Chapter 16: Helpless
Blyord climbed the circular stone stairs to his tower, so
preoccupied with his thoughts of Ely and the sword, he did not take his usual
pause at the circular, glass-less portals that looked out in each direction at various
points in his climb.
They had come to a moment in time when things became
dangerous and unpredictable, when choices made would completely change the direction
of the world, for good or ill, choices Ely would need to make, as well as those
for Blyord. Both needed to choose with whom their loyalties lie. Ely needed to
decide if he loved Amlor or the sorcerer from Taffar. Blyord needed to determine
if he served as the king’s counselor or Ely’s.
The hundred circular steps concluded at a thick oak door
with a heavy metal lock, sealed with spells that Blyord had not created, yet
served him well as he spoke the elven words and the door opened before him.
He had chosen this place because of the elves, this chamber
and the vast library of elven scrolls to which it connected, perhaps the only
surviving library of its kind to be found, the tower and the kingdom keeping the
mobs of witch haters from burning it the way they had other such places along
the shores of the gulf during the run up and aftermath of the wars of Enchantment.
And Blyord had great need of it.
What he knew of the world, he had learned here, after much
hardship finding it.
People called him a wizard, which could have been his demise
as well when the mobs rioted and threw down people of magic.
He was no wizard; he was something much worse, more
threatening, and so alien, people would have burned him more quickly than any
witch.
His ability to hide his true self and to reach the ear of king
after king of this land had kept him safe from the mobs. Due to its remote
location and the stern nature of its people, no riots had taken place here.
But Amlor – due partly to the residue of its former elven occupants
– had not embraced sorcery the way the rest of the gulf had and so found no
need to cast it down.
The world had found Amlor too intimidating and too remote to
bother with and allowed the cold nation of mountains and stone to go its own
way – not to mention general knowledge that the sword of Suna rested here.
But current events had changed this – and precisely because
of that sword.
Powers in the south wanted to bring it forth, and this
disturbed Blyord greatly.
He closed and locked the door behind him. The clink of armor
from the guards the king has sent to watch him remained at the bottom of the
stair. There was no other exit, and the guards saw no need to climb up all
those stairs to keep watch on an old man none believed had power to leave.
His chambers looked even more sparce than those that held
Ely elsewhere in the castle, sparce by choice, a simple cot, a table with candle
holder and a nearby shelf with additional candles. A small hearth in the corner
provided the room with heat. A few hooks with a heavy winter cloak and additional
robes hung to one side of the door, under which sat a set of boots and another
pair of sandals.
Elf monks had spent their lives in this space, scripting out
the books and scrolls that occupied and massive chambers beyond another even
more heavily spell-fortified door, the spells of which the last elf of the
north had parted him with, long, long ago. Yet for all his time here, studying
what the masters had written, Blyord still knew very little because there was
so much to learn.
This might have remained his life’s ambitions, to hide
himself here in study, had the world not become so utterly complex, and if not
for the machinations of other powers who had finally after centuries become
aware of him.
He knew who they were long before they discovered him, and
it was a discovery that had sent reverberations through the whole world of
magic, a being who was not like them, who they knew nothing of, and whom their
spells – to date – had yet to bring down.
Blyord made his way to the table where a scroll rested, a scroll
he had studied with diligence, a rare scroll depicting some of the thinking of
the elves in their later days, and their fear about the sword. They believed
the sword was key to the reincarnation of Suna, not in spirit, but in the flesh,
a god returned in full glory to continue what he had tried to accomplish when
the elves and others slew him, a sword towards which all of the dark powers of
witchcraft had become focused, to regain it and to draw from it the power Suna
had endowed it all those many years ago.
Keeping it here unused in Amlor was their idea. Blyord
simply gave this same counsel to subsequent kings after the last elf vacated.
Blyord sat himself on the low stool, lighted the candle and
read the manuscript again, slowly, carefully, even though its words and meaning
had already etched themselves into his memory.
The sword must never leave Amlor, the elves concluded. It
never occurred to them that other powers, unable convince kings to bring the sword
to them might decide to come and get it for themselves – the real reason for
the advancing Htam’s armies, inspired no doubt by the evil priests – who seek
to raise a god from the dead.
And yet, for all that, the sword may not be in Amlor when
they arrive.
Another force, equally powerful, was influencing Ely to take
up the sword himself, curse or no curse, oath or no oath. And while Blyord
opposed the move, he knew very well a small nudge would send Ely to retrieve
it, altering an already unstable situation in the world.
Blyord, for all the knowledge in his head and in the room
beyond his chambers, was helpless to stop him.
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