The Wizard's Apprentice

by Janice Ayre

Chapter Twelve

  Rescue

  It was now the fourth day since Brock's disappearance. Zebulon felt there had to be someone who had seen something on the day Brock left. Kotonia was not like the other mining village where there was continual activity. These villagers mostly believed in returning to their homes at a reasonable hour. There were a few places such as the small inn on the outskirts of the village where some of the rougher inhabitants and strangers would meet. After Zebulon familiarised himself more with the town, he made his focus of enquiries at this particular inn, even though Uri was quite sure that Brock would not have ventured over that part of town.

  “He may do so if he was enticed. Something had unsettled him after his last trip to Kotonia. I should have been more sensitive to his troubles and got him to confide his concerns,” said Zebulon.

  “Don't do anything without me,” said the faithful Uri. He could see his friend was getting weary and could make a mistake, something he couldn't afford when dealing with someone as cunning as Mustafa.

  When Zebulon entered the small inn his commanding presence seemed to fill the entire room. All conversation halted and all eyes turned to look at him.

  “I know many of you have already been asked concerning this matter, but I want each of you to consider carefully if you can recall anything further in connection with the disappearance of a young elf from this village. If any harm has come to him or will come to him because of neglect to your duty, then I will deal with the offender severely.” Zebulon's deep voice rang out and there was not one who failed to hear his every word.

  Suddenly a croaky voice came from the back of the room. It belonged to an old man who was frequently ignored, due to his usual drunken state.

  “Some mornings ago, not sure which one... it was early...and I saw this young fellow. Tall he was, and strong looking. Ginger hair and freckles. He was waiting around outside with a horse. He was joined by a young elf and they rode off into the hills.”

  Zebulon recognised the description of the young man as the one whom he had seen at the farm. That would explain maybe why Brock would leave with him, although what manner of persuasion he had used, Zebulon could not fathom.

  “Show me the direction they took,” Zebulon instructed the man.

  Zebulon had been scrying for Brock since his disappearance with no success. He regretted he had not been a better student of this discipline. Had the pendant been complete he would have had greater aid.

  Although he thrust all concern away and stilled his mind, he could not find any evidence of the presence of Brock or Mustafa. He felt sure that if he had a direction to look, a beginning point, he would be more successful.

  It was the fifth day of Brock's capture and for the young elf, fear had given over to despair. Orville and his companions were becoming increasingly agitated because there was not enough excitement for them in the mountain hut. They began to punch Brock around for amusement even though he was already black and blue from multiple bruises. Orville had encouraged this activity because the others were threatening to leave, and he didn't want to be left to guard the elf on his own. The punishment they gave Brock helped to pass the time and became more agreeable for them.

  While Brock doubted that Zebulon would come for him, Orville began to worry that the wizard’s spell around the hut would not be strong enough to keep Zebulon away until Mustafa came. Orville did not want to be left to face Zebulon alone.

  Darkness had fallen and while Brock lay in fitful sleep in the corner which had been his home for five days, Orville and one of the young men were drinking and playing cards while the other slept, There was a noise outside that alerted all in the room. The door flew open and a wizard burst through the door. He was terrifying to behold. He was big, at least as big as Zebulon. His eyes were ablaze, his face twisted into a baleful expression. Orville half rose from the table with a stupefied expression. The other young man cowered in his chair. Brock trembled where he lay.

  “Mustafa, I'm so glad you are here. We have the elf but the wizard hasn't come,” said Orville in a weak voice.

  “It is well Zebulon hasn't come because none of you would be a match for him,” he said in a harsh voice. “What do you mean by bringing the elf here. That was not the arrangement!”

  “But you said...” began Orville.

  “Don't tell me what I said. Go! Get out of here,” he thundered. “You are a stupid incompetent fellow. Take the others with you. And you little elf, move out of here before I change my mind.”

  Brock was terrified but he did not wait for a second telling. Amid the yelps from the others as the enraged wizard hit them with bolts of energy, Brock put his head down and ran passed the terrifying wizard. Out in the open he ran with no thought as to where he was going, or where he wanted to go. He didn't care. He ran blindly on, half expecting the wizard to suddenly strike him down.

  Suddenly the ground beneath him began to spin, or so he thought. He rose up into the air and was carried off above the trees by a swift wind.

  Brock landed on the ground in a heap in a clearing. Looking up, he saw Zebulon standing a short distance from him. He got unsteadily to his feet, his head still spinning from the flight through the air. With one charge he ran headlong into Zebulon, almost winding the wizard as head and chest impacted.

  "Why did you leave me? You didn't care! You were supposed to rescue me!" he screamed in rage, while plummeting his fists into Zebulon's chest.

  It was like hitting into a wall, but the hurt his fist sustained was not nearly as painful as the hurt in his soul. All the while he shouted and raged, pouring out all his fears, doubts and injustices of the past, Zebulon stood firm, neither speaking or fending off the attack. All he did was support Brock because he would have fallen at his feet otherwise.

  At this time Brock had no fear, nor did he even consider the consequences of his actions. When his anger was spent, he backed away, his eyes glimmered with tears of anger. He looked a wild animal with his unnatural bright eyes, his hair standing up on end, and his face covered in cuts and bruises. Each cheek burned with a bright red spot and his lips trembled from spent rage. As his senses began to return to normal, he didn't know what to do. He wanted to run but his legs were weak and he knew that there was nowhere he could hide from the wrath of the wizard. He shut his eyes, waiting for the end to come. A firm hand was placed on his shoulder, and although he felt resigned to his fate, he quivered beneath it.

  Zebulon looked down at the troubled young elf and felt sadness for the ordeal Brock had been subject to. "Come," he said, "we shall attend to your injuries and then we will talk."

  Despite his weakness and unsteadiness, Brock proudly rejected the offer of support from Zebulon as he began walking in the direction he was facing.

  “Wait.” said Zebulon, “the village is this way.”

  “I can't go back there, I lied to Uri and his family after they took me in and looked after me.”

  “They will forgive. They have spent five days looking for you, in fact most of the village has. They will want to know you are alright.”

  "I'll go anywhere but back to the village," Brock said stubbornly.

  "Then where would you go?"

  "I don't know," said the young elf, his voice accented with hopelessness.

  "And what of Mustafa, would you like to return to him?"

  Zebulon's last remark, hit its mark and Brock was willing to listen to the voice of reason. He indicated his readiness to accompany Zebulon down to the village. He reluctantly followed a distance behind the wizard until the thought of the other wizard and his vulnerability to attack from behind, caused him to hurry and close the gap.

  By the time they reached the sleepy village there were few people around. Uri, anxious for the welfare of Zebulon was pacing around outside his inn. On seeing Zebulon and Brock approach, a smile broke out on his face and he hastened to them. Zebulon patted him on the shoulder and after a few soft hurried words, Uri stood back to allow them to enter the inn. Brock
kept his head hung low. Fortunately they met no others on their way to their room.

  Once in the room, Brock allowed Zebulon to tend his many injuries and even meekly accepted some herbal tea. Zebulon's mind was racing with many questions but observing that Brock was in no state to be questioned, he wisely held his peace.

  Brock too had unanswered questions and although he was fatigued physically and mentally, he knew he would not rest until he could reach some understanding. Most of the past weeks seemed as though he had been in a dream state, where he had become fixated on a single object. As he considered Zebulon, and the gentleness with which he had cared for his cuts and bruises, he could not bring himself to feel the distrust and even the hatred he had harboured over that period. But then he remembered that Zebulon hadn't come to rescue him, even though he must have been in the mountain. He was confused. That thought ate into Brock's mind like a disease.

  "Sleep now and we will talk in the morning," Zebulon said as he held a blanket ready to cover the elf.

  Brock remained seated on the bed, "Not yet, I must know why you didn't come to rescue me! Was it because you feared Mustafa? He is a very powerful wizard...More powerful than you I think."

  Despite the seriousness of the topic, Zebulon's mouth turned slightly up at the corners. He gave a sign and sank on the bed beside Brock. "I have many questions for you also, but if this will help you sleep now, I will answer this one question."

  For the first time in weeks blue eyes met grey eyes and Brock, as he saw the concern and kindness in those grey eyes, knew in his heart that he should never have doubted him.

  "I did come to rescue you," began Zebulon.

  "Is that why Mustafa let me go?"

  "Hush and listen. In the magic world, things are not always as they seem. Certainly, the thought of Mustafa being behind your abduction was in my mind. Attempting to piece together some of the recent events, led me to believe two things. First that he had been able to influence you, and second he wanted to have the advantage over me. Mustafa is a powerful wizard. He is also a bad one, but that is not why I didn't come immediately. I could not find you, though I searched all over. It was not until one reluctant witness to your morning ride with Orville, was able to give me a lead to the direction you had gone, was I able to find your position. I had to be careful because it was important to know if Mustafa was with you. Ascertaining he was not, I was able to free you."

  "But you didn't!"

  "Yes I did. For the benefit of those who abducted you, I appeared in the form of Mustafa. I wanted to frighten them so much that when Mustafa arrived he would find his little minions had fled."

  When Brock finally managed to shut his gaping mouth, he said. "It was you who shocked Orville and his friends and sent them running for their lives!" Brock still had so many things he wanted to have clarified but his eyes were growing heavy and his mind becoming dim. Until morning he would be content to know that some punishment had been levelled at Orville and his companions and that he now could believe himself to be safe once more. There was a smile on his face as he drifted to sleep, visualising both witnessed and imagined images of his three captives fleeing for their lives.