Refuge: The Arrival: Book 2

by Doug Dandridge

  “What happened to that kingdom?” asked Levine, looking back at the fortress city that looked so impregnable on top of its plateau.

  “Dragons happened, friend Ismael,” said the Dwarf with a scowl. “Dragons and soldiers of the Ellala’lysana. That is one reason we continue to live underground.”

  Everyone looked to the sky, as if the huge reptiles would appear any time.

  “And the other?” asked Levine, looking back at the Dwarf.

  “We don’t have to worry about the weather,” said the Dwarf with a smile. “Now I think it is time we entered this structure, and took care of what business we have.”

  Everyone nodded, and the exploration platoon checked their weapons one more time. All the human soldiers had both automatic rifles, or in some cases shotguns, pistols, and a melee weapon. In most cases this was an ax or mace, something that could deliver crushing damage to the undead. The dozen Dimikran warriors were all fully armored and carried axes, while the three priests carried maces that radiated energy with a clean feel to it. The immortals also wore their armor and carried their weapons, though Jackie had an M16 as well and Levine had a large revolver attached to his belt, the gift of an American soldier.

  The immortals moved first into the dark portal, it having been decided that they could best handle the unknown that might come out of the dark. Their light amplification vision also helped. Two of the dwarven priests came next, including Garios, using their infrared vision to see anything that might be radiating heat. The humans came next, interspersed with the Dimikran warriors, with the final Priest taking up the rear.

  The tunnel immediately began to slope down. It was maybe ten meters wide, with rough dressed stone on walls and ceiling, and a floor of flat granite pavers. The walls were slick with slime, and water dripped constantly to the floor, making the stones underfoot slippery. Kurt figured they had moved about seventy-five meters in and were maybe ten meters below the surface when the tunnel widened out. He still couldn’t see the end, but then the tunnel emptied into a room. He couldn’t see the ceiling or the far walls, but had a sense of a huge open space. There was a draft blowing through the space, and he knew that there were other opening to this place.

  “I see nothing, friend Kurt,” said Garios, waving his hands in the air. “No heat. I think we need some light.” The Priest shouted some words and made some gestures, and a bright light sprung up around the party. The ceiling was still hidden behind darkness, as were the far walls. But thirty meters in every direction was empty space.

  “Men with lights,” yelled out Jordan, “sweep the area.”

  A dozen lights came on, most handheld million candle power beams. The ceiling leapt into focus fifty meters up as the spots played across it. The far walls gave up their secrets a meter spot at a time.

  “What are those things?” asked Levine as shadowed cubbies came into view, with something that looked like a standing man in each of them. There were hundreds of them, one after the other, and many rows above.

  “I was afraid of this,” said Garios with a scowl, making more motions with his hands.

  “What are they?” asked Levine again, his own night amplifying vision bringing more of the wall into focus.

  “Mummies,” said the Priest, his voice low. “Damnable mummies.”

  “We had them on Earth,” said Kurt, wondering what all the fuss was about.

  “You told me of your World, friend Kurt,” said Garios, his eyes wide. “But you told me you had no magic. No supernatural.”

  “True,” said Kurt, looking at the mummies and wondering if he was seeing things, like movement.

  “These mummies move, friend Kurt,” said the Dwarf. “And they attack. And they kill.”

  And just then hundreds of mummies step from their cubbies and started their slow walk toward the intruders.

  “And what do we do?” said Levine, an edge of panic in his voice.

  Kurt knew how his friend felt. His limbs were actually shivering. He hadn’t felt such fear since he had seen untold thousands of Russians charging him across an open field. This much is magical fear, he thought. Like the dragons use.

  “We fight them, friend Levine,” said the Dwarf, tightening his grip on his mace. “We destroy them, or we die trying.

  * * *

  Prince Harrakihn kil Marizom of the Kingdom of Mooricaslavas looked down from his mount into the valley below. He had heard of this place. It had belonged to another kingdom of his people, before it had been annihilated by the evil bastards of the Kingdom of Ellala’lysana on their march to empire. Since then the valley had remained empty of human life. Even the Elvish people had avoided it, all afraid of the curse that the evil empire had put upon it. Until these newcomers had entered the valley and made it their own. And hopefully they will bring light to this place again.

  “There is a lot of activity down there,” said the noble officer Jakkarin kil Pharisom. “They are working quickly to establish themselves.”

  “Yes,” agreed the Prince, yelling back over to his second in command and battlemage. His mount whinnied, and he reached out a hand to pat its muscular neck. The black wings rose and fell, and the mount propelled him through the air. Behind them flew the other fifty members of the delegation, warriors, mages, priests and a few diplomats. They had been fortunate on the flight from the northern outpost of the kingdom. Nothing had risen into the air to challenge them on the way but a pair of wild hawks, and the mages had warded them off without having to hurt the birds.

  “I feel something in the air,” said Jakkarin, waving his hand to his front. “Some kind of energy I have never before encountered.”

  “Is it harmful?” asked the Prince, his eyes wide. He had heard the tales of the powers of this people from the seers. Those powers were supposed to fade with time. Having seen those large moving objects on the plains below he didn’t think they had completely faded yet.

  “I do not know,” said the Mage with a frown. “I truly do not know.”

  Then the sirens sounded across the valley and the Prince knew they were in for trouble. He frantically started mind casting, looking for a friendly receiver, before his small command was blown out of the sky.

  * * *

  “What the hell is going on?” yelled General Zachary Taylor, striding out of his command bunker and into the open air. Men and women were on the run to fighting positions and shelters, and the General looked to the sky, since that seemed to be where most of the trouble had come of late/

  “Radar picked up something coming over the south wall of the valley, sir,” yelled back a man with the black oak leaf of a lt. colonel on one collar, the crossed missiles of ADA on the other, running out of a command trac. “A bunch of massed objects. Between thirty and sixty.”

  “Dragons?” asked the General, feeling his stomach sink at the thought of thirty or more of the big beasts flying in to attack.

  “Too small sir,” said the Colonel, shaking his head. “More of a size with the big birds the Elves use.”

  The General thought about that for a moment, not feeling much better. Those damned mages or Elves or whatever that rode the birds could still throw balls of fire from the sky. While not as bad as dragon breath, it could still fuck up military equipment and kill the people using that hardware.

  The Colonel put his hand to his ear, listening in on a radio bud. He nodded his head and looked at the General. “Everyone is up and ready. We’re ready to bring them under fire as soon as they enter range.”

  Which means auto weapons range, thought the General. Missiles didn’t track very well on the giant hawks. Still a bit out of the hawk riders’ range, if they hit them.

  “Do not hurt them,” called out a voice in accented German. “They are friends.”

  Taylor turned to find himself looking at the beautiful Conyastaya priestess, her hands in the air. There was a glow around the woman that Taylor had come to associate with holy magic.

  “How do you know?” asked the General, looking up at
the now visible dots moving across the valley. None of his AAA assets were stationed in that part of the valley, so the intruders had not come within range of any weapons yet.

  “Their commander has communicated with me,” she said, her eyes scanning the sky. “And I have verified, I think that is the word, what they are flying.”

  “So they are flying the giant birds,” said the General, looking over at the Colonel. “Get on the net and tell all stations they are not to fire on those people unless they take hostile action first.”

  The Colonel threw a salute and ran for the command trac, yelling the whole way. Further up the valley a fifty caliber opened up. It only got off a couple of bursts before the weapon went silent.

  “You have disciplined soldiers, General,” said the Conyastaya woman while she looked up at the flying objects that were now resolving into individual dots.

  “They had better be,” said Taylor, putting his field glasses to his eyes and swearing under his breath as he recognized what was coming. “Those aren’t hawks.”

  “No,” agreed the priestess. “They are Klishana’tara. The flying horses.”

  “They’re fucking pegasuses,” yelled out one of the men, pointing at the flying horses that were winging their way toward the command area.

  “I think that is Pegasi, solider,” said the General, a wide smile on his face. “But whatever you call them, they are amazing.”

  Everyone in the area watched the flying horses come down into the open area on the other side of the tents. The animals were even more beautiful close up, folding their feathered wings over their backs. They were all the colors of horses, black, white, gray, bay, palomino, there was even an Appaloosa marked animal. The men on their backs wore similar clothing over chain mail, and their hawk nosed faces were all an ebony color.

  “They’re like the people in the city,” said Sergeant Major Cliff Jackson, walking into the area.

  “Yes,” said the Conyastaya priestess. “This was once the valley of this people, the La’mooricans. They worship Law, their ancestors having turned from Chaos millennia ago.”

  A man in rich robes dismounted and walked toward the command group, a wide smile on his face. He said some words in an incomprehensible tongue, holding out empty hands to his front. The Conyastaya priestess answered in the same tongue, and pointed the man toward the General. The La’moorican raised an eyebrow and asked the priestess another question.

  “So what is he saying?” asked the General, looking from face to face. He had always hated being on the outside of conversations he didn’t understand. That was one reason he learned the languages of his principal allies. Taylor could speak German, French, Italian, Spanish and Polish, as well as Dutch and Russian. Now he wondered if he would have to learn another half dozen languages, and also wondered if his tired older brain could actually handle it.

  “He says he is a Prince of his people,” said the Elf, looking over at the General. “He is here on a mission for his King to contact our people.”

  “So his father sent him here?” asked Taylor, and the Elf translated.

  “The King is not his father, but a distant cousin. The way his people reckon nobility is by membership in the royal family, no matter how distant. I think he would be closest to your conception of Count.”

  “And he came here to meet us?” asked Cliff Jackson, nodding toward the Prince.

  The Elf and the ebony man continued to talk back and forth. The Elf priestess frowned for a time, looking back at the General.

  “He says they came to find the people of the prophecy,” said the woman, her eyes showing that she knew the General wouldn’t want to hear that. And she was correct.

  “Son of a bitch,” said the General, glaring at the Prince, who gave back a level gaze. “I wish someone would come here to meet with the Commander of NATO forces and his gallant troops. Instead they all come here to talk to that damned German Baron and his friends.”

  The Prince started talking again and the Elf spoke back, the conversation going back and forth.

  “The Prince wants to know what is wrong?” said the Conyastaya woman. “He is here to offer the support of his kingdom, which includes soldiers, especially cavalry.”

  “Like cavalry mounted on those flying horses?” asked Jackson.

  “Klishana’tara not for fighting,” said the woman, shaking her head. “They are too delicate to take into battle, where anything that hits them can injure a wing. They are for transportation only, as they have more stamina than dragons and hawks. The Prince offers you standard cavalry, lancers and archers.”

  “That’s still something we can use,” said Jackson with a nod, looking over at the General. “One of our true needs.”

  “Do they have battlemages?” asked the General, thinking about their other great need.

  “The Prince says his cousin there is a battlemage, as are several other of the party. He offers their services to us.”

  “Just what we need,” said the Sergeant Major.

  “Thank the Prince, and offer him fodder for his mounts, and food and drink for his men,” said the General, nodding toward the ebony warriors. “We will arrange for quarters as well.”

  The Prince started talking, animatedly. The priestess nodded her head, then looked at the General.

  “He asked where the King is,” said the woman with a frown. “And when he can meet him.”

  The General thought for a moment before answering. “The King is on a cleanup detail. I’m sure he’ll be available later.”

  * * *

  “When the hell is this going to end?” yelled Jackie, her twin blades taking the arms from a mummy with a double hit. The room was full of mummy’s that had been chopped to pieces. There was also a lot of dust that was what remained when the priests cast their holy spells. Only problem was there still didn’t seem to be an end to the creatures, and the priests had exhausted most of their powers.

  Kurt snarled at a pair of mummies that reached out with bandaged wrapped arms for him. A Dwarf and several of the human soldiers had already been touched. And they had suffered a rotting disease that killed the humans within minutes. The Dwarf was still alive, but not doing well. All three of the immortals had also been touched, with no ill effects. So they were carrying the fight to the undead creatures, while the humans and Dwarves watched their backs.

  Kurt swung his sword, which was glowing with power and lighting up the area. The sword sliced into the undead, doing minimal damage. Minimal that is until moments later the undead creatures fell apart from the touch of the sword. Jackie thrust her fire blade into a mummy and the creature burst into flame, flailing and catching another mummy on fire as it fell to the ground.

  Levine pushed a mummy backwards with his shield. The creatures were incredibly strong, but still no match for the immortals. Levine’s blade struck the head from the creature and it continued on, its hands reaching at nothing as the blinded creature continued to move around.

  “My damn sword isn’t doing much to these things,” yelled Levine, looking back at the Priest.

  “Here,” said the Warpriest Garios na Gonron, motioning for Levine to allow him access to the sword. He touched the blade and said some words that sounded like they were not made for a humanoid throat. His hand glowed, and then the blade. “Use it now, friend Ismael,” he said, then pointed his mace out toward the mummies and yelled some words of power. White light hit the mummies and scores of the creatures glowed with the radiance and turned to dust.

  Levine whipped the glowing sword into a mummy and that creature also turned to dust. “That’s what I’m talking about,” said the ancient Jew with a laugh. “Take that you copies of ancient Egyptians,” he yelled, taking out two more mummies. “I couldn’t avenge my people against those enslavers, so you will have to do.”

  Kurt smiled and swung his massive sword again, taking out mummy after mummy. He was still afraid, the magical fear running through his body. He recognized the fear for what it was, and didn’t all
ow it to force his actions. He glanced over at Jackie and saw that she was continuing to fight through it as well, and he felt pride in the young woman who was handling situations beyond her years.

  A human soldier cried out and Kurt turned to see one of the privates in the grasp of a mummy. The creature used its superhuman strength to pull the man out of the formation and fling him back into the pack of mummies, where more of the beasts attacked the man and tore him apart. Then another soldier and a Dwarf were plucked away and thrown to the pack.

  Garios raised his mace and shouted words of power. The light flew from his body like a wave moving out from a rock tossed into a pool. Scores more mummies fell into dust, giving the party a breathing space. “That’s the last of my power,” said the Dwarf with a grimace.

  “Shit,” yelled Kurt, turning and going into overdrive. He moved out into the mummies, they seeming to go into slow motion. His sword struck like a rattlesnake or a black mamba, at each touch destroying a mummy. His was a God blade, with no limit to its power. And he used it to cut a swath through the undead creatures. Jackie moved by his side, her two blades striking out. The fire blade torched every cloth wrapped creature it touched. The cold blade did not destroy the creatures outright, but froze limbs that snapped off as the creatures tried to move them.

  Levine moved up with them, his own sword glowing with holy light and doing much the same as Kurt’s. Except it wasn’t a God blade, and its power was already fading..

  “We are doing it, my friends,” yelled Kurt, swinging his sword back and forth, destroying the creatures by the dozens and scores. He kept swinging, ignoring the creatures hitting his armor. More and more of the creatures clustered around them, until suddenly there were only a few. And then there were none.

  “You’ve done it, friend Kurt,” yelled the Dwarf Warpriest, running up to the big man, reaching a large paw up to clap the Immortal on the shoulder. “We’ve cleared them out.”

  “So this pyramid is free of contamination?” asked Kurt, running the back of his hand over his forehead.