Battle for Elt: The Taking of the Wizard Bearer

by A. C. Hutchinson

  On the shelf above his desk were three small bottles, each containing liquid. He reached and lifted one down. He held the bottle to the light of a candle and gently shook it. A faint mist rose from the liquid and then disappeared. It's still volatile. Good.

  He walked into the hallway and towards the door. The wind howled outside, sounding like a crazed ghost. This isn't the type of night to be out walking. But the fire will keep me warm, at least for a little while.

  As he opened the door the wind threw snow in his face. He pulled up his hood, put his head down, and stepped out into the early morning darkness. Without closing the door, he stepped away from the house and then stopped. A thin line of red coloured the sky to the east – dawn was breaking. The snow was slowing too. That's something.

  He turned to face the house. A faint glow lit the study window. It looked warm and inviting and he was so very tempted to go back inside. Just get on with it, you aging fool, he told himself. He clutched the bottle he'd taken from the study shelf and then teased the cork from its neck. You have to be quick, a voice in his head urged. Once you've pulled the cork, throw the damn thing before it takes your hand off.

  Without procrastinating further he popped the cork and threw the bottle through the open doorway. A flash of light lit up the hallway before fire engulfed it. Eaglen shielded his face with his arm and stepped backwards. The heat was intense. The front of his body was warmed as if he were a hog on a spit, but his back, from his head to his legs, remained cold as the snow around him. He continued to step away as the house was eaten by flames. He heard smashing windows and the crack of collapsing beams. Soon, the roof fell in and the dark early morning sky was aglow with cinders, floating upwards like dancing fireflies.

  It's time to go, he thought. He turned, feeling the heat from the burning house warm his previously cold back. Then he walked, northbound. Occasionally he looked over his shoulder to where fire still forked into the night sky. Every time he looked, though, his former home became more distant. The last time he looked the building was just a mirage-like shimmer in the blueing sky, his former life, and Erin, gone forever.

  CHAPTER 11

  The first rays of sunlight shone through the grimy window pane, illuminating dust floating in the air. On the bed, Graff stirred as a shaft of light crossed his eyelids. He was naked, just a bloodstained woollen sheet concealing his wilted manhood. He opened his eyes and blinked against the sunlight. For a moment he was disorientated. But then he saw the naked body of the girl on the floor. She was lying face down, a mass of dirty blonde hair hiding her face. Her legs were splayed and there were dark bruises on each. Her back was crossed with angry, red lash marks and under her neck, a pool of blood congealed.

  Slowly, memories of the night before flooded back to him. He had been drinking in an inn, he remembered. The type of establishment where fists flew with regularity and whores outnumbered the men two to one. He had only bought the services of one whore, though, except the final payment had never been made. He remembered having way too much to drink and stumbling up the stairs with her. Then I fucked her, so hard she had screamed for me to stop. But that just made me fuck her even harder. And then I imagined she was the wizard bearer. At the moment of his climax he had slit her throat with the same knife he had used to gut the rabbits on their journey from Kingstown. The blade was blunt and made a nasty mess of her soft skin. It made her spasm, though. I remember that. That spasm made her pussy grip my cock nice and tight, like she was just a virgin. He remembered watching the life fall out of her eyes. Something I always enjoy as my climax ebbs away. After that, he had kicked her lifeless body onto the floor.

  As he revelled in those memories, a sudden thought occurred to him: If the sun's up, then I've overslept. Shit.

  He jumped out of bed, tearing his skin from the sticky, blood-soaked sheet beneath him. He found his trousers in a heap on the floor. As he climbed into them, he looked at the dead whore and found the sultry way her body was lying arousing. If I wasn't in such a rush, I'd have another go on her, he thought.

  As he bent to pick up his shirt, he felt a dart of pain inside his head so intense it made him straighten again. I really over did it with the wine this time, he thought, rubbing his forehead. He tried to focus his blurred vision and then made a second attempt to grab his shirt. His head still rung with the pain of a thousand bells, but this time he managed to scoop it up. He sat down on the bed while he put it on. Today's going to be a bitch.

  Buttoning up the shirt, he stumbled to the window. The world outside was a gleaming landscape of white. Thick snow. This is going to make things harder than it should be. Snow was packed up against the dwellings opposite and each roof wore a layer of white at least ten inches thick. The horse will find it tough going, pulling a wain through this. He'd seen mounts succumb to broken legs in such conditions.

  With one last curse, he spun away from the window, grabbed his jacket from the bedpost, and headed for the door. He blew the dead whore a kiss as he left the room.

  Outside, it was just as cold as it had looked from the window. He lifted the collar of his jacket, but it was scant protection from the biting wind. To his right, two children threw snow balls at each other, while a woman, probably their mother, laughed heartily. Dumb children and an even dumber mother. I'd love to silence their laughter.

  As he trudged through the snow, his feet disappearing with each stride, he hoped Haze had woken and prepared the wizard bearer for the journey ahead. He cared not if she had eaten breakfast. He wasn't in the mood for her fooling around either, not with the headache that still plagued him. She'll get a slap in the face if she misbehaves today.

  His thoughts then turned to the Dark Rider. He hoped Ancel had completed the job he'd given him. It was a simple enough ask, or at least that's what Graff thought, but he knew the half-breed couldn't always be trusted with even the most routine of tasks.

  As he rounded the corner, he saw Giz standing outside the inn attending to the horse. I should've sent Giz to do the job, Graff thought. He may be a young un, but he's organised and prompt.

  “Good morning, boss,” Giz shouted when he saw Graff approaching. “Good night?”

  “Splendid,” Graff said, dryly. “Is the wizard bearer up?”

  “Aye. Haze is feeding her breakfast. Those two are getting a bit close, I'd say.” Giz made a circle with his thumb and forefinger and then pushed the index finger of his other hand through it, moving it in and out. “I wouldn't be surprised if they were, you know. They slept in the same room last night.”

  Haze wouldn't. He just wouldn't. Still, Graff felt a mixture of anger and jealously stirring in the pit of his stomach.

  “Where were the rest of you when this was happening?”

  “Out on the landing, boss. The wizard bearer doesn't like Powel; she wouldn't have him take a turn in the room. In fact, she doesn't like any of us. Only Haze, it seems.”

  “And what's this?” Graff pointed to a sleigh, which had been attached to the horse in place of the wain.

  Giz grinned. “Got it from the royal stables, boss. Thought the horse might find it difficult pulling a wain through this sort of snow. This should do the job, though.” He patted the wooden sides of the sleigh.

  Graff thought the new acquisition looked sturdy enough. It may even save us time, he thought. He stopped short of commending Giz, however, and went inside the inn.

  He found Powel and Ancel on the landing. The half-breed was hurriedly tucking his shirt into his trousers.

  “Have you just woken?” Graff said, with a touch of annoyance.

  Ancel exchanged glances with Powel, looking as guilty as a dog who had shit in its master's bed. Graff opened his mouth to further chastise them both, when the bedchamber door opposite slammed shut. It's plain to see what's been going on here, Graff thought. This pair of pigeon-brains have spent the night with a whore. That's why Haze was able to sleep the entire night with the wizard bearer.

  “What did I tell you before I left
last night?” Graff said, raising his voice and jabbing his finger at them both.

  “Erm . . . I . . .” Ancel stammered.

  “You left Haze solely in charge of the wizard bearer while you two fucked a whore. What if she'd overpowered him somehow and escaped?”

  Powel scoffed. “Her wrists and ankles are chained. It's unlikely she could have overpowered him, sir. And if she had, she wouldn't have got very far as Giz was out here on the landing the whole time.”

  Graff's temper, frayed by his headache, snapped. He slapped Powel, who stood at least five inches taller, across the left cheek. The crooked-nosed man rubbed the side of his face, which had already begun to turn red.

  “At least Giz had some sense about him, refusing to join your little whore-orgy. And what about the job I gave you?” He stabbed a finger into Ancel's beard and his chest beneath it.

  “All done.”

  “All done?” Graff didn't quite believe it.

  “Aye. And Greybeard said that four men and a boy arrived at the west gate just after dark. Two of them wore the colours of Kingstown. He turned them away.”

  “They had a boy, you say?”

  “That's what he said.”

  “And then you went up to The Caves?” Graff was suspicious as to whether Ancel had done the job he asked of him properly.

  “Aye.”

  “It worked fine?”

  “Just like you said it would.”

  The plan might just work. “Good. Now, out of my way.”

  Graff pushed his way between them both, hoping to find the wizard bearer on the bed where he'd left her. He wasn't disappointed. But his suspicions about Haze were not soothed. The former knight was sitting on the end of the bed, exchanging pleasantries with the wizard bearer. As soon as he saw Graff, he stood in a hurry; his smile fading just as fast.

  “Sir,” Haze said. “Did you have a good night?”

  “You were supposed to take it in turns to watch her,” Graff said, ignoring Haze's question. “You weren't meant to stay in here all night with her, alone, while those two fools out there were up to no good.”

  Haze sighed, bowing his head slightly. He spoke quietly, as if he didn't want the wizard bearer to hear. “She doesn't like Powel much. And to be honest, he's a liability. There was no way I was having him in here. He was safer out of the way, sir.”

  That's true, Graff thought. But the former knight and the girl were becoming much too close for his liking. He would have to keep them apart, he knew. His closeness to her could cloud his judgement.

  “Get her up,” Graff snapped. “We're late.”

  On this morning, the wizard bearer was a little more cooperative. Graff suspected it had something to do with the newfound friendship and trust she had forged with Haze. Maybe I can harness that trust somehow.

  Outside, the sun was beginning to peep over rooftops. The snow clouds had departed, leaving blue sky in their wake. More children had emerged onto the streets, throwing snowballs and rolling the bloated bodies of soon-to-be snowmen along the ground. Some of the children stopped and gawped as Haze and Powel lifted the chained wizard bearer onto the back of the sleigh. At the sight of Volk's men, parents began shepherding their children either back into their homes or to a safer distance further up the street. Wise move.

  They left the city of High Hunsley via the east gate. Graff felt the eyes of King Merek watching them leave from the tower that overlooked the city. I'll return, Graff thought. And when I do, I'll have the full strength of Volk's army behind me.

  As they travelled under the portcullis, gatekeepers dressed in red tunics and matching cloaks that flapped in the cold winter breeze began closing the city gates in earnest. Glad to be rid of us. As the sleigh passed onto the drawbridge, the gates slammed shut. And as the sleigh's blades touched the snow covered Great Road headed east, the drawbridge was pulled up too, revealing the deep moat beneath with its thick layer of ice.

  “The horse is having to work hard,” Giz shouted over his shoulder. “We'll have to rest him before midday.”

  Graff looked to the north. The densely wooded landscape of Ellerker Rise stretched out to the grey-rock base of Mount Airy. He wondered if the men from Kingstown were in those woods. They won't be if Ancel has done his job properly.

  “Just make sure the horse doesn't break its damn legs,” Graff shouted to Giz. “It's a long walk to Wyke.”

  “I'll try my best, boss,” Giz shouted.

  The Great Road stretched ahead. Although it was concealed by a blanket of snow, its outline was still visible. Graff had travelled the road hundreds of times before, and hated every trip. It was open to the south, but it was the woods to the north that concerned him. There was no telling who could be hiding there, aiming an arrow. It wasn't just archers or the occasional highwayman that worried him either, these parts were notorious for their abundance of wild dogs – vicious beasts that hunted in packs. Spotting them was harder in the snow too, he knew, for their coats were white with only the faintest speckling of grey.

  “How long?” Cassandra said. She was lying on a fresh bed of hay between the four men. “How long until we reach Wyke?”

  “You best make yourself comfortable, missy,” Graff said. “There’s a long journey ahead. The sun will rise twice more before you'll see the black castle of Wyke. It may set for a third time before we actually reach it.” The wizard bearer lowered her head back to the hay. “You know, over seven hundred heads hang from the walls of Wyke, every one the head of a traitor.” Graff leaned towards the girl; he was happy when he saw her recoil. “There's a special spike reserved for your king, missy. Bahlinger's head will take pride of place above the portcullis looking down on all those who enter the greatest city in all of Elt.” Graff laughed and then sat back. The others were laughing too, except Haze; he looked less than amused. I'll have to deal with this one, Graff thought. His allegiance has been compromised.

  “Wild dogs!” Giz shouted. The horse had already reeled up, kicking its front legs in panic like a man in a bare-knuckle fight. The metallic sound of swords being unsheathed filled the quiet. Graff counted the beasts. Six in all, he thought. No, make that seven, as one crept out from the woods, head down, teeth bared.

  Haze jumped from the sleigh with his sword held high. Ancel and Powel remained seated, their faces betraying them, showing the fear that stilled their legs.

  “Come on,” Graff shouted to them sharply, before joining Haze. I can’t show my fear. Even though I relish not the thought of wild dog teeth at my throat.

  With a whinny, the horse reeled up again, throwing Giz onto the cushion of snow below. A bad place to be when wild dogs are a hunting. Giz was quick to his feet, though, unsheathing his blade and wielding it at one of the slowly approaching, snarling beasts.

  “What do we do, sir?” Powel said, stepping tentatively from the sleigh.

  “Don't take your eyes off them,” Graff said. “They'll attack as one. Choose your beast and when it pounces stick it with your sword. We'll each take one, Haze will take two.”

  “That makes six, sir,” Ancel said. “Who gets the seventh?”

  “Whoever is unfortunate enough to have the thing hanging from their throat.”

  Graff glanced to the sleigh. The wizard bearer had pushed herself into the far corner. “Keep your head down, missy. You don't want them knowing you're in there, what with your wrists and ankles chained and all.” The white-furred beasts crept ever closer, drool dripping from their mouths, guttural growls rattling from their throats.

  “Giz? How are you doing with that horse?” Graff said without taking his eyes off the wild dogs. The horse continued to whinny.

  “Managing it, boss. I got the reins, he ain't going anywhere. I got one of those furballs in my sights, too. He's going to lose his throat real soon.”

  The beasts were prowling from all directions. Graff eyed the beast in front of him. Come on, then. He hoped to God that Haze could handle two at once. I'll have little time to protect my back. T
he seventh beast, unwatched by anyone as far as Graff knew, skulked around to his left. It knows. The clever little hunk of meat knows it’s unwatched.

  There was a moment of calm in which the wild dogs continued to snarl. The noise is getting louder, though. They're building to something. It's like a stand-off. Then, the pack attacked. Graff thrust his sword out in front of him. A pouncing dog impaled itself on the blade. It whimpered and yelped, torturing Graff's ears. The weight of the animal sent Graff stumbling backwards. He lost his footing and fell onto the snow. Dropping his sword, he rolled and got back to his feet as quickly as he could. The dog was dying, he saw. Blood oozed from its chest, colouring the snow around it. Graff placed his booted foot on the animal's ribcage and pulled the blade free. Around him, other dogs were yelping from their wounds, but two maintained their growls. One was on top of Powel, who was lying in the snow; the dog was shaking his arm as if the appendage was a rabbit whose neck it was trying to break. The other dog had its teeth around Haze's leg. The former knight had somehow managed to lose his sword; it lay in the snow, shining like treasure, out of reach.

  Who should I help first?

  The decision was made for him as Ancel slashed his blade across the back of the wild dog atop of Powel. The animal yelped and then raised its head and bared its teeth. Ancel slashed his blade again, this time inflicting a deep cut across the dog's throat. The wound spilled blood like a drunkard spewing his last meal. Graff ran to Haze and plunged his sword into the dog's soft belly. The animal reeled up, just like the horse had done, and then fell onto its side. Graff finished it with a stab to the chest. Then, silence. Graff discarded his blade and then stood with his hands on his knees, breathing hard and fast.