Chaos Raging (The Five Kingdoms Book 11)

by Toby Neighbors

  “Yes, Captain,” the sailor said.

  “Rotate the men on leave, I don’t want this ship left unattended. It may be recognized by its former owner. If anyone tries to come on board, kill them.

  “As you wish,” the sailor said, but not looking at Mansel.

  The sailors were jealous of Mansel and the other guard. Both men were able to stay below, guarding the door to Roleena’s cabin whenever she wasn’t on deck. She liked to walk the deck several times each day, but while the other sailors were forced to endure the harsh weather whenever they were on duty, Mansel avoided most of it. They were all violent men, the pirates had no qualms about killing, but they also recognized a warrior when they saw one. Most of the crew would have gladly slid a knife between Mansel’s ribs, but they didn’t dare attack Roleena’s guards for fear that it would be seen as an attempt to mutiny.

  “I’ll send supplies to the ship once I’m ashore,” Roleena continued. “I want them stowed neatly. Each man not on leave gets a double ration of grog, but no wenches are to come aboard. And I want watch kept day and night. Am I making myself clear?”

  “Aye, Captain,” the first mate said in his deep baritone voice.

  “Good, that is all.”

  She waved the sailor away and he went to see that the Sea Arrow sailed into the harbor without incident. Mansel hoped that he would be left on board while Roleena went ashore. He guessed it might be his only hope of freeing Danella and Vyctor, but she ordered both of her guards to accompany her ashore.

  Roleena normally wore silky pants and no boots, but as she prepared to go ashore she donned thick, wool garments and pulled on knee-high leather boots that covered her foot and her tentacle. With the boot and thick pants on, her unnatural limb was completely hidden and she looked normal. She added a thick cloak with fur around the collar and paced impatiently until they could leave the ship.

  The jolly boat was lowered into the water almost as soon as the anchor was weighed, and Mansel was forced to hunker down in the boat as two sailors rowed them to shore. The water was choppy from a cold northern wind and Mansel’s hands stung from the cold. He thought if he had to fight he would probably drop his sword and get himself killed.

  Once they reached the dock and were preparing to go in search of a ship that would take Roleena up the river, they were met by a plump man in a thick cloak. He looked vaguely familiar to Mansel, but he couldn’t quite place the man.

  “Captain Roleena?” the man asked.

  She looked up, waiting for her sailors to secure the jolly boat to the long pier.

  “Who is asking?”

  “I represent Lord Branock,” he said in a low voice. “He is here and wants to set sail with you immediately.”

  Mansel was shocked. He couldn’t imagine what the old wizard would want to sail across the sea for unless it was to search for Danella, but Mansel didn’t think the girl was that important.

  “He is in the city?” Roleena asked.

  “Yes, my lady. He’s been expecting you. He needs passage south.”

  “I am a captain, not a lady,” Roleena said, her voice just above a hiss. “Take me to him.”

  “Of course, of course,” the man said.

  They set off into the town. There were inns and taverns near the docs, but those establishments catered to sailors and didn’t hold to the highest standards. Further into town, surrounded by more upscale shops and tradesmen, was the Lost Pearl Inn. Mansel could tell just by looking that the Lost Pearl was built for wealthy travelers. He didn’t expect there to be wenches selling themselves or locals trading gossip over pints of ale.

  Outside of the inn were two soldiers. Mansel recognized them as members of the elite Royal Guard. Mansel and his counterpart were forced to wait outside since the new king had taken over the inn. No one but invited guests were allowed inside, and absolutely no weapons. Roleena didn’t even seem to notice that her own guards were stopped at the door and Mansel realized his last hope for saving Danella had finally appeared.

  “Where are you going?” Roleena’s smelly guard said, as Mansel started walking away from the inn.

  “I’m going for a drink. The captain won’t be in any danger as long as she’s with the king.”

  “She won’t like you leaving your post,” the man grumbled as he followed behind Mansel, who turned into a shady alley off the busy main street. “She’ll smell the ale on us.”

  The smelly guard’s eyes went wide as he turned into the alley and was immediately stabbed by Mansel. The young warrior pulled the pirate deeper into the alley and let the man fall into the mud. Another three quick stabs ended the guard’s misery.

  “The stench of ale would be an improvement for you,” Mansel said, wiping the blade of his dagger on the guard’s wool pants. “Sorry to send you off this way, but if you sail with pirates you die like a pirate. I think a quick end is better than hanging.”

  Mansel left the guard’s corpse in the mud and trash of the alley. He hoped the pirate wouldn’t be found until he, Danella, and Vyctor were long gone. He made his way quickly back to the jolly boat. The two sailors waiting by the small vessel had acquired a slim bottle of spirits, which they were passing back and forth between them. Their faces were red and they were unsteady getting to their feet.

  “What are you doing here?” one of the sailors asked.

  “The captain sent me to fetch the prisoners. Are you two sots drinking?”

  “Course not,” said the sailor.

  “Can you man the jolly boat?”

  “Aye, sir—I mean, ’course we can.”

  “Then let’s get to it,” Mansel ordered, stepping down into the boat from the pier.

  The two sailors followed suit, casting off the line at bow and stern, before taking up the oars to push the small vessel away from the pier. It took the sailors a full minute to find their rhythm but soon they were rowing quickly and efficiently. Mansel didn’t speak. His entire plan hinged on getting Danella and Vyctor off the boat as quickly as possible. He needed to get to shore and hide, perhaps even flee the city before Roleena knew what had happened.

  When the jolly boat arrived near the Sea Arrow the first mate was leaning over the railing with a questioning look.

  “Captain wants the prisoners,” Mansel said. “Fetch them please.”

  “Don’t give me orders, mercenary,” the first mate threatened.

  Mansel was prepared to do more than threaten the officer, but the first mate turned and shouted an order for the prisoners to be brought out. Vyctor appeared first, still naked, his large body emaciated from the lack of food. He could hardly walk, his toes were all black from frostbite, as were several of his fingers and the tip of his nose. The sailors slung a strap around him and lowered him down into the boat. Mansel had to resist the urge to see to the young man, but he couldn’t show compassion, not while he was still so close to the pirate crew and without Danella in his possession.

  It took longer for the sailors to produce Danella. She had a dazed look and the pirates leading her to the railing were making lewd remarks in hushed voices and touching the young woman inappropriately. Mansel’s anger flared, but once again he held himself in check. As soon as Danella saw Vyctor huddled in the jolly boat she came to life, crying out and trying to rush to his aid. She almost dove off the ship to get to her beloved, but the first mate caught her and held her back.

  “Just a minute love,” he whispered into her ear. “We’ll take it nice and slow.”

  “The captain is waiting!” Mansel shouted.

  The first mate shot Mansel a murderous look, but there was nothing the young warrior would have liked more than to beat the first mate senseless. He certainly wasn’t intimidated by the sailor’s intimidation tactic.

  “You want the chest?” The first mate asked. When Mansel looked puzzled the sailor continued in a dull tone as if he were questioning a naughty child. “The sea chest in the captain's quarters. The one she said she would send for.”

  Mansel shook hi
s head. “Just the prisoners.”

  Mansel knew the books in the trunk were valuable, there was no other reason for Roleena to have them. But he didn't know what the leather-bound volumes were worth or how to get money for them. The last thing Mansel wanted was a heavy trunk slowing them down. He didn't even want to wait long enough for the trunk to be carried up from Roleena's cabin.

  Danella was lowered down into the jolly boat and the men at the oars pulled hard to get the small ship moving. Halfway back to the pier Mansel noticed Danella’s icy glare. Vyctor was laying in the boat with his head on her lap, tears running down his face as he shivered from the icy water that spilled into the little vessel. Mansel ignored her. The fact that she was angry with him only meant he’d been convincing as he pretended to have sold his loyalty to the pirates.

  Tragoon’s pier consisted of several long wooden walkways that extended out into the bay, with thick timber pylons which small vessels could tie up to. The jolly boat returned to the same slot it had occupied before Mansel took the boat out to retrieve Danella and Vyctor. He stood as the ship rocked into the pier, climbing carefully up onto the dock. He was glad to have a solid foundation beneath his feet again.

  The sailors had to help with Vyctor, who struggled to stand on his own. Mansel hoped the young man would fare better on dry land, but his feet would need tending to as soon as possible. He pulled off his own cloak and wrapped it around Vyctor’s hunched shoulders. There was a look of appreciation in the man’s eyes. Danella stepped up quickly to help support Vyctor’s weight.

  “You need help keeping up with them two?” one of the sailors asked.

  “No,” Mansel said, leading Vyctor away.

  “You might have told me you weren’t really turning against us,” Danella whispered fiercely.

  “How do you know I haven’t?” Mansel replied.

  “Because I don’t believe for one instant that Roleena would trust you to fetch us by yourself.”

  “Smart girl you’ve got there,” Mansel said to Vyctor. “Don’t worry, I’ll find a place to hide you until I can get a wagon. I’ve still got some of the gold that Zollin gave me.”

  There was a livery barn near the river where horses were kept that had pulled in wagons loaded with goods to ship around the kingdom. Mansel thought they were fortunate to have found it so easily. He led Danella and Vyctor inside, setting the frostbitten young man down on a pile of hay. Vyctor dropped into the straw, as Danella began looking over his wounds.

  “What's this?” said a fat man with a bulbous nose and boots covered in dried manure.

  “We’re looking for a good team and a covered wagon,” Mansel said.

  “Who are you?”

  Mansel fished two gold coins from his purse. “Someone with coin to spend,” he said.

  “That won’t get you two horses, never mind the wagon,” the fat man said.

  “Do you have what we need?”

  “Of course I do. This is a livery, ain’t it?”

  “How much?” Mansel asked.

  “Ten gold crowns,” the fat man said, expecting Mansel to haggle.

  “Done, if you can get the team hitched quickly.”

  The fat man looked doubtful, but Mansel counted out the gold. The fat man reached for the coins but Mansel turned and handed them to Danella. He also gave her his dagger.

  “You see that we have the coin,” Mansel said. “It’s yours when the wagon is ready. And make sure the horses are strong. In fact, we want a sack of oats for them.”

  “Fine,” said the fat man, turning and hurrying to his task.

  “I’ll get us some supplies and be right back,” Mansel told Danella.

  “Hurry,” she said.

  He nodded, but didn’t bother to look back.

  Chapter 25

  Branock felt the break in his connection with Quinn and the pain was much worse than he had expected. Over the last week his awareness of Quinn, or the person that had once been Quinn but who was becoming an extension of Branock, like a third arm, was growing exponentially. He had felt it when Quinn swept through Ebbson Keep like a thunderstorm, raging at the fact that it was unmanned and had few reinforcements for the army he was leading. He also felt the glee as the army from Yelsia swarmed over Fort Jellar like locusts consuming a field of ripe grain.

  The wizard had always enjoyed killing. Even as a boy, before his power had revealed itself and the wizards from the Torr had come for him, Branock had killed small animals. Watching them scream as he drove sharpened sticks into baby birds, or the occasional woodland creature he was able to trap, didn’t bother him in the least. Not when they screeched in pain, or even when their blood squirted from their tiny bodies and their entrails were torn out.

  He had seen men hang. His brother had nightmares, but not Branock. Death held a deep fascination for him and was satisfying in a way nothing else could match. He remembered the first execution with vivid clarity. The condemned men were so thin he could see their rib bones through the gaping holes in their clothes. They were outlaws but had not been skilled in their thievery. The local judge had sentenced them to hang, and the two outlaws had been lifted high by a strong rope. Branock’s brother buried his face in their father’s leg, but Branock watched, mesmerized as the men kicked, gagging and gasping, their tongues sticking out despite the fact that the men bit down hard enough to draw blood. Then came the urine, darkening their ragged pants and dripping into the dust below them. Branock remembered the smell of their bowels releasing as they died, and the way their bodies continued to twitch and kick.

  When he’d come into his power he had longed for the opportunity to use his gifts, but the other wizards of the Torr scolded him and held him back, forcing Branock to bide his time and create elaborate plots to kill the other wizards, plots that would make the incidents look like accidents. He was sure that Offendorl, the master of the Torr, knew that Branock was to blame, but he didn’t seem to give the suspicious deaths much thought. Offendorl didn’t care for anyone but himself, and it seemed that he considered anyone who allowed a young wizard to kill them to be deserving of such a fate.

  Eventually, the desire to kill grew cold. He no longer sought to slay others, even though it was so easy with his magical power that he sometimes felt like a god. Yet, when Quinn had swept through Fort Jellar, overcoming the small garrison there and then turning his violence onto the townsfolk, it had been like an exceptionally vivid dream for Branock, and it had cooled his anger about Danella that had lingered for weeks after the girl disappeared.

  He had known when the invasion was turned back and he had felt the strength of the dark magic in Baskla that emanated from the gargoyles. Quinn had done an excellent job organizing the retreat in the face of the sheer panic from most of the officers under his command. They had resented him, but it hadn’t taken long for Quinn’s violent nature and utter ruthlessness to bring the commanders in line. By the time they reached the border the army was completely under Quinn’s control and the small squad of Royal Guards that protected him ensured that no one thought of mutiny.

  Everything had changed when Zollin arrived. Normally Quinn’s demeanor, which Branock could sense almost like a melody that was stuck in his head, was one of low-level rage. The emotion was as familiar to the elder wizard as breathing. Yet when Zollin arrived astride his massive green dragon, turning back the gargoyles and saving the army, Quinn’s fury erupted, inflicting Branock with a throbbing headache that wouldn't abate.

  It didn’t take long for the rage Quinn felt, which was actually a reflection of Branock’s own seething hatred for the one person who continually ruined his plans, to come to a head. Branock was on his throne with his eyes closed. The ministers who oversaw the various administrative tasks of the kingdom were once again arguing some mundane point. Branock had taken to spending much of the time he was forced to listen to the ministers in quasi-meditation, where he could see what Quinn saw, and hear what his counterpart heard.

  Branock knew that Quinn was gat
hering his most loyal commanders and the members of his personal guard to confront Zollin. His own rage was nearly out of control when Zollin pinned his father to the ground. Branock’s only regret was that he couldn’t summon magic through Quinn. The aging warrior had been filled with Branock’s will, but not his power. He was helpless to fight back against the young wizard. And Quinn’s mind suddenly snapped. The pain reflected into Branock, who sat forward on his throne, gripping the thick armrests and grimacing as he clenched his teeth to fight the agony raging inside his head.

  The minsters were concerned, asking if he needed help, but Branock ignored them. Then Zollin had pulled the Dominix from Quinn’s chest. It felt to Branock like someone was ripping part of his brain away, like a wedge of an orange. The magical third limb had suddenly been severed, and Branock was not only gripped with pain, but exposed to a gaping void that was both raw and achingly hollow.

  He had gotten to his feet, but he felt weak. He moved around the throne without a word to his ministers and left the audience chamber. It took all his strength and resolve to climb the stairs that led to his personal chambers and when he got there he collapsed. The rest of the day he refused to see anyone, or to even receive food. The ache continued until Branock thought he would go mad, but late that night a warm presence returned. It wasn’t the same as before, there was no connection from the wizard to the warrior, but there was a sense of life and cessation of the pain. Finally, after hours of torment, Branock slept.

  When he woke he knew two things. That Quinn was no longer under his control and that he couldn’t stay in Orrock. Zollin had control of the army, that much was certain. There were still troops in Orrock, mostly knights with small war bands of horsemen. They were the kingdom’s heavy cavalry, the warriors who rode into battle fully armored on massive destriers trained for war. Almost all of them were nobles or close relations of nobles. They wouldn’t have left Orrock no matter the need, not with the crown as yet unfilled. Branock was the king, but he hadn’t been coronated, and until that time came some of the nobles would harbor hope that they might find a way to win the throne. They might be persuaded to fight the large force that Zollin commanded, but Branock had no hope that would succeed.