Theurgy: The Journey's Dawn (Book One)

Part 2 Chapter 43 Mount Kryn

Lyse remembers back to an incident that occurred a few years back. He was still just a squire at the time, but even squires are often given duties to prepare them for taking assignments in the field and under their captains or officers. Some bandits were making trouble a few miles outside the town and needed to be apprehended. They rarely see bandits this close to the capital; most of them stay far into the plains to pick off wagon trains and lone travelers. They were also either former soldiers or guards, deserters who now wanted men and needed some way to earn what they call a living. His mother was at the height of her apprehensive nature and was very near to forbidding him to go after these criminals along with the rest of the squires. It took his father to convince her that he should be safe; Gabbes and his partner would be riding with them. To say the least, it was nowhere as dangerous as Lyse had been warned. They sent a decoy out to a strip of hilly plains where they speculated they would be hiding. Edlund was the coach, as nervous as a twig in winter clutching the reins as if he might fall to his death. Gabbes was inside the actual coach with a squire, a young son of a scholar from the capital. Everyone else was keeping a distance. They didn't know where the attack would come from nor how many bandits. For all, they knew it could be anywhere from five to thirty of them.

It took a few days till they would catch them. Each time they changed the modest brown Morgan horses or a common donkey, a wagon with sacks filled with sand or rice. They sent scouts on a wider range, still hidden in the tall grass with telescopes. Lyse almost figured that they had moved on to new territory, and a few shared his thoughts. They were about to abandon the plan after a week when they finally attacked late in the afternoon one day. They came upon the cart in a wide semicircle. Two men with spears with crescent blades attached to the end prodded the horses to stop the carts. Two more on lean horses suddenly sprouted from the hill to the right of the road wielding bows. Their formation really reminded Lyse of practical battle formations. But as sure and tight as it was, even allowing an escape route if things got rough, they were dismantled just as easily. Surrounded, two men shot by far off arrows, and the rest met with the ready blades of over two dozens young men. They were tied and loaded on the very carts they meant to rob. The only consequence was Edlund had an arrow jutting from his shoulder, but with the power of aura and practical care, it was a minor offense. Of course, his mother chewed out Gabbes for letting him ride in the first place, even though he was the one who eagerly requested it.

It taught him, that day, that no matter how well organized, no matter how well practiced a plan or even simple maneuvers are, all it takes to defeat you is overwhelming strength. The same can go in the other direction. Sometimes strength can be destroyed with cleverness.

So what did he think of his situation? As he awoke, he felt as if every bone in his body ached in annoyance. His brain throbbed as senses returned to him, and he felt an odd vacant sensation at his wrists. He heard the crashing of waves, the rough rocking of a boat as men walked to and fro. The familiar smells of the ocean he had just managed to accustom himself to. But then he began to remember. Remember the large explosion, designed to lure him in specifically. The small fight with the assassins, the trap they set with Garath being the bait. He foolishly went on alone to fight him, to kill him. And instead, his hasty actions left with both of his forearms cut off. He opened his eyes, seeing that he was on the deck of a ship, tied to the mast with thick chains and rope. His arms were constricted to his sides, but he managed to look down and see where the cuts had been made. Most of his forearm was back at least, almost to his wrists now as the skin looked as though pulled tight against new muscle. There was no hair where the arm was growing, just smooth skin delicate and sensitive. He tried to guess how long it must have been to of made such progress unconscious. A week maybe? Probably a little less. He wasn't wearing his cloak or his gambeson, only the white undershirt and grey trousers. He didn't see his belt or sword anywhere nearby if they bothered to pick it up from his lifeless hands.