A Crown Of War (Book 4)

by Michael Ploof

  “You should let this go,” Krentz warned.

  “She is out there somewhere,” said Dirk from the shadows of the dwarven tunnel. Krentz turned him around with her hand to his shoulder.

  “And what will you do if you find her? Even with my power, I cannot defeat her. You are mighty, Dirk Blackthorn, but not that mighty.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” He grinned. “Of course I am.”

  “You two be talking all night, or we be killin the demon witch?” Raene asked behind them. The residual energy of Krentz’s healing coursed through her still, and she bounced from toe to toe in anticipation.

  “I have a plan,” Dirk told them both. “Krentz, you still possess the gift of power from your father, correct?”

  “Yes?” she answered hesitantly, her eyes darting to Raene.

  “Right, and the lich lord, she commands the entire army. She has no doubt received similar gifts from her master.”

  “Go on,” Krentz told him, a spark of realization in her eyes.

  “And your father does not allow his power to be used against itself, therefore preventing infighting,” he reminded her.

  “Exactly!” she said, becoming excited. “We will cancel each other out.”

  “And the fight will come down to good old steel,” said Dirk. Unsheathing his blade, he turned to Raene. “Stay closer to Krentz than the demon witch, and you will be protected. Do otherwise at your own risk.”

  “Got it, now get outta me way before this pent-up energy makes me piss meself,” she said, shoving past him. She exploded from the tunnel, shield leading the way, mace cocked back and ready to bash heads.

  Raene slammed into an undead soldier, sending him flying back into the others. Her mace split the head of another, and when two more lunged for her, Dirk and Krentz dealt with them. The two danced and weaved around each other, dashing in to strike, and dashing out to be covered by the other. Dirk’s darts shot out randomly as they plowed through the ranks. Behind them, Raene’s spinning shield severed heads as the power of Krentz’s residual healing energy coursed through her. Raene’s mace crushed skulls and shattered bones. Her mind controlled the flying shield as easily as her hand controlled the mace.

  Dirk scoured the undead hordes, looking for the necromancer. A spell shot out from the crowd and exploded upon the southern wall behind him. Floating in the glowing green fog was the dark elf.

  *

  Veolindra turned to green smoke and shot down toward the battleground. Whill slashed the air with Adromida, but missed as Veolindra flew around the ancient blade, through his energy shield, and into his body.

  Whill bent at the waist and fell to his knees. He clutched his chest, gasping for breath as the lich lord tore at him from the inside. He sent writhing tendrils into his own body, desperately trying to pry loose the evil spirit within him. But, she would not relent; she clawed and tore at his soul. She dug deeper into his mind and spirit. Something snapped in Whill’s mind; she had awakened the Other from his deep prison. The Other wrestled with the spirit of the lich lord, reveling in the pain she inflicted, and returning it to her threefold. It was now Veolindra who begged for escape; she summoned her hordes to her in a desperate attempt to distract Whill and his maniacal inner demon. Adromida surged as he pulled more power into himself and the Other. Veolindra fled from the Other through the dark caverns of his mind like a swimmer reaching for the surface lest they drown. She overtook what parts of him she could, and successfully lowered his energy shield in hopes to loosen his grasp on her.

  *

  Dirk and Krentz fought their way to Whill and Veolindra. The two stood motionless within an energy shield that sparked and rippled as it repelled the attacks of the undead around them. The dark elf necromancer had somehow gotten inside of Whillʼs energy shield, and stood with her hand to his forehead, her body bent with exertion, and his hunched in pain. Dirk knew if he was ever to make up for what he had done, now was the time.

  “To Whill!” he told his companions, and threw four darts to land next to Whill and Veolindra.

  Undead bodies flew in all directions as the darts exploded, but the gap quickly filled with more of them. They frantically clawed at Whill’s energy shield. A barbarian undead hit the shield with his massive war hammer, and the ground shook. Whill’s shield dissipated and the heavy war hammer swung toward his head. Raene gave a cry and, with a raised hand, sent the barbarian’s war hammer flying high into the air. Her hand changed directions, and the weapon came hurtling down to plant the confused undead warrior’s head in the ground. A large blast issued from Krentz’s extended hands, and a whirlwind sent the undead warriors falling back from her. She raised the whirlwind and increased its power. All around them, undead were lifted high into the air by the tornado she had created.

  Dirk struck the necromancer with sword and dagger, but the weapons had no effect. Raene too struck with shield and mace, but the blows moved through the necromancer harmlessly.

  “She is not of the physical plain,” Krentz said, cringing against the effort of her storm. “Like the figurine, her soul is tethered…hurry.”

  Dirk searched frantically for the trinket that might connect the necromancer to this plain. The trinket might have been anywhere in her flowing robes and tattered folds. His eyes were drawn to the staff she held in her hand. Many gems and bones dangled from the glowing staff, including a jawless skull. He reached for the skull when Whill suddenly gasped and stumbled back from the dark elf, writhing in agony. She too seemed to come back to herself, for she grabbed Dirk’s wrist and, with a quick jerk, broke his arm. She hit him in the chest with the other. A bright flash exploded from his chest as his armor absorbed the blow. Raene flew at the lich lord with her mace and shield cocked back. Veolindra twirled and slammed her with the end of her staff. A green explosion blew Raene back to be engulfed by the whirlwind.

  Dirk came on again with his good arm, slashing at the staff. Veolindra raised a clawed hand, and Dirk was wracked with pain and raised off his feet to float before her.

  “The skull!” Dirk screamed at Whill through the pain. But, if the man heard him, he gave no indication. He writhed on the ground as if two beasts raged within him.

  Veolindra whirled on Krentz, who remained stuck, controlling her immense whirlwind that kept the undead at bay. An ear-piercing shriek escaped her as she cast a green spell, engulfing Krentz. Instantly, the whirlwind died down and, like Dirk, Krentz was raised by a green spell that tore through her being and clawed at her soul in an attempt to devour it. Dirk felt himself slipping, his soul being torn from his body. He fought the spell with everything he had, though it seemed hopeless.

  Through hazy eyes, he watched Whill get to his feet and attack Veolindra with a long glowing chain that looked to have torn through his wrist. Half of Whill’s body became a scarred, bloody, and wild-eyed reflection of himself. The chain wound around the lich lord and held her fast. Dirk and Krentz fell to the ground as the undead rushed at them from all sides. With his left hand, Whill pulled the skull from the staff to him, and it exploded on contact. The lich lord disappeared with a violent shriek that echoed through the pass for miles.

  Dirk reached for Krentz, who seemed no more than a shadow by then. She had come dangerously close to being absorbed by the lich lord.

  “Back to the spirit world, my love,” he whispered, and her spirit returned to the trinket in his pocket.

  Whill stared down at him. All around them, the undead had stopped in their tracks, a dim, green light glowing in their eyes. With their handler dead, they did nothing, having no mind of their own. Whill scowled at Dirk. “You,’ he said accusingly.

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Reunion

  Whill grabbed Dirk by the throat and lifted him off his feet. Dirk’s good hand clutched Whill’s firm grip, and the assassin’s words choked out along with his breath. Whill shook with rage and threw him to the ground once more. He held the tip of Adromida to Dirk’s chin, as the assassin coughed and tried to find his
voice.

  “Go ahead,” he finally said. “I had no choice in the matter, he would have killed her.”

  Whill told himself not to listen to him; he was a trickster, a weaver of lies. The assassin was just trying to save his own hide.

  “Who is he?” he asked, keeping the blade where it was.

  “Eadon,” said Dirk, rubbing his throat. “He held my woman hostage.”

  “When did you come into Eadon’s employment?”

  “Before the fight in the arena, I was captured snooping around the castle where she was being kept hostage. Had I not made the deal to spy on you, he would have killed her. What was I to do? You were a stranger to me at the time.”

  Whill didn’t want to believe him, but he recognized enough truth in his eyes to lower his sword.

  “Why are you here?”

  Dirk stood hesitantly, dusted himself off, and showed his empty hands. “Krentz and I came here with one General Reeves of the Eldalonian army. We met up in southern Eldalon and helped a band of refugees to the Ky’Dren Pass. He is here somewhere to back up my story, unless he has been killed. Would be a shame really, good man that one.”

  “Why did you help me against the necromancer?” Whill asked.

  “She tried to kill a friend of mine. I took it personally.”

  Whill eyed Dirk for a long while. After a time, he turned his attentions to the smoldering battlefield. The sun was beginning its descent, and nighttime would be upon them in only a few hours. His mind drifted from Dirk easily; he didn’t care about the man’s motives. Soon, he would have to face Eadon. Such trivial things as the assassin seemed to not matter. He turned back on Dirk; the assassin had not moved a muscle while his back had been turned. Whill could not trust the man, and should have killed him where he stood. However, he could not kill a man in cold blood, not this one, at least. Dirk had betrayed him, but he had also possibly saved him from the necromancer.

  Whill remained shaken by that experience. The dark elf had gone through his shield too easily. He had no idea how to fight against such dark magic. He realized once again how helpless he still was against some of the powers of the elves. Though he possessed one of the most concentrated sources of power in Agora, he did not possess the invaluable experience that came with time, nor did he possess the wisdom. He had crammed the knowledge of the Elven Tomes into his mind, but he had never performed most of the spells, and had not the privilege of learning from his failures as he went. He was a freak of nature and magic as well; the bastard child of a prophecy gone awry.

  “I do not trust you…cannot,” said Whill. “Neither can I kill you.”

  “I ain’t for thinkin’ you be killin’ this one. Hell o’ a fighter,” said Raene, walking toward them from the battleground.

  The undead led by Veolindra had fallen, or continued to stand in place, absently staring into the distance. Groups of dwarves traversing the pass eagerly sent the soldier’s souls on their way. Raene walked toward them, taking the time to crack two of the undead soldier’s skulls. The second one she spent a good deal of time on, and when she finally stood before Whill and Dirk, she was covered in blood and gore.

  “Where the elven lady go to?” she asked as she absently wiped her bloody hand on her armor.

  Whill remembered seeing a dark-haired elven woman conjuring the whirlwind and then later fighting with the necromancer, but, by the time he recovered from the dark elf’s strange attack, she had disappeared.

  “She is recovering,” Dirk told her quickly.

  “Aye,” said Raene. “As we all be. Was a right bloody battle, eh? The men be sayin’ different, but if you hadn’t arrived, the Pass might have fallen,” she told Whill.

  Raene slammed her fist to her chest and offered her hand in the human greeting, Whill shook it. “Name’s Raene, daughter o’ King Ky’Ell o’ the Mountains Ky’Dren.”

  “Whill…Warcrown,” he said with a nod as they shook. “Well met.”

  “Well met, indeed. I be knowin’ who you be. Not a year ago, you met with me pa in Dy’Kore, eh? He told us all bout ye, says ye be a good friend o’ Roakore o’ the Mountains Ro’Sar.”

  “That I am.”

  “Where he be at?” she asked, looking around. “From what we be hearin’ as o’ late, you two be thicker than the fur on a snow goat.”

  “He has been captured by Eadon, he and friends of mine,” said Whill.

  “Captured!” Raene repeated, shocked. “Then best we be goin to get him!”

  “You ain’t goin’ nowhere, young lady!” Ky’Ell yelled as he approached on his war goat.

  The king dismounted deftly and landed sure footed on the scorched ground before her. His gaze moved from her and fell upon Dirk. “I thought I be tellin’ you to mind she be keepinʼ put.”

  Raene stepped forward with a grave expression on her usually rosy-cheeked face.

  “Pa, me King,” she bowed and tears found her eyes. “Me brother, Ky’Ro, fell, he be dead.”

  Ky’Ell closed his eyes and began to shake.

  “I found the body. How did it happen?” he asked in a shaking voice of barely controlled rage.

  “A dark elf, you killed him when you threw the big slab o’ stone on his head.”

  Ky’Ell’s eyes went wide and shot in the direction she meant. His gaze turned back on his daughter and his already angry face turned to a snarl. “He still lives; the stone slab has been moved. Saw it when I went to Ky’Ro’s body. No dark elf lay dead under the stone.”

  “Then we will track him down.” Raene said with a patting hand on her father’s shoulder.

  Ky’Ell flung off her hand. “I done told you to keep put. Be a direct order from your King you disobeyed, be it not?”

  “Pa-”

  “Be it not?”

  “Yes, me King.”

  “If you woulda done what I told, then we woulda been alerted to the dark elf gettin’ away!”

  “Yes, me King.”

  The King raised his calloused hand to slap her.

  “Ky’Ell!” Whill yelled.

  Ky’Ell turned on Whill with murder in his eyes. “This be a family matter, mind your tongue, and your business.”

  He turned back on Raene. “Get your arse back to southern Ky’Dren, and report to your mother. ʽBout time you be gettin’ a husband and start actin’ like a gods damned woman!”

  “Pa…” she begged.

  Ky’Ell slapped her so hard that she fell to one knee.

  “Now!” he screamed.

  Without another word, Raene got up and left them for the tunnels to the south.

  “I got other things to be tendin’ to,” he said to Whill. “I wish you to remain to sup at least. We’ve much to discuss.”

  Whill nodded, having lost some respect for the dwarf.

  “You too, man in black. The help o’ your elf friend is much appreciated. You both be named dwarf friend in Ky’Dren,” he told Dirk.

  “Honored,” Dirk said with a nod.

  The king mounted his war goat and charged off to the east, and Whill turned on Dirk.

  “What are you playing at?”

  “Sorry?” said Dirk.

  “First you are a prisoner of Eadon, then his spy, and now what? You work for the dwarves? If Roakore ever sees you again, he will likely kill you, just on principle.”

  Dirk laughed. “Indeed, he would, he proved quite successful the first time around.”

  “So what is your game?” Whill pressed.

  Dirk’s eyes searched the ground in retrospect; Whill thought he was either acting, or truly looking inside himself for the answer. Dirk seemed to notice his broken arm again for the first time, hanging limply at his side and turned at an awkward angle.

  “You mind?” he asked Whill.

  “Yes,” he replied.

  Dirk’s brow raised and his face said, I don’t blame you. He sighed and produced the timber wolf figurine. “I’m not sure how it works. But, I don’t think it is the magic of dark elves. The trinket is a link to the
spirit world. From it, I can summon the spirit of a timber wolf of Volnoss. I suspect the relic is barbarian make.”

  “Humans have no magic,” said Whill.

  “Perhaps we do. You do,” Dirk retorted. “The barbarians have witch doctors. Perhaps there is some magic about them after all.”

  Whill shrugged.

  “Anyhow. My woman, Krentz, swore fealty to Eadon. I tried to trap her in the trinket until I could figure out a way to break the vow without killing her.”

  “And?”

  “And she died when pulled into the trinket by the wolf. She is now like he, a spirit who can conjure her physical form.”

  “Why did she swear fealty to Eadon?” Whill asked.

  “She did it on a trade. My vow for hers.”

  “And you only made your vow to save her in the first place?”

  “Correct, but it seems she didn’t want saving,” said Dirk.

  Whill thought about his story. Dirk had taken a bit of a risk admitting his woman had become essentially an undead, or lich, or whatever she might be now. Whill could take the trinket from him at any time; they both knew it.

  “Show me,” he found himself saying.

  Dirk sucked in air between his teeth. His face said I don’t know.

  “The wolf was nearly absorbed by the lich, I dare not summon him as of yet.”

  “And the woman?”

  “Krentz needs to recuperate as well. She can hold her own against any, but it seems these necromancers can inflict real damage to spirits.”

  Whill believed him; the warning voices in his head had begun to fade. However, he still didn’t think Dirk told him the whole truth.

  “Why did Eadon kidnap her in the first place?”

  Dirk held his gaze. “He caught wind of my reputation, wanted me to work for him.”

  “Why not just force you?”