The Lady's Man (9 page)

In the last twenty days he'd travelled far more than just the many leagues south and west he'd ridden. It had been a journey of the soul as much as distance. And while it was still painful, he would rather not have had to stop. And now thanks to the elders he knew he didn't have to.

“Please tell your elders also, that I shall ask for the blessings of the Lady to be theirs.” He meant it. He didn't fully know why they'd granted him free passage through their lands, though honour and their implied debt was surely a large part of it, but he was grateful.

“I will pass your words on Yorik son of Heric, though I would prefer you did so yourself. Then at least I wouldn't sound like a complete fool. But I will ask one thing more of you first. Actually two things more.”

“Though you are correct in that the elders have granted you permission to travel through our lands, they also are not without concerns in the matter. Unfamiliar humans do not generally wander freely through our forests, and wild hearts not at all if we can help it.”

“Now that you have shown that you are not a wild heart, something I confess that grants my soldiers and I more than a small relief, I can feel more comfortable with your presence in our lands. But these are also dangerous times. The elders have said that a war is coming to our people. The foretellers have foretold it, the elders proclaimed it, and the elves must now prepare for it. In such times, even a human cleric would be a cause for concern as we must look to our borders, and ask elves from other regions to join us in the strife ahead.”

It was Yorik's turn to be surprised as she told him that war was coming. And yet even as he wanted to ask, he knew she was right. There was danger on the horizon. The Lady knew it, and through her will he knew it too. In fact his mission had something to do with it. But acting on her instincts he carefully said nothing of that understanding to her. It would only have made things more difficult between them.

“The first thing that I would ask is that you do not wear those wild heart rags in our forests at all. We are an honest people with very few thieves among us, and there will be many new elves present soon who will know nothing of you other than what they see. It would be unfortunate if it should come to a fight.”

“I would be pleased to.” Her words were only sensible, and Yorik quickly nodded his agreement. In truth he didn't want to wear them anyway. He wanted to show the world who he was and not the façade he had worn any longer.

“The second is that even though you mean no harm, the elders would still like to know what you do and where you go, even if you do not. It will give them comfort as they deliberate on other more weighty matters. Would you accept the company of an elven guide through our forests while you are among us? One who can report back to the elders, and perhaps provide assistance for you on your own quest?”

Yorik immediately wanted to say no. While he was not opposed to having an escort, and a guide through their lands would be useful, he had been enjoying his time alone in the great forests of Hammeral. Company would be an intrusion into that, even if the man didn't ask all sorts of penetrating questions. But the Lady had other ideas. He went to shake his head, and immediately nodded instead.

“I would be honoured to have such company.”

The words coming out of his mouth actually sounded relatively normal, despite the fact that he hadn't intended them. In fact he hadn't said them. Not intentionally anyway, but for some reason he wasn't particularly worried by his sudden loss of control to another. Clearly the will of the Lady was still working through him. Why she wanted him to have a guide he didn't know, but then it was not for him to know such things anyway. It was only his role to serve.

“And we would be honoured to offer such assistance. May I present the Acolyte of the Mother, Genivere Lin of Hammeral. She is knowledgeable in all the forests of Hammeral, experienced in wood craft and medicine, and well versed in all local lore and magic.”

The captain gestured to her side and Yorik turned to see an elven maiden dressed in the robes of a priestess, riding on a dappled horse loaded down with supplies. Apparently she was well prepared for a long trek.

Genivere Lin was a very beautiful woman, even among the elves, with her long silver blonde hair falling free to her waist. The captain and her soldiers all wore their hair braided to keep it out of the way in times of combat, but Genivere's was completely unrestrained. Then again, as a member of the priesthood she no doubt had little need to worry about combat, least of all in her own forests. But just in case she had a long quarterstaff standing up in the holster on the side of her saddle, while a long bow was slung over her shoulders. He had no doubt that she would be capable with both.

She also had magic at her disposal; strong magic. He could feel it as a gentle tingle all over his skin, making the hairs on the back of his arms stand up, as they did just after a lightning strike.

The thing that most captured his attention though, was not her beauty, her magic or her military prowess or lack of it. It was her purity. He could see it in her eyes. They shone with the light of innocence, and he knew that she could never deceive or cause harm to another. Such things simply weren't in her. This was a woman that he knew he could trust absolutely to do the right thing, and that was something that appealed to him greatly. Both as a man, and as a paladin of the Order of the Lady.

As he continued to stare at her – pretending to study her while actually simply reacting to her purity – he noticed one thing more that shocked him. It was her eyes. They were emerald green with light brown flecks, the same as those of the dryads, and he realised she was not pure elf. Somewhere in her ancestry there was some dryad blood. That surprised him on so many levels.

It wasn't just that the elves were a notoriously clannish people, choosing almost never to accept mates outside their own race, though that was part of it. Go to any human city, dwarven or even gnomish land, and you would find half breeds of all descriptions in every street. But in elven lands, apart from a few famous exceptions, never. But then there was also the fact that the dryads themselves were an almost invisible people. They chose to stick close to their great copses and let the rest of the world go by. They were almost never seen, and many learned scholars had suggested that they were very few in number. So few, that they were almost never seen at all outside of their copses, which had made the Lady such a rarity as she had actually left the forests to travel. Of course some said that the Lady had never been a dryad at all. That she had been an elemental simply walking in the mortal form of a dryad prophetess. Yorik didn't tell them they were right even though he knew the truth. He'd never felt that others had the need to know. They should know her teachings, not her nature.

On some level it made sense that an elf should be part dryad. The elves and the dryads were both forest dwellers, the elves building their great cities within the heart of forests, the dryads forgoing building altogether and living in the trees themselves. Instead of constructing their homes, they grew them. They also limited their numbers, choosing to live in copses of only a few hundred, never cities. But that was all that really separated them.

They were both very refined and peaceful peoples. Both were lovers of dance and song if the tales of the dryads were anything to go by. And they both had strong ties to the same goddess; – the Mother, as they called her. They were also both strongly magical. Elves and dryads had more in common with each other than probably with any other race. If any race was to mix with the elves, it would surely be them.

“There is something that interests you good sir?”

Yorik suddenly realised that he had been staring for an inordinate amount of time, and he quickly pulled his eyes away from hers, lest she take offence.

“My apologies Genivere Lin, I meant no offence. I simply noticed the colour of your eyes, and the small jagged edges on your ears.”

Staring at her once more he'd just noted them as well. Dryads had jagged ears, almost as though someone had cut large wedges out of them at the back, but hers were very small, which was why he hadn't noticed them at first, and like any elf's they also rose to delicate points.

“You are observant.”

She seemed surprised, and he almost dared hope, impressed rather than upset.

“The Prophetess said you would be. Most outsiders would not see beyond the points on my ears and the silver blond hair. But I am one quarter dryad as you've no doubt realised. My maternal grandmother came from the copse of Rivenwood for love, and from her I have inherited a little of her magic. Though I live as an elf, through her blood I can meet freely with others of my kin, allowing me passage through places others cannot go.”

“A useful inheritance.”

“It was for that reason that I was chosen to be your guide. The elders did not know where you might go, and they thought my nature might be of some help. There are a number of copses of dryads within the Hammeral Forests.”

“The elders are most wise.”

And they were. He didn't know where he was going, and with the Lady guiding his feet, it might well be that he would be heading through dryad lands. And the very real magic of dryads was said to be confusion. They could send the straightest of messengers off course should they choose to, and a strange paladin heading too close to their homes might well have found his feet guided in another direction.

But who he wondered, was this prophetess she spoke of? And how had she been chosen to be his guide when he hadn't been certain of needing one? Or for that matter how had the elders known where to send her to meet with him when even he hadn't known he was returning this way? Naturally he knew he would get no answer, and the strange thing was that he wasn't even completely sure he wanted one. It was enough that she was here, and that wasn't just the Lady speaking.

In her Yorik also saw one thing he hadn't seen in months. A future.

Chapter Seven.

“Shhh! Stay very still and don't make a noise.”

Yorik didn't know what lay ahead of them, but he knew it was bad. Bad enough that he wanted to face it on foot with his great sword in hand. He could feel it like a chill wind blowing against him. Worse, his spelled armour could feel it, and it glowed golden against the threat. Whatever lay ahead was not just an enemy, it was of magic. Dark magic.

Yorik slid off his horse and silently drew the great sword and held it before him. It too was glowing like the armour, another sign of dark magic ahead.

With a set of well practised hand signals, he ordered Genivere to grab the reigns to his two horses and back away into the trees behind them. Strangely it seemed that she didn’t want to follow his order. Instead she drew her longbow and trained it on the clearing. For all her vaunted peaceful ways and lack of warrior skills, she apparently wanted to fight, and for once she was almost willing to cross him on it – though she did have the sense not to say anything. But having been ordered to remain silent and thus unable to argue with him he had the advantage. A few more intense stares and rapid gestures and she did as he asked and backed away, leaving him free to enter the clearing alone.

He knew that she would do as he asked, and say nothing against him even if it turned out badly – even though she surely would want to. In the two weeks they had travelled together she had not once contradicted him, even when he said something stupid. She had merely asked her questions politely, perhaps made a few suggestions and then followed him loyally no matter what idiocy he walked into.

It was a strange arrangement for a mere paladin like him to understand. He was used to a much more direct manner from his companions. And if he was doing something foolish he expected to be told as much. But Genivere wouldn't do that. In fact he suspected she was treating him as she would no doubt treat an elder – or a foolish child who had to learn his lessons by experience. He wasn't quite sure which, always assuming that it wasn't both. Whichever was right, he was to be obeyed, even when he was ordering her to do something completely addled. The frustrating thing was that no matter how many times he asked her to be more direct with him, she seemed unable or unwilling to do so.

Thus he had foolishly wandered into a patch of wild bee hives on their second day travelling together, and spent a day scratching at the stings, wondering why she didn't seem hurt. Perhaps her resilient dryad skin had protected her, or perhaps the bees had recognised her as a follower of the Mother, and therefore not a threat. And he couldn't even blame her for not having warned him of the danger ahead. She had, in her own roundabout way, simply suggesting that a slightly more westerly path might be more pleasant.

The following day he had led them into a patch of peat bog while a path through it lay only fifty paces further on. It was only when he'd idly wished that there was a path through it, that she'd volunteered the information.

Thereafter he'd learned one thing about travelling with Genivere: If she made any comment at all about the route or the land ahead, no matter how trivial, he needed to ask her about it. The same was true of practically everything else. She would not volunteer anything that seemed to go against his decisions, no matter how right she was, and no matter how many times he asked her to.

But this time for once, he knew he was right. All his years as a paladin – his training, and his own finely tuned magical senses – told him there was dark magic ahead, and while he might not be an elf with a natural instinct for travelling in unknown forests, this was his domain and he needed to be free to fight it.

Yet the clearing showed not a single sign of evil. Not a sign of anything other than a perfectly normal, beautiful clearing. Everything looked so peaceful; the long grass looked soft and inviting in the midday sun, the single tree in the middle stood tall and proud and beckoned to the weary traveller to sit beneath its shade. Yet the sight of the clearing made his skin crawl as though a million centipedes were marching beneath his clothes.

“Lady, guide me.”

Yorik took a few very cautious steps out into the open, and then when nothing happened, a few more. But he didn't venture very far from the safety of the woods behind him. Instead, once having moved perhaps five paces from them, he began circling the clearing, step by cautious step, looking for the first sign of anything dangerous. Behind him he knew, Genivere would be sitting astride Aphallia, bow in hand, covering his back. Though he hadn't seen her use the weapon yet, if she was anything like the rest of her people, she would be capable with the weapon. It was a comforting thought.

A sudden growl instantly stole that comfort from him.

It was a wolf growl he knew, but not like that of any wolf he'd ever met before. It was loud and ferocious as it should be, but it was also strangely unworldly, as though the wolf was from somewhere else entirely. A heartbeat later he knew why.

Out of the long grass immediately in front of him the wolf's great bulk rose like that of a giant suddenly standing up. Behind it half a dozen more such shapes rose out of the ground. But these were not true wolves, though they once had been cousins of them. Instead they were as large as a small horse, and with a grey pelt and jagged white streaks along its side.

Yorik recognised them as dire wolves, a dangerous enough foe but not unbeatable. He'd seen and fought such creatures before. But those he had fought had been natural dire wolves. These weren't natural. These were undead. Abominations that shouldn't exist.

It showed in the jagged holes and wounds he could see through their pelts, where blackened blood had dried. The places where arrows had once pierced their hearts and sent them to the afterlife. It showed in their black eyes that had not a trace of the yellows or whites of normal wolf eyes. And above all it showed in their grinning mouths full of rotten teeth. They had been dead probably many weeks or months by the smell of festering corruption, and yet they were ready to attack. More than ready.

The leader lunged at him with all the speed its living kin were famed for, and Yorik barely managed to dodge its vicious bite. But somehow he did and as it passed by he scored a direct hit to its front leg with his great sword, severing it at the knee. Just an instant before he had known fear as he'd seen these things rise out of the ground, even as he had felt the dark magic that possessed them. But the moment the leader lunged at him however that fear was gone, and all that remained was the calm of the hurricane's eye and the knowledge of how to defeat these creatures.

“Lady guide my arm.”

Even as he uttered the small prayer instinctively, he felt a rush of strength and power filling him, enough to leap right over the head of the second wolf as it charged him, and enough speed with it, that he managed to sever half its neck on the way by.

Landing as lightly as a cat just behind the mouth of a ravenous, slavering third wolf, he had time enough to see that the other two still weren't finished. Even as he cut off the back leg on the third wolf he could see that the first was coming back on three legs, while the second, even with its head hanging at a ridiculous angle was also returning. The only way to stop these brutes he guessed was to cut them into tiny pieces.

A quick roll brought him right under the belly of the third wolf which was trying to turn around to bite him, and directly into the side of another. Caught by surprise by his angle of attack it soon surrendered the dried out remnants of its insides to his blade, and then its tail before he vaulted its remains to take on the next pair. Meanwhile he could see arrows sticking out of the eyes of yet another wolf, and knew that Genivere was busy. But while the wolf might have been blinded, it wasn't as dead as it should be
. It was undead and so could not be killed – only destroyed.

Another flip brought him right onto the back of one of the pack followers, and before it could even react he'd sliced right through its neck. Thankfully its head fell off and he knew it would pose no more risk. Its body might still work, even its teeth, but it could do nothing with them. He was somewhat disturbed by the way blood failed to gush from such a wound. Instead what little there was oozed sluggishly. Without a beating heart to pump, it couldn't. And to make things worse it was dead blood. Rather than being bright red in colour, the blood was dark almost to the point of being black. Dead, congealed blood simply oozed slowly through the creature's veins.

Happily there was no time to reflect on whatever dark magic made this dead thing walk, as he had another six or so wolves to dispatch, several of which were already making their way towards him as fast as they could. Their great size and weight had made it difficult for them to change directions once he had dodged past them but they had always been going to succeed in time.

The first pair were easy to stop as he simply brought the great sword straight down on the skull of the first, cleaving it wide open, and then with a deft and well rehearsed pivot, turned the sword sideways to slice right through another neck, letting its head find the ground. Before the others could reach him, he chopped off the head of the first wolf whose skull he'd just cleaved.

After that only five wolves remained, and all were injured. Two were hobbling on three legs, one had lost its insides which were dragging along the ground behind it like a fishing net filled with black eels, and the last two were more or less blind with arrows sticking out of their eyes. It wasn't even a contest as he simply took each wolf in turn and beheaded it while its comrades charged as best they were able, directly into the path of his great sword.

A minute or so later he stood there alone in the clearing, surrounded by the still standing but thankfully motionless bodies of the dead dire wolves, wondering what to do next. They were all defenceless – dead but in actuality no more dead than they had been when he'd entered the clearing. In fact parts of them might still be able to cause trouble. Mouths even on the decapitated heads might still be able to bite. He couldn't leave them like that.

Movement caught his eye and he looked up to see Genivere entering the clearing on her horse, and a sudden sense of dread hit him as he abruptly realised the battle wasn't over. The true enemy had spied her, hungrily, and he could sense his malice so near to him. He could feel the malevolence like a cold, clammy blanket clinging to his back trying to wrap itself around him.

“No! Get back!”

Yorik screamed it at her as he suddenly heard the creature behind him rising, and then had to spin for all he was worth, to greet the new threat. Despite his fear and the uncanny speed of the wolves though he still proved fast enough. More than fast enough. And he stood there, sword in hand, waiting. And then he had to keep waiting. It took him a few very long and nervous heartbeats to spy the enemy in front of him.

It took him so long because this time there was no pony sized dire wolf rushing him as he'd expected. There was just a human shaped figure, approaching him slowly. But despite that it still threatened them. All the hairs on Yorik's body were standing on end as the dark presence closed in on him, and when he finally caught sight of it he knew why. The creature wasn't the wolf he'd expected. But it was the same. It was a man. A dead man, but someone who had once lived and now existed once more. He was undead. Moreover, he was someone who had once had magic of his own; necromancy. He also apparently still had it in death. This was the wolves' master.

It took a few moments for the truth to sink in. That this undead mage was the one who had raised the wolves. It was he who had controlled them, and he who had directed them to attack. He was the reason they actually walked. And yet he too was dead. It was impossible. He was a necromancer. He was dead or undead, and yet he was raising more dead. Such a thing had never happened before. It couldn't be. The dead could not raise themselves.

Dead or not however, the mage was still dangerous, and Yorik watched with shock as the headless bodies of the wolves started walking towards their heads at the necromancer’s direction. He didn't need to ask to know that once they'd found them, they were going to somehow magically reattach themselves, and attack again. That he guessed was the point of an undead army. Each time you killed it, it was still able to be raised once more to kill.

But not, he suddenly realised, if its master was also destroyed.

Ignoring the wolves entirely, Yorik ran with all the speed the Lady could lend him, and in less than a pair of heartbeats he reached the mage. A single powerful blow with the great sword cut right through him at shoulder level, and the mage fell in pieces all around him. Arms and head scattered like leaves in the wind under the power of the blade, while his trunk simply collapsed where it had once stood.