Since the marauders had returned to Hoffnung, Zauber expected the Vykings to invade inland in larger numbers. To cut off the southern trade route to Hoffnung, the first major town the Vykings needed to control was Woodcrest, so this seemed the most logical place for Zauber to wait. Taking Woodcrest also cut off the western route to Glacier Ridge.
Woodcrest was a farmer village set inside a modest set of rock walls with wide gates that remained open. While hospitable, the township had little defense other than the gates. The peaceful villagers seldom shut the heavy gates and this night was no different, which left them vulnerable to any ruthless attack and inevitable takeover should the Vykings strike during the night hours.
Hanging over the center of the town where the roads intersected, Zauber watched the dead streets. Other than a patrolling town watchman who carried a lit lantern, no one else stirred. No guards stood along the gate walls.
Until the Vyking invasion, Zauber understood that there never seemed to be any reason for Woodcrest to post guards. They were farmers. Not many thieves held interest in stealing produce or farm tools. There was little gold or silver to be found in this village. They dealt more in bartering and self-preservation. With their crops and livestock, they could sustain themselves without depending upon outside cities or communities.
A light shimmered slightly at the edge of the crossroads. Zauber drifted downward and hovered above a water fountain. An alabaster statue on the other side of the crossroads was of a faery, Aerlene. There wasn’t a temple inside Woodcrest, only this statue. Aerlene blessed their harvests and was the one the villagers paid their homage to.
Outside the walls the thunderous ruckus of metal rattled and scuffed. The rumbling sound moved swiftly and was advancing from beyond the north gate.
Vykings.
Leaves in the trees swirled and rustled.
Zauber searched the upper tree branches and gasped.
Dark elves.
The Vykings he had expected. The dark elves, he had not.
Zauber wanted to shout a warning, but in his current state, that was impossible. And were he able, doing so in the midst of the dark elves could be instant death should one of their evil mages or wizards be present. Since dark elves sensed magic, he was surprised that they had not detected his presence. In his present state, he wasn’t able to cast spells. He was, however, vulnerable to ice spells, which could easily entrap or kill him.
He drifted upward, higher and higher, until he was over the treetops. Since he was of the Light, and the dark elves were of the Darkness, he feared his presence would soon be detected, trapping him within their grasp.
For several moments he hovered over the trees, gazing through the leafy trees until he located the town witch’s shack. The townsfolk allowed Haigla to live inside the gates, but she was considered an outcast and shunned by the farmers except during the times of famine and disease. Then they sought her for her spells.
Hypocritical people were folks Zauber had sworn long ago that he’d never help, much like fair-weather friends. If a person was unable to seek your council during the good times, they certainly didn’t need you during the bad. This philosophy was one of the main reasons he, like other wizards, chose to live solitary lives and hoped never to be bothered by petty selfish wants like most who sought temporary solutions through magic.
He reached for Haigla with his mind, trying to touch her spirit to let her know he was nearby. But, a darkness brushed against his reach, making him retreat with confusion. It was not she, but something darker with intense power and purposes all of its own. Whatever it was lurked inside her shack. Where was Haigla?
Down below, the town watchman stopped walking. The noise of the advancing Vykings caught his attention. He ran for the town bell near the crossroads to warn the sleeping villagers, not that it would help since they possessed no fighting weapons.
The bell rang twice before one of the dark elves fired an arrow that pierced through the watchman’s heart. He dropped to his knees and fell to his side. Blood oozed into a small puddle beneath him.
Vykings galloped into the town square. The villagers opened their doors and stepped out to see what the commotion was.
From the inn two men stepped outside with swords drawn and determination set in their eyes. Their dark armor and their silver dragon pendants gave them away immediately.
Both men were Dragon Knights.
Zauber grieved. These two knights were skilled warriors, but two men could never defeat a couple of dozen giant Vykings. But they would try regardless of their odds.
***
Jak and Norze sat in their rented room in Woodcrest sharpening their blades. The Dragon Skull Knights were on route to Hoffnung.
Jak was six foot in height, muscular, and bald. He kept no facial hair, but tattoos covered his scalp and his face. He was fierce and menacing to behold with seldom anyone giving him a second glace for fear he’d turn his wrath toward them.
Norze was the great nephew of King Erik and chosen to be a Dragon Skull Knight because of his valor during the battle against the goblins near Icevale. While visiting the Dwarven city, Norze watched the goblin army attack. He fought alongside King Staggnuns until they drove back and defeated the goblin army.
“You think the reports are true?” Jak asked, running his whetstone down the length of his sword.
Norze frowned. “That Hoffnung was ransacked by Vykings?”
Jak nodded.
“That was the message the raven delivered.”
“How did they manage to get up the lifts?”
Norze eyed Jak with sternness. “I imagine they had inside help.”
“A traitor in Hoffnung?”
“How else?”
Jak ground his teeth. “I can’t see why anyone would turn against Queen Taube.”
“I know. None have been kinder to Aetheaon and all of the kingdoms from coast to coast. The note said nothing else?”
Norze shook his head.
“Nothing about who took the throne or Lady Dawn’s welfare?”
“Nothing.”
“Odd.”
“Not if they rushed to send out the ravens.”
Jak shrugged. “That is true.”
“It’s doubtful that many escaped on horseback once the Vykings gained control of the castle and everything within the castle walls.”
“Lady Dawn is your cousin, correct?”
“Very distant cousin.”
“So if she is dead, that makes you a rightful heir.”
Norze grinned. “It’s not a position that I covet.”
“What? No desire to be the king?”
“Not really.”
Jak stopped sharpening his blade and peered into Norze’s eyes. “Why not?”
“Kings are nothing more than prisoners dressed in elegant clothes. People view them as rulers of kingdoms, but the reality is a good king is always subjected to the people’s wants and needs, if he wishes to remain favorable and in power.”
“Evil and ironfisted kings tend to rule longer than the good ones.”
“Yes, but at what cost?”
Jak shrugged. “They keep for themselves and the serfs make them even richer.”
“They do. But they lose their souls in the process.”
“Who needs a soul when you have all the wealth?”
Norze chuckled softly. “Sacrifice of one’s life to rescue or protect others is the greatest wealth one can ever attain. Such a noble legacy never fades from the minds of the citizens in the kingdom. Evil kings wilt over time becoming bitter and unable to love. They loathe themselves almost as badly as those pressed beneath their iron thumbs. Uprisings happen quite often on other continents across the seas. Aetheaon has been spared such upheaval for many generations. Until now.”
Metal rattled and hooves beat upon the rough road.
“You hear that?” Jak asked, rising to his feet.
Norze nodded.
“Traders wouldn’t travel into this town so late in
the night. Only forces that intend to plunder and lay siege to a city travel in such numbers after sunset. Otherwise, they’d set up camp somewhere along the way.”
“You’re right. Come on.”
Norze opened the door. The townspeople were gathering outside of their cottages and modest shacks. Near the town square, Vyking warriors brought their giant warhorses to abrupt stops and dismounted quickly, drawing their axes and swords.
The townsfolk didn’t startle easily, although they did look concerned. Perhaps they believed since they didn’t have weapons for war and they didn’t act frightened or beg for their lives, the Vykings wouldn’t be aggressive toward them.
Norze knew differently, and so did Jak. Neither Dragon Skull Knight hesitated in heading toward the square with their weapons drawn. Sadly, they were the only humans in Woodcrest with weapons willing to defend the town.
A massive Vyking pushed his way through his armed comrades that stood with their weapons ready to fight Norze and Jak. He was heavily armored and wore his metal helm that made him even more menacing to behold. His long sandy brown hair spilled out from beneath the helm. He was muscled and carried a large round shield in his left hand and in his right was a great sword, which was nicked and scarred from his many battles.
“Didn’t even have to search for these two whelplings,” the Vyking said in his deep, raspy voice. He eyed Norze and Jak with the utmost contempt. “Came running right out for your deaths?”
Norze tried not to show fear, but he knew his eyes had already revealed his surprise and horror. He’d never seen anyone the size of this massive Vyking. His throat tightened after he took a sharp breath, but he managed to find enough courage to speak. “Who are you?”
“General Quenid,” the Vyking replied. “I’m the one who will deliver your souls to the River Styx.”
Norze studied the general and then the other Vykings standing behind him. On their vests were the scorched emblems of a wolf head with a W beneath it. He had seen these marks upon Waxxon’s livestock. He thought it odd that these men had burned the mark onto their vests. He frowned. “You wear Waxxon’s brand?”
“What of it?”
“Nothing. I had only thought the sheep in his fields bore his mark. I didn’t realize a Vyking would submit himself to be identified as such.”
Quenid’s eyes blazed with contempt. He pointed the tip of his blade at Norze. “When I gut you, we’ll see how you bleat.”
Norze wanted to offer a harsher reply of his own, but he didn’t doubt the threat Quenid had voiced. No point baiting the Vyking with more insults. There was no fleeing from this fight, and Norze was too stubborn to cower in the least. With the Vykings being so far inland and south of Hoffnung, the raven’s message had been true. These invaders were responsible for Hoffnung’s fall. If by some miracle, he and Jak overpowered this general, another twenty or more Vykings waited behind Quenid. Killing their leader would not dissuade any further attacks. Norze couldn’t see any outcome where he and Jak survived.
He tried to size up this Vyking in order to determine the best way to attack. Quenid was probably seven and a half feet tall and weighed close to four hundred pounds. His armor was thick and plated. Norze doubted his sword could even dent the armor before the sword shattered from its first strike.
“Any thoughts?” he whispered to Jak.
“Should we rush him at the same time?”
“Doesn’t seem quite fair.”
“Fair?” Jak said, giving a harsh side-glance. “He looks like he could chew up both of us and spit us out.”
In the training pits, the instructors often taught a basic etiquette, and that was never to double-team an opponent. Of course that was in practice. But in war, tactics required one to use any advantage in order to survive. When it was to kill or be killed, no one debated cheating. In truth, General Quenid could probably kill both Dragon Skull Knights even if he were unarmed.
“We have orders to kill you,” General Quenid said with a broad grin. “Are you going to stand there gawking or at least do your best to keep your heads on your shoulders? You’re going to die either way, but at least give me the sport of a challenge.”
“Ready?” Norze asked.
Jak nodded.
“Now,” he said in a low tone.
Together they charged toward General Quenid growling low in their throats. Quenid swung his round shield before him, blocking Jak’s downward swing. With his heavy Vyking sword, he parried Norze’s sword, and then Quenid pushed forward with his blade and shield, driving both Dragon Skull Knights backwards.
Jak spun away from the shield and as he turned he thrust his sword at one of the other Vyking’s throats. The blade severed halfway through his neck before getting lodged in the Vyking’s spine. Jak yanked the blade free, watching the horror in his enemy’s unsuspecting eyes. Blood spilled from his throat. The Vyking dropped dead and the other Vykings pressed closer, ready to attack.
Another Vyking ran toward Jak swinging his ax in a wide arc while giving an earsplitting Vyking war cry. Jak braced himself.
“No!” Quenid shouted. “They are mine!”
The Vyking lowered his ax and brought up his right foot, catching Jak in the chest. With a thrust of his boot, he flung Jak backwards.
Jak lost his balance and fell to the ground.
Using his sword with both hands, Norze rushed toward Quenid, jumped, and spun a three-sixty in the air. His sword cleared the round shield and struck into the Vyking’s plated chest piece, ricocheted, and sent harsh pain from his fingers to his elbow as the metal clanged. The Vyking sneered and then laughed, watching Norze rub his wrist.
Jak rushed at Quenid and jumped, thrusting his feet forward, stepping against the shield and kicking higher into the air. Norze clasped both hands around the hilt of his sword, bringing it over his head. For a moment he seemed to hover in the air above the general. Quenid tilted his head back, watching Jak’s descent, which had exposed the general’s throat.
Jak brought his bloody sword downward, aiming for the softness of Quenid’s neck. The Vyking spiraled and moved from beneath Jak, quickly facing Norze again.
Jak landed where Quenid had been standing. His downward momentum forced him to fall forward and roll. He turned to see Norze facing off with Quenid again. He eased toward the Vyking’s blindside, hoping for an opportunity to at least injure this giant and gain a favorable edge to survive.
Norze twirled his blade around his forearm in a looping motion and caught the hilt in his grip when the blade rotated forward again. The action didn’t impress the Vyking general.
“Enough play,” Quenid said. He ground his teeth and narrowed his eyes. “You cannot prolong the inevitable, Dragon Knight.”
This time, Quenid moved forward with a side sweep of his blade. Norze brought up his sword to parry, but the weight of the Vyking blade backed by the general’s strength slammed Norze’s blade, knocking his arm outward and exposing his midsection. Quenid spun and shoved the heaviness of his shield against the Dragon Knight’s chest. The impact expelled the air from Norze’s lungs. His face purpled. He crumpled forward, dropping to the ground.
General Quenid’s back was exposed to Jak. Going against customary fighting tactics and lowering himself to sheer underhandedness, Jak ran and thrust his blade at the Vyking’s back, but the thick back armor prevented the blade from passing through. Even he realized his action was a cheap shot, but he didn’t know if four Dragon Skull Knights stood a chance fighting together against this massive Vyking. Quenid turned with a harsh stare, shook his head, and then laughter erupted from the general and from the surrounding Vykings.
Stunned, Jak lowered his blade and marveled. Quenid wrapped his huge hand around Jak’s throat, lifted him several feet off the ground, and then he flung him nearly ten feet away.
Norze gulped a deep breath as he watched Jak slam onto the ground before he finally braved standing again. His ribs ached. He tasted blood. Everything spun around him. Shaking his head, trying to
clear his vision, he staggered forward a few steps.
The Vyking grinned.
Norze hated that the Vyking was toying and playing with them. He was going to drag out this fight for as long as possible when the Vyking could have easily killed them within a couple of minutes.
He coughed, feeling his insides quake with stabbing pain, but in his mind he pictured Hoffnung, the palace, and reflected back to the day when King Erik had given him the dragonhead pendant, inviting him to become one of the chosen knights. That glory and honor gave him enough strength to attack again.
Norze growled with a snarling face and flexed every muscle before he ran forward and brought his blade overhead with all his might. His blade caught Quenid’s and as Norze had feared earlier, his blade shattered.
“You bring little toys to fight in a warrior’s battle?” Quenid chided. He turned and swung his heavy blade with all this might.
Norze dove to the ground and rolled. The heavy blade sliced through the air, and had he not dropped when he did, his head would have been removed from his body.
“How does it feel to fight for this town and not a one of them has made any effort to stand with you?” Quenid asked. “It doesn’t seem like they are worthy of your sacrifice.”
He agreed with Quenid. None of the townspeople seemed willing to do anything other than watch. But being a Dragon Skull Knight, it was his duty to ensure the safety of those unable to defend themselves. Woodcrest had always held its reputation of being a war-shunning people; perhaps in part due to the temple that once stood on the outskirts of the town but now lay in ruins.
Norze rose to his feet and stared down at the fragment of his sword.
Jak noticed Norze without a weapon and quickly stood between Quenid and Norze. He faced the general with fear in his eyes. Regardless of his attempted bravery, he seemed to realize his inevitable fate. Jak lowered his sword to his side. Swallowing hard, he eyed Quenid and said, “Give me your best.”
Lady Squire- Dawn's Ascension Page 39
