Myrkron (Volume Two of The Chronicles of the Myrkron)

by Woods, Timothy

  Watching the battle below, Megan saw the ogres that had allied themselves with Kantwell decimating the Weres. What they lacked in numbers they made up for in sheer ferocity. Megan decided it was time to balance the scales a bit. She concentrated on a large group of ogres. "Erumpo." Megan saw with satisfaction the ground under their feet burst upward, sending the ogres and a few Weres flying. Several did not get back up and others were attacked while they were trying to regain their feet. Smiling, Megan looked for another grouping. Finding one, she repeated, "Erumpo!" She laughed softly as bodies flew into the air and rained down on others, knocking them down as well.

  Mieka transported herself to her designated location, which was a small outcropping on the opposite side of the battlefield from Megan. The site below made her close her eyes and turn away. She did not like the killing, but Mortow assured her it was a necessary part of the plan. With the races' numbers reduced, there would be less conflict as they turned to rebuilding their populations. The skills of the separate races would be required by the others to aid in restoration and construction of that which was destroyed by the war. Mieka reran all of what Mortow had explained to her through her mind, trying to see it as he did; but all she could see was death. Turning back, she forced herself to open her eyes. It was hard to see anything clearly. All was a jumbled mass that writhed and cried out.

  Seeing a plume off in the distance, she focused on it. Bodies flew through the air and tumbled back to the ground. She closed her eyes again, but a sudden image of her father slaughtering a hog imposed itself on her mind, Mieka turned and wretched. There could be no good come of this. At least what her father did was to feed his family. She had never liked it, but she understood it. This, she could not understand. This was not the surgical thing she had deluded herself into believing. This was slaughter bordering on genocide. Mieka spoke the words of transport once again and left the battlefield.

  She found herself on her rock beside the stream where she had always come as a child. Throwing back her hood, she heard a woman gasp in fright. Mieka sat down without turning. She did not want to be disturbed. Drawing her knees up, she laid her chin on them and listened to the water. She could hear light footsteps approach and turned to tell whoever it was to go away. But her voice failed her when she saw the slim elderly woman, bucket in hand, reaching out to her.

  The woman pulled her hand back quickly and her eyes went wide. "Kiki? Child, is that you?" The woman asked in astonishment.

  Mieka could not help herself. She started crying.

  Chapter Forty

  Karg roared a challenge and charged forth. The enemy was finally at hand and all the waiting was over. As he met the advancing line, he swung his war hammer in a vicious arc. He smiled as he heard bones crunching from the impact and noted how the creatures flew from the mighty force of the swing. The press from the great number of enemies finally slowed his advance, so Karg planted his feet and swung about with his hammer. A wolf shot in and leaped. Karg caught it in his left hand and flung it with all his might back into the advancing horde. He felt its neck snap as it left his fist. A huge brown bear reared up and clamped its jaws on Karg's right upper arm. The tough ogre skin did not break under its teeth. Karg flexed his muscle and had the satisfaction of hearing the bear's jaw crack in dislocation. As the bear bellowed in pain, he landed a hammering blow with his left fist to the top of its head. Karg was sprayed with blood as the bear's skull shattered like a clay pot. "First blood!" Karg shouted, laughing.

  The ogres followed their chieftain into battle howling and killing, stomping and smashing. They lived for war, and this was war on a scale they had never seen. They heard Karg's shout with delight. First blood had been claimed by their chieftain. That was a good omen. They tore into their enemy with heightened rage and Weres fell all around them.

  King Brose, seeing the massive swarm heading at them, ordered the charge. He spun to face his men, raised his lance and shouted. "Victory!" Spinning his mount, he dug his heels in, and the horse leapt forward. A bristling wall of over two thousand mounted knights flanked him. As they neared the enemy, all the lances leveled.

  The clash ripped through the Weres as lances were torn from gauntleted fists. Many knights were yanked from their horses as the Weres closed ranks behind them. The king impaled a giant hunting cat on his lance and let the weapon go as he passed. He drew his sword and began to lay about him, slicing limbs and severing heads. The Weres were so thick that everywhere he swung he hit something. The press of the enemy was so great, even his heavy war horse came to a standstill.

  Commander Salic was at his King's right hand during the charge, but when they hit the enemy line, he was pushed away. His lance had broken on impact with a growling bear, and he now used the broken stump as a club, striking anything he could. Out of the corner of his eye, Commander Salic saw a wolf leap at his shield side. He tried to bring his shattered lance up and over, but something yanked hard on his neck, causing him to stagger forward over his horse's neck. The wolf flew over his back, snapping at empty air. Salic righted himself. He had dropped his broken lance as he was pulled forward, but he quickly drew his sword and began to press toward the King.

  Salic heard a familiar shout and smiled. The infantry had finally caught up. He turned his mount and saw several Weres go down under its weight. Salic saw the King's horse go down, but then he saw the crowned helm resurface. The King was attacking. He tried to reach the King, but his horse went down, too. Salic jumped from the saddle as the animal pitched forward. He lost his footing and fell face first to the ground. Something clamped down on his shoulder, and he could feel the armor bend in painfully. Suddenly, the pressure was off and he was yanked violently to his feet.

  Captain Hamil ran with his men. The horses had quickly out distanced them, but the rate of advance of the Weres would assure the knights did not get too far ahead. He saw the horses enveloped and poured on more speed. Some of his men were almost to the enemy and he wished, not for the first time, he was younger. He saw the King and Commander Salic surrounded and separated. Aiming himself between them, Captain Hamil hit the line swinging his great blade. There were teeth and claws all around. He was bitten and scratched from all directions, yet so far, his chainmail and armor had protected him. He shouted a battle cry, letting Salic know he was close.

  Hamil saw the King go down, and then Salic went down, too. Their valiant horses had taken all they could to protect their masters. Hamil and several of his men cut a path forward trying to reach the King. He saw a flash of steel and swung his sword in an arc clearing a path. Hamil saw the King fighting to regain his feet and charged in. He swung all around him and managed to press the Weres back far enough for the king to leap to his feet. Hamil and his men surrounded the King in a protective ring. As he fought, he saw in his mind Commander Salic thrown from his horse and prayed Salic was not dead.

  Rand had refused to ride Fire into battle. He knew it would be a death sentence, so he joined the infantry on foot. As they raced at the enemy, he kept his eyes glued on Salic. When he reached the line, he hacked and slashed at the Weres, his fear finally relegated to the back of his mind. He knew he would not live through this battle and had come to terms with that fact. Knowing Fire was safe gave him comfort. A big wolf leaped at him and he stumbled back, clumsily impaling the slavering beast on his sword. He looked up only to see Salic get pitched forward as his horse went down. Something in Rand's mind snapped seeing his friend in such danger. His vision went red, and he yelled out like a madman.

  Rand's sword moved in untrained and wild arcs, felling anything in his path. He was bitten and his armor was ripped, but he did not feel any of it. All that mattered was reaching Salic. Weres began to shy away from his vicious attacks. Through the haze of red, Rand thought he detected the glimmer of armor. He struck at a large hunting cat between him and that glimmer, completely severing the cat at mid spine.

  The glimmer Rand saw turned out not to be armor, but rather an amulet next to a body on the grou
nd. Rand reached down and yanked the body upright, but the glimmer was gone. At the same time, something hit him hard from behind and knocked him forward a step. He turned and, wielding his sword like a club, brought it down on the head of a black bear, cleaving the skull in half.

  From a long distance away he thought he heard Salic calling his name, but the red of his vision was fading, getting darker, and he fell to his knees. Rand could not feel his legs, but he did not care. He had heard Salic's voice. His friend was alive. Rand pitched forward onto his face and ceased to move.

  Most of the Avari spaced themselves out and loped along with the ogres. They would do what they could to protect those around them, but there were far too many to protect them all. A small group of approximately fifty formed a unit and would try to draw as many of the enemy as they could. Trask had joined this group. Attis had agreed to help Pace protect Dain. The Avari, dressed in gleaming white tunics, were like avenging angels, and Weres fell dead all around them. The net of steel their swords formed kept all but the most determined Weres at bay. Even so, as they pressed into the enemy their own numbers began to dwindle.

  Ataum and his Forest Guard launched wave after wave of arrows into the Weres. However, as the armies clashed, he and his men had to break off their ranged attack for fear of hitting their allies. It was time for the druids to take lead for the elves. Ataum and his men would help Merric and Mathis kill any Weres that broke through. The druids, led by Alissa, began singing softly. The melody was haunting and strangely earthy. After a few minutes, Ataum noticed the Weres in the rear brought up short, many falling flat as the earth reached out to take hold of them. He could not see the actual event, but he knew from the song that nature was striking out at the enemy with vines and roots, entangling their feet and impeding their progress. He ordered his men to fire on the downed Weres.

  King Westan and his men changed form. It was something they rarely did, preferring instead their human form but; in combat such as this, the animal side was much better equipped. Prince Rein altered his form with his father. He alone stood out from the group in the fact that he was the only white tiger. King Westan let out a roar and tore off at the enemy. The entire pack, tigers, lions, panthers and wolves were right on his heels. They had all donned harnesses of white with his family crest so the allies would know them from the enemy.

  They smashed into the oncoming lower caste Weres with claws and fangs bared. The main advantage they had was, in animal form, the high caste Weres retained their human intelligence, where the lower caste always gave themselves over entirely to instinct. Before long, their harnesses were stained with blood and some hung in tatters. One on one, the lower caste were no match for them; but the numbers were not in favor of the high caste, and they started being pulled down and ripped apart.

  The dwarves tried to keep up with the infantry, but their small stature would not allow it. They grouped together forming a wedge with both Axethanes in the lead. Bran had deferred to Ralk as he was far more experienced and his elder.

  The human infantry pushed into the Were ranks and were quickly surrounded. The dwarves continued to run, closing with the Weres that flowed around the humans. Ralk, Gant and Bran separated giving each other room to swing. The Axethanes suddenly stopped as one making the Weres come to them.

  The rest of the dwarves flanked their leaders and cried challenges to the enemy. Many were knocked from their feet by the impact of the larger foes, but Ralk and Bran began cutting them down with brutal efficiency. Pace and Attis stood protectively on each side of Dain. Mardak stood directly in front of him. Dain pointed and the four of them sprinted to one of the fallen dwarves

  Dain dropped quickly to his knees beside the injured forger and slapped his hands over a huge gouge that had been taken out of the side of the fallen dwarf's throat. Instantly, the blood stopped spurting and the wound began to knit. Seconds later, the dwarf was springing to his feet, grabbing his axe, and charging into the fight once more. Dain felt another pull and pointed again. He ran further left, close to the end of the dwarven defensive line. Dropping down, his hands went quickly to the dwarf's rent chest. The chainmail had been ripped open and the flesh beneath was ravaged to the bone. Dain had become a little more accustom to the pain he channeled when healing and was, therefore, better able to focus on the healing itself. This fact alone had shortened the time it actually took Dain to heal any given wound.

  As Dain went to his knees beside the second wounded dwarf, and wolf lunged in straight for the young healer. Pace and Attis were dealing with threats of their own from different sides. Mardak bellowed at the wolf and shifted to intercept it. He caught the wolf in mid-air, and his massive hands clamped down on the wolf's torso.

  The wolf snarled and bit down on the shaman's right forearm. Mardak squeezed, and the muscles across his shoulders and back knotted. As he drew his hands apart, the wolf was ripped in two. Mardak threw the sundered corpse into the faces of two more that were charging at him, bowling one over and causing the other to slam nose first into the ground. The big ogre grabbed the one rolling just as it got its feet under it. He stomped on the head of the other one, sending blood and brain matter splashing out. Then he flung the other out into the mass beyond the dwarven line.

  A massive black bear struck the dwarf directly in front of Mardak so hard it ripped the head from the dwarf's body and sent it spinning away. The bear did not even slow. It headed straight at the shaman. The bear reared and stood head and shoulders above Mardak and swiped out with its claws. Mardak stopped the huge paw with his left hand, clamped down hard, and ducked under his own arm, twisting the limb quickly and violently. He heard the snapping of bone and yanked with all his might, ripping the limb from the bear. The beast roared in pain.

  Mardak continued his turn and landed a rock hard fist to the side of the bear’s head, caving in the thick skull. The bear's roar was cut off as it fell heavily to the ground at Mardak's feet. He cast a quick glance in Dain's direction to make sure his young charge was ok, and saw the healer and his patient rising to their feet. He was turning back when a sizzling bolt of lightning struck the ground just in front of him. He was thrown back and all that went through his mind was to try to keep from landing on Dain.

  Quin and Rena waited for the light to fade. They shifted to dragon form and launched themselves from their perch high on the mountain. They dove and spread their wings to gain height. Neither would risk hitting their comrades, so they flew beyond the mass of Weres. Both headed for the troll ranks directly behind the main battle. They stayed high and circled a few times. Taking turns, they dove individually on the army, breathing devastating blasts of fire. Having the satisfaction of seeing the trolls scatter and burn, they would rise once more out of sight. Rena flew north and Quin flew south. Their plan was to lay down a blazing line of dragon fire to halt the advance of the trolls, giving the allies a chance to deal with one foe at a time.

  Diving several times and breathing out a line of fire, they finally met and closed the barrier. It did not matter that the marsh was wet, dragon fire would burn anything it touched, and water would not put out the flame. The line would hold until the fuel behind it was exhausted. Quin and Rena climbed again and began to wing their way back toward the mountains.

  A sudden streak of lightning flashed out of the clouds and hit Quin square in the face. The big dragon made no sound as he tumbled in mid-air and dropped. Rena shrieked and dove after him. She saw his body change back to human form, and she cried out once more. Tucking her wings against her sides, she dove past Quin and inverted herself, catching his body in her front claw. Righting herself, Rena beat her wings as fast as she could to return to The Slot.

  Mortow took in all that was transpiring. The forces of Kantwell fought well, but they were overrun. The Weres were doing a better job than he had anticipated. Of course, their losses were extremely high as he had known they would be. They were pushing the opposition back.

  Suddenly, Mortow saw flames erupt among the troll tro
ops and watched the dragons race back into the clouds. Each time they dove, they spread more fire and more death. He had to do something to stop them before they wiped out that entire part of his army. He reached out with his magic and took hold of the potential for lightning. He waited, but they did not make another appearance. Then he saw them breathing out a fire barrier to stop the troll advance. He tried twice to hit the closest one, but the dragon would dive quickly, breath fire, and soar back into the clouds.

  The two dragons met up once again and turned, this time, toward The Slot. Mortow sent another bolt and smiled when he saw it strike one of them. It began to fall. He was reaching for another bolt when he saw the falling dragon unexpectedly change into a human. "Now that is interesting. I best not kill them both. I will need to study one when this is finished."

  His attention was drawn by a spontaneous cheer rising up from the battlefield. Mortow looked down, and his jaw dropped. All of his Weres had changed back to their human forms and were fleeing for their lives. Mortow was livid. What could possibly cause all the Weres to turn to human form? What troubled him more was the fact that they were not turning back, they were simply running. Releasing his hold over the storm, Mortow waved a hand out and cried, "Extinguo incendia!" The line of dragon fire flickered and went out. The trolls reformed and began marching once more. The ogres were right behind them. His opposition may have dealt with the Weres, but now they would face trained soldiers, and it appeared as if they had already lost more than half their number.