Sails blossomed on the lead ship and the others followed suit. The show was over and Branock went back down into his berth. It was obvious that Roleena would get Zollin’s attention. That led to the natural question of whether she could best him or not. Either way, Branock knew his time at sea was running out.
Chapter 13
The next morning they waited at their camp for nearly an hour after sunrise. Mansel guessed that Homar, having discovered that his heinous attempt to kidnap Danella had failed, would expect them to push on quickly. Under different circumstances Mansel might have been inclined to do just that. They could have set off at dawn, pushed their mounts hard, perhaps even continuing their journey through the night, and gotten well enough ahead of the nobles that they wouldn’t have needed to fear for their lives. But Mansel was intent on facing Homar, to look into the eyes of the man who had tried to have him killed.
Danella was finally asleep by the fire after struggling to rest most of the night. Mansel let her sleep until the pair of nobles, along with their small war band, came into view. He roused Danella and got her on horseback. They could push on and put distance between themselves and Homar once the man had seen the measure of their resolve.
“Is that Homar?” Danella asked as she settled onto her horse.
Mansel had already packed their belongings and saddled both horses. Danella could eat as they rode, if he could get her to eat at all. And it would only take a moment to stamp out the remains of their campfire.
“Yes,” he said, still holding the reins of her horse as he kicked some snow onto the embers. Steam rose in a hiss that Mansel ignored as he climbed into his own saddle.
The horses were well rested. Unlike Mansel and Danella, the deadly attack in the middle of the night hadn’t really bothered them. They had gotten nervous when the assailants approached the camp, but once the fighting was over, and they had eaten a little more of the dry, stalky grass under their hooves, they went back to sleep.
“Are those the men you killed?” Danella said as they moved toward the Weaver’s Road.
There were two bodies laid out on the wide road. Both men were obviously dead, their skin pasty, their blank eyes staring up at the gray sky. There was blood on their clothes as well, a dark, rusty red color.
“Yes,” Mansel said. “The men we killed. You surprised me last night.”
“I won’t be forced to do anything against my will,” Danella said. “Vyctor died to give me that freedom. I’ll die before I give it up.”
Mansel didn’t comment further, but he turned his companion’s words over and over in his mind. He felt exactly the same way. Since learning to use a sword he’d gained a confidence that was radically different from his life growing up in Tranaugh Shire. Despite his confidence, the woman he loved more than life itself had been killed. And Quinn, the man he loved like his own father had fallen sick and been lost. Yet he knew in his heart that he would rather die than let the people he cared about down again.
They moved their horses out onto the road, getting as close to the dead bodies as their nervous horses would take them. The bodies were stiff, Mansel had discovered this when he moved them shortly after sunrise. He’d had to drag the bodies to the road since they were too stiff to carry, but they didn’t smell yet, at least Mansel and Danella couldn’t smell them. The horses could however, and they would only get so close to the carcasses.
The riders approaching were moving slowly, their horses plodding on thick hooves. They were big mounts, war horses trained to carry heavily armed men into battle. Mansel’s mount was lighter and much faster, as was Danella’s, although she was not a good rider. If they had to flee, Mansel wasn’t sure she could stay in the saddle at a gallop.
“Homar!” Mansel shouted. “Here are your assassins.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the nobleman said calmly, although his eyes revealed his fury.
“I’m sure you and your companion know nothing of the three men who entered our camp under cover of darkness and tried to slay me. They also tried to make off with Lady Danella, but as you can see they failed.”
“I only see two men,” said the other noble, a tall man with flowing hair and a matching beard and mustache.
“One escaped, although he was bleeding quite a lot. You’re war band looks healthy and whole.”
“That's because we had nothing to do with this,” Homar said angrily.
“And yet there are only twenty-seven men in your company,” Mansel said, guessing the number merely to make his point. “I also see three riderless horses.”
“Some people see whatever they want to see,” said the long-haired noble. “I once knew a man who saw fairies and demons. I didn’t give his stories any more credence than I am giving yours.”
Mansel knew that if he fought the nobles, he would be overwhelmed and killed by their war band. On the other hand, if he did nothing, they would think him afraid. He was Zollin’s man, but the nobles were important to his plan. Mansel couldn’t go around slaying whoever angered him.
“Lady Danella has made her wishes clear,” Mansel said, raising his voice so that the men in the war band could hear him. “She wants only to be left alone. If anyone comes for her they will meet the same fate as these wretched souls.”
Mansel waved his hand at the dead men, but the warriors only stared quietly at Mansel.
“Perhaps you have abducted Lady Danella,” Homar said.
“These men were probably sent to liberate her,” said the man with long hair.
“Mark my words,” Mansel said, nudging his horse into a slow retreat.
The nobles stared balefully as Mansel’s horse backed away from them. Danella’s horse turned around and trotted ahead, but Mansel didn’t trust the group of warriors. He feared that one might draw a bow to shoot him down if he turned too quickly. The nobles didn’t move, they just sat watching him go, until Mansel turned his horse and kicked the big gelding into a trot beside Danella.
“They didn’t seem cowed,” she said.
“No, they didn’t,” Mansel agreed. “They’re going to be trouble.”
“We could leave Yelsia,” Danella said. “They’re going to Ebbson Keep. I doubt they would follow us south.”
“Maybe not, but Zollin is depending on me. You could go. I could find you an escort in Felson that would get you safely into Falxis.”
“Safety is an illusion. We are never safe.”
“That’s a grim outlook.”
“It’s realistic,” Danella said. “I’ll stay with you. No one else understands how I feel.”
“And I do?” Mansel said, looking back over his shoulder at the warriors who still hadn’t moved from the far side of the dead men in the road. They were nothing more than a dark smudge in the distance, but Mansel felt the danger they represented.
“More than most at any rate,” Danella explained. “I can see the loss you carry. It’s in your eyes. And I feel comfortable with you. Most men just look at me like I’m a dessert they intend to devour. You’ve never looked at me that way.”
“You’re my best friend’s younger sister. That makes you like a sister to me.”
“Brianna is your best friend?”
“One of two,” Mansel said. “Your sister and I have been through a lot together. She’s been there for me when I needed her. I like to think I’ve been there for her too.”
“I’m sure you have. You have been a good friend to our family.”
They rode on in silence, pushing the horses hard through the day and then walking them when evening approached. They were both tired, but Mansel knew they couldn’t rest. If he’d taken a wagon Danella could have slept in the back while they traveled, but a wagon would be too slow.
“Are we stopping?” she asked.
“No, we need to push on through the night.”
Her face was grim but determined and Mansel couldn’t help but admire her even more. She didn’t seem strong, didn’t look capable of hard living, yet s
he didn’t shy away from it. She didn’t complain even when things were difficult. He appreciated her fortitude in the face of a long, exhausting night.
They walked as long as they could, leading the horses by their reins and stopping occasionally for rest, but never making camp. With only a few hours left until dawn, they mounted their horses and rode through the rest of the night. Danella dozed in the saddle, her head drooping onto her chest. When the sun rose, Mansel led his horse and Danella’s, letting the young woman rest. As long as he kept his hand on the handle of his sword, he felt the effects of the magical stone Zollin had embedded into the cross guard. It filled him with a stamina not his own, and allowed him to keep moving.
They reached Felson late in the afternoon. Storm clouds were building in the north and Mansel didn’t want to get stuck in the city. He led the way through town and they took a room in a small inn. There was only one bed, and a small one at that, but Mansel didn’t mind. The room was warm and safe, which was all the young warrior cared about. The floor was made of rough-hewn boards, but a tattered quilt doubled over was all the mattress Mansel needed. He slept right next to the door, insuring that no one could get into room without his knowledge.
The night passed quickly and without incident. Snow was falling by the time they rode out of the city, tiny flakes swirling around them, hinting at the storm that was brewing to the north. They rode most of the day, walking only when they were cold and stiff from the wind. The horses snorted, blowing clouds of steam from their large nostrils. Mansel made a habit of looking back over his shoulder, alert for any sign that the nobles and their war band had caught up to them. But the day passed without incident, and the travelers took refuge in a small farm community. There was no inn, but a large barn served well enough as the storm raged through the night.
The next morning the entire countryside was covered in snow, and the clouds hung heavy above them. The light from the sun was dim, and the wind howled as it raced along, whipping the snow into a swirling maelstrom that made it hard to see beyond their horses.
“Should we push on?” Danella asked.
“I don’t know,” Mansel said. “It would be easy to get lost in a storm like this.”
They stayed in the barn, resting their horses and waiting for a break in the weather. The snow let up after a few hours, although fat flakes continued to fall in a slow, almost magical manner.
They walked the horses, trudging single file, with Mansel breaking a trail through the snow, which the horses and Danella followed. It was exhausting, but with his hand on the hilt of his sword he was able to keep moving forward. Mansel had been cold before, but the snow clung to his legs, snagged in his clothes, and weighed heavy on his shoulders. They traveled for almost two hours before coming to a small village and deciding they had gone far enough.
After taking a room at the only inn in the village, they huddled by the fire, drinking ale and sipping hot soup until the memories of their icy trek faded and they could relax. They still had a long way to go, and the weather didn’t seem to be making it easy on them, but Mansel knew they could endure. His only fear was that the storm might cause the nobles from Orrock to turn back. And Mansel wanted as many warriors with him as possible when he faced off with the magical monsters Zollin had described.
Chapter 14
An hour before noon Zollin and Brianna took to the sky again, moving quickly up the coast. They flew all day, turning east again after a few hours. Zollin felt Lorik in the distance almost the way a person could sense a storm coming. As they progressed the feeling grew stronger, eventually becoming defined. It was almost dark as the dragons descended.
“It’s a little early to make camp,” Brianna said, her eyebrows raised.
“He’s coming,” Zollin said. “I felt it might be better if he finds us.”
They were in the middle of a wide plain. There was no shelter, nowhere to hide, just Zollin, Brianna, Ferno, and Sorva. Brianna kindled a fire, although there was precious little fuel. Her power didn’t need wood to sustain a fire, and Zollin was grateful for the warmth. When they saw Lorik he was running toward them, the setting sun casting his shadow out in a long line behind him.
“I’ve never seen anyone move like that,” Brianna commented.
“I told you,” Zollin said. “He’s powerful… just in a different way.”
The sense of chaos radiating from Lorik was so tangible it was like the heat from the fire. It reminded Zollin of the madness he had felt in his father’s mind. Lorik slowed as he grew near them, his hulking form followed by a strange shadowy creature that Zollin had never seen before.
“What’s that with him?” Brianna asked.
“I don’t know.”
Lorik walked across the last hundred yards toward the camp as the sun set. The shadowy figure disappeared into the darkness and Zollin felt a shiver of fear run down his back. He silently raised a shield around himself and Brianna, while at the same time letting his magical senses spread out around him. He hadn’t seen anyone other than Lorik and the strange being with him, but Zollin felt exposed and vulnerable. It was an uncomfortable feeling.
Brianna’s fire crackled brightly, illuminating the camp, but Lorik was still far enough beyond its light to remain in shadow. Still, he was an impressive figure. Zollin was used to Mansel, who was tall, with broad, muscular shoulders and thick muscles in his back, arms, and thighs. But there was really no comparison to Lorik, who had muscles so thick it was almost hard to believe. He was taller even than Mansel, and he wore black armor that seemed to soak up the light. Zollin could feel powerful magic emanating from Lorik, and the warrior’s presence made him feel small and weak.
“Hello Lorik.”
“Zollin the Wizard,” Lorik said, his voice deep and loud, despite the distance. “Are we welcome in your camp?”
“Yes,” Zollin replied. “Please, join us. We have food and wine.”
Lorik walked slowly toward the light and behind him his shadow seemed to waver. Zollin was surprised that Lorik was even larger than he realized. His arms were as thick as most men’s thighs, and his neck was as wide as his head. He towered over Zollin as he approached.
“Your hospitality is appreciated,” Lorik said. “Who, may I ask, is this lovely creature?”
“Lorik of Ortis, meet Brianna, my wife.”
“It is a pleasure, Lord Lorik,” Brianna said.
“The pleasure is all mine, lady. But I sense there is more to you than good looks.”
Brianna held up a hand, igniting flames that licked up her long, tapering fingers.
“That is an impressive trick,” Lorik said, his eyes wide with surprise.
“Brianna is what the dwarves call a Fire Spirit,” Zollin explained. “She can control fire, among other abilities.”
“Fascinating,” Lorik continued. “And you have pets.”
“The dragons are not pets,” Brianna said. Zollin could detect a hint of irritation in her voice. “They are our companions.”
“I remember this one,” Lorik said as he approached Ferno. “He saved my life.”
Zollin was a little surprised when the big warrior approached Ferno. They looked as if they were molded from the same stock. Both were thick with muscle, virtual giants, as if they were legends from the old stories come to life. Ferno growled quietly as Lorik approached. Zollin had never seen anyone other than Brianna approach the dragons with such confidence.
“And this black beauty is astounding,” Lorik said about Sorva. Then, as if he were talking directly to the dragons themselves he said, “I have built a grand city far to the south. The crowning achievement is a lair for one of your own kind. An enormous black dragon.”
Ferno roared so loudly that even Zollin took a step back, but not Lorik. He held his ground just a few feet from Ferno’s great, green head. The dragon’s eyes were narrow and its shoulders hunched, as if it were going to launch itself at Lorik.
“Ah, maybe you know each other,” Lorik went on. “At any rate, all
creatures are welcome in our new kingdom. In Center Point you can live freely, with no fear of anyone enslaving you.”
“Ferno and Sorva are not slaves,” Brianna said. “They are members of a strong pride and volunteered to help us.”
“I have no doubt,” Lorik said, turning back to Zollin and Brianna. “They are fine beasts. It is a sign of your royalty that they accompany you.”
“Lorik,” Zollin said, trying to steer the conversation back under his control. “What has happened here in Ortis?”
“That is a long story,” Lorik said as he sat down by the fire, stretching his massive legs out and reclining on one elbow. “Much has happened since last we met.”
“Did the witch’s army march this far north?” Zollin asked.
“The witch’s scorpion-tailed beasts overran most of Ortis. Destroying villages and taking the innocent to their vile queen. She in turn mutated them into monsters.”
“The outcasts,” Brianna said.
“Yes, the outcasts,” Lorik said. “Myself and a small band of fighters engaged the witch’s army in Ort City. We were surrounded without much hope when her control over them broke.”
“Zollin killed her,” Brianna said.
“I guessed as much,” Lorik said. “For that I am grateful. We met many of the outcasts once they had regained their own wills. They were frightened and alone. I took my band of fighters back to the north, taking word to King Ricard’s army that had formed a defensive line in Ortis. When I went to speak with King Ricard I learned that his daughter had been taken and volunteered to rescue her, but was unsuccessful. In return the king sent his fool of a cousin into Ortis with enough troops to take up possession of the throne.”
“Yettlebor,” Zollin said.
There was hiss from the darkness beyond the ring of light from Brianna’s fire.
“The false king,” Lorik said coldly. “I should have dealt with him immediately, but instead I returned to the Drery Dru in the Wilderlands. For almost a year I sheltered with the forest elves, in search of contentment that was not to be found. Then I returned to Ort City to find a foreigner on the throne of Ortis and common outlaws given lands, titles, and gold in exchange for loyalty to the bastard.”
Controlling Chaos (The Five Kingdoms Book 12) Page 9