Chaos Reigning: The Five Kingdoms Book 10

by Toby Neighbors

  Lorik was the first person to bring the outcasts hope. He shared his story with them, of how he had scaled the King Tree and been given the swords of Acromin as a sign of his authority. The outcasts responded most to his story about the citizens of Ortis turning against him and how he had destroyed Ort City. Lorik would no longer sit by while evil men ruled the weak. He told them of his vision to unite the lost kingdoms of Osla, Falxis, and Ortis into one powerful realm. Safety and a sense of belonging were the promises he offered the outcasts, and to the last man they pledged their fealty to Lorik. The next morning he sent them on toward Center Point, once again urging them to take as many supplies as they could carry with them.

  Shortly after dawn Lorik and Spector continued north. At midday they encountered a large group of armed outcasts. Lorik had no doubt that it was the warlord from Miller’s Crossing. He waited on a slight rise as the grim-looking warriors approached.

  “These won’t be so easy to rout,” Spector warned.

  “No,” agreed Lorik. “They will be formidable if we are forced to fight them.”

  “Isn’t that what we are here for?” the ghostly figure asked.

  “Of course not. What good does it do us to slay all the best fighters? We are here to win them over to our cause.”

  “Don’t be foolish. There is no loyalty left in this world.”

  “Perhaps, but men will always respect strength. They may not follow willingly, but fear will keep them in line.”

  “How do you instill fear if not with death?”

  “I didn’t say that no one would die, just not the entire band of fighters.”

  When the outcasts were close they spread out in a long line, with a massive figure in the center. He rode forward on a huge horse that was obviously used for pulling heavy loads, not carrying warriors into battle, but everything about the group was odd. Many wore armor that was obviously too small, and their weapons ranged from swords and spears to scythes and axes made for cutting wood. Some looked nervous, others were angry, but none moved as the rider urged his mount forward.

  “Stay here,” Lorik told Spector.

  “Why?”

  “I don’t want you to spook the horse.”

  The ghostly figure hissed, but stayed back. Spector was hard to see in the best of circumstances. Despite the bright winter sunlight at midday, he looked like a snaking column of smoke, his features lost in shadow. Lorik didn’t want to cow the outcasts with Spector’s ghostly appearance; rather he wanted them to fear him.

  “You are the man calling yourself king?” the rider said as they approached one another.

  “I am Lorik, the rightful king of Ortis. And you are?”

  “I am Banar, Lord of Miller’s Crossing and all the surrounding lands.”

  “Swear fealty to me, Lord Banar, and I shall spare you and all your warriors.”

  The big outcast laughed, his contorted body making the mirth sound almost like a barking dog. When he regained control he spoke.

  “You are one man. We are an army.”

  “I do not fear armies,” Lorik said. “Attack me if you dare, but know this. I will slay you and make your warriors my own. I will rule all of Falxis, Osla, and Ortis. Join me and we will recreate this realm. We will turn our anger toward the humans in the north and make them our slaves. You can be lord of a city on your own, or lord of an empire with me. It is your choice.”

  “A bird in the hand is worth a flock in the sky. No man rules Banar, not anymore, and never again.”

  “Then I challenge you,” Lorik said. “I vie for the right to rule Miller’s Crossing and this ragtag band of fighters you have collected. Face me unless you are craven. In fact, I will fight you and your best warrior at the same time.”

  “You’re a fool,” snarled Banar.

  “And you’re a coward. Fight me.”

  “I’ll take your head and make it my piss pot.”

  Lorik drew his swords, the blades gleaming in the sunlight. Banar turned his horse, which plodded back toward his soldiers. When he reached the line of outcasts he slid off the horse, revealing that his right leg was twisted slightly. He could walk, but he was slow and he seemed to limp back toward Lorik. Another outcast joined him. His champion was a swarthy-looking man with horribly misshapen facial features. He wasn’t as large as most of the others, but he carried a proper sword and shield. Lorik guessed the champion was faster than the others and had probably known how to fight before he had been mutated.

  Banar held back a little as the smaller outcast approached Lorik. Banar had a massive battle axe. It was a huge, two-handed weapon with a shaft that was nearly as long as a spear. He waved it around his body in an impressive display, but Lorik knew the weapon was not practical in battle. It would cow the weak and inexperienced, but the axe was too heavy to be useful in a fight.

  Lorik waited patiently while the smaller outcast slowly moved toward him. Lorik was as big as most outcasts, but his body was perfectly proportioned and wrapped in thick muscle. He wore black armor that was scalloped over his shoulders allowing him a free range of motion in every direction. His helmet covered his head and face, while thick gauntlets protected his hands. The swords of Acromin were razor sharp and Lorik held them steady as Banar and his champion approached.

  “This is your last chance,” Lorik said. “Throw down your weapons and join me. I’ll show you no mercy.”

  The smaller outcast hesitated for just a second, waiting to see what his master would do, then Lorik charged forward. He swung a savage slash at the smaller outcast, which was aimed at the champion’s shield. The smaller man tried to brace himself for the blow, but Lorik was fast and powerful. His sword slammed into the shield with a crack like thunder, and the smaller outcast was knocked off his feet, but harming the champion wasn’t Lorik’s goal. Instead he ran straight for Banar. There was a look of hatred in the warlord’s eyes, but also fear. Lorik knew the outcast was used to people running in fear from him and had perhaps never experienced being charged in battle. Lorik wasn’t quite as big as the hulking Banar, but his fine armor and massive physique were awe inspiring.

  Banar raised his axe over his shoulder, obviously waiting to chop down on Lorik like a farmer cutting firewood. The massive warrior allowed the outcast to strike, but then dodged to the side. Banar’s chop would have cleaved most shields and split armor, but it was slow and predictable. Lorik had no trouble slipping to the side to avoid the axe. He could have ended the duel quickly with a savage thrust, but instead he slashed at the haft of the big axe, severing the heavy metal head from the long shaft. Banar adjusted quickly, whipping the axe handle at Lorik’s head, but he ducked out of the way and kicked the outcast’s legs from under him. Banar hit the ground hard and flat on his back, while Lorik turned his attention back to the warlord’s champion.

  The smaller outcast was back on his feet and had a deep gash in his shield, but he seemed unfazed by Lorik’s previous attack. He feinted first to his right, then to his left, before thrusting straight at Lorik’s stomach with his sword. The weapon was a knight’s sword, the long blade perfect for fighting from horseback. It had a straight blade, sharpened on both edges, with a beveled point. Most people couldn’t fight with the long sword with one hand, but the outcasts were larger and stronger than normal men. The long weapon seemed to fit the champion perfectly and would have punched into Lorik’s armor, perhaps even puncturing it and cutting into his abdomen. But the powerful warrior knocked the sword away with the blade in his left hand and with the other he slashed at the smaller champion. The outcast raised his shield and instinctively stepped backward. Lorik stepped forward and swung his left hand sword at the outcast’s shoulder. The champion raised his own sword to block the attack, catching Lorik’s blade on the knight’s sword and displaying his own strength.

  Lorik attacked with his right hand again, this time in an overhand chop that crashed into the champion’s shield, driving him further back. Lorik kept up a fast attack, driving the champion backward and gi
ving Banar time to regain his feet. After several blows Lorik raised his right sword as if to strike another overhand blow. When the champion raised his shield Lorik lashed out with a lightning-fast front kick that hit the outcast squarely in the chest and sent him sprawling backward. Lorik had just enough time to turn and meet Banar’s enraged charge.

  The big outcast still had the severed axe handle, which he held in front of him like a spear. Lorik slid to the side, avoiding the tip of the staff, and extended his arm directly into the outcast’s path. With a sweeping motion Lorik slammed his bicep into Banar’s face, breaking his nose and sending his feet flying into the air. Once again the warlord was helpless on his back. Lorik could have driven his sword down in a killing blow, but instead he raked the tip of his sword across the outcast’s cheek. Banar swung the axe haft at Lorik, but it was a weak attack and Lorik let the wooden shaft bounce harmlessly off his armor.

  “Rise up, bloody face! You are no warrior.”

  Banar screamed in rage but Lorik chuckled. He glanced out at the line of fighters. Some looked worried, but most looked on at Lorik’s prowess in awe.

  “You would fight for this fool?” Lorik shouted at them. “You would risk your lives for what, his gain? To enrich him? Join me and fight for yourselves. Fight for the people like you who were taken from their homes and transformed into outcasts against their will. We can band together and make a new life. The Five Kingdoms and all that has been stolen from you can be yours again. We can be the rulers of this realm and those that turned against us will cower at our feet.”

  Lorik was forced to turn and fight Banar’s champion. The smaller outcast was enraged and darted back and forth slashing at Lorik, who parried every blow. He let the champion come at him time and again, warding off every attack with relative ease until finally he jumped to the side of the champion’s thrust and, with a spinning attack, sliced a shallow gash across the small outcast’s back. The champion screamed and stumbled forward, right into Banar’s arms. The warlord caught his champion and snarled angrily, his face still covered with blood.

  “Give me that, you worthless bastard!” Banar said as he snatched away his champion’s sword.

  Banar shoved the smaller outcast aside, sending the wounded man sprawling across the grassy plain. Lorik merely shook his head in disgust and waited for the warlord’s charge. Banar shouted angrily as he rushed forward, the knight’s sword held in both of his massive hands, the blade held back, ready to slash forward. Lorik quickly sheathed the sword in his right hand. When Banar slashed at him an instant later, the blow should have knocked Lorik backward or shattered his legendary weapon, but instead Lorik blocked with his sword and stopped the attack seemingly with ease. Then Lorik reached out with his free hand and grabbed Banar’s throat.

  The warlord tried to scramble back but couldn't escape Lorik’s grip. He let go of the sword with one hand and clawed at Lorik’s arm. When that didn’t work he raised his sword as if to attack, but Lorik ran his own blade up Banar’s forearm, cutting a deep gouge in the warlord’s flesh and causing him to drop his weapon. Banar’s eyes began to bulge in their sockets as he tried desperately to suck air into his lungs. Lorik waited until the look in his opponent’s eyes was desperate and then he flung the hulking outcast to the ground.

  Banar’s champion was on his feet again, moving toward Lorik, who waited patiently to see what the smaller outcast would do. The champion raised his shield over his head as he approached Banar, then drove the edge of the shield down hard into the warlord’s face. The edge of the shield was rimmed in iron. Banar’s face was crushed by the blow, but it didn’t kill him immediately. Instead the warlord died slowly, his final cries mere gurgles of bloody agony.

  The champion looked up at Lorik, then dropped to one knee before him. The other outcasts did the same, one by one at first, but then the entire line fell to its knees before him. Lorik smiled; it was time to turn his attention south. Soon, he would control three kingdoms and an army to rival anything from Baskla or even Yelsia. No one could stand against him, not with the dark magic giving him strength.

  Chapter 7

  Darkness, pain, exhaustion…these were the only things that Jute knew. Never before had an underground cavern felt oppressive, but as the dwarves climbed the mining shaft Jute’s desire to be rid of the unending darkness and danger of the caverns under the Walheta Mountains grew stronger with each step.

  Most of the dwarves were injured in some way. Many had been beaten by the creatures from the underworld. All were starved and weak from a lack of proper nutrition and rest. Water was hard to come by in the underworld and most of Jute’s fellow dwarves were exhausted before they even began their climb.

  The mine shaft was well made by dwarves who had once occupied the great caverns. But the shaft was so deep that ascending back up to the caverns the dwarves had once occupied was a monumental task. Jute’s broken arm was aching terribly, and yet when he looked at the cast that Brianna had fashioned for him he felt an overwhelming sense of guilt. She was still in the underworld. She had sealed the tunnel behind them and now who knew where she was. Brianna was powerful, but Jute couldn’t imagine anything as strong as the Fire Giant. If it had her in its clutches, she was surely lost. He had been willing to sacrifice everything to save his people, but he couldn’t help but feel as if he had somehow been responsible for Brianna’s fate.

  “We must keep climbing,” Babaz said. “The Bollark will send his Groslings for us. There are other ways to the caverns above now.”

  “The Groslings may catch us,” Hammert wheezed, his breath sounded as if his lungs were filling with liquid, “but if we don’t rest, half of our number won’t make it to the caverns at all.”

  “He’s right,” said another dwarf. “We’ve nothing to eat or drink. We can’t keep going like this.”

  “We’ll be slaughtered!” Babaz warned.

  “At least we’ll die fighting, not running,” Hammert said.

  “These aren’t weapons,” Babaz said, holding up a hammer that the others could barely see in the darkness.

  “No,” Jute said. “But they are better than nothing.”

  “Surely you had a better plan than this,” Babaz urged Jute. “Where is the fire spirit?”

  “She will join us if she can,” Jute said. “I can lead us to the surface.”

  “But what about the wizard? Surely Zollin is here somewhere?”

  “He isn’t,” Jute said. “They weren’t together when I found Brianna. All we can do is hope that she wasn’t captured.”

  “There’s not much hope to be had down here,” Babaz said as he pushed past the small group and continued climbing.

  “We need to rest,” Hammert urged Jute.

  “Yes, I know. Send word down that we’ll take a break.”

  The dwarves lowered themselves onto the winding stairs that were carved into the side of the mine shaft. Jute couldn’t help but admire the craftsmanship of the stairs even though he felt that death was hovering over him in the darkness. He had a chisel, which he had picked up at the bottom of the mine shaft. The dwarves who had worked the mine must have been attacked while they were working since no dwarf in his right mind would leave tools just lying around. The shaft had been littered with discarded tools, hammers and chisels mostly, but a few pickaxes too. There weren’t enough for all the dwarves making their escape, but many were too weak to fight anyway. Jute knew their only hope was that they wouldn’t have to fight.

  Time passed and Jute was too anxious to sleep. His body ached, especially his broken arm which was still safely encased in the clay cast that Brianna had crafted for him. Yet even as his body called for a respite, his mind knew that danger was coming. He didn’t want to get trapped halfway up the mine shaft. He sat quietly with the other dwarves—most were snoring loudly—and waited as long as he dared. Finally, his sense of danger was too great to ignore.

  “It’s time to get moving again,” he urged the others. “On your feet, dwarves!”

&nb
sp; It took longer than Jute thought was prudent, but eventually the entire group was climbing the mine shaft again. Some of the dwarves were leaning heavily on their brothers, and the pace was slow, but Jute felt his tension ease a little as they continued their escape.

  Jute passed many of the other dwarves until he caught up with Babaz at the front of the line. There wasn’t enough light in the shaft to see the other dwarf’s face, but Jute could make out Babaz’s shoulders. They were hunched and tight.

  “I knew you would return,” Babaz said. “I’m sorry if my arguments offended you.”

  “No,” Jute said, “you were right. If we can’t escape it will be my failure. I took too long to find a way to the surface and return with help.”

  “There is no blame, brother. We are together and we are free. You did all that could be asked and you are injured as well.”

  “None of that matters if we die down here.”

  “If we die now, we will die free. We will never return to the Bollark, nor surrender to his minions. Death is all that awaits us below. This is our only chance to escape. I only wish we were more prepared to face the danger.”

  “I should have stashed food in the caverns above,” Jute chastised himself.

  “And risked alerting the Groslings that you were planning an escape for us? No, that would have been unwise. How far to the tunnel the fire spirit made for our escape?”

  “Two days at a regular pace. But I doubt we’ll get there in three at the rate we’re moving.”

  “We can’t expect that the Bollark will just let us go either. That monster wants to be free and we’re the only chance it has to escape.”