Into Chaos

by Toby Neighbors

  He kicked the man trying to unseat him from his horse with a hard boot to the man’s face. Mansel saw the man drop into the mud beside the horse, then Quinn drew the throwing knives he kept in the hidden sheath at the small of his back. The first knife flew true and caught one of the outlaws who was running toward him. It sank into the man’s gut, and the outlaw dropped with a bloodcurdling shriek. When Quinn tried to throw the other knife with his other hand, he nearly toppled out of the saddle. The knife fell well short of the mark, and the older man struggled to keep his seat on the horse.

  Mansel drew his sword and held it high, screaming a battle cry of his own as he charged toward the outlaws. With two of their own down, the remaining two men decided to cut their losses and retreated, dragging their fallen comrades back toward the grove of trees. Mansel reined in his horse and circled around Quinn, still alert for danger, but there was none.

  “Are you okay?” Mansel asked.

  “Fine,” Quinn said irritably while holding his hand tight against his side.

  “You’ve aggravated those ribs again.”

  “I did more than that to those fools.”

  Mansel stepped down off his horse and picked up the throwing knife that was lying on the ground a few steps from Quinn’s horse. The other knife was still in the outlaw’s belly that had been dragged away.

  “Here,” Mansel said, handing the knife back to Quinn. “You did well.”

  “No thanks to you,” the older man muttered.

  Mansel hadn’t eaten all day and he felt lightheaded as the excitement wore off. He decided to walk for a while and led his horse beside Quinn’s. They came to a village shortly after nightfall and took a room at the small inn that was little more than a large house on the roadside.

  As they ate, Mansel sipped ale and watched Quinn. There were no other guests at the small establishment. It was a quiet place, a tad rundown in Mansel's opinion, but the food was passable.

  Mansel was surprised at how his mentor had handled himself against the group of highwaymen. Quinn had always been a good fighter, but killing wasn’t something that he did without feeling the weight of his actions, yet he sat in the common room eating and drinking as if nothing had happened. That loss of emotion bothered Mansel more than everything that had happened to Quinn up to that point. It was as if the man Mansel knew and loved was slowly slipping away to be replaced by a cold, passionless killer. More than ever, Mansel knew he had to get Quinn help as soon as he possibly could. His only hope was that Zollin might be in Orrock, and if the young wizard wasn’t there, it was possible his father would be lost.

  Chapter 23

  Lorik was as stealthy as a shadow, and Spector was completely invisible as they moved across the dark landscape. Not that there was anyone nearby to see or hear them, but Lorik felt a sense of danger growing as they got nearer to the capital. They saw the soldiers and their camp from a long distance away. Whoever was leading them was taking no chances. Lorik stopped several hundred feet away from the line of sentries that protected the camp.

  “I’ve never seen such a well manned perimeter guard,” Lorik said.

  “These are not common soldiers,” Spector agreed.

  “I can’t fathom how we can even get close without being seen. There is no way we can attack them without raising the guard.”

  “No way for you,” Spector said. “None of those fools are looking up.”

  “Good idea,” Lorik said.

  “You have a plan?”

  “Actually I do. But it doesn’t involve you, at least not directly. I want you to find out what is going on inside the city.”

  “I’m more useful to you inside the camp,” Spector hissed.

  Lorik didn’t miss the anger in the wraith’s voice. He didn’t like being used as a spy. The ghostly entity preferred to be involved in conflict directly, but Lorik needed to know what he was facing. And while the soldiers in the camp were well organized and ready for a sneak attack, they weren’t invulnerable.

  “Don’t worry, you’ll be back before things get dicey here. I only plan to sting them a little and make them nervous. A sleepless night before battle won’t do them any favors.”

  “You plan to fight them head on?”

  “In the morning,” Lorik said. “Just you and me.”

  “Excellent,” Spector said.

  “I’m glad you agree—now find out what’s going on inside the city.”

  The wraith glided away. Lorik felt his friend flying up into the air, moving toward the city as Lorik turned and ran back toward his own camp. His plan involved a little misdirection, and for that he needed the Outcasts.

  When he reached his own camp, he sent for the leaders of the Outcasts. Two of the misshapen figures had taken on the responsibility of looking out for the others. One was from the group of villagers; his name was Yorry. The other was a woman, from the second group of Outcasts. She was hideous to look at, her face twisted by the witch’s magic into a lumpy mass with one eye permanently swollen shut. Still, she was smart, organized, and knew everyone in the camp by name. She was called Kora, although most of the Outcasts called her Mother.

  “What is it?” Yorry asked.

  “Danger?” Kora asked.

  “Not yet, but I need your help,” Lorik explained.

  “We aren’t fighters,” Yorry said. “Not many of us at any rate.”

  “Yes, I know that and I don’t need you to fight. But I need you to pretend to fight.”

  “What do you mean?” Kora asked.

  “I want you to wake everyone, line them up for battle, and give those on the front weapons.”

  “This sounds suspiciously like you want us to fight,” Kora said.

  “No,” Lorik explained. “I just need you to be seen. I’ll show you where to form up. You’ll be in sight, but too far away to be in danger. I’m going to attack the soldiers all night; by morning they’ll be exhausted, scared, and expecting an attack. When they see you, they’ll naturally expect that I’m leading you against them. When they form up to attack you—which I’m guessing they’ll do; otherwise what is the point of being outside the city walls?—it will give me the perfect opportunity to attack their flank.”

  “You really plan to attack them alone?”

  “They won’t expect it,” Lorik said. “But it won’t be the first time I’ve taken on entire armies. If for some reason my flanking attack doesn’t stop them, then retreat. Don’t let them get close enough to engage you.”

  “You won’t need help?” Yorry asked.

  “No, by that point I’ll be dead. No sense in fighting for me then,” Lorik said jovially.

  “I don’t think that’s funny,” Kora said. “Why fight at all? We could go south together.”

  “And just wait for the northern armies to come wipe us out? You do realized that will happen, don’t you? There is no place for someone who is different in the minds of some people. We must make them see that we are strong. If we’re to have any kind of life, we must strike first and strike such a blow that no one in their right mind ever considers the idea of attacking us again.”

  The two Outcasts looked at each other, then nodded.

  “We’ll have everyone ready,” Yorry said.

  “Good, Toomis will show you where to go once everyone is moving. In the meantime, I’ll make sure the soldiers get no rest tonight.”

  Lorik gave orders to Toomis, who was already nervous. Most of the young soldiers were just waiting for their chance to slip away in the darkness. Toomis seemed committed to Lorik, but the self-declared king could take no chances. So he gave Toomis orders but didn’t fill him in on the plan. Then he went to the weapon horde that they had taken from the mercenaries. There were several bows in the collection of weapons, but Lorik only needed one. He did, however, take all of the quivers of arrows, six in all, each one with well over two dozen arrows. He slung the quivers over his shoulder and jogged back toward the army camped outside Ort City.

  It was past midnight wh
en Lorik finally felt ready to begin his assault. At one time he had been proficient with a bow and arrows, but that was long ago, and there had been no need to hone his marksmanship over the last year. Still, he was confident that he could hit his target, as long as he could gauge the distance accurately in the darkness.

  He could see the soldiers standing duty around the camp very clearly. Their commander had set up tall torches that were driven into the ground along the sentry line. There were two torches between every soldier, the light creating a barrier around the camp that would make it impossible to slip through without being seen. But the torches also made anything beyond their ring of light invisible in the darkness, while illuminating the soldiers perfectly.

  The dark magic in Lorik reaffirmed his aim as he drew the first arrow back and aimed high into the sky. Lorik knew the draw weight on the bow was high—he guessed sixty or seventy pounds—but with his magically enhanced strength, it was almost like he was playing with a child’s toy. When he released the bowstring, the arrow shot into the darkness so quickly that Lorik felt a thrill at the missile’s deadly potential. He was far enough away that he had time to lower the bow and watch the result of his shot. He could feel the arrow flying through the air. The soldier he had aimed at shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Then the arrow hit the man in the center of his chest. With his senses enhanced by the dark magic, Lorik knew that the arrow had shattered the soldier’s breastbone and stopped his heart instantly.

  The guard fell to the ground, and the next soldier, who was at least thirty paces away, called to him. After a moment, another shout sounded, and Lorik knew the alarm was being raised. He jogged forward, moving away from the fallen soldier until he could take aim at another sentry. This time the arrow hit lower, sinking into the soldier’s stomach. He fell with a scream that echoed across the distance. Lorik felt a grim satisfaction with his shot, but the darkness inside him seemed to exalt in the deadly carnage he was creating.

  The soldiers were shocked at first. The attack was completely one-sided. Lorik could see his targets well illuminated by their torches, while he was completely hidden in the darkness. Orders were shouted as still more men fell prey to Lorik’s deadly aim. He fired the arrows a little more quickly once panic started to set in, but then the commander of the soldiers took control of the situation. He called his men back, away from the light of their sentry line. It was a good tactic, but lanterns and fires in the camp still made the soldiers visible to Lorik. He could have sensed them in the darkness with his magic, but there was no need. He couldn’t make out individuals, but the soldiers were amassed in dark clumps beyond the line of torchlight.

  Lorik shot more arrows, launching his deadly missiles into the clumps of soldiers one after another until their commander finally ordered them to lock shields. Lorik had worked through nearly half of his supply of arrows before his first miss. The arrow still hit his target, but the soldiers had finally gotten their shields into position. Lorik felt the hollow thump as the arrow smashed into the wooden shield. His internal darkness recoiled in angry disappointment.

  It was time for Lorik to change tactics. He guessed there were only a couple of hours of darkness left to him, and it was time that he tested out his new powers. Freezing the outspoken soldier had been a strange surprise. It wasn’t the first time that Lorik had used magic, and it had come to him in the heat of the moment, almost involuntarily. But now he needed to work magic in a more proactive way.

  First, he focused on his magical senses. He didn’t know what he was doing exactly, but he could feel the fear and frustration of the enemy soldiers. It was like being near the embers of a fire. He couldn’t see the flames, but he could feel the heat. What he needed to do was focus on his magic, shifting his awareness from the group to the individuals. It wasn’t as easy as he had hoped, but eventually he could make out a much smaller group of men. The magic was powerful; he could sense the individual heartbeats of each soldier as they waited in the darkness, huddled behind their shields, to see what deadly attack was coming next.

  Lorik raised his bow again and released an arrow. The sliver of deadly wood and steel whistled through the darkness. Lorik felt it as the arrow crested in mid-air, then began streaking down toward the huddle of soldiers. This time Lorik didn’t just wait for the result, he guided it. There were small gaps between the men’s shields. To Lorik it was a bit like walking through a familiar room in the darkness. He knew where things were, knew where he wanted the arrow to go, he just had to will it into the exact spot.

  His magical senses picked up the adjustments he was making with the arrow as it fell, and the incredible power gave Lorik a thrill. Then the arrow struck, glancing off the edge of a shield and then slamming into one man’s side. There was a scream of pain, then yelling and shouting as the men around their fallen comrade tried to close the gap in their shield wall. Lorik couldn’t help but chuckle with excitement, but not over the mortal wound his arrow had caused. He didn’t revel in death and took no satisfaction from killing, despite the fact that the darkness inside him fed off the carnage, growing stronger from the chaos around him. It was the heady sense of power he could now wield that made Lorik smile. He wasn’t just a magical vessel anymore, not just a supernaturally powerful warrior. He was becoming a wizard in his own way now, a wielder of the power that resided in him.

  He fired more arrows, keeping up the magical assault until it was almost dawn and he had exhausted his supply of arrows. Spector returned, and in the predawn gloom, Lorik sensed the Outcasts moving into position. It was almost time for the battle to begin in earnest, and Lorik felt the familiar sense of anxiety-tinged excitement.

  “The commander in the city is none other than Ricard’s successor,” Spector said in a gravelly whisper. “He has been alerted to your presence.”

  “By the deserters?” Lorik asked.

  “By his commander, who you’ve been torturing all night,” Spector said. “The gates are closed, and the city walls manned by no less than five hundred Basklian soldiers.”

  “So it’s all true,” Lorik said.

  “Indeed… What is your plan?”

  “There is no plan,” Lorik said as he drew his sword. “Just kill until they flee or they’re all dead.”

  The first rays of dawn turned the sky into a pearly gray. The dark shapes on the open plain began to take on recognizable dimensions. Lorik could see the commander of the group of soldiers forming his troops into battle lines. In the distance the Outcasts were visible. Lorik and Spector stayed low to the ground. If anyone was looking their way, they would only appear to be a bush or shrub, since no one would consider just two people to be a threat to a force of nearly five hundred armed soldiers.

  “Shall we attack?” Spector asked.

  “No, we need to wait,” Lorik said.

  “Wait for what?”

  “Wait for their commander to take the bait.”

  From where Lorik waited, he could sense the tension of the soldiers easing slightly. They could see the Outcasts, who were formidable in size, but not in numbers. There were just over a hundred of the mutated people, while over four hundred of the soldiers from Baskla had survived the night. Lorik could feel the fatigue and fear of battle from the soldiers. He could also sense that their commander was ordering them to pursue the Outcasts. Once the orders were given and the soldiers began move forward, Lorik knew his time had come.

  “We move silently around behind them,” he told Spector. “Then attack from the rear.”

  “Excellent,” the wraith whispered.

  Lorik didn’t have to ask if his friend was ready. The time for preparation was past, just as it was for second-guessing his plan. The only thing left to do was move forward and kill as many enemy soldiers as he could. Then he could take back the city that had once again fallen into enemy hands.

  “Now?” Spector asked.

  “Now!” Lorik agreed.

  And the two of them rushed toward the army from Baskla with no thou
ght other than slaughtering their enemies to the last man.

  Chapter 24

  Images flashed in Zollin’s groggy mind. He saw Ferno. The green dragon’s body was twisted and broken, blood oozed from cuts and scrapes, but the broken wing was the worst sight. The dragon wing was made of an extremely tough, leathery hide that was stretched between the thick upper wing bones and the thin lower bones. Ferno’s lower wing bones were broken completely in two, and the wing was ripped all the way up to the fractured upper bone.

  Then darkness shut out the world again. The next image was of the gargoyles, a small army of the gray-skinned creatures. They were carrying Zollin, his arms and legs tied to a long wooden pole of some sort. His joints ached, and his neck felt as if the bones were grating together. The gargoyles had no emotion and made no noise. They walked tirelessly with their prize through the forest.

  The next thing Zollin saw was the forest itself. The terrain was rough, steep hills, rocky ravines, all covered in gnarly trees, thick weeds, loose rocks, and scrubby bushes. He felt glad that he wasn’t having to march through such rough countryside.

  Then he saw the castle, or what was left of it. It was dark; the pitted stone was covered with moss and spreading vines. Zollin wouldn’t have given the ancient structure much thought had they flown over it. It was completely unremarkable, just an abandoned structure that had long ago been overrun by the forest. But then he felt the evil from inside the ruins. He could feel the cold, desperate sense of magic that was as old as the ruins themselves. It was an ancient evil, something Zollin had never experienced. His own magic was sometimes rambunctious, the thrill of power intoxicating, but he never considered his magic to be sentient. What he felt from the ruins was like a living creature that emanated evil, but the consciousness was magic of some form.