat on a wooden chair.
“Why should I continue on with you, Astocath?” Mordrak said fervently. “I’ve now got goblins to deal with.”
“Leave Sir Lerion to it,” replied the mage with equal force.
“So Jorlon can hope he dies?” Mordrak could have laughed with scorn. King Tell had made no mention of Lerion’s claim to Sylvendene, and neither had anyone else, for that matter.
“Tell has given us amnesty,” snapped Jorlon. “He can make no claim over our property. Anyway, Astocath has now taken charge of the place.”
Astocath said, “Amnesty is amnesty.”
“I don’t see that we should hold any argument here, apprentice,” snarled Mordrak pointedly. “The object in question is my returning home. Lerion is not at home either, so we are two armies down.”
“King Tell has specifically entreated you to journey with us,” Astocath addressed Mordrak. “Jorlon, hand over your sword for the sake of goodwill. It will be more useful in the hands of a trusty knight than you, who are barely trained for such a weapon.”
Jorlon gasped. “But it is mine!”
“I cannot fight magic, not even with a rune-sword,” argued Mordrak thickly. “And I’m not sure I trust any of you in any case.”
“Wizards are not invincible, as well you should know!” said Astocath firmly. “And furthermore, you’ll not know who to trust and who not to trust if you don’t come along. Unless you come along, there is nothing we can do about your wraiths. And even if you don’t come, the situation will not change. We shall continue, but you cannot expect any assistance from us against the goblins.”
Mordrak raised an open hand, and Astocath and Jorlon stopped talking at him. Mordrak looked at them moodily. “King Tell charged me to take care of the goblins on my initiation to the Brotherhood.”
Astocath sighed loudly. “Then shall we go back and see if the King wants that right now?”
“Wait,” said Mordrak. “What do you say, Tulan?”
“Sir, I might prefer to point out things objectively.” It seemed Tulan was rising to the occasion.
“Go on.”
“You are haunted by these revenants or whatever they are. You have been since we left Nan-Enn, I know. But there’s no telling how much more danger they will put people in—although I confess they haven’t affected me, except sometimes there’s an uncomfortable presence about you. Still, it’s different to them.” He pointed at Astocath, who appeared to take no notice of being singled out in such a manner, and to Jorlon who grimaced. “There is no telling what these wraiths can do! Astocath is prepared to take an informed risk with you. However, for myself, I fear goblins equally as much as magic cast against me, although I daresay a goblin sword brings death more quickly. In any case, we don’t know how these wraiths might later affect us. We should soldier on with Astocath.” Tulan coughed and paused for breath. “Then, of course, there is the question of your sister ...”
“Make a decision, Mordrak. I don’t care much which path you choose to follow,” interrupted Astocath testily.
“Very well.” Mordrak swallowed. “I shall continue with you.”
“Then it’s settled,” said Astocath evenly. “Jorlon: swap Ifhrd’s sword with Mordrak‘s.”
With a loud sigh, Jorlon unsheathed his blade and passed it to Mordrak. Astocath leaned over and slapped Jorlon over the ear. “When I demand something of you, boy, I don’t care for your truculence, do you hear?”
“Very well. I’m sorry.” The apprentice sounded more humiliated than apologetic, before adding, “Master.” He looked like a shrivelled child before all the men.
Mordrak in turn passed Jorlon his own blade, his face stony as he looked at the rune-blade. It was clear Astocath was serious.
Soon after dawn, as the weak sun warmed off the early morning mist, they resumed their journey by day for the rest of an arduous and disgruntling week, by the end of which they had reached a road leading to Nan-Enn.
During the nights, whether he was awake or asleep, the wraiths beset Mordrak.
“Tell Astocath you must know where you’re bound! You want Lerion dead as much as Astocath! You fear the goblins, so much so, you’re hoping a wasted journey will be safer.”
He heard his father boom and pound his fist against his head until his skull ached. “Fight the goblins and claim the land!” The voices did not stop with his dreams. As he woke, a raging headache seeped into his soul, which made his chest feel heavy, almost as if his ribs were broken. There was no recess; the wraiths tittered in his ears:
See how much his father hates him!
He’s such a disgrace even his own mother don’t recognise him!
Ssh, listen!
The very sound of his mother’s voice came to his mind.
Mordrak! Mordrak! Come to Mother!
Momentarily he was that boy again, when his mother sought him out in the castle gardens to tell him the joyful news that she expected another child.
Now he was back in the present, laden with his current troubles that he could not have borne as a youngster. Then his memory flashed back to that boyhood moment of his mother’s warm embrace and the months following as his anticipation grew with the swelling of his mother’s belly. Finally, Father told him in excitement that he was indeed to have a brother with whom he could learn to master arms. She was soon to die, however, in labour.
Childhood recalled, he remembered vividly how his brother became increasingly mischievous and sneaky. His character quickly developed into artful guile, and often Mordrak was blamed for shame his brother had perpetrated, the least acts of which were bullying and stealing from others. Possessions would be found in his keep, items of which he knew nothing. All manner of events, that would be inconsequential in themselves, accumulated and became part of the daily ordeal of high-blown traumas and upsets. Everyone was glad to move Mordrak away to serve in another court where he met and befriended Ravinion.
In his sleepy mind, he wanted to shout out for his sister; he so wanted to keep her safe and out of the clutches of his scheming brother. All the injustices turned to anger, and his wrath slowly built as Astocath repeatedly refused to give him any details concerning her circumstances. He was approaching the end of his tether.
He lay in his bed within his small tent and felt so alone out in the wilderness, whilst he tried to sleep as sleep he must. But of a sudden, with a resolve weighing upon his heart, he threw his blankets off and crawled from his tent before racing into Astocath’s. The mage was awaking from his sleep, and Mordrak shook him roughly.
“Where’s Adriselle?” he hissed in Astocath’s face.
With sudden and incredible strength, the wizard pushed Mordrak away. “She’s safer than she would be if I told you now!” Astocath was on his knees facing Mordrak who had fallen, and glowered. The mage stabbed a finger at him. “Don’t do such things to me!”
“What’s going on?” asked Tulan, joining the lofty Daros who knelt beside Mordrak, they all peered in to the tent to see Astocath.
“Too much,” fumed Astocath. “Your master will speak with you in the morning.” He crawled past Mordrak, stood before the alarmed squire and sighed. “You get some rest now. Let Mordrak be. Get yourself some sleep.”
Even as Mordrak went back to his tent and involuntarily fell to slumber, the wraiths continued to haunt his disjointed dreams.
Jorlon wants to deal with you worse than us. He hates you.
You killed Ifhrd.
How did you kill Ifhrd?
Because he was protecting you!
There was a momentary pause until they broke into an immature chant:
Astocath will have the child you want ...
Astocath will have the child you want ...
Na-na-na.
This aroused an excited applause between them, and one shouted: Rhymes it doesn’t, don’t it? There followed more laughter and chuckles as if the youths were many years younger than they really would have been. Mordrak lay half-asleep, feeling sweat lather his body. In his mind, he fought against dreams of demons smothering him with the fear that everyone he knew, friend and foe alike, had conspired to lead him into the wraith’s lair. Even in these dreams, his limbs were paralysed, unless he moved when he was bid by the evil malice. His plight was heightened by the wraiths doing their utmost to convince him that he had lost many an opportunity to kill Astocath and Jorlon, which would have solved this ordeal.
***
WHEN MORDRAK AWOKE with the sunrise, he walked away from the camp and checked the two traps they had set in hopes of fresh meat. He was not hungry but could not abide the presence of the wizard. The exercise calmed his weary and confused mind. As much as he wished to believe Astocath was behind this haunting, his better sense told him it was not so. This had to be the work of an evil mind. Whatever reservations he held towards Astocath, he could not believe that underneath the casual facade beat a wicked heart. Better to stay with the very man who sooner or later could surely ease away this pain in some way. With little choice left to him, he felt ready to attempt to trust the mage. He would at least make an effort. After all, the mage had proved reliable so far, and had not hurt him physically, however much he suffered from the powerful spell of last night. It must have been a spell, for surely Astocath was not naturally strong enough to counter Mordrak’s moving weight. In its way, the moment had been humiliating, but that the wraiths wanted him dead was indicative that Astocath was a danger to them, and not to himself. Indeed, if Astocath were the danger, would they warn him? Of course not.
He shook Tulan awake. “We’ve got two rabbits for you to skin.”
“Great,” Tulan grumbled.
Tired as he was, Mordrak was determined to convince himself there was hope. “Looks like it’ll be a great day.”
“Doesn’t feel like it.” Tulan sat up and rubbed his eyes. “How are you these nights?”
“It’s a terrible situation. I really would not be surprised to find a wizard of Medeas behind much of this. I keep thinking Astocath is betraying us,” he whispered. “But I know he is not. It is well that at least Astocath is really powerful.”
“He’s on your side,” Tulan urged.
Then he turned his head towards Astocath, sleeping. “Ssht.” He touched his lips, then raised his voice. “Wake up Jorlon, would you?”
“I am awake,” called the apprentice. “After those palace beds, the ground will never feel the same again.”
The knight and squire exchanged uncertain glances. Mordrak lowered his whispers. “Just remind me from time to time that Astocath can be trusted.”
They rode for many more days. The retainers kept their own company. “Why haven’t we used any standing stones?” complained Jorlon.
“Don’t you start, my lad,” Astocath said firmly. “It might be dangerous with those beasts riding Mordrak.”
“They’ve got stronger over time,” added Mordrak morosely.
“There must be a way to get rid of them,” Jorlon sighed, “or surely they will affect all of us!”
“I’m working on it.”
“Let’s get to some standing stones, then?” urged Jorlon.
“There are no standing stones near, and none at Escavia City.” Astocath’s speech was greatly agitated. “Do I have to explain everything?”
As they continued journeying on, Mordrak fell behind a short distance. He preferred to keep to his own company as much as possible. To concentrate on what people were saying was difficult these days.
“You’re taking us to the Great Forest, aren’t you?” Jorlon whispered to Astocath with sudden inspiration.
“Enough, and be quiet. There are many places I could be taking us. Wherever we are going, I do not want to be outwitted by the evil eye over us. Have a mind for your questions. To keep you occupied, I’ll explain the techniques used with magical essence. Here, I have some.” He reached into a pouch and produced some stones and teeth. “It’s yours. The essence is always trapped in something, and it is quite apart from the props that some magi use to centre their mind when conjuring. In using essence, you must take care not to use more than you can master, and I’ll explain how you can feel its weight. I noticed it was more than you could do to retrieve your dagger—I helped, and there you have it. But you should grow in power as you practice and experience as you would have been first told. No matter. Had you used some of this,” he waved a tooth, “you would have achieved the spell on your own. Now, you should be able to discern its weight. Different weights are called suns, moons and seasons. One essence’s weight equals a sun, five a moon and there are thirty suns to a season. Seasons are measured in terms of annual cycles, Spring being ninety, to Winter equaling three hundred and sixty. To use that much in one go requires such a spell as raising a corpse to life, if you know how ... if any know how, and we suppose the person would merely be a zombie. However, I digress.”
The lessons continued as they began to pass houses that were scattered around the rolling hills, and eventually they arrived at a rural village called Efeamor. The village boasted necessary but basic shops and a blacksmith where they asked for their horses to be reshod. To Mordrak’s knowledge there did not seem to be any gloom lurking over the community. As they awaited the smith’s apprentice to finish the fittings, they could hear taunts and jeers from somewhere in the distance. There was no one in sight, and so the company wandered over to investigate the reason for the excited noise, as much as to stretch their legs.
On the village green, locked in a pillory, was a young man whose face was twisted with agony. The humiliation would be the least of it. The village rabble hissed at him and whipped him with their cords and belts. All the while, they cursed his manhood and smothered his face with rotten fruit and vegetables. Someone was currently stuffing stale bread into his mouth.
“‘E’s the baker’s boy,” a woman explained with great delight. “Baker’s alridy bin ’orse-tied down the road. ‘E’ll be in pill’ry overnight, ‘e will, after a good thrashing!”
“What did they do?” asked Tulan.
“Eeeh now, bad bread in that boy—stole from a lass, ‘e did. Look! Look now!” she shouted as the boy choked on the forced feed. “Will ‘ave bitter bread now, stake yer life on it.” She turned to Jorlon, who looked horrified. “Eeeh, enjoy it, son. Don’t ‘appen evr’y day.”
“Where’s the inn?” he asked, keen to remove himself from their entertainment. It seemed to him that people thrived on the crimes of others, making great sport of them in the name of justice. Vengeance legalised for the delectation of the so-called righteous. Hypocrisy, hypocrisy, all hypocrisy. He sneered within his heart at her, and then at the crowd.
“Be ye blind? Over thar.” She pointed to an inn tucked down a street; its sign was barely visible with the angle at which it hung.
Astocath led them across the market place, here they found the establishment good for a meal and drink. Deciding to stay overnight, they found they would have to share a twelve-man bed, although there was no one else yet renting the room.
Grumbling, Astocath paid the charge and gave over a further shilling. “We’ll have no more in our bed. Eight ales, if you please.”
“Any bed’s better than the freezing ground, Astocath,” said Jorlon, smiling.
“Hmm, not amidst a crowd of cut-throats, there can be no doubt,” remarked Astocath sourly. He raised his jug to his mouth and drank. “Ale’s good, though.” He looked around for Mordrak and saw him and Tulan standing by a table with two swordsmen. “What’s he talking about?” asked the mage. “Can you tell what he’s saying?”
“Can you?” replied Jorlon, shaking his head.
“Usually, but not well in your language. You should learn how. Watch people’s mouths when they speak, and it gets easy with practice. You could use a little magic, no doubt.”
“You want me to go over and see what it’s about?” offered one of Astocath’s men.
“No,” said Astocath. “It wouldn’t do to seem like we’re spying, especially when we’re not.”
“Are you using magic to understand this land’s tongue?” asked Jorlon.
“Huh, Jorlon. Remember where you are.” Astocath wagged a finger. “I understand most of it; we have similar rules of grammar, which makes it easier.”
“As does ... never mind.”
“Indeed.” Astocath considered Jorlon beneath his brow, knowing the apprentice would break out in the magi’s cant. “No matter how good the times seem, they are not. Whatever and wherever we are, we always have enemies lurking about. I hope Mordrak is wise enough to bear that in mind.” He nodded towards the knights.
Extricating themselves from the strangers, Mordrak and Tulan joined Astocath. “Well,” said Mordrak, “they’re from Nan-Enn. None of her former inhabitants still live or at least have remained. Fearful superstitious talk has forced many of the new folk away as well.”
“Perhaps we should go there,” suggested Jorlon. “After all it’s not that far, and we might take the cat by the whiskers.”
“A day’s ride, perhaps?” suggested Mordrak, “At the most.”
Astocath nodded in thought. He looked at Mordrak. “I know much of your haunting, and sometimes looking at your face, you are taking more than many could endure and still keep a reasonably sane mind. Perhaps we should try it out?”
Mordrak shook his head. “If, after all this time, you still don’t know what you’re doing—”
“I, sir, am proceeding the best way I know how. No, I don’t have all the answers—yet. Do you have a plan? Do you want your wraiths to know everything?”
“Have you looked into my mind?” asked Mordrak.
“No.” Astocath studied the knight’s face. Mordrak appeared to all to be wishing for an excuse to fight. “I haven’t dared.”
“In case it’s catching?”
“It’s worth a thought.” Astocath frowned.
“Huur,” Mordrak sneered as if at a poor joke.
“And it’s no shame of yours,” Astocath snapped back.
They spoke little more.
***
THAT NIGHT, LYING BESIDE Mordrak, Jorlon dreamed he was awake. White phantoms hovered over the bed, thrusting their spears at the sleepers’ heads. Poison dripped from the shafts that aged the company into dotage and left them accordingly weak and frail, ever to be held hostage until eternity. Their bedchamber then sunk into the depths of Niflheim, where in their senility, the company waited and waited to begin their journey. In their bed within Hel’s hall amidst the dead, they individually fell into despair as the truth of their failings slowly and privately dawned on each of them. None of them could speak unless Hel addressed them, and she rarely did so. Perhaps she would wait, taking her time in the biting cold. Her voice was cruel and powerful. She cautioned him, “And I have so much time to hold you down beneath my nightmares.” He sat on a bench, feeling the cold eat into him whilst her very words carried with them a terrible finality. Although she could be no other than Hel herself, with doubts came the nagging feeling that this was a night-hag, a servant of the goddess. He was surely not important enough to come to the personal attention of a goddess.
His dreams turned. He was sleeping alone in a chamber filled with cobwebs. Through a veil of spider-silk peered a spiteful, feminine face. “Make love to me, Jorlon. Make love to me. I want only you to make love to me.” Her voice was different to the woman’s of a moment before, although equally cruel. This one had quite captivated him—enchanted him into embracing the repulsive.
He could not resist, and he closed his eyes in anticipation of her advances. Although he was paralysed, he held no mortal fear until he felt a great weight upon him, and opening his eyes, he saw great mandibles where her breasts should be. Sweat prickled across his brow, and his breath was short and sharp. To his horror, the cold, iron-like claws were closing in upon his groin.
In a moment, he realised he had awoken from that dream and returned to Niflheim to sit in a seat prepared for him, and all he could do was stare vacantly at the drab curtains veiling Hel’s inner sanctum, awaiting her pleasure, which would never be sensual.
Then cruel laughter resounded as a horn blew from afar, its note lonesome and echoing. It was the time of Ragnarok—all must die!
Now fully awake, he felt as if the fire of that Twilight was consuming his body.
The night was still, with only the steady, mesmeric sound of the breathing of the sleepers. He felt Mordrak’s arm and thought how tormented the Brother’s mind must be. If some of his madness had spread and tainted himself, he was not so sure he would be able to contain it on a full-time basis quite as ably as did Mordrak, but would be driven irreversibly insane. Jorlon drifted back off to sleep, wondering if he could ever seal an all consummating fate for Mordrak.
They did not leave Efeamor particularly early, and approached Nan-Enn beneath an overcast sky in the afternoon. There was little sign of immediate rain, but the plains around seemed to lay prostrate beneath the awesome clouds.
“Where abouts are the edges of this gloom?” asked Astocath.
“Around here somewhere,” answered Mordrak. “I’m dreading the feel of it again. It becomes stronger as you get near it.”
“Well, I sense nothing,” said Astocath betwixt something of disappointment and agitation. “How does everyone else feel?”
But all of them sensed the morbid sickening they had come to expect as they came to the gate. The walls remained unrepaired since the siege, giving the city an unwelcoming visual presence, the low grey sky increasing the fateful visage. A guard stood alert, and with a smile, raised his hand to stop them.
“Good day, travellers,” he said. “What is your business here?”
“What’s going on?” asked Mordrak.
The guard shook his head. “The good King Tell overran this place, and folks here are rebuilding their lives and this fine city as best as can be expected. Are you joining the army in the north?” He looked doubtful, in anticipation of the answer.
“But there is such a gloom over this city,” urged Mordrak, “not to mention the suicides.”
“Gloom?” asked the guard. “Only to be expected after what they’ve been through. Business will be prosperous next year, no doubt of it.”
The guard was putting on a very brave face, Mordrak considered. “What about the children?” he persisted, giving consideration to the possibility that the guard was speaking cheerfully, as he must if this place was to grow and not shrivel completely.
The guard pulled a face. “They’ve been set apprenticeships right enough.”
“Who’s in charge here?” Mordrak asked, announcing himself as the fellow proved tiresome. “I am Count Mordrak.”
“Baron Cheron is lord over this city, sir.”
Mordrak shrugged, unfamiliar with the name. “May we pass?”
“Of course you may, sir.” The guard stepped back a pace in deference to Mordrak’s rank.
Mordrak flicked the horse’s reins and led the group into the city, which they found was undergoing repairs. Many of the youths and children were set to clearance work, leading the donkeys pulling carts here and there, and painting new buildings.
“Some apprenticeship,” Jorlon muttered sarcastically beneath his breath.
“Shall we stay with the baron, Astocath, or take another inn?” asked Mordrak.
The mage thought for a moment. “It’s up to you.”
“We’ll pay Cheron a visit then,” said Mordrak and trotted his horse on. “I don’t know the man, but it will be interesting to meet him.” Suddenly he felt free, as clear-minded as ever he had felt before. He was not prepared to be disillusioned now. Furthermore, if he had returned these haunting ravens to their roost, he doubted Astocath would be quick to accept the problem solved with so much at stake. He now felt certain the wraiths would not trouble him again; and with no scorning laughter against foolish optimism, his case seemed proven. His spirits were not as high as he would have wished, however. Calm days between storms always had a dampening effect. He pulled up to Jorlon’s side. “You once said there were spells over me. My mind feels different to what it was then. What do you say?”
After a moment, Jorlon replied, “There are spells over you still.”
Mordrak looked away from him. “We shall see.” He thought of the marauding goblins who had returned, and his greatest desire was to leave for home and sort them out. Mordrak then recalled storming the walls of Nan-Enn and fighting that ogre. How tough that was! Goblins were numerous; they swarmed like a nest of ants. But fight goblins he must, sooner or later. Then Astocath’s words came to him: you will have assistance, he had promised in a roundabout way.
Thunder rumbled in the distance, and it began to rain as they reached Cheron’s castle. Having introduced himself as Count Mordrak at the gate, the guard admitted the company. Their horses were accepted by the stable-lad who scurried as fast as he could to keep from the downpour.
Baron Cheron cordially greeted them in the great hall. He had come promptly to attend to them, barking orders for towels so that his guests might dry themselves.
“I remember you. You are Count Mordrak, from King Tell’s banquet. May I congratulate you on your honourable appointment?”
“Thank you, Sir Cheron, I am flattered by your goodwill towards us.”
“Under the circumstances in which this city was found after her fall, my liege Count Haro has taken residence in the city of Iggy. We are now free of any malady that may have struck us before. We agree that the deaths were the cause of a disease born of war. It is a rare occasion when the tragedy of those people who took their lives is discussed—and such things are best kept that way, I’m sure you’ll agree?” He smiled, but there was no sparkle to his eyes.
Mordrak chanced a glance at Astocath. To his amusement, the mage looked appalled, and said, “Some say the melancholy was not so natural as it might have seemed?”
The baron’s smile never faltered as he replied, “If there was wizardry at large, better all those enchanters be got rid of. No power—no unnatural power, that is—should ever shadow good living folk.” He looked first to Astocath and then to Jorlon. His face was taut.
Astocath pursed his lips and refrained from arguing. Mordrak could quite readily see Cheron’s unease with them.
“But has such talk returned you here, Count Mordrak?”
“Certain enquiries have been necessary, it is true to say. I am very pleased that whatever problem there was here has expired. We’ll be on our way tomorrow.”
“In the meantime, allow me to open my household to your every need, my lord,” the Baron offered enthusiastically.
“Thank you.” Mordrak smiled. “We’re much obliged.”
Once they were alone in Mordrak’s chamber, Astocath paced up and down the room. “Well, how are you, Mordrak? Still not haunted?” He sounded almost sarcastic.
“You sound as if you want me to be. I think I shall return home where I am most needed after all. And I want you to return Adriselle to me, of course, and assist against the goblins.”
“Has it not occurred to you that our mutual enemy is clearly playing for time?”
“Or just burnt out. It would suit you, wouldn’t it, to have the land covered by his menace?” said Mordrak evenly. “But I believe it to be a problem resolved.”
Astocath stood open-mouthed. “What are you going to do when those wraiths return to haunt you?”
“Hmm! What did you do when they did before?” demanded Mordrak.
“I’ve learned much and am sure I know how to deal with them, and it will be soon.”
“Oh! Too bad they’ve since gone, eh?”
Astocath bristled. His cheeks turned rouge beneath his beard, but before he could speak, Jorlon said, “Then if you’re through with us, I’ll have my sword back!”
“Gladly.” As Mordrak began to unsheathe it, the hilt seemed to vibrate in his hand, giving him every impression it did not wish to be parted from him.
Jorlon spoke again, “And if I might say, you seem to have lost your mind. It’s as if the wraiths have nothing to take now.”
“Do not be fooled!” exploded Astocath. “We’re up against a hidden mind of great cunning. And his power, although great, has its limitations, as anyone else’s.”
“His power is that which you would make as your tool of persuasion.” Mordrak was barely aware the sword had slipped back into its scabbard. “Can’t you see? No one wants wizard-craft.”
There was a silence, interrupted by low thunder that emphasised the moment. In the background was the hiss of pouring rain.
“You must come with us. Set the world free from the power that overshadows Tell and the whole empire you are fighting to create.” Astocath spoke in a low, firm voice. “Also I’ll not have time to take Adriselle to your door.”
“Oh all and well, she’s not entirely neglected.” Mordrak’s tone was filled with sarcasm. “If you don’t return her, I’ll consider that you’ve kidnapped her.”
“It’s no use, Astocath,” mumbled Jorlon. “And I for one don’t see that we need him around to resist us at every opportunity.”
“I’m thinking you’re right, Jorlon,” replied Astocath with much disappointment in his voice.
Mordrak looked at Tulan. “Do you consider me to be proving unchivalrous, friend?”
“You have agreed to help, and I know you to be brave and even headstrong. Furthermore, you were becoming your old self until this argument became mired. Truly, Mordrak, I believe you should at least send me with these two, even if you do not come yourself. Besides, what is or has been afoot needs to be witnessed for King Tell, though it matters not if we are to assume this is all an elaborate trick by the Circle.” He looked grimly at Astocath.
“Why deny the situation and the danger to yourself, Mordrak?” said Astocath slowly and kindly. “Lesser men would be brought to nought by what you suffer. Close your eyes and magic becomes little more than hot air to you, eh? Banning the Circle will not win you peace from sorcery, as you now well know!”
“Pah! So much has happened so quickly! And I should say, I am afraid of that haunting again.” Mordrak grimaced. “I’m loathe to fear it. I should not say such a thing. By the gods, in these days and nights, times have been wicked!” There was a silence. “What is your plan, then?” asked Mordrak uncertainly.
“First, sleep. Go to the elves who are looking after your sister. I must warn you that I shall tell you as little as possible.” Astocath raised his hand to deter interruption. “For the best of motives. I cannot speak much to Jorlon, either, nor any of you. Your ailment is not madness, Mordrak, whatever Jorlon would like to think.” Astocath looked almost apologetic for his apprentice. “But you are beset by a living haunting. Those wraiths, they’re real, and for as long as they are around, they are effectively spying on us. But truly, Mordrak, I’m certain of a way of getting rid of them entirely. I might add that your malady is upsetting the men we have with us. I’ll have to send them home soon.”
Mordrak shrugged. “They’ve done precious little but cost us money in any case.”
Astocath frowned and looked Mordrak in the eye from beneath his bushy brows. “My money. I’m not in this lightly, Mordrak. Everything that I care about depends on this, and at the same time, everything you count precious depends on the same! Please.” He clasped Mordrak’s hand. “Believe me!”