Fates Choice Read online

  “Not everyone here is a wizard you see, or apprentice. Many people with no magical ability can actually go on to become keepers of the library, studying different topics. Did you know that there are so many books here that many have not been read?”

  For the first time there was some emotion in Raeknor’s voice, an excitement at being left here, seemingly content to be alone, with books as his new friend’s, rather than people.

  Torr sank heavily into his chair. Raeknor’s body may have survived the battle, but his spirit had not. The giantkin had taken more than his arm. It had taken part of what Raeknor was, in turn, taking part of Torr with him. Raeknor’s parents had said nothing of any change. Torr guessed they were just happy to have their son alive and, he conceded, how many people would have the opportunity to study here? Perhaps they both still had that in common then, albeit for different reasons. Torr wondered if some of his friend’s vitality and wit may perhaps return in time and with patience. He straightened up and steeled himself for polite discussion about the, admittedly, amazing place they were in with the, changed, man in front of him.

  ***********************************************

  He was still in a sour mood when he left Raeknor. The young magistrate seemed unconcerned when or if he would next see Torr so his night had not started well in the first place as he was escorted, all the way, back to his room.

  Silus was unable to offer any words of comfort to Torr as they made their way back, even though the master wizard had easily picked up on the reason for Torr’s stony silence.

  “His spirit may return in due course although, as I understand it, young master Millerson was always a studious person. He is not the first man of law and study to become enamoured with this marvellous place. Time will tell though and, in truth, I have indulged his request to study as part of his healing process anyway. Even after he awoke, he looked like he could just waste away again. I needed something to occupy him, to engage his mind. Give him something to live for. It is important we all support him in this I think yes?”

  Torr reflected on the wizards comments as he leant out of the window in his room. Begrudgingly, he started to accept that, what he was mourning was something that would have faded naturally with time as the young men’s paths went their separate ways anyway. Still, the severing of the connection was perhaps as emotionally sudden and harsh as Raeknor’s physical injury itself had been.

  Perhaps as a reflection of his conscious worries, he did not sleep well again when returning to Oaks Keep. Nightmares kept him company all night, the gem itself appearing in the sky across each torment visited upon him. His sleep had actually started to improve, over the last ten day whilst he was at home, a point that Bernhart seemed interested in the following day, when the master wizard himself was the one to greet Torr in the morning.

  Torr insisted he was alright, just a little tired. He followed Bernhart to his large study again, where an apprentice had just laid some breakfast for them.

  “Hope you don’t mind breakfast on the trot, young man, but there is a lot for us to do in the time we have”.

  The fact that Bernhart had just suggested that his time here would be limited was his first relief that morning. At the back of his mind, he wondered if he would remain at the enclave against his will, either until he was assessed as being in control of his powers, or for the rest of his life if he was classed as a danger to others. As if sensing his thoughts, Bernhart continued: “I judged from our last conversation on this topic that a lifelong pursuit of mastering the magical arts was not for you”. Torr just nodded as he took some fruit and bread.

  “Very well then, I have but a short time in which to teach you little more than the briefest of knowledge that, ordinarily, would take a year of full time studies to master. But first, let us see if we can do something about the lack of sleep you appear to be suffering from; here”. Bernhart opened a drawer in his long worktable and drew out a finely chained bronze necklace with a small emerald coloured stone, but one that was flecked with varying shades of yellow throughout. It was mounted in a thin bronze frame.

  He handed the necklace to Torr and motioned for him to put it on. “It’s Simirinthine. A gem only found in remote areas of Tai Shen or the Spine Mountains”. As soon as Torr put it on, he felt faint. Had he not been sitting on one of the high stools dotted at various points either side of the long table, he thought his knees would have buckled. “It is supposed to instil an air of calmness or drowsiness”. Bernhart reached out and caught Torr from falling off his stool. “But its best left for this evening perhaps as it does take some getting used to, so I’m told”. Bernhart took the necklace off Torr, who took a moment to shake himself of his dizziness.

  “I recall you slept poorly after the battle. Aside from what would be expected under such circumstances, the research I have managed to do into the gem suggests that it maybe the source of your night time maladies”. Bernhart pointed to the stone on the table. As far as Torr could tell, it was exactly where he had left it before he returned to Paega.

  “I’d guessed as much. I’ve still had problems since returning to Paega. It’s sodding horrid”.

  “Well” Bernhart rattled the Simirinthine necklace, “I’m hoping that will help”. He put the necklace back in the drawer. “In the meantime, that does bring us onto the topic of this most unlikely trophy”.

  Torr took another slice of fruit as he turned to face the dull amber coloured stone, sitting in the small box in which it had been found. Bernhart moved and sat next to Torr, taking a swig of apple juice before he continued.

  “I believe it is Elheren in origin. Its name or exact purpose or anything surrounding its actual use in Elheren society now completely lost to us however. Suffice it to say, it appears to be some form of amplifier of ability. So, for example, a local councillor or other gifted orator could go on to become a great leader. A promising field officer could be the greatest general. A local merchant may end being the richest man or, someone with a modest magical talent could go on to be a powerful mage”.

  Bernhart reached into another of the desks under the bench and took out a candle very similar to the one he had managed to ignite the night before the battle.

  “Perhaps in order to demonstrate, could I ask you to...” Bernhart waved generally at the candle. Torr needed no further instruction. He had spent his enforced rest at home magically lighting the lamps in his room. He had actually managed to get their maem quite confused by waiting for her to snuff the lanterns out, only to come in some time later to find they had been lit, in the knowledge that Torr could not use both hands and remain holding his crutch to light them again. The candle on Bernhart’s desk ignited instantly and burned with a long and fierce flame that took Torr by surprise. Anything he had managed to ignite up to this point still took a lot of concentration and only produced a modest light. The intensity of the flame now was already starting to melt the wax and he could feel a strong heat associated with a warm hearth, not a candle.

  “Ogreshit! What was that....that? Wasn’t me was it?” Bernhart waved his hand and the flames went out. He nodded at Torr. “It certainly was”.

  “So, what, does that change anything I need to do here? Will I have to stay for longer? And how does that work exactly? I’ve got to be near the thing I suppose for me to able to do that. Is it just my magic then it will affect? Can I do anything else? What if....”

  Bernhart held up his silencing finger. Torr could have rattled off a hundred questions. This time, he felt no nerves or worries. The one thing he had time to do after he returned from Oaks Keep the first time was come to terms, a little, with his magic. Now, the thought that he could do more, far more, with the aid of this artefact, instilled a curiosity and excitement in him. As if to check his enthusiasm, Bernhart carried on imparting what knowledge he had gleaned.

  “If I may, young man, I will deal with the strange trait that only allows you to pick it up, to wield it, so to speak”. Part of Torr was listening but the other
part wanted just to take the gem, thank Bernhart for his time, and get back out into the world to see what he could do now. What he could become, perhaps. He had actually picked the gem up for the first time and was rolling it around in his fingers again. It was such a dull colour. No one would look at it twice he thought, if they did not know what it was.

  He was only vaguely aware that Bernhart had stopped and narrowed his eyes at the young man, studying Torr as Torr studied the gem.

  “Clearly, it can only be used or controlled by one person or being but how does it change hands or ownership then?” Bernhart stopped, waiting for Torr to respond. As Torr continued to look at the gem, Bernhart decided to continue. “Well, the death of the previous owner seems a logical conclusion and does appear to be backed up by the few vague and obscure entries I have found on the topic. Curiously, there does appear to be reference to more writings and history on the matter but we do not appear to have it here, strangely”. Now it was Bernhart’s turn to get lost in some thought of his own and, a little to the master wizard’s surprise, it was Torr that continued the conversation. “So, what, you mean the giant gaestnip I killed?”

  “Ahh...now that is interesting because giantkin are not necessarily known for their wit, even among their own kind. The stone requires a bond which, in turn, requires some intelligence at least. Whilst there are known exceptions to this rule, I am not sure the large creature you felled was the leader. Do you recall killing any others?”

  Torr paused, now returning all his attention to the master wizard. “Umm, wait, yes I did. Before we actually got out past the trees when we, well, you, were attacked by the first lot, there was one left. He was running away so I can’t say if he was their leader or not”. Torr’s thoughts managed to race ahead of his answer. “Didn’t you say you thought the first lot were from somewhere else?”

  “I did and, yes, I believe so, far more now than I did immediately after the battle for reasons I shall outline later. I believe that the camp we raided was not their only base. In fact, I suspect it was just where they launched their attacks from”.

  Torr had picked up the last bread roll, casually taking a bite as he continued their conversation. “So you think the little one I killed, that was their leader”.

  “Yes, well, I think so. It probably doesn’t matter, it was certainly one of them, but the question still remains...hmmm”. Bernhart appeared to get lost again in some thought of his own

  “So, what, I killed their leader, who had the gem and now it answers to me? So where did he get it from then?”

  There was a physical shake of Bernhart’s head, almost as if the rest of his thoughts had landed, suddenly, bringing the older wizards focus back to the young man.

  “A very good question, yes, where indeed. Logic dictates that the bandit leader must have killed the previous owner but the wherefores, I am afraid, still elude me. There is one alternative. What if the owner of the gem dies a natural death, who does it go to then?”

  Torr hadn’t anticipated the quiz so, with the last of the bread roll in his mouth, just shrugged his shoulders in response.

  “Well, it would seem that the gem then becomes dormant, so it is inert and thus can simply be carried by anyone. By the same token, it can then be reactivated, presumably in some form of ritual which, as I’ve said, we strangely appear to have no inkling of here in Oaks Keep”. “So, what, someone gave that to the gaestnip, but why?” Torr was starting to pick up on Bernharts fascination with the origin of this artefact.

  “Again, I have no firm answers, but I suspect not, albeit maybe not intentionally. No, I suspect that it may have been destined for someone else, elsewhere. As I’ve suggested, in the wrong hands, this stone could wreak havoc or, in the right hands, heal nations. And what if it’s not the only one?”

  “What, you mean there are more of them?”

  “Undoubtedly Torr, yes. But, as I’ve said, these are Elheren in origin so cannot be accounted for. It is possible that they could have been stumbled across in archaeological sites where Elheren remains are found in the known world. There are plenty here in the wealds and many a strange Elheren artefact surfaces now and then. Or it is possible that the stone is a natural phenomenon, mined in, as yet, some unknown and exotic place”. Bernharts focus appeared to drift once more.

  “Well, whatever, I just hope the git suffered from the same sleepless nights that I do when I’m around the thing”.

  “Oh, I suspect not, I am afraid”. Bernhart appeared to land back fully in the conversation again. “You see, it is Elheren in origin and, therefore, designed for the Elheren mind, which is quite alien to our own. I suspect the nightmares you are suffering, is some form of resistance by the gem to the simpler human mind”.

  “Thanks”.

  Bernhart ignored the glib response. “I dare say it will reduce in time, as you become accustomed to it, and it to you. As for the gaestnip you took it from, they are not known for their higher cognitive function, so I suspect many of the gems side effects were either greatly diminished, or nonexistent. I would say though that to keep that many gaestnips in check and possibly run, or help to run, such an operation from two different sites, would require a great cunning. I would not expect to find that in such a big lug as the last beast to fall on the battlefield”.

  “So, what, I’ll become an Elheren in due course?”

  “Well, I’d start carrying a mirror with you to check for grey skin and your head and eyes changing shape then”. Bernhart grinned and Torr responded with a smile as well. He was missing the sharp repartee between himself and Raeknor and, to a large extent, with Carodin as well. He stopped himself from responding though. He didn’t know how far he could push the master wizard and there was also the whole pupil and teacher thing between them as well. Before he could think of responding anyway, Bernhart carried on. “No there is no danger of that, I am sure. Simply that any other creature who wields these things does so with only a fraction of the power that the properly attuned mind could accomplish”.

  “So, should I keep it here with you then. Do you need to study it for longer or should I...”

  “No. It is yours now to leave or take where you wish, safe in the knowledge that no other can lift it”. Bernhart fixed Torr with another stare, as if he was now studying the young man, not the gem. “I have learnt all I can from it. All other answers, I suspect, will come from the journey ahead, both yours and mine”. There was a sudden, sterner, glare from the wizard now. “It is vital however that you tell no one, no one, of this matter. The gem, its power, its potential, must remain secret. Your life may depend on this. Arguably, the gem is power incarnate and men will kill for far less. As it is, those present when it was found in the palisade know of its existence, if not its nature, and that is more than enough”. His glare melted. “I hope you feel you can trust an old wizard though. I am keen to help, truly. And, of course, we have your forthcoming lessons to look forward to. I have no doubt that, with your new asset, you may prove something of a revelation, if you are not careful. In fact, that is my first lesson to you here Torr. Resist the temptation to use the gem to best every test you are given. Some may become suspicious. We can think of a suitable rouse to explain any better than expected results”. Bernhart gripped Torr’s arm as the master wizard got off his stool. “This thing is death, you must be careful on your road ahead”. The wizard seemed to have the ability to darken his tone and features at a moment’s notice. Torr felt himself gulping at the older man’s last words before, once again, a smile cleared across Bernhart’s face.

  “Ohh...I almost forgot. I have something else of yours here”. Bernhart walked across the room, to a large cabinet next to the stuffed Shak-Ra chained to the wall. He took out a long staff, some two thirds the height of Torr himself. It just looked like a rough branch, albeit one that had been sanded or otherwise turned a little. It had two chains embedded in it which were attached to a leather carrying strap. It had been shod at each end with two silver cups, covering the ends
of the staff.

  “Recognise it yet?” Bernhart held it up, almost as if he was examining it himself.

  “My crutch” exclaimed Torr excitedly. He got off his own stool and walked towards the wizard, albeit still keeping a wary half eye on the body of the Shak- Ra, which still un-nerved him.

  “Yes indeed”. Bernhart handed the staff to Torr who grasped it and assessed the marvel of the work that had transformed a dead branch into quite an elegant travelling staff. Torr started to weigh the balance of the staff and admire the finish. As he did, he noticed what appeared to be letters cut into the shaft, but, when he ran his fingers over them, the surface remained smooth to the touch. It seemed difficult to discern how deep they were or how they had been cut into the wood to remain visible. If they spelt out anything, Torr could not see what it said.

  “It is called Victory’s Pain. A verbal synopsis, if you will, of its origin”. Bernhart took a step back. “Now, carefully, just focus on the staff and think as you would when trying to light those candles but, whatever you do, don’t...”

  Torr was ahead of Bernhart’s comments. There was something, an intangible feeling, that made him realise he could set the staff ablaze. It still took him by surprise when the staff engulfed itself in flame. In his reaction and common sense, he instinctively dropped his new possession on the floor, his brain presuming the fiery object had burnt his hands in the process.

  “...drop it, as it won’t burn your hands”. Bernhart sighed, motioned with his hands as an invisible bucket full of water materialised, over the staff, dousing the flame. Unlike the staffs magical fire, the water conjured by Bernhart did not disappear, soaking the floor of his laboratory.

  “Right then”. Bernhart sighed and walked towards another of his large cabinets, this one on the far side of the room. Torr presumed he was going to fetch some rare object that could magically clean the floor. Instead, the master wizard returned with a mop, which he handed to Torr.