Lady Squire- Dawn's Ascension

by Leonard D. Hilley II

  “You locked us inside?” Boldair asked.

  “You’ve been here for a couple of days.”

  “That explains me hunger and thirst,” he said with Dwarven enthusiasm.

  Taniesse nodded. “Patience. Food and drink will be nearby.”

  The rusted hinges shrieked as she pushed open the doors. Once they were outside, she shut the doors and locked them. Boldair expected to find his horse, but instead, they stood overlooking a deep ravine. Water splashed and roared from the long waterfall across the ravine. There was no footpath that led up to the prison doors.

  “Your shield and ax,” Taniesse said, pointing to the rock ledge near the doors.

  “How’d I get up here?” he asked.

  She cocked an eyebrow and gave a sly smile, shaking her head. “How do you think?”

  Boldair turned and grabbed his shield and ax. When he turned back toward her, she leapt off the ledge, falling toward the rushing river below.

  His eyes widened as he peered over the edge, watching her fall. “Oh, drat! You expect me to jump? I’ll sink in all this armor.”

  Halfway down during her fall, gray wings unfolded from her back, spreading wider and wider. She flapped her broadening wings as her dragon body reclaimed her form. The air whooshed. Her mighty strength lifted her upward until she reached eye level and tilted toward Boldair. She craned her neck.

  “Hop on,” Taniesse said.

  Boldair didn’t hesitate. After he settled safely against her gray neck scales, she thrust her wings behind her and plummeted. The dwarf cursed as they dropped, his stomach lofting with a tickling sensation, but before they reached the water, she spread her wings, caught the air, and glided to the embankment on the other side of the river. She lowered her head and let him slide off to the mossy bank. Seconds later, she spoke a few draconic words and returned to her humanoid form.

  Perplexed, Boldair said, “Why change back to human? You could have easily flown us to the treasure. On foot it will take days.”

  “We must allow the myth of dead dragons to remain, for now. Should word get out that many of us are still alive, Waxxon will be prepared. The element of surprise remains our greatest strength. Our armies may prove to be small.”

  Boldair looked around. “What happened to me horse?”

  “That you’ll have to ask the barkeep. Seems you and your friends drank up a heavy tab.”

  “Blast it!” Boldair’s nose crinkled as he snarled. “And what of my brethren from Bridgebarrow Tavern?”

  Taniesse shrugged. “My guess is they are headed to Damdur.”

  “So they’re alive?”

  She nodded. “The last I saw them? Yes.”

  “And the Legelarid soldiers?”

  “Some of them are not as fortunate.”

  Boldair looked around. The river was wide and no bridge could be seen in either direction. The air was cooler. Mist and fog rose from the frigid water, which acted as a protective veil so Taniesse didn’t need to fear being seen in her dragon form as they descended the high ridge where her prison was.

  The rocky mountainside they had dropped from seemed impossible for anyone to scale. He focused on the only option they had—walking through the thick dark forest.

  “Where are we?” Boldair asked.

  “South of Damdur,” she replied.

  “Ah.”

  “And where have you hidden my treasure?”

  Boldair rested his ax on his shoulder, scratched his black beard, and chuckled.

  “What’s so funny?” she asked.

  “The Boneyard near the Vale of Frozen Tears,” he replied.

  Her dark eyes narrowed. “You hid my treasure in a cemetery?” she asked in an icy tone.

  “Aye. Why not?”

  “Because of grave robbers.”

  Boldair smiled and shook his head. “No one ventures there much anymore. Not since the Plague-bringer wiped out the small town with disease.”

  “He’s another that my sisters and I need to contend with. But nothing guarantees the safety of my treasure if you’ve buried it in a cemetery.”

  “It is sealed in a sepulcher with hidden traps to boot.”

  “Then let’s get my treasure.”

  “Food and drink first?” Boldair asked.

  Taniesse nodded. “I’m certain we’ll find something to appease you in the forest.”

  “Aye, perhaps. Doubtful we’ll find any ale though.”

  “There are taverns along the way.”

  “Have to cross the forest first and deal with whatever lurks within.”

  Boldair stepped across the mossy ground and entered the tree line. Low branches were barely higher than the dwarf’s head. The forest floor was thick with bramble and thorny-leafed plants. Vines as slick and curvy as snakes crept from root-to-root and branch-to-branch of the trees. Should danger arise, there was no running through these trees.

  The dwarf said, “Good thing I have me ax.”

  He hefted back the ax and prepared to swing.

  “No!” Taniesse shouted.

  Her warning came a second too late. He brought down the ax quickly. The ax blade sliced through one of the vines. The deadly vine recoiled and from behind it a blanket of poisonous plant barbs hurled straight at them. There were only seconds to react . . .

  Chapter One

  Part I: The Fall of Hoffnung

  A few days earlier:

  More than the evening fog drifted into Hoffnung Bay after the sun faded over the rocky cliffside. Shrouded within the gray mist, the Vyking ships glided into the harbor like silent wingless dragons. The only light on the docks illuminated from several metal fire pits that rested upon tripods, but within the soupy fog they offered little more than keeping guards and traders warm as the night temperature fell. By the time the guards on the docks noticed the frightening serpent faces on the ships’ bows, Vyking axes and swords had decapitated the majority of them.

  Dwiskter, a dwarf metal crafter from Nagdor, hefted his ax and shield. His bright blue eyes narrowed as he studied the ships wafting alongside the docks, and behind those ships were dozens more.

  Giant men stood along the ships’ hulls in the shadowy fog, eagerly tapping their swords and axes against their metal round shields, anticipating the carnage they’d partake within moments. Perhaps it was the darkness, or the shifting vapors of fog, but their appearance was the most menacing sight the dwarf had ever seen. But not a sliver of fear crept into his soul. Instead, anger arose, igniting his valor to protect Hoffnung, its citizens, and their beloved Queen Taube and her daughter, Lady Dawn.

  Hoffnung’s guards drew their blades, but instead of approaching the ships to defend the harbor, they retreated toward the center of the docks.

  The dwarf didn’t understand their cowardice. The Vykings were large men, great pillaging warriors feared along the coastlines, but essentially they were still men. They bled. They also died. The best defense for Hoffnung’s guards was to have stood their ground to prevent giving the Vykings room to approach. Instead, they gave the Vykings more than ample charging space to use their momentum to knock back the guards. And although the numerous docks allowed dozens of traders and workers to pass one another without crowding incidents, the guards had sacrificed an essential advantage by moving toward the center of the docks. That action alone revealed their fear, which was something the Vykings capitalized upon.

  Dwiskter shook his head. His sparse orange-yellow beard and hair ruffled in the sea’s breeze. He bared his teeth and growled. His stocky legs rushed toward the closest ship where a half dozen Vykings ran down thick planks toward the dock. He swung the ax, splitting one plank in half, which caused five massive Vykings to plummet into the cold seawater. Their heavy weapons, shields, and armor dropped them like ship anchors. No matter how hard they fought to tread water, their battle to survive was lost.

  Dwiskter tilted his head back and released a hearty laugh until something caught his attention from the corner of his eye. Dozens of dark furry b
easts spilled from the port windows along the bow where the long oars had been pulled back inside. These strange creatures wore leather armor and tattered cloaks. They clenched short serrated daggers in their mouths. Their narrow, beady eyes flashed red, reflecting the firelight of the closest fire pit. The hairy beasts splashed into the bay.

  “Little rat!” a Vyking roared from the dock. “We’ll crush you!”

  Dwiskter clutched his ax tighter and plunged headlong toward two sword-carrying Vykings, ignoring the beasts swimming toward the dock. Dwiskter battered his shield against the round metal shield of the nearest Vyking, turned, and brought his ax sharply around, severing the other Vyking’s right leg at the knee. The Vyking toppled forward, dropped his shield and sword, howling in pain as blood gushed from where his knee had once been.

  Waves splashed in an unusual fashion between the ships and the docks. While preparing to fight the second Vyking, Dwiskter glanced back to see a small army of Ratkin pulling themselves from the water onto the docks. Salt water spilled off their disease-ridden bodies. The acrid smell of death and dung drifted off their soaked matted fur.

  Although Dwiskter didn’t expect to see such creatures arrive in the bay with the Vykings, the dwarf didn’t pause his rapid pace. While the second Vyking swung his heavy sword and missed his mark, Dwiskter took to running. He ran for the lift that could take him to the overhead city of Hoffnung more than one thousand feet above the harbor. His thirst for battle was overcome by his need to warn the citizens, the city guards, and let Queen Taube know that the Vykings of Welkstone had invaded Hoffnung’s port and would soon possess control over the harbor.

  Several Hoffnung guards formed a line with their shields raised and swords drawn, but they were greatly outsized and outnumbered by the rushing Vyking horde. Metal struck metal. Swords crushed and split shields. Howls of pain followed; quickly silenced by swords, spears, or axes.

  Dwiskter hurried to where the Hoffnung guards had positioned themselves. Instead of standing along with them, he ran past them, still focused on the lift that was on its way down to the docks. Vyking horns sounded. More swords and axes drummed against round shields as they dared any guard to approach.

  Dwiskter glanced over his shoulder, toward the misty harbor. Chaos loomed its triumph in blood, fire, and smoke.

  The Ratkin dispersed, seeking to find and slit the throats of cowardly guards in the shadows. In the darkness where these beasts thrived, there was no place for anyone to hide. Ratkin eyes had evolved to see clearly in the lightless sewers, caverns, and the dead of night.

  Small fires blazed from the hulls on dozens of other ships drifting toward the docks. Warhorses whinnied from several ships further in the fog. This wasn’t a simple pillaging invasion. A massive army had drifted into the bay with their eyes set on taking Hoffnung.

  “Blasted!” Dwiskter huffed, still running and not slowing his pace.

  The second the lift platform stopped flush with the dock, Dwiskter charged onto the lift beside its operator, Tolgan.

  Tolgan was a slim elderly man. When he saw Dwiskter approach, he reached for his sheathed dagger, but the dwarf placed a firm hand on Tolgan’s hand before he could pull the blade. Dwiskter shook his head.

  “Back up to the top!” Dwiskter demanded with his ax blade pointed at the old man’s throat. “Take the lift back to the top!”

  “What’s going on?” Tolgan asked, confused by the demand. His eyes widened as he quickly looked upon where Vyking soldiers battered back the Hoffnung guards, slaughtering them one by one. Broken, bleeding bodies of Hoffnung soldiers and tradesmen lined the wooden docks. Few of the casualties were Vykings.

  “Vykings! They’re attacking and will lay siege to Hoffnung if we don’t take the lift up!” Dwiskter said, still clutching the man’s hand.

  Three Vyking warriors stormed toward the lift. Cold anger set in their eyes. Their hardened facial expressions showed no compassion, only revealed their need to shed blood and to kill. Their crazed eyes were fiercer than wild hungry boars or bears.

  The operator nervously shifted the handles on the lift, and the metal gears clicked harshly. Seconds later the lever released, pulling the lift upward. The cold air flowed around them. They widened their stances while the lift sped to the top.

  “What happened?” Tolgan asked.

  Dwiskter shrugged. “All was peaceful one minute, and the next, the harbor was being overrun by Vykings. Lots of nasty Ratkin, too.”

  Tolgan frowned. “That makes no sense. Queen Taube has held a treaty with Welkstone for well over forty years.”

  “Aye,” Dwiskter said, shaking his head. “Tis best we keep all the lifts at the top of Hoffnung to secure the city. If ever the Vykings get control of the lifts, Hoffnung is doomed.”

  Tolgan’s wrinkled hands shook. “We must alert the Captain of the Guards so he can gather troops. Archers can rain arrows down on the docks and eliminate most of them.”

  Dwiskter shook his head. “There are too many ships to count. While the archers might reduce the number of Vykings somewhat, the Vykings have the numbers to hold the harbor.”

  “Eventually they’ll have to leave for food and supplies,” Tolgan replied.

  “Aye, that be true. But their ships are many. No doubt they have food and supplies to last them quite a while.”

  The lift slowed and slid into its slot at the top of the rise. Tolgan fastened the lever into place, locking it. Then he opened the small grate door and Dwiskter stepped out.

  “Dwiskter,” he said, “go strike the warning bell near the center of town while I find the captain.”

  “Aye,” Dwiskter replied, nodding. “Goddesses’ speed.”

  Tolgan gave a solemn nod.

  Dwiskter trodded down the cobblestone street and disappeared between the dark towering buildings.

  “Tolgan!”

  Tolgan turned quickly. He smiled with relief when he saw the armored man approach. The man’s silver armor gleamed in spite of the night. He held his wolf-head helm in his left hand. His dark eyes narrowed. He ran a hand down his well-groomed black beard. Behind the man stood a half dozen of the queen’s guards.

  “Lord Waxxon?” Tolgan said, quickly bowing.

  “Why have you left the lift?”

  “We’re under attack,” he replied, slowly rising.

  “Attack?” Waxxon asked. A smile crossed his face as he studied Tolgan. “Have you been hitting the stout again, old man?”

  “No, Lord,” he replied, shaking his head while respectfully not making direct eye contact. “Honest.”

  “Sounds like the prattling of an old drunk to me.” Waxxon looked over his shoulder at the guards.

  Several of the queen’s guard chuckled amongst themselves.

  “No. Vykings have claimed the harbor. Ratkin, too. We must warn Queen Taube and prepare ourselves. I need to find the Captain of the Guard.”

  Waxxon’s smile faded. “No, you need to stay on the lift. We may have injured guards that will need carried up.”

  “Doubtful, my Lord. The Vykings won’t leave any injured. They’ll kill them. We are vastly outnumbered. That’s why we came up. We need to warn the city and gather our troops. Archers could definitely aid our defense.”

  “We?” Waxxon’s eyes narrowed. “Who else came up with you?”

  “Dwiskter.”

  “And where is he?”

  “He’s headed to ring the warning bell.”

  Waxxon put his wolf helm on and then he placed an armored hand on Tolgan’s shoulder. He leaned closer and said, “You need to listen carefully.”

  Tolgan tilted his head closer, but Waxxon whispered no words. Waxxon thrust a dagger between Tolgan’s ribs. His eyes widened in horror. Through the open helm mouthpiece Waxxon gave a wicked grin, yanked out the bloody knife, and let Tolgan drop to his knees.

  “Why?” Tolgan asked, staring down at the hot crimson blood seeping through his fingers. “I’ve always been loyal to Queen Taube.”

  “Ah, yes, b
ut not to me, I’m afraid. The kingdom is long overdue for a major shift in authority,” Waxxon said, lowering Tolgan to the ground. Waxxon walked toward one of the broader cargo lifts. He glanced back at the dying old man. “And I’m the one who will take that position.”

  He stepped upon the lift and released the locking mechanism to lower the platform to the harbor. A few seconds later, the bell near the center of town rang three times. Waxxon motioned the guards to head for the city square a second before the lift descended.

  “Find the dwarf and kill him,” Waxxon commanded.

  They nodded and marched down the street at a swift gait.

  Always someone to interfere.

  Now he had to ensure that Dwiskter died as well.

  Chapter Two

  Dwiskter struck the bell for the third time with the blunt tip of his ax. Guards rushed forward with weapons drawn.

  “For Queen Taube and the Kingdom of Hoffnung!” the dwarf shouted. “Secure the harbor! The Vykings have invaded!”

  “What folly is this?” one guard said, quickly drawing his sword and heading toward the dwarf.

  “No folly, lad,” Dwiskter said. “All be true. Vykings have invaded the harbor. Ye’ve lost your port.”

  Several of the guards unsheathed their swords and in unison, they shouted, “For Queen Taube!”

  They rushed down the cobblestone street in the direction of the lifts. Before they were out of sight, their bodies jerked forward in an unnatural rhythm. They pivoted face first, dropping their weapons, and collapsing onto the street—dead. Archers from one of the watchtowers had fired the arrows at them, striking them in the back with deadly precision.

  Dwiskter’s eyes widened with disbelief. Two guards with their swords drawn headed toward the dwarf.

  “What tis this?” Dwiskter said. “Ye turn upon your own?”

  “Our allegiance is to Lord Waxxon, you little grub!”

  The dwarf blocked one sword with his broad ax, ducked, rolled, and upon standing, took an arrow through his left shoulder. The instant pain solicited a roar from his mouth.

  “Bastards!” he growled. “Goddesses save the Queen!”