Wizard Pair (Book 3)

by James Eggebeen

  "Will there be?" Rotiaqua asked. "A great war?"

  Oadry tugged at another snarl. "Who knows? There is always something going on. The knights don't feel like they're men unless they're off fighting somewhere. One of the knights returned home yesterday with stories of fighting up north.

  "He said that a merchant caravan had passed through one of your father's villages, when one of the merchants had his way with a maid who lived there. It started a fight with the locals, and by the time it was over, they'd burned down the village and put the small folk to the sword.

  "Your father's men happened upon them and ran them off before they could fire the fields. They caught and killed the fool that started it all."

  She paused and waved the brush in the air, emphasizing her words. "Turns out the man they killed was the eldest son of some nobleman, and you know how much trouble they cause if someone touches one of their precious offspring."

  Oadry tugged out one final tangle and placed the brush on the dresser. "That won't help the relation between the King and your father."

  "Father is always complaining about King Omrik. He says they grew up together and the King was a spoiled brat from the start. Father doesn't think Omrik will do anything to harm us, though."

  The sound of a horn split the air. Rotiaqua ran to her window to see a knight and his squire riding up the road. They carried her father's banner and rode their horses without a care towards their wellbeing.

  The knight rode towards the castle, heedless of bystanders who might be in his way. He came close to trampling a small child who wandered into his path, but the toddler was snatched up by her mother at the last instant.

  Rotiaqua saw him jump from his horse and dash for the audience chamber. She raced for the door, eager to hear what he had to say.

  "Where are you going, girl?" Oadry reached for her but was too slow. Rotiaqua escaped the woman's grasp and sped off, taking the stairs two at a time. She arrived at the audience chamber just as the knight entered.

  She knew better than to intrude, but she was curious. She hid behind a pillar and watched. She had to hear the story; no one ran like that with good news.

  The knight entered and knelt before the Baron. "Your Lordship. The King has sent his army against us." He struggled to his feet, hampered by the weight of his armor and injuries.

  "Out with it!" The Baron demanded. Rotiaqua shared his impatience from her hiding spot.

  "We were on routine patrol around the towns and villages, when we ran afoul of the King's men."

  As the knight told the story of what had happened, Rotiaqua saw the action in her mind's eye, just as she did in the fire when she was dreaming.

  Sir Nalua and his men rode along the dusty road that split the golden fields of wheat. The men were proud knights; their armor was clean and well maintained, their horses strong and disciplined. The Baron's banner flew from the staff carried by his squire to alert the townsfolk that noblemen were coming.

  Off in the distance, a thread of smoke rose from behind a hill. It was thin and light at first, the kind of smoke one expected to see from a village, but it grew thicker and darker as they rode. "I don't like the looks of that," Sir Nalua said, pointing out the darkening smoke.

  He gestured to two of his men. "Go ride up ahead and see what's going on." A pair of knights spurred their mounts on and soon crested the hill, lost from sight.

  The smoke grew thicker as Sir Nalua neared the town until billowing clouds of black obscured the sun overhead. Sir Nalua caught wind of burning flesh mixed with the tar that made up the homes and hovels of the village.

  Sir Nalua and his men crested the hill to see the town ablaze. The two knights that had gone ahead lay in the road - dead. Sir Nalua jumped from his horse, rushed to them, and knelt down. They were pierced by short quarrels, the shafts sticking out of their armor where they'd penetrated the shiny plate.

  "Who dares to attack the Baron's men?" Sir Nalua screamed.

  He looked up to see a line of crossbowmen standing beside the road, loaded and ready. A knight wearing King Omrik's colors sat atop his steed. "I do,” the knight said.

  Sir Nalua rose and drew his sword. "Who trespasses on the Baron's land?" He looked warily at the crossbowmen wondering if the Baron's banner was sufficient to stay their hands.

  "The King considers these his lands. They are only granted to the Baron. We commit no trespass here."

  "What is the meaning of this?" Sir Nalua demanded.

  "A lesson!"

  "A lesson? What sort of lesson is this?" Sir Nalua waved his arm at the two knights who lay in the road behind him, then at the smoking remains of the village.

  "A lesson in manners and court etiquette," the knight shouted. "Perhaps next time the Baron sends men after the King's tax collectors, they won't be so hasty." He snapped the reins of his horse and charged.

  Sir Nalua just had time to raise his sword and fend off the first blow the knight leveled at him. Sir Nalua glanced back at the crossbowmen, worried that they would fire on him as he fought, but quickly turned to meet the attack of the rider who circled back for another pass.

  Sir Nalua slashed at the rider. His reflexes betrayed him and the man's sword drew across his chest. The metal in his armor gave way with a screech. Sir Nalua reeled under the impact, trying to get his bearings before the rider bore down on him once more. This time he was better prepared even though he was still dazed from the previous clash.

  The King's knight lashed out and Sir Nalua caught the oncoming sword on his blade. He slid it upwards and jerked it around. The blade struck home. It contacted the rider in the side, driving the mail into his ribs with enough force to knock the wind out of him.

  Sir Nalua steeled himself for another clash, but the rider kept going until he was behind the line of crossbowmen. "Let him and his aide live, but kill the rest," the rider called out.

  The air was filled with the sound of crossbow quarrels striking plate armor. Arrows sprouted from the rest of Sir Nalua's men, and the whole squad fell to the ground writhing in pain. Sir Nalua looked on in shock. He drew his sword in rage and started for the King's knight.

  "You'll pay for this!"

  Crossbows turned towards Sir Nalua and the King's knight raised his hand. "Hold there. Someone needs to convey this message to the Baron. If we have to kill you, who will carry that message? Tell the Baron that the King will burn ten towns as a punishment for his misdeeds."

  Rotiaqua could clearly see the evidence of the fight. Sir Nalua was soot-stained and bore a large gash across his chest where his opponent's sword had struck him. He was fortunate to have survived the encounter, or perhaps he was indeed spared in order to carry this message to her father.

  As the knight finished his story, the Baron jumped up from his throne. "A lesson?" he sputtered. "A lesson?"

  He paced back and forth across the dais. "Some uncultured son of a swine gets out of hand in one of my villages and I am to pay the price?"

  He strode over to the table and picked up his chalice. He took a heavy swig of wine and looked back at Sir Nalua. "How many men did you lose?"

  "Nine, Your Lordship."

  The Baron threw his chalice at the wall. It hit with a clank and splattered wine against the stones before it clattered to the floor. He turned back to Sir Nalua. "And the village? How many were there living in that town?"

  "Thirty, Your Lordship."

  The Baron kicked the chalice, sending it careening off the walls until it finally came to rest beneath the heavy red curtains. He walked to the window, and kicked the chalice out of his way, and looked down on the city.

  "That arrogant swine! This time he's gone too far."

  Rotiaqua drew her head back behind the pillar. She knew when her father was in such a mood that it was safer to be absent. The King had attacked her father's men and set fire to one of his villages, and according to the tale Nalua told, King Omrik was going to keep going until his men had destroyed ten villages.

  She crept back
to her room and blew out the candle. That night she had dreams of knights on horseback with crossbows, and burning villages.

  The next morning, Rotiaqua was invited down to breakfast with her father. He was cross and short with her as they ate, responding to her with terse grunting answers when she attempted to engage him in conversation. She soon gave up and ate in silence.

  As the meal ended, the Baron turned to her and said, "I think you should be in the audience chamber today. There are a few petitioners that you may find entertaining and educational. Join me this morning."

  She hated it when he did that. It always meant that he had something particularly gruesome or sadistic in mind. She felt as if he secretly wanted her to share in his perverse enjoyment of the suffering of others.

  "Yes, Father, I'll gladly join you. I always do find it interesting. What do you have planned?"

  "The Wizard," The Baron pushed his chair back and stood. He walked around the table and helped Rotiaqua up. He took her arm and escorted her to the audience chamber. There he seated her on the smaller of two over-sized ornately carved chairs that were a permanent fixture of the room.

  "Bring him in," the Baron said as he took his seat. He reached over and patted Rotiaqua's hand. "You may see something interesting today. They tell me this Wizard is special."

  The Wizard was a man much like any other, totally unremarkable. He was tall and thin, almost birdlike with his large nose and gaunt cheeks. His hands and feet were bound by short chains. His cloak was muddied and torn and he looked like he'd been in the gaol more than simply overnight.

  The Guards dragged him before the Baron and shoved him to his knees on the hard floor. He looked up with an air of defiance that Rotiaqua had never seen before in a petitioner, especially not one in chains. Most petitioners begged for mercy or tried to talk their way out of trouble by flattering the Baron, but this one remained silent.

  "Well. What do you have to say for yourself?" the Baron demanded.

  "I have nothing to say on my behalf." The Wizard looked the Baron straight in the eye. "I am the voice of Ran. I speak on his behalf."

  "And who, pray tell, is Ran?" The Baron leaned back in his chair and relaxed as Rotiaqua had often seen him do when he thought the petitioner was a little off in the head.

  "He is the one true god, My Lord."

  The Baron laughed and slapped his palm against his leg. "The one true god? So you expect me to believe that there's only one god? And you're his personal spokesman?"

  "Yes, My Lord. He has sent me to help you."

  The Baron waved his hand at the Guard. "I've heard enough. Take this fool away. Put him in the stocks for the day and then hang him."

  As the Guard advanced, the Wizard cupped his hands together. When he pulled them apart, there was a ball of violet light spinning between them. He shook his arms, flipping the short chain around and it slipped into the ball of brilliant color. The rusty chain flared and disappeared, sending sparks flying.

  Rotiaqua was temporarily blinded by the glare.

  The Wizard stood and extended his hand holding out the fireball for inspection. It slowly grew more radiant, brighter. Rotiaqua gasped in disbelief. Did he really have magic? She was both excited and afraid at the prospect of finding a true Wizard. Here was someone that could teach her about magic, but would he survive the day? Was his magic some trick or was it real, like hers?

  The Wizard stretched out his hand to the Baron. "I said I was here to aid you. I plan to help you defeat your enemies with this." He shook his hand and the fireball bounced up and down, distorting slightly as it came in proximity with his skin. It spit sparks into the chill air as it swirled tightly in a ball about the size of an apple.

  He cupped his hands together again and violet light shone through his skin until the fireball faded away. He spread his empty hands apart in supplication. "Surely you will not refuse the help of a god."

  The Baron sat forward in his chair. His eyes narrowed and his nose wrinkled as he stared at the Wizard. "How would you help me, you and your god?"

  "Your Lordship has enemies. Fighting those enemies takes resources, men and arrows, does it not?"

  "Of course it takes men and arrows, and it distracts from the harvest so that crops rot in the fields. How will you help prevent this?"

  "By stealth, My Lord. I will demonstrate if you will just allow me. I understand that you and the King are involved in some dispute?"

  The Baron sat on the edge of his chair. "Go on, I'm listening."

  "I propose to deal with your problem as a demonstration of the power of Ran. If I fail, you can always hang me later. If I succeed, all I ask is that you do me the honor of allowing me to continue serving you."

  "I am no friend of Wizards. Why should I trust you?" The Baron moved his hand to the hilt of his sword as he spoke.

  "Because you have no other choice," the Wizard said. "Have I not demonstrated that I am here because I choose to be here, not because of your chains and your Guards?"

  "I've had enough of your talk." The Baron nodded to the Guards. "Take him to the stocks for the day. I'll decide later if we hang him, take his head, or let him go. He can enjoy the hospitality of the townsfolk while I'm deciding.”

  The Guards flanked the Wizard, who stretched his arms wide. He turned both palms up and immediately twin fireballs appeared twisting, turning and sputtering in his hands.

  One of the Guards took a hesitant step towards the Wizard, reaching out. The Wizard tossed the fireball gently into the air, sending it floating slowly towards the Guard, who immediately backed away.

  "I think I've had enough of this myself," the Wizard said. "Are you willing to allow me to serve you, or do you wish me to bring the power of Ran to bear against you in favor of the King? It matters little to me."

  The Baron raised his hand. "I could have you shot where you stand." He nodded at the archers that flanked the room.

  "You could try. It would only serve to demonstrate the power of Ran. Please go ahead." The Wizard turned towards the archers. He tossed one of the fireballs lazily up and down in his hand as he did.

  The Baron waved his assent to the archers, who let fly. The arrows streaked for the Wizard. Half way across the room, both arrows burst into flames and vanished into small clouds of ash.

  Ravages of War

  The knight lunged at Zhimosom, swinging wildly. The sword caught the edge of the bucket and lodged itself deep in the waterlogged wood. The knight pulled back to free the weapon, jerking the bucket out of Zhimosom's hand. Zhimosom dove behind the table as the sword came at him again. This time it hacked splinters off the table, narrowly missing him.

  The sound of a horn split the air, once, twice, three times. The blasts were clear and crisp even inside the house.

  "Lucky you." The knight sheathed his sword and ran for the door just in time to crash headlong into his squire. "Sir, they're attacking!"

  He thrust the squire out of his way, sending the younger man sprawling across the dirt floor of the house. The squire picked himself up and ran after his master.

  Zhimosom crouched behind the table to catch his breath and waited until the knight had put a little distance between them. He didn't know what the sound of the horns meant, but it had saved his life. He tried to calm his racing heart.

  Issula reached her hand out to help him up.

  "Thank you for your gallantry," she said. "But that was a foolish thing to do."

  "I know." Zhimosom straightened his shirt and rearranged his clothes to make himself a little more presentable. "I just couldn't stand to see that son of a dog take advantage of you, especially on my account."

  "You were brave, but foolish." She reached for a few food items, placed them in a sack, and handed it to him. "Better get out of here while you can."

  Zhimosom bowed his head. "Thank you for your hospitality." He stepped out of the door and carefully looked around. Down by the field, Sir Draveri was engaged in a battle. The opposing knight wore the Baron's colors and fou
ght well. The knighs hacked at each other, landing blow after blow on shields that grew more and more ragged with each strike.

  Another of the King's knights came running from the field he had set afire. He joined the fight, slashing at the Baron's man who soon withdrew. The horn sounded again, and a squadron of the Baron's men crested the hill.

  Draveri turned and ran for his horse, calling for his squire as he fled. The Baron's knights gave chase, but not before the King's men had set the wheat field ablaze all along the road. The fire was spreading fast.

  As the Baron's men thundered out of sight after the King's knights, Zhimosom rushed back to the house.

  It was already burning.

  He couldn't get near it; the heat was too intense. Flames engulfed the doorway, trapping the family. Zhimosom heard screams from inside as the roof collapsed, and then there was only the sound of the crackling flames.

  The fire spread quickly through the dry fields. White billowing smoke filled the air. The heat of the fire outdid that of the sun and Zhimosom was soon soaked in sweat and covered in soot and ash from the burning crops.

  The fire was closing in on him. He had to move or risk being trapped by the advancing flames. He ran towards his home, hoping to outrun the smoke and flames. He was able to stay out of the path of the fire, but only by running hard. If he faltered, the fire would have him.

  His best efforts soon failed, and the flames and smoke overtook him. Fire licked across the path ahead, threatening to cut off his avenue of escape. Smoke obscured the sun, making it hard for Zhimosom to see his way along the path.

  Zhimosom stopped short, as a wall of flame rose up and completely blocked his path. He fell to his knees, breathing hard, and laid his head against the dry dirt. Close to the ground, the air was slightly less clogged with smoke and he was able to catch his breath. He panted heavily, wondering how to escape.

  Zhimosom felt the fire, just as he had done as he sat before the hearth in his hovel. This time the fire was wild and untamed, yet there was no malice in it. It was just that - fire.