The Lady's Man (12 page)

The transformation continued at pace, until shortly there stood before Yorik an elderly elf, with a gnarled staff in his hands. He was old even by elven standards. His silvery hair had turned to white, and the wrinkles that lined his face looked almost like the deep folds that had been in the thick bark itself. But for all that he didn't look particularly infirm. He stood straight and there was still muscle showing in his arms and legs, not to mention the look of calculation and strength that shone in his eyes. Best not to underestimate him Yorik realised. Naked as he was, he could still be dangerous.

It seemed that the elf was also determined not to be naked any longer.

The ancient elf, who had stared at him intently before, suddenly forgot him as he began hunting around for something, probably his clothes. Naturally he didn't have any nearby. Whatever he'd worn before he'd turned into a tree, had surely blown away or become dust in five hundred years. But Genivere had the answer.

From out of nowhere while he'd been staring like a lost puppy at a new owner, she'd come up behind him with all three horses, and from out of her saddle bags she quickly dug out an old robe. Yorik would have rebuked her for having disobeyed him, even though there was apparently no risk, but right then he didn't have the will. Instead he simply studied the aged elf, as he was in turn studied by him.

Myral didn't look at all familiar to him, though there was no reason any particular elf would, especially one that had been a tree for the past five hundred years. He didn't recognise his name either. But there was still something about him that made him think of him as a long lost friend. Perhaps that was simply the echo of the Lady's thoughts in his. He could also tell from the lines heavily ingrained in his face and particularly around the eyes, that he was an elf of both advanced book learning and the outdoors. A woodsman and a wizard both, while the slightly haughty look in his eyes said he was not one to suffer fools gladly. The wizard was impatient.

“And who might you two be?”

Having dressed himself and finding the clothes to his satisfaction, Myral cast his eyes over them both, and they knew he expected an answer. It took Yorik a moment though to realise what he was asking. When the Lady had been with him he'd understood the wizard perfectly. But without her it wasn't so easy. Yorik's Elvish was far from fluent, and the wizard's accent was more than strange. But then it was probably old. In any case he could recognise enough of the words to make sense of what he said.

“I am Yorik, son of Heric. Paladin of the Order of the Lady. And my companion and guide is Acolyte Genivere of Hammeral.”

Whether it was appropriate or not, and he had no idea of what the correct greeting for meeting an elder elven wizard who'd just transformed from a tree might be, Yorik introduced himself formally and then nodded politely to Myral.

“Paladin huh?” The wizard started paying close attention to his armour. “The Order of the Lady no less?”

Yorik realised he had good reason to be curious. If he had truly slept for over five hundred years as a tree, then there wouldn't have been an Order of the Lady before he had retired, let alone any paladins of it.

“And you, a wizard huh? Or a druid?” He turned his attentions to Genivere. “Part dryad as well I see. From what copse do you hail girl?”

“My grandmother hailed from Rivenwood to the west.”

“I know that copse well.” The broadest smile suddenly took hold of the wizard's face.

“I stayed there many a night in my youth, singing with your kin to the stars, and listening to the babble of the many rivers as they ran by the silvery meadows. It is a true wonder of the world.”

“I thank you for your kind words Master Myral. It is a most beautiful place and I long to return there some day.”

Genivere bowed low to the wizard, as was perhaps appropriate and Yorik wondered briefly if he should have done the same. As a paladin he was expected to bow to nobody. He served the Lady and all else was irrelevant, but the echo of her thoughts still lingering in his said that Myral was very special to her.

“As was this clearing when I set to dreaming here. What are these piles of foul dark magic stained ashes all around? What has happened here?”

Those eyes which had seemed so caring a heartbeat before as their owner spoke to Genivere, suddenly hardened as they turned back to Yorik and he knew an answer was expected. Actually it was required.

Almost as if he was an apprentice squire himself relating his battles to his master at arms, Yorik began giving him a formal report on the battle between the undead and himself. However that wasn't enough for the old wizard as he suspected something more to the story and so Yorik spoke of his battle out of Crossroads Shire, and his subsequently being given the quest in the first place. It was a lengthy report, and for some reason he found he couldn't stop once he'd begun.

Was it some form of magic he wondered, a charm of openness perhaps? Or was it that at some level he recognised this elf as a true friend of the Lady's, and as such someone who was entitled to be told everything he asked? Yorik didn't know, and strangely enough, he didn't truly care. It was cathartic to let it out, and even though he kept back small parts – the most shameful and painful memories aside – he felt better for the telling.

“And so humans now travel with elves. Finally. I wondered for many years whether such a thing would ever happen, or whether the two peoples would always walk apart like silly children. Surely much has changed since I sat down for my rest, but some of it at least for the good. And yet if I am being called back to the world, much more sadly remains the same. Evil still threatens the lands, and my talents are required. Tell me good Genivere, your companion mentioned Hammeral; does the small village still stand nearby?”

Small village?
Had he actually said that? Yet as he worked through his words Yorik slowly realised he had. It wasn't a mistake in his translation. The statement was telling but Yorik kept his silence. Perhaps in his day it had been just that instead of a city. Five hundred years was a long time after all. He let Genivere answer the ancient wizard, and then watched as his eyes lit up once more.

“Good! And a city too. That I had not expected. Then I think we need to make our way there soonest.”

Despite the softness in his tone, Yorik realised that the wizard wasn't making a suggestion. He doubted that the wizard ever did such a thing. It was an order, and he felt the need to obey it.

Before he could incur the ancient wizard's displeasure, Yorik started packing up the saddle bags for the horses, wondering if Myral would be comfortable on his pack horse.

His mission was over he realised. It was a sad thought. Now he had only to escort the wizard back to Hammeral and then leave for the chapter in Ender's Fall where he would be tried. And after that he didn't know what would come. But at least he thought, he would finally get to see Hammeral with his own eyes. That would be something good to cling to as he faced an uncertain future.

Chapter Eight.

Hammeral. It wasn't as pretty as Yorik had seen in Genivere's fire drawn magic, but then he was still some distance from it. Barely out of the thickest part of the forest, and not yet in the clearing. He could only catch glimpses of it ahead through the thinning out trees. Still, he would get to see it soon he thought, when they were in the clearing itself, and then he could judge for himself whether it was a match for the visions of the city in his thoughts.

“Blessed Mother! I can feel her presence so clearly here.”

Myral spoke up, catching Yorik by surprise. It had been a while since he'd said anything. Since anyone had said anything. They'd made their way to the city in peaceful contemplation of the world around them, all of them lost in their own thoughts.

It had been a quiet ten days. In part that was due to the language problems. Yorik spoke New Vinnish mostly and could understand a little of the common elven tongue but was far from fluent in it. Myral meanwhile spoke an ancient form of Elvish and his accent was difficult for Yorik to make sense of. He had to speak slowly and too often repeat himself before Yorik understood some of what he said. Genivere had to do a lot of translating for them, which tended to slow things down a lot.

Mostly though it had been quiet because of the different directions their thoughts travelled.

For the ancient wizard Yorik suspected, his thoughts were about the troubles that lay ahead of them. The undead enemies and the fact that he had been called back to the world after so long asleep. Also, he suspected, after five hundred years as a tree the wizard simply wasn't used to conversation. He preferred to let his thoughts just wander peacefully.

Genivere was the most talkative of them, but too often her conversation was about things that it shouldn't be. She was forever checking on the two of them. Were they feeling well? Did they need anything? In asking these things she was placing herself in the role of a humble servant when there was no such need for one. In any case she could never be a servant. He disliked seeing her placing herself in that role, but every time he tried to say something about it the words just came out wrong. So in the end he'd given up and let the silence take hold.

As for Yorik, his thoughts had started travelling in other, sadder directions, now that his mission was nearly complete. Until they'd found Myral he'd been more able to enjoy the journey, forgetting about its inevitable end. So he'd enjoyed the wonders of the forest and the knowledge and charms of Genivere. He'd played games with himself, studying the flora and fauna all around and seeing if he could spot a unicorn. Legends said that the fabulous creatures did wander the great forests of the world and he'd always wanted to see one. That had been his chance.

But once he'd found the ancient wizard, his mood had darkened. Not because of Myral, but because of what finding him represented. The end of his mission. For him this was his last ride, as a paladin at least. And Hammeral was his last stop before his return home. There he would be tried and his crest and his armour would be taken from him. The only question was whether he would be allowed to remain within the Order in some minor role. He hoped so, but there could be no certainty of it.

Too often his thoughts were with his family as well. Not just with their lives and the happier times, nor even with the grief for their passing. It was the sense of failure that kept returning to him. He had failed them. All his life he had been raised to become a paladin of the Order of the Lady. It had been his father's dream for him. Heric of Stowe himself had been a proud knight in service to the king, but like any father he had wanted better for his children. And he had decided long ago that Yorik would follow the path of a paladin.

In pursuing his course of vengeance Yorik had given away not just his own life but his father's dreams for him. He had actually worsened the crime that Mayfall had committed against them. That was a difficult thing to accept. But it was the truth and it had to be accepted.

How much the other two knew of his shame he didn't know. They guessed some of it he was certain. But he had not told them all of it, and he didn't want to. His shame in the end was only for him. And his pain was for no one.

“I will need to speak with the elders as soon as I can.”

That Yorik could believe. He still didn't know a lot about the ancient wizard, but he knew he was important in some way. He knew that the Lady would not have sent for him to be woken if he wasn't needed. And he knew that their enemy, whoever he was, would not have guarded the tree unless he was seen as a threat. But he also knew that that meeting would be happening sooner than the wizard realised.

“I don't think you'll have to worry about that Myral. I think they'll be speaking to you well before you reach the city.”

The others turned and stared at him, eyes wide in question.

“For the past half hour we've been shadowed by rangers, keeping their distance as they ride through the forest but also keeping us in sight as we follow the path. Now though, as we near the city, they're closing in. And ahead there is a silence from the birds. There are people around the bend up ahead, waiting for us.”

Caught off guard, the others looked around naturally enough, trying to spot the rangers, but saw nothing. Yorik wasn't surprised. The rangers were remarkably capable at remaining unnoticed in the forest.

“How could they know?” Genivere murmured the question at him.

For an answer Yorik just shrugged. He had no idea what the elves knew or how they knew it. But he was certain that they knew a lot. The sort of attention they were receiving was not what a normal visitor would get. He did wonder how she could be the one asking him the question though when it was her own troop that had sought him out only a few weeks before. That at a time when no one should have even known he was in the region, nor that he might be in need of a guide. If she knew that how could she not know how the others knew when they were coming?

But as they continued their path up the trail towards the city he didn't ask. He was more interested in what lay ahead.

In the end it was as he had expected. They rode three hundred paces to where the trail bent around a thicker patch of trees and found a reception committee waiting for them. A dozen elves on horseback blocking the trail. They'd obviously ridden out to meet them and then waited for some time. They looked impatient.

There was however, one thing that caught him by surprise. At the head of the group there was a woman he recognised, Annalisse Brial Lon. And she was smiling knowingly – an expression that filled him with resignation. He gathered that she was responsible for the others being there.

“Elder.”

Yorik greeted her politely as was expected. And as he perhaps hadn't during the three days he'd escorted her and her party to Hammeral.

“Yorik, finally wearing your true colours I see. And looking the better for it.”

Yorik didn't answer her except to nod politely. He wasn't sure that there was anything he could say. Besides, her attention wasn't on him. It was on his companions. Something they proved a heartbeat later.

“Annalisse!”

Yorik turned around in surprise as he heard Myral address the elder by name, not just because he sounded pleased to see her – as if they were old friends – but because of the obvious question. He'd been a tree for five hundred years – how could he possibly know her? Unless of course she had also been a tree for five hundred years?

“Myral, you've been in my thoughts for so long.”

It seemed that Myral wasn't the only one who knew the other. But he was saved the bother of having to ask any questions as Myral jumped down from his horse and walked rather more quickly than normal to greet her with a hug when she too dismounted. After that there was no chance to ask anything as the two of them instantly fell into a quiet and somewhat hurried conversation in their own tongue as they walked off to one side, leaving him still standing there in front of the elders wondering what was happening. But they looked just as bemused as he felt and it was a while before anything was said.

“Yorik son of Heric, welcome to Hammeral.”

It was a woman who finally broke the silence. One of advancing years and a stern countenance. But Yorik sensed nothing in her of dislike, more … indifference. As if she was there because she had a function to perform and no more.

“I am Odeletta Danse, Elder of Hammeral.”

“I'm honoured.”

He said it both because it was proper that he should say it, and also because she was showing him great respect in being there. In the end he was just a paladin, not the sort of person an elder should personally greet. And also she was speaking New Vinnish, not the tongue he would have expected to hear from her lips.

“At least you're polite. After what the others had said I did wonder.”

“My apologies to any that believe I slighted them.”

And Yorik could imagine that there were a few who did think just that. One captain for a start who had brought Annalisse and her family back to Hammeral. If the opportunity arose Yorik thought he might one day have to buy the captain a drink. Not that elves really drank. They enjoyed sipping their sickly sweet wines over gulping a decent mead.

“A matter for another day. For this day you have a task given to you paladin. One of utmost importance.”

Yorik could have said something. He probably should have. After all it was not her place to assign him duties. But she didn't give him the chance, waving hurriedly at one of her companions and getting him to ride forward.

“This is Ranger Ascollia of the Order of the Lady, your brother in arms. He needs an escort to Enders Fall where I believe you're heading, so that he may deliver a message.”

Her words shocked Yorik, and he almost denied them outright on the spot. Until Ranger Ascollia opened his cloak a little to reveal gold chain armour. And that he couldn't deny.

Like called to like as they said, and he knew the armour of the Lady even if he had never seen it before and it was completely different to any paladin armour he'd ever heard of. Gold chain and scale. Light armour that no paladin would ever wear. But he could not deny the Lady's presence in the spells woven into it. Which left him sitting there on his horse wondering what to think. But when the ranger rode over and reached out an arm he still knew enough to clasp it in the manner of brothers. Long lost brothers perhaps.

“And Genivere I would ask you to accompany them as well. As an acolyte of the Mother and a druidess you can bring the understanding of our people to the conversation that must inevitably follow.”

“Of course Elder.”

Genivere smiled as if she was being given a reward instead of a chore.

“Now is there anything that you will need for the journey?” She asked though it was only formality. They had everything they needed, and in fact from what he could see, Ascollia was carrying plenty of extra provisions in his saddle bags just in case.

“No Elder, but I thank you for your concern.”

“Good. Then I wish you a safe and quick journey. These rangers will show you the shortest route north.”

And that was it. In a heartbeat his visit to the elven city was over, and he'd barely seen more than the most fleeting glimpses of its outskirts. Worse, while he would have liked to have taken his time returning to Ender's Fall, suddenly he was expected to hurry. That wasn't fair. But fairness wasn't his to ask for.

So Yorik nodded respectfully to the elder – who was already looking as though she wanted to return to the city – and turned his horse around to face the rangers who were already staring impatiently at them.

“Please lead the way Captain.”

Maybe it was time to be polite to at least one elven captain. After all, the first one he had encountered he had surely angered by calling him slow and the second he had confused by telling her that he did not know where he was going. Perhaps the third should think better of him when their journey was done.

It would be nice if somewhere in Hammeral there was one ranger captain who did not think ill of him.