Nicholas Raven and the Wizards' Web (The Complete Epic Fantasy)

by Thomas J. Prestopnik

  “This one was delayed,” Cale said. “My cousin is conducting a special undertaking for Vellan and–”

  Brin raised a hand to silence him, noting a look of surprise upon the faces of the new arrivals. Whether they were impressed at the mention of Vellan’s name or merely skeptical of the claim, Brin knew he had gotten their attention.

  “My cousin speaks more than he should, but Cale is correct when saying we have a special tribute for Vellan upon our vessel.” Brin massaged his chin as if deep in thought, looking at the three men with a gleam in his eyes. “And I would be willing to offer you the food items you requested for your camp, perhaps even above what you ask, but I would need something in return.”

  “Of course,” the lead soldier replied. “Name it.”

  “Some assistance with an important mission,” he said. “Have you more horses available at your camp?”

  “A few.”

  “And you’re planning to go deeper into the mountains soon?” Brin asked.

  “We are,” the man assured him.

  “Perhaps even as far as Del Norác?” The three soldiers glanced at one another, suspicious of Brin’s intentions, yet ready to hear more. “I’ll make it worth your while if some of you leave for there immediately,” he promised.

  “What would you have us do?” one of the other men asked, eager for a change of scenery. A journey to the capital of Kargoth, even at the onset of winter, offered much appeal after the tedium of monitoring the river over recent weeks.

  “I need you to deliver something to Mount Minakaris.” The soldiers looked up with both wonder and disbelief, yet Brin already knew that he had secured their cooperation. “Deliver something to Vellan himself–from me.”

  “What?” the lead soldier whispered.

  Brin turned and pointed at the raft, an extended finger aimed directly at Ivy. “Her.”

  Neither Nicholas nor Ivy heard Brin’s softly spoken words as his back was to them during most of the conversation. Both, though, clearly distinguished the last syllable he had uttered when he turned and indicated Ivy with a raised finger. Ivy gazed back uneasily at Brin and the others, certain she was the topic of conversation. Nicholas felt a sickening chill course through him, fearing for her safety. The loathsome expression upon Brin’s face and the deadened look in his eyes was proof enough that the situation was about to get worse.

  He frantically looked around for a weapon or a way of escape, but since he and Ivy were securely bound with rope, he was simply going through the motions. Ivy noted his pale complexion and sudden look of desperation, imagining the horrific thoughts swirling through his mind.

  “Nicholas,” she whispered. “What are they talking about?”

  “They’re talking about you, Ivy,” he said, glaring back at Brin and Cale who were still engaged in discussions with the Islanders.

  “I’ve been the topic of conversation among many people of late,” she replied, trying to keep calm as her heart beat faster. “Any guess as to specifics?”

  Nicholas looked at Ivy, wishing he could hold her in his arms as he remembered them dancing together in Illingboc. “I don’t–” He took a deep breath to steady himself, imagining the worst. “I don’t know what’s on Brin’s warped mind. But after observing him here and onboard the Bretic, I know it can’t be anything good.”

  He gazed into her eyes and took in the long soft strands of her hair as it flowed down a pair of slender shoulders. Ivy’s presence calmed him and gave him strength. But when he imagined the extent of Brin’s horrid intentions, his heart welled up with pain, fearing for her safety and knowing he couldn’t bear to be separated from her again. He couldn’t shake the horrible feeling that Brin was going to take Ivy away from him–and soon–though he could not fathom for what purpose.

  Ivy noted his ashen complexion, guessing that they were thinking along similar lines. She looked into his eyes, desperately searching for words to calm him while momentarily ignoring the danger she assumed was encroaching upon her.

  Nicholas gazed lovingly at her as he struggled at his bonds. But out of the corners of his eyes he noted that Brin and the others on the bank were walking toward the raft. Nicholas’ heart pounded. He spoke in rushed and anxious tones. “Ivy, I know we’re destined to be together. I can’t imagine a better life for me than to walk beside you wherever fate may lead us.” Though Ivy looked affectionately at him while he spoke, Nicholas’ attention was drawn to the ominous sound of Brin’s footfalls as he shuffled through the brittle grass.

  “I feel the same way,” Ivy replied. “I have for a long time.”

  “So have I,” Nicholas said with a desperate sense of haste as Brin and his men approached. “I love you, Ivy.” He gazed upon her as if for the last time. “I always will.”

  “I love you too, Nicholas,” she replied, tearing up. “I can’t imagine living–”

  “Get the girl!” Brin’s order cut through a sharp breeze sweeping across the river. “Hurry up about it. The princess will be leaving us now,” he told the men on the raft. Some silently questioned his instructions, wondering why he would send the girl away after going to so much trouble to secure her.

  “Take me instead!” Nicholas shouted, tugging at his ropes as he tried to stand up. But one of the men on board went over and pressed a hand upon his shoulder, keeping Nicholas in place while unsheathing a dagger as a warning.

  “No need for dramatics,” Brin remarked, resting a foot on the edge of the raft as it gently bobbed upon the water.

  “Why are you separating us?” Ivy asked, her body trembling.

  “He’s sending you to Kargoth!” Nicholas shouted.

  “Very perceptive,” Brin replied. “Now that we’re heading deeper into enemy territory, it makes sense to separate you two in case we’re attacked. I can get the girl into Vellan’s hands much more quickly on horseback. Cale and another of my crew will tag along to let the wizard know that one of King Justin’s spies will be forthcoming.” He flashed a self-congratulatory grin. “And it won’t hurt my cause any to have him eagerly anticipating a visit from me after I’ve delivered the princess of Arrondale. He’ll look forward to my arrival, perhaps offering me a place in his operation as repayment for my initiative.”

  Nicholas seethed. “You’re dreaming, Brin! Vellan will have no use for you. He is the center of his world. Why would he want a no-name ship rat from the Isles to assist in his designs on Laparia?”

  “I don’t have time for this,” Brin calmly replied. He snapped his fingers and pointed to one of his men on the raft, indicating for him to escort Ivy off the vessel at once. He again looked at Nicholas, a slight sneer upon his lips. “But perhaps we can talk later, seeing that you won’t have your lady friend to converse with anymore. That is, if you’ll allow a no-name ship rat to speak with someone as high and mighty as you.”

  Brin’s grating laughter felt like a slap across Nicholas’ face until he heard Ivy cry out his name as one of the men forced her to stand up. Her harrowing plea was a knife to his heart, drowned out by his own shouts of defiance as he tried to jump up and save her despite the binds that restrained him. Amid his blinding tears, two pairs of arms pinned Nicholas down as Ivy was dragged away, ripped again from his life as winter’s bitter breath swept across the dying landscape.

  Nicholas leaned his head back against the fish barrel, mentally exhausted as the flood of emotions from three days ago circulated through his body like a slow-working poison. Each time he remembered how Ivy had been taken from him, he grew angry and sick to his stomach, fearing for her safety. But after hours of fitful worry, his mind and body would collapse into a numb lethargy as he silently gazed at the world passing him by. He was again entering that state, not caring about what might happen to him nor even concerned about getting revenge upon Brin and his men.

  At times he would reach a point of giving up, his heart broken and his spirit crushed. He craved sleep if only to forget and to escape his weary bondage, but a deep and continuous slumber elude
d him. Nicholas could only close his eyes for an hour or two at most before waking to Ivy’s distant pleas that lingered in his mind like a horrible dream. He suffered through the rest of that day and all the next in bitter silence. The raft continued up the Gray River, getting closer to the Northern Mountains whose snowcapped peaks rose like a set of jagged teeth ready to consume them whole. Nicholas, empty and unmoving, stared back at the stone giants with anguished eyes, and for brief and scattered moments, welcomed such a fate.

  CHAPTER 87

  The Mountain Resistance

  Nicholas awoke early the following day, greeted by sunlight shooting through a canopy of bony branches. He was ready to make a joke to Leo about sleeping late when he realized that he wasn’t in the Cashua Forest but was instead within a rare thicket of scraggly trees alongside the Gray River where Brin had directed his crew to spend the previous night. A flood of melancholy hit him as he sat up, a cascade of blankets falling from his shoulders. A rope was tied to his ankle and the other end secured to a tree. Lying close by on either side were two of Brin’s men, both armed with daggers. Brin and the other crew member sat by a fire engaged in quiet conversation. Brin shot a glance at Nicholas who returned a deadened stare. It had been five days since Ivy had been taken from him. He wondered when his lonely journey would end.

  “If you promise to behave, I’ll let you help push the raft today,” Brin said. “That’s a better option than sitting tied up all day.”

  “Is the work too much for your crew that you want me in the rotation?” Nicholas dryly remarked.

  Brin shrugged, not even mildly irked by the comment. “Your choice. Doesn’t matter to me either way.”

  Nicholas sighed, knowing that Brin was calling the shots. He admitted to himself that some exercise would do him good. Putting his pride and anger aside, he nodded. “I’ll lend a hand,” he replied, grateful for the offer but not willing to show it.

  “Good. I’ll put you on the first shift,” he said as he tossed a stick into the fire. “We’ll leave after breakfast. With luck, we’ll be nearing the mountains by this time tomorrow. Soon after that, we’ll arrive at the headwaters of the Gray River.”

  “And then what?” Nicholas asked.

  “Then we make our way to the Drusala River along a series of diverted streams and dug canals,” he explained. “After we entered into an alliance with Kargoth, Vellan instructed the Enâri to bridge the gap between the Gray and Drusala Rivers to provide our rafts swift passage. That saved our men the drudgery of unloading our tribute to him and transporting it several miles over land and rock, avoiding injury, death and much wasted time.”

  “Lucky for you,” Nicholas said. “Not so much for the Enâri.”

  Brin chuckled. “Vellan can spare them by the thousands. No need to shed any tears.”

  “Trust me, I’m not. It’s me that I’m worried about. If Vellan treats his own with such disregard, I can only wonder what he’d do to his enemies.”

  “You’ll find out soon enough. But look on the bright side. Once we reach the Drusala River, we’ll be moving downstream. It’ll be a much easier and swifter ride for us all.”

  “Can’t wait,” Nicholas muttered. “Now when do we eat?”

  The first hours on the river that day proved to be as dreary as all the others. East and west, the view was flat and unchanging, a tedious vista of browning grasslands and scrub brush shrouded with overcast skies. By late morning, however, handfuls of pine trees were sprouting up intermittently on both sides of the water, lending color and fragrance to the monotonous landscape and giving the crew hope that a more hospitable environment awaited them. Around noontime, the leaden clouds began to break. The sun appeared from time to time against patches of blue sky, offering more cheer to the men than actual heat or light. Still, all were pleased to see the sun drifting low across the southern horizon between the peaks in the mountain chain. Nicholas gazed at the hazy yellow orb as he repeatedly walked toward it while pushing off the pole in the river, closing his eyes for brief moments and thinking of Ivy as he soaked up the mild warmth upon his face. He wondered whether she had already reached Del Norác, or perhaps by some lucky twist of fate had escaped and fled her captors. The sun moved behind some clouds again, and with it, his hopes for Ivy’s safety.

  “Break time,” said one of Brin’s men. He and a second crewman approached Nicholas who was about to walk to the back of the raft to begin another circuit. Dunnic, the second man, held a piece of rope which dangled like a dead snake in his fingers.

  “I’m not tired,” Nicholas said, enjoying his bit of liberty.

  “But I’m bored,” the first man replied. “You keep the barrel of salted mackerel company again.” Both he and Dunnic laughed.

  “Fine,” Nicholas said with a disgusted sigh, handing him the pole. He eyed the piece of rope in Dunnic’s hand, knowing what was expected of him. “Don’t suppose I could trade places with the second poleman for a while?”

  Dunnic shook his head. “I’m taking his place. Turn around so I can bind your hands.”

  With another defeated sigh, Nicholas complied, knowing he couldn’t fight off four armed men. On several occasions he had imagined jumping into the water and swimming to shore, though he realized he’d probably freeze to death even after making it back to land. Or if the water didn’t kill him, the inevitable knife flung into his back probably would. Yet despite being tied up during most of the trip, he realized that staying with these men would eventually lead him back to Ivy–or so he hoped. Until then, he’d have to keep his desire for revenge or escape in check.

  “Not so tight. My fingers turned purple last time,” he glumly joked as Dunnic fastened the rope around his wrists. As they walked to the mackerel barrel on the back end, the poleman on the other side of the raft facing the western shore called out to the others.

  “We’ve got company,” he said, pointing to a quartet of Islanders who were hiking north along the bank toward them, each dressed in a long brown coat and boots. One of the men was walking briskly in front of the three others who lagged behind.

  Brin, on the verge of unsettled sleep, had been resting against a crate of hardtack in the center of the raft. He jumped up, shaking the fog from his head. He curiously studied the four men walking against a backdrop of gray clouds and a clump of stunted pine trees in the near distance, straining his eyes to make out their faces. Something suddenly grabbed his attention.

  “Ease the raft toward the bank,” he calmly ordered, delighting his men with an unscheduled break. “One of them is injured.”

  The two polemen, working together, veered the craft toward the western shore. Brin stood proudly on the edge of the vessel as if he were commanding the Bretic itself. He clasped his hands behind his back, locking a steady gaze upon the four soldiers as they drew near the sun-speckled bank. Dunnic, standing beside Nicholas, craned his neck to get a better look, wondering if he might know any of the new arrivals from previous assignments. Unable to get a good view over the mountain of supplies, he grabbed Nicholas by the arm and led him around the back of the raft to the other side, pushing him against another barrel of salted fish.

  “Stay right here, spy, or you’ll regret it later,” he muttered, stabbing him in the chest with a finger.

  “Duly noted.”

  Dunnic hurried to Brin’s side near the center as the raft approached the grassy bank. “These aren’t the ones who took the girl a few days ago, are they?”

  “No. Not a familiar face among them,” Brin replied, raising a hand to greet the four strangers who had since moved closer to the river and stopped, waiting for the raft to anchor. He turned to Dunnic and softly spoke. “I’ll happily give them assistance if they so request, but if they think they’re going to board my vessel…” He rolled his eyes. “After all, Dunnic, I have a schedule to keep with Vellan.”

  Moments later, the steersmen eased the raft alongside the western bank and laid their poles down before dropping two anchors. Four misshapen hunks of iro
n attached to coils of rope were fastened to each corner of the raft, though only two at a time were used to anchor the vessel depending on which bank of the river it was pulled alongside. The polemen hurried to the two corners facing the open water and shoved the respective anchors off the deck. Each one dropped into the cold water and sank with silent fury, unraveling the rope coils as they disappeared into the gloomy depths.

  Brin and Dunnic, in the meantime, stepped off the bobbing vessel and approached the strangers, eyeing the injured man who stood with two of his companions supporting him on either arm. A black and purplish bruise was visible on one side of the man’s head with a trickle of dried blood beneath it. The wounded man, slightly stocky with dark, shortly cropped hair, favored his left ankle, raising it up slightly as if it had been sprained or possibly broken.

  “Thanks for stopping,” said the man standing alone who appeared to be in charge. He was a handful of years older than Brin and introduced himself as Malek. “We didn’t expect to see any rafts now that winter has set in. I thought the four of us were going to spend another night with little more to eat than twigs and tree bark,” he joked, gently scratching his whiskered face and smiling wearily.

  “What happened to your friend?” Brin asked, indicating the wounded man.

  “We were attacked at our camp several miles from here before dawn by rebels from Linden. There were so many of them, and all well trained,” Malek said, glancing at the ground as if ashamed to speak of the defeat. “Some in our group managed to flee to nearby woods when their numbers overwhelmed us, though many were killed. The four of us headed this way to recover since the rebels were still thick in the south.”