A Way with Magic (The Draakonor Chronicles Book 1)

by David E. Barber

  “You promised to help us,” Retch complained. “And instead you tricked us and left us with the pale one. You are all cruel and unfair!”

  “I can’t argue with that,” Finn said.

  “Why are you here?” Ander said, ignoring the goblins and aiming a scowl at Finn.

  “I kept thinking about what you said,” Finn turned his gaze on Loth, “about the sorceress being the larger threat.”

  “If she can resurrect Ashendraugnir,” Loth said, “then she is more dangerous than all the orcs of the Dark Lands combined.”

  “The people of Nachtwald believe Arrom’s Rock to be haunted. Even the bravest won’t go near it. But I’ve been there, within sight of it at least. The land bridge that leads up to the fortress was destroyed in the Dreamland Wars and it would be a difficult, if not impossible, climb to reach the ruined fortress.”

  “These two witnessed something,” Loth said, “inside the mountain. Which means they were inside. They were with the sorceress...”

  “And that means,” Finn said, raising his voice, “there is another way in.”

  “Is that true?” Ander asked, fixing his gaze on the goblins.

  “Tell him what you told me.” Finn folded his arms across his chest.

  “Don’t tell them!” Retch said.

  “It’s true.” Pilfer’s was voice small and dejected. “There is another way in, a back door.”

  “Why did you tell him?” Retch howled.

  “The little one knew already.” Pilfer glared at his companion. “You told him an hour ago.”

  “Oh, right,” Retch mumbled, chewing on his sleeve.

  “If there’s a back door,” Ander said, “then our odds of getting inside have just improved. She’ll never see us coming.”

  “I wouldn’t count on that,” Loth said, “but we’ll have a better chance at least.”

  “We’ve faced worse odds.” Ander clapped his friend on the back.

  “That is all too true,” Loth agreed.

  “What about these two?”

  “The back door is opened by magic, and our friends here know the spell.” Finn took a step toward the cell doors and held up a ring of keys. “They’re coming with us.”

  The goblins faces brightened almost instantly.

  “What ‘us’?” Ander furrowed his brow. “You’re staying right here in Nachtwald. You’re lord of the city now, for Onar’s sake. Your father is at death’s gate—”

  “In case you haven’t noticed,” Finn said, turning around to face them, “they don’t need me. They don’t want me. There is nothing I can do to help Nachtwald, not that I care if the place burns to the ground, but there are many here in this city, and all across Arkirius for that matter, who don’t deserve to die.”

  He gazed at Ander and Loth, his face hard and his eyes dark as midnight. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m no hero, but this is something I can do. I can come with you and help stop Jankayla. I know the country around here better than you, and I can get you out of the castle without anyone knowing. Didn’t you say that stopping the sorceress was more important than protecting Nachtwald?”

  “I may have said something like that,” Loth said softly, his appraisal of the young lord shifting even further. He had not considered him capable of a selfless act, or risking his life in what was obviously a hopeless cause.

  “But your father—” Ander began.

  “My father doesn’t need me either.” A small note of bitterness crept into Finn’s voice. “He needs soldiers and knights, and he’s surrounded by them. What could I possibly do for my father?”

  Ander and Loth looked at each other, but neither of them spoke. There was a long moment of silence, broken quite unexpectedly by Retch, who began to sing in a high squeaky voice that was completely off-key.

  “Round and round, to Goblin Town. We eats all day, and then we play...”

  “And you think bringing these two along is a good idea?” A look of distaste twisted Ander’s features. Both of the goblins had their faces pressed against the bars now, watching them with eyes as big as dinner plates.

  “We have no choice,” Finn said. “They know where the back door is, and they know how to open it. They’re going to make sure we get inside before the sorceress can discover us.”

  “He’s right,” Loth said. “I was thinking much the same thing.”

  “Great.” Ander shook his head. “This is a wonderful plan. What could possibly go wrong?”

  * * *

  Getting the goblins out of their cells was easy enough, but Retch raised something of a fuss over his jester’s cap. After some argument Ander snatched the three-pronged hat, bells clattering, from Retch’s head and threw it down into the pit. Retch had squawked and screamed, jumping up and down, until Ander warned him that if he didn’t shut up he would throw him down in the pit as well. That had ended the matter. The goblin was sullen, but remained quiet, shuffling along behind his companion as they crept away from the relative safety of the prison tower.

  Finn led them across the ward, keeping to the shadows. The boy appeared to know where every nook and cranny was and moved from one pool of darkness to the next with quick, certain strides. At the back of the ward was a small courtyard with an open stairwell that descended to a little used cellar next to the kitchen. They went down the stairs. At the bottom a heavy wooden door stood ajar. Finn pushed it open, the door moving silently on oiled hinges.

  Inside was a large chamber, empty save for a few barrels and wooden boxes. A series of thick pillars held up the ceiling with the far end of the chamber lost in darkness. A candle was set on one of the boxes, illuminating a space near the door.

  Finn closed the door, and then turned to face the darkness. “Pssst,” he whispered. “You can come out now.”

  A figure emerged from the shadows, covered from head to foot in a gray cloak and hood. As it came forward, Loth could see that the figure carried a staff in one hand. The other hand reached up and pulled back the hood to reveal a mane of long blond hair. She shook it loose and offered them a faint smile.

  “Portia?” Ander said, his mouth dropping open. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m coming with you.” Portia said, adjusting the strap of her satchel. She was clad in traveling clothes, a dark blue dress, belted at the waist, and leather boots. Loth was suddenly struck by how small she was, and how young. The elves measured their lives in centuries. At 89 years of age Loth considered himself barely out of adolescence. The idea of this 16-year-old human girl accompanying them on their quest seemed madness. Then he looked at Finn and the two goblins fidgeting next to Ander and realized it wasn’t the worst idea they’d come up with so far.

  “You most certainly are not,” Ander said. “It’s too dangerous—”

  “You’re starting to sound like Sir Jon. What you mean is that it’s too dangerous for a woman.” Portia stuck out her chin and looked him in the eye. “You wouldn’t hesitate to send Blayde into danger.”

  “That’s different,” Ander snarled, “and you know it.”

  “I can help. You know what I can do.”

  “I know.” Ander moved forward and gripped her shoulders. “It’s just...” He hesitated. “You know how I feel. If anything happened to you—”

  “And what if something happens to you?” The two stood facing each other, their eyes locked, as if each of them could read the other’s thoughts.

  Loth glanced at Finn. The boy shrugged his shoulders.

  “Look,” Loth said, “this is probably not the best place to be having this discussion, and we don’t have time to argue.” He could see the girl’s aura shining in the dimly lit cellar, the faint patina of white light that surrounded her being. Young she may be, but there was power in her as well, and that was something.

  “I’m coming with you,” Portia said. “You need me, and you couldn’t stop me anyway.”

  “Care to put a wager on that?” Ander sighed. “Portia, I...” the Northman seemed momentarily at a loss for
words. “I... I don’t want you hurt. I couldn’t stand it if you were.”

  She smiled at him and touched his cheek. “Then you’ll just have to watch out for me, just like I’ll be watching out for you.”

  Finn ran a hand through his dark hair. “This is all very sweet, but we have to go. Now.”

  “You can be very short tempered sometimes,” Portia said.

  “The threat of certain death does that to me.” Finn moved to the cellar wall and felt along the surface, until his hand encountered a low spot. He pressed on it and a portion of the wall shifted.

  Loth pushed on the section of wall, swinging it inward to reveal a dark passage. The boy was not lying when he said he could get them out of the castle unseen.

  Finn motioned for them to follow, then disappeared into the passage with Portia following close behind. The two goblins went next and Ander, still shaking his head and muttering curses, went after them.

  Loth paused in the opening. He was thinking of Rayzer and Blayde again and felt a guilty pang at leaving them behind, abandoning them to strangers and questionable allies on the verge of war. Despite Rayzer’s objections, Loth said a small prayer to Issondenarion and Tirrambar that Blayde would wake soon, and that together they would find a way to help the city and each other. He could do nothing more. He took one last look around the cellar, but all remained still. He went into the passage and pushed the door closed behind him.

  * * *

  Portia made a quick gesture near the end of her staff and it began to glow with a soft, warm light. She smiled, obviously pleased by her effort. Finn led the way down the passage to a narrow staircase that descended deeper into the earth. At the bottom of the stairs the passage continued, then turned to the left. The air down here was stale and cold. Finn led them along for several minutes, passing openings to other tunnels on right and left before coming to a crossroads. Here he turned to the right, his footsteps certain.

  “Where does that go?” Loth said, indicating the passage on the left.

  “It leads to a door,” Finn said, pausing to look back. “A very old door.” He added, a bit nervously.

  “And what’s on the other side of it?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never been brave enough to open it.” Finn turned away and hurried on.

  The company made their way swiftly through the catacombs beneath Nachtwald. Loth guessed that they had already passed beneath the curtain wall and were moving out beneath the curve of the Alleg River. Before long they came to a gate, the bars covered in rust. Finn produced a key from his belt and unlocked it, locking it again after they were all through. As they continued the ground became sodden, and water pooled around their feet, in places up to their ankles. Loth looked up at the ceiling, thinking nervously of the river above them. He put the thought aside and hurried on.

  At last they came to the far end of the tunnel. Here a shaft rose to the ground above. Finn went up the shaft and pressed against what looked like the underside of a trap door, but the door would not budge.

  “It’s blocked,” he announced.

  “Come down,” Ander said. “Let me give it a try.”

  The big Northman climbed the ladder and braced his legs on the upper most rungs, pressing his back against the door. He grunted and heaved, pushing the trap door slowly open. Gray light flooded the shaft. Morning was near.

  “Come along,” Ander said, “quick as you can.”

  Portia extinguished the light on her staff and climbed, with Finn following close behind. The goblins came next, and Loth was the last to crawl through the opening into what looked like a burned out building on the opposite side of the river from Nachtwald. The house was in ruins. Much of it had fallen in, so that only a portion of the walls still remained standing. All around them were burned fields and barren earth. Dawn was upon them, but the sky was pale and overcast, the air hazy.

  Ander eased the trap door shut and did his best to cover it once more with debris. “It wouldn’t do for the orcs to find this. They would certainly use it to their advantage.”

  Loth sniffed the air and realized that it was not just morning mist that surrounded them—it was smoke. Indeed, the air was filled with it, thick clouds that were being driven toward them by a breeze off the water.

  “They’re burning it all, everything between the trees and the river.” Loth could hear the distant cracking of wood and almost feel the heat of the fires from where he stood.

  “Why would they do that?” Finn asked, keeping his voice low.

  “The orcs want nothing between them and the city,” Ander said, “nothing to obscure their line of sight when they attack. It’ll come soon, today most likely, tomorrow at the latest. They’ll have a hard time crossing the river, but once they’re across...” He let the thought hang in the air.

  They all stood, motionless, listening. The fog and smoke swirled around them. Loth looked to his left and saw dark shapes moving in the fog. He could hear harsh voices coming nearer. He touched Ander on the shoulder and pointed. They both crouched, using the broken wall as cover, urging Portia and Finn to follow suit. As for the goblins, they needed no urging. They cowered next to Loth, clinging to each other, and trying to make themselves as small as possible.

  The seconds ticked by and it seemed as if an entire warband passed by the burned out structure, moving slowly, their armor clinking, their hobnailed boots crushing the soil beneath their feet. When all was quiet again Loth peered over the blasted wall, but saw nothing but gray fog. The air smelled sulfurous and was difficult to breathe. It was time to move.

  He motioned to the others to follow and started forward, slipping through an opening where the wall of the house had been completely breached, and made his way swiftly over the open ground toward the woods that he knew to be ahead of him. As he went, he drew his sword, fearing that at any moment he might encounter one of the orcs, or worse yet, many of the orcs. If it came to a fight, they would be vastly outnumbered. But luck remained with him and he reached the trees without incident. Once he was under the cover of the protective boughs, he turned and looked back.

  Portia and Finn were close behind him. Finn had a dagger in his hand and was holding Portia’s arm with the other. Ander came last, driving the two goblins before him. They gathered in the shadow of a massive oak, all of them breathing hard and sweating from fear and exertion. They looked back the way they had come. The morning grew brighter and the fog and smoke began to lift. Nachtwald Castle was a vague shape in the distance and between them and it was a vast wasteland of scorched earth and smoldering ruins.

  “We were most fortunate,” Loth said, “but we’re not out of the woods yet.”

  “In fact,” Ander offered his friend a wry grin, “we’ve only just reached the woods and should get a good deal deeper into them before we are noticed.

  “Portia knows the way to Arrom’s Rock,” Finn said. “Then, it’s up to these two.”

  The two goblins paled at the mention of Arrom’s Rock.

  “We could just go home now,” Pilfer suggested. “There’s really no need—”

  “You have to show us the back door,” Ander said.

  “And how to open it,” Loth added. “And if you try to run,” he patted the bow that was slung across his back, “just remember that the elves are well known for their skill as archers.”

  Retch whined softly and chewed on his lower lip.

  “We’ll take you to the door,” Pilfer said, “but no further. We’ll show you how to get inside, but then we’re going home.”

  “Fine,” Ander said. “Now get moving. We’ve a long and dangerous road to travel, and the sooner we get there the better.”

  Chapter 17

  Durog stood atop Arrom’s Rock, looking down at his army arrayed on the ground below. A large area beneath The Rock had been cleared of trees just for this purpose. He had 30 warbands of orcs under his command, each numbering close to 200 warriors, close to 6,000 troops in all. A dozen of those warbands were the great northern
orcs, like Durog’s own clan, the Red Claw, who loved nothing better than to kill and destroy. In addition to the orcs, there were another 10 warbands of goblins, 2,000 of the hateful little buggers with a taste for mischief and violence. Not since the dark elf uprising of 872 had Arkirius seen such an army.

  Each warband comprised three groups. First were the dragmal, the veteran warriors who had seen battle on more than one occasion. These were few since goblins and orcs seldom lived long enough to amass any kind of real wisdom or experience, unless they were immensely skilled or possessed incredible luck. Durog had selected chiefs for each warband from among the dragmal, orcs he could trust, as much as he trusted any of them. The second group were the groit, the personal guard of the chiefs, sworn to protect, and if necessary, die with their commanders in battle. They were the fiercest warriors and the best armed, with iron helms and thick chain mail. They carried 8-foot-long spears and long slashing swords, making them formidable opponents. The last group was the habling, young warriors brimming with enthusiasm and bloodlust, and usually the first to die. These were lightly armored in boiled leather and carried shields, spears, and cleavers, single-edged short swords that were easy to make and good for hacking enemies into small, bloody pieces.

  Jankayla stood beside him, sleek in her black leather, her dark cloak moving restlessly in the wind atop The Rock. Her lips, painted a deep purple, were pulled back in a smile and her dark eyes surveyed the mass of soldiers and arms with cold satisfaction.

  Next to Jankayla stood Grisnal, the hump-backed dark elf half-breed looking as if he might wet himself, excited as he was by the prospect of imminent pain and death. The little wizard had demonstrated his love for violence and torture many times during the past few days and Durog was certain he would not wish to be in the dark elf’s care for any length of time.

  And then there was the wyvern. One of Grisnal’s hands rested lightly on the monster’s flank. The great winged beast stood placidly, its weight balanced on its thick back legs and its great wings furled. It stretched out its long scaly neck, its massive head drifting back and forth, nostrils flaring, as it watched the activity below. It sniffed and snorted, tasting the air with a long serpentine tongue. Perhaps the smell of orc was making it hungry again. Durog had seen the thing eat and its appetite for flesh was impressive. The beast had already consumed half the villagers taken in their raids, and yet it always seemed hungry for more.