“No,” said the soldier with thick hair. “We aren’t in the mood for fun. Jens, go see if they’re alone.”
“Yes sir,” said one of the other soldiers, running into the darkness behind them.
“There’s no one back there but our servant Eustice,” Zollin explained. “We’ll move on if you’re aren’t interested in a night you’ll never forget. There’s no need to get hostile.”
“They’ve got horses,” the soldier named Jens called.
“Bring them forward,” the wavy haired soldier shouted.
“Really, there’s no need for this,” Zollin said.
“Shut it and get down off those horses,” the soldier demanded.
“Fine,” Zollin said. “They’re all yours, Mansel.”
The big warrior drew his sword and spurred his horse forward instantly. The sword that Zollin had crafted gleamed in the firelight. It was a simple weapon, with only the Veppra stone decorating it. Still, it looked like a fabled weapon from a bard’s song. At first the soldiers seemed captivated by it, then it fell on the closest man, slicing through his neck and raining an arc of blood that landed sputtering in the flames.
The soldiers were shocked into action, but it was too late for the next man, who fell under Zollin’s horse and was trampled. Three soldiers ran toward Zollin, but he batted them away with a wave of magic so hard they were knocked unconscious.
Mansel jumped from his horse and whirled into action. Zollin watched his friend fight with a sense of awe. Mansel was big-easily a head taller than Zollin-and his frame was so muscular it was almost bulky. Zollin rarely saw Mansel move quickly, but with a sword in his hand Mansel was all precision, grace, and speed. He moved almost too quickly to keep up with. The soldiers fell before him so easily it was almost laughable, but their screams made the spectacle all too real.
Mansel slashed the first soldier before the man could even raise his sword. The blade ripped through the thick padded doublet easily, tracing a crimson line down the man’s chest and stomach from one shoulder to the opposite hip. The next soldier raised his sword, but Mansel’s flashed under the upturned blade and severed the man’s arm at the elbow, somehow cleaving through the joint and avoiding getting lodged in the bone.
The third soldier Mansel engaged had just enough time to swing his own weapon in a level arc that would have ripped out Mansel’s throat, but the big warrior went down on one knee, letting the blade pass harmlessly over his head while in turn he rammed his own sword straight into the soldier’s stomach. The soldier froze in pain and shock, but Mansel jerked the weapon free and stood up. He was immediately set upon by two soldiers at once, but he caught both of their blades on his own, then kicked the legs out from under the closest soldier and shoved the other backwards. He drove his blade down into the chest of the fallen man, killing him instantly, then spun, jerking his sword free of the first man’s body and swinging it in a low arc that cut cleanly through the second man’s leg at the thigh.
Zollin was surprised to see the damage the big sword could do. He had honed it to a razor’s edge, but the weight and strength of the blade made it even more deadly, strong enough to sever bone and flesh alike.
The rest of the soldiers fell back. There were four in the firelight, but the soldier sent to check on Eustice had not returned. Mansel stalked toward the last four, who threw down their weapons, all except the soldier with the wavy hair. He drew a large sword and stepped forward. Mansel feinted to the left then attacked to the right, but the soldier was ready. He brought his blade up to deflect Mansel’s blow, but the impact staggered the soldier. He was a trained swordsman, but he was unprepared for Mansel’s brute power. He tried to set his feet as Mansel’s next blow came down-it was an overhanded arc, like a man chopping wood. The soldier raised his sword and the two blades met with a ringing clash that caused sparks, and the soldier was knocked off his feet.
“We need some of them alive,” Zollin called out to his friend.
“Not this one,” Mansel snarled.
The soldier was on his knees, swinging his blade at Mansel’s hip, but the young warrior caught the blade with his own, then smashed the hilt of his sword into the soldier’s face. Blood and teeth flew forward as the man’s head snapped back. The soldier dropped his sword and fell on the ground, senseless.
“That’s enough, Mansel,” Zollin said, sliding down from the saddle.
“Not for the damage they’ve done,” Mansel replied coldly. He was turning on the other soldiers, who were cowering in fear now.
“Hold it right there, or your man dies,” came a voice from the darkness.
The soldier named Jens came walking back into the firelight with Eustice in front of him, a blade at the mute servant’s throat.
“I’ll kill him,” said the soldier. “Throw down your weapons or your man dies.”
Zollin concentrated on the blade the soldier had near Eustice’s throat. The handle began to grow hot and Zollin watched the soldier’s eyes grow round with surprise. Then he shouted and dropped the blade, shoving Eustice toward Zollin before running away. Mansel, like a dog caught up in the madness of battle, went chasing after him.
“This is turning into a real mess,” Zollin said. “Are you okay?”
Eustice nodded.
“Tell me what is going on with this army,” Zollin demanded of the remaining soldiers.
Before they could answer, they heard the soldier Jens screaming in pain as Mansel killed him. The soldiers all started talking at once.
“Shut up,” Zollin shouted. “I can’t understand all your babbling. You,” he pointed to the closest soldier, “start talking.”
“We’re the rear guard,” said the man. “We’re marching on Osla.”
“Aren’t you from Osla?”
“Yes, but the wizard is trying to taking over.”
“The wizard from the Torr, Offendorl?”
“I think that’s his name,” said the soldier.
“It is!” said another. “I heard someone call him that.”
“And you are going to do what?” Zollin asked.
“We’re taking back our kingdom,” the first soldier said. “We won’t just let some wizard take it from us.”
“But you’ll let King Zorlan?”
“He’s leading the armies, but he isn’t going to take the throne. King Belphan has sons.”
“They’re children,” Zollin said. “And you’re all fools. Are you the ones burning and looting the villages?”
“Not all of them,” the soldier said. “There’s other groups been taking what they want too.”
Zollin shook his head and turned away as Mansel came back into the firelight. His friend went straight to his horse and mounted.
“You find out what you need to know?” Mansel asked.
“Yes,” Zollin said. Then he turned to Eustice. “Ride along the coast until you find us, okay? We’ll wait for you once we make sure Nycoll is safe.”
Eustice nodded and then Zollin swung up into his own saddle.
“Let’s go, there’s no time to waste,” he said.
Mansel looked at him appreciatively and the both whipped their horses into a gallop.
Chapter 15
Zollin and Mansel rode fast. Zollin let his magic flow out in front of them. Even though it was dark and hard to see, he could sense the contours of the terrain. They rode hard all through the night, only pausing an hour before dawn to walk the horses. They were exhausted-especially the horses-and Zollin knew they needed help to keep moving.
“We aren’t far from Nycoll’s cottage,” Mansel said. “Maybe an hour at most.”
“Let’s just keep moving then,” Zollin said, but as they traveled he inspected every weed and flower, looking desperately for something that might help them. He knew that some plants had rejuvenating powers. They had just remounted their horses when he spotted a small clump of brightly colored weeds.
“Wait a second,” Zollin said, jumping off his horse.