Dreaming in the Dark_Chains of the Fallen Volume 1

by James E. Wisher

  “I know. I want them to get closer.”

  “What?”

  “Trust me.”

  Marie-Bell put her companion out of her mind and focused on the heat from the armor. She touched the head of her hammer to her chest and power flowed from armor to weapon. When the undead were only ten feet from her, Marie-Bell slammed her hammer down hard, releasing all the power that had built up in a golden wave that streaked out in every direction.

  Zombies burst into golden flames and in moments were consumed. The wave destroyed them all in an instant. While she doubted such an attack would work on a more powerful individual, it did a fine job eliminating the zombies.

  “That was impressive,” Imogen said. “But now we really need to go.”

  Marie-Bell nodded and they soared away from the tower. After five minutes of silence Imogen asked, “Did you know that was going to happen?”

  “No, though I had faith something would. The armor can’t communicate exactly, but it does give nudges and hints. I interpreted this one correctly.”

  “I’ll say you did, but what if you misunderstood?”

  Marie-Bell grinned. “I assumed you’d save me.”

  Chapter Forty

  When the Ice Queen’s mental summons crashed through Sig’s brain like a company of armored cavalry, he groaned and sat up on his conjured bed. Across the way Gorn leapt to his feet, bright-eyed and eager. The ogre hadn’t tried anything during the night, so Sig had to assume the dragon ordered him not to. She must want them both at their best for the final contest.

  Sig wished he was at his best, but he ached everywhere. That didn’t stop him from smiling like an idiot. He’d tumbled his share of girls over the years, but this was the first time he’d been the one getting thrown around. Ilda was as aggressive in bed as she was on the battlefield.

  Whatever happened today, at least they had last night. It had pained him more than he wanted to admit when he finally slipped out of her room and returned to the contestants’ chamber. Sleeping peacefully under her furs, she might have been an ordinary human woman. The blue skin kind of killed the illusion, but even that was growing on him.

  Sig fell in behind Gorn as the two finalists made their way to the queen’s lair. No banter or threats passed between them. As they grew closer a strange vibration ran through the tunnel. The berserkers usually guarding the path were absent. He frowned at the strange situation then shrugged. Whatever was happening, Sig was powerless to do anything about it.

  A hundred feet from the turnoff, the dull roar of voices reached him. The noise grew louder with each step until they entered the cavern. Thousands of ogres packed the space, with the Ice Queen towering over them. Everyone fell silent when Sig and Gorn appeared. It was creepy and unnatural for so many monsters to hold so still.

  A path opened and they marched through. The gathering had left a circle two hundred feet across. In the center, a pillar of ice rose out of the floor with Ilda chained to it. Her leather and fur garb had been exchanged for a sheer white gown of what Sig would have sworn was silk. Where they found silk out in the middle of nowhere, he didn’t have the slightest idea. It was probably plunder from one of the many incursions into the kingdom.

  Before he could take a step the dragon said, “Welcome, finalists. The deciding contest will begin in a moment. Since only two of you remain, I have selected the simplest and most straightforward method of settling things, single combat.”

  That suited Sig. One on one, any sorcerer worthy of the name could take a single berserker. He was more curious about Ilda. What did the dragon have planned for her?

  As if reading his mind, the Ice Queen continued. “Though only two contenders remain, a third competitor survived the first trial. Instead of giving her life in the attempt, she surrendered, the one truly unforgivable act for a berserker.”

  The gathered ogres shouted and hissed. If they got too worked up, things might get ugly in a hurry, uglier anyway.

  “As punishment for this failure, I have dissolved her war-band and stripped her of her status as a warrior. Nevertheless, I have determined another way she might serve. I shall make a gift of her to my champion, to kill or make whatever use they please.”

  Gorn licked his lips. The sight made Sig’s blood boil. He wouldn’t allow the disgusting berserker to lay a finger on Ilda.

  “Now that the stakes are clear,” the dragon said. “We have one more matter to attend to. Bring it out.”

  Another path opened and an ogre child, only four feet tall, approached them carrying a covered platter. He paused between Sig and Gorn.

  “Before a duel to the death,” the dragon said. “The combatants must partake in an ancient ritual: the consuming of a mammoth heart so that the beast’s strength may be imparted to you.”

  The child lifted the cover, revealing a fresh, bloody, bisected heart. Gorn snatched up half and devoured it in one giant mouthful.

  Sig grabbed his half and took a small bite, gagging on the bitter, mineral taste. He dropped the rest on the platter and motioned the boy to go. He hurried back the way he came at a quick trot.

  When the gap closed the Ice Queen said, “Let the contest begin!”

  Chapter Forty-One

  Gorn vanished in a swirl of snow as he accelerated to warlord speed. Sig didn’t even have time to expand his shield before the first heavy blow from the ogre’s sword sent him flying across the arena. The strike didn’t penetrate his personal shield, but the force of it took his breath. Too many of those and he’d be in trouble.

  Sig used the momentum from the attack to send him soaring into the sky out of range. The gathered ogres hissed their disapproval, but he ignored them and focused on his opponent. He had no hope of matching Gorn’s speed, so he’d need to use his reactive shield technique again.

  He’d barely gotten the shield expanded when Gorn appeared before him. The ice sword struck, skipping off his shield. The counterblast missed Gorn’s head by inches as he fell back to the floor.

  Sig followed, landing well away from the pillar so his opponent wouldn’t be able to use it for cover. The roars and snarls from the audience vanished as his focus centered on the next strike.

  It came from behind, which didn’t surprise Sig. Fortunately, this technique didn’t require him to see the enemy. The sword impacted and an instant later his counterstrike pierced Gorn through the left shoulder.

  Sig cursed his luck as the ogre staggered away, blood running down his chest. He didn’t dare push the attack. Given the berserker’s speed advantage, any move Sig made would leave him open for a counter that might end him. He needed Gorn to come to him.

  It took only a second for the ogre’s wounded shoulder to heal. Sig needed to be more precise with his attacks, anything that didn’t kill Gorn instantly would be a waste of power and time.

  Maybe his eyes were the problem. Sig closed them and focused on the soul force barrier. The instant the ice sword made contact, he sent a lance out.

  It grazed skin but missed anything vital. They went back and forth three more times, each of them ending with a near miss. Gorn was without a doubt more skilled than his subordinates. He seemed to know where Sig intended to strike.

  That was impossible. The soul force constructs formed and struck at the speed of thought. Even a berserker’s enhanced reactions shouldn’t have been enough to totally avoid them.

  Sig suppressed a grin when the answer came to him. He knew what he had to do, but it was a risk. If his plan failed, it would use up all of his remaining soul force and leave him totally vulnerable. But better to risk it all on one shot than get slowly worn down and ending up dead anyway.

  He waited and when Gorn struck again his lance went out on a curved path before splitting into six separate beams.

  Gorn evaded five of them, but the sixth took him right between the eyes. The ogre collapsed, a thumb-sized hole leaking blood from his forehead. Sig double-checked, but no sign of life remained. He’d done it, the battle was his.

 
; Every ogre in the audience howled and for a second Sig feared they’d tear him apart. The Ice Queen slammed a foot down with enough force to shake the cavern. Silence fell over the gathering.

  “I have my champion. Congratulations, human. Claim your prize.”

  Sig had enough strength left to shatter Ilda’s manacles, freeing her from her bindings. She hugged him and he sighed, glad she was okay.

  After a few seconds the dragon said, “Clear the room, my champion and I have much to discuss, then there’s the ritual of investiture.”

  Ogres hastened to leave, some shoving in their rush to escape. Ilda held his hand, seeming uncertain what to do.

  “You know where the champion’s quarters are?” the Ice Queen asked.

  “Yes, my queen,” Ilda said.

  “You may wait for him there. None of the others will bother you.”

  She bowed, gave Sig one last look, and left. He watched her until she was out of the room then turned back to the dragon. This was what he’d been waiting for. How much would he be able to do with her power enhancing his own?

  “I sense your eagerness, human,” the dragon said. “Don’t think this is going to be a simple, painless process. Mortals weren’t intended to contain divine soul force.”

  “I refuse to lose again. I don’t care what it costs me. I will have the power I need to defeat Damien.”

  The dragon lowered her head so her eye was level with him. “Let me explain how this is going to work. What you don’t realize, what no one does, is that an important event is about to begin. As my champion, you will lead an army to the Plains of Judgement. There you will meet the Fire King’s champion and his army. You will battle, and the victor shall exert greater influence over the continent for another thousand years. That is your purpose. Win, and I may allow you to use your new power to kill this other human that so obsesses you. Lose, and you needn’t worry about him or anything else ever again.”

  Sig stared for a moment as he tried to process what the Ice Queen had told him. He hadn’t come here to fight in some feud between dragons. He had his own plans. Unfortunately, those plans required her power. He needed to agree, at least long enough for her to invest him with her divine soul force. After that, he’d see where things stood.

  “Why don’t you simply fight yourselves?” he asked.

  “When this world was created, the five dragons agreed that we would never face each other in direct combat. If there was to be conflict, and it was inevitable that there would be since the Fire King and I are perfect opposites, then the battles would be fought with proxies. Gaining a human sorcerer pleased me since external soul force wielders tend to have great capacity for energy. Having you as my champion will grant me a small advantage, which may make all the difference.”

  “Very well,” Sig said. “What do I have to do?”

  The dragon rose to her full height. “Survive.”

  The power of absolute cold poured into him. Sig tried to scream, but his lungs were frozen. All he could do was open his mouth in silent agony. More and more of her energy entered his overfull core until Sig feared he might burst.

  He’d never imagined pain like this. With a clenched jaw he focused all his will on the hated face of Damien St. Cloud. On the final, dismissive look he’d given as he defeated Sig without even trying.

  Never again.

  At last the flow ended and he collapsed in a heap on the frozen floor. He turned his focus inward and examined the power that was now a part of him. It was the densest, most potent energy he’d ever felt. It also came with a thread that tied him to the dragon. Any thoughts he might have harbored about escaping to seek his revenge vanished.

  He understood without really being certain how the thread would allow her to take total control of him if she so wished. He was little more than a puppet for the moment. Perhaps for the rest of his life. His only chance for revenge lay in winning the war against the Fire King’s champion and hope she granted his request.

  All his dreams came down to that. Sig didn’t especially like his chances, but he’d made his choice, now he had to live with it.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Jen got her first piece of good luck when Julianus said the coin collector would arrive in three days. Her second bit came when she discovered that Edward and Morg had nearly the same build. With a little effort, he’d pass a cursory inspection. Edward didn’t regard this new role with good cheer, but he was too obedient to argue.

  The three days passed quickly. Between prepping Edward and destroying all the illegal mushrooms the Dragons had been selling out of the saloon, Jen hardly had time to plan her strategy.

  Not that she expected to need much of one. The collector traveled with two guards. If her team failed to deal with three thugs, they needed to find a new line of work.

  When the appointed day arrived, Jen stood on the saloon porch beside Edward, who had exchanged his uniform for Morg’s rough leathers. They’d darkened his skin with a mud slurry. Her only worry was that the mud would dry out before the target arrived.

  Julianus informed her that he always showed up at a different time to avoid traps. Prudent, but it wouldn’t save him today.

  Business had returned to normal at the saloon, much to the proprietor’s delight. He’d never wanted to sell the mushrooms, but his partners had insisted, firmly. Some of the loggers hadn’t been thrilled to lose the source of their daily fix, but Talon straightened them out.

  “Have I told you that I hate this?” Edward asked.

  “More than once. You’re the only one big enough to impersonate the bouncer. If this was just a kill mission it wouldn’t matter, but we need the money man alive. That’s your responsibility. There’s no one else I trust to do it.”

  “You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

  Jen grinned. “Yes, is it working?”

  “A little.”

  Alec arrived in a swirl of dust. “Three riders coming up the road from the southeast. That’s got to be our targets.”

  “Did you see any tattoos?” Jen asked.

  “No, they had on long-sleeve shirts. But the two guards were armed to the teeth, crossbows, swords, daggers, mail armor, you name it.”

  “Okay. Fetch Talon and get in position.”

  Alec nodded and vanished again.

  “Show time,” Jen said.

  Edward grimaced and nodded. They went inside to wait, Edward near the door, arms crossed and scowling. Jen ducked out of sight behind the bar. The guests looked nervous and she prayed they wouldn’t give up the game.

  Hopefully, everything would be okay. And if the plan had a problem, they’d have to deal with it on the fly. Lucky for them warlords specialized in dealing with problems.

  A little less than half an hour passed before Jen caught a glimpse of horses riding up to the rail. A minute later three men pushed through the swinging doors. Both guards looked cast from the same mold as Morg, but the center man had a thin build and hard, darting eyes. He wore no armor and carried no weapons, at least none visible to Jen. Something about him set her immediately on alert. She didn’t know what triggered her danger sense, but she’d learned to trust the feeling.

  “Morg,” the money man said.

  Edward took a single step from his place by the door and the collector’s eyes crinkled. He’d been made.

  “Now!” Jen leapt over the bar and drew her sword.

  Edward lunged toward his target, but the collector vanished at warlord speed.

  Edward took off after him a fraction of a second later.

  Jen put them out of her mind as she engaged the nearest guard. His quick draw was good enough to block her first attack.

  Steel crashed against steel as the others fought the second guard.

  Jen went to warlord speed and her opponent matched her.

  The weapons clashed like a trip hammer.

  She hadn’t expected to run into warlords. Jen needed to end her fight quickly, so she could help Edward.

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nbsp; She accelerated to lightning speed and the guard slowed so that he was barely moving. A single slash of her soul-forged blade and his head fell with a wet plop. At this speed it looked like Rhys’s mace had frozen the instant it made contact with his opponent’s head.

  Jen slowed and the second guard’s head burst like a ripe melon. “Where are the others?”

  “We saw Edward running like mad after that weaselly looking guy. Figured you and me could handle this pair so I sent them to help. The kid’s got the best chance of catching up and Edward was already falling behind.”

  Sending Alec was a good call. He was nearly as fast as Jen.

  “Stay here, search them, and watch their horses. I don’t want anyone making off with something valuable.”

  She rushed out of the saloon and towards the northern edge of town at halfway between warlord and lightning speed. Full lightning would drain her core too fast, but she wanted to catch up as quickly as possible.

  Jen sharpened her hearing enough to make out the buzz of their running footsteps. They’d turned west and were rushing through the forest.

  She gathered herself and leapt into the canopy. The leaves blurred as she sprang from branch to branch in hopes of getting ahead of the target.

  A few seconds later she spotted them running below her. Edward was lagging, but Alec lacked only a few strides to catching up. He didn’t have quite enough juice to close the gap.

  Jen risked a chunk of soul force and sped up to full lightning.

  The chase slowed to walking speed.

  She got in the lead in two huge jumps. Jen dropped to the ground directly ahead of the target, and sent a heavy right streaking in.

  Luckily, she reinforced her bones before impact. Jen had struck granite softer than his jaw. The impact combined with his speed set the collector off balance. At warlord speed that was catastrophic.

  He hit the ground, bounced, tumbled, and finally stopped when he hit the side of an old oak. Jen had her sword at his throat in a blink. Alec, Talon and Edward joined her seconds later.