The Divided Knight - Chapter Fifteen

The Wanderer had been an unwilling guest in the Guardian's dwelling for more than a week, now. In other circumstances, he would have thought himself a prisoner, but the Guardian did not treat him as a gaoler would have. During his stay in the construct's dwelling, the Wanderer had been well fed, had been provided a comfortable bed on which to sleep, and had even been treated on most evenings to engaging – and, sometimes, even enlightening – conversation. Despite all of that, however, the Wanderer had been forbidden to leave, and that rankled at him – not once in the last twenty years had the Wanderer ever stayed in one place more than a few days, and the longer the Guardian forced him to stay here, the more restless he became. Why doesn't he just let me answer the challenge and be done with it? Even if I fail, death would be a better alternative to just staying here and doing nothing.

Not for the first time, the Wanderer found himself wondering why he had agreed to go on the ridiculous quest the idiot monks at the abbey had given him. Was he really that desperate to be reunited with his other half? In fact, hadn't he told Zoe once that, if he ever ran into the man who had been allowed to use his true name, he'd kill him? And now I can't even do that. Not as long as I'm a “guest” under the roof of a construct who has outlived his own usefulness.

“Your food is growing cold.”

The Guardian did not live in his dwelling alone. A number of Sprites – the Wanderer was positive there was more than one, though he couldn't be certain since, as long as he remained under the Guardian's roof, he could neither sense nor wield magic – lived with him, and it seemed that they were the ones who had the actual responsibility of taking care of anyone else who happened to spend time there.

“I'm not hungry,” the Wanderer said to the Sprite. He turned his head to look at it. “When will your master be returning? He's been gone an awfully long time.”

“He will return when he returns,” the Sprite said. “Please, you must eat.”

The Wanderer smiled. “I said I wasn't hungry. Tell me, Sprite, why is it your master chose to go out this evening? Surely there aren't any travelers foolhardy enough to be coming this way.”

The Sprite twitched a bit in agitation. “I'm sorry, sir, but I've been forbidden from answering questions like that one.”

The Wanderer raised an eyebrow. “Forbidden, eh? Interesting. And I'm sure your master will punish you severely if you do answer. Am I correct in that assessment?”

The Sprite said nothing, though it continued to twitch.

The Wanderer laughed and shook his head, lifting his mug off the table he sat at and taking a swig of Telvan brandy. “You Sprites are useless creatures. Too smart for your own good, but also too weak and eager to please. It's no wonder the Torvarans forbade their mages from making contact with you. You would have infested their council like a plague of rats.”

“We would have done no such thing!”

The Wanderer grinned at the indignation in the creature's tinny voice. “What would you have done, then?”

“What we have always done. Taught. Counseled. Nurtured.”

“I'm sure.” The Wanderer took another drink. “And it would have worked just as well with them as it did with the Eltarans.”

“It would have been better. It would have!”

Deep down, a part of the Wanderer knew that it was wrong to wind the poor creature up like he was. Sprites were, after all, mostly harmless, and nothing the Wanderer had ever read or heard supported the stories that it was them who had led the Eltarans to their final doom. But who was he to ever listen to the better angels of his nature? Doing that would only make him weak and indecisive, not to mention take the fun out of everything. If the Wanderer ever did meet his other self, he would have to ask him what it was like to have a conscience. It had to be a miserable existence – one the Wanderer would have no qualms about ending.

“You look sad.”

The Wanderer looked up from his mug of brandy and scowled at the Sprite. “Get out of my sight,” he growled.

The Sprite twitched one final time, then vanished, leaving a brief afterimage in its wake. The Wanderer stared at where it had been for a few moments, then shook his head and downed the rest of his brandy. What could a Sprite, a being of magic that was hardly sentient at all, possibly know about how he felt? What could anyone?

A short time later, the Wanderer heard the scraping sounds that announced the door into the Guardian's dwelling was being opened. He immediately stood and went into the other room, coming up short when he saw the two people who stepped inside ahead of the Guardian's massive form. The auburn-haired woman, dressed in plain traveling clothes but still, somehow, looking to him like the most beautiful woman in the entire universe, was Zoe. The man at her side, who was a good foot taller than she was, and wore a blue tabard with the symbol of the True emblazoned on its front, caused the Wanderer's lips to draw up in a snarl.

“What are you doing here?” the Wanderer asked, addressing Zoe. He pointed at Thaddeus. “And why is he with you?”

“You will not address anyone under my roof with an uncivil tongue, Wanderer,” the Guardian said, the door of the dwelling scraping closed behind him. “They are here to answer my challenge. Just as you are. And, like you, if they answer it to my satisfaction, they will be allowed passage into the Elder Land.”

“You were told he would be coming,” Zoe said. “And I told you he might not be alone.”

“All right, then. Fine.” The Wanderer lowered himself into the nearest chair, which, like everything else in the dwelling, was made of stone. “Let's get this over with so that we can be on our way.”

“You are not being civil, Wanderer,” the Guardian rumbled. He gestured at Zoe and Thaddeus. “You will treat them with the same respect that they will treat you. OR YOU WILL CONSIDER THE CHALLENGE FORFEIT!”

It was the first time the Guardian had raised his voice since bringing the Wanderer into the dwelling, and it made the ground shake. The blue glow in the construct's eyes grew brighter, and it seemed he grew taller, the top of his head nearly making contact with the dwelling's ceiling. Curiously, the Wanderer was aware that only he could see these changes, that, illusion or not, they were meant solely for him. And, for reasons he couldn't fathom, that fact frightened him.

“I . . . I'm sorry,” the Wanderer said. “I will do as you say. I will treat them with respect so long as they treat me the same.”

“THEY WILL.” Abruptly, the Guardian returned to its normal appearance. “You have not eaten, have you?”

All at once, the Wanderer realized he was famished. “No.”

“Good. You shall all share a meal together, then.” The Guardian started toward the room the Wanderer had just come out of. “Come.”

The three of them ate in silence. From time to time during the meal, the Wanderer would look across the table at Thaddeus, hoping not to be seen, but always finding Thaddeus looking back at him. The first couple of times this happened, the Wanderer felt his anger threaten to boil over, his memory of the Guardian's admonishment the only thing that kept it from doing so. After those first couple of times, however, he felt his anger start to lessen, its place being taken by a budding curiosity. How truly different from him was Thaddeus? Had the hatred the Wanderer had felt toward him these last twenty years been truly justified? And where – where – had Thaddeus gotten the Eltaran sword he wore strapped across his back?

“That sword you have,” the Wanderer said after a Sprite – was it the same one he had spoken with, earlier? – had come and cleared away their plates. “How did you come by it?”

Thaddeus stared at him for a moment before answering. “It was given to me,” he said.

“Really? By whom?”

Thaddeus said nothing, his face – a mirror image of the Wanderer's – expressionless.

The Wanderer smiled crookedly. “Did you know that it's a Scourger? Those were always rare, even back when Eltaran Blades were fairly common.”

“He knows,” Zoe said, nervousness in her voice.

“The stories I've heard about you say you help people,” Thaddeus said, his tone doubtful.

The Wanderer's smile grew even more lopsided. “Oh, I've helped a few here and there. Poor sots who got lost in places people with any sense at all would know they never should have been. They're lucky I'm a generous soul, or I would have charged them for the trouble.”

“You wouldn't have done that,” Zoe said.

The Wanderer turned his smile toward her. “Oh, wouldn't I?”

“No. It's not in your nature. I know that, and so do you.”

“You don't know anything about me, Zoe. Not anymore.”

Zoe's expression hardened, and, for the first time since she had entered the Guardian's dwelling, the Wanderer noticed that there was something . . . different . . . about her. “I know everything about you,” she said. She rested her hand on Thaddeus's arm. “Just as I know everything about him. I made you, remember? Both of you.”

“Oh, I remember. I also remember the damnable hex you put on me afterward. The one that makes it so I can't even use my own name! I used to love you, Zoe! Gods Above curse me, I still do! Why would you do such a thing? Why?”

“He has a point, Zoe,” Thaddeus said, looking at her. “He has just as much right to my name as I do.”

Zoe looked back at Thaddeus, and, suddenly, her expression was no longer so hard. “But he isn't you!” she said. “Can't you see that?”

“But he is me,” Thaddeus said, and the Wanderer could hardly believe what he was hearing. “And I am him. He is the parts of me I lost when you created us, and I am the parts of him he lost.”

“What did you lose from him? You're kind. You're rational. You're sense of humor isn't cruel, and you don't revel in violence. You're a better person without him, Thaddeus!”

“No, Zoe,” Thaddeus said, giving her a sad smile, “I'm not. Without him, I sometimes doubt myself, and I'm sometimes indecisive about what actions I should take. That doesn't happen often, but, when it does – like it did when the Conclave was destroyed – people die. If I had been whole back then, none of what has happened since would have. I could have killed Garris Galgana before he ever had the chance to be subsumed by Atraxos the Black.”

“Atraxos the Black?” the Wanderer said, but no one else seemed to hear him.

“You don't know that, Thaddeus,” Zoe said.

“Yes, I do, Zoe,” Thaddeus said. “And I think you do, too. If you don't, then the Abbott inside of you does.”

“The Abbott?” the Wanderer said, but, again, no one else seemed to hear him.

“But he's . . . he's . . . he's so vile,” Zoe said.

“Vile he may be, Healer,” the Guardian said, “but the Knight speaks the truth. Their divided soul must be made whole, once again, if you are to succeed in your task. Thus is the challenge I put forth. Not for the Wanderer. Not for the Knight. For you. Unite what is divided, and passage to the Elder Land will be granted.”

A stunned silence fell in the room. The Wanderer shared a look with Thaddeus, who then looked to Zoe. When Zoe's eyes met the Wanderer's, he felt a thrill at the determination he saw there. But what could she actually do? What the Guardian had just asked of her was impossible, a fact the Wanderer was sure Zoe was well aware of.

“Zoe,” the Wanderer said, “you know as well as I do why the spell you used to divide us was forbidden. It can't be reversed.”

“Conventional thinking, Wanderer,” the Guardian said. “I suggest you let her try. Lady Zoe is no longer a simple cleric.”

“She isn't,” Thaddeus said. “She carries the powers of the Abbott within her, now, and they've already allowed her to do things normal clerics wouldn't be able to. Right now, I think it's safe to say that all bets are off when it comes to things that should or should not be possible.”

The Wanderer looked at Zoe for a moment, considering. “There's a lot about what's happening I don't understand,” he said at last. “I don't like not understanding things. There's one thing, though, that seems pretty clear to me. The nature of the quest you gave me has changed, hasn't it?”

“Not really changed,” Zoe said, “though it has become what we hoped and prayed it wouldn't. Atraxos the Black has reemerged, and he knows the location of the Amulet of Adarion – the well of power we sent you to secure. We have to try and get to it before he does, which means I have to be able to reunite you and Thaddeus. And not just because doing so will satisfy the Guardian's challenge. Having you whole and in control of the full extent of your abilities will make you the most powerful mage since Solanas the Elder, and there is a possibility you could be even more powerful than he was.”

“She speaks truthfully,” the Guardian said. He turned his blue gaze on Zoe, his voice taking on a note of regret. “I have placed the fate of worlds on your shoulders with my challenge, Healer. Please forgive me. I had no choice.”

Zoe returned the Guardian's gaze. “There is nothing to forgive. Each of us must play the parts that are given to us.” She turned her head away and closed her eyes.

Almost as soon as Zoe closed her eyes, a glowing, yellow nimbus of radiant energy appeared around her. Abruptly, the Wanderer could sense magic, again, though when he tried to reach out for it and craft a spell, he felt it being pulled away from him, siphoned from him and into Zoe like water being drawn from a well. It was also being drawn from Thaddeus, he noticed, and from the Guardian's dwelling – it was even being drawn from the Guardian, himself, a fact announced when the construct's eyes winked out. As Zoe drew more and more magic into herself, the nimbus around her grew brighter, and, as it grew brighter, she began to sway back and forth. At first, she only swayed slightly, but, as the moments passed, her swaying grew faster, and, as she swayed, her lips began to move.

The Wanderer knew Zoe's lips formed the words of a spell, but he could not hear them as they were spoken. A sound like roaring wind filled his ears, blocking out everything else, and he found he could no longer move, his whole body rooted to the spot as if he had become one with the stone chair he sat upon. From deep within himself, a voice tried to tell the Wanderer that he should be panicking, that he should be doing something to stop what was happening, that what was happening would change him forever and that, afterward, he would never again be who he was, but he found he could ignore it, pushing it aside until, at last, it began to quieten, smothered and beaten down by the sheer awe the Wanderer began to feel as Zoe's spell took hold.

It started with the Wanderer hearing thoughts in his head that weren't his own – they were Thaddeus's, which, he realized at once, were frantic, chaotic, and panicked. If Thaddeus couldn't be made to calm down, Zoe's spell would never work, and would no doubt wind up killing all three of them. But, at the same moment the Wanderer started hearing Thaddeus's thoughts, Thaddeus began hearing his, as well, and, all at once, Thaddeus began to grow calmer. As Thaddeus calmed, his frantic thoughts filled with the same awe the Wanderer felt, and it was that awe that became the stitching which started to knit them together. Soon, the Wanderer began having difficulty telling where his thoughts ended and Thaddeus's began, and did it seem, as he looked at him, that Thaddeus's form was beginning to grow less and less distinct, that it was beginning to fade away?

The Wanderer suddenly began to experience memories of events he had never participated in. He saw what life had been like for a Holy Knight of the Conclave, and he saw what it had been like to see the other Knights – along with the mages they had been sworn to protect – fall to the Order of the Crimson Serpent. He met with the spirit of Solanas the Elder as it set him on his journey, and he felt the anger at learning the truth about why he had been sent away from the abbey. He felt love for Zoe – pure love that, despite what he learned about her, never became tainted with resentment – and he felt the thrill of learning that love was returned, a thrill so sweet that, had he not been paralyzed, it would have made him weep. I love her, he thought. And she loves me!

Suddenly, the roar in the Wanderer's ears died down, and he found that he could once again move. Looking down at himself, he saw that he wore a blue tabard with the symbol of the True emblazoned on it. There was a sword strapped to his back, and he felt something – Aylander! – touch his thoughts from within it. He looked up, blinking – why were his cheeks wet? – and saw that the chair across the table from him, the one that had been Thaddeus's, was empty. Of course it's empty. I'm Thaddeus, now. We're Thaddeus, now.

Thaddeus looked at Zoe. “You did it.”

Zoe, who looked to be on the verge of passing out, gave him a weak smile. “Was there ever any doubt?” She pitched forward, but was stopped from hitting the table by the Guardian, who reached out and caught her.

“The Priestess needs sleep, now,” the Guardian said, lifting Zoe in his arms as he moved to stand. “As do you, Battlemage.”

Battlemage. Thaddeus found he liked the sound of that. “Priestess?” he asked. Gods Above, he was exhausted.

“Rest, now. I will answer your questions once you have rested.” The Guardian left the room.

There had been a single bed in the room the Guardian took Zoe to. It had been a comfortable bed, one Thaddeus both had and had not slept in for more than a week, but it had only been large enough for one person. No matter, he thought. There's probably another one in there, now. And, if there isn't, I'm sure Zoe wouldn't mind snuggling a little.

I never thought I'd hear such a thought coming from you, Thaddeus, Aylander said.

Thaddeus chuckled. “Maybe not from the old me,” he said, “but, from the new me, I'd say anything's possible.”

Indeed.

Thaddeus stood and left the room.