Rise of Dachwald (Boxed Set, Books 1 through 2)

by Lawlis, Daniel

“But after the loss of my family, that was when I realized that no matter how low the odds of success or how great the odds of failure and painful death, I was going to make a wholehearted effort to get back at that monster. The reason I stopped by was to free you from this prison and take you back to Donive. After that, I’ll be on my own. If you want my advice, take Donive and run south, east, or west—anywhere but north. The Vechengschaft and the Moscorians, as we speak, are about to cut right through the last remaining Sodorfian soldiers between the border and the City of Sodorf. Soon, the City of Sodorf will be the last ‘safe’ place in Sodorf, and even that will be under siege, probably unable to withstand the military might of Dachwald for more than a few weeks. Just tell me where you would like me to take you, and I’ll do it. Then, I’m on my own. I’m not sure how I will go about opposing Tristan, but I’ll try.”

  “I know Tristan has great ability with magic, but how strong is his military? You talk about him crushing his way through thousands of Sodorfian soldiers . . . what gives him his advantage? The Sodorfians always seemed weak to me . . . but how can the difference be that great?”

  “The Sodorfians are not the most militant people, and the Dachwaldians seem to have a martial spirit not overly hard to kindle. But that’s not the only advantage they have. Several centuries after the defeat of Dachwald, some of the brightest Moscorian engineers came up with a lethal weapon. The Moscorians have practiced with it for centuries and have completely mastered it. It is called a fishing mace. It is like a regular ball and chain mace except the ball is attached to a fifty-foot chain tightly wound up inside the handle, where the end of the chain attaches to a compressed spring that can stretch up to twenty feet. The Moscorian engineers spent decades perfecting the design. They found the right balance of spring length and chain length to enable the wielder of the weapon to send a steel, spike-covered ball flying across a long distance into the enemy. As the enemy gets closer, the fishing mace can be flicked back and forth faster. From close range it can be flicked back and forth once per second. The Vechengschaft is becoming more and more adept at wielding this instrument of death, and it was for that reason that the Dachwaldians suffered almost no casualties in their last two battles.”

  Pitkins tried to visualize the weapon.

  “I would like to see this weapon in action. Every weapon, no matter how powerful, no matter how deadly, can be countered. I would have to see it in action to truly have an understanding of how it works.”

  They talked some more, and the pholung went into great detail concerning the cunning ambush Tristan had laid and eliminated about eighty percent of the Sodorfian army in a single battle.

  “Pholung, I can’t stay angry with you. You’re repentant, and you’re risking your life just by talking to me. Will Tristan spare civilians?”

  “Ha!” the pholung exclaimed. “You don’t know Tristan at all. Tristan will focus on military targets first, but, unless someone stops him, Donive and everyone else in Sodorf will be doomed. Tristan plans to wipe out the Sodorfian race. For a short time, he will keep those healthy and strong enough to assist his troops with digging for pheorite and making weapons of war, but even these Sodorfians would not last more than a month or two. Not even the prettiest Sodorfian women will stand a chance. Tristan has strict rules forbidding Dachwaldians from having relations with Sodorfian women—to him this would be tantamount to bestiality.”

  Pitkins could think of no reason for Tristan to send the bird as a spy; after all, what danger was he, alone in the dark, in a deep pit that he could never climb out of? He trusted the bird. Maybe he shouldn’t. But he did. As he listened to the pholung go into more and more detail concerning the atrocities Tristan had already committed, not only in this war, but in previous wars, and the fact that those paled in comparison to those that were coming, Pitkins grew more and more angry. In his mind he had a vision. He saw Donive, and she was helpless.

  Three Dachwaldian soldiers were holding her down. No matter how hard she struggled, it was simply no use. “What should we cut off of this pretty Sodorfian animal first?” one of the men asked.

  “Let’s start with her pretty hair, and then we’ll go to her feet!” one of the ghastly Dachwaldians answered.

  Pitkins’ blood had now reached boiling point. “NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!” he suddenly screamed with an intensity that he had never felt in his entire life. A volcano of emotions finally erupted. The darkness, isolation, separation from Donive, the horrible fate which awaited her. They were too much. He let them all out in a terrifying shout that nearly rattled the walls.

  “Pholung, I give you my word that if you help me escape and take me back to Sogolia, I will raise an army the likes of which Tristan has never seen! You are not talking to some Sodorfian bumpkin. In my old country, Sogolia, I was known as Sir Pitkins III, a descendant from a long line of legendary generals. I was a general in the Sogolian army, in charge of Sogolia’s most elite soldiers—the Nikorians—and I know war. I have seen fields drenched in blood and covered with corpses, and in every battle that I have fought, the majority of the blood came from the enemy! About nine years ago, a Sogolian merchant furious because I had refused to allow his son into the Nikorians in exchange for bribe money framed me for treason, forging letters which discussed murdering the king, and put my seal on them, which he had stolen. The penalty for treason was usually death, but the king knew that to put to death a general of my reputation would risk civil war. He decided on a somewhat lesser punishment: exile. Sworin, a lifelong friend, and also a general in the Sogolian army, knew beyond any doubt I was innocent. He was the one person whom I told where I was headed when I left Sogolia, planning never to look back on that accursed place. One of my childhood tutors was Sodorfian. She started speaking to me in Sodorfian when I was an infant and continued doing so. From the age of five, she began formal lessons and continued teaching me her language until I attained native fluency, so when I was exiled, Sodorf was where I decided to go. Only one year after I left, Sworin came to me in Sodorf.

  Arnog, the coward who framed me, had been caught red-handed trying the same scheme against another rival. In that case, the rival was a wealthy merchant, and Arnog—also a rich merchant—wanted to get rid of his competitor, and so he figured that framing him for treason with a forged letter bearing the victim’s stolen seal would be the best way. Unfortunately for him, his would-be victim, named Rehder, happened to be married to a Metinvur. My people and the Metinvurs have a long history of warfare, but it is not illegal for a Sogolian to marry a Metinvur, although it is a bit controversial. Anyway, as you probably know, Metinvurs are second to none when it comes to espionage. Rehder’s wife had her Metinvurian brother find out where Arnog kept the stolen seal, which he accomplished in less than a week by bribing a dissatisfied housemaid to allow him to come in and snoop around one day while Arnog was at a local brothel, and then he mailed an anonymous letter to the royal prosecutor informing him that Arnog was behind the frame-up and informing him precisely where the stolen seal was kept. The prosecutor had Arnog’s house searched, and that was when both Rehder’s and my stolen seals were discovered. In fact, several other powerful people’s stolen seals were found there, some of whom had been previously exiled or executed as a result of Arnog’s schemes and others that were probably going to suffer the same fate sooner or later. Arnog was summarily hanged.

  “This brought a call for the reopening of my case, the result being I was acquitted in absentia. There was an investigation to find out where I had gone to so I could receive the crown’s most sincere apologies and be reinstated as general of the Nikorians. Sworin, true to his promise to me, kept silent as to my whereabouts, feigning ignorance. However, he left Sogolia, disguised as a wandering merchant, and tracked me down in Sodorf. He showed me the judicial order declaring me innocent and the king’s written order reinstating me as general of the Nikorians whenever—if ever—I returned to Sogolia. I wasn’t interested. I had had enough of Sogolia’s politics.

  “I wa
sn’t looking for love when I met Donive. But the first time I saw her from a distance, I felt something powerful for her. After our first dance, I was hopelessly in love. When we were married, I was so happy to have her by my side nothing else mattered. It had been years since my first wife had died. She was the first and, until Donive, the only love of my life. She died at the hands of an assassin sent by the Metinvurs, who, as you may know, live north of Sogolia and west of Dachwald. The Metinvurs are formidable warriors, but their specialty long ago became assassinations and espionage because they were rarely our equal in open combat. My family members had a price on their head—as did I. I had been successful in so many battles against the Metinvurs there were naturally many Metinvurian assassins looking for me. I had survived several assassination attempts at their hands, so they decided to kill my wife instead. That was another reason I had no interest in returning back to Sogolia. Living in Sodorf gave me hope that if I fell in love with someone again her life would not be cut short by an assassin’s blade. But it seems my destiny is warfare.

  “I know Tristan has an army that seems unconquerable to the Sodorfians, but over a thousand years ago, the Dachwaldians ruled over Sogolia for a brief time. The Sogolians have always been a noble, stouthearted people, and we were not willing to accept such servitude. After a long, brutal struggle, the Sogolians managed to force the Dachwaldians out of Sogolia, pushing them northwards back into Metinvur, which the Dachwaldians had conquered before they conquered us, and about a hundred years after that the Metinvurs managed to push the Dachwaldians back into Dachwald. A large mountain range separates Metinvur from Dachwald, and once the Metinvurs pushed the Dachwaldians across it and back into Dachwald, the Dachwaldians were never successful at recrossing. This was good in that it kept my people at a comfortable distance from Dachwald . . . but the Metinvurs are just as vicious and warlike as the Dachwaldians, so my people were forced to engage in frequent wars against them. Nonetheless, Dachwaldian cruelty was remembered, and it was frequently taught in history classes in Sogolia. To the day I left Sogolia—and I doubt much has changed—the Sogolians remembered the Dachwaldians as our former oppressors, our archenemy. It was just a couple centuries after the Metinvurs pushed them back into Dachwald that Sodorf and Dachwald fought the Seven Years War.

  “I became even more convinced that I never wanted to return when I married Donive, but now I see that my destiny is to fight. Even if this is for the last time. Pholung, I give you my word. If you help me escape, I will try to save Sodorf from destruction and help you destroy Tristan.”

  “I’m moved by your desire to stand up against this evil, and I’m happy you’re willing to forgive me for the evil that I have done against you. I would like to think that I, like you, have been given by destiny some role to play in this cataclysmic struggle. Of course, I’ll help you. However, I do have just one condition . . . .”

  “Speak,” said Pitkins.

  “I am a pholung, but my name is not Pholung!! My name is Istus!”

  Pitkins couldn’t stop the smile that spread over his face. “Alright, Istus, get me the Uchinweld out of this pit!” he said laughing.

  Pitkins heard only the slightest disruption of the air as Istus glided down into the pit.

  “You can get on my back, or I can carry you. Given the sharpness of my claws, I’d recommend my back!” Istus said. “But, first, I have something for you.”

  Pitkins felt something large and heavy being handed to him. It was pitch black, but he could recognize the shape and weight of that sword anywhere.

  “CARLOS!” he exclaimed.

  “My first act of rebellion wasn’t helping you. The night I carried you in here I found your sword when I was cleaning out the room you had stayed in, and it piqued my curiosity unbearably. I hid it deep in the forest, inside a small hollow area atop one of the tallest trees. I occasionally asked the other pholungs if they had ever heard of such a name—without telling them the reason for my question—and they hadn’t. Something told me not to give it to Tristan.”

  “This sword has been passed down for over a hundred generations. According to my father, the legend is that a people far to the west of our country once sought shelter in our country due to a combination of famine and enemy invasion of their homeland. The Sogolians helped them, and their king gave the Nikorian general this sword as a token of appreciation. According to the legend, it has ever since been the honor of the Nikorian general to bear this sword. I tried to give it to Sworin when I was exiled, but he refused. We nearly went to blows. I told him tradition demanded it be with the new general of the Nikorians. Sworin told me I was the true general of the Nikorians, that an unjustly imposed exile could not strip away my right and my duty to bear the sword. Furthermore, he told me he knew one day I would come back. I thought he was a fool.

  “I threw it on the ground in front of him and walked away. My first night after leaving Sogolia, I discovered the sword with my belongings. It had a note attached to it: ‘It’s yours. You’ll be back one day.’ To return to Sogolia would have put me under a death sentence and could have resulted in civil war, due to the Nikorians being on my side still, so I couldn’t go back to return him the sword. And I couldn’t abandon the sword.

  “I tried again to give it to him when Sworin visited me to tell me my name had been cleared and that I was welcome to not only come back but to be reinstated as the general of the Nikorians, but he refused to take it. He told me again, ‘I know you’ll be back one day.’”

  Pitkins paused.

  “Sounds like he was right,” said Istus. “And it’s a good thing I didn’t bring that sword to Tristan. Tristan is a master historian and knows thousands of legends to the last detail. I had never heard of this Sogolian legend, but I don’t doubt for a moment Tristan would have, and he would have known immediately you’re not really a Sodorfian.”

  “Luck appears to be on our side, Istus. Let’s get moving before it does.”

  Pitkins got on top of Istus’s back and held on tightly to his feathers. Istus was enormous. As he flew Pitkins out of the pit, Pitkins felt a surge of euphoria unlike any he had ever experienced in his entire life. He had only been a prisoner once before this. It was after a battle the Sogolians had lost, but he was only imprisoned for a mere two weeks before being rescued by the Nikorians. As bad as he thought that had been, it was nothing compared to the mental anguish and suffering he had endured in this dark hellhole for many months. Never had he even thought possible such anguish.

  Before Istus even began to fly out of the hole, Pitkins suddenly asked, “Istus, I need you to tell me something, but I want you to know your answer won’t affect my promise to help you destroy Tristan. Do you know for sure if Donive is still alive, and does she still think I am alive? Does she still love me?”

  “Yes, yes, and yes. She’s nearly the only person who believes you didn’t abandon her on purpose. I’ve heard her at night talking in her sleep, saying, ‘No, the dream, the dream. He’s going to come back. He’s going to save you.’”

  Pitkins felt a chill going down his spine as her heard these words. He remembered the dream she had told him about the day he proposed to her inside the hollowed-out bowels of the monstrous tree on her father’s property.

  “I’m amazed at her love for you. Not even Fritzer still believes in you: he thinks you’re either dead or simply abandoned Donive. He’s never told Donive this directly, because he knows it would break her already shattered heart into even more pieces, but she’s no fool—she knows he’s lost hope. Even before I made the decision to betray Tristan, I found her unconditional belief in you inspiring. Sometimes Tristan was so intimidating that I didn’t even feel safe with my own wife. I thought everyone was a spy and would turn me in if I told them what I really felt about that monster. Until now I never had the guts, and yet my dear wife and children were cruelly taken from me all the same. I realize now that the pholungs’ fear and mutual distrust of each other are the main reasons Tristan can rule over us. If
even one forty determined pholungs joined together, we could kill that snake. Tristan’s powerful but not invincible.”

  Pitkins felt another wave of euphoria spread over him upon hearing Donive was not only alive but still believed in him. This added to the pressure he was already feeling. Determination and fear of failure were colliding inside of him like thousand-pound boulders smashing into one another at the bottom of a cliff. He knew success would depend upon channeling this energy into action.

  “If I’m to truly have a chance of defeating the the Moscorians, I’m gonna have to see the tactics and weaponry I’ll face in battle. It’ll be a sad sight, but my only chance for figuring out a way to counter their strategies and weaponry. The Metinvurs one time caught my soldiers off guard. Three years had passed without any armed conflict. Our king naively believed the Metinvurs wanted peace. What they were doing was improving their weaponry and tactics. When they attacked, we were nearly defenseless. We lost several bloody battles. But our army figured out a way to beat them, and in the end we were a better army because of it.”

  “Well, in that case, you’re in luck,” Istus responded. “There’ll be a battle anytime now. I was hoping to take you straight to Sogolia though for several reasons, the chief of which being if Tristan happens to notice us flying around, our odds of defeating him will plummet. He’ll know he has at least one traitorous pholung, and he’ll probably know you represent a grave threat to him, one that must be attended before all others. He’ll immediately proceed to have all other pholungs track our every movement. If he does, he’ll quickly find out not only where you are from, but also that he has a huge threat to deal with from the west. If he finds out about this, he’ll move quicker than ever to crush the City of Sodorf, even if his army suffers heavy losses in the process. Right now, he’s fighting methodically, isolating groups of Sodorfians one at a time and then ambushing them, wiping them out without hardly suffering a casualty.