Fire And Ice (Book 1)

by Wayne Krabbenhoft III

  “Coran?” a voice called to him.

  He turned to see Tenobius along with a man he only knew to be the other wizard. Tenobius was clearly older and had a wise expression on his round face. The other man was young, perhaps his own age with dark curly hair and an innocent look about him. It was not the innocence of youth since his eyes held a wisdom all their own. It was a look that said he knew all the horrors of the world, but didn’t expect to have to experience them himself. He was also rather short, maybe Katelyn’s height, and perfectly proportioned for his size. He carried a wooden staff that stood half a foot above his head.

  “This is Petrin Venn.” Tenobius gestured to the younger man. “He may look young, but he has an intriguing mind. He spends a great deal of time studying in the library among other things.”

  “It is a pleasure to meet you.” Petrin Venn shook his hand.

  “I am glad to meet you too,” Coran replied politely. “Should I call you Petrin, or Venn?”

  “Petrin Venn,” the young wizard told him simply.

  “Ah, Petrin Venn is from Kellbiring,” Tenobius pointed out.

  That explained it. It also explained his short stature. The people of Kellbiring were considered to be a strange lot by those who met them. No one knew what people they belonged to. Their height suggested that they might be Ithanian, but the people of Ithan deny any such connection. It is considered by some that they could be the descendants of the original inhabitants of the area now populated by Midian, Ithanian, and Western Karand. That was so long ago though that no one can say for sure, except maybe the Kellbiring themselves.

  “I told you that there would be someone you should meet,” Tenobius said. “Petrin Venn here started out sensing the power much like you did. Among his people they are taught the staff from an early age. They do not use edged weapons. He was quickly recognized as being remarkably gifted. The Kellbiring are much more aware of things that concern the power than other people so Petrin Venn was sent to us young. It took a while for his other abilities to emerge, so for a long time his only outlet was with his staff.”

  “What Master Tenobius is trying to say is that you may not have active powers, but you do have something with which to fight,” Petrin Venn explained. “I know that my continuous work with the staff eventually led to my affecting things around me. Perhaps if you work with your abilities it will help your chances.”

  “You know that I have to face Elthzidor?” Then realized that he was talking to a wizard. Of course he would know.

  “Yes. As soon as you were seen with the sword, everyone knew.”

  “Everyone?” Coran asked.

  “Of course. You are the Champion. The one foretold in prophecy.”

  Elthzidor sat waiting on his black horse for the scouts to return from the city. The army was passing by a few miles to the south. The Taragosans were still biting at his flanks, but they had no more effect than the Voltians had. His army was making good time across the low hills and plains of central Taragon. He estimated that it would take another ten days to reach the Blood. If his forward scouts were correct than he would have the advantage of numbers, not that he really needed it.

  A Bloodrider rode away from the city and up the hill towards him. The man stopped in surprise at seeing him.

  “Master,” he said quickly. “I did not expect to see you here.”

  “I know. Was there anyone in the city?” Of course he was not expected here since he had arrived by shifting. That was what he called it when he could move from one place to another instantaneously. It had been much more difficult bringing his horse along, but the distance had not been great.

  “A few stragglers who delayed in leaving my Lord.” As the scout reported, he kept his eyes downcast out of respect. It was not for fear. At least not for fear of his life. A Bloodrider’s only fear was disgracing himself.

  “How many?”

  “A hundred or so.”

  “Thank you. You may go,” he ordered and the scout left in a hurry.

  He would have to speak with the general. A thousand or so to garrison the city of Sunderly would protect their rear in case something unexpected happened. A warning to anyone who might approach couldn’t hurt. A few bodies hanging from the walls should do the trick if some of those stragglers could be rounded up.

  The only thing that worried him was that no one could tell him where Coran was. After the message from Selisk he had sent word back to Naras to find him for him, but there had been no news as yet. That made him a little nervous. Elthzidor knew what was in the North, if not exactly where. If the boy had found Ice things could get very interesting.

  He turned his mount around and started out for the south. He had no news of Summerhall’s young Queen either. That she had been crowned was unexpected. Unexpected in that it had happened so soon. Perhaps he had underestimated that fat fool Stemis. The vision he had seen in the boy’s mind was now half complete.

  Thinking of visions he ran a thin hand over the hilt of the black sword he wore. Not only was there power in the blade, but something else as well. He knew things that he should not know. Things that had happened a long time ago. It was strange to dream of being someone else, in another time. It was stranger to have those things come into his mind when awake. A little more time to adjust and to learn was all he needed. A few days. When he reached the Blood he would be ready.

  The twists and turns of the river slowed them down, but they made up that time in crossing Lake Midia. With the wind at their back they traversed the waters quickly under full sail and reached the head of the Blood River.

  When they arrived another, smaller fleet of ships was spotted making for the river as well, from the east. The ships were bulkier then the Northmen’s and the design was clearly a Midian one. As they neared Coran could make out a gray standard with something on it. He also saw the white parley flag.

  Storvik came up beside him. “You know who they are?”

  “They are from Holdon,” he answered. “I will speak with them.”

  A long boat was readied and he went with Storvik and six others to watch his back and row the boat. They neared the high decked vessels and several men appeared at the railing. One had a touch of gray and a chiseled face. He wore twin lightning bolts on his gray shirt.

  “Mance Holdon?” Coran called up to the man.

  “I am. Who would you be?”

  “Coran Tyelin.”

  Mance took in the fleet of Northern ships bobbing on the waves. “I take it we are here for the same reason?”

  “If you mean to reach the army before it is too late, then yes.”

  Mance nodded. “Then I trust we will not have any problems?”

  “No problems,” Coran assured him. “We go to fight a common foe.”

  “Forgive me. But do you speak for the Northmen as well?” His tone was doubtful.

  “He does,” Storvik exclaimed in a growling voice. “He leads us.”

  Mance was curious, but accepted the explanation. “All right. Then I will see you in the South.”

  Treska hugged his wife and his three children on the stone docks in Summerhall’s southern harbor. He and his friends, all independent ship owners and traders, had met to discuss the announcement that had been read in every square in the city. A fleet of Ithanians threatened from the south. They all agreed that the only thing to do was to go and help the other Midian and Northmen ships that were protecting the coastline. They had sent a representative to the palace to speak with the Queen’s sister. The Lady Margery heard him out and agreed to help them by supplying arrows for their short bows, and chain mail shirts that were left over in the armory. Also she sent a delivery of short swords, preferable in the confined conditions of a deck, for the use of their crew. It helped a great deal since they had little themselves for going to war.

  Over a dozen ships were in their small combined fleet of merchant turned warrior vessels. Jorgins’ ship was among them. Other ships had already joined the main fleet in the Sea of Itha
n.

  “Be careful,” his wife told him, giving him another hug.

  “I will,” he assured her. “I have fought off pirates before and Ithanians are little more than that sort of sea scum.” They had already argued over the subject. He believed it was his duty to fight for the freedom they enjoyed. She said that was what soldiers were paid for. She was really just upset by his leaving and finally stopped arguing with him. “You take care of your mother,” he told Jon, the oldest boy. “And you take care of your brothers,” he said to his blonde haired daughter, Krista. He stepped back and took a long, last look at his family. “I will be back before you know it.” He smiled and turned away towards his ship and waiting crew.

  Coran was assaulted by a number of queer dreams. In the first he was holding Ice, but it wasn’t really him. He was fighting those men with the helmets that obscured everything but their eyes. That was strange too because he did not know where it was that he fought. After that he found himself confronted by a number of Ithanians. They had plumes sticking up above polished helmets, and instead of wearing pants, the skirts of a smock-like outfit hung down to their knees. They were in a city that he had never seen before, but somehow knew it to be Ithan. He went to other places as well that he did not know. The only thing that was the same about all those dreams was that in every one he held Ice.

  Coran’s eyes shot open and he sat upright. He realized that he had fallen asleep in the prow of the ship. The stars twinkled high up in the sky. They seemed so far away.

  He noticed that the ship did not seem to be moving very fast. Pushing himself up from the deck he looked around and noticed some of the men were sitting around the deck drinking, and others were playing at a game with dice. There were a number who were using the time to sleep as he had. He saw a big, blond haired man approach him.

  “Are we stopping?” Coran asked the man. “Difficult stretch of the river.” Storvik snorted. “They want to take it slow. Difficult for those who have no idea what they are doing is what I say.”

  “That is just great,” Coran said frustrated at the slower pace.

  “You are not alone in that feeling. We are all eager to get to the fighting.”

  Coran didn’t bother to correct the man’s misunderstanding of his mood. He was not eager to fight. He just wanted to reach Katelyn before it was too late.

  Coran yawned, still feeling tired. “I am going below,” he announced.

  He went to the cabin he shared with Storvik, who had remained on deck.

  Chapter 40

  Betrayed

  There was still no word from Holdon. The latest word on the Voltians was that what was left of their army was gathering along the Sone River north of Vosburg. What they planned to do was a mystery. Strangely enough a report had come in saying that a party of them had been seen in northern Taragon, heading west. How many was in dispute. If it was a force intending to join up with Elthzidor they needed to know. That was just one of the reasons that Katelyn was worried. It wasn’t just the fate of the army gathered here that worried her, but the fate of all the West if they should fall.

  She turned away from watching the swift flowing river from the top of the bluff thirty yards above and headed back to the camp. She walked among the tents of the gathered armies. Startled men moved out of her way and she left a wake of kneeling soldiers. Her soldiers, as odd as that thought was to her.

  Martin appeared in front of her from out of nowhere. He had that ability at times. There was another man with him. No, a boy who was maybe seventeen who dropped to his knees in front of her. A boy? She shook her head ruefully at the thought since seventeen would make him a year older than her.

  “This is Josif,” Martin started to explain. “He has already expressed his desire to join the Knights of Soros. Under the circumstances I thought that speed was essential. I have tested him and found him worthy.”

  She understood. The young man wanted to be a Knight before they went into battle and Martin saw something in him to warrant it done. Normally, the ceremony of becoming a Knight would take place at Summerhall, and involve specific rituals, but that luxury was not available to them. She looked over the young man who knelt at her feet noting his determined gaze.

  “Do you swear your life and loyalty to the throne of Summerhall, and to me, until death?” she asked in a formal tone. It was not the exact wording, but it would do here.

  “I swear. With all my being I swear,” he answered with a great deal of enthusiasm.

  “Then I name you Josif, a true Knight of Soros,” she intoned. “You may rise.”

  Josif got to his feet with an expression of pure contentment on his face. He bowed to her again, more deeply, and walked away in a happy daze.

  “Thank you,” Martin said appreciably.

  “It was no trouble,” she insisted then continued through the camp with the Commander.

  They neared the center of the camp where the large tent was erected for the use of planning the battle. The two banners were still planted out front. They hung half limp in the slight breeze. She was about to duck into the tent when a commotion was heard behind her. She turned to the lane between the row of tents to see a long column of horsemen riding in by threes. She caught sight of the banner at the front. It bore two crossed swords. A frown grew on her face as she noticed who one of the men was in the van of the column. Straightening, she moved to a spot directly in front of the two banners of the sun to wait.

  Lord Nevil Digala reined in a few feet away and dismounted in order to kneel. “Your Majesty. I must apologize for not arriving sooner. There is no excuse for it.”

  She looked at the Lord with his head bowed low. “Rise, Lord Nevil. I had not expected you at all, so this is a pleasant surprise.” She said it coolly. In truth there was no excuse for refusing her summons, and certainly no excuse for not even sending an explanation. Nevil swallowed noticeably as he stood. “I will enjoy hearing the reasons for your belated arrival later.”

  Nevil backed away. “I will see that my men find a place to camp.”

  “A wonderful idea,” she replied without looking at him. Her gaze was on the very uncomfortable Devon, who was twisting in his saddle trying to avoid her eyes. She waited for Nevil to leave and the column of men to follow. There was a young girl riding next to Nevil who watched her with open curiosity until she was too far away.

  Katelyn pointed to a spot directly in front of her. “Here. Now.”

  The young man from Anders sighed as he slowly slid out of the saddle to stand where she was pointing. “I can explain.”

  “This better be good,” she said threateningly. “And you had better start by saying that he is all right, or else.”

  “He is. The last time I saw him. But I am sure he is still well.” He added the last quickly when her gaze turned frosty.

  She looked at him for a moment then rolled her eyes. “Come on. We can discuss this away from prying ears,” she said and he looked about them at the soldiers among the tents who were watching.

  She led him to another tent that had been set up for her personal use. Actually, she shared it with Alys. She could have slept in Stockton, but refused for the same reason she declined to stay in any of the inns they had passed on the way here.

  The tent was divided into two rooms by a curtain. Behind the curtain two narrow cots were set up for her and Alys. Speaking of the girl, Alys was sitting on some cushions off to one side. There was a table and a chair along with a few more cushions in the tent. The cushions were her one luxury.

  Alys jumped up at the sight of Devon and started to go to him, but then stopped. She seemed unsure how far their relationship had gone. Devon settled the issue by crossing the intervening space and hugging her tightly for a moment.

  “I hate to break up the reunion, but I want to know why you are here and Coran is not,” Katelyn stated and crossed her arms in front of her.

  “Coran isn’t with you?” Alys asked in alarm as she stepped back.

  “No. But as I sai
d I can explain.”

  “Then do so,” Katelyn ordered. It was definitely meant to be an order.

  “Everything went fine until we reached Fisherton. That was when we ran into Naras and his ugly friend.” He repeated the conversation they had about the attacks in Westland, Naras’ responsibility for Grendin and Gorod, and about a spy being someone close to them. “So we left him in the town’s custody.” His face turned into a frown. “On the way back we stopped to pick him up, but it was too late. He had escaped.”

  “That still does not explain why you are here and Coran is not,” she stated again.

  “I am getting to that. We went to Northwatch to follow up on the information and found the guy, Irne.”

  “So you went to Lord Nevil with it and then to find his niece?” she asked. It was what she would have done.

  “Not exactly,” he replied wincing. “We kind of thought that the idea was to keep Nevil from crossing into the North with an army.”

  “What did you do?” Alys asked anxiously.

  “Yes, what did you do?” Katelyn reiterated suspiciously.

  “Well, we thought it would settle everything if we went and got her ourselves. It worked too.”

  She couldn’t even sigh. “How many were there?”

  “Only eight. It was no trouble really.”

  Devon saying something was no trouble did not really fill her with confidence. “Then what?”

  “One of us had to take her back before Nevil decided not to wait any longer. A good thing too. I met him near the border.”

  “So Coran went on alone,” she stated the fact. “I should have known he would do something like that.”