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

    Wilem returned to his tent not long before what would normally have been sunrise.  Just as there hadn’t been for the last five days, there would be no sunrise, today, however–a fact that, with each passing day, made Wilem more and more uneasy.  Wilem’s unease wasn’t just caused by the unnaturally persistent darkness–which was bad enough by itself–but also by what suspicions he had about it.  Some of those suspicions had already been confirmed by the spontaneous magical awakenings of Stevan and Robert, which, though they would have eventually happened, anyway, seemed to have been hastened by some external force.  Was that external force what Wilem thought it was?  A sudden heightening of the world’s natural magical field?  If it was, and if that heightening coincided with the advent of the endless night which had taken hold, the implications were disturbing, indeed.

Sister Niela was waiting for Wilem when he reached his tent.  She was sitting on one of his folding camp chairs, and had brought an earthenware jug and two wooden cups with her.  She smiled at Wilem as he stepped inside and settled onto the only other available seat–his cot.  “Time for that drink, already?” Wilem asked.

“A lot of people are going to die, tomorrow,” Niela said.  “Maybe even us.  I didn’t want to waste any more time.”  She popped the cork from the jug and filled the two cups, handing one to Wilem.

Wilem looked at the cup, and was surprised to see that what Niela had filled it with was what the country folk called liquid lightning.  “Where in Hel’s name did you get this?” he asked.

“Now, now, Wilem,” Niela scolded playfully, “let’s not swear.  I bought it off one of the soldiers.”

“Have you ever had any of this before?”

“No, but I’ve heard amazing things about it.  And don’t worry.  If it makes us too drunk, I can heal both of us.”  She took a swallow from her cup, then coughed.  “I think.”

Wilem took a drink of his own.  The liquor was harsh, but also surprisingly good.  He looked at Niela and shook his head.  “You really go all out when you decide to break an oath, don’t you?”

“And why shouldn’t I?  This could be our last night this side of the grave.”  Her smile grew more mischievous, and, even in the darkness, her eyes seemed to twinkle.  “I intend to enjoy it to the fullest.”

Wilem cleared his throat and looked away, his cheeks growing hot.  Niela chuckled and reached out to him, placing her hand over his.  “Don’t be shy, Wilem,” she said.  “No one but us will care what happens here, tonight.  Not even the Gods Above.”  Wilem looked back up at her, and when he did, her brow creased in a slight frown.  “You’re not afraid you’ll regret breaking your oath with me, are you?”

Wilem smiled.  “Not at all, Niela,” he said.  “It’s just that, well, you’ll be the first woman I’ve ever been with, and that makes me a little nervous.”

Niela looked at him for a moment, then laughed.  “That’s all right,” she said.  “You’ll be the first man I’ve ever been with!”

“And you don’t think it’s weird, sleeping with someone you’ve known since he was a boy?”

“You aren’t a boy anymore, Wilem.  You’re a man.  And a very handsome one at that.”

Wilem smirked.  “Even though I’m bald?”

Niela grinned.  “That’s the best part,” she said, taking another drink.  She didn’t cough as hard, this time, and the twinkle in her eyes seemed to grow brighter.

Both of them were on the cot not long after, their drinks forgotten as they discovered other, more pleasant things.  Afterward, as they held each other, enjoying the feeling of being in each other’s arms, Wilem said, “I’m afraid, Niela.”

“I know,” Niela said.  “So am I.  This darkness is stirring forces the world hasn’t seen in a very long time.  That’s why so few of the Order are here.  Those who didn’t come are waiting and watching, hoping against hope that, whatever the night brings, they’ll be able to contain it.”

“The Nightslayer will come,” Wilem said.  “I’ve sensed his return to the world.  Surely he will be able to do something.”

“He’ll be able to do much.  There’s no doubting that.  But will he do enough?”

“What do you mean?” Wilem asked, though he was sure he already knew.

“The Unnamed Prophecy,” Niela said.  “You know it as well as I do.  You know it mentions the darkness, and the return of the gods.  You know it speaks of the growing chaos we both feel, and how only the one who holds the Seven Points of Night can bring rein to it.  Is the Nightslayer the one who holds the Seven Points?”

“I don’t know,” Wilem said.

“Neither do I.  No one does.  No one even knows what the Seven Points of Night are.”  She was quiet for a time, then said, “Wilem, why haven’t we ever shared the Unnamed Prophecy with anyone?  Maybe, if we had, one of them could have given us the answers about its meaning.  Were we that afraid of admitting our own ignorance?”

“I don’t know, Niela,” Wilem said.  “The Unnamed Prophecy has always been the most unsettling piece of lore known to us, and not just because of our lack of understanding.  After all, its fulfillment could mean the end of the world.”

“Of all worlds,” Niela said.

“Yes.”

“Hold me, Wilem.”

Wilem pulled her in closer, and he felt her own embrace grow tighter in return.  Niela felt good in his arms, and he never wanted her anywhere else.  A sudden stab of anger passed through him.  Was this the gift the Gods Above had given him?  The chance to sleep with the woman of his dreams on the eve of his own death?  None of this is their fault, Wilem thought.  Not even if they actually exist.

“Are you all right?” Niela asked.

Wilem met her eyes with his.  “As long as you’re with me, I will be,” he said.

“I’ll never leave your side,” Niela said.  “Not if we die, tomorrow, or a hundred years from now.”

They kissed.  “Thank you for coming to my tent to share a drink with me,” Wilem said when their lips finally parted.

Niela smiled, her eyes once again twinkling.  “Thank you for letting me share the comfort of your bed.”

Wilem chuckled.  “It’s not a bed, silly woman,” he said.  “It’s a cot, and it’s not very comfortable at all.”

Niela giggled.  “Silly, am I?” she asked.

Wilem grinned.  “Only in the best possible way.”

They made love, again–to Wilem’s surprise, it was better the second time, even if they were confined to his less than comfortable cot–then fell asleep in each other’s arms.  Outside, the new day–such as it was–had dawned, and both of them knew that the battle would break soon.  Until it did, however, nothing mattered but the time they had, and in his sleep, Wilem smiled. 

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

 

Garrold had gathered the darkness around himself to keep from being seen. He knew this wouldn’t keep his magic from being detected – meaning that, even while he was hidden from sight, he could still wind up as a target for the Baron, or for one of his ever-growing number of magical lackeys – but it did give him the freedom to move among his own troops without disturbing them. Aside from the members of the King’s Guard who had defected to Garrold’s side the night he had proclaimed himself Magister, his army was a pretty ragtag bunch, but, based on what he saw, they had taken to what training they’d had in the last few weeks well, and Garrold had no doubt that, when the battle with the Baron finally broke, they would not fail him. That still meant that most of them were likely going to die, though, and for a man – and a cause – they, as yet, had little reason to believe in.

Oh, Garrold was certain the unnatural darkness that had fallen frightened them – it scared even him, and he was a mage – but was that darkness enough for them to believe Garrold was the right man to fight and die for? And what of the growing number of magic users Garrold sensed in the Baron’s ranks? Some of those, he was sure, were Twisted Eltarans like he’d faced, before, but what about the others? Where had they come from? And why hadn’t Garrold’s forces gotten more of their own? While Garrold was sure he could do much to hold back the magical torrent that was sure to come when battle broke – particularly with the help of the clerics and monks who had accompanied the army, here – he knew he couldn’t face it alone. Without at least another mage or two to back Garrold up, his army would be annihilated. Or worse, if one, or more, of the Demon Lords happened to show up. The Gods Above only knew what would happen, then.

Garrold came to a sudden halt. Three new magical presences – one of them familiar, yet far away – had entered his awareness. The two closest ones were right here in his camp, and, though he had never sensed them magically, before, Garrold even thought he knew who they might have been. He laughed at the thought – and then again when a group of soldiers standing near him jumped at the sound of laughter coming out of nowhere – then dashed toward where the presences were, his magic allowing him to cover the distance in a matter of seconds. When Garrold arrived at where Stevan, Robert, and Wilem stood, he had all but forgotten the cloak of darkness surrounding him. He remembered it very quickly, though, when Robert looked right at him, grinned, and said, “Evenin’, Your Grace! Burn your shoes in any fires on the way here?”

Garrold’s cloak of darkness – through no will of his own – suddenly collapsed. It was only after it was gone that he realized it had fallen due to what, had it come from an enemy, had been a magical attack. A magical attack from Robert! “Robert?” Garrold said. “How did you do that?”

“He’s a mage, Your Grace,” Stevan said, then conjured a fireball in the air above his hand. “And so am I. Your brother says I’m a Pyromancer.”

“Indeed,” Wilem said, his grin larger – if that was possible – than either Stevan’s or Robert’s. “And Robert’s a Farseer. Only the best disguises will work on him, and darkness is no obstacle, whatsoever.”

“Wilem says I can also do things with people’s minds,” Robert said. He looked at Garrold and frowned. “It must have been someone like me who wiped your memory.”

“Wiped my memory?” Garrold said. “What in Hel’s name are you talking about?”

“It’s all right, Your Grace,” Robert said, his frown deepening. He raised one of his hands. “I think I can restore it.”

“Robert!” Wilem said. “Stop! You don’t-”

Wilem’s warning came too late. All at once, intense pain – worse than he could ever remember feeling, before – filled Garrold’s skull. He couldn’t scream, though, or do anything else but stand there, his eyes bulging, his mouth hanging open, certain that, any second, his head would burst like a melon. Strangely, even as much in the grip of pain as he was, a part of Garrold’s mind was aware that, had he been paying better attention, he could have stopped whatever was happening. The consequences of stopping it might have been disastrous for Robert – in fact, Garrold was all but certain they would have been – but it could have been done. If I survive this, he thought, amazed that he could still think about anything other than the pain he was in, I have to start being more observant.

Abruptly, and without Garrold’s head bursting, the pain ended. Garrold still couldn’t move – he was still very much in the grip of whatever spell Robert was using – but the pain was gone, replaced, instead, by a sudden, uncontrollable rush of what Garrold slowly came to realize were memories. The memories would have driven him to his knees if he’d been able to move – how could he have ever forgotten Stevan and Robert, two of the finest, if still flawed, people Garrold had ever known? – and then the anger came. Anger at his father. At the mage who had been tasked to erase his memory – and who had, unknowingly, instilled in Garrold the inherent fear and distrust of magic he’d been forced to overcome in order to become Magister. Magic should never have been used on Garrold they way it had been, then, and, at that moment, Garrold resolved that it never would be, again. No longer could magic be used to alter someone’s mind – not even if that mind belonged to an enemy – without at least their knowledge, if not their expressed permission, as well.

The rush of memories began to slow, and Garrold felt Robert’s spell start to relax. He relaxed it more gradually than he had implemented it, and, as it faded, Garrold thought he could sense a bit of the other man’s chagrin at his impulsiveness. Using that same conduit, Garrold sent Robert a pulse of reassurance, and of gratitude. The smile that appeared on Robert’s face was all Garrold needed to know that the pulse had been received.

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

Garrold looked at him. “Not really,” he said, referring mainly to the anger he still felt at what had been done to him, and what Robert had been forced to undo. “But I’m getting better.”

“Do you remember us, now?” Stevan asked.

“I do,” Garrold said. “And I swear to both of you, I will never forget you, again.”

“That’s good,” Robert said. There was a touch of wry amusement in his voice. “I’m pretty sure a person’s mind can only stand so much scrambling and unscrambling, Your Grace. I’d hate to make you a vegetable by having to do that, again.”

Garrold chuckled. “So would I, Robert. So would I.” He looked at Wilem, again. “So, since it seems Stevan and Robert have specialized magical talents, I have to ask. Why don’t I?”

“That’s because you are an Archmage,” Wilem said. “You can do a little bit of what every other mage can do, and more, as your Spellbinding abilities have already shown. Archmages have always been very rare – not so much as Battlemages, but almost. If things hadn’t turned out the way they have, there is almost no doubt that, one day, you would have led the Conclave. Now, however, you will lead something greater.”

“Provided we survive the battle that’s coming.” Garrold looked at Robert and Stevan, then smiled, again. “Which, now that I know what you two can do, is a little more likely.”

“Haven’t you always known what we could do, though?” Robert asked.

“I didn’t for a long time.” Garrold grinned. “And, now, I know you can do more than drink like a fish and cheat at cards!”

Robert looked stricken. “Your Grace!” he said. “I never cheated!”

“Sure you didn’t, boyo,” Stevan said.

“Shut up, you!”

Garrold laughed. As he laughed, though, his thoughts turned to the other magical presence he’d felt, the one that was still so far way. He’d felt that presence, before, of course. It was Thaddeus, returned from wherever it was he’d disappeared to. Thaddeus was coming this way, and quickly, but Garrold still feared that the man who called himself the Nightslayer would not get here in time. And what if something waylaid him to make sure that he didn’t? Don’t let it keep you long, my friend. I fear my men and I will need you before all of this is over.