Into Chaos Read online

  “My wounds aren’t bothering me. No more than any normal wound at any rate.”

  That wasn’t exactly true. The wounds seemed especially slow to heal, but Mansel just assumed that was because he had grown used to Zollin’s ability to heal anything as if it never happened.

  “Yours aren’t bites,” Quinn said.

  “That makes no difference. You’re talking about bedtime stories.”

  “Am I? Something feels different. And we thought dragons were myths, too. Can you honestly tell me that the bite of those creatures won’t affect me?”

  Mansel didn’t like where the conversation is going.

  “We need to find Zollin,” Quinn said. “If something magical is affecting me, he will know it.”

  “All right, I’ll find Zollin, but you’re going to be fine. Now eat something.”

  Quinn ended up nibbling some bread, but he wouldn’t touch the meat. Mansel ate more than his share and set the rest out to freeze overnight. The bear skins and fire kept them warm, and the next morning they set out with more energy than they’d had in days. Quinn was still very weak, but his mind remained clear. The sky seemed ready to dump snow, but fortunately for Quinn and Mansel, it held off. They made good time, despite the difficult conditions.

  They rode through the day, then Mansel led their horses through the freezing conditions as night fell. They had to take things slowly without light, but there was nothing to burn, and Mansel saw no need to make camp. Quinn, he reasoned, would be warmer on horseback than huddled on the freezing ground, and walking would keep Mansel warm.

  When the sun rose, the men and their horses were exhausted, but they were encouraged to see they were near the end of the mountain pass. Mansel pressed on until they finally reached the forest late in the afternoon.

  “We’ll find a town or village tomorrow,” Mansel said.

  “If we’re lucky,” Quinn grumbled.

  “You’ll be drinking ale and telling stories by nightfall,” Mansel went on, undeterred by Quinn’s sour mood. “A warm bath might be nice, too. I wouldn’t mind smelling like a human again.”

  “We’ll be lucky if they don’t run us out of town the way we smell. I can hardly stand myself.”

  “At least it keeps us warm.”

  “That’s because the cold can’t stand the smell of us.”

  Mansel wasn’t used to being the more positive person. He certainly didn’t feel like being positive. He was angry at the world, but even more so at himself. Yet his need to help Quinn kept him from drowning in his own despair. Quinn, on the other hand, had grown more unruly with each passing hour. His sudden change of character scared Mansel more than the hallucinations had.

  They built a roaring fire and slept rolled in their bear skins. The next day they set out, and after creeping through the rugged mountain pass day after day, traveling through the woods of Peddingar Forest on the wide, flat road made it feel as if they were flying.

  Mansel was proven right when they reached a village shortly before nightfall. Unfortunately there was no inn, so they were forced to sleep in a barn, but they were able to trade the bear skins to a tanner in exchange for enough coin to keep them fed and provide them shelter for at least a week. The barn owner was kind and even filled a tub with warm water for the two weary travelers. They bathed, enjoyed a hot meal, and then slept on beds of hay. Unfortunately for Mansel, Quinn complained the entire time. Mansel was forced to keep his friend away from the villagers for fear that he would insult them and turn the small community against them.

  They left the next morning, and Mansel felt better than he had in days. He had washed the filth from his body and the stench from his clothes. The barn hadn’t been warm, but the farmer had blankets that he let them use, and the village was warmer than the mountain pass had been.

  The next night they stayed at an inn, but Mansel quickly realized that trying to keep Quinn around other people was a terrible mistake. The older man still had trouble moving without hurting his broken ribs, but he had no problems insulting anyone who came within earshot. And of course, he saved his worst invectives for the largest man in the village, and the stranger didn’t take kindly to being insulted by the injured carpenter.

  “He’s not himself,” Mansel said, trying to calm the man down.

  “He called me a pig’s backside.”

  “That’s what you smell like,” Quinn insisted.

  “Quinn, please shut up,” Mansel said. “Really, he didn’t mean it.”

  The punch landed hard on Mansel’s jaw, snapping his head to the side and making his ear ring so loudly that he couldn’t hear the sounds of the benches scraping across the wooden floor as the villagers at the inn tried to make way for the huge man.

  Mansel’s first instinct was to fight back, but surprisingly he heard Nycol’s voice in his mind.

  Be the bigger man, she said. Don’t rush into violence.

  Mansel saw the second punch coming and he swayed back out of reach. He could have counter-punched or even delivered a crippling blow, but instead he raised both hands in a placating gesture.

  “I don’t want to fight,” Mansel said. “And believe me, you don’t want me to.”

  The big man bellowed in anger and charged toward Mansel, but he sidestepped the bigger man. He had hopes of ending the fight until Quinn, who couldn’t stand up or sit down without wincing in pain, stuck his foot out and tripped the big man.

  The sound of the man falling reminded Mansel of a tree being cut down. He crashed hard into a wooden bench and cracked his head on the edge the table. When he stood up, blood was streaming from a nasty-looking gash, and he was drawing a short, curved knife that looked well used.

  “Damn it, Quinn!” Mansel said.

  “Pigs belong in a sty,” he muttered.

  If he said anything else, it was drowned out by the scream of rage from the big man, who came at Mansel with the knife. This time, Mansel didn’t take any chances. He drove his fist hard into the man’s nose while pushing the hand with the knife away from his body. The big man’s head snapped back, and Mansel knew his vision was blurred with tears. A hard punch to the nose always makes a person’s eyes water. Quinn had taught him that, and Mansel had used the technique on his older brothers with some success. The key, he knew, was to follow up before their vision cleared.

  Mansel twisted the bigger man’s arm, spinning around the massive body and wrenching the thick arm behind the man’s back. He cried out and dropped the knife. Mansel pushed him away then snatched up the weapon. He held it by the blade to show he wasn’t a threat, but the big man was too angry to see reason. When he came at Mansel again, the young warrior ducked under the big man’s punch then launched himself forward with his legs in a savage uppercut. He used the knife handle, bashing it into the side of the big man’s head; this time the brute was knocked out cold.

  “Ha, that will teach him,” Quinn cooed.

  “Shut up,” Mansel snapped.

  But the damage was done. When Mansel turned around, the innkeeper looked nervously from Quinn to Mansel.

  “It would be best if you leave,” the frightened proprietor said. “We don’t need your kind of trouble.”

  “I understand,” Mansel said calmly. “I’m sorry for the mess.”

  Then he turned back to Quinn, who looked bewildered.

  “Why should we leave? We didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “Come on, Quinn. Don’t make a scene.”

  Mansel helped the older man up and led him out the door into the cold night. They would have to find a place to camp outside, and Mansel decided that perhaps they would do better staying out of the villages and towns until they found Zollin and discovered exactly what was wrong with Quinn.

  Chapter 16

  Dinner with the duke’s family was a pleasant affair. There was no pomp and circumstance, just a happy family, Jax, and Zollin. The duke had several daughters but no sons, and Zollin could see that he was grooming the orphan to take his place one day. And there
were long, lingering glances between Jax and the duke’s oldest daughter, making it clear that marriage joining Jax to the duke’s family would not be unwelcome.

  Zollin performed a few simple tricks, levitating the bread around the table, igniting the duke’s wine so that blue flames jumped up several feet out of his goblet. Jax begged to know what happened in Zollin’s search for the huge black dragon Bartoom that had terrorized the countryside before being enslaved by the master of the Torr.

  Zollin told his tale, doing his best to sound like a bard, but his modesty made the story less thrilling than it actually was. Zollin had broken his back during the fight, and he found himself focusing more on Brianna’s exploits than his own. When he came to the part about Brianna leaving her weapons and approaching Bartoom, Jax took a particular interest. Zollin thought the story was over when Brianna healed the dragon with her fire and then flew away with the massive creature, but Jax had more questions.

  “What did you do then?” he asked.

  “I returned to Orrock, but by the time I got there, Offendorl had taken control of the dragon.”

  “What happened to your lady love?” asked the duke’s eldest daughter.

  “She was fine,” Zollin said. “In fact, she created many more dragons. Her abilities are a mystery, but she is drawn to the beasts.”

  “I can’t imagine,” the duke’s wife said.

  “We could use a few to patrol the border,” the duke said. “Are they trainable?”

  “Dragons are different,” Zollin said. “They are extremely intelligent, but they are different from other animals in many ways. For instance, they have no gender, so mating is incomprehensible to them.”

  “How sad,” said the duke’s daughter.

  “They form bonds around their pride mates,” Zollin went on. “And they sometimes bond with humans. Ferno is my dragon companion, and I’ve never met anyone as loyal as the dragon.”

  “But what about the bow you made for Brianna?” Jax asked. “What did you do with it?”

  “Our young companion has become quite skilled with the bow,” the duke said.

  “I honestly don’t remember,” Zollin said. “I didn’t retrieve it, I know that.”

  “So it’s still in the Highlands?” Jax asked, aghast.

  “I suppose so.”

  “A good soldier never neglects his weapons,” the duke said.

  Zollin wasn’t sure if the duke was explaining Jax’s comments or making a judgment of his own. But Zollin didn’t feel slighted. The bow he’d fashioned for Brianna wasn’t his weapon, and when Brianna discarded it, she had no need for the weapon.

  The duke eventually dismissed his wife and daughters, asking Zollin to join him in his private office high in the castle’s keep. They went up many flights of stairs and finally stopped in a room with a large map-covered table. Zollin saw that the map was the eastern border of Yelsia from the Northern Highlands down to the Rejee Desert. There were small blocks arranged along the map, which Zollin guessed were used to show troop movements along the border of Baskla.

  “The last year has been quiet,” the duke said, opening a window shutter so that he could look out over the dark landscape.

  “We’ve had peace,” Zollin said.

  “Peace is only a time to strategize and prepare for war,” the duke said. “My family has held this border for over two centuries. We cannot afford to be lulled into complacency by the idea of peace.”

  “I see your point,” Zollin said, not sure what else to say.

  “The garrison at Fort Kellar has been stripped down to almost nothing,” the duke said. “There are no more patrols along the border.”

  “Surely you’re not suggesting that we attack Baskla,” Zollin said. “King Ricard has been our closest ally.”

  “It is not my place to suggest what strategy the king employs, only to inform him of what I know is happening on the eastern edge of his kingdom. You will give him my report, but even a written statement can be misunderstood. I need to know that you understand what I’m trying to communicate.”

  “I don’t think I understand,” Zollin said. “What is the point you want me to make?”

  “I’ve never seen King Ricard withdraw his troops in this fashion,” the duke said. “Something is taking place. We may be enjoying a season of peace in Yelsia, but Baskla is preparing for war.”

  “Is that our concern if they aren’t threatening us?” Zollin asked.

  The duke turned and looked sadly at Zollin. “You are a good man. I can sense that about you. But you must understand that it is my duty to our king—and to all the people who call this keep home— to always be looking past the present so that I can see and prepare for what might take place tomorrow. You see the withdrawal of Baskla’s troops as a sign that they are no threat to us, yet I see them expanding their empire. The only reason King Ricard would mobilize his army is to attack.”

  “But not Yelsia,” Zollin said.

  “No, not Yelsia, not yet. King Ricard would not throw away the lives of his men fighting an equal when he can take land to his south with hardly any fight at all.”

  “Oh,” Zollin said. “You think Baskla will attack the Kingdom of Ortis.”

  “I do,” the duke explained. “First Ortis, then Falxis, and then Olsa. And perhaps it will take a century to properly control four kingdoms, but eventually they will turn their sights on Yelsia.”

  “I see,” Zollin said.

  “We cannot wait. If the Five Kingdoms are being consolidated, we must keep pace with Baskla or fall when they grow so large they cannot be defeated.”

  Zollin felt a new fear stabbing into the back of his mind. The Five Kingdoms had been at peace for a long time, but Falxis and Osla had been devastated by the Witch’s War. Ortis had survived; in fact Zollin had met the man responsible for that survival. He wondered briefly what had become of Lorik and the small group of fighters he had rallied to beat back the Norsik invaders. Even if Lorik or some other stalwart warrior had taken control of Ortis, it would still be a kingdom vulnerable to invasion. And the duke was right; if Baskla took Ortis, then war was inevitable. In fact, King Hausey had almost no choice but to take Falxis and expand down toward Osla. It was the only way to ensure that Yelsia survived.

  “You see what I’m driving at?” the duke asked.

  “I do,” Zollin said.

  “And do you see the danger you are in?”

  “You mean by going to Baskla?”

  “That’s right. If I’m right, King Ricard can’t give away his plans. Perhaps I’m wrong and he sees that the destruction of the other kingdoms leaves more than enough for Baskla and Yelsia to divide up evenly. But if I’m right, he won’t want King Hausey to have any information about his plans.”

  “I’ll be on my guard.”

  “None of the other emissaries have returned,” the duke said. “That isn’t a good sign.”

  “I know,” Zollin said.

  “All right, I’ve done all I can do for you. Get some rest—I’m sure you’ll need it.”

  “Thank you,” Zollin said.

  He started to ask for an escort back to his room but didn’t want to seem unable to even find the room the duke had given him. He wanted to project confidence, and asking for someone to lead him around through the castle didn’t really send the message he was after. Not that he needed the duke’s approval, but after their conversation he was determined to accomplish his mission and return to King Hausey with the truth.

  Stepping from the king’s private rooms, Zollin walked down the hall toward the stairs. He was happy that he at least remembered what end of the hall led down into the castle, rather than up toward the top of the keep. Jax seemed to materialize at his side out of nowhere.

  “Where did you come from?” Zollin asked.

  “I was waiting for you.”

  “But not waiting alone, I think.”

  Jax grinned but changed the subject.

  “I was wondering about that bow,” he said. />
  “It was just a bow,” Zollin said.

  “But you made it out of your staff. Isn’t it a magical bow?”

  “It is,” Zollin said. “But it’s probably ruined by now.”

  “What? Why?”

  “The Northern Highlands are a harsh place. Even if it is intact, it’s probably buried in snow. Why do you care so much about it?”

  “I could be a hero like you with a magic bow like that,” Jax said confidently.

  “You don’t need to be a hero, just a good man. I think that’s what you’re becoming here. I know things haven’t been easy for you, but you’ve found a real home. Many people never have that.”

  “I’m grateful for the duke and all he’s done for me,” Jax said. “But before I can lead others, I have to test myself. I have to know my limits and what I can accomplish all on my own.”

  Zollin understood the teenager’s need. He had planned to set out on his own when he wasn’t much older than Jax. The wizards from the Torr coming to take him away had changed everything, but the need to find his purpose in life was undeniable. Zollin was just lucky that he had found his way without losing the people he cared about most.

  Zollin felt the pain of Brianna’s absence in that moment so acutely that he had to blink back tears. It was the first time he really understood her need. He knew that she had saved him, that while he might have stopped the witch Gwendolyn and saved the Five Kingdoms, Brianna had saved him. Perhaps he hadn’t adequately expressed how much that meant to him, or maybe she just needed to see for herself how amazing and talented she really was.

  “Be careful,” Zollin said. “Don’t go alone.”

  “I won’t,” Jax said.

  “And be prepared for the fact that you might not succeed. I doubt that I could find the place again.”

  “What do you remember about it?”

  “It’s a valley,” Zollin said, uncertain that he should be encouraging the boy. “A deep one, with steep sides. Brianna and I were on a cliff high on the western slope.”

  “How high?”

  “Probably a hundred feet up. But I was levitating up and down the mountains—climbing will be extremely hard. You’ll need specialized equipment.”