Chaos Descending (5 page)

“Probably in early summer,” Brianna said. “It’s a new development.”

“That’s fantastic. I never thought I’d see the day.”

“You didn’t think I’d ever have children?” Zollin asked.

“No, no, it’s not that,” Quinn said. “I just thought… well, I don’t know what I thought. I guess I’m just happily surprised.”

They talked about family, which made Zollin feel content. He loved living close to his father and even Mansel. Before he’d discovered his powers, Mansel had been Quinn’s second apprentice, but his skills and strength allowed him to surpass Zollin in their trade. That skill had been a source of jealousy for Zollin, but Quinn had always treated Mansel like a son. Mansel, the youngest of a large family, thrived on Quinn’s attention and praise. So when Quinn led them away from their village after the wizards of the Torr had come for Zollin, Mansel had insisted on going with them. But over time, Mansel’s skill with weapons far surpassed his abilities as a carpenter, and Zollin had come to see Mansel as a friend. Being together with Mansel, Quinn, and of course, Brianna, Zollin felt complete.

“Hold it down over there!” came an angry voice from across the room.

“My son is going to be a father,” Quinn shouted back. “We’re entitled to make a little noise.”

“Not today,” said the man.

When Zollin looked he could barely see the man. He sat in the shadows near the hallway that led to the guest rooms. Zollin thought he must have come from one of the rooms, since he was certain he hadn’t seen the man come in. The stranger was large, at least as tall as Mansel, and heavy. He had a dark beard and dark hair, and Zollin could see the handle of a wicked looking knife that was tucked into his belt.

“We meant no harm,” Zollin said, hoping to calm the situation which he could feel growing tense.

One glance over at the group of locals revealed that the stranger wasn’t a welcome addition to the small town. Zollin thought the men all looked terrified.

“A wizard’s spawn should be killed in the womb,” the man said in a menacing voice. “And his bitch burned alive.”

Zollin started to reply, but Mansel was faster. He stood up and stepped over the bench he was sitting on. Zollin noticed that he wasn’t armed, but that didn’t seem to matter much to Mansel.

“I don’t know who you are,” Mansel said, “but those are my friends you’re talking about. Now shut your mouth, or I’ll shut it for you.”

“Keep your whelp on a leash, Quinn!” the man said. “Or I’ll redecorate this hell hole with his blood.”

Quinn put his hand on Mansel’s arm, keeping the young warrior from moving forward. Quinn was probably the only person who could hold Mansel back with such a gesture. Mansel’s blood ran hot in the face of insults and he was particularly protective of Brianna. Not that she needed it.

“Burn me alive,” Brianna said in mock terror. “Whatever shall I do?”

“Don’t bother,” Quinn said quietly. “That’s Kurchek, one of Trollic’s men. He’s been looking for a fight ever since coming down out of the mountains.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t obliged him,” Mansel said through clenched teeth.

“His time will come,” Quinn said. “Right now, I want to savor this good news.”

There were hugs and smiles, even a few tears. Mansel seemed to be genuinely happy, Zollin thought, even though he seemed restless. The young warrior kept glancing over to the gloomy corner where Kurchek was sitting.

The inn slowly filled with people, and most of them were faces Zollin recognized. He hadn’t spent as much time in the town proper as his father and Brianna had during their first winter in Brighton's Gate. Most of that season Zollin had been with Kelvich, learning about his power and waiting for the snows to melt. That had been a wonderful winter, one he remembered fondly now, even though it had seemed unreasonably hard at the time. Kelvich had pushed Zollin to dig deep into his reservoir of magical power and not be content with just the overflow. He realized now that if he hadn’t learned those lessons when he did, he not only wouldn’t have survived the year that followed, but he wouldn’t be able to work magic at all now.

“Zollin, we’d better be going,” Brianna said.

“She’s right,” Quinn agreed. It’ll be dark in another hour. You wouldn’t want to lose your way.”

“I think we’ll be all right,” Zollin said. “But I do need to get a few more things.”

Zollin embraced his father and Mansel again before leaving coins on the table to pay for the drinks they’d enjoyed. Outside the inn another group of people from the village waited on Zollin, most had sick children or elderly relatives. Zollin did all he could for them while Brianna purchased the last of their supplies.

The sun was setting when they started for home, and Zollin felt a growing sense of excitement. In fact, he was so focused on their trip that he almost didn’t see the tall grass stirring not far from their path as the last of the daylight lingered in the sky. The movement didn’t register for a moment, but then Zollin stopped walking.

“What’s wrong?” Brianna asked. “Did we forget something?”

Zollin didn’t answer right away. Instead he let his magical senses flow out around him. The grass was tall beside the well-worn trail, and Zollin could feel insects, small rodents, even a few baby rabbits hidden in the deep grass. He could also feel six larger creatures. They weren't wolves, but they had a canine nature. Each was ravenously hungry and slinking slowly toward their prey.

“We aren't alone here,” Zollin said.

“What do you mean?” Brianna asked

“There are several animals around us,” Zollin explained carefully. “They'll attack if we don't do something.”

Brianna didn't wait to be asked to help. She conjured fire from both hands, her fingers outstretched like candles as the bright, golden flames licked up and down her hands. Zollin expected the animals to be frightened away by the fire, but they merely hesitated a moment, studying their prey with what Zollin could only describe as keen intellect.

“Is it working?” Brianna asked.

“Not yet,” Zollin said. “Try being a little more flamboyant.”

Brianna smiled and the flames shot high into the air. This time the animals cowered, lowering themselves closer to the ground. Brianna coaxed the fire into a ring of flames that surrounded them. Zollin could feel the heat, but Brianna kept the flames high enough that the dry grass on either side of the trail didn't burn.

The animals waited, then one by one they turned away. The last to go was the largest of the strange creatures. Zollin couldn’t see it, but he could feel the animal's muscles tensed, ready to leap upon them. He could also feel a strong emotion from the animal, which seemed completely out of place. Zollin had felt the emotions of many animals; his magical senses picked up their feelings along with their movements and size. But most of the creatures had very simple emotions; fear, excitement, contentment, even affection. What he felt from the menacing beast was unmistakable hatred.

“What's wrong?” Brianna asked.

“I don't know,” Zollin admitted. “But it feels like that animal wants to hurt me.”

“Why?”

“I have no idea. I've never felt such clear emotions from an animal. Its strange.”

“Is that macho speak for scary?” Brianna teased, letting her ring of fire pulse brightly.

“It is scary, but also unnatural. These creatures, whatever they are, seem very intelligent.”

“You can tell all that with magic?”

“Yes,” he admitted. “I've just never felt anything like it from anything other than a human before. Not even the mutated creatures we fought in the war had such clear emotions.”

“So what could it be?” Brianna asked.

“I have no idea”, Zollin said as the last creature finally turned and fled into the night. “But whatever they are, they aren't good.”

Chapter 5

Mansel left the inn just after dark. He'd drunk his fair share of ale, but he wasn't drunk and he knew Nycol would have their dinner ready to eat soon. She never seemed to mind when he stopped at the inn for a drink before coming home. She was a solitary person who enjoyed having her days to herself. Mansel, on the other hand, enjoyed having drinks and being around people, but he did his best to honor what Nycol did for him, like cooking or mending his clothes. She never complained, and he never had to ask for her help. She just quietly took care of him and together their souls healed from the horrors in their past.

He couldn't help but wonder how Nycol would take the news of Brianna's pregnancy. Nycol was much older than Brianna, and while they had never talked about having children, Mansel sensed that it might be a sensitive subject. Nycol's first husband had been a sailor, but they had no children. In the past year since she and Mansel had been lovers, they had not conceived, and he couldn't help but wonder if there might be a reason why.

His train of thought was rudely interrupted as a large figure loomed up out of the shadows and into his path. Mansel was near the edge of the village where there was little more than starlight and shadows, but he recognized the form of Kurchek, the brooding miner, immediately. There was a flurry of movement and he reacted to the knife that was thrust at his belly almost without thought. Mansel had not fought in over a year, yet his instincts and reflexes were still so acute that he avoided the killing stroke without any conscious thought.

Kurchek lunged forward, using his weight and size to try to slash Mansel's stomach, but the young warrior spun out of the bigger man's path and slammed his elbow into the miner's side. He brought the elbow up, so that his blow impacted Kurchek from low to high. A straight blow to the ribs would allow the bones to flex inward, but stress in an upward direction caused the bones to fracture.

Mansel heard the sharp intake of breath and the grunt of pain from his attacker, but Kurchek was not deterred from his purpose. He lashed out with the knife in a wide arc, forcing Mansel to duck. The young warrior jumped forward, slamming his shoulder into the larger man’s stomach. They fell hard, and Mansel felt a shooting pain lance between his shoulder and neck, but he didn’t have time to worry about it. As soon as they hit the ground, both men were scrambling for the knife.

Kurchek had almost lost his grip on the knife in the fall, and Mansel tried to knock the blade free by slamming the larger man’s arm into the ground. Kurchek, despite his broken ribs, reached up with his free hand and wrapped his meaty fingers around Mansel’s throat. The pressure on his windpipe made Mansel gag, but he didn’t lose sight of the knife. He tried to pull away, but Kurchek’s grip was too tight. The attacker’s fingers dug painfully into the muscles of his neck, pinching off his ability to breathe and the blood flow to his head.

Mansel pinned Kurchek’s knife hand with one of his own, then raised his free arm so that he could smash his elbow into his attacker’s face. He felt his elbow pulverize cartilage and pound against bone. Mansel had no time to consider the fact that his opponent was tougher than most men, who would have given up the fight after just one such blow. Instead, he focused on raining down the elbow strikes as fast he could. The grip on his throat lessened, but the hand didn’t let go.

Suddenly the larger man rolled underneath Mansel, causing the young warrior to lose balance. The two men scrambled, both fighting to gain an advantage. Mansel had always been strong, and working as an apprentice with Quinn had given him plenty of exercise, usually in the form of carrying large loads of wood. But Kurchek was stronger and managed to throw Mansel off. The bigger man rolled to his feet faster than Mansel anticipated and they both stood up at the same time.

Kurchek immediately attacked. He still held the knife, and he brought it around in an overhead strike, slashing down at Mansel, who had to jump to the side. Unfortunately, Mansel lost his footing and fell. Kurchek pounced on Mansel like a hungry lion. The weight of the big miner’s body knocked the wind out of Mansel’s lungs and he saw the knife blade only for a split second when light glinted off the blade as Kurchek raised it high for a killing blow.

The knife blade punched through the flesh in Mansel’s upraised arm, glancing off the thinner of the two bones in his forearm, then sticking fast as Kurchek wrenched on the knife’s handle. Mansel’s scream of pain was barely a gurgle, since his lungs had no air left. His knees came up involuntarily, and just as he was sucking in a much needed breath of air, Kurchek punched Mansel hard. The miner’s huge fist smashed across Mansel’s forehead, opening up a gash across the eyebrow and sending a squirt of hot blood into his eye.

Mansel’s feet came down and he arched his back, trying to buck Kurchek off his chest, but the bigger man stayed put and even pulled on the knife again, jerking Mansel’s arm upward and sending a wave of pain shooting through the young warrior’s body.

“I’m going to kill you,” the miner shouted into Mansel’s face, letting a thick glob of spittle drip down.

Mansel didn’t reply. Instead he reached upward with his good arm and jammed his thumb into the miner’s eye. Kurchek reared back, but Mansel hung on. It was the only leverage he had on his bigger attacker, and he wasn’t about to lose the last advantage he had. Kurchek screamed, his voice pealing out as Mansel pushed his thumb deep into the miner’s eye socket. He could feel the eyeball with his thumb, the wet orb flexing as Mansel pushed.

Kurchek suddenly flipped backward off Mansel. As Kurchek rolled to his knees, Mansel scrambled up as well. The pain in the young warrior’s arm from the knife was intense, but Mansel needed a weapon and he knew there was only one way to get it. Grabbing the knife handle, he turned the blade, freeing it from the bone which had snapped under the pressure of the steel blade, and in the same swift movement he jerked it free from his arm. The limb was useless, hanging at Mansel’s side and dripping blood. But Mansel attacked anyway, charging forward with a bellow of fury as Kurchek swiped at the blood that was pulsing down from his ruined eye.

A look of panic crossed Kurchek’s face. The bigger man tried to move away from the young warrior’s furious attack. But Mansel wouldn’t be denied. He slashed the blade across the upraised hand that was Kurchek’s feeble attempt to fend Mansel off. The blade wasn’t honed well, but still it opened a wicked gash across the miner’s palm. Then Mansel brought his foot around in a powerful kick that landed hard against the side of Kurchek’s knee. The miner’s leg crumpled, and he fell to the ground in a heap, rolling to his back. Mansel dropped onto his knees on the miner’s chest, raising the blade for a killing stroke, but he hesitated before plunging the knife into his foe. Kurchek’s face was a mask of fear and covered in blood. The bigger man moaned in agony, his wounded hand held tight across his chest, his other hand covering the eye that Mansel had nearly gouged out.