Nicholas Raven and the Wizards' Web (The Complete Epic Fantasy)

by Thomas J. Prestopnik

  “That’s one way to fight,” he said as the man surfaced in the water, coughing and sputtering between gasps for breath.

  Suddenly the Islander was overcome with an eerie sense of calm as he waded to shore, his sword missing. The stark contrast to his fiery temper moments ago unnerved Brendan. He grabbed William’s arm and pulled him back as Captain Silas joined them.

  “Well played!” Silas said, observing the Islander as he crawled up the bank and fell flat on his chest in utter exhaustion. “And well timed, too. I’m not ashamed to say that I was on my last legs, though I’m feeling better now.”

  “Glad to be of service,” Brendan replied as the fighting raged around them. He pointed to the beached Islander. “What about him?”

  “Let him lie there and dream about the greatness of his new master,” he remarked as the Islander breathed heavily while face down on the ground, apparently asleep. “He is now a prisoner of the enchanted water, and if he awakens and rejoins the fight, then he shall take his chances. But I will not slay him while in a defenseless state.”

  “Though he probably deserves it,” William muttered.

  “Agreed. But there is more work to be done.” Silas pointed to a thicket of scraggly trees farther to their right where Captain Grayling and others were engaged in a skirmish with men from Kargoth. “Let’s give our friends a hand.”

  Drawing their weapons, Captain Silas, Brendan and William headed toward the fighting as the clattering of swords and shouting of men blanketed the area. But beneath the din, the subtle sound of heavy boots moving through the grass caught William’s ear. A fleeting shadow behind him grazed the corners of his eyes. The young prince glanced instinctively over his shoulder but hardly had time to shout out to Brendan and Captain Silas who were a few steps away to his right. The Island soldier they had left upon the riverbank had stealthily raced up from behind, stooping low and moving quickly, a dagger clutched in his muddy, wet hand. He zeroed in on Silas, his eyes ablaze with a newly heightened devotion to Vellan.

  “Behind you!” William cried, but an instant too late. The Islander lunged at Silas’ legs and drove the dagger into his right calf.

  Captain Silas fell with an agonizing cry. Spasms of pain coursed through his body, though he managed to roll on his back and face his assailant after the Islander removed his knife and jumped to his feet. He was ready to attack again, this time his eyes focused upon Brendan who had spun around and raised his sword. But before they clashed, William flew past his brother with an outstretched blade and charged at the enemy with one purpose in mind. The world went silent, seemingly frozen in time as the tip of his sword met its mark and effortlessly tore through layers of the enemy’s protective gear, clothing and soft flesh. While clutching the hilt of his sword, William noted a glimmer of life flickering in the dying eyes of the Islander, unaware of the dagger still in the man’s grip. But before the man let loose a last deadly swipe, his body was thrust backward by a sudden force. He stumbled and fell dead to the ground with William’s sword still buried inside him.

  William, nearly toppling over upon the corpse, turned swiftly aside and scrambled back on his feet. When his eyes focused, he saw an arrow protruding out of the Islander’s chest as he lay gazing at the sky with a vacant stare. When he glanced left, he saw a soldier from Arrondale standing there clutching a bow in his outstretched arm with another arrow at the ready. Beside him upon a horse, wearing a vague smile, sat King Rowan. William smiled back as if all the fighting around them had faded away.

  “Were things so dull near the bridge that you moseyed on back to this part of the war?” he asked his grandfather.

  “It’s a good thing I spotted you from afar and decided to have a look.” King Rowan dismounted and raced to Captain Silas’ side where Brendan was already tending to his wound. William joined him while the archer unsheathed his sword and kept watch.

  “I don’t think you’ll be leaving us just yet,” Brendan said to Silas with a comforting smile. He carefully cut off a portion of the soldier’s ripped pant leg with a dagger and used it to temporarily bind the bleeding wound. “It’s not life threatening as far as I can tell, but you’ll need the immediate attention of a physician.”

  “Agreed,” King Rowan said. He pointed to some distant trees. “There is an area to the northeast less than half a mile beyond that thicket of pine. People from our supply lines have congregated there with some of the food stores. Physicians are also present to tend to those who can be brought to them. You must get on my horse, Silas, and go there.”

  Captain Silas shook his head, wincing in pain. “King Rowan, I can’t leave while–”

  “You’ll serve no good in your condition,” he bluntly told him, examining the bandage. “Blood continues to seep through your wrap. You’ll not be much use to us unconscious.” He looked at his grandsons. “Help me get him on the horse. King Victor and Queen Melinda will never forgive me if I let their most respected representative expire upon the field of battle.”

  After a bit more prodding, Captain Silas relented. He wrapped an arm around Brendan and William’s shoulders so they could help him stand and get him to the horse. The archer keeping watch urged them to hurry.

  “The fighting upon the low rise over there seems to be intensifying, and not in our favor,” he ominously remarked. “Hostilities may spread this way.”

  “Then we had better move now,” King Rowan said as Silas was gingerly helped upon the horse.

  When he was secure in the saddle, Silas grabbed onto the reins and took several deep breaths until the throbbing pain in his leg subsided for a moment. His face was as pale as snow and his shoulders slumped forward, causing all to wonder if he might pass out before he made it to his destination.

  “I’ll be fine,” he said with a faint smile. “It is all of you I’m worried about.”

  “Worry no more as our fates are out of your hands.” King Rowan pointed to the northeast, indicating a relatively clear path for him to follow. “Go now.”

  “I shall give you a bit of maneuvering room,” the archer said, again raising his bow and firing two arrows in rapid succession. He struck dead a pair of Vellan’s troops who were headed their way along the path Silas intended to take.

  King Rowan slapped the back of his steed whereupon it galloped away at breakneck speed. As Silas disappeared beyond the last area of fighting and toward the thicket of pine, the King was satisfied that he’d soon be in competent and caring hands.

  “Now it’s time for the men of Montavia to make our move,” he said, looking proudly at his grandsons. He indicated a skirmish raging near a clump of scraggly trees in the distance where Brendan, William and Silas were earlier heading. “We’ll go and give Captain Grayling a hand. Keep close to me and Marello,” he calmly remarked, referring to the archer who now had his bow slung across his back and a sword in hand. “Let’s go!”

  The King, with his grandsons to the right and Marello on his left, raced to the tree-dotted area where the fighting had flared up. They passed the two dead bodies pierced by Marello’s arrows. But before the quartet reached their destination, the fighting upon the low rise to the left appeared to be spreading toward their position. A new influx of Vellan’s troops temporarily gave the enemy the upper hand. Suddenly, an arrow flew by from that direction, nearly striking Brendan as it blasted past his left side before dying in the grass several yards behind him.

  “They have an archer in their ranks,” Marello said as they hurried along, having heard the arrow streak by like an angry wasp.

  “And he’s apparently taken an interest in us,” Brendan replied with dark humor.

  “We’re almost there,” King Rowan said, glancing ahead at Grayling and his men near the trees. “I think we’ve dodged the chaos to our left.”

  But just as those words left his mouth, five soldiers near the low rise broke away from their battle and raced toward the King and his companions. William spotted them first, observing a burning rage in their eyes that only deat
h itself could extinguish.

  “We’ve got company!” he cried, wondering if the advancing soldiers were close friends of the two men Marello had slain.

  As they drew closer, William noted by their garb that three of the men were native to Kargoth and the other two were from the Isles. By their speed across the trampled grass, they would arrive in mere moments before he and the others could reach Grayling. William clenched his teeth and reached for his sword, only to recoil with icy terror when his fingers clutched an empty sheath. In all the excitement, he had neglected to retrieve his weapon still imbedded in the body of the dead Islander who had stabbed Silas. He quickly procured a small dagger attached to his belt and hoped for the best.

  “Our next fight will be here,” King Rowan said with gritty determination as he slowed down to take a defensive stance as the five enemy soldiers zeroed in.

  “I have a few arrows left,” Marello replied, sheathing his sword and grabbing the bow off his back in the same breath. He pulled one of the arrows from his quiver and fitted it to the bowstring while reducing his stride to get a better aim. A second later he released the arrow and hit one of the Islanders in the right shoulder, knocking him to the ground. Marello skidded to a halt and dropped on one knee, firing another arrow which found its intended target, striking dead one of the men from Kargoth as the remaining three soldiers readied their attack. Marello swiftly abandoned bow for sword as King Rowan and his grandsons ran into his line of sight and headed toward the trio. He quickly joined them, rushing at the remaining Islander to his left.

  The clattering of swords rose above their heads as King Rowan, Brendan and Marello battled their opponents, swinging their blades as weariness, hunger and thirst were pushed aside in the lengthening, late afternoon shadows. William, unwilling to be left out of the fray, maneuvered toward the right side of the towering soldier from Kargoth who was battling his brother and prepared to lob his dagger at him. But he held back as the tip of Brendan’s blade sliced across his opponent’s right wrist, causing the soldier to bellow in agony as the weapon flew out of his hand. The man fell to his knees as Brendan scrambled backward to avoid being hit by the falling sword. But in his rush, his foot caught a protruding rock, causing Brendan to twist and topple hard upon his back, hitting his head as the wind was temporarily knocked out of him.

  “Brendan!” William shouted in warning. For at that same moment, the injured soldier rose slowly to his feet. Though shaken and in pain, he seethed with vengeance as he displayed a sharp dagger and hobbled toward Brendan, determined to finish him off.

  King Rowan and Marello, engaged in their own ferocious battles, each heard William’s frantic shout and saw the deadly events unfolding a short distance away. But before either could safely evade their own attackers to lend any assistance, their eyes widened in horror as William raced toward the wounded soldier who was now just steps away from his brother. Brendan, at the same time, tried to sit up and shake off the swirling haze in his mind, his fingers blindly groping through the grass for his sword.

  “Your life belongs to Vellan now!” the soldier from Kargoth muttered as he loomed over Brendan, his knife rising to strike.

  “And your worthless life is mine!” William shouted. He jumped onto the man’s back, wrapping one arm tightly around his thick neck and plunging his dagger into the soldier’s chest with a single, powerful thrust. The man’s head snapped backward as a bolt of pained coursed through him, paralyzing him for an instant. William gazed briefly into his eyes and witnessed a cloud of delusion and bewilderment dissipating like morning mist before death quickly took hold. His body collapsed to the ground with Prince William stuck between it and the cool, green grass.

  Using his remaining strength, William rolled the body off and sat up, his eyes watering, his breathing labored and his head swimming with sounds of discordant voices and clattering metal blades. When his vision and hearing refocused, his gaze was immediately drawn to his grandfather who was still fighting yards away with the soldier from Kargoth, their blades expertly repelling one another’s furious strikes. Beyond them, Marello and the Islander were in a struggle of daggers and fists, both having lost their swords. As William frantically looked for his brother’s weapon to assist his grandfather, the King’s blade ripped a gash across his opponent’s chest, sending him stumbling backward to the ground. King Rowan swiftly finished off the soldier with a single thrust to the midsection, releasing him from Vellan’s spell.

  With sweat streaming down his face, he raced to his grandsons who sat on the ground beside each other, both somewhat disoriented. King Rowan dropped his sword in the grass, the blood of his enemy clinging to the blade. He knelt down and placed a hand on William and Brendan’s shoulders to reassure himself that they were really alive and spared of serious injury.

  “You two are aging me fast,” he said. The sun, dipping in the west, reflected off their blond locks, dirt-smudged faces and crooked smiles. King Rowan saw in their lively eyes a glimpse of his son, Kendrick, and was reminded of better days in their youth. “Can you both stand?”

  “I think so,” William said as he slowly got to his feet. “But Brendan might need a hand up as he got the worst of it.”

  “I’ll be fine,” he insisted, putting on a brave face. Brendan grabbed his brother’s arm and got to one knee, resting for a moment as a bout of lightheadedness swept over him. His eyes widened in dread when he glanced over his grandfather’s shoulder. “Look behind you!” he shouted, jumping up and searching for his sword with unsteady steps, nearly stumbling as he did so.

  King Rowan spun around and rose to his feet, only to see that the Islander who had been fighting Marello was now barreling toward them with a bloody dagger in his hand. Just moments before, he had knocked Marello to his chest after a prolonged hand-to-hand struggle, causing him to twist his ankle. But before Marello righted himself, the Islander leapt upon his back and sank his blade deep into Marello’s side, leaving him slumped upon the ground in a motionless mass. Now, the Islander charged at King Rowan and his grandsons with vengeance in his eyes, his blade catching the setting sun.

  With no time to reach his sword, King Rowan unsheathed a dagger and sped forward, pushing William aside. He ran straight toward the Islander, knowing that the fanatical soldier would stop at nothing to slaughter the three of them. Gripping his dagger until his fingers ached, the King locked his gaze upon his enemy’s clouded eyes, knowing he had only one chance to save his grandsons as the distance between them disappeared. Seconds later, their bodies collided like a pair of crashing boulders.

  They eyed each other with contempt while still upon their feet. Brendan and William looked on with shock. King Rowan, his hand gripping the hilt of his dagger, bared his teeth with defiance as he watched the clouded eyes of his enemy turn crystal clear before they turned up into his skull. With a quick jerk of his arm, the King pulled his blade from the Islander’s body which fell to the ground in a deadened pile. He took an awkward step backward and turned slowly toward his grandsons. Brendan and William sighed with relief and looked up smiling at their grandfather, ready to race to him with much deserved accolades. But when they noted his pallid complexion and saw the dagger slip out of his hand, their smiles faded. They spotted the Islander’s knife handle protruding from the King’s abdomen and noted the fine trail of crimson streaking down his vest.

  “Watch over one another,” King Rowan said to them, his lips barely moving, his voice a hoarse, weak whisper. Suddenly his body collapsed to the ground, warmly awash in the thin rays of the sun that slowly descended in the western sky.

  CHAPTER 106

  Mountain Rumblings

  Nicholas stepped cautiously through the doorway into silent darkness. Suddenly he stopped. The tips of his right fingers touched a barrier in front of him, though not one of hard stone like the tunnel walls. To his puzzlement, the substance felt somewhat soft as he carefully moved his hand over the surface. It yielded to the slight force of his palm as if he were pressing again
st heavy drapery or a large rug hanging from a line on cleaning day.

  “What is it?” Leo whispered from behind, his hand on the hilt of his dagger. A suffocating stillness permeated the air.

  “Something’s blocking the way. A wall, but not really.”

  Leo furrowed his brow. “Then what?”

  Nicholas glanced left and right, his eyes growing accustomed to the murkiness. He noted a faint glow several yards away on each end, though it was more pronounced toward the right side. He stepped that way to allow Leo room to pass through the doorway. A moment later, Leo admitted that he saw a vague light in both directions, too. Nicholas suggested that they walk to their respective ends to explore.

  “All right,” Leo whispered, gently pushing the door closed.

  They slowly walked in opposite directions down a shoulder-width corridor, the cold stone mountain to one side and the slightly undulating wall of heavy material on the other. After each had gone several paces, both sensed a dryer, fresher change in the air, convinced they were about to finally escape the stuffiness of the main tunnel. As Nicholas drew closer to his end, the subtle glow intensified and he noted the outline of some stonework. He soon recognized the profile of a large fireplace directly ahead where the soft wall to his left had come to an end. He smiled, realizing what was suspended in front of the tunnel door.