Book of Kinsey: Dark Fate (The Dark Fate Chronicles 2)

by Matt Howerter

  “Again, I owe you,” Kinsey yelled to her as he and Dak galloped away.

  The faint call of Jocelyn’s voice followed him. “I know.”

  Thorn gripped Mordekki, pouring as much of himself into the artifact as he could withstand. All his joy and hope after finally finding Kinsey, all the anger and rage he felt at wronging his son those sixty years ago, flowed into the mystical weapon and radiated out to his people. His followers would absorb those emotions—become those emotions—and in return he could feel them become one in purpose.

  The king roared with Nerok as the white giant crashed into the advancing mass of the horde. There was no halting the mighty beast’s charge. The great bear parted their ranks as a prow cuts through calm waters. Spear and sword broke against the modified barding that the dwarves had hurriedly sized for the giant beast. Goblin, hobgoblin, and all cousins of the blasphemous creatures were trampled under Nerok’s massive weight and momentum. Those attempting to escape the calamity of fur and claws were either knocked through the air or snapped up in ravening jaws to be torn to pieces.

  To either side of the king and Nerok, Gurney and Beordin tore through the horde’s ranks with their Ursus mounts as well. The two dwarves worked short bows furiously, raining arrows down upon hapless hobgoblins while filling the air with their battle cries. The rest of the Ursus cavalry followed, five hundred strong, creating a wedge that leveled all who stood before them.

  Despite the devastating impact of the Ursus, they were hopelessly outnumbered and could not sustain such exertion for long. On Thorn’s command, the wedge of giant bears collapsed into a circle to make their stand. The hobgoblins and their screeching allies closed about them like water rushing in to cover a thrown pebble.

  Exhaustion crept along the fringes of Thorn’s mind, and he released the flow of emotions that Mordekki greedily siphoned from him. I am too old for this, Thorn thought while shaking his head to sharpen his weary senses.

  A ragged bolt whizzed past his ear, and the howl of a furious hobgoblin quickly followed, surprisingly close. A solitary monster had managed to slip inside the ranks of the Ursus to clamber up the barding on Nerok’s rear flank.

  Instinct from more than three centuries of training took control as Thorn swung Mordekki in a wide arc toward the sound. The great axe bit into something solid just behind his field of vision and slowed for only an instant as the blade slid through metal and bone. A spray of black heart’s blood flew forward from the sundered flesh and spattered Nerok’s snow-white fur.

  Dismissing the dead, Thorn scanned the sea of goblin-kin looking for the bowman and would-be regicide. There you are. Thorn’s gaze settled on a goblin desperately trying to reload a wretched crossbow. The string had been cranked back, and the little wretch’s hands fumbled with a bolt as he clung to the stock of the weapon.

  “Yer doom be sealed, maggot!” Thorn growled. He took Mordekki in both hands and raised the great axe over his head. With a mighty grunt, Thorn hurled the weapon at the frantic goblin.

  Mordekki tumbled through the air in a blur. One of the axe’s razor-sharp blades struck the goblin right on the crown of his lowered head, splitting it like a ripe melon and lodging in the trunk below. Dark blood and brains fell to the ground along with the goblin’s twitching body.

  Thorn opened his hand and thrust his arm forward toward the weapon of his forefathers. Mordekki, buried in the goblin’s skull, shimmered as the runes along its head and haft throbbed with life. Within the blink of an eye, the ancient artifact disappeared entirely and reappeared in Thorn’s outstretched hand as if it had never left.

  The sound of metal crashing into metal echoed from behind the king. Thorn turned in his saddle to see that his infantry had caught up and were hammering their way into the goblin-kin that had closed behind the battling Ursus. The troops were in fine form, hacking and slashing the enemy to pieces while pressing forward as if an army of practice dummies stood before them.

  The king turned back to the fore and smiled deeply as he raised Mordekki to throw once more, confident that victory would be theirs this day.

  KINSEY leaned low as he raced toward the front lines. Dak’s heavy legs churned below the protective barding supplied by the dwarves. Dislodged divots flew into the air in their wake until he caught up with the reinforcements that waited to join the fray.

  The dwarves’ battle line was an imposing sight. Some fifteen men deep, the front line appeared impassable. Long shields formed a virtually unbroken barrier through which short swords were thrust into the howling mass. Long pikes and halberds were manned just behind, jabbing and piercing over the shield wall into the goblinoid foes that attempted to break through the protective barrier. Sharp-eyed rescue teams worked amongst the pikemen, searching for the wounded or fallen. Once found, the injured were spirited away behind the lines to be tended or comforted in their passing. Behind the pikes were regiments of crossbowmen, firing over their brothers in arms into the seemingly endless horde. Lord Tagen and the remaining seven houses would have a fine anvil to smash their hammer against.

  Kinsey made his way alongside squads of crossbowmen and stopped just shy of the surging wall of infantry. He frowned at the prospect of reaching his grandfather. The horde had closed around the king and his cohort like a pudding enveloping a piece of dried fruit. Even though the king was in clear sight, any attempt to reach him through the battling dwarves and goblins would be more than difficult, if not impossible.

  Dammit! Kinsey ground his teeth in frustration. If he had not had such an infernal lack of control over the beast, he could be standing with his grandfather right now.

  Thorn’s voice could be heard cutting through the din, doubtlessly enhanced by the glowing axe clutched in his fist. The king reared up suddenly and hurled the great axe like a thunderbolt into the seething mass of goblin-kin. Within the blink of an eye, the great axe reappeared in Thorn’s hand in a rune-glowing firestorm.

  Kinsey looked on in awe. He had heard the others speaking with reverence about the great weapon but had dismissed the stories as fancy and legend. How wrong he had been to do so! The whispered conversations concerning Mordekki were apparently very true indeed.

  Horns blared from the western flank, interrupting his musing. The desperate, short bursts of sound could only mean trouble.

  Kinsey looked away from Thorn and the island of Ursus, searching for the source of the alarm. Dread eeled through his gut at what he saw.

  Further west, the shield wall of dwarves that appeared so impassable had begun to collapse. The troops were pulling back to reform, but they were doing so as singles, or at best twos and threes. The retreating troops seemed lost in the chaos, lacking any sense of cohesion.

  Kinsey racked his brain, attempting to remember the name of the general commanding the western flank. Roehil, he thought, remembering as he turned Dak west. What was the man thinking? The clusters of soldiers would be torn apart if they didn’t regroup.

  Jocelyn’s somewhat breathless voice caught his attention. “Kinsey!” she yelled. “What’s happened?”

  Kinsey tore his gaze away from the crumbling army. Several of the men who were following the dauntless woman were still running to catch up to her, but Jocelyn herself had come to halt at his stirrup. Sweat beaded on her forehead from exertion, but she had a lightness to her step that spoke of boundless energy.

  “The western flank is failing!” Kinsey shouted in reply. “Assemble as many men as you can, and follow me.” Gathering Dak’s reins, he took one last look toward Thorn. To his surprise, the king and a small group of Ursus had splintered from the main body and begun to force their way west, cutting a path of destruction through the goblin-kin.

  Of course, Kinsey thought, the king would have heard the call of alarm as well and had taken action to provide aid. “We may fight side by side after all,” Kinsey whispered to himself with a grim smile. Delaying no longer, he spurred Dak into motion.

  As Kinsey raced toward the crumbling formations, he could m
ake out the calamity that had started the shield wall’s breakdown. Massive humanoid forms towered above the heads of goblin-kin and dwarf alike, swinging giant mauls back and forth. The sweeping blows scattered dwarven soldiers in every direction. Ogres had taken the field.

  Ghosts of a memory flickered through his mind. The Dakayga stirred within him, and for an instant, he could taste the bitter blood of another ogre as it died in a rotted keep, surrounded by piles of dead men. With a growl, he pushed the vision away to focus on what lay ahead. Just one of the horrid beasts could cause most men to empty their bowels in fear, but a half dozen of them, armed to the teeth, would instigate a full rout.

  While speeding past one of the many weapon racks that had been dragged to the front, Kinsey reached out and snatched up a long-headed spear. “Follow me!” he bellowed as he galloped past each cluster of soldiers. Charging forward like a crazed beast, Dak trampled the stray goblins that had spilled through the front lines, scattering their broken and lifeless bodies like leaves in a windstorm. Kinsey unleashed a battle cry and hurled his spear at the closest ogre.

  The shaft soared through the air, its metal tip piercing the unsuspecting monster in the throat. Instead of dying immediately as any polite creature might, the brute only hesitated in its attack, stumbling slightly. The ugly mouth opened to bellow in pain and rage, but only blood came forth.

  Dak snorted as Kinsey leaned forward and urged the great horse to even greater speed. Together, they smashed into the wounded ogre. Kinsey sprang from Dak’s back into a diving roll, coming to his feet and spinning to face the massive brute. Dak reared after the impact and kicked at the air.

  The ogre crashed to the ground, landing heavily on its side. The spear haft snapped off, leaving a handsbreadth of splintered wood jutting from the thick, scarred neck like some obscene piece of jewelry. The ogre choked out a bellow of frustration and pain as its hands flailed helplessly at the wound.

  “Attack!” Kinsey bellowed, ripping free his dagger and charging the wounded ogre.

  The previously flustered troops rushed in with swords and spears. They hacked the monster’s legs and stabbed its belly in rhythmic coordination, but even mortally wounded, the ogre was still a deadly foe. Bodies of dwarven soldiers were swept aside as the arms flailed like tree limbs. More dwarves rushed in to fend off the swarming goblins and hobgoblins that attempted to lend aid to the wounded ogre.

  Kinsey ran forward in a crouch with his dagger held low. He dodged the swinging boom of the ogre’s massive arm and leapt at the wounded creature’s face. He grabbed a handful of the monster’s filthy hair and stabbed deep into the twisted lump of flesh that was the ogre’s ear.

  The ogre howled again in pain, spraying Kinsey with dark blood. The giant’s body arched backward, flinging Kinsey away, while its club-like fingers clawed at the embedded blade. The dwarven soldiers danced back, cheering as the monster played out its death throes.

  Kinsey rolled to get clear of the flailing ogre and scrambled to his feet, looking for Dak. The agitated warhorse stood alone to one side, the cheering dwarves giving him a wide berth.

  Kinsey ran for his horse, ignoring the hands that reached to slap him on the back. “No time!” he shouted as he swung back into the saddle. “That was only one, and this day is long from over!” If they didn’t stitch the shield wall back together, all would be lost.

  “Fer Mozil, and the prince!” roared from dozens of throats as the dwarves followed Kinsey and Dak into the goblin masses.

  The ever-present wind of the heights tugged Tagen’s flaming red hair and blew it across his eyes, impairing his vision, but he made no move to sweep it away. He watched the events below unfold in grim satisfaction. Long-awaited joy fought to be free of his self-control, but he kept it hidden deep within his heart, allowing not a whit of the glee to touch his face.

  Ignatius and his fellow assassins had timed their work perfectly. With the removal of General Roehil and his support structure, the individual units of infantry had begun to break apart just before true calamity had struck. Ogres that had charged over the rockslide currently fell upon the crumbling lines with blatant savagery. The pressure of their brutal attack caused the dwarven line to simply dissolve into pockets of weak resistance that would be quickly overwhelmed.

  Once the western flank completely shattered, the hobgoblin horde would have an easy route to victory. The goblin-kin would tear through the dwarven support lines that kept the remaining shield walls strong, and then they too would fall. Even the daunting raw power of the Ursus would prove ultimately useless to win the day for Thorn and his lackeys. Well, that was what would happen if Tagen and the other seven great houses did not descend immediately to provide the hammer to crush the enemy against what remained of Thorn’s anvil.

  “Ma lord Tagen!” came a strained voice from behind him.

  Tagen took the time of a single breath to ensure that his face was sufficiently grave before turning to face the young page that had spoken. Not one but three pages stood in front of him, all veritably dancing on the balls of their feet in agitation. They bowed quickly as he faced them. The vibrancy of their house colors was dimmed by the sudden cloud cover but still easily distinguishable. The closest boy bore the midnight blue and scarlet of House Founderson, while the two standing just behind him fidgeted with their tabards: dark brown and orange of House Earthhomme and emerald and black representing House Jaden. Of the eight houses lying in wait upon the cliffs, these were the most firm supporters of Thorn—no surprise that they should be the first houses to lose patience with the folly that played out below. The young dwarves said nothing more but watched Tagen anxiously.

  “Tell yer lords, we be movin’ ta aid our brothers,” Tagen said, waving his hand for them to disperse. Each page scurried off down the rocky trail to deliver his words. The rich colors of their cloaks flapped in the wind as they ran.

  The seemingly quiet ridge boiled with life as dwarven men and women of all eight houses moved from their concealment. Word was passed by whisper of messenger, hand signal, and mirror. No horns were sounded that might alert the goblinoid foes below. Even the boots and weapons of the warriors were swaddled in rags to keep errant rattles from drawing attention.

  If the hobgoblins and their ilk had a brain in their heads, they had to know that there were enemies on the peaks. How else could the avalanche have been so impeccably timed? Yes, surely the motley beasts knew, but the numbers of the dwarves had been painstakingly concealed to mislead them. Surprise was a critical factor to the success of their plan.

  Mere moments passed before the soldiers of the eight noble houses were on the move. The orange and brown surcoats of House Earthhomme were the first to begin filling the high trails, followed closely by House Jaden. After them came a thickening blend of other high houses, including the black, gold, and emerald of Tagen’s own house trailing close behind.

  Without warning, the rocks above the path gave way. The clack and rumble of stone filled the upper reaches of Fountainhead Pass, drowning out all other sound for Tagen and those traveling on the ridge. Hundreds of dwarven men and women, primarily from Earthhomme, were swept off the trail to their deaths. Screams of the wounded and calls for aid immediately rang out amongst the soldiers that were nearest to the heart of the rockslide.

  Tagen dared a glance further up the mountainside as he came to a halt.

  Nothing but broken cliffs and drifting clouds of dust could be seen. Not a stitch of fabric from Ignatius’s men was revealed. No evidence of the men who had caused this new catastrophe was left behind.

  Tagen lifted a hand to cover his smile. One day he would ask the exiled priest how his men had concealed themselves so well. Perhaps, he thought, it will be when I try him for treason. After he had claimed Hannaul and his rightful status as king, of course. Tagen almost laughed aloud at the thought but quickly turned his attention back to the commotion at hand.

  The passage was completely filled with loose rock, giant boulders, and broken bodies.
Most of the dwarves not crushed were standing around, shocked. Several ran to aid those still alive, but there was no doubt that the majority trapped by the fallen rocks were dead and that the force on high would not be joining the battle being waged below.

  Again, Tagen stifled the swell of satisfaction that burgeoned within him and started issuing orders as he ran toward the tragic scene. “Form a line!” he roared, his scarlet beard flowing behind him. “Don’t just push ’em ta one side!” he shouted at the men and women that were carelessly shoving stones aside, trying to reach their buried kin. “We gotta clear the pass and get ta the basin! Thorn and the others be needin’ us!”

  Tagen joined the soldiers and squires in their frantic digging. The physical exertion helped to expend some of his ever-building excitement.

  Falling remnants of the rockslide caused Tagen a moment of heartfelt panic as they tumbled down on those working to save the trapped and injured. The loosened stones had worked themselves free because of the subtle vibrations of the rescue effort. Only two or three of the workers were killed, but the new fallen stone reversed much of the progress that had been made. It would take hours for the passage to be cleared.

  Lord Jaden himself pulled the ginger-haired dwarf aside after what seemed like days of digging. “Ya’ve done what ya can, Tagen.” His voice was layered in exhaustion, and dust caked his dark brow. “Take a moment. We need ta discuss what happens now.”

  Tagen nodded wearily and stood. Dust and sweat matted his fine clothes and hair. The nails of his hands were broken and rough, and more than one cut had left bloody fingerprints on the pieces of granite that he had heaved aside.

  A water pouch was handed to him, which he accepted proudly. No one could say that he had not tried his best. Or at least, that he didn’t lack compassion for his fellow dwarves. “This be a mighty tragedy,” he muttered loud enough for Jaden to hear.