Five Kingdoms: Books 01, 02 & 03

by Toby Neighbors

  “I don’t think so. I’m Zollin, son of Quinn the carpenter.”

  “Have you ever been to Orrock?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Strange, you seem oddly familiar. But no matter, I am Lotair the Great. How may I be of service?”

  “I have questions,” Zollin said.

  “Ah, another fan I see. Well, a Wizard never reveals his secrets my lad, never. I dare not even think them lest my enemies read my mind and know my powers.”

  “I know your power,” said Zollin sincerely. He wasn’t trying to be rude, but he needed answers and he thought perhaps this man might have some.

  “I’m sorry,” said Lotair. “You know my powers?” His voice had lost the performer’s boisterous volume and diction. He spoke like any farmer in the kingdom then.

  “I sensed it; I have for several days now. Can you tell me more about it?”

  “About what?”

  “About magic.”

  “Ah,” cried the performer again. “I’m afraid not my boy, I learned my secrets in the Tower of Elgarath from Topin the Wise himself. Magic is an ability that comes at great sacrifice, and only a few have the fortitude to look into the mysterious realms.”

  Zollin knew then that he would have to show Lotair what he could do before the man would take him seriously. He reached into his small coin pouch and found the ring. He held it in his palm and pictured it rising up into mid air. The ring didn’t move. “Rise,” Zollin commanded, but the ring sat perfectly still. He felt it pulse with power, but he did not recognize what it meant.

  “Perhaps a few more years of study, my young apprentice,” Lotair said loftily and began to turn away.

  Zollin grabbed his arm and turned the man to face him again. He pulled a silver coin from his pocket and placed it in his palm. He pictured the coin rising and it did, straight up in front of the illusionist’s eyes, which grew round at the sight.

  “Hold out your hand,” Zollin told him.

  Then a flame appeared around the coin. The flame flickered and the people walking past thought the magician was showing Zollin a new trick. Then the coin dropped into the man’s palm and he yelled in surprise.

  “Holy Maker, that’s hot!” cried Lotair.

  “Now,” said Zollin. “I sensed your power. I need to know where it comes from.”

  The man grabbed Zollin and pulled him into a colorful tent where he collapsed onto a three legged stool. He rubbed his face with a towel and then looked up angrily.

  “Who taught you to do that?” the magician demand. “Are you trying to make me look like a fool?”

  “No,” Zollin said. He was surprised at the man’s hostility.

  “Then show me how you do it.”

  “I just imagine it or speak it and it happens.”

  “Don’t lie to me boy! I’ve been in this trade for more years than you’ve been alive. There is no such thing as magic. It’s all sleight of hand and illusion. I’m a master at it.”

  “You’re wrong,” Zollin said.

  “Are you going to tell me how to do that trick?”

  “It’s not a trick!” Zollin said, his voice loud.

  “Not a trick, huh? Prove it.”

  Zollin wished he had his willow belt – he would have made the illusionist’s mustache burst into flame. Instead, he looked around the tent, found a pair of the magician’s boots under the bed, and made them walk out and then perform a little dance.

  “When did you get in here,” the man asked vehemently. “I want to know how you’re doing those things. What have you got, invisible strings? Is there someone under my bed?”

  Zollin’s head was swimming from the exertion of moving the man’s boots. He placed his hand on the table to steady himself.

  “Don’t you know any real magic?” he asked tiredly.

  The man scowled and then looked away. Zollin left the tent disappointed. He was hungry and made his way over to where the remnants of the feast were sitting. The meat was gone and he regretted that, but there were still vegetables and bread and cheese. He ate and drank a cup of watered wine. When he felt better, he returned home and fell exhausted into bed.

  The next morning there was a knock on the door. When Zollin and his father looked through the window, they saw Lotair the Great holding the reins of a skinny looking brown mare.

  “What’s he want,” Quinn said, irritable from being awakened after a night when he had obviously drunk too much wine or ale. His face was red and his breath still smelled of drink.

  “I don’t know, but I’ll take care of it, Dad. Get some rest.”

  Quinn nodded and shuffled back to bed. The air outside was crisp with a hint of autumn when Zollin opened the door. The illusionist eyed him warily.

  “I’ve come to make you an offer,” said the man.

  “Let’s talk outside, my father’s sleeping.”

  “As you wish,” said Lotair.

  They walked out into a patch of warm sunlight before the magician spoke.

  “I’d like you to come with me. You can levitate objects in the crowd, warm them up for me. We’ll make a killing and you’ll get out of this little town,” Lotair said brightly, as if the suggestion were the best news a young man could get.

  “Ah,” said Zollin softly. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “I knew it,” said Lotair triumphantly. “I knew you were only tricking me, but I must admit it was good. Better than good, really. I tell you what, tell me how you did it and I’ll give you this fine horse.” He held out the reins.

  “It’s not a trick,” Zollin said.

  The man laughed. “Oh, no trick, huh? Then do it again. Do it in the daylight with my coin. If you can, I’ll give you the horse.”

  Zollin looked at the horse. She wasn’t the flower of youth, but they could use a good horse and so he told the man to wait for him. He opened the door of the house and retrieved his staff. He looked to make sure his father was asleep and, seeing that he was, returned to the man.

  “I wasn’t lying,” he said confidently.

  The illusionist smirked and started to say something when he rose suddenly in the air.

  “Aaahhhhh!” the man shouted.

  “Keep your voice down!” Zollin warned him, “or I’ll drop you on your head.”

  He gently lowered the man back down to the ground and the man backed away from him.

  “What are you, a devil?” he asked, his voice suddenly high and squeaking.

  “No,” Zollin replied bitterly, “but I’m no poser either. Now give me the horse.”

  “I refuse,” said Lotair.

  “You what?” Zollin demanded.

  “I won’t give you the horse.”

  “Yes you will, you challenged me and I accepted. You lost, so pay up.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Okay,” said Zollin. “That’s fine. Flame.”

  The magician’s long cloak ignited and the man screamed as he scrambled to get it off. Zollin laughed. It was the first hearty laugh he had had since he revealed his power to Todrek.

  “Take the horse!” Lotair shouted. “Take the horse!”

  Zollin waited until the man had given him the reins before extinguishing the flames. The magician, still smoking, ran away. Zollin looked at the horse and smiled.

  “Welcome to your new home,” he said. “Let’s see if we can find a place for you.”

  He spent the morning clearing out the little lean-to shed to make a place for the horse. When his father finally roused himself, he asked about the shouting he had heard.

  “Oh,” said Zollin. “I sort of made a bet with that magician last night because I saw how he was doing some of his tricks. I won a horse but he tried to cheat me out of it. I told him I would tell everyone he was a fake and he got mad. But I got the horse.”

  “You gambled for a horse?” Quinn asked. “What did you bet, the house?”

  “No, he was just overly confident. I bet him all the money I had left and he bet the horse. I won
and now we have a horse.”

  Quinn went out to look at the horse while Zollin made breakfast. After they had eaten and seen to the chores, they made their way down the hill to town to meet with Todrek and his father.

  Later that afternoon, after plans had been made for Todrek’s house and Quinn had returned to the Inn for a meeting of the village Council, Zollin went to examine the two trinkets he had purchased the day before. He was especially interested in the ring, which seemed to resist his magic. He wondered if it was a fluke or if there was something about the ring’s power that kept him from moving it. After checking on the horse, Zollin made his way to the willow tree. He had both the willow belt and the staff. He was determined to learn as much as he could about magic and was bitterly disappointed that the illusionist was so ignorant.

  In his mind, he outlined what he knew so far, that magic came from within him, that it wasn’t a learned skill. People who did not have the magic in them could not just make it happen. Magic also resided in various things, such as plants and trees, rocks, and perhaps even metals. He had heard stories, fairy tales really, of enchanted swords or magic crystals. It seemed that these stories had at least some basis of truth. Finally, not all magic was the same; the power of the willow tree was different from the power in his staff. This final thought brought to mind the medallion he had bought that was supposed to bring good luck. Zollin laid the medallion on the ground in front of him. He knew the power within it was different; it seemed shady somehow, malevolent. He thought briefly about putting the medallion around his neck, supposing that like the willow belt or the staff, it might increase his power. But he dismissed the thought outright and determined never to use the medallion until he understood it.

  The ring, which was small and looked to be silver, seemed on its own to be nothing more than a bit of metal. But the stone, a small, white stone that was round rather than angled like many gemstones, resonated with power, but only when touched. It was almost as if the magic inside it were veiled or hidden. Zollin placed it in his palm again and concentrated. The staff was beside him but he wasn’t holding it yet. The willow belt around his waist seemed to charge with power as he pictured the ring rising into the air, but the small band didn’t move.

  “Rise!” he commanded, concentrating fiercely, but still nothing happened. He reached out with his right hand and grasped the staff beside him. There was a shock of power as he let the magic flow into him, his hair began to stand up, and little blue sparks began running up and down the staff. “Rise!” he commanded again, and he could feel the power surging through him, rushing toward the ring. He could almost see the magic peeling away from the ring as if an invisible bubble surrounded it. Rocks and twigs began to shoot up off the ground as Zollin focused all his concentration on seeing the ring rise, but the little band of silver never moved.

  Finally he stopped and the fatigue settled in. All around him rocks and twigs and even clumps of dirt rained down around him. He lay back on the dirt and let his heart slow back down to normal. He had lifted the illusionist into the air without much effort at all, but this ring was unmovable. He wondered if perhaps the ring’s power repelled magic. It was an interesting thought, and one that made sense. If some objects resonated power, perhaps some objects deflected it. The only thing Zollin knew for sure was that there was much more to this world than he had known. There was a sphere or realm that was just as real as the ground he lay on, yet he could not see it, could not touch it or contain it. It was there, hidden just beyond sight, and he was determined to know it. But he could not learn what he needed to know in Tranaugh Shire. He would have to leave, to search for the answers in other parts of the kingdom. But he would wait until he had Todrek’s home finished. He had given his word that he would stand with his friend when the vows were taken, and he owed Todrek that much.

  Autumn seemed to race by at a gallop. The leaves turned rich colors and then fell from the trees as cold northern winds raced through the village. The work on the new house went smoothly, but there was much to be done before the first snows, which seemed to threaten to fall at anytime. Zollin also had the chore of getting their own home ready for the winter. He plastered mud into every gap or crack in the walls. It would be a cold winter if the winds could find their way into the house. He spent one day scrubbing the chimney so that they would not have to choke on smoke all winter long. Even though the work did not come easily to Zollin’s hands, he felt better about his work that fall than at any other time in his life. He supposed it was because he was taking care of the people he loved, his father and his best friend, and a small part of him felt guilty for knowing that he would soon be leaving them. He hadn’t told anyone his plans, but he planned to tell his father shortly before the wedding.

  It won’t be long, he told himself as he drifted off to sleep and even though the world beyond the village was wide and unknown, it was also exciting. He focused on thoughts of adventure and tried not to let his mind drift to Brianna, whose face had been troubling his dreams of late. As he felt sleep washing over him, he saw himself seated on large horse, with his staff in one hand and a sword in the other. The dream made him smile until he saw that beside him was another horse, a smaller horse, and Brianna sat on it.

  Chapter 5

  “No! No! Don’t do it!” she screamed.

  Brianna sat up abruptly and looked around the dark room. Her sisters had not stirred, but the curtain that separated her sleeping chamber from the main room was pulled aside, and her mother came in.

  “Another nightmare, dear?” her mother asked.

  Brianna nodded and lay back down. She had been having the nightmares for nearly a month. Every night without fail, she dreamed that Todrek was being slain by a dark warrior on a great horse. She watched with terrified fascination as the assailant’s blade swept down and ended her betrothed’s life. But that wasn’t the worst part of the dream – in fact, she was indifferent to Todrek’s death. She barely knew him, after all. She could remember him from the school house, but he was older than she was, and he didn’t seem interested in her at all then. Now they were going to be married and it felt like it was happening to someone else. She was neither excited nor scared of marrying the Butcher’s son, but her parents thought otherwise.

  “I know this is hard, dear,” her mother was saying. “But marriage is a part of life. And Todrek is a good match. He works hard and will provide well. A Butcher never goes hungry, dear.”

  “Yes, I know,” Brianna said absently.

  Lately, as she woke up screaming, her mother had taken on the task of settling Brianna down. She didn’t need to be reassured about the wedding; it was the other part of her dream that terrified her. She saw Todrek’s friend, the Carpenter’s son, riding off, and for some reason that she could not understand, the sight filled her with dread. She thought that she would rather face the dark attacker who had killed Todrek than watch Zollin leave her. She felt extremely guilty for dreaming about another boy rather than her betrothed, but she couldn’t help it. She had no control over her dreams, after all. She wasn’t in love with Zollin; in fact she knew him even less than she knew Todrek. He had been in school too, before they began their apprenticeships, but he was nearly invisible. She had no real memory of him and didn’t even see his face in her dream, but somehow she knew it was him.

  She hadn’t told her parents the truth about her dreams. They assumed it was pre-wedding jitters, and she was happy to let them go on thinking that. As her mother prattled on, Brianna lay back and smoothed her hair from her face. She needed to relax, relax and sleep.

  ***

  In Orrock, the Wizards were entrenched at the Inn, rehashing what they had just learned from the traveling illusionist. The man was raving about a boy in a village who had made him levitate. It was just the sort of break they had been hoping for. They had bought the man drinks and heard the whole story, although they were sure most of it was not true. Still, they could move on now, which was good since the mercenaries seemed to find new
ways to provoke the King’s Guard daily. They searched the maps for the small village of Tranaugh Shire and plotted their course.

  “We can leave at first light,” said Branock.

  “Why not leave now?” said Cassis defiantly.

  “Because, dear child,” Branock explained. “While you may not need much in the way of sleep, your military guard does. They will be hard pressed to keep up with us as it is. They are drunk, and on their best day they require twice as much time as we do to prepare.”

  “You should go and tell them now,” added Wytlethane. “And make sure the matron wakes them before dawn.”

  “With buckets of icy water if need be,” Branock added. He felt no real animosity for the soldiers, but they had come with Cassis and reported directly to him. Branock assumed that respect came at a high price, but since Cassis had hired and paid them, they were loyal to him, at least as loyal as a mercenary can be. Cassis had used the threat of their force against Branock a time or two, and in reply, Branock merely made the young Wizard keep up with the soldiers. Cassis gave them their weekly stipend but also had to deal with the destruction the men caused in their bar fights and the local trouble their carousing caused among the families of the city. He was constantly looking for them, bribing the King’s Guard to let them out of the stocks where their fighting had landed them and arranging payment to Inn Keepers and fathers all over the capital.