Mickey Zucker Reichert - Shadows Realm (39 page)

Bolverkr accepted her rebuff without comment. His hand hovered, as if uncertain where to go, then it dropped to his knee. “You and I know Chaos is a force, not a being. The only way to destroy chaos is to slay its living host: a man or a god. Dragons are manifestations of raw chaos, not living beings. When Allerum and Taziar killed the dragon, they dispersed that chaos. Dispersed it, Silme, not destroyed it. And the natural bent of such energy, whether of Order or Chaos, is to find itself a master.”

Horror swept through Silme, chipping away the confidence she had known since childhood. “You?” Though unnecessary, the question came naturally to Silme’s lips. Bolverkr’s life aura gave the answer, still so grand as to obscure hers like a shuttered lantern in full sunlight.

“The one man alive since the conception of magic. A logical choice, I think.”

Silme doubted Chaos had the ability to reason.
Still, even mindless things seem drawn to survival. Few other hosts could have lived through the transference of that much energy.
She dodged that line of thought, embarrassed curiosity could unsurp concern for Larson and Taziar. “Allerum never meant you any harm. He had no idea the Chaos-force would seek you out and no way to know it would kill people. You can’t condemn a man for ignorance.”

“Why not?” Bolverkr waved his hands in agitation. “The laws do. Imagine if a foreigner killed and robbed a tavern-master in Cullinsberg. It wouldn’t matter to the baron that this was acceptable behavior in the foreigner’s kingdom. The murderer would be sentenced and hanged as quickly as any citizen.” His voice assumed the practical monotone of a lord passing judgment. “The ignorant should not, must not meddle with the fabric of our world. Allerum and Taziar plunge willingly into impossible tasks
without bothering to consider the consequences.
For their crimes, any regime would condemn them to death.”

“No.” Silme felt as if something had tightened around her chest. “Have you lost all mercy? Allerum and Taziar would never harm innocents on purpose. Even the strictest king would give them another chance.”

“Another chance to destroy the world?” Bolverkr dismissed Silme’s argument, his tone underscoring the ridiculousness of her claim. “Don’t let love blind you to reality.”

“Nor should anger and grief blind you!”

Bolverkr’s manner went cautious. “Well taken. Neither of us in a position to judge. However, should we leave the question for our peers, I have no doubt their verdict would be, ‘Guilty,’ and the execution just. Are you equally certain about your assertion?”

Silme’s fingers twined in the fabric of Bolverkr’s cloak. She pictured her fellows at the Dragonrank school, recalled the thick aura of arrogance and intolerance that seemed to accompany power.
Bolverkr is right. My peers would condemn Allerum.
A breeze creased the valley between her breasts, and she tugged the cloak impatiently to close the gap between its edges.
And for that, my peers are fools.
Aware she could not convince Bolverkr with this line of reasoning, Silme changed tactics. “Why?”

Bolverkr blinked. He turned his head to meet Silme’s gaze. “Didn’t I just tell you?”

“I mean,” Silme started, gaining confidence, “why are you telling me this? I helped to kill Loki. I was the reason Allerum and Taziar fought the dragon.”

“Yes.” Bolverkr fidgeted.

Sensing his discomfort, Silme plunged ahead. “And?”

Bolverkr folded his fingers together, their skin smooth, elastic, and well preserved despite his age. He hesitated, as if considering options, then sighed, apparently choosing candor. “When I first saw you, I believed I would have to kill you. And I was prepared to do it.”

The pronouncement came as no surprise to Silme. Bolverkr’s uneasiness gave her the upper hand, and she savored the moment of control. “But something changed that?”

Bolverkr swung around to face Silme directly. Again, he reached for her hand. When Silme shrank from his touch, he did not press the matter further. “People fear what they do not understand. I came to Wilsberg to escape the whispers, the fawning, the isolation. I traveled south to an area where the existence of sorcerers is attributed to legend, to a farm village where even legend might not pierce. I found acceptance. My friendships seemed genuine until necessity forced me to use magic and the townsfolk realized they aged while I did not appear to grow older. They let me stay, whether from familiarity or dread I don’t know. And, over time, their grandchildren learned to care as deeply for me as I did for them. But though I fathered many of them and the babies of many others, there was always an awe in their love which kept me distant. They showed the caring of children for a hero rather than the shared love of partners or friends.”

Many platitudes came to Silme’s mind, but, having no interest in soothing Bolverkr, she kept them to herself. She had a reasonable idea where Bolverkr was heading, and it bothered her. Still, the topic had off-balanced him so she stuck with it rigidly. “You seem to think I have a solution to your problem.”

He squirmed with a restlessness that seemed more appropriate to a courting youth than a two-hundred-year-old sorcerer with skills comparable to a god’s. “Silme, you’re the most powerful woman in existence. You can understand the pain of people staring while they decide whether to run in fear or try to kill you for the fame. You’re driven by the same interest, the same need to create, analyze, and experience. I don’t frighten you because you know the source of my ability. It makes sense to you. It’s concrete and finite, within the realm of your knowledge and experience.” He added belatedly, “You’re also quite beautiful.”

The compliment was familiar to Silme, the sincerity in Bolverkr’s voice less so. She chose the direct approach, hoping to push him further off guard. “Are you trying to say you’ve fallen in love with me?”

“Does that surprise you?”

I would think Bolverkr would have learned the difference between romance and childish infatuation.
Silme buried the thought beneath the need to win a game whose prize might include the lives of herself, her baby, and her friends. The explanation came to her in a rush.
Everything Bolverkr knows of me comes from Allerum’s perceptions, love-smoothed, my shortcomings overlooked or dismissed. Bolverkr believed he gathered information, but he obtained much more. The strength of Allerum’s affection influenced him in a way words never could.
Silme realized she had hesitated too long to hide her startlement. “Of course, I’m surprised. We’ve never met before.”

“It seems like I’ve known you for a long time.”

No doubt.
Uncertain how to address the comment, Silme said nothing aloud. Bolverkr reached for her hands. This time, in an effort to gain his trust, she let him clench her hands between his long, delicate fingers.

Gradually, a feeling of peace settled over Silme, so comforting she did not recognize it as alien. Her aura seemed to swell, lending her a strength beyond anything she had known before. The still life of Harriman’s memory, frozen in time, spread before her, every detail solid as reality. More than just aware of her surroundings, she became a part of them. The ruddy glow of the setting sun bore no relation to the dried and spangled blood of the corpses. It seemed as though the spectrum of color had widened to admit a million shades between the ones she knew.

“Silme.” Bolverkr’s voice seemed a distant distraction. “I want you to marry me.”

“What?” Silme stiffened, the word startled from her before she could think. She embraced the heightened sense of awareness, followed every crease of Bolverkr’s face to his pale eyes.

Bolverkr’s hold tightened. “You can keep the baby. I’ll raise it as my own. Only Allerum and Taziar have to die.”

No one has to die.
Silme glanced beyond the sorcerer to the milk-white aura dwarfing its owner like a soap bubble around a grain of sand. Envy spiraled through her from a source she could not place, and the unfamiliarity of the emotion jolted her back to reality. She tore her hands from Bolverkr’s grasp and sprang to her feet. “What did you do to me?”

Bolverkr smiled, indicating his aura with wide sweeps of his arms. “Be calm. I didn’t hurt you. Look, there’s more than enough life force here for two, and I’m willing to share. I gave you a taste, and already I can tell you want more.” He offered his hands. “Here, complete the channel. Open your mind barriers and take as much as you want.”

A taste. Chaos.
The pleasure Silme had experienced went sour.
The stuff of life, but also the force of destruction.
She knew those who served Chaos, god and man, became whimsical, ruinous, evil. It had always seemed a cruel trick of nature to tie power with spite, to assure that every man endowed with life was also endowed with evil.
This power Bolverkr offers comes from a source external to me. If I can grasp it before it bonds with my own life force, I might be able to tap it without risking the baby.
The whisper of Chaos Bolverkr had shared was gone, leaving Silme with a hunger she could not deny. The Chaos promised a paradise, but she also knew it would claim a price.
If I fail to control it, I will become a slave to it. But, without it, I have no hope of fighting Bolverkr.
Silme closed her eyes, drawing on inner resolve. Slowly, she knelt and reached for Bolverkr’s hands.

Our doubts are traitors,
And make us lose the good we oft might win,
By fearing to attempt.

—William Shakespeare
Measure for Measure

Silme folded her legs beneath her, her fingers resting lightly on Bolverkr’s outstretched hands despite the crushing tenderness of his grip. Fear and anticipation wound her nerves into tight coils. She wrestled to lower her mind barriers, aware she would need them open to seize the first thin whisper of Chaos that touched her.
Catch it, tap it, and transport.
The words swirled through her mind like a chant. She lowered her head. Hair spilled into her face, and she peered through the golden curtain at the grass spears around her knees. But her mind barriers resisted her efforts; her tension kept them locked closed reflexively.

Frustration heightened every irritation. Silme flung back the obscuring mane of hair, and viciously shook aside each strand tickling her forehead. She became aware of tiny itches over every part of her body, and the inability to claim her hands fueled her annoyance. Again, she struggled against her own defenses, but the more violent the fight, the harder they opposed her.

“Ready?” Bolverkr asked.

“Not yet,” Silme snapped back. A light sheen of sweat appeared on her forehead. She called upon the meditation techniques of the Dragonrank, imagining a meadow warmed by summer sun. Stems bowed and rattled in the breeze, while sparrows darted playfully between them. The scene brought an inner warmth. And while she savored the manufactured peace of her illusion, Chaos stole, unnoticed, through the contact. As Silme built details into the picture, the earliest threads of Chaos seeped in, merged with the substance of her life aura, and magnified her serenity. The weeds muted to the hollow fronds of wheat, tufted with stiff strands of silk and deep, amber seeds. The meadow became a village striped with dirt pathways. Suffused with calm, Silme idly wondered at its immensity. Never before had she achieved such harmony. Pleasure seemed to encompass her, its source lost and lacking a physical center.