The dragon circled in the air. Its bones rattled as its spine arced and twisted. With a loud roar, the dragon reared back its head.
“Fire!” Staggnuns shouted.
The cannons fired one after the next, striking the undead ice dragon, but like before the cannonballs did no harm. They bounced off the thick dragon breastplate, tumbling back down.
Zauber’s body stiffened. A gurgling sound came from his mouth. His face reflected the horrendous pain passing through him. Had he been deceived?
The mantlets buckled and rocked. The undead forces were pushing the wheeled mantlets backwards, widening the gaps between them, but they still didn’t have enough room to squeeze between the mobile barricades.
Dwiskter ran toward King Staggnuns. “Should we return to fortify the mantlets?”
Staggnuns shook his head. “Not yet.”
Zauber arched his back. His face glowed redder.
“He’s going to die,” Dwiskter whispered.
Ulthor shook his head. “Nothing we can do to help him.”
Thorgum watched, wincing.
An anguished growl escaped Zauber’s mouth. His hands went above his head. His fists glowed like orange balls of fire. He lunged forward and fell facedown into the snow. The fire on his hands vanished. Steam rose around his body.
The dwarves stood dumbfounded, staring at Zauber lying prostrate on the ground. The wizard’s heated body sank slowly into the icy ground.
“What happened?” Dwiskter asked.
The three Dwarven kings shrugged.
Black slender shadows left Zauber’s fingertips and zigzagged across the snow, working their way past the mantlets with violent hissing sounds. Steam rose from where the shadows moved across and melted the snow, leaving puddles of water where it had made its path.
The slinking shadows crept beneath the lines of undead warriors, igniting them like dried kindling, engulfing them with incredible heat. The whooshing shadows consumed the skeletons and partial bodies, dissolving them into charred dust upon the melting ice. Within several minutes the horde of undead were returned to the snowy ground in the forms of gray ash.
“I’ll be,” Ulthor whispered. “It worked.”
“All except the dragon,” Staggnuns said, pointing.
Thorgum sighed. “At least we know where it is.”
“Aye,” Dwiskter said. “But how do ye kill a dragon that cannot bleed and is already dead?”
“Magic?” Thorgum asked.
Dwiskter shrugged. “Ah, who knows? Our wizard’s down.”
Dwiskter and Briar ran to Zauber and knelt beside him.
“He’s still breathing,” Briar said.
“Thank the gods. I don’t see how he’s even alive, but it’s good that he is.” Dwiskter placed a hand on the wizard’s shoulder and yanked back. “He boils with heat.”
Briar reached into some loose snow and cupped a handful into a tight ball. He placed it against Zauber’s cheek. The snowball quickly began melting, hissing into steam.
Dwiskter shook Zauber’s shoulder vigorously. “Can ye hear me?”
Zauber groaned.
Water outlined the wizard’s body and the pool seemed to be getting deeper.
“We need to move him or he’s going to drown,” Dwiskter said.
“The water’s lukewarm beneath him.”
Dwiskter nodded. “The heat’s still coming out of him, like he’s roasting inside. He wasn’t lying.”
“About what?” Briar asked with a slight frown.
“It was a powerful spell. Had we not moved, we’d all be dead as well.”
“Aye, you’re right about that.”
The dwarves turned Zauber over and pulled him out of the shallow pool. Heat permeated through his soaked robe. Dwiskter got on his knees, scooped up handfuls of snow, and tossed it onto the wizard’s body. Briar patted Zauber’s cheek. “Come now, get up.”
Zauber opened his eyes slightly.
“You okay?”
“Mouth is dry,” he replied.
Dwiskter looked at Briar. “Get a flask of—”
Zauber shook his head. His breath reeked of brimstone. “Ice or snow will do fine.”
“Tis true, I suppose. It will melt quickly for you since you’re burning up.”
Dwiskter made a small ball of snow.
“Did it work?” Zauber whispered.
“What?”
“The spell.”
“Aye.” Dwiskter placed the snowball on Zauber’s tongue. “All of the undead are gone except the dragon. It’s still flying overhead.”
“At least the worst part of it is over,” Zauber said. “What of the Plague-bringer?”
Dwiskter shook his head, holding the melting snow. “No sign of him. I suppose he’s long gone.”
“Good. Hopefully he won’t return. I have no strength left. If he’s left the area, that will give us time to rest and recuperate.”
“We’ll get you to the medic.”
Zauber offered no protest.
The sky suddenly darkened overhead with thick rushing storm clouds. The cold air thickened. The bone dragon roared and rose higher.
Waves of blue light shimmered and crackled. A thunderous popping sound ricocheted louder than all of the cannons being firing at once. The flashing light buzzed and hummed with a steady annoying drumming sound.
“Bloody hell,” Dwiskter whispered, staring in disbelief.
Briar gasped.
Zauber tilted his head upward, watching the dazzling rolling light. He dropped his head back into the snow, glanced toward Dwiskter, and whispered, “Now what?”
***
An explosion rocked the ground. The floor shook, causing Sarey to drop the two tankards she was carrying. They clanked loudly; the frothy brew a waste. Patrons looked at one another and slowly rose to their feet.
Sarey ran outside of Pig-Sty Tavern without bothering to pick up the tankards. Peasants still working in the fields had all turned toward the area where the thunderous blast came. The skies above the forests were black swirling clouds. A great storm was coming unlike anything she had ever witnessed during her lifetime.
Blue strobes of lighting fizzed and spindled in odd cascading rhythms like an electrified, living spider web. The lights frightened the field workers. Many of them ran for the tree line or into houses to hide.
Sarey turned to run back inside the tavern, but Joss met her at the door. He handed her bow and quiver to her.
“Thanks, father.”
“Be careful, Sarey.”
She nodded, slinging the quiver over her shoulder. “Any idea what it is?”
“Never seen anything like that.” Joss shook his head. “But do one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“If those blasted Vykings are behind this, make them bleed.”
Sarey smiled and hurried down the narrow forest path that led to the main road outside of Hoffnung. In glancing back, she noticed archers already upon the rooftops, getting ready for a possible attack.
Rounding the first bend of the forest path, hidden archers hailed her from the trees, rooting their encouragement. Not knowing what to expect from where the explosion had occurred, her thoughts returned to Caen and Dawn. She knew the dwarves were already camped and ready for battle, but had it already begun? Was the sound a result of an attack?
“If the goddesses exist,” she whispered as she ran, “may they favor you Lady Dawn.”
Tears edged down her cheeks, even though she felt no fear or sadness at all. The thought of seeing Dawn on the throne . . . brought so much emotion from deep inside Sarey. Knowing she held a small part in Hoffnung being retaken overjoyed her, and made her feel more important than what she’d ever amount to living a peasant’s life in Esgrove.
A grayish blur fluttered past her face, alarming her. She emitted a tiny squeal, dodged to the right, and slinked her back against a tree. Her dagger was in her hand without her remembering she had drawn it.
Panting hard, she watch
ed the gray dove flutter through the tree branches and ascend above the trees.
Sarey leaned against the rough tree for a few moments longer, trying to catch her breath. Twigs snapped and loose leaves kicked up in the wooded area across from her. She sheathed her knife and drew an arrow from the quiver, put it in place upon the bow, and pulled back the string.
“Wait!”
She shook her head and eased the string’s tension. “Trevor?”
“Yes,” he said, gulping in air.
Sarey slid the arrow back inside the quiver and headed down the path. “What are you doing here?”
“I thought about what you said. You’re right. I have a responsibility in this war. I’ve come to kill Vykings alongside you.”
She sighed and increased her pace. “Go back home, Trevor.”
“Why?” he said, rushing to catch up to her. “You don’t think I’m capable to fight?”
“I’m sure you can, but fighting in this war doesn’t change my feelings about you or us. But you don’t have to prove anything to me.”
“Bit stuck on yourself, eh?” Trevor said with a slight grin.
“Hardly.” She broke a slender dead branch off a sapling and began snapping it into smaller pieces as she walked.
“You still seem to think yourself better than I.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Choose a target. Here and now.”
“No,” Trevor said, shaking his head. “Like you said, targets don’t fight back. Vykings do. I wager that I’ll kill more of them than you.”
“You’re being childish again.”
“How? How am I being childish?”
Sarey stopped walking and faced him. “You’re viewing this as if it is a game. It isn’t. This is war. Treating it like anything less will get you killed. Probably faster than the Frost Giant would have.”
“Oh, going to rub that in my face now? Make fun of me? Fine. See you on the battlefield. We’ll see how well you fare.”
“Trevor . . .”
“No,” he said, walking backwards while he spoke. “You’ve said plenty, let me know how you really feel, but I suppose I deserve it. I did run off for a while. But . . . but I came back.”
Sarey sighed and shook her head at him with a sad expression on her face. “You came back after I had gotten over you.”
“Over me, eh?”
She nodded.
“I suppose next that you’ll tell me that you’re in love with another fellow.”
“Actually, I am.”
“For real?”
“Yes.”
“And where is this . . . fellow? Why isn’t he marching off to war with you? Don’t see ‘em around nowhere. Perhaps he’s a coward. More cowardly than me?”
“He’s a knight and probably already heading into the battle.”
Trevor stood speechless. His mouth dropped open. His eyes searched hers. She didn’t look away. “You . . . you’re not lying?”
“No. I might have gotten mad at you and hurled insults, but lying is something I wouldn’t do toward you. You know me better than that.”
He nodded, his eyes distant. “Yeah. I do.”
“I should have told you before but you had made me very angry.”
“So who is this knight, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“His name is Bausch. He’s one of the Dragon Skull Knights.”
Trevor’s eyes brightened. As he gaged the information, a smile formed on his face. “Wow . . . I’m impressed. Truly that’s good news. He probably can treat you more proper than I and provide you with things I cannot. So, um, I wish you the best.”
“Wait,” Sarey said.
“No, no,” Trevor replied, turning away and hurrying his pace.
“We should stick together.”
“No, Sarey, I’m good. Really I am,” his voice crackled as he spoke.
Sarey wanted to run and catch up to him. They both would be safer by staying together. Her news had him in tears, and she figured seeing him crying was as bad, if not worse, than her beating him in their tournament. She let him run and hoped to catch up with him at the gates of Hoffnung.
Then the sounds of hoof beats thundered beyond the next bend in the road. She had forgotten that he had tied his horse along this trail. He’d get to Hoffnung long before she did. Now the pit of her stomach tightened. She was worried about him and hoped he didn’t plunge himself into dire situations without first thinking through his actions.
Sarey had been harsh and rash toward him, lashing out in partial anger for feeling scorned. Even though she no longer desired a relationship with him, she feared she might have pushed him too hard. The last thing she wanted was to see him killed in a battle he never would have entered except for her inadvertent goading. She didn’t want to find him dead in the street or a ditch.
Without realizing it, she had found her concern for Trevor building. She balled her hands into fists and shook her head. Damn, she didn’t need a distraction right now. She needed to remain focused on the tasks at hand: Killing Vykings and staying alive.
Chapter Seventy-eight
Waxxon stood on the royal balcony and watched the shimmering blue ball of sparks rise higher and wider, forming a large orb. The sky darkened, making the ball brighter, and then a warm gust of wind whistled around the castle. He marveled. What was this strange ball of energy?
Archers positioned along the other balconies readied their bows. They turned their faces away from the blowing debris the breeze kicked up.
Captain Artos motioned forward several groups of soldiers with their swords drawn and shields up to patrol the main walkway and the gates.
The warning bell rang three times in the center of Hoffnung.
Waxxon swallowed hard. His mind returned to the night when the troublesome dwarf had rang the bell to warn Queen Taube and the entire kingdom about the Vyking invasion. That night he had believed everything had been handed over to him. He was the new victor.
The King.
While he had achieved what he considered to be an exalted place in Aetheaon, he soon after faced unexpected losses. The high priestess loyal to him was dead. The dark goddess, Una, had stopped conversing with him. The Vyking princes had essentially threatened to see him dethroned, and mildly let him know that the Plague-bringer could turn Waxxon into one of the undead. He kept wondering when the two princes would return. Not one message had been sent back to him, leaving him with hundreds of drunk, lazy Vykings loitering in the taverns, the streets, the gardens, and wherever else they chose to collapse.
The bluish ball pulsed with spindling currents. Even from the balcony viewpoint, he didn’t have any idea what it was. But it was in the Highvale Plains near where the dwarves had beaten their war drums for nearly a week.
War was at his doorstep, soon to cross the threshold.
Waxxon had not even had time to recover from his own attack upon the city. After the Vyking invasion, Hoffnung only had about half of its original army left. They were the ones that had sided with him, but he didn’t think they were willing to readily sacrifice their lives in order to save his like Queen Taube’s guards had done in their attempt to save her. He didn’t have their undying devotion.
The Vykings were useless. They were not subjected to his commands and his troops feared them. He believed their reputation was highly overrated. To him, they were nothing less than stray dogs that wandered upon one’s doorstep. Once you fed them, they never left. You’re stuck with them.
Waxxon grabbed his wolf helm, turned from the balcony, and headed across the royal chambers toward the open door on the far side of the room that led to the stairwell. Should Hoffnung be invaded, he was more likely to get his soldiers to fight with him being present. His absence during the attack would not go unnoticed. His troops would most likely lay down their arms instead of defending the keep.
Halfway down the stairs he passed what had been Lady Dawn’s chambers. Bitterness rose at the back of his throat. Through all of the hunting and scouring inside
the castle, they had never found anything more than where she had possibly escaped through the sewers.
Waxxon passed through the courtroom chambers. The large doors opened at the end of the long hall.
Captain Artos strode in with nervousness set in his eyes.
“Good,” Artos said, looking a bit relieved. “I was just coming to get you.”
“We’re under attack?”
Artos shrugged. “It’s difficult to say what exactly is happening. Ringing the bell is a precaution to get the guards ready. Just in case.”
“Close the main gates. Secure them.”
“Already taken care of,” Artos replied. “I’ve sent archers to the front of the palace.”
“What about at the main gates?” Waxxon asked.
“The gates are heavily guarded. Breaking down the gates would take them days, even if they used heavy battering rams. But the archers can steadily pick them off one by one. Most likely they will retreat before they break through the gates.”
“Not dwarves,” Waxxon said firmly.
“The dwarves would attack us?”
“Who do you think has been beating the drums for days?”
“But we’ve done nothing to offend them,” Artos said.
They left the main part of the castle and exited into the rose garden. The pink granite walkway led between the water pools and fountains.
“We killed the queen and took the kingdom. That’s enough to offend all of Aetheaon.”
“You never considered the other kingdoms to attack?”
Waxxon frowned. “Not this soon.”
“Maybe they’ve found Lady Dawn.”
Waxxon’s jaw tightened. Anger burned in his eyes at the mention of her name. “Doubtful.”
Waxxon picked up his pace. But if she is with them? That thought gnawed at him. With Lady Dawn alive, it changed everything. The Royal Guard that had sworn to be allegiant to Waxxon had already slaughtered hundreds in the streets for not renouncing their loyalties to Queen Taube. Once word spread of those who favored the queen being killed, he didn’t doubt the majority of the others had only taken his symbol to wear in order to stay alive. He wasn’t a fool, but he never expected a counter invasion before he chose new recruits and trained them.
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