by Ben Hale
“We don’t have that much time!” Jake cried, his young voice full of terror.
All eyes darted to the boy still in the saddle, and his naked fear galvanized the dwarves into action. Rushing to a large stack of vases, the dwarves began to pour containers of shimmering liquid into four holes in the ground.
“Can we help?” Adaeze asked.
One dwarf barked a laugh without looking up. “One touch from you lot and it’ll go off before you can say, ‘we’re dead’! Only fire dwarves can handle stonesap safely!”
“How much time do we have?” Adaeze asked, desperately looking at Jake.
“One minute before . . . something gets past the strike area for the dwarves magic,” he whispered.
Adaeze shuddered. If the road is lost . . .
“Is there any way to get this done faster!” she yelled.
One of them paused and said doubtfully, “If a fire arrow hits the cliff where this is leaking out, it will set it off—but it’s probably higher than any arrow could reach.”
***
Braon listened to Jake's report through Thacker, and unconsciously began pacing as he rubbed his forefinger against his thumb. Reiquen, he thought, desperately calling the pheonix, are you close enough?
A faint thought echoed in his mind, laced with sorrow. I’m sorry, we are not in range.
His scattered gaze suddenly caught the ships in the map and a memory tugged its way to the surface. Closing his eyes he focused on the thought, sensing that his unconscious mind was trying to show him something. Then he remembered and his eyes snapped open.
His words tumbling from his mouth in his rush to get things moving. “Have the pirate ships shoot their Ballistae at the cliff!”
“Why the pirate—,”
“Now!” Braon barked, cutting through Thacker’s confusion.
***
Braglair turned the handles of the large ballistae, resisting the urge to release the bolt. Although barely eighteen, the young man had already been with Captain Raize and his pirates a year, but in that time he had made several improvements to the massive weapon sitting on the foredeck of the ship. For some reason, he had always been able to . . . see how mechanical things should work.
The forceful pirate captain had been dubious, until he’d seen his reinforcements to the crossbow machine send a bolt twice as far as before. Braglair had been placed in charge of the war machine ever since, and had earned his place among the rest of the villainous crew by striking down many merchants vessels with the improved weapon. Now as he looked up at the Lake Road, he wondered why the fleet had been ordered to hold their fire, and how many of their allies had already fallen. He wrinkled his nose at the thought of so much bounty on the corpses, unable to be acquired with him placed in the fleet.
From his vantage point at the front of the ship, he couldn’t see much of the fiend army except for the ones on the beach farther south. The short cliff between the side of the Lake Road and the water prevented a better view. Now he was itching to send more shafts of wood into the army that threatened them. They had stocked a significant store of the large bolts, and he couldn’t wait to send more of them to their deaths. If there was one thing he hated more than the guards at Keese, it was the army they faced now. Although he would never admit it out loud, they scared the piss out of him.
—Suddenly one of the order flags dropped out of sight and he perked up. The new flag being raised showed only the pirate symbol and the order to fire at what? It looked like the daft old man had added some scraps of large parchment to the flag, making it look like he was supposed to shoot at the cliff. And with a fire arrow? Shaking his head in irritation, he cast his sharp eyes at the cliff above the road, searching for some sign of what he was supposed to target.
Then the sunlight glistened off some sort of liquid oozing out of the stone. Since it was the only thing that appeared possible he scowled and adjusted the war machine for the high shot. Muttering under his breath, he closed one eye and sighted. It was going to be one beast of a long shot . . .
***
Adaeze leaned out over the drop off, praying with all her strength that something would happen in time. As if in answer to her prayers, she saw a fire light on one of the ships, and a moment later a flaming ballistae bolt launched into the air. Impossibly, it streaked higher and higher, refusing to return earthward. Her hope rose with the missile’s flight, until finally it struck the cliff two hundred feet below her.
—The explosion rocked the plateau, knocking her to her knees. Gouts of flame and fragments of stone blossomed across the cliff, sending chunks tumbling to the road. The dwarves behind her gleefully dumped the last of the stonesap before rushing to the edge to watch.
By now, the bursts could be seen moving in a particular order as they tore away great sections of the rock. One by one, they blew, tossing house-sized boulders to pound into the ground below. Then the explosions accelerated. Individual detonations could hardly be discerned as they boomed out, faster and faster.
“Brace yourself,” one dwarf grunted.
Adaeze grabbed a piece of the low wall and opened her mouth to ask why. Without warning a massive blast rattled the ground, followed by a shockwave of sound so intense she flinched. It felt like the entire cliff was giving way, but one glance at the dwarves showed them happily watching their handiwork. Looking down, she watched as huge sections of the cliff, loosened by the previous explosions, cascaded down like thunderous hail.
By the time the landslide came to a halt, the entire road was blocked for at least a mile. Smiling to herself she whispered, “Get through that, spawn of Skorn.”
***
Braon let out a slow breath as he watched the last of the stone fragments land on the enormous pile blocking the road. A tingle of satisfaction ran up his skin and down his back just before a spontaneous cheer rang out from Thacker and the other elves in the room. They had done it—for the moment. Braon hadn’t even blinked as he watched the boulders crash on top of the tiny figure of Plague.
But the elation didn’t last. The retaliation was swift and brutal, crashing onto every portion of the cliff in a fury. Without hesitation, he jumped to adjust the map as reports came flooding in. Responding in kind, he sent his orders through Thacker.
"Onix, they are going to press your right flank in two minutes."
"Talfar, watch your line. Your orcs next to sweeper 428 are weakening. Pull reinforcements from the adjacent commands."
"Val'Trisian, there is a knot approaching stonesap trap 387. Detonate it in fifteen seconds and you should catch most of them."
"Have Adaeze find Emeka. He needs to limit his use of the dwarven traps. At his current rate, he will use them all in the first two days. We need to conserve some for the remainder of the battle."
If he obeys, he thought, but didn't voice it. Of all his generals Emeka was the least supportive, and gaining his respect had been . . . difficult. He doubted the Azüre king had let go of the lingering resentment from the challenge—or Braon's order to refrain from battle. But Braon just needed him to obey his commands for a few more days.
Then they would be victorious—or dead.
Time after time, he helped quell a break in the line, only to hear of a dozen more leaks. Minutes stretched into long hours, until the sun had set unnoticed and darkness began to fall across the Giant's Shelf. At last the battle slowed enough for Braon to call for the reserves to replace the front line, allowing the men and women that had been fighting all day to get some much needed rest.
The second reserves vacated the sleeping quarters for them, moving up to first reserve position. Although he had been conditioning that group to sleep during the day for weeks now, he wondered how many had lain awake, listening to the sounds of battle. He would need them fresh at midnight, when they would rotate forward again and take over the defenses. If they had not slept, it could cause their entire line to buckle.
Unrelenting darkness fell across the cliff and city, and elven light magi w
ere quick to activate their prepared spells. Small orbs of intense light lifted into the sky along the ongoing battle, casting light over the combatants and allowing the defenders a chance to survive through the long night. This was the time that Braon had feared the most, and had carefully marshaled his strongest forces to fight in the dark. It would be when their foes were strongest, and when their army would be weakest.
As he continued to organize and direct his fresh forces, preparing for the difficult hours ahead, Braon’s mind returned to the enigma of the creature called Plague. In his gut he knew two things about him; that he was more disease than flesh . . . and that he doubted even a mountain of stone could kill him.
Chapter 3: Silver Mine
On the other side of the world Taryn Elseerian eased into an ancient silver mine, listening for any sound. Of medium height and build, the young man carried the hallmarks of the elven, human, and the dwarven nations. Thick red hair from his part dwarf father hung to his shoulders, hiding the slightly pointed ears of a half elf. His deep blue eyes from his human heritage scanned the darkened mine shaft, verifying that there were no fiends in sight.
Satisfied, he slipped out of the ensconced entrance and signaled for the rest of their party to join him. His long-time friend Liriana came first. Darting over the intervening space, the lithe elf made no sound as she slid into the darkness beside him, her enchanted wind bow in her hands.
“See anything?”
He shook his head without taking his eyes off the next figure, Trin. Tall and broad shouldered, he nevertheless crossed fluidly through the predawn light. Taryn had known him since they had left the training island of Sri Rosen, and their subsequent battles had proven him to be a formidable ally. With his longsword on his back within easy reach, Trin dived into the dark.
“I think I was faster than you Liri.”
She glared at him but only received a smirk in reply.
Next Maemi, or Mae, to her friends, glided through the sparse vegetation like a silent dancer of death. Short for an elf, she more than made up for it with short sword. Taryn had never seen a faster warrior. Slipping past him, she moved deeper into the mine and dipped into a darkened alcove.
“Coming Trin?” she asked as she glided past them.
He grinned and followed her into the gloom while Siarra, Taryn’s half sister, moved into view. As the Oracle of Lumineia she carried more power than any mage of any race. Her expression was intense as she glanced down the mountain at the massive fiend army in the valley. A moment later she joined him in the small entrance.
Jack Myst barely waited before he stepped into view. With a brazenness that made Taryn shake his head, he walked the fifty feet like it was a city block in broad daylight.
“Fool,” Siarra said.
Liri glanced at her. “You have to admit he has nerve.”
“Brave fool,” Siarra amended.
Taryn watched the human thief stroll towards them, unable to explain the quandary that was Jack. With an agility and speed that exceeded even the elves, Jack had joined them for his own reasons—but even Siarra would have to admit that he had been an asset on more than one occasion.
“Took you long enough,” Siarra said as Jack strolled into the mine shaft.
Taryn turned away from Jack’s scathing reply and watched the last member of their party move into view. Standing at over nine feet tall, the rock troll drifted into view with an agility that belied his size. Across his back a jagged sword hung, ready to slay any who dared its range.
Like the rest of his race, Kell carried the tattoos on his body to mark his kills. He even boasted one on the face, which signified a leader or hero, as well as many on the right arm, showing strong warriors victories. Some of the dark ink was new, applied by himself after their battle with a fiend patrol. As he ducked into the dark opening, the space felt much smaller.
“Comfortable?” Jack asked, but Kell only grunted.
Before anyone could say anything else, the ground behind them began to rumble and rise, closing the opening. The wedge of light gradually diminished, leaving them all in the deepening darkness of the corridor, until the light disappeared and Taryn lost sight of the surrounding faces. Then a light sparked in Siarra’s hand, illuminating her face and brightening the mine as if she carried a torch.
“As we agreed, we cannot allow anyone to surprise us from behind,” she said, her voice resigned.
“But that doesn’t mean we have to like it,” Jack said.
Siarra grunted and adjusted her pack before setting off down the corridor. Taryn fell into step behind her with Liri by his side, and Trin and Mae behind him. Jack and Kell brought up the rear.
The air felt chilly and carried the scent of earth and wet stone, reminding Taryn of new rain. Only the rub of leather on skin or the sole of a boot scuffing the stone marred the stillness. Descending into darkness, they followed the twisting corridor as it wound its way into the depths of the mine.
During the next few hours of silence, Taryn thought about Azertorn. Although it had been just six weeks since they had departed the elven city, it felt like a lifetime. To reach their current position they had traveled around the great Blue Lake, through the dwarven, orc, and troll nations, battled a contingent of fiends, and had infiltrated the core of the fiend army—but they were still miles from Draeken's prison.
Known as Xshaltheria, the ancient forge city of the dwarves lay inside a volcano past the remains of the human kingdom of Griffin. Millions of fiends separated them from their goal, and on the surface, there had been no route past them. Blocked on all side—and with just hours before Azertorn would be attacked—Taryn had reluctantly turned to the prophetic orb that Siarra had given him. Imbued with sight of their conflict, it had revealed numerous disturbing images of his future. Among them he had seen the silver mine in which they now traveled.
He had also seen Liri's death.
As if she could read his thoughts, Liri’s hand reached out to clasp his, and her slim fingers sent lightning up his arm. Unable to resist, he caught her eye and grinned.
“You okay?” she whispered. “You look troubled.”
His smile caught as the image of her prone form, bent and lifeless on stone steps, flashed before his eyes—but he forced his expression to remain light. He couldn't bring himself to share that portion of the vision.
“I am fine, just hoping we can make it in time,” he said, his throat tight. “The battle at Azertorn must have already begun . . ., so every moment now costs lives.”
“We’ll get there in time, Taryn,” Liri said. “Braon will do his part.”
He nodded and looked away, not wanting to reveal his concern. Since he'd kissed her a few weeks previously, he'd learned (to his chagrin) that she had favored him for longer than he had realized. Since their youth she had been perceptive. Now was the first time he saw that could be a double-edged sword.
“Do you know what this reminds me of?” she asked, her voice reflective.
He caught her eye and raised an eyebrow.
“The spring games on Sri Rosen,” she said, a ghost of a smile spreading across her features.
Taryn groaned at the memory. The games had been an annual event on the island where they had been trained. Lasting several days, and culminating in a race for the winners of the various contests, it had been a much anticipated event for all of the students—except him.
“Of course this would remind you of the games,” Taryn said ruefully. “How many times did you win?”
“Two or three,” she said with a teasing grin. “I can’t remember.”
“Three,” Trin said, appearing beside them, “almost in a row.” He shook his head, his eyebrows pulling together. “I lost quite a bit of gold on your first win.”
“Sorry about that,” she said, but her quiet chuckle didn't make it sound like an apology.
“You made up for it in the next two years.”
Jack Myst sidled up next to Taryn. “So why didn’t you win?”
&n
bsp; Before he could answer, Mae turned her head towards them. “Three things. Always the same three.”
Liri smothered a laugh. “He won the fighting rounds easily enough, but he could never win the race.”
Jack’s expression was dubious. “Were you slow for your age? When did you grow out of that?”
Trin covered his mouth to stifle a laugh while Liri responded, “No, he was faster than everyone too . . .” She swept her hand at Taryn, indicating he should explain.
Sighing, Taryn relented. “The race had five parts to it, and each challenge was separated by a section of trail. Every year the locations and the order of the events were changed, but the five remained the same. First to pass all five and cross the finish line, won.”
Siarra spoke up from behind them, interrupting his story. “So which things did you have trouble with?”
“The masters of the island believed that becoming a warrior had more to it than one’s skill with a weapon, so three of the five challenges were other things.”
“Like what?” Siarra asked, drifting closer and causing more light to brighten the tunnel around them.
“Starting a fire,” Trin said.
“Tracking,” Liri added.
“And fishing,” Mae said, glancing back once more.
Taryn grumbled in his throat, irritated at the memory. “Let’s just say I struggled at all three.”
“He means to say he finished first in the fighting rounds, earning him the first slot in the race—but he finished last in the race almost every year.” Trin grinned and winked at him. “Actually, you were the most reliable bet on the island for those years.”
“Starting a fire just wasn’t my strength—.”
“—or tracking,” Trin said.
“—or fishing,” Liri grinned. “But you sure knew how to handle a blade.”
