Lorik was proud of his friends, who had taken on the challenge of helping to build the fortress. It was fully dark by the time Lorik reached the city, but he immediately noticed the festive atmosphere. Most of the people working to build the fortress were survivors, first of the invasion and then of the Witch's War. They all seemed genuinely happy, despite the rigors of the labor. He was recognized and greeted warmly by the people who had not yet turned in for the night.
There were so many new structures that it took Lorik a while to find the small cottage Stone had helped to build for himself and Vera. His oldest friends would have no need for more room, since Vera had miscarried shortly after they returned from their adventures in Baskla. A healer had managed to stop the bleeding, but it was clear that Vera would never have children. Still, she was a resilient woman and Stone, or Liam as she called him, was a supportive husband. They had each other and it seemed it was enough. Lorik had been envious of their love, and even though he loved Issalyn, he knew she didn’t have the same depth of affection for him. Her interest had waned with his magical power until Lorik was surprised she had stayed with him as long as she had.
“Look who just showed up in time for dinner!” Stone called into the house as Lorik approached.
Vera joined Stone at the door to their small but cozy cottage just as Lorik reached their front gate.
“May I come in?” he asked.
“Where is your queen?” Vera asked.
“She should be almost to Ort City by now,” Lorik said. “It’s just me.”
“Come in, come in,” Stone said, swinging open the small gate that surrounded their cottage. “You know you’re always welcome here.”
Lorik saw that Stone was staring past him, watching something or someone behind him. Looking down, Lorik saw that Stone wasn’t wearing the low slung knives he was so deadly with. Lorik’s own weapons were slung across his back and concealed beneath the pack he was carrying.
“Should I be worried?” he said quietly.
“No, I don’t think so,” Stone said. “Let’s go inside. Vera is roasting a chicken.”
“One chicken won’t be enough,” Vera said as Lorik stooped to kiss her check.
“Don’t worry, I brought some goodies from the Drery Dru,” Lorik said.
The interior of the cottage was simple, yet comfortable. There was a small table near the fire and two plates were laid out.
“You want ale?” Vera asked.
“Yes, please,” Lorik said.
“You bring any of that elvish wine?” she asked.
“I did, just for you,” Lorik said as he unslung his pack.
The elves of the Drery Dru had never explained how they grew containers for their wine, and usually their beverages were kept in large casks. But some of their wine, which was light, crisp, and slightly sweet, had been sent in what looked like bottle sized wooden containers. The wood was smooth and brown, almost like the skin on an acorn, and topped with a similar wooden cap that had been grown in intricate designs. The cap fit so snuggly on the container, that there was no need to seal it.
Lorik pulled two of the treasured containers from his pack and gave them to Vera. She marveled at them, almost unwilling to open them.
“I don’t want to spoil them,” she said.
“They won’t spoil,” Lorik said. “And you can reuse the containers once you’ve drunk the wine.”
“How can you stand that sour ale after drinking such perfect wine?” Vera asked.
“Perfection gets old after a while,” Lorik said. “The Drery Dru don’t eat meat, either. So I’ll trade you some fruit for your half of that chicken.”
He had brought many of the rare delicacies from the elves just for Vera. She was thrilled, and whatever made Vera happy made Stone happy. They sat down and ate together, Lorik often staring at the fire. He was never truly cold in the Wilderlands among the forest elves, but missed the wonder and warmth of a good fire.
“You must be tired,” Vera said. “You can have our bed if you like.”
“Don’t be so generous,” Stone said.
“I wouldn’t dream of it and you know that,” Lorik said. “I’ll be fine here by the fire.”
While Vera brought blankets and pillows, Lorik and Stone stood by the window, staring out into the darkness.
“What’s going on?” Lorik asked.
“What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean. Something’s bothering you. Did I come at a bad time?”
“No, of course not. You’re always welcome here.”
“Then what are you looking for? You’ve been glancing out this window all night, almost as if you’re expecting someone.”
“Soldiers have been here for a few months now,” Stone explained.
“That’s not surprising, is it? You are building a fortress.”
“They aren’t part of the garrison. They’ve been watching me.”
“Your past catching up to you?” Lorik asked.
“No, I don’t think they’re really interested in me at all,” Stone said. “If they wanted me, they could have taken me a hundred different times by now. They’ve been watching me because they knew at some point you’d come around.”
“Me?”
“Why are you surprised? You’re the hero of the Witch's War, the savior of the kingdom. That’s how they describe you. People tell stories of how you saved the prisoners from the Norsik Raiders single handedly.”
“You were just as much a part of rescuing those people as I was,” Lorik said.
“That’s not how people remember it. They say you defeated the entire Norsik army all by yourself. And that the elves have made you their king.”
“The Drery Dru don’t have a king.”
“Maybe not, but Ortis does. He may not have a right to be the king, but he’s pretty intent on making sure you don’t come expecting to take his throne.”
“Yettlebor is pompous, arrogant, and without any claim to the throne of Ortis,” Lorik said.
“He’s also powerful, paranoid, and very dangerous. He has an army at his command, remember? We can’t underestimate what he’s willing to do to keep his new crown.”
“And you aren’t the man you were a year ago,” Vera said softly.
“That wounds me,” Lorik said.
“You know its true.”
“A barbed tongue, that one,” Stone said with a grin. “She pulls no punches.”
“All I’m saying is that you aren’t invincible, Lorik,” Vera said. “I love you, and I don’t want to see you hurt. You’re my oldest friend.”
“And you are mine, but I’ve sat idle and let things go on without me for too long. Ortis should be ruled by an Ortisian, not some usurper from Baskla.”
“So you’ll go to Ort City and do what?” Vera asked. “Demand that Yettlebor steps down and gives you the kingdom? Are you mad?”
“No,” Stone said quietly. “He’ll have to kill Yettlebor.”
“Assassinate the sitting king? Is that how you would start your reign? And don’t you think his soldiers would want revenge? Killing him would be tantamount to declaring war with Baskla.”
“King Ricard owes us his kingdom and his daughter’s life,” Stone said.
“The princess didn’t return home, remember?” Vera asked. “She’s still in that dreadful temple for all we know.”
“I hope she stays there,” Lorik said.
“Your legend isn’t as well received in Baskla, that’s all I’m saying,” Vera went on. “If you kill Yettlebor, then Baskla will almost certainly attack us. King Ricard won’t easily give up his family tie to Ortis.”
“What other option do we have?” Stone asked.
“We?” Lorik asked. “You two have a life here. If what you say about these soldiers is true, you’ll be better off once I leave.”
“You think this is what we want out of life?” Vera asked. “I’m not sure you’re smart enough to be a king.”
“We’ve just been waiting,�
� Stone said. “Vera always knew you’d come back from the Wilderlands eventually. We believe in you, Lorik. If anyone deserves to be king it’s you, and we won’t be left behind when you need us the most.”
Lorik fell silent for a moment, knowing that Vera and Stone were watching him closely. He knew he couldn’t turn back, although part of him wanted to do just that. He couldn’t hide from his destiny, but he hated the thought of putting the people he loved in danger. The truth was, he didn’t desire to be a king, but he couldn’t deny what the Drery Dru had told him. He was chosen, marked, a man with a destiny. He just had to figure out how to fulfill that destiny without losing the people he cared about most.
“Then we leave tomorrow,” Lorik said, making up his mind. “We’ll need horses.”
“I can get us horses,” Stone said.
“What are we going to do?” Vera asked.
“Ride to Ort City,” Lorik said.
“And do what when we get there?”
“We’ll have to figure that out on the way.”
They finished their plans and Vera packed bags for herself and Stone. Lorik sat by the fire, nursing a mug of ale and trying to decide what he should do about Yettlebor. He was King Ricard’s cousin, and that meant he would have the support of Baskla. In fact, the army he led was from Baskla, not Ortis. Reports from the south were not good. Most of the citizens of Ortis, like those in Falxis and Osla, had been captured by the horrible flying creatures the witch had unleashed. She had mutated those poor wretches, turning them into a fearless army with only one objective: to kill anyone who opposed them. But when the witch had died, her mutated army had regained their own minds. Most had fled south, which meant that most of Ortis was abandoned. It would take decades to rebuild the population and spread across the kingdom once more, but Lorik knew that Yettlebor would never be content to keep a smaller version of Ortis safe. No, Yettlebor would want everything, all of the land that had once been Ortis and perhaps even more.
Stopping Yettlebor and finding a way to regain the citizens lost to the witch’s power had to be Lorik’s highest priority, but he wasn’t sure how he could go about any of it. Never had so much depended on his every decision. He felt like a man trying to slog through a muddy bog and there was no end in sight. Not only did he have an impossible task to perform, he didn’t even relish the responsibilities he would be taking on if he succeeded. All he wanted to do was to protect the people he cared about, but somehow statecraft and kingships had gotten mixed up in his efforts.
He was staring into the fire long after Vera and Stone had gone to bed. The flames were mesmerizing, their heat intoxicating. He felt like the answers to all his questions were just beyond the flames. He was trying to see them, to look past the dancing tongues of fire to find his destiny, when the door was kicked in and armed men rushed into the little cottage.
Chapter 10
Zollin felt as if the tunnel around him was going to collapse at any minute. He had crawled into the opening that led down into the dwarf caverns, but on his previous visit, the opening had seemed much larger. He had been able to walk through that crevasse, and the rock beneath his feet had been almost like steps. This time he had to pull himself along, hoping that nothing horrible loomed in his path. He didn’t want to think about having to scramble backwards to get out of the cave.
The rock was dry and dusty. Zollin couldn’t help but wonder if he had made a mistake about the dwarf caverns. Nothing seemed familiar. The little flame that danced near his head gave just enough light that Zollin could see what lay in front of him, but not what might be hiding in the darkness. Before, when he’d come down into the cavern with Jute, the cave had seemed warm and friendly, even if many of the dwarves had watched him with a look of wariness. Now, it seemed cold, empty, and almost frightening. He felt like he was trespassing in some ancient tomb, not going to see living, breathing, dwarves.
He wondered if another plague had struck the Yel clan, or perhaps swept through the entire dwarf kingdom. Zollin had been fortunate enough to save the Jaq clan when a strange disease was afflicting them and spreading to the other clans. That act, along with restoring many of the broken bridges in the complex tunnels of the dwarves, had endeared him to the people under the mountains. He couldn’t understand why they would hide themselves from him now, unless something horrible had happened.
Eventually he came out into a larger cavern. He got to his feet and rubbed his aching knees, before feeding more magic into his flame to increase the light. He could see the remnants of the dwarf community: small stools, shards of rock, anvils and forges that were now cold and empty. The once homey looking stalls that lined the larger cavern and served as the homes of the dwarves were now dark. There was no sign of light or life in the cave.
“Hello?” Zollin said, his voice echoing off the stone walls. “Is anyone there?”
He had hoped for a friendly reply, but would have been happy with a guarded warning from the deep-voiced dwarves. Even silence would have been better than what his question elicited from the mysterious caverns. It was a long, blood-chilling hiss, and the sound of something heavy moving in the darkness.
Zollin immediately let his magical senses flow out into the dark space. Soon he could feel every nook and crevasse in the cavern. Unlike the surface, there was nothing living in the large cave, except what Zollin could only describe as a huge snake. It was moving slowly toward him, its body as thick as a wagon wheel. Zollin could only guess at the creature’s length. Most of the snake was coiled in a small alcove, but it slithered out and moved toward Zollin, who let his magical flame go out. He didn’t need to see with his eyes; his magical senses let him feel everything happening in the cave.
He thought about running, but he knew he couldn’t crawl back out of the small tunnel fast enough to escape the huge snake. It was doubtful that the creature could fit into the narrow space that led back to the clearing where Brianna was waiting, but he didn’t want to take that chance. It terrified him to think of scrambling up the tunnel only to have the snake attack him from behind and drag him back down into the cave.
He could run from the cavern. There were tunnels that led to other parts of the Yel clan’s home, and still others that led all the way through the lower range of mountains. But he didn’t know how fast the snake could move. It might be faster than he was, and he would still have to face the beast to get back to where Brianna waited. Although fighting the creature was terrifying, Zollin wanted to know what had happened to the dwarves he considered his friends. He wouldn’t leave some horrible beast waiting for them in their home.
The snake reared up, its massive head swaying from side to side. Zollin felt the creature’s forked tongue flicking in the air and was reminded of his battle with Bartoom the great black dragon. He had fought the dragon first in the Ruins of Arnak, using his shielding spell to protect him from the dragon’s dreadful maw. It had carried Zollin, the same way a dog carries a stick in its mouth, for several miles before dropping him. Bartoom had a forked tongue and huge, serrated teeth. Zollin was glad that Brianna’s dragons didn’t have forked tongues.
The snake’s first strike was a feint, just a slight forward jerk of its head. Zollin had already raised his magical shield, forming a bubble around his body while he tried to think of how to attack the huge beast. He hadn’t used his magic all that much since moving into the mountains with Brianna, and while he wasn’t as strong magically speaking as he once had been, it still felt good to use his power for more that just healing fevers or transmuting small objects.
The next strike revealed the creature’s fangs. They were long and thin, almost delicate, but dripping with venom that Zollin guessed would either kill or paralyze him. He took the strike on his magical shield, letting his power fend off the potent attack. He was glad his magic was strong enough to withstand a powerful foe, but the snake’s strike against his magical barrier was taxing. It was like lifting a heavy object: he could do it, but it wasn’t easy, and it wore on him physicall
y despite the barrier around his magic.
He knew he needed to go on the offensive. Just fending off the snake would quickly wear him out, but he couldn’t rely on raw power the way he’d always done before, either. He needed a strategy. The snake was moving closer, its huge coils slithering across the stone floor. Its scales rasped as they brushed over the smooth stone surface. Another strike caused Zollin to jump backward, and he quickly realized that the snake was maneuvering him into a corner.
He took a chance, running suddenly to the side, away from the corner, but the snake’s body came sliding toward him. He drew his dagger and slashed at the scaly hide before jumping back, but his blade merely scraped across the hard scales and didn’t hurt the snake at all. The hiss that followed Zollin’s attack was almost mirthful, as if the creature was amused at Zollin’s futile efforts to fight back. But the realization of a way he might hurt the creature was spawned from his relative weakness. He didn’t need raw power, he needed precision.
He darted further back, ducking into a small alcove. He had to bend almost double to fit into the tiny nook in the rock wall. It was the beginning of a new project that had been abandoned by the dwarves, but it gave Zollin just enough protection that he could focus his magic on the snake without fear of being bitten.
The snake struck anyway, smashing its snout into the stone above the nook. The rock around Zollin shook hard and a huge chunk of stone went flying out of the wall. The snake wasted no time, but continued to strike over and over. The bony snout just above its deadly fangs was harder than the stone around Zollin, and he knew it was only a matter of time before the creature would shatter the wall and flush him out.
He took a deep breath and sent his magic straight into the creature. It wasn’t a spell of raw power; no flames erupted, no lightning like energy crackled. It was just a small stream of magic, almost like his healing touch. Only this time his intent wasn’t to heal and restore, it was to kill. He could feel the snake’s movement, the great rib bones flexing under the strength of the beast’s long, sinewy muscles. He also felt the blood pumping through the creature, and Zollin’s consciousness followed that blood, moving through the creature’s body, toward its heart. When he finally sensed it, he struck with a small, carefully focused effort. The creature’s heart was a large, powerful muscle that was pumping vigorously, but Zollin’s spell tore the organ. It wasn’t a massive rip, and Zollin didn’t try to shred the snake’s heart. He only tore a small hole, almost like tearing fabric along a seam.
Chaos Descending Page 8
