Controlling Chaos (The Five Kingdoms Book 12)

by Toby Neighbors

  Chapter 32

  Lorik had traveled through the night and most of the morning before reaching a small grove of trees that had a view to the small road that ran toward the city. Forxam was built up the southern side of a substantial hill. Lorik guessed that from the castle at the pinnacle of the hill a person could see for miles, but where the road ran to the city the buildings were small, the streets thick with mud, and the people looked hungry and cold.

  Lorik was forced to wait in the clump of stunted, gnarly trees. They had no leaves, but their tangled branches formed a canopy of sorts, enough to hold a layer of snow. Lorik had climbed in among the roots of the trees, and lay waiting for nightfall. Once it was dark he could make his way up the winding streets toward the tall wall that was built around the castle grounds. From there he could sneak in, murder whoever was in charge, and take control of the city. It was a daring plan since he was alone, and his soldiers might not make the trip north to the capital for days, depending on what type of resistance they ran into. Still, Lorik was excited to finally do something other than slink through the wilderness in the dark.

  The people of the city seemed as normal as any group of people he’d ever seen. There were no signs of worry or panic about them. Lorik guessed Princess Amvyr, or whoever was in charge of the city, was keeping them in the dark. They didn’t need to know about the attacks from Ortis and Yelsia, it would only cause a panic that would make defending the kingdom more difficult. And there really was nowhere for the people to go. Baskla wasn’t like the other kingdoms. Most of the vast northern kingdom was made up of land so rough that farming was difficult. The settlements were adjacent to resources like rivers and the great sea. Baskla had a flourishing industry of skilled tradesmen, since there were so few farms to work. Most of the goods they made were sold to merchants or traded for food. If they left the city, Lorik had no illusions that many would die in the wilderness just trying to reach safety in another settlement.

  When night finally came Lorik watched as lights shone from windows and the citizens of Baskla’s capital began to take refuge in their homes. Lorik felt Spector’s presence approaching and judged that it was dark enough at the edge of the city to come out of hiding without being seen.

  “What have you heard?” Lorik asked as the ghostly figure of his companion formed beside him.

  “We are betrayed,” the wraith hissed.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Our forces are being held back along the coast. That is what is spreading through the town. The new queen Amvyr has sent her army to stop your outcasts.”

  “And the Yelsian army?”

  “There is no talk of them. If they have attacked, news of it has not reached the people here.”

  “Damn!” Lorik muttered.

  His plans hinged on the army from Yelsia attacking four days ago. That was more than enough time for news of the invasion to reach the capital. It should have been the only thing the people in Forxam were talking about.

  “What has happened to our troops?” Lorik said through clenched teeth.

  “They attacked Fisstom Harbor successfully and moved up the coast, but when they pushed inland, they were routed. The entire troop was defeated, although it is only rumors from the tradesmen.”

  “They have an army?” Lorik asked.

  “The queen controls an army, although there are rumors that it is something more, something darker, but it is all conjecture.”

  “The gargoyles,” Lorik said. “She hasn’t brought them here yet.”

  “No, there are guards on the wall, and in the palace. But they do not suspect us.”

  Lorik looked up at the castle, his anger burning over the loss of his army, yet he could still feel the evil beckoning to him. He had to get into the castle to stop Amvyr and whatever power she controlled, that much was certain. But he was afraid that she knew he was coming. Turning back would be the wise choice, but he was so close he had to try.

  “We kill the queen,” Lorik said. “No matter what, she dies.”

  “The entire royal family must die,” Spector hissed.

  “If that is possible, then yes. But if not, we kill her, we stop the magic that controls the gargoyles, and we get out. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  Lorik nodded, “Let’s go then.”

  They moved through the town without attracting attention. It was easy enough to avoid people on the abandoned streets. There were a few people moving about, but they were bundled up and intent on reaching shelter, not reporting a large man skulking through the city.

  When they reached the wall around the castle Lorik stopped and looked back. The city below them was lit with a ghostly light as fog rolled into the bottom of the large hill. Beyond it was only darkness and Lorik couldn’t escape the feeling that it was an omen. It was his last chance to turn back, but he knew he couldn’t live with that choice. He had to plunge ahead, to see things through, even if that meant facing the evil he feared most.

  “Clear the wall,” Lorik told Spector. “Quietly.”

  The wraith disappeared into the darkness, and Lorik started climbing. The wall was cold, but craggy and easy to climb. He pulled himself up, finding hand holds and cracks big enough that he could force the toes of his boots into them for purchase. It only took a few minutes, but when he reached the top he found two guards with their throats slashed.

  “Good work, let’s get inside,” Lorik said. “I think she knows we’re here, but that doesn’t mean she’s ready to stop us.”

  “Nothing can stand in our way now,” Spector hissed. “We will have revenge.”

  Lorik was afraid his companion was too focused on killing to realize the danger they were rushing into. He checked his swords again. The twin swords of Acromin slid in and out of their sheathes easily and he had no doubt about how deadly they were.

  Getting down the wall on the inside was easily done via a wooden scaffolding that was built to give the guards easy access to the wall. In a battle the wall would only slow down their enemies, and the defenses had not been well developed. Lorik wasn’t a historian, but he didn’t think Forxam had ever been under siege. The wall was all for show, and he was thankful that he had an easy way into the compound.

  The king’s castle was surrounded by out buildings. Space was in high demand, so the armory, barracks, and various other buildings were crowded around on either side of the castle entrance. They attacked without hesitation, Lorik slaying one guard, Spector the other. Once inside the large structure, Lorik had only to follow the pulsing cold sensation that he could feel deep in his bones to find the queen. She had to be the center of the dark magic. Lorik had left her in the old ruins long ago, not because he wanted to, but because she had run into the darkness when they needed to get out of the castle if they hoped to live. If he had gone after her perhaps things would have turned out differently, or perhaps they would have all died in the darkness deep beneath the old castle ruins.

  Sneaking through the castle was easier than it might have been. The hours he had spent sneaking through the city had given most of the residents time to retire to their chambers. The servants were all sleeping, and the guests, if there were any, had gone to their rooms. Only a few guards roamed through the large building, and Spector made short work of them. The wraith was able to disappear into the shadows and attack as the unsuspecting guards walked unwittingly into his trap.

  They made their way through the twisting corridors with Lorik trying desperately to remember how to get out. He was confident they could find Amvyr, or whoever was wielding the evil magic, but if they raised an alarm he wasn’t sure they could escape. Finally they came to a large room. It was decorated with weapons, everything from ancient swords to strange weapons that Lorik had never seen before. No other furnishing occupied the large space, except for a small mat in the very center, where Amvyr sat waiting for them.

  “Lorik,” she said without opening her eyes or moving at all.

  “Now?” Spector hissed
.

  “Kill her,” Lorik said, as he stood next to the doorway, his sword drawn, alert for any sign of danger.

  He was afraid they had just walked into a trap, but he didn’t know what else to do. He would attack if Spector failed, but Amvyr seemed vulnerable. He guessed she was less than twenty years old, her long hair seemed stringy, the skin of her face papery and pale, yet she didn’t seem worried at all.

  Zollin’s warning about her power came back to Lorik just as Spector glided toward her, his twin knife blades still wet with blood.

  “You're a strange creature,” Amvyr said, still not moving.

  Spector stopped suddenly. The wraith said nothing, and didn’t appear to be struggling, but he was no longer moving to complete his task.

  “Kill her!” Lorik shouted.

  “I can feel your presence,” Amvyr said, but you aren’t really there. “It’s just your will, your desire for revenge, enabled by the chaos. How lovely.”

  Lorik dashed toward the girl, his large legs pumping hard as he ran, his sword held ready to slash across her neck. He imagined seeing her head flying up as he swung his weapon but he cut only air. Amvyr had rolled to the side, rising to her feet in one graceful, fluid motion. There was no hint of fear on her face. She was perfectly calm. And in her hand was what looked like a cup, a goblet with the bottom broken off of the stem. Lorik recognized it as the same sort of tool he’d been stabbed with in the ruins. It was a magic collector, a syphon to steal magical power. He had destroyed the one in the ruins, but Amvyr had apparently constructed a new one.

  Lorik was ensnared by a strong, enveloping magic that held him in place. He couldn't move but he could feel Spector’s anger. The wraith hovered, his smoky body more visible than normal. Amvyr moved close to the ghostly figure, tantalizingly within reach of Spector’s deadly knives. In life Stone had been a master with the twin knives he carried, usually in sheathes slung low on his hips. Tears welled up in Lorik’s eyes as he felt his friend cry out in fury, but Spector, the wraith with an insatiable appetite for revenge, could do nothing but wait as Amvyr calmly stabbed her cup into the ghostly body.

  The shriek Spector made as the chaos magic he was filled with was stolen away echoed through the castle. It took all of his strength but Lorik broke free of the magical power that held him and dove forward, thrusting his sword hard into Amvyr’s stomach. The once beautiful young woman did not make a sound, she never even moved, even when he jerked his weapon from her body. He could feel the magic swirling around her, a heinous evil that looked on him the way a man might view a rat in the corner. No blood flowed from the wound, it was as if Lorik’s sword had done nothing to Amvyr.

  Spector was raging against her power, but there was nothing the wraith could do. He disappeared like smoke in a strong breeze. Lorik felt his friend die and then saw Amvyr’s dark eyes flash with excitement. He slashed at her head again and the young girl bent over backward, her body arching as her hands planted on the ground and her feet flew up and over, avoiding his attack with seeming ease.

  There were shouts and the sound of boots on the stone floor. Lorik knew his opportunity was gone. Once again he had been helpless to save his best friend. Zollin had betrayed him, his army was defeated, and he was truly alone.

  Chapter 33

  “There’s no need to resist,” Amvyr said. “You can join me, Lorik. Add your power to mine, and together we will rule this realm for a thousand years.”

  Her eyes flashed again and Lorik felt a desire for her. The young girl’s body suddenly seemed irresistible and it took all his willpower not to throw down his weapons and run to her. But the magic inside him had finally awakened to the danger. Spector was gone. The magic that had created Lorik’s closest companion had been enveloped by the evil that filled Amvyr. There was no room for shared magic, only a complete transformation into raw evil.

  “I’ll find a way to end you,” Lorik said.

  Amvyr smiled and Lorik dashed from the room. He sprinted into the hallway that led from the large room, running right into a contingent of guards. The soldiers had swords drawn and ready, but the men were no match for Lorik, whose grief and anger poured out in a furious charge the men were powerless to stop. His twin swords slashed like lightning bolts as he cut down six of the guards so quickly that the others jumped out of his way.

  Lorik didn’t wait, he could feel the evil coming for him. Terror of a magnitude he had not experienced since he was a child suddenly filled him as he sprinted through the twisting hallways. He dove down a flight of stairs, smashing into a wall, before scrambling down another flight.

  At the bottom of the stairway were more soldiers. These were the guards from the barracks, alerted by the alarm and taking up positions at strategic places around the castle. they had spears and shields at the ready, the group of men in perfect formation to stop an assailant dashing down the castle stairs. But Lorik was no mere man. He pulled off his helmet, and dropped it on the floor as he blew out a powerful breath, feeding the chaos inside him into the spell. The soldiers were flash frozen and one swipe of his sword shattered their frozen bodies, armor and all, like a crystal decanter thrown into a stone wall. Bits of men went flying in all directions, but Lorik didn’t stop. He didn’t look back. The evil was coming, he could feel it. He had to escape at all costs, or be lost forever.

  A wrong turn took him out onto a balcony that looked over the courtyard. Lorik didn’t hesitate but stepped up onto the railing and jumped. He landed on the roof of an outbuilding, slid to the edge, then jumped again. Soldiers on the surrounding walls were shouting in alarm, calling to their comrades exactly where the intruder was. An arrow punched through a seam in his scalloped armor into the thick muscle of Lorik’s left shoulder, just as a dozen men came rushing toward him from between two buildings.

  The big warrior might have been successful fighting the soldiers. Certainly closing ranks with the guards would have kept the archer from firing more arrows at Lorik, but he could barely lift his left arm. Adrenaline kept the pain at bay, but the muscle was damaged and refused to move. He still held the sword, but he couldn’t fight with both hands. Instead he summoned his magic and punched the ground, just as another arrow whistled past him. The cobblestones flew up in a wave, tossing the soldiers off their feet and knocking down a section of the wall directly ahead of Lorik.

  More arrows slammed down around him, some glancing off his black armor, but Lorik was on the move, dashing back and forth as he sprinted for the gap in the wall. Some of the soldiers got to their feet only to die on Lorik’s sword. He slashed with the weapon, decapitating one guard, disemboweling another. A second squad of soldiers tried to block his exit, but he ran to a large wagon that was filled with hay bales. He shoved the cart with all his strength and sent the wagon rushing toward the soldiers, who were forced to dive out of the way as Lorik dashed through the gap in the wall.

  It was dark, the hillside slick with snow, and Lorik was running full speed. He didn’t see the fifteen foot drop just beyond the wall and although he tried to stop he simply couldn’t halt his momentum. The fall happened in a frantic split second as he slid, dropping onto his back, his swords waving uselessly as he slipped off the precipice. When he landed the breath was knocked out of his lungs and he crashed through the tile rooftop into an ancient home, his head smashing against one of the thick support beams before he hit the floor below. There were screams and it took all Lorik’s strength just to roll over and fill his lungs with air.

  The magic inside him was roiling, like a starchy pot of boiling water suddenly over flowing into the flames below. Lorik lumbered to his feet, his body aching everywhere, but it was his head that hurt the most. A large gash had ripped apart the skin above his eyes. He was forced to look about with one eye nearly covered by the hanging flesh.

  He wasn’t safe, he had to get out of the house, and then out of the city. The magic was still coming for him, he could feel it, but the form had changed. Amvyr was still in the castle above, but there was
something else, something just as evil rushing toward him. There were stairs leading down to a lower level of the building and Lorik scrambled down them, ignoring the pain he felt, sheathing his swords which he had to do one at a time because he couldn’t lift his left arm. He held the patch of torn skin against his forehead as he ran out the open door, following the occupants of the house into the winter night.

  He could see much better with the skin held in place on his forehead, and he sprinted down the wide street, thankful that he was fleeing downhill. He had a pain in his side, and sweat was pouring off him, mixing with the blood on his face, and stinging as it seeped into the gash on his head. From above came a roar that was more like a loud screech than a growl. Lorik didn’t look back, he didn’t have to look to know that whatever had made the sound was coming for him. There were screams of terror from the residents of Forxam, and the sound of scrabbling hooves on the cobblestone streets, but they were nothing like the sound of steel-shoed horses. A crack like thunder sounded behind him, but Lorik ignored it all and ran, slipping between buildings and sprinting down open roads and alleys. He jumped onto a large ale keg, then onto the sloping roof of a brewing shed, and finally onto a tiled roof that arched up before him. Lorik jumped over the peak, slid down the other side and launched himself off the building and onto the next.

  When he spotted a pile of hay he threw himself from the rooftop, rolled out of the hay, and kept running. The screech was getting louder and Lorik knew that running would only get him killed, or worse, captured and returned to the evil queen intent on stealing his power, perhaps even his very soul. He would make Amvyr pay for killing Spector, but first he had to survive. He had to get out of Forxam, then out of Baskla. He had to regroup and build his strength, then he would make everyone who had betrayed him pay dearly.