Dirk awoke with a start when an explosion ripped through the day. He quickly found its source in Krentz’s guilty laughter.
“Apologies,” she laughed, as she put the newly made wooden darts into their holsters on the bands Dirk wore around his legs.
“I needed to test one,” said Krentz with a mischievous grin.
Dirk lay back on his bed of moss and leaves with a sigh. He was startled by the blast, but relieved to be awakened all the same. His dreams had shifted from the fortune teller’s hissing accusations to images of the mother and child, the blood steadily dripping from the petals of a black rose. He was not afraid of her, but rather, afraid for her. He never possessed the faith of a religious man, but recent events caused him to rethink his beliefs. He, like everyone else within earshot of a town pub, had heard numerous stories of ghosts and spirits, but he never witnessed anything that convinced him either way. The wards he trapped Chief within had been learned out of the insistence of Krentz; Dirk had never taken them seriously until he saw the spirit wolf with his own eyes.
If spirits existed, then reason dictated that the gods and heavens were real also, as were the hells. He found no solace in the idea of gods and rules, nor heavens or hells. He liked the world wild and the afterlife a mystery.
He had contemplated dismissing Krentz to the spirit world for months, years even, until the wars ended and the dangers passed. But, he could not. If her time in the spirit world was like days to his hours, he would be condemning her for decades or centuries, and he did not have the heart. So, he would stand by her, he would fight beside her, and, together, they would do what they could to turn the tides in the coming battles.
He sat up and roused himself to the waking world laboriously. Sleep clung to him like a reluctantly-parting lover. Krentz had resumed her soft chanting and spell weaving, and Dirk knew enough to leave her to her work. Getting up, he called to Chief and took from his gear a dagger and a dart marked with a single elven rune. Chief sprang from the forest and over the lightly burning fire without disturbing the smoke and landed without making a sound nor leaving a track.
“Any game around?” Dirk asked. Chief dropped down on his front legs and barked soundlessly. He bounded up and turned back into the woods with Dirk close behind. A few hundred yards in, Chief slowed to a prowl. Dirk followed his lead and sniffed at the air as he crouched and scoured the forest. Many smells permeated the early afternoon air, and one was of man.
“Hold, Chief,” said Dirk, and the wolf froze.
Calling upon the enchanted studs on his earlobes, he listened to the sounds of the forest. There came the faint noise of someone walking through the forest slowly, followed by a soft thump.
“Stand down, Chief, they are no enemy to us.”
Soon, a man came into view, walking toward them through the forest. Dirk’s suspicions were proven correct when an Eldonian tribesman, with spear in hand, waved to them from afar. During their time living on Eldon Island, Dirk and Krentz had often been the guests of the Eldonian tribe, who called themselves the Morenkara. They had been visited many centuries before by elven Morenka, and the monks found eager students in the tribesmen. The people of Eldon Island embraced the ways of the Morenka, and lived in peace ever since under the protection of the powerful kingdom of Eldalon to the north.
“Well met, Winterstar!” Dirk yelled in greeting as he walked toward the tribesman whom he now recognized as one of the elders.
The man raised his staff in greeting and offered a bright smile as he came to stand before Dirk.
“Blackthorn returns to Eldon. It is good to find you well during these dark days,” said Winterstar with a small bow, causing his many leather necklaces to swing wide of his bare chest.
“And you, my friend,” said Dirk with a similar bow.
Winterstar smiled at Chief as he fully solidified.
“You walk with powerful spirits, Blackthorn. The dark ones hunt you still?”
Dirk nodded with a scowl. “They are like sand fleas, always biting at the arse.”
Winterstar gave a long laugh. “They give everyone trouble it seems. Come, I have food. We trade stories of the world, and we eat.”
Dirk glanced back toward his camp. Krentz would be at her spell work for some time. He followed the tribesman the few miles to his camp and asked many questions of the villagers he and Krentz shared as neighbors. He was informed of a few deaths and many births in the years since he left. He was glad to learn life on Eldon Island remained seemingly unaffected by the evil of Eadon.
They arrived at the camp, and, upon his first glimpse, Dirk realized Winterstar was on a spirit quest. Dirk helped the tribesman stoke the fire and prepare the food. He had no meat, but there was an abundance of roots, nuts, vegetables, and fruit. Soon they were eating and talking like old friends.
Dirk told him much of what had happened over the years, and to hear the tale repeated made it seem like a much more grand adventure than it once seemed. Now that it was all behind him, Dirk was surprised he had lived through it all. He doubted that many swore fealty to the dark lord Eadon and lived to tell about it. When such talk as dark elves came up, Winterstar became sullen. Dirk did not miss the weight upon his friend’s mind.
“Traders come many days ago with strange tales of war and death. Them stories have been bad for many seasons, but this news, these stories, them make it sound like end times,” said Winterstar. His eyes studied the forest and the sky above as if gleaning meaning from the leaves and clouds.
“A change is coming, Blackthorn. Royal family of Eldalon has fallen; them kingdom is crumbling. Dark spirits cover Agora in darkness.”
Dirk frowned at the tribesman as if perplexed. “Since when do Eldonian Morenkara care for the affairs of the mainland? Have you not embraced the teachings of your revered elven prophets?”
“I hear all voices, ask many questions, realities become many,” he explained.
“Will you fight for your life, if need be?” Dirk asked, intrigued.
“I do for myself, and I do for the ones I love, they who are many. But, we are no warriors. We will weather this as we would any storm. I go on spirit quest in search of answers, and I have found you.”
Winterstar watched Chief stalk a wide perimeter around the camp. In his old eyes was a helplessness that was uncharacteristic of the man.
“You’ve sent your people to the Burning Mountains?” Dirk asked.
“Yesterday, the move began. We have food for long winter,” said Winterstar.
Dirk and Krentz had explored the small mountain range often and found a wealth of crystals within many of the deep chambers. Why dwarves had not settled the small range, he could only guess; likely, they had sent mining parties who came back empty-handed, having found only useless crystals. But, where the dwarves found the multicolored crystals worthless, Krentz found them suitable to be used in the practice of Orna Catorna.
“The Burning Mountains will be as good a place as any to make a stand. Besides, I doubt that the dark scourge will come here. They’ve no reason; you are not a threat,” said Dirk.
Winterstar smiled. “We are free, so we are a threat to the dark one. We will not be taken; we will die free, as we lived.”
Dirk respected the tribesman’s courage. If the dark elves came for the Eldonians, none would survive. The Burning Mountains would become nothing more than a tomb for them. He would offer his help in their preparation, but this was one fight of many, and Dirk had eyes on bigger battles. Eventually, Whill would have to face Eadon, and he intended on being present.
“I seek the head of the dark one, my friend. I offer what help I can give, but I fear I cannot fight with you this time,” said Dirk.
Winterstar shook his head in understanding. He gave a toothless smile and offered more seeds and berries. The trees gave a sudden rustle, and leaves were sent spiraling into the air as Fyrfrost landed close to the camp. A whirlwind sent the small fire leaping and sputtering hot coals, as the dragon-hawk turned its natural c
olor of brilliant silver and landed fifteen feet away. Krentz slid off his back and landed gracefully. She offered Winterstar a smile and tossed Dirk his repaired cloak.
“Winterstar of the Morenkara, what do you know?” she asked, and gave a small bow.
Winterstar bowed so rapidly, the bones through his ears caused them to flap. “She-with-no-name, my heart smiles at your health,” he said.
Krentz gave a brave, half-cheeked smile at the greeting, but Dirk knew her heart. She had yet to completely come to terms with the loss of her mortal life, no matter her words.
“It is good to see you, friend,” she replied.
“Come, eat, fortune gave me a beehive. Honey water?” Winterstar asked, extending the hollowed wooden container.
Dirk was about to explain that Krentz had recently been ill, to help hide the truth of her condition, but his words were cut off by her acceptance. She brought the drink to her lips and drank greedily. Krentz offered him a wink and nodded as she swallowed.
Winterstar motioned to Fyrfrost, who sat perched in the midday sun, gleaming like a silver vein of dwarven lore. “I never seen that kind.”
“If you ever do again, turn the other way and run,” said Dirk.
Winterstar laughed. “You live a life of fireside stories, Blackthorn.”
Dirk raised a glass to that as if to say “lucky me,” and took a long drink of his honey water.
“What have you heard of the mainland war?” Krentz asked.
“Traders speak of darkness, armies of monsters, defiled lands, and kingdoms under siege. They call it the end.”
“Many rifts were opened by Eadon, his armies invaded every country, and their numbers are many,” said Krentz.
“Have you any news of one called Whill of Agora?” Dirk asked.
Winterstar’s eyes answered before his mouth, and he nodded quickly. “Traders them coming from far waters, them speak his name. Say he shows himself again, he with the elves and dwarves. Nigh on a tenday, they stormed Fendora Island.”
Dirk and Krentz shared a glance.
“They say Fendora is free of Draggard, waters now clear. Whill made fire rain on Draggard. He went through tear in sky, tear closed.”
“He went through and it closed?” Dirk asked. He turned to Krentz. “He could be trapped there.”
“Or, he is dead,” she replied.
They supped with Winterstar, and Krentz offered to help with their defenses. He was glad of the offer, but worry etched his usually jovial face.
Chapter Eight
Wolves at the Door
From the balcony, Tarren, Helzendar, and Lunara watched as elves scrambled to and fro throughout the city preparing for the coming invasion. Thousands of elven soldiers poured out to face the threat. Horns blared, and a deep humming began that Tarren could feel in his teeth.
Lunara jerked her head as if alert to something. “We have visitors,” she told Tarren and Helzendar.
Soon, two elves with shining armor embedded with many softly glowing gems joined them on the balcony.
“We have been sent by the queen to watch over the children,” said one of the elves.
“Who you callin’ children, elfie?” Helzendar said and spat over the balcony.
“My apologies, master dwarf,” he said with a bow to Helzendar and Tarren, who lifted his chin to seem taller. “I am−”
“Good, she sent the fearless Geldian, and the silent, but deadly, Arzarath,” said the Watcher as he joined them upon the balcony. “Geldian here was about to inform you three of two more guards waiting outside. Good, yes? Yes.”
The ancient elf bent to regard Tarren and Helzendar long enough to make Tarren shift uncomfortably. “Yes, quite a pair you two will make. The oceans will part for you, queens will offer themselves, those of evil heart will quiver, and men of honor will rejoice in your deeds.”
Tarren and Helzendar shared a glance.
“Master Watcher, your words? What do they mean?” Lunara asked.
“What is meant is heard, fair child,” said the Watcher, gazing out over the city.
“Words plucked from a river of possibilities by a hand groping blindly, but the reaching hand still searches, does it not?” the Watcher seemed to ask himself. “This night will be one of darkness.” He pointed out to the west. “And, so begins a Song of Swords.” The Watcher sang as flashes of lightning erupted in the western sky. The thunder followed five seconds later.
“They’ve landed, the shores have been breached,” Lunara gasped, as again lightning flashed and thunder rolled over them like the growl of an angry god.
Tarren thought that Helzendar looked eager for the approaching madness. But Tarren was hard-pressed to be anything but terrified of the storm heading their way.
“How many can they be?” he asked, as a violent bolt of lightning hit miles away. The thunder shook the stone beneath them.
“All of them,” said the Watcher with a faraway stare. “Eadon unleashes his legions upon Agora. Drindellia has been emptied.”
Tarren stared wide-eyed at the Watcher. The far off lightning and rumbling thunder was getting closer. His fear grew as the dark elf armies neared. A high pitched bell rose over the deep thunder, and the Watcher nodded.
“What does it mean?” Tarren asked, trying not to sound too worried.
“It is the warning bell; the queen has ordered the city’s energy shield be erected,” said Lunara in sorrow.
A deep rumbling began under the city, followed by a multi-octave humming. Light shot from the capstone of the closest pyramid to the next, until all were connected by the beams of light. The glow from the pyramids grew as the humming became more high-pitched by the second. The noise reminded Tarren of a whistling pot before the boil. The air was thick with energy and taut with anticipation. Without warning, the sound stopped, and time seemed to pause. Finally, a crack of lightning ripped through the city as the energy shield weaved into life. The shield stretched out and thickened as the webs joined ever faster to each other until a dome of pulsing energy as smooth as glass surrounded them. A moment later, a great fireball soared through the air from the outside and slammed into the shield. The city was shaken, but the shield held as the fireball exploded against it, and debris rained down like a river of fire. Another spell hit as the Draggard hordes poured through the eastern jungle. The voice of the queen boomed through the city as she gave a command in Elvish.
The jungle came alive around the advancing army and began to attack. Vines thrashed and whipped the beasts as the monsters hacked with spear and blade. The dark elves retaliated with destructive spells of fire and wind, scorching the earth in a wide breadth around their armies.
Tarren’s fear grew as the spells battered the energy shield of Cerushia. The explosions sounded as if the city were under water as they began to become more frequent and spread out across the dome.
“Will it hold?” Tarren asked Lunara. She did not answer, but turned to the Watcher. The old elf ignored them as he watched the flying draquon slam into the shield violently. As they continued to stare at him, he regarded them as if unaware of their question.
Finally, with a sigh, he spoke. “Will it hold? Of course not.”
Tarren slumped on the balcony rail.
“It is not meant to hold,” said the Watcher, and the boy perked up.
“What you gettin’ at, ye old crazy elf? Spit it out!” Helzendar groaned.
The Watcher regarded him with a growing smile and turned back to the shield shimmering above them.
“The shield will hold long enough for us to prepare, which I suggest you all do.”
“Come.” Lunara gestured to the two boys as she walked from the balcony.
Tarren and Helzendar followed her into the dwarven abode. Tarren’s trepidation had not lessened in the least. He had always dreamed of helping in the fight against the dark elves, but in the face of such violence, he began to reconsider his imaginings of war and glory.
Chapter Nine
Kellallea�
�s Offer
Whill opened his eyes and found himself floating three feet off the ground with his arms raised skyward. Before him, a dark elf stared in wonder. There was fear in his eyes. He raised a hand to the dark elf, who flinched and brought up a powerful energy shield.
“You are free,” Whill said to him, and the dark elf dropped where he stood. With his mind sight, he watched as the dark elf’s spirit separated from its vessel and was absorbed by infinite consciousness.
Whill looked around, not knowing where he was. The smell of sulfur permeated the warm breeze. The land was barren and covered with miles of odd rock formations jutting up to the sky like knotted fingers. He was nowhere in Agora that he had ever seen. The last thing he remembered was standing before the rift on Fendora Island.
Had the Other brought him through? He guessed as much as he scanned the landscape for any sign that he was still near the rift.
Seeing nothing, Whill rose up into the air until he was just below the clouds. He found he could now do so without consciously summoning the power of Adromida; the blade simply flowed with his thoughts. Even from this high vantage point, Whill could no longer see the rift he had likely come through. He worried for his friends back on Agora, assuming they had not come through as well.
Many miles to the east, a brightness shined for a fleeting moment, the kind made by a reflection of light from shining metal. Having nowhere else to go, he flew off in that direction. It was a little past morning here, but he had no real way of even knowing what day it was. He had no idea how long he had been under the influence of the Other, or what he had done. He had defeated his alter-ego somehow, but his memories since being overtaken by his other side were like a dream.
Whill flew over the strange landscape of gnarled stone in the direction of the reflection, but still he found no sign of life. When he reached the spot he believed the light came from, he found nothing. He turned to his mind sight and looked out over the terrain, but had no better luck than with his eyes.
A Crown Of War (Book 4) Page 4
