Don't worry Marc. We will be fine, Faerril echoed. The bandits won't know what hit them! They deal with wizards this day, not mere peasants or hapless merchants!
I hope so, Faerril. It'd be very much of a letdown if my journey ended before it really began.
Marcius could feel the swirling orbs of his familiar's stare, the anger from the creature palpable in the hot afternoon. The sun will set with a few less bandits to worry travelers. The familiar promised darkly.
A statement which surprised Marcius, for the vehemence in the tone was very uncharacteristic of the tiny creature. He turned in disbelief to the tree line, to where he knew the wyvrr was using the trees as a method of travel, darting among the branches like a cat.
Where did you learn such mannerisms?
Where else? From you. After all, our minds are one. I know what you know. I am what you are. Perhaps a bit more, but certainly no less.
"You got that, Marc?" Jared intoned, looking back at Marcius and breaking the apprentice from his startling internal conversation.
"Hm? Sorry, I was talking with my familiar."
Alicia waved off the apology. "Don't worry about it. Your role in this is basically to stay out of it."
Without knowing why, Marcius found himself bristling at the way the Mage had said that. As if he was insignificant, or too stupid to be of use. "Excuse me? Why is this?" he asked, trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice.
"You're an apprentice, with little to no training in casting under pressure. Plus the amount of spells you probably have learned is either not useful or too specific to deal with a battle. You'd get in the way," Alicia responded bluntly.
"A fireball can help," Marcius said simply.
"A fireball can hit friend or foe, and a botched fireball helps nobody. Just listen to me, alright? Jared will have to guard me as I cast, so his hands are tied. Just stay near to us and, more importantly, stay out of it," the Mage countered in a voice that indicated the debate was now over.
Marcius sighed in defeat, allowing his horse to drift a bit further behind the pair. His hackles were still figuratively raised, as if Alicia’s comment was a personal attack, and he hated allowing her the last word on the matter.
But he also knew she was right. He couldn't see himself being able to cast even the simplest spell when some gruff bandit was swinging a sword in his direction. Messing up a single arcane sign or even tripping up a syllable could mean disaster. Marcius remembered several of Antaigne's warnings of what had happened to wizards when their spells went awry. If one was lucky, death was the only thing they would get for messing up.
Still, the other side of his brain reasoned, she didn't have to brush him off! He was not some petulant child, someone to be scolded and told what to do every step of the way! He could help! No, he vowed silently, if the opportunity presented itself, he would show them exactly what he was capable of. He would earn their respect.
He'd just have to wait until it was safe to do so. No sense in taking unnecessary risks and doing exactly what they warned him might happen. They were doing this damn journey for him anyway! All in a bid to hopefully get to the bottom of whatever plot Marcius had unwillingly become a part of. If he couldn't get his own friends to treat him as an equal partner in this endeavor, he had the feeling he was destined to fail.
A still brooding Marcius noticed the mage was sitting strangely stiff in her saddle, allowing the horse to pick its own way along the thin trail with only an occasional nudge to keep it moving. Her mouth was moving unintelligibly and her hands moved quickly yet discreetly, forming what Marcius realized were sigils. He spurred the horse forward a bit just to make sure. After a few seconds it was confirmed. She was casting! Acting on a hunch, Marcius allowed his eyes to slip into the realm of the nether, the waves of now revealed energy rippling around him. As he suspected, several "nodes" of the nether swirled around the Mage, encased in intense white energy. Alicia's energy.
They are spells, Marcius realized as he studied the orbs, ready to be released at a moment’s notice. So, those are quick cast spells. . . Marcius thought, remembering the last lesson he had with Antaigne. He watched as the rich energy of the nether tried to break free from one of the tethers, but Alicia was quick to rein it in, her own white energy smothering it before it could escape. Marcius thought back to how hard it was for him to maintain a simple fireball, and here was Alicia holding several spells at bay that were most likely more powerful than a fireball. Humbled by this display of power, Marcius found his respect for the woman had grown, though the anger still remained.
"Alright, according to Karhol, and as I suspected, there is a larger band waiting in ambush further down the trail," Alicia whispered, her voice somewhat strained, no doubt from the exertion of maintaining the quick casts. "What I don't get is why do they have so many waiting for us? Karhol says they have at least a dozen and a half. We are only a small group and they can't know that we are wizards. . . it just doesn't make sense," she added, her brow scrunching up in puzzlement.
"Perhaps they just ambush whoever goes down this trail? No matter the number?" Jared offered.
"Maybe. . . " Alicia still seemed doubtful.
"Why don't we turn around, kill or escape from the ones following us, then avoid the larger band?" Marcius whispered.
The Mage shook her head, "The ones following us were probably sent for exactly that reason. Most likely to serve as a signal if we do anything suspicious."
"Still, if we can avoid them, I think we should."
"That's not—"
"—an option, Marc." Jared interrupted, finishing the sentence for the Mage, which caused the woman to click her tongue in agitation. "We can't give up the knowledge that we are expecting them. The value of surprise is huge in something like this. We can't play the game on their terms, or else we very well could wind up dead. Running isn't possible either. They probably know these woods far better than we do. The trails are much too dangerous to take full advantage of our horses and they could have horses as well. I'd rather end it here and now, than worry about them sneaking up on us in the dead of night."
Though the blonde man's words rang with truth, Marcius didn't have to even look at Jared's face to know that an eager smile would be plastered on it, behind twinkling amber eyes. Jared was looking forward to this. He would seek out the encounter despite other options being available. It was the adventure the swordsman dreamed about every day. He could see the profile of Alicia on her horse in front of him. She, too, sat erect in her saddle, alert and poised, her attractive face flushed with budding excitement. Marcius felt his heart flutter a bit at sight of her, but he shook that thought as soon as it formed.
Instead, he growled a bit in frustration at the duality of the situation, grabbing the reins of his horse so tight that the leather dug deep furrows into his palms. Every fiber in his body was telling him that something was wrong with this. They were riding so nonchalant into the very heart of an ambush!
The worst part was that his two companions were seeking it out, as if they were trying to prove something! Damn it all, whatever happened to fear being the normal reaction to fighting? He just wanted to be left alone, to be allowed to do what he enjoyed. It seemed as if fate had a different plan for the apprentice. Why did things never go according to plan or desire?
So be it, Marcius promised grimly after a few moments of intense internal debate. If things are so adamant about coming up despite my wishes, I will meet it head on as Jared and Alicia do. He realized during the course of his thoughts a grim grin of his own had found its way on his face, matching, more or less, the ones his companions wore.
Oh, the irony. . .
The trail gradually grew wider, the well beaten path extending outwards until all three of them were able to ride next to each other with room to spare on either side. They were now traveling through the remains of an ancient river bed, and the edges began to become rockier slowly rising in height until they extended around the travelers, like an impromp
tu funnel of solid stone and dirt topped with thinning vegetation.
Looking up, Marcius could just barely see the hills beyond. They were littered with caves and recesses. Gray boulders, worn smooth by time and the elements, were strewn haphazardly. The trees were sparse now and far less thick, for root was hard to find in the rockier terrain. Though bushes and other types of small foliage flourished wherever there was room.
The part that made his blood run cold and drove away the bravado he had been building up was the fact that, even to his inexperienced adventuring mind, it was obvious this spot was perfect to ambush someone. Any of the numerous shadows above and beyond them could hide a person, someone waiting until the time was ripe.
The sun shone through the thin overhanging trees above, forming a puzzle of light and darkness which played tricks on the eyes. Steep, rocky sides now reached up and around, almost in a complete circle. It was as if they were riding through a nature made tunnel that had the top lopped off. Marcius's imagination pictured several featureless sneering bandits, just out of sight above them, waiting to reach down and slice off his head with wickedly edged blades.
He began to see people where there were none. The shadows held innumerable terrors to his rampant imagination, and he found himself jumping at every noise and movement he saw out of the corner of his eye. How far was the ambush again? He tried to ask, but all that came out was a staggered wheeze. His tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth, which, along with his lips, was completely dry, leaving a nasty tasting film in its place.
The gentle gaits of the horses were also nerve-wracking on the apprentice. Each soft clop of the hooves on the dusty path seemed to seal his fate, walking ever steady to where they knew lay a group of people that intended to kill them.
His heart stuttered when Alicia stopped abruptly. "Get ready," she said softly.
Jared gave Marcius a confirming glance, and the swordsman's amber eyes did indeed shine brightly. No doubt his chest was beating just as fast as Marcius's, but for an entirely different reason. Marcius's head betrayed him, nodding his affirmation to Jared before he even had time to reconsider. Alicia led them forward, gently urging her horse to a half trot, forcing Marcius and Jared to hurry to follow suit.
The attack came quickly and without warning as the brown stallion's cloven hoof hit the soft, well trodden earth a third time. The deceptively gentle zip of arrows filled the air and their ears, spooking the skittish horses and causing them to rear in distress. Marcius was thrown off immediately, even as he reflexively took cover at the noise. He managed to avoid the brunt of the fall, coming up in a disorderly sideways roll. The scared horses took off, leaving a trail of reddish-brown dust that hung about obscuring vision. Marcius counted himself lucky he wasn't trampled or riddled full of arrows in the rush.
He looked up and saw the answer to why he was not a pincushion. More than a dozen black shafted arrows hung about suspended in the air, stopped as if they had hit an invisible wall of air. It must have been one of Alicia's spells. Another volley came, and was similarly halted, hovering about like a swarm of angry insects before dropping to the ground.
Jared and Alicia managed to dismount with a bit more dignity than Marcius. Already the two were pressed up against the wall in a defensive position, the swordsman out in front, flashing blade in hand. Jared gestured frantically at Marcius to join them.
I have to reach them! Marcius felt vulnerable out here by himself, with at least half a dozen yards between him and his friends. No more arrows flew, but they also had not seen hide or hair of their attackers. No battle cries, no promises of death, not even the bright glint of unsheathed weapons. Nothing but the gentle rustle of leaves in the cool afternoon breeze.
Marcius's legs protested as he forced himself up quickly, intent on getting over to Jared and Alicia.
Marc, above you! Faerril's cry took precedence over the myriad of other thoughts and priorities that danced in his head, and he ducked instinctively, turning as he did so, right as a sharp jagged spear stabbed where he had been moments before.
The attacker seemed a bit stumped as to why it felt no resistance of yielding flesh, the spear flailing a bit before a head peeked over the lip to check out the situation. A green face peered back at Marcius. The goblin's nostrils flared a bit as it flashed him a derisive toothy yellow sneer before disappearing back into the brush above him, taking the spear with it.
Thanks, Faerril.
Alicia and Jared are in trouble! The familiar responded, not bothering to acknowledge the gratitude.
Marcius had completely forgotten about those two. A quick glance behind him confirmed what the wyvrr had said. The defensive position the pair had taken also trapped them. Two gray skinned oggrons and a human used long spears in a similar fashion to what the goblin had done to him, jabbing at Jared and Alicia from above the overhang like they were a pair of cornered animals.
The attacking bandits kept their faces wrapped with what looked to be dirty white towels, while the rest of their bodies were sheathed in a rag tag ensemble of leather and ill-fitted mail armor, most likely 'liberated' from previous, less fortunate, victims. The only thing on them that seemed to show any semblance care of was the weapons they wielded. They were well made, sturdy, and noticeably sharpened to a killing edge. None of the bandits carried less than three visible weapons, ranging from deadly knives to swords of all shapes and sizes, not including the wicked spears they were using to attack his friends.
Jared was hard pressed to keep the spears away from them with his shorter sword, and it seemed as if Alicia didn't have an answer to the dangers, for no spells came forth from her either.
Marcius's mind hurriedly skimmed through the limited options available to him. His vantage point from across the path gave him an open shot at the attackers above without risking hurting his friends, but what spell was appropriate? Time was rapidly ticking by, any moment someone could attack him again, since there was no doubt that many more bandits were hidden all around them.
Hurry, Marc! Hurry! Faerril practically yelled as two more bandits joined the siege, jumping off the ledge to land lightly in front of the pair. One held a nasty dirk and short sword, while the other chose a more direct battle axe, stalking in with an air of confidence. They all knew being attacked from above and in front would be too much for the pair to handle.
He took the first spell that came to mind: a simple bolt of pure nether. It wouldn't kill them most likely, but it would cause some serious damage nonetheless. "Icantium engrio!" he mouthed, his dry lips cracking painfully as his nervous hands formed the sigils as quickly as they could.
He pulled the energy around him, condensing it into a single pulsing ball. It heeded the call and came forth. Pointing his finger at one of the oggrons above his friends, he gave the nether a gentle push, releasing the design of the spell. A stream of soft green light issued from the fingertip, arcing deceptively quick to impact against the creature's chest.
There was a sharp crack as it struck, the snapping of bone painfully audible. The oggron gave an off-balanced lurch forward, trying in vain to remain erect, but eventually gravity proved the stronger and it came crashing down, narrowly missing its companions below it. The body hit the ground with a wince inducing thud. It lay very still.
Marcius could only gape stupidly at the result of his spell, his mouth hung open in amazement. It is one thing to daydream about casting a spell offensively. It was another thing to do it. The full realization of the power he wielded came to the surface with full force, along with the particularly frightening memory of the lesson he learned when he was getting his familiar items. He, Marcius Realure, was a force to be reckoned with? Would he, too, one day play with the lives of men, just like the dagger and cloak at Ken's place?
There was a moment of stunned silence as all participants also paused to consider what just happened, though it lasted scarcely a second before an ear splitting roar of pure anger split the peace in two. The last remaining oggron leapt from his pe
rch above Jared and Alicia, landing heavily on the trail a scant half dozen yards from Marcius. He roared again, throwing the spear he had been using to the ground in obvious disdain. Instead, the brutish creature reached up to the huge greatsword strapped to his back. He drew it forth easily, way too easily in fact. No human could have wielded the cumbersome weapon as naturally as this creature did.
Even the two fellow bandits that had been approaching Alicia and Jared from the front had to shirk away from the sheer unbridled power and wrath of an angry oggron.
That was a fatal error on their part, for Alicia used the distraction to unleash one of her quick casts, the bright blue flash of lightning cracked the air and struck the one distracted bandit before leaping in kind to his friend. They both shook violently for a second, suspended by invisible puppet strings, before falling to their knees in shock. The putrid smell of burnt flesh rose in the air from their smoking bodies as the strings were cut and they went face flat into the dirt.
Like their fallen oggron friend, they too lay unmoving.
None of this mattered to the angry oggron, who even now held Marcius's eyes with his own beady ones. Revenge flashed behind the orbs, a clear window to the promise of death behind them. With a throaty growl, the oggron hefted his sword high above him and charged.
Chapter 13
"Excuse me, Headmaster, a moment of your time please?" came the eager voice of Dentaige, a balding middle aged wizard giddy with excitement as he approached. The long black beard that spilled down to just below his chest was just beginning to show traces of pepper, and the simple gray robe the man preferred did much to hide how skinny he truly was. Judging by the state of his attire, it also would have been safe to assume the man hadn't slept much in the past few days. Still, the energy the wizard practically oozed would have been considered unexpected to those who did not know Dentaige well. In fact, to most people, it only seemed to increase the older he got.
A Dead God's Tear (The Netherwalker Trilogy) Page 19
