Zollin was tired. His adrenaline was no longer in his system, and the lack of sleep combined with his physical and magical exertion was wearing on him. His body felt weak and his magic was growing painfully hot. He needed rest and sustenance, but first he had to help Ferno. He let his magic flow into the green dragon and immediately his connection with Ferno, which had been like a close friendship, expanded with a snap that took Zollin’s breath away. Ferno was a fusion of fire, magic, and living stone. Zollin couldn’t describe it exactly, but there were components of all three substances inside the dragon. Ferno had organs, a heart, lungs, and digestive system, all of which were straight forward and easily identifiable, but the dragon was infused with a magic that was different from Zollin’s.
Zollin’s magic was overtly powerful; the way a sword is made to be sharp, created to cut and slash. The magic wasn’t good or bad, but it was willful, wanting to exert its nature, which was to create or destroy. Ferno’s magic was more like the radiant heat of the sun; it existed to shine, to live, to simply be. It was strong, like a powerful muscle, but it had its limits as well. The magic in Ferno couldn’t be exerted outside the dragon, even though it was drawn to the magic inside of Zollin. It reminded the young wizard of the staff he carried for a long time. The staff had been infused with magic after lightning had struck the tree it had come from. Zollin had sensed the magic in the wood, but when he touched it, the magic of the staff had combined with his own, mingling like the juice of a fine wine. There were times when the magic of the staff overflowed, effecting Zollin physically, and there were times when the pull of the connection between his own magic and that of the staff was intensely powerful, almost intoxicating.
Zollin felt his magic flow into Ferno and the dragon’s own magic leapt into Zollin. He felt the strength and solidarity of the dragon magic fill him. Then he concentrated on Ferno’s wounds. Zollin guessed that healing the scratches and gashes would be easy enough, but more concerning was the foreign matter he felt spreading through the dragon. Zollin knew at once it was poison, but it was in Ferno’s blood stream and had already spread across the dragon’s whole body.
“This isn’t going to be easy, my friend,” Zollin said quietly.
The sun was just peeking over the horizon as Zollin sat down on the ground next to Ferno. His eyes were closed and his hands rested on the dragon’s stomach, to either side of the nasty cuts in the softer scales. Immediately, a green substance began to ooze out of the dragon, but Zollin feared he might be too late. Removing the poison would be extremely difficult, and he wasn’t sure he had the strength to save Ferno, before the poison snuffed out the young dragon’s life.
Chapter 8
It was another hour before the first rays of sunshine appeared over the small village of Barnacle Bay, but Mansel was already up and working. He did his best to spend the first part of each day working in the village. There wasn’t much money in the small port. Most of the trading vessels only stopped in Barnacle Bay due to emergencies. There were plenty of fishermen, so food was abundant, and a few craftsmen had made the small, seaside village their home. Mansel traded labor for materials, food, and even ale. In the afternoons, he worked on the small cottage he and Nycoll occupied. It had only taken a few days to get the roof in good shape. Lumber was in short supply, but there were a few other abandoned buildings that Mansel could salvage from. Pitch was plentiful in the village and Mansel traded for a barrel of the tarry substance and after pulling down the wooden shingles, he coated the sub roof in pitch to make sure it was waterproof. Then he shingled the roof, using the shingles he had pulled off the roof and some from other buildings that were abandoned.
The cottage’s fireplace was well built and still in good shape; Mansel only had to clean out the chimney. The doors were reinforced and new locking beams set. The floor was patched, and Nycoll set about making the little, one-room home livable. She used soft grasses that grew near the shore to stuff a mattress. It wasn’t as soft as a down mattress, but it was better than sleeping on the floor. She repaired an old table and chairs. The locals gave her some cookware, and Mansel traded labor for blankets and quilts. At night they sat near the fire, cozy and warm. The days were cool, the nights chilly, but the views of the ocean and the mountains were unparalleled.
While Zollin was healing a dragon in the wooded hills of Baskla, Mansel was repairing a shop near the harbor. Most of the shops consisted of workspace with a large open window that faced the sea. The shutter on the windows could be raised and propped open with wooden dowels, and customers could do business with shop owners without going into the cluttered workspace. Unfortunately, most of the shutters were warped from the salty air, which allowed rain to get into the shops. Most of the buildings had at least some need of repair, either from lack of maintenance or from rot caused by the moist conditions.
By the time the sun rose, Mansel had his tools, which he had used the last of Zollin’s gold to buy, and his materials arranged and ready. He started his day and worked hard. When he had been an apprentice with Quinn and Zollin, he had found carpentry to be onerous. Now, he was grateful to have learned a trade, and to be honest, he was happy to be out of his father’s tannery and in the sunshine on most days. Still, the work hadn’t been satisfying then, but now he found the work enjoyable. It wasn’t as much fun as riding a horse into battle, but it was still satisfying, especially when he was able to trade his labor for some little thing that Nycoll wanted. He loved coming home with a little nicety and seeing her eyes light up. Nycoll had been on her own for a long time and had become very self-sufficient. There was very little that she couldn’t make or trade for on her own. She took care of their cottage, fixed their meals, and mended Mansel’s clothes. When he came home with a little lace or a particular spice that Nycoll couldn’t find on her own, it gave Mansel a sense of joy he had never known before.
It was almost midday before Mansel took a break. He was almost finished repairing the frame around the baker’s window. The wood around the window had begun to rot, and the heavy shutter had been tilting further and further out of place. Mansel had cut away the rotten wood and replaced it; now all he had to do was reattach the hinges and rehang the heavy shutter. He sat down with a sweet roll the baker had given him. He still had some ale from the night before. He had been careful not to over indulge in strong drink, but water that wasn’t tainted with salt was sometimes hard to find in the village. So he drank ale, but he kept a tight rein on his self-control and thus far he had been successful.
He was lounging in the shade when he heard a commotion. He looked up and saw a group of people running toward the harbor. He got to his feet.
“What is going on?” he asked loudly.
“Monsters!” one man shouted, pointing back over his shoulder.
Mansel looked back to the south and he could see movement, but he couldn’t make out what was coming.
“Run!” screamed another woman.
The shopkeepers were coming out of their businesses and looking to the south. Then Mansel heard a deep thrum. That sound mixed with the shouts and screams sent a chill down his back. He had his tools with him, but not his sword. The cottage he shared with Nycoll was slightly more than a mile to the north. The winding path that leads toward the mountains was a pleasant stroll in the mornings. He could walk the distance in about 15 minutes, but now he felt like he was too far from Nycoll. He started running, leaving his tools and half eaten lunch behind. The shouts and cries behind him turned from surprise to terror, but Mansel didn’t turn back. Whatever was coming, he knew he needed to face it armed and with the knowledge that Nycoll was safe. Until then, he had only one thought, to get back home as fast as he could.
It was times like these when he really missed having a horse. He hadn’t minded walking, or even carrying his tools, but he missed the sense of strength and freedom riding on horseback gave him. And now of course, all he cared about was speed, although if he had to fight whatever was behind him, he would probably be better off fight
ing mounted. But that was just wishful thinking. He didn’t have a horse, not since they had sold their mounts in Osla and booked passage on the Fisherman’s Daughter going north. Mansel had even saved some of their money in hopes of buying a horse, but the opportunity hadn’t presented itself.
He topped a small hill and saw the cottage in the distance. It looked peaceful, and the sounds of carnage in the village behind him had faded away. Mansel hoped that whatever danger had come to the little town wouldn’t follow him home, but he knew he couldn’t bank on that hope. He looked around the house for Nycoll as he ran. They had cut back the weeds and wild grass that grew around the cottage. Nycoll had planted a garden. The cottage had a wide porch where they could sit and watch the waves crashing against the rocky shore or see the sunset turning the sky above the mountains pink and gold before twilight set in.
Nycoll was nowhere to be seen. Mansel hoped with all his heart that she hadn’t wandered far from the cottage. He was out of breath, but he still managed to bellow her name.
“Nycoll!” he shouted. “Nycoll, where are you?”
The door to the cabin swung open and Nycoll stepped out, her eyes wide with fear.
“What is it?” she shouted.
“I’m not sure,” he panted as he finally came running into their small, sandy yard. “Get my sword. Then bolt the door.”
“Aren’t you coming inside?”
“No,” Mansel said. “Find a place to hide, and stay there until I come for you.”
“Mansel, you’re scaring me,” she said, her voice rising in pitch and volume.
“Good,” he bellowed. “Now do as I say!”
Mansel kept the sword Zollin had fashioned for him just inside the door. It was still in the scabbard, although it wasn’t hung to a belt anymore. Nycoll grabbed it with two hands and flung it out to Mansel. It flipped in the air, but he caught it deftly, slinging the scabbard aside with one fluid motion.
Mansel was a big man, young enough that his beard was still soft and patchy on his square jaw, but thick through the chest and shoulders, his waist narrow, but his legs strong. He turned back to the south, watching the path that led to the village. He didn’t have to wait long. The thrumming sound he’d heard in the village was the first sign that the monsters he’d been warned of were coming. The sound grew louder until he saw the first of five beasts fly over the low hill. Mansel’s mind rejected what he saw. The creatures had a horse’s body, but with the torso, arms, and head of a man. The wings looked like dragonfly wings, flapping so fast they were hard to make out, but obviously the cause of the thrumming he’d heard. Still, as frightening as the head and body of the creatures seemed, it was their huge, scorpion-like tails curling over the body and head of the beasts, the stingers dripping venom, that made Mansel’s blood run cold.
He swung his sword to loosen the muscles in his arms and shoulders. The heft of the weapon calmed his nerves a little. He didn’t want to die and seeing the creatures made it hard to think of anything else but death. Still, he comforted himself. If he did die, at least it would be with a sword in his hand.
The creatures didn’t slow; they flew on down the path toward Mansel, unfazed by the sight of the big man and his long sword. Mansel didn’t wait either; he bellowed his war cry and dashed forward. The temptation to look back and make sure that Nycoll was ok was strong, but he knew looking back would only confirm that someone was in the cottage. Mansel could only hope that Nycoll had barred the doors and found a place to hide.
Mansel anticipated the first creature’s attack. They had massive arms, their hands ending in talon like claws, their mouths filled with pointed teeth, but it was the tail was the true danger. Mansel was fully expecting the tail to strike down as he approached. He watched the tail, swaying back and forth in a serpentine pattern as he rushed forward. As soon as the tail twitched back, he dove to the side. The tail struck out, like a viper, but Mansel was no longer in front of the creature. He swung his sword in a massive overhanded strike, like a woodsmen chopping lumber. The blade hacked the massive stinger clean off the segmented tail. Blood and venom poured out, and the creature reared, then pulled backward, screaming in pain.
Mansel didn’t take the time to admire his handiwork. He spun around, dropped to one knee, extending his sword in a level, one-handed slash that caught the next creature just below the knee. The beasts were flying; their horse legs didn’t even touch the ground, yet when Mansel’s sword nearly severed the creature’s leg just below the knee, it reared back, hissing.
A third creature closed on Mansel, but the other two circled around him and continued toward the cottage.
“No!” Mansel screamed.
He was forced to bring his sword up defensively to block the strike of the third scorpion’s tail. The stinger hit the metal and drove Mansel backward with the force of the blow. Both Mansel and the creature recovered at the same time, and both dove forward. Mansel ducked as he came, thrusting his sword out in front of him. The creature’s tail struck again, but this time it missed high, meanwhile Mansel’s sword punched through the beast’s chest. The clawed hands reached for Mansel, but he dodged back, yanking his sword free.
Black blood poured from the wound and the wings faltered, causing the beast to crash to the ground with its horse’s legs giving way beneath it. Then Mansel spun around and with one vicious slash he severed the beast’s head, which flew to the side and went bouncing into the weeds. The slain creature’s body twitched, the tail flailing, the arms and legs convulsing, but Mansel didn’t stay to watch. He used the momentum of his spinning strike to turn away from the creature and chase after the two that were closing in on the little cottage.
Mansel sprinted as fast as he could and then vaulted onto a large stone before launching himself at the nearest of the two monsters. Time seemed to slow as he flew through the air with his bloody sword raised with two hands in an underhand grip. Then he was falling, using all his weight and momentum to stab the sword down. The thick blade struck in the thick part of the tail, stabbing through the shell-like exoskeleton segments of the tail and into the horse’s exposed back. The creature dropped to the ground, it’s human side screaming in pain and rage, the rear of the horse, including the tail, dropping suddenly limp.
Mansel landed on his knees, barely able to hang onto his sword. He got back on his feet quickly, using one foot to hold the beast in place, while he arched his back to pull his sword free. The other creature was rising up in the air, almost as if it was going to fly over the house, but at the last minute, and to Mansel’s horror, it dove down, smashing through the roof.
“Bastard!” Mansel shouted, drawing out the word in one long battle yell.
Then he was dashing around the fallen beast in front of him and up onto the wide porch. Lumber and stonework were falling all around. The roof caved in and the creature moved forward, casting debris to either side in a frenzy-like a child digging through a haystack in search of lost treasure.
“Nycoll!” Mansel screamed.
Then, he saw her head and shoulders as she tried to pull herself through the window on the porch side of the cottage. Mansel sprinted toward her, ignoring the dust and falling debris. The monster dug into the house, casting around for any humans inside. Mansel got to Nycoll just as she was falling out of the window. He grabbed her body and with his sword in one hand and Nycoll holding firmly under his other arm, he sprinted from the house toward the ocean.
“If it gets past me, go to the water,” Mansel said. “Zollin says the magical creatures don’t like water.”
That wasn’t precisely true, but it was all Mansel could think of to keep them safe. They stood watching the little cottage being torn apart for a few moments. They were both thinking of the hard work and hours of effort it had taken to clean up the abandoned structure and get it habitable again. Now it was being destroyed in seconds, right before their eyes, and they were helpless to stop it.
Mansel stood panting. There was thick blood dripping from his sword and
spattered across his wide chest, neck, and face. His face had taken on a look of intense fury that scared Nycoll.
“Are you hurt?” she asked.
“No,” Mansel answered, “You?”
“I’m okay,” Nycoll said, but the tremor in her voice made it obvious that she wasn’t.
“We need to get out of here,” Mansel said.
“And go where?”
“To the mountains,” Mansel said. “They came from the south, so we keep moving north.”
“But we don’t have anything, no food and no clothes.”
“We have what’s on our backs and we have a sword, I’d say that’s more than most. We have to move.”
Just then, the last creature rose up out of the destroyed cottage and spun around. As soon as it saw Mansel and Nycoll on the beach, it moved toward them.
“Get in the water!” Mansel shouted.
He had no idea just how cold the water was or how dangerous it would have been for Nycoll to swim out into the frigid ocean. She took several steps back, until the surf was foaming around her feet, but there she stopped.
Mansel raised his sword to one side, while waiting for the attack he knew was coming. The other creatures hadn’t been terribly bright, but it was as if they didn’t expect to be resisted at all. The last creature looked more intelligent, although that was just a thought in Mansel’s head. He knew that it was probably just fear distorting his thinking.
“Stay back!” he shouted, as the creature drew close to him.
Nycoll had a plan of her own. She stooped down and picked up a handful of rocks. When she looked up she was horrified to see the creature’s tail striking like a snake at Mansel. He dodged to the side, but stumbled and fell in the shifting pebbles that lined the beach. The creature hissed, and moved to finish Mansel off, but Nycoll hurled a rock at the beast. It struck the creature square in the chest, causing it to scream in rage. The scream was so terrifying that Nycoll dropped her rocks and covered her ears. The beast was moving toward her now, and she was too afraid to flee. But Mansel was back on his feet in a flash, driving his sword into the creature’s side, just behind the foreleg. The beast fell, thrashing and dying on the rocks.
Five Kingdoms: Book 06 - Evil Tide Page 8
