“What is happening?” Ulthor asked. “That sounded like a dragon.”
Thorgum frowned. “There are no dragons in Aetheaon.”
Staggnuns nervously glanced to Dwiskter and said, “Where is Odessa?”
“I don’t know.”
“See if you can find her.”
“Aye.”
Dwiskter ran across the snow. The layers of ice and snow cracked beneath his feet. The undulating current that shook the ground still trembled.
The roar thundered again. This time from directly above them in the night sky.
“No dragons, eh?” Ulthor asked, bewildered. “What do you call that?”
Staggnuns peered into the dark sky. Large flakes of snow spiraled, making it difficult to see. Then he noticed the beast; large, fierce, and gleaming white. This wasn’t Odessa in her form. He looked at Thorgum, Dwiskter, and Ulthor with grim uncertainty.
“This be no ordinary dragon, brothers,” Staggnuns whispered. “This is an undead one.”
They all stared into the sky as the fleshless dragon flew and soared higher, releasing another horrifying roar.
Dwarves from the northern end of the campfires hopped on their mounts and trotted to where Staggnuns and the other two Dwarven kings stood.
“What is it?” King Staggnuns asked.
The perplexed dwarf held his ax in hand and pointed in the direction where he had come. “An army is rising from the cliff line above our fires.”
“An army?”
The dwarf nodded. “Undead Orcs, trolls, and Dredgemen.”
“Ready your weapons! Turn and move the mantlets to form a wall! This be a different battle than what we had set out for! Whatever you do, don’t lose our line!”
Chapter Sixty-eight
With his staff in hand, Zauber stood before the tower window, staring into the night. The excitement rushing through Zauber over discovering Dawn’s whereabouts suddenly faded. The evaporation of his protective mists continued as powerful magic broke through his magical barrier. How another sorcerer learned that he was hidden behind the veil of mist, he didn’t know. But now his location was easily known to anyone seeking him.
Zauber loved his isolation and privacy, as did most wizards.
Soft laughter echoed from Thull’s skull on his study table.
Zauber turned, baffled.
Since the time when he had taken the skull and the magical staff from the Orc sorcerer, nothing like this had ever occurred before. Zauber had buried his enemy in the depths of the hellish afterlife, thinking that their paths would never cross again. Zauber had been mistaken.
The skull slowly faded until it disappeared entirely.
The wizard cocked a brow. He walked over to the table. It wasn’t an illusion. Someone had taken the skull. Who and why?
The burning away of his protective mists was in fact an attack on him. His assailant wanted to grab his attention and had succeeded in doing so. Zauber closed his eyes, allowing his mind to seek the true source behind this invasion as he tried to sense exactly where the magical current originated.
His intruder must be mimicking Thull’s magic because Zauber didn’t see any possible way that the dead Orc sorcerer could find his way back into Aetheaon. He just couldn’t . . .
His raven cawed, drawing his attention to one of the mirrors. Within the shimmering glass he witnessed the three Dwarven kings calling their troops into battle. In the air an undead frost dragon floated and circled, ready to assault the dwarves. Undead Orcs and trolls crawled their way up from the frozen ground.
Zauber shook his head. On one of the lower mountain ridges, crimson eyes glowed. Zauber waved his hands and cast a clarity spell. Then, he took a sharp breath as the revelation unraveled before him.
The Plague-bringer.
Through the mirror Zauber stared at the rune tattoos of the necromancer. He knew the Plague-bringer was a powerful sorcerer, but he had never possessed the power like he currently did.
Near the black carriage where Mors stood, a headless Orc rose from the broken tundra. The Orc was massive in size but his flesh was absent. Mors set skull onto the Orc skeleton. Zauber recognized the worn robes the living corpse wore.
Thull.
The Plague-bringer had resurrected him, and in return, Thull had somehow linked their magical powers together, making them both more powerful, if not nearly invincible.
Zauber held Thull’s staff in hand. An invisible force leapt through the mirror and tugged at the staff. The unseen hands were aggressively strong, but Zauber tightened his grip while chanting a deflection spell. Sparks shot off the rod, revealing the huge bony hands that could be none other than Thull himself.
Thull released the staff and the Orc’s hands disappeared through the mirror.
Zauber chanted and waved his hand over the mirror, causing the silver rippling glass to freeze and go black. He could no longer see through the mirror, nor could anyone else see him from the other side.
He returned to his window. The mists were gone. The trees that stood along both sides of the river shook and swayed. The falling leaves spiraled and turned into dark winged creatures, larger than bats and fiercer than poisonous serpents. Hideous and shrieking, they climbed with the breeze, heading for his open balcony window where he stood.
With a shake of the staff and a shout of several words, the window opening turned into a stone wall. Faint splats echoed through the wall.
Anger flowed through Zauber. Mors must have found a long fissure in a rift and was directing his magical assaults toward Zauber, which wasn’t a wise decision on the Plague-bringer’s part. Why taunt a wizard who otherwise wasn’t an enemy . . . yet?
A laugh escaped Zauber. Of course, he knew why. Mors was satiating Thull. Tit for tat. Did Thull actually believe that he was any match for Zauber after all those years of sulking about his defeat in the depths of Hell? Even with Mors’ aid, Zauber was older, wiser, and more attuned to defeat the Orc sorcerer.
Zauber raised his hands with the staff in his right hand. His eyes rolled back in his head. With a voice that thundered, he recited several spells and mentally thrust them into the rift, driving back Thull and Mors’ combined magic. Static sparked. The air was heavy with energy, but his power was greater inside his sanctuary, his fortress. Mors and Thull retreated. The mists rose again from the rivers and clung to the air like heavy fog.
With his tower now protected once more, Zauber vanished, bent on putting Thull in the afterlife never to return again.
***
Waxxon knelt before Una and wept. “Why have you forsaken me?”
With tears in his eyes, he dared a glance up. Blood poured from the statue’s lips into a long thin stream that flowed into the pool at her feet.
“I seek your guidance, Una. Please . . . please speak to me.”
He beat the floor with his fists. His bloody knuckles left splattered marks on the tiles.
“Have I failed you?” he asked in a long whine. He beat his chest. “Of course I have. Lady Dawn has escaped me. I have sent scouts into all the towns and cities, but none have been able to find her. It makes sense that you’d abandon me. I have failed you.”
Waxxon pressed his forehead to the bloody floor. “Have mercy upon me, Goddess. I only seek to do your will.”
For several minutes he lay prostrate on the cold tile floor. The only sounds around him were the three goddesses spewing liquid into the great pool. Not an utterance or one whisper from Una. In this time of isolation, he found that he missed Priestess Renee and her council. Her untimely death had led him to believe that he had direct access to Una, but now, even She didn’t speak to him.
Since no answer came, Waxxon pushed himself up and rose to his feet. His steel boots scraped the floor as he walked away from the Three Goddesses. He made his way to the stairwell. Instead of heading downward, he chose to go to the balcony where the priestess often had prayed.
Standing on the balcony, a gentle breeze brushed across his face. He gazed towar
d the castle and then over the gardens, the graves, and other buildings. Drums echoed in the distance.
Dwarves?
The Vykings didn’t seem to care. The mighty plunderers of the coasts were too busy drinking and chasing women than to fear the possibility of an attack.
Waxxon walked along the narrow balcony and looked toward where the drums thundered in the night. His chest tightened. Lines of fires glowed along the plains. Campfires. By his best estimate, there were at least several hundred dwarves setting along that line. He didn’t need to speculate that their plan was to attack. He knew they would.
Where were the two princes? Xylus and Manfrid? He had expected a report from them well before now.
The majority of the Vykings greatly feared Xylus. They resented Waxxon and any order he attempted to give. Whatever he said was nothing less than a suggestion, as the Vykings didn’t consider him a king or an authoritative at all. He was a man with a title. Nothing more in their eyes.
Placing his hands upon the cold stone edge of the balcony rail, he wondered exactly why he had thought a coup would benefit him? He held a throne, but he didn’t have the admiration of the people.
Without their appreciation, he had little control over his own guards. Should it become necessary to drive the Vykings out of Hoffnung, he doubted that his guards would even attack them. They feared the Vykings and had no heart to defend the palace or grounds. And now, Una had abandoned him.
In his mind, Waxxon had pictured reigning upon the regal throne like a god, making decrees; but in reality, he had discovered that what he coveted had fleeted faster than a wisp of smoke in a hurricane wind gust.
He closed his eyes and fresh tears spilled down his face. His triumph and victory were lost to his self-loathing and pity.
***
The undead Orcs marched like the dedicated army they had once been. Their white gleaming skeletons were menacing. Most wore rusted armor and carried their long unused weapons and great shields.
Dwiskter charged a large Orc, swung his ax, and battered against its shield. The massive Orc pressed against the dwarf, catching the ax blade with the crook of its sword.
“Blast it!” Dwiskter shouted. He growled, and yanked his ax free.
“Hold them!” Staggnuns roared. “Hold the line!”
Overhead the undead frost dragon opened its large jaws. Instead of breathing fire, a bluish-white icy blast spewed.
A band of dwarves flung their shields upward to block the dragon’s attack. Runic symbols on the dwarves’ weapons, armor, and shields glowed green. The frost dispelled into snowflakes instead of freezing the dwarves into icy statues.
Several lines of dwarf riflemen commenced firing at the spiraling undead dragon. Although most were accurate, the ammunition did little to combat the boney beast. The large thick bones deflected the bullets.
“Ready a cannon!” Staggnuns shouted.
Three dwarves rolled a cannon into place and used a crank to raise the barrel upward. After loading the cannon and lighting the fuse, the blast shook the ground, cracking the icy snow. The large cannonball struck the breastbone of the dragon but didn’t shatter the bone. The iron ball shattered and rained down.
“Heads up!” Ulthor shouted.
Dwarves scattered, flinging shields over their heads, fearful of where the iron fragments might land.
The cannonball bits dropped and sank into the compacted snow.
Staggnuns used his two double-bladed axes and fought his way to where Dwiskter chopped against the undead Orc.
“Where’s Odessa?”
Dwiskter replied, “Don’t know. She wasn’t in her tent.”
“Why would she leave when we need her?”
“All I know was that she awaited news from her sisters. She might’ve gone to find them.”
Staggnuns leapt forward, driving the weight of his heavy axes through a thick metal shield. The blades split the shield and crushed through the undead Orc’s ribcage. The skeleton dropped to the snow. He moved to the next undead warrior. “She’s the only hope we have of destroying the undead dragon overhead.”
“I agree,” Dwiskter said. He aimed his blows toward the undead knees as the Orc approached. Kneecaps were weak points, and the heavy ax split through them easily. “Maybe she can find them and bring them here?”
“Aye, we can hope,” Staggnuns replied. “I don’t know that she had any knowledge about this obstacle.”
“Probably not. None of us expected this. But there is one good thing about it.”
Staggnuns frowned. “And what would that be?”
“It kills boredom!” Dwiskter grinned and rushed toward another undead.
Hundreds of battering swords and axes clinked against shields and weapons. Rows of armored dwarves moved toward the descending undead, battering their weapons against bone and rusted metal. The clamorous exchange echoed across the plains.
“While that may be,” Staggnuns said, decapitating a skull off the body of another undead warrior. “We are facing new problems.”
“Oh? What is that?”
“Look behind us.”
Dwiskter glanced over his shoulder to see the undead warriors they had chopped down were piecing themselves back together and staggering back to their feet.
Staggnuns sighed. “Eventually they’re going to wear us down. We can’t fight forever. Whatever magic controls them will keep them rising, regardless of the damage we do.”
“What do ye suggest?”
“Fight our way back to the line. More of our troops are moving down the hillside. With the warriors and the mantlets secured together as a wall, we can hold them back for a while, but we certainly cannot afford to be surrounded by them.”
Chapter Sixty-nine
In the dead of night, Neela flew over the forest canopies with seven Pantheran demon-hunters balanced on her back. Just northeast of the Black Chasm, the dragon hovered over a massive oak tree. All of the demon-hunters except Shae’zar leapt to the large boughs.
“Here?” Shae asked.
“If Tyrann sends out demons to attack troops, this seems the most logical place for them to emerge.”
“And where are you going?”
“To Woodnog. Taniesse should arrive soon. When she and her recruits do, I will be joining them. Depending upon our pace, we should reach Hoffnung within seven days. Now go, and thank you for your help.”
Shae’zar smiled and nodded. With a serrated dagger in each hand, she leapt from Neela’s wing and landed upon a massive oak branch beside another demon-hunter. They crouched low and scanned the forest floor for movement. Since she and the six demon-hunters were blacker than the night, they were basically invisible in the dark shrouded forest canopy.
She eagerly listened for movement along the rough terrain that housed the Black Chasm. With the poisonous mists hovering over the City of Mortel, she knew they couldn’t enter. They could only wait.
***
Two days later, Lehrling and Roble entered the forests on the outskirts of Woodnog. Most of the massive trees towered so high that the tops weren’t visible. A thick canopy of lush green and lavender leaves prevented the sun from invading and lighting the forest floor. Exotic birds fluttered above and chirped. Thick vines formed hanging drapes of violet flowers. Tiny wisps blinked and reappeared a short distance later. Lightning bugs flashed and glowworms glittered. Butterflies of all colors drifted with the slight breeze, lighting upon flowers. Colorful mushrooms lined tree roots, partially hidden by the delicate fronds of ferns.
Various shades of mosses and lichens also covered the forest floor. Sweet fragrant smells filled the air. The lack of sunlight played visual tricks. Shadows moved between the trees, shrubs, and vines.
Plump berries of different types hung on thorny plants.
The hardened path their horses rode upon was the only thing in the forest that was a dull gray. Occasionally parts of the road weren’t visible due to moss and vines covering the path. Sporadic lampposts were along the tra
il line. No candle or fires glowed within. Magic crystals gleamed a bright yellow.
Roble rested his hand on the hilt of his sword, uneasily looking around.
“You okay?” Lehrling asked.
“Yeah.”
“You seem a bit on edge.”
Roble smiled. “Kind of have the feeling that we’re being watched.”
Lehrling roared with laughter.
With a frown and side-glance, Roble regarded his friend.
When Lehrling’s laughter ceased, he said, “We are being watched.”
“By whom?”
“You name it. Elves, faeries, wisps, dryads, sprites, and perhaps even a gnome or two. This is their domain, their homes. We are uninvited guests.”
“Really?”
“Yes. They conceal themselves quite well. Since we’re humans, we won’t see them unless we make it absolutely necessary.”
“How is that?”
“Woodnog welcomes visiting humans. The forest Fae, however, deems us as possible villains.
Roble faced him. “In what way?”
“The forest is their sanctuary. Humans tend to defile their habitats by cutting down the trees, burning everything, and then turning the land into farmland or something even more hideous.”
“I see. Can’t say that I blame them. This is the most beautiful forest I’ve ever encountered. Preservation has its qualities.”
“Mischief and worse befalls the man who scars their lands. To understand that, you must visit the treacherous swamplands on the other side of Woodnog. Quite the opposite of what you find here with dangers everywhere.”
“Where Lez’minx resides?”
“Close,” Lehrling replied. “But beyond the cavern where he resides, nothing but desolace. Swamps can be cruel terrain to cross, but if you can imagine a swamp drained of all life, you have toxic bogs.”
“So, if this is the case, that the Fae protests civilizations invading their forests, how did the Elves of Woodnog build a city here?”
Lehrling smiled. “It’s a delicate process. If this forest impresses you, the city is unlike anything you’ve ever seen.”
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