Chaos Reigning: The Five Kingdoms Book 10 Read online

  He was bitter that his own sense of responsibility kept sending him away from the one thing his heart longed to do. He desperately wanted to drop everything and go in search of Brianna, but he couldn’t turn his back on the tasks that had been given to him by the king of Yelsia. He looked over at Amvyr, who was slumped against a tree, her head tilted slightly to one side as she gazed off into space. His responsibilities only seemed to increase, he realized as he looked at her. Zollin knew he needed to get her back to her father as quickly as possible.

  They had to have a fire, but the light might attract unwanted attention, so he dug a hole with a flat rock. The soil in Baskla was surprisingly soft. Under the topsoil was clay, which was harder to scoop out, but he managed it. Once the hole was at least two feet deep, he stacked the dead branches he’d collected into a neat pile inside the hole, then set them ablaze with a single thought. The magic flowed out of him eagerly. It was a tiny spell, and one of the first he’d ever learned. He remembered being in the small cottage he’d shared with his father, learning to light a fire with his magic. The memory brought a smile to his face as flames began to dance up and share their warmth.

  “This fire feels good,” Zollin said, stretching his hands toward the flames to warm them. “You should move closer and warm up.”

  Amvyr crawled toward the fire and then slumped down on the ground beside it. Her cloak fell open and the ragged gown she wore slid up her thigh. The exposed skin caught Zollin’s eye and he covered her with the cloak, trying not to let his imagination run away with him again. Since leaving the ruins with Amvyr he’d felt a growing sense of desire for the girl. She claimed to be King Ricard’s daughter and Zollin had no reason to doubt her word. His duty was to get her to Forxam as quickly as possible, but in the back of his mind he kept picturing the two of them entwined together. The fantasy stirred his blood and forced him to find something else to keep his mind on. He was married after all, and he loved his wife, despite the fact that they were separated. He couldn’t imagine what was enticing to him about a girl who never spoke and seemed almost on the verge of helplessness, but he couldn’t deny the attraction.

  He got busy preparing something for them to eat. His rations were nearly gone and if they didn’t reach their destination or at least a friendly village soon, Zollin knew they would go hungry. An hour passed as their food simmered in a small pot and darkness fell in earnest. Zollin couldn’t see past the light from their small fire and he was leery of using his magic to observe his surroundings. He could have sent a wave of magic out in all directions, observing the world through his magical senses, but that sometimes attracted other magical creatures, so he kept his magic contained.

  Amvyr was awake, but because she hadn’t uttered a single word since leaving the castle ruins, Zollin was once again left in silence. He didn’t mind the quiet really, or the darkness, just the cold. He stayed as close to the fire as he possibly could. Under different circumstances Zollin would have built a larger fire on top of the ground, and banked it on either side to contain the heat and warm them better, but the fire in the hole was much harder for enemies to see. They couldn’t go completely undetected if someone or something was really looking for them, but Zollin was doing everything he could not to attract attention.

  Finally Zollin felt a buzzing inside his head. It was the signal that Ferno was reaching out to him, communicating through an exchange of mental images which the dragons preferred. Zollin closed his eyes and immediately saw the forest far below. He was seeing what Ferno saw, and the dragon’s eyes were extremely accurate, even in the darkness. Not that it was hard to see why the dragon was contacting Zollin. In the distance there were lights and the looming shape of large buildings. Zollin recognized Forxam. It was built on a large bluff that looked out over the surrounding countryside.

  The image faded and Zollin only had to wait for the dragon to return. He guessed the large, green dragon had been flying for an hour which was about equal to a hard day’s ride, or two full days walking. If they had to slink through the forest it would take them twice as long, but Zollin decided that if Ferno didn’t run into trouble it would be safe enough to fly to the capital the next day. Ferno would need to hunt. The huge beast hadn’t eaten since the attack almost a week ago and although dragons could go for long stretches without eating or sleeping, Zollin didn’t like to think of the dragon flying him and Amvyr on its muscular back without having a chance to feed first.

  The tension in Zollin’s neck and shoulders eased a little. He couldn’t help but worry, but now that the end of his assignment was in sight, he could finally relax. Ferno returned but didn’t land before Zollin sent the dragon out to hunt. The huge beast had seen no sign of the gargoyles that had attacked them so Zollin felt safe enough to let the dragon forage among the forest.

  Amvyr fell asleep shortly after they ate and Zollin stretched out as close to their fire pit as possible. He added the last few branches he had collected to the fire and looked up at the stars. They were fierce points of light in a pitch black sky. The view lulled him into a light sleep that almost cost the young wizard his life.

  Chapter 3

  Lorik had taken the group of outcasts south, exploring the sparsely populated areas along the border of Falxis. The larger villages were being controlled by warriors who captured groups of the outcasts and forced them into slavery. There were small pockets of survivors from the Witch’s War, but while the humans moved north, the outcasts hid wherever they could find shelter and food. Many of the frightened people who had been mutated by the evil witch Gwendolyn had joined Lorik’s group. Most were too afraid to approach them, thinking that Lorik was just another warlord, so he sent out scouts to search the countryside for resources and more people. Their numbers were close to five hundred when Lorik discovered a green valley with a clear stream running through it, just on the border between Falxis and Osla. On the southern side of the valley was a tall hill with an artesian well bored into the hill near the summit. A farmhouse had once been built on the hill, but it was in ruins.

  “This will be our home!” Lorik declared as he gazed across the valley.

  “There’s nothing here,” hissed Spector as the ghostly creature floated just behind Lorik.

  “It has everything we need. We will build a place for us and those that come after us. A place where no one but our enemies need to feel fear or want.”

  “You have grand plans, my lord,” said Toomis.

  “Indeed,” Lorik stated. “We will build a city here, a new capital for a new kingdom.”

  “I care nothing for building cities!” Spector said angrily. “I want revenge!”

  “And we will have it,” Lorik said mildly. “Our new kingdom will draw our enemies to us and we shall crush them under our boots and grind their bones into the ground. Once their armies are destroyed, we will return to the north, sweeping up what is left of Ortis, Baskla, and even Yelsia.”

  “You would kill them all?” Toomis said nervously.

  “No,” Lorik said. “We will make them our slaves. Never fear, Toomis, I shall reward all those who remain loyal to me.”

  “Build your empire, but do not forget my revenge,” Spector hissed.

  “It is never far from my mind; we will make them suffer. But first, we will build a great city.”

  The outcasts were bigger and stronger than normal men. Most were at least a head taller than an average man, sometimes even more. Their bodies had been magically enhanced, but unfortunately, the magic had not been administered carefully. The result was that some parts of their bodies grew large and powerful, but other parts did not. In fact, some had limbs that were shrunken and weak. Most had facial features that had lost all symmetry, with mouths that were misshapen, uneven eyes, and distorted noses. On some outcasts their hair grew thick all over their bodies, almost like an animal’s fur, but others had lost most of their hair, leaving mangy-looking patches of wiry hair on their head.

  It took the group only a few days to gather supp
lies from other nearby settlements. The outcasts were too large for most horses, but they didn’t seem to need mounts. Much like Lorik, the outcasts could keep up a steady jog that was faster than most horses, even when they were carrying heavy loads. The outcasts found stone, timber, and clay tiles. They built simple homes, some out of timber, others from clay bricks that were heated in kilns that had been built downriver. The outcasts came from all walks of life, some were farmers before the Witch’s War when they had been captured and mutated, others were skilled craftsmen. After over a year of living in terror, some fighting for their lives against bands of looters from the north or other groups of outcasts, the people in Lorik’s camp took to the sense of safety and hope he offered them.

  Lorik stayed busy overseeing the protection of the fledgling city. He recruited the outcasts with fighting experience and others who were ideally suited for combat. Training took place daily, and the newly commissioned soldiers stood watch over the valley. The outcasts were industrious people. Their mutations didn’t merely change their physical appearance or make them stronger—in many ways it also enhanced their natural abilities, stamina, and drive. Where most people might work hard eight to ten hours a day and needed eight hours of sleep each night, the outcasts could work sixteen to eighteen hours a day, and only needed a few hours’ sleep. Many worked late into the night once they started a project.

  The homes they built were simple, usually just single-room cottages, but the ceilings were high and the doors were built wider than normal to accommodate the outcasts’ larger bodies. Hunters brought food to the growing village, and a central structure was built on the top of the high hill, with foundations being laid for a protective wall that would be constructed in case of an attack. Storage buildings were filled with food stores as more and more supplies were brought into the camp. Weapons, armor, wagons, and tools were brought from other villages that had been abandoned after the war. The central structure had a long hall for feasting, and large cooking areas. Above this Lorik planned to build his personal quarters with huge windows that looked out over the valley in every direction. Eventually, Lorik wanted to build a tall watchtower, but first he needed to lay claim to the kingdoms ravaged by the Witch’s War and spread word that the outcasts could come and swear fealty to him as their new king.

  After a week of work the village in the valley was nearing completion, with more outcasts coming to Lorik’s new capital each day. Kora oversaw the city, while Yorry was in charge of both the guards that stood watch and the outcasts who ventured out for supplies each day. With everything coming together so smoothly, Lorik felt confident that he could sally forth and confront the other warlords who were gathering groups of people together. Reports of other groups came in almost daily. There were several groups near Lorik's new city, but they were controlled by warriors who forced the outcasts in their groups to work like slaves.

  Scouts were sent out so that Lorik could plan a short journey to the other settlements in a logical order. One week after the village in the valley, which Lorik had named Center Point, was started, Lorik set out with Spector to bring the other groups into his fold. It took a full day’s run to reach the first group. Lorik saw the city in the distance and they waited until darkness fell, then made their way into the ruins. Most of the city was still in shambles, but a large market square had been converted into a camp for most of the outcasts living there. A few farm animals were kept in what was once the livery and a large home had been rebuilt for the warlord and his companions.

  There were no guards around the city, nor were there any defenses in place. No one challenged Lorik as he slowly made his way through the debris-lined streets. There were men with swords around the market square, but their focus was on keeping the outcasts contained, not on protecting the city from an attack.

  “What is your plan?” Spector whispered.

  “Simple,” Lorik said. “I’ll take out the guards, you slaughter the warlord and anyone who is with him.”

  For the first time since they left Ort City, the ghostly entity that was Lorik’s friend seemed happy. It was impossible to see Spector in the darkness unless he wanted to be seen. Lorik waited until the screams began in the large house, then he made his move. The guards were unsure what to do. Some wanted to help their leader, but others were so craven they fled into the night. Lorik walked calmly to the front of the large house and waited. Eventually a few of the guards found their courage and challenged him. Lorik cut them down without mercy.

  “Anyone who throws down his weapons will be spared,” Lorik shouted across the market square. “I’m am Lorik, king of Ortis and conquer of Falxis and Osla. All outcasts are welcome with me. We will build a new kingdom, a united realm, where all can prosper.”

  A few guards dropped their weapons and the rest fled into the night. The outcasts who had been treated like slaves came forth to pledge themselves to Lorik. They were terrified, but would rather live as slaves than risk death on their own. Lorik spent the night in the village, reassuring the outcasts that he was indeed a king and that there was a new home waiting for them. Spector returned after slaying the warlord, six of his companions, and the women who were trading their bodies to be close to the savage man who called himself lord of the little village.

  The next morning Lorik and the slaves gathered several wagons and carts. Lorik left instructions for the outcasts to gather as much salvageable material as they could find in the village, then travel to Center Point. Lorik and Spector set out in the opposite direction, moving toward the next settlement where another warlord had gathered a sizable group of outcasts together.

  “We should have killed them all,” Spector said in reference to the guards that Lorik had allowed to flee. “We should have swept over them without mercy.”

  “That would not have served my purpose.”

  “Is your purpose to allow your enemies to gather against you?”

  “In a way, yes,” Lorik said. “By the time some of those cowards reach Miller’s Crossing and warn the warlord there, we will have subdued another village.”

  “And if the warlord sets out against you, we will be outnumbered.”

  “We were outnumbered last night,” Lorik said.

  “We had surprise on our side, an advantage you lost when you allowed those guards to flee.”

  “It is not an advantage we need. We won’t be facing a well-trained army, but a ragtag gang of killers and thieves. Those who march with the warlord at Miller’s Crossing will mostly be desperate people looking for someone to protect them. They will break easily enough.”

  “Be sure you aren’t letting your pride lead you astray.”

  “If it makes you feel better, you may go on ahead of me and murder anyone you feel is a threat.”

  “Don’t tempt me,” said the demon.

  “Then stop questioning my decisions,” Lorik snarled angrily. “You know how to kill, but you do not know how to lead others, or how to plan for battle. Leave that to me.”

  They traveled the rest of the day in silence. It was midafternoon when they reached the next warlord’s holding. It was a smaller village, but there were defenses in place and guards on top of the buildings that had been converted into a stronghold.

  “They are waiting for you,” said Spector.

  “As I knew they would be,” Lorik said. “We shall liberate the outcasts within, and hopefully by tomorrow the warriors from the north will come to us.”

  “En masse,” Spector warned. “We could be overwhelmed.”

  “The Norsik raiders didn’t overwhelm me and I doubt that even a group of several warlords could match the number of raiders we defeated outside the Wilderlands. We will strike at the heart of every group, then fold the survivors into our new kingdom.”

  Spector hissed angrily, but they both turned their attention to the stronghold before them. The gate protecting the interior of the camp was a weak patchwork of scavenged timber. Lorik guessed that no one in the group was a carpenter. He couldn’t help
but chuckle at the weak defenses the warlord had raised against him.

  “I am Lorik,” he bellowed. “King in the South. Ruler of Ortis, Falxis, and Osla. Who dares stand against me?”

  The guards on the rooftops looked nervous and for several minutes nothing happened, but eventually a heavily armed outcast climbed up onto the roof. He wore armor that had been cobbled together to fit his massive body. The warlord was almost as large as Lorik, with large arms and legs, but his head seemed small, his eyes were uneven, and his mouth was slack on one side. There was even a string of slobber inching down from the misshapen lips.

  “I am Hogart, ruler of this town,” shouted the warlord.

  “Throw down your weapons and swear fealty to me and I shall spare you,” Lorik shouted, eliciting a hiss from Spector but ignoring it.

  “We do not recognize you or your claim for this land. It is ours. We will defend it with our lives.”

  “I do not want your land, only your loyalty,” Lorik said.

  “You call yourself a king, yet you have no army, not even a servant to carry your supplies, or a horse to ride on. I do not fear you, Lorik. If you attack us we will not hold back.”

  “Let me destroy him,” Spector hissed.

  “Not yet,” Lorik said.

  He took a deep breath, then he began to blow. He could feel the strange sense of dark magic enhancing his attack. The frigid air shot forth and slammed into the fortress gate like a raging storm. The warlord looked shocked and his soldiers were terrified. The crude gate turned white under Lorik’s breath. Then he stooped down, picked up a pebble and lobbed it at the gate. The small stone should have bounced off the wood; instead it shattered the frozen gate.

  “Go now,” Lorik told Spector. “Slay the warlord, but spare everyone else.”

  “As you wish,” the ghostly figure said.