The First Spell

Cotira

Patrick sat on the wagon, staring at the battlefield with misty eyes. They had survived, but at what cost? Only Master Kerin, Dalen, the prince, and himself had made it out alive. The rest of the healer's disciples had died. The road was littered with the corpses of people and horses. At the spot where Dalen had fought, a Zariathan lay nearly halved by the force of the ax blow. Three bodies marked the trail of Kirsth's archery duel, and scattered across the area were the bloodied bodies of shot or slain cavalrymen, mostly killed by the prince. The dead healers had been placed in a large hollow in an ancient oak tree, as there was no time to dig graves. They quickly cleared the hollow of decay and blocked the entrance. It was now necessary to leave immediately to avoid the reinforcements, who were on their way from Cotira, according to the slain captain.

„Time to go," the old healer said softly. „Though it's a shame to leave the fallen behind, you must think about those who are still alive."

„We don't have axles for the wagon," Dalen grumbled.

„We'll be riding horses," Kerin reassured him. „We'll be able to travel much faster that way."

„You on horseback, Master?" Kirsth was surprised. „But...won't you fall apart after an hour?"

„I wasn't offended, Your Majesty. I'm doing quite well on horseback," the healer replied with a weak smile. „Thanks to potions and spells, I won't fall apart for at least fifty years."

„What about our luggage and food? We'll have to get those in the village," Dalen asked matter-of-factly.

„We'll take all the grooms and use them to pay for provisions. We'll pack our saddlebags, and Patrick and Kirsth will catch the horses," Kerin answered.

Half an hour later, with one last glance at the final resting place of their comrades, they rode off towards the village. Thanks to the broad hooves and muscular legs of their horses, they were able to easily traverse the forest road, which was soaked from recent rains. These horses were prized for their speed and endurance and were native to the Gaskhar swamps. The slain cavalrymen had likely taken part in the conquest of this country during the sorcerer's previous conquests.

They arrived at the village just before sunset, and the distrustful eyes of the inhabitants followed them as they rode to Thorak's house. Dalen jumped off his horse and pounded on the door with his fist.

„Open up!" he shouted.

The hinges creaked, and Thorak's shaggy head appeared in the doorway.

„Who's making all that racket?" he growled, anger flashing in his eyes as he realized that these were not soldiers.

„Don't you recognize me?" Dalen asked. „I was here last night..."

A flicker of recognition crossed the peasant's face.

„You bring doom to our village, my lord!" he whispered fearfully. „The soldiers will kill us if they find out we helped you!"

„Relax, Thorak," Kirsth called from his horse. „The Zariathans are now food for the forest scavengers!"

Thorak's legs buckled beneath him, and he broke out in a sweat.

„They're all dead?" he howled, choking on a lump in his throat.

„To the very last one," Patrick confirmed proudly, still sitting in the saddle. „As you can see, there's nothing to be afraid of."

Thorak was speechless and sat down on the bench in front of his hut.

„Nothing to be afraid of?" he stammered. „The Commander of Cotira will order the village to be burned to the ground! These were his troops! You know what they call him? Redhand, because he's shed so much blood that his hands turned red! He's a true believer of Morath!"