Toby Neighbors - Crying Havoc

On the other hand, the Tillamook ran close to the city. If she could get across it she might be able to get home, but she couldn’t swim, and the river was wide. The thought of trying to cross a river really frightened her. Ajax was a strong horse, and perhaps he could swim the river with her on his back, but what if she slipped off? She was suddenly terrified, and she realized she was all alone.

* * *

The soldier gave the note to another guard who happened to be passing by. That guard gave the note to man who was officially off duty, but with the army now starting to surround the city, no one was leaving his post without good reason. That soldier passed the note to one of the healers who was on his way back to the military compound.

The healer gave the note to one of the volunteers who was helping in the infirmary. The healers hadn’t had much to do, since Zollin had healed the most critically wounded soldiers, but they were busy preparing for what they expected to be a major influx of wounded once the fighting started. The healer gave the volunteer instructions to take the note to Commander Hausey.

It took nearly half an hour of searching before the volunteer found Commander Hausey, who saw that the note was addressed to Zollin and then tucked it into his belt. He would have to go to the castle to give a report soon. He would pass on the note then.

* * *

Quinn was giving his horse a good rub down. He had already taken off the saddle and blanket, and the horse was busy munching on the hay that Quinn had put in the stall. There wasn’t much light in the stable, just a single lantern that Quinn was using, but he heard the door open and guessed immediately who had entered.

“Mansel,” Quinn said. “I thought you might find me here.”

“You’re alive,” Mansel said. “I should have known you’d find a way to survive.”

“You don’t need to kill me,” Quinn said. “We were under a spell. The woman in Lodenhime is a witch. You don’t really love her.”

“Stop trying to deceive me, Quinn. I know you want Gwendolyn to yourself. Why do you think I threw you overboard? Not that she would want an old man like you.”

Quinn felt a cough coming. He knew that he couldn’t avoid it, but he didn’t want to appear weak in Mansel’s eyes. The big warrior hadn’t moved from the doorway of the stable, and Quinn had continued rubbing down his horse. He wished he had a better weapon. He still had the curve-bladed knife he’d taken from the outlaw. He had scoured off the rust and honed the blade so that it was razor sharp, but it was still a poorly made weapon.

“You aren’t yourself, old friend,” Quinn said. “Let me help you.”

“I don’t need your help,” Mansel said, his voice rising with anger. “That’s your problem, Quinn. You never trusted me. I’m not your apprentice anymore. I’m a man. I’m a warrior. I’m going to kill you and take Zollin to Gwendolyn, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“When we were on the road with Prince Wilam, you mentioned a girl,” Quinn said. He was searching frantically for anything that might break the witch’s spell. He didn’t want to fight Mansel. He would probably end up dead, or Mansel would, neither of which was an option he wanted.

“Shut up. I’ve committed myself to Gwendolyn. Don’t try to smear my honor.”

“I’m not,” Quinn said, then he coughed quietly into his hand.

“I’m sorry it has to be this way,” Mansel said.

Quinn heard the quiet hiss of a sword being drawn.

“If you had just gone away,” Mansel said, with a note of grief in his voice, “no one would have been the wiser. You could have had a long life, but now you have to die.”

“Why?” Quinn asked.

“I can’t take the chance that you might warn Zollin not to come back with me.”

“He can’t go,” Quinn said. “I can’t let that happen.”

“You can’t stop it.”

“Are you sure about that?”

At that moment a coughing fit racked Quinn. He couldn’t stop it, and he had to hold onto the stall wall to keep from falling over.

“You’re in no shape to fight Quinn,” Mansel said. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

Anger welled up Quinn. He was tired, his body ached from the constant cough, and he had given up everything to be here. He was so close to reaching Zollin, and he wasn’t going to just lie down and give up now.

“If you’ve got something to do, have at it. Otherwise, get out of my sight.”

“If that’s the way you want it,” Mansel said.

“I would have forgiven you,” Quinn told him. “But now I’m going to kill you.”

A hard look crossed Mansel’s face.

“You’re like a rabid dog, and it’s time someone put you down. I made you; I guess it’s up to me to unmake you.”

“You’re a foolish, sick, old man. Killing you will be easy,” Mansel said.

Quinn stepped out of the horse’s stall and closed the door. Then he drew his long knife and bent his knees slightly. For an instant Mansel looked unsure.

“You know I can do it,” Mansel said.

Quinn didn’t answer, he just looked at the young man he loved like a son. A shadow of grief crossed his face. He knew that Mansel wasn’t in his right mind, but he couldn’t help but feel as if he had failed Mansel somehow.

Mansel charged forward, and all the pent-up rage and frustration and fear came boiling out in a terrifying battle cry. Quinn didn’t move; he just waited for the charge. He knew he had to get inside Mansel’s reach to neutralize his sword, but Mansel would be expecting him to do just that.

Mansel feinted to his left and then swung his sword in a tight arc with his right hand. Quinn danced away from the blade and let Mansel charge past him. The young warrior spun around, expecting an attack from behind, but Quinn stood quietly. His chest was burning, his arms felt weak, and his legs were heavy, but he did his best not to let Mansel see that anything was wrong.

“You still fight with your emotions,” Quinn said. “That’s gonna get you killed.”

“Not by you.”

He raised his sword and then stepped forward, bringing the blade down in a chopping motion. Quinn ducked, and the end of the sword struck the wood of the stall door behind him, sticking fast. Quinn dove forward, slashing with his curved knife at Mansel’s stomach. The big warrior dodged back, but he wasn’t quite fast enough. The blade cut through his thick woolen pants and into the flesh of his hip. Mansel shouted in pain and staggered back.

“You bastard,” Mansel shouted. “I’ll cut your heart out.”

He drew his own daggers, one from his belt and the other from his boot, and moved forward more cautiously. Quinn knew his young enemy had the upper hand now. Quinn couldn’t even rely on his speed to give him an advantage. The sickness had sapped him of that. Even now, his eyes watered and his chest erupted in a coughing fit.

Mansel dashed forward, his daggers a blur. Quinn shimmied backward, blocking one blade with his own and ducking under the other. He spun and threw his left elbow into the side of Mansel’s head, but it only glanced off the bigger man’s skull, causing no damage. Mansel spun and Quinn dropped to the ground, scissoring his legs in an attempt to trip his protege, but the younger man anticipated the move and dove forward. Quinn felt the steel slam into his left shoulder; the pain was exquisite and caused him to cry out in pain. At almost the same time Mansel hit the floor and rolled over his shoulder, coming up on his feet. He spun around as Quinn struggled to get up. He knew he needed to get the wicked-looking knife away from his mentor, so he kicked out at Quinn’s right hand.

His survival instinct gave Quinn the speed he needed to avoid the blow. His arm darted back and then forward again, cutting a nasty gash up Mansel’s calf muscle. The top of Mansel’s boot folded down across his shin and Quinn saw the muscle, red and fibrous, bulge from the wound. Mansel hopped back, howling in pain, and Quinn staggered to his feet. He knew that now was his only chance. His left arm was worthless, but Mansel was having trouble putting weight on his wounded leg.