Fear felt like a noose around his neck, his arms and legs felt heavy, and his movements seemed so slow. But he ran on, intent on helping, even though it was obvious he could focus his attention on only one group of riders. Instinctively he turned toward the soldiers riding toward Brianna. They were closing in on her when he reacted, almost without thought. The range was still extreme, but he couldn’t wait any longer.
“Blast!” he shouted, pointing his staff at the riders. Lightning shot out, bright and crackling in the afternoon sunlight. The energy hit the horse closest to Zollin and forced it into the others. All three riders were knocked into the air, two tumbling and rolling along the ground, the third crashing with bone-shattering force into a tree. The third soldier fell in a heap and lay still.
Brianna hesitated then, unsure what to do. Meanwhile, there was a clashing of blades as the other riders closed in on Quinn and Mansel. Quinn, with his sword and shield, was struggling against two of the attackers. Mansel and the third soldier were circling each other. The big man in black armor looked like a cat who was toying with the mouse he had caught. Abruptly, one of the soldiers facing Quinn turned his horse and moved toward Brianna.
“Ride, Brianna!” Zollin shouted. “To me, quickly!”
She urged her horse forward, but the beast was too tired. It moved slowly and the other soldier was gaining ground quickly. Zollin raised his staff but the soldier fell into line with Brianna. There was no way the young wizard could attack without hurting the girl. He was running as fast as he could, but he was still too far away.
“Faster!” he shouted, but Brianna’s mare, the old horse Zollin had won from the illusionist, was just too exhausted.
He saw the soldier raise his sword as he closed in on Brianna. Suddenly the world darkened all around Zollin, and in his sight all he could see was the bright blade flashing in the sunlight that shone through the bare winter branches overhead.
“Rise!” Zollin shouted, and he felt a tug, as if the magic had been jerked out of him. But the sword was flying up, spinning through air and finally tumbling back to the ground behind the soldier. The attacker reined his horse in and turned back for his weapon.
Zollin looked back to his father. Quinn was using his legs and knees to keep his horse moving away from his attacker. The soldier had a long cavalry sword while Quinn had a shorter blade and shield. It was obvious that Quinn was on the defensive, the soldier using the longer reach of his weapon to attack without coming close enough for Quinn to strike back.
Mansel was now on the ground, having successfully defended the soldier’s first blow, but the force of the two blades colliding had knocked the apprentice carpenter off his horse. Mansel was trying desperately to remain in the defensive stance that Quinn had taught him. It was obviously the only swordsmanship the boy knew.
Quinn’s shield was tarnished from disuse, but sparks flew off of it as the soldier attacked, over and over again. Quinn was holding his own until the cavalry sword bounced off the shield and clipped the horse’s neck. Quinn’s mount reared in pain, its hooves waving madly at the other rider, whose own horse reared in return. The master carpenter tumbled backward off the horse as the soldier struggled to remain in the saddle.
Finally, Brianna’s horse reached Zollin. He swung up behind her, his staff extended in his right hand, his left arm curving around her waist and taking the reins. He turned the horse and kicked it back into a gallop. The soldier who had been chasing Brianna had retrieved his sword and was now charging toward them again. Without thinking, Zollin raised his staff. It crackled and hissed as magic ran visibly up and down the shaft, dancing around his hand and flickering up his arm. As they approached each other, like knights on a tournament joust, the magic leapt out of Zollin without him even speaking the command. The blast hit the soldier in the chest and blew his chainmail shirt to pieces, knocking him backward off his horse to land in a smoking heap on the ground.
Quinn’s attacker had his mount under control now and was charging back toward the carpenter. Zollin pointed his staff at the soldier but he closed too quickly, swinging his longsword in a wicked arc. Quinn raised his shield in time to block the blow, but the force knocked him backward off his feet. He lay still on the turf, and seeing his father so still made Zollin’s heart race. But as the soldier advanced toward Quinn, Zollin noticed that Mansel was cornered between two trees. The young apprentice had lost his sword, and only his ability to scramble, learned from years of evading four older brothers, had kept him alive this long. The soldier, with a wicked grin on his face, raised his sword for the killing stroke, but Mansel proved to be inventive as well as quick. Without a moment’s hesitation, the young apprentice grabbed the horse by the nose and shoved the beast’s head between himself and the sword. The soldier was knocked off balance as the horse kicked out, snapping three of Mansel’s ribs, and his sword lodged firmly in the trunk of the tree. Mansel dropped to the ground as the soldier fought to stay on his horse, which was bucking and kicking wildly.
Just then, the other soldier reached Quinn, urging his mount to trample his downed opponent. Zollin was just about to blast the soldier, but at that moment Quinn slashed at the horse’s front leg, slicing through flesh and bone. The master carpenter was barely fast enough to roll out of the way before the horse toppled, rolling right over the soldier on its back. Quinn was back on his feet, but the soldiers Zollin had knocked from their horses in his initial attack were now closing in on him.
Zollin acted quickly, blasting the soldier still on his horse near Mansel before turning his attention to the other two attackers. Both men had slowed, seeing Zollin and Brianna on horseback, Quinn armed and waiting. First one, then the other, turned and began running away. Zollin swung his staff, and the nearest soldier was battered by an invisible force into a large oak tree, knocking the man unconscious. Then Zollin focused his thoughts on the other man and thrust his staff at him. Even from a distance of over a hundred paces, they heard the man’s spine crack. The soldier’s body suddenly went limp and he fell, skidding along the forest floor before coming to stop and lying perfectly still.
For a moment, the only sound was the ragged breathing of Brianna’s horse. The group was frozen, looking at the soldier Zollin had just killed. Then they heard Mansel moan. The young apprentice was leaning back against the tree where the soldier’s sword was still stuck. He was having trouble breathing and was obviously in pain. Brianna slipped off the horse, moving with Quinn quickly to the boy’s side. Zollin felt a twinge of jealously seeing Brianna hurrying to aid the young apprentice. Then the guilt of such an emotion overwhelmed him.
I’m sorry, Todrek, Zollin thought. Then he turned his attention to the soldier he had knocked into the tree. He made a conscious effort not to look at the men he had killed. In the heat of battle he had acted without reservation and had felt no remorse. He knew the soldiers had no qualms about killing him or his friends, but seeing their lifeless bodies was unnerving. Facing death was hard; facing death he had inflicted was almost debilitating. He swung down from the tired horse, who dropped her head and moved slowly toward Brianna. Zollin walked in the opposite direction and found the man still senseless, his face stained with blood from a small wound in his scalp.
Zollin took hold of the soldier’s collar and began slowly dragging him back to where the others had Mansel stretched out on the ground.
“How is he?” Zollin asked, as he let go of the soldier near the others.
“Broken ribs, I think,” Quinn said.
Mansel’s face was wet with sweat and tears, pain distorting his features with each breath. But he was doing his best to not give in to the pain.
“Can you do anything to broken ribs?” Zollin asked his father.
Quinn shook his head. “Let’s just hope he’s not bleeding inside.” The look in the elder man’s eyes told Zollin that Mansel could possibly die.
“Zollin, can’t you do something?” Brianna pleaded.
“I’m afraid to. I don’t really know
what I’m doing.”
“But he’s in so much pain,” she said, her voice full of sympathy.
“I don’t know how to help him,” Zollin said.
“No, but I do,” came a voice from behind them.
Chapter 10
Zollin spun around, his face frozen in shock. Without thinking, he raised his staff across his body for protection, but the attack he was expecting didn’t come. Branock, who had seen the entire skirmish, was simply standing a short distance from the group gathered around Mansel. The air was thick with tension and nobody spoke at first, but finally Zollin found his tongue.
“What do you want?” he asked.
“To help, of course,” Branock said, smiling. “Your friend is hurt. I can help him. May I approach?”
“Don’t trust him,” Quinn whispered.
“Perhaps he really can help,” Brianna said, pleading with Zollin.
“Why are you following me?” Zollin asked. “Why did your soldiers attack us?”
“I’m afraid they were supposed to be protecting me,” Branock said, trying his best to sound like a friendly old man. “Not that I needed it, but things being what they are in the world, I suppose it makes sense to travel with protection. Of course, these mercenaries,” he said the last word with contempt, “only cared about money. They abandoned me and sought to capture you. You see, your talent is a rare thing, and I’ve come to help you develop it.”
Branock intentionally played on Zollin’s desire to know about the magic he possessed. He remembered how he had felt when he had discovered his own powers and how his master had used a similar argument to lure him into joining the Torr.
Zollin’s mind whirled. When the wizards and soldiers had arrived at Tranaugh Shire, he had assumed that it was a bad thing, but now he wasn’t so sure. Perhaps all they wanted was to help him, and their aggression was merely a response to his own.
“So you’re saying you didn’t order the attack?” Quinn said, the distrust in his voice clear to everyone.
“No, I would never do that,” Branock lied. “Like I said, I only want to help.”
“That’s not what you said at Tranaugh Shire,” Quinn said loudly, his distrust obvious.
“No, that’s not true. I was forced by my companions to take an aggressive posture, but I assure you I meant no harm. You see, I’m not much of a wizard,” Branock lied again. “I’m really more of a teacher than anything else. I’m afraid Wytlethane and Cassis are threatened by your son. That’s why I suggested that we split up. I’m only glad that I found you before they did. They would like nothing more than a reason to kill you, Zollin.” As he said this, he slowly moved toward the group. His voice was soft and reassuring. “But I want to help you. I know it’s hard to believe. I’m sure so much has happened so quickly, but I assure you, I only want to help you. And I can protect you from the others, protect your friends, too. I’ll prove myself. I’ll heal your friend and then you’ll see that I’m being honest. May I?”
He had drawn close now. He was merely feet away from Zollin, who had yet to move. Branock smiled as innocently as possible, his robes and beard making him seem powerful yet benign. He reached out a hand, the palm up, the way one might approach a skittish horse, as if to say, look, I’m not going to hurt you.
There was another tense moment, and then Zollin reached behind him with his free arm and moved slowly backward, lightly pushing Brianna and Quinn away from Mansel but careful to keep himself between them and the wizard.
Branock smiled, then moved quickly to Mansel’s side. The boy was still moaning in pain. Branock raised Mansel’s shirt, revealing a wicked bruise. Branock held his hand close to the boy’s skin but did not touch the wound. Zollin felt magic begin to flow. At first he was startled. He could sense the magic in Branock, but he had never been so close to another wizard. The magic inside of Zollin churned, as did the power in the willow belt and his staff. He could feel it surging like a river at high tide, as if his own power wanted to join that of the other wizard.
“What’s he doing?” Quinn whispered, his voice harsh in Zollin’s ear.
“He’s helping.”
“How do you know?”
“I’m not sure, but the magic doesn’t feel evil, it feels good, like sunlight.”
“I still don’t trust him,” Quinn said, his voice a little louder, as if he was daring the wizard to hear him and take offense.
“I don’t think we have a choice,” Brianna said, joining the whispered conversation.
“We can at least hear him out,” Zollin said. “I’m fairly certain he means no harm.”
“Well, I’m not going to stand around and watch him do whatever it is he’s trying to do,” Quinn said. “I’m going to gather the horses. But don’t let your guard down, Zollin.”
“I won’t.”
Quinn walked away, mumbling to himself. Brianna took hold of Zollin’s arm just above the elbow. She was close behind him, and although he was watching the wizard minister to Mansel, he couldn’t help but feel a flash of heat from the girl. It was intoxicating to be near her, just knowing she was close, feeling her hands around his arm. It made him happy, and he hated himself for that. He choked down the feelings, refusing to revel in them the way he wanted to. He was miserable at that moment, attracted to Brianna, jealous of her fussing over Mansel, sick at what he thought Todrek would say if he knew that Zollin felt that way.
It took several minutes, but eventually Mansel stopped moaning and lay still. Zollin and Brianna watched as the bruising slowly faded and Mansel’s skin became clear. The boy didn’t move though; he merely lay still, breathing deeply.
“He’s resting,” Branock said. And Zollin realized that he was looking at his father’s apprentice, not the wizard anymore. “He’ll be fine when he wakes. He’s just tired, as you are, I’m sure. I know I am. You all travel fast.”
“Why have you been following us?” Zollin asked again.
“Like I said, I want to help you.”
“But you said the other wizards want to hurt me.”
“No, I said they are threatened by you. I’m afraid this is all rather complicated. You’ll soon find out just how complicated the world is. Most people are afraid of wizards, of people who can do what they can’t.”
Branock had been kneeling beside Mansel, and now he stood up. He was taller than Zollin, his eyes a cold gray color, like winter clouds. There was something inviting about the elder wizard, something that excited Zollin. He had known there were other wizards in the world; he had just never thought about what it would be like to meet one. But there was also something else about the wizard that made Zollin a bit uncomfortable. It was like fire—he was drawn to the warmth of Branock’s knowledge and demeanor, but he knew he couldn’t get too close or he risked being burned.
“But,” Branock continued, “we have a special gift. We have the ability to shape the world around us, rather than being shaped by it. Some wizards hoard that gift, others flaunt it, but some, those with good hearts, can use it to help those they love.” He smiled at Zollin. “At the Torr, we use our combined talents to help the Five Kingdoms. By staying in one place we can support each other and protect ourselves from being exploited. I’ve been a wizard for a long time now, Zollin, and I’ve seen many talented people fall without the right tutelage. I want to help you reach your potential.”
“And the others you mentioned,” Zollin asked. “What do they want with me?”
“They only want you to join us, but they are frightened of you. Your spell at the village,” he said wistfully, rubbing his chest, “that was so powerful that it caught us off guard. You can understand that they would feel a little resentment. After all, you attacked us first, remember.”
“That’s because you rode in with a heavily armed guard,” Quinn said as he approached the group with their horses and the ones the soldiers had ridden in on, “demanding that Zollin go with you, as if he were an outlaw being brought to justice.”
“I said I was sorr
y—” Branock began, but Quinn cut him off.
“That may be, but we aren’t going to let Zollin ride off with you to Osla.”
“We can all go,” said Branock.
“No,” Quinn said firmly, “we are heading north, alone. If you are trustworthy as you say, you’ll honor our decision and ride away.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” said Branock. “Please, I know this all sounds strange, but it really is for the best. Zollin needs to be at the Torr. He needs to learn to use his power. If he doesn’t, he’ll be a hunted man all his life. Kings will send soldiers to find him and bring him into their service. Wars will be fought over him. He’ll be forced to use his power to kill, and many, many people will suffer. Believe me, keeping the power of a wizard like your son at the Torr is the very best thing for everyone.”
“According to you,” Quinn said, as he swung up into the saddle of one of the mercenaries’ horses.
Zollin was torn. He desperately wanted to go with Branock and learn to use his magic, but he sensed that something wasn’t as friendly as the wizard was trying to make it seem. He turned to Brianna and told her to wake Mansel.
“If what you are saying is true, and the Torr is the best place for me,” Zollin said, trying to hide the fear that was creeping through him. “Then by the time the summer winds blow, I will come to the Torr.”
“You shouldn’t travel alone,” Branock said.
“He won’t be alone,” Mansel said. He was awake now and standing, although he looked shaky on his feet.
Branock smirked. His patience had run out. It was unfortunate that he hadn’t been able to persuade the boy rationally, but he had other means at his disposal. He focused his magic as he prepared to speak, then pushed slightly at the minds of the group.
“Zollin should come with me,” he said. “It’s the very best thing.”
Wizard Rising Page 9
