Chaos Reigning: The Five Kingdoms Book 10

by Toby Neighbors

  “Spread out here,” Lorik told the soldiers. “I’ll have food sent over and we’ll get you more permanent quarters tomorrow.”

  The outcasts didn’t complain. Most were exhausted and gladly dropped their loads on the ground and stretched out beside them. Lorik hurried to the far side of the valley and up to the hilltop fortress. There were lookouts already perched on the framework of what would be Lorik’s personal quarters. They had obviously sent word that Lorik had returned and he found Toomis, Yorry, and Kora waiting for him.

  Yorry was the first to speak, “The population has nearly doubled in your absence.”

  “Problems?” Lorik asked.

  “Nothing that was unforeseen. We are running low on building supplies, but our food stores are growing and there are more citizens with experience as soldiers.”

  “I want them all here at sunrise.”

  “I shall see to it, my lord.”

  Kora cleared her throat before giving her own report, a clear signal that Lorik took to mean she didn’t have good news.

  “We have more people than we can protect,” she said. “With new people arriving every day, if we are attacked, we won’t all fit in the stronghold. We have all the problems of any city. There is crime, there are disagreements that sometimes erupt into fighting. We need a more visible security presence and a system for bringing disagreements to a peaceful and fair resolution.”

  “You have a plan?”

  “Yes, my lord. If it pleases you.”

  She handed Lorik a scroll. He nodded and turned to Toomis.

  “I’ve sent runners in every direction,” he said. “None have returned as of yet. I’ve seen to the horses and weapons. I don’t really know what else to do.”

  “Don’t worry, Toomis, I have plans for you. For now, I need food taken to the men on the far side of the valley.”

  “I’ll see to it,” the young man said, but his frustration was clearly evident.

  “Please do, and don’t worry, all these concerns are merely growing pains. Center Point will soon be the central city in the Five Kingdoms.”

  His chief administrators left Lorik alone and he went into the large hall to find a small feast waiting for him. There was freshly baked bread, cheese, roasted venison, and stewed vegetables. He ate alone, devouring his food and feeling his physical strength growing with each bite. There was wine, which had obviously been brought to the new community by someone. Lorik enjoyed his feast and was well into his cups when a sensual voice spoke up behind him.

  “You eat like a man with a great appetite,” Kierian said.

  “I have many great appetites,” Lorik said. “Food is just one of them.”

  “I can’t wait to discover the others,” she said slipping onto his lap.

  The only light in the vast hall was from the fireplace, which gave a dim light and left Lorik in shadows. He felt comfortable in the dark, almost as if it were refreshing to him. In the darkness he felt his strongest. Kierian was always quiet, always lurking in the shadows, so her sudden appearance didn’t surprise Lorik, but the fact that she was completely naked did. He could smell the fresh scent of lavender on her bare skin and he forgot about his food completely.

  They made love on a thick rug near the fireplace, then slept until dawn. As the sun slowly rose Lorik woke up and ran a finger down Kierian’s spine to gently rouse her.

  “Oh, tell me you aren’t awake,” she complained softly.

  “Tell me what you discovered in the south,” he whispered in her ear.

  She stretched her entire body like a cat, then rolled over to face him. He was propped on one elbow, his massive body covered in shadows.

  “There is trouble in the south,” she said.

  “What kind of trouble?”

  “There is a queen, at least the people I met called her queen. Her name is Havina and she controls everything south of Merchant’s City and Hero’s Rest. There are humans there, not outcasts, and they are spreading quickly to the north. She has an army.”

  “I have no doubt,” Lorik said.

  “And there’s more. I didn’t see it, but the rumors I heard were that she controls a dragon.”

  Lorik’s face pinched in a frown. Armies he could deal with, greedy queens were no more threat to him than a gnat, but a dragon was a different matter entirely. Not that dragons couldn’t be killed, but Lorik had only seen a dragon once and that was during his ill-conceived battle with the entire army of Norsik raiders. The wizard Zollin had flown to his aid on a hulking green dragon that had routed the raiders almost single handedly. Dragons were dangerous creatures and while Lorik felt that he was a match for any man or beast, he didn’t want to make a foolish mistake that might bring his fledgling kingdom to ruin.

  “What kind of dragon?”

  “A huge black monster, if the stories are to be believed,” Kierian said with a yawn. “If you want to rule Osla you’ll have to remove this woman from power.”

  “I agree. Thank you for the information.”

  “Is that all?” Kierian asked, sounding as if she were wounded by something he didn’t say.

  “You want me to thank you for last night?”

  “No, you big oaf. I want you to thank me for the wine. Who do you think brought you that sweet nectar and had someone prepare a meal for you?”

  “Thank you,” Lorik said as he got quickly to his feet and dressed. “I wouldn’t stay there too long. I’m sure there will be people along to continue construction any time now.”

  Kierian jumped to her feet and looked at him as if to say she didn’t care who saw her, but by the time Lorik reached the door she had disappeared into the shadows. She was so elusive it made him wonder if she was just a figment of his imagination.

  Outside the fortress there were nearly four dozen outcast warriors. Unlike Banar’s fighters, these soldiers all had traditional weapons that were well maintained. They were wearing well-made clothes and each had a cloak around their shoulders. Like all outcasts, their faces were misshapen, and in some instances hideous to behold, but regardless of where their eyes were on their head, each one had a steely look of determination. Toomis stood with them. He seemed almost like a child compared to the large outcasts, but Lorik could tell instantly that he had trained the soldiers and each of them feared the smaller human.

  “Are these all the soldiers we have?”

  “It is everyone not needed for sentry duty, my lord,” Toomis said.

  “Good. I take it they are well trained?”

  “I have done my best,” Toomis answered.

  “Excellent, let’s put them through their paces.”

  Lorik led the troops on a grueling run, then split them into pairs for sparring. Each of the soldiers had a shield, a spear, and a sword. Not all the weapons were uniform, but Lorik could tell that the weapons each of the outcasts carried had been selected to match the warrior’s unique physical characteristics. Lorik was pleased at the discipline of the group. Toomis had done a fine job of training an able group of fighters in the two weeks since they had founded Center Point.

  When they returned to the city Lorik pulled Toomis aside. The young man still seemed frustrated despite the fact that his troops had performed so well.

  “You’ve done a good job training these men,” Lorik said. “You should be proud.”

  “They can run and fight,” Toomis said. “That’s the extent of the training they got from me. It’s all I know to do.”

  “And all they need to know. I’m more concerned with obedience to orders than how much soldiering they know. Why are you so glum?”

  “Because,” Toomis said, shaking his head, “as hard as I try, I can’t help but feel like an outsider here. I’m the only person who wasn’t transformed during the war.”

  “And you should be thankful for that. I need humans and outcasts both.”

  “For what? I can’t run as far or do as much as my own troops. When we run I have to ride a horse just to keep up.”

  “That’s
nothing to be ashamed of,” Lorik said.

  “It just feels wrong,” Toomis said.

  “Don’t give in to every feeling you have. Trust me, just because a person is an outcast doesn’t make them evil, and just because a person is human doesn’t make them good. You know that as well as I do. Look at me, I’m not an outcast.”

  “You’re a god,” Toomis said.

  “I’m a man, and we have a duty to lead these people. As long as you are doing what I ask of you, there is no reason to ever feel discouraged.” Toomis nodded, and Lorik put his hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “Now, I am taking a group south. There are rumors of a human kingdom near Merchant’s City. It is said they have a dragon.”

  “A dragon?” Toomis said skeptically.

  “Yes, that is what I’ve heard. I need to find out how they have persuaded the beast to fight for them. And I will need your help. Prepare three horses, the fastest we have. Then divide your troops. Half will need to stay here and help keep the peace in the city. The others will come with us.”

  “We’re going to fight a dragon?” Toomis asked.

  “Perhaps, but let me worry about the dragon. I will need you to command your troops and possibly carry a message back to the city. Make your preparations and be ready to leave at first light tomorrow.”

  “Yes, my lord. We will be ready.”

  The rest of the day was filled with decisions. Lorik didn’t thrive overseeing the minutiae of ruling a city, but he didn’t shirk his duties either. In most cases he delegated decisions to Kora and Yorry. The two outcast leaders had already begun building teams of people they could entrust with more work. Lorik was mentally exhausted by the time the sun went down. More and more outcasts were coming to the valley, and with the popular growth came problems, but the outcasts were industrious. Unlike the refugee camps Lorik had presided over outside the Wilderlands when the Norsik raiders had invaded, the outcasts didn’t just simply sit around complaining. Some created problems, which was simply their nature from before the witch’s magic transformed their physical bodies, but for the most part the outcasts worked hard and stayed busy for hours without rest.

  Lorik expected to see Kierian again, but she was nowhere to be found. Lorik knew he couldn’t trust her, and what he felt for her wasn’t love by any means, but she was an enjoyable diversion. Around midnight Lorik walked the camp. Most of his subjects had returned to their homes for the night. Some of those homes were cottages made of wood and stone, others were more like huts made from clay bricks. All the structures were simple yet sturdy, and served the purpose of giving the outcasts shelter through the night. There were groups that hadn’t yet made a home for themselves. They lounged by campfires, unfazed by the drop in temperature. Center Point was far enough south that winters were mild, but the nights were cold.

  Everywhere he went there was a feeling of excitement and productivity. The city was growing much faster than he had imagined, a sign that Lorik took to mean he was doing the right thing. The outcasts seemed at peace and were much less frightened than when he had found them. He knew that harder times were coming and he couldn’t afford to have his attention divided when the armies from the north came for him. He needed to deal with the group of people in southern Osla so that he wasn’t stuck fighting a war on two fronts.

  He slept a couple of hours, then rose before dawn to ensure he had everything he needed for the trip south. He regretted having left Spector in Miller’s Crossing. He was certain that he would need the wraith’s unique skills as he confronted the queen and her dragon. But he couldn’t wait for his friend to catch up. A runner was sent to bring the ghostly Spector back while Lorik checked the supplies of the two dozen men preparing to march south. Each man had a week’s rations, water, weapons, and basic supplies.

  “We will be moving south quickly,” Lorik explained. “There will be no time to coddle the weak. If you aren’t prepared to keep up, tell Commander Toomis now. I will have no mercy on anyone who slows me down.”

  The troops all stood as still as statues, none of them complaining or asking to be excused.

  “Excellent. By now you’ve heard there may be a dragon in the south. Don’t let your imagination run away with you. All we have to go on are rumors, and until we know what we are facing we shouldn’t worry. Stay focused on keeping up and obeying orders. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, sir!” the troops shouted.

  “Good, let’s move out then.”

  Lorik led the way, jogging at a pace that equaled a fast trot on Toomis’ horse. They crossed the border into Osla and felt the change in climate almost immediately. The cool days in Falxis suddenly transformed into hot, dry days. It was winter, but the farther south they went the more arid the land became. In Falxis the terrain was dominated by gently rolling hills covered in grass, but in Osla the hills flattened, the grass disappeared, and the sun beat down in a merciless onslaught that made Lorik wonder why anyone had willingly chosen to settle there. They weren’t following a road, and settlements were hard to find. They spent the first four days running at a steady pace in the hot sun, only to collapse at night when the temperature dropped and the group was forced to huddle together with no shelter. Still, despite the hardship, Lorik could feel destiny rising up to meet him. There was something important in the air, something he was being driven to by the darkness inside him. He didn’t know what it was exactly, but he knew that once everything fell into place, he would be unstoppable.

  Chapter 12

  Mansel was a better swordsman than Quinn. He was faster, stronger, and had a natural instinct for sword craft, but since Quinn’s ailment, the older man was ferocious. His strength had increased and he fought with a savage intensity that few could resist. Mansel had struck Quinn down once before, when he was under the spell of Gwendolyn the witch. It was an act that Mansel regretted whenever he thought of it. There were so many things in his young life that he was ashamed of. It was one of the reasons he had returned to drinking after losing Nycol and Quinn; it was the only way he could forget his failures.

  Even though Mansel was the more skilled fighter, he refused to hurt his mentor. He knew that if he didn’t fight, he would be hurt, perhaps even killed, by Quinn, but that was a risk he was willing to take. Quinn normally preferred to fight with a sword and shield, but he carried only a standard issue, double-sided short sword, which he drew and swung, loosening the muscles of his sword arm.

  “I’m going to enjoy putting you down,” Quinn said. “This has been a long time coming.”

  “I’m not going to fight you, Quinn.”

  “That’s not an option. You had talent, boy, but have you pissed it all away? You think you’re the first person to lose someone you love? You’re soft, just a pathetic child who can’t take his liquor.”

  “Don’t do this, Quinn. You’re better than this.”

  “What have you accomplished in your life, boy? Nothing, and you never will. You’re weak and useless. That’s what your father told me about you and he was right.”

  Mansel felt a stab of emotional pain. He knew that Quinn was trying to goad him into attacking, but he had never heard Quinn be so cruel. His biggest fear had always been that he was weak and unwanted. Quinn’s attack had hit its mark.

  Quinn came at Mansel slightly stooped, making himself as small a target as possible. Mansel moved backward but there was a limited amount of space in the clearing as more and more people pressed forward to see the fight. Quinn dipped his left shoulder, then raised his right arm and sword, before sliding to his right. It was a graceful movement, one that Mansel had never seen his mentor use before. And then Quinn jumped forward, stabbing down with his sword in an attack that would have nearly severed Mansel’s leg, but the young warrior parried the thrust and shuffled just out of his mentor’s range.

  There was a momentary pause as Quinn waited for Mansel to counter, but nothing happened. Mansel was determined not to hurt Quinn again. In many ways the young warrior had the advantage. He was taller, wit
h a longer reach and a longer sword. In theory he could stay out of Quinn’s reach and still attack, but his resolve not to hurt his mentor nullified that advantage.

  “Only a weak man refuses to do what is necessary,” Quinn taunted. “You’re letting your emotions make your decisions for you.”

  “This isn’t you,” Mansel said. “The man I know and love isn’t cruel.”

  “Putting down a useless animal isn’t cruel. Neither is speaking the truth.”

  They circled, both men tense as they waited for the next attack. Mansel felt a deep sense of dread. He had no illusions that Quinn might spare him. What he needed was a way to escape so that he didn’t have to face the choice of killing Quinn or dying himself.

  Quinn slid forward, thrusting his sword out faster than Mansel thought possible. He had to spin out of the way, parrying Quinn’s thrust at the last possible second. He was turning, almost facing Quinn again when he felt a burning pain in his hip. Quinn had produced a dagger, although Mansel hadn’t seen it in his belt, and sliced it across Mansel’s waist. His thick, leather belt had protected the young warrior from being grievously injured, but the dagger had also cut across Mansel’s hip, leaving a bloody gash.

  For a moment Mansel was frozen in shock, not from the wound itself but from seeing the look of delight on Quinn’s face for having drawn the young warrior’s blood. Quinn took advantage of the opportunity, slashing at Mansel’s shoulder with his sword. The tip of the blade sank into the thick muscle of Mansel’s upper arm as he tried to sway back out of the way. This time the pain was a shock to the young warrior. He stumbled back and was forced to raise his sword as Quinn, sensing victory, rushed in and chopped down at Mansel’s head.

  The pain in his arm was so intense that Mansel couldn’t use his left arm at all. It hung painfully at his side as he tried to regain his balance. All thoughts of sparing Quinn were driven from his mind by the pain. The crowd disappeared, as did Mansel’s need to escape. The young warrior’s mind was engulfed in his need to survive.