Severed Empire: Wizard's War (15 page)

“This way.” Quill took his arm and spun him around.

“How many are left, do you think?”

“I’m no abacus.” Quill’s curt sarcasm silenced Mykal.

His uncle was correct. There was no point fussing over numbers. It didn’t matter if there were ten or one-hundred and ten. Their friends were still fighting, and they were not. They needed to get to where the fighting was.

Just ahead, Blodwyn was using both his cloak, and staff against three Watch. He kept the cloak over his left arm, and held the end tight in his closed fist. He spun, wielding the material like a royal shield. Swinging swords raked across the fabric. It held together, without any sign of wear. Blodwyn used his staff like a sword. He swung it in a way that intercepted the enemy’s steel, and then rolled it away to keep the sword from cutting into the wood. He’d twirl the staff and thwap the opposite end over the Watch’s head, and then face off the next.

There were bodies scattered about on the dock, in the grass, and up the sides of buildings. Arrows protruded from many parts of their bodies. The dead didn’t move, as it should be.

Eadric jumped off a roof. He howled like an animal as he descended. He landed on the shoulders of a Watch about to attack Blodwyn from behind. His body’s weight crumpled the Watch. Using fists, they fought. Knuckles broke through skin, and knocked out teeth. The two held onto each other with both hands and rolled around. Their legs kicked out, and wrapped around each other. They grappled, reaching for arms, and legs. They sat, and fell backwards. Grunting and groaning escaped them as they expelled their energy.

Coil came around a corner. He held his sword high. His mouth was opened wide. The growl that came from him was loud, and guttural. He slashed left and right, cutting down Watch as if cutting through weeds with a sickle. He pushed men off his blade, and swung again, and again, fresh blood spraying off the steel.

Blodwyn finished his fighting. The solid sound of his staff cracking a skull almost echoed.

Eadric used an elbow. He beat the Watch in the face with it. The nose shattered. Blood sprayed out in all directions. The Watch lay motionless on the ground. Eadric stood up, brushing dust, and blood from his clothing and off the palms of his hands. He stuck fingers in his mouth, and cursed. “Knocked a tooth loose, he did,” he said.

Mykal said, “Are you all right?”

“I am. Are you?” his father said.

“Yes.”

“How much magic did you use?” Blodwyn took his shoulders and looked him up and down. “Are you tired?”

“I didn’t use any. There wasn’t time. I just… just fought,” Mykal said. “Where are Coil, and the others?”

“Here.” Coil limped toward them. The gash across his leg was bleeding, and it looked both deep and serious.

Mykal ran up to him. “Hold still. Let me take a look. I can help you.”

“With this?” Coil said. “It’s nothing but a cut.”

“Don’t be foolish,” Eadric said. “Let my son heal you.”

“Who are you to call me foolish?”

Blodwyn held out his staff. “Enough,” he said. “Can you help him, Mykal?”

Mykal didn’t respond. He stared at the leg, and then reached for the sliced fabric. He tore the cloth more, exposing the entire wound.

“What in the world is wrong with you? You see me carrying around a bag of clothing?” Coil grunted.

“Hold still.” Mykal held out his hands, and passed them over the bleeding laceration. Slowly the meat under the skin melded together. The skin closed the gap. The area looked red, and swollen. Mykal closed his eyes, but continued moving his hands back and forth above the leg. The swelling went down, and there was no longer even a trace of the slash. All that remained was dirt, and blood.

“That. Was. Amazing!” Coil gripped his thigh above the old injury and lowered his nose to his leg. He stood up straight. Cautiously, he placed his weight on that leg. Then all of his weight, lifting the opposite foot off the ground. He jumped up and down on the one leg. “Can you see this? Did you see that?”

“We need to signal the Voyagers.” Blodwyn stared out at the river. “Who knows how much time we have remaining? There could be another wave of Watch on the way. There’s no telling how many men the king dispatched. It won’t be long before word of this mess reaches him. He’s not going to be happy. And, unfortunately, this will not help our cause. He is going to be even less likely to believe anything we’ve told him. It’s a shame. It never should have come to this. His narrow-minded thinking will be the death of his people.”

Chapter 12

Aside from the injury to Coil’s leg, everyone else was fine. Quill and the three Archers were bloodied up from the fight, but otherwise, okay. The eight of them walked out onto the pier. Mykal felt only a little weak. He tried masking the loss of energy, keeping up with the others. His head felt light, and his knees wobbled some with each step he took. He knew Blodwyn wasn’t fooled, but appreciated him not saying a word.

“Tell us again, Wyn, why we’re going to put our trust in the pirates?” Eadric said.

“It’s a long story,” he said.

They huddled close together at the end of the pier. The air was cool, and their gathered body heat combated the dropping temperatures. The large vessel was just a black silhouette on the river. It was too far away to tell if it was moving. It could be coming toward them. They would know for sure soon enough.

“We’ve the time,” Eadric said.

“I know the person who runs their island. We go way back, you might say. The scarf was a gift given to me long ago.” Blodwyn spoke softly, as if just to himself.

“Did you know it would summons a ship?” Quill said.

“I hoped it would bring help.”

“Hoped, but didn’t know?” Eadric said.

Blodwyn shook his head. “I didn’t know, no. But I was confident the flying scarf would elicit some kind of response.”

Eadric sighed. He looked back over his shoulder. “I suppose there’s no point in arguing the semantics now. They’re here. I guess the only thing we need to hope is that they remember you, and are friendly toward us all. We need a way out of here. The locals are starting to stir. They’re coming out of their hovels. If they’ve any loyalty to their king, we could be looking at a lynching. The Voyagers are clearly our best option at this point. Just hope they get here before the nooses are knotted.”

Mykal saw the villagers behind them. They carried torches and milled about the docks inspecting the corpses strewn about. He had a sinking feeling about the situation. He didn’t want to make enemies with people in his kingdom. Quill spent his life hiding in the woods. He and the other Archers had made a home of the forest, but were still considered outcasts, rebels. The farm, the animals, and his grandfather were his home. It was where he belonged. He long ago stopped questioning why he was here. The reasons were obvious. Their sacrifice essential. It just didn’t make giving up his old life for this one any easier.

“They’re sending a dinghy,” one of the other Archers said, pointing. The small boat was barely visible. It didn’t look large enough for all of them to fit in.

“Water may be too shallow for them to come ashore,” Blodwyn said.

Mykal watched two men row the small boat closer to the pier. He could hear the oars splash into the river. He pictured the serpents working themselves into a frenzy below. He knew how big and powerful those beasts were. Crushing the wood and capsizing the dinghy would be easy for even just a single serpent. He would have felt so much better if the Voyagers attempted docking as opposed to sending over a dinghy.

The men threw a rope up, and Coil reached out and caught it. He secured the rope to a steel cleat.

Blodwyn stood by the edge of the pier.

“The governor sent us to pick you up. She didn’t mention anything about a mob of you. We may need a bigger boat,” the man on the dinghy said. He scowled, as if there was no point in hiding his feelings. “Why don’t you take down the red flag?”

“I’ll get it.” Mykal went to the pole, unfastened the rope, and lowered the scarf. He held it in his hands. It was made of a strong silk. It wasn’t what he’d expected. He folded the scarf and fit it into the front pocket on his pants. When he turned around, his breath caught in his lungs. The villagers had assembled. Huddled together, Mykal watched them point his way. He had no idea what they said, but could imagine the words whispered. It sent a troubling chill down his spine. It was as cold as if a skeleton’s finger had traced his backbone. He shivered.

“C’mon, Mykal! Get in the boat. Hurry!” Blodwyn waved him over.

He ran for the edge of the pier, and stopped. There wasn’t much room for him in the dinghy. He wasn’t going to wait on the docks alone for the next transport. He’d make himself fit. He climbed down the ladder and shouldered his way in. It was tight. If they didn’t sink from being weighted down, and as long as the serpents left them alone, they might be all right. The sea was calmer than it had been even half an hour ago.

Coil retrieved the rope from the cleat.

“Row. Row.” The Voyagers set the oars to work. At first it seemed as if the dinghy wouldn’t respond. They would need to go against the current somewhat to make it back to the waiting ship. Once the momentum was started, it appeared an easier task. The two men had sweaty brows. They gritted their teeth as they put their backs into the work.

Mykal and his friends remained silent.

On the pier the villagers watched them escape. Their torches were soon all that was visible.

The water lapped at the sides of the boat. The oars dipped into the water. There was a rhythm to the rowing, and with the way the boat slowly surged forward each time. Mykal had been worried they’d not get away in time. He had no issue with using his magic against enemies. The villagers were not evil. Had they attacked, it wouldn’t have been their fault. They would have been reacting based only on what they saw: a gang of rebels slaughtering the king’s Watch.

As they neared the larger vessel, Mykal’s mouth hung open. He had never been this close to a Voyager ship. It bobbed on the small swells. He rubbed the back of his neck as he stared up at the masts. They seemed to go on forever into the sky.

He was thankful the voyage from the dock to the ship had been uneventful. The serpents might be around, but they had left them alone. It was nice when things worked out. Lately, it just wasn’t normally the case.

Chatter from the men on board was constant. Orders were given. The tars repeated them. Mykal could not see a single person.

The dinghy stopped beside the hull, alongside a rope ladder. The men rowing held the ladder and ordered everyone up. Climbing was not simple. The rope twisted and turned. Mykal held on tight and tried to secure his footing. He went slowly, hand over hand. The hull bowed outward. It made the climb that much more difficult.

Voyagers reached over the side of the ship. Their hands locked on the back of his britches. He was hoisted up and over the starboard side. They dropped him onto the deck. He grunted, letting out a startled
oomph
. The Voyagers laughed. Not finding anything funny, Mykal got to his feet, dusting himself off. His legs bent, and he leaned forward with his arms out, hands reaching for a hold. He wasn’t used to the swaying sensation. He brought one arm in and wrapped it across his belly. His stomach felt as if it was lurching up his throat.

“If you’re going to blow chunks, lean over the side. Otherwise you’ll be mopping the floors,” a man said.

More laughs erupted around him.

Someone took hold of his arm at the elbow.

“Are you all right, Mykal?” Blodwyn said.

“I will be. Just not used to this. It felt a little different on the row boat.”

“Once you get your sea legs, you won’t notice the difference. These men spend so much time on the water, that they have trouble with balance when they are on land,” he said. His smile was a mild way of letting him know that things would be okay. Mykal wasn’t sure he believed it, but it did help having his friends and family with him.

When everyone was on the ship, a well-dressed man strutted past them. He wore a black blazer, with a black vest over a white shirt. His white pants possessed a single black stripe down the side. He had his hands clasped behind his back. Two other men, dressed nearly as well, followed closely on his heels.

“And who was the person who flew the red flag?” the first man said.

Blodwyn took a small step forward. “The flag was mine.”

The first man stopped walking. He stood in front of Blodwyn. He looked at Blodwyn’s feet and let his eyes travel up past his head to the top of his staff. “I am Captain Sebastian. This is the Derecho. She has been mine to command for nearly as long as she has been on the sea. Cearl is my lieutenant, my first officer.” Cearl wore white pants, and his white tunic was covered by a red vest under a dark blue blazer. Sebastian then said, waving a hand toward the man on his right, “And this is our quartermaster, Mr. Reed.”

Mr. Reed looked more like a boy, Mykal thought. Around his age, or possibly a year older. The quartermaster wore his dark hair shaved short around the sides and back of his head, leaving it longer on top, pulled back, and secured in back with a short ponytail. His face was clean shaven, or had never been shaved.

The Quartermaster saluted a hello to the group, and inadvertently knocked his elbow into the Captain’s forehead. “Sorry, Captain.”

No one returned the gesture. He was dressed in similar fashion as the lieutenant, except he wore gold cufflinks on the sleeves of his red blazer.

Sebastian arched an eyebrow; cast a sideways glance at the quartermaster, and then back and forth between Blodwyn to Mykal, before he pointed at Mykal. “This boy was dead. I saw it with my own eyes. That can’t be. How can this be?”

Mykal assumed this a rhetorical question. He stayed still—as still as his legs would allow—and maintained eye contact with the captain.

“You were there, too.” Sebastian pointed his finger in Blodwyn’s face. He found Quill, and moved his arm, aiming his finger at Mykal’s uncle. “And you!”

“You were with the Mountain King?” Blodwyn’s voice trembled.