Snow began to fall, and even though Zollin stayed warm by his fire, he couldn’t keep the snow from soaking through his clothes. He was shivering by the time Ferno returned. He could have built a shelter to keep the majority of the snow off him, but he was too consumed with trying to decide what to do for Ferno. He couldn’t risk the dragon’s freedom, but at the same time, he couldn’t complete his mission for King Hausey without Ferno’s assistance.
When the dragon landed on the far side of Zollin’s fire, it immediately moved in beside him, covering the shivering wizard with one leathery wing and helping to warm him with the dragon’s natural body heat.
“We have to talk about something,” Zollin said. “I’m not sure how much of this you’ll understand but I think I know why you were so drawn to the gold you found.”
Ferno didn’t respond verbally, but Zollin sensed the sudden unquenchable desire that pulsed from the dragon, and a mental image of the shining gold coins appeared in Zollin’s mind.
“Yes,” he said. “And it’s not good news. Apparently you need gold. It can heal you and prolong your life, but it can also be used to control you. We can’t use your name anymore. If people knew that you could be controlled, they would take advantage of you. I won’t let that happen. Perhaps it is better if you return to the Highlands with your pride.”
Zollin saw the dragon flying among the mountains and then felt a questioning emotion of safety. It took him a minute to realize that the dragon was asking if returning to the Northern Highlands would make him safe. Zollin realized that it wouldn’t. Bartoom had been in the Highlands with Brianna and tried for days to resist Offendorl’s orders, but eventually it was forced to obey. The only way to keep Ferno safe was to never use the dragon’s name, but there were no guarantees.
Another mental image flashed into Zollin’s mind; this time it was of the two of them flying together. Zollin felt a joyous emotion and realized that Ferno wanted to stay with him. He felt honored that the dragon would risk so much just to help Zollin.
“All right, but from now on I’m calling you Ripper,” Zollin said.
The dragon snorted, apparently finding the name humorous. Soon Zollin was laughing too, but he still felt uneasy. He sent the dragon an image of the gold coins and Zollin reforming them into something more appropriate than carrying them around in a burlap sack.
Ferno growled, but then nudged Zollin forward with the thick tail. An image came into Zollin’s mind of the young wizard taking the sack from Ferno’s massive paw. He stepped forward and reached slowly for the sack. Ferno growled mournfully, but then let go.
Zollin immediately emptied the sack on the snowy ground. Then he closed his eyes, letting his magic flow through him. The gold coins rose up in the air and hovered over the two massive horns that sprouted from Ferno’s shoulders. Zollin used his magic to heat the metal. He only need to warm it and make the already soft gold pliable, then his magic fashioned two thick, gold bands that wrapped around the dragon’s horns. The resulting roar shook the trees and echoed off the hills that lined the deep gorge they were camped beside.
Zollin immediately felt a sense of happiness that he had never felt from Ferno before. The dragon was overjoyed. Looking at his handiwork, the gold bands looked regal on the dragon’s back. Apparently, contact with the gold satisfied the longing that had driven Ferno to kill for the gold. The dragon wrapped around Zollin and fell asleep almost immediately. Unfortunately, Zollin didn’t share the dragon’s peacefulness. He was warm and dry under the dragon’s wing, but he couldn’t help but worry that something might happen to the dragon. Zollin didn’t want to see anything happen to the creature that he considered a friend, but he also couldn’t imagine facing Brianna and telling her that it was his fault that Ferno was under someone else’s control.
The next morning they set off at dawn. The low thick clouds forced them to fly lower than they would have liked, and occasionally they had to fly through snowstorms that left them both drenched. Still, nothing could shake the dragon’s happiness. Ferno was like a child who had just gotten the best toy ever invented. Zollin had never known the dragons to be prideful, but he received several mental messages from Ferno of the dragon’s gold bands. The dragon could turn its head on the long, muscular neck and look at the gold bands. Zollin even thought he saw the ferocious mouth, full of long, pointed teeth, pulled back into a smile at one point.
Then, just before midday, a new danger appeared. Out of the gray clouds dropped several gray-skinned gargoyles. The light was poor as it filtered through the thick storm clouds, and the gargoyles blended into the uneven, gray clouds almost as if it were the perfect camouflage. The battle was instant and intense.
Two of the gargoyles, each the size of a draft horse, dropped onto Ferno’s wings, causing them all to plummet toward the ground. Zollin was falling, too, but held tightly to the reins that were lashed to the dragon’s shoulder horns, just above the gold bands.
“Blast!” Zollin shouted, fear churning his magic like the billows in a smithy’s forge.
Blue, lightning-like energy shot from Zollin’s outstretched hand and burned through the gargoyle on his right. Zollin was just about to repeat his attack when Ferno’s head came around and smashed into the gray-skinned creature with bone-shattering force. There were long gashes on the dragon’s wing where the gargoyle’s claws had tried to hold onto the thick upper portion of Ferno’s wing. The dragon fought hard to keep from crashing into the forest below, even as three more of the evil-looking gargoyles descended from the clouds.
Ferno turned and blew a stream of fire that forced Zollin to duck his head from the intense heat. He couldn’t imagine anything surviving the blast, but when he looked up again, the gargoyles seemed unfazed by the fiery attack. They had fat bodies and long, spindly arms. Thick wings sprouted from their backs, and their legs were more muscular than their arms. They had long claws on the ends of their hands and even bigger talons on their feet, but it was their misshapen mouths that bristled with huge, pointed teeth that scared Zollin the most.
The gargoyles angled in toward the dragon, their wings flapping hard to keep pace with Ferno. An idea struck Zollin, and he sent his magic out toward the creatures. They were immune to dragon fire, but the wizard wondered how they would do with ice. It was snowing, and the gargoyles were already covered wet from the precipitation. It only took a little effort to change the snow and water on the creatures’ thick wings to ice. At first the ice only weighed down the gargoyles, but then the creatures had trouble flapping their wings. Then they fell, plummeting down toward the forest.
Zollin gave a whoop, and Ferno roared in reply. Then another group of gargoyles attacked, once again falling down out of the gray clouds, this time in front of Ferno. Zollin reached out toward the approaching creatures, but before he could act, Ferno swerved around, forcing Zollin to hold on with all his strength to keep from being flung from the dragon’s back. Ferno whirled around, lashing out with the thick, muscular tail. The dragon succeeded in batting two of the gargoyles out of the air, their bodies smashed so hard that Zollin had no doubt that they were out of the fight completely.
The third gargoyle latched onto Ferno’s rear leg like a rabid dog. The dragon roared in pain, and Zollin turned, unleashing a thick stream of blue magical energy from his outstretched hand. The blast burned a black hole in the gargoyle’s hideous head. It flipped backward and fell, but Zollin saw the blood on the dragon’s haunches and felt a pang of fear for the huge beast. Zollin looked around but couldn’t see any more of the awful creatures, but he felt a wave of evil magic wash over him, and the gargoyles tried a new tactic.
Gargoyles began to drop from the clouds by the hundreds. It was like a storm of evil. The gargoyles didn’t fly or try to hit Ferno; they simply dropped. Zollin realized that whatever was commanding the hideous creatures had reverted them back to stone. Ferno flew like Zollin had never seen anything move before. The dragon darted back and forth, spinning and juking as the creatures dropped all
around them. Zollin could do nothing but hang on and hope they survived.
For several minutes Ferno avoided the gargoyles. Zollin supposed it was instinctual flying, but he was amazed at what the huge dragon could do. There were times when Ferno tucked the massive wings close to its body and shot toward the ground like a shooting star, only to spread the wings and flash back up toward the clouds like a bolt of lightning in reverse.
The gargoyles continued to fall with no end in sight. Zollin guessed there must have been thousands hiding in the storm clouds. And then disaster struck. A falling gargoyle struck Ferno’s left wing. The sound of the wing bones snapping was like a thunder clap, and then they were falling. Zollin felt the shock of pain from Ferno, almost as if his own arm had been broken.
There was no time to think or do anything more than throw up a shield around himself and the dragon. Zollin felt the strain of protecting Ferno with his magic. They hit the treetops, the dragon’s body flipping over and going limp. Then everything went black.
Chapter 19
Lorik’s group of soldiers saw their quarry later that afternoon. Smoke in the distance was the first sign of the mercenaries, and Lorik had no doubt they were busy burning another settlement. They pushed their horses hard and finally came over a small rise to find an encampment of the Outcast near a small stream. It was late in the day, with only an hour of daylight left, yet Lorik knew it was more than enough time to finish his hunt.
“Stay here,” Lorik told the soldiers. “Keep my horse and wait until I call for you, but watch and learn.”
“You don’t want us to fight, my lord?” asked Toomis.
“No, you’ll just be killed, and I didn’t spend all this time training you to see you slain needlessly.”
“But sire, you can’t fight all those men alone.”
“I’m not alone,” Lorik said, as Spector glided around his body, the twin blades he carried glistening in the setting sun. “Now do as you’re told.”
In the small valley between the hills, a small stream meandered. The Outcasts had built several structures, one for housing their animals, the rest to shelter the small community. From what Lorik could see, there were far more people than structures, which probably meant they were sleeping in the shelters in groups. He felt sorry for the strangely mutated figures. Those he’d met after the Witch’s War were mainly innocents who were terrified by what had happened to them. They remembered the witch’s monsters attacking, but their transformation and their attack in her army was more like a dream than reality. When the witch died, they simply woke up, changed, far from home and loved ones, with no one to help them.
In the village, the mercenaries had gathered the Outcasts in one large group. Had the mutated group been the type to fight back, they could have easily overcome the mercenaries, but the outlaws were experienced killers, and the Outcasts were just frightened farmers. The mercenaries made the Outcasts watch as their homes were burned, their belongings stolen or destroyed, and their livestock slaughtered. Lorik knew how the outlaws worked; they would keep the helpless villagers until nightfall, and then they would kill the Outcasts one by one for sport. They had planned to do the same thing to Lorik, only Stone and Vera had helped him escape. Lorik had no intention of letting anyone else die at the hands of the cruel mercenaries.
“You have a plan, I suppose?” Spector hissed.
“Yes, I’m going to attack, and when the cowards scatter, you pick them off one by one.”
“Watch out for arrows,” the wraith warned.
Lorik knew that the mercenaries had seen him and his small band of soldiers. He made no attempt to hide as he moved down the hill, but he doubted that the mercenaries considered one man to be a threat. The soldiers on the hill were carrying Ortisian shields, which probably set the outlaws at ease. Yettlebor, in his desperate attempt to control the kingdom and secure his throne, had given lands and titles to mercenaries in exchange for their loyalty. Lorik was looking forward to rooting the opportunistic brigands out of his kingdom for good.
He was nearing the edge of the encampment. He could see the Outcasts clearly, and the small group of mercenaries around them. He knew there were more of the outlaws, so he wasn’t surprised when he was surrounded by armed men as he drew close to the leader of the band.
“Is that you, Lorik of Hassell Point?” said Pyllvar, the leader of the group. “You’ve recovered from King Yettlebor’s hospitality in record time.”
“Yettlebor is no longer king,” Lorik said. “In fact, he is nothing anymore other than food for the worms, as you will be very soon.”
“So those are your troops on the hill?” Pyllvar didn’t seem concerned. “They look young.”
“They are young and inexperienced. That’s why they’ll just be watching.”
“Are you going to fight us all?” Pyllvar said with a grin. “That didn’t work out too well for you last time.”
“No, it didn’t, but who says I’m alone now?”
Lorik let the threat hang in the air for a moment. He didn’t have to look around at the mercenaries to sense their anxiety. Lorik was bigger than he’d ever been, and in his black armor, he looked frightening, even to hard men like Pyllvar’s outlaws.
“But I’ll make a deal with you,” Lorik said. “I’ll fight Ulber unarmed to see if you live or die. If I win, then I’ll take you all back to Ort City and try you for your crimes. If Ulber wins, you can do whatever you like.”
“That sounds fair enough to me,” Pyllvar said.
Lorik didn’t believe that the mercenaries would fight fair or simply throw down their weapons and surrender once he defeated Ulber. Still, Lorik wasn’t worried about what would happen once he had defeated the group’s enforcer. Ulber was a cruel man and a deadly fighter. He was strong and heavily built, but Lorik was anxious to get his hands on the man who had mortally wounded Stone and given the cowardly king a chance to murder Vera.
Ulber stepped out of the shadows, handing his bow to one of the outlaws nearest to him. He had a grin on his square face, and he watched Lorik like a wolf. Lorik unbuckled his armor and lifted the finely sculpted plates over his head before setting them down on the grass. He took off his sword belt and propped the weapons against the armor. Then he flexed his arms and shoulders; the thick, sinewy muscles rolled beneath his skin as he loosened his joints for the fight.
The dark magic gave Lorik the ability to sense fear in others. He could feel it radiating from the Outcast like heat from a wildfire. The other mercenaries were scared as well, but they did a much better job controlling their emotions. Even Pyllvar was nervous. Of all the outlaws, only Ulber was without fear. Lorik had met his kind before, cold, emotionless, and with a taste for killing.
“I’ve been looking forward to this since we first met,” Ulber said.
Lorik nodded. He didn’t bother responding to his adversary, at least not yet. He had plenty to say, but that would come later. He looked Ulber over carefully. Lorik was quite sure that Ulber was still armed, even though he had given his sword to one of his comrades. Lorik guessed there was at least a knife in his boot, and perhaps even other weapons hidden in his belt. Ulber had thick arms and legs, a barrel-shaped chest, and a thick stomach. His head was shaped like a bucket and sat low on his shoulders with almost no visible neck. He had a stiff-looking leather vest on over a wool shirt with a leather bracer on his left forearm. His pants were wool, and his boots were short, but the cuffs of his trousers were tucked neatly into the tops of the boots.
Lorik forced himself to relax. He knew he was faster and stronger than his opponent, but he didn’t want to take the fight for granted. Ulber was a cruel man with vicious intentions, and Lorik had no desire to give the outlaw even a second of satisfaction in the fight.
Ulber closed the distance between himself and Lorik, unfazed by Lorik’s size and obvious strength. He threw a punch that was meant to catch Lorik off guard, but instead Lorik caught the punch in midair, stopping the powerful blow before it reached him. Ulber t
ried to yank his hand back, but Lorik’s grip was too strong. Ulber swung wildly with his left hand, but Lorik caught that fist, too. He held the outlaw at bay for a moment, letting the realization of his superiority dawn on the mercenary. Only when Lorik felt a wave of fear from Ulber did he act.
He shoved Ulber away, sending the heavy man reeling backward. The mercenary didn’t fall, and when he regained his balance, he charged back toward Lorik. This time Lorik struck first, landing a solid blow straight into Ulber’s face. The punch was so fast that the outlaw never even saw it coming, and this time his legs flew up, and he crashed hard onto his back. Blood exploded from his nose, which was obviously broken, but the outlaw scrambled back to his feet faster than Lorik expected. He stepped back, letting his opponent regain his footing. Lorik wasn’t in a hurry; he wanted to savor his revenge.
They began to circle one another, Ulber much more wary than before and staying out of arm’s reach. Lorik reveled in the feeling of fear he could sense not just from Ulber, but from the other outlaws. He knew they had never seen Ulber outmatched in a fight, and when the big mercenary hit the ground, their fear swelled, sending the dark magic in Lorik swirling in anticipation.
Lorik raised both hands over his head, as if he were about to swing his fists down in a savage attack, but then he kicked Ulber instead with a powerful front kick that landed squarely on the outlaw’s chest. Once again Ulber flew backward, crashing hard on the ground and rolling over his head so that he was facedown when his body finally came to a stop.
Into Chaos Page 15
