by A. J. Searle
“You did not think it was cramped earlier.” She was teasing him and he gave her shoulders a squeeze. “Just be cautious. Someone is not…”
“What they seem,” he finished and nodded. “Yes, I believe you’ve mentioned that.”
“I have another feeling,” she said after some hesitation. He looked down at her again.
“What is it?”
“Something is coming. Something dangerous.” Her voice trembled.
Ronan’s brow furrowed. “What?”
“I don’t know. I think it means to kill you.” Ula’s hand eased around his waist and hugged.
“For the sword.” Ronan sighed heavily, dropping a hand to the sheath on his belt.
“I don’t like it.”
“Neither do I. I’ve seen enough trouble that I do not welcome any more.” Ronan frowned. They both grew silent and Ronan glanced around at the night. Nothing stirred. It was as peaceful in moonlight as it had been beneath the sun.
“I am a wizard.” He hadn’t expected the words that formed on his own tongue. Ula didn’t gasp or try to pull away from him.
“I know.”
“How do you know?” he demanded, looking at her black eyes.
“You stilled the waters of River Blanch.” She shrugged beneath his arm. “Unless a person is dimwitted, they know only a wizard could control another source of magic like that.”
Ronan felt stupid. “I’ve not used any kind of magic since I was a boy. My father disapproved of any kind of person who had it and my mother wished to keep it a secret, to keep peace.”
“They are dead now,” Ula said and Ronan winced. “The pain is still raw?”
“Not because of him. But my mother…it is unimportant.” Ronan bowed his head. “That’s not true. I could have saved her if I had used what I knew I had in me.” Ula gave him another squeeze and Ronan took a breath.
“I know nothing of this magic business. I decided the day my mother died that if I couldn’t use it to save her, I would never use it.” Ronan’s voice was barely above a whisper.
“But you have,” Ula pointed out and Ronan nodded.
“It’s as if it has a mind of its own. I do not call it to surface.” His frown deepened. “And because I’ve never used it, I don’t know much of what to do with it now that it is here.”
“You will learn,” Ula offered quietly.
“Yes, but at what cost?” He let his arm slip away from her. “It comes as it pleases. And if it’s so powerful to stop another magic, I could…it could bring death.”
“Yes.”
“How do I prevent that?” Ronan turned to face her.
“Don’t wish for someone to die,” she said simply but it was not a simple answer. How could one control what inner impulses and thoughts they had? It was impossible.
“Thank you for listening to me, Ula.” He turned from her again. She lingered a moment more, then retreated back into the warmth of the cave.
The rain began close to morning and Ronan remained outside in it. He sat on Arien’s boulder and watched the drops create ripples on the surface of the lake. Everything in his life had come full circle. He couldn’t hide from his past anymore. He was a wizard and he carried the King’s Sword, a weapon that he had labored over, to a brother wizard who was to rule over the land of Meris. That was the reality of things.
Only a wizard could use the sword. And Ronan had used it several times. But he’d drawn no blood. He certainly wouldn’t be allowed to use it against the dark forces. The consequences of that were more than Ronan wanted to consider at the moment. He would have to learn to use his wizard powers without the sword. That was the only alternative.
His eyes lowered to a smaller stone below him. He focused on it. Could he move it without the use of his hands? As a boy, it would have been an easy trick. But that was years ago. He concentrated. Nothing happened and Ronan sighed heavily.
He just wanted the stone to move! Suddenly the stone skittered across the bank of the lake and plopped into the pond. Ronan stared at the spot it had disappeared. Stupid. The power worked through will.
Ronan willed the rock to float back to the surface and it did easily. He wove it through the melody of raindrops, like a little white boat chugging across the water. Then it skipped, rocking side to side so that it splashed up water as it went.
“Playing in the rain?” Keegan’s deep voice brought a smile to Ronan’s face.
“I’d hoped I wouldn’t be caught.” He looked down at the horseman who stood watching the little stone’s water dance. Keegan did not look surprised at Ronan’s use of magic. No doubt they all knew.
“I suppose you are feeling the burdens of your life just tripled.” Keegan rested his foot on the boulder, folding his arms over his deep chest.
Ronan looked back at the little rock as he tumbled it across the surface. “As if my life is no longer made by choice but by obligation.” He sighed, lifting the stone in the air so he could twirl it around by will.
“You always have choice,” Keegan argued. “You made a choice to take up the cause of delivering the sword. It may not have been a choice you felt was fair at the time, but it was a choice.”
Ronan nodded. The horseman was right. “I never wanted to be a wizard,” he admitted.
“I can’t say that I blame you. I hear they have no women at the monasteries.” Keegan smiled when Ronan grinned down at him. “And you would have had to spend most of your life there.”
“I’ve also heard they are very much like prisons.” Ronan willed the stone closer, having it toss in the air as if manipulated by an invisible hand.
“Prison is a place that you are bound. At least a monastery you graduate from.” Keegan’s voice was low, causing Ronan to glance down at him.
“What did you do before you bred and raised horses?” He hoped Keegan wouldn’t dismiss the subject again.
Keegan sighed heavily. “I was not the same man you see before you today. I was wild and had nothing in life to show me what I could be. I was like Arien, orphaned and left on my own. Arien found you before trouble could find him. I found no one.”
“What kind of trouble found you?” Ronan pressed, forgetting his stone play.
“I…I killed a man.” Ronan could tell it was difficult for Keegan to say the words. “I killed him with my bare hands.” The horseman’s eyes locked on the toe of his boot that rested against the white of the boulder.
“Once you kill a man, and you are of a bad sort anyway, you can wager your soul that you will kill again,” Keegan murmured.
“And did you?”
“Yes. Many times,” Keegan answered honestly. “I was numb to it, chased away my conscious with liquor and women. I had nothing to lose. The world was against me anyway. I was certain I would die so I would live recklessly as I pleased until that day.”
“What happened that changed you?” Ronan tried to imagine the man as he described but could not.
“I was sent to Merisgale prison when I killed a King’s guard. I didn’t know he was a guard. Stupid. It was over a woman.” Keegan frowned. “I spent many years there. I had a cellmate, Orin Yore. He saw something in me worth saving.”
“Yore is not your given name?” Ronan watched Keegan shake his head.
“Orin chose me a new name and gave me his last. He said I needed a new name for my new birth in life.” Keegan sighed. “He set me in the right direction and his last request was that I was freed from prison. They granted him that wish and that’s when I started over, with horses.”
Ronan could see the sadness in the man’s expression. “That’s a life most would not see in you.”
Keegan smiled. “No, they don’t. I tell you now, only because I mean to tell you that every choice you make can lead you somewhere better, no matter how difficult it may seem at the time you make it.”
Ronan grew silent, thought about his words, accepting the bit of wisdom the horseman offered selflessly.
For a moment, Keegan lingered, then turned to retreat back in
to the cave.
“What was your name before you went to prison?” Ronan called after him.
“It does not matter now.” Keegan mumbled before disappearing into the cave.
Ronan stared after him then turned back to the lake. His eyes found the rock, hovering in the air, awaiting his will to bid it movement. With just a blink of his eyes, Ronan sent the stone lightening fast through the air, to the other side of the lake. Where it landed was where Ronan left it.
Jobi village was even smaller than Ronan had imagined. “I know these people.” Fiona called from Ula’s horse. “Let me talk to them first.” Ronan inclined his head as they rode into the village. Within moments, every person who dwelled there had stepped to the side of the road, scrutinizing them curiously.
Fiona swung to the ground. “Be at peace, people of Jobi.” She lifted her voice, so all around them could hear. “I travel with the wizard Ronan, his woman, and two of the King’s guard to Merisgale. We carry the King’s Sword to the wizard Thestian.” A few gasps echoed through the small crowd but the caution in their eyes lifted. Ronan imagined a village this small could not be too trusting of travelers.
“I wish to speak with Smellir.” She turned to Ronan and gave him a nod so he swung from Sorcha’s back, aware that every one of the villager’s had their gazes locked on him. “The wizard Ronan requires another horse and your hospitality.”
The crowd suddenly came alive. Women bustled to bring food forward to those who’d ridden into their village. A couple of men brought forth their horses for Ronan to choose from. Boys moved to care for the Dulcet horses, eyes shining with their eagerness to please, while the girls, especially those closer to womanhood, stood back watching the men of the party curiously.
“Keegan Yore is an expert in fine horses. He will pick for me.” Ronan told the men and they turned to the large man that dismounted when Ronan lifted a hand in his direction.
“My horse is the fastest of any of these,” One of the men spoke when Keegan faced them.
“But mine is stronger,” Another said.
“Nags. This is a fine horse, gentle for even the least experienced rider.” Still another one piped. Keegan had to call for them to be silent several times while he inspected the horses. Ronan left him to it, following Fiona when someone started to lead her away from the crowd.
“Who is Smellir?” Ronan asked lowly at her side.
“He is the leader over this village,” Fiona answered. “It is a sign of respect if you request an audience with him when passing through the village on important business.”
“I see.”
Fiona glanced at Ronan. “He may help us if the centaur comes this way.” Ronan glanced back at the crowd. He wasn’t sure how, unless they mobbed Bryan and worshipped him to death.
The one that led them stepped aside when they approached the doorway of a small thatched house. Ronan stepped inside behind Fiona, eyes sweeping the interior. A cot, small table, and a few clay pots hanging in the corners. Nothing more. And seated at the table was a short man with a very round middle.
Smellir. He had white hair that was balding and a nose that seemed too small for his fleshy face. But when he smiled, his smile reached the light blue of his eyes.
“Fiona!” He greeted warmly with wide arms. He embraced her and then stepped back, gaze flicking curiously at Ronan.
“Smellir, this is the wizard Ronan…Ronan Culley. We take the King’s Sword to Merisgale.” She told him and his blue eyes rounded. “We need your help.”
“My help?” His chest puffed up as his gaze slid back to Fiona.
“There are some who mean to stop us,” Fiona told him. “One in particular may follow us through your village. A centaur who goes by the name of Bryan.”
“Consider him dead,” Smellir said simply but Ronan stiffened.
“No.”
Smellir’s head snapped around and he stared at Ronan, “No?”
“I don’t want him to die. He is not evil nor of the dark forces. He means well and does not deserve death.” Ronan glanced at Fiona when she frowned.
“Ronan, this is no time to start feeling sorry for…” she began.
“Detain him. Anyway that you can. But he must not die.” Ronan interrupted, dismissing Fiona’s warning as he watched Smellir scratch his bare top of head. “I have plans for him once I reach Merisgale and deliver the sword.”
“Plans?” Fiona stared at him.
“Yes.” Ronan nodded.
Smellir thought a moment. “We could detain him. For how long, Wihr?” Ronan blinked at the title that Smellir offered easily.
“Just a few days, maybe a week,” Ronan answered. Smellir nodded again and then clapped his hands.
“Fiona, you look well. You stay away too long. I do not get to see you enough.” He slipped a pudgy arm around her waist and indicated they walk outside into the sunshine. “That man has given you no more problems?”
“What man?” Ronan asked, looking away when Fiona’s eyes darted toward him.
“The man she was seeing many months ago. He was a rotten kind. Treated her poorly. She should have hugged him more.” Smellir grinned when Fiona looked down at him with confusion. “She could have squeezed him to death.”
Fiona’s laughter lifted around them and Ronan smiled at the sound as he added, “Or given him a deadly kiss.” Smellir’s grin widened.
“This wizard is your new man? He will be better for you. You can see it in his eyes,” Smellir continued, causing Ronan to look away again.
“I am only here to help him get the sword to Merisgale,” Fiona explained.
“Stay the night here. We’ll have a celebration,” Smellir suggested.
“A celebration of what?” Fiona chuckled when Smellir rolled his eyes skyward, obviously thinking of a reason to celebrate. He snapped his fingers and smiled.
“We will celebrate the call to service we are granted. It is not often Jobi is held in such high regard that they are asked to help a wizard.” Smellir’s smile was smug, satisfied with his answer.
“And Jobi will be remembered when I deliver the sword,” Ronan promised causing Smellir’s chest to puff out anymore. Fiona just rolled her eyes.
“We shall stay the one night but we will leave at first light. I don’t want to give that centaur a chance to catch up with us,” Ronan agreed.
“Once you are gone, he will not catch up. We will make certain of it,” Smellir promised.
“No death,” Ronan reminded him.
“There are a great many things other than death than can stop someone from continuing.” Smellir nodded. “As you wish. No death.”
Eleven
“Danger!” A cry erupted the stillness of the night and Ronan was on his feet and wide awake in an instant. He looked down, surprised to find the King’s Sword drawn and glittering.
“Danger! Danger!” The voice screeched moments before the small figure leapt into the dimming firelight. Mikel the Hort. Ronan breathed out and placed the sword back in the sheath as Mikel made a mad dash toward the blacksmith.
“Whoa.” Ronan reached out to grasp the changeling’s shoulders before he bounded into him. “What’s this?”
“Don’t kill me! I bring news! Danger!” Mikel gasped for air, sweat sticking his white hair to his face. “Terrible danger comes for you.” Ronan’s body stiffened as the others roused from slumber, each becoming alert to Mikel’s words.
“What kind of danger?”
Mikel’s small chest labored and his hands shook. “I…I reached Merisgale. I overheard a man speaking of taking the sword from you, of killing you with it. He was of the dark forces.” Mikel glanced behind him as if half expecting the man he spoke of to come crashing across the moor behind him.
“Who was it? What was his name?” Ronan demanded feeling anger building inside of him. Someone wanted to sabotage him, and when he’d come so far.
“I…I don’t know. He said that he knew your every step…your every move. Like he was here with yo
u.” Mikel drew closer, voice lowering. “He laughed. It was a scary laugh. He said you were stupid and trusted too easily. He said you’d made it easy for him.”
Ronan’s eyes lifted from the changeling to scrutinize each of those that had risen and were standing about him. Someone is not who they seem. Ula’s words now haunted him.
“Did you take this news to the wizard Thestian?” Ronan let his gaze fall back to the changeling. Ironic, he thought coldly, the one I can trust is a thief.
“There was no time. I was on my way to see him myself but got sidetracked when I came across this beauty.” Mikel produced a small dagger with an emerald in the hilt. “I was just about to slip away when I heard the two men talking.”
“What business does a thief have with the wizard?” Fiona stepped forward.
“The same that I have with this one. I’m little. I hear things.” Mikel the Hort shrank away from the serpentine warrior and Ronan frowned. Even the thief changeling had guessed that he was a wizard.
“I am familiar with many at Merisgale,” Fiona said, stepping forward. “What did this man look like?”
“It was dark and I couldn’t see his face.” Mikel shook his head.
“The dagger you stole. Did it belong to him?” Fiona’s eyes dropped to the weapon he held.
“Yes. He didn’t even know I was there. I was so clever.” Mikel beamed as he held out the dagger. Fiona’s face blanched.
“What is it?” Ronan asked when she lifted a hand to her mouth.
“That’s Diato’s,” she whispered.
“Who is Diato?” Keegan stepped forward and took the dagger from Mikel, turning it in his hand as he examined it.
“He is…the captain of the King’s Guards.” Her voice trembled.
Ronan’s eyes narrowed.
“Then he does not work for the dark forces,” Ula breathed but Fiona shook her head.
“I have never thought so but…well, he’s always been so mysterious and he never lets you really get to know him.” She chewed on her lip thoughtfully. “In fact, he can be quite distant at times.”
“You seem to know him well,” Ronan observed.
