Mansel turned his attention back to Torrence, who was ready for Mansel now. The man had a hard look in his eyes, but his only weapon appeared to be the torch, which was really just a tree branch with one end wrapped in rags that had been soaked in oil. The flame fluttered as Torrence swung the torch. The light made things difficult to see, but Mansel acted mostly on instinct. He brought the short sword up to parry the torch, but the branch shattered, and the flaming end flew toward the horses, which reared and nervously danced away from the fight. The man who had identified Mansel was just trying to get up when he was trampled by the skittish horses. The third man was kept busy trying to regain control of his mount.
Torrence was undeterred by the loss of his weapon. He moved forward, obviously intending to fight Mansel with his hands. But the big warrior swung the sword sideways, turning the blade so that the flat side connected with the constable’s temple. Torrence dropped to the ground, knocked senseless by the heavy blade.
Mansel finally turned and faced the third man, but it was obvious, even in the dim light, that the man was terrified. Mansel assumed the man had just been conscripted to ride with the two town officials.
“I didn’t kill them,” Mansel said. “Make sure you remember that when you explain what happened.”
He threw the sword into the ground, where it stuck fast, the hilt quivering in the air. Then he walked over to his horse and promptly threw up. The sour smell of alcohol enveloped him and made his stomach cramp again. He retched a few more times, but there wasn’t anything left in his stomach. He spit, wiped his mouth with his sleeve, and then untied his horse. His sword was still in its scabbard that was hung on the saddle horn. He had been so tired he hadn’t taken the time to unsaddle the horse. He climbed up in the saddle and rode away.
He didn’t take the Weaver’s Road, but instead rode off into the countryside so that the man who had been too scared to fight him would report that he rode that way. Once he felt he was far enough from the scene of the fight, he turned and rode back toward the Weaver’s Road. He came to it over a mile away from where he had made camp. He crossed the road and made his way to a small grove of trees that he hoped would shield him from the sight of anyone traveling down the Weaver’s Road. Then he unsaddled the horse and tied it to a tree. He laid out a blanket on the ground and promptly fell asleep again.
Chapter 14
The next day Zollin and Brianna both felt much better, and most of the dwarves were back on their feet as well. They were treated like visiting royalty. Many of the dwarves begged them to take small trinkets to show their gratitude. Zollin repaired the bridge in the cavern that was next to the Jaq clan village, and after getting some rest, Zollin and Brianna were ready to set out later that afternoon.
“You will always have a place here among the Jaq clan,” said Hammert.
“He’s already an honorary member of the Oliad clan,” said Bahbaz gruffly.
“I’m honored,” Zollin said, trying to keep the peace.
Bahbaz and the other dwarves with him had worked tirelessly to help the Jaq clan, but now that they were leaving, their old bravado was back in force.
“We have a gift for you,” said Hammert.
“You don’t have to do that,” Zollin said. “Really, we were glad to help.”
“It isn’t for you,” said Hammert.
He held up an intricately woven gold chain. The metal was bright and had a fluid quality as it moved. Hanging from the chain was a brilliant ruby that flashed as if a fire burned inside. Zollin noticed that the stone had magical power, but he was unable to identify it.
“Precious stones are rare,” Hammert said. “And we don’t normally forge gold, but occasionally we dally with the soft metals. It’s my way of saying thank you.”
“It’s stunning,” Brianna said as she took the necklace.
“May it be a lucky charm,” Hammert said. “Not many southlanders can lay claim to a dwarfish bauble like that.”
“You are too generous,” Zollin said.
“Hush, Zollin, you might offend him,” Brianna teased, holding the necklace close to her chest protectively. “Here, put it on me,” she told him.
He held out his hand and she gave him the necklace. As soon as the ruby touched his hand he felt the power kindled there.
“Wow!” Zollin said instinctively.
“What? Is something wrong?” Brianna asked, concerned.
“This is a firestone,” Zollin said.
The dwarves all crowded in for a closer look.
“What’s a firestone?” asked Bahbaz.
“I’m not completely sure what it is or how it’s made, but it’s magical. Here, Brianna, put it on.”
“If it has magic power maybe you should use it,” she said.
“No, it was given to you. A magical gift often enables the recipient to harness the power. Did you ever notice anything strange about the ruby?” Zollin asked Hammert.
“No, not really. I found it and polished it, but I’ve done nothing with it since then.”
Brianna had turned her back to Zollin and lifted her long, black hair up so he could fasten the clasp at the nape of her neck. When the stone touched her chest she felt a tiny thrill, almost like a shiver of excitement, but she didn’t know if what she felt was from the stone or her own imagination.
“What’s it do, Zollin?” she asked.
“I’m not exactly sure,” he said. “Kelvich told me that many wizards seek out magical objects because they can tap into the object’s power and manipulate it. That may be all it is, just a reservoir of magic, but I think it may be more. Try holding your hands together and imagining a fire between them.”
Brianna held her hands up and closed her eyes. Her forehead wrinkled as she concentrated. The dwarves gasped when her hands burst into flames, but Brianna didn’t notice. The fire was on her skin, but it didn’t burn her. She didn’t even feel it.
“Wow,” Zollin said.
“Is it working?” she asked, her eyes still closed.
“Look and see,” he told her.
Brianna screamed when she saw the flames, which promptly vanished. They were attracting a crowd now, other dwarves crowding closer to see what was happening. Zollin took Brianna’s hands, but they weren’t harmed. In fact, they weren’t even warm.
“She’s a Fire Spirit,” a dwarf said.
“How did she do that?” another asked.
“Are you okay?” Zollin asked her.
“Yeah, I just wasn’t expecting that. I thought you said the fire would be between my hands.”
“It was just a guess,” Zollin said. “I don’t even know how I knew what it was.”
“Fire spirits can hold and manipulate the flames,” said Bahbaz in voice that was clearly in awe of what Brianna had done. “They can touch fire, put their hands right into a forge, and mold the metal in the flames. We’ve all heard stories of them. Legend has it that Fire Spirits taught the dwarves how to forge steel. I just never thought they were real.”
“I’m not a Fire Spirit,” said Brianna. “It’s the ruby. Anyone can do it. Here,” she said, reaching up to take the necklace off, “I’ll show you.”
“No,” the dwarves replied almost in unison. Their collective response froze Brianna before she could unfasten the clasp.
“You’ve a special gift,” Bahbaz said.
“Only you can wield the fire,” said Hammert.
“No, I’ve seen Zollin control fire,” Brianna said.
“I can create it and even control it, but I can’t touch it,” Zollin said.
“But the magic is in the ruby. I can’t accept such a valuable gift.”
“The stone is yours,” Hammert said. “It has chosen you.”
“We believe that some objects have a will, a mind of their own, so to speak,” Bahbaz said. “You call it magic, but in our experience it is more like a kinship. The stone would not surrender its power to us. Only you can coax the power out of it and wield it.”