Five Kingdoms: Books 01, 02 & 03

by Toby Neighbors

  “There!” Zollin shouted as he sprinted after the man.

  “Zollin, wait,” Quinn called, but Zollin wasn’t listening.

  The room had gone quiet as he ran past the tables and patrons, who where nursing their cups of wine and ale. He knew racing blindly into the maze of store rooms and work rooms the inn keeper used was dangerous, but he didn’t care. All of his pent up frustration and uncertainty were driving him forward and the release felt right. He ran into the hallway and caught a glimpse of the man in dark clothing rounding the corner. With a thought, Zollin sent a wave of magic that knocked the assassin’s feet out from under him. The man had already turned the corner, but Zollin heard him stumble and fall with a crash. He was still hurrying forward, intent on capturing the man. As he rounded the corner, the assassin had just gotten back to his feet. Zollin was still taking in the scene when the man attacked. He was fast, his dagger swiping at Zollin’s throat as the man spun around. The young wizard stumbled back but managed to cast a bolt of energy from his staff at the assassin, who dove to the floor to avoid it.

  “Don’t kill him!” Quinn shouted as he rushed down the hallway toward his son.

  The assassin was coiling like a snake when Zollin pinned the man to the floor with his magic. It was like trying to hold a fish on the riverbank, the man was kicking and thrashing on the floor, but Zollin didn’t budge, he held the man firmly. Quinn had drawn his knife, which was big and heavy. He took hold of the blade and swung the handle down on the man’s head. The assassin’s body stiffened for a moment, then lay still.

  “Tie him up, quickly,” Quinn said to Mansel. Then he turned to Zollin and asked, “Are there more?”

  “We saw one in the hallway,” said Zollin, panting.

  “We better check the whole inn,” said Quinn angrily. He stormed back toward the common room and Zollin followed him.

  Chapter 3

  “What’s going on?” the slump shoulder elder named Henrik asked.

  “Assassins,” said Quinn without further explanation.

  “Assassins,” cried the man in alarm. “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about people here to do us harm,” said Quinn angrily. “You saw the man yourself.”

  “I saw someone running from your son, but I’d run from him if he chased me.”

  “He wasn’t alone,” Zollin explained. “There was one hiding in the hallway, and he shot this at me.”

  He held up the little dart and the crowd leaned in to see it in the firelight.

  “That looks more like a fishing lure,” said someone in the crowd, earning a chuckle for his wit.

  “You say he shot that at you?” said another man. “How could you shoot something that small?”

  “It’s a blow dart,” said an elderly man. “I’ve seen ’em used by tribes in Toogah.”

  “So there’s an assassin from Toogah in the inn?” asked Henrik, sarcasm dripping from his voice.

  “Look, the man we caught is still alive,” Quinn said. “Question him. I’m going to make sure there aren’t any more surprises waiting for us tonight.”

  The crowd murmured as Quinn moved away. Zollin followed him as he lit a lantern and held it high, causing the shadows of the long hallway to scatter. He walked slowly down the hall toward their rooms.

  “We’ll check these one at a time,” said Quinn. “I’ve never seen a dart like the one you showed back there, so be careful. I’m not sure what we’re dealing with here.”

  “I understand,” said Zollin.

  They opened the door to his room first, but it was empty. After checking the tiny room thoroughly, they moved on to the room Quinn shared with Brianna. It was empty as well.

  “What now?” Zollin asked.

  “If he was in the hallway, he should still be in the inn. Perhaps in one of the other rooms.”

  The checked the other doors. None were locked, the doors swinging open easily and the light revealing nothing.

  “Is it possible that the man escaped while we were chasing his companion?” Quinn wondered aloud.

  “That wouldn’t explain how he disappeared after he attacked me,” Zollin said.

  “He could have slipped into a room and waited for the distraction,” Brianna said. Once again she had come up behind them so suddenly that neither of them noticed her.

  “I guess that’s possible,” said Zollin. “But wouldn’t someone have noticed him in the common room?”

  “Let’s go find out,” Quinn said.

  They walked back into the common room and found the crowd gathered around one of the tables. They were just pushing through the murmuring crowd when Mansel saw them.

  “He’s dead, Quinn. He must have swallowed something when he came to. I didn’t see anything.”

  The assassin lay dead on the table, his bowels had released and he smelled awful. Zollin saw Brianna cover her nose and he started to the do the same, but didn’t want to appear weak in front of her. He pushed his infatuation away and looked down at the man. He was small, thin, and wiry, much like Quinn. He was dressed all in black, and the skin on his face was chapped. There was a white, foamy residue on his lips. The site of the dead assassin made Zollin think of Todrek. He’d watched his best friend die on the day he’d been attacked by the wizards of the Torr in Tranaugh Shire. Todrek had been cut down by a mercenary’s blade, and the sight of his friend’s blood arching through the air after the soldier’s killing stroke was burned forever in his memory, as were his friend’s pleading eyes as Zollin had tried to help him. He knew now that his lack of knowledge had been what kept him from healing the wound, although Todrek had bled so fast it was doubtful that Zollin could have saved him even if he had known what to do.

  “This is insanity,” Henrik cried. “I’ve lived at the Gate my whole life, and I’ve never heard of assassins anywhere in the Great Valley.”

  “Well your eyes don’t lie,” said Mansel. “How do you explain who this stranger is?”

  “How do we know you didn’t kill him?” Henrik argued. “Or your brother there, the sorcerer, might have cursed him.”

  Zollin saw Kelvich flinch, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, it was Brianna who spoke up.

  “Zollin’s no killer, he saved your village, remember?”

  “That’s right,” said Quinn. “We’ve done nothing but help since we’ve been here, Henrik. There’s no need to blame Zollin.”

  “It seems danger follows you four like a bad smell. We’ve heard the rumors from Tranaugh Shire. We aren’t daft, you know.”

  “Well then stop acting like it,” said Quinn angrily. “You’ve heard rumors, but you haven’t asked us what happened. You’d rather believe the lies and gossip you hear than find the truth.”

  “What are you saying, carpenter?” spat Henrik. “I’m a town elder; I’ve earned the right to be suspicious.”

  “Fine, be suspicious, but be reasonable, too. There’s a stranger here, does anyone recognize him?” Quinn asked. No one spoke so he continued. “Alright, so did anyone see him come in?” Still no one spoke.

  “How did he get inside with no one seeing him?” Zollin asked. “Are there any other ways into the building other than the main door and the one leading to the stables?”

  “No,” Buck answered. “Not even windows to crawl through.”

  “I was sitting by the door,” said a man with a lazy eye. I didn’t see ’im come in that way.”

  “I guess it’s possible that he came in through the back door,” Buck said. “But I would have thought we’d have noticed. I’ve been back and forth all night long.”

  “Well, he was fleeing that way. It makes sense that he might have been trying to escape the same way he came in.”

  “He was standing in that corner when I saw him,” said Zollin.

  “It would have been much easier to go out the main door,” Ollie added.

  “So why go toward the kitchens?” Quinn wondered.

  “Maybe he was trying to distract us,” Brianna
said.

  “Distract us from what?” Henrik asked.

  “I think the other man used the distraction to get away,” she said.

  “What other man?” Henrik cried.

  “The one who attacked us in the hallway,” Zollin said, the magic inside him churning as he struggled to control his emotions. “This one would have gotten away if I hadn’t been able to trip him with magic.”

  The crowd was busy mulling over this latest information when one of the older men on the edge of the group toppled over. The townsfolk cried out in alarm, surrounding him to see what was wrong. The man lay convulsing on the floor, and a woman screamed in fright.

  “Don’t panic,” Kelvich called out as he tried to hold the man’s head still.

  “What’s happening to Bolliver?” Henrik shouted.

  The older man gave one hard spasm, and there was a loud crack. The man died suddenly, his back broken from the power of the spasms.

  “What in God’s name is going on here?” Henrik said.

  Kelvich was searching the man’s body. He was wearing thick, homespun wool breeches and a simple shirt. There were no marks on his body, no blood. Then Kelvich checked his hand. There was a tiny drop of blood where something had pricked his finger.

  “The dart,” Kelvich said. “Where’s the dart? I think it’s poisoned.”

  The crowd gasped and everyone moved back quickly, as if the dart could suddenly come to life and slay them all. Quinn held his lantern high and cast its light around Bolliver’s corpse. The dart was nearby, lying innocently on the rough, wooden floor. Zollin picked it up carefully by the feathers.

  “Throw it in the fire,” Kelvich told him.

  Zollin complied quickly, tossing the tiny, but deadly, instrument into the flames.

  “This is serious,” Quinn said fiercely. “Poisoned darts are outside my experience.”

  “Not mine,” said Kelvich. “It’s the Mezzlyn.”

  The sorcerer had been talking to Quinn, but the crowd in the inn was hanging on every word and they gasped at the mention of the Mezzlyn.

  “First wizards and now Mezzlyn,” said Henrik. “Good God, what is happening here?”

  “Don’t,” Quinn warned him. “You’re a town elder. Show a little leadership before you throw everyone into a panic.”

  “I thought the Mezzlyn were just a myth,” said Brianna.

  “Sort of like wizards and magic,” Mansel said sullenly.

  “Well, they’re a secret cult,” said Kelvich. “They don’t advertise their existence, but I’ve heard of them using poisoned darts and killing themselves if they’re captured. It makes sense, if the rumors are true.”

  “If this guy really was a Mezzlyn assassin, what can we do?” Buck asked.

  “I say we give them what they want,” said Henrik.

  “They want my son,” Quinn said angrily.

  “Better him than one more innocent life like Bolliver.”

  “Bolliver’s death was an accident,” Kelvich said loudly. “Anyone of us could have been killed by the poison. It’s not Zollin’s fault.”

  “He led them here,” argued Henrik. “They’re here because of him, and they’ll keep coming until he’s gone. I say the sooner the better.”

  “Sure, now that he’s done the work on the bridge for you,” Mansel said. “I guess we’re all expendable, as long as you’re safe and sound.”

  The crowd was getting rowdy, and no one noticed the kitchen door as it opened slightly. The first assassin had come back and was now in the room with them. He stayed in the shadows, his dark clothing blending with his surroundings. He had a short, hollow tube, just long enough for the silent killer to wrap both of his hands around it. He raised the blowgun to his lips and filled his lungs with air. He had a perfect shot at the wizard, who was still holding his staff but had his back to the kitchens. The shot made a small sound that no one seemed to notice. The man was moving toward the exit just as the projectile hit its target.

  “Ouch!” Zollin called out, spinning around. The dart felt like a bee sting, but the burning sensation of the poison soon overshadowed the puncture wound.

  The cold night wind swirled into the room as the assassin made his escape. And Zollin’s dire predicament was lost in the fear and shouting of the townspeople. Brianna was the first to notice that something was wrong. Zollin was sitting hunched on a bench, his eyes closed.

  “What’s wrong?” she said to him over the noise of the crowd.

  “Dart...in...my...back,” Zollin said. His voice could barely be heard in the noisy room. “Can’t reach it,” he gasped. “The poison is moving fast.”

  “Quinn!” Brianna shouted, and suddenly Quinn and Kelvich were at Zollin’s side.

  Kelvich pulled the dart out and flung it into the fire.

  “Oh, my god,” Quinn said, the fear evident in his voice. “It’s going to be okay, Zollin.”

  “We’ve got to get him outside,” Kelvich said. “He’s fighting the poison, but the cold will help slow it down.”

  They each grabbed an arm and dragged Zollin out into the snow.

  “Stay focused, Zollin,” Kelvich was saying. “You can do this. Quick, cover him with snow.”

  Mansel and Brianna helped pack the snow around Zollin until only his face showed in the lantern light. The townsfolk were watching from the doorway of the inn, but none had come outside to help.

  “Is he going to be okay?” Brianna asked.

  Kelvich only shrugged his shoulders, and Quinn looked at her with fear in his eyes. He couldn’t imagine losing his son. When his wife had passed away, it had been the most horrific time in his life. He had wished he would die so many times, but he had Zollin to look after. The townsfolk pitched and helped with the baby, but Quinn fought down the pain and grief to be a father. Zollin became the center of Quinn’s world. Nothing else mattered. Images of his son as a toddler and then as a curious young boy flashed through Quinn’s mind. The dread of losing his son rose up and threatened to crush him.

  Zollin felt the poison spreading quickly through the muscle the dart had lodged in. It started as a hot, searing pain, but then the muscle cramped so hard he felt the ligaments pull and crack. He withdrew inside himself, unleashing the powerful magic that he tried so desperately to contain most of the time. He was making progress, but the poison seemed to branch out almost faster than he could find it. His mind was racing through each cell of his body, but the poison was simply moving too fast. When they dropped him in the snow, he barely felt the cold. He was too focused on saving his own life. His back was starting to spasm, and he knew that if he didn’t do something soon, his spine could snap just as the villager’s had.

  The cold seeped into his body and even though he was near panic, his heart rate slowed. The poison, dependent on blood flow to spread through the body, was also slowed. It took several long minutes, but Zollin finally pushed all the poison back toward its point of origin.

  “Cut my back,” he said through chattering teeth. “Cut me where the dart went in,” he managed to explain.

  Quinn and Zollin reacted instantly, heaving Zollin out of the snow and onto his stomach. Quinn’s knife slid under his collar and cut the fabric in one long line down Zollin’s spine. The skin was bright red from the cold, and the wound was small, but the skin around the tiny hole was swollen, effectively blocking the wound, and there was no blood. Quinn, his hands shaking slightly, cut a small gash in Zollin’s back. It was very shallow, but blood spilled out. Brianna gasped and took hold of Kelvich’s arm.

  “Deeper!” Kelvich ordered. “You need to cut down into the muscle.”

  Quinn looked at the older man with disbelief, but his hesitation only lasted a second, then he bent back over his son and pressed the razor sharp blade into the wound. Zollin groaned, but the blood spilled out, black and steaming in the cold night air.

  “Brianna, get blankets,” Kelvich ordered. “He’ll need several. Mansel, stoke the fire.”

  Brianna and Mansel pushed t
heir way through the crowd at the door of the inn, each rushing to the task they were assigned.

  “Is he going to make it?” Quinn asked in a shaky voice.

  “I don’t know,” Kelvich said. “Only Zollin knows that.”

  Kelvich was a sorcerer, which meant he could control magic in others, but he had no real power himself. He had been tempted to take over for Zollin. He was certain he could save the boy, but he held himself back for good reason. The first was that he had made a promise that he would never usurp Zollin’s magic again. It was a promise he intended to keep, especially since the temptation to delve into Zollin’s amazingly deep well of magical power was so intoxicating. He was afraid that if he tasted that power for himself, he wouldn’t be able to let it go. Kelvich understood a great deal about magic. He had lived three times as long as most men, traveling the world and learning as much as he could. At last he had decided that taking people’s power was wrong. When he tapped into that source of magic, the victims, as he had finally admitted they were, lost all control. They became like puppets, totally under his control. He was determined never to do it again, but Zollin’s power was almost more than he could resist.