Around Zollin, people were suddenly pointing and talking. Most had pulled back, moving away from him, but Quinn stepped in front of his son and lay the naked sword he carried on his shoulder. Todrek stared to move away, too, but Brianna stepped forward to stand beside Zollin. A look of disgust crossed Todrek’s face, but he stepped up beside his wife.
“I am Quinn, Zollin’s father. I will not let him go with you. Tranaugh Shire is a village of Yelsia, not Osla. You have no authority here.”
“You are foolish,” said Branock. “But I understand the tie of a father and son. Unfortunately it is a tie that must be broken.” He waved a hand, and one of the warriors urged his mount forward. The crowd had already parted before Zollin and his father, allowing the warrior to ride within a few feet of Quinn. He had a nasty-looking mace with a handle as long as a man’s forearm connected to a chain that ended with a spiked ball. The warrior swung the mace around and around before suddenly swinging it down toward Quinn’s head. Zollin sucked in a breath to shout for his father but Quinn was already in motion. He spun out of the path of the mace and brought his sword around in a full circle that slashed through the warrior’s leg just above the greave he wore to protect his lower leg and ankle. The sword also cut into the charger’s side and blood sprayed out over Quinn as the horse reared and screamed before turning away. The warrior toppled back out of the saddle in a sickening crunch of metal and flesh. He did not move but lay still in the dirt, his leg bleeding onto the ground hardened by winter’s cold. The horse bucked and kicked and ran from the crowd shrieking. Quinn merely stood easy with the sword back on his shoulder.
“I see you are a man of skill, Quinn, in trades beyond carpentry,” said Branock. “I respect that. Unfortunately, I cannot allow you to keep young Zollin here, and I, too, am a man of skill.” He said the last words with a deep-seated hatred that narrowed his eyes and made his lips curl back from his teeth like a wild dog.
Without a moment’s hesitation, as the wizard raised his scepter, Zollin reacted. He thrust his staff out toward the wizards and shouted “Blast!”
The power of the staff erupted with such force that it momentarily blinded those who saw it. Bolts of white light shot from the staff and Zollin felt the power of the willow belt and his own magic feeding into the blast. There was a flash of heat that made people fall back, and when the light hit the wizards, they toppled from their horses. The warriors’ horses bucked and reared and people began running in all directions. Quinn grabbed his son’s arm and they ran past the warriors struggling to control their chargers, who were bucking and kicking in circles. They ran hard and fast, away from the inn, away from their friends and neighbors who were screaming and running.
Zollin heard men shouting to get weapons and defend their homes. Women were wailing and children crying. He felt a sick lump in his stomach and wondered if he had killed the old wizards. He could still feel their power, but that did not necessarily meant they had survived—the willow branches, for instance, still had power even though they were severed from the tree. They ran out of the village and up the nearby hill before turning back to see what was happening. It was only then that Zollin realized that Todrek and Brianna had followed them.
“What are you doing here?” he asked them.
“We’re here to help,” said Brianna. “We won’t let them take you, Zollin.”
“You should go home,” Quinn said, but there was no conviction in his voice.
“I agree. Sorry, Zollin, but I warned you nothing good would come from magic,” said Todrek. He grabbed Brianna’s hand and started to pull her back down the hill, but she wrenched her arm free.
“What is wrong with you, Todrek? You’re his best friend,” she said angrily. “Would you leave him now in his hour of need?”
“Well, no, but there is nothing I can do!”
“You can fight, can’t you?”
“I have no weapon,” he cried.
“We do at home,” Zollin said. “Brianna can ready Lilly while we hold back anyone who comes near. Then I’ll leave and hopefully you’ll all be safe.”
“You’re not going alone, son,” said Quinn. “I’ll not leave you to fend for yourself.”
“This is your home, Dad, you should stay.”
“No, my home is with my family, and that’s you. We go together.”
Zollin looked at his father and both had tears in their eyes. Zollin could see the questions, the wonder of why his son had kept the truth of his power from him, and even pride at the way he had reacted in that desperate moment.
“There are three riders coming,” said Todrek, and his voice squeaked a little as he said it.
They turned and ran for the house that sat not far away on the crest of the hill. Brianna went immediately to the lean-to and began saddling the horse. Quinn handed Todrek his sword and ran inside to get his own weapons. Todrek swung the blade around to get a feel for the weapon. By the time the horses were drawing near, Quinn had reappeared. He, too, had a mail coat that he was pulling over his head. He had a large round shield and a sword, but he wasn’t quite ready to fight. The warriors would be on them before his father could be ready, so Zollin thrust his staff forward again, this time shouting, “Move!” He felt a large wall of invisible power leap out toward the riders, expanding as it went.
Two of the warriors were thrown backward, clear of their horses, which continued forward. Quinn and Zollin leapt to one side while Todrek raised his sword. The third warrior raised his own sword but at the last minute nudged his horse into Todrek. Then the sword flashed and there was an arc of blood.
“Todrek!” Zollin screamed. He blasted the warrior with lightning from his staff while Quinn ran to slay the other two warriors. The power burned out of Zollin like an erupting volcano. Thick bolts of blue-white lightning wrapped around the warrior, who shook so hard that his armor, blackened by Zollin’s magic, flew off in different directions. The man was flung from the horse, which bolted away, and landed in a smoldering, twitching heap.
Zollin ran to his friend, who had fallen onto his back. His throat was cut, and his life’s blood was spilling out. He gurgled and cried, tears flowing down his cheeks. There was a look of absolute horror on his face as he struggled.
Zollin placed his hand on his friend’s throat and cried out, “Heal!” He felt power flow from him, but there was still a warm gush of blood on his hand. “Heal!” he wailed over and over, but the damage was too great. At one point the skin sealed together, but the arteries were still severed and his neck bulged as he bled to death. “No!” Zollin cried, as his friend’s eyes glazed and his body went limp.
Brianna raced from the lean-to on Lilly’s back, and Zollin thought that she was fleeing. Her abandonment reinforced his feelings of guilt and shame. He wanted to die but he also wanted to kill every last one of the men who had come to town.
“I will avenge you!” he shouted. “I’ll kill them all.”
“No, son,” Quinn said. He had slain the other two warriors and was now pulling his son away from his best friend. “He died defending you; he would want you to live. Now we must go.”
“No, he hated me,” Zollin cried. “He was here for her, and now he’s dead and it’s my fault. I should have blasted those warriors like I did the wizards.”
“It wouldn’t have made a difference,” his father said forcefully. “It was his time and it was a good death.”
Zollin looked at his father as if he were crazy, but Quinn merely said, “Trust me, son. Now let’s go.”
They heard horses approaching and prepared to fight, but then Brianna appeared with the chargers of the three warriors they had just killed. She rode up to them and looked down at Todrek’s body. There were tears in her eyes, but she did not hesitate. She tossed Quinn the reins and said, “We must go.”
Zollin and Quinn climbed up into the saddles of the horses and were about to ride off when they heard someone else shouting.
“Wait, wait!” they heard. Mansel came running up the h
ill, his bow in his hand, a quiver of arrows slung over his shoulder. “I’m coming with you!” he shouted.
Zollin looked at his father and saw doubt flicker across his face for the first time that morning.
“No,” shouted Zollin. “Go home.”
“No,” Mansel shouted back, and he came running up, making the horses shuffle back nervously. “I’m coming, and if you don’t let me ride, I’ll follow you on foot.”
“Why?” Zollin asked.
“For Quinn,” said the older boy, his broad chest rising and falling quickly as he tried to catch his breath.
Zollin did not want Mansel to come, but his father waved a hand at the boy, who climbed up into the empty saddle of the third charger. That should have been Todrek, Zollin thought with a twinge of regret. He took one last look at his friend’s body, but it was already bloated with internal bleeding, the face pale, the lips blue, the eyes waxy and lifeless. His friend was gone.
They rode into the forest, well aware that there were still eight warriors out searching for them. Zollin could feel the wizards moving and knew that they somehow lived. He led the small group to the willow tree, where he retrieved his pack.
“You’ve been planning this?” his father asked.
“I knew I might need to leave suddenly, and this has been a place of refuge for me. I didn’t know there would be people coming for me, I just thought people in the village wouldn’t want me around, and I didn’t want to make things hard on you.”
“We should go,” said Quinn, a pained look on his face.
“There are only supplies in here for one,” Zollin said.
“It will have to do,” his father replied.
“Brianna and Mansel could go home. They don’t have to do this.”
“No,” said Brianna. “I have to come. I don’t know why, but I knew. Ever since you told me, I knew I couldn’t stay here in Tranaugh Shire. I’m coming.”
“Me, too,” said Mansel. “I’m more at home with Quinn than with my own family. I’m just a mouth to feed there, but I can help you. Quinn can teach me to fight and I can hunt with my bow. I’ll pull my weight.”
“I’m sure you will,” Quinn said, smiling.
Jealously shot through Zollin like molten fire and he wanted to blast Mansel to dust and let the wind carry him far away, but he wrestled down the emotion even as his staff crackled with energy.
“Let’s go, Zollin,” said Brianna soothingly.
Zollin looked at her, and even though her face was darkened with pain, whether from leaving her family or losing her husband, Zollin was not sure, but there was compassion in her eyes. He felt something in him stir for her, and then guilt over the thought brought tears to his eyes. His best friend had died for him, and Zollin was thinking about his wife. Perhaps it could not be helped, but he hated himself for it.
“The wizards are still alive, and moving closer,” said Zollin.
“Yes, I wish you had told me of your gift. Those wizards were members of the Torr, powerful men who will abide no threat to their rule,” said Quinn.
“But King Felix rules the kingdom,” said Brianna.
“Yes, and the Torr have ruled the kings of this kingdom and others for many generations. They will not stop until they have what they want.”
“Then what do we do?” Mansel asked.
“We ride, stay ahead of them until we figure things out,” said Quinn. “This is the last chance you’ll have to turn back.”
“No, I’m coming,” said Mansel.
Brianna nodded, too, and they rode off into the forest.
Chapter 7
Branock lay on the ground. He felt... cold. He had successfully blocked the lightning spell Zollin had cast at him, but his defense had not prepared him for the force of the young wizard’s strike, nor had he managed to soften his landing. He slowly moved each of his limbs and was pleased to discover that nothing was broken or out of joint, but he was sore and would be worse in the morning, he knew.
Slowly he stirred. He could hear the frightened shouts of the townspeople. The horses were bucking and snorting with fear. His own mount and those of his fellow wizards had fled. Branock looked over at Wytlethane. He, too, was moving, making a slow, careful effort to sit up.
Branock turned to see about their young companion, but Cassis wasn’t moving. The elder wizard had half expected to see the younger man already on his feet and smirking, but Cassis lay completely still, his blood red robes blackened all along his left shoulder.
“Wytlethane,” Branock said as he turned quickly back to the other wizard.
“Is he dead?” Wytlethane asked, his voice as even as a frozen pond. Branock knew his rival was worried but he would never let it show.
“I don’t know,” Branock groaned as he got to his feet. He moved quickly to the younger wizard and peered down at him. The lightning spell had broken through Cassis’ defenses and burned a ragged hole in his shoulder. The flesh was scorched, as was the fabric of his robe, but the younger man was breathing—he wasn’t dead.
“He lives,” Branock said. “But his blocking spell wasn’t strong enough.”
“Perhaps now he will stop complaining about having to practice,” Wytlethane said. “He knows the spell, it just isn’t second nature to him yet.”
“I’ll find the horses while you look after him,” Branock said.
He shuffled away as Wytlethane bent over the younger wizard. Branock could have healed him, but healing was a delicate art that required patience, and at that moment Branock’s mind was reeling. He couldn’t believe the sheer power that Zollin had unleashed. To be sure, it was raw, totally unrefined. In fact, Branock doubted the boy had even cast a spell at all—it was simply unrestrained power. That was why the blow had sent them flying, and the thought made the elder wizard giddy. Truly, he thought, this boy was a power to rival the master.
“Sir,” shouted one of the mercenaries as he came charging forward on a horse that was still fighting to break away from its rider. “The boy and his father fled in that direction.”
He pointed away from the village proper toward a small hill.
“Three of our best are after him now, sir,” the soldier said. “We’ll have him soon.”
Branock merely nodded and calculated his plan of action. He knew the mercenaries would be slain, and the thought caused him no ill feelings. Nothing mattered except getting Zollin under his control. He didn’t care how many people had to die, as long as he got to the young wizard first, and without his companions.
“Gather your remaining men, Captain,” Branock said to the solider. “Have them meet us here. And retrieve our horses.”
“Yes, lord,” the man said as he hauled on the reins of the frantic animal. He dug his heels into the horse’s flanks and the charger leapt away, kicking up dust with its thick hooves.
It took nearly an hour to heal Cassis. The young wizard was up and moving, but he was sore from the fall and weak from the wound. Although the injury had been completely healed, his body had suffered from the trauma and was still in shock. The mercenaries had found the wizard’s horses, and together they made their way up toward the carpenter’s house on the outskirts of town.
“My back is killing me,” Cassis complained. “Why didn’t you heal that, too?”
“Stop whining,” Branock said, trying to keep his amusement at the younger wizard’s misfortune hidden. “You are lucky to be alive. Besides, healing every little ache and pain would take hours. Meanwhile, our quarry is fleeing into the woods.”
“How do you know that?” Cassis asked.
“Well, it’s merely a guess, but it makes sense. Besides, I have felt the draw of his power receding, haven’t you?”
“Of course I have. I merely asked how you knew he was fleeing into the forest.”
“Simple logic,” Branock said smugly. “I know because I think. You should try it some time.”
Cassis glared at the elder wizard, but before he could respond, Wytlethane spoke.
> “Patience, Cassis. Branock is only trying to bait you.”
“It’s working,” Cassis said under his breath.
Just then, they spotted the two slain mercenaries lying in the shadow of the house. One of the other soldiers rode ahead and inspected the bodies. Another searched the house and two others scouted ahead to ensure that their company wasn’t riding into an ambush.
“Are they dead?” asked Branock.
“Yes, my lord,” said the soldier.
“I thought you said that three of your men rode up here, Captain?”
“They did,” said the soldier, looking at the man who ducked back out of the house.
“No one in there, sir,” said the mercenary, jerking his thumb toward the house.
From the far side, a horse came galloping up.
“Tank’s over there, sir,” the recent arrival said to the captain of the mercenaries. “He looks burned.”
“And who is that?” Branock said, pointing to another body that was lying just inside the small lean-to on the far end of the house.
One of the soldier’s walked over, “He’s a local, my lord. He’s dead, too.”
Branock slowly dismounted and walked toward where Todrek’s body lay.
“Why are you wasting time?” Cassis grumbled. “Shouldn’t we be pursing the boy?”
“Yes,” Branock replied as he bent forward over the swollen body. “But it helps to know your quarry.”
“What do you plan to learn from a dead boy?” Cassis smirked.
Branock straightened slowly, his back stiffer already, which wasn’t a good sign. He was dreading the long, cold night ahead.
“Well, not much,” the elder wizard said. “But I know that this boy was important to Zollin. And I know he hasn’t yet learned to heal.”
“What?” Cassis remarked, surprised. He nudged his horse forward to see Todrek’s body.
“He took the time to try and heal this boy,” Branock explained. “See the blood all over the boy’s tunic. And the swollen neck, but no visible wound? He healed him, but his focus was only skin deep.”
Wizard Rising Page 6
