Controlling Chaos (The Five Kingdoms Book 12)

by Toby Neighbors

  Occasionally the conversations turned to the rumors of sea monsters. At first Zollin thought it was just old wives’ tales, but the rumors were specific. Something was destroying harbor town after harbor town. Zollin listened intently whenever he came across anyone talking about the attacks. Their stories differed, and while most of the patrons weren’t seamen, they had plenty of dealings with the sailors in Selphon City. The one thing about the stories that was consistent were the descriptions of the monster. A giant beast with green tentacles strong enough to pull a ship under the water, smash wooden piers, and destroy anything built along the shoreline.

  Zollin remembered Mansel’s warning that Roleena had somehow taken control of the great sea squid that had attacked their ship in the Twin Cities. The beast was drawn to magic, but he’d never heard of it attacking a port. There were plenty of stories of sea monsters, and no shortage of missing ships that sailed away and were never heard of again. Zollin knew that most of the stories were just that, stories used to explain things that couldn’t be explained, such as how a ship sank in good weather or what caused a freak storm. But the giant squid was real, Zollin had seen it and even used it to battle Bartoom when the great black dragon had attacked the ship Zollin and Mansel were sailing in. If it was attacking the harbor towns, Zollin knew he would have to stop it, but the timing was just too suspicious. Branock had fled Orrock with Roleena, and now her pet was attacking cities he had vowed to protect.

  More gossip implied that the creature was working its way south. Angel’s Shelter had been attacked, Lorye was all but destroyed, Winsome was in ruins, and the Twin Cities had become a ship graveyard. Zollin hoped the gossip was exaggerated, but he wasn’t surprised that the creature was wreaking havoc among the ships. It was a very powerful creature, one that would not be easy to stop. And Zollin’s last attempt to work magic at sea had been his attempt to save Nycol when he’d been attacked by merpeople. If he had to fight the sea monster, he might end up taking on more than he could handle.

  Eventually the crowd dwindled. He was full, after devouring two helpings of the oxtail, and exhausted, but also worried about Brianna. His brush with the assassins made him worry that she might be in danger. His first thought had been to go to her, but there was no way he could cover the distance between Selphon City and the mountains before morning. The snow was only to his ankles in town, but it was probably deeper near the mountains. Even if he levitated over the snow, he had no idea where the dragons had gone in search of food. They might be close, or they might be miles into the range of evergreen-covered mountains. His best bet, he knew, although he hated to admit it, was to wait until morning. Hopefully Brianna would meet him just as they had agreed, but if she didn’t, he would rush to her aid. She was a powerful person in her own right, and she had two dragons with her, but none of that made him worry any less. A direct attack against Brianna would be foolish in the extreme, but the Mezzlyn were devious. They preferred to attack from the shadows, to make a quick kill and then disappear again. It was that reality, Zollin knew, that would keep him awake all night.

  Chapter 22

  It was cold and Mansel was shivering by the time he reached the barn. The temperature had fallen as the sun went down, but the wind was still howling, making the timbers of the stable groan and creak. Mansel rushed into the small building, which was filled with horses. Some of the mounts had been taken to a livery, but many of the war band’s mounts were still in the small barn. Mansel was struck by the dire nature of his predicament. He had been forced out of the inn with nothing but the clothes he was wearing, his sword, and his money. Their cloaks, extra clothes, food, and other supplies were still in their room. But Mansel knew if he went back for them, he would almost certainly be killed.

  “What now?” Danella asked. “We can’t stay here.”

  “We won’t last long out in this storm,” Mansel said, not sure what to do.

  “If we stay here they’ll come in and kill us. They’re just waiting so it won’t be obvious that they ambushed us in the stable.”

  “I know that,” Mansel said.

  “So we have to leave,” Danella said.

  Mansel nodded, but he knew they couldn’t leave without their belongings. He had more money in his pack, along with the letters that Zollin had given him. One way or another, he had to get back into the inn and retrieve their belongings.

  “We have to go back,” he said, bracing for Danella’s scathing reply.

  She didn’t disappoint. “Are you crazy? They’ll kill us if we go in there. It’s a miracle we got out in the first place. They’re hoping you’ll die out in the cold and then they won’t have to do it, but they will if we go back.”

  “I’m not talking about walking in through the front door,” he explained. “But we have to have our belongings. Even if we survive the cold, we need the dispatches from Orrock.”

  “Or, we could just go south,” she argued. “We could leave Yelsia and all the stupid fighting to idiots like Homar and Brogan. We don’t owe anyone our lives.”

  “I do,” Mansel said. “I won’t turn my back on Zollin or your sister.”

  “She doesn’t deserve your loyalty.”

  “She does,” Mansel maintained. “And I’ve let them down too often in the past. I may be nothing more than a good fighter, but at the very least I can lend them my sword and strength as long as they need it.”

  “So what is your plan?”

  “Let’s go see if we can get in through the window to our room.”

  Danella looked doubtful, but she accepted the stinking horse blanket that Mansel wrapped around her shoulders and followed him back into the darkness. The long wing of guest rooms was at the rear of the building, and no one saw them moving quickly through the cold night. The snow was built up against the building, and they could see that the windows were shuttered with thick boards and locked from the inside.

  Mansel counted the identical windows to find their room. They were staying in the third room down, on the western side of the building. The first two rooms were used by the innkeeper and his staff, which consisted of the young serving maid and a stable boy. There was light shining through the shutters, dim but obvious in the darkness outside.

  “Someone is in our room,” Danella said.

  “Probably looking for our coin.”

  “What should we do?”

  “Wait,” Mansel said, clenching his teeth so they wouldn’t chatter from the cold.

  They huddled together, Mansel wrapping his long, muscular arms around Danella’s shaking shoulders. The horse blanket was short and thick, not really suited for keeping a person warm, and certainly not two people, but it was all they had. Every part of Mansel wanted to return to the barn, to get out of the biting wind and mind-numbing cold, but he forced himself to wait. The light through the shutters wavered, but didn’t go out.

  Danella pressed her face into Mansel’s chest, her hands wrapped around his body, holding the blanket that only reached to the edges of the young warrior’s back. He could feel her breath, warm even through the thick wool shirt he wore. And his desire awakened with an urgency he hadn’t expected. He had been with other women since Nycol had been killed, mostly wenches and serving maids who fancied him, but never because he wanted to be with another woman. His mind was always on Nycol, seeing her standing in her small cottage by the sea, the wind blowing her hair, and the fabric of her dress pressed against the curves of her body. He had been with other women only because they gave him drink, or a place to sleep for the night, and he thought that his desire was lost. He was more than a little shocked to find it flaring to life in what he thought was the worst possible moment.

  “Let me check on the room again,” he said, finding an excuse to pull away from her.

  Danella seemed oblivious to his desire. She was young and beautiful, yet the sadness in her eyes was a constant reminder of her grief. Mansel knew she had no feelings for him other than friendship, so he stuffed his own desire down, determined not
to let his emotions get the better of him.

  “It looks dark,” Mansel said.

  Danella nodded. There didn’t appear to be any more light coming from the room, although they both knew that didn’t guarantee the room was empty. Homar could have posted men in the room, just in case they tried to sneak back in. Mansel slid his knife in between the shutters. They were well made, and fit together to form a tight seal, but Mansel knew that no shutter was inaccessible. He was careful to make as little noise as possible while prying the shutters open. The wooden latch popped from the wooden shutter and clattered to the floor. Mansel held the shutters closed from the outside and they waited to see what would happen, but there was no response from inside the room.

  “Alright I’m going in. I shouldn’t be long,” Mansel said.

  “Are you sure you will fit?”

  Mansel looked at the window. It was small, but he thought he could wiggle through.

  “If you go,” Danella said through chattering teeth. “I won’t be able to help you. But if I go in, you can lift me up, and then pull me back through.”

  “It’s too dangerous,” Mansel said.

  “Not for me. They don’t want me dead, remember.”

  What Danella said made sense. She could get in and out more easily than he could, plus if there was an ambush the men under Homar’s command wouldn’t kill her. They could however take her hostage, but if they did, Mansel would still be free to rescue her. If he was slain, she would be alone.

  “Alright, but be careful. Get our things, toss them out, and then get yourself out of there.”

  Danella nodded and let the horse blanket fall into the snow. Mansel took hold of her hips and lifted her up to the window. Once she was inside there was nothing to do but wait. He heard a chair scrape across the floor, and his breath stuck in his throat, but then he saw her face.

  “Here,” she said. “Take this.”

  She handed out the leather saddle bags. Mansel wanted to check them to see what was missing, but he couldn’t see anything in the darkness at any rate. Danella disappeared and returned with his cloak. He pulled his arms through the sleeves and thought about raising the hood, but he didn’t want to lose his peripheral vision. Next came their packs, which she had been forced to stuff full of their belongings in the darkness, not bothering to differentiate what was his and what was hers. And finally her own cloak came flying out. She wiggled half way out of the window, folding over the window sill until he took hold of her, pulling her gently back out of the inn.

  “Did you see anyone?” he asked.

  “No, but they had gone through our belongings.”

  “Could you tell if they took anything?”

  “No, it was too dark.”

  Mansel wrapped her cloak around her shoulders and picked up their belongings before hurrying back to the stable. It was just possible that Homar was so arrogant that he believed simply sending them out into the cold would actually solve his problems. They quietly entered the stable, letting their eyes adjust to the gloom. The structure was warm from the body heat of so many animals.

  “We should get out of here,” Danella said.

  “We will,” Mansel agreed.

  He led their horses from the single stall where the two horses had been bedded down for the night. Neither animal looked pleased to be pulled from the warm stall lined with hay. It took time to saddle the animals, even though Mansel didn’t want to ride them. The last thing he wanted was to exhaust one of the horses, or cause it to come up lame by carrying riders through the winter storm. But he couldn’t carry their tack, and it was easier to saddle the horses up so they could carry it.

  They were just about to head out into the storm when the stable door opened. Mansel’s hand dropped to the hilt of his sword and he was just about to pull the weapon from its scabbard when the stable boy slipped inside. He was carrying a sack of oats for the horses and two old blankets for Danella and Mansel.

  “What’s this?” Mansel asked.

  “My master said you would need them,” he said, smiling shyly at Danella. He was younger than she was, but old enough to enjoy the pretty girl’s attention. “He regrets his part in sending you out into the storm.”

  “He had no choice,” Danella said reassuringly. “We hold no ill will toward him. Can you tell him that?”

  “Of course,” he said, glancing down at his feet, unable to hold eye contact with Danella. “Old man Quincey lives at the edge of town in the old mill. It’s a tall, stone building. He’ll take you in for a few coppers, your horses too. Give him this.”

  He pulled a small bottle of strong spirits from the pocket of his cloak.

  “You are too kind,” Danella said.

  The stable boy smiled shyly again, then pulled the door open for Mansel and Danella, who led their reluctant horses out into the storm. The young boy pointed down the road, which was dark, but the buildings on either side were still visible, like dark shadows looming up from the snow-covered ground. They trudged through the small village, passing several workshops and homes. Most were dark and quiet, but a few had light shining from between the shutters that covered the windows.

  The old mill rose up out of the darkness, reminding Mansel of a castle tower. It was round, with a sturdy-looking door, but no windows. Smoke was rising from the chimney and blowing in the furious wind. Mansel drew his dagger and banged the thick, brass pommel on the door. After a moment they heard cursing from inside, then the door was pulled open slightly. The interior of the building was dark, but they could see a grizzled-looking face staring out at them.

  “What do you want?” said the old man.

  “We need shelter for the night,” Mansel said. “For us and our horses.”

  “There’s an inn,” the man growled.

  He started to close the door but Mansel stopped it with his boot.

  “We’ve been there. The innkeeper has no rooms left. He sent us to you. We can pay.”

  Mansel held out the bottle of spirits, which the grizzled man snatched up and drank from, tipping the small bottle up and taking a gulp of the strong liquor. Then he backed up from the door, opening it wider.

  “Get in here then, before we all freeze,” the gruff old man said.

  Danella went first, leading her horse into the old mill, which was in poor shape. The support beams were rotting, and the floor was bare earth. A wood stove gave the large space enough heat to keep them warm, but there was only one narrow bed and one wooden chair.

  “Tie your horses up over there,” the man said, pointing to the side of the building opposite where he had his meager belongings. “You have coin?”

  Mansel slid two silver marks from his small pouch and handed them to the man. He took them, looked hard at Mansel, then Mansel’s sword, before waving them toward the stove. They had already eaten and only needed a place out of the weather to spend the night. Quincey proved to be a miserly host. He sat on his chair, ignoring his guests, and drinking until he fell to the ground, passed out from his libations.

  Mansel used the old blankets the stable boy had given them to make a mattress of sorts, then covered Danella with a blanket from his pack. Once both the old man and Danella were asleep, Mansel went through their things. He still had a small pouch of coins that he kept tied to his belt, so losing the money from his pack was not catastrophic. But the dispatches from Zollin to the commanders of the King’s Army and to Duke Ebbson and the other nobles were gone as well. Mansel felt hatred rise up inside him. He should have simply killed Homar and Brogan. Now they had the dispatches and there was no way to know what they might do with them. Still, trying to get them back now would be suicide. Going back to the inn would put Mansel at a disadvantage. The knights would be ready for him, especially if the warriors found that Mansel and Danella had managed to retrieve their belongings.

  He stretched out beside Danella, listening to the wind, thankful for the warmth from the fire. The floor was cold, and he couldn’t help but cozy up to Danella to share the bo
dy heat between them. He told himself he was just doing what he needed to do to get through the night, but in the back of his mind was an accusing voice that said he was being unfaithful to Nycol. He did his best to ignore the voice, as well as his growing desire for Danella, but both plagued him through the night.

  The young warrior dozed off and on, getting up once to feed the fire in the wood stove and check on Danella. When he couldn’t rest any more he got up and went to the door of the building. The wind had finally died down, and the sun was slowly rising, casting a weak light on the village.

  He double checked the horses’ tack, then woke Danella. They left the old man snoring on his bed, tossing a few more sticks of wood into the stove so that the fire wouldn’t die before he woke up from his bender. Then they made their way quickly out of town. The snow had been thick the day before, but the wind had blown much of it from the road, leaving thick drifts in the ditches and against anything that stood fast against the storm’s onslaught. The horses’ hooves sank a few inches into the snow, but it wasn’t deep enough to keep Mansel and Danella from riding.

  They pushed their mounts hard all through the day and didn’t stop until after dark. The sky was clearing and the temperatures were colder than ever. They found another inn and took shelter for the night, hoping that Homar and Brogan wouldn’t catch up to them again. Mansel had no illusions about what the nobles wanted or what they were willing to do to get it. Danella wasn’t just the late king’s betrothed anymore, she had become the trophy they were hunting and the vile men would not hesitate to kill Mansel to get her. They had underestimated him twice, and he knew he couldn’t count on getting lucky a third time. If they met again, they would kill him, or at least try to. His only advantage was that they might believe he had died in the storm, but there was no mistaking the tracks their horses had left in the snow. Homar was not a fool, he would know the tracks of two horses would be Mansel and Danella's. Their only hope was to reach Ebbson Keep before the nobles did.