[canon] in all its misery it'll always be what i love and hated.

[apostatised]

"Martel was one of the best," Sephrenia said quietly. She sat in her hooded white robe before the fire, holding her teacup. "He was extremely proficient in the secrets. That, I think, is what led to his disgrace."

"He was good with a lance, too," Kalten admitted ruefully. "He used to unhorse me on a regular basis on the practice field. Sparhawk was probably the only one who was a match for him."

"Exactly what was this disgrace you mentioned, Sephrenia?" Lord Darellon asked. The Preceptor of the Alcione Knights of Deira was a slender man in his late forties. His massive Deiran armour looked almost too heavy for his slight frame.

Sephrenia sighed. "The secrets of Styricum are myriad," she replied. "Some are fairly simple--common spells and incantations. Martel mastered those very quickly. Beyond commonplace magic, however, lies a deeper and far more dangerous realm. Those of us who instruct the Knights of the Church in the secrets do not introduce our pupils to that level of magic. It serves no practical purpose and it involves many things that imperil the souls of Elenes."

Komier laughed. "Many things imperil the souls of Elenes, my lady," he said. "I felt a certain wrench in mine the first time I contacted the Troll-Gods. I gather that this Martel of yours dabbled in things he should not have?"

Sephrenia sighed again. "Yes," she admitted. "He came to me asking that I instruct him in the forbidden secrets. He was very intense about it. That's one of Martel's characteristics. I refused him, of course, but there are renegade Styrics, even as there are renegade Pandions. Martel came from a wealthy family, so he could afford to pay for the instruction he wanted."

"Who found him out?" Darellon asked.

"I did," Sparhawk said. "I was riding from Cimmura to Demos. That was shortly before King Aldreas sent me into exile. There's a patch of woods three leagues this side of Demos. It was just about dusk when I passed these woods, and I saw a strange light back among the trees. I went to investigate and saw Martel. He'd raised some kind of glowing creature. Its light was very bright--so bright that I couldn't make out its face."

"I don't think you'd have wanted to see its face, Sparhawk," Sephrenia told him.

"Perhaps not," he agreed. "Anyway, Martel was speaking to the creature in Styric, commanding it to do his bidding."

"That doesn't seem like anything out of the ordinary," Komier said. "We've all raised spirits or ghosts of one kind or another from time to time."

"This was not precisely a spirit, Lord Komier," Sephrenia told him. "It was a Damork. The Elder Gods of Styricum created them to serve as slaves to their will. The Damorks have extraordinary powers, but they are soulless. A God can summon them from the unimaginable place where they dwell and control them. For a mortal to attempt that, however, is sheer folly. No mortal can control a Damork. What Martel had done is absolutely forbidden by all of the Younger Gods."

"And the Elder Gods?" Darellon asked.

"The Elder Gods have no rules, my Lord--only whims and desires."

"Sephrenia," Dolmant pointed out, "Martel is an Elene. Perhaps he felt no obligations to observe the prohibitions of the Gods of Styricum."

"So long as one is practicing the arts of Styricum, one is subject to the Styric Gods, Dolmant," she replied.

"I wonder if perhaps it might have been a mistake to arm the Church Knights with Styric magic as well as conventional weapons," Dolmant mused. "We seem to be dabbling in an area best left untapped."

"That decision was made over nine hundred years ago, your Grace," Abriel reminded him, coming back to the table, "and if the Knights of the Church had not been proficient in magic, the Zemochs would have won that battle on the plains of Lamorkand."

"Perhaps," Dolmant said.

"Go on with your story, Sparhawk," Komier suggested.

"There's not too much more, my Lord. I didn't know what the Damork was until Sephrenia told me about it later, but I knew it was something we were forbidden to contact. After a while, the thing vanished, and I rode in to talk with Martel. We were friends, and I wanted to warn him that what he was doing was prohibited, but he seemed almost mad somehow. He shrieked at me and told me to mind my own business. That didn't leave me any choice. I rode on to our motherhouse at Demos and reported what I'd seen to Vanion and Sephrenia. She told us what the creature was and how dangerous it was to have it loose in the world. Vanion ordered me to take a number of men and to apprehend Martel and to bring him to the motherhouse for questioning. He went absolutely wild when we approached him, and he went to his sword. Martel's very good to begin with, and his madness made him all the more savage. I lost a couple of very close friends that day. We finally managed to overpower him and dragged him back to the motherhouse in chains."

"By the ankles, as I recall," Kalten added. "Sparhawk can be very direct when he's irritated." He smiled at his friend. "You didn't endear yourself to him by doing it that way, Sparhawk," he said.

"I wasn't trying to. He'd just killed two of my friends, and I wanted to give him plenty of reasons to accept my challenge when Vanion was finished with him."

"Anyway," Vanion took up the story, "when they brought Martel back to Demos, I confronted him. He didn't even try to deny what he'd been doing. I ordered him to stop practicing the forbidden secrets, and he defied me. I had no choice but to expel him from the order at that point. I stripped him of his knighthood and his armour and turned him out of the front gate."

"That could have been a mistake," Komier grunted. "I'd have had him killed. Did he raise that thing again?"

Vanion nodded. "Yes, but Sephrenia appealed to the Younger Gods of Styricum and they exorcised it. Then they stripped Martel of the most significant of his powers. He went away weeping and swearing revenge upon us all. He's still dangerous, but at least he can't summon up horrors any more. He left Elenia and he's been hiring his sword out to the highest bidder in other parts of the world for the past ten or twelve years."

"He's just a common mercenary then?" Darellon asked. The slender Alcione Preceptor had an intent look on his narrow face.

"Not quite common, my Lord," Sparhawk disagreed. "He's had Pandion training. He could have been the very best of us, and he's very clever. He has wide contacts with mercenaries all of Eosia. He can raise an army at a moment's notice and he's totally ruthless. I don't believe that Martel believes in anything any more."