Refuge: The Arrival: Book 2

by Doug Dandridge

  * * *

  “So you have seen what we have,” said General Zachary Taylor to the Dwarf Priest, after leading him and the score of other Dwarves around the compound. They had taken a look at the treasures that the humans had collected, including the horde of the great red Wyrm, and had experimented with a tungsten carbide penetrator, marveling over the hardness of the metal, and the possibilities for magical manipulation and charging that it presented.

  “And it a marvelous gathering of artifacts,” said the Priest, Garios na Gonron, looking over at the noble smith, Lono na Jina. “We noticed several God artifacts among them. Some that are more revered by my people than any other residents of this world. And the gold, the gems, as well as Mithrasidanas metals. That other metal you have in abundance. You have only been here a week and are already among wealthiest of realms in land.

  “But as to what you need, these things may not be it, if intend to continue fighting when wonderful machines no longer work.”

  The Dwarf gave the General an inquisitive look.

  “So what is you need, General Taylor?” said the Priest. “Beside necessities such as food, drink, heat in winter?”

  “I need the armor and weapons for forty thousand men,” said the General. “That’s to start out with. I’ll probably need double that in the end. That will be helmets, body armor, greaves, boots, shields, short swords, pikes, javelins and arrowheads. All will need to be of very specific designs, which my people will be working on soon. It would be nice if we could get some of your weapons and armor smiths involved in the process with us.”

  “And you need in how many years?” asked the Dwarf with a laugh.

  “I would like to have at least five thousand men equipped by winter,” said the General with a serious look. “And another fifteen thousand by the following spring. If we are to survive here we need to develop a fighting force as soon as possible.”

  “Well, you have resources to buy that and much more,” said the Priest. “If Lono get up to speed on your language, he be glad to stay here, work with you. I’m sure Balion send as many men as needed for this end of operation. Say, five thousand craftsmen and workers, who also double as defenders of valley if need be.”

  “Five thousand seems like a lot of men,” said the General, staring at the Dwarves with a bit of suspicion.

  “We need men to fit equipment to your men,” said the Priest, “as well as finishing touches. Most of forging will be done in our mountain home. But you need labor force here, believe me. I’m sure you want some odds and ends made up as well?”

  Taylor walked over to the back of a truck and pulled down a round nosed shovel, then a flat nosed shovel, then a pick ax.

  “How about twenty thousand of this shovel,” he said, holding up the round nosed instrument. “And ten thousand of each of these. As well as the edges for several thousand plows and a bunch of other stuff I can have lists made up for. We already have the Forest Dwarves making some of the items we need, but I’m sure your craftsmanship will be superior.”

  “Of course,” agreed Garios with a smile. “And you like these items made out of?”

  “Preferable some of the tungsten carbide alloy for the edges of weapons and the coating of the armor,” said Taylor. “It’s too dense to make whole pieces of equipment from.”

  “It take time to really learn how to work that metal,” said the Dwarf with a frown. “Perhaps we substitute Mithrasidanas for to start off with. You have plenty in the treasure. We take some in trade for stocks we will use at home forges. But we also want some of other metal. And God forged ax and mace you already have, for they be of much greater use to us than you.”

  “I think we can work something out,” said the General. “I just want my people equipped with the best possible things to wage war with.”

  “And you want them be of own design?” questioned the Priest after the Noble Master Smith talked with him a minute. “Lono wonders if that wise, when you know not type of warfare you will be called on to wage when machines quit working. Would it not be better to let us give best armor and weapons we have? With what we have on hand we equip five thousand your men tomorrow.”

  “No thanks,” said Taylor, shaking his head. “While I’m sure your chain and scale mail are good, as are the long swords and axes you will offer, they are not what we want for our army. You see, people on our world have been waging war for thousands of years as well, and we have evolved through many kinds of weapons systems. Those of my people with some knowledge of history think we know which way will work best for us here on this world as well. That way requires specific equipment of an ancient design, with some improvements we will make. So you will accommodate us?”

  “Of course we will General,” said the Priest with a broad smile. “And king will lend you warriors our type as well, in fulfillment of prophecy, if you find way fit us in using own style of warfare.”

  “I’m sure we will,” said the General, looking at the three so called immortals walking quickly his way, a frown growing over his face.

  The three stopped just outside of the circle of Dwarves and the largest of the three, von Mannerheim, gestured for the General’s attention.

  “I’ll be with you in a minute, Kurt,” he called to the large man in a loud voice, wondering what in the hell the damned civilians, and his ex-officer, wanted. Once civilians, he amended. Now they were officers at large, though the two older were still ill disciplined in his opinion.

  “Kurt,” said the dwarven Priest in a loud voice, turning to look at the big man, his eyes glancing briefly at the other tall man and the woman with him, then locking onto the big German.

  “It the Kurt,” he said, a smile growing on the Dwarf’s broad face. The rest of the short, squat people followed his gaze and started murmuring among themselves. The word Kurt was repeated over and over again.

  “It the King of prophecies,” said Garios, then shouted something in his own language. The Dwarves all dropped to one knee and bowed their heads, giving obeisance to a member of royalty.

  “I keep hearing about this damned prophecy,” growled Taylor, standing over the dwarven Priest. “What the hell is this damned prophecy? And what does this man have to do with it?”

  “He is warrior King,” said Garios, in an ecstatic voice, his eyes wide. “He is King sent by Goddess of Life to destroy Empire of God of Death. A noble of own people. He is noble of his people, is he not?”

  “His father was a damned Count or something,” growled the American General, who, like most of his people, had no use for nobility of any sort. “He didn’t accept the title, from what I know.”

  “A noble of own people,” repeated the Priest, standing up and shuffling quickly over to the large human, grasping a hand and leading him among the Dwarves, who crowded around him.

  “Enough of this damned hero worship,” called Taylor. “We have business to discuss.”

  “We will talk business later,” said Garios, giving the General an ingenious look. “For now we would talk with this one, and realize the dream.”

  “I am sorry, my friends,” said Kurt, giving them a lopsided smile. “I must talk with the General myself. But I will be glad to talk with you when I am done.”

  Kurt walked over to Taylor, who gestured the man to his tent while the Dwarves continued their chant in the background.

  “Can we speak, General Taylor?” said Kurt in a low rumble to the officer. “I have information I need to give to you.”

  “Come on,” growled the officer, looking over at Jackie and Ishmael. “Not the entourage. I’ll talk with you alone, for five minutes.”

  The General led the man through the tent into his office, gesturing to a seat while he plopped behind his desk. The officer steepled his fingers over the field desk that had been installed in the office and looked at the German over the tops of his hands.

  “OK,” he finally said. “Tell me what you have to tell me. I wish you had stayed away while I was with the Dwarves. We have a lot to do
here and very little time to do it in, and distractions are not appreciated right now.”

  “I am sorry, General,” said Kurt, his face concerned. “But I had a dream that I believe was the sending of one of the main deities of this planet. It gave me information that I thought you should know.”

  “Prophecies, dreams, magic,” growled the officer, looking daggers at the big German. “I’m getting sick and tired of having to deal with things I’m not really sure I believe in.”

  “Like big flipping dragons that breath fire and destroy tanks,” growled back Kurt. “Like men conjuring fireballs from out of nowhere and destroying those same tanks. Like vampires and werewolves that rend and tear your men during the night. Like Elves and Dwarves and small humans and Orcs. You better get used to it General, because on this world that is reality. And I think that dreams and prophecy and telepathy are as well. So listen to what I have to tell you. Then it is up to you to do with it as you wish.”

  “Very well, Mein Herr,” said the General around a grimace. “Tell me what this dream told you. But make it snappy, so I can get back to the practical work of ensuring that all of these people I’m responsible for survive their first year on this world.”

  “You know what these people say about the prophecy,” said Kurt, locking his eyes with the General’s. “They think I am some kind of King sent to save them from the bad people that already live here. I don’t want to be that man. I would rather that you keep the responsibility, and let me be a fighting man. But according to this dream, sent by the good Goddess of these people, Arathonia, I have choices that lead to consequences. If I don’t assume this damned crown then we are doomed to go down before the forces of this evil we face. If I allow myself to be made King, then we will defeat the current foe, and have a chance at the foe that is down the road.”

  “And who is this foe down the road?” said the General with a returned glare.

  “He is a Nazi,” said Kurt, his eyes troubled. “A follower of Adolph Hitler, of the same physical constitution as myself and Levine and Jackie. And he will embark on the road to Empire and threaten all good creatures on this world. This will happen in the far distant future, and not even the Gods can see the result of our conflict. But they can see what will happen in the near future, as we fight this current foe. I must let myself be crowned King of the Germans, the new Kaiser, if we are to win.”

  “Sounds like megalomaniac posturing to me,” said the General with a barked laugh. “It’s your dream to be King. So what am I supposed to do? Go find a crown and stick it on your head. Then give you command of the NATO forces under my command.”

  “I did not ask that, sir,” said the German, shaking his head. “I am not sure when I am supposed to become King of my people.”

  “Well, Germany was a democracy,” said the General in a tone as cold as ice. “Just like America. And I don’t intend to see some damned monarchy spring up while I am in charge.”

  The General twisted a pencil in his hands, snapping it, then scowled up at Kurt while the German remained silent.

  “No damned lords and ladies and other such noble riffraff will take charge while I am alive,” he yelled, standing up to look down on the seated German.

  “You are in charge now because of the military situation,” said Kurt, his blue eyes blazing coldly as he looked up at the smaller man standing over him. “But you are not German. These are not your people. They are my people. And when the immediate emergency is over they will choose the form of government they desire. Not you. Not the American Army. The majority of the people will choose.”

  Kurt stood up from his chair, towering over the American officer and scowling down at him.

  “Get out of my headquarters, mister,” snarled the General. “I thought you might at least be a useful military commander in my forces. But I can see now that you would just turn around and stab me in the back, so that you can be King. So as far as I’m concerned you are just a common laborer. You can work in the fields with the others.”

  “I do not think the German Army will reject me so,” said Kurt, a cold smile on his face. “They are not totally under your thumb, General. You may think you are Napoleon, and that everyone must obey you. But they may think differently.”

  “Get out of my headquarters before I have you killed,” said Taylor, his face turning red. “I know you’re hard to kill, but maybe putting you over a cannon and blowing you in half will do the job.”

  “And then you would make enemies of all of these people who have helped you so far,” said Kurt, smiling. “General. If I really meant you harm you would be dead. There is nothing you could do to stop me. I am not your enemy, though you seem to want to be mine.”

  Taylor reached into an open drawer and pulled a silver inlaid .45 caliber. He pointed the pistol at the German, cocking the hammer back.

  “Leave, now,” said the General, aiming the gun at the German’s head. “Before I splatter your brains all over this tent.”

  Kurt glared for a moment, not really afraid of the man. Death did not scare him. He had sought it for years. But a rift in the forces of light was not a thing either needed at this time. With a nod of his head, the big German turned on his heel and walked from the tent. Behind him the General screamed for his orderly.

  Chapter Thirteen

  After a day of harvesting souls all was ready for the ritual. The Half Lich Emperor Ellandra Mashara readied himself for the casting of the ritual, which would plant a pestilence within the bodies of his enemies. While not a Priest of Phelianus, the Goddess of Disease and Pestilence, he still felt more able to cast the spell than any of the priests of that cult, as they spent most of their magical energies in attempting to keep her away. While he intended to fully embrace her, as a lover embraces a beloved. To draw her power into himself and project it across the land, to strike at his enemy.

  He wore the robes of the Goddess, sickly yellow green with a black death’s head on the breast. The screaming skull, her symbol, was painted on the wall of the temple overlooking the sacrificial altar. A caged rat, the animal sacred to the deity, hung above the altar. Dozens of soul globes hung around the room, bursting with the dark energy of the newly dead.

  A female Conyastaya lay on the altar, her naked body gleaming in the dark light. Her eyes were wide with terror, and she flexed her muscles against the iron restraints that would not give. She searched the faces of the many Ellala gathered in the chamber, wearing the robes of Bothar Bonakasas, the supreme God of the pantheon of death. She found no solace in those faces. Only the cold stare of cold hearts glaring back at her, along with a few frigid smiles of delight in her terror.

  The Emperor cum priest moved to the altar, his mind questing into the nether dimensions of the Gods. A wavy bladed knife was in his hand, and his other hand started to trace strange symbols on the body of the Elf on the altar, dipping into a bowl of blood mixed from previous victims. His brain brought up an image of Phelianus, a wizened crone carrying a basket in her arms, from which the skeletal hands of death reached out.

  Ellandra drew symbols across the breasts of the woman. His hand moving down her stomach, drawing symbols upon her soft thighs. His hand reached up to the juncture between her thighs, rubbing blood into the organ of procreation that there resided. The woman tensed, whispers rising from her lips as she prayed to her Gods. Gods which could not help her in this time and place.

  “Phelianus,” groaned the voice of the Emperor. The name was repeated by the score of priests in the room. “Known as Filium to the others of this world. Mighty servant of Bonakasas, Bothar the God of Death. Thy servants call upon you to release a deadly contagion on our enemies. Please find our sacrifices to your satisfaction. That the vital soul of this woman may strengthen this spell, as the souls we have gathered here may give you the power to grant our request.”

  The Half Lich placed the tip of the knife between the breasts of the woman, pricking her skin and releasing a few drops of blood. The sound of the buzzing of flies beca
me loud in the room, and all could feel the dread presence of the Goddess as she looked down upon the scene.

  “May you find this sacrifice sufficient to grant our wish,” he yelled, plunging the knife through the cartilage of the sternum and into the chest cavity. A quick sawing and the sternum was split, and the Emperor reached his hands into the cavity and pulled the ribs apart. The Conyastaya woman screamed her agony and her terror into the room. The Half Lich grasped the beating heart with a taloned hand and ripped it out as he slashed with the razored blade. He held the heart, blooded dripping from the organ, still struggling to beat, up into the air. The eyes of the woman glazed over as her life left her. He could feel the energy of her soul, rising into the room. It sought its way to the heaven of her people.

  The presence of the Goddess made herself felt at that moment, pulling the soul toward the void of negative energy that made up her manifestation. The soul screamed when it recognized its fate, struggling to break free of the grip, hoping that the Goddess it had worshipped in life would free it. But that Goddess had no power in this room at this time. Phelianus ripped the energy apart and sucked it into her void, destroying the spirit of the Conyastaya Elf, feasting on the energy.

  The power pulled at the globes hanging around the room. There were twenty of the dark spheres, each with the energy of ten souls. These spirits were ripped screaming from the globes, taken to a horrible fate of servitude to the Goddess in her personal hell. The Ellala in the room could feel the pull against their own souls as well, but the protective charms they wore protected them from the eater.

  “I am well satisfied,” came the sibilant voice of the Goddess of Disease and Pestilence. “I give you the power to smite your enemies with a death that will spread through the days, until they are on their knees.”