A blue dragon carrying a young girl would get the people of Uppervale's attention, Braxton knew. Chureal was smart, powerful, and had repeated Braxton's message and instructions back to him at least a dozen times before he let her go.
Braxton had an idea, a revelation of sorts, on how to trick the demon and he needed to use the dwarves to their fullest capabilities to accomplish what he intended. At least now, he could find Chureal in the void and communicate with her and the people of Uppervale from afar. It was a trick they'd perfected since she'd gotten lost in the snow storm, and using this ability, they would be able to coordinate what was to come.
Trenka Shawl swiftly took to Chureal , and soon both females and the dragon were enlisted to labor with the others. Several of the dwarves who arrived in the valley over the last few weeks had projects of all sorts going on. Cobalt's ability to lift things and place them with wing and claw saved them thousands of man-hours by moving objects from the dwarf holes and the forest into the town proper. Cobalt did in minutes what would have taken days for the dwarves, gothicans, and men to do otherwise.
Under the direction of Captain Murdle and Captain Trant, the people of Uppervale prepared for an all-out battle while building defenses with the aid of almost five hundred dwarves, with more arriving each day. A few hundred of the outcast gothicans and as many men helped, as well. Captain Murdle didn't seem to be satisfied with just mounting a defense. He clearly intended to engage the coming warriors in an assault of intelligent design that would send a clear message to the trolls and those gothicans who chose to follow Lord Ulrich and his demon god. The message: we will fight you hard, and relentlessly, and you will pay a heavy price if you want to take this valley.
Chureal told Braxton, through the void, that the captain was worried, but doing well to keep his fear hidden. He hadn't expected an invading force as big as the one coming, but such was war. She told Braxton that, when they arrived, expecting an easy battle against farmers and refugees, they would instead get several nasty surprises.
Later that day, nature surprised them all. A storm blew in covering, everything with sleet and snow. In-between the long downpours of hard hitting slushy hail and thick flurries of fat snowflakes, they still worked, but before long, the whole of the river valley was buried in white. This they used to their advantage, too.
The marching gothicans and rock trolls were slowed by the weather, but not as much as Captain Murdle hoped. His runners and spies kept him well informed of the approach. Both races had lived in the Dragon Teeth Mountains for hundreds of years. There, drastic changes of the weather were common, and the protection of the forest along the road from Camberly was right there for them.
They sought refuge in the trees during the times when hail and sleet were falling, and they gladly went back on the march as soon as it stopped, if only to keep warm. Being mountain dwellers and roamers, the rock trolls were thick-skinned and even more accustomed to the cold. The gothicans weren't as naturally inclined, but were too proud to let their discomfort show, even to their allies. They were a hardy race, though. After marching the length of the continent on the eastern side of the mountains, only to sneak through Nepram and come halfway back up the western side, their bodies were all well-toned and as hard as steel. It would take more than a winter storm to stop them.
After hearing how Antole had fallen, and of the demon’s wrath that came after, Captain Murdle figured the power of their warrior god was still fresh on their mind, and the battle lust from their victory most likely still simmered in their blood. Knowing more battle lay ahead of them kept them moving forward eager and without complaint.
In Uppervale the dwarves were feeling the cold worse than any of the others. Though warmly dressed and prepared for the elements, they were ground dwellers and tunnelers. Underground, it was comfortable year-round. Most of them had never even experienced the world above, much less ice, snow, and pounding hail. Proud and stubborn though, they labored through it, though not without complaint. They grumbled, bitched, and whined about everything imaginable as they went about the business of finishing the traps the crafty old human captain had devised.
A barn had been emptied for Cobalt to use as a refuge from the cold, and Chureal refused to stay anywhere but with the dragon. It was in the barn that Trenka Shawl, Davvy, and Dendle found the little girl to tell her she had a visitor.
Prince Gruval Rockheart appeared behind them, bundled head to foot in some fluffy animal skin cloak. He proceeded to stumble across the floor and collapsed at her feet. He was clearly drunk, but soon righted himself and, in a somewhat coherent fashion, said hello.
He'd brought a few hundred more dwarves with him, and even more would arrive soon. Riders had already reported the final approach of the enemy force. They would be to the valley no later than the following day. Prince Gruval told Chureal that his friend Cryelos, and Big H were so fond of her that he had to come check on her himself. Then he nearly fainted when Cobalt’s big head peered down at him out of the darkness, and he realized that the dragon was no longer the size of a dog. He'd never seen the wyrm in his normal size. After he recovered from his initial shock, he told them the story that he'd told some of them in the autumn, at the bonfire, after the battle with the wood trolls at the slave forges.
Oddly, Cobalt was the most interested in hearing the dwarf's stories, but Trenka Shawl had yet to hear them and gently brushed Chureal's hair while the drunken dwarf went about it. He told them about seeing Cobalt's mother soaring across the sea at the ship they were on and how she’d defeated a monstrous red dragon in an aerial battle that scared everyone on the Isle of Jolin to the core.
When the dwarf was done telling, the mood turned somber, for the `morrow promised much death and pain. Captain Murdle popped his head in and inquired about a few last-minute details, then ordered them to get a good night's rest. He added that, if things didn't go as planned, it could be their last.
"Where will you and your dragon be during the battle?" Trenka asked Chureal after the others had left.
"She will be insss the airsss with me," Cobalt hissed softly. It was clear the dragon unnerved Trenka. He had remained silent throughout the storytelling and had yet to speak in front of her. "If we sees trouble, we will do whats we can to helpsss," Cobalt added. “But my only priority is keeping my rider sssafe.”
Trenka could hear the protective tone in the dragon's voice, and any worry she'd had about the young girl vanished. She figured with the dragon flying her around and protecting her, Chureal was probably going to be the safest of them all when the blood started to flow. She had no idea of Chureal's power, and neither did anyone else in the valley, save for Prince Gruval, whose mother had bragged to no end of how she'd made her an apple out of a stone.
"Where will you be?" Chureal asked back.
"I will be with Davvy and some archers in the front." She smiled at Chureal's concern. "Then back around here, if we can make it."
"We will watch out for you and Davvy," Chureal said. "Davvy is Lord Braxton's best friend, and I have to watch out for him."
"Well then, I'll stick close to Davvy so you can watch out for me, too."
Chureal beamed at her new friend, and she picked up a piece of straw, and while Trenka watched in awe, Chureal turned it into a brilliant yellow and orange flower.
"Here," she said, as innocently as could be, and handed it to the fiery-haired mercenary.
Chapter Fifteen
It was the hasty, blood-lusting gothicans who led the way and walked unknowingly into the first trap. It wasn't much, but at least a score of them were maimed when they fell into large, deep holes that had been dug all over the place along the approach. Sharpened stakes stuck up from the bottom of the pits, gouging holes into the legs, thighs, and abdomens of those who found them. The holes had been covered by blankets stretched tight and weighed down at the edges with rocks and stakes. The snow had effectively buried them from view. The purpose of the holes wasn't so much to do damage, but to halt and c
onfuse the front of the advancing group long enough to force those farther back to also halt, while archers placed on the forest side of the road laid waste to them. The trap worked perfectly, and the hundred or so archers hiding in the trees along the lane had enough time to get four or five clean shots each before beating a retreat to the horses they'd hidden further back from the road.
Those rock trolls and gothicans unfortunate enough to follow the loud, clumsy evacuation were met by more pits. Huge tree trunks with sharp spikes protruding in all directions came swinging down across their paths, impaling them or mashing them into each other or the trees around them. But, as successful as these surprises were, less than three score of their number were killed or wounded by the initial traps.
Angered now, and even more thirsty for blood, the gothicans who remained at the front charged headlong into the valley only to find it deserted.
Every so often, a few dozen arrows would sail into their ranks from the distance, but no defending army was waiting for them. The gothicans and rock trolls passed the Uppervale outpost and eased into the town proper to find a lone figure standing in the center of the road, in the middle of what appeared to be an empty town. His stance was defiant, cocky even, and he was far too big to be a human. Cautiously now, the gothicans in front slowed their approach, and when they came within hailing distance of the lone figure, it was he who called out to them.
"My name is Dendle," he yelled. "I am half-gothican and half-human. I was conceived when one of you brave and mighty warriors raped my defenseless human mother. Where is the honor in that!" He spat the words. "I'm warning you that, if you continue to advance, you will not be spared. Lord Ulrich has misled you. He follows a demon, not a god. All of you are merely tools to him. When he is done with you, he will discard you like fodder."
"And you, bastard half-breed," one of the bigger gothicans in the front mocked as he stepped forward in challenge. "Are you going to stop us all by your—"
He wasn't able to finish his sentence because Davvy's arrow struck right into his neck. He gurgled out a mouthful of blood and fell wide-eyed backwards into the snow, which slowly turned crimson beneath him.
Several gothicans, each wearing a wide, bright red cloth band over their shoulder and across their chest, stepped out from behind the building behind Dendle with their weapons ready.
"If you will take this village, you will have to take it like true warriors," said Dendle. "Not like the murdering, raping cowards you have become."
And with that, the demon's army charged forth while all around them, buildings and holes full of axe-wielding, heavily armored dwarves and humans emptied into their flank, cleaving the legs and bellies of the surprised horde.
From the back ranks of the group, a few hundred gothicans, and most of the rock trolls, broke away from the main force and ran toward the farmlands away from the river. They weren't retreating, though, they were coming around to get behind the treacherous little people who had come out of nowhere. Sadly, they succeeded, and nearly all of the hard fighting dwarves who started the attack were caught between they and the enemy’s main force with no place to go.
Davvy, Trenka, and the rest of the archers did their best to create a way out for the mighty dwarves, but the size and number of their foe was overwhelming. It seemed that the arrows that sunk into the bodies of the bigger fighters had no affect at all. They were forced to retreat to find better positioning and a more effective tactic.
Dendle, Writhick, Balo, and the other red-banded gothicans were fighting their kinsmen but were outnumbered nearly two to one. Already a third of the pinned dwarves had fallen to the vicious gothican blades slicing on one side of them, and the heavy wooden clubs of the rock trolls coming from the other, but the dwarves didn't give up.
"If yeer gonna die, my friends, then take three with ye," Prince Gruval yelled from their midst. He was right there with them and had already lost his helmet to a blow from a troll's club that had split his scalp from front to back and left him looking like a bloody madman. All around him, dwarves hacked and chopped at the enemy until they fell to the ground, ripped wide open, some in pieces, some with caved-in skulls. The enemy was just too big and there was nowhere for the dwarves to find cover.
When the dwarf beside Gruval had half of his head crushed in, splattering the prince with sticky gray chunks of matter, he knew it was over. He only hoped the other dwarves were faring better.
Writhick and his group of gothicans did their job of clearing the road of enemies while Balo and several others pushed one of Captain Murdle's contraptions, a small catapult, into the lane and readied it to fire.
They were forced to hold off from using it due to the fact that so many of the dwarves were trapped among their foes. Then Balo suggested they raise the front wheels so the spear sized shafts they launched would fly above the height of a dwarf. This worked for a while, but eventually they saw they were not doing nearly as much damage as they needed to be doing. A simple archer could fire ten arrows to their one spear.
Several other of the surprises they'd had planned were rendered useless because the dwarven lives would be wasted along with the others if they did. It didn't appear that this would be a problem for long, though, for the dwarves were falling rapidly, and though they were giving their all, the end for them looked to be near.
Dendle and his goths had the same idea as Davvy, and at about the same time. Neither could stand to watch another of the brave, relentless dwarves go down. Dendle's group, though, was the quicker of the two, and he and his red-sashed gothicans leapt right into the fray and began trying to hack a way out for the dwarves who remained.
Davvy ordered his archers to drop the bows and charge into the midst of the battle as well. By evening, it had turned into nothing more than a knockdown, hack and slash battle of will, but even with the allied goths, the archers, and Davvy's blades, the dwarves who remained could not be broken from the horde.
Hot steaming blood erupted from the mass of fighters in mist-like sprays and thick pulsing globs. Body parts fell to the ground or dangled from the screaming fighters they were attached to. It was, by all accounts, a brutal horrific battle.
Prince Gruval turned to look around him and found maybe three of the ten score of dwarves were still standing. The last hundred or so of them were now reduced to defending instead of attacking, for most of them were broken, and cut, and wore down to their battered bones. All around them, he could see nothing but the enemy, and with a prayer, he resigned himself to die fighting.
The rock trolls and gothicans closed in to finish them off, but a dark blue form swept across their ranks just out of sword's reach. Cobalt shrieked fiercely and sent a crackling yellow blast of energy from his maw that leveled all of the gothicans and rock trolls in his path. On his back, Chureal sat. She was deep within the void, and though she wasn't willing to kill anything herself, not even trolls, she was willing to do what she could to save the dwarves she'd come to care deeply for. When Cobalt made another pass across the horde she let loose the magic of her jewel.
Suddenly, from the ground beneath the enemy, thorny shrubs sprouted out of nowhere, digging into their skin, wrapping around their ankles and entangling them. Soon, the growths wrapped them to the waist. Cobalt dove straight for the mass of dwarves in the middle of the crowd and blasted a path with his sizzling breath right over their heads. It scorched nearly all the way through and gave them a path to follow.
"To me! To me!" Prince Gruval screamed as loud as he could while he charged over the smoldering remains of the dead rock trolls and gothicans. The other dwarves followed.
Dendle saw what was needed and his gothicans attacked harder, as did Davvy, and with another pass, Cobalt had finally blasted a way for the dwarves to get fully clear.
Suddenly, the clumps of thorny vines spread into a long, wide wall that separated the dwarves from Pharark's force completely. Those of the enemy trapped in the impenetrable growth near Dendle, Writhick, and Davvy were quickly cut down
or riddled with arrows. Those on the other side were blasted into smoldering cinders by Cobalt's treacherous breath.
Over half of the invading force had been wounded or killed, and those who remained quickly retreated back down the road, into the forest and out of sight.
Darkness was upon them now, and the morrow would bring another day and another battle. The allied races of Uppervale weren't much better off. More than half of those who had fought were too wounded to continue, and three quarters of the dwarves were slaughtered in the melee. Most of Captain Murdle's traps had been useless due to the positioning, but if the demon's army pressed on in the morning, which they surely would, they could make some of them work.
Chureal and Cobalt had proven to be formidable weapons, and Captain Murdle was already speaking with Trenka and Davvy about ways to use their abilities. They were even more surprised and optimistic when the odd little girl started walking amongst the wounded healing the injured, and giving those who could not be healed a swift merciful death with just her touch.
Unbeknownst to the people of the valley Krookin Bloodthorn and the wood trolls who had abandoned the barge crossing in lieu of the ground trek were coming around the lake in the darkness. Not even they knew how big of an advantage they created, for the whole of the valley was now surrounded by Pharark’s horde.
Chapter Sixteen
The next morning, when the call to arms came, Chureal was out of it. She had spent most of the night healing what wounded the jewel would allow her, and the rest of the time, crying her tired little eyes out over those the jewel could not, or would not, spare. Prince Gruval was one whose wounds were healed, and he sat beside the young girl with Davvy and Trenka Shawl, wondering what to do with her. Davvy and the red-haired mercenary had to go to their troops and reluctantly left Chureal's care to the partially-intoxicated dwarven prince and the proud young dragon, Cobalt.
Demon of Destruction (Fantastica Book 3) Page 9