Chaos Descending (9 page)

“No, I’ll help. Of course I want you to come with me.”

“I don’t need to be with you every minute of the day, Zollin. I just want to be included in your plans.”

“You’re right, of course. I’m sorry.”

“No big deal, go see what you can find. If you need me I’ll be here.”

Zollin felt a little guilty leaving Brianna to do all the work around camp, but there really wasn’t much to do. They had blankets to spread out, and some firewood would need to be gathered. Cooking their dinner would be the biggest chore, and Zollin thought he had plenty of time to do that once he checked in on the dwarves. They might even be invited to stay and eat with the people under the mountains. Jute would be disappointed that Zollin didn’t have ale to share, but he guessed they would make do with some wine he had stashed in the oversized saddle bags.

The clearing they were in looked exactly like it had on their last visit. The stump was just as it had been when Jute defeated Mansel in an arm-wrestling contest. The only thing that seemed odd was the lack of sound from under the mountain. Whenever Zollin had been in the clearing before, he had heard the rhythmic sound of dwarfish music, which was really a harmony of the constant pounding that took place among the dwarves who were either working iron, chiseling rock, or training with their war hammers.

Zollin went to the rock that hid the entrance to the caves where the dwarves lived under the mountains. A wild, thorny bush hid the small hole perfectly, but it could easily be moved aside. He carefully took hold of one branch and scooted the bush to the side. The hole looked more like a small crack in the solid rock of the mountainside. Whenever Jute had used the entrance the hole seemed to grow larger, but now Zollin realized he would have to get down on his hands and knees to crawl down into the cave opening.

“Hello!” he shouted. “I’m looking for Jute of the Yel clan. Can anyone hear me?”

There was no reply, no music, not even the sounds of activity. Zollin couldn't help but feel that something was terribly wrong. The same sense of foreboding that had struck him when the strange, intelligent creatures had surrounded Zollin and Brianna on the trail home from Brighton’s Gate suddenly hit him again. It was more than just a bad feeling, almost as if his magical senses were picking up traces of evil.

He conjured a flame. Brianna could have sent fire rolling into the tunnel or even melted the stone to make a huge opening. At one point in his life, Zollin could have conjured the flame without a second thought, but now it took solid concentration. He sent the flame, which was nothing more than a small flame from a candle, floating down into the tunnel. The light flickered on the stone walls, but there was nothing else to see. The tunnel angled down with no sign of stairs or dwarfish handiwork.

Zollin stood up and looked around the clearing to make sure he was in the right place. Everything was familiar, except for the tunnel. Everything about the opening that led down to the dwarf kingdom under the mountains was foreign to him. Still, he knew he had to find out what was happening. The dwarves had risked their lives to help him in the Witch's War and he had to know what was going on with them. There should have been a village at the bottom of the tunnel, but now it seemed little more than a hole in the stone—just a cave formed by natural means.

Zollin took a deep breath, got back down on his knees, and scrambled into the hole.

* * *

Brianna’s first priority had been to gather dry wood for a fire. That chore had been quickly accomplished. The forest floor was littered with fallen branches. She didn’t need to worry about building a regular campfire. She had no need for kindling or straw that would catch a spark. She could have created a fire that burned no fuel using an act of her own will, but she wanted to set up a comfortable place where she and Zollin could relax.

It was so good just to be out in the open again. She loved the mountains and liked their home, but nothing compared to the freedom of traveling across the kingdoms. She loved seeing different places and sleeping outside under the stars and meeting new people. Most of all, she loved not knowing what was going to happen next.

She saw Zollin crawl into the hole and couldn’t help but feel as if something were terribly wrong, but she shook those thoughts from her head as she piled up the wood she had gathered. Then she spread out their blankets, and got food out of one of the large bags. There wasn’t really anything left to do, which also felt strangely odd. The only time she could remember their lives being so leisurely was when they had first set out to hunt Bartoom, the great black dragon that had destroyed Brighton’s Gate and many other small villages in northern Yelsia. But that trip had been plagued by her confusion about her feelings for Zollin and a constant sense of danger, knowing the dragon might appear and attack them at any moment.

She lay down on one of the blankets and looked up through the leaves at the blue sky. There were still a couple of hours of sunlight left, and she tried to shake off the feeling that she was being lazy. Her mother’s voice rang in her head, telling her how lazy she was. It was ridiculous; there was nothing more to do, but she felt guilty just the same. Then, as her mind wandered, she thought of Prince Willam. More and more frequently her mind drifted back to the late prince who had died in the Witch's War, and what might have been. She felt guilty, but also angry. Willam could have done so much good, but he was too cavalier and had taken her rejection too personally. But if Brianna had rejected him, she often wondered, if she had truly chosen Zollin, why did she still think about the prince?

This time it wasn’t guilt that plagued her, but shame. The truth was, she had cared deeply for Prince Willam. She had allowed herself to imagine a life with him, to be swept away by the romance of the situation. The crown prince had wanted her, and it wasn’t until after her feelings had grown real that she realized she was being used by King Felix, who wanted the power of Brianna’s pride of dragons under his control. She had finally come to her senses, only to be threatened when the king brought her parents and sisters to Orrock and vowed to kill them if she didn’t marry Willam. But King Felix had been slain by his own men, and Prince Willam died in the course of the Witch’s War, leaving her family safe in Orrock. Her romantic indulgence had threatened those she cared about most, but she still couldn’t blame herself for feeling what any woman would have felt in the same situation. Prince Willam had been dashing, handsome, and so confident. He made her feel like anything was possible.

Zollin used to make her feel like that, but since the war his lack of ambition was like a blanket thrown over her fire. His magical power had been awesome, and she had been drawn to that power, to the wonder of it, to the adventure, from the first time Zollin had revealed his magic to her in Tranaugh Shire. Yet now he seemed like a meek conjurer. He was still powerful to be sure, but his strength was only a shadow of its former might. She was certain that she was much more powerful than Zollin was. Her ability to conjure and control fire was truly like one of the magnificent mountains they both loved so much, while his magical ability had been reduced to the proverbial mole hill.

It wasn’t Zollin’s fault; in fact he’d sacrificed his power and nearly his life to stop the witch. He had emptied himself out to make the Five Kingdoms safe again from the evil the witch had summoned, yet she couldn’t help but miss the sense of wonder and awe that his magical strength had made her feel. And now they were going to have a baby together, a fact that was both thrilling and terrifying. Brianna was confident she could be a good mother; she just wasn’t sure she wanted to be. She didn’t want to be tied down. She would never be content to simply live out the rest of her days in the little cottage by the river. And she refused to believe that the most exciting times of her life were behind her.

The shadows were growing long by the time she finished rehashing what was becoming a common mental debate. She looked around the clearing but there was no sign of Zollin. She knew he could take care of himself, and while she loved the dwarves and felt at home in their wondrous caverns, she wanted Zollin to do something. She wanted him to be reminded that their lives were bigger than everyone else's. He was the wizard of Yelsia, and she was a Fire Spirit. They had so much to offer the world, and yet he seemed content to tinker in his workshop all day long, day after day.

She was so caught up in her thoughts that she didn’t see the attack until it was already on top of her. Zollin had told Brianna about the tree people that had attacked him and Mansel in the forest, but until that moment she had thought he was exaggerating. She hadn’t noticed the trees moving closer. Most of the trees around the clearing were thick oak and ancient-looking maple trees, but among them had come thin trees, most with white bark and flaking patches of papery brown strips that were peeling off their trunks. At first they merely looked like young trees, but then Brianna saw them moving, and not just swaying in the wind. They were walking. Their roots were feet and their branches were arms and they swarmed into the clearing. They were coming for her.

Chapter 9

“Can you help me?” Lorik asked.

“It is time you took up your mantle,” Hennick said.

“So you’ll help?”

“Our magic cannot abide in you, Great One,” the chieftain of the Drery Drew said. “Only our wisdom.”

“I thought you said I should seek magic.”

“Yes, you have been touched. You will be drawn to magic and magic to you. Our power was given for a season, but you are not Drery Dru. Our strength must not carry you forever, Lorik. It is time you discovered your own magic.”

“But I don’t know magic,” Lorik argued. “I don’t need riddles, Hennick, please.”

“The power of the King Tree can only be possessed by those with the gift for both ruling and magic. In ancient times the races were divided, but soon it became necessary for some to bridge the races. Only those destined to rule could bring the races together, and magic was the sign given so that all would know those who were set apart. Our magic would not have saved you after your fall from the King Tree if you had not been worthy. And you will not find peace until you find the power that will usher in your reign.”

“So I need to look for magic?”

“Magic is all around us. It is the song of the Creator.”

“It’s here?” Lorik asked. “How do I find it?”

“It will find you,” Hennick said.

The little elf was almost like a toddler. His chubby face was bright and expectant, but Lorik recognized the look in the chieftain’s eyes. The conversation was over, and there would be no further explanation, no matter how hard Lorik tried to steer the conversation.

“What will happen to the King Tree while I’m gone?” Lorik asked.

“It will grow, as all things in the forest do.”

“Then I will go and seek out… my destiny.”

“No need to seek your destiny,” Hennick said. “It is inescapable.”

Lorik stood up, trying not to let his exasperation show on his face. All around him the elves were busy. The Drery Dru were a industrious race, always coaxing the massive redwood trees to grow into the forms and shapes to fit their needs. They ate mostly fruit, and Lorik would be glad to have some ale and meat when he left the forest. Still, there was peace that he experienced among the tree elves that he couldn’t find anywhere else. He was loath to leave, although he knew he must. Still, he couldn’t help but dread what he would find outside of the Wilderlands.

The Drery Dru had an intricate pathway through the forest’s canopy, and although it was crafted for the tiny elves that had no fear of heights, it was strong enough for Lorik to traverse. He made his way from one massive tree to the next. In the canopy of each, hidden from the ground by the tree’s great height and massive branches, were small villages. Each clan of the Drery Dru had a tree which they cultivated to grow so that their homes and shops were part of the living tree. It was wondrous to behold such incredible craftsmanship. And the fact that the entire forest was full of such villages, all built without a metal tool, or cutting the wood in any way, was almost too incredible to believe.

Before Lorik had fought the foul wizard that had tried to steal his magic, he had been gifted with incredible strength, speed, and stamina by the Drery Dru. He could run the entire length of the Wilderlands in a day, without stopping. Unfortunately, he had never regained his enhanced physical abilities and was forced to stop frequently to rest. He was glad that Hennick’s home was less than a day’s walk to the southern edge of the Wilderlands.

The Drery Dru had retreated into the forest as the Wilderlands slowly shrank over the years. The massive trees were too large to be cut down by the Ortisians that lived close to the ancient forest, but the consolidation of magic under the wizards of the Torr had kept the Wilderlands from expanding. It took Lorik an hour to walk out of the forest once he was lowered to the ground at the edge of the Drery Dru occupied trees. The sun had almost set by the time he came out onto the rolling plain that met the forest.

In the distance he could see the sprawl of the city that was growing up among the ruins of one of the fortresses that had been destroyed by the Norsik raiders. A tall watchtower had been built, and the beginning of a wall was in place, but Lorik couldn’t help but compare the way humans built to the magical cities of the Drery Dru. The Ortisian city was cluttered, dirty, and ugly. The only consolation was that steps were being taken to protect the people who would call the city their home. When the Norsik invaded again, which was only a matter of time, the townsfolk would have a place to shelter.

Lorik was proud of his friends, who had taken on the challenge of helping to build the fortress. It was fully dark by the time Lorik reached the city, but he immediately noticed the festive atmosphere. Most of the people working to build the fortress were survivors, first of the invasion and then of the Witch's War. They all seemed genuinely happy, despite the rigors of the labor. He was recognized and greeted warmly by the people who had not yet turned in for the night.