Five Kingdoms: Book 05 - Fierce Loyalty Read online

Zollin looked around at the sailors. They were afraid and none of them seemed ready to move against him, but Zollin knew it would only take one person moving forward to help them find their courage.

  Zollin let his magic go, shooting crackling bolts of energy high into the evening sky. It wasn’t dark yet, the sun was just halfway into the sea far to the west, but the magical energy lit up the deck just the same. Then Zollin looked back up at the captain.

  “Don’t be a fool,” he said. “Your men nearly beat Mansel to death. It wasn’t a fair fight and Mansel didn’t start it, but he’s sure as hell going to finish it.”

  The captain looked frightened and didn’t speak. Zollin turned and nodded at Mansel, and the big warrior rushed forward. The sailor named Slice wasn’t a coward. Zollin had expected him to run away or fall on his knees to beg for mercy, but Slice stood his ground. At the last instant, Slice drew a small knife, surprising Zollin but not Mansel.

  The big warrior spun to the side just as Slice tried to stab him. Mansel grabbed the sailor’s arm and twisted. The knife flew to the deck and Slice was flipped over. He landed hard on his back. Mansel was on top of him in an instant, dropping hard punches that found their way through the sailor’s arms, which he was holding over his head in a feeble defense. Blood spurted from a cut under Slice’s right eye. His lips split and a tooth was knocked out before finally Slice’s eyes rolled back and his body stiffened as he lost consciousness.

  Mansel could have kept up the beating—he was certainly angry enough, and no one was willing to even try to stop him. But instead he stood up and looked down at Slice, spitting on the wretched sailor and then looking up at Zollin.

  “Does anyone else have an issue with this man?” Zollin shouted, pointing at Mansel.

  Most of the sailors looked down at their feet. Zollin looked up at the captain, who was so angry he was red in the face.

  “You have a good crew here, Captain,” Zollin continued. “Treat them the way they deserve or next time it may be you who gets what he has coming.”

  Zollin turned and started back toward the passenger deck.

  “And just where do you think you’re going?” hissed the captain.

  Zollin turned but the sailing master wasn’t talking to him. Instead, he was glaring hatefully at Mansel.

  “Get below deck and back to work, all of you!” shouted the captain.

  Zollin was about to complain, but Mansel stopped him.

  “It’s okay,” he said. “I signed on to work this voyage. I can do my part.”

  “You sure?” Zollin asked.

  “Of course,” Mansel said smiling. “These guys are nothing compared to your father.”

  Chapter 8

  Gwendolyn could not remember ever being so happy. She had expected a vicious fight when she returned to the Torr. She had thought that perhaps the army she had led could somehow best her old master. Offendorl had brought her to the Torr as a young girl and had learned to control Gwendolyn’s power. For over a century she had lived in isolation, trained by Offendorl alone. No other man had been allowed to enter her chambers in the tower, not even the eunuch servants. She lived with Andomina as her only companion, but from an early age Gwendolyn’s sorcery robbed her sister of the ability to communicate. So Gwendolyn had grown old and then learned the spells that could make her body young again. Her mind, however, was stunted and twisted. In some ways she was like a spoiled child, and in others she was like an ancient crone.

  What Gwendolyn hadn’t expected was to find the tower of Torr undefended. It wasn’t deserted, alchemists still labored on the lower levels, but they were of no concern to Gwendolyn. Only the wretched souls in the labyrinth of corridors and chambers under the tower were of value to the sorceress. Gwendolyn could feel them. Offendorl had hidden the warlocks from her before. Most were insane, or catatonic like Andomina, and none of them able to wield or even control their magical power. As a sorcerer, Gwendolyn could control and manipulate other magic users, especially warlocks, and she understood why Offendorl had shielded them from her. She could feel her power growing as they drew near the city.

  Prince Wilam had seen to the deployment of their troops, but aside from a small battalion of reserve guards, there was no army to keep them from marching in and taking over the city.

  The Grand City of Osla was by far the largest city in the Five Kingdoms. The city was old and patched together like a quilt as new developments were built and then walls extended to protect and include the growth. Gwendolyn’s army was actually the military forces from Ortis and a band of merchants, sailors, and skilled workers from the city of Lodenhime in Falxis. Every man that came within sight of Gwendolyn was soon captured under her spell. They gave up all other interests and pursuits, choosing instead to give everything in a vain hope of winning her heart.

  Prince Wilam was the crown prince of Yelsia who had fallen under her power when he came to Lodenhime on his way back to his own country. Since then, he’d worked tirelessly to build and develop Gwendolyn’s army. When King Oveer had fallen under Gwendolyn’s power, he had ordered his army, even the reserve troops used to maintain peace and guard the Wilderlands from the Norsik, to follow Gwendolyn. He had no desire to lead the army, and so Prince Wilam had taken up the roll of High General, with only Gwendolyn—Queen of the Sea, as many described her—over him in command.

  They had sacked the city when they found it unguarded. The reserve troop surrendered and was brought under Gwendolyn’s spell. The people of the city were slaughtered. Many fled, while others were enslaved by Gwendolyn’s power and set about serving her every need, including feeding her army. The women of the city were driven out or killed. Soldiers now patrolled the walls to the city and Gwendolyn was given free reign of the tower of the Torr.

  She had expected the remaining servants and apprentice wizards to resist her, but they had not. Instead, they welcomed her, perhaps because of her power, but she thought it was because they were relived to have a new master. She had seized control of the tower and moved immediately to the upper floors. Her old chamber had been one of many on the third floor of the tower, but the upper floors were wide open rooms that took up the entire space of the tower. There was no staircase in Offendorl’s audience chamber, merely a hole in the ceiling above the throne-like chair that her old master had occupied when greeting visitors, be they kings or servants. No one was allowed in the upper two floors and Gwendolyn was anxious to find out why.

  She had explored the lower floors, finding small libraries and ornate shrines, most of which were worth more gold than a mortal could spend in a lifetime. When the Torr had purged the Five Kingdoms of magic users they had consolidated all known magical books, along with anything else they wanted in the tower. It had given them unsurpassed power and sent the Five Kingdoms into an era of waning magic. All that had changed when Zollin defied the Torr. In less than a year everything had changed, and Gwendolyn was determined that she would never submit to anyone ever again.

  She levitated herself up through the hole into Offendorl’s personal chambers. Then she raised up her sister. Andomina was tucked quietly into a richly upholstered chair while Gwendolyn explored her old master’s domicile. There was a richness to the furnishings the likes of which Gwendolyn had never imagined. The floor was covered with thick rugs that depicted epic battles from long ago. There were large mirrors on one section of the wall. A large tub near a window. A huge poster bed with a thick canopy and heavy drapes. There was a row of wardrobes along another section of the curving walls. The wardrobes were custom made to fit against the walls, with large drawers at the bottom and even bigger storage spaces above the racks of clothes. There was another part of the wall was taken up by a huge wine rack. The bottles were old and dusty. Beside the wine rack was a small table with golden goblets covered in bright jewels. There were also large windows, almost floor to ceiling. Osla was a hot country with rarely any respite from the high temperatures, but the tower was tall enough that a breeze was almost constantly blowing t
hrough the open windows, keeping Offendorl’s chambers pleasantly cool.

  There was another hole in the ceiling leading up to the top floor. She rose slowly into the final room. It was just as she had hoped it would be—a simple yet magnificent library. There was a large desk near one of the two windows. The room was warmer, but it wouldn’t do to have papers flapping in the wind, not when many of the books in that room were older than remembering. There was also a large table where charts or maps could be unrolled and studied. As Gwendolyn had suspected, the room was spotless, although she doubted that anyone had been allowed in this room other than Offendorl since he’d become the master of the Torr.

  She walked slowly around the room, studying the books. Some were bound in leather, others had bindings of slate or even precious metals. Some books were covered in exotic animal skins, eel, mud dragon, whale, and even human skin. She felt giddy as she walked around and around the room, letting her fingers rub lightly over the ancient tomes. She had everything she needed to defeat her master, she knew that without a doubt. All she needed now was time.

  ***

  The ship had navigated the narrow channel that led from the coast to Brimington Bay.

  Offendorl was eager, but his strength was only just returning. He had spent the rest of the voyage resting and eating. The captain of the ship had kept him fed with rich food and wine that wasn’t great, yet wasn’t horrible either. Offendorl had walked the deck every day, trying his best to seem strong, but secretly struggling to maintain the illusion. Offendorl was anxious to get back to the Torr, to regain his true strength and then face Zollin again. So much had slipped through his fingers of late, but he felt certain he could retain everything and more if he could bring the young wizard under his control.

  He was ready now to find passage back to the Grand City, and he waited, conserving his strength, at the rail of the ship as the captain oversaw the handling of the jolly boat that would row him from the deep waters of the harbor to the quay. When the boat was ready, Offendorl levitated himself down into the boat from the deck of the ship. The sailors were all too happy to be rid of him. They were a superstitious lot and had done everything to see to Offendorl’s comfort since he had revealed his power to them. They rowed him to shore almost in a frenzy to be rid of him, but Offendorl didn’t mind. In fact, he rather enjoyed it when the mortals around him lived in a state of constant fear.

  The elder wizard walked to a nearby rickshaw, which was a light cart with a covered seat pulled by a man on foot that were a common form of transportation in the larger cities of Osla, where just walking down the street could drench a man in sweat during the hottest parts of the day. Offendorl ordered the rickshaw puller to take him to the nicest inn in the city. It took nearly ten minutes, and the man pulling the rickshaw was panting from exertion by the time they arrived.

  The inn was an old building, but Offendorl could tell immediately that it was extremely opulent. He was met at the door by a tall man who offered to carry Offendorl’s belongings, but the elder wizard ignored him. Unlike the inns in the north, which were focused around large fireplaces, the common room of this inn was on an elevated platform and the walls were mere panels with hinges at the top so that they could be propped open to let the breeze flow through.

  Offendorl was alone in the large room and settled himself into a padded seat. He pulled one of the gold nuggets from a small purse inside his shirt and set it on the table.

  A woman appeared in short order with a tall glass of blue crystal, filled with an effervescent beverage. She set the glass on the table and made the gold disappear almost like a traveling illusionist.

  “I require a room and a bath,” Offendorl said. “And I want to arrange transportation to the Grand City in the next few days—something comfortable.”

  “It will be my pleasure,” the woman said, bowing slightly then hurrying away.

  Offendorl sampled the beverage. It was fruity and cool, but not entirely to his liking. Still, he was glad to be off the dreadful ship. The vessel had begun to stink and the tiny cabin he occupied was about to drive him insane. He enjoyed the shady common room of the inn with its view of the surrounding city. It wasn’t taller than the buildings around it, but being elevated from the street level gave Offendorl a sense of familiarity.

  Soon the woman returned and led him to a large room with marble floors and long brass tubs filled with water.

  “Do you prefer a cool refreshing bath, or a hot relaxing soak?” she asked.

  “Give me something cool,” he said. “And have these clothes washed as well.”

  The woman helped Offendorl undress. He had neither modesty nor sexual desire—his body was well past its ability to be moved by the presence of a woman. He climbed carefully into a tub of cool water while the woman poured in salts that dissolved and filled the bath with bubbles. She also added mint, which gave the bath a pleasant scent as well as a refreshing coolness. Then, as he sank down into the bath, she walked away.

  It wasn’t long before the water had darkened from the dirt and grime of his travels. He moved to another tub and allowed two young serving girls to gently wash him with soaps and then pour pitchers of water over his body to wash the soap away. Then they wrapped him in a simple robe made from a light material that wicked the moisture away from his body.

  He was taken to a room on the third floor where he propped himself on pillows across the large feather bed and waited for his evening meal to be brought up. He was tired, but he was close to the end of his journey. He felt better than he had in weeks. The bath had helped more than he had expected and he hoped with a little more time he could complete his next task. He removed the small pouch of gold nuggets. It was heavy, and hiding it from the women who had helped bath him hadn’t been easy, but with a little misdirection and magic he had accomplished it. Now he began to roll the nuggets between his palms, like a child playing with modeling clay.

  He let his magic pour into the gold. His ancient body felt the pinch of too much magic. It was like pressing a blade into his stomach. The light pressure of minor magic was not painful, but as he extended his power into reshaping the gold the pressure was beginning to build. He could feel the magic taking a toll on his physical body, but he wasn’t transmuting the gold, just reshaping it. Gold was a soft, pliable metal to begin with, so he was betting the effort wouldn’t over-tax him greatly.

  Soon he had eight pieces of pure gold, all rolled into tubes about as long as his fingers. It took more magic to meld them together, and his head spun from the effort. Luckily, a woman soon knocked softly on his door.

  “Come in,” he said after slipping the gold under a pillow.

  She entered carrying a large tray. There was a bottle of wine, a small crystal goblet, and a large bowl of food. She sat the tray on the bed and poured the wine.

  “What else can I do for you?” she said in a sultry voice.

  “More food,” Offendorl said through clenched teeth. He felt as though his magic was eating him alive.

  “More?” she asked in surprise.

  “Yes, I require more food,” he said crossly. “Now go.”

  She hurried from the room and he watched her go before sagging back against the pillows. He knew his work was going to be difficult, but he felt old and weak. Fear crept into his mind, taunting him. He was close to death, it whispered. He had pushed himself too far and now he was dying.

  He shook the morbid thoughts away and took a long drink of the wine, almost emptying his cup. The wine helped. He devoured the food, hardly tasting it. His body seemed to absorb the nutrients instantly. He felt better but his body was crying out for more. He had finished the food and almost the entire bottle of wine when the woman returned.

  She had another bowl of food, but no more wine.

  “I need more wine as well,” he told her. “In fact, keep bringing it to me until I tell you to stop.”

  “As you wish,” she said.

  He waved her away and ate the second bowl of food, fina
lly feeling sated and ready to try using his magic again. He pulled the long strip of gold out from under his pillow. It was thin, certainly not as heavy as the first crown he had fashioned. Still, it was big enough to do the job, and he let his magic flow into the metal, bending it into a circle. When he was finished, he sagged back once again, his heart thundering in his chest and his lungs heaving to get enough air.

  It was probably the ugliest crown ever made, he thought to himself, but it was finished. He drank the last of his wine, although the dregs were bitter with sediment. Then he hid the crown and waited for the woman to bring more wine. She did, and another bowl of food as well. He drank first, letting the alcohol spread through his system. Then he ate again, this time more slowly. The bowl was some type of seafood stew. He enjoyed the rich taste of the stew this time, noting how well made the meal was. When the woman returned with a third bottle of wine and a fourth bowl of food, he told her he didn’t need more.

  When she left, he finished the second bottle of wine. Normally, that much wine would have left him a little drunk and very relaxed, but not now. His body trembled and felt weak, with food being the only remedy. He thought about how Zollin must be feeling. The young wizard was like a volcano of raw, unrefined power. Still, Offendorl guessed that power would come at a price. It was difficult for the elder wizard to remember how it felt to be young. He knew that in his early years his own power taxed his physical body less than now. He was old, ancient even, but still powerful. He had equated power with strength before he fought Zollin, but now he understood the difference. In his tower, surrounded by servants and boosted by the other magical users of the Torr, his power was unmatched. But his strength was no longer sufficient to wield that power fully.

  He needed to do more than extend his life. He needed to find ways to rejuvenate his physical body, to strengthen it. And he needed more magical aides if he was to fight Zollin again. He needed to be able to use power outside of his own so that it didn’t weaken him so greatly. Most of all, he needed to be ready. He would have to use strategy to best the young wizard, not just magical power.