Five Kingdoms: Book 06 - Evil Tide

by Toby Neighbors

  Nycoll smiled but didn’t speak.

  “It is an honor to meet you, Nycoll; I’ve heard wonderful things about you. Thank you for the help with my arm.”

  “It was nothing,” she said quietly.

  “It wasn’t nothing to me. I may still need to use this thing,” he said, holding up his wounded arm and flexing his fingers. “I don’t suppose you collected my weapons?”

  “No,” Mansel said. “I’m sorry. We didn’t want to go near the carcasses.”

  “I can’t blame you, but I won’t be much use to you without weapons.”

  “Surely we can get more somewhere.”

  “There’s a settlement not far from the Western Pass into the mountains. Where are we?”

  “Between the mountains and the road. We haven’t come to the pass yet. I was thinking we should head into the mountains. We might have a better chance of avoiding those... those... monsters or whatever they are if we aren’t out in the open.”

  “Brianna said there are more than just the monsters to worry about. She said she and Zollin fought the witch in Osla, and that she is using some sort of dark magic to turn people into an evil army. These flying horse things don’t kill people; they capture them and carry them back to her lair.”

  “So there’s a war coming,” Mansel said.

  “Yes, she and Zollin are trying to convince the King to send troops south. King Zorlan plans to make a stand here, along the mountains.”

  “So, all we have to do is find a safe place to wait,” Mansel said.

  “For now. I suppose my mule is gone?”

  “We gathered your supplies from your camp, but that was all.”

  “Okay, let’s try to find that settlement. We should be able to do that before dark.”

  Nycoll was shy and didn’t talk much, but her spirits seem to revive with Quinn around. Mansel wasn’t sure if it was just his old friend’s sense of calm and confidence or if it was from having someone else with them after days alone running from the monsters. Either way, Mansel was happy to see her being more herself.

  Once again, Quinn smelled the settlement before they actually saw the camps. Unlike before, the smell of garbage and offal was mixed with the sickly sweet smell of rotting flesh.

  “Maybe you should stay here with Nycoll,” Quinn suggested.

  “You think it might be bad?” Mansel asked.

  “It wasn’t like this when I came through,” he confirmed. “I think the monsters have been here.”

  “I thought you said they don’t kill,” Nycoll said.

  “That’s what I was told, but something is dead in that camp.”

  “Well, I can handle it,” she said, trying to sound confident. “Besides, if people are wounded I could help.”

  “She’s a good healer,” Mansel said.

  “I’m not a healer, but I enjoy helping people. I can’t fight like you, but I can do something.”

  “You’re right,” Quinn said. “We’ll stay together. Come on.”

  They approached the camp cautiously. They were wet and cold from the sputtering rain which fell intermittently through the day. The settlement was in ruins. Wreckage from wagons and campsites littered the area. There were dead horses and other animals rotting and filling the air with a stench that was difficult to stomach. Despite the rain, clouds of flies buzzed and carrion birds swooped down, cawing at one another and then at Quinn, Mansel, and Nycoll.

  “Gather whatever supplies you can find,” Quinn suggested. “It won’t do anyone any good if we leave it out here.”

  There was no sign of people anywhere. Quinn feared they had all been carried off by the monsters, but he couldn’t focus on that. He had to try and stay positive, even if he was filled with dread.

  They found some food, most of it was ruined by the rain, but some was dry and usable. They found a partially destroyed wagon that contained powders and dried herbs. Nycoll was confident she knew what some of the supplies were, and that they had been used by a healer.

  “We should take this with us,” she insisted. “We may need it.”

  “There’s no way for us to carry it all,” Mansel said.

  “So, we need to cobble together a wagon that we can pull into the mountains,” Quinn said. “You and I can do that easily enough, even without proper tools.”

  “Okay,” Mansel said, “let’s do that.”

  They searched through the camp but found no people. Mansel set up a tent upwind from the camp. It was really little more than a canopy, but it would keep the rain off of them through the night. Nycoll gathered what dry supplies she could find and carried them to their camp. Quinn gathered the unusable wood he found around the camp to use as firewood.

  “We can’t have a fire,” Mansel said. “It will attract the monsters.”

  “We have to,” Quinn said through chattering teeth. “We’re all soaked, and the temperature is falling. We won’t survive the night in these conditions.”

  “Well, it has to be hidden,” Mansel said, “otherwise those creatures might see it.”

  “So we dig a hole and burn the wood in the hole. At least that way we can warm ourselves and dry our clothes.”

  Mansel used a shovel with a broken handle to dig a small pit. Quinn pulled the pieces of several wagons and a few hand carts to their camp. Nycoll used the canvas from some of the ruined tents to cover the wagons with. By night fall they had a small fire and what they felt was a relatively secure camp. Occasionally, they caught a whiff of the stench from the settlement, but once they were dry, warm, and their stomachs full, they didn’t mind being so close to the scene of the attack.

  “Tomorrow we build a wagon,” Quinn said.

  “And go where?” Mansel asked.

  “There’s a town about half a day’s ride into the mountains,” Quinn said. “We can go there and start preparing for what’s coming.”

  “What if no help comes?” Nycoll asked.

  “It will,” Quinn said. “It may not be more than Zollin and Brianna, but they’ll come.”

  “The four of us back together again,” Mansel said with a smile.

  “Five us now,” Quinn said.

  “It’s the way it should be,” Mansel said. “No matter what we’re facing, we should face it together.”

  “I agree,” Quinn said, squeezing Mansel’s shoulder. “I agree.”

  Chapter 17

  “The armies of Falxis and Yelsia will make a stand on the southern side of the Walheta Mountains,” Zollin said. He had been pleading his case and explaining to the Dwarves what had happened in Osla. They listened carefully, their faces as inscrutable as the stone they worked. “But we can’t win this war alone,” Zollin said. “I have come into the highlands to gather as many of the magical folk as I can. It is my hope that the dwarves of the Northern Range join me at the heart of this fight.”

  When Zollin paused there was some grumbling. He knew his message wasn’t being well received and he wasn’t surprised. How could anyone hear the horrors of his announcement and be happy about it.

  “Why should we join this death march?” asked one of the dwarves. He spoke not directly to Zollin but to the other dwarves gathered around the table.

  The round table was lined with headsmen from each of the clans. Their delegations waited several paces behind them, so that there was a ring of dwarves watching the proceedings just outside the direct beams of sunlight that shone through the vents in the mountain. Zollin and Bloc stood side by side at a small gap around the table.

  “Would you have us wait here to die?” said another.

  “The problems of the tall folk do not concern us dwarves,” said a third.

  “Do not forget that all the free people of the world are linked,” said Babaz. “I do not welcome this news, and despite my friendship with the wizard Zollin, I am not sure I can support his cause, but I will not pretend that the future of the dwarves is not explicably linked to that of the other races.”

  “I have been guilty of excluding outsider
s for too long,” Hammert spoke up. “My clan was almost wiped out because I refused to seek help when we needed it. I know what the wizard Zollin is asking will cost us dearly. Many dwarves will give their lives in the fight he is describing, but I, for one, believe it is the right thing to do.”

  “And I,” said another dwarf.

  “You are the wizard’s puppet, Hammert,” shouted a dwarf from the other side of the table. “We all know that.”

  Several other dwarves jeered in unison, but Hammert slammed his fist down on the stone table with such force that the blow echoed around the massive chamber.

  “You know nothing!” shouted Hammert. “You think that because Zollin saved the Jaq clan we would do anything for him, but that is not the case. Did you not travel here across the Stepping Stones that Zollin repaired? Did you not benefit from the knowledge he gave us about the disease that nearly annihilated my clan and would surely have spread to the other clans? For three hundred years we have hidden here, our power declining, our clans withering. Now illness such as we have never seen threatened to wipe out not only the Jaq clan but perhaps all the clans. What would have stopped the spread of the disease? How many of us would have survived if not for the wizard’s intervention? Zollin did not just arrive at the Jaq clan by chance. Now is the time for all magical folk to stand together and stem the tide of darkness that threatens to overrun the world.”

  Zollin guessed that about half of the dwarves present shouted in agreement with Hammert. He was silently thankful that his rotund little friend had spoken so passionately in favor of helping.

  “If we go to war with you, Wizard,” came the voice of an elderly dwarf across the table from Zollin. “Who will lead us? You? Your king?”

  “I cannot yet speak for King Felix,” Zollin said. “Brianna and her pride of dragons have gone to Orrock to seek his help. King Zorlan has pledged to join us at the Walheta, but his army has been overrun and there is no telling how much help he will actually be in the fight to come. For my part, I would leave leadership of the dwarves in your own hands. Your pledge will be to help as you see fit. I, nor any other person or beast, will command you against your will.”

  “And will you lead us, Bloc?” asked another dwarf. “Will you take up the mantel of your forefathers? Will you heft the hammer of leadership and be our advocate with the tall folk beyond the mountains?”

  Zollin turned to Bloc, but the dwarf beside him did not answer at once. He stood looking down at the table, his hands flat on the smooth stone surface. The other dwarves fell silent, waiting for Bloc to speak.

  “I do not know what I fear most,” Bloc said finally. “It is not the battle before us or the witch in the south. I fear the fate of my forefathers. I fear that I cannot spend your lives in a fight that is not our own. I fear making the wrong decisions. The weight of the Dwarfish people rests heavy on my shoulders. But I will not run from my place among our people. For over eight thousand years my forebears have shouldered the weight of Kingship when it was needed. I will not break that line now. I shall lead our people from the great caverns we love if you so desire. I will stand between the tall folk and all dwarves. I will give my life, if I must, to protect all that we hold sacred. Yes, I will lead us, if you will follow.”

  There was another moment of absolute silence, and then one by one the dwarves around the table stood and cast their votes. Only three voted not to join Zollin’s quest, including Babaz. Zollin felt a huge weight lift from his shoulders, and when the votes were all in, Bloc brought the conclave to a close.

  “It is decided then,” he said. “Zollin, Hammert, and I will meet with the dwarves of the Southern Range. Then we will meet together in the caverns of the Yel clan in one week.”

  He slapped his hand palm down on the stone table and the cavern erupted in shouts and cries of excitement. The dwarves watching from beyond the sunlight who had been silent up until that moment joined in the exuberant outburst.

  Hammert waddled over to where Zollin stood, taking in the raucous scene.

  “Do not look so relieved, tall one. We march to war, and dwarfish battle is terrible to behold.”

  A few hours later the dwarves had all returned to their clans. Bloc and Zollin traveled with Hammert back through the tunnels to the Jaq clan. Zollin soon realized that Babaz had taken him on a circuitous route when they passed through the tunnels under the mountains before. He guessed that Babaz had wanted Zollin to repair as many of the Stepping Stone bridges as possible before he left the mountains. They were able to travel the distance to the Jaq Clan cavern easily in just under a day.

  In the Jaq clan they rested, and Hammert saw that his clan was ready to march south with the other clans. His son, Pounder, would lead the dwarves in Hammert’s absence. Zollin, Bloc, and Hammert set out early the next day. Zollin was worried about Ferno and the other dragons, but he hoped he would be able to make contact with them once they came out of the caves to cross the great valley.

  They traveled a full day, and Zollin expect that they would head for the surface at any time, but the second day their tunnels went down rather than up.

  “When will we go up and cross the Great Valley?” he finally asked Bloc.

  “We won’t,” said the smiling dwarf. “This path goes under the valley and links the two mountain ranges together.”

  “But it is a dangerous path,” Hammert said crossly. “The Luggarts have been especially active.”

  Zollin remembered the huge, fiery worm that seemed to be made of molten rock. He remembered mostly the red eye that appeared when the Luggart opened its mouth. It was the stuff of nightmares, he thought, but he had defeated the creature once. He guessed he could do it again, but he wasn’t looking forward to the challenge. Not to mention the fact that he might be out of the Northern Highlands before he was able to reach out to Ferno. He didn’t like being separated from the green dragon, but he would have to trust his friend to find his way south.

  On the third day of their journey, the tunnels began to change. The walls became rough and uneven. The temperature steadily began to rise, and the moisture in the tunnels increased so that Zollin was soon sweating profusely. It wasn’t long until a mist could be seen hovering in the dark corridors and then patches of phosphorescent moss appeared along the rough tunnel walls. At the lowest point, they passed through a section of the tunnel where water dripped. It was so hot in the tunnel that the water sizzled when it touched the stone floor. Large cracks in the tunnel glowed from the molten rock that lay like an ocean beneath them. Zollin’s strength seemed to wane in the deep tunnel, and they were forced to make frequent stops to rest. At one point they heard the screeching roar of a Luggart, but they kept moving and the sounds of the fiery worm diminished. Finally, after several hours, they began climbing out from the deep tunnels. The cooler air was refreshing to Zollin. His clothes were drenched in sweat, and he had consumed all the water in his canteen.

  Bloc assured Zollin that they were close to the caverns of the Molar clan, but when they came to the opening of the tunnel into a larger cave, they were shocked by what they saw. The fires of the forges were all out and the lanterns dark.

  “What is happening here?” Hammert asked.

  “The Molar clan,” Bloc said. “They are gone.”

  “Something is here,” Zollin said, letting his magic flow out into the cavern.

  He could feel the small homes and shops where the dwarves had lived and worked. Most were empty, but some had life in them. They were large creatures, curled up in sleep. He pushed his magic further and found a large dwelling where dozens of dwarves were stacked up like firewood. He probed the dwarves and found them to be sleeping too, and encased in silky cocoons.

  “The Molar clan was attacked by something,” he whispered to the others. “Big creatures that wrap their victims in cocoons.”

  “The Anacrids have returned,” Hammert said in horror.

  “They were wiped out,” Bloc argued. “There are no more Anacrids.”

  �
��What other creature wraps its victims in cocoons?” Hammert argued.

  “What are Anacrids?” Zollin asked.

  “Giant spiders,” Bloc explained. “They lived in the caves thousands of years ago, just below the surface where they could come out to hunt. When the dwarves made the mountain roots our home, the Anacrids came down. They attacked small groups or individuals. There is only one other instance where an entire clan was attacked. When that happened, my great, great, grandfather rallied the clans and attacked the hairy beasts. We killed them all.”

  “Not all,” Hammert said. “Obviously some survived.”

  “What should we do?” Zollin asked.

  “We should wait,” Hammert said. “In a few more days the other clans will start coming through, and we can attack them together.”

  “If we wait,” Block warned, “we won’t have time to rally the clans of the Southern Range.”

  “There may not be any more clans in the Southern Range,” Hammert argued. “The Molar clan is the deepest of all the clans this side of the valley. If the Anacrids have worked their way down this far, what are the chances that the other clans survived?”

  “Are you saying that the other dwarf clans could be dead?” Zollin asked.

  “Yes,” Hammert hissed.

  “Then we must push on,” Zollin said. “I’ll not sit idly by while more dwarves are killed. Not when I can do something about it.”

  “Wait,” Hammert said, grabbing Zollin’s arm. “We have a way of fighting the Anacrid, but we need more dwarves. They’re big creatures, terribly fast and strong. They can climb the walls and drop down on you from above. They’ll cut off our escape if we move forward. They’ll overwhelm us and kill us.”

  “You stay here,” Zollin said. “I’ll do this myself.”

  “Don’t be foolhardy,” Bloc said. “This is no time for heroics.”