Quinn was already awake, rubbing his chest with his hands to increase the blood flow. The sun was rising and Zollin knew they needed to press on. He rose slowly and gathered some more food from his pack. There would be enough for two more small meals, and then they would be completely out of rations. He bit off a chunk of dried beef and let the salty meat soften up in his mouth. He handed some of the meat to his father, who nodded gratefully.
“Been a long time since I camped cold,” Quinn said.
“You’ve done this before?”
“Sure, with the army. We spent lots of nights out in the open, drilling and scouting.”
“That’s where you learned to fight?”
“Yes.”
“How come you never taught me?” Zollin asked.
“I didn’t want you to fight,” Quinn said sadly. “I wanted you to become a carpenter. I wanted you to marry a nice girl like Brianna and settle down, have a family. Just like my father wanted, only I didn’t want that life. Or at least I thought I didn’t when I was your age.”
Zollin felt an eruption of pain when his father mentioned Brianna. He felt so guilty because he had been jealous of Todrek. He had wanted to be with Brianna, had day-dreamed of her running away with him, and now here she was. Only he couldn’t be with her, he couldn’t even let himself imagine it.
“Why did you leave home?” he asked, hoping to get his mind off the girl who was sleeping not far away.
“Over a girl,” his father said, smirking. “I was young and infatuated, but her father wanted her to marry an older boy. I couldn’t stand by and watch her marry another so I left. I joined the Royal Army and decided to live a life of adventure. Only being a soldier is a lot of hard work, constant discipline, and disappointment. I thought it would be exciting, even though my father warned me it wouldn’t. But we mostly drilled and marched and made inspections.”
“But you fought the Shirtac raiders?”
“Yes, but mostly we chased them back into their boats. It was a tedious life punctuated with brief moments of terror. Waging war is not exciting or glorious. It is pain and fear and luck and incredible sadness, as you now know.”
Zollin thought about what his father had said. He agreed with the description, but at least his one skirmish had been over so fast, he only really knew the terror of it and the loss of his best friend.
“So how did you end up in Tranaugh Shire?” Zollin asked.
“Your mother wanted to live in the valley. When we married, we set off to find a home and Tranaugh Shire was in need of a carpenter. So we made our home and soon you were on the way. It was the happiest time of my life.”
Zollin wanted to hear more. His father rarely ever spoke of his mother. Zollin had no memory of her, only a deep wound in his soul, a missing piece that she should have filled. Still, he knew his father wouldn’t say more. His own pain over the loss of Zollin’s mother was too painful to linger on.
Quinn stood up. “Better wake the others,” he said. “We should be moving soon.”
Zollin thought the need for constant travel was a bit extreme, but by that afternoon he would realize how wrong he was.
***
Branock’s soldiers had stumbled across their quarry's trail and had caught up with Zollin’s group not long after dawn. They took their time trailing along quietly, studying the group. Around midday, they broke off their pursuit and circled around the group, all of whom were riding their horses again but still moving at a very slow pace.
Branock watched them, guessing correctly that they planned to move ahead and ambush the young Wizard and his companions. It was a good plan, Branock conceded. The small band of refugees was expecting an attack from the rear, pushing themselves and their mounts almost to exhaustion. But even though the strategy was sound, it was the tactics themselves which really mattered. If the soldiers were not able to subdue Zollin very quickly, and Branock doubted that they could, there was little chance of success. Still, if they could manage to wound or kill some or all of the young Wizard’s friends, that would make Branock’s job that much easier. He smiled as he rode along, wondering why the soldiers hadn’t noticed that their horses seemed so fresh. Branock had been close enough to rejuvenate their mounts. He carried Zipple Weed for that very purpose. The plant was poisonous if ingested, but had a strengthening magic that could be transferred rather easily to man or beast. It always boggled his mind how non-magical people could be affected so easily with magic and never know it.
He rode on, drawing as close to the small band as he could without risking detection. He was anxious to see what would happen. He could sense Zollin ahead of him, or perhaps it was knowing that the boy was ahead that made if feel as if he could feel the magic’s location. He could sense Cassis and Wytlethane as well, but he had no idea where the other Wizards were. Soon enough though, they would know where Zollin was. Wizards could sense magic in others, could feel a powerful Wizard approaching, but if that Wizard used his power, it would send out a pulse, much like a rock thrown into a quiet pond would make ripples. That pulse could be felt, its direction perceived. And if the Wizard cast multiple spells, the exact location could be ascertained. Branock would have to deal with that, too. He needed to take advantage of Cassis being alone. This was his chance to cripple Wytlethane and create a controlling interest in the Torr. If he could dispose of Cassis and make it appear that the headstrong Wizard had bitten off more than he could chew, this prolonged search would be very valuable. He smiled at the thought of being his own master, with Zollin carrying out his every whim. It was a very pleasant fantasy, one that he needed to bring to life.
***
The day passed slowly for Zollin. They walked the horses as much as they could, but the small band was extremely tired. Their short nap on the frozen ground hadn’t done much to refresh them. Mansel alone seemed energetic. Quinn was lost deep in his own thoughts, and Brianna was suffering from saddle soreness that the cold night had only made worse. She was moving slowly and limping when she walked. Zollin wished he could help her, but he had no idea how. He could still feel the Wizards approaching, although they seemed closer and farther away at the same time; closer, yet not as strong. Still, he was sorely tempted to force his father to stop and let Brianna rest. He was bone-weary himself, his eyes felt full of sand, and his stomach was aching from too little food and too little sleep.
It was late afternoon when the attack came. The group was making their way into a clearing when they heard a shout, and suddenly horses were galloping toward them. There were three attackers on their left and three more riding in on their right. At first the group froze, watching as the mercenaries, those who had been sent ahead by Branock, raced toward them, waving their long swords in the air.
“Ride!” Quinn shouted, kicking his horse into motion. He spun his horse and began galloping back the way they had come. The others followed as the soldiers charged after them.
“What are we doing?” Zollin shouted.
“We’ve got to find a place to make a stand.”
Zollin looked at the terrain, but it was the same in every direction, gently rolling hills lightly wooded, no one place more defensible than another. His horse was heaving, with foam flying from its mouth. He knew they couldn’t keep up their pace much longer without killing the horses. He looked at Brianna, who was wide eyed with fear, but seeing her in that state steeled his resolve. He pulled back on the reins and his horse slid to a stop. He jumped down, his staff in his hand. The horse, still heaving with exertion, its sides slick with sweat, trotted several paces away. Zollin didn’t notice as he turned back to face the oncoming riders.
He wondered at what distance his magic would be effective. He could feel the power within him raging, worked into a frenzy by his emotions like storm winds churning the sea. He was scared mostly of failing. He could see Todrek falling, his ruined throat covered in his life’s blood. He couldn’t let that happen to his father, or worse yet Brianna. Even Mansel, whom he had despised for so long, deser
ved better than to be cut down by these murderers.
***
Branock had almost been exposed as the group raced back to escape the soldiers. He moved silently among the trees, keeping his eyes on Zollin. When the young Wizard reined in his horse and prepared to take a stand, the old Wizard smiled. The boy had courage, but separating himself from his companions was a mistake. But perhaps he did not care for them, perhaps as the Master had said Branock thought too much about mortal concerns and now he was projecting them onto Zollin. He held his breath and waited to see what the boy would do as the soldiers came within range of his attacks.
***
Zollin felt the magic coursing through him like a river, swollen by spring rains, threatening to overflow its banks. The soldiers were almost close enough. He had to hold himself in check as they drew closer. Just a little closer, he thought to himself, I have to make this count.
But before he could unleash the raging torrent of power building up within him, the riders split apart again. They circled him, staying out of long bow range. Zollin wasn’t an archer, but he didn’t think his magic would be very effective at this distance. He realized their tactic, avoiding him to pursue the others. His heart dropped into his stomach as he saw his father in the distance realizing that Zollin had stopped. The group was now turning back to help him.
“No!” shouted Zollin. He ran to his horse but the exhausted animal trotted just out of reach. He looked up and saw the soldiers flanking his father and friends. The soldiers, three on each side, were now turning in toward their prey. Zollin sprinted toward them.
Fear felt like a noose around his neck, his arms and legs felt heavy, his movements seemed so slow. But he ran on, intent on helping, even though it was obvious he could only focus his attention on one group of riders. Instinctively he turned toward the soldiers riding toward Brianna. They were closing in on her when he reacted, almost without thought. The range was still extreme, but he couldn’t wait any longer.
“Blast!” he shouted, pointing his staff at the riders. Lightning shot out, bright and crackling in the afternoon sunlight. The energy hit the horse closest to Zollin and knocked it into the others. All three riders were knocked into the air, two tumbling and rolling along the ground, the third crashing with bone-shattering force into a tree. The third soldier fell in heap and lay still.
Brianna hesitated then, unsure what to do. Meanwhile there was a clashing of blades as the other riders closed in on Quinn and Mansel. Quinn, with his sword and shield, was struggling against two of the attackers. Mansel and the third soldier were circling each other. The big man in black armor looked like a cat who was toying with the mouse he had caught. Abruptly, one of the soldiers facing Quinn turned his horse and moved toward Brianna.
“Ride, Brianna!” Zollin shouted. “To me, quickly!”
She urged her horse forward, but the beast was too tired. It moved slowly and the other soldier was gaining ground quickly. Zollin raised his staff but the soldier fell into line with Brianna. There was no way the young Wizard could attack without hurting the girl. He was running as fast as he could, but he was still too far away.
“Faster!” he shouted, but Brianna’s mare, the old horse Zollin had won from the illusionist, was just too exhausted.
He saw the soldier raise his sword as he closed in on Brianna. Suddenly the world darkened all around Zollin, and in his sight all he could see was the bright blade flashing in the sunlight that shone through the bare winter branches overhead.
“Rise!” Zollin shouted and he felt a tug, as if the magic had been jerked out of him. But the sword was flying up, spinning through air and finally tumbling back to the ground behind the soldier. The attacker reined his horse in and turned back for his weapon.
Zollin looked back to his father. Quinn was using his legs and knees to keep his horse moving away from his attacker. The soldier had a long cavalry sword while Quinn had a shorter blade and shield. It was obvious that Quinn was on the defensive, the soldier using the longer reach of his weapon to attack without coming close enough for Quinn to strike back.
Mansel was now on the ground, having successfully defended the soldier’s first blow, but the force of the two blades colliding had knocked the apprentice carpenter off his horse. Mansel was trying desperately to remain in the defensive stance that Quinn had taught him. It was obviously the only swordsmanship the boy knew.
Quinn’s shield was tarnished from disuse, but sparks flew off of it as the soldier attacked, over and over again. Quinn was holding his own, until the cavalry sword bounced from the shield and clipped the horse’s neck. Quinn’s mount reared in pain, its hooves waving madly at the other rider, whose own horse reared in return. The Master Carpenter tumbled backward off the horse as the soldier struggled to remain in the saddle.
Finally, Brianna’s horse reached Zollin. He swung up behind her, his staff extended in his right hand, his left arm curving around her waist and taking the reins. He turned the horse and kicked back into a gallop. The soldier who had been chasing Brianna had retrieved his sword and was now charging toward them again. Without thinking, Zollin raised his staff. It crackled and hissed as magic ran visibly up and down the shaft, dancing around his hand and flickering up his arm. As they approached each other, like knights on a tournament joust, the magic leapt out of Zollin without him even speaking the command. The blast hit the soldier in the chest and blew his chainmail shirt to pieces, knocking him backward off his horse to land in a smoking heap on the ground.
Quinn’s attacker had his mount under control now and was charging back toward the Carpenter. Zollin pointed his staff at the soldier but he closed too quickly, swinging his long sword in a wicked arc. Quinn raised his shield in time to block the blow, but the force knocked him backward off his feet. He lay still on the turf, making Zollin’s heart race. But as the soldier advanced toward Quinn, Zollin noticed that Mansel was cornered between two trees. The young apprentice had lost his sword, and only his ability to scramble, learned by years of evading four older brothers, had kept him alive this long. The soldier, with a wicked grin on his face, raised his sword for the killing stroke, but Mansel proved to be inventive as well as quick. Without a moment’s hesitation, the young apprentice grabbed the horse by the nose and shoved the beast’s head between himself and the sword. The soldier was knocked off balance as the horse kicked out, snapping three of Mansel’s ribs, and his sword lodged firmly in the trunk of the tree. Mansel dropped to the ground as the soldier fought to stay on his horse, which was bucking and kicking wildly.
Just then, the other soldier reached Quinn, urging his mount to trample his downed opponent. Zollin was just about to blast the soldier, but at that moment Quinn slashed at the horse’s front leg, slicing through flesh and bone. The Master Carpenter was barely fast enough to roll out of the way before the horse toppled, rolling right over the soldier on its back. Quinn was back on his feet, but the soldiers Zollin had knocked from their horses in his initial attack were now closing in on him.
Zollin acted quickly, blasting the soldier still on his horse near Mansel before turning his attention to the other two attackers. Both men had slowed, seeing Zollin and Brianna on horseback, Quinn armed and waiting. First one, then the other, turned and began running away. Zollin swung his staff and the nearest soldier was battered by an invisible force into a large oak tree, knocking the man unconscious. Then he focused his thoughts on the other man and thrust his staff at him. Even from a distance of over a hundred paces, they heard the man’s spine crack. The soldier’s body suddenly went limp and he fell, skidding along the forest floor before coming to stop and lying perfectly still.
For a moment, the only sound was the ragged breathing of Brianna’s horse. The group was frozen, looking at the soldier Zollin had just killed. Then they heard Mansel moan. The young apprentice was leaning back onto the tree where the soldier’s sword was still stuck. He was having trouble breathing and was obviously in pain. Brianna slipped off the horse, moving with Quinn qui
ckly to the boy’s side. Zollin felt a twinge of jealously seeing Brianna hurrying to aid the young apprentice. Then the guilt of such an emotion overwhelmed him.
I’m sorry, Todrek, Zollin thought. Then he turned his attention to the soldier he had knocked into the tree. He made a conscious effort not to look at the men he had killed. In the heat of battle he had acted without reservation and had felt no remorse. He knew the soldiers had no qualms about killing him or his friends, but seeing their lifeless bodies was unnerving. Facing death was hard, facing death he had inflicted was almost debilitating. He swung down from the tired horse, who dropped her head and moved slowly toward Brianna. Zollin walked in the opposite direction and found the man still senseless, his face stained with blood from a small wound in his scalp.
Five Kingdoms: Books 01, 02 & 03 Page 9
