“Storm’s coming,” Quinn said as he reined his horse to a stop. “Zollin, do you think the Wizards can track us once the snow hits?”
“I don’t know,” Zollin said. “I don’t see how.”
“Can’t you feel them or something? Can they use that?”
“I can still sense them, but I don’t know where they are. I guess it’s possible that they could find us that way.”
“Well, we need to rest,” Quinn said after a moment. “We’ll just have to take that chance.”
“What about food?” Mansel said.
“There’s a week’s ration in our saddle bags,” Quinn said. “I found it when I first rounded up the horses. We’ll divide it up, and hopefully it’ll get us through the worst of the storm.”
“How bad a storm do you think?” Brianna asked. She was so cold her teeth were chattering.
“Impossible to tell. We’ll just have to do our best to survive. Right now, we need to find a place we can shelter out of this wind.”
“Speaking of survival,” Mansel said, riding his horse closely beside Zollin’s. “I’m not sure how you did it, but thank you for saving Brianna. When I saw that fire coming at her, my heart almost stopped.”
Zollin nodded but didn’t say anything. He was as amazed as anyone at the turn of events. Brianna should have been burned to death, but she wasn’t. He wondered if it was the ring he had given her, but he was too tired to really think about it.
They pushed on for another half hour or so before they found a suitable place. It was a small clearing about halfway up one of the steep hills. The soil was thin and the rugged hillside rose sharply from the fairly level ground of the clearing. There were large boulders on one side and a thick stand of cedar trees on the other. The valley below them was open, but after tying the horses inside the grove of cedars, Mansel and Quinn found some brush to arrange at the edge of the clearing, giving the space boundaries and at least some cover from prying eyes. Brianna and Zollin gathered firewood as the first of the snow started falling. The mercenaries’ horses were much better equipped than the meager provisions Zollin had stashed away, and after piling all their gear near the cliff, Quinn removed a blanket that was waxed on one side. He managed to tie it to the boulders and hillside. Using Zollin’s staff, the blanket gave them shelter from the falling snow. They wrapped up in blankets, ate a small bite of hard, dry bread, and then fell asleep.
***
Branock tried to open his eyes. The whole left side of his body felt stiff, almost like it was covered with mud that had dried. There was pain that ached deeply in his neck and chest. His vision was clear, but limited. He realized his left eye must not be open. Instinctively, he tried to raise his left hand to touch his face, but his limb didn’t move. For a moment, he thought perhaps something was pinning his body to the ground. He lifted his right hand and touched his left shoulder. The fabric of his robe was gone, and the skin was stiff and rubbery. There was no sensation in his shoulder. It was like touching a piece of meat. He tried to remember what had happened. He remembered battling Zollin – the boy’s power was surprisingly strong but unfocused. He had been confident he could beat the boy, but then something had happened.
Fire. He remembered now – the girl, riding toward him. He had meant to blast her with fire, but something had happened. His spell had rebounded back on him. His heart was beating fast now. His own spell had roasted him alive. Half of his body was burned, and his staff was out of reach.
He turned his head, searching for his staff in the dim twilight. The long, dark staff was several feet away, but luckily on his right side. He tried to raise his legs, but pain exploded in his left thigh. The pain was searing, the ache so intense it paralyzed him. He ground his teeth and waited for the pain to subside, but it didn’t. It only radiated out through his entire body. The world grew dark as he lay, shuddering now in pain. Finally, the rational part of his brain recognized that the pain wasn’t going to stop. His only hope was to get to his staff. He was weak, his breath starting to rattle in his chest.
He lifted his right leg and pushed against the earth. He moved only a few inches before the pain made bursts of light pulse in the vision of his good eye. The ground felt like a torture device. His stomach was heaving, so he forced himself to take deep breaths. A racking cough crippled him again. He had to lie still for several moments. He could feel his lungs slowly filling with liquid. He knew time was short, so he held his breath, raised his right leg again, and pushed. This time he moved farther before the silhouettes of trees above him began to sway and spin. He rested, and a powerful urge to close his eyes came over him. He wanted nothing more in that moment than to let go of the pain and struggle for survival, and just slip away into the darkness. But he pushed the craving away, raised his right leg, and pushed again. Then, reaching out with his right hand, he tried to grab his staff. He could barely touch the ancient piece of wood. It was once an ash sapling, but many years ago he had made it his slave. Now he needed it once again.
He felt the magic swirl into his ravaged body. It spread through the healthy parts of him, and he realized just how near death he was. He closed his eyes and made one more small push. His hand closed over the smooth wood and he immediately concentrated on his lungs. In his weakened state, he was forced to work slowly. But as the moon rose, he was able to breathe easy once more. He lifted the staff and began to force life back into his ruined left side. It was another hour before he stopped to rest. He was so tired, but he could once again move his arm and leg. Both were stiff, the skin pulling when he moved as if it had somehow shrunk. He opened his eyes and he could see again. Snow was falling, drifting in large, soft flakes that fell silently all around him. Once again, the rational part of his mind told him that if he stayed where he was, if he closed his eyes and slept as his body wanted, he would freeze to death.
He forced himself to stand. His body was shuddering from the cold and the pain. He had healed as much of his body as he could for now, but it would still take hours of work before he could walk normally or use his left hand with any strength. He needed to find his horse and find shelter before it was too late. Leaning heavily on his staff, he shuffled off through the dark forest.
***
The morning was dim, the sky thick with clouds, the air filled with falling snow. The shelter grew cold despite their body heat, and so Quinn and Zollin got up to find almost a foot of snow on the ground around them. Their makeshift tent was sagging, threatening to collapse.
“Can you move that snow off the blanket?” Quinn asked.
“Sure,” Zollin said. He visualized the snow being brushed off, and it fell with wet thunk into the snow on the two open sides of their shelter.
“Good,” Quinn said. “Let’s pack this snow into walls and then we can build a fire.”
“You think that’s safe?” Zollin asked.
“I doubt anyone would see smoke in this weather,” Quinn said.
So they packed down the snow, which reminded Zollin of making snow forts with Todrek. His hands ached from the cold, but the task was quickly done and helped to keep stray winds from whipping around the bounders to chill their camp. Quinn had covered the firewood with another of the blankets, and soon Zollin had a bright fire burning just beyond the edge of their shelter. The heat was contained by the snowbank in front and the hillside behind them, warming their camp up so well that Zollin was soon asleep again. When he woke later that day, the snow was still falling heavily, the flakes hissing as the fire melted those that fell too close, causing the water to drop into the flames. Quinn had Zollin push the snow off their shelter again with his magic. He was careful not to let the snow fall into fire.
They set to work again, this time with Mansel’s help, packing the snow into walls that rose up as high as the shelter’s blanket roof. They were all hungry and divided up the salted beef, cheese, and bread to make a good meal. They packed snow into their water skins and set them by the fire to melt. There was a bottle of wine in one of the s
addle bags which they were happy to drink, and then with the light of the day fading and their stomachs full, they were soon asleep again. At some point in the night, Zollin opened his eyes to a sagging blanket, and without even sitting up, he used his magic to levitate the snow to the ground beyond the snow walls of their camp. Then he promptly fell back asleep.
The sun was just rising when he woke up again. The fire had died, and Brianna was struggling to uncover their firewood beyond the small shelter. Zollin stepped beyond the shelter and looked at a clear sky that was just turning pink in the east. The snow was up almost to his mid-thigh but had stopped falling. He moved over and helped Brianna uncover the firewood.
“Thanks,” she said, her smile bright in the predawn light.
Zollin couldn’t think of anything to say and so he shrugged his shoulders. It was extremely cold, and he was soon shivering as they carried the wood back toward the shelter.
“Do you think we should risk a fire?” she asked.
“Probably not,” Zollin said. “But I can handle that.” He laid the wood in their fire pit and concentrated. The wood suddenly shone with a brilliant light and then softened to a red glow. It had become embers, radiating a good deal of warmth without any smoke. They sat on blankets and warmed their hands. Brianna broke out more dried rations. They had a bit of cheese left, which they softened over the embers, and they drank the ice-cold melted snow.
“I’ll bet you miss home,” Zollin said, trying to be polite but feeling extremely awkward. He wished his father or Mansel would wake up and join them so he wouldn’t have to be the focus of Brianna’s attention. He had never seen her so disheveled. Her hair, which she had tied back into a ponytail the first day they had left Tranaugh Shire, had begun to frizz and escape the leather thong she used to tie it back. Her clothes were rumpled and stained, but her smile was dazzling. Somehow, even as a fugitive far from home, with no decent place to rest, she was stunningly beautiful. Zollin felt his resolve to withhold his feelings wavering. It was like trying to move upstream against a strong current. He was getting tired of trying not to like her. And yet, Todrek’s face was always in the back of Zollin’s mind.
“Not really. I feel like I’m where I’m supposed to be.” Brianna’s tone was matter of fact, as if running from Wizards and mercenaries were as normal as gathering eggs in the morning.
“You should be enjoying your life with Todrek,” Zollin said, his mood turning dark.
“Should I?” She raised an eyebrow. “Zollin, do you think that Todrek was my choice?”
“Wasn’t he?”
“No, I had no desire for him.”
“Then why did you marry him?”
“I had no choice. Marriage is expected, and if I hadn’t married Todrek I would have had to marry someone else. Todrek made the best offer and promised the best life in Tranaugh Shire, but my father made that decision. Was I happy to be out of my mother’s house? Of course, but what I really wanted was to get out of the village and see the world. I’m doing that with you.”
“But we’re being chased by mercenaries and Wizards, sleeping out in the freezing cold. This can’t be how you imagined you’d see the world.”
“It’s not,” she said slowly, as if trying to decide what she would say next. “When you revealed your power to me, I knew that my future was with you. I can’t say how I knew, just that it seemed inevitable. You want to know a secret?” she asked, giggling from embarrassment.
“Sure,” Zollin said without a second’s hesitation. He was enjoying himself despite his resolve to keep Brianna at a distance.
“I’d been having dreams that you were leaving Tranaugh Shire without me.” She blushed a little and looked down at her hands. “I would wake up calling out, and my mother thought I was nervous about marrying Todrek. I never told anyone what I was really afraid of.”
Zollin’s face flushed from shame. Just hearing Brianna say his friend’s name was like a slap in the face. He couldn’t believe that he had just been chatting casually with his best friend’s widow.
“I think I’ll check on the horses,” he said hastily.
“Would you like some help?” she asked.
“No,” he said quickly, charging off through the snow.
He saw through the corner of his eye the look of surprise and pain that clouded Brianna’s face. Still, he wouldn’t let himself give in. He took the pain, his own and what he imagined Todrek would feel, and stuffed them down deep inside. He accepted Brianna’s hurt – it was inevitable, and couldn’t be helped. Her lack of remorse only made him feel worse. How could she be so cold and callous? But deep down he knew he couldn’t despise her the way he should. She and Todrek had only been married one night and really hadn’t known each other before that, but it was the principle of the matter. Todrek had been his best friend, and he deserved to be loved and grieved in death.
The horses were anxious under the limbs of heavy snow, but their body heat in the close confines of the pine and cedar grove made the space warm despite the chilly weather. Zollin spent the next hour rubbing the horses down and talking to them. He spent most of his time with Lilly and tried to convince himself it was because she was his horse, not because she was Brianna’s mount.
When he reemerged, Mansel and Quinn were awake. They had eaten, and their camp was warmed by the coals that were only now starting to die. The sun was actually warm and the snow was melting slightly. Quinn said they should push on. They needed to get into the mountains before the passes filled with snow.
“Aren’t we in the mountains?” Mansel asked.
“These are merely the foothills,” Quinn said. “The mountains are towering cliffs, so tall you can’t climb them. The only way in is the Telford’s Pass or from the sea. Brighton’s Gate is in the Great Valley that runs the entire breadth of the Northern Highlands. If we can get in before the snows fill the passes, we should be safe through the winter.”
“And if we can’t?” Brianna asked.
“Then we die,” Mansel said as if were telling a ghost story.
Quinn merely looked down at the ground between his knees. He was squatting the same way that Zollin had seen him rest around a camp fire hundreds of times, but somehow he seemed older, as if the mention of death had aged him.
“We aren’t going to die,” Zollin said.
“No,” Quinn agreed, his voice firm, “but we can’t stay here.”
They broke camp an hour later. They were well rested, but the snow was still thick. They were forced to lead their horses and trudge through the snow. They traveled in a single line, moving through a single trail in the snow. They took turns in the lead position, but they didn’t cover much distance. That night they made camp in a steep valley that seemed to funnel the northern wind. Their arms and legs ached from the cold. Throwing caution to the wind, they built a big fire and tried to warm themselves. They also tried to dry their clothes but without much success. It was a miserable night, but the next day was bright and sunny. The snows receded quickly and they were able to travel more easily. They spent most of the day on horseback, winding through the hills and drawing closer to the mountains. That night they camped in a cave, and Quinn began drilling Mansel with the sword and shield. Zollin avoided Brianna by keeping watch.
The next day, they came to Telford’s Pass that led into the mountains. The trail wasn’t quite a road but more than a well worn path. Wagons had rolled that route enough times that the trail was wide enough for them to ride together and talk. The last few days had been cold, but the sunshine had brightened their spirits, and riding along a path made them feel more at ease. Their fears were forgotten as they rode along, occasionally even joking and laughing. Quinn said another two days would see them in Brighton’s Gate, but when they turned a curve in the trail around a huge, rugged boulder, they were surprised to see a group of men waiting for them.
The riders directly ahead immediately started toward them, so they quickly turned back the way they had come. Their jovial mood was banish
ed instantly as fear fell over them like a torrential rainstorm. Before they could spur their horses to speed, three more riders appeared down the trail behind them, their horses trotting quickly toward the group. Zollin recognized the center rider as one of the Wizards of the Torr.
“It’s one of the Wizards,” he said, his voice shrill.
“What do we do?” Brianna asked.
“Go back,” Zollin said.
“I don’t relish turning my back on a Wizard,” Quinn said.
“I say we fight,” Mansel said with exuberance. It was obvious that he was anxious to try out his new skills.
“I can handle the riders up the trail,” Zollin said. “I’m not so sure about the Wizard.”
“Come on then,” Quinn ordered. And they turned their horses once again and raced into the mountains.
Chapter 12
They raced around the bend once more, while the group of mercenaries in front of them sat waiting. It was a tense moment for Zollin. He felt the magic churning hot within him, but he did not relish the idea of unleashing his magic on people again. Still, he needed to protect is father and friends. He would not let anyone hurt them. So he raised his staff and pointed it at the group. The riders in turn raised long bows and fired arrows at the oncoming riders. The arrows took all of Zollin’s attention.
Five Kingdoms: Books 01, 02 & 03 Page 11