Awakening Camelot: A Wizard's Quest (Awakening Camelot Duology Book 1)

by Dan Wingreen

  She didn't get very far, maybe about ten steps before the outsider raised his hand and bright yellow flames shot out and struck the ground in front of her. A wall of fire blocked her path and she stopped just before she would have run into it. The man turned, and Two Rivers could see his face. He was an ugly man, with a crooked, broken nose and a cruel twist to his lips. The glow from the flames cast his face in shadows, giving him the appearance of a demon spirit; the kind his ancestors used to believe in back in ancient times.

  He said something then, his mouth curling into a smirk, but Two Rivers was too far away to hear it. Swift Cloud wasn't. She started to shake and spread her arms out to shield her children, the tears on her cheeks glistening in the firelight. Two Rivers looked around for anybody to help, but they were near the edge of the village and everyone else was further in where the sounds of fighting were the loudest.

  No one was coming.

  A pained cry cut through the air and it took Two Rivers a moment to realize it came from him. He couldn't do this. He couldn't watch Swift Cloud and her children die right in front of him, but he couldn't stop it either. They were too far away and the man's shield was still up. Even if he fired off a few bolts and distracted him, Swift Cloud was still trapped between him and a wall of fire. She wouldn't be able to escape.

  The outsider slowly raised his hand.

  A helpless rage welled up in Two Rivers' chest. Without thought, he dropped to his knees and pressed his hands to the ground. It was stupid and pointless, he'd never been good at shaping, at manipulating the ground and the sand and the rock the way a Shaman was supposed to, even with a half dozen other People to draw on. Even the Shaman had trouble doing it alone, but there was nothing else he could do except stand there and watch her die.

  So, he reached into the ground and pulled.

  At first nothing happened. He pushed his magic into the ground the way he'd been taught, but it wasn't enough, and there was nobody to draw on. He couldn't even shift the loosest sand. He gritted his teeth as tears streamed down his face and pulled and pulled but nothing was happening—

  Swift Cloud screamed.

  He couldn't save her. He looked up just in time to see her gaze shift over to him. She froze as they stared into each other's eyes. Even as far away as he was, he could see the hope spring to life on her face the moment before she realized that he was helpless to save her. That it was just Two Rivers trying to move the rocks again and failing. Just like he always did. He could see the hope die in her eyes.

  And that was when he felt it.

  It was almost like the tug he felt in his chest every time he used magic, but instead of a quick pull that stopped almost as soon as it started, this was like someone had tied his magic to the back of a carriage and then tore off at full speed. His magic poured out of him and into the earth and he could actually see the ground, not just the top layer of packed sand, but everything. The rock underneath the sand, the cracks and fissures in the rock, the small pathways deep underground where tiny streams of water still flowed like rivers; he could see all of it. More importantly, though, he could feel it.

  It started to slip away almost as soon as it started, the sight fading as his magic emptied out of him, but it was enough. He thought about the ground under the outsider, sent the invisible tendrils of his magic out and tore…

  A sharp, ripping sound split the air as a hole opened up under the outsider. He let out a surprised cry as he fell. Two Rivers lost his hold on the earth after a few seconds, but it was enough. The man fell into the hole and was buried up to his chest in rock and sand, having lost his shield at some point as he panicked during the fall, his arms trapped in the earth. Swift Cloud stared at the man in open-mouthed surprise then, turned her head back towards Two Rivers. They stared at each other in silence for what felt like an eternity to him. But then, he always felt that way when Swift Cloud was looking at him. Even asking for a sand broom was a treasured moment that always ended too soon. Slowly, as he watched, her face melted into the most beautiful smile Two Rivers had ever seen.

  There had never been a more perfect moment in his entire life.

  Except: maybe for a few seconds, later, when she scooped up her children and fled out of the village into the desert night, the man cursing after her and screaming for someone to "get me the fuck out of this hole!" Two Rivers smiled, even as he swayed and collapsed to the ground, the last of his magic draining out of him. His vision swam, darkness crept in along the edges, the sounds of fighting becoming muted and dull. He didn't care. The shame he'd felt not even a few minutes previously already seemed like a bad dream. It didn't matter what he'd done, or hadn't done, before. The only thing that mattered was that no matter what happened that night, Swift Cloud and her children would be safe.

  Thanks to him.

  As the darkness closed in and he lost consciousness, for the first time in his life, he was proud of himself.

  Chapter 3

  It was daylight when Two Rivers opened his eyes again.

  He immediately squeezed them shut, groaning at the way the sunlight made his head throb like someone was slowly pushing a tent spike into it. What in the name of the great spirits was he doing sleeping outside? Did he get drunk and pass out? He couldn't imagine why. He hated alcohol, mostly because of waking up exactly like this. His head was heavy, it felt like it was filled with down, and his entire body ached and throbbed in perfect sync with his heart, which all seemed to push the 'got drunk' theory pretty successfully. Except that didn't explain the smoke he could smell, or that he couldn't remember actually drinking anything. The last thing he remembered was…

  Swift Cloud smiling, running off into the desert…

  Everything came rushing back to him, pounding through his head like a herd of stampeding bison. The attack; he needed to find the Shaman!

  He tried to push himself to his feet, only to realize that his arms were stuck behind his back. He tugged and pulled, but there was something binding his wrists together. His ankles too.

  Something was very wrong.

  He opened his eyes again, slowly this time, letting them adjust to the light. He'd never been completely drained of his magic before, and he had the stray thought that being hungover felt exactly like having no magic, which was a great argument against drinking.

  Slowly, the harsh glare of the sun faded into something more manageable as his eyes adjusted. The first things he saw were the blackened husks of the tepees and yurts. They were all burned. Every single one he could see. His breath caught in his throat. Did that mean…

  Was everyone else dead?

  A tear slipped out of his eye and ran down his cheek before falling onto the sand. Not everybody, at least. Swift Cloud and her children were safe. They had to be, and unless he saw her body with his own eyes that's what he was going to believe.

  But what about the rest of his people? Diving Eagle and Blue Wind? Their children? Darting Wolf, the boy who had just taken his name and was so proud of it when he introduced himself to the village that no one had the heart to tell him it was a pretty common name in the northern villages?

  The Shaman?

  He looked around, but all he could see in the direction he was facing were burned dwellings and a few corpses. Some were burnt, others were just dead. He couldn't tell who any of them were, but several of them were too small to be anything other than children.

  Two Rivers blinked away more tears and tried to roll over on his side, the crushing despair of realizing his village was dead making it almost impossible to breathe. It wasn't easy, since his arms were tied behind his back and every movement made his head feel like it was going to explode, but after a few minutes of struggle he made it. His body was covered in a light sheen of sweat and he felt slightly feverish, but none of that mattered when he realized what he was looking at next to him.

  The Shaman was bound, just like Two Rivers, but he was sitting up straight with the same stoic, unreadable look he always wore. It wouldn't have been hard to
believe it had been his idea to tie himself up and sit on the sand with the way he was holding himself. Two Rivers felt hope spring to life in his chest and didn't even try to yell at himself for it. If the Shaman was alive, they—

  Except, barely alive might have been a better way to describe him.

  The Shaman was covered in blood. It was caked everywhere, dry in some places and horribly wet in others where it still seeped from cuts and gashes. His face had the worst of it though. It looked like someone had taken a rock to it. His nose was crushed almost flat against his right cheek, one eye was swollen completely shut and his lip was split so deep that teeth showed through in more than one spot. He looked… Two Rivers swallowed roughly. He looked like a walking corpse.

  Two Rivers let out a low, pained whimper before he could stop himself. Why hadn't anyone healed him? Better question, why hadn't he healed himself? Could he have used all of his magic last night, too?

  Then, to his horror and amazement, the Shaman spoke. Just two words, but Two Rivers wouldn't have thought his ravaged lips could even manage that.

  "Be…strong…"

  It sounded nothing like his usual solid, commanding voice. It was more like a gasp than anything. Except, behind it, Two Rivers could hear the same calm confidence he always had. His Shaman was still in there behind that mangled face and beaten body.

  A rustling sound came from behind the Shaman, and it was only then Two Rivers noticed there was one yurt that hadn't been burned down. It was their yurt. Whether by accident or on purpose he had no idea, but the yurt that had been his home ever since his parents had died was the only thing in the village not burnt to ashes.

  Then the flap was pushed open and the outsider who had been trying to kill Swift Cloud stepped out.

  He was even uglier in the daylight, although a lot of that had to do with the wicked smile on his lips and the blood staining his hands. With sudden horror, Two Rivers realized that it wasn't a rock that had done all that damage to the Shaman.

  The man noticed Two Rivers was awake almost as soon as he walked out of the yurt. His smile widened, and Two Rivers began to shiver. He couldn't help looking back at the Shaman and seeing the worry in his eyes. That, more than anything, terrified him.

  He wished he'd never woken up.

  "The little kitten's finally awake," the man said as he walked over to Two Rivers. His voice was deep and rough, with an accent he'd never heard before. Two Rivers tried to move away, but he was still exhausted and tied up and he barely managed to shift his weight. The man's eyes gleamed in the sunlight, like they were silently laughing at his struggles. "We were wonderin' when we were gonna get to talk to you. The old man over there, he's been kinda…" He cracked his bloody knuckles, making Two Rivers flinch. "Quiet."

  "What did you do to him?" Two Rivers yelled, his voice cracking and startling himself more than anything. He hated his mouth sometimes; it wouldn't shut up even when he knew he was only making things worse for himself. He couldn't stop though. The helpless anger was boiling up inside him and he was desperate to hang onto anything that kept the paralyzing terror from fully taking hold. "Why didn't anybody heal him? Why isn't he healing himself? Why are you even here?"

  "Guess we ain't gonna have to worry about that with you," the man said, crouching down next to him. "Too bad. I was looking forward to breakin’ you in a bit."

  Before Two Rivers could say anything else, the man's fist shot out and hit him in the face. He rolled over on his back, from surprise as much as the force of the blow. Who hit people with their hands? There was a sharp pain in his lip and then he felt warm wetness flowing down his chin as the metallic taste of blood filled his mouth. He cried out, from fear almost as much as the pain, hating the way it made the man smirk again.

  "But," the man said, leaning in close to Two Rivers and lowering his voice to a throaty whisper. This close he could see a small scar under his right eye. "Maybe I'll just break your jaw before anyone finds out you're a squealer, give me some more time with you. I owe you that for putting me in that hole—"

  "Barnes!" a voice snapped from just outside the yurt. "We were told to get prisoners, remember? Not kill them because we can't control ourselves like we're the savages."

  This voice was different than the man, Barnes'. It was arrogant and snooty and everything Two Rivers had always assumed an outsider would sound like. It also fit the man, standing behind them with his arms crossed, to a T.

  His odd, light yellow hair was perfectly combed and shone with a cleanness that was impossible in the desert without wasting time washing it every day or using magic on it. Either option would make Two Rivers, or any of the People, snort with contempt. The man had a sharp, pointed face that wasn't exactly unattractive, but the way he held himself, the disdainful set to his lips and the way his eyes seemed to dismiss everything they saw as being less important than himself, set Two Rivers' teeth on edge.

  The strange white clothes he was wearing covered his whole body except for his hands and face, and even with as little as Two Rivers knew about outsiders, he could tell it was some kind of uniform. It was also a lot cleaner than it should have been in the desert after a battle. Obviously, his clothes were as important to him as his hair, Two Rivers thought, a sneer starting to pull at his lips before he remembered where he was and what was going on. The only part of him that was less than perfect was the round gut that seemed really out of place on someone who obviously cared way too much about how he looked.

  The thing Two Rivers couldn't stop thinking about, though, was the way Barnes' smirk disappeared when the man spoke. He stood up and took a step away from Two Rivers, but not before he saw the look on Barnes' face.

  He was scared of this man. Or at least hesitant to provoke him. Two Rivers shivered.

  He didn't want anything to do with a man who could scare someone who took pleasure in murdering children and beating helpless prisoners.

  "Our esteemed hunter," the blond man said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "is finishing up with the others inside. So far none of them have said anything other than 'no, please stop' and other unintelligible, screaming nonsense, so I'd suggest not pissing him off by killing the only other lead we have, hmm?"

  He spoke calmly, but Barnes still paled. He nodded tightly and backed away from Two Rivers. A dry, scratchy sound filled the sudden silence and it took a moment to realize that it was the Shaman laughing through his ruined lips. Two Rivers frowned. The Shaman never did anything that wasn't on purpose so why would he laugh at—

  "Shut up," Barnes said. He shot off a quick, light blue bolt of magic that turned the laugh into a short, pained cry, but only for a moment. The laughter started up again almost immediately. Barnes' lip curled and took a step towards the Shaman; the blond man laid a hand on his arm. It was a light touch, but it held Barnes back as firmly as whatever Two Rivers was tied up with. It was then, with both of them focused on the Shaman and completely ignoring him, that it suddenly hit Two Rivers what the Shaman was doing.

  He was diverting their attention.

  Two Rivers felt his throat tighten.

  "Stay…doggie…" the Shaman rasped with just a hint of the tone he used when he was throwing someone's words back at them. Barnes' eyes narrowed and he looked like he wanted to go after the Shaman, but the blond man kept him back with his barely there touch.

  "You should be quiet old man," the blond man said. "Unless what you're trying to tell me is that I should let Officer Barnes burn your mouth shut until we need you to speak."

  To Two Rivers' surprise, the Shaman didn't say anything else. He did smile though, as much as he could with flaps of torn lips lying on his chin. He was obviously taking what the man said seriously and Two Rivers didn't want to think about how he knew it wasn't an idle threat. They all looked at each other, the tension rising until he could almost feel it prickling along his skin like sand kicked up by a harsh wind.

  Then, almost as if someone had been waiting for the perfect opportunity to make an entrance, th
e flap on the yurt was pushed aside again and another man stepped out. Barnes' and the blond man's entire attitudes shifted immediately. The blond man stiffened slightly, a glower of powerless rage flashing across his face before he smoothed out his expression while Barnes just looked wary. Not exactly scared, but Two Rivers got the impression he wouldn't throw even the smallest bit of magic around unless the new man said it was okay.

  As for the man himself…he didn't look like someone who should be causing those kinds of reactions. He was sort of plain in every way someone could be plain. Not exactly unattractive, but he wasn't someone that even Two Rivers, who could count the number of outsiders he'd seen in his life on one hand, would look at twice. His face was slightly tanned and there were faint lines around his mouth and eyes; with his short, fine, dark brown hair and receding hairline he could have been anywhere between thirty and fifty.

  It only took Two Rivers a few moments to realize it wasn't his looks that made the other outsiders uneasy. The man may have had the trim build of one of the People, but he was fat with magic. It crackled on the air as he moved and seemed to push at his skin from the inside, like it was constantly trying to escape from a container that could barely hold it. Two Rivers had been to all the villages around his own and had met very powerful magic users, but he'd never felt so much magic inside of one person before.

  Two Rivers hated him on sight, although there was a small part of him that had no idea why.

  "Officer Bryce, Officer Barnes," the man said, his voice flat and even, with a soft accent Two Rivers had never heard before. Did all these outsiders sound completely different? "What did I say about leaving the old man alone for now?"

  "Don't include me in this," the blond man—who had to be Bryce—drawled. "I was stopping him."

  "Hmm." The man didn't seem completely convinced, but he didn't push. Instead he turned to Two Rivers. "Awake, are we?"