“No, I just ate a little too much, I guess.”
“Good, I don’t even want to think of that nastiness again.”
“I know what you mean,” Quinn said, moving on and leaving the soldier to his duty.
He wasn’t challenged after that. He stayed to the shadows, not wanting to risk his face being seen again. He could smell the night’s dinner being cooked and dished out, but that wasn’t what he was after, either. Hot food would be more than welcome; after not eating anything more than Kelvich’s flask of coffee, because he’d saved the food for Mansel, he was light headed from hunger, too. But there was no way to get enough of what was being cooked back out to his boys, and he refused to eat a hot meal while Zollin and Mansel sat waiting for him to return.
He circled around the large cooking tent and the big fires there and made his way to the supply wagons. There were a few, but they were loaded with staples like hard-crusted bread and dried beef. He got lucky and found a barrel full of apples. He filled a sack with food and started back out into the dark.
“Where are you going?” said a gruff voice from behind.
“Just taking some food out to the sentries,” Quinn said pleasantly.
“Since when do we feed them when they’re on duty?” said the man.
Quinn had turned around, and now he could see the man accosting him. He was older than Quinn, with a scraggly, grey beard, a round belly, and a nose that no longer had a normal shape. He had some nasty scars, too; one that ran up across his forehead was bright pink, as if it wasn’t more than a few months old. Quinn recognized the type; he’d probably spent his whole life in the King’s army and was used to bullying the newer recruits. Not that he was a coward, his experience in battle was written by the scars on his face, but Quinn didn’t plan to be pushed around.
“Since they fought hard this morning,” Quinn said, not intimidated by the man.
“That so? I’m surprised I haven’t heard about it.”
“Well now you have.”
“I suppose, but I can’t get loose of the feeling that you’re taking that food for yourself and planning to desert.”
“I’m not deserting,” said Quinn.
“Well, why don’t you let me take that food out to the sentries then?”
“Go ahead,” Quinn said, fighting to keep his temper in check. The last thing he needed was to raise his voice and attract a crowd.
“I think I will,” he said, stepping forward, his hand extended to take the bag from Quinn.
Quinn was holding the food in his left hand, and when the man stepped forward, he swung a roundhouse punch that should have knocked the old soldier out cold. But the man had been expecting it and dodged back out of the way just in time to avoid the blow.
Quinn didn’t hesitate; he knew that one shout from the man would be the end of his efforts. He didn’t think he could talk his way out it if he were questioned by one of the officers. He kicked out at the man’s knee, bringing his foot around from the side and crashing it into the older man’s knee with as much force as he could muster. The soldier grunted, his leg giving a little, but not completely. The man stayed on his feet and came forward with a straight punch that caught Quinn just as he was trying to move back out of reach. The fist smashed Quinn’s lips and staggered him backward, but it hadn’t stunned him the way the soldier had hoped.
Quinn was ready for the follow up shot, a hard, left hook that should have connected to his chin, but Quinn swayed back out of reach and caught the soldier’s arm by the wrist, using the man’s own momentum to twist the arm and wrench it behind his back. The soldier, his back to Quinn now, moved forward, propelled by the pressure on his arm. Quinn didn’t follow but instead kicked the man’s boot so that it flew over and into his other leg. The man fell into the mud, and Quinn practically jumped on the man’s back. He landed on his knees, driving the wind out of the soldier’s lungs and causing the older man to gasp. Quinn wasn’t sure, but he might have heard some ribs snapping—but he couldn’t worry about that now. He drew one of the throwing knives in one smooth motion and used the metal hilt on the base of the soldier’s skull. The man was knocked unconscious.
Quinn snatched up his bag of food, hoping that the mud hadn’t seeped through to the bread inside, and started walking again. He needed to get past the ring of sentries before someone found the older soldier. They might assume that he was just drunk, but a closer inspection would reveal the man’s injuries and raise the security of the camp. He approached the nearest sentry, who stood with weapons at the ready just outside the light from the camp. He didn’t hesitate but drew his sword and moved stealthily toward the man. When he was close enough, he hit the sentry on the back of the head with the flat of his sword. The sentry went sprawling, and Quinn hurried out into the darkness.
His lip was busted, and it irritated him that it seemed to hurt more than a major wound. He knew it didn’t, but he had trouble keeping his mind off of the sharp pain. His tongue kept probing the wound, which only seemed to make things worse, but the swollen lip felt strange. He hated the coppery taste of blood, and the way his teeth ached. He opened and closed his jaw, which felt different and didn’t quite seem to work right.
As he approached the area where Zollin and Mansel were watching over Kelvich, his legs began to ache. The cold made his hands hurt, and his whole body felt stiff. He handed Mansel the bag of food and went to sit down. He leaned back against a tree, his cold chainmail seemed to press the freezing night air into this body.
“We can’t wait much longer,” Zollin said. “Kelvich needs a warm place to rest.”
“Me, too, I’m getting old,” Quinn said.
Mansel and Zollin laughed.
“I don’t know what you two are laughing at, but I just took a shot in the teeth to get you that food.”
Mansel was already tearing into a loaf of the crusty bread.
“You could have picked up something a little more fresh,” he said around a mouthful.
Zollin picked up some large rocks and heated them with his magic. He set one by Kelvich, who was propped against a tree. His breathing was a little less labored, and he was awake, but it was obvious even in the dark that he was in bad shape. Zollin gave the other rock to his father.
“Here, that should keep you warm until we get back,” he said.
“You boys be careful,” Quinn said. “They’ll be on high alert at the camp.”
“We will,” Zollin said.
He was tired, his head still ached, and his stomach was rumbling. His arms and legs felt shaky. At any other time, he would have complained or argued to wait until morning, but he knew that Kelvich wouldn’t make it through the night without a warm fire and constant attention. He also needed to find out how to deal with the fluid around his mentor’s heart, and he hoped that some of the old texts in the hermit’s cottage would shed some light on the condition.
Mansel handed Zollin half a loaf of bread and an apple. He ate the apple first, sucking the juice out of each bite before swallowing. He was light headed, but the food helped. He needed something to drink, and as they passed a trickle of a stream, he stopped and cupped his hands under the icy flow of water. He drank and drank, then tore into the bread as they got closer to the camp. The bread was dry and stale, but it filled his stomach; he felt his strength returning.
They had moved higher up in the woods so that they could observe the camp and the corral without being seen. The horses were all hobbled with simple rope leads between their forelegs. They were also tied on a long lead line. Of the 150 horses that had come into the valley, little more than 40 remained. They were cropping at what little grass had survived the long winter buried in snow.
“Are we picky about which horses we get?” Mansel asked.
Zollin considered the question. He had a fondness for Lilly, but she wasn’t worth getting into a fight over. She wasn’t a war horse and wouldn’t be in danger, even if the Skellmarians attacked again.
“I would like to get Bri
anna’s mare,” Zollin said. “But I don’t care about the rest.”
“And our saddles?”
“Doesn’t make a difference to me.”
“Okay, if you can distract them, I’ll get the horses saddled and ready, then we can ride away.”
“Alright,” Zollin said. “I think I have an idea.”
He let his magic spread out; it was like unleashing his mind or consciousness. He could feel the trees around him, the small animals, and the camp nearby. He found what he was looking for rather easily, and soon pinecones were flying by in a straight line, headed out of the woods toward the river. It was too dark to see the small objects gliding through the air. Once they were far enough away, he sent a pulse of magic and the pine cones ignited, bursting into light. Then he let them fall. They fell in the mud, but continued to burn. They weren’t bright, but they had caught the attention of the sentries, who had immediately called for help from the camp. Most of the soldiers had either fallen asleep around their campfires or were lounging lazily. It took them several minutes to muster and head out to face this unknown threat. As the pinecones burned out, a large group of soldiers moved out into the darkness to investigate. Around the camp, more soldiers were standing guard, but only three remained watching over the horses.
“The officers aren’t expecting an attack from the woods,” Mansel said, a little surprised.
“I guess they figure the Skellmarians would attack from the river.”
“Their loss.”
“Let’s go,” Zollin said.
The three soldiers were standing in a small group near the stack of saddles and other tack. They had their backs to the woods, so Zollin and Mansel approached unseen. He could have killed them easily, and the thought went through his mind—it was more like a temptation, the way you are tempted to eat something sweet when you smell it baking. But he resisted the urge. Tapping into his deep well of magic didn’t bring the same sense of malevolence since he had learned to raise a magical barrier around it. But the power still sometimes made him giddy at the ease with which he could kill or destroy something. He was afraid of trying to put the soldiers to sleep. He didn’t know how long they would stay unconscious and decided instead to send a wave of panic at them. He started slowly, pushing feelings of dread and then fear upon the unsuspecting soldiers. Then, out of nowhere he shouted at them. The soldiers, fully armed and armored, ran from the makeshift corral, screaming like children.
“Well, that was subtle,” Mansel said sarcastically.
“Get busy,” Zollin said, ignoring the jibe. “I’ve got something to do.”
“Where the hell are you going?”
“I need my staff.”
“Why?”
“I just do, now get the horses.”
“Wizards!” Mansel said in exasperation.
Zollin ignored him and headed down into the camp. He wasn’t sure where the soldiers would have put his staff. It may have been broken up and used as firewood, but he doubted it. Word would have traveled fast that he was a wizard, and fear would have kept his staff safe. Of course, he didn’t need it, the long, white branch had only a fraction of his own power, but he felt comfortable with it. It was like a good friend, and he hated to leave it behind.
He moved stealthily up the back side of the small hill the officers had set up their camp on. Most of the soldiers had chosen to set up their tents on the river side of the hill, not wanting to trudge through the mud any further than they had to. Zollin went first to the officers’ tent. It was large and well illuminated. Zollin could see the men moving around inside. The pinecone distraction hadn’t been enough to take the knights from their comfortable abodes. He looked around but didn’t see the staff. He did, however, see two large bottles of wine, tied together with a leather strap meant to stretch across a horse’s back. The officers obviously didn’t expect that the soldiers would be stupid enough to steal their wine. Zollin had no such qualms though. He picked up the wine bottles and was surprised to find that they were both full. He put the strap across his own shoulders and moved back into the shadows.
It was several more minutes before he spotted the staff leaning against the side of a tent. He didn’t see the other weapons but wasn’t worried about them. He assumed they would have been mixed in with the army’s supplies, and none were as fine as what he’d made earlier in the day. He walked quickly over and picked up the staff, then turned to head back to where Mansel was stealing their horses. As he turned around, he found himself face to face with two surprised looking soldiers.
Without hesitating, he thrust his staff at them; blue energy crackled from the end and shocked both soldiers. They fell back, twitching and unconscious, but Zollin could tell they weren’t seriously harmed. His own magical power was rolling inside him like clouds before a thunderstorm. It was as if it were anxious to join the fight, but there were no other threats, so Zollin tamped down his magic and hurried quickly down from the hill.
It took longer than Zollin had expected to get the horses ready, and the soldiers were slowly making their way back when Mansel was finally ready to go. They each mounted a horse and took the reins of another. Mansel had found Lilly, who seemed happy to see Zollin as he took her reins. He placed the wine across her rump, just behind the saddle. They rode back into the woods, then waited to see if the soldiers would raise the alarm. They didn’t seem to notice the missing horses; each looked shamefaced and embarrassed at having run away from their posts.
“Let’s go,” said Zollin.
They rode quietly through the woods, letting the horses pick their way through the darkness. When they got back to the little camp where Quinn and Kelvich were waiting, the stones Zollin had heated for them were growing cold.
Quinn rose slowly to his feet. He hadn’t eaten anything, his mouth was hurting too much. All he wanted was a warm place to stretch out and sleep. Kelvich was sleeping, his breathing sounded ragged again. Zollin lifted his teacher into the air and set him on the back of his own horse. He took hold of the sorcerer’s hands, pulled them around his own body, and tied them together with a leather strap.
“We’re ready,” he said quietly.
Quinn led the way back to Kelvich’s cottage since he’d made the trip in the dark before. It took almost an hour, and they were all half frozen by the time they arrived. Quinn went straight inside with Zollin, who was levitating Kelvich into the small home. Mansel took the horses into the little shed, loosened their girth straps, but left their saddles on. After he had given them oats and water, he went back into the cottage as well.
Zollin had dumped an armload of firewood from the front porch into the fireplace. With a tap of his staff, the wood burst into flames. Heat roared out of the fireplace to fill the cold cottage. The wood didn’t just burn, it was consumed as the heat gushed like an artesian well. Soon the wood was down to embers, and Zollin carefully laid more wood on top of them. He had set Kelvich in his favorite rocking chair before the fire, with a blanket around his shoulders. Quinn had wrapped up in his cloak and lay on the floor with his feet near the fire. He was snoring when Mansel tramped in from the cold. He had both bottles of wine.
Satisfied that Kelvich was okay for the moment, he turned to the old sorcerer’s books. He needed to know how to treat the fluid around his mentor’s heart. He flipped through the books as Mansel poured himself a cup of wine.
“Oh, my,” he said, smacking his lips. “That’s good wine.”
“Pour me a cup, please,” Zollin said. He was hungry again, but waited until he found a way to help Kelvich before he ate.
Mansel poured the wine and handed it over.
“Your old man’s snores sound exactly like when he saws wood with that old, wide-tooth saw of his. You remember?”
“Don’t remind me. I hated that thing.”
“It took a lot of work to cut with that saw, especially when he made us do it by ourselves.”
“I thought it was some sort of punishment for a long time,” Zollin said witho
ut looking up. He was studying a diagram of the heart.
“Do you ever miss it?” Mansel asked.
“Carpentry? Not at all. I always hated it.”
“Not carpentry, just life before all this happened?” he said, spreading his arms as if he were gesturing to the last four months since they had fled Tranaugh Shire.
“I don’t know,” Zollin said. “I wasn’t especially happy there, but I hate that we’ve been in pretty much constant danger since we left. I can’t stand thinking about Brianna with that foul wizard Branock.”
“Me either, but I don’t regret leaving. I do occasionally miss it, but I wouldn’t go back. It seems so small to me now.”
“The town?”
“No, not the town really, the idea of the world I had when I was there. I always felt kind of trapped, but I just assumed life was the same everywhere. I mean, I knew there were other places, big cities even, but I couldn’t imagine them. Still can’t, really. I knew there was an army, and that was always an option for me, but it seemed so far away. When Quinn took me on as an apprentice I was thrilled. I was so happy to be out of the stinking tannery, and the work agreed with me. But now, I can’t imagine going back to it. I don’t know how Quinn managed it.”
Five Kingdoms: Books 01, 02 & 03 Page 45
