Toby Neighbors - Fierce Loyalty

The sky was growing dark. Thick clouds rolled angrily up from the south, and Zollin slumped in his saddle as sheets of cold rain fell. He was tired-both physically and emotionally-from the long ride. It seemed like he couldn’t remember when life had been leisurely. He thought back to when he was a boy growing up in Tranaugh Shire. He’d hated going to essentials school, hated being an apprentice with his father, and hated the daily chores that he was forced to do, but looking back he saw that life had been relatively easy.

“What’s on your mind?” Mansel asked, having to raise his voice over the noise of the falling rain.

“Just thinking of home,” Zollin said.

“Seems like a lifetime ago to me,” Mansel said. “It’s hard to believe we haven’t even been gone a year.”

“I know,” Zollin said. “It’s hard to remember a time when we weren’t constantly on the move and constantly in danger.”

“We’re not in danger now,” Mansel said. “For the first time, it’s our enemies who are on the run.”

“I know what you’re saying is true, but it feels wrong somehow,” Zollin replied. “It feels like something terrible is about to happen.”

“Ah, that’s just because of the weather. The days are getting shorter.”

“It’s not the weather,” Zollin said. “Even though I don’t think those clouds are normal.”

“You think the Torr is behind it?”

“I can’t say,” Zollin said. “But something is changing, and it doesn’t feel like it’s a change for the better.”

“I’m sorry,” Mansel said, his face bowed low in shame. “I killed Kelvich. I almost killed Quinn. You have every right to feel bad.”

“I miss Kelvich,” Zollin said. “What happened was tragic, but I’m as much to blame as you are. He told me something was wrong, but I was too self-absorbed to see it. If I had listened, perhaps things would have turned out differently.”

“Well, I’m the one who killed him.”

“You were bewitched,” Zollin argued.

“That may be true, but it doesn’t help me sleep at night.”

“I don’t blame you,” Zollin said. “You shouldn’t blame yourself.”

“Can’t help it,” Mansel said. “I was in love with the idea of being a great warrior, but in the end I was just a killer. This isn’t the life for me, Zollin. I’m going to help you as long as you need me, but then I’m going to disappear.”

“Disappear where?” Zollin asked.

“To a quiet life on the coast. I met someone,” Mansel explained. “I promised her I’d come back. Even when I was under the witch’s spell I could see her in my mind.”

“What’s her name?”

“Nycoll,” Mansel said. “She has a little cottage on the coast in Falxis. Her husband was a fisherman, but he was lost at sea. When I ran into trouble on my way to Osla, she nursed me back to health. There’s just something about her-I can’t really describe it. All I know is that’s home, not Tranaugh Shire. Not flitting about from town to town looking for adventure. When this is all over, that’s where I’m going.”

“You really think Quinn is happy in Felson?” Zollin asked.

“I guess,” Mansel said. “He’s your father, you should know better than anyone.”

“There’s a lot about him I don’t know,” Zollin admitted. “I’m glad he’s found someone who makes him happy, but it seems odd to be on the road without him.”

“And what about Brianna?” Mansel said. “How are you doing with that?”

“I don’t know,” Zollin said. “And that’s the hardest part. I don’t know what happened to her. I don’t know if she’s alive or dead. I don’t know if I’ll ever know, and it’s like a wound that won’t heal. If I knew she was dead, perhaps I could move on emotionally, but it’s so hard to even think that she might be dead. When I settle things with the Torr and deal with the witch at Lodenhime, I’m going to search for her. I can’t rest until I know for sure.”

They rode in silence after that. The rain soaked through their clothes and made them miserable. Zollin felt especially bad for Eustice. The tongue-less servant who had been cast aside by Offendorl, the Master of the Torr, couldn’t even complain about how cold and miserable he felt.

“We need to find some shelter,” Zollin said to Mansel. “We’ll all be sick if we stay out in this weather.”

“There should be a settlement or farm close by,” Mansel said. “I can’t believe how cold this rain is. I mean, I know autumn is upon us, but this feels more like winter weather.”

“I know,” Zollin agreed. “Like I said, it’s unnatural.”

They rode another half hour, their mounts plodding through mud, the wind finding every gap in their sodden clothing. Finally, they came to an abandoned farmhouse. The farmhouse had no roof, but there was a small barn that still had half a roof. They led their horses into the barn, but were surprised to find that they weren’t alone.

“This is our place,” said a surly looking man huddled in the corner. “Go find someplace else.”

“There’s room for all of us,” Zollin said cheerfully, even though he felt anything but cheerful. “I can start a fire and we have food.”

“There’s no dry wood to burn,” the man said, standing up and drawing a rusty knife from behind his back. “If you want to keep breathing, I suggest you find another place.”

The man had three companions, and they were all soaked from being out in the rain and looked menacing. They had weapons too, although they were crude instruments. One had a club, and the other two had ancient looking knives. Zollin had a knife in his belt, but no other weapons. Mansel, on the other hand, was fully armed. He had a long sword, a dagger, a round shield, and armor-although he wasn’t wearing the armor at the moment.

“We don’t want trouble,” Zollin said. “We won’t bother you, but we’re not leaving.”

“It’s your funeral,” the surly man said.

Zollin concentrated for moment, sending his magic out silently. It heated the handle of the man’s weapon. In the past, using his magic would have sent a warm, wind-like sensation blowing through Zollin. But he had constructed a magical barrier around the reservoir of power that existed inside him. Now he could sense his magic, but it did not effect him physically-at least not to the extent that it had in the past when working magic would leave him drained as if he’d been exerting all his physical strength.

“Ahhhh!” shouted the surly man, dropping his knife. His companions looked over at their friend in surprise. “What the devil?”

“Not the devil,” Zollin said. “A wizard. Now, if you’d be kind enough to put your weapons away, I promise you’ll not be harmed or molested in any way. We just want a dry spot to ride out the storm.”