The Road To Avea

by Lynn Lorenz

  THE AVALON PATROL:

  THE ROAD TO AVEA

  by

  LYNN LORENZ

  Amber Quill Press, LLC

  http://www.amberquill.com

  The Avalon Patrol: The Road To Avea

  An Amber Quill Press Book

  This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author's imagination, or have been used fictitiously.

  Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.

  Amber Quill Press, LLC

  http://www.AmberQuill.com

  http://www.AmberHeat.com

  http://www.AmberAllure.com

  All rights reserved.

  No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review.

  Copyright © 2009 by Lynn Lorenz

  ISBN 978-1-60272-540-9

  Cover Art © 2009 Trace Edward Zaber

  Layout and Formatting

  Provided by: Elemental Alchemy

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedication

  To my husband.

  Your inspiration, support, and goading have brought

  me to this new place. Your confidence in my abilities

  never wavers and constantly amazes me.

  Chapter 1

  The big bay careened down the road, its hooves pounding the soft dirt and sending clods flying. Crouched over his mount's sweating neck, Inspector Stefan Bane dug his heels into the barrel sides of the horse, let the reins out through his gloved hands, and gave the horse its head.

  He was the bait, riding for his life, as he led Lord Blackmoor's bravos on a wild chase down the Avea Road. Almost to the bridge over the stream at the village of Chester, it was time to signal Rolf and his men. Reaching into his pocket, he retrieved the communications mirror.

  He pressed the release, flipped open the black case with one hand, and brought it to his face. "Bane to Creel. They're right behind me! Meet me with your men on the bridge." Rolf's face failed to appear in the mirror. Stefan snapped it shut and flipped it open again. "Rolf, damn it, where are you?" If he got out of this alive, Stefan was going to thrash Inspector Rolf Creel.

  Still no answer.

  He tried to make the connection again as his horse came around a bend. Three men on horseback blocked the road, wands held ready. As Stefan leaned back and pulled hard on the reins, the mirror case slipped from his fingers. The horse skidded to a stop, front legs straight, its sweat-flecked haunches almost sitting on the ground, and its eyes rolling white with fear.

  "Hell's demons!" The first blast missed him. Stefan tried to aim his wand, but the bay danced in circles. Good thing, since it made him a damned hard target. Blasts shot past his head. He fired and missed. Jerking the reins, he tried to get control of the horse to turn it around and make a retreat, but the terrified animal fought him.

  The three riders chasing him came around the sharp bend and stood in their stirrups, pulling hard on the reins of their mounts as they slid to a stop.

  Cut off, Stefan turned in the saddle and fired. A man dropped, landing face down into the dirt.

  A blast from behind streaked past Stefan's head. Wheeling his horse around to face his attacker, Stefan fired again. The man yelped in pain, dropped his wand, and clutched his arm.

  A gap opened and Stefan kicked his heels into the bay's sides. The horse leapt toward the narrow space as the road burst into blue light. Caught in the crossfire of bolts, the air sizzled around him, as the heavy smell of ozone burned his nostrils. How they missed was a miracle. Perhaps, the One God watched over him, after all.

  A blue bolt missed his knee and seared into his horse's chest. The bay screamed and reared. Stefan's wand flew from his hand, arced through the air, and disappeared into the woods below the road. As the horse collapsed, Stefan dove from the saddle. He hit the soft dirt in a roll as the horse went down on its side with a ground-shaking thud.

  Stefan's ears rang with the wounded animal's screams.

  Struggling to get to his feet, he faced his attackers. Without his wand to help him teleport or defend himself, he was at their mercy, what little they would show him.

  At last, by the One God's pity, the poor horse lay still and the woods fell silent.

  One of the mounted men urged his horse closer, eliminating any room for Stefan to maneuver. "Hold your fire. He's got nowhere to go."

  The riders closed ranks around Stefan to hold him in check, wands leveled at his head. He spun around, trying to keep them in front of him, but their tight circle had him surrounded. Two of the men didn't hold wands, but it didn't make them any less menacing.

  They meant to capture him, and he couldn't let that happen. Desperate, Stefan searched for some way out. The woods behind him were his only chance.

  He maneuvered closer to the road's edge. "I suppose this won't be a fair fight, will it?" Stefan searched their ranks for the man who'd spoken.

  "Now, now, Inspector Bane, you know that's not possible. Our orders are to bring you in alive, but no one said anything about unhurt." The man leaned forward in the saddle and pointed his wand at Stefan. "You've been a pain in Lord Blackmoor's side for a long time. Perhaps it's time for you to feel the prick of the thorn?"

  "I didn't think your orders called for torture. Blackmoor usually prefers to do that himself." Stefan had no intention of being captured, or to practice his new skills of mental control while under Lord Blackmoor's care.

  "They don't. But I'm taking some initiative." He grinned. Looking to one of the men, he jerked his head toward Stefan. "He's all yours, Sim."

  The man began to dismount as an expectant hush fell over the others.

  Stefan took a step back. The ground beneath his boot disappeared. Feeling a sickening lurch, he dropped backward over the side of the road, tumbled down the steep embankment, and crashed through the underbrush. Brambles tore at Stefan's clothes as he tried to protect his head with his arms. Landing with a hard thud, he lay on his belly, tangled in the debris at the bottom of the gully.

  Raking air into his lungs, Stefan got to his knees, then brushed the dirt and leaves from his face and clothes. A quick inventory of his body told him there were only a few scratches and no broken bones. He stood and looked around in frantic hopes of finding his wand.

  Above him, a man broke through the brush. Sim slammed into him and knocked Stefan's breath from his chest. Rolling with the blow, he came up on his feet, gasping for air, then backpedaled away.

  Circling in the small gully, they took each other's measure.

  Sim held no wand.

  "So, is this my fair fight?" Raising his fists, Stefan prepared to defend himself. It was a method rarely used, but one he'd practiced sparring with Rolf.

  "Nope. Not fair."

  Sim's eyes were uncanny and his speech strange. A cold dread passed over Stefan, like a blast of winter wind. Something about this man was very wrong.

  Lunging, Sim took hold of Stefan's jacket and tried to get a lock on his head. Stefan twisted to the side, his scrambling feet caught between his attacker's. Together, they fell into the small rivulet dampening the gully. Cold water seeped into the back of Stefan's clothes as the man's weight pressed him into the oozing mud. Like a vision, he spotted his wand only a few feet away. Stefan promised the One God a candle and a coin if he could just get to it, but he was pinned beneath the man. As Sim raised his arm, Stefan caught the glint of light off cold steel.

  What the hell?

  Sim's arm fell. Pain ripped through Stefan's leg, forcing a roar from him.

  Staring at the knife embe
dded in his thigh, his mind reeled. The man had to be a lunatic. Sim struggled to his feet just as Stefan's fist connected with his jaw, rocking Sim's head back. He fell off, freeing Stefan. Scrambling backward, Stefan searched the damp leaf litter behind him for his dropped wand. Sim rose to a crouch, eyes filled with malice, as a smug grin spread across his thin lips. He pulled another knife from his boot.

  Stefan's eyes locked on the long steel blade as the man waved it back and forth in a threat.

  "Cut? Hurt? Get more 'fore I'm done."

  If it weren't happening to him, Stefan would never have believed the man had used a knife on him. Their world had long since abandoned blood weapons. Working through the damp leaves and mud, Stefan's fingers touched polished wood and he raked it into his hand. Gripping his wand so hard it was a wonder it didn't snap in two, he spun it in his fingers, pointed the business end forward, and brought it to bear.

  "Hold."

  Doubt flickered in the man's narrowed eyes, then they hardened and he lunged. Stefan poured his power into the wand and fired. Sim convulsed. His body fell and the knife, still clutched in his fist, stabbed into the dirt between Stefan's boots.

  Perhaps if he'd had more time to think, or felt less as if his life hung on his actions, he would not have killed the man. There was no time for regrets now. The others were still gathered on the road above him. They'd come for him in a moment, and wounded, he'd be outnumbered and overpowered. His mind screamed at him to get the hell out of there, but taking a deep breath, he silenced his fear.

  He rolled the body away from him with his foot, but it stopped. Even in death, Sim still grasped the knife. Stefan kicked the hand free of it and with a grunt of effort and disgust, he pulled the blade from the ground and flung it far into the woods. Lying in the muck, his eyes strained upward for a glimpse of his attackers as he tried to control his ragged breath.

  How the hell did they know who I am?

  He hadn't thought they'd seen through his disguise. The shabby farmer's clothes he wore, a three-day stubble on his chin and his long hair pulled back into a tail under the wide-brimmed hat had even fooled the innkeeper who knew him well. When he'd left the tavern, his pockets full of gambling winnings, he was sure the three men who'd followed him meant merely to beat and rob a poor farmer of his gold. And he knew that a portion of that gold would see it's way into Lord Blackmoor's purse.

  That assumption had vanished when he'd turned the bend and met the others. He groaned. Rolf would never let him live this down.

  He peered up through the dense growth that hid him. The remaining men stood at the edge of the embankment, scanning the bushes below for their lost companion. Stefan held his wand ready, his other hand clamped around the knife protruding from his leg in a feeble attempt to staunch the bleeding. The leaves beneath him grew sticky with his blood and its cloying smell added to the fetid air of the narrow gully.

  This was not going well, to say the least. In order to save something from this disaster, he needed one of them alive for questioning. It was taking a risk, but if he just kept the urge to teleport out of there in check and held his position, they'd be on him soon enough and he'd get his chance. He watched the ridge above him as their voices floated down.

  "Sim?" someone called out. "Did you get him with your blade?"

  "He got Sim." There was a reverence in the man's voice that made Stefan smile.

  "It was a mistake to send a man down there that can't use a wand."

  "Come along, you sots. Get down there and get him."

  "His Lordship'll be right pissed if we don't return with the good inspector."

  "Can't we just kill him and tell Blackmoor we had no choice?"

  Come on, you bastards.

  No one moved. Time stretched.

  "Hell's demons, get out of my way, Barker. I'll get him." One of the toughs started to make his way down the slope.

  Stefan raised his wand, held his breath, and waited. A small, lean man with a full black beard burst through the thick underbrush, wand in hand, and the blast from Stefan's wand hit him in the chest. The man groaned and his eyes rolled back in his head. Collapsing to his knees, he hung there for a moment, and then fell forward, unconscious, sliding head first down the slope toward Stefan.

  "Murphy, what's going on down there?" The leader's voice was a hoarse whisper.

  "The bastard got him, too, that's what."

  "Kill him."

  Callous laughter sent a chill through Stefan.

  "His Lordship said to bring him alive."

  "I don't give a damn about his lordship. He's gotten two of us, and I'm not going to be the third. I say we kill him. Who's with me?"

  The pain in Stefan's leg throbbed and he knew it wouldn't be long before he passed out from loss of blood. Time to go. He couldn't do anything more, except be killed--or worse, be captured.

  His original plan of ambushing the gang of thieves at Chester was in shambles. Without Rolf and his men, he stood no hope of saving it either. Still, he needed more information. Better if he took his prisoner and made a strategic retreat.

  He levered himself upright and, dragging his wounded leg, hobbled closer to the fallen man. Kneeling, Stefan reached down and touched his prisoner's outstretched arm. As he clutched his wand, he mustered his strength and teleported as far as he could in his weakened state with his hard-won prize.

  * * * *

  Stefan opened his eyes and looked around. He was on the bridge at Chester, his hand still on the unconscious man at his side. With a soft groan, he lowered himself to the wooden planks to relieve the strain on his injured leg.

  "Hold! What's going on here?" A patroller ran out of the guard shack on the Chester side of the bridge, his wand aimed at Stefan. "Identify yourself!"

  "I'm Inspector Bane. I need to get to Avalon Castle. Had some trouble on the road." Stefan pointed with his wand. "This man is under arrest."

  The young patroller's searching gaze changed to happy recognition. "Inspector Bane! It is you! I'm Niles Wilson, sir." Then, he froze, eyes wide and mouth open. "Is that a knife?"

  "It appears to be," Stefan drawled. Wilson still hadn't moved, his eyes fixed on the hilt of the blade. "Come on, man, secure this fellow and help me to the shack."

  With a shake of his head, Wilson summoned a pair of manacles and secured the prisoner's wrists together. He wrapped his arm around Stefan's waist, helped him to stand and together they made it to the shack.

  As Stefan slumped into a chair, he pulled off his leather gloves, shoved them in a pocket of his jacket, and ran his shaking hand over his face.

  How did Blackmoor's men know about the trap?

  He narrowed his eyes to slits and let out his breath. There could be only one simple, yet horrible, explanation.

  There was a traitor at Avalon Castle.

  Wilson hurried back to the prisoner and, dragging him by the heels, dumped him just outside the small shack. Returning inside, he opened a large communications mirror case attached to the wall and looked into his reflection.

  "Patroller Wilson at Chester, to Avalon."

  A woman's face appeared in the mirror. "Communications Officer Hastings at Avalon."

  "I've got Inspector Bane here. He's wounded and needs help getting back to the castle. And he's got a prisoner for transport."

  "Wounded?" Her eyes widened, but she recovered quickly. "I'll send an addler right away to bring them both back."

  Wilson turned to the inspector. "He'll be here shortly, sir."

  "I heard, Wilson." Stefan braced himself and, without waiting to see the healer at Avalon, he pulled the knife from his leg with a grunt. Blood welled as the bleeding intensified. Retrieving a handkerchief from his pants pocket, he folded it into a pad and pressed it over the wound. He pulled off the leather strip holding his hair, tied it around his thigh, and twisted the knot to cut the flow of blood. He leaned back and rested his head against the wall.

  Rolf, when I get hold of you...

  * * * *

&n
bsp; "This way, please, Patroller Tallow." Gustav, the head addler and steward of Avalon Castle, motioned for Sarah to follow him with a flick of his small, gloved hand. He stood only a little taller than her waist and had a half ring of thick gray-brown hair from one pointed ear to the other. An earth elemental, he must have been incredibly old to show signs of age, since addlers lived for hundreds of years. Nevertheless, he was still youthful in his step despite a slight stoop to his shoulders.

  He had been giving her a tour of the public areas of the castle. Now, they stood in the grand foyer in front of the symbol of the Avalon Patrol. A massive, mounted black forest bear rose upright on its hind legs, teeth bared and front paws extended, its claws razor sharp. Sarah felt its power and fierceness, and she envied the bear's great courage. However, she noted with a twist of her lips, power, ferocity, and courage hadn't helped this particular bear.

  Pride in the great stone castle of Avalon was evident in Gustav's droning lecture. "The patrol has been housed in the castle for over one hundred and seventy-five years, and I have been steward since the beginning." As he spoke, his small chest seemed to swell.

  Sarah smiled and nodded. Full of hot air, most likely.

  "Of course, you'll reside on the patrollers' corridor with the others." He stood at the bottom of the grand white marble staircase, one small, gnarled hand resting on the intricate black wrought iron banister.

  "Of course," she replied. He'd said "others" like it was a bad thing.

  It was clear he didn't think much of those who held her new rank. Was he this rude to all the new recruits? Perhaps it was just her. On the one hand, patrollers needed only two years of training at the academy to win a post, beginning their careers with lesser majik skills. On the other hand, she hadn't been to the academy and had forgotten most of her basic majik skills, even enough to qualify for her modest rank. She sighed. It must be her. Still, she shouldn't allow his disrespectful behavior toward her to continue.

  As they climbed the stairs, Sarah's eyes rose to the stained glass windows dominating the wall at the top of the staircase. The afternoon sun coursed through the windows' panels, the colors refracting like crystal shards on the white marble stairs. On the left, the panel told the legend of the great forest bear who led his hunters to the site above the lake where the castle now stood. In the wider center panel, the bear stood in a pose similar to the one downstairs. On the right, the castle--its spires hosting colorful banners streaming in the wind. Sarah felt the pressing weight of history and a ripple of excitement passed through her. At last, she would be a part of this world and contribute something important to it.