He dipped his shoulder, letting Amvyr’s body slide to the ground. He felt relief from the weight of the girl, but he still wasn’t sure if he had the strength to carry the heavy bags of gold coins up the winding staircase. But he had just enough of the velvet rope left to tie Amvyr’s body to his own. Then he slapped her cheeks lightly until her eyes fluttered open and she groaned.
“Get up,” he said. “You’re walking now.”
She tried to run away, but he was ready for that, wrenching her arm hard and pushing her back into the wall. Her hands were tied, but she tried to hurt him until he was forced to slap her hard across the face. She stared at him with wide, tearful eyes but stopped resisting.
“We’re going up, but we’re tied together. So if I fall, you fall—get it?”
She nodded but didn’t speak. He turned her body so that he was right behind her, one hand on the velvet rope that supported the gold bags, the other on her arm.
“Let’s go.”
He adjusted the velvet rope across his shoulder, then started up the stairs. It only took minutes before his breathing was labored and he was forced to stop and rest. Keeping his magical shield up and the small floating flame burning was pushing his magical limits. Even still, he continued climbing, forcing himself to keep moving, even if he could only go up a few steps before he had to stop and rest again.
Time seemed to stand still; the bottom and top of the chamber were lost in darkness. All Zollin could do was climb. He tried to count his steps but kept losing track of the numbers. He leaned heavily on the wall and forced himself not to think about falling. Sometimes he was forced to push Amvyr on ahead of him, and other times she moved ahead until the rope pulled taut between them.
“Stop trying to escape, or I’ll tickle your insides with my dagger,” Zollin threatened.
“You wouldn’t dare,” the girl whined.
“At this point I would be glad to unburden myself.”
“Then pick up the pace. I can walk faster than you, even though you nearly cracked my skull open.”
Zollin ignored her and kept climbing.
Amvyr tried every tack, insulting his manhood, being coy, offering him riches, offering him herself, even trying to scare him into believing the roar that kept echoing down the chamber was from a real creature. But Zollin guessed that the girl was bluffing, and he hoped that once he got her away from the castle and the sinister presence inside it, she would be freed of her desire to serve the ancient evil.
The stairs went on and on, until finally Zollin came to a small landing. He couldn’t be sure if it was the same landing that led to the chamber with the stone table, but it was the first sign of progress he’d found. He continued climbing, watching for any sign of the worm creature that had frightened him on his first ascent. The roars grew louder, Amvyr’s struggles more frantic, but Zollin was undeterred. When he saw the light above him, he breathed a sigh of relief. And then the unthinkable happened. A huge serpentine creature moved down into the space just above Zollin.
He was so frightened at first that he froze against the chamber wall. Amvyr screamed as the creature hissed at them. It had rows of long, curving fangs, and wicked looking fans of skin stood out on either side of the beast’s head. Zollin was almost convinced that the beast was real, until the fact that he could see the creature in the darkness struck him.
He could see more than just the head as it swayed from side to side over the empty space in the center of the chamber. He could see the glistening scales across the huge body that descended from the gloom above. They were close enough to the door that Zollin could make it out another quarter-turn up the spiral staircase, but there wasn’t enough light spilling through the crack around the door to illuminate the stairs, much less the monster guarding the door.
“It’s not real,” he said in relief.
“It is!” screamed Amvyr. “You’ll get us both killed, you fool.”
Zollin leaned against the wall and waited until the girl stopped squirming. He lost his grip on her arm at one point, and if their bodies hadn’t been tied together, he was certain she would have tried to push him off the staircase. But he waited her out, the creature swaying and feinting, but not attacking. Zollin let his magic confirm that there was nothing ahead of them but stairs. And so he kept climbing. He looked down, focusing on each step. He felt the air around him moving as the snake creature roared and hissed, threatening to strike, but he refused to look up, even when he heard the snap of the beast’s teeth. When he reached the landing, his hands were shaking almost as bad as his legs, but the creature was gone, and they were alone at the top of the stairs. He pulled the door open and was rewarded with sunlight.
The room beyond the round chamber was a long, wide corridor with narrow windows high up on the ancient castle walls. The sunlight that shone in was already gray and weak from filtering through storm clouds, and most of the windows were covered with vines, but even the smallest bit of sunlight gave Zollin’s spirits a tremendous boost. He wanted to dance and shout in victory over the darkness below but he knew he didn’t have the strength. He would have to get out of the ancient castle and see if he could get the gold to Ferno. Hopefully it would somehow restore the massive dragon.
Zollin sat Amvyr down and slumped against the wall beside her to rest. He couldn’t let go of her, but her strength was feeble compared to the way she’d fought deep in the caverns underneath the castle. Once Zollin felt like his legs were rested enough for the two of them to continue on their way, he stood up, lifting the gold off the floor by means of the velvet rope over his shoulder, and forced Amvyr to walk in front of him. He held onto her arms with both of his hands, afraid that she might try to run away from him since there was no more threat of the two of them falling to their deaths.
They walked to the end of the corridor without incident, but the room beyond was large and dark. Zollin turned to his right, keeping Amvyr in front of him. There were voices in the room, some loud, others mere whispers, and Zollin felt as if he were surrounded by ghosts. Amvyr seemed frightened, too, but Zollin forced them to keep moving until they came to a doorway.
“Let’s try it,” Zollin said, his shoulder aching from the weight of the gold.
“No, I’ll die out there,” Amvyr said.
“You don’t open the door and you’ll die in here—now move,” Zollin ordered.
The door was difficult to open. There were thick vines growing up around the door, but they managed to push it open far enough to slip out into the fading light. It was almost sunset on another gray, snowy day. Zollin felt the cold air, and it seemed to revive him, but as they climbed out of the vines and weeds that grew up around the castle, he realized that they were far from being out of danger. All around them were hundreds of gargoyles.
“I told you we’d die,” Amvyr whined.
The gray-skinned creatures stood as still as statues, their bodies low to the ground, their thickly muscle legs folded to either side, and their spindly arms ready to reach out. Zollin was afraid the creatures would attack, but they didn’t move. Zollin knew he didn’t have the strength to fight off so many of the monsters, and he was about to suggest they try and slip back inside the ancient castle, when an awful scream echoed from the nearby hilltop.
The castle ruins were in a small valley, with steep hills surrounding the overgrown structure. The gargoyles turned and looked up the hill. What Zollin saw surprised him. It was a large creature, vaguely human in shape, but much too wide. It had short arms and legs and a huge head that was almost flat along the top. It bellowed a challenge in a strange tongue that Zollin had never heard before, but he also got the impression that the creature was surrounded by magic. It was similar to the magic of the dragons, not workable magic, just evidence of a magical creature.
The gargoyles forgot about Zollin and Amvyr. Instead, they took to the air, flying toward the creature who disappeared on the far side of the hill. From the long shadows in front of them, Zollin determined that they were facin
g east.
“Come on,” he said. “We need to get out of this valley.”
“Where are you taking me?”
“Back to your father, if you really are who you say you are.”
Amvyr didn’t respond, but she didn’t resist either. Zollin did his best to run, but all he could manage with the heavy sacks of gold was a slow jog. Once they made it over the hill, he had to slow down to a walk. His heart was pounding, and he felt nauseous. Luckily there was a stream in the next ravine. Zollin drank the cold water eagerly, even though his hands were nearly frozen by the icy water.
Amvyr was soon shivering, and Zollin knew that if they didn’t find Ferno soon, they would have to stop and make camp for the night. They couldn’t go on much longer; the princess didn’t even have shoes. He would have carried her if not for the gold, but they pushed on as long as they dared.
There was no light in the cloudy sky, so Zollin kindled his magical flame once more, even though it was a struggle to keep it lit. They walked for nearly an hour before coming into a swath of broken trees. Zollin didn’t want to risk attracting the attention of the gargoyles, but he fed magic into the floating flame until he could see a large form in the distance.
“This way—we’re almost there,” Zollin said.
He still held Amvyr’s arm, and the velvet rope still connected them, but she no longer tried to escape. He could feel her shivering and promised himself that he would warm her as best he could once they reached Ferno.
The green dragon’s hide was turning gray, and Zollin’s breath caught in his throat as he walked up to the massive creature. Ferno wasn’t moving, and Zollin feared that his companion was dead. They had to circle around the dragon’s massive body, but to Zollin’s relief he felt a puff of air from the dragon’s nostrils.
“He lives!” Zollin said, more loudly than he meant.
Dropping the sacks of gold at last, he quickly gathered several broken tree limbs and tried to start a fire. The wood was wet and wouldn’t burn. Zollin’s insides ached, and he felt more hollow than he had in months. He was exhausted, starving, and his magical power was tapped out.
“I can’t get it going,” Zollin said, dropping to his knees.
Amvyr just shivered beside him. Zollin fumbled with the rope, untying it with aching fingers. Then he left the girl beside the dragon and the bags of gold to search in the dark for his pack. He knew it had to be close by, but he couldn’t even kindle the tiny flame anymore. He needed the food that was in his pack if they were going to survive, and Amvyr need the clothes inside it as well. His search lasted nearly half an hour, but eventually he stumbled across the pack.
Even in the darkness he was able to pull the flap back far enough to reach the bread and cheese inside. He stuffed the food into his mouth and chewed so fast he accidentally bit his tongue. It was dark in the woods, but Ferno’s large body stood out among the shadowy trees. Zollin stumbled back and found Amvyr shivering on the ground, her teeth chattering uncontrollably.
The bottle of wine he had carried from Orrock had shattered in the fall, and most of the clothing inside the pack was wet. Zollin offered Amvyr food, but she didn’t respond. He knew he had to get the fire going. If Ferno had been conscious, he could have ignited the wood with a single breath, but Zollin had to dig deep into his magical reservoir to find the power to overcome the saturated wood.
After eating several more bites, Zollin concentrated on the pile of wood. He smelled smoke and heard a crackle after several minutes of effort. Soon the fire was burning brightly, and Zollin sat next to Amvyr, warming his hands and hoping he wasn’t too late to help Ferno.
Amyvr groaned as the heat from the fire began to warm her body. She held her hands and feet as close to the flames as she could. Zollin continued to eat. He was still exhausted, but the pain from his magic vanished. He knew he could curl up beside the fire and sleep, but if he did, the fire might burn out, and he couldn’t risk that happening. And he wouldn’t let himself rest until he had tried to help Ferno.
“Ripper,” he said to the dragon. “Can you hear me? Can you wake up?”
Zollin wasn’t sure if using the dragon’s name might have helped, but he wasn’t willing to take the risk. Amvyr had ceased her efforts to get back to the evil that dwelled inside the castle ruins, but Zollin wasn't ready to trust her with Ferno’s freedom. He picked up one of the bags of gold and opened it. The coins glinted in the light from the fire.
Zollin carried the bag of gold to Ferno’s backside and poured some of the coins onto the dragon’s wounds along the massive haunches. Then he took the rest and poured it over Ferno’s broken wing. He added the second bag to the first but saved a few handfuls of the coins to spread out on the dragon’s face. Zollin had no idea if what he was doing would help the dragon. There had been no diagrams or explanations of how gold healed the magical creatures, only that it was believed to have healing powers over them.
Finally he gathered more wood. When he finished his labors, he found Amvyr asleep by the fire. He added more wood to the blaze and then settled in where he could see Ferno. The dragon hadn’t moved, the wood was quiet, and snow was starting to fall once more. Zollin felt his strength failing him. He hoped he would be able to wake up enough to keep putting wood on the fire through the night and that the blaze wouldn’t draw the dreadful gargoyles back to them. There was nothing more he could do but wait and hope. At that moment he missed Brianna more than ever, then he fell asleep between the princess and the dragon.
Chapter 30
Lorik brought the Outcasts back into the city before sunrise. The group was resting in the feasting hall, which had a roaring fire in its huge hearth. The castle servants were slowly returning, and everyone was on edge. Spector drifted into the large room where Lorik sat on the throne waiting for sunrise so that he could see to the people and ensure that everyone returned to their normal lives.
“Braynar escaped,” Spector hissed angrily.
“I’m not surprised. Did they have horses waiting?”
“Yes.”
“We will let them go this time. There’s no need to run them down. Let the commander return to his king without his army. Word will spread that we are not helpless in Ortis. For now, we must rebuild the kingdom and make sure our people are safe.”
“Your people are working themselves into a frenzy,” Spector declared. “Have you not been outside the castle?”
“No,” Lorik said. “Not since I escorted our party in from the cold.”
“Not everyone is as open-minded as you are about the Outcasts.”
Lorik practically jumped from his throne. He walked through the feasting hall with a wide stride that only Spector could keep pace with. The doors to the castle were still hanging on broken hinges, letting the cold air pour into the magnificent fortress. The sun was up, but the thick clouds still hung low and threatened to drop more snow on the city. In the wide expanse around the castle, hundreds of people had gathered. Many held weapons of some type, swords and spears from the fallen soldiers, axes and pitchforks, clubs, torches, and knives. They were a mob on the verge of rioting, and when Lorik appeared at the castle entrance they began to chant.
“Leave us alone!” the shouted over and over. “Leave and don’t come back!”
“What the devil is this?” Lorik said.
“I think they have finally turned against you,” Spector said. “They don’t like that you brought Outcasts into the city and are sheltering them in the castle.”
“What is it you want?” Lorik shouted at the crowd, which fell silent as Lorik’s voice boomed around the open space and echoed off the city walls. “The soldiers from Baskla have been driven away. We will rebuild Ort City and then the rest of the kingdom.”
“We don’t want Outcasts here!” shouted someone from the crowd.
“You can’t let them in the city!” screamed a woman’s voice.
“They are our countrymen, your kin!” Lorik bellowed. “We will not turn our backs on our own.”
“They’re freaks!”
“We don’t want them here.”
“They have every right to be here,” Lorik argued. “Just as much as any of you.”
The crowd roared like an angry animal whose back was against the wall. They brandished their weapons and screamed obscenities at Lorik. Suddenly all the rage and pent-up frustration inside Lorik came bursting out. Just inside the castle’s entrance were weapons from ages past. They were bolted onto the walls as decorations, but Lorik reached up and pulled a large axe free. It had a handle that was as tall as a man and a huge two-sided axe head with a thick curved edge. Most men would have trouble wielding such a long, heavy weapon, but to Lorik it felt perfect. He marched out of the castle, his vision turning red with rage.
The crowd tried to stand their ground, shouting that they didn’t want Lorik or his monstrous friends. He couldn’t understand why the people of Ort City seemed to hate him so much. He had saved them time and again, driving back the Norsik raiders, standing against the witch’s army, striking down the false king Yettlebor, and tracking down the villainous henchmen he had made lords over the kingdom. Did they not realize that it was Braynar who had ordered his archers to fire on innocent civilians? Did they really want a king who cared nothing for them?
Lorik didn’t know, but his fury was unquenchable. The crowd looked frightened as he approached them with the massive axe, but they didn’t back down.
“Take your demon and leave!” shouted a large woman with a red face.
“We don’t want you here,” screamed someone else in the crowd.
“You people are fools!” Lorik roared.
He raised his axe over his head and then slammed it down onto the flag stones, sending a wave of magical power through the earth that knocked most of the mob off their feet. Buildings collapsed as the wave rushed through the city.
“You don’t want me,” Lorik bellowed. “Then I don’t want you. But I’ll be damned if I’ll leave this city standing.”
The crowd scrambled back as Lorik stalked forward like a hungry lion. He raised his axe again and slammed it into the side of a building, which crumbled as the dark magic tore it apart. The mob broke, running from the castle with screams of terror. Lorik followed them, knocking down any building that was still standing with his heavy axe. One desperate man tried to stop him, but Lorik froze him with a magical puff of breath. Then he lifted the man’s body and hurled it down a wide street. It hit the cobblestones and shattered, sending bits of frozen flesh in all directions.
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