Fate Rides Wicked: Volume I of the Lerilon Trilogy (56 page)

The leader appeared on his right. The other four
warriors came through the hole in the wall. Aquendar held
his sword above his head like a spear and made ready to
throw it. Nandel cast a web spell and, as expected, the
leader blinked again. Aquendar guessed and threw. His
prediction the leader would go to Nandel’s left proved
accurate and the sword hit the devil square in the chest. It
passed through and carried the monster all the way to the
wall. The weight of the creature caused him to slide down
the wall, the blade carving its way out the shoulder. The
four covered their heads as the leader exploded a mere
twenty feet away.

In the flame, they could tell the open section had been
eighty feet in each direction and two stories high. The even
spacing of the ten-foot pillars kept this corner up with the
one intact one. Aquendar and Nandel retrieved their
swords and they left with the others. The wizard created a
wall of ice above the fire and they ran across the street.

Lazol almost ran into the sword point thrust at him. As
it was, he took a fist to the face and fell backwards.
Aquendar’s blade caught the deathblow at the former
assassin, and the others jumped over their unconscious
comrade to enter the fray. Four thieves waited in the alley
for them. The Eagle and Zebra drove back the four singlehandedly,
and then realized their mistake as a net fell from
above. As the four in the net struggled, Lazol came to.

One of the thieves stepped over to Flashpoint, who very
quickly lived up to his name and reversed the thief’s
attempt, impaling his opponent on his own sword. Angry
as a trapped mother with cubs, he threw down his sword
and beckoned the others to attack him. The fifteen or so
charged him, dropping from the roof on ropes and leaping
over the net.

Thief after thief fell as they approached, some with
broken necks, others with crushed chests and still others
mangled beyond recognition. The flurry of blows from the
man reached beyond what the thieves, with little skill as
warriors, could handle. Finally, only five remained as
blood dripped off Lazol’s gloves and boots, staining the
snow. They stopped backing up as the sword points of the
other four pressed into their backs.

Lazol took the head of the fifth in his hands and said,
“Will you tell us whom you work for?” The thief spit in
Flashpoint’s face and tried to bring his sword around but
the former assassin jerked the man’s head down with
enraged strength and killed him with a knee to his face.
“How ‘bout you four?”

“Please, sir, we don’t want to die. We were sent by...”
The man’s face turned pale as the four expedition members
hit the thieves on the head and stepped through their falling
bodies. A man dressed like the captain of the guard stood
in the alley entrance, but as Lazol spun, they saw his eyes
glow red.

“I sent them, for I have power over all evil things,” said
the man.

Ofeldar whispered, “See the other men, they are all
frozen in time. Rangdor is speaking through this man. He
is under possession by one of Rangdor’s minions.”

“Silent, scout.” A pinpoint, high-force wind sprouted
from the finger of the possessed man and knocked the
woman into the back wall of the alley. “You have
destroyed my servants for the time being, but when I crush
your puny army I will send hundreds more against you and
you will serve me.”

Nandel started laughing, bringing stares of disbelief
from everybody, including the captain. They didn’t realize
that as he laughed, he used it to cover hand motions that
created a spell. As the rage built in the creature, the wizard
stopped suddenly and yelled, “By the powers of light, leave
this man or face my wrath.” A soft nimbus of light
surrounded the Eagle and blue light radiated from his eyes.
Suddenly, he thrust out his hand and a blue stream struck
the captain.

A demon emerged from the man and he crumpled to the
ground. “I eat magicians for a hobby, spell caster.”

Nandel stepped forward and said to the others, “Tend to
Ofeldar, this thing is mine.” Only Lazol ignored him and
stepped forward even with the wizard. “You can stay in
this but stay behind me. This could get dangerous.”

The demon stood thirteen feet tall and could only barely
spread his wings in the alley. Flame poured from his
horned head and the wizard chanted and raised his hand,
holding it at bay. The creature stopped and a flaming
sword appeared in each of his four hands. He threw two at
Nandel but they swerved off and stuck in the walls of the
neighboring buildings, their flame dying on contact.

Nandel retaliated, following a meteor storm with a
lightning bolt. Both only raised blisters on the creature’s
skin. The monster did reel from it for a moment and
Nandel chanted and motioned rapidly. As the beast
regained his composure, the wizard transformed into its
replica. The demon charged but his opponent pulled the
two swords out of the wall and they relit. With a smile
Nandel met the flurry of blows head on, his swords meeting
the demons in bright mini-explosions.

Suddenly, Nandel felt hands and then spikes on his
shoulder as Lazol made a move to help. As the assassin
launched towards the demon, it used the distraction to
remove Nandel’s demon arm on the left and cleave into his
side on the right. The demon had no time to enjoy it as
Lazol’s feet removed his head and he collapsed.

The four other members watched Nandel transform
back to human as he lay in the snow. To everybody’s
horror, especially Lazol’s, his left arm lay in the snow next
to him and he bled from his shoulder and a gaping wound
in his side. The soldiers in the street slowly came back to
normal time and came into the alley, staring at the blood
and bodies.

Ofeldar took charge. Stepping over Nandel she spoke
to the Lieutenant Captain, holding out a lion’s paw. “I am
The Lioness. Send three men to get a healing priest and
spread the rest out to find any others that may be lurking
around.”

The man bowed. “We are under orders from the
highest ranks to obey your commands, should you ever
give one. It will be done.” He turned and went about
giving the orders.

Ofeldar turned her attention back to the wizard. “Lazol,
make two slabs of ice with your hands from the snow.
Aquendar, get that arm packed in ice. Arif, wrap the
shoulder while I take care of his side.”

They went about their tasks and they slowed the
bleeding by the time the priest came. The man in white, a
servant of The Light God, bent over the fallen man. “This
man is a wizard, is he not?”

“Yes, he is, so what of it,” responded Aquendar.

“I can’t help him. I would, but my god restricts my
powers to those that don’t compete with the power he
gives. Let me see his wounds.”

They removed the bandage around the shoulder, only to
discover the bleeding had stopped. The priest gently
touched the area. “Either he has numbed up to stop it or he
heals quickly. Let me see the other.”

Ofeldar peeled back the other bandage and almost
fainted. Where a gaping, life-threatening wound had been,
only a very wide, ugly red and black scar remained, large
but less fatal-looking than the wound. The priest looked
astonished. “This man is healing himself with powers I
cannot comprehend, nor remain near. He will recover. He
may even grow back his arm.”

They watched the back of the priest leave, and then
picked up their friend. By the time they reached the inn,
two inches of his arm had grown back. His side was only
black and blue. They sat back on their beds and watched,
amazed.

Once again they skied towards the inn in the woods.
Nandel propped up his half a right arm on a specially
rigged third ski, but he hadn’t slowed them down much.
Lazol, still nervous about magicians, expressed suspicions
that the wizard used magic to keep up. The others didn’t
seem to care whether he did or not. Blatle had the door
open before they could get their skis off, and he squinted at
them in the glare of the sun on the fresh snow.

“A clear, crisp day it is, my friends. I hope the sun kept
you warm,” said the chubby innkeeper.

“There were some cold spots of shade, Blatle, but we
did alright,” answered Aquendar.

“There are three other guests here tonight, but you’re
the most distinguished.”

Ofeldar stomped the snow off her boots in the entry.
“Three rooms for two weeks, Blatle, that’s all we need.”

“Fine, my Lady. Will you be down for dinner in an
hour or should I count on only three?”

“Add another five to your expectations, Innkeeper, but
take us to our rooms now.” Blatle turned without another
word and led them up the stairs to their rooms.

Ofeldar and Aquendar waited in their room for Nandel
and the others to join them after Blatle finished. When they
had all gathered, Ofeldar took out the pattern and tore it,
dropping it on the floor between them. Tych appeared, in
the midst of putting on his cloak.

“Well, thought you’d catch me at a bad time. A few
minutes earlier and Lendril would have joined us, though I
think you would have been embarrassed. What can I do for
you?”

“The Devils are eliminated until long after Vrekian
reaches the Field of Scars. What are your orders?”

“How far are we from Murlanak, Ofeldar?”

“A week on skis, four days by horse. The thaw is very
close here.”

“It will come earlier. Rangdor has been responsible for
the longer winters, but he must save his energy this year.
Vrekian marches in two weeks. Give yourselves a week of
rest. Nandel, I’m sorry to see your arm. It looks like your
‘curse’ is working to your advantage this time. How much
longer do you have to heal before you’re ready to go
again?”

“I appear to be healing faster than before. By the time
Vrekian marches, I’ll have my hand back but I’ll be weak
in this arm. I’m nervous enough about Blatle seeing me
heal, so the fewer people the better.”

“Stay here. Join us at the Field of Scars in six weeks,
that’s two days before the Feast of Growth. These four can
make it on their own.”

“Thank you, Tych. I wish for very few to know.”

Aquendar patted his companion on the shoulder.
“Blatle is a member of my Road Police, as are Arif and
Lazol here. Your secret is safe here. Those other guests
should be leaving soon.”

Ofeldar said, “We’re going to need horses.”

“I’ll have Flandroke send some here. They should
arrive quickly. Check every night in the stable just before
sunset. They’ll be tied up there with red ropes. Don’t be
too comfortable around those guests. They may be more
ready to do evil than they seem.”

“We’ll take that to heart. We are, however, looking
forward to some rest. Once the war starts, we don’t want to
be too tired. Even some time in the camp on the Field of
Scars would be helpful. We’ll be wary,” Lazol said.

“Good. I better return before my army misses me. Best
of luck. Nandel, we’ll see you on the Feast of Growth.”
With this, the prince of the endarils disappeared.

Murlanak dripped melting snow under a very warm
sun. Brown slush filled the streets after the foot of white
stuff melted away. Still, the four were happy to be off the
road and into a town. They splashed through it towards the
castle as residents wearing boots and short sleeve shirts
trudged along the front of the storefronts. Dressed in white
armor from head to toe on chestnut horses, nobody
bothered them. As they passed within a couple blocks of
the main market, the smells of food and other wares
reached them on the crisp air.

Soon the castle gates rose above them. A soldier yelled
down from the wall. “What do you want, and who are
you?” His tone of voice held a threat, which the riders
didn’t miss.

“We are friendly warriors here to see the king,”
answered Aquendar.

“The king is in seclusion until he marches. You must
leave before we are forced to kill you.”

Ofeldar walked her horse forward. In her most
aggressive voice she said, “You would dare turn away the
Lioness and her group.” As she finished, she pulled out a
lion’s paw and held it up. “Let us in now, or the king with
will have your head.”

“Is that all the proof you have that you are who you say
you are? Be gone now, I won’t warn you again.”

Ofeldar just sat there looking up at him. The soldier
raised his bow to fire and pulled it back. The warriors
didn’t flinch. Just then the tiny view door in the right gate
slid open and a head peeked out. “Hold it, soldier. That’s
Ofeldar, a friend of the king. If she isn’t the Lioness, she’ll
still be right about your head being on a platter.”

“Then let her in, Gatekeeper.” The soldier relaxed his
bow and started his watchful pacing again. Ponderously,
the thick wood opened.

“Quickly,” said the gatekeeper, “come in before others
come.” The four rode in and the portal closed. “It is good I
recognized you, Ofeldar and Aquendar. He would have
shot.”

“And he would have died instantly after.”

The cool calmness that Arif said this with made the
short and stout man shiver. Still, he led them into the castle
as boys took the horses. When they reached the throne
room, they found the king standing over the supervision of
organizing the luggage. Four men dressed in leather armor
and armed with short swords and shields hovered near him
like a female bear near her cubs.

Upon seeing them, Vrekian yelled, “Oh, my friends
have returned. Are you to travel with me?”

“Yes, send four soldiers home and keep these four.
We’ll escort you all the way to the Field of Scars.”
Ofeldar’s stiff manner showed her respect.

“Don’t be so formal. I know Aquendar but who are
your friends.”