When Zollin came to again, he was inside the ruins. The gargoyles were gone, and he was no longer tied to the pole. He was instead lying on a stone table. His hands were bound with rope, his legs tied down to the table as well. It was completely dark in the chamber where he lay, and cold. He was shivering. He could feel the burning sensation of cuts and scrapes all along his left side, including his face. Zollin guessed that when Ferno crashed, he had been thrown violently through the woods. His shield spell had saved his life, and perhaps Ferno’s, but the gargoyles may have finished the dragon off after the crash. Zollin couldn’t be certain.
Now he was a captive, and there was evil magic nearby, lurking in the darkness, watching him. Zollin let his own magic flow out. He felt weak, not just physically, but magically too. His sense of magic seemed numb. There were objects in the room but no people, and the evil was everywhere and not concentrated like his own power. Zollin did his best to examine his bonds. The rope was old, and it only took a little effort to break it apart. He rolled onto his side and let the blood flow into his hands and legs again.
Waiting was difficult, since he had no idea who or what was controlling the gargoyles or what they had in store for him, but he couldn’t just hop to his feet, not after being treated so roughly since the crash. Once his hands stopped tingling, he reached up and felt his face. He could feel the dried blood, but the cuts weren’t deep. It was much like a child’s skinned knee, only the entire left side of Zollin’s body was skinned. He could feel the burn of the raw skin on his shoulder, hip, and thigh, as well as his face.
Sitting up was a slow process. His legs were tingling so badly that he had to move slowly, letting the blood flow return before swinging them off the stone table. Then he took his time, resting until he no longer felt dizzy or weak. It was strange being in such a dark place. There was no light whatsoever in the room he was in, and Zollin couldn’t even see his hand when he waved it in front of his face. Still, he had not felt the presence of any living creature, so he kindled a small flame. The light seemed choked by the darkness. Zollin levitated the flame around him. The stone table looked as pitted and ancient as the exterior of the castle ruins, but most disturbingly, it was stained with blood.
Zollin got to his feet, waiting once again to make sure he wasn’t too wobbly on his feet. He wasn’t hurt seriously and he guessed the trek through the forest tied to the pole that the gargoyles carried had caused more damage than the crash. He felt hollow, his magic churning inside him. His stomach growled hungrily, and his mouth was very dry. Zollin had to work his jaw muscles and scrape his tongue over his teeth just to swallow.
The light moved slowly around the perimeter of the room. There were small nooks in the walls and pedestals around the room, but nothing on them. The air was dusty, and Zollin could smell mold growing. He could tell he was underground, but he had no idea how deep. He guessed that perhaps he was in the castle dungeon, but the sacrificial table and the powerful sense of evil below him made him feel as if he wasn’t on the lowest level of the horrible place.
There was a wooden door nearby, and Zollin went to it. The hinges screeched as he pulled it open, but no one was in the hallway beyond. There was still no light to see by other than Zollin’s small flame. He did his best to let his magical senses flow out around him, but the evil magic pushed back, damping his senses and hindering his ability to comprehend what was in the darkness around him. The light did little more to reveal what was in the corridor beyond the room he had woken up in. He knew he could increase the light but he didn’t want to attract attention. And it was taking all his magical strength to keep a shield up around him as he moved down the hallway.
At the end of the corridor was another doorway. It also screeched, as if it hadn’t been opened in centuries. Beyond the door was a small landing, with stairs going up from one side and down from the other. There was no railing, and past the landing was nothing but empty space. Zollin could tell that he was in a large, round chamber, the stairs having been built out from the chamber wall and spiraling down.
Instinct told Zollin to go up, and when he looked up, he could see a faint bit of light from somewhere high above him. Below was nothing but darkness and the surprising odor of livestock. Zollin realized that something was alive and keeping animals in the darkness below. The magnitude of the situation shook Zollin’s nerves. He wanted to get up and out of the castle as fast as he possibly could. Somewhere in the forest, Ferno needed him, and although Zollin had no idea how he could help the fallen creature, he knew that lingering in the dark ruins of the evil castle wouldn’t accomplish anything.
He moved up the stairs, staying near the wall. There was no reason for him to fall into the abyss below, but he couldn’t help fearing that he might. The small flame that hovered in front of Zollin showed him the next few steps, and he kept his magical shield up like an invisible bubble around his body just in case the unexpected happened.
After a while he guessed that he was almost halfway up toward the faint light above. He could just make out the dim outline of another door at the top of the stairs. Zollin was trying to pace himself, listening hard for any sounds other than his own footsteps on the stone stairs and his nervous breathing. He didn’t see the opening in the wall ahead of him until it was too late. Climbing the steps kept his attention down, but the creature that emerged was so hideous and foul that Zollin screamed in fear. From out of a hole in the wall the size of a wagon wheel came a slimy, worm-like creature, with white eyes, a toothless maw, and grasping tentacles. Zollin instinctively dodged away from the creature, lost his footing, and fell over the edge of the stairs.
It was like a nightmare, his stomach leaping into his chest, his hands flailing for something to hold on to that wasn’t there. Then his shield bumped into the wall; Zollin flipped as air rushed past his body. It took all his strength and force of will to levitate his own body and keep from crashing into the floor below. He couldn’t stop the descent, only slow it down. From the depths below him came a warm, humid heat, and then Zollin could sense the animals. He put all his strength into slowing his fall and landed on his side just hard enough to knock the breath out of his lungs. He lay on a manure-strewn floor, gasping for breath. His magic was sending sharp stabbing pains through his abdomen, but he was alive.
The small flame was gone, but his magical shield remained, so that even though he was lying in animal feces, he wasn’t soiled by it. After a few moments, he got to his feet. He was in a chamber far below the castle proper, and to his surprise, the evil seemed to hover high above him. He forced his magical senses to flow out. There were sheep, swine, and chickens in small pens along the floor of the chamber. There were also several cave-like openings that led away from the central chamber.
Zollin wasn’t sure what his next move should be. He knew that if he climbed the stairs again, he would have to fight his way past the worm in the wall—and who knew what else?—to finally get away from the castle, but there was no obvious alternative. He kindled a small flame again, getting a look at the pen he was in for the first time. The floor was covered with animal droppings. It was so thick it was almost like a layer of soil under his feet. There were other pens as well, some with animals, some empty. As Zollin moved his magical light around the room, he saw small nooks in the walls with wooden barricades over them. He wasn’t sure if the nooks were made to hold prisoners or other animals. Two tunnels branched off from the circular chamber. The tunnels looked as if they had been carved in the stone, but there was no sign of who might have made them or of who was keeping the animals.
Zollin felt fear making the hair on his neck stand up. Someone or something lived down in the darkness, and his experience with the dwarves had taught him that it wasn’t wise to delve into the dark places. He had just made up his mind to attempt ascending the staircase again, when a light began to shine down one of the tunnels. Zollin moved close to the stairway but didn’t go up. Instead he waited to see who or what was bearing the light from the dark tu
nnel. His heart was thundering in his chest, as the light grew nearer and nearer. He wanted to reach out with his magical senses but he was afraid he might alert whomever was coming toward him of his presence.
It quickly became obvious that the light approaching the round chamber was made from a torch. It wavered and danced, with shades of orange and yellow as the light bounced down the the dark tunnel. Fire, Zollin thought, must mean a human, but what he saw when the torch bearer came into view surprised him more than he thought possible.
It was a person—a young woman, in fact. She was beautiful, with long straight hair that was so blond it was almost white. She wore a light gray shift that was simple but seemed surprisingly attractive on her lithe figure. Her eyes were large, her lips so red that Zollin thought she had some kind of coloring on them. She didn’t speak; she just stood at the entrance to the tunnel with her torch, smiling at him. And then he heard her voice, even though her mouth didn’t move.
Come to me, she said.
Zollin felt a sudden, intense desire for the woman. His mind was flooded with thoughts of an intimate yet passionate encounter.
Come, the voice repeated.
Zollin was moving toward her before he even realized what he was doing. He knew that something was amiss, but the voice inside his head was so beautiful, so tantalizing that he didn’t think he could resist. He was moving slowly around the room, his heart battling his flesh as he tried to decide what to do. He knew that if he simply gave in to his feelings, he could have the girl, yet he couldn’t help but wonder what would happen to Brianna if he did. Could he ever face her again knowing he’d been untrue? Then he thought about the baby, their baby that Brianna was carrying, and he hesitated.
Come to me. I’ve been waiting so long, the voice said.
The girl reached for Zollin with her free hand, and Zollin could see something black caked on her palm. Suddenly his desire for her snapped, like a bowstring pulled too taut, and his reason returned suddenly. The girl was a trap; Zollin could suddenly sense the evil in her. It was the same as the evil in the castle ruins above. He wasn’t even sure if the girl was real—she was much too beautiful and too clean. Zollin didn’t know what was on her palm, but for some reason he thought it was dried blood. The animals in the pens weren’t being raised for food; they were sacrificial animals.
Zollin had no idea how he knew what he suddenly thought was true, but it felt true. He needed to get out of the ruins as quickly as possible, but he wasn’t sure how to do it. He turned, running back toward the stairs that led up the circular chamber only to hear a roar from above that turned his blood to ice in his veins. He turned; the light from the girl’s torch flickered across the chamber, and he he ran away from it. The second tunnel was still dark, but Zollin felt like he had no other choice. Perhaps if he had taken a moment to consider what was happening, he might have realized that he was being herded toward the tunnel and that he was possibly dashing right to the place the evil wanted him to go, but he wasn’t thinking.
All he could do was run away, and as the light from the torch faded behind him, the darkness of the tunnel engulfed him, and in the very moment he thought he was safe, the floor dropped away under him, and he fell, tumbling down a steep shaft before crashing hard into a stone wall. His magical shield protected him, but the fall shook him up, and once again Zollin found himself in total darkness.
Chapter 25
The army marched with a single-minded resolve, made all too evident by the fact that no one from the enemy camp paid Lorik and Spector any attention whatsoever. Lorik moved carefully, doing his best to seem unimportant, and Spector was practically invisible in the dull light that was just beginning to filter through thick clouds. Snow began to fall as the army marched away from the camp where they had fended off Lorik’s attack through the night.
Once the troops had gone a short distance from their picket line, Lorik cast off any attempt to be stealthy. He charged straight at the rear of the wide column of soldiers. They were lined up ten abreast, ready to break into battle formation once they closed the distance between them and the line of Outcast fighters in the distance, but the soldiers didn’t make it that far. Lorik screamed a war cry just before he slammed into the rear of the line. The soldiers turned suddenly, but Lorik was already attacking. He slammed his shoulder into the middle of the line, knocking the soldier forward to crash into the men in front of him. Then Lorik’s legendary swords went to work. He hacked and slashed, with no regard for finesse or strategy. He simply cut his way into the throng of men.
Horses came galloping back from the front of the line, their hooves pounding the cold ground until they sounded like rolling thunder. Spector had been waiting for them. The wraith descended from the gray clouds like the avenging angel that he was. The ghostly fighter attacked horses and riders alike, slashing throats and knocking the officers off their steeds.
The formation dissolved as some soldiers tried to get away from the fighting and others tried to get close enough to attack. Lorik batted away hastily drawn swords and spears that were lowered in his direction. The weapons fell easily from shaking hands. Blood flew from his swords as he attacked first to his right, then to his left. The wounded fell screaming and writhing on the ground, tripping their fellow soldiers who attempted to attack Lorik. He moved with supernatural speed, giving himself completely to the darkness. In his heart he didn’t savor killing the soldiers, who were only following orders, but he knew it must be done. He wouldn’t allow anyone to enter Ortis and trample the rights of his people ever again.
A spear thrust from over the shoulder of a man Lorik had just stabbed should have split Lorik’s skull, but he simply dipped his head, letting the spear glance off his black helmet. Lorik kicked the man impaled on his sword. The dying soldier flew back and knocked down four men behind him, just as Lorik spun around and killed another man with a vicious slash that sent the soldier’s head flying away from his body. But even though Lorik was stronger and faster than the soldiers, their overwhelming numbers were starting to give them the advantage. Lorik was forced to move back, avoiding more concentrated attacks as the more experienced fighters joined the fray.
Spector was attacking like a demon, but he too was forced to give way as spears began flying toward him. Then the soldiers spread out around Lorik in an attempt to surround him. Once again the magic inside him swelled to life, and he acted completely without thought. He raised his swords high, then rammed the blades down into the blood-soaked earth. He felt a wave of magic shoot out in all directions around him. The ground swelled, rushing away from him like a wave of water. The soldiers were tossed into the air, and Lorik renewed his attack.
Panic set in on the soldiers after the magical attack. Lorik was just beginning to warm to his task, when the soldiers around him began to run away. The darkness inside him begged to chase them down and continue the slaughter, but Lorik let them flee. Spector was not so merciful. He swooped down, stabbing and slashing, then gliding back up with gore dripping from his knife blades. The smoke that trailed him was black, and the cloak that covered his arms and head were just as dark. Against the snow, which seemed to drift down in an almost lazy fashion, he seemed more horrible than ever before.
Looking around him, Lorik saw that he had cut down dozens of soldiers. Counting the dead was not something he cared to do. The darkness inside him buzzed with excitement as the sights and smells shocked his senses. He could feel the terror of the dying. Steam rose from blood-covered corpses, and in the distance he could see the Outcasts looking on in awe. Lorik looked up at the city. The battle had taken place within sight of the tall walls, and Lorik could just make out the sprawl of civilian settlements that surrounded the city. Bells began to toll, and Lorik hoped that meant that the people were turning on the soldiers that occupied Ort City, but the only way to find out was to go see for himself.
He jogged forward, keeping pace with the slowest of the soldiers. He didn’t want to attack them anymore; he only wanted to find
out what was happening inside the city. When he was only a few hundred yards from the city walls, he could see the civilians fleeing in terror as the soldiers hurried toward the safety of Ort City’s massive walls. Then the sky turned suddenly dark as hundreds of arrows arced overhead.
Lorik couldn’t believe what he was seeing. The soldiers on the city walls were firing a volley of arrows at him, regardless of the citizens caught up in the panic all around him. His fury boiled into a red hot fit of rage as he dove behind a small cart, lifting the wooden wagon over his head to protect him from the volley. Spector suddenly appeared beside him. Lorik didn’t know if the wraith could be killed; his body seemed so ethereal, but his blades were deadly enough. The arrows pounded down, clattering on the ground and into the huts like hailstones. Lorik heard the screams of the dying, but he had no way to help them.
He cast the cart aside and sprinted forward. On foot he was fast as a galloping horse. He ran through the muddy streets, leaping over the wounded and racing into the throng of soldiers that were almost to the big southern gate that still stood open. The soldiers on the walls couldn't fire more arrows without risking the lives of their own troops. Lorik cut down a man who was in his way and batted another aside as he ran. The heavy portcullis was dropping, and the soldiers, already exhausted from their long run, gave everything they had to reach the safety of the city. Lorik could have gotten inside, but his way was blocked by the crowds of soldiers who were moving much more slowly.
He heard the portcullis crash closed and he screamed in fury. The crowd fell back around him, but he slammed his sword in the ground, sending a wave through the ground that tossed the soldiers into the air. Several of the huts and poorly built structures around Lorik toppled, but the walls held fast.
Into Chaos Page 19
