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

by Matt Howerter

  Soldiers made way for Gurney and Diherin as they charged to the fore. The several hundred Ursus had spread out along the shield wall, helping the dwarven troops when and where they could. The lines of dedicated dwarves and beasts were ready for the hammer to fall—a hammer that would never come.

  “Push forward, smash ’em against the rocks!” Gurney bellowed as Diherin’s paw snapped the neck of a hobgoblin just the other side of the wall. Gurney jabbed his spear into the nearest foe and yelled again, “Together, lads, forward!”

  The lord’s command echoed along the lines on either side through the voices of his sergeants. As one, the entire center shouldered forward a step. The crash of metal on metal was deafening, and screams of the dying resounded after each push, but the dwarves struggled on, step by step. Eventually, the strength of Gurney’s soldiers diminished, their bodies and souls drained from exertion. No matter how much he urged his troops to victory, they could push forward no more.

  “Crossbows, ta the front!” Gurney commanded. The crossbowmen had been firing volley after volley into the seething ranks of the horde far beyond the rippling shield wall, but now they were needed to protect those that had protected them. The infantry needed a breather, if only for a few moments.

  If the dwarves were to survive this day, they would have to be pushed to the utmost of their limits. A delicate hand would be required to navigate the fine line between recoverable exhaustion and complete failure. Gurney knew delicacy. When chisel cut stone to reveal the art that lay underneath or when understanding the settling of a mountain when boring into its core; these things required finesse. Finesse that the lord of the second house had been master of for more than two centuries. He would guide the people to salvation, if not victory.

  The point-blank fire of the archers took a telling toll upon the hobgoblin army, and their front lines faltered, easing the pressure on the shield wall. Both sides took precious moments to breathe and glare balefully across the short distance at those who wished to see them dead. Just as quickly, the moment was gone and the combatants flooded the narrow gap once more.

  Gurney roared as he stood in the traces of his saddle, raising his spear high to skewer a charging hobgoblin. Sudden pain flashed in his armpit and the spear tumbled away from fingers that no longer obeyed his will. Confused, Gurney turned his head to peer at a gnarled and crude arrow that protruded from his underarm. The mail netting had been pierced as if it were mere cotton.

  Gurney’s vision blurred, and he flopped down on his saddle with an audible thud. It was becoming harder for him to breathe. They’ve gotten me, damned swamp scum got me. Dazed, he searched for the goblin that had to be somewhere behind the dwarven line until his eyes fell upon a dwarf lowering a crossbow. For the briefest instant, their eyes locked, and Gurney knew that this man hated him. The strength of his legs suddenly failed and the air took hold of the lord of the second house as he slipped from the saddle of the now rearing Ursus. “Steel... and—” Gurney began as the ground rushed up to meet him, and then he knew no more.

  A golden-brown Ursus plowed through the goblin ranks that stood between it and the first siege engine. An ogre wielding a massive club managed to land a blow near the rider, high on the bear’s flank, before a swinging paw sent the nine feet of raging monster spinning into its goblinoid brethren.

  Thorn and Nerok charged the center position where screaming goblins and hobgoblins rushed to set pikes. The white leviathan swept one paw across the pike line, slapping aside weapons and wielders alike as Thorn repeatedly flung and summoned Mordekki. Around them, dwarves that served as the king’s personal guard shoved, pushed, and stabbed their way into the Mot-cursed rabble that sought to close on Nerok’s flanks. Seconds passed before the mighty ballista lay in ruins, and the dwarves cheered even as they continued to battle.

  Abruptly, the hobgoblin foes retreated from the dwarven host. Thorn and his crew watched, confused, until they saw what was uncovered by the fleeing goblin-kin.

  The drake’s body was perhaps sixty feet from tongue-flicking snout to lashing, reptilian tail. There was no way to tell how much its scaly body weighed other than the depth to which its clawed feet dug into the torn earth. Yellowed talons, easily eight inches in length, sprouted from each of its dozen or so feet. Heavily muscled legs flexed as the body writhed in anticipation. The hissing mouth was full of jagged yellow teeth that snapped around a bifurcated tongue, and sparkling green eyes gazed at the dwarves hungrily.

  Thorn was chilled by the sight.

  Drakes were giant, cursed lizards found almost exclusively in the Wetlands. Thorn was fortunate enough to never have encountered one of the wicked creatures during his many travels, but he had learned a few things about them. The tales of belching fire and poison gas were myths, although their tough hides were incredibly resistant to heat, and their saliva was horribly infectious. Some of the creatures could fly, but the specimen that stood before his host had no wings that were readily apparent. Even with the myths surrounding the drake dispelled, the beast was terrifying to behold.

  Upon the broad, reptilian back sat a huge hobgoblin. Plate mail, black as night, encased the giant’s body except for its pale, bald pate. The ugly face was split in a distorted, eager grin. It beckoned to the king with one arm while a wicked-looking sword that must have been five feet from barbed quillions to razor-sharp tip dangled in the grip of its other gauntleted hand. “Come, mole king!” it bellowed in a barely audible howl. “Come and die!”

  Nerok roared in challenge.

  I can end this battle now, Thorn thought desperately. Weary from battle, the king sought a quick conclusion to this all-consuming conflict. Surely this was the creature that led the rabble. Destroying him could very well crumble the morale of the horde and send them all screaming back for the swamps. Thorn raised Mordekki over his head and echoed Nerok’s roar of challenge.

  The drake hissed and began to uncoil as its talon-tipped feet crushed hapless goblins and hobgoblins. The hobgoblin leader just laughed as his own troops died below him. “Yes!” he shouted, spreading his arms wide.

  Nerok charged, heedless of the surrounding horde. More than a few goblins were crushed underfoot by the great white bear as he closed the distance. Wiser goblinoids scrambled away from the avalanche of Nerok’s charge and the equally violent thrashing of the drake.

  Once within range, Thorn hurled his axe at the savage and grinning face of his adversary. With a ringing slap, Mordekki was diverted to one side by the hobgoblin’s giant sword. The great axe plummeted into the mass of goblin-kin gathered behind the drake’s tail.

  “Dagda take ya,” Thorn muttered, summoning the weapon back to his outstretched hand. The king held on tightly with his free hand as Nerok engaged the slithering reptile. The white bear’s massive paws smashed into the dark scales, but the sinuous body of the drake absorbed the impact, and Nerok’s black claws failed to lodge in the thing’s flesh.

  In return, the drake’s darting head snapped at the shoulders of the giant bear, finding only fur and fury. The hobgoblin champion laughed and launched a wide, arcing strike at Thorn.

  The king was forced to duck away from the whistling tip of the weapon. Nerok’s surging attack had left Thorn unable to effectively hurl Mordekki, and his reach was pathetically insufficient given the size of the mounts.

  The two creatures broke apart and began to circle one another.

  “You are weak, mole king,” the giant hobgoblin bellowed. “Maharuke will feast on your flesh!” What could be considered a cheer rose from the battling goblin-kin as their leader pounded his chest.

  “I think not,” Thorn shouted. Summoning all his strength, he flung Mordekki once more at the monster sitting astride the drake. This time he threw his weapon sideways so that the axe spun parallel with the earth.

  Maharuke’s eyes came alight with furious glee. Using speed that belied his great size, the giant swung his black sword upward at the last possible moment. A resounding clang sent Mordekki spinning harmle
ssly once more into the air beyond his head. In the next instant, Maharuke dove from his saddle. He rolled on impact, coming to his feet at a running charge toward Thorn and Nerok.

  The great bear roared and swung a massive paw at the running figure, seeking to crush it as he had so many others that day.

  Maharuke spun as he ran and brought the deadly black sword across his body in a glittering arc. The barbed blade bit into Nerok’s arm just below the elbow. Fur, skin, and bone parted like silk under shears. The arm fell to the ground twitching as the remaining stump showered the area with blood.

  “Dagda’s mercy!” Thorn swore, stupefied by the ease with which the hobgoblin champion had dealt the wound.

  Anguish shook Nerok’s mountainous frame as he bellowed. The white bear’s head shook from side to side as he sought to escape the pain of his severed limb, and sounds similar to speech moaned from his throat.

  Thorn could do nothing for his friend. The violent agitation of the great bear forced him to cling to the saddle with both hands.

  The drake struck with lightning speed during the moment of distraction. Savage teeth sank into the bear’s exposed neck. A fresh howl of agony erupted from Nerok as he reared, dragging the drake’s body with him. The great bear slammed his remaining paw into the ribs of the drake, knocking it away to crash in a jumble of furiously twisting limbs.

  Thorn still clung desperately to the saddle. His eyes darted back and forth in search of his enemy and almost missed the running form of Maharuke as he charged with his wicked black blade held low. The giant hobgoblin disappeared from the king’s sight as he crossed in front of the rearing bear.

  An ursine scream of agony filled the air, and suddenly Thorn was falling. His hands still clutched the saddle, but it was no longer affixed to Nerok’s back. Carcodium runes flashed in Thorn’s peripheral vision as he smashed to the ground. His armor dealt with most of the impact, but his head still swam from rebounding on the stony soil. Thorn blinked away the stars in his vision and attempted to get his bearings.

  Nerok was still on his hind legs but swayed as if drunk. Maharuke stepped into view once more, an evil grin stretched across his face. Ropy tendrils of intestine and blood coated the champion from head to foot. The drake attacked again, coiling its snake-like body around Nerok. The many taloned feet tore into the bear’s hide while the large reptilian maw clamped onto Nerok’s muzzle. Leveraging its coils around the bear’s throat, the drake forced Nerok’s majestic head backwards until a sickening snap sounded across the field. Nerok collapsed, crushing dwarves and goblin-kin alike under his enormous weight.

  “NO!” Thorn screamed. Maddened, he summoned Mordekki to his opened hand. The king staggered to his feet and charged Maharuke. Thorn swung his axe in wide arcs, but his fury could not sustain him; his previous efforts on the field left him weak and exposed.

  The hobgoblin champion dodged the sloppy attacks with ease. Maharuke’s retaliatory blow struck with such speed and force that Thorn had no chance to counter. The black sword pushed Mordekki away and smashed with the flat of the blade into Thorn’s face, shattering the dwarven king’s nose. Unearthly power behind the strike knocked the king off his feet and propelled him through the air.

  Thorn landed on his back a dozen feet away amongst the bodies of the fallen and stray boulders from the rockslide. He blinked and gasped for breath, fighting for consciousness.

  “Death, mole king!” Maharuke bellowed. “Death is what I bring!” The giant hobgoblin stalked closer. “Had I known your weakness, we’d have come for you sooner.” He raised his wicked sword skyward.

  Thorn watched, powerless, his eyes affixed to the blade as it fell.

  PANIC seized Jocelyn as she watched Thorn fall from Nerok’s back. The great bear swayed for only a moment before he too was lost in the swirling mass of battle. “No!” she screamed, drawing Horus’s attention. “The king has fallen!” she shouted at him, pointing in the direction in which Thorn had disappeared from sight. She ran forward but found herself blocked by the backside of the shield wall.

  Thanks to Kinsey, the wall on the western flank was coming back together, but even with the prince’s efforts, the shield wall was barely solid. Gaps would still open when a large enough force of hobgoblins crashed into the defensive barrier, howling with glee as they cut down dwarven defenders. One such gap opened just to Jocelyn’s left. Without thought, she drove into the invaders and pushed her way through, charging behind enemy lines. Horus, Neal, and Jordin followed close on her heels, snarling and screaming inarticulate battle cries and shouts of “King Thorn. To the king!”

  A surprised goblin was the first to fall under the onslaught of her axe and flail. It died with a squeal as the spiked ball of her flail smashed through the side of its face. She pressed forward in a spin that brought her axe into a hobgoblin’s knee, biting deeply. The creature’s cry of pain was cut short as her flail came rocketing upward to smash into its jaw, whipping the ugly head back.

  The next few moments were lost in blind rage. Jocelyn attacked with an unbridled and almost reckless ferocity, smashing and cutting opponent after opponent as she forced her way slowly across the field toward the last place she had seen the great white bear.

  The monsters fled from Jocelyn’s charge, giving her a precious moment to take stock of her surroundings. While hacking her way across the field, she had lost sight of Nerok but had hoped the other Ursus battling for their lives would give her the compass she needed to continue. Glancing around, she could see none of the great beasts. We’re close, we have to be, she thought. Dread and despair filled her heart—they were taking too long.

  “Jocelyn!” Neal bellowed from beside her.

  Jocelyn’s attention snapped back, and she raised her weapons in a cross, parrying a deadly blow.

  A burly hobgoblin had rushed in as she sought to find her way to the king. Its cruel, ragged blade stopped only inches from her neck, but the might of the blow staggered her. Stumbling, she rocked her back on her heels.

  Neal’s hammer smashed into the side of the attacking hobgoblin’s face. The squared head of his battle hammer tore through skin as the blunt weight pulped the bones underneath. Pieces of the hobgoblin’s jaw exploded away, sailing into the distance, while the body collapsed like a sack of wet grain. Neal pointed past the felled hobgoblin. “There!”

  Jocelyn’s gaze followed Neal’s pointing finger as she regained her footing. A void left by the fallen hobgoblin revealed a hint of snow-white fur no more than two dozen yards away. So close, she thought. “Right!” She shook off her weariness to brain another goblin. “Let’s move!”

  Screaming, the small dwarven band fought their way to the clearing.

  The majestic body of Nerok lay unmoving. Twisting trails of dark red stained the fur around a massive gash in the great bear’s belly and chest. A ghastly reptilian beast that could only be a drake gorged on the entrails, casting its head back and gulping down great, bloody chunks of viscera. The black scales glistened with the green flickering light from the muted cloud cover as the wedge-like head dove back into the carcass to tear free more meat.

  Beyond Nerok’s corpse and its grisly attendant, bodies of dwarves and goblin-kin littered the boulder-strewn ground. Everywhere she looked, death was played out in endless profusion. Pockets of her kinsmen stood locked in combat with scores more of the hobgoblin troops.

  Amid the carnage stood the most fearsome hobgoblin Jocelyn had ever seen. Encased in midnight-black armor and holding a wicked black sword that was longer than her entire body, the creature radiated fear and power. Initially, she thought it to be a hobgoblin; the features were right, but the thing was too large. It stood so tall that she would have called it an ogre, but its posture spoke of intelligence. Ogres were more like earthquakes—shambling and crude, their destruction random and unpredictable. This thing was no ogre. Its dark eyes held malicious purpose and focus beyond what any ogre was capable of. This creature was an abomination.

  Jocelyn took a tenta
tive step toward the giant, still puzzled. Its twisted face was leering in a parody of a smile as it gazed down at something obscured by the bodies and rocks. Its mouth moved as if it were speaking.

  Realization that the fearsome creature would not be gloating to a corpse spurred her back into action. The king, she thought. It speaks to the king. “Thorn!” she screamed. “Save the king!” Mindful of where the drake was feeding, Jocelyn put her head down and ran for Nerok’s head, intent on skirting the monstrous reptile. Once clear of Nerok’s shoulder, she saw that she was too late.

  The giant hobgoblin had reared back with its sword held in both hands. Grinning fiercely, it brought the dark blade down with utter finality.

  “No!” she screamed. Her voice was not alone. Neal, Horus, and Jordin had all arrived in time to see the final blow fall. Jocelyn felt numb and reacted sluggishly, as if she were no longer in her own body. King Thorn had been like family to her and Gideon. He can’t be gone.

  Neal shoved her aside and ran past the feeding drake, which ignored them, lost to its gluttony. Jordin and Horus followed just behind.

  Neal screamed as he raced toward the grinning hobgoblin. The dwarf’s berserker frenzy lent him speed, and he outpaced Horus and Jordin easily. His battle hammer came up and around in a clumsy but vicious attack that would have staggered a boulder if it had connected. The black-armored giant easily sidestepped the ungainly attack, stepping into a deceitfully lazy spin. The abomination’s great sword arced around with blinding speed and cut Neal in twain as he sailed by. The two halves of his body bounced upon the bloodstained soil and rolled to a halt at the feet of the jeering masses of goblin-kin surrounding them.

  Jordin and Horus shouted in defiance as they continued to rush forward to engage Neal’s killer. More dwarves from the king’s own cohort poured into the small clearing in an attempt to circle the king.