When he was finished, he pushed Aiden away gently so that he was standing on his own two shaky legs and took the big man's hand.
“Okay folks,” he said. “Malcolm, take Aiden's hand. When I count to three, put your free hand on Virginia's shoulder. And you four just keep holding on to each other. Got it?”
“We're ready,” Malcolm growled, staring at the door that was twisting on its hinges from the constant blows from outside. He clasped his partner's hand firmly and gave him a reassuring grin. Aiden nodded silently.
Simon sucked in a huge breath. His throat felt like it was lined with crushed glass.
“Okay. One...two....three!”
A jumble of things happened at all once.
Malcolm dropped his hand on to Virginia's shoulder. At the same time, Simon felt the magical reinforcement of the walls around them dissipate and, just as he barked “Invectis!”, the front door was smashed open and two wights, pale as death, with claws and fangs like steel, shot through the opening straight at the group.
Oh crap! he thought desperately as they faded into the void.
Chapter 7
As the group materialized in the middle of the main floor of the tower, Simon crumpled to the floor, totally spent. But he managed to keep his eyes open as screams and curses echoed through the room.
Malcolm and Aiden were thrashing around, two wights insanely ripping at them and trying to get at their throats with their inch-long fangs. The screeching from the undead was ear-splitting and, mingled with Malcolm's bellowing, almost deafened Simon.
He pushed himself up on one elbow, reaching for some spell to help, but he was simply too exhausted. His numbed brain couldn't find a single incantation and he was forced to watch helplessly as the warriors battled the undead.
Fortunately they weren't alone. While neither of the embattled men could draw a weapon, they were strong enough to hold the wights in a death grip. And, as Simon tried to focus and stay conscious, someone leaped over him and he saw a flash of steel slam down to crush the head of the wight that was fighting with Aiden. The blacksmith, Gregory, had pulped the monster with his heavy hammer.
In a flash, Aiden pushed the body away, jumped up, drew his sword and sliced the head off of the second wight just as it was about to fasten its fangs on Malcolm's neck.
The silence that followed was almost deafening. The guardsmen were panting, their eye wide with shock and adrenaline. A moment passed and then the gurgling cry of one of the children made them all jump and broke the tension in the room.
Clara had been holding one of the children as she sat on a kitchen chair. Now she passed the little boy to his mother and quickly crossed the room to check on Malcolm and Aiden.
“Are either of you wounded? Did they scratch you? Their claws are poisonous, you know.”
The men exchanged a look and smiled simultaneously.
“Clara,” Malcolm said. “Our wounds from earlier have already healed. At a guess, I'd say that lycanthropes are immune to disease and poison.”
He reached under the armor at his neck and pulled out an amulet, one of the pair that Simon and Clara had made for him and Aiden several months before.
“The curse is held at bay by these little miracles, but we are still werewolves, lady. All of the benefits and none of the bad stuff.”
“All of the taste and none of the calories,” Aiden added with a grin and several people burst out laughing, the sense of relief draining away the last of the panic that had been hovering in the air.
“Well, good then,” Clara said with a smile. “Just make sure you don't lose that.”
“Never. Don't worry about us.”
Malcolm turned and his face fell as he saw Simon sprawled on the floor.
“Wizard! Are you all right?”
He quickly knelt down beside Simon and raised him to a sitting position, an arm under the wizard's shoulder.
Clara joined them, her tired face heavy with concern.
“Simon. How are you doing?”
He tried to smile but his lips barely twitched.
“I'm fine,” he said softly, trying to reassure her, but she frowned at his words and Malcolm's dark face paled.
“My God, he sounds like he's had a stroke,” the guardsman exclaimed.
“Hold him still,” Clara ordered. She put her hands gently on Simon's temples and closed her eyes, her brows lowered in concentration.
Simon watched, the world fading in and out. He vaguely saw people walking around the room and heard the murmur of conversation, but couldn't make out any details. He was just so tired; he wished they'd let him sleep.
The cleric released him and stared into his eyes, making sure she had his attention.
“I'm afraid that you have a concussion, my friend. There is also fluid building up between your brain and your skull. That's why you can't focus. Malcolm's right; it's similar to a stroke. Now just relax. I'm going to attempt a healing. There may be some pain.”
Simon closed his eyes.
“Do what you have to do,” he whispered, just too exhausted to care anymore.
He felt Clara's touch again, her hands warm as she slipped her fingers under his hair and along his skull. The warmth was comforting, like a mother's touch and he smiled contentedly.
The warmth increased and became more intense, more penetrating. The heat seemed to come in waves, digging deeper and deeper into his head, not comforting but burning. Simon felt like his brain was starting to boil like an egg in hot water and he struggled, trying to push away the cleric's hands.
“Malcolm, hold him steady,” she commanded sharply. “Aiden, hold his hands. If he interrupts the healing...”
Simon felt his hands being taken and held firmly away from his head.
“Easy, my friend. Breathe. Trust in Clara,” Aiden said softly through Simon's pain.
He focused on that; his trust in the cleric. She was his friend, after all. If she was hurting him, it was only because she had to.
“Why is he bleeding from the nose!” a voice asked with a touch of panic. It was Aeris.
Funny, Simon thought as he began to drift away. I didn't even see him and Kronk. I hope they're okay.
“Damn it! We're losing him!” Clara exclaimed.
Losing me? Simon would have laughed if he'd been able to. But it feels so comfortable. I'm drifting away. The pain is fading. And I'm just so sleepy.
And with that last thought, the wizard embraced the blackness and knew no more.
It was a struggle to find daylight. Simon was climbing, climbing, up a vast tunnel of darkness. Below him, he was sure he heard furtive scraping and chittering, sneaky noises of someone, or something, following him, sniffing in the deep, seeking prey.
He scratched and clawed up through the blackness. In the far distance, a point of light seemed to offer safety, a promise of life, a haven. He just had to reach it.
The sounds behind him were getting closer and he heaved and pulled himself upward. The tunnel was shrinking, tightening around him and the light seemed no nearer. Sweat streamed down his body; his robe was soaked and his feet kept slipping on the steep incline.
Somehow he knew that something was reaching out for him, reaching out to snag his robe and pull him back into the black, where it could feed. He found the panicked strength for one last effort, one final desperate attempt to free himself from the depths.
He leaped forward and shot out of the tunnel and into the light of day.
“Master! You're awake!”
Simon opened his sticky eyelids and stared up at the ceiling above him, trying to get his bearings.
“Finally, my dear wizard. I'm sure a nice long rest is good for you, but you've outdone yourself this time.”
“What?” Simon croaked, his throat as parched as a dried out mud puddle.
He stared at the ceiling a moment longer, the familiar wooden beams of his bedroom giving him an increased sense of normalcy. Then he turned his head to the left and saw Kronk and Aeris standing on
the bed-side table watching him, twin expressions of relief on their little faces.
He tried to speak, cleared his throat, swallowed and began again.
“Hey guys. What's up?”
“Hooray!” Kronk cheered, his arms raised in triumph. “Master is better! Master is healed.”
Aeris looked at him with an exaggerated eye-roll.
“Must you?” he asked sarcastically. “The man is obviously fine. Honestly.”
Kronk glared at him and actually poked him so hard that Aeris was knocked off of the table and left floating in mid-air.
“Well now, that was rude!” the air elemental exclaimed.
“Not as rude as you are being,” the earthen shot back. “Are you not the least bit relieved that our master is alive and well and finally conscious?”
“Of course I am! But I don't need to do handsprings and back-flips to prove it. We aren't children, you know.”
Simon watched this all with a vague amusement, but latched on to one word.
“Finally? What do you mean, finally? What happened? How long have I been out?”
They turned and looked at him, Aeris giving Kronk a subtle shove as he moved back to stand on the table.
“Over a week, master,” Kronk said and nodded at Simon's look of shock. “Yes, the lady cleric was very concerned. Her healing took more time than is usual. In fact, she only left with those two warriors, Malcolm and Aiden, this morning. But she assured us that you were out of danger and that you would probably wake up today.” He smiled widely. “And you have!”
“A week!” Simon sat up very slowly, bracing himself with his elbows. “I've been lying in this bed for over a week?”
“Well, actually you've been lying all over the place,” Aeris said with a wry smile. “We've been organizing and reorganizing over twenty people in this tower, including three small children. It's been a bit chaotic.”
“Oh right. Sorry, I forgot.”
He threw back the covers and sat up on the edge of the bed. There was a quick moment of dizziness and then it passed and Simon suddenly felt like himself again.
“I hope everyone had enough to eat and were able to find places to sleep?”
“Oh yes, master. We have plenty of blankets and our stores were sufficient. And Aeris was able to restock most of our supplies two days ago, once the townspeople had returned to Nottinghill.”
“They went back? But, was it safe for them?”
Aeris nodded at the window and Simon turned to see sunlight streaming into the room, bringing in heat and a sense of comfort.
“The storm passed two days after you rescued the townspeople,” he said. “The wights cannot abide the sun. Any survivors retreated to wherever it is that they go and the bodies of the fallen monsters rotted and disappeared. After a day, I went south with the group and let down the drawbridge and opened the gate to let them back into Nottinghill. The wights had torn things apart and made a mess, but it was entirely random. Without the living to attack, they are just a mindless horde of undead.”
He shook his head and shrugged.
“They will have to rebuild the town hall though. It was completely leveled during the attack. I suppose the wights took out their fury at losing their prey on the building itself. The cleric will have to share quarters with someone until the spring, but she says that is a small price to pay considering how much worse it could have been.”
“No thanks to me,” Simon said bitterly as he stood up. His legs were a bit wobbly but it passed quickly. He stared down at his body and grimaced.
“Looks like I lost some weight,” he muttered as he ran a hand over his ribs.
“Lost some weight? Master, you are skin and bones!” Kronk exclaimed. “You must eat more, now that you are well again. The cleric told us to make sure that you do not skip any meals.”
He gave Simon a fierce look and the wizard had to work hard not to grin at the earthen's firm tone.
“If you say so,” he answered mildly. “I have to admit, I'm starving.”
He was only wearing underwear and wondered briefly who had been keeping him clean and taking care of...the other necessities. He shrugged and decided not to dwell on it. Modesty doesn't matter much when you're unconscious, he supposed.
He opened his clothes cupboard, took out a clean robe, socks and underwear and got dressed.
“I'll put the kettle on, master!” Kronk said brightly and jumped down to scurry out of the room.
Aeris watched him go and then turned to look at Simon.
“You came very close to death this time,” he said seriously, his voice low.
Simon nodded.
“Yeah, I figured. But I'm better off than those poor people who died in Nottinghill.” He hesitated. “Kronk thinks that the wights attacked simply to draw me out and ambush me. Which means that those people's deaths are on my hands.”
Aeris snorted and shook his head, scowling.
“Our earthen friend is incorrect,” he said flatly. “Wights and other undead do not plan. They are not strategists. They are simply mindless monsters that hunger for human flesh. They did not 'draw you out', my dear wizard. That was just you being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“Are you sure?” Simon asked, desperately grasping at this faint hope.
“Of course I am. By the Four Winds, my dear wizard! You carry enough guilt around with you. Don't add to it when it isn't necessary. Instead, be grateful like your friend, the cleric, that any survived at all and move on. The winter is far from over and if we have another storm, we must all be ready in case there is a second attack.”
He shook his finger at Simon.
“Planning. That's what should occupy your mind now, not guilt and recrimination. Now, I'll go down and heat up the stew that Clara made before she left this morning. Be careful walking down the stairs; your balance will be a bit off for a while, according to the cleric.”
And with a decisive nod, Aeris turned and flew out of the room, leaving Simon standing there, thinking deeply.
It wasn't my fault, he thought and felt such a sense of relief that his legs almost collapsed under him. He grabbed the cupboard and caught his balance.
What Aeris had said made perfect sense. The wights were simply horrendous killing machines. They traveled in packs, but certainly they weren't organized. And with that comforting thought, he did his best to let go of his guilt. The air elemental was right; they had to make sure that such a disaster didn't happen again, somehow.
Once he'd made his way downstairs, Simon immediately went to the cabinet near the door and pulled out his heavy coat and boots.
“You are going outside, master?” Kronk asked. He was adding more wood to the fire and sounded concerned.
“Nature calls,” Simon told him with a rueful smile. “I'll be right back.”
Aeris was stirring the contents of a large cast-iron pot that was hanging in the fireplace.
“See that you are,” he said. “The stew will be hot in a few minutes.”
The wizard grinned. The smell from the food was already beginning to waft through the room and his stomach growled loudly in response.
Outside, the sun was bright but it was very cold. The snow squeaked under his feet as Simon made his way to the outhouse, dreading the cold seat ahead.
By the time he'd finished and got back indoors he was shivering, and the blast of heat that hit him as he entered the tower felt wonderful.
The air was thick with the smell of stew and Aeris was at the counter, slicing thick slabs off of a fresh loaf of bread.
“Clara baked too?” Simon asked with surprise as he took off his coat and boots.
“No. This loaf, and two others, are a gift from Malcolm, with his compliments.”
Aeris laughed as he saw the wizard's jaw drop.
“Yes, that was my reaction as well, but it turns out that the warrior is a tremendous cook, according to the other man, Aiden. The bread is light and fluffy; a good trick using whole-wheat flour.”
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Simon walked over and sat down at the table. There was a steaming cup of tea waiting for him and he sipped it, closing his eyes for a moment, savoring the flavor and the comfort that came with it.
Aeris served him a bowl of stew, brought the bread over and then moved to the center of the table. Kronk jumped up and joined him there.
“Wow, this is amazing,” Simon told them as he ate. The stew was full of vegetables, venison and thick gravy and was just what his starved body was craving.
“”I'm glad you like it, master,” Kronk said, looking delighted. “The lady made a lot so you will have food for several days. But please eat slowly. Your body has not had solid food for some time.”
“Clara managed to feed you some broth while you were unconscious,” Aeris said as he watched Simon eat. “But I don't think a person can survive too long on a diet like that.”
“Yeah, that's true,” the wizard said as he dipped some bread into the stew. The air elemental had been right; the bread was very light and delicious.
After he had eaten as much as his stomach could hold, Simon sat back with a contented sigh and smiled at the elementals.
“Thanks, guys. That was amazing.”
He finished his tea, got up and made a second cup and sat down again.
“How are the people in Nottinghill coping with what happened?” he asked seriously. “They've lost almost half of their population. Friends, loved ones. It has to have had an effect on them.”
Aeris seemed to ponder the question for a moment, tapping his chin reflectively.
“I'm no expert on human emotions, my dear wizard,” he finally answered slowly. “But while they are grateful to be alive, they seem dispirited, lackluster. They are cleaning up, getting back to normal, but it is almost as if they are going through the motions.”
Simon listened with growing alarm. He'd found before that Aeris' observations, sarcasm aside, were very often spot on.
“In fact,” the air elemental continued, “there are rumblings about abandoning the town altogether.”
“What?” Simon exclaimed, choking on a mouthful of tea. “Abandoning Nottinghill? And going where? It's the middle of the bloody winter!”
The Dragons of Decay Page 9
