The Alterra Histories: The Fire King

by C S Marks

  Even with advance warning, there was little the Wood-elves or the Northmen of Tuathas could do against Wrothgar’s Bödvari, and a dark cloud descended over the realms of Light as the war began in earnest.

  ~~

  As predicted, Wrothgar’s defenders swarmed Aincor’s encampment just after sunset. They met with five hundred of the most highly-trained and powerful of the ancient Light-bearers. Neither Ulca nor troll could stand before the radiance of an Èolarin warrior alight with blue-white flame, a Light far more painful and destructive to those who cannot bear the sun. The Light of an enraged Èolarin Elf will wither and blister the very skin from an Ulca, and a troll who draws too near will find itself hardening into the stone from which it was made. Aincor’s forces had little to fear from either.

  Dragons posed a far greater problem, and several of Aincor’s warriors were killed in the melee, literally cooked inside their impressive armor. Talon made a particularly impressive showing when he leaped astride the neck of one of the dragons, which, at the time, was spouting massive flames from its horned snout. Using his knowledge of dragon-lore, Talon worked a stout blade between the diamond-hard plates beneath the beast’s neck, slashing one of the great vessels there. The blood rushed forth, drenching and spraying over many of Wrothgar’s minions who had, unfortunately, rallied around the great beast.

  Talon watched in fascinated horror as the Ulcas, whose skin was already festering with sores and ulcerations, reacted to the dragon’s blood as though it were liquid fire. Their flesh seemed to dissolve, sending up poisonous tendrils of green vapor. Talon knew then that this dragon’s blood was deadly poison—a rarity, but not unheard of. The conflict had now reached a whole new level of difficulty.

  The dragon writhed and screamed, reaching forward with clawed wings to tear away its attacker. Talon hung on as best he could, but the wildly thrashing beast, now slick with its own blood, was too much for him. As he fell, he sliced his right hand open on one of the razor-like spines. Talon hit the ground running, for he knew the beast would not long keep its feet. It crashed sideways in a roiling mass of dying flesh and bloody scales, still sending forth a last burst of flame.

  Talon saw that even Aincor had taken notice of his bravery, raising a hand to him in congratulation, but the heat of battle was on him and he could not approach. Talon grimaced, knowing he was gravely wounded, the dragon-venom burning slowly up his right arm. His slashed hand was stained with dragon’s blood, and the wound was deep.

  From out of nowhere one of the wagon-drivers appeared beside him, grabbing his other arm. “Follow me if you would live,” he said, pulling Talon from the fray. “Where does the burning end?” asked the driver, breathless beneath the hood hiding his face. He held Talon’s right arm, extending it.

  “Here,” gasped Talon, who nearly doubled over from pain, indicating his right forearm, near the elbow. The poison was working its way up the arm with frightening speed.

  The driver opened the scaled leather armor with a practiced stroke of a keen blade, took a firm grip on Talon’s right wrist, muttering “Forgive me…” and slashed down with all his might. It was not a clean cut and Talon howled in surprised agony, pulling back with all his strength. The driver muttered a curse, twisting Talon’s arm at the elbow, slicing through the tough cords and strips of meat that still bound it. Another slash, and the arm came free in a tangle of gristle and glistening white sinew. Unfortunately, there was also a veritable fountain of blood. Talon remained on his feet for a few astonished seconds before sinking to his knees, the color draining from his face.

  “Be still!” hissed the driver, encircling the stump with a stout strap in an attempt to stop the alarming flow. Talon sank all the way to the ground then, his teeth chattering, his eyes rolled back, as the driver screamed for aid in bearing him from the field. Talon’s last thought before the darkness took him was that the voice had sounded…feminine, somehow.

  ~~

  Wrothgar called back his forces, sending an evil wind out over the battlefield. It reeked like a stinking, frozen marsh, and it dimmed even the Elves’ light as it enveloped them, carrying a message to the Dark Army. (Fall Back. Fall Back to the Fortress...) With the exception of a few particularly thick-headed trolls, Wrothgar’s legions withdrew, leaving the Elven host only a little diminished. Still, there were casualties.

  Faelani stood watching from the shadows as Talon clung to life, his powerful body trembling like a new-born lamb’s, gripped in a deadly chill. The healers had sealed the vessels of his arm, searing the stump with hot iron so they could remove the strap from around it. They were now trying to warm him with draughts of steaming hot liquor laced with healing herbs. He drank, but the fiery brew was not enough to warm him for more than a few minutes. Faelani knew that he had lost too much blood. She also knew from the yellowish cast to his face that some of the dragon-venom had managed to enter despite her drastic effort, and he was doomed.

  Talon’s eyes flickered left and right, as though searching for something or someone. Before Faelani could fully withdraw he spotted her, and whispered something to one of the healers. She knew it was no use trying to hide—the healer had risen to his feet already and was now beckoning to her. She looked down at her torn, filthy clothing and hoped it would continue to conceal her identity. Her dark green hood still obscured her face as she approached Talon.

  “Your name, wagon-driver,” he whispered.

  Faelani drew deeper into her green hood. “Thayel”, she said in a forced, odd voice, as though attempting to sound gruff. One of the healers smiled. Thayel was obviously trying to sound older and more mature than he was.

  Faelani knelt at Talon’s side. “Leave us!” she said to the healers, in a voice perhaps too commanding considering “Thayel’s” youth and inexperience. “These are to be private words.”

  Faelani extended a slim, beautiful hand, smoothing the hair back from Talon’s face, noting with dismay how cold it was. Talon’s eyelids twitched, then slowly opened, revealing stormy grey eyes now dull with approaching death. They locked on Thayel, searching beneath the hood, as Talon’s left hand reached forward and slipped beneath it. When it fell back, it gripped a long lock of beautiful hair…Faelani’s hair.

  “My Queen!” cried Talon in a weak and failing voice. “You should not have come here. The King does not know you ride with us. You must…you must tell him!”

  “Hush,” said Faelani, glancing about to make certain no one had overheard. “Talon, I ride to protect my beloved. I know of Léiras’ vision, and I have come to make certain it does not come to pass. The King is being deceived—I just know it. If I can come to him at the right time, perhaps I can sway him from this course. No one else can…of that I’m sure.”

  “But, my lady…”

  “Hush! You must not tell him, Talon, as you love him, as you love me, you must not!” She placed a warm, soothing hand on the side of his neck, tears starting in her eyes. His heartbeat was so weak now…racing, but weak. He was dying. “Remember, Brave One, and keep our secret,” she whispered.

  She gasped, startled by a hand on her shoulder—a hand she knew well. Aincor had approached unheard. “I understand I owe you the life of my Captain,” he said. “Thank you for your service. When we return to Tal-elathas, I will reward you properly. Now, if you will pardon me, I wish to speak to my friend alone.”

  Faelani drew in a panicked breath, turning quickly away and tucking back the long lock of hair Talon had revealed. “Yes, my lord,” she mumbled in her false, gravelly voice. Aincor had not heard her words to Talon. If Aincor did not discover her, and if Talon kept her secret, all would be well.

  “Why do you turn away and not show the proper respect to your King?” said Aincor, though his tone was still gentle. “You have neither bowed before me nor acknowledged my thanks. I shall have to instruct you if you are to be employed in my court on our return.”

  Faelani bowed low, disguising her voice once more. “Forgive me, my lord. I am weary from grief, for m
y efforts have been in vain. I’m afraid the Captain is dying.” She backed away, her body still bowed, then stood tall, taking care to keep her hood low across her face. She retreated without showing Aincor the discourtesy of turning her back to him. For once she was thankful for his tendency to look past, over, and through other people.

  ~~

  Aincor knelt beside his friend and roused him. Talon smiled when he beheld the King’s face. “I killed a dragon...does that make me worthy to stand at your right hand?” he whispered.

  “Ever have you done so,” said Aincor, his deep voice washing over Talon like a gentle blanket of comfort. “You must rest now, for your strength is in doubt. I shall need you with me for the last assault.” At this his eyes filled with sorrow, for he knew his Captain would not stand beside him again.

  Talon struggled with the secret that had been revealed to him. Faelani, the Queen, was here. Aincor did not know that she stood in harm’s way. He could not keep such a thing from his King—his closest friend—no matter the Queen’s desire. He knew he had only moments to live…only one chance to speak.

  “My King…I am torn…the Queen, Queen Faelani…” a black tunnel began to close before his eyes, and his ears rang and hissed as he fought to remain aware. “Faelani…Faelani…”

  Aincor then did a very rare thing indeed. He shed a tear of grief for his dying friend, saying, “Faelani is safe, Talon. She is safe in Tal- elathas. You need not fear for her.” When he next looked into Talon’s eyes, all life had left them.

  Aincor sighed. He was touched by Talon’s concern for Faelani. No doubt the Captain had loved her, and Aincor could not fault him for that. Everyone loved Faelani. Aincor gently closed the eyelids of one of the most stalwart warriors ever to draw a blade, and then went to see to other affairs. Soon he would trap Wrothgar and his pathetic minions like rats in a storm drain.

  He rose to his feet, turning to behold Vathan standing behind him. “I’m sorry about Talon,” he muttered. “He was almost as fierce a fighter as his King.”

  “He loved your sister,” said Aincor. “He died speaking her name.” “Yes, I heard. And what will you do now?”

  “I will prepare our strategy for the assault on the Pale Fortress, which I intend to mount before the sun sets again. The Shadowmancer called back his army even before the dawn. He’s either up to something, or he is even more fearful than I had hoped. He must realize that he cannot win.”

  “No doubt,” said Vathan, shaking his head. He had no time to argue with Aincor, for there was someone else he needed to see.

  ~~

  Vathan found Faelani tending to her gear. She had intentionally placed her supply wagon and horses as far from the front as possible to make an encounter with either Aincor or Asgar less likely. Vathan, who had known of her subterfuge from the beginning, had aided her in avoiding them. Vathan’s own son, Aldamar, was a great friend of Prince Asgar. At his father’s direction, Aldamar had kept Asgar away from the supply wagons. This had not been difficult, as being farther away from the fighting was the last thing on Asgar’s mind.

  “Begging your pardon, Thayel, but I would speak with you.”

  Faelani turned to behold her brother, taking notice of his serious expression. “Talon is dead, isn’t he?” she ventured in a soft, sad voice, her eyes downcast. Then she looked up again, her face anxious. “Did he…did he reveal…?”

  “No, sister, he did not,” said Vathan, raising a hand to quiet her. “But not for lack of trying. He simply died before he could manage it. You were fortunate…I suppose.”

  “What do you mean, you suppose?” said Faelani, at once relieved and uncertain. “If Aincor finds me here now, he will most likely have me escorted back to Tal-elathas in chains. My presence must only be made known to him at the proper time.” She looked away, as though she knew her words made little sense.

  “And when, precisely, might that be?” asked Vathan, knowing that she had no idea. “I still don’t understand what motivated you to come here. You tried to dissuade him before the army set forth. You honestly believe you will convince him to back down now that he has what he believes to be certain victory within his grasp?” Vathan shook his head in exasperation. “As IF!”

  “I…I don’t know why I came, Vathan. I didn’t want him to face this doom without me. If you could have heard Léiras’ pronouncement…that my beloved will bear such profound sorrow as the world has never known?”

  “Léiras shared this with you?” muttered Vathan in disbelief. “Well, no wonder you felt compelled to follow the Fire-heart, then. I wish I had Léiras here now. I’d wring his scrawny neck for him.”

  “Vathan! You speak blasphemy!” whispered Faelani, shocked at her brother’s words. “And I doubt you would be successful. The magic-users have power they have not revealed to us.”

  “If they are so powerful, then why don’t they use that power against the Shadowmancer instead of sending a proud, self-important, deluded fool like Aincor to do their work for them?” muttered Vathan. He saw the horrified look on Faelani’s face, and relented.

  “I’m sorry, my dear. I know you love him with all your soul. But this has just been…it’s just been too easy. Tomorrow the Fire-heart intends to invade the stronghold itself. I’ll be going with him. You have no hope of convincing him otherwise, and all you will do at this point is make him angry and afraid for you. Has it not occurred to you that this profound sadness Léiras spoke of might result from your death? That perhaps the best way to save him from it is for you to return home where you will be safe? He has been fighting like the reckless dragon-warrior he is, believing that you will be safe no matter the outcome. If you reveal your presence here, you might change his fortunes, and not for the better! What if he holds back, or is distracted out of concern for you?”

  Faelani faltered. “I…I don’t know. I’m not sure!” Her eyes welled over with tears. “I only know that my life-mate and my elder son are descending into the heart of the most evil place in all the world,” she cried. “And you want me to turn away and leave?”

  “I want you to promise to stay here, at least,” said Vathan, looking around anxiously, hoping that Faelani had not been overheard. This last outburst had been quite loud. “Now, lower your voice, unless you want the decision to be made for you.” He released a long, pent-up breath. “You do realize that if Aincor finds us together and knows I have kept this from him he will probably cut my throat for treason, don’t you? If he knew of the wind-walkers, he’d cut it twice!”

  “Once will be enough, I think,” came a deep, threatening, unmistakable voice from behind the tall wagon. Aincor appeared, his face as dark as a thundercloud. He had apparently followed Vathan out of curiosity. “Wind-walkers? And who, or what, are they? It’s no use trying to lie to me…neither of you has ever been able to do so without my knowing it.”

  “Please, beloved…do not blame Vathan. I forced him to keep my secret. I just…I just wanted to be here with you, to watch over you and Asgar.”

  “Have you so little confidence in me that you believe I need you to watch over me in battle?” said Aincor, his anger still quite evident. “And do you also believe me incapable of keeping our son from harm?”

  “It’s not always about you, is it? You cannot be everywhere at once,” said Faelani. “Asgar is anxious to prove himself, and he is nearly as reckless as his father. Another pair of watchful eyes couldn’t hurt…” She cringed inwardly, knowing how weak and unconvincing her argument sounded.

  “You were actually on the battlefield last night. You pulled Talon from the fray! He spoke your name because…because he wanted to tell me you were here!” He looked away. “How could I have been so easily misled? You stood within striking distance of dragons and trolls. You could have been stricken down, and I would not even have known it?” The anger in his eyes was slowly overcome by a dawning fear. He could lose his only love—could lose her at any moment. He felt suddenly unmanned. “I cannot speak of this now.”

  He
turned then to Vathan, and the anger returned. “Explain to me ‘wind- walkers’.”

  Vathan knew he had to tell Aincor the truth, to reveal that he had sent messengers to their allies. “They had to be warned! I’m quite certain the wind-walkers left without anyone’s observing them. They have been specially trained. Wrothgar would not have known.”

  “Oh, you are so certain?” said Aincor with barely controlled fury. “The only fact which will now save your life is that the Shadowmancer was so poorly prepared for our assault. Even I—proud, self-important, deluded fool that I am—expected a more difficult fight. Your disobedience has, thankfully, caused us little harm. But that will not save you from punishment. You are stripped of your title and your rank. You are banished from this army, and will be taken back to Tal-elathas in shame. I shall have you bound and imprisoned in this supply wagon to await the outcome of the battle. Your sister will also remain here so that I need not be concerned for her welfare.” He turned to Faelani. “Do you understand?”

  Every syllable was spat forth as though he would strike her with it. He meant every word. “I understand,” she said.

  “Promise me you will not leave the encampment,” said Aincor, looking her firmly in the eye.

  “I will stay in the encampment.”

  “You won’t leave it. Promise me.”

  “I promise,” said Faelani, her head hung in defeat.

  Part Five

  In the depths of his pale tower, Lord Wrothgar prepared to receive his enemy. The Fire-heart and his army would break though his defenses soon, but that did not dismay him. The most powerful and ruthless Elven warrior ever to draw breath was, in all likelihood, expecting to stand defiant before his very throne…but that was of little concern.

  Not often on the eve of battle is one so certain of victory, yet Wrothgar was certain. His plans had been well laid, his armies well positioned. The Enlightened Peoples of Alterra had been lulled, beguiled, and misled, and now they fought desperately to defend themselves. Aincor, the mightiest of them all, would most certainly fail to prevent the Dark Uprising from overwhelming all the western lands. Such grand plans had a price, and Wrothgar expected to pay a heavy one—he would need to tear apart the very fabric of his own existence.