Chaos Descending (26 page)

“That’s possible,”
Quinn acknowledged. “But they didn’t attack us when we were out hunting for them yesterday. I’m hoping they’re nocturnal and we can do what we need to do today to ensure that our families are safe.”

“All right, that sounds like a good plan,”
Buck said. “Ollie and I will see that there’s enough food and water for everyone. Arlis, you take some men and start making arrows.”

“The women can help if we get the supplies,”
the man named Arlis said.

“You’re in charge of arrows,”
Buck said. “Do whatever you need to do.”

“The rest of you break into groups,”
Quinn said. “We’ll need people to stand watch, and some to scout. Plus we need to rest in shifts, so that we don’t drop from exhaustion.”

There was a murmur of approval at the mention of rest. Quinn was so tired he felt as though he could sleep for a week, but he wanted to check on Mansel, so rest would have to wait. He looked at Buck, who nodded at him appreciatively.

“I’m going to check on Mansel,”
Quinn said to the innkeeper. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

The inn was filled with people, all of them nervous or outright frightened. But Ollie was busy in the kitchens, which smelled of fresh baked bread. She had recruited some of the other women to help her, but she was picky about who she allowed into her kitchen. Quinn waited just outside the large room that was hot from the ovens.

“And what do you want?”
she asked when she noticed him.

“I was hoping I might get a small loaf,”
he asked, flashing her a smile.

“Men,”
was all she said.

A crusty loaf of warm bread came flying out of the kitchen. Quinn caught it and waved a thank you. Then he went cautiously out of the back of the inn. He paused only long enough to tear the loaf of bread, which was small enough to fit easily in one hand. The bread was yeasty and comforting. His body seemed to gain strength as he ate. The area behind the inn was made up of homes and shops. His natural caution was beginning to wane as he moved further from the inn. He was so worried about Mansel and so busy eating his breakfast, that he didn’t hear the person rushing toward him from behind.

One minute he was hurrying toward the plume of smoke just outside of the small village. The next thing he knew he was waking up. His whole body ached. His nose was filled with dried blood and there was a scuff on his chin that was raw to the touch. The back of his head ached horribly. He rolled onto his side from where he was laying on the path between two houses. Reaching up, he probed the back of his head gently and felt a large lump behind his right ear.

Someone had knocked him senseless, that much was clear, but nothing else was. His body hadn’t moved for hours it seemed; every joint and muscle ached. His arm that had been bitten by the strange animals seemed no worse, the punctures in his flesh were minor. Looking up, Quinn could tell that it was no longer morning. In fact, by his guess it was late afternoon. He couldn’t understand why anyone would attack him and leave him in the street. It wasn’t a busy street, and with everyone in the village taking shelter in the inn, no one had noticed him. A shiver of fear ran down his back. He could have easily been killed by the creatures that had attacked the village, or even by the person who hit him in back of the head. But they had left him alive, and he wasn’t sure why.

He got slowly to his feet and looked toward Mansel’s cabin. There were two plumes of smoke now, but neither seemed strong. Quinn moved instinctively in that direction. Walking took some time to get used to. His body was so stiff, and his head was a little dizzy. His mouth felt like it was coated with sand, and the pain in his head made his stomach twist dangerously. He leaned his weight against the houses he passed until the dizziness cleared. He was still moving slowly, but he comforted himself with the fact that he was on his feet and moving at all.

He checked his belt, but he’d lost his knives in the fight with the animal the night before. His spear had been taken, so he was unarmed. He wondered just how long he could survive in such a state. It seemed that the world had turned against him, and he was the one caught unprepared.

He staggered slowly to the small workshop where he kept most of his belongings. It wasn’t really a home, but he spent most of the winter at the Valley Inn, so the workshop was really just a place to keep his tools. He opened the door and went into the small area at the rear of the little building, which was cordoned off with a simple screen. There was a narrow cot there, along with clean clothes and a few possessions he’d collected since fleeing Tranaugh Shire with Zollin. Tools were what he’d spent most of the meager funds he’d earned on, but he had a few more of the simple throwing knives. They weren’t polished, just rough, black metal, the tang shaped to balance the blade. They were sharp, and he could hit almost any target within forty paces. He tucked two into the sheath in his belt, and one in his right boot. He still had a military issue short sword, and he strapped the belt and sheath around his waist before checking the blade.

Quinn rarely wore his weapons, but he kept them in good condition, always honed and ready if he needed them. He put on a stiff leather vest and wrapped a long cloak around his shoulders. He had a feeling that he might not be coming back to the little workshop, so he retrieved his small pouch of coins and tucked it into his belt.

There was nothing left of value other than blankets in his sleeping quarters. The tools had value, but he couldn’t waste time or energy hauling them around. Instead, he turned his back on the small shed and set out to see what he could find at Mansel’s cabin.

There wasn’t much left of the property when Quinn arrived. The home had been made of thick logs, but they had fallen in and were almost completely consumed by the fire. Quinn guessed it had been burning for hours by that point. The stable was gone, too; all that remained of it was a pile of smoking debris. There were tracks in the yard, hoof marks and boot prints, but Quinn couldn’t tell where his friend had gone. His only option was to return to the Valley Inn and try to discover who had attacked him.

On the walk back into town, Quinn decided that whoever had attacked him had probably also set Mansel’s home on fire. None of it made sense. He was generally well liked in Brighton’s Gate. Mansel was as well, although people whispered about Nycol behind his back, but that was only because she was so shy that she was rarely seen by the villagers. Zollin, on the other hand, was feared by most, even though he’d done nothing but help the townsfolk in whatever way he could. Brianna too was seen as someone to fear. A wizard was one thing, but whatever Brianna was, people had no frame of reference. There were no stories of Fire Spirits, or dragon people, and most people saw her as some kind of monster. Still, they had lived in and near the little village for over a year with no incidents. So why would anyone attack them now?

By the time he reached the inn his head had finally cleared. He entered the common room expecting to find the entire village, but instead there were only a few people. Buck looked up in surprise then hurried to where Quinn stood trying to understand what was going on.

“Quinn, you’re alive.”

“Of course I’m alive,”
he said. “Where is everyone?”

“They’ve gone…”

“What is it?”
Quinn demanded.

“Kurchek has everyone worked up. He blames Zollin for the animals that attacked us. When you didn’t come back, he began telling everyone that you had been killed—or worse yet just abandoned us. We didn’t believe it, but after a few hours had passed, most of the people were convinced.”

“So where are they now?”

“They went to confront Zollin and Brianna.”

“But they aren’t there,”
Quinn said. “They left the Valley yesterday morning.”

“They had torches,”
Buck said.

Quinn nodded. They weren’t really looking for Zollin, they were taking their frustrations out by pretending they were going to face him. Had he been there, none of them would have had the courage to call out a wizard, much less try to burn his house and harm his wife.

“It’s been good knowing you, Buck. Tell Ollie thank you for her kindness.”

“What? Where are you going?”

“I’m not staying somewhere I’m not welcome,”
Quinn said. “And it’s time I dealt with Kurchek once and for all.”

“Be careful Quinn,”
the inn keeper said. “You’ll always be welcome here.”

“Thank you,”
Quinn said.

Then he turned and left the common room. He guessed there were two hours of daylight left. Enough time to make the walk to Zollin’s cottage and stop Kurchek if he could. The air was cool and the mountains seemed more majestic than ever before. Quinn had faced death many times, and the truth was he didn’t really mind the prospect of dying. Zollin was capable of taking care of himself, and Quinn had no other children. His only regret was that he might die not knowing what had happened to Mansel. And that thought, more than anything else, left him feeling like he couldn’t die in peace.

He would have to face Kurchek, which Quinn would gladly do, but the miner wasn’t alone. He would have the mob so riled that even if Quinn defeated the bigger man in a fight, the others would most likely kill Quinn. He hoped he might be able to reach Zollin’s cottage before the mob burned it down. If he could talk some sense into them, maybe then he would survive. But nothing was certain. Quinn wasn’t even sure why he needed to save Zollin’s cottage. They weren’t respected in the Great Valley, and Quinn had never been the type to stick around where he wasn’t wanted. Zollin would always be blamed for every problem and calamity that the villagers faced. It was not the kind of place to raise a child who might be gifted magically like its parents. If Quinn survived, he decided he would leave Brighton’s Gate forever and find a new place where people might appreciate what he could do. At the very least, he decided, he didn’t want to live somewhere the locals fell apart at the first hint of hardship or danger.

He was hurrying along the well worn trail, happy that he was making good time on foot despite his throbbing head, when he saw the first wisps of black smoke floating up into the sky. He wanted to curse, and his strong survival instinct warned him to flee. There was nothing but death ahead, but Quinn wasn’t the type to run away from a fight. And no matter what happened to him when he caught up to the crowd, Kurchek had to pay for what he’d done. He looked around and decided it was a good day to die.

Chapter 25

Roleena was nervous. Being on land always made her feel vulnerable. At sea she was in control, and her wooden leg was a badge of pride. Seafarers understood the dangers that led to amputations and the unforgiving conditions of the surgeon's cabin. The wooden leg sent a message to the other sailors of her toughness and fortitude. But on land she was forced to move about, and her wooden leg made her slow, sometimes clumsy. She felt weak being on shore with only her two personal guards, but the trip was necessary. She couldn't simply sail into the harbor and unload the goods she had stolen. What's more, she couldn't trust anyone else to negotiate the price of her goods. Her reputation was growing, and she worked hard to ensure that it kept growing, even if that meant coming to shore on occasion.

The price had already been negotiated, and now the cargo was being rowed to shore. Of course she was only receiving pennies on the dollar for the goods she was selling, but since she hadn't paid for the goods in the first place, the payoff still seemed extremely generous. She would split the money among her crew, which they would then promptly squander in the nearby taverns and brothels that lined the harbors in the twin cities. A handful of silver crowns was more money than anyone in her crew had seen at any one time, and the locals along the harbor, although well aware of the ill-gotten nature of the funds, were only too happy to accept it.

The men with the coin were well armed and waited patiently for word that the goods were just as they had been promised when Roleena negotiated the price. It was a tense time, when both parties were on high alert and expecting treachery. Roleena stood near the small pier with her two loyal guards. Both men were from her father's household and both were pledged to protect Roleena with their lives. They knew that if they let anything happen to her, their families back in Shupor would be in jeopardy. But their loyalty went much deeper than a simple pledge or fear of reprisal. Their loyalty was based on affection and deep love for the woman they were sworn to protect but could never be with. Roleena allowed that affection, nurturing it without ever giving in to it. In her mind, romantic love was not an option. She needed their loyalty, but couldn't risk making them feel as if they were in any way superior to her. She needed every man in her command to obey her instantly and without question. It was too costly to let them see her with her guard down.

"The goods are on shore," said one of the men with a large pouch full of coins. He handed the money to Roleena, along with a smaller purse of heavy gold crowns. "It is a pleasure to do business with the queen of the sea."

"We shall return with more," Roleena said.

"Happy hunting," the fence crowed.

Roleena's guards rowed her back to
Crest
Dancer
. Once on board, she handed the large pouch of coins to Slice, who grinned wickedly. He had no idea how much more coin she had taken, but the large pouch was more than enough to ensure that he and his friends had a good time ashore.

"The men will be pleased," he said.

"See that they are. You have two days," she told him. "Then get them back on board."

"Yes, Captain."

Roleena climbed slowly to the command deck, then ordered the sails set. It took less than an hour to sail down the coast to the twin cities.
Crest
Dancer
and
Eagle's Cry
weighed anchor in the crescent shaped harbor. The men worked feverishly to secure the ship, and when everything was in place, Roleena stood looking over the main deck of her ship as the pirates were paid. As each man was given his share of the bounty he turned, saluted Roleena, then hurried to get aboard the jolly boat that would row them to shore. Only a few men would remain aboard the ships, where they would be given extra rations of grog and visited by harbor wenches who rowed out to the ships to ensure that every sailor had the chance to buy feminine company for an hour or two.