child. He didn’t know what the precise nature of this danger was; all he knew was that if he didn’t get back to Scotland soon, Odara would die.
The cobblestone streets were empty and covered
with several inches of fresh snow. It had been coming down steadily since Erfurt and showed no indication of letting up.
It was near dusk, and Fergus and Dreng were exhausted. They 64
Odara
had been traveling all day in the cold, and Fergus’s bones and muscles ached with stiffness.
He removed his gauntlets and rubbed his hands
together briskly. They were red and numb. He had lost the feeling in them and his feet over an hour ago. As desperate as he was to return to Scotland, he knew he had no choice but to rest and start back fi rst thing in the morning. Neither he nor Dreng would have a chance against the storm in the night.
He alighted from Dreng pale and weary, feeling faint.
He leaned on the horse and rested his head on the saddle for a moment. “Oh, Odara,” he moaned. “If only I were with you now. . .”
But he wasn’t, and that wasn’t going to change anytime soon; perhaps not soon enough.
Fergus rented a stable and a room for the night at the local Gasthof where he indulged in a hearty meal of roast pig, vegetables, ale, and cake. According to the Magi, the pork, ale, and cake were taboo for Fergus, but after experiencing the premonition about Odara, he decided to abandon the retreat.
He had considered the possibility that the Magi were testing him by sending him the premonition or, more likely, actually jeopardizing Odara’s life. In either case, he was turning back at dawn. Odara was far too important to him to allow even the Magi to take her from him, and if his disobedience to them meant his perdition, so be it.
*****
That night, as Fergus readied himself for bed, the Magi contacted him again. There were no nose bleeds or red eyes; there was no pain. That had only occurred that fi rst time they made contact in Rome. His body had acclimated itself to such invasions of power, especially now, since much of that power emanated from within himself. The Magi were strong, but Fergus was strong too, almost as strong as the 65
The Necromancer
Magi themselves. This time they appeared to him, visible to the naked eye: three hairless men in radiant, sky-blue robes, accompanied by an intoxicating musical undertone.
“Neglect not your duties, Fergus,” They said . “To return to your homeland now would mean to forfeit all you have toiled for.”
“I must return,” Fergus replied. “The lives of my wife and child are in the gravest of danger. I have sensed it strongly.”
“Do you know the risks of abandoning the Great Work?”
“Aye. I do. But I cannot allow any harm to befall Odara. She is my wife, my sister, and my closest friend. I love her, and I must do everything in my power to see that she is safe and well.”
“If you turn back now, you shall forever be cast out from before Us. You shall become a Brother of Darkness and forever an enemy of the Hidden Realm.”
“I do not wish to be Your enemy, nor a Brother
of Darkness, but what choice have I? If I do not return to Scotland, I fear my wife and child shall surely die.”
“Does not your oath to Us have weight enough for you to proceed with your undertakings in Our Order?”
“I cannot continue with the journey.”
“That is your decision?”
“Aye. It is.”
“That is unfortunate. You had such promise, now wasted.”
“I shall remain righteous and faithful to the precepts of the Order.”
“You have made your decision. Lest you continue on your journey to the Orient, you shall surely become a Brother of Darkness.”
66
Odara
“I insist I will not.”
“Do what you will. You have chosen.”
The Magi faded away, leaving the room stark and
silent. Fergus retired for the evening, too exhausted for even a visitation from the Magi to excite him enough to delay his slumber. He was troubled, but nodded off to sleep a few
The cobblestone streets were empty and covered
with several inches of fresh snow. It had been coming down steadily since Erfurt and showed no indication of letting up.
It was near dusk, and Fergus and Dreng were exhausted. They 64
Odara
had been traveling all day in the cold, and Fergus’s bones and muscles ached with stiffness.
He removed his gauntlets and rubbed his hands
together briskly. They were red and numb. He had lost the feeling in them and his feet over an hour ago. As desperate as he was to return to Scotland, he knew he had no choice but to rest and start back fi rst thing in the morning. Neither he nor Dreng would have a chance against the storm in the night.
He alighted from Dreng pale and weary, feeling faint.
He leaned on the horse and rested his head on the saddle for a moment. “Oh, Odara,” he moaned. “If only I were with you now. . .”
But he wasn’t, and that wasn’t going to change anytime soon; perhaps not soon enough.
Fergus rented a stable and a room for the night at the local Gasthof where he indulged in a hearty meal of roast pig, vegetables, ale, and cake. According to the Magi, the pork, ale, and cake were taboo for Fergus, but after experiencing the premonition about Odara, he decided to abandon the retreat.
He had considered the possibility that the Magi were testing him by sending him the premonition or, more likely, actually jeopardizing Odara’s life. In either case, he was turning back at dawn. Odara was far too important to him to allow even the Magi to take her from him, and if his disobedience to them meant his perdition, so be it.
*****
That night, as Fergus readied himself for bed, the Magi contacted him again. There were no nose bleeds or red eyes; there was no pain. That had only occurred that fi rst time they made contact in Rome. His body had acclimated itself to such invasions of power, especially now, since much of that power emanated from within himself. The Magi were strong, but Fergus was strong too, almost as strong as the 65
The Necromancer
Magi themselves. This time they appeared to him, visible to the naked eye: three hairless men in radiant, sky-blue robes, accompanied by an intoxicating musical undertone.
“Neglect not your duties, Fergus,” They said . “To return to your homeland now would mean to forfeit all you have toiled for.”
“I must return,” Fergus replied. “The lives of my wife and child are in the gravest of danger. I have sensed it strongly.”
“Do you know the risks of abandoning the Great Work?”
“Aye. I do. But I cannot allow any harm to befall Odara. She is my wife, my sister, and my closest friend. I love her, and I must do everything in my power to see that she is safe and well.”
“If you turn back now, you shall forever be cast out from before Us. You shall become a Brother of Darkness and forever an enemy of the Hidden Realm.”
“I do not wish to be Your enemy, nor a Brother
of Darkness, but what choice have I? If I do not return to Scotland, I fear my wife and child shall surely die.”
“Does not your oath to Us have weight enough for you to proceed with your undertakings in Our Order?”
“I cannot continue with the journey.”
“That is your decision?”
“Aye. It is.”
“That is unfortunate. You had such promise, now wasted.”
“I shall remain righteous and faithful to the precepts of the Order.”
“You have made your decision. Lest you continue on your journey to the Orient, you shall surely become a Brother of Darkness.”
66
Odara
“I insist I will not.”
“Do what you will. You have chosen.”
The Magi faded away, leaving the room stark and
silent. Fergus retired for the evening, too exhausted for even a visitation from the Magi to excite him enough to delay his slumber. He was troubled, but nodded off to sleep a few
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