Chaos Descending
The Five Kingdoms Book VIII
by
Toby Neighbors
Chaos Descending
© 2015, Toby Neighbors
Published by Mythic Adventure Publishing
Idaho, USA
All Rights Reserved No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any print or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
Cover art by Michael Clarke
Books By Toby Neighbors
Avondale Series
Avondale
Draggah
Balestone
Arcanius
Avondale V
Five Kingdoms Series
Wizard Rising
Magic Awakening
Hidden Fire
Fierce Loyalty
Crying Havoc
Evil Tide
Wizard Falling
Chaos Descending
Lorik Trilogy
Lorik
Lorik the Defender
Lorik the Protector
Other Novels
Third Prince
Royal Destiny
The Other Side
The New World
Zompocalypse Omnibus
Short Stories
Dark Origin
Dedication
To Camille, and our children,
This one is all about making dreams come true.
Prologue
Skattle Point was little more than a frozen crag, a rocky peninsula under constant assault from icy wind and briny sea. It was also the last refuge for the sole remaining member of the Torr. Branock was a wizard, but few of the local inhabitants knew it. He’d fled to Skattle Point after failing to bring Zollin, the lauded Wizard of Yelsia, under his control. But Branock was not the type of person to give up easily. He was a patient man; some might call him calculating, others would say scheming, but all would consider him a formidable threat if they really knew him.
He walked the short distance from the inn where he had taken up residence, down the steeply sloping hill toward the quay on the eastern side of Skattle Point, which faced Whistle Bay. There were ships of all kinds in the bay, which was a large body of calm water that stretched between the Great Valley in the Northern Highlands of Yelsia, to Skattle Point. Most of the ships were forced to take refuge somewhere in the bay as they waited for the unrelenting wind and treacherous seas to calm enough that they could race around Skattle Point and then Peddler’s Reach before turning south.
There were seedy taverns and brothels along the seaport. The warehouses that stored goods through the long winters before being shipped south were covered in sea salt that was blown in off the choppy sea. The entire area looked old and tired from waging a constant war with the unrelenting weather. Only a small population of locals called Skattle Point their home, but there were usually at least three times as many people from the ships that took refuge in the bay. The Inn Branock called home was a more upscale establishment for passengers who waited for the less discerning sailors to carry them home. He hadn’t attempted to make friends; instead he sought anonymity.
Over the last year news had trickled in from the Five Kingdoms. Branock had hung on the words of every story. He had felt the shockwave of power when the tower of the Torr had fallen, and he had felt the death of Offendorl, master of the Torr like a candle that is rudely snuffed out. Stories of the great war that had taken place in the southern kingdoms had swelled with embellishment as they were told over and over. Branock took each story with a grain of salt and sifted through the exaggerated details for the similarities in each telling.
Now after nearly a century of being in control of magic in the Five Kingdoms, the sole surviving member of the Torr could sense only darkness. Shadows moved in the world of magic, but they were elusive, unclear, and difficult to fathom. For decades Branock had been certain that he would one day rule Yelsia and perhaps even someday take his master’s place as head of the Torr. There was nothing left of that dream now, but a new dream had taken root. He would rebuild the Torr, reassert his mastery over the magical arts, and take his rightful place as ruler of Yelsia, perhaps even over all Five Kingdoms. But first he needed everything that could be salvaged from the Torr’s famous tower. It had been the repository of all magical knowledge for almost three centuries. Offendorl had either taken or destroyed everything that could be found about magic. Branock would need as much of it as possible if he was to see his plans come to fruition.
Branock made his way to the small market that sold goods to the ships such as dried fish, salted pork, bread, potatoes, and various other items that could easily make the voyage around the peninsula and across the rough seas. He had been waiting to make one sailor’s acquaintance, but the captain of the Crest Dancer was difficult to track down. Not one to spend time drinking in taverns or haunting the brothels like most sailors, the Crest Dancer’s captain had only come to shore to buy supplies before setting out again.
The market was small, the goods overpriced, but none of that mattered to Branock. He found the person he was searching for and made his way across the muddy field that housed the marketplace.
“Lady Roleena of Shupor, it is good to finally make your acquaintance,” he said.
The sea captain turned and looked at Branock. She was tall, thin, with thick flowing hair that had been bleached by long hours in the sun. She wore a tight-fitting shirt with billowy sleeves that tied at the wrists. Instead of a dress, she wore wool pants and a tall leather boot on one foot. Her other leg ended just above the knee and an ornately carved wooden leg replaced it.
“Who are you?” she asked tersely.
“My name is Branock and I would like to commission your services.”
“I’m not for sale.”
“Of course not,” Branock said. “I meant no offense. Actually, I’m looking for someone who can do a very specific job for me. May I buy you dinner and discuss my needs?”
“I don’t care about your needs,” Roleena said. “I have a ship to prepare.”
“Of course you do, but where can you go and earn this type of coin?”
He held out a leather pouch that was stuffed with coins so that the shapes were pressed into the leather. She pulled the drawstring and peered inside. Branock had stuffed the pouch with gold. He knew that she had already guessed the pouch was full of gold crowns just from the weight, but she was prudently checking to make sure he wasn’t conning her.
“There’s more where that came from,” he said. “Much more. Why don’t you keep that pouch just as a thank you for taking the time to hear me out.”
Roleen turned to one of the sailors who was standing behind her. He was a roguish looking man, with a thick scar down the side of his face.
“Slice,” she said. “See to the supplies. I’ll be along shortly.”
The man grunted and Roleena nodded her head at Branock. He turned, leading the way back up toward the Inn with a smile on his face, knowing that the first step in his plan was now under way.
Chapter 1
Zollin was stunned. He stood as stiff as a tree, his mouth opening and closing, but no words came out. Brianna giggled. She rushed to him, and he threw his arms around her, breathing in the sweet scent of her hair.
“Pregnant?” he finally managed to say.
“Yes,” she said softly.
There was a peacefulness to her voice that Zollin couldn’t quite comprehend. He was absolutely terrified. He didn’t feel ready to be a father; he still felt like a kid. He closed his eyes and held her as she listened to his heart pounding inside his chest.
A full ye
ar had passed since the Witch's War. After much consideration, Zollin and Brianna had decided to settle in the place where they had fallen in love. Brighton’s Gate was a small village nestled in the Great Valley between the Northern Highlands upper and lower range of mountains. Brianna’s pride of dragons lived high in the rugged peaks of the upper range to the north, and Brianna liked being close to them. The village had been destroyed by a dragon, so Zollin had found an idyllic spot about an hour’s walk east of the village proper. He had taken his time and built them a small cottage. His magical power was just a fraction of what it had once been, but over the past year it had slowly begun to reemerge. And building the house with his own two hands had been more fulfilling than he ever imagined.
Quinn, Mansel, and Nycol had arrived at Brighton’s Gate not long after Zollin and Brianna. Mansel had built a home on the western side of town, just far enough away that Nycol had the privacy she desired, but still close enough that Mansel could work with Quinn every day in Brighton’s Gate. There was still a lot of work to be done rebuilding the town, and despite everything that had happened since Zollin, Brianna, Quinn, and Mansel had fled there two years prior, the town had finally embraced them all.
Once Zollin finished building the house for Brianna and they were settled for their first time in their young lives, he had gone up to Kelvich’s cabin. Zollin regretted that his old mentor wasn’t buried near the small cottage. The townsfolk had used the cabin during the initial rebuilding of the town, and most of the old sorcerer’s belongings had been packed away. Zollin found the cottage empty and in need of maintenance. He took his time cleaning it and repairing the little things that had slowly come undone. Then he carefully went through Kelvich’s belongings. There weren’t many—mainly everyday items such as cooking utensils and bedding, which he gave away in the village. There were also some texts and scrolls, such as the writings on the human body that Zollin had studied so carefully when he’d first come to Brighton’s Gate. He took those with him back to his own cottage and occasionally read through them.
Working magic was always a taxing endeavor, but much more so now that his internal source of magic was so depleted. He could feel the magical well inside him slowly filling, but he did his best not to tap into the meager power too often. He had lived most of his life without magic, and now he returned to those chores he had done so often with his father. Their life was a quiet one. They grew vegetables, and sometimes the dragons brought fresh meat from high in the mountains. They had very little need, and Zollin was able to barter his healing skills for whatever they didn’t have, but a new baby could change all that. Zollin couldn’t help but worry that he wouldn’t be a good father the way Quinn had been for him.
“Is it a boy or a girl?” Zollin asked.
“How should I know?” Brianna said.
“Don’t you have a feeling?”
“No,” she said with a smile. “All I have is a heart full of happiness.”
“Are you sure it’s a good idea for us to have a child?” Zollin said.
“How can you say that?” Brianna asked, pulling back and looking sternly at Zollin.
“It’s not that I don’t want children,” he said. “I do, but I would be lying if I said I’m not scared. I’m a wizard, and you’re a Fire Spirit. What will that make our child?”
“Does it really matter?”
“Yes... I mean no. I’ll love the baby no matter what, but I worry.”
“Well stop worrying. It won’t do anyone any good.”
“You sound like Quinn.”
“He’s a wise man. We’re lucky to have him in our life.”
“He was a good father,” Zollin said.
“And you will be too.”
She kissed him, and he immediately calmed down. He knew he could be a father as long as Brianna was with him. He felt he could do anything as long as she loved him.
“I have a request,” he said.
“What?”
“I think we should take the dragons and go south,” he told her. “I want to see what has become of the southern kingdoms, and I want you with me. We should go soon, before traveling becomes a hardship on you or the baby.”
“I guess we could do that,” she said with a smile. “I should probably tell my parents about the baby.”
“It’s settled then,” he said. “We can leave in a few days?”
“All right,” Brianna said. “But I need to go into the mountains and see if the dragons will carry us south.”
“You think they won’t?”
“No, but I’d rather ask than just assume they’ll do it.”
Zollin pulled Brianna close and kissed her. The thought of having a baby was both exciting and terrifying, but Brianna seemed so calm. He sometimes had trouble believing that his life turned out to be so so perfect.
“How long will you be?” he asked.
“Just a few hours,” Brianna said. “I’ll be back before dark.”
“Good, I’ll have dinner waiting.”
He leaned against the door frame of his small workshop and watched her leave. She was so graceful, so light on her feet, that Zollin almost expected to see her leap into the air and fly away. She couldn’t fly, not exactly, and he couldn’t help but wonder how the baby would affect her powers. There was so much he didn’t know. He had been planning to travel down to Ebbson Keep to read the scrolls that had been discovered in the Ruins of Arnak, but he had put that trip off. Over the past year he’d felt he had an abundance of time, and so he’d focused on smaller, more pleasant tasks, putting off anything that took him away from the tranquility of their cottage hideaway.
Growing up without a mother, Zollin had learned to cook and take care of the small chores around the house that his father always seemed to forget. And when he’d built the cottage overlooking the river, he’d naturally taken up those tasks again. After completing their home, he’d built himself a small workshop. It was little more than a hut, walled with smooth rocks from the river. He’d added a sturdy wooden bench where he could keep his tools. Building the cottage had been different from making the finer wooden furniture that he enjoyed crafting. The floor of his workshop was covered with wood shavings, and while building the cottage had been an accomplishment he was proud of, it was the slow, methodical projects in his workshop that really interested him.
He didn’t just do carpentry in the workshop either. In fact, he had been practicing magic for months. After his battle with the witch in Osla, he’d been completely drained of magic. When he had first discovered his magical ability, he’d had a vast reservoir of power inside him. Now that void was slowly refilling, but he was grateful for the limits on his magic because it forced him to learn. Whereas before he might simply will things to happen using raw power, he now had to understand magic to wield even the simplest of spells. And he found that the more he understood his power, the more he could do with it.
For the past few weeks he’d been tinkering with alchemy. Before his power had been used to save the Five Kingdoms, he’d turned plain copper coins into gold without much thought or effort. Now it took all of Zollin’s concentration just to focus on the tiny building blocks that made up the copper coins. He thought of them as building blocks, like the children’s toy, but in truth they were spinning, shimmering bits of matter, and Zollin was only just learning what made them unique.
He sat down on a plain wooden stool and set a single copper coin on the wooden bench. He closed his eyes and cleared his mind of the anxiety that learning he was going to be a father had unleashed. He felt the warm rush of magic flowing through him. It was a comforting feeling, one he’d feared he might never feel again after his battle with the witch left him depleted of power and almost dead. The magic moved like a dancer, only Zollin couldn’t hear the music. It pulsed in the items all around his workshop. He was growing herbs—though most people would call them weeds—near one window; there were rocks, an elk horn, even a few cheap rings and trinkets. Each one had a unique magical ener
gy.
There was the usual collection of junk and unfinished projects, but the real work was being done inside of Zollin. Each day he felt his power growing. Kelvich had taught Zollin that working magic was similar to exercising: the more he did, the stronger he would become. Zollin had no control over the amount of magic in his inner reservoir, but he could expand his abilities by learning how his power worked and increasing his magical stamina, thus increasing what he was able to do each day.
He let his magic flow into the coin, his eyes open but no longer seeing. Instead, he was perceiving the world through his magic and focusing all his attention on the coin. The copper was a simple metal, unlike gold. The tiny spinning bits of matter needed to be rearranged, but the concept was easier said than done. Moving the tiny, shimmering building blocks was like trying to pick up a single strand of hair off a smooth stone floor. His efforts were clumsy, his magic felt like fat fingers fumbling with the spell, trying to do delicate work that he wasn’t skilled at.
Still, the matter could be moved, changed, even rearranged. It reminded Zollin of the alphabet. Each of the letters was unique, but arranged in certain orders they spelled specific words. Then those same letters could be rearranged to make new words. In a way, practicing magic was like learning a new language. The copper coin was made up of relatively simple bits of matter and Zollin worked hard to transform the shimmering blocks into gold, which was much more complex. It took a long time and a great deal of concentration to transmute the copper into gold, and he changed the metal’s shape as he worked. It took several hours of hard work, and when he was finished he had a tiny strip of gold, little more than a thread.
Zollin added the strip of gold to the others he had already created, levitating the band, then winding it around and through the other threads in an intricate braid. The ring was almost ready and represented nearly a month’s work. He guessed he had just enough time to prepare dinner before Brianna returned.
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