Victory and Defeat: Book Five of the Restoration Series

by Williams, Christopher

  Something warm and sticky slammed hard into Enstorion and he stumbled back. The gooey substance covered his upper body, and he frantically tried to wipe the mess from his eyes, but he couldn’t. The goo was also on his arms, and he found he couldn’t raise them, and then the real panic set in. He couldn’t see, he couldn’t speak, and he was having trouble breathing. He would have screamed, shouted for help, but the mess filled his mouth.

  “Stop struggling!” one of the two men said quietly. “If you stop moving you’ll be fine, but if you struggle the Mahlina will kill you.”

  Enstorion stopped moving and concentrated on breathing. It was difficult, as the goo was all around his nose, but he managed to get just enough air to stay alive.

  “See?” the man said again.

  Enstorion didn’t respond — he couldn’t respond — all he could do was think. He had recognized the darker of the two men from Mul-Dune, and now he thought hard about the second man. He struggled hard, trying to remember if he had seen the man at Mul-Dune as well. It was difficult to remember; he had spent a good deal of the siege in a bed, hovering between life and death. It was possible the mage had been there, but he couldn’t be sure; not that it really mattered at the moment.

  “Now,” a different man’s voice said, “which rooms belong to his friends?”

  There was an accent to the voice, and Enstorion was fairly sure it was the darker man, the one with the sword. He couldn’t be sure of this either, though, as his eyes were full of goo. Confused, Enstorion tried to turn his head toward the speaker. How could they possibly expect him to answer any questions? A moment later, the answer became apparent; the question wasn’t directed at him.

  “The two men are in the next room,” the maid Arina said quietly.

  “And the woman?”

  “Down the hall, just past the stairs on the left.”

  Enstorion would have sighed if he had been able. The men were smart. They grabbed one of the maids and forced her to lead them to his room, and now they knew where Trestus and Derek were.

  “Thank you,” the fighter’s voice said quietly. There was a sudden movement, and Enstorion felt the stirring of the air. It was followed by a gasp and the thump as the maid’s body fell to the floor.

  Damn! he thought. Derek and Trestus were his only hope for getting out of this trap, and he would have gladly shouted to warn them, but he couldn’t. His mouth was full of the goo, and it forced his mouth to remain open. What was it the mage had called it? Mahlina? Ah, he thought, I wonder if it’s similar to Maullen? He was sure that he had never heard of anything called Mahlina before, but Maullen was the product of a magic spell that was used to restrain captives. He had cast the Maullen spell before and the affects were different, but they were similar in many aspects. He breathed a bit easier now, at least sure that the two men were not going to kill him in his own room. Then again, he would rather die here then go back to the torture room in Dahl-Rucka. If his captors got him there, then his death would be long, drawn-out, and painful.

  The mage put his hand on Enstorion’s shoulder and said, “It’s time for us to leave. If you struggle, the Mahlina will kill you, but if you obey my voice, you’ll live.”

  Enstorion would have snorted if he could. It was probably true that he would live long enough to get out of the city, but obeying these men would only delay his death. He clung to the hope that either Derek or Trestus would free him. If they were caught, then he just might struggle as hard as he could and let the Mahlina finish him. He would rather choke to death in the streets of Elem than be Zalustus’s prisoner.

  Mikela nervously shifted her weight from one foot to the other, trying to decide what to do. The imp had been gone for maybe a quarter of an hour, way too short a time to reach Flare and the two of them make it back. She was beginning to worry that she shouldn’t wait. Zalustus’s lieutenants could be done with whatever it was they were doing long before Flare made it back.

  Realizing that she had to discover what was going on, Mikela pulled her hood up to conceal her face and walked out into the street. She turned left and walked along the front of the inn.

  It wasn’t raining today, but it was still early in the morning, and there was a bit of fog about, so her hood wasn’t that out of place. Although the hood hid her face, it also prevented her from seeing the sides of the street, and she fought hard to keep from constantly looking around. She knew the fighter and the magician had entered the inn’s front door, but the other one — the kid — had run off. She said a silent prayer that he wouldn’t choose now to return.

  Reaching the steps that led up to the main entrance, Mikela paused briefly and looked around. Seeing no one, she began climbing the steps.

  Fantin led the way back out into the empty hall and turned to his left. The woman said the fighter’s room was the next one over. He wasn’t sure which of the two men were still here and it didn’t matter. If things went according to their plan, the lone Guardian would be captured like the mage before he even realized what was happening.

  Fantin glanced back the way he had come. Kaleb and the elven mage followed him side by side. They had taken the time to put a cloak on the elf, as it hid the thick goop which kept him imprisoned.

  He pointed toward the wall and Kaleb nodded, pushed the Guardian up against the wall, and then moved forward to stand beside Fantin. There was little worry that the Guardian might try and escape; Kaleb had a magical connection to the goo and could strangle the elven mage with only a thought.

  Fantin took a deep breath and reached out to grasp the door’s handle. He paused as Kaleb began a soft muttering. He knew what that was; the magician was preparing another one of those goo spells. He shuttered at the very thought; it looked disgusting.

  Trestus lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling. He was so tired of sitting around the inn. He missed the simple things — riding a horse, working in the sunshine, and the like. And he hated this port town; it was always hot and miserable.

  There was something else bothering him. Soon, this festival would be over, and their chance at getting into the abbey would be gone. Things were moving quickly, and it would soon come to a conclusion one way or the other.

  There was a fumbling that came from the door.

  Trestus glanced over and remembered that he had bolted it after Derek left. Sighing, he rolled out of bed and moved toward the door. “Wait a moment! I bolted it,” he called out. The turning of the handle immediately stopped.

  Reaching the door, Trestus unbolted it and swung it open. He caught just a glimpse of the men on the other side when something hit him in the face and chest. He began fighting and twisting, trying to get whatever it was off him, but without success. The gelatin seemed to have a mind of its own as it moved around Trestus’s body. He tried to keep his mouth closed, but it was hopeless. The stuff forced its way into his mouth, and he fell to his knees as he tried to fling it away. It was already in his eyes, his mouth, and then it blocked his nose. He was near panic when a voice spoke into the silence.

  “If you continue to struggle, it will kill you.”

  Trestus was nearly out of air and starting to panic. It seemed impossible, but he willed himself to calm down. The first several moments nothing seemed to change, but he gradually noticed a lessoning of the tension and the air began to trickle in.

  “Well, well. It looks like their leader went disguised as a woman,” Fantin said.

  Confused, Trestus did not respond or even move. He wasn’t sure what Fantin meant, but whatever it was, it would have to wait.

  Trestus couldn’t see a thing, and he nearly jumped when a man’s voice whispered right beside his head. “Now here’s what’s going to happen. We’re going to walk out of here and you and the elf are going to follow orders. Understood?”

  Trestus didn’t react, but his spirits sunk at the words. He now knew they had Enstorion as well, which meant that, of those at the inn, only Derek remained free.

  Mikela entered the inn’s small foyer and loo
ked around. The table off to the left was empty, but there was a fairly decent amount of noise coming from the common room. She turned to her right and moved closer, looking through the double wide entrance. Most of the patrons were well-off merchants, and she quickly dismissed them. There were some tables that were still out of her view; to both the left and right of the door. She considered moving even closer so as to get a complete look around the common room, but she decided against it. She had the feeling that the two she searched for were not here to eat breakfast.

  She moved away from the common room entrance and headed toward the stairs. She paused with her foot on the bottom step. She could hear people moving around upstairs and they were headed this way.

  She looked around quickly, looking for somewhere to hide. She noticed a doorway in the wall under the stairs and she ran through it. She entered another hallway, but this one was not as meticulously cleaned as the foyer had been. She moved down the hallway and looked into an open door off to the right; it was the kitchens and there were quite a few servants moving around in there.

  Mikela passed the kitchens and checked several doors off to the left; they were all locked, and she guessed they must be storerooms. There was another door at the far end of the hall and she approached it and opened it a crack. Sunlight streamed in and she realized it led to the small yard that separated the inn from its stables. She yanked the door open and stepped out into the light. She began to look left and right and noticed several piles of lumber off to her left. She moved closer to the lumber; just in case the door opened.

  Finished with breakfast, Derek caught the eye of the young serving girl and set some coins down on the table. He made sure that she saw him set the coins down, that would ensure that she would rush over to get them. He didn’t want to be accused of not paying for his food just because someone stole the money off of the table. The girl was already headed his way and, grinning, Derek stood up and stepped away from the chair.

  He stretched his sore muscles and thought about going back upstairs and taking a nap. He was still tired from his disjointed sleep from the night before, but he knew there was no way he was going to fall asleep with Kara and the others at the abbey.

  Sighing, Derek exited the common room and stepped into the inn’s small foyer. He didn’t feel much like going back upstairs; the room he shared with Trestus was rather cramped. He crossed the room and turned to his left, meaning to exit the main entrance. That was when he heard a sharp gasp from behind him.

  Leading the small procession down the stairs, Fantin glanced back at those who followed him. The two captives were directly behind him, walking side by side and still under the influence of the magician’s spell. Kaleb brought up the rear and, in Fantin’s opinion, he looked all too pleased with himself. Fantin’s eyes narrowed at the look of pure pleasure that adorned Kaleb’s face; he would have to make sure the mage didn’t take too much credit for himself.

  He turned back around as he reached the last step. The plan was simple; exit the inn’s front door and take their captives back to the house they had been using as a headquarters. Oh, he couldn’t wait to present the prisoners to Zalustus, and he would relish the look of pure hate on Jasmine’s face.

  Stepping off of the last step, he noticed a patron crossing the foyer and heading for the main door. He barely glanced at the man, and then looked away. In a flash, his eyes jumped back to the blond man and, even though he didn’t mean to, he gasped.

  Derek turned to look at the small group coming down the stairs. He blinked several times, trying to verify that he was indeed seeing what he thought he was seeing. The man leading the small group was one of the fighters who had been at Mul-Dune. He knew the man’s name. It was Fantin. He had heard that name while imprisoned at Dahl-Rucka. The fighter stared back wide-eyed at him.

  After a moment, Derek overcame his surprise and looked at the rest of the group and his stomach felt like it was tied up in knots. Two men of the group were nearly completely covered in cloaks, but a bit of white-blond hair poked out from the cowl of the leftmost man. That white-blond hair looked suspiciously like Enstorion’s.

  Derek looked past his captured comrades and spotted another of those that had been at Mul-Dune; this one was a magician.

  Derek’s hand dropped to where his sword was normally attached to his belt, and then he realized he had left it in the room. He had, after all, only come down for breakfast.

  The fighter smiled at him and drew his sword from its sheath.

  Derek had seen the man use the sword at Mul-Dune and knew he was a master. He swallowed hard, unsure what he could do, unarmed and facing a master swordsman.

  Still smiling, Fantin took a step away from the bottom of the stairs and toward Derek. “Remain quiet and we won’t kill the others.”

  Unsure how best to react, Derek did remain quiet for another moment. Fantin took another step closer, and Derek did the only thing that came to mind. He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, “Thief! Thief! The inn is being robbed.”

  Fantin’s eyes went wide, and the blood drained from his face. There was the briefest of moments where he and Derek just stared at each other.

  The clinking and clanking from the common room came to an abrupt halt, and an eerie silence settled down around them. The silence didn’t last long though, and the sound of chairs scraping across the floor as they were pushed away from tables shattered the quiet.

  For the shortest of moments, it appeared that Fantin might charge past Derek. He could kill the unarmed Guardian easily enough, but he and Kaleb would not be able to outrun those men in the common room. The prisoners would only slow them down more, and it would seem that Fantin did not mean to give them up.

  Glancing over his shoulder, Fantin spotted the doorway in the wall under the stairs and he pushed one of the prisoners toward it. “Go! Get them through the door!” he shouted at Kaleb. He didn’t wait to see if the mage obeyed or not, but turned back toward Derek. It was fortuitous that he did.

  Derek saw Fantin’s quick glance over his shoulder and started forward. He barely made it two steps before Fantin turned back and swung his sword.

  Derek fell backwards, trying to avoid the blade. He landed hard and felt the wind as the blade cut the air just above him. He didn’t hesitate but began to furiously crawl away from the swordsman.

  Fantin took one step forward, preparing to finish the Guardian, but he paused as two men entered the foyer from the common room. He could tell that more were coming; these two were just the first of many.

  The man on the right appeared rather distinguished, and Fantin guessed him a very well-off merchant. The merchant stopped short at the sight of Derek scurrying across the floor, and his eyes came to rest on Fantin. He didn’t say anything, instead he just looked at his companion.

  The second man that entered the foyer looked to be in his middle years and he carried himself in such a way that it was easy to see he knew how to fight. The man was probably a former soldier who now hired his services, and his loyalty, out to the merchant, most likely as an attendant or guard.

  The merchant’s attendant drew his own sword out from under his cloak. His sword was a short sword, but in these close quarters, it might give the man an advantage; or it might have if he wasn’t facing a master.

  Fantin raised his sword at the two men. “This isn’t your fight.”

  Neither man answered. The attendant glanced at the merchant, who simply raised his head, indicating for his man to continue. “Kill him, Phelp.”

  Fantin took a quick step forward and slashed his sword horizontally at the man named Phelp. At the last moment, he stopped the direction of the blow and lunged forward like he was trying to skewer Phelp.

  Phelp just managed to divert the blow with the sword he held in his right hand, and he quickly threw a punch at Fantin with his left, but the punch missed.

  Fantin was a bit off balance. He was stretched out from his attempt to stab Phelp with his sword, so he shifted his weight to
his other foot and slashed upwards with his sword. Phelp deflected this blow as well, but he seemed to sense that he was overmatched and took a step back toward the common room.

  Pressing the attack, Fantin moved closer and slashed hard again. This blow he landed on Phelp’s sword, and the force drove the attendant backwards again. Fantin didn’t give him time to react, but instead he landed another forceful blow and this one knocked Phelp off balance and fell backwards. Fantin darted quickly forward and slashed one more time. This blow landed as Phelp was falling.

  The blow slashed across Phelp’s stomach, and he collapsed in a heap. He dropped the sword, and his hands grasped the bleeding and gory looking cut. There was a chance he could survive — not a good chance — but it was possible.

  Fantin paused, standing over the whimpering bodyguard. He looked around for the merchant, but he had disappeared back into the small crowd of men who now stood in the entrance to the common room. He glanced back at Derek and saw that the Guardian was climbing back to this feet.

  He began moving quickly toward the door that Kaleb and the two prisoners had disappeared through. As he walked, he raised his sword and pointed at the crowd of men. “Anyone follows us, and they’ll get the same.”

  No one said a word as he rushed through the doorway into the hall beyond.

  The men in the doorway seemed mesmerized by the sight of Phelp rolling around on the ground; their eyes were locked on him. They barely even noticed Derek scooping up the short sword and chasing after Fantin.