A Warden's Purpose (Wardens of Issalia Book 1) Page 6

  They both stood and faced each other with Quinn swaying as she heaved deep breaths, the vision in her right eye slowly returning while the left remained swollen. He touched the back of his head with one hand and it came away bloody. The man’s eyes narrowed as he stared at her. She grinned in reply.

  “That’s enough.”

  Quinn turned toward the voice and found Lomisse approaching.

  “If you two keep this up, you’ll end up doing something that I can’t heal.”

  “The girl bit me. She bit me! Who does that in a duel?”

  “You didn’t say I wasn’t allowed to bite.”

  A frown crossed his face. Lomisse chuckled as she put her hand on Quinn’s forearm.

  “She has a point, Severs.”

  The woman closed her eyes and all fell still. Quinn’s chest contracted, and a shock of cold wracked her body, creating a violent shiver that drove the air from her lungs. As warmth returned, Quinn’s lungs regained their function and she gasped. Her stomach growled noisily, demanding food. She ignored it as she realized that her head, face, and back no longer hurt. When she worked her jaw, the clicking sound was gone.

  Lomisse moved to Severs and performed the same process. The man’s eyes grew wide and he gasped for air before nodding to her.

  “Thank you, Master Lomisse.”

  “You are welcome, Master Severs.”

  The man turned toward Quinn, frowning again.

  “Clearly, you are untrained in combat. In fact, you fight dirty.”

  Quinn shrugged. “Unless there are rules, I’ll do whatever it takes.”

  Severs snorted. “That much is apparent.”

  He turned from her and crossed the room before taking a drink from a tall mug waiting on the table. When he finished his drink, he pointed toward the door.

  “You are dismissed.”

  Quinn frowned at Lomisse, her confidence waning. “I don’t understand. Did I pass?”

  Quinn gripped the handle and the wheels at the top squeaked noisily as the door slid open. She scurried into the smithy as Everson trailed behind.

  Bright orange sparks flared into the air, fading as they fell in a trail created by the knife blade pressed against the grinding wheel. Her father glanced up and stared at her through the odd spectacles he wore while grinding metal. The man pulled the blade from the wheel and ceased pumping the pedal. As the wheel lost momentum, Evers set the knife aside and lifted the spectacles to his forehead, which had expanded greatly over recent years and now nearly reached the back of his head. His hand absently cleared tiny metal shavings from his thick brown beard, now streaked with gray.

  “I did it, Father! I passed!” Quinn proclaimed excitedly.

  Concern reflected in his eyes. “Are you hurt?”

  “What?” She looked down at her tunic, the front splattered with streaks of red. “No. This is nothing…Master Lomisse healed me…us, after the duel.”

  “Duel?” He stepped closer, his concern still apparent.

  Quinn sighed. “Yes, Father. They aren’t going to invite me to an academy that trains warriors unless I can prove myself.”

  Evers nodded. “That makes sense, I guess.”

  “Anyway, I passed. I’m going to Fallbrandt with Everson!”

  A moment passed before a smile appeared on his face and he held his arms out. She ran to him and gave him a hug as his big arms offered a gentle embrace.

  “I’m glad that you two will be together, but I’m afraid of how your mother might take it. She will find it difficult to see you both leave.”

  “She won’t try to stop me, will she?”

  Evers chuckled. “No.” He shook his head. “Your mother would never stand between you and your dreams. If this is what you want, she will support you, as will I.”

  “Thank you, Father.”

  Everson appeared beside her. “You should have seen the instructor, Father. When he exited the classroom, blood covered the front of his white vest and the leg of his breeches…even worse than Quinn’s tunic.”

  “Is that so?”

  “He didn’t specify any rules before the duel.” Quinn shrugged. “It’s his fault.”

  Evers chuckled and wrapped his arms around both teens. “You two are quite the pair. I believe that Fallbrandt valley will soon discover that they have signed up for more than anticipated.”

  A blue nimbus from the charged glowlamp beside Everson’s bed provided light to the dark room. Quinn sat on the edge of his bed, while Everson lay on his stomach. Her gaze followed his finger as it slid across the map to settle on a dot near the most northern point of the east coast.

  “This is Cinti Mor.” His finger meandered to the left, across Hurnsdom until it reached a spot marked as New Kardis. The path then angled southwest to a city named Berristor before turning south, meandered through what appeared to be a mountain range, and ended at a city beside a lake, nestled amidst the mountains. “Here is Fallbrandt.”

  Quinn squinted at the map, focusing on their destination at the heart of the continent. “That seems far.”

  “It’s far for sure. Hundreds of miles.”

  She frowned, thinking that Everson could barely cross the city. How would he ever make it to Fallbrandt?

  “You can’t…We can’t walk there. It’s too far.”

  He sighed. “I know.”

  “Can we take a carriage?”

  “Those cost money.” He shrugged. “I don’t know if we can afford it. Mother and Father are discussing it now. That’s why they sent me up here with you.”

  “We are to be in Fallbrandt in three weeks. That’s not much time if the journey is so far.”

  He turned toward her, his dark eyes meeting hers. “I know.”

  The thump of footsteps on the stairwell drew their attention toward the door. It opened, and Polly entered the room with Evers a step behind. Quinn sat upright while Everson swung his legs off the bed to sit beside her. The two teens stared at their parents with Quinn biting her lip, Everson kneading his hands. They both sensed the moment as something meaningful.

  “We have something to tell you,” Polly glanced up at Evers. He nodded and she continued. “Your father and I have discussed your upcoming journey to Fallbrandt.”

  “Please don’t say no, Mother,” Quinn blurted. “Everson belongs there. Everyone knows it. I want…I should be there with him…to help him.”

  Polly put her hands on her hips. “Are you through interrupting?”

  “But…” Quinn sighed. “Yes.”

  “Good.” Polly’s hands shifted from her hips to clasp before her lap. She glanced at Evers again, and her expression softened. “You may not be aware, but we have saved up a fair amount of money the past few years, much of which was the result of selling Everson’s inventions.

  “When Cinti Mor was destroyed by the Horde, we lost every family member besides you two. Yes, we have some friends here and your father’s smithy, but those roots are not so deep. As a result, there is nothing that tethers us to Cinti Mor.”

  “What are you saying?” Quinn asked.

  “Can’t you see?” Everson nudged her in the ribs. “They plan to come with us.”

  Polly chuckled softly as a tear slid down her cheek. “You were always clever, Everson. Yes, we plan to come with you.”

  “What about the smithy?” Quinn asked.

  Her father’s deep voice replied. “I can be a smith anywhere. Where there are people, there is need for a blacksmith.”

  “We intend to purchase a wagon and horses with the money we have saved,” Polly informed them. “With them, we will move the smith tools and ourselves to Fallbrandt. When we get there, we will sell the wagon and horses to use that money to buy a house and a new smithy.”

  Quinn smiled and jumped up, hugging her mother fiercely. “I’m so happy! You’re the best parents ever.”

  7

  Moment of Desperation

  The sun hovered low in the eastern sky, its bright rays reflecting off the deep blue w
aters of the Sol Mai Ocean. The cliffs across the bay cast long shadows, making it difficult to see anything below but white foam among rocks that cut the water’s surface.

  Quinn stared down at the bustling harbor – the docks filled with activity as men unloaded goods from two ships that had arrived that morning. Most slips stood empty, vacated by fishing boats that were somewhere beyond view, seeking their daily catch.

  She heard a snap when her father flicked the reins.

  “Get,” he barked, and the wagon lurched into motion.

  Seated backward on a bench in the wagon bed, Quinn gripped it to prevent herself from falling forward. A glance toward Everson revealed a grin on her brother’s face, one she mirrored. After ten agonizing days of preparation, their journey had finally begun.

  The rumble of wagon wheels soon drowned the crashing waves and whispering breeze. Rolling fields of yellowed grass spread out to each side of the road they traveled down. Wildflowers in shades of white and purple and yellow dotted the fields, drawing bulbous bees that bounced from flower to flower in search of nectar. A loud rush of squawking drew Quinn’s gaze toward the sky as a wave of blackbirds emerged from the forest to the south, briefly eclipsed the sun, and continued northward. Motion on the hillside that led to the docks then drew her attention.

  Two workhorses, pulling a wagon filled with crates, trudged up the road from the docks. A minute later, the wagon passed through the city gate and disappeared from view, leaving a trail of dust stirred from its passing.

  Pale sections marked the dark and weathered rock of the walls that surrounded the city. Quinn knew that those sections had been rebuilt during her childhood – repaired after The Horde had destroyed them. Seeing them from her position seemed odd. Just being outside the city seemed odd…yet exciting. Watching the city – the only home she had ever known – fade into the distance brought on a brief wave of sadness, countered by the hope and expectations that the future might hold.

  They reached an incline and the wagon began to rise, further expanding the view behind them. Another wagon loaded with goods departed from the docks and made its way up the curving road that led to the city. As Quinn watched it, the driver stiffened and tumbled from the seat, falling face-first onto the dirt.

  She said, “Did you see that man fall of his wagon?”

  “He didn’t fall!” Everson pointed in alarm.

  Men with bows rose up from the tall grass south of the city and ran toward the walls. A horn blared from the woods and horses carrying warriors in burgundy and green burst from the trees. Vinacci soldiers, she thought. The rolling thunder of three dozen horses galloping across the field rose above the rumble of the wagon wheels.

  “Father!” Quinn yelled. “Look!”

  The man turned in his seat and became visibly alarmed when he saw dozens of armed warriors on foot, following those who were mounted. The soldiers sprinted through the long grass and onto the road, most brandishing a sword and a shield. The rest held gripped bows in one hand, a ready arrow in the other.

  “Issal save us,” Polly gasped.

  “Get!” Evers shouted as he snapped the reins, causing the wagon to increase in speed.

  A Cinti Mor guard appeared atop the city wall. As the man turned to shout something, a volley of arrows darkened the air, arcing to rain down on him. The man staggered and disappeared from sight.

  The portcullis began to lower, slowly closing as the marauders raced toward it. The mounted men closed on the wall, and Quinn feared that the gate might not close before the vanguard reached it. When halfway down, the gate suddenly dropped and slammed closed, loud enough for Quinn to hear it despite the distance.

  A man waved his arms, and the other riders moved away from the gate. He then threw something and kicked his horse into motion, away from the wall. A burst of green flame shot up at the gate, blasting away a portion of the surrounding wall. The thump of the explosion reverberated in Quinn’s chest and she heard her mother cry out in fear.

  Distant screams came from inside the wall. The flames turned orange. The gate shuddered…and fell.

  Locked in a state of horror, Quinn watched the Vinacci riders charge through the destroyed gate and engage with the city guards inside. The sound of swords clashing ensued, and Quinn imagined a fierce battle occurring beyond the broken gate and dying fires. Moments later, two riders rode back out as the invaders on foot reached it. The riders turned their horses, and Quinn realized that they were heading in their direction. The wagon crested the rise and began to descend the backside of the hill, obscuring her view of the gate. In the passing of two breaths, even the top of the walls and the Citadel to the north faded from view.

  Fear held Quinn hostage, unable to think, unable to move. She stared hard at the road behind them, praying that the men would not appear.

  Until they did.

  The first man crested the hill, riding hard. Morning sunlight reflected off his helmet and the sword he held out to his side. His pockmarked face twisted into a grimace and determination reflected in his dark eyes. Quinn’s own death reflected in those eyes.

  She turned toward Everson and saw horror on his face. Upon seeing her brother in danger, the terror slid away from her. Like a morning fog evaporating to the warming rays of the summer sun, a moment of clarity obliterated her feeling of helplessness. They will not hurt my brother.

  Her eyes narrowed and her lips pressed together as she turned toward the first rider, now nearly upon them while his companion crested the hilltop.

  Quinn turned and pushed Everson aside, knocking him off the bench.

  “Woah!” he cried out as he fell onto a crate covered by their tent.

  “Quinn! What are you doing?” her mother shouted.

  Ignoring her, Quinn climbed behind the workbench and lifted it with all her might, tipping it up and over the back of the wagon. The bench hit the ground with a thud, sending splinters into the air as two of the legs snapped. The first rider’s eyes grew wide, and his horse tried to leap over the tumbling bench, but it was too late.

  The horse stumbled, and one of the splintered legs pierced its chest as the stallion smashed into the gravel road and launched the man forward. He landed headfirst beside the wagon – his neck bent in an unnatural position before his body rolled over him, tumbling in a massive cloud of dust. The horse cried out as it attempted to stand before stumbling and falling back to the ground.

  Without pausing for his companion, the second rider circled around the broken bench and the dying horse. He drew his sword and made ready as he neared the wagon.

  Desperate, Quinn began searching for something, anything that might help. She then spied the handle of her father’s massive hammer. Scrambling over a large chest, she gripped the handle and lifted the hammer with a hearty grunt. She turned to find the soldier almost upon them.

  With all of her might, Quinn swung the hammer around. The man raised his sword arm and prepared to strike. She released the hammer and it sailed through the air, barely clearing the horse’s head. A clang sounded as the heavy hammer smashed into the metal armored plates on the soldier’s chest. The sword fell from his hand, and he slid backward off the horse, his legs flipping over his head as he landed face-first on the road. His horse slowed and angled away from the wagon as the man squirmed in pain.

  The wagon then reached the forest edge, and a wall of pines – thick with dark needles – obstructed the view of the wounded soldier and his riderless horse. Engulfed by shadows and surrounded by tall, dark trees, they continued west on the narrow road with nothing but a tail of churned dust following behind them.

  8

  The Happy Crowster

  The fire crackled and popped, sending a burst of embers that floated upward in a twisting motion toward the darkening sky. Quinn stared into the flames as she thought about the friends she left behind in Cinti Mor. What has become of them? She suspected that her brother and parents shared similar concerns but those concerns remained unspoken. Barely a word had been said
during the long day on the road. The morning’s events had left them in a mood as dark as the forest surrounding them.

  Quinn glanced toward Everson, seated on the log beside her. The firelight flickered on his face as he stared blankly toward it. Her gaze shifted toward her parents, both sitting on another log a quarter-turn around the fire pit. Polly held tight to Evers’ arm and her head rested against his shoulder.

  “Father,” Quinn broke the silence. “Why did Vinacci attack Cinti Mor?”

  When the man looked toward her, she found somber eyes that lacked their usual spark.

  “I don’t know, Quinn.” He shook his head. “Perhaps they seek to expand their borders. The Issalian Alliance, under the Pretencia Accord, has held true for seventeen years, maintaining a state of peace and prosperity across kingdoms. However, the Vinacci king who signed them died a few years ago. Since King Talvin had no children of his own, the succession was a nasty bit of business. Eventually, Vinacci appointed a council to govern the country. I would not pretend to guess at their ambitions.”

  “Do you think the other cities know of what happened?”

  Her father shrugged. “I suspect that Port Hurns fell days ago since it lies between Cinti Mor and Vinacci. New Kardis and Berristor reside on the gulf side, beyond this forest. That’s quite a distance for an army to travel unnoticed, particularly before they captured Cinti Mor.” His brow furrowed. “Ships might bring the news, but it takes three or four days to sail from Cinti Mor to New Kardis, around the north coast. Our route is far shorter, a straight line between the two cities. Even at a slower pace than what we traveled today, we should reach the city by nightfall tomorrow.”