The Chronicles of Lumineia: Book 03 - Seven Days

by Ben Hale

  "Commander Braon says we must hurry," Jake said in her ear. "There are several holes forming in our line and no one to lead. We need a general."

  She frowned, wondering what to do. The ebony-skinned Azüre had always been warlike, but boasted few true leaders. The reason for that was simple. Traditionally their people had been divided into tribes, and men rose to chieftain by challenge. In the subsequent duels, the victor was the new chief. The few that survived defeat were banished.

  That had changed when Emeka had received the orb from the oracle. After gazing into its depths, he had proclaimed himself to be the king of all Azüre. Then he invited every other chief to challenge him.

  By the end of the day, fourteen men lay dead, and Emeka was crowned king. Adaeze could still remember the pride in her father's eyes as he basked in the adulation of the united tribes. Then he had divulged the truth of the impending invasion. Exclaiming it to be the ultimate glory of the joined tribes, he'd gathered their entire population and sailed to Azertorn. Upon arriving, he'd challenged Braon for leadership.

  And lost.

  Instead of banishment, the commander had placed Emeka in a position of command. As the newly appointed general, Emeka had been tasked with preparing The Ridge for war. Although he'd trained and prepared their people according to Braon's orders, Adaeze knew that he'd harbored a growing resentment towards the commander.

  She hadn't realized it had reached the point of mutiny.

  Feeling very alone, Adaeze sighed, and finally responded to Jake's comment. "Tell Braon to pass his orders to me for now. I will ensure that they are followed."

  She couldn't tell if the silence from Jake was a positive or a negative response.

  Rounding the mound of stone that their battalion was named for, she came into view of the front line. Dark bodies glistened with sweat as their army battled. Spears and barbed clubs crushed and stabbed at the fiends clawing for a hold.

  "Our left flank is weakening," Jake said. "Have the dwarves light traps 18 through 20."

  Adaeze nodded, and gestured to one her guards. "Do as he says, and have Jerek send two companies from the center line."

  The rider gave a curt nod and departed, but Adaeze caught the reluctance in the man to follow her order. The look he threw her sent a stab of irritation into her chest. Despite her skills with both weapons and tactics, she was still viewed as a woman. Grunting at the perception of her people, she nudged her horse forward.

  Ordering her guards to split up in their search, she rode towards the center of the line. If he was anywhere in the battle, that is where he would be. Weaving through weapon racks and tents, she arrived at the front and dismounted. She did her best to ignore the screams of the dying.

  Striding through the ranks, she began her search. Pausing to answer Jake and dispatch another rider, she scanned the battling warriors until she spotted a knot of men rallying behind a tall figure.

  Emeka's expression was suffused with a wild glee as he plunged his spear into the fiends below him. On all sides, his men fought like lions for their king, driving the fiends from the cliff. Torn and bloodied, their enemies were thrust from the battlements, repelled by the ferocious defenders.

  Adaeze came to a halt, wondering if perhaps the commander had been wrong. The heightened valor of the men at the defenses bore testimony to the will of their chief, so maybe it was best if he remained to lead them . . .

  —A roar pulled her from her thoughts. Spinning to the side, her breath caught as she saw four of the fiend captains climb over the wall. Tearing the men apart, they gained a foothold.

  Then the slaughter began.

  The spears and clubs of the ebony warriors were no match for their bone armor, and the obsidian swords of the hulking fiends shredded the men who tried to attack them. Whirling as one, they charged a sweeper post nearby. The first to arrive ripped the roof of the hut off like it was the shell of a nut. Then he reached for the occupant and tore him free. The man struggled in the kraka's grip, but the giant fiend killed him and discarded the body.

  Bellowing, he launched his giant sword through a charging horseman. Then it reached for the spiked chain of the sweeper and yanked it free. As his companions hacked at the sweeper supports, he twirled the ball and chain like an enormous flail. Sending the spiked ball into a knot of defenders, he roared in triumph as it crushed several men.

  Jake yanked on Adaeze's arm, his voice screaming into his ear. "Get some mages and archers before it turns into a rout!"

  Jerking into action, she snapped an order to the man next to her. "Summon Jerek and have him bring the mages of his command. Be certain his son comes with him."

  The man galloped west as Adaeze turned to another soldier. "Get every spearman to distract them. Draw them into our camp without getting too close. Then close the breach behind them. Also, have the dwarves light the traps below this section to keep them from stopping us." Turning to the last of her guards, she said, "Go get the mages from . . ."

  Then she spotted her father.

  Leading a charge of cavalry, he raised his spear and launched it at one of the krakas. Flying true, the tip of the spear sank into a gap in the fiend's armor. The hulk whirled at the strike, and wrenched the spear free with a snarl. Snapping it like a twig, he tossed the pieces aside and swept his sword like a scythe.

  Emeka swerved and sent his horse leaping over the blade—but not all of his men were as quick. Cutting a third of them down with a single strike, the kraka twirled his sword and charged after Emeka.

  Adaeze saw what was coming and shouted to her father—but it was too late.

  With his head turned to watch the pursuing fiend, Emeka couldn't see the makeshift flail soaring towards him. Even a glancing hit from a weapon the size of a small wagon would be fatal—and it didn't miss. Aimed to strike him from above, the strike was timed to intercept the general's speeding mount. In a single brutal blow, the spiked ball crushed both horse and rider.

  Horrorstruck, Adaeze could only watch as the giant kraka removed the flail and picked up the lifeless body of her father. Roaring its triumph into the dead general's face, he flung him from the battlements.

  Too late, Jerek appeared. Leading a legion of mages and archers, they took down the two kraka's at the decimated sweeper. The third died under a hail of missiles. Last to go down, the flail-wielder received an arrow down his throat, launched by the best archer of their army, Jerek's son.

  The stonesap traps exploded then, preventing other fiends from filling the gap before Jerek's new forces could close it. Surging to fill the hole, men braced themselves for another assault. As before, men fought and died, but the spark of hope had been extinguished. Their king, their leader that had united their people, had been slain.

  Oddly, Adaeze felt anger rather than sadness.

  The commander had explicitly ordered Emeka not to do what he had just done, and it had cost him his life. In that moment she resolved never to doubt Commander Braon again. Then she realized that their people lacked a leader. Of all the men, Jerek would most likely attempt to assume command—but he had only a fraction of Emeka's ability, and his appointment would lead to widespread fighting. The gathered races would be defeated because the Azüre people had fallen . . . to pride.

  She refused to let that happen.

  In minutes she found a sound mage, and the amazon amplified her voice throughout The Ridge.

  "People of Blue Lake, our king has fallen. For his memory, and our glory, we will not yield! Now fight as one army! As one people! And as one nation!"

  By spear and club they held the wall, inspired by her words.

  ***

  “General Emeka—and his second in command—have been killed,” Thacker said, his voice full of horror.

  Braon closed his eyes, feeling a surge of emotions as he listened—anger at Emeka for disobeying his orders, frustration that he had lost a general so early, worry that he had chosen the wrong person to lead, and finally, fear that it would cause their defenses to un
ravel. It further grated that he'd ordered Emeka to stay off the front line to avoid this precise consequence. Their people's quest for glory was legendary—as was the death of their chieftains because of it. He'd known what was going to happen if the azüre chief had fought. Why couldn't he have listened?

  Tightening his jaw at the avoidable death, Braon set aside his tumultuous feelings and forced himself to deal with the situation.

  “Is the line currently secure?”

  “Yes, Emeka’s daughter, Adaeze, took control and has closed the breach before it could widen.”

  “Does she need reinforcements?”

  “No, Jake says the line is holding.”

  Braon let the slip slide. Thacker wasn’t supposed to use his family names during a report, but now was not the time to remind him of that. By his tone, it sounded like his son felt guilty enough already. Returning his gaze to the magical map, he studied it, thinking.

  There were several ways he could fill the gap in leadership, each with advantages and disadvantages. Newhawk, one of the other general’s seconds, or even Emeka’s daughter could replace him. He sifted through the various choices, but delayed enough to make sure he made the right choice. Twice he came up with the same person, so he voiced his decision.

  “Have Adaeze take the place of her father as general,” he said, already letting go of his emotions. Time to grieve—and second guess his choices—would come later, if he survived.

  Glancing at the enchanted ceiling and walls, he watched the sun set. “Get all commands ready for nightfall—and make sure they know it is going to be worse than yesterday.”

  Chapter 8: Master and Servant

  Siarra awoke with a splitting headache. With her eyes fluttering open, she tried to focus to see where she was. Bleary and gray, the world came into view enough for her to see that she lay against a wall in a small room that reeked of decay. A moldy, rotted desk sat askew in the corner opposite her, and the remains of drapes hung on the only window above it. Across from her, a door clung to the frame by a single rusty hinge. The stone walls and floor were layered in dust and debris, broken only by the mark of where she had been dragged across the floor.

  She clenched her eyes shut as pain lanced through her head, causing her to feel a flash of irritation. The moment the sleep spell had struck she’d known what it was, but with the preceding distraction of the deep dragon—and the sheer power of the spell—it had taken her by surprise. Growling, she eased herself to a sitting position, ignoring the throbbing in her head as she heard the sound of clinking metal.

  She looked down and saw her wrists in heavy shackles that were bound to the wall. Annoyed, she slipped into the sight and examined the metal. Old and rusted, it held no trace of magical enhancements. Fools, she thought. You can’t bind an oracle with ordinary chains. Delving into the metal, she sought to break its bonds.

  Nothing happened.

  Shaking off her headache, she focused and tried the simple spell again. Once more, nothing happened. Swallowing against the bubbling panic, she focused with all her might . . . only to fail again.

  “Don’t bother,” a voice spoke, and her eyes snapped to the figure that had appeared in the doorway

  “What did you do to me?” she said, her voice furious.

  He chuckled from the shadows of the hall. “Once you were asleep, I bound your magic into this.” He swept a glass ball out of his robes. The orb pulsed with blinding white energy before he slipped it out of sight.

  Siarra’s brain whirled, trying to figure out how he had done it. Binding magic was the one of the rarest magics, and almost exclusive to oracles. Withdrawing her power and capturing it would have required several hours of supreme effort, and it only could have been done with a compliant victim. Then it dawned on her why he had used the sleep spell. Now that she understood the how, that left the—

  “Who are you?” she asked, her eyes narrowing.

  Chuckling, he stepped into the light, revealing a hunched, stick-like figure shrouded in gray robes. White, thinning hair protruded from the top of his head, wispy and unkempt, while his face showed wrinkles and age spots. A hooked nose and the piercing gray eyes were the most distinguishing features.

  “I am Zorik, and I was once the servant of the great Lord of Chaos, Draeken.”

  Siarra fought to control her breathing. “How are you still alive?” she asked, grateful that her voice didn’t betray her fear.

  He chuckled again, a low menacing sound that made her skin crawl. “Oh, Draeken taught me the dragons sleep.”

  “What other magics did he teach you?”

  “I will admit that before I served my master, I was adept at several magics, metal, darkness, and fire being the foremost.” He sighed. “Although I did manage to learn some of the other types, mind magic was never my strength. Although powerful, my sleep spell only works if the person is distracted.”

  He started to chuckle, but it turned into a cough, a hoarse, rasping sound. Fighting for breath, he moved towards the broken chair by the desk. With a flick of his hand, the chair righted itself and repaired, allowing him to sit. Chuckling once more he added, “Even with the dragons sleep, I believe my end is soon to come, but I will live long enough to see my Lord Draeken be freed from his prison.”

  “Then why am I still alive?” Siarra asked, feeling fury rising within her.

  Zorik cocked his head to one side. “I want your power of course. With your quite extensive magic added to my own, I will be nearly as powerful as my Lord, giving me the strength I need to serve my master once more.” He chuckled again, but it ended in another hacking cough. “We still have Skorn, and then Ero to conquer.”

  Siarra’s chains shook as she pulled against them. “You may take my power, but you can’t absorb it without my aid!”

  His gray eyes, young despite the rest of his appearance, pierced hers. “I know, young Oracle. That is why your friends are still breathing.”

  Siarra felt the shackles tearing her skin as she leapt to her feet, fighting the manacles and snarling profanities.

  Zorik shook his head. “Such language for one of your standing. If I had more time, perhaps I would teach you some manners, but alas, I do not. Our time will be taken up with the torture and death of your friends.”

  Siarra abruptly stopped struggling, recognizing that the anger coursing through her hadn’t allowed her to think. With an effort, she calmed herself, glancing away to not reveal her intention. The cooling of her fury also allowed her mind to focus, and she realized that she had to delay Zorik as long as she could. If Taryn and the others could escape, then perhaps all would not be lost.

  Feigning worry, she said. “Will my friends live if I submit?” A picture of Jack’s arrogant expression flashed before her eyes, and she felt her feigned worry become real.

  His brow furrowed and his eyes sparkled with greed. “I will have to consider that. With your aid, I might even gain your power quick enough to help the army in victory.” A disturbing hunger flashed across his face and the old man lapsed into silence.

  Wanting to keep the conversation going, Siarra asked. “When did the deep dragon join you?”

  Shaking his head as if to clear it, Zorik looked at Siarra. “He found my home a few thousand years ago, seeking a refuge. He is the last of his kind, and I will admit, a kindred spirit.”

  Siarra suppressed a shudder. Deep dragons were vicious and evil, yet Zorik spoke of him with the fondness of a childhood friend. “What about this castle?” she asked, trying to land on another topic where he would keep talking. “This was not built by a mortal race.”

  He smiled in a condescending expression. “Observant of you. No, it was not built by mortal hands. I built it for my master before he was imprisoned.” He looked around him affectionately. “It used to be much more grand, but my magic has waned without the strength of my master. The upkeep has been more than I anticipated.”

  Siarra frowned. “You are more honest than I would expect.”

  Zori
k pursed his lips. “I have always detested intrigue, despite my master's passion for it.” He shrugged. “Besides, I have not had someone to talk to in quite some time—and since you will be dead soon anyway . . .”

  Siarra shied away from that topic. “The fiends that drove us here, are they yours?”

  He smiled wickedly. “Of course. They have become proficient at ensnaring people in my trap. They used to slay anyone that ventured into the tunnels.” He sniffed at the waste and added. “They aren’t much for conversation though.”

  “Why are they . . . different?”

  “The fiends we created were never meant to exist for so long. Inside the realm where we placed them, they were—to a certain extent—suspended in time, keeping them ready for battle.” He sighed. “Without constant infusions of dark magic, my servants would have perished within a few hundred years of coming through the portal.”

  Zorik began to cough once more, so Siarra waited until he was finished before she asked. “What about Draeken’s generals?”

  His wrinkled face glowed with pride. “The riders of the apocalypse we called them. Lord Draeken aided me in creating them after he was imprisoned. In his wisdom, he knew that the rabble needed leadership in destroying the races. Chained as he was, it was a leadership he couldn’t provide, and he believed I was too weak to serve in that role. Without them, some of the races could have conceivably escaped or survived long enough for the fiends to expire. My Lord did not want to leave any alive, no matter how slim their chance of survival.”

  Siarra’s head tilted upward. “We slew the assassin.”

  Zorik chuckled, raspy and hoarse, as he waved airily. “No matter. The forerunner killed many leaders before he was slain. Even if he didn’t manage to keep the kingdoms divided until they were conquered, he still performed well.” Then his eyes narrowed, a hint of danger seeping into his eyes. “Out of curiosity, who slew him?”