Free Foundling Wizard (Book 1) by James Eggebeen Page B

You have to help me!” she called. “He’s after me.”
    She ran up to Lorit and grabbed his arm. “Please, kind sir. Please, won’t you help me?”
    Lorit examined the girl. She was about sixteen summers, with dirty long brown hair. She was dressed in the style preferred by city girls these days. Her face was smudged, and her dress was in disarray.
    “Please help,” she repeated, tugging at his arm.
    She led them into the alley next to the tavern, where the evening sun cast shadows. The buildings were tall, and the shadows were so deep that it was hard to make out what was before them. The girl suddenly stopped and released his arm. Lorit blinked, trying to adjust to the dark.
    “Let’s have your packs,” demanded a young man standing in front of Lorit.
    “Are you bothering this girl?” Lorit asked. The young man was about his height. He looked a few years older than Lorit, and was dressed in dirty tattered leather.
    “Bothering her? Of course not. She brings me chickens for plucking.” He pulled a club from behind his back and slowly slapped the knobby head in his free hand. He looked straight at Lorit and repeated his demand pointing to the ground before him. “Your pack! Just drop it there and you don’t have to get hurt.”
    Lorit stepped slightly to the side and turned to look behind him for Chedel and an escape route. There were three more toughs blocking the alleyway behind them, cutting off their retreat.
    “We don’t want any trouble,” Lorit said, turning to face the tough again. “We’re just passing through, and we need our packs.”
    “I don’t care about you. You’re going to give up your packs and any money you have on you. It’s your choice to do it now, before I beat you, or afterward.” He tapped the club in his empty hand again as he spoke.
    “Me?” he asked. “I could use a good beating. It’s been a while since anyone was foolish enough to resist.”
    Lorit relaxed and focused, he imagined a fence strong and tall made of solid oak surrounding himself and Chedel. He closed his eyes and imagined the strength of it, admiring the thickness of the oak planks that made up the fencing and the sturdy poles that supported the planks. He slowly opened his eyes to see the tough lunge at him with the club raised.
    The boy slammed into something invisible. He came up short, as if he’d hit a wall. As the tough impacted the imaginary boundary, Lorit felt a sharp tug all over his body. The wizard had warned him about the energy he used to conjure things. This could only be more of the same.
    The tough raised his club and swung it hard, impacting Lorit’s shield again. The tug at his body was more distinct this time, almost painful in its intensity.
    “What the hell? What are you doing?”
    “I’m not doing anything,” Lorit replied. “It’s you who’s acting foolish.”
    “I don’t know what’s going on here, but it won’t stop you from the beating of your life!” the tough declared. “Come on boys, he can’t hold out against all of us at once.”
    The rest of the crew proceeded forward, swinging their clubs. Each blow contacted Lorit’s shields with a jarring impact, but stopped short of any physical harm to the boys. Lorit could feel himself weakening. Soon enough, his shields would collapse, and he would be at the mercy of the toughs and their clubs. He sunk to his knees and pulled the shield in as close to the two of them as he could. He prepared for the worst.
    “Hold on there, boys,” came the voice of an older woman. “What do you think you are doing?”
    An old woman appeared out of nowhere. She stood straight and tall, holding a staff in one hand. Her other hand rested on one hip. Her long white hair cascaded down over her amber robes. She favored the tough with the same look that Lorit’s mother reserved for him when he’d been especially foolish.
    “Do you want some of this?” the tough called to her. “Unless you do, just back off, Grandma.” He turned