by Stephen Wolf
Wild cackling filled the air as Heria went to work, leaping for Gabrion with her daggers. She jumped, dodged, spun, dipped, and leaped on her way to him, clearly intending to have as much sport with this as possible. Jafflin still had his arms in motion, but he knew not to interfere with the young girl when she was so excited.
Gabrion’s arms whipped in all directions, blocking as many dagger thrusts as possible. Heria scored a few slashes against him, and he was reminded of battling the rogue that morning. He didn’t want this to end the same way, but he didn’t want to die either. He backed away and kicked at the dirt, trying to send something flying into the air but failing miserably. In a desperate effort, he turned and bolted toward a nearby tree, and his attacker roared in humor as she pelted after him.
Gabrion grabbed a small branch as he passed the tree and released it after pulling it back. The wood lashed out, and stray leaves scratched against the girl’s face. Her hideous laughter turned into a groan of rage, and she dove through the air to impale him swiftly. But Gabrion had snagged a second branch, and he released it quickly, smacking her in the midsection and knocking the air out of her.
He wasn’t clear yet. Jafflin was on his way already, dodging left and right and keeping a wary eye for other branches the warrior might try to snap his way. Gabrion grabbed a fallen branch and wielded it in one hand and his sword in the other. He parried mostly with the branch, hoping some of its leaves would slow down the whirling blades of his foe. His eyes darted around for other assistance, but it looked like the rest of this fight would rely on his skill.
Back on the horse, the mage wrenched his hand and finally pulled it out of its harness. Bouncing painfully upon the horse, which had finished with the hammer wielder and was now seeking another target, Dariak struggled to pull out of the leather straps holding his other hand in place. One kick of the horse’s feet pushed the mage forward sharply, and the leather cord came free on its own. He quickly scrambled to release his legs, and then he launched himself from the raging horse to freedom.
But he wasn’t free yet. The woman playing the old hag was upon him instantly. She knocked him around with her oversized branch, inflicting pain but not seriously damaging him yet. “Stop, stop, stop!” he called to her, burying his head under his arms and pulling off the second glove surreptitiously. “Listen to me!”
She pressed the end of her makeshift staff into his abdomen. “Why should I listen to you, mage?” she spat. “We may be thieves, but we’re not scum like you.”
“No?” he retorted. “What about your little dance moves? You think that’s so different from magic, lady?”
Kitalla pressed the wood deeper into his stomach. “You tread a dangerous line, fool.”
“Hear me quickly, then decide.” It was hard to talk with the horse whinnying and thrashing around, but it also made good cover. His only hope was that he could appeal to her effectively and not be overheard by his amateur captor. “Follow us, and I promise you I can help you develop your skill into something more than just minor glamours.”
“What? I have no intention of joining you. You try my patience,” she added with an extra shove of her branch.
“Joining?” He pressed his hand to his chest in mock exasperation, secretly clutching for something sewn into his robe. “Kathrahasslerad,” he muttered like a curse, shaking his head. “Don’t be stupid. I said ‘follow.’ Trail behind us. This idiot thinks he is turning me in to the king. He doesn’t know that he’s taking me just where I need to go. Once I have what I seek, you’ll see. I will be able to guide you to glory.”
Her eyes narrowed sharply, but she didn’t attack him further. “I can’t possibly trust you.”
He grinned. “True, but I can make him trust me with a little trickery. Help me up.” He held out his hand. She hesitated for a moment, then took his hand.
Immediately, her arm pulled toward the ground. Dariak grabbed her other hand and then touched her feet as well. “The Shield of Delminor works wonders, doesn’t it?”
“You bastard!” she hissed.
The mage shook his head. “You’ll see. I won’t inflict much harm to your crew, but it will be enough to convince that fool to trust me. Then follow us to the castle. It will be worth it for you.”
He dashed off, leaving her seething on the ground, unable to move. His arms whirled through the air, and arcane words tumbled from his lips, and suddenly each thrust of his hands released searing darts of fire. It was one of the only spells he could cast without spell components or deep preparation, and though it wasn’t a strong spell, he knew it would be effective at any rate.
He followed the sounds of swords crashing together among the trees and found Gabrion in a poor position. If Dariak waited just a little longer, his captor would be no more. But he needed the fool to get him through the castle gates, and entering as a possible traveling companion was better than entering as a prisoner or a corpse.
He thrust out his hands and knocked Jafflin aside, allowing Gabrion to score a lucky hit on the man’s thigh, which he followed up with a hearty kick. Jafflin crashed to the ground in agony. Gabrion wasted no time by trying to finish him off. He could tell that this crew outmatched him. He met the mage’s eyes and nodded his thanks, then dashed back to the horse.
He whistled again, and the horse ceased its rampage and trotted over to him. Bostian had been destroyed by the horse’s wild rampage, and Poltor had been toying with the beast to keep it busy while the rest of his crew dealt with the others. Gabrion shoved the mage belly first onto the saddle and then hopped up behind him. With a quick snap of the reins, they were off, putting as much distance between them and the rogues as the horse’s stamina would allow.
After a time, the spell binding Kitalla faded away. She shrugged off an odd numbness that remained and then sought out the others to survey the damage. The carnage done to Bostian was horrible to behold. He looked nothing like the large fighter he had been. When Heria returned, she bent down and started examining the body’s remains, but Kitalla turned away, unwilling to know what twisted ritual the girl was about to perform. She sought out Jafflin, who limped toward them, and helped him bandage his leg.
“I can’t believe they got away,” he complained. “Wasn’t that mage a prisoner? Why help the guy out? People make no sense sometimes.”
“I wonder,” Kitalla muttered under her breath. Maybe the mage was telling the truth after all.
Poltor came over, also averting his gaze from Heria’s bizarre behavior. “At least it wasn’t a complete waste.” He hoisted up the saddlebags. “Plenty of food in here. Once we deal with Bostian’s remains, we’ll feast tonight.”
“You’re so calm about his death,” Kitalla said with heat.
“Death is part of our business, isn’t it?” he answered coldly. “Haven’t you killed your fair share?”
“He was our comrade,” she persisted.
Poltor’s eyes narrowed. “Leave it be, unless you wish to avenge his death. In that case, pursue that quest on your own.”
They were few, but now Kitalla had options. She could continue on with the rogues and the comfort of the routine they had developed over the years. Or, under the guise of retribution, she could pursue the mage’s offer and see how far it could take her. Avenging a companion’s death was one of the few acceptable excuses to leave the group without Poltor’s retaliation. However, it was risky. He might not ever take her back.
Twisted laughter came from Heria’s direction. “So warm,” she crooned. The others shivered, trying desperately not to imagine what the girl was doing.
Perhaps some time away from the group might not be a bad thing after all.
Chapter 4
The Sanctuary
Tumbler ran from the battle site at a solid pace for a while before slowing down. Gabrion held on to the mage’s body with one hand and the reins with the other, clenching his thighs to remain seate
d on the horse. It was an awkward ride, but he needed them to be safely away before stopping to assess the damage that had been done. Once the horse reduced its pace, Gabrion decided it was time to stop. He tapped the reins, and the horse slowed to a canter then veered off the path into the cover of trees. They had cleared most of the forest in the mad scramble, but they still had a ways to go before reaching the castle.
Gabrion dismounted from the horse. It felt like he landed on fiery spikes that lanced all the way up his body. He had been wounded several times during the day, from the dagger strike to his abdomen that morning to all the knife and sword cuts that had followed. He had lost a lot of blood, and his body started to rebel.
Moaning, the mage pushed himself from the horse’s back, rubbing his belly tenderly and clutching his injured arm. “At least we got away,” he said sourly. “But I don’t think my stomach will ever work right again.”
“We had to go,” Gabrion said softly, closing his eyes and trying to calm the stabbing sensations coursing through him. “Thank you for your help back there. I was done for, otherwise.”
The mage looked at the young warrior and shrugged. “How do you know I wasn’t aiming for you?”
The question caught him off guard, and he laughed. “I guess I don’t. But thank you anyway.” He looked at the mage for a moment, then admitted, “You saved my life there, and I don’t even know your name. I’m Gabrion.”
The mage saw no benefit to lying. “Dariak.” The mage eyed the numerous bloodstains on Gabrion’s tunic and pants. “You’re hurt rather badly.”
“I don’t suppose you know how to dress a wound?” Gabrion asked as he tethered the horse to one tree, then sank beside another. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to bandage myself. I may need a healer at any rate.”
Dariak shook his head. “It’s crazy that you’re actually asking me for help. Aren’t you still taking me to the king? ‘To the dungeons’?” he repeated mockingly.
Gabrion pulled off his tunic to look at his more severe wounds. “I guess nothing’s making sense right now.” He tapped on his abdomen, where a thin trickle of blood was oozing. “Ouch. I can’t exactly stop you from running away right now, can I? But could you at least grab me the medical supplies before you go?”
Shaking his head, Dariak went to the horse, then called out, “What supplies?”
Gabrion looked over and only then realized that the saddlebags had been stolen. “Damned bandits.” A wave of frustration washed over him, and he growled in anger, clenching his fists around his tunic and pounding it into the ground. “What else will go wrong today?”
“Calm yourself before you rip any of your wounds wider,” Dariak warned, eyeing Gabrion’s torso. He considered his options. The warrior was definitely in no condition to stop him from doing whatever he wanted to do. It would be a simple thing to take the horse and finish the journey to the castle. But then what? He wouldn’t be accepted into the king’s residence without a warrior. Not in Kallisor, anyway. He knew he would most likely land in the stockade if he went into the heart of the kingdom unguarded. But was this young fool really the key to getting him in? It didn’t matter much, because it was the only option currently open to him. Finding another fighter to bring him to the castle would probably end up with him dying first, and the band of thieves they had run into wouldn’t likely assist his planned infiltration either. No, it was better to fix up this one who owed him a debt now and follow this out.
“Rest here a little bit,” Dariak said after a few minutes of consideration. “I’ll scour for some herbs and then help patch you up.”
“I…don’t really know what to say. Thanks.” Gabrion was starting to feel a little hazy and was only focusing on the moments happening right then, not tying anything back to the morning, when this mage had been shooting fireballs at his hometown. Concentrating on the present was all he had. The haziness soon became dizziness, and his head started swimming around.
When Dariak returned from his search, he saw that Gabrion had passed out completely. He was slumped over in an awkward position, which wouldn’t help any of his wounds heal properly. Part of him really couldn’t believe he was about to patch this warrior up, but he reminded himself of his true mission, clutching his hand to the object sewn into a chest pouch of his robe. Dariak started by turning Gabrion’s body and then laying him flat on the ground. He paused for a moment to admire the musculature of Gabrion’s chest, then laughed at himself for getting distracted. This certainly wasn’t the time for those thoughts.
He cleaned the wounds the best he could, using a few drops of water from a small canteen concealed beneath his robes. He scoffed again at his captor’s lack of thoroughness. Didn’t everyone know that mages kept all sorts of items within their robes? The warrior’s ignorance had, of course, been helpful, yet he couldn’t stop himself from complaining about the lack of standards anyway. He dabbed the more serious wounds with scraps from Gabrion’s tunic and then applied various leaves of herbs before wrapping larger bandages around Gabrion’s midsection and diagonally across his chest.
Dariak investigated further and found a gash on Gabrion’s right calf, and so he dressed that wound as well. The warrior had been right; he would need an actual healer if he was going to survive all this. Or at least, someone a little more knowledgeable in the healing arts. All mages began their studies in herbology, especially since herbs were common spell components. Dariak had paid only the slightest attention in healing classes, focusing more on offensive spells and his one key defensive spell, but that one hadn’t required much study, thanks to his father.
Gabrion moaned and roused himself as Dariak finished securing the other bandages and checking his own wounds. “You’re pretty badly hurt,” Dariak commented. “If you don’t get treatment soon, you’re not going to make it.”
“Mira,” Gabrion breathed. “No, I have to make it.”
“Mira,” Dariak mouthed sarcastically, rolling his eyes. “Listen, I know you’re weak right now, but we’ve got to ride if you’re going to get the healing you need. The horse seems all perked up again, now that it’s eaten half the grass around here. So come on. Up, up.” With that, he tugged Gabrion’s arm, and the warrior acquiesced to the tugging.
It took time to mount the horse and get on their way. The sun was sinking low in the sky, but Dariak decided that they needed to make as much progress as possible each day if they were going to reach the healers in time to help Gabrion. The horse tracked the land much better than Dariak could, leaping over divots and branches and finding a quick path through the trees.
After another hour or so of hurried travel, Dariak guided the horse off the forest path once again and set up a makeshift camp. There was no threat of rain, thankfully, and the night was warm enough that they only needed enough fire to cook a meal. Despite his wounds, Gabrion managed to hunt down two rabbitats, which Dariak prepared and cooked. They ate, slept, and woke early to continue the pace.
It wasn’t an easy journey for either of them. Gabrion was mostly silent the whole way, which suited Dariak just fine. He didn’t want to get too familiar with the fighter anyway, nor did he want to divulge any of his true plan accidentally. It was easy enough maintaining the ruse of being concerned, especially when Gabrion’s face paled and he looked on the verge of simply expiring. But the warrior held to his own quest and found the will to keep going. Dariak found himself admiring the sheer bullheadedness of it.
It took four days of hard travel before the town loomed closer. The two men and the horse were thoroughly exhausted, but Dariak decided he wanted a decent meal before the night was done, and if they hurried, they could make it to the castle town before night fell in earnest. He nudged the horse sharply, and Tumbler bucked at first, but then opened to the wind and sprinted well.
Lights sparkled in the distance, and Dariak knew from the maps he had studied that they were well en route to Kaison, the town surrounding the ca
stle of Kallisor. It was the second largest town in the kingdom, succeeded only by Pindington to the east, but that was only if the population of the castle itself was ignored. Within the palace lived a number of nobles and servants, plus the upper echelon of soldiers and healers, who each had their own barracks.
Dariak had also heard of the king’s museum within the castle grounds, where relics of ages past were kept on arrogant display. He intended to pay the museum a visit upon his arrival, but doing so undetected would be the real challenge. He grinned to himself for his foresight in helping this warrior out of the forest. This plan could actually work.
As they neared the town gates, Gabrion slumped forward and pressed deeply against Dariak. The horse too grew weary, but the mage just straightened his back to keep from being crushed and tightened the reins, telling Tumbler that the run wasn’t over yet. He knew a horse could keep up a fast pace for only so long, but reaching town was a greater priority to him than the health of a horse he probably wouldn’t see much of soon.
The gates of Kaison were open, even in the dark of night. The guards at the post barely even acknowledged their entrance, which made Dariak smile. Gabrion’s initial goal had been to come here to warn everyone of the attack on Savvron and the possible start of yet another war between the nations, but without that warning, these guards were lax. That suited Dariak just fine, for if they had paid any attention at all, they would have noticed his mage robes, the wounds on the warrior, and that they rode one of the king’s own war-horses. Grinning once again at the fact that the energies were with him, Dariak steered the horse inside and sought out the town sanctuary.
The best part of entering the town at night was that they didn’t have to deal with throngs of villagers roaming aimlessly. The few passersby were able to guide them easily enough to the cathedral, and when they arrived, Dariak handed the horse over to the stable hand and pulled a very groggy Gabrion from the saddle. He guided the warrior through the gates and looked around.