The Dreaddrac Onslaught (Book 4)
Page 39
The sorcerer settled into his heavily elfin-carved chair in front of the fire and opened the letter. He read the beginning and dropped the letter in his lap. The owl awakened and turned to face him. Memlatec looked up at those great yellow owl eyes staring back at him.
“I must talk to someone,” Memlatec said. “Aleman would chatter like a washerwoman at the marketplace if I mentioned more than the weather to him. He got up, went to the owl, and stroked his breast feathers. The owl would listen; his only communication was his blinking eyes. Memlatec returned to the chair and took up the letter once more. He squinted at the message, then flicked his finger, enlarging the lettering. “Saxthor’s handwriting is code in itself,” he mused through a tired, nervous chuckle. He read on and felt his ages pressing on him with each new sentence. Soon, he again looked up at the owl, still waiting patiently for the wizard to impart his concerns.
“Total war is upon us now; it’s come.” He looked out through the balcony doors, watching Fedra in the breeze but seeing further into time. He didn’t hide his strained frown from the owl, who shuffled his feet on the oak stand. He got up, walked to the balcony, stepped out into the wind, and stroked the great eagle’s back. They looked together to the north, out beyond Konnotan. The wizard reflected on the implications and sighed. He brought the eagle in, setting him on his perch, then returned to his seat by the fire. He reread the letter.
“Graushdem is under attack. I see from this communication, Saxthor doesn’t yet know about the attack on Feldrik. He’s seeing to Neuyokkasin’s defenses, but I don’t think he’s aware of the magnitude of the attacks. The big question now is can Sengenwha hold out against Tarquak’s onslaught. If Sengenwha falls and all resistance is smashed, the way will be open in the west for the attack on Neuyokkasin. Neuyokkasin is the last great kingdom to defy the Dark Lord should Graushdem fall, too. King Grekenbach doesn’t have a grasp of the forces now descending on him. I fear he is ill-prepared to defend his kingdom.”
Both the eagle and the owl shuffled on their respective perches. Fedra understood the implications as he was able to understand the wizard. Memlatec looked at Fedra.
“There’s no news from Hendrel in Hador. The Dark Lord knows of our involvement in Hador by now. He’ll be probing for energy and will spot an ornsmak if I should send one to Hendrel. I must wait to hear from him. He’ll send word by winged messenger when he dares.” Memlatec looked at both birds of prey. “Neither of you may take a winged creature as food. Rely on rodents.” Again both birds shuffled on their perches.
“The Neuyokkasinian people are not prepared for this war, either. Dagmar did what she could to help with the fortifications and to involve the people in the city’s defense, but now that she’s gone, they lapse. They see the defense as a military operation and trust that Saxthor will keep the war far from them. The people in the countryside don’t want to think about the war coming here at all.
“Saxthor is hoping, by taking troops to aid the kingdoms north of Neuyokkasin, he can keep the war at bay, but it will come here. No one here realizes the extent of the Dark Lord’s power and the forces he’s bred in the Ice Mountains all these years. No one living remembers the Wizard Wars. Only the tales survive to frighten the children at night around campfires. We will need more allies.
“I’ll send a letter to the Neuyokkasinian ambassador at the Imperial Powterosian Court. I must know where the emperor stands and Prince Augusteros. No one has heard from Augusteros in ages. The great empire might be our only hope now.
“How will Heggolstockin fair in this struggle? I know the duchess, being King Grekenbach’s sister, is highly strung. She has no concept of stress or threat of invasion. She won’t hold up under attack. What will the duke do? And the duke’s daughter, Demonica, what will she do? She’s an unknown element, but a potentially powerful player. None of them know the extent of her resentment that her mother married what Demonica considers beneath her. She resents her mother for not marrying a king and her father for having ruined her mother’s chances at a higher position and thus Demonica’s position as a princess instead of a mere lady. That one needs watching.
“I’ll send a message to King Bordabrundese, as well. He must commit to the war and use his forces to attack General Vylvex’s supply lines, or there will be no chance for King Grekenbach at Graushdemheimer. But will the dwarves reveal themselves to commit to this war?”
Memlatec moved to his desk, pushing aside stacks of papers and odd ingredients, pulled a piece of paper, and wrote his letter to King Bordabrundese, then reduced its size by magic and tied it around a winged messenger’s leg, sending it on its way.
“You coming to eat?” Aleman shouted from the base of the tower. “It don’t stay warm long in this drafty old keep.”
Memlatec rose and went to the stair landing. “I’ll be down in a moment,” the wizard said over the railing.
“Well, you best come on down now, else I might as well throw the whole thing in a pot by the kitchen fire, and you can eat the jumbled stew if that don’t burn.” The old man shuffled his feet on the stone floor. His apron rippled over his paunch.
“I’ll be down directly,” Memlatec said again and turned to go into the workroom but turned back.
“Don’t be complaining to me about your dinner if it’s cold, or you’ll have to eat burned stew. I go to all this trouble to cook good food and you don’t appreciate it,” the old man grumbled. He took another swig from his pewter tankard. He glanced up at the wizard, staring down hard at him. “Tea.”
Memlatec shook his head, still looking over the landing rail at the red-eyed caretaker. “Thank you, Aleman, I shall be down shortly,” he said again and turned to go back into the workroom. As he closed the door, he heard slurping as the old man took another swig of his ale.
“I ain’t going to bother to cook nothing that takes much work anymore. It ain’t valued around here.” The door closed with a click.
Memlatec looked at the owl and the eagle, shuffling on their perches. He chuckled to himself, then addressed the birds. “Same argument and threats every day. You’d think the old man would learn after a while. He loves attention.” The wizard closed his old book of reminders after the ink dried on his note to write the imperial court ambassador. He put the book away and started down the stairs. Aleman was still down there, grumbling.
“The food is likely cold; don’t know why you bothered to come now.”
Memlatec looked over the rail. Aleman took a swig of ale, stared into the bottom of the tankard, and frowned.
“Humph.” The old man ambled back toward the kitchen, mumbling incoherently to himself.
The food was impeccable as usual, thought Memlatec, finishing his meal. He took a sip of his drink and replaced the goblet on the table, knowing the conversation that was to follow. He’s coming back into the dining hall for his complement. I’ll have to complain, of course, so he can throw his spoon and rattle on with endless excuses for any imagined deficiency. I mustn’t deprive him of his drama. I suppose it’s his only entertainment in this old tower.
“Dinner was delicious, Aleman. The fish was particularly succulent and tasty.”
“Don’t soft talk me, old wizard,” Aleman said, his eye cocked at Memlatec. “I know it was soggy and cold. I tried to get you to come to dinner on time, but no, you had work to do. You don’t appreciate all the work I did to cook that dinner or you’d have come when I first called you.”
“The fish was excellent Aleman.”
“You’re just saying that so you don’t have to take the responsibility for its being cold and mushy.”
“No Aleman, it was really excellent.”
“You’ll say anything so it ain’t your fault how it is. It won’t my fault you’re slow getting to the food.”
“Perhaps it was a tad over cooked. It’s not your fault.” The wizard was looking down at the empty plate, but he peeked up at Aleman. As was custom, the wooden spoon flew across the kitchen to the same spot on the wall.
As Aleman was rambling on, Memlatec rose slowly and walked back to the tower steps with the old man following, grumbling all the way.
“I don’t know why I bother cooking here. I should go work for one of them lords what appreciates my hard work.”
“Good night, Aleman, don’t wait up for me.”
As he walked up the tower stairs, Memlatec heard his housekeeper shuffling back to the kitchen, still muttering. “Not my fault the fish was cold and mushy…Don’t know why I wait hand and foot on that sorry old wizard… ”
On his return to the workroom, Memlatec noted at once the two birds of prey glaring at the balcony doors. There was Twiddle, fluttering in the panes. Memlatec opened the door. The wren flew into the workroom and over on the fireside chair’s armrest. There, he deposited his protest for being kept waiting. Eyeballing Fedra and the owl, he waited for the wizard to be seated and hear his news.
* * *
At Hador, Duke Jedrac fumed on the Hadorhof’s battlements, watching General Vylvex bring order to his legions, preparing to march. The city that had come out of hiding at Magwaddle’s demise had fled back into hiding when the never-before-seen monstrous whingtangs flew over the mountains nearby. They thrashed and snorted in the slings under large dragons, whose great wings flapped furiously, sending endless whirlwinds over the city.
“This is a catastrophic disaster,” the duke said, watching the orc army starting south. “That any orcs got through the mountains is unthinkable, but that they’re a viable threat is unimaginable.”
“Your Grace,” shouted an aide, rushing up, glaring at the army on the plain below.
“What is it now? They’ve not broken through the mountains again, have they?”
“Come quickly, Your Grace. The remainder of the northern army, trapped behind the mountains, has now formed up in orderly units again. And they’ve made way for one of those new monsters.”
“Monsters!” the duke exclaimed and dashed around the aide, heading to the turret’s far side, aide following.
“Wizard’s nightmare! I’d hoped I’d never see one of those things again. Before him on the plain north of Hador was a vast army of orcs, with ogre commanders, and goblins here and there carrying orders to the legions. The army was now divided in two halves. The orcs scrambled backward on each side, making a clear passage between them. In the distance, something huge lumbered down the alley toward Hador. Even at a distance, Duke Jedrac could see the armored plates rippling, muscled limbs striding underneath, as the thing approached the mountains. As it moved closer, the duke saw the beast’s slashing claws and thrashing tusks he’d seen from half a dozen that recently flew over the mountains.
“What is it; what’s it going to do?” the aide asked. His voice trembled; his eyes locked on the beast.
“Summon Wizard Hendrel,” Jedrac said.
The aide hesitated, frozen and staring.
“Move, man, get Hendrel here at once.” The aide bolted, scurrying down the turret stairs.
The duke was still staring at the whingtang when he heard the grit scraping under Hendrel’s boots, rushing up the stairs with the aide. Below the Hadorhof on the plaza, most of the city was aflutter, racing to get supplies for another siege. The city below was exceptionally noisy, contrasting the total silence of the orcs, backing away from the whingtang’s path. The mahout barely controlled the rebellious beast, even with additional handlers on each side. The duke heard the snorts and guttural growls as the monster lumbered forward almost at the mountain below the fortress city.
Hendrel stared at the whingtang. “It’s one of those things the dragons flew over a week ago, isn’t it? Looks like a nightmare of a pangolin.”
“Yes, I’m told it’s called a whingtang,” Jedrac said.
“What’s it do? Rather, what’s it here to do?” the aide asked.
“How should I know? I’ve never seen one before last week myself,” Jedrac said. “I was rather hoping Hendrel found something about it in those wizard books there in the wizard’s workroom.”
“Judging from the armor plates, I’d say its self-defense comes complete,” Hendrel said.
“Really? And how long did you study wizardry to figure that out?”
Hendrel looked at the duke and grinned momentarily. The duke gave him a frozen look that vaporized the humor. Hendrel looked back at the beast. “Nothing in the books to explain that. It must be another of those things the Dark Lord has been breeding out of sight. Well, it comes from a pangolin source, we can see that. You can kill a pangolin; you can kill that thing. Look at those claws; they’re way too big for a pangolin. That thing digs.”
“They’re going to use it to reopen the tunnel under the mountain,” the duke said, wide-eyed.
“That would be my guess.”
“We’ve nothing to stop it.” The duke wheeled around to the aide. “I think King Ormadese’s messenger is still with us. Find him; bring him here.”
The aide disappeared and returned with the elegantly attired dwarf noble, who remained in the shadows. When the dwarf saw the whingtang, he dropped his official bearing and, leaning forward, stared at the approaching whingtang. Without waiting for Duke Jedrac to comment, the dwarf raced back down the tower stairs and disappeared.
* *
“Majesty!” exclaimed the dwarf noble, bursting into King Ormadese’s audience hall. “Dreaddrac has a monstrous burrowing pangolin-like creature. It’s coming this way right to the mountain below Hador.”
“Nonsense, there’s nothing to fear from a pangolin; they don’t burrow through our granite mountains,” King Ormadese said, sitting on his throne, interrupted from his dealings with officials, courtiers, and petitioners. The Hadorian dwarf king put aside a petition he was considering as a buzz of chatter erupted in the hall. He laughed, looked around, then fixed his glare on the noble messenger. Ormadese nodded to the chamberlain.
The official promptly clacked his staff on the granite floor. “Court dismissed!”
The court bowed as King Ormadese rose and retired from the hall to his private audience chamber. His messenger followed.
“How dare you burst into the hall like that and nearly panic the court,” Ormadese said. “What’s this pangolin thing?”
“Majesty, this creature is a thousand times the size of a pangolin. It has sword-edged claws several feet long and tusks like a boar hog also long as my arm. It’s been bred to dig, tunnel specifically.”
“Tunnel!” Ormadese said. “But pangolins don’t tunnel in rock.”
“It’s just beyond the mountain where we collapsed the enemy passageway. I think it’s been brought up to reopen the passage. You’d have to see this thing to believe it. No, it won’t burrow through granite, but it could reopen the existing tunnel now filled with mud and rubble.”
“If it could do that, it could break the retaining wall, dig through to our ancient halls and into our kingdom, destroying everything.” Ormadese eyes glazed over. He stared off into space.
“We must stop it before it breaks into the ancient halls,” the aide said to the dazed king.
“What of Jedrac? What’s he doing about this monster?” Ormadese asked, turning back to the noble messenger.
“No one seems to know what to make of the beast, much less how to destroy it.”
Ormadese ordered his chamberlain to summon his high council. As they convened, the sounds of rock crunching, smashing, and grinding rumbled through the granite base of the mountain in chilling reverberations. The sound of panicking dwarves rushing about outside the hall strained the messenger beside the king, who was starting to explain what a whingtang appeared to be and what they suspected it was up to, to the council.
The king was restless, clearly agitated. “Close the doors,” Ormadese ordered. “What are your suggestions as to how to deal with this creature?”
There
was much chatter in the room among the high councilors. The messenger heard military attack ideas, poisoning options, endless perspectives passed around the room as the grinding intensified. He recognized one noble at the far end of the table who seemed less frenzied or involved in the chatter, who then spoke.
“The beast tunnels; it will have defense from the orcs at this end. It will be vulnerable at the head.”
“A good point,” Ormadese said, raising his hand to silence the chatter. “Continue.”
“If we could kill it in the tunnel, it would block further penetration until it rotted. Between dwarves and that wizard up in Hador, we could use magic to turn it to stone before that happened and seal the tunnel.”
“Yes, that would work, but our magic will not kill the thing first,” another councilor said. “It must be dead for its elements to be transfixed into petrified stone.
“A noose,” the wise councilor said. “We can braid steel cable that could strangle the beast. Make a noose inside a small opening in the retaining wall that seals our ancient tunnels from our current halls. The small opening would lure the beast to take that path of least resistance.”
“Yes, but should it break through the noose, it would rampage through into the current halls unabated,” another councilor protested.
“We’ve no better options,” the wise councilor said. “One can kill a pangolin by slashing in their tender underside, in the gut.”
“The floor is granite, we’d have no way to turn the beast over to expose the gut,” another protested.
The noble in charge of the meeting raised his hand to silence the chatter.
“Suppose while we braid the steel cable to make the noose, others could chip out a hollow in the tunnel floor. With a spell to seal the scent of a dwarf, a volunteer could lie in the hollow. As the beast becomes stuck in the noose and struggles, the dwarf could thrust up a sword into its belly. Then, if we don’t strangle it, we can kill it with a gut slash.”