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MORDRAK RODE ALONG, about a week or so after leaving his sister with the elves, to go to a certain place he was never to reveal to anyone. Although he had not been told the name of the tower, it was Bar-Nexus, and to him, it was just a tower, home to some wizards who could help them.
His thoughts returned to his sister, to a conversation they’d had one night after dinner, sitting together by the fireplace in her chambers. She’d told him of her travels, of her time with the elves, and then they’d spoken of long ago, of childhood and their family. At last, she mentioned a Judezzek who had visited their home, long before any of them had been born; one who had spoken over Mordrak’s life and future.
“This Judezzek was no ordinary man. You know how Father felt about them, but this man was different. He had the power. Father boasted he would build his dynasty without the help of any God. In return, the Judezzek said Father’s eldest son, you, would never sire a child.” She paused, as if it were she pronouncing the curse.
Three days ago, as he kissed her before they parted, she had said quietly, almost as if she suspected an eavesdropper, “I believed these wizards couldn’t ... anyway, it is the case that the human ones really can’t. Jorlon’s power will sap away his ... his—you know?”
“Why have you told me this, Adriselle?” Mordrak asked her. He felt cut to the core. He knew her well enough to know she was not speaking like a viper. He knew her well enough to know that, however angry she had ever become in her short life, she had never been venomous to him. Now she had spoken sympathetically and with compassion, but he could not reason why.
She smiled lovingly, hiding her adoration, but it was a particular smile he much favoured. “To caution you, brother and friend,” she continued, “so when you find a beloved wife, you’ll know.” Tears came to her eyes. “I say this with a heavy heart.”
She had begun to cry, and now he thought ruefully of Astocath and wondered if he could help. What was this, a curse or a prophecy? It was commonly believed that true prophecy could never be broken, but curses can oftentimes be removed. He wondered if he would truly be able to approach the mage on this matter. For now, they were all too closely tied with the cords that bound them, having more power than iron chains. Then again, if he turned to this God, perhaps ... perhaps the curse could be mended.
Garlon then invaded his thoughts. Surely it would be he who would carry on the family line? Mordrak sighed heavily and felt sickened. Whatever he was to build, his duty would surely be a process fraught with jealousy and rivalry.
Tulan rode quietly beside him.
“Tulan, could it in fact be elven magic that muddled my reasoning?” he asked. “I must have been a half-wit to agree to this marriage.”
“So what will you do?” Tulan replied thoughtfully. “Is she clearly set on the idea?”
Tulan could not see any alternatives for him now, Mordrak perceived.
Tulan said, “Anyway, the elves’ so-called miracles don’t use a magic like Astocath’s. And we know everyone is trustworthy, don’t we?”
“We’ll just have to see how things unfold,” Mordrak snapped with impatience. “But I should never have allowed it! Another thing even clearer to me is that Astocath will of course expect me to press Tell for the establishment of the Circle, if for no other reason than for the sake of my sister, but that is only because he has beguiled and enchanted her. I should have seen it first off.” Mordrak’s voice now sounded flat, and he sensed Tulan shudder.
With another day passed, Mordrak’s chill had disappeared. Now the sky had become overcast again, and the knight expected the chill to re-emerge as cold, sharp rain began to pour down upon them.
Astocath was keen to press on, so they rode quickly.
‘More reason to hurry. He just wants to have his way with my sister!’ thought Mordrak sourly, and hoped for a sufficient excuse to arise that he might end the relationship between the mage and Adriselle. He accepted that it was true enough that he and Adriselle had their own lives to pursue; he wondered how society would tolerate their bond, complete in itself as an affair. Marriage to Tabor would have been advantageous, but now that was made impossible by the child she carried.
‘Perhaps I ought to have had a magi’s talent.’ He laughed aloud, thinking of the curse over him, making him sterile, which broke the silence between the company. He ignored the startled looks, especially from Astocath.
The mage peered beneath his brow as if he were trying to inspect Mordrak's soul. ‘He’s looking for the wraiths, no doubt.’ He laughed again with the thought of the ludicrous reality. He would love to see the eyes of the mage dangle beneath that beaked nose, scratch against the beard; those eyes that beheld Adriselle by means of subtle enchantment deserved slicing through the pupils, skewered and cut through like boiled eggs.
The land around was bleak and dour. The continual rain that blew across the moor darkened the sky, lit only by strokes of lightning. A gusty wind added to their discomfort and was powerless to carry away the clouds.
Tulan shouted, “Let’s have a break in that wood over there.” He pointed towards some trees not far away.
“Of all the places to choose!” Astocath cursed beneath his breath. “Of all the woodlands we’ve passed, now you want to take shelter in that one? If we stop as you want, you’ll feel the worse for the damp.”
“Come on, Astocath,” Tulan urged.
“No. There are things in that wood you’ll not like.” Astocath shuddered as he recalled the escapade of a time ago.
“With respect, for someone from Olfounand who needed guiding this far, you seem to know quite a bit of the countryside around here.”
Mordrak considered Astocath. He showed himself amazingly patient over the battling weather to the point that perhaps he knew this land better than he was admitting.
“I never said I’ve not been to these parts,” retorted the mage. “There’s quite a few areas of these lands I’m all too familiar with. And that particular wood is not a place of refuge!” He dared not explain his encounter with the gnomes.
“Very well.” Tulan relented.
“You’re right, Astocath,” said Jorlon. “I’m learning so much. In time I shall know this and I will know that and here and there. I’ll be able to say I’ve ridden with so-and-so, and so on, and that I’ve done this and achieved that.” He sounded increasingly sarcastic. “I’ve hardly been far from Sylvendene ever, except for Bar-Nexus, which we’re heading for, of course. And of the changes yet to come, I can say, ‘I’ve been there!’”
Astocath grunted with the uncomfortable feeling that he was training a grown mage. The sarcasm was probably well-founded.
“We’ve got to get Medeas back in good measure,” said Jorlon with a nod of his head.
“Indeed. We’d be hunted out one after the other if not, young sir; and terrible blights for everyone else at the hands of lawless wizards.” Looking ahead over the moors to a huddled copse, Astocath shouted, “We’ll stop over there if you want.”
“Hurrah!” cried Tulan. “We’ll be riding our horses into the mud otherwise.”
***
THE RAIN DID NOT LET up at all, even during the following afternoon as Astocath led them over the ruins crowning the underground tower of Bar-Nexus. The buildings that would once have stood proud stone abodes were now essentially levelled. Mere broken down walls covered in ivy and moss were all that remained.
As he wondered how they could best enter the place, Mordrak came up to him. “Is this it?” he asked incredulously. “What are we to do about the horses, hmm? And are you so sure anyone’s still here?” Mordrak could have laughed with scorn as he scanned the dereliction.
Astocath snorted indignantly. “Young man, I know what I’m doing. As for the horses, I suppose we could trade them in town if we can’t bring them with us. It’s only a two-hour hike.”
“Oh! So you’re expecting us to walk everywhere?”
Astocath flapped a hand, giving up since clearly sarcasm in return had no effect. “So many questions, young sir! But our immediate problem is introducing ourselves to the magi here.” He dared Mordrak to retort. No such outburst followed, and Astocath stabbed his finger towards the ground. “They’re under our feet.”
“Well, the horses will just love that.”
“Mordrak, your sarcasm exceeds your delicate personality.”
“It’s cold and raining, and our horses are suffering—the real ones are, anyway. They’re as cold and wet as we all are. Now we’re standing in the worst of weathers, and you expect me to be charming? We can’t abandon the horses up here whilst we’re down there.”
Astocath raised his hand. “I know, I know.”
Their attention was drawn to a man picking his way across the ruins. He was armoured in leathers with a huge cape that covered his head and hung down to his boots. “Well there!” he called amiably enough, although there was an indication of wariness to his voice. “This place is long gone.” He clambered over a pile of rocks on his way towards the visitors.
“I am Astocath,” said the mage with his heart in his throat, momentarily fearing that the white-eyed Evenar had given up the tower after all.
“I’m Harlin,” the man replied, seemingly more cheery now. “You just looking around?” he asked almost casually, though Astocath discerned the man may be guessing more of their presence than he was presently prepared to concede. His face was unshaven and he fidgeted to keep warm.
“Are Evenar and Moragon here?” Astocath decided to ask outright.
“Ah! I thought you was. You here a while back?” Harlin smiled.
“I was, and what did you think I was?”
“Like you’re a wizard. Like to come in?”
“Very quickly,” replied Astocath, “But I think my companion here wants to dwell with the horses.” He nodded at Mordrak.
“What can we do for our horses?” asked Mordrak impatiently.
“I’ll get some blankets and leather for ‘em. We don’t keep the likes o’ beasts here. Some we stable in Laraid, not so far away. I’ll take ‘em down town if you’re stayin’.”
“Two hours away?” asked Mordrak with great annoyance.
“Nah, twenty minutes, maybe.”
Mordrak nodded, and Astocath prompted Harlin to hurry them inside the complex.
Harlin brought them to a simple room where they could await Evenar. Quickly, another servant brought towels, and an offer of drinks soon followed. Two servants relaxed upon benches, which were scattered around a central table. Astocath wondered by contrast what was happening at Sylvendene, probably most vulnerable with no one there to care for it other than the menials.
Harlin informed them that Evenar was very busy and would not be able to entertain them until late that evening. “Do you care to stay?” he asked them politely, his tone welcoming.
“Yes, please,” replied Astocath, “and we’ll be happy to double up in rooms.”
Harlin pursed his lips and nodded. “When do you hope to leave?”
“Whenever,” replied Astocath.
Two rooms were quickly prepared for them to share. With little to do, they felt impatient and made the best of their stay by relaxing themselves, retiring to the warmth of Astocath’s chamber where the mage took the opportunity to discuss some things.
The mage smiled. “Mordrak?” he said. “What do you know of Faerie?”
“I know little about it apart from hearthside tales.”
“Faerie is a strange, mystical place with strange, mystical creatures.”
“So you’re building up to say we’re going there?”
“Indeed. It seems certain to me that is where our mage is.”
Mordrak nodded.
“So you will come?” Astocath looked as if the answer could only be positive.
“What’s the catch?”
“It is an alternate world, and sometimes the time between here and there differs. However, we, or I, know some spells to counter the effect to some extent.”
“So we’ve got to go all the way back to those standing stones again?” Mordrak asked impatiently.
“No, there is a gate here, which is why we have come.”
“Ah!” interjected Tulan. “Can I come?”
“That is why you’re here, no?”
Tulan smiled broadly. “Great!”
No one came to see them until Harlin offered to escort them to dinner.
The smell of roasted lamb permeated the corridor they were guided along, and they were shown into the dining room where they saw Evenar gloomily picking at his meal. He was already seated at the head of one long table with an apprentice standing dutifully behind him. Only when they had all entered did the white-eyed mage seem to become aware of their presence, and his face cheered a little.
“Ah, Astocath and friends,” he greeted them. “Why have I seen mischievous spirits of youths around?”
Mordrak’s face dropped. “How do you get rid of them?” he asked gently.
“With difficulty. Anyway, when are you thinking of moving on?” He did not sound as if he were keen for them to leave.
“First thing in the morning,” replied Astocath slowly.
“There is something you want of me, personally, Astocath. What is it?”
“To give you more than I can,” Astocath replied. “Why are you so gloomy?”
“My experiment to restore my sight failed. But never mind about that.”
“Sorry to hear about that,” said Astocath gently. “But for ourselves, would your servants prepare these herbs in boiling water? We seem to be developing chills.” He placed a large pouch upon the table. "They don't cure, but they make a heck of a lot of relief."
“I’ll see to it,” said the apprentice Moragon, stepping towards the table. “Good to meet you, Jorlon.” He cast a disparaging look at Mordrak.
Jorlon nodded and asked, “How did you lose your sight, may I ask?”
“Looking into Moragon’s body ...”
“And we’re not here to speak of passed times,” interrupted Astocath to Evenar. “Is Math still one amongst your number?”
Evenar shook slightly as he strained to mute his laughter. “You are a full wit, aren’t you, Astocath?” He grinned. “You can speak to kings and commoners. But I answer your question: no, he is in Faerie. Do you remember three wizards who came to us later on?”
“Only Kelin,” said Astocath. “I visited so many years ago, a toddling Jorlon had just been handed over to Ifhrd by Math. I can’t remember everyone.”
“Strange days. What strange days they were. And yes, not so long ago, but the twenty years or so have seemed a century, never mind the rest.” He ate some vegetables from his plate.
Astocath swallowed, pausing to bite the lamb from his fork. Evenar had always been the sort to feel his age as if his years literally weighed upon his shoulders and crooked his back with spite. “But, dear fellow, what do you see with regard to the malignancy over Escavia? Do you see anything at all?”
“Why do you ask? Are you running away to Faerie as well?”
“No. We are only going there to sort out the malignancy which I believe is being sourced from the Unseelie. Truly I think only Unseelie magic is capable of disturbing the minds of so many. And yet ...”
“I have sensed another power within it,” Evenar said slowly. “A Medeanite has developed a spell peculiar to the Unseelie, but in concordance with a Medean form. Yes indeed, I emphatically believe so. I hardly dare believe it, but if it has been done, it is otherwise quite exciting. If I’m right, you’ll be sure he’ll have some protection from the darkest of the Unseelie.”
“So if I am thinking straight, the Circle is behind this malaise?” suggested Mordrak with concern.
“Not quite.”
“Someone in the Circle, a renegade, is behind the malaise.” Astocath nodded to Mordrak and turned his attention to Evenar. “The villain in question, the one I suspect, is something of a necromancer.”
“Ah, that would explain a lot. Who?”
“I am loathe to name him, and Mordrak knows his name—”
“I do?”
“Yes, if you will recall that fateful night. I believe he uses spirits as part of the spell that casts the gloom—though as you say, he must surely have manipulated the emotive within Unseelie magic.”
“This explains very little,” said Mordrak. “I’m haunted by spirits, cities are haunted by a gloom, and you are all talking about your Circle being on the verge of civil war.”
Evenar flapped a hand at Mordrak. “You will be sure to find out the truth,. This is not a conspiracy, or we would be talking in private, would we not?”
Mordrak pursed his lips then shared a glance with Tulan. He got down to eating more of his dinner.
“Yes, Astocath, as I first thought,” Evenar continued. “And that would explain your companion’s haunting. Malicious little bastards.” His eyes seemed to glow with a fiery white heat as he turned his face toward Mordrak. “What did you do to them?”
Jorlon was about to interject with ferocity against Mordrak’s ruthless sword swinging, but he sensed Astocath would be too angry with him to make it worthwhile. It was enough that Evenar appeared to be furious with Mordrak.
***
GUIDED BY MORAGON, Evenar led them across the ruins to their horses that, under Astocath’s early instruction, had not been taken to Laraid. The animals had been kept reasonably warm, wrapped in blankets and canvas against the low morning mist that covered the ground.
“It would be so good to see Faerie,” Evenar lamented.
The animals were grazing amongst the ruins and clearly appreciated the attentions of the company, who vigorously rubbed them down with encouraging words of affection. The horses snorted, the steam from their running nostrils adding to the clammy mist as they gently stamped their hooves.
“Keep up your good work, old boy.” Astocath embraced Evenar with a hand squeezing a frail shoulder. Jorlon raised a brow in surprise at Astocath’s attention, breaking the taboo of magi’s physical contact. “I’m sure you will make good progress in due time.”
“Aye, I hope you get our magi out quickly. Faerie breeds lethargy to those not natural to the place. You have instilled in me a yearning to improve on all that I have experimented with so far. Not all is lost. Anyway, given the timing of all, Math and the others’ll not be too far away for you to find, at least as I sense things.”
Astocath bit his lip. “We’ll be careful.”
“This is the gateway,” said Moragon, pointing to an area between the two cornerstones of a collapsed cottage as if a portal could be readily observed, which it could not. “You will need a moon of essence for you all to pass through.” He looked at Jorlon, obviously fathoming his understanding of the term. Jorlon looked as if he properly understood to Mordrak’s reckoning.
“How dangerous is this?” Tulan asked.
“Safe ‘nough,” replied Moragon, to which Jorlon nodded.
“It’s the disparity of time makes it treacherous,” explained Evenar. His eyes seemed to roll in their sockets. “Do you have enough essence?”
“I do,” said Astocath, reaching for a pouch.
“That is good,” said the blind mage. “As I recite the words, you must toss it through the gate—but not too high, or you’ll miss it altogether.”
Moragon raised his hand to a little more than the height of Tiser’s head to show the threshold. “So if you haven’t guessed, you can take your horses,” he said.
“How do we get back?” asked Tulan quickly.
“A moon’s worth of essence again. Astocath should know the words,” replied Evenar evenly. “Be as quick as you can.”
“I most certainly will recall them, and we shall waste no time,” the wizard confirmed. “Even if just for the sake of the horses.”
Mordrak looked thoughtfully at Astocath. What a risk! It was imperative this mage must live if they were not to struggle for a decent return home. To rely on Jorlon was almost unthinkable. But what was the name of the wizard behind it all? Mordrak racked his memory.
Astocath held out some pebbles of essence and told Evenar that they were ready. To Mordrak’s ears, Evenar’s droning words rung hollow as if they were spoken from within a deep shaft. He watched the stones as Astocath threw them. He looked then at Tulan, whose eyes were raised, fretful, to the oblivion they were about to be led into. Tulan returned a glance to Mordrak, and they grinned at each other, equally nervous.
“One at a time,” instructed Astocath quietly as Evenar continued his recitation. He nodded to Jorlon to lead the way. Mordrak followed, carefully guiding his jittering horse.
The sudden darkness that enveloped him as he stepped out of Escavia took him by surprise. Except for the illuminated form of his squire that he saw as he looked back, and that of an archway, and another archway farther ahead, he would have had no concept of the extent of this ethereal plane. Jorlon had told him before that it was limitless; boastful of his knowledge, the telling was of more meaning to him than actually being informative. But he was right: this place looked limitless, given there was only dimness apart from the portals.
Mordrak could not sense anything beneath his feet. There was no ground and no bridge to span the infinite void. His steps drifted upon fresh air, and it was as if his concentration alone suspended him within this deep space. He felt dizzy, dwarfed, with little to measure by appearance, and he concentrated upon steadying his nervous stallion. He found that helped calm his own anxiety as he guided the way towards the portal following the apprentice. The silvery pillars glittered as beacons. They were the only hope he perceived there could possibly be in this place, except that the air he continued to breathe was fresh.
Suddenly, as if it were aflame, something hissed through the air past his face. Looking to the side from where the spear had come, he saw ghost-like figures appearing in the distance. Another figure on his other side raised a spear over his shoulder. Mordrak could see all seven were of shorter stature than his squire. He guessed who they were before anyone spoke a word.
“You’ll not be so lucky this time,” the voice growled. The sound was like a wind cutting over still waters. It was the older wraith who spoke, judging by the familiarity of it to Mordrak’s mind.
With surprisingly little effort, Mordrak drew his rune-sword and prepared to duck. He had no time to reach for his shield, which hung from the saddle, as the spear rushed towards him. The wraith had aimed for his belly. Mordrak rolled to the side, which felt easy as if there was no gravity to restrain his movements. He almost involuntarily swung his sword to strike at the spear. The flat of the blade struck the shaft with a breath-taking crack. The stallion had seen danger and, screeching with terror, it rose up above the company and was in danger of drifting away to be lost within this void. Mordrak feared for his disorientated mount as the spear fell away quite harmlessly. More spears followed as the others threw them, but their accuracy was nothing to fear.
His horse was close to bolting as the wraiths hissed and clapped their hands loudly to panic everyone. Astocath now entered the ether, and his face contorted with anger. He seemed to take no time in evaluating the situation. He snapped a few words, and the wraiths backed away. As they did so, Mordrak’s stallion began to settle; his was a rallying lead to all of the horses that had become quite spooked.
Tulan paused and looked for other signs of danger, but the wraiths were withdrawing and apparently barely dared make any sound at all.
Mordrak’s wrist toyed with the idea of letting the stallion’s reins loose, but instead, after passing the leads to Tulan, he advanced after the wraiths before he completely lost sight of their spectral forms.
“Don’t go after them!” Astocath hissed with an urgency that was not loud but high enough for Mordrak to hear.
“It’s my chance to be rid of them!” he argued fiercely, and he continued to move forward. He turned his head to face the mage for a moment, then returned his wrath towards the youth-like ghosts.
Astocath replied firmly. “It’s too easy to become lost between gates. There will be a better way.”
“Let’s get rid of them now!” Mordrak urged once again, and he took a few more paces towards the wraiths who had found the courage to begin taunting him again.
“And if they have pits and more spears?” shouted Astocath in warning. “Quick! Follow Jorlon to the portal. You can be sure there is a trap ready for you everywhere! You see them, Jorlon?”
“Most certainly.” The apprentice was ignoring Mordrak and continuing to advance towards the pillars.
“Then keep close to his path, you two!”
Doubting that Astocath could think of a way to be rid of these wraiths once and for all—and rather thinking the wily elf was playing on his fears to his own advantage—Mordrak said as much and stopped. Astocath came to his side and whispered, “They are ready for you here. We have to take them by surprise.”
Mordrak nodded in reluctant surrender. “Very well,” he said, and tried to look through the gate as he approached it. He quickly followed Jorlon, who continually side-stepped from one direction to another, as he uttered detailed warnings about pits in various areas. For himself, he could see no such traps, but he decided to trust to the magi rather than find out the hard way.
“There may be no way through,” Jorlon sighed.
Mordrak could see nothing of any of the wraiths for now, especially as his group approached close to the portal that pulsated with a blinding sheen of bright mist.
“It could take years to find a suitable gateway if we lose this one,” warned Astocath. “But now we know they can be fought in this ether, I’ll be able to send you here—especially when they come to haunt you again—and take ‘em by surprise.”
“So where are they now?” Tulan sighed. Darkness smothered every direction, but for their own ghostly outlines and the portal.
“I’ve got to be free of them, Astocath,” said Mordrak. “This sword is for the task, is it not?”
“Indeed, you know it is a rune-sword,” the mage confirmed. “But it’s not as powerful as others you’ll have heard of. Some are spirit-swords.”
“What?” Mordrak’s face blanched even against the light that was reflecting in his face.
Astocath shook his head. “Now’s not the time for this.” He conjured with his hands and uttered arcane words. “The way is clear,” the mage said at length. Then he turned to Tulan. “The wraiths are too distant for us to see them. But they’ll be watching us by and by. They will mostly dwell on this plane. God rest them.” Astocath looked at the gate. “Come along, move on. They prepared these pits for us. They’ll have heard all we had to say at Bar-Nexus, you’ll have realised. By now they need not even guess our purpose here.”
Mordrak gave one last look around for the wraiths, and seeing and hearing nothing of the void, he finally concentrated on stepping through the shimmering arched gateway. With the reins firmly gripped in his hand, he guided his stallion alongside.
Mordrak was deeply disturbed that anyone could have discovered such an unnatural journey as this. Furthermore, it occurred to him that such a journey as this had to have been originally reserved for the dead, but wizards had found a way to meddle, which indeed their meddling, was what they were most renowned for. He considered the new terror of it all; that mortals could forestall such a passage ... or prematurely end it altogether, if those pits were anything to judge by.
The sudden light dazzled his eyes as he stepped into Faerie.