The metal bands were still around Riese and Prince Manfrid’s wrists. The chain links hung loosely.
Eril regarded them with a narrow gaze. “Aetheaon is overrun with your kind. Explain to me why I shouldn’t have the two of you beheaded in the courtyard today?”
Riese stepped forward. “We are here to fight alongside you.”
“Against your brethren?” She half chuckled. “I’d be more inclined to believe that you are both spies and should be executed immediately.”
“But they’re not,” Lehrling said.
“Silence!” Eril’s dark eyes glistened like wet obsidian. “I asked them.”
Lehrling grimaced and bowed, stepping aside.
“I have nothing except contempt for those you call my brethren,” Riese said in a gruff tone. He explained how General Yerdrick had killed Riese’s wife, and how many of the Vykings Riese had killed out of rage and pure vengeance. “I will do all within my abilities to annihilate them.”
Queen Eril’s eyes flicked toward Prince Manfrid. “And what of this one?”
“He is the son of King Obed,” Riese said.
“And he stands with you?”
Manfrid nodded.
“An heir to the throne wishes to recant his right to the kingdom by choosing to battle against his father’s armies?” she asked.
“No. I wish to lead a battle back to my father’s throne, kill him, and take the kingdom for myself.”
Eril’s jaw grew rigid. Her eyebrows rose with keen interest. “Son against father? I hear tales of how ruthless your plundering race is, but this strikes to the core of something totally unexpected. You have a plan? Do tell.”
“My arrival to the port of Hoffnung was against my wishes. The other princes forced me to participate. My guess is that they hoped I’d be killed.”
“Why is that?”
“Because their mother is not my own. I’m the bastard prince. They are not pure Vykings either. Their mother is a demon, and she despises me. They are quite dangerous, but my half brother, Mors, is the worst of them all. He is the Plague-bringer, as he is known in Aetheaon. It is my desire to destroy them before their powers increase.”
“I see. I gather that by aiding us in battle you’re seeking to redeem yourself with our kingdoms and seek some sort of reimbursement?”
Prince Manfrid sighed. “Before my father agreed to help Waxxon overthrow Hoffnung, Queen Taube had a truce with my father.”
“And what soured that agreement?” Eril asked.
“His wife.”
“The demon?”
Manfrid nodded. “She’s poisoned my father’s mind about many things. She’s driven him insane, and he has no rationality at all. He is not fit to rule over the Isles of Welkstone, nor are any of my brothers. Should any of them reside over the Isles, the raids upon Aetheaon will escalate. Allow us to help you and once I’ve gained the throne, I vow to hold sacred all of the former peace treaties with the kingdoms of Aetheaon that my father has disregarded.”
“You are only two Vykings,” Dawn said. “How do you begin to consider that helping us?”
Manfrid smiled. “Because I know the number of ships and the number of Vykings that came ashore. In essence, I can tell you our greatest weaknesses and your best chances for victory.”
“What say you, Lady Dawn?” Queen Eril asked. “It is your kingdom that has suffered the most from the recent Vyking invasion.”
“The information he offers could prove quite useful,” she replied.
Queen Eril nodded. “True.”
Dawn turned toward Manfrid. “Tell me why King Obed sought to aid Waxxon in murdering my mother and taking the throne. There must have been something in it for him to offer Vykings to serve Waxxon.”
“The Vykings do not serve Waxxon. My brother Xylus made that point perfectly clear to him upon our arrival. Waxxon only has what guards he was able to turn against Queen Taube.”
“You’re implying that the Vykings helped Waxxon rise to the throne but they have no intention on protecting his reign and keeping him there?” Dawn asked.
Manfrid chuckled. “They might fight, but only because my race loves to prove their invincibility on the battlefield, but it will only be for themselves. They’ll shed no tears if Waxxon is defeated, dethroned, or killed. It has no bearing on them at all.”
“How many Vykings will Lady Dawn and her troops be facing?” Queen Eril asked.
“My father sent thirty ships with nearly fifty Vykings aboard each, so close to fifteen hundred.”
“That’s not that many, compared to how many troops are marching toward Hoffnung,” Corwin said.
“No, it isn’t,” Dawn agreed.
Manfrid said, “That’s not counting the number of Ratkins that traveled with them. Nor does it take into account of ever how many undead my brother Mors has raised to join the army.”
Dawn faced him. “How many Ratkin?”
“There’s no way to know.”
Lehrling cleared his throat. “The Ratkin have scattered. We encountered them in the Dwarven underground passageway.”
“And Glacier Ridge,” Roble said.
“No matter,” Dawn said. “Once we enter the front gates, we have them trapped inside.”
Prince Manfrid pointed a finger. “No, they still have the lifts that lower to the docks. You don’t want them to get back to their ships. You want to kill as many Vykings as possible.”
“What does it matter if they retreat?” Dawn asked.
“They might not be willing to protect Waxxon, but they will want to maintain their reputation as the most notorious plunderers on the sea. Should you drive them out and word spreads that you have defeated them, they will return with a vengeance. They will not accept the shame of being humiliated by a lesser race.”
“Lesser race?” Queen Eril and Lady Dawn said together.
Manfrid smiled. “It is not my view, dear ladies, but it is how they view those outside of the Vyking lineage.”
Eril glanced toward Dawn. “Is there only one entrance into Hoffnung?”
Dawn frowned, deep in thought. “Other than the main gates and the lifts, the only other way into Hoffnung is through the sewers.”
Riese shook his head. “The sewers is where you’ll encounter the Ratkin.”
“If I may make a suggestion,” Yarrow said.
Dawn nodded. “By all means.”
“I believe we stick to your first inclination and storm the front gates, drive the Vykings back to the lifts. Only so many can go down. We should annihilate the vast majority of them.”
Prince Manfrid said, “The greatest likelihood is that they will not retreat. Cowards are not favored by my people. One who runs or deserts dies by our hand. It is how it has always been.”
Queen Eril stood and extended her hand toward Dawn. “Come, Lady, and let’s get you . . . more suitable armor. It is essential that your band of warriors and my infantry get to the border of Woodnog Forests before the barbaric Oculoth renegades have a chance to enter. Bid your knights goodbye for just a little while.”
Lady Dawn turned toward Caen and the other knights. She smiled. “Perhaps you should return to the stables and I’ll join you shortly.”
Caen bowed. “Aye, milady.”
The other Dragon Skull Knights bowed also. After Lady Dawn turned and followed Queen Eril, the knights rose.
Corwin grinned and clasped Caen’s shoulder. “Let us go.”
***
Caen walked alongside Corwin, Yarrow, and Lehrling as they exited the castle and headed for the stables. Roble walked a few paces behind them. Drucis and Odlon went with Riese and Prince Manfrid to get their weapons back.
“Sir Caen,” Corwin said with a grin. “Have an eye to be our future king, do ye?”
Caen blushed and released a nervous laugh. “No.”
Corwin chuckled. “Your eyes give away your desires. Nothing for you to be ashamed about. What transpired the night before Yarrow and I came upon the two of you sl
eeping together?”
“It was exactly as she stated.”
“Nothing more?” Yarrow asked.
“No,” Caen said, shaking his head.
“So she nearly did drown?” Corwin asked.
“Yes. She had waited until after I had gone asleep to bathe.”
Corwin and Yarrow winced.
“Damn that water had to be freezing,” Yarrow said.
“More than I care to remember,” Caen replied.
They all laughed.
“She holds affection for you as well,” Lehrling said.
Caen turned sharply. “What makes you say that?”
“Like you,” Roble said, “her eyes cannot hide what her heart knows.”
“Ah, Overlander, fresh to the Order,” Corwin said. “And what do you know about affairs of the heart? Are they any different in your land than what they are here?”
“Love is a constant, regardless of time or place,” Roble replied.
“Oh!” Yarrow said with a broad grin. He nudged Corwin with his elbow. “He seems quite the poet, perhaps better suited to be a bard and not a knight.”
“Don’t mock a man who’s married to a faery,” Lehrling said.
Yarrow, Caen, and Corwin laughed heartily. Lehrling did not.
“You’re serious?” Corwin asked.
Lehrling nodded.
Corwin looked back at Roble. “How’d you manage that? Has to be difficult . . . with erm . . . the physical.”
“She’s his height now.”
“How’s that even possible?”
“Magic,” Roble said. “But love knows no barrier, now does it?”
“Right you are,” Yarrow said. “Let’s see if we can trade that sword of yours for a lute. Seems you’re on the path for a lovely song.”
“How good is the Overlander with his sword?” Corwin asked.
“Still room for improvement, but he’s great with knives,” Lehrling replied.
“Knives?”
“Throwing knives,” Roble said.
“Nice. Is that how you killed the two Vykings?”
Roble nodded. “It is.”
“Lehrling places a lot of trust in you,” Corwin said. “He’s always been a good judge of a man’s character, so let me be the second to welcome you to the Dragon Skull Knights.”
Corwin offered his hand. Roble shook it and nodded. “Thanks.”
“Just remember,” Corwin said. “We’re a brotherhood. Each looks out for the other.”
“I’m grateful to be in your Order.”
“Why would you so willingly leave the Overlands?” Yarrow asked. “The few Overlanders I’ve met have either gone insane or died quickly at the hand of another.”
“It’s complicated. Our worlds are totally different. I’ve never felt comfortable in the Overlands, due to its technology. I prefer a more modest and rustic way of life.”
Caen frowned. “What do you mean by technology?”
Roble thought for several moments. “Even if I could explain it, without you actually seeing what I’m talking about, you would never understand. We have no common language that properly defines it.”
“I don’t understand.”
“See? That’s what I mean.”
They arrived at the stables. One building down, hammered metal rang.
Roble glanced at Lehrling. “Beren Tiwele?”
Lehrling smiled. “Let’s go see.”
Roble followed Lehrling into the smith’s shop. Fire blazed above glowing coals in the forge. A slender elf with his long gray hair tied back struck a long orange piece of metal on an anvil. Sparks flicked with each strike he made while he shaped the metal.
Several oil lanterns hung from support posts, casting long shadows of Roble and Lehrling across the wall. The elf noticed the movement, paused from hammering, and gazed solemnly toward them. His eyes traced over them and then immediately fastened upon the hilt of the bastard sword on Roble’s belt.
Without a word, he turned and thrust the glowing metal back into the fire.
“You need something?” he asked.
“You are Beren Tiwele?” Lehrling asked.
The elf took a rag and wiped grime from between his fingers but never took his eyes off of them. “I am. What gifts me with the presence of two Dragon Skull Knights from Hoffnung?”
“My friend would like to buy some throwing knives if you have any available.”
Beren smiled. His eyes returned to the bastard sword. “I see he already has good taste.”
Lehrling chuckled. “The blade he carries belonged to a former knight that traveled with me.”
“Bausch?” Beren asked.
Lehrling nodded. “Yes.”
“What became of him?”
“The Vykings killed him.”
“I see.” Beren’s gaze remained upon Roble. “I don’t recall this knight. Who is he?”
“I’m Roble.”
“Yes, he was just dubbed into our brotherhood.”
“I see. So it’s throwing knives you seek?”
Roble nodded.
“May I see the ones you carry now?”
Roble removed two blades from his belt, set them on the table, and then he removed one from each bracer and placed them down as well.
“These are of good quality. Where did you get these?”
“From Riese in Glacier Ridge.”
“Ah, the work is not unlike a Vyking smith’s would be.”
Lehrling smiled. “Riese is a Vyking.”
“I figured as much,” Beren said softly in what seemed a disgusted tone. “Come with me.”
Beren walked out of the forge room into an adjacent room where the walls were covered with axes, swords, daggers, and other tools. More swords were stored inside empty ale barrels.
He reached beneath a table and took out a rolled up piece of burlap. After setting it onto a table, he unrolled the cloth, revealing dozens of weighted throwing knives.
“Few visitors ever inquire of such blades. They believe in the might of the sword without realizing the stealth of a well-thrown knife. Why do you prefer these, Roble?”
“Because they are light weight and easily concealed. I can fling one before anyone sees or expects it. And I can do so before a man draws his sword.”
Beren’s eyes brightened. He nodded. “Make your choices.”
Roble held a knife, balanced it in his hand for a moment, and set it down to try another. After a dozen different knives, he looked at Beren. “Remarkable. They are all weighted with equal balance.”
“I craft them with great care.”
“Without any doubt.”
Beren watched Roble admire the blades. He glanced toward Lehrling. “What brings the Dragon Knights to Woodnog? I saw several others earlier. Are you planning to attack Waxxon?”
“Yes. We’re meeting troops here to join the southern troops from Oculoth.”
“Any news of Lady Dawn?”
“She’s here.”
Beren’s eyes widened. “In Woodnog?”
“Yes. We’re escorting her into the battle.”
“I had prayed for so long that she had escaped. So Hoffnung will have its rightful queen after all?”
“It is our hope,” Lehrling replied.
Beren’s attention returned to Roble. “Pick six blades. They are my gift to you on behalf of Lady Dawn.”
“I have gold.”
“No, I insist.”
“Very well.” Roble chose six silver throwing knives. Each had different symbols engraved into the hilt.
“Excellent choices. Do you desire any, Lehrling?”
Lehrling shook his head. “I’m a swordsman. I don’t have the accuracy for knife throwing.”
Roble tucked the blades into various sheaths. “Thank you.”
“Oh, don’t mention it, Sir Roble. Use them justly in your battle to crown Lady Dawn as the new queen of Hoffnung.”
“I plan to.”
Chapter Seventy-two
Queen Eril watched Lady Dawn being fitted for mithril mail. While they took her measurements, Dawn stood in her undergarments, leggings, and soft leather boots.
Dawn held up a mail skirt. “How is this protective? It’s too light.”
Eril smiled. “You’ll find it far more beneficial than any plate or heavy leather. Weighted bulky armor will slow you down and make you an easy target for the enemy. You have inherited your Elven stature from your mother. Mithril armor is light but as protective as the heavier armors. You need to be able to move quickly and not lose your agility.”
Eril approached Dawn and gently straightened Dawn’s growing hair. Eril shook her head. “I do remember the glory of your hair, Lady Dawn.”
“It grows back.”
Eril smiled. “Yes. But it is no longer brown. It is nearly blonde. A shame that it was ever cut at all.”
“My maid cut it to help me escape from the castle unnoticed.”
Eril placed her hands upon Dawn’s cheeks. She gently kissed Dawn’s forehead. “Young lady, you are but a child, and yet, you show more determination and integrity than some elves that have lived for centuries. I pray you don’t harden in spirit from becoming queen.”
Eril placed a mail coif upon Dawn’s head while two other female elves suited her body with mail armor. Once they fastened it into place, they brought an embroidered cloak and placed it upon her shoulders, tying it into place.
Another elf tightened the belt around Dawn’s waist and fastened her sheathed sword into place.
Dawn studied herself in the tall mirror and almost didn’t recognize herself. She was no longer the young lady she had grown up to be. Pampering and being served were not a part of her agenda. She was something much more different than an ordinary princess. She was a warrior fighting to take back her mother’s throne and her city. Destiny had called upon her to lead many men of different races into a bloody war where hundreds would die.
She took a deep breath and placed her hands against the mail breastplate. The unique feel of the mail was cool and flexible. Walking toward the mirror, she noticed the armor didn’t slow her stride. In fact, it was much better than the peasant clothing and mail that Caen had given her. Because of its thinness and lightweight, she wondered how it could even be protective. It seemed too flimsy.
Eril smiled. “Lady Dawn, you’re ready to join the others. Odlon should find you and your party at the stables to direct you to where the troops will assemble.”
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