Dragon's Fire (Beating Back the Darkness Book 1)

by Tiger Hebert

  Those nasty critters trampled bush and small tree alike as they rumbled forward. Their guttural shouts rang out through the forest. The Hammerfist brothers were lightning, springing into battle. As they charged, the wolf snarled and snapped at Bolegg as he bit at the back of his legs. This distraction was enough for Theros to ram the fat troll with his hrall and deliver a blow from one of his hammers.

  The dull thud of the iron smashing into Bolegg’s chest was sickening. The troll stumbled backward before catching his balance. While he was gathering his footing, Melgrim and the king became a tempest of steel, striking at their prey with reckless abandon. Despite their fury, that hardened skin was able to weather much of the storm.

  While all this was going on, Ogron charged toward Molegg, who just managed to jump out of the way. The troll slashed at Ogron. The orc was able to narrowly dodge the blow, but in doing so, he fell from his mount. Lokar charged in right behind Ogron and drove his armor-plated shoulder into the still-airborne troll. The centaur commander was a battering ram. The hit was devastating, and Molegg was sent spinning into the ground.

  Bolegg, on the other hand, regained his balance and unleashed a wide sweep of his crude axe. As Theros ducked low underneath the weapon’s horizontal arc, Swift continued to furiously gnaw at the back of the troll’s legs. The captain, king, and wolf all frantically tried to pierce the monster’s hide.

  Ogron scrambled to retrieve his big axe after the fall. Lokar turned around and prepared to face off against the troll again. Molegg climbed back up only to find Paulus charging at him.

  Somehow the troll was able to spin past the outstretched blade of the charging elder and, with a dull thud and a scream, bury his dagger deep into the magi’s back.

  The remaining magi screamed out, “No!” in unison, but it was too late.

  Molegg laughed as he ripped his bone knife from Paulus’s back. Then with his dirty foot, he kicked the fatally wounded centaur to the ground. The other two magi prepared their halberds for the approaching troll, but they were not trained fighters. Fortunately Ogron got there first. The orc chieftain brought his great axe down across the troll’s back with a powerful slash, breaking through the troll’s toughened skin. Howling in pain, Molegg turned and lashed out at him. Pain coursed through the orc’s body as the blade tore through the flesh on his left shoulder. Ogron spun away from the second swipe and dashed away. The troll raced after the wounded orc and lunged with his dagger, but Lokar was right on his heels. As the troll descended upon Ogron, he was intercepted by the centaur. As the centaur’s halberd impaled the troll from behind, he was driven past the retreating orc. The troll howled and squealed in agony as he squirmed, but he couldn’t escape his fate, which now emerged from his abdomen.

  The battle against Bolegg was still going as the others dodged the swaths of his axe. He couldn’t seem to hit them, but they just couldn’t wound him. Theros rained down a flurry of blows upon the troll, but it wasn’t doing much to the monster. King Tiereon charged the troll again, and he was able to drive the point of his sword into the troll’s side. Bolegg’s response was a powerful kick that sent the king tumbling to the rugged terrain. Melgrim fell back from the troll to tend to his king, but Theros seized the opportunity to strike. Rolling to his right, he rose up and drove his hammer down upon the pommel of the sword that was still lodged into the troll’s side. Bolegg howled in pain as the blade was driven deeper. Furious, he swung his cleaver from right to left. The orc was able to dodge the attack, though, and he pounded the sword even deeper with the second hammer strike. The enraged troll howled and swung the axe from his left to his right. As the stone blade split the air, it narrowly missed the orc, but the same cannot be said of Molegg. The arcing axe destroyed the wounded troll, severing his head. The troll was stunned as he watched his brother’s head roll across the ground. This was the opportunity that they needed. Theros dropped his hammers to the ground and pulled out his great maul. Quickly hoisting it over his head, he came down with a devastating blow to the remaining troll’s head. The blow sent Bolegg reeling until he stumbled over a nearby rock.

  “Ogron, his head,” shouted Theros to his charging brother.

  Ogron beheaded the troll, and then it was over. The trolls, Molegg and Bolegg, had been defeated. It was not without cost, though. King Tiereon was banged up, and Ogron would need to be stitched up, but they would be fine. The same could not be said for Paulus, the magi. The centaur lay on his side, his blood staining the ground. He struggled to breathe as they crowded around him.

  “It was…my fault,” said the elder between choking breaths. “Everything. The…shadows. The goblins came…because of me. I…dabbled in the dark…arts. I wanted…power…illum…ination. I thought…we were…missing…the real power. I was wrong… and our peop…le paid…for it. I…am sorry.”

  His words were candid and full of regret, and they were his last. Paulus’s words faded as his eyes closed one last time. Then he was gone, and their traveling company was down to seven, plus a wolf. The company paid their respects to the fallen elder, and then they resumed their journey. They did not have time to waste, so they hurried.

  They traveled without speaking for much of the remaining journey through Rock Wood. It wasn’t long before they emerged from the colorful tree line and rode out into the open highlands of eastern Ferrin. The highlands stretched out all the way until the coast. It was beautiful here. The rolling green hills went all the way to the sea. There the high cliffs stood watch over the violent surf.

  “There it is,” shouted Theros excitedly as he pointed in the distance, “Endmark!”

  29 The Hammer upon the Anvil

  The late morning sun peeled back the vapors of the cool morning. It was relaxing. It didn’t last though. As they got closer to the cliffs they realized that the ocean breeze was a bitter old hag in these parts. She was harsh and unrelenting; with a bite as bad as her bark. Adding to her grumbling were the waves that pounded on the rock face down below. It sounded like the rumble of rolling thunder on a stormy summer’s eve. As they looked toward the sea, to the east, they found that the rolling slopes of the highlands actually began to rise even higher. In the distance ahead of them stood a series of jagged spires and ledges that rose high above the sea. The cliffs alone were nearly a hundred feet above the water, and those formations towered even higher. As they rode toward the towering rocks along land’s end, dark figures high above them finally came into sight.

  Then in a loud voice, Theros instructed his friends, “Stop here, and drop your weapons!”

  With their eyes fixed on the shadowy figures in the sky, they obeyed the orc, tossing their weapons to the ground. Like lightning falling from the sky, the winged creatures descended upon them. Before the rattle of the discarded weapons ceased, they were surrounded by five of the most magnificent beasts they had ever seen.

  The larger gryphons were nearly the size of a small horse or pony. Their massive wings held an array of white feathers that were speckled and spotted with black accents and stripes. The creatures held their noble heads high, as wind brushed against their brilliant white feathers. A sharply curved beak of blackish gray was accompanied by two large, intelligent eyes of the brightest green. A small pair of black-tipped ears stretched out from the back of the feathered head. The feathers on the broad chest abruptly gave way to a coat of thick white fur that was painted with black and gray markings. This particular creature at the head of the flight was accented with black stripes, stretching all the way down to the giant front talons. The rest of the gryphon’s body was covered in the same beautiful markings, from the front legs to the powerful hind quarters. A long thin tail was punctuated with a crop of black hair, much like that of a male lion. These magnificent creatures were awful and beautiful to behold.

  “Who enters the Endmark?” squawked one of the voices loudly.

  Theros stepped forward and said, “An old friend.”

  “Is this Theros Hammerfist?” asked the tiger-striped gryphon.


  “Talus, your eyes do not fail you. How are you, my friend?” he asked with a smile.

  “Times are changing, friend,” answered Talus with hesitation.

  Theros responded without delay, “And it is for that very reason that we have come. We seek your help.”

  The noble creature replied, “We will offer our help in your quest against the Minotaurs, but that is the greatest extent to which we can aid you.”

  “How did you know about the Minotaur?” asked the Ogron.

  “The wind keeps no secrets, Young Chieftain,” answered Talus.

  “We are indebted to you for this,” stated Theros as he humbly bowed before the gryphons.

  King Tiereon joined the conversation. “Your help against the Minotaurs is needed, but the war is far from over. The black dragon and his army grow stronger by the day. Can the gryphons not help us there too?”

  “Wise King, there are other matters that we must attend to, and delay cannot be afforded. However, you must know that the Lion will shine in the darkness,” confidently declared Talus.

  “So what are we waiting for?” asked Melgrim eagerly.

  “We will be waiting for you at Duroc’s Refuge. Our reports tell us that the Minotaur are preparing to leave Storm Vale. To ambush them, we must hurry,” stated Talus.

  “We will see you there,” shouted Lokar as he turned and dashed off toward the Rock Wood.

  Theros waited for a moment as his companions all raced off toward Ferrin da’Dour.

  Looking at his friend, he asked, “What could trouble you so?”

  “A strange form of…magical energy has been seeping into our world, and it is growing,” answered Talus.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “I cannot discern the nature of it, but it has been growing rapidly of late, and it cannot be ignored any longer. We must find answers before it is too late,” remarked the gryphon.

  “Can you sense where it is coming from?” inquired the orc.

  “Duroc’s Refuge.” He continued, “Goblins are drawn to the energy released from those that are practicing the dark arts. But the black magic that the magi dabbled in did not release enough energy for the goblins to sense it from all the way in Khal’gom. Something else lies in the halls of the fallen king.”

  “What could the dwarves have found in the deep?” questioned Theros.

  “That is what we hope to uncover. Now enough talk, my friend, you must get down the road, for we have a fight to pick!” shouted the mighty creature as he began to beat his massive wings.

  “See you at the pass, my friend,” said Theros as he turned his hrall back toward the Rock Wood.

  With a quick whistle to Swift, the orc and his wolf were dashing toward the forest. He charged his mighty hrall forward as fast as its stout legs could carry them in an attempt to catch up with the others. While he rode he pondered the riddle of Duroc’s Refuge—the disappearance of the entire dwarven empire, the arrival of the goblins, their subsequent disappearance, and this radiation of power. He couldn’t make sense of any of it, but he trusted Talus to get to the bottom of the mystery. For now he just needed to focus on the task at hand—crushing the minotaur.

  The trolls were dead, and the mists had lifted, so the journey through the deep wood was quick. The band of leaders reached the wrecked gates of Ferrin da’Dour and began the task of leading the armies out of the highlands. They traveled down over the sloping hills as they made their way toward the pass at Duroc’s Refuge. It was not a great distance, but a large portion of the humans and orcs were on foot, so the traveling was slow.

  As the hour passed, the canyon walls of the narrow pass could be seen ahead in the distance. The green grassland reached up and around on both sides as they sloped up and then back in until they reached the rocky tops of the canyon walls. The natural lay of the land looked like two long green arms curling inward, with their stone fists facing each other. It was remarkable. As they looked upon the pass, they could make out a flight of gryphons resting upon the ledges. Their presence was reassuring. This also meant that they were very near to their destination. They would need to go through the canyon and then hug the base of the mountains.

  The centaur and the mounted soldiers led the way through the earthen gap. It couldn’t have been more than a hundred feet wide, even at its widest section. The floor of the pass was not dirt or rock; instead it had all been replaced by cut stone or brick at some point long, long ago. Both the eastern and western walls were intricately carved by the finest of dwarven tools and craftsmanship. The beauty of the details of the architecture and the runic engravings of Duroc’s Refuge was unlike anything that was built by the hands of orc—or even men, for that matter. A single great entryway into the dwarven keep was found dead in the middle of each wall, but the light and the life that once dwelled within them were long gone.

  The flight of gryphons, led by Talus, leapt off the heights and soared ahead of the armies. As Theros watched his old friend soar by, he couldn’t help but replay Talus’s words over and over again. He forced himself to push the words from his mind. The questions about the deep of Duroc’s Refuge would have to wait for another day. Today, he would need his full attention and focus on the matters at hand.

  With little noise beyond the rattling of hooves and foot, the blended army exited the shadow of the dwarven keep and found their way to the base of Sky Reach Mountains. They followed the flat ground around until they found the small gulch just to the east of the entrance to the mountain road. With little time to spare, they began to prepare for the ambush.

  The front line of the army formed a long line, and it was comprised of armored centaur warriors, human cavalry, and orcs on the few hralls that remained. The centaur soldiers were shrouded in layers of plated armor and armed with the traditional halberds while a few chose claymores instead. Captain Melgrim and King Tiereon’s soldiers filled the cavalry ranks, armed with shield and lance and a sword at their sides. Like the hralls, not many horses were evacuated from Storm Vale after the siege, but the thirty-odd soldiers that were mounted were impressive to see in their full regalia. The orcs were the minority in the cavalry. Only seven hralls made the escape and were healthy enough for combat. Sharka joined Theros on his hrall while Ogron, Broz, and Gron prepared to charge into battle. Generally speaking, the orcs were scarcely clothed or armored in anything but leather hides and fur.

  Theros was easily the second most heavily armored orc. The layers of leather and chain mail that covered his upper legs and half of his torso, from his right hip up diagonally across his chest to the bulky shoulder guard on his left shoulder, offered him more protection than most. Gron would take the title of most heavily armored among his kin. He had taken a liking to the crafts of the men and the centaur and wore an assemblage of different pieces of armor. If he could find a way to get the piece to fit, he would wear it. Bulky bronze pauldrons, chain mail with an iron breastplate strapped over it, and iron leg plates were modified to cover his shins and thighs, and even his massive head was somehow stuffed inside a tiny human helmet. He looked ridiculous, and his friends thoroughly enjoyed letting him know it

  “Go ahead, laugh. I am not trying to die today,” grumbled the orc with a sour face.

  He reached down and picked up the giant tower shield and clumsily hoisted it up to himself. The shield was clearly designed for foot soldiers and not to be used by cavalry, but he was content with the added protection. The last item he grabbed was his trusty war axe. It was not as large as the monstrous blades that were used by the Minotaur, or even the ones used by his own people, but he could wield it well with only one hand.

  The ranks of the infantry formed next, directly behind the cavalry. This group was all men and orcs. Their armament was everything from swords and shields to axes and spears. Again, the humans were well armed for the most part, but the orcs would have to rely on their prowess in combat because a good offense would have to be their best defense.

  Pulling up the rear was a deta
chment of archers. Captain Nikolai was still injured and would not fare well in combat, so he was placed in charge over this regiment. It was primarily old men, women, and children. Those that would not be thrown in the frontlines would still have their place in the battle, but from the safest possible distance. Their bolt throwers and their bows were ready and their quivers full.

  They sat silently in wait under the shadow of the mountains. As the sun was about to climb to the height of noonday, one of the gryphons swooped down from the mountain with a message. The leopard-spotted creature dropped down past the front of the cavalry.

  “They should be coming through in one minute,” she squawked. “Let them all exit the pass before you strike!”

  “Understood,” said Lokar in a hushed voice while nodding in agreement.

  The rest of the leaders nodded in silent agreement as well, and the winged beast flew back up onto the mountainside where the gryphons perched out of view. Sixty seconds seemed like an eternity as they listened to the pounding of the hooves coming down the mountain road. The remnants of the Minotaur forces marched past them into plain sight.

  The war party was led by the giant bull named Korvus the Corruptor. He was the champion of the Baalim, and a living nightmare. This beast was larger than the rest. He wore what appeared to be ceremonial armor that had skulls embossed all over it. A long red cape flowed behind him, proudly displaying the mark of the black dragon, and in his hands he carried the largest two-handed battle axe that they had ever seen. The face of the sweeping axe blade was branded with the mark of the black dragon. Yet even as frightening as he was, he was still just a pawn to a much greater evil.

  Behind him marched a long procession of soldiers, their red banners held high. The first few rows were the heavily armored bulls. Next came the bulk of the remaining force, where well over a thousand berserkers marched by. The end of the force was filled with the priests of Baalim, the same ones who served as archers during the siege—what was left of them, anyway. As the entirety of the army passed before them and the unarmed priests were in their sights, the silent command was given.