“Well, I’ll be damned,” Dirk mumbled to himself, amused. “Seems as though she has chosen.”
“What’s that?” Reeves asked.
“The barbarian leader, her name is Aurora Snowfell. She infiltrated and betrayed our group,” Dirk lied.
“Your group?”
“Yes, when Whill of Agora fought in the Del’Oradon Arena. Aurora and I fought beside him, and escaped as well. She is a powerful warrior and, no doubt, made stronger now by the dark elves.”
To their right, the dwarves had begun to pour out of the Southern Ky’Dren Mountains, filling the Pass. Huge catapults and war machines went with them, and those machines set about the cliffs along the pass were loaded and cocked back. The usually open Pass had been barricaded the entire length of its mouth by boulders and smaller stones, to help hinder the enemy’s advancement. A steady stream of dwarves−looking to Dirk like worker ants from his vantage point−added boulders to the piles. Dirk spied a few dwarves raising giant slabs with nothing more than a wave of the hand; likely, they were Roakore’s kin, and like he, were able to control stone with their minds.
“The dwarves won’t have a chance against this army,” said Reeves, still surveying the armies.
“They have the benefit of the bottlenecking Pass. The dwarves could hold out indefinitely against the barbarians, even the Draggard. However, many dark elves and undead are among them.”
Reeves put down the spyglass to regard Dirk to his left. “Those who fall to this army, they will be raised by the dark elf lich lords?”
Dirk nodded in the affirmative. Reeves shook his head in disgust and went back to his spying. Dirk retreated to where Fyrfrost sat farther back on the ledge, her feathers had taken on the color of the surrounding stone, and had Dirk not known what to look for he wouldn’t have seen her. He went to the opposite side of her and pulled the trinket from his pocket.
“Krentz, come to me,” he whispered. She came in a swirl of mist and took form before him.
“We have reached the eastern mouth of the Pass,” he said to her and motioned to the vast dark elf army before them.
*
Raene followed her father’s warriors at a far enough distance as to not be seen by the rear scouts. She had been ordered to return to one of the secure cities and help the womenfolk; she had no intention of doing any such thing. She didn’t like disobeying her father and king, but she was a warrior whether he would admit so or not, and, right now, Ky’Dren needed as many as it could muster. She followed her kin steadily south through secret tunnels that would lead them to the eastern mouth of the Pass. After many hours of constant marching, they stopped, and remained waiting for a long time; they had arrived. She would wait until the army began their charge, and she would follow them into battle. She had tucked her braids beneath her helmet and brought them around across her face to look like a beard. She hoped she would go unseen.
*
Ky’Ell moved to the front line and peered through the murder hole at the eastern mouth of the Ky’Dren Pass; what he saw took his breath away. Outside, his dwarves had begun to barricade the mouth of the pass, and beyond them loomed the dark elf army.
“What do you see, me King?” asked Dwellan at his side.
“We be under attack from the east: Draggard, human soldiers, and barbarians,” spat Ky’Ell. “Prepare to charge on me mark. I go to speak to me generals. Keep the army hidden until me mark, we can be usin’ the element o’ surprise.”
“Yes, me King,” said Dwellan as he slammed his fist to his chest.
Chapter Thirty
Captives
The guard tossed Roakore into the cell, and he slammed against the far wall with a thud. Staggering to his feet, he glared at the two dark elf guards through bruised and bloody eyes.
“That all ye got, ye sons o’ bi-”
One of the guards hit Roakore with a blast of energy, pinning him to the wall. With a wave of his hand he shackled the dwarf king to the wall with red, glowing chains. Roakore hung from his chains with his head down, and blood dripping from the tip of his nose.
Avriel struggled helplessly against her shackles as the two guards beat Roakore, fighting against her chains desperately, screaming curses at the dark elves. One of them moved to stand before her, his long, thin fingers tracing the curve of her chin down to her chest. He squeezed her violently and grinned. “Wait your turn,” he sneered, and licked her from neck to chin.
“Enough, Leowren,” said Eadon from the door. “Leave us.”
Leowren gave Avriel a final once-over, lingering long upon her supple form. He offered her a lewd wink and left with the other guard.
Eadon walked from the door to stand before Roakore. He lifted the dwarf’s chin, inspecting his facial wounds. Roakore was unconscious, but he still grumbled obscenities and curses.
“A tough lot they are, wouldn’t you agree?” Eadon asked Avriel.
“Why do you torture him so? You could read his mind to gain the answers you seek,” yelled Avriel.
Eadon regarded her as if perplexed. “But what would be the fun in that?”
She did not honor the question with a reply. Eadon stalked toward her, his hands clasped behind his back, the ends of his dragon hide cloak shimmering at his heels, and his eyes locked upon hers. He reached a hand out and grabbed her by the hair. She tried to turn away from his gaze but could not.
“This will only hurt if you let it,” he whispered into her ear like a lover, all the while boring into her with his gaze.
Avriel let out a cry of anguish as Eadon forced himself into her mind, into every memory since she had escaped him. Avriel fled from him, but could find no corner of her mind he did not occupy.
From the other side of the cell, the Watcher watched through Tarren’s eyes. He refused to look at Avriel, lest she see some difference in Tarren, a difference that Eadon would perceive instantly through his link to her mind. The Watcher turned away, and his faith in non-violence was tested as it had not been in centuries.
Eadon flew through Avriel’s memories and witnessed all that had occurred since she escaped him. In the first, she possessed the magnificent white dragon Zorriaz. He watched the escape from the gladiator arena in Del’Oradon, and their flight from the city. Then they landed, and Zhola the Red told them all to leave him and Whill. Avriel and the dragon were swimming now, hunting the deep waters off the shore. Eadon moved forward and saw Drakkar Island before them, he witnessed the battle between Roakore and the dragons and instantly gained newfound respect for the warrior. He was a master of only one element, but how he wielded it. Into the volcano they went, and through the rift. Now, they were in Drindellia, searching the ruins of a library. Flying once again, flying for days. A large mountain loomed before them, Kellallea’s mountain. They fly down into its depths, and there, beside a river of clearest water, was the ancient one.
Eadon watched the entire encounter play out, and he studied his greatest enemy, one who had gained power to match his own, but had yet to move against him in this, the new age.
*
Whill flew over the coastal city of Turrell, a city within his kingdom he had only traveled to once, when he was fifteen. Turrell sat nestled in the shadow of the Southern Ky’Dren Mountains, and enjoyed booming trade with the Ky’Dren dwarves. Thus, Turrel was a rich and decorated city, known not only for its dwarven wares, but its decadent culture as well. It was a known stomping ground for pirates, who had their grubby fingers in every business, and roots in the city’s history as well.
From his vantage point among the clouds, the Ky’Dren Mountains could be seen. Soon he would arrive at the Pass, and he would learn if the rumors of his kin’s death were true. He knew in his heart it was, but he had other reasons for going. He was stalling. Eadon had given him seven days, and four remained. He had the elven sword of power at his hip, but he was afraid, as afraid as he had been in his life. He was not afraid for himself−he had come to terms with the idea that he would likely not make it out of all
of this alive−rather, he feared for the fate of Agora and its people. He feared for the dwarves, elves, and humans. If he failed, if he was unable to defeat Eadon, the dark elf would become a dark god, and those that survived the final battle would wish that they had not.
But how could he win? He had never really thought he could. When the elves had told him who he was and what he was supposed to do, he had thought them mad, and he still did.
Whill felt quite alone then as he flew through the air with the combined effort of his will and the power of Adromida. Avriel and Roakore had been taken because of him, Tarren was trapped in the body of the Watcher, and all of his mother’s relations had been slaughtered. All because of him. Whill was a death sentence to his family and his friends. He had once toyed with the idea that legend followed him, but now he knew the truth of it: death followed him everywhere he went, and those that called him friend became targets of his enemies. It was for that very reason he traveled alone now, and it was the reason he would face Eadon alone.
Chapter Thirty-one
We Go to War
The last of the Uthen-Arden soldiers fell to the swords of their undead brethren. Veolindra strode to a battlefield littered with bodies and began the ritual that would raise them from the dead. Her arms shot toward the heavens, and her booming voice chanted in a sort of ritual song. High above, storm clouds began to churn violently, small flashes of lightning from deep within the clouds illuminated the battlefield and sent fleeting shadows darting across the corpses. Aurora imagined those shadows to be the souls of the departed, frantically trying to ascend to the heavens, but trapped by the lich lord’s powerful spell. Veolindra’s voice rose high as her spell gained power, and the storm churned faster with her every word. With one last bellowed phrase, Veolindra brought her arms down, and with them came crackling, green lightning that struck the dead where they lay.
The bodies of the Uthen-Arden soldiers rose slowly. Their eyes became dim green lights floating inside hollowed sockets. The lightning had left the battlefield smoldering with the smoke of burnt flesh and hair. The green lanterns within the undead skulls caused the smoke to glow like a green fog, and, from the fog, the new army marched to fall in line with their undead brethren.
Veolindra returned to Aurora and Zander with twenty undead limping, shuffling, and dragging their battered bodies behind her. Aurora’s heart pounded in her chest; she was left speechless by the lich lord’s incredible display of power. What a curse she was to her enemies, who were not free of her far-reaching power even in death.
“These shall be your personal guards,” Veolindra told her, as she gestured to the undead soldiers. “With the Ring of the Dead, you will control them easily. You remember what I have taught you?”
“Yes,” said Aurora. “Through the ring, my thoughts become their commands.”
“Are you ready to command such a large group?” Veolindra asked.
“I am.”
The lich lord nodded her approval and set her sight upon the Ky’Dren Pass. The stone wall stood nearly ten feet high, and large catapults had been set about the sides of the entrance.
“Send the dwargon to destroy their pathetic wall,” Veolindra ordered Zander.
“Yes, my lord,” he said with a malicious grin and closed his eyes for a moment. Aurora knew he was mentally relaying the orders to the dark elf handlers who controlled the hordes of dwargon, Draggard, and draquon.
“Are your barbarians ready?” Veolindra asked Aurora.
“They are.”
“Good.” Veolindra smiled as the dwargon began their charge. “I will send the Draggard up the sides of the mountain to descend upon the inner ranks of the dwarves. Another horde waits just within the northern range.”
“They have come through a rift within the mountain?” Aurora asked.
“Yes, they will attack the eastern and western mouths of the Pass. The draquon will infiltrate the Pass as well. Go now to your people. You shall come in behind the undead. Leave none alive in your wake.”
“Yes, my lord,” said Aurora with a grin.
*
From the high ledge of the northern mountain, high above the Ky’Dren Pass, Dirk, Krentz, and General Reeves watched as the undead humans slaughtered the Uthen-Arden army. Though there were no Eldalonian soldiers among them, General Reeves nonetheless seethed with brimming anger at witnessing the slaughter.
“How does one defeat such wicked magic…such unrestrained evil?” Reeves asked.
“When you have found the answer to that question, you have won a war,” Krentz replied.
They moved away from the ledge and prepared for battle, and, though Dirk urged Reeves to remain upon the ledge, the general would hear none of it.
“This is not a place for valor, my good man,” Dirk explained. “This enemy has power beyond any human.”
“Then, help to even the odds,” Reeves argued, his glance moving to Krentz.
Krentz smiled at the brave general. “We’ve no time to teach you the finer points of magical weapon wielding, but I can strengthen your armor and weapons. Lay down your arms and stand aside.”
Reeves unsheathed his sword and dagger, and laid them upon the stone next to his shield. Krentz first took up the sword and held it before her with closed eyes. She chanted words in Elvish and set the sword to glowing red until it finally burst into flames. Laying it down, she took up his dagger and similarly enchanted it as well, followed by his shield. When she was done with the weapons, she stood before Reeves and laid a hand upon his plate armor. A humming vibrated through the armor, and a strange, tingling sensation resonated throughout his entire body.
“Done,” said Krentz, taking back her hand. Reeves felt as if he had been struck by lightning. “Your armor will protect you from heavy blows and some spells, but I suggest you steer clear of dark elves. Your blades have been imbued with fire and will pierce through armor and scale as if through cloth. And your shield shall absorb the most powerful of strikes.”
Reeves fell to one knee, shaking with the energy within him. “Thank you, m’lady.”
Krentz only nodded.
“Chief, come!” said Dirk as he held out the figurine. “We go to war.”
*
Ky’Ell ventured to a door in one of the tunnels leading to the Ky’Dren Pass. He pushed, but found it stuck, a greater shove proved the door had been barricaded on the other side. Ky’Ell summoned his strength and blasted the door open spilling the sun’s gloomy light into the tunnel.
“Northern Wall breach!” he heard a cry of alarm ring out.
He stepped out and squinted into the sunlight. “It is I, King Ky’Ell! Hold your fire!” he bade the dwarves. Upon seeing their king, all nearby dwarves slammed their fists to their chests and bowed low.
“I would speak to the nearest general!” he bellowed, and more than one dwarf went running off with a quick “Aye, sire!”
Soon, the dwarven general, Dar’Kwar, came rushing to stand before his King. “Me King,” he said with a slam and a bow.
“Report,” Ky’Ell ordered.
“The Southern Mountains be secure and sealed. We got five thousand warriors inside and along the Pass. The Eldalonian side be digging in, and they be reportin’ a large advancement o’ Draggard headin their way from inside Eldalon. Here at the eastern mouth be an army o’ Draggard, barbarians, and human soldiers with some sort o’ witchery about them.”
Ky’Ell nodded as he contemplated the situation. “Two thousand warriors await me orders in the northern chambers. Have the Draggard come through from the north yet?”
“Nay, me King, we sealed off the northern mountains when the beasts began slaughterin’ our search parties. We’d cleared the way for twenty miles north, but were overwhelmed by the beasts. Then, this army arrived at the foot o’ the mountain from the north, and we ordered all arms to the Pass.”
“Very well,” said the King.
Ky’Ell surveyed the mouth of the Pass; too many dwarves were out in the open. He ha
d seen what the dark elf spells did to an army packed too tightly.
“Order half of the dwarves back into the southern mountain chambers. This ain’t gonna be no straight on fight. These be dark elves. The mountain doors be the first priority,” said the king. “The Draggard that came through the rift in the northern mountains be coming out soon, I be bettin’. See it ain’t no surprise attack. I want all soldiers against the southern side o’ the Pass, and the catapults aimin’ north. When the beasts come out, let it rain stone.”
A dwarven horn blared a warning, and a dull rumbling shook the ground. Ky’Ell and Dar’Kwar looked to the east. The hulking dwargon charged with the Draggard close behind. The battle for the Ky’Dren Pass had begun.
*
Raene felt the disturbance in the stone below her feet; a dull vibration told her of marching feet. The charge had begun. She waited patiently for the dwarves before her to charge out through the secret doors leading to the pass. She waited for what seemed like an eternity, though she knew only minutes had passed. The rumbling in the stone had become stronger, and, where once she thought the vibration to have come from many feet, she soon discerned that it came from large feet. Through the stone below her hand, they seemed like giants.
She was nervous and exhilarated…and afraid. She was loath to admit it; she had never heard a dwarven man say such a thing. Did they feel fear? Were men truly different from women in that regard? Were they really tougher? She knew what they would say. A woman’s place was at home tendin’ to children, cookin’ and cleanin’, sewin’ and fixin’. A woman’s place was doing what the men could not, as the men were doing what the women could not. She understood the harmony it lent dwarven society, and she understood many women−most women−thought the traditions true and good, but, for her, they were not. Raene longed to train with the men in the vast arenas and battle chambers, rather than in secret against the only one who knew the full extent of her secret, her twin brother Ky’Ro. If the gods had wanted her to be a cooker or a cleaner or a tender of children, then they would have made her better at it. That was her way of thinking. Where she failed at those tasks, she excelled in armed and unarmed combat. She had surpassed her brother years before, and was skilled in stone moving, just as good as her brothers, she thought. But her father would hear none of it. He had tolerated her armor, and her helping move the stone from the tunnel, but, beyond that, he was as stubborn as a child at bedtime.
Whill of Agora: Epic Fantasy Bundle (Books 1-4): (Whill of Agora, A Quest of Kings, A Song of Swords, A Crown of War) (Legends of Agora) Page 127
