Greggor drained a goblet of his own and laughed. “The spirits of the mountain are too strong for most elves, but you're bigger than most yourself! Drain that cup and salute your fallen, you can handle it!”
Elias's eyes watered as he upended his goblet, draining the rest of it. The second drink was easier than the first, and he swallowed, wishing he had some water to wash the burning sensation down. He could feel the heat of the alcohol in his stomach, and his head swam with the feeling. He was vaguely aware of the drumbeat continuing, though for a moment he couldn't tell if it was the drums or his own heartbeat.
All around him, he could see the mass of dwarves pressing in, dancing a primitive, formless dance to the rhythm of the mountain. Here and there, he could see flashes of blue skin, ululations from the sea elves reaching his foggy senses as his companions joined in the dance. Seemingly without his bidding, his body started to move in time with the beat, though most of the dwarves barely came up to the bottom of his ribs.
The heat in his stomach spread throughout his body, into his arms and legs and chest and head, and gradually, his senses failed him, and he knew no more.
~ ~ ~
9th Waxing Autumn Moon, Year 4369
Elias stood under the sun again. Even this late in the season, these mountains could be warm and bright, the last vestiges of summer clinging to a rapidly cooling world. He closed his aching eyes and turned his face upward, feeling the warmth on his face, while a cool breeze kept it from becoming uncomfortably warm. Here on the mainland, early autumn was definitely his favorite season. The hunting was excellent, the weather wasn't too warm or too cold, and the fruits of the harvest were fresh and delicious.
He delivered his address to the assembled dwarves that morning, despite the thundering pounding inside his skull. He had outlined his plan to march north and defeat the raiders, aiding Brandt in retaking his throne. Once that was done, they would regroup and advance south to attack the Felle army, to remove the threat they posed to all peoples in Lonwick, not just the folk who lived above ground. As a reward for their service, once they routed the Felle from Lonwick, they would inform Lonwick that they were free to rule their own country in the mountains, finally gaining their independence from Lonwick.
The assembled dwarves hadn't said much, but spoke amongst themselves. Greggor assured Elias that they would gather volunteers, who would go with the support and blessing of Silverdeep, but it would take some time for the dwarves to consider it, bid farewell to their families, and prepare for the journey into battle. Darby seemed confident that there would be a sizable group of dwarves willing to join Elias and his elves. The echoes of the celebration still beat within them, and that sort of fervor tended to motivate warriors to action.
The sun was sinking towards the west when the iron door of the mine opened. Elias stood to face Darby and Greggor, followed by a score of armed dwarves. The council leader approached Elias.
“Well, Elias, we weren't able to raise the thousand dwarves you requested,” the dwarven leader began, shaking his head and looking down. “There simply were not a thousand volunteers.”
At that, Darby stifled a chuckle, a broad grin spreading across his face.
“We got ya two an' a half times that number! Turns out the hearts of Silverdeep still yearn for independence! You've got yer army, lad!”
Chapter Six
12th Waxing Autumn Moon, Year 4369
Elias marveled at the size of the camp from the top of a nearby hill. Nearly thirty-five hundred warriors were assembled amongst the trees outside of Rockhill, with Jenna and Geoff due to arrive shortly. It had been three weeks to the day since he had parted company with his companions on the coast at Greatport, and he greatly looked forward to seeing them again. While he was comfortable with the sea elves and was growing more comfortable with the dwarves, he still felt somewhat alone amongst the different cultures.
The dwarven camp was set in nearly perfect lines at the edge of the forest, in a fallow field. Each tent faced south, with enough room between them for a wagon to pass if need be. A perfect square of fifty rows of fifty tents each, it made calculating their forces very easy. While the enjoyed the symmetry of it all, he would have to make sure they made their number less obvious in the future.
The elven camp was much less organized and more organic. Rather than camping in rows, they tended to pitch their tents around campfires, which were spread out sporadically in the clearings that dotted the trees. Most of the low brush and deadfalls had already been cleared by the farmers of Rockhill before the army had arrived, and anything that had been left was soon picked clean for firewood and to make space for the campsite.
Elias's tent was the spacious pavilion that he had used as a command center on the beach north of Greatport. It housed his bedroll, his personal effects, his armor, and the table upon which he kept maps spread out for the purpose of planning their next move. He had opted to put it up in the forest, rather than in the field, though space between the trees was a little more cramped. Two sea elf guards were posted at the entrance at all times; Tataramoa had insisted on this, though Elias trusted the warriors that accompanied him.
Tataramoa had been an efficient, though not a terribly motivational leader. He had been used to relaying orders, not giving them, and so had acted mostly with caution and discretion, choosing to keep their interactions with the city of Rockhill to a bare minimum. As such, their provisions were starting to run a bit low, and news from within the city was virtually nonexistent. Once Elias arrived at the camp, he had immediately gone to Rockhill to introduce himself to the city's officials.
The meeting had gone well, and while there wasn't an abundance of food to be had, the city had been willing to sell Elias and his warriors enough preserved meat, potatoes, and bread to last them nearly a month. That would be more than enough to make it to the Northlands, and hopefully, their campaign would be a swift one.
Two messengers approached Elias where he stood, coming directly from the camp. It was one of the sea elves, a warrior that he did not immediately recognize, followed by a dwarf. At this point, trying to remember the names and personalities of every person in his growing army was impossible.
The messengers approached Elias, and the sea elf bowed. “Kaiwhakaora. A messenger has come from Silverdeep. He bears a gift for you from the blacksmith called Darby.”
The dwarf handed Elias a cloth package bound in twisted hemp line. “Darby told me t' make sure I got this into yer hands as quick as I could.”
Elias took the package, slightly bewildered. “Uh... thank you.”
Setting the package on a fallen log, Elias untied the binding, unfolding the cloth wrapping. Inside was a leather garment, deep red, and covered in hard, glossy scales. Elias immediately recognized it as dragon skin. He lifted it, unfolding the leather, examining the garment.
It was a tunic, masterfully designed so that all of the scales still clung to the leather-like armor, pointing downward to deflect any blows that might fall on the wearer. It was split down the chest to near the sternum, with a bright blue cord to lace it shut. The stitches that held it together were tiny and evenly spaced, so that they were nearly invisible, pulling the scales together to hide and cover any seams.
As he held it up, examining it, two objects fell out of the rolled up tunic. They were gloved bracers, made of the same dragon hide that the tunic was made from. Marveling at the craftsmanship, Elias carefully slid his burned right hand into one of the gloves. It fit him perfectly without binding around his fingers. He made a fist, the leather creaking satisfyingly as he did so, though it made the burns on his hands protest. Though the leather was soft, it would need some time to be entirely broken in.
The bracers laced up the inside of his forearm with the same blue cord that the tunic used. He'd need an assistant to tie it correctly, but in a bind, he could do it himself, it would just take him a little longer. Along the back of the bracers, following his forearm, three dragon claws were attached to the outsid
e, like splints to add to the rigidity of the armor, acting as a defense from strikes that might otherwise sever his arm. While they would not stop every blow that might fall upon him, they balanced mobility with protection.
He was aware then of the messengers standing nearby, watching him look over the tunic and bracers, admiring the garments as much as he was. He removed the bracer, laying it with its mate on the tunic, and rolled them up. Binding the cloth around them with the line, he stood up and offered his hand to the dwarven messenger.
“Thank you for bringing these to me, and please extend my gratitude to Darby for this gift. Let him know that if there is any way I can repay him, I am at his service.”
The dwarf chuckled, carefully shaking Elias's hand, mindful of his wounds. “He said y' might say that, and if ya did, t' tell ya that a gift repaid is not a gift, it's a purchase. The only price he would ask would be that ya kick the shite out of some Northerners for him.”
Elias laughed. “Absolutely. You can tell him I find his terms acceptable.”
The dwarf smiled and released his hand. “Then our business is done. Good day to you, master elf.” With that, the dwarf turned towards Silverdeep and started marching towards the ridge that held the entrance to the underground city.
As Elias started down the hill into the camp, another blue-skinned messenger was on his way towards him. Elias met him halfway.
“Elias, our lookouts have spotted four riders approaching from the south. We believe it is Jonas and Martin.”
Elias redoubled his pace towards the camp. Six had ridden south; Jonas, Martin, and four warriors. Only four returned. “Get ready to receive their horses. No doubt they will be tired from their journey; prepare meat and drink for them. I will meet them when they arrive. Which road are they on?”
“The southern road, on the western side of the quarry.”
Elias nodded. “Excellent.” He handed the messenger the bundled tunic and bracers. “Deliver these to my tent, please, then send Tataramoa to me as well.”
Elias proceeded through the camp, willing himself not to run. He was excited to be reunited with Jonas, but he needed to show self-control and dignity among his warriors, both the sea elves that had battles with him in the isles of Greenreef and the new dwarven soldiers. He found he got along well with the dwarves, who reminded him strongly of the men of the Northlands, but their relationship was still new, and they were feeling each other out. Centuries of racial enmity wasn't dispelled with the killing of a few serpents and a funeral, after all, though they seemed to have warmed to Elias in particular. It made him wonder what had happened after his memories of the funeral ended.
Elias was anxious to learn what had happened to his comrades on their journey. They were missing two warriors, so they had clearly run into trouble. What sort of trouble remained to be seen, though Elias felt in his heart that the Felle would be at the core of it.
~ ~ ~
Jonas and Martin slumped in chairs on either side of the table in Elias's pavilion, their faces weary. Freshly cooked venison, cold beer, and bread lay on the table, though neither of them ate yet. The two elven warriors had dispersed into the ranks of their brethren, seeking their rest amongst their kin.
Jonas seemed in good health, though he was dirty and tired. It might have been his imagination, but Elias would almost swear that the old mercenary had more gray and white in his beard and hair than he had when they had parted ways three weeks prior. His hair was messy, unbrushed, and matted with sweat. His hands were stained with dirt, lining his knuckles and caked under his fingernails.
Martin was in a similar disarray, his red hair tousled and unkempt, mud from the road spattering his blood-stained clothing. He wore a bandage over one eye, and his tunic was torn, revealing more crude bandages underneath. Despite his wounds and weariness, he seemed to be a bit more energetic than Jonas, drumming his fingers on the armrest and leaning his head against the high back of the chair.
Elias sat in his chair at the head of the table, conscious of how clean he was in comparison to his friends. He let the men catch their breaths, making no demands of them until they were ready to speak.
Jonas sat forward and poured himself a tankard of beer. Tossing it back, he drained half of it before setting the vessel back down.
“Oh, that's a taste I've missed this last month,” he sighed, smacking his lips. He looked up at Elias. “Dwarven beer, eh? We've moved up in the world, it would seem.”
Elias nodded. “The dwarves of Silverdeep have given us twenty-five hundred warriors to aid in our campaign.”
Martin whistled low in appreciation. “How'd you manage that?”
Elias shrugged. “Just had to kill some dragons.”
The two men turned to stare at him, their eyes wide.
Jonas scoffed. “Is that all? Just kill some dragons? Well, if we'd have known it was that easy, we'd have had this war over before it began!”
Elias shook his head. “There is more to it than that. They want their independence from Lonwick, and they will fight towards that end. Brandt has lost control of the Northlands, and the raids from the North have resumed along the border. The city of Silverdeep was razed, but the dwarves have created a city underground, in the mines. It's not sustainable forever, though, so they want to reclaim their land above ground for crops, livestock, and so on. It's a noble goal, and I'll help them if I can.”
Jonas nodded, regarding his tankard thoughtfully. “A noble goal indeed. Let's hope Lonwick doesn't have too much to say about it.”
Elias leaned back in his chair. “If Silverdeep marches against the Felle, I'm not sure they'll have too much to say about it at all. Trade will continue, but fairly.”
Martin nodded, reaching for a slab of steaming meat. “They've been wanting that sort of arrangement for decades. Maybe this will get it for them.”
Elias steepled his fingers. “Not to put too fine a point on it, but I'm more interested in what happened while you were in the south. We'll need to know what is at our backs when we march north, and it seems like you were in a hurry. What did you find south of Castle Lonwick?”
Martin shook his head, shuddering. “Death.”
Elias sat in silence for a moment. “Death? I'm going to need more to go on than that.”
Jonas lifted his tankard to his lips and drained it. “The Felle army is enormous. It's huge. Beyond counting. If I had to guess, I'd say maybe forty, fifty thousand. Orcs, ogres, trolls, men, and elves.” He set the tankard down. “And worse.”
Elias sat forward. “Elves?”
Martin tore into his venison steak, suddenly finding his appetite. “Elves and men, but they didn't act like normal elves and men. They wore uniforms like those of Lonwick soldiers but torn, ragged. They just... stood there. They didn't mill about, they didn't camp, they didn't get out of the weather. It was like they were under a geas of some sort. We didn't get close enough to get a good look, but there was something unnatural about them.”
Elias's heart sank to his stomach. Fifty thousand. He had less than a tenth of that. “And Lonwick? You rode past the capitol on your way north, did you not?”
Jonas shook his head. “We rode wide around it, to avoid detection, but it didn't work. We were properly stopped and questioned. Apparently, two men traveling with sea elves on horseback is 'probable cause,' or so they say. Especially if you come from the south.” He looked up at Elias. “They know about you massing up here by Rockhill, and they're worried.”
Elias furrowed his brow. “Worried? Why?”
“Think about it. Their land is under siege by infernal hosts, and a foreign army of blue elves marches along their northern border, where the Northlanders have been raiding for months. Wouldn't you be concerned? They don't know that you're an ally yet. All they know is that now they have two fronts to worry about.” He scoffed again. "Hell, probably the only damn thing keeping them from marching up here to conscript or eliminate us right now is that they can't afford to.”
Elias fro
wned. “I'm assuming you set them straight on this matter?”
Martin shook his head. “Didn't have a chance. We were set upon by a Felle war party. Probably thirty orcs and two ogres. Lucky there were no trolls.”
Jonas nodded. “We lost Hemi and Maaka in the attack. The orcs came out of nowhere. I don't know how we didn't see them before they were upon us, but there they were. They cut the horses out from under us, and we were barely able to draw our swords.”
Martin swallowed his mouthful. “Lucky for us, they were more concerned with the Lonwick soldiers. We were able to steal some horses from the fallen and escape while the soldiers fought.” He shook his head. “I'm pretty sure they didn't make it; they were outnumbered when we bolted.”
Elias's head swam. The situation was a lot more dire than he had expected. He didn't have nearly as much time as he had thought. He had to act, and soon.
“The Lonwick army. Did you get a look at it?”
Jonas shook his head. “We weren't close enough for that. They were fortifying Castle Lonwick, digging trenches and setting up siege defenses, or so we heard. Some said twenty thousand outside the walls, who knows how many inside. Trebuchets were being erected behind stockade walls, as well as ballistas and catapults. Whatever they are expecting, they're expecting a lot of it. Stake trenches to break cavalry, blockades to funnel infantry, the works.”
“Do you think it'll hold the Felle back?”
Jonas sighed, sinking into his seat. Rubbing his eyes, he said, "I honestly don't know. I mean, it sounds good, but I didn't get a look at it, what with being questioned and attacked and all. Second-hand knowledge is all just talk and fluff, and we all know how soldiers and peasants can talk. To hear 'em, each Lonwick elf is ten feet tall and made entirely of steel.” He looked up at Elias, his eyes bleary. “To be honest, we haven't slept in two days, and horseback ain't exactly the most restful place to catnap.”
Thunderbolt (Dynasty of Storms Book 2) Page 10
