“By who?”
“A lot of people, actually. The King’s at the top of the list, though.”
“As you can see, I’m busy at the moment. I’ll swing by in the morning.”
“Oh, no,” said the stranger. “That won’t do. I’ve been sent to fetch you. I wouldn’t want you trying to slip away since you’re wanted for murder.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Mansel said.
“I have it on good authority that you killed a man on your way to the city. Almost killed another one in the stable. I’ll have to take you in,” he said. He was talking so nonchalantly that it was hard to tell if he was serious or joking.
Mansel reached over for his sword.
“Oh, I was hoping you’d do that,” the stranger said.
“Who are you?” Mansel asked. “I like to know the names of the people I’m killing.”
“I’m Commander Corlis, of the King’s Heavy Horse. I come bringing tidings of your friend Zollin and his father.”
“Go to hell,” Mansel spat, rising to his feet.
“Oh, no, I’m a gentleman. We go to heaven.”
Mansel drew his sword from its scabbard in one quick motion and attacked, swinging a vicious cut toward the commander’s thigh. Corlis jumped back and drew his own weapon. It was a longsword, well made and light, much like Mansel’s.
“It’s too bad you’re wounded,” Corlis said. “I was hoping for a fair fight.”
“You’ll get more than you can handle,” Mansel said.
He lunged forward, thrusting his sword out in front of him. Corlis parried with his own blade and thrust out a light slap of a kick that landed on Mansel’s bandaged hip. He cried out in pain and staggering back.
“Ah, just as I suspected,” said Corlis. “This is going to be easy.”
Mansel’s vision went red. All he could hear was a roaring sound in his ears. He grabbed the wooden chair he had been sitting in and threw it at the Commander, who side-stepped out of the way. It was exactly what Mansel expected the soldier to do; in fact, he had thrown the chair wide to the far side so that his opponent would dodge toward Mansel, who flicked his sword forward and up, slicing through Corlis’s shoulder. The commander cried out in pain and staggered backward, but Mansel showed the man no quarter. He hammered Corlis with blow after blow from his sword. Corlis blocked the blows but was pushed back into the corner of the room. His shoulder was bleeding, and he was forced to fight using both hands to counter Mansel’s power.
After several hammer-like blows, Mansel feinted high then shifted to a low thrust that cut across the Commander’s thigh, skidding off the thick femur bone. Corlis cried out, almost dropping his weapon, and Mansel moved forward wearing a wicked grin.
He didn’t feel the dagger stab him at first; he just realized that something was wrong because his sword seemed too heavy in his hand. He looked down at his hand, and saw Corlis yank the narrow blade free. Then fire erupted in his gut and Mansel’s legs gave out underneath him.
“You stabbed me,” he said in surprise.
“You’re lucky Zollin wants you alive, you bloody oaf,” Corlis said.
Then he spit on Mansel, who wanted to fight back, but his body wasn’t obeying his commands. He felt warm liquid running over his thigh, and he realized it was his bladder emptying itself.
“Try not to die, bastard,” Corlis said as he hobbled from the room.
Mansel laid his head back on the wooden floor of his room. The ceiling was plaster and a bit dingy from candle smoke. He thought of Nycoll for the first time in months. Nycoll with her little cottage by the sea. He wanted to go there, to be with her, but he was in Orrock. He was dying on the floor of an inn in Orrock and he didn’t know why. What had happened, he wondered to himself as the room began to spin around him. His stomach lurched, and he rolled over to vomit, the bile burning his throat and smearing across his cheek when he couldn’t hold his head up any longer. The lights were going dim and there was a ringing in his ears. Mansel knew he was dying, and his biggest regret was that Nycoll would not know what happened to him. He had promised her that he would return.
* * *
“You’re wounded!” the innkeeper cried when he saw Commander Corlis. “You’re bleeding on the floors.”
“Not as badly as your patron,” Corlis said in vile tone. “He’s bleeding all over your precious floor. I think I smelled urine too. That’s too bad for you. I’ll send some men to collect him soon. Try to see that he lives.”
Corlis staggered out of the inn and was met by several soldiers who helped him toward the castle. It took six men to carry Mansel, now unconscious, to the castle. Commander Corlis was helped into a room where Quinn’s father was already being examined by healers.
“You’ve got another patient coming, but it may be too late for him,” Corlis said bitterly. “The fool gave me no choice.”
A few minutes later Mansel was hauled in and laid on a table.
“He’s alive,” said one of the healers, “but there’s precious little we can do for him, Commander.”
“Send for Zollin,” Corlis said. “He’ll know what to do. And give me something for the pain.”
Zollin was on his way to the makeshift infirmary to check on his father when a healer hurried him into the room. Mansel was unconscious, and Zollin looked over at Corlis angrily.
“I told you not to kill him,” Zollin said.
“He’s still alive,” the commander said. “He gave me very little choice.”
“Yes, it looks that way. Are you all right?”
“I’ll live, although I won’t argue if you want to heal me the way you did the King.”
“Give him something for the pain,” Zollin said to one of the healers. “I’ll get to him when I can.”
Zollin let his magic pour into Mansel. The wound in his stomach was deep. Blood was flowing into his abdomen, and his small intestines were lacerated in several places. It took nearly half an hour to stop the bleeding. When Zollin was finished knitting together Mansel’s abdominal muscles, he was forced to sit down. He was tired and hungry.
“I need wine,” Zollin said. “And some food, please.”
One of the castle servants ran to get the food as King Felix entered the room.
“Well this is a fine mess,” said Felix. “At least your plan with the dragon worked.”
“Partially, I meant to kill the beast,” Zollin said.
“At least you know how to fend it off,” said the King. “I don’t suppose either one of these two fools was able to save Wilam.”
“I don’t know,” Zollin said honestly. “I need to work on healing my father. Mansel should come around shortly. You can question him, but I’m not sure you’ll get any useful information.”
“And why is that?”
“Because he lied to me. He told me that my father and your son had been captured in Lodenhime. Now my father shows up here. I’m just not sure what is going on.”
“Well, we can be sure of one thing,” the King said. “Those troops will still be outside in the morning. We need a plan to defeat them.”
“That’s not my highest priority at the moment,” Zollin said.
The King’s face grew red. His eyes narrowed, and he stepped close to Zollin and spoke in a low voice.
“Well then, you’d better get your priorities straight,” he said. “Orrock isn’t your personal playground. Either get on board with what we’re trying to do, or I’ll hand you over to the Torr myself.”
Zollin looked at the King in surprise.
“You did a good job with the dragon,” the King said loudly, “but this is war, not some demonstration or parade. Those soldiers outside these walls have killed your countrymen. They have burned homes, stolen crops, done unspeakable harm to the innocent. Yet here you sit, like a spoiled child who only cares for himself. Yes, I understand your father is gravely wounded, but people died in this city tonight. Don’t you care?”
Zollin stood up. He was so angry the blue, electrical power began snapping up and down his body. When he spoke, his voice was supernaturally low and forceful.
“And what have you done, oh King? You hide here and push others into a fight they had no part in starting. What did you do to your son, Prince Simmeron, after he poisoned you and sent assassins to kill his older brother? After he recruited a wizard from the Torr and kidnapped an innocent girl to force me into his service? Has Simmeron been brought to justice, or does he live in luxury in one of your many palaces? I am not your slave. I am not in your service. Do not speak to me again, King Felix,” he said the ruler’s name with such disdain that the King cowered back. “Your presence is not required here.”