R. Salvatore - The Education of Brother Thaddius and other tales of DemonWars

Something about their posture, about the way one’s hand kept moving near to the pommel of his sword, had the hairs on the back of Sadye’s neck standing up. She widened her scan instinctively, looking past the pair, and noted a fourth rider back down the road, milling about in the shadows under a few trees they had just passed. From this distance and under that cover, she couldn’t make out his features, but she could hardly miss his red and curly hair.

Eyes wide now, Sadye glanced back at Orrin, and saw the man beside him draw forth a short sword.

“Orrin!” she cried, but she knew it was too late and that she couldn’t possibly warn the old man in time. She stood up so fast that she nearly tumbled off the wagon.

Had Orrin Davii needed her warning, he surely would have been slain, but the old man was no fool, and knew the difference between an honest inspection on the road and a pretense for a murder. He spun about, one hand on his belt buckle, the other reaching inside the folds of his robe, even as the soldier moved to strike.

Sadye screamed, and then nearly fell over again as a sudden surge of bluish-white energy erupted from Orrin’s belt. That stumble actually saved her life, for the soldier up front came charging past, his sword slashing across in a swipe that would have beheaded her had she still been fully upright.

She tried to register the scene, to get past the shock and surprise. She saw the rider cut about the back of the wagon, saw Orrin produce a thin metal wand, its end open, or at least concave. Beside her master, the two soldiers squirmed on the ground weirdly, jerking in spasms the likes of which Sadye had never before witnessed.

She took it all in at once, eyes darting all about, but then they fixed on the remaining soldier alone, on his strong posture, sword high. Somewhere in her thoughts, she heard the sharp ring of metal, and then she watched, mesmerized, as the faceplate of the soldier’s helm folded in, as his head jerked back violently and as the back of that helm blew off, a crimson gore spraying into the air.

His horse kept going, brushing past Orrin and knocking the old man hard against the back of the wagon and then to the ground.

Despite her fears for Orrin, Sadye could not take her eyes off the spectacle of the rider, still sitting upright, still holding his sword, though he was obviously quite dead. His horse continued its canter far to the side of the road before stopping, and only then did the man seem to register that he was indeed dead. Slowly, he slipped off the side, tumbling hard to the ground.

Sadye looked back, and so dry was her mouth that she could not even scream out! For there lay Orrin, beside the two soldiers, one of whom was lying quite still now, while the other was trying futilely to rise to his feet, on legs that wobbled weakly and buckled. Those two hardly mattered, though, for in the moments she had been looking away, the redhead had come in. He stood over Orrin now, a long dagger drawn and tip-in at Orrin’s heart.

Hardly even registering the movement, Sadye brought her lute up and began to gently touch the strings.

“I offered you wealth beyond your understanding!” the redhead shouted at the prone wizard. “You fool! Together we could have done so much. But I need you not, you see? The soldiers are not so stupid as Orrin Davii. They see the value of gold, while you revel in the glory of the spirits of men long dead!”

The redhead spat on helpless Orrin, who closed his eyes. Behind them, the soldier fell over yet again.

“Join them, fool!” the redhead cried and he gave a growl and retracted his arm just a bit, as if to strike.

And indeed, he meant to do just that. But somewhere between his backstroke and the killing thrust, a thought intervened, a suggestion carried on the waves of gentle and beautiful music.

The redhead held there, motionless, listening, enchanted, as the moments slipped past.

Sadye watched Orrin open his eyes, to stare incredulously at his would-be killer. Finally, as if he suddenly recognized the music, Orrin turned to regard her.

She played on, filling her notes with suggestions of peace and quiet, with emotions soft and tender, denying the redhead his fury and his intent. The soul stone caught those emotions and projected them forth.

Sadye watched while Orrin slowly moved his hand out to retrieve the small wand, which had fallen to the side. He clasped it and unobtrusively turned its tip toward his attacker.

A sudden ring of stone on metal jolted Sadye from her playing. She reflexively went back to it — or started to, for she realized that there was no need.

The redhead still stood over Orrin, holding his knife, or what remained of it. For the blade had been snapped in half. Eyes wide, the murderer staggered backwards and tried to straighten, and only then did Sadye realize that the snapped blade had shot straight into the man’s belly. He reached down and clutched at his wound, blood and entrails spilling forth.

Orrin retracted one leg and kicked him hard in the gut, and he tumbled away, groaning in agony.

“Keep playing,” Orrin bade Sadye as he shakily climbed to his feet. “Put thoughts of healing in your song, dear girl, but please aim it only at me!”

Sadye hardly knew how to react. Thoughts of healing? What was this all about? She knew that she had affected the murderer, but how? And now Orrin was hinting that she could produce some healing effect upon him alone, through the music?

It made no sense, even in light of all that Orrin had told her of the Brotherhood and the enchanted items.

She looked from her lute back to Orrin. “More than one lodestone in the wand,” he said, offering her a sly wink. “A devilish gem, with a powerful” — he glanced at the redhead — “and deadly attraction to metal.”

Sadye started to ask one of the million questions that was swirling about in her thoughts, but she stopped short, noticing a movement from the red-haired man. He rolled over suddenly, his face a mask of pain and outrage, and she noted a flash of red — a red gemstone, she thought.

And then she felt all hot and flushed.

And then she was flying backwards.

She hit the ground hard and lay there stunned for a long while, and when she finally managed to look back up, she saw the wagon ablaze and saw Orrin’s horse galloping down the road, trailing fiery reins. She heard the screams, of three of the murderers’ horses, fleeing in all directions, and of the men behind the wagon. She saw one go rushing out, flapping his arms, immersed in fire, and she looked away in horror, knowing that it had to be Orrin!

What was she to do? She scrambled to her feet and patted out some of her smoking black hair, then brought a hand up gingerly to touch her pained face.

What was she to do?

Across the way, the remaining horse reared and whinnied, pawing the ground beside its dead master.

The image of that man riding past her flashed in her thoughts again, the sense of freedom that he had evoked, so tall and sure and swift on his great steed.

They were all dead now, she knew, the murderers and Orrin, and the goods all ruined. All that remained were Sadye and that one agitated and intimidating horse.

And the lute, she realized, and she bent down and picked it up.

She began to play as she approached the horse, and by the time she arrived beside the beast, it was standing quite still, and its frantic whinny had turned to a soft nicker.

This is madness! Master De’Unnero St.-Mere-Abelle at the head of a great army, beside the son of Elbryan and Jilseponie, the boy who declared himself king, the boy who should be king!

Does lineage not matter? And is there a more worthy heir to the throne of Honce-the-Bear than the son of the heroes of the Demon War? Particularly when one of those heroes is the Lady Jilseponie, the Disciple of Avelyn. By all accounts there is no one in the world more powerful with the sacred Ring Stones. Surely she is blessed by God .