Five Kingdoms: Books 01, 02 & 03

by Toby Neighbors

  “It'll be dark soon, shouldn't I wait until tomorrow?” Zollin asked.

  “No, you need to work through these lessons before we can move on. Some things you learn through study and others through experience. Each has its own virtue. Take your time – winters are long here in the Great Valley.”

  “Great,” Zollin said standing. He started to pick up his staff and willow belt.

  “You won't need those,” Kelvich said. He reached out and took them from Zollin.

  He frowned at the Sorcerer as he wrapped his cloak around him and opened the door. The snow was thick and the light was fading. It would take all night to dig his way back to Brighton's Gate in this, he thought. Not that he would have the strength to do it. He had no tools, and although he could plow a furrow through the snow with his magic, without the belt and staff he wouldn't be able to sustain himself very long.

  See if you can find a quicker way to move through the snowbound land... What did the old man mean by that? He heard the door shut and lock behind him. Alright, thousands of flakes floating gently down, he thought as he took a step into the snow. His foot buried down almost to the top of his boot. This was not going to be easy. He started to take another step but then he thought about the flakes, hundreds of individual flakes just lying gently down on top of one another. He pushed gently with his magic, and the snow packed down in front of him. He took a tentative step, expecting the snow to buckle under his weight. But the snow held firm and he stood on top of it, several feet above the ground. Before him lay a pristine path out of the trees and through to the open fields that ran down toward Brighton's Gate.

  He moved quickly along, even after nightfall. He could see the lights of the village like a beacon at sea, and he no longer worried about tripping or falling into a ditch. Packing the snow before him was easy enough, although when he reached the edge of the village, he was exhausted, starving, and so cold he felt the moisture of his breath freezing into tiny icicles in his nose. He made his way quickly through the paths made by the townsfolk that day and entered the Inn. There was little activity in the common room. Most people had turned in for the night already, but there was a warm hash made of the leftovers from the night before. Zollin ate three bowls full and nearly a whole loaf of bread. He was sipping some sweet cider and thinking of going to bed himself when he remembered his studies. He sat the book on the table before him – he was near the fire which gave plenty of light for reading. He could have been in his room with a candle, but the common room was warmer.

  Before long, engrossed in his study, he found himself alone in the room when a tall, thin man walked quietly into the room. The man came and warmed himself by the fire. After a few moments, he spoke quietly.

  “Looks like everyone's made an early night of it.”

  “Yes, I believe so,” Zollin said, trying to be polite.

  “You're one of the newcomers, studying law or something with that old hermit?”

  “That's right,” Zollin said.

  The man nodded his head and looked around the darkened room again.

  “You mind if I have a seat?” the stranger asked.

  “Not at all, but I'm not much company, I'm afraid.”

  “That's no trouble. I've seen your father around. He's a handy man, alright. Moves more like a fighter than a Carpenter, though. I guess he's seen service in the King's forces?”

  “Yeah, he was in the army before he met my mother,” Zollin said.

  “King's Guard?”

  “I don't know. He doesn't talk about it much.”

  “Aye, well, I don't mean to pry, just have an inquisitive nature, I do. I've always wanted to know things, how they work, what makes them tick, that sort of thing.”

  Zollin nodded but didn't really know what to say.

  “For instance,” the man continued. “I'd wonder how a Carpenter, even one army trained, could take out three grown men the way your father did. That must have really been something to see.”

  Zollin, still looking at his book, was suddenly very still.

  “I mean, two men, maybe, but three? That takes some rare skill, I'd say.”

  “I took out one of them,” Zollin said as he looked up at the man. “He was bothering the Inn Keeper's daughter and he deserved it.”

  “Is that right? I guess I heard that too. Hit him with a stick didn't you? I wonder what would make a lad like you do something like that?”

  “It's hard to just sit back and see people mistreating others,” Zollin said. He was scared but his voice didn't shake. He looked directly at the man, who was staring right back. The stranger had a strange glint in his eyes that gave Zollin a chill that was unrelated to the cold night air.

  “I know those three,” said the man. “They are an unsavory bunch, but my boss isn't too happy that the town would hold up his supplies. He's looking to make a statement before he comes down to make things right. I reckon you'd make a good messenger.”

  “I won't help you,” Zollin said, wishing he had his staff more than ever. He could feel his power rolling within him. He just wasn't sure he had the strength to really hurt the man.

  “Ah, well, no need to actually do anything,” said the man with a smile. Then he whipped his hand toward Zollin and the young Wizard felt as if he'd been hit in the stomach. He doubled over and dropped from his seat onto his knees, but then he swung his arm as if he were swatting a fly and the stranger flew into the stone chimney, cracking his head and falling unconscious by the fire.

  Zollin looked down and saw the handle of a knife sticking out of his stomach. He fell backward in shock and surprise. Then the pain erupted in his body like a torrential rain storm. His hand was shaking as he took hold of the handle. He knew he needed to act fast or he was going to die. The room was beginning to spin. He closed his mind and allowed his magic to flow around the knife blade inside him. He could tell that his stomach had been pierced, could feel the severed abdomen muscles and the blood seeping into the space between his organs.

  He needed to remove the knife, to bind his body back together, but he couldn't just heal the surface as he had done with Todrek. He needed to heal each wounded area, bit by bit. Only he wasn't sure he was strong enough to stay conscious that long. He pulled slightly on the knife, and his agony intensified. The blade was still an inch or so into his stomach, which was still stuffed with his supper. Luckily the digestive fluids hadn't leaked out, nor had too much blood gotten into his stomach. The blade was acting much like a cork in a bottle, but he knew he needed to get the knife out and heal his body. If he could pull the knife out bit by bit and mend each part as he did it, perhaps he could make it. But he had to pull the knife out several inches just to get the blade clear of his stomach. He pulled a bit more, but the pain was over whelming. His hands were shaking and he knew he needed help, but there was no one around. His mind began to drift and he savagely focused on the task at hand. He had to do something. He reached for the knife again, but his hands were shaking too much and felt so weak.

  “Ooohhhh!” said the stranger who had attacked Zollin. The man staggered to his feet and Zollin pretended to be unconscious. He heard the unsteady footsteps of the man as he approached. It took all of Zollin's strength and concentration not to breathe. He didn't want the man to stab him again, but he was hopeful that the man would pull the knife out and allow Zollin the chance to heal himself.

  “Guess it was handy I finished you quick,” the man said. “You might have caused some problems and that's a fact.”

  Zollin braced himself for the pain of having the knife ripped free, but the man moved away, leaving the young Wizard alone on the floor of the common room. He heard the kitchen door swing on its hinges as the stranger left. It was now or never, Zollin thought to himself. He rolled onto his side and vomited on the floor. Then he reached up and grabbed the table, pulling himself to his knees. His instinct was to bend over double, but leaning forward at all sent waves of excruciating pain through his whole body. He stayed rigidly straight even a
s he felt the muscles in his back threatening to cramp. He managed to get to his feet, but his legs felt incredibly heavy. He felt like he was carrying heavy timber for his father as he staggered along the wall. If he could just get far enough down the hallway, his father would help him. He wanted nothing more than to lie down and close his eyes. Even lying down on the rough and dirty hallway floor would be heaven. The pain was so intense and every step was a monumental task. The hallway seemed to stretch on forever, and he was bleeding freely now – he could feel the blood running down his waist and legs.

  Finally, he reached his father's room. He pushed on the simple lever handle, but the door was locked. No, he thought, it can't be locked. Then a truly terrifying thought crossed his mind. He had been absent from the Inn for three days. Perhaps his father and Brianna and Mansel had left. Perhaps they had gone out looking for him and were away. He could die here, alone, in the hall of the Inn. He rattled the lever, but it held fast. His knees buckled and he dropped to the floor. His back cramped and he fell back, the agony in his stomach too much to bear. The world went black.

  Chapter 24

  Brianna woke with a start. The door lever was shaking. Someone was trying to get into the room! She started to cry out in fear but bit her tongue. She rose and moved quietly over to Quinn to wake him.

  “I hear it,” he whispered. He rolled out of bed and approached the door with something in his hand. It was dark and Brianna couldn't make out what it was. “Get ready to light that lamp, but keep it covered. I don't want them to know we're awake.”

  Brianna's hands were shaking, but she managed to get a red-hot fuse from the stove, its tip glowing red. She covered the lamp as she lit it, then nodded to Quinn. There was a thump outside the door and then all was quiet.

  Quinn removed the locking bar and slowly opened the door. He waited for a moment, but the hallway was dark. There was a form lying on the floor. Quinn knew there was nothing else to do but reveal the lamp. If there were assassins in the shadows, uncovering the lamp would only make him vulnerable, but he couldn't sit locked in his room either.

  “Uncover the lamp,” he said.

  Brianna pulled up the shade and the pale light seemed bright in the darkness.

  “Oh my God!” Quinn said loudly. He dropped what was in his hand and jumped into the hallway. “Get that light over here,” he shouted.

  Brianna hurried forward and almost dropped the lamp when she saw Zollin. His face was pale and wet with sweat. There were dark stains on his stomach and down his pants, not to mention the handle of the knife that was protruding from his stomach.

  “What do we do?” she asked, her voice shrill with fear.

  “I'm not sure,” Quinn said.

  “Dad?” Zollin said. His voice was weak, and Quinn bent over him. “Pull out the knife, I can fix it.”

  “What? Are you insane?” Quinn responded.

  “I can heal myself, so pull it out slow. Don't let me black out again.”

  “Alright, hold on,” Quinn said after Zollin had insisted.

  “What?” Brianna asked. “What did he say?”

  “He says he wants to heal the wound, but he needs me to pull the knife out. Come on, let's get him in the room first.”

  When Quinn pulled Zollin across the rough Inn floor into the room, Zollin thought he would pass out again. But the pain had sharpened his senses, and as his father knelt over him again, he was able to concentrate on the tip of the blade.

  “Go ahead,” Zollin whispered.

  The blade started to move and Zollin clenched his jaw and dug his fingernails into the wooden floor to keep from screaming. Finally, the knife blade eased out of his stomach. Immediately he pulled at the edges of the punctured stomach and focused on healing.

  “Wait a second,” he muttered as he imagined the flesh mending together again.

  Immediately the pain lessened. It was still agonizing, but he could tell it was working. Once he felt sure his stomach was whole again, he nodded at his father. Quinn pulled the knife as slowly as possible, and Zollin used his power to heal anything that felt out of place. Finally, the blade passed through the muscles of his stomach. Zollin felt the fibers of the muscle and imagined each piece pulling toward the others and finding its mate. He healed the wound, and when the blade pulled free, he laid his shaking hands on the torn skin and healed it as well. Then he looked inward, searching for anything he had missed. The pain was only a memory now, but still too fresh in his mind. There was blood in his guts, but the organs were working and everything felt whole. He would need to consult the anatomy book or speak to Kelvich about the blood, but he felt that everything would be alright.

  He opened his eyes. Quinn was bent down over him, his eyes full of worry and doubt. Standing over him was Brianna, her blond hair falling in beautiful spirals all around her face. There were tears on her cheeks and nose.

  “I did it,” he said. “I'm okay.”

  “Are you sure?” his father asked, the worry still clearly evident in his voice. “Gut wounds are almost always fatal.”

  Zollin lifted his hands and wiped away the blood from his stomach.

  “Look,” he said. “It's finished.”

  There wasn't even a scar where the knife had cut him.

  “That's unbelievable,” his father murmured.

  “Oh, Zollin,” Brianna said, a sob catching in her throat. “Are you sure you're okay?”

  She dropped to her knees beside Quinn and took one of Zollin's hands. Then, without waiting for him to answer, she bent down and laid her forehead against his neck. She shook as she cried, but she was quiet, and Zollin patted her head with his free hand until she calmed down. When at last she sat up, it was Quinn who spoke.

  “Damn,” he said. He was holding the knife that he had pulled free of Zollin.

  Brianna looked up and saw that it was exactly like the knife the strange man had laid on the table before then them that morning. She cringed at the thought of that man with his cruel eyes hurting Zollin, and then the realization that she was right popped into her mind.

  “I told you-”

  Quinn raised his hand. “I don't want to hear it,” he said. “Zollin, did this man say anything to you?”

  Zollin was still on the floor.

  “He was a stranger. Tall and thin.” Quinn nodded his head so Zollin continued. “He said his boss was angry, and then after he threw the knife at me I slammed his head into the fireplace.”

  “You killed him?” Quinn asked.

  “No, I didn't have my staff and I wasn't strong enough. He was only out for a few minutes. Then he said it was good he had taken care of me, that I could cause some problems. Then he left the Inn through the kitchens.”

  Quinn swore for a minute, and then he picked up what he had dropped – it was a knife just like the one the man had thrown at Zollin. He tucked it into his pants and told them to wait for him before slipping out the door.

  “Help me up,” Zollin told Brianna.

  He was afraid the pain would return when he moved, but it didn't. He stood up and walked a bit, then sat on his father's bed. He was tired, but the relief from the pain was so great that a sense of euphoria swept through him. He smiled.

  “Quite an evening, huh?” he joked.

  Brianna looked at him aghast and slowly she smiled. Then a giggle, and then they both laughed. Zollin, his clothes ruined, looked sickly and weak. Brianna’s face was puffy and red from crying and lack of sleep. They stared at each other and laughed.

  Quinn silently crept through the common room and into the kitchen. He checked every room, closet and pantry, but the assassin was gone. He checked the back door and found it unlocked. There was a fresh trail in the thigh-deep snow, but Quinn knew it was the wrong time to track down the assailant. The man was returning to the mining camp, and then the miners would return to the town. It wouldn't be pretty, but at least he knew what to expect. His first priority was to keep his family safe. To this point, he had done a poor job of it, but he would r
emedy that soon enough. First he had to erase the evidence that Zollin had been attacked. It wouldn't help him convince the town that standing against the miners was a good idea if they were terrified of Zollin. He returned to his room.

  “Well, he's gone,” Quinn said as he closed the door. “We need to get you and this place cleaned up.”

  “I'm afraid I won't be much help,” Zollin said. “It's all I can do to keep my eyes open right now.”

  “I understand. Let's get you to your room.”

  Quinn pulled Zollin to his feet and walked him out of the room. He opened the door to the room he shared with Mansel and they were hit with the stench of stale vomit.

  Quinn swore again and Zollin smiled. He didn't care about the smell, he just felt so happy to be alive.