Wizard's War

Chapter 2-1

Chapter 2

They sat around a table inside the tavern. The place was dark and musty. An ample-breasted woman in a dirty apron set a piping rabbit pie down on the table. Blodwyn asked for another loaf of bread, while Quill requested a second round of ale for the three of them. The thick coffyn crust cracked under the heel of Mykal’s spoon. Fragrant steam poofed into the air, escaping from the center opening.

“Smells amazing,” Quill said, and lifted the pie, scooping gravy, rabbit and chunks of potato and carrots onto his plate, over his hunk of bread. “I dare say I was getting tired of crow on the mountain.”

Blodwyn piled pie onto his plate next, and Mykal went last scraping his spoon around inside the tin until every last bit dripped onto his plate.

“How are the horses?” Blodwyn bit off a piece of bread, and stuffed a spoonful of it into his mouth. Dark gravy trickled onto his beard.

“I spoke with the man tending to them. He is going to have them ready for riding soon.” Mykal wasn’t sure why he put the last bits onto his plate. He could have eaten directly out of the tin. He shoveled food into his mouth. The hot pie burned his tongue and the insides of his cheeks. He didn’t care. It was a much better feeling than nearly freezing to death. “I did tell him there would be an extra coin for his troubles. I know I spoke out of turn—”

“Because you have no coin?” Quill held his fork in a fist, the tines protruded above his thumb. He licked gravy off his knuckles.

“I don’t have any coins. That’s true.” Mykal lowered his head. He should have known better than to promise someone money he didn’t have.

“I have you covered.” Blodwyn hefted his mug his mouth, and took a generous sip finishing off what had been left of his ale. The act ended with him smacking his lips together. “Once we finish eating I want to stop and talk with Copper. Then, as soon as the horses are ready, we’ll be on our way.”

“I’m sorry, Wyn. I shouldn’t have told him there’d be extra coins involved.”

Blodwyn just smiled as he shook his head. “Most things are more important than coins.”

“I suppose our first business will be in the forest, then.” Quill spoke with his mouth full. He slid a piece of bread around on his plate, sopping up gravy before tossing it into his mouth, as well. He sucked more gravy off of his thumb and finger. “I need to tell the men about Anthony, and his courageous death against the Cavers. It has been a rough time for us. We’ve lost so many men.”

Mykal c****d his head to one side. With a mouth full of rabbit pie, he said, “So many men.” It wasn’t as much a question, as a comment he didn’t mean to voice out loud. He’d burned an Archer to death with his magic. He didn’t just blame himself for the death, he took on full responsibility. It was a regret—a weight—he’d carry forever.

“There was a hanging in Grey Ashland. Four of our men. That was just a week before you arrived searching for the mirror.” Quill uncurled his fingers; the fork fell, and clattered onto the empty plate.

Mykal choked down unchewed food, and cleared his throat. “I was there. The king said they were guilty, that they’d snuck into the realm intent on robbing the people, and worse.”

The server brought over a fresh loaf of bread. It looked like it was just out of the stone oven. Steam rose from the golden, butter split crust. “Will that be all?”

“The ales,” Blodwyn reminded her.

“Aye,” she said, and walked away.

“You were there?” Quill sat leaning forward, his shoulders swallowed his neck. “What do you mean? What does that mean?”

“Gary Slocum. Richard Styman. Carl Wondfraust. Thomas Blacksmith.” Mykal could not take his eyes off his uncle, as each name mentioned looked like it caused Quill pain. He winced as if daggers were being driven into his flesh.

“You remember their names?” Quill sounded surprised.

Mykal would never forget the names. Not now, and he understood why it had been so important. “Grandfather makes me. He cannot go to the executions. It’s just too far for him. He reminds me a million times to pay attention to the names, so when I return home I can tell him who was hung. I’d asked him over and over why it was important. He always dodged answering the question.”

Quill let his tongue slide over his upper lip almost thoughtfully as he relaxed his muscles, and then moved away from the table, leaning back in his chair. “Your grandfather was checking on his sons; keeping a finger on the pulse of the Archers.”

“He was checking on you and my father?”

Quill nodded.

“And you’re saying the four men who hanged were innocent?” Mykal fumed. He’d never before questioned the authority of the Grey Ashland king. What did he really know? He grew up on the outskirts of the kingdom, working a farm with his grandfather, and politics didn’t come up during meals.

“I’m saying there was no trial.” Quill pushed his plate away, and set his elbows on the table. His nostrils flared as he took in a deep breath, and then sighed. “King Nabal is always exploiting those of us from the Cicade Forest. He is a hate-filled ruler. He manipulates with his waving and smiling, with his words, and his … his, his everything. The people of Grey Ashland love him, but I know Nabal’s heart. There is no forgiveness in it. There is no heat passing through it.” He made a first and rotated his wrist around. “The man’s heart is black ice like the frozen moat that surrounds his castle during the winter.”

“What were they doing in the realm at night?” Mykal remembered the men hanging. The sight was burned into his memory, and recalling it now was as vivid as if he were within the fortressed walls watching the tragic event unfold all over again. Their feet kicked out until the necks broke. The deaths silenced the gathered crowd. Except for the small group of women huddled close. They had been standing across from Karyn during the execution. The sound of their cries filled Mykal’s memories. He couldn’t imagine the pain they felt, and wished no one ever would again.

The server set down three ales, and removed the empty mugs from the table. “Will there be anything else?”

“We’re all set. Thank you for everything.” Blodwyn offered up a coin, and dismissed her with a polite wave.

“They weren’t there to rob, or rape,” Quill said. “I’m sure that’s what your king would like his subjects to believe. I told them not to go, begged them. It was a condition when we left, when we moved to the forest away from the clutches and thorns of Grey Ashland. There was no looking back. There was no returning to the kingdom. Doing so would only bring death. These men left mothers and fathers behind. Word had reached us. Styman’s mother was ill. She wasn’t going to recover. He wanted to say his last goodbyes. I understood his pain, but I advised against it. I thought I’d made myself clear.” Quill shook his head, his hands grabbed at his hair. He struggled with the loss, but Mykal wondered why he tried hiding his pain from them.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Blodwyn insisted, and slid a full ale in front of Mykal’s uncle.

Quill buried his face in his palms and rubbed tears away from his eyes. “I knew they were sneaking out. I figured with the cover of night they’d be safe. His mother was dying. How can I order a man not to go to his mother on her deathbed? I advised against it. I did not command them to stay. I wasn’t going to be heartless, and cold. I refused to treat my men, my family, the way Nabal treated us. The others, they went as a show of support. And look what that got them.”

The Tavern door banged open. The shadow of a giant entered ahead of the giant of a man. Talking went to murmurs as people redirected their attention on the entrance.

Mykal set his hand on the hilt of his sword. The leather wrappings were worn, and soft in his grip.

“I heard rumors you all were back!”

“Coil!” Mykal shot to his feet.

The man’s body was riddled with muscle. His face, neck, and arms were covered in tattoos. His head was clean-shaven. The top reflected the dancing flames from the fire in the stone stove on the side of where he stood. He spread his arms wide. “Can I join you?”

Quill kicked out the chair at the end of the table. “Sit!”

Mykal thought his uncle looked relieved for the distraction, his storytelling time had ended.

Mykal would normally be filled with questions. His uncle’s rendition covered everything, or anything worth hearing. The four men from the Archers died for nothing. Quill blamed himself. What more was there to know?

Coil pulled out the chair even more, spun it around, and sat down so that his arms folded over the back of the chair. He then leaned forward balancing the chair on the two back legs. “I got back to the pass and all I could think about was the fool I’d been.” Coil knocked knuckles into his forehead, once, twice, three times. “I didn’t mean to leave you guys back there. I figured I was hired to get you through the caves, help you find the dagger, and we’d be done. My obligation filled. Services rendered. I didn’t understand all that you were up against. Frankly, I thought you were all on some kind of i***t quest. What did I know? I needed to get home, get some solid sleep before returning to work. That’s what I kept thinking, you know? I was more worried about me. And when things got crazy down there, when we were in the caves…” He shook his head. “This one with his magic, and the woman with hers. I mean, come on, what was I supposed to think? I’d never seen the likes of either of them. I’d heard stories told. There have always been rumors about wizards, and there have always been stories about dragons, too.”

Mykal caught Blodwyn arching an eyebrow. “Dragons?”

Coil held out his hand. “You’ve that fancy dagger.”

“My grandfather’s.” Mykal nodded.

“My grandmother was a wonderful old coot. She loved her ale, and wine, and smoked these hand-rolled crushed leaves that made her as goofy as a two-year-old. But she was a wise woman, spent most of her life in the background, unnoticed. People talked freely in front of her, as if she were no more than a shadow. She told me of the men who hunted dragons.” Coil paused, and nodded his head, as if answering some unasked question. “They exist. They hide, but they exist. I saw one once, you know.”

Mykal snickered. Blodwyn’s expression didn’t change. He watched Mykal, though. “Wait,” Mykal said, suddenly tense. “You’re serious?”

“It’s okay to laugh. Most people do, or did,” Coil mused.

“Did?”

“I learned fast that telling the story was not in my best interest.”

Mykal said, “I’d like to hear it, Coil. I promise not laugh anymore. I’ve just never heard anyone talk about dragons before unless they were telling a bedtime story.”

“There’s not much to tell, really. It happened quickly. It was late at night. I couldn’t sleep. I went outside. The sight of the Zenith Mountains calmed me. The sheer size of them, the snow covered peaks they made me feel like they’re there simply for my own protection.

“It was full moon that night. I was staring up at its glow, when all of a sudden,” Coil spread his arms wide, and then flapped them up and down. “This giant bird soared over my head. I mean, right over my head. I felt the wind mess my hair once it had passed. My mouth was wide open and dry, as all I could do was stare at this, this amazing beast as it climbed higher and higher into the sky, straight up into the air. I thought it was going to land on the moon. I swear that was what it looked like. But then it leveled out, and flew between the peaks and was gone.”

Coil sat silently staring straight ahead.

Mykal hated to interrupt the memory, but asked, “Did it breathe fire?”

“Not that I saw.”

“What did it look like?”