Toby Neighbors - Fierce Loyalty

“I warned you,” Zollin said.

He marched toward the guards, both of whom had their daggers drawn now. They watched him approach with gleeful expressions that reminded Zollin of the way cats watched a cornered mouse. He smiled in return, knowing they were underestimating him.

He waved a hand and both men were knocked off their feet by an invisible wave of magical force. He heard Roleena’s laughter stop suddenly. Zollin turned to her and smiled.

“Thank you for a memorable evening,” he said coldly.

She looked so pale Zollin thought she might pass out. Eustice was tugging him through the doorway. They were a few paces down the passageway when one of Roleena’s guards ran headlong into the shield Zollin had erected behind him. There was a crunching sound followed by a grunt of pain as the guard fell to the rough wooden floor. Zollin didn’t bother to turn.

He and Eustice hurried up on deck and were shocked to see a mass of sailors all crowded near the stairs that led up to the command deck. Zollin glanced up and saw the ship’s captain staring balefully down at someone near the stairs. Zollin didn’t have to look to know that it was Mansel. He was being tied to a large post while another sailor uncoiled a wicked looking strap that was cut on one end into six individual ribbon-like sections, each one weighted down with a bit of metal.

The ship’s lieutenant had been watching the stairwell to the passenger deck and leaned over to whisper in the captain’s ear.

Zollin began pushing his way through the mob of sailors. Just as he made it to the clearing, the captain spoke.

“This is a ship matter and is strictly off limits to all passengers,” he bellowed. “Remove yourself or I’ll have you removed.”

“Captain,” Zollin said loudly. “This man is under my care and I’ll not see him harmed. Your men have already beaten him.”

“Seize him,” the captain shouted. “Lock him in irons and carry him below.”

Three sailors came forward but Zollin’s anger was causing his magic to rage. It flooded through him, appearing on his skin, snapping and popping. The energy looked like lightning and began to singe his clothes, adding smoke to the already frightening appearance. The sailors faltered and hesitated, but the man with the whip, the one with the long scar on his cheek, swung the “cat’s tail,” as the sailors called it. The ribbon-like ends rushed forward and were caught in an invisible grip just before they reached Zollin. He raised his hand and the whip was jerked magically from the sailor’s grip.

Then Zollin focused on the ropes holding Mansel. He was still sore and bruised, but he had no major injuries and Zollin was sure he could fend for himself. Zollin caused the rope to burst apart and Mansel turned around, facing the crowd of sailors.

“Who did it?” Zollin asked.

“This one,” Mansel said, pointing at the man with the scar on his cheek. “They call him Slice. He hit me from behind with a club.”

“Well, teach him some manners,” Zollin said.

“Gladly,” Mansel agreed, rolling his arms to loosen the muscles in his shoulders.

“Belay that!” shouted the captain. “I’ll have no more fighting on my ship.”

“But you’ll have an innocent man tied to a post and whipped bloody?” Zollin shouted back. “Did you even give Mansel a chance to explain what happened?”

“You don’t give orders here,” the captain growled. “I want them both in chains. Now!”

Zollin looked around at the sailors. They were afraid and none of them seemed ready to move against him, but Zollin knew it would only take one person moving forward to help them find their courage.

Zollin let his magic go, shooting crackling bolts of energy high into the evening sky. It wasn’t dark yet, the sun was just halfway into the sea far to the west, but the magical energy lit up the deck just the same. Then Zollin looked back up at the captain.

“Don’t be a fool,” he said. “Your men nearly beat Mansel to death. It wasn’t a fair fight and Mansel didn’t start it, but he’s sure as hell going to finish it.”

The captain looked frightened and didn’t speak. Zollin turned and nodded at Mansel, and the big warrior rushed forward. The sailor named Slice wasn’t a coward. Zollin had expected him to run away or fall on his knees to beg for mercy, but Slice stood his ground. At the last instant, Slice drew a small knife, surprising Zollin but not Mansel.

The big warrior spun to the side just as Slice tried to stab him. Mansel grabbed the sailor’s arm and twisted. The knife flew to the deck and Slice was flipped over. He landed hard on his back. Mansel was on top of him in an instant, dropping hard punches that found their way through the sailor’s arms, which he was holding over his head in a feeble defense. Blood spurted from a cut under Slice’s right eye. His lips split and a tooth was knocked out before finally Slice’s eyes rolled back and his body stiffened as he lost consciousness.

Mansel could have kept up the beating-he was certainly angry enough, and no one was willing to even try to stop him. But instead he stood up and looked down at Slice, spitting on the wretched sailor and then looking up at Zollin.

“Does anyone else have an issue with this man?” Zollin shouted, pointing at Mansel.

Most of the sailors looked down at their feet. Zollin looked up at the captain, who was so angry he was red in the face.

“You have a good crew here, Captain,” Zollin continued. “Treat them the way they deserve or next time it may be you who gets what he has coming.”

Zollin turned and started back toward the passenger deck.

“And just where do you think you’re going?” hissed the captain.

Zollin turned but the sailing master wasn’t talking to him. Instead, he was glaring hatefully at Mansel.

“Get below deck and back to work, all of you!” shouted the captain.

Zollin was about to complain, but Mansel stopped him.

“It’s okay,” he said. “I signed on to work this voyage. I can do my part.”

“You sure?” Zollin asked.

“Of course,” Mansel said smiling. “These guys are nothing compared to your father.”

Gwendolyn could not remember ever being so happy. She had expected a vicious fight when she returned to the Torr. She had thought that perhaps the army she had led could somehow best her old master. Offendorl had brought her to the Torr as a young girl and had learned to control Gwendolyn’s power. For over a century she had lived in isolation, trained by Offendorl alone. No other man had been allowed to enter her chambers in the tower, not even the eunuch servants. She lived with Andomina as her only companion, but from an early age Gwendolyn’s sorcery robbed her sister of the ability to communicate. So Gwendolyn had grown old and then learned the spells that could make her body young again. Her mind, however, was stunted and twisted. In some ways she was like a spoiled child, and in others she was like an ancient crone.

What Gwendolyn hadn’t expected was to find the tower of Torr undefended. It wasn’t deserted, alchemists still labored on the lower levels, but they were of no concern to Gwendolyn. Only the wretched souls in the labyrinth of corridors and chambers under the tower were of value to the sorceress. Gwendolyn could feel them. Offendorl had hidden the warlocks from her before. Most were insane, or catatonic like Andomina, and none of them able to wield or even control their magical power. As a sorcerer, Gwendolyn could control and manipulate other magic users, especially warlocks, and she understood why Offendorl had shielded them from her. She could feel her power growing as they drew near the city.

Prince Wilam had seen to the deployment of their troops, but aside from a small battalion of reserve guards, there was no army to keep them from marching in and taking over the city.