Myrkron (Volume Two of The Chronicles of the Myrkron)

by Woods, Timothy

  Both Avari heard the twang of a crossbow at the same time, but it was Trask who side-stepped and snapped out his right hand. Trask and Attis immediately came to a stop. Trask held a crossbow bolt in his right hand. He glanced at it quickly, noting it was of dwarven manufacture, and then quickly scanned the rocks ahead.

  “Do not waste your bolts on us dwarfkin. We mean you no harm,” Trask called out holding the bolt up.

  A black haired, female dwarf peered tentatively from behind a large rock. Seeing the bolt in the man’s hand, the look of fear on her face transformed first, into shock and then to understanding. Only an Avari could accomplish such a feat. She moved slowly from behind the rock.

  Trask and Attis could see the powerful crossbow in her hand. It had been reloaded, but now hung at her side, as the identity of the two men registered in her fear- addled mind. The black chain mail she wore was torn in several places and she had an axe at her right hip.

  Trask and Attis held their hands up and away from their swords showing they meant no harm.

  “We have come from Middle Watch seeking survivors for Axethane Ralk,” Trask said trying to use familiar places and names to put the frightened dwarf at ease.

  “You are Avari?” The female asked meekly.

  “We are,” Trask replied.

  As he replied, the two Avari saw a child peek out from behind her, a look of awe on his young face. Attis could not help but smile at the boy.

  “Axethane Ralk sent you to look for survivors?” The female asked as her voice grew steadier.

  “No. We volunteered, but we did ask for his blessing,” Trask corrected her. “I am Trask and this is my brother, Attis. You, your companion, and your young charges are the first survivors we have found. We tracked you from Delven Vale up to Delven Lake and to here.”

  “We were cut off from the others as they fled to Delven Pass. There were too many ogres and we had the children to consider; so, we fled to the Lake hoping to meet up with others. It seems we were the only ones. The ones that went south, did they make it to Middle Watch?”

  “Aye, Axethane Ralk reported that two hundred and thirteen survivors were taken into Middle Watch,” Attis informed her.

  As Attis spoke, another female came out from behind the rocks with three small children in tow. She held them all protectively in the circle of her arms, as they clung to her. All of them wore soot stained clothing, but were clean and appeared healthy. This female was dressed in gray robes rather than the chain mail of her companion. Her black hair was pulled back into a ponytail and several strands hung loose at both temples.

  Her blue eyes drew Attis’ attention, and he nudged his brother. “She remind you of anyone?”

  Trask looked her over quickly and shook his head.

  “Look at the cut of her jaw, the shape of her nose, the color of her eyes, and hair,” Attis instructed.

  Trask looked at her again, studying the features his brother pointed out. He nodded. “Dain,” Trask said.

  “Aye, Axethane Bran’s young healer.”

  At the sound of the name, the healer took a few steps forward, a hopeful look on her face. “You know my son?” She asked softly, but then her face sagged. “But my Dain is not a healer. He was apprenticing as a Forger.”

  Attis smiled brightly at her. “I know of only one Dain. Unless you have a sister with a son named Dain, he could be no other, so much does he bear a resemblance to you.”

  Hope began to light her face again. “My Dain does favor me greatly. My name is Syanne,” she said, bowing her head to the two brothers.

  “Well Syanne, you should be very proud of your son. He is practically a legend among the armies. One cannot spend time among them without hearing tails of the miraculous healings he has performed. Even the Axethane looks to him with awe and protects him as a father would a son,” Attis informed them.

  “Dain was always a very bright boy, but we never trained him as a healer. How is it that he is a healer for a unit?” Syanne asked.

  “The boy asked to join Axethane Bran’s unit. Even though he is young, the Axethane granted his request. No one who has heard of Dain would dispute the Axethane’s decision. Even the ogre Chieftain, Karg, and his brother, Mardak, are fond of the boy,”

  “Ogres! What are they doing around my son?” Syanne demanded angrily.

  “The ogre tribes have split into two factions. Chieftain Karg has joined many tribes under his command and pledged loyalty to Axethane Bran. He sees Mortow for what he truly is and does not wish to live his life under Mortow’s yoke. He commands two thousand ogres that share his view. Five days back they came to The Slot and treated with Commander Salic and Axethane Bran. Mardak’s arm was badly injured and he had a malady of the spine that caused him to walk bent over. Dain healed the arm and fixed his spine. Karg then swore allegiance to Axethane Bran. Mardak is practically a personal bodyguard to Dain now,” Attis explained.

  “How can the Axethane be so blind as to trust them? They are a murderous lot that should be wiped from the face of Thelona!” The female in chain mail exclaimed.

  Trask turned his eyes on the warrior. “The ones that have joined with us are nothing like the ones that attacked your city. I have seen firsthand the destruction caused by the ogres that were here. I have also seen the honor with which Chieftain Karg conducts himself. The two groups could not be more different.”

  “Besides, I do not think Healer Dain would have helped Shaman Mardak had he not believed they were genuine in their intent,” Attis added.

  The heat left Syanne’s face and she hung her head. “You are correct, Avari. My Dain would know what lies in their hearts. They would not be able to deceive him.”

  Trask addressed the female wearing chain mail. “Have you seen any other survivors?”

  “Only the ones that fled south to Middle Watch. As I said before, we were cut off and had to flee another direction. You say only two hundred and thirteen made it to Middle Watch?”

  “That is the count that Axethane Ralk gave,” Trask replied with a nod.

  Both Avari could see the tears roll down the woman’s face.

  “That is less than half the number that fled Delven Vale.”

  Trask walked slowly forward, followed by Attis. He held out the bolt he had caught to the warrior dwarf. “Axethane Ralk has asked that we bring any survivors back to Middle Watch.”

  The young boy behind her stared in open amazement at the crossbow bolt in Trask’s hand. He tugged on the female's chain mail. “Vandee, he caught that bolt with his bare hand,” the boy whispered loudly.

  Trask looked at the boy, who couldn’t have been more than seven years old, and knelt down on one knee. He removed the sharp tip from the bolt and motioned for the boy to come forward. “What is your name dwarfkin?” Trask asked softly trying to coax the boy from behind Vandee.

  The boy looked up at Vandee and, seeing her nod, he moved forward a few steps and faced Trask with a smile. “My name is Alin.”

  Trask handed the bolt to the boy. “Alin, my name is Trask. Here is a souvenir to show those back at Middle Watch.”

  The boys brown eyes lit up with delight as he stared at the bolt in his hands. “Can I keep it?”

  “Of course,” Trask replied rising once again. He tossed the tip he had removed from the bolt to Vandee who instinctively caught it. “Come, we must get you all to Middle Watch so we may continue our search,” Trask said, his business-like manner returning once more.

  “I will help you look for survivors,” Vandee said.

  “That will be up to Axethane Ralk to decide,” Trask told her.

  “We will carry the children. I am sure they are tired, and we will be able to move faster,” Attis said watching the children’s eyes grow wide with excitement.

  The boy looked up at Trask questioningly, seeing him nod that it was true, he launched himself at Trask. Trask caught the boy and shifted him to his right side.

  Attis took a few steps toward Syanne and the three girls and knelt
down in front of them smiling. “Would you young ladies like to take a ride?”

  All three stared at him still wide-eyed as they nodded, giggling. Attis scooped up the littlest one and handed her to Trask, he then picked up the other two and, setting one on each hip, addressed the two women. “We need to travel quickly, but will set a pace you can maintain.”

  Turning southeast, the two Avari started off at a brisk walk. Attis glanced over his shoulder to make sure the women were following. Seeing them right behind him, he looked over at Trask. The boy was whispering something to him, but the little girl had fallen almost instantly to sleep. She had one little fist grasping the collar of Trask’s tunic and her head rested on his shoulder. When Trask’s eyes caught his own, Attis could see the heat smoldering in them. He could tell it was taking great control for his brother not to break into a run. They both wanted to get the dwarves to Middle Watch as quickly as possible.

  The look Attis had seen in Trask’s eyes was battle rage. He was anxious to confront the enemy that had caused such pain and fear, but there was still a large area to search before they could return to The Slot. The trip back to Middle Watch would be agonizingly slow. Though the dwarves were a stout people, their small stature and the stresses of recent events set a pace that made Attis feel like he was walking in slow motion.

  To take his thoughts off their pace, Attis concentrated on his breathing and turned his mind to light meditation. He heard Lord Micah’s voice from a night long ago as all the Avari sat in the square listening to the Avari Lord speak.

  “In life as in battle, patience is your greatest asset. When your mind is calm and clear, your eyes and ears will see and hear that which will elude a troubled mind. Wait for waiting’s sake alone and you will find that time no longer has power over you.”

  Chapter Twenty

  As Michael started to walk toward the classroom, he was calm once again. The centering technique of the Avari had refocused his mind and steadied his body. He had barely taken a step when Merric appeared before him, a puzzled expression on his face.

  “Did you call me, Michael?” Merric asked amazed.

  “Aye,” Michael answered.

  “But how?”

  “If I knew the answer, Merric, I would tell you. Right now, we have bigger issues. Mortow has sent many ships, containing large numbers of Weres, to flank us. They sail for the coast just west of Kantwell.”

  Merric looked from Michael to the two Avari, seeing the stunned expression on Branik’s face, he instantly pushed all questions aside and spoke the words of transport. The four of them materialized in the scrying chamber.

  “Show me,” Merric commanded.

  Michael turned to the basin and placed his hand on Merric’s arm. “Ostendo.”

  The liquid in the basin blackened then cleared quickly. Merric could see Kantwell, and then it was as if he had taken flight. He winged his way west of the walls and traveled with the speed of a Swiftclaw. Quickly, a beach came into view, and then he was over the ocean speeding toward nearly a dozen huge ships. As he neared them, his pace slowed and he banked right, circling the sailing vessels below. Merric could see the crews lowering sails and preparing to drop small landing boats. “Michael, how long ago was this?” Merric asked not taking his eyes off the vision in the basin.

  Michael looked a bit puzzled. “Uh, right now.”

  “I must warn the King!” Merric said quickly, then spoke the words of transport and vanished.

  Michael let his concentration go and the image in the basin vanished.

  “There is nothing King Brose can do that will make any difference for the people of the villages west of here. Most of his men march east to The Slot and even if the others leave this instant, they will be too late to save those villages between Kantwell and the coast.” Michael turned to face Reek and Branik. “I’m about to do something of which Merric would not approve. Are you with me?”

  Branik’s face broke into a wicked grin. “If you go to face them, then we should gather more Avari,” Reek said with caution in his voice.

  “I do not go to face them. I go to destroy them. I have all the Avari I need right here with me. What say you, Branik?” Michael asked.

  Branik smiled, remembering the day in The Slot when Michael destroyed all the attacking Weres. “You will leave some for us this time?”

  Michael laughed. It was a tense, strained laugh that broke slightly with the fear of what he was about to do. But what choice did he have? If he did not act, then many innocent lives would be lost in the wake of the Weres push to Kantwell. He felt his stomach lurch at the thought of the killing he would have to do. “If I can help it, no. What I must do, I must do quickly. I am not exactly sure if I can control it.”

  Before he could over think it or talk himself out of it, Michael spoke the words of transport and took the three of them to the beach.

  Merric appeared inside the courtyard of Castle Brannin. The place appeared empty. Most of the troops had already been sent or transported to The Slot. He hoped to be able to transport enough warriors to the coast to stem the tide of Mortow’s forces getting ready to make land there.

  He walked up the steps leading to the audience hall. The two guards flanking the door nodded to him, and the one on the right opened one of the double doors to admit him. Instead of taking up his post once again, the guard entered the hall behind Merric and closed the door.

  Merric turned to him with a questioning look.

  The guard cleared his throat before speaking haltingly. As Merric looked closer at the face under the helmet, he noticed that the guard was a young man probably no older than fourteen or fifteen.

  “Wizard Merric, I am sorry, but the King left yesterday for The Slot with the last of his knights.”

  If a young man such as this was on guard duty at the audience hall then there must be few men left at the castle and those would be personally guarding the Queen and the Prince.

  “What is your name, guardsman?” Merric asked kindly trying to put the boy at ease.

  “Ranoff, Sir.”

  “Well Ranoff, since the King is gone, whom did he leave in command?”

  “That would be the King’s castellan, Gregory, Sir,” Ranoff replied.

  “Ah yes, Gregory. It is vital that I speak to him at once,” Merric said letting a thread of authority slip into his voice.

  Ranoff stiffened slightly at the tone. “I will fetch him immediately, Sir.”

  “Hurry, lad.”

  Ranoff bolted through the deserted hall and down the west wing, his boot strikes echoing through the chamber.

  Merric walked down the steps onto the main floor of the hall and came to a halt about ten feet from the steps leading up to the King’s throne. He began to figure in his mind, how many men he was going to be able to bring to bear against this new threat. There were only about twenty-five Avari left at Kantwell, and Ataum had left about the same amount of Forest Guard behind. Merric doubted there would be a hundred able bodied troops within castle Brannin. One hundred and fifty men against a couple thousand Weres; even with twenty-five of those being Avari, the odds were not good.

  Merric refocused his attention on his surroundings when he heard the sound of tramping feet coming from the west wing hall. He recognized Gregory at once as he emerged from the hall with Ranoff and three other men. Long black hair streaked with threads of silver pulled back into a thick braid that trailed halfway down his back. A full beard displaying more silver than his hair was also braided at the corners of his mouth. Gregory was fit, but not physically large, only coming up to Merric’s chest. A long white scar ran from his left cheek bone to the corner of his mouth. His green eyes scanned the room casually and, after satisfying himself all was in order, locked on Merric. The black and green tartan of his kilt matched well with his hair and eyes. He wore a dagger and a long sword at his white belt, which was a glaring contrast to the rest of his attire.

  “Wizard Merric, what brings you to Castle Brannin?” Gregory asked,
coming to a stop a few paces from Merric.

  “Mortow has sent a group of ships containing a great many Weres to flank us. They will make landfall today, off our west coast near Kantwell. We must gather what warriors we can to meet this threat, else all of those left behind will be in danger,” Merric informed him.

  Gregory’s mouth set in a firm straight line as he listened to Merric. “We haven’t many men left, but what we do have are yours. When the King informed me he would be joining the army at the Slot, I sent for my kinsman, Darian. He brought what men he had remaining after the call to arms. I cannot leave the Queen and young Prince unguarded, so a few will have to stay here. I can give you about seventy-five men and myself. Darian and the remaining men will provide protection for the Royal Family.”

  Merric was disheartened to hear the number. It was less than he had anticipated. “We must make haste, Gregory. Our best hope is to hold the beach before they make landfall. We will be severely out-numbered and any advantage we can exploit, we must.”

  Gregory turned to the man on his left, a red haired man half his age dressed in a matching tartan. “William, run and gather the men and bring them here. Hurry, lad. Ranoff, please return to yer post. You and the other guardsmen will be under Darian’s command until I return.”

  Ranoff looked frightened by what he overheard and swallowed audibly. “Sir, I would accompany you to help protect our people.”

  Gregory’s mouth twitched up at the corner where the scar met it. “And the Shifters would run scared before your bravery, lad, but I need men of such courage here to protect the Queen and the Prince. Off with ye now. Return to yer post.”

  Ranoff was visibly crestfallen, but he saluted and walked off toward the main doors.

  Merric was a bit shocked to hear Gregory’s accent. As Castellan, Gregory spent more time at court than in his homeland, and the mannerisms and speech patterns of the court were strong in him. Yet, Gregory and his kin were from the far northeast of Branna. Their lands bordered the Anvil’s Teeth Mountains, which was the border of the dwarven lands. The fact that he made reference to Shifters instead of Weres was a testament to how close his people actually were with the dwarves.