Pilgrimage by Carl Purcell Page A

Griffith. Roland turned around and placed his hands on the door. He drove his heels back hard against the ground and waited. Another blast shook the door. Splinters and broken screws fell out of the door frame. Roland was now the only thing holding it in place. He looked back over his shoulder; there were still shards of broken glass on the floor and in the sink, as well as the staff he'd been beaten with earlier. He hoped it wouldn't come to that. It would be him against two pissed off sorcerers and he didn't have the element of surprise any more.
    Griffith hadn't moved.
    “Are you still holding that door? Give it up!” Whoever was on the other side of the door said. Time was just about up. Roland waited, both hands on the door and his eyes on the staff lying next to him. Somebody knocked on the door. Roland gritted his teeth. He wouldn't let the taunt get to him. He couldn't let himself be baited into doing something stupid. Not unless stupidity was the only option left.
    Then Griffith placed his hand on Roland's arm and wrapped his fingers around his wrist. Roland turned to him, keeping his weight on the door. Instead of the panicking Griffith he expected to see, the kid was smiling.
    “I've got it. Come on!” Griffith said. Roland didn't question. Griffith jerked him away and ran to the window. He jumped up on the counter, squatted at the window and grabbed Roland's other arm. The door fell in. Griffith, still smiling, kicked back, dragging Roland with him. The air rushed over them as they plummeted. Griffith let one hand go and turned himself over to face the ground. He closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, held it a second, then began to blow. All the air in Griffith's lungs rushed out of him in a torrent of wind. In the lamp light, Roland saw dust and weeds whip and shake back and forth. The fierce gale blew back against them and caught them before they hit the ground. As Griffith finally expended the last of his breath, the wind lowered him and Roland gently to the ground. Their feet touched the dirt and Griffith began panting like a dog.
    “Incredible! Well done, Griffith. Your magic actually came through for us.” Roland gave him an approving slap on the back and Griffith nearly collapsed. “Now let's go.”
    “I just need another minute.” Griffith heaved out through deep breaths.
    “Yeah, let me just tell that to Pentdragon and his friends. Come on, you can rest when we're clear of them.”
    Roland grabbed him and dragged him down the road. Griffith took one look back up and saw the house, barely visible in the night. He could still hear shouting from the kitchen windows. In that moment he heard the voices, he found both his breath and his legs in a second wind and he started running as fast as he could. Roland ran beside him and together they headed for the lights of civilisation.
    They hadn't gone that far when they spotted a car's headlights on the road coming towards them.
    “It must be one of Pentdragon's guests.” Griffith said.
    “Get off the road!” Roland grabbed his friend and lunged off the road. They sprinted through long grass and over uneven ground as far from the road as they could manage. From behind them came the sounds of shouting. A bright spotlight swept beside them. Roland grabbed Griffith and drove him downwards, burying them both in the long grass before the light hit them. Roland wrapped a hand over Griffith's mouth and held the sorcerer still. The spotlight swept past them, the bright light barely missing their bodies. The illuminating beam hovered beside them a minute then moved on. Roland lifted his head up and watched the light drift away, then ducked back beneath the grass and rummaged through the dirt until he found a hefty rock. He peered above the grass again, watching the light scan over a nearby tree. Roland threw the rock as hard as he could, sending it towards the tree. The stone clattered among the high tree branches, then tumbled to the ground. The light flicked down