He ran out into an open square with a fountain in the center. The water was frozen and he slid to a stop in front of it. What followed him was the stuff of nightmares. It was a beast, but a creature so horrifying it defied logic. The creature had the head of an eagle, the body of a bull, and the legs of a goat, but it was larger than any normal animal, almost as big as the mighty green dragon that carried Zollin. Its tail was a long, leathery appendage that was whipping back and forth behind it. The beast lowered its head and screamed at him.
Lorik drew his sword and shouted back, “Come on then, you nasty beast! Come taste my steel!”
The creature darted forward so fast it was nothing but a blur, the curved beak snapping at Lorik’s shoulder. The beak was large enough to snap off the head of a normal man, but Lorik was larger than any man in the Five Kingdoms, and faster as well. In the flash that it took the creature to snap at him he realized it meant for him to dodge away. He saw the tail rising behind the beast, so instead of dodging he simply swayed away from the beak, which snapped shut so close he felt the rush of air as it clacked together right beside him. The tail lashed to where he would have been, cracking like a bull whip, but Lorik wasn’t there. Instead he slashed his sword at the creature’s neck.
Feathers were severed and blood seeped from the wound, but despite the keen edge on Lorik’s sword, the wound wasn’t severe. The feathers were like armor and had protected the strange creature. It howled as it skittered back, the goat hooves striking sparks on the cobblestone street. Lorik moved too, circling the fountain, and snapping the feathered end of the arrow that was still lodged in his shoulder. He shouted in anger and pain as he pulled the shaft from his muscle, which seemed to suck onto the arrow, making the effort even more painful.
The creature jumped onto the fountain, sending chunks of ice flying in all directions. Lorik ducked, covering his head with his good arm, holding his sword pointing behind him. When the creature tried to pounce on him, Lorik dove forward, his wounded shoulder smashing into the thick stones that ringed the fountain, but allowing the creature to pass harmlessly over him. Unfortunately the beast’s tail snapped down before Lorik could defend himself, cracking across his back. His armor cracked in half and the beast's tail split open a long laceration across the broad muscles below his shoulder blades.
Lorik screamed in pain, and the creature added its quivering, raw wail to the sound as it turned. But Lorik wasn’t finished. He didn’t stand still, or lay on the ground in pain. Getting to his feet he charged forward, leaping up onto the creature’s back and ramming his sword into the wide flesh. The tail lashed out as the creature reared back. Lorik jerked his sword free as he tumbled toward the ground. Then he hacked at the long tail, his sword cutting halfway through the leathery appendage just behind its powerful hind muscles.
The creature kicked out instinctively, one of the rear hooves finding Lorik’s side and sending him flying over the fountain before rolling to a stop. His armor was ruined and several of the big warrior’s ribs were broken. He was bleeding from several small cuts, but worst of all he’d lost his sword, which was stuck in the beast's tail. He staggered to his feet, flipping the flap of skin on his forehead back in place with a jerk of his head as he pulled the second of his twin swords free.
“I’m just getting started!” he shouted, although there was a noticeable wheeze to his voice. “Let’s finish this!”
The beast howled, and focused an intelligent-looking eye on him. Then the creature charged, its gait altered because of its wound, and though it was moving slower than before, it was still a formidable opponent. Lorik felt weak, his arms heavy, his legs quivering with exhaustion. The beak was open wide, and Lorik jumped to the side, just out of reach of the eagle’s snapping jaws. His sword scored a shallow cut down the creature’s side, and it tried to slap him with its tail, but the long limb was dragging the ground and only rolled toward Lorik. It was racing away, too wounded to continue the fight. Despite Lorik’s injuries his fury wouldn’t let things end. He stabbed down with his sword, piercing the creature’s tail and pinning it to the ground. The jerk when the beast’s tail could no longer move with it was like the sound of a giant oak being felled in the forest. The tail snapped where Lorik’s blade had cut into it, near the creature’s bloody haunches. It roared in pain and fury, but didn’t stop running, the pointed hooves igniting sparks as it raced away.
Lorik felt the magic swelling from the castle. He didn’t know what the evil force intended to do next, but he wasn't going to wait around to find out. He limped to the bloody end of the long tail that was spasming on the ground. His sword had been freed from the creature when the tail snapped in two. He snatched it up, and pulled off his shattered armor. He slung the long belt that held his weapons over his good shoulder, wiped the blood from his eyes, and ran into the night.
Chapter 34
The street turned to mud when Lorik got to the bottom of the hillside city. The homes were no longer stone or even timber, but ramshackle buildings pieced together from scraps of wood, mud bricks, ancient logs, and canvas. There were people in the streets, but none tried to stop Lorik, who, despite his broken ribs and the large gash in his head, was sprinting faster than a horse at full gallop.
There was a wide open field between the last of the ghetto shacks and the surrounding woods. And although it only took Lorik a few seconds to cross it, his back stung from the imagined attack he thought was coming. When he reached the tree line, he stumbled and was forced to stop. He could feel the magic on the hilltop, raging in anger and calling to something. It was set on having him, he knew that. It wouldn’t let him simply run away to fight another day. It wanted his power, needed it for the fight that was coming. Lorik didn’t know how he knew it, but he did. The magic that was growing in Baskla feared only one thing, the wizard in Yelsia. And it needed Lorik’s power to defeat that wizard.
He hurried away, cursing Baskla as tears flooded his eyes. He had lost Stone for a second time. His friend had been murdered before his very eyes, just like Vera. And there had been no revenge, no payment for the cruelty inflicted on them. Only more pain, only more loss that seemed to tear at his mind and soul like a panther who has been backed into a corner. His physical wounds were nothing to the torment he felt for the loss of his friend, and the worst part was not knowing if Spector was dead or enslaved to the evil magic that resided in Amvyr.
He kept moving through the night, even as he felt his lungs struggling for breath, each gasp sending stabbing pains through his side, which was hot and too painful to touch. His clothes were in tatters, soaked with sweat and blood. Every part of him ached, but he kept moving, his fury over his helplessness to save Spector driving each step. His head was pounding, and the gash continued to pour out blood. He resorted to cutting a sleeve off his shirt to wrap around his head to cover the wound.
He was miles from the castle when the sun rose, but he could still feel the evil reaching out for him. It was coming and nothing would stop it. He raced south, not bothering with trying to stay hidden like before. He didn’t struggle through the ravines and over the ridge tops like he had on his way to Forxam. Instead, he found the wide road that led south to Ortis and he ran as hard and as fast as his broken body would allow.
The irony of his predicament was not lost on Lorik. He realized what he was doing was exactly the same thing King Ricard and his army had done to escape Lorik’s wrath only two weeks before. Yet there was nothing else to be done. He had to escape, to find a way back to health. The only thing that could save him was the magic of the Drery Dru. He had to get back to the Wilderlands, to find a way to survive and regain his strength. If he died, at least his magic wouldn’t be given to the evil that had plagued him since the end of the Witch’s War.
He had run countless miles when the gargoyles appeared. They came flying across the sky like hideous insects. He felt them coming, dark sparks of the evil’s malevolent power. He increased his speed, making the creatures fly hard to catch him. They flew past, and began to
drop. They fell like stones from the sky, forcing Lorik off the road and into the gnarly trees. They crashed around him, but if he could keep moving they wouldn’t catch him. One dropped in front of him and he drew his sword, slashing the creature’s flabby throat as he raced past.
His mind told him to find a place to hide. The creatures were slow on the ground, and while strong, they weren’t skilled fighters. If he could just find some cover he could hide until they moved on. But he knew in his heart that would never happen. They were drawn to his magic, to the chaos that filled him with power. So far that power had sustained him as he struggled to escape the mess he’d gotten himself into, but if it faltered all was lost. If he could cover his magic, find a way to hide it deep inside the way Zollin managed to hide his own power, perhaps he could have sought shelter, but he wasn’t a wizard. Despite his magical powers, he didn’t control the magic so much as channel it.
Lorik was forced to slow his pace and move into the thicker forest, where the gargoyles had trouble moving. Eventually they simply circled, while Lorik scrambled through the wilderness like a flea scurrying through fur to escape being caught between giant fingers. When the sun went down Lorik felt a little relief. He slowed his progress even further, moving from tree to tree, up and down the rough hills, wishing he could return to the road but not daring to.
Just before sunrise the gargoyles attacked again, turning to stone and falling from the sky to crash into the forest. Trees snapped, and limbs shattered all around him, but Lorik kept moving. He changed his direction, knowing from the sounds that the gargoyles were simply desperate to stop him, dropping to the ground in a scattered pattern, a last ditch effort to find him.
He moved stealthily through the snow-laden forest. The sky was dark and all he could see in the forest were the dark shapes of the twisted tree trunks, but he was able to keep moving. When the sun came up the sky was clear and he could tell by the terrain that he was almost out of Baskla. He didn’t know if the gargoyles would follow him out into the open fields of Ortis. If they did, he would be caught or killed. There was no way he could hide and despite his supernatural endurance he was exhausted. He could feel one lung filling with liquid, which made breathing difficult. He also felt light headed. The world seemed to suddenly spin around and around from time to time, the ground rising and falling, forcing him to grab hold of a sturdy tree and wait out the dizzy spell.
A few hours after sunrise he came to the end of the forest and his homeland stretched before him. He needed rest, food, and the attention of a healer, but there were none to be found in Ortis. His people, the outcasts he had gathered to build his new kingdom, were far away to the south. He turned east, staggering toward the Wilderlands, but he had only gone a few miles when he collapsed. He fell into the snow, unable to move, barely able to breathe, the bright sky above growing dim.
When he opened his eyes again he was moving, but not on his own. A great scaly talon held him fast, his head lolling back and forth as the world passed below him. He thought he was dreaming, but he could hear the woop, woop, woop of wings. He gathered his strength and lifted his head to see a huge black dragon above him, the scales glistening in the sunlight a stark contrast to the matte black of his own armor. Turning his head to the side he could see a great canopy forest below him, and in the distance the King Tree. How the dragon had found him, or known to take him to the Drery Dru he couldn’t explain, but he felt a sense of relief mixed with anger. He was going to live, he knew that more than ever. And that meant he would have a chance to bring his enemies to their knees. It was that fiery need for revenge that fueled the chaos within him. He was finished trying to control it. He was through holding himself back from what he knew deep in his soul was his destiny. There would be no more trying to reconcile his power with a flawed and antiquated moral code. He would do what he was created to do, and that was crush his enemies until they were nothing but dust and memories. That would be his legacy, and the lament of anyone who dared deny him.
Author’s Note
Thank you so much for joining me on this wonderful adventure. The Five Kingdoms series wouldn’t exist without dedicated readers like you. Please take a moment and leave an honest review on Amazon. It helps other readers like you find this series, which in turn allows me to continue writing great stories. I’ve dedicated myself to writing books more quickly so that you won’t have to wait so long between installments. Thanks again for all your support.
Toby Neighbors
November 14, 2016
Book 13 in the Five Kingdoms Series will be published in early January, 2017
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Table of Contents
Section 1
Section 2
Section 3
Section 4
Section 5
Section 6
Section 7
Section 8
Section 9
Section 10
Section 11
Section 12
Section 13
Section 14
Section 15
Section 16
Section 17
Section 18
Section 19
Section 20
Section 21
Section 22
Section 23
Section 24
Section 25
Section 26
Section 27
Section 28
Section 29
Section 30
Section 31
Section 32
Section 33
Section 34
Section 35
Section 36
Section 37
Section 38
Section 39
Controlling Chaos (The Five Kingdoms Book 12) Page 24
