Five Kingdoms: Books 01, 02 & 03

by Toby Neighbors

  “The Wizards are still alive, and moving closer,” said Zollin.

  “Yes, I wish you had told me of your gift. Those Wizards were members of the Torr, powerful men that will abide no threat to their rule.”

  “But King Felix rules the kingdom,” said Brianna.

  “Yes, and the Torr have ruled the Kings of this kingdom and others for many generations. They will not stop until they have what they want.”

  “Then what do we do?” Mansel asked.

  “We ride, stay ahead of them until we figure things out,” said Quinn. “This is the last chance you’ll have to turn back.”

  “No, I’m coming,” said Mansel.

  Brianna nodded too, and they rode off into the forest.

  Chapter 7

  Branock lay on the ground. He felt... cold. He had successfully blocked the lightning spell Zollin had cast at him, but his defense had not prepared him for the force of the young Wizard’s strike, nor had he managed to soften his landing. He slowly moved each of his limbs and was pleased to discover that nothing was broken or out of joint, but he was sore and would be worse in the morning, he knew.

  Slowly he stirred. He could hear the frightened shouts of the townspeople. The horses were bucking and snorting with fear. His own mount and those of his fellow Wizards had fled. Branock looked over at Wytlethane. He too was moving, making a slow, careful effort to sit up.

  Branock turned to see about their young companion, but Cassis wasn’t moving. The elder Wizard had half expected to see the younger man already on his feet and smirking, but Cassis lay completely still, his blood red robes blackened all along his left shoulder.

  “Wytlethane,” Branock said as he turned quickly back to the other Wizard.

  “Is he dead?” Wytlethane asked, his voice as even as a frozen pond. Branock knew his rival was worried but he would never let it show.

  “I don’t know,” Branock groaned as he got to his feet. He moved quickly to the younger Wizard and peered down at him. The lightning spell had broken through Cassis’ defenses and burned a ragged hole in his shoulder. The flesh was scorched, as was the fabric of his robe, but the younger man was breathing – he wasn’t dead.

  “He lives,” Branock said. “But his blocking spell wasn’t strong enough.”

  “Perhaps now he will stop complaining about having to practice,” Wytlethane said. “He knows the spell, it just isn’t second nature to him yet.”

  “I’ll find the horses while you look after him,” Branock said.

  He shuffled away as Wytlethane bent over the younger Wizard. Branock could have healed him, but healing was a delicate art that required patience, and at that moment Branock’s mind was reeling. He couldn’t believe the sheer power that Zollin had unleashed. To be sure, it was raw, totally unrefined. In fact Branock doubted the boy had even cast a spell at all – it was simply unrestrained power. That was why the blow had sent them flying, and the thought made the elder Wizard giddy. Truly, he thought, this boy was a power to rival the Master.

  “Sir,” shouted one of the mercenaries as he came charging forward on a horse that was still fighting to break away from its rider. “The boy and his father fled in that direction.”

  He pointed away from the village proper toward a small hill.

  “Three of our best are after him now, sir,” the soldier said. “We’ll have him soon.”

  Branock merely nodded and calculated his plan of action. He knew the mercenaries would be slain, and the thought caused him no ill feelings. Nothing mattered except getting Zollin under his control. He didn’t care how many people had to die, as long as he got to the young Wizard first, and without his companions.

  “Gather your remaining men, Captain,” Branock said to the solider. “Have them meet us here. And retrieve our horses.”

  “Yes, lord,” the man said as he hauled on the reins of the frantic animal. He dug his heels into the horse’s flanks and the charger leapt away, kicking up dust with its thick hooves.

  It took nearly an hour to heal Cassis. The young Wizard was up and moving, but he too was sore from the fall and weak from the wound. Although the injury had been completely healed, his body had suffered from the trauma and was still in shock. The mercenaries had found the Wizard’s horses, and together they made their way up toward the Carpenter’s house on the outskirts of town.

  “My back is killing me,” Cassis complained. “Why didn’t you heal that too?”

  “Stop whining,” Branock said, trying to keep his amusement at the younger Wizard’s misfortune hidden. “You are lucky to be alive. Besides, healing every little ache and pain would take hours. Meanwhile, our quarry is fleeing into the woods.”

  “How do you know that?” Cassis asked.

  “Well, it’s merely a guess, but it makes sense. Besides, I have felt the draw of his power receding, haven’t you?”

  “Of course I have. I merely asked how you knew he was fleeing into the forest.”

  “Simple logic,” Branock said smugly. “I know because I think. You should try it some time.”

  Cassis glared at the elder Wizard, but before he could respond, Wytlethane spoke.

  “Patience, Cassis. Branock is only trying to bait you.”

  “It’s working,” Cassis said under his breath.

  Just then, they spotted the two slain mercenaries lying in the shadow of the house. One of the other soldiers rode ahead and inspected the bodies. Another searched the house and two others scouted ahead to ensure that their company wasn’t riding into an ambush.

  “Are they dead?” asked Branock.

  “Yes, my lord,” said the soldier.

  “I thought you said that three of your men rode up here, Captain?”

  “They did,” said the soldier, looking at the man who ducked back out of the house.

  “No one in there, sir,” said the mercenary, jerking his thumb toward the house.

  From the far side, a horse came galloping up.

  “Tank’s over there, sir,” the recent arrival said to the captain of the mercenaries. “He looks burned.”

  “And who is that?” Branock said, pointing to another body that was lying just inside the small lean-to on the far end of the house.

  One of the soldier’s walked over, “He’s a local, my lord. He’s dead too.”

  Branock slowly dismounted and walked toward where Todrek’s body lay.

  “Why are you wasting time?” Cassis grumbled. “Shouldn’t we be pursing the boy?”

  “Yes,” Branock replied as he bent forward over the swollen body. “But it helps to know your quarry.”

  “What do you plan to learn from a dead boy?” Cassis smirked.

  Branock straightened slowly, his back stiffer already, which wasn’t a good sign. He was dreading the long, cold night ahead.

  “Well, not much,” the elder Wizard said. “But I know that this boy was important to Zollin. And I know he hasn’t yet learned to heal.”

  “What?” Cassis remarked, surprised. He nudged his horse forward to see Todrek’s body.

  “He took the time to try and heal this boy,” Branock explained. “See the blood all over the boy’s tunic. And the swollen neck, but no visible wound? He healed him, but his focus was only skin deep.”

  Branock left the group and went into the small home. He took his time, studying anything that seemed interesting. There was much to learn. The home was neat and efficient with two small bedrooms leading off the main room. There were typical fixtures around the home, cooking utensils, beds, well-crafted wooden furniture. But what Branock found most interesting wasn’t what he found, it was what seemed to be absent from the home. There was no sign of anything feminine in the entire house, no flowers, no hair brushes or aprons or dresses of any kind. Branock made his way back out into the cold winter sunlight.

  “The Captain’s men have found the boy’s trail,” Cassis sneered. “Now that you are finally finished inspecting the house, we can go after him.”

  “Yes, well, perha
ps we should split up,” Branock suggested.

  “What? Why?” Cassis asked.

  “You can obviously ride much faster than we can,” Branock said, indicating Wytlethane and himself. “Take your soldiers and range ahead. We will follow as quickly as our decrepit bodies will allow.”

  “Just get on your horse,” Wytlethane said.

  “Tell me you aren’t sore,” Branock replied. “Tell me you can ride through the night and all day long tomorrow.”

  Wytlethane looked at Branock for a moment and there was the barest hint of indecision. He wasn’t sure if he could trust his colleague, but he had no desire to sit on his skittish horse a moment longer than he had to.

  “Alright,” Wytlethane said. “Ride on, Cassis, and pursue the boy. But do not engage him without us.”

  “That’s right, Cassis, you’d just get yourself killed,” Branock added, his voice grave as if he cared only for the younger Wizard’s safety.

  “We’ll see about that,” Cassis sneered. “Come on, Captain, you heard them. Let’s ride.”

  The younger Wizard kicked his horse and galloped away, the mercenaries following along behind.

  “Why did you do that?” Wytlethane asked.

  “I didn’t want to listen to him complaining constantly.”

  “Surely you don’t think Cassis could control himself. He’ll kill the Master’s prize.”

  “I doubt that.”

  “Why, because he caught us by surprise? Cassis is impatient and impetuous, but he is no fool. He’ll be ready the next time they meet.”

  “I’ve no doubt about that,” Branock agreed. “But I doubt he’ll find the boy. His mercenaries are not woodsmen. They’ll lose the trail and wander aimlessly through the night. Zollin and his father will head north, into the mountains.”

  “And you think we’ll find them?”

  “Yes, eventually, but not tonight and not tomorrow, not even if we could ride without rest. They are hunted and scared. They won’t stop moving, and in the end our patience will win out. They’ll be exhausted and beaten down when we find them. Perhaps the boy will simply agree to come with us without a fight.”

  “Perhaps,” said Wytlethane, his deep voice unconvinced. “Perhaps not.”

  Chapter 8

  They rode single file, urging their horses to move as fast as possible through the trees and over the rough, uneven ground. They did not speak. Quinn rode in the lead, followed by Mansel, Brianna, and finally Zollin. It was a bright and beautiful winter day. The sky was clear and the sunlight would have been welcome, but stark branches over their heads seemed to filter any heat that might have warmed them. The forest floor was covered in leaves, but they were packed down and stuck together from the snow that had fallen on them from the branches above. The horses moved almost silently, their normally heavy steps muffled by the decaying leaves.

  Zollin noticed all these things, the way the wind seemed to find every opening in his cloak, the way the leather saddles creaked as they rode, the smell of damp foliage all around them. He tried to think of anything except the events of the morning in Tranaugh Shire, but his mind kept reliving the awful moment that Todrek had died. He saw the sword flashing as it swung down. He saw his friend’s clumsy attempt to block the stroke, then the blood, dark crimson as it arced up after the sword. Todrek had seemed to fall in slow motion, dropping his sword and grabbing his throat in a useless attempt to stop the blood. He had dropped to his knees and then toppled backward on the brown winter grass.

  It was worse than a nightmare, it both terrified him and filled him with grief. He had cried, trying desperately to do so without making a sound. Fortunately his horse, a veteran of countless journeys, knew to follow the animals in front of him without any direction from its rider. Zollin spent most of the day hunched over his saddle, his head close to or even resting on the big horse’s neck. He watched the ground, numb to the sparks of magic that represented the three Wizards of the Torr who were surely following him. He wished he had just stepped up and gone with them. What would it have hurt, he argued to himself. He was planning on leaving anyway; if he had gone with the other Wizards no one would have been hurt. Now his best friend was dead and it was Zollin’s fault. The truth of it was so bitter in his mouth that he felt he would retch.

  Just a few yards ahead of him was Todrek’s widow. He wondered how he would ever be able to look at her again. Why had she come with them? he wondered. He had sat up once, trying to shake off the black mood that possessed him, but Brianna’s lingering perfume had wafted to him, standing out from the damp earth and rotting vegetation of the forest around him. It stirred feelings within him, natural feelings, but feelings he hated all the same. He hated himself and wished he could die. When they stopped for a very brief rest to share the food from his pack, he couldn’t bring himself to eat. And at some point during the day he had dozed off. He was lucky he hadn’t fallen from the saddle. But when he finally opened his eyes, night was falling.

  Quinn finally reined his horse to a stop. There was a small clearing near a noisy stream, and the riders all came together and dismounted, letting the horses drink. Quinn moved quietly to Zollin and took him aside.

  “You need to tell me everything,” his father whispered.

  “About what?” Zollin asked.

  “About you, about this magic, how long you’ve been practicing it, everything.”

  Zollin stammered for a moment. He felt so awful, the weight of his guilt was overwhelming. He told his father about the day they were framing the Inn, about the tool bag and later the fireplace. He told him how he had discovered the willow tree and his staff. He told the truth about the traveling illusionist and how he had gotten their horse, Lilly.

  “Who else did you tell about this?” Quinn asked.

  “I told Todrek,” Zollin admitted, feeling ashamed for even speaking his friend’s name aloud. “He panicked and said all magic was evil sorcery. So I didn’t tell anyone else. After he was engaged to Brianna I was going to leave, but he asked me to stand with him. I’ve told no one else, except Brianna.”

  “Brianna,” Quinn called to the girl.

  She moved toward them, her slim form moving carefully. She was obviously very saddle sore.

  “Alright,” Quinn said as she arrived. “We have to know how these Wizards knew about us. Zollin said he told you he could use magic. Did you tell anyone?”

  “No,” she said, her large eyes looking directly into Quinn’s as she spoke. “I doubt anyone would have believed me if I had.”

  “Didn’t you and Todrek talk about it?” Quinn asked.

  “No,” she said, her eyes dropping for an instant when Quinn mentioned her husband’s name.

  Zollin felt a lump rising in his throat, and although he didn’t think he could cry anymore, his eyes burned and blurred with tears. He wanted to run away, to lose himself in oblivion, to find a hole, crawl inside and die.

  “I mentioned it once, but Todrek would not speak of it,” Brianna said.

  “And you don’t know if he told anyone either?” Quinn asked.

  “I don’t know, but I doubt it. He acted like he didn’t want to acknowledge it.”

  “Alright, so then the only other person who could have told them about you was the illusionist.”

  Zollin nodded. He wished he hadn’t revealed himself to the traveling entertainer, but he could have thought of no other way to get the man to take him seriously. Now they were all paying for his mistakes.

  “Well, there’s no way to know if they’re following us but-”

  “They are,” Zollin interrupted. “I can feel them.”

  “You can what?”

  “I can feel them. It’s like a sense of dread, or like when someone is watching you.”

  “That’s just paranoia,” Quinn said matter-of-factly.

  “No, it’s different. I can sense magic within people and things, like the willow tree or my staff. I can tell if someone has magic in them. I’ve been feeling the Wizards approa
ching for the last few weeks. I can feel them getting closer – the feeling is growing stronger.”

  “How close are they?”

  “I don’t know. I can’t tell how close or where exactly, just that they’re getting closer.”

  Zollin could tell his father was frustrated, but he didn’t know what else to say. There was a long, awkward silence before Brianna finally spoke.