“DAMMIT!
THEY’RE SHOOTING at us!” Bozius yelled as the three of them ran
from the guard tower leading to the Queen’s Parkway.
Arrows
and bolts were flying hither and yon as the party scrambled
desperately to evade the attack. Matters were made worse by the fact
that there were three men to two horses, with Rory having drawn the
short straw and earning the inexperienced Rafule as a passenger. The
attack was almost immediate upon the trio’s attempt to cross the
checkpoint between Appleton Heights and the access ramp to the
Queen’s Parkway. It didn’t help much that having been rejected
access due to not belonging to the noble class, Rory & Company
decided to attempt a mad dash across the barriers and take the
Parkway with speed.
Apparently
the guards at the gate had dealt with such endeavors in the past.
“I
think they were ready for us to try that, Bozy,” Rory quipped as he
attempted to steer his horse away from the rain of puncturing death.
“You
don’t say!” Bozy snapped, his horse leaping wildly about as the
party attempted their escape.
“At
least you got it easy,” Rory squeaked out through shallow breaths,
“you’ve got Lightning!”
“What?”
Bozius retorted. “You’ve got Lightning, I’ve got Thunder.”
“How
can you tell?” Rory asked, feeling a stream of air rush past his
ear in the wake of a flying arrow. “They look the same to me…”
“Lighting
is the black one!”
“Now,
there’s the issue right there!” Rory considered. “Shouldn’t
Lightning be the white horse? And Thunder the black?”
“We
are not having this conversation right now, Rory!”
“Seriously,
though, think about it. If lightning were dark, we couldn’t see it,
now could we? And how about that time in Bonatrouse when we had those
cocktails? They were called White Lightning, weren’t they?”
“You
mean the drinks we had right before the angry mob of vengeful
husbands tried to kill you?” Bozius asked. “I dunno, Rory. But if
we live past these next five minutes, I’ll be sure to head back
there and find out.”
“Hya,
Thunder, hya!” Rory called, kicking his black horse to a gallop.
“You’re
riding Lightning, for the love of—bah, forget it!” Bozius
gave up.
“What
do you think, kid?” Rory asked.
“I
don’t want to die!” Rafule screamed.
“Then
start blasting them with fireballs!”
As
if suddenly struck with that very realization, Rafule raised one had
to the sky. Unable to see his passenger, Rory could still tell that
magic was in the air. The temperature around him was increasing, as
if Rafule was heating up the very atmosphere around them. That was
when the Pirate of Vimiland was struck with a new genius plan.
“Bozy,
about face!” Rory directed as he brought his horse—Thunder? Or
is this one Lightning?—around in a wide arc. “We’ve got a
doll to catch!”
“This
is getting added to the list of dumb ideas…” Bozius muttered,
though he still brought his horse around for a return strike.
“You
keep a list?” Rory was flattered. “Rafule, make a door!”
“It’s
too bouncy…” the boy whimpered.
“We
don’t have time for this,” Rory was kicking his horse into a
full-on mad gallop.
“It’s
hard to aim…”
“Who
said anything about precision?” Rory asked. “Can you make it
really big?”
“How
big?”
“Ginormous!”
Bozious hollered.
“I
think so…”
“Then
go big, Raffy,” Rory smiled. “Go big!”
In
the moments that followed, Rory wasn’t sure if the world around him
went dark, or if the force flashing forth from Rafule’s hand was
just brighter than the sun itself, but either way it was all magic.
Unlike the spire of flame that Rafule nearly struck Rory with just
the previous morning, this had no beauty or sculpture to it, let
alone direction. A widespread cone of fire spread before them, and
Rory was pretty sure that any misstep at this point would immediately
result in him being roasted alive. Tightening his grip on the reigns,
the pirate made a wish that everything would go perfect.
And
for a blink of an instant, it all did.
The
twin guard towers swirled into infernos of screaming death, with
archers leaping two stories to the ground, choosing broken bones over
smoldering flesh. The gates burst away under the sheer magnitude of
Rafule Charsbic’s magical power. Travelers and guards alike ran for
their lives, desperate to escape the hellish fury that relentlessly
sprang forth from the hands of a scared teenaged boy. Bozius’s
white stallion leapt forth to lead the way, ignorant of the raging
inferno blazing all around. Rory and Rafule followed on their black
steed, and escape was within their grasp.
Then
Rafule began vomiting endlessly and fell off of the horse.
“You’ve
got to be kidding me!” Rory cursed as he brought his charger to a
hault. “Bozius, man down!”
“Leave
him!”
“We
can’t do that!”
Rory
wasn’t quite sure what his friend grumbled next, but it sounded
faintly like, “Dammit! All a man wants is some peace and quiet and
sex…”
Rory
leapt down from the horse and ran to the young wizard’s aid. The
boy finally stopped puking—hopefully—but couldn’t rise to his
feet under his own power. Rory attempted to help, but discovered his
own strength failing him.
“Give
him here, you weak little girl,” Bozius bawked, tossing the woozy
boy over his shoulder. “Puke on me, kid, and I will gut you! Rory,
get on Lightning.”
“Which
one is—”
“The
black one!” Bozius screamed. “The black one that you’ve been
riding all this time! The one right there!”
Rory
climbed up and Bozius laid Rafule’s limp form across Rory’s lap.
At this time, a small group of confused and leary guards and citizens
were massing nearby. Rory turned to look at them.
“Um…”
time seemed to be of the essence here. “Another victory for the
Cache of the Hand!” Twice in two days, he thought. I
really hate that stupid name!
“Cache
of the Hand?” an old man repeated. “You bastards!”
“Yeah!
We hate the Cache of the Hand!” added another voice, and soon the
whole mob was taking up the anti-Hand chant.
“Hey,
fearless leader, good work,” Bozius called over from his horse.
“Now can we please leave before they realize you’re a liar?”
“Ah,
yes, right, Bozius, good plan,” Rory looked down at Rafule before
kicked his horse into motion. “Don’t puke on me, kid. This shirt
is silk.”
The
remnants of Rafule’s destruction settled to ash as the last
remaining flames licked at the air. Hopefully, this Golden Doll was
going to be worth all this trouble.
* * *
THE
SUN WAS shining, birds were chirping, the horses were sweating, and
Rafule stunk like vomit; all in all, Rory considered the day thus far
a success. He wasn’t proud of the fact that a restless night spent
with Starla at the Broken Spoke blew his chance to steal the Golden
Doll with ease, but Rory surely didn’t regret the night as a whole.
That woman could do things with her body that seemed impossible to
the imagination…
Still,
the mission was still on. Sweeping in and stealing the Golden Doll
from Lord Wordsly now was going to be quite the dilemma—after all,
he had a large armed escort with him—but not at all
impossible—after all, he had a large armed escort with him last
time. The important issue now was devising a plan to accomplish
this goal, sans magic. I wonder if passing out from the mental and
physical stress of launching the Apocalypse upon two guard towers
constitutes as a nap, Rory pondered, hoping that when Rafule
finally awoke from his coma he could cast another spell. That sure
would be nice…
“This
is stupid,” Bozius piped in, bringing Rory’s thoughts back into
reality with a crash. “Wordsly’s gonna have guards, Rory.
Probably more now that he knows people are after his stupid doll.”
“Stupid?”
Rory asked. “Bozy, what’s stupid about a solid gold doll is that
we don’t currently possess it. I assure you, it won’t seem so
stupid when we’re swimming in a pool full of money!”
“Rory,
how do you expect to pull this one off? There’s two of us!”
“We’ve
got Rafule…”
Bozius
looked at Rory for a brief moment, then quickly returned his eyes to
the road. “There’s two of us, and who knows how many of them.”
“You
saw the body back in the forest,” Rory put in. “Wordsly’s
guards are worthless.”
“You
bring up a good point, Rory, I’m sorry, yes,” Bozius stated,
reigning Thunder in to a hault. “The Cache of the Hand attacked
Wordsly and killed his men!”
“I
really wish we could call them something else,” Rory pleaded.
“Seriously, I know it’s supposed to sound like cash, and
it’s cute because their thieves, but really? Can’t we just call
them the Hand?”
“That
might get confused too easily with Dante the Hand,” Bozius
countered thoughtfully.
“That
bandit with the one arm?” Rory asked. “I thought he retired.”
“Oh
no, he robbed some beggars outside of Trivelva just last week.”
“Beggars?
Really, the man stole from beggars?”
“He’s
got one arm, Rory!”
“Then
he should retire!”
The
two friends sat atop their horses for a bit in silent contemplation.
A bee hovered nearby but continued on its merry way, and Rafule
groaned a bit but did not wake up.
“What
were we talking about?” Rory asked, dumfounded.
“That
this heist is a stupid idea and we should go somewhere else,”
Bozius answered. “Not just ‘cause we’re trying to steal
something from a heavily guarded nobleman, but if we get caught on
the Queen’s Parkway, we’ll be tossed into some dungeon somewhere
for sure! Only nobles are supposed to be here!”
“Oh,
Bozy, you worry a bit too much,” Rory smiled, nudging his horse
into motion. “Rafule’s going to wake up any minute now,
rejuvenated and ready to set victory into motion in a blaze of
glory!”
“He’s
not sleeping, Rory, he’s unconscious!” Bozy stated. “And, as
long as we’re talking about it, I don’t feel comfortable with
this. I don’t want to go down in a blaze of glory! How can we trust
some kid who can throw fire from his hands?”
“He’s
on our side, he likes us,” Rory replied, almost patting the
sleeping boy’s head but changing his mind last minute upon noticing
chunks of vomit sitting in Rafule’s hair. Rory settled for patting
the teenager on the shoulder instead. “He needs a role model, is
all. I nominate you.”
“I
ain’t no baby-sitter,” Bozius argued.
“Never
thought you could be, Bozy,” Rory muttered. “But you could mentor
the boy, show him what it means to be a man.”
“He
wants to be a man? That’s easy! Let’s leave him here to fend for
himself. That’ll make a man of him real quick!”
“Bozy,
don’t be ridic—wait…” Rory’s thoughts drifted off as he
brought Lighting to a stop.
“What
is it?” Bozius asked, before seeing for himself. “Oh…”
Several
hundred yards ahead, cresting over one of the Queen’s rolling
summits, was Lord Wordsly and his retinue. The Parkway was, for the
most part, a long, flat bridge, but having to accommodate for the
rolling foothills that were the Bumperton Hills, the Queen’s
Parkway occasionally rolled with the terrain. The inclines were
slight, but enough to offer Rory and his friends some cover at this
distance. Nevertheless, they would soon enough be discovered, if they
hadn’t already.
“So
much for the element of surprise,” Bozius spat. “Wake the kid
up!”
“I
thought you didn’t trust him?” Rory quipped.
“No
use in carrying his dead weight around,” Bozius muttered. “If
we’re going to do this, I want to at least have a little bit of
fire leading the way. Blaze of glory and all that stupid nonsense.
I’m glad I got to do a Transcontinental Swordfish one last time…”
“A
transcontinental…” Rory was both confused and intrigued. “What
exactly did you do with those girls last night?”
“It
involves five willing participants, a few pints of jelly, two blind
folds, some candles, and a very lucky me,” Bozius summed all
matter-of-factly as if it should be common knowledge. “After that,
it gets complicated.”
“Hell,
we have to survive this!” Rory proclaimed. “I want a
transcontinental sword fight!”
“Swordfish,
Rory,” Bozius corrected. “Unless you’re looking for seven very
willing men.”
“Seven?
Why does the Sword Fight have more?”
“Can
you focus, please!”
“Right,
Bozy, right,” Rory agreed. “But after this, I want explanations.
Rafule!” Rory started slapping the boy in the face. “Wake up, my
legs are numb!”
“Mama?”
Rafule grumbled as he slowly came to. “Can we have pancakes for
dinner?”
“What?
No, foolish boy, wake up,” Rory demanded. “Quit dreaming, we need
your skills. Although pancakes do sound better than cold chicken and
warm beer…”
Rafule
looked up at Rory, around at his surroundings, and seemed to be
waking up. Then he dropped his head back down and puked again.
“Ah,
that’s it! Off!” Rory shouted, pushing the boy to the road.
“Yes,
good idea, just in case they didn’t see us yet,” Bozius was
shaking his head.
Rafule
puked and gagged a bit, his face was pale and eyes bloodshot, but
other than that he seemed to be okay. Rory checked for puke stains on
his clothes and then made sure that the boy missed the horse. All
seemed well.
“Have
a nice nap?” Rory inquired.
“What?”
Rafule asked. “No. What happened?”
“Fire
and brimstone and then you blacked out like a drunk sissy,” Bozius
recapped.
“All
class, Bozy,” Rory said.
“It’s
all I know how to be,” Bozius replied dryly.
“Wait?
I passed out?” Rafule reached his hands out for balance, catching
himself on Lightning’s dark black flanks. “I never cast anything
that powerful before! Looks like it worked, right? I mean, we got out
of there, huh?”
“Yes,
yes, all is well, good job,” Rory rushed along. “But now that
we’re awake, we need you to work your magic on those men up ahead.”
Rafule
looked up at Rory with a baffled expression on his face. “But I
can’t.”
“Sure
you can, piece of cake,” Rory corrected. “Just hop back up here,
we’ll ride out, and you’ll torch Lord Wordsly for all the
injustice he has shown you. Everyhing will be splendid and we’ll
all be rich!”
“No,
Rory, you don’t understand,” Rafule stated. “It’s not like I
was sleeping. I lost consciousness from the magnitude of the spell I
cast. I’m lucky to be alive! I’m going to need a full night’s
rest—hopefully in a comfortable bed—before I’ll be able to cast
anything.”
Rory
felt his fortune slipping away like sand through his fingers. All the
grandiose possibilities to do all the insane things that only a
horse-cart full of freshly minted bobbies could afford, all
vanquished with two simple words: I can’t.
Bozius
sighed heavily. “Does Wordsly know you can throw fire out of your
hands?”
“Yes,
of course,” Rafule answered. “That’s why he hired me.”
“And
does he know that you just rained red hot death back at Appleton?”
“No,
how could he…”
Rory
met eyes with Bozius, and suddenly found himself on the same page as
his muscle-bound friend. “Bozy, I like the way you think!”
* * *
LORD
WORDSLY’S RETINUE was in sight, cresting one of the final rolls of
the Queen’s Parkway before the road took on a flattened pitch into
the Crescent Mountains. Rory, Bozius, and Rafule were fast
approaching from behind, charging hard so as to be heard by the rear
guard. This plan started to take on more similarities to running
headlong into the gaping mouth of a dragon, but it was the only plan
they had, and was quickly becoming the only option available.
The
pounding hooves of Thunder and Lightning surely had the intended
effect, as several guards from Lord Wordsly’s entourage—some on
foot, some on horseback, all armed to the teeth—fanned out to
create a defensive wall, the cart carrying the nobleman himself
drifting further ahead along the highway to take up a further
protected position.
“Bear
no further, strangers,” shouted a man on horseback whose helmet was
adorned with a long, puffy tassel. Apparently this frilly decoration
was how Wordsly identified his officers. The olive green and soft
beige colors of the lieutenant’s wardrobe made it quite difficult
to take the man seriously, but Rory listened to his loftily-worded
proclamation nonetheless. “Another step and we shall open fire upon
you!”
Rory
and Bozius brought their horses to an abrupt stop, bringing them
whinnying up on their hind legs. From the looks in the eyes of the
guards, this apparently had the effect Rory was hoping for; he and
his comrades looked large and mysterious, proficient and threatening.
As the horses came down, Rory turned the flank of Lightning towards
the guards, to make his great reveal.
“Sir,
I believe you know my associate,” Rory suggested, with Rafule
sitting behind him in his gleaming white robes. I think I
understand a little more why the kid wears such ridiculous clothes,
Rory thought.
“Charsbic?”
The lieutenant recalled, struggling now to keep his horse from
teetering back and forth. The man may not have wanted to believe his
eyes, but it was doubtful that his beast forgot about seeing a boy
throwing fireballs around. “But we—”
“Left
him for dead?” Rory interrupted. “Yes, we know all about that.
You shouldn’t ever cross a powerful sorcerer.”
“But… but, for
the safety of our liege, for the protection of—”
“The
Golden Doll?” Rory loved cutting this guy off. Better than that,
watching the man gulp down his nervousness at hearing reference to
the treasure in Lord Wordsly’s possession was making this heist
seem to open itself up to Rory. “Yes, we know all about it. Hand it
over, and we’ll keep Master Charsbic from using you and your little
troop here for tinder.”
“Rafule
Charsbic couldn’t harm me if you held a dagger to his neck and
another to his nethers,” claimed a defiant voice from within the
cart. Shortly after, the large, silk-bedecked form of Lord Byron
Wordsly wrestled itself from the comparatively cramped confines of
his carriage. He appeared as if to be wearing clothing stitched
together from a dozen different fabrics, all of colors that couldn’t
possibly be found in nature—several bolts likely because the man
could not possibly fit into anything aside from a blanket that was
not particularly tailored to his massive proportions. However, where
his blubber failed him, his voice and the look in his devilish eyes
gave him a presence that granted him some intimidation. “Isn’t
that right, nephew?”
Rory
felt is jaw drop, a very bad tell if they were playing cards right
now. He tipped his head towards Rafule and whispered, “Nephew?”
“Um…”
Rafule was silent for a moment, his pale cheeks blushing. “That’s
kind of how I got the job…”
“I’m
gonna gut you!” Bozius growled through pressed teeth. He was trying
to keep his voice down, and was spitting with every word. “I’m
gonna beat you within an inch of your life, and then I’m gonna gut
you, kid!”
“Bozy,”
Rory whispered, “nobody’s gutting anyone. Rafule, you didn’t
think this bit of information was important at all?”
“Now
I do, I guess…”
Rory
huffed out a breath, composed himself, and looked out over the guards
at the nobleman. “Uncle Byron, you lost any protection you may have
had when you chained your nephew to a tree!”
“It
was mercy!” the pompous noble balked. “You rescued him, didn’t
you?”
“He’s
got ya there, Rory,” Bozius leaned in to add.
“Shut
up,” Rory hissed.
“It
seems that everything worked itself out,” Wordsly decided.
“Lieutenant Mackle, if you will please escort our guests off the
Parkway?”
“Yes,
m’lord,” the man who started the dealings with Rory earlier
replied, stepping forth with several others to “escort” Rory and
his friends to their demise. Bozius was already drawing swords.
“Do
you have any idea who you’re dealing with, Wordsly?” came a new
voice. Looking over, Rory saw a line of black-clad men standing on
the side wall of the Queen’s Parkway. All of the men wore black
masks, save for the man who was speaking. His long, dark blonde hair
was streaming in the breeze, and across his face was painted a spread
out red hand.
“Oh
damn…” Rory cursed to himself.
“Sullivan,”
Bozius stated, recognizing the bandit that both he and Rory had
experienced several run-ins with in the past. Sullivan was
pretty much Bozius’s way of seconding Rory’s oh damn.
“The
Cache of the Hand!” Lieutenant Mackle shouted. “Men, at the
ready!” The guards quickly gave up on Rory, Bozius, and Rafule, and
expended all their focus on the newly-arrived bandits.
“I
wouldn’t be so quick to turn away if I were you, lieutenant,”
Sullivan advised in mock-seriousness. “For that is Roderick Casbury
you show your back to!”
“The
pirate?” Mackle asked, confused.
“Couldn’t
you tell?” Sullivan replied. “Silk shirt, ridiculous bandana that
he chooses to wear as a scarf, knee-high boots. Not so dangerous with
a sword, but leave him alone with your wife for five minutes…”
“I
didn’t know she was your wife, Sullivan!” Rory piped in.
“He
never does,” Bozius added.
“Bozius
Bozinius, is that you?” Sullivan smiled, to which Bozius responded
with a snarl. “Oh, I’m sorry, you don’t like your name being
out there, right? I totally forgot… Bozius Bozinius.”
“How’s
the leg, Sully?” Bozius retorted, to which Sullivan’s smile
became a grimace. The last time they all met, Bozius slashed his
sword deep into Sullivan’s hamstring, practically crippling the
man. Obviously, time heals all wounds.
“Hardly
notice it, Bozy,” Sullivan responded. “Was that you? I completely
forgot.” Sullivan’s gaze quickly snapped over to the nobleman’s
cart, into which Wordsly was struggling to get back. “Where do you
think your off to, fat man? It’s rude to leave in the middle of a
conversation.”
Responding
to a faint hand wave from Sullivan, several of the Cache of the Hand
bandits swarmed in, leapt wholly over the guards—footmen and
cavalry alike—and encircled the carriage. Another took perch atop
the wagon. Wordsly’s shaking hands held onto the door knob as if it
might grant him salvation. More bandits entered the Parkway from the
opposite side, and Rory was quickly starting to dislike the odds.
“I
see you got your hands on the mage, Roderick,” Sullivan called out,
staring daggers at Rafule. “Are we going to have any trouble this
time, boy?”
“Rory,
I’ve got nothing,” Rafule whispered.
“They
don’t know that,” Rory replied. “Just stay calm, we’ll get
out of this.”
“Dragon
Peak,” Bozius suggested.
“Really?”
Rory was taken aback. “I’m hearing this from you?”
“It’s
all we got,” Bozius replied.
“What’s
Dragon Peak?” Rafule asked nervously.
Dragon
Peak is one of the highest points in the Crescent Mountains. Several
years prior, Rory and Bozius were on the run from a small militia,
having acquired from a nearby mining town a large payment for iron
ore. Needless to say, the townsfolk were angered, and spent all their
available energy and resources and energy hunting Rory and Bozius
down. Even the mayor joined the hunt, and was whisked along in a
carriage similar in proportion to what Lord Wordsly was currently
riding around in. Trapped on Dragon Peak with surrender seeming to be
the only realistic option, Rory and Bozius decided instead to charge
the horse-drawn carried full on, leap up onto and over it, take the
horses’ reigns, and head away at full speed down the trail away
from Dragon Peak. With the mayor as a screaming hostage within the
cart, the militia refused to strike out at the thieves. Eventually,
Rory and Bozius sent the horses charging away down one trail and
themselves escaped down another, with their loot but without their
original horses.
“I’d
hate to lose these horses,” Rory lamented.
“What
are their names?” Bozius asked.
“Thunder
and Lighting,” Rory replied.
“And
which one are you on?”
“Thunder?”
“I’m
pretty sure you’ll get over the loss,” Bozius assured him.
“What’s
Dragon Peak?” Rafule asked again.
“It’s
going to be hard with the kid,” Rory added.
“Then
we leave him,” Bozius responded.
“What?!”
Rafule shrieked.
“What
are you idiots plotting over there?” Sullivan asked, nodding to his
men to approach them.
The
moment of truth was fast approaching. Wordsly’s entourage was
confused and likely scared, the Cache of the Hand was scattered but
still strong in numbers, and a few of the bandits were slowly
approaching Rory, Bozius, and Rafule. Every passing moment reduced
their chances of escape, and right now the element of surprise was
their only weapon.
“Rafule,
if you don’t jump when the opportunity presents itself, I don’t
know if we’ll be able to save you,” Rory said. “So be ready.”
“What?”
Rafule responded fearfully, but his yipe quickly became a scream—that
had the added effect of taking the approaching bandits aback—as
Rory and Bozius kicked Thunder and Lighting into a full-on charge at
Wordsly’s cart. Some of the lord’s retinue jumped out of the way,
others were ran under. The bandits of the Cache of the Hand that
encircled the carried flipped out of the way—apparently you had to
be a former acrobat to join their ranks—and as Thunder and
Lightning closed in, Rory and Bozius leapt atop the carriage. The
horses forked around either side and continued on.
Swept
up by the confusion of everything going on around him, Rafule
remained atop Thunder, who continued galloping on past all the
mayhem. Wordsly desperately grabbed at the passing horse, but his
fumbling hands couldn’t find purchase.
“Nephew,”
pleaded the desperate lord, “don’t leave me!”
Rory
and Bozius had a more pressing issue to contend with: one bandit
stood atop the carriage.
“One
of us should get to the horses,” Bozius stated, taking a step.
“Right
you are,” Rory agreed, slipping gingerly past the confused bandit.
“Good plan!”
“I
meant me!” Bozius growled, drawing a sword and entering combat with
the bandit. The black-clad fighter was swift, but armed only with two
small daggers. Still, with little space to work with, the better
coordinated and more agile acrobatic bandit had the advantage. Bozius
was quickly on his back, desperately trying to block and dodge
incoming blows.
Suddenly,
with Rory taking the reigns of the two horses assigned pulling
duties, the carriage made an abrupt and bumpy leap forward. Jostled,
the Cache of the Hand bandit lost footing, and Bozius took this
opportunity for a quick kick to his opponent’s crotch and a
continuing sweep of his leg to push the man over to the road below.
Bozius pulled himself together and joined Rory to guide the horses.
“That
worked!” Rory smiled, handing some reigns to Bozius. “Again!”
“Don’t
go poppin’ the cork just yet, Rory,” Bozius warned, looking over
his shoulder at the mob that was amassing to chase them down.
At
first, it appeared that Wordsly’s men and the Cache of the Hand
were battling, which was good news for this escape plan. Then,
however, their actions seemed to coordinate, as both parties gave
chase to the fleeing horse cart. At this time, Rafule was turning
about to return to Rory and Bozius.
“What
an idiot!” Bozius cursed. “What is that boy doing? He was free!”
“I
think he wants to help,” Rory considered.
“He
was helping! He was no longer in the way! I’m not dying for this
kid, Rory!”
Some
deal must have been struck between Sullivan and Wordsly, because the
approaching horses had both guards and bandits on them. Meanwhile,
Rafule was also closing in. Escape was within reach, but this boy’s
actions could ruin it all. Still, the more pressing matter was to
handle to the angry and armed men that were quickly catching up to
the carriage. Rory and Bozius both had a tight grip on their swords,
ready for combat at any moment.
As
Rafule closed in, he raised on hand to the sky, and in his palm
appeared a small but quite noticeable flame. As he arced around the
carriage, this small display was apparently enough to stop the
chasing bandits and guards in their tracks. Rafule continued his arc
and caught up alongside the carriage.
“I
thought you didn’t have anything left,” Bozius mentioned.
“Like
Rory said,” Rafule responded, “I had a little nap.”
“But
I thought that was only good for small magic,” Rory asked.
“They
don’t know that,” Rafule smiled.
With
that, the trio headed off into the Crescent Mountains. They managed
to get Lightning back along the way, but that wasn’t the most
important prize: securely within the carriage was a large doll made
of solid gold!
