Five Kingdoms: Books 01, 02 & 03

by Toby Neighbors

  “How bad is it?” he asked.

  “It’s not too bad,” Kelvich said. “But it’s serious enough that we’re going to have to be careful.”

  “Is it broken?”

  “No, I don’t think so, just badly cut up. What happened?”

  “Exactly what you said would happen,” he confessed. “The horse fell, broke his leg, and landed on top of me. I was pinned between the horse and the cliff face. The horse was writhing around, carving my leg up like mince meat.”

  “That’s an apt description.”

  “I’d be lion food if you hadn’t come along when you did,” he confessed, more than a little ashamed.

  “We still might be,” Kelvich said. “We need to get rid of anything that has blood on it. Those lions can smell it from miles away. Odds are there are a lot more of them here about, drawn by your horse.”

  “I had to put him down,” Quinn explained. “He was beating me to death against the rock.”

  “I’m not chastising you,” Kelvich said. “I’m just being honest. Do you have a change of clothes?”

  “Sure, in my saddle bag, along with my rations and shield.”

  “Damn, I didn’t think about that. Normally, I’d recommend that we stay off the trail until we get past your fallen mount, but with your leg that’s not an option.”

  “I can make it,” Quinn said.

  “Don’t be foolhardy. If an infection sets in, you’ll get blood poisoning and die. Now just lay back and rest while I tend this.”

  He packed the mud on the leg, then cut his finest blanket into strips to bind up the wounded leg. He had one change of pants in his pack, they were soft leather and too big around the waist for Quinn, but he made them work with Quinn’s belt. It had some blood on it, which Kelvich scrubbed off with some snow, after he refilled his water skin and set it out in the sun to melt.

  Quinn slept while Kelvich buried the bloody clothes in a patch of slushy snow on the trail. It wasn’t perfect, but it was the best they could do. They would need to give the animals time to pick the horse’s carcass clean and to let Quinn rest. They would need a fire, more than just a tiny one, that could burn all night long. Kelvich scavenged among the rocks for old wood until the sun went down. He hadn’t eaten since he had woken up at day break, but he waited until the very last of the sunlight to start the fire. Then he ate some bread and cheese. Quinn woke up, drank some water, and ate a few bites before falling back asleep.

  Kelvich fed the fire through the night, only dozing in short snatches. He heard animals moving around them in the dark, but the fire did its job and was still burning when the sun came up. He woke Quinn, and they shared a light meal before unwrapping Quinn’s leg. The mud had done its job and kept the blood from seeping into the bandages. They used water to rinse off as much of the mud as they could. Kelvich added more herbs and then reapplied fresh mud. They wrapped it again and got Kelvich’s pants on Quinn. Finally, they made their way slowly down to the trail. Quinn rode, and Kelvich led the horse. The trail was almost impassible now. They had to be careful of every step to keep the horse from stumbling and falling down.

  When they got to Quinn’s horse, it was little more than bones, although it was covered with vultures, who were picking at the remnants of skin and gristle that clung to the bones. Kelvich shouted and waved his arms, causing the birds to fly away. They recovered the bow and Quinn’s supplies, which were mostly intact inside the saddle bags. They spent the remainder of the day traversing the ice and snow on the trail. As the sun sank low, Kelvich’s feet ached, as did his legs and back. Quinn had dozed in the saddle, and they had not come to the end of the pass. They found a small camp site, and Kelvich once again scouted for firewood. He had less time and less luck, and they were only able to kindle a small flame that wasn’t much help against the cold. They slept the sleep of the exhausted and woke in the early dawn, feeling just as tired as when they went to sleep.

  “My leg is as stiff as a board,” Quinn said.

  “I’m sorry we can’t take better care of it.”

  “It’s not your fault. If Zollin were here, he’d mend it up without saying a word.”

  “That’s true,” Kelvich said, smiling wistfully.

  “I’m sorry for what I said,” Quinn said honestly. “You’ve saved my life, you know. Not just from the lion, but with my leg.”

  “Well, we’re not out of danger yet. We need to get you to Zollin, or to a healer.”

  “Is there any way we can travel through the night to catch them?” Quinn asked.

  “Not with the trail in such poor shape. We’ll just have to keep moving as best we can and hope that we get lucky.”

  “The way things have been going, I wouldn’t count on that,” Quinn said sourly.

  Chapter 22

  The dragon flew south again. Its tail was not fully healed, as dragons heal very slowly from their wounds, but although it was painful, it did not hamper the beast. It took a different direction through the mountains this time, not wanting to chance upon the army as it had before. He had taken advantage of the surprise the first time, but there was no guarantee that they wouldn’t be prepared now, with scouts watching the skies and Ballistas ready to fire large arrows hundreds of feet into the air. He had no doubt he could destroy the armies, but there was no sense risking a lucky shot that might keep him immobilized for years or, worse, keep him from flying and allow the hoards of humans to swarm over him and kill him.

  He soared as high as he could, the air was so cold he was tempted to heat his body with fire, but he didn’t want to attract attention. He flew over the Great Valley and crossed the southern range of mountains in less than a day. Then he began his search. He needed an isolated farm or homestead. Ideally one with a large barn that he could take refuge in. He found it shortly after dark. He landed smoothly just outside the home. The cattle in the barn were bellowing in fright, but in the small home, no one seemed to know he was there. He waited, as patiently as any predator. After a while, a man came outside, probably to check on the animals. He didn’t see the dragon in the darkness. Normally, he would have devoured the man immediately, but he needed information.

  His tail was aching, but he used it anyway, coiling it around the farmer in an instant. The man screamed, but the dragon tightened its tail, snuffing the cry as soon as it happened.

  “Are you alone?” hissed the dragon. It had a deep voice that reverberated so low that it was hard to make out. The beast’s mouth wasn’t created to form human words, but it had adapted and learned the speech of men.

  “No, no,” said the man when the beast loosened its grip enough to allow the man to breathe.

  “How many?”

  “Just my wife.”

  “No parents?”

  “N-n-n-no,” he said, shaking his head vigorously.

  “Good, call her.”

  “No,” he said, his voice a little more resolute.

  The dragon squeezed, the man’s face turned red, his eyes bulged.

  “I’ll only tell you once more, call her.”

  He loosed his grip on the man, who shuttered, taking big, gulping breaths. Then he looked up at the dragon with fearful eyes.

  “Do it,” the dragon hissed.

  “Bev!” he shouted. “Bev, come out here a minute.”

  The door opened and a girl came out. She had thick, brown hair that hung nearly to her waist. She was plump, but the weight did not detract from her looks. She screamed when she saw the dragon, his eyes reflecting the light from the little home. He’d found what he needed, a woman to be his prophet, his priestess, his slave. She fainted and fell to the ground.

  “No,” her husband sobbed.

  Then the dragon bit his head off. He didn’t wait, but instead gobbled the man down and then turned to the barn. It had two doors that were tall for humans and, with both open, he could just squeeze through. He ate everything: both milk cows, the old plow horse, a mule, and the entire flock of sheep and goats. He knocked the stalls down and
used his tail like a rake, piling the busted timber, hay, and manure into one corner. He would have the girl carry it all outside eventually, but for now the building would suffice to hide him.

  His tail ached, and the pain made him irritable. He squeezed back out of the barn and found the woman just starting to wake up. She was dazed and disoriented. He picked her up with his tail and then carried her back to his new lair. He would make sure she was ready, then send her out to spread his message, to peasants and kings alike.

  * * *

  It took three days before Zollin and Mansel came to the end of the snow. The ups and downs of the pass were wearisome, but at last they could mount their horses and make better time. When they came out of the mountains, Zollin pulled out the old pathfinder. It was a simple, little device, the needle pointing back the way they had come. Zollin turned it so that the N was lined up with the needle. He knew they needed to turn southwest, but there was nothing to see but trees and deep forest. They would just need to make their way as best they could.

  They were about to head out when they heard a gruff sounding voice.

  “Ho, highlander! Where are hurrying to?”

  Mansel drew his sword, and Zollin raised his staff across his chest. He was holding the reins of his horse, but Mansel was already on his; both animals were stomping nervously away from the hillside.

  “Who said that?” Zollin called out.

  “Down here, highlander,” said the voice.

  Zollin and Mansel looked down and saw what appeared to be an old man, but he was the size of a toddler. The man had large hands, they seemed too large for his body. His head was small, but his beard, which was wiry and gray, hung down to his knees. He was wearing thick soled boots that only rose up just above his ankles. His pants and shirt were rough looking fabric that appeared to be woven from the fibrous strands of a tough plant. Around his narrow hips was a thick, leather belt from which hung a mallet-like hammer and a thick, stone chisel. He was only tall enough to come to Zollin’s mid-thigh.

  “Who are you?” he asked.

  “They call me Jute of the Yel clan. And you, highlander?”

  “My name is Zollin Quinnson, and this is my friend, Mansel.”

  “Have you any ale, by chance?” Jute asked.

  “No, I’m afraid not.”

  “Shame, what a shame. I have steel,” he said this last as if it should be tempting.

  “So do we, little man,” Mansel said. “Are you threatening us?” he teased.

  “Your friend is soft in the head,” Jute replied, speaking directly to Zollin. “I might be willing to trade if you can lay your hands to some ale, but dwarvish steel doesn’t come cheap. I’ll need several barrels.”

  “Why would we want your steel?” Zollin asked.

  “You’re a wizard, aren’t you? I don’t know what your kind does with it, but its top quality. Make this one,” he pointed at Mansel, “a helmet so that what little brains he’s got don’t get hurt.”

  “I’m sorry, but we don’t have any ale,” Zollin said, suppressing an urge to burst out laughing at Mansel’s expense.

  “What about that bottle of wine?” Jute asked.

  Mansel had insisted that they take it, but Zollin had been equally insistent that they not drink it. They traded watches through the night, and he was sure that if Mansel drank he’d be worthless.

  “That’s my wine,” said Mansel. “If you want a taste, you’ll have to trade with me.”

  “Dwarves don’t trade with dull witted ogres who don’t even have the courtesy to get down off their horses and offer them a cool drink to wet their parched tongues.”

  “We meant no offense,” Zollin said, waving for Mansel to get off of his horse.

  “Don’t trust him,” Mansel said, sounding a little peeved by the continued insults Jute hurled at him. “I wouldn’t trust him half as far as I could throw him.”

  “Highlanders always think they’re so powerful. Why, I could tear your arm off, boy. Care to lay a wager on it?”

  “You think you could tear my arm off?” Mansel asked in surprise.

  “We’ll arm wrestle, you and me. The winner keeps the wine.”

  “Are you serious?” Mansel said. “You want to arm wrestle me?”

  “Slow witted and hard of hearing, too, he must have been dropped on his head as a babe. That would certainly explain his looks.”

  Zollin burst out laughing at this. Mansel felt his face turn scarlet with shame. He jumped off his horse and threw the reins to Zollin, who was trying to compose himself but failing miserably.

  “I’ll arm wrestle you right now, imp.”

  “I’m not sure you’re using that word correctly. I’m a dwarf, not a devil, child. Didn’t your parents teach you to respect your betters?”

  “I see nothing to respect, only a foul mouthed, little child who needs to be put in his place. And I’ll be the one to do it.”

  “Oh, we’ll see about that, we’ll see,” said Jute, smiling happily. “Bring the wine, I know just the place for our contest. Just the place, indeed.”

  Mansel stalked off after Jute, and Zollin, still laughing, followed with the horses. Jute led them into the forest and then to a small clearing right at the foot of the mountains. There were several large boulders in the clearing, and between two of them was a small cave. It looked to be little more than a hole in the ground, but instead of soil, the hole was in rock. It was the root of the mountains, and from the crack in the ground, which was all the hole really was, came the sound of singing that Zollin thought he recognized. It was different from anything he’d heard before, more a deep chanting that a melodious song, but it was music just the same. There were drums and low pitched flutes that gave the music a strong foundation.

  “So, you’re a dwarf,” Zollin said. “As in the people under the mountains?”

  “That’s right, lad, you may have heard of us. We’re quite famous, although, we haven’t exactly been social the last few centuries. That’s one of the main differences between my kind and yours: we don’t feel the need to share our lives with outsiders. We’re more, what you might call, exclusive. Wizards are welcome, all others can bake in the sun, if you take my meaning.”

  “I think I do,” Zollin said.

  He couldn’t sense magic in the little man, but he sensed it in the cave. He had a strong urge to crawl down into the mountain’s roots and see the dwarvish kingdom, but his errand was pressing.

  “What do I get when I win?” Mansel said in haughty tone, as if his victory were a foregone conclusion. “Other than the satisfaction of wiping that smug grin off of your puny face.”

  “Spoken like the ignorant highlander that you are, oaf. I’ll bet you anything you want.”

  “How about the steel you spoke of?” Zollin suggested. He remembered that Kelvich had told him that some metals have magic of their own, and he was beginning to think that perhaps this dwarf might be offering something much more valuable than mere metal.

  “It’s a bet,” Jute said happily.

  There was a stump that the dwarf waved to, and Mansel walked slowly to the other side of it before dropping to one knee. Jute walked up to the stump and dropped his little elbow on the stump’s surface. Mansel grinned and took Jute’s open hand before lowering his own elbow.

  “You say go, thick skull,” Jute said with an air of superiority.

  “Go!” shouted Mansel, rushing his attack just a little.

  The dwarf’s hand went about halfway down then stopped abruptly, and Zollin saw the surprise in Mansel’s eyes. He grunted and then turned his shoulder into the effort, but he couldn’t budge the dwarf’s arm. Jute, on the other hand, was smiling and looked content. Mansel felt sweat blossom on his skin, and his heart beat faster and faster as he strained to lower the little man’s arm. Then, slowly at first, Jute’s hand began to rise. Soon it was back at the starting point, and Mansel looked desperate.

  “Not as easy as it looks, is it, highlander?” Jute said, his voice straining
just a bit and revealing his effort.

  “You’re cheating,” Mansel said through clenched teeth.

  Jute only renewed his effort and slowly pulled the warrior’s hand down, closer and closer to the surface of the tree stump. Zollin stood wide eyed. He’d been surprised at the dwarf’s challenge, but he’d expected that it would be a bigger task than Mansel anticipated. Still, he was truly surprised to see the tiny man overpowering Mansel.

  Suddenly it was over, Mansel simply couldn’t hang on any longer. The back of his hand pounded the wood, and both man and dwarf moved backward. Jute tottered on his short legs, Mansel rolled first onto his butt and then his back. Sweat was running down his face, which was red with exertion. Both were breathing heavily.