"I am Ilien Woodhill, apprentice to Gallund the wizard." Ilien's throat was tight and dry. Tears finally sprang to his eyes. "I have with me the Princess of Evernden. We need your help."
"Ilien Woodhill?" questioned the leader, a man with a very long spear pointed directly at him. "We've been searching for you. Come with us at once."
For the second time in a day, Ilien found himself sitting in a tent in the middle of the Giant's encampment, except this time he wasn't tied to a post, and he wasn't alone. The encampment was no longer occupied by Giants, either. The army of Berkhelven had commandeered the camp, moving the dead to burial pits and ushering the wounded to makeshift hospitals.
Ilien sat at a table that boasted a large basket of fruit and several pitches of water. Beside him, Windy attacked an apple as if she hadn't eaten in days. He studied her for a moment and realized she probably hadn't eaten in days. He noticed then how awful she looked, her hair matted and disheveled, her face streaked with stains, clothes torn. What had she undergone while a prisoner of the NiDemon? He had, up until then, thought only of himself, but she had no doubt suffered trials of her own, and he suddenly saw her with new eyes. No longer did she seem the haughty Princess of Evernden who always looked for attention. She was transformed somehow. Changed.
"Ilien."
The voice caught Ilien off guard and he jumped. He wasn't surprised so much by the suddenness of the greeting as by the familiar voice that had spoken it. He turned to see Thessien standing near the entrance, twice brought back from the dead as far as Ilien was concerned. Poking through the tent flap behind him came the large, stonewall face of Anselm.
Ilien would have jumped from his chair and ran to them. His friends were alive, his friends who had suffered so much, who had come all this way, who had risked their lives for him! But he sat stiffly in his chair, gripping the table with both hands.
"Thessien! Anselm!" As he spoke their names he began to unravel and tears streamed down his cheeks, but the tangled knot inside him that the NiDemon had tied so tight remained. He stared down at his hands, calloused, cut, dirty, man's hands now.
Anselm rushed past Thessien, nearly knocking the Prince of Ashevery to the ground. He scooped up Ilien, chair and all, in his trunk-like arms.
"Ilien, my boy! You're alright!" The chair creaked and groaned as the Giant squeezed Ilien in a crushing embrace.
"Careful, Anselm," said Thessien as he approached, an equally wide smile across his face. "He's only just escaped being killed, I'm sure. Gentle. Gentle." He looked up at Ilien. "I'm glad to see you well, Ilien." He turned to Windy. "And you also, Princess Windy. Your father's heart will be lifted to learn you're safe. He's feared the worse these last several days."
Windy looked up from her apple.
"Yes. Your father is safe, though his castle has seen better days."
Windy smiled wearily in relief, but when she saw the Giant her smile fell away. The apple slipped from her hand, rolled across the table and dropped to the ground.
"Don't worry," Ilien said from his perch high up in the Giant's arms. "He's with us now." He looked sideways at Anselm, his brow wrinkled in confusion. "How is that anyhow? How did you escape?"
"The armies of Berkhelven and Evendolen arrived just in time." Anselm set Ilien and his chair back down.
"It seems the presence of a Giant army was enough to settle their dispute," Thessien said, coming to stand by Ilien. "Their combined strength proved a formidable force against the Giants, but even still they might have lost if it wasn't for the timely arrival of the wizards."
Ilien nodded his understanding but remained seated. His body felt drained, empty, and he wasn't sure he could stand just yet. Happiness and relief washed over him and he smiled up at the towering form of Anselm, whose forehead was creased with worry.
"Then it's true," Windy said, still eyeing the Giant nervously. "All the burned bodies. It was their doing."
"Yes." Thessien nodded. "And thankfully so."
"Thankfully so?" The prince's words had struck a chord within Ilien, and he suddenly didn't feel tired any longer. "Men as well as Giants were burned. I've seen the battlefield with my own eyes."
Anselm suddenly bent over him, smiling sadly. "Yes, it's true, Ilien. Many of my people were killed. Though war is never the best solution, it is sometimes the only solution."
Ilien looked away, ashamed by Anselm's words. "So the wizards are here?" he asked.
"Yes. All of them," Thessien answered. "Except Gallund, of course."
"And the wizardess Gilindilin?" Ilien asked, looking up hopefully.
Thessien smiled grimly. "No. Only the wizards came, and they urgently want to speak with you."
I'm sure they do, Ilien thought. There was much they would want to know. He wasn't so sure they'd accept simple answers, either, and lying was out of the question. Wizards had ways of telling fact from fiction. Not for the last time he wished Gallund was there. Though Thessien and Anselm stood by his side, he suddenly felt in danger.
"And they insist on questioning you alone," Thessien added.
"Yes. What of the Book?" Anselm asked. "Did you find it? Is it safe?"
"No!" said Ilien, his mind gripped by panic. This couldn't be happening! After all he'd been through, he wasn't safe even here, surrounded by friends. The wizards had tried to kill him once and failed. Now they had come to finish the job. And what could anyone do to stop them? Just look at what they had done on the battlefield. Who there could stand against such power? He had to leave! He had to flee! He looked to the tent entrance.
"What of the NiDemon?" Anselm pressed.
Thessien raised an eyebrow at Ilien's silence.
A commotion rose outside the tent, shouts and the running of booted feet. The tent flap flew open and a young soldier, out of breath and looking worried, raced in.
"You'd better come quick," he said. "We have a visitor—a very strange visitor."
Thessien sighed and followed the man out. Anselm trailed after him. Windy and Ilien sat looking at each other. Windy was just reaching for a plum when Ilien heard a loud honking, followed by shouts and laughter from the men outside.
"It sounds like a gaggle of geese," Windy said, her plum poised in mid-air.
"It isn't a goose." Ilien jumped to his feet. "It's a swan. Come on!"
Once outside, they pushed their way through the throng of sweaty and bloody men that had gathered around the source of the honking. As they drew nearer the commotion, Ilien saw a group of robed men who weren't laughing, but rather staring grimly at the scene before them.
Nearly a dozen strong, the wizards stood apart from the crowd. Tall, clothed in black, grim-faced, with their long, silver beards braided and set with polished, silver beads, the wizards exuded an air of power, and no one ventured too close.
The Swan stood in the center of a small clearing surrounded by the rowdy faces of laughing and jeering men. She ruffled her feathers and beat her wings when any tried to approach, including Anselm and Thessien. As Ilien and Windy broke through the crowd, a shout went up from the company of wizards. The Swan turned and honked in Ilien's direction.
Ilien stopped. Why was she honking? Why wasn't she speaking?
The Swan honked again, louder this time.
Ilien sensed eyes hardening upon him, and with no effort at all he heard the thoughts of those who stood robed behind him. It is the child! It is the child!
Ilien pulled Windy forward. The Swan's black eyes flicked past him at the wizards, even as she beat her wings to keep Anselm and Thessien away.
"What's wrong?" Anselm shouted. "I've never seen you like this before. Is it something I've done?"
Ilien moved quickly past Anselm and Thessien, dragging Windy with him. When he drew near the Swan, she said, "Quick! Climb on my back! I have to get you out of here!"
Ilien hesitated. The thoughts of the wizards had fallen silent, but Ilien felt the strike of their eyes on his back like a volley of thrown daggers.
"Gallund's in
danger," the Swan exclaimed. "The Witch Queen has him. You must rescue him. Now get on!"
The crowd closed in. The wizards broke ranks and ran forward.
"Get on!" cried the Swan.
Ilien turned to Windy. "You have to trust me. Climb on and hold tight."
Anselm's face bent with sorrow as Ilien and Windy clambered upon the Swan's back. "What are you doing?"
The crowd rushed forward, shouting and jeering. The wizards tried to fight their way through.
"Hold tight!" cried the Swan, and she beat her wings in the air. The crowd fell back, shielding their eyes from the blowing sand and flying debris as the great bird rose from the ground.
"Wait!" called Anselm. "Don't go! Don't leave without me!"
Ilien felt Windy's arms squeeze tightly around him. The earth lurched and fell away. The men below crashed together, engulfing the wizards in a sea of sweaty bodies. But as Ilien watched the scene with more than a little amusement, he saw a lone figure break from the crowd and follow them, bounding over the ground like a two-ton gazelle.
"Wait for me!" Anselm shouted. "Wait for me!"
THANK YOU!
I hope you've enjoyed reading Nomadin: Book One. Yes! The tale continues. Click the link to download Book Two: NiDemon and Book Three: Necromancer.
Though I wrote Nomadin from start to finish in exactly thirteen months, the tale itself was over sixteen years in the making. I began writing about Ilien and his adventure in 1987, during my sophomore year of college. Through many fits and starts, marriage, two children, buying my first house, becoming firmly entrenched in a family business, I managed to eke it out one word at a time, writing at night when the house was still and all my other obligations were "responsibly" handled. This will come as no surprise to anyone who aspires to write a book. A writer is compelled to write. I am compelled to write this tale, that's all. And a responsible writer will write when he or she can. What does surprise a writer is knowing that someone actually took the time to read their book. So Thank You for finding and reading Nomadin: Book One. Please tell me what you think of it. I can be reached at smashwords.com, or feel free to write or email me.
Shawn Cormier
42 Central Street
Southbridge, Ma 01550
USA
Email: [email protected]
And please spread the word about Nomadin. Tell friends and family! Submit your review online at amazon.com and barnesandnoble.com! Ask for it at your local bookstore! And please visit my website, www.pineviewpress.com, for more information on the continuing adventure. Once again . . .THANK YOU!
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Shawn Cormier was born in 1967 and grew up in the small town of Southbridge, Massachusetts. He has been scribbling down stories since the fifth grade, and earned his degree in creative writing from Long Island University, Southampton Campus. When not writing, he can be found in his family's jewelry store, repairing mystical heirlooms and studying the magical properties gems, and wishing he was writing. He currently resides in southern Massachusetts.
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