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.
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