Return of the Wizard King

by Chad Corrie

“Then I’ll let you go first.” Jake, the lead man, shot a mocking grin over his shoulder. “You can test the waters for the rest of us.”

  Seizing the opportunity, Alara jabbed her knee as hard as she could into Jake’s groin. He collapsed on his knees, groaning in deep-rooted agony. As he wallowed on the ground, the others yanked out their cutlasses.

  Alara drew her falchion. She was glad she’d kept it at her side instead of leaving it in her room with her bow and cloak. It was probably a good policy to adopt for the rest of the trip, given how things seemed to be going. But just because she had a weapon in hand, that didn’t mean she knew exactly what to do.

  She cursed herself at being so headstrong as to invite trouble in, but upon hearing the woman’s whimper as she struggled against her captor’s rough kisses, any regret melted away like ice in fire. Instantly she took courage in their drunken swaying and unsteady gazes. Apparently she wasn’t as outnumbered as she’d first thought. It still wasn’t going to be an easy fight, but her first priority remained clear. Smart and careful.

  Moving in one smooth, rapid motion, Alara bent and snatched a dagger sheathed at the groaning Jake’s side and lobbed it at the Celetor holding the woman. The blade sank deep into the Celetor’s left shoulder near his neck, birthing a stream of curses. As expected, he released the woman in favor of attending to the dagger.

  “Run!” The woman wasted no time in complying. Alara didn’t have time to do anything other than watch the first attacker rush her. She easily dodged his cutlass’ clumsy swings.

  “I’m going to teach you some respect!” the scrawny Telborian growled, waving his weapon wildly overhead.

  “She’s mine!” The Celetor she’d wounded yanked the other back and to the ground. The bloody dagger he’d pulled from his shoulder was in his left hand, his cutlass in his right. His eyes were full of hate.

  Alara blocked his first swing with her falchion and was barely able to duck in time to miss the following dagger jab. The Celetor was strong. Perhaps a bit too strong. Gritting her teeth and grunting as she worked her blade, she found herself unable to break his defenses. Ducking again from another powerful swipe that could have easily taken off her head, she heard a loud crack, followed by a splash of warmth across her shoulders.

  She remained crouched on the stone pavement, ready to leap out of harm’s way and make her own swing when the opportunity arose. Instead, her opponent stood stiff as a pole, his face a mask of surprise, shock, and horror. Alara noticed the sword sticking through his chest, the point exiting his heart. This same sword was quickly withdrawn, and the impaled sailor toppled like a felled tree.

  Behind him stood Dugan, bloody gladius in hand. Wasting no time, he charged into the fray, his powerful body raging against the others. A bolt of white energy followed him, slaying two more in the blink of an eye. Alara turned from Dugan and found Cadrissa. Her golden robes trailed behind her as she ran down the street, thin strands of white lightning dancing between her fingers.

  Seeing these new arrivals, the pack of sailors broke into smaller groups. Splintered, the thugs stood no chance against Dugan’s heavy fists and deadly sword thrusts, nor did they fare well against Alara’s kicks, jabs, and slashing steel. But Cadrissa was in need of aid.

  The others had massed upon her like a pack of hyenas. Seeing another woman who met their fancy—especially an unarmed one—they took to her instantly, grabbing her legs and arms in tight grips.

  “This one ain’t half bad,” one commented.

  “Quit your pushing,” a second snarled.

  “I ain’t pushing,” another grumbled.

  “Well, someone was kicking my leg!”

  As Alara tried reaching Cadrissa, a scream rose from one of the men who held her. The wounded man released Cadrissa’s wrist, hunching over and covering his bloodied knee. In doing so, he found his attacker: a one-eyed dwarf with a gleaming axe, dripping with a faint hint of red.

  “Get him!” As one, the men dropped Cadrissa like a sack of wheat.

  Vinder didn’t slow for anything. Two swift swings downed the first who drew near. One of the men tried slicing the dwarf’s face in half, but he brought up his axe, severing the other’s cutlass in the process.

  The now weaponless sailor sprinted for the docks. So intent was he on escaping he ran unaware into another blade waiting for him. Alara watched the Nordican pull his sword out of the other man’s collapsing corpse. But she didn’t have time for pondering, only focusing on clearing a path while fighting tooth and nail with the men who surrounded her.

  And yet, as focused as she was, she still kept an eye on Jake. Every time he was close to getting up, she’d reintroduce him to the cobblestone with another swift kick to the groin.

  Gracefully moving through the hole she crafted, Alara chanced a glance Gilban’s way. Amazingly, he still sat serenely upon the bench where she’d left him, showing no sign of having any idea what was happening just a stone’s throw from him. She’d never understood how his life was so favored by Saredhel. At least he was safe. That was one less thing to worry about.

  In the process of backing away from the melee, Alara bumped right into the Nordican she’d glimpsed moments before. Valiantly, he parried the impaired swings of another Telborian. Upon catching sight of her he quickly shook his head like he was waking from some daydream, then returned full force into the fight.

  Growing up, she’d been told tales of the inhabitants of the Northlands, but never had she seen one in person. It had been said they lived off snow and ice and fought for many strange causes, or even for just the simple outpouring of blood. This Nordican was just a hair or so shorter than Dugan and wore new-looking leather armor decorated with a panther motif. As to what he was doing there and why he’d helped them, she had no clue. For the moment, though, she’d welcome what help was offered.

  “Surrender or be slain.” The Nordican addressed his opponent in Telboros. The Telborian made an assessment of the situation. Most of his comrades had been killed; only three of the original band, including Jake, remained breathing. Dropping his sword, he sprinted in the direction of the main street, the second remnant of their band following on his heels. Jake finally made himself stand upright and stumbled after the others, clearly still in pain. After a long moment, Dugan, Alara, Vinder, and the Nordican lowered their weapons.

  “What was all that about?” Vinder asked with more than a little concern. It was then Alara finally realized the extent of what they’d just done. So much for smart and careful.

  “I was helping someone out,” she explained, not liking how weak the explanation sounded. Apparently neither did Vinder.

  “Not from what I saw. First Dugan and now you.” The dwarf made another sweep of the area before adding, “And if we didn’t show up when we did—”

  “But you did.” Gilban’s voice drew all eyes on his slow approach.

  “You could have helped us.” Alara attempted to scold him, doubtful it would do any good.

  “You seemed capable of handling the situation,” Gilban continued, fully joining them. “Considering you created it.”

  Alara felt the blush in her cheeks. “If someone didn’t step in, things could have gotten much worse.” She was surprised at how much bite there was in her reply. No one said anything, letting her words and reasoning hover in the air.

  “And yet you did, drawing the attention we needed in the process,” Gilban continued in the same measured tone he often used.

  “What are you—”

  “The others have returned, I take it.” He sidestepped the attempt for answers, making clear they’d all have to live with his cryptic responses for a little longer.

  “Yes.”

  “All of them?” Alara wasn’t sure what he was implying. She thought she’d seen all of them during the fight, but could have missed someone, she supposed. A quick summary of the situation confirmed Dugan, Vinder, and Cadrissa were all present and unharmed.

  “They’re all here,” she informed Gilban.<
br />
  “You sure we haven’t picked up another?” Alara and the others followed Gilban’s line of sight, taking in the sandy-haired newcomer in their midst. She’d totally forgotten about him once Jake had fled.

  “So who are you?” Dugan made his way to the Nordican’s side.

  “Rowan Cortak, Knight of Valkoria,” he responded proudly in Telboros.

  “Knight of what?” Dugan was clearly unfamiliar with the concept.

  “So why’s a knight helping us?” Vinder interjected before Dugan could get his answer.

  “It looked as if you needed it, and I’ve sworn by Panthora to aid humans where I can.”

  “Panthora,” said Dugan. “Never heard of him.”

  “I have—and he’s a she,” Alara explained. “A goddess for humans, if I’m not mistaken.”

  “Really?” A sudden sense of renewed interest flowed across Dugan’s features.

  “Yes.” Rowan was now more measured in his reply, watching Alara out of the corner of his eye. “Panthora’s a goddess of all humanity—powerful and generous to all who’d call upon her. Without her, humanity would be devoured by its enemies.”

  “Thank you for your help,” said Alara, noticing how he retreated a step as she neared. “It was much appreciated.”

  “We’d have had them in a moment or two,” Vinder said from the remains of a fallen victim he was picking over with all the delicacy of a starving vulture. He’d already amassed a good handful of coins and other odd trinkets, which he was busy stuffing into his pockets and pouches.

  “Not from what I saw,” said Rowan.

  “Then you weren’t looking close enough.” Vinder continued rummaging through the slain men.

  Rowan appeared as if he was about to say something more when Gilban moved into his line of sight. How he could do such things so perfectly always amazed her. “Well, it’s good to see you found your way to us,” he said. “I didn’t know how long we were going to have to wait.”

  “Wait for who?” asked Cadrissa. “Him?” She pointed at Rowan, raising her eyebrow in her confusion. Alara could relate.

  “Yes,” said Gilban.

  “And who are you?” Rowan’s eyes went up and down Gilban’s frame, making careful note of the seer’s pendant. Alara wasn’t sure if he was confused or just put off by it.

  “My name is Gilban. I’m a priest of Saredhel. You’ve probably never heard of her, as her influence reaches only as far as the Western Lands, with a few temples to the east and south . . . but no matter. You, Rowan, are the last person needed to complete our task.”

  “I thought I was the last one you needed?” Now it was Dugan’s turn to share his confusion with Alara.

  “So did I,” she returned, even more eager for answers.

  “I’ve had a vision in which the Republic of Colloni shall once again become a vast empire,” Gilban continued with an authoritative timbre. “They shall come to power when they take possession of some information long hidden in a forgotten city. You”—Gilban pointed directly at Rowan, a move which clearly unsettled the knight—“and the others gathered here are destined to work together to thwart the elves by getting to that information first.”

  “The vision from the boat.” Alara spoke more to herself than anyone else.

  “Yes.” Gilban nodded.

  “I was happy to help those in need.” Rowan gave a nod to Dugan and Cadrissa. “But I’m already committed to a mission of my own,” he told Gilban, attempting to make sense of his solid white eyes, clearly unsure of just what to do with or about them. “I’ve been sent to discover an ancient city jus—” He stopped, and found Alara, realization blazing across his face. “You’re on the same mission? How can that be? Are you enemies of humanity? Are you plotting with Colloni to bring about humanity’s destruction? Who are you really?”

  “Calm down.” Dugan laid a hand on Rowan’s shoulder. “I’m not helping just to save or destroy humanity, that’s for sure.”

  “What for then?” Rowan gave him a cautious look.

  “Freedom.”

  “So you’re a slave of these elves, and you have to do their bidding until they release you?” Rowan raised his sword and attempted to shield Dugan from the others. “Step behind me and I’ll—”

  “You do remember that fight we just had, right?” Vinder had returned to the gathering, his pockets and pouches wider than before the conflict. “He just proved he can take care of himself. And he’s definitely not about to be anyone’s slave.”

  “Then we’re both looking to stop the elves?” Rowan clearly was having some difficulty processing the information.

  “That’s how it would seem, yes,” said Alara.

  “But you’re both elves,” he continued, as if no one had noticed but him.

  “And then there’s the money,” added Vinder.

  “Money?” Rowan asked the dwarf.

  “We’re not knights—just looking to make a living,” he replied. “And this job should fetch a pretty coin, that’s for sure.”

  “So you’re mercenaries?”

  “Adventurers,” Cadrissa clarified. “Adventurers looking to explore some interesting places.”

  Vinder gave a small snort before rolling his eye.

  “And if you’re going the same way, Rowan,” said Alara, “you’re more than welcome to join us.”

  “I’m no mercenary or adventurer. I’m a Knight of Valkoria, and I know my duty.”

  “That may be.” Gilban tried keeping the Nordican’s attention. “But you’re destined to join us in our mission. Our goals are one and the same. If humanity is to suffer, it will do so under the lash of an Elyelmic Empire.”

  Rowan fell silent. It was the sort of thing that set Alara’s nerves on edge. None of this was planned, and all of it opened up too many possibilities she wasn’t sure she wanted to explore. Chief among them were the gathering crowds bravely inching closer for an investigation of their recent altercation.

  “Are you with us or not, lad?” Vinder’s tone was gruff and hurried. “The guards are bound to be here soon and I, for one, don’t want to spend the night in jail.”

  “We won’t be in jail tonight.” Gilban spoke with an assured confidence.

  “I don’t feel like fighting any more guards either,” the dwarf added for good measure. “That isn’t going to end well for any of us.”

  “And you won’t need to do any of that, either,” said Gilban, keeping his focus on Rowan. “Everything will be fine.” Rowan caught Gilban’s eyes watching him, locking onto the empty white orbs in thought. “Everything,” he repeated, more for Rowan’s benefit than the others.

  After a long moment, Rowan finally spoke. “Perhaps Panthora had our paths cross for a reason. And every high father has said we don’t always know all her ways or reasons.”

  “So you’re in?” Vinder sheathed his axe.

  “Yes.” Rowan gave a tentative nod. “If we’re traveling the same way and for the same reason, I suppose I could join you . . . until I hear otherwise.”

  “Good!” Gilban smiled to himself. “And now we just have one more matter to attend to.” His supposedly sightless gaze fell upon twelve Telborian guards making their way steadily for them. Their hands rested near the pommels of their short swords, chain mail shirts glittering in the moonlight.

  “Great.” Vinder scowled.

  “I’m sorry,” Alara heard herself telling Gilban.

  “It will be all right,” he reassured her. “You didn’t do anything you weren’t supposed to.” Speaking to the others, he added, “Everything will be fine. Just let me and Alara do the talking.”

  “Fine by me.” Dugan backed away as much as he could.

  “I can speak for myself, thank you.” Rowan sheathed his sword.

  “Yeah, he’s going to be fun to work with,” Vinder muttered into his beard as he busied his hands flattening the conspicuous bulges scattered about his clothing and person.

  “No more than you.” Cadrissa’s barb prodded some fre
sh ire from the dwarf, who muttered something in his native tongue before continuing his adjustments.

  “The vision you had on the boat.” Alara helped Gilban around the fallen bodies between them and the advancing guard. “Was it only about Rowan, or did you see something else?”

  “I don’t think this is the best time to discuss it.” Once away from the bodies, he made for the guards with an uncanny accuracy.

  “But you will discuss it, right? You know I don’t like always being in the dark.”

  “And who says you’re always in the dark?” She was going to press the matter but Gilban was already calmly greeting the guards. “Good evening,” he said in as congenial a voice as he could muster. It was actually quite disarming, which was probably his intention. “You’re probably wondering what happened here, and I’ll be more than happy to explain.”

  Chapter 18

  Mercenaries are often little better than

  half-wild dogs. You have to continually remind

  them who is in command and toss out a few sacks

  of coin to go chasing after lest they grow restless

  and nip at your heels. Still, I would take them any day

  over politicians, who are little better than cats.

  —Chesterton Perkins, gnomish general

  (300 PV–407 PV)

  “And I think it would be faster if we traveled around the Marshes of Gondad.” Rowan drained his goblet of its weak ale. “We could circle around and cut our time in half, and get to Taka Lu Lama that much sooner.”

  “I’m with Alara and Gilban,” Vinder countered. The group was sitting around a circular table situated in an empty corner of the Mangy Griffin. “And they say we go through the marshes.”

  Rowan’s concerned features were illuminated by the warm lanterns hanging from the nearby posts. “But we’d lose two, maybe three days if we—”

  “I can’t believe we’re still having this discussion.” Cadrissa’s frustration was evident. She’d disappeared for a while after the guards’ departure, returning some time later clutching the small chest she’d left on the sloop. Alara marveled at her bravery in heading out alone into the night after their recent skirmish, but Gilban assured her everything would be fine.