Lehrling glanced at Bausch. His apprentice held no fear, but Lehrling felt his stomach tighten. Darkness loomed in the young warrior’s eyes, and Lehrling realized that all the training he had provided to Bausch was meant for the war they’d soon enter. Aetheaon was under attack. Hoffnung was the first to fall. Unless they mounted a massive counterattack quickly, more cities and towns were in danger.
King Staggnuns and his son turned away. They made their way back to the throne room to discuss the determinations for the battlement of Icevale and whatever else rulers did to prepare for the threat of war.
Eighteen fully armored dwarves with shields headed toward the wagon. Half of the small group brandished swords and the other half wielded axes. A half dozen more approached on horseback. Dwiskter watched them with awe and envy.
“A shame I’m not currently at me best,” he said. “My heart’s ready to go with you, but my shoulder disagrees.”
Lehrling smiled. “We’ll meet again, soon enough.”
“Time will be better then. I’ll spend some days training with the other warriors in Icevale until I’m at full strength again.”
“Peace to you, my friend,” Lehrling said.
“And to you,” Dwiskter replied with a solemn nod.
One of the wagon drivers snapped his whip and the horses strained to pull the heavy wagon forward up the steep path that led out of the stable yard and toward the road that cut through the back of the Icevale mountain fortress.
Lehrling and Bausch rode their horses behind the Dwarven wagon. The wagon creaked and rocked as the two horses followed the winding mountain trail. The bed of the wagon was loaded with barrels of Icevale Ale to be delivered to Glacier Ridge. Several smoked hams and blocks of hard cheese were stored near the barrels along with other necessary rations they’d need for their journey. Six dwarf warriors, dressed in heavy armor, marched at the rear of the wagon with three more on each side, and another six in the lead.
Lehrling thought that was a lot of protection for one small wagon of ale. He seldom traveled to Icevale, and this was a route he wasn’t familiar with, so he wasn’t certain what they might encounter. Staggnuns said that he’d offer his protection for the journey, which was the reason for the extra dwarf fighters, but after the Vykings had arrived in Hoffnung Bay the night before, it was unlikely they’d encounter any of the giant plunderers along this rugged trail. What else awaited them?
However, he was just as thankful for the extra potion the medic had given him. He had no evident pain, his breathing was clearer, but the magical properties might wear off at any time and that concerned him. He patted the vial in his vest pocket and valued it more greatly than gold.
Ice and snow coated the trees and rocks alongside the roadway. Large snowy-white birds of prey soared over the ridge. Others sat perched high in the leafless trees. They seemed to be scanning the snowy terrain in hope of finding snow hares or other concealed vermin.
The morning sun faded behind the growing band of thick gray clouds that announced their doom upon the day. Cold wind sliced and whistled through the firs and leafless deciduous trees. With the wind came white flakes of snow and hard pellets of sleet. The older Lehrling got, the more his old bones and joints hated winter.
One dwarf, Nordun, seemed more carefree than his serious brethren and proceeded to carry on conversation with Lehrling and Bausch.
“Fixing to have some angry weather,” Nordun said to Lehrling.
“Looks like it.”
“Aye,” the dwarf said with a broad smile. His silver beard was thick and tied in fancy knots and the color resembled icicles in the sunlight. His face was wrinkled and his brow hardened from years of hard work and his time served in battling whatever enemies had tried to invade Icevale over the decades. In spite of his affable nature, his cold gaze brought chills as frigid as the impending weather.
Nordun said, “The heart of winter is settling in.”
“Isn’t it always winter here?” Bausch asked.
Nordun gave a hearty roar of laughter, which thawed the frostiness in his eyes for a moment. “Tis true. These mountains never know any other season, which is good for us dwarves, especially now that the coldest weather is settling in.”
“How so?” Lehrling asked.
“Increases our productivity by keeping us smelting iron and steel bars all the time. Never cold inside our mountains. Not to mention, we distill the best ales and whiskeys in all of Aetheaon.”
“I’d be tempted to live underground if winter always prevailed,” Bausch said.
“Winter or not,” Nordun said, “underground is the best place. Fully insulated from the gods’ raging storms. Less likely that other races will attempt to lay siege. Plus, no better places to find silver or gold.”
“While that may be, I prefer to see the sun and landscapes above ground,” Bausch said, waving his hand at the wide mountain range ahead. “Adventure is what we find above ground.”
“Aye. I agree with you there, lad,” Nordun said. “That’s why I travel with our supply wagons to protect our wares even when we know it’s not necessary.”
Lehrling gave a curious frown. “So that’s why you have so many warriors accompanying this wagon? I thought the king sent them due to the Vykings.”
Nordun nodded. “He doubled our numbers, which is something he’s never done before.”
“So there’s no real dangers or threats to encounter?”
“Normally, no. But you never know,” Nordun said with a wink. “We might get lucky.”
Bausch glanced at Lehrling and said, “Otherwise, this will be a boring trip.”
Nordun frowned. “Thought you liked all this wondrous terrain?”
“I do. Just not the climate.”
“Can’t have everything,” Nordun replied.
“Don’t I know it,” Bausch said.
“Come now. You seem a bit aggravated, lad. If you had your preference, what would you be doing?”
“Killing the Vykings that overtook Hoffnung.”
“Aye. Don’t blame you there. I’d be willing to help you in that cause as will the majority of the true warriors in all of Aetheaon. Queen Taube was as near a goddess as any ruler could ever hope to be.”
“And yet, she’s dead,” Bausch said bitterly.
Lehrling’s eyes moistened with tears. “She was a rarity in grace.”
“That she was,” Nordun said. “But all kingdoms in Aetheaon have another danger that lurks in our midst.”
Bausch’s eyes narrowed. “That being?”
“The Black Chasm that has encapsulated the City of Mortel.”
“And how is that worse than Queen Taube’s death and the fall of Hoffnung?” Bausch asked, annoyed.
“I didn’t say worse. I said that it’s something that should be concerning all races.”
“Why?” Lehrling asked. “Mortel has always been a place of death and dark sacrifices. Only fools venture there. Those that have, never return to boast about anything.”
“Aye. But once the formation of the strange dark vapor settled over that city, we’ve had unsettling things happen all over the continent and even in our deepest mines. It wouldn’t surprise me if part of Hoffnung’s demise is somehow connected to whatever goes on inside Mortel.”
“Like what exactly?” Bausch asked.
“Weaker races and half-breeds have grown stronger. Beastmen like the ratmen and ice trolls have invaded territories they never had before. We’re encountering small bands of tunneling goblins inside Icevale from time to time.”
“And that’s not normal?” Bausch asked with a mocking grin.
“Why should it be?” Nordun replied with cold, narrowed eyes.
Bausch shrugged. “They live underground, too.”
“Not by choice they don’t. That’s where the gods banished them to reside, but they seem to somehow appear in our mine tunnels. Their eyes are mesmerized. They seem disoriented at first. Once they come to their senses, they grow ravaged and begin attacki
ng. Of course, they are no match for our miners and their pickaxes.”
“And how do you associate all this with the Black Chasm?” Lehrling asked.
“It’s where evil brews and festers. The master there, the ruler, manifests his power and strikes by sending the ruthless bloodthirsty goblins and deity depraved mongrels through magical portals to the least expected places.”
Bausch’s jaw tightened as he weighed the information. He said, “Why would Tyrann be in alliance with the Vykings of Welkstone?”
“No one rightly knows,” Nordun said. “And presently, it cannot be proven.”
“Pipe down, back there,” said a dwarf riding a pale horse alongside the wagon.
“Drucis, you know that it’s true,” Nordun said.
“Bah! Ye have no proof.”
“Mark me words, Drucis,” Nordun said, pointing a thick, stubby finger. “We’re heading into troubling times.”
Drucis turned and gave a quick wink. “I’m sure you’ll be telling us all about it over stout later.”
“Hobskin Tavern?”
“Aye. Best place in Glacier Ridge to spend ye gold, even for a coin-pinching ol’ dwarf like yourself,” Drucis said.
Nordun nodded at Lehrling. “Drucis doesn’t lie. He probably knows the best taverns in every city of Aetheaon.”
“What do you mean, ‘Probably?’” Drucis asked with a hearty howl. “I know ‘em all!”
Between two ridges the mountain trail looped downward in a rugged spiral until they approached a carved out tunnel that entered the mountainside.
“Keep your wits!” the wagon driver said. “Tunnel’s long and dark.”
Two dwarves took unlit torches attached to sconces at each side of the tunnel mouth. Cold wind blew small snowflakes harshly, making a whistling sound at the opening. The dwarves stepped into the tunnel and struck flint against the granite wall until they sparked a small flame on a handful of dry wood shavings. Once the flame rose they set the pitch-soaked torch afire, and then they lit the second one.
“Weapons ready!” Drucis shouted.
All the dwarves readied their axes, swords, and shields.
“Do you expect to find any enemies within?” Lehrling asked Nordun.
Nordun shrugged. “Rarely. But time to time we do find stray goblins and Ratkin wandering about like I mentioned earlier.”
“Lately?” Bausch asked.
“No. But with all the chaos from the Vykings invading Aetheaon, who knows?”
“Where does this tunnel lead?” Lehrling asked.
“It will take a day off the travel time to Glacier Ridge and with the coming storm on the horizon, we’re safer underground than on the surface.”
“At least it will be warmer,” Bausch said.
“It will,” Nordun agreed. “However, once those torches die out, we camp the night in complete darkness. That’s why Hordunne, the wagon driver, told us to keep our wits. Total darkness drives some humans mad.”
“So the warning was for us?” Lehrling said.
“Aye.”
Bausch frowned. “Don’t you have more torches?”
“We do, but we must conserve them.”
“Ready, brethren?” Hordunne asked.
“Aye!” they replied in unison.
“Dragon Skull Knights, ready?”
“We are!” Bausch shouted without awaiting Lehrling’s response. More anger resounded in his voice than confidence. His jaw tightened and determination set in his dark gaze. His eyes focused upon the low ceiling of the tunnel and his hand rested promptly upon the hilt of his sword.
Hordunne snapped his whip and the two horses pulled forward into the dark tunnel. Bats and a few swifts darted from their perches on the rock walls and fled outside the tunnel.
“Once those torches die, we’re at the halfway point,” Nordun said. “The sun will have set by the time that occurs. Since we’re at the rear of this small caravan, we must keep watch that we’re not attacked from behind.”
Bausch withdrew his short sword. Seconds later, Lehrling did the same.
The tunnel walls were rugged and jagged. Apparently the workers had been more interested in making the tunnel than the overall décor and aesthetics. Since dwarves dug it out the low ceiling required extra precaution by Bausch and Lehrling if they were to continue riding their horses. They needed to watch their heads and that might prove difficult with only two torches lighting the path, especially at the distance they rode behind the light.
Nordun noticed Lehrling’s observations of the walls and ceiling. He said, “It’s a bit crude right now. But in a few months, we’re going to attach steel plates to the sides and then smooth out the overhead.”
“I see.”
“Until then,” Nordun said with a broad grin, “I suggest you two keep a watch for low rocks.”
“Already doing that,” Bausch replied.
After ten minutes the only light in the tunnel was that of the two torches. With the decreased amount of light, the area seemed more foreboding. The shifting shadows made Lehrling uncomfortable. He’d never been afraid of the dark, and he had even camped in some of the most frightening places overnight. The Haunted Forests of Dorlan he had crossed on horseback on a dare when he was much younger. He had seen strange ghosts and other spirits in that forest, unidentifiable beasts he had never seen before or since, but he didn’t sense anything like them here. But something else lurked in this passageway ahead of them. What exactly, he wasn’t sure. He was certain they’d all find out well before they reached the other end of the passageway and exited.
Chapter Twenty-three
Caen brought up his shield and blocked Sammis’ heavy broadsword. The clash of metal echoed loudly down the alleyway. Caen had blocked the downward strike, but the impact sent him stumbling backwards through the clutter. He kept his balance enough that he didn’t fall, but Dawn found herself worried about the outcome of this fight.
Sammis’ arms were muscled with thick swollen veins snaking throughout. He was the biggest man she’d ever seen, much larger than any of Hoffnung’s guards, and nearly twice the size of Caen. There was a madness in the Vyking’s eyes, almost a lunacy, and the tomes she had read about their invasions along the coasts and their wicked need to spill blood while raiding villages had seemed more myth than fact. However, she was seeing firsthand the crazed look in this almost beastlike giant, and she knew this wasn’t a myth.
Caen had been chosen by her father to serve with the Dragon Skull Order. She wondered what qualities her father desired when choosing such knights. Watching her knight go head-to-head against this monstrous opponent showed he had courage and refused to be intimidated. It would be knights and warriors like Caen that delivered Hoffnung under her rule.
The battering of swords ricocheting off one another and against shields was certain to attract the attention of others that might pass from either end of the alleyway. The last thing she or Caen needed were other rivals seeking to kill them.
Dawn held Baymont’s bridle and kept her face close to the side of the horse’s nose. The horse’s ears backed each time metal clashed. He angrily snorted his disapproval of the fight several times.
Caen retreated more from the Vyking than he approached. She didn’t think it was due to fear because his eyes were set with hardened determination. No fear. No sign of worry. The more the Vyking struck his sword against Caen’s shield, the wearier the Vyking became. After each strike, Caen mocked his adversary by saying, “Is that your best? Perhaps your comrade could have done better.”
Sammis gritted his teeth and swung his sword. Caen blocked with his shield, but instead of stepping back this time, he spun, stepped on a pile of rock, and pivoted himself into the air. On his way down, he brought his sword into a side strike before Sammis could use his shield to block. The blade caught the back of the Vyking’s right elbow, slicing through muscles and tendons.
The Vyking howled in pain, and his sword dropped to the ground. His arm hung limply to his side.
His eyes widened with surprise. Caen stepped forward, lowered his sword momentarily and asked, “We can stop this if you wish. Simply admit defeat.”
Sammis shook his head. He tossed his shield aside, stooped and grabbed his sword with his left hand. The Vyking hissed, “Never.”
Caen sighed. “Very well.”
Sammis rushed toward the Dragon Knight, but Caen sidestepped and brought his boot up just enough to catch the Vyking’s ankle, tripping him.
The Vyking fell face first onto the trashy alleyway. He rolled quickly and pointed his sword toward Caen, but Caen’s blade was already descending. The blade sliced through Sammis’ fingers, removing them from his hand. The sword dropped across the Vyking’s chest. Regardless of however Sammis tried to reach the hilt, he couldn’t grasp the blade.
“Kill me,” the Vyking said in a near whisper. His pleading eyes indicated he meant the request. “There is no way I can continue this fight.”
“Doesn’t mean you have to die,” Caen replied.
“Without the use of my hands, what purpose do I have? I cannot possibly defend or provide for myself.”
Caen stuck the tip of his sword on the alley and leaned upon the guard of the hilt.
Sammis frowned. “Don’t dishonor me by leaving me alive.”
Caen’s eyebrows rose. “What do you mean?”
“A Vyking must die in battle to receive the highest blessing in the afterlife. Without such a death, I may wander aimlessly through eternity.”
A look of regret haunted Caen’s eyes. For a moment, she thought he was going to leave without killing this invader. Caen took his sword in hand and stood over the Vyking. The Vyking’s eyes focused on the gray sky above. There was no fear or dread in his adversary’s eyes. Peace overshadowed Sammis. Without another hesitation, Caen brought the blade up and then downward in one quick stroke, beheading the Vyking.
The Dragon Skull Knight looked down, took a ragged cloth from the debris, and wiped the blade clean. He started to walk away.
“You’d have spared him?” Dawn asked.
“No.”
“But you considered it.”
“I did for a moment until I reminded myself of his purpose here and what I caught him and his comrade attempting to do earlier.”
Lady Squire- Dawn's Ascension Page 16