by Logan Petty
A wind storm kicked up as the dragon came near, carrying his odd cargo. Binze heard the creaking of wood as the archers pulled back on their strings. His breathing shortened as the dragon’s massive frame loomed over their army. It spread its wings wide, slowing its approach as it hovered above them. Binze looked up in the cage to see Sawain, Banthan, and Mari waving down at him. Their respective drakes stirred uneasily as the cage swung in the breeze. Each flap of the dragon’s wings generated a miniature wind storm that staggered the centaur party as he lighted upon the ground, placing the cage gently in front of him. The gleaming golden dragon snarled at the archers.
“It would be wise to stop pointing those silly stick slingers in my direction. I would hate for things to get uncivil.”
Sawain stepped out of the cage with his hands raised in a gesture of peace. Binze loped over to him, a large smile on his face.
“Swerdbrekker! You did it! You convinced the dragon to help us!”
Sawain winced, “Well, not me, exactly. It was actually Mari’s doing. She got to him before I did. Turns out that worked better than my plan after all. What about you? Looks like you’ve found a few more new followers.”
Binze rubbed the back of his head and grinned as Terina signaled the archers to stand down. “Well, not my doing either, really. You can thank Terina. We have a lot to catch up on.”
Sawain nodded, “Likewise. We should meet back up at the Dawnstar Company’s base at once and gather our forces. It’s time to make a move. Today, we begin our march on Jordborg.”
Chapter 8:
The late morning sun shone down upon Jatharr as he sat at the trunk of a finely carved tree, watching his new recruits go through their drills for the sixth time today. Many of them proved handy with a blade, but their styles were unrefined. If they expected to survive the horrors of the battle to come, they needed to be faster, more precise. They needed at least a month to set those skills to muscle memory. They had until the Swerdbrekker returned, which he expected would be any day now. Doubt swirled in his mind as a cool breeze pushed through the grove. Even with a dragon on their side, he did not believe this ragtag band could pull off a siege against the mightiest hold south of Anvilheim.
Complaints issued from the recruits along the hill as many broke from their drills to sit down beneath the shade or lean against the trees. Jatharr rose to his feet, turning to the layabouts.
“Did I tell you to stop, shieldlings? Last I checked, the standing agreement was ye drill til ye return the scepter that ye stole or til we stop to bury yer ragged corpses. I don’t see a scepter in my hands.”
A young centaur with brown hair and a sandy colored coat waved at Jatharr dismissively. “Pipe down, old man. We told you. No one stole that stick of yours. Everyone already turned out all their belongings. We need to take a break now.”
The sound of steel scraping against wood let the young centaur know Jatharr had drawn his sword from its scabbard. He straightened up as the halfling paced toward him. A fire burned behind the captain’s eyes as he spoke in low tones.
“So, ye think yer the leader of this operation now, do ye? Want to show me you deserve that honor?”
The other trainees gathered in a circle around the captain and his opponent. Jatharr knew that tension had been building toward this standoff for days. This young centaur, the one they called Reichter, managed to gather a following among the recruits as he proved his strength and prowess over and over in the past week. Jatharr did not doubt he amounted to the strongest fighter in this batch of recruits, but he was a brawler. The boy had no training outside of using raw power to overwhelm his foes. His attitude grew worse each passing day, especially after Sawain put Jatharr in charge in his absence.
The young stallion flexed nervously as he drew his sword. “I’ll crush you for the honor of the Harthaz, you treacherous little—“
Before he could finish, Jatharr charged him, rushing between his legs as Reichter swatted at the air behind him. Jatharr grabbed his tail and hoisted himself up to his lower back. The young stallion reared, trying to throw Jatharr off, but he held tight. He scaled the muscular equine mass, sword clenched in his teeth. Reichter bucked and thrashed, swinging his sword wildly, connecting with nothing. He gasped as he felt a hand grab his hair, pulling his head backward. The cold steel of Jatharr’s blade rested against his throat as he stopped thrashing. Jatharr growled menacingly in his ear.
“Drop yer blade, shieldling.”
Stunned silence from the recruits made the impact of Reichter’s sword against the rocky ground that much louder. Jatharr knew he had them reined in now that their champion’s throat lay bare against his sword. Naralei materialized from the shadows, her arms crossed. She looked up at Jatharr, clearly annoyed, but she remained silent as he continued his own special brand of discipline. He twisted Reichter’s hair.
“Kneel, colt.”
Reichter resisted silently. Jatharr pressed the blade against his throat.
“I said kneel. Do it before I weed you from this army permanently.”
Reichter snarled, “Do it, then. I’ll never bend knee to a wretch like you.”
“Take a knee, friend. He really will kill you and will have no qualm about it.”
Blood trickled from an open wound on Reichter’s throat where Jatharr began to slice, his hand halted by a familiar voice. He looked up as the crowd parted and Sawain strode through the gap. Mari, Timbrell, Banthan, and Binze followed behind him. Jatharr smiled as he felt Reichter’s body tremble and lower to the ground. He lifted his blade and stepped down, glaring at Reichter. He grabbed the stallion’s downturned chin and lifted it up, forcing him to look in his eyes.
“You step out of line one more time and I’ll not hesitate to skin yer worthless hide. I could use a new pair of trousers.”
Reichter glared silently back. Jatharr released him and turned to Sawain, arms spread wide.
“Deathsbane has returned! But where’s yer dragon, laddie?”
The grove shook as the air around it swirled, nearly snapping the great old trees as they swayed dangerously in the sudden wind storm. The grove darkened, then grew brighter instantly. Something massive flew into the valley below, landing on the old execution platform, using it as a seat. The great golden dragon flexed his wings and shouted up to the inhabitants of the grove above.
“Hello, friends of the Swerdbrekker! I am Ylsgrin, Librarian of Hammerhold, member of the Council of Six, and extremely old, so please, don’t bother me. I am here to observe. And if I must knock over a few cities in the process, you will have to forgive me. I am rather large, after all.”
Jatharr chuckled at the understatement. Ylsgrin’s majestic form filled the valley below. He stood so tall, he barely had to raise his voice to address the army in the hilltop grove, despite being nearly half a mile away. This dragon easily outclassed the Sea Tyrant in bulk. Jatharr shook his head in wonder as his army began to cheer triumphantly.
“By Turin, ye did it, lad! Ye won over the dragon! But how?”
Sorrow flashed across Sawain’s face as he dropped his gaze. “It wasn’t by Turin’s grace. Mari . . . Mari made the offering, won him over. But, it cost her dearly.”
Naralei appeared by Mari’s side, placing a hand on her shoulder. “What does he mean?”
Mari looked up into Naralei’s face, her eyes glistening as she raised her hands to her throat, signing in the Ghosts’ silent language.
< I traded my voice for his safety. No one had to die. >
Naralei shot an accusatory glance at Sawain. “You let her do this? Why?”
A half-hearted grunt stuck in the back of Sawain’s throat as he involuntarily scratched an itch on the back of his neck. Mari shifted between Naralei and her target, shaking her head and signing fiercely.
< I went alone. Be mad at me. Sawain tried to stop me. >
Naralei pushed past Mari and stopped inches away from Sawain’s face. He couldn’t look her in the eye. He felt her arms wrap around the back of hi
s neck as she pulled him in close, hugging him. She muttered in his ear.
“I’m glad you’re alright, but I’m coming with you next time. Got it?”
Sawain nodded as she let go and slugged him in the chest. The impact stung even through his armor. She placed her hands on her hips.
“So you brought us a dragon. But aren’t you missing someone? Where’s Terina?”
Sawain pointed over her shoulder, prompting her to turn around. Terina stood at the crest of the hill, wielding Brenaljos proudly. Three hundred Harthaz centaur filed quietly in around her. The members of the Dawnstar Company also stood to either side of her. Naralei’s mouth opened but struggled to form words. Jatharr found them for her as he stomped up to Terina.
“Oi! So yer the no good staff thief. I knew I couldn’t trust a –”
A dozen spears pointed against Jatharr’s throat as Terina’s newly appointed personal guard surrounded him. Ulio, one of that dozen, shouted at him.
“Not another step, halfling! Show the chief respect or die on the spot!”
Terina raised her scepter and the spears raised from their attack positions. “Enough, Ulio. The Harthaz will no longer be known for such aggression. These are our friends. Jatharr has a right to be angry.” She knelt to him, bowing her head, “I apologize, captain, but this scepter has always belonged to me.”
Jatharr scratched his scalp slowly. “I don’t understand. We took it from that grey priest at the forest’s edge.”
Terina nodded, “Aye, the one who stole it from me after he captured my band.”
The clanking of heavy steel mail rattled in the air as Axel walked up to Sawain, slapping his back. “Seems there’s more to this Harthaz chief than she lets on, eh laddie?”
“Harthaz chief?” Banthan interrupted as he joined the conversation. “I thought Binze was the leader of the Harthaz.”
Jatharr shook his head, a grim expression falling over him. “No. Gothur is the leader of the Harthaz.”
Terina spoke over the myriad voices that mixed on the hilltop grove, “You are both wrong. It is a long story. Yes, I did hide in my brother’s shadow for far too long after our exile, but now I have defeated Gothur in combat and have taken his place as rightful heir of the Harthaz. I will see to it that our name will regain the honor it once carried before my father blackened it with the fires of his holy war.”
Mari frowned as she tugged at Sawain’s sleeve. < They were siblings? But I thought they were a couple. > She scrunched her face up and wrinkled her nose.
Jatharr stood silent as the others gathered around Sawain. Kyra sauntered up beside Axel, directing her question at the dwarf.
“So what now?”
Jatharr’s army parted as Vaskar approached the gathering in the center, followed closely by Rognur. A gleaming silver helmet adorned his head. The rest of his armor shone brilliantly. A crimson cape draped down his back. A silver raven grasping a spear in its talons, its wings spread wide, adorned the cape. His eyes flashed in the morning sun. He placed a hand on the hilt of his weapon.
“I owe you an apology, Swerdbrekker. I thought you a madman when we first met, and I treated you as one. Yet, here you are, with not only the dragon you set out for, but with a small army at your back. Will you forgive my insolence?”
Sawain smiled, offering his forearm in a gesture of alliance. The discomfort on Vaskar’s face melted away as he raised his fist in the air, striking his forearm firmly against Sawain’s. The gesture caused an uproar of cheers as everyone else danced excitedly back and forth. Vaskar spoke again, silencing the crowd.
“Now . . . . If you will still aid us in our time of need, Jordborg is in dire need of a hero.”
Sawain tightened the straps on his armor as he whistled for Eldinbál. “What are we waiting for then? We have an entire army of heroes at our command. We can discuss strategy on the move. Every second we waste, the Grey King grows stronger.”
Within minutes, the army broke camp, gathered their belongings and mobilized. The army of nearly four hundred quickly marched down the hill, moving toward the city of Jordborg. A miniature hurricane crashed through the valley as Ylsgrin took off from his perch, flying high above the mass of swords and shining armor.
Excited, nervous energy coursed through the army as they moved toward the battle they spent all this time preparing for. The Swerdbrekker and his closest allies rode at the front. The Ghosts surrounded him, riding their drakes. The members of the Dawnstar Company walked in close proximity. Binze and Terina trotted along nearby as well. Vaskar rode beside Sawain on a white horse he had tamed during his time with the Dawnstar. He stroked the stallion’s mane as its muscles rippled.
“Tell me, Swerdbrekker. What is your plan now that you have your dragon friend?”
Sawain squinted up into the sky where Ylsgrim glided. “Well, I suppose we will have to fight through the mass of the enemy forces until we can take the gate. Of course, it’s your city, you would know it better than I would. What do you propose we do?”
Rognur, who loped alongside the horse, perked up, “What about Gas Pass, boss? I bet it’s unprotected.”
Vaskar frowned, “Don’t call it that, Rog. We aren’t children anymore. But you’re right,” he turned his attention back to Sawain, “There is an old sewage tunnel that leads from the city to a bog a mile or so away. It hasn’t been in service for decades now. It’s hidden in the hills, hard to find, harder to make yourself approach it once you do find it. We could use it to slip a small team behind the city’s walls. If you get me inside, I have many friends still loyal to the man my father once was. Still loyal to me. While your army fights without, we can raise another to fight within.”
Sawain nodded. He liked the idea of tearing the enemy apart from the inside out. Kyra shuddered visibly as she spoke.
“Sounds like fun. So, who’s going and who’s staying to lead this army?”
“I will stay to lead the Harthaz in battle,” Terina shouted.
Binze nodded, “And I will stay with my sister. I would stand out too much in a crowd.”
Jatharr raised his fist in the air. “I’ll lead our forces, Deathsbane. I’ve had enough of underground tunnels to last a lifetime.”
Sawain nodded, “Alright. Vaskar, I think it would be wise to include the Ghosts on the inside team. We are trained for infiltration. The drakes are smart, they can stay and fight with Jatharr. Axel, what about the Dawnstar Company?”
Axel stroked his beard thoughtfully for a moment. “Aye, well, I’d much rather stay out here and fight, but I’d hate t’send ye in there all alone. What do ye think, Syd? Kyra?”
Sydarion stretched his arms slowly. “I don’t mind going for a stroll through muck. Count me in.”
Kyra sighed, turning a sickly shade. “If everyone else is going, I guess I will too.”
Vaskar gripped his reins tighter. “It is decided. Our band will break off when we reach the cliffs that overlook the city. We will secure passage into the abandoned sewage tunnel, and slip in unnoticed, preferably. Once we enter Jordborg, you must do exactly as I say and trust my judgment no matter how skewed it may seem. Do you agree, Swerdbrekker?”
Sawain raised an eyebrow. “What do you plan to do that would require such a pledge?”
The prince hesitated before answering. “I have been gone for some time. I may have to commit to deeds unsavory for one of my station. I will also have to entrust you to carry out a mission while under the influence of a great temptation.”
“What kind of temptation?”
“Remember that we will be undercover when we enter the city proper. Should you be tempted to break that cover too early, it will jeopardize the entire operation. All I ask is you trust my judgment and let me take the lead during this mission. It is my hold, after all.”
Sawain sighed, closing his eyes momentarily. “Fine, I’ll follow your lead. I hope I don’t regret it.”
Vaskar smiled, “You have nothing to fear as long as you stick to the plan.”
&
nbsp; Timbrell piped up from his hiding place on Mari’s shoulder. “Maybe ye could run over the plan? Just so we know what we’re up against?”
The prince sighed, “I suppose it’s only fair. But I will try to make it brief, as the plan could get rather long winded. There are a number of factions within the city that fight against the undead occupation. Our goal is to unite those factions to rally against our common enemy.”
Banthan chuckled, “Sounds easy enough. What’s the catch?”
Vaskar continued, “The catch is none of them like each other. They fight for different ideals. They do have one common purpose though, and that is to free Jordborg of the Grey King’s taint. If we can unite them in this common trait, we can drive the enemy out and into the jaws of our dragon friend.”
“Okay,” Kyra slowly spoke, “so how do you plan to unite them?”
Vaskar gazed into the sky, addressing no one directly, “I have to give them a standard to rally behind. If I can prove without a doubt that I am the true Segrammir of Jordborg, then these warring factions will fall in behind me, just as they did for my father in times of war. They hate each other, but they love Jordborg and fight for it each in their own ways.”
Naralei sighed in exasperation, “This is sounding more difficult.”
Rognul nodded, “You ain’t heard the half of it. This standard Vas mentioned? It’s a real as rocks standard. Harfjothr, the Spear of Kings.”
Sydarion perked up, “I’ve heard of that. It’s the spear the hero king of Jordborg wields in battle. So you’ll have to get it from your father?”
Vaskar shook his head slowly. “Were it that easy. No, Harfjothr is sealed away deep beneath the palace in a maze of catacombs called the Vault of Kings. My father sealed it away years ago, when he felt his mind first slip. It was the last wise act of Uxir the Great. I am the only one able to retrieve the spear. This is why I asked you to agree to do whatever I tell you. There will come an hour when I must leave on my own to obtain the spear. Without it, we will falter.”
Silence hung over the companions until Sawain broke it. “I understand your desire to do things on your own, but are you certain this is the only way? Can we not send at least one other with you?”
