Zollin’s hand hit the stone floor of the rooftop as he sought to push himself back up, only to find the stone hot to the touch. The young wizard shouted as he pulled back his hand, his palm scorched from the heat of Branock’s fiery attack. Branock attacked again, using the same spell which streaked straight at the younger wizard like a tiny blade of light, and forced Zollin to use his magical shield to protect himself. The magic of Branock’s attack was stronger than Zollin imagined. He felt the power of the magic as it touched him, the beam ricocheting off and tearing across the tower foundations again.
“Blast!” Zollin shouted, sending a wave of magical blue energy streaking toward Branock.
The elder wizard took the blast on his own magical shielding, but the power of the attack rocked him back. Zollin sensed that his opponent wasn’t strong enough to deflect the attack for long, and put all of his power into the energy attack. Unfortunately, the massive stones supporting one of the watchtowers had become unstable. It only took a nudge of power from Branock, which Zollin felt shoot wide and go past him, to destroy one of the massive stone blocks. The rock shattered behind Zollin and tiny shards tore into the young wizard’s back, knocking him onto the ground again.
Looking up Zollin saw Branock hurrying away, and then there was another crash as a second stone crumbled and the entire tower began to sway. Zollin knew he had to make a choice. He could run after Branock and continue the fight, but if he did the watchtower would fall, destroying part of the castle and an even larger part of the city. Hundreds of people would die and Zollin knew he couldn’t live with that.
He turned and sent all of his magic into the tower. Despite the return of Zollin’s magical strength, the weight of the watchtower took every bit of power Zollin had. He managed to steady the swaying tower, but he knew he couldn’t hold the structure for long. Inside his magic felt like a blazing inferno, and his magical reservoir couldn’t hold it back. He felt his internal shields collapsing as he levitated as much of the shattered rock as he could and sent it hurtling back into the gap left by the massive stones.
Zollin wished in that moment that Brianna had been there to help, but he was alone. It took all the strength and energy he had to send a blast of fire hot enough to melt the stone. He could feel the rock growing soft with the heat, as smoke billowed up like a giant’s forge. The tower was so heavy, but he needed to mend it, to make it strong again, even if the effort made him weak.
The rock turned into a viscous blob and then Zollin sent another wave of magic toward the tower. He could sense the tiny bits of matter which sped up into a frenzy when heated. He forced them to slow, forced the stone to cool and harden. It only took a few seconds, but he had repaired the tower. He staggered back, turning to face Branock who stood near the soldiers, a look of awe on his face at Zollin’s power. The young wizard guessed that Branock had seen plenty of displays of destructive power, but maybe very few displays of constructive magic.
He was just about to call the elder wizard out again. He was exhausted, his magic was like a raging fire inside him, burning up all his physical strength, but he couldn’t just let the evil wizard of the Torr escape to cause more trouble. Before he could speak, though, he felt a pain rip through his body. Looking down he could see a sword blade stabbing through him—the blood was so shiny and red he could see his reflection on the wet blade.
“You should learn to respect your elders, boy,” Quinn snarled into his ear. “I thought I taught you better than that. You’re a bloody disappointment. I wish you’d never been born.”
Zollin screamed as the blade was pulled free. The realization that his own father had stabbed him locked his mind in a prison of pain he’d never experienced before. His whole life he’d felt like a disappointment to Quinn, until he discovered his magical abilities and stood up against the people who wanted to use and control him. But even worse than the blade, Zollin felt his father’s disappointment collapsing down on him. He fell to his knees, his eyes wide with shock and pain.
Quinn grabbed Zollin by the hair and flung him onto his back. Zollin could see the bright blue sky overhead, and the descending speck as Ferno raced to his aid. He hadn’t remembered calling to the powerful dragon, and while Zollin still didn’t want to see the loyal soldiers and innocent citizens hurt, there was nothing he could do to stop the dragon. The amulet around Zollin’s neck was pulsing with power as Zollin sent healing magic into his own body.
“You murdered King Hausey! Your mother died for you, and this is how you repay her. You will burn in the underworld for eternity,” Quinn said in a loud, almost manic voice. “We will have justice!”
The sword would have torn through Zollin’s neck but at the last second Zollin managed to raise a shield around himself. The blade bounced off the invisible magical barrier.
“No!” Quinn screamed, raining down blow after blow.
Zollin couldn’t move, he could hardly breathe. His mind was turned inward, focused solely on the massive wound to his body. He didn’t see the magnificent warrior who rushed to his aid, or the mighty dragon that drove the soldiers back down into the castle. Branock was fighting Ferno, sending waves of power against the beast who flew so fast the elder wizard couldn’t keep up. Branock’s normal fiery attacks did no damage. And Ferno blasted the rooftop with waves of the dragon’s fiery breath, until the elder wizard retreated into the castle.
Zollin could feel that his right lung had collapsed and was filling with blood. He had to mend the lung first, even though he felt weak and all he wanted to do was close his eyes and drift away. The purple amulet seemed to grow more powerful as Zollin’s own magic fumbled like broken fingers trying to thread a needle. The pain didn’t help. His body was in a state of shock that made it hard for Zollin to concentrate. Only the power of the amulet kept him conscious and focused on his wound.
Above him he could hear the sound of swords clashing and men grunting in a desperate fight, but he couldn't see them. His vision had grown dark and all he knew was pain. His body seemed like a bed of agony he couldn’t escape from, and in his mind he heard his father’s words over and over. You are such a disappointment. I wish you’d never been born. Your mother died for you and this is how you repay her?
He did his best to seal up the wounds. His strength was fading and the intricate work of repairing the damage to the delicate lining of his lungs would take time. He managed to stop the bleeding, but his right lung was still filled with blood and the pain was so great not even unconsciousness brought Zollin relief. He disappeared into a black void, where there was nothing but pain and the bitter anguish of his father’s words.
Chapter 23
“What now?” Babaz asked. “We can’t fight them all.”
“We can’t just let them loose on the world, either,” Jute said.
“Our priority must be getting our people out of here,” Hammert argued. “We haven’t had food or water since we escaped. Most of us won’t last another day.”
“I’m open to suggestions,” Babaz said.
“We need to get through the tunnel and seal it behind us,” Jute said.
“And how do you propose we do that? It would take weeks, even with the proper tools, to collapse a tunnel without getting ourselves killed in the process,” Babaz argued.
“There’s plenty of things to block off the tunnel entrance with on the outside,” Jute explained. “In fact there are several large boulders that we could push into the tunnel from higher up the mountain. The Groslings startle easily enough; I say we charge straight toward the tunnel and drive them back. Then our people can escape and if they attack us we can fight them in the confines of the tunnel.”
“What about the ones who already went through?” Babaz pointed out. “They’ll attack us from behind and trap us in the tunnel.”
“I don’t think so,” Jute argued. “I think all they want is to get away from the underworld.”
“It’s too risky,” Babaz said.
“We have to do something,” Hammer
t urged. “We can divide those strong enough to fight into two groups. Let one group fight while the others stay with the wounded. That way if the first group gets massacred the rest of us can try something different.”
“I don’t have a better plan,” Babaz said. “But I still don’t think this is a good idea.”
“Then stay with our wounded,” Jute said. “I’ll lead the charge.”
“Are all members of the Yel clan so brainless?” Babaz asked.
“Brainless maybe, but we’ll never be called cowards.”
“I’m no coward,” Babaz insisted.
“I’m not saying you are, but I haven’t come this far just to stop now. There is food and water to be had in the mountains. Our people will be safe enough there. Then we can focus on sealing the tunnel.”
Babaz muttered under his breath but he didn’t object. Hammert spoke up, lending his support to Jute’s plan.
“A good leader does whatever is necessary,” the heavyset dwarf said. “I’ll lead the wounded out once you’ve broken through their lines.”
“It’s not like they’re organized,” Jute said. “We just need to make as much noise as we can when we charge them.”
Babaz and Hammert split the healthiest dwarves into two groups. The attacking group of dwarves took their pick of weapons, mainly swords they had gathered from the fallen Groslings and pickaxes from the mine shaft. The other group took hammers and chisels, then waited with the wounded. Everyone had to be ready to move quickly, so most of the healthy dwarves in the second group took one of the wounded on their backs, ready to run out of the tunnel once it was clear of the demons from the underworld. The dwarves were tense as they prepared, but also excited. They could finally see a way out of the wretched caverns and they wanted to be free of the underworld forever.
“You ready?” Jute asked Babaz.
“The Oliad clan is always ready,” the bloody dwarf said, raising his pickaxe.
The charging dwarves were not swift, but they bellowed at the top of their lungs and waved their weapons over their heads. Perhaps it was their war cry, or the look of grim determination on their bearded faces, but the tactic worked. The Groslings scattered, a few up the tunnel but most back into the shadows of the cavern.
Sunlight filtered down into the cavern from the tunnel. It wasn’t bright, but it was enough to make the phosphorescent minerals seem dim and the shadows in the cavern impenetrable. None of the Groslings stood their ground and the dwarves spread out and shouted for the others to make good their escape.
The demons found their courage once they saw the tunnel blocked by the dwarves. Jute couldn’t tell if the demons from the underworld really wanted to stop the dwarves from escaping, or if they feared they would be trapped in the caverns themselves, but either way they gathered their courage and charged at the line of dwarves.
“Hold this line!” Jute shouted.
“For your clan and kin!” Babaz shouted.
The other dwarves echoed the battle cry and then there was a clash of weapons, steel on steel, flesh, and bone. The screams were horrific, but Jute could only focus on the creatures trying to kill him, everything else receded into the background.
A wretched creature with burn scars covering its already hideous face tried to knock Jute down. The demon had a wooden club and swung the weapon in a savage overhanded arc meant to crack open his skull, but the dwarf was too strong. He caught the club on his curved sword then thrust the demon back. Some of the Groslings were terribly strong, but others used their terrifying looks to bully those around them. The scarred creature that fought Jute seemed sad and weak. Jute guessed the wretched demon had lost all hope after finally coming tantalizingly close to freedom, only to see the dwarves block its way. Had the creature charged up the tunnel when the dwarves first appeared it would have survived, instead the craven beast fell back. To make matters worse it tried to kill Jute, who even with one arm was more than a match for the Grosling.
When the creature tried to swat Jute’s sword away, the dwarf feinted back but held his ground, drawing the demon close enough for the killing blow. He thrust his sword forward and the curved blade bit deeply into the creature’s guts. The pain must have been overwhelming, but the demon only looked sad as it drew back, leaving its entrails on the cavern floor.
Jute couldn’t help but feel sorry for the scarred demon and another creature tried to take advantage of Jute’s moment of compassion. The new threat was even shorter than Jute, with a hunched back that was grossly misshapen. It loped across the cavern floor like a three-legged dog, using its left hand to support the heavy hump on its back. The creature had a dagger made of obsidian, and might have succeeded in stabbing Jute with it if the demon hadn’t slipped on the scarred Grosling’s bloody entrails. It fell hard at Jute’s feet, and the dwarf wasted no time chopping down on the creature’s neck with his sword. The weapon was too dull to slice cleanly through, but it severed the demon’s spinal cord and killed the hunchback quickly.
“Fall back!” Hammert shouted. “We’re all through!”
Jute chanced a quick glance over his shoulder to see the wounded dwarves being helped up the tunnel and into the sunlight. Another creature rushed toward him. The beast looked like a giant insect with dozens of legs, large eye stalks and beak-like pincer. Jute slashed with his sword, but the blade bounced off the creature’s tough exoskeleton. Luckily the blow was strong enough to knock the creature backward. It recoiled onto its rear legs, the body collapsing back on itself, then sprang forward again.
Jute thrust out his sword, which the insectile creature took in its mouth. Jute guessed there was nothing flesh inside the beak, which grasped onto the rusty metal and shook like a dog fighting for a bone. The creature jerked the sword from Jute’s hand and flung it away. Jute had a chisel tucked into his belt and he tugged the tool free as he stumbled backward. Some of the other dwarves were making their way into the tunnel and Jute wanted to join them, but he also needed to ensure that all the other dwarves made it to safety first. He took solace in the fact that even if he died, he had succeeded in freeing his kin.
The creature lunged for Jute, who instinctively brought his broken arm up defensively. The demon’s beak snapped down, crunching through the hardened clay cast like it was a dry twig. Jute bellowed in pain as the pincer tore through his flesh, but at the same time he stabbed with the chisel, striking the insect in the eye. He felt the chisel punch through the dark orb, which popped beneath the tool like teeth biting into a grape. Pain colored Jute’s world and the agony seemed to pull at his mind, but the dwarf’s discipline held firm as he instinctively drove the chisel deeper.
Jute and the insectoid fell together. Jute kicked himself away from the creature, which was flopping madly, but the dwarf’s strength was suddenly gone. He looked down at his broken arm to see blood pouring from the cast, which ended halfway down his forearm. Jute’s hand was gone. He saw bright flashes in his vision, which then dimmed and wavered. All around him were screams and cries but it was incoherent to Jute. He was ready to die, ready for the pain to end, ready to be rid of the caverns under the Walheta Mountains. He had done his part. He had rescued his people and led them to the tunnel where they could escape. There was nothing left to do but let the darkness carry him away.
He didn’t expect the darkness to be so rough, but he could feel himself being dragged along. There was grunting and shouting, but the pain Jute felt was so overwhelming he couldn’t think of anything else. The light seemed to be getting brighter, and to Jute’s wounded mind he imagined that he was being ushered to his ancestors in a brightly lit hall where he would be feasted for eternity. Then the sunlight blinded his eyes and he felt rough hands lifting him. Death, he thought, was not what he expected.
“We have to get the cast off,” someone said.
“Use the chisels.”
“Be careful.”
“We have to tie off that arm to stop the bleeding.”
“Don’t let him die. We would still be s
laves in the underworld if not for him.”
“What about the tunnel?”
Jute couldn’t understand what he was hearing. He thought he was dead, but the pain hadn’t stopped. He couldn’t open his eyes, and the bright light was burning through his thin eyelids. And the pounding on his broken arm was torturous.
“It looks bad.”
“Tie it off. We’ll have to cauterize it to stop the bleeding.”
Jute felt his arm being lifted. A leather belt was wrapped around his upper arm and pulled so tight he screamed. Then finally, after all the pain and exhaustion, the world went black and Jute’s pain ended.
Chapter 24
Mansel was almost ready. His wounds were healing, the bruising and swelling was almost gone, and his leg could carry his weight for most of the day. He had purchased enough supplies for three people to eat for a week, but traveling in the wintertime was difficult. He still needed blankets, warm clothes, and horses. He was still staying with Jossah, although he knew the crowded cottage was becoming uncomfortable, so he was spending most evenings at a nearby tavern. There had been a time in Mansel’s life when he loved the noise and laughter of a crowd. His own drinking had been social at first, and oftentimes he struggled to know how much was too much, but Nycol had changed that. In her he’d found the serenity of quiet places, and fulfillment that only came in being with a person he loved with all his heart. He had lost that serenity, that fulfillment, when Nycol died, and so Mansel had returned to strong drink but only to forget all he had lost.
Chaos Reigning: The Five Kingdoms Book 10 Page 17