Return of the Dragon (The Dragon's Champion Book 6)

by Ferguson, Sam

  “What do you propose?” Aparen asked.

  Silvi smiled and bit her lower lip before answering. “I want to know if the man who fought a vampire for me still lives, and if he does, I want to ask if he still wishes my hand. I did promise it to him some time ago.”

  Aparen set the goblet down and moved toward her. “You also told me that you had to be sure I was thinking above the belt.”

  Silvi blushed and nodded. She folded her hands into her lap and took in a breath. “I would understand, especially with all that you now know, if that man has changed his mind.”

  Aparen moved in close enough to smell the perfume she wore. He couldn’t deny she was beautiful. His heart thumped within his chest as he took it all in. “I am still interested,” he said in a whisper.

  Silvi’s eyes darted down to Aparen’s lips and then back up to his eyes. She started to lean in. They both began taking shallow, quick breaths as their faces neared each other. Silvi’s lips parted slightly and her eyes closed.

  At the last moment Aparen slid a firm finger up to press against Silvi’s lips, stopping her instantly. “First I will have to see that you want me for more than just my power,” he said.

  Silvi blinked and grinned, narrowing her eyes on him playfully. Aparen stood stoic, his face expressionless. Silvi blushed and turned away. She pulled at her dress when it snagged on a bit of wood from the table and made quickly for the door. She paused only when her hand touched the knob.

  “I am still interested,” Aparen said again. “But the moment may have passed.”

  Silvi turned her head slightly to talk over her shoulder. “It isn’t too late now,” she said.

  “You wanted to make me a powerful warlock, and now I am,” Aparen said. “The only trouble is now I have something I must do. My focus needs to be solely upon my task. If I complete it, and live through it, then perhaps we can resume this conversation.”

  Silvi turned all the way around to face him. “You have matured much these last few months. In part that makes me proud of you, but I have to wonder if your ego hasn’t grown too large for you.” she commented. “I won’t promise to be here if you take too long.”

  Silvi then left and slammed the door behind her.

  Aparen smiled and nodded. “One should always be careful what they wish for,” he said at the door. “You may not like it in the end.” Aparen recalled the lessons about the many Cursed Races. Never had the age-old saying had more impact or meaning for him than it had when he had learned of Khullan’s failings after creating the Cursed Races.

  He wondered if Silvi would come to regret helping him achieve his great powers. Or perhaps she would wish to have the younger Aparen back, the one that, as she put it, couldn’t think fully above the belt. He smirked to himself and turned away from the door. He moved toward his cot and decided that he no longer cared what Silvi thought. If she was around when he returned, then perhaps they would pair off and continue on some other adventure. As he dropped down onto the cot and stared up at the ceiling he thought of Erik Lokton.

  With all that he had learned over the course of many months while under Njar’s tutelage, he still couldn’t shake his hatred of that boy. True, Njar had shown Aparen the meddling witches and their roles in his life, but it was still Erik who broke Timon’s hand. It was still Erik who took the horse from his family. Now it seemed as though Erik was about to take a heroic destiny that had been meant for him as well.

  The witches may have set the course, but Erik had never been bound by a charm spell.

  Aparen knew that Njar would be displeased, but he was happy that Erik’s real father was a shadowfiend. A grin of sick, twisted satisfaction stretched his lips as he thought about how fitting it was that Dremathor’s powers would soon be given to him. He would honor his word to the shadowfiend, but he would also relish the knowledge that he had gained something of far more value than a simple coven hiding in an underground cavern.

  Now he had the power to create his own destiny. Perhaps he could even use it to shape future generations of Erik’s own family. After all, he never promised not to interfere with Erik’s descendants, and a shadowfiend can live for a very long time.

  *****

  Grand Master Penthal of the Lievonian Order looked out across the field. The defenses had fallen, and the pass had been claimed in whole by the Tarthuns. Their horses now spilled into the snow-covered valley like wine spilled over a stone floor. Their organization was messy. There appeared to be no order whatsoever. The mounted idiots whooped and hollered as their horses galloped down toward Master Penthal’s men.

  Master Penthal surveyed his own men. Neat, orderly rows and columns of pikemen hemmed in the valley. Archers stood at each flank, and in two rows behind the main formation of footmen. Swordsmen stood behind the archers, ready to rush in should the Tarthuns blast through the pikemen and get to the archers. The Lievonian knights sat upon their armored horses behind Penthal, waiting for his command. If the battle tipped in their favor, then Penthal would lead the knights personally in an assault as a terrible force. If, on the other hand, the Tarthuns appeared strong, then Penthal would dismiss the knights to lead each of their own men. This type of autonomy had its risks, but the Lievonian Order consisted of the keenest minds, and their ability to quickly respond on the field without waiting for Penthal’s own analysis followed by a delayed relay of orders outweighed the risks.

  Penthal also had another surprise waiting for the Tarthuns.

  Up until this day, the Tarthuns had only faced men conscripted by the Lievonian Order. Despite the fact that Penthal had lost several battles, notably along the walls and towers built in the mountain pass itself, each victory brought only a false confidence to the Tarthuns that would hopefully goad them into making a dire mistake.

  Just below the hill less than a quarter mile behind the very spot where Master Penthal sat stood a fierce army sent by King Mathias. There were thousands of soldiers. Pikemen, swordmen, archers, cavalry, and even a few berserker units. If this wasn’t enough to send the Tarthuns running, then the several hundred dwarves would be. Unfortunately, their cavedogs would be of no use in this bitterly cold environment, but the dwarves themselves would still send a crushing blow through the Tarthuns’ ranks.

  The Tarthuns continued to whoop and shout. Penthal smiled at them. “They have absolutely no idea,” he reassured himself. He turned back over his shoulder, eyes still glued to the battlefield as he shouted out the order. “Send in the pikemen to plug the gap,” he instructed.

  One of the knights pulled a horn and gave two quick blasts.

  Immediately the several hundred pikemen moved in. They didn’t rush or charge. They moved methodically, together. It was a wall of spears, pikes, and pole-axes closing in on the narrow neck of the valley at the base of the pass.

  “Let’s show the Tarthuns what a real bow can do,” Penthal ordered.

  Another knight pulled a horn and gave a long, two-toned blow of the horn. Three hundred archers pulled their bows, leaned back to get the greatest range, and then let the black arrows fly through the wintry sky. Scores of Tarthuns fell to the ground. The horse-archers galloped in quickly to answer with their own arrows, but the shafts fell short of the mark.

  Penthal smiled. “The horsemen may have us in agility, but they will find our bows can reach them anywhere in the valley, and in order to close off our archers, they will have to break through a wall of steel.”

  He continued to watch as the pikemen closed in. The galloping horde thundered toward them. Horse-archers fired arrows at the pikemen, but their armor was so well built that only a few unfortunate souls fell at the tip of a Tarthun arrow.

  The wave of rampaging hooves crashed into the silvery wall of armor and spikes. Horses cried out, men shouted, and the metal rang out through the valley. Row after row of Tarthuns fell at the point of a spear or pike. The pikemen were vigilant, turning to protect their flanks as the Tarthuns tried to gallop around their sides. The archers continued to thin ou
t the Tarthun flanks, forcing them to face the pikes head-on.

  The pikemen formed a perfect crescent, effectively sealing off the narrow neck of the valley and creating a living, ferocious fence around the Tarthuns. Master Penthal smiled. The battle was tipping in his favor. Still, it was too early to call it for the day. He knew all too well that the mounted warriors were not likely to lose their strength as quickly as the pikemen might.

  “Sir,” someone called from behind.

  Grand Master Penthal didn’t recognize the voice. It wasn’t one of his knights. He turned to see a man wearing a gray robe.

  It was Master Cagen, one of King Mathias’ mages that had been sent to bolster the eastern defense.

  “What are you doing up here?” Penthal growled. “If the enemy sees you, they might turn and rethink their strategy.”

  “I-I-I know, sir, forgive me, but I thought you would want to know that I have perfected the spell.”

  “What spell?” Penthal hissed. Then he smiled and held a hand up. “You have figured out the invisibility spell?” he asked enthusiastically.

  “No sir. That still eludes me. I don’t think we can create an invisibility spell for the army. It is beyond us.”

  “Well then what do you have to offer?”

  “The cavedogs can ride in the snow now,” Cagen said with a self-appreciating grin. “I fixed their blood so that they will be just as agile and fast as if they were in a desert cave.”

  Penthal cocked his head and his eyes nearly fell out of his head. “That is impressive,” he said. “Good, have them suit up. When they are ready, we will form a proper cavalry and we will move in to the enemy flank upon my command.”

  “The others want to know what we should do,” Cagen pressed.

  Penthal looked to the knights around him and then out to the field. He analyzed the shifting movements of the battle. The center line, where everything was a chaotic mash of bodies and blood, was tilting slightly. He pointed to the point where the enemy had been pushed back the farthest. “You will tell the others on foot to circle around there. Come up behind the archers, then bolster our forces and push the enemy farther back. Your goal will be to pinch the enemy force so that we can trap a significant number of them in a vice while the rest scatter before my charge with my knights and the cavedogs. Wait for my signal. When you hear three short trumpets followed by one long, then you will march at full speed.”

  Cagen bowed and made his way back down the hill.

  “Send the cavedogs up closer, we will attack soon.” He watched the field and then his eyes drifted up into the pass. A singular doubt crept into the back of his mind. What if the Tarthuns had more in reserve as well? Could it be that they had a similar plan to his? He shook his head as he went over the notion again in his mind. No. That was not the Tarthun way. They relied on sheer numbers and surprise to gain their victories.

  Grand Master Penthal sat atop his horse watching the battle for another ten minutes before the cavedogs were in place. He knew it would take another ten or possibly even twenty minutes before those on foot would be able to reach their position.

  The clanging steel continued to drum out across the snowy valley. The archers worked steadily on squeezing the Tarthun flank and keeping the horsemen trapped face to face with the pikemen. However, the pikemen were losing ground now. The sheer numbers and power of the Tarthun horde far outmatched the wall of spears. Far more horsemen were falling by the second, but the actual group of pikemen was being pushed back as the Tarthuns continued a relentless press.

  He knew he could wait no longer.

  “Knights, this is it.” Grand Master Penthal drew his sword. The bright sun glinted off of it and seemed to infuse his very soul with courage. The frigid air filled his lungs, burning slightly, as he pulled in a breath before he shouted the command. “Charge!”

  The seven knights of the Lievonian Order galloped down the hill. Their heavily armored horses tore at the snow as they gained speed and became an unstoppable avalanche of steel and fur. One of the knights blew the warning on the horn as they came near to their pikemen. The soldiers immediately parted, allowing the charging knights a direct path into the horde.

  Penthal glanced over his shoulder to see many cavedogs only half a pace behind him. A smile crossed his face and he dropped the visor on his helmet.

  The world seemed to slow as he galloped atop his horse between the pikemen. Three Tarthun raiders were galloping toward him and the other knights. In that moment he studied each of the Tarthuns’ tanned, weathered faces. The scowls and grimaces they wore only accentuated the blood streaked across their weapons and armor. One of the raiders looked back at Penthal and the two locked eyes. They charged directly toward one another. Neither of them flinched. Penthal’s horse, being much larger and covered with armor, bowled the Tarthun’s horse backward as they collided. At the same time, Penthal brought his sword down low and jammed it through the Tarthun raider’s chest. He barely managed to yank his sword free before his horse finished trampling the fallen Tarthun and horse and quickly pressed onward.

  Time sped back up to its normal pace again, seeming almost as though it moved faster now than it ever had. The knights slammed into the mass of horsemen. Neighing and screaming drowned out all sound around them. Then came the shrieks and groans as cavedogs fanned out around the knights and started ripping into the Tarthun horses. Penthal was nearly stunned when he saw a cavedog bite off the front leg of a horse as it streaked past. Others darted under and between the enemy horses, giving the dwarven riders ample soft targets to work on with their axes and swords.

  The only way Penthal could describe it was to compare it to a sudden earthquake that dropped the first several ranks of Tarthun raiders. All around him the pikemen were able to stand still and breathe for several moments while the cavedogs and knights shocked the enemy force, driving back a whole third of the army.

  Grand Master Penthal’s horse, however, was not stunned by the carnage. It galloped onward, and Penthal was forced to return to his own defenses when he collided broadside into a large raider. He reached out with his left hand and pulled the Tarthun back enough to run his blade through the man’s right side, up between the ribs and into the soft tissues behind them. The Tarthun’s eyes went wide and his body stiffened just before Penthal pulled his sword out and let the body drop.

  Penthal looked up to notice that the Tarthun horde was recovering. They were shifting their force to deal with the knights and the cavedogs. This is what Penthal had hoped for. The Pikemen were able to squeeze the flanks even sharper now, and the reinforcements would have a chance to seal off the enemy from behind if they were quick enough.

  “Call in the others,” Penthal shouted.

  Three short trumpet blasts were followed by one long one.

  Penthal went back to his deadly work, trusting that Cagen had relayed the appropriate information so that the others would do what he wanted. Still, after the several hundred footmen blasted into the enemy, it came as a bit of a shock when a large serpent made entirely of ice rose up from the midst of the Tarthun horsemen. Horses shied away and men faltered as the magical beast crushed and chewed its way through the enemy force. Penthal only slightly caught a glimpse of Cagen and a few others standing off behind the battle. They were moving their hands and focused intently.

  “Gotta love magic!” a dwarf cavedog rider shouted up from below.

  Penthal nodded and continued to press into the fray.

  Before long, the Tarthuns broke off. Those who were not directly embattled retreated up the sharp slope back toward the pass. The cavedogs, being much more nimble and quicker than the armored horses, gave chase. The savage lizards ripped limb after limb off the fleeing horses and the dwarven riders were quick to finish off each Tarthun that fell to the ground.

  Penthal stood in his stirrups and shouted at the Tarthuns, cursing them as they fled the field. The other knights remained silent, but the pikemen joined in the victorious shouting.

 
A large cloud formed over the mouth of the pass. Its dark, rumbling form grew in less than a second to cover the entire entrance to the pass. Great crackles and snaps were heard as flashes of light sparked within the dark mass. Then a series of purple and gold lightning blasted down at the rock and ice near the top of the slope. The mountains groaned in protest, but the lightning did not stop its relentless assault. Even when gargantuan hunks of granite and ice exploded from the mountainside, the lightning continued. The debris shot out and landed in the retreating Tarthun horde, crushing many in the first wave. Then, as the lightning persisted, a great wave of snow and ice broke free and began to slide down the slope.

  Grand Master Penthal glanced back to the wizards. He didn’t have to hear their spells to know it was they who controlled the avalanche. He looked back to his men. “Sound the retreat. Fall back, men, fall back!”

  Each knight pulled their horns and signaled the retreat, though the pikemen had already started sprinting back toward the safety of the hills where they had started the day.

  “Sir, the wizards are in danger!” one of the knights called out.

  Penthal looked out to see a sizable group of Tarthuns galloping toward Cagen and the others. Penthal knew that if the Tarthuns reached Cagen, the lightning and the avalanche would be stopped. He also knew that if he intercepted the Tarthuns, there wouldn’t be time to escape the avalanche. He didn’t have to think about it. He turned his horse toward the Tarthuns. The other knights followed him.

  Grand Master Penthal smiled when he saw several rows of his archers also standing their ground to help the wizards. Arrows flew dangerously low over the wizards to pierce the charging Tarthuns and slow their advance.

  The growing, thunderous wall of white and gray snow shook the very ground more and more with each passing second. Penthal could see it out of his peripheral vision as he locked his eyes onto the Tarthuns. A few moments later he and the other knights crashed into the enemy flank. The Tarthuns were forced to stop and engage.