Galaphile, p.25
Galaphile, page 25
Parkinch Alicorn was Human as well—a tall, spare man who wore a long gray cloak hanging loose about his shoulders and open down the front. With the cloak folded tight, he disappeared. Something about the nature of the cloth enabled this, or perhaps something about whatever magic he possessed. But one moment he would be standing there, and the next he would be gone completely. It was uncanny how swiftly and smoothly he employed this trick. He could exercise his talent faster than Galaphile could track it. Parkinch was quiet and withdrawn but clearly capable.
Chelm (bearing one name only), on the other hand, was a complete mystery. Galaphile could not even determine the exact nature of his species, as he appeared to be an unsettling conglomeration of several. He seemed to be a mix of Dwarf and Gnome, but he might have been something more. He was both lumpy and muscular, his body bent at odd angles in several places, yet his gaze was so razor-sharp and knowing, it alone gave him a formidable presence. He also didn’t speak—ever. Not even a word. Maybe he could but simply chose not to, or maybe he was unable. Whatever the case, when Galaphile asked about the nature of his magic, Chelm simply gestured quickly in response, and Galaphile’s mind went completely blank. He forgot what he was trying to do and found himself staring mindlessly into space. It took several minutes for his mind to clear and his memory of the incident to return.
However, the presence of three new magicians—useful as their talents might be—was hardly enough to defend the rapidly growing fortress when the need to do so arose once more. Yes, they would help, but they were far from enough. They were what he had to supplement his own magic, though, so unless he could find a way to obtain other magicians with his insubstantial funds, his hopes for a significant defensive force of magic users seemed doomed. And for the moment, he was forced to pay his new recruits less than he would have liked, promising them he would do better when he could.
He would have to pose the question of salary to Nirianne. She was always good at finding solutions to things that troubled him. But on this one, even she came up blank.
* * *
—
Nirianne, meanwhile, was undergoing a crisis of her own. It was her own personal nightmare, and she couldn’t tell any of it to Galaphile.
For a time, she believed she had put her kidnapping and imprisonment behind her. She was happy in her new married life, both with her partner and with her involvement in the construction of the citadel. Her life held the purpose she had always desired, and thoughts of her nemesis and the shard of darkness he had left in her head had drifted far enough away that they were mostly memories she could push aside.
But then came the night all that changed. One minute she was drifting off to sleep beside Galaphile, and the next she was back inside the prison she thought she had escaped. She was secured by chains to an all-too-familiar wall, watching as her former captor approached. And without being able to stop it from happening, she felt him take her hands and hold them in his own. She cringed at his touch and fought to break away, yet found herself firmly held in place. Her enemy spoke no words; there were no sounds at all. But she knew at once what he was thinking:
That she belonged now to him. That she would never again belong to Galaphile. That she must excise Galaphile from her heart.
She wanted to deny him, to scream at him in furious anger, to make him realize that he was wrong. But she could not manage any of that, so she simply lay there silently, listening to him in horror as he bent close and kissed her cheek.
His thoughts were clear. He had infected her with dark magic and she could never escape its hold on her. Forever after, he would be present inside her, and she would be his slave from here forward. His voice would always be present, demanding that she listen. She would be told to do things, and she would be compelled to do them. She would serve as his eyes and ears. She would reveal everything she saw or learned should he demand it. Worse, she would keep all of what was happening to herself. She could never reveal his presence to anyone—especially Galaphile. Her husband must know nothing of what was happening.
No, she thought. No one can do this to me. No one can control me as you think you can. I will never be your slave!
Perhaps, if she wished for it, she could make herself strong enough to banish him. But she wasn’t sure. She could not seem to do so now, even though she was trying. She kept remembering what it had been like as his prisoner: How he controlled her even when she resisted, how she felt his magic overpower and possess her on countless occasions. A part of her knew it could be that way again, whether she wished it or not. That it would always be that way.
No wonder he had let them leave his fortress—which she now knew he called Skull Mountain—so easily. The goal had never been to keep her. It had been to infect her, then send her back as his spy. And she and Galaphile had fulfilled their parts perfectly.
Another surge of rage went through her. All she had ever wanted was a life under her own control, and now that was denied to her—perhaps eternally.
She lashed out against his power once more, but he slapped her down quickly. Again, his thoughts were clear. All attempts at resistance or refusal would result in punishment. Try to subvert his will, to resist his demands, or to reveal his presence to a single person and she would experience this:
For the first time, an inexorable wash of pain surged through her body, sudden and unbearable. She felt herself trying to thrash back against it, but she could not even manage to move. She felt herself try to scream and couldn’t. She lacked any ability to control her body or use her voice. Everything was happening solely in her mind, and her physical self, while racked with excruciating pain, was frozen in place. Wave upon wave of agony ripped through her helpless body until all she wanted to do was die.
When she was just short of lapsing into mindless nonexistence, the attack on her body ended and she was left shuddering and gasping—in her mind anyway—and fighting to banish the memory of what had been done to her.
His thoughts intruded anew. This would be her only warning. This was what she would experience if she defied him. Her life was completely under his control. She would do as she was told. She would provide him with the information he asked for when it was requested. She would pay attention to Galaphile’s words and actions and reveal them all. She would look and listen and report everything to him.
Or more pain would follow.
After a brief pause, he made her aware of a name. He was the Spectre Telle, and he was her new master.
And then he was gone, and she was in her bed with Galaphile once more, shocked and appalled. Her first impulse was to tell her husband everything, but then she remembered how this creature had made her feel a pain so agonizing that she longed for death and paused. Somehow, she would have to find another way around this problem. But where was she to find the help she needed if she could not speak of what had been done to her? Nor did she think she could disobey this Spectre Telle’s demands; she could not tolerate that sort of pain a second time, even if it meant betraying Galaphile. But she also could not stand the thought of betraying Galaphile. So she must find another way. She must use her wits to find a way out of this horrendous situation.
But how?
She wished more than anything that she had told Galaphile about this earlier, before they wed, when she might have had the chance—but the Spectre Telle probably would have found some way to prevent that then, too.
She lay in agony, the physical pain gone, but the mental torture just beginning.
* * *
—
A few more months passed, and the new year dawned. Trips out of the valley slowed and then ceased altogether with the coming of the second year of snows. And with the halt in building materials coming in, construction shut down for a time. When spring arrived and the roads cleared, the construction resumed. The basement sections had been completed, and the outer walls and gates were nearly at their full height.
Then a band of Gnome hunters, whose supplies must have been running low, attempted a series of raids on their stores and work animals, and while little was actually taken or damaged, Galaphile was again reminded of how vulnerable his position on the high bluff continued to be. This wasn’t the first or even the tenth time such attempts had been made, but it did reinforce the need for a larger, stronger guard force to protect the supplies and weapons.
This meant that he needed to attempt another journey into the Westland to speak with the Elven King and seek support for his efforts, as his last one had been derailed by Nirianne’s capture. He hadn’t given a return trip much thought after that, but now it was time. Even if the site was now safer, he still needed trained fighters. And the best of the best came from the Elven nation.
After all, as the man in black had shown him, any future attacks might be less about petty supplies and more about a bid for power. The higher the fortress rose, the more tempting a target it would be for those assuming he sought dominion—and who desired it in turn.
He advised Sanitov of where he was going and what he intended, and again left him in charge. As for Nirianne…
* * *
—
Since that first nighttime intrusion, the Spectre Telle had left Nirianne completely alone—long enough that she began to wonder if he would come back at all. The nagging suspicion that he would kept her on edge, fighting to maintain a semblance of normal behavior. Thoughts of how to rid herself of him, or at least how to subvert the demands and expectations he had heaped upon her, consumed her—though she tried to keep her preoccupation from her husband and those around her. She would not betray Galaphile, she told herself, yet at the same time she wondered how she could stop it from happening when and if it was demanded of her. So far, her captor had not reappeared, but why not? Why had this monster not exploited his power over her since that first terrible night?
For the moment, she had to tolerate the uncertainty of her situation while at the same time searching for a way out of it. She struggled with doing so for several weeks, all the while anticipating the other’s unwelcome return. She longed to tell Galaphile the truth, to admit what had been done to her and how she was now compelled to serve the Spectre Telle—how she was expected to give him any information he desired and divulge all Galaphile’s secrets if he demanded. But Telle’s warnings had been clear on that. She could tell no one. And if she tried to subvert that…pain.
In the meantime, she had to continue pretending that everything was just fine.
The fact that it wasn’t became apparent about a month after her enemy’s first appearance. He came to her again one night as she drifted toward sleep, a presence emerging from the darkness to snatch her away. Once more, she found herself back in her dungeonlike imprisonment with the Spectre Telle looming over her—close enough that she could feel his breath and see the burning intensity in his eyes.
She could again hear his thoughts, although his voice remained silent.
Bring me the plans for this fortress so that I can copy them down. Indicate all entries and exits, visible or hidden. Reveal all of the fortress’s secrets. Get me those plans. I will come to you tomorrow night.
A part of her had hoped that, in the daylight, she might be able to delay, but she woke filled with a sort of compulsion that edged over into pain the longer the plans were out of her possession. She knew where they resided, of course, as Galaphile consulted them frequently. Once she had them in hand, she could breathe freely again. She hid them away in a private place for the day, and later that evening, when Galaphile was asleep, delivered them to her tormentor in a dark corner of the construction site. She allowed him to copy the plans in silence, then took the drawings back again and began learning how to live with the guilt.
Still, that act broke something in her, and she wondered if she would ever be the same. Her guilt, remorse, and sadness were overwhelming, but she hid it all.
More weeks passed without another demand, and she continued to agonize over her impossible situation, but no solution presented itself.
Then one day she overheard Galaphile and Sanitov discussing a planned trip to the Elven homeland. She also heard her beloved suggest that it might be better if she remained at home, and would Sanitov please look out for her?
She almost wished she could remain behind, but that evening, as she fell into sleep, the monster came for her once more. She would accompany Galaphile on that trip, no matter what. If she failed to do so, there would be consequences.
And indeed, no sooner had she woken than the compulsion to speak to Galaphile about it reared up. Forcing a bright smile, she confronted him as he was dressing for the day.
“So, life partner,” she teased, searching for a way to get what she wanted. “Remember those words? Life partner? They mean we share everything, isn’t that so? Both good times and bad?”
She felt the sting of her own hypocrisy but carried on anyway. “What is this I hear about an upcoming journey? You weren’t thinking of not telling me about it, were you? You weren’t considering just slipping away without me?”
“I…well…”
“No, of course you weren’t.” She forced a grin, feeling nothing of the cleverness she pretended to exhibit. Instead, an aching hollowness filled her. “That would be a violation of our agreement, wouldn’t it? Good thing we have a chance now to discuss it. Here is what I think should happen. We will travel west together. We will demonstrate by doing so the depth of our commitment to each other. We will reaffirm that we have entered into a committed relationship with each other. Isn’t that right?”
He grinned happily back at her, which made her feel worse than ever. “Of course we will. I don’t know how I could consider anything else.”
“Good. Then how soon can we leave?”
Because maybe there were other ways she could free herself from the destructive hold the Spectre Telle had over her life. The Elves had magic; perhaps there might be some solution there.
Twenty-Eight
They set out two mornings later with a solitary lion escort. They walked until sundown, the mountain lion traveling with them—sometimes leading the way, sometimes following after, and sometimes disappearing altogether before circling back. That night, after they made their camp, they sat together after eating under what seemed to be an endlessly star-filled sky. Galaphile put his arm around her, pulling her close, and for a while Nirianne tried to lose herself in the moment, just being with the man she loved. But the knowledge that the Spectre Telle was in her head and would force her to betray Galaphile over and over made her feel itchy and restless. She soon squirmed free, covering her anxiety with talk.
“Do you have any hopes for those three mages you kept in camp?” she asked.
Galaphile sighed. “I can’t be sure about Chelm; I have only just begun testing his limitations. I am still uncertain about the strength of his abilities. As he does not speak, I cannot ask him much, so I must instead run tests. It seems he can only impact the memory of those standing within his view, and even now I can’t be sure how many of those he could affect if faced with, say, an army. Also, the effects are transient, lasting only about a minute at most—less than that if he is trying to control more people. Parkinch has real skill, but he is limited. He can make himself vanish but no one and nothing else. Ursule, however, is a true talent. She gave me a reading this morning.” He glanced over. “She told me that I should beware my pride when we get to the Elves. She said my Elven heritage would provide us with an entry but could also prove our greatest undoing.”
“How?”
“That’s the problem: I have no idea. Visions aren’t like a series of instructions, telling you what to do and what not to do. This was all she was granted.”
“And you believe it?”
“Completely. I saw the truth in her eyes and heard it in her voice.”
Nirianne tried not to flinch. How could he see the truth in Ursule’s eyes and yet be so oblivious to the torment in her own? “So what is your plan once we reach the Elves?”
“Meet with their King, if he will see me. Many years back, he wanted to thank me for a favor I did, but I had other places to be and didn’t accept. I don’t know if he even remembers me now, but he might, so maybe he will agree to an audience. I am hoping that he will send us a company of his Elven Hunters to serve as our first line of defense.”
If it’s not already too late for that, she thought bitterly, remembering her coerced alliance with the Spectre Telle. I’ll probably be made to betray you again.
How could she avoid doing so? She had to find a way.
She forced herself to smile at him, hating herself all the while. “You have never told me much about your Elven heritage. Can you tell me about it now?”
Galaphile shrugged. “There isn’t much to say. My parents died when I was young. I had no relatives, so my choice was between a home for the unclaimed inside the Elven borders or making my way on my own. I grew up on farmland outside the traditional Elven homeland, so I had no practical Elven heritage, meaning it was easy enough to leave behind. I hitched a ride with a wagon train going east when I was eight, and wound up in a village called Parrish Rahn. I stayed there for a while, albeit with a brief stint in Kern, then Starns found me there at fourteen. The rest you know.”
