Lady Squire- Dawn's Ascension

by Leonard D. Hilley II

  Another hour passed before the ridge path started its slow descent. Lehrling’s arms, hands, and legs were freezing cold. He shivered and blew into his hands a few times to try to thwart the chill, but it didn’t help. The cold air made his lungs ache. Puffs of white clouds escaped his mouth and numb nose each time he exhaled.

  Ahead, probably a few hundred yards away, he caught a glimpse of the flickering torch again. How he wished he could be within a few inches of the torch to warm himself a bit. He chuckled softly. His round stomach jiggled from his slight amusement and from the uncontrollable muscle twitches as his body attempted to warm itself. He sighed. He hated getting old.

  “How are you holding up?” Lehrling asked Bausch.

  Bausch gave a small shrug. “Never better.”

  “Aren’t you even a bit cold?”

  “Nah.”

  “I’m about to freeze from the inside out,” Lehrling said. “We’re wearing practically the same armor. I don’t see how you’re staying so warm.”

  “Different tailors,” Bausch said.

  “So? They use the same materials.”

  “Not all tailors use the same methods. Some have other skill qualities besides needle and thread.”

  “Oh?” Lehrling asked. “Like what exactly?”

  Bausch shrugged. “Enchanted cloth, thread, or protection trinkets.”

  “I see. Never thought such could protect one from the elements of weather. Perhaps I should seek one to do the same, so I can keep warm during unexpected winter rides.”

  Bausch nodded and said, “What you need is a good hard drink, ol’ man, and a nice woman to share the evening with. That’ll warm you up.”

  “I could go for a drink.”

  Dwiskter stirred slightly and groaned.

  Lehrling scooted back in the saddle. He wished they had kept the Vyking warhorse and figured out a way to strap the dwarf to its saddle so Lehrling had more room. He couldn’t deny that he was out of shape. Favoring ale, rich bready foods, and lounging in taverns exchanging tales rather than practicing more with his sword had allowed him to pack on additional weight. He’d already taught Bausch everything the young warrior could learn, aside from actual battle experience. With the Vyking invasion, Bausch’s skills were soon to be tested to their fullest capability, which also made Lehrling wish that he were in better shape.

  Lehrling’s heavy belly occupied too much space to adequately share the saddle with Dwiskter. The dwarf’s shoulders were so broad that maintaining balance on the horse for the both of them was getting more difficult to manage the longer they rode. He’d have to slow the horse soon to readjust the dwarf’s position before one of them toppled and dropped to the ground.

  Should Dwiskter fall off, Lehrling and Bausch together would have a difficult time getting the unconscious dwarf back onto the horse. Dwarves might be small in height, but they were quite heavy, due to their stocky nature.

  The single torch flickered in the distance. The rider seemed in no hurry to reach Icevale. Larger flames danced several hundred yards farther ahead of the rider where large fire pits blazed. Icevale.

  The night winds grew stronger as the road descended. As with all of the other Dwarven cities in Aetheaon, Icevale was well protected from the elements of weather.

  Once Lehrling and Bausch passed out of the wooded trail, snowflakes drifted downward. Heavier clouds appeared on the horizon. Snow dropped on this side of the mountain range, but once the clouds crossed the mountains, drifting toward Hoffnung, the air became warmer and raindrops fell.

  A towering fifty-foot statue of King Staggnuns bearing two double-edged battleaxes made an intimidating decoration for first time travelers heading into Icevale. His knotted long beard was detailed with such precision that an onlooker might believe a wizard had captured King Staggnuns inside this giant slab of granite instead of the image being nothing more than the talent of sculptors.

  The stone craftsmen had even emulated the King’s piercing eyes beneath his firm brow with such skill that it often paralyzed visitors momentarily with fear on their way down the descending trail. The statue was dedicated to the most courageous Dwarven warrior Icevale had ever sent into battle against the goblin invasion two centuries before. And after the battle ended, Staggnuns became the newly crowned king.

  Icevale was not a modest underground city. The city was an impenetrable fortress. It was self-sufficient and located in the midst of three ore rich mountains. An underground river flowed through its center, providing power for their geared machines, and allowing a quick set to the iron they forged. The towering gates, which seldom ever closed, were riveted iron plates that opened by a series of wenches and massively thick chains. The outer fortress walls were layered iron, polished, and too slick for anyone to scale or position siege ladders against.

  Should the Icevale Dwarves ever close their gates, no outside force was able to blast a way through. And should an enemy somehow find a way over the walls, another set of gates closed at the mouth tunnel that led to the main street of Icevale.

  Icevale possessed weapons that none of the other Dwarven Kingdoms or races owned or understood how to make. Gunpowder and dynamite. And with their inventive engineers, they had constructed cannons and single-shot rifles capable of puncturing through metal breastplates. No known armies could survive.

  Staggnuns had made certain Icevale would always be prepared for the worst, regardless of the enemy that dared to threaten their kingdom, which had been none since they had eradicated the goblins.

  “Icevale’s gates,” Lehrling said, pointing. Dwarven guards stood along the iron walls.

  “Good,” Bausch said. “Nice taverns with Dwarven Stout.”

  “As long as we have a roaring fire inside, I’m fine with whatever drinks they offer.”

  Behind them, the heavy whinnying of horses caught their attention. Lehrling turned to see the red glowing eyes of five warhorses. He had thought only three—four at the most—Vykings had chosen to follow their path to Icevale, but due to the darkness and tree branches obscuring his view, he had miscounted.

  With Dwiskter unconscious, Lehrling couldn’t possibly counter any attack these Vykings launched, and Bausch was better skilled with a sword than he, but against five giant swordsmen? Even Bausch would be dead in seconds.

  “Ride!” Lehrling said.

  Lehrling kicked the flanks of his horse. The horse bolted forward. He hoped that Bausch chose to do the same.

  In his attempt to hold Dwiskter against the saddle, Lehrling accidentally grabbed the dwarf’s injured shoulder.

  Dwiskter roared in pain, his fierce eyes opening as his head snapped toward Lehrling.

  “What do ye think you’re doing!” he shouted.

  “Sorry. We have company.”

  “Where’s me horse? Ye have me draped over your horse like a dead carcass.”

  “You weren’t able to stay on the warhorse.”

  Dwiskter grabbed the horse’s mane, adjusted himself, and straddled the horse in front of the saddle. He still drooped forward and probably would have remained asleep, except for the pain Lehrling had inflicted. Now anger and pain had him flaring and alert.

  “Where are we?” Dwiskter asked.

  “Icevale’s straight ahead. Vykings behind us.”

  “Dammit! You fools have lost me axe!”

  “Bausch has it.”

  Dwiskter groaned a heavy sigh of relief. “Get us to me brethren. They’ll kill the Vyking invaders. The damn giants won’t dare attempt to enter Icevale. Not if they wish to live, that is.”

  Lehrling’s horse, Random, panted hard. Already tired from the previous sprint and the steep mountainous road, the horse didn’t have the strength to outrun the warhorses with the two of them on its back, especially since the icy hill sloped dangerously downward toward the narrow city gates of Icevale.

  “Hold on!” Lehrling shouted.

  “I am.”

  The road widened. The city gates were open. Dwarven guards with rifle
s and axes stood ready but didn’t seem alarmed enough to consider them enemies. Black wolves blended in with the dark shadows, following their respective dwarf masters. The single rider with the torch passed through the open iron gates with such calmness. In the light of the roaring braziers, the rider looked to be wearing wizard or mage robes, but from what region this sorcerer had traveled, that was not known.

  Bausch rode up quickly beside Lehrling, but his horse skidded atop compacted icy surface. The sound spooked Random, making him attempt to cut away from Bausch’s horse. Instead, Lehrling’s steed slid sideways, kicking and stomping, trying to find its footing, but was never quite fully able to gain control of its hooves.

  Bausch yanked his reins to the left, guiding his horse to the rocky edge of the road where its hooves caught enough abrasive rock to gain traction and straighten before somersaulting tail over head. Lehrling wasn’t quite as fortunate.

  Random was unable to find any stability at all. Hoping to help the horse, Lehrling swung off to lessen the load, which helped the horse somewhat. However, his boots hit the slick ice, sending him straight down. He hit the road hard and bounced. Pain riveted through his ribs, knocking the breath from his lungs. He clutched his side and rolled. The pain was too much for him to attempt to stand. For several long moments, he didn’t think he’d ever be able to breathe again. Everything swirled around them.

  Dwiskter took Random’s reins and coaxed the horse back onto the path. The slope partially leveled where grit and pebbles lay, providing a thin layer above the icy surface to help horses maintain their balance. Once Random calmed down without falling, Dwiskter kicked its flanks again. He raced Random toward the gates.

  “Vykings approach!” he yelled, alerting the guards. “On the roadway, heading towards Icevale!”

  In the glow of the giant burning torches, Dwiskter’s bloody shoulder displayed his battle injury. There was no hesitation from the gate guards. Dwarves raised rifles and began firing uphill before the Vykings even came into view.

  A horse whinnied and snorted in pain. A harsh thud hit the ground. The dwarves kept firing. A few ran up the steep road, firing as they ran. After firing a few dozen rounds, the dwarves lowered their weapons. Two dwarves hurried to Lehrling and helped him to his feet. Four others found the body of a dead Vyking but not the horse. They hauled his corpse inside Icevale’s gates.

  One dwarf walking alongside Lehrling asked, “Why would Vykings travel this far inland?”

  Lehrling coughed, grabbed his ribs, and winced. Each time he took a breath, he wheezed and clenched over in pain. “They’ve invaded Hoffnung. Queen Taube is dead.”

  “She’s dead?”

  Lehrling offered a solemn nod.

  “Tis sad news,” the dwarf replied, shaking his head. Genuine sadness claimed his gaze. “Let’s get you inside and have someone check your injuries. Hot soup and stout to boot, eh?”

  Lehrling shivered and clutched his ribcage. “Anywhere warm will suffice.”

  “King Staggnuns and Prince Luxille will want to talk to you about the invasion, I’m certain.”

  “Happy to oblige.”

  The dwarf gave a grim smile. “We’ll tend to your physical needs first. But an attack on Hoffnung is an attack against all of Aetheaon.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Lehrling sat on a hard cot while a dwarf medic helped pull off his tunic. His black leather armor hung over the high back of a chair. The medic removed Lehrling’s tunic and shook his head. Large red areas of inflammation covered the left side of Lehrling’s ribcage. The areas were quickly turning blue and probably would blacken well before morning.

  “That’s a nasty injury you have there,” the medic said. He gently touched Lehrling’s ribs.

  Lehrling winced and gasped.

  “Does it hurt to breathe?” the medic asked.

  Lehrling nodded. “Very much so.”

  “I’d suggest ye stay in Icevale for a few days. Your injury goes a lot deeper.”

  “Normally, I’d stay without question in order to recuperate. But with Hoffnung’s fall, I need to find other members of our Order.”

  The old medic rubbed his long white beard. Studying the determination in Lehrling’s expressions, the medic nodded. “Suit yourself. Get dressed. I’ll have a maid escort you to the feasting table. Your comrade is probably already there.”

  “Thanks,” Lehrling said with a kind smile.

  The dwarf nodded. “Now you be thinking ‘bout what I said. We’ll keep you here a few days and make you good as new. Here, drink this.”

  The dwarf offered him a small vial filled with dark liquid.

  “What is it?” Lehrling asked. He smelled the potion, gagged, and closed his eyes tightly.

  “Aye, it has a powerfully rotten smell, but it should help you with your aches and pains.”

  “I imagine it tastes as badly as it smells?” Lehrling asked.

  The medic laughed. “One would think that, eh?”

  “You mean it doesn’t?”

  “Oh no. It tastes much worse. Best if ye hold your nose while you drink it down.”

  Lehrling did so and turned up the vial. He coughed and gagged for a few moments. His face reddened. Tears streaked down his cheeks.

  “Packs a punch, eh?”

  “That it does,” Lehrling said, handing the empty vial to the dwarf. He placed his hand over his mouth, fighting the gag reflex to expel the tonic. His complexion was nearing faint green. He asked, “What’s in it?”

  The dwarf chuckled and shook his head. “Aye, it’s best that you never know. Now get yourself dressed and get some food inside you.”

  Eating was the last thing on Lehrling’s mind as he pulled his tunic slowly over his head. Pain burned in his chest. Every slight movement he made was with such sharp agony that he held his breath for as long as he could; just to keep from arousing more discomfort. He dreaded ever coughing or sneezing until his injuries had fully healed. Slipping his arm through a sleeve, he winced. The burning sensation that ran through his chest felt like a sharp blade was thrust inside him. He gasped, finished pulling the sleeve onto his arm, and sat on the edge of the cot.

  Sweat beaded his brow. His ribs were aching. His stomach suddenly grew hot, and he wondered exactly what the medic had given him to drink. The nagging urge to vomit faded. The room fogged for a moment, and his vision dimmed. Warmth suddenly flowed through his abdomen and spread toward his chest. Several minutes passed and all his pain was gone.

  Cautiously, Lehrling raised his left arm slightly, then a bit farther. Still no pain. He took a deep breath, held it, and exhaled slowly. Nothing.

  The nasty aftertaste in his mouth still touched on his gag reflex, but he couldn’t help but wonder what the ingredients in the elixir were that the medic had given him. He stood and finished putting his tunic and breastplate on. By the time he finished dressing, a female dwarf rapped at the door and then led him to the banquet hall.

  Lehrling was seated beside Bausch near King Staggnuns and Prince Luxille’s end of the extremely long table. On Lehrling’s plate was a small roasted hen with stewed potatoes and yams. Smells of roasted boar, stew, and strong ale permeated the air. Soft music drifted from the adjoining ballroom where a group of travelling bards played and recited tales.

  Dwiskter sat across the table from Lehrling. The dwarf’s shoulder was wrapped. He seemed more alert than he had been upon their arrival. Lehrling wondered if Dwiskter had received the same potion as he.

  Hundreds of candles blazed in chandeliers and other strategically placed lanterns, holders, and sconces. They flickered lightly as servants moved about refilling tankards or wooden soup bowls.

  Along the walls on both sides of the King’s table were mounted beast heads. Several were large bucks, boars, bears, and other strange creatures that Lehrling had never encountered in the wild. These trophies were displayed in the most menacing poses, but he was certain an inflicted arrow into any one of them while alive would induce more horrific snarls and
gnashes of teeth and fangs than what the taxidermists had portrayed.

  King Staggnuns sat dressed in his royal evening robe, which was jewel-encrusted with bright emeralds, tinted diamonds, and glittering rubies. He puffed smoke from his long curled pipe made from briarwood. Staggnuns’ long gray beard was neatly tied and braided with thick bands of golden cloth. It draped and coiled in his lap like a hibernating snake. Crumbs of bread were caught in his beard near his mouth with a few scattered along the convoluted train of hair.

  Age had well wrinkled the edges of Staggnuns brow, but his eyes were more alert and keener than any strapping lad eager to take his sword into training for the first time. His attention focused on the two Dragon Skull Knights, but he remained silent while the large mugs of bitter ale were placed before them.

  Lehrling and Bausch looked at King Staggnuns. Staggnuns gave a solemn nod, lifted his tankard high, and said, “Drink!”

  Lehrling took a sip of the ale and forced it down. He preferred something less dark and bold, but not to offend the generous king, he smiled as the liquid slid painfully down his throat. This, added to the nasty potion he had downed earlier, made him fear vomiting at any moment, which he feared would insult the party greatly.

  King Staggnuns and his son laughed heartily, staring at the pained expressions on Lehrling and Bausch’s faces. Tears ran down both knights’ cheeks. Staggnuns motioned for the maiden with a gentle wave of his hand.

  “Bring them some wine from Faybourne. No human can ever stomach our brew,” he said with a sly grin, “which leaves much more for us!”

  Lehrling nodded a kind gesture of thanks and great gratitude, wishing he could somehow scrape the taste from his tongue.

  A strange creature flew across the huge dining room. It was small like a cat but swifter than a hawk. The animal circled and landed on the back of Staggnuns’ chair. Its beak was like an eagle. The eyes resembled an owl. The wings were covered with feathers, but the rest of its body was furry. It chattered for a few moments, eyeing those seated at the grand table. Once satisfied that it had caught everyone’s attention, it perched upon the king’s shoulder. It preened the king’s hair for a few seconds and turned toward the feasters. The glowing yellow eyes peered menacingly.