Kingdom of Bones

by Philip C. Quaintrell

  “The Crow told you that the earth would go to war with the sun if you went to war with Illian.” The mage had his hands clasped inside his voluminous sleeves, though the king suspected they concealed his wand.

  “The Crow told me a volcano would blow—” Karakulak was interrupted when his mother stamped her staff lightly into the floor. “He told me Gordomo’s breath would be unleashed upon the world. He did not make it happen.”

  The mage walked beyond the pillar now and entered the clearing before the throne. “Perhaps you would accept the ancient tunnels we showed you, long lost to your people? Or the knowledge of the surface world and their kingdoms?”

  Karakulak leaned forward in the shiny throne. “As you say. We have the ancient tunnels. Neverdark holds no secrets from the orc. And now the sky fire is gone. The Black Hand needs to keep up or risk losing my need of them…”

  The dark mage took a breath, noting the crowd of murderous orcs that surrounded him. “There remains one city that still harbours men.”

  Karakulak sat back again. “Namdhor. It will fall like the rest.”

  “Not like the rest,” the dark mage countered. “The capital of the north rests upon a mighty slope that stands over The King’s Lake. It is supported by a pillar of rock. It doesn’t sit on the land as Velia does; you cannot attack from below.”

  The king of orcs stood up and towered over the dark mage. “We do not have to. Without the sky fire to blind us, we will march over Namdhor—”

  “Through the snows?” the mage interjected. “You have never laid siege to a city from the surface before. Doing it in the heart of winter is even harder, especially against northerners.”

  “Our flesh is not so weak as yours, human. We do not feel the bite of winter.” Karakulak stood up and stalked around the mage, tensing his bare arms and pushing the dark veins to the surface of his pale skin.

  “Namdhor commands the largest army in all of Illian,” the mage continued.

  Karakulak stopped behind the man. “You suggest the might of the orcs cannot defeat them?” The hall erupted into ferocious growls and roars.

  “I suggest only caution, king. Your next battle will be different to those before. You may require the assistance of my order.”

  Karakulak seized the opportunity to remind his subjects who controlled who. The orc dropped a heavy hand onto the mage’s shoulder and squeezed just hard enough to have his nails dig into the man’s skin, eliciting a pained wince.

  “I would go and speak with your master, little man-thing,” he said threateningly. “The Black Hand have little left to offer.”

  Confident that he had just set a conversation in motion between the dark mage and The Crow, he lightly shoved the man away. Karakulak watched him leave, eyeing the small orb that hung on the man’s leather belt. They called them diviners - a word of the surface world that meant nothing to the king. What he did know was that The Black Hand used them to communicate over long distances.

  After the death of a nameless dark mage in Tregaran, Karakulak now possessed one of these diviners himself…

  Were he to use it and be discovered, his kin would turn on him for the crime of using magic. Karakulak, however, wasn’t about to let such narrow-mindedness get in the way of his victory. Having a tool to communicate over long distances would be advantageous, but having a tool that allowed him to listen in on his ally’s conversations, that would be invaluable!

  “Enough of this!” Karakulak waved the offerings away. “Tonight, we feast!” The orcs cheered their king. “Chieftains, I expect to hear a siege strategy from each of you. Namdhor will fall and the north will belong to the orc!”

  The king didn’t wait for the cheering to end before he turned to leave through the side door, behind the throne. His mother gave him an approving look he didn’t care for, but at least the old hag would leave him alone for a while. Making her Gordomo’s High Priestess had been The Crow’s idea; an action that had yet to bear fruit in Karakulak’s eyes…

  3

  On the Hunt

  High above the world, Inara Galfrey sank deeper and deeper into her bond with Athis. The red dragon shared some of his acute senses with the Dragorn, offering her a taste of his incredible perception.

  The half-elf caught various scents on the wind and, for just a moment, she could see farther than any full-blooded elf. The shadows between the pine trees came to life and the woodland creatures competed for her attention.

  To the west, her ears detected the shifting of loose rocks on the Vengoran mountainside. A subtle shift of her head informed the Dragorn that mountain goats were leaping from perch to perch.

  Athis’s stomach rumbled beneath her legs.

  You need to eat, she reminded him.

  I will eat when we find the people of Grey Stone, Athis replied stubbornly.

  If only it were the people of Grey Stone, Inara thought. Those who had retreated through the ancient tunnels into Vengora were from all over thanks to the orcs’ mass invasion. The enormous group of survivors were from Lirian, Vangarth and at least two cities from The Arid Lands - not to mention the hardy people of Grey Stone themselves.

  And now those people, the people under Inara’s protection, were journeying through the southern curve of Vengora, a dark place where none should travel.

  Athis felt her fears. I’m sure they are all fine. A group that large will scare off most monsters under the mountains.

  But will they find their way out? Inara countered. Those tunnels are ancient. The last time the king of Grey Stone ordered his people to take shelter in Vengora was six hundred years ago.

  They will be fine. Athis continued to pour soothing thoughts into their bond. They have Russell Maybury with them, don’t forget. His supernatural senses will aid in their exploration.

  Inara couldn’t deny Athis’s logic - she never could. But she was half-elf, and elves were a passionate people who often fell prey to their surges in emotion. Combined with her human side, a people who fretted over everything, the Dragorn struggled to remember her training.

  “Always keep a calm mind,” Gideon had said, his teachings etched into her soul. “You are always the most powerful person on land or in the air. That power offers you more options than most and a certain amount of grace. People will look to you in a crisis; if you’re calm so will they be.”

  Thanks to the spell cast over Malliath and the resurrected Asher, Inara didn’t feel even close to being the most powerful person anywhere. Seeing the dark clouds above, the half-elf was constantly aware that Malliath’s black form could descend upon them at any moment without warning.

  Do not forget who you are, Athis said softly in her mind. You are Inara Galfrey, a Dragorn, a warrior. You have already faced an army of orcs and Malliath the voiceless. Together, there is nothing we cannot—

  “Is anybody else hungry?” Vighon Draqaro shouted over the rushing wind.

  Inara sighed. That man only thinks with his stomach…

  Galanör, sat behind Inara, turned to face Vighon at the back. “We’ve not long eaten breakfast!”

  “Really?” the northman asked incredulously. “That feels like hours ago!”

  Vighon went on to complain about the cold and other things as he had for the last three days. Inara tried to tune him out and focus on their search.

  He’s just restless, Athis observed. He hasn’t killed anything for a few days…

  Inara was inclined to agree, but she was surprised to hear the dragon defend the man. I thought you ranked Vighon just above orcs.

  I don’t like the way he looks at you, Athis specified. That doesn’t mean I cannot appreciate his skill on the battlefield. The speech he gave to the soldiers of Grey Stone was particularly inspiring… if a little blunt.

  Vighon had proved to be full of surprises since their reunion in The Arid Lands. The Dragorn couldn’t help but admire his character considering the brutish life he had been forced to lead in Namdhor, under the thumb of his father. Now there was a man Inara woul
dn’t mind dropping from a great height.

  By all rights, the northman should be a thug at the very least. Yet, in the time they had been side by side again, Inara had seen that same gentle soul she had known to reside within him when they were teenagers. His basic instinct to help others was undeniable, if sometimes concealed behind his roguish attitude.

  Wait. You don’t like the way he looks at me? Is Athis the ironheart jealous?

  It was foolish to bait a dragon, but poking fun at her eternal companion was among Inara’s favourite pastimes.

  Athis grunted. Dragons do not get jealous.

  Inara hadn’t liked to think about it, but Vighon’s feelings for her had been hard to ignore. Their relationship had ended ten years ago when she left to begin her training on The Lifeless Isles. Her feelings towards him had been crushed under the weight of her bond with Athis but, human as he was, Vighon had always kept a flame in his heart for her.

  You know anything between us is impossible, Inara argued. I’m not even capable of feeling that kind of love any more.

  It doesn’t mean I have to like the way he looks at you…

  Inara laughed silently to herself and rubbed Athis’s warm scales.

  There! Athis declared, directing Inara’s gaze to the trees below.

  The Dragorn adjusted her position and looked down, eager to see the survivors of Grey Stone. What she discovered, however, had her reaching for the Vi’tari blade on her hip.

  “What is it?” Galanör asked over her shoulder.

  “Orcs!” she yelled back. “Breaking through the tree line!”

  Vighon clambered around at the back of their procession. “Orcs? Where?”

  They’re running to the west, Athis warned.

  Inara repositioned herself again and looked over the other side of the dragon’s neck. “Look!” she shouted excitedly.

  They turned to see the dark strip of people emerging from a cave at the base of the mountains, easily seen in contrast to the snow.

  The orcs were charging towards them…

  Get us down there! Inara mentally exclaimed. “Hold on!” she cautioned to the others.

  Athis folded his wings and tipped his head down. Illian’s hard ground rushed up to meet them and the cluster of orcs and people finally took on individual shapes. The red dragon angled his body to come down between the two, a physical barrier that only the foolish would challenge.

  Something faster than an orc darted through the tree line and caught Inara’s eye. A pair of creatures, connected in the same way a pair of horses pulling a cart would be, sprinted across the snow tugging a mounted ballista on wheels. Two orcs stood at the back, manning the over-sized crossbow.

  Before Inara could question what manner of beasts pulled the mobile ballista, the orcs manoeuvred the weapon and fired a bolt as long as a man into the air, its pointed tip aimed for Athis’s bulk. Had the dragon not been diving straight down, Inara would have warned the man and elf behind her to hold tight as Athis rolled out of the bolt’s path. As it was, the air filling her mouth prevented her from uttering a single syllable.

  Athis spread his wings and banked to the left, narrowly avoiding the whistling bolt by a few feet. Years of training kept Inara in place and Galanör’s superior strength and agility allowed him to maintain his position. Vighon had neither of their particular talents…

  The northman yelled as he came away from the dragon’s spinal horns. Be it sheer luck or work of the fates, Vighon’s hand gripped one of Athis’s small spikes near the end of his tail. The dragon levelled out, avoiding slamming into the ground, but was unable to land as the orcs reloaded and fired another bolt in their direction.

  With a gulp of air, Inara turned back and screamed, “Hold on, Vighon!”

  Athis’s sudden change in direction, however, made that impossible. Only a few feet from the ground now, the dragon beat his wings and ascended to evade the deadly bolt, leaving the northman to fall away. Vighon’s yell was muted as he tumbled and skidded through the snow for some time.

  Inara looked back as Athis took to the sky again, fearing for Vighon’s life. The northman was now the only thing between the orcs and the people of Grey Stone and he was yet to find his feet.

  Get me to the ground!

  Another bolt shot past Athis’s head as another pair of six-legged monsters rushed from the tree line with a ballista in tow. The creatures moved erratically, zig-zagging across the snow.

  Athis! I need to get to Vighon, now!

  Irritated by her urgent commands, while coupled with the ballista assault, Athis roared and turned around to face the charging horde of orcs.

  If I stop they will hit us! the dragon reasoned.

  Then fly low, Inara replied. Focus your efforts on the ballistas before landing.

  With a clear view ahead, the half-elf could see Vighon rising from the snow, his sword in hand. He stood before the charging orcs with all the courage of a Dragorn, unafraid of the horde. Inara would have said he was brave if she didn’t think him such a fool.

  “Get ready to jump!” she called back to Galanör.

  Athis spread his wings and glided low through the gap between the people and the orcs. A bolt punctured the membrane of his left wing and Inara felt the pinch in her left arm. Athis roared again and curled his body around, bringing in the wounded wing and allowing Inara and Galanör to leap off.

  Dragorn and elven ranger hit the snow with more grace than Vighon had, but they were still too far away to be by the northman’s side when he met the orcs. Inara freed her Vi’tari blade as Galanör unsheathed Stormweaver and Guardian, his dual scimitars.

  In the distance, Vighon held his sword high with both hands, leaving his shield on his back. The first orcs to run into him felt the bite of his steel and decorated the clean snow with their blood. The northman ducked and weaved, slashing his sword left then right, catching the beasts across the midriff and neck. His parries rang out across the clearing, each one filling Inara with dread, yet he still kept those killing blows at bay.

  Galanör raced past the Dragorn, his speed unmatched, and skidded across the path of the nearest mobile ballista. The elf kicked up the snow and his blue cloak billowed out behind him as he whipped one of his scimitars through the front legs of the monsters. Somewhere between a wolf and lizard, the hideous creatures shrieked when they each lost two of their six legs. Their momentum worked against them, causing the foul creatures to roll over themselves and ultimately flip the ballista and its occupants - both of whom were crushed under its weight.

  The elf didn’t stop with his skid. Always one to be on the move, Galanör jumped to his feet and leaped into the fray beside Vighon, adding his scimitars to the northman’s blade. The pair fought well side by side, having done so for days in the narrow confines of Grey Stone’s streets. They weaved in and out of each other’s swing, perfectly timing their attacks to work for the other.

  Inara decided to add a touch of magic to the melee. The Dragorn used the upturned ballista cart to gain height before coming down on the orcs beyond. Her red cloak spread out behind the half-elf and her leather armour creaked as she pulled back her sword arm. When she touched down, a moment later, the crystal in the hilt of her blade pressed hard into the ground beneath the snow.

  A staccato of lightning erupted from the scimitar in every direction.

  Closing her eyes to guard against the flashes, Inara used her other senses to learn the fate of her foes. Judging by the wails and the smell of charred flesh, she decided that those around her were no longer counted among the living.

  The Dragorn rose from the ground with a satisfied smirk pushing at her cheeks; at least seven of the pale beasts lay dead around her. Those that had been charging at her suddenly lost their speed and decided that running in another direction would be a better option.

  Then Athis lit up the clearing.

  The remaining ballista cart went up in a ball of flames and the six-legged monsters with it - all of which came crashing down on a gro
up of orcs. Athis scorched the earth in a straight line before climbing back into the air, claiming the lives of a dozen more orcs.

  Bolstered by her companion, Inara waded into the fray beside Galanör and Vighon and let her Vi’tari blade do what it did best. The three fighters were forced to move around or run the risk of tripping over the bodies that piled up around them. In the distance, behind them, the surviving soldiers of Lirian and Grey Stone banded together and presented a formidable line of swords and shields for any orc who continued their westerly charge.

  One of the last orcs to challenge the trio came to a sudden stop when a pick-axe hit it squarely in the chest. Inara looked back to see Russell Maybury rushing to join them. The werewolf removed two daggers from the back of his belt and added his fury to the small battle, assisting them in dispatching the last of the beasts. The tavern owner appeared truly happy to be in the middle of it all.

  The few remaining orcs fled into the trees, disappearing from sight. Inara was half tempted to chase after them and hunt them like animals.

  Let them fear us, Athis insisted. Fear can be infectious.

  True, Inara agreed. But it’s not as absolute as death. The Dragorn sheathed her blade and inspected Vighon and Galanör for any wounds, new wounds at least.

  The northman ploughed his sword into the snow and let it stand there while he caught his breath. “I miss Ned,” he panted, referring to his horse. “Hell, I miss travelling on land…”

  “Well met!” Galanör ignored Vighon’s comment and clasped forearms with Russell.

  “You three are a sight for sore eyes,” Russell said. Athis landed before them, shaking the ground underfoot. “You four…” Russell corrected.

  Inara was indeed happy to see the tavern owner, but sighting the thousands that continued to pour out of the cave reminded the Dragorn what really mattered; hope. Every survivor was a victory and a reminder that the orcs couldn’t take everything from them.

  Looking upon them all now, Inara noticed that most were focusing on the sky. Having spent three days journeying through the darkened tunnels of south Vengora, she imagined that everyone would be looking forward to seeing the sky again.