Kazin's Quest: Book I of The Dragon Mage Trilogy (25 page)

“We need to keep moving to reach Castor by nightfall,” said Sherman. “I for one would like to sleep in a warm bed tonight.”

Kazin glanced at the reddening sky and agreed. There was no sign of cloud cover and the clear spring nights could still become quite cold. A pigeon cooed as it flew low across the treetops. It also seemed to be in a hurry to find a warm place for the night. On the horizon, the full moon was just beginning to cast its glow over the land. Kazin couldn’t believe that nearly a month had already passed since his promotion to master mage.

The companions rested only briefly and remounted their horses for a last dash to a cozy inn in Castor.

‘The Castor Cupful’ had a warm but smoky common room, but the companions didn’t mind as they left the darkness and cold outside and seated themselves at a table near the fireplace. The fire roared with a refreshing red glow, giving off a welcome warmth. Sherman and Kazin each ordered a warm meal and an ale and a tea respectively.

“It’s sure nice to get out of the cold,” commented Sherman.

“No kidding,” said Kazin. “We pushed the horses hard but they handled it well. I’m sure they’re glad to have the shelter of the inn’s stable tonight.”

Sherman nodded. The barmaid came over with their drinks and placed them in front of the companions. She gave Sherman an appraising glance and smiled bashfully as the big warrior’s eyes met hers. “Th-the food will be here in a minute,” she stammered. She quickly turned and fled into the kitchen.

Kazin raised an eyebrow.

Sherman shrugged. “I get that all the time. Sometimes they even bring me seconds at no extra charge.”

Kazin grinned. “Maybe they think you’re not big enough yet.”

Sherman laughed. “Perhaps I should stand up next time!”

“You want to scare off all the women in the village?” chided Kazin.

Sherman laughed again. “A toast to all the women in this village! May they never run from men, no matter how big or intimidating!” They tapped their mugs together and drank.

“Ow!” yelled Kazin, putting his hand to his mouth. “This tea’s awfully hot!”

This time Sherman roared with laughter. “Now you see why I stick to ale! It warms your blood but doesn’t burn your tongue!”

“It does muddle the brain, however,” said Kazin.

“That it does,” admitted Sherman. “Fortunately, it doesn’t affect me until I’ve had a keg or two.”

“That I believe,” said Kazin, admiring his friend’s build. “I wish I were a bit bigger myself.”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself,” said Sherman. “What you lack in size, you make up for in dexterity and wit.”

“Perhaps,” admitted Kazin.

The barmaid returned with their food and took care not to look Sherman in the eyes.

“Thank you, my dear,” said Sherman gaily.

The barmaid blushed as she put down the plates and utensils and literally fled back into the kitchen.

“You did that on purpose!” said Kazin.

“I was only trying to be polite,” pleaded Sherman, grinning widely.

Kazin simply shook his head.

They ate hungrily and Sherman ordered seconds, much to the dismay—or pleasure?—of the barmaid.

“It’s nice to be on the road again,” said Sherman after a while. “It makes me feel as though I’m accomplishing something.”

“I admit, there’s a sense of freedom about traveling,” admitted Kazin. “Did you ever get sick of being on the road, though? I mean, if you do it as a routine, wouldn’t it become tiring after a while?”

Sherman didn’t answer. He appeared to be looking past the mage at something behind him. Kazin was about to turn and see what he was looking at but Sherman stopped him abruptly. “Don’t turn around. Pretend you’re still having a conversation.”

Kazin opened his mouth but didn’t know what to say. “Well, I—”

Sherman swore and stood up, his hand on the hilt of his sword. “It’s no use. They’re going to attack whether I acknowledge them or not. Get ready for a fight!”

Kazin rose and spun around. There were six rough looking figures in the doorway and a few of them were by some stools near the bar. Two more were standing at a nearby table. All of them had their swords or knives drawn. There was no one else present in the common room except a nervous looking bartender.

One of the men near the doorway stepped forward. Kazin recognized him as the man they had passed back at the Jackal River.

“Time to pay for your crimes, warrior,” growled the man with hatred in his voice.

“What crime?” demanded Sherman. The men near the bar moved closer.

“You know which crimes,” sneered the man in response. “You killed my brother, and several friends of his!”

“I have killed some men,” said Sherman, “but only in self-defence!”

“Bah! A lie! Seize him!” commanded the man, lunging forward with his sword held high. His men followed.

Kazin reached into his cloak and brought a spell to mind. Knowing Sherman could handle the gang leader, who seemed interested only in the big warrior anyway, Kazin threw some dust at the men nearest him by the other table. Before moving two steps, both crashed to the floor, unconscious.

“Grab the mage!” cried one bandit. Kazin spun to confront them but knew he wouldn’t get the opportunity for another spell. Instead he drew his staff from his sling. He heard Sherman grunt as some swords clashed loudly behind him.

The tables were situated in a way that prevented an attack from the side, forcing the attackers in the doorway to go after Sherman, while the ones from the bar went after Kazin.

Two of the bar thugs sprang at Kazin simultaneously. Kazin was hard pressed to evade them as he tripped one up and ducked under the second one’s wicked knife blade. As a result, the second attacker swung himself off balance.

The thug who was tripped up landed at an awkward angle and Kazin heard a loud snap. “Ow!” yelled the man. “My leg! It’s broke!”

The sword clashes behind Kazin rang out more and more frequently as Sherman expertly fended off blows from his six attackers. There was one cry and the clashes renewed in intensity. Kazin was too busy to help his friend.

Kazin’s third opponent moved forward warily, waving his short sword lightly and carefully. He was obviously waiting for his remaining partner to regain his balance and attack from the side. Kazin knew it was in his best interest to go on the offensive. The attacker with the short sword didn’t expect this tactic and before he knew it, his sword was slashed out of his hand with a well-placed blow from Kazin’s staff. Before he could react, the other end of the staff came down hard on his head, rendering him unconscious.

Kazin was slightly off balance as the second thug finally pounced on him. The two fighters fell to the floor and Kazin momentarily had the wind knocked out of him. The thug plunged his knife down at Kazin’s throat and the young mage barely managed to grab his arm in time.

The thug was stronger than the mage and the knife continued to lower toward Kazin’s throat. With a last ditch effort, Kazin used his opponent’s own energy to roll him to the side, seizing the upper position for himself. This didn’t last long as the attacker used the same tactic to reverse positions again. They rolled a few more times until they hit a table leg. This left Kazin on the bottom again.

Kazin and his attacker were both breathing heavily now. Their heads were close together and Kazin could smell his opponent’s bad breath. The thug smiled wickedly, sensing Kazin’s waning strength. He raised his knife and prepared for a final blow. There was a sudden crash above them and the thug’s eyes rolled back in his head as he collapsed like a sack of grain on top of Kazin.

Kazin tried feebly to move the body and then saw some small, weather worn hands assisting him in moving the dead weight from his chest. When he looked up, he was temporarily blinded by the bright helmet his rescuer wore. Under the silver horned helmet was the face of a smiling, grey-bearded dwarf.

“Harran!”

“I thought the living were supposed to bury the dead, not the other way around!” said the dwarf, helping the mage to his feet.

“Thanks,” said Kazin wearily. “I owe you one.”

“Nay,” said Harran. “We’re even now.”

A loud crash followed by a howl of pain reminded Kazin that his friend was in danger. “Excuse me, Harran. I’ve got some work to do.” He reached into his cloak pocket and found the ingredients he needed for a spell. He chanted and pointed his staff at Sherman’s four remaining attackers. A weak lightning bolt flew into their midst and burst with a blinding flash. The attackers fell back with a cry. One had his sleeve catch fire and another one was holding his hands over his eyes. Apparently he had been looking right at the lightning bolt when it burst.

“Enough!” yelled Kazin. “Leave now or I’ll burn you all to a crisp!”

The gang leader knew he was outmatched. He glared at Sherman. “Don’t think for a moment that this is over! We’ll meet again, you and I, and I’ll finish you off!”

“I have no grievance with you,” said Sherman. “Let whoever you work for come forward so I can stop this endless fighting!”

The thug sneered. “I don’t work for the fool any longer. I work for myself and will avenge my brother’s death!” He turned to leave and took a step. Then, in a lightning quick move, he spun around to throw a hidden dagger at Sherman. At least, that was his intention. The lightning bolt that struck was instantaneous. The thug, his dagger, and his sword, were thrown across the room to land in a heap against the far wall.

Kazin shuddered at the potency of his spell. He had never intended for the spell to be so lethal. It seemed almost as if his staff had somehow amplified the lightning bolt. For a brief moment, a dry, soundless laughter echoed in his head.

“Let’s get out of here!” yelled a bandit, dragging one of his buddies with the broken leg with him. The others complied without questioning the suggestion, pushing their comrades out the door hastily. None even stopped to look at their former leader, who lay crumpled on the floor.

Sherman looked over at Kazin. “Nice shot!”

Kazin shrugged. “I wouldn’t have been much help if it hadn’t been for Harran here.”

Sherman turned to the dwarf. “Thanks.”

“For what?” asked Harran.

“For saving my friend’s life,” said Sherman. “That was my job and I nearly failed.”

“He’s your bodyguard?” asked Harran, looking at Kazin.

“Yes. And my friend,” answered Kazin.

Harran shook his head. “It looked more like it was the other way around.”

“It’s a long story,” said Sherman. He looked sadly at Kazin. “Sorry, Kazin. I thought I could get away from all this but I was wrong. I didn’t want you to get involved with my troubles.”

“Nonsense,” said Kazin. “I’m glad I could help. Come on. Let’s help the bartender remove the body and then we can talk.”

The bartender directed them where to dump the thug while the chef ran to the undertaker’s house to notify him of the body. When they re-entered the common room, the barmaid was on her hands and knees scrubbing the floor where there were blood stains.

Sherman picked up a rag and knelt beside her. “Sorry about the mess,” he apologized. “I’d have fought outside if there was a choice.”

“It’s not your fault,” she said sadly. “You had to defend yourself. Besides, I’m getting used to this sort of thing. It’s happening more and more often these days.”

“Really?” asked Sherman. “I’ve noticed an increase in brigands lately, but I thought it was because they were after me.”

“After you?” the barmaid looked up at him. “Why—you’re bleeding!”

“Where?” asked Sherman, examining his hands and arms.

“Your neck.” The barmaid rose. “I’ll get some ointment.” She ran off into the kitchen.

“You’re lucky that’s all the damage you received,” said Harran, righting an overturned chair nearby, “considering the odds.”

“I’ve had practice,” said Sherman dryly.

After helping to straighten up the common room, Sherman bent to continue scrubbing the floor where he had left off.

“Never mind that,” said the barmaid, returning with the ointment. “I’ll get that later. Sit down and I’ll fix you up. I’ll never stop scrubbing if you keep bleeding like that, anyway.”

“Never disobey the command of a lady,” said Kazin with a twinkle in his eye.

The barmaid glared at him for a moment before going to work on the big warrior.

Kazin sat across from the dwarf. “Well, Harran. Suppose you tell me what you’re doing so far away from Arral? I thought you were looking for work there.”

Harran leaned forward. “It just so happened I ran into a friend of my uncle’s who runs an herb and ointment shop there. He informed me there was an opening in his cousin’s business in the town of St. Frances. Apparently, this cousin makes weapons for the army stationed at the Tower of Hope. Ordinarily, there isn’t much going on there, but with the impending war in the east, orders for dwarven weaponry have increased tenfold. He’s producing them as fast as he can and the troops being moved to the east are taking everything he can manufacture.

“I know I’m not much of a weapon maker,” admitted Harran. “Maps are my specialty, and I have dabbled in masonry from time to time under the direction of my uncle. But work is work, so I’ll just have to learn along the way. This cousin in St. Frances needs the help anyway.”

“So here you are,” said Kazin.

“Yes,” said Harran. “I left the following afternoon aboard the Farrow and set sail for Warral. There was a slight delay while we waited for the captain, though. It seems he’d gotten drunk in a local bar and a scrubby looking man in a wizard’s cloak had to half drag him to the ship.”

“Andron,” murmured Kazin with a grin.

“What’s that?” asked the dwarf.

“Oh, nothing,” said Kazin.

By now the wound on Sherman’s neck was healed and Harran ordered a round of drinks.

“Are you staying at this inn?” asked Harran.

“We might as well,” said Sherman. “This is as good a place as any.”

“That’s true,” agreed Kazin, “considering the circumstances.”

Harran gave him a questioning look.

“Maybe I should fill you in,” said Kazin. He briefly described the events as they occurred since entering his hometown, including Sherman’s troubles of late.