They stood up and stretched. They had slept well, but their bodies were busy fighting the virus and they were both still very tired. They walked slowly toward the long room the dwarves had converted to a hospital. There were still dwarves inside, but far fewer than the day before. Zollin checked on everyone and found that their bodies were fighting the illness. Hammert found them there.
“You’re up? Good,” said Hammert. “It seems that you’ve been as good as your word. Everyone is improving and we’ve had no one else fall ill since we drank the cave lichen potion you made.”
“That’s great,” said Zollin. “Do you mind if I check to see how you are doing?”
“By all means, southlander,” said Hammert, who was obviously in a much better mood.
Zollin let his magic flow into the fat dwarf. He could feel the liver, working hard to clear the virus waste, but it didn’t seem distressed. And there were antibodies already fighting the virus.
“It’s working,” said Zollin, feeling relieved.
He was tired and ready to lie back down, now that he knew everyone would be okay. He felt a huge sense of relief, like a heavy weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He took a deep breath and let it out, feeling his body sag but also feeling a great sense of accomplishment. This village would have been nearly wiped out by the virus if he hadn’t helped. Of all the miraculous things he had done since discovering his powers, this was by far the most satisfying.
“Where are Bahbaz and the others?” Zollin asked.
“They are out gathering more cave lichen,” Hammert explained. “There is a cavern not far from the village that is full of it. They plan to take it with them, I believe.”
“Good,” said Zollin. “I think I’m going to get some rest.”
“Is there anything you need?”
“We could use some more water,” Brianna said.
“I’ll see to it.”
Hammert hurried away, his body swaying on his short legs.
“Is there anything else we need to do?” Brianna asked.
“No, we just need to rest and get our strength back.”
“Okay,” she said, smiling sweetly. “You saved my life you know,” she added playfully as they walked back to where they had their supplies and the small pallet they had slept on.
“If you hadn’t left Tranaugh Shire you’d have never been in danger.”
“And miss all of this?” she said, waving her hand at the dwarf village. “Can you imagine missing this, Zollin? Maybe that never occurred to you, but I think about it all the time. I made my choice. I want to be with you, to experience all these incredible moments. Is it dangerous? Yes, sometimes it is, but it’s also worth it. I wouldn’t trade this for anything.”
“Me neither,” Zollin said. “I feel like I’m in a story. As if some greater power that I can’t see or touch is somehow guiding me through these adventures.”
“God?” Brianna asked.
“Maybe, I don’t know what else it could be.”
“Well, if it is, you’ll know when you need to know. You’re a very capable man.”
Zollin laughed a hard laugh that made his stomach muscles, which were sore from retching, ache. He bent over laughing, and Brianna couldn’t help but laugh too, although she didn’t know what was funny.
“What? What’s so funny?” she asked.
“You,” he said. “I can’t believe you just said I’m capable. If only you’d known me better growing up. I was anything but capable. Quinn could do anything, but I was hopeless. I couldn’t drive a nail straight. I didn’t have the strength to carry the timber. I didn’t understand wood grain, or how to use leverage to saw a piece of wood. There were so many things that I was terrible at that I thought I was worthless. Never in all my life did I think that someone would call me capable.”
“Well, you are,” she said, smiling, her eyes shining as she looked at him. “I love you, Zollin Quinnson.”
“I love you, too,” he said.
Chapter 13
Mansel was glad to be off the ship. The weather had not been bad, but the wind had made it necessary for the ship to sail in a zig-zagging pattern. The sailors had been busy, but Mansel had languished with nothing to do and no way to help. The idleness had almost driven him mad. His mind was feverish with the desire to get Zollin back to Gwendolyn. The witch was always on his mind. When he closed his eyes he could see her, not her face-which he couldn’t picture no matter how hard he tried-but her seductive body and the way she made him feel. He could hear her voice, calling out to him, urging all haste. He had felt a small sense of guilt when he had tossed Quinn overboard, but that had quickly fallen away in his eagerness to complete his task.
At night he dreamed of a lonely cottage. He couldn’t remember where the home was. Sometimes he could see the silhouette of a woman, her features pinched as if by grief, and he knew that she was important, but he quickly pushed all thoughts of everyone but Gwendolyn out of his mind. He couldn’t think of Prince Wilam without growing furiously angry. Jealous rage fueled him and he wanted to get back to the Castle on the Sea to keep the spoiled Prince from worming his way into Gwendolyn’s good graces.
The city at Black Bay was large. It was a major point of trade, with river traffic bringing goods from the Great Valley in the Northern Highlands, and the Sea of Kings bringing goods from the south. The Weaver’s Road ran straight to Fort Jellar and Ebbson Keep. Mansel was tempted to spend the night in one of the many inns in Black Bay, where he could get a decent meal and plenty of ale. But they had arrived in the harbor at mid-morning, and Mansel was anxious to get moving.
“Wait for me here,” Mansel told the captain of the ship. “I shouldn’t be too long.”
“I will need to get back to the Castle,” the captain said. “Her Highness might need me.”
“She won’t be pleased if you shirk your task. I’ll get the wizard, you wait here.”
Mansel’s manner was threatening. He had never before used his size and strength to bully people into doing what he wanted. Growing up, Mansel saw his older brothers do their share of bullying, and it had left a bad taste in his mouth. But now he no longer cared what people thought of him. He cared only about pleasing the witch, and she had given him a task. He wasn’t about to let the rat-faced sailor keep him from it.
His first priority had been to find a horse. He wanted an animal big enough to carry his weight without growing tired, but fast enough that he could make up for the time he had lost on the ship. He wasn’t sure where Zollin was, but he was confident he could find out by staying on the Weaver’s Road.
He bought a horse with the coin he had found in Quinn’s belongings and set out right away. He still had the sword Zollin had forged for him from the links of chain the army had bound them with in the Great Valley, and he wore it over his shoulder while he rode so that the blade wouldn’t constantly slap against his thigh or bother the horse. He had purchased some simple rations: a canteen of water, dried meat, and fresh bread. He was tempted to buy wine or ale, but he didn’t want to add extra weight to his horse. The animal was young and spirited, anxious for adventure, and Mansel rode hard.
When night finally forced him to stop, the horse’s head was drooping. He hobbled the beast and rolled himself in his cloak to sleep. The next morning he set out at dawn. He passed merchants, most often traveling in caravans that forced him to leave the road so that he could circle around them. There were guards, mercenaries mostly, all with heavy weapons like broadswords and maces. They eyed him suspiciously as he passed. He was tempted to challenge them: it would have felt good to use his sword to wipe the smug looks off their faces, but he didn’t want anything to slow him down. He also passed groups of traveling soldiers, usually led by one or two noblemen on horseback with well-made armor. They were the war bands from the Baskla fiefdoms, all traveling west. Their presence seemed odd, but Mansel didn’t waste much thought on them. He was focused on his task, which was all that he cared about.