Dawn of the Dragon

by Shawn E. Crapo

  Lorcan, on the other hand, was like a demon on the inside.

  It was a similar feeling she got from T'kar's new sorcerer as well. This Malthor, as he was called, was cruel and heartless, too, and enjoyed every vile deed he performed. For such a young sorcerer, his power was great, and Igraina could sense that he had the soul of a demon…

  An immortal demon that could regenerate the young necromancer's body.

  "Interesting," Igraina said as she realized it.

  She smiled, knowing that someday, she would likely grow to like the necromancer—not for his vile deeds, but for his resilience. True immortality was rare, but he seemed to possess it.

  That feeling was even more apparent as she saw him leave T'kar's tent with Randar. The two of them exuded a strange nature when together. She knew that Randar desired the young man. Who wouldn't? Despite being ugly and pale, Malthor's countenance was one of dark and mysterious nature. He was quite the opposite of Randar, who was refined, fair in appearance, and distinguished.

  What a bastard.

  They mounted their horses as she watched, and rode off toward the northwest. Igraina wasn't sure why, but she did know that the Northmen were gathered on the shore awaiting orders. If the two men were headed in that direction, they would likely be cut down by the savage warriors of the north.

  That would be amusing.

  As Jarka began to march his men in her direction, Igraina felt her sister's presence grow stronger. T'kar stepped out of his tent, rallying the rest of the soldiers, and Lilit followed him. Igraina's eyes narrowed as she beheld her. Though pale, with strangely silky black hair, the witch was strikingly beautiful. Her angular brow betrayed any innocent look she may have, however, and it gave her a demonic appearance.

  She was like a succubus, that one.

  There was a brief moment of terror in Igraina's heart as Lilit slowly looked in her direction. She knew Igraina was there. A smile spread across her dark lips, and her right brow went up. Igraina's hatred for her grew. She began to see visions in her head; visions of Lilit slaughtering their sisters. All of them. Then she felt a sense of rage and terror as Lilit was plunged into the darkness of the bog.

  She saw a face then; a fair face surrounded by a mane of red hair like her own. But it was not a human face. It was the face of someone or something far more divine in appearance and spirit.

  It was an Alvar.

  Be gone from here, Igraina, Lilit seemed to say in her head. We will dance another time.

  "I will kill you," Igraina whispered. "I will kill you for all time."

  She could see Lilit throw her head back in laughter. She narrowed her gaze, smiling as she thought of burning the witch into oblivion. She would watch her soul being devoured by darkness, and revel in her screams of fury and agony.

  Jodocus was right, she realized then. Killing Lilit would cost her what little humanity she had within her. But, it was a small matter. Only she would survive, and that was all that was important.

  Chapter Thirty Four

  I take it you can start fires with your magic," Randar wondered as the two men rode for the west side of the river.

  "Of course," Malthor replied. "Fire spells are cantrips. They are basically minor spells one uses to refine their magical skills. Unlike other magic, cantrips become multiplied as the sorcerer gains power."

  "I see," Randar said. "I think."

  "Watch," Malthor said, holding his hands out in front of him. "This spark spell was one of the first spells I learned. In the beginning, it is fairly useless."

  Tiny blue sparks began to dance across his fingertips, bringing with them the odd smell of electricity. It was beautiful, Randar thought, the way it illuminated the handsome necromancer's face with flashing blue light. But, as Malthor said, it appeared fairly useless. A parlor trick, nothing more.

  "Pretty, but useless," Malthor said. "But once mastered, it can be deadly."

  Malthor threw his right hand out in front of him and to the right. A giant ball of lightning shot from his fingertips and struck a nearby stone. It exploded in a shower of dust and gravel, letting out a deafening boom that shook the ground and frightened the horses.

  It was impressive, but Randar rubbed his ears and looked around cautiously.

  "That probably wasn't a good idea," he said. "But it was impressive."

  "You're right," Malthor said, pulling his cloak around him. "That was stupid. But I wanted to show you…"

  Randar laughed. He realized Malthor was trying to impress him. It was flattering, for sure, but it was unnecessary. He was already quite impressed with Malthor's skills.

  "You are a gem, my friend," he said, seeing a slight smile spread across Malthor's face. "Captain Jarka chose you well. I've been wondering, though, about your past. Your birth, parents, childhood. Tell me."

  Malthor shrugged. "There's not much to tell," he said. "My parents were farmers, mostly livestock. I always had an interest in magic, which made my parents nervous, as you can imagine. But my father was quite impressed when I raised a sheep from the dead after it had died of disease."

  Randar winced. "And you ate it?"

  "No," Malthor said, laughing. "He sold it at the market in the south. Nobody could even tell it was dead. We got it there just in time, before it started stinking."

  Randar laughed. "That is vile and disgusting. And your father should have been ashamed of himself for doing something like that."

  "Oh he was, at first," Malthor said. "But once he realized he could make a profit selling dead animals, he got over it quickly."

  "So I take it your father was just as, shall we say, morally flexible as you?"

  Malthor grinned, lowering his head. Randar could tell he was thinking of his father then.

  "You loved him," Randar knew.

  Malthor nodded, looking at him sadly. "He was the only person who ever really loved me. Even my mother shunned me. She left when I was young, abandoning me and my father. He never got over it."

  "Where did she go?"

  Malthor shrugged. "I don't know," he said. "I don't care."

  Randar nodded solemnly, remembering his own mother. She was a whore, one who was quick to lie with strangers for the thrill of it; not even for the money. Oh, she did it for the money sometimes, just very rarely.

  Randar had killed her in her sleep, and the man who lay beside her.

  "I didn't know who my father was," he said. "My mother didn't know either, likely."

  Malthor looked at him strangely, as if he wanted to say something but was unsure about it.

  "Yes, she was a whore," Randar finished his thought. "I've never been ashamed to admit it. I grew up without a father, fondling other boys, and girls as well. I eventually grew sickened when I thought of a woman's body. Every girl I saw reminded me of her, and it just turned my stomach. So that's why I now prefer the company of other men."

  Malthor smiled, nodding his head. "T'kar accuses you of buggering boys."

  "He does," Randar said. "Which makes him a hypocrite. I haven't buggered a boy since I was a boy. He's probably done it recently."

  "Disgusting," Malthor said. "But I respect his leadership. I've wanted to offer my services since I was a boy, and when Captain Jarka raided the nearby village, I took that opportunity."

  "Well, we are glad to have you," Randar said, then stopped. "This looks like a good place."

  There was a whole section of trees alongside the path that were bare and dead. Even after the heavy rain, they appeared dry and easily ignited. Not that it mattered. Malthor could likely set stone on fire.

  Malthor dismounted and examined the area, nodding and humming to himself. Then, he turned with a smile.

  "This will be perfect," he said.

  Captain Jarka led his troops through the darkness of the forest, led by the dim light of the moon. It was only a few hours until sunrise, and they needed to get into position before that happened.

  They would pause about halfway in, just within sight of the wooden towers that
stood above the stone ridge shielding the Riverfolk's village. Once the Alvar and the rangers left to care for the forest—if Randar and Malthor were successful—then T'kar could lead the bulk of the army north along the river.

  If things went right, the enemy would charge forth to stop them, and Jarka's troops could overrun the fortress and burn it down. The Riverfolk and their allies were doomed.

  That is, if T'kar's strategy worked.

  "Captain," Lorcan said, pointing off toward the southwest. "The fires have started."

  Jarka stopped and stared off through the trees. There was a faint glow in the distance, telling him the plan had begun. Soon, they would witness the Alvar rushing to battle the fires, and then T'kar would advance. Everything seemed to be falling right into place.

  "Are you ready, Lorcan?" he asked.

  "I am, sir," Lorcan replied, grinning. "This is going to be glorious."

  "It will be your first major battle as my lieutenant," Jarka said. "This will be your chance to prove yourself. Take the lead, and I will follow."

  Lorcan grinned and turned away, advancing with a wave of his hand. The soldiers followed, and they continued north. Jarka fell behind, knowing what danger lurked ahead. He knew the rangers would be waiting for them, and he had no desire to face them. His troops, including Lorcan, were expendable.

  Their only job was to occupy the village, and they could do that with minimal numbers. Perhaps just one, Jarka thought with a grin.

  "They are advancing," Baleron said. "And they have set fire to the forest on the other side of the river."

  Dearg frowned. "That doesn't make sense," he said. "Why set fire to the forest if they are advancing?"

  "A distraction perhaps," Menelith said. "It is inconsequential, though, as that area of the forest is dead."

  "Igrid is on the other side of that forest with the Northmen," Dearg said. "Perhaps it is time to blow the horn."

  "If you think the time is right," Baleron said.

  "Wait until T'kar's forces are closer to the pass," Dearg said. "Menelith, take your troops through the forest on this side of the river. See what you can find."

  "T'kar might turn into the forest," Baleron said. "The trees are widely spaced and would offer a better terrain for battle. Igrid will be unable to charge them if they do."

  "Fine," Dearg said. "Blast the horn. Then, we ride."

  As Menelith called for his troops to move out, Baleron gave four blasts of his horn. Dearg hoped that the mounted Northmen could put a dent in T'kar's forces before they arrived, but meeting them head on was inevitable. If Dearg guessed correctly, T'kar would assume the Alvar would rush to put out the fires.

  Little did the Beast know that the Alvar would stay close.

  "We'll ride out halfway," Dearg said. "We'll keep watch, and charge once Igrid reaches the middle."

  The two men descended the stairs, rallying the rest of the knights and mounting just inside the gates. Dearg looked over to the gate keeper as he opened the doors.

  "Close the gates behind us," he said. "If we come riding back, have them open for us."

  "Yes sir," the man said.

  "Be sure to keep watch on the south wall," Dearg continued. "The Alvar will intercept any advances, but some may slip through. Be prepared to open the gates if we come riding back."

  The man nodded, and Dearg turned back and watched as the village's horsemen assembled behind his knights. They were ready and eager for battle, and Dearg hoped that their morale was high. This was the moment the army had been waiting for, and outnumbered or not, they were ready to defend their lives. Dearg breathed in their rage, and it fuelled more than anything.

  "Come now, men of the north," he shouted, drawing his blade. "We ride for glory."

  The men cheered, and Dearg led the charge out the gates. He felt confident having his friends at his side; old and new. He had two of the best archers he had ever met, his two best friends, a seasoned hunter, and a young and brash Highlander. It was an eclectic mix if he ever saw one.

  And now they rode together as the Knights of the Dragon.

  "Ride now!" Igrid shouted, mounting her horse.

  She drew her blade, her heart pounding with the excitement of battle. She waited for her people to mount up, gritting her teeth and growling along with her horse. The beast below her snorted and clopped its hooves as its own fury surged through it. It was a magnificent horse, she thought, and would fight well.

  "Don't lose that spirit, my friend," she whispered, patting it on the mane. "Today, we fight and maybe die together. If so, I'll be proud to ride you through the gates of Valhalla."

  "Let's go!" Wulfgar shouted. "We don't have all day."

  Igrid turned, raising her sword into the air, and spurred her horse on. They rode around the bend, alongside the forest. The air was filled with the smoke of many fires, and Igrid knew it would mask their approach. The fires were odd, though, as there was no reason for them. Why would T'kar set fire to the forest? There was no one in there.

  "The smoke is thick," Wulfgar shouted. "I can't see a thing."

  "We don't need to see anything yet," Igrid called back. "Not until we turn onto the road."

  Though the smoke billowed onto the path, Igrid could still see the end of the forest ahead, and it was only a matter of time before they were behind T'kar's forces. She could even hear them over the thundering of her horsemen, shouting their marching songs as they advanced north.

  She looked over to Wulfgar, who grinned at her. He was ready, too, she saw. Svengaar was behind them, along with Hafdan, and even Sigurd. She was glad to have them with her.

  "Get ready, men!" she shouted.

  The cavalry rounded the end of the forest onto the path. They could see the bulk of T'kar's forces ahead, marching north and completely oblivious to their approach. Igrid could feel the warmth of her new blade. It seemed to pulse within her hand, feeding her with its magic, pushing her to a new level of confidence. She truly felt like a queen, and she would lead her people to victory.

  "Kronos!" she shouted, raising her blade.

  The men behind her erupted into a roar of chaotic shouts. She spurred her horse on, charging faster and faster as the enemy turned toward them. There were spearmen among them, and they rushed back to mount their weapons into the ground as the Northmen charged. Igrid shouted out, her rage burning within her, determined to ride the enemy down.

  Then, her blade began to glow. A bright green flash erupted from its tip, blinding the spearmen, causing them to drop their weapons. The Northmen howled in rage as they crashed into the rear flanks, trampling the soldiers and sending them sprawling to the ground.

  Igrid chopped and jabbed as she rode through. Her blade was wet with the blood of the enemy, and her horse snorted and chuffed as it bucked and stomped everyone around it. Her blade met with flesh and steel, and the air was filled with the scent of blood.

  She knocked a spear out of the way and swung horizontally as she rode by, severing a soldier's head. She then reared her horse back as another spear came her way, grabbing the shaft and plucking it from its bearer's hands. Her horse trampled the hapless man, and bucked another behind it.

  But then, as the beast prepared for another trampling, a spear was thrust into its heart, and Igrid was thrown to the ground. As she landed, several soldiers rushed her. She stood and took a defensive stance as they charged. Wulfgar rode by her and bashed through them, his axe glinting in the sunlight through the thickening smoke. Igrid charged in after him, skewering an enemy that attempted to disappear into the fray.

  The smoke was rolling in obscuring the chaos, but she went through, following the sounds of battle. Several of her people had dismounted and gathered around her as they fought through. They were completely surrounded now, and many of the soldiers in the front lines were blending in with those in the rear.

  She had only one thing on her mind—finding T'kar. His image was burned into her mind, and she seemed to be pulled toward him by the very blade in her hand
. It spoke to her as she fought, seemingly working on its own to smash the enemies around her. She felt invincible.

  A horn sounded ahead, and the bulk of the army began to split off and continue north along the road. She rallied her people around her, shouting to the remaining horsemen as she saw them through the smoke.

  "Ride around them and into the forest!" she called to them.

  Wulfgar led the charge, leaving her and the remaining footsoldiers to finish off the enemies who had remained behind. It was a fair battle now, and the Northmen, no longer surrounded, were renewed and regrouped. Igrid shouted her battle cry again and her people charged them. The ring of steel filled the air, and the shouts of the Northmen brought a smile to her face.

  Through her blind rage, she could feel that the Great Mother was watching her.

  Randar and Malthor met T'kar along the road, blending into his march as the army continued north. There was chaos behind them, barely visible through the smoke, but Randar knew that it was the Northmen, stopped in their tracks by expendable troops.

  "There is no sign of the Alvar," T'kar shouted. "I expected them to come to the forest's aid."

  "That forest is mostly dead," Randar said. "It went up easily."

  "Well then," T'kar growled. "I expect that the Alvar are awaiting us at the wall. Keep on the lookout for archers as we approach."

  "Are you expecting them to ride out to meet us?" Randar asked.

  "It is their only choice," T'kar replied. "One we reach the pass, we will pause. When they begin riding out, we will break into the forest right behind Captain Jarka and his army."

  "It may be too late for that," Malthor said, pointing off to the north.

  Down the road, Randar could see the approaching army. They had already begun their march, with several horsemen in the lead. They had left their fortress defenseless, it seemed. Randar smiled. The king's plan had been brilliant.