Deah Vole might have walked into them unknowingly. Wolk must be on edge if he used a cloaking spell this far from people. Still, he was proved right when Artus and Deah Vole followed them. How would he have known? Unless Macelan is telling him. Has Macelan returned already? How should the subject be approached? Gerrand would want to know.
"Here is some stew. I will free your hands, but be forewarned. There is a spell around you that will snap tight, cutting off your air should you try to move beyond this circle of logs. Do you understand?"
"I do."
Wolk freed him and watched Artus dig into the stew with his hand. Artus felt as if he had not eaten in a week.
"Tastes like my stew."
"It is yours. I found your cooking pot wrapped in your saddlebag. Much tastier than mine. You must share the recipe with me."
"As soon as I get home, I will send it to you."
Wolk smiled at Artus. "When we reach our destination you will give me everything you know."
"I thought you said it will be my choice to follow you or not."
"That is true. However, I shall still remove any interesting information from your mind and I shall enjoy the process. You will not. Eat up; you will need your strength."
Wolk left Artus to eat in silence. Artus looked around the camp. The shadowy shapes that he had seen when Wolk attacked seemed to linger just beyond his sight. At first, he thought them to be the men with Wolk, but they were all around the campfire. What were the beings around the perimeter of the camp?
He thought of Deah Vole and hoped the man would survive. Perhaps he would prove tougher than Wolk expected, but Artus remembered all the blood pouring from Deah's chest. He shook his head. He was alone. Still, the stew tasted excellent and would strengthen him. In the days to come, he knew he would desperately need that strength and perhaps more.
Artus' dreams that night proved the worst of his life. Thunder roared through his mind filling all crevices and corners with a throbbing pain. Waves of blood washed over him. He climbed a tree, slippery with blood. Splinters of wood bit his fingers and tore at his face. He fell and fell and fell, landing sudden on a soft bed. Light flared around him and he heard the hissing of the serpents. Snakes of magic bored through his eyes devouring his gray matter. He opened his mouth to scream but blood flowed out like water over a dam, spreading across the ground. The level rose and rose until he had to stretch to keep his chin above the blood, still more poured out of his mouth. He started to gag.
Wolk shook him awake.
"Artus! Are you all right? You were having a bad dream."
"You are a bad dream. You and Macelan."
"Ah, I see. Macelan is the key to your feelings toward me. I told you I would need to scour your mind for all the information you have because of Gerrand. You do not know him as I do. You may have spells woven about you of which you are not aware. Gerrand is crafty. He may have told you information then spelled you to suppress the information until he felt you needed it. Has he done so? Why wouldn't he give the information to you instead of weaving it in a spell? Why delay the knowledge? Because he wants you to be beyond turning back when you discover your course of action. Is that not so?" He looked at Artus, seeing the sliver of doubt create its shadow in the young man's mind. Wolk nodded his head.
"Believe me when I say I have no animosity towards you, Artus."
"What about Deah Vole?"
"He has always been a tool of Gerrand's. Gerrand has many tools and all woven with a nasty spell or two. You must realize that Gerrand has spent most of the five hundred years since Macelan's end building his power slowly, subtly. Gerrand had firsthand knowledge of how Macelan stumbled in his quest for power."
"Why didn't Gerrand do something before now? What does he wait for?"
"I do not know Gerrand's mind, I must admit. But Faeya Ryr has a power over him that I did not expect. Perhaps he has fallen to a base
"Here is some stew. I will free your hands, but be forewarned. There is a spell around you that will snap tight, cutting off your air should you try to move beyond this circle of logs. Do you understand?"
"I do."
Wolk freed him and watched Artus dig into the stew with his hand. Artus felt as if he had not eaten in a week.
"Tastes like my stew."
"It is yours. I found your cooking pot wrapped in your saddlebag. Much tastier than mine. You must share the recipe with me."
"As soon as I get home, I will send it to you."
Wolk smiled at Artus. "When we reach our destination you will give me everything you know."
"I thought you said it will be my choice to follow you or not."
"That is true. However, I shall still remove any interesting information from your mind and I shall enjoy the process. You will not. Eat up; you will need your strength."
Wolk left Artus to eat in silence. Artus looked around the camp. The shadowy shapes that he had seen when Wolk attacked seemed to linger just beyond his sight. At first, he thought them to be the men with Wolk, but they were all around the campfire. What were the beings around the perimeter of the camp?
He thought of Deah Vole and hoped the man would survive. Perhaps he would prove tougher than Wolk expected, but Artus remembered all the blood pouring from Deah's chest. He shook his head. He was alone. Still, the stew tasted excellent and would strengthen him. In the days to come, he knew he would desperately need that strength and perhaps more.
Artus' dreams that night proved the worst of his life. Thunder roared through his mind filling all crevices and corners with a throbbing pain. Waves of blood washed over him. He climbed a tree, slippery with blood. Splinters of wood bit his fingers and tore at his face. He fell and fell and fell, landing sudden on a soft bed. Light flared around him and he heard the hissing of the serpents. Snakes of magic bored through his eyes devouring his gray matter. He opened his mouth to scream but blood flowed out like water over a dam, spreading across the ground. The level rose and rose until he had to stretch to keep his chin above the blood, still more poured out of his mouth. He started to gag.
Wolk shook him awake.
"Artus! Are you all right? You were having a bad dream."
"You are a bad dream. You and Macelan."
"Ah, I see. Macelan is the key to your feelings toward me. I told you I would need to scour your mind for all the information you have because of Gerrand. You do not know him as I do. You may have spells woven about you of which you are not aware. Gerrand is crafty. He may have told you information then spelled you to suppress the information until he felt you needed it. Has he done so? Why wouldn't he give the information to you instead of weaving it in a spell? Why delay the knowledge? Because he wants you to be beyond turning back when you discover your course of action. Is that not so?" He looked at Artus, seeing the sliver of doubt create its shadow in the young man's mind. Wolk nodded his head.
"Believe me when I say I have no animosity towards you, Artus."
"What about Deah Vole?"
"He has always been a tool of Gerrand's. Gerrand has many tools and all woven with a nasty spell or two. You must realize that Gerrand has spent most of the five hundred years since Macelan's end building his power slowly, subtly. Gerrand had firsthand knowledge of how Macelan stumbled in his quest for power."
"Why didn't Gerrand do something before now? What does he wait for?"
"I do not know Gerrand's mind, I must admit. But Faeya Ryr has a power over him that I did not expect. Perhaps he has fallen to a base
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