The Steward and the Sorcerer by James Peart (books suggested by elon musk .TXT) 📕

this moment to attack, its arms raised suddenly, yellow fire sent shooting from its claws to the spot where Daaynan stood.  He could only watch, completely taken by surprise, all thoughts of constructing a defence absent from his mind, rendering him helpless.

The fire shot toward the Druid, scorching the evening air as it travelled...and passed right through him.

The image of Daaynan shimmered once and was gone.  From within a chamber at the top of the North Tower, the Druid’s real form observed the scene playing out down below.  The Windwalker released an unearthly shriek as it realised it had been tricked, lifting its head to the walls of the keep, its eyes- a cobalt blue like Daaynan’s own- scanning the towers and steeples for signs of the Druid, realising that what it had just confronted was an illusion.  After a minute it quieted, drawing its hood over its head and turned to face the entrance to Fein Mor once again.

From within the protected confines of the keep Daaynan considered what he would do. Days passed like this, the Druid going about his normal duties- the ones that had occupied him before he had become sorcerer- as if nothing had changed.  When these were done at the end of each day he visited the Druid Archive, a large chamber in the south wing of the castle that contained vast shelves of books comprising the Druid records.  He browsed the information gathered there, trying to find some mention of the creatures that called themselves Windwalkers, without much luck.  Finally, he stumbled on an entry containing information about them, a fleeting reference only, adding little to what the Brightsphere had told him.  They were ancient beings, existing in this world before the official histories of the Northern Earth, perhaps before the recording of time itself.  They were thought to have been wiped out of existence though precisely when was unclear.  Daaynan learned nothing else of interest other than that they generally did not speak but communicated instead via ‘impulse impressions.’  This one was a hybrid of some sort the Sphere had told him.  It could be that it was a shape-shifter, a being that could morph itself into the form and image of anyone or anything it encountered.  It would explain why it looked like him.  He entertained the fleeting possibility that he had imagined it all, that it was some manner of apparition brought on by the change he had endured in becoming what he was.  No, he decided, it was real enough, and whether it chose to look like King or peasant it was out there stalking him, waiting for him to make a countermove.

He emerged from the keep on the sunrise of the fifth day of his confinement, not his real self but another projection while his true form observed everything from the top of the battlement.  His projected image could not summon fire or conjure sorcery of any kind but that was not his intention.  Instead he walked right up to the Windwalker and spoke to it, calling attention to himself in this way.  The being ignored him, standing as it had before at the entrance to the keep.  After a time, its eyes lifted to the battlement and met Daaynan’s own with a challenging look.  The expression in its eyes was almost lifeless, unchanging, apparently fixated on him.

The Druid sighed.  He would have to leave the building sooner or later.  There were provisions stored in the keep to last him 6 months, maybe a year, and what then?  He would have to confront the creature when his supplies ran out.  Better to do it now and not postpone the inevitable, but he realised he had already decided this.

As day ran into night he thought about what he would do, what approach he would take.  Finally, as the sun bordered the horizon, an orange-red haze settling everywhere as it crested the skyline, he came to a decision.  He went to his bed chamber and slept through till dawn.  On the morning of the next day he rose, washed and dressed himself in a fresh blue broad-cloak.  Lowering the hood to permit vision, he exited the castle through the main entrance.

The creature stood where it always had, twenty feet from the entrance.  It registered his presence with a slight turning of its head from within the folds of its hood, its lips splitting open in what could have passed for a grin.  Daaynan walked right up to it and lifted his arms, his cloak spread wide, yellow fire flaming from his fingertips, shooting toward the other in a single continuous burst.  In the instant before it struck its target, the Windwalker conjured a shield to protect itself from the flame and it bounced harmlessly off its form inches before it touched.  Daaynan continued to approach, however, the Druid fire streaming from his hands and fingers, his arms raised to the level of the creature’s face, seeking to do damage there.  The Windwalker summoned fire of its own, meeting the Druid’s match for match, joining in a starburst of flame between where they stood, hammering one against the other, the ground beneath them scorched.  For long moments neither gave way, each sorcerer vying for supremacy over the other, then the Druid in one fluid action drew from some great well of resolve that lay deep within him and a giant flare shot through and past him, sweeping toward the other, enveloping it in a vast conflagration, swallowing the being whole.

There was nothing left of the Windwalker but the charred remains of skin and ash.

Daaynan turned back in the direction of the keep, unsteady on his feet, utterly spent from the force of the attack.  He passed through the entrance and walked to his chambers, barely able to stand upright.  In his chambers there was a simple basin with fresh water and some ointments beside it.  He washed his face free of dirt and applied one of the creams where the other’s