Falling back, he watched as Garec fired into the creature as quickly as he could draw and release; shaft after shaft passed through the almor’s frame. And as he fell outside the demon’s grasp, Steven felt the blast of Gilmour’s magic slam into the monster, opening the wound further and casting the creature off the cliff and down to the forest below. It screamed inside Steven’s head as it fell, the terrified roar of a god’s fall, an immortal seeing the ash-grey face of mortality.
The force of the almor’s savage grasp tearing itself from Steven’s mind caused him to roll over and vomit repeatedly into the dirt. He felt the creature slam into the rocks below. It was a surprisingly soft thud. Then it was gone.
Steven’s head swam as he fell in and out of consciousness. He had done it. He had challenged and bested the demon. Dazed, he managed a smile – and realised Mark was supporting his head and shoulders. ‘Do not try that at home, boys and girls,’ he mumbled.
Mark laughed, a nervous chuckle to mask his fear and exhaustion. His voice cracked as he asked, ‘You reckless bastard, do you need some water? What can we get for you? Anything?’
He tried to give his roommate a drink from Garec’s wineskin, but Steven shook his head. ‘Need?’ he rambled on, delirious, in English. ‘Need? I need to go home. I need a howitzer, the defensive squad of the New York Giants and a tactical nuclear weapon. We’ll show that Nerak a thing or two.’
Garec leaned down to offer the young foreigner his hand. ‘Can you stand?’
‘Sure, I can stand,’ Steven looked up into the faces of his newfound companions. The relief in their eyes was in such contrast to the stark fear he had seen there only moments earlier, he decided that alone was worth the risk he had taken in summoning the almor to the surface.
‘I can stand,’ he repeated shakily, then passed out on the dusty, rock-strewn trail.
When Steven woke again, it was dark. He rolled over to find Gilmour sitting near a small campfire. Around him, the others slept, breathing the steady rhythm of those who were troubled by nothing. As he sat up, he found they were once again camped on the flat surface of the landing. Gilmour waved him over nearer the fire.
‘We’re back up here,’ Steven observed, stretching.
‘It was the safest place for all of us,’ Gilmour replied. ‘Brynne, Sallax and Mark had a long night reaching the ridge-trail. You slept most of the day.’
‘Versen?’ Steven asked, fearing the worst.
‘They’re not sure what happened. No one saw him taken by the almor, but then again, no one saw him along the trail either.’ Gilmour filled his pipe bowl with tobacco. ‘We will return to camp tomorrow morning to see if we can find his remains.’
Steven nodded, then changed the subject. ‘You know that staff is magic.’
‘I do,’ the old man confirmed, ‘but I have no idea where it comes from. It is not familiar to me. It’s not mentioned in any of the scrolls or spells I have studied for the past nine hundred and eighty Twinmoons. It is either very, very old, or essentially brand-new.’
‘Seems strange.’
‘If there’s anything I’ve learned, Steven, it’s that if it seems strange, it’s probably strange.’
‘You should wield it,’ Steven said. ‘Think of how powerful it would be in your hands. You’re the sorcerer, after all.’
‘It would do nothing in my hands, Steven. It chose you.’
‘Chose me?’
‘Of course. We both know there were no hickory trees in that valley. That staff found you, a half instant before you desperately needed it.’ He tossed a big chunk of bark onto the fire. ‘It found you for some reason, Steven, but I don’t know what it is.’
‘Why did it shatter that night but remain intact today?’
‘The power of the magic you wield.’
‘I don’t wield any magic,’ Steven said.
‘Sure you do. We all do.’ He thought for a moment, then asked, ‘Tell me, what did you feel the night you killed the Seron?’
‘Hatred,’ Steven said, remembering the experience with pain. ‘Hatred, and maybe fear that I might not make it home alive.’
‘And what did you feel today?’
He thought back to the moments before he challenged the almor to confront him one-on-one. ‘I suppose I felt fear and embarrassment, frustration and a lack of control.’ He hesitated a moment. ‘And cowardice. Mostly that. I felt acutely aware of twenty-eight years of cowardice.’
‘But that’s not all you felt,’ Gilmour said, guiding his thoughts. ‘At whom were these emotions directed today?’
‘At no one. It wasn’t like the Seron warriors. They were easy to hate. Today was different. Today, I was angry that we were all standing there waiting for one of us to die so the others would be able to pinpoint the threat.’ He reached for a wineskin, but it was empty, so he tossed it back to the ground. ‘I felt as though I needed to be the one killed so you all might live.’
‘Compassion?’
‘No. More like inadequacy. I looked around myself and thought, “Whose is the most expendable soul?” and I answered the same way.’
‘Yours.’
‘Yes, mine.’
‘So, compassion.’
‘I suppose so,’ Steven agreed. ‘That got me started, anyway. From there, all those other emotions took over and my course of action was inevitable.’
‘That, Steven Taylor, is the secret of your magic,’ Gilmour grinned, firelight dancing in his eyes. ‘You killed the Seron warriors out of fear for your own life. I heard you shouting, “We might not make it”, again and again. Today, you fought for others. Granted, your emotions were still very powerful, but today, you fought the way the staff wants you to fight, with compassion.’
‘It’s strange you describe it that way, Gilmour, because after killing the Seron, I promised myself I would never be so merciless again.’ Steven peered off into the distant Blackstones as something began to form in his mind. ‘I was angry with myself, because anyone incapable of mercy is the most evil enemy we can face. That night, I became that person.’
‘And your magic weapon shattered with the effort.’
Steven nodded before going on, ‘But today, it remained intact. It allowed me to funnel all that emotion into one furious strike at the almor.’
‘Because you were acting out of compassion. Today, you were not afraid for your life. There was nothing selfish in your actions.’
‘I suppose I was hoping to trade my life for yours.’ He peered around the campsite at the bodies thrown into sharp relief by the flickering campfire. ‘And theirs.’
‘Well, my boy, that is your first lesson in the use and appreciation of magic.’ Gilmour reached for a saddlebag. ‘Come, sit down here. You must be hungry.’
Back along the ridge trail, Jacrys kneeled down in the dirt where the battle had taken place. He dabbed his fingers in the thick, foul-smelling gore, the almor’s vital fluids. The young stranger was braver and more powerful than the spy had imagined. And although he was glad to see another of Malagon’s disgusting pets destroyed, Jacrys felt a momentary lapse in his confidence. The old sorcerer was surrounded by a skilled group of killers, which would make Jacrys’s task much more complicated. They had defeated the Seron beasts; now they had killed an almor. He had never heard of anyone killing an almor. Historically, the creatures could only be banished by the combined resources of powerful magicians and mystics – never by ordinary people, let alone one man or woman. That was impossible. Jacrys considered the dilemma another moment, then hurried along the ridge into the night.
Later, the dream came again; Steven watched it unfold on the broad canvas of his mind. It was the same Friday afternoon, and once again he was joking with Howard and Myrna about his own passion for maths and her passion for Ja?germeister. He watched himself come out of his office and catch her trying to fit diameter lengths around a circle. She was organising it incorrectly, but he didn’t tell her; it was fun to watch her struggle with knowledge she had learned in high school but assumed she would never apply. The circle itself was no help: she needed to use the shape to construct a rectangle. He demonstrated it once when Howard ordered pizza for lunch. ‘Like giant teeth,’ he explained. ‘Organise the pizza slices across from one another. What do they form? A makeshift parallelogram. Now, imagine ten million tiny pizza slices organised in the same area. What do they form?’