Five Kingdoms: Book 07 - Wizard Falling

by Toby Neighbors

  “You are a killer?” Ebain asked, his voice soft and higher pitched than Mansel thought it should have been.

  “If you engage me,” Mansel said. “I will cut you down without mercy.”

  Ebain smiled.

  Then the two men were charging at each other. Ebain had his left arm straight out in front of him, like a lance, the sword on that fist pointed at Mansel’s chest. His right arm held his second weapon high over his shoulder, ready to strike. Mansel had only a split second to react. He spun at the last second, dodging the first blade and moving to Ebain’s left side so that the torturer’s upraised weapon couldn’t reach him.

  Mansel’s sword came around as he spun. He didn’t extend it fully, but kept his spin tight. He didn’t want the blade to get wedged in bone and allow the torturer the split second he would need to strike at Mansel with his heavy swords. Instead, Mansel let the blade bite into the back of Ebain’s left shoulder. It was a minor wound, but the cut was painful and would make wielding the heavy weapon difficult.

  Ebain didn’t cry out or react to the wound. Instead he turned, his feet slipping a little on the wet grass. He brought the sword in his right hand down in a diagonal stroke that would have taken Mansel in the neck but the big warrior raised his sword and caught the heavy blade near his cross guard. For an instant their eyes locked, both men reflecting their hatred for the other. Then Mansel’s foot flicked out, slamming into Ebain’s crotch. The blow should have brought the torturer to his knees, but Ebain only staggered back. Mansel hadn’t expect the torturer to be a eunuch and while the kick was hard enough to bruise, it didn’t debilitate the way Mansel intended it.

  Ebain raised his left sword, but while the torturer may not have been susceptible to pain, a weakness had set into that arm from Mansel’s cut. The sword moved slower than before and Mansel batted the strike away easily. Ebain let the weapon on his left hand go and the forced from Mansel’s blow knocked the strange weapon several feet away.

  Ebain drew a dagger, longer than Wilam’s and much more deadly. The dull gray blade was a weapon, not a decoration or mere symbol of wealth. Ebain swung his thick sword in a savage over head blow, bringing the blade around like a windmill and chopping down at Mansel. The big warrior brought his own blade up horizontally just above his head, blocking the strike, but Mansel knew the sword play was just a distraction. He was forced to spin around Ebain as the torturer brought the dagger up to gut his opponent. The blade slashed through Mansel’s thick shirt and gouged into his side, slicing the flesh with a long, shallow cut before being pulled free by Mansel’s spin.

  Mansel grunted in pain, but immediately brought his sword down, driving the pommel into Ebain’s lower back. The blow sent the torturer staggering forward. Both men turned at the same time. Then Mansel feinted to his right, before planting his foot in the soft ground and spinning to his left. Ebain slashed with the big sword, thrusting it out in front of him and extending his arm. Mansel brought his own weapon down in a vicious chop that caught the torturer on his extended and exposed arm. Mansel’s blade fell right at Ebain’s elbow, severing the limb cleanly. Blood fountained as Ebain turned, his face a rigid mask that hid the pain. The dagger in his left hand was striking out, like a serpent but Mansel backed away.

  “Stop him!” shouted King Zorlan, trying to save his savage servant.

  Mansel saw the soldiers rushing forward and knew he only had an few seconds to end the fight. He saw Ebain moving forward, his left arm rising to slash at Mansel’s throat. The big warrior dropped to one knee and drove his sword forward, thrusting the razor sharp point straight at Ebain’s stomach. The torturer tried to turn away, but Mansel’s blow was too fast, it caught Ebain just to the side of his navel and plunged straight through his back. Ebain froze, looking down, his blank face taking in the killing stroke and then he fell back.

  Mansel jerked his blade free and stood up, the strain was difficult and his head felt light. He was weak but he had no time to rest. Three soldiers were rushing toward him. He raised his sword but suddenly two throwing knives buried themselves in the chests of two of the soldiers. Mansel felt Quinn move silently past him. The third soldier hesitated once his two companions fell dead in the mud.

  “No more killing!” Quinn shouted. “We aren’t the enemy.”

  “You have interfered with a sacred right,” King Zorlan shouted. “I want both their heads.”

  “Don’t be a fool,” Quinn said coldly.

  “You are nothing but a meddling old man,” King Zorlan said. “You shall suffer for this outrage.”

  “You started a fight and it got out of hand,” Quinn said. “I suggest you go back to your rooms and hope King Wilam lives. Otherwise his army might just decide you should join him in death.”

  “I am the sovereign ruler in Falxis. I will lead this army to victory and you shall grovel at my feet when this is over. If you are lucky enough to live through it.”

  King Zorlan, content with his victory, stalked back toward the feasting hall. Mansel put his hand on Quinn’s shoulder and leaned on his mentor.

  “Thanks,” he said.

  Nycoll came running up and immediately pressed a cloth to the wound in Mansel’s side. Quinn squeezed Mansel’s hand and went to join the officers who had gathered around Wilam. The young king lay in the mud, struggling to breathe.

  “We need to get him up to his room,” Quinn said. “Nycoll can look after him.”

  “You four get him to his room,” Symon said, taking charge. “Garhet, ride to the village in the mountains, bring back a healer as soon as possible. Don’t take no for an answer.”

  “Where are you going?” asked one of the other officers.

  “I’m going to make sure the army gets here as soon as they can. You keep an armed guard on King Wilam’s door until I return. No one other than Nycoll and the healer gets in, is that understood?”

  “We’ll make sure he’s safe,” Quinn said.

  They hefted Wilam, who was unconscious, and carried him inside. Quinn went back to Nycoll and Mansel. She was helping Mansel walk back toward the feasting hall.

  “I’ll get him inside,” Quinn said. “The King needs your help now.”

  “Clean his wound,” Nycoll said. “I’ll be along to stitch it up soon.”

  She hurried away.

  “I wish Zollin was here,” Mansel said.

  “Me too,” Quinn replied. “What were you thinking?”

  “I couldn’t let that bastard kill our king.”

  “He may have done that already,” Quinn said, pressing his hand against the cloth over Mansel’s wound so hard it made the big warrior squirm. “Oh, don’t be a baby now. You may have saved our king, but you’ve put the rest of us in danger. King Zorlan won’t rest until he’s seen us dead.”

  “So why did you get involved?” Mansel asked. “I could have killed those three soldiers myself.”

  Quinn shook his head. “I lost you once,” he said. “But I won’t let that happen again. You and Brianna are the only family I have left.”

  Chapter 16

  Zollin crawled along on his stomach. In the darkness he had no concept of how far he had traveled. His leg was hurting so bad he nearly passed out, but he let the pain keep him motivated. He forced himself to keep moving. He knew that once he healed the pain in his hip he would pass out. Fatigue had rushed in as the adrenaline faded from his system and it was a struggle to keep moving. The last thing he wanted was to fall asleep and be found by the giants that inhabited the huge cavern.

  Eventually he found the wall he’d seen. It took, what seemed to Zollin, a long time to find the crack he was looking for. The cavern wall was rough and uneven. There were a lot of false openings and smaller cracks in the stone, but eventually he found a place he could crawl into. He felt better immediately just being surrounded by the heavy stone. He had thought before that being in tight quarters made the darkness seem more oppressive, but being in the huge cavern made him feel weak and exposed. He crawled in the small crac
k, fighting to keep from screaming in pain as he dragged his ruined hip into the tight space.

  Once he was confident he was in the crack far enough that the giant creatures in the cavern couldn’t reach him, he let his magic flow into his hips. One hip was perfect, the other was swollen and sticking out at an odd angle. He could feel the round end of his thigh bone protruding from the socket in his hip bone. Even though he did his best to block the pain, moving the bone back into place was painful. When the pain signals slipped past his magical block, he wanted to scream. But eventually he got the bone back into place and massaged the swelling with his magic. He was sweating profusely and he dug into his pack to find his water. He swallowed the final few drops that remained in the canteen, and then fell asleep.

  When he awoke he hurt all over, not from his run in with the monsters in the cavern, but from sleeping in the cramped crack. He did his best to find a more comfortable position and went back to sleep. When he woke next, his kidney’s ached. He knew he needed more water, so he decided it was time to use his magic. He let it flow out in into the rock and into the cavern. The rock seemed dense and he felt the crack he’d crawled into narrowed after a few more feet and ended. The cavern on the other hand was immense, as was the crevasse that split the cavern.

  Zollin touched the giants with his magic and decided they must be sleeping. They lay stretched on the stone floor, the smaller of the two huddled in the larger’s arms. It would have been a moving scene if it weren’t so terrifying, Zollin thought. He crawled out of the crack and got to his feet. His muscles were tired and weak, but at least his hip wasn’t hurting any more than the rest of him. He stretched and flexed his muscles, then let his magical light pour out of him. The roof of the cavern was still shrouded in darkness, but the area around him illuminated.

  He walked along the wall, keeping his light minimal and letting his magical senses flow out around him. He had feared that his magic would attract the beings that made the underworld their home, but so far he hadn’t sensed any living thing other than the giants he had left sleeping behind him. And using his magic made him feel more comfortable, more safe. He could sense the crevasse, which was angling toward him now, but narrowing. There were many cracks in the wall and Zollin used his magic to explore them without going into them. He expected to find a passage out of the huge cavern, but the cracks were nothing more than small openings that petered out a few feet in.

  He heard the water before he saw it or sensed it with his magic; a dripping sound that echoed across the cavern. The sound was unmistakeable, the steady plop, plop, plopping of water dripping into a pool. He instinctively moved toward the sound. Leaving the wall and levitating over the crevasse. He kept his senses alert and his shields up around him, but he didn’t detect anything in the huge cavern. Soon he came to the water, it was a large, black pool. He let his senses play across the water, measuring the distance. It was an underground lake, but the water was perfectly still, only the tiny ripples from the drops that fell from far above stirred the water. Zollin used his magic, delving deep into the water, then doing his best to examine the water itself, but it seemed clean and untainted.

  He cupped his hands together and scooped up the cold water. He brought the water to his lips and drank it. The cool water had a dusty taste, but he was so thirsty he thought it was delicious. He sucked the water in his hands down and plunged them in for more. He drank and drank, until his stomach was swollen with water and he lay back on the stone floor, satisfied. He dug some of the stale bread from his pack and ate it. The bread seemed to suck the moisture from his mouth, but he washed it down with water from the pool. Then he filled his canteen before drinking some more.

  Finally he moved away from the lake. His muscles were still tired, but he felt better. His magic seemed stronger and he let his light shine out brighter and brighter in the cavern. He walked for what felt like miles. He was just beginning to think he needed to find a place to rest when he heard the sound of water dripping again. He moved toward the sound and soon found another large lake of still water. He was surprised at how familiar it looked and then he noticed something near the water’s edge. He moved toward it and saw the moldy crust he had pulled from the bread.

  It took him a moment to realize what he was seeing. At first he thought that someone else was in the cavern with him, but then the truth hit him like a slap in the face. He had walked in a circle and come back to the same place he’d started. Despair threatened to engulf him again. He felt tears stinging his eyes but he fought them down. Of course he’d walked in a circle, he reasoned. The cavern was huge and in the darkness there was no way to know in what direction he was traveling. He decided to make camp by the water and rest. Then he could set out again in the morning, or whatever time of day he woke up.

  He adjusted his pack and stretched out by the edge of the lake. It felt good to lie down. His legs were tired and his feet hurt. His muscles seemed to sigh with relief, his back muscles tingled as he relaxed them. He was soon sleeping soundly.

  He woke up before he was ready, but something was wrong. His hand was cold. He lifted it and felt water dripping off of it. He decided he must have rolled into the lake. He moved over, shook his hand dry before wiping it on his pant leg. Then he went back to sleep. When he woke up again, there was water everywhere around him.

  He struggled to understand what was happening. His mind was still foggy with sleep. The water wasn’t deep, but he was surrounded by it. Then he realized the sound of the dripping had been replaced by the steady sound of pouring water. The lake must be rising, he thought. He struggled to his feet. His pack was soaked and heavy. Water squished into his boots and he felt cold.

  He used his magic to dry the pack and it’s contents as he walked. His boots splashed in the water, which seemed to be rising. He frowned, thinking he had been walking toward the edge of the lake. He let his magic flow out and he was shocked to find that the water had spread out further and further, so that he had to stretch his magical senses to find the edge. He was traveling toward the nearest edge, so he kept moving, but it only took a few moments before he realized the water was rising faster than he was moving. He increased his pace, but after slogging through water that was nearly knee high, he was soon breathing hard. He realized that he was in trouble, although he didn’t understand what was happening.

  Then he felt something brush past his leg. He’d examined the water earlier and found nothing in it, but something solid had just passed his boot. He let his magical senses into the water and this time he found a school of long, serpentine creatures. They had long, narrow bodies with thin fins running along their backs. Their heads were triangular with tiny eyes and mouths filled with needle teeth. Zollin guessed his boots would protect him from the eels bites, but what would happen when the water rose up past his boots.

  It didn’t take long to find out. The eels seemed to be attracted to his splashing through the water and after a few more minutes the water rose past his knees. His progress was slowing too, as his boots grew heavy with water.

  The first bite felt almost like a thump on his leg. Quinn used to thump Zollin as a child whenever he was making too much noise at night. Zollin instinctively reached down and felt the tear in his pants leg. He realized it would only be a matter of time before the creatures drew blood and then he had no idea what would happen. He knew that some creatures were attracted to blood and there were so many of the long, serpentine eels that he was afraid they would swarm him.

  He levitated himself up out of the water, which was more difficult now that he was wet and his boots filled with water. Still, he floated toward the edge of the rising lake. Pushing himself to move quickly. The water seemed to go on and on. He was just about to lower himself back down when he noticed the water pour off the edge of the crevasse. He held himself up, even though his magic was churning hotter and hotter inside him. He passed the crevasse and dropped onto the dry ground on the other side.

  He was emptying his boots of the water that
had filled them when he heard splashing. He quickly realized that it wasn’t the steady drip he’d heard before, or the water splashing as it poured into the lake or over the edge of the crevasse. It sounded more like a child playing in a mud puddle. Taking a deep breath he sent a beam of light shining toward the sound. He was amazed to see both the smaller and larger giants standing in the water. They were bent over, gazing down into the water, their hands lifting fists full of the wiggling eels and dropping them into their toothless mouths.

  Zollin was shocked, even when the larger of the two giants, the parent of the first he’d met and injured, looked over toward him. He was hidden behind the beam of light while the giant was illuminated. The milky eye gazed, but there was no animosity on the freakish face, only a look of wonder and then the huge head turned back to the waters which were still rising.

  Zollin focused on drying his boots and then began walking. He had toned down the light that he was able to produce by focusing his magical power. Now it shone around him in a soft glow and he followed the crevasse. He wondered how much time he had wasted and how much longer he could survive trying to navigate the sweeping caverns and endless tunnels of the underground. Perhaps, he pondered to himself, it would be better to draw the witch to him.

  Chapter 17

  Brianna had carved a dozen strongholds in the foothills between the eastern and western pass. As she flew with Selix back toward Walheta’s Gate she saw the dwarves hard at work. Even from high in the air she could hear their axes, hammers and chisels. They cut down the trees leading up the strongholds. The timber was used to make defenses around the strongholds. Wooden stakes were mounted along the sides of the walls, so that anyone attempting to climb the side of the hill and lower themselves into the stronghold would have to risk falling on the stakes. The cleared areas around the strongholds made perfect killing grounds and the spare logs were rigged so that if the dwarves were forced to retreat, they could send the logs rolling down the hill behind them to crush pursuers.