Chaos Descending by Toby Neighbors Page A

home. In all the years he’d worked with Zollin, trying to teach his son how to build even the most basic structures, Zollin had seemed completely incapable. When Zollin had revealed that he was a wizard, it had almost been a relief to Quinn. If their village hadn't been invaded by wizards from the Torr and a band of mercenaries intent on taking Zollin away at the time, Quinn would have laughed with joy.
    He’d always known his son wasn’t cut out to be a carpenter, but Quinn hadn’t known what else he might be good at either. He hadn’t wanted to see Zollin become a soldier after having lived that hard life himself. And yet Quinn knew that for young men without a trade, there weren’t many opportunities to earn an honest living in Yelsia. But he’d never imagined that anyone could do the things Zollin had done. Quinn had seen his son working powerful magic that simply defied explanation.
    And then, when Yelsia was finally at peace, Quinn had ridden the same trail he was on at that moment to see his son’s new home. In the month it had taken Quinn, Mansel, and Nycol to travel from Orrock to Brighton’s Gate, Zollin had built a sturdy but quaint cottage. Over the next several months, Zollin had planted a large garden and constructed a decent workshop as well. While the people of the village struggled to rebuild their homes and shops, Zollin made a private little villa for himself and Brianna with virtually no help.
    Of course his reputation in the village had suffered as a result. Many of the people thought that Zollin owed it to them to rebuild their village. But then they had only heard stories about the horrors Zollin had saved them from in Falxis and Olsa. After the attack by the massive black dragon, which just happened to foil an invasion of Skellmarian raiders from the Upper Range of the Northern Highlands, Zollin had traveled south and saved Yelsia first from invading armies, and then from the evil witch Gwendolyn. The dragon's attack had been devastating to the townsfolk, but afterward they had been untouched by the chaos beyond the mountains.
    Zollin didn’t seem to mind the cold reception he always received from the villagers and he never withheld his power from those truly in need. He healed many of the village sick or injured, bartering his skills for the practical items he didn’t care to make for himself. And this wasn’t the first late night ride Quinn had made to Zollin’s home to bring his son to some poor soul’s rescue.
    Quinn was just thinking of how fortunate he was that his horse knew the path so well, when the horse suddenly stopped in the middle of the trail and neighed in fright. Quinn almost lost his balance as the horse suddenly reversed directions and started to back up.
    “What the hell is wrong?” Quinn said, squinting in the darkness.
    The horse stopped, but pawed at the ground and shook its long head.
    “I don’t see anything,” Quinn said, suddenly wishing he had a torch or a sword.
    The sky was bright overhead with stars, but they cast little light on the darkened path. Quinn could barely make out the tall grass to his right. To his left the river glinted only slightly brighter than the land as it reflected the starlight.
    Quinn wasn’t sure what was making his horse so nervous, but without a torch or weapon, he knew he had to act fast. He could turn back and wait for morning, but Zollin was leaving soon. If his son left the Great Valley without helping Mansel, the young warrior would probably be crippled by his wounds—perhaps even die. So Quinn kicked the horse into action.
    “Hurrah!” he shouted as loudly as he could, while lashing the reins across the horse’s rear. “Run! Go! Go!”
    The horse bolted forward, and Quinn heard the snarl of anger just ahead of them. The grass was moving, but the horse was young and fast. It dashed down the path, hooves pounding, and whatever had frightened the horse jumped into the trail behind them. Quinn risked a glance over his