They sat watching the army. They had no real reason to be interested in the soldiers, but both men understood the value of knowing as much as possible about any situation. Quinn lay thinking about Zollin, wondering if they had seen the same army. His son would have avoided the group most likely, but it was tempting to go and inquire if Zollin or Mansel had been seen. He doubted that it would do much good; it would most likely be exactly like their search for horses. There wasn’t a beast to be found for any amount of money in northern Yelsia. The soldiers were most likely going about their tasks with a numb sort of detachment which Quinn remembered well from his own days as a King’s soldier and then as part of the legendary Royal Guard. The knights who led the army were probably drinking wine and arguing over which of them was the most famous or most closely related to the royal family.
Kelvich harbored a secret fear that the dragon would draw the interest of the Torr. Zollin was the ultimate prize, but the Torr had been founded on the idea that by consolidating the magical power of the Five Kingdoms, they could deal with any threat, magical or otherwise, to the safety of the realm. Zollin had been enough to send three wizards in search of him, but a dragon demanded the attention of not only the Torr, but the leaders of the other kingdoms as well.
They were still watching the group, lost in their own private thoughts, when they heard the Whosh! Whosh! of giant wings. Kelvich had been mostly senseless when the dragon had attacked them at the Gate, and his memory of the event was hazy at best, but Quinn recognized the sound instantly.
“It’s here!” Quinn said, scrambling awkwardly to his feet.
“Stay low,” ordered Kelvich. “Let’s make for those trees,” he said, pointing down the hill toward the soldiers.
It was a risky move. They could have ducked back the way they came and avoided the beast altogether, but neither even considered it. The grove of trees was young, the trees little more than saplings with their new spring leaves bright green, but growing sparsely on the trees’ limbs. They hurried down the hill just as the dragon came into view. It was hard to see the beast against the night sky. The dragon’s scales were dark red, almost black, but not quite. The army’s campfires cast a faint light into the sky, and it reflected dully on the beast’s hide.
The dragon was taking no chances. It belched out a fiery blast that engulfed dozens of men and set even more tents ablaze. Whosh! Whosh! Whosh! The dragon’s wings carried it up, into the darkness and out of sight. It might still have been in range of an excellent spear throw, but there was nothing to aim by except the sound of the mighty wings.
“It will come around for another pass.” Kelvich shouted.
“What should we do?” Quinn asked.
“Nothing. We’ll just have to wait and see if there is an opportunity to help somehow.”
They had made it to the safety of the trees, and both were leaning on the slender trunks and panting hard. Below them men were screaming as they burned alive. Others were rushing to find weapons or to control the horses, which were in a panic.
The knights poured out of their pavilions and called for their pages or servants to bring their armor. It was a mistake to be encumbered by the heavy plate mail against a creature that could roast a man alive in his armor, but the knights seemed not to care. They were standing and shouting at the soldiers, but to little avail. Then the dragon was back, swooping in a long, low dive, incinerating anything in its path.
“Oh God,” said Kelvich. “They’re doomed.”
“They need to find cover,” Quinn said.
“There isn’t much around here.”
“Then they should spread out, stay in small bands, but disperse. Staying all together that way is only making them an easy target.”
Horses had broken loose and were running in all directions. Some were headed toward the grove of trees where Quinn and Kelvich were watching. Quinn made a split second decision and then hobbled out of the tree line.
“Quinn!” Kelvich shouted. “What the hell are you doing?”
Quinn didn’t answer but waved his arms in a shooing motion to slow the horse. A few slowed and approached him, although it was obvious that they were still skittish. Their eyes were wide enough that the whites were showing all around the irises, which reflected the blazing fires started by the dragon. Quinn stepped forward and took hold of one’s bridal. Then he swung up into the saddle.
“You stay here,” he ordered Kelvich. “I’ll be back.”
“But, Quinn, wait! You’ll be killed down there!”
The warning fell on deaf ears as Quinn bounded away. His body was pumping adrenaline almost as fast as blood. It felt good to be on a horse again. His leg still ached from the long day’s walk, but now, as the wind blew through his hair, he became one with the horse. They were racing back toward the camp, but the horse seemed less frightened with a rider on its back.
“Centuries!” Quinn shouted. “Form up in centuries and spread out. Don’t bunch together and give the dragon an easy target.”
All around him were flames and men and horses. The scene was terrifying, and yet men were rallying to his cry. The dragon was diving again, but this time men and horses were scattering out of its path, and although the beast was agile in the sky, it had trouble correcting its course in mid-dive.
The soldiers were beginning to assemble, moving farther and farther apart. The knights were still struggling to get into their armor, shouting orders and calling for horses.
“Disperse!” Quinn shouted as he raced through the camp. “Disperse and regroup.”
The dragon hadn’t gone far this time, but circled back quickly and landed near the edge of the camp. This time it sprayed flames in a wicked arc that engulfed half of the camp site. Most of the knights were burned alive, still struggling into their armor. A few managed to escape, and now they came at the beast with their lances leveled for a charge. Kelvich watched in dread fascination as the knights galloped toward what appeared to be the dragon’s exposed side. He felt hope leap up when it appeared that the dragon had not seen them, but then it was dashed as the beast’s tail whipped into the knights with such force that most were thrown from their horses to skid across the grass.
Finally a volley of arrows arched down out of the night sky. It was like shooting sewing needles at an armored man, but they got the dragon’s attention. He roared and charged into the darkness on the far side of the camp. Kelvich knew he should find a horse, but he didn’t have the skill with animals that Quinn had. He focused instead on the magic he felt in the dragon. It was strange and illusive. He grasped for it with his mind, but it was like trying to grip water in your hand. The dragon reacted to his probing, though, as if it felt the stab at magical control. The beast flew up into the night again.
The campsite was a fiery mess. The tents and supply wagons were burning. Weapons and armor lay scattered about the field, and the grass was burned black in many spots. Kelvich wondered if the dragon was gone for good, but he had no way of knowing. Quinn was not in sight, either. In fact, most of the soldiers had followed Quinn’s advice and scattered. They would stay hidden until they were certain that the dragon was gone, then reconnoiter at the camp site. They didn’t need orders; each would follow the standard operating procedures.
Kelvich, on the other hand, was anxious to find his friend. It was possible that Quinn lay slain on the grass somewhere, his body a smoldering corpse. He dreaded sharing that type of information with Zollin and determined to remain positive. For the time being, he just needed to find Quinn, and that meant leaving the safety of the grove of trees. Not that the trees offered any real safety, but stepping out into the open was difficult just the same. The moon was setting when the sorcerer decided it was safe enough to come out of the trees and go in search of his friend.
* * *
The fort was not well fortified. There were several buildings, a well, a storeroom, and an armory. It only took a little time to identify the small barracks building that was probably only used on a tempor
ary basis by the soldiers on duty in the fort or the tower, but was now a semi-permanent home for the troops left to guard the town. There was an office where the grand leader of the army gave orders and saw to the logistics of the legion that was stationed there. And finally, there was a small guard house with bars over the windows. There were only so many ways to make a holding cell, and Zollin was glad he’d been able to find this one so easily. He eased into the slightly darker shadows of the building.
The fort was not well lit, there were only torches burning near the entrance. Zollin reached out with his magic and identified Mansel. He’s spent enough time with his formal rival to know him by touch, even if that touch was magic. There were two guards on duty inside the building, guarding their prisoner, Zollin supposed. He sent a strong urge to sleep to the two soldiers. It didn’t take long before he could hear their snores and he decided it was time to act. He put his hand on the sides of the building and began to work. The stone used to construct the building was made of sandstone, and it only took a few moments for Zollin to begin turning the stone back into water and sand. The minerals had calcified and cemented themselves together but could be separated with a little magical effort.
It took almost half an hour before he had created an opening large enough for a person to crawl out of. Zollin was sweating and his stomach burned with hunger. His eyes felt hot and he badly wanted to lie down and sleep. The sounds of the snoring soldiers didn’t help, but Zollin shook his fatigue off. He stuck his head into the hole he’d made and lit a tiny flame that hovered in the air over his head and cast a soft light around the room. Mansel was asleep on a cot against the wall. There were metal bars separating him from the soldiers, who were sitting in chairs they had leaned back against the wall.
“Mansel,” Zollin whispered.
He did not stir, so Zollin levitated a pebble across the room and dropped it on his friend’s head. Mansel still did not stir. Zollin knew that Mansel was a heavy sleeper after a night spent drinking, but he should have at least stirred when the rock hit him. Zollin crawled through the opening and moved silently over to his friend. From the small light he was using, he could see swelling and bruising. At the inn, Mansel had sported a black eye and a busted lip. Now the eye was swollen shut, the lid purple and the slit that should have been his eyelid was crusted over. His nose was broken and there was dried blood on his face, chin, and neck. His jaw was broken as well, the swelling making the odd angle of the fracture harder to spot, but it was obvious as Zollin studied his friend. There was a long gash on the side of Mansel’s face opposite the swollen eye and his lips looked like raw meat.
“Oh, Mansel,” Zollin said compassionately.
He let the little flame wink out as he put his hands on his friend’s shoulder and arm. He let his magic delve into his friend. There were broken ribs and blood was seeping into one lung. His left hand had several broken bones, as if someone had stomped on it with the heel of their boot. His breathing was shallow and, if left unattended, he would probably not have ever woken up, but Zollin set to work immediately. He mended bones and stopped the internal bleeding. It took time to patch the tear in his lung and slowly remove the blood that had built up there. The broken jaw was set and healed, the gash on his check repaired, but the eye took more time. Zollin had no idea how much time he’d spent, only that he was exhausted and he still hadn’t seen to his friend’s hand. He heard movement outside, but he blocked the thoughts out of his mind. He couldn’t worry about the soldiers now, he needed to be careful as he drained the blood that had filled the tissue around the eyeball and was causing the painful swelling.
Mansel was breathing better and his eye was almost healed, when the door opened and light poured into the room.
“Wake up, you lollies, your prisoner is about to escape!” shouted the centurion.
Zollin ignored him as he finished helping Mansel, although the fighter’s hand was still a mess, the other wounds were all mended. Given a few days rest, Mansel would be fine, but they didn’t have a few days. Zollin stood up and almost swooned. He was exhausted, his head dizzy, and he had to hold the wall to stay on his feet.
“Who the hell are you?” the soldier demanded.
“I’m his friend.”
“I guess you’re to blame for attacking my sentries?”
“I guess you’re to blame for beating my friend almost to death,” Zollin said angrily.
“He was in a brawl at the tavern, we had nothing to do with it,” the soldier said with a smirk.
“You will regret that,” Zollin said.
“That’s interesting, because I was just thinking how much you are going to regret crawling into my cage, outsider,” the soldier’s voice was cold. “I was planning to make an example of your friend, but now it looks like I’ll put you on display instead. Open the cage!” he ordered the soldiers who Zollin had lulled to sleep.
“You’ll need more than that stick against me,” the centurion said.
He stepped into the cage and threw a quick jab into Zollin’s face. It wasn’t hard enough to do anything but stun Zollin, but that’s all it was meant to do. The brutal soldier was an expert at inflicting pain. He stepped forward, throwing powerful uppercuts into Zollin’s midsection. The jab had hurt, but the uppercuts knocked the wind out of his lungs and felt liked he was being kicked by a horse. The only thing his mind registered for the moment was the cruel smile on his tormentor’s face.
Then, even though he couldn’t breathe and his body was screaming in agony as his ribs snapped from the brutal body blows, he lashed out with his magic. He’d dropped his staff and the magic erupted in the form of a slap of energy that was invisible, yet it shook the very walls of the holding cell. The centurion flew back through the open door of the cell and into the stone wall with a sickening crunch that was made from crushed bone and pulverized flesh. He slid down the rough wall, leaving bloody gore in his wake. Zollin was on the ground, and the other two soldiers weren’t sure what had happened. They hesitated for a moment, then they slammed the cell door shut, which locked automatically, and ran outside, calling for help.
The spell had roused Mansel, who was now cradling his hand. He stood up and looked at the dead centurion and smiled. Then he turned to Zollin, who was gasping for breath on the floor of the cell.
“That bastard got what he deserved,” Mansel said. “You must have done something to me; I thought he was beating me to death.”
“He...almost...did...” Zollin managed to say as he tried to coax air back into his lungs.
“Well, he won’t do that to anyone else. I got in one good shot and after he had beaten me down he stomped on my hand. I guess it’s too mangled even for you to fix.”
“Get me...out of here,” Zollin gasped.
“Uh, I don’t think I can. The cell is still locked, and I don’t think you’d want me pulling you through that hole you must have come in through. Besides, if I stick my head through there someone might cut it off.”
Zollin waved his hand and the cell door swung open.
“That’s a handy trick,” Mansel said, smiling.
“We’ve got horses outside in the street,” Zollin said, wincing as he stood up. “I need a little time to heal my ribs. Try not to get us killed.”
“Hey, trust me,” Mansel joked.
He supported Zollin on one side, and the young wizard used his staff to support the other side. When they peeked out the door of the guardhouse they saw soldiers running to the tower. The sky was slate grey, which meant the sun would be rising soon. Zollin had his attention focused inward, trying to knit the broken ribs. There were three, and every step made the fractures grind together, sending waves of agony through Zollin’s entire body.
It was still dark enough that, by staying close to the side of the building, they were able to avoid detection. They moved away from the tower where the soldiers gathered and also away from the gate, which was their only way out of the fort. The closest building to the guardhouse was the armory.
<
br /> “The door’s locked,” Mansel whispered.
Zollin sent a spell through into the lock and flipped the tumblers so that the door swung open. They moved quickly into the darkness of the room and locked the door behind them. Zollin leaned against the wall and worked on healing his body. He was weak, both from the fight and from working so much magic. He hadn’t slept, and it had been hours since he ate. He was trembling all over and fighting the urge to pass out.
Mansel was waiting by the door. There were no windows in the armory, and it was pitch black inside. He wanted a small light so that he could at least arm himself, but he knew that fighting his way out of the fort simply wasn’t an option. He needed to keep the soldiers out until Zollin could finish healing himself. His magic was their only hope of escape.
It didn’t take the soldiers long to get organized. One cohort was sent to guard the gatehouse. The rest went straight to the guardhouse. Once they realized that Mansel and Zollin had escaped, they spread out to search for them. Mansel held the door shut, hoping that if the soldiers sent to search the armory had keys, he could hold them off long enough for Zollin to come back around. His broken hand was throbbing with pain, but the adrenaline from making their escape was keeping his mind focused on the task. He held the door handle with his left hand and braced himself in hopes of being able to hold the door shut.
Five Kingdoms: Books 01, 02 & 03 Page 60
