The Cavalier Trilogy: Book 03 - Glimmer in the Shadow

by Jason McWhirter

  “Should be fun,” was all he said.

  Sar-gathos had already visually tried to show Hagar what he was about to do but he could not confirm if he understood it. He did comprehend that the ogrillion was not fond of water and that the idea of flying over it made his big heart pound in his chest.

  The tip of his staff lit up with a green light and after a few seconds all five of them lifted off the ground. It felt as if they were standing on an invisible platform. It was solid and felt safe, but the feeling of looking down and seeing the ground below them gave them all an uneasy feeling of vertigo, especially Hagar who shuffled nervously as he was lifted off the ground.

  “Don’t move,” Sar-gathos warned, “the platform is only so big. It will carry us across easily enough as long as you don’t step off of it.

  “Hagar, it is okay,” Tuvallis said as he reached up and put his hand on the ogrillion’s hand. Tuvallis’s hand, which was big by human standards, looked like that of an infant as it gripped the beast’s thick fingers. But the gesture was calming and Hagar stopped moving and looked at Tuvallis. Hagar was unaccustomed to being touched but the sensation calmed him, and was welcomed with a broad smile.

  Sar-gathos sped the invisible platform across the river keeping them just above the water’s surface. It took them a few moments before they were standing safely on the muddy river bank on the far side.

  Tuvallis looked at the ogrillion. “You ready to meet some soldiers?”

  Hagar simply looked at Tuvallis and continued to smile.

  “Maybe we would have more success if we could tone down that smile. It looks like he wants to eat you,” Hadrick said.

  They all chuckled together as they headed for the hundreds of cook fires that were flickering nearby in the darkness.

  As soon as they returned Captain Hadrick lit a fire away from the main group and called a meeting. Sar-gathos left and rejoined the commanders for further planning and to report his thoughts on the ogrillion. Hadrick sent word out through his officers and the fifty remaining Free Legion warriors arrived soon after. They had all eaten by now, but they were still weary from the forced march. But the Free Legion was accustomed to hard marching, and fighting, and a full day of strenuous work was not enough to cause any grumbling.

  Hadrick had built his fire by another stand of trees and Hagar was hidden there with Tuvallis. Hadrick had planned on preparing his men about the presence of the ogrillion, and then simply bringing him out so they could see and meet him. So that is what he did.

  “Men, I brought you here to share with you the truth about what happened last night. As you know Stephy was severely injured and they almost didn’t make it. According to Bositch,” Hadrick said indicating the scout who was standing near him, “they would not have if it hadn't been for Tuvallis.” The men murmured their praise and it was clear to Hadrick that Tuvallis had already won over his men, which he knew was no easy feat. “But that is not the whole story,” he continued. “Tuvallis alone could not have saved them all. Stephy, Bositch, and Tuvallis were aided by something else, something we have kept from you out of necessity. But I am here now to tell you the truth, and once you understand you will see the reason for the deception. Stephy was unconscious while Tuvallis and Bositch faced three dire wolves and their orc riders. But something came out of the darkness and killed two of them. They would have been killed if it had not been for this savior.”

  “Come on, Captain, who was it?” a voice came from the back. A general murmur of agreement erupted and the captain put his hands up to silence them.

  “Not who but what,” Hadrick said. “It was a half-ogre, half-orc. I guess they are called ogrillions and they are very rare.”

  “You must be joking,” Torum said with a snort. Some others laughed but once everyone realized that neither Bositch nor Hadrick were joining in, they stopped. Stephy was not present as his wounds, even after consuming the healing draught, still needed attention from the healers.

  “Bositch,” Hadrick said, “perhaps you can elaborate.”

  “The captain’s right. The beast is twice as tall as a man and looks just as you would imagine a cross between an orc and an ogre would look. He cannot speak but he seems to understand hand gestures all right.” Some of the men were talking softly as they processed what they were being told. “I know it sounds impossible. But it’s true, I was there. Stephy would have died for sure if it hadn't been for Hagar, and I doubt Tuvallus or I would have made it either.”

  “And that’s not all,” Hadrick continued, “the ogrillion wears armor and carries a weapon blessed by Shyann herself.” The soldiers had stopped talking and were now just staring at them. “Furthermore, Sar-gathos, an elven Ekahal here at the garrison, magically evaluated the beast and detected no evil within him.”

  “Sir, with all due respect, this seems to defy common logic,” a soldier commented.

  “I understand your apprehension, which is why I brought you here so you can meet him for yourselves. Despite his size, he is very gentle and seems more afraid of us. Tuvallis!” Hadrick shouted. “Bring him out!”

  The stand of trees was hidden by the night's shadows, so at first the men couldn't see much. But as Tuvallis and Hagar moved closer to the firelight the men around the fire began to shift nervously while some instinctively reached for their swords. As Hagar approached, his armor gave off an orange glow as it reflected the firelight.

  “Don’t worry, he is harmless…at least to us,” Hadrick said with a chuckle. His laughter seemed to relax the men a bit. They had complete trust in their captain and if he wasn’t worried, then they shouldn’t be either.

  Hagar shifted farther behind Tuvallis the closer he got to the men, the sheer numbers of warriors obviously making him as nervous as the men had been. His eyes lowered and his pace slowed as he unsuccessfully tried to hide his huge form in the shadows.

  Tuvallis gripped his finger and gently nudged him forward to stand in front of the fire. “It’s okay, they mean you no harm. Friends,” Tuvallis said as he indicated the men. Nobody said a word as they stared at Hagar slack jawed. “This is Hagar. He has showed us only good will. He wants to fight with us.”

  “Hagar,” the ogrillion said softly, gently tapping his huge fist on his chest.

  “Ulren’s blade, I have never seen anything like it,” Torum said. “And look at that mace, it's magnificent.”

  “I would enjoy seeing what that could do to Malbeck’s forces,” another soldier said.

  “Hagar, why don’t you drop to a knee,” Tuvallis said, using his hands to get the beast to kneel. Hagar laid the mace out before him and released the handle. “I think it would be good if you all greeted him.”

  “How in Ulren’s name do we do that?” Morgan, a Free Legion veteran asked.

  “Just come up and touch his hand. He actually likes it. But we will do it one at a time so as not to frighten him,” Tuvallis said.

  “Scare him, I think I already soiled my pants,” Morgan said. Everyone laughed and it was infectious. Even Hagar chuckled. It was clear that he didn’t know why they were laughing, but he thought he should join in.

  * * *

  Malbeck effortlessly squeezed his hand, snapping the officer’s neck and silencing his screams. He was surrounded by five hundred Gould-Irin Orcs, and even more of his vermin swarmed around them like flies, trying to get a closer look. Gullanin, his Lich, stood next to him, red eyes glowing as he gazed upon the scene.

  Malbeck held the dead warrior with one hand while he took a sharp claw from the other and punctured two holes into the arteries that snaked up the sides of his neck, releasing a stream of blood as he held the corpse upside down above the pulsing black egg. Lines of red and orange flashed across it like lightning, and as soon as the blood hit its shell it steamed and disappeared into the hungry egg.

  Finally, Malbeck thought, the last of the sacrifices he would need to bring his new fiend to life. He had exhausted all the young fertile women and strong warriors, both of which who’s
bodies stored the most energy. This man would be last he would need. He could now start his march to Finarth and destroy the last vestige of humanity standing in his way east of the Tundrens. There would always be remnants of survivors and small outlying towns and cities foolish enough to stand up against him, but they would never have a chance against his army. Finarth was the prize, the last of the hold-outs that offered any possible defense against him. And that cursed sword was again becoming an obstacle. But Malbeck was not worried. Even if they did manage to free the weapon from its thousand year old prison, he did not think it could stand up to him now. He had become more powerful, and he held the power of the Shan Cemar, the book of elven magic that he did not have the last time he faced that sword.

  Malbeck laughed and licked the tips of his sharp teeth as he plopped the dead man on top of the egg. The egg pulsed more rapidly as it drained the remaining blood from the soldier’s body. Malbeck stepped his muscled body back from the egg and held the staff of Gould in one hand and the Shan Cemar in the other. He didn’t have long to wait.

  Several powerful followers of the Forsworn stood behind the Dark One, eager to see the product of his creation. One wore a black robe, edged in crimson, with a large hood covering his head and casting a dark shadow over his pallid face. Naz-reen’s spider symbol was intricately woven across the priest’s chest in expertly crafted patterns of red with strands of silver. If one could ignore the sinister theme of his robe, one would have found it quite beautiful. Next to this priest stood two clerics of Gould, outfitted in dark armor and helms, Gould’s white eyes etched into each cuirass. One cleric carried a two handed sword strapped to his back while the other held a battle axe in one hand and a shield in the other. And to the warriors' left was a dark wizard to Dykreel. The wizard's head was shaved and gruesome scars covered his face. It looked as if a clawed hand had ripped the flesh on his face from his scalp to his chin. The man may have been handsome at one time, but the wound had damaged his face so badly, creating a network of raised and jagged scars, that one would have been hard pressed to imagine that he had been anything other than a hideous monster. Dykreel’s barbed symbol was tattooed on both hands, one of which held a long dark wood staff while the other casually rested on the hilt of a short sword at his waist. Followers of the Forsworn did not always peacefully coexist; in fact there was sometimes as much fighting amongst themselves as there was against their enemies. The desire for power was strong, and the servants of the Forsworn were constantly jockeying to obtain more of it, hoping to show who of the three gods was the strongest. But the pecking order had been established long ago, and so far Gould had maintained the top position, while Naz-reen and Dykreel worked their evil intrigues in the shadows. But the balance of power was often precarious, and only a powerful leader could unite the followers of the Forsworn in a common goal, a role that Malbeck eagerly played.

  The egg began to make a crackling sound and pulsed even more, growing to twice its original size. Malbeck stepped back further still, as did the Gould-Irin that were near. They were a fearsome bunch, almost as tall as he, their massive bodies and powerfully muscular limbs encased in heavy black and charcoal grey armor, with yellow eyes that reflected more intelligence than that of their cousins. They were warriors bred by Gullanin, now a Lich, Malbeck’s right hand and most trusted servant.

  As they all watched, steam began to burst from the egg and the cracking increased until finally it split open, spilling forth a series of shrill howls followed by a gust of red and black mist that shot up into the air. The howling soon became a thunderous roar and the Gould-Irin shuffled backwards away from the egg. The swirling mist gradually began to coalesce into a more defined shape and Malbeck smiled as the shape grew ever larger, hovering twenty paces above the ground.

  Soon giant black wings began to appear, flapping rhythmically, and creating great gusts of wind that churned up clouds of dust. The Gould-Irin scattered and moved even further away. The mist slowly solidified, exposing long curved talons and a chest covered with scales. Hovering before them was a Blood Dragon, sometimes called a Demon Dragon. Either way, the name fit the beast perfectly. Its entire body was black with translucent veins of red and orange visible beneath the skin. The veins, periodically crackling with energy, were visible on all parts of its body except for its armored chest. Black spikes covered the beast's head, and blood red eyes scanned the monsters beneath it, finally resting on Malbeck. The creature swung its spiked tail left and right, creating the sound of swords slicing through the air. The dragon roared and the sound was deafening. Slowly it lowered itself and landed on the ground before Malbeck, stretching its wings wide, displaying its magnificent form in all its glory.

  Malbeck stepped closer and marveled at his creation. It was fifty paces long from head to tail and its head was the size of a Gould-Irin Orc, with black teeth as long as short swords. The thing brought its head closer to Malbeck and made a deep rumbling sound in its chest. “Welcome Kil-Kannon…that is the name I give you. I have given life to you so you can serve me here on the material plane,” Malbeck said as he touched the beast’s scaled jaw. It was hard like iron, yet warm to the touch. “Together we will crush our enemies and you shall drink their blood.”

  The dragon rumbled again and steam poured from its nostrils. A Blood Dragon is born hungry and ready to feed. It was obviously hungry for more blood, and Malbeck would provide it with plenty in the months to come.

  “Gullanin,” Malbeck said, addressing his undead general. “Has the party retrieved the sword yet?”

  “No, my Lord, they are still fighting for their lives. But they are near. They are powerful indeed and the Ekahal will be able to access the blade where we could not.”

  “They must not have it. What of the Banthras?

  “They are dead, my Lord.”

  “Send Korthanos,” Malbeck hissed.

  Korthanos was the Banthra king. He was the most powerful warrior in life and thus in death.

  “It will be done,” Gullanin said as he backed away from his master and moved to make the preparations.

  Malbeck stroked Kil-Kannon’s armored head and streaks of orange and red flared across its black flesh. “I have a mission for you. Are you thirsty?”

  * * *

  The orc army arrived at the garrison the next morning. The defenders were ready and the ramparts were lined with armed archers while the rest of the men readied weapons, saddled horses, and prepared for battle. The plan was a defensive one. Let the enemy come to them while they defend their walls and give the dwarven engineers enough time to fall the bridge. They would then retreat to Finarth and join the main army there.

  There were easily five thousand orcs and over a dozen ogres, in addition to various other creatures scattered throughout the enemy army. There were no siege engines to be seen, thus it looked as if Captain Hadrick’s mission had indeed been successful.

  With luck they could keep the gate from being breached. That was their main goal. If the gate broke then the enemy would pour into the massive courtyard and the fighting would concentrate there. The plan was to slowly funnel the enemy down the causeway towards the bridge all the while being attacked by cavalry reinforced with footman. They also had men stationed along the rooftops above the courtyard and the avenue that led to the bridge. They would pepper the enemy with flaming jugs of oil, spears, and arrows.

  Graggis had another plan that he had presented to the commanders earlier that morning. It would be risky for those involved, but if it worked it could prove useful indeed. But they would wait to execute the plan when the enemy was feeling at ease and confident that they would take the garrison.

  The first day of battle went well considering the fact that they were outnumbered. Thousands of orcs stormed the walls trying to access the heavy gate while testing the garrison defenses. They were met, however, by waves of arrows descending on them, killing hundreds at a time. It was a tsunami of destruction as orcs fell one after another to the Finarthian archers. It went on li
ke that for half the day, leaving hundreds of orcs dead, covering the grassy ground in great heaps.

  Then they got smarter. The assault halted and garrison lookouts began to see a number of creatures scurrying about, gathering tools and felling trees. Scouts reported back that they were constructing ladders as well as several battering rams. There were plenty of trees available for that, and they would not take so long to construct. The rest of the first day melted away with no further attacks as the orcs prepared for the following morning.

  As night began to fall, Graggis walked around the ramparts inspecting the condition of the men and trying to relieve his boredom. A warrior through and through, he hated the monotony of siege work. He wanted to engage in actual battle, to sweat and bloody his axe. The time would come soon enough though, and his spine shivered thinking about it. Most men, even warriors, did not look forward to battle. But Graggis did. It was the only thing that made him feel totally alive, that caused his heart to race with anticipation. The thrill of battle was his drug, and he was definitely addicted.

  He did have one current mission, however, and that was to determine how many arrows remained in their arsenal. They knew that if the enemy continued their onslaught that they would soon run out. Graggis continued making his rounds along the ramparts, which had been illuminated by torches placed at twenty foot intervals. As he tallied the remaining arrows he spoke casually to the men stationed there. No one seemed to think an attack would come tonight, but one could never be too careful. By the time he had completed his rounds he had concluded that there were a little over a thousand shafts with the men and maybe a thousand more in storage. It would not be enough.

  “We need more!” General Ruthalis slammed his hand on the table. “Those numbers will run out in less than two days.”

  “I have an idea,” Lord Dynure said. He was the only other person in the room, going over plans with General Ruthalis when Graggis entered. They both looked expectantly at the prince from Annure. “They are not removing the bodies,” the prince continued. “Why don’t we send scouts out tonight and retrieve as many arrows as we can. The orcs are camped well away from their dead and they should be safe.”