“I can get it,” Jax said. “I’ve got coin saved.”
“You’re a resourceful person,” Zollin said. “If anyone can find it, you can. And if you can find it, it is yours by right.”
Jax was beaming, but Zollin felt a pang of guilt. He tried not to consider the fact that he’d just encouraged Jax to search for something he could probably never find if he spent the rest of his life searching. Not to mention the fact that it was just as likely that Jax would never return from the Northern Highlands as it was for him to find the bow.
Chapter 17
Lorik was up before dawn, waking his soldiers and giving assignments. He was only taking a small group with him, some of the youngest and most inexperienced men. All of his soldiers were lacking in warcraft, but a long hard ride would give him a chance to test the mettle of the soldiers he thought the least of. If they couldn’t keep up and learn along the way, he would release them and send them home.
Lorik didn’t expect to need help fighting Ulber and his group of mercenaries. Pyllvar was the figurehead of the band of outlaws, but Ulber was the driving force. It was Ulber who had been the biggest threat when Lorik had been their prisoner, and it had been Ulber’s arrow that struck down Stone before he could rescue Vera.
Spector stayed close to Lorik. It was obvious that the wraith didn’t enjoy being out in the daylight, but he wouldn’t be left behind either. He glided silently around Lorik, the dark hood hiding his features and making him seem all the more ominous. The horses didn’t seem to like Spector any more than the men, and the wraith had no need for one, but Lorik had selected a large draft horse for his own mount. He could have jogged faster than the horse, and probably for as long as the horse could keep moving as well, but he wanted to lead his soldiers and he knew they couldn’t keep up with him. The horse would slow Lorik’s natural pace, giving the men and their own mounts the opportunity to stay with him.
“Are you all ready?” Lorik asked.
“We are, sire,” said a soldier named Toomis. He was eager to please his new lord and seemed to be happy for the opportunity to be of use. He was a thin man, so young the whiskers that sprouted from his chin and upper lip were thin and wispy.
“Do you have food, water, weapons, blankets, medical supplies, and grooming supplies for your horses?”
The soldiers all looked suddenly uncertain and nervous. Lorik frowned. He had expected as much and had already seen to it that the supplies were prepared. Castle servants had loaded nearly two dozen saddlebags with all the supplies the troop would need.
“Never trust someone else to ensure that you have what you need before setting out on a mission. I have your supplies. What about your weapons?”
“We have spears, lord,” said one of the men.
“And swords,” another man chimed in.
“But no shields? No armor?”
“No, sire,” Toomis said.
“Well, you won’t need armor on this mission,” Lorik said. “It will only slow you down, and I doubt many of you will be able to keep up for long at any rate. But you must carry shields. The weight of a shield must be learned, and your arm must be strengthened if it is to be of any use. Fetch shields from the armory, and don’t let me see you without a shield on your arm again. Is that clear?”
“Yes, lord!” the soldiers shouted.
An hour later they rode out of the city’s main gate, just as the sun was peeking over the horizon. Lorik was glad to be out of the city and looking forward to the open road. Ort City was full of bad memories, and he didn’t think he would be able to stay there for long under any circumstances. His mind was already thinking of moving his capital. Blue Harbor, on the coast of the Great Sea of Kings, seemed like a much more ideal location. It was further south, but it would give him easier access to the other kingdoms by sea, and it was the southern portion of Ortis that had been the hardest hit by the witch’s monsters. Lorik planned to spend the majority of his energy rebuilding in the south.
Once they were out of the city and past the sprawl of homes, shops, hovels, and small farms that surrounded the city, Lorik increased their pace. His big horse had no problems keeping up a steady trot, and the horses of his men followed behind. When Lorik looked back, he had to refrain from smiling. Many of the soldiers were trying to balance their shields on their thighs as they rode, but the increased gait caused the heavy wooden shields to bounce. Many, he knew, wouldn’t be able to walk the next day without pain. The shields were made of oak, covered with stiff leather that was painted in the colors of Ortis’ flag, and rimmed in iron. The shields would leave the soldiers with bruised legs if they weren’t careful.
The day was chilly, but riding through the wide open fields was invigorating to Lorik. They moved south at a steady pace, which Lorik guessed would lead them to Ulber and his band of mercenaries within a few days. They stopped only long enough to dismount and retrieve some food from their saddlebags at noon, then they walked their horses until the sun was almost down.
“Will you stop for the night?” Spector hissed.
“You tired?”
“No.”
“Neither am I,” Lorik said. “We press on.”
Lorik could sense the despair in several of his soldiers. They had expected Lorik to stop as night began to fall. They passed a swift river, but Lorik only stopped long enough to water their horses. There was grumbling as they rode into the night, but the men were smart enough to keep their voices low.
The next morning, several of the soldiers looked physically ill, but once again Lorik only stopped long enough to eat a short meal. They lit no fires and had only moments of rest before setting off again. The horses were tired as well; many of them moved with their heads mere inches from the ground.
At noon Lorik called a halt. They were near a small settlement, and smoke was rising from several buildings that had been burned. He gave his men orders to see to their horses and then get some rest. He gave no promises as to how long they would stay, but while the men slept, Lorik and Spector searched through the ruins of the small settlement.
At one time the village had been home to farmers. There were several small homes, most made of stone with thatched roofs. The thatch was either broken down or burned away. There were cattle pens, and the smell suggested hogs had been among the animals raised there, but no animals remained. The fields beyond the village had recently been harvested.
“People were living here,” Spector said.
“I can see that. But where are they now?”
“Dead,” the wraith said. “I can still feel the fear and pain in this place. It hangs in the air like the stench from your marshes.”
Lorik had been born and raised in Hassell Point on the southern tip of Ortis, surrounded by the marshlands, a swampy stretch of land that was home to a wide variety of exotic and deadly creatures. It was perpetually wet in the marshlands; much of the land was either under water or saturated to form bogs that were deadly to cross unless one knew the more secure pathways. Lorik and his family before him had made a living hauling cargo in large wagons through the marshlands.
“How recent?” Lorik asked.
“The attack was more than a day ago, but I can’t be certain,” Spector said. “Many of the people here died slowly.”
“Where?” Lorik asked.
The wraith glided ahead of him. The main building in the village was a round, rock-walled building. It was taller than any of the other structures, and unlike the small hovels and shops, it had not been burned. Spector waited by a large door that was bolted closed from the outside.
“They’re inside,” the wraith hissed.
Lorik threw aside the heavy beam that had been propped against the door and pulled it open. The stench of death was so strong that Lorik gagged. Inside the round building were the bodies of thirty-one people, but not normal bodies. They were the mutated forms that had been created by the witch as she built her army. She had unleashed flying creatures with huge scorpion tails that chased down th
e innocent, skewering them with their venomous stingers and carrying them back to the witch’s lair. She used evil magic to mutate their bodies, so that they were larger and more powerful than a normal man. The witch used her sorceress powers to control the deformed people, forming them into an army and sending them north to kill anyone who stood in their way. When the witch had been slain, her control over the hordes of mutated people was lost, and many fled south, away from the people lucky enough to evade the scorpion creatures to begin with.
The people in Ortis had taken to calling the mutated people Outcasts. Some had attempted to make contact with the survivors but had been shunned. Lorik felt his anger rising. This was the work Yettlebor had sent his mercenaries to do, and it made no difference to the outlaws if the people they killed were women or children. Everyone who looked different was rounded up and put to the sword.
“Their cruelty continues,” Spector said.
“But not for long,” Lorik vowed.
He spent the entire afternoon gathering the wood from the village that wasn’t already burned. He stacked the wood in the round building, along with several bales of hay. Then he set it all on fire. The rock-walled structure burned like a forge, the fire consuming everything inside. As night fell, the flames leapt high in the air.
“Time to move on,” Lorik said.
“How many will follow you?” Spector asked.
“Only those with the heart,” Lorik said. “They’re the only ones I want at any rate.”
When they got back to the camp, all of the soldiers were asleep. Lorik roused them and told them to saddle their horses.
“But the horses can’t keep going?” complained one of the men.
“The horses can’t, or you can’t?” Lorik snarled. “Move, you lazy louts, or your backsides will feel the wrath of my boot.”
Most of the group scrambled to their feet, but a few were simply too tired. There were tears and accusations, but Lorik simply broke their spears, cast their shields aside, and took their horses. None were brave enough or foolish enough to try and stop him. When the rest of the group rode away, three men were left alone, with no food, weapons, or horses.
The night passed slowly for Lorik. He was anxious to catch up with the mercenaries. But when the sun finally rose, there was still no sign of the outlaws. He cursed under his breath, his anger making him wish he could just leave the soldiers behind, but that wouldn’t serve his purposes. He let them rest for a few hours and even lay down himself for a while, but sleep would not come. In his mind’s eye, all he could see were the slain Outcast bodies. His rage grew with every passing moment, and Spector circled the camp endlessly, with no need for sleep or sustenance, only an enemy to kill that might slake the pain of having lost Vera.
Chapter 18
Zollin knew he should sleep when he got to his room. He was exhausted, but he had to force himself to rest. He secured the book the scholars had given him in his pack, wrapping it in the fine linen shirt that Estry had given him. Then he stretched out on the small bed and did his best to sleep.
He dozed off and on, his mind flittering from one topic to the next. He felt as if the future of the Five Kingdoms had been wrecked when he didn’t go with the wizards from the Torr. The cabal of wizards might have strangled the magic from the Five Kingdoms, but they also allowed the kingdoms to exist in a state of equality and balance that was shattered by the Witch’s War.
Then worry for Brianna rose up like a horrible odor he couldn’t escape from. Where had a phoenix come from, and why had it attacked Sorva? What if more creatures attacked them? What if something horrible happened to Brianna and right at that moment she was in desperate need of him?
As soon as he wrestled those thoughts down, he felt guilty for having encouraged Jax to seek out the bow Brianna had lost. It was a fool’s quest, and the duke would never approve, yet Zollin had encouraged the boy. He had no business giving anyone advice about anything. Zollin wanted to get up and find Jax, to convince him that chasing after the magical bow was stupidity and that he should never listen to Zollin, yet he forced himself to stay in the bed.
When dawn finally came and a servant knocked lightly at the door, Zollin dragged himself from the bed. The servant led Zollin down to a small room near the kitchens on the main floor of the castle. Jax and the duke waited for him there. They shared a warm breakfast and then led horses out of the castle and away from the keep.
“I thought we’d ride with you for a while,” the duke said.
“He wants to see the dragon,” Jax said with a smile.
“No more than you do,” the duke said with a grin. “We aren’t holding you up, are we?”
“Not at all—the company is welcome,” Zollin said.
They rode for two miles, following the same road that led across Yelsia and turned northeast toward Black Bay across the border in Baskla. Once they were far enough from the keep that only the tall watchtower could be seen in the distance, Ferno appeared. The huge green dragon circled them once and then landed on the road in front of the group. Their horses were skittish around the hulking, green dragon, so the duke tied the mounts to a nearby tree.
Zollin felt Ferno’s uneasiness. The dragon was fretful, but Zollin sent calm feelings toward his huge companion. As Jax and the duke came close, Zollin raised his hand toward Ferno.
“This is Duke Ebbson and Jax. They are friends,” Zollin said to Ferno.
“Friends,” Ferno growled.
“They talk?” the duke said in surprise.
“Indeed,” Zollin said. “It isn’t their primary way to communicate, but they can form words when they want to show respect.”
“It is my great honor to meet you, Ferno,” Jax said; his enthusiasm was infectious.
The dragon lowered its head, puffing smoke from its wide nostrils as Jax came close.
“Whoa,” he said.
“Ferno is the biggest of Brianna’s pride,” Zollin explained. “Each dragon is different. Their scales are almost impenetrable, and they are many different colors and shades.”
“It is a privilege to meet such a noble creature,” the duke said. “I extend my Keep to you and your pride. Ebbson Castle will welcome the dragons.”
“Welcome,” Ferno said.
Zollin got a mental image of Ferno flying away from the duke with Zollin on his back. He nodded at the dragon and turned to Duke Ebbson.
“I’m afraid we need to go, but I should be passing back through in a week or so.”
“I’ll have dispatches ready for delivery to King Hausey,” the duke said. “Remember our conversation and keep your guard up.”
“I will, and thank you again for your hospitality.”
Zollin turned to find Jax rubbing Ferno’s neck. The teenager was enthralled by the huge dragon, and Ferno seemed to recognize a kindred spirit in Jax. Zollin tightened his grip on his pack and levitated himself up onto the dragon’s back. His companions from Ebbson Keep watched in awe, then backed away as Ferno unfurled the huge wings and waved them around. Once the duke and Jax were clear, Ferno jumped into the air and flew northeast. They didn’t follow the road exactly, since they didn’t want to be seen. They avoided settlements as they traveled and made camp along the Black River, south of Nockles, a large city on the northern end of the river.
The terrain in Baskla was vastly different from Yelsia. The farther east they traveled, the more rough and steep the hills became. They weren’t mountains, but the large hills were covered with rocky slopes, gnarly vegetation, and sparsely populated woods. Most of the people living in Baskla stayed near the coast lines. Baskla’s eastern coast ran along the Northern Sea that separated Baskla from Shuklan. To the south Baskla wrapped around the top of the Great Sea of Kings that lay at the heart of the Five Kingdoms and allowed for rapid trade between them.
The Black River ran through a deep gorge, and Zollin made camp high up on the hillside. They found a sheltered place to spend the night, with trees on either side and the hill at their backs. Zol
lin gathered wood and started a fire using magic, while Ferno hunted through the woods. There was ample game, but the huge dragon had to wait for something to move out of the densely treed forest and into a space big enough for the dragon to land in.
As Zollin studied the book the scholars had given him, he felt a growing sense of the evil magic he had felt spreading through the kingdoms. There was something magical in Baskla, but Zollin didn’t know if it was a magic user or some type of magical creature. All he could sense for certain was the cold, repulsive sense of evil. It was like the smell of rotten meat that had been left out in the sun. Zollin’s first instinct was to get away from the sense of evil, but it pervaded everything, almost making him feel sick to his stomach.
He drank some wine that he had stored in his pack, but didn’t feel like eating. For the first hour after they made camp, Zollin pored over the book of translations the scholars had given him. Most of the pages he read were reports of dragons and other mythical creatures. There was even a story about a phoenix, although the information was little more than common folklore about the creatures.
Then Zollin came to a longer treatise on dragons. It began with a history of human interactions with dragons; oral histories recorded the first dragons being made by a magic user to help fight against dark elves. Zollin wasn’t sure if the translated scroll was anything other than another fable at first, but then the treatise reported on the fascination that dragons have with gold. According to the ancient writing, dragons were drawn to gold because their hearts were made from gold. For a time the beasts were hunted and killed for their large hearts that were said to be the purest form of gold and more valuable than the rarest gems. It was also noted that gold had a healing effect on dragons, not only mending wounds but prolonging their lives so that some dragons were known to have lived for centuries.
But the most alarming fact from the translated scroll was the concept of dragon control. Because dragons were so powerfully affected by gold, some believed that dragons could be controlled by inscribing the name of a dragon inside a golden crown. In fact, the first crowns ever worn by kings were actually designed to give the ruler power over dragons. The reports were archaic and sometimes difficult to understand, but Zollin realized that Offendorl must have discovered Bartoom’s name, which gave him control over the dragon. Zollin felt a sudden sense of fear that he had shared Ferno’s name with so many people. If any of them found out that they could control Ferno simply by inscribing his name into a gold circlet and wearing it on their heads, then the powerful creature was in danger.
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