Immediately inside the castle, Gant found chaos. Men wearing Barlon’s black and gold ran down the stairs from the battlements brandishing axes and maces. Almost before Gant was inside the gate he was attacked by a brutish man swinging an axe. Gant ducked and sliced underneath cutting through the man’s chest.
A clang rang from Gant’s back plate, the force knocking him a step forward. He wheeled to find a swarthy, bearded mercenary staring dumbfounded at the splintered knob of an axe handle still in his hand. Gant severed his throat before he could draw another weapon.
To Gant’s right was one of King Tirmus’ knights, Sir Ragula, besieged by a mob of chain-mailed swordsmen who threatened to pull him off his horse. Gant hacked down the only man between him and the knight, and then he was at the back of the nearest of Ragula’s attackers. Gant swung Valorius back and forth like cutting wheat; the magic in her blade severed the hard iron links like so much straw, cleaving through the man’s backbone. Gant waded into the midst of the group, swinging Valorius over and over, felling one after another.
Within minutes, Sir Ragula was riding to catch up with Prince Theodore, Sir Jarlz and Zandinar, who had cleared a swathe through the undermanned ranks of the castle defenders. By then the castle was in full rout and those trying to flee through the gates fell to the foot soldiers pouring in from outside. It wasn’t long before the Mountain Castle was entirely in friendly hands. Gant saw Lord Barkmar enter with a squad of bowmen. The dark elf began issuing orders, supervising the orderly search and liberation of the castle.
Prince Theodore rejoined Lord Barkmar, while the knights encircled the few prisoners.
Gant caught up with Lord Barkmar as the elf was about to enter the main stronghold.
“If you don’t need me for anything further,” said Gant, “I’ll be back at my tent.”
The elf nodded without turning and Gant was off at a run.
He could hardly contain himself. He rushed to Dalphnia. And she, just as eager for their reunion, greeted him warmly. She hugged and kissed him. They slipped away to Gant’s tent to spend what time they could alone.
Chapter 45
In his private tent, Gant and Dalphnia shared the evening meal and a glass of wine. Their hands touched lightly while they ate, letting their fingers tell what their words didn’t have to, absorbed in each other.
Eventually Gant told Dalphnia about his travels, about meeting Zandinar, Abadis, Amelia and Emperor Pris. After which Dalphnia explained her decision to search for Gant and, as a woodland nymph, why that was such a difficult decision to make. She told about traveling to Falls Hill and the riverboat voyage where she ran into Abadis. Finally she told him about her near disaster with the woodsmen. Gant still found it hard to believe her unique abilities to both charm men and bond with the trees and forest animals. He knew that she had originally used her powers of enchantment to capture his heart but now it was her warmth, honesty and beauty that fueled the genuine love he had for her. There was no more need for enchantments.
Pris interrupted them with a shout from outside the tent flap. “Gant, come quick. There’s someone in the castle that you need to see.”
Gant slid his hand from Dalphnia’s. “I’m coming, Pris,” he said, and then added to Dalphnia, “Come with me.”
“Sure,” she said standing, wrapping one arm around his waist.
They exited through the flap and found Patt and Faltern waiting with the grim-faced emperor.
“Lead the way,” said Gant, waving for Pris to guide them. And then noticing Krist’s absence, asked, “Where’s Krist?”
Pris struggled to speak, a watery shine in his eyes. His two guards maintained a military brace, but their red eyes forewarned of the tragedy Gant guessed was coming.
The emperor choked. “H-he took an arrow.” He paused to take in a breath and regain his voice. “He’s dead.”
It was like a stab in the gut. Gant liked the soldier, admired his loyalty to Pris, and remembered his naïve hero worship. A tear stung Gant’s eye. He fought to keep back a flood.
Dalphnia’s empathetic nature sensed the others’ deep sadness. She said, “I’m so sorry. He must have been someone special.”
Gant clenched his teeth, fought to steady his breathing and started toward the castle. “Let’s go,” he said, forcing his thoughts to Pris’ insistence that he go to the castle. “Who’s here that I need to see?”
The group lurched forward.
Pris’ mood lightened ever so slightly. “Just wait, you’ll see.”
He darted ahead, hurrying in through the castle gates. Once inside the walls they crossed the courtyard where Gant noticed the Netherdorf knights staged near a long, low building. Without stopping Pris went straight to the massive central keep. Out front a ring of banners flapped in the breeze while several guards stood at attention. The double doors stood open and inside the keep they found a narrow hallway that led back to a set of tall doors. Lamps hung along both walls brightened the interior. A throng milled around in the hallway and Pris had to push his way through.
Pris hustled them down the hallway through the wide oak doors into what appeared to have been a large banquet room. The great table in the center of the room was surrounded by people, many of whom Gant knew. Lord Barkmar and Prince Theodore stood near the center of the table, animatedly giving instructions to a continuous line of messengers, both elf and human, who ran the orders outside to the field officers. Zandinar sat at the far end of the table, apparently not taking an active part. Kalmine was there, along with Captain Hesh, huddled near Lord Barkmar. Gant followed Pris, sidestepping a departing messenger.
Lord Barkmar straightened up and caught sight of Gant. “Gant, we need the knights assembled at the rear of the barracks. They will receive their choice of weapons from the main cache.”
Gant looked around. Was that it? Had the Elf Lord requested his presence? “Right away,” he answered. Gant turned and started back outside where he’d seen the knights waiting.
Pris tugged at his elbow. “Send Zandinar,” he whispered in Gant’s ear. “The people I brought you to see are in the back, away from all this commotion.”
“What?” Gant balked. Pris’ knowing wink convinced him. “Okay,” he said and waved at Zandinar. “Take the knights to the back of the barracks,” he shouted above the din. “I’ll join you soon.”
Zandinar nodded, and without answering, the blond swordsman stood, rounded the table and headed outside.
Pris guided the group around the crush of people clustered in the middle of the room, slipping behind them near the far wall. At the back of the chamber was a concealed door tucked in behind piles of logistical paraphernalia. Gant followed Pris through the doorway into a cubbyhole furnished with portable cots, stools, and a small table laden with fruit, cheese, meats, and wines.
In this anteroom there were about a half dozen, scraggly, unkempt men and women. Gant’s eyes immediately locked on a gray-haired, stoop shouldered man sitting alone at the table nibbling on bits of fruit and meat. The old man savored each bite, chewing slowly, deliberately, only reluctantly swallowing, as if he’d never eaten before. The once muscular frame had thinned, his cheeks hollowed. His face was lined anew from tremendous strain but he was still Gant’s father.
His heart pounding in his throat, Gant started toward the smith. His steps faltered, his knees weakened. The frailness, the lack of fire in his father’s eyes was disturbing. And where was Gant’s mother? Had Barlon killed her?
The old man rose, staggered slightly, and hobbled to Gant, tears streaming down his cheeks. Gant reached him, hugged him. For a long moment neither spoke.
“Father,” Gant finally whispered.
“Gant,” rasped his father. “I am so happy to see you.”
“Not nearly as happy as I am to see you. I was afraid I’d never see you again.”
“Son,” said his father, retreating heavily to his stool. He motioned for Gant to sit next to him. “All this time, I knew somehow fate would see you clea
red. Wendler is a poor excuse for a man and now everyone knows it. I am so proud of you. Gant, I love you more than anything.
“Besides, if your mother had married a nobleman, you would have been a noble, learning swordsmanship as you were born to do. Instead you had to sneak out with your uncle and run rather than stand up to Wendler when the time came. In the end you became a warrior despite me. I tried to be the father you deserved, but after all, I am only a smith.”
“Father, your love was all I ever needed. All I ever wanted. Mother loved you. Nobody else would have been good enough for her.”
Gant leaned over and wrapped his father in another hug. His father hugged back, the old man’s strength fading. Behind them, Pris smiled, caught up in the moment. He hugged Dalphnia who laughed and said, “Aren’t you a bit young for me?”
Gant let go of his father and motioned for Dalphnia to come over.
“Father,” he said, with one arm around Dalphnia’s waist while his other hand rested on his father’s back, “this is Dalphnia. She and I are, well, very close.”
Gant's father’s eyes welled up with new tears. “Pleased to meet you,” he choked out. “I’m glad my son has found someone special.”
And then, from behind, a new pair of arms enveloped Gant. He turned to find his mother, eyes smiling, and laughter in her voice. “Son, you would have been proud of your father. He never gave in to Barlon’s men. Never. No matter what they did.”
Gant held his mother. “I have always been proud to be your son, both of you.”
Pris pushed his way in. “Don’t you think you should take them to your tent?”
“Yes, of course. And oh yes, this is Pris, Emperor of the Eastern Empire.”
“The emperor,” said Gant’s father a touch of awe in his voice.
Pris shook hands with Gant’s father, hugged his mother. “Not much of an emperor right now,” he mumbled.
“Come on,” said Gant, “let’s go to my tent where we can talk without the noise. It’s much more comfortable.”
Gant put one arm under his father’s shoulder and helped him hobble out of the anteroom into the main chamber. Dalphnia aided his mother and between them they all managed to work their way out of the keep. Pris led the way, clearing a path for them.
Once outside Gant picked up the shrunken husk that his father had become and carried him out of the castle. Gant thanked Pris when they left him at the castle gates. The boy just smiled and winked.
Gant, his parents and Dalphnia continued on through the maze of activity in the field encampment to his tent.
Once there food was brought in and while they ate, they talked about all that his parents had endured and how they were rescued from Barlon’s dungeons. Gant and Dalphnia related briefly how they met, leaving out Egog, and how happy they’d been.
Finally Gant asked, “Do you know what happened to Gwen?”
His parents’ smiles faded. “Sorry,” they both answered, “we don’t know. The day Barlon attacked we were dragged to a prison wagon and carted off before we knew what was happening.”
Dalphnia nudged Gant with an elbow. “Who is Gwen?”
Gant subdued a chuckle, surprised at the hint of jealousy. “She’s a friend, the reason I ended up an outlaw.”
“Only a friend?”
Gant’s father broke in. “They were kids playing together.”
At that moment, a tumultuous roar rose throughout the camp.
At the same moment, Zandinar stepped into Gant's tent. “Gant,” he said, “excuse the intrusion but you are needed at the command center. Uric has returned from Dragon’s Home. All the commanders are being called to a meeting.”
Gant looked at his parents. Things were moving too fast. There was no time to enjoy each other’s company. But, like so many things he had to do, so many choices that had been forced upon him, Gant had to go.
“Mother, Father,” he said softly. “I’ve got to go. Stay here. Rest, eat and regain your strength. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
Dalphnia put one arm around Gant. “I’ll look after them,” she whispered.
“No, someone else can do that. You should be at the meeting.”
“Why? I command no army.”
Gant grinned. “You command the trees to walk. You ripped the gates from the castle walls. You belong at the meeting.”
They said another quick goodbye to his parents and then Gant sent one of his knight’s squires to attend them. Gant, Dalphnia and Zandinar wound their way back to the castle banquet hall turned command center.
Instead of messengers, now commanders and high-ranking officers crowded around the central table. Along with Lord Barkmar Gant saw Uric, King Tirmus, King Herzolt, Prince Theodore, Abadis, Amelia, Sarona, and another bewhiskered wizard.
As soon as Gant, Dalphnia and Zandinar entered the chamber, a path opened for them as officers shuffled aside.
“Up here,” shouted Lord Barkmar and motioned the threesome to join him.
They crossed quickly to the table amid a ripple of whispers mostly directed at the “lady of the trees.”
Gant’s heart swelled with pride. She was wonderful. More than he deserved. Right now he’d give anything to put an end to this war and go home.
As they reached the table, Gant noticed Sir Jarlz standing next to King Tirmus. He was wearing armor with the Netherdorf crest. Gant angled toward his uncle, bowing to King Tirmus as he approached. The king nodded in return.
Once beside his uncle, Gant asked, “What’s going on? Why is everyone here from the Caverns of Darkness?”
“You’ll see. There wasn’t time to get everyone back there.”
Sarona stood at the center of the contingent. She waved her hands for silence.
“Things have taken a turn for the worse,” she started. “We must strike now or it will be too late. Each of you must perform the duties that will be assigned to you without question and without regard for risk. Some of us may die this day but we must go willing to make that sacrifice. We hold in our hands not the future of a kingdom or an empire but the fate of all life on this world. We cannot fail.”
Sarona paused, scanned the room, making eye contact with each officer in turn, taking the measure of each elf, each man. None wavered.
“Good,” said the queen. “The Dragon King will explain our plan.”
Sarona stepped back from the table and Uric took her place, a penetrating glint in his reptilian eyes that Gant had never seen before.
“Time draws short,” Uric began. “Some of my kin have joined Varg and are now bent on the destruction of all life. Foolishly they believe they will be rewarded.”
A moan went through the hushed gathering. Uric continued. “Each minute Varg’s army grows. Hordes pour through the portal he created in the tower of Pogor Castle. Soon dragons will guard that gate.” Another rustling went through the crowd. “For now the dragons are caught in Homeland. My sons and wife battle them at the crossing but they can’t hold them long. We must close the gate before the dragons arrive to protect it.”
Uric’s voice carried easily through the chamber as stunned silence clamped each throat in a chokehold.
“Gant, Zandinar, Abadis and Valdor,” Uric nodded to the robed stranger standing next to Abadis, “will accompany me to the tower in Pogor. We will close the gate if we can. Lord Barkmar and his troops will ride to Chamber Pass to reinforce those already there and ensure that Varg’s hordes do not get through the Monolith Mountains. Amelia will go with them as scout.
“King Tirmus and the Knights of Netherdorf will join King Herzolt’s army and return to Netherdorf to recapture it, retrieve the weapons stored there, and restore Tirmus’ crown. Sarona will journey with an honor guard to the home of the High Elves to cement the peace between their peoples and insure we fight together against this foulness. Any questions?”
The room remained silent. Dalphnia spoke up from behind Uric. “What about me? I’m going with Gant.”
“No,” said Gant, spinning to fac
e her.
“We had hoped,” said Uric turning graciously to the nymph, “that you would take your trees to help block Chamber Pass.”
Dalphnia started to protest. Gant’s hand closed softly over hers. She hesitated and Gant read her eyes, saw her fear that she would lose him again.
“You cannot help us,” said Uric gently, “and your presence would give our enemies a hostage worth taking.”
She considered the options and nodded. “If it must be,” she said and squeezed Gant’s hand.
“I’m going with you,” said Pris flatly, pushing his way up to the table.
“No,” said Kalmine, reaching for the emperor’s elbow.
“Yes,” snapped Pris, a bristling determination in his blue eyes. “I am the emperor. I will decide where I go. If this is not successful, my empire falls, too. It is my duty to see that it succeeds.”
Kalmine stepped back. A look of surprise widened his eyes, a half grin frozen on his lips.
Pris laid one hand on the old man’s shoulder. “You have been as faithful and loyal as any man could ask. Take Captain Hesh and the men and give Lord Barkmar whatever support you can. When I return, we will go to Malathon and set the Empire back to rights.”
The old man's wrinkled brown face smiled briefly. “As you wish, Majesty.”
Uric turned his attention back to the assemblage. “Then it is set. Go swiftly, and pray for our success. Good luck.”
Uric spun from the table and started for the door. He whispered to Gant as he passed, “Make your farewells short. We must go now.”
The room emptied quickly as everyone hurried to their assignments. Lord Barkmar and Sarona remained beside the table, carrying on a last minute strategy discussion. Gant hugged Dalphnia. An emptiness filled his heart as he pushed her to arm’s length.
“I waited so long to see you again,” he said. “I worried that I would never see you again, and now we are already saying goodbye. I’ll miss you, even if I’m only gone a few hours. I love you.”
Fall of the Western Kings (Tirumfall Trilogy Book 1) Page 31
