The Western Wizard

by Mickey Zucker Reichert

  Colbey blocked with an outside sweep, cutting his other sword across the gap between the Northman’s mail and chin. As the Northman collapsed, the last charged in with a high stroke that gashed the ceiling. Colbey diverted with a fast parry, driving his sword into the Northman’s eyes.

  The door crashed open. “Renshai!” someone screamed. A mailed Northman sprang through the opening, four more at his heels.

  Sword still embedded, Colbey whirled to meet the charge, jabbing his other sword defensively before him. Momentum carried the Northman onto Colbey’s blade, burying the longsword nearly to the hilt in his abdomen. The force of the attack drove Colbey to his knees. A Northman impaled on each sword, Colbey felt the wild, hot rush of battle joy, and he laughed. Already, six Northmen lay dead. Colbey counted four before him, still acutely aware of the one he had dropped but not killed. That one lay on the floor at his back, near Emerald, and he hoped but did not count on her having the courage to finish him. Three of his opponents carried swords and shields, the last a short-hafted war ax that looked heavy as an anvil.

  Even as Colbey tensed, two Northmen attacked as one. The Renshai sprang backward, freeing his swords and gaining his feet. One broadsword embedded into a wooden chest. The other gashed open Colbey’s collar, tearing the sleeve of his tunic. Too close. Colbey surged upright, one blade opening a Northman’s abdomen. The other missed cleanly. The Northman leapt backward, leaving his sword stuck in the trunk. With a lunge, Colbey impaled him, flipping his blades into a defensive position to face his last two opponents. The swordsman kept his shield up, backing carefully from Colbey. The axman advanced, arm muscles knotted, face ugly with directed rage. Suddenly, he lunged.

  Colbey threw up a block. The ax smashed down on his blade, the impact aching through his arm. He back-stepped toward Emerald and the fallen guard. The last swordsman ducked through the door and into the daylight, presumably for reinforcements.

  The axman gritted his teeth beneath wide, bloodless lips. Again, the ax drove for Colbey’s side, and the Renshai caught the stroke on his sword. The force of the blow plunged Colbey another step backward. His arms throbbed, and pain howled in his muscles. Quietly seeking an opening, he took another backward step.

  Suddenly, a hand seized Colbey’s ankle and yanked. Balance lost, Colbey scarcely met the next mighty pound of the ax, and its power grounded him. He fell to his knees, twisting toward the guard he had kicked, who still lay on Emerald’s floor and now held Colbey’s foot. The ax slammed down toward Colbey’s head. He ducked, dodging behind one blade. Steel met steel with a power that all but broke his grip. More from will than strength, he kept hold of his hilt, circling his sword with an abruptness that tore the ax from the Northman’s hand. It fell, shaking the floor with its weight.

  The Northman on the floor made a sweep for Colbey’s side, but the length of the blade and the closeness of the target stole all power from the blow. It slammed against Colbey’s bruised hip, shocking pain through him, though the blade barely scratched him. Not wanting to fall prey to the same mistake, Colbey slid his hand from his own hilt to his blade, shortening the length. The sharpened steel slit his hand painlessly. He drove the blade into the Northman’s groin. A shriek echoed through the confines. The Northman’s hand fell from Colbey’s ankle, and the Renshai surged to his feet.

  Having recovered his ax, the last Northman charged Colbey again. Pain screamed through the Renshai. His head pounded, fatigue returning in a whistling, spinning rush. His arms felt on fire, and the bruises he had gotten from his fall ached. Enraged by his own exhaustion, Colbey met the charge with a parry that redirected the ax to the floor. Colbey stabbed through the Northman’s defenses. His blade cut through mail and flesh, and the soldier joined his companions on the cottage floor.

  A flash of steel at the corner of Colbey’s vision was his only warning. A sword blade bit into the back of his knee, carving flesh down his calf nearly to the ankle. An abrupt whirl was all that saved Colbey’s foot. One sword battered the enemy’s blade aside. The other bit through its wielder’s gut and buried into the spine. Only then, Colbey realized that his target was not the injured Northman he expected but Emerald. Every muscle in the woman’s body went rigid, then fell suddenly limp. She collapsed, the sword tumbling from her grip. Her gaze fell to the blade thrust through her, and she screamed in realization and terror.

  Horrified, Colbey levered his blade free, unable to comprehend the deceit. Emerald’s attack made no sense, and he could only feel the anger and guilt of having murdered Episte’s mother.

  Emerald lay still, except for the wide-eyed expression that seemed permanently locked on her face. Clearly, she was in spinal shock, and Colbey knew from feel alone that she would die in seconds, no matter what he did. At least, he felt certain that she knew no pain.

  Emerald’s dark eyes were clear, flashing with a hatred so raw Colbey could mistake it for nothing else. “All your fault,” she whispered, though her words made no more sense to him than her betrayal. A glaze obscured her eyes, taking the emotion with it. “They wanted you. They only ever wanted you.”

  Colbey remained unmoving, waiting for her to make a request that he could fulfill. Some part of his mind hoped that he had killed her without cause, so that she could, at least, die with honor.

  “One savage old Renshai cost us the town and the lives of so many innocent men and women.” Her lids fell shut. The words that came next held the peaceful, haunting quality that comes just before giving up the battle to death. “And mine now.” She said nothing more.

  The news struck Colbey a blow as heavy as the Northman’s ax. He had always known that the Northmen attacked him with far more exuberance than any other, but he had expected nothing less once they knew his heritage. Yet the idea that the war had started and raged over him for ten years sent a shock of self-directed anger and guilt through him. Santagithi’s loyalty prided and pained him. Never had a friendship been so sorely tested. At any time, the general could have betrayed Colbey in much the same way as Emerald had, and Colbey would not have begrudged him choosing the lesser of evils. Now, he believed, he had found the information that had heavily plagued Santagithi throughout the warring years. And it pained him.

  Colbey shook blood from his swords, drawing a rag to clean the steel. In moments, he knew reinforcements would arrive. He would fight Northmen in even greater numbers, then kill many more before they overpowered him. Finally, his time had come. Yet had he known that he, alone, was the object of dispute, he would have attacked the entirety of the Northlands at once and long ago died in glory.

  The shattered door swung open on broken hinges. Colbey crouched into a defensive position, one sword high, the other low. Mitrian and Episte stood framed in the doorway, their postures military, though they carried no weapons. Mitrian wore a black mourning scarf that covered her features. Although she had remained in town for most of the battles, word of a woman in Santagithi’s ranks had probably spread. Episte’s gaze roved from the scarlet-streaked blades in Colbey’s hands to the Northmen’s bodies scattered across the floor of his home. His attention fell on his mother’s corpse and froze there.

  Episte’s professional stance disappeared. “No,” he whispered. Tears welled in his eyes, blurring them to puddles of blue. Suddenly, he was no longer a Renshai man ensconced in a golden whirlwind of combat. In an instant, he went rigid, a four-year-old confused by the demands of an unyielding torke. “Mother!” He ran to Emerald. Heedless of the other corpses, he tripped over one, sprawling to his face on another. The tears came faster, rolling down his face in a ceaseless trail. He scrabbled over the dead Northmen, not bothering to stand, and hugged his mother to his chest. He rocked the body like a child.

  Mitrian’s face echoed Colbey’s concern. She spoke softly. “We were ambushed on the other side of town. The Northmen made it look as if they had left. When our army came in to help the bereaved, the Northmen attacked. Those of us remaining need to retreat, and fast.” She glanced at Episte. “Bromdun
thought we’d find you here, so we took a chance. I didn’t think they’d question a woman and a child. What happened here?” She changed tacks so quickly, it took Colbey a moment to realize that she had.

  Colbey’s grip had gone slippery from the blood trickling from his palm. More soaked the edges of a hole in his breeks, trailing down his leg to the floor. His bruised side ached nearly as badly as his arms. “Ambush.” He did not explain further. Still ignoring his own injuries, he walked to Episte and knelt beside the teen.

  Episte still hugged his mother’s body to his chest, his face buried in her dress. Warrior’s sinews shifted through childishly thin arms, making the tiny hairs sparkle.

  Episte’s behavior did not suit Renshai, yet Colbey knew that this was no time for a lecture. Cleaning and sheathing his swords, he placed a firm hand on the youth’s heaving shoulder. He smoothed the fine, gold locks with his other hand, though the gesture streaked the teen’s hair with blood. “She died fighting an opponent too strong for her. If her beliefs allow it, she found Valhalla.” Colbey used the most comforting words he knew. He saw no need to supply details that would only hurt. Unless Mitrian and Episte had peeked through the windows before entering, no one living could have witnessed the truth.

  “Mother.” Episte sobbed, his word lost in the folds of her shift.

  Mitrian spoke softly, but with inviolate authority. “We have to go. Now.”

  Colbey twisted to face her, but Episte remained in place. “We have to go now,” the elder Renshai echoed.

  Still Episte did not move.

  Colbey waved for Mitrian to start without them.

  Mitrian frowned. “I’ll get horses, but that’ll draw attention. I’ll expect you both to be ready to ride the instant I get back.” She added emphatically. “Which won’t take but a moment.” She disappeared through the door.

  Colbey shook his young charge. “Come on. There’s nothing more we can do here. Let’s go.”

  Episte’s grip cinched tighter, than loosened. Suddenly, he whirled and lunged toward Colbey.

  Instinctively, Colbey recoiled. The teen’s arms looped around the elder, clutching him in an embrace as rigid as the one he had used to cling to his mother’s body. Warm tears seeped through Colbey’s tattered tunic. Grief-mad, Episte spoke in an infant’s voice that Colbey scarcely recognized. “She’s dead. Gods, no. She’s dead.”

  Colbey stiffened, uncertain what to do. He understood that he had been more of a father to Episte than any other man. He knew that the youngster needed to share his grief, that Episte had come to him for the comforting he craved. But Colbey had no experience with such matters. The necessary words and gestures would not come, and he could only seize the opportunity. Catching Episte to him, he hefted the younger Renshai and headed for the door.

  Mitrian met him there on the back of a prancing chestnut. She had armed herself with a sword from the streets. She held the reins of a thick-rumped bay. “This was all I could get. Hurry! The Northmen are on us.”

  For the first time, Episte looked up, face red and smeared with tears. Colbey half-dragged the teen to the doorway. “We’ll ride together.” He hefted Episte directly behind the bay’s saddle, then leapt into the seat. Mitrian dropped the bay’s reins, sending her horse into a gallop. Colbey’s horse lurched after it, even before he found his seat or the reins. He caught both at a dead run, pleased to find that Episte kept his balance as well.

  Shouts echoed through Santagithi’s streets. Northmen mounted and on foot converged on them from every direction. Colbey drew his swords, seeing Mitrian raise hers as well. He slashed at the wild froth of Northmen, his swords a blur; and the enemy scattered in a wild retreat. Mitrian’s steed did not slow. She pounded through the press, her horse or sword claiming those Northmen who did not move from her path fast enough. Colbey could hear hooves galloping over cobblestones from the center of town. Toward the woods, he found fewer horsemen, though a line of soldiers blocked Mitrian’s route from the town.

  Still, Mitrian did not slow. Colbey kicked his mount harder, and it skidded into a rear that required Episte to grab the back of the saddle for balance. As his horse drew up beside Mitrian’s, they hacked through the wall together. The Northmen ahead broke, even as those behind narrowed the gap between them. Mitrian and Colbey surged through the hole and into the forest, a cluster of Northmen riding at their heels.

  “They’re this way!” Mitrian managed to shout over the war howls and curses of the Northmen. Though few Northmen spoke Western trade and fewer Westerners spoke Northern, some words crossed from Renshai to Northern. For the sake of decency, he hoped Mitrian and Episte did not understand many of the swear words.

  Apparently, Mitrian had selected her steeds well. Well-rested, the animals plunged into the forest, dodging through gaps between trees and leaping deadfalls with an exuberance that most of the Northmen’s tired horses could not match. All but a couple dozen fell behind, but those few remaining seemed to be narrowing the gap, and Colbey knew that running through brush was terribly dangerous. He kept tight to the horse’s neck, and Episte flattened against Colbey.

  Hearing voices ahead, Colbey shouted a warning. “Danger before!”

  “It’s all right!” Mitrian hollered back. “They’re ours.”

  A moment later, Colbey veered through a copse of pine and saw the group of retreating horsemen. A quick count left Colbey with an impression of thirty, most wearing the black and silver uniforms of Santagithi’s guardsmen. He saw at least one woman among them, and he picked Rache, Santagithi, Garn, Bromdun, and Galan from the others. Northmen rode hard on their heels. The general shouted something that Colbey could not hear, but apparently Mitrian did. She diverted her course, angling to keep from sandwiching Northmen between Santagithi’s men and herself.

  Like the two sides of an arrow, they sped to a point, meeting just shy of a wide, dead trunk. Mitrian and Colbey veered in among the others, near the lead.

  “Where to?” Colbey shouted. He knew they would need to stand and fight soon. Their current course would trap them against the Granite Hills to be killed by Northmen coming from both directions.

  Santagithi hesitated.

  Apparently thinking the question was meant for her, Mitrian replied in his stead. “There’s a cave this way.” She waved northeastward, to a position far east of the passes that had become so familiar to the man. “I explored it a few times when you made excuses for me to stay behind. There’s a small back exit.”

  Santagithi frowned in consideration. Then, apparently finding no better alternative, he nodded. “Let’s go.”

  The mountains drew closer with every step. Mitrian took the lead, knowing the location of the sanctuary they sought. Colbey dared to look back, seeing one of their trailing men go down, a victim of the Northmen’s fastest steed. Others turned on the Northman. Colbey glanced back, just in time to follow Mitrian into the dark mouth of the cave.

  “Down!” Colbey skittered from his saddle, clinging to the side of his horse’s neck to give Episte more room. He pulled his mount to a halt, sliding to the ground as it slowed. On a moving horse, a man could have his head torn off by low projections from the roof, and Colbey would rather face blood-hungry Northmen than lose his life or Episte’s to foolishness.

  Once in the cave, the others stopped and dismounted as well. Santagithi gathered the horses’ reins. Colbey crouched near the mouth, glad to see the Northmen pull up outside the cave.

  Santagithi made a sweeping gesture, nearly lost in the shadows. “Mitrian, get everyone out that back exit you mentioned. Quietly. Colbey and I will hold off the Northmen.”

  Colbey nodded, watching the Northmen dismount and ready weapons. He counted enemies, not bothering to turn.

  If Mitrian protested, Colbey did not hear it. He followed the soft shuffle of footsteps as Santagithi’s men disappeared deeper into the cave mouth, leaving only the two elders to hold the entrance.

  Santagithi called after the retreating men. “Go to Shadimar. He’ll kn
ow what to do.” He did not bother to suggest that he would meet them there. Clearly, the general did not question his own death, nor even Colbey’s. He approached the old Renshai. “The horses . . .” he started, the remainder of his plan wafting plainly through his thoughts.

  Colbey waved Santagithi silent. “I know what you’re thinking. Good idea.”

  Santagithi did not question Colbey’s knowledge. “Back here. Come on.”

  Colbey moved around behind the clustered horses. Taking bandages from his pack, he bound the wounds on his hand and calf, while Santagithi set the trap. “There’re thirty-one of them,” Colbey said, his blood warming to the imminent combat. He listened to the conversations outside the cave. “They’re coming in after us.”

  Swords rasped from sheaths, the sound echoing through the caverns. The Renshai could scarcely hear the Northmen’s approaching footsteps beneath the stomping of their own horses, but their brief verbal exchanges gave away their positions.

  “Now,” Santagithi said. His sword came free, flat slapping horses’ flanks. Colbey drew both of his blades, spooking the beasts. Panicked, the horses raced for daylight, heedless of the Northmen they trampled. Screams replaced conversation and the sounds of readied weapons. Yet as the horses thundered away, fifteen Northerners remained on their feet. These threw themselves upon Santagithi and Colbey.

  Steel chimed a reverberating chorus, like a carillon. Backs tight to the wall, Santagithi and Colbey fought side by side, as one. The Northmen struck in anger and with certain triumph, but the two men fought for their lives. Five Northmen died before a single one of their blows landed.

  Colbey’s blade opened a sixth man’s throat, but his block fell short. Pain seared his chest and side. Ribs snapped, and Colbey’s mind told him the wound would be fatal. Joy thrilled through him, bringing a battle madness he could never quench. Finally, he had found the death in combat he had sought, yet it would not find him an easy victim. Glorious combat was not enough. To die in honor, he had to take every Northman with him. Otherwise, they would surely dismember him, and he would lose all the purpose and direction his life had held.