Five Kingdoms: Book 06 - Evil Tide

by Toby Neighbors

  The other men in the room all cheered. Then wine was poured and most of the advisors and generals fell into their cups. They enjoyed the plotting and scheming, but very few were keen to start the work involved with a full scale invasion. General Corlis was the lone exception. He sipped his wine slowly, his face hiding the plans that were forming in the back of his mind. King Felix had a vision for a new era in the Five Kingdoms, but Corlis had a vision for a new position for himself.

  Chapter 1

  The sea was bright blue and reflecting the sunshine. The briny wind filled the ship’s sails and blew through Mansel’s thick mane of shaggy hair. He and Nycoll had booked passage on a ship sailing north, but the trip had not gone as expected. The Fisherman’s Daughter was an older ship and although the captain, a large man named Sorlyn, had seemed honest and decent on shore, once they were at sea, he showed his true colors. The sailors were lazy and barely competent to sail the ship. The captain had taken passengers aboard with lofty promises, but once the ship left the harbor he began to act like a tyrant. He beat his men and cursed them regularly. One of the younger girls on board with her aging merchant father had been lured to Sorlyn’s cabin and not seen again. Nycoll and the other passengers on board hid in their cabins. Only Mansel braved the deck and faced down the murderous looks from the sailors.

  Captain Sorlyn watched Mansel, who stood on the deck with his sword in hand, guarding the entrance to the passenger cabins. Mansel had no doubt that the Captain and his villainous crew meant to kill him, but he gave them no opportunity. He stood ready each day, and at night he barricaded Nycoll and himself inside their small cabin.

  Strong winds pushed the Fisherman’s Daughter north quickly; the shoreline of Falxis seemed to fairly fly past them. Mansel was reminded of sailing south with Quinn on their mission to rescue Prince Willam. That had been a difficult trip. This time Mansel had fought his sea sickness with quiet resolve. He wasn’t sure if he was growing more accustomed to sailing, or if his worry for Nycoll’s safety had somehow strengthened him. Fortunately, he didn’t get as sick as he had on previous sea voyages.

  Nycoll, for her part, didn’t mind staying in the little cabin. She was accustomed to solitude and although she seemed happy with Mansel, she still needed time to adjust to the changes around her. She had lost her home and nearly drowned hiding from the soldiers who were pillaging along the coast of Falxis. Mansel and Zollin had rescued her, but then Brianna appearing with a pride of dragons had been almost too much for her fragile psyche. When Zollin suggested that Mansel take her north, he had reluctantly agreed. He was happy to be with her, but he still felt guilty leaving Zollin alone.

  Mansel swung his sword a few times and then rested the cold steel on his shoulder. The sword had been a gift from Zollin. His friend had crafted it with magic and even set a glossy, black stone into the pommel just above the leather wrapped handle. Mansel wasn’t sure what the stone was or what Zollin had done to the weapon, but he knew that when he held it, he felt invincible. The sword wasn’t light, even though Mansel was strong and accustomed to using a hefty weapon; still, he never seemed to grow tired when working with the long sword. He had named it Death’s Eye.

  Six days had passed from the time they set sail. The Fisherman’s Daughter was making excellent time, despite the poor handling of the crew. Mansel didn’t know much about how ships were handled, but he could tell that the sailors on board were average at best. He had watched them at their work, or more accurately he watched them avoid their work. That was how he knew when something was about to happen. The crew, which normally milled about, almost aimlessly seemed tense and more focused on their tasks. Mansel did his best not to let his concern show, but he stayed vigilant for what he knew was going to happen. He had known that the Captain would send men to attack the passengers at some point, which meant they would have to go through him.

  It was almost noon when a group of men led by the captain came out from the crew’s quarters. They carried weapons, mostly clubs but there were a few rusty cutlasses and a dagger or two. Mansel could tell by how the sailors carried their weapons that they were not fighters, but their numbers made them dangerous.

  “We have come to see the passengers,” Captain Sorlyn said gruffly. “We’ve no quarrel with you or your woman, so step aside.”

  “Tell me what happened to the girl,” Mansel replied. “Her father says she’s missing?”

  “Is that so? Well, I happen to know she’s very happy down in the hold with the men. She’s providing a very important service.”

  The sailors chuckled but Mansel felt bile rise in his throat. He’d spent his fair share of time with tavern maids and wenches. He had no problem with women selling their bodies freely, but a young girl forced into prostitution was wrong.

  “I’ll make a deal with you,” Mansel said. “You lay down your weapons and bring the girl back to her father, and I won’t kill you all.”

  A few of the sailors laughed nervously, but most looked worried.

  “You have worn out your welcome on my ship,” said Sorlyn. “I think it is time you disembarked.”

  “We’ll have a go at your woman too,” said one of the other sailors, a fat man with blackened teeth and ragged clothes.

  Mansel didn’t reply he just raised his sword and smiled.

  “Take him!” the captain ordered.

  Two men rushed at Mansel, both had cutlasses, but neither was skilled with a blade. Mansel stepped backward so that the open stairway that led down to the passenger cabins was to his left. One of his attackers had a straight path to Mansel, but the other had to circle around the stairwell.

  The first man raised his rusty blade, but Mansel thrust his own sword, which was easily twice as long as the cutlass, straight into the sailor’s throat. The sailor tried to scream, but all that came out was a wet, gurgling sob.

  Mansel jerked his sword free from where it had lodged in the sailor’s neck and with one fluid movement spun around, slashing his sword at the second attacker. The sailor raised his cutlass, but the rusty metal snapped under the blow and the man scurried backward. Mansel turned back toward the group in time to see one of the more vicious looking sailors darting forward with a dagger. Mansel drove his sword tip into the wooden planking and then used the weapon to steady his balance, while he lashed out with a side kick that connected with the attacker’s stomach. The dagger was lost as the sailor collapsed onto the deck.

  Then, Mansel took the fight to the sailors. He pulled his sword free and spun forward, waving his sword in a wide arc that sent the sailors reeling back. Mansel then targeted the slower men. One stumbled and Mansel brought his sword around in a powerful overhead chop that was aimed at the sailor’s head. The desperate man threw his arm up to ward off the blow, but Mansel’s sword cleaved the sailor’s arm in two, then glanced off his skull, slicing open the side of the man’s face and severing his ear.

  The man’s screams sent most of the attackers running for their lives. Captain Sorlyn turned to escape as well, but Mansel chased him down. With one vicious thrust, he ran his sword through the evil captain’s back. The long blade sliced through muscle, organ and bone, to come sticking out the captain’s stomach. He wailed and writhed, his bellows echoing off the water around the ship.

  “Sailors!” Mansel bellowed. “Sailors, hear me now. Your captain is dying and unless you want to join him you will bring the girl you are holding below decks back to her father and gather here before me now.”

  The sailors on deck looked at each other, but Mansel merely twisted his sword causing the ship’s captain to scream in pain.

  “The alternative is death!” Mansel shouted.

  The sailors dropped their makeshift weapons and hurried forward. Two went down below the main deck, and after a few moments came hurrying back up into the bright sunlight with the girl. She was bruised, and her clothing was torn. Blood and tears streaked her face. The girl’s father had been watching and came hurrying from the passenger cabins. He took his daughte
r in his arms, picking her up as she wrapped her arms around his neck and sobbed into his shoulder. The merchant gave Mansel an appreciative look and then hurried back down to his cabin.

  “I want us put to shore,” Mansel told the group of sailors. “I don’t care who leads the ship, or what you do once we’ve been safely landed, but if you try anything, I’ll kill you all and take my chances. Do I make myself clear?”

  The men nodded.

  “Good, no more shirking your tasks; do your work. We should find a place to go to shore before sunset.”

  The sailors stood looking wide-eyed, first at their dying captain and then Mansel. He put his boot on the captain’s back and pulled his blade free. Sorlyn collapsed onto the deck.

  “Throw him overboard and the others as well. Then, scrub everything down.”

  The sailors knuckled their foreheads and fell to work. Mansel waited on deck to ensure that his orders were being carried out. Then, he went down to the cabin he shared with Nycoll. He knocked and waited for her to unlock the door from the inside.

  “Who is it?” she asked.

  “It’s me, Mansel,” he said.

  He heard the wood scraping as she lifted the heavy cross beam that held the door closed.

  “Is everything alright?” she asked; worry plain to see on her face.

  “Yes, we’ll be landing sometime today and getting off this wretched ship.”

  “Landing where?” she asked.

  “I’m not sure, but I can see the Walheta Mountains, so we must be close to the border. Perhaps we can find a quiet place to make a new home.”

  Talk of making a new home always seemed to cheer Nycoll. Mansel had always enjoyed being free to wander from town to town, but since Nycoll’s home had been destroyed, finding a new one was all she seemed to think about.

  “Come up on deck with me.”

  “I don’t want to,” she said. “The captain makes me nervous.”

  “The captain is dead. Please come up and get some fresh air.”

  She followed him as he climbed back up the stairs to the open deck. The sailors were busy trimming the sails or scrubbing the deck where the blood had stained it. The wind was blowing and Mansel thought the sunshine on Nycoll’s delicate skin would do her good.

  It was late in the afternoon when the ship finally approached a small harbor. There was several fishing boats in harbor and one rowed out to the ship. Mansel and most of the other passengers chose to leave the Fisherman’s Daughter. Mansel watched as the fishing boat rowed them toward the shore. There was a small village on the other side of the rounded, sandy dunes along the beach. He could see the rooftops and softly curling chimney smoke rising into the air.

  He smiled at Nycoll and was rewarded with a smile in return. She was a stoic woman, passionate in her own way, but never frivolous. Life had been difficult for her and she found little to amuse her, but she felt hopeful for the first time in weeks. They climbed out of the fishing boat, Mansel carrying their meager possessions in a bag over one shoulder with his long sword in a scabbard that hung from his belt. They followed a path between the dunes and found a small inn with room for them. Soon, they were settled, and Mansel enjoyed a pint of ale with his supper.

  The next day, they began to ask about land and finding a place to make a life for themselves. Mansel had apprenticed with Quinn as a carpenter before he had fled Tranaugh Shire, and he could earn a living as a carpenter. He didn’t know much about building or repairing boats, but he could learn.

  They found an abandoned house on the edge of town.

  “This could work,” Mansel said, after inspecting the house. “I’ll have to repair it, but I think I could make it livable in a day or two.”

  “We could plant a garden,” Nycoll said.

  “There’s work in the village,” Mansel added. “Would you be happy here?”

  “The mountains are beautiful.”

  “And we’re close to the sea.”

  “Will it get cold here, you think?”

  “Not too bad,” Mansel said.

  “Okay, let’s do it,” she said with a smile.

  “I like to see you smile,” Mansel said, drawing her close. “I’ll make you happy; I promise you that.”

  “You already make me happy,” she said. “Promise instead that you won’t march off to war.”

  “I promise,” he said, but deep down he hoped that he wouldn’t have to break that promise.

  Chapter 2

  Zollin jumped from Ferno’s back just before the dragon belched fire in a devastating attack on the horde of creatures below. The creatures, part horse, part human, with massive scorpion tails, and oval-shaped wings that looked like dragonfly wings, scattered in different directions to avoid the flames.

  Zollin used magic to levitate himself slowly toward the ground. His magic swirled inside him, like the current from a hot spring. Lifting himself into the air, or in this case, lowering himself down, was not difficult, even though he was tired. Zollin and the massive green dragon, Ferno, had been traveling steadily north, swinging wide to the east to avoid the Great Sea of Kings. They could have made better time if they didn’t stop to fight the monsters released from the Abyss in Osla, but Zollin felt at least partially responsible for the creatures. They had come pouring from the Abyss, which had begun in the Great City and stretched as far as Zollin could see, even when Ferno had flown high up into the air. The creatures attacked humans, impaling them on their stingers and then carrying them back to the Abyss where Gwendolyn the witch waited.

  The images of Zollin’s fight with Gwendolyn haunted the brief snatches of rest he’d managed to get. Zollin had gone south to fight the Torr, but Gwendolyn had gained a mastery of dark magic in the absence of her former master, and after slaying Offendorl, she had released her evil hordes on the Five Kingdoms. In some ways, Zollin felt like he was trapped in a bad dream.

  His feet had just touched the ground when three of the monstrous beasts came charging straight toward him. Their faces, human with long, flowing hair that streamed out behind them as they ran, were contorted with rage. Zollin let his magic flow out toward the creatures. He had to keep his fear and anger in check to ensure that he didn’t over tax himself. He didn’t need to use a great amount of magic to kill the creatures. He let his magic flow around the creatures, and then he slammed them together in a bone shattering crash. Two of the creatures survived, but they were injured so badly they couldn’t rise from the ground.

  Zollin jumped and let his magic propel his body up into the air in a huge, arcing bound. He landed on the strip of scorched earth that Ferno had just engulfed in the dragon’s fiery breath. When two more creatures charged toward him, Zollin let two streams of crackling, blue, magical energy shoot out. The energy hit the creatures and burned through to their black hearts, killing them.

  Zollin felt his waning strength begin to flag. He used his magic to drive another small group of the beasts into the ground. He could feel their bodies smash under his wave of magic. It reminded him of crushing a bug under a leaf as a child, feeling the shell crunch and the flesh split apart under his fingers. Inside, he felt his magic flaring up like the fire in a smithy’s forge. The more magical power he tapped into, the hotter the flames of magic became. He had built a magical containment field around the inner reservoir of magic which allowed him to do great feats of wizardry without it weakening him physically, but the longer he exerted his power, the weaker that containment became. His magic threatened to engulf him if he wasn’t careful. The temptation to let his magic take control of him was like water to a man dying of thirst. His magic was fueled by his emotions; it swirled and danced inside him, surging against his containment field like a raging river threatening to spill over its banks.

  He tamped down on the magic, calming his raging power and his emotions at the same time. There were more of the centaur like creatures, but they were scattered and it was easier to let Ferno mop them up. The great green dragon was a sight to behold. Its long neck
was lined with small horns, and the end of its tail was a thick, bony knob it could use to batter an enemy to a bloody pulp. Ferno was much faster in the air than the creatures from the Abyss. Ferno rose high in the air and then dove, sometimes engulfing his prey in fire or swatting them its massive tail. The creatures lashed out with their scorpion like tails, thrusting their stingers at Ferno whenever the dragon came close. Zollin doubted that the stingers could penetrate the dragon’s scales, but Ferno didn’t take the chance. Instead, the dragon stayed just out of reach while destroying the wicked creatures.

  Once Ferno had taken care of the stragglers, the green dragon turned back toward Zollin. A mental image of a flowing river popped into Zollin’s mind. In return, he sent back the image of himself and Ferno drinking from the river. Then, as Ferno swooped toward him, Zollin used his magic to lift himself up into the air and down on Ferno’s back.

  Zollin settled in with his legs stretched across the dragon’s massive shoulders, just in front of the huge, leathery wings. Zollin could reach out and hold onto the short horns that started at the base of Ferno’s neck, to hold himself steady as the dragon flew. They rose back up, high in the air and began searching for a place to stop and rest. They soon found a small stream that danced across the countryside. Ferno circled as they came closer to the ground, finally landing gracefully near the ribbon of water. Zollin hopped off Ferno’s back, using his magic to steady himself. His leg was still deeply bruised and stiff. He’d been wounded by one of the creatures as he fought them in the Grand City, but he hadn’t had the time or the energy to heal himself properly.

  He limped over to the stream and dropped onto his knees. The water was cold. He wasn’t sure where he was but he guessed he was at somewhere north of Ort City, which was the capital of Ortis. Autumn was now in full swing and the days were growing colder, more so the farther north they traveled. Still, despite the falling temperatures, the cold water was refreshing. He cupped his hands in the water and raised it to his lips, slurping the water into his mouth. Ferno dropped down, sinking its massive maw into the water to drink. Zollin splashed the cold water into his face and ran his wet hands through his hair. He wanted nothing more than a hot meal and soft bed, but he had no time to rest. His mission was too important, and he hated being separated from Brianna. He wanted to finish his task and turn south as soon as possible.