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

by Thomas J. Prestopnik

  “We mean to go back,” added one of the two men holding up his injured comrade. “We want to go back, but our friend here makes that impossible. Any chance you could take us upriver and tend to Sala’s injury?”

  Brin studied their tired faces. “I’ll help your friend,” he finally said. “Within reason, of course.” He pointed to the raft, indicating the two polemen who now stood on the side to watch the proceedings, and Nicholas, still leaning against the fish barrel near the back with his hands tied behind him. “As you can see, we’re rather crowded. Besides me and Dunnic, I have two others on my crew and a prisoner from Arrondale. Taking on more passengers is out of the question, especially when I have an important meeting with Vellan to keep.”

  Malek appeared impressed upon hearing Vellan’s name, glancing at his men with what seemed to be deep respect for Brin and his crew. Brin sensed as much and hoped his fellow Islanders would appreciate his unwillingness to take them aboard.

  “I guess five people crammed on this supply raft leaves little room for four more,” Malek said.

  “I’m glad you understand,” Brin said. “Still, we’ll do what we can for you and your injured friend.” He flashed a cordial smile at Malek, happy that he appeared to be so accommodating yet mildly suspicious for the same reason. He knew if their positions were reversed, he would have put up a fierce argument to get his way before giving up so easily. But before Malek could utter another word, Brin posed a question. “Just out of curiosity, on what ship did you and your men cross over from the Isles? My crew and I sailed on the Bretic, one of the finest in the fleet before she was destroyed off Karg Island in a wall of flames.”

  “The Bretic? Destroyed?” Malek uttered the words with genuine concern. “What happened?”

  “Long story,” Brin said. “But needless to say, Captain Okela was devastated, having commanded that ship for almost seven years.”

  Malek shook his head in dismay. “It will be a great loss to the Island fleet, both Okela and the Bretic. But in time, he’ll find another ship. I’m sure of it.”

  Brin nodded. “Still, Okela is always welcomed here if he’d like to take command of my vessel in all its glory,” he said. He turned and extended his left arm, pointing at the raft while reaching stealthily inside his coat with his right hand. Suddenly Brin spun around, now armed with a dagger, and confronted Malek, the sharp blade aimed at his enemy’s throat. “Who are you?” he demanded. Dunnic and the two polemen on the raft swiftly unleashed their daggers, ready to leap to Brin’s defense.

  Malek and his men were just as quick arming themselves. He drew a sword hanging from his side and the other three men, each standing in a defensive posture, now held knives similar to their counterparts. Malek flashed a grin in silent recognition to Brin for unveiling their deception so quickly.

  “Hmmm,” he said lightly. “That’s four of your knives to our three knives and a sword. I guess we outmatch you, if only slightly.”

  “Only slightly,” Brin replied sourly. “Now tell me who you are. You’re obviously not from the Isles as you were easily duped by a bit of false information.”

  Malek appeared unconcerned with the sudden turn of events. “Let me guess–Okela isn’t captain of the Bretic?”

  “Okela doesn’t exist,” Brin replied. “Captain Kellig, before he turned traitor, commanded the Bretic. He has been relieved of duty and his former ship is now a burnt-out hulk sitting off Karg Island.”

  “Luckily you still have a vessel intact to turn over when I relieve you of duty,” Malek replied in a jovial tone.

  Brin sneered, for a moment letting his seething anger get the best of him. But he decided not to let Malek intimidate him in front of his men. “I’d sooner die than turn over this raft, though I don’t think it’ll come to that.”

  “I hope not, but we do mean to take your vessel.” Malek indicated the thicket of pine trees farther away. “As a fair warning, we aren’t the only ones here. Other eyes are on you, Brin, and they’ll kill you if they must to defend ourselves and our land. You are the invaders, and we’ll drive you out no matter what it takes.”

  “Vellan has invited us to these parts!” Dunnic jumped in, his face red with anger.

  “Vellan is the prime invader. That wizard settled in these parts fifty years ago and created the realm of Kargoth, attacking our three mountain nations in the process.” Malek fumed, his mood darkening. “The government of Surna, my homeland, has been corrupted. Its resources have been pillaged and destroyed by Vellan loyalists, his Enâri creatures, and by Island interlopers like you. The nations of Linden and Harlow have suffered similar fates. But my countrymen and I will defeat you no matter how long it takes.”

  “And how many lives of my countrymen did you take to obtain the Island garb you now wear?” Brin countered, his words dripping with disdain.

  Malek sighed with disgust. “None. We raided another supply raft weeks ago that had pulled ashore for repairs. Weapons, coats and uniforms were among the items being transported, so we use them to our advantage to fight the enemy. After questioning and disarming those men, we let them go. I will honestly tell you that that particular crew was eager to flee and start a new life away from the Isles. Apparently not all the Island people support your alliance with Vellan or his relentless quest for power.”

  “There are always a few weak minds and hearts in any operation,” Brin said. “But my crew will not be so easily defeated.”

  Malek tilted his head slightly as he sized up Brin’s resolve to fight to the bitter end. “Are you sure about that?”

  He raised his sword high in the air, the blade reflecting scattered sunlight through the breaking clouds. Suddenly an arrow streaked past Brin’s left side like a harsh whisper, embedding itself into one of the crates in the center of the raft. Its gray and white feather fletching matched the hue of the clouds overhead. The two polemen, only an arm’s length away, turned in unison, both startled when hearing the deadly thud.

  Nicholas, witnessing the event on the end of the raft, expected trouble as he frantically tugged to loosen the ropes binding his hands, though no to avail. No matter how the battle played out, he knew he’d be merely an afterthought and wanted to get out of the way as he couldn’t defend himself. Escape was out of the question since he would be easily stopped. All he could do to survive an imminent skirmish was to hide on the other side of the raft behind the mountain of supplies and hope for the best. He was prepared to slink away onto the east-facing side of the vessel when Brin responded to Malek’s demonstration.

  “You have us at a disadvantage,” he said after glancing at the arrow protruding from the crate. Brin lowered his dagger and Malek reciprocated, bringing the sword down to his side. “The only sensible thing would be for us to hand over our vessel.”

  “That would be the wisest course,” Malek replied, loosening the grip on his sword, but only slightly, not expecting his opponent to comply. “I promise that no harm will come to any of you. Agreed?”

  Brin smiled crookedly and nodded. “Agreed.” He glanced at the ground, a thin stream of air passing through his lips as if to punctuate his crushing defeat. “Agreed,” he repeated softly as his fingers tightened around his knife handle. “No harm shall come to me or my men. You, sir, however, are a different story.”

  Suddenly, he swept his dagger through the air directly at Malek, having no intention of losing his vessel or his life. Malek, expecting as much, raised his sword and sharply fended off the blow. At once, Dunnic leaped screaming into the fray, charging at the nearest of Malek’s three men and tackling him to the ground. Brin’s two polemen jumped off the raft to assist their comrades, but just as one of them stepped foot onto the grassy bank, his body flinched and collapsed to the ground in a dead heap, an arrow with gray and white fletching buried in his chest. Seconds later, three more men armed with swords and bows and dressed like Islanders charged from the nearby pines and raced toward the river to aide Malek and his group.

  “You will not take
my raft!” Brin shouted, wildly slicing the air with his dagger.

  Malek, who could have easily struck Brin down, fended off the strikes one by one, simultaneously watching the others out of the corners of his eyes. As one of his men fought Dunnic in the grass, the other two had barreled toward the second poleman, their daggers raised and their eyes filled with fury. The poleman recoiled in terror and immediately tossed his knife aside and dropped to his knees, raising his hands in surrender. Moments later, Dunnic was also subdued, his face pressed to the ground and one of his arms locked behind his back. Nicholas watched from the raft in silent fascination. When Malek saw that his adversaries were now under control and that more aid was arriving from within the trees, he couldn’t help but smile, drawing Brin’s ire.

  “I swear I’ll kill you!” he cried.

  “You’re taking your time about it,” Malek said, turning away another dagger stroke. But Brin, nearly out of breath, countered with even more desperate swings of his weapon as Malek’s additional men drew nearer. Growing tired of the match, Malek gripped the hilt of his sword with both hands and swung it with his full force as Brin’s knife came down again. He knocked the weapon out of his hand and sent it sailing through the air above the river where it plunged into the water. “Now do you give up?” he asked, breathing heavily yet still in an amiable mood which infuriated Brin. “You must realize that it’s all over, my friend.”

  “I am not your friend!” Brin shouted, clenching his fists and glaring at Malek as if ready to leap at him like a wild dog. “And this is far from over!”

  As Brin’s face turned a dark shade of red, he screamed in frustration and spun around, sprinting back to the raft. He leaped on board near the center of the vessel where he had been napping earlier and reached underneath the canvas tarp covering the mound of supplies. A moment later, he raised his right arm with a defiant grin, gripping the hilt of a sword he had hidden there earlier while resting.

  “Ready for a rematch?” he shouted. He stood upon the edge of the raft as it bobbed upon the water. Beads of sweat dotted his brow. His shoulders rose and fell with each labored breath. “I fear neither you nor your gang of thugs.”

  “Thugs? That term suits you more than me,” Malek replied as he pointed his sword at Nicholas. “It is you, after all, who have a bound prisoner upon your raft.”

  Brin glared at Nicholas who still stood at the back of the vessel. “That man is a spy for King Justin and deserves the treatment he has received. Vellan, though, will decide his fate when I deliver him to the wizard in person.”

  Nicholas shook his head, a part of him pitying Brin for not realizing that he was already defeated. “It’s over, Brin,” he said. “You’re not ever going to see Vellan no matter how much you wish it. Hand over your sword to Malek.”

  “Shut up, you!” he said, waving the weapon at Nicholas. “Or I’ll come down there and make you shut up.”

  “The man is right,” Malek said, wanting to redirect Brin’s fury at himself. “Lay down your sword so we can discuss reasonable terms. Refuse, and I won’t be able to promise a pleasant outcome.”

  “And why should I trust you? Look at what you did to him,” he shot back, pointing at one of his crewmen who lay dead upon the brittle grass. “How do I know you won’t kill us all once I surrender?”

  “You don’t,” he replied with growing impatience. “But I do. I’m a man of my word. No harm will come to you or your associates if you give up now.”

  Brin locked gazes with Malek for a moment and then studied the hopeless scene, weighing the option of surrender. The defiant part of him, though, frenetically searched for another way to grasp an improbable victory after such a brutal thrashing.

  “Give up, Brin,” Nicholas said. “By the look on Malek’s face, he’s not going to give you much more time to think about it.”

  “I told you to be quiet!” he shouted. “You’re still my prisoner and don’t forget that. I’ll worry about Malek and–” Brin froze before slowly turning around and glaring at Nicholas from halfway across the raft as a torrent of wild speculation filled his mind. “Now I understand everything. You helped to arrange all of this. It’s as clear as a full Bear Moon. You’re in league with Malek!”

  Nicholas’ eyes widened in astonishment, believing that Brin had lost his grasp of reality. “I’ve been your prisoner for the last twelve days. Surely you can see that your claim doesn’t make sense.”

  “Don’t patronize me!” Brin raised his sword and stepped closer. “You’ve been plotting against me since Karg Island. I know it! This has been your plan all along.”

  As Nicholas stood against the barrel, the ropes biting into his wrists, he noted a desperate, faraway look in Brin’s eyes that he had never seen before, fearful that the man was becoming unhinged. Malek wondered the same thing as he stood upon the grassy bank, taking another step closer to the raft.

  “Keep your distance!” Brin shouted, spinning around to face him. “I don’t know how you and Nicholas kept in contact, but I know you did. Both of you have been waiting to take me down.”

  “I’ve never laid eyes on your prisoner until today,” Malek calmly told him. “Your mind has taken a flight of fancy.”

  “You’re lying! You and Nicholas are collaborators.”

  “Malek speaks the truth,” Nicholas said, drawing Brin’s attention away as Malek took another step nearer to the raft. “How could we possibly know each other?”

  “Don’t question me as if I’m a child!” he snapped, turning to face the shore. “I said stay back, Malek! Don’t come any closer.”

  “Brin, throw down your sword!” he said, reaching the limit of his patience. “We’re ending this now.”

  “Better do as he says,” Nicholas warned.

  “Stop talking, both of you!” Brin shouted, his gaze shifting between the two adversaries. With a clenched jaw and groans of frustration, he appeared as if a hunted animal, cornered and ready to spring in one last desperate bid for freedom. “I make the rules around here! I give the orders!”

  “Last chance!” Malek cried. “Surrender now, or else.”

  “Do it, Brin,” Nicholas urged. “Save yourself.”

  Brin, exhausted and enraged, exploded in frustration and ran screaming down the raft toward Nicholas, his sword aimed at him. Nicholas lunged away from the barrel, trying to keep his balance so he could run to the other side of the raft. But as he turned to flee, his foot caught one of the ropes binding a canvas tarp. His body jerked back as Brin’s sharp sword zeroed in on him. Nicholas thought only of Ivy in that next instant as Brin was about to kill him.

  But in the split second before that fatal blow, Brin’s body momentarily froze, arching back at the shoulders and accompanied with a violent intake of breath before he stumbled harmlessly past Nicholas toward the back edge of the raft. Nicholas noted an arrow sticking out of Brin’s right shoulder just moments before he heard a terrific splash. Brin tumbled headlong into the water, losing the grip on his sword which sank silently to the river’s cloudy bottom.

  Nicholas untangled his foot as Brin surfaced and floundered about in the freezing river, coughing and sputtering as he made his way to the raft and grabbed onto the edge. The water about him was tinted scarlet. His hands slipped off the wood as he groaned in pain and reached out again, grabbing the bound logs with his left hand and clutching the iron hunk that served as one of the unused anchors with his right, finally steadying himself.

  “Hold on!” Nicholas shouted, standing over his former captor but unable to assist as his hands were tied. He gazed with sickening horror at the arrow protruding from the back of Brin’s shoulder. He looked to shore as Malek and his fellow soldiers surrounded the two surviving members of Brin’s crew and bound their wrists. One of Malek’s men, an archer named Rollin, clutched a long bow at his side. “I need help!” Nicholas shouted.

  “Do you think they’re going to bother to rush–” Brin took a deep, shaky breath, his head lying upon his right arm as it rested o
n a coil of rope attached to the anchor. “–rush to my aid?” He raised his tired eyes, offering a grim smile. “I’m as good as dead.”

  “Climb on the raft,” Nicholas said, kneeling down while still struggling at his ropes. “You’ll freeze to death in the water.”

  “Or bleed to death outside of it.” He raised his head and gazed at Nicholas with curiosity. “But why should you care?”

  “I’m not entirely sure,” Nicholas admitted. “But your wound doesn’t look fatal. Pull yourself on board and let them help you.”

  Brin got a more secure grip on the anchor and repositioned himself as spasms of pain coursed through his upper body. His legs, though, were beginning to numb. He imagined that if he let go he would float away down the Gray River until he lost all feeling, allowing death to finally take him. He stared at the coil of rope, gently stroking the fibers with his left hand as Nicholas uttered a few more words of encouragement. But Brin found it difficult to concentrate as his mind began to drift and lightheadedness slowly overtook him. Yet he made a tremendous effort to keep his eyes focused on Nicholas as his fury and disdain began to cool.

  “At best, I’ll die a–” Brin shuddered as a sharp breeze brushed over the surface of the river. “At best, Nicholas, I’ll die a slow and painful death if they can’t properly fix my wound.” He laughed softly, holding tighter to the anchor with his right arm as he sunk his left hand into the rope and wrapped it once around his wrist. “That is, if they even make an effort to help me.”

  “They will,” Nicholas promised, watching distractedly as Brin worked the rope around his left wrist two more times, wondering if he was going to use it somehow to pull himself onto the raft. Malek and his men, in the meantime, tended to their two prisoners.

  “At worst,” he continued, his words slowing due to the cold, “I’ll survive…and become a prisoner…to them.” Brin shifted his eyes to shore. “I could never–”

  “Never what?” Nicholas asked, wanting to keep him talking until help arrived. He glanced at the riverbank and shouted. “Would somebody give me a hand?”