“Fight with courage, knowing you have me, greatest swordsman in the land, amongst your rank,” Erguile boasted. Together they braced for the incoming warpedes.
“Second to Flaer, don’t you mean?” Adacon quipped, unable to resist teasing him despite the mortal danger.
“Quiet you two—prepare to roll down the hill at the last second—we cannot take both these things alone,” Remtall instructed.
“I can,” said Slowin. He rushed up to his friends, leaving the dwarven ranks behind him.
“Great Gaigas, it’s the silver golem of Red Forest!” Erguile rejoiced. Slowin charged past them to where the warpedes had ascended the hill, digging his feet into the earth to meet their onslaught.
“Watch for the tail strike!” Adacon warned. Both warpedes immediately swooped their jaws down toward Slowin, as if drawn by a magnet. The troll riders atop cried out in a foreign tongue, and it seemed as if they goaded their beasts into teamwork. Just as soon as the centipedes were within reach, Slowin pumped both his fists into the wide helmet armor of the warpedes. In a thunderous clap the gold helms of the centipedes caved in, forming a crater in the skull of the creatures. A high-pitched whine erupted and they bucked in unison, flinging their troll riders from their harnesses to deaths by trampling. Dazed, both warpedes writhed slowly, now with no riders harnessing them. Slowin climbed the back of one of the stunned beasts, using the edges of its gold-plated armor as a ladder. Adacon and the others watched the golem reach the warpede’s head, draw from his side a dwarven dagger, then thrust it at the crater, the weak spot he’d punched into its armor. The blade ricocheted off with a metallic clang, but Slowin struck again with fury, this time piercing the gold armor. The warpede slumped to the ground. Slowin looked to the other warpede; he saw Remtall already running up its back, Erguile trailing close behind. Adacon had been assaulted by a group of trolls, but not long before the dwarves of Oreine had come down the northern trail of the Teeth Cliffs, helping to fend them off. Adacon, together with two stout dwarves, slew a handful of trolls, again feeling gripped by a surge of power, as if enchanted by Vapoury. Gaiberth and his elves broke through in time to see the second warpede crash to the earth: Remtall and Erguile mimicked Slowin, stabbing in harmony through the creature’s cratered helm to bring it down.
Some of the elven fighters stayed back and fired arrows, the rest joined the mass of dwarves that swarmed the sloping hill. In the distance Adacon saw the Brigun Autilus flash brightly as it pushed toward the ominous bubble-shield of Aulterion. Erguile looked to Weakhoof from atop the slain warpede and saw a troll attempting to mount his defenseless horse.
“Adacon—help Weakhoof!” Erguile cried from afar. Adacon turned to the horse: Weakhoof bucked in madness at the oozing troll struggling to climb up on him. The troll gripped the horse’s neck tightly and kicked its side in an attempt to subdue it. Weakhoof whinnied loudly in pain. Adacon rushed up from behind. The troll seemed to sense Adacon’s coming, and turned to face him just in time to block the first strike. Adacon’s elven sword clanged and issued a blue spark, bouncing quickly off the troll blade. The Feral mutant withdrew a second blade and began swinging wildly with both hands. In a frenzied whirlwind attack, the deformed troll charged. Adacon waited to roll out of the way at the last second. As the troll came within striking distance, Adacon attempted his roll: the right edge of one of the Feral blades cut deeply upon his foot, thwarting his escape. Lying helpless on the ground, with only his right arm for defense, Adacon looked up to his doom. Two more trolls rushed up; together the three trolls surveyed Adacon on the ground. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, the trolls made their strike, stabbing in unison. “Where is Slowin?” Adacon thought in his last moment. As if in reply to his question, three arrows whooshed by, striking each troll dead through the throat.
“Up! No time for a nap,” said Calan, her arm breaking the blue sky of his vision. Adacon smiled broadly as she pulled him to his feet. There was no time to celebrate; three more trolls came raging forward. The great battle had become a fight of dwarves and elves against trolls. Adacon didn’t see Slowin, Remtall or Erguile; they had been driven apart by the fierce combat. He struggled to find balance on his feet, barely able to walk with his gashed leg—the battle became foggy, a dreamlike state, and he grew faint. Despite his dizziness, he fought next to Calan, side by side with the dwarves, for what seemed like hours more.
“The wall is almost gone,” said Calan. Adacon looked back to the Wall of Dinbell to see in amazement that Aulterion had almost completely wrecked the great structure, as enormous chunk after chunk was still tumbling off, spilling onto the south side of the Great Plain. The Feral trolls had started trampling one another to reach the lowest of the newly cleaved ledges of the Dinbell. Soon there were piles of dead trolls forming hills upon which the next row climbed, higher toward the top of the wall.
“Flaer is almost to him,” Adacon said, fixing his gaze back upon the light of the Brigun Autilus, barely visible amidst the mass of swarming Ferals. A glint of silver caught his attention—Slowin had appeared again, farther downhill, and Adacon was relieved to see Erguile and Remtall by him, alive and fighting. Just then, King Terion ran past, charging headlong into battle, followed by Iirevale. Falen appeared next; he stopped next to Adacon and Calan and commanded them once more to ride atop him.
“It’s not time to die yet young slave—your friend requires your help,” Falen said. “There…” he pointed a claw toward the glowing Brigun Autilus.
“You want to fly down to Flaer?” Adacon said, only half-conscious. “I stand no chance out there, how could I help?”
“I am uncertain, but look—there,” Falen instructed, and Adacon sent his gaze out over the mass of Feral army once more. Deep in the distance he saw a beam of light shining, very different from Aulterion’s. Unsure if it was a hallucination, the new beam suddenly drew closer, pointed at Adacon. As quickly as he had realized the light was focused on him, it redirected itself down to the plain where Flaer struggled, almost in reach of Aulterion.
“You see, he wants you to go there,” Falen said.
“Who?” Adacon asked dizzily, searching for a source to the new light. It radiated from a great height in the sky, directly above Flaer, atop what appeared to be a circling bird.
“Yarnhoot!” shouted Adacon. He strained to see what he thought was a brief reflection of purple off the rider. “Krem!”
“Get on, both of you—now,” Falen commanded. This time Adacon idled no longer; he and Calan hopped on Falen’s back, gripping hard to a tiny harness. Falen spread his wings to full span and started to beat them hard just as a fresh horde of trolls reached the top of the hill. Falen roared at them, opened his mouth: from his jaw rained down a stream of glowing red flame as he propelled his riders high into the air. The scorched trolls moaned in agony, curling into balls, as the drake bore his riders northwest, high above the sound of clashing steel. From above, it appeared that the dwarven army was making progress in pushing back the Feral Brood, but already a huge throng of trolls had managed to scramble over the crumbling Dinbell. The wall had all but disappeared in the very middle of its width, forming a V, standing only ten yards high at its lowest point. The trolls smothered each other in their rabid scramble, some now reaching the Enoan Road. Adacon could still spot the silver of Slowin, and the dots that were Remtall, and Erguile—who was again astride Weakhoof. They fought valiantly as a team, together with Terion, Iirevale, and Gaiberth; even Ulpo could be seen hacking a path through the vile trolls.
Falen flew on, closer and closer to Flaer, keeping enough height to outrange arrow attacks.
“Krem!” Adacon began shouting as the little Vapour came into focus atop the great condor. The old Vapour was still too far away to hear anything. Falen was closing in on Yarnhoot when a great flash of lightning overtook him, disrupting his ability to fly in a straight line. The light disappeared, and then all light, until it became as dark as a starless midnight. Frantically searching the sky, Adaco
n could see nothing. Suddenly the sky returned, flashing back to its midday blue, only to be followed by a chain of light, again followed by total darkness, then flashes of red. Below, Flaer had finally reached Aulterion; he was piercing right through the dark mage’s bubble of energy. Each strike of the Brigun Autilus, Adacon realized, caused the blackness to overtake the sky—and each time the energy field weakened and withdrew, a great flash of red was emitted from the spot where Flaer struck at it. Taking his eyes off the battle below, Adacon leveled his gaze to see Krem was very close. Krem looked at him, pointed his staff down toward Flaer and Aulterion. Falen abruptly followed Krem’s staff. The drake swooped violently down toward the flashing energy field below. Adacon wondered in confusion at how he could possibly help Flaer, who fought one of the most powerful dark mages ever to live on Darkin. Flurries of arrows whizzed by Falen as Feral archers caught sight of the descending drake. Adacon and Calan kept their eyes on Flaer, hoping they could provide some kind of help to him when Falen dropped down into the madness, but Flaer appeared to have the fight well in hand. A loud crack split the black-red sky, and the earth was torn open around the edge of the mage’s bubble. Nearby trolls fell to the ground, some fell into a widening chasm ring. Both armies, good and evil, wherever they stood, shook violently. For a moment all fighting ceased except for the duel of Flaer against Aulterion. Aulterion’s shield bubble had been destroyed, and the beam of light that was cracking the Dinbell started to retract, returning to its sender. Adacon watched in amazement as Aulterion began fighting with his own sword against Flaer. Adacon could not believe what he was seeing: parry after parry was traded between the powerful fighters, each thrust accompanied by a brilliant flash of light. Thunder caused the Great Plain to quake for leagues in every direction. Long red shadows spread like a god’s fingers across the land, scattering the forces that were battling even high atop the Teeth Cliffs.
Adacon looked back at Krem, who smiled calmly atop Yarnhoot and flew in close behind, tracing Falen’s dive toward Aulterion and Flaer.
“Here goes everything I’ve got!” Falen roared, struggling against the turbulent winds coming from Flaer and Aulterion. The drake landed with a thud and a bounce. Up close, Adacon could see Aulterion, recognize him: the stranger who attacked us on the swamp road! Adacon saw Krem land, dismount Yarnhoot. Then he saw Calan—she was trying to stand up after being thrown during the landing. Off to the side, Adacon thought he saw someone that looked familiar: Merol! The dwarf wizard was conjuring a blinding stream of light that poured into Aulterion, giving him strength. Everything appeared to be in slow motion. Flaer raised the sun-bright Brigun Autilus—Aulterion raised his razor-thin gunmetal blade—everything went black.
XI: EROL DRUNNE
Adacon awoke underneath heavy quilts. He was in a small, cozy room he had never seen before. A sweet aroma filtered through the room, the smell of food. Nothing came to mind except an odd dream: he and Calan had been walking through a frost-bitten meadow of flowers at dawn…
Memory came flooding back. He remembered the battle at Dinbell, the calamity of the strikes Flaer and Aulterion threw against one another. He wondered for a moment if any of it had been real. He looked to his left arm and saw a deep scar running down. There was a tiny window in the room, built sturdily with a cross frame. On its outside ledge was a high ridge of snow, the softest white he’d ever seen. Adacon rubbed his eyes in astonishment, peering out the window from the warmth of his bed, watching thick flurries of snow-crystals drift sideways. He quickly surveyed the rest of the room: there two oak cabinets and some candles burning on a table in the corner, creating a pale yellow glow. Against either wall were wooden statues of bear-like creatures and atop the only door in the room hung a worn battle axe. The walls were knotty grain wood, slightly shiny. Adacon felt relieved to become aware that he was in no slave home, not back on his farm in Arkenshyr—there were no homes there as nice as this. Suddenly the door creaked, and in walked a purple robed wizard.
“Krem…” Adacon said.
“Good to see you’re finally awake lad. I thought I heard someone stirring in here,” he replied with a warm smile.
“Where am I—what happened?” Adacon asked.
“Calm yourself. You are safe, and once more in the protection of my Vapoury. We are in Erol Drunne, dear Adacon.”
“But—how did we get here? Last I remember…” Adacon said, trailing off, unable to express his exploding thoughts and questions.
“I had to call you down to Flaer in the final moments of his duel against Aulterion. You possess a special… power. A power you’ve never understood—of which no one else possesses in all of Darkin,” Krem said.
“Me?” Adacon said in bewilderment.
“Without you, we would not have been able to defeat Aulterion—nor the Feral Brood in turn.”
“They’ve been defeated? I still don’t understand—how long has it been since the battle?”
“Not very long. A season,” Krem answered.
“A season? I have slept for a season!?” Adacon panicked, staring out the window at the falling snow.
“Not very long, considering how much energy you spent saving Flaer,” Krem replied.
“Me—save Flaer?—surely this is a dream, or the state of death,” Adacon gasped in confusion. “Have you gone mad Krem? Am I?”
“Quiet boy—quiet and rest. You still need time to recover. What is important is that you are alive and well, and that Enoa has been saved. I will tell you about your power later, after you’ve had plenty to drink and eat, and your strength’s returned.”
“The war is really over?” asked Adacon, unable to fathom the suggestion to relax.
“No, not the war. The people of Arkenshyr are in grave peril. In the wake of Aulterion’s utter destruction, Zesm has overthrown Vesleathren, and become more powerful than we can guess. Zesm has…” Krem stopped talking. A shadow passed over his jovial visage, but it lasted only an instant, and then the old Vapour smiled once more: “Enough—enough of talk that is serious, for now at least. There will be plenty of time, later, for that. There is a time of peace now on this side of the Kalm. We mustn’t dwell on dark omens in the hour we first wake!” Just then Erguile burst into the room carrying a plate of hot pastries and a pot of tea.
“Good morning old friend, savior of us all,” said Erguile, winking. “Couldn’t help but overhear you finally talking again! Thought you might want something to eat—what with sleeping for months on end...” Adacon stopped trying to understand how he’d saved them; he simply surrendered to the joy of seeing his old friend:
“Erguile!” Adacon rejoiced. Erguile came over to him and they embraced. Just then, a loud argument could be heard outside, drifting in through the still open door.
“If you’ll just give me a head start, I’m telling you, there’s no way you can outswim me—no way—fat rock of a man!” shouted a familiar gnome’s voice. In a moment Remtall came in through the doorway, smiling wide and holding a flask in his hand.
“What better time to perform a toast?” Remtall exclaimed. He shuffled over to Adacon and they hugged one another, giant grins spread across their faces. Adacon glimpsed Slowin standing outside the doorway, unable to fit inside.
“Slowin! Decided you’d hang around after all?” Adacon called. He attempted to get up from his bed, but Erguile restrained him.
“No you don’t—not yet,” Erguile said.
“I’ll be here. I’m not going home just yet, friend. Very glad to see you’re back with us. Oh—before I forget—Falen sends his regards—he’s flown off to visit his family in the north,” Slowin announced. “I think someone else is coming.” As Slowin finished his last word, another familiar sound came from just outside the doorway: Calan’s laughter. She rushed in, without words flinging herself onto the bed, knocking Adacon down against the quilt.
“Easy woman, he’s not quite one hundred percent,” Erguile warned.
“Let them be, dumb slave! Never mind the affections of
an elf woman, nor the ravaging her man must pay her after many months without. Let’s leave them be, how about?” Remtall said.
“We’ll be just outside,” Krem said, hinting for the others to leave.
“And don’t be getting up for anything either, you hear?” Erguile warned. “I’ll be checking up on you…” They filtered out one by one, until at last Krem stood alone in the doorway, looking at Calan and him.
“Oh, one more thing before I leave you two alone,” Krem said.
Adacon nodded and smiled, waiting.
“Someone else wants to say hello,” the wizard replied. Adacon stared at Krem in confusion, but soon a smile crossed his face as he realized whom Krem spoke of. Calan kissed him, and together they waited for the final visitor. Krem waved farewell, then scooted out the door.
Flaer stepped in.
“Flaer!” Adacon said, lighting up.
“Glad to see you’re finally awake—Calan, would you mind allowing me a moment with Adacon?” said Flaer, his voice deep and gravelly. No smile formed on his face.
“Of course not,” she said. After a quick peck on Adacon’s cheek she bounded out of the room. Flaer quickly turned, shut the door behind her. Now alone together, Flaer moved his hands in an odd circular motion around the handle of the door. Like a wave, emerald light rolled over the door, extended to the ceiling, encompassed every wall and window in the tiny room.
“So they won’t hear us,” Flaer grunted in explanation.
“Hear what?”
THE END
ABOUT THE CREATOR
Joseph A. Turkot currently works as a Teacher of English in New Jersey. He graduated from Rutgers University with a B.A. in English. He has written numerous short stories and novels in the world of Darkin. The sequel to Darkin: A Journey East will be published in September 2012.
Darkin: A Journey East Page 25
