***
In the hills south of Tranaugh Shire, the Wizards waited. Cassis and the mercenaries had finally caught up to the senior Wizards, but the snows had slowed them down considerably. They had decided to wait until dawn to enter the town proper. With everyone celebrating the marriage, no one had noticed the smoke rising from the trees. The Wizards were anxious, each for his own reasons, but mostly because they felt their task drawing to a close. They would soon be back in their tower, surrounded by the physical symbols of their power.
It could happen none too soon for the elder two Wizards, because although they could prolong their lives with magic, they could not keep the bitter winter winds from chilling them deep down into their bones. In the hour before sunrise, the Wizards met one last time to ensure that their plan of action was clear. Branock knew that Wytlethane did not need to be reminded, but he didn’t trust Cassis. He knew that this initial confrontation would be the young Wizard’s best opportunity to attack his rival, and Branock was determined not to let that happen.
“When we identify the boy,” Branock explained again, “you will let me do the talking.”
“If you insist,” said Cassis.
Branock bristled and wanted to crush the life from the young man’s body, but he was too well controlled. Besides, the time to challenge Cassis and Wytlethane was not yet right. Perhaps with the boy, perhaps… He let his own ambitions drain away his temper and he settled for merely nodding at Cassis.
“Keep the soldiers in check,” he continued. “We don’t want them destroying the town.”
“It isn’t much of a town, is it?” Cassis smirked.
“That is irrelevant,” said Wytlethane in his creaking voice.
“They are your responsibility,” Branock said to the young Wizard. “Make sure they understand that the Master wants this boy alive.”
Cassis nodded and moved away. Branock eyed Wytlethane but could see nothing in the other Wizard’s face that gave away his intentions. If Cassis were to attack the boy, would that please Wytlethane, Branock wondered? Or was the old Wizard too afraid of disappointing the Master? It was a risk he would have to take.
“They are ready,” Cassis said as he returned.
“Good, the dawn is breaking,” Branock said. “Let us go down and claim our prize.”
***
Quinn and Zollin, along with most of the town, spent the night on the floor of the Inn’s large hall. When the roosters began to crow, they stirred with heads heavy and pounding from the excess of the night before. But it was the start of winter, which was a slow time in Tranaugh Shire. Little work was done during the heavy snows that would soon be coming. When the group of riders came into the town, they were met with bewildered looks by rumpled and tired people. Most people in Tranaugh Shire had never seen so many armed riders before, and none so finely armored. The guards were warriors with chain mail coats under their dark cloaks and heavy shields that hung from their saddles. Their horses, too, were draped with armor and were large beasts with powerful bodies that could carry a man into war. The guards carried long swords and short, double edged swords, and some even long bows strung and slung over their shoulders.
The townspeople who weren’t already at the Inn now hurried there, including Todrek and Brianna, who came and stood next to Zollin. Quinn had moved beside his son, too, and had somehow managed to find a sword.
Zollin’s dread was full-grown into fear. He could feel the magic radiating from the three Wizards – it was dark and as full of death as the willow tree’s magic was full of life. He held his staff tightly and looked at Brianna’s hands to see if the ring was still there. It was, and he breathed easier. She looked at him and he nodded slightly as if to say, yes, these are the men I told you about.
One of the Wizards spoke to the crowd. He was old, his face lined with so many wrinkles it was hard to see his eyes. He had a long, white beard that was trimmed into a point. In his hand he carried what looked like a small scepter or cane.
“We are looking for Zollin, son of Quinn the Carpenter,” said the Wizard, his voice loud in the cold winter morning.
“Who are you?” said Brianna’s father, who was also on the Council and often spoke for the Council in town meetings.
“My name is Branock, and my companions are Wytlethane and Cassis. We are looking for a young man named Zollin.”
“Yes, we know Zollin,” shouted Quinn. “What do you want with him?”
Zollin saw the warriors look at his father with baleful expressions. He felt anger flare in his chest at the thought of these armed men attacking his father.
“He is wanted in Osla,” said Branock. “We are here to see that he reaches the city safely.”
“And what if he doesn’t want to go to Osla?” Quinn asked, and there was hostility in his voice.
“That is a matter between the boy and us,” said the Wizard named Cassis. “There is no need for the town to be involved in this matter. Let Zollin come forward and the rest of you may return to your homes.”
Zollin started to move forward – he felt that people would be hurt if he didn’t – but his father stopped him. Brianna looked at Zollin with concern, but Todrek seemed angry. As Zollin looked at his friend, it was as if the larger boy was saying, I told you this would happen.
Brianna’s father spoke again. “Gentlemen, please come inside. We would hear news of Osla and you can speak with the boy where it is warm. We have mulled-”
He was cut off by Branock. “You misunderstand me,” he said bitterly. “Produce the boy now, or we shall kill you one by one until you do.”
There was a sudden rush of noise as people began talking, some loudly with voices pitched high by fear. Some of the people started to leave the crowd, but the guards on their chargers fanned out and surrounded the group.
Around Zollin, people were suddenly pointing and talking. Most had pulled back, moving away from him, but Quinn stepped in front of his son and lay the naked sword he carried on his shoulder. Todrek stared to move away too, but Brianna stepped forward to stand beside Zollin. A look of disgust crossed Todrek’s face, but he stepped up beside his wife.
“I am Quinn, Zollin's father. I will not let him go with you. Tranaugh Sire is a village of Yelsia, not Osla. You have no authority here.”
“You are foolish,” said Branock. “But I understand the tie of a father and son. Unfortunately it is a tie that must be broken.” He waved a hand, and one of the warriors urged his mount forward. The crowd had already parted before Zollin and his father, allowing the warrior to ride within a few feet of Quinn. He had a nasty-looking mace with a handle as long as a man’s forearm connected to a chain that ended with a spiked ball. The warrior swung the mace around and around before suddenly swinging it down toward Quinn’s head. Zollin sucked in a breath to shout for his father but Quinn was already in motion. He spun out of the path of the mace and brought his sword around in a full circle that slashed through the warrior’s leg just above the greave he wore to protect his lower leg and ankle. The sword also cut into the charger’s side and blood sprayed out over Quinn as the horse reared and screamed before turning away. The warrior toppled back out of the saddle in a sickening crunch of metal and flesh. He did not move but lay still in the dirt, his leg bleeding onto the ground hardened by winter’s cold. The horse bucked and kicked and ran from the crowd shrieking. Quinn merely stood easy with the sword back on his shoulder.
“I see you are a man of skill, Quinn, in trades beyond carpentry,” said Branock. “I respect that. Unfortunately, I cannot allow you to keep young Zollin here, and I too am a man of skill.” He said the last words with a deep-seated hatred that narrowed his eyes and made his lips curl back from his teeth like a wild dog.
Without a moment’s hesitation, as the Wizard raised his scepter, Zollin reacted. He thrust his staff out toward the Wizards and shouted “Blast!”
The power of the staff erupted with such force that it momentarily blinded those who saw it. Bolts of white light shot
from the staff and Zollin felt the power of the willow belt and his own magic feeding into the blast. There was a flash of heat that made people fall back, and when the light hit the Wizards, they toppled from their horses. The warriors’ horses bucked and reared and people began running in all directions. Quinn grabbed his son’s arm and they ran past the warriors struggling to control their chargers, who were bucking and kicking in circles. They ran hard and fast, away from the Inn, away from their friends and neighbors who were screaming and running.
Zollin heard men shouting to get weapons and defend their homes. Women were wailing and children crying. He felt a sick lump in his stomach and wondered if he had killed the old Wizards. He could still feel their power, but that did not necessarily meant they had survived – the willow branches, for instance, still had power even though they were severed from the tree. They ran out of the village and up the nearby hill before turning back to see what was happening. It was only then that Zollin realized that Todrek and Brianna had followed them.
“What are you doing here?” he asked them.
“We’re here to help,” said Brianna. “We won’t let them take you, Zollin.”
“You should go home,” Quinn said, but there was no conviction in his voice.
“I agree. Sorry, Zollin, but I warned you nothing good would come from magic,” said Todrek. He grabbed Brianna’s hand and started to pull her back down the hill, but she wrenched her arm free.
“What is wrong with you, Todrek, you’re his best friend,” she said angrily. “Would you leave him now in his hour of need?”
“Well, no, but there is nothing I can do!”
“You can fight, can’t you?”
“I have no weapon,” he cried.
“We do at home,” Zollin said. “Brianna can ready Lilly while we hold back anyone who comes near. Then I’ll leave and hopefully you’ll all be safe.”
“You’re not going alone, son,” said Quinn. “I’ll not leave you to fend for yourself.”
“This is your home, Dad, you should stay.”
“No, my home is with my family, and that’s you. We go together.”
Zollin looked at his father and both had tears in their eyes. Zollin could see the questions, the wonder of why his son had kept the truth of his power from him, and even pride at the way he had reacted in that desperate moment.
“There are three riders coming,” said Todrek, and his voice squeaked a little as he said it.
They turned and ran for the house that sat not far away on the crest of the hill. Brianna went immediately to the lean-to and began saddling the horse. Quinn handed Todrek his sword and ran inside to get his own weapons. Todrek swung the blade around to get a feel for the weapon. By the time the horses were drawing near, Quinn had reappeared. He too had a mail coat that he was pulling over his head. He had a large round shield and a sword, but he wasn’t quite ready to fight. The warriors would be on them before his father could be ready, so Zollin thrust his staff forward again, this time shouting, “Move!” He felt a large wall of invisible power leap out toward the riders, expanding as it went.
Two of the warriors were thrown backward, clear of their horses who continued forward. Quinn and Zollin leapt to one side while Todrek raised his sword. The third warrior raised his own sword but at the last minute nudged his horse into Todrek. Then the sword flashed and there was an arc of blood.
“Todrek!” Zollin screamed. He blasted the warrior with lightning from his staff while Quinn ran to slay the other two warriors. The power burned out of Zollin like an erupting volcano. Thick bolts of blue-white lightning wrapped around the warrior, who shook so hard that his armor, blackened by Zollin's magic, flew off in different directions. The man was flung from the horse, which bolted away, and landed in a smoldering, twitching heap.
Zollin ran to his friend, who had fallen onto his back. His throat was cut, and his life’s blood was spilling out. He gurgled and cried, tears flowing down his cheeks. There was look of absolute horror on his face as he struggled.
Zollin placed his hand on his friend’s throat and cried out, “Heal!” He felt power flow from him, but there was still a warm gush of blood on his hand. “Heal!” he wailed over and over, but the damage was too great. At one point the skin sealed together, but the arteries were still severed and his neck bulged as he bled to death. “No,” Zollin cried as his friend’s eyes glazed and his body when limp.
Brianna raced from the lean-to on Lilly’s back, and Zollin thought that she was fleeing. Her abandonment reinforced his feelings of guilt and shame. He wanted to die but he also wanted to kill every last one of the men who had come to town.
“I will avenge you!” he shouted. “I’ll kill them all.”
“No, son,” Quinn said. He had slain the other two warriors and was now pulling his son away from his best friend. “He died defending you; he would want you to live. Now we must go.”
“No, he hated me,” Zollin cried. “He was here for her, and now he’s dead and it’s my fault. I should have blasted those warriors like I did the Wizards.”
“It wouldn’t have made a difference,” his father said forcefully. “It was his time and it was a good death.”
Zollin looked at his father as if he were crazy, but Quinn merely said, “Trust me, son. Now let’s go.”
They heard horses approaching and prepared to fight, but then Brianna appeared with the chargers of the three warriors they had just killed. She rode up to them and looked down at Todrek’s body. There were tears in her eyes, but she did not hesitate. She tossed Quinn the reins and said, “We should go.”
Zollin and Quinn climbed up into the saddles of the horses and were about to ride off when they heard someone else shouting.
“Wait, wait!” they heard. Then Mansel came running up the hill, his bow in his hand, a quiver of arrows slung over his shoulder. “I’m coming with you!” he shouted.
Zollin looked at his father and saw doubt flicker across his face for the first time that morning.
“No,” shouted Zollin. “Go home.”
“No,” Mansel shouted back, and he came running up, making the horses shuffle back nervously. “I’m coming and if you don’t let me ride, I’ll follow you.”
“Why?” Zollin asked.
“For Quinn,” said the older boy, his broad chest rising and falling quickly as he tried to catch his breath.
Zollin did not want Mansel to come, but his father waved a hand at the boy, who climbed up into the empty saddle of the third charger. That should have been Todrek, Zollin thought with a twinge of regret. He took one last look at his friend’s body, but it was already bloated with internal bleeding, the face pale, the lips blue, the eyes waxy and lifeless. His friend was gone.
They rode into the forest, well aware that there were still eight warriors out searching for them. Zollin could feel the Wizards moving and knew that they somehow lived. He led the small group to the willow tree, where he retrieved his pack.
“You’ve been planning this?” his father asked.
“I knew I might need to leave suddenly, and this has been a place of refuge for me. I didn’t know there would be people coming for me, I just thought people in the village wouldn’t want me around and I didn’t want to make things hard on you.”
“We should go,” said Quinn, a pained look on his face.
“There are only supplies in here for one,” Zollin said.
“It will have to do,” his father replied.
“Brianna and Mansel could go home. They don’t have to do this.”
“No,” said Brianna. “I have to come. I don’t know why but I knew. Ever since you told me, I knew I couldn’t stay here in Tranaugh Shire. I’m coming.”
“Me, too,” said Mansel. “I’m more at home with Quinn than with my own family. I’m just a mouth to feed there, but I can help you. Quinn can teach me to fight and I can hunt with my bow. I’ll pull my weight.”
“I’m sure you will,” Quinn said, smiling.
Jealously shot through Zollin like molten fire and he wanted to blast Mansel to dust and let the wind carry him far away, but he wrestled down the emotion even as his staff crackled with energy.
“Let’s go, Zollin,” said Brianna soothingly.
Zollin looked at her, and even though her face was darkened with pain, whether from leaving her family or losing her husband, Zollin was not sure, but there was compassion in her eyes. He felt something in him stir for her, and then guilt over the thought brought tears to his eyes. His best friend had died for him, and Zollin was thinking about his wife. Perhaps it could not be helped, but he hated himself for it.
Five Kingdoms: Books 01, 02 & 03 Page 6
