A Crown Of War (Book 4)

by Michael Ploof

  “Did my fearless dragon-hawk just pass out?” Dirk asked with mock disbelief.

  Krentz settled in for a long healing session. She understood far less about the dragon anatomy than she did elves or even humans, and she knew nothing of the anatomy of a dragon-hawk crossbreed. Dirk went about once more gathering wood. By the time midnight came, three separate fires blazed around Fyrfrost. Dragons withstood colder conditions more comfortably than people, but he thought the extra warmth couldn’t hurt. Fyrfrost gave no indication of his preference. The dragon-hawk slept so soundly during Krentz’s spell work, Dirk would have mistaken him for dead if not for the slight wisps of smoke from his nostrils.

  Dirk found what comfort he could on the cold ground, and slept until the morning sun woke him. Krentz was still by Fyrfrost’s side, the puncture wound from the large branch was gone, along with many of his lesser wounds. She now worked on his broken wing.

  “Good morning,” she said as she weaved her spell work. There was a crunch of bone and Fyrfrost stirred weakly with a growl.

  “He seems better already,” Dirk remarked, as he surveyed her work.

  “I managed to close his wound and repair the damage within,” she said wearily. “Once I heal his wing properly, I shall begin building the other.”

  Dirk noticed Krentz’s physical form was slipping. She had become slightly translucent; she needed to return to the spirit realm soon. Chief came out of the woods then, two limp rabbits hanging from his mouth. He laid them next to Fyrfrost’s beak-like maw and nudged them closer. Fyrfrost’s nostrils widened and his eyelids fluttered. His tired eyes focused on the offerings, and with his long tongue he scooped them up into his mouth.

  “It is hard enough to keep him unconscious without a fresh kill rousing him,” said Krentz, annoyed.

  Fyrfrost stirred and rolled from his side to sit up on his hind legs. The wing that had been broken was still torn in a few spots, but it mattered not, as he still had only the one wing. Krentz sighed, frustrated, and slumped down to the ground.

  “You have done enough for now. He is no danger of dying. You should rest. I will take him hunting while you are away; we can resume tomorrow.”

  “Tonight,” Krentz argued. “I need only a few hours to gain my strength.”

  “Very well,” said Dirk. He went to her side and reached to touch her face, but she could no longer hold a physical form in this plane. His hand went through her as it would smoke, and Krentz regarded him with a shy smile. Dirk held up the trinket, and she became a wisp and was gone.

  “How about you, do you need a break?” Dirk asked Chief, as he held the figurine out to the wolf. Chief snorted and shook his head, and then snorted again and pawed at his snout.

  “What, you smell something Chief?” The wolf spun a quick circle and barked once. His behavior told Dirk something was about, but it was not an enemy.

  “Is it game?

  Chief shook his head and let out a quick, fake sneeze.

  “A man.”

  Chief dropped to his chest, his tail high, as a puppy might during play.

  “Show me.”

  Chief led Dirk through the forest to the east, leading to the road they had taken to Orington. He soon came upon General Reeves, and three of his soldiers, trudging through the woods.

  “Easy Chief, they are friend, one and all,” said Dirk. Chief fake-sneezed as if the warning was insulting.

  “Aye, there you are. Have any luck finding your dragon?” Reeves asked with a friendly smile. Dirk had not seen the man smile so easily in the short time he had known him. The man had a new spring in his step; a weight had been lifted from his shoulders since finding Orington intact. Had the city been destroyed, the civilians would have had to travel another week to the Ky’Dren pass.

  “Yes, he is resting, his injuries were great,” said Dirk, shaking the general’s hand. “You found me easily.”

  “Yes, well, the horse next to the road was my first clue,” Reeves admitted with a wry grin.

  “Of course,” said Dirk with a small laugh of his own. “Take it with you back to Orington. I am no longer in need, and thank you once again for the loan.”

  “Think nothing of it, my friend. We are in your debt.”

  “You have come all this way, might as well sit through some tea,” said Dirk. “That is, if you can stomach closeness to Fyrfrost. He is still recovering and does not need the distraction of human fear.”

  “I will be fine,” said Reeves, looking to his three men who had lost a bit of color at the mention. “How about you three get the horse to stable?” Reeves suggested, and the men eagerly agreed. Dirk didn’t miss the apprehensive looks they gave Chief; they seemed transfixed. The spirit-wolf was showing off. Dirk noticed that his paws left no footprints in the snow, to the curiosity of the soldiers.

  The three soldiers left for the road, and Reeves followed Dirk the short distance to his makeshift camp. Reeves saw the crash site and stopped in his tracks to study the felled trees. He regarded Fyrfrost with wonder.

  “That there is one tough dragon!” he said, searching the dragon-hawk for an injury, aside from the obviously missing wing.

  “Sure is,” Dirk agreed, searching out the makings for tea in his saddlebags.

  Soon, he had found the kettle and had snow melting over the fire. Reeves sat upon one of the fallen logs and took out his pipe and tobacco pouch. He sat first, and Dirk smiled to himself when the general chose the log that would leave him facing Fyrfrost. Dirk sat across from him, his back to the dragon-hawk.

  “You smoke?” asked Reeves.

  “Only opium, and rarely,” Dirk answered as he always did; he enjoyed the varied reactions that followed. However, Reeves showed neither comical nor quizzical reactions.

  “Well, you are in luck, good sir. I happen to be of the same taste, and I have some with me,” Reeves announced, cheerily.

  Dirk could not help but laugh. “You carry opium with you?”

  “Of course, ʼtis the best way to have it at the ready, nay? Besides, I do not partake often. When the fancy strikes me, I would rather have no bother about procuring it. A little bit of a good thing never hurt nobody, but a lot of anything will kill you, as my pappy used to say,” said Reeves as he dropped a small, black ball in a pipe. Before Dirk could refuse the offer, the general had the opium hissing and bubbling with the fire from a small branch. He coughed and handed off to Dirk.

  “A little, then,” said Dirk. He whistled to Chief who was sniffing about. “Best you keep an eye on things boy, I’ll be back in a bit.”

  Chief cocked his head to the side, and his ears perked curiously. Reeves began to laugh then, and did not soon stop.

  The tea came to a boil, and Dirk poured two cups. Reeves slowly accepted his with a happy grin. He slumped to sit on the ground so he might lean back upon the log.

  “Relax friend, these woods are guarded, and you have the ghost wolf to keep watch. Even if foul beasts are about, a man such as yourself need not fear much, whether he be up on an opium cloud or not.”

  “You speak of the spirit-wolf as if he is nothing of concern; you are familiar with such magic?” Dirk asked.

  “These are strange times, friend. Draggard and dwargon and all manner of nightmarish creatures walk the land, and dark elves wielding such power as to make a man feel like a child in their presence. Dark proclamations by a dark lord ride on the wind and are heard by all…no, a spirit-wolf is of little concern to me these days. Though, I am curious as to how you obtained such a hunting partner.”

  “I came across him in my travels,” said Dirk.

  Seeing Dirk was not about to elaborate, Reeves let it go. He lit up his tobacco pipe and lazily blew rings into the cold, still air.

  “Is your destination still the Ky’Dren Pass?” Dirk asked.

  “Nay, Orington has adequate lodging, and their food stores will last the winter,” Reeves answered. “You think we should travel on?” he asked, seeing Dirk’s thoughts on his face.

  �
�’Tis a miracle the city still stands. Should a horde the likes of which we saw yesterday come this way, the city will be destroyed, and everyone in it.”

  “We can hold our own,” Reeves replied with a raised chin.

  “I’ve no doubt,” Dirk assured him. “However, against the magic of the dark elves, your swords are as feathers before flame.”

  “If you are right, then a mountain will give us no reprieve from our fate. Nay, we shall die beside our kin if that be the will of the gods.”

  “The gods are silent, my friend.”

  Reeves laughed. “Is the ocean silent because you do not hear it?”

  “I do not hear the ocean because it is far from me.”

  “Ah,” Reeves shot up his brow with a wide smile, “but, unlike the oceans, the gods are always near.”

  “I surrender. I have many weapons, but against the words of the devout, I have none. Nor would I wish to weaken your beliefs, as you wish to strengthen mine.”

  Reeves nodded with a victorious grin. The steam had left his tea, but he drank all the same. The sun remained bright in the cloudless sky. The day was the warmest he had seen since leaving Eldon Island. The snow would become even heavier now, and the rivers would be stressing their banks. Dirk wondered if Eadon had anything to do with it. Many of the people would believe it. The dark elf promised a week-long cease-fire, and the next day the sun shone brightly in a sky of blue. He wondered if Eadon would honor his cease-fire. Armistice or not, the dwarves would not stop in their advancements. Dirk assumed the humans had received the worst of the attacks, being that they occupied the largest majority of Agora. They would be glad for the peace, and would use the reprieve to fortify what strongholds remained. Dirk could not guess what the sun elves might do next.

  Dirk and Reeves shared another cup of tea, and had a small lunch of smoked meat and goat cheese. The General’s gaze lingered on Fyrfrost. His eyes showed not fear, but wonderment. Fyrfrost had not stirred, and slept soundly as he recuperated.

  “A spirit-wolf for a pet, an elf for a woman, and a dragon-hawk for a mount,” Reeves mused. “I bet a man like you has more than a few stories to tell.”

  “No more than a general of Eldalon,” said Dirk, raising the last of his tea.

  Reeves looked to the sky with a hand at his brow to block the sun. “Looks to be near midday,” he said, and retrieved a curved flask from a hidden pocket within the folds of his winter armor. He popped a small cork and handed the flask to Dirk. His eyes asked Reeves what it was.

  “Eldalonian Spiced Rum,” the general answered.

  Dirk tossed back a gulp and passed the flask back to Reeves with a grateful nod. The general drank deeply and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Dirk could see a question behind his eyes. Reeves knew that he had given himself away and chuckled.

  “You are a man of many talents, yes? I would ask a favor.”

  “Go on.”

  “Take me with you,” said Reeves.

  Dirk sighed, but before he answered, Reeves raised a hand that told Dirk he had not finished.

  “I know you are headed to the Ky’Dren pass and beyond. You and Krentz will reach it by the end of the week. And then to Felspire?” he guessed correctly.

  Dirk got up to stretch his legs and threw a few pieces of wood on the fire. The general was adamant, and Dirk wouldn’t mind having him along. However, the general had nothing to offer Dirk, and he saw no logic in it.

  “My road is one of constant dangers,” said Dirk, stirring the coals with a short stick. “All respect friend, but what occurred yesterday is commonplace in my cursed life. You have your duties, you are now the highest ranking soldier in Orington. You will be more useful there.”

  “You travel to the Ky’Dren Pass, with a dragon-hawk, no less,” said Reeves with a nod to Fyrfrost. “If I am there to speak for you, your journey through the mountains will be much easier, and important information might be gained, for both of us.”

  Dirk considered for a moment. He doubted the dwarves would allow Fyrfrost anywhere near the pass, whether General Reeves spoke for him or not. Should Dirk travel through the Pass, it would have to be in secret. Krentz had made it through without trouble, and she could do so again.

  “Perhaps my road does not lead to the Pass. It’s not the only route by which to fly into Uthen-Arden,” said Dirk.

  “No, you might fly south around the mountains. What information will you find there? The route would take you over Turrell, if the city still stands. You seek information, and the Ky’Dren Pass is sure to hold your answers, not the endless empty miles of western Uthen-Arden,” Reeves replied.

  “True,” Dirk acknowledged. He moved from the fire and sat back down on the stump across from Reeves. “What do you seek, that you would abandon your responsibilities to the people of Eldalon?”

  “I abandon nothing,” Reeves growled. “My responsibility to Eldalon would be served well should I go to the Pass, where, surely, our soldiers have gathered.”

  “But, you wish to travel beyond the pass, to the lair of the beast,” Dirk reminded him.

  Reeves’ eyes lingered long on nothing and turned to the burning fire. In them stirred sadness, and a deep anger.

  “My king is dead,” whispered Reeves, the words coming out as a hiss of contained rage. “His line has been slaughtered. Kell-Torey lies in waste, the city that stood for centuries…is gone. This dark elf, Eadon, has destroyed my country. I would bear witness to his end.”

  “You believe he will be defeated by Whill?” Dirk asked.

  “I believe the gods will not suffer him to destroy what they have created. There will be a reckoning,” said Reeves with shimmering eyes of dancing flame.

  “Very well,” Dirk said at length. “You will accompany us to the Ky’Dren Pass and beyond. Perhaps, together, we shall witness this reckoning you speak of.

  Reeves nodded his thanks and offered a hand. Dirk took hold, and they shook. “Have faith, my friend. In these dark times, it may be all we have.”

  “I will drink to that,” said Dirk.

  Reeves gave a much needed laugh and produced his flask; the two men drank and sat in silence.

  Midday had come and gone, and the sky remained cloudless as the day progressed. The temperature had risen noticeably; no longer did the men’s words produce such dense plumes of mist in the cold air.

  “The elf, where is she?” Reeves asked. The question had been on his mind for a while.

  “Resting,” Dirk replied. The general was a man of honor, and likely trustworthy, but Dirk kept the secret of Krentz and Chief to himself. “She will be along shortly, and will resume Fyrfrost’s healing.”

  Reeves only nodded and did not press the issue. His eyes lingered on Fyrfrost, likely on the missing wing.

  The effects of the opium had worn off, having been mild to begin with due to Dirk’s high tolerance to such drugs and poisons. He rose from his seat and stretched; his body was restless from inactivity. He unsheathed his short sword and ran a gloved finger down its length.

  “Care to spar?” he asked Reeves. “My muscles grow tight, and we have a long flight ahead of us.”

  Mick Reeves stood with a growing grin and unsheathed his own blade. "No magic,” he said, eyeing Dirk’s large array of weaponry.

  “No magic,” Dirk agreed.

  They moved to the first of the fallen trees strewn about the crash site. There was not much room to move about in the heavy snow between the fallen timbers, so Dirk climbed atop one of the many large logs and walked its length, breaking branches where they would hinder movement. Reeves set aside his heavy fur cloak and followed; his footing was sure upon the rough, bare bark.

  Dirk came at Reeves as soon as the general squatted into a ready stance. Reeves’ heavy long sword cut through the air with impressive speed, and, when the two blades met with a spark, Dirk felt great strength behind the blow. Reeves was strong, and he wielded his comfortable blade with confidence. His speed was lacking, but against any other man
it would be formidable.

  The general did not back down, but met Dirk blow for blow. Dirk slowly began to put on the pressure as Reeves sparred cautiously. Dirk had more power and speed, and so Reeves remained on the defensive, always expecting a faster blow to follow the last.

  After nearly an hour they stopped; both men were panting, and sweat covered their bodies beneath their armor. They had not remained on the fallen tree, but had covered a large area in their sparring. Notches had been chopped along many of the logs, and the heavy snow had been trampled flat in many areas when the fighting went to ground.

  Reeves patted Dirk on the back as they caught their breath. “Good session,” he managed to gasp between panting breaths.

  “Likewise,” said Dirk. “The blade suits you well.”

  “Was my grandfather’s. He served the Eldalon army for thirty years,” said Reeves.

  “And your father?”

  “No, he was already raised with a father in the military. He wanted to be around more for me, and he was content with the life of a farmer…much to the disappointment of my grandfather.”

  “You followed in the footsteps that he would not. Must’ve caused strife,” Dirk surmised.

  Reeves chuckled. “Indeed, but once I graduated, my father gave me the blade, and his blessing. He did not want to make the same mistake his father had.”

  “Your father sounds like a wise man. Not many can forget their anger, especially for those closest them,” said Dirk.

  “Indeed, often those closest to us stir the greatest passion, be it anger or love.”

  Dirk thought of his own father, a man who had seen it fit to teach a child the ways of a thieving highwayman. A man who was drunk more than not. Dirk’s skill at pickpocketing fed them both from the time he was seven. They stayed for weeks at a time in various cities, until suspicion inevitably began to arise around Dirk’s father.

  Dirk shook his head from past ponderings and sheathed his polished blade. “I go to find what food I might for the road.”