“The attack,” Dale said. “How did you escape the attack at your lodge?”
Merdigen looked into his mug, and could not meet her gaze. “For all my years, I never used my powers against another soul. Never. I suffered a long exile for my beliefs, but that night as the members of my order, who were my only family, were murdered in their sleep, I used my powers and killed. Killed to defend us. Killed every last marauder.” A strained silence gripped Merdigen.
“What then?” Dale gently prodded, both horrified and fascinated.
“In the morning the eagles came to us. They had seen the light of my powers from their eyries, so vicious had my assault been. In the daylight we found the charred husks of the villagers, including the one whom we identified as our old stablehand. Among our own we lost thirty of our order to the slaughter, and two were very near death, including Daria, the one true healer among us. We tried to aid them, but could not.”
A tear dripped down Merdigen’s cheek into his beard.
“After we burned our dead, the eagles took us aloft before more villagers could organize a reprisal.” Merdigen created a vision of the remains of the lodge amid a mountain meadow and smoke rising from pyres for Dale. She could almost smell the stench of scorched flesh. The scene dwindled from view, grew smaller and smaller, as if she watched from Merdigen’s eyes as an eagle lifted him away, until the scar on the mountain blended into its surroundings and the Wingsong Mountains opened in a white-peaked panorama framed by clear blue sky. Merdigen waved his hand and abruptly the scene dissipated like smoke.
“They carried us to the eyrie of Venwing, lord of the eagles. His eyrie was a mere ledge among the clouds in the mountains, the air sharp and thin. We clustered together, those of us who survived—ten of us as it would happen—lost in grief and shivering with cold.
“‘Thus it has been across the lands,’ Lord Venwing said, ‘the killing does not end.’ I crumpled to my knees, feeling the weight of the lives I had taken.”
“You were defending your people!”
“So I was, and for that reason I was not executed immediately. But what right had I, or anyone else, to cause a life to end?”
“You were trying to preserve the lives of your people.”
“And such was the rationale of those who went to war.” Merdigen shook his head. “But I only proved the fearful stories of those villagers true. I was a user of magic, and used it to kill. I gave those who had not died that night reason to persecute us. The taking of a life, for some, is a heavy burden. For others? They noticed it little more than they would the swatting of a fly.”
Dale leaned back into her chair, thinking of the battles she had engaged in, of the lives she had taken. Yes, it was a burden, but one she could live with. There were gray areas in Merdigen’s extremes.
He continued his tale. “Lord Venwing told us, ‘Yes, across all the lands it has been happening, the attacks on those gifted with magic.’ That was when we began to realize the extent of the persecution. If it was happening in our remote mountain location, one that was little touched by the war itself, then it must be so widespread that nowhere was truly safe. ‘They seek to end all magic in the world,’ Venwing said. ‘But to end all magic is to end life.’
“You see,” Merdigen explained, “what those who attempted to eradicate magic did not know is that magic is a natural force. It is in the air we breathe and the water we drink. By killing those with the ability to work magic, they were not killing the magic itself, just those who were attuned to it and could use it. From what I understand has happened on the outside world, magic has lain dormant, or so it would seem, with so few possessing the ability to work it. I fear the eradication of magic users proved much too successful”
Dale rubbed her upper lip. “When Mornhavon awoke, all manner of strange magic occurred on our side of the wall, and the special abilities of some Riders became unreliable.”
“Interesting,” Merdigen said. “He created a flux in the natural order, and it must have flowed through the breach.”
“So what happened next?” Dale asked. “Did the eagles return you to the king?”
“Yes. And once there, Theanduris Silverwood could not hide his gloating. He knew what would befall us, the ingrate. We were offered sanctuary only if we committed ourselves to the towers.”
“Which you did.”
“Yes. We’d little choice, for the world was no longer safe for us. It was only after we were stationed in our towers that we learned the truth about the wall guardians, that they’d been coerced into joining with the wall with threats of torture against them and those they loved. For the magic haters, this accomplished two things at once: the elimination of thousands of magic users and the strengthening of the D’Yer Wall against the influence of Blackveil.”
Merdigen released a deep sigh. “Life in our towers was not bad. The wallkeepers kept us company and updated us on the news of the world. In the beginning we were visited by members of Clan Deyer, the occasional Green Rider, and…Black Shields. Over the years these visits waned, then ceased altogether. I slept and no one woke me for two hundred years, until your friend, the Deyer, stumbled into the tower.” Merdigen fell silent, bemused, then softly added, “If no one has entered the other towers, I suppose my companions still slumber.”
Now that Merdigen had concluded his tale, Dale decided to ask the question she had been dying to ask from the beginning. “Merdigen, what are you?”