Into the Abyss (The Nightslayer Trilogy, Part 2) - Chapter Ten

Garrold sat up in bed, every part of himself instantly awake. Waking up like this, without any trace of drowsiness of grogginess, had become commonplace for him since discovering his magical talents, but it had never been so sudden, so driven by such an overwhelming sense of immediacy. Something had happened while he slept – something that had shaken the very foundations of reality, itself – but, Garrold found, that wasn’t really what mattered, right now. What did matter was that he had overlooked something during his audience with the Baron, something that, for a mage more experienced than Garrold was, should have been as plain as day. Seizing hold of the sense of urgency that had awoken him, Garrold got out of bed and hurried for the door to his chambers, summoning clothes to himself as he went.

Once he reached the hallway outside, Garrold wasn’t at all surprised to find his brother waiting for him. They shared a look, then started down the hallway together. “We have a problem,” Garrold said, looking at Wilem.

“What, only one, Brother?” Wilem asked, smirking.

Garrold’s lips twisted sourly. “The Baron deceived us.” They passed a window, and Garrold saw that it was still dark outside. It wouldn’t be for much longer, though – since becoming aware of his magical abilities, Garrold had always known exactly what time it was – and there was no telling what the Baron would do once day broke. “I should have realized something was off about him the moment I saw him. If I were more experienced at being a mage, I probably would have, but, as it is, I didn’t, and, now, I’ve gone and underestimated him. I let an enemy inside our walls, Wilem. An enemy!”

“So, what do you intend to do, now?”

Garrold shook his head. “I’m not sure.” His anger – and his magic – flared. His magic caused his eyes to flash blue. “Destroy him, perhaps.”

“You can’t do that, Brother.”

Garrold stopped and whirled to face Wilem. “And why is that?” he asked. “I’m the Magister of the Torvaran Empire. I can do what I like!”

“The Torvaran Empire? Garrold, do you know how big this ‘empire’ of yours is? One duchy. Oh, you’ve received oaths and pledges from others, but none of them has actually fought for you, yet. None of their people have died for you. If you kill the Baron, now, inside these walls, Blanchart will never swear itself to you, no matter who it is they wind up fighting for. You gave him your hospitality, Garrold, and you know how sacrosanct that is.”

Garrold thought on that for a moment. Wilem was right, of course. Just like he always was. “What would you suggest, then, Brother?” he asked.

“Confront the Baron if you must, but let him leave unscathed. Let him leave with the understanding that you know his secret. He will tread lightly in the days to come if you do that. I’m certain of it.”

Garrold looked at Wilem for a moment, then nodded. The two of them started walking, again. There was a commotion from up ahead, then the sound of armored boots ringing against stone. Robert and Stevan, wearing the full regalia of the newly reformed Silver Shields, came into view, hurrying down the hall toward Garrold’s chambers. When they saw Garrold and Wilem heading toward them, they stopped, both of them taking a moment to catch their breath.

“Your Grace,” Robert said at last, saluting. “Baron Vabarn and his company are no longer here. No one recalls seeing them leave.”

Garrold frowned. Damnation. “What about the gate guards?”

“They claim to have seen nothing, either, Your Grace,” Stevan said. “Though you may want to talk to them, yourself.”

“Why is that?”

“They don’t seem to be . . . themselves, Your Grace,” Robert said.

“Show me.”

Robert and Stevan led the way out of the main castle and to the gate house. Inside, the two guards were sitting on the floor, their backs propped against the wall and their legs splayed out in front of them. Both of them were awake – their eyes were open, anyway – but neither of them seemed fully aware of their surroundings. Garrold could sense the magic on them, at once, and it was clear from Wilem’s reaction that his brother could, as well. “Can you identify the spell?” he asked Wilem.

“It’s a form of compulsion,” Wilem said. “Whatever you ask these two, they’ll tell you exactly what whoever put it on them will want them to.”

“Can it be undone?”

“Only by a Spellbreaker.” Wilem looked at Garrold. “And breaking it will kill the guards.”

Garrold knelt down in front of one of the guards and peered into his eyes. They were glassy, vacant, and when Garrold waved a hand in front of them, the guard did not blink. “What will happen to these men if it isn’t broken?” he asked.

“They’ll stay like this until they die,” Wilem said.

Garrold looked up at his brother. “This was necromancy, wasn’t it?” he asked.

“Yes. Garrold, can you tell who cast it?”

Garrold looked at the guards for a moment, then closed his eyes, focusing on the magic that made up the spell which had stolen their minds from them. While it was largely the same Arcane magic Garrold felt coming from himself, there was a darkness to it, a cold, twisted cruelty. That cold, twisted cruelty was the hallmark of the Necromantic Arts, but, as Garrold probed at it, he found that it went beyond that, that it was, in fact, the signature of the caster, himself. Garrold opened his eyes. “It was the Baron,” he said quietly. Then, quieter still, “This was my fault.”

“You didn’t know what he was, Garrold,” Wilem said. “Neither of us did. That was part of his deception.”

Garrold rose to his feet, his eyes never leaving the now mindless guards. “Was it?” he asked. “If I am to be Magister, if I truly am as powerful as you think I am, I should have been able to see the spells he was wrapped in. I should have been able to sense his talent. I was blind, though. And now, my blindness has cost these two men their lives.”

For a time, the only sound in the gate house was the crackle of fire in the braziers. And then Garrold reached his hand out the guards, holding it still for a moment before slowly closing his fist. The guards’ eyes closed and they slumped over, looking for all the world like they had fallen into a peaceful sleep. I am sorry, my friends, Garrold thought. Rest well.

“What are your orders, Your Grace?” Robert asked.

“See these men get a proper burial,” Garrold said. “Then, tomorrow, we march.”

“Are you all right, Brother?” Wilem asked.

Garrold looked at him, then turned and left the gate house.