Gryphon (Rise of the Mages Book 2)

by Brian W. Foster

  “Pa said there were bandits about. Maybe them? Though none of us even have anything bigger than a hunting knife.” Marco looked from side to side as if making sure that there was no one else nearby, and when he spoke again, his voice was little more than a whisper. “But I heard one of them say something to Pa about magic.” He made the sign of the Holy One.

  Yep. Definitely looking for Xan. A hayfield out in the open wasn’t safe. Not safe at all. He had to find a way to hide.

  Marco frowned. “Billy said that his pa said that Master Hunt said a woman down at the tavern said that the duke used magic to win the fight with those red soldier guys.” He sounded a third scandalized, a third terrified, and a third excited. “Do you think that’s true? The duke wouldn’t a done that, would he?”

  “I’m sure the duke wouldn’t do anything he didn’t consider to be both correct and necessary,” Xan said. “How long ago was the battle, anyway? My days seem to run together.”

  “Let’s see …” Marco counted slowly on his fingers. “Yeah. Four.”

  No wonder Xan was so hungry and thirsty.

  Marco looked at the horizon, where the sun sat low. “Pa’ll whup me something fierce if’n I don’t get back before dark.”

  “Thank you again so much,” Xan said.

  Marco blushed. “It was just a couple of bites was all … bye.” With that, he was off, sprinting toward the northeast.

  Xan was left alone. Again.

  He needed food. More, he needed a plan. A way to survive and to hide. Soldiers from both sides of the conflict would kill him as soon as look at him. Not to mention bandits, apparently.

  His only slight advantage was that no one knew where he was, might not even know he was alive. But that benefit also left him defenseless. Using magic on anyone or anything other than himself would be like lighting a signal fire. He had to avoid that at all costs.

  Hide. Blend in. And alone, he’d only stand out more. He needed to find a group who’d take him in.

  Xan tried to move, but he still hurt too much. Well, he had a few swallows of water left and a couple bites of bread. Well, nibbles, anyway. He’d heal himself a little more and sleep. Maybe things would be better in the morning.

  3.

  Xan woke feeling worse than the previous morning.

  His muscles were stiff. Every movement brought fresh pain. And his stomach rumbled.

  The magic came easier, though. Much easier. He opened himself to it and let the healing power do its thing. After a swig of muddy water, he bit off half the bread he had left and enhanced it magically.

  His stomach growled, but at least he knew he wouldn’t die of starvation.

  Over the next couple of hours, he managed to pump a lot of lifeforce into his body. He flexed his shoulder. It moved. Not pain free, of course, but better. Much better.

  Same with his leg.

  Tenderly and carefully, he rose to his feet. Shaky. Achy. But not too bad. He wouldn’t be running any races, but he could, maybe, walk for a while.

  The big obvious question was—where?

  One option was the farmhouse, but if things were as dire as Marco made out, no easy sources of food remained. And even if he found some, he’d still lack protection.

  No. He needed to find others. Quickly. Given his relative lack of mobility, he couldn’t afford to spend hours searching, either, and he knew which direction Marco had gone. Considering it hadn’t taken him long to return with food, his camp was probably nearby.

  Xan nodded. Definitely his best bet.

  First order of business, though, was to get rid of the arrow. Besides draining life at an alarming rate, a shaft sticking from one’s shoulder wasn’t exactly the inconspicuous look Xan was going for.

  Grasping the shaft with both hands, he pulled. And nearly passed out from the pain.

  The arrow didn’t move.

  Magic to the rescue again. A burst of kinetics would do the trick, but the pain would be … bad. Enormously bad. He didn’t even want to consider how bad it would be.

  Xan gritted his teeth and poured as much life magic as he could into himself, the only balm he could think of against the coming agony. He tensed, so, so not wanting to do it.

  But he had to. And so he did.

  The arrow shot from his shoulder, tearing flesh and muscle. Blood poured. Torment filled his entire being. He gasped, unable to draw air.

  The magic slipped from his clutches. He collapsed back onto the haystack.

  More blood flowed as he struggled to regain his breath. Too much blood. He must have cut an artery when he forced the arrow free.

  Healing. Magic. That was his only hope. If he didn’t get the bleeding stopped, he’d die.

  Xan reached for the source while trying to focus his mind on filling his body with life, but the pain was too great, as was his need for air. He gasped again.

  His lungs were tight. Paralyzed. Like they’d forgotten how to function. If he could just get them moving. He sniffed, again and again, taking in minute amounts of air each time.

  Enough to fill his chest.

  He forced breath from his nostrils, slowly draining it from his body. And inhaled. Easier. Exhaled. Better.

  In and out.

  Good.

  But his hurt still overwhelmed his thoughts, and blood slicked his shirt. It dripped onto the hay beside him, life leaving his body much faster than it flowed in.

  His mind faded. He had to access the magic, the only way to stop the agony and to save his life. One more chance.

  Concentrate. Split his thoughts. Find the opening to the source and focus on his need at the same time.

  He’d done it a hundred time but never so desperately.

  So hard to think.

  There. Finally. The tunnel leading to the magic opened. A torrent of sweet, sweet life flooded him.

  The wound closed before his eyes, and the pain diminished with each instant.

  Xan kept the flow going until spots formed before his eyes. There. That was enough. He’d live. No need to risk overextending again.

  He shut his eyes.

  * * *

  Xan hiked to the top of a small rise, puffing from exertion.

  Though a brief nap had helped, he was still worn out from the ordeal with the arrow. Plus, his body hadn’t exercised in days, and the injuries from the fall had taken a lot out of him. He dearly hoped he could find Marco easily since there was no way he could traipse through the countryside looking for long.

  Wait. He smelled something. Wood smoke, meaning a campfire.

  His hopes raised. Probably Marco and his family.

  Or you know, other refugees. Bandits. Soldiers. Who knew how many groups were around.

  Xan frowned. Too dangerous to announce his presence without verifying that it was safe. There had to be a way to find out for sure. Maybe sneak up on them and take a peek.

  He rolled his eyes. Yeah, like him trying to creep through the woods was a good idea. Brant would have laughed hysterically at the very thought.

  Instead, Xan, listening intently, slowly walked down a path that led in the correct direction, but he heard nothing. Most likely not close enough, but there had to be a way of figuring out who those people were. It wasn’t like he was a wizard, the most powerful being in the three kingdoms or anything.

  Wait—wizard, sound, energy.

  Duh. He wanted to slap himself upside the head. One of his ten powers was sound. Presumably, all he had to do was amplify the waves reaching his ears and …

  Pop! Crack!

  Dozens of noises erupted into a cacophony, forcing him to shut off the magic before he exploded his eardrums.

  Okay. A little amplification went a long way. He had to be more careful.

  Tentative experiments revealed he could, by concentrating, turn off noises that didn’t interest him. He rotated slowly, enhancing and listening. One by one, he filtered out wind, rustling tree branches, a crackling fire, horses neighing, and a seemingly endless array of other sounds. />
  From the north, he heard a voice babbling a singsong. A little girl from the pitch, older than a baby but not by much. Happy.

  Soldiers or bandits weren’t likely to have happy little girls in their camp.

  More voices discussed the weather, lunch plans, other mundane details of life. Xan filtered through them quickly.

  “Do I have to take Dea with me, Pa?”

  Marco. Finally.

  Xan scanned the camp with his magic and found about thirty people grouped around a half-dozen fires. One person was in trouble, with more life flowing out than in.

  He nodded. Perfect.

  With confidence in his step, he continued boldly down the path, scanning the area. A lifeform lay ahead to the right, crouched behind a bush. A sentry.

  “Excuse me, sir?” Xan said.

  The man straightened and leapt into the middle of the trail with a pitchfork held at the ready. “How did you … Never mind that now. Who are you?”

  “Basil.”

  “What are you doing here? Why are you sneaking around?”

  Xan was well aware of what he looked like. Disheveled. His clothes coated in blood. He hadn’t bathed in a week. “Well, my good sir, I can’t rightly call strolling down this trail ‘sneaking,’ and I’m here to see a young man I met yesterday. Marco?”

  The sentry jabbed his pitchfork menacingly in Xan’s direction. “Don’t give me no lip!”

  “No, sir. I wouldn’t dream of it, sir.”

  “What business do you have with the boy?”

  “I thought to meet his family, sir. Maybe to inquire as to if they might have some small need of my services,” Xan said.

  “How so?”

  “I’m an apothecary, sir. Perhaps someone in your group might have need of me?”

  The sentry stared at him. “You’re young.”

  “Be that as it may,” Xan said, “I’m telling the truth.”

  “You got any weapons on you?”

  “No, sir.”

  “None?” The sentry scowled. “Dangerous to be about with not so much as a knife.”

  “In truth, sir, I’ve got nothing. Bandits, sir. I’m lucky to be alive.”

  The sentry’s expression lightened. “I reckon you look harmless enough, and easy to see if you are what you say.” He paused. “The Stouts are down that away, second campfire on your right.”

  Xan allowed himself a brief grin as he left. So far, so good. Though he wasn’t out of the woods yet. He still had to get himself accepted into the group.

  Only a solitary older woman was at the first campsite. Xan nodded at her as he passed, plastering what he hoped was a warm smile on his face. The look she returned fell short of friendly.

  He really wished he’d had fresh clothes to change into.

  Two people were at the second fire. A woman stirred a kettle, and whatever was inside smelled insanely wonderful. He stared at the food. His stomach growled. Loudly.

  A man tending a torn piece of canvas turned to him.

  “Sir. Ma’am,” Xan said. “I’m told you’re the Stouts? I think I met your son yesterday.”

  “Ahh,” the man said. “I reckon you’re the stranger he recollected. Surprised you’re on your feet from the tale he told.”

  Xan shrugged. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”

  The man stared pointedly at Xan’s stained and torn shirt.

  “You have a good boy, there. He did me a great kindness. I just wanted to express how deeply appreciative I am.” Xan paused. “I’m Basil, by the way.”

  The man introduced himself as Hosea and the woman as his wife, Ada. “Lunch’ll be ready in an hour. You’re welcome to join us.”

  Ada shot him an annoyed look, and Hosea shrugged. For country folks, offering hospitality was the right thing to do, even considering their resources had to be extremely limited.

  “That’s an exceedingly generous offer, but I couldn’t possibly accept. Marco has already done more for me than I can repay.” Xan paused. “Perhaps, though, I might trade for a meal?”

  Hosea eyed him up and down. Xan carried nothing with him, not so much as a satchel. He had no money. His torn and dirty clothes were obviously his only possessions.

  “What did you have in mind?” Hosea said.

  Xan explained once again about his being an apothecary. Hosea, though unfailingly polite, showed his skepticism.

  “I understand, sir, that I appear young for the position,” Xan said. “Perhaps, if anyone needs medical services, I might render what aid I can? If those services are deemed valuable, I’ll accept payment.”

  “I reckon that’s fair.” Hosea pointed deeper into the camp. “Buck Kinney’s girl is doing right poorly. Got a nasty cut the other day and now’s burning up.”

  “Colleen is worried sick about her,” Ada said. “Poultices ain’t doing nothing.”

  “ ’Twould be better to start with Bar Hunt’s boy, I reckon,” Hosea said. “He was burned using the portable forge.”

  “The girl sounds like the more serious case,” Xan said, leaving unspoken the obvious question of why not go to her first.

  Hosea grimaced. “The blacksmith ain’t quite as … ornery.”

  “Understood,” Xan said. “Lead the way.”

  While Ada stayed with the meal, Hosea escorted Xan to Bar Hunt’s fire.

  “Just a minor burn that will heal fine on its own,” Xan said after a quick examination. “You’re obviously used to dealing with such minor injuries.”

  “Well,” Master Hunt said, “I thank you for looking at him all the same. Could I give you something for your troubles? Maybe a couple pieces of fruit?”

  Xan frowned. “I wouldn’t feel right accepting payment for doing nothing.”

  They went back and forth a few times with Master Hunt offering token resistance and Xan becoming more insistent. Food was simply too valuable to take in return for such a small service. They settled on a small knife, a tool that would be useful were Xan to start practicing medicine again and that the blacksmith could easily reproduce.

  While walking away from the fire, Xan said, “That one didn’t give me much of a chance to prove myself. Sorry.”

  Hosea shrugged. “I reckon a charlatan might’ve given the boy snake oil and taken credit.”

  “But a charlatan might also be smart enough to know the blacksmith would see right through that and thus do nothing rather than chance being proven a fraud.”

  “A good thought,” Hosea said, “but would a charlatan admit as much?”

  “If the charlatan thought such an admission would make him more believable? Yes.”

  They were both grinning by the time they reached the next fire, where Hosea introduced Xan to Buck and Colleen Kinney.

  “You don’t look like no apothecary.” Buck thrust his chest out aggressively.

  “So I’ve been told,” Xan said. “Nonetheless …”

  Hosea stepped between them. “Has Frae gotten any better?”

  Buck glared.

  “Mightn’t do no harm to have the boy look at her,” Hosea said.

  “Buck, please?” Colleen looked haggard. “She switched between shivering and sweating something awful all night. I can’t even get her to eat nothing, not even broth.”

  Loss of appetite. High fever that lasted for multiple days. Not good signs.

  “Please, sir,” Xan said. “I am what I say. I can help.”

  Buck turned to Hosea. “You’re thinking I can trust this … this … boy?”

  “Seems to me your girl needs something we can’t give.” As he spoke, Hosea pulled a pouch from his pocket and stuffed tobacco from it into a pipe. “Seems to me this young man showed up at just the right time.” He lit the pipe and puffed. “Seems to me that it’s not wise to question the Holy One’s ways.”

  Buck frowned. “If’n the Holy One sent him, I’d be a fool to turn him away, but how do I know?”

  “With respect, sir,” Xan said, “you don’t, but what harm can it do?”


  Buck reluctantly led them to the far side of the camp, well away from the fire. A girl, maybe fifteen or sixteen, tall from the length of her, with long brown hair and fair complexioned, slept on a pallet. Her height, hair, and pallor reminded Xan of Lainey, and he couldn’t help but think how he’d feel if he were helpless as he watched his sister slip away into sickness.

  He put a hand to Frae’s forehead. She was burning up. Way too hot. Dangerously hot.

  “Get these blankets off her!” Xan said.

  “But—”

  Xan whipped the covers off, revealing the girl to be in her shift. The sweat-drenched, thin garment clung to her body.

  Master Rae always dealt with anything involving partially dressed women, and even he preserved modesty by having the girl’s mother do as much of the examination as possible.

  Xan’s ears burned, but he couldn’t look away. He simply didn’t have time for such considerations. Her temperature had to be reduced before permanent damage was done, if it weren’t already too late.

  The best treatment would be to immerse her in cold water, but Buck would lose his mind at the mere suggestion of such an extreme measure. No. Best to hope the chill of the morning, combined with her sweat, would bring her fever down.

  He frowned. The air was cool but not enough to act as fast as needed. Maybe just a bit of magic. Small enough usage wouldn’t be detectable.

  Quickly, he drew energy from the air around her, resulting in a chilling breeze and channeled a brief flow of life magic into her.

  “What are you doing, boy?” Buck yelled.

  Xan didn’t bother to turn around. The source of the life drain was clearly her shoulder. He was going to have to get a better look at it. “What, exactly, happened to her?”

  “Boy! Answer me!”

  “Calm yourself, Buck,” Colleen said. “She’s looking better already.”

  “But—”

  “But nothing,” Colleen said to him before turning to Xan. “Frae told us she slipped from an apple tree. Said she wasn’t high up and the fall didn’t hurt her none. A branch caught her back, tore her dress all up. Nasty cut but just a cut. I mean, how could it cause …”

  Xan nodded. Obviously, the cut was infected, but what could cause such high fever? He needed more information to determine the correct treatment.