The Warcrown Legacy

by Michael James Ploof

  “Hold!” Roakore commanded.

  Everyone listened as the bees slopped to the ground, spattering shields and oozing down shining armor. Slowly, steadily, the buzzing resumed.

  Another wave of angry bees flew out of the antechamber, but Roakore was confident in the blessed dwarves’ ability to hold the insects back, and he pushed through the threshold, commanding the blessed and organizing the attack on the tenacious bees. They pushed the bees back through the corridor and into the tunnels. Some got by the waves of iron balls, falling upon the dwarves and jamming their stingers straight through the steel armor and pumping their victims with venom that killed instantly.

  The drunken dwarves pushed the bees all the way back to the ridge overlooking the city. The passageways soon became packed, however, as the bottlenecks forced the dwarves in together tight, and the front line stopped to address the danger.

  Below in the cavern, there were thousands of scorpions waiting for them, and the room swarmed with just as many angry-sounding hornets. Roakore watched as one of the bees broke free of the circling swarm and dive-bombed toward them. He shot out a hand, stopping the bee in midair. It fought against the unseen force, buzzing and twitching like it was caught in a spider web. Roakore slowly turned the hornet hovering in front of him and found what he had suspected—a glowing stone like the one that had gone off in the city.

  With a mental push, he sent the bee crashing to the ground, and the bomb exploded, shaking the cavern and seeming to anger the swarm further.

  They attacked with sudden ferocity, dozens of them with similarly attached explosive orbs. But they did not attack the dwarves—they attached the ancient dwarven city. Roakore watched helplessly as the hornets flew straight into the tallest of the structures. Great towers carved from stalactites were bombarded with bombs. The cavern rumbled as dozens of explosions went off, and they continued as the scorpions joined in, turning and launching their bombs at the nearest buildings, seemingly unaware or uncaring of the danger to themselves.

  “Charge!” Du’Krell cried, and the dwarves began to pile onto the ledge and rush down the stairs carved into each side of the wall that would bring them down into the city.

  Roakore burst into a sprint, growling and clanging his hatchets together. He ran to the edge of the ridge and leapt off, arching his back and thrusting forward to bury his hatchets in the abdomen of a passing hornet. The oversized insect’s wings faltered, sending them both careening toward the ground, but then it found its strength and leveled out. Roakore yanked his hatchets free and fell ten feet, landing on the back of a scorpion. He spun as the tail stabbed down, barely deflecting the dripping spear with his shield. Roakore flexed and pushed against the might of the scorpion, which was as big as a horse and twice as strong. With a roar, he mentally pushed the tail back before spinning around and burying his hatched in the beast’s small brain.

  He leapt off as the scorpion gave a chittering protest and dropped dead.

  The dwarves had reached the cavern floor and were surging into the city, drunk on spirits and consumed with rage. Helzendar, Philo, Raene, and Du’Krell rushed by, singing the war song of Ky’Dren, and Roakore smiled to himself and joined them in their charge.

  ***

  Raene pumped her stout legs and easily kept up with the males. She tore through the scorpions that got in her way, crushing skulls like dragon eggs with her mace and deflecting the bombs that arched toward her from afar. The blessed were trying to take control of the bombs as they lobbed toward the towers, homes, shops and ramparts surrounding the city. Those who were successful redirected the bombs to the far end of the cavern, where the largest concentration of scorpions was flooding through from the many connecting tunnels.

  She followed Roakore and the other kings into the heart of the city as the dwarves continued to pour in and join the fray. The wasps had died out, or so it seemed. There were only a few dozen left flying around the cavern, but they were swiftly being dropped from the sky by the iron balls of the blessed.

  The battle soon shifted in the dwarves’ favor. They secured the castle and half the city, and the blessed began systematically slaughtering the scorpions. Soon the beasts were retreating through the tunnels, and the dwarves were heartened to see their foe fleeing before them. They stopped when the last of the scorpions disappeared into the dark tunnels, and one and all began to celebrate.

  But Roakore would have none of it.

  “The fight ain’t yet won!” he cried over the tumult.

  The dwarves nearby began hushing those farther out, and soon the cavern quieted and Roakore’s words echoed loud and true.

  “We have won the battle, but we haven’t won the war. Drink up, lads, for the fight has only begun.” He turned to Raene. “See to it that the liquor keeps flowing into the mountain. We’re going to secure the city and take the fight into the tunnels. I ain’t for knowin’ how long this bender be lastin’, but we only got a small window to get the deed done. We sober up before we defeat the albinos, and we be doomed.”

  “Aye, aye, me king!” said Raene, and she went about carrying out his orders.

  Now that the initial excitement and the adrenaline of the battle was over, her mood soured and her mind drifted to Ragnar. He was out there somewhere, fighting for his life.

  Raene wished more than anything that he was there by her side. He had fought so hard to be accepted by the dwarves, and indeed, he had the heart of a dwarf. He deserved to share in the victory.

  She occupied her mind with fulfilling Roakore’s orders and had a dozen stout dwarves start bringing the spirits into the city and setting others to distribute it all evenly. They couldn’t afford for one dwarf to go dry, for he would quickly be taken over by the albino mind-benders and put to evil deeds. It occurred to her how funny it was that the most important job in this battle seemed to be keeping the dwarves good and drunk, and she imagined laughing about it with Ragnar. He would shake his head and slap his leg, his laughter like music.

  Chapter 31

  Orrian stood on the hill overlooking the city of Del’Oradon. After the fall of Vresh’Kon, Eldarian had instructed Orrian to abandon the fight against the elves and travel to Agora to seek out the humans who had awakened to magic. Orrian knew that if anyone had found others like him, it would be Governor Dirk Blackthorn.

  The sun was obscured by dark clouds that hung above the city menacingly, and Orrian thought that it was fitting. He saw it as a sign, one trying to warn the people that a harbinger of death had arrived.

  Orrian grinned. He was excited to show the humans the true potential of their kind.

  He strode toward the city boldly, without trying to hide his glowing eyes or the power that coalesced near his palms. He was proud of what he was. He was proud of the power that he possessed and the possibilities that it meant for his kind. For too long, humans had been the victims of more powerful races. The world was full of monsters, and if he had to become one of them to help his people realize their own potential, then so be it.

  When he reached the city gates, voices rose up in alarm. Men scrambled to their stations upon the battlements and took up crossbows and spears. A dozen more men filed out through a door beside the closed gates and fell into formation.

  “Halt!” said a man upon the wall.

  Orrian kept walking.

  Five soldiers approached and drew their weapons. Orrian summoned a shield of energy that clung to his armor and surrounded his body like a protective cocoon.

  “That’s far enough,” said the lead soldier, who was the biggest of the bunch.

  Orrian surged forward with the speed of a flying arrow and slammed two fists into the man’s chest. The soldier was lifted off his feet and flew into his comrades, knocking two of them on their backs before slamming into the big iron gate. Orrian leapt over the rest of the soldiers as they charged and cleared the gate easily before landing on the other side.

  “Fire at will!” a man atop the battlements commanded, and dozens of arrows rip
ped through the air. They hit Orrian in the back but were instantly disintegrated by the buzzing shield of energy.

  Orrian smirked and kept on going, but then a magical blast hit him in the shoulder. The shield stopped it, but it still sent Orrian staggering to the side. He turned in the direction from which it came and found a lone elf charging toward him with two glowing blades in hand. More arrows thudded into him, but they stopped when the elf got close. Orrian unsheathed his sword, which burned black with shadow fire.

  The elf attacked with incredible speed and power, and Orrian was forced to dance to the side to avoid those deadly spinning blades. He blocked the swords with speed to match the elf and thrust his left hand forward, releasing a spell meant to crush the elf with paralyzing force. But the elf spun away from the attack and then flipped backwards through the air. The spell sailed beneath him, missing him by mere inches. Orrian went on the offensive as the humans continued to try and shoot him with their pathetic arrows. But he ignored the hits to his shield and bore down on the elf, overwhelming him with speed. His sword got by the elf’s blades, and he scored a hit to the shoulder. The elf cried out in pain as he dropped the sword in his left hand. Blue tendrils of healing energy instantly went to work on his shoulder, but the elf now had only one blade. Orrian surged forward, slapped the lone blade away, and then thrust his black sword right through the elf’s shield and into his heart.

  He stared into the dying elf’s eyes, then ripped the blade upward, nearly cutting him in half.

  When the body thudded to the ground, Orrian incinerated it with a spell from his left hand, and then turned from the charred remains and continued into the city.

  The warning bells were ringing now, and Orrian knew that soon more elves would come. Many had stayed behind in Elladrindellia, and a large number of them now guarded the shattered human cities. But Orrian would not be stopped, not with Eldarian’s dark power coursing through him.

  The human soldiers knew that they had no hope of defeating Orrian, but they still had a job to do, and a few brave souls charged him there in the streets. Orrian batted them aside as though they were children and kept on going. Women frantically ushered children out of the streets. Shop owners slammed and locked their doors while others peeked through drawn blinds. Brawlers surged out of pubs and inns, but their words were braver than their actions, and none seemed drunk enough to challenge Orrian.

  He knew how he must have looked to them, for few knew that there were other humans like Whill, and surely some of them thought that perhaps Orrian might be good. But Orrian wasn’t Whill of Agora. He wasn’t a golden boy. He was a new breed of human blessed with the ancient powers, and where Whill had failed, Orrian would succeed.

  Another elf suddenly appeared in the middle of the street to block Orrian’s way. Orrian stopped, glanced at the humans peeking from the safety of their wood and stone buildings, and then raised a single hand toward the elf. A beam of writhing green light shot out of his palm and engulfed the elf, shattering his energy shield and breaking his defenses. Orrian then pulled with all the power that he possessed and ripped the life force from the elf.

  Five seconds after he had arrived, the elf was nothing but ash blowing in the cold wind.

  Men cursed, women screamed, and children cried. The human soldiers backed away from Orrian, the fear in their eyes contrasted by the impotent rage on their faces.

  Orrian shot into the air to the amazement of all, then flew toward the castle at the center of the city. He landed in front of the castle gate, raised a glowing hand, and unleashed a blast of energy that should have blown the doors down. But the doors held, and a web of magical energy absorbed the blast.

  Whill’s enchantments, Orrian mused.

  He braced himself, summoned the dark energy of Eldarian, and unleashed a blast of hellfire. At first Whill’s wards withstood the assault, but slowly they began to weaken, until finally they winked out altogether. Orrian grinned to himself and blew down the doors with a shockwave that unhinged the big iron doors and cracked the stone they were attached to.

  Soldiers poured out of the doors then, and Orrian swatted the humans to the side with his bare fists. Men slammed into walls and crumpled to the ground left and right, their armor dented and weapons shattered.

  “Orrian!” a voice boomed in the foyer.

  He looked up to the top of the double staircase and saw Dirk Blackthorn staring down at him. Orrian took a determined step forward, meaning to leap the distance, when a mass of glowing energy slammed into him. Chief suddenly formed through the mist and bit down hard on Orrian’s neck. Orrian swung his sword at the spirit wolf, but it changed to mist once again and appeared behind him. Chief was powerful, but Orrian had absorbed necromantic power. He spun away from the wolf and lashed out with his left hand, unleashing a beam of writhing black magic. The beam wrapped itself around the spirit wolf as it attempted to shift and dragged him to the ground.

  Orrian spun around in time to block both Dirk and Krentz’s blades as they swung toward his back. He parried the blows and hit them both with a blast of energy. They flew back into the wall beneath the rail of the twin staircases, and Orrian stalked forward as they slumped to the floor. Chief howled behind him, still fighting the ball of writhing black shadow. Krentz was the first one to her feet, and she produced a glowing bow and arrow, took aim, and fired. The streaking arrow slammed into Orrian’s shield and exploded. Dirk threw an enchanted dart that exploded at Orrian’s feet. His shield held, but he was thrown back into the foyer. Orrian leapt to his feet and growled. Dirk and Krentz threw everything they had at him, but every projectile was deflected. They exploded against walls, destroyed pillars, and filled the chambers with thick smoke.

  Orrian found Dirk through the smoke and shot across the room toward him. Krentz tried to intercept, but Orrian hit her with a blast of power that sent her careening into the nearest stone wall. He grabbed Dirk by the throat and hit him with a spell meant to cause terrible pain.

  “Where is she?” Orrian demanded.

  “I don’t know who you’re talking about…” Dirk spat.

  Orrian squeezed harder and sent a surge of agony through Dirk’s body.

  “Where is she?” he screamed.

  “Over here,” came a sweet female voice.

  Orrian turned to his right and was hit by a blast so powerful that it lifted him off his feet and sent him crashing right through the stone wall. He landed in the courtyard and sprang to his feet. A small girl of about sixteen years stalked him through the hole in the castle wall, and soldiers surrounded the courtyard.

  “Look at you,” he said with a grin. “You are indeed a powerful one. You will make a good student.”

  “I will never kneel before the likes of you,” she said with a sneer that looked out of place on her perfectly innocent face.

  “In the end, all shall kneel before Eldarian,” said Orrian.

  The young woman put her hands together, and between them a ball of crackling white energy began to grow. Orrian lashed out with a writhing black beam of energy, and at the same time, the young woman released her white-hot spell. The two forces collided with the power of a thunderhead. Orrian was impressed by the girl’s power, and he felt her slowly absorbing the dark power of Eadon. She tried not to let it in; she tried to turn it back on Orrian, but her innate power pulled it into her.

  Soon she would be possessed by the power of the dark one, just as Orrian had been—just as the entire world would soon be.

  But then Orrian suddenly felt the power of Eldarian ripped from his soul. He and the girl both abandoned their attacks, and Orrian fell to one knee, clutching his chest. Then he suddenly realized that Eldarian was dead.

  Somehow, some way, Eldarian had been defeated.

  Orrian was free.

  He stared at his hands. The darkness was gone, and it had been replaced by light. Tears welled in his eyes, and he smiled as he looked up at the person now standing before him.

  It was Dirk.

  �
��I’m free,” he told the governor.

  “Yes,” said Dirk. “Yes, you are.”

  Dirk Blackthorn brought his blade down with a powerful strike, and the last thing Orrian saw was the spinning castle as his head rolled across the cobblestone.

  Chapter 32

  “Charge!” Roakore bellowed.

  The dwarves filed into the many tunnels leading from the city, and they were instantly met by hundreds of black scorpions who had been waiting just inside the chambers. The war song of Ky’Dren echoed through the tunnels like thunder, and the baritone voices of thousands of dwarves shook the stone.

  Roakore, Philo, and Helzendar led the charge, making short work of the scorpions and sending back into the tunnels the many bombs that the insects lobbed. The albinos controlling them changed tactics and stopped ordering their scorpions to bomb the dwarves, and instead sent a surge of the clicking insects into the dwarven ranks. Roakore slapped aside a dripping scorpion tail with his shield and buried his axe in the enemy’s head. He leapt over the next, spun around, and chopped its tail in half. Philo finished it off, and Helzendar charged past Roakore. The son of the king crushed heads and cracked pincers with his iron fist, leaving a trail of dead scorpions in his wake. Roakore laughed as he followed his son. He hacked and slashed the scorpions, singing all the while.

  Soon there were no scorpions left to attack, and the dwarves regrouped. Numerous tunnels led off from the city, and Roakore instructed his dwarves to fight through to the center of the Earth if need be. For the spirits were running low, and the albinos needed to be dealt with before everyone began to sober up.

  “Into the depths!” Roakore told his brave warriors. “We don’t stop until every last albino be dead! This be the mountain home o’ Ky’Dren, and he be watchin’ from the Mountain o’ the Gods!”