Magician's Mayhem

by R.S. Mollison-Read

CHAPTER 12

  Tobin and Darcie were standing in a clearing, surrounded on all sides by tall, dark fir trees. Several feet of snow blanketed the ground, and the boughs of the pine trees were heavily weighed down under snow, which scintillated in the wan sunlight that filtered through thin cloud cover.

  Cool and crisp, the air smelled faintly of cedar. In the distance was a massive peaked mountain range, also covered in snow. The mountains were impressive, almost intimidating, and they created an imposing backdrop to the white world to which they had suddenly arrived.

  Tobin’s breath misted in the cold air. He was glad he was wearing his cloak, and wished it were thicker. Turning around, he noticed that Darcie hadn’t moved and was standing stock still, staring at her Field Scope in confusion.

  “The signal has disappeared,” she said quietly.

  “Is that surprising?” Tobin asked. “It’s disappeared before, hasn’t it?”

  “It’s become more muted, so that the compass had a harder time honing in on the signal, but it has always been there. Until now,” Darcie replied.

  “Well, we can’t worry about that,” Tobin said. “Where are we? This can’t be Elden Forest anymore.”

  It was an alarming thought for Tobin, who had never been more than a two day walk outside of his hometown of Belvedon. He vaguely remembered snow from a few frosty days in his childhood, but he had never seen so much of it in one place. And the cold. It felt as though it had crept in under his skin, and taken up residence in his bones. He had never felt such an aching cold before. Teeth chattering, he looked expectantly at Darcie for an answer.

  Darcie looked around at the snow covered trees and hillside. “No. You’re right, this isn’t Elden. We’ve been translocated somewhere north. Somewhere close to the Mureton Mountains, would be my guess,” she said, gesturing to the snow capped peaks in the distance.

  “Translocated?” Tobin repeated, musingly. “The way we escaped the manor house?”

  “Exactly,” Darcie replied. “Except that this translocation required a massive amount of power, and skill. Which means that whoever brought us here can manipulate magic, and they’re extremely skilled.”

  “That could be Celeste, couldn’t it?” Tobin asked.

  “Not quite,” said a rough, male voice from behind them. And before he could move, or answer, Tobin’s view of the snow covered field was obscured as a dark hood was placed over his head.

  Tobin was quickly relieved of his rucksack, and his hands were bound behind his back. It was a painful position, but he didn’t even think of resisting. Without the ability to see, and now without the ability to even use his hands, Tobin knew that putting up any kind of fight would be an exercise in futility. He could hear Darcie shouting and struggling beside him and wished he could do something to help her, but he was still reeling from the confusion of their translocation all the way to the Mureton Mountains, and their successive capture. It had all happened so quickly.

  Darcie and Tobin were loaded into the back of a wooden cart that creaked loudly in protest under their combined weight. A whinny and a loud snort told Tobin that the cart was drawn by at least one horse. With a start, the rickety cart began moving forward, and Tobin lost his footing, falling into a heap beside another warm body, which Tobin hoped fervently belonged to Darcie. Arranging himself beside her by lying down on one side was difficult, and took a great deal of effort, as he tried to make himself as comfortable as possible.

  They spent several hours travelling in the wooden cart. It was difficult to tell with his head covered by the hood. At first, Tobin had been quite concerned that he would suffocate with the hood over his head, but he soon discovered that there were thinning patches of fabric through which he could breathe with reasonable ease. Tobin’s only comfort was Darcie’s warm body next to his. He tried to speak to her, but their voices were too muffled under the thick hoods for any intelligible conversation. He gave up after a few frustrating attempts, and in the silence, and the steady rocking motion of the cart, Tobin finally fell into a restless sleep.

  He was awoken many hours later by a shout, and a rough hand shaking him awake. Tobin obediently followed where the coarse hands on his body pushed him. He didn’t want to give his captor any reason to hurt him while he was in such a defenceless position.

  Tripping over what he assumed was a doorway, Tobin quickly tried to regain his balance, and keep moving where the hands on his back directed him. There was a sound of scraping stone, and then he was being directed down an endless set of stairs.

  It was terrifying trying to step down stairs without being able to see, and with his hands still bound tightly behind his back. Without his hands for balance against the walls, Tobin felt as though every time he lifted a foot, he was stepping out into an endless void. There was a fresh, new surge of relief every time his foot found another solid stair. And always the hands on his back hurried him onward.

  Finally they reached the bottom of the stairs. Tobin stumbled, expecting another step beneath him, but it was just a packed dirt floor. Once again, rough hands pulled him back up onto his feet, and sent him forward.

  The air was cool, and damp. Tobin could smell must, and moist dirt through the hood. He was shoved into a small room, where he lumbered awkwardly against the wall. Just as he had regained his footing, another warm body was shoved into him. A small grunt told him it was Darcie. Her weight threw Tobin off balance again, and they both fell to the hard floor. This time, Tobin opted to stay down on the ground.

  Tobin’s hood was pulled off, and he squinted in the light from the torches. He tried to sit up, but it was difficult with Darcie sprawled across him, and his hands still tied behind his back. The cold of a steel blade was suddenly near his hands, and he felt the rope that had bound his hands fall apart, as the blade sawed through it.

  “Who are you?” he asked squinting up towards the figure outlined in the doorway; his sight was bleary as he tried to adjust to the sudden light.

  Pain exploded in his head, and it was a moment before he realized that he had been struck across the face by a strong hand. The bitter taste of blood filled his mouth.

  Tobin heard the scraping of the door closing behind them, leaving only a few small slits of light from cracks in the door.

  His hands and arms tingled painfully as the blood rushed back into his extremities. Rubbing his wrists ruefully he tried to massage the feeling back into his fatigued limbs. The blow to his face had split his lip, and left a tender lump on his cheek. Gingerly, he tried to wipe the blood off his face, but he just smeared it over his face and hands.

  “Tobin?” he heard Darcie whisper to him.

  “It’s okay,” he said, moving towards her, and removing her hood. She had a nasty cut on her cheek, and it was already quite swollen and tender.

  “Did you try and fight them?” he asked her.

  She nodded dully, rubbing her wrists gingerly. “I didn’t know what to do. I just thrashed around, when he grabbed me from behind,” she said. “I don’t know what I was thinking, that somehow I could fight them all off...”

  In the dim light through the cracks in the door, Tobin could see they were in a small cell. He stood up gingerly, and began to explore their new prison. The door was barred with a large iron bolt, and several intricate locks on the outside of the door. Tobin couldn’t even reach the first lock, through the narrow window at the top of the door. The walls of the cell were large, roughly cut stone, cobbled together with straw and mud. Packed dirt and straw made up the floor. Returning to where Darcie was sitting, Tobin leaned his head against the wall, exhausted. Darcie moved closer to him, trying to share their warmth.

  Thoughts buzzed through Tobin’s head, despite his intense fatigue, and the dull ache of hunger that was starting in his stomach. Who had been luring them into these traps? Why would anyone want to trap them? Tobin couldn’t think of anyone who would want to hurt him. He was just an historian’s research assistant; he hadn’t been anywhere or done anything interesting. So it
must be Darcie they were after. It would stand to reason that as the court appointed Doctor of Magic, as well as her position as the King’s daughter, Darcie would have made some enemies. Still, why would they have waited until now? Why not kidnap her when she had been travelling by herself, outside of Elden? None of it made sense and Tobin knew he wouldn’t get answers any time soon. Closing his eyes, he tried to ignore the pain in his head and his hands, and drifted off to a restless sleep.

  Tobin and Darcie sat huddled together in a corner of their new cell for several hours. When the door of their cell scraped open, Tobin’s eyes snapped open instantly. He tried to shield his eyes from the sudden light. Two chunks of bread, and two wooden bowls with a non-descript stew were placed on the dirt floor just in front of them. The cell door closed again. They ate quickly and without complaint; it had been a long time since their last meal, before returning to their huddle in the corner.

  Tobin slept fitfully, waking every time someone walked past their cell door. In the morning the cell door opened again, and two more chunks of bread, and two wooden bowls filled with a tasteless porridge were placed in front of them.

  Tobin would have lost all track of time if not for the arrival of food. On the second day of their captivity, the cell door opened again, only moments after they had finished eating what passed for breakfast.

  “Thought you might like some company,” said a rough voice. Tobin thought it might be the same man who had captured him, and loaded them into the cart.

  A small figure was shoved unceremoniously through the door, stumbling over their wooden bowls, and landing roughly on their knees in front of Darcie, who gasped in surprise.

  It was Celeste.

  Darcie stared at her grandmother in shock for a moment, and then flung her arms around her neck.

  “Are you okay? Are you okay?” she sobbed into Celeste’s ragged clothing.

  Celeste held her granddaughter for a long time, until Darcie’s sobs subsided. Then she relaxed her hold, and settled into a seated position on the hard floor.

  Despite her age, and her long captivity, Celeste still retained some of her youthful beauty. Her long hair was silvered, but it was still thick, and shiny, like Darcie’s. The only signs of age on her face were the small lines around her eyes and mouth. Her dark luminous eyes, drank in Darcie’s face; a small smile on her lips.

  Tobin couldn’t believe that after all this time apart, all of this time searching, Darcie had finally found Celeste, only after she herself had been captured. It defied logic or reason, but he was just glad that they had finally found each other, and that Celeste was still alive, just as Darcie had insisted she was.

  Celeste and Darcie didn’t speak for a long time; they just stared at each other. Tobin stayed silent, not wanting to intrude on the intimacy of the reunion. He knew how important Celeste was to Darcie, and how painful it had been for everybody to insist that Celeste was dead, when Darcie had known that she couldn’t be.

  Finally Darcie took a ragged breath, and spoke. “Who did this to you?” she asked, her voice breaking. “Who did this?”

  Celeste’s hands shook as she reached out and stroked Darcie’s long hair. She breathed in deeply and said, “It was Vorn, Darcie. It’s been Vorn this whole time.”