The Man With No Hands

by Toby Neighbors

  And Feray saw the way that Via looked at the big man. He had no hands, but the rest of him seemed larger to compensate. Orin wasn’t classically handsome. He had a thick beard that covered most of his face, not the carefully trimmed and waxed beards that some of the nobles wore, but a wild and tangled forest of whiskers that made him look rugged and masculine. His hair was overgrown as well, and unkempt. Not that he could have spent much time combing the tangled locks with no hands. But Feray saw past the woolliness of Orin’s appearance. She could see the compassion in his eyes, the strong cheekbones and squared jaw. There was something about the man that held her attention and made her feel safe.

  She couldn’t help but wonder if her feelings, which she still couldn’t truly define, were just bouncing back after the horrible loss she’d experienced. Marc had been her whole world, and losing him had left a gaping hole in her heart. Perhaps, she considered, the feelings she had for Orin were just her emotions snapping back from the desperation she’d felt over the death of her husband.

  Whatever it was, it had forced her away from the campsite, away from the fire and the feeling that she was intruding on her companions. When the outlaws attacked, she was too far to be of much help, but she saw the confrontation by the light of the campfire.

  Orin’s whistle caught her attention and made her turn just in time to see the huge man leap over the fire and dash past Via, who was scrambling to her feet. The look of terror on her face, even from a distance, was unmistakable.

  Then came the menacing growl from Rolo. The big dog had a booming bark, but it was his deep-throated growl that gave away his intentions. Feray was running back toward the camp, where her little Luc was sleeping, as the dog bolted past the fire. She saw the huge mastiff leap upon a man and drag him down.

  Orin was facing three attackers, one had a spear, the other two wielded clubs and daggers. Orin wasn’t armed, but he was fearless as he drew near to the outlaws. Feray saw the attackers hesitate as Orin loomed over them, but he didn’t wait for the assailants to attack. He lashed out at the man with a spear, knocking the weapon aside with his left arm, then stepping quickly toward his foe and driving his right elbow into the man’s face. Feray saw the outlaw drop but her eyes followed Orin, who spun around, his massive boot flipping out and catching the second man in the stomach. He too dropped to the ground just as the third man swung his club at Orin’s head.

  The man with no hands dropped to his knees, ducking under the swing of the club, and then launched himself into the third outlaw, tackling him to the ground. A moment later Orin rose back up and snatched the spear from the ground. He turned it around and stabbed the first assailant.

  “Don’t kill them all!” Feray shouted.

  As she ran into the clearing where they had made camp Luc sat up, looking bewildered.

  “What’s going on, mama?” he asked.

  “Nothing, dear, go back to sleep,” she replied, hurrying past him.

  Luc didn’t respond, he just flopped back down and Feray wasn’t sure he had really been awake. Sometimes a child’s sleep is a blessing, she thought. The last thing little Luc needed to see was more death.

  “Are you alright?” Feray asked Via.

  The younger woman nodded, her face white with fear.

  “Stay with Luc,” Feray told her, before picking up one of the longer branches out of the fire. Only half its length was aflame, and she used the burning limb like a torch.

  Stepping past the camp she held the branch high, letting the light fall in a wide circle. Rolo was rubbing his face on the ground, trying to get the hot blood off his fur. The big dog had ripped the throat from the man he’d attacked, and from the looks of things the big dog was unhurt. The man he’d killed was fat, with boots so worn they had holes in several places. His tunic was threadbare and stained. His hair and beard were matted, but Feray guessed it might have been from the bloody wound in his neck.

  The third man Orin had fought had a dagger in his chest, which he was still clinging to, even though it was obvious he was dead. The man with the spear was dead as well, his face covered with blood from his nose, which was bent at a grotesque angle. There was a horrific wound in his chest as well from the spear Orin had thrust into him after the fight.

  Orin was standing near the only outlaw still alive. The man had dropped both his weapons when Orin kicked him, and he lay on his side, panting for breath. He looked horrified but he didn’t try to escape. Feray wasn’t sure if it was because he couldn’t flee, or if he was simply too afraid to try and run away with Orin standing over him.

  “Who is he?” Feray asked Orin, who shrugged his shoulders. The man with no hands had a cut on his shoulder but it seemed superficial. He acted as if he hadn’t even noticed it.

  “Who are you? Why did you attack us?” Feray asked, bending over the downed outlaw.

  She could see that he was in pain, but his moaning suggested he was able to speak. He wore clothes that were so filthy it looked as if he’d just crawled out of an alley where people dump their refuse. He was not a knight or a man-at-arms, an assassin perhaps, but more likely just a common outlaw.

  “Who sent you?” Feray asked.

  “No one,” the man said, his voice was soft and filled with pain.

  “You’re just an outlaw band?” Feray kept questioning the man. “You wanted to rob us?”

  “We wanted the girl,” he admitted.

  “Animal,” Orin said.

  “Outlaws get the noose,” Feray said. “But we don’t have time for that. Your companions are all dead. Do you hear me?”

  The man’s eyes were closed and his face was rigid with pain and fear, but he nodded.

  “Move the bodies,” Feray said. “I don’t want Luc to see them when he wakes up in the morning. If this piece of filth is still here when you finish, kill him.”

  Orin grunted. The outlaw got the message loud and clear. He was hurt, that much was obvious. Orin’s kick had done more than knock the breath out of the man, but he got busy crawling. It was a sad, shuffling movement, but it got him moving away from their camp. Feray knew that it was a risk letting the man live. He could have more friends and he might decide to come after them for revenge, but she didn’t think he would. He might not even be able to, Orin’s powerful kick had caused a serious injury.

  Feray returned to their camp, her hands shaking slightly as the adrenaline wore off from the attack. She wasn’t wearing shoes and the elemental magic that rose up from the earth gave her strength.

  “What happened?” Via asked. She was on her knees next to Luc, the light from the fire revealed the fear that was on her face.

  “Outlaws,” Feray said. “They wanted to take you away.”

  “Oh no,” she said.

  “Don’t worry, Orin and Rolo saw to them. They won’t bother anyone else.”

  “It’s hard not to worry,” Via said. “What if there are more?”

  “There aren’t,” Feray said, but she turned to Rolo who was standing nearby, looking out into the darkness. “Go on and search all around us, Rolo. Make sure we didn’t miss anything.”

  The dog groaned and Feray heard him say search. Then he darted off into the darkness.

  “Let’s build up the fire, that should keep the animals away,” Feray said. “You’ve nothing to worry about tonight, Via, but we must all learn to keep our guard up. Just because the earl is dead doesn’t mean we’re out of danger.”

  “What’s it like to kill a man?” Via asked, moving closer to Feray.

  They were sitting against a fallen log, their feet stretched near the fire. Feray took comfort from the magic that she could feel moving in the darkness. When she opened herself up to it, the magic seemed almost drawn to her. She could feel the boldness of the wind, and the steady, reassuring power of the mature trees all around them.

  “It isn’t something to relish,” Feray said. “It stays with you, even if you’re defending yourself or the people you love. You’re haunted by the possibility that perha
ps it could have been avoided. I hope you never find out.”

  “I’ve been afraid my whole life,” Via admitted. “My father’s death looms over me and I feel so powerless.”

  “In time you’ll learn how to wield magical power. It’s a different kind of strength but it is strength just the same.”

  “When are you going to start teaching me?” she asked, the excitement in her voice reminding Feray of Luc anticipating a sweet dessert.

  “Magic isn’t taught, not the way you think. It has to be experienced, and you have to be touched.”

  “Touched?”

  Feray nodded. “It’s sort of a rite of passage. The touch of a magical creature or someone of a magic race bestows certain abilities onto a person. You have the gift, but I can’t say how strong it is or to what level you can rise within the world of magic.”

  “Levels, there are different levels?” Via asked.

  “Well, perhaps levels isn’t the right word. It’s more of abilities and it depends on the strength of your gift. Think of it like how tall you are. You can’t control how tall you are.”

  “But if you have plenty to eat and get lots of rest, you have a better chance of being taller,” Via argued. “I don’t want anything to hold me back.”

  “I know,” Feray said. “I felt the same way. I still do, but what I’m saying is, you might not be able to do everything I can do.”

  Via’s face lost the look of excitement, replaced by something else, something that Feray took as a mixture of anger and jealousy. She didn’t look right at Feray, but through the sorceress’ sense of magic she could feel waves of frustration and envy radiating from the younger girl.

  “Look, I’m not trying to hold you back,” Feray said. “I just don’t want to get your expectations up too high. The man who introduced me to magic was a potionist. He could do things that I never imagined possible, but he was not all that powerful in magical terms. I’m a sorceress, which means I can sense and control the magical elements all around me. It’s a very high level of magic, but not one I chose. The power chose me. It was released in me by the dragon’s touch.”

  “You were touched by a dragon?” Via asked.

  Feray nodded. “It awoke the power already inside of me. A time will come when you receive the touch, Via. When that happens your gift will come to fruition. In the meantime I will try to help you understand how the magical and physical worlds interact. But I can’t teach you to use magic, only to open yourself up to it.”

  The girl grew quiet, and a moment later Orin returned to their camp. He dropped heavily onto the ground and ripped apart a small loaf of bread, which he began to eat without a word. Rolo returned to camp and sat up tall, his back to the fire, listening for any sounds of danger. Feray wanted to ask about the men they had killed, but she didn’t really want to know. They were outlaws and they died attacking innocents. There was nothing to regret, or to feel guilty about, but Feray couldn’t help but wonder why it seemed that death was clinging to her. It followed and infected the people who got too close to her.

  She looked at Orin. Her feelings for the big man were confused but there was no doubt that she cared for him. The last thing on earth she wanted was for ill to befall the big warrior because he was trying to help her. And Via was so innocent, so pure, yet so anxious to become a sorceress when Feray was certain that wasn’t her destiny. The girl had a spark, but something told Feray that it wasn’t bright enough or strong enough to give her what she really wanted. In fact, she might never rise above simple conjuring abilities and Feray was beginning to wonder if that would be enough for Via.

  Chapter 6

  Crucifus the Red awoke feeling energized and refreshed. Over the past week he had traveled to the Keyhole Pass near the Mossy Woodlands, touched a human sorceress, fought a human warrior, and finally returned home to his lair high in the Dragon Perch range of mountains. The big dragon had trouble remembering the last time he had experienced so much in such a short amount of time.

  The human had awoken the hunger for battle that Crucifus sometimes felt. There was something invigorating about pitting oneself against a worthy foe, especially when it took all of one’s strength and cunning to overcome that adversary. The human, a big man who was himself touched by the gods if his missing hands said anything about him, had caught Crucifus off guard and wounded him more than once using javelins. The ingenuity of mankind never ceased to amaze the ancient dragon. They were small creatures, a race with few physical attributes, but with surprising mental aptitude. They used tools and weapons to achieve things most other races relied heavily on magic to accomplish.

  Pain was something the ancient dragon had thought he was accustomed to. As the beast grew in age, like any creature, his physical body began to deteriorate. Aches and pains had become common, yet the pain of the human’s weapons was a shock to the massive beast. Just getting into the air had been difficult and staying high enough to avoid the javelins flooded Crucifus with a sense of fear he had not known in centuries. Yet the battle had been a joy despite the pain and fear. The dragon had faced the human warrior, overcoming his wounds and the human’s dreaded weapons. Crucifus the Red, elder dragon of the Western Realm, had come out victorious. That fact alone would have been enough to fill the dragon with pride and a newfound sense of strength, but his rejuvenation came at the hands of the human sorceress.

  Just the thought of Feray made Crucifus’ heart pound with excitement. In all his many, many years of life he had only known one other being so bright with magical power. It felt to the dragon as if the tide was beginning to change. Feray the lady sorceress, his Bright One, would infuse the Western Realm with magic once again. She could heal the wounds of the past, just as she had healed the wounds the human warrior had inflicted on Crucifus. In fact, Feray’s healing had done more than mend the dragon’s battle wounds, it had rejuvenated the ancient beast. It was as if the clock had been turned back by at least a century. Crucifus felt younger, stronger, and more full of hope than he had felt in a long time. Before meeting the Bright One, Crucifus had felt his mortal time approaching, but since the healing he couldn’t imagine his life ending.

  Rising from his lair deep in a mountaintop cave, the mighty red dragon moved quickly through the tunnel that led to the mountain peak. Once outside he discovered a light snow falling and a cold wind out of the north. Crucifus threw back his head and roared. Fire came boiling out of the dragon’s maw, then caught on the wind and drifted back over the beast’s long body, warming his blood and filling him with a sense of power. There was excitement in the air and Crucifus knew why, the lady sorceress was coming to renew the Western Realm. It was time to assemble the pride and introduce them to the Bright One Crucifus had found.

  He roared again as he jumped from his perch just outside the cave that led to his lair, spreading his great leathery wings and feeling them fill with wind, pushing his massive body higher and higher into the sky. A flick of his wings here, a wave of his tail there, and Crucifus was soaring through the snow-covered mountain peaks. The Dragon’s Perch range of mountains was especially steep and craggy, with very little vegetation. Crucifus was forced to fly down into the lower elevations to find game, but he didn’t mind. The tall mountains gave the dragons security while they rested, which was when the huge creatures were the most vulnerable.

  Another roar reverberated through the mountain peaks and Crucifus glanced over to see Flambra sailing around a thick cliff to join him. She was an exquisite creature, bright yellow stripes crossed over dark crimson scales that ran down the length of her body and tail. Her head was all yellow, with bright red eyes, and her wings were a tawny color that looked almost like ancient parchment. She was a slender dragon, only half the size of Crucifus and barely a third of his age, yet agile, bright, and powerful. She fell in behind the big red dragon, coasting in the slipstream his larger body made through the cold mountain air.

  Soon a third dragon joined them, a small, black dragon the size of a large horse, with short
er wings and a long, sinuous tail. Unlike most dragons, Chardis had flat black scales which seemed to absorb the light. He was a nocturnal creature, an avid hunter who focused on smaller game. He was fast and took a position just above Crucifus.

  An hour later the pride of dragons had grown to nearly a dozen. Crucifus was certain that all the dragons who had been in the mountains when he called had joined them. There were more dragons in the Western Realm, but they often journeyed far afield in the hunt for food. There were also dragons who made their home far to the south, in the southern range of the Staircase Mountains, where the land was arid and hot. There were even ice dragons far to the north, but they were exceedingly rare.

  Crucifus landed on a gently sloping mountainside, landing gracefully, his thick talons gripping the rough stone and holding him securely. The other dragons landed around him, but slightly lower so that they all had a good view and could hear the elder dragon.

  “Welcome and thanks for responding to my call,” Crucifus growled, his thick tongue flickering between the tall, pointed fangs at the corners of his mouth. A dragon’s senses were acute, with telescoping eyesight and a strong magical sensitivity. They could also taste scents in the air, and Crucifus identified each of the dragons not just by sight, but by the pheromones each one released. He could read the pheromones the way a person could pick up on body language. Each of the dragons released scents that not only identified them, but that shared their mood. Crucifus could tell the other dragons were curious, as well as hungry or tired, just from the pheromones they produced.