On the walk back into town, Quinn decided that whoever had attacked him had probably also set Mansel’s home on fire. None of it made sense. He was generally well liked in Brighton’s Gate. Mansel was as well, although people whispered about Nycol behind his back, but that was only because she was so shy that she was rarely seen by the villagers. Zollin, on the other hand, was feared by most, even though he’d done nothing but help the townsfolk in whatever way he could. Brianna too was seen as someone to fear. A wizard was one thing, but whatever Brianna was, people had no frame of reference. There were no stories of Fire Spirits, or dragon people, and most people saw her as some kind of monster. Still, they had lived in and near the little village for over a year with no incidents. So why would anyone attack them now?
By the time he reached the inn his head had finally cleared. He entered the common room expecting to find the entire village, but instead there were only a few people. Buck looked up in surprise then hurried to where Quinn stood trying to understand what was going on.
“Quinn, you’re alive.”
“Of course I’m alive,” he said. “Where is everyone?”
“They’ve gone…”
“What is it?” Quinn demanded.
“Kurchek has everyone worked up. He blames Zollin for the animals that attacked us. When you didn’t come back, he began telling everyone that you had been killed—or worse yet just abandoned us. We didn’t believe it, but after a few hours had passed, most of the people were convinced.”
“So where are they now?”
“They went to confront Zollin and Brianna.”
“But they aren’t there,” Quinn said. “They left the Valley yesterday morning.”
“They had torches,” Buck said.
Quinn nodded. They weren’t really looking for Zollin, they were taking their frustrations out by pretending they were going to face him. Had he been there, none of them would have had the courage to call out a wizard, much less try to burn his house and harm his wife.
“It’s been good knowing you, Buck. Tell Ollie thank you for her kindness.”
“What? Where are you going?”
“I’m not staying somewhere I’m not welcome,” Quinn said. “And it’s time I dealt with Kurchek once and for all.”
“Be careful Quinn,” the inn keeper said. “You’ll always be welcome here.”
“Thank you,” Quinn said.
Then he turned and left the common room. He guessed there were two hours of daylight left. Enough time to make the walk to Zollin’s cottage and stop Kurchek if he could. The air was cool and the mountains seemed more majestic than ever before. Quinn had faced death many times, and the truth was he didn’t really mind the prospect of dying. Zollin was capable of taking care of himself, and Quinn had no other children. His only regret was that he might die not knowing what had happened to Mansel. And that thought, more than anything else, left him feeling like he couldn’t die in peace.
He would have to face Kurchek, which Quinn would gladly do, but the miner wasn’t alone. He would have the mob so riled that even if Quinn defeated the bigger man in a fight, the others would most likely kill Quinn. He hoped he might be able to reach Zollin’s cottage before the mob burned it down. If he could talk some sense into them, maybe then he would survive. But nothing was certain. Quinn wasn’t even sure why he needed to save Zollin’s cottage. They weren’t respected in the Great Valley, and Quinn had never been the type to stick around where he wasn’t wanted. Zollin would always be blamed for every problem and calamity that the villagers faced. It was not the kind of place to raise a child who might be gifted magically like its parents. If Quinn survived, he decided he would leave Brighton’s Gate forever and find a new place where people might appreciate what he could do. At the very least, he decided, he didn’t want to live somewhere the locals fell apart at the first hint of hardship or danger.
He was hurrying along the well worn trail, happy that he was making good time on foot despite his throbbing head, when he saw the first wisps of black smoke floating up into the sky. He wanted to curse, and his strong survival instinct warned him to flee. There was nothing but death ahead, but Quinn wasn’t the type to run away from a fight. And no matter what happened to him when he caught up to the crowd, Kurchek had to pay for what he’d done. He looked around and decided it was a good day to die.
Chapter 25
Roleena was nervous. Being on land always made her feel vulnerable. At sea she was in control, and her wooden leg was a badge of pride. Seafarers understood the dangers that led to amputations and the unforgiving conditions of the surgeon's cabin. The wooden leg sent a message to the other sailors of her toughness and fortitude. But on land she was forced to move about, and her wooden leg made her slow, sometimes clumsy. She felt weak being on shore with only her two personal guards, but the trip was necessary. She couldn't simply sail into the harbor and unload the goods she had stolen. What's more, she couldn't trust anyone else to negotiate the price of her goods. Her reputation was growing, and she worked hard to ensure that it kept growing, even if that meant coming to shore on occasion.
The price had already been negotiated, and now the cargo was being rowed to shore. Of course she was only receiving pennies on the dollar for the goods she was selling, but since she hadn't paid for the goods in the first place, the payoff still seemed extremely generous. She would split the money among her crew, which they would then promptly squander in the nearby taverns and brothels that lined the harbors in the twin cities. A handful of silver crowns was more money than anyone in her crew had seen at any one time, and the locals along the harbor, although well aware of the ill-gotten nature of the funds, were only too happy to accept it.
The men with the coin were well armed and waited patiently for word that the goods were just as they had been promised when Roleena negotiated the price. It was a tense time, when both parties were on high alert and expecting treachery. Roleena stood near the small pier with her two loyal guards. Both men were from her father's household and both were pledged to protect Roleena with their lives. They knew that if they let anything happen to her, their families back in Shupor would be in jeopardy. But their loyalty went much deeper than a simple pledge or fear of reprisal. Their loyalty was based on affection and deep love for the woman they were sworn to protect but could never be with. Roleena allowed that affection, nurturing it without ever giving in to it. In her mind, romantic love was not an option. She needed their loyalty, but couldn't risk making them feel as if they were in any way superior to her. She needed every man in her command to obey her instantly and without question. It was too costly to let them see her with her guard down.
"The goods are on shore," said one of the men with a large pouch full of coins. He handed the money to Roleena, along with a smaller purse of heavy gold crowns. "It is a pleasure to do business with the queen of the sea."
"We shall return with more," Roleena said.
"Happy hunting," the fence crowed.
Roleena's guards rowed her back to Crest Dancer. Once on board, she handed the large pouch of coins to Slice, who grinned wickedly. He had no idea how much more coin she had taken, but the large pouch was more than enough to ensure that he and his friends had a good time ashore.
"The men will be pleased," he said.
"See that they are. You have two days," she told him. "Then get them back on board."
"Yes, Captain."
Roleena climbed slowly to the command deck, then ordered the sails set. It took less than an hour to sail down the coast to the twin cities. Crest Dancer and Eagle's Cry weighed anchor in the crescent shaped harbor. The men worked feverishly to secure the ship, and when everything was in place, Roleena stood looking over the main deck of her ship as the pirates were paid. As each man was given his share of the bounty he turned, saluted Roleena, then hurried to get aboard the jolly boat that would row them to shore. Only a few men would remain aboard the ships, where they would be given extra rations of grog and visited by harb
or wenches who rowed out to the ships to ensure that every sailor had the chance to buy feminine company for an hour or two.
Roleena sent one of her guards into the town to buy supplies while she prepared the ship to sail south. They would follow the coast, so there was no need for complex navigation, but Roleena believed in being prepared. She studied the charts that showed the dangers along the coastlines of Yelsia, Falxis, and Osla. They had a long voyage ahead, and it was doubtful that there would be many people in the usual harbors along the way. The Witch's War had left the southern kingdoms in ruins, but Roleena saw that as an opportunity. She just needed to know where to look for it.
The two days in harbor passed quickly, and when the sailors returned to their ships they looked both happy and extremely tired. She doubted that sleep or rest had been high on their list of priorities. Roleena on the other hand was well rested and ready to set sail. Many of the men were sick, so the entire day was spent just getting underway and airing out Roleena's cabin from the stench that rose up from the crew's quarters below deck.
The next day Slice appeared on the command deck. He was her first mate, but he rarely attended to an officer's duties. Rather, he kept the men below decks in line, squashing any talk of mutiny, and insuring that the sailors pulled their weight. He was her eyes and ears with the men of her crew, a savage individual who enjoyed the power he wielded too much. Roleena despised him, but she also knew that she needed him. He was loyal only to himself, much like a wolf. He was too dangerous to ignore, but as long as she kept him fed and busy, he was content.
"Captain," he said, the word always sounding like an insult somehow when he said it. "May I offer a suggestion."
"Your suggestions are always welcome," Roleena said, although she didn't mean it. She humored Slice; it was part of the price she paid to have a loyal man between decks.
"We are sailing past Selphon City soon?"
"That is correct."
"May I suggest that we raid the city," he said.
"You want Eagle's Cry to sail back into the harbor it was just dispatched from?"
"No," Slice said. "I thought we might weigh anchor just outside the harbor and take the jolly boat ashore. I've been to Selphon. It’s a rich town but with poor defenses. We could raid their market quickly and then put back out to see."
"It is a daring plan," Roleena said, letting Slice believe he knew more about Selphon City than she did, although in reality she had been to the port city many times and knew it well.
"As you said, there will be precious little for us to do once we leave Yelsia. The men could use some excitement."
"The Twin Cities were dull?" she asked, trying not to sound too condescending.
"Of course not, Captain. But I hate to bypass a city with such low-hanging fruit."
"I see your point. Put your landing party together and see that the men are well armed."
"Of course Captain, it will be my pleasure."
Roleena thought the idea was little more than a temporary diversion and she would have preferred to sail south as quickly as possible, but she needed to keep Slice happy. In truth, the raid would only cost her time, then they could sail south to Osla and the Torr, spreading terror along the way. She smiled. Nothing made her quite so happy as thinking of her rising fame. With every ship she sank, every cargo she stole, and every city they raided, her fame grew. Soon she truly would be known as Roleena, Scourge of the Sea.
Chapter 26
Mansel had grown up hunting. It was the one thing his father had taught him to do. The tannery kept his father busy most of the time, but when things slowed he took his sons hunting. Mansel was a good shot with his bow and knew how to set snares. In the last year he had gone out hunting when he could, providing meat for himself and Nycol, as well as trading some of the game in the village. He knew the nearby forest well enough and could track, but he wasn’t sure which tracks to follow.
The strange animals he hunted had gone back and forth so much that the tracks overlapped. Sometimes they traveled in packs; at other times they went solo. It was confusing and Mansel guessed that the strangely intelligent animals had done that on purpose. They couldn’t hide their tracks, so they had given anyone following them a confusing pattern and false trails. Without really thinking about it, Mansel moved south, toward the forest. He saw the tracks all around him, but his mind was focused on Nycol. The pain he felt was so horribly raw that he couldn’t keep tears from running down his face. He knew he would never see her again, but his mind simply wouldn’t accept that. She had been the only person that could calm him. Just being near her seemed to soothe his wounded soul. And he had left her alone when she needed him most. That thought was worse than any torture, and he knew it would torment him as long as he lived.
Perhaps that was why he didn’t mind the thought of dying. If he found out where the creatures that had taken his Nycol from him were hiding, he would gladly die killing them. There were more than the few he had seen with Quinn, and they were somehow able to communicate and coordinate their attacks. That meant riding after them alone was tantamount to suicide, but revenge was the only thing that kept Mansel moving. If not for the need to kill the creatures, he might have stayed with Nycol’s body and set the stable on fire all around them.
Eventually his horse stopped moving. It shifted nervously, shaking Mansel out of his fog of grief. At first he wasn’t sure what the problem was, but his instincts told him that something was different. He slipped out of the saddle and walked ahead of his horse, studying the ground. They were close to the line of tall pine trees that crowded the lower slopes of the mountains to the south of the valley. The grass was choked by pine needles, the ground beneath packed as hard as stone, making his job of finding tracks almost impossible. But then he saw something different. It was only a small trace of blood, but the more he searched, the more he found. It was a trail of blood—just a drop or two here and there—but the trail led in a straight line into the forest.
Mansel tied his horse to a tree. The closer he got to the creatures, the less chance he had of surviving on horseback. Men feared a horse and rider, but in this case Mansel's horse was more afraid of the strange animals he was hunting than the creatures were of him. His mount might turn suddenly, rear, or trip in its panic. He couldn't worry about his horse and fight the creatures, so he decided to go alone. He was just about to march off into the forest when he realized that the odds of his return were slim. He couldn’t leave the horse tied to the tree. He went back and stroked the horse’s calm face.
“Nycol loved you too,” he said, as he untied the long, leather reins and looped them around his saddle horn. “She would want you to survive. Perhaps someone else will love you as much as she did.”
Tears blurred his vision and he had to blink rapidly to clear them away. The horse stood silent and still beside Mansel, almost as if the animal was lending him strength. Mansel wasn’t sure how long he stood there, letting the tears fall as his pain ached so horribly inside him, but suddenly the horse bolted. It turned and ran away from the forest. Mansel whirled around, drawing his sword. The animal was nothing more than a blur of white fur as it raced toward him. It jumped, the long, narrow muzzle stretching wide to rip out his throat. Mansel’s sword struck first. He swung hard, and the blade slashed through the animal’s open mouth before getting stuck fast in the small, bony skull. The creature’s momentum carried the beast straight into Mansel, who fell hard and lost his grip on his sword. He had to wrestle the creature’s convulsing body off of him, but the animal was dead.
Mansel wrenched his sword free and marched steadfastly into the forest. The sun was up and the air was cool. The pine trees were mixed with cedar and spruce, all combining to give the forest a wonderful, woody smell. They also cast long shadows and made plenty of hiding places for more of the creatures. It crossed Mansel’s mind that the animals weren’t hard to kill. They were ferocious, fast, and strangely intelligent, but they died just like any normal creature. Had he simply bee
n hunting them he would probably have climbed a tree with his bow, picking them off one at a time as they passed by his perch. But he had no intention of killing the creatures slowly or from a distance. He wanted to fight them tooth and nail, to see their blood and smell their offal as he slaughtered them.
He didn’t have to wait long for his chance. He came into a small clearing where a huge boulder was covered with moss. On top of the bounder sat the alpha, the largest of the creatures. They had thick, wide bodies and short legs, yet they moved faster than any wild animal Mansel had ever seen. When he’d shot down the two animals who had taken the little girl from the village, two more had been sent after him. They chased him for a short while, their ability to keep pace with his galloping horse more than a little frightening, but they didn’t have the stamina his mount had. He had eventually outpaced the vicious creatures, but he had no intentions of running now.
He brandished his sword as four more of the creatures came out from behind the boulder. Mansel guessed that he was facing the last of the pack, since one of the creatures was limping. Any of the creatures was capable of killing Mansel if he wasn’t careful, and five would surely rip him to pieces, but he didn’t care. He wanted their blood and he was determined to get it no matter what it cost him.
He didn't hesitate but ran screaming straight at the animals, who surprisingly enough, scattered from his attack. The limper was the slowest and Mansel was able to hack into its back with his sword. Death’s Eye severed the creature’s spine and it fell instantly. The rear legs no longer moved, but the creature pawed at the ground in a feeble attempt to escape. Mansel raised his sword, screaming in fury as he drove it straight down, point first, into the animal’s head.
There was just enough time to jerk his sword free and step back as the next animal jumped toward him. Mansel brought the blade up and caught it in his free hand, holding the flat of the blade toward the attacking creature. Its long, gaping muzzle snapped down on the sharpened edges, shattering teeth and severing the end of its tongue before flipping over Mansel, who had fallen backward. The creature’s yelps of pain were awful, but Mansel didn’t have time to be satisfied with the pain he’d caused. The other two creatures were rushing toward him, and he barely had time to scramble back to his feet.
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