Thunderbolt (Dynasty of Storms Book 2)

by Brandon Cornwell

  Elias chuckled. “Don't be insulted. This is a massive undertaking, and it just got more complicated. We will all have our tasks, myself included.”

  Jenna took a bite of the apple. “I'm not insulted. You know me better than that. I just don't like separating our forces. It makes us vulnerable.”

  Elias nodded. “This is true. But it's to our advantage to travel light and fast. An army takes weeks to move from place to place. We need to make sure those places are ready before the army gets there.”

  He tapped the bay where they were anchored. “It should take two days to finish unloading the ships, perhaps another two to resupply. Once resupplied, the ships should sail north to Jetty. The one hundred warriors here will stay to guard the cargo while it is sold, and once we complete our business, they will march north as well. If it takes longer than two weeks, abandon what is left.”

  He leaned on the table, looking down at the map. “The ride will take seven days, and four to sail, if you anchor at night.” He tapped Jetty. “I should arrive a day before the ships. I'll take fourteen warriors with me. We'll follow the road, so there should be less chance of encountering Felle scouts, and there will be enough of us to ward off any bandits.”

  Martin chuckled. “You left your armor on the Leviathan. If you wore that, you'd be a bit more imposing.”

  Elias shook his head. “No. I need to be light and fast for this leg of the journey. I'll pick up my armor in Jetty. I don't expect any trouble between here and there. Most of the danger seems to be south and east of here.”

  Jonas stretched, his back audibly popping. “Aye. It seems as though we all have our tasks. We best get to it then.” He gestured for Martin to follow him and left the tent. Grumbling, Martin rose from his seat and followed, leaving Jenna and Elias alone.

  Elias stood at the map, hands on the table. He looked up at Jenna. “What are you thinking, Jenna?”

  “I am sure I don't know what you're talking about.”

  Elias chuckled. “You said it yourself, I know you better than that.”

  Jenna sighed and leaned forward. “I've spoken my piece. I expect that there's going to be a lot more death, a lot more loss before we're done here. Many, if not all of the warriors who came with us will never see their homes again.”

  Elias frowned. “This is war. People die in a war. It's soldiers that fight to protect the people. The warriors that came with us came because they have no homes to return to.”

  Jenna scoffed. “We both know you've got no loyalty to the people of Lonwick.”

  Elias nodded. “It's true that I was sent away from my home. I've got no more love for the elves than I do for any other stranger. But I do not bear them ill, and they do not deserve to die under the axe of some Felle orc or ogre. If in seeking retribution for Coral, Jayd, Marl, and the rest of those I grew to love, I can help save these people, then it would be wrong of me not to.”

  Jenna smiled slightly. “How noble of you.”

  Elias frowned furrowing his brow. “Do you mock me?”

  Jenna laughed at him. “No, Elias, I don't mock you. I just want you to think about what you're doing. All of these men follow you, rely on you, and listen to every word you speak as if it is law. It is best that those words are weighed very carefully before they are spoken.”

  He looked down at the map, then back up at her. “But you do not.”

  Jenna smirked. “I am not a man.”

  Elias shook his head. “I suppose that is a good thing.” He looked out of the pavilion, at the men and elves that were moving crates, barrels, and baskets from landing boats to the beach. “Don't worry. I do not plan on making any rash decisions, nor needlessly putting others in danger. There will be a war, like I said, and men and elves will die. But I will do my best to make sure that every decision I make is a sound one.” He lifted an eyebrow and glanced back at Jenna. “I will, after all, have you around to make sure of that.”

  ~ ~ ~

  6th Waning Harvest Moon, 4369

  Elias sat upon a great chestnut charger, fourteen mounted sea elves behind him. Jonas, Martin, and four other riders, all sea elves, sat on their horses in front of him.

  “You have your orders?”

  Jonas quirked a brow. “Orders?”

  Elias smirked. “What would you have me call them?”

  Jonas rubbed his chin, considering the scattered clouds as he held the reins in his left hand. “Suggestions, maybe? Goals?” He snapped his fingers and pointed at Elias, a broad grin on his face. “Commission! I have my commission!”

  Elias laughed. “Call it as you will! You know what we need.”

  Jonas laughed as well. “Aye, Redwood, we do. You've got your commission too. We meet at Rockhill in three weeks, and head north from there. If by chance we miss each other, or something happens, then we wait a week before heading to Jetty to regroup.” He reached out, stepping his horse next to Elias, and set his hand on Elias's shoulder. “It's good to see you smile again, my friend. May the road rise up to meet you, and may the days of your journey be fair.”

  Elias returned the gesture, setting his hand on Jonas's shoulder as well. “And you too, Jonas. Ride swiftly, ride safely. We'll meet at Rockhill.”

  Jonas nodded. “Right then.” He wheeled his horse about, and spurred it forwards. “Alright boys, no more fuckin' about, let's get this jaunt started. Fall behind, and you'll be left behind. Move out!” He urged his horse into a lively trot, Martin and the four elves falling in behind him.

  Elias watched them go for a moment, before he turned to the fourteen elves behind him.

  “I trust you are all prepared?”

  The closest elf to him, a tattooed warrior named Tataramoa with deep blue skin and long black hair with the sides of his head shaved, bowed from the back of his horse. “Yes, Kaiwhakaora. We are ready when you are.”

  Elias nodded. “Very well. Let's be off then.” He turned his horse northwards, and spurred his horse into a trot. To the left, past the beach, he could see the four ships anchored in the open bay. On the beach itself, the camp had grown quite expansive; already, traders and merchants from Greatport and beyond were picking through the wares from Greenreef, and the gold was flowing in. At this distance, he could barely make out Jenna at the entrance of the pavilion, Geoff standing at her side.

  He lingered for a moment, then turned north again, spurring his horse forward. The road ahead was long, and there was no time to waste.

  ~ ~ ~

  10th Waning Harvest Moon, Year 4369

  Elias slouched under his tent, staring into the darkness at the rain. It had been five days since they had left Greatport, and the rain had started on the third night. It showed no sign of letting up, and it was slowing them down. To their credit, his companions, the sea elves, didn't seem to mind, but he and the horses certainly did.

  They had camped on the banks of a river, perhaps an hour from Silva Aestas, the city of his birth. Elias had sent a scout ahead to survey the city and the surrounding area before they approached the next morning. It had been over sixty-five years since he had been in the elven outpost, but he remembered it well. He had been sent away when a training accident resulted in the death of his sparring partner, and had never returned.

  A part of him wanted to ride past Silva Aestas and never even turn his head to look in their direction. He had been a child when they had banished him. A large child, yes, but a child nonetheless. Another part of him wanted to ride in at the head of an army; a great warrior returned from exile.

  Most of all, he wanted to visit his mother's grave. That fact alone would carry him into the elven outpost.

  A noise from outside of his tent pulled him from his thoughts, bringing him back to the present. Tataramoa stepped into view, dripping wet from the steady rain. “Elias.”

  “Yes? What is it?”

  “The city we are approaching. The scout you sent says that there are no lights, no lanterns or torches. No fires, though he could smell smoke. Something is wrong.”<
br />
  Elias stood, stepping out of his tent. “Did he approach Silva Aestas?”

  Tataramoa shook his head. “No, he did not. He returned immediately. Something does not feel right.”

  Elias nodded. “Agreed. It's at least eight hours until first light. I don't want to wait until then. Leave our tents here. We need to see what is ahead, and we need to do it now.”

  Tataramoa nodded. “Immediately.”

  It wasn't ten minutes before they were on the road, headed north along the western bank of the river. Despite the rain, they made excellent time. Hardly an hour had gone by before they reached a high stone bridge that crossed the river at a bend, where the water meandered to the west. Large hewn stone pillars supported enormous wooden beams over the water, with broad, flat slabs of stone creating a surface wide enough for two carts to pass each other. The torches that should have been lit on either side were dead, wet and cold, long extinguished. No guards were posted, leaving the bridge entirely deserted. They were able to cross without any incident, which set Elias even more ill at ease.

  “This is as far as I went, Elias, before I returned.” Tataramoa spoke close, low, in hushed tones. “How shall we proceed?”

  Elias peered into the darkness towards Silva Aestas. “I never thought to ask, Tatar. How is your vision at night?”

  “As sharp as any tree elf from these lands.”

  Elias nodded. “Then we move forward.” He lifted his sword down from its harness on his back, drawing the massive blade from the scabbard. “Keep your weapons ready, but do not attack any elves or men, unless you see me do so, or they attack you. Orcs are fair game, as are any men standing with them.”

  “Yes, Elias.”

  They tied their horses off on the northern side of the bridge and proceeded on foot. Like shadows, the sea elves fell in behind him as he stepped towards the dark city. Though he was a giant compared to the rest of his people, he still moved with the silence of his kind. Hardly a sound was made as they crept under the gigantic trees, closing the distance between the river and the city.

  The smell of smoke and burned things grew stronger as they approached the city. Though it had no walls to protect the greater part of the city, there was a wide moat that surrounded it, and the road led to what was once a great wooden drawbridge, mounted between two enormous redwood trees, the source of his nickname.

  The bridge lay shattered in the rain-swollen moat, the great timbers crushed like so many matchsticks. Intricately carved planks jutted from the muddy water, their ends burned and smashed into splinters.

  Elias and his warriors were able to pick their way across the moat on the shattered remnants of the drawbridge, and between the gateway formed by the trees. Wooden buildings lay crushed and burned, the fires extinguished by the rain, charcoal strewn across the cobblestone road. In the center of the city, the silhouette of the stone keep was barely visible against the black storm clouds. Three of the four high towers still stood, though the southernmost tower was missing, its silhouette absent in the darkness.

  Elias held up a hand, signaling for the warriors to draw close to him. “I've seen enough for this night. We fall back to our camp, and we return at first light. Let's move.”

  ~ ~ ~

  11th Waning Harvest Moon, Year 4369

  The skies were overcast as Elias and the sea elves passed through the ruins of Silva Aestas, but thankfully, the rain had slowed to a light drizzle. Buildings, both wood and stone, lay strewn across the once verdant city grounds. They passed the stone rings where Elias once trained in the longsword, now scattered, the training grounds burned and scorched, pitted here and there with shallow craters.

  As they approached the stone keep, Elias could see it clearly in the growing light of dawn. The southern tower lay in ruins, the great stones thrown out from the walls, crushing the buildings in their path.

  Tataramoa walked next to him, holding his spear in his hands. “Elias, is it not strange?”

  “The damage? Yes. It's as if barrels of cannon powder were used to destroy everything.”

  “No. There are no bodies. No dead men or elves.”

  Elias paused. It was true. He had been so busy looking over the destruction of the place of his birth that he hadn't noticed the complete lack of bodies. No dead elves littered the roads, as they had in the village at Seagate, when the Felle had attacked. There were no fallen orcs, no trolls, no corpses at all. There was only the massive destruction of the outpost itself, but it was almost as if the city had been abandoned before it was destroyed.

  One of the other warriors spoke up. “Where have they gone? I see no blood. No arrows. No swords or shields fallen on the ground.”

  Elias looked around at the fourteen warriors, doing his best to hide his unease. “I do not know what happened here. We can look for answers, but we must be on the road swiftly. We must not tarry here long.” Though he yearned to see his mother's grave, spending any more time than necessary in the ruins was a risk he was not willing to take.

  The sea elves nodded in assent, gripping their spears and looking about nervously. Enemies on the open sea or the battlefield were easily dealt with, but threats that couldn't be seen were less easily skewered by steel or stone. Taking the lead, Elias walked carefully through the wreckage, approaching the tall keep from the west.

  The thick wooden doors had been blasted off of their hinges, the twisted metal hanging from cracked stone. Shattered and scorched wooden planks were strewn about in front of the limestone stairway that led up to the entrance. It was if they had been burst outwards from the inside. Inside the building, ornately carved tables and chairs lay crushed and mangled on the floor, richly embroidered tapestries shredded under and around them. One of the sea elves kicked some of the rubble aside, causing a loud crash that echoed through the empty building.

  Elias froze, then turned to face the offending noisemaker. Frowning, he held a finger to his lips, signing for silence. He pointed towards the stairs that led to the upper levels, and headed that way, his warriors in tow.

  As they climbed, they passed a section wall that was broken down, the south face they had seen from the outside. Most of the stairway was intact, however, letting them reach the upper floors.

  Elias paused at the gaping hole in the wall, looking out at the southern expanse of the city. The view from on high was even more bleak, if that was possible. Where there had once been orderly streets and lanes between the buildings, there was now only chaos and rubble. Pillars that had once sported torches during the night hours were toppled onto houses, destroying them as they fell. A fire had raged through one section of the city, reducing the rubble to little more than ash and charred stone foundations. The destruction here was truly complete.

  The damage stopped abruptly at the moat that surrounded the city, drawing a stark line of contrast between the devastation and the untouched, pristine forest. Elias shook his head. Unnatural forces must have been at work here.

  At the top of the stairwell was a landing large enough for everyone to step onto, with a single ornately carved door that stood open, untouched by whatever battle had torn through the building. In this room was a great table, carved from an enormous redwood burl. Dozens of chairs once sat around the table, now crushed and broken around the edges of the chamber.

  A small crossbow bolt slammed into the door next to Elias as he started to step through the entrance to the room, causing him to curse and stumble backwards. As he caught his balance, three of his warriors charged through the doorway, hurling their spears into the room towards the source of the attack.

  “Hold fast! Hold!” he shouted as he pushed past the sea elves and into the room. Leaning against the back wall was an old elf in a long gray robe, wearing fine garments, visible where the robe had fallen aside. In his limp, bloody hands was a small crossbow, the kind used by guards that were stationed indoors, more suited for the cramped spaces one found inside of buildings. Buried in his shoulder was one of the stone-tipped spears thrown by the s
ea elves, the other two embedded into the rich wood that covered the walls. His clothing was covered in blood from a wound on his stomach, his skin pale. The old elf's breath came ragged and shallow, and he looked about wildly at the warriors closing on him, spears at the ready.

  Elias shouted again. “Hold! Do not kill him!” He sprinted around the table towards the fallen elf, kneeling in front of him. “It's all right, we're friends.”

  The old elf grimaced. “This spear in my shoulder and the hole in my stomach says otherwise! Have you returned to finish me off?”

  Elias set his hand on the elf's shoulder. “I am Elias. I was born in this city.” He pulled the spear out of the elf's shoulder, and clapped a hand over the wound to staunch the weak flow of blood.

  The elderly elf cried out in pain, and gritted his teeth. “I remember you now. You killed that boy, Ayluin, and we cast you out! Come back for your revenge now, is it, freak? You're worse than a crazed dog!”

  Elias shook his head, ignoring the insults. “I haven't killed anyone here, old one. We camped on the road last night, and found Silva Aestas destroyed. What happened here?” He motioned for one of the sea elves to come over and treat the wounded elf.

  The elder feebly shoved at the sea elf. “Lies! I watched you butcher women and children with that giant sword of yours, stomping around in your armor, like an unholy juggernaut! I heard your voice echo from these chambers as you ordered the city put to the sword!” His head rolled forward, and his eyes fluttered. “Go on then, kill me too! Your sword didn't work the first time, so use your dark magic to end this!”

  Before Elias could respond, the old elf tensed up, gasping, clutching at the wound on his stomach, then went limp, his final breath wheezing out of his mouth in a long groan. Elias slowly lay him on the floor. “He had to have been talking about Tessermyre. He is the only person who as large as me, wears armor, and carries a blade like mine. At least that I know of.”