“Magic, and the hearts of men, are not things that can be tamed,” said Whill. “If magic returns to the world, there can be no guarantee it will not be used for evil pursuits.”
Her fingers slid slowly from his shoulders and she was standing before him once again. “You sound as though you do not think magic should be given back to the people.”
“Why didn’t you just take from the dark elves? Why have you punished the elves of the sun?” Whill asked.
“I have saved them from annihi—.”
“I saved them from annihilation. You took their power as your own so that you might ascend to the heavens. In your greed, you took it all.”
She said nothing, only stared at him with eyes of sparkling light.
“Was it worth it? Did you find a place among the gods as you had hoped?” said Whill.
Kellallea turned from him. “I cannot speak of such things.”
“You didn’t find anything…did you? There are no gods.”
“One stands before you,” said Kellallea.
“And she, too, remains silent to her people.”
She turned on him angrily. “You judge me, yet you know nothing of what you speak!”
“It doesn’t take ancient wisdom to recognize hypocrisy.”
She floated toward him with a dangerous light in her eyes. “A time will come when you will beg for my help.”
He stared at her defiantly, fighting the mesmerizing effect of her stormy gaze. “If that time comes, I would expect you to repay your debt to me.”
Her face flared with fury and her body glowed brightly, and just as quickly she was gone.
Whill let out a pent-up breath and rubbed his beard. He stood there for a long time, contemplating the wisdom of his constant defiance.
The next afternoon, they arrived outside of Brinn. The land forces that Whill had sent from Del’Oradon had made camp in a large field a mile south of the city. Morning cook fires carried the scent of ham and gruel. Men huddling beside them stood quickly and saluted their king smartly.
Whill was led to General Justice Walker’s tent and greeted the man with a firm handshake.
“Sire,” Walker said with a small bow.
“General Walker, good to see you.”
The general offered him a chair at the small table set at the center of the tent. A map of northern Uthen-Arden and southern Shierdon sat on the table, and Walker’s troops were marked by a dozen model soldiers just south of Brinn. Across the border, on the island of Belldon, a dozen blue model soldiers marked their numbers.
“Care for a drink?” Justice asked.
“Just water,” said Whill. “Have you had contact with Clifton McKinnon?”
Justice smirked and placed the glass on the table. “That one’s a character. He says that he is very interested in meeting you. I assume word has reached him of your offer to Merek Carac. He will bend easily, I believe.”
“What have you learned of the goings on in Shierdon?”
A dark shadow fell over the usually-cheery young man’s face.
“Bring the girl,” he told the guard. “They found her in a destroyed village five miles west of Lake Eardon. For two days she would not speak.”
The tent flap opened and a soldier escorted a young girl with big, frightened eyes. She let herself be brought before Whill and stood obediently, staring at the ground. She looked to be nine or ten.
“Jules, this is Whillhelm Warcrown, king of Uthen-Arden,” said Justice.
She regarded Whill sheepishly, meeting his eyes for but a moment.
Whill bent down to her level.
“Hello, Jules. You’ve a beautiful name. I’ve a dwarven friend who would like it very much,” said Whill.
Jules bowed her head.
“Can you tell me what happened to your village?” he asked gently.
The girl began to shake. Her hands were squeezed together so tightly that they were white as bone. Tears welled in her eyes and she looked as though she wanted to run away.
Whill took her cold hands in his. “Have you ever heard about me?” he asked.
She nodded.
“What have you heard?”
“You…you’re a magic man.”
Whill gave a small laugh. “I am also king. I want to help. There are other little girls and boys out there in villages just like yours. Whatever happened to your village could happen to them as well. But you can help. If you tell me what you saw.”
Jules’s eyes went wide and she trembled. Her voice was but a whisper. “Monsters came from the woods.”
“What kind of monsters?”
“Monsters with green eyes. Some were like dragons, others were people. They hurt everybody. They hurt Momma and Papa, made their eyes turn green, too, and they tried to hurt me.”
“Did you see how their eyes turned green?”
“Loud voice woke them up.”
“Did you see who spoke?”
The girl’s lips began to tremble and she shook her head frantically. Whill pulled her in and held her tight as she shuddered. “You are a very brave little girl. Thank you.”
She was led out of the tent and Whill regarded the map. General Walker pointed out small villages all along Shierdon’s southern border. “The scouts that return have reported finding entire villages seemingly abandoned. There are signs of battle everywhere, but no bodies, living or dead. Not a man, woman, or child. No horses or livestock, either.”
“An army of undead,” Whill sighed. “How could the necromancer have taken the entire kingdom? What of Belldon Island?”
“We haven’t been able to get anyone across the lake.”
“Undead?” Whill asked.
“No, Shierdon fleets. By all indications this horde has not yet reached the island.”
A chill swept down Whill’s back. Things were worse than he had imagined. If northern Uthen-Arden fell to the undead, there would be no stopping them from infecting the entire kingdom. But how could they fight against such a foe?
Later that night, Whill and his escort of knights, along with Tyrron, rode into the city to meet with Clifton McKinnon. They were allowed through the high gates without incident, and led through the city to a fortress high upon a rocky bluff overlooking the distant lake. Like Breggard, Brinn had been heavily fortified over the winter months.
Clifton McKinnon was waiting for them in his audience chamber. Instead of a throne, the man sat with his commanders at a large round table set for dinner. When Whill was announced, the gathered men rose from their chairs.
A tall man, whose face was weathered from years on the open waters, strode forth to meet him. “King Warcrown. It is good to finally meet you. I am Clifton McKinnon.”
“Lord McKinnon,” said Whill, shaking the man’s hand.
“Please, come, join in our humble dinner. We have much to discuss.”
Whill and Tyrron joined them at the table and accepted foaming mugs of beer. “I assume you have heard from Merek Carac?” said Whill.
“Indeed, I have,” said McKinnon. “Have you come to make me a similar offer?”
“I am impressed with both of you. The crown acknowledges all that you have done for northern Uthen-Arden. As such, you will be pardoned for your traitorous claims of kingship over Brinn, and will be made governor of all lands within fifty miles of your fair city. There are dark tidings from Shierdon, and I need strong leaders to hold the border.”
McKinnon offered him a gracious nod. “I thank you, sire, and accept your offer. But I am startled by your accusations, and would clear the air if I might. I have never claimed to be a king. It is the people who have tried to appoint me.”
“Yes, I have heard the same from Carac,” said Whill.
“You must understand. After the war ended, the land was in chaos. We did what needed to be done.”
“I understand, and again, you have done well. Let us move on to more important issues. We believe that a dark-elf necromancer has taken control of Shierdon. I believe the undead
forces will soon move south. Brinn will be the first city to be attacked. The women and children must be evacuated. They will be brought to Locknar by way of Eardon River. Effective immediately, this city is under the control of the Uthen-Arden army.”
McKinnon looked to his commanders and nodded. “We are honored, sire.”
“How many men do you have?”
“Ten thousand. Five here in the city. Twenty-five hundred to the east and west, watching the border.”
“From this moment forth they are under the command of General Justice Walker and hereby appointed guardians of the north.”
Chapter 48
Lake of Fire
Helzendar huffed along behind General Hammerfell, trying to keep up. The fire mountain loomed in the distance, and dragons could be seen flying circles around the shattered peak. The dwarves had gone unnoticed beneath the dense jungle canopy, and two hours after landing they came upon the wide mouth of a dark cave.
The general held up a fist and everyone fell in line behind. He motioned for two dwarves to take the lead, and they disappeared inside. The cave entrance and tunnel beyond had been created by dragon fire; its mouth and walls were blackened and melted, and Helzendar could just imagine some giant dragon blasting the stone with its fiery breath until it had burrowed deep.
The scouts returned and reported the way clear, and the dwarves hurried on into the darkness. The tunnel beyond the mouth proved wide enough to allow five dwarves abreast, with arched ceilings littered with dangling roots. The tunnel went on for what seemed like miles before branching off in three different directions. General Hammerfell stopped and informed the dwarves to break into their three rowing groups, one he sent left, the other straight, and his own group he led on through the tunnel to the right. Again the cave veered off, but they kept on through toward the heart of the mountain.
A soft orange glow began in the distance, and soon they came to a wide opening. Helzendar peered beyond the general to the cavern beyond. It was vast, with a large lake of lava at the center. Around its stony shores, dragons lay about like lizards bathing in the afternoon sun.
“Now’s the time, boys. Bombers at the ready. When I give the word, give ‘em hells,” said the General.
Helzendar gripped his shield and dragonlance tightly. His heart thudded in his chest so loudly that he thought the beasts must be able to hear it.
Five of the bombers moved to the front of the group on Orrin’s command and lit small torches. He counted down from five, and on his mark the bombers went running into the cavern. Helzendar watched with growing excitement. The closest dragon was less than twenty yards away, curled up beside the steaming lake. Two of the dwarves charged for it. The dragon turned, alert to the danger, but it was too late. The lead dwarf gave a cry and leaped from the nearest stone and flew through the air. The beast gave a roar as the flying dwarf landed on its back and ignited his pack.
The explosion was followed by another as the other dwarf’s pack went up as well. The dwarves dove for cover as flames blew into the tunnel and hundreds of steel balls exploded in every direction.
“Charge!” Orrin screamed.
The sound of furious dragons echoed through the chamber as the group charged through the thick black smoke. Helzendar followed the fearless general to the right. All that was left of the dragon and bombers was a pile of charred gore and bones. Three dragons leapt into the air and flew toward the approaching dwarves. One of the other bombers running ahead was consumed in flame and exploded when the fires ignited his pack.
A small red dragon flew toward Helzendar’s group and the general stopped and yelled “Fire!”
Helzendar leveled his dragonlance on his shoulder and timed the throw.
General Hammerfell let loose a giant arrow from his massive crossbow, which shot through the air and took the approaching beast in the shoulder. Helzendar heaved his spear with everything he had, managing to hit it in the wing. The dragon went down in a shower of flame, riddled by crossbow bolts and lances, and landed among the crazed dwarves. They leapt on top of it and hacked and stabbed with maniacal glee.
Helzendar pulled the lance free with wide eyes of bloodlust. Du’Ren charged past him in his big metal suit as another dragon flew low across the shore. Another barrage of crossbow bolts was released, riddling the flying dragon. Du’Ren’s long blades gleamed in the lava glow as he ran up a stone formation and leapt, colliding with the beast in midair and riding it to the ground, stabbing wildly.
On the other side of the lake a big black dragon twice the size of any of the others had bathed that group in flames. Giant crossbows twanged, and lances soared through the air, sending it careening into the molten lava.
The chamber was clear, but the sounds of approaching dragons echoed from all directions.
“Cover them tunnels!” Orrin roared, pointing at the other three entrances leading to the cavern.
Bombers charged ahead of the groups and ran down the tunnels, singing to the glory of the gods. There were six consecutive explosions and the many tunnels spewed forth dragon fire. The dwarves gave a collective cheer and took positions at the mouths of the caves, hell-bent on sharing in the glory.
Helzendar joined the general behind a large stone to the side of one of the tunnels. A roar shook the cavern and dragon fire spewed forth, followed by a thunderous crashing. A big white dragon emerged from the tunnel and bathed the shore in flame.
Twang, twang, twang, the general’s crossbow sang as the dragon flew overhead. The thick scales deflected two of the bolts, but one made it through a crease in the neck. Undeterred, the dragon came down on two of the dwarves at the back of the group. One of them carried a bomb pack, and when the dwarf beside him was bitten in half by the massive jaws of the roaring dragon, he ignited his pack and exploded in a ball of fire. The dragon was thrown back against the side of the cavern and fell dead to the jagged stalagmites below.
Dragons poured into the cavern and soon Helzendar lost count as the battle raged all along the wide shore. They needed to somehow block the other passages so that they could focus their efforts on only one.
“I can close up the tunnels so we can converge on one!” he said to Orrin. The general was reloading his six-arrowed crossbow and nodded.
“Go on, then.”
Helzendar put down his shield and focused his will on a long stalactite hanging down from the high ceiling. He reached out his hands and jerked them to the side with a cry, snapping the stalactite near its base. He gave a groan as it fell but held firm, and twisted it sideways before giving it a great heave. The mass of stone crashed into the tunnel and blocked it like a giant cork.
The dwarves gave a cheer as Helzendar wavered.
“On to the center tunnel!” the general cried. “Ye think ye can do that again? Block that other tunnel?” he asked Helzendar.
“I can try!”
“Right, then,” Orrin called out to all nearby. “Protect the prince at all costs!”
Helzendar was surrounded by a shell of dwarven shields. He focused his intent on one of the hanging stalactites and prayed to Ky’Dren to give him strength. With a heave he snapped it from its mooring and guided it as it fell through the air toward the tunnel. It crashed in place just as a dragon was coming out, and crushed the beast with a booming retort.
His vision blurred and his hearing went dull. A dragon bathed the group in fire and he was thrown down beneath the shields. Like a waiting turtle they endured the blast and emerged with a collective cry, throwing lances and shooting crossbows in the dragon’s wake.
“Surround the last tunnel!” Orrin yelled. He helped Helzendar to his feet once more and got under an arm.
Helzendar bent and vomited as he was being pulled along. All the while he prayed to Ky’Dren and the gods for the power to go on.
“Bombers into the tunnels!” said the general. He led Helzendar to an outcropping of rock against the edge of the cavern beside the last tunnel. “Ye just sit tight for a bit. Regain yer strength.”
Helzendar didn’t object. He looked out over the molten lake. Nearly a dozen dead dragons and more than twenty dwarves littered the smooth banks. Another boom echoed through the tunnel—one of the bombers had gone on to the mountain of the gods.
The molten lake gave him an idea. He remembered the tales of his father’s battle with the dragons on this very island. He had used his power over stone to command the burning lava. Helzendar regretted moving the massive stalactites now; he should have saved his energy. Moving the lava would be less strenuous and just as effective.
Another explosion rocked the tunnel and the cry of a dragon came with it. The dwarves hid behind rocks and stacked shields, leveling crossbows and lances on the tunnel. Du’Ren strode over to Helzendar in his cumbersome metal armor. It was dinged and dented, and his twin blades were red with the blood of dragons.
“Glory be to the dwarves ‘o Ro’Sar this day!” he said with a grin.
“Glory be,” said Helzendar.
A roar tore through the tunnel and a sleek blue dragon emerged with a fury of dragonsbreath into a volley of arrows. Another followed close behind and tore into the dwarven ranks and tossed them aside like children. Du’Ren gave a growl and charged out from behind the stone. Helzendar had no sooner peeked his head over when Du’Ren came flying back over top.
Yet another dragon emerged from the tunnel to join in the fray. Another bomber exploded, taking not only the dragon, but other dwarves as well. The blue that had first flown into the cavern circled around and came at their backs. Helzendar set his jaw and reached out to the nearby lava. He focused on an area by the shore and lifted his hand. A long arm of molten stone rose up from the lake and slammed into the dragon as it flew across. Helzendar cried the name of the many gods and clenched his fist, causing the lava to pull the screaming blue down into its molten depths.
The dwarves had killed the others, but their numbers were dangerously thinning. Glancing around, Helzendar only counted ten. He stood there panting. The chamber was suddenly deathly quiet, and no dragons came crashing through the remaining tunnel.
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