“Can they do that?”
“If they’re close enough and the conditions are right. I could do it, so we have to assume that they can, too. We also have to assume that they can get in here without coming through the door.”
“You mean, over the top or...” He let the thought trail off.
“We need to check the walls and make sure there is no other way in here,” Quinn said.
“You stay here and keep watch. I’ll check the walls,” Wilam said.
“Okay,” Quinn agreed.
He kept his head low, but his eyes were constantly scanning the yard around the windmill. There was no sign of movement, or of the assassins’ horses. Wilam used his hands to check the integrity of the stone walls but found nothing out of place. The mortar was in good shape, and there was no way to tunnel under the wall without being noticed. Wilam then took the opportunity to make sure Mansel understood their plan and that their new companion had food and water. Next he checked the horses, inspecting each hoof and giving them a small bit of oats to eat. Then he carried food for himself and for Quinn back up to the windmill’s roof.
“Here, we should eat,” Wilam said.
“I’m sorry, my lord,” Quinn said. “I never meant to get you in a mess like this.”
He took the food Wilam handed him and leaned back against the wall of the windmill. It was shoulder height, and Quinn could lean back and just see over the edge. If the assassins were close, he wouldn’t see them, but he didn’t want to raise too much of a target. They didn’t know what weapons the assassins might have. If they had a bow and arrow, or even a spear, they might kill him if he was too exposed.
“It isn’t your fault,” Wilam said. “If anyone is to blame, it’s me. I thought you were crazy suggesting that we were being followed. I can be bullheaded at times. I guess that happens when you are surrounded most of your life by people who never contradict you.”
“You seem levelheaded enough to me,” Quinn said. “I served your father when I was younger. Started in the army and got lucky a time or two. Earned myself a spot in the Royal Guard. I spent enough time around nobles and such. I can spot those who can think straight and those who can’t.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Wilam said, smiling. “I knew you seemed familiar. I’m sure I saw you in the castle or around my father when I was younger. Why did you leave the King’s service? You’re obviously still a man to be reckoned with.”
“I fell in love,” Quinn said. “She wanted a quiet life, and I wanted to make her happy. We settled in a little village called Tranaugh Shire.”
“That’s in the north, near Peddinggar Forest, not far from Telford’s Pass into the highlands.”
“That’s right,” Quinn said, impressed that the Prince knew where the small village was.
“Were you happy?”
“Yes, for a short time. I built her a small house, and we were getting to know the people of the village. It was a nice place, small but friendly. She got pregnant and that made her very happy, but the labor was hard and afterward the midwife couldn’t stop the bleeding. She died in my arms.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It was difficult, but Zollin was such a joy.”
“Zollin is your son?”
“Yes. He was bright and inquisitive. When he got old enough I started trying to teach him my trade, but he just had no aptitude for it. I was worried that we might drift apart, but we worked through it. Now he’s a wizard, and I’m just trying to keep up with him.”
“A wizard, eh?”
Quinn could tell the Prince was skeptical.
“Yes, and I thought the same thing at first. He didn’t tell me for a long time; he was worried that people would run him out of town. When the wizards from the Torr showed up in our village, I couldn’t figure out why they would want Zollin. Then he hit them with a blast of energy that shocked the hell out of me. I mean, this was my little boy, the same one who couldn’t drive a nail straight, but he could shoot lightning bolts out of his staff. Since then I’ve seen him do things I never thought possible.”
“Like what?” Wilam said between bites.
“I’ve seen him lift forty foot tall pine logs without even touching them. Just raised them up and drove them down into a riverbed to help us build a bridge at Brighton’s Gate. He saved my life when we fought the Skellmarians in early winter.”
“You fought the Skellmarians more than once?” Wilam asked.
“Yes, a party of about thirty or so of them came down out of the mountains chasing a mining outfit. The river was frozen over then, and I fought the chief.”
“By yourself?”
“Yes, I was hoping to scare them away. I thought that if I could defeat their chief, they might think we were all warriors and turn back. I won the fight, but we were fighting on the ice and Zollin was supposed to break the ice if they tried to cross. I guess they didn’t like the outcome and they jumped off their side of the bank. I was trying to get off the ice because I knew what was coming, but I wasn’t moving too fast after taking on their chief. Anyway, I fell through and got washed downstream under the ice that wasn’t broken. I was just about to die when Zollin used his magic and pulled me back upstream and saved me.”
“That’s impressive,” Wilam said, still not convinced.
“I’ve seen him heal people. Heck, he’s healed my wounds. The Skellmarian’s pickaxe went right through my forearm and he healed it in a matter of minutes, there’s not even a scar. Just closes his eyes and the next thing you know your wound is gone.”
“This is getting a little ridiculous,” Wilam said.
“I’m not kidding. Ask Mansel, he’s seen Zollin do it. I saw him fight the dragon in Brighton’s Gate. He just stood there when the beast breathed fire that should have roasted him alive, but the flames hit an invisible barrier and bounced back. When you meet him, you’ll believe.”
“Well, I look forward to that,” Wilam said. “But what do you think this all means? Wizards and dragons, it can’t possibly be real.”
“When we get out of here and get you back home, you’ll see,” said Quinn. “I admit it’s strange, but it’s real.”
They sat in silence after that. Quinn felt silly even though he knew what he was saying was true, but in their dire circumstances, with the Prince sitting a few feet away and the sky growing dark overhead, it didn’t feel real. They finished up their meal and then took up opposite posts on either side of the windmill’s circular walkway. They had no way of knowing what might happen in the night, but they wanted to be prepared.
The hours seemed to creep by and everyone grew weary. Quinn’s joints ached as he sat hunched on the small ledge below the top of the building. Wilam was restless and his body felt stiff as he kept watch. Mansel moved back and forth from one side of the door to the other. He knew the assassins couldn’t see him in the pitch black interior. He had a slightly better chance of seeing them. The stars were bright, but the moon was just a sliver. Still, he could make out the dark shape of the farmhouse, and he hoped he would be able to see the assassins’ shadowy forms as they approached.
He had been shocked when he ran into Quinn and Prince Wilam on the road. He would never have guessed that Quinn might be leading the Prince north overland. He assumed that Quinn would book them passage on a ship back to Yelsia, but something must have happened to foil that plan. He had been at peace, his mind made up about what he was going to do. He had planned to ride south and find out if Prince Wilam had made it safely out of Osla. Then he planned to return to Nycoll. He hadn’t expected to see Quinn or his friends ever again, but he had already settled that issue in his mind. Now, suddenly being back together with his mentor and in danger, he felt selfish for the resentment he felt rising up inside him. Still, he couldn’t help but remember how strained their relationship had been when they were traveling south. He hadn’t had a chance to bring up the morning when Quinn had left him at Cape Sumbar, but the incident was never far from his mind.
It was well past midnight when the attack began. The assassins took no chances and circled around the windmill far enough away that they didn’t risk being seen. They each had a short sword slung over their back and a dagger in their belt. They also had strips of steel sown into the forearm portions of their shirts. The strips would stop a sword blade and could knock a man senseless if he came close enough. They attached toe spikes to the front of their boots. The toe spikes looked like metal claws that were lashed firmly to their boots to help them climb. They scaled the rock windmill easily. The mortar was still strong, but there were plenty of handholds and toeholds around the stones. One climbed on each side of the windmill structure, with the door between them; just in case something happened to one, the other would have a chance to complete their kill.
When the first assassin glanced over the wall, all he saw was total darkness. It would be impossible to fight in the dark, even if he could find his target. He gripped the lip of the structure and lit a small lamp that was hung on a thong around his neck. Then he pulled the lamp off the strap and tossed it over the edge of the windmill. The lamp looked like a shooting star streaking through the darkness. Quinn and Wilam saw the light fly past them and both men instantly readied themselves for a fight. The lamp was full of oil and it crashed on the straw-lined stone floor below, shattering and bursting into flame. Quinn saw the assassin roll over the edge of the building. The man moved like a cat, Quinn thought. Even though his eyes were still adjusting to the sudden light, Quinn didn’t hesitate to move forward. The assassin thrust his sword out at Quinn, who quickly retreated.
The assassin could see the two men on the platform that circled the windmill’s inner wall, and although he didn’t know which of the men was his target, he knew he needed to kill them all. He pressed his attack against Quinn, but the carpenter was ready. Their swords clashed and clanged as the assassin hacked at Quinn, who parried every blow. Wilam was quickly coming to Quinn’s aid. The assassin whistled and his companion hopped over the far wall.
Wilam saw the movement but was unsure what to do. He didn’t know if Quinn had seen the other assassin, but the man was moving quickly to trap Quinn between the two killers. Wilam wasn’t sure if he should warn Quinn or try to stop the second assassin. There was simply no time to decide. He screamed, “Watch out!” as he ran toward the first assassin.
Quinn was shocked by the Prince’s warning, and he glanced instinctively around and saw the second assassin behind him. He had to hope that Wilam could take care of the assassin he was rushing toward, because Quinn was forced to turn his back on the trained killer to face the second man.
Wilam hammered a vicious blow that arced down toward the assassin’s hip. The blow rocked the assassin, who wasn’t used to sword fighting a prepared opponent. Wilam moved closer, hoping to take advantage of the assassin’s stumble, but the killer moved faster than Wilam thought possible. He dove off the ledge toward the staircase, but the stone stairway wasn’t strong enough to take the shock. It crumbled beneath the assassin, but the killer found a way to ride the avalanche of stone and crumbling mortar and landed on his feet like a cat. But Mansel was waiting. When the lamp crashed onto the floor and burst into flames, he had immediately sent the horses out of the old windmill. They ran out and left the entire floor space open. There wasn’t much to burn in the old building, but the oil continued to burn, casting yellow and orange light up to where the fighting was happening. Mansel trusted Quinn to take care of the assassin above and kept watch on the door.
When the assassin came leaping down the steps and landed on the floor of the windmill in a cloud of rubble, Mansel didn’t hesitate. He brought his big sword swinging toward the killer’s head. The assassin raised his arm in a gesture that looked like the desperate measure of a man to save himself; Mansel expected the sword to sever the arm and complete the kill. But the sword bounded off the arm with a clang and the assassin dove forward, thrusting his sword out in front of him. Mansel caught the sword on his shield instinctively and followed up with another sweeping slash, this one aimed at the assassin’s knee. The killer danced back out of reach and glanced up. He knew the big warrior was not his target, but now he had no way of getting back up to where his companion was. So he began circling the warrior as if he were looking for an opening to exploit, but in fact he was hoping to be able to dash out the doorway.
Mansel remembered the assassins’ tactics in Brighton’s Gate. He guessed correctly that the killer would be trying to escape. He moved to his left as if he, too, were looking for an opening, but as soon as the assassin dashed for the door, Mansel dove toward him with his sword held out over his head. The blade found the space between the assassin’s legs as he ran and when he swung his leg forward to take the next step, his shin kicked the sword blade. It was razor sharp and lodged into the bone. The assassin fell and the sword gashed the calf muscle on his other leg as he went down.
Mansel scrambled up and hurried over to the assassin, who was writhing on the floor in pain. He kicked the man in the back of the head and the assassin was knocked unconscious.
On the ledge, Quinn was managing to hold his own as Prince Wilam hurried back around. The assassin saw that the odds were against him and jumped back over the wall. He dropped his sword and broke several fingers trying to slow his fall. He landed on both feet, but his left ankle rolled and the killer fell to his knees in agony. Then he flopped on his back and instinctively grabbed his ankle.
Quinn was looking over the edge of the building and scrambled up over the ledge.
“What are you doing?” Wilam cried.
“Stay here,” Quinn shouted back.
He climbed down as carefully as he could, but when he reached the ground, he saw immediately that it was a vain effort. There was foam bubbling out of the assassin’s mouth and nose, and the killer’s body jerked in his death throes.
“Damn, it’s too late,” Quinn called up.
“Mansel caught the other one,” Wilam called back down.
Quinn ran around to the open door of the windmill. He could see the assassin lying on his stomach with Mansel’s knee in his back. The big warrior had folded back both of the assassin’s arms so the man was helpless to move.
“His mouth!” Quinn shouted. “We have to check his teeth. He’s got poison in his mouth.”
Mansel was dumbfounded for a moment, not sure what Quinn was saying, but then he rolled the assassin, who was still unconscious, over onto his back and opened the man’s mouth. Quinn fell down beside Mansel and began tugging on the killer’s teeth. One popped out and he clawed at the assassin’s throat to get to it.
“I got it!” Quinn said triumphantly.
“Got what?”
“It’s a fake tooth filled with poison. Remember the assassin that Zollin caught at the Valley Inn? He killed himself with some type of poison before we could question him. The other assassin did the same thing. But this one’s alive, and he’ll talk.”
“We better check his legs then,” Mansel said. “I cut them up pretty badly.”
They bandaged the assassin’s legs and then helped Wilam climb down from the top of the wall.
“Do you think there’s any chance that there are more of them?” Mansel asked.
“It’s possible,” Quinn said. “Let’s see if we can find an empty sheath from one of them when they threw the knife at Wilam.”
The dead assassin was missing one throwing knife and so they decided they were safe enough for the time being. The fire inside the windmill had died on its own once the oil had burned away. The sun was rising as they drank water and caught their breath. They were all tired from the long, tense night and the sudden drop in adrenaline after the fight.
“What do we do now?” Mansel asked.
“First, we have to find the horses,” Quinn said. “I’ll do that while you keep watch, and we’ll let Wilam get some rest.”
“I don’t need to rest,” the Prince tried to say around a huge yawn.
They all just
laughed, and Quinn went to round up the horses.
Mansel tied the assassin’s arms behind his back, forearm to forearm. Then he tied the assassin’s knees together and his ankles together. When he stood up and stretched his back, he noticed that Wilam was already fast asleep.
Chapter 34
Zollin peered over the edge of the ridge they were hiding behind. He could see their horses and their gear spread out over the ground. The Skellmarians didn’t seem to have too much interest in anything other than the food they were preparing. Someone had killed an elk and the tribe was busy butchering the carcass. There were only about a dozen people in the Voxel Clan. They were all busy preparing rations for the other clans.
“There aren’t very many of them,” Zollin whispered.
“Most will be out hunting. The Voxel Clan was charged with providing food for the other clans during the push into the southlands,” said Toag.
Five Kingdoms: Books 01, 02 & 03 Page 114