Thunderbolt (Dynasty of Storms Book 2)

by Brandon Cornwell

  There was an audible hum, then a series of bright flashes. As soon as the lightning started striking, the rest of Elias's men threw themselves flat, though some weren't quick enough. Stray bolts of electricity seared through them, hammering them downward, some of the men on the ground near them feeling the shock as well. Elias's skin tingled, and static flickered between his fingers as electricity buzzed through the soil.

  Carloman's men fared not nearly so well. Hundreds of lightning bolts slammed into the ranks, hurtling down from the swirling clouds like divine punishment. Still laying flat, Elias glanced behind them, to the north. Lightning was striking there as well, sending soldiers fleeing into the forest. There was no respite to be found there, with the bolts blasting down trees and lighting fires around them.

  Elias's heart surged with elation. They were going to win this! Against all odds, they had a chance to defeat Carloman and the rest of the lords!

  That was when the top of the great hall exploded.

  A stream of darkness surged from the eastern front. It was balked for a moment near the city walls, but it seemed to gather itself and strike against an unseen barrier. When it surged forward, the beam of light from Eira's room flickered and dissipated. Once the light was gone, the darkness wrapped around the room and crushed it, causing it to burst outward, scattering demolished stone and wood across the city.

  Elias leapt to his feet. If they had a chance, this was going to be it. He didn't know if Eira had survived the explosion, but they were on their own now, and they faced Drakhus as well as Carloman's army. Whatever magic had kept Drakhus from acting was gone. He let out a guttural, wordless cry, and charged towards the stunned enemy soldiers to the south. He was aware of Tataramoa pacing him, lightly armored and wielding his decorated spear. As they closed with the Carloman's soldiers, Tataramoa let out a piercing, ululating shriek, and dove into battle.

  Elias didn't even slow down, swinging his sword like a club, cleaving entirely through one man and into another. Left and right he struck, not bothering to finish off the men he wounded. If they turned his strike aside, he was already past them, penetrating their ranks like a cavalry charge. Behind him, his soldiers crashed into the enemy, swords and shields knocked aside as they battled, led as they were by Elias and Tataramoa's charge.

  A fully armored knight stepped in front of Elias, and for a moment, he thought it was the knight he had been pursuing since Greenreef. However, this man was shorter than he was, and his armor was polished, not blackened. He bore the insignia of Adalhard, two axes crossed in front of a sword, over a lion, not the black star of the Felle.

  Elias assaulted this knight with all of his strength, and the knight did not withstand Elias's fury. He held his shield up, hiding behind it as Elias beat him back, crushing the metal and hacking into the side.

  With a powerful strike from the right, Elias clove through the top of the shield, twisting the upper third of the barrier almost entirely off. The armored man stumbled back, tripping over a fallen man, landing flat on his back.

  A young soldier in leather armor, barely old enough to carry a weapon, leapt in front of Elias, bearing a wooden shield and short sword. He was likely the armored man's squire. Elias kicked at the boy, stomping on the front of the shield, driving the young man back. Elias swung at him, and the boy held up his sword to ward off the blow, but his blade shattered, snapping off at the hilt.

  Elias seized the boy's shield with his left hand and ripped it away, throwing it aside as the armored man scrambled back, away from Elias. The boy put up his fists, still facing Elias. “Flee, my lord Adalhard, flee!” the boy screamed, fear making his voice shrill.

  Elias held his strike. This boy couldn't be older than thirteen, and he was standing between Elias and one of the architects of this siege. The boy showed more courage than he had ever seen in someone that young.

  Elias reached forward, grabbing the squire by the front of his leather tunic. The boy beat at him with his fists, but Elias hardly felt it through his plate armor, though the boy's knuckles were bloodied against him with his effort. He lifted the boy off the ground easily, and brought him to eye level.

  “Go home to your mother!” he said, seeing the terror on the boy's face as he winced, waiting for the blow that never came. At Elias's words, he opened his eyes, confused, looking into Elias's intense blue eyes.

  Elias threw the boy aside, and advanced towards Adalhard, who had regained his feet and lifted his sword to face off with Elias again. Elias feinted to the right, then lunged, driving his blade straight up the center. He expected Adalhard to block, and was prepared to press the attack, but his blow connected, punching through the man's breastplate and striking the back of his armor.

  Adalhard screamed, gripping Elias's blade with his mailled hands as he staggered back and fell to his knees. Elias drove forward, pushing him onto his back, and twisted his blade, wrenching it free. The man screamed again as Elias stood over him, preparing to pierce his heart with a coup de grace.

  A lancing pain shot through Elias's leg, and he spun, striking the one who attacked him with a backhanded slash, holding his sword in his right hand. His blow connected and sent his assailant falling back, clutching at their throat. Elias reached down and pulled a small dagger out of his thigh, and threw it aside, looking at who had stabbed him.

  It was the squire. Elias's blow had slashed him across the chest and neck, cutting him deep. Blood coursed over the boy's leather armor as he clutched at his throat in a vain attempt to stop the bleeding. He looked up at Elias, fear and hate filling his eyes as he fell to his knees, then forward onto the ground.

  Elias stood, his leg searing with pain, and looked around the battlefield. All around him, men and elves and dwarves were fighting and falling, killing and dying, littering the ground and charging over the dead. In his haze, he almost didn't see the man rushing him with a fallen horseman's lance. He deflected the point to the side with his left hand, and drove the end of his sword into the charging man's stomach, letting the soldier fall at his feet as he pulled his sword free. It felt almost nonchalant, effortless, like killing was as natural as breathing. This realization struck him nearly dumb as he stood on the battlefield, blood running down his leg.

  He was brought back to his senses by Tataramoa's voice.

  “Elias! Elias, to the south! Look!”

  Behind Carloman's forces, coming over the ridge that he had first climbed to observe Valtheim, more than a month before, there was cavalry charging towards them, perhaps five hundred of them. Behind the cavalry were footmen, wielding axes and wearing heavy armor, rushing down the hill towards the battle. Thousands of axemen, too many to even estimate.

  He let the tip of his sword rest against the ground, his heart falling into his stomach. His ploy had failed, despite Eira's final aid. Valtheim would fall. There was no way his depleted forces could hold off this new wave of attackers; the cavalry alone would crush them. He lifted his sword, preparing himself for his final stand.

  “Elias!” it was Tataramoa again. “Look!”

  The cavalry drove into Adalhard's soldiers, crushing them under their hooves, shredding them with swords and flails. A man in full armor led the charge, a tattered cape flowing behind him. Elias caught a flash of white on the green field of the cloak, and his eyes opened wide.

  “Brandt! That's Brandt! Men! Men, to the king! Rally to Brandt! King Brandt has returned!” His voice raw, he screamed out his orders. “Forward! The king is in battle!”

  Despite the pain in his leg, Elias sprinted towards his friend, cutting through or running past any soldier that stood in his way. As he grew closer, he saw that the armored axemen were dwarves, and they surged through Carloman's ranks, swarming towards the trebuchets. Their axes made short work of the wooden beams, causing the war machines to collapse, sometimes mid-shot, the counterweight causing the structure to flip out of control and fall to its side.

  The dark energy turned back from Valtheim, and bolted towards the battle. Elia
s could see where it came from, and knew that it emanated from Drakhus, the dark mage. He sprinted towards Brandt, who drew his horse up as Elias drew close.

  “I leave you in charge of Valtheim for less than a week, and you have a fucking siege?” Brandt said, laughing. “Last time I let you be king!”

  “Brandt, there's a mage, the same one that we fought at Tiefuhr! He must be brought down, lest he turns the tide again!”

  Brandt shook his head. “Don't worry! We brought friends from the south! Get a horse!”

  Elias caught the reins of a horse that had lost its rider, and mounted it. It bucked for a moment, but responded to his commands. He followed Brandt and his cavalry as they rode toward the eastern gate. All along the southern front, trebuchets were falling as men screamed, being hacked apart by an army of dwarves. Elias had no idea where they would have come from, nor why they were fighting with Brandt, but now was not the time for an interrogation.

  As they rounded the southeastern tower, he saw where the dark energy was coming from. Drakhus and Carloman stood near the forest, the ground around them charred bare, blackened by Drakhus's magic. Brandt pointed at them with his bloody sword.

  “Those men must die. Gerulf is on the northern front. I will kill him myself.” He glanced down at Elias's left leg, which bled, staining his trousers blackish red. “Can you still fight?”

  Elias raised an eyebrow. “Can you, old man?”

  Brandt laughed his deep, booming laugh. “Very well! If you beat me to the afterlife, you'd better have a chair and a mug waiting for me!”

  Brandt spurred his horse into a gallop, riding hard along the eastern wall, his cavalry falling in behind him. He could hear his friend shouting orders to his men as if they weren't on the brink of destruction at the hands of a dark wizard. Behind him, Elias could hear his men approaching. He dismounted from the horse and slapped it on the haunches, sending it bolting and kicking away.

  Tataramoa led the remnants of the dwarven warriors and Valtheim soldiers that had come over the wall with him, at least twenty-five hundred men. He jogged up to Elias, breathless, covered in blood. Some of it was his - one of his ears was sliced in half - but he seemed not too worse for wear.

  “Elias!” the elf gasped. “The wizard!”

  Elias nodded. “That's where we're going.” He addressed the men in front of him. “One more push!” he shouted. “We've almost driven these bastards out of the North! There stands the key to the treason that has brought this war upon us! Kill every man wearing a banner other than Valtheim's!” He turned towards the battle, and adjusted his grip on his sword. “Come on! There's mead and feasting to be had tonight, here or in the afterlife! Let's kill these sons of whores!”

  The men surged around him, outpacing him as he ran forward, his wounded leg slowing him down. Tataramoa stayed next to him, pacing him as he ran towards the battle. Arrows from Carloman's archers peppered Elias's soldiers, but they spread out, making for harder targets as they charged.

  Elias drove into the ranks, barely noticing the pain in his leg or the ache in his shoulder, adrenaline surging through his veins. He cut a line through the enemy towards Carloman. The lord's wild red hair was clearly visible through the fray as he stood near Drakhus, observing the battle. He was armored from shoulder to toe in plate mail, with two swords sheathed at his hips. Elias focused on the man as he carved his way through the ranks of soldiers, parrying strikes and countering with his own.

  An axeman leapt in front of him, swinging downward. Elias sidestepped, the axe grazing past his chest, striking his wounded leg with the haft. Snarling, Elias grabbed the man's chainmaille, and smashed his face three times with his pommel, driving him to the ground, turning his nose and eyes to pulp. He wrenched his pommel free with a scraping sound, and stalked forward, Tataramoa dispatching a swordsman to his right, and a spearman to his left.

  Carloman noticed him and frowned, drawing his swords. He stepped out of the charred circle that surrounded Drakhus, who was busy focusing on his magic.

  “So! The giant bushwalker comes to find out if they let elves into the greatest mead hall!” He flourished his swords, and stood en garde. “Come to me, then. We'll find out if you go to our afterlife or your own.”

  Elias lunged, and Carloman struck his blade aside, his swordpoint seeking Elias's neck. Dodging to the side, Elias whirled his sword over his head, and as Carloman moved in to strike, Elias brought it down. Carloman parried the strike again, deflecting it to the side, letting Elias's blade hit the ground.

  Tataramoa's spear shot forward, and Carloman jumped back, avoiding the thrust. Elias pressed the attack, swinging horizontally, and Carloman circled to Elias's left as he stepped back, maneuvering back into the battle.

  Elias charged him, swinging his sword in diagonal arcs, cutting across Carloman as the armored man avoided the strikes, not using his blades to block the blows.

  “Getting tired, are you? Should have rested well before stepping up to me, boy!”

  Elias swung down at Carloman again, and the man stepped into the strike, guiding the sword to the ground once more. He lifted his leg, and Elias braced for a kick, but instead, Carloman stomped on Elias's sword, near the hilt.

  The force of the stomp tore the handle from Elias's hands, driving the blade flat against the ground, and Carloman lunged forward, striking at Elias with a flurry of blows. Elias held up his hand, warding off the blows with his vambraces as he staggered back, Carloman driving him away from his sword. Carloman kicked at Elias again, slamming his foot into the giant elf's stomach, under his breastplate, causing Elias to stumble and fall on his back.

  Carloman was on him in an instant, thrusting at Elias's face. Elias rolled, narrowly avoiding his strike, when Carloman was struck by a shrieking blue warrior. Tataramoa had leapt full force into Carloman, bowling him off of his feet, and straddled the armored man. The sea elf warrior held his spear close to the head, and drove the point towards Carloman's neck, bearing down with all of his weight while the Northman gripped the warrior's wrists, pushing him back.

  Elias rolled to his feet, and saw two longswords nearby. He grabbed them and scrambled towards the fallen knight as Carloman sent his gauntleted fist smashing into Tataramoa's face, knocking him off of his chest. As he rose to his feet, Carloman drove one of his short swords into Tataramoa's stomach, and kicked him away.

  Elias set upon the armored man with both swords, Carloman expertly parrying and blocking each strike. Steel clashed against steel as the two tall warriors battled, nearly blind to the war that raged around them.

  Elias's blades had greater reach than Carloman's, and now he wasn't bound to just one sword. Carloman moved in close, striking from both sides simultaneously, and Elias blocked them both solidly on his crossguards, putting himself inside of Carloman. He thrust with both weapons, and the sword in his right hand found purchase under Carloman's left arm.

  Cursing, the lord staggered back, taking a defensive stance. As he faced off with Elias again, a short arrow embedded itself into his chest, causing him to gasp, dropping the sword in his left hand. Two more struck him, and he fell to his knees.

  “Alright, lad 'e's all yours now, kill that sunnuvabitch!”

  Elias looked to the familiar voice, and saw Darby, wielding a crossbow. He levered the string back, and slapped another bolt in place. “Unless y' want me t' finish this cunt off for ya!”

  Elias retrieved his sword as Carloman struggled to his feet. Stepping towards the man, he slapped the sword out of his hand, the weapon falling from Carloman's nerveless fingers.

  Carloman swayed on his feet, looking down at the arrows protruding from his breastplate. “Fucking dwarven steel,” he cursed, looking up at Elias. “Go on, boy, what are you waiting for? Finish it.”

  Elias grabbed Carloman's armor, dragging him forward, making him drop to his knees. As he raised his sword, Carloman looked up at him.

  “Burn my body. I don't want to have to fight you again.”

  Elias drove
his sword into the man's neck, under his chin, sheathing it nearly full length into the man's torso. Twisting it, he tore it free, blood fountaining out of the wound and Carloman's mouth. As Carloman gurgled his last breath, Elias kicked him onto his back, and turned towards Drakhus.

  A bolt of energy slammed into him, spinning him to the ground. Darby cursed in dwarvish, and fired his crossbow at the mage. The missile went wide, deflecting away from the mage, whose full attention was on Elias now.

  “Even though you killed Carloman, your forces are still outnumbered,” the mage hissed, stepping towards Elias. “You may have killed our commander, but you haven't won this war.” Another bolt of energy drove Elias back down, crushing him to the ground. He could feel his breastplate being eaten away, dripping away from the magical assault like wax in a forge.

  “It's just a matter of time before this city is destroyed. And I will watch lord Darius drink your soul, you worthless churl.”

  A dwarven axeman rushed Drakhus, who waved a hand at him absently. The warrior was swatted away like a gnat, launched into the forest as if from a catapult. There was a sickening crunch when he struck a tree and fell to the ground.

  Drakhus stood over Elias, darkness crackling between his fingers. Elias saw his face for the first time, scarred and wrinkled, as if it had been burned by acid or fire. “Now, to decide if this butterfly can be delivered with its wings plucked off. What do you think, elf, does Lord Darius need you to keep your arms, or if just your pulse is enough?”

  A horn sounded from the ridge behind Drakhus, and he turned to look. No more than two hundred yards away, there was a wall of soldiers, armed with long spears and shields that covered them nearly head to toe, lacquered blue and gold. In the center of each shield was a red lion's head; the symbol of Lonwick!

  Drakhus snarled, turning to the new threat. “This changes nothing!” He lifted his hands, energy crackling about him. “They will simply add to the field of corpses once they've fallen!”