“You ever heard of energy crystals?”
Orrian shook his head.
“You feel like shyte because you’re expending all your own energy too often when using magic. With energy crystals, you can store your energy during down time and call upon it when needed, thus keeping your own stores as backup.”
“Where do I find these crystals?” said Orrian, looking to have become much hungrier.
“I can get ahold of them.”
Tad returned with the steaming lamb chops, beer, and a few sides to boot.
“Thanks.” Orrian dug in.
“Thank you, Tad,” said Dirk.
“My pleasure, sir.”
Dirk let Orrian quench his immediate hunger and studied the young man. Orrian ate urgently, as though food had been scarce, which made sense. The area where he had been killing bandits and grave robbers was now a wasteland, and while Orrian would have pilfered the bandit’s stores, he would have burned through the food too quickly using magic. His must’ve been a great hunger indeed.
“So, what’s your story?”
Orrian glanced up from his food lazily and took a long drink of beer. He wiped his stubbly chin with the back of his hand and took a rest from his food. “Same as everybody else’s, I reckon. Had a good woman, had a family, had a farm. War started, now they’re all ashes, and I’m the only one.”
He went back to eating as though Dirk wasn’t even there.
“When did you realize your powers?”
Orrian shrugged. “Draggard and undead invaded our village. Me and Pa and my brother went out with the militia to hold them back. It was a slaughter. I should have died, but when that drooling beast was bearing down on me with the blade…something happened.”
Dirk waited as Orrian drank his beer and wiped his chin. The young man stared at the table as he spoke.
“I felt this…” his fingers twitched, his eyes searched, “this power come over me. It was like, it was like my imagination and my ability had somehow converged. I thought the power might destroy me. So in fear I lashed out at the draggard, and it burst into flames and exploded into a million pieces.”
“Damn,” said Dirk, taking a drink of his own.
“Yeah, godsdamn is more like it. I didn’t question it, but I lit into those draggard and those undead bastards like a…I don’t know, a damned elf warrior. I didn’t stop until they were all dead. After that, I passed out for at least a day, maybe more. There was no one left alive to tell me.”
“And since the end of the war, you’ve been, what, traveling the land killing grave robbers and bandits?”
“Somebody’s got to do it. Gramma knows there’s no one else keeping order in the west.”
Dirk wondered if that was a personal jab. “Agora is in disarray, it is true. But the threat has passed, and with any luck, we will be able to enjoy some peacetime.”
Orrian shrugged. “Peacetime is a hell of a time to gain magic powers.”
“You want to fight?”
“The threat may have passed, but there will always be evil bastards in the world doing what evil bastards do.”
“This is true,” said Dirk, and he watched with growing amazement as Orrian devoured the last of the lamb chops and cleaned his plate of all the sides as well.
Tad came by and refilled their beers, and Dirk studied the young man, wondering if he had been eavesdropping.
“I’ll take another plate,” said Orrian. “But can you heat them a tad bit more?”
Tad, and indeed Dirk, wondered if Orrian meant the pun, but he showed not a sign of masked mirth.
“Coming right up. We’ve just taken out the first of the bread. It is hot and steaming.”
Orrian nodded.
When Tad left, Dirk placed a stone on the table and spoke the elven word for silence. A soundproof globe of energy shimmered to life around them. “What do you know of elf magic, and about your power?” he asked Orrian.
“I know about as much as anyone else. Never paid much attention to elves. As for my power, I can produce fire, move objects with my mind; I can make myself stronger, quicker…and other things.”
“My partner, Krentz, can show you more.”
“Does she have energy crystals?”
Dirk drank his beer, letting the question linger. “What do you want?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you’ve got the human power of old. What do you intend to do with it?”
Orrian leaned in and laced his fingers. His eyes met Dirk’s and did not waver. “We humans of Agora were nearly conquered, not once, but twice. For too long we have been powerless against the magic of the other races. The gods sent us Whillhelm Warcrown when we needed him most. They have bestowed their power upon him, and now they have bestowed the same power upon me.”
“A religious man,” Dirk noted.
“Not up until recently,” said Orrian, and he turned over his hand and produced a ball of fire. The reflection of the flames played in his eyes as he stared. “Suddenly being able to wield the power of the gods will make a man go to church.”
Dirk raised a glass to that.
Orrian let the flame go out and clinked tankards.
“What I want, is to be a guardian of our people. I want to help ensure that nothing like the Draggard Wars or the Necromancer Wars, or whatever the hells that slaughter is being called, ever happens again.”
“You and Whillhelm Warcrown have a lot in common.”
Orrian seemed to straighten a bit at the compliment.
So, he admires the man.
“Would you like to train under him?”
Orrian didn’t at first answer. Instead, he studied Dirk from beyond the rim of his tankard. He put it down, and it sounded with a hollow, empty tone.
“To tell you the truth, from what I’ve heard, I don’t much like or respect the man.”
Dirk let out a laugh. “Really?”
Orrian shrugged. “The beloved Whill of Agora seems to create as many problems for Agora as he fixes. And he gave away his kingship. Sounds like a fool to me. But you…I’ve heard about you. Came from nothing. A no-good drunken father to care for half your life. No magic to speak of, but surrounded by mystery and power. They say Dirk Blackthorn never loses.”
Dirk was surprised by Orrian’s knowledge, though he did nothing to show it.
“They say that you can summon ghost armies,” said Orrian. “They say that you ride on a dragon. Hells, they say that you once died. But now, here you are, the elected leader of Uthen-Arden, and unless I am mistaken, the heir to Eldalon. After Whillhelm Warcrown of course.” Orrian smirked as though he had read something in Dirk’s eyes. “I imagine that is no mistake, and I know that you do not wish to hand me over to Whill to become some sort of apprentice. I am too valuable to you.”
I may have misjudged this simple farmer.
“Go on,” said Dirk.
“Whill is away in Drindellia, and good riddance. For I care not about some forgotten elf land. I care only for Agora and its people, something that it seems the golden boy has forgotten. I believe that you will be king of both Uthen-Arden and Eldalon. And I would like to help you get there.”
“And what, might I ask, do you want in return?”
Orrian smiled then. It was a good smile, one that Dirk realized had once come easily and often. “I want what every man wants, if they’ve got two cents left in their skulls; a good woman, a dozen kids, land to work and live off, and to die in my sleep, wrinkled and old and smiling. I had a wife…I had kids…I had it all. So now, all I want is to make sure that what happened to me never happens to anyone else. I can heal, Mr. Blackthorn, not only myself, but others. I’m not just a weapon, and I know that. Mamma did good, have no worries about that. She raised a good man. I have no delusions of grandeur, I have no want to be a king. I want to be the king’s wrath.”
Dirk was mesmerized, and he didn’t know whether to be afraid, awed, or inspired.
“You speak with passion,” said
Dirk. “But you assume much. It is true that I am the heir to Eldalon after Whill. But I do not intend on gaining the throne through any act of treachery. I wish both Carlsborough and Whillhelm a long and happy life.”
“The king is old, and a heavy drinker they say. And Whillhelm…well, the way his life has been going, I’d give him a year.”
The son of a bitch is reading my mind. No, he is not powerful enough to break through Krentz’s wards, and I would feel the intrusion.
“Be that as it may,” said Dirk, “I will not move against either man to gain the throne.”
Orrian nodded respectfully.
“The throne of Eldalon is not important right now. What is important is the well-being of the people. We must rebuild, we must allow the families to grow, and we must create a safe environment in which to do so. And you are right, for too long humans have suffered, powerless to fight against the magic of the other races. But no longer. For I believe that you will be the first of many.”
Orrian acted as though he hadn’t considered that before, and his eyes wandered. “Whillhelm will be quite interested in them. He will want to ensure that he can control us.”
“Indeed,” said Dirk. “That is why we need to find them first.”
“And what is your interest in controlling us?”
Dirk had known that question was coming, but he had been waiting to gauge the young man more before deciding on an answer. The truth was that Whill would want nothing to do with the newly gifted humans, for if they absorbed the god-like power that Whill now possessed, it would be a disaster.
“I do not wish to, nor do I believe that I could, control your kind. That will be your job. The other blessed humans will need guidance; they will need a leader.”
“And you think that I am that leader, why? Because I am the first you have found?”
“No, I believe that you are a good man, and that is the type of man that it will take to steer your kind toward the light. You have proven yourself through deed rather than words. When you attained your magic, you did not use it to gain riches or power, you used it to try and protect the memory of the dead; you did it to try and keep some semblance of order in a broken world. I believe that you will make a good leader for the others, one that I can trust, and one who trusts me.”
Chapter 7
The Army from the North
Whill awoke from a nightmare in which a draggard horde had been attacking Rhuniston. He threw off the sheets, realizing that they were drenched with sweat, and waking up Avriel in the process.
“Whill, what’s wrong?”
“It was a dream, but…I have to go to Rhuniston.”
Avriel leapt out of bed and began to dress as well. “What have you seen?”
“A draggard horde. You don’t need to come. It is probably nothing.”
“Nonsense. Besides, it is a good night for a flight.”
“I am not taking Zorriaz. It would take too long by dragon.”
“Then I will—”
“Please, stay here with the children.”
She frowned at him, clearly not liking being brushed off.
“I’m sorry, Avriel, but if my dream is true, then there may be an attack on New Cerushia.”
“I will put the guards on high alert.”
“Good idea. Hopefully it is nothing.” Whill kissed her and flew off the balcony. He needed no sword of power, no energy crystals, for his energy now seemed endless. He hated using the strange, dark power that he had absorbed from Eldarian, but he needed to get to Rhuniston quickly.
He reached the small city in only a few minutes and realized with great apprehension that his dream had indeed been real, for an army of at least five hundred was marching in the darkness toward Rhuniston. He landed on the battlements that he and the elves had helped to build and rushed to the warning bell.
“Whillhelm, er, sire,” said the man stationed at the bell.
“Sound the alarm, for a dark army approaches from the north,” said Whill.
“Yes, sir.”
The young man leaned on the rope, and as Whill leapt down to the cobblestone below, the bell began to toll heavily.
“To arms!” Whill bellowed, his voice enhanced by magic.
The guards rushed to their stations as Whill watched the draggard horde crest the distant hill to the north. It was just before dawn, and the glow of the coming sun was beginning to chase away the darkness. But with the light came a new kind of dark, one that Whill had never seen before. The draggard were not like others that he had ever seen. Even from such a great distance, he could tell that they were different. For they stood erect and marched in five tight formations of one hundred. They wore clothes as well, bright red and maroon sashes and robes adorned with golden bracers, gorgets, and pauldrons. Their spears and swords were sleek and long, catching the sunlight as it crested the horizon.
Aside from their appearance, Whill sensed something else out of the ordinary. He couldn’t be sure, but he thought that he felt the presence of great magic…
Ragnar Hillman found him on the battlements and came to stand beside him. “I had hoped to never see one of those demons again in my lifetime,” said the big man, his face twisted in a spiteful grimace.
“I don’t think either of us have ever seen draggard like this, if indeed that is what they are.”
Ragnar squinted at the distant horde. “They wear clothes…and gilded armor.”
Whill nodded. “And they seem to prefer standing erect.”
A horn blared in the distance, and the draggard began a startlingly fast charge toward the city.
“Archers—” Ragnar began, but Whill raised a hand.
“Steady now, we don’t know their intentions.”
“Their intentions seem clear,” said Ragnar, eyeing the charging horde warily.
A few of the archers glanced at the two men, and in their eyes Whill saw fear. Many of them were veterans of the wars for Agora, and they had come to Drindellia in search of peace.
“Come, my friend,” said Whill, placing a hand on Ragnar’s shoulder. “Let us find out for ourselves.” He leapt off the battlements, bringing Ragnar along with him. They landed on the stone path leading from the main gate and strode forth confidently.
The draggard were within five hundred yards of the city and seemed tireless in their charge. Ragnar shifted uncomfortably, fingers twitching to feel the cold of steel.
“Steady now,” said Whill.
The draggard came to within one hundred yards and abruptly halted, yet there had been no command to do so, which led Whill to suspect that either they were being controlled by a single entity, or they were being given commands mentally. He was curious of their appearance, for they did not have the elongated snouts of the draggard, but rather a more elven face. They were, however, covered in scales like their kin, with long pointed tails and claws as well.
A highly decorated draggard in golden armor with a black sash stepped forward, and two robed draggard followed close behind.
“Greetings,” Whill said in Elvish, assuming that they would understand the language of their creators.
“Who addresses the servant of Gnawrok?”
“I am Whillhelm, and this is Ragnar. Should I call you the Servant of Gnawrok?”
The draggard looked them both over with hard yellow reptilian eyes. “I am High Commander Vresh’Kon.”
“You are quite well spoken for a draggard,” said Ragnar, using the Elvish dialect as well.
Vresh’Kon was taken aback. His thin nostrils flared and his eyes hardened. Behind him, the two mysterious robed figures shifted their weight to the back foot.
“Draggard?” Vresh’Kon spit on the ground. “We are no mindless draggard! We are the drekkon, the greatest of Eadon’s many creations.”
“You serve Eadon then?” said Whill.
“Eadon is no more. We serve Gnawrok the Liberator.”
“I should like to meet this Gnawrok.”
Vresh’Kon shook his head. “I
am his voice, and I say that you are not welcome here. Neither are elves, dwarves, or dragons.”
“Surely an agreement can be made. For Drindellia is vast,” said Whill, and he saw peripherally the surprised look that Ragnar gave him.
“We have no interest in sharing our land with lesser creatures. The time of the elves ruling these lands has passed. If you care about your people, you will be wise to heed my warning.”
“You say that Eadon is no more,” said Whill. “But you do not seem to lament the loss.”
“I will not speak to a human about such things. You have heard my words. You have been given a warning.”
“Do you know how he died?”
Vresh’Kon regarded him with cold eyes, but Whill could see that he was curious to hear the answer.
“I killed him,” said Whill.
Vresh’Kon’s eyes widened, but he quickly regained his composure. “You lie. No mere mortal could have defeated the Dark Lord.”
“This is no mere mortal,” said Ragnar. “This is Whill of Agora.”
Recognition lit the drekkon’s face. Behind him, the robed figures tensed.
“I defeated Eadon,” said Whill. “And I will use my power to defend my people. We do not wish for war, but we will protect ourselves by any means necessary.”
Vresh’Kon looked Whill and Ragnar over with disgust before turning to consult the robed drekkon. They did not speak, but Whill knew that they were communicating somehow, for Vresh’Kon nodded and turned back to Whill. “I will tell Gnawrok that you wish to speak with him. Until then, you are prohibited from leaving your cities. Understood?”
“We will come and go as we please,” said Whill. “And I expect to have no trouble from your kind before I meet with your king.”
The two robed creatures tensed, for surely their captain would not tolerate to be spoken to in such a way by a human. But while Vresh’Kon visibly shook with outrage, he did not attack. He turned with a flourish of his cape and stormed off, back to the waiting army. The two robed figures each offered Whill a withering glare before joining their captain.
“Lovely bunch of reptiles, aren’t they?” said Ragnar with more than a hint of sarcasm.
Dark Echoes of Light Page 5