by Ty Johnston
“We could catch them in a few hours,” the sword master Fortisquo said from his folding chair near the center of their encampment on the edge of the mountains called the Needles.
“The healer will put up his protective spells soon,” Karitha said over her shoulder to Belgad. “Once they stop to rest, I will lose track of them.”
The large northerner moved away from the wizard as she returned her scrying mirror to saddlebags at her feet. Belgad had known the demons were going to attack their foes in the village. Ybalik had come to him the night before, thus Belgad had slowed his own company’s pursuit, allowing them a night of needed rest. They had been running without sleep in an attempt to catch the three they followed, and were now only hours behind them after the demons allowed them to escape again.
Belgad was glad he was not Ybalik, the demon general who would have to explain to Lord Verkain why he had allowed Randall to escape yet again. But failure on the demons’ part gave Belgad another opportunity to catch the youthful healer and his companions. Belgad wanted Kron Darkbow for personal reasons, but capturing Randall could be profitable to the lord of Bond’s streets.
“Mount up,” the muscular, bald man said to his crew as he moved toward his horse. “We should catch them before nightfall if we ride hard.”
Smiles spread throughout the rest of the camp. They had been on the road for weeks and some were glad it might soon end while others were anxious for the thrill of the chase.
***
By the time six of the town’s soldiers had been shredded or ripped apart by the war demons, almost all the village had run so far they were out of breath or hiding within one of the town’s buildings. The demon general Ybalik finally calmed enough after drinking blood from the trunk of one soldier to see his targets had escaped while he was venting his rage on the villagers; he raised his head to the clouds and gave a mighty roar. Angry with himself, the general lifted his heavy sword and chopped away the head of the statue of the pope in the center of Wester’s Edge, then proceeded with his bare claws to rip one of the smaller dwellings apart until it was nothing but kindling. By then nearly an hour had passed since Kron, Adara and Randall had fled, and the demons could no longer find their prey using their magic.
The war demons had failed. Again. Verkain would not be happy. But for the time being there was nothing else to do about the three who had escaped except to hope Belgad and his minions would catch up to them. Ybalik roared once more, then he and his two subordinates vanished in another invisible explosion.
It was twenty minutes before the first villagers stuck their heads out windows and doors. It was another ten minutes before the first person was brave enough to walk to the center of the town to survey the damage that had been done. Half a dozen of the town’s soldiers were dead and in pieces, while another half a dozen villagers had been killed, some by the demons and others trampled in the rush to escape. The scaffold for execution leaned heavily to one side and the local smithy’s home had been demolished.
It was the desecration to the marble statue of Pope Joyous III that most raised the ire of Bishop Salvus after he finally slunk from his hiding spot in the church.
“Abomination,” was the first word he said as he stood at the foot of the statue and stared at the white marble head of the pope at his feet.
Within minutes Sergeant Holden had the remaining six guards and five stout commoners on horseback ready to ride after Kron, Adara and Randall.
“Alive or dead,” the bishop said, glancing up at the sergeant on a steed. “Just bring them back.”
The sergeant nodded and was about to strike his horse in its side with his spurs when his eyes fell on a face he did not recognize.
Standing in front of the town’s inn was an old man with a long gray beard and flowing robes that appeared to be singed black at the edges. In the old man’s hands was a lengthy but crude staff.
“Hello, gentle folks,” the old man said stepping toward the bishop and the horsed men.
“Who are you?” Salvus asked. “Be quick with your answer.”
The old man stopped near the priest and stared at the decimation throughout the town. “It would appear Verkain’s demons have been here,” he said.
Salvus raised a fist. “I said to tell me who you are!”
“My name is Maslin Markwood,” the old man said.
The bishop’s eyes went wide. The name of the powerful wizard had traveled to the East on more than one occasion. The bishop drew a dagger.
“There will be no need for that,” Markwood said waving a hand before Salvus’ eyes.
The bishop’s face went blank, his eyes staring straight ahead over the wizard’s shoulders.
Seeing what had happened, Sergeant Holden opened his mouth to order his men to attack, but then the wizard waved a hand in front of them and all action halted.
“You will forget what happened here today for some time,” Markwood said with a soft voice as he glanced around the rest of the village.
Nothing moved in Wester’s Edge. The town’s inhabitants stood still where they were, their faces dull and eyes glassy.
“I will be leaving you soon,” the old wizard went on, “and after I am gone, all of you will wake and remember only that a pack of bandits came through the town and escaped into the mountains.”
The bishop’s head gave a slow nod.
“Very well, back to work,” Markwood said and snapped his fingers.
Bishop Salvus blinked and stared into the space Markwood occupied, but he no longer saw the mage. Shaking his head, the bishop turned to the sergeant and the others who were recovering from the wizard’s spell.
“What are you still doing here?” Salvus said. “After those bandits!”
“Yes, your holiness,” Holden said and spurred his horse west toward the mountains.
Without saying a word, the old wizard turned and began to walk north between the town’s inn and the remains of the smithy’s cottage.
***
An hour after fleeing Wester’s Edge, Kron allowed the group to stop to catch their breath and allow their steed’s a brief respite. The break also gave Randall the few minutes it took to cast another protective spell to block them from being viewed by magical means.
“We’ve got to keep moving,” Kron said five minutes later.
Within seconds they were back on their horses and riding full speed north through grassy fields with the Needles keeping them company several miles to their left. After another hour they spotted a copse of young evergreens to the northwest near the edge of the mountains and Kron took them in that direction.
A distant noise like clashing boulders greeted them to a hiding spot behind the trees. The sound made Kron raise an eyebrow, but he figured if the sound had come from the demons appearing, their foes would have just dropped on top of them as had nearly happened in Wester’s Edge.
As they dismounted and for began to search their saddle bags to check how much of their gear and provisions remained, the wizard Markwood walked into their midst.
“Maslin!” Randall shook the old wizard’s hand. “I thought I’d never see you again.”
“Thank you, my boy,” Markwood said ruffling the youth’s hair as if Randall were a street ruffian.
“Where were you?” Kron asked, interjecting himself between the healer and the wizard.
“Verkain sent a demon to deal with me,” Markwood said.
“At the school?” Randall asked. “Is everyone all right?”
The old mage chuckled. “Never attack a wizard in his home,” he said, “especially when that home is the College of Magic.”
For the first time, Randall noticed the black soot on his friend’s robes. “Are you injured?”
Markwood shook his head. “A little singed is all, but I made sure the demon was vanquished. Verkain won’t be able to call that one back for some time.”
Adara extended a hand to the wizard. “I never thought I’d be so glad to see a mage in my life,” she said with
a smile.
Markwood took the hand and bent over, pressing his lips to its back. “My pleasure, my dear,” he said, straightening himself again.
“What brought you here?” from Kron.
“Belgad,” Markwood said, his face turning serious. “The man is on your trail again. His wizard picked it up as I did, when Randall was captured and could not cast.”
“How close are they?” Kron asked.
“Mere miles,” the old wizard said. “They don’t know your exact location, but they could be here in a couple of hours.”
“We’ve got to keep riding,” Kron said and turned to his horse. “It’s also possible Bishop Salvus will send someone after us.”
“Not likely,” Markwood said.
Kron turned back to look at the man.
“I temporarily erased his memory, for a week or so,” Markwood stated with a grin. “Him and the rest of the village. You three should be long gone by the time they remember you.”
“Thank you, Maslin,” Randall said, hugging the man.
“Yes, many thanks,” Kron said, but continued to climb into his saddle.
“I can deflect Belgad for a while if I remain here,” Markwood said, looking to Randall. “It is the least I can do after not being there for you when you needed me most.”
“Why don’t you come with us?” Randall pleaded. “We could use your help.”
“I’m sorry, but I can do you much good here dealing with Belgad and by watching from afar,” Markwood said, himself looking disappointed.
Randall didn’t know what to say. He didn’t want to leave his friend again, especially after almost losing his own life. He feared he might not ever see the wizard again.
“You will be fine,” Markwood said as if he could read the young healer’s thoughts.
“We need to ride,” Kron said. “Even with Markwood’s aid, we still need to put as much distance between us and Belgad and Wester’s Edge.”
“Go,” Markwood said, patting Randall on the shoulder.
Randall turned and he and Adara climbed aboard their riding beasts.
“Which direction shall you be traveling?” the old wizard said to Kron.
“North,” Kron said. “There’s a pass into the Prisonlands.”
The old wizard appeared shocked. “The Prisonlands?”
“With an escort of wardens we can ride straight through to Kobalos,” Kron said. “We’ll be coming from a direction Verkain is not likely to expect.”
Markwood nodded at the thoughtfulness of Kron’s plan, then waved a hand at Randall. “Until we meet again,” he said with a grin.
The three rode away from the den of evergreens and the wizard was left to himself once more. He watched them ride off, then turned to face the south with a serious face. It was time to deal with Belgad.
Chapter Sixteen
Sergeant Holden’s group of a dozen wasted no time about Wester’s Edge. The dirt trail to the mountains was plain before them and they flew along it with heightened speed, spurring their steeds to as fast as the animals could travel.
Within minutes they spotted another group of riders approaching from the mountain path.
“Hold!” the sergeant yelled to his men as he yanked his horse’s reins.
His men came to a stop behind the sergeant as the other riders pulled their animal’s to a stop in front of them.
“Explain yourselves!” Sergeant Holden ordered the group of seven before him, a strong-looking bald barbarian, a tall man in fancy clothes, a ruby-haired woman in robes and four soldiers in chain shirts.
“We do not explain ourselves,” Belgad the Liar said with a sneer.
“We seek bandits who fled our town in the direction from which you are coming,” Holden said. “Explain yourselves or we will count you among the bandits.”
Belgad glanced at Fortisquo and Karitha the wizard, but the sword master and mage only shrugged. None of them had any idea what the man leading the other riders was talking about.
“We’re hunting a wizard,” Belgad said. “Perhaps you seek the same man.”
“We know nothing of a wizard,” the sergeant said, “and for the last time, explain your reasons for being here.”
Belgad turned in his saddle to look at Fortisquo, but the swordsman only nodded. When the large northerner turned around, he flung a dagger.
The weapon’s blade plunged into Sergeant Holden’s throat, sending the man sliding from his saddle.
Before the sergeant’s companions could react, Belgad and Fortisquo were already charging. The Dartague pulled a long sword from a scabbard on his back and swung the blade from side to side, nearly decapitating one of the enemy soldiers and slashing another in the shoulder. Fortisquo had more finesse than Belgad and charged with his rapier pointed straight ahead; a commoner tried to block the swordsman’s blow with a wooden club, but Fortisquo worked his thin blade around the clumsy weapon and stabbed his foe in the throat.
Weapons were drawn on both sides now, the church’s warriors from Wester’s Edge drawing swords while the commoners from the villager pulled out maces or clubs. Belgad’s four guards drew their own heavy swords while Karitha climbed from her horse to the ground and began to chant words of magic.
Belgad would have taken a strong blow to his left arm, but an invisible force stopped his opponent’s blade from reaching him. For a moment the northerner was surprised at still having his limb, but the shock died quickly and he managed to slide his own weapon between his attacker’s ribs, knocking the man from his horse to be trampled by the other nervous animals.
Fortisquo ducked below a swinging mace and brought the pommel of his sword up to smash into a man’s face, breaking the nose and knocking him back in the saddle. Fortisquo stabbed down with his rapier, jabbing it through the man’s side and into his liver.
Belgad suddenly found himself surrounded by the remaining soldiers, but his own four men charged to the rescue, ramming their more powerful steeds into those of the men from Wester’s Edge. One of the villagers went flying from the back of his horse, crashing to the ground beneath another man’s animal.
The rest of those from the village still alive and on horseback turned their animals back the way they had come, fleeing the scene. They had seen enough of their friends fall to know they stood little chance against the ones they thought were bandits.
Belgad chuckled at the backs of their routed enemies.
“I needed that,” Fortisquo said with a wicked grin as he wiped his sword clean on a cloth and returned the weapon to its place at his side.
“We all needed that after the trip through the Needles,” Belgad said, sheathing his sword. Karitha’s presence reminding him he had nearly lost an arm in the struggle. The northerner said “Thank you,” to her.
The red-haired mage nodded in return.
“Are they still riding north?” Belgad asked her.
Karitha took out her mirror, waved a hand over it and looked into the silvery reflection. A vision of their prey appeared to her, the three riding around a stone fence. The image blurred for a moment, then the wizard could see a picture of the sun’s position in the sky.
“They head east now, away from the mountains,” Karitha said as she returned the mirror to her saddlebags.
“Forget this lot,” Belgad said, waving a hand over the dead and wounded villagers. “They won’t have a strong enough force to send after us now. We ride.”
With that the large man retrieved his horse and turned north, the others following without hesitation.
***
It was two hours before Belgad pulled his party to a halt, dismounting to allow their horses a rest and a drink near a brook.
Above them, the air was filled with thunder.
Looking up, the party of seven spotted Ybalik, the general of Verkain’s war demons, flapping his wings as he descended.
“What news?” Belgad asked, cutting to the point.
The demon landed away from the group’s horses so as not to fright
en the beasts. “Verkain has called off the hunt for his pup,” Ybalik stated with acid in his voice. The demon did not appear to enjoy being the Kobalan lord’s messenger and had likely not received a warm welcome when he last met with Verkain after failing to capture Randall.
“Why is that?” Karitha asked, as confused as the rest of the party.
The demon’s red eyes turned to the wizard. “They travel north,” Ybalik explained. “Verkain first thought his son was running, but now he has decided the brat is coming home.”
“They travel east,” Karitha said to correct the demon.
“The last we could spy of them, they were riding north,” Ybalik said with fangs hanging over his black bottom lip. “But that was several hours ago.”
Karitha removed her mirror and waved a hand over it again. Inside she saw an image of Kron, Adara and Randall riding east across a field of hay.
“I can still find them,” Karitha said, holding the mirror so the demon could see. “In their haste they forgot to cast a web of protection over themselves.”
The demon snarled. “That is not what I have seen.”
“Then one of us is being fooled,” Belgad said.
“Do as you will,” the demon general said, “but we will no longer hunt the boy. He is coming to us. There is no need to hunt.”
“What if we get to him first?” Fortisquo asked.
Ybalik turned a gnarled face to the sword master. “Then all the better,” the demon said, “but I would suggest you take the healer alive. Verkain wants him for himself. If you should slay the brat, I would most enjoy what Verkain would do to your skins, and afterward he would turn your souls over to me.”
A couple of the guards blanched at the dark words, but Belgad and the others took it in stride; they were dealing with demons after all and would remain unharmed as long as they did not get in Verkain’s way.