His father, taking advantage of Ty’s diversion, managed to get his knife belt on and bow nocked. Ty followed his example and stuck his sword tip down in the ground beside him so he could use his bow.
Ty’s father pulled back on the large recurve. There were very few men who could manage the bow’s draw. “I count a full company. Outnumber us two, maybe three to one.” Ty’s father released, and the impact of his shaft skewered two of the large Tallosians at once. The man in front died instantly. The second fumbled around with the weight of the other attached to him.
“Aye!” Barl said as he rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet. “Then that should make it just about even, wouldn’t you say?” He tightened his double-handed grip as the savages bellowed their war cry and charged. Ty admired the man’s attitude.
The Northmen rushed across the yard like a wave of death. Ty’s brother and father managed to get off another volley before they tossed back their bows in exchange for their braces of knives.
Ty’s entire body shook with fright as he watched the savages come. Staying well behind everyone else, he released one more arrow. He hit his mark in the shoulder, but the man didn’t even notice as he raised his cleaver and continued running.
Ty tossed his bow and arrows behind him just as the Tallosians hit their line.
Another ball of fire flew from the witch’s fingertips and struck one of the Sidaran guards who had taken up a position out front. Ty nearly lost his resolve as the flesh on the front of the guard’s body cooked off his bones in mere moments. Ty doubled over and heaved what little supper he had ingested as the smell of roasted flesh hit him in the face. It smelled like sweet pork.
Ty tried to bring his own fire up again, but nothing happened. He couldn’t understand it. Why wasn’t it working? Feeling completely helpless, he watched as his protectors fought to hold back the tide. He had never witnessed a true battle before, only heard heroic tales from times long past. In them, good always prevailed and evil was inevitably vanquished.
He could see now that in reality, life was rarely a faerie story. A spray of warm liquid struck him across his chest and face. Eyes wide, he watched with sickening disgust as one of the guards in front of him was struck by Baeldor’s axe. The huge Northman had to struggle to pull his blade free as it was stuck fast inside the man’s torso.
The sharp iron flavor in Ty’s mouth brought him back from his momentary stupor as the realization of what he was tasting dawned on him. Doubling over once again, he dry-heaved and tried to spit and wipe his tongue with the clean side of his sleeve.
“Ty! Look out!” He could hear his brother off to his right. With all the heaving and scrubbing of his tongue, he had failed to notice one of the savages making a break inside the guards’ outer perimeter.
Ty swung his blade to the side to keep his attacker from taking off his leg. He wondered if the message about not killing him had registered with the rest of the face-painted savages. Their swords collided. The jolt of the impact ran all the way up his arm. The Northman swung high this time, forcing Ty to counter with an overhead block, but just as soon as his sword-arm went up, the man kicked him in the chest.
Ty flew backwards, the air expelling from his lungs. He landed on top of his mother’s winter daisies and rolled over. He tried to breathe but the air wasn’t returning. Lifting his arm to ready another block, Ty noticed his sword was no longer in his hand. He spun around. It was lying against the three-foot stone foundation bordering their house.
Ty scooted backwards as fast as he could. The Northman came at him again. Half the man’s face was covered in bleached bone, the other half in white paint. It was a terrifying sight. There was no way to reach his weapon before the Northman had him. The savage made it to within three paces when his brother, with a long dagger in one hand and a sickle in the other, released a ferocious roar and charged. With the look in Breen’s eyes, Ty actually felt sorry for the savage.
The Tallosian tried to brace himself. He started to raise his blade, but only made it about halfway before the bulk of Breen’s body slammed into him. His brother’s elbow made contact center-chest. Ty could hear bones snapping as the angry Northman flew through the air. His mask was torn from his face, revealing a look of utter shock and pain. When something as big as Breen hit you, you did’t get back up.
“Get your sword!”
Ty didn’t need to be told twice. By the time he had retrieved his weapon and turned back around, his brother was already back on the front line.
Another ball of fire shot through the air, killing one of the Sidaran Lancers on the left along with two of the Northmen. Ty had to find a way to keep her from using her magic on their men. It was bad enough having to face two-to-one odds against these barbarians, but add a flame-throwing witch into the mix and he didn’t see how they could possibly survive.
His fire for some reason had abandoned him, but he wondered if he could manage to pull off Mangora’s move with her wind shield, or whatever it was that she had done to stop Breen’s arrow.
Quickly, Ty focused on the air around him. He swiped his hand to the side like he had seen her do and watched to see if anything would happen. Nothing. He aimed his palm toward the ground and tried imaging a puff of wind striking the loose dirt. Nothing.
Pulling back, he searched for the warming sensation within him that always seemed to precede his abilities. This time, he decided to reach out and grab the wind as though it was a tangible substance. He could feel his magic rise as his fingers brushed through the air. He almost leaped with excitement when the hair on his head moved. It was working.
Ty attempted to test it, but lost his concentration when movement out of the corner of his eye brought him about. He barely had time to turn his head when he caught a fist to the side of his face that sent him spinning. This time he managed to keep his sword in his hand when he hit the ground. Why do I keep letting this happen? He was half expecting, or at least hoping, for another daring rescue from his brother, but none came. In the heat of desperation, Ty kicked out with his right leg and managed to connect with the man’s shin and throw him off balance long enough for Ty to get his sword in position.
He flipped over and pushed himself to his knees to make ready for the Tallosian’s counter, but was suddenly knocked to the side as someone rushed past and seized the defensive for him. Twisting his head around, Ty was taken back at the sight of red hair flinging back and forth as Lyessa went toe to toe with the huge savage.
He couldn’t believe it. Had he hit his head on the way down? Was he dreaming? Not only was she managing to block the man’s advances, but she was actually leading him around like a first year cadet who didn’t know one end of his weapon from the other.
Ty had never seen anything like it before. It was like watching a dance. She dodged and spun, deflected and side-stepped, her long hair whipping back and forth with each new parry and spin. The Northman was growing enraged at not being able to land a single strike. He actually growled at her.
Hopping to the side, she deflected the man’s thrust once again, and spinning around, decapitated him with one swift cut. The head hit the dirt and rolled in Ty’s direction. He just sat there, still in shock at seeing little miss prim and proper suddenly transformed into a crazy assassin sword-master.
“What are you gawking at, you idiot!” she hollered as she grabbed him by the front of his tunic and yanked him to his feet. The sleeve of her arm had been cut and was hanging open to the elbow. Ty noticed the scarring on her forearm and suddenly things came into focus. Now he understood why she always wore such reserved fashions, why she kept herself completely covered even during the warm summer months when most girls did everything they could to be as revealing as possible.
“What just . . . Where did you learn . . . Who are you?”
“I’m the person who just saved your scrawny backside. Now pick up that sword and get ready to fight!”
There was no hesitation. Ty grabbed his fallen blade and stood at her side
.
“By the way,” she said over her shoulder. “You fight like a girl.”
Ty grimaced. Twice now he’d been saved by someone else, and this time, it was Lyessa. He didn’t think it could get more humiliating than that. He still wasn’t sure how she had pulled it off. It was like she was a whole different person. He kind of liked it.
Three more men broke through the lines, each with a mask covering the whole of their face. Lyessa was the first to attack. Ty waited for the other to come to him. Lifting his sword, he successfully blocked the first strike. The weight of the impact nearly tore the sword from his hands and he stumbled backwards a step or two toward the front of the cottage.
This was nothing like the wooden swordplay he and his brother used to engage in when they were younger. His hands and arms throbbed with each successful block. Instead of a sword, his attacker swung a large club with pieces of sharp metal attached to the end.
“Ty, hang on!” Lyessa was busy holding back the other two. He knew she’d never be able to reach him in time.
Ty ducked the first swing, then dove to the ground and rolled to escape the second. He was back on his feet before the Northman was able to bring his club back around for a third. Lashing out at the first thing that came within reach, Ty plunged his sword through the savage’s upper thigh. The tip of the Tallosian’s club came down and separated Ty from his blade, leaving a deep bloody gash across his forearm. He bit down at the pain.
With the sword still sticking out of both sides of his leg, the masked man used his club to sweep Ty’s legs out from under him before he had a chance to leap out of the way.
The savage placed his foot on Ty’s chest as he stood there looking down at him. “Mangora says we need to keep you alive.” He pointed the tip of his club at the top of Ty’s head. “But I figure you could live without that.” The Northman’s speech might have been broken with a strong unnatural dialect, but Ty had no problem understanding his meaning as the big man slid an ugly looking knife out from his fur-lined boot and held it up for Ty to see. The handle was constructed from what looked like a leg bone or maybe part of an arm. With a smile, the ugly savage pointed at the top of Ty’s head with the curved blade. “Pretty hair.”
Ty didn’t have time to think. His life might have been complicated but it was the only one he had. Throwing away all restraint, he dove within himself and gathered the heat of his magic. He could feel it rising.
The Northman grabbed a handful of Ty’s light blonde strands to steady his grip as he lowered the knife to make the first incision. Somewhere in the distance, Ty could hear the others screaming his name, but he put them all aside as he drew the wind to him.
He let his magic take control. He turned himself over to it. With an upward thrust of his hands, he hit the savage with everything he had. The look of astonishment on the man’s face as he flew into the air, over the top of the other fighters and into the forest beyond, was quite satisfying.
Ty lifted his hands to take a look. “That was amazing.”
To his right, Lyessa stabbed her final attacker in the foot, forcing him to lose balance before finishing him with a swift thrust through his chest. She made her way over to where Ty was just getting back to his feet. He noticed she had some bruising around her left eye and a small cut over her brow from where the ugly Northman must have gotten in a solid punch. She looked in the general direction of where Ty had sent his attacker and huffed. “Show off.”
An unnerving scream brought them both around as another one of Mangora’s throws missed its intended target and struck an unsuspecting Tallosian in the back. The red hot flame burned through the bottom half of the man’s leather clothing, skin, flesh, and bone. The top half of his body flopped to the ground. Continuing to scream in pain, the savage dragged what remained of his lower torso in the only direction his two arms would take him—forward.
Ty watched as his father acted on the only humane choice left to him by thrusting his sword through the man’s back.
Where was the rest of the Easthaven Wielder Council when you needed them? Ty wondered. With what Mangora had rained down on them so far, she must have had something terrible in store for them back in town. He hoped they were faring better than he was at the moment.
Chapter 84 | Orlyn
ORLYN SAT, waiting patiently for his next session with the sorceress Mangora. She had come to question him every day since the beginning of the week, but something was obviously delaying her visit that day.
The drugs they had been giving him were finally dissipating. Since the first day Orlyn had accepted an apprenticeship with his father to learn the ways of an apothecary, it had been clear to all that he had a natural affinity for the flora. His father had always believed it was due to his quality as a teacher, but his mother had known different. She had encouraged Orlyn to explore his capabilities, but in a way that was kept secret from the others.
Being the apothecary he was, Orlyn had never been willing to sell a remedy to a customer he was not first willing to try himself. Because of this policy, his body had developed a natural immunity to a great number of drugs and potions, but whatever this old crone had been giving him was unlike anything he had ever experienced. He was seeing things that weren’t there, voices out of the dark, people from his past who had long since died. It was disturbing on levels to which he was unaccustomed.
He was having a hard time keeping his mind focused on what was real and what wasn’t. He couldn’t imagine what this stuff would have done to someone without a constitution as strong as his. There were several times that Mangora had managed to get relevant information out of him that he would never, under normal circumstances, have divulged. He could even recall a few times when her dried lips had caressed his own. Of course, he couldn’t be sure, what with the copious amount of drugs in his system. He prayed it was the drugs.
The feeling in his arms and legs had left at least three days ago, or had it been three weeks? He couldn’t tell. Time had ceased to exist for him. On the bright side, he could no longer feel the pain in his wrists and ankles from where the ropes ate into his flesh.
From his lonely seat inside the darkened barracks, Orlyn could hear some kind of commotion taking place in the next room. It sounded like a brawl, with voices raised and the sounds of steel and wind. Wind? That couldn’t be right. He was obviously hallucinating again. But the sound was getting louder.
He could hear hard thumps, like bodies being thrown against the walls. He forced his head up from where it had been propped against his chest and tried peeking out between his swollen eyes.
The door to his makeshift prison burst open, just before being ripped completely off its hinges and sucked back into the other room and out of sight. The light from the other room was blinding. Orlyn squinted as best he could until his eyes managed to adjust. He could hear loud footsteps of people running in his direction and was afraid of what it could mean. They must have gotten tired of questioning him and were now finally going to finish him off once and for all, or throw him on the next caravan heading for the White Tower.
He waited for the end.
“Get up, you old fool, we’re here to rescue you.”
Orlyn’s eyes opened the rest of the way. There was a pair of hands working at his wrists and others at his ankles. Once his hands were free, Orlyn raised them to shade the light in order to see who was out there.
“Are you just going to sit around all day or are you going to give us a hand?” Feoldor’s full head of hair and bushy side whiskers moved into the light.
Orlyn blinked. “Did anyone ever tell you, you’re about as ugly as a sniffer’s backside?”
Feoldor’s smile said it all. “Yep, he’s still Orlyn.”
“Well, who else would I be, you sotted nincompoop? Now get me out of here.” He went to stand but his legs gave out and he fell forward. He would have landed on his face but for a small pair of sturdy shoulders underneath him. Looking down, he saw a bright childlike smile beaming his way. �
�Gilly, is that you?”
“It’s Gilly,” the midget replied as he positioned himself under Orlyn’s arm.
Feoldor had a stout hold of his other for balance. “We thought you could use a hand.”
Orlyn cocked his head to the side to look at Feoldor. “What are you smiling at, you ingrate? I could have used that hand days ago.”
Struggling to put one foot in front of the other as the blood slowly worked its way back into his limbs, they helped him across the outer room before cutting down a side corridor that led to a back exit between the buildings. The barracks were always quiet this time of year. Most of the lancers were comprised of volunteers from all across Sidara, and were needed at home during the colder months to support their families. During the winter, the garrison was maintained by those lancers who lived in and around Easthaven.
Feoldor pushed up on the latch and slid the side door open. Stepping out into the afternoon sun, they stopped to examine the narrow alleyway between the buildings.
“How did you fight your way through the guard?”
“It wasn’t hard, there weren’t but two and they were a mite puny if you ask me,” Feoldor said with a proud chuckle.
Limping down the narrow space between the barracks and the mess hall, they stopped just within the shadows of the two buildings and studied the empty yard ahead. The south gate was off to the right and the north gate lay in front of them. To their left were a couple of smaller buildings along with one of the stables.
The place was quiet. There was no movement anywhere. Even though the barracks were not housing their full complement, there should have at least been a modicum of Sidaran lancers walking about. But right then, the place looked completely abandoned. The hairs on the back of Orlyn’s neck were beginning to prick.
“Finally something is going our way,” Feoldor said as he started forward.
“Wait.” Orlyn, having finally gotten some feeling back in his extremities, grabbed the back of Feoldor’s cloak and pulled him backwards.
The White Tower (The Aldoran Chronicles: Book 1) Page 58