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

by Tiger Hebert

  Lokar lifted his halberd high into the air so everyone could see it. Then he dropped it down, quickly giving the order. At his signal, the archers let their bolts and arrows fly. Without a word, Lokar sprang forward into a charge. Synchronously the whole cavalry battalion followed his lead and surged forward from the hidden gulch. The rumbling sound of the hooves rose like thunder, and they would strike like lightning. By the time the Minotaur army was able to respond, the flurry of arrows and bolts was already raining down upon them. The unified forces of orcs, men, and centaur had already closed the gap upon them. The tidal wave crashed down upon the priesthood first, shattering their ranks.

  As the cavalry ran roughshod through the human ranks, they quickly turned their focus to the Minotaurs and charged. As the bulls tried to react to the charge, the rushing wave of foot soldiers dashed toward them from the side. The Baalim had been ambushed and flanked at the same time. As the battle broke out, the flight of gryphons leapt from their mountain perch and descended upon the Minotaur army, dropping large rocks and mini boulders upon the unsuspecting beasts. The creatures that were hit simply crumbled under the impact of the bombing run. With nowhere to run, the hairy bodies were pummeled into the ground.

  The Minotaurs were dangerous, and they fought back viciously, but they were trapped. Their champion, Korvus, led the armored bulls into the battle. They charged toward the infantry men, trying to flank them and gain the advantage. As they did, another barrage of boulders and stones rained down from the sky. The air raid was a smashing success, as half of their number was destroyed. Korvus, however, ran full speed ahead as he dodged the hail of stones. The bull plowed through the ranks of the foot soldiers with ease. Giant swaths of his bloody cleaver wrought havoc upon the ranks, and what his axe didn’t do, his imposing frame did. The few remaining armored Baalim followed his lead.

  The archers rapidly fired upon the Minotaur that charged behind Korvus, but many of their shots were deflected off their heavy armor. Several of the beasts were stuck down, but still nine joined the dark champion as they hacked their way through the crowd.

  Seeing what was happening, Theros, Lokar, Melgrim, King Tiereon, and the chieftain all rushed through the crowd toward the armored warriors. Making his way through the carnage, Theros plowed right through the first Baalim with his powerful hrall, trampling the cow under foot.

  Without a word, Sharka leapt off the back of the still charging beast and landed on the back of another bull. She hung on for dear life while she stabbed frantically, attempting to wedge one of her bone blades underneath the beast’s heavy armor. The Minotaur tried to shake her off, but it was not long before Sharka was pulling the bloody dagger from the bull’s side. Sharka slid off the beast’s back and let go in time to watch his body crumple to the ground.

  The battle was a storm of violence, swirling around her, but she quickly found her next target. Theros, also on foot now, engaged the nearest beasts. Sharka wasn’t waiting for him to take the lead, though, as she buried her blades into the exposed neck of the beast. As he crashed to the ground, Theros and Sharka moved on to new targets. The hammers fell like the crushing steps of giants, raining down upon the enemies’ armored shells. Despite all his fury and power, Sharka was perhaps more impressive. Her speed and grace made her a blur of precision.

  Lokar was equally devastating in battle, bringing destruction upon the ranks of the Minotaur army. The battalion commander’s large body crashed through the crowd. The centaur plowed forward with cleaving swings of his halberd. Echoes of the weapon striking the Minotaur armor only joined the chorus of battle. Rearing up, Lokar came crashing down with his front hooves, knocking one of the armored bulls backward. He followed with a rapid series of blows. The beast stumbled back and toppled over the bodies scattered upon the ground. Lokar finished it, sealing the beast’s fate with one final strike.

  Melgrim too was caught in the maelstrom, and he fell victim to an unseen blow. The shot knocked him clear off of Shadow. The captain scrambled to his feet and met the approaching blades with his own. He did his best to remain at the side of his king, but during the height of battle, they got separated, and now he was only able to fight for his own life.

  King Tiereon crashed through the maze of battle, only to find himself face-to-face with the prize of the Baalim, Korvus the Corruptor. The beast laid eyes on the king of Storm Vale and unleashed an unearthly howl. The king’s stallion reared up and threw Tiereon from his saddle. The elderly king crashed to the ground. He tried to shake off the blow, but he was dazed from the impact, and he couldn’t gain his bearings. He groped about on the ground, searching for his sword. The monster closed in on him, destroying everything in his path toward the king. The sickly eyes of the beasts shone with the darkest black of night.

  Amidst the chaos of battle, the orc chieftain spotted the imperiled king. So he rushed to his aid, striding through the battlefield with his orcish battle axe in hand. His eyes were fixed upon the champion of Baalim. He watched the great bull lay waste to everything that stood in his path. Ogron, focused and silent, sprinted over the remains that littered the battlefield as he closed upon the beast.

  Korvus towered over the staggered king and began to lift his cleaver into the air. Then with both arms, the Corruptor brought the massive chopper down upon Tiereon. The king rolled to his right, barely dodging the potentially fatal blow, leaving his severed cape behind. Tiereon managed to get to his feet with both sword and shield in hand while Korvus pried his axe from the ground. He lunged toward the beast, slashing at his big frame. The monster’s fur turned red just above his shoulder. The bull retaliated with a backhanded fist-smash upon the king’s shield. The force of the hit staggered the king once more. He tried to regain his balance, but the blade of the beast was already in the air. His shield absorbed the second blow, but he was sent reeling.

  His tired old feet gave out on him, and he was back on the ground. His head violently struck a rock, jarring his helmet loose. It popped off and rolled beyond his grasp as he lay there. His long white hair spilled onto the war-torn soil, and the king lay motionless before the Corruptor. Melgrim struggled in the distance to try to reach his fallen king, but he could only cry out in desperation as the axe began to fall a second time on the defenseless king. As the executioner’s blade plummeted toward the king’s neckline, the axe of the orc chieftain crashed into the Corruptor’s armored body. The powerful strike rocked Korvus and disrupted his swing. The indomitable beast recovered with remarkable quickness, and in no time, his axe was descending upon his new prey. Orc and Minotaur locked horns as their axes collided.

  “Kuurashti! Bow to the black dragon!” howled Korvus.

  “Never!” growled the chieftain as he swung his giant axe.

  Ogron strained with all his might against the powerful foe as their axes clashed again and again. The battle raged around them. Gryphons tore at beasts while they were cut down with spear, sword, and axe. Yet the two champions were locked in combat over the still body of the king as if no one else where around. Theros tried to fight his way to his brother, but there were just too many Minotaur. It seemed every time they killed one, another took its spot. So the battle of the axes continued as the champions dueled on. Korvus desperately swung his giant cleaver in a wide arc, but the chieftain jumped back out just in time, and the struggle continued.

  The weather began to shift. The relentless northern wind was an escort for the rain clouds that rushed in. And those clouds did not wait to unleash their stores upon the slopes below. Drops of rain rolled down over the rocky face of the mountains as the storm surged south. Tiny droplets of water exploded as they crashed onto the armored and unarmored bodies of the combatants. Blood and grime dripped to the ground as it was washed from their faces. The once-hard ground softened as it turned to mud and rock.

  Ironically enough, it was not the brutality of battle but the gentle touch of rain that roused the king from his slumber. The groggy king held his throbbing head as the wobbly world spun about
him. He closed and fought to uncross his wandering eyes. It was without those eyes that his aged hands instinctively groped about for the grip of his broad sword. As his sight came into focus, he saw the epic conflict between the orc chieftain and the champion of Baalim play out before him.

  The chilling wind and rain battered everyone. Peals of thunder and flashes of lightning highlighted the dreadful scene. The battle carried on. Korvus swung his great axe at the chieftain, barely missing. The orc seized the opportunity and hammered the bull with two quick jabs to the face. The beast’s head snapped back as it recoiled from the shots. His bloodied snout was the first sign of weakness the orc had seen. Ogron quickly kicked the long haft of the axe from the Corruptor’s grip. Disbelief fell over the beast’s face as he watched his axe tumble away from him.

  It was then that the king saw his opportunity. As Ogron moved toward the bull, King Tiereon charged forward with his blade extended before him. With sudden movement, Korvus spun into the king, rolling his body past the blade and down the king’s arm. The cracks of thunder drowned out the cries of pain as the chieftain finished his task. The final swing of his axe claimed the head of the Minotaur champion. Victory and fate secured. His triumphant blow ended as the cleaver fell from his mighty grasp into the bloodstained mud. Ogron looked down. Sounds of battle began to fade, and his thoughts raced wildly beyond his control. Blurred water-soaked images danced around him, and a strained cry emerged from deep within. And he fell. There he sat, crumpled on the ground, his knees in the quickly reddening clay slop. Then his eyes finally found the face of the grief-stricken human before him.

  “No!” cried King Tiereon as tears poured from his rain-washed face. “No, God, no!”

  Theros and Sharka rushed to the side of the fallen orc. The chaos of battled died down around them. The army of Baalim had been routed, but not without great cost. The two orcs tried to prop up the chieftain as the king’s own sword was pulled from his abdomen. They tried to put pressure on the wounds and stop the bleeding, but it was an impossible task. Tiereon choked back tears as he continuously told the chieftain he was sorry.

  The chief fought for the strength to speak, saying, “There…are few good men…in this world and…fewer such kings. I…am glad…to have known one, friend.”

  “Don’t give up, just don’t give up,” shouted Theros as he clutched his brother tightly.

  “Little brother…you have always…been my…closest friend. I…am grateful for…your loyalty…and love,” mumbled Ogron as he gasped for air between words.

  “You can’t leave me, brother, I need you,” wailed the giant orc.

  With a brief and painful smile, he replied, “No, it was…me that needed you. Find…your Lion and live!”

  It was with those final words that the eyes of the mighty chieftain closed for the last time. His head fell forward against his brother’s pounding chest. Theros’ world was a broken clock. Time did not exist, and it surely didn’t matter. He held his brother’s lifeless body and sobbed. The storm carried on, but it could not drown their sorrow. Perhaps the well of tears would never run dry, but the orc found the strength to rise. So he gently laid his brother’s body on the ground.

  By now, all the survivors had circled around them. The king, with downcast eyes, kneeled before the brother of the slain chieftain. He stretched his arms out as he offered his befouled blade up to the orc. The law of blood demanded it. The king would offer his own life for the one that had been taken. The anger and pain in the orc’s eyes could not hide behind the wall of tears. Theros grabbed the sword from the king’s hands, and he threw it aside. The big orc reached down and grabbed the human king, pulling him up from the ground into a strong embrace. Nikolai, who watched in the distance, was stunned. Tears streamed from the young prince’s face now as he hung his head in shame.

  The battle was over, but the rain, like the war, was not. It continued to pour down on them. The ground where they fought looked more like a flooding marsh, a marsh that witnessed a terrible battle. The ravages of war were unmistakable. Bodies, armaments, and fallen banners all sunk into the mire.

  Talus swooped down to a perch near Theros and King Tiereon. He stared into Theros’ bright blue eyes, and he had compassion for him.

  “He served his people well, and you will too. I will carry him to Storm Vale if you wish,” offered the gryphon lord.

  Theros couldn’t yet command his mouth to speak as tears rolled down his cheeks. So he simply nodded his head in quiet agreement. The master gryphon carefully wrapped his large eagle-like talons around Ogron’s body and beat his powerful wings as he rose high into the air. Theros watched his brother’s body pass out of sight. They would not see the gryphons again that day, or any day soon thereafter. Their part was done, their role played.

  Lokar and Melgrim surveyed the scene. They had won the battle, but not without great losses. Many men, orcs, and even centaur fell today. Too many to bury, the total losses could be numbered in the hundreds. And those numbers would have been far greater had the gryphons not agreed to aid them. They were forever grateful.

  “King Tiereon, we should get up the mountain, get rest for the night, and prepare for the next leg of our journey,” stated the haggard Captain Melgrim.

  “Theros, Lokar, come. There is shelter from this storm up in the Vale,” added King Tiereon.

  They agreed. They gathered the wounded and made the slow journey up the winding mountain pass. The road was more like a quickly flowing brook under these conditions, but they trudged forward. The mourning had begun. There would be no songs of victory, no dancing, and no tales of heroic deeds. Not this night.

  30 Ashes to Ashes

  It was hard to tell the hour of the morning. The clouds grayed the skies from dawn. The winds seemingly grew stronger and colder by the day in these mountains. At least the rain has stopped for a bit, thought the big orc. The High Place was a bridge to solitude, and there he stood with the gray wolf lying at his feet. The ledge-like balcony stretched far above Storm Vale like a long stone arm of some great stone titan. It was perhaps the most majestic aspect of the king’s castle.

  The orc solemnly stared at his brother’s body for what must have been hours. Ogron’s lifeless body rested atop the unlit funeral pyre, his great axe laid across his chest. The contrite king of Storm Vale timidly approached the grieving place. He removed his crown and placed it on top of the fallen chieftain. The crownless king walked away, taking his place next to Theros. As the sun began to rise, a small crowd gathered on the High Place. As the ledge grew crowded, even more gathered down below to pay their respects. Then it was time. Theros took up the torch. He walked over to the far end of the ledge where his brother rested, and he said good-bye for the last time before tossing the torch onto the wooden pile.

  He was an unflinching monument of strength. Standing there in silence, he watched the flames roar as they consumed the funeral pyre and his brother. The dead chieftain’s body disappeared into the swirling inferno. The fire had dwindled, and little but smoldering ash and cinders remained, but he stood there still. His mind was far from things as inconsequential as time or hunger. Instead he was listening to the cries of the wind as it grieved with him. The white braid of hair that dangled from his chin danced in the air with the bright red cloak that hung from his shoulders. It was the same one that was once given to his brother the day that he became orc chieftain. Theros had never desired it for himself. The title of chief alone was more than he cared for, but chieftain of the Confederation was something he had never wanted. He wrestled with the thought of taking his brother’s place. An unusual guilt gnawed at him from within, and privately he felt tormented. This red cloak was an honor among his people, one that he did not want. His mind tried to play tricks on him. He wrestled with the thought that he would honor his people until the day that Ogron would return and claim his rightful place. Then he would jerk himself back to the reality that Ogron was not coming back. He tried to remain strong and sort through this, but he felt l
ost.

  The youth of the day had faded, and the evening came, but there he remained on that ledge. The sound of boots shuffling in the distance behind him didn’t matter. He did not have the strength to even look behind him. Or perhaps he had the strength, but he just didn’t care anymore. The steps were slow but steady as they drew nearer. He wouldn’t have paid any mind to them had the gray wolf that still sat by his side not started growling. The orc wiped his eyes with the tips of his fingers, and he turned around.

  He was surprised to see that it was the king’s son, Captain Nikolai, who came toward him. With a gentle hand, the orc reached down and stroked Swift’s head to put him at ease. The prince was wrapped in warm clothes, his left arm still held in a sling. He was carrying some stuff with his one free arm, though, but the orc couldn’t distinguish what with the low light of dusk.

  Seeing the apprehension on the orc’s face, the man spoke, “I know that you…and your friend there must be hungry.”

  With that, he reached out and offered the orc a bowl of hot soup. After the orc accepted the offer, the prince pulled two sacks of food from his pack, one for Theros and the other one he opened and spilled onto the ground for Swift. Dinner rolls and roast quail legs tumbled over the stone surface. It was with but a few quick sniffs that the wolf decided the offering was acceptable, and he began to gobble it up.

  Theros looked at Swift, then to his own food, and then back to Nikolai before saying, “Thank you.”

  Nikolai stared at the ground for a moment before he was able to look into the orc’s blue eyes. He swallowed hard before speaking, saying, “I was wrong about you, Theros Hammerfist. I was wrong about your brother and probably the whole lot of you.” Theros studied the face of the prince without speaking.