Blood Of The Wizard (Book 1)

by Thomas Head

  . __________

  At noon, they went carefully down a treed section of road, which meandered down a long, easy hill. At the bottom, the trees fell away, and he found they were approaching a placid sheet of water. It was exploding with early-afternoon rays, splitting with each wave to send a cataract of sparkles ripping across it.

  And there was something else here. A feeling. As they walked toward the water, the feeling grew. They approached the thin road at its edge.

  There was something here.

  He looked at the water, at the green stone shore. They were on the cool wet mud of the road now. He did not care for the look of the hill that rose to their right. The top was too far up. It was steep and long, and further down, it formed a mile or so of cliffs, which would be ideal for an ambush.

  Abruptly, Bunn left his side and approached the water. She bent on both knees and quickly lapped a delicate drink then sauntered back quickly.

  Did she sense something too?

  They looked another moment. Her eyes moved back and forth across the water. He let the sun play on his face, but the feeling would not go away.

  As they got moving, she stayed unusually close to his side.

  Toward the middle of the road, they heard something. They turned and watched a school of fish scatter and jump.

  Bunn stopped. She shielded her eyes from the sun and stared while a sharp roil and fizz erupted from the water. Black humps of thick rubbery skin rose, and they turned to see the humps were gliding toward them. For a second, there was just shock. Then, before he realized it, he was running, struggling to keep up with Bunn.

  He heard a wet slapping noise. It grows louder behind him. Then there were more, a great watery herd splashing closer and closer until it was nearly alongside them. He ran, breathy and tense. He could not glance back, nor at the water. Then Bunn fell. He went sideways jumping over her. When he landed, he ran between her and an oncoming horror.

  He was staring at something mustachioed, almost limbless.

  “Run!” he squalled.

  He fell. He grunted and rolled. He was scampering to his feet, but he was never upright before the beast latched onto his ankle. Thirteen feet long, the beast could have been the mating of a dragon and a whale. It was too late to block its coming with his magic, and even with his ankle in its mouth, it was honking like some perversion of a goose. The eyes glowed dusky ginger against the sun.

  And it waddled back toward the lake with him, Bunn screaming.

  “Run, woman!

  He heaved and got his foot free. He succeeded in tumbling back onto the road. But more of the beasts were undulating toward him. One snaked upward in a great leap and he managed to freeze it in the air before it dropped harmlessly back in. He did the same to another, a but a third beast, one he did not see, bit him, dragging him in. The others circled back lunged into the water alongside him. Cullfor grabbed a large stone, but it pulled him free of it and sent him careening into the water. He splashed down and spun. Waist deep, he righted himself and began splashing ashore. Then he gathered his wits and turned. He raised his palm just in time to halt the largest of the creatures, its thrashing form flailed wildly before him.

  Then, Bunn’s huge white eyes pleading to him from the shore, he raced toward her. Too slowly. The other beasts, free now, lunged through the water behind him. Still he sloshed toward the rocks. The creatures began encircling him. He roared and held out an invisible wall to the great tightening wallow of slithering forms but the bottom fell sharply below his feet. Everything submerged into the seething muddy water.

  Cullfor reached for the rocky ledge. Missed. Damn.

  Reached again.

  He was fighting for air already, but at last he gained his feet again. He pulled himself atop the wet rocks, his knees grinded against the stone.

  He froze. He needed out of their element. But one of the beasts lunged. Shaking, he managed to pull his dirk from his boot. It felt too late to stab, but he ripped the knife into its neck, sending it roaring back into water, blood gargling from the open and fatty slit across its throat. The second knocked him sideways and sent him sprawling into a third. Falling, he stabbed and missed. But he bought himself a moment to stand, then ripped a gouge down its chest.

  He turned, growling now.

  The others fell back, swarming over the others’ bleeding carcass.

  Cullfor climbed, panting wildly. He ran, sloshing up onto the road. Bunn grabbed his hand and together they limped up the cliffs. He was bruised and exhausted. His gaze darted toward the shore. The creatures had already dragged the two wounded creatures under.

  She put an arm around his waist, struggling with him further up the cliffs. Here, he helped him to a flat spot.

  “Lake dragons. Nestlings. They’re gone, my sweetness.”

  “Boiling hell!” he snorted.

  He put his hands on his knees and sat. Then he flopped on his back. There was a moment. It was just a glance but there was an instance of utter care. It warmed his cold feeling. Once he had enough air, he blew a large breath.

  “Gone,” he said.

  “I know,” she said. She was stroking his arm.

  Together they stood and began surveying the aftermath of the insane encounter. Everything felt dull and flat, as if in the suddenness of it all they had somehow been robbed of its meaning.

  Cullfor wiped the mud off himself until he was dusting away the drying bits of frayed cloak. He grinned, looking out at the water again. It was choppy with a new breeze. There no trace of the muddy disturbance the struggle had left.

  “Damn,” he said.

  And they began walking back down to the stony little road.

  Once the long rise was behind them, they eased away from the water. Cullfor paused once more. He thumbed the heart-shaped gem and stood staring back down the road.

  It was a long path. But it seemed shorter from this angle. The hill’s shadows had begun to stretch into the water. There was no sign of the things.

  He pulled out the gem and gave it a quick glance, wondering.

  __________

  Lady Dhal followed the Dwarf-King as he strode up into the bowels of the castle, the expertly-hewn stone trails still feeling like the boat as she struggled to keep up. She felt ill indeed, and she wondered if this was some manner of land sickness.

  In time, though, the feeling eased. She settled her mind. As they walked, she looked at the other dwarves’ eyes. They were fearful but calm, and in this way she tried to gain some sense of what kind of leader he was. He seemed to induce both though, she noticed, which made it hard to judge. That, or this dwarf was something more than royalty.

  Perhaps he was the dark cruithne lord he claimed to be.

  As they moved upward through the castle’s cavernous underbelly, more regular, straight walls began engulfing them. They were traveling through parting crowds now, and he silenced their conversations like parting waves. She tried to think of Fie again. She wanted images of him in her mind, perhaps, if nothing else, to ground her. The thoughts were vague, though, more like flashes of personality. The way he never seemed to want anything, but went after so much. The way people adored him, though he was a hermit by nature. The way, at times, he tended to speak to others in words that were so frank they were almost mean. But tongue in cheek was probably more accurate. Without question, he had an old dog’s charm.

  As they made their way into the castle proper, Bhiers was ahead of her by some distance.

  He halted at the second row of doors, not turning. But she felt him watching.

  “You must be half-starved,” he said, and turned

  Before she could respond, he held out a loaf of bread. It was steaming, and smelled wonderful, but she tried to seem unsurprised by his little trick, nor overly pleased. But it was impossible. Shock surged under her sternum, vaporizing down into her abdomen.

  She raised her eyes to him, knowing she appeared nothing less than absolutely shocked and grateful. And Bhiers did not appear disappoin
ted with the look. He smiled, pulling two torches from the wall, and as he handed her one, he allowed her time with her little meal.

  She grabbed it, softly, and chewed with as much self-control as she could muster. Which was nearly impossible. There was sausage and cheese inside. It was delightful, almost instantly filling. Keeping the bites in her mouth, she followed him into the warm anteroom, where he began taking off his long tunic.

  Despite his dwarven size, there was something enormous about him His rounded shoulders were visible even under the thick mail armor. He folded the tunic and placed it on a rack. Then he pulled down a long woolen blanket, asking her if she was cold.

  She was trembling, she realized, despite the warmth. Stepping toward the blanket, she became keenly aware of his neck and hands now. In the torchlight, they seemed more battered, ripped with the long gouges of battle. The skin seemed translucent, and the muscle was active underneath.

  He nodded to his tunic.

  “I was no wizard before I earned that.”

  She wrapped herself in the blanket.

  “So you are one now?”

  He laughed. “Och! I do have my… qualities. Did the others not bring your handmaiden?”

  “They did... She did not survive the journey.”

  “A pity, my lady... Talent! Come, girl!”

  Footsteps pattered on the roof overhead. There were giggles. Soon after, a fat blonde human woman emerged from a series of stairs.

  For a moment, she seemed shocked at the sight of Dhal. Then she nodded, and bowed.

  “My lady,” he said to Dhal. “You will find your new maiden kindly and handy enough. A good cook, she is. And she speaks a passable Dwarvish. She will see you to some warm water and some worthy clothes.”

  Dhal looked to the door, realizing it was open. But leaving, though permitted, was impossible. Her stomach, among other things, would not permit it.

  “I was raised by dwarves, maiden, but my husband was from Delmark too. You may use your own tongue.”

  Bhiers smiled the slow affable grin of a sorcerer, waving his hand slowly before her. And even as he told her had to travel south on business, it was like a blanket was wrapping around her soul.

  It was like home.

  __________

  Talent was, as promised, not unkind. Nor again was she some eager girl. Once they were upstairs, beyond sight of Bhiers, she became like a handmaiden of elder days, holding Dhal’ hand, doting over her a bit, helping her with her sea legs up the stairs. She held the torch for her as she led her down a short hall, where she seemed to look at her with a measure of something that seemed meant to cheer her up. A smile, almost. There was an honest understanding there, she sensed. Some acknowledgment of her loss, and the need to soak it in.

  They passed a room, which was longer than the hall itself. Several women looked up from a variety of chores, smiling.

  Talent motioned for one of them, barking at her to do something or other downstairs.

  She led Dhal past them without a proper introduction. Before she could even acknowledge them, they were each filing in behind the first, tracing downstairs.

  Dhal cocked an eye at Talent.

  “Yus. Those gurlz hof to be toad every lost ting, ya?”

  Dhal smiled as they continued.

  At the end of the hall was a small room. In its center was green copper floor. It dipped in the middle, to a circular bench. As they entered, Dhal noticed more blankets. Pitchers and cups. And a gutter, which also copper. It wound from the ceiling to a pipe with a large lever. Talent opened it, sending a taut stream of water spilling down a second gutter, which spilled into the copper basin at the center of the room.

  Dhal watched in astonishment as it began to fill. She had seen bathhouses built over hot springs. But this… this was miraculous. Even the stone floor was warm.

  “A bath?”

  “Yus,” Talent said matter-of-factly. She pulled a blanket from a stone nook then walked to the entrance and draped it on a series of clothespins.

  “Yus, you will feel better. Take them off.”

  Dhal flushed, a bit manic. Then she shook her head at her own modesty. But of course, she told herself. This lady was a handmaiden. She pulled her blanket around her shoulders and bent down and unbound her shoes. She slid them off to the side and pulled her undergarments down under her dress.

  “Doon get in, though. Not yet.”

  Dhal nodded. She unbound the leather straps of her dress and pulled it down over her shoulders. When her breasts were unclothed, she heard a rapping noise under their feet.

  Talent knocked back on a copper tube, then grabbed her gently, spinning her around to face her. She took her wrist and led her to the edge where she pulled Dhal’s arms out to the side. She lifted Dhal’s left breast and found a bit of rawness had developed underneath. She pulled up her right breast and again found that there was a bit of rash developing. Talent gave a small noise and pulled Dhal’s dress up over her head. She pulled aside the last of the undergarments and asked Dahl to turn back around. Fully nude, Dhal nodded. She felt the blood rushing into her cheeks, but she soon checked her own modesty again. This woman, after all, was a trained handmaiden. She swallowed and grinned at herself, but the embarrassed feeling only worsened as Talent grabbed a fistful of her hair and pulled it over one shoulder, pulling down on the lobe of her ear and looking in it.

  “Mmm, ya,” Talent said quietly.

  “What? What is it?”

  “Ah te normill. Bit ah the windburn in te ears, ya.”

  “Oh.”

  “Been in it over a week, ya.”

  “Say again.”

  “Te wash… te ocean, ya?”

  Dhal nodded and stepped to the edge of the bath. Already, the warmth was astonishing. Talent tested it with a bare foot, swirling her toes it. Then she banged on the gutter with a pair of loud knocks.

  Dhal huddled, sitting down. Then Talent scrubbed, still laughing. Dhal was bent, but leaning backward now, trying to stand against the force of her strokes as she worked scented whale fat into her hair, into the muscles on her back and under her arms. She rubbed her neck tenderly. Then she plopped the scented fat into Dhal’s palm, making a motion for to scrub her front while Talent put a copper pitcher in arm’s reach and worked on her ears. It was a long affair, all said, and it left Dhal’s skin steaming and red—but clean.

  When Talent departed, Dhal scrubbed herself a bit more. She rinsed out her hair once more and leaned back. There was small glass window on the other side of the tub.

  The reflection that stared back seemed so thin and small.

  When she looked out, it was grandeur that stared back. The inescapable enormity of it. Beyond the sprawling village and harbor, the ocean was not as wide as the sky, but it was somehow bigger, more certain and cruel, and at the back of her skull came an unpleasant warm shiver. She stretched, rubbing herself more fully with of the smaller towels, which was laden with the scented fat. The immutable fact, she mused, was that no one could escape this man, nor the land he chose to inhabit. She was his. There was no choice but to hold on to whatever that meant.

  Naked and wet, but finally clean, she allowed herself to cry.

  Chapter 83

  __________

  Cullfor and Bunn emerged onto a wooded trail, which wound like a worn ribbon through large oaks. Afternoon seemed to drip by as they walked, and all the while random questions began to surface in his mind, like how was he going to feed Bunn? Then the sensation of more sinister, and increasingly larger questions incubated for moment: How the hell was he going to keep her alive in all this?

  At a place where the muddy, wooded path ventured to edges of a bayside farmstead, he paused.

  He fisted his chin.

  He looked beyond the rolling fields to a pair of thatched roofs. He turned to her, the sun bleaching a thick webbing of cloud in the western sky. He could smell the assuring smell of scythed grass and a thin trace of woodsmoke.

  How far would he have to
go before the worded influence of the monk would have no bite? She rubbed his arm and took enough of a kiss from him that Cullfor smiled. The gravity of his thoughts thinned, and for a moment, everything around him felt like home. He looked around, and he thought: That a land is foreign or familiar, this is decided by its women.

  He took a gulp of air and looked back at her.

  She had her hands folded around his dirk. She had stolen it from his boot and was slowly sharpening it on a stone. She looked up at him thoughtfully.

  Then she returned her gaze to her work.

  “My sweetness, I can care well enough for me,” she said. “You can keep your heart on those you mean to save.”

  __________

  Together they snuck through the farm, tracing its edges as if the humble homes housed some malevolent watcher. They traveled for slow, cautious hours up a dry and north-winding creek until they found an undercut section of the creek’s bank where, aching as darkness descended, he built a shaky and short-lived fire.

  While the stars emerged, Bunn gathered stones and logs, stacking them in a clumsy wall to ward off the wind. She piled more for a primitive shelter. By full night, the crude accommodations did their work. The fire stayed lit. And he began feeling something very close to relaxed. As they settled in for a nap, he thought about the bizarre animals at the bay. He felt her rubbing his arm again, and he gave all his thoughts to that instead.

  The feeling of her hand on his wrist simmered, creating a nice mix of energy and calm in his heart. Even as the shuffle of night animals whispered around them, breath came deep and easy. Lying next to her, he rolled to face her and knocked down their wall.

  Stirring snorts of laughter rose from both.