“Master? What does Eadon care for the fate of Azzeal?” Aurora asked, unable to bear the thought of having to see him anymore, pained as he was. She had never meant for any of this to happen.
“Azzeal is Eadon’s Risen; only he may dictate such an action. It is also personal to him: Azzeal interfered in our master’s plans. He does not forget, and he does not forgive. His retribution is swift, and his punishments…inventive.”
“Then, send him far from here,” she said in a voice more pleading than she liked.
“Perhaps,” Zander nodded, and walked to sit at the foot of the bed. He gazed upon her with searching eyes.
“No matter how far you go from the lich, there you will be,” he said.
Aurora knew his words to be true. It wouldn’t matter; Azzeal’s dying eyes would haunt her dreams and waking hours forever, as her guilt over Abram still did. No respite would be found, not even in death. Sorrow took her breath away and wracked her body. Her mind spun in maddening circles as she tried to think of a way out. Her tears came in uncontrollable sobs, and she hid her head in shame.
Zander’s hand touched her shoulder and squeezed softly. “You suffer needlessly,” he said in a soft, melodic voice.
She wasn’t comfortable exposing such feelings to the dark elf; she hoped he would just go away and leave her to her misery. Every tear she shed would be seen as yet another sign of weakness, and likely her behavior would get her killed. To think the Chieftain of the Seven−the commander of the Seven Armies−was crying, naked in her tent. She felt pathetic.
“There is but one way out for you,” he went on, gripping her shoulder firmly, even adding a small jolt to focus her attention. She listened, but she dared not admit anything to him.
“Embrace thyself. Embrace thy nature. Cast away your selflessness, your guilt. Azzeal offered you death, and for what? Honor? Eadon offers you power, freedom, and eternal life.”
“What I did was for my people,” she said, looking at him finally. Tears streamed down her face, but she no longer cared.
“No,” Zander said, as if they both knew the truth. “You did it for yourself. The sooner you admit your actions were guided by your lust for power, the sooner you can begin to become whole.”
“That is selfish, it’s−”
“Wrong?” Zander laughed. “Is it wrong for the wolf to eat the doe? Is it selfish? Is selfishness not simply survival instinct? You fight your own instinct, and so you suffer.”
Aurora stared at him, fixated; she clung to his every word, wanting to be convinced. He offered her a way out, and she wanted to take it. But, a voice inside her head warned of evil, its insistent whispers reminding her Zander was a monster. She was a monster.
“You are a hunter; do you not forsake thought and embrace instinct while on the hunt?”
She nodded affirmation.
“Life is no different. Those who claim to be civilized, to be above animal instinct…where does it lead them? All civilizations fall…a testament to their obsolescence.”
When Aurora looked away, Zander grabbed her firmly by the chin and forced her to face him.
“You stand upon a precipice, Aurora Snowfell. You can become the greatest barbarian chieftain Agora has ever known. Or, you can follow your guilt into the depths of the hells, and wallow there forever, forgotten and alone.”
He left her then at the precipice, clutching her fur blanket. She understood what she had to do, what she must become. Her cheeks itched with the memory of tears, and her eyes were swollen. The burning in her throat from her choking sorrow faded, and she smiled. There was a way out.
Chapter Fifteen
Trouble on the Road
Heavy snow fell in the early morning hours, blanketing southern Eldalon with white dunes where wheat and corn once grew. Such heavy snow was early in these parts, and the refugees viewed it as yet another bad omen.
Dirk and Krentz had been patrolling the skies since well before dawn. Circling the civilian wagons, they had seen nothing to cause alarm. Camp was made close to the sheer coastline where the refugees would be protected by the cliffs. The humans found much needed rest. The coast would protect them only so much, however, and by noon they would reach the first of many coastal towns. Dirk assumed Reeves would steer clear of the harbors and beaches, where invading dark elves might lie in wait.
He wondered if the city of Fendale and the majestic Light of the North had fallen. He had been to the grand lighthouse once before, when Krentz used the Everfire within to enchant Dirk’s sword. Reason dictated that if Kell-Torey had been destroyed, so too had Fendale.
“How many rifts did Eadon open?” Dirk asked Krentz as they flew above the snow-covered world.
“I cannot be sure. They were strategically placed throughout Agora. At least one for every kingdom.”
“Including Uthen-Arden?”
“Yes,” said Krentz.
Dirk pondered the implications. “The dwarf kingdoms as well?”
“I am not certain, but I believe so. No doubt he saved the majority of his new dwargon for the dwarves.”
Dirk gave a mirthless laugh. “That would be a bad move on his part. From what I know of the dwarves, it will only infuriate them further.”
“The one you fought beside, Roakore−what was your impression of him?” asked Krentz.
Now Dirk’s laugh was real. “I have met a few dwarves in my time; they are a tough lot, as you know. Roakore was chiseled from the mountainside itself. He is a descendent of Ky’Dren, as all the kings are, and his power over stone is incredible. He once killed a black dragon by weaving molten lava and pouring it down the beast’s throat. He is a formidable opponent, he that cast me from the back of the red dragon, Zhola. The dwarf bested me in battle, a feat no human can claim.”
“You sound as if you admire him,” Krentz noted.
“Indeed,” he agreed.
Fyrfrost gave a low growl, and Dirk wondered what had caught his interest. Below in a snow covered field, near the edge of a thin forest of yellow birch and ash, was a small herd of deer.
Fyrfrost dove as Dirk gripped the saddle horn and tucked in low. He yelled to Krentz behind him. “We take them all. There are many mouths to feed.”
They leveled out and skimmed the tree line at a swooping angle as they came upon the herd. It darted deeper into the field, bounding away from Fyrfrost and the tree line.
Krentz leapt from her saddle and disappeared below Fyrfrost in a wisp of smoke. Dirk unstrapped himself and crouched in his saddle, waiting for Fyrfrost to strike. They quickly gained on a buck and three does. Fyrfrost came down among them and pounced on one of the does with a hooked claw, stabbing it through. Dirk leapt from the saddle before the dragon-hawk kicked off with his other foot and went after the two does who veered to the left.
Dirk did not want to spoil the meat with any poison, so rather than a dart, he threw a dagger. The weapon left his hand before he hit the ground and rolled. Springing up into a run, he saw the dagger was buried to the hilt in the buck’s rear left flank. The deer faltered for a moment, but quickly sprang back into a leap. Dirk hit a patch of field blown bare−the field was covered in such patches, like islands amid frozen waves in an ocean of snow. At the edge of his vision, like a phantom of ice, Fyrfrost descended upon another doe. The buck Dirk injured left a crimson trail of dark blood behind. He kept pace with the slowing deer, knowing that the initial adrenaline would wear off, and he would have his kill.
He was not surprised when the buck landed badly and stopped. With one last surge of energy, the deer turned and reared on Dirk with its broad crown of antlers. Dirk unsheathed his short sword on the run and charged. When the buck struck with a sideways sweep of the antlers, Dirk shifted into the blow and spun with his strike as the antlers grazed his cloak. He skidded to a stop, and spun as the buck wavered and collapsed into a low drift.
Dirk wiped the blood from his blade and walked to the dying animal. Its breath came in slow, steady plumes of mist in the cold air. A lon
g, thin line was cut across its neck, and the deer’s lifeblood pooled around its spiked crown. Soon, the frosty breath came no more.
Krentz returned to him then, showing no sign of her exertion.
“I downed two: a buck and a doe,” she said, looking around, as if searching for Dirk’s other kills.
“Fyrfrost beat us both,” he said with a chuckle, as the dragon-hawk dropped three does at Dirk’s feet and flew off to gather Krentz’s kills.
Soon Fyrfrost returned, and they mounted once more. He leapt into the air and pumped his large wings until he could hover and scoop up all six deer.
They flew back to the refugees just as the wagon train was heading out. Reeves had asked that Fyrfrost be kept at a good distance from the civilians, and Dirk respected his request. They flew over the long line of soldiers and villagers and dropped the deer on the road just ahead. Dirk dismounted and remained behind, as Krentz and Fyrfrost took to the air once more to scout ahead. Soon, they would veer northeast to avoid the coast, and by nightfall, they would reach the city of Orington, if indeed it remained.
Dirk waited in the blizzard for the first horseman to approach. The wind had picked up from the coast, and though Dirk was protected from the storm by his enchanted cloak, he knew many of the refugees suffered the cold. The soldiers were used to bad conditions; their job was to brave the elements and the greater dangers of the world. But many of the refugees were city folk, used to comfortable lives away from the worst weather and protected by the city walls. He doubted half of them would survive the trek to Ky’Dren, if this weather kept up. He wondered if Eadon had anything to do with the storm.
Dirk was pleased to see the first horseman to arrive was General Reeves. He nodded at Dirk and looked to the slain deer with a smile.
“It seems you have been busy.”
“Indeed, it is a beautiful day for hunting,” Dirk joked.
Reeves gave a laugh and dismounted deftly. Behind him, the cavalry could just be seen through the blustering sheets of snow.
“This might lift the people’s spirits,” Dirk offered.
“Much appreciated, Blackthorn. Did you see any Draggard upon the road ahead?”
“None. We started out early, before the storm came in. We flew many miles down the road and saw nothing,” said Dirk.
Mick Reeves nodded absently as he stared ahead down the road, though visibility was limited to a dozen feet. Dirk recognized the stare as a seasoned veteran’s.
“If this weather keeps up, the wagons will be buried before nightfall. Already the road is undistinguishable,” said Dirk.
“It cannot be helped. If our enemy would wait out the storm, then I would trudge on. The soldiers will clear the road with their marching feet. They understand what is at stake here,” said Reeves with a raised chin.
A soldier came into view, and Reeves ordered the deer brought to the butcher’s wagon to be chopped and spread throughout as much stew as possible. Dirk knew that, while five deer was a grand catch for a day’s hunt, among the thousands of refugees, the meat would go quickly. But, it would add flavor and fat to a hot meal, and do much for the group’s morale.
Reeves also ordered a horse be made available, and soon, Dirk was riding next to him on a fine mount. Morning was well past, and midday brought an end to the furious winds and snow. Dense, gray clouds with no end blocked out the sun but for a steady haze permeating the thick blankets. Warmth came to the world, and though a chill remained, the wind no longer forced the cold between seams and under hoods.
Behind them, Dirk could barely make out the long stretching line of soldiers beyond the cavalry. They were followed by the wagons and civilians. Marching soldiers and a regiment of horseman took up the rear.
“You seem like a well-traveled man,” said Reeves with a sidelong glance at Dirk and his attire. “What do you know of the larger battle?”
Dirk thought for a moment on how best to respond. His words would bring questions, and many he could not answer without rousing suspicion. He was happy when his answer was interrupted as Fyrfrost gave a roar and flew over them.
“They have spotted something,” said Dirk, and leapt from his horse. The animal likely would not remain calm around the dragon.
Reeves joined him, and together they ran to Fyrfrost as Krentz leapt down from the saddle.
“What is it?” Dirk asked.
Krentz pointed beyond the next valley before them. “Draggard on the road, coming this way. Maybe a hundred, with two dark elf handlers.”
“A hundred, you say,” said Reeves. Deep concern shone in his eyes.
“Beyond them?” asked Dirk.
“Nothing for the few miles we searched,” said Krentz.
“Are they aware of us?” Reeves asked, already looking ahead for a choke point.
“Not that I can tell. They march steady, but with no haste.”
“How long?”
Krentz looked from Reeves to the road in thought. “Half an hour, at best.”
“If I remember this road clearly, a bridge isn’t far from here, with steep banks on either side.”
“Yes, perhaps ten minutes from here,” Krentz confirmed.
“Then, we will set an ambush. Come, we have precious little time,” said Reeves, turning toward his men.
“Wait for us?” Dirk asked Fyrfrost.
The dragon-hawk let out a small puff of smoke and pawed at the ground in anticipation, digging up the road. His feathers turned white like the snow. Dirk and Krentz followed Reeves as he approached his forward cavalry. Many of the men, captains and lieutenants, dismounted and came to the beckoning of the general.
A plan of attack was made and set to action. The rear cavalry stayed behind to guard the civilians, and the remainder of the small army made all haste to the ambush point. Dirk and Krentz flew ahead of the soldiers and landed near the bridge.
“Come, Chief,” said Dirk.
A howl and mist swirled out of the trinket.
“Chief, Draggard approach from the east. They will have sent out scouts to look ahead. Find the scouts, and do not let them get this far. Once the Draggard army passes, follow them to this bridge. When you hear the first cries of battle, attack,”
The spirit-wolf perked at the word Draggard, and he began sniffing at the air, his ears moving independently of one another, and his bushy tail swaying back and forth slowly. He dropped his chest to the ground and growled low as Dirk spoke, his excitement for the hunt showing. When Dirk gave the word, Chief shot across the bridge and darted into the woods.
Krentz studied the river; it was twenty feet wide, and shallow enough for a man to wade across.
“Will it do?” Dirk asked.
“It will have to,” she said, looking upriver. “On your signal.”
Dirk confirmed the plan. “I will wait until they have gathered to gawk at the empty river. The stupid beasts won’t know what hit them.”
“Good hunting,” she said, kissing him deep and long. She pulled away abruptly and slapped him across the face. “Stay alert!” she laughed, and, like Chief, turned to a wisp and moved swiftly among the low pines and bent birches, over jutting rocks along the shallows edged with thin ice. Dirk took to the sky with Fyrfrost and flew downriver, before turning to the east to spy the road from a safe distance. He knew the dark elves could see him, camouflaged as he was. So, he kept low to the trees and flew adjacent to the road. Soon, the Draggard came into view. They didn’t so much as march, but stalked down the road four abreast. Luckily for the humans, the wind came from the east. Dirk came around behind the beasts. He knew the human soldiers were now taking positions, and the cavalry behind, hidden just out of sight and waiting for the right moment. Somewhere in the snow covered forest, Chief was likely stalking the scouts. The time for battle drew near.
The old, familiar rush of anticipation filled Dirk, as Fyrfrost weaved back and forth above the road, so as to not overtake the horde. He scoured the sky and was a bit disappointed the group had no draquon; he had become
quite fond of aerial battle. Since his defeat to Roakore atop the back of Zhola the Red, he had vowed to master the art. It was also the reason he had asked Krentz to enchant his cloak to allow him to glide upon the wind, should he find himself falling to his death once more. She hadn’t time as of yet to formulate a spell to do exactly what he envisioned, but the cloak would slow him considerably now.
The horde drew closer to the bridge, and Dirk smiled to hear the first shrieks of discovery. It was time. He kicked Fyrfrost’s sides and pushed forward the horn of the saddle.
“Light ʼem up!” he urged his mount.
The dragon-hawk surged upward and arched downward, quickly gaining momentum as his wings sent up a wall of snow behind them. The Draggard never saw them coming as flame burst forth in thick streams. Those caught in the initial blast were laid to waste. Dozens shrieked and howled as they scrambled frantically and dove for the deep snow. Fyrfrost’s second attack was deflected high by a dark elf energy shield, and Dirk steered him out wide. The dark elves lifted their shields as the flames subsided and on cue, the arrows of Eldalon rained down upon the disorganized horde of frothing beasts.
The Eldalonian soldiers taunted the Draggard from across the bridge, screaming obscenities and slamming sword to shield. Dirk flew upstream even as the first of the Draggard rushed toward the bridge. Three small bends in the river brought him to Krentz. She stood upon the riverbank, arms stretched out wide, a look of deep concentration etched across her face. The riverbed was bare; fish slapped and flipped in the shallow channels left among the once submerged weeds. Krentz held the river at bay, surging within her bowl-shaped energy shield, waiting to be released.
“Now!” he yelled, and she dropped her shield. The water floated unmoving for a still second, and, with a violent crash, reclaimed its passageway. Dirk steered Fyrfrost to bank hard and together they flew behind the raging river as it breached the banks and bore down upon the bridge. The soldiers had taunted the Draggard to the bridge, and many of the beasts were pressing their ranks.
Whill of Agora: Epic Fantasy Bundle (Books 1-4): (Whill of Agora, A Quest of Kings, A Song of Swords, A Crown of War) (Legends of Agora) Page 112