You should expect death.
Specter’s thrown Bone Spear punched through one guard’s chest, and all the dwarf could do was stare at Specter in confusion. The other one turned just as Specter came up behind him and slashed his throat with a knife also made of bone. Blood sprayed in unison with the dwarf’s heartbeat as he slid to his knees and then slumped over, dead. Specter wouldn’t drain these dwarves, not if he didn’t need to. Their blood tasted awful; it was dirty and thick, just like them. He was about to leave the bodies there but then changed his mind.
He retrieved his spear from the dwarf’s chest and held it upright in both hands, his body still, as he incanted several words quietly. When he’d finished, he nodded to himself and then pushed the tip of the spear into the ground and began to walk backward; as he did so, the furrow he made opened up to a depth and width for a body. He rolled the dwarves into their resting place, head to head, and then reversed his walk with the spear and the soil and dead leaves returned to as before as if never disturbed.
“You love the earth and the underground so much,” Specter said, almost laughing, “you can join it and miss out on your dwarvish death rituals.”
Now he was a shadow, slipping through the hidden door in the tree trunk, and down the ladder leading into the main tunnel of Stangar, before materializing in front of the outpost’s main entrance. He made quick work of the two guards standing there. They didn’t see him until it was too late, but he let them see him. If he couldn’t … wouldn’t drain them, he wanted the last thing they saw to be his white eyes, his white hair.
Then he slipped under the main entrance. It was hard to find a crack. These doors were sturdy and well made. Dwarves. The space he eventually found was the smallest of cracks in a littler door set within the main, larger ones.
A single dwarf stood guard. A woman? Interesting. He materialized beside her, and she must have felt his presence, for she turned hard, spear ready. Her eyes widened when she saw him—shock—but then they squinted, and she crouched into her fighting stance, barely peering over the top of her shield.
“Ayndling!” she yelled.
Intruder. Cute.
She was an adept fighter, blocking the Bone Spear with well-trained precision. But he was Specter. As he was about to become shadow, a spear flew past his face and thudded into the outpost’s main gate. Another one struck him in the shoulder. He felt it break skin; he felt blood underneath his thick, leather armor even if the weapon bounced away.
“Yora!” one of the dwarves cried.
Specter retrieved his large, leather, oval shield from his back and assumed his own fighting stance. Two dwarves charged him, both with broadswords ready. Another dozen followed them.
Two more spears flew towards Specter, but he was ready for them. He ignored the woman dwarf and engaged the coming onslaught of dwarvish guards. He floated past the first two, partially in ethereal form.
“Shadow demon!” one dwarf shouted.
That made Specter laugh aloud.
Two dwarves fell before they could unsheathe their swords, but they were a well-trained lot, and the fight became more difficult. He blocked one broadsword only to feel a bruise rising along his ribs where another one struck true. That dwarf lost his arm before he lost his life. Specter kicked out and up at another, catching the guard’s throat with his boot. He fell to the ground, choking, his windpipe crushed. He would be dead soon.
A dozen dwarves became three—the woman dwarf and the two who had actually surprised him. As one fought ferociously, actually pushing Specter back, he considered becoming a shadow and materializing behind him.
“Yora! Go alert Captain Khâmuth!”
As this dwarf commanded this Yora, he turned his head, exposing just a bit of his neck. The bone-blade of Bone Spear slashed along that spot. Specter’s poison worked quickly. The dwarf dropped his sword and pressed his hand to his wound. It was painful. He groaned, gritted his teeth, and fell to his knees.
“Yolli!” Yora yelled.
“Go!” the other dwarf yelled.
This Yolli—he and Yora must have been friends, perhaps brother and sister—foamed at the mouth, his skin turning green before he fell back.
“Tu … Tu …Tûkgad,” was the last thing the dwarf said as he breathed his last.
“You coward,” the last dwarf—Tûkgad—said. “Using poison. Typical Isutan.”
Specter would have been lying if he said the insult didn’t sting, just a little. But he smiled, laughed even. He liked this dwarf, these dwarves. He knew he was dead, but he stood there anyway. He had to respect that. He wasn’t going to drain him. Maybe he would let him live. What did he care?
The butt of Bone Spear swept the dwarf off his feet. As he stood again, the butt crashed into the inside of his knee. Specter heard the crunch of bone breaking. The dwarf screamed out, trying to slash at the Isutan even as he fell to the ground. Specter kicked upward, catching the dwarf in the chest. He gasped, dropping his sword and clutching at the spot of the kick. Another kick, this one to the face, and the dwarf was unconscious.
“You’re welcome,” Specter said, staring down at this dwarf called Tûkgad with lazy eyes.
This fight was taking a lot of energy, more than he thought it would. He briefly considered draining a few of the dwarves, but then he spat. No. Instead, he quickly followed Yora as a shadow as she burst through a door. Five distinguished looking dwarves stood around a table, all of them clad in plate mail. One of them, a dwarf with more gray than black hair and beard, wearing a long red cape, looked up, staring with one good eye and one, white, dead eye that might have matched Specter’s eyes.
“Captain!” Yora said, but as she was about to explain what was happening, Specter materialized next to her and threw her into a wall. She slumped to the ground.
The other four dwarves drew swords, readied axes, or picked up hammers. The fifth dwarf squinted with his good eye, hands still clasped behind his back.
“Bone Spear,” he said, almost calmly.
“Protect the captain!” another dwarf said, with wild red hair also mixed with white and gray. He moved to stand next to the captain, the last line of defense.
The other three dwarves came at Specter. He kicked one in the groin before stabbing him in the face. Another one caught the butt of Bone Spear to the face while the third flew back when Specter punched him with his shield. The last defender was about to move in front of the table, sword ready, when the captain’s hand shot out with speed the Isutan didn’t expect to see from a dwarf.
“Lieutenant,” the captain said, “stand down.”
“But Khâmuth ...” the lieutenant began.
“Peace, Güthrik,” Captain Khâmuth said.
Interesting. Specter waited.
“What do you want here, Specter?” Khâmuth asked.
“Do we know each other?” Specter asked, standing straight.
Khâmuth shook his head.
“No. We’ve never had the pleasure of meeting.” Then, the dwarf did something interesting and began speaking in Isutan. “But I know of you.”
Specter laughed.
“Dwarvish trickery never ceases to amaze me,” Specter said, “especially for little, backward tunnel dwellers.”
“That doesn’t mean much coming from a man—if that truly is what you are—who drinks blood to stay young and practices black magic,” Khâmuth said.
“Fair enough,” Specter said with a shrug.
“What do you want?” Khâmuth asked.
“You don’t want to fight?” Specter asked.
“I’m sure you have already killed more of my warriors than I can afford to lose,” Khâmuth said. “I believe in my abilities as a fighter, but I am a realist. And besides, I have more pressing issues at hand than dealing with you. If you are going to kill us, then kill us, but it is rather unlike an assassin to kill more than needed, especially when you have no intention of draining us.”
This dwarf was clever, worldly. Specter liked him.
“What about him?”
“Come now,” Specter asked. “Are we going to play this game?”
“Erik Dragon Fire is ...” Khâmuth began, but Specter cut him off.
“Dragon Fire?” Specter asked.
“He’s been given his own clan,” Khâmuth explained.
Specter laughed.
“You dwarves,” he muttered, shaking his head.
“You know where he is going,” Khâmuth said.
“Fealmynster,” Specter said.
Khâmuth nodded.
“Do you know how to get there?” Specter asked.
Khâmuth shook his head, slowly.
“I will slaughter every dwarf in this outpost,” Specter said calmly, and Khâmuth nodded his acceptance of this as the truth.
“They went northeast,” Khâmuth said, “intending to cross the ice bridge. That is all I know.”
Specter heard footsteps, cries, horns, and bells. He smiled and gave the captain a slight bow before becoming a shadow and disappearing from sight.
37
“How are you feeling?” Turk asked.
Erik began to feel better. They hadn’t moved for two days, but on that third morning, his fever broke.
“Fine,” he replied. “We should get moving.”
“Are you sure you’re ready?” Turk asked.
“I’m ready enough,” Erik replied. “We need to follow the green glow in the sky.”
“We can’t see it during the day,” Bryon said.
“Do you remember the direction?” Erik asked.
“Enough, I think,” Turk replied.
As dusk fell, the green glow off in this distance appeared again, and Erik was relieved that they had been walking in the right direction.
“Are you sure that is Fealmynster?” Bryon asked.
“No,” Erik replied. He saw his cousin’s shoulders slump. “And yes. We need to cross an ice bridge, and Yora said following that green light would lead us to the ice bridge.”
“And this ice bridge will lead us to Fealmynster?” Bryon asked.
“I hope so,” Erik replied.
“That doesn’t give me much confidence,” Bryon said.
It was cold where they were, freezing, and no matter how tightly Erik pulled his bearskin, the temperature bit at him like a ravenous wolf. But there was no snowfall, no freezing rain, and the ground turned from hard-packed snow to frozen lichen and grass and pine needles. They hiked mostly at night, so they could follow the green aura in the distance, and it looked like it was getting closer and closer. One night it was brighter than another, and then the next, it had dimmed to almost nothing.
“Now what?” Bryon asked the next night, throwing his hands up and sighing with frustration.
The green glow had disappeared, and there was no moon this night. The forest was dark, and Erik noticed the trees started to thin, growing farther apart and allowing more of the freezing wind to howl through the forest. He ignored his cousin and pressed forward, at least a hundred paces when the tree line stopped and opened to a wide, icy ledge.
Erik saw the reason for the disappearing green light as he stared across a wide ravine lined with tall, black peaks, rising into the night sky and blotting out everything from his vision. A gigantic bridge extended from the side on which Erik stood to the other side, attaching, seemingly, straight into the wall of the gargantuan mountain peaks. He couldn’t tell if it was an ice bridge, and he really didn’t know what that meant. Was it a bridge that was icy, or one made of ice? Or, perhaps, it was simply a bridge named the ice bridge due to its location in the cold wilds of the Gray Mountains.
As they neared the bridge, Erik heard a loud screech. It pierced his ears, and he couldn’t help but cover them with his hands.
“What was that?” Bryon asked.
“Whatever it is, it doesn’t sound friendly,” Erik replied.
Erik readied his shield and drew Ilken’s Blade.
The ground in front of the ice bridge moved and shifted, rising as if water was bubbling up. Snow flung about as something shook itself, much like a wet dog trying to dry itself. Erik’s feet felt unsteady as a shadow rose in front of him. All he could see were two, blue, cat-like eyes. He heard another screech.
“It can’t be,” Nafer whispered in disbelief.
“What?” Bryon asked.
“A drake,” Beldar replied.
As the snow settled, a reptilian creature stepped forward, its blue eyes piercing and angry. It had a long body, longer than a horse’s, and, walking on four legs, its shoulders were a head taller than most oxen.
“A damned dragon?” Bryon gasped.
“No,” Beldar said, and then repeated, “a drake.”
The creature’s white scales glimmered, as the moon broke overhead. Blue, icy plates ran along its spine, ending in a tail tipped with icy looking spikes. As the animal snarled, it revealed fangs, through which a blue snake-like tongue flickered. Protrusions that looked like icicles projected from its joints at the shoulders, hips, and knees. It opened its mouth again, and Erik thought it was going to let out another, ear-piercing screech, but, rather, what looked like blue fire erupted from its mouth. It didn’t melt the snow away, however; it instead froze the ground in front of the creature, turning the snow into a thick layer of ice.
“An ice drake,” Beldar said as the creature eyed them warily, pacing back and forth in front of the bridge.
It didn’t screech again, nor did it belch any more icy fire, and Erik wondered if it was all simply a show of force.
“I didn’t think they actually existed,” Beldar added.
“Like dragons?” Bryon asked.
“What’s the difference between a drake and a dragon?” Erik asked, pointing Ilken’s Blade at the creature.
As Erik pointed his weapon at the drake, it bristled, the icy plates running down its spine rattling. It pranced in place for a moment before crouching, like a cat ready to pounce on a mouse. A cold mist spewed from the creature’s nose, and, when it touched the air, icicles fell to the ground.
“I would put down your weapon,” Bofim said, and Erik complied with a quick nod.
“A drake is simply an animal,” Beldar said, “unlike dragons, which have an intelligence like dwarves and men. They have no wings, either, and can be subdued and used as mounts and guards.”
“Is that why this drake is here?” Turk asked. “Is it guarding something?”
“The bridge?” Erik added.
As if in response to Erik’s question, the drake screeched again, and the ground around it shifted once more. Four forms rose from the ground—men made of ice. They were featureless, save for two arms, two legs, a torso, and a head void of a face. Each extended its right arm, and a spear made of ice materialized. They extended their left arms, and icy shields appeared. The drake spewed ice from its mouth, towards the sky, snow raining down around the companions, and the ice golems charged.
Each of them threw their spears. One struck Erik’s shield, and as soon as it touched the steel, it splashed away as water. Nafer cried out as another grazed his arm, cutting a neat line into his flesh and then turning to its liquid form, just like the one that had struck Erik’s shield. The other two disappeared into the forest behind them. The icy figures extended their hands again, more spears appearing.
One of them reached Erik first. It moved with precision and speed and staring at the thing’s vacant face disoriented Erik, as his reflection in the ice stared back at him. It ducked one attack from Erik, kicked out and tried to sweep his legs, and then jabbed its spear at him.
“These are two precise to be simple golems,” Turk said as another of the ice figures attacked him.
Erik blocked another attack with his shield, the spear turning to water, and as the golem held out its hand to form yet another weapon, Erik brought his steel down on its shoulder. The appendage fell away, turning to water, which froze again on the ground. It held its shield u
p, but Erik swiped at its hip instead, cutting away its leg. Leg and arm gone, the thing toppled over, seemingly staring up at him with its featureless head. He brought Ilken’s Blade down on that head, and the whole golem turned to water. The same happened when Turk cleaved his attacker in two with his battle-axe and when Nafer’s four-spiked mace crashed into the head of another. Bofim and Beldar had the last one firm to the ground with the spears while Bryon punched his sword through its chest, the ice turning to steam rather than water.
“That was easy enough,” Bryon said with a deep sigh.
The drake screeched again, crouching and blowing ice at the companions. They all ducked or rolled out of the way, and when Erik looked behind them, he saw five of the trees at the edge of the forest frozen. The ground shifted in front of the drake again; this time, eight golems rose up.
“Is this the doing of the wizard of Fealmynster?” Erik asked.
“I don’t know,” Turk replied, the blade of his axe crushing the head of an icy attacker. “But I’ve never heard of men using drakes as guards.”
“Dwarves then?” Bryon asked, his elvish sword flaring as it melted away another golem.
“Elves,” Beldar replied, throwing his spear into the chest of yet another ice figure and then drawing his sword. “And goblins in the Shadow Marshes.”
“Are there elves in the Gray Mountains?” Erik asked. He twirled past one golem only to find another coming at him. This one actually pushed him back, but Bofim’s spear sailed overhead, and when Erik looked up, there was nothing but a puddle of freezing water at his feet.
“They detest the cold,” Beldar replied, stabbing another golem. “It’s why they live in the forests of Ul’Erel, where it is warm and temperate year-round.”
The eight new golems were gone. The drake shook and screamed again, this time sixteen figures rising from the snow around it.
“Why doesn’t it just attack us?” Nafer asked.
Dragon Sword: Demon's Fire Book 1 Page 25