A scream erupted in the distance and he knew that Kylee was in trouble. Pounding his legs faster, he tried to close the distance to the outer wall, but his heart sunk in his chest when he saw the enormous red dragon lift into the sky with Clint astride the creature’s back. Wyrddlin was in pursuit, but the red appeared to be faster, as he threw back his wings and dove forward and out of sight.
Clint had escaped with the sword.
All of this had been for nothing; it was over.
II
Riska had beseeched his cousin to send an army north to Kamdeac and wipe out the horde infesting their former territory. As he expected, his cousin may be a King, but he was a timid dwarf who insisted on sending a message to Grendweir to confirm his orders before taking action. The fact that it could take a week or longer for a response, time they may not have, didn’t seem to matter; despite the protests of the dwarf’s military advisors.
He had personally seen what happened to the men under his command and couldn’t seem to convince the stubborn monarch of the danger that vile goblin posed. He considered himself strong enough to face a lot of things, but it still had taken him quite some time before he’d recovered from the panic he’d felt while his men were murdered right before his eyes. How could he relate that terror? That need to gain control of it and kill this thing before more of their countrymen died at its hands?
So, he’d done the only thing his conscience would allow; he’d met with the military advisors alone and convinced them to march north despite their monarch’s commands. They knew, as he did, that whatever this thing was it could not be allowed to reach Branham, or else they’d suffer Kamdeac’s fate as well.
His cousin had to have known what was going on, it was hard to miss thirty-five hundred dwarves marching out of the castle and turning north. But if he did, he didn’t interfere. Riska knew that if they succeeded, his cousin would boast that he’d sent him to organize the march and would claim all the glory that would come from victory. If they failed, well, he’d be dead. So, being branded a traitor didn’t really seem to matter as much.
He wore his full armor, his axe held tightly at his side. He was determined to see this through to the end. Be it his or the enemies’; whichever came first. He looked at his fellow soldiers, their faces grim, the cold fire in their eyes reflecting his heart. They were eager to seek revenge and he was just as eager to give it to them.
They were fast approaching the area where he’d witnessed the death of his men and he felt his adrenaline start to pump with anticipation of enemy contact. He heard a whistle to his left and saw a hand signal indicating a visual had been established. Nodding, he motioned for the rest of the commanders to slow their approach and have weapons made ready.
He was not going to be ambushed again.
Coming to the edge of the tree line, he called a halt and took a quick assessment of what they were facing. A larger force had moved in since his last visit, making him grimace. There were a lot more vermin to clear, plus the fiend responsible for his men’s deaths, it was going to be close.
His eyes studied the fortress’s defenses and smiled when he saw that none of the damage to the outer wall had been repaired since the previous assault. It was hard to judge accurately how many of the enemy filled the clearing in front of the fortress, much less how much resided within, but it wouldn’t matter; they weren’t going to turn back now. His eyes swept the tree line, searching for patrols, but he didn’t see any. However, that didn’t mean there weren’t any reinforcements just out of earshot waiting for an attack to begin. But without taking time to look and risk getting noticed, he wouldn’t know for sure until the fighting began.
Right now, they had the element of surprise and he was going to make the best of it. Signaling the archers and axe throwers to the front of the line, he motioned for the march to begin. He waited for the ranged element of their forces to pass, then stepped into the clearing and into the view of the enemy horde. He couldn’t help the sound of clanking armor, but the enemy hadn’t noticed it yet, and he didn’t mind that one bit.
The cavalry commander motioned that he was going to swing around the back of the castle and come at the enemy from the rear, and Riska nodded in return. Dwarves did not use horses, they bred cougars for their mounts. It was rumored that the cougars had once been kept in something called a zoo and had escaped into the wild during the Fall. The dwarves had captured a few of the cubs and they’d been trained as riding mounts ever since. He watched as the giant felines padded their way north and motioned for the generals to quicken their pace, to draw attention from the cavalry with a battle cry from their men.
Their enemy suddenly realized they had an army descending fast upon them, but it was too late as arrows and axes began raining down upon them. He raised his axe and hollered, “fur Kamdeac!” Then he pushed his way through the lines of archers and charged the bewildered scrambling horde; the rest of the dwarven army following after.
Hacking his way forward, he plunged heedlessly into the enemy lines. Goblins were struck with indecision, confused if they should flee or fight; and it was just enough hesitation for his forces to overrun them. Kicking another foe in the knee and driving it to the ground, he cleaved the creature’s head from its body; the image of these vermin roasting his kin driving him into an uncontrollable fury.
A battle cry erupted from the north and he knew that the cavalry had begun cutting through the rear of the enemy army. Dwarves fanned out on all sides, making it impossible for the vermin to escape in any direction other than back into the castle. He wasn’t about to try and stop them, it’d be easier to corner the bastards and finish them off to the last rat.
His eyes kept focused on the fortress above, looking for the one target he was eager to handle personally, but the bastard hadn’t yet shown his face. That’s fine, he was coming for him regardless.
Pushing his way towards the broken drawbridge; he crossed the wooden planks that’d been placed there by the enemy and began his advance through the outer wall. Cavalry swung behind them, clearing any stragglers as the main force of dwarves entered Kamdeac.
A large keep towered over them on the other side of the inner ward, and as they pushed the enemy back through the gates, he saw a figure standing just before the keep’s ruined portcullis. His eyes narrowed at the black armored goblin and his face broke out in a sneer. “Axe throwers!” he commanded, signaling for them all to climb the inner wall and begin focusing their fire on one target; the creature calling itself Pestilence.
Goblin corpses lay strewn about and he noticed that only a partial force was left between him and his target. Axes began to fly overhead, and he felt the energy in him renew. This is what he’d been waiting for, a chance to redeem himself of his earlier failure and seek retribution for all of their kin.
The horde had backed up and were forming a ring around their leader. He watched closely as Pestilence suddenly sneered, then began touching the goblins that provided him with their failing protection. Screams pierced the air, increasing in volume as the entire goblin horde suddenly began retching, plunging their way forward with eyes full of fear and confusion.
Pestilence had infected his own soldiers.
He knew now what he was truly dealing with and he would not suffer the monster to live any longer. The army around him rushed forward to meet the onrush of attackers and even though the creatures were killed quickly, the plague began to spread through their ranks as well. It didn’t take long for the agonizing howls from his own kin to begin and he felt a wave of sickness wash over him.
Growling with rage, he swept along the outside wall, circulating around the small town situated in the inner ward and coming at Pestilence from the rear. He had spent a lot of his childhood here, it had been a second home, and there were still quite a few tricks up the fallen fortress’s sleeves that he knew these ignorant monsters hadn’t discovered.
He grimaced as the cries of his men increased and wondered how long they’d survive before succ
umbing to the plague spreading amongst them. He had to end this quickly.
He stepped over large piles of dung, the vermin apparently unable to handle their own refuse in a civilized way. He held his breath, came around the last building, and stared at the back of the enemy commander.
Making his way towards the keep as silently as possible, he watched the battle unfolding near the inner gates and noticed that piles of his own men had begun to stack up next to the last remnants of the goblin horde. He shook his head with despair. So many were dying from this fiend; he could not be allowed to make it out of here alive.
He stepped into the keep’s outer wall, the ruined portcullis discarded on the right, the air reeking of death and decay. Taking a few measured steps back, he gauged the distance the best he could, then threw his gaze up and hollered at the black armored freak. “Pestilence! Ye missed a body!” he cried, making the goblin turn quickly with a confused look on his face.
Good; he was mortal after all.
“You thinks you’re safe in there? Other dwarves thunk so. They dead now,” Pestilence sneered as he began a slow march towards the awaiting dwarf.
He held his ground, focusing entirely on his enemy, axe held ready just in case. “Yoo’re gonnae pay fur aw th' deaths yoo’ve caused. Ye hink yoo’re somethin' special? I’ve noticed 'at ye need tae tooch in order tae wark yer murderoos plagues.” Then he smiled, as if party to a joke only he was in on.
“So, run. Soon dwarves be dead, you be alone trapped in keep, me follow behind you. We…” Pestilence continued as he stepped through the damaged doorway and entered the keep.
It was exactly what he’d been waiting for. Throwing his axe at the wall above the creature’s head, he heard a satisfying thud and knew that he’d hit his mark. A grinding noise filled the air and Pestilence began to sway, arms flailing, a look of fury wiping the sneer free in an instant. A hole opened beneath the goblin’s feet and Pestilence swiftly fell from view. It was a hidden trapdoor that opened into a small pit, thirty- feet into the earth. There was no escape, no tunnels that would lead out of it. The only way out was up.
Howls of rage echoed up at him, and he stepped towards the edge, smiling at the broken body of the goblin. He hadn’t landed well, the increased pain of such bringing joy to his heart. The more agony, the better. He edged along the sides of the hole in the ground and exited the keep, confident that Pestilence was dealt with for the moment and no longer a direct threat to his forces.
The fight was over.
He had briefed his generals on what to do if any of their men were infected, and he winced as he watched the segregation begin. Those exposed would be moved to one side of the fortress, the other would house the remaining survivors in an enforced quarantine of the entire army. Now that they had retaken Kamdeac, he could not allow any of them to return home until he was sure that none would carry the plague back with them.
“General Riska!” a runner hollered, charging his way.
“Hoo bad?” he asked, before the other dwarf had a chance to relay his message. He could see the separating force and winced at how many were marching sadly towards the infected portion of the keep.
“Aicht hunder deid, two-fifty woonded, fower hunder an' sixty-seven infected, Sairrr!” the runner informed him.
Worse than he expected. “Ah want a detail ower haur tae tak' those large piles ay shite linin' th' inner dyke, an' fill thes hole behin' me wi' it,” he commanded the dwarf with a smile.
The runner looked over the edge at the screaming goblin and smiled with pleasure. “Reit awa’.”
“Nae, tak' yer time, lit heem hurt a bit. Noo, what’s yer message?” he patted the dwarf’s shoulder as they began walking towards the hopefully uninfected portion of their army.
“Ah was tauld tae teel ye 'at th' cavalry has dispatched th' enemy alang th' ooter dyke, an' as commanded, ur keepin' sentry against further enemy patrols an aw as keepin' us in,” the runner relayed, and he nodded that he understood.
“Gang see abit ‘at hole noo,” he told his countryman; watching his kin limping north along the inner ward to what would surely be their death beds. He wanted to rush over there and help them but didn’t dare. He had seen what this shit could do and was not eager to experience it firsthand.
Still, they had won, he’d kept his home safe. Regardless of what happened when he returned, he knew that he’d done the right thing. That monster had wiped out Kamdeac, would have done the same to Branham, and might have continued on until every dwarf was exterminated from the lands. No, he had made the right decision and would never second guess it. That monster’s evil would be extinguished soon enough, and he’d take the rest as it came at him.
Sighing, he sat on the outskirts of his kin, eyes studying them as they tended to their wounded, and watched the infected countrymen with despair. This was not a good way to die. They would have preferred falling in battle to dying from a disease. There was no honor in it. It’d be better if they were put out of their misery, but he didn’t dare anyone to go over there and do it, lest they get infected as well. Those dying might be able to take care of most of it, but it somehow seemed worse considering what they were already experiencing.
This should have been a happy moment, victory over their foe causing exclamations of joy. Yet it was done on a graveyard of their murdered kin and it was possible they’d all be joining them soon as well. Hardly something worth celebrating.
He sat there and watched as a group of dwarves carrying shovels of manure walked by. Regardless of the death surrounding them, he couldn’t help but laugh. He could think of no better end to that monster’s life; eating his own soldier’s shit. He was laughing so hard that his sides hurt, and though he drew a few outraged stares, others saw what was going on and joined in as well. “Ye thaur!” he called to a dwarf between chuckles. “Gang see if there’s onie Grog left!”
Maybe there was cause for a celebration after all.
Chapter 6
Wrath
I
Tristan reached the stairs to the outer wall and began his ascent; almost afraid of what he’d find. He knew that Kylee had come this way, but after that frightful scream and Clint’s flight north—he feared the worst. How it’d affect Willow if her newly found sister was just as quickly taken away? He didn’t know and dreaded finding out.
Stepping onto the ramparts with heavy boots of dread, he looked in both directions, but could spy no signs of the ranger. Though, he did hear a whine from the tower to the left and knew that her wolf companion would never have left her side. Walking through the tower doorway, he began his trek to the top; weapon sheathed and heart heavier than the armor he bore. The whining was growing louder. He mounted the last step slowly and entered the roofless room; prepared for the worst.
Relief instantly flooded his being; she was alive. Kylee was on her knees, her white hair loose and covering her race, sobs shaking her body as she cried into her open palms, but she was upright and still breathing. He didn’t know if she was hurt and he just couldn’t see, but there were no signs of blood on her clothing or on the stone floor, so it had to be the grief of missing Clint that was tearing her up and not a physical life-threatening emergency.
Tuskar lay by her side, whining softly with her, sharing in her apparent grief, and his heart went out to her as well. Stepping slowly to her side, he knelt down and put an arm around her, trying to offer what comfort he could without crushing her with his armor. “I thought something happened to you,” he whispered softly, relief evident in his voice.
“Fuck you! You can go to hell!” she cried harder, hands balling into fist and softly punching her forehead.
“What? What did I do?” he asked in a confused tone, shocked at her words, but refusing to let her go all the same.
She shook her head and he could see her tears dripping from her pink tinted chin. “If you people had left me alone, I would have found him on my own and gotten the justice owed to me. I would’ve been able to kill him with a clear
conscience, without your fucking quest getting in my way.”
She was angry, of that there could be no doubt, but it was the grief that drenched her voice that hurt him the most. And what was this crap about it being his quest? “I called out to you as soon as I saw him. I chased after him with you. How did I—?” he tried, still fumbling his way through her pain, but having to pause when she shook his arm off her.
“When I got up here, he was waiting for that dragon of his to pick him up. He was standing on the ledge, ready to jump, and I had to make a choice; your sword or his life. If I shot him and he fell out the window and landed on the dragon, then the sword would be lost,” she sobbed harder. “Forgive me, Mother.”
From her left side slid a red-scaled scabbard with a golden hilt and pommel sticking out of the end. She had gotten Dragonslayer from Clint! He couldn’t help himself as he put his arm around her once more, despite her resistance. “I’m sorry. I know Merlin has fulfilled his promise that he’d put you in front of your family’s butcher and that you think you’ve lost the only chance to kill that son of a bitch. But I will make you one myself. When we finish this, when Excalibur is found and given to whoever it is destined for, I will personally go with you and hunt that bastard down. He butchered your family and he poisoned mine, seems only right that you and I see him dead for it, together. Okay?”
She nodded, wiping snot on the hem of her cloak. Her eyes were swollen, the albino irises fixing on him with a shared determination. “Willow will not be able to do this much longer, she’s already starting to show. I will not let her risk my niece’s life by insisting on joining us. If we do this she stays behind, or I go alone.”
The New Age Saga Box Set Page 55
