“From my perspective that isn’t all that terrible, you are returned to being your original self and the world gains another benevolent archmage. When was the aystrylin made?” I asked, but even as I spoke I realized my words sounded harsh.
“Several years before Balinthor threatened to destroy the world,” answered the dragon, before continuing, “Think how you would feel if someone threatened to erase, not merely the last few years of your life, but the last millennium. What if you were faced with the possibility of being forced to become an entirely different person? I am happy being what I am now, but break that figurine and you will utterly destroy everything that I am.”
His words had a certain merit to them, but I still had questions, “You said the ‘crudest way possible’… is there another way to use the aystrylin, one that doesn’t destroy your memories?”
“That might be the cruelest fate of all,” he replied. “If I were to voluntarily activate the aystrylin’s magic, it would return me to my prior state, but without destroying my memories. The man I was then would have an entirely different view of the events of the past thousand years. He might not wish to live with such knowledge.”
That reminded me of my own demons. I had wiped out the lives of over thirty thousand men at the conclusion of the war with Gododdin, and that had triggered a wave of sacrifices in the nation itself, as the priests of Mal’goroth murdered the men’s families. There were still nights that I woke sweating at the thought, but I had somehow managed to go on anyway. Even worse, I seemed to be filled with memories of an event that was quite possibly, more horrifying than that, memories so dark that my mind literally refused to look at them.
Gareth Gaelyn had transformed into a dragon to protect his people from the shiggreth, and instead he had destroyed them along with their enemies. Beyond that, I had no idea what small atrocities he might have committed over the intervening millennium since that day.
Dorian put a hand on my shoulder, “This isn’t right, Mort.”
“We can’t let him stay as he is. How many has he killed already?” I argued.
“None… since the day we met, after your battle with the god, and few before then. I have never had much appetite for men,” answered the dragon earnestly.
I waved Dorian away before rising to my feet. I had thrown the stone away, but I held the figurine firmly in my hand. “I don’t give a damn, even one is too many. This is my decision: I will keep your aystrylin, until the day you decide of your own will to accept it and return to your humanity.”
“Never,” interrupted the dragon.
I held up my hand, “Until then you will live by two requirements. You will harm no humans nor damage their livestock, and you will answer my call and obey whatever commands I give you.”
“I would gladly give you my word, if you but return the aystrylin to me,” said the dragon.
“It will remain in my possession to vouchsafe our bargain,” I told him flatly.
Gareth Gaelyn, dragon and archmage, growled menacingly, “You are a thief!”
I held my ground, “Ask me if I give a damn! Now, will you meet my demands, or do I have to destroy this thing?”
A long tense moment passed before he finally lowered his head, “I will obey your commands, under duress. The day you lose sight of my aystrylin I will rip out your heart and feed on your liver.”
“A finer oath I have rarely heard,” I replied dryly. “I do not need your service today, but if I have need of you, how will I call you?”
“Merely touch the aystrylin and speak, I will hear you,” he growled.
“Very well then, you are dismissed, but before you go, you should know one thing,” I said. “You underestimate the strength of the human mind. Your human self could handle a lot more than you give him credit for.”
“I am in a far better position to judge that theory than you are, master,” he responded with a sneer, and then he leapt from the earth on powerful legs, vaulting into the sky. His wings beat powerfully as he gained altitude, sending a howling storm of air and dirt flying around my shield.
Watching him go, I slipped the figurine into one of my special pouches before muttering, “No… I really don’t think you are.”
Chapter 39
A week had passed since my encounter with Gareth Gaelyn and I found myself still restless. I had gone to explore the Gaelyn ruins in Agradden primarily to assuage my feeling of motionlessness, but I had been fooling myself. The true source of my unease was my continuing avoidance of the darker memories contained inside my head.
I had spent several evenings at the Muddy Pig, after the more formal dinner at the castle was finished. Penny hadn’t reproached me on the subject yet, for she usually supported my need for socializing, but I could tell she thought I had spent entirely too many evenings there that week. One or two… that was fine, four or five… and it was apparent I was brooding or possibly depressed.
Even my newfound drinking companion, the huntsman Chad Grayson, had noticed my darker mood. “Are you going to stare into that empty cup all night?” he asked me acerbically. He almost never bothered using the proper honorifics when addressing me, which suited me just fine.
“What else should I do with an empty cup?” I asked, in a half-hearted attempt at wit.
“If you’d let go of it long enough, the barmaid might be persuaded to fill it for you. She keeps watchin’ for the chance, but you’ve not let go of it yet,” he replied blandly.
Cyhan was sitting on the other side of me and he chose that moment to interject, “That’s your biggest problem half the time.” It was the longest sentence he had offered up all evening, a sure sign that he’d had more to drink than usual.
I showed him my grumpy face, “I didn’t come down here to have you two catalog my faults.”
“Didn’t say it was necessarily a fault,” answered the veteran knight, “… just that it was a problem half the time.”
“Me hanging onto my cup is a frequent problem?”
Chad spoke then, “Don’t be daft, he means your habit of holding onto everything.”
Cyhan nodded in agreement.
“Alright, fine!” I said suddenly, “Maybe you two geniuses can find the answer to my problem.”
The master huntsman replied, “Better’n you mopin’ about it all the damn time.” Cyhan merely grunted.
I had already had several cups of wine, or I’d not have been so forthcoming. “I need something, but I can’t see it or look at it directly. I know it’s there, but I can’t grab it with my own two hands.”
Cyhan snorted, “Wizard problems,” dismissing the conversation.
Chad was not so quick to surrender, “Maybe, but there’s often more than one way to skin a cat,” he told the bigger man. Focusing on me he said, “Is this some magic thing or something more run of the mill?”
I took a sip of my newly filled cup. “What do you consider run of the mill?”
“Like wantin’ to tup the barmaid without the wife catchin’ on,” he elaborated.
Looking at my words from that angle, I could see how something like that might fit them, so I decided to clarify things for him, “It isn’t a woman and it isn’t really magic, though it’s related to magic in the end… it’s information. I know where it lies, but I can’t look at it myself. It’s like a book sitting on my desk, but I can’t read it, whenever I try my eyes close, whether I want them to or not.”
“Get someone else to read it for you,” said Cyhan, before setting his cup down and resting his head in both hands. He had definitely drunk more than was wise.