A Clash of Magics by Guy Antibes (read this if txt) 📕

The woman shrugged. “It happens all the time. Sometimes the Jarkanese army will push the border south for a few miles. Most of us don’t pay any attention. The innkeeper probably thought you came on the eastern track.”

Trevor wondered if he should go looking for Potur Lott.

“Was there any fighting in the village?” Trevor asked.

The woman laughed. “Dryden is better to us than that. Both sides ignore the village since we ship fish to Maskum and Jarkan. That lake is very productive. There are valuable trees in the valley as well that we export both ways.” She looked a little sly. “Are you worried?”

Trevor shook his head. “Not if you aren’t.”

“I’m not,” she said.

Lissa bumped Trevor. “We might want to get going.”

Trevor smiled at the cleric. “There is more to see.” He glanced at the woman’s muddy boots before he turned to leave.

“Fire!” Lissa said as Trevor turned to see the woman’s hands extended.

A spear of fire slammed into him. Trevor stepped toward the woman. “I have a very good charm, and you aren’t a cleric.” He ran to the door where the woman had come out and saw a man’s body in his underclothes lying on the floor. “Are you a Maskumite magician or a smuggler?”

The woman’s face turned from angelic to devilish. “A smuggler, of course. By the time you return to your inn, the village will be ours, and you will be dead. There are those of us more powerful than me.”

Lissa sent out a bolt of lightning that burned a hole through the clerical robe and pierced the woman’s body, who crumpled to the floor.

“Could Potur be involved in this?” Lissa asked.

“I don’t see why unless he volunteered and knew what was going to happen. He knows you are a gold and who I am,” Trevor said. “I’m sure we’ll know soon.” He looked at Lissa. “Put on the cleric’s robe. Someone might think you are our host in the church.”

“Host,” Lissa snorted. She donned the robe, and they walked out of the church. Unlike their walk from the inn, there were screams and sounds of fighting punctuating the valley’s air.

“Which way did Potur go?” Trevor asked.

“That way, I’m almost sure.”

“Almost might not be good enough,” Trevor said.

“It’s going to have to be,” Lissa said as she took Trevor’s hand and began walking toward the lakeside of the village.

After walking past a few of the winding lanes, Lissa spotted Potur’s horse. They hadn’t been confronted yet, but that was going to change as Trevor saw the point of a sword protrude from a doorway a few paces ahead. He pushed Lissa against the wall.

“I won’t be a minute,” Trevor said.

A smuggler walked out and immediately spotted Trevor, holding onto his sword.

“You don’t look like a villager,” the man said, snarling.

“I’m just passing through, just like you are,” Trevor said.

“The only passing through will be this,” the smuggler waggled his sword, “through you.” He ran to the attack.

Trevor played with the man. He wasn’t close to Trevor’s ability. The fight was short, and when it was over, Trevor dragged the smuggler into the cottage from where he came. A young man and a young woman’s body was on the floor while a little baby cried in its cradle. Trevor quickly looked through the cottage. The couple couldn’t have had much, yet this marauder took what they had and killed them. He guessed the child would have been as good as dead if they hadn’t been in the village.

“We have work to do,” Trevor said. “Be merciless,” he began as he described what happened inside. The criminals had come to loot. They weren’t smugglers.

They kept to one side of the lane and looked in the window where Potur’s horse was tied. The scout was tied to a chair while one of the thugs was in the act of asking questions. Potur had evidently been resisting. Trevor kicked in the door. There were four marauders in the room, two with weapons out.

“Get the ones closest to Potur,” Trevor said to Lissa as he fought the two armed men.

This fight was on another level since the pair were experienced swordsmen. One of them tried to use magic to speed up, but Trevor’s practice months ago in Jilgrath with Volst’s fencing club had prepared him to defeat the man while sustaining only a small cut that he was aware of, while he kept the other man at bay. The fight went back out on the street. This brigand didn’t need speed to show how much better he was than his companion.

Trevor drew out his long knife when the other man did, and the fight went on. Trevor tripped and dropped his sword. He was on the ground waving his long knife when his opponent pulled his sword back and promptly fell over Trevor.

Once Trevor pushed his assailant off, Lissa leaned down, offering a hand. “You told me to be merciless. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. Our work isn’t done yet. How is Potur?” Trevor asked.

“Retrieving his favorite sword,” The scout said from inside the cottage. He walked out, buckling his sword belt. “These aren’t smugglers. Smugglers won’t kill the villagers that help them. I’ve lost some friends today. Do you mind if we do a little police work?”

“Not at all,” Trevor said. He looked at Lissa, who nodded back at him.

Trevor was generally on the other side when he dealt with guards or police or constables. The fighting began to intensify as they made their way back toward the inn. They had taken care of six of the robbers, but there were perhaps three times that many fighting on the village streets.

There were magicians on both sides, but the only one using lightning spells was Lissa. Trevor guessed that one