“Put ’em away, lads,” said the surly man.
“Thank you,” Zollin said as he swung down off of his horse. “My name is Zollin. This is Mansel and Eustice.”
Eustice took the horses to what used to be a stall. He unsaddled the mounts and cleaned their hooves. Mansel used his sword to break up some of the wood from the far end of the barn and made two piles-one for the group of men already occupying the old barn, and one for himself and his friends.
Zollin gave the other men some of their food. It was mostly dry rations, but there was some fruit, bread, and cheese in their saddlebags too. Then he used his magic to pull the water out of the rotting wood. He could have set it ablaze wet, but he didn’t want to fill their small shelter with smoke. Once the wood was dry it kindled quickly and crackled merrily. The men all stripped down and hung their clothes by the fire to dry. Zollin and Mansel had dry clothes in their saddlebags, but Eustice and the other men were forced to huddle near the flames until their clothes were dry.
They drank water and ate their food, mostly in silence. The rain pounded on the ancient wooden shingles, but while there were a few leaks, the old roof kept them dry through the night. Zollin tried to sleep, but his mind was filled with the horrors of what he’d seen-men slain on the battlefield, the horrifying black dragon spewing flames, and worst of all, Brianna being carried away by that same dragon.
The next day was dim, with thick clouds filling the sky and the threat of more rain, but Zollin and his companions pressed on. They rode through short-lived rain showers, pushing their horses to carry them as far and as fast as the animals could. Everywhere around them they saw signs of the invading army. Farms were burned, villages abandoned, and crops trampled. The path was churned to mud by hundreds of feet, trudging south. The armies from Osla and Falxis had been defeated at Orrock, and now they traveled home. King Felix had accepted their surrender and allowed them to return to their kingdoms. Only Zollin, Mansel, and Eustice followed them.
“How far ahead is the old wizard?” Mansel asked when the rain finally let up a little.
“Too far to catch him on the road,” Zollin said. “I don’t expect to find him until we reach the tower of the Torr in the Grand City.”
“And when we get there, what do you plan to do?”
“I’m not sure,” Zollin said. “But he can’t be allowed to lead armies to invade Yelsia. And I don’t want him hunting me down anymore either.”
“So you’ll offer him terms of surrender?”
“I suppose,” Zollin said.
“And if he refuses?”
“I’ll let you kill him,” Zollin said.
“No thank you,” Mansel replied. “I’ve seen what you wizards can do. I’ll guard your back though.”
Eustice waved his hands to get their attention. He’d become rather skilled in communicating by gesture. He pointed ahead at the trail where a group of four men were sitting under a tree. They all had armor and weapons, which was a dead give away that they were soldiers. What wasn’t plainly obvious was why they weren’t marching ahead with the armies from Falxis or Osla.
“What are they doing?” Mansel asked quietly.
“I don’t know,” Zollin said. “Eustice, fall back behind us.”
“You think it’s a trap?” Mansel asked.
“Possibly. I’d rather err on the side of caution at this point. I can handle these four-you keep an eye out in case there’s more of them.”
They rode forward, staying on the trail and not slowing as they approached the soldiers.
The men had gotten to their feet, and when they realized that Zollin didn’t plan to stop they spread out across the narrow road.
“Hold there,” said one of the soldiers, a big man with a long sword. “We need to commandeer those horses.”
“I don’t think so,” said Zollin.
“Under the king’s law, we have the right to commandeer your mounts,” the big soldier continued. “We’ll leave them at the coast.”
“I understand,” Zollin said with a smirk. His grief over Brianna left him with a short temper, and the truth was, he was spoiling for a fight. “Unfortunately, your king is running back to the coast with his tail between his legs.”
The soldier’s eyes narrowed.
“You think because some crackpot wizard got lucky enough to scare the king into surrender that it will somehow save you from our blades?” the soldier threatened. “Get off the horses now, and we’ll spare your lives.”
“Crackpot wizard, eh?” Zollin said with a smirk. “And what would you say if I told you I was that wizard?”
“Get off your horses now!” shouted the soldier. “I’ve had enough of your lip, boy. One more word from you and I’ll cut your tongue out and feed it to you.”
“Oh, really,” Zollin said, smiling. “That I would truly like to see.”
“Now!” ordered the soldier.
The four men moved forward instantly. They had almost drawn their weapons when they ran headlong into the invisible wall that Zollin had magically erected in front of them. The impact knocked them back, but Zollin wasn’t finished.
“You were warned,” he said quietly.
Then he raised a hand and sent crackling, blue energy at the big soldier who had threatened him. His magic was churning like a blacksmith’s billows, but Zollin managed to keep his anger from killing the soldier. Holding back the power of his spell was difficult, but he knew it was imperative that he control the magic or the magic would take control of him. The energy hit the soldier squarely in the chest, as if Zollin had tossed a lightning bolt. The power knocked the soldier backward, sending him flying through the air to land in a crumpled heap, his armor blackened from the attack.
“Now,” Zollin said, leaning forward and crossing his arms on the saddle horn as he looked at the other soldiers, who suddenly seemed very frightened. “You’re not wanted here. You have no authority in Yelsia. And if you do anything other than make for the coast as fast as you can, I’ll see to it that you’re all hanged.”
Just then a shout sounded from behind them. Zollin turned in his saddle and saw three more soldiers rushing forward, but Mansel was already in motion. He kicked his horse into a tight spin and charged at the rushing men. The soldiers spread in opposite directions to avoid Mansel, two men turning to the left and one to the right. He focused on the two men who were now on the left side of the road, guiding his horse toward the nearest of the two. Mansel’s sword wasn’t a true cavalry sword. Most warriors fighting from horseback either used a curved saber or a long sword, but Mansel’s weapon was more of a bastard sword, longer than a short sword but shorter than a broadsword. It could easily be wielded with one hand, and Mansel had no trouble knocking the soldier’s own weapon aside and landing a glancing blow on the soldier’s skullcap. A longer sword might have reached the soldier’s neck, but Mansel’s strike knocked the man unconscious.
Zollin immediately let his magic flow out all around him. It felt like he was unblocking a dam as the magic rushed out. It was hot and powerful as it charged through his self-constructed containment field. He could feel the soldiers around him as they struggled to regroup. The two men attacking from the rear were still rushing toward Zollin and Eustice, while the three soldiers in front of them scrambled back to their feet.
Zollin lifted the two men behind him into the air with a simple levitation spell, and send them flying toward two of their comrades that were in front of him. It was growing harder and harder not to simply kill the men. Zollin couldn’t remember feeling the urge to destroy so strongly since he’d learned to insulate his magic, but now his anger and grief were flooding into his power, churning it like river rapids and pulling him toward a place of darkness he knew he didn’t want to go.
He clamped down on the magic, forcing his mind to concentrate on his own hands, which were balled into fists and crackling with so much magical energy that his reins had crumbled into ashes where he’d been holding them.