Chaos Raging (The Five Kingdoms Book 11)

by Toby Neighbors

  Before the Dominix spell had been broken, Branock had seen the fiery sorceress with Zollin. Together, the two of them and their dragons could defeat the small army still left in Orrock. And Branock had been defeated by the upstart wizard too many times to believe he could battle Zollin and win. He needed more power, but there was a glimmer of hope still to be had.

  Before Branock had left Skattle Point far to the north, he had enlisted the pirate Roleena to retrieve whatever she could salvage from the tower of the Torr. While Branock worked his way into King Hausey’s confidence, she had sailed south on his errand. He had almost forgotten about the pirate, until that very morning. Suddenly he felt her, which was a mystery, since she hadn’t had any magical ability when he had met her face to face. Yet her presence was unmistakable. He could feel her moving, still far away, but getting closer. Perhaps, Branock thought, it was the magical items she had discovered that he was feeling. Perhaps in some way those books or relics were projecting her presence. Branock had never known the items in the Torr to feel so strong, but he was anxious to get his hands on whatever Roleena was returning with. And the fact that she was on her way back to Yelsia was fortuitous timing.

  “Loman,” Branock growled. “What are you doing?”

  From the other room there was a shuffling sound. Branock was well aware that his chief steward often eavesdropped on him. The pudgy servant was another necessary evil that Branock had allowed to flourish as he rose to power. Loman had already proclaimed himself chief steward, a position that didn’t interest Branock in the least, but in the hierarchy of castle servants, it came with a great deal of prestige. The elder wizard had always been able to use the greed and self-serving nature of those around him to his advantage. Loman was loyal and tireless in his efforts to please Branock, simply because by being the wizard’s most reliable servant it afforded him the opportunity to advance among his peers. Before Branock had come to the castle, Loman had been a sniveling, lowly servant, relegated to the most onerous tasks. The castle servants were leery of Branock, a man they did not know, with powers they could not understand. Some had even discerned his true nature, and most wanted nothing to do with him. Loman had sensed his opportunity and his efforts had paid off.

  Since Branock had proclaimed himself king, Loman had risen to the highest position he could hope for, and he was desperate not to lose his place. The desperation often drove him to uncouth activities such as lingering in the king’s study, waiting and oftentimes eavesdropping on his liege. It was no surprise to Branock that after his sudden departure from court and subsequent time refusing to see or be seen, that Loman would be lurking nearby.

  “My King,” came the familiar, fawning voice of the chief steward.

  “We are leaving. I need food, a carriage, and trunks for my things.”

  “You are leaving the castle?”

  Branock opened the door to the room where he slept. Loman stood before him, his clothes rumpled, his thinning hair unkempt. There was nothing appealing about the servant, except for the fact that he was always there when Branock wanted him, and sometimes when he didn’t.

  “We, Loman, we are leaving.”

  “May I ask where we are going?”

  “No,” Branock said, slamming the door.

  “My King, how can I plan for our journey if I don’t know where we are going?”

  “Send Keynon to me,” Branock shouted through the door. “And make haste!”

  The day turned into a whirlwind. Food was brought, which Branock picked at. He ate occasionally, but food held no real interest for him. Over the years his taste buds had dulled, and his main staple became wine. He was served a bottle with his breakfast which he did enjoy.

  The commander of the Royal Guard came to the king’s study and found Branock directing a group of servants in packing up his personal belongings. Most of his possessions had come from the castle. He’d arrived in Orrock from Skattle Point with very little, but he’d found things of value over time, mostly charms and potions the elder wizard had brewed or concocted from the treasures that decorated the royal palace. Not treasures in the traditional sense, but things of interest to a wizard who was over a century old.

  “You asked for me?” Keynon said in a cautious tone. The commander was completely terrified of Branock ever since he was tortured after failing to find Danella, which was exactly what the elder wizard wanted.

  “I sent for you,” Branock corrected the soldier, “because I need an escort. I want to travel light, four men should do. I want you to select your most loyal and able guards. Can I trust you to do that?”

  “You don’t want me, sire?”

  “No, you are needed here of course.”

  “Yes, yes,” Keynon said, sounding relieved. “I will see to it at once.”

  “Good,” Branock said in a low voice that sent shivers down the commander’s spine. “Make sure they are loyal to me, Commander.”

  “Yes, my King.”

  By noon everything was ready. A lavish coach had been prepared, pulled by a team of six horses. The trunks were loaded, as was the food and comforts that Loman had seen to. The guardsmen rode separately, and Loman was made to sit on the wide bench next to one of the stablemen who would drive the team. Branock alone was allowed inside the coach.

  The trip to Tragoon Bay took two days. Along the way they stopped at a roadside inn to rest for the night. Branock preferred the coach, which was much more lavish than the rooms of the inn, but there was no practical way to heat the coach through the cold, winter night, so he slept in the room the innkeeper had hastily prepared. When they got to Tragoon Bay Branock did his best not to attract attention. They moved into the nicest inn the seaside city offered and waited. Branock could sense Roleena approaching. She was close to the harbor, moving with speed over the water.

  The next day a ship arrived, and with it the pirate known far and wide as the scourge of the sea. Roleena’s reputation was growing quickly, and the strange magic that surrounded her was of interest to Branock. He was looking forward to exploring the new side to the woman who had sailed the length of the Five Kingdoms for him.

  “She is here,” Branock told Loman.

  They were sitting in the common room of the inn. It was well appointed, but after the royal palace in Orrock it seemed second hand. There was a roaring fire in the hearth, which kept the common room warm and comfortable. The inn also had a fine selection of wine, which set Branock at ease.

  “Go wait for her.”

  “How will I know which one is her?” the servant asked, clearly not wanting to leave the warmth and comfort of the inn.

  “She will be the only woman leaving a ship,” Branock said angrily. “Don’t be such a fool.”

  “Yes, of course,” Loman whined. “Forgive me, your highness.”

  “Go, I want her here as soon as possible.”

  The servant hurried out and Branock sat back wondering exactly how he’d let things get so out of hand. He wasn’t fleeing Yelsia exactly, he could have stayed and fought for his position, he was the rightful king after all. But it didn’t take much imagination to think of the way events would likely unfold. Zollin would return to Orrock, that much was certain. And he would have the army’s loyalty. Branock might have worn the crown, but Zollin had saved their lives.

  He could have called for Zollin’s arrest, insisting that the young wizard had murdered King Hausey, but who could have enforced such an order. The young wizard was powerful on his own, but he wasn’t on his own. Branock knew the fiery sorceress named Brianna was with him. He remembered her as just a girl and had taken her prisoner during yet another failed attempt to bring the young wizard under his control. Something had changed her, into what he wasn’t quite sure, but no mortal could match her power. And there were the dragons. Even in the frozen north Branock had heard the rumors of how the wizard and his woman flew with dragons during the Witch's War. Branock knew at least one of the beasts was under their control and with them in Ebbson Keep, if in fact
that was where they still were. They could be in Orrock for all he knew, or coming to Tragoon Bay.

  A shiver of fear slipped down his back. If there was one thing that Branock despised about himself it was fear. Yet he couldn’t deny that even with all his magical power, Zollin and his companions were stronger. He needed to get safely away and find a path to increase his magic. He was getting angry at having to wait when finally the door opened and Loman hurried in.

  “My King,” he said excitedly. “I present to you Captain Roleena.”

  Branock had felt the magic coming from the pirate woman, but face to face he could feel her power the same way he could smell the briny air from the ocean. It was obvious, but not familiar, welcome yet foreign at the same time. He got to his feet and looked at the woman, who was just as beautiful as before, her angular face stern.

  “Something has changed,” Branock said.

  “Indeed it has, wizard,” Roleena replied.

  Loman looked horrified that anyone would address his king in such a common manner. Roleena said the word wizard as if it were an insult.

  “Your trip to the Grand City was not in vain.”

  “No,” Roleena said. “I have your treasures on board my ship. What is this I hear of you seeking passage south?”

  “It is time,” Branock said, as if that were explanation enough. “How quickly can you be ready?”

  “Two days,” Roleena said. “But that wasn’t part of our bargain.”

  “No, it wasn’t. I will pay for you to take me south.”

  “Why are you running? Are you not king of this land?”

  “The window of opportunity has closed for me here,” Branock said, his temper rising. “If we stay, we will not get what we want.”

  “You cannot slay the wizard? Not even with the books I collected for you?”

  “How should I know, since I have not even seen what you found. Let me be clear, I need time, but there is none left here. In two days this city will be overrun with wizards and dragons. We need to be gone, quickly.”

  “I’m not afraid of wizards or dragons,” Roleena said. “Not anymore.”

  “Fine, if you will not take me south I will find passage on another ship. But I warn you, staying here is not wise. Deliver my goods and we will be finished.”

  Branock turned his back on the pirate woman, but his magical senses felt everything she did. For a long moment she merely stared at him, unmoving. His guards, there were two outside and two in the common room, stood ready to defend Branock but he didn’t need their help. If Roleena attacked him, the wizard would make her wish she’d never been born.

  “I will send for your books,” she finally said. “But I also have the woman who was promised to you. And her dim-witted companion.”

  Branock couldn’t help but smile as he turned back around. The girl, Danella, escaped from his grasp but was now his once again. He couldn’t help but feel that it was a good omen. Just like the throne of Yelsia was being taken from him now, Danella had been stolen away, but not for long. She was his once again, but he no longer needed her, just as he would no longer need the crown of Yelsia once he ruled over all of the Five Kingdoms.

  “What of the man who helped them escape me?” Branock asked, his mind already working through ways to make the woman pay for her disloyalty.

  “He is my man now,” Roleena said.

  “Don’t be a fool, he is in league with the young wizard,” Branock said, fear once again worming its way into his bowels and leaving him cold. “Bring him to me now!”

  He watched her walk to the door and step back out into the cold. She spoke to his guards but Branock couldn’t make out the words. A strong sense of anger suddenly flared to life from the pirate, it stirred her strange magic and sent ripples all around her. Branock sank back into his chair. Loman went to the door, always listening. He returned after a moment and approached Branock.

  “The pirate’s guards are missing,” he said in a conspiratorial tone. “They’ve probably gone to find strong drink and weak women.”

  The servant chortled at his joke, but Branock was not amused. He felt tension rising in the air. Trouble was brewing and for the first time since leaving Skattle Point Branock didn’t know what was going to happen.

  Chapter 26

  King Ricard had awoken to shouts and screams. He was hauled to his feet and dragged out of the farmhouse before he really understood what was happening. He hadn’t slept in days until the army stopped at the abandoned village, and then, despite the cold and his gnawing hunger, he had fallen into an exhausted sleep that left him bleary eyed and foggy minded. Once the flames began to show he understood, but outside the farmhouse there was chaos.

  “The horses!” someone shouted. “Get to the horses!”

  But the horses were gone. The king couldn’t comprehend how so many animals could simply disappear and he began to wonder if he was merely dreaming the entire episode. He was surrounded by guards and the commanders of his army, yet he could see the bodies in the snow. From the light of the burning farmhouse he could make out the traces of blood in the snow. He saw up close the flesh of one man’s neck torn to ribbons of bloody flesh, his beard and shirt stained red, his skin unnaturally pale. And the eyes, the dead man’s eyes, staring up but seeing nothing.

  King Ricard’s stomach twisted and he retched but there was nothing to vomit up.

  “This place is cursed,” said Braynar. “We must move out. Everyone move north!”

  The king was forced to march through the snow. His calfskin boots were made by master craftsmen but they were never intended to march through ankle-deep snow. He had been cold since the disastrous battle, but now the cold sank deep. His feet ached and his legs burned with the effort. His lungs stung with each breath and he could feel ice forming on his beard and mustache. The sky had cleared and the harsh light from the stars and moon reflected on the snow, giving the landscape an unworldly quality, but also enabling his army to see the road. They marched through the night, in pain, hungry, and weak, but more than anything they were terrified.

  From behind him King Ricard heard the screams of his troops. Not the sounds of battle, but screams of mortal agony and paralyzing fear. Something was coming for King Ricard, he knew that. He knew it was devouring his army one by one, like an insatiable beast. He couldn’t remember why he’d come south to begin with. Why had he wanted to take his army into Ortis? He should have stayed in Baskla, he told himself. He couldn’t stand to look at Braynar. The fool had led them into this danger and he refused to acknowledge the cowardly commander.

  The night dragged on like a nightmare. The screams continued so that the army refused to stop marching, even for a short break. Soldiers were deserting, trying to get away, to find a place of safety but there were none. Anyone who left the group died. Anyone who fell behind died. All they could do was keep moving, despite their pain and fear.

  When morning dawned tears stung the king’s face. He felt a sense of relief that the darkness was ending and he vowed to return to his castle and never leave. He would never be left in the dark again. He would keep torches, lamps, and candles burning day and night if he could just get back to Forxham again, but the road ahead seemed to stretch on and on with no end in sight. He didn’t recognize anything and there was no one to help him.

  Finally a plan occurred to the king. He needed time to escape and it was only fair that the man responsible for getting him into such a mess should pay for it with his life. All around him were his personal guards and the commanders of his army. Braynar had fallen to the rear of their small group, but he was still there. As the first rays of sunlight stretched over the landscape the king turned and faced the commander of his army.

  “Braynar,” he snapped in a hoarse voice.

  The other officers parted and the charismatic commander stood like a petulant child before his king. All King Ricard wanted was to sit down near a roaring fire and have a little bread and wine, but he couldn’t have that. He had to keep walking
, to keep running for his life, and it was all Braynar’s fault. He would have drawn his sword and cut the fool down if he’d had the strength, but he was completely exhausted and he had an even more satisfying way of dealing with the failed commander.

  “Yes, my King,” Braynar said.

  “Take a century of men and stay here,” the king said. “Whoever or whatever is following us must be stopped. Is that clear? You are to stop our enemies or die trying.”

  “Yes, my Liege,” the commander said, his head bowing in submission.

  “If you have any hope of redeeming yourself, Commander, do not fail me again.”

  The king didn’t wait for an answer. He turned and began trudging forward again. Away from the danger that lay behind. Every step bringing him closer to Baskla and safety, or so he thought.

  ***

  Killing the helpless soldiers who fell behind the main force of King Ricard’s army brought Lorik no joy. Through the night the dark magic inside him reveled with every scream and took strength from the growing sense of terror that was radiating from the retreating army, but Lorik had grown quite bored. His plan was working so well there was no resistance. The king’s army could have rallied together and made a stand. Instead they stumbled on toward their homes that were so far away there was simply no hope they would ever reach them.

  Spector killed the stragglers, ripping out their guts so that the men wailed in agony as they died. When the sun finally came up the king’s army was so shaken they looked more like refugees than warriors. He would have ended things more quickly, but whenever he thought of simply slaying King Ricard he remembered Vera. She had been innocent, yet the imposter king, the foul Yettlebor, King Ricard’s own cousin, had murdered her simply because he could. Lorik had sworn to avenge her, to slay not just Yettlebor, but everyone he cared for, and anyone who had helped him be in a position to murder Lorik’s oldest friend.