Roger Taylor - The Return of the Sword

‘I told you, I don’t know. I know so very little about my gift. That’s why I’m here, searching.’

‘You wish to go there again?’

Antyr did not speak for a long time. ‘It’s not a place where people belong. It’s not a place we can begin to comprehend.’

‘Then why are you searching?’ There was a penetrating coldness in the question. Both Yatsu and Jaldaric flinched slightly, seeing their travelling companion thus pinioned.

Antyr lowered his eyes for a moment. When he raised them, it was Andawyr who found himself transfixed. ‘Because something is wrong. Something is flawed. He was there too. Ivaroth’s Earth Holder, with his corruption and his awful power. And others. How he had come there I don’t know. Perhaps it was through me, perhaps through Ivaroth, perhaps through some unknowable conjunction of the two of us. But it shouldn’t have been. Yet he was there, and in search of still more power. He was possessed by a desire to rend and destroy all that he saw and reshape it after his own way.’

Despite the bright sunlight being carried into the room by the mirror stones, Antyr’s face was drawn and grim.

‘Yatsu said that you “dealt with” this man,’ Andawyr said. ‘Unusually for a Goraidin, that had a hint of euphemism about it.’

‘I dealt with him,’ Antyr replied flatly. ‘And Ivaroth too. For he was there also.’ He frowned. ‘I’ve learned so much about myself. And not all of it’s been to my liking.’ For a moment it seemed that he was going to break down, but he composed himself. ‘Ivaroth I killed in the way men kill. He attacked me and I was lucky. He died on the knife of one of his own victims. The blind man…’ He shook his head. ‘For an instant he was my Earth Holder, he became me, and I him, as is the way. And in that instant I understood him. Saw to the heart of him. Saw the tortured route he had followed, the desires that bound him. And when he attacked me I returned his own power, his own inner knowledge of himself, to him. In pity, you understand, not malice. But it destroyed him. Sent him to places beyond this world.’

Andawyr glanced at Yatsu who answered his question before it was asked.

‘Ivaroth’s body was found, but there was no sign of the blind man. But he existed all right. Many people saw him. And it seems he knew how to use the Power and use it well.’

‘He’d been taught.’

It was Antyr. Andawyr turned to him sharply.

‘What I learned from him faded almost immediately. It always does. But some impressions lingered, for what they’re worth. Someone, at some time, loomed large in his life – literally – a tall, powerful figure – someone who held him in thrall with the knowledge and the promise of power he offered. And whatever took his sight was… a great light, or…’ He searched for a word. ‘… something that was torn from him, something that was bound to him in the deepest way.’ He nodded. ‘Yes. It was a loss. A terrible, wrenching loss.’

‘You sound almost sorry for him,’ Yatsu said.

‘How could I not be?’ Antyr replied without hesitation. ‘Who am I to say that I might not have travelled his way in his circumstances? You’re a soldier, you understand that. But sorrow for how he came to be as he was gave me no qualms then about what I did to him, nor does it now. I’d have had it otherwise but I’d no choice. He was evil beyond imagining. Removal from this world was all that was left for him, for all our sakes.’

There was a long silence. Attention turned to Andawyr who was looking out at the sunlit valley. ‘Twice now you’ve referred to him as being gone from this world.’ He turned and smiled slightly. ‘Have you picked up our Goraidin’s unexpected flair for euphemism?’

There was enough humour in his tone to lighten the dark atmosphere that had crept over the group. Antyr returned it.

‘No. I’ve picked up their painful insistence on accuracy. I don’t know whether the man’s dead or not. He was just gone from where we were. And gone from this world. He was no longer a threat. And he was hurt – badly hurt. That I do know.’

Andawyr’s eyes narrowed. ‘So many, many questions,’ he said. ‘I can see why you’d feel the need to seek help.’ He gave a rueful laugh. ‘It would be much easier for us all if we could just declare that you’re rambling due to a sickness of the mind, but I fear you’re all too sane. And, in any case, I’d have you stay here if only to find out more about your splendid Companions.’ He clapped his hands and just managed to restrain himself from reaching down to stroke the two wolves. ‘You’re welcome to stay here as long as you wish, though I’d feel obliged to warn you that while you’re sane now, you might well not be after dealing with our incessant questioning.’

‘That’s true,’ Yatsu muttered.

Before Andawyr could respond to the taunt, Antyr said, ‘I doubt you can ask as many questions as I’ve asked myself, but I appreciate your kindness and thank you for it. I’d welcome the opportunity to learn more about who I am and what’s happened. Not only because of my ignorance about my own abilities, but because there were others as evil as he bound in that place…’ He stopped.

‘And?’ Andawyr prompted.

‘As I said, something’s wrong. While I was there I “saw” something which has been returning to me constantly, and which disturbs me in a way I can’t explain. It’s as though I’ve seen a hurt deep in the heart of the way the world itself is made.’

Andawyr had been about to rise but he froze as Antyr spoke. The coincidence of Antyr’s words with his own recent concerns suddenly made him feel afraid.

‘Finish your tale, Antyr,’ he said quietly. ‘I shouldn’t have interrupted you. Tell us about this… hurt… you found, and the others you saw there.’

Both Grayle and Tarrian opened their eyes and looked at him.

‘I saw no one. Only the blind man. The others I heard. Voices ringing around and through me.’ Instinctively Antyr wrapped his arms about himself as the memory of their cold presence returned to him. ‘They were captive there, they said. Chained by others, long ago. Others like me. For using – misusing – what they called the true power. They called me an Adept – cried the word out in a frenzy. They were waiting for the blind man to bring me to them. They needed me so that they could be free again – free to move amongst the Threshold worlds – to wreak vengeance. Their ambition was the same as the blind man’s – to destroy everything and to remake it in a fashion of their own.’

He chuckled humourlessly. ‘Somehow, I defied them, or rather I spoke defiantly to them. Threatened them with the name they’d given me and added my own personal menace as best I could. “I am an Adept of the White Way. Heir to those who bound you here.”’ He shrugged, then curled his lip in a self-deprecating sneer. ‘Whistling in the dark, I suppose. It had as much effect as it would on you. I was less than an apprentice, they told me. As if I didn’t realize that for myself. A thing of clay and dross with the merest spark of past greatness in me.’ Antyr paused, mulling over the cold dismissal, still vividly with him. Then a flicker of triumph displaced his bitter sneer. ‘Still, I defeated them. When the blind man fell, they fell with him. Bound again by their own malevolence.’

He looked at Andawyr. ‘But they’re still there. Still festering, waiting, until some other innocent stumbles upon them. Someone less fortunate than I was. And they told me there were others, too; that their punishment was but part of a greater ill and that they were only the vanguard for the reshaping that was to come.’

Andawyr waited for a moment, unsettled by this eerie tale, then asked again, as casually as he could. ‘And the hurt you thought you saw. The hurt deep within the world.’