Fire And Ice (Book 1)

by Wayne Krabbenhoft III

  Unable to wait any longer, and not wishing to argue over it, Coran left her in the care of the wizard and Martin. She would have tried to stop him and he knew that he had to do this, alone.

  Chapter 43

  The Tower Top

  Coran left Katelyn and the Knights behind as he ran towards the south side of the field. Down in the shallow valley to his right the funnel shaped clouds continued to bring destruction wherever it passed. He passed Taragosans who continued to push up the incline of the hill. The Easterners were starting to turn and run as the logical outcome began to dawn on even the most stubborn. Coran caught sight of a gray haired man in the middle of a group of towering Northmen.

  “Tenobius!” Coran called over the sounds of battle.

  The First Wizard turned at the sound of his name. “Coran,” the wizard stated in as quiet voice as if there was not a battle raging around him. Tenobius looked tired as he shook his head miserably. “I thought I could stop him, or at least distract him, but I cannot. He is too powerful.” Coran knew who he was talking about. Elthzidor. That the First Wizard, with his knowledge and experience, was unable to do anything made Coran wonder what he could possibly do. “Someone must stop him.”

  “I know,” he replied simply, not really sure that he could do anything.

  “Listen.” Tenobius leaned closer. “I know that you think you must face Elthzidor because you have the sword. That is not the only reason. The sword is important, but with or without it you are the Champion. You are the only one who can stop him.”

  Coran nodded. He didn’t know how to respond, or even if he believed what the man was saying.

  “One last thing,” the wizard continued. “When the darkness threatens to swallow you, you must embrace the light.” When he saw that Coran did not understand he sighed. “Just remember.”

  “I will,” promised Coran, seeing that it was important to the man for some reason. Then he turned away and started out for the tower again.

  He passed green and yellow clad Westlanders bearing the three stars of Westland on their chests. They fought spear wielding men with conical shaped helmets on their heads or

  no helmets at all. He didn’t see Robert anywhere.

  The fighting became more intense as he came closer to his goal. Mounted Makkurans and Westlanders fought on the edge of the field, blocking his way. One of the Makkurans tried to strike at him from the saddle. Coran dodged out of the way and struck at the horse. The animal went down screaming, pitching its rider into the snow. Before the man could regain his feet Coran took off his head with one swipe of Ice. The way was now clear to the trees that surrounded the base of the tower.

  As he reached it one of the Orgog was standing guard at the rectangular opening. It snarled and spread its arms in preparation to attack. Coran had no time for this, ducking under a claw tipped arm he swung at the thing’s middle, cutting it nearly in half.

  Coran ducked inside to the tower’s interior. Cobwebs hung where the ceiling and walls met. A ladder ran up to an opening in the wood above. The sounds of battle from outside were muted by the stone walls.

  He sheathed Ice and climbed to the next level up. It was empty except for another ladder leading upwards. He climbed that one, avoiding the second rung which was broken, and spotted another ladder leading up to the tower top. Through the opening in the stone ceiling he could see the dark, swirling clouds. On reaching the top of the ladder he poked his head out cautiously. The opening was on the southern side of the tower, and Elthzidor stood on the north side facing the battlefield.

  The Ra Majin must have seen him out of the corner of his eye because he took a second to point a hand in his direction. As the bolt of fire flew towards him, Coran ducked back out of sight. The fire struck the stones on one side of the opening, spraying small chunks everywhere. Coran felt something hit his cheek. When he put a hand there it came away with some blood.

  There was no easy way to do it. “If I am going to do it I just have to do it,” he told himself. Whatever was going to happen was going to happen. Tenobius called him the Champion. He didn't feel like a champion. The wizard told him he was the only one who could stop Elthzidor. He didn't believe that either. But unless someone did something Elthzidor was going to destroy the armies of Midia and the North. He climbed the rest of the way and moved quickly to gain his feet on the tower top.

  He could see the battlefield around them. All along the ridge that ran north out from the tower the men of the West were slowing their attack. The Easterners he saw were running headlong across the low valley on the eastern side of the ridge. The battle appeared to be mostly over. Only near the tower itself did any serious fighting remain. That was not the end of the danger though. The funnel clouds were still moving, approaching the ridge from the west, approaching Katelyn. He had to stop it somehow. He drew Ice and took a step closer to his enemy. Once again coldness flowed into him from the blade, coldness with an underlining warmth.

  Elthzidor spotted the movement, his gaze moved to fall on Coran. It was enough to distract the wizard from his work. The clouds still continued their spinning, but the finger of darkness had retreated back into the sky to join them.

  “So it has come at last. Our fated meeting,” Elthzidor breathed. “Are you ready, boy?”

  “More than you know,” responded Coran more out of defiance than any feeling that the words were true. Elthzidor was not fooled. A thin smile was on his lips. “Such bravado. That is really very noble of you. But we both know the truth, do we not?” He shrugged the black robe from his shoulders, letting the cloth settle to the stones around his feet. Underneath he wore a stiff black shirt with sleeves that ended at his elbows and golden swirls throughout. The hilt of a sword was revealed at his side. The Ra Majin drew it slowly from the sheath. The entire length of the sword, from pommel to pointed tip, was black.

  It was not a solid black though. There was a red shine to it the color of newly spilled blood.

  Coran stared at the blade with a rising dread. No one had told him about that sword, but he was sure it had to be like his own blue-silver blade.

  “I have been waiting a long time for this,” said Elthzidor as he spun the blade expertly with one hand. “When you are finally dead nothing will stand in my way.”

  “Enough talk Elthzidor,” Coran said bravely.

  “Are you so eager to die?”

  “Are you so sure it will be me who dies?” Coran countered.

  Elthzidor laughed at him. “You have no idea what you face. Did that fool Tenobius not tell you of the power I possess?”

  As Elthzidor talked a familiar calm came over Coran as it had during the fight in Crecy and in the North when he faced Gorod. He knew it was time to end this. Ignoring the wizard’s banter he took a step nearer his adversary.

  Elthzidor gestured sharply and fire shot outward from his hand, it met the blue steel of Ice and dissipated. The Wizard raised his hand and Coran could feel what the man was doing. Before the lightning struck the spot he had been standing on Coran dove for the stones of the tower top, rolled, and came to his feet. Elthzidor attacked again, but not with the power of Naturus, with the sword. Coran blocked the strike and their personnel battle began.

  Back and forth they fought around the space allowed. For appearing so thin, Elthzidor was surprisingly strong with his blows. As they fought the black blade came closer and closer to reaching him. Coran desperately fought to gain room, finally spinning away, but not before the dark sword scored a hit across his upper thigh. Luckily it did not feel bad enough to impede his movement.

  “You cannot keep this up much longer,” Elthzidor commented.

  Coran knew he was right. If he was going to have a chance he had to surrender to that feeling of calmness completely. He pushed out all distractions. He did not think of the things around him that he could see, hear, or touch, but was aware of them, ready to react instinctively, without thought.

  They fought again and this time it was Coran who was rewarded with a
cut across the wizard’s shoulder. Elthzidor put his free hand to the wound and then looked at his bloody fingers. He was no longer smiling.

  “Enough of this foolishness. It is time that you learned what real power is.” Elthzidor raised his sword up before him, holding the hilt in both hands.

  There was a tingling to the air that made Coran’s hairs rise. He could feel the amount of power emanating from the other man. At first the air around the wizard appeared to dim, then grew darker until a blackness outlined Elthzidor. The blackness grew until Coran could feel it pushing against him. The calm he was in threatened to shatter as panic gripped his heart. The blackness was power, unbelievable power that was a part of Elthzidor, and a part of the sword he held. Surely nothing could stand against such power. Elthzidor lowered the point of the sword until it was directed at Coran. “Feel the power of Fire!” Then fire shot towards him. It was not the normal orange and yellow of regular fire, but was rather a seething ball of black and red. Coran raised Ice just in time to block the worst of the blow, as it was he found himself hurtled backwards to fall against the battlements. As he struck the stone wall pain blossomed throughout his back and head. His legs could not hold him and he slid down to a sitting position, his back against the wall. He felt weak and pain radiated through his entire body. It was no use. Nothing could match that much power.

  “Yes!” exalted Elthzidor. “My Master will give me rewards beyond measure for this.” He moved until he was standing over Coran. “You have failed, boy, and now all of the West will pay the price. Starting with your precious little Queen. I have some interesting plans for her. I might even give her to Torvilin after all.”

  He was right again. Coran desperately tried to think of something. If he died now than all would be lost, Katelyn would be lost. The words of Tenobius came to him then. When the darkness threatens to swallow you, embrace the light.

  If darkness could be said to be about to swallow him, this would be it. But what did he mean about embracing the light? Coran wasn’t sure but he knew right then that he needed to touch that elusive power wizards talked so much about. He forced himself to regain the calmness even as Elthzidor raised the black sword to strike the final blow. Coran close his eyes to shut out the image.

  As he had been taught by Gelarus so long ago he reached outward with his mind to the wind as it caressed the stones of the tower, to the men who still fought below, to the clouds that had stopped their spinning. He could feel the energy that was Naturus in and around everything. Then he did something that he had never been able to do before, he touched that power with his mind. He could feel it in his thoughts. Instead of affecting, or moving it, as Gelarus had taught, Coran pulled that energy into himself, connecting it to the energy that was within him and the energy that was part of the sword in his hand. Finally, he took all that power and embraced it. He accepted the power, letting it fill every part of him. Opening his eyes he flung a hand outwards at the man standing over him. Elthzidor flew backwards from the force of the wind to land flat on his back.

  As they both struggled to their feet Coran noticed a light around himself.

  “How!?” Then Elthzidor gasped as he saw the nimbus of light around Coran. “It is not possible. I sensed nothing in you like this. Nothing!”

  Coran didn’t have an explanation, but the feeling of pulling the energy into him seemed important. “That is because it was not in me,” he told the wizard and the answer felt right.

  Katelyn got to her feet and took the sword she had dropped from one of the Knights who held it out for her. Shaking her head from the blow she glanced around. “Where is Coran?” she asked and then remembered what he had said. “The Tower!” She looked to the south and could barely make out two figures on the top level.

  There was little time for staring as they were suddenly attacked by another group of Makkurans. Katelyn fought, striking out at any who came within reach of her sword. Martin still fought beside her, his helmet lost in the struggle. Renly guarded her other side. More Knights fought with them on the slope of the hill, but fewer, far too many had fallen. Other men had come to take their places, men in the blue and gold of Summerhall, the white and gold of Delios, shaggy, ununiformed Northmen, and a few Taragosans. She also caught sight of a short man wielding a spinning staff nearby.

  The battle was ending as the combined armies of Midia and the North pushed their way up the slope of the hill. All along the ridge the Easterners were being pushed back. Even the Makkurans began to realize the hopelessness of the situation. First a few, than dozens, and then hundreds turned and fled, to disappear into the valley beyond the ridge.

  Katelyn stopped to catch her breath as did her army.

  “By Dios!” Martin shouted in surprise. He pointed to the south, to the tower sticking up above the trees of the hillside, and he was not the only one. Everywhere men stood and stared, even the Northmen were shaken out of their killing frenzy to stare in astonishment.

  Katelyn could clearly see the two figures battling each other on top of the tower. What made them stare so was the darkness surrounding one of them. It was a shadow that was darker than night. Something shot out towards the other figure, knocking him backwards and out of her sight. The other man had to be Coran. She wanted to call out to him, but knew it would do no good.

  For less than a minute she held her breath until the figure of Coran reappeared. She had to gasp again as did several others. Coran reappeared with a light surrounding him. It was not the white light of heat, but rather a whiteness that was cold and pure.

  Katelyn tore her gaze from the spectacle to survey the area around them. While they were standing here the enemy was getting away. “Come on!” she shouted at Martin. He looked to her and then the men around them. “Forward!” she shouted again.

  “Forward!” Martin ordered, and men shook themselves from their staring and continued up the slope.

  “I do not want them to regroup!” she ordered the Commander. Martin yelled orders for his men to keep advancing. Katelyn started to head for the tower when the Commander stepped in her way.

  “Where are you going?” he asked her.

  “To the tower.”

  Martin frowned. “You cannot help him. It is his battle to fight. You are needed here, with your men.”

  Reluctantly she had to agree. If she went to the tower what could she do anyway?

  “Commander!” One of the Knights had reached the top of the ridge and was shouting back to them. His voice sounded urgent.

  Martin ran towards him with Katelyn right behind.

  “What is ...” the Commander broke off as he looked to the east.

  Katelyn reached them and looked as well. “Dear Creator,” she breathed. Marching towards them, from over the next low hill, was another army. They moved ponderously towards the armies of the West and North. The retreating Makkurans and their allies were joining the new host.

  “Where did they come from?” Renly asked.

  “He must have kept some back out of sight, or brought up reinforcements faster than anticipated,” Martin guessed.

  “Your Majesty!” It was Roland who shouted to her as he rode up with half a dozen other gray clad men of Holdon. Of his three sheaths, one was empty. His helmet was also gone, revealing sweat soaked hair and his too long nose. “I have failed you.”

  “No one could have predicted this,” she replied glad to see that he, at least, had survived the fight.

  “I should have. If I had known I could have taken precautions.”

  “I do not know what you could have done differently,” Katelyn told him truthfully. “You were already planning to face superior numbers, but this is not the time to assign blame. Right now we need to decide on a course of action before that army reaches us.”

  “I agree.” Aemon rode up to join them. His left arm was in a sling.

  “Why are we not still attacking?” A man with wild red hair and a beard approached on foot. He was accompanied by another man on a horse and another who
was also on foot. They had to be the King’s of the North.

  “We are discussing our options,” Roland informed them. “By the way, it is good to see you again, Edric.”

  “It had better be,” the King with short cut hair and narrow beard replied. “If we had not come when we did you would not be here now.”

  “I too would like to thank you all,” Katelyn told them all sincerely. It was good to get that out of the way so she would not have it hanging over her later. If there was a later.

  The King’s response was to eye her curiously. “Coran has good taste,” the red haired one commented.

  “Bail!” Edric snapped.

  “Oh, sorry, Your Majesty,” Bail apologized.

  “So what are we doing here?” Aemon demanded.

  “Our men are tired,” Roland began his assessment of the situation. “Those troops are fresh. We have no choice but to pull back to the river.”

  “We might be able to defeat such an army,” Martin added. “But Roland is right. Our best chance is to put the river between them and us. This is not the place or the time.”

  “I do not wish to leave my kingdom in enemy hands, but I do not wish to jeopardize the West if we should be defeated,” Aemon stated, obviously torn between the two. “I will abide with whatever you decide,” he said looking to Katelyn.

  “We should fight,” Bail grumbled, but added nothing more. Jarl and Edric waited patiently for her decision.

  Katelyn weighed their words, turning enough to get a glance at the tower. The two figures were moving about but she could not make out any details. If they retreated then Coran would be left behind to the mercy of the enemy. They had not shown any that she knew of.

  Martin must have understood her glance because he leaned towards her to speak softly. “I do not pretend to know exactly what is happening up there, but as I said before it is his battle. You must do what is best for your men,” he finished in a grave voice.

  Martin might be right, but he was speaking as one whose primary responsibility was seeing to her safety. “I must do what is best for Midia, not just the army who fights.” She replied just as softly.