‘Jesus, Garec, didn’t anyone ever tell you not to do that to someone about to challenge a demon to a fistfight?’
‘I want to come.’ He wore his quivers and carried the rosewood bow.
‘I thought you were finished with that thing.’
‘I don’t know when I’ll kill another animal, and I hope to live out my days without ever shooting another person, but this is different. You’re going outside into the snow, Steven, snow. Here in Eldarn, we make our snow out of water.’
Steven chuckled. ‘Yes, us too – but what can you do? Forgive me for being blunt, but you can’t fight it, Garec, and with you out there, I’ll be worried about you and if I’m not paying attention, it may come on us without warning.’
The young man Sallax had once dubbed the Bringer of Death held out his longbow. ‘Remember the cabin? Let’s try again. Maybe it’ll work a second time.’
Steven withheld the magic but reached out with the staff and touched the bow, anyway.
‘Come on,’ Garec chided, ‘do it properly.’
‘I don’t want you out there,’ Steven confessed. ‘This thing is an unholy killer. We already lost Versen to an almor and I’m not about to risk your life, just to have a back up in a one-on-one fight.’
‘Try again,’ Garec insisted, ‘for real this time.’
Steven exhaled and let the magic come; it wasn’t difficult. The staff understood they were about to go into battle and was prepared for his summons. The air around the wooden shaft lit up with mystical energy.
Steven tapped it lightly against Garec’s bow and then against each of the quivers. ‘Anything?’ he asked.
Garec shook his head. ‘Not like before.’
‘Sorry.’
‘No, I’m sorry. I don’t like the idea of you going out there by yourself.’
‘I can only think of about fifteen hundred things I’d rather be doing, but we don’t have a choice. If we leave here tomorrow, it will hit one of us before we reach the top of the staircase. We haven’t been to the stables since this last snowfall. If the horses are still alive, I’d like to know they’ll survive the night as well.’ Steven smiled and said, ‘I won’t be long.’
‘Call out if you need help.’ Garec was serious.
Steven stifled a laugh. ‘Maybe I’ll just toss a few snowballs in that window Gilmour broke when he dived out of here.’
‘Whatever gets our attention.’
‘Good luck.’ Mark came in with Steven’s jacket. He didn’t try to talk Steven out of his decision to face the almor alone. ‘Just remember, you have the magic. I’ve seen it.’
‘Thanks,’ Steven said. ‘Help me with the gate, will you?’
Mark and Garec gripped the wooden handles on either side of the gate that closed the foyer off from the wintry weather, lifted their latches free and pushed, opening a crack just wide enough for Steven to slip out
As the gate slammed shut behind him, Steven took stock. He was protected under a stone archway, his feet safe on dry granite steps. It was too dark to see, never mind to do battle with an otherworldly demon, so Steven gestured with the staff, igniting a bright ball of flame above his head to illuminate the archway and much of the stone walk leading away from the portcullis. A short distance across the lawn he could see a swirling wind pick up wisps of snow, a flurry of tiny tornadoes dancing in the fireball’s light.
All at once he was uncomfortable with what he was about to do – what had seemed like a good idea a few minutes earlier was beginning to unravel in his mind. His clothes were uncomfortable; Howard’s woollen sweater scratched at his neck; it was far too big for him. Even his coat felt like it had grown too large. He thought he might take it off before calling the demon out – one didn’t get in a bar fight in baggy clothes; too much material for some drunk to grip hold of. The almor might somehow grasp the jacket in one of its opaque appendages and use it to hold him fast as it sucked life from his eyes, or maybe out his naveclass="underline" that was where life first went in, wasn’t it?
He slipped the jacket off carefully, always holding onto the hickory staff, and allowed it to fall to the ground behind him, then repeated the process with the sweater until he stood there in the cotton T-shirt he had bought while racing Nerak across the Midwest. He was confident stripping off the layers had been a wise first move; now he nodded towards the staff, summoning forth the magic.
Nothing happened.
‘Ah, shit, not now,’ he said. ‘Talk about the worst possible time to get stage fright.’
And remember, you have the magic, Steven, I’ve seen it. Mark’s words came back to him, confusing him and leaving him feeling vulnerable.
‘Thanks, buddy,’ Steven said, ‘but that wasn’t at all what I needed to hear.’ He gripped the staff more tightly. ‘Come on, baby, light up for me. Let’s go. You and me. Let’s beat this creepy bastard and get in out of the cold.’
Still nothing came from the staff. Steven shivered, wondering if he ought to knock on the gate and wait for his friends to let him back inside. There would be no shame; he wouldn’t go back with his tail between his legs – it took courage even to step foot outside the palace. He had seen how fast the almor could move, and the snowfall meant it could be anywhere, right at the bottom of the steps perhaps.
Steven stood fast and thought about the landfill above Idaho Springs. It would be burned over now, after the forest fire Nerak had brought down the canyon. He had felt so confident that day, certain he understood the Fold and knew how to manipulate it – paint the damned thing yellow if we want to. Why? What about that day had made such sense? He gritted his teeth: perhaps Mark was right and he was as powerful as the staff, more powerful, even.
It would be down to maths, because mathematics could explain anything in any world. Prince Malagon’s lock-box, his Malakasian safe-deposit box, had proved that, and once he knew enough about the Fold to understand it, he could calculate parameters to define it. There would be compassion, because anything less would mean failure; Nerak – in all his forms – would fail in the face of true compassion and mercy. And there would be magic. But which magic? Him or the hickory staff? Maybe the spell table? That question remained to be answered. It was sufficient now that he knew magic would play a role, had to play a role against the combined strength of the Larion sorcerer and his evil captor.
Maths, magic, and compassion were the variables that came to him that afternoon, and at the time it all made sense. He longed now to feel a similar level of confidence as he stood there freezing, trying to find the courage to step into the snow. The key had knocked him over twice that day, dropping him to the icy pavement until he worked out what he was being told. He wished that something would show him the way here; he needed something to reach over and take his knees out from under him. Then he knew he would be able to connect with the hickory staff and defeat the almor.
Steven watched the snow blowing back and forth across the Larion courtyard and realised his fireball was still burning brightly.
‘Wait a minute,’ he said, ‘who turned on the light? Me?’ Did it matter? He had turned the staff in his hands, imagined the size, shape and intensity of the ball, and it had appeared. He had stepped onto the speed bump, and the key had tripped him.
‘Step into the darkness, Steven,’ he smiled. ‘Is it that easy?’
He ignored the cold, took the staff and gestured out of the archway and into the air above the stone walk. The fireball complied, floating effortlessly out until it illuminated the grounds. He knew his ability to see in the dark would have nothing to do with destroying the demon, but old habits died hard; he felt more comfortable risking his life with the lights on.
‘Step into the darkness, Steven,’ he said again. ‘Get the right context, dummy, and don’t trip.’
With that, he breathed out, long and slow, lifted one foot from the safety of the dry stone and stepped into ankle-deep snow. Almost immediately, the staff flared to life and his fireball grew in intensity until he could clearly see the winding staircase, the snowy hillside to the east and the intricate stained-glass window in the huge stone wall that Gilmour had ruined nearly a thousand Twinmoons earlier.