The Forlorn Dagger Trilogy Box Set

by Jaxon Reed

  Theena and Mita hovered above the last broken metal men and stared off in the distance at the line of lancers gathering on the field’s edge.

  “Do you know how to cast Scopic Vision, sister?”

  “No.”

  “Watch how I do it.”

  Theena waved her hand over her eyes while casting the spell. Mita copied her. Suddenly, she could see the lancers as if they were merely twenty or thirty paces away.

  “How about the Fire of Following?”

  “Nope. Never heard of it.”

  “It’s very useful with armies. One globe of Fire of Following will take out one enemy. Watch.”

  Theena thrust her hands out, and a small globe of green fire sallied forth. It raced toward the distant lancers. With her scopic vision, Mita watched as the globe grew to about three paces in diameter. It headed straight toward the lancers’ captain and enveloped him and his horse. They both died screaming, consumed by green flames.

  Mita decided Theena’s facsimile was even more useful than Deedles the cat.

  She ventured a question.

  “What are they waiting for?”

  “When an army waits, it’s usually for reinforcements. Or a wizard. Come on, let’s take the battle to them.”

  They flew across the field, Theena leading.

  To her left, Mita saw something long and thin streaking toward them.

  “Watch out!”

  Theena slowed, turned, and saw the Forlorn Dagger headed toward her on the end of a lance.

  “Don’t let it touch you, sister!”

  She shot up straight in the air. The lance and dagger followed her.

  Darkstone flew back to the battlefield and watched in satisfaction as the lance chased the battlemaidens across the sky. Then he turned his attention to the other end of the field, near where he knew the gateway to Greystone Village would be.

  He raised his eyebrows and chuckled in delight when he saw the chunk of ground serving as a floating platform for the wizards.

  “Will those fools ever learn? You never concentrate command in battle.”

  He landed on the ground so he could focus his spells better. The portion of the clearing he landed in had no one else nearby, and no one saw him, either. They were all concentrating on the battlemaidens’ plight or the gathering lancers.

  Darkstone waved his arms and performed a complicated dance. A globe materialized in the air before him, slowly growing larger. It appeared gray and hazy, with dark patterns writhing across its surface.

  Suddenly he pushed out with his hands, and the globe flew away toward the wizards’ floating patch of ground.

  Before it reached them, Darkstone started conjuring a second globe, this one orange. As soon as the gray globe enveloped the wizards, he pushed away the orange one. Then he started on a third globe, this one purple. Shortly after the orange globe enveloped the gray one, he pushed out the purple one which enveloped both the previous globes.

  Darkstone chuckled again.

  “Let’s see you get out of that trap, boys. I doubt you will. I’ve been working on it for a long time.”

  He flew over to the army waiting at the clearing’s edge.

  Theena shot bolt after bolt of energy at the weapons chasing her. None had any effect. The bolts dissipated as soon as they neared the dagger.

  She raced higher in the sky, and the lance followed. She zigged and zagged, and the lance followed, moving perceptibly closer to her with each passing second.

  Mita flew after them both, shooting her own bolts and trying to figure out a way to stop the threat.

  Finally, Theena turned and faced the dagger head on. She threw everything she had at it: energy bolts, fire, lightning. Finally, she cast the modified Globe of Expulsion, her most powerful spell.

  They all poofed out harmlessly against the dagger. The lance shot straight toward her, and the dagger pierced through her armor.

  She yelled out in pain and disappeared in a puff of smoke.

  Mita’s eyes grew wide as the dagger made a wide turn in the air and headed back toward her.

  She flew as fast as she could toward the forest’s edge. Turning to look behind her, she saw the lance and dagger closing the distance, slowly but steadily.

  Mita shot back some energy bolts, but as before they simply fizzled out when they neared the dagger.

  She looked down. She flew over the forest now, a canopy of green leaves below her. She plunged into it, seeking the ground. The lance and dagger followed.

  She flew between the trees, dodging left and right. The lance and dagger followed, inexorably closing the distance.

  Her thoughts raced furiously as she flew.

  How did Darkstone make the dagger fly and follow his wishes? Isn’t it impervious to all magic?

  She shot up through the forest canopy, breaking off branches that snapped against her armor. The lance pointed up and followed her. In the open air, in the sunlight, she had an epiphany.

  Darkstone’s magic controls the lance, not the dagger.

  She shot up high, as fast as she could fly, then turned and faced the dagger. She conjured up Fire of Following, but she directed it toward the lance instead of the dagger.

  The weapons sped upward toward her. The green globe flew down, passing them both. Then it turned, sped up and touched the lance’s handle, enveloping it with green fire that quickly spread up the shaft. The lance instantly burned to a crisp and disintegrated.

  The metal tip and the cord binding the dagger were unharmed. But suddenly, there was no more lance with a spell to carry them. They dropped toward the ground.

  Mita took a deep breath, and sighed in relief. She watched as the dagger disappeared, dropping through the green canopy below.

  Darkstone landed near the lancers. By now, the entire army had marched forward and they stood behind the front lines. With the exception of the captain and one other lancer, both of whom had died horribly in globes of green fire, there had been no other incidents. The men’s confidence increased upon seeing Darkstone return.

  He pointed dramatically toward the ramparts in the distance.

  “Their wizards and battlemaidens have been eliminated. Victory is at hand! Onwards!”

  The Emeraldian soldiers yelled their battle cry, and everyone rushed forward.

  “Here they come, people! Pikers, ready!”

  Trant had almost come to the conclusion that the villagers might not be needed so long as the battlemaidens and wizards fought for them. But he watched in dismay as the women were chased off by some sort of flying spear, and the wizards seemed to be enveloped in odd globes of energy where their command post used to be.

  With no support, they were left to their own devices.

  At least the metal men no longer threaten us, he thought to himself. And I’ve got Fret.

  The little dwarf provided a wealth of information about battle planning. In all the simulations Greystone had provided him showing how to handle various scenarios at court and elsewhere, the wizard had neglected teaching the young prince much about leading battles.

  He probably didn’t think I’d need to know much about it this soon.

  Fortunately, Fret proved to be an exceptional teacher despite his comparatively young age.

  “Tha’s right. Pikers in th’ trench, halberds behind th’ trench. Wha’ th’ pikers dinna kill, th’ halberds’ll get. Keep th’ arbelests in th’ far back t’ pick off any other survivors.”

  Trant waved down at Tomlin and Altor in the trench with the pikers.

  “Here they come!”

  Tomlin looked up and saw the first riders cresting the ramparts.

  “Steady! Steady, men!”

  A heavy, thickset woman with short hair turned and glared at him. He recognized her as the inn’s serving wench.

  “And women! Steady, everyone!”

  A wave of lancers crested the ramparts and charged down the other side. Too late they realized a wall of pikes awaited them. Hundreds of villagers stood bracing a
nd hunched over their weapons, points facing chest-level at the horses rushing forward.

  The animals’ death screams filled the air as the points slammed home. Lancers tumbled out of their saddles and were stabbed repeatedly by pikers who missed their chance with the horses. Pointed pikes pierced the lancers’ leather armor, even with the clumsy and inexperienced efforts of the townsmen and women.

  Tomlin and Altor shouted encouragement while stabbing three horses and two riders between them. They paused near each other, close enough to come almost face to face. Both grinned like little boys.

  “Ay, Cap’n! They done tried to skewer me twice and this pixie glow prevented it!”

  Tomlin nodded, mentally grateful for Oldstone’s magic. He said a quick prayer of thanks to the Creator.

  The second wave rode over the ramparts, and this time the pikers were not as ready for them. Several went past ongoing melees, riding up and out of the trench and into the mass of halberds waiting for them.

  Tomlin stabbed one rider in the back with his pike, just as two more rushed past him.

  Outside the trench, a few with halberds tried to brace their weapons and skewer the horses like the pikers before them, but the shorter length of the handle made for clumsier work. Many of the lancers were able to toss aside several who tried that approach.

  Stin stood beside Bartimo, and suddenly felt very inadequate with a lancer charging down on him. The halberd seemed small in comparison to the twenty-pace-long horse-charging heavy wooden lance aimed at him.

  “Steady, Stin! Remember they can’t hurt us.”

  Stin gulped, and found himself praying Bartimo was right.

  He tried jumping to the left just before the lance tip hit his chest, but the rider anticipated it and shifted at the last second. Stin caught the full blow with the horse and rider behind it, and felt himself lifted off his feet and hurled backward from the impact.

  While the horse galloped by, Bartimo swung the hook end of his halberd up toward the rider’s chest. He caught the rider’s arm and pulled down hard, dragging him out of the saddle.

  Several steps away Stin stood up, dazed but unharmed thanks to the second skin. He picked up his halberd and raced over to help Bartimo hack and stab the fallen rider.

  Darkstone crested the ramparts and looked down into the long trench below, expecting to find several dead townsfolk. Instead, to his surprise he found mostly dead horses and riders. Other Emeraldian soldiers were being systematically, if not efficiently, slaughtered by halberds beyond the trench. Arbalests further back took care of stragglers breaking through.

  A lancer struggled up to him, bleeding from his side where a pike had pierced his armor.

  “They’ve got something protecting them, milord Wizard. They’re all coated in a golden light. Our lances can’t get through. Blades either. I tried!”

  He collapsed next to the wizard in pain, holding his side while trying not to bleed out. Darkstone ignored him, and looked intently at the villagers fighting below.

  “Second Skin of Sunlight. I should have expected this.”

  “What’s that mean, milord? Can we not kill them while they glow?”

  “Not as long as the sun shines you can’t.”

  The lancer squirmed on the ground in pain and exhaustion.

  “It’s a long time ’till dark. We’ll never make it.”

  Darkstone heard the lancer’s defeat and fatigue in his voice. He agreed with the soldier, but he thought for a moment and had an idea.

  “We’ll just have to speed darkness up a bit.”

  He began to dance, casting a simple but powerful spell. Swirls of black smoke billowed up around him and stretched into the sky, shooting up a hundred paces high. They coalesced into a thick, dark cloud. It grew and grew as he danced, until it spread across the sky and blocked out the sun.

  Darkstone stopped dancing and watched as the last wisps of smoke joined the cloud. Mentally he gauged the light level, wondering if it would be low enough. No direct rays of the sun pierced through his black cloud. The battlefield was covered in dim and diffused light, as if a strong thunderstorm were about to begin.

  As he watched, one by one in the order in which they were cast the protective yellow layers around the townspeople winked out.

  The wizard turned at the sound of soldiers marching up behind him. An infantry captain saluted him.

  “The lancers have had some problems, Captain, but they’ve been taken care of. Time for you and your men to handle what’s left.”

  The captain looked down at the lancer bleeding at Darkstone’s feet, who had passed out from his wounds. The captain smirked.

  “The infantry always mops up for the horse boys, milord Wizard. We’ll take care of it from here.”

  Several of the soldiers near him laughed in confidence and unsheathed their swords. Others carrying pikes shifted them into a frontward position.

  The captain turned and waved a signal.

  “Forward! Attack!”

  Thousands of soldiers streamed over the ramparts and down into the trench, waving their weapons.

  Mita flew back to the battlefield and gasped when she saw the giant black cloud blocking the sun. She instantly understood what that would mean for the villagers’ protection.

  She rushed toward the battle, looking to kill as many soldiers as possible. Then she jerked to a stop and turned toward the ramparts. Overseeing everything, to her surprise, was a wizard dressed in ragged clothes.

  In all her battle simulations, the wizard remained hidden. But maybe because he expected her to be dead by now, this one had grown careless.

  Darkstone turned as he noticed her black-clad form hovering in the dim sky. Even at that distance, without scopic vision, she could make out the look of astonishment on his face.

  Mita smiled as she cast a Spell of Immobilization followed by two lightning strikes and a bolt of energy.

  Darkstone felt stunned, not only by the immobilization spell but astonishment as well. His globe of protection absorbed the first lightning bolt, but he could feel the second one and he definitely felt the follow-up energy bolt.

  Mentally he cast a spell negating the immobilization and streaked up into the sky on a column of fire and smoke, heading away from the battle.

  How had the battlemaiden escaped the dagger? He would have to find out later. Darkstone dodged her bolts as he streaked away from the clearing with Mita in hot pursuit.

  Barley stood back and watched as the infantry worked its way forward. He had stayed near halberds during the battle, but refused the offer of wielding one. They were much too large for him. Instead he opted to fight with his battle axe, the trusty family weapon handed down to him by his father, Wort. His father had received it from his father and though Barley was not much of a fighter, the weapon had proven more than adequate.

  By his count, Barley had slain seventeen enemy soldiers. Some confusion in the earlier part of the battle, where he had flailed blindly for a while, may have resulted in a slightly higher body count. But he wasn’t sure, and seventeen was a number he could confidently state were slain by his own hand.

  Now things grow a bit more desperate, he thought.

  With Darkstone’s cloud blocking out the sun, their protective armor disappeared. He watched as the pikers in the trench were methodically slaughtered by Emeraldian foot soldiers.

  Barley walked into the line of halberd-wielding villagers, and looked up at them. Nearby the man he recalled was named Beet glanced down at him, fear and desperation dancing in his eyes. He remembered the first time Beet and Altor saw him, and what their captain said about dwarves in a fight.

  Time to trigger that memory, Barley thought.

  “Steady, now! Dinna let their swords get near ye! We can take ’em!”

  Confidence seemed to radiate from the little dwarf, spreading outward like a wave of enthusiasm. In one last boost of magic, he gifted those around him with a spell of bravado. All the villagers near him started to yell.

 
; “Yeah! We can take ’em!”

  “Let’s get those bastards!”

  A line of Emeraldian soldiers came climbing out of the trench and rushed them.

  Fret noticed soldiers running toward the halberders, and he saw his father in the thick of the fighting.

  “Pa!”

  He jumped down from Trant’s horse and ran toward the battle.

  Fret took out his knife and jumped up five paces in the air, slicing a man in the throat. Before the body hit the ground he bounded off it and stabbed another in the eye. He kept moving, stabbing and slashing his way through soldier after soldier toward Barley.

  Beet, Bartimo, and Stin fought with half a dozen other villagers near the dwarf. Stin decided the halberd proved to be somewhat advantageous against swords. It had a longer reach and if swordsmen couldn’t chop off his pole, he could keep them away.

  Bartimo had worked out a system with Stin, although they did not have time to discuss it in the heat of battle. It just worked. They would approach a soldier and Stin engaged the man’s sword while Bartimo grabbed for his legs with the hook end of the halberd. Once the fellow fell to the ground, they both stabbed him with their points. So far they had killed six this way.

  Beet raised his eyebrows in approval as they downed number seven, and he moved over to help dispatch the soldier.

  Barley, meanwhile, jumped from soldier to soldier, hacking away at legs, faces, swords, shoulders, chests, and anything else he could find to flail with his axe. Mentally, he now figured himself responsible for at least twenty-four dead.

  He jumped up at another soldier, and swung the axe midair, cutting the inferior sword in half. On the way down, he hacked with a sharp downward thrust and split open the man’s stomach. He landed to the side of the body, his axe and boots soaked in blood.