Chaos Raging (The Five Kingdoms Book 11)

by Toby Neighbors

  He had gathered the outcasts throughout Ortis, Falxis, and Osla, and given them a home. And it wasn’t just about building one city, or about creating a refuge for the outcasts. What Lorik was building was much larger, it was truly an empire, a place where all people could live in peace and safety for as long as they were willing to work together. What Lorik couldn’t stomach was the way so many people in the old kingdoms were willing to subject others to horrible conditions if it meant that the few could prosper. He wouldn’t stand for it, not any more. The powerful would be brought low and taught the meaning of service.

  He had slain Havina, the woman who called herself the queen of the south. Some might consider his actions self-serving, but Havina’s death was the only way to secure the freedom of Bartoom. For too long people in the Five Kingdoms had only considered themselves as worthy of freedom. Anyone different, be it outcast or dragon, was either abused, enslaved, or killed indiscriminately. Lorik would change that. He had already begun and he would not stop until the Five Kingdoms were united and free for all intelligent creatures.

  “Is your pet playing nice?” Kierian asked, as she stepped out of the shadows of Lorik’s private quarters. He hadn’t even noticed he had entered his large suite of rooms until the mysterious woman had spoken and broken his train of thought.

  “Where have you been?” he asked, ignoring her question.

  “Doing what must be done,” she said. “Why do you always assume I’m not on your side?”

  “I didn’t know you were on anyone’s side but your own.”

  She moved close, caressing his thick shoulder and running her hand down his chest as she looked up at him with her large, brown eyes.

  “I knew you were going south, so I went north. Don’t you want to know what news I have brought?”

  “I take it you know what happened in Osla?” Lorik asked.

  “The dragon in your attic makes it clear that the rumors were true. I take it you found the woman calling herself queen of the south. Is she your queen now?”

  Lorik thought there was a flash of jealousy in Kierian’s eyes, but it vanished almost instantly. He smiled, wondering if he should toy with his lover’s emotions. Kierian wasn’t like most women he’d known. She was strong and independent, but he didn’t want to drive her away. He guessed that she would view kindness as a weakness, but he didn’t want to be cruel either.

  “I had Spector kill her,” Lorik said.

  “Oh,” she turned and sauntered a few steps away. “You couldn’t do it yourself?”

  “I was keeping the dragon busy.”

  She laughed and turned around to give him a coy look before slipping into his bedroom. There were things to be done, Kora and Yorry would be waiting for him. New groups to the town often wanted to meet with Lorik, especially if the group was large. Occasionally there were warriors hoping to enter his service. His sense of responsibility told him to go downstairs and take care of his business, but he hadn’t seen Kierian in weeks. He wanted to know what she had been up to and perhaps even more than that, he wanted to feel her body against his own. He wavered for a brief moment, trying to make up his mind, then sighed as he followed Kierian into the bedroom.

  Chapter 8

  Lorik lay in the massive bed that had been built just to accommodate his large body. Most of the outcasts had made beds large enough for their oversized bodies, but Lorik’s was a work of art. The four thick posts that surrounded the bed had been carved to look like the trees of the Wilderlands far to the north in Ortis. A canopy of green silk hung over the bed. The mattress was filled with straw, since there weren’t enough feathers in the new city to make up a proper mattress yet, but the straw had been dried and carefully bound together. It made a dense mattress but it was soft enough, and the straw rarely poked through the fabric to prick at the bed’s occupant.

  Beside Lorik lay Kierian, her body wrapped in his silky sheets, her head resting on his broad chest. She ran a finger lightly over the hills and valleys of the muscles in his abdomen. They had enjoyed one another, forgetting about everything else. Kierian was unlike any other woman Lorik had ever known. She was confident in their love play and not afraid to ask for exactly what she wanted from him. Cool air wafted in from the open windows, along with the sounds of the busy city that was growing all around the fortress on the hilltop that Lorik called home.

  “So,” he said softly. “Tell me where you have been.”

  “I told you,” she replied, “north.”

  “And what news do you have?”

  “That King Ricard marches south to find you.”

  He could tell by the way her voice slipped into a whisper that she wasn’t happy about her news. If what she said was true, Lorik could only guess that the ruler of Baskla was marching south with a sizable army. Lorik had routed the soldiers from Baskla more than once, but they had underestimated him. In Ortis he had been seen as a warlord, nothing more, but surely they understood his power and wouldn’t take any chances. King Ricard would force a confrontation on open ground where Lorik would be forced to stand and fight the entire army.

  “The king from Baskla leads this army?” Lorik asked.

  “I didn’t say anything about an army.”

  “But if the king is coming, he will not come alone.”

  “No, he isn’t alone. He is marching south with a thousand soldiers, five hundred mounted knights, a hundred archers, and six trebuchets. He is marching to war, Lorik.”

  “Good, we shall give him one.”

  “Why?” Kierian asked. “Give him Ortis. You have no need for it, not anymore. This city will soon be the biggest settlement in the Five Kingdoms. Why risk it all just for Ortis.”

  “Ortis is my home,” Lorik said. “I’ll not abandon it to the likes of King Ricard or anyone else. I am the rightful king and I shall protect my kingdom jealously.”

  “To what end? They do not serve you or send you tribute. Will you fight for a kingdom only to let it lie fallow.”

  “The disorganization and seeming abandonment of Ortis is necessary to draw my enemy to me. Laying siege to King Ricard’s capital in Baskla would be much more difficult. This way he has come to me, just as I anticipated.”

  “With more soldiers that you can bring,” Kierian argued. “With archers and heavy siege engines. Where will you hide? How will you defeat so many warriors in the open field?”

  “I am confident a plan will present itself when the time is right,” Lorik said. “Now it seems I must organize my own march north.”

  “I will stay here with you,” Kierian said, “if you want.”

  “I would like that,” Lorik replied sincerely.

  “But only if you don’t go.”

  “What? Why?”

  “You have your reasons, I have mine,” she said. “Stay here and I will be your woman. I am no queen, but I will make you happy.”

  “I have no doubt,” Lorik said, rising from the bed. “But there is more at stake here than land or kingdoms. I owe King Ricard a debt I am anxious to pay.”

  “You’ll be killed,” Kierian argued. “How many soldiers can you take into the field, a hundred? Two hundred perhaps? King Ricard has ten times your numbers. You cannot win.”

  “Ride with me and see,” Lorik said. “I do not fear an army. Besides, I have what they do not. A dragon.”

  “The dragon is your slave now?”

  “No, not my slave. The beast is free, but I am confident it will fight with me.”

  “And if it doesn’t?” she asked, fear creeping into her voice.

  “Then I will destroy King Ricard’s army without it. I will slay his soldiers, burn his siege engines, and run the old man to ground,” Lorik spat the words as if they were vile in his mouth. “That bastard’s puppet murdered my oldest friend for no reason. He tortured me and mortally wounded Stone. They thought they could simply snatch up Ortis like a ripe plum that is ready to be picked. There was no thought to the people of Ortis, or to the thousands of outcasts hiding in th
e ruins of her cities. But now they will give an account. King Ricard and all his family will die. Any of the nobles who resist me will die. The people of Baskla will serve the outcasts as payment for their cruelty to all those who were slaughtered simply because they were different. And I will not rest until Baskla bows to me, or is ground to dust beneath my feet.”

  Kierian turned away. Lorik’s body no longer bore the scars of his torture at the hands of the false king Yettlebor, King Ricard’s cousin, but the horrors of his loss ran deep into his soul. He refused to forget or forgive, even if it meant his own death.

  Lorik pulled on his clothes and left the room. He liked Kierian well enough, but he didn’t love her. She amused him and he enjoyed making love to her, but it was clear her own feelings were growing stronger than his. She feared for him and wanted things from him that he was unwilling to give.

  “I will be leaving at first light,” Lorik said. “You are welcome to join me, but you will need several fast horses. I cannot wait for you.”

  Kierian said nothing and Lorik left her in his bed. When he got downstairs he found Kora working with a group of people in the feasting hall. Yorry was waiting to meet with Lorik as well, but he had only one person with him. The outcast with Yorry was a warrior, that much was evident at first glance. The warrior wore animal skins around his shoulders and had a long sheath hanging from his belt, but the sword was missing. Lorik approached Yorry and heard his minister out.

  “We have several more groups approaching the city,” Yorry said, his hunched back forced him to bob his head up to meet Lorik’s eye. “But we’ve made plenty of room.”

  “How many soldiers do we have?” Lorik asked.

  “Over two hundred, my lord. And this is Gunthur of Quelton Bay. He wants to add his own people to your kingdom.”

  Lorik looked at the warrior. The outcast had scars on his face, one stretched across his forehead, another ran from his cheek down to his neck. One of the warrior’s eyes was small and pinched into a squint from the scar tissue around it, the other was large, almost too big for the mutated face. Whiskers grew like weeds in various places around the warrior’s jaw, but there was no uniformity or consistency to the growth. The black hairs sprouted in various places across the outcast’s craggy skin, as did patches of bright red veins spreading out like spider webs.

  “Where is your sword?” Lorik asked the warrior.

  “I left it with a servant, my Lord,” Gunthur said. “It is not seemly to bring a weapon before your king.”

  “You would swear fealty then?”

  “I would, my Lord. My life, my sword, and my people are yours to command.”

  “Tell me about Quelton Bay.”

  “It was not spared during the attack from the flying monsters, but we have rebuilt most of it. The port is still in use, mostly by pirates, but the city proper is a haven for the outcasts. I have seen to that, my Lord.”

  “You exist peacefully with the humans there?” Lorik asked.

  “There are very few permanent residents that are not outcasts, mostly a few opportunistic individuals who rebuilt the inns and taverns. We do have a good brew master. I have two barrels of ale for your lordship.”

  “You are a warrior,” Lorik said.

  “I was a captain in the Oslan army, before the war. We were returning from Yelsia and were overrun by the witch’s monsters.”

  “As were so many,” Lorik said. “And now you hold the city at Quelton Bay?”

  “I found myself in Ortis when the spell was broken. I wanted to return to Osla, but there were so many in need. I have kept those within the town safe and trained many of the men there to fight. The sailors bring in goods, mostly food and such, that we do not have for ourselves. But there is no more wealth in the town. We would have planted crops but we feared the ripe fields would attract marauders.”

  “I understand,” Lorik said. “We will not be safe until the humans fear us. It is a necessary battle and one that I will fight. King Ricard marches south even now, claiming Ortis as his own. We can make these lands safe for your people, but not if we hide.”

  “That was my hope, Lord. Let me fight for you.”

  “I will, in fact I’m gathering troops to march north tomorrow. Rest and replenish your supplies today. Tomorrow we will return to Quelton Bay and I will see for myself all you have done.”

  “It would be my pleasure,” Gunthur said with a bow.

  Lorik turned to Yorry. “Gather all our fighting men. Have them assemble here at noon. The time is come to defend our kingdom.”

  “Yes, Lord Lorik,” said the minister.

  The two outcasts left the feasting hall and Lorik was soon busy with other matters. The morning flew by in blur of work that seemed to gobble up Lorik’s time. He was famished when Yorry returned and informed him that the soldiers of Center Point were assembled outside the fortress. Lorik ignored the grumble in his stomach and stepped out into the cool winter air. There was a chill in the wind and thick, gray clouds were blowing down from the north.

  “We could have foul weather, my Lord,” Yorry said, looking up. “It may not be suitable to travel if snow falls.”

  “Suitable or not we must move. Every day that we wait King Ricard claims more land and moves closer to the cities held by outcasts. We will leave at daybreak. Your job will be to keep those who remain either standing watch or patrolling the city.”

  “Of course,” Yorry said with a slight bow.

  “Every man in Center Point should have a weapon of some kind,” Lorik said. “If we fail, or some other group attacks while I’m away, I want those who are willing to fight armed and ready.”

  “I shall see to it, my Lord.”

  “Good,” Lorik said, even as he surveyed the men waiting for him in the open space just beyond the fortress walls. The ground sloped toward the river and Lorik could look out at the outcast soldiers arrayed on the hillside.

  There were nearly two hundred and fifty men in all, each one mutated by the witch’s evil magic. Some had been outfitted by the armorers in Center Point. They had breast plates of thick metal and helmets that fit their bulbous heads. Others were still unarmed and wearing rags, but nearly all had long-handled swords and rectangular shields bound with iron and painted white with a black dragon on the surface. The sight made Lorik smile.

  “The army from Baskla is coming,” he shouted. “Their king is with them, which means they will be a vast army with siege engines and mounted knights. It also means they will not be easily defeated, but we must defeat them, or they will come here. They will slay us all simply because we are different. It won’t matter that you were once citizens of Ortis, or Falxis, or Osla. It won’t matter that you have done no harm. They will take your possessions, destroy your homes, and slaughter everyone they find.”

  “No!” shouted several of the soldiers.

  “It is the way of the world,” Lorik said. “Those who rule in the north have betrayed us and murdered our kind. They have sent their sniveling sycophants to rule over us and enslave us. But I say no more. I will fight them. I will break their will and destroy their army. Our kingdom will not be enslaved by anyone, nor will we cower behind walls or hide in ruins. That may have been our past, but it will not be our future.”

  The men cheered, even though Lorik could see that several were terrified. He didn’t expect everyone who served him to be a battle-hardened warrior, but some were. He would leave those least equipped for battle and most likely to fall in a fight behind to guard Center Point. He began by splitting his small army into two groups. Everyone with armor would go with him, and those who were anxious to fight but had not yet been properly equipped were welcome. Once he finished he had one hundred and fifty soldiers in the group going north, and close to one hundred in the group that would stay and protect the city.

  Lorik sent the smaller group to Yorry for their assignments, while Lorik further divided his fighting force. There were three veteran fighters in the group, which Lorik made officers. Each of
the officers was assigned fifty men. Only one group was completely equipped with new armor, one was split between those with armor and those without. The third group had no armor, and would serve as a reserve once the fighting began.

  “See to your equipment and clothing,” Lorik instructed the men. “Especially your boots. We will be traveling fast and I want every one of you to be ready to keep the pace I set. I want every one of you carrying a week’s rations and two canteens. No wagon trains will be able to keep pace with us, so we won’t have a regular supply train. We will have to forage as we go, so be prepared for a difficult journey. I have no doubt that we will turn back the army from Baskla, but it will not be easy. You fight for your friends and families, for those lost in the Witch’s War, and those who have been enslaved or slaughtered because they are different. This is the hour in which the world recognizes us as masters of our domain. We are the future, not the humans who have not suffered as we have, or who fear us just because we look different. They have had their time in the sun, but we will not sit idle while they slaughter and abuse our brothers and sisters.”

  The soldiers cheered.

  “But make no mistake,” Lorik said, his voice lower, forcing the outcasts to lean forward to hear their king, “we will be outnumbered. It may seem impossible for us to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat, but that is exactly what we will do. We can show no mercy and afford no quarter. If you fall, make your death count. Take as many men with you as you can, so that our enemies lose all taste for battle with us. Make sure that your weapons are prepared and that no one falters in our quest. This will be remembered as the battle that turned our refuge into a nation, our bands of survivors into heirs of a new empire. We will be victorious and our enemies will rue the day they raised swords against us.”

  Once again the soldiers cheered. Lorik had to raise his hands to quiet the raucous soldiers.

  “See that you are ready and rested, for we leave tomorrow to claim our destiny!”