Kingdom of Bones

by Philip C. Quaintrell

  Despite being smaller in stature, Godrick still managed to jump up and headbutt the big man. Their skulls collided and the thug dropped like a stone.

  Turning his attention back on Vighon, who had yet to straighten up, Cross held out his arms apologetically. “I’m sorry about that, Vighon. Since you left our little band of brothers it has become increasingly hard to find good help.”

  Just as Vighon lifted his chin, Godrick landed a blow to his ribs and then a second to his gut. Vighon, leaning back into the wall, choking and coughing, was incapable of preventing Cross from unbuckling his sword belt.

  “I’m afraid there’s no weapons allowed down here.” He handed the blade to one of his men, never taking his eyes off Vighon. “I remember you as a ballsy son of a whore, but coming down here after the way you left is something else, boy.”

  Vighon remembered well his parting gift to The Ironsworn. Defying his orders, the northman had freed Alijah Galfrey from their clutches and hacked his way through everyone who got in his way. It was either that or watch them torture and kill his oldest friend for nothing more than cheating at cards.

  Looking up at Cross, Vighon managed half a smile. “I’ve always wondered how many walked away in the end.”

  Godrick sneered and yanked him up by his collar, pinning him to the wall. “You left two alive that day, boy, but neither of them has done any walking since.”

  His head lolling slightly, Vighon flashed a whole smile. “Shame…”

  Three more fists ploughed into his stomach in quick succession. When Cross stepped back, Vighon could do nothing but slump to the floor. From the increase in cheers outside, it sounded as if the latest fight had come to an end.

  “Pick him up,” Cross ordered the others.

  Vighon found himself being lifted by rough hands and pinned back to the wall again. He had forgotten how hard Godrick could throw a punch.

  Settling into the chair behind the only desk in the room, Cross put his feet up and relaxed. “You sought me out, boy. Why?”

  Vighon coughed one last time and composed himself. “I have… questions.”

  “Do you now…” Cross eyed him with greater curiosity. “Does your daddy know you’re here?”

  “No,” Vighon shook his head. “You’re the only one who still licks Arlon’s boots.”

  Unimpressed, Cross gave one of his men the nod. This was followed swiftly by another blow to the gut and a loud groan from the northman.

  “What does he know about the dwarven mine?” Vighon blurted between deep breaths.

  Cross tilted his head. “Maybe you’re not so clever after all. Your daddy will be king one day very soon, boy. When he wears that crown, I will rule The Ironsworn. Being friends with Arlon has always been the smart play. Stabbing him in the back will only end with me being stabbed in the front, repeatedly.”

  Vighon found the strength to lift his head. “None of this is going to matter soon. If the army doesn’t return in time, the orcs will be the end of us all.”

  Cross wagged his finger at Vighon. “You’re not on the inside anymore. Your daddy’s secrets aren’t yours to know.”

  “No one knows what’s inside,” Vighon continued, “but Arlon would risk losing the entire city to claim it.”

  “Arlon’s always been a betting man…”

  Vighon didn’t agree. “Not against these odds. The orcs have already destroyed the other kingdoms, all in a matter of days. Somehow, he knows what’s inside a mine that hasn’t been entered in thousands of years. How does he know, Godrick? And why would he risk so much for it?”

  “What was that?” Cross frowned. “Two questions?” The thug boss gave one of the men a nod that resulted in Vighon receiving two punches to the gut.

  He had never been so thankful for the many hours since his last meal. He lifted his head and stared hard at Cross, a promise in the northman’s eyes.

  “Don’t do it, boy,” he warned. “I can see those stupid lips of yours moments away from asking another question.”

  Vighon shrugged in his human restraints. “I have to know…”

  The nearest thug thrust his fist high into Vighon’s gut, lifting him to his toes. He couldn’t stop the mouthful of bile that exploded from his mouth and splattered over the desk.

  “That wasn’t a question…” he groaned, spitting on the floor.

  “It was going to be,” Cross countered. “Now…” The Ironsworn removed his feet from the desk and looked Vighon square in the eyes. “As much as I’d like to string you up and let Rek out there use you for practice, your daddy is the one who gets to decide your fate.”

  The thugs released Vighon’s arms and he dropped to the floor. “You’re letting me go?” he asked sceptically. “You’re getting soft in your old age, Godrick.”

  Cross bit his bottom lip and the corner of his left eye twitched. “Oh, you can leave alright. You get to leave the same way you always did.” The Ironsworn leaned forward and his voice took on a devious edge. “You remember how to get out of the circle, don’t you, boy?”

  Vighon glanced over his shoulder, the sound of the bloodthirsty crowd filling his ears. “I thought Arlon was the one to decide my fate?” he reminded the thug.

  Cross shrugged. “I can’t keep an eye on every fighter who volunteers to enter the circle. It seems you just turned up looking to get your knuckles bloody and… things turned sour.”

  16

  Schism

  Gideon Thorn stood behind the Master’s chair in the council chamber, his hand resting lightly on its high back. How many times had those before him sat in this very chair and planned for war?

  His predecessors had faced the Darkakin, the war against Valanis, and even defeated the orcs before. Gideon had inherited the chair of heroes, something he felt very undeserving of.

  The memories of those who had died fighting Malliath were still swirling through the bond that all dragons shared. Gideon was relying on Ilargo to filter their memories and experiences, preventing them from overwhelming his human mind.

  When his grief wasn’t so strong, he intended to look through all of their eyes and share in their last moments, the time when he should have been there for them.

  The Master Dragorn gripped the chair a little tighter. There wasn’t time for that now. War had swept through Illian without warning. It was time for the Dragorn to strike back.

  Too restless to sit, Gideon walked around the long slab of rock that served as the council table. There were too many empty chairs, a visual reminder of their losses and what they were dealing with.

  Rolan Baird and Ayana Glanduil were seated either side of the table. Between them lay a large map with black and white stones placed over specific cities and towns.

  The black stones, covering the three major cities in The Arid Lands, Grey Stone, and Velia, represented the orcs. The white stones, situated over Namdhor and the north’s four towns, represented unoccupied settlements.

  Rolan tapped the big island above The Lifeless Isles. “I’m not even going to bother placing a white stone over Dragorn. The islanders probably don’t even know a war is going on.”

  “What about Lirian?” Ayana asked.

  “What about it?” Rolan shot back, his temper still bubbling under the surface. “The orcs haven’t touched it and as far as we know they aren’t interested in it. Why would they be? The whole city was turned to ash…”

  Gideon felt that was another dig at him but for the sake of keeping it civil he continued to pace with his hand cupping his beard.

  The Master Dragorn gestured to the map. “Judging by the orcs’ advance up the coast, we should assume Palios and Darkwell have been overrun.”

  Rolan placed a dark stone over both towns. “If they’ve taken Darkwell it won’t be long before the northerners respond.”

  “That’s if they have an army to respond with,” Gideon mused. “Have we heard anything from Inara or Alastir yet?”

  “Nothing,” Ayana replied. “Alastir is most likely travellin
g to Namdhor as we speak, but we don’t have enough of a presence to set up a chain of communication across that much distance.”

  Gideon looked away, towards the cave entrance, beyond the pillars. He knew Malliath had been in Velia when Grey Stone was attacked. He only hoped that the orcs hadn’t brought Athis down and harmed Inara in the process.

  “Chances are high that Inara Galfrey is in Namdhor,” Ayana offered, clearly sensing her master’s unease.

  Rolan sighed and cast the spare stones across the table. “What was the last word from Namdhor? Please tell me Queen Yelifer retained her forces in Illian.”

  Gideon shook his head. “There was no message from Reyna or Nathaniel before the orcs attacked. Queen Yelifer threatened to send her army into Dhenaheim, but word of the invasion must have reached her. With all the other kingdoms falling around them, I’m sure the borders of the north are being closed off as we speak. The orcs will no doubt meet some resistance.”

  “For all it matters,” Rolan added. “If Malliath isn’t there to torch the armies of the north the number of orcs will roll over them anyway.”

  “Rolan,” Ayana said, “your hostility isn’t going to help us.”

  “Hostility is exactly what we need!” he argued. “Not only has our enemy hit us so hard we’re almost out of the fight, but that wretched Crow has told us where he’s going to be. We should light the entire Shining Coast on fire!”

  “We can’t just rush in and attack,” Gideon explained. “He will be surrounded by an army of orcs; orcs who have the weaponry to bring down dragons.”

  Ayana spoke up before Rolan could further their contest. “I have been researching everything we have from The Great War. The dwarves and elves of the time noted the use of this explosive projectile. It is always referred to as wrath powder.”

  “A fitting name,” Gideon said, recalling the explosions that rocked Velia’s streets.

  “How it works or where they found it isn’t in any records we have,” Ayana continued. “All references denote that it is highly volatile and reacts upon impact.”

  Gideon looked hard at the map. “If even one ballista bolt struck a dragon with this wrath powder…”

  Ayana agreed with his assessment. “It would be a mortal wound.”

  “If not instant death,” Rolan added.

  Gideon lifted his chin. “Hence the need for planning,” he reiterated.

  Rolan frowned. “I’m not suggesting we just drop out of the sky and unleash hell, Gideon.” The councillor leaned over the map with his finger pressed into the waters of The Adean. “We fly north from here, far enough out to sea that any scouts they have by the water won’t see us. Then, we turn west and come in low and hard. Simultaneously, we send a group north over the land and attack them from the south. We create chaos from two different directions…” Rolan sat back in his chair as if he had solved all of their problems.

  Gideon wasn’t sold on the idea. “That’s if they even camp on the land. For all we know, when they reach The Vrost Mountains they’ll descend underground again.”

  “We should send scouts of our own,” Ayana suggested.

  Rolan held his hands up in frustration “We don’t have time for scouts. We’ve already seen them travelling north up The Selk Road. The Crow has confirmed they’re going to be there. We need to end this threat before they reach Namdhor and destroy what’s left of our world!”

  “Think, Rolan.” Gideon placed both hands on the table. “The Crow wants us there. Why would he want that?”

  “In all likelihood,” Ayana answered, “it is because Malliath and Asher are waiting for us. Combined with the orcs and their weaponry, we would be hard pressed to find victory.”

  “We are the Dragorn!” Rolan proclaimed, standing up from his chair. “We have lost many, but there are still enough of us to break any trap and destroy this enemy. Malliath or no Malliath.”

  “Exactly, Rolan.” Gideon resumed his full height and faced the Dragorn. “We have lost many already and that was just against Malliath. The risk is too great. We would be better observing them to see the extent of their alliance. Should they separate, we strike then, not before.”

  “Gideon has a point, Rolan,” Ayana chipped in. “The Black Hand are proficient casters. Their magic added to the fight could see a swift victory for them.”

  “They resurrected Asher and enthralled Malliath,” Gideon reminded him, adding to Ayana’s point. “They’re using magic we’ve never even seen before.”

  “And our magic isn’t great?” Rolan fired back. “We harness the power of dragons!”

  “Thinking like that is what blinded us,” Gideon stated. “We thought ourselves the most powerful beings in the realm. Untouchable. Invincible. The enemy has used our hubris against us and—”

  “They have used you against us,” Rolan interrupted. “The great Gideon Thorn… The truth is; you’re inexperienced, Ilargo is inexperienced. Thirty years ago, you arrived at the end of The War for the Realm, after the real battles had been fought by others.”

  Ayana stood up, scraping her chair back. “It was Gideon who killed Lord Krayt under Mount Garganafan. It was Gideon who destroyed The Veil and killed Atilan himself in the process. And, it was Gideon who brought back the order you yourself are a part of.”

  A thick tension filled the chamber and Rolan held his tongue for the moment. Gideon raised his hand, signalling them both to be seated.

  Rolan remained standing. “Thirty years of peace haven’t done your reflexes any good,” he said with an even tone. “We’re still on the back foot when we should be reminding the orcs where they belong.”

  “Of course we’re on the back foot!” Gideon remonstrated, his own frustration rising to the surface. “We didn’t even know the orcs were still in existence, let alone in such numbers. They attacked more than one major city at the same time. Walls and gates mean nothing when your enemy can invade from under your feet, Rolan. Could you have predicted a volcano would block out the sun and remove our only advantage?”

  Rolan was shaking his head before Gideon had even finished. “I would have—”

  “No is your answer,” Gideon snapped. “I didn’t see this coming. I wasn’t there to stand between our family and Malliath and I couldn’t stop him from destroying Lirian and Velia. But this war isn’t over yet. And, until it claims my life and that of Ilargo’s, I am the Master Dragorn. I take your council, not your attitude and not your commands.”

  Rolan looked to retaliate but he decided against it and clamped down, squaring his jaw. Gideon maintained his level gaze until the Dragorn averted his own, a form of submission in the world of dragons.

  “Right,” Gideon turned back to the map, “shall we continue with…” The Master Dragorn tailed off as Rolan stomped out of the chamber and made for the cave entrance. Ayana called after him but Gideon held up his hand. “Let him go; he’s too angry. I’ll speak to him after he’s slept it off.”

  Alensia’s shadow overcame the entry way before her burnt orange scales came into view. The dragon bowed her head and Rolan ascended his perch without a glance at the council chamber. Alensia fell away and the sound of her wings quickly faded beyond hearing.

  “He shows you nothing but disrespect,” Ayana observed.

  “I fear I must earn back the respect of many…” Gideon replied sombrely.

  “You can’t be everywhere at once,” Ayana reminded him. “Korkanath and Velia came under attack. You responded as any of us would have, Rolan included. No one could have predicted Malliath’s attack on the isles.”

  Gideon rubbed his eyes and focused on the map again. “We are not without our own allies,” he said, looking at Ayda on the other side of The Adean. “It’s past time I made contact with Queen Adilandra. It was the alliance between your own people and the dwarves that defeated the orcs the first time.”

  Ayana appeared unusually uncomfortable. “I agree that contacting my people is prudent, but I would hesitate to rely on their aid.”

&nb
sp; That genuinely surprised Gideon. “Surely the elves of Elandril would respond? The queen’s daughter and grandchildren live here, though I would like to believe that Adilandra would come to our aid regardless.”

  Ayana looked away, composing her answer. “When the elders agreed to support Queen Adilandra in her claim to rule my people, they did so because she promised a return to the old ways. For thirty years, elves have walked a path of peace once again. They are learning to sing to the trees again, forgoing the steel of a blade.”

  Gideon nodded along to all of it, remembering the transition of power from King Elym to Queen Adilandra. Having seen up close what their ruthless way of life had done to Galanör, the Master Dragorn had always agreed with their return to ancient ways. Now, he desperately needed the warmongers King Elym had tried to turn them into.

  “I’m not asking them to invade. We just need their numbers and superior tactics to push the orcs back. Orcs, Ayana. Not people. These are monsters I’m talking about.”

  “I know,” the elf soothed. “But even if Queen Adilandra did bring their army back together, it could take months, years even, to coordinate them and mount an attack on the orcs. We don’t have that kind of time.”

  Gideon could feel any sliver of hope he was hanging on to slipping away. “I have to try, Ayana. The armies of Illian have been scattered to the winds and its people are left with few defences. I have to try everything…”

  Ayana bowed her head. “Of course. The diviner is with you already, I believe.”

  “I have it in my private quarters,” Gideon confirmed. “I have an errand for you, also.”

  “I am at your disposal, Master.”

  “The elves of Elandril are an ocean away,” Gideon began, “but those of Ilythyra reside in The Moonlit Plains. I would have you fly there this very night and make contact with Lady Ellöria.”

  “Of all my kin, Master, those of Ilythyra disagree with violence the most. It is their tolerance of mankind and ideals of the past that made them the perfect selection to live here.”