Son of the Storm

by Michael DeAngelo

  As Lund shook his head, Bolt ushered him forward. A pair of harpies met them and abruptly ceased their escape. As one of the winged women lunged forward, though, the human held out his hand. A thunderclap resonated in the ears of the dwarves as a harpy collapsed to the ground, smoke wisping from her talons.

  Still, one remained. She cautiously studied her foe, the curious human earning her respect. As her eyes narrowed, she pivoted back, but before she could lunge forward, a crossbow quarrel thudded into her body, just beside a naked breast. She slumped down, writhing in pain.

  “That’ll do,” Fali said. He strapped his weapon back over his shoulder and charged ahead, accepting some of the burden from his nephew. Lund graciously accepted the assistance.

  Steam billowed from Edda’s mouth. A quartet of harpies lay dead around him, and he had scarcely found the time to breathe. Another dove toward him, but he merely turned to his side, avoiding the careless assault. He saw then as a trio of his kin sped away from combat. Corvo and Ingus reached the dwarven mage, and together they pursued after their fleeing king.

  Swallowing hard, the dwarf turned back toward his latest foe. He gnashed his teeth together as he charged, his spear leading the way. Edda lunged forward but felt a sudden shock course through his body. His weapon bobbled from his grasp, and he felt a sharp pain behind his shoulders. The harpy before him smiled wickedly, watching as he rose. His eyes opened wide as another of the winged warriors hoisted him into the air.

  A sickening thud resonated in Agar’s ears. So, too, did the howls of the enemies he had crippled. He left them there to pay tribute to his prowess. Finally, he placed his focus on the Matron of the Storm.

  Keilana looked to her consorts, less amused than she had been when she had first met the dwarves. “Kill him,” she ordered. The harpy matron wasted no time taking to the air, leaving the two males of her race to deal with the lone dwarf.

  Dorn skidded to a stop, Varek and Thurgan beside him. They stood over a large slope, the Snowspear Mountains and a dense copse of trees casting down toward the furious river below.

  “C’mon, lads,” Thurgan called out. “I’ll bet ye we roll faster than them birdies can swoop.” With a manic laugh, he threw himself down the hill, tumbling all the way.

  Varek turned to the other dwarf. “Are you going to be all right with this?”

  Nodding, Dorn panted, steam rising from his trembling lips. “Go, my liege,” he bade. “I’ll wait for my son and be right behind you.”

  The dwarven king gave a slight bob of his head. Sighing, he reached up, tugging his crown firmly. A moment later, he uncomfortably followed Thurgan down.

  Alone, Dorn turned, watching the carnage continue to roll across the mountain. As the surviving dwarves followed him east, the harpies gave flight. Only two remained on the ground, surrounding one dwarf who bravely fought on.

  The winged women dove upon their fleeing prey, but a spinning disc of swords sent some warily to the sides. Corvo and Ingus had not ceased their lethal dance. Instead, the harpies set their sights on the other dwarves, a much less troublesome hunt in mind.

  His throat was raw, but Mordek wouldn’t dare to stop running. Though his legs felt sore and weak, he couldn’t give in to the thought of submission. He felt the sudden tug against his back and dove forward. A loud tear echoed into the cold air as his robe shredded. The dwarven mage landed on the ground, snow covering his dark beard.

  His aggressor fluttered down just ahead of him, turning with hungry eyes and a fierce disposition. Growling, Mordek pressed himself up with one hand and reached out with the other. As the harpy stepped forward with a screech leaving her lips, a blast of fire shot forth from the mage’s digits.

  Her left wing instantly ignited, feathers crackling in protest. She wasn’t given much time to consider the pain, however. A quick glance to her side was all the warning she had. Corvo’s blades were the first to eviscerate her. As Ingus spun past her, she had already succumbed to her grievous injuries, even as the flames continued to consume her.

  With the danger gone from his path, Mordek scrambled to his feet once more. Following a brief respite, he resumed his hasty sprint.

  Beside him, the final trio of fleeing escapees sped on. Bolt hunched low, offering Lund his shoulder as best he could. On the injured dwarf’s opposite side, Fali huffed and puffed. He focused on Dorn, standing just at the crest of the hill, patiently waiting for his companions. His friend’s eyes suddenly grew wide, and Fali breathed out an immense sigh. He waited no longer, heaving his crossbow to the waiting dwarf.

  Dorn caught the weapon in his hands and immediately brought it to bear. The quarrel launched out, striking a diving harpy in her left breast. She lost her momentum and splattered down to the ground, rolling until a loud snap resonated, the bolt shorn in two.

  “I was hoping that hind weren’t no fluke!” Fali shouted. He reached his friend with Lund and Bolt beside him. “What are we waiting for, lads?” The dwarf grabbed his weapon once more and leapt down the hill, losing his footing right away.

  Fighting past their emotions, Dorn and Bolt urged Lund forward, and they, too, barreled down the mountain.

  Only three dwarves still moved from their fallen companions. Two spun away as they went. One harpy was more determined than the rest to end that deadly dance.

  As Corvo and Ingus swept around in alternating crescents, they neared the ridge that overlooked the hill. Mordek leapt down to the ground, rolling before he even reached the lip. The deadly duo pressed forward until an immense weight fell upon one of them.

  Ingus growled, and his fancy footwork suddenly stopped. His friend turned, noticing the fierce harpy matron sitting atop his shoulders. Keilana’s talons dug in fiercely, and she scowled at her other opponent with intense hatred.

  Bowing his head, Corvo charged forward. The Matron of the Storm lifted her wing high, and a bolt of lightning heeded her call. That powerful blast struck down just between both dwarves, sending snow scattering in different directions. Corvo stumbled backward as well, his eyes wide at the sight of his impending mortality. They stayed open, though, for he focused on his friend before him who grimaced in pain.

  “Get outta here, ye fool,” Ingus ordered. Despite those long claws, he bent forward, allowing them to shred through his flesh. Free from that grasp, the dwarf reached up and grabbed his helmet. Without any hesitation, he heaved it forward, striking Corvo in the chest.

  Corvo stumbled back even farther, teetering on the edge of the mountain. He flapped his arms as if he had wings, but his balance faltered. As he tipped backward, the flock of harpies fell down upon his friend.

  Chapter Eight: The Fleeting Breeze

  The world around him spun furiously, but still he stumbled forward. Thurgan braced himself upon a sturdy tree, grimacing away the nausea that overwhelmed him.

  “Are you all right, lad?” Varek panted.

  Thurgan nodded but still rested against the tree. “Yer majesty, I would have figured all this drinking I’ve been doing these past few decades woulda prepared me fer this feeling.”

  “Ye can vomit later.”

  Both dwarves turned, noticing another companion regaining his composure. Fali swiftly approached, his body covered in white powder. The crossbow in his hand was destroyed, hanging awkwardly in pieces.

  “I don’t think ye can make whatever shot yer planning,” Thurgan declared.

  “What, this?” Fali asked. “I can fix this when we get home,” he insisted.

  “Bah,” Thurgan growled. “Get the king and get going. I’ll make sure everyone else heads up after ye while the world stops spinning.”

  Without another word, both dwarves began farther east, leaving their companion to wait.

  Another trio tumbled down the slope, two smaller figures flanked by a larger one. Dorn and Bolt sprung to their feet first and assisted Lund in his slow ascent shortly after.

  “Is that all of ye?” Thurgan asked, stepping forward. He stood somewhat straighter, his usual m
irth diminished and replaced by a solemn countenance. The queasy feeling was gone, replaced instead with a need for survival.

  “We have to hurry,” Bolt insisted. “They’ll be right behind us.”

  “Damn that Humber,” Thurgan spat. He saw the dejected pain in Lund’s eyes. “Bah. Sorry, lad. Best if we get after our king. There’s a river ta the east that I seed when I was spinning. It’ll be damned cold, but I’ll bet it’ll get us away from those feathered ladies a mite faster than walking.”

  “Hurry up and move,” Dorn said.

  “Aye,” Thurgan agreed.

  As the dwarves began their hasty sprint east, past the trees, the harpies rose over the crest of the hill.

  * * * * *

  Despite the odds, Agar ventured a glance over his shoulder. The rest of the winged women, including their frightful matron, fluttered down from their mountain perch. All of the dwarf’s allies were gone, though. The only ones that remained were the corpses of his kin. He swallowed hard, nodding as he turned back to his opponents.

  That action came just in time. One of the harpy consorts raked his talons across, and Agar barely thrust his mace out. Both combatants gripped the weapon then, testing their strength. The dwarf relinquished control as the other male swept forward. Like refuse, the mace was tossed aside.

  Without his weapon and staring at a severe height advantage, Agar knew his odds were dire. Still, he persevered. He dodged a swipe here, a slash there, and backed away from his eager opponents. Though those talons were terrifying, he knew the real danger was the knife.

  One after another, lunges and thrusts failed against the dwarf who gasped for air. Harpy claws had shredded though his clothes and ripped through his flesh. He allowed his head to bow just an inch.

  The harpies spun into position. From the rear, the one heaved his knife. Agar gnashed his teeth together and turned, accepting the weapon in his shoulder. A fierce groan rose up, and the dwarf staggered back. With menacing eyes, the consorts advanced on their injured prey.

  Another groan rang out, and the harpy in the back was tugged to the ground. He rolled to his stomach, writhing in agony.

  Agar and the other consort reacted in turn, swinging about to observe.

  Jor was there, huffing and puffing, his eyes wide and fierce. He charged forward, howling like a banshee. The last harpy took to the air and fled, leaving the pair of Lightning Guards below.

  Shivering, Jor collapsed to his knees, just barely hanging onto his kin. Though his eyes were wide and his hair stood straight on one side, he looked no worse for wear. Grasping Agar, he lifted himself to his feet.

  “We have to reach Varek before they do,” he ordered.

  * * * * *

  The water rushed by just beyond his feet, ice floes carried forth every few moments.

  “We canna afford to wait any longer, me liege,” Fali said.

  Varek turned with a scowl upon his face. He stared at his clanbrother with narrowed eyes. “A king is supposed to die with his people, not flee from them while they die for him. We’ll wait until the rest of them get here,” he insisted, pointing to the quartet that charged forth.

  “As ye wish, m’lord,” Fali conceded.

  No sooner than their conversation had ceased, an overzealous harpy dove upon them. She grasped Fali’s arm within her talons, squeezing tightly, her claws stabbing through his flesh.

  The dwarven king stepped forward, tugging her away. As soon as she released her grasp, she turned her attention toward Varek. Buffeting the small king, he couldn’t offer any meaningful offense.

  “Ey, birdie!” Fali called out.

  As soon as she spun about, she realized her error. With a powerful swing, the dwarf slammed the remnants of his crossbow against her face, laying her low.

  “Time ta just leave it now!” Thurgan yelled as he and his group approached.

  Shrugging, Fali discarded the battered weapon. The two groups converged a moment later.

  “I thought I telled ye to get the king ta safety,” Thurgan mused. Before Fali could offer up some manner of retort, he stepped forward. “Ye just push him in,” he said.

  Varek was instantly swept up by the currents, the water flowing faster than anyone realized. Thurgan spun about, a mischievous grin upon his face.

  “Back to the Goldenscales we go.” Before he moved to follow his king, though, he noticed the approach of another of their kin. “Ah, Mordy! Care ta join us for a dip?” He wasted no further time, leaning back until he fell into the river.

  One by one, the rest of the procession leapt in as well, until Bolt and Dorn stood just beside the river. They waited for the last of their kin, fidgeting as the other harpies rose into the air.

  “What’s going to happen to us, Da?” the human asked.

  The dwarf stood straighter upon hearing that question. He reached up and grabbed his son’s shoulder. “Do you remember all those times I took you swimming at Galliwan Lake?” Bolt nodded, swallowing away his trepidation. “That was all just training for today.”

  Without warning, Dorn whipped his son backward into the icy waters. He watched as his son drooped beneath the surface and couldn’t breathe again until he poked his head back out.

  “Da!” Bolt cried. He pointed downriver.

  It wasn’t until then that Dorn noticed the huge falls farther down the waterway.

  Turning, the dwarf breathed out a deep sigh. Mordek arrived beside him only a moment later.

  “No matter what happens, you’ve got to survive this,” he said to the mage. “We’re going to have plenty of frozen dwarves without your magic.”

  Mordek nodded for only another moment before they both dove into the icy flow.

  * * * * *

  Her enthusiasm urged her forward. Keilana flew forth at the front of her flock, her eyes narrowed with her golden irises shining against the frigid skies. Even though the dwarves had fled into the river, she grinned slyly. The wind flowed through her wings with ease.

  As she passed by the remainder of the trees, she hesitated. The harpy matron only passed a brief glance skyward before she was attacked.

  Corvo landed upon her with all of his weight. She just managed to pivot her wing aside before he fell upon her, his sword jutting between two rows of feathers. Spinning out of control, harpy and dwarf collided into trees and sank from the sky like a stone. Corvo’s sword fell from his grasp.

  A deafening screech echoed into the dwarf’s ear before the winged woman’s teeth sank into his shoulder. Keilana was surprised then by the sudden jolt of pain in her arm. As she focused, she realized she was being bitten as well.

  Growling away that severe anguish, she gazed ahead.

  Both harpy and dwarf crashed into a large oak, drawing forth grunts and forcing Corvo to lose his grasp on Keilana.

  She did not lose her grip on him.

  The matron of the storm locked her talons upon the dwarf’s leg, allowing him to hang upside down. Her path remained true, and even with her added burden, she flew quickly.

  Against gravity and the rush of blood to his head, Corvo struggled. He rose ever so slightly before pain and fatigue overwhelmed him. The dwarf could only watch as he was brought toward the river. He understood then what his fate was to be. A group of rocks jutted out from the water, and Keilana lifted him ever higher.

  Corvo snarled and wriggled and fought until he was able to bend his body upward. With the remainder of his strength, he reached his boot. The dwarf gripped tightly with both hands, gnashing his teeth to placate himself.

  Breathing out, he pulled a small concealed knife from his footwear and jabbed it into the matron’s leg. With a painful shriek, Keilana loosened her hold on her victim. It was too late, though, for as Corvo fell, he heard the currents beneath him. The dwarf struck the rocks with a sickening thwack and bounced into the water, sinking beneath the surface.

  * * * * *

  A great cough expelled the water from his lungs, rocking his stout body completely. Varek braced himself ag
ainst the riverbank, feeling the cold bite of the water lingering upon his skin. He saw the boots trudging up beside him and was unable to conceal his weak grin. “How’d ye know I could swim?” the king teased.

  “I didn’t,” Thurgan said, shrugging. “But I heard of a terrible warlord in Gandarst that lashed a troupe of dwarves agether on a lake of his. Apparently, we’re very buoyant, and ye’ve helped me dispel any doubts.”

  “Buoyant or not, I don’t think anyone’ll float harmlessly down that waterfall,” the king declared.

  “Eh, our boys’ll see it before it’s too late,” the laborer insisted. “Besides, that’s right where we’re headed.”

  Varek arched an eyebrow. “Fancy yourself the leader of this expedition?”

  With another shrug, Thurgan started forward. Before he had gone ten feet, he dropped to his knees, slinging his pack around and to the ground. “Our best advantage when we evicted them birdies from the Goldenscales was the cliffs. We could hunker down ‘n force them to fight us on even ground.” He pulled a coil of rope from his back, grinning at the situation.

  A screech overhead warned him they had not escaped to safety. A trio of harpies dove from the sky, their talons leading.

  Growling against the frigid waters and the powerful current, Fali grabbed the other struggling dwarf. Together, he and Lund scrambled ashore, the injured young dwarf panting with every labored step.

  They both watched as the harpies fell upon Thurgan. Those winged women were ill-prepared for the hasty movements of the dwarven king. Varek sprinted forward, gathering the axe from behind his back. He cleaved one of his foes from the sky and buried his weapon in the arm of the next. Both separated from him as their ally lunged toward Thurgan.