The Dragon's Test (Book 3)

by Sam Ferguson

  “Try to keep up,” Gorin teased as he continued sweeping his way through the enemy, laying several foes low with each swing of his mighty hammer.

  Erik joined them then, fighting his way through a group of swordsmen with the help of his other warriors. As the bodies began to fall, Gorin, Braun, and Erik led House Lokton’s men through the breach, fighting off all who tried to come through the bottleneck.

  As the main body of House Lokton’s army pushed forward, Peren ran back to the catapults. He kept close to the manor at first, so as to avoid the throng of eager warriors rushing to the battle. He found a group of six men loading tar and oil into ceramic containers and hailed them. “Do you have any cats?” The men looked to each other and shrugged. A large man stepped forward from the group wearing leather greaves and a breastplate of bronze. His hands were thick and sturdy, covered in soot and dirt.

  “What are you about?” the man said with a hand resting on his heavy broadsword.

  Peren waved the man off. “I need cats, or maybe small dogs,” he said.

  The large man raised an eyebrow and stopped Peren from reaching the catapults with a strong palm against the wiry man’s chest. “I am Demetrius,” he said. “I am in charge of the catapults, so you will either explain yourself or I will throw you to the front lines.”

  Peren took a step back and looked at Demetrius’ thick body and nodded. “I bet you could do it too,” he said.

  “If I can’t, I could set you in the basket,” Demetrius said half-jokingly as he pointed to the nearest catapult.

  Peren put a hand in the air. “I have an idea, but I need cats.”

  Demetrius folded his arms, unimpressed.

  “I can cast a spell to change a cat into a wyvern. The problem is that cats are stubborn and they only ascent to changing form if they are in great danger.”

  Demetrius looked back to his men. “Back to work men,” he said. He glanced back to Peren. “I am busy, I don’t have time to suffer fools.”

  Peren let out an exasperated sigh and started for the catapult again. Demetrius quickly reached out with a hand and snatched Peren by the collar of his robes. The thin mage weaved his fingers and Demetrius stood motionless, as if turned to stone.

  “I have tricks of my own,” Peren said. The men each drew their weapons, but Peren cast another spell and held them motionless as well. Then he went to the catapult and checked the levers and triggering mechanisms. He nodded to himself, pleased with what he saw and then ran to the stable, leaving the statue-like men where they stood.

  Once he got to the stable he looked in each of the stalls. Near the back of the second stall he found an extremely furry white cat with a gray tail fighting a packrat in the straw on the ground. The packrat was almost as large as the cat, but the cat was obviously toying with its prey, batting it across the side of the head whenever it tried to attack.

  “What luck!” Peren exclaimed. He sprang into action and seized the packrat and cat at the same time, pulling them apart before the cat could finish the packrat. The rat shrieked and gnashed its teeth, but Peren held it firmly around the neck, nearly choking it. Its claws tore into his hand, but he paid that no mind. The cat was equally as agitated, growling in a low, menacing rumble, but Peren held onto the scruff of the cat’s neck, being careful to point all of its feet as far away from him as possible.

  Peren looked to the rat first and whispered an incantation. He couldn’t hear the rat’s thoughts of course, but he knew the rat was succumbing to his will when the rodent ceased fighting and hung limp in his hand. The cat, on the other hand, wanted nothing of it. Peren swore the cat was angry enough to rip its own hide out from its neck to break free if it could. Its body was rigid and poised, yielding to Peren’s grip only inasmuch as it was unable to retaliate. The animal was not willing to subjugate itself to the mage.

  He turned and ran back to the catapults, holding his catch out from him as he sprinted. When he got close to the first catapult, he set the rat down into the basket. “This will be a bit jarring,” he told the rat. The animal curled into a ball in the bottom of the basket and waited. Peren yanked the lever and the rat flew up into the air, spinning and sprawling around with flailing claws. Peren pointed his left hand at the rodent and muttered, “Wyve’ne lesun’be.”

  A flash of light erupted from the rat and it sprouted a pair of leathery wings, followed by a wickedly long, barbed tail. Its snout elongated and emitted a high, piercing shriek that was so loud the group of soldiers directly underneath stopped and grabbed their heads for a moment. Then, in an instant the wyvern swooped down and started attacking the enemy.

  “Alright, do you believe me now?” Peren asked the still motionless Demetrius. The mage walked over and touched his left index finger to Demetrius’ forehead and broke the spell.

  “I misjudged you,” Demetrius said as he looked out to the wyvern swooping and looping through the air above the enemy ranks. “Still, I will probably knock your teeth out for what you did to me.”

  Peren smiled. “I knew we’d become good friends.” He then motioned to the growling cat in his right hand. “Lend me a hand with this one?”

  Demetrius chuckled and nodded. The two went back to the catapult and Demetrius worked the winch to reset the basket. Once it clicked into place, Demetrius nodded and went to the lever. “I assume you want me to fire once you let go?”

  Peren nodded. “One instant too late or too soon will result in failure, and I am not going to try to catch this one again.”

  “Couldn’t you freeze him like you did me and my men?”

  Peren shook his head. “I’d have to touch him to break the spell. It’s easier to drop him into the basket.” Demetrius shrugged and nodded that he was ready. Peren held the cat over the basket at arm’s length. “One, two…THREE!”

  Down the cat went, hissing and growling. Just as its paws made contact with the basket Demetrius pulled the lever and the cat was flung into the air, yowling and flailing about. Peren held out his right hand and muttered, “Wyve’ne lesun’be.” Nothing happened.

  “It didn’t work,” Demetrius said.

  Peren repeated the phrase, ignoring Demetrius. Still nothing happened. The cat reached the apex of its trajectory and started its descent toward the front line of the enemy. Peren repeated the spell again, and then again.

  “Perhaps it thinks it can still land on its feet and get away,” Demetrius jabbed.

  Peren shouted the spell at the top of his lungs. A crack of thunder rumbled through the sky and a dark, metallic orb appeared around the sprawling cat. A bolt of blue lightning struck the orb. It exploded, showering sparks and flame on the men below.

  “Oh no,” Peren said.

  “What is it?” Demetrius asked.

  “I didn’t do this,” the mage whispered. “We’re in trouble.”

  A great roar sounded through the sky and where the metallic orb had been was now a firedrake. Black scales reflected the hot flames from the moat as it beat its wings and climbed up above the smoke. It disappeared for a moment and then it streaked down as fast as a lightning bolt, slamming into a group of four soldiers only a dozen yards away from where Peren and Demetrius stood. The ground shook beneath them and they fell to their knees.

  “What have you done?!” Demetrius shouted.

  “It wasn’t me!” Peren protested. “It was someone else!”

  “Release my men, now!” Demetrius shouted.

  Peren scrambled to his feet and ran for the others. “Where are you going?” he shouted at Demetrius when he saw the man running for a large building.

  “I am going to get the wind-lance!” the large man shouted.

  “Wind lance?” Peren repeated. Something snarled behind him and his insides froze in terror. Hot, fetid breath seared the skin on the back of his neck and the ground vibrated and trembled nearby. The mage didn’t have to turn to see what was behind him.

  “Master Peren!”

  The mage turned in time to see a pair of arrows plink of
f the firedrake’s scales harmlessly. He could see Lady Arkyn firing franticly from the roof, but he knew it was too late.

  “I suppose you are a bit upset?” Peren asked the firedrake. The beast opened its fang filled maw. Deep in the back of its throat the mage saw a spark, then a wave of flame washed over him and he was no more.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Al opened his eyes and sat up, stretching his arms out wide to the side. He heard footsteps coming from the cave nearby. The dwarf shifted to his knees and then pressed himself up, arching his back and sticking his hips out in front of him. His clothes were still wet in places, and they were uncomfortable, but he put that out of his mind for now. He walked forward to the cavern opening and smiled when he saw Brinon and Timmin emerge.

  “Thought you might still be sleeping,” Timmin said. “We came by earlier, but you were passed out on that rock over there, so we decided to leave you alone for a bit.”

  “Are the others assembled?” Al asked.

  “The others are here,” Alferug called out as a handful of dwarves stepped out from the cave. “The entire council is here.”

  A silver haired dwarf with a long, thick gray beard pushed his way forward. His bushy brows hovered only slightly above his dark brown eyes that rested narrowly on either side of his large nose. “I want to know one thing,” he said in a gruff voice. “If you beat your brother, will you reopen the mines?”

  Al regarded him curiously. “Are the mines closed, Dvek?” he asked him. “I could not imagine the minister of commerce allowing that to happen.”

  “I wasn’t given a choice,” Dvek huffed. “I was simply told that we had all we needed and that since we no longer would deal with outsiders, there was no need to dig anymore.”

  “You closed off all trade?” Al asked.

  Dvek nodded. “We were to rely only upon the king for everything. At first everything went well. There was plenty of gold to go around, but soon we ran out of things to buy. The men lost their will to work hard because everything was given away. Then, when the food shortages started a couple weeks ago I sought to reopen the mines and reestablish trade, but your brother said that until the humans finished their war, we could not afford to trade with them.”

  “That is nonsense,” Al said.

  Dvek nodded.

  Alferug then placed a hand on Dvek’s shoulder and addressed Al. “Will you also see us return to our old ways?”

  Al nodded. “I don’t know all of the wrongs that have been done,” he said. “But, if I am successful in my challenge, then I would see the mines opened. I would allow trade and free commerce again with the outside world, and by the Ancients I will give us back our religion.” Al eyed each of the dwarves for a few moments and then sighed. “I know I am not my father, but I will do my best to restore Roegudok Hall to its former glory, and reestablish our traditions from when he sat upon the throne.”

  “Then I bow to you,” Dvek said as he bent down to take a knee before him.

  “As do I,” Alferug said as he bent down quickly.

  Timmin and Brinon knelt as well as all of the others save for one dwarf. He was a large, thick dwarf with a beard of fire, braided into a double plait stretching from his chin to his round belly. A pair of axes hung from a harness on his back and his chest was covered by an old, yet expertly crafted, shirt of mithril mail. He stepped forward, locking his deep blue eyes on Al’s, and thunked a meaty index finger into Al’s chest.

  “And what of the soldiers,” he asked. “I have heard rumors of war beyond our mountain. Would you send the sons of Roegudok Hall out to fight and die for the humans?”

  Al was silent for a moment. “Faengoril the Bull,” Al said with a tone of respect. “I remember you from the days of my father. You have ever been a faithful warrior, and a keen minister. I would value your counsel on all matters to do with battle.” Al reached out and offered his hand to Faengoril. “I will not lie or pretend not to have war on my mind.”

  Faengoril shook his head. “I would not easily agree to order our warriors to fight outside of the mountain.”

  Al nodded. “I know,” he said. “Nor would I ask you to do so, except in great need. This war you have heard of stretches not only across the human realm beyond our mountain. It will come to us.”

  “Our mountain will protect us,” Faengoril said stubbornly. “We have never lost a war at home. Even when the orcs roamed the forests beyond, before the humans and elves came, we drove the beasts back. Time and time again they assaulted, but the dwarves of Roegudok Hall never faltered.”

  “This war is not a war of races, nor is it a war for land,” Al said solemnly. “It is a war for the hearts and minds of every soul in the middle kingdom. Our foe is not flesh and blood, but a perverse magic that would warp us into mindless servants. The Ancients did not put us here to cower in the mountain. They created us from the stone so we could dash our enemies out from our lands, and serve as protectors of the realm. The humans, though different, are still our kin in that we all hail from the same mother. The dirt gives life to them as the mountain grants us breath. To abstain from battle will not save our kinfolk, in fact it will only bring our foe into our homes.”

  Faengoril arched a brow and took in a deep breath. “A king knows not to waste his countrymen in battle,” he said. “However, a true king also knows when to issue the order to march.” He pulled a parchment out from his pocket and held it out for Al. “I received another letter from Lokton Manor. Fortunately, I was able to read this as the message came directly to me. I gather there have been other letters, but your brother would not share them with me.”

  Al took the letter and quickly scanned through its contents. He looked back to Faengoril. “Do I have your support?”

  “Who is Erik Lokton?” Faengoril asked.

  “He is the Champion of Truth, and the only one who can ultimately stop the impending doom,” Al replied.

  “Are you sure?” Faengoril asked.

  “I have seen him wield the white flame, and he has taken the form of a dragon before my very eyes,” Al replied evenly. “He is green yet, but I believe he is the one.”

  Faengoril fell to a knee. “My king, I live to serve you. May your days be long and bright in the golden hall under the mountain.”

  The others repeated, “May your days be long and bright in Roegudok Hall!”

  Al reached down and took Faengoril by the forearm. “Let us go and see my brother.”

  “First, we thought you might like some dry clothes,” Timmin said quickly as he jumped up and slung a backpack around to drop it at Al’s feet. “Some of our pa’s old clothes, but we think they’ll fit you.”

  Al nodded. “Thank you.” The others all went to the cave and waited while Al changed into a dry set of clothes. The musty, earthen smell was pleasant to him as he slipped the hooded shirt on. It brought back memories of running into the deeper tunnels as a young dwarf. An old monogram on the loose sleeve had the initials ‘A’ and ‘S’ sewn above the wrist. Al smiled. He remembered then that he had been named after his uncle. A warm feeling came over him, like he had finally returned to his home, where he had always belonged. He had no idea how much he had missed his birthplace, until this moment as he looked at the letters on his sleeve.

  “Time to set things right,” Al said. He slid his hammer into the belt and walked into the cave. The councilors all swarmed around him as Timmin and Brinon led the group through the tunnels. Al slipped the hood up and over his head as they walked through the main areas.

  The once bustling market area was now a shell of its former self. A couple of wooden tables displayed some older trinkets, but it was nothing like what he remembered from before he left. In place of heaping fruits and roasting meat he saw only small wagons with shriveled blood-roots and potatoes.

  “Where is all the food?” he said.

  “I told you,” Dvek replied. “We started having shortages a couple of weeks ago.”

  “Things were better even when the Keeper came to
call on your brother,” Alferug said. “But after he left, your brother severed all ties with the outside world. Since then we have been trying to live off of our own stores. Only a handful of guards are allowed to go out for game, and no one is farming on the mountainside anymore.”

  “This is not right,” Al said.

  Al looked up at the vaulted ceilings which almost disappeared well over two hundred feet above his head. The plated gold and platinum that reflected the light of the torches and oil lamps which hung over them all was a testament of the dwarves’ ingenuity and wealth. Each supporting column had been hewn from a unique, pink granite quarry deep in the mountain and was smoothed to perfection. Even the simpler stone buildings set against the wall of the western side of the great hall bore engravings that displayed expert craftsmanship.

  As he walked through the marketplace, which had once been the most renowned market in all of the Middle Kingdom, his heart sank at the sight of so many vacant shops. Instead of hammers ringing on workbenches amidst the roar of kilns and open forges, the hall was quiet. Long, tired faces looked at him from behind barren tables and empty market stalls.

  After crossing the market the group wound its way up a spiraling staircase cut right into the stone of the eastern wall. The way was long, and would be tiring to all but the dwarf folk, who were built for climbing up and down long tunnels in the mountain. The staircase was twenty feet wide, adorned with stone engravings and murals along either wall. Some depicted historical events, battles, coronations, deaths and births of kings. Others were simply ornamental designs created by the greatest of dwarven masters. The stairs themselves were hewn right out of the black mountain stone, polished to a high sheen and inlaid with gold that crisscrossed diagonally and glittered under foot as the great chandeliers above burned bright and cast their light down.

  Thirty minutes passed before Al and the council reached the top landing in front of the throne room. The landing itself was forty feet long and flanked with sets of armor on display atop pedestals of solid gold. Each pedestal had the name of a great hero carved into it. One of those heroes was Misgerahh’tanah Sit’marihu, Al’s grandfather. Al went to the set of armor and gently brushed the left pauldron.