by Paul Collins
‘Don’t you call me stupid, you bumbling great ox!’ came a muffled voice from within the pile of plaster-cling and wood slats. ‘Is it my fault if the dummart signwriters can’t spell in this town?’
Jelindel went to tell them about the thunderbolt weapon, but something held her in check. Instead she gently helped Zimak from the rubble. Already blood was smearing his face.
Daretor had three fractured ribs and a multitude of cuts and bruises, while Zimak had a gash down the side of his face and a twisted ankle.
They were dug out within minutes, but it was two days before they were able to ride. By then Jelindel had caught a cold and was running a fever.
‘Just look at this scar on my cheek,’ grumbled Zimak as they rode at a brisk trot towards the foothills of the Garrical Mountains. ‘The heroes of legend never get scars in embarrassing places.’
‘It gives you a rakish look,’ said Daretor. ‘Girls like scars. They like to touch them.’
‘Do you like scars, Jaelin?’ asked Zimak.
‘They leave me cold.’
‘See? See what I mean?’ Zimak retorted.
‘Jaelin’s no stranger to scars; she’s sewed up most of ours,’ Daretor replied. ‘Some smooth-skinned wench may find yours a novelty, though.’
It was over a week before the mailshirt began to glow again. As they rode through the foothills and into the Garrical Mountains there was plenty of evidence that the linkrider had passed that way, and was in a hurry.
The villagers that they spoke to confirmed that a one-handed man had indeed gone before them. He seldom stayed for more than a few hours, bought a new horse whenever he could, and had hired an escort of mercenaries somewhere.
Finally luck turned against the linkrider. The Galenian Bridge had been destroyed in a border dispute with Baltoria, and he was forced to backtrack for more than a day, then take a trail south at Rockwall. The latter was a village cut into the side of a cliff.
Daretor estimated that they had missed the linkrider by only a handful of hours, and they set off after him with no more rest than it took to buy provisions.
The trail became narrower and was poorly maintained. To make progress worse, the linkrider’s men had brought down rockfalls here and there, but Daretor and Zimak were already experienced at making their own trails and leading the animals over broken ground. They relentlessly narrowed the distance between them.
‘The mail is glowing,’ Jelindel said, taking a glance at the mailshirt that she was again wearing beneath her sheepskin coat.
‘So he’s close by at least,’ concluded Daretor.
‘But still many hours away,’ Jelindel pointed out, looking at a charblack map that she had sketched after talking to the villagers at Rockwall. ‘Serpent’s Gap is just ahead.’
‘Long time since my serpent’s been near a gap,’ muttered Zimak sullenly.
‘Unless you have something helpful to say –’ shouted Jelindel.
‘Smoke!’ exclaimed Daretor, pointing southeast. ‘Thick smoke, not just a campfire.’
‘There’s a bridge on the map,’ said Jelindel. ‘They’ve probably set it afire, and it’s at least three hours ahead.’
Jelindel took out her farsight and looked south. ‘There’s a village due south, about two miles away by the look of the figures I can see.’
‘There’s one called Landretal on the map,’ said Zimak.
‘Better check his reading of it,’ said Daretor.
‘One more remark like that and –’
‘That’s enough, both of you!’ Jelindel said tersely. ‘Look yonder, it’s the flood plain of a river. It has cultivated fields and sheep grazing in the pastures. We could get across that in no more than a half hour.’
‘There’s also a thousand-foot drop a few yards to our right,’ warned Daretor.
Jelindel dismounted and walked over to the side of the trail. Kneeling at the edge she peered down.
‘It’s not quite sheer, and there are plenty of ledges. We could leave the horses here and climb down using our ropes.’
‘What about my ankle?’ Zimak protested.
‘You ride along with the horses and wait at the bridge while Jaelin and I climb down and cross the fields,’ Daretor declared with finality.
Zimak shrugged. ‘Aye, then. Jaelin, take my parry-hilt knife; it’s lighter than that demishield.’
Taking only their weapons and ropes Daretor and Jelindel made their way down the cliff in a half hour, then began jogging across the fields of the floodplain. They crossed the river on a board and block bridge and met up with the road again just beyond the village.
After a short rest they started down the road towards Landretal.
A man loafing beside the namestone told them that seven men had arrived from the other direction about an hour earlier, and were down at the stables buying feed for their horses.
Jelindel and Daretor carefully checked the place, noting four mercenaries at the stables. All had both hands.
‘Could you take them?’ Jelindel asked as they stood by the roadside.
‘One, yes. Two, only with luck. Three, suicide. I can see four here, and there are two more with the linkrider.’
‘And he might run while his men engage us.’ Jelindel frowned as she thought. ‘Stay here. When you see the mercenaries running, make an attack on them. With luck a couple of them will stop to engage you.’
‘But what will you do then?’
‘I don’t know yet.’
Jelindel made her way through the village, which was preparing for the weekly market on the next day. Provisions for travellers were available at the tavern, she was told, and she was given directions for finding it. As she approached the place she saw one of the mercenaries bartering with the taverner while the other stood beside … Korok! The second mercenary was chatting with a serving girl while the strange little man sat writing awkwardly at a half-barrel table beneath an awning. One of his wrists ended in a bandaged stump.
Jelindel took out her farsight and studied the scene. The bench was a heavy, crossed-beam type. Perfect. Curious villagers began to crowd around her and she collapsed her farsight and put it in her pouch. She began to walk forward, with the villagers trailing after her.
Korok was intent on his writing and the mercenary at his side had never seen Jelindel. At twenty paces she dropped to one knee and spoke a finely tuned word of binding.
A thin, blue coil lashed Korok’s left leg to the frame of the bench, just below the knee. He screeched in alarm and struggled to free himself, toppling the half-barrel and spilling his notes and writing kit onto the ground.
The villagers scattered back from Jelindel at once.
‘That’s him, kill him!’ Korok shouted, pointing at Jelindel. The mercenaries drew their weapons and moved to surround her.
I’m competent but I’m no veteran warrior, Jelindel reminded herself. The minor word of binding had not left her too drained, but she was standing in the open with no wall or ally to put at her back.
Chapter
20
Jelindel’s opponents closed and she drew her shortsword and the parry-hilt knife. Korok was shouting for the other mercenaries, which meant Daretor would be there soon. Jelindel knew that she could not wait, and that she might be dead by the time he arrived.
The mercenaries circled warily, slowly closing in while Korok hacked at the bench frame with his sword. It must be obvious that I’m hardly more than a child, she thought frantically. Why don’t they attack?
The word of binding! They thought she was a potent Adept! They could not know that as yet she had only a rudimentary grasp of magical words.
She sheathed her parry-hilt knife and tossed her shortsword to her left hand. Holding her right hand out in front of her she spoke a snare word, timed for a hundred heartbeats. Blue traceries enmeshed her hand, and a glowing blue spike about a yard in length stood out straight like a sword. She twirled it in the air for the benefit of the mercenaries. Because the life-force of the sn
are word was still attached to her, she felt no further fatigue.
‘Take ’im, flank ’im right!’ barked one mercenary.
‘What is that thing?’ cried the other.
‘Flank ’im!’
‘That fire-sword thing’s too fast.’
Jelindel lunged for the wavering man, who jumped back and fell over a pile of trays and pots being unloaded from a cart. The other hesitated, then lunged also, but by now Jelindel had her back to the cart.
Sword met snare word; the blue spike wrapped itself about cold steel and detonated with a bright flash as the snare word collapsed, quenched by the steel. Jelindel had known to blink at the right moment and she chopped her shortsword into the dazzled mercenary’s knee. He toppled and Jelindel skipped clear.
The other man had circled the cart by now. Jelindel spoke a second binding word that bound his left hand to the tie-rail of the cart. She had timed it short, but its strength was too great and her knees almost jellied. She pushed the cart’s brake lever free and slapped the already terrified pony across the rump with the flat of her short-sword. It bolted, dragging cart and mercenary away through the village, off the roadway and into the fields.
Three other mercenaries appeared, with Daretor following at a distance. There was blood on his axe.
‘Jaelin!’ he called, seeing her staggering.
She held up two fingers, then pointed to the ground with them. Two down.
‘Leave me, dolts! Kill those two!’ cried Korok as the mercenaries reached him.
Three against two, but Jelindel could spend no more of her life-force on binding words if she wanted to remain standing. The newcomers had not seen her in action, and were unaware of her magical powers.
‘Mind the smaller one, ’e can do ’chantments!’ warned the man who still lay on the road clutching his knee.
Saved. The boldness went out of the three attackers. Two faced Jelindel while another turned to fight Daretor, knife and sword against knife and axe.
The sword sliced out in a descending snap, which Daretor deflected with a hilt-block of his own parry-hilt knife, but as his axe came around in a flat snap the mercenary tried the same block. It was a foolish move. He discovered that an axe weighs considerably more than a sword and the blade smashed past the knife and buried itself in his throat.
Just at that moment the word binding the mercenary to the now overturned cart collapsed and flew back across the fields to Jelindel. Suddenly strong again, she spoke the snare word onto her right hand and the glowing blue mock-sword flashed out once more.
That was enough for the two mercenaries. Flanked by a large and skilled warrior on one side and a seemingly high Adept mage on the other, they dropped their weapons and fell to their knees with their hands in the air.
Jelindel sauntered over to where Korok was still trying to chop through the piece of wood to which he was bound.
‘Korok, I’ve had a foul day and I’m in a really vile mood,’ she warned. ‘Throw that sword away and hand me the link before I lose my patience.’
He complied, suddenly meek and cringing.
‘Knew this would happen. Korok knew. Fled, but knew in Korok’s hearts that you would catch Korok.’
‘Give me the damn dragonlink!’ Jelindel shouted, swatting at him with the blue spike. He held up his sword by reflex. Word met cold steel and collapsed with a loud bang, startling Korok so much that he dropped the sword.
‘Dragonlink, yes, dragonlink, Korok has link. Very nice ring, it makes.’
He removed the dragonlink from his finger with his teeth.
‘Swallow it and I’ll cut it out of you,’ said Jelindel.
Korok placed it on the table.
Jelindel snatched it up. ‘You will stay bound for two thousand heartbeats, Korok. Cold steel cannot collapse your bindings because they exist only between you and the table’s crossbeam. By then I suspect that the mayor of this village will be very interested in learning who torched the bridge back in Serpent’s Gap.’
‘How you know that?’
‘I’m a Mage Auditor. It’s my job.’
The metal of the link continued to glow as it lay on the palm of Jelindel’s hand.
‘What are the properties of this dragonlink?’ she asked. ‘What weapons skills does it confer?’
‘You Mage Auditor, you find out.’
‘Korok! One more remark like that and you’ll find out what I know about pain.’
‘Korok not afraid to –’
The word that Jelindel spoke to enmesh his remaining hand and wrist was small and brief, but the coil was very, very tight. Korok screamed and howled with the crushing pain of the coils, batting at the blue tendrils with the stump of his other wrist until they suddenly collapsed, flashed over to dance about Jelindel’s lips, then vanished.
‘No more! Korok convinced. The care, servicing and control of thundercast – that is what dragonlink confers,’ Korok whined.
‘How did you come to have the thundercast and dragon -link?’ she asked. ‘Linkriders tend to be rather possessive about their dragonlinks, and you had this thunderbolt weapon as well.’
She took the thundercast out of her tunic and held it up.
‘One man rides into Korok’s village, very sick, very cold. Stays at inn, he does, and has much money. Comes to Korok for warm riding gauntlets, Korok makes them. Takes off ring during fitting. Man falls asleep as Korok works. Very tired. Korok thinks, “Very plain ring for very rich man”, puts on ring and learns about thundercast. Korok … finds thundercast, borrows thundercast. Hides both. Man complains, denounces Korok, but village sides with Korok, beats him and drives him out.’
‘So, he had a better reason than some mere tavern fight to melt your village into the mountainside. How did you learn about the mailshirt?’
‘Korok meets other holder of link, both links glow when close, you see. He teaches Korok about lead locket that stops glow from ring. Tells about mailshirt. Have pact. He makes Korok rich if Korok helps get mailshirt.’
‘Indeed,’ said Jelindel, shaking her head.
‘You not believe Korok?’
‘No. You have green blood, so you are not human. What were you doing as a glovemaker in a mountain village?’
‘Ah, very tragic. Korok exile. Korok speaks out against King of stars.’ He pointed up to the sky. ‘Evil King. Banishes Korok.’
‘Sensible King, I’d say. Why here?’
‘Ah. Lonely exile, all around are humans, nobody of Korok’s race. Very tragic.’
‘A whining, cringing coward,’ growled Daretor, who had come over after binding the surviving mercenaries. ‘As I expect from a linkrider.’
‘What were you writing?’ Jelindel asked Korok.
‘Chronicle of Korok’s suffering. One day Korok’s people come back, check here. Find Korok dead, but find beautiful epic of Korok the Exile. Have many copies transcribed by monks, maybe. Korok be famous.’
Jelindel put the link into the locket and pressed it shut. The glow from her mailshirt ceased at once. She searched Korok’s pack and found a dozen sheets of reed-bond paper covered with close-written but unfamiliar script. There was also another lead-lined locket, maps and some phials of coloured pills and fluids.
Korok was also found to be carrying twenty-five silver argents and fourteen gold oriels.
‘There is now the question of what to do with you,’ Daretor said as Jelindel packed Korok’s belongings away again.
Korok shrugged and spread his hands. ‘Korok poor, helpless.’
‘Korok also has his stall back at the port marketplace,’ Jelindel pointed out.
‘Korok has only one hand now.’
‘But you are alive,’ added Daretor. ‘Back down the trail I suspect that there is a burned-out bridge, and that you and your scabby friends were the last to use it. The money can pay for new beams and planks, and your labour can help build the new bridge. What do you think, Jaelin?’
‘I have a feeling that he’s lying about that other l
inkrider,’ said Jelindel slowly, turning the locket over in her fingers, ‘but it’s only a feeling. Yes, let him help rebuild the bridge, then go free.’
Based on what Jelindel told him, the mayor had Korok and the four surviving mercenaries riveted into chains and manacles on suspicion of burning the bridge. Riders were sent out with ropes and grapples to confirm the story, and Daretor went with them.
The village blacksmith was a stocky, blue-eyed, cheerful man with a pointy beard. He had seen the fight outside the tavern, and had shackled the prisoners in its aftermath. Jelindel showed him the link and asked if he could attach it to the mailshirt.
‘Aye, but it’s a wee bit out of my usual work,’ he replied brightly. ‘How much time d’ye have?’
‘How much time do you need?’ asked Jelindel wearily, sitting down and rubbing a bruise on her arm.
‘Well now, I’d like to practise making and joining a few links meself, but before that I’ll need to run up some finework tools fer the job.’
‘That seems like a lot of trouble –’
‘Oh no, Mage Auditor. If those rogues really did burn our bridge, then ye’ve provided us wi’ money and labour to help build a new one. We’re in your debt. Now let’s see. I’ll start on the tools today, but tomorrow’s market day, then there’s a big wedding on the day after. Fine young couple, the taverner’s son and my very own cousin.’
‘So three days, you think?’
‘Ho ho, but you’re a direct young man. Three days it is.’
Jelindel stood up and stretched. ‘I had better take rooms at the inn.’
‘Oh, and if you please Mage Auditor, you and your warrior are most welcome at the wedding.’
‘A wedding. I … would be honoured.’
Just then a boy came running in from the direction of the stables.
‘Mage Auditor!’ he gasped. ‘The man Korok’s gotten away!’
According to the mercenaries who had been chained with him, Korok had been able to dislocate the joint of his own ankle with no apparent pain, then he wriggled his foot free of the manacle. He had clubbed down the stablehand keeping guard, then dressed in his clothes and walked off leading a horse. The taverner said that Korok’s pack was missing from the shelf in his taproom.