Marc took another step forward. He thought he should be
afraid, as the odds were clearly against him, but whatever fear he had was
little enough to be conquered by his courage.
“You don’t know who you are dealing with. We are good,
upstanding individuals. My friend is no thief. We will return a majority of the
wealth, but we will keep at least one full bag. I think that is more than fair
enough and both parties can depart here now in peace.”
“Bite your tongue wyrm filth, your friend cheated his way to
all our coin and we mean to have every bit back, down to the last koon.”
“I mean it,” Marc said, “This is your last warning,”
“That is it men,” The leader of the group addressed his
comrades without turning his head, “Seems we got ourselves some playtime before
bed, KILL THEM!”
The man raised his sword and rushed forward to fight Marc.
Marc lifted the Sword of the Phoenix high and let its fire
erupt forth.
There was a brilliant flash of golden fiery light as the
magic burst from the blade.
The leading man fell back in surprise and the others stopped
in their tracks behind him.
The golden light surrounded Marc as well.
“My name is Marcus, Wielder of the Flame! Now leave, before
I strike you down with my power!”
Marc let the fire from the blade roar larger and brighter.
He swept the sword in an arch before them on the
cobblestones. Magical flames erupted from nowhere, following the direction Marc
indicated. A wall of fire separated Marc and his friends from their would-be
attackers. The men scrambled back in fear. Those watching from the Inn and on
the nearby streets gawked in awe at the unfolding scene.
“I SAID DEPART!” Marc yelled. He felt filled with power.
The wall of flames roared, reaching towards the frightened
men. The closest to the flames yelped with dread, one or two tripped over
themselves. The furthest turned and fled, some even dropping their weapons
before leaving. Finally the last two grabbed their leader from under his arms
and helped him to his feet, then the three of them turned down the street and
ran.
“That was amazing!” Zildjin said.
And in that moment, with the fire still burning brightly,
there was another blinding white flash of light in front of him and a powerful
force pummeled into him, knocking him flat on his back next to the Inn.
The wind rushed out of him and he struggled to breathe as
purple stars blinked before his eyes. The fiery wall nearby went out, as well
as the golden glowing aura around him and the blade.
Zildjin, Sesuadra, and Cydas, their blades still drawn,
stepped forward, though were still slightly blinded from the light.
“Are you alright Marcus?” Zildjin called out, trying to wipe
the afterimage from his sight.
Marc struggled to answer but still couldn’t take a breath.
Marc felt movement on top of him. His hands fumbled to lift
the Sword of the Phoenix.
Sesuadra was the quickest to recover his vision and made out
the contours of a figure in long tattered robes laying atop Marc.
“Unhand our friend!” Sesuadra took a step forward, raising
his curved scimitar high in the air.
It was around that moment that everyone else was able to see
the scene, including Marc.
The figure atop Marc lifted their head.
It was a young woman,
It was Laura.
“Wait!” Marc wheezed, raising his hand defensively at
Sesuadra.
“Marcus,” Laura whispered with a tired smile locking gazes
with him.
“Laura,” He answered, putting a hand on her face.
Then her eyes closed and her head dropped to his chest, her
body going slump.
There was a moment of quiet.
Sesuadra lowered his weapon, Zildjin followed suit.
Marc was suddenly acutely aware of the way Laura was
positioned on top of him. He could feel the curves of her body through their
clothes. He was silently grateful that he did not blush, because he knew he
would have been very red under the circumstance.
The others were also quickly tuned in to the awkwardness of
the situation. Sesuadra looked down at the ground and cleared his throat.
“A little help,” Marc said, finally getting his breath
fully back, “She is still breathing.”
Zildjin and Sesuadra moved to help.
They gently lifted Laura up, her head rested on Zildjin.
“The Unseen Pathwalker,” Cydas said.
“Laura,” Marc nodded.
Every waking moment Puck regretted
the deal he had made with Jaeic.
All the bad things that Puck had heard about the ‘Noble’
Kingdom and their malicious ways, all the dark stories he had heard about
Bloodcloaks, came to his mind after he walked out the doors of the Majestic
Guardian behind Jaeic.
And they were all true.
Puck faltered in his step and fell to his knees. The metal
shackles around his wrist kept his upper body mostly off the ground as the
wagon in front of him continued to move forward. Puck groaned at the pain and
struggled to stand up as the hard dirt road scrapped against his tattered
leather pants and exposed skin. His leather shirt was in equally dirty
condition. He finally regained his footing and tried desperately to keep pace
with the cart he was attached to. He was hungry, and thirsty, and exhausted.
His body and face was bruised in several places, his lip split from several
separate instances, and still bleeding, and his overall spirit was tired from
the torture. A deep cut in his cheek kept scabbing over and then opening again
painfully.
The sun was low in the sky, signaling the end of the day. A
light warm breeze blew against Pucks face. It had only been a fairly warm day
in actuality, but to Puck, in his condition, had felt the rays of the sun
beating down upon him as a blistering heat from the cloudless blue sky. To his
left and right lay low rolling green hills covered with thick groupings of
trees every now and then. Mountains rose slightly against the horizon far in
the distance ahead.
I have been foolish father.
He thought to himself.
I
wanted to do this thing, for you, for our family.
But he knew that was not
the only reason. He had been cocky and overconfident with his plan. Part of the
reason he had gone through with it was because he thought he could do it alone.
He had imagined riding in a small, plain, carriage in line with the other
wagons belonging to the Bloodcloaks up to Ironwald, where he would have
confronted the Krynn there and demanded he leave their family alone, maybe even
slay him if he had refused.
But instead, after Puck had followed Jaeic to the edge of
Whiteholt, two of Jaeic’s fellow Bloodcloaks had put a sack over Puck’s head
and bound his arms behind him. Puck did not remember much after that aside from
several seriously powerful blows to his face, which knocked him unconscious. He
remembered them ripping the sack off of him and quickly grabbing his hair and
thrusting his head into a bucket of cold water. He fought desperately for air,
but they beat him into submission. They had taken everything of his, the
artifact his father had given him, (which was currently in the shape of a metal
wristband), his pack and traveling gear, everything, aside from his shirt and
pants.
At least they did not take the necklace,
he thought
, by some
great luck they overlooked my sister’s pendant.
He felt the small crystal
rock touch his bare skin. He would have preferred that they had left the silver
wristband on his arm, but at least he had the necklace.
They fed him and gave him drink enough only to survive.
They had forced him to walk every day, chained to a wagon. A
balkar lead the wagon, so it was mostly slow, but it was relentless, never
stopping. He would collapse each day, exhausted, dying for sleep, only to
discover that he was that evening’s entertainment for the surviving
Bloodcloaks. Many of the soldiers, including Jaeic, took turns beating him.
They blamed him for the deaths of their fellow comrades in arms and took their anger
out on his helpless, bound, figure. Every time Puck thought he could endure no
more Jaeic ordered them off.
We have to return with him alive!
He would
always say.
But Puck did not feel very much alive anymore.
What was the most infuriating was that at any time he could
have escaped from his predicament with a summoning of his magic. The iron bands
around his wrist were nothing to hold him. At first he had not done so because
of pride. He thought he was man enough to withstand their torture. After more
than a fortnight, though, he reconsidered and thought about using the magic,
most of the time he found that his body was too tired to do so.
He was at the point finally, that he was searching for the
right moment to escape. He now knew his plan was stupid and that he could not
solve his family’s predicament single handedly. But he could not just release
his metal bonds and run. He had no clue where he was and knew that if he
escaped and ran he would most likely simply be recaptured, and if someone saw
him escape they would immediately know he had the same magic as his father.
They only knew for certain the Marad had the ability to use magic, but did not
know that Puck did as well. He wanted to run, so badly. But he had to wait for
the perfect opportunity.
The wagon in front of him turned off the road onto sparse
grass and finally stopped. Puck let himself slump to his knees. Blood dripped
from his lip. He let his shoulders sag, though his arms were still slightly
elevated from their chained position. He wheezed for breath, his ribs still
aching from the previous nights beating. His throat was dry and parched.
The sun was slipping over the horizon, casting the world in
dark red hues.
I cannot take much more of this
. He thought.
I have to escape soon. I have to get out of here.
Two heavy boots and their owner thumped to the ground next
to Puck.
Puck did not know the names of any of the other soldiers
besides Jaeic, but he had nicknamed the ones he had seen several times and
finally identified, to keep track.
For revenge
. He thought. There was
about fifteen or so that he could count between beatings. The heavy one who had
just jumped from the wagon and landed at his side Puck had named Fatloaf,
because he was the plumpest of the group, and his crusty complexion reminded
Puck of nasty dried bread that he and Ranasa would find thrown out near the
bakers house for the balkars to eat.
“Hey there, Fatloaf.” He mumbled through his wheezing
breaths. He was glad he could still muster a little bit of himself after
everything he had gone through.
“What did you say?”
Puck shrugged and coughed, unable to catch a full breath,
though his body needed it.
“I was supposed to unchain you and give you some water right
now, but maybe I will just come back later, see if you have anything to say
then.”
The plumpy soldier shoved Pucks head with a forceful push
and threw the waterskin at the ground just out of Puck’s reach.
The man laughed, turned, and left.
Puck heard the general noise and chatter of the rest of the
soldiers disembarking the wagons and complaining about hunger and sleep.
archfiend spawn,
Puck cursed silently,
Switch
places with me and we will see just how much you would be complaining about
hunger and sleep.
And thirst.
He cried silently,
the thiiiirst!
He looked at the waterskin nearby and felt his throat get
even drier, which he thought was impossible. He waited for a few moments. No
one was coming for him, at least not for a bit. They would set up camp and
begin cooking something. Then, realizing they were bored, Fatloaf would
remember he had yet to unchain Puck for their usual amusement.
Puck looked around, unable to see much. The sun finished its
descent, casting the world in gradual darkness. He closed his eyes, blocking out
the sounds of the soldiers griping and setting up of the campsite.
Marad,
father, give me strength.
The crystal touched his skin again, and he felt a
surge of power envelope him.
Puck could see in the corner of his eye as campfires were
lit. The soldiers were almost done.
He quickly moved the metal around his left wrist as if it
were clay, it shone for a moment with the magic. His hand now free he was able
to reach for the waterskin.
The water felt wonderful on his throat. He could not
remember having so much at one time he almost drained the whole thing before he
realized he was going to throw up.
Drank too much!
He groaned and leaned over to puke.
His aching throat screamed as some of the water and stomach bile came back up
and out.
He just finished as he heard the footsteps. He scrambled to
wipe himself off. He tossed the waterskin and put his hand back in place.
The footsteps drew nearer.
He summoned the magic but it moved slowly within his mind,
sluggish and tired, like he was.
A hand fell on the end of the cart and someone turned the
corner.
The light from the magic was just fading as Fatloaf came
into view.
For a moment Puck thought the man had seen the magic.
He just stood there, as if waiting for Puck to say
something.
“Nothing to say this time, eh? I thought not.”
The man saw the puke and gave a small sound and look of
disgust.
Puck did not care. He let out a quiet sigh of relief. The
secret of his magic was still safe.
“The new Captain wants to start the show early tonight, had
a rough day on the road, supplies are running low.” The man was more mumbling
to himself but Puck was paying as much attention as his injuries would allow,
gleaning whatever information he could to help prepare his escape.
Perhaps they will have to stop at a town somewhere and I
can find out where I am, maybe even make a go of it while in a village.
Puck had put the pieces together and figured out Drake had
killed the old captain and Jaeic was next in command, everyone called him the
new Captain.
Fatloaf unlocked the chain from the wagon. Puck fell to the
dirt, tired.
“Get up!” the man grunted, sending a kick the young man’s
way but did not bend down to drag him as he did not want to get puke on
himself.
Puck dodged, despite his wounds. He would get enough pain
soon and wanted to avoid as much as he could before then.
The man grunted again, but made no further move of attack.
“Get up,” He said once more and pulled the chain, forcing
Puck to stand.
Puck struggled to stay on his feet as he stumbled behind
Fatloaf to the campsite. As usual they had found a tree suitable to strap Puck
around, forcing him to stand and take their beatings.
Everyone turned as Puck entered the firelight.
“Right over there,” Jaeic said, pointing to the chosen tree.
Puck counted ten soldiers before Fatloaf and two others,
Whitehair and Bonefingers, were yanking him towards, and finally binding him to
the tree, but he figured his count was about right since there were four or
five he had missed.
He felt the pendant around his neck, the crystal touching
his skin, and it made him think of his sister.
It will protect you
. He
remembered her words.
But he did not feel it was doing a very good job.
The memory of Aliyana gave him strength nonetheless and he
stood up straight against his bonds as Jaeic approached.
“Alright boys, free time, come up and get a punch in.”
Jaeic stood back to let the others come forward.
Fatloaf was the first to step up.
“I have already thrown up everything I can, but if you give
me something to eat and drink and punch me again, I am sure we can work
something out.”
Fatloaf glared at the young man and punched him in the
stomach.
Puck groaned and coughed against the pain.
Fatloaf stepped back and the next soldier came forward. Puck
did not have a name for him but quickly put his black long greasy hair with his
stony expressionless face. Blackstone.
Blackstone punched Puck in the stomach as well and Puck
doubled up as much as he could against his bonds, groaning but fighting the
pain.
He could not open his eyes in time for the next two punches
but he finally regained his composure.
“I did not know,” Puck muttered, “that they were letting
women join the Bloodcloaks now.”
“Puck, how long do you think you can keep this up?” Jaeic,
who was standing nearby watching, said, “Your resilience is surprising, but we
tire of your witless humor.”
Puck grinned, “You will not. You need me. You cannot return
to Ironwald empty handed, you and I both know it.”
“You little wretch. If not for your father’s powers and the
Krynn’s orders I would kill you this instant!”
Puck grinned against his pain again and said, “At least my
father
has
powers,”
He pointed his finger straight and then made it droop with
an obvious crude innuendo suggesting the Bloodcloaks were all lacking of
it
.
Jaeic was obviously infuriated and he stepped forward
backhanding Puck, hard.
Puck’s face wrenched sideways with the whiplash but he
slowly brought back his gaze and said, “Just a slap? So they
did
let
women into the Bloodcloaks.”
Jaeic made a fist and socked the young man in his mouth.
Again the whiplash, again he brought his head back and
grinned through the blood flowing down his lips, “Even with a fist you hit like
a woman!”
Puck had finally said too much.
One of the nearby soldiers acted quickly in anger. He drew
his side dagger and raised it in the air, falling towards the bound young man.
Puck looked up through the haze of pain, sweat, and blood.
Time seemed to slow.
He felt the crystal against his skin and again a power
surged through him that he never knew before. He accessed the magic within him
and reached out with it.
He did not need to feel the metal of the dagger against his
skin to understand it, to know it, like he needed to before. Even with the
knife against his throat not too long before he could have only changed the
metal within that blade because it was touching his skin. His father had not
yet taught him how to feel and know metal without touching it because it was a
hard thing to learn, only after many cycles of practice could he achieve it,
his father had said. But in that moment, with the power running through him, he
was able to sense the metal in the knife descending towards him, and change its
path.