Chaos Descending

by Toby Neighbors

  “Good, you’re awake,” said a grim voice from the space behind Lorik’s head. “I took the liberty of stitching up those wounds of yours. That was some nasty business, but we don’t want you to die on us too soon.”

  There was sickening glee in the voice, but Lorik used the fear he felt to harden his resolve. No matter what they did to him, he would find a way to have his revenge.

  “Are you ready my lord?” the voice shouted up.

  “We are,” said a voice that Lorik recognized.

  Yettlebor and his boot-licking sycophants were watching Lorik’s torture as if it were entertainment.

  “Then we shall begin,” the voice behind Lorik said. “My king wants to know your plans, Lorik. Tell us what we want to know, and the pain will stop.”

  The man moved into Lorik’s field of view. He was a thin man, his back was crooked, and he shuffled rather than walked. His hair was thin and greasy, and he wore thick leather gloves, much the same as a blacksmith might wear when handling hot metal. He had a hammer in one hand, but unlike a smith’s mallet or forging hammer, this tool was small. He leaned forward, using his free hand to press down on Lorik’s right hand until his fingers were flat against the wooden table. Then the hammer was smashed hard against Lorik’s pinky. He heard as well as felt the bone shatter, but he didn’t cry out. He strained against his bonds, and focused on breathing through the agony as one by one his fingers were ruined.

  His mind soon blocked the pain and retreated deep inside him. His entire right arm was a mass of pain, but he ignored it. He could see the heads bobbing on the balcony above, but he ignored them as well. Instead, he focused his entire attention on the blue sky until he felt like he was a part of the sky. He was in the blue and it was in him. A bucket of water was thrown over him, shocking him back to reality.

  “Now, you’re a tough piece of work,” the torturer said. “But we’re just getting started, unless you want to talk.”

  Lorik said nothing.

  “He’s refusing to talk, my lord.”

  “Carry on,” the king commanded.

  His other hand was next, the knuckles shattering under repeated blows from the small hammer. Whenever the pain took too great a toll, the torturer threw cold water over Lorik’s head. Once his hands were completely ruined, the man shoved long, red hot, metal rods into Lorik’s shoulders. The pain, his burning flesh, and the fetid odor made him feel as if he were truly going mad. His mouth moved in silent curses and at one point the king called down to see if Lorik was talking.

  “Hasn’t made a sound, my lord,” the torturer replied. “Perhaps he’s mute?”

  Everything that came before was eclipsed when the rod was pressed on by the torturer. Lorik’s whole world became pain and he was lost in it, like a man drowning in a bottomless sea. Then his shoulder popped out of its socket and the rod was removed. Every breath caused a wave of pain that radiated from his neck down to his feet. Hot tears rolled down the sides of Lorik’s head, but he forced himself to move as little as possible. When both shoulders had been popped out of their sockets, the torture finally ended.

  Lorik drifted in and out of consciousness as the torturer saw to his tools and then left the tiny courtyard. The next thing Lorik knew, water was falling from the sky. He thought it was rain, but quickly discovered that it was urine. Someone was pissing on him from the balcony above. His mind grew obsessed with revenge. In his agony, it was all he could think about.

  As the sky turned from blue to red, and then began to grow dark, he was left alone. But once night fell, guards returned to the room. They lifted the torture rack with Lorik still strapped to it and carried him out of the castle. The streets were lined with people, and Lorik had seen such mobs before. As expected, the people jeered. Some spit at him, other threw trash or animal droppings at him. Once he was paraded through the city, and every step, every bounce and jar the rack made sent agonizing pain through Lorik, he was finally propped on a tall wooden platform in the city square. Torches lit the area like it was the stage for a troupe of entertainers, The crowd mocked the king's prisoner. He was Lorik the leper, Lorik the unfortunate, Lorik the laughable.

  Finally King Yettlebor arrived with an entourage of nobles, including Queen Issalyn. They took their places on the platform where they stared at Lorik. He had trouble seeing them clearly, at least until a servant stuffed a bitter wad of herbs into his mouth. He tried to spit them out, but water was poured into his mouth with such force that he had to swallow and was left coughing and sputtering. The herbs focused his mind so he could feel every cut, every broken bone, but also hear and see clearly. It was as if his mind, groggy from the pain, was suddenly wide awake and aware of everything happening around him.

  “This,” said a man who stepped to the front of the platform, “is the trial of Lorik the traitor. Many of you have heard of the deeds he allegedly performed as he sought to take the throne of Ortis. Those stories, lies and exaggerations all, have no bearing on this trial. What we are concerned with here is the fact that Lorik of Hassell Point, a common man of no family, no title, and no rights whatsoever did knowingly enter his majesty’s castle in secret. He then swore to our good Queen Issalyn to murder the king in cold blood. These statements were heard by no fewer than a dozen of the king’s own men. His guilt is beyond question, but our laws require that we give the offender’s family and friends the opportunity to plead for his life before the king pronounces his sentence. Is there any here who would speak up for this man?”

  Lorik was seething, but the charges were true, and with his shoulders dislocated, he couldn’t even struggle against his bonds. The crowd fell silent for a long tense moment, and then a small voice spoke up.

  “I will.”

  Lorik knew immediately who had spoken. His mind felt as sharp as a razor and he scanned the crowd for Stone as Vera made her way forward. The young warrior was nowhere to be found, but Lorik had no doubt his friend was nearby. Unfortunately, there was no way for Lorik to free himself. If Stone tried to help him, he would be on his own.

  Vera climbed the wooden steps up the platform as the crowd booed and hissed. They were caught up in the excitement of the moment, but he doubted they were as supportive of their fat, imposter king as they seemed. She moved with dignity and grace, her clothes simple but clean and well made. She was the exact opposite of the king and his entourage who were wearing the most expensive garments they had been able to lay their hands on with no thought about how foolish they looked. Most were oafish and homely, which only made Vera’s beauty stand out. In that moment Lorik realized how much she truly meant to him. She was his oldest and dearest friend, once more putting her life on the line to save his. He swore to himself that he would find a way to make it up to her.

  Vera bowed low before Yettlebor, then spoke in a loud, clear voice.

  “I have known Lorik of Hassell Point almost my entire life,” she said. “His family took me in when my own parents died. He has been my friend and stalwart supporter ever since. I was with him when he traveled north to help fight the Norsik invaders. I was one of nearly a thousand women and children captured and taken through the Wilderlands by the raiders. He rescued us all, single-handedly. I saw it with my own eyes. He held off the invaders and led us safely through the forest. He routed the army that remained in Ortis. He stood against the witch’s invading army, risking his life to keep this kingdom safe. And I was with him in Baskla when he rescued Queen Issalyn. He has been Ortis’ protector. He deserves mercy.”

  The crowd had gradually grown silent as Vera proclaimed the deeds that Lorik had performed. He knew that if Vera were given a chance she would sway the crowd in his favor, but Issalyn knew that too. Lorik saw her whispering in Yettlebor’s ear.

  The king stood, and Vera dropped to one knee in respect. The fat king cleared the phlegm from his throat then spoke, but his voice wasn’t as strong or clear as Vera’s.

  “Isn’t it true that you were a whore in Hassell Point?” he asked.

  Lori
k’s fury was so great that despite the pain his efforts caused, he struggled against his bonds. Issalyn had used her intimate knowledge of Lorik and his friends against them. He felt like a fool for ever caring about her. She watched him now, and he could see the glimmer of delight in her eyes. He hated himself more than he imagined possible for letting himself be vulnerable and trusting someone so completely vile as Issalyn had proven to be.

  “Yes,” Vera said, without a note of shame in her strong voice.

  “And in that time was Lorik your lover?”

  “At times.”

  “And the man you are married to now. Was he not an outlaw?”

  This time Vera’s head fell a little. She didn’t answer right away, but the king didn’t wait.

  “You are a whore and a liar. You are the pawn of outlaws and traitorous rebels. We will not listen to your stories or consider your testimony.”

  “My husband,” Vera said, her voice rising with conviction. “Is no more an outlaw than the nobles you have sold Ortis to in order to protect your crown.”

  Yettlebor hit Vera with a savage blow that knocked her down. Then he grinned as if his strength were something to marvel at, rather than an indictment of his own masculinity. Lorik raged against his bonds, his tendons snapping as he struggled futilely to break free. Then a blur moved across the platform. Lorik saw it out of the corner of his eye and knew what it was before he saw it clearly. Stone was there, his twin knives and spinning attack unmistakable.

  There were six soldiers on the platform, and two died before anyone knew what was happening. Then suddenly the crowd began to scream, almost as if the city were one huge creature instead of thousands of individual citizens. The king’s entourage scattered as two more soldiers moved toward Stone in a halfhearted attempt to stop him. He knocked the first guard’s spear away and rammed his knife into the man’s side. The soldier toppled over in pain, blood spurting upward like a crimson fountain, and knocked the spear out of his companion’s hands. Stone kicked the fumbling guard’s legs out from under him and then ended his life with a vicious slash across the man’s throat.

  For an instant Stone was caught between two guards who were rushing at him from opposite sides, their spears leveled at him. Stone waited until the last possible second and then spun away, the blades missing him by inches, while his knife found the side of one soldier’s throat. When the guard fell at Stone’s feet, the last remaining soldier on the platform backed slowly away.

  “Stop!” Yettlebor snarled. “Stop or I’ll kill her. I swear it.”

  The cowardly king was behind Vera, his fat arm around her throat, a jeweled dagger already digging into her side.

  “Don’t,” Stone said, his voice low and menacing. “Let her go. We’ll take Lorik and leave Ortis. You’ll never see or hear from us again.”

  “You don’t think I’m going to just let you leave,” he said, but his soldiers were struggling to reach the platform through the massive crowd.

  “If you hurt her, I’ll kill you. That I swear on my life and soul.”

  “Your black soul isn’t worth a pissing pot to me,” the king snarled.

  “Let them go,” Lorik said. “You have me. You can rip me apart for all I care, but Stone will kill you.”

  Then, almost like a dream, the unthinkable happened. An arrow came flying onto the platform and slammed into Stone’s side. He wore a thick leather vest, but no armor, and the arrow punched into his abdomen with a sickening thunk. He staggered, Vera screamed, and Lorik saw it all as clearly as anything he had ever witnessed in his entire life.

  Stone fell to his knees, his deadly knives clattering on the wooden platform. Yettlebor’s face twisted in a look of gleeful victory as he jammed his dagger between Vera’s ribs. Time seemed to stop as the light in her eyes winked out. She was dead before her body hit the wooden boards at Yettlebor’s feet.

  Stone tried to scream but couldn’t. He lunged forward, his bloody hands keeping Vera’s face from smacking into the platform, but there was no way to save her. She was dead, and Lorik realized that he and Stone were dead too. It was only a matter of time.

  The mob had fallen silent, but Lorik heard the wooden steps of the platform creak as someone heavy ascended them. He turned his head to find Ulber staring back, a bow in one hand. The other was balled into a fist and swinging at Lorik’s face.

  The first punch slammed his head back into the stiff wood of the torture rack. The second snapped it around to the side, where he saw Stone, laying beside Vera, their spilt blood mingling together.

  “Tomorrow at noon the traitor Lorik shall be executed for his crimes!” Yettlebor shouted triumphantly.

  Then the third punch landed, and Lorik’s mind grew foggy. There was a fourth, a fifth, and a sixth. He tasted blood, felt bones breaking and cartilage crunching, but the herbs kept him from passing out. The seventh punch finally did the deed, knocking Lorik senseless and shattering his nose in the same, sudden, violent act.

  Chapter 31

  Erendruss was by far the most beautiful place Zollin had seen in the dwarf caverns. There was an ominous looking crevice that separated the entrance from what looked to Zollin like a magnificent garden. There were large moss covered boulders, ornately carved statues, shafts of sunlight filtering in from the ceiling of the cavern which was lost in the darkness high overhead. Exotic flowers bloomed along a river that encircled the garden and then flowed into a dark lake.

  “This is beautiful,” Zollin said, even as he bent forward and propped his hands on his knees, gasping for breath.

  “It is the most sacred place of our kind,” Reenah said. “You are the first human ever to see it.”

  Moss grunted and then set off across the sturdy looking hanging bridge. Zollin and Reenah followed. Zollin was amazed at what he saw. Many of the plants that grew around the beautiful grotto were luminescent, their petals and flowers glowing softly in the semi darkness of the cave. The shafts of daylight made Zollin suddenly crave to feel the sunshine on his face. He wanted to be out of the caves and back in the wide open spaces, to feel the wind in his hair, and smell the sweet scent of pine and cedar once more. His only regret at that moment was that Brianna wasn’t with him. He knew he would most likely die in the cavern that Reenah called Erendruss, but he still wished Brianna was there to see it. She would have marveled at the cave’s beauty.

  Once they reached the far side of the crevice, Moss stopped and began pounding on the thick pillar that held the hanging bridge. His intent was obvious, but Zollin stopped him.

  “Wait,” he said. “I can do it without destroying the bridge supports.”

  Moss grunted and stood back. Zollin let his magic flow into the bridge. He could feel the hempen fibers of the thick ropes, the slate plates that made the floor of the bridge, every support, and the leathery wrappings along the handrails. As his magical senses spread, he could feel the army of oremites approaching. He let his magic drift down into the crevice, wondering just how deep it was. He felt no bottom, just the slick walls that seemed to reach down to the center of the earth. And a very sinister presence.

  Zollin jerked his magic back up to the cavern they were waiting in, his face revealing his shock at having felt the evil deep down in the darkness. Reenah looked at him for a moment then shook her head.

  “Isn’t wise to delve into the darkness,” she chided.

  “I’m learning that,” he admitted sheepishly.

  There was no more time for talking as the oremites emerged from the tunnel. They spread out quickly as they came into the Erendruss. The bridge was only wide enough for one creature at a time to pass along its length, and as soon as the first oremite was almost across, Zollin ripped the swing bridge in two at its weakest point. The magic of the Star Stone raced through his reservoir of magic and into his mind before shooting out into the bridge and obeying his will. The warm, windy sensation brought a smile to Zollin’s face, as did the result. Nearly two dozen of the creatures fell into the abyss, while Zollin, Reenah, an
d Moss backed slowly away from the edge. The far side of the cavern was quickly filling with oremites, but the trio on the garden side hurried across the shallow river, which was cold and swift. Then they climbed up onto the moss-covered boulders to see what the oremites would do. There was nowhere else for Zollin and the dwarves to run. They were surrounded by water, the bottomless crevice, and the huge underground lake. Zollin collapsed onto his knees, his whole body aching from their flight through the tunnels. There was nothing left to do; they simply had to wait and see what the oremites managed. If they found a way to cross the crevice, Zollin knew they would be overwhelmed and killed. He held the Star Stone in his palm. It was glowing a bright green color. Just looking at the strange gemstone made him feel better. Next to him, Reenah and Moss sat in the beautiful garden of the dwarves. They were silent, watching their enemies, and waiting to learn their fate.

  ***

  Grenda led her army to a small cavern. Most of her warriors were elderly, the rest barely old enough to be considered adults. Still, they were armed and ready to fight. Grenda knew that even a dwarf army made up of elders and adolescents was not something to take lightly. And her army had nothing to lose. The crynods had found Kelladoon, and they would eventually return and overrun the fortress. If the dwarves of the Northern Highlands had any hope of survival, they had to destroy the crynod queen.

  “This is it,” she said in a low voice. “This is where we make our last stand. For the children, for the infirm, to the last of our strength, for the deliverance of our race, we must not stop until the queen is dead.”

  Her soldiers grumbled in reply. It was not a rousing speech, and dwarves were not a jubilant people. There would be no shouting, no war cries or emotional appeals. Just a steady, relentless fortitude that would carry them to success. She had doubts, but she forced herself to believe that it could be done. If the drones had followed the wizard, then they would only have to contend with newborns, the diggers, and the queen's guards. The first two would not be a threat. Grenda doubted they had the numbers to resist her forces, but the queen’s guards were much larger than the average drone or digger. They were large creatures with long, multi sectioned limbs. They were fast as well, but they weren’t unstoppable. If the dwarves could strike fast enough, they might be able to catch the queen and her minions off guard.