“Absolutely,” Quinn said. “They may look like savages, but they're men, and they're intelligent.”
“Do you plan to challenge them?” asked another Elder.
“Yes, if I can. If I defeat their chieftain they might return to the mountains without a fight.”
“And the miners?” asked the stooped-shouldered Elder.
“We'll deal with them afterward,” Quinn said, with a knowing look.
***
The miners arrived at the river a short time later. They were moving as fast as their weary feet would carry them. Trollic and his assassin spy rode horses. The rest of the miners, about twenty-five men all told, followed behind. They were exhausted, their eyes wide with fear. They seemed relieved to have reached the river, but stopped just short of the bridge.
Quinn stepped up to bridge and stood waiting. Zollin was well back from the front lines, waiting and watching with the archers. He saw the assassin, tall and thin, his wispy hair covered with a thick, fur-lined hat. The man pointed at Quinn and leaned close to speak to his master. Then Trollic nudged his horse forward and began to cross the bridge alone.
Quinn walked forward and met the man on the center of the bridge. They talked for a moment, and then Quinn turned and started back toward the village. Trollic waved to his men and followed Quinn across. There was murmuring and even a few shouts, but Quinn waved his hands for everyone to be quiet.
“Trollic has given me his word that his men will be no trouble,” shouted Quinn. “They'll fight alongside us against the Skellmarians if it comes to that. For now, they need food and rest.”
A young boy was sent to the Valley Inn to gather food. Soon the miners were sprawled on the ground along the river. They had weapons, mostly long, heavy knives, but they were so tired that they wouldn't last long if the Skellmarians attacked.
Zollin could see movement inside the tree line on the far side of the river. The Skellmarians were taking stock of the town's new defenses. Quinn walked back across the bridge and waited. Before long, a man in heavy armor came out of the trees. He was a big man, with what looked like a hat made from bone and fur. He carried a long-handled ax and a curved knife. There were ribbons and threaded beads tied around his arms and neck. Zollin could see long hair, smeared with thick brown grease, hanging like oily ropes from the helmet he wore.
They spoke for a moment and then Quinn turned back toward the town while the Skellmarian turned back toward the trees. When Quinn was safely back across the bridge, Zollin joined the group clustered around his father.
“His name is Borrak,” Quinn said. “He's offered us terms of surrender, claiming they'll let everyone but the city Elders leave the city safely.”
“The city Elders?” said the stooped-shouldered man. “What does he want with us?”
“He says that the Elders are responsible for sending the miners into the mountains.”
“That's nonsense,” said the stooped Elder in a shaky voice. “We had nothing to do with it.”
“In their culture, the Elders are responsible for everything that goes on in their villages. Because the miners got their supplies from here and fled here, they assume they're from here. He proposes to sacrifice the Elders to strengthen the mountain god they worship and take over the town.”
“That's insane,” said the stooped Elder. “They don't even live in houses. They're animals.”
“Should we take their offer?” said one of the men from the town. He was young, and Zollin seemed to remember he had a new baby back in the village. He didn't blame the man for thinking of the safety of his wife and child.
“You should consider it,” said Trollic.
“Consider it?” said the stooped Elder. “It's your fault they're here in the first place.”
Trollic's hand fell to the heavy knife in his belt, but Quinn raised his hand and spoke.
“Let's all calm down. We'll stick to the plan. Trollic, make sure your men are ready to fight. I'm going to challenge their chieftain.”
“What plan is he talking about?” Trollic snarled. “Why should we stay here to be slaughtered? I'm taking my men and leaving this pathetic little mud hole of a village.”
Quinn turned back to the miner. “You'll stay here and fight, or you'll find yourself on the other side of the river with the Skellmarians.”
“I doubt that,” Trollic smirked.
He was in the middle of an arrogant smile when Quinn's hand shot out and slammed into the miner's jaw. Trollic fell to the ground, his arms and legs stiff, his eyes rolling back in the sockets. The assassin was instantly over his boss with a knife in each hand. Quinn's hands were empty, but he looked into the tall assassin's eyes. “I'll deal with you when this is over,” he said.
“I look forward to it,” said the pale-skinned assassin.
Quinn walked back to the bridge and called out to the Skellmarians.
“My name is Quinn, son of Delmar, son of Salick. I challenge Borrak to single combat for the right to Brighton's Gate.”
The voice that replied from the trees was heavily accented but plain enough to be understood.
“When I kill you, Quinn Delmarson, I will burn the village and kill everyone who does not flee before me.”
Quinn took a torch and threw it onto the bridge. The fire spread rapidly and soon the entire bridge was in flames. Steam from melting snow rose up and joined the black smoke of the fire. A group of warriors, about fifty in all, moved as a group from the trees. Zollin could see Borrak in the middle of them. They walked to the river's edge. Quinn had already moved down to the space Zollin had created for the duel. He had a short, two-edged sword and a wooden shield reinforced with bands of steel. In his belt at the small of his back he had the two throwing knives Trollic's assassin had left behind, one of which he had stabbed Zollin with. Quinn's own knife was inside his right boot.
The group of Skellmarians parted, and Borrak made his way down onto the frozen river. He was still wearing his armor and strange helmet, but he had traded his battle ax for a curved sword and small hand shield that looked about as big as a large pie. He also had a curved knife in his belt, and on a thin belt which was slung over his head and one shoulder was a small climbing ax or pick.
The two men circled each other on the hard packed snow. Because Zollin had used magic to pack the snow down, it hadn't melted and become slick, but the longer the fight progressed, the more treacherous the snow would become. As if on cue, snow began to fall. It was a soft snowfall, the big flakes seeming to float down, and to Zollin it made the fight about to take place seem like a dream. His father was risking his life for the village of Brighton's Gate. Perhaps he should have been used to the grip of fear on his heart as he watched his father face an opponent intent on killing him, but it was like being on a wild horse. He felt totally out of control, and even though he knew his father was a skilled warrior, it still made him uneasy to see the only family he had ever known within reach of an enemy blade.
The Skellmarian attacked first, slashing his curved sword at Quinn's head. It was easily evaded and the two men continued circling. Borrak continued to test Quinn with feints and looping attacks that were just barely within range of the barbarian's longer sword. Quinn was content to bide his time. In fact, even though he could feel the cold air and the snow melting into his clothes, he knew his opponent's heavy armor would be wearing on him. So the duel continued, around and around the circle of hardened snow. The villagers watched in silence, and Zollin knew that if his father was slain, the townsfolk would break and run. They would flee into the winter mountains and probably die there.
Finally the Skellmarian swung his sword in an overhead strike that would have split Quinn's skull, but the wily carpenter raised his shield over his head and blocked the blow. Then with the speed of a much younger man, he thrust his sword at the Skellmarian's chest. Borrak swung his small shield down to deflect the blow, but the sword found the barbarian's thigh. It wasn't a deep gash, certainly not life threatening, but Quinn had draw
n first blood and it infuriated the Skellmarian. His warriors on the far riverbank roared in protest, shouting at their chief in their native tongue. It sounded like gibberish to Zollin.
Quinn had been waiting for just such an opportunity. The curved swords of the Skellmarians were perfect for hacking and slashing, but a straight thrust was foreign to them. Quinn had proven he was more than just an average warrior. Now the Skellmarian rushed forward, his sword swinging in a horizontal slash aimed for Quinn's shield. Quinn braced for the impact, but the larger man's power rocked him. Just as quickly, Borrak spun around and put his full weight into an arcing slash toward Quinn's exposed side. Quinn raised his sword to deflect the blow but the force of the impact sent the Carpenter sprawling. The Skellmarians cheered wildly and Borrak rushed forward, his sword swinging down like a man chopping wood. Quinn rolled to the side and Borrak's sword plunged into the snow. Quinn scrambled to one knee and slammed the edge of his shield into Borrak's leg. The Skellmarian howled in pain and hopped away. Quinn quickly regained his feet and charged forward. He swung his sword first at Borrak's shoulder, which the man caught on his shield. Then he batted away a feeble counter by the Skellmarian and thrust his sword at the man's chest again. This time the sword was deflected up and it caught the warrior chief's helm. Borrak's head was thrown back as the helmet was knocked away. Borrak snarled in rage and dropped the long sword to grab the climbing ax from the belt around his shoulder. He pulled it free and blocked Quinn's next cut on his shield, then swung the small ax at Quinn's face. Quinn raised his shield, but the pointed steel tip cut through the wood and gouged deeply into his arm. Now it was Quinn's turn to stagger back. The ax was stuck fast into the shield and the Skellmarian let it go, but Quinn couldn't pull his arm out of the shield's leather thongs while the ax point was piercing his arm. He slid his sword under the ax head, but Borrak was charging forward with the curved knife. Quinn swung his sword out to keep the barbarian at bay, but it was only a matter of time before Borrak broke through the feeble defense and ended the fight.
The Skellmarians were screaming in a blood frenzy now, but Borrak was the first to slip on the hardening snow. Quinn dropped to his knee and used his sword as a lever to loosen the climbing ax from his shield. The Carpenter wailed in pain as the serrated edge of the pick sawed loose from his forearm, but he was able to pull his hand from the shield just as the Skellmarian slashed at his face with the knife. Quinn threw himself back, but not quickly enough. The blade sliced into his cheek and scraped against the bone. Quinn could feel the snow beneath him, could feel the cold seeping into his body. His left arm was numb and useless even though it was free of the shield. He struggled to rise to his feet before his enemy was on top of him, but then he too slipped and fell onto his wounded arm. Pain throbbed though him and his vision dimmed, but he stayed conscious.
Borrak flung himself on top of Quinn, knocking the breath from the smaller man's lungs. He raised the knife for the killing stroke, but Quinn grabbed the barbarian's wrist and held fast. Borrak raised his upper body to punch down at the Carpenter's head, but at that same moment Quinn bucked, arching his back and throwing the Skellmarian forward. It was a desperate move, but Borrak hadn't expected it. He lost his balance and Quinn swung the bigger man around. Now Quinn was on top, but he couldn't let go of the Skellmarian's wrist for fear that he would be killed by the wicked knife. Instead, Quinn slammed his forehead into the bigger man's face. The Skellmarian's nose shattered in a sickening crunch of cartilage and bone. Blood sprayed out and the barbarian screamed in pain.
Quinn struggled back to his feet which seemed too weak to hold him up. He managed to scramble back without falling as Borrak rose slowly, wiping the blood from his eyes. The Skellmarian was covered in blood by the time he got his feet. But his eyes were focused and he bellowed as he raised the curved knife and charged forward. Like a flash, Quinn's hand shot out. Suddenly a knife appeared in Borrak's throat. The big Skellmarian chief fell dead and slid along the now bloody snow at Quinn's feet.
Instantly the Skellmarian warriors jumped down into the snow that had collected on the frozen river and charged toward Quinn. The Carpenter was running back toward the village side of the river, but his legs were too weak. Zollin stood and thrust his staff toward the river. He could feel the ice, several feet thick and as solid as an oak tree. He unleashed all the pent up fear and anger within him and felt the ice on the river bend. He strained, and the ice gave a little more. He could feel the tiny cracks growing, but it wasn't enough. He felt his heart racing and his head hurt. Then there was a crack that sounded like a broken twig, only the sound carried to the mountains and echoed back. The ice on the river suddenly broke apart, the solid pieces pitching up and tossing the Skellmarians into the icy depths below. Zollin slumped to the ground in exhaustion and managed to look up in time to see his father slip from the ice and disappear into the dark depths of the river.
Chapter 28
When Quinn's body hit the icy water, his muscles contracted, pushing the air from his lungs and curling him into a ball. He struggled to move his arms to catch hold of the ice above him, but the river current had already pulled him past the opening. His fingers brushed against the ice that was above him now. He kicked out, trying to swim back upstream, but he was too weak. He knew he couldn't make it. Still, there was a part of his mind that refused to give up. His lungs were on fire, his skin felt like it was made of stone, and every movement was agony, but still he thrashed and fought the current, struggling for life. Then he was hit by another thrashing man, one of the Skellmarian warriors. And Quinn's body locked up. His mind was screaming to fight, but his body rose gently in the swift water, bumping against the ice.
Zollin had seen his father fall, and his first impulse was to leap up and save him, but when he tried, the world spun around and he fell onto the hard packed snow. The villagers and miners were cheering even as more Skellmarians ran toward the riverbank. Most of the warriors who had jumped onto the frozen river had fallen in and had been swept away, but a few had managed to climb back to the opposite bank.
Zollin closed his mind and reached out with the power inside of him. It felt weak and feeble, but still he reached. He could feel the men in the river, moving farther and farther away. He could feel some fighting and kicking, others drifting lifelessly. He searched each one, trying to find his father. Finally he found him, but Quinn wasn't moving. Zollin pulled, but it felt like Quinn was just beyond his grasp. With one hand Zollin gripped his staff, and with the other he took hold of the willow belt around his waist, but the power wasn't enough. He felt his father slipping away.
He stretched his entire body, the men around him stepping back, not knowing what was happening to the young Wizard. He demanded the magic go farther, but it was no use. There was nothing left of the magic he controlled. His father was too far away.
Then he felt a tremble from deep inside, at first a whisper, then a rumble, and then he felt power flood through his body. He jumped to his feet, his eyes blazing. The archers around him stumbled back. He could feel his father again, and this time he pulled him easily through the water, like a child landing a tiny fish. He pulled Quinn until he was under the gaping hole in the ice, and then he lifted the man. Quinn shot into the air and came rushing toward Zollin. Quinn's wet clothes hardened into ice almost instantly in the frosty air, but Zollin poured heat into his father's body. He felt the lungs deflated and struggling to open to the air the body desperately needed. The heart was beating sluggishly, the mind pulled so far into itself it seemly like only a tiny spark. Zollin could feel power rushing through his body as if he were standing in the flames of magical power, but he was not consumed. He willed the lungs to open and they did. He massaged the weak heart, imagining strength and vitality. Quinn's mind opened like a flower toward the sun. Zollin sent radiating heat down onto his father until the older man's clothes were dry and he lay on the brittle grass in a circle of melted snow.
Quinn opened his eyes. “What happened?” he asked.<
br />
“It's not over,” was all Zollin said.
Zollin pulled Quinn to his feet and they walked toward the river. The Skellmarians, over a hundred strong, were shouting and gesturing at the villagers. Quinn turned to the archers and signaled for them to fire a volley at the barbarians. The arrows arced over the river and fell on the Skellmarians, who screamed in outrage but retreated back toward the trees.
“Will they attack again?” said the stooped-shouldered Elder who had come up behind Quinn.
“I don't know.”
“Let me see your arm,” Zollin said.
He could feel the throbbing pain pulsing out from the jagged wound, but it would take time to mend the flesh and muscle the pick ax had torn.
“Where's Trollic?” Quinn asked.
The city Elders had gathered all around Quinn and Zollin now, but none could answer where the miner had gone to. Quinn turned to see Mansel and Brianna approaching, along with most of the miners and townsfolk who had witnessed the duel and resulting magic.
“We need to find the miner,” Quinn said to the Elders. “Leave a guard along the river and send everyone else to their homes.”
Five Kingdoms: Books 01, 02 & 03 Page 26