Offendorl knew he should be dead, but he wasn’t. His body had been rejuvenated by magic for centuries. He was ancient, but the magic he wielded had kept his muscles and organs functioning. But the wounds the scorpion-tailed creatures had inflicted on him should have ended his life. Something else was keeping Offendorl alive—something dark and powerful.
“You’re awake at last,” came a rasping voice that sounded oddly familiar to Offendorl.
The creature that had once been Gwendolyn stepped close enough to Offendorl for the elder wizard to see her face. Her skin was dark red and her body was now covered with a thick, scaly hide. She still had the features of a woman, but she had cast aside her silk dress and the reptilian scales now covered her nakedness.
“What are you doing?” Offendorl managed to say. His tongue was swollen and holding his head up was difficult.
“I’m doing what I was born to do,” she hissed. “I’ve cast off my veil and embraced my true nature. I am the Queen of the Darkened Realm. My power has never been greater.”
“You are foolish,” Offendorl croaked.
Gwendolyn struck the ancient wizard in the side, snapping at least three ribs. Pain lanced through his body and caused the wizard to gasp in pain.
“Do not mock me!” Gwendolyn said. “I am the only thing keeping you alive.”
“Let…me…die,” Offendorl said.
“Oh, no, that would never do. You are a wizard of extraordinary power. I have plans for you. The venom of my horde will take effect soon. You shall become my greatest creation. Together, we shall crush the mortals above and establish my dominion over the realms of men.”
“I won’t,” he said softly.
“You will,” Gwendolyn said. “You have no choice.”
She grabbed a handful of the ancient wizard’s thin, gray hair, holding his head up and forcing him to look into her eyes. He could feel his body changing, feel bones snapping and re-growing, feel his skin stretching, feel muscles shredding and reforming. The transformation was nothing less than exquisite agony, but Offendorl’s mind somehow rose above the pain. He became entranced by Gwendolyn, but not like before, when she had cast her spell of twisted love on the men of the Five Kingdoms. This spell was deeper, born of darkness; it had nothing to do with lust or desire, but it bound the defeated Master of the Torr to Gwendolyn stronger than any bonds of steel.
“Soon you shall understand your place as my pet,” Gwendolyn said. “And together we shall spread darkness across the Five Kingdoms and beyond. Nothing shall stop us now.”
“As you wish, my queen,” Offendorl said.
* * *
Havina rode the horse hard. Her body hurt, but she knew she needed to get as far away from the city as possible. The horse galloped until it could run no more. Then it began to trot, no matter how hard her heels dug into its sweat covered flanks. White foam dripped from the horse’s mouth, but Havina kept the horse moving until finally it collapsed.
She fell hard, but she climbed back to her feet and kept moving. She put the gold circlet on her head, but nothing happened. She had expected to feel some sort of magical bond with the dragon, but she didn’t.
“Dragon,” she said out loud, feeling a little foolish, but there was no one around to hear her. “Dragon!”
Still she felt nothing. The ground shook beneath her feet and she waited, holding her breath in fear that the world would end, but it didn’t. Soon the stars came out and a cool breeze blew across her feverish skin. She took the circlet off her head. It glinted, almost glowing in the starlight. Behind her the dark, unnatural clouds could still be seen, but she ignored them. She studied the crown, afraid that Offendorl had lied about it’s power—but then she saw the name inscribed on the gold band.
Bartoom.
She put the crown back on her head and spoke in a loud clear voice.
“Bartoom,” she said. “I am Havina, your new master. Come to me.”
This time she felt a tingle in the back of her neck, just below her skull. Then, a dream-like image appeared in her mind. She saw the other dragons, one golden, one green, and a small blue one. They were in the air, high above the ground, but that is where the image came from. She heard a roar in her mind, then the image shifted and she realized that she was seeing what the dragon saw. It was turning, leaving the other dragons and coming to her.
It took all night to reach her destination. She had returned to the ruins at Castlebury. The big black dragon waited for her there. She climbed the hill, ignoring the burned ruins of her former home. When she reached the top, she saw Bartoom. The dragon was sitting proudly as the sun lit the sky pink in the east. She walked closer and the dragon lowered its long neck and growled at her, the scaly lips pulling back and revealing rows of razor sharp teeth.
Havina was both terrified and excited. The dragon obeyed her. It was more powerful than any creature she had dreamed of, and now it was hers.
“I want to fly,” she said.
Bartoom growled again, but lowered its body. She climbed up onto the beast’s back. Her hands were raw and bleeding by the time she settled, and once again she was glad that she was wearing the men’s clothing that Offendorl insisted she wear. The dragon was so big that her hips ached a little because her legs were stretched so far apart. She could feel the heat rising off the dragon, and the way its ribs expanded with each breath.
Then Bartoom jumped into the air and Havina was flying. The air was cold, but the thrill of being so high in the air filled her with an exhilaration she had never experienced. She laughed for a long time, holding tight while the dragon rode on the air currents. Then she made a decision.
“Take us south,” she said. “We need a new home.”
* * *
They crawled up the jagged walls, their large hands gripping precarious nooks in the rock. Massive scimitars hung from their backs, which were covered with bony armor that was fused to their flesh. Their muscles bulged and their faces were swollen so that they no longer looked human. Their teeth were so large they protruded from between fat lips. They wore thick, metal helmets on their heads, and their eyes seemed small and beady in their oversized faces.
The bone-like armor was fused across their bodies so that they looked almost like hulking insects. They wore only thick belts and loincloths. Their feet were flat and large, their legs swollen with muscles. They grunted as they climbed. They’re bodies ached from the exertion, but their only thought was to please their master. She was the queen of the Darkened Realm and she had given them only one task—to kill.
Author’s Note
There is a lot I could say about the Five Kingdoms, but the most important thing is that the story isn’t over. When I wrote Wizard Rising, I had no idea how the story would capture so many people’s imaginations. I get emails daily from fans of the series wanting to express their gratitude for the Five Kingdoms books, and of course wanting to know when the next book will be available. I originally hoped that I could write five books about Zollin, Brianna, and their friends, but writing is a very organic process. When I write I usually feel more like I’m reading the story, or that someone else is dictating the story in my head and I’m just writing it down. Of course, I’m making all the decisions, but there are times when I’m completely surprised by an idea that occurs mid-sentence and changes the arc of the story completely. That happened when Gwendolyn became a witch at the end of Hidden Fire. I had only planned on her being a supporting character, but she took on a life of her own and wouldn’t be denied.
I hope that you enjoyed Fierce Loyalty. I labored over this book, because everything in the Five Kingdoms has changed. The story has become bigger and darker than I ever imagined when I started writing about a young man who discovers, to his surprise, that he can work magic. I hope that you will stay with me for a few more books. I have lots in store for the characters we have come to love and the magical world of the Five Kingdoms. I want to say thank you so very much for buying my books and reading the stories I dream up. I�
�m looking forward to writing a lot more books and I hope you’ll join me for those adventures as well.
Warmest Regards,
Toby Neighbors
April 4, 2013
Be sure to read the Lorik Trilogy, set in the Five Kingdoms
Chapter 1
Blood dripped from his knuckle. It wasn’t his blood, but he didn’t bother to wipe it away. It was hard to miss, and the patrons in the busy tavern took notice. He wore dark woolen pants with tall, rugged boots that were covered with mud. His shirt was sweat-stained, but that was not uncommon in the marshlands. He had close-cropped hair, and his face was covered with stubble that wasn’t quite a beard. Around his waist was a leather belt that was slung low, and on each hip hung a knife with knuckle guards that arched up and down over his fingers. The weapons were made to be held backward, so that the blade pointed down, and the stranger obviously used them frequently.
Lorik was alone in a corner of the tavern and watched silently as the stranger made his way toward the bar. He wasn’t surprised to see a man like the stranger in Hassell Point, which was full of pirates and outlaws. The only thing that made the man different was the state of his clothes, which Lorik recognized immediately as riding gear. From the mud on the stranger’s clothes, Lorik determined that he had passed through the marshes, no mean feat for an outsider.
The stranger ordered a drink at the bar. There was wine and mead available at the tavern, but most of the patrons ordered the strong rice liquor that was a speciality in the Marshlands. The pirates who frequented Hassell Point sometimes traded their rum for the spirit the locals called saka, but it was an acquired taste that most visitors to the area didn’t care for. The locals all watched to see what the stranger would order and how he would drink it.
Lorik watched Marsdyn as much as the stranger. Marsdyn was the leader of the the local gang known to the Marshland inhabitants as the Riders. Most of the tradesmen in Hassell Point paid the Riders protection money, which made Marsdyn the closest thing to law in the Marshlands. Of course the Earl was the official lord, but the difficulty of crossing the Marshlands made the area a haven for lawless types like Marsdyn’s Riders.
Marsdyn took special notice of the stranger. He was young, mid-twenties Lorik guessed, but he had a lot of experience. The knives he wore were custom-made. Lorik had seen a lot of weapons, but never any with knuckle guards like the ones on the stranger’s knives. He wore them lower than most weapons as well.
The stranger ordered saka and was given a very small terra-cotta cup. He picked up the drink and sniffed it. Saka had a very strong aroma that would burn a man’s sinuses if it was inhaled too sharply. The stranger didn’t seem fazed by the saka. He tipped the small cup back, drank it all down, and ordered another.
Marsdyn looked over at his companions and smiled. They didn’t seem pleased.
“Go ahead and find out what we’re dealing with here,” he told them.
“You ever seen blades like that, Mars?”
“Nope,” Marsdyn said. “He wears ’em low, too. It’s got me curious. I got your back, go ahead and see what he’s made of.”
Lorik double-checked his path to the door. He wasn’t afraid of a fight, but he didn’t see the need to get involved in the business of strangers. He wanted to finish his drink, and maybe have another. He also wanted to see Vera. She was a wench, but they had the only thing close to a relationship Lorik had time for. He’d been back in Hassell Point only a few hours and would most likely be heading out again soon. If a fight broke out in the tavern he would have to find another place to drink.
The two men with Marsdyn stood up. The were both big men. Most of the local rice farmers were short and slight of build. The two men with Marsdyn both carried heavy daggers that were shaped like cutlasses but only as long as a man’s forearm. The blades were called Hax knives and were common in the Marshlands. As much a tool as a weapon, the knife was easy to make and sturdy, resisting the oxidation that was so common in the wet conditions of the Marshlands. The men wore leather vests and padded riding pants, which were a badge of honor among the locals. Horses were rare in the Marshlands. Marsdyn’s crew were the only riders in Hassell Point other than Lorik, who was a teamster delivering the rice crops north through the Marshlands to the Earl in Yorick Shire.
The two Riders approached the bar on either side of the stranger, who acted as if they weren’t there. When the tavern host refilled the stranger’s little cup, Pazel, who was standing on the stranger’s right side, snatched the drink away and drank it down in one scorching swallow. The stranger looked up at Pazel, who was several inches taller, and smirked. The smile made Pazel nervous. He wasn’t accustomed to people being at ease around him. He was an imposing figure and he liked intimidating people.
“Drinks for my friends here,” the stranger said to the tavern proprietor, “they’re thirsty.”
Two cups were set on the bar, which was a sturdy structure, made from stone with a long, polished wooden top. More saka was poured and once again Pazel started to take the stranger’s drink, but his hand never reached the small cup. The stranger’s arm shot out, his fingers bent at the middle knuckle so that his hand was flat and rigid. The blow struck Pazel in the throat, and, even though it wasn’t a powerful punch, the big man reeled backwards, clutching at his throat and gagging for breath.
The man on the stranger’s left was called Oky. He hesitated for just a second, as shocked as the rest of the locals at how quickly Pazel had been taken out of the fight. Then his hand dropped to his Hax, but the stranger’s boot smashed into his knee before he could draw the blade. The leg flexed backward, the bones grinding and the tendons popping. Oky screamed in pain and fell to the floor, clutching his leg.
The stranger seemed undisturbed. He had barely moved from his spot at the bar. He picked up his small cup of saka and drank it down in one quick gulp that was meant to keep the scorching alcohol from burning his throat.
“You gonna drink this?” the stranger said to Oky, who was writhing on the floor. “Do you mind if I...?” he gestured at the drink.
When Oky didn’t reply the stranger picked up the drink and sipped it. Then he turned around to face the locals, leaning back against the bar. There were several wenches in the tavern, some serving drinks, others flirting with the locals. The stranger let his gaze move slowly across the room, taking in the scowls of the locals and the few pirates who were busy drinking in the mid-afternoon.
Marsdyn stood up. He was every bit as big as Pazel, but older. He had a scar that ran from his hairline down to his jaw. His hair was salted with gray, and pulled back into a long ponytail that was tied with a leather cord. He had a thick sash around his waist instead of a belt, and a delicate-looking dagger was tucked into the sash at an angle. It was the only visible weapon he carried. He walked up to the stranger and smiled.
“I’m Mars,” he said. “I’m what you might call the local overseer. I make sure that the people here understand what’s expected of them.”
“Is that right?” the stranger said.
Marsdyn nodded. He looked at the stranger’s knives.
“Those are some interesting weapons,” he said.
The stranger moved his hand slowly down to the knife on his right hip. His fingers slid under the knuckle guard and wrapped around the hilt. His movements were slow and unthreatening. He drew the knife and held it up. The blade was pointed toward his elbow, thick at the spine which angled close to his forearm. There was a fuller groove that ran parallel to the spine to make the blade lighter.
“They’re useful in a pinch,” the stranger said.
“I can see that,” Marsdyn said. “Why don’t you put them on the bar and come have a drink?”
“I’ve got a drink,” the stranger said, lifting up the little cup that was in his left hand. “And I don’t leave my weapons lying around unattended. That’s dangerous.”
“Marsdyn smiled. “I like you. You say just what’s on your mind, in a fashion, of course.”
“You aren’t from around here,” Marsdyn said. “Although you drink saka like a local.”
“I grew up in a coastal dive like this one,” he said. “I’ve drunk much worse.”
“You planning on sticking around a while?”
“Maybe.”
“You kill anyone I know?” Marsdyn said, pointing to the blood on the stranger’s knuckles.
“Didn’t kill ’em, just bloodied their noses a little.”
“Locals or sailors?”
“Sailors,” the stranger said.
“You ride in?”
“I did.”
“We’ve got a stable. Let me offer you a place to keep your horse, and maybe something a little better to drink.”
“That’s kind of you.”
“You have a name?” Marsdyn asked.
“I’m called Stone.”
Chapter 2
“So, what’d you think?” Vera said as she circled around behind Lorik and refilled his drink.
“He’s efficient,” Lorik said.
Vera smirked, “Efficient, that’s all you thought, not dangerous or frightening?”
She poured him more mead. The Marshlands didn’t allow for the growth of many crops, but there were abundant wildflowers, and many of the local farmers kept bees, making mead much more prevalent than ale.
Five Kingdoms: Book 05 - Fierce Loyalty Page 37