“What do you want?” Mansel said. “I’ve paid you.”
“You have a visitor,” the innkeeper said, still standing in the doorway. “The wizard’s father, Quinn, is here. He needs to get a message to his son.”
“Quinn is here?” Mansel asked. “That’s impossible.”
“Well, there’s a man claiming to be the wizard’s father. He knew you by name. I told him I would let you know, and I have. I’ll leave it to you to work out who he is, but don’t do it inside the inn. I’ll throw you out,” the innkeeper said in an shaky voice, “if you cause trouble.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t,” Mansel said. “Where is he?”
“He’s in the stable, seeing to his horse.”
“Good,” Mansel said, standing up.
He started to buckle on his sword belt, and the innkeeper hurried away. Mansel’s mind was racing. He couldn’t believe that Quinn had survived being thrown overboard in the Great Sea, but it was just like the wily old carpenter to survive and show up here. Mansel was sure Quinn wanted to take Zollin back to Gwendolyn. If his mentor didn’t try to kill Mansel outright, he would certainly reveal Mansel’s treachery to Gwendolyn. Mansel couldn’t let that happen. Whether the person in the stable was actually Quinn or not, he needed to die.
The fury that had been building in Mansel was white-hot now. Normally he would have relished the opportunity to fight, to let his aggression go and vent his frustrations, but it was unnerving to think that Quinn could have survived after being thrown overboard. Mansel remembered seeing Quinn sink under the waves, and there was nothing but water in every direction as far as the eye could see. It was impossible to think that Quinn could have swum to shore, he told himself.
The nervousness only made him more anxious to fight, to exert his strength and let the tension that had been building up go. He stalked through the inn, the guests and staff giving him plenty of room. There was murder in his eyes and everyone saw it. Voices fell silent as he passed. Their fear made Mansel feel invincible as he stepped outside and turned toward the stable.
* * *
Miriam was frantic when she reached Orrock. The city was locked down and no one would allow her in. The invading army was making camp around Orrock, and she was trapped between their forces and the city walls. The guards looked at her with pity, but they couldn’t take a chance that she was a spy.
“Please,” she begged. “I must get in. There are people in danger.”
“Ma’am, we’re all in danger,” the sentry at the city gate told her. “Your best bet is to get across the river. You might be safe there, if you can get across.”
“No, I have to get in. You don’t understand.”
“I have my orders, I can’t break them for you or anyone else.”
“Please,” Miriam begged. “I have to see Zollin. He’s in danger, grave danger.”
“I’m sorry,” the soldier’s face had gone stony, and Miriam knew she had lost him.
“Wait, can you take a message to Zollin?”
“I can pass it along, but I can’t make any promises,” the soldier said.
“Here,” Miriam said, handing up the note that Kelvich had left at the farmhouse for Zollin. “It’s very important that he get his note. It’s life and death, do you understand?”
“I’ll pass it along,” he said.
The soldier disappeared for a moment and then he was back.
“I sent it to Zollin the wizard. It’s the best I could do,” he said.
She thought he sounded sincere, but he had been gone from his post for only a few seconds. For all she knew he might have tossed it in the dung heap and was just telling her what she wanted to hear.
“Thank you,” she said.
The soldier nodded, and then Miriam was left with a difficult decision. She could see the invading army, spreading out across the plain that surrounded Orrock. There was no place for her to take shelter, and if she tried to go back toward Felson, she would surely be captured. They might let her go, she was just a woman after all, but armies had a reputation of not being very polite to women. She didn’t think she could take that chance.
On the other hand, the Tillamook ran close to the city. If she could get across it she might be able to get home, but she couldn’t swim, and the river was wide. The thought of trying to cross a river really frightened her. Ajax was a strong horse, and perhaps he could swim the river with her on his back, but what if she slipped off? She was suddenly terrified, and she realized she was all alone.
* * *
The soldier gave the note to another guard who happened to be passing by. That guard gave the note to man who was officially off duty, but with the army now starting to surround the city, no one was leaving his post without good reason. That soldier passed the note to one of the healers who was on his way back to the military compound.
The healer gave the note to one of the volunteers who was helping in the infirmary. The healers hadn’t had much to do, since Zollin had healed the most critically wounded soldiers, but they were busy preparing for what they expected to be a major influx of wounded once the fighting started. The healer gave the volunteer instructions to take the note to Commander Hausey.
It took nearly half an hour of searching before the volunteer found Commander Hausey, who saw that the note was addressed to Zollin and then tucked it into his belt. He would have to go to the castle to give a report soon. He would pass on the note then.
* * *
Quinn was giving his horse a good rub down. He had already taken off the saddle and blanket, and the horse was busy munching on the hay that Quinn had put in the stall. There wasn’t much light in the stable, just a single lantern that Quinn was using, but he heard the door open and guessed immediately who had entered.
“Mansel,” Quinn said. “I thought you might find me here.”
“You’re alive,” Mansel said. “I should have known you’d find a way to survive.”
“You don’t need to kill me,” Quinn said. “We were under a spell. The woman in Lodenhime is a witch. You don’t really love her.”
“Stop trying to deceive me, Quinn. I know you want Gwendolyn to yourself. Why do you think I threw you overboard? Not that she would want an old man like you.”
Quinn felt a cough coming. He knew that he couldn’t avoid it, but he didn’t want to appear weak in Mansel’s eyes. The big warrior hadn’t moved from the doorway of the stable, and Quinn had continued rubbing down his horse. He wished he had a better weapon. He still had the curve-bladed knife he’d taken from the outlaw. He had scoured off the rust and honed the blade so that it was razor sharp, but it was still a poorly made weapon.
“You aren’t yourself, old friend,” Quinn said. “Let me help you.”
“I don’t need your help,” Mansel said, his voice rising with anger. “That’s your problem, Quinn. You never trusted me. I’m not your apprentice anymore. I’m a man. I’m a warrior. I’m going to kill you and take Zollin to Gwendolyn, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”
“When we were on the road with Prince Wilam, you mentioned a girl,” Quinn said. He was searching frantically for anything that might break the witch’s spell. He didn’t want to fight Mansel. He would probably end up dead, or Mansel would, neither of which was an option he wanted.
“Shut up. I’ve committed myself to Gwendolyn. Don’t try to smear my honor.”
“I’m not,” Quinn said, then he coughed quietly into his hand.
“I’m sorry it has to be this way,” Mansel said.
Quinn heard the quiet hiss of a sword being drawn.
“If you had just gone away,” Mansel said, with a note of grief in his voice, “no one would have been the wiser. You could have had a long life, but now you have to die.”
“Why?” Quinn asked.
“I can’t take the chance that you might warn Zollin not to come back with me.”
“He can’t go,” Quinn said. “I can’t let that happen.”
“You can’t
stop it.”
“Are you sure about that?”
At that moment a coughing fit racked Quinn. He couldn’t stop it, and he had to hold onto the stall wall to keep from falling over.
“You’re in no shape to fight Quinn,” Mansel said. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”
Anger welled up Quinn. He was tired, his body ached from the constant cough, and he had given up everything to be here. He was so close to reaching Zollin, and he wasn’t going to just lie down and give up now.
“If you’ve got something to do, have at it. Otherwise, get out of my sight.”
“If that’s the way you want it,” Mansel said.
“I would have forgiven you,” Quinn told him. “But now I’m going to kill you.”
A hard look crossed Mansel’s face.
“You’re like a rabid dog, and it’s time someone put you down. I made you; I guess it’s up to me to unmake you.”
“You’re a foolish, sick, old man. Killing you will be easy,” Mansel said.
Quinn stepped out of the horse’s stall and closed the door. Then he drew his long knife and bent his knees slightly. For an instant Mansel looked unsure.
“You know I can do it,” Mansel said.
Quinn didn’t answer, he just looked at the young man he loved like a son. A shadow of grief crossed his face. He knew that Mansel wasn’t in his right mind, but he couldn’t help but feel as if he had failed Mansel somehow.
Mansel charged forward, and all the pent-up rage and frustration and fear came boiling out in a terrifying battle cry. Quinn didn’t move; he just waited for the charge. He knew he had to get inside Mansel’s reach to neutralize his sword, but Mansel would be expecting him to do just that.
Mansel feinted to his left and then swung his sword in a tight arc with his right hand. Quinn danced away from the blade and let Mansel charge past him. The young warrior spun around, expecting an attack from behind, but Quinn stood quietly. His chest was burning, his arms felt weak, and his legs were heavy, but he did his best not to let Mansel see that anything was wrong.
“You still fight with your emotions,” Quinn said. “That’s gonna get you killed.”
“Not by you.”
He raised his sword and then stepped forward, bringing the blade down in a chopping motion. Quinn ducked, and the end of the sword struck the wood of the stall door behind him, sticking fast. Quinn dove forward, slashing with his curved knife at Mansel’s stomach. The big warrior dodged back, but he wasn’t quite fast enough. The blade cut through his thick woolen pants and into the flesh of his hip. Mansel shouted in pain and staggered back.
“You bastard,” Mansel shouted. “I’ll cut your heart out.”
He drew his own daggers, one from his belt and the other from his boot, and moved forward more cautiously. Quinn knew his young enemy had the upper hand now. Quinn couldn’t even rely on his speed to give him an advantage. The sickness had sapped him of that. Even now, his eyes watered and his chest erupted in a coughing fit.
Mansel dashed forward, his daggers a blur. Quinn shimmied backward, blocking one blade with his own and ducking under the other. He spun and threw his left elbow into the side of Mansel’s head, but it only glanced off the bigger man’s skull, causing no damage. Mansel spun and Quinn dropped to the ground, scissoring his legs in an attempt to trip his protégé, but the younger man anticipated the move and dove forward. Quinn felt the steel slam into his left shoulder; the pain was exquisite and caused him to cry out in pain. At almost the same time Mansel hit the floor and rolled over his shoulder, coming up on his feet. He spun around as Quinn struggled to get up. He knew he needed to get the wicked-looking knife away from his mentor, so he kicked out at Quinn’s right hand.
His survival instinct gave Quinn the speed he needed to avoid the blow. His arm darted back and then forward again, cutting a nasty gash up Mansel’s calf muscle. The top of Mansel’s boot folded down across his shin and Quinn saw the muscle, red and fibrous, bulge from the wound. Mansel hopped back, howling in pain, and Quinn staggered to his feet. He knew that now was his only chance. His left arm was worthless, but Mansel was having trouble putting weight on his wounded leg.
Quinn stepped forward and threw a kick at the side of Mansel’s good leg. Perhaps Quinn was weakened from the nasty wound to his shoulder, or perhaps he just underestimated Mansel’s strength, but the kick landed solidly without doing any damage at all. Quinn thought it was like kicking a tree, and then Mansel’s hand lashed out, the blade flashing in the light of the lantern that Quinn had hung over his horse’s stall. He dodged backward but wasn’t fast enough. Mansel’s dagger caught him in the cheek. He felt the blade puncture flesh and rattle off his teeth. Quinn fell back, dropping his blade and clutching at his wounded face. Then he felt Mansel’s weight land on him, and the muscles in Quinn’s back spasmed so hard they forced the air out of his lungs. He tried to turn as Mansel grabbed his hair and yanked his head up so that his neck was exposed. Quinn knew what was coming and threw his right hand across his throat. He felt the blade sawing through the muscles and tendons of his hand. He screamed again as Mansel released his hair.
“Fine, have it your way,” Mansel said.
Then he slammed the dagger into Quinn’s back.
Chapter 31
Zollin was in the small library of the castle. He was reading books about weather when the King came in, followed by his entourage. Zollin looked up and took in the grim look on the King’s face.
“They’ve arrived,” King Felix said. “We’re going up to the watchtower to see what we can see. Come with us.”
Zollin stood up. He would have liked to continue his study, but he had enough information for now. He followed the group of soldiers. Most were noblemen, although a life of military service was the best they could hope for. The noble families still oversaw the larger cities in Yelsia, but for the children who did not rule, the military was seen as an honorable place to earn a reputation and bring glory to the family name.
Zollin felt out of place with the men. He followed silently as they made their way up the winding staircase to the tallest tower of the castle. The youngest of the men, a commander not much older than Zollin himself, swung open the trap door that led onto the roof of the tower. The roof had a crenellated railing of stone and was large enough that all the men could stand easily on the tower’s surface. There was a cool breeze, almost chilly. They could see the dark shadows of the enemy army spreading around the city. The dark ribbon of the Tillamook ran across the south side of the city, though the city walls didn’t reach out that far.
“They’ll have us completely cut off by morning,” said General Yinnis. He was a large man, with long, dark hair that was turning gray. He still wore a sword, but he carried plans of the city under his other arm. On the front of his tunic was the image of a running boar.
“That’s what we expected,” said King Felix.
“We’ve men all along the city walls and more guarding the castle,” said General Griggs. “The remainder of the Boar Legion and Fox Legion will bolster that force on the walls. Sir Tolis’s Eagle Legion will remain in reserve. The Light Horse Legion from Felson is still under Commander Hausey’s direction and is serving in the infirmary.”
“And your Wolf Legion?” Felix asked.
“We are divided, half on the city walls, half guarding the castle,” General Griggs said.
He was a middle-aged man who looked too small for his brightly-polished armor. He had a pinched face and small eyes that gave him the appearance of a rodent. His breastplate bore the emblem of a growling wolf’s head.
“Zollin, tell me what you think,” Felix said.
Zollin let his magic flow out. He could feel the people and animals inside the city, sensed their fear and anxiety about what was happening, but he pushed his perception farther. He could sense the men in the field. They were busy, but excited to finally be at their destination. Then he felt something odd. A lone person, edging closer to the river. There wer
e no more Yelsians around the city, they had all either fled or taken refuge inside the city walls. The soldiers were moving in groups, and the woman all alone stood out to Zollin. He concentrated on her and recognized the spark of magic in her. It was familiar to him, an animal healer’s power, stronger than when he’d last seen her, but he was sure it was Miriam.
“I don’t know,” he said to King Felix. “I don’t sense anything strange. I can’t feel the Master of the Torr or the dragon. The beast isn’t close by.”
“Odds are good it will attack us by night again,” said General Tolis. He was the leader of the Eagle Legion, a short man with heavy features but bright eyes. His hair was cut close to his scalp and his emblem was a spread-winged eagle.
“I’m working on that,” Zollin said, looking up at the night sky.
“Well, there’s little more we can do here now,” said King Felix. “I want men posted here with runners who can inform us of anything they see.”
“I will see to it personally,” said General Griggs.
They started filing down back down through the trap door, but Zollin focused on the lone woman again. She was terrified, both of being caught in the open and of the water. She was sitting on her horse facing the river and Zollin realized she needed to cross the river but was afraid to. He felt his magic blowing hot through him, like the billows of a blacksmith’s forge. He lifted her, the horse and rider both panicking as they left the ground. He levitated them over the river and sat them down safely on the far side, sending them both reassuring waves of peace and safety as he did so.
He saw the horse turn, and the rider was now facing the city from across the river. He couldn’t see her in the dark, but he could feel her sense of relief. Then she turned and rode east toward Felson.
The Five Kingdoms: Book 04 - Crying Havoc Page 31
