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

by Ferguson, Sam

  After the space of fifteen seconds, Penthal dropped two Tarthuns before taking a heavy blow to the back that lifted him up from his horse. He flew several yards in a blink of an eye. Only when he crashed down to the frozen ground did he realize what had happened. A flash of white was followed by darkness as a cold wave crushed him into the ground. His head rang and he couldn’t see anything. At first, he was more aware of the weight than the cold. His armor bent inward in places, making it difficult to breathe. He couldn’t move his arms or legs. His lungs struggled against the pressure to draw breath, but there was precious little air to be had.

  A bit of snow dropped in through his visor. His nose chilled as the snow melted and ran down his face. His last thought was one of conquest. He knew that if he was at the bottom of this frigid tomb, then so was the entire Tarthun army. He had led a great battle, one that should ensure the Middle Kingdom’s safety from the eastern savages. His only regret was that none of the Lievonian Order would live through the ordeal. He could only hope that the footmen and dwarves were able to escape.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Gulgarin pulled the brown fur cloak over his shoulders and fastened the chain in place with a brooch in the shape of a rearing stallion. Next he slipped his hands into his thick gloves and then placed his conical helmet with horse hair sticking out from the top onto his head. His armor, consisting of small, oval plates of mithril woven together over a shirt of chain mail jingled slightly with each movement. The leather hauberk underneath it all lent him some protection from the cold, but not the stares he was sure to receive when he stepped out from his tent.

  “I am chief,” he said aloud to himself. “I am chief.” He clenched and released his fists, taking in a fresh breath and exhaling slowly. “I am chief.” He reached down to his belt and slid his sword up slightly before dropping it back down into the scabbard.

  He turned and exited the tent as if he was about to slay a dragon. The two soldiers nearest the tent nearly tripped over themselves scampering out of his way. Gulgarin paid them no attention. He moved on holding his head high, simply expecting others to create a path for him. His destination was the council, which was already sitting at a large fire under the shadow of three pines that although burnt, retained their overall shape.

  The five officers watched him carefully. Gulgarin was sure to study each face in turn. He could see the mixed emotions on their faces. Anger, resentment, even contempt stared back at him. Those emotions he could handle. He understood them. Then his eyes settled on Fenerik, a young captain who was related to one of the late chiefs that had been sacrificed to create the battering ram at Ten Forts. His face wore an unacceptable emotion painted across it.

  Fenerik’s eyes were slightly wide, darting from side to side and averting to the ground whenever they happened to hit upon Gulgarin’s steely gaze. His hands we folded into his lap, thumbs twitching and twirling. Then there was the foot tapping.

  Gulgarin could almost smell the orc’s fear. He snarled at the young officer and stormed right up to him. “You have something you want to say?” Gulgarin snarled.

  Fenerik shook his head and glanced to the others. “No, chief.”

  Gulgarin reached down and snatched Fenerik by the front of his armor, lifting him up to eye level. “I hate fear,” Gulgarin said. “It is exactly what makes an orc weak. To fear is to let yourself be conquered by shadows. You are not fit for this council.” Gulgarin shoved the young officer back down and then pointed out to the side. “Get out.”

  Fenerik scrambled out with hardly more than a timid squeak.

  “That wasn’t necessary,” one of the others said.

  Gulgarin turned on the others and let his anger at Fenerik play to his advantage. Now was not the time for counsel, it was the moment for him to solidify his power over the tribes. “His weakness will kill our spirit. This campaign is going to be difficult, even for us, but we are going to win, Khullan demands it!” Gulgarin turned his head to the side and narrowed his eyes on the four before him. “I know you doubt me. I know you have anger at the losses we have suffered, but I never said it would be easy. Think back to Ten Forts, did I ask for this?” Gulgarin made a show of turning around, indicating the surrounding camp with his arms. “I assumed command only after Maernok failed to lead us. Do any of you remember why he left? Because he was WEAK! He chose to pursue a personal vendetta instead of leading the united tribes on a glorious conquest to reclaim our homeland.”

  “The winter will drive us back,” Lorik said.

  Gulgarin pointed at Lorik and shook his finger in the orc’s face. “We will march on. We have come too far now to go back. For the glory of Khullan!”

  The others did not join in with him.

  Gulgarin let out a sigh that sounded like a feral growl. “Khullan has chosen us,” he said. “He has opened the way to our enemy and now he demands courage. Only those who are worthy will survive. This campaign will reclaim our homeland while also culling the weak from our midst. Those who will die will die. Some will win glory and honor, while the others who are afraid and too pathetic to honorably claim the right to walk among us will be stripped from us. Like a herd of deer that is thinned by the wolves, it will only serve to make us stronger in the end. Can you not see? This is the glorious battle that our sons, and their sons and their sons will sing of for centuries after we have gone on to claim our glory in Hammenfein. You are angry? Good! Now turn your anger toward those who deserve it. Let us stop quibbling amongst ourselves and go out and face down the dogs that steal from our tables. Let’s crush the humans and wring their blood out over our land to replenish it and make it vibrant once again. For the glory of Khullan!”

  This time the others joined in. “For the glory of Khullan,” they said. Three of them seemed genuinely convinced, while Lorik appeared only to be somewhat deferential. Still, as long as he had the council in agreement, Gulgarin needed only one solid victory to solidify his rule. If he could push them through the winter and overtake the human settlement, they wouldn’t be able to refute him as the rightful leader.

  “These are the orders I wish disseminated,” Gulgarin said as he pulled out a single parchment rolled and sealed with a thin string of red silk. “I want these preparations seen to immediately. As soon as it is complete, we march against the humans.”

  *****

  Several days after the council met, Gulgarin woke well before the sun rose into the sky. He stepped out from his tent to address the ten groups before him. He surveyed them once more, ensuring they were ready. Each group had five orcs, and each of them were dressed in white furs. Their faces and any other bits of visible skin had been covered with a whitish gray paint. They were armed extensively with swords, axes, and javelins. Additionally they had each been given tinder boxes and several small vials of oil.

  These ten groups were his answer for the enemy catapults.

  “Khullan smiles upon you,” he said. “While the slothful humans lie asleep in their warm cottages, you have persevered and endured the elements for this moment. There is no shame in cunning and stealth. We may not employ assassins or wizards, but the employment of smaller groups of berserkers is an honorable tradition. The few go out to meet the many on the field of battle. Once you have destroyed their catapults, you will have to fight those that discover you. Kill as many as you can with each breath Khullan grants you. Your legends will be sung for generations. For the glory of Khullan!”

  “For the glory of Khullan!” the groups echoed in unison.

  Then they ran off into the darkness. Gulgarin watched until the last of them disappeared from his sight before he moved back into his tent. He moved in and grabbed his warhammer, the fabled, elegant Rombolo. He then moved out to mount a goarg and follow the berserkers.

  He found Lorik already atop a goarg and waiting for him. “My soldiers are ready and in place,” he said.

  “Good. The others should be ready shortly,” Gulgarin said referring to the soldiers under the direction of the other office
rs. Gulgarin had personally taken command of Fenerik’s forces and Fenerik had been forced to join the rank and file for his cowardice.

  Gulgarin and Lorik walked their mounts out to the edge of the burnt forest. They passed by their waiting troops and stopped just before they emerged from the forest. They stared out blankly into the darkness. From this distance, it was impossible to see the enemy forces. Even the catapults were hidden by the night’s shroud. All he could do was hope that the berserkers would set fire to the catapults and sew discord among the humans. If they could destroy the catapults, even just a few of them, it would open up corridors through which the orcs could reach the settlement without being obliterated by raining stone.

  They waited for what seemed like an eternity. All was still and quiet. No fires. No sounds. Nothing.

  “Maybe they are having trouble finding the catapults,” Lorik said. “They do have magic on their side.”

  Gulgarin nodded. “If they cannot find the catapults, then they will enter the town and slaughter the fools in their beds,” Gulgarin assured him. “Either way, there will be blood before the sun rises.”

  Another hour and a half expired before the first flame was born far off in the darkness.

  “Look there,” Gulgarin said. “One is down.” The chief caught the hint of a smile on Lorik’s face as the officer nodded and silently clapped his hands together.

  “If they take out the others, we can roll over the humans, just like you said,” Lorik commented. “For the glory of Khullan,” he added.

  “For the glory of Khullan,” Gulgarin replied. Two more fires went up. The flames rose high into the darkness and the orcs watched the machines crumble. When another couple of fires began, Gulgarin turned back to the army behind him. “Now is the time to bathe our souls in human blood. Let tonight wash from us the guilt and shame of our ancestors’ defeat. For the glory of Khullan!”

  Shouts and hollers went up through the ranks and every soldier jumped up and started running across the field. Gulgarin let a couple of rows pass him by before he urged his goarg forward. He was not about to let anyone steal his glory from him this night.

  The goarg responded eagerly, leaping and dancing between the orcs until Gulgarin was out ahead of everyone once again. He kept his eyes on the fires ahead, trusting his goarg to maneuver in the darkness. When the large animal approached the chasm it sped up and leapt across. The orc chief held tight with one hand on the reins and his hammer poised for a strike in his other. The firelight from a nearby catapult illuminated the spot where he would land, showing him the petrified face of a human soldier that stood still, staring up at Gulgarin.

  The hammer came down and the soldier crumpled to the ground.

  Gulgarin’s senses came alive. Now he could hear fighting nearby. He urged the goarg in the direction of the noise and found two berserkers fending off a dozen humans. Three berserkers and nearly a score of human soldiers already lay upon the ground in heaps. Gulgarin laughed maniacally as his goarg lowered its head and crushed seven men with its horns and hooves. Gulgarin dropped another three humans and the two berserkers killed the rest.

  Gulgarin turned to direct the berserkers, but they were already sprinting north, intent on finding the town and wreaking as much havoc as they could. A smile crossed the orcs face and he moved along the chasm, heading for the next fire. No one was there. Corpses, including four orcs, littered the ground around the burning catapult but no one was nearby. The machine collapsed and cracked like thunder as Gulgarin rode past, showering him with red sparks and hot embers. He didn’t bother to brush them away. He let the night’s cold air take care of them for him.

  He focused on the next catapult. He rode for a couple of minutes before finally reaching it. This time his heart sank when he saw five dead orcs. There were only a few dwarven corpses, and there were about six of the half-pint demons left. The survivors were busy trying to heap snow onto the fire, or smother it with blankets. They never saw Gulgarin coming.

  The goarg trampled two dwarves and Gulgarin took the head clean off of the one nearest him. The other three turned to fight, but just at that moment a wave of orcs clambered up out of the chasm. The army had reached the front. The dwarves were overwhelmed and cut down in seconds.

  Gulgarin roared mightily, holding his warhammer high above his head. He turned to the north, shouting for his army to continue their slaughter and conquer the city. He pressed on, keeping his pace more or less equal with the soldiers around him. Now he saw torches coming from the north. The enemy was awake.

  The orc chief had no way to command the entire army, he had traded that for the opportunity to launch the surprise attack under the cover of night. Now there was only fighting. It didn’t matter how many orcs survived. It only mattered that Gulgarin kill all who approached him.

  He and the soldiers nearby collided with the humans and dwarves with a thunderous explosion. Time after time his hammer came down to crush foe after foe. Helmets collapsed, men crumpled, and bones shattered under Gulgarin’s fury. The orcs around him were no less effective. Their swords hacked the enemy down several at a time. For a moment, it seemed as though it was going to be a wholesale slaughter.

  Then Gulgarin saw several hundred dwarves. They stood just on the edge of his visibility, half hidden in the darkness. By the time he realized what they were doing, it was too late. Crossbows clicked into place by the hundreds. The rushing wave of orcs was cut down. A couple of bolts bounced off of Gulgarin’s mithril armor. The orc chief grew furious. He let out a feral yell and charged on. The orcs who had not been killed by the volley sprinted faster, weapons ready and anger flowing out from them in their grunts and growls.

  The dwarves fired another volley. This time several bolts struck Gulgarin, but his armor held true. His goarg, on the other hand, was not so lucky. The beast collapsed to the ground and threw Gulgarin to the ground. Heavy boots stomped the ground around him as he rolled to a stop. He had managed to tuck his hammer with him when he landed, but he had lost all his momentum.

  The orcs and dwarves clashed. Swords and axes rang out in the night air. Neither side appeared to have the advantage. The orcs were much larger, but the dwarves were just as fierce and powerful. The battle turned into a bitter hack-fest. Each side beat on the other, with rows and rows of eager warriors growling and snarling to get their chance at the line.

  Gulgarin waded through the orcs, in some cases literally throwing his own troops out of his way to get to the line. As he broke through to the front, he saw a stout dwarf with a dark beard. The short warrior’s eyes sparkled from the many fires around. Gulgarin brought his hammer down onto the dwarf’s right shoulder. The dwarf was crushed downward, but the blow didn’t kill him. He countered with an upward swing of his axe. The blade was stopped by the mithril armor, but Gulgarin felt the weight of the swing and was moved to the side a few inches.

  The large orc pulled back and rammed the hammer into the dwarf’s stomach as he was trying to clamber onto his feet. Short arms and legs kicked out like an overturned beetle. Gulgarin sucked in a breath and brought the hammer down once more. This time there was a distinct crunch of bones beneath the armor as the metal gave way and caved in.

  There was no time to celebrate the victory. Dwarves moved in to fill the void almost before Gulgarin could reset his hammer.

  The battle turned extremely bitter. The orcs clawed inch for inch, paying for every step forward with blood of their kin. The dwarves fought valiantly, slaying many of the larger orcs, but they were ultimately outnumbered.

  The orcs pushed through the ranks until the golden sun came over the horizon and shed its light on the battlefield. Had Gulgarin not been embattled with three dwarves at his front and a heap of corpses under his feet, he might have had the time to see the devastation around him. With the benefit of the light he would have seen that two catapults had survived thus far, and they were punishing the orcs. He also would have seen a great ring of warriors protecting those catapults. He didn’t see
any of that. Nor could he count the thousands of bodies covering the ground. He pressed on, leading his surviving warriors toward his goal.

  As he finished off the three dwarves with the help of several other orcs that surrounded them, he realized that he had cleared a path toward the city. He looked back to encourage those around him, but saw only a couple dozen still standing. There were many other orcs, but the unit that he had led had been demolished.

  Those who still drew breath were covered in so much blood it was impossible to know whether the blood came from them or from vanquished foes. For a moment he thought of calling for a retreat, but he knew that the orcs would all have to cross the chasm again. It would expose them to the humans in an unacceptable manner. So, he turned to the east and saw Lorik still fighting along with soldiers from his unit. Gulgarin broke into a run and his unit followed him.

  They made their way over the many corpses as best they could, but they never reached Lorik.

  A wall of fire rose up before them and then turned eastward to sweep into Lorik’s unit.

  “Wizard!” Gulgarin called out.

  “Sorceress!” a woman’s voice answered.

  Gulgarin looked up and saw a woman with dark hair riding upon a cloud over them. “Find a crossbow or something to shoot her with!” he shouted at his troops.

  Something moved a few yards away, but Gulgarin couldn’t see what it was. A moment later, two of his orcs screamed in pain. He turned to see a massive wolf tearing into one of the orcs. When the warrior fell, the wolf moved to the neck and snapped it like a twig. It looked up and growled with a blood-soaked maw. The other orcs moved in to engage it, but then another movement caught Gulgarin’s eyes.

  The large orc turned just in time to see a man appear out of thin air. He was a large man with salt and pepper hair. He wore the black, Telarian steel armor of a dragon slayer, but did not use a helmet. It was then that Gulgarin remembered seeing this man before, along with that she-elf that had tried to assassinate him. He took up his hammer and started for the human.