The Faerion (24 page)

Garlac found the alley. It appeared to be the haven for the refuse of the entire city. The stench alone nearly made him stumble. He heard the rats squeak and scurry under boxes and discarded food, spoiled and reeking. Halfway down the alley was a shadowed doorway. He walked toward it, feeling the alley's presence close in on him. The doorway sheltered a pack, new and tightly packed. He lifted the heavy pack to his shoulder and returned the way he had come.

His feet tapped lightly on the stones as he snaked his way home. He locked the door securely, checking each room and closet to be sure Daass did not have a watcher placed in his home. He did not light a lantern, instead finding a small candle he placed on a table. He dumped the contents of the pack on the tables. Several jars of a cloudy liquid, three musty books, and a skeleton hand made up the contents of the knapsack.

Garlac picked up a book and flipped through the pages. Spells! Every page held a spell. His heart beat hard and fast. Mortic kept his promise. Power! He had real power! Everyone would bow to him, especially Lord Daass. Garlac laughed loudly.

He spent the next hour reading the book. He read standing up, shifting his weight.

A soft tapping on his door alerted him. He put the pack in a side room and cautiously approached the door. He listened, but heard nothing.

"Who's there?"

After a moment -"Mortic."

"Why are you here?"

"May I come in?"

"Hurry, someone might see you." Garlac pulled the door open.

"I doubt it."

There was no one there. Garlac heard the voice behind him.

"I have entered, shut the door."

"How?"

"The skill of Berimar. He taught me many things. Now, show me what the package contains."

"You don't know?"

"I merely requested it. Let us see what Berimar has in store for you."

Mortic peered into the bag, humming to himself.

"Well, nothing too terrible here. I think you shall be fine, if you use caution. You have much to learn."

"Why are you here? Certainly not to check on my health."

"You are right. I am interested in one of your brethren and need information from you."

"I see." Garlac looked at Mortic, then at the bag. "I guess I owe you."

"Yes, that is the way of it. I assist you and do assist me in return. The very basic of all agreements." He sat down, opening a jug of wine. "Tell me of Dellana and how you came to meet her."

"Dellana? Why Dellana?" Garlac found it difficult to look away from the book.

"I believe she may be someone else other than what she claims. However, my reasons are not open to you. Just answer the questions, Garlac. You have made many enemies in this town and they would pay dearly for what I know of you. Your first thoughts of violence by me are unfounded. I would not risk myself that way. I would deliver you to your enemies and not dirty my hands. Not that I couldn't kill you right now. Don't ever forget that. Berimar trained me himself and I will never forget those lessons."

"Your crude point is taken. Let's see. I met Dellana four or five years ago. I was traveling for Daass, recruiting from outside Nantitet and I saw her in High Cedars. She sat in a dungeon. She had been selling herself." He spat out the words. Mortic smiled.

"Everyone does what they can to keep the world turning. Did her profession disgust you?"

"She is too pretty for such work."

"Yes, she would be pretty if she is who I seek."

"Would the person you seek do this kind of work? Would she display herself for coppers?"

"Each path leads separate ways. Who can say where your next step will take you?"

"I never knew your people to be philosophers."

"With Berimar guiding us and the blackness of Galamog at our windows, it would be surprising if we were not of a particular wisdom. Life in Mordyn is difficult and we do not apologize for ourselves. We are not weak."

"I see. Dellana would not speak of her life before that time. I pressed her but she has a strong will."

"That she does."

"I believe she believed whoring a better life than the one she left. It took several days before she would join me. It proved a good thing I did not press her too hard. One trader tried to force her and she killed him. Quickly and efficiently with a pair of daggers. She moved so fast I nearly did not see what had happened."

"Clearly, she is the one I seek."

"Who is she?" Dellana's secret history interested Garlac. Perhaps he could use it to his gain.

"I think I shall tell you for it will do you no advantage. She will kill you if she finds out you know of her origins. Without a second thought, she would slice you to pieces. Once, she was betrothed to Berimar."

"Berimar? You are kidding."

"Garlac, I am deadly serious," said Mortic. "This woman who is a member of your Brotherhood is perhaps the most deadly killer in this land. Berimar taught her and Galamog taught her and she possessed many gifts at her birth. I search for her for many reasons. One, Berimar wants her back. Always a compelling reason. Two, she stole the Faerion from the Daerlan and Galamog wants to punish her slowly, over centuries for that one action."

"Then it is true? The Faerion is a threat to Galamog."

"Galamog knew the Daerlan to be too timid to use it against her. All perhaps except for Navir, but he was banished from his home. Then Dellana left Mordyn. No one knew when she left or where she had gone. I know she sought power for herself. Months later the word came that the Faerion had been stolen."

"How did King Yeates end up with it?"

"I do not know. Perhaps Dellana will tell me, perhaps not. It is of no concern now. I must find Dellana and return her to Mordyn. How she stole it would be a good yarn to hear on a cold night. But I would have to time to hear it. I must bring her to Mordyn with much haste. Then I must search for the sorceress."

"Wynne? She's gone for good," said Garlac.

"No. There is much more to her than you realize. She will use the Faerion and she will be powerful. Galamog fears Wynne, as should we all."

"Galamog fears Wynne? I don't understand."

"Nor do I, fully. Wynne's origins are unknown, but once she ventured near to Mordyn and Galamog became enraged at her presence. I had never seen Galamog behave in such a manner. Many died before the rage passed. I believe there is much to Wynne that no one understands. And if Wynne gains possession of the Faerion, the heavens themselves may quake with fear."

"What can she do with it that Blackthorne cannot? Or Navir?"

Mortic sat silent, bringing his thoughts to focus and debating whether to trust Garlac. What could he do with the information?

"It is possible that Wynne is a descendant of Wierluns."

"I thought the Daerlan killed them all."

"So did I. However, there are persistent rumors that one or more survived. Although Wynne appears young there is no way of telling how old she is. Perhaps she has lived several hundred years. She only appeared in Nantitet two years ago. Where was she before that and what was her name? Very easily Wynne could be a full Wierlun. The Faerion was made by Wierluns."

"What?" Garlac looked so surprised that Mortic cursed himself for giving away information. He had expected the resourceful Garlac to have uncovered that fact. Garlac had many spies. Perhaps he underestimated Garlac in other ways as well.

"Well, if you don't know the tale, I shall not tell. It is a valuable story and should not be given freely. I believe you have received enough from Mordyn already. Don't you agree?"

"You are right. I shall try to content myself with the spells." Garlac's mind raced over the possibilities of the Wierluns' intent when they created the Faerion.

"If you need to know the tale we might be able to work something out, but first I require payment for the spells. Tomorrow evening, you must keep your half of the bargain."

Berimar stopped at sunrise. He watched the Tuors stumble into the clearing. Even Tomen was breathless. The sorcerer pushed a pace that stretched their little lungs. Culver heaved and puffed. He felt too tired to worry about Elise, clinging to his arm.

"I shall rest until the sun sets," said Berimar. "Do as you wish. I have set wards around the clearing and you cannot escape. See to your own comfort. Rest easy, the wards will also protect you."

"Small comfort," said Tomen. He brushed away stones, smoothing a place for them to lie down. He glanced at Elise, supported by Culver. He knew she couldn't travel much farther. He debated with himself whether to ask Berimar for help. Would he give it? Or would her weakness make his plans so much easier? And Culver, what help will he be? He is a poet and unskilled in battle. He would be of no use. It would be up to Tomen, as usual, but that was what he expected when he volunteered. Tomen did not anticipate separation from the sorceress before they delivered her to the Daerlan. He failed one task, guiding Wynne to her destination -- delivering the Faerion to the Daerlan, but he vowed to protect Elise and Culver. He reviewed the weapons he carried. He carried a small knife, a two-foot rope and a slender arrowhead hidden in his boot. Blackthorne sold them to Berimar weapon-less, or nearly so. Tomen would not let himself forget that he had been unprepared for Blackthorne's treachery. At first, he told himself it had been Wynne's fault for his trust in Blackthorne. She trusted Blackthorne at once and Tomen relied on her judgment in dealing with Blackthorne. However, he couldn't blame her entirely. He felt secure in Blackthorne's presence, especially with Blackthorne's dealing with Paulenis and Berimar. When he realized their peril it felt like he swallowed a hot stone. Now they were marching who knows where, into the depths of evil in Mordyn. What could he do?

Berimar sat against a huge rock jutting out of the earth. He wrapped his cloak around him, pulling the darkness close. The Tuors huddled together several yards away. Tomen shared what little water remained in his pack. Elise said little but Culver knew her wound pained her greatly. He heard the sudden gasps for breath as they hiked over rocky terrain.

"What can we do?" Culver asked Tomen. "He is so powerful. What weapons can defeat him?"

"None that we carry."

Berimar allowed the Tuors to keep their knives so Tomen knew the sorcerer did not fear them. What could they do? Escape was the only answer.

"Can we make some?"

"He will discover us. The only chance we have is escape or rescue."

"Who knows where we are?" asked Culver.

Tomen shook his head. "No one. Unless Blackthorne tells Wynne, if she returns. And it is not likely that Blackthorne will tell, because that will reveal his involvement."

"What would Wynne do to him?"

"I do not know. Blackthorne is powerful, but Wynne has not yet reached her true power. What that is, I cannot say. Avolan hinted many things about Wynne. He seemed to be in awe of Wynne, but I do not know why. But I would like to be there when she does confront him."

"Avolan is very wise," said Culver. "I wish he were here."

"Do you?" asked Tomen. "What could he do against Berimar? Do not wish our situation on any friends, Culver. You should be glad only the three of us are here."

"I am not glad we are here."

Tomen laughed. "True, true. You best me with your wit."

"What did I say?"

"Dear Culver," whispered Elise, the pain etched in her face.

"We must get you to Avolan," said Culver. "He can help you. He must."

They lapsed into silence. Culver wiped the tear from his eye.

"I wish I was a warrior."

"What then?" asked Tomen, not unkindly. "How would you free us from Berimar's grasp? Would you dazzle him with your prowess? He would be awed by your skill with a piece of steel and flee?"

"I would have an enchanted sword, as in the tales. It would protect me from sorcery and destroy even the most powerful sorcerers. He would be defenseless against me."

"Very pretty," said Tomen. "And I would follow you and together we would rid the world of evil." His voice was low and mirthless, yet he smiled at his cousin.

"Wonderful to dream, isn't it," said Culver. He felt the first twinges of despair, but tried to keep it from Elise. She bore too much pain already.

"Keep dreaming for all of us," said Elise. "I have no more dreams."

Culver held her tight, tears welling. She did not appear to notice him. Her pain sent her mind fleeing her flesh at every chance.

"Keep dreaming Culver," said Tomen. "Your dreams sustain me beyond food and water, perhaps even into the darkness of Galamog's pit."

"Avolan told me to keep it a secret, but I guess it doesn't matter anymore. He wanted to make me his apprentice."

"Culver!" cried Elise. "How wonderful."

"Congratulations," offered Tomen. "A poet and a wise man. Our family is quite celebrated. Too bad Avolan hadn't time to begin your instruction."

The red eyes in the darkness glittered. They sensed he was about to speak and turned toward him.

"Avolan cannot help Elise," said Berimar. "I know of your wise man. He is not unskilled but he is no match for a true sorcerer. The spells on Paulenis' knife are ancient and powerful. I was surprised when I examined it for Paulenis has not the mastery for those spells. Galamog herself cursed that knife. It is a wonder that Elise still survives."

"Are we to be awed by your words to lessen our grief?" asked Tomen. "Our lives appear to be at their end. There is no more wonder for us."

"You intrigue me, Tuors. There are more aspects to you than I realized. I once traveled every acre of this world but that was a thousand years ago. But I met every type of sentient creature that walked the earth except for Tuors. Your race was a mere legend. I am delighted that I now know of your kind and have conversed with you. I began writing a book on the history of races and it is unlike any history you will read and I will not bow to modesty in this. I lived with Daerlan, Trolls, Men, Pukei; and the various sub-cultures each spawned so my dissertation is not based upon other people's work. It is wholly my own and it is genuine. The Tuors shall be a new chapter in my history, devoted just to them. It has been too many years since I started a new chapter. I am pleased to have your company."