“We’ll have to find another way in,” Spector hissed.
“You find out what those bells were for,” Lorik insisted.
“They were calling in the civilians before they closed the gate.”
“Or maybe it was a distress call because the people are turning on their captors.”
Lorik knew that Spector was right, even though he didn’t want to believe it. The soldiers who hadn’t reached the city in time were now running away from Lorik. Stones began to fall from the wall, and Lorik was forced to seek shelter. He dashed into a small wooden building that had been a brothel. The smell of strong spirits and dirty bodies still filled the empty space. Lorik paced back and forth as Spector glided around him.
“They have turned from you,” Spector hissed.
“I realize that,” Lorik said angrily.
“What will you do?”
“I’m thinking,” Lorik said. “They’re as stupid as sheep. Can’t they see that they can’t let Baskla rule them? Didn’t they see how many people were killed by that volley of arrows?”
“The people of Ort City see only what they want to see,” Spector said.
There were several thuds as arrows hit the roof of the brothel. Lorik could smell the smoke almost immediately. It didn’t take a genius to realize that the soldiers on the city wall were shooting fire arrows at the building Lorik was in. He had only two choices remaining: flee or fight. There were still soldiers that he could kill around the outside of the city walls. And he could always enter the city through the escape tunnel, but it was probably guarded, and Lorik didn’t want to wait that long.
“Lorik of Hassell Point!” came a voice from high up on the city walls. “Come out and speak with me.”
Lorik waved his hand, and Spector drifted out the open door. The wraith was gone only for a moment before gliding back inside.
“It is their commander,” he hissed.
“The one in charge?” Lorik asked.
“Yes.”
Lorik stepped to the door and looked up. High above him he could see that the soldiers had parted on the city wall and that a lone man leaned out over the parapet. The man had a fur-lined cape around his shoulders that spoke of wealth and power. It wasn’t a crown, but the cape, his polished armor, and the obvious deference the soldiers gave the man made it clear he was their leader. What Lorik didn’t know was whether the man fancied himself the new ruler of Ortis or if he was simply there to find out what had happened to Yettlebor, who had been King Ricard of Baskla’s cousin.
“Who are you?” Lorik called back.
“I am Braynar of Baskla, high commander of the king’s armies. I am here to find out what happened to Lord Yettlebor.”
“You know what happened,” Lorik shouted back. “He was put to death for his crimes.”
“I have heard the stories, but I haven’t heard from you. Why do you wage war against us when we only want justice?”
Lorik spat. “You want Ortis as your vassal state. You want our people to serve your king. Yettlebor was a corrupt, cowardly man. Yet here you are supporting him. Is your occupation of Ort City not a declaration of war? Your troops have been here for a year for no purpose other than to support Yettlebor, who had no claim to our throne.”
“And you have a claim?” Braynar shouted.
“I am a son of Ortis. I am Lorik the Protector. I earned the right to rule with my blood. The people here will attest to that.”
“The people in Ort City have embraced me,” Braynar argued. “They look to me for safety from a fiend in black armor who murdered their king. There are rumors of a demon who carries out your every command. But I did not come seeking a throne. If an Ortisian steps forward with the lineage, Baskla will support his right to this kingdom. Our desire is to preserve this kingdom until order can be restored.”
“There is no disorder in Ortis, unless you are talking about Yettlebor appointing criminals as lords over the innocent.”
“I see we have much to discuss. Lay down your weapons and come inside the city. There is no need for bloodshed. We can discuss our differences like gentlemen.”
“The only blood shed will be Basklain blood, unless your soldiers continue to fire their arrows with no regard for the innocent.”
“Lorik, this must end. Surely you can see that I have the upper hand. The city is secure, and I occupy the throne. I have an army; you have a band of miscreants. There is no scenario where you succeed and I fail. Surrender now, and you shall stand trial for your crimes. You will have an opportunity to defend yourself and air your grievances.”
“And if I refuse?” Lorik asked.
“Then I shall hunt you down like an animal. There is no place in all of Ortis that you can hide from us.”
“I welcome your best efforts. I shall camp in the fields here.” Lorik pointed south. “I will be alone. If you are man enough to face me, then come. If you need an army, bring them. I do not fear you or your cowardly soldiers. But make no mistake, Braynar of Baskla, Ortis is my home, and I will not see it taken by anyone from another kingdom.”
Lorik stepped back into the brothel where Spector glided silently in circles. They waited to see what the commander would do. It only took a few moments and they heard thumps on the brothel’s thin wooden roof.
“More fire arrows,” Spector hissed.
“I guess we have his answer.”
“What now?” Spector asked.
“We wait for nightfall, then we attack the city.”
The wraith sped up, gliding faster and faster, a sign Lorik took to mean that he was excited about the plan. All Lorik needed to do was survive until nightfall, but as the continued thump of arrows from the city walls attested to, that would not be an easy task. Lorik looked around the empty room. There were wooden tables and chairs where patrons had spent their time drinking and gambling while the wenches plied their trade in the rooms upstairs. Slowly a plan began to form in Lorik’s mind and he couldn’t help but smile at the thought of driving his enemies before him.
Chapter 26
Zollin heard the shuffling of feet on stone. It sounded strange to his ears until he realized the footsteps were from bare feet. He stood up, shaking his head to clear the cobwebs from his fall and realized he’d been a fool. Whatever was going on in the castle and subterranean chambers below, it was obvious that something was trying to keep him there.
“Who are you?” came a voice from the darkness.
“What?” Zollin asked, his voice a shaky whisper.
“Who are you?” said the voice again. It was soft and breathy, and Zollin was almost certain it was feminine.
“I’m Zollin of Yelsia.”
“Why are you here?”
Zollin was a little surprised by the question.
“I didn’t come here willingly,” he said, his voice a mix of fear and frustration.
“None of us do,” the voice said. “But only those with gifts are kept. What can you do?”
Zollin was starting to realize that the evil he’d felt from the castle ruins had plans for him. He wasn’t being held against his will because of Ferno or just by chance. The magic above recognized that he was a wizard. He chastised himself for not being more focused. He needed to think about what he was doing and make certain he was making the smartest decisions he could if he was going to get out of the castle and help Ferno.
“I’m a wizard,” Zollin said.
He conjured a flame and saw that he was in a narrow corridor. The tunnel he’d fallen down was just above him and angled sharply upward. To his right was a woman about his own age. She looked strangely similar to the girl with white hair who had tried to seduce him in the tunnel above, only her hair was dark, tangled, and dirty. Her clothes were ragged, with rips and tears in the fabric, the ends frayed. Her skin, where it was visible, was filthy.
“Who are you?” Zollin asked.
“I’m Amvyr, daughter of King Ricard.”
“That can’t be,” Zollin said.
“Why not?”
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“If the king’s daughter was missing, he would tear his kingdom apart to find her.”
“Maybe,” the girl said. “Or maybe he would give up.”
“How long have you been here?”
“A long time, years maybe, I don’t know.”
“How have you survived?”
“The Master makes sure we survive,” the girl said. “Can you do more than parlor tricks?”
“Yes, but I’m pretty weak at the moment.”
“You need food,” she said. “Come with me.”
She was only a few feet away from Zollin, and as she turned and hurried back into the darkness, he caught a whiff of her body odor. At least he knew she was real, he thought to himself as he followed along after her. He kept his shield up and the small light burning so that he could see, despite the fact that he was exhausted and continuing to use his magic felt like he was carrying a heavy weight on his shoulders that was about to crush him.
They went through several tunnels, and Zollin was reminded of the dwarf caverns, only the tunnels under the ancient castle didn’t seem to be natural. Everything was dark, and not just from an absence of light. The evil of the castle seemed to be everywhere—in the tunnel walls, in the air, and even in the girl. Zollin doubted she was who she claimed to be, but he guessed it didn’t matter. He didn’t really have a choice at that point; he had no idea where he was or how to get out of the dark caverns.
The girl finally came to a small alcove that was littered with filthy straw, bones, feathers, and bits of animal skin. She dug through the mess and then handed him a strip of raw meat. She didn’t seem to notice the dirt and bits of straw clinging to the morsel. Zollin nodded in thanks but didn’t eat the meat.
“I’ll get you something to drink,” the girl said. “Wait here.”
Zollin sat with his back against the stone wall, trying to think of what he should do next. He knew he needed to get out of the castle, but would wandering around eventually lead him out? Would the evil presence he felt in the ancient place even let him escape, or was he truly a prisoner? All he knew for certain was that, whatever he did, it wouldn’t be easy.
Amvyr returned with a cup in her hands. It was a large goblet, but the bottom seemed to have broken off, leaving a sharp-looking shard at the bottom of the cup. Zollin still had his magical shield up, but his fatigue and shock made him slow to react. The girl walked up to Zollin, who reached for the cup, but instead of handing him the goblet, she tried to stab him with the broken shard on the bottom.
The cup crashed against his shield and Zollin felt his magic recoil, almost the way a person might snatch their hand away when they touch a pot handle they didn’t realize was hot. Zollin dropped to his side, his magic suddenly withdrawing in on itself. It was a reaction Zollin had never experienced before. His magic, always his most reliable ally, was suddenly hiding. Zollin’s mind was reeling, but the girl wasn’t finished.
“You can’t stop us!” she screamed in a high-pitched voice that echoed in the rocky chamber. “Give us your power!”
She swung the cup at Zollin again, but he kicked out at her, his boot catching her in the stomach and sending her staggering back. Fighting without magic was something Zollin hadn’t done since he discovered his powers, but Kelvich had warned him not to depend solely on his magical abilities. He scrambled quickly to his feet. The tiny flickering flame threatened to go out, but Zollin knew he had no chance of success if he were plunged into total darkness. He forced the magic to remain as the girl came at him again.
Zollin caught her hands, but she was stronger than she appeared. She slammed him back into the wall of the tunnel, forcing the goblet shard closer and and closer to his chest. Zollin knew he couldn’t hold her back for much longer. She was on his right side, so he shifted his weight and pushed her around so that she was pinned against the wall. When she came at him again, he swung a wild punch. His fist missed her face and smashed against her ear. Zollin felt a pop in his hand followed immediately by a numb sensation.
Amvyr screamed in pain, staggering to the side, then rushed at Zollin again. He managed to swing her past him and flung her hard into the wall. This time she was slower to get up, and Zollin realized he had to attack rather than wait and hope she would simply give up.
Attacking a woman was repugnant to Zollin, and Amvyr, despite her filthy appearance, was still an attractive girl. But Zollin knew what he had to do and stepped forward, punching the crazed girl with his left hand. This time the punch landed, hitting Amvyr just below her eye and splitting the delicate skin on her cheekbone. Her head also snapped back and smashed into the stone wall, knocking her senseless, but not before she managed to scrape Zollin’s forearm with the goblet’s shard. He felt the pull of his magic from the cup as it tried to steal his magical power. Zollin wasn’t sure what the cup was or what was happening in the ancient castle, but he knew he couldn’t wait any longer.
He kicked the goblet, sending it flipping down the stone tunnel. Then Zollin bent low, grabbed Amvyr’s arm, and pulled the filthy girl up onto his shoulder. Lifting her wasn’t very difficult; Zollin guessed she weighed less than a hundred pounds. He could feel her hipbones digging into his shoulder as he hurried down the tunnel away from the goblet. He knew bringing the girl was a big risk. She could wake up at any moment and renew her fight with him. And there was the very real possibility that she wasn’t who she claimed to be. But if there was any chance that she really was King Ricard’s daughter, Zollin wanted to at least try and escape with her.
His magic began to churn inside him once again, swirling like a pot of boiling water as he reformed the magical shield around himself and Amvyr. He added more magic to the flame as he progressed down the tunnel. He came to a fork and took the branch that seemed to angle upward. He was encouraged when he saw the dancing yellow light of a torch burning ahead. In his mind he realized that the magic of the castle was trying to keep him, to rob Zollin of his magical power. Perhaps, he considered, the place had no real power other than illusion. Otherwise why wouldn’t the sinister presence have robbed him of his power immediately? It needed to herd him down into the tunnels where the girl lived, he surmised.
When they finally reached the flickering light from the torch, he could see the girl with white hair again. She was beckoning to him, but he surrounded his mind with magic and forced his senses out toward the girl. He felt nothing, no physical presence or even a concentration of the evil he felt all around him. She was nothing but an illusion, just a visual representation of what the evil wanted him to see.
Zollin charged ahead, the girl with white hair stumbling back then vanishing suddenly. Zollin took it as a good sign that the evil was trying to stop him. If he were moving in the wrong direction, it wouldn’t bother trying to hinder his progress. There were twists and turns, but the tunnel he was in continued to angle upward. Zollin passed several caves filled with treasures. There were caverns full of paintings, others filled with lavish furniture all covered with cobwebs, but nothing slowed Zollin until he came to a chamber that was filled with gold coins. There were piles and piles of the coins, thousands of them, some in canvas sacks, others spilled across the stone floor. The light from Zollin’s flame reflected off the gold until the cavern glittered with light.
The riches were of no interest to Zollin, but he remembered that gold could heal a dragon. Zollin wasn’t sure if he could carry enough of the gold out of the castle to help Ferno or if the dragon was even still alive to help, but he felt he had to try. He let his magical senses flow into the room, realizing that the caverns were probably traps intended to keep him prisoner in the ancient castle. He could sense a feeling of menace in the cavern, but not the actual trap.
But there was no need to go into the cavern. Zollin focused on one of the melon-sized bags of gold. He let his magic flow around it, imagining the bag rising into the air. The gold was so heavy that for several moments he couldn’t budge the bag. Then it shifted, rose an inch from the floor, then another. Zol
lin didn’t need to lift the bag high, once it was clearly off the floor he levitated it out of the room. He had expected something to happen that would keep the gold in the chamber, but nothing occurred, even as the bag of gold passed out of the chamber and dropped at Zollin’s feet.
He was sweating, and Amvyr felt heavier each moment that passed. He sat her down on the floor, checking to see if she was coming around, but she was still out cold. His hand was aching, and he took a moment to examine it. One of the small bones was fractured, but it only took Zollin a few minutes to heal it. The relief from the pain was instantaneous, but the drain on his magical power was, too. He had to wait a few moments for his head to clear from the strain of working magic before he could continue with his plan.
Turning back to the chamber, he levitated a second bag of coins out of the room. His magic was churning so hotly inside him it felt as if his organs had become burning coals. Sinking down to his knees, he waited while his pounding heartbeat slowed. He swiped at his forehead with his sleeve to brush away the sweat. Carrying the heavy bags of gold would be difficult under the best of circumstances, but he knew that he couldn’t carry them by hand. He needed something to help distribute the weight. He looked into the cavern and saw that some of the bags were linked together with a velvet rope. Zollin had no clue where the treasures had come from or how long they had been forgotten in the ancient castle, but if the rope were strong enough, he could tie his bags together and sling them over his shoulders.
It took some time and concentration to free up the rope using his magic, but he didn’t want to take up any more magical effort than absolutely necessary. Once the rope was out of the chamber, Zollin checked it to make sure it was still strong enough to help him carry the gold. It seemed to be in good shape, so Zollin tied one end to the first bag, then after deciding the rope was much too long, used his dagger to sever a suitable length for his purposes.
Once the bags of gold were tied together, he bent down, draped the rope over his shoulder and then stood up, testing the weight. His tether worked, but the weight of the gold was substantial. Still, if he could get out with the gold to help Ferno, Zollin knew he would gladly endure the hardship. He cut more of the velvet rope and tied Amvyr’s hands together. Lifting the gold and the girl was almost more than Zollin could handle, but he trudged on, following the tunnel as it rose back through the bowels of the ancient castle.
Into Chaos Page 20
