Choice (Majaos Book 3) Read online

  Eilidh nodded pensively and sighed.

  “I hope he's OK.”

  * * * * *

  Phaer screamed in agony as another wave of pain hit him. He had never known anything like it in his life. Back in the twisted forest of his homeland - if he could call it that - the dark elves often liked to hurt `the half breed`. Just for fun and no doubt to prove their superiority, but they never went too far. If they hurt him too much he wouldn't be much use as a slave. Still, it was bad enough and something he never wanted to live through again...until now. He would gladly trade anything his people used to inflict on him for what he was going through now.

  The Knight Clerics were at a loss to explain his illness, if that was what it was. That was another strange thing: he didn't feel ill. There were lesions on his skin as if he’d been burned, but otherwise he was just in pain for no apparent reason. He wished he could figure out what was causing it. He wished it would just go away as quickly as it had begun. He wished... Ah, if wishes were horses...

  “...I'd probably have fallen off by now,” he grumbled to himself. He'd come close to that already. That's why he was now riding in one of the supply wagons. The Knights of Balance travelled light - they relied on small, quick raids on the enemy, using their relatively small numbers effectively with the minimum of risk. Their attack on the chaos horde that Phaer had witnessed had been a necessary exception. They had seen the huge swarm that was headed for the military and industrial stronghold of Shakaran, and knew they were the only force that stood a chance of stopping them. Phaer was especially thankful for that, because he knew Eilidh was based in that city.

  It had been quite some time since he had seen her last and he could only guess at what she might be doing. In fact, it pained him to remember that the last time he had spoken to her, it had been in anger. He had stormed off from Marina Fells and headed for his people, the dark elves, to warn them in what was surely a gloriously futile gesture. Only the unique talents of Bernice Ardra - Bunny - had got him out alive. Since then, he had hooked up with the Knights of Balance to make what was probably another equally futile gesture. Somehow, he had to help these Knights, along with Loric when he returned from his own quest, to rescue the paralysed Calandra from some mysterious Fire Realm. The Knights were planning to construct a bier to carry her to the place where she would hopefully be healed. This task would be difficult enough by itself, but on top of that, they had to contend with a creature of awesome magnitude and power; a creation of the dark elves. Phaer did not know its name - if indeed it had one. All he knew was that it was a dragon predator.

  If he concentrated hard, he fancied he could almost remember snippets of half-overheard conversations about the beast. At those times, the pain didn't seem to bother him as much. That was an incentive of sorts, he supposed.

  It was incredibly frustrating for Phaer to be effectively confined to his mobile bed while the Knights travelled through the most magnificent forest areas. It was his element and he longed to be out there, but the last time he had gone hunting, it had not ended well. He had brought down three wild boars and a deer with astonishing accuracy, but then he promptly collapsed from a wave of unbearable pain. It had taken a team of Knight Scouts three hours to track him and return him to the safety of the camp. When they were sure he was alright, he received a good talking-to about recklessly endangering not only his own life but others as well, a fierce reminder about how many people were counting on him.

  Great - no pressure, then. Frankly, though, he could barely sit up a lot of the time, now, let alone go wandering off. What had started out as dull, throbbing headaches, were now splitting his skull open. He'd recently collected some local leaves that he recognised as having anaesthetic properties. They helped him to get up, move about and function for a while. In fact, they were the only things keeping him sane and then just barely.

  He hadn't told anyone else, but lately...just the last day or two...he had started hearing voices. * * * * *

  To Eilidh's senses, entering the library felt like coming home, even though she had never set foot in this room before today. While not a match in size for Merlyon’s Great Library, it was still an impressive sight, filling an entire wing of the castle. The library was magically annexed from the palace proper, so that it could be open to the public without compromising palace security. It was well kept - not a speck of dust in sight - well organised, too. As the pair headed for the nonfiction side of the library, Eilidh was pleased to see that, while not exactly crowded, the space was being well used by a good number of people for a wide variety of purposes. Some were in groups, while others studied alone. While the castle itself might be non-magical in construction, there were still thousands of mages living, working and studying in Shakaran City, at least under normal circumstances. Numbers were considerably depleted at the moment as so many were involved in the war. However, students were naturally exempt from war duty of any kind and for many of them, Shakaran Castle Library would be like a home from home.

  Over to the left, a pair of young climatomagi were browsing the Air magic section, while further down on the right a Catalyst was leafing through a book on temporal magic.

  Good to see, Eilidh approved, silently.

  Although Catalysts couldn’t cast spells, it was important for them to have a working knowledge of all forms of Life magic. At least if they wanted to be more than just a kind of sentient familiar or a walking energy converter. Some library users were accessing the information retrieval system, which represented the cutting edge in modern Techmagic. Meanwhile, quite incongruously, a small group of Techmages were copying what looked like lecture notes using the centuries old technique of alcohol rubbing.

  The story was that centuries ago, a student of magic stayed up late studying a spell book and fell asleep. He woke with a start and knocked his drink over, spilling alcohol all over this important text. He expected to be in a world of trouble, and instinctively tried to use the spare paper from the desk to mop up the worst of the spillage. To his amazement, he found that some of the book's contents copied themselves onto the paper wherever they touched. In time, magical experiments showed that any magically enhanced ink could be ‘activated’ by means of a gentle rubbing with an alcohol-embalmed cloth, so that it would copy itself onto a piece of paper placed on top. A rather less drastic solution than tipping an entire glass of wine onto the book!

  The story was most likely an urban myth, in Eilidh’s opinion, but then again, many great discoveries in magic had come about through serendipity, so it was at least plausible. These days, Techmagic devices were used for large scale printing, but alcohol rubbing was still widely used in an academic setting like this – even, apparently by Techmages. After all, if there was one thing to which students always had ready access, it was alcohol!

  The musty smell of books old and new that filled the seemingly endless rows of shelves was intoxicating. There were many titles that Eilidh recognised, from magical texts like `Sargissian's Shadows` which was considered to be the foremost text on illusion magic, to texts on natural science subjects: Light, Sound, and the `Special Theory of Magical Relativity` written by the greatest magicologist of the modern era, Razzaliton. His work, together with Quantum Metachanics, examined the relationship between Raw Magic and Life, and its relationship with normal matter, space and time, including the concept of Infinite Conversion. He proposed the idea that a single micro-unit of raw magic could be converted into an infinite amount of Life and suggested further that the Well of Life had been created at the Beginning from such an event occurring spontaneously. Modern legend had it that this work was so advanced, only three people in the world fully understood it and Eilidh did not count herself among them.

  At last, they came to the language section, right next to philosophy, the latter containing ideas and ideals from all races and throughout history, as far back as `Du y Graetor` - literally `One of Many` - being the oldest known text on the place of the concept of self-determination and individualism in a c
ivilised society, written by an anonymous pre-Ancient elven author. Eilidh had a working knowledge of a number of the various languages of Mythallen, Ancient and modern, possessing a keen eye for recognising the common patterns, but translating such a pre-Ancient language was very difficult. Eilidh was still convinced that many of the accepted Common Tongue translations of this language were inaccurate or incomplete. She had planned on making this a major project in her magicology studies, using the well-studied Du y Graetor as a reference, while providing day-to-day Catalyst's services at the Church of Life. Needless to say, such plans had been indefinitely shelved as soon as she found herself in Master Gamaliel's presence on that fateful Graduation Day. Du y Graetor was one of a number of works that were considered so important to Mythallen heritage, that every copy was protected from the ravages of time by its own low-level chronomagic field.

  There was an author’s dedication inside the front cover, which Eilidh knew by heart:

  `Pwortes y kharia ah itocam gincola: ryten majaos cho e natus y larbitum`.

  Literally, `Power of choice to all future generations: reminder that the magic/world into which they are born is freedom` but more correctly, `To all future generations as a reminder of the power of choice and the magic/world of freedom into which they are born`.

  Since the word `majaos` was used to refer to both the world and to magic, no-one was quite sure which was intended but since magic was Life, both seemed to fit equally well. Eilidh wondered what the author would have made of the idea of the `Chosen One`, wrapped up in destiny and prophecy.

  Actually, she decided, I know exactly what you would have thought. You would have hated it as much as I do. While she had been contemplating this, it had fallen to Rochelle to be the practical one, for once, finding the latest copy of the Common Tongue Dictionary. She placed the large volume on a convenient work table, and began flicking through the pages until she found, `N`, `Natter`, `Neat`, `Negus`, `Nicety`, `Niche`, `Nitrous`, `Noble`, `Nod`, “Ah, here we are: `Node n. knob on root or branch, a knot, an intersection or connection point, either a redistribution point or an end point, a point at which a curve crosses itself`.” She paused and repeated. “A point at which a curve crosses itself,” she pondered and something stirred in her mind.

  “What?” Eilidh asked, catching Rochelle's manner. “What is it?”

  Rochelle hurriedly shut the dictionary with a bang that reverberated all around, eliciting annoyed glances from the other library users.

  Rochelle apologised and put the dictionary back on the shelf.

  “Come on, Eilidh,” she said, heading rapidly for the exit. She’d already caused a disturbance in one library, recently and she was pretty keen to avoid repeating the mistake. Eilidh caught up with the gnome, who told her.“I need to show you something in those books. I didn't know what I was seeing before, but now I think I do.”

  “Why? What are you thinking?”

  “I think the nodes are Life Eddies. We all saw one at Avidon and you spotted one at that temple crypt place. I don't think that's a coincidence.” “Neither did I,” Eilidh agreed. “But I didn't know what to make of it. What you say makes sense, though. Concentrated points in the flow of Life - concentrated because two or more streams intersect at that point. A node.”

  “Precisely. And if this gateway to the Well of Life is at the centre of all magical nodes...”

  “Then if we know where all the Life Eddies are, maybe we can work out where the gateway is.”

  “And reach the Well of Life,” Rochelle finished as they both skidded down the corridor.

  “You find your references,” Eilidh said, “I'll get the others. Somebody might know something to help us.”

  “But they don't know it’s important yet,” Rochelle finished.

  Eilidh nodded and turned to head down a perpendicular corridor. She held herself back, though, to say, “Rochelle well done. This is probably the biggest step forward since we started all this. Thank you.”

  Rochelle inclined her head in acknowledgement, but gave a rueful smile as she replied, “It's not over yet.”

  “True, but it's a start. A good start.”

  “Well then, don't stand around talking about it! You're supposed to be the practical one - let's get moving!”

  They exchanged smiles and sped off in different directions.

  And she says she's got no people skills! Rochelle thought as she ran. They're just a bit rusty from

  lack of use is all.

  * * * * * It had been a sleepless night for Phaer, for which he found himself strangely thankful. Lately, every time he closed his eyes, all he could see was death. People burning, drowning, impaling, bleeding, screaming. He had never known nightmares to be so powerful before and he was frankly terrified of going to sleep ever again, though he knew he couldn't hold it off forever. He had to get some help, but he had no idea where to go to find it. He was dying - that much he knew. But of what? That was the mystery. Still, the only constructive thing he could do was to continue with what he had set out to do. Besides, there were many Clerics among these silver Knights, and while a cure - and indeed a diagnosis - eluded them, they were able to treat some of his symptoms and thus keep his march towards death's door down to a slow crawl. Perhaps he would find someone to help him along the way. At any rate, he stood a better chance with the Knights than anywhere else.

  He was sick of being stuck inside his caravan. He was an elf - well, half-elf - and he needed to be outside in his element. The forest was already noticeably thinner. Another day or two of marching and they would be on the edge of the desert. There, they would locate the Corridor entrance and send regular scouting parties through to reconnoitre the area. While the main force was camped, they were going to construct a bier, large and strong enough to carry an injured dragon.

  Phaer sat outside the caravan, accompanied only by his bow and arrows. He began some shooting practise, picking out distant targets, increasing the difficulty with every shot. Fatigue didn't seem to be affecting his aim.

  I'm really on form today, he decided, impressed. He settled into a steady rhythm, allowing his mind to relax and let go, his shooting becoming an unconscious reflex. The headaches faded, the nausea receded and he felt simultaneously more alert and more relaxed than he had at any time since meeting Eilidh. Not that it was her fault, of course. He liked Eilidh, and he missed her. The voices in his head sympathised with his worry that he may never see his friend again.

  Oh yes, the voices were still there, but at least they were being constructive. Some discussed matters of love, although the half-elf thought the word `love` held connotations beyond what applied to his friendship with the Catalyst girl. Others were keen to give him pointers on bow technique, advice which he took on board and indeed he could see the merit of these suggestions. He was shooting further than he ever had before and he hadn't missed once yet. He picked out a rabbit, dead on the forest floor, most likely killed by some predator before it in turn was chased away by something larger and more fearsome. Phaer felt the target come to him as he steadied his hands. He took his time, drew back slowly and finally let go. He followed his arrow's flight with his eyes and his mind as if in slow motion. It cleared branches and leaves, making not a sound as it disturbed the air at little as possible. At last, the arrow dropped low, skimmed the rabbit's fur, pierced cleanly through its neck and pinned it to a tree.

  Phaer sat back, stunned as his perception of the world around him returned to normal. He slowed his rapid pulse, taking slow, deep breaths. That shot wasn't just difficult, it wasn't even merely unlikely. That shot was impossible. It was outside the range of his bow, but quite apart from that, how could he even have seen the rabbit? It was much too far away, and he couldn't see it now.

  Without thinking, he jumped down from the caravan and sprinted into the trees in the direction of his shot. He had to see it up close: see it, feel it, smell it. He had to know if it was real. He didn't bother calling out for someone to accompany him - he knew there was no
way the Knights would let him out of their sight. He wasn't wrong. A trio of Knight Scouts hurried after him, exchanging veiled worried glances about this half-elf who had clearly lost his mind.

  Phaer abandoned his elven grace in favour of some human brute force, attacking the area like a whirlwind, trying to find something he knew could not be there, and yet he also knew it was.

  “What are you looking for?” asked one of the Knights.

  “A rabbit. A small, brown rabbit pinned to the bottom of a tree trunk with an arrow.” It took some searching, but they found it. It was there; it was real. Phaer showed the arrow's fletching to the perplexed Knights, comparing it to his own - it was identical. The evidence was conclusive: Phaer had shot the rabbit from a truly impossible distance.

  “But how?” demanded Supreme Knight Commander, Sir Marcus Braithwaite, when one of the scouts had gone to fetch him.

  “Actually, sir, I'm not exactly sure,” Phaer replied. “But never mind that now, I’ve got something more important to tell you. I've remembered something!”

  “And what might that be?” “Sir, I know what we need to stop the dragon predator.” Phaer exclaimed, talking rapidly as if desperate to get the words out in the shortest time possible. “No, sorry. Not stop it, but slow it down, keep it at bay long enough to get Callie to safety. That's the aim for the moment, right?”

  “Alright, I'm listening.” “Good, because I need something. Something important.” His head was feeling fuzzy again, the pain beginning to return. “I need to go back and get what we left behind. I don't know how or why yet, but it's vital, do you understand? Absolutely vital!” He caught himself mid-rant and added a “Sir” for good measure.