V: Brigands
Mygdewyn kicked the unconscious soldier to make sure he wouldn't get up.
"That takes care of these fellows." Dylan said behind him. Mygdewyn looked around.
"Where are the others?" he wondered. "Rodruban and Gil?"
"We'd better go," Aiovel said as she and Galanor approached. "That spell won't hold the guards for very long."
Spell? Mygdewyn looked over his shoulder, where half a dozen guards stood magically frozen.
"Come on, Mygdewyn. We'll find the others." Dylan grasped his shoulder. "I saw Rodruban heading east. Most likely they're halfway to the eastern gate by now. And don't worry about the city guards," he added. "The magicians may recruit the local soldiers stationed near their guilds, but the city belongs to Prince Cormac. Iolo will have to approach the castle for permission to pursue us, and that should buy us some time."
Mygdewyn nodded and slung his axe across his back.
* * * * *
"So, Aiovel," Dylan ventured half an hour later as they approached the eastern gate, "are you and Galanor magicians?"
Mygdewyn had been wondering the same thing. The swords each carried and the armor and bows slung behind them suggested that they were warriors, not magicians. But then, Mygdewyn hadn't seen either of them draw their weapons back in the market. He had seen the guards around them freeze up. That meant that at least one of them possessed magical abilities—if not both of them.
"I, for one, am not a magician." Galanor replied, laughing. "Certainly I have— many talents. As for Aiovel," he said with a wink, "she is a magician of sorts, though not in the common way. Most magicians are not trained to handle weapons, but she can use a sword."
Dylan stopped several paces from the portcullis. The four guards posted at the gate raised their eyebrows but asked no questions. Such an unprecedented number of people wishing to leave by the eastern side in one day! Mygdewyn heard the guard above the portcullis shout to raise the inner gate, and a short staccato noise followed as the way before them cleared.
Ahead the heavy drawbridge creaked in protest at being lowered and fell with a deafening thud; though the other gates of Gyfen were embellished, the heavy unadorned oak doors of the outer eastern gate, open in daytime, appeared more suited to an ancient fort than the splendid city of Gyfen.
When the company had passed through to the farmland beyond, the drawbridge over the moat squeaked shut behind them, cutting off access back into the city. They had entered the wild lands and left civilization behind.
* * * * *
Outside the city, the air smelled of wildflowers, and a cool breeze stirred. The sun was shining but obscured by puffy white clouds above, the road under their feet easy to tread. Little sparrows and swallows sang a sweet tune.
"So there they are!" Dylan laughed; up ahead by a small stream the boy Gil sat on a large boulder, idly kicking pebbles into the water. Rodruban stood pacing, then looked up and saw them coming.
"Where's Lilia?" Galanor wondered as they approached. Gil pointed to the stream, where Lilia waved under the water, her long dark hair floating lazily around her. They noticed her new cloak and belongings sitting on a smaller rock.
Dylan sat on the rock next to Gil and began to watch Lilia swimming; she was as graceful as a nymph in her own element. Dylan regarded her long limbs appreciatively. "How long has she been down there?" He asked Gil.
"Ten minutes, maybe more." Gil said, suppressing a smile.
"She found the stream." Rodruban added. "Headed toward it like a moth to a flame." With a great splash, Lilia's head surfaced as she sent a crescent playfully in Gil's direction. He jumped back and off of the boulder, but not in time to avoid getting soaked.
* * * * *
The dirt pathway branched into roads to the little farmhouses dotting the region and led over a great bridge built across the river Gyfen for the farmers to bring their harvest to the city. For hours as they walked, the company passed fields of summer wheat swaying in the wind with soft whispers, bright yellow fields of rapeseed, and the dark green of the turnip fields. Calls sounded from a distant field of cattle as the company trudged on. Lilia's clothes had long since dried enough for her to put on her new cloak; after exchanging stories about what had happened to each group after the guards had split the company, silence reigned in the still, fragrant air of the rich countryside.
After several hours, however, the quiet order of the tended fields began to give way to open countryside and tall grasses. The plains appeared, wild and free, and the pathway fell into uneven, stony ground. The bright sun climbed high in the sky and began to dip again; the company stopped for a brief lunch under the shade of a tall oak.
They sat spaced apart from each other to keep from being easily surrounded, thus discouraging any unwelcome surprise attacks. Bees hovered around the flowers, buzzing from one to another, but to Dylan's mind they were far less intrusive than the ants who had discovered their dining spot. With his right heel Dylan squashed one that scurried aimlessly over his left boot; he had been too preoccupied to notice when it got there.
He was remembering the last time he had been to this region, during Prince Cormac's campaign to the southern fens. The brigands had remained conspicuously out of sight as the royal guard first moved east, then turned south. No doubt the guards had bypassed several dangerous bands, unmolested. It was no wonder, though, that they had seen no one but the local farmers in their fields; if the brigands ever attacked Prince Cormac, the King's retaliation was likely to be swift and final.
So why had the King never bothered to take firm action and get rid of the brigands? Dylan wondered about that. Did the King secretly fear the brigands for some unknown reason? No, that couldn't be it. More than likely, he just wasn't bothered about them.
Then Dylan reconsidered. Maybe the King feared what might happen to Gyfen if he spent his guards fighting the brigands; or maybe the brigands unintentionally protected the city, as some kind of monster-buffer. Dylan sighed. There were always two answers for every question. At least two, and not all were contradictory.
Dylan finished the last of his dried meat and watched the boy Gil flick an ant away from his food. No doubt they would be pressing on soon. Nevertheless, Dylan found that he appreciated the quiet of the scene far more this time than he had before. The last time he had been Cormac's second-in-command, and he had the burden of responsibility for many men. This time, Dylan was not in a position of authority; he found this freedom a welcome relief.
As he sat and pondered, he tried to force away nagging fears for their safety; surely, they must be safe this close to the city.
But the high grasses and trees, fallen trunks, and the whispers of wind and nearby brooks drowned out the sound of the brigands. Just as Dylan was finishing his last piece of fresh grapefruit, an arrow sang in the air above him, landing with a rustle in the grass.
A man garbed in stained brown leather rushed toward him, his sword drawn.
Without hesitation, Dylan whisked out his sword to defend himself, parrying blows, then took advantage of a break in the man's defense and cleft him neatly in two with one blow. Sidestepping to avoid spatters of blood, Dylan turned around, his senses heightened. Another brigand tore toward him, but this one was not nearly as easy.
* * * * *
Hearing Dylan draw his sword, Mygdewyn pulled his axe and waited. Only a second later, two bloodthirsty brigands came at him. Mygdewyn dodged their blows. They aimed too high, unused to fighting a dwarf opponent. Kicking one in the groin, Mygdewyn pushed him back to even the fight. The remaining brigand stepped back to plan his moves.
A smart one, eh? The dwarf mused. Confound it! So much better when they aren't thinking. Mygdewyn couldn't afford to allow the man time to analyze his weaknesses. Heading toward him with a wild cry, his eyes flashing with fury, the dwarf cut under the man's arms and sliced his unprotect
ed midsection.
The man screamed, clutching at the deep rend just below his navel, and aimed his sword under the dwarf's axe, hoping to wrest it away. But the injury had weakened him. Catching the sword with his axe, Mygdewyn twisted. The man fell forward, exposing his head to the blade of the axe. Mygdewyn dispatched him with one quick stroke.
Rodruban saw the gleam in the brigand's eye, but Rodruban was no weak target. There wasn't time to draw his new silver mace—the staff would have to do. The brigand thrust with his sword... and was amazed by the strength of the staff Rodruban held. Rodruban deftly flipped him over. The brigand fell back onto the ground, momentarily stunned. It was enough time for Rodruban's natural magic spell to take effect.
The brigand screamed as dark roots sprang from the ground, twisting and wrapping around him. The roots condensed and hardened into iron-like chains, holding him immobile.
Galanor watched the brigands facing them, and knew that the boy beside him was untried and vulnerable. He whipped his sword from his belt with a menacing grin, his teeth suddenly and quite strangely sharp and razor-like. The brigands hesitated while Galanor summoned a spell.
At once, vapors began to wrap the boy Gil in an invisible shield, rapidly crystallizing in thick, accumulative layers.
Satisfied, Galanor ran into the thick of the brigands, his sword darting in and out madly. Dark vermilion stained his hands, and still he slashed with inhuman strength, letting nothing stay his arm.
Lilia saw the brigands coming and disappeared. In two years of wandering, she had grown adept at the sword, but knives— these were her specialty. She pulled a silver blade from her belt and balanced it between her fingers, waiting until she caught an opening in the brigand band. The knife hurled through the air end over end, then sank with an audible thump into her target's body.
The warrior running toward Gil suddenly jumped back as though he had ricocheted from an invisible barrier. Gil drew his blade, but found he could not pass through the shield himself. Several brigands began to surround him, hacking at the barrier, gouging small chunks out of the shield. Though created by magic, it seemed to have been formed of invisible, physical matter; a few more strikes, and soon they would be through it.
The brigands must also have realized this, Gil thought. Their eyes glittered with malevolent intent, and they redoubled their efforts, striking madly at the shield. Gil drew back from their gleaming blades, horrified.
Then one by one, they began to fall, as Galanor and Lilia came to Gil's rescue. When the last brigand fell to Galanor's hand, Gil dropped to the ground inside the shield, relieved and exhausted from the trauma. Or perhaps from lack of air?
* * * * *
Dylan looked around, exhausted, when the second brigand finally fell to his blade. But by then the last of them had fled or been killed, except one brigand wrapped like a human tree before Rodruban.
Dylan looked over at Gil, who crouched unmoving. Gil's lips moved as though he were trying to speak. Strangely, his voice came through so low and muffled that Dylan couldn't make out a word.
"I think he's saying he wants out." Galanor chuckled. Now that Dylan looked closer, he saw the faint spherical outline of a giant crystal surrounding the boy; several chunks of the shield had been gouged out by brigands. The shards lay on the ground now, glistening in the sun.
Dylan looked up. Galanor had crossed over the bodies in his way and stood before Gil's shield. As Dylan watched, Galanor raised a hand and laid it on the crystal structure. Dylan heard a hiss like a King Cobra's tongue flicking out; vapors began to rise into the air as the shield disintegrated. Gil stumbled forward, breathing hard. His hair and clothes seemed damp. Galanor's magic had to be strong, Dylan thought. Gil looked like he'd been cooked.
"I thought you said you weren't a magician!" Dylan exclaimed.
"I'm not—exactly," Galanor said, mildly chagrined. "All of my people share this talent," he explained. "Perhaps you would call it magical, but I assure you it is quite natural to us." A cold, spreading puddle touched Dylan's boot. Suddenly, realization dawned. The shield had been made of ice! No wonder the brigands had been able to damage it. Yet Dylan wasn't satisfied with Galanor's explanation. What kind of people could conjure ice from thin air? And then melt it with the touch of a hand?
"But—" Dylan protested.
"Are you all right, Gil?" Galanor asked. The boy had fallen to the ground, heedless of the giant puddle. Dylan sensed that Galanor was being evasive; he had learned by now that questioning Galanor was pointless in any case. Well then, let him keep his secrets, Dylan thought darkly. He didn't really care anyway. If Galanor weren't Aiovel's companion, he would have—
He stopped.
"Where's Aiovel?" Dylan asked, for she was missing. The others shook their heads. They looked around; she was nowhere in sight. Nor was Lilia, but she had a shadow cloak.
Dylan felt a curious panic; it would not do for the leader of their company to have been vanquished so easily. To his relief, the elf woman soon appeared from behind the oak tree, her bow in hand.
"Their archers are dead," she said. Dylan remembered the arrow that had narrowly missed his head. So that's why the arrows had stopped coming, he thought.
"You sure that's all of them?" He asked.
"Quite sure," Aiovel replied and reslung her bow.
"Yes, elves see far better than humans," Rodruban observed, kneeling before the trapped brigand who had been silently watching the interchange between the companions. "Now what do we do with this one?" Ronan said, drawing his mace and slapping it in his right hand. Mygdewyn shrugged.
"Kill him," Galanor replied and stepped toward him. "We can't risk letting them find us again."
"A moment, Galanor," Aiovel said, drawing beside the strange elf. The two spoke quietly, and when Galanor turned around, the menacing glare in his eyes had gone, replaced by the same soft features and insouciant grin from before the attack. Dylan suddenly noticed the bright spatters of blood soaking the elf's fine clothing.
Why doesn't he wear any armor? Dylan wondered, fingering the gold family crest and fine links of his own silver chain mail shirt.
"Who are you?" Mygdewyn asked the brigand, his eyes narrowing.
"I—I am ca'd Deimad," the young man rasped; he appeared to be a pleasant-faced lad of about seventeen. "Please, let me live," he whined plaintively in a rustic dialect while looking about in a panic. "I promise I willn'y follow you's, honest. You've killed all the others but Ermok, and he ran away, coward as 'e aye was. We're a sma' band, or were, and much smaller noo. Please—I see we were wrong ti'attack such strong warriors, but Milac thought you's were only a huntin' party from Gyfen. Warriors dennay usually come this way."
"If we let you go," Lilia said, appearing from thin air, "what will you do?"
"I— anythin' you want, fair lady." He said, his eyes rounding. Lilia smiled, relenting.
"All right, let's free him," she said. "As long as he promises to return to Gyfen and take up an honest profession. Agreed?" she asked, turning again to Deimad.
"Yes, yes," he said. "I'll try. At least I'll go to back tae Gyfen. But there're so many skilled in the city that a puir warrior likes a' me isn'y likely to find any honest work. That's the reason I left ma hame in Dunlaith and come back to Gyfen, and then left Gyfen to join a brigand band." He tried to shake his head, but found it held fast by the roots. "Anyway, I haven'y got any other choice noo," he added.
"Oh?" Lilia cocked an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"
"The other bands willn'y take me in— they'll ken who I am. And I cann'y survive oot on me own outside the city, not wi' those creatures roaming aboot."
"What kind of creatures?" Mygdewyn asked.
"Horrible things." Deimad said with a shudder. "Things such as will devour a man whole, I tell ye. Seen it with ma' own two eyes, I did. Giant man-shaped c
reature over ten feet tall it was. With eyes—just like a slithering reptile, aye— and sharp horns 'likes 'ee a goat ye never saw, great big horns that could slice a man's head clean off, an' make no mistake aboot it. Huge strong jaws it had, and a fast devil it was, too, even on them big muckle feet. Tha' foul creature ate up poor Grimmle before he knew it were coming, poor Grimmle." The youth paused, blinking tearfully with the recollection. "Big hoofed hands picked Grimmle up, y'see, like he were no mor'n a leaf. Then tha' foul devil took upon batterin' brave Frilest when he come and tried tae stop it. Poor auld Frilest..."
"A brubachwyc," Aiovel said, stepping forward. "I know the beast you speak of. Well, Rodruban, will you do the honors?" she said, jerking her chin toward Deimad. Rodruban shrugged. As the druid spread his arms, the roots slackened. "You'd better be off, boy, or we may change our mind about freeing you." Aiovel added to speed him on, and the last brigand ran back toward the city as fast as he could.
"Let's see what these brigands were carrying with them," Mygdewyn suggested, then he suddenly noticed the rend in Dylan's side where a brigand had punctured Dylan’s chain mail. Dylan had been hiding the wound so far with his cloak, but the ugly red stain had spread beyond concealment.
As the brigand spoke, Dylan had let his cloak fall, but the decision was in part moot. He realized he couldn't have held onto it much longer; the world had begun to spin.
"It's nothing," Dylan protested valiantly as the others gathered about him. At least, it hadn't felt so bad at first, during the heat of the battle. Yet in actual fact, the wound was beginning to hurt like hell. Dylan sat down on the ground, light-headed and dangerously close to passing out.
"Rodruban, see what you can do," Mygdewyn urged. The druid shrugged again noncommittally and raised his arms.
In a moment, Rodruban's body was wrapped in a white aura as he made a silent prayer of invocation. To Dylan, it seemed that the light and vapors had first coalesced in the air, forming a wide arc around the druid. Then the vapors had converged tightly upon Rodruban, binding him in a haze of natural power.