Buck looked like a child begging not to be sent back to his bed after a nightmare, but Mansel ignored him. He opened the door and strode out into the cold air. There were heavy, gray clouds in the sky, low clouds that promised rain or perhaps snow. A chill was in the air, and it made Mansel move more quickly. He stuffed the bandages and ointment into a pouch behind his saddle, then tied the bag of food Ollie had given him to his saddle horn. He found the horse he’d bought in the stable. It was a mature horse, with large brown eyes that somehow reminded Mansel of Nycol. Tears ran down his face as he saddled the horse, which seemed to care that he was upset. The mare neighed softly, and nuzzled him when Mansel leaned against the horse trying to regain his composure. It was the first time since he had gone to find Nycol that his heart felt any peace.
He led the horse out of the stable and untied his own mount. Buck and a few of the others came out of the inn as Mansel climbed into his saddle. They looked sad, which Mansel hadn’t expected.
“Take care of yourself,” Ollie said.
“Tell Quinn we’ll miss him,” Buck added, handing up two bottles of wine to Mansel.
“And your wife,” Ellie said.
“Nycol is dead,” Mansel said, his face like stone.
The small group fell silent and Mansel didn’t look down at them. He just flicked his reins and rode away, leaving Brighton's Gate behind.
When he got back to the camp he’d made with Quinn, he found the older man sleeping. At first Mansel felt a stab of terror; thinking that his closest friend had died made Mansel feel like an abandoned child for an instant. Then Quinn’s grumbling snore set Mansel’s fears aside, and the young warrior grinned for the first time in days. He climbed off his horse and started kicking dirt onto the small fire.
“What are you doing?” Quinn said, his voice pinched from the blood that filled his broken nose.
“Getting us ready to move on,” Mansel said.
“I don’t feel like moving.”
“Perhaps this will help.”
Mansel pulled the cork from one of the bottles of wine and handed it to Quinn. Raising the bottle to his swollen lips was difficult, but Quinn managed, taking only a few sips before setting the bottle down and needing to catch his breath.
“Snow is coming,” Mansel said. “We can’t wait.”
“All right, I'm ready,” Quinn said.
“Let me help you up.”
They moved slowly at first. Quinn’s broken ribs made it difficult and painful to move, but once he was on his feet he managed well enough. He was stiff; anything that caused him to bend or twist sent pain shooting through his body, but if he kept his back straight he could walk. They led the horses for a while, but Quinn tired quickly. Getting on the horse was the biggest challenge. Mansel had to lift Quinn up very slowly, but Mansel was strong. He continued to lead the horses at a slow walk as his mentor and friend adjusted to the rocking motion in the saddle.
They made it as far as the small cabin that had belonged to Kelvich. It stood empty since the sorcerer’s death, so they stayed there for the night. Snow fell late in the afternoon, only half a dozen inches in the Great Valley, but Mansel knew there would be more in the mountains. They left early the next morning, which dawned bright and clear. Riding up the steep trail that led through the mountains was difficult, but Quinn managed it as long as they moved slowly. The pace felt right to Mansel. He wasn’t ready to run when his life felt as if it had been reduced to a crawl.
When they reached the first hilltop before entering the lower range of mountains, they stopped. Quinn turned his horse and looked back across the valley. The river was like a vein of sparkling blue topaz as it ran past the sprawl of Brighton’s Gate.
“It could have been great,” Quinn said. “It’s too bad. I really liked it here.”
“Too cold,” Mansel said.
“No, I like the cold, always have.”
“I never should have brought Nycol here.” Mansel’s voice was strained by his grief.
“She was happy here,” Quinn said softly. “She told me so. She loved the snow. She loved caring for the horses and watching the river. It made her feel safe.”
“She wasn’t safe,” Mansel said bitterly. “She died because I wasn’t there to protect her.”
“Maybe,” Quinn said. “But then perhaps you would have died too.”
“I wish I would have.”
“If you had, I wouldn’t be here,” Quinn said. “You saved my life, remember.”
The words struck a chord with Mansel. He didn’t feel like he could ever be happy again. His grief and the void that losing Nycol had left in him would never go away, but he realized he was still useful. He had saved Quinn’s life, and perhaps, even though he’d failed the person he cared about most in the world, he could still help his friends.
He nodded, but didn’t speak. Quinn reached out and put a hand on Mansel’s shoulder.
“Thank you,” he said.
Then they set off and Brighton’s Gate was lost from view.
Chapter 33
Roleena was furious. She had seen her men rushing back to their the jolly boat after the raid had just begun. She had seen the woman on the pier casting fire across the harbor. She was forced to order the Crest Dancer and Eagle’s Cry further out to sea. The one thing that would ruin her was fire aboard ship. She would rather face the horrible sea monster again than see one of her ships set ablaze. But then she saw the woman on the pier turn away and return to the city.
“Hewy, get ships in the water to pick up those men,” she said angrily.
Slice was among the men in the landing party. Attacking a city wasn’t unheard of for pirates, but it was only a diversion for her men. Roleena had no interests ashore, aside from acquiring more food and wine. The sea was her home, and she could happily live her life without ever touching foot on solid ground again, if only that were possible. She had expected the landing party to return with spirits, coin, and women. Men, in her opinion, were slaves to their base desires. Roleena had no need for a man, or for carnal pleasures. She was focused on only two goals, to rule the sea and to destroy the wizard named Zollin. Eventually he would cross her path again, and when that day came she would kill him, just as she had the captain of the Eagle’s Cry once he had given her the information she needed.
Still, she couldn’t just tuck tail and run, not when Selphon City was obviously harboring a witch. Roleena thought the last witch had done enough damage and couldn’t fathom why anyone would shelter another, but then she’d just been witness to the protection the witch gave the city. Her men hadn’t been ashore five minutes before they came streaming back, and she’d lost a good jolly boat in the process. She would have to do something about that, or else word would get out that she was weak. If enough people believed a lie, it sometimes came true, and Roleena was all too aware of her own frailty.
She stumped back to her cabin, but not before ordering the navigator to set a course south. After the landing party was retrieved, the ships left the harbor. They stayed close to land, but were out of sight of the town before nightfall. Once they were several miles down the coast, Roleena, her two personal guards, and Slice set off in a small dingy. They rowed back toward the town, coming into the harbor well after dark. The city was bright with light, but Roleena was not in a hurry. They came ashore and then waited while the town proper went to sleep. It was well past midnight when the brothels and taverns finally fell silent. There were only a few hours left until dawn, but that was enough for Roleena’s plan. The group of four spread out, each with a shuttered lantern and plenty of oil. They set their fires quickly all through the town. By the time they had finished and returned to their small boat, the entire city was ablaze.
“Slice, stay here,” she ordered. “I want everyone to know who burned down this city.”
The disfigured first mate didn’t look happy, but Roleena didn’t care. The raid had been his idea and it had failed utterly. If he carried out her orders, she would retrieve him
. If not, he would no longer be her problem. The idea of training a new first mate was not appealing, but she could not allow failure from her crew in any task, not without consequence.
“I won’t be marooned,” he growled.
“I’m not marooning you, fool,” she snapped. “I’m giving you a task. Try not to botch it or you’ll wish you had been marooned. I can’t allow you to fail me again.”
His eyes narrowed but he didn’t reply. She could see the hatred in him, but she didn’t mind being hated. It was a useful emotion, one she could manipulate and use. Hate was self serving, therefore easy to accommodate, not like morality, which was less predictable and unwavering.
“I’ll send a ship for you tomorrow night,” she said. “Try and stay alive.”
“Don’t forget me,” he growled.
“Never.”
The guards rowed Roleena’s small boat out into the harbor to watch Selphon City burn. The scene brought a smile to her face. They wouldn’t continue to harbor a witch now, she thought to herself. And everyone would know her name. They would all know Roleena of Shupor and fear her.
Chapter 34
Zollin saw the change in the oremites. They had been focused and purposeful, then suddenly became listless and uncertain. He was still on the boulder near the lake, which was filling with oremite bodies. He couldn’t be certain how many had walked to their deaths. Those that came behind trod on the fallen bodies, which sank like stones in the water as the creatures died, creating a bridge of sorts out toward where the stone had sunk into the black water.
He had begun to fear that the seemingly endless number of oremites would accomplish their goal and retrieve the Star Stone, but their will broke when their queen died, and the aimless insectoids drifted away. Most crossed back over their comrades that made up the living bridges. Those wretched creatures had no way to save themselves; they were destined to hang over the abyss until they starved to death or toppled into the endless depths below.
Zollin sank down onto the top of the boulder. His own strength had vanished the moment the Star Stone had disappeared under the surface of the lake. His magic felt like a fiery ember, still hot, but nowhere near as strong as it had been with the Star Stone. His eyes were heavy and his body cried out for sleep, so he closed his eyes and gave in.
He felt strong hands moving his body, but he didn’t want to wake up. Sometime later he discovered himself lying on a soft bed of moss, able to stretch and rub the sleep from his eyes. There was light all around him, and when he looked up Reenah was nearby, as was Prawg.
“How long have I been out?” he asked.
“Several hours,” Reenah said. “Long enough for the elders to make the journey to Erendruss.”
“It is good to see you well, Wizard,” the old dwarf said. “Here, have something to drink.”
The cup the old man held out was filled with a stout, root brew, but to Zollin it was sweet nectar. He drank the entire cup dry and then looked up expectantly. Food was brought and the story of the dwarf victory in the crynod hive was told.
“Where is Grenda?” Zollin asked.
“She is here, but she has been given poppy milk. Her wounds are severe,” Prawg said.
“I can help her. Take me to her.”
“You are not well yourself, Wizard.”
“Sometimes my magic drains my strength, but otherwise I’m fine. There wasn’t much time to eat or rest during the battle.”
“I understand,” Prawg said, leaning on his staff. “Come with me.”
Grenda wasn’t far away, and Zollin thought it felt good to stretch his tired legs as he walked. There were dwarves everywhere in the cavern. Some were removing the bodies of the oremites that Zollin had killed. They tossed the bodies into the abyss. Others were using the living bridges the oremites had formed. There seemed to be no animosity in the mindless creatures. They were like sheep, simple and barely aware of what was happening around them.
The swinging bridge was being repaired, the garden tended. The thick blood of the fallen oremites had to be dealt with before it killed the moss that gave the garden its soft, welcoming atmosphere. Grenda was laid out on a bed of moss much the same as Zollin had woken up on. He knelt down by the chieftain, letting his magic flow into her. He could feel the shattered arm bone. The limb was swollen, but other than Zollin’s magic there was no way the limb would heal. She would have lost it eventually, otherwise it might have poisoned her blood and led to her death.
Her knee was sprained, with one torn ligament, but not a serious wound. He took his time feeling his way through her injuries. He had to be aware of every shard of bone, and move everything back into place before fusing it all together. When he was done, he drank more of the dwarf beer, and was fed a meal. He could feel his strength returning, and spent another hour removing the swollen fluids around the mended arm and restoring Grenda’s knee.
The entire attitude among the dwarves was different, almost festive. Zollin knew there were still many caverns to search through, and many creatures to kill or drive away, but the dwarves had hope, and that filled Zollin with a sense of pride.
Hours later Grenda came to and was surprised to find herself healed and completely out of pain. She was on her feet in minutes, grilling the dwarves who helped her lead the combined clans for information on what had happened after the battle. Meanwhile, Zollin sat with Reenah and Moss. There was a comfortable silence between the three of them now, a camaraderie built on their shared experience battling the oremites.
“When you are ready,” Reenah said, “we can lead you back to the Yel Clan’s cavern.”
“That would be good,” Zollin said. “I need to find out what has happened to your kin.”
“So you will search for them?”
“Of course,” Zollin said. “I have many things to do in the world of men, but finding your people is at the top of my list.”
“You are not so bad, Wizard,” Reenah said.
Moss grunted his approval.
It took what seemed like two days of travel to reach the cavern where the Yel clan had once lived. The carcass of the giant snake was gone, only bones remained. Zollin guessed that other creatures had feasted on the snake's flesh until it was gone. Reenah and Moss, after leading Zollin through the labyrinth of tunnels and caverns, hesitated at the small tunnel that led out into the forest.
“This is where we leave you,” Reenah said.
“Don’t you want to come out and see the sky?” Zollin asked.
“No,” the dwarf said. “I might go flying up and be lost in the expanse.”
Zollin laughed and Moss grunted. Then he got down on his hands and knees and began crawling back out of the tunnel. He felt good about what he had accomplished, but the couldn’t help but wonder about the Star Stone. Grenda had asked if he could retrieve it, but he was afraid it might draw other creatures to the dwarves, and he refused to keep the magical gem for himself. So he had left the Star Stone deep in the lake bottom, hidden away from the people or creatures who would misuse it. Still, he felt as if it had left a void in his soul, just like Brianna. He had hoped that she might change her mind and return to him, but when he finally got out of the tunnel that led up to the clearing in the forest, he was alone.
A strange feeling crept over him at that moment, as if he were being watched. It made the hair on his arms stand out. There seemed to be a sinister nature around him. He looked hard at the trees, worrying that it might be more dryads, but he was alone. He hefted the pack on his shoulder and started across the clearing, only to be halted by a massive roar. When he looked up, Ferno was gliding down into the opening between the forest and the massive hill.
“Ferno!” Zollin shouted.
An image filled his mind of Brianna and Sorva flying away.
“I know. I had thought that you would go with them. I’m glad I was wrong.”
The dragon growled affectionately and lowered one shoulder so that Zollin could climb up onto the its back. He looked around the cle
aring then up at the bright blue sky. He was about to go sailing away into the massive expanse and Reenah’s words rang in his mind. Perhaps he was lost, but he knew where he needed to go. He had to find Brianna, and discover what had become of the dwarves. And he had to find the source of evil that was spreading across the Five Kingdoms.
“Let’s go,” he told Ferno.
The dragon roared so loudly the trees shook, then they were flying into a future that was completely unknown, and Zollin could only hope he would be able to find his way back to the peaceful days he and Brianna had shared that had vanished so suddenly.
Epilogue
When Lorik came to he was back in his cell, but he wasn’t alone. Stone lay next to him, moaning in agony. Lorik wasn’t sure if it was the pain from his wound or the loss of Vera that hurt his friend so horribly, but Lorik knew his world was shattered. Things would never be the same, even if he could escape, find a way to kill Yettlebor, and take the throne of Ortis, it wouldn’t change the fact that Vera had died. And it was his fault. He had ruined his life, trusted the wrong people, and cost his friends everything.
He reached over, patting Stone’s body to see if the arrow was still there. Lorik’s fingers didn’t work, they were swollen, the skin split in some places, the nerves ruined beyond repair. Each touch sent waves of pain rolling up his good arm, but he didn’t care. He needed the arrow, and needed Stone to wake up.
“What are you doing,” Stone muttered, his voice thick with grief.
“Arrow,” Lorik said.
“They yanked it out before they threw me in here,” he said.
“Damn.”
They lay in silence after that. And Lorik had almost determined in his mind that he could strangle Stone and save him from the torturous execution King Yettlebor had planned for them. But he didn’t want to hurt his friend. He wanted to die, but that wasn’t really an option in the empty dungeon cell. So he lay there, barely able to breathe, his nose and sinus’s were filled with blood. Every inch of his body was in pain, but he refused to acknowledge it. He felt like his pain was warranted. He deserved to suffer and die in the most humiliating way possible. He was Lorik the Protector, who had gotten his closest friends slaughtered. Death would be welcome, but his penitence at the hands of Yettlebor’s execution would come first.
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