Fierce Loyalty fk-5

by Toby Neighbors

  His head was spinning and his body was shivering when he finally lowered himself down onto the quay. Every part of his body ached and he could hear people shouting all around him. Then rough hands were grabbing him and lifting him up.

  “Get your hands off of him,” Mansel shouted. “Let him go or I’ll gut you like a fish and feed you to that monster.”

  “He’s a sorcerer,” someone shouted with a thick accent.

  “He called up the kraken,” another voice said.

  “Burn him, it’s the only way to kill a sorcerer.”

  Zollin knew he should be doing something, but he was so tired he could barely keep his eyes open. He’d had to let his magical containment field down, and his magic had tasked his physical strength to its limits.

  “Zollin,” Mansel yelled again, his voice closer.

  “Here,” Zollin said.

  “Don’t let him talk,” some shouted. “He’ll curse us all.”

  “Get your filthy hands off!” Mansel shouted as he and Eustice finally made their way through the crowd.

  “You can’t have him,” some in the crowd screamed.

  “We found him and we’ll deal with him ourselves,” someone else cried.

  Zollin heard the zing of Mansel drawing his sword. People began to scream and run, but the rough hands that were holding Zollin-one on his shoulder, the other wrapped around his throat-tightened.

  “Who do you think you are?” said a voice near Zollin’s ear. “This man’s a sorcerer and we’ll do what we want with him.”

  “Over my dead body,” Mansel said in a low, menacing voice.

  “If that’s the way you want it,” the voice said. “Get him lads.”

  Two men darted toward Mansel, but a low, arcing swipe of his blade caused them to leap back just as quickly. Then Mansel kicked out to his side, hitting one of the men on the edge of the group in the chest. The blow sounded like a sharp strike on a large drum. Then the man went flying into the water.

  “Hey!” another shouted, but Mansel was in constant motion now, driving the men back with his blade and striking like a viper with fists and feet.

  The sword tip ripped through one man’s shoulder and Mansel kicked a third man in the crotch so hard it lifted him off his feet.

  “I swear I’ll kill you all if you don’t let him go,” Mansel screamed.

  “Let ’em go, Dorn, afore som’un gets hurt,” said one of the sailors with a thick accent. Zollin felt the man’s hands loosen on him somewhat and the young wizard opened his eyes.

  “I need a drink,” he said.

  Mansel laughed. “I’ll bet you do,” he said. “Something besides seawater, from the looks of you.”

  “Can we go now?” Zollin asked.

  Mansel took Zollin by the arm and led him away from the group of sailors, who stood cursing him under their breath. Eustice hurried over and took hold of Zollin’s other arm. They half carried him away from the harbor.

  “I don’t think we’re going to get another ship here,” Mansel said as they hurried along.

  There were people shouting and running all around them. Cries about the sea monster echoed all around them. People were weeping and cursing. Sailors had run from the taverns and brothels to see what had happened. The ship Zollin had booked passage on was destroyed.

  Mansel led them away from the harbor and deeper into the town. He was looking for the kind of inn that didn’t cater to sailors, and when he found one he went straight in.

  “Try not to seem too hurt, Zollin,” he whispered. “I don’t want any more crazed mobs calling for your blood.”

  “Me either,” Zollin said, swaying lightly on his feet.

  They went inside the inn and Zollin stayed by the door with Eustice while Mansel talked to the innkeeper. They were escorted up a flight a stairs and shown into a small room.

  “Why’s he all wet?” the innkeeper asked.

  “He got mobbed by some sailors and knocked off the quay. That’s why he’s so shaky,” Mansel lied. “I need to get him warmed up and dry.”

  “Well, I can dry his clothes near the fire,” the man said, not quiet sure he believed Mansel.

  “That would be grand. And if you can send up some wine, we’ll be paying with gold.”

  “And food,” Zollin said, trying not to slur his words. “Something hot.”

  “I feed all my guests,” the innkeeper said.

  “Great. Give us a few moments and we’ll have him out of these wet clothes for you then,” Mansel said.

  “I’d like to see the gold,” the innkeeper said.

  “Here, take it,” Mansel said, holding out a golden coin with a crown embossed on it. “And get us that wine. And don’t skimp, either-we want several bottles of your best.”

  The innkeeper put the coin between his teeth and bit down to test how soft the gold was. Then he looked up, pleased.

  “I’ll get it right up here,” he said happily. “And the best food in Lorye too.”

  “Excellent,” Mansel said.

  He closed the door behind the innkeeper and turned back to Eustice.

  “Let’s get him out of these clothes,” he said.

  They stripped the cold, wet clothes off of Zollin and then wrapped him in a blanket and sat him on the bed. A serving girl knocked timidly on the door. When Mansel opened it, she handed him three goblets and a bottle of wine.

  “Master Orrin said there was wet clothes,” she said.

  Eustice handed them to her, along with Zollin’s boots.

  “Get those dried quickly and there’s a silver mark in it for you,” Mansel said.

  “Yes, my lord,” she said. “Right away.”

  She hurried out, and Eustice handed Zollin a goblet of wine. He drank it greedily, letting the wine warm his insides and spread a feeling of strength through his arms and legs. After a few moments, Zollin had drunk three goblets of wine and the innkeeper returned with their supper. It was a thick stew with hearty loaves of golden-crusted bread. Zollin ate two bowls and then fell asleep.

  “Did you sell the horses?” Mansel asked Eustice.

  The mute servant shook his head.

  “Good. I want to ride out of here before dawn. Do you think you can fetch them without drawing too much attention?”

  Eustice nodded enthusiastically and hurried out.

  “He’s a useful one to have around,” Mansel said to Zollin, even though the young wizard was asleep. “I’ll keep watch, why don’t I,” he said as he paced back and forth through the room. “So far this little adventure seems right on course-according to our luck, anyway.”

  Chapter 3

  It had taken all of Offendorl’s physical strength to fight back the seasickness. He was alone on a trade ship sailing south. He had booked passage on a ship sailing to Brimington Bay that included sharing the shipboard rations. Unfortunately, the sailors seemed to exist on bland gruel and stale biscuits that were more often than not crawling with weevils.

  He had been carried from Orrock to the southern coast of Yelsia by Bartoom, but the dragon was not gentle. The trip and Offendorl’s wounds had almost been enough to stop his ancient heart, but a fortune find of Zipple Weed had given him the boost in stamina he needed to rejuvenate his body. He would live, but the magic and battle with Zollin had weakened the master of the Torr. Normally his servants would have nursed him back to health, but he had abandoned the last of his tongue-less eunuchs after the battle when he had called Bartoom to carry him away. The dragon was a vile creature, in Offendorl’s estimation, but it had served a purpose. The trip to the coast, which would have taken over a week on horseback, was traversed in just one day by the dragon, but the beast was neither gentle or caring. It did as it was bid because Offendorl had learned its name and inscribed it on a golden crown, giving him full control of the dragon.

  He could have been back in his tower high above the Grand City by now if only he could have suffered the dragon’s harsh treatment, but he had sent the beast away to the Walheta Mountains be
tween Yelsia and Falxis, preferring to travel home by sea. But that had not been a great solution either. The ship was dank and smelly. Offendorl’s cabin was little more than a closet with a bunk and had no access to fresh air. For over a week the elder wizard had lain in a state of semi-consciousness, too sick to move and too weak to work the magic he needed to regain his strength.

  A normal person’s body would heal naturally, but Offendorl was over 400 years old. His body was kept alive through magic, and even though Offendorl was an incredibly powerful wizard, it had been over a century since he had participated in a magical battle. He had over-extended his resources and now he was caught with barely enough strength to stay alive and no one to help nurse him back to health. The only good news had been the strong winds that were pushing the small trading vessel south. They had made excellent time over the last week, completing over half of their journey.

  The captain of the ship had prepared a canvas seat for Offendorl on the deck, and he was determined to make his way to that chair. He had only brought a bottle of wine and the golden crown-which he carried in a burlap sack-to his cabin. The wine was long gone, wasted because his stomach refused to keep it down. The crown was hidden beneath his bunk in the tiny cabin, but he doubted that anyone suspected the ancient wizard of possessing treasure. He left it behind and staggered out of his room. He needed spirits and food to regain his strength and he was determined to get more than the sorry fare the sailors had been giving him.

  His first challenge was to climb the stairs that led from his cabin up onto the deck of the ship. There was no handrail to lean against, and Offendorl was forced to crawl up the steps. He was queasy and out of breath by the time he reached the top, but he forced himself to keep moving. He didn’t want to appear weak.

  The sunshine felt glorious and the fresh sea air invigorated him a little. It was enough to keep the elder wizard moving. He saw the canvas chair under an awning not far from the helm of the ship. The captain was standing near the ship’s wheel, his long, blue sea coat immaculate. Offendorl tried to steady his gait but the ship was plunging through the gentle swells like a galloping horse.

  “Ah, you are getting your sea legs, I think,” said the captain.

  “Yes,” Offendorl croaked, falling into the canvas chair. His voice sounded terrible, a combination of vomiting for several days and lack of use.

  “I was afraid you would miss our glorious journey, my friend,” said the captain, approaching from his position by the helm. “We have been blessed with good winds, yes?”

  Offendorl nodded. “I need better food and spirits. I cannot continue on the gruel and tepid water your men bring me.”

  “I was under the impression that you were seasick,” the captain explained. “Rich food would be wasted on you, no?”

  “No, I need food and drink to regain my strength.”

  “Well, I will have food prepared, my friend.” Then, turning to one of the sailors, he said, “Hines, bring our guest a ration of grog.”

  “Aye Captain,” the sailor said, hurrying away.

  “What is grog?” Offendorl croaked.

  “It is the fiery spirit of the sea, my friend,” the captain explained. “Maybe not as refined as what you are used to, but it is strong enough to cure or kill, if you take my meaning.”

  “Fine, it will do,” Offendorl said, not relishing the idea of grog, but satisfied that he had made an improvement in his health and care on board the ship.

  “I am wondering who it is you are running from,” the captain asked. “A man of your age and wealth should be surrounded by luxury, yes?”

  “I’m not running,” Offendorl said. “I’m returning home.”

  “As you say, my friend, but not many men who book their passage with gold carry no change of clothes, or goods of any kind. It is strange, no? You are obviously a man of importance. It is, as you say, curious.”

  “Curiosity is dangerous,” Offendorl said. “Better to keep your mind occupied with matters of the sea.”

  “I see,” the captain said, frowning. “Ah, here is your grog. It is best to drink it slowly. I would hate to see you fall ill again, my friend.”

  There was nothing friendly in the look the captain had as he peered down in disgust at Offendorl. The elder wizard could read the young sea captain’s mind. He knew that he was an easy target. He had paid for passage on the ship with gold. The captain intended to find out if there was more, then throw the old man overboard. Offendorl had expected as much. In fact, he was surprised that the wily sailor hadn’t robbed him sooner, but now that he was out of his cabin, Offendorl expected that the tiny space had been thoroughly searched. The captain would know about the golden crown. It wouldn’t hurt Offendorl to lose it-he could easily make another once his strength had returned-but the sailors would almost certainly try to kill him while they were at sea. He knew he had to be on his guard and that meant he needed as much strength as possible.

  The cup he held was a simple tin cup, almost full of a clear liquid. Offendorl knew that most sailing ships carried strong spirits on board, both for health reasons and because they simply couldn’t stock enough ale or wine to satisfy their sailors. Grog, as the captain had called it, was probably a mixture of spirits from different ports, all mingled together in shipboard oak barrels. He took a sip and had to fight the urge to spit the liquor out. It was very strong, almost so astringent he couldn’t swallow, but he forced himself to drink it. The grog burned its way down his throat and into his completely empty stomach.

  Offendorl was used to drinking wine throughout the day, so alcohol in general didn’t affect his faculties greatly, but he was certain there was enough grog in his cup to get him very drunk. He guessed that was what the captain expected. Fortunately for the elder wizard, the grog strengthened his magical prowess almost immediately. He felt the burn in his stomach spread through his body like lapping waves of a warm ocean. He took another sip and grimaced, but swallowed the spirit down.

  “And food?” he asked.

  “Oh, yes, your supper is coming, my friend,” the captain said.

  Offendorl had drunk half his cup of grog when the food arrived. The elder wizard was glad for the food, having decided that he had reached his limit of the strong liquor. He felt stronger, but also warm and relaxed. The motion of the ship, which had been an aggravation up until then, seemed completely natural. The food was roasted fowl with stewed vegetables and more of the ship’s stale biscuits.

  After eating, Offendorl felt considerably better. The sun was setting low and the first stars were twinkling overhead. The captain had kept a sharp watch on the elder wizard all through the meal. Offendorl knew he would be expected to finish the grog and in an inebriated state give the sailors no fight when they came to toss him overboard.

  He lifted a hand in the air and discretely tossed the grog overboard while sending a magical impression of himself drinking the liquor down quickly to the captain. For the first time since Offendorl sat down in the canvas chair, which was a simple piece of furniture made with a wooden frame, the captain smiled.

  Offendorl closed his eyes let his magic flow through him. The hot wind of magic was as familiar to the wizard as his own hands. He could feel the captain and the sailors nearby, although he was extremely careful not to let his magical senses touch the water below them. He couldn’t read the minds of the men on board, but he could sense the malice in their hearts. It wouldn’t be long before they sprang into action, and Offendorl guessed he had just enough strength to fend off their attack. The master of the Torr despised weakness, but there was nothing more he could do. His body needed time to adjust and regain his former strength.

  He opened his eyes and slowly rose from the canvas chair.

  “I think I’ll call it a night, Captain,” he said.

  “I hope you rest well, my friend,” said the sailor.

  Offendorl kept his magical senses tuned to the men around him, and so he felt the two brutish sailors approaching from behind. He whirled
around, moving much faster than anyone on board the ship could have guessed his ancient form could move. Both men had clubs, and with a wave of his hand Offendorl levitated the blunt weapons out of their hands, jerking the clubs high in the air. The sailors looked shocked, almost paralyzed with surprise at what had just occurred.

  “Take him,” shouted the captain. “Throw him overboard!”

  The two sailors started to move, but Offendorl clapped his hands and two waves of magical force slammed the big sailors’ heads together with so much force that the men dropped to the deck completely unconscious.

  Offendorl looked toward the captain, who was standing with his mouth open in surprise, and then another sailor came running toward the elder wizard from the side. Offendorl waited until the last minute and then with a flourish sent the sailor flying through the air and over the railing of the ship. The sailor’s scream of panic was quickly cut off when he splashed into the water.

  “Man overboard!” came shouts from all over the ship.

  “Put that man in chains!” screamed the captain as he pointed at Offendorl.

  Several men came running to do their captain’s bidding, but the master of the Torr stopped them in their tracks.

  “Enough!” he shouted, letting his magical power enhance his voice so that it was supernaturally loud and deep. Everyone on the ship froze.

  “I am Offendorl, Master of the Torr and Wizard of the Five Kingdoms,” he thundered on. “I shall reduce any man who lays a finger on me to ashes and send this ship to the bottom of the sea.”