While the city’s forces were
being rallied, the caravan managed to make it into the forest a little ways, where
the trees hemmed the road in. Once the wagons were readied and the horses
freed, Zand began his magic. He let the magic build inside of him, then raised
his and imagined flames shooting out. A stream of fire sprayed out and ignited
the wagon’s cover. He aimed his hand at the next wagon and repeated the
process. The rest of the wagons’ covers were burning nicely. Then he noticed
that the wagons themselves were not igniting properly.
“Seven hells! They must have
treated the wood with yggdr sap!” Zand shouted to no one in particular.
Zand let the magic build even
higher this time, focusing on wood itself, picturing it splitting open and
exposing the untreated innards to the flames. Nothing happened, of course, as
Zand had no idea how to affect wood directly with his magic. He wished the
twins were with him to lend their knowledge - and their bombs! - to the
situation. He pictured small explosions fragmenting the wood, a giant flame
glowing and consuming like when dumping a handful of sawdust on a flame for
theatrical effect. Nothing happened. He shook his head and then resorted to his
known fire spell. He raised both hands this time and aimed them both at the
side of the wagon and unleashed twin streams of flame. The yggdr treatment was
not perfect and small amounts of wood were left exposed. The flames ate into
these pockets and eventually the flame exposed enough of the insides to the
flames that they began to crack open. One wagon lit.
Zand walked to the next wagon
and performed the same lengthy fire spell. He walked slowly to the third and
eventually it was ablaze. He staggered to the fourth, which took the last of
his energy to ignite. Two soldiers grabbed him under the arms and legs and
lifted threw him onto a horse like a sack of potatoes. He was too exhausted to
right himself.
The men mounted two to a horse
and rode until the horses refused to move. Unfortunately, this was only a few
hours. They then dismounted and managed (with much effort and goading) to get
the horses an hour off the road and into the forest. At that point, most of the
horses laid down and refused to budge for anything - carrot or stick, not that
there were any carrots.
“You there, Sims, lead your
horse around that copse of trees,” the commander called out.
The commander stalked over to
the horse. It was tired, but one of the only horses still standing. He could
see it in its eyes. He rubbed its muzzle and stroked its mane. He looked at
Sims and asked him to tie the reins tightly to the tree. Then he pulled out his
dagger and brought it to the horse’s neck. With the same speed he had used on
the guards, the commander slit its throat. It reared up, and Sims backed away,
falling in the process. The horse bucked and kicked, and the commander held
back a tear. Eventually blood loss caused the horse to falter. It tried to
stand, but it didn’t have the strength. The commander approached then, kneeled,
and widened the opening with his dagger. Finally it stopped breathing.
“Tell the men we have meat, but
they must be quick. I don’t want to light a fire, so they have to eat it raw
and right away.” As the commander spoke, he sliced into a leg and removed a
hunk of flesh. “It’s a delicacy in some places,” and with that he took a bite.
***********************
***********************
Thom learned that the other men
had already scouted the grounds during their time there. Aside from the hall of
cells that he woke up in, the library, and the room of strange powders, there
was a laboratory (he had found the supply room it seemed), a larder with a
dwindling stock of dried fruits and root vegetables, a kitchen, a large dining
room with long tables and benches, and many offices with simple desks, chairs
and their own small bookshelves. Tink and Clink had been reading the books in
the library but had yet to find anything important. There were farming manuals,
best practices when breaking a horse, the lineage of several lesser noble
families, a few books of fairy tales, and a book that just had a series of
seemingly random numbers. So far they had only read maybe a quarter of the
books (though truthfully they had merely skimmed the lineages). The books were
written in a slightly different version of the common language which sometimes
included extra letters unnecessarily and certain letters were changed, though
the meaning was largely the same. As he couldn’t read, Thom was unsure why the
twins had even brought it up.
Davros could read, but was not
very good at it. He decided to let the twins do the research, though he was
slowly making his way through a farming manual. “A man should know how to
provide food for himself,” his father had told him as a boy. Davros had taken
that to mean be able to afford food and decided to walk the mercenary’s path.
But maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad thing to work the land instead. When he got
older, of course. Not that anyone had ever heard of an old mercenary.
As he could be of no help to
the research, Thom spent his hours getting used to walking and running with his
new knee. The weight of it was more noticeable when he was tired. After a few
days, he was able to walk without noticing it. He decided to test it more
rigorously.
“Davros, would you do me the
honor of sparring? I fear my skills will rust without use,” Thom asked one
afternoon.
“You know, that sounds like a
good idea. I could use the exercise, too,” Davros replied. “But with what? We
have no practice swords, and I do not wish to cut you down with a real blade.”
Thom suggested breaking one of
the chairs and using the legs. They weren’t the right size or weight, but at
least it would give them something to do. Davros considered then agreed. Thom
was grateful that Davros went to fetch the chairs.
Once the legs liberated, Davros
suggested they wrap the ends with strips from the blanket he had also brought
back. It wasn’t perfect, but it might make the difference between life and
death should someone get hit in the head. Davros hit his palm a few times and
shrugged. He motioned to Thom that he was ready to begin and Thom took his
ready stance.
They eyed each other for what
seemed like minutes. Thom was growing impatient, but didn’t want to rush into
Davros’ superior reach. Davros stepped forward; slowly, deliberately. His
breathing was similarly controlled. He took another step. Thom retreated a
half-step, stopped, then retreated another two steps. Davros cheek twitched
ever so slightly, betraying his smirk. His reach and experience were superior,
and Thom knew it. Thom tried to remember how to beat a superior opponent.
Numbers were handy, but this was a duel. The element of surprise could work,
but again, duel. Terrain. If he could gain the high ground or put Davros on a
treacherous surface, the benefit would be huge. Then Thom remembered there was
only the single level, and there was no mud or ice around. Thom retreated
another two steps and was grateful this was only practice.
Davros took another step
forward, and then another. When Thom’s foot moved backward, Davros charged.
Thom tried to dodge, but his footing was unsteady and he faltered. Davros
landed the club on Thom’s hand, disarming him. The next hit was a kick to the
midsection that sent Thom several feet back. Davros picked up the leg and
tossed it to Thom.
“Again.”
The two men dueled for an hour,
each time Davros would best Thom in some way. It wasn’t even close most of the
time. Davros’ experience and physical prowess was just superior to Thom’s
youthful energy and limited strategy.
“OK, I think this has been
enough for today,” Davros said.
Thom started to speak, then
stopped. He nodded. He was not even getting a good workout for his legs, which
is what he wanted in the first place. He moved away and then got into his ready
stance. He began advancing and retreating, side-stepping and dodging imaginary
blows. Davros watched. He could tell that Thom had the potential to become a
good swordsman. He would need real world practice though. Thom continued
practicing a few more hours until he was covered in sweat and his breathing
became ragged.
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