Fierce Loyalty fk-5

by Toby Neighbors

  He thought perhaps it was the dust from the debris that was hindering his breathing, and so he crawled outside. The wreckage cut his hands and knees, but the pain was minor compared to the weight on his chest. He gasped, trying desperately to fill his lungs, but the effort was futile. His ears began to ring again, and then he felt the world tilt and he fell to the ground unconscious.

  * * *

  “Send in the next wave,” King Zorlan ordered. He had been appalled when Zollin and the girl appeared. Zorlan remembered the wizard from Orrock. He recognized the young man’s lanky frame even from a distance. He was not surprised when Zollin swept his first wave of soldiers from the gatehouse, but the king was undeterred.

  “Tell them to wait until the wizard moves on from the gatehouse, then attack,” he instructed.

  “Aye, my lord,” said the general, who passed on the order.

  King Zorlan watched as the second wave of shield barriers and ladder carriers hurried forward. The appearance of more dragons and the wizard from Yelsia was disturbing. He wasn’t sure what was happening, but Zollin’s attack on his men seemed almost like an afterthought. The dragons were fighting each other, and then, to King Zorlan’s relief, Zollin and his companion flew up toward the tower.

  The king almost danced with glee. The wizard was here to face the witch, not his invasion force. It was almost too good to be true. Once the Yelsian wizard had dealt with the witch, there would be no stopping King Zorlan from expanding his empire. Falxis would incorporate the kingdoms of Ortis and Osla. He was the only king left in the three kingdoms. The wizard would not be able to stop Zorlan’s rise to power.

  He watched with satisfaction as his troops moved to the gatehouse unchallenged. They raised scaling ladders and ascended to the top of the gatehouse easily. Then they disappeared on the far side. The Grand City wasn’t built in exact circles, so Zorlan wouldn’t be able to circle around and open the southern gate without fighting through the troops that were still stationed on the city’s outer walls. Still, by taking a strong position in the city, the Ortisan troops would be forced to fight, retreat, or surrender.

  “Send a full legion forward,” King Zorlan commanded. “I want commanders with me. We will take position on top of the guardhouse. Move out!”

  Around him the army began to move. Troops that had been spread out around the city were now returning to King Zorlan’s position. He knew it would take hours to get his troops back together and prepared to make a major push into the city, but he had at least three centuries of soldiers to hold the gatehouse. It was more than enough to give them a foothold on the city.

  “Sire, are you sure the gatehouse is the safest place for you?” said one of Zorlan’s generals.

  “You don’t win wars by being safe, general,” Zorlan said. “The gatehouse will give us a view of the city’s walls. We need to be able to see what the enemy is doing. It will also stand as a symbol of our impending victory. When we hold the gates to the city, nothing can stop us.”

  “But sire, there are dragons.”

  “Yes, I am aware of that, but the beasts seem content to battle each other.” They were almost forced to shout over the horrific roars of the dragons. It was impossible to forget the mythic beasts were at war with each other somewhere inside the Grand City.

  They rode forward and watched as the troops strained to open the massive wooden gates. Zorlan guessed that oxen or teams of horses were used to swing the gigantic structures when they were opened or closed. His men were straining to swing open just one of the massive doors. It creaked on the massive iron hinges as it opened. Troops in front of the small group of officers hurried forward to help.

  Zorlan savored the moment as he rode through the city gate. Victory, he decided, was the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted. He climbed down off his horse and handed the reins to a soldier who stood nearby. Just inside the city gate was a large open area, wider than the broad street that led into the city. There were houses and shops nearby, but the area around the gate had been cleared so that soldiers could hold their ground and repulse any invaders who made it through the gate.

  “Send scouts through this section of the city,” King Zorlan ordered. “I don’t want any surprises.”

  “As you wish, my lord,” said one of the generals smartly.

  Zorlan turned and found the entrance to the gatehouse. Inside was a spiral staircase that led up to the top of the city gates and gave access to the city walls. Zorlan took the steps quickly, despite his bulky frame. Zorlan was not excessively fat, but he had lived a sedentary life for many years, with servants always at the ready to do his bidding. Marching to war had helped trim a bit of the fat from the king’s frame, but he was still panting by the time he reached the top of the gatehouse.

  Zorlan looked out across the city. He could see the dragons battling. The troops on the walls seemed frozen, neither moving to attack his men on the gatehouse nor retreating. Smoke and dust rose from the tower of the Torr, although he could not make out what was happening there. He decided he would deal with the wizard-or witch-once he had secured the city. He looked down and saw his men pouring into the open area around the gate.

  “I want men on either side of this gatehouse,” Zorlan ordered. “We must strike while the iron is hot. We may not get a better chance to take the city than we have right now.”

  Men ran to fulfill his orders. Soon, King Zorlan had armed troops making a shield wall that stretched across the city wall. He decided it was time to sweep the Ortisan’s from their lofty perches.

  “We shall move forward,” he ordered. “I want reserve troops holding this position and more reinforcements joining us on the wall as quickly as possible.”

  “Aye, my lord,” said an officer.

  Zorlan drew his sword. It was brightly polished and more ornamental than useful. The sword was long and heavy, but the hilt was only long enough for one hand to hold the ornate weapon. Zorlan could hold it and lift it above his head, but fighting with the sword was impractical. The heavy weapon would be swatted from his hand easily. The hilt was full of gemstones and the crosspiece was made of gold, which any forged blade would cut through easily. There was gold filigree decorating the blade, but it still felt good to Zorlan to hold it in his hand.

  He raised the sword and called to his troops.

  “Move forward,” he shouted.

  The sound of their boots marching along the stone wall brought a smile to Zorlan’s face.

  He wished that he could have been on his horse, but the truth was he was more than a little afraid of being knocked off the wall and falling to his death. He stayed away from the crenellated edge of the wall, and well back from the troops that were now marching toward a group of soldiers several hundred feet along the wall from the gatehouse. He was confident that he could win the day, but he wasn’t the kind of man to take chances unnecessarily.

  The Ortisan troop formed their own shield wall, but they looked uncertain as Zorlan’s forces came near. The king was just about to order his men to attack when a sound like thunder made them all turn and stare at the tower of the Torr.

  Chapter 31

  Brianna sent fire raging toward the witch, but Gwendolyn was ready for her. As Zollin looked on from the rooftop above, using his magic to sense what was happening below, he saw Brianna’s raging fire roll back, as if she were in an invisible bubble that was slowly shrinking back. Terror for Brianna’s safety almost caused Zollin to panic, but then Brianna’s heat increased exponentially and she dropped through the stone floor. Gwendolyn rushed over toward where Brianna had been, but Zollin was no longer hesitant to act.

  His magic was churning inside him like his own personal tornado. He felt the power rushing into the ancient stones of the tower and then he tore them away. It felt like he was ripping a head of lettuce in two, the massive stone blocks giving only the slightest resistance to his overwhelming magical power. The sound of the stones breaking was like thunder. Tig roared behind Zollin, who stood near one edge of th
e tower’s roof while the other half was ripped apart, the demolished stones and wooden supports falling and crashing down around the base of the massive tower, with hundreds of books and scrolls tumbling after them.

  Gwendolyn looked up in surprise, and then her expression changed. She went from a woman in shock to a woman in desperate need. Zollin felt his desire for her explode-all thoughts of Brianna were utterly banished. All Zollin could think about was saving Gwendolyn and making her his. Then Tig swooped in. The blue dragon was small compared to the other dragons, but Tig was still as large as a full-grown horse. The blue dragon spread its ruined wings wide to slow it’s descent, extending the needle-like talons on all four feet while spewing fire from its mouth. Gwendolyn blocked the fire, but the force of Tig’s weight crashed down on her and the floor, weakened by Brianna’s fiery escape, collapsed beneath them.

  When Gwendolyn fell, her spell was broken. Zollin felt shame coloring his cheeks as he realized just how close he had come to being seduced by the witch’s beguiling spell. But he didn’t have time for self-pity-he knew he had to help Brianna and Tig. He started with Andomina, who was still shrieking in pain from Tig’s first fiery attack. She had crawled as far from the fighting as she could and was now perched on a little shelf next to the wall that was still intact. He levitated her out of the tower. It reminded Zollin of trying to lift fish from a stream when he had first learned to use his magical power. Andomina was in full-blown panic, kicking and writhing in an effort to escape the magical hand that lifted her into the air, oblivious to the certain death that would result if she managed to break free.

  Zollin set her down gently on top of the royal castle, which wasn’t far from the tower and was the tallest building in the Grand City apart from the tower of the Torr. Then he turned his attention back to the battle going on below him. Tig was like a rabid dog, biting and tearing with teeth and talons, using the long tail to swipe at the witch, and all the while billowing flames. Brianna was leaping and flipping through the air, sending balls of fire flying around the room. Gwendolyn was trying desperately to hold both back, but the sorceress was overwhelmed. She was moving toward one of the windows as Zollin peered down from the ruined top floor. He could feel the heat from the battle radiating up from the collapsed floor and he decided not to rush into a situation he wasn’t sure how to help in.

  “She’s going to escape!” he shouted, but Tig’s roaring was too loud for Zollin’s voice to be heard over.

  Gwendolyn dove through the open window. Zollin turned and rushed to the edge of the demolished roof to see what happened to the witch, but then she rose up into the air in front of him.

  “Zollin,” she said, her voice as smooth as honey.

  He felt himself drawn to her again and tried to look away, but he couldn’t.

  “Come with me,” she purred. “I am not the enemy.”

  “No,” he said between clenched teeth, although he was saying it more in response to his own passionate urges than to Gwendolyn’s offer.

  Fire billowed out of the window below her, but Gwendolyn moved deftly out of range. “Hurry, Zollin, there isn’t much time,” she said. “Come with me.”

  “No Zollin!” Brianna shouted from below.

  Tig roared and Zollin could feel his desires being stretched. His entire body was tense, like a harp string just before it snaps. Zollin felt his reason slipping away. And then a face rose up in his mind. Zollin wasn’t sure if it was from his own memory or if Ferno had been trying to communicate with him, but he saw Brianna’s face clearly. She was laughing and smiling, her beauty heart wrenching. Then the world began to grow dark around him and he knew he had to fight. He focused all his mental and magical energy on standing his ground. Around him books began to fly off the shelves that were still intact. Rocks and bits of stone-the rubble from where Zollin had destroyed the roof of the tower-swirled around him.

  “No!” Zollin shouted as he heaved back on his reason and awareness. It reminded him of working with Quinn, struggling under the heavy weight of a thick beam of timber. So many times as a child with his father he had been shamed by his lack of physical strength, but this time things were different-this time he was strong enough.

  The swirling mass of debris went bolting toward Gwendolyn, battering her through the air. Zollin was sure she had a bubble of protection around her, but the force of the flying debris knocked her back from where she hovered, trying to seduce him with her power. He watched as she went flying, even over end. Unfortunately, she soon regained control and moved toward her injured sister.

  “Zollin?” Brianna called from below. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes,” he shouted back. “I’m fine, but Gwendolyn got away.”

  “Okay, I’m seeing to Tig’s wings.”

  Zollin didn’t answer. He was watching Gwendolyn. The sorceress had not fled as he had expected her to do. Nor had she seemed interested in healing her sister, who lay moaning on the broad, flat roof of the castle. Gwendolyn began to walk in circles, chanting. Zollin couldn’t hear what she was saying, but he could sense something happening. It was old magic, dark magic.

  He could feel it stirring. Dark clouds began to form in the sky above the castle and spread over the city.

  “What’s happening?” Brianna asked as she hurried up beside Zollin.

  Tig, with fully healed wings, soared out of the tower, circling it several times before coming to a graceful landing on the small section of roofing that was still intact.

  “I have no idea,” Zollin said, “but it can’t be good.”

  * * *

  Offendorl opened his eyes. His vision was blurry and his mouth tasted like vomit. He was lying in the dirt, staring up without really seeing the roof of the tower. He rolled over, his chest still aching, but the awful weight was gone. His breath came in ragged wheezing gasps, but he could move. He rolled over, then waited while his head seemed to spin a little. He let his magic, which felt weak and small, search his body for what had happened. One of the thick arteries leading to his heart had split open and blood was flooding out with every beat of his heart. He healed the artery and siphoned the blood in his chest cavity back into his circulatory system. It was tedious work and required all his mental attention. Finally he opened his eyes again and struggled onto his hands and knees.

  Flames shot from the upper window of the tower, but Offendorl was oblivious to the magical battle happening above. The ringing in his ears drowned out all other sounds. He crawled forward and used the side of the massive tower to pull himself up to a standing position.

  Once again he was forced to wait while the world spun and tilted around him. He used the tiny bit of magic he still controlled to inspect his body. He could feel his heart beating, but it was so weak it was like trying to bail water from a sinking ship just by using your hands. His blood was still moving, but slowly. He allowed his magic to strengthen the dying muscle and immediately he felt better. He could sense that the heart was working more efficiently. His lungs weren’t working well either and his body was crying out for more oxygen, but he knew he would have to wait for his magical strength to return before trying to heal anything else. He stumbled forward, his legs feeling both heavy and weak.

  Offendorl had just managed to stagger out of the courtyard of the Torr when the roof came falling down. The rending of the ancient stone had been deafening, but the falling debris shook the ground and made the elder wizard double over in fear. He covered his gray head with both arms and staggered further from the chaos. His magical power was slowly returning, like the ocean tide coming in. He felt the magic flowing through him, and although he knew he needed rest and nourishment, he also knew there was none to be had in the Grand City at the moment.

  He staggered away from the tower, ignoring the magical battle above, and returned to the inn where he’d stayed the night before. It was empty, as he had expected it to be. Havina was long gone with her new prize, and the innkeeper’s wife had probably fled in fear. He found a pitcher of ale and
sat heavily on one of the many benches in the common room. He drank and felt his strength growing, both physically and magically.

  Then the room began to dim. At first Offendorl thought his sight was being affected by his heart again, but this time it was different. There was no pain in his chest and he could still see clearly-the room was just getting dark, as if it were twilight and no one had lit the lamps around the inn.

  He stood and walked as quickly as he could to one of the windows. Black clouds were spreading across the sky. And then Offendorl felt the ancient summoning magic. He had felt it once before, as a young wizard who was just learning to control his power. It was during one of the many struggles for power between the wizards of that lost age. He didn’t know what would happen, but he knew whoever was using the summoning spell had to be stopped. He tossed the wine aside and hurried outside. The sky was dark and it was becoming difficult to see, but Offendorl followed the sensation he felt. It was like being in a large pool of still water that had suddenly been disturbed.

  The elder wizard of the Torr pushed away the thoughts of discouragement he felt. He had seen his precious books and scrolls among the debris that had fallen from the top of the tower. He knew that his home, his refuge from the world, had been destroyed. There was so much to regain, it almost felt like he was lost forever. Discouragement rose up like a tidal wave. He felt as if he were staring at the end of his rule, the end of his unnaturally long life. But he refused to accept that fate. He would not die quietly, nor would he slink away to eek out a half life in hiding.

  It was fully dark when he wearily climbed the broad steps that led to the royal castle. He wasn’t sure what he could do. His magic was churning, but using it was like touching red-hot coals. Still, someone was working magic that was long since forgotten, and he could not allow it to happen. The Torr had been formed for just this purpose. The summoning magic sprang from the very heart of evil. It was not a power that was ever intended to be set loose on the world of men. He went to the massive wooden doors of the castle and pushed. The heavy doors resisted only for a moment, then they swung open and Offendorl lurched inside.