The ways of mages 1, p.14
The Ways of Mages #1, page 14
The two were surrounded by a sparkling blue and lavender nimbus that roiled with energies barely contained. Occasionally, bolts of lightning erupted from the nimbus and scored walls, floors and ceilings. One such bolt shot pass GrimHolden and incinerated a soldier scarcely two feet from him.
The man who had been fighting Grim dropped his sword and stared blankly at the place where his compatriot had stood moments before. Grim did not press his advantage. He had no special desire to kill these men. A second bolt, farther away this time, sent the man running. Many of his fellow guardsmen followed in a hasty, disorderly retreat.
Grim now counted seven soldiers actively helping Gawin get the council to safety. Despite the defections, they were still facing two to one odds. The Grimedian knight worked his way toward Captain T’nere and the two burly guards he was fighting.
As he approached, T’nere lunged and speared the leg of the bigger of the two guards. The man fell clutching the wound. T’nere attempted to press his advantage but the other guard redoubled his attack and drew the captain off his friend. Grim chose that moment to join in.
“See to your friend,” Grim yelled, “I’ll take over here.”
“Thanks.” the winded soldier gasped.
“No problem,” Grim mumbled as he ducked under T’nere’s swing, “Get him into the tunnels with the others.”
“So,” Captain T’nere spat as he lunged, “Even the field mice have come out to play”
Grim parried. “If by that you mean to imply that you’re the hawk I’m afraid your understanding of zoology needs work.” Grim punctuated his statement with a lunge of his own followed by a tuck and roll that brought him up on T’nere’s other side.
The Captain was forced to spin. He neatly sliced a series of candles in two in the process. “The only lesson you’re going to provide is one on bleeding!” He quickly reversed the direction of his swing and made as if to stab GrimHolden but the big knight would have none of it. He lashed out with a foot that sent the captain’s sword flying.
T’nere responded by drawing a dagger from a sheath at his belt. The metal was a cold black and Grim didn’t need to be told that it was poisoned. T’nere’s attack changed. There was no need for a killing blow now. He needed only to scratch the knight. The poison would do all the killing necessary.
Grim was more cautious now. He knew what that blade could do. The use of poison on blades was unethical but he doubted the rakish young captain let such concerns bother him. If the wolfish grin on the younger man’s face was any indication, he was enjoying this.
Grim’s longer reach and marginally greater skill was balanced against T’nere’s wider selection of fatal targets and obvious bloodlust. They seemed evenly matched. Recognizing this, Captain T’nere sought an opportunity to skew the balance to his benefit. He seized the opportunity by literally seizing one of his own men.
The man had been wounded. Blood leaked from between fingers held tightly over a hole in his side. T’nere dropped to a knee beside the man and wrapped an arm around the man’s neck. He pulled back on the man’s chin while forcing his knee into the small of the soldier’s back. The net effect was to expose a wide expanse of the man’s throat to which T’nere put his blade. The wounded man’s eyes bulged and his hand temporarily left the wound at his side before hastily returning.
“Drop your sword or I kill him here and now.” T’nere sneered.
“You must be joking.” the knight said. “That’s your own man!”
“True enough, but I’m betting your compassion won’t let you let me kill him.”
Grim hesitated. He couldn’t let a noncombatant come to harm if he could prevent it. His oath as a knight, to say nothing of his own sense of morality, was quite specific on that point. He reluctantly started to lower his sword.
“THOMAS DON’T!”
GrimHolden held his position. From the corner of his vision he could see that a large contingent of men, dressed in forest garb, were entering the chapel through the Bishop’s office. They must have traveled the same tunnels that Grim himself had used.
“Thomas don’t.” It was a middle aged newcomer with a deep black beard that spoke. “That man is already dead.”
The speaker’s voice was hauntingly familiar but Grim didn’t pause to try to place it. Instead Grim kept his attention glued to T’nere and the man he was holding. The big knight could see a trickle of blood dribble from the man’s neck where T’nere’s blade had been held too tight. The man’s death was a foregone conclusion.
Captain T’nere must have reached the same conclusion. The young captain stood, dragging his captive with him. He saw that, where his forces had enjoyed a two to one advantage in numbers just a few minutes before, the roles were now reversed.
He shoved the soon-to-be corpse at GrimHolden and yelled “RETREAT!”
The order seemed inane to Grim since it was obvious that most of the guard was already withdrawing. The big knight allowed the captain his retreat. Grim lowered the dying soldier to the floor. He supported the man’s head and back with a propped leg. There was little more he could do besides make the man comfortable.
As if on cue, the blue nimbus around Bendon and Altana collapsed. The ground around the two was charred and pitted but the combatants themselves seem unscathed.
The men in forest garb, who had up to this point maintained a respectable and somewhat cautious distance from the battling wizards, now began to encroach on their position. Altana seemed to sense this and laughed. The encroachment ceased. The dark-haired woman turned her attention back to the grizzled old man.
“Another time, father.”
“Another time, Altana.” the bearded wizard replied dryly.
Again Altana laughed and with a thunderous explosive report, that left most scampering for cover, she was gone.
Grim removed the cross from around his neck and held it before the young soldier braced by his knee. He mumbled a brief prayer and allowed his essence to flow briefly into the cross. It assumed a slight glow. Grim used the magic to deaden the pain centers in the man’s brain. He was not a healer but he doubted that even the best of healers would have been able to deal with the poison.
Grim tasted the bitter sweet taste of bile in this throat. He swallowed it back. His anger was getting the best of him. Had T’nere not grabbed this man there was a good chance he would have lived.
The wounded soldier’s eyes fluttered and for a moment he seemed lucid. He mumbled something Grim couldn't hear. The Grimedian knight leaned closer. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t hear.” He said gently.
The man struggled to raise his voice. “We would have followed you,” he said with a gasp.
“I know.” Grim answered with a tinge of guilt.
“We would...” The man’s voice trailed off. His heart gave up its struggle against the poison. He shuddered one last time and was still.
“I know.” Grim repeated. He followed this confession with a brief prayer for the man’s soul and then pulled a small pouch from his robe. A small cloth previous soaked in sacramental wine was wrapped around a small unleavened wafer. Placing a bit of the wafer on the soldiers tongue and touching the cloth to the man’s lips GrimHolden offered the soldier a final viaticum.
“Thomas, there was nothing you could have done.” Grim looked up at the dark bearded stranger. Very few people now living called him by his Christian name. This man was certainly none of them, and yet he was strangely familiar. “Surely you’ve not forgotten your boyhood friend?”
“Trevor? Trevor McGill?”
Chapter Fifteen - What This Country Needs now…
Thomas GrimHolden, leader of the Grimedian Order of Knights and former heir to the throne of Pershara, sat at the large marble table in the council hall of the Council of Bishops. Gold inlay in the shape of dragons chasing their neighbor’s tails worked its way around the great stone table. Grim ignored the artwork. His attention was elsewhere. Around the table sat Bendon the wizard, Gawin the engineer, most of the remaining council bishops and lastly, a bearded, dark-haired man dressed in the forest garb that had become the rebel army’s uniform.
It was this man, Trevor McGill, which dominated Grim’s attention. Trevor had been a boyhood friend to both the young Randolph and Thomas Holden. Later, when Randolph had ascended the throne, Trevor had become an indispensable ally as the new king’s chancellor. Trevor had died within days of Randolph's death. He had been traveling in the east when word of the king’s death reached him. He immediately attempted to return to attend the funeral but never made it. While traveling westward through the Sigon Pass, bandits attacked the chancellor’s party and it was reported that he died when his horse slipped and plunged over the side of a cliff.
Trevor’s eyes caught GrimHolden’s scrutiny and he smiled warmly. Reaching an arm across the table he squeezed Grim’s arm. “It's good to see you too, old friend.”
“Trev, the reports... they all said you were dead. If I had known… if Randolph hadn’t just died I...”
“...Would never have assumed my death without verification. I know that Thomas. Your mind was on your brother and the kingdom – where it should have been. I place no blame at your feet. You’ve always been a fair and well trusted friend. I see no reason to change that assessment on account of a few years passing.”
Grim reached over to Trevor’s hand still on his own forearm and squeezed it back in a silent acknowledgment and confirmation of a friendship that would not easily be quelled.
“Truth be known,” Trevor continued, “you might have had a hard time finding me. I wandered in a stupor for days and was eventually taken in by an elderly mountain couple. It was years before I even remembered who I was. When I came back to the capital, Raymond was in power and you were in the monastery. I knew you would never have left the palace without good cause so I started making inquiries. It wasn’t too long before I had a pretty good idea of what had happened.”
“And so you formed a rebel army.” Grim finished.
“Not at first. I reactivated my intelligence network. As chancellor I had eyes and ears in every major city and town. I dare say even the thieves guild doesn’t have a better network.”
“Really. I’d have thought you would have solicited their help in establishing your network.”
Trevor’s grin spread to go from ear to ear. “I did, how do you think I knew their network was no better than mine?”
“In many cases it was one in the same...” Grim muttered with a glint of understanding in his eye.
Trevor nodded in agreement. “As soon I had a proper understanding of the political situation, I started to form resistance cells. When the time was right, when our cells were large enough, we formed an army.”
GrimHolden’s released Trevor’s hand and steeled his face. A lot depended on Trevor’s next answers. His voice held a quiet timber that emphasized the seriousness of the question. “And what becomes of that army now?”
Trevor read the concern in his friend’s face. He answered carefully, and with a conviction of soul that bespoke of a life dedicated to a task. His voice was low, matching the timber of Grim’s voice. He looked deep into his friend’s eyes for some telltale sign of support for what he was saying. “If pressed, I am content to lead a rebel force against a cruel pretender to the throne. Raymond’s removal is and has always been my highest priority.” If Trevor expected his words to crack the mask that Grim wore he was disappointed. Grim only acknowledged the words with the barest of nods, as if saying ‘continue’. Trevor held both hands up to shoulder level with palms extended in a mock surrender, “Now, having said that, I want it made clear, here and now, that my preference would be to follow the lead of a ‘king’ - one that was seeking to oust that very same pretender.” Trevor put both hands on the polished stone table. His voice was soft, yet pleading. “Thomas, the land needs a proper and just king... you must know that.”
Grim shook his head slightly. “I know friend. I know. It’s beyond my control.”
“But not beyond mine!”
Both men turned to face Father DeAnder Papus who had just entered the room. Thankfully, the bishop, like his compatriots, had taken the last hour to bathe and change clothes. Doubtless the cleaning staff was even now drafting a horde of novitiates to deal with the mess.
Father DeAnder walked to the head of the table and wrapped his fingers over the ornately carved backrest of the Bishop’s seat. His eyes swept the assembled bishops. “Are there any here who would have another sit in this seat?”
“You know there are none.” Father Tymron bellowed in a deep voice that was completely at odds with his frail frame.
“Still,” Father Murphy interjected, “there are ceremonies and procedures. We can’t just ignore tradition...”
DeAnder raised a hand to wave off the bishop as he spoke. “I mean no disrespect, but it seems to me that there is a time for tradition and a time for decisiveness. We find ourselves embroiled in a war.” Again his eyes swept the room. “I would submit that now is the time for decisiveness.”
Several of the assembled bishops clapped and all nodded in agreement. The issue was closed. “Very well,” Father DeAnder said, “I will assume the role of ‘acting Archbishop’ until such a time as we can carry out a proper election.”
DeAnder sat in the Bishop’s chair. “I’m sorry I was late. I took a moment to stop by the infirmary and thanked the men who broke ranks to help us. I told them that they and their families will be taken care of. I would expect that there are some in this room that could find a use for soldiers of proven worth and temperament.” This time his gaze focused on the two soldiers. Grim and Trevor nodded in unison. In point of fact, Grim had already visited the men and made sure each was aware of his place in the Order should they care for it.
DeAnder addressed Trevor and Grim. “You were talking about the need for a ‘king’.”
“Indeed!” Trevor echoed, “What say you Thomas?”
“It’s not for me to say.”
“What Prince Holden is saying is that his vows prevent him from assuming the throne. Am I right?” DeAnder clarified.
Grim nodded, “Although I might wish otherwise, my vows are quite binding.”
DeAnder caressed the ornately carved arm of his chair. His finger traced the length of its deeply chiseled spirals. The patterns intertwined - one forcing the path of the other. His life felt much like these spirals. The war was forcing things to be that might not have otherwise come to pass. He sighed. Now was not the time to indulge oneself in thoughts of what might have been. He was a competent leader at a time when the church needed one. That he really would have preferred to remain an obscure scholar was, unfortunately, irrelevant.
“Very well, I absolve you of your vows - as they pertain to secular office.”
Grim looked decidedly uncomfortable, “No disrespect, your eminence, but I think we both know that won’t do.”
Father DeAnder smiled wistfully, “No I don’t suppose it will.” He stippled his hands on the table. “Very well,” he said reluctantly, “I now call upon the assembled bishops to be sequestered for the purpose of casting a vote for papal succession and may God have mercy on us all.”
***
Sarah stamped a hoof and nuzzled Kade’s neck as the horses and riders walked side by side on the weather-worn trail. They were traveling along the northern foothills of the Sigon Pass. Sarah continued to nuzzle the gelding’s neck. Kade for his part, seemed completely disinterested. Perela smiled, unlike his horse, Duncan still had all of his equipment. He had proven that last night. She and the knight had grown closer in the days following the near tragedy in Mountview. Their minds had been so intertwined as she fought to save him that there remained a residual contact even now. She always seemed to know his mood and often what he was about to say. She knew he felt the same tendrils of thought from her but she didn’t mind. The sensation was that of a special intimacy, shared and enjoyed by both.
Duncan brushed Perela’s thoughts with a delicate mental caress. She responded by reaching to squeeze the arm that was holding Kade’s rein. His other arm was healing nicely. In a few more days, with the proper ministrations, it would be as good as new.
Tom and Elainia were riding in the rear. They were engaged in a spirited debate over the ethics of stealing from a priest if the ultimate objective of said theft was to feed the needy. Perela found that she was coming to treasure the lanky thief’s presence. He had a peculiar sense of morality to which he adhered religiously. More to the point, he challenged Elainia’s belief systems. He did it not so much to change them, as to force her to inspect them. Introspection seemed to be a fundamental part of his nature.
There had been a time, abet briefly, when she had thought he had left their group. Just after Duncan had been hurt, he had helped them find a safe place to hide and recuperate. When he left on Duncan’s horse she had assumed he would not be back. That assumption had proven to be in error. The lanky thief had covertly ridden back to town and secured their abandoned belongings as well as his own horse.
