The Chronicles of Lumineia: Book 03 - Seven Days

by Ben Hale

  Seven Days

  By Ben Hale

  Text Copyright © 2012 Ben Hale

  All Rights Reserved

  To my family and friends, who believed.

  And to my wife, who is perfect.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue: The Unseen List

  —Day 1—

  Chapter 1: Defiant

  Chapter 2: Plague

  Chapter 3: Silver Mine

  Chapter 4: The East Tunnel

  —Day 2—

  Chapter 5: Behind the Lines

  Chapter 6: A Mother's Love

  Chapter 7: Pride

  Chapter 8: Master and Servant

  Chapter 9: Imprisoned

  —Day 3—

  Chapter 10: The Sweeper

  Chapter 11: The Deep

  Chapter 12: Healing and Remembering

  Chapter 13: Unbound

  Chapter 14: Deep Dragon

  —Day 4—

  Chapter 15: Breach

  Chapter 16: Reinforcements

  Chapter 17: Family

  Chapter 18: Allies

  —Day 5—

  Chapter 19: Choice and Consequence

  Chapter 20: The Gates of Azertorn

  Chapter 21: Council of Fire

  Chapter 22: Plan of Sacrifice

  —Day 6—

  Chapter 23: Healing

  Chapter 24: Retreat

  Chapter 25: Heaven's Might

  Chapter 26: Parting of the Ways

  Chapter 27: Secrets

  —Day 7—

  Chapter 28: The Essence of Fire

  Chapter 29: Diversion

  Chapter 30: Hope's End

  Chapter 31: Xshaltheria

  Chapter 32: The Power of Peace

  Chapter 33: An Oracle's Stand

  Chapter 34: Mirror's Edge

  Chapter 35: A Light in the Dark

  Epilogue: From the Ashes

  Author Bio

  Prologue: The Unseen List

  "Did we do it?" Mazer asked.

  "I believe so," Ianna said with a sigh, opening her eyes. The future was rarely clear, but in this case she felt marginally confident that their effort would lead to success. She took a slow breath, steadying the swirling images until the dim cave that had become their home came into focus. It still surprised her at the sense of freedom that permeated the place, contrasting sharply with what she had felt at the Oracle's home.

  Mazer flashed a loving grin as he sank into a seat across from her. "Have I ever told you that your farsight is incredible?"

  "More than once," she said, smiling.

  "Do you think Siarra will be as talented?"

  She shook her head, her smile turning wry. "As I have been gifted with enchanting and farsight, she will be gifted with power. I'm afraid the future will not be as clear for her as it has been to me."

  "I am sure that will be frustrating for her."

  She gave a low laugh, wishing she could have spent more time with her fiery daughter. Although she had not realized it at the time, her departure with Mazer had been the first of eleven tasks revealed in her visions.

  Ambiguous, shifting, and unreliable, farsight was a unique ability of Oracles. Fortunately for the races of Luminiea she had been gifted with a greater portion of the skill, and her dreams had lead to the list. Eleven items, each more difficult than the last, comprised their efforts to prepare Lumineia for the second Draeken war. Collectively, they would give the world its sole chance at survival.

  She shuddered as she remembered the images of the bloody battle at Azertorn. Death would touch the life of every soul in every kingdom—in just the span of seven days. Even if the races were compelled to gather, would they be capable of setting aside their traditions of hatred? Would they stand united as one people? Even with her ability she did not know the answer.

  But their efforts would provide a sliver of hope if they did.

  "Do you really think the thief will be able to get it?" Mazer asked, crossing out number nine on the parchment in front of him. "We could barely get in."

  "Siarra will die without it, so I certainly hope so," she replied, returning her mind to the present.

  He grunted. "I still wish we could have killed the guildmaster. That one has hurt more people than I would care to think about."

  Ianna smiled at him, grateful that he was by her side—and grateful that she could feel such love. It was not something she had thought was in her future. As brief as their time together would be, she did not regret her choice.

  He gestured to the list. "Next we forge the weapon." Then his expression tightened as he met her eyes. "Are you sure you are ready to do this? We just got back from Nine."

  "I will have to be. We have less than a month before my magic begins to fade."

  He swallowed against his concern and nodded. "What do you need?"

  She settled into a comfortable position and motioned towards the opening of the cave. "First close the door. Let's not be caught this close to the end."

  As he rolled the large stone into place she flicked her hand towards the fire pit. The flame blossomed into view as the natural daylight was cut off, and shadows danced on the walls of the small space.

  "What next?" Mazer asked, returning to his seat in front of her.

  She took a slow breath. "Now I need your sword."

  Without hesitation he drew the long katsana from his back and passed it to her. "Is there something I can do while you work?"

  "You can start on Eleven."

  His gaze dropped to the list, his eyebrows pulling together. "I have to admit that I have never understood that one."

  Recalling the vision that had lead to the final two tasks, she murmured, "Two will fight on two ends of the earth. One will wield a weapon. The other will wield his mind. The first must be forged. The last must be fashioned." She shrugged. "We know The Weapon will be our future son, and The Mind will lead the defenses at Azertorn."

  "So how does one fashion the mind of someone who has not been born?"

  Her smile evaporated as she remembered the clarity of that prophecy. Although she did not know his name, she did know what the boy would bear. But his leadership and intelligence would slumber forever without the right opportunity. She felt a shiver touch her, knowing what the young man would have to endure because of them. They would put him on the course to war, and the burden of so many lives would be supreme. The understanding that it was necessary didn't alleviate her guilt. Reluctantly, she said, "Young minds are crafted through play,"

  "So he just needs the right game."

  Day 1

  Chapter 1: Defiant

  With fire streaming behind the great phoenix that he rode, Newhawk soared above the plateau. As the first wave of spears struck the cliff, his magically enhanced voice thundered over the joined races.

  "People of Lumineia, for millennia we have fought each other. By magic and the sword we have slain our neighbors, for they were our foes. Today that enmity dies. Today we stand as allies!"

  Dwarves raised their swords beside orcs, humans mingled as one people, and even dark elves stood next to light. As the surviving population of their world, a million souls stood in defiance of Draeken's legions. To a man they knew it was not enough.

  "As one, we have gathered against the endless night! United, we will withstand the dark!"

  A tremor shivered through the plateau as another salvo of black shafts sank into the cliff. Launched by giant skorpian fiends, the missiles soared from their tails until they pummeled the plateau. Few reached the top of the thousand foot cliff. The rest embedded into the rock face, quivering from the impact.

 
"Hold the line! Prove your valor! Defend the light!"

  A flood of black, human-shaped fiends swarmed up the cliff. With their manes shimmering red and their teeth bared in vicious snarls, the quare surged upward, bounding from spear to spear as they sought to reach the top.

  "We. Will. Not. Fail!"

  The warcry of the great phoenix pierced the morning, and his challenge galvanized the army to raise their weapons and scream against their fear. Pounding their shields, the din vibrated the air and shook the ground with its power. Bellowing the battle cries of their disparate nations, all life on Lumineia braced for the assault.

  ***

  Commander Braon watched the attack through the large magical map, and couldn’t suppress the shimmer of fear as Newhawk's words ended. Only Braon and those in the room bore witness to the bombardment in its entirety. Behind him, the others swallowed and shifted, muttering bleak prayers for salvation.

  Although only fifteen, Braon had been placed in command by the Oracle herself, and charged with uniting the races against the invasion. In six weeks, he’d gathered them here, to the plateau known as the Giant's Shelf. Some, like the humans and dwarves, had come of their own volition, ready to stand and fight. Others, such as the black elves from underground, had been driven here by the very army they faced. Some, like the gnomes and orcs from the northlands, had been manipulated to come. Still others were drawn to glory and battle, such as the dark skinned Azüre, the barbarians, and the amazons.

  Regardless of their reasons, all of the races had been integrated into a single army. Many had once been bitter enemies and had been forced, on threat of annihilation, to ally against their common enemy. Millions now stood against Draeken's army—but Braon knew it would not be enough. The Oracle had been clear that the best they could hope to last was seven days . . .

  Today marked the beginning of day one.

  Braon watched the third volley through the enchanted map. Dominating the great hall, its sheer size was intimidating, but in his eyes it was just an oversized game of Stratos. Created for the express purpose of coordinating this battle, the map captured in perfect clarity both sides of the engagement.

  Liquid magic showed the twenty miles of the Giant's Shelf. Anchored by the city in the center, their army stretched to the mountains on the western end, and to the enormous Blue Lake to the east. Fluid light, shaped into the various sizes of vessels, showed the large fleet of allies on its waters. Adjacent to it, the Lake Road presented the only highway to the top of the cliff, and its slow rise was dotted with fortifications and the barbarian battalion.

  The entire southern half of the map blossomed with red pinpricks of light, revealing just a fraction of the fiend army they fought. Roiling with red, their bodies packed into what had been the great elven forest of Numenessee, pressing forward through the charred husks of the once great trees.

  At last estimate their enemy numbered into the billions.

  Sliding his hands into the magic liquid, Braon enhanced the image to watch the fiends’ astonishingly fast ascent. Braon knew of only two people who had ever climbed the cliff, but with the aid of the multitude of spears, the quare leapt upward with unsettling agility. Satisfied that he had a minute before they reached the top, he slid the map to the side to look at the city of Azertorn, calling out orders as he manipulated the atlas.

  “Inform all battalions to prepare for attack,” he said, directing his orders towards the man standing behind him. Discarding fisherman clothing for ill-fitting armor, Thacker and his seven children had a unique magical ability. Linked mind to mind, the family was his best—and fastest—means of communicating with his seven generals. “Have all archers launch missiles as soon as they have a target. Also activate the sweeper teams and tell Deiran and Golic that I will be watching their commands.”

  Braon didn’t wait for a response. He had trained Thacker over the last few weeks to pass on messages with efficiency. The telepathic father and his children, or Links, as they had come to be called, had become an extension of his voice that reached every corner of their enormous army.

  A moment later the thirty-foot, three-dimensional fluid slid to a stop at the center of the cliff. Etched in perfect detail the enchanted water and light showed the city of Azertorn, the capital city of the elves and the focal point of their defenses. With the lowest level only two hundred feet off the ground and over a mile across, the city had been carved between two towering waterfalls. Each subsequent level, shaped in a half circle, sank deeper, wider, and higher into the cliff. Carved by the ancient dwarves as a gift to the elves, the immense, recessed city had been built vertically into the Giant's Shelf.

  At the lowest point in the cliff except for the Lake Road, the city was one of the most vulnerable positions—so Braon had built extreme fortifications to protect it. Thick walls topped with manned battlements separated the city from the horde two hundred feet below. Sweeper machines and ballistae further reinforced the wall. More than a barrier for a conventional enemy, the height of the city seemed to be just a mild deterrent for the mass of fiends.

  The skorpian spears smashed into the cliff all around the city, and streaked into Azertorn unimpeded. Braon clenched his jaw as he watched countless missiles plunge into the elven defenders. Even in the map he could see their agony as they flew backward from the impact.

  “Tell Deiran to do his best to get his men under cover,” he said, hoping the elven general could get his troops out of harm's way—but knowing he would be unsuccessful. Then the quare reached the lowest tier of Azertorn and flooded into the elven defenders. Tiny swords flashed in the magical map as the battle was joined with a fierceness that stole Braon's breath. Swallowing, he issued more orders for the elven general.

  “Deiran, watch the left flank, and make sure you . . .”

  ***

  “. . . have your battle magi use the water to push them back.” Daq said, passing on the order from Commander Braon.

  Deiran, elven general and leader of the city’s defenses, barely spared a glance at the eight-year-old son of Thacker. “Understood, Commander,” he said, accepting the orders.

  Darting to the side of his command structure, he grabbed the senior water magi. “Get the reserve magi to reinforce the left flank!”

  The elf raced from the top of the building and Deiran turned back to watch as a few hundred feet in front of him the black mass of fiends crashed into the defenders. With difficulty, he suppressed the desire to sprint to the front and lead his elves into battle. Commander Braon had trained them to direct from behind the lines, and only his hard won respect for the young commander kept him from breaking his orders.

  “Seron, reinforce the center!” he shouted, seeing the middle group begin to falter and give ground. The elf captain leapt forward and joined the fray with his specially trained warriors. Unbidden, an intense anger flooded through the elf general, pounding in his ears as he watched his people die, torn apart by the powerful dark fiends, but with the anger came a streak of grim satisfaction.

  With tremendous courage, his elves held the line. A moment later he saw blasts of water streak skyward from the pond that surrounded the great tree Le Runtáriel. Twisting in midair, they lanced into the thickest knots of black forms. In moments the elves managed to drive the fiends back over the cliff. Even from his position he could hear the screams of the dying fiends mingle with elven cries of triumph—and agony.

  “Tell Commander Braon that it looks like we are holding the line,” Deiran said to Daq, without taking his eyes off the battle. When he didn’t hear a reply, he glanced at the normally impetuous youth. The young boy's mouth hung open as he stared, white faced, at the brutal battle.

  Deiran's heart leapt into his throat as he reached out to the kid. “It's okay Daq,” he said, drawing the young man to his side. “Everything will be fine.”

  “B-but, there are so many being hurt,” his young voice quavered.

  “I know son,” Deiran said, suddenly wondering when this kid had managed t
o get such a hold on his heart. Then he realized it was around the time his wife had shared she was with child. It made him wonder again what kind of father he would be. “We have to trust Commander Braon to get us out of this.”

  Daq's wide eyes blinked up at him, and Deiran was glad to see hope mixed with his fear. “I do trust Braon,” he said, jutting his chin out.

  Deiran smiled, but spared a glance at the battle before answering. “So do I, so pass on my report and let’s do what we can to win this war.”

  The young man’s face took on a firmness that seemed odd in one so young, and he gave a curt nod before closing his eyes to pass on the report. Deiran inwardly sighed and turned back to the battle, already issuing other orders to the soldiers around him. He recalled thinking the elves alone could defend the city against any adversary. Now it took all his strength to hold on to his hope.

  One day would be a lifetime.

  Seven days would be an eternity.

  ***

  “General Deiran reports the breach is closed, sir,” Thacker said. “And that he is confident his command can keep them from gaining a foothold in the city . . . for now.”

  Braon barely acknowledged the comment. In front of him, the map was focused on the Lake Road, the only route with direct access to the top of the plateau. Over five miles in length, it had once been devoid of anything but a low wall that kept travelers from inadvertently plunging into the Blue Lake. Now it boasted seven newly constructed walls and the protective fence had been taken down.

  Barbarians and Amazons, once mortal enemies, now fought desperately to defend the first wall—but their enemy was too strong. Whereas quare had been sent up the cliff, the giant krakas were attacking the wall. Topping ten feet and armored in white bone, the fiend captains wielded massive obsidian blades. Although they dragged the heavy weapons behind them, Braon knew that they could whip their swords through men like a scythe through summer wheat.