“I think I’ll check on the horses,” he said hastily.
“Would you like some help?” she asked.
“No,” he said quickly, charging off through the snow.
He saw through the corner of his eye the look of surprise and pain that clouded Brianna’s face. Still, he wouldn’t let himself give in. He took the pain, his own and what he imagined Todrek would feel, and stuffed them down deep inside. He accepted Brianna’s hurt—it was inevitable and couldn’t be helped. Her lack of remorse only made him feel worse. How could she be so cold and callous? But deep down he knew he couldn’t despise her the way he should. She and Todrek had only been married one night and really hadn’t known each other before that, but it was the principle of the matter. Todrek had been his best friend, and he deserved to be loved and grieved in death.
The horses were anxious under the tree limbs heavy with snow, but their body heat in the close confines of the pine and cedar grove made the space warm despite the chilly weather. Zollin spent the next hour rubbing the horses down and talking to them. He spent most of his time with Lilly and tried to convince himself it was because she was his horse, not because she was Brianna’s mount.
When he reemerged, Mansel and Quinn were awake. They had eaten, and their camp was warmed by the coals that were only now starting to die. The sun was actually warm and the snow was melting slightly. Quinn said they should push on. They needed to get into the mountains before the passes filled with snow.
“Aren’t we in the mountains?” Mansel asked.
“These are merely the foothills,” Quinn said. “The mountains are towering cliffs, so tall you can’t climb them. The only way in is through Telford’s Pass or from the sea. Brighton’s Gate is in the Great Valley that runs the entire breadth of the Northern Highlands. If we can get in before the snows fill the passes, we should be safe through the winter.”
“And if we can’t?” Brianna asked.
“Then we die,” Mansel said as if were telling a ghost story.
Quinn merely looked down at the ground between his knees. He was squatting the same way that Zollin had seen him rest around a camp fire hundreds of times, but somehow he seemed older, as if the mention of death had aged him.
“We aren’t going to die,” Zollin said.
“No,” Quinn agreed, his voice firm, “but we can’t stay here.”
They broke camp an hour later. They were well rested, but the snow was thick. They were forced to lead their horses and trudge through the snow in a single line, moving through a single trail in the snow. They took turns in the lead position, but they didn’t cover much distance. That night they made camp in a steep valley that seemed to funnel the northern wind. Their arms and legs ached from the cold. Throwing caution to the wind, they built a big fire and tried to warm themselves. They also tried to dry their clothes but without much success. It was a miserable night, but the next day was bright and sunny. The snows receded quickly and they were able to travel more easily. They spent most of the day on horseback, winding through the hills and drawing closer to the mountains. That night they camped in a cave, and Quinn began drilling Mansel with the sword and shield. Zollin avoided Brianna by keeping watch.
The next day, they came to Telford’s Pass, which led into the mountains. The trail wasn’t quite a road but more than a well-worn path. Wagons had rolled that route enough times that the trail was wide enough for them to ride together and talk. The last few days had been cold, but the sunshine had brightened their spirits, and riding along a path made them feel more at ease. Their fears were forgotten as they rode along, occasionally even joking and laughing. Quinn said another two days would see them in Brighton’s Gate, but when they turned a curve in the trail around a huge boulder, they were surprised to see a group of men waiting for them.
The riders immediately started toward them, so they quickly turned back the way they had come. Their jovial mood was banished instantly as fear fell over them like a torrential rainstorm. Before they could spur their horses to speed, three more riders appeared down the trail behind them, their horses trotting quickly toward the group. Zollin recognized the center rider as one of the wizards of the Torr.
“It’s one of the wizards,” he said, his voice shrill.
“What do we do?” Brianna asked.
“Go back,” Zollin said.
“I don’t relish turning my back on a wizard,” Quinn said.
“I say we fight,” Mansel said with exuberance. It was obvious that he was anxious to try out his new skills.
“I can handle the riders up the trail,” Zollin said. “I’m not so sure about the wizard.”
“Come on, then,” Quinn ordered. And they turned their horses once again and raced into the mountains.
Chapter 12
They raced around the bend once more, while the group of mercenaries in front of them sat waiting. It was a tense moment for Zollin. He felt the magic churning hot within him, but he did not relish the idea of unleashing his magic on people again. Still, he needed to protect is father and friends. He would not let anyone hurt them. So he raised his staff and pointed it at the group. The riders in turn raised longbows and fired arrows at the oncoming riders. The arrows demanded all of Zollin’s attention.
“They’re just trying to distract you,” Quinn yelled at his son.
Zollin didn’t hear him. He swung his staff so that it was over his head and parallel with his friends. He envisioned an impenetrable screen of magic above them. The arrows hit the screen and bounced in midair, falling harmlessly to the ground.
The mercenaries had fired more arrows, but Zollin easily blocked those as well. He was about to blast the mercenaries out of his way when his horse bellowed in fear. Quinn’s and Mansel’s horses, too, were suddenly locking their legs and sliding to a stop. Zollin saw their mounts’ eyes wide with fear, their lips drawn back, their manes standing up along their necks.
“What’s going on?” Brianna shouted. Lilly had slowed along with the others but didn’t seem as affected.
Zollin looked up at the soldiers in front of them—their horses, too, seemed frightened.
“I don’t know,” shouted Quinn.
Zollin looked behind them and saw the riders approaching but still at a great distance. He didn’t understand why his horse was suddenly turning, against his protests, and trying to flee from the soldiers. At first, he thought the wizard behind them had somehow cast a spell that was frightening their mounts, but then he heard the screams from the soldiers. Zollin looked over his shoulder and saw lions leaping down on the soldiers. There were several big cats, at least half as big as the horses. Zollin’s mount was still twisting in fear, trying to break from his control. The lions had bronze-colored hides and long teeth that curved up from their lower jaws. The soldiers were hacking at the big cats with their longswords, but their horses were dancing with fear, making their attacks almost useless. Two of the horses had fallen as the lions leapt upon them, tearing into their necks with fangs and claws.
“What do we do?” Mansel shouted over the carnage.
“I don’t think we have any choice,” Quinn yelled. “Get your bow out, Mansel. Brianna, do your best to hold the horses. Zollin, the wizard’s yours. We’re fish in a barrel here, but we’ve no other choice.”
Zollin slipped off his horse and ran toward the approaching riders. “Blast!” he yelled. Energy crackled from his staff toward the riders. Their horses reared, but the attack was thwarted. Zollin could sense the magic like an invisible wall between them. He knew any attack he made would be repulsed. So he changed his tactic.
“So you’re the novice Branock warned me about,” Zollin shouted. He saw the look of bewilderment on the other wizard’s face.
“He said you were a coward, and now I sense your fear,” Zollin shouted again, hoping his lie was believable. This time he swung his staff theatrically and sent a shower of sparks snapping and popping against the invisible barrier. The attack was all for show with no real power, bu
t he saw that the barrier was pulling back. He took a chance and aimed his next attack at the soldier on the right. This time the spell was not deflected, and the mercenary was sent flying from his horse. The other soldier reined his horse around and galloped away.
Behind Zollin, one of the lions was now slowly stalking toward Mansel and Quinn. They raised their bows and let their arrows fly. The first found its mark and caused the lion to leap back. The other arrow, slightly behind the first, glanced off the lion as it moved. The rest of the pride was busy with the soldiers and their horses, gorging themselves on the fresh meat. Quinn turned and saw that Zollin now faced the wizard alone, and he chanced an arrow at the rider. But the arrow bounced harmlessly away, and the wizard never took his eyes off of Zollin.
“I can’t stand wizards!” Quinn spat, then turned his attention back to the lions.
Cassis had now brought his horse to a stop. His mind was reeling. He knew that Branock was crafty, but the old wizard had double-crossed them, or so it seemed. He knew better than to take the boy’s words at face value, but he also remembered the attack at the village, and he was taking no chances.
Zollin could feel the hair on his arms and neck standing up as the air seemed charged with magic. Every sense came alive, his vision sharp, his mind racing through possibilities. There were rocks on the steep hills to Zollin’s right. With his mind, he flung them down and then immediately raised a mental shield between himself and the other wizard. Just as Zollin expected, the other wizard attacked at that moment. He felt the blast of power against his defenses like an axe blow against a shield. He tried to keep his features from revealing his shock at the strength of the blow.
The boulders came crashing down and would have crushed Cassis and his horse, but the wizard deflected the barrage. Zollin took that opportunity to try a new spell. He focused his mind on panic and sent the feelings straight at the wizard’s horse. It was a desperate ploy—he didn’t even know if he could do it. But with the wizard’s attention momentarily diverted, his defenses had pulled back, leaving the horse exposed. Zollin saw the whites around the horse’s dark irises, and then the beast reared, pawing the air and sending the wizard toppling backwards. The horse, free of its rider, bolted away.
Cassis was unprepared for the horse’s sudden buck, but his defenses softened his landing and the boulders were already diverted from their course. He fell to the ground but quickly gained his feet on the wet turf. He immediately sent a wild blast of fire toward Zollin, as much to distract the young wizard as to actually harm him.
Zollin was waiting, and he saw that the blast was going wide away from him and toward where Brianna was holding the horses. He was confident the attack would not harm her, but he feared the horses might panic and crush her, so he deflected the blast.
There was still snow on the mountainside and Zollin pulled it down. Only this time it wasn’t aimed at the other wizard, but between them. There was a moment’s hesitation as the ice and snow rumbled down the steep hillsides. Zollin was relieved when Cassis raised his defenses to ward off this new attack. He had hoped the distraction would keep the other wizard from attacking again. The snow and ice, along with dirt and rocks and some scrubby vegetation, fell in a towering heap between them. Zollin spun around to ensure that the lions weren’t overwhelming his father. The beasts were mostly engaged with the soldiers and the horses that they had killed, but one was circling around, staying high up on the hillside, crouching low. Zollin pointed at it and yelled for his father, just as the mound of snow and ice blew apart, showering them all and causing them to duck for cover.
Zollin shrouded himself with a magical shield and saw that in that instant the lion had sprung. It was sailing down toward the horses who were dancing with fear from the explosion of snow. Brianna was trying desperately to soothe them as she held tightly to the reins, but she was oblivious to the danger. Zollin knew that he needed to return his attention to the wizard who was advancing behind him, but he also knew and feared that the lion might find Brianna easier prey than the horses. He shoved with all his power against the lion, but the beast’s weight and momentum were so great that, though he managed to hurl the animal back, he was knocked off his feet by the force of the collision.
Cassis took that opportunity to attack. He hurled fire at Zollin, who raised his arm instinctively. There was a searing pain, but then Zollin raised his defenses and pushed the fire back. He rolled to his feet in time to block another blast. And then, just like with Branock, both wizards attacked at the same time, their spells clashing together. Energy snapped and hissed along Zollin’s staff and up his arm. He felt the power welling up in him as his emotions fed his effort. He could see Todrek in his mind, could see Brianna and his father, even Mansel and their horses. He knew in that moment that the only way to stop Cassis was to kill him. He sensed the other’s intent in the ferocity of this attack. It was like a gambler knowing that it was time to bet his entire fortune on one turn of the cards. So Zollin pushed, pushed his magic against the resistance of his opponent’s spell. He felt the muscles in his legs and back straining. He focused his mind and will behind the spell.
“You’re finished,” he shouted. “I’m going to kill you!”
Cassis didn’t answer. He couldn’t believe the amount of power that was flooding against him. It was taking all his ability to hold the spell, and fear was beginning to turn his bowels to water. He wanted to escape but knew that if he broke off the spell without first pushing his opponent back, he would be killed. Still, even though his mind was racing to find a way out of his predicament, Zollin’s raw power was overwhelming him.
Zollin felt Cassis’s spell falter for a moment, and then it surged. But as it did, the wizard’s staff burst into tiny shards. The magic that just moments before had seemed like a raging river suddenly ceased, and in the stillness of the moment, Zollin felt a stab of sympathy for Cassis. The wizard looked older, tired and weak. He had fallen to his knees, his robes tattered, his black hair disheveled. Zollin was just about to speak when the wizard raised both hands and cast his final spell. Zollin had been holding his staff in front of him, and without thought, he blocked the spell, but he doubted if there was enough power in Cassis to have done any real damage. Zollin stood calmly before him while Cassis strained, the veins in his neck bulging, his face turning red, his lips peeling back in a snarl of anger and hatred. But the strain was too much; his magic was draining him. The wizard dropped dead in the mud.
Zollin felt the magic suddenly disappear, like light disappearing into darkness when a candle is snuffed out. The sensation left a melancholy echo in Zollin. He turned and saw that his father and Mansel had dispatched the lion. The horses were still straining to break away, but Brianna, despite her small frame, was unyielding. Zollin looked at the horses and imagined calm happiness, then pushed his thoughts toward them. The horses immediately settled down and began nuzzling Brianna.
“We should go,” Zollin said.
Quinn turned and saw the dead wizard lying in the mud. He didn’t speak, only nodded and gathered the horses from Brianna. With one last spell, Zollin scattered the lions with panic, and the group rode away from the carnage and into the mountains.
Chapter 13
Branock felt the battle. He was still working to repair the damage his rebounding spell had caused to his body. He had managed to find a fallen log where an animal had dug out a shallow depression. He had wrapped himself in blankets and fallen asleep. When he woke, he was buried in snow, his hunger so fierce he was shaking. He had used his saddle bag as a pillow, and so he ate and slept. Using only as much energy as it took to uncover himself from the snow and chew the dry rations he fed on, he slept as much as possible. On the day the group had set out from their camp, Branock began working to heal more of his left side. He started with his leg, concentrating on each nerve, transforming the scar tissue back to health, even smoothing the skin. It was slow, tedious work that did not suit his power, but he was determined. Using the magic drained hi
m of energy quickly. But by the time the battle between Zollin and Cassis took place, he was able to walk normally and use his left arm and hand with close to normal strength and dexterity. His face was still a mass of withered skin, his beard and hair burned away, his left eye a milky white.
When the battle took place, far to the north, Branock felt it as slight pulses. He knew what must be happening and cursed his luck. The boy had been in his hands, and now Cassis would either kill or capture him. He would have to return to the Torr empty-handed and weakened, without the ally he had hoped to have. Then he felt the churning of Zollin’s spell that had shattered Cassis’s staff. It was like lightning hidden behind thick clouds whose thunder shakes the ground and resonates deep in a person’s chest. He knew then that there was hope, although if Zollin continued into the mountains it would be hope deferred. Still, Branock knew that Cassis could never wield that much power—he himself was not that powerful. In fact, Branock had never felt such awesome, raw force. It was proof that if he could control the boy, he would be unstoppable, and if he couldn’t, that Zollin would have to die.
His horse had wandered away to survive the snowstorm, so Branock turned south. He would need to return to the Torr and explain to his master what had happened. He would have to think of a good explanation, but he had plenty of time to do that. First he needed to find a better mode of transport and to heal his disfigured face. Then he would worry about his master in the tower.
***
Wytlethane felt the battle, too. He had turned south soon after splitting from other two wizards. He was now comfortably ensconced in a small inn. There were two other guests, but they had left as soon as the sun had begun melting the snow. Wytlethane decided to wait. Cassis would turn south with the boy, and then they could return to the Torr together, ensuring that his reputation with the master was unspoiled.
When the battle took place, he was resting in his room with a comfortable fire warming the small space nicely. He was dozing in a chair when the wave of power from Zollin’s final effort shook him awake. He stood and began pacing. It was obvious that splitting up had been a mistake. The boy was more powerful than Wytlethane had anticipated. Now he would have to travel north again, to find Branock and then the boy. He was weary of traveling and wished nothing more than to be left in peace. But he knew the danger of allowing the boy to live. He felt Cassis disappear like a whiff of smoke. His alliance with Cassis had not been as beneficial as he had hoped. And if they returned to the Torr without the boy, the master would most likely kill one or both of them.
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