Victim of Fate (2 page)

"Alto! You're on fire! Let it go!"

The words finally registered. Alto relaxed
and helped Namitus pull the cloak he wore aside. He heard ripping
before he finally felt the weight lift off his shoulders. He felt
cooler almost immediately. Alto turned and saw Namitus stomping the
cloak out where it lay on the ground.

He nodded and took a step towards it,
thinking he should help. His knees buckled and the ground rushed up
to meet him.

Patrina hacked her sword at her opponent,
driving his heavier blade back. He let her vent her anger on him,
deflecting strike after strike. Patrina's arm slowed with fatigue,
giving the large man the chance to catch her blade near the hilt at
the beginning of her next strike. The early parry knocked the blade
free.

Patrina grunted and stumbled back. She
reached for the knife at her side but the point of her father's
broadsword pressed against her mail-covered chest. "You've lost,"
he told her.

Patrina scowled at him. She cast about,
wondering what she could do to change the outcome of the battle.
Finally she nodded, accepting defeat.

"You're fighting like a brute," Teorfyr said.
"Not the skilled lass I raised."

"You fight like a brute!" she accused.

"I am a brute!" Teorfyr laughed. "But a
warrior knows when to use strength and when to use skill. You've
got more skill than strength but you're still stronger than nearly
any of the fools wearing Kingdom tabards!"

Patrina frowned. She'd agree on principle if
it weren't for a small group of Kingdom men she knew well. One, in
particular.

Teorfyr caught her expression and he
chuckled. "The boy, Alto—it's been a season and still you pine for
him?"

Patrina's back stiffened at his accusation.
She shook her head, her blond braids flying, and opened her mouth
to retort.

Teorfyr beat her to it. "I took the lad aside
when I met him," he told her. "Told him that he'd impressed me with
word and deed. By the saints, 'Trina, he wields Kevard's Sword and,
from what was told of the retaking of Highpeak, he invoked its
powers."

"Anyone can do that," Trina refuted.

"Not anyone, only one who wields it in
defense of the Kelgryn," Teorfyr said with more than a hint of iron
in his tone.

Patrina shrugged. Against her better
judgment, she asked, "What else did you say to him?"

Teorfyr grinned. "I gave him permission to
call upon you."

Patrina gasped. "You didn't!"

His grin widened.

"He's not Kelgryn! He's not even
royalty!"

"The most noble people are seldom from royal
bloodlines," he offered. "Kevard himself was just a man until he
brought the people together to become the first king of the
Kelgryn."

"But he's not—"

"Be silent, daughter," Teorfyr interrupted
her. "You're fighting this too much, that speaks as much as
anything. You've too much of my stubborn fire in you, I think, and
not enough of your mother's gift for wisdom."

Patrina clamped her mouth shut and breathed
through her nose. Hard. She counted silently, a lesson taught to
her by her mother when she was a child with a penchant for throwing
tantrums. Why did thoughts of Alto calling on her upset her so
much? It was a good question. She liked him; she'd told him as
much. She'd given him her first, and only, kiss. He was handsome,
strong, and caring to be sure, but there was more to life than
that. The man was dumb as an ox at simple things, yet he could
reason out problems that left her struggling.

"It's been eight months and not a word from
him!" she admitted.

Teorfyr smiled. "Ah ha, so you admit to
liking him!"

She nodded. There was more to it than just
liking him. Not a day passed she didn't think of Alto. She'd never
share that with anyone, but admitting it to herself felt like she'd
thrown open a window to feel the wind and sun on her face.

"He'll come back, you can be sure of it,"
Teorfyr said.

"Why?"

"He wields Kevard's Sword; it won't let him
stay away should trouble come to us."

"You think trouble's coming for our
people?"

Teorfyr nodded. "You can be sure of it. The
wise woman tells of dark times and hints of seeing a figure
shrouded in darkness and flames. Your young friend will play a
role, have no doubt."

"What of me? Am I to be hidden away in a
tower again?"

Teorfyr scowled. "You've never set foot in a
tower!"

Patrina waved it away. "You know what I
mean!"

Teorfyr scratched his long beard and stared
at her. He nodded. "Might do you good to get some more dirt and
blood under your fingernails. When the time comes, that is. Don't
you go looking for trouble or you'll find it comes to you at high
tide!"

Patrina nodded. It was a common enough saying
amongst the Kelgryn. High tide could wash away virtually anything;
what worse time to have troubles than when the unstoppable seas
were against you? "I'll be ready, Father."

"I know you will, lass. Now let's see about
reminding you how to fight!" He raised his broadsword in a salute
and pointed with his other hand at her longer but thinner sword
that had fallen to the side.

* * * *

"I have the final mechanisms set in place to
create the elemental forges," the wizard announced to the mighty
being that towered over him. He stared up at the dragon in fear.
The only thing that scared him more was what would happen to him if
he looked away.

"What of my armies? Do they swell as you
promised, wizard?"

Fizzulthorp nodded. "Yes, great Sarya. The
creatures from the mountains hasten to your call; already we've
replaced all that were lost earlier this year. We've reached
agreements with the snow people to the north; they are guiding the
mercenaries that arrive to us, but with winter on us, the northern
seas are soon to freeze."

"What of the heroes of Highpeak?" the
dragon's voice caused Fizzulthorp's bones to vibrate and quake.

"They call themselves the Blades of Leander,"
he answered without delay. "The one who killed Barador is a young
warrior by the name of Alto. He is young, little more than a boy,
but strong as an ogre."

"This is not news to me." Sarya's claws dug
furrows in the mountain rock she sat upon.

"He was a farmer!" Fizzulthorp cried out.
"I'm searching for his farm. If he has a family, we might use them
against him. I won't fail you as Barador did."

"Barador pleased me in the beginning," Sarya
said. She had no need of reminding Fizzulthorp of how Barador
ended, nor what she would have done to him had he survived. "Find
that boy for me. I want him destroyed! Use the knights if you
must."

He bowed deeply. "Yes, great one, I will see
it done."

"How long for the forges?"

"Soon. I leave tomorrow. I'll channel the
fires so they can begin crafting their weapons. We didn't get
enough silver for your needs before the Kingdom forces retook their
mines, but the dwarven mines have silver veins aplenty."

"Retake the mountains and drive the humans
from these lands. Do not fail me, Fizzulthorp."

The wizard bowed deeply. "Victory shall be
yours."

* * * *

Rosalyn stubbed her toe on a root and fell
forward. She cursed loudly as she fell, and then had the presence
of mind to lift her head up and look around. Her lip curled up in a
sneer. She was alone; nobody else had the courage to come near the
forest like she did.

She yelped when she felt the wetness on her
knee and leg and jumped away. Too late, her dress was soaked by the
spilled water from the bucket she carried. As exciting as the
forest was, a shorter trip to fetch water meant less of a chance to
spill it, too.

She climbed to her feet and winced when she
put weight on her foot. Her toe and ankle were sore. She walked
around, testing it out and found the movement made the pain fade.
Muttering at her own clumsiness, she fetched up her pail and turned
to stare at the stream she'd just come from. A wasp circled her
head, earning a lazy swipe and a glare from her, and then it flew
off towards its hive high above the stream on a thick tree
branch.

She sighed and started back down the bank
towards the stream. "I won't marry Parrick, even if he is the only
boy left my age," she vowed. She dipped the bucket in the water and
filled it, and then turned away from the stream. Movement in the
shadows caught her attention, causing her to turn and stare
suspiciously.

The movement was a fox, red-haired with tints
of silver around its panting mouth. She saw it walk to the river
and dip its maw in to take a drink. She smiled as she watched it,
forgetting about the argument with her parents and their punishment
of making her fetch water for dinner.

She sighed. "Yes, I'm stubborn and I'm not
going to settle for what's good enough," she said to no one. The
fox looked at her, tilting its head and perking up its ears.

"I won't be a breeding mare for some stupid
farm boy!" she told the fox. The animal stared at her a moment
longer and then it turned and laid down next to the water's edge.
All the while its eyes stared at her.

"Shouldn't you be running away? Or do you
think I'm just a stupid girl, too?" Rosalyn challenged the fox.
"I'm not! I'll do something important some day. You just wait and
see! People will know who I am! It won't matter that I didn't get
married and pop out my first child before I turned eighteen. Maybe
I'll never have children! Ha! What will they say then?"

The fox turned its head and stared towards
the edge of the forest near Rosalyn. The wary creature jumped to
its feet and shot off into the undergrowth of the forest,
disappearing in a flash of red and silver. Rosalyn turned,
surprised by the animal’s behavior, and saw a man standing only a
few feet from her.

She opened her mouth to snap at him but some
force she couldn’t see grabbed her up and held her tightly. The
pressure of invisible ropes squeezed her, stealing even her voice.
"You're a feisty one," the man said as he stepped closer to her.
"And so full of yourself with your I wills and I won'ts."

He circled the immobile girl, passing out of
her field of view on the right and coming back into it from the
left. "So willful, that just won't do. I think you need to learn
your place and I've just the idea to do that."

Rosalyn felt her heart hammering in her chest
faster and faster as he came to a stop in front of her and folded
his arms across his chest. She struggled to speak but the words
wouldn't come. She wanted to turn and flee but she couldn't. He
wore loose-fitting clothes and had multiple charms and oddities
hanging from his belt and shirt. She'd never seen a wizard before
but she imagined he was what such a person would look like.

Magic then, he'd worked magic on her! An evil
spell that bound her as sure as a length of rope. Her eyes widened
and she heard her breath hiss through her nostrils.

"You figured it out? You're a quick one, too.
Yes, I'm a wizard. And you're to be my next plaything. I've been
looking for a proper subject for my experiments. The animals and
insects around here can only tell me so much."

Rosalyn's vision blurred as tears filled her
eyes and ran down her cheeks.

The wizard chuckled. "I should collect those;
there are uses for a maiden’s tears. Not to worry, there will be
many more where those come from. But I can't just steal you away;
others will wonder. What to do, what to do?"

He glanced around and spied a wasp lift off
from a flower near the edge of the stream and then lift up into the
air towards the nest a dozen feet above them. A smile spread across
his face. "Perfect!"

The wizard unfolded his arms and reached into
his pocket to remove a pinch of some flaky substance. He chanted
the words to a brief spell and then blew the powder up and into the
air. Rosalyn heard the words and felt something stir inside her.
She didn't understand the magical syllables but the cadence pulled
at her. It made sense and felt right even though the thought of him
working magic terrified her.

The flakes drifted upwards a few feet until
they were consumed in tiny dazzles of lights. Then sparkling dust
streaked upwards and swirled around the wasp hive. In moments, the
light disappeared and the hive began to grow.

"It would be best if we weren't here any
longer," the wizard said. He gestured at her and she felt herself
jerk up into the air and forward. She floated behind him, panting
through her nose in terror as he led her away from the stream and
then followed the edge of the forest. Behind them, the wasp hive
continued to grow until the branch bent and began to creak. It
cracked at last, unable to hold the weight of the massive hive. The
wasps emerged, having grown commensurately, and began to buzz about
angrily now that their hive rested on the bank of the stream. It
kept growing, displacing itself and rolling over so that it lay in
the water, but it was too large to be swept away by the gentle
stream.

When the enlargement finished, the hive stood
nearly thirty feet from the top to bottom. The wasps crashed into
trees and brush, unaccustomed to their new size. After buzzing
about and gathering more of their numbers, they quickly learned
they were too large to search for nectar. Searching in a frenzy,
they flew off in a swarm in search of a new source of food.

Alto woke up to a cool rag rubbing across his
brow. He squinted in the light from the lantern in his room and saw
Aleena, the young barmaid from the Foaming Mug inn. "You're awake!
You gave me quite a scare."