“Did y’all see Travis today?” she said.
“He’s walking all funny,” said Daniel. “Did you hit him, or did you just hit Lee?”
“I only hit Lee. Travis was behind me. How’s he walking funny?”
Mira leaned forward, lowering her voice. “This morning when he took his sweatshirt off, his shirt raised up. And he has all these bruises on his stomach.” She touched her abdomen to show where.
“But we didn’t hit him on his stomach. I think Daniel threw a rock at his head, right?”
“Yeah, I did. What do you think those are from?”
Mira shrugged. “Did your parents ever say anything about the fight?”
Daniel shook his head. “You think they called Travis and Lee and Tim’s parents but not ours?”
Mira nodded. “Yeah. I think his parents—”
Coach Penicillin blew his whistle, cutting the chatter in half. He flicked the light to yellow. The three ate their sandwiches in silence.
Bowls of chili polished off, Daniel thanked Mrs. Trahan for dinner. The two boys pushed back their wooden chairs and ran to Jeremy’s room. Wood paneling and yellow carpet faded to become the mosaic floors and tapestried walls of Hrad’din. A round table stood in the center of the twelve-sided room where someone had built a relief map of the known world.
“Eaglewing is really sad because Mayflure didn’t come back from the mission to Khazim.”
“Are you sure she’s dead?” Jeremy asked, crossing his arms.
“We think so. Naranthor saw the dragon crush her as he and Ravensvoice ran to safety.”
Jeremy sighed and stared at the floor as Daniel took on the part of Naranthor, hobbling into the room with a cane and a bandage around his head. Dropping his voice, he spoke. “Members of the Council, we have seen, and, alas, I am the unlucky one to tell you of the news. Scahel, Ravensvoice, and Mayflure died, that I might manage to escape and come here.”
Eaglewing crossed his arms and stared at the tiles.
Naranthor continued. “You will all remember that the Midnight Wizard remarked that it was unfit for us to give the fortress of Dan’kir to the forces of Kronshar. What I tell you is no better news.”
Daniel stood on Jeremy’s bed, his hand on his chest, and continued addressing the assembled Council of a teddy bear, a unicorn, a raccoon, and Jeremy. “Kronshar is indeed looking for the twelve Stones.” Council members mumbled among themselves. Only the Midnight Wizard did not look surprised. “He believes that he can use the Stones of Karnak to attain the power that he seeks, and he is building an army in the South. It’s primarily made up of ogres from the eastern tribes and cave goblins. And he has continued to call on the ghosts of the Shadow realms to further his quest, as Eaglewing and Lightningbolt warned us months ago, when they realized the true nature of the border raids. I urge you, urge you in the name of Scahel, Ravensvoice, and Mayflure, to stand together and let us attack him now, before he gets stronger.” The cane wobbled under his weight as Naranthor returned to his seat.
The elders glanced from one to another. Finally, Raaven, the oldest, spoke. “High Wizard, what is the truth from the legend of the Stones?”
The Midnight Wizard rose. “The twelve Stones of Karnak,” began Jeremy, “have been thought to be the source of the planet’s life force. In the ancient times, Daranor used them to battle and finally banish the Shadow King—”
“We want the truth, not stories.”
“The truth is the story, Council. Only a few Stones are accounted for. Most are lost. There were twelve, installed in the twelve original temples. But the Shadow King destroyed each of those temples. Daranor took the Stones he could, won the ones he lost, and used that power to divide the worlds. In my searching, I have found mention of only four Stones. The fate of the other eight are not yet known to me. I am certain only of the one at the bottom of the sea and the one that was stolen from the lighthouse in Jankmar right after you granted Kronshar use of Dan’kir Castle.”
The elders began squabbling amongst themselves, talking still of entreating Kronshar with the prospect of more land. No one wanted to go to war with the Shadow warriors. There were not enough adepts. The schools were full, but though many entered, few graduated. Naranthor slammed his cane on the tile.
“You may not want war, but war is coming. Whether you will it or not, it is coming.”
Before anyone could argue, a soldier rushed to Raaven, whispering in his ear.
“Speak, speak.” Raaven gestured to the room.
“The town of Akendale has been burned. Villagers were carried off by ogres toward Dan’kir two days ago. A rider just arrived with this news.”
“So it begins.” Naranthor spat on the floor, and hobbled toward his chamber.
“We will go,” Lightningbolt said.
“What?” asked Raaven.
“Eaglewing and I will go to Dan’kir and rescue them.”
Naranthor turned to watch the exchange.
“Perhaps we can ransom the villagers. What were the demands?”
“No demands were made, sir. It was a raiding party.”
“Perhaps we should send a messenger—”
“We will go. If we take a dragon now we’ll get there by first light day after tomorrow. I only hope we won’t be too late,” Eaglewing said.
“Colonel Naranthor, stop your men!” Raaven said.
“Adepts,” Naranthor said.
Lightningbolt stopped. Eaglewing kept walking.
Naranthor bowed to them both, “If you’re going, take my dragon. Godspeed.”
“Colonel Naranthor!” shouted Raaven.
There was a knock on the door, then it opened, flooding the room with the scent of chocolate chip cookies. Mom said, “Rosalyn and I made some cookies, come and get them.”
They followed her to the kitchen. Daniel said, “Do you want to watch Krull?”
“Yeah!”
They settled down on the living room floor in front of the couch with their plates of cookies and glasses of milk.
“Jeremy, get a tray for the two of you if you’re going to eat in there!”
All settled, Jeremy hit play on the VCR. The movie began with the takeover of a world by aliens that arrived in a rock-like castle from some other place. They had watched the movie a hundred times, but would happily watch it a hundred more until the tape wore thin.
Saturday dawned gray and cold. Shadows sulked beneath the low trees along Swamp Creek. Jeremy glanced at Daniel as they crept toward the black, rainbow-slicked water. It transformed into a moat before the ancient fortress of Dan’kir. The fortress throbbed with the energy of dark crystals, draining the brothers’ energy the closer they came to it.
Eaglewing rubbed his temple. “All the dark crystals are eating my energy. They must have carted them in; I don’t remember so many in Dan’kir. I can’t fly over the moat.”
“They might know who we were if we did, anyway.”
“Let’s play there’s two old helmets by the side of the road. We can put those on and look like little ogres.”
“I’ll cast a diversion spell so that they don’t see us.”
The pair crept along the slimy bank toward the open bridge. Members of the Black Tide stood guard, men who had decided to align themselves with Kronshar for whatever reason. Legions of Ogres and blue-skinned, reptilian wizards stomped across the ancient, bowed planks. Eaglewing pulled an oversized ogre helmet over his head and adopted the swaggering waddle of a small ogre. Lightningbolt did the same. His spell ensured that anyone who glanced at them saw only two ogres, nothing more.
Kronshar had argued that he needed this old ruin to start a farming settlement. Hoping for peace, the Council had granted it to him. But there were no farmers here. Neat rows of horses were tied across one side of the crumbling plaza. Small
canvas shelters had been erected along another wall. Men and ogres came and went with quick steps, wearing weapons and a sense of purpose. This was a military encampment.
“Where do you think they would be?” Eaglewing asked as they leaned against an unrecognizable ruin of a monument, half masked by a shadow.
“Below.”
The strain of the spell worked against Lightningbolt. He was sliding toward the ground. Screams—human screams—pierced the night air. Lightningbolt jumped back to his feet. Eaglewing’s hand went to his sword hilt.
“Don’t draw. You’ll call attention to us.”
Eaglewing stared at his brother with hard eyes.
“Come on.” Lightningbolt led him to an iron door guarded by a Raised Knight. He smelled foul, and stood with his gauntlets crossed over the hilt of his claymore. Eaglewing caught a glimpse of the power swirling about the suit of armor in the Shadow Realm, blinked, and it was again just a filthy, stinking suit. Slithering words floated on the air between Lightningbolt and the knight. It was not spoken as much thought, not thought as much felt; like two dogs sniffing at each other, except using their minds rather than their noses. Lightningbolt’s spell held, and the knight gave the slightest nod of its helmet. The spell holding the ancient iron door released. It creaked inward, scratching along the floor. Lightningbolt and Eaglewing swaggered inside. The moment it closed, the wizard collapsed against the wall.
Eaglewing fed his brother water and blue crystal powder, the most powerful of the Light crystals. Lightningbolt blinked. “That was difficult—”
A scream interrupted him. “Come on!” Eaglewing pulled his brother into hallways lit by ghoulish green orbs. They found themselves in a wide chamber where a long flue in the ceiling was open to the night sky. Eaglewing and Lightningbolt pressed themselves into the shadows that lined the walls. Four blue-skinned wizards chanted around a stone table that dripped with blood. A fifth was shouting at goblins who were trying to pull someone out of a cell with twenty people in it.
Lightningbolt glanced at Eaglewing, whispering, “How could we be so stupid? Kronshar wants this place because of Dan’kir’s curse. I can’t believe the Council let him have it.” Eaglewing was about to ask what he meant, but a commotion near the prison cell made him hold his tongue.
The fifth wizard forced a woman toward the table, struggling to control her as she swung at him. One of the other wizards hit her leg with a staff and she collapsed. As the fifth wizard hefted her onto the slab, two others wrestled her limbs into chains. Their chanting grew louder.
“Tell me the story some other time,” Eaglewing said. “What are they and what are they going to do to her?”
“Selurks.” The tone of his voice said it all.
“Real or Shadow?”
“Both. Don’t look at them in the Shadow Realm. They will see us.”
“What are they doing?”
“I think they are trying to channel the eight demons to open the Gate here. You know, Dan’kir’s curse.”
It finally clicked in Eaglewing’s mind. “I thought that was just a story.”
Lightningbolt sighed. “Nothing is ever just a story. How do you want to do this?”
Jeremy stood atop the summit of the Twin Hills. Daniel stood atop the other summit. They stared at the scummy pond, the florescent green algae shining in the last rays of the winter sunlight. They spoke in low tones, as though the turtles might hear them.
“Can you unlock the door up there? Or do we have to take them out that flue?”
“We can’t carry twenty people.”
“Could you use your folding spell? We could get them out of the castle quickly with that.”
“As long as they don’t raise the drawbridge, we’ll be okay.”
“Can you unlock the door?”
Lightningbolt smiled. “No, but we can make a new one. You have the black powder, right?”
Eaglewing patted his pouch.
She screamed. Eaglewing grabbed his brother’s arm. “It’s Mayflure!” His other hand went to the hilt of his sword. “Come on!”
“I’ll take the selurks!” Lightningbolt put his hands together. “Don’t draw yet, give me a second.”
Eaglewing stared at the stone table, fingers clutching his sword as he fought to control his emotions. A warrior should never strike from anger, he knew. A gray-black shadow roared to life over Mayflure, opening jaws to reveal an even darker blackness beyond its semi-translucent body. A selurk held a curved knife high over her. The chanting swelled into a rumbling din.
“Lightningbolt—now!” Eaglewing’s wings pumped once, catapulting him across the room as his sword sang free from his sheath. He cut through the selurk’s arm and the curved knife skittered across the floor. The apparition howled as an icy wind swept through the chamber, scattering it like gray-black sand. Lightningbolt’s spells fired through the air, exploding in golden orbs. Eaglewing brought the sword down hard on Mayflure’s manacles, breaking them. A selurk lunged toward him, some kind of black orb in its hand. A violet bolt of electricity crackled through space, knocking the Shadow wizard sideways. “Thanks!” Eaglewing shouted, scooping Mayflure’s half-conscious body onto his shoulder. Eaglewing ran to the cell where the villagers cowered. Summoning his power, Eaglewing swung at the ancient bars of the cell door, hoping it was as old as it looked.
The vibration rattled his bones and shook his teeth, but the lock fell away. With a sharp kick, the door fell in. Light reflected from the walls and a rush of heat whirled over his shoulder as an orb exploded behind him. He pitched forward, tumbling into the feet of the shocked and screaming captives. His ogre helmet clattered across the flagstones. Mayflure opened her soft eyes, blinking at him as though she had never seen him before.
“Eaglewing?”
The hostages stared at him. He scrambled to Mayflure’s side, cradling her head. “It’s me. I’ve got you. Just hold on.” He turned to the villagers. “I’m Adept Eaglewing Vindarin. Follow me.” He scooped Mayflure into his arms—she was so light, so unnaturally light—and led the villagers along the walls toward the entrance to the catacomb.
Eaglewing directed the shocked villagers, pointing. “Run up that passageway, I’ll be right behind you. Go! Go!”
Blue orbs exploded all about Lightningbolt. The selurks pressed closer, compressing the energy between them. They had rallied; three of them were working together. “Mayflure, my dagger!”
She took it from his belt. Shuffling her weight onto his left arm, Eaglewing took the dagger by the tip and threw it into the chest of one of the wizards. The selurk fell backwards, its spell exploding against the ceiling. Limestone shards evaporated in bursts of flame as they rained into the midst of the fray.
Lightningbolt used the disruption to redirect his spells at the remaining two selurks left standing. Eaglewing rushed to the front of the villagers and made himself heard over the din. “Listen! We are going to come out of here running. Follow us. Don’t fall behind.” He looked down at Mayflure. “Can you stand?”
She shrugged.
“Try.” He stood her against the wall and reached for his powder as the Raised Knight opened the iron door. The knight’s wordless anger filled his consciousness. Eaglewing threw the powder into the suit of armor and swung his sword hard into the breastplate, making one long, yellow spark.
The powder exploded, sending armor in all directions and knocking Eaglewing onto his back. Face blackened, he ushered the captives out the door and through the malevolent cloud of the Raised Knight’s rage, impotent now without its physical form. Every single being in the plaza turned, stunned by the explosion.
Eaglewing called to his brother without speaking aloud. Get Mayflure and the others out of here. I’ll clear your way to the drawbridge and make sure it doesn’t raise.
Lightningbolt’s telepathic response flashed i
nto Eaglewing’s mind. How will you get out?
I’ll find a way. Come on, let’s go!
Lightningbolt appeared next to Eaglewing and scooped Mayflure into his arms.
Unsheathing both his swords, Eaglewing roared and charged the ranks of ogres who were already halfway across the plaza. He smashed through them, body tumbling, swords spinning in the air. He fought his way through the knots of men and ogres and goblins, and gained the squat gatehouse tower. Inside, he coated the massive chain for the old drawbridge in black powder and sparked it. It exploded, but scarcely marred the new iron links of the chain.
In the courtyard, Lightningbolt wrapped each of the people in his mind, working the words of his folding spell about them as they ran through the wake left by Eaglewing. Magic fire trailed along the ground on every side of the knot of frenzied villagers. Lightningbolt could feel their fear as they ran, frightened of the fire and terrified of the swarming fury of blades that charged from every direction.
The wizard sent a bolt of electricity forward, spiraling it through the plaza. The fortress blurred as he and the villagers were swept into his folding spell. The bolt of lightning pulled them forward and soon they were through the gatehouse, down the road. The trees swept by, following the path created in Lightningbolt’s mind.
The hair stood on Eaglewing’s neck as the rush of Lightningbolt’s spell swept through the gatehouse. Thunder followed in the wake of the folding spell, shaking the ancient foundation of the tower. Ogres that had just gained the gatehouse stumbled over each other, stunned by the noise. Eaglewing fought them back, sending them tumbling into the others rushing up behind them. He ran to the top of the wall.
Half-wild dragons snapped and grumbled at their would-be jockeys as the novice riders tried to prepare a chase. Eaglewing sliced through one rider, then dodged the ungrateful snap from the dragon. Eaglewing used his mind to call out to the beast, promising her freedom if she would fly him from there. The dragon called to the rest of her horde and flapped her leathery wings as Eaglewing scrambled onto her back. In three wing beats, the desperate shots of archers fell short of their target, and a rampage of seven dragons flew from the wall in a triangular wedge.
The Last Stand of Daronwy Page 5
