The Last Wizard of Eneri Clare (74 page)

“We must act quickly though, or we will be too late,” Baldezir insisted.

Mark was on his feet and listening now, his better instincts rallying to the fore. “I am most grateful to both of you for your help, and I am in your debt. But what must we do?”

Baldezir thought, “Your wife is a great prize for Lord Drogue, worth far more to him alive. We hear the battle does not go well for him. It would be my best guess that he will attempt to use her as a hostage, as leverage…that buys us some time, but how much?” the dire-wolf scanned the rest of the room, “And none of you are safe here anymore…”

Desperation drove Mark to suggest an impossible idea, “Baldezir, forgive me, but do you think you would be able to carry me? Over the hills as far as the battle site? I must get to the Lady Regent to tell her what has happened, and enlist her aid, and that of the dragons. Tvrdik will help us too, with his magic…do you know the Valley of the Yechtze?”

The great beast sized the man up, “You are tall, but slender. You would not be heavier than a deer carcass, or one of my cubs. I can carry you. And I know the way to Yechtze.”

Mark turned to Baldezir’s companion, “Shekilah, do you know the warren of caves that face the stream about three quarters of a mile west of here? We have sheltered our sheep there sometimes during storms. There are boxwood bushes that nearly conceal the entrance. My father also knows the place…” He could see his father nodding in agreement.

“I have whelped a litter there myself,” Shekilah assured him, adding, with a hint of mischief, “Be wary when next you take your sheep there.”

“Shekilah, would you be willing to guide the king, Lynette, and my family to those caves? They will not be able to travel as fast as you can, and will require protection, but I don’t think they would be discovered once there.”

“I agree. Few know of this place, and it cannot be spotted from above. I can get assistance. My brothers and I will escort them safely. I will be back soon; have them ready to go.”

“It is a good plan,” Baldezir said, and nuzzled his own wife once before sending her off to do as she had promised. Mark’s mother sprang into action, gathering up things that might be needful, should they be in exile for any length of time. Mark’s father came to him and put a hand on his shoulder.

“My heart aches for you, Mark. How swiftly a beautiful day can turn to a nightmare! You need to go right now. Bring her back safely. Do everything in your power. Don’t worry about us. We will be safe in those caves, and your mother and I will watch over Darian. Trust the she-wolf, son. She will do as she promised. Go now.”

Father and son regarded each other with great emotion. Mark nodded, and they embraced. The older man turned to assist with the packing, and when Mark saw that all was being handled, he approached Baldezir.

“We must go,” the wolf urged.

Mark hesitated, uncertain how to proceed, but Baldezir continued, “Here, take that rope there and tie it around my shoulders and neck, like a harness. Not too tight. There, that’s it. Make sure it will hold. Now, lie down flat on my back, face down, and grip the rope tightly with both hands. Press with your knees a bit. Don’t worry, you are not heavy for me at all. Settled? Good. Hold on. We are off.”

And they were, as Baldezir flew out the door amid cries of “Godspeed,” and “Farewell.” As they turned away from the house, Mark just caught sight of Shekilah racing in with two other brawny wolves by her side, true to her word. His fears for his family, and the king thus allayed, he buried his face in the coarse fur beneath him, held tightly, and prayed.

Gargan wiped a filthy sleeve across his eyes, but only succeeded in smearing more mud, sweat, and cheese all over his face. He and three of the men assigned to his command had just succeeded in righting one of Drogue’s outsized catapults, that had been tipped over by a dragon. But the launch arm was stuck in the upright position, and the rope that would have pulled it back to reset had been singed clear through. Gargan’s thoughts were full of blood and frustration. He had expected this battle to be quick and exhilarating, setting them well on the path to establishing Lord Drogue on the throne of Eneri Clare. Instead, the whole exercise had been disastrous. Why couldn’t the fool defenders just march out and fight like normal folk, show their mettle? And how
dare
they seem to be succeeding at every lunatic attempt to derail Drogue’s forces, superior by every measure? Right about now, he would give a year of his life just to be engaged in a real, adrenaline pumping, manly, dangerous exchange of swordplay, instead of digging a stupid machine out of the mud. He stared at the soldiers awaiting his next order, all burly and able, but dumb as rocks. Shaking his head, he called for a length of rope, and pointed to the top of the catapult, where someone would have to climb up and re-attach it. The rope appeared, but the men hesitated, glancing up in terror at numerous dragons still performing acrobatics in the sky above. Gargan was about to lose his temper, when from out of nowhere, Drogue himself swooped in, on his winged black steed, hovering just over the bedraggled group.

“I thought I told you to get this one up and running! What is taking so long?” the self-styled Prince called down.

“My lord, the field is all mud, and half my men have wandered off – we are doing the best we can!”

Drogue scowled, pulling up hard on Valour’s reins, “Gargan, I have told you constantly that the only way to get something done is to do it yourself. Now, get it fixed, and get it moving…”

Gargan, at the end of his own rope, had had just about enough of his master’s disrespect and abuse, and was only saved from saying something aloud that he might have regretted later, by the arrival of a gryphon, who positioned himself near to Drogue’s ear, and imparted some message to the dark lord. Drogue’s entire demeanor seemed to change in a heartbeat. He started in his seat, the expression on his face a curious mix of surprise and glee, wheeled Valour about roughly, and was off to a clifftop in the distance before Gargan could even salute.

But the disgruntled henchman, not about to admit defeat at the hands of the Crown’s effete rabble, decided that Drogue did have a point, and began to scramble up the slippery wooden beams to the top of the catapult. Once he had achieved the summit, he positioned himself in the launching bowl and signaled for his men to toss him the rope. It took three tries, but eventually he caught one end and fastened it securely to a metal hasp on the top of the arm. Clearing away any debris that could impede the machine’s functioning, and still sitting securely in the launch bowl, he instructed his men to get in line and pull hard on the rope. Hollering for them to put their backs into it, he heard a loud creak, as the springs engaged, and the giant arm began to bend back toward earth. Inch by inch, down and down he travelled, as the heavy catapult was reset. Thinking about what flaming cargo he would load it with against the Crown as soon as it was in position, he was surprised to find himself standing in the bowl as it touched the ground in the fully cocked position.

“Tie it off!” he yelled to his men, who were still holding the rope, muscles rippling with effort.

“Whaaa?” replied one of them, turning to look over his shoulder at his commander.

“Tie it off, you bloody fools!” Gargan hollered, one leg already over the side of the bowl as he began to scramble out.

But at that very moment, a small group of Andrus’s healer/spear-carriers, bold to be venturing much further out in the field than some of their compatriots, happened by, and, seeing three of Drogue’s warriors whose hands were otherwise occupied, ran up to prick them with their drug-soaked thorns. Gargan saw them approaching as if in slow motion. His eyebrows rose, and he shouted, “No!” Down dropped the soldiers in unison, instantly asleep. “No, no, no…” hollered Gargan, as their grip relaxed on the rope. A deafening note filled the ears of everyone in the vicinity as the rope slipped through open hands and whipped backwards, vibrating as it hung in the air. Released from its leash, up went the powerful catapult arm, hurling its unwilling load with great force, at a steep angle, into the air.

Two of the dragons were just passing over the field, keeping a tight formation, and looking for opportunities below to wreak a little havoc, when the flailing, mud-spattered, spinning ball of flesh that was Gargan, came flying by them, overtaking them and speeding off into the distance. The obscenities he was screaming seemed to emerge from thin air, crescendo and rise in pitch as he soared by, and then fade off with the receding vision of his squirming bulk.

“Now
there’s
something you don’t see every day!” the pink dragon commented, saurian eyebrows raised, and his companion nodded.

THIRTY–NINE
Tvrdik’s Greatest Challenge

S
TILL MOUNTED ON WYNNE, TVRDIK
pulled up at the edge of the field, in order to survey the situation and determine where he was most needed. Everywhere he looked, there was evidence that the Legions of Light were making headway. Dragons were aloft, now harrying Drogue’s soldiers by dropping bags of kitchen garbage on them. Light warriors were running here and there with blue mirror-shields, wielding them as they saw fit, while their compatriots collected fallen weapons and gathered the wounded. Harpers were still providing a soundtrack to the whole scene with their drumming and stirring melodies. Drogue’s forces seemed to be in disarray. Some had already retreated or deserted, and by now, the Lord himself was nowhere to be seen. Best of all, there had been no news of grave casualties on either side. Hope washed over the young mage like a summer rain.
Xaarus, you old badger, I begin to believe you knew what you were doing all along
, he thought, allowing the shadow of a smile to touch his lips for the first time all day.

And then, over all the confused din of the battlefield, clear as a streak of lightning, he heard someone call his name – a light, musical voice that floated over the noise of war, and seemed somehow familiar, as if from some long unused corridor of his mind. He turned toward the sound, and there she was. Alone. Mounted on a dark horse at the top of a little hillock, not thirty yards away. She was clad all in black armor, but her head was uncovered, the long, golden hair streaming behind her in the stormy air. Again he heard her call, “Tvrdik,” and she waved a hand to him. His lips formed the word before his throat could utter any sound – just a whisper, “Ailianne.” And then, wrenched from the depths of his very soul, a visceral cry, “
Aili
anne!
”

He spurred Wynne toward the little hill, while the figure on the horse waited, silent and still, except for the billowing tresses dancing in the wind. At the foot of the knoll, he leapt from the unicorn’s back, and ran up the slope in long strides. Arriving at the top, Tvrdik stopped short right in front of the dark steed, and stared up at the impossible vision before his eyes. Words would not form in his mind or on his tongue, and his heart pounded in his chest so that he was sure she would hear it. She broke the silence.

“I’ve been watching you on the field, Tvrdik. You’ve learned a few tricks since our schooldays, old friend.” She smiled down at him warmly.

“Ailianne,” he choked, breathing hard from his ascent, “you…how can you be here in this place? You are…you are….”

“Dead? Oh, Tvrdik, you were always so literal and pedestrian about things.” She rolled her eyes skyward and pursed her lovely mouth in an expression of exasperation he recalled all too well. “We are wizards, you and I. What meaning have words like time and space, life and death to us? We can transcend them all. Surely by now you have come to see that?”

He furrowed his brow and cocked his head to one side, watching her, afraid to step closer for fear she might vanish.

She spoke again, “I can see you have become a powerful and gifted mage. But there is so much to which you have not been exposed; so much that old fool Xaarus kept hidden from you. He was jealous of all of us, you know, and only wanted to protect his own position.”

Tvrdik took a single step backward at such ugly assertions.

She went on, “Benjin and I were not content to let him limit our power and knowledge to suit his own purposes. We found things out on our own – called in forces, aligned ourselves with primal energies that cannot be contained by a mere mortal. True, we were a little out of our depth, and spent some time resting in a kind of suspension between worlds, as a result of our ignorance. But, we were fortunate that the great Prince Drogue himself has some facility with the ancient arts, and he found a way to wake us from our slumber, and into immortality. We owe him a great debt of gratitude. He is truly a man of vision and decisive action.”

Tvrdik took another step back, confused. “Where is Benjin now?” he probed, his voice quivering, “I should very much like to see him again.”

She shrugged, “He is not here today. We are free to come and go, and pursue whatever interests us most. But I, I am here to seek you out, old friend. We have missed you…
I
have missed you. We have always belonged together – do you not know that? We are of a kind, the last of our kind. Come with me, and we will all be together again, just like old times.” She smiled with dazzling beauty again, and reached a hand down toward him.

Tvrdik stood his ground, and countered, “You must come with
me
, Ailianne, and you will be welcomed with open arms. Your homeland has need of your services. You speak truly that wizards are scarce these days.”

She shook her head, “Your world is so limiting, Tvrdik. I could not bear it. Join me now, and you will see Prince Drogue is a man of great imagination, who will appreciate and reward the gifts of one as talented as you. Come with me; I have so much to teach you. I will help you to master time, and death itself. I will share with you the secrets of immortality.” Her face shone with a fervor that somehow did not seem altogether salutary.

“I have no interest in immortality,” the mage replied. “Ailianne, what has happened to you? Your thoughts are poisoned. Come home, and let me help you.”

Her lips pursed in a pretty pout, “I would have thought by now that you would be bored with silly parlor tricks, and would be hungry for real knowledge – longing for something more. You are free now to pursue it, free to explore and experiment in any magic you desire. No rules, no warnings, no limits. How can you turn your back on such boundless liberty, and on access to all the ancient wisdom?
Real
magic. Wake up to who you are, Tvrdik. Wake up and claim your birthright.”

He stood stone-still before her, pale eyebrows furrowed and heart pounding. Once more he pleaded with the golden-haired girl, “Ailianne, I have everything I need, everything I can handle right here, right now. I am…I am…overjoyed to see you safe, and alive after all these years. Come home with me. Benjin, too. There is a place of honor here for all of us, I am certain.”

He did not see her dismount from the powerful stallion, nor did she walk toward him. Yet now, she was standing on the ground beside him, so close he could feel her breath on his cheek, smell the vague scent of honeysuckle that always clung to her golden hair. Tvrdik fumbled in his pocket, and squeezed the coin he found there hard in his palm, thinking,
Oh, Xaarus, please, please help me! If ever
I had need of you, it is now.
But, no Xaarus appeared, no hint of a voice from beyond, no memory of a wise saying to guide him. He was on his own.

“You have doubts,” she whispered low to him. “I am real. Go ahead, touch me. Prove to yourself that I am alive.” He lifted a trembling hand and stroked the lovely hair. Old pain seared through his being as he laid his palm on her cheek and felt it warm and vibrant to his touch. He dared not look at her face – the pale, pink skin, the sprinkle of charming freckles, the small, upturned nose and dazzling smile – all exactly as he remembered them. She had not aged a day, or changed a wit in twelve years. She was just as beautiful, as intriguing, as fresh as she had been so long ago. She laughed, a soft, musical sound, like a collection of little tuned bells. He had always loved hearing her laugh.

“Satisfied?” she said, baiting him. “Are you still as slow to understand things as you used to be?” She was looking at him in a way he had always dreamed she might. He gazed into her eyes, her lovely, lovely eyes…but something in them disturbed him, frightened him. The wide mouth was smiling, and now she was teasing him again and he thought he must have imagined any darkness. It really was Ailianne after all, alive, in the flesh! She grasped his shoulders, “Tvrdik, listen to me. You loved me once, I know it. You still love me. We could be together, always. I have been waiting for you…waiting so long. You and I are powerful. Together, there is nothing that can stand against us. Join me now, and come away from this world of dullards, and I will show you how to live…”

Her lips were so close now and his hand moved gently down her cheek to trace the line of her perfect jaw, her long, fluid neck. She was gazing at him with longing, and he was snared in her eyes. All around these two figures, chaos raged, but they seemed to be in a bubble of calm, far away from the world, untouched by time, or danger, or urgency. He was falling, falling helpless into her eyes…she was so young, so very beautiful…she hadn’t changed at all…”

Tvrdik took her by the shoulders and pushed her firmly away.

“You haven’t changed a bit, Ailianne. Why haven’t you aged? Twelve long years, years of hard experience and pain that have taken their toll on me, and yet
you
are as fresh and lovely as you were at seventeen. Why are you still so beautiful and untouched, Ailianne? Why are there no marks of life on your face?”

“I told you. We were preserved in a suspended form for much of these years, and now we have learned to triumph over age and decay.”

“What sort of life is that, Ailianne? A half-life in the shadows, without grief or pain or experience to shape you, without time to teach you wisdom and compassion? Without real relationships, or the fear of loss? What
are
you, Ailianne?” He was stepping purposefully backwards now, and beginning to shout at her. She looked confused, frightened. In an instant, she appeared back on the horse. The restless animal began to paw the ground, as her glance darted in every direction, looking for someone or something. Was she anxious, sensing failure?

Tvrdik grabbed at the arm of a passing Legionnaire. “Friend,” he commanded, “lend me your shield, quickly.” Something in his tone admitted to no discussion. The young man gave up the blue shield and kept running.

“No, Tvrdik. Don’t do this. Don’t throw it all away. I can offer you all you ever dreamed of.” The beautiful voice now sounded brittle with desperation.

“What are you afraid of, Ailianne? I have no wish to harm you. I have no weapons, except the truth. A real wizard would never fear truth; it is our greatest ally, our tool.” He was addressing her now with a new certainty in his voice and manner.

“No, Tvrdik, no,” she begged him, “please, no. You loved me once. I could belong to you forever…”

He held the shield high, and turned the blue light of truth upon her. There was a flash of light as she caught her own reflection in the polished silver, and then a horrific shriek that could never have come from any man or woman or beast on earth – an ear-splitting, bone-shaking, heart-rending, terrifying, endless wail of misery and defeat unlike anything Tvrdik had ever heard, even in his worst nightmares. Before his eyes, the beautiful Ailianne became a skeleton in armor – horrible, as perfect hair, skin, flesh fell away to reveal for just a split second what was not illusion. And then, the entire vision crumbled to a fine, black powder and blew away on the four winds. A riderless horse stood on a windy hilltop, cropping grass and pawing at the ground, no sign, no trace of the mistress it had carried only moments before.

Tvrdik threw the shield down on the ground and stared down at his hands. “Belong to me forever?” he cried aloud, “…and what would I hold in my arms all that time but bitterness and dust? The girl I knew and loved has been dead and gone these twelve long years.” He stumbled blindly down the little hill and to the edge of the battlefield, where there was a small copse of trees. Leaning on a sturdy elm for support, he retched in the grass, purging from his being all the horror and disgust and sorrow at what had just happened. Then, pulling off his spectacles with his left hand, he stood there and sobbed, great sobs that wracked his spare frame almost beyond endurance.

He had no idea how many minutes had passed thus, when, having come to some peace, he heard hoof beats approaching. It was Wynne, searching for him.

“Sir!” the unicorn called, “you must mount and ride at once. You are needed. General Rey is down, and our Legions are scattering in alarm. You must bring your healing skills to her now or the day is lost.”

Alarmed, and jolted by this news into the present moment, with all its urgent needs, Tvrdik left behind his past once and for all, and swung himself onto the unicorn’s back.

Wynne filled him in as they raced across the field to another part of the valley. “The Lady Rey and Tashroth were diving and wheeling across the sky, harrying the enemy, and urging our comrades forward. Without warning, a large stone from one of Drogue’s remaining catapults came spinning straight toward them. At the last moment, Tashroth twisted aside to avoid the blow, but that move sent him plummeting at a dizzying angle. It only took an instant for him to regain his equilibrium, but the regent lost her grip, and fell from his back. She landed hard, and is still lying there unconscious. Someone said they heard a
crack
when her head hit the stony ground. They are trying to move her out of the battle zone now, to tend to her injuries, but Tashroth is pacing up and down in front of her, snorting and roaring, and making it impossible for anyone to approach. Word is spreading of the accident, and the bad news is draining all the momentum from our troops on the field. Something has to be done right away to help her, and to restore morale.”

As they approached the scene, Tvrdik saw the situation much as Wynne had described it – Lady Rey crumpled on the ground, motionless. She was surrounded at a distance by an assortment of well-meaning colleagues with their hands up in front of their faces, desperate to calm Tashroth, who paced and bellowed and blew fire at them in mindless distress. Tvrdik strode straight up to him and stood his ground.

“Mighty Tashroth, calm yourself,” he shouted up, in his most commanding voice, “Let me come to her. I will do what I can to help.” Their eyes locked, Tvrdik’s determined and honest, Tashroth’s flashing, wild. Seconds passed, and the great beast seemed to deflate. His eyes cleared in comprehension, then narrowed to slits as he folded his flailing wings and stepped back. Seizing the opening, Tvrdik ran to where the young leader lay, so still, and knelt beside her. His worst fears were allayed when he saw that she was breathing in a deep and regular rhythm. A quick assessment with his eyes and hands revealed no broken bones, and her neck and spine seemed intact. It was easy to see the mark on her forehead, which was swollen and bruised.