Five Kingdoms: Book 05 - Fierce Loyalty Page 17

  When he woke up it was dark out. He kindled a small flame in the palm of his hands. Nycoll was looking at him and sipping water from a canteen.

  “You’re awake,” Zollin said.

  She nodded, but didn’t speak. Mansel was still asleep. Zollin made a mental note that the weed he had found to give them stamina didn’t take away the need to rest, it merely postponed it. Zollin was still exhausted, but he got up, started a fire nearby, and checked on the horses. He didn’t expect Eustice to catch up until the next afternoon at the earliest. He was thankful the mermen hadn’t continued their attack. He and Mansel would have been easy prey sound asleep only a few hundred yards from the shore, but the sea creatures didn’t reappear. They seemed drawn to his magic only when it entered the water.

  The horses were tired as well, not even nibbling the grass around them yet. Zollin unsaddled the horses and rubbed them down. Then he returned to the fire with more food. He didn’t know about the others, but he was famished. He ate a loaf of bread and wished he had more of the smoked cheese from Luxing City, but they had eaten the last of it days before. There was dried meat and a few old vegetables, but Zollin didn’t have the energy to cook anything.

  “Are you hungry?” he whispered to Nycoll.

  She nodded again and he handed her a loaf of bread.

  “Sorry I don’t have something better than stale bread.”

  “It’s fine,” she said quietly.

  They ate in silence. Zollin tried not to let Nycoll’s staring bother him. It wasn’t even that she was looking at him—it was that she didn’t seem to trust him. She watched him like someone might watch a mischievous child. After he ate, he went to sleep. He knew that it would have been wise to stand a watch, but he was just too exhausted.

  The next morning he felt better. He woke up when he heard Mansel moan. Nycoll helped the big warrior get a drink of water and sit up.

  “I feel like I drank an entire cask of ale,” he said.

  “It’s just fatigue,” Zollin said. “Eat something and get some more rest and you’ll be fine.”

  “Nycoll, how are you feeling?”

  “I’ll be fine,” she said softly. “You should eat.”

  “I could eat a horse,” Mansel said.

  The horses neighed and Zollin laughed.

  “I think they heard you,” he teased.

  They ate and napped through the day. Eustice didn’t arrive by nightfall, and Zollin didn’t think the mute servant would continue traveling after dark. He let Mansel and Nycoll have some privacy while he took first watch. He walked out into the darkness away from their fire and let his eyes adjust. Then he let his magic flow out around him, but was careful not to let it go near the shoreline. The last thing he wanted was some other sea creature rising up and attacking them in the dark.

  There were small creatures all around—field mice, small birds, bats, and insects. There were even a few snakes, but none were close to Zollin or his friends. The night was quiet and Zollin allowed his mind to wander as he stared out into the darkness. He thought of Brianna, his heart aching as it always did. He wished more than ever that he could have had more time with her, or maybe just seen her once more. He would tell her how much he loved her, and then just hold her for as long as he possibly could. He thought of his father and wondered if Quinn had found happiness in Felson with Miriam, the animal healer. Miriam was a strong-willed woman, compassionate but unyielding in her personal beliefs. Zollin though she would make a good match with his father, but he found it hard to imagine Quinn being romantic with a woman. His father had never shown any interest in women in all the years they had lived in Tranaugh Shire, but a lot had changed since they had fled from the small village to escape the wizards of the Torr.

  Thinking of the Torr gave Zollin a strong sense of dread. He knew that a hard fight lay ahead, and even if he won there was no guarantee the fighting would stop. If King Belphan was really dead, the Five Kingdoms could be thrown into a war that could last for decades. It made Zollin almost sick to think that he was the cause. He knew intellectually that he wasn’t to blame, that he hadn’t made the decisions to hurt and kill others, to send armies across the Five Kingdoms, but his emotions made the case that if he had just gone with the wizards of the Torr, none of the atrocities of the past year would have happened. Then again, thinking of Eustice, who had been a servant of the Torr for years, made him sick as well. Eustice, who had been taken into Offendorl’s service as a child, castrated, and then had his tongue cut out, was a living example of the Master of the Torr’s cruelty. Zollin knew he could never serve someone so twisted and evil. Going to the Torr would have been a death sentence, or worse—a life of torturous enslavement.

  Zollin watched the moon as it slowly moved across the sky. The days in Falxis were hot, but the nights were cool and so Zollin let his magic burn brightly, filling him with a supernatural warmth. He let the magic flow out in a sort of blanket awareness. He wasn’t sure exactly how long he stayed that way, his magic burning like a bonfire, sensing everything around him in every direction simultaneously but losing himself completely in the process. He might have stayed in the blissful state of magical awareness through the night if he hadn’t sensed the dark, angry presence that flew by overhead.

  At first Zollin was shocked by the discovery. He let his magic flow up as well as out around him. He had felt the nocturnal avian creatures passing by overhead. Insects buzzed about, flicking from one spot to the next. Bats dove and fluttered, their wings flapping almost clumsily but drawn to any small movement. Occasionally, owls flew past or swooped down on an unsuspecting creature moving slowly through the tall grass that grew among the sandy dunes this close to the shore. But the angry beast was flying higher than the other night animals. It was large and surprisingly familiar. Bartoom, Zollin realized. He retracted his magic, feeling as if he had just come up for air after a long underwater dive. He sucked in great lungful’s of air as he hurried back to the small camp where Mansel and Nycoll waited.

  “Mansel!” he shouted. “Get up, the dragon is back. Mansel!”

  Zollin searched the star filled night sky, but the dragon was almost impossible to see. Bartoom’s scales were jet black, blending into the space between the stars perfectly. Zollin sent his magic up again and found the big dragon circling around. Zollin held his connection with Bartoom for a moment, sensing the dragon’s wounds. They were several days old and none of them severe, but the dragon had seen difficult action not long ago. Zollin wondered briefly if the kraken had hurt the dragon more than he had thought.

  “What in the bloody blazes are you on about, Zollin?” Mansel demanded.

  “The dragon just flew by and it’s coming back.”

  “Where?” Mansel asked.

  “There,” he said, pointing in the distance although neither of them could see the dragon.

  “You sure?”

  “Positive,” Zollin said.

  “Okay, Nycoll, get out of here!” he shouted. “Stay low, but get some distance from us. This thing is deadly.”

  Nycoll didn’t say a word—she just hurried away, disappearing into the darkness.

  “What do I do?” Mansel asked.

  “I’m not sure, we don’t have anything to attack the dragon with,” he said. Then an idea

  struck. “Oh, wait. The tridents.”

  “The what?” Mansel said.

  Zollin was already moving, running back along the path that had led from Nycoll’s cottage to the sea.

  “There were mermen in the ocean,” Zollin shouted. “They attacked us. Don’t you remember?”

  “No!” Mansel shouted. “Are you insane? Mermen? Really?”

  “Most of the tridents fell back into the water, but a few didn’t,” Zollin shouted as they reached the dock. He kindled a flame and held it high over his head. There wasn’t much to see—the grasses around the shore, which was rocky and steep, were strangely flattened.

  “Oh, curse it all,” Zollin said. “They must have come
ashore and collected them all.”

  “You are losing it, Zollin,” Mansel said.

  “No, they were here, right here,” he said in frustration.

  There was a roar that made them both look up, just as a wave of fire consumed their horses and set the massive oak tree ablaze. Zollin immediately covered them in a shield of magic, but the dragon didn’t press the attack. It flew harmlessly past and out to sea.

  “You think it didn’t see us?” Mansel asked.

  “I have no idea,” Zollin said. “But it’s leaving the area.”

  “Or pretending to. And we don’t have mounts or supplies. Everything but the clothes on our backs was under that tree.”

  “Eustice should be along tomorrow,” Zollin said. “He’s got the extra supplies.”

  “If he wasn’t waylaid somewhere. We could be in serious trouble.”

  “Isn’t there a village nearby?”

  “One of the smallest I’ve ever seen,” Mansel explained. “It’s really just a few people spread along the seashore. But if the army didn’t spare Nycoll’s home, they probably didn’t spare the village.”

  Zollin felt his heart sink a little. Their best chance for survival would be the ocean, but he didn’t relish going back to sea.

  “Make sure that dragon isn’t circling back,” Mansel said. “I’m going to find Nycoll.”

  Zollin expanded his magic in the sky in a broad, arcing circle, like the top half of a bubble. He didn’t bother filling the sky with magic so that he could feel every small creature—instead, he pushed the limits of his power, expecting that something as large as the dragon would be easy to find. The big dragon, Bartoom, was gone. Zollin wasn’t sure where the beast had gone, but he didn’t linger long on the question. Instead, he focused on the two smaller dragons that were circling the burning tree.

  “Mansel!” Zollin shouted. “We aren’t out of the woods yet.”

  “What now?” Mansel bellowed.

  “More dragons,” Zollin said loudly. “There are more dragons.”

  Chapter 16

  Prince Wilam stood in the great round audience room of the Torr. He was anxious. Scouts had reported that an army from Falxis was marching south and was almost to the border of Osla. Unlike King Oveer and his worthless generals, Prince Wilam felt that the best way to win Gwendolyn’s affection was through performance. That meant that leading the army fell to him alone. The king and his generals lazed around the audience chamber of the Torr like house cats, ignoring their duties in hopes of catching a glance of Queen Gwendolyn.

  Prince Wilam had outlined a plan that included dividing the army into a small force and a large force. The larger force would go out to meet the invading army north of the Grand City. There was still time for the prince to find suitable ground to meet the enemy on so that they went to battle on their own terms. The smaller force would be held in reserve. If Prince Wilam failed to stop the invaders, the smaller group could defend the city. Gwendolyn had shown very little interest in his preparations for defending her prize. He had thought that marching to Osla and taking the richest kingdom in her name would have pleased the queen, but she was caught up in the books that Offendorl had left behind. She spent days working through the translations of ancient texts, ignoring everyone and everything else.

  “Have you seen her today?” Wilam asked King Oveer, who was lounging on pillows near one of the room’s many windows and drinking wine.

  “Do not address me as an equal,” King Oveer said, his words barely understandable through his wine thickened tongue. “Leave your message with General Vaslic. We shall pass it along to Her Highness.”

  “I do not leave messages with the likes of you drunkards,” Wilam hissed. “You lazy fools are worth less than the wild dogs nosing through the refuse in the streets.”

  “You cannot insult me, Prince.” King Oveer said the last word with such disdain he nearly fell off his mattress.

  “I already have, King Oveer. I have taken your army,” he said, then lowered his voice, “and soon I shall take your pathetic life as well.”

  “I will have your head for such an insult.”

  “Come take it, if you’re man enough.”

  “Vaslic, Ormon, slay this spineless fool and bring me his head. I shall make a gift of it to

  Her Highness.”

  “Still letting other people fight your battles?” Prince Wilam said coolly, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

  “It’s about time we deloused Her Lady’s tower.”

  Prince Wilam heard the swords being drawn behind him, but he didn’t turn to face the two generals who had been ordered to attack him. He stood, watching King Oveer, who slurped from his wine cup and then wiped his nasty beard with the back of his hand.

  “I will feed what’s left of you to the dogs in the street,” King Oveer said. “Since you know them so well.”

  “I know Her Highness, and the queen knows me,” Prince Wilam said with a smirk.

  “Liar!” King Oveer shouted.

  Prince Wilam spun around, drawing his sword in one fluid motion. The two drunken generals were lurching toward him, but both were moving slowly, their balance ruined by too much wine. He stepped toward the closest man and swung a hard blow straight at the general’s sword. Ormon couldn’t hold onto his weapon, which went spinning across the floor. Prince Wilam ignored the weaponless general and faced Vaslic.

  “Throw down your weapon and flee Osla,” Prince Wilam said, “or I’ll kill you.”

  “I shall not leave Her Highness,” Vaslic said.

  “Then die, dog!” Wilam shouted as he rushed forward.

  Vaslic raised his sword in a clumsy attempt at defending himself, but Prince Wilam smashed the drunken general’s knee with a savage kick. Vaslic fell to the ground, dropping his weapon and grabbing his leg. The blood lust was now ringing in Prince Wilam’s ears and he drove his sword deep into the general’s stomach. Then he wrenched his weapon free and turned on General Ormond, who had recovered his weapon but was staring wide-eyed at his slain colleague.

  Prince Wilam didn’t give Ormond the chance to flee. He feinted to his right, then slid to his left, slashing his sword across Ormond’s shoulder. Blood arced and the general screamed, but Wilam followed his initial attack with a thrust under his opponent’s blade that split Ormond’s sternum. Prince Wilam’s blade stuck fast and he was forced to put one foot on the other man’s chest to jerk his weapon free. Then he spun to face King Oveer, who was climbing from his pile of cushions to his feet.

  “Your worthless generals are dead, oh King,” Wilam said. “And your pathetic reign has come to an end.”

  “You dare not lay a hand on me. I’m the sovereign ruler of Ortis. I command armies who will avenge me to the fourth generation of your villainous family.”

  “Do not speak of the royal family of Yelsia,” Wilam said in a mocking tone. “We did not plot against your kingdom and murder defenseless members of your royal court. Did you think I would not hear how you baited my high counselor and then murdered him in cold blood?”

  “Because he was spying,” King Oveer whined.

  “And his spying was greater than your plotting against my family and my kingdom?”

  “You have a wizard.”

  “And you had a whole tower full,” Prince Wilam said as he shoved the king.

  “You dare touch me?” King Oveer shrieked.

  “I’ll do more than touch you,” Prince Wilam said. Then he stabbed at Oveer with the point of his sword, drawing blood from the king’s shoulder.

  “Guards!” King Oveer shouted. “Guards, to me.”

  “Your guards are not allowed in the tower, remember?” Wilam said, stabbing at Oveer again, this time drawing blood from the King’s thigh.

  “Gwendolyn!” Oveer screamed like a child calling for his mother. “Gwendolyn, help me.”

  Prince Wilam backhanded Oveer, sending him reeling and spitting blood. Piss stained his pants and he began to beg.

  “P
lease don’t kill me,” he cried. “I’ll do anything.”

  Wilam again shoved the king, who stumbled back almost to the open window. The tower of the Torr had large windows that opened like shutters. They ran from the ceiling almost down to the floor. Wilam could only think of how the spoiled king spent day and night fawning for Gwendolyn. He was jealous of any man who might lay claim to the Queen of the Sea, but only King Oveer stood above Prince Wilam in rank. One day Wilam would be a king and Oveer’s equal, but for now he was just another suitor to the woman both men were infatuated with. He kicked out hard, slamming his foot into the king’s chest. Oveer stumbled back, gasping for breath until his legs hit the windowsill. Then time seemed to slow down as King Oveer of Ortis struggled to regain his balance. It was a lost cause—he simply had too much momentum moving him backward, not to mention his inebriated state. His arms wind milled and his face became a mask of terror. Then he fell, screaming until he landed, his head smashing against the polished flagstones and split open like an overripe melon.

  “Good riddance,” Prince Wilam said, spitting from the window.

  “What have you done?” shrieked Gwendolyn.

  She was levitating down from the floor above. Her face was sternly disapproving, but all Prince Wilam could see was the woman he loved. He felt weak in the knees whenever he saw her and his heart seemed to leap whenever she spoke to him.