Chaos Descending (35 page)

“I understand,”
Prawg said, leaning on his staff. “Come with me.”

Grenda wasn’t far away, and Zollin thought it felt good to stretch his tired legs as he walked. There were dwarves everywhere in the cavern. Some were removing the bodies of the oremites that Zollin had killed. They tossed the bodies into the abyss. Others were using the living bridges the oremites had formed. There seemed to be no animosity in the mindless creatures. They were like sheep, simple and barely aware of what was happening around them.

The swinging bridge was being repaired, the garden tended. The thick blood of the fallen oremites had to be dealt with before it killed the moss that gave the garden its soft, welcoming atmosphere. Grenda was laid out on a bed of moss much the same as Zollin had woken up on. He knelt down by the chieftain, letting his magic flow into her. He could feel the shattered arm bone. The limb was swollen, but other than Zollin’s magic there was no way the limb would heal. She would have lost it eventually, otherwise it might have poisoned her blood and led to her death.

Her knee was sprained, with one torn ligament, but not a serious wound. He took his time feeling his way through her injuries. He had to be aware of every shard of bone, and move everything back into place before fusing it all together. When he was done, he drank more of the dwarf beer, and was fed a meal. He could feel his strength returning, and spent another hour removing the swollen fluids around the mended arm and restoring Grenda’s knee.

The entire attitude among the dwarves was different, almost festive. Zollin knew there were still many caverns to search through, and many creatures to kill or drive away, but the dwarves had hope, and that filled Zollin with a sense of pride.

Hours later Grenda came to and was surprised to find herself healed and completely out of pain. She was on her feet in minutes, grilling the dwarves who helped her lead the combined clans for information on what had happened after the battle. Meanwhile, Zollin sat with Reenah and Moss. There was a comfortable silence between the three of them now, a camaraderie built on their shared experience battling the oremites.

“When you are ready,”
Reenah said, “we can lead you back to the Yel Clan’s cavern.”

“That would be good,”
Zollin said. “I need to find out what has happened to your kin.”

“So you will search for them?”

“Of course,”
Zollin said. “I have many things to do in the world of men, but finding your people is at the top of my list.”

“You are not so bad, Wizard,”
Reenah said.

Moss grunted his approval.

It took what seemed like two days of travel to reach the cavern where the Yel clan had once lived. The carcass of the giant snake was gone, only bones remained. Zollin guessed that other creatures had feasted on the snake's flesh until it was gone. Reenah and Moss, after leading Zollin through the labyrinth of tunnels and caverns, hesitated at the small tunnel that led out into the forest.

“This is where we leave you,”
Reenah said.

“Don’t you want to come out and see the sky?”
Zollin asked.

“No,”
the dwarf said. “I might go flying up and be lost in the expanse.”

Zollin laughed and Moss grunted. Then he got down on his hands and knees and began crawling back out of the tunnel. He felt good about what he had accomplished, but the couldn’t help but wonder about the Star Stone. Grenda had asked if he could retrieve it, but he was afraid it might draw other creatures to the dwarves, and he refused to keep the magical gem for himself. So he had left the Star Stone deep in the lake bottom, hidden away from the people or creatures who would misuse it. Still, he felt as if it had left a void in his soul, just like Brianna. He had hoped that she might change her mind and return to him, but when he finally got out of the tunnel that led up to the clearing in the forest, he was alone.

A strange feeling crept over him at that moment, as if he were being watched. It made the hair on his arms stand out. There seemed to be a sinister nature around him. He looked hard at the trees, worrying that it might be more dryads, but he was alone. He hefted the pack on his shoulder and started across the clearing, only to be halted by a massive roar. When he looked up, Ferno was gliding down into the opening between the forest and the massive hill.

“Ferno!”
Zollin shouted.

An image filled his mind of Brianna and Sorva flying away.

“I know. I had thought that you would go with them. I’m glad I was wrong.”

The dragon growled affectionately and lowered one shoulder so that Zollin could climb up onto the its back. He looked around the clearing then up at the bright blue sky. He was about to go sailing away into the massive expanse and Reenah’s words rang in his mind. Perhaps he was lost, but he knew where he needed to go. He had to find Brianna, and discover what had become of the dwarves. And he had to find the source of evil that was spreading across the Five Kingdoms.

“Let’s go,”
he told Ferno.

The dragon roared so loudly the trees shook, then they were flying into a future that was completely unknown, and Zollin could only hope he would be able to find his way back to the peaceful days he and Brianna had shared that had vanished so suddenly.

Epilogue

When Lorik came to he was back in his cell, but he wasn’t alone. Stone lay next to him, moaning in agony. Lorik wasn’t sure if it was the pain from his wound or the loss of Vera that hurt his friend so horribly, but Lorik knew his world was shattered. Things would never be the same, even if he could escape, find a way to kill Yettlebor, and take the throne of Ortis, it wouldn’t change the fact that Vera had died. And it was his fault. He had ruined his life, trusted the wrong people, and cost his friends everything.

He reached over, patting Stone’s body to see if the arrow was still there. Lorik’s fingers didn’t work, they were swollen, the skin split in some places, the nerves ruined beyond repair. Each touch sent waves of pain rolling up his good arm, but he didn’t care. He needed the arrow, and needed Stone to wake up.

“What are you doing,”
Stone muttered, his voice thick with grief.

“Arrow,”
Lorik said.

“They yanked it out before they threw me in here,”
he said.

“Damn.”

They lay in silence after that. And Lorik had almost determined in his mind that he could strangle Stone and save him from the torturous execution King Yettlebor had planned for them. But he didn’t want to hurt his friend. He wanted to die, but that wasn’t really an option in the empty dungeon cell. So he lay there, barely able to breathe, his nose and sinus’s were filled with blood. Every inch of his body was in pain, but he refused to acknowledge it. He felt like his pain was warranted. He deserved to suffer and die in the most humiliating way possible. He was Lorik the Protector, who had gotten his closest friends slaughtered. Death would be welcome, but his penitence at the hands of Yettlebor’s execution would come first.

Stone saw the light before Lorik did. He nudged his friend and said, “Here they come.”

Lorik listened but there was no sound and the light remained dim.

“Whatever you do, kill as many of them as possible,”
Stone said.

“I don’t think they’re coming for us.”

“What?”

“I don’t hear…
any boots.”

Stone grew silent, listening. For a long time there was nothing but the red light under the door, which cast an ominous glow into the cell. Then, there was the scrape of metal on stone and a voice, barely more than a whisper reached Lorik’s ears.

“Don’t give him the satisfaction,”
the voice said.

Lorik knew it was Kierian, but the light began to fade almost as soon as the voice stopped speaking. He tried to sit up, but it was a painful ordeal.

“She left us a razor,”
Stone said.

“To cut our own throats with,”
Lorik admitted, feeling a glimmer of hope for the first time.

“I’ll do you, but then I’m going to try and gut that fat bastard who killed Vera.”

Lorik felt a wave of gratitude, followed almost immediately by a pang of guilt. He couldn’t let Stone slice his throat and avoid the painful death he deserved. A moan of anger and frustration slipped past his split and swollen lips.

“Let me do it. They’ll torture you for hours, maybe even longer,”
Stone said. “Your hands are ruined. You probably can’t even hold the blade.”

Lorik knew his friend was right, but he couldn’t do it. He wasn't afraid of dying, in fact at that point in his pain filled mind, he welcomed it. But he wouldn’t give up even the slightest chance that he might be able to lash out at Issalyn or Yettlebor. And then he felt it. The strangely welcoming call of the nearby magic. He had felt it over a year ago in that exact dungeon. A darkness that longed to embrace him, to empower him, to fulfill him. It had been tempting then, as they faced the overwhelming odds of the witch’s army bearing down on them, but he had been filled with Drery Dru’s light magic and the darkness seemed cold and evil then. Now, it seemed to fit him perfectly.

“No,”
Lorik said. “I have a plan.”

“I hope it doesn’t involve me walking,”
Stone said. “That arrow wound was mortal. It pierced my spine.”

“What are you saying?”
Lorik asked.

“I’m on borrowed time here,”
Stone explained. “I’m just praying for a chance to get my hands on that fat bastard’s throat before my strength is all gone.”

“Can you pick the lock and get us out of here?”

“I guess I could, but you aren’t carrying me out with two dislocated shoulders and a gimpy leg.”

“We aren’t going out,”
Lorik said. “Just do it.”

For an hour Stone worked on the lock with the razor blade. The rusty metal didn’t want to give way, but eventually it did. The door swung free and Stone collapsed back against the wall. Lorik couldn’t see his friend in the darkness, but he knew picking the lock had taken all of Stone strength.

“That’s it,”
he said. “I’m done. I hope you don’t need me for your plan. It was great knowing you. Never a dull minute.”

“Don’t you die on me,”
Lorik said. “Not yet. There may be a way to get our revenge.”

Getting to his feet was the hardest thing Lorik had ever done. With one wounded leg, and no way to use his hands or put weight on his dislocated arms, it took him nearly ten minutes to finally get up. He had to hobble to the door, and there was no way to see anything in the total darkness of the dungeon. But no one could see him either, and he didn’t need to see to find his way to the secret portal where the dark magic was calling.

“I can’t hold you,”
Lorik said. “Not with broken fingers. So grab my wrist and hang on.”

“What are you doing?”
Stone said, his voice weak, barely more than a whisper.

“I can’t explain it. Just hold on to me,”
Lorik said. “And don’t die.”

“You’re a bastard.”
Stone said, suddenly angry. “It’s your fault.”

“I know,”
Lorik said, guilt over Vera’s death ripping his heart to ribbons.

“I’ll never forgive you,”
Stone said, taking hold of Lorik’s wrist.

The pain made bright spots dance around in Lorik’s head, but he steadied himself and took a step forward, pulling his friend out of the dungeon cell.

“I’ll never forgive myself,”
he grunted.

Lorik felt weak, his body shook with the effort, pain seemed to raging through his mind like a storm at sea. And yet the magic kept calling. It was encouraging, almost like a friend rooting for him to succeed. Every small step took a minute to balance and make sure he didn’t fall over. Every time he pulled Stone a little farther the pain threatened to make him pass out. Sweat ran down his forehead and into his eyes. His back spasmed in pain, his legs cramped, but he didn’t quit.

When he reached what would have looked like a plain, unadorned section of solid, rock wall, had their been any light to see by, Lorik stopped.

“What now?”
Stone asked. “I don’t think I can go much farther.”

“No need,”
Lorik said, leaning his head against the cold stone wall. “We made it.”

All it took was an acceptance in his mind, and the stone began to move. The magic on the far side of the secret opening was at work now, removing the barriers. The stone scraped, like the death cry of some terrible beast. There was no light, no indication that anything was in the dark space beyond the wall. Then, after a long pause, two hands reached out, and took hold of Lorik.

“Whatever you do,”
he told Stone, “don’t let go of me.”

“Not if kills me,”
Stone said.

Then they were both pulled into the darkness.

Author’s Note

I want to thank you for reading Chaos Descending.  Coming back to the Five Kingdoms was like reuniting with old friends.  There is so much more to this world and these characters that I want to explore and share with you.  Chaos Descending is the start of new series in the world of the Five Kingdoms, so look for the adventure to continue.  And once again, thank you so much for your support and encouragement along the way, it means the world to me.

Toby Neighbors

November 16, 2015

Toby Neighbors Online

www.TobyNeighbors.com

www.Facebook.com/TobyNeighborsAuthor

On Twitter @TobyNeighbors

Read On For More Great Fantasy by Toby Neighbors

The Avondale Series Book 1

Avondale Chapter 1

Tiberius

The Prefect was explaining a rather tedious section of the sacred scripture. Tiberius, third son of Lord Aegus, Earl of Avondale, didn’t always hate the Prefect’s lectures. There were sections of the ancient scriptures that were full of battles or intense showdowns between the servants of Addoni, the one true god, and Rastimus, the deceiver. Unfortunately today was not one of those lectures, but rather a long explanation of the history of Addoni’s followers.

Tiberius did his best to pay attention, but his mind kept returning to the martial drills that were coming up in the next few days. He’d failed both his sword test and his hand-to-hand fighting test. If he didn’t pass the martial drills, he would never become a Paladin; instead, he would be forced to become a Priest. In truth, Tiberius didn’t want to be a Paladin or a Priest, nor did he relish the idea of becoming a Prefect teaching in dull classrooms all day. But what Tiberius wanted wasn’t important to anyone, certainly not his father or his older brother, Leonosis, who all but ruled Avondale in their father’s place. Tiberius had never whispered his own dream to anyone; it was too dangerous. His greatest desire was forbidden. In fact, it was Tiberius’ great shame that he longed for it at all. He did his best to choke down his dream, and focus on the reality of what his life would be.