David Wells - Linkershim

Tyr stood up, frowning to himself. “Clean him up and move them both over there. I’m tired of smelling that,” he said, pointing at the bile staining the forest floor.

With a flick of thought, Alexander was floating next to Jack, who was watching from a distance, and from the color of his aura looked about ready to burst. Alexander appeared next to him, crouching behind a tree to avoid being seen.

“Alexander, what’s happening? Are you dead?”

“I don’t think so. The pain just put me out and I found myself in the firmament. We don’t have much time. If they kill me, you have to take the Stone to Abigail …”

He woke sputtering and coughing from a bucket of frigid water splashed in his face. He tried to think back to a time when he’d been this miserable, but the sight of the hot knife, glowing even brighter than before and being held in front of his face, focused his mind on the present.

“This is taking too long,” Tyr said, turning to the wizard behind him. “Tell me if he’s lying.”

“The spell will take a few moments to cast, Lord Tyr.”

“Hurry up,” he snapped.

Alexander watched the wizard’s colors swell with magic when the spell took effect.

Tyr smiled. “I had my court wizard master an aura-reading spell when I learned of your rather intriguing talent, so you of all people should know just how futile it is to lie to me. Now, let’s try this again. Where is the Sovereign Stone?”

“I don’t know.”

Tyr started to bring the hot blade down on his arm when the wizard spoke. “He’s telling the truth.”

“How can you not know where it is?” Tyr asked. “I saw you open your Wizard’s Den. You needed the Stone to do that, so where is it?”

“I don’t know,” Alexander said. “It’s probably back where you ambushed us. I had it before you attacked, but it was gone when I woke up.”

The wizard nodded and Tyr shot to his feet shouting a curse at the sky.

“That Stone is worth the entire Isle of Tyr to me and you’re telling me you left it lying in the dirt?” He was shouting at the stunned-looking men all around him, his face red, veins standing out at his temples. When no one responded, he surged toward the nearest man, plunging the red-hot knife into the man’s gut and pushing him over into the mud.

“Find! That! Stone!” he shouted with such force that his voice broke with each word.

His men stood stock-still for just a moment before they all started gathering their packs and making ready for travel just as another scout raced into the clearing.

“They’re coming,” he said.

“Who?”

“The Lancers, at least two platoons. They have our trail.”

Tyr seemed to struggle against another outburst before mastering himself and turning calmly to his wizard.

“Options?”

“If they’ve found the Stone, they’ll take the pretender and we cannot stop them. If they don’t have the Stone, we may yet deceive them.”

“How? He’s marked. They’ll know who he is the moment they lay eyes on him.”

“Not necessarily,” the wizard said. “I was once scarred badly, an attempt at discipline by my stepfather after a particularly long night of drinking.”

“What’s your point?” Tyr snapped.

“I created a spell that can erase a scar,” the wizard said, “sort of a modified healing spell.”

“Do it,” Tyr commanded.

Alexander didn’t resist. The mark burned into his neck had served its purpose, it was of no further value to him and being less conspicuous while trapped in enemy territory could only help him. The spell hurt, but nowhere near as badly as the hot knife, and the pain faded moments after the skin on his neck had been transformed.

Tyr knelt in front of him, anger and frustration shining as brightly from his eyes as it did from his colors. “Think of it this way, if you tell them who you are, they’ll take you straight to Phane, but if you play along, it’ll buy you some time. Who knows, you might even manage to escape before I steal you right out from under their noses.”

Lancers streamed into the clearing a few moments later, spreading out and surrounding the pirates. Tyr stood his ground, fists planted firmly on his hips, his chin thrust out, a scowl etched into his face.

A big man wearing epaulettes of rank rode into the clearing atop his rhone steed. He sneered at Tyr and then snorted derisively. “I’m Commander Udane. What’s your business here, Tyr?”

“That’s Lord Tyr to you.”

“You know very well that this forested range is off-limits and yet you choose to trespass against the Andalian Empire.”

Tyr started laughing. “Your feebleminded king can’t even control his own island and yet you insist on calling Andalia an empire.”

“Watch your tongue, Tyr!”

“Lord Tyr! And you would do well to watch your tongue. I’m a friend and ally of the Babachenko. Would you like to take this matter before him?”

The commander scowled, then spat at Tyr’s feet. “Who are your prisoners?”

“These two stole from me. I wrecked their ship, ran them to ground and now they’re mine.”

“No, they’re not,” Udane said. “All castaways that wash ashore on Andalian soil belong to the king. You will surrender them, or I will take you up on your offer to bring this before the Babachenko. I think we both know how he’ll decide in the matter.”

“They stole from me,” Tyr said. “Keep the sailors, but these two are mine.”

Udane raised his hand casually and several dozen Lancers dropped their force lances. Every member of Tyr’s force was targeted by at least two Lancers.

“How dare you?” Tyr sputtered, his face turning red. “I’m the King of Tyr, wielder of the Thinblade and master of the southern seas.”

“You are a small man with a big name,” Udane said, “and your name is the only reason you’re not flat on your back with my boot on your throat. Leave my prisoners, take your men and get off my island or I will see to it that you spend a month in the mines before anyone even figures out who you are.”

“This isn’t over, Udane. I’m going to bring this to the Babachenko, and these two will answer to me for their crimes.”

“Well, I guess that means you’ll have to sail to an approved port where you can apply for travel papers, then you’ll have to make your way to Mithel Dour and petition the Babachenko for their release into your custody. By then, I’ll have been paid my bounty and I won’t care what happens to them.”

Tyr seemed to be weighing further threats but stopped short. “Gather your things and make ready to travel,” he barked to his men, snatching up his pack and marching into the forest without a second look at either Udane or Alexander. His men scrambled to catch up with him, leaving Alexander and Anja surrounded by Lancers.

Udane dismounted, standing over them. Alexander pretended to ignore the armor-clad commander while studying his base and muddy colors. He feared that things had just gone from bad to worse, but of far more immediate concern was Anja; she was still unconscious. If Alexander couldn’t have seen her colors, he would have feared the worst.

“Looks like we got here just in time,” Udane said to himself before turning to his men. “Clean and bandage his arm, then cut them loose and get them mounted up. I want to be back at base camp by dark.”

Alexander feigned near unconsciousness while a soldier dressed his burns, searching for a way to escape using his all around sight. What he saw was an impossible situation. There were nearly sixty Lancers in the immediate area and they were all alert and disciplined, professional soldiers who had plenty of experience in the field and who seemed to be particularly adept at securing prisoners.