Look at what Goblin wrote for me! ^____^
Sep. 1st, 2006 06:39 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maderrI am spoiled rotten.
Black Magic: To The Future! (Or Something. Slightly Grey Magic, Perhaps.)
Teryn winced as he stumbled over a rock he had not seen in the dark. The moon was at her zenith but clouds continued to float across her face, obscuring the light. The road was uneven and his legs were still wobbly after running for so long. The muscles in his calves burned. The life of a scholar, he contemplated, was not supposed to involve so much running. Only now did he feel safe enough to slow down. The men chasing him would surely have given up.
Gingerly, he touched a hand to his bruised face, cursing softly when he realized the reason his vision was so poor was not because of the deepening twilight, but because one eye had already swollen shut.
North, he thought wearily. I must go North. Outside of this thought, his mind was curiously blank. He pulled his cloak tighter about himself, shivering. Cold.
Except for that thought. Teryn sighed and shivered again. He had dropped most of his supplies when the men attacked him, including the small flagon of holy water. Long hours of cold awaited him until he was able to make it to the next temple.
Teryn sighed. Assuming he did not run into any more unfriendly townsfolk. Here in the borderlands between the North, where Necromancers and the Goddess ruled and the South, where alchemy held sway, magic of any sort was both hated and feared.
The only ones exempt are the priests, Teryn thought sourly. The corners of his mouth twisted down in a scowl. He had been destined for the priesthood, once. But that was before... everything. Before his parents had died, before the ghosts had come. Before his Uncle.
Abruptly, Teryn's shoulders sagged. Just keep going, he thought. That was all he could do now: put one foot in front of the other. North.
His Uncle had died so he could go North. There was a Paladin, he had said. A Paladin and a Necromancer. They would need his help, because he was the only one who could help now.
Teryn closed his eyes at the sudden grief. His Uncle was supposed to have been the one to go. Teryn was still only an apprentice. He wasn't strong enough. And he was cold, always cold.
He remembered his Uncle, hunched over a simmering cauldron. "Try this one," he would say, and Teryn would obediently take a sip. Sometimes he would be warm for a minute, sometimes and hour. But each time the sensation faded, and his Uncle would mutter to himself and retire to his library while Teryn shivered in the workroom and wondered what drove his Uncle to constantly search for a cure.
Then, a few days ago, his Uncle had received a letter from a colleague in the North. He had seemed agitated, excited. His Uncle had left without telling anyone where he was going and returned later in the day, arms laden with old books, and locked himself in the library. He remained there for the next two days. At the end of the second day, he had emerged to dine with Teryn. Teryn still remembered the strange look on his Uncle's face, as he stood staring at his young apprentice.
"There is a solution," he had said simply. "I... there is some reading you must do. The books I brought home today will help you understand. In the beginning, it was different. Things... have been lost."
"Uncle?" he remembered asking, unsure where this was headed. "What has been lost?"
His Uncle had frowned. "The truth. I must go North, into the former King Rofell's lands.” His uncle had said the name distastefully. “My assistance is needed to break a seal. I must... also discover if my readings were correct."
Teryn had been confused. "Rofell? Seal? What readings? Uncle," he had said, with fond exasperation. He was well used to his Uncle giving answers before explanations.
His Uncle had been about to reply when they both heard a shriek from the courtyard and then the pounding of many sets of boots across the stones.
His Uncle's eyes had cut swiftly to the door then back to Teryn. "As I feared.” He rose from the table. “Teryn, go quickly and gather all the important things from your room. Now," he had said sharply, at Teryn's look of protest.
Teryn swiftly obeyed, dashing through the kitchens and up the stairs to his room. Below, he could hear the hall door splinter under the pounding of soldiers outside. His Uncle's voice rose above the din and Teryn's face blanched, recognizing the spell his Uncle cast, the sick smell of the released potion reaching him even up here. They were in true danger.
He had sprinted down the stairs, clutching his satchel. "Uncle!"
He remembered how his Uncle had turned slowly, haltingly toward him. The bodies of a dozen soldiers lay writhing on the floor.
"Quickly, let us go," Teryn had panted. "More will arrive--" And then he had seen the dagger buried in his Uncle's chest, blood soaking the front of the pale blue robes, staining the bottom of his Uncle's long beard.
"Uncle," he choked. His Uncle steadied himself on the edge of the banister. "Teryn," he had coughed, "you must go North. Seek out the Paladin Sorin and the--" He coughed again, and this time blood flecked his moustache. "The Necromancer... his companion."
Teryn had felt frozen with shock. "Uncle... I can't--"
"GO!" His Uncle had shouted. "Go now!"
Fear propelled Teryn's feet. With a last desperate glance over his shoulder, he had seen his Uncle stumble into his library. Teryn's heart pounded in his chest as he ran, the satchel banging against the side of the hip. One or two soldiers spotted him fleeing from the back, but Teryn was too fast. Terror gave his feet wings.
An explosion rocked the house behind him and Teryn stumbled, and then turned. A column of green and purple smoke rose from his Uncle's library. "No!" Teryn had cried. Then another explosion followed, and another, sending up flashes multi-colored light. The house was in flames. He thought he saw a figure in the window, thought he heard a vague shout about paladins and answers and seals, but by then he was too far away. Another explosion ripped through the house. Glass shattered and the figure at the window disappeared.
Teryn had bit back a sob, turned, and continued running. North, his mind howled.
A few days later, he had come across a town with a dark aura. He thought he might stop and see if he could help. The aura was very sad, and it had called to him even from the road. Sometimes, it meant there was a ghost. After… his parents had died, he had found he could talk with ghosts. Sometimes, when he did, they were happy and they could leave. He had been confused at first by his abilities. His Uncle had been upset. After that, he had continued to try and find a solution for Teryn’s sometimes frightening powers. And the cold. Teryn had read enough books to realize what he had become: a necromancer. A spirit-talker. He shivered again.
When he had gone into the town, the villagers had taken one look at him and the men attacked. During the struggle, he managed to slip out of the grip of the man holding him. He had run as though the demons of hell were nipping at his heels.
Which brought him back to the present. His head hung down, nearly touching his chest, and he trudged along, occasionally sniffing back tears. He had not allowed himself to cry yet. He wiped his nose with one grimy hand. No sleep and no bath for nearly three days. He could barely stay on his feet. As if his body agreed, he stumbled again.
How far had he traveled? Surely he was in the Northern kingdoms by now. His father had been from the North. He was a priest of the Goddess. One of his journeys had brought him south, where he met the beautiful daughter of a local Lord. He stayed.
Teryn felt a familiar clench in his chest when he thought of his parents. He remembered his mother, so vibrant and talented, standing over steaming cauldrons as she worked long hours alongside Uncle. Her beautiful dark hair was always pulled away from her face. And no matter how much time she spent in the damp, smelly potions room, her hair had always smelled of lavender. And his father, so solemn, but so good, ever dutiful to his wife and son. When they were alive Teryn had never been cold. And then... Teryn closed off the memory.
Where was he? His vision wavered. An owl hooted softly as it flew by overhead. He wondered if he would run across the ghost of another murdered traveler tonight. He hoped not. He did not think he had the energy to fend one off. He was freezing. Why was it always so cold?
Up ahead, he could see a fork in the road, and a sign sitting in the middle. He half expected the weathered letters would say, “Go Home, Fool.” Or perhaps “500 Miles Until 500 More Miles.” When he finally reached it, however, the sign informed him was that one unknown town would be to the right and another to the left. Their names were not familiar. He would never make it. With a defeated sigh, he leaned against the signpost and let himself slide to the ground. He felt colder than ever before, like his bones were made of snow.
It couldn't hurt to close his eyes, he thought. Just for moment.
A sound on the path to the left caught his attention. His eyes snapped open. Please, not a ghost.
The steady beat of hoof steps reached his ears. Then a rider rounded the trees.
Not a ghost, he though. An angel. A dark angel. The man atop the horse was dressed in shining shoulder armor and a rich cloak. It gleamed in the moonlight with a holy glow. Even the horse, black and sleek, seemed illuminated. The man's dark hair ruffled around his face in the night breeze. It was slightly curly and framed his face. The man looked just like the pictures of the Holy Ones in his father's books. He looked quite a few years older than Teryn, and battle-hardened.
"Ho, there!" The rider called. Teryn tried to reply, but found that his voice had deserted him. His throat felt raw and unused, like it did after a spoonful of one of Uncle’s more potent concoctions. He raised a weak hand, but was forced to drop it almost immediately; he did not have the energy to hold it up.
The rider looked concerned. He urged his horse forward and reigned up beside Teryn with a muttered, "Whoa." Teryn watched with some trepidation as the man dismounted gracefully and walked toward him. Just a few more feet, and he would see Teryn's face in the moonlight. The gaunt features, the sharp cheekbones, the nearly white hair. And Teryn's eyes, blue so light they were almost clear. All of it would mark him for what he was.
Teryn was right. As the man drew closer, his dark eyes widened. "By the Lady!" he exclaimed, and quickly made a sign to ward off evil. Teryn squeezed his eyes shut to hold back the flow of tears. He had never met another necromancer, but he knew they were reviled, even in the North, the land they came from. For some reason, beyond the Southern borders Necromancers were almost unheard of. Teryn sighed. Yet everywhere they were despised.
But the man's next words startled him. "Lady's Teat, boy, what are you doing out here alone at this hour?" He sounded almost angry.
Teryn opened his mouth to reply when he was suddenly slammed with deep warmth.
"Ah!" he cried softly. It was almost too much--white hot, burning, spilling out in waves from the man before him. He whimpered. Why was this man so warm? What did it mean?
"Well?" the man demanded, cutting the air with an impatient gesture. "I asked you a question, boy!" He did not appear to be accustomed to waiting.
A spark of anger ignited in Teryn's belly. He was bone-chilled and tired and starving and this person towering over him was Not Helping.
"And I have yet to answer it," he snapped, finding his voice, and was then immediately horrified. What if this man, this much larger man, decided that he wouldn't mind teaching a filthy necromancer a lesson, late at night on a deserted road? Teryn knew he would not be able to run fast enough to outpace a man on horseback. He was so sore and tired he could barely move fast enough to outpace a snail.
The man's face was apoplectic, then suddenly the anger drained from his expression and a mocking half smile tilted his lips. "Balls," he acknowledged. "I'm Zaede. Who're you?" He glared, making it quite clear that this time he really wanted an answer.
Dead, thought Teryn with a mental gulp. "T-Teryn," he managed. The longer the man stood there, the warmer Teryn found himself.
"You're Southern," the man grunted. "You're pretty far north, boy."
"I am from the Borderlands," Teryn corrected. "And I am not a boy."
The man--Zaede, his mind supplied--snorted. "You can't be any older than twenty turns, or I eat my boot."
Teryn found he still had the energy to glare. "Twenty my next Namingday."
"Thought so," Zaede replied smugly. "Now, why are you here alone? These roads aren't safe. Men loyal to Rofell still wander."
Teryn jumped at the name. "Rofell?" he asked urgently. "Am I in Rofell's kingdom?"
Zaede's eyes narrowed. "No. And never will you be."
Teryn felt his stomach drop. "But I must find the Paladin!"
Zaede's face took on a curious expression. "What Paladin?"
"The Paladin called Sorin," Teryn said desperately. "Please. His companion is a Necromancer. I must help them break the seal." Suddenly, Teryn felt himself hauled to his feet, Zaede's face inches from his own.
"How did you know about that?" the man asked fiercely, giving Teryn a shake. Searing warmth radiated from where his hands were fisted in Teryn's robes and Teryn gasped. His feet were dangling above the ground.
"My-my Uncle sent me," he stammered.
Zaede's eyes narrowed further and Teryn did not think he had ever met anyone so dangerous in his life. Even the power of his Uncle was nothing compared to the white-hot flames of magic that Teryn could feel arcing off Zaede's skin.
"What is your Uncle's name?"
"Jythal of Redon," Teryn replied, starting to feel a little faint from all the heat.
Zaede slammed him against the signpost. "Liar! Jythal is dead," he snarled.
Teryn shut his eyes, felt a sob trying to claw up his throat. He knew. Intellectually, he knew his Uncle must be dead. Between the soldiers and the fire, there was no way he could have survived. But, a tiny part of his mind whispered, you always thought he was invincible, didn't you? Tears leaked from the corners of his tightly closed eyes.
The grip on his robes loosened and he felt his feet touch the ground again.
"Jythal is dead," Zaede repeated.
Teryn opened his eyes. "I know. He saved me, so that I might escape."
Zaede appeared to consider this. "He had no family. They died when the demons--"
"Please," Teryn interrupted. "I know how they died." His voice cracked alarmingly on the last word. "I... did not."
Zaede looked him up and down and Teryn wondered what he saw. Teryn’s hood had fallen down in the scuffle and his nearly white hair spilled over his shoulders. The two black streaks at his temples were the only reminder he had of its original color.
"Hm," was all Zaede said. He let go of Teryn's robes and took a step back. A small part of Teryn cried out for the loss of warmth.
"So the old man had a nephew. And I take it you trained with him." It wasn't really a question, but Teryn felt compelled to answer.
"Yes," he replied. "How is it that you know of my Uncle?"
Zaede snorted and adjusted the scabbard at his waist. "Your Uncle was a shrewd man. He had many allies in the North."
Teryn found this hard to believe. "Are you certain we are talking about the same Jythal of Redon?" He had thought his Uncle very removed from the lands to the North and their politics. It seemed there was much about his Uncle that he had not known.
Zaede's smile was mocking again. "I'm sure. Short fellow, long beard? Always smelled like he'd been rolling in something dead?
Teryn recalled the jars and jars of preserved animal parts that had lined his Uncle's shelves. "Ye-es," he said cautiously.
"Must be him," Zaede said. "I was sorry to hear he finally went to the big cauldron in the sky."
"I--what? Teryn said, too stunned by the man's impropriety to think of a more intelligent reply. "What!? He felt the stirrings of rage.
"You know, wherever it is old devils like him go. May he bubble in peace."
"How dare you!" Teryn yelled, momentarily forgetting how cold and hungry and tired he was. He forgot his grief and his fear. Everything crystallized into a bright hate for this man who could be so callous about his Uncle's death. Without realizing what he was doing, he launched himself at Zaede, getting in a wild punch. His fist connected with a loud smacking sound before he realized that he had overshot himself. The momentum carried him forward and he landed in the dirt with an undignified grunt. He quickly hauled himself up. He stood across from Zaede, panting, his hands balled into shaky fists.
Zaede stood there, rubbing his jaw. "Not bad. For a boy."
"Argh!" Teryn said, launching himself at Zaede again. He put all of his grief and anger into the punch, aiming for Zaede's stomach. His fist connected.
"OW!" Teryn cried, pulling back his hand and cradling it to his chest. Zaede was still rubbing his jaw.
"Usually the punchee is supposed to say that," he stated calmly.
Teryn glared. That man's stomach was like granite!
"Now, don't you feel better?" Zaede continued. "Got that all that darkness out of our spirit, hm?"
Teryn's jaw dropped. Zaede was right. He did feel better. His blood was singing, he was still warm, and he had forgotten--for a few minutes--the past several days. However, that did not mean he was happy with the way Zaede had gone about "helping" him. He dropped his hands to his side, still glaring.
"You were disrespectful of my Uncle."
Zaede waved a hand dismissively. "He wouldn't have cared. The old man liked a good joke."
"That is not the point." Teryn's skin was hot and prickly. The feeling of being warm was still so unusual. He shook his head to clear it.
Zaede studied him for a long moment. Teryn's chest was heaving, adrenaline still coursing through his veins. He knew his hair must be in tangles and his pale skin flushed.
Finally, Zaede nodded slightly. "I'm sorry. Now, what about this paladin?"
Teryn's energy evaporated. His legs were suddenly very weak. His knees buckled and he closed his eyes as he prepared himself for the inevitable impact when his face became better acquainted with the dirt. He opened his eyes when that didn't happen. Two strong arms had captured him around the waist and were hauling him back to his feet. That was a stupid idea because his legs would only take a nap again. He lifted his head to say so and noticed the very concerned look on Zaede's face. Steady, pulsing warmth enveloped him, and it took all of Teryn's willpower not to sigh dreamily.
"I think maybe we should head to the nearest village, so you can get some rest." Zaede's voice sounded very contrite, but Teryn was having difficulty keeping his eyes open.
He nodded wearily. "I have been... traveling for some time." He tried to rouse himself. "But I cannot stop for long. I must find the Paladin Sorin."
Zaede chuckled. "Don't worry. I'll help you. It's never very hard for one paladin to find another."
Teryn's eyes opened wide. "You are a paladin as well?" He had never seen a paladin before. He remembered the stories his father had told. Paladins carried the will of the Goddess. They were to be respected and feared. And... something else, but he was so tired, and he had been so young…
Zaede nodded, his grin cocky. "Of course. That's why it's safe for me to travel out here alone."
Teryn mumbled a reply that even he did not understand.
"Just how long has it been since you slept?" Zaede asked, tilting his head. He was letting Teryn lean heavily against his side as he guided them both toward the horse.
"Mm, two--three?" said Teryn.
"What, days?" Zaede asked incredulously, coming to a stop. Teryn nearly fell over and Zaede caught him again, this time pulling him close to his broad chest. Teryn rested one cheek against the warmth, and this time he did sigh.
"Mm, I think so. Can't remember." He didn't see Zaede roll his eyes.
"Sorin mentioned something about necromancers and their silly, self-sacrificing ways," the paladin muttered.
"Eh?" Teryn inquired, not quite registering the comment.
"Nothing, let's get you on this horse." Before Teryn could reply, Zaede picked him up with apparent ease and slung him over his left shoulder. Teryn gave a muffled grunt of protest and then clutched at Zaede for dear life when the other man put his right foot in the stirrup and swung them both up and onto the horse's back. The horse stayed perfectly still and Teryn made a mental note to feed it lots of hay and oats later.
Once they were situated, Zaede helped Teryn slide down from his shoulders so that Teryn found himself sitting face to face with Zaede, his legs slung haphazardly over Zaede's thighs.
"Um," said Teryn.
"Turn around," said Zaede, and Teryn thought he must have imagined the strained note in Zaede's voice. After some wiggling, he managed to maneuver himself around so that his back was to Zaede's chest and his legs were draped in the proper position over each side of a horse.
Then Zaede's arms came around his waist and he was pulled very snugly against the paladin. "Um," Teryn began again, hoping to at least get farther this time, but then his body was flooded with warmth and his eyes drifted shut in bliss.
Zaede clicked his tongue and shook the reigns and the horse started off at a gentle trot.
"Wait until I tell Sorin I've got one of my own, now."
Leaning back against Zaede’s chest, Teryn decided he would figure out what exactly that meant later. Much later. After sleep.
Black Magic: To The Future! (Or Something. Slightly Grey Magic, Perhaps.)
Teryn winced as he stumbled over a rock he had not seen in the dark. The moon was at her zenith but clouds continued to float across her face, obscuring the light. The road was uneven and his legs were still wobbly after running for so long. The muscles in his calves burned. The life of a scholar, he contemplated, was not supposed to involve so much running. Only now did he feel safe enough to slow down. The men chasing him would surely have given up.
Gingerly, he touched a hand to his bruised face, cursing softly when he realized the reason his vision was so poor was not because of the deepening twilight, but because one eye had already swollen shut.
North, he thought wearily. I must go North. Outside of this thought, his mind was curiously blank. He pulled his cloak tighter about himself, shivering. Cold.
Except for that thought. Teryn sighed and shivered again. He had dropped most of his supplies when the men attacked him, including the small flagon of holy water. Long hours of cold awaited him until he was able to make it to the next temple.
Teryn sighed. Assuming he did not run into any more unfriendly townsfolk. Here in the borderlands between the North, where Necromancers and the Goddess ruled and the South, where alchemy held sway, magic of any sort was both hated and feared.
The only ones exempt are the priests, Teryn thought sourly. The corners of his mouth twisted down in a scowl. He had been destined for the priesthood, once. But that was before... everything. Before his parents had died, before the ghosts had come. Before his Uncle.
Abruptly, Teryn's shoulders sagged. Just keep going, he thought. That was all he could do now: put one foot in front of the other. North.
His Uncle had died so he could go North. There was a Paladin, he had said. A Paladin and a Necromancer. They would need his help, because he was the only one who could help now.
Teryn closed his eyes at the sudden grief. His Uncle was supposed to have been the one to go. Teryn was still only an apprentice. He wasn't strong enough. And he was cold, always cold.
He remembered his Uncle, hunched over a simmering cauldron. "Try this one," he would say, and Teryn would obediently take a sip. Sometimes he would be warm for a minute, sometimes and hour. But each time the sensation faded, and his Uncle would mutter to himself and retire to his library while Teryn shivered in the workroom and wondered what drove his Uncle to constantly search for a cure.
Then, a few days ago, his Uncle had received a letter from a colleague in the North. He had seemed agitated, excited. His Uncle had left without telling anyone where he was going and returned later in the day, arms laden with old books, and locked himself in the library. He remained there for the next two days. At the end of the second day, he had emerged to dine with Teryn. Teryn still remembered the strange look on his Uncle's face, as he stood staring at his young apprentice.
"There is a solution," he had said simply. "I... there is some reading you must do. The books I brought home today will help you understand. In the beginning, it was different. Things... have been lost."
"Uncle?" he remembered asking, unsure where this was headed. "What has been lost?"
His Uncle had frowned. "The truth. I must go North, into the former King Rofell's lands.” His uncle had said the name distastefully. “My assistance is needed to break a seal. I must... also discover if my readings were correct."
Teryn had been confused. "Rofell? Seal? What readings? Uncle," he had said, with fond exasperation. He was well used to his Uncle giving answers before explanations.
His Uncle had been about to reply when they both heard a shriek from the courtyard and then the pounding of many sets of boots across the stones.
His Uncle's eyes had cut swiftly to the door then back to Teryn. "As I feared.” He rose from the table. “Teryn, go quickly and gather all the important things from your room. Now," he had said sharply, at Teryn's look of protest.
Teryn swiftly obeyed, dashing through the kitchens and up the stairs to his room. Below, he could hear the hall door splinter under the pounding of soldiers outside. His Uncle's voice rose above the din and Teryn's face blanched, recognizing the spell his Uncle cast, the sick smell of the released potion reaching him even up here. They were in true danger.
He had sprinted down the stairs, clutching his satchel. "Uncle!"
He remembered how his Uncle had turned slowly, haltingly toward him. The bodies of a dozen soldiers lay writhing on the floor.
"Quickly, let us go," Teryn had panted. "More will arrive--" And then he had seen the dagger buried in his Uncle's chest, blood soaking the front of the pale blue robes, staining the bottom of his Uncle's long beard.
"Uncle," he choked. His Uncle steadied himself on the edge of the banister. "Teryn," he had coughed, "you must go North. Seek out the Paladin Sorin and the--" He coughed again, and this time blood flecked his moustache. "The Necromancer... his companion."
Teryn had felt frozen with shock. "Uncle... I can't--"
"GO!" His Uncle had shouted. "Go now!"
Fear propelled Teryn's feet. With a last desperate glance over his shoulder, he had seen his Uncle stumble into his library. Teryn's heart pounded in his chest as he ran, the satchel banging against the side of the hip. One or two soldiers spotted him fleeing from the back, but Teryn was too fast. Terror gave his feet wings.
An explosion rocked the house behind him and Teryn stumbled, and then turned. A column of green and purple smoke rose from his Uncle's library. "No!" Teryn had cried. Then another explosion followed, and another, sending up flashes multi-colored light. The house was in flames. He thought he saw a figure in the window, thought he heard a vague shout about paladins and answers and seals, but by then he was too far away. Another explosion ripped through the house. Glass shattered and the figure at the window disappeared.
Teryn had bit back a sob, turned, and continued running. North, his mind howled.
A few days later, he had come across a town with a dark aura. He thought he might stop and see if he could help. The aura was very sad, and it had called to him even from the road. Sometimes, it meant there was a ghost. After… his parents had died, he had found he could talk with ghosts. Sometimes, when he did, they were happy and they could leave. He had been confused at first by his abilities. His Uncle had been upset. After that, he had continued to try and find a solution for Teryn’s sometimes frightening powers. And the cold. Teryn had read enough books to realize what he had become: a necromancer. A spirit-talker. He shivered again.
When he had gone into the town, the villagers had taken one look at him and the men attacked. During the struggle, he managed to slip out of the grip of the man holding him. He had run as though the demons of hell were nipping at his heels.
Which brought him back to the present. His head hung down, nearly touching his chest, and he trudged along, occasionally sniffing back tears. He had not allowed himself to cry yet. He wiped his nose with one grimy hand. No sleep and no bath for nearly three days. He could barely stay on his feet. As if his body agreed, he stumbled again.
How far had he traveled? Surely he was in the Northern kingdoms by now. His father had been from the North. He was a priest of the Goddess. One of his journeys had brought him south, where he met the beautiful daughter of a local Lord. He stayed.
Teryn felt a familiar clench in his chest when he thought of his parents. He remembered his mother, so vibrant and talented, standing over steaming cauldrons as she worked long hours alongside Uncle. Her beautiful dark hair was always pulled away from her face. And no matter how much time she spent in the damp, smelly potions room, her hair had always smelled of lavender. And his father, so solemn, but so good, ever dutiful to his wife and son. When they were alive Teryn had never been cold. And then... Teryn closed off the memory.
Where was he? His vision wavered. An owl hooted softly as it flew by overhead. He wondered if he would run across the ghost of another murdered traveler tonight. He hoped not. He did not think he had the energy to fend one off. He was freezing. Why was it always so cold?
Up ahead, he could see a fork in the road, and a sign sitting in the middle. He half expected the weathered letters would say, “Go Home, Fool.” Or perhaps “500 Miles Until 500 More Miles.” When he finally reached it, however, the sign informed him was that one unknown town would be to the right and another to the left. Their names were not familiar. He would never make it. With a defeated sigh, he leaned against the signpost and let himself slide to the ground. He felt colder than ever before, like his bones were made of snow.
It couldn't hurt to close his eyes, he thought. Just for moment.
A sound on the path to the left caught his attention. His eyes snapped open. Please, not a ghost.
The steady beat of hoof steps reached his ears. Then a rider rounded the trees.
Not a ghost, he though. An angel. A dark angel. The man atop the horse was dressed in shining shoulder armor and a rich cloak. It gleamed in the moonlight with a holy glow. Even the horse, black and sleek, seemed illuminated. The man's dark hair ruffled around his face in the night breeze. It was slightly curly and framed his face. The man looked just like the pictures of the Holy Ones in his father's books. He looked quite a few years older than Teryn, and battle-hardened.
"Ho, there!" The rider called. Teryn tried to reply, but found that his voice had deserted him. His throat felt raw and unused, like it did after a spoonful of one of Uncle’s more potent concoctions. He raised a weak hand, but was forced to drop it almost immediately; he did not have the energy to hold it up.
The rider looked concerned. He urged his horse forward and reigned up beside Teryn with a muttered, "Whoa." Teryn watched with some trepidation as the man dismounted gracefully and walked toward him. Just a few more feet, and he would see Teryn's face in the moonlight. The gaunt features, the sharp cheekbones, the nearly white hair. And Teryn's eyes, blue so light they were almost clear. All of it would mark him for what he was.
Teryn was right. As the man drew closer, his dark eyes widened. "By the Lady!" he exclaimed, and quickly made a sign to ward off evil. Teryn squeezed his eyes shut to hold back the flow of tears. He had never met another necromancer, but he knew they were reviled, even in the North, the land they came from. For some reason, beyond the Southern borders Necromancers were almost unheard of. Teryn sighed. Yet everywhere they were despised.
But the man's next words startled him. "Lady's Teat, boy, what are you doing out here alone at this hour?" He sounded almost angry.
Teryn opened his mouth to reply when he was suddenly slammed with deep warmth.
"Ah!" he cried softly. It was almost too much--white hot, burning, spilling out in waves from the man before him. He whimpered. Why was this man so warm? What did it mean?
"Well?" the man demanded, cutting the air with an impatient gesture. "I asked you a question, boy!" He did not appear to be accustomed to waiting.
A spark of anger ignited in Teryn's belly. He was bone-chilled and tired and starving and this person towering over him was Not Helping.
"And I have yet to answer it," he snapped, finding his voice, and was then immediately horrified. What if this man, this much larger man, decided that he wouldn't mind teaching a filthy necromancer a lesson, late at night on a deserted road? Teryn knew he would not be able to run fast enough to outpace a man on horseback. He was so sore and tired he could barely move fast enough to outpace a snail.
The man's face was apoplectic, then suddenly the anger drained from his expression and a mocking half smile tilted his lips. "Balls," he acknowledged. "I'm Zaede. Who're you?" He glared, making it quite clear that this time he really wanted an answer.
Dead, thought Teryn with a mental gulp. "T-Teryn," he managed. The longer the man stood there, the warmer Teryn found himself.
"You're Southern," the man grunted. "You're pretty far north, boy."
"I am from the Borderlands," Teryn corrected. "And I am not a boy."
The man--Zaede, his mind supplied--snorted. "You can't be any older than twenty turns, or I eat my boot."
Teryn found he still had the energy to glare. "Twenty my next Namingday."
"Thought so," Zaede replied smugly. "Now, why are you here alone? These roads aren't safe. Men loyal to Rofell still wander."
Teryn jumped at the name. "Rofell?" he asked urgently. "Am I in Rofell's kingdom?"
Zaede's eyes narrowed. "No. And never will you be."
Teryn felt his stomach drop. "But I must find the Paladin!"
Zaede's face took on a curious expression. "What Paladin?"
"The Paladin called Sorin," Teryn said desperately. "Please. His companion is a Necromancer. I must help them break the seal." Suddenly, Teryn felt himself hauled to his feet, Zaede's face inches from his own.
"How did you know about that?" the man asked fiercely, giving Teryn a shake. Searing warmth radiated from where his hands were fisted in Teryn's robes and Teryn gasped. His feet were dangling above the ground.
"My-my Uncle sent me," he stammered.
Zaede's eyes narrowed further and Teryn did not think he had ever met anyone so dangerous in his life. Even the power of his Uncle was nothing compared to the white-hot flames of magic that Teryn could feel arcing off Zaede's skin.
"What is your Uncle's name?"
"Jythal of Redon," Teryn replied, starting to feel a little faint from all the heat.
Zaede slammed him against the signpost. "Liar! Jythal is dead," he snarled.
Teryn shut his eyes, felt a sob trying to claw up his throat. He knew. Intellectually, he knew his Uncle must be dead. Between the soldiers and the fire, there was no way he could have survived. But, a tiny part of his mind whispered, you always thought he was invincible, didn't you? Tears leaked from the corners of his tightly closed eyes.
The grip on his robes loosened and he felt his feet touch the ground again.
"Jythal is dead," Zaede repeated.
Teryn opened his eyes. "I know. He saved me, so that I might escape."
Zaede appeared to consider this. "He had no family. They died when the demons--"
"Please," Teryn interrupted. "I know how they died." His voice cracked alarmingly on the last word. "I... did not."
Zaede looked him up and down and Teryn wondered what he saw. Teryn’s hood had fallen down in the scuffle and his nearly white hair spilled over his shoulders. The two black streaks at his temples were the only reminder he had of its original color.
"Hm," was all Zaede said. He let go of Teryn's robes and took a step back. A small part of Teryn cried out for the loss of warmth.
"So the old man had a nephew. And I take it you trained with him." It wasn't really a question, but Teryn felt compelled to answer.
"Yes," he replied. "How is it that you know of my Uncle?"
Zaede snorted and adjusted the scabbard at his waist. "Your Uncle was a shrewd man. He had many allies in the North."
Teryn found this hard to believe. "Are you certain we are talking about the same Jythal of Redon?" He had thought his Uncle very removed from the lands to the North and their politics. It seemed there was much about his Uncle that he had not known.
Zaede's smile was mocking again. "I'm sure. Short fellow, long beard? Always smelled like he'd been rolling in something dead?
Teryn recalled the jars and jars of preserved animal parts that had lined his Uncle's shelves. "Ye-es," he said cautiously.
"Must be him," Zaede said. "I was sorry to hear he finally went to the big cauldron in the sky."
"I--what? Teryn said, too stunned by the man's impropriety to think of a more intelligent reply. "What!? He felt the stirrings of rage.
"You know, wherever it is old devils like him go. May he bubble in peace."
"How dare you!" Teryn yelled, momentarily forgetting how cold and hungry and tired he was. He forgot his grief and his fear. Everything crystallized into a bright hate for this man who could be so callous about his Uncle's death. Without realizing what he was doing, he launched himself at Zaede, getting in a wild punch. His fist connected with a loud smacking sound before he realized that he had overshot himself. The momentum carried him forward and he landed in the dirt with an undignified grunt. He quickly hauled himself up. He stood across from Zaede, panting, his hands balled into shaky fists.
Zaede stood there, rubbing his jaw. "Not bad. For a boy."
"Argh!" Teryn said, launching himself at Zaede again. He put all of his grief and anger into the punch, aiming for Zaede's stomach. His fist connected.
"OW!" Teryn cried, pulling back his hand and cradling it to his chest. Zaede was still rubbing his jaw.
"Usually the punchee is supposed to say that," he stated calmly.
Teryn glared. That man's stomach was like granite!
"Now, don't you feel better?" Zaede continued. "Got that all that darkness out of our spirit, hm?"
Teryn's jaw dropped. Zaede was right. He did feel better. His blood was singing, he was still warm, and he had forgotten--for a few minutes--the past several days. However, that did not mean he was happy with the way Zaede had gone about "helping" him. He dropped his hands to his side, still glaring.
"You were disrespectful of my Uncle."
Zaede waved a hand dismissively. "He wouldn't have cared. The old man liked a good joke."
"That is not the point." Teryn's skin was hot and prickly. The feeling of being warm was still so unusual. He shook his head to clear it.
Zaede studied him for a long moment. Teryn's chest was heaving, adrenaline still coursing through his veins. He knew his hair must be in tangles and his pale skin flushed.
Finally, Zaede nodded slightly. "I'm sorry. Now, what about this paladin?"
Teryn's energy evaporated. His legs were suddenly very weak. His knees buckled and he closed his eyes as he prepared himself for the inevitable impact when his face became better acquainted with the dirt. He opened his eyes when that didn't happen. Two strong arms had captured him around the waist and were hauling him back to his feet. That was a stupid idea because his legs would only take a nap again. He lifted his head to say so and noticed the very concerned look on Zaede's face. Steady, pulsing warmth enveloped him, and it took all of Teryn's willpower not to sigh dreamily.
"I think maybe we should head to the nearest village, so you can get some rest." Zaede's voice sounded very contrite, but Teryn was having difficulty keeping his eyes open.
He nodded wearily. "I have been... traveling for some time." He tried to rouse himself. "But I cannot stop for long. I must find the Paladin Sorin."
Zaede chuckled. "Don't worry. I'll help you. It's never very hard for one paladin to find another."
Teryn's eyes opened wide. "You are a paladin as well?" He had never seen a paladin before. He remembered the stories his father had told. Paladins carried the will of the Goddess. They were to be respected and feared. And... something else, but he was so tired, and he had been so young…
Zaede nodded, his grin cocky. "Of course. That's why it's safe for me to travel out here alone."
Teryn mumbled a reply that even he did not understand.
"Just how long has it been since you slept?" Zaede asked, tilting his head. He was letting Teryn lean heavily against his side as he guided them both toward the horse.
"Mm, two--three?" said Teryn.
"What, days?" Zaede asked incredulously, coming to a stop. Teryn nearly fell over and Zaede caught him again, this time pulling him close to his broad chest. Teryn rested one cheek against the warmth, and this time he did sigh.
"Mm, I think so. Can't remember." He didn't see Zaede roll his eyes.
"Sorin mentioned something about necromancers and their silly, self-sacrificing ways," the paladin muttered.
"Eh?" Teryn inquired, not quite registering the comment.
"Nothing, let's get you on this horse." Before Teryn could reply, Zaede picked him up with apparent ease and slung him over his left shoulder. Teryn gave a muffled grunt of protest and then clutched at Zaede for dear life when the other man put his right foot in the stirrup and swung them both up and onto the horse's back. The horse stayed perfectly still and Teryn made a mental note to feed it lots of hay and oats later.
Once they were situated, Zaede helped Teryn slide down from his shoulders so that Teryn found himself sitting face to face with Zaede, his legs slung haphazardly over Zaede's thighs.
"Um," said Teryn.
"Turn around," said Zaede, and Teryn thought he must have imagined the strained note in Zaede's voice. After some wiggling, he managed to maneuver himself around so that his back was to Zaede's chest and his legs were draped in the proper position over each side of a horse.
Then Zaede's arms came around his waist and he was pulled very snugly against the paladin. "Um," Teryn began again, hoping to at least get farther this time, but then his body was flooded with warmth and his eyes drifted shut in bliss.
Zaede clicked his tongue and shook the reigns and the horse started off at a gentle trot.
"Wait until I tell Sorin I've got one of my own, now."
Leaning back against Zaede’s chest, Teryn decided he would figure out what exactly that meant later. Much later. After sleep.
