“Enough,” Ahm shouted. “Damn fools, make way!”
The solida’s who had been surrounding Maelich backed quickly away, loosening their formation and spreading out behind him. Their laughter ended instantly. Maelich strained his eyes in the direction of the palace but he still could not see where the giant was hiding. He gasped when he finally spied the massive creature. Like a living mountain wielding a mighty spear, the beast leapt high into the dark sky, covering roughly half the distance between the throne and Maelich, before landing surprisingly lightly and pounding his spear into the dirt. The mass of hard flesh quickly produced a bow, pulled an arrow from the quiver on his back, and took aim at Maelich.
Ahm was even larger than Maelich imagined. He wore a long nap of thick, black hair and a bush of a beard. His features were like that of a man, but he was nearly three times the size. The monster’s scowl revealed teeth sharp as daggers.
Doubt threatened to humble Maelich before the greatest battle of his life even began. Luckily, he had precious few moments to admire his opponent before it did. An arrow the size of a spear raced from Ahm’s bow. The world slowed around Maelich as he became acutely aware of every sound, sight, and smell right at that moment. Ahm’s bow vibrated from the shot, humming lightly beneath the whistle of the arrow slicing through the calmly swirling air of the courtyard. The stench of an army of dwarves sweating under the weight of full palace armor danced around among the currents. Light from the torches around the courtyard glinted off the razor edges of the arrowhead. Maelich stepped left and leaned away from the attack. Reaching out with both hands, he caught the arrow about halfway down its shaft. The great size of the thing coupled with its momentum carried him about ten feet before he fell to the ground with it. He quickly regained his feet and fired it back at Ahm with all his might.
The arrow raced toward Ahm’s face. The giant was readying another arrow and didn’t see the one heading for him until it was too close to completely avoid. Though he saved his face by dodging, he earned a deep gash in his left shoulder. In his failed effort to avoid the arrow, he pulled his next shot to the right completely missing Maelich and impaling a dwarf against the hard stone of the courtyard wall instead. The arrow’s shaft cracked in half on impact and twisted the poor soul apart in a bloody explosion of meat and entrails.
Ahm dropped his bow as his hand instinctively shot up to the wound on his shoulder. The low groan slipping past his lips seemed to vibrate the air.
Taking advantage of Ahm’s momentary incapacitation, Maelich drew his sword as he charged. He covered the distance quickly, but the giant was just as quick to get his head back into the battle. Maelich barely brought his blade up in time to parry Ahm’s spear. The blow carried so much force, it sent him flailing to the ground.
Once Maelich managed to regain his feet, he opted for dodging the blows rather than trying to match strength with the giant whose spear seemed to attack from every direction. He flipped, slipped, and weaved around thrusts and swings, finally sidestepping as the massive thing crashed to the ground barely missing his head. There was his opening.
As Ahm raised the spear back up, Maelich jumped up onto the shaft of it. It was thick as a small tree’s truck. He used the momentum to help carry him over the giant’s head, flipping over the mountain of flesh and landing softly behind him. Crouching low into his landing, he spun around and slashed the back of Ahm’s legs. The cut was deep, almost to the bone. It tore muscles and tendons as it gashed into the giant’s flesh, wrecking the monster’s hamstrings. The walls of the courtyard shook with Ahm’s cry, as both he and his spear crashed to the ground.
Maelich was in the air before Ahm’s big body hit the ground. He leapt onto the giant’s chest with his sword raised high. Just as he was about to bury his sword deep into Ahm’s black heart, the beast swatted at him. The massive arm slammed into the full length of his body, knocking the wind from his lungs and tossing him to the side. At least fifteen feet of earth passed beneath him before he hammered into the dirt.
“Solida’s,” Ahm yelled, “seize him!”
No dwarf moved.
Ahm shouted again, “Shackle this runt or I’ll crush every last one of you!” His tone was near frantic, but every dwarf remained still.
Maelich shook his head and slowly rose to his feet. It took him a moment to get his wind back. The giant was strong. Once his lungs stopped burning, he sucked in a deep breath and stalked back over to where Ahm lay. By this time the giant had rolled onto his stomach and was trying to crawl back to his palace. Without the use of his legs, he was having a rather difficult time of it. Maelich stood over his left shoulder as Ahm looked up at him and roared. The wind from the giant’s lungs was so furious it blew Maelich’s hair all about. Maelich raised his sword and slammed it through Ahm’s neck. The stroke was clean, removing the beast’s head amid a crimson gush.
Though brief, the battle had taken a toll on Maelich. He kept his feet only long enough to catch a glimpse of Ahm’s eyes as they lolled wildly about in their sockets and marvel at the rage in his expression as his tongue and lips convulsed. Maelich fell exhausted to the ground next to his victim wondering if thoughts still ran through the disembodied head.
Silence filled the courtyard. Maelich lay flat for a few moments, just long enough to regain his composure. Then he sat up and examined the mighty Maomnosett Ahm for a moment. ‘I have proven my worth as a warrior,’ he thought. The moment of peaceful clarity was far too brief as he remembered the army of dwarves surrounding he and his victim. The battle was not finished. There was no time for rest or quiet contemplation. He quickly scrambled to his feet and spun to face the solidas.
The expressions on the faces staring back at Maelich from the crowd of solidas surrounding him appeared shocked rather than angry or vengeful. In fact, many of them even appeared relieved. The attack he expected never came. Instead, the entire crowd erupted in a cheer so throaty it shook the walls of the courtyard even more than Ahm’s roar had. It took him a moment to process what was happening, but it finally occurred to him that the eyes staring back at him weren’t looking upon an adversary who had just killed their king. Instead, they were gazing in amazement at the young hero who had freed them from the weight of a cruel tyrant.
Axes fell to the ground and fists pumped into the air in victory. Dwarves rushed to Maelich from all sides, raised him up on their shoulders, and chanted his name. Laarvel and Aarvin were among the throng. They laughed and patted Maelich on the back. Other dwarves danced while still others leapt and flipped and rolled. The mighty Ahm had been killed at the hand of a hero who had strolled into their midst a mere boy. From that day on, they would know him as the man who saved them.
It wasn’t long before ale flowed and music played. The air around the courtyard seemed lighter. Here and there among the crowd there were even dwarves singing. The dwarves of Alhouim were famous for the songs they would belt out while tromping off to the mines in days all but forgotten. According to what Maelich had learned of the dwarves before starting his quest, no dwarf had sung a note since shortly after Ahm took the throne.
It was all nearly too much for Maelich to digest. He had expected to at least have a need to flee with Ahm’s head if not spill many a dwarf’s blood. Instead he found himself as the guest of honor in a celebration pulsing with the energy of centuries of frustration. The party lasted until the sun threatened to rise. Alhouim was alive again like it hadn’t been in hundreds of summers.
Chapter 9
Two Kings
The morning had come and gone before Maelich woke to the tantalizing aroma of some form of meat. He couldn’t quite place it, but it smacked of something that needed investigating. Or so he thought. His head spun like the wheels of a horse carriage moving at a gallop when he tried to sit up. It didn’t seem possible, but the pounding engulfing his entire head was even worse. He had never been stabbed in the head before, but he imagined the pain must be similar to what he was feeling just then. That pounding must be exa
ctly what it feels like to have your head mercilessly impaled repeatedly. He quickly laid his head back onto his rough pillow. Nausea swept over him, quickly bringing the contents of his belly and the acid taste of bile to the back of his throat. His entire body convulsed and then locked as he leaned over the side of the cot and vomited a thick, rancid fluid onto the dusty wooden plats of the floor. It burned as it went and left a foul, sour taste in its wake. Once his belly had nothing left to say, he lifted his pillow and rested his head back on the cot.
“A bit too much of the ale,” Doentaat said with a chuckle as he came with a mop to clean up Maelich’s foul-smelling mess.
Maelich rubbed his head and mumbled, “Where am I?”
Doentaat continued to work diligently as he replied, “Ye be at the humble abode of Bindaar and Doentaat. Don’t ye remember being dropped here last night,” he paused and then corrected himself, “or rather, early on this morn by Laarvel and Aarvin?”
“No, but that answers my second question. How did I get here?” He still couldn’t manage more than a mumble.
“Ah lad,” Doentaat spoke soothingly, “just ye relax. Sleep off that hangover ye got yourself into, and we can worry about getting ye home later. Just look at me luck,” he continued mostly to himself, “two cots full of sickies for me to look after.”
Maelich did sleep a bit longer as Doentaat concocted some brew on the fire that filled the small hut with steam. The steam was said to cure the effects of too much ale. It wouldn’t hurt Bindaar’s condition either. He was slowly regaining his strength and even speaking a bit. Doentaat told him all about the events of the prior evening. Maelich had guaranteed that no dwarf would ever again be hung from the sacred pine, and the city of Maomnosett was no more. The city of Alhouim had been reborn in one mighty slash of a young lad’s powerful sword.
When Maelich finally woke, the sun was already beginning to set. His head still felt a bit thick and his belly a bit squishy, but he was a world apart from his condition that morning. Doentaat had a pail of warm water he had heated on the fire ready for Maelich to wash himself up. He did just that and his condition improved further. There was a city of dwarves out in the streets waiting to cheer their hero one more time and send him on his way with his prize. When Maelich appeared in the doorway of Doentaat’s hut, the crowd outside erupted. They had impaled Ahm’s head on his own spear to present to Maelich. They did this quite ceremoniously among shouts of, “Hooray for Maelich, conquering king of Alhouim!”
Maelich accepted the prize and spoke in as strong a voice as his groggy condition would allow, “Now is not the time to accept the rule of another from outside of your ranks. Dwarves have served the purpose of others long enough. Now is the time for dwarves to control their own destiny. There is one among you who displays dwarf perfection and falls in the bloodline of Alhouim, father of all dwarves. This dwarf will serve as a gracious and powerful king.” Maelich reached back, put an arm around Doentaat’s shoulder and continued, “Give your allegiance to Doentaat of Alhouim!”
The crowd erupted again. This time with chants of both Maelich and Doentaat’s names. The dwarves of Alhouim would require a good deal of assistance to establish their own rule and draft their own laws, Maelich knew this. However, he also realized they were a hard-working race that was up to the task of rebuilding the grandeur of their history. It was a task that should belong to them.
Maelich thanked the crowd and said his good-byes as dwarf after dwarf begged him to stay just a while longer. He would have liked nothing more. Unfortunately, it was time to go. He was already well behind schedule. The longest good-byes were saved for Doentaat, Bindaar, Laarvel, and Aarvin. They all took their turns telling him what an impressive lad he was, and they all invited him to come back and visit often. Then they packed him up and sent him on his way, watching him bound down the trail as he headed south toward Havenstahl.
Maelich moved quickly down the path, ignoring the fatigue that gripped him. He would nap a bit at sunrise, but he couldn’t afford to lose much time. He would more than likely be presumed dead. That would be fine, for his return would be the first news anyone in Havenstahl would have of his success, including that vile bastard, Yfregeof. He didn’t want the king to have any warning. There would probably be a battle when he finally arrived, and the only ally he was certain of was Ymitoth.
Maelich made much better time returning to Havenstahl than he had on his way to Maomnosett, or rather, Alhouim. It was about midday when he finally arrived at the north gate where Ymitoth waited for him, pacing nervously back and forth. Ymitoth saw Ahm’s head first as it poked up over the hilltop before Maelich could be seen. He drew his sword and charged at the giant, hoping to slay him before he hit level ground. His heart sunk into his boots as the realization that Maelich had failed and was probably being digested sunk in. Sadness quickly gave way to rage as he raised his sword. Suddenly, Maelich’s head appeared. Ymitoth dropped his sword and ran to his son, embracing him and marveling at Ahm’s giant head perched atop the mighty spear Maelich now bore.
He opened his mouth to speak, but Maelich beat him to the punch. “Stop them!” he shouted. The two guards at the gate quickly retreated toward the palace.
“Guards,” Ymitoth hollered, “halt!”
The guards looked as if they might disobey their commander, but they reluctantly heeded his word. Ymitoth squinted his eyes and looked first to Maelich, then to his guards, and asked, “What?”
“I have much to tell you, but first, Yfregeof cannot know of my return before I see him,” Maelich spoke quickly and quietly as the guards nervously considered his presence there.
“So, tell me then,” Ymitoth replied, raising his palms as if to ask, ‘what?’ again.
Maelich continued, “The murder of your father and Yfregeof’s father was not due to the heat of failed negotiations. It was planned by Yfregeof and Ahm. Yfregeof was so desirous of the throne he struck a deal with Ahm to eliminate the king and the only other immediate claim to the throne. In exchange, Yfregeof would send him sacrifices and submit to the unfair agreements Ahm was attempting to force on Yfrahnu. That is why he would not send the warriors of Havenstahl to slay the wicked king.”
Ymitoth shook with rage as he picked his sword up off the ground. His teeth clenched tightly as his lips moved around silent curses. He looked back to the guards and then charged them. He kicked one to the ground before grabbing the other by the hair and yanking him to his knees.
“Are ye under orders from that coward Yfregeof?” he growled through clenched teeth.
The petrified guard could manage only a whimper as he put his hands up and quivered. This enraged Ymitoth even further, “What be your orders, scrod?”
“M…M…Milord, Yfregeof be having us inform him if the lad be making it back. He did, so that’s what we mean to do.” The guard’s fear sickened Ymitoth.
“Ye’ll be informing no one of nothing,” he hissed as he brought the handle of his sword down against the side of the guard’s head.
Then he kicked the guard on the ground in the head and looked back at Maelich, “We go. Ye will be storming into that throne room with that spear held high, as if ye know nothing about his treachery. I be waiting in the hall.”
Maelich charged on up the steps and made his way toward the palace and on to Yfregeof’s throne room. He received many an odd look charging through the streets of the city with an impaled head perched upon a giant spear. Under different circumstances he may have given some thought to how comically grisly he must have looked lugging around a spear the size of a tree with a giant’s twisted head upon it. There wasn’t any time for that.
The short jaunt from the north gate to the door of Yfregeof’s throne room seemed a lifetime. The shock squatting on the faces of the guards posted there assured Maelich they couldn’t be counted as allies. They both looked like they had seen a ghost. That meant they expected Maelich to be one at that point. That also meant they knew of their king’s plan. He was right on their heels a
s they fled into the throne room.
A look of confident pleasure fought past Maelich’s rage and rested upon his face as he marched triumphantly into the hall with his prize held high. Yfregeof jumped up from his chair and appeared as if he might flee. Instead, the king sat back down and dropped his gaze to the floor. Maelich almost felt sorry for the king. The poor sod looked like he was trying to solve a dandy of a riddle. If only Maelich could be in the king’s head just then.
“Maelich,” Yfregeof attempted to boom, poorly feigning joy as he stood with his arms outstretched. “Welcome home, lad!”
Maelich remained cool. The entire room stunk of Yfregeof’s fear. This fact could have only one of two possible outcomes. Either Yfregeof would crumble and beg for mercy, or he would feel backed into a corner like a scrod who’s been whipped too many times and lash out with all his fury. Maelich couldn’t decide which he’d prefer. He’d love to look deep into Yfregeof’s empty eyes as his blade slipped into his heart. However, depending on how much support Ymitoth had left in the city, Yfregeof may still be well protected. Maelich continued to play the part.
“If his majesty finds it pleasing,” he began, bowing ceremoniously and raising Ahm’s head high above his own, “I offer the head of Maomnosett Ahm. His terror will haunt Havenstahl no more.”
Forcing a painfully fake smile to his lips, Yfregeof stammered, “Ye have passed your trial, Maelich. I must say, I be quite impressed with ye, lad. Ye have earned the crest of Havenstahl.”
Yfregeof clapped his hands. The loud smack echoed through the quiet chamber. The master of his guard moved quickly to a spot directly before the throne and bowed while crouching to one knee. “Step forward,” Yfregeof commanded. Then he whispered something into the guard’s ear. The guard nodded and then disappeared behind the king’s throne. Yfregeof squinted and unconsciously sneered as his eyes followed the man until he was out of sight. The fake smile quickly returned to his lips as he rose and approached Maelich, arms outstretched as if to embrace the lad.
Kill the Dragon (Lake of Dragons Book 1) Page 11