Magician's Heir

by D Bruce Cotton

  Henslow scrambled back down to find Stevin and Danyll had arrived. He sketched out his plan and the scouts all nodded in agreement. Stevin would remain behind to watch the horses while Henslow, Loren and Danyll attempted the narrow path. Once the assault began, Stevin would ride down the pass to take the creatures from behind.

  They left without delay, scrambling over rocks and patches of ice, sometimes having to jump over wide clefts with drops disappearing into inky blackness. The labor squeezed sweat from their pores, which then froze in icy runnels from the cold wind.

  Henslow took care to keep his group out of sight, but as they got closer, he sent Loren to check on the progress of the marauders. Their luck remained favorable. The creatures thought themselves secure under their master’s protection.

  The chase left them winded and trembling, but the Captain and his two scouts arrived at the far end of the pass with a few minutes to spare. Henslow separated his troops to present smaller targets but kept everyone within earshot. Stringing their bows, they settled in to wait. The plan called to feather the Dread with arrows, taking it out of the fight early. With the monster dead, eliminating the Unsouled should prove an easier task.

  Moments later, the crunch of snow trod underfoot echoed up from below. Henslow risked a quick peek and saw the creatures coming closer, the Dread in the lead. Face down, the mage lay across the horse’s back, so identification remained impossible. “Draw,” called Henslow, his voice a bare whisper. The low creak of strained wood on both sides let him know they’d heard his order.

  To lessen the chance of motion giving them away, all three eased to their feet. Arms quivering with the strain, they drew the fletching back to their ears. “Hold... hold...” whispered Henslow, “...loose!”

  Three bowstrings released with a loud twang, followed by a meaty thunk as all three arrows sank deep in their target’s chest. The Dread staggered, then gave a sibilant roar as it spun, searching for its tormentors. The archers drew and loosed again before the Dread realized the bowmen shot from above.

  Six shafts weakened the beast. But still it conjured a sphere of absolute darkness to cast at the rocks above.

  “Down!” shouted Henslow as he dove for cover.

  Danyll also ducked, but Loren still stood as she released her third arrow at the Dread. The sphere impacted the rocks just below the scout, erupting with a tremendous concussion. Loren screamed in agony.

  “Loren!” shouted Henslow. He scrambled over the rocks, heedless of his own danger, desperate to reach the young woman. When he reached her, Henslow froze in shock.

  Splinters of rock from the blast had crushed both of Loren’s legs. But her face and upper torso bore the brunt of the damage. The shattered sphere splattered her with black acid. She’d lost an arm from the elbow down and scorched bone peeked from the charred remains of her chest. When he saw her face, Henslow felt his gorge rise. Jaw shattered, the remaining skin still bubbled as the caustic liquid consumed it. It ate away both her nose and eyelids as well as much of her hair. But somehow, she still lived, her moans heart-wrenching.

  Henslow turned to look at the battle. The Dread lay in a crumpled heap, Loren’s final arrow sunk near to the fletching in its monstrous black head. He could hear the continued thwip of the arrows loosed by Danyll, dispatching the few Unsouled one-by-one as Stevin rode up with the horses in tow.

  “Stevin!” he shouted. “Get the mage! Hurry! Loren is hurt!

  Nodding his understanding, Stevin moved to the mage’s horse and cut the bindings. Henslow didn’t wait. He turned and sat next to his injured scout, cradling the remains of her head in his lap.

  “Hang on, Loren,” he whispered. Tears trickled down his face and into his beard. “Stevin is bringing the mage. You will survive this. Just hang on for a few more minutes.”

  Moments later, Henslow heard Stevin helping the mage up the rocky escarpment. The man cursed and argued with the scout but fell silent once they reached Henslow and Loren. Henslow recognized the mage.

  “Master Rosner,” pleaded Henslow “Heal her, I beg you.”

  The mage looked down at him with sympathy in his eyes. “Captain, I... I am so sorry. I cannot. I do not have my staff.”

  Henslow broke down, tears streaming from his eyes. A few moments later, Loren died.

  HENSLOW REFUSED TO bury his comrade this close to Mount Dismay. They wrapped Loren in a blanket and bound her to her horse. He could at least see her returned home to family for burial. The Dread and Unsouled, they left for the vultures, though he doubted if even they would touch such tainted flesh.

  Henslow mounted his horse. “Come,” he muttered, his voice rough and void of emotion. “We must return. Adam and the others will need us.”

  They turned and headed south, back through the canyon. The horses plodded along single file through the darkened crevice, but they soon emerged back into the clear light of late afternoon. Free of the constricted passage, the group gathered closer together... and into a trap.

  The sunlight above them dimmed. They looked up to see a wide net of black power dropping on them from above.

  “Flee!” shouted Henslow. He spurred Raven forward, trying to escape the web of darkness. But too late. The ebony strands enveloped all four horses. Henslow tensed, expecting the net to burn them all, but he felt no pain. Once in place, the net constricted, pulling tighter until it crushed the group against one another. None of them could move. They could hardly breathe.

  A black figure descended from the cliff top and approached the captives. Rosner moaned, “No, not again. Please...”

  The figure moved around the snare until it reached Henslow. It bent down until its face closed to within inches of his own. The Dread’s thick, black lips peeled back from razor-sharp fangs in a terrible semblance of a smile. It whispered in its strange, sibilant tone, “You prisssonersss. Massster pleasssed.”

  Chapter 20, Pursuit

  Adam held tight to the small silver pendant wrapped around one hand. With the other hand, he gripped Belle’s reins as he and Henslow’s men galloped southeast in search of the missing mages. In his mind, he associated the necklace with Alecia. As long as he kept it secure, she, too, would remain safe.

  Bone-weary, Adam had spent days on the road with little sleep, and now this push to catch up to the Dark Mage’s forces left both men and mounts drained and exhausted. So when Marshel, leader of Henslow’s scouts, pulled his horse alongside Belle, Adam knew what he would say.

  Marshel had to shout over the pounding hooves. “Master Gray! We must stop! The horses will go lame if we continue this pace!”

  As much as Adam wanted to ignore him, he knew Marshel made sense. With a sigh, he nodded and pulled back on the reins, slowing Belle to a walk before coming to a stop. He handed Belle over to another of the men and pulled Marshel to the side.

  “Are we getting any closer?” he asked.

  Marshel thought for a moment before replying, “Aye. And we have been able to glean more information during the pursuit. Spread out, the enemy makes it easier to tell their numbers. I estimate three score Unsouled led by one or more Dread.”

  Adam shivered. “Are you sure about the Dread?”

  Marshel nodded. “They leave no tracks or signs, but for so many Unsouled to remain organized, something must control them. And that means we face at least one Dread.” He hesitated a moment before continuing, “There is something else, Master Gray.”

  “Go on.”

  “If we continue our current course, we will reach the town of Norwich in another day.”

  “But isn’t that good?” Adam replied. “It makes sense they’d try to reach help. They need food, shelter...”

  “Aye,” interrupted the scout. “But the Unsouled follow them there. Norwich is small and ill-defended. I fear they will be helpless against so many of the enemy.”

  “All the more reason to press on then,” said Adam. “I think we should leave as soon as we’ve fed and watered the horses. We can go at a slower pace, walk i
f need be. But we have to keep moving.”

  Marshel opened his mouth to protest. Then he nodded and turned away. Left alone, Adam brooded.

  I’ll find you, Alecia, he promised. And when I do, somehow, I’ll make them pay!

  THE COMPANY SLOWED its pace, but continued on through the afternoon and well into the night. They’d just dismounted to lead their horses for a while when Adam spoke up.

  “I think I smell smoke,” he said.

  Marshel sniffed the air and gave Adam a grim look before muttering, “Norwich.”

  The other men murmured aloud, some loosening the swords in their scabbards. But with nothing left to do, they continued on.

  The smell of smoke grew ever stronger, and the men noticed a faint glow on the horizon. Adam threw Marshel a questioning glance. The scout just nodded.

  An hour later, they reached the outskirts of the small village nestled along the Eastern Road at the edge of the Great Forest. But by then, the fate of Norwich became a certainty. Black smoke rose from still burning buildings. Bodies, both human and Unsouled, lay in crumpled heaps in the dirt. Ripped apart, many of the villagers also appeared partially consumed. The small village stank of death; the reek of spilled blood and ruptured bowels. Adam had to breathe through his mouth to keep from gagging.

  Marshel had his men spread out to look for survivors and to search for any clue leading to the mages. Adam wandered alone. He walked Belle down the village’s main street, stepping with care over the dead and coughing whenever a stray breeze drifted smoke his way. At the center of town grew a towering oak tree, its bare limbs untouched by fire. The sun rose at last and Adam tried to push his tired legs faster. He had no wish to see the death and destruction by the light of day.

  Upon reaching the tree, he paused. Some stray thought nagged him, but his fatigued mind remained unfocused. Then he glanced up. A bearded figure hung from the tree, his outline faint against the glow of approaching daylight. Adam gasped as he realized at last what bothered him. The bearded man from his visions dangled before him. Yet another one had come true.

  Tying Belle to a low-hanging branch, he climbed. Though a stranger to him, Adam refused to leave the man hanging there. Tied to a lower branch, the thick rope’s knot had tightened so much from the man’s weight, Adam couldn’t free it. He slid a small dirk from the sheath at his waist and used it to make short work of the heavy rope. Holding tight with one hand, he cut the last strand and lowered the man to the ground.

  Once he’d climbed back down, Adam knelt to examine the body. Middle-aged, the man had a thick, black beard and receding hairline. He flinched at the distorted face; the eyes wide and bulging with skin bloated and discolored from the rope’s constriction. The clothing he wore appeared well-made but torn and stained.

  “Mayor Harden,” whispered a female voice.

  Adam spun to find Marshel holding the arm of a young woman. She wore a filthy white shift reaching just above dirty bare feet. Tangled and matted brown hair framed a face smeared and streaked with soot. “Who are...” he started.

  “Her name is Melyssa,” replied Marshel. “We found her hiding in a cellar. She is the only one in Norwich left alive.”

  ADAM SAT WITH MELYSSA at a small campfire near the big oak. They’d found something for her to wear—a shirt, trousers and some boots; all men’s clothing and too large, but clean and warm at least. Marshel and a few others dragged the Unsouled into a pile for burning while the rest of his men prepared shallow graves for the villagers. They had no time to spare for a proper burial.

  Adam handed the young woman a cup of hot tea, which she accepted with a nod of gratitude. After cleaning up, Melyssa appeared even younger. He guessed her age at sixteen.

  “Melyssa,” Adam spoke, his voice soft, “I know this is difficult for you. But can you tell me what happened?”

  The girl sat with her head down, staring at the tea she held there. She remained quiet for so long, Adam feared she wouldn’t speak.

  “Early yesterday,” she said at last, her voice slow and hesitant, “two strangers, a man and woman, arrived in Norwich. Mages, or at least I assumed so at the time as they both carried staffs. They appeared worn and exhausted, the woman in particular. She seemed hardly able to remain upright in her saddle. They spoke to no one, but rode straight to Mayor Harden’s house, remaining inside for some time.

  “I found it curious,” she admitted. “We seldom have visitors here. So I loitered outside Mayor Harden’s house. When the strangers came back outside, I stood nearby.

  “‘Mayor Harden, you must listen,’ pleaded the man. ‘They cannot be more than a few hours behind us. You must gather your people and flee. Wait until the danger has passed, and it is safe to return.’

  “The mayor thought for a moment, then shook his head. ‘These are our homes, Master Aristomus,’ he said. ‘Too often have we fled danger, returning to find our dwellings destroyed and possessions scattered. No,’ he said, voice firm, ‘this time we will fight.’

  “The woman shook her head in sorrow. ‘Very well,’ she responded. ‘But we cannot remain here to aid you. We are too weak. Our deaths would serve no purpose.’

  “The mayor nodded his understanding. ‘Then allow us to offer you fresh mounts and provisions before you leave.’ He noticed me lingering nearby and called out, asking me to provide for their needs from the village stores. The two rode away soon after.”

  Adam breathed a short sigh of relief. As of yesterday, at least, Alecia and Aristomus still lived. “What happened next?”

  “The mayor gathered everyone together under the Elder Oak,” she replied, nodding toward the giant tree. “He told us a large group of Unsouled led by at least one Dread followed them. The women and children would hide in a nearby cave. The men would fight.

  “But we waited too long. The Unsouled came upon us before we could depart.”

  The young woman broke down in tears as the memories came flooding back. Adam dug in his pocket for a handkerchief. Melyssa used it to wipe her streaming eyes.

  “I carried supplies from the village storehouse when I heard the first screams. I ran to the street and saw the Unsouled as they poured into our village. The wild creatures attacked and killed anything moving. Women, children... They... they ate...” She shuddered, desperate to purge the images from her mind’s eye. “Each time the men tried to rally, to fight back, the Dread broke them with its dark power.

  “None escaped. My friends, family...” she moaned in anguish, “all slaughtered. Only the mayor remained. Beaten, bloodied, but left alive and held upright by the Unsouled. I can still hear the Dread’s claws rasping as it approached him.

  “‘Where magesss?’ it hissed.

  “The mayor drew himself up as much as he could in the creatures’ clutches and spat full in the Dread’s face. The monster’s thick black tongue flicked out between those terrible fangs and licked the spittle from its face. Then it laughed.” Melyssa trembled at the memory. “I hope never to hear such a sound again.

  “They brought a rope then, and the Dread threw it over one of the Elder Oak’s boughs. A knotted loop went over the mayor’s head and the Dread drew him up in the air. As his kicks and struggles grew weaker, the Dread studied him as though savoring every twitch of his body.

  “After he died, the Dread sent the Unsouled to hunt for survivors. I hid in the storehouse cellar, beneath a trap door. The Unsouled are ill-fashioned for such searches. I remained hidden there until your men found me.”

  Adam stayed silent for a time, the images described by Melyssa bringing back the horrific memories of Codtown. Then he asked, “When did they leave?” The company needed to know if they’d gained on the enemy. And just as important: how close were the Unsouled to Aristomus and Alecia?

  “I cannot say for sure,” she replied. “From the cellar, I could not see them. But I could no longer hear them after a few hours. I...” she looked down, as though ashamed, “I feared to leave the cellar.”

  Adam placed a gentle hand on
her shoulder. “You’re braver than you think, Melyssa. Most would have panicked and tried to run from something so terrible.” He looked up as Marshel walked toward the fire.

  “We have done all we can here,” he reported. “We must leave soon if we are to overtake them.”

  Adam stood and motioned for Marshel to come with him. Once out of earshot, he asked, “What about Melyssa? We can’t leave her here alone. And I don’t think it would be a good idea to take her with us.”

  “There is a small settlement in the northern reaches of the Great Forest, a wood mill run by a man named Bearnard,” replied Marshel. “He is a good man with a family. If I have one of my men escort her there, I believe he would take her in.”

  Adam rubbed his chin in thought. “I don’t like to thin our force further,” he said. “But I guess it’s our best option. Go ahead. Then we’d better mount up ourselves. We’ve already lost valuable time.”

  Adam turned back to explain their plans to Melyssa while Marshel arranged for her escort. Thirty minutes later, the girl had departed for Bearnard’s Mill. The rest of the company turned southeast to pick up the pursuit again.

  Chapter 21, Dark Mage

  Henslow’s feet burned and throbbed as he stumbled up the rocky slope. Behind him, Rosner, Stevin and Danyll followed, connected in a line by a leather cord fastened around each of their necks. With the cord pulled tight enough to restrict his breathing, it made speech almost impossible. Multiple falls had bruised and bloodied his face. With both arms lashed together behind his back, he couldn’t break his fall whenever he tripped.

  The Dread handed their horses, along with Loren’s body, over to the Unsouled right after their capture. Henslow gritted his teeth as he remembered the agonized cries of Raven and the other mounts. The creatures ripped them to pieces within minutes.