“It is truly good to see you again,” Mansel said to Brianna. “Your sister is here.”
Danella stepped out from behind Mansel and hugged her sister.
“Branock fled because he is working with the pirate Roleena,” Mansel said. “She has brought him ancient books from the Torr.”
Zollin felt a shock of fear. He knew Roleena, although he hadn’t known she was a pirate, but that news was nothing compared with the news that Branock had gotten relics from the Torr. The last person to raid the wizard’s tower in search of magical power had been Gwendolyn, the sorceress, just before the Witch’s War.
“Roleena?” Zollin asked.
“The same,” Mansel said. “Although she has been changed. There is much I need to tell you, but know that she hates you with a consuming bitterness. They will stop at nothing to destroy you and everyone you love.”
Zollin stepped back from the crowd of servants and minsters who were all looking to him for help. The young wizard wondered for a moment if they wouldn’t all be better off if he simply disappeared. He could at least lead his enemies away from Yelsia, he reasoned. But he had done that before. Ignoring the world hadn’t made its problems go away; if anything, it had made matters worse. He raised his voice so that everyone on the castle roof could hear him.
“I am Zollin, wizard of the Five Kingdoms,” he said. “On every side of Yelsia there is danger, but I will find a way to see us through it all, until we are safe again.”
The crowd of people cheered. Mansel looked sad but resolute, and Brianna nodded approvingly. Zollin felt a sense of fulfillment he had never experienced before. What he was doing felt right. He had no idea what he was going to do, or how he could possibly save the kingdom from so many powerful foes, but he knew he had to try. The entire kingdom was counting on him, and he was determined not to let them down.
Chapter 29
Most of the day passed without incident, but King Ricard had never known such pain. His feet were wet and so cold that they were numb, but each step sent radiating pain up through his legs and into his abdomen, which was cramping with strange pains that shot through from his groin up into his stomach and back like icy blades. His head was pounding and his eyes felt as if he’d rubbed them with sand.
His hunger had turned from a dull ache into a raging beast that wouldn’t let him think of anything else. All he wanted was food and he was ready to kill for it, but he simply didn’t have the strength. By noon he had to have help walking. Everyone wanted to stop, to rest, but fear pushed them forward. The sun was setting and his officers had begun searching for a place to make camp when King Ricard saw something on the road ahead. It looked like a small boulder but as he got closer he felt a sense of dread rising up inside of him.
“What is that?” he asked the guard who was helping him walk. He pointed at the object in the road and with a hoarse voice asked again, “What is that?”
One of the other guards hurried forward and bent low over the object, then turned away covering his mouth. King Ricard knew what the object was, even though in the fading winter sunlight and spitting snow it was difficult to see. He knew it was a human head, but he wasn’t sure whose.
He raised his hand and the exhausted troop came to a stop. They were less than half the number they’d started out as. Throughout the day many had dropped, or simply stumbled off the road refusing to continue. The extreme march and unrelenting cold was killing them all, Ricard knew that, but there was simply no other alternative. If they sought shelter the demon would burn it down around them. Those that slept were slaughtered by Lorik’s ghost. Tears filled his eyes at the unfairness of it all. He had been king in Baskla for nearly three decades, leading his people and ensuring they were not abused, yet this was his reward, to be run to ground like a wild animal, too exhausted and weak to defend himself.
“Who is it?” he asked as the guard who had seen the head returned.
“Commander Braynar,” the man said.
Ricard’s mind couldn’t comprehend what was happening. He had left Braynar and a hundred strong warriors to protect them. It was impossible that he could have been killed and moved past them. Impossible.
“No,” he mumbled. “It can’t be.”
He staggered forward, the guard beside him lending the king strength until he reached the severed head in the road. There was no mistaking who it was. There was blood over the mouth and nose, and long ribbons of flesh lay along the ground from the neck, but Ricard recognized the face. His commander, the man he’d entrusted his kingdom to, the man who should have married his daughter and become king, was dead. Not that Ricard lamented the fallen commander, Braynar’s stupidity had gotten them into the mess they were in. Had the disgraced commander gotten them back to Baskla safely King Ricard would have stripped him of command and assigned him to the garrison at Sloan Harbor far to the north.
“We go no further,” King Ricard said.
He dropped to the ground beside the head of his fallen commander and waited for death.
***
Lorik watched from a hill not far from the road. The fading light and snow flurries made it difficult to see, but it was obvious that he could push the foul king no further.
“Tonight we end this,” Lorik said.
“I will savor every second,” Spector hissed.
Lorik had run north after killing Braynar. He had circled wide to avoid Ricard’s army and found a small village where a few people still eked out a living. He left the commander’s severed head in a clump of bushes outside the settlement and went to see what he could find. There was no inn, just several farm homes built near a spring. The families each worked their own fields and had their own animals, but they shared the central spring as their source of water and helped one another as much as they could. Their homes and barns were in good repair.
Lorik told them who he was, and each of the families swore fealty to him. Then they brought him water for bathing and food. News of the battle between Lorik and King Ricard’s army had already reached even the isolated farming village. They knew he had defeated the soldiers from Baskla and they would have been foolish to deny his right to rule Ortis.
After sharing a warm meal with Lorik he asked for pitch to make torches with and then left the village, encouraging them to be peaceful and productive, promising that he would do all he could to make Ortis a great kingdom again. Then he recovered the head of his fallen enemy and completed his journey.
He watched the army all through the afternoon, calculating where they would be as night fell and leaving the head in the road so that it would be found. He had also spread the pitch all around the road where Braynar’s head waited. And when the king collapsed beside the severed head he set out to complete his defeat of King Ricard.
He carried a torch which sputtered and hissed as he walked quickly toward the army. The soldiers saw him clearly approaching in the twilight, but none made a move to stop him. Only the king’s guards moved, surrounding their king and drawing their weapons. Lorik stopped before he reached the road and tossed the torch to the warriors. The flames from the torch ignited the pitch. A ring of fire formed around the king and his guards, giving light to the scene. Lorik drew his swords and stood for a moment watching the guards. He brought the butt of each sword together and with a quick twist locked the swords together so that they formed one long weapon with a blade on each end and the long handles in the middle.
At first a few of the guards rushed to attack Lorik, but they were slow, their movements hindered by weakness and fatigue. He caught the first guard’s overhead strike on one end of his weapon, then quickly reversed and stabbed the guard in his side, driving the blade deep enough to kill the man before jerking his sword free.
The next guard had his sword held in front of him like a lance. Lorik only had to tap the sword with his own to knock it off course, then his own blade came up and slashed across the guard’s neck before Lorik twirled the weapon over his head and brought it down in a vicious chop t
hat a third guard tried to block with his own sword. But Lorik was too strong and the guard was weak. His defense was knocked back and Lorik’s sword cut deep into the guard’s shoulder and neck.
The rest of his guards huddled around King Ricard, who was still on the ground. Lorik knew the old man had no strength left. If Spector didn’t kill him that night, they risked the king dying from exhaustion and robbing them of their revenge.
Spector didn’t hesitate to rush the guards. The wraith spun and twisted, his knives slashing and stabbing as he worked his way around the circle of guards, killing them so quickly that none had the chance to flee even if they had wanted to. Still none of the army moved to help their king, even when the last guard fell and Spector hovered over their sovereign ruler like the angel of death.
Lorik stepped into the circle of fire and moved close so that he could hear what Spector said to the king. Ricard was looking up. There was fear in his eyes, but also defiance.
“At long last,” Spector hissed. “You grovel at my feet.”
“Who are you?”
“His name is Spector,” Lorik said. “But he was not always as you see him now. He was once a man, a good man, a faithful husband and loyal friend. But he was forced to watch his friend tortured and then paraded in front of a city full of disloyal fools. And when he tried to help his friend, he was mortally wounded and forced to watch as Yettlebor murdered his wife.”
“What does that have to do with me?” the king snarled. “I had nothing to do with it.”
“You were the one who sent Yettlebor to Ortis,” Spector hissed angrily. “You gave him an army.”
“There was no king in Ortis to rule the people, to rebuild the kingdom!”
“Yettlebor rebuilt nothing,” Lorik said angrily. “He took what he wanted and gave Ortis away to mercenaries in exchange for protection. He enslaved the entire kingdom so that he could pretend to be like you. And you not only watched it happen and did nothing to stop him, you lent him your strength. He would not have been able to murder our people and our friends if you hadn’t been so greedy to control Ortis.”
“You claim the right to rule three kingdoms and you judge me for trying to expand my borders?” King Ricard said. “You’re the hypocrite. You claim the right to rule Ortis and then destroyed Ort City.”
“That is correct,” Lorik said slowly. “I destroyed the city that turned against me. And I will destroy anyone who tries to rob me of my destiny. You and your lap dog Braynar are but the first. After Spector kills you tonight, we will take control of your army, return to your kingdom and murder everyone in your family. And once Baskla is mine, I shall force your people to serve me. They will pay for your greed. They will serve the outcasts you all spurned and left to die. I will be the great king that you could never be.”
“You’re mad,” Ricard said.
“No,” Lorik said. “I am strong and I am powerful and everyone in the Five Kingdoms will know that Lorik of Ortis defeated you utterly.”
Spector’s knife slashed across the king’s nose. Ricard bellowed in pain and Lorik felt the dark magic exalting in the fear that seemed to pour out of the king. Spector took his time, slicing Ricard over and over, across his hands, shoulders, back, and face. He moved with graceful fluidity, hissing each time the king screamed. The aging ruler was covered in blood from dozens of cuts when he finally dropped back into the freezing mud to die.
“This is for Vera,” Spector hissed as he drove his knife into the king’s stomach.
The king of Baskla wailed in pain as Spector twisted the blade. Then he vomited blood like a fountain out of his mouth and died. Lorik looked down at the king and spat. He had thought that seeking his revenge would feel better, but he only felt an emptiness inside him. Nothing could bring his friends back to him, nothing could heal the wounds caused by Issalyn’s betrayal. He was destined to rule, but his life would also be marred by the suffering he could never assuage. He was king of Ortis, ruler in the south, protector of the outcasts, but more than all that he was brokenhearted.
“Take your king home with the message that King Lorik is coming,” he told the army. Then he turned and disappeared into the darkness.
Chapter 30
Branock saw the hulking youth come hurtling out of the wagon. For a split second he marveled at the huge boy’s ability to jump so high. He launched himself out of the wagon and over the horses to save the woman he loved. It was a sentiment that Branock couldn’t understand. Then his magic erupted from his hands. Releasing it felt so good that for a moment Branock didn’t realize the danger he was in.
The large servant boy, hardly even a man as Branock recalled, should have been blown backward by the wizard’s magic. But he was larger than most men, and much heavier. His momentum was greater than Branock calculated and while his fire spell enveloped the youth, it did not arrest his motion. The impact was more painful that Branock expected. The wind was knocked from the wizard’s lungs as they crashed to the ground, and several of his ribs fractured, sending waves of agony through the wizard. The spell was broken almost immediately, but Branock’s chest and forearm were burned. The pain was terrible and there was a roaring sound in his ears.
“Are you hurt?” Roleena asked. The question sounded odd to Branock, without a trace of sympathy in the woman’s voice.
“No,” Branock croaked, struggling to fill his lungs with air.
“They are escaping.”
“I don’t care,” Branock said, realizing the roar he’d heard was actually the large wagon being driven past him at speed. “Get this oaf off of me.”
Roleena helped Branock squirm out from under the blackened corpse of the castle servant. Once he was on his feet, Branock looked at the escaping wagon and saw the warrior looking back at him. He could have cast a spell, perhaps destroying the wagon, but the truth was he was in too much pain. If there was one thing the elder wizard could not tolerate it was pain. He used all his power to assuage the agony in his body, knowing he would need time to heal his wounds. The burns weren’t life threatening, but some were serious enough to cause blisters. And the blow to his body along with crashing onto the ground were enough to cause bruises that would plague him for weeks if he didn’t take the time to properly heal. But the worst pain came from his broken ribs that sent fiery streaks of agony lancing through his entire body with every breath he took. He was over a century old, and despite the fact that he had learned to reverse the aging process with magic, his body was still vulnerable to being hurt.
“We should go after them,” Roleena hissed. “I should have known that fool was lying to me.”
“Why did you believe him in the first place?”
“He told me what I wanted to hear, I suppose. And I needed a guard who was skilled with a sword.”
“We’ll find you a proper guard,” Branock said. “For now we need to leave the Bay, as quickly as possible.”
“I have to resupply.”
Branock handed the woman a purse full of gold coins.
“Do whatever you need to do, and do it quickly,” he said, his voice hoarse from the pain that seemed to be springing up in new places even as he spoke. “I want to set sail before nightfall.”
“I will make it so,” Roleena said. “But my ship is not a comfortable place.”
“I do not care. Get us away from here and then we’ll worry about comfort.”
“I came here to find the wizard and make him pay,” she said angrily. “I won’t run away.”
“It isn’t shameful to pull back and strengthen your forces,” Branock said. “Get me to safety and I’ll deliver the boy to you. I guarantee it. I have a plan.”
* * *
Roleena escorted Branock to the dock and sent him to her ship on the jolly boat while she saw to the supplies the ship needed. Normally the resupply process could take days, but the wizard’s gold sped everything along. Branock settled onto the small bed that Danella had occupied in Roleena’s cabin. It was not an ideal situation and one that Role
ena would quickly rectify once she was back on board the ship. The Sea Arrow wasn’t built for the comfort of its passengers or crew, but it was a fine vessel. Not spacious like the Crest Dancer but Roleena loved its speed and maneuverability. She would remake the small vessel into her flagship, filling the other two ships with cargo from her exploits, and creating an elaborate yacht from the smaller ship from which to rule her nautical empire.
Hours passed as food and water were brought to the ship. Roleena also hired two wenches and had them sent aboard, since her crew had not gotten the chance to go ashore. If the women lived through the voyage, satisfying the carnal appetites of the crew as they went, they would have three gold crowns each, more money than they had ever earned at any one time. She also hired four carpenters and bought supplies to make structural changes on the ship. By late afternoon they were on their way south once again, her crew well sated with grog, and the wizard asleep in her cabin.
She wasn’t happy with the way things had turned out. There was plenty of gold to keep her crew happy and loyal, but that wasn’t what she desired most. Zollin still lived, and instead of hunting him down they were fleeing. As she paced the small command deck her mind whirled with possibilities and one idea had true merit. She knew that on the ocean she could defeat the wizard, that she could finally make him pay. But she needed something to draw him to her. Something he desired. Perhaps the books she had collected for the old wizard would tempt the young one as well. She thought about killing Branock while he slept, but she didn’t know if Zollin would care about the ancient tomes. And she didn’t want to slay her one ally. The old wizard was as unappealing to Roleena as a weeping wound that wouldn’t heal, but he was necessary at the moment. Soon, she would rid the Five Kingdoms of both wizards and satisfy her debt to the merpeople. Until then she would bide her time, and make her plans. Revenge would be hers, she was certain of that. And it would be sweet.
Chaos Raging (The Five Kingdoms Book 11) Page 25
