The Defender: Elderwood

by Robert Collins

  Part of him felt bad using the Temple as a landing spot. The priestesses there were kind to people like him and his sister.

  It related to their doctrine. They preached that the Moon had given birth to the Sun. The Sun, being a rebellious boy, out-shined his mother and demanded she be humble to his brightness and warmth. The Moon chose to make her son happy, but always reminded him of who came first, and who gave birth to whom. The priestesses had to be humble before the larger Church of the Sun, but that made them into humble servants of their goddess. As their goddess was a mother, so to did they have to be mothers. That meant, among other things, caring for the poor.

  Allan never felt much of a religious calling growing up. Gods and goddesses were unseen things, and therefore didn’t matter as much as food and shelter. Even now he wasn’t certain if anything preached by any priest or priestess was entirely true. He was more concerned about being seen as a poor guest of the Temple, by landing on its roof, than by offending any goddess.

  He used the pause in his flight to look around. He wasn’t sure if he would find anything to do from that vantage point. It was well above the streets, and afforded a wide view. It would be a shame to waste this chance.

  As he learned to cast spells from Damien’s old tomes, Allan wondered what he would do with the skills and spells he was acquiring. Clearly he couldn’t simply return to Elderwood Ford and become a mage. For one thing, mages hadn’t existed for centuries. People might try to kill him the moment he cast a spell in front of them.

  For another thing, he was might still be a wanted young man. A year of better eating had filled out his arms and legs. He’d also grown an extra half-palm of height, and he could now grown a beard and mustache. His face hadn’t changed all that much, though. He also couldn’t be certain that, by killing a man of wealth, he had a bounty placed on his head, or that it was still in place, waiting for him.

  Yet the advice given by the ancient mage in his first book, about using magic for good and selfless purposes, kept with Allan over the days and weeks that followed. So did the memory of his sister. The more he thought of her, the more he could hear her telling him that he ought to use his new talents to help people. She believed their survival depended on them not breaking the law whenever they had a choice. That they had to thank those that helped them. That if they had the chance to help others, they ought to, because those others might be willing to help them back.

  Allan had wondered about those notions his sister had. He stopped wondering and began to accept them as he read Damien’s narrative on the history of magic, and the little stories he’d drop in between the lessons on casting spells. Time and again, Damien would relate how using magic to benefit people resulted in benefits to the mage, while being selfish led to trouble. Damien was humble enough to relate his own mistakes in that regard, which made Allan trust the mage’s and his sister’s beliefs that much more.

  Allan understood that he had a way to help people that he didn’t before he’d fled the city. He had returned to Elderwood Ford for a few nights now, and had found no one to assist. True, he was coming at night. There might be more to help during the day. But at night his face would be harder to see, as it would when he cast spells.

  He saw nothing untoward going on from the roof of the Temple. No longer thirsty, he took his flying rod from its place and tapped the rune to lift him into the air. Moments after he rose upward, he heard a shout. He flew in the direction of the sound.

  A few streets away, he saw two men with their arms around a third man. The pair were dragging the third man through an alley. A piece of cloth was in the third man’s mouth. One of the pair said something to the third man, but Allan was too high to hear the man whisper.

  Allan lowered himself to get a better look at the men. The third man’s clothes were newer than the ones the pair wore. The pair of men had both drawn and sheathed daggers.

  When he saw the weapons, Allan knew what was going on. Every so often, someone would hire men like the pair to capture a man and hold him for ransom. While he and his sister lived on the streets, he remembered hearing a few times of a herald’s report of a disappearance, followed a day or so later with news that the disappeared had returned home. The word on the street about the incident was always the same: someone had collected a ransom for the life of the man who’d gone missing.

  Allan was aware that it was a crime, and that the kidnappers made coins from the act, but he never learned why anyone would commit such a deed. It seemed risky: taking a man off the streets, hiding him, telling his family that he’d be returned if the kidnappers were given enough money, and letting the man go once the money was paid. There was so much that could go wrong.

  Maybe if I stop that kidnapping, I’ll find out something.

  Allan knew he couldn’t just land and start a fight. The kidnappers were armed, and he wasn’t. He would need time, and magic, to make any fight more even. He listed the possible spells in his head as quickly as he could.

  He settled on a spell to blow a concentrated blast of wind at the trio. He focused on the men as they were about to leave the alley. He cast the spell.

  The burst of wind sent the men sprawling into the next street. Allan aimed for the larger of the two kidnappers. He aimed his body and flew. As the man was getting up, Allan kicked at the man. His foot struck the man in the upper chest.

  For an instant Allan lost control of his flight after striking the blow. He got his focus back, and landed on the street. His foot stung a bit, but otherwise he felt fine.

  He glanced at the scene. The man being kidnapped was lying in the street, his eyes wide. The man Allan had just kicked was also in the street, gasping for air. His accomplice was turning to face Allan. He’d dropped one of his daggers, but had drawn another.

  Allan decided that another blow of air might knock the second man down. He focused his attention on the spell, raised his right arm, and pushed his fist at the other man.

  His blow landed in the man’s belly. The man staggered back a couple of steps and bent over. Allan dashed at the man. He grabbed the man’s right arm so he couldn’t use his dagger. He yanked the man’s arm. As the man fell forward, Allan pushed up his knee. His knee hit the man in the lower gut, just above the groin.

  Allan jerked the man’s knife from him, then turned to the other kidnapper. The man had gotten to his feet, but was still gasping. He started towards Allan with an uncertain stride.

  Allan cast a third blast of air. The impact sent the man down with a loud groan of pain. Allan turned back to the second man; he was still down, and holding his body.

  Allan stepped to the man the kidnappers had captured. He pulled the cloth out of the man’s mouth. He went behind the man.

  “Why were you being kidnapped?” he asked.

  The man didn’t reply. Allan saw that the man’s wrists had been bound quickly with twine. He used the knife he’d take from the second man to cut the twine.

  “Who are you?” Allan asked. “Why were you being kidnapped?”

  The man stood up. He looked at Allan for an instant, shook his head, and ran away down the street.

  Allan shook his head. Not even a word of thanks.

  A wave of exhaustion fell over him. He heard himself start to gasp. A moment later he realized that two men were slowly recovering from his blows. He drew his flying rod, tapped it, and rose into the air. As he turned away he heard voices below. He saw a lantern in the distance.

  He flew away from the scene as fast as he could. He headed back to the Temple. This time he landed behind the structure. Patches of grass ran around the sides and rear of the Temple. The priestesses frowned on people trampling on the grass, but he’d never known them to force someone off if they were resting on it.

  Besides, it’s night. No one will be out tending the grounds at night.

  Allan cast a shielding spell before trying to go to sleep. He was vaguely aware that, if someone found him and tried to touch him, they’d hit the shield, and that might
not be a good thing. But he was tired. More tired than he’d been in weeks. He needed sleep, and he needed to be safe.

  When he woke up, the first light of dawn was coming over the city. It took him a few moments to realize where he was, and what time it was. He knew he couldn’t fly out of the city. People were waking up, like him, and would see him.

  I’m at the Temple. Maybe I should hide here until tonight.

  Allan stepped off the grass. He walked around to the front of the building. He waited on the sidewalk for several moments. Finally the main doors of the Temple opened.

  An older woman in white and yellow robes saw him. “Yes, young man?”

  “Could I trouble you for some breakfast, Lady of the Moon?”

  She looked him up and down. “Are you certain that’s all you need, young man?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You look like you need a bath, and new clothes.”

  Allan hadn’t realized how ragged he appeared. He’d had to fix, then replace, his clothes with bits of hide from the game he’d killed for food. Occasionally he went to the nearby stream for a bath, but he hadn’t used soap in ages.

  “I suppose I do need a little more help, Lady.”

  “Come in, then. We’ll see what we can do.”