by Stephen Wolf
Bryn must have understood the predicament, because he wailed a fierce battle cry and bodily threw himself at the woman. And though he jolted her out of the way, one of her daggers struck him hard, and falling to the ground was his last great maneuver.
Bryn’s sudden death didn’t even register to Gabrion yet. He just knew there was danger and he needed to act. He threw a handful of dirt with one hand and followed it with his sword arm. She expected it and was ready, but Gabrion’s strong foot swept out and crashed into her knee. She gasped and collapsed. As she fell, one arm lashed out, and Gabrion felt a searing heat graze past his shoulder as her remaining dagger whizzed by. He knew this fight couldn’t end with simply knocking her out, and so he dashed at her with his sword and ended the struggle.
He had killed animals before. But this was different. It was a thinking person he had just snuffed out. A lifetime of experience just cast aside with a single thrust of his blade. Decades of future experiences that could never be had. A family, a set of friends and comrades who would never see her again. Before he knew it, he was on the ground, retching painfully, wondering why his world was crashing down so quickly.
“Gabrion,” called a familiar voice. “Come now. Rise. This is a battle. You must rise.”
He looked up into Andron’s deep, dark eyes and saw the hardness in them. Soon, he would be the same, a trained killing machine. And though part of him protested this, he thought of Mira and knew he needed to protect her at all costs. If the village fell completely, then Mira too would be lost.
Andron helped him to his feet and understood the resolve that settled into Gabrion’s gaze. “War is hard, son, but, yes, you must fight. Come. These pigs brought a mage with them, and we need to eliminate him before he burns everything down.”
Gabrion tightened his grip on his sword, remembering the only advice Andron had ever given about dealing with mages: “Kill them first, unless a sword is aimed at your throat.” He focused on his new goal and followed his mentor into the heart of the village.
The two of them ran full tilt, hacking and slashing as needed, simply plowing through in order to reach the mage. He was easy to find, for five warriors created a barrier before him, and he stood with arms raised over his head, waving them wildly, casting small fireballs left and right.
“We’re in luck,” Andron growled. “He’s a neophyte. A stronger mage would have already incinerated this whole area.”
“He’s trying to burn the food!” Gabrion gasped. Without waiting for Andron, he sprinted ahead and barreled into the first of the five barrier guards. His sword slashed wildly, to little avail. These guards were better trained than even the rogue was, and each blow was easily parried. Worse, the fighter openly mocked Gabrion’s skill and managed to knock him down several times for sport.
His comrades were less fortunate, facing off against Andron, who was a seasoned soldier. He cut his way through three of the fighters with ease and grace, then turned to the fourth before getting hit full blast with a fire dart from the mage. It stung more than hurt, but it was followed by more blasts and an angry swordsman. Disoriented and coughing, Andron couldn’t defend himself well, and he took more hits than he gave.
Meanwhile, Gabrion’s attacker stopped toying with him as the guard’s comrades fell, and he swished his sword forcefully at Gabrion. Scrambling madly, the inexperienced youth did all he could to keep out of the way until an opportunity arose. A few feet away, one presented itself in the form of a broken barrel. Gabrion grabbed at the various pieces of wood and hurled them at the fighter, causing him to slow his pursuit to bat away the debris. Gabrion righted himself and then charged, but he didn’t charge with his sword arm. Instead, he jumped forward and dropped into a somersault, bowling the warrior over. He sprang up, twisted around, and kicked the sword from the man’s hand, and then he dealt a deadly blow.
He didn’t waste any time before pursuing the mage. The firecaster was still hurling fire darts at Andron, who was clearly struggling. Gabrion figured the mage would be easy to knock over and struck with confidence, but then his sword arm was suddenly useless. He looked at it quickly; it seemed the same, yet it was as heavy as an anvil. Its odd weight alone pinned him to the ground. He kicked with his foot, but when he touched the mage, his foot took on the same heaviness.
“Shield of Delminor,” the mage said proudly. “My gift from the land of Hathreneir. And now you’ll have to die.” He raised his hands and bent his fingers into a strange pattern, preparing to cast some other woe upon Gabrion, but the spell didn’t hit him. Andron jumped in the way, taking the full blast of a dagger-chain spell in the gut.
The spell binding Gabrion lifted immediately, and he sprang up to see that Andron had impaled the mage, knocking him out but not killing him. Meanwhile, Andron was gravely wounded, as if he had been slashed with a hundred knives.
“Stupid…mages,” Andron gasped.
A horn sounded, and there was a mad scramble as fighting stopped all around the village. Clearly, a retreat had been called. The villagers did not pursue them to finish off the rest. They had enough to tend to on their own. Gabrion was focused on Andron and the light that was now fading from his eyes.
“Hear me…Gabrion,” the soldier said in a strained voice. “The king. He must…be told. The war…” He coughed blood and used his last ounce of strength to clasp Gabrion’s hand and finish his decree. “It is…imperative the king learns of this. Do you…understand? Many others will share this…fate…otherwise. Do you understand?”
Gabrion hardened his jaw and nodded. “I do. If I must seek the king myself, I will. I promise. This can’t happen again.”
“Yes. You…must.” With a gasp, Andron spoke no more.
Gabrion carefully pulled himself away from Andron’s body and saw that the mage was still breathing. He debated what to do next, but he couldn’t bring himself to kill the man in cold blood, despite the actions here today. He tore off part of the mage’s robes and used the fabric to bind the man’s hands and mouth tightly. He would have to figure it out later; there were other things to attend to first. He called over another villager to watch the mage, and then he stepped away to survey the damage.
He couldn’t believe how much had been destroyed in so short a time. So many homes and lives were shattered now. He looked around and couldn’t see how this place had ever been his home. It was so foreign without the cobbler’s hut or the herbalist’s storefront. Corpses littered the street, and he couldn’t connect them with the people he knew. Not old Jeena, who told wild stories about flying horses and dancing flowers, nor young Tild and Howt, the only twins he had ever known. Pieces of his past were crumbling, and a new sense of purpose was coming over him. He would seek the king, and then he would seek revenge.
But just when he thought the pain was more than he could handle, one more wound was struck, deeply.
As he strolled aimlessly around, cataloging the carnage and helping a few of the villagers, Kaz came staggering in, covered in blood that was clearly his own this time. He sought out Gabrion, tears pouring from his eyes.
“Nothing,” he wailed. “Nothing I could do, Gabrion!” He fell to his knees and bawled painfully.
Gabrion stared at Kaz as if he were a stranger, wondering if he had any sense in living anymore. Kaz was supposed to hide Mira. To keep her safe. But now…
Then one glimmer of hope cut through Gabrion’s awareness.
Kaz looked up at the anguish in Gabrion’s eyes, and he muttered, “I tried to stop them. But they took her, Gabe. I couldn’t do anything. I—I’m sorry.”
Gabrion’s hand went instinctively to his pocket and pressed against the ring that waited there. A tear escaped from his eye, and he vowed to find Mira. To rescue her. To bring her home safely.
But he also knew that to do that, he would need help. A second tear followed the first, but he knew deep down that he needed to first seek out the king, to report
this battle and gain aid, then find his beloved.
He wiped his cheek dry. It would be his last tear until he and Mira were united again.
Chapter 2
The Mage’s Reprieve
Dariak awoke slowly to furious pain in his arms and back. He could hear voices nearby, and he could tell that he was tightly bound. It took a few moments of concentration to remember where he was.
His last recollection was of casting fire spells at a pathetic little village on the western border of Kallisor. Five guardsmen had protected him well enough, until the two maniacs had charged in. The brawnier one had intercepted a killing blow intended for the lesser warrior. And in the process, he had been impaled with the fool’s sword. His arm flashed in agony as if it agreed.
But Dariak felt he was fortunate because he was still alive. If his dagger-chain spell had killed the less competent warrior, he might just be dead now. So, once again, the great forces of the world were with him.
He briefly tested his bindings and realized that he would really have to struggle to free himself. It was more important, he thought, to focus on the conversation taking place around him.
“—have much choice, Son. You have to go,” a deep, resonating voice said.
“I know. But Mira…” There was sadness there, Dariak noted. He might be able to use that.
“You said it yourself; you cannot find her on your own. You need help.” There was a long pause and some movement. “There is still the issue of this one.”
Dariak tried to control his breathing. He didn’t want them to know he had awoken yet.
“I can’t leave him here after he tried to kill everyone. He will have to come with me to the king and to the dungeons.”
“But, Gabrion, we lost so many. We can’t spare anyone to help you watch him and you’re injured. If you take him, he may kill you.”
“If I leave him here, he might escape and kill you and Mother and everyone who’s left,” Gabrion said quietly. “No, he has to come with me. If I have to hog-tie him to a tree every night with a knife at his neck, then I will.”
There was a moment of silence before the father spoke again. “Son, I know what happened here was a travesty. But don’t lose yourself along the way. I hate hearing you speak like this.”
“Until I get her back, I already am lost. Wake him. If I do it, I might wake him too hard.” There was a flash of anger in the final words, and Dariak braced himself for a rough shake.
Surprisingly, Gabrion’s father merely tapped his cheek until his eyes fluttered open. “Time for you to get up.” Dariak noted that the kindness and concern were gone.
He moved slowly, partly for effect but also because he was truly hurt. He sat upright and looked around the dingy room. There wasn’t much in the way of furniture, just a table and a few chairs, with a kitchen off to one end and a ladder leading up to a second floor, where he guessed the beds were. The man who woke him was strong and leathery skinned, and he’d clearly spent his entire life out in the sun. His sharp-jawed son, poised against a nearby wall, was a close replica of his father.
Gabrion was a tall young man, with short, messy blond hair and dark-brown eyes. He had small crevices around his eyes, as if he usually laughed all day long. He had to be only about eighteen years old, but his torso, which was uncovered except for a poultice on his left side and small cuts everywhere, was well muscled and rather intimidating to a mage who wasn’t particularly athletic. If Dariak couldn’t just summon the energy around him into a magic spell, he would have done anything he was told without question. He realized that with his hands and mouth bound, he actually couldn’t cast a spell now, but that wasn’t important.
It wasn’t easy having a gag in his mouth either. It tasted dirty, and with his mouth open, he thought he must have been drooling like crazy. He found that it was annoying to swallow too, and he felt like choking. But he was in this predicament for a reason, and he needed to remain focused on his own goal. He reaffirmed with himself that he could just as easily have died in that battle, rather than get another chance to continue his mission.
Gabrion glared at him with pure venom in his eyes. The look didn’t suit him at all. “You have a lot to answer for,” he said.
Dariak made a moaning sound around the gag and shrugged his shoulders a little. It was all he could do in response anyway. He felt a line of cold steel press against the side of his neck, and the gag was then untied, but he understood that the youth’s father had a sword ready to cut him down if he tried anything.
“Why are you in this village today? Why attack us?” Gabrion demanded.
Dariak swallowed a few times and moved his tongue around. After clearing his throat, he gave his answer. “It was a job, and I needed the money and the experience.” He watched Gabrion’s muscles tighten as if he wanted to slap the mage. Dariak had the presence of mind to flinch timidly.
“That’s no excuse. You invaded someone else’s home and just went wild, loosing magic all over the place.” He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. We’re off to the king. He will judge your crimes.”
Dariak lowered his head and grinned inwardly. This novice warrior really did intend to bring him to the castle. That was fine with him; it was one of the places he needed to go anyway and part of the reason he had agreed to come into this kingdom in the first place.
“Father, are Andron’s horse and saddle still intact?”
“Yes.” The deep voice rumbled right by Dariak’s ear.
“Good.” Gabrion took the gag from his father and retied it around Dariak’s mouth. “Let’s go.” He threw a tunic over his head and wrapped his scabbard around his waist, then guided the mage out with fingers pressed firmly into his shoulder. It wasn’t a far walk to the village stable, but by the time they reached it, Dariak’s shoulder was throbbing.
Three horses remained in the stable, but it looked to Dariak like there had been at least five others. Parts of the structure had fallen in, and some bore scorch marks from his own fire spells. He tried keeping his gaze downcast the entire time, but when he saw the saddle Gabrion grabbed from the wall, his eyes widened. The straps and buckles that kept the saddle astride the horse were not the only bindings.
After securing the saddle carefully upon a large, strong war-horse, Gabrion saw the dread in Dariak’s eyes and nodded.
“Each of the king’s soldiers rides a horse with a mage-saddle,” he explained, reaching for Dariak and pulling him toward the horse. “They’re rarely used. We usually just kill mages.”
Dariak met his eyes for a moment and saw that this boy wanted him dead. He blinked a few times and thought of something dreadfully scary, hoping to make himself look at least a little afraid of the situation.
Gabrion held a dagger against Dariak as he removed two special gloves from the mage-saddle. Each was made mostly of leather, and bars of iron ran between each finger, keeping the mage from bending his hands to work a spell. Only a mild amount of flex was possible, which was necessary for staying upright on the horse. Usually, these gloves were strapped onto an unconscious mage, but Dariak cooperated when Gabrion slipped the gloves on his hands. He would have better opportunities to escape.
Once both gloves were in place, a leather cord was wrapped through and around the wrists, securing the gloves tightly. Gabrion was careful not to cut off the circulation, but Dariak could tell that it was a near thing. The leather cord was then laced through special hoops on the saddle. Gabrion hoisted the mage onto the horse, then pulled the cord tighter, dragging the mage’s hands down, palms flat, to the saddle itself, right in front of his body. Gabrion was securing the prisoner’s legs with two other straps when his father entered with saddlebags full of supplies.
“Be careful, Son,” he said, handing over the provisions.
“Thank you, Father. I won’t be long.” Gabrion paused for a moment and then made his last request before leaving. “Wh
en Mira’s folks return, please tell them—”
“I will, Son. They were lucky to be off on sojourn, but not so lucky in this. I will assure them that you will do everything you can to bring her back.”
“No,” he corrected. “I will bring her back.” With that, he hopped onto the horse, behind Dariak, reaching for the reins and snapping them to start the horse on its way.
The stable was on the southern edge of town, near the bakery where Gabrion’s first scuffle had taken place that morning. The horse sauntered under Gabrion’s control, and the young man narrated for Dariak’s sake and to resolve his own task.
“I managed to save the baker without killing the boy who attacked him. But if you look over there to that spot on the ground, that’s where my friend Bryn was killed by one of your rogues. Then she—I had to…” He closed his lips for a moment, afraid he might get sick again, but remembered he needed to be strong. “Over there, that small shed with all the burns on it, that’s old man Arinot’s. Kaz said he was the first victim. Not bad enough he had to die, but then you went and burned his house. Down there”—he jerked his head toward the right—“three children were so terrified they went to hide, but then you all toppled that house next to it and crushed them. One of them won’t ever walk again, but he was the lucky one; the other two didn’t survive.”
All through the village, Gabrion continued his narrative, and though Dariak tried not to listen, he couldn’t help it with the deep, sad voice in his ear. He didn’t quite feel pity for this village. He was a Hathren, and these were people who had warred against his homeland for countless years. He couldn’t feel pity for them. Not until he completed his own quest; then he would pity anyone who crossed his path. He grinned at the thought.
“This spot,” Gabrion interrupted the mage’s musing, “was nearly your death. Instead, you killed the king’s soldier, and the punishment for killing a member of the king’s personal guard is severe. You should have died there.” His voice was laden with guilt, for it was his own hand that allowed the mage to live.