Quinn slid forward, bringing his sword up from a low position in an attempt to catch Mansel off guard. Instead, Mansel blocked the thrust and simultaneously kicked at Quinn’s knee. The older man was swinging his dagger at Mansel as his knee buckled. Quinn grunted in pain, but didn’t cry out as he toppled over. Mansel had to jump back to avoid the swipe of Quinn’s sword that would have cut across his ankles. Despite his pain, Quinn rolled up onto his good knee.
Mansel was moving on instinct, circling around to flank his mentor, but Quinn dropped his dagger and drew a thin knife from his belt. A warning flashed in Mansel’s mind. Quinn was an expert with the deadly throwing knives that the King’s Guard carried. Mansel had seen his mentor slay grown men with the deadly knives, but he’d never been on the receiving end of them before. Quinn sent the knife flying toward Mansel with the flick of his wrist. All the young warrior saw was a blur and he lashed out with his sword. There was a sense of satisfaction as he heard Death’s Eye clash into the knife, batting it away. Then pain exploded in Mansel’s leg. He looked down to see a second knife buried deep in his thigh.
Quinn got to his feet, but he couldn’t put weight on his injured leg. Mansel had fallen, and the crowd, sensing the end was upon them, rushed in. There was kicking and punching, so much that Mansel couldn’t determine what was happening, he just knew it hurt until finally darkness washed over him. The next thing he knew his body was rocking in a cart of some type. His eyes were swollen shut and it hurt to breathe, but he was alive. He could hear the wheels rolling over the cobblestones and horses’ shoes clopping as they pulled the cart. It was a peaceful sound in his shock and agony. Each jolt of the cart sent stabs of pain lancing though his body. His hip, shoulder, and thigh burned. Any attempt to move was met by angry spasms of pain that sent him back into the darkness.
He felt himself being carried from the wagon, but he didn’t know where or for how long. He felt his body fall into the mud that smelled of refuse. Snatches of consciousness revealed people going about their day, totally oblivious to the young warrior on the edge of death. Then, as the sky grew dark and the bone-chilling cold began to seep into Mansel’s body, he felt hands pulling him from the mire. He still couldn’t see—his eyes were blood-crusted slits, his nose swollen and clogged with coagulated blood. His lips were split, swollen, and dry, his tongue felt strange in his mouth, and everything hurt.
The next sensation was warmth. He was in a warm place, and the cold was slowly giving up ground in his beaten body. Gentle hands probed his wounds. Water was dribbled onto his thick tongue and ran down his throat in a cool, refreshing trickle. Then his clothes were cut way, and the mud, blood, and grime were slowly rubbed from his body with warm, wet cloths. He screamed in pain when strong spirits were poured into his wounds, but then the cuts were stitched closed and covered with clean bandages.
Fever struck, making his bruised and battered body alternate between fits of chills and hot flashes. He saw his parents and brothers in his dreams, always talking about him but unable to see or hear him. He saw Nycol, her body sometimes torn by the vicious animals that had slain her, and sometimes burned from head to toe as if she had walked out of the burning stable still alive. She cursed him for not protecting her, wept at her pain, and left Mansel distraught that there was nothing he could do for her.
When the fever finally passed, Mansel could open his eyes a little. They were still swollen, but he could see. He was in a small cottage, lying on a narrow, but comfortable, bed. His body was sore when he tried to move, especially his leg that had been wounded by Quinn’s throwing knife, but considering what had happened after the fight he felt incredibly lucky to be alive.
“You’re awake,” said an old man who moved over and bent low, examining Mansel’s body.
“Where am I?”
“In my home. I’m Jossah, the healer.”
“How?” Mansel asked.
“Vyctor brought you. He’s a good lad, slow, but strong as an ox. He’s taken quite a liking to our future queen.”
Mansel wasn’t sure if what he was hearing was reality or a dream, so he didn’t try to understand anything. He just lay back and waited while Jossah’s gentle fingers probed his wounds. Everywhere the old healer touched was sore, but there didn’t seem to be any broken bones.
“You’re very fortunate,” Jossah said. “Other than your leg, your wounds are superficial. I put poultices everywhere I could. You should be well enough to move around soon.”
The old man spoon fed Mansel a savory broth, and then he slept. Several days passed in similar fashion. With each day Mansel felt less sore and was able to do a little more. When Danella arrived he was sitting up, eating bread soaked in wine.
“Your ladyship,” Jossah said, bowing low.
Mansel couldn’t quite believe his eyes. Danella looked so much like Brianna he thought he might be dreaming again. But when she spoke, her voice was high pitched and girlish, while Brianna’s was lower and more forceful.
“You’re alive,” she said with surprise.
“Yes, he’s quite hardy,” Jossah said. “No broken bones. His wounds are all healing nicely.”
“You…” Mansel said, searching his memory.
“Danella,” she replied. “I’m Brianna’s sister.”
Mansel had known that Brianna had sisters, but they had been little girls when he had fled Tranaugh Shire with Quinn. The woman standing before him was young, but a blossoming woman as beautiful as anyone Mansel had ever seen.
“I’m…”
“I know who you are. All the girls from Tranaugh Shire remember you, Mansel.”
“How did you find me?”
“I sent Vyctor to find help for you as soon as I heard what happened. I’m so sorry you were attacked.”
“Quinn isn’t well.”
“No,” Danella agreed. “He’s under Branock’s influence. And I fear for King Hausey’s life. You must get well, Mansel. If Quinn or Branock discover that you live, I fear they will come after you.”
“I lost my sword,” Mansel said.
“I have it!” Danella said. “The big sword with the black stone, right? I found it for sale in the market. Vyctor has it.”
She stuck her head out the door and a big man with a boyish face came in. His shoulders were broad and his chest was shaped like a wine barrel. He carried Death’s Eye by the blade and held it out to Mansel.
The young warrior moved slowly, but as soon as his hand touched the long handle of his sword he felt his body fill with strength. He couldn’t explain it, but he knew it had something to do with the magical stone Zollin had molded into the weapon just above the handle. He got to his feet. His wounded leg throbbed but Mansel ignored the pain.
“Can you help us flee the city?” Danella said.
“Why?” Mansel asked.
“I fear for my life,” she said sadly. “Branock will control Orrock soon. No one who defies him will be allowed to live.”
“I don’t understand,” Mansel admitted.
“I am supposed to be King Hausey's bride, but Branock wants me for himself. I will never marry him. I’ll die first.”
“Do not speak that way, child,” Jossah said from his rocking chair near the fire. “Many women have felt as you do, but marriage to a man you do not love is not the worst thing that can happen to you.”
“You don’t understand,” Danella said. “He’s cruel, wickedly cruel. The servants all fear him. He burned Yuvel to death and had her body thrown into the river.”
“So you need help getting out of Orrock,” Mansel said.
“We need help getting out of Yelsia,” Danella said. “Branock will find us if we stay. He doesn’t care who he hurts or what it costs. If he wants to do it, he will.”
“I’m not well enough to travel,” Mansel said. “You saved my life, but I would only slow you down.”
“I can wait,” Danella said. “As long as King Hausey lives Branock won’t hurt me. But I want to leave as soon as I can. I have coin and
we want to be together.”
It took Mansel a moment to realize that Danella was talking about the large boy called Vyctor. Jossah had called him slow, but Mansel realized that Danella had fallen for the oversized lad.
“Alright,” Mansel said, nodding slowly. “I’ll help you of course, but we’ll need horses and supplies.”
“Here,” Danella said, handing him a small pouch of coins. “Get whatever we need and then send a message to me through Jossah. I’ll be waiting to hear from you as soon as you’re well enough to travel.”
“Give him at least another week,” Jossah said. “That leg wound would slow anyone down.”
“I’ll do all I can for you,” Mansel said. “For your sister’s sake.”
A look crossed Danella’s face and Mansel couldn’t tell whether it was jealousy or disdain, but he decided there wasn’t much love lost between the two sisters.
“We’ll be ready,” Danella said, leading the tall, silent Vyctor to the door. “Thank you, Mansel.”
“Of course, it is the least I can do.”
He watched them go, then walked around the small cottage. His leg felt weak. Each step hurt a little more and felt a little less steady beneath him. When he sank back down onto the bed, Jossah smiled.
“You are the best patient I’ve ever had,” he said. “Your recovery is speeding along faster than I dared hope.”
“I got lucky,” Mansel said.
“You certainly did,” the healer said with a wry smile. “You most certainly did.”
Chapter 13
When morning came it was barely noticeable in the cave. A deep freeze had followed the snow storm and more snow was falling, although it was now drifting down in a gentle shower that seemed tame after the fury of the storm the night before.
Zollin added more wood to the fire and walked around the cave. The snow outside was up to his waist, but he knew that Ferno would have no trouble getting out of the cave and back up in the air. There was no more food and Zollin had to settle for a breakfast of cold water, but the discovery of the amulet and its enhancement of his magical power satisfied him for the moment.
He gathered up his new possessions. The dagger needed a sheath and Zollin took the rotting animal skin cloak and let his magic flow into the ancient material. He could feel the way the fibers were breaking down. He didn’t have enough raw material to fix the garment, but that wasn’t his intention. Instead, he used the rotting leather to fashion a new, stronger strip of leather. The process was simple; whatever he could imagine he could do with his sense of magic. Before leaving their home in the Great Valley it had taken him nearly an hour to reshape a simple coin into a thin gold band. Now, with his power even greater than he remembered, he created a beautiful leather belt with a perfectly sized sheath in just a few minutes. And to his great delight the effort didn’t seem to bother him at all. He had learned to shield his magic’s natural tendency to feed off his physical strength. He built a reservoir around his power that contained his magic and hid him from the senses of other wizards. With the amulet’s restorative power, Zollin’s reservoir was stronger than ever.
He didn’t bother mending the coin pouch, opting instead to simply add the coins to his own pouch. The gold coins clanged in an almost musical way and Zollin was surprised to hear Ferno snort behind him. Turning, the wizard saw the green dragon watching his every move with the pouch.
“Yes, I found some gold,” Zollin said.
Ferno growled and smoke rose from the dragon’s flaring nostrils.
“We aren’t going to have a problem, are we?” Zollin asked. “You have to learn to control your need for gold.”
“Mine,” Ferno said in a growling whisper.
“No,” Zollin said. “We need this gold to buy supplies.”
Ferno shook its massive head, its long tail twitching.
“You have enough gold,” Zollin said. “Rest easy, my friend. You can trust me.”
Ferno continued to watch the young wizard as Zollin buckled on his new belt and slid the dagger into its sheath. He rolled up his blanket and repacked his supplies. He knew it was time to move out. The storm had stopped the gargoyles but if he waited for the weather to pass completely they might hunt him down again.
“It’s time to go. Are you ready?”
Ferno looked at Zollin for a long moment, the huge muscles in the dragon’s shoulders and neck hunched dangerously. The wizard remained calm. He could feel the animosity radiating from the dragon, but he knew Ferno well. Deep in his heart Zollin believed that Ferno wouldn’t hurt him. He intentionally kept his guard down, waiting to see what the dragon would do.
“If you want the gold,” Zollin said in a calm voice, “you’ll have to kill me. Is that what you want?”
Ferno growled, the sound echoing the distress Zollin could feel from the dragon.
“The gold doesn’t control you. You can resist it.”
Zollin hadn’t intended to put Ferno to the test, but he knew the dragon was struggling with an innate need to possess gold. Zollin didn’t know enough about dragons to understand why the creatures were so drawn to gold, but he’d seen that Bartoom’s lair was lined with gold, and even how gold could heal Ferno’s wounds. He also knew that Ferno had killed to possess gold and how just being near a city tempted the green dragon in a terrible way.
“You don’t need gold,” Zollin said. “You have me, you have Brianna. Gold is a poor substitute for the strength and fulfillment of our companionship. Let it go.”
Ferno’s head dropped a little, and the muscles in its back relaxed. The poor creature looked as if it had just landed from flying all night and Zollin felt bad for the dragon. He knew that saying no to something he wanted could be terribly difficult. He stepped forward and rubbed the dragon’s scaly neck.
“You are much stronger than I imagined,” Zollin said. “I’m very proud of you.”
Ferno growled and looked at Zollin. “Friend,” the dragon said in its deep, gravelly voice.
“That’s right, good friends. I’m here for you.”
With a thought Zollin rose up in the air. He relished the feeling of his magic flowing through him in a way he hadn’t since he first discovered his power. For the last year he had conserved his magic, rationing it out in tiny bits, always afraid he would squander it all and be left powerless. There were times when working magic left him feeling raw and exhausted, but since discovering the amulet he felt invigorated. He wanted to work spells and do things that seemed impossible. He felt good for the first time since Brianna had left him in Peddingar Forest.
“Let’s fly,” Zollin said.
Ferno burst out of the cave and into the cold, snowy day. All around them the trees were bent low by the heavy snow that was caked to their branches. Snow was still falling, the flakes dancing and twirling. Zollin wished Brianna could see the beauty of the winter storm, and how it made even the rough, gnarly forests of Baskla look magical. Normally thinking of Brianna left Zollin feeling betrayed, ashamed, and incomplete, but for the first time Zollin could remember, he felt hopeful. He would find Brianna and restore their relationship. In fact, Zollin felt like he could do anything.
He cast a spell to block the freezing wind by surrounding himself in a magical bubble. He warmed the air around him and sent a mental image of Ferno spewing fire to warm the dragon’s massive body. Ferno roared but Zollin sent a wave of calm toward the green beast. He had his shield up and the young wizard didn’t fear the fire. Ferno exhaled a slow, billowing cloud of fire, the yellow flames rolling back across the dragon’s body. Zollin’s spell held easily and he couldn’t help but laugh. The magic he’d struggled with since fighting the witch in Osla was completely restored to him. His hand reached up and touched the magical amulet and he wondered about its amazing powers. It pulsed under his hand; the magic almost felt like a contented sigh.
They flew for several hours before finally coming in sight of a city. Zollin had been watching for any sign of the gargoyles, but nothing seemed to
be moving in the aftermath of the winter storm. Below them the forests were white and still, only snow moved in the skies. When they finally saw smoke in the distance, Zollin was relieved. He was hungry and cold, despite his magical attempts to stay warm. They could see the Black River like a ribbon of dark gray splitting the wintery world. And on the banks of the river was a village.
“We need supplies,” Zollin said. “I’ll buy you a pig if I can.”
Ferno growled and a mental image of a fat pig being devoured flashed in his mind.
“Yes, I’ll do my best,” Zollin said. “Let’s see how close we can get without being seen.”
Ferno dropped down until the dragon’s talons were nearly touching the snow-filled treetops. The dragon’s incredibly sharp eyesight allowed them to see the villagers long before the townsfolk could see them. They landed a quarter of a mile away from the village in a farmer’s field. Unlike the interior of Baskla, along the Black River there was rich farm land. They settled in snow that was nearly to Zollin waist.
“Alright, stay here. I’ll be back.”
Even walking a quarter of a mile through deep snow would have been exhausting, but Zollin let his magic flow into the snow ahead of him. The snow had fallen hard all night and even into the morning, but the frozen crystals packed down easily with a push from Zollin’s magic, allowing him to walk on the hard-packed snow as if it were a pristine city street.
The town was busy trying to deal with the snow. Men were shoveling snow to form walkways between the buildings and everywhere woodsmoke filled the sky. There was no market, but Zollin didn’t need much. He wanted food, enough to last him another day or two until he could reach Ebbson Keep.
“Hello there,” Zollin shouted to one of the villagers. “I’m looking for supplies.”
The villager frowned suspiciously.
Chaos Reigning: The Five Kingdoms Book 10 Page 10
