Earth Magic: A Kingdoms of Kambrya novel (The High King of Kambrya Book 1)

by Kenneth Price

  "No thanks." Colin shook his head and stood up. "We can't stay."

  "Come on. What's one drink?" He then nodded towards his companions who were now standing near the doorway, their thick muscular arms crossed across their broad chests. Patch's four friends were staring at them with a strange and rather disturbing intensity. "You see my friends over there think you are Renegades. I said you were not. Just a couple of boys having a drink, I told them. But with you rushing off like this, it makes me wonder. You seem nervous. Is something wrong? Maybe I can help. I can be a mighty good friend.”

  Sensing the danger they were in, Colin dragged Pallas up out of his chair. "Nothing's wrong. We just have to be going. It was a pleasure to have met you,... Patch."

  "Sit down," Patch's voice took on a cold tone to it. It sounded more like an order than a request.

  Colin gave a shrug, “Can't. Our father needs us back at the farm. We only stopped in to wet our throats."

  Patch looked up, a wry smile crossed his hardened face. "I thought you two worked for a carpet merchant?"

  Colin shrugged again. "We do," Colin replied trying to think quickly. "Once we get some horses were headed home. We have been gone a long time, and it is time my brother and I were getting back." He doubted that was going to cover up his mistake. Colin gave Pallas a shove towards the door.

  "Brothers?" Pallas whispered as Colin guided him across the room. "A big clumsy blond and a handsome redhead? It seems unlikely to me."

  Colin gave him another shove, "Shut up and keep moving. I think we're in trouble."

  Patch was suddenly on his feet. "Hold those two!" he shouted. With one quick, graceful move, his sword was suddenly in his hand. He held the long blade with the ease of a master swordsman.

  The four men near the doorway also drew their swords. With cruel smiles, they stepped out in front of Pallas and Colin.

  "Nothing personal, lads," Patch said with his ever smiling face, "but there's a reward for Renegades, even for young ones. And a man has to make a living, 'ya know. Now be good lads, and come along. You're worth more to me alive than dead."

  "We are not Renegades!" Pallas insisted.

  Patch's smile broadened, and he shrugged. "Doesn't really matter, as long as the black ones think you are. And it's clear you're hiding something. Besides, if you are telling the truth, you will be put to a few questions then sent on your way. And I will already be gone with my reward. In the end, nobody gets hurt."

  Just then there was a sudden bang. One of the men by the door fell with a thud. Where the man had been, the barkeep now stood. In his hand, the barkeep was holding a large cast iron frying pan. "No one's being taken anywhere," he announced. "Not in my tavern they're not!"

  Surprised, the man next to the keep hesitated, then raised his sword to strike him down, but he had waited a moment too long. Not waiting to draw his sword, Pallas leaped forward. Throwing his weight forward, Pallas hit one of the men in the side with his lowered shoulder. At the same time, he brought his fist up into his midsection. With a loud groan, the man hit the wall. Using his big pan like a club, and before the sword-wielding man could recover from Pallas' attack, the keep hit the next man over the skull. With a thud, the man too slid to the floor, Pallas stepped back. The man's eyes rolled back into his head, and his sword fell from his hand. Still moving, Pallas spun. Drawing his sword, he ducked. The other two men were on them. Lifting his blade, Pallas was just in time to parry the first blow that was aimed at his head. The barkeep began to furiously swing his frying pan, trying to keep the other armed man at bay. Patch cursed at his men's slow reaction. Then like a stalking cat, he turned and approached Colin. He had a sword in one hand and a knife in the other. From above his shoulder, Colin slid his long sword out of its sheath. Balancing the blade before him, he waited for Patch to attack. He did not have to wait for long. Feinting with the knife, Patch thrust forward with his sword. Colin parried. Patch circled, and drew his knife upwards, trying to get under Colin's guard, but again Colin successfully parried the attack. Colin was good with the sword. He had a natural born talent, and weapons had always come easily to him. But this was different. This time, he was not practicing, and these swords were not made of wood. Never before had Colin fought a man intent on killing him. Sweat ran freely down his face, as he nervously backed away from the one-eyed man.

  Colin parried one way then stepped the other way, letting Patch's blade harmlessly pass by him.

  Patch smiled and stepped back. "You have training, lad. Not often do I get a real challenge, but can you do more than defend yourself?"

  Colin remained silent. He was not a sword master, but even a novice knows enough not to talk unless one thinks it will distract his opponent. Patch did not seem the type to be distracted. Crouching, his sword lightly held in his hand, Colin watched as Patch drop his guard. On purpose, he was leaving himself open.

  "Come on, Lad. let's see what you can do. Now's your chance."

  Colin lashed out.

  With lightning fast reflexes, Patch turned aside the attack. He laughed. "You'll have to do better than that, lad!"

  Grabbing the leg of a table, Colin threw it at Patch, then lunged forward. Quickly sidestepping the table, Patch gave a quick twist of his knife, deflecting Colin's attack, then slashed with his own sword. A thin line of blood trickled down Colin's left shoulder.

  "Innovative, lad, but hardly the result you were looking for."

  Colin drew back. Patch was the better swordsman, and he knew it.

  Patch slashed down, then up, then he feinted and thrust. One time he would attack with his sword, then with his knife, never letting himself fall into a pattern, and never relenting. He was always on the offensive. Colin tried to hold his ground, but each time Patch forced him backward with a torrent of lightning fast strokes. Colin parried, ducked, and dodged each attack, struggling to avoid the razor sharp blades that were coming ever closer. Attempting to use his sword’s longer reach to his advantage, Colin managed to keep Patch away, but only barely, and he could do nothing to stop him from coming again. Colin knew he was in trouble. Sooner or later he would grow tired, and then he would falter and make a mistake. Then Patch would finish him. Gasping for air, Colin was already bleeding from three separate wounds. None of the injuries were serious, but time was running out.

  "Give in lad," Patch said. "You can't win. Do you want to die?"

  Colin did not answer. Behind him, he could hear Pallas struggling with his own opponent. Pallas was Colin's only hope. If Pallas could finish off his man, then they might still have a chance. However, Pallas was not having any more luck than Colin. He too was fighting for his life. And the barkeep had been forced back against a wall and was doing no better.

  "Come, now... give it up," Patch said one more.

  Again, Colin gave no answer.

  Patch cursed. "Damn it, lad! I don't want to kill you!"

  Abruptly, the sounds of the battle behind Colin stopped. Lowering his sword, Patch stepped back. Fearing the worst, Colin risked a quick glance over his shoulder. A dozen more men had entered the tavern. They wore green coats under shiny breast plates. They were city guardsmen. They stormed into the tavern and quickly overran Patch's two accomplices. Colin sighed in relief. Both Pallas and the barkeep were breathing hard, but they were alive.

  The captain of the city guard stepped forward. "Patch!" he exclaimed. A thin closed mouth smile touched his face. "So, we meet again!"

  Patch returned the smile with one of his own and gave a long theatrical bow. "You remember. That is kind of you, Captain. It has been a long time."

  "Your luck has run out, Patch. Hand over your sword."

  Patch continued to smile. "I don't think so, Captain." He turned to Colin. "For a boy, you fight well. If you don't let that pride of yours kill you, you just might turn into a first-class swordsman."

  "Patch!" snapped the captain. He singled his men to move forward. "Drop your sword!"

  Patch raised his sword to his forehead and salute
d Colin. "Until we meet again, lad." He then turned and made a dash across the room and away from the door that was blocked by the guardsmen.

  "Stop him!" shouted the Captain.

  The guards surged forward, but, they were too late and too slow. Patch gracefully leaped to a tabletop than with a mid-air summersault burst out a window and into the street beyond.

  "Bloody ...!" exclaimed the Captain. "After him! Do not let him escape again!" Four of the guardsmen gave chase.

  The captain looked at Colin for the first time. "Are you hurt?"

  "Nothing serious."

  "You are either very good or very lucky. Patch is a rogue, a thief, and a master swordsman as well."

  "Who was he?" asked Colin.

  "He likes to call himself a bounty hunter. In truth, he is nothing more than a hired assassin, but he is a bloody good one. I wonder what he wanted with you, two boys?" The captain's eyes narrowed. "Who are you? What did Patch want with you?"

  "He thought we were renegades," Pallas said, joining them. His sword was back in its sheath. He looked tired but unhurt, "Whoever these renegades are."

  "Renegades?... You two?... I think not. You look like an Easlander," he said to Colin. "And you have to be a native of Cluain. From the country, no doubt. Patch most likely was just trying to get you outside and then rob you. He could not present anyone to the authorities without getting arrested himself. Strange, though, a Cluain and a Easlander together. Perhaps Patch thought the same. Who are you?", the Captain asked once more, "and what are you doing in Aleach with an assassin trying to kill you?"

  “You said it yourself,” Pallas pointed out, “He was trying to rob us.”

  The Captain scratched his head in thought. “Maybe, but it is not like Patch to roll a couple farm boys. Now that I think of it, he must have seen an opportunity for a profit.”

  Just as Pallas was formulating a story to tell the captain, a soldier burst in through the door. He was limping and bleeding from several wounds. Leaning heavily on a table, the man addressed the captain. "Sir," he was breathing hard. "We have him cornered in an alley. But we need more men to take him."

  "Blood and ashes! I won't lose him again!" The captain exclaimed, then he looked at Pallas, then at Colin. "I want you two out of the city before dawn. If I see you again, I'll put you both in chains. Understand? If Patch is after you, there's bound to be more looking for you, and I will not allow the streets bloodied up because one of you slept with some noble's daughter, or whatever it is you two did to put a price on your heads." Without waiting for an answer, the captain turned and leading the rest of his men rushed out of the tavern.

  Pallas turned to the barkeep and shook his hand. "Thank you. You saved our lives."

  "I run a business here," the barkeep said matter-of-factly, "and I can't make a profit if there is always fighting going on. This is a rough part of town, and I have a reputation to maintain."

  "Still, we are in your debt," said Colin. He gave the barkeep a few coins. "I hope this helps to fix up your place." The barkeep took the money. "It wasn't your fault, but I doubt I'll be getting anything from that Patch fellow."

  "Lucky thing the guardsmen came by when they did," added Pallas.

  The barkeep smiled. "Luck has nothing to do with it, lads. Like I said, this is a rough part of town. I pay the guardsmen in free ale to stop by every hour." He shoved the coins into his apron. "I think it is a bit too rough here for you two. If I were you, I would be doing as the captain said, and be leaving the city."

  Agreeing, the two youths thanked the barkeep once more and hurried out of the tavern.

  Forgetting about the horses and supplies, the two rushed back towards the Silver Thorn. As they approached the Silver Thorn Inn, Colin hesitated.

  Pallas looked up at Colin’s concerned face. "What is it?" he asked.

  "I am not sure, but something is wrong." Colin looked up at the sky. "It's almost dark. I do not claim to be an expert on inns, but shouldn't it be a little noisy in there? And I don’t see any lights.”

  Pallas frowned, "You're right. People should be wandering in, but the place looks empty."

  Keeping a sharp eye open, they began moving down the street and towards the strangely dark and quiet inn. From the chimney, smoke slowly rose into the darkening sky. Somebody had to be inside.

  "Boys! Over here!" a voice called softly. It came from across the street and from inside the inn's stable doors. "Hurry!"

  Pallas drew his sword. "Who's there?" he demanded, trying to pierce the dark shadows within the small barn. The stable door stood halfway open. Pallas could just make out a pile of straw, but nothing more.

  "It's me, Ned, the inn keep. Hurry! Please! You are in great danger!" Drawing his own sword, Colin carefully followed Pallas into the stable.

  "Put those away," Ned whispered from behind the pile of straw. "It is not me you need to fear." Ned pointed across the street to his inn. "It's them." Colin and Pallas exchanged confused looks.

  "Blast it all!" Ned cursed. "Get out of sight!"

  Pallas shrugged. They put away their swords. After partially closing the doors, the two boys joined Ned behind the pile of loosely stacked straw.

  Using the pile of straw as a blind, they could see the inn across the street with no danger of being spotted themselves. "What is going on?" Colin asked.

  Ned shushed him pointing towards the inn's doors. "look,"

  The door to the inn opened, and a soldier dressed in a black uniform stepped out. Clasped about his neck was a small silver broach that was fastened to a long black cloak that just touched the tops of his black leather boots. The cloak was pulled back over his shoulders revealing a broad, well-formed chest. Upon his right breast was a red flame. His tanned face stood out against the black of his wardrobe. Standing before the inn, he looked up and down the street as if he was expecting someone.

  "An officer from the Black Army," whispered Ned.

  A moment later a black-robed priest joined the officer at the front of the door. He appeared to be mad, and the two quickly began to argue. The second figure was a head shorter than the first and his black robe that fell just short of touching the inn's stoop. His head was shaved clean, and his cheeks were as red as the ruby that hung from his neck.

  "A priest of the Temple," Ned informed them in an another whisper. "One of the Unholy Ones."

  The three hiding figures lay flatter against the straw. The priests of the Severed Head practiced dark arts and deserved to be feared. They were the masters of the temples, where unspeakable acts were performed and untold suffering inflicted. The priest's souls might not be as tainted as the Red Monks, but none of the three wanted to be discovered by one of the

  Unholy Ones. Holding their breaths, the three kept still and listened.

  "This is a waste of time," the officer insisted, his harsh voice carrying from across the street. "They are hiding somewhere, or have already quit the city."

  "We have something they want!" replied the priest. His voice was growing louder. The officer did not seem to fear the priest and that maddened the black robed man. "But they will run and hide if they see you standing out here!"

  "I am telling you, they are not coming. We have wasted two hours already. There might not have even been anyone else. And we got what we really wanted and needed."

  "Torcull himself said he the boy would have three friends with him. So he will get the boy and his three companions."

  "Perhaps your beloved Prophet was wrong! Maybe there was only the Elf.”

  "Our Prophet," the priest emphasized. "And do not think you are not bound to him as we all are."

  "Then our Prophet is wrong!" the officer snapped.

  "Wrong?" the priest almost laughed. "If he says there will be three, there will be three. He has foreseen it. He is never wrong!" The priest scowled up at the officer. "And I would advise you to think carefully before disobeying him. He has given you much, but what he has given he can also take back. The Dark Prophet is not a kind master to t
hose who displease him."

  The Unholy One then said something too quietly for those in the stable to hear. The officer's face paled. Triumphantly, the priest smiled wickedly. He then turned and went back inside. Composing himself again, the officer looked up and then down the street a few more times. Then he, too, vanished back inside. Quietly, Colin closed the stable door.

  Standing up, Pallas looked at Ned. "What is going on here?"

  "I could ask you the same thing." Ned lit a lamp. "Why is an officer of the Black Army and a Black Priest from the Temple looking for a few boys? What have you done? Who are you?"

  "That doesn't matter now," answered Colin. "What happened to our friends?"

  Ned nodded. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want too. But you're in some deep trouble. That is clear enough."

  "And our friends?" Colin insisted.

  Ned shook his head again. "I am afraid it is not good. The Black Ones came two hours ago. They just burst in and started searching the place. There are two dozen soldiers in there," he pointed in the direction of the inn, "and from what I could gather, they are waiting for you to return. The temple priest seemed fairly sure you would come looking for your friends, and it seems he was right since here you are. So anyway, when they stopped paying attention to me, I snuck out the back and came here to warn you."

  "Thank you," Colin replied with a nod of his head. "You may have saved our lives. That seems to be happening a lot lately. But what about our friends? Did they escape?"

  "I am deeply sorry. I liked that boy, I truly did. He reminded me of myself when I was a young fool, but it happened so fast. I could do nothing for them, truly I could not."

  Pallas paled. "We believe you. We only want to know what happened to our friends. Are they... are they dead?"

  "If they're not, I fear they will be soon. They have been arrested and taken to the Temple. They are beyond your help. Come with me. I will take you to a place where you can hide for the night. The city gates are too heavily guarded for you to slip out tonight, and will be closed soon anyway. By now the whole city is looking for you two. Tomorrow we will think of something. I have friends that might be able to help you. But now we must go.”