The Dwarf Kingdoms (Book 5)

by A. Giannetti

  “If I cannot slay you with magic then steel will suffice,” the Uruc shouted viciously. Veteran of hundreds of successful contests, uncommonly supple and strong, Zaleuc expected Elerian to quickly fall before his dark steel, but each of his strong, cunning strokes was deftly countered by his opponent whose clear gray eyes coolly watched for an opportunity to strike back.

  Frustrated by the skill and strength of his opponent, Zaleuc suddenly stepped back, a cunning look in his dark eyes. With his magical eye, Elerian saw a spell spring from his lips, the small red orb enveloping a leather sack hanging from the Uruc’s wide belt. Carrying something from the bag, the spell took a chest high position between Elerian and the Goblin. Closing his third eye in order to see what was contained in the crimson globe, Elerian beheld the severed head of the lytling he had failed to save hanging in the air in front of him, its eyes open and the childish features frozen into an expression of pain and horror.

  “Her flesh was sweet and tender, made even tastier by terror,” Zaleuc taunted in a voice filled with fathomless wickedness, expecting the horrible relic that he had exposed would startle Elerian, breaking his concentration and making him an easy target for his dark sword. Instead, red rage worthy of a Dwarf swept through Elerian like a rain-swollen torrent. Slipping his shield from his left arm, he threw it at Zaleuc. As the Uruc flinched, Elerian leapt into the air, raising Acris high above his head in a two handed grip. A look of surprise flashed across the Zaleuc’s pale face as he raised his shield against the sudden attack. A flash like a lightning strike illuminated the night and raised stark shadows all around Elerian as his magical blade clove through Zaleuc’s upraised shield before continuing unresisting at an angle through his left arm, shoulder, and chest, cleaving him in two near his slender waist. Momentarily drained by the mighty stroke, Elerian stood helpless as his enemy fell lifeless to the ground before him, his dark eyes filled with the horror of his impending death. The lytling’s head, no longer supported by the Uruc’s spell, fell near his face, her staring eyes now turned in his direction. Of its own accord, Elerian’s third eye opened, revealing Zaleuc’s shade rising from his ruined body like a red mist.

  “Go to the abyss that has been prepared to you,” Elerian said coldly to the Uruc, casting the thought at the Goblin even as he extended thick golden tendrils from his own shade, wrapping them tightly around Zaleuc’s shade. Screams and curses rang in his mind as the Uruc shade struggled to break free. As he expended his limited life force, Zaleuc’ shade became more and more transparent until, with a last despairing scream, it faded away entirely.

  Closing his third eye, Elerian saw that he was surrounded by mounted Urucs and that the first of the Mordi were leaping agilely over the water-filled moat onto the dike. All of the Goblins, both mounted and on foot, were avoiding him for the moment, giving him a wide berth him lest they fall victim to the same power that had destroyed Zaleuc.

  “He is an Elf,” Elerian heard more than one of them shout in dismay. He realized then that the illusion that normally disguised him had faded, revealing his true form and buying him a few more moments to renew his strength.

  “Will it be enough time?” wondered Elerian bleakly to himself as he watched the Goblins battle the Dwarves around him. He still felt so weak from the stroke that had slain Zaleuc that he could barely keep his grip on Acris’s hilt. Already he could see that the mounted Urucs around him were directing questioning glances his way as they fought the Dwarves, no doubt wondering why he held back from attacking them.

  “Any moment now, they will guess at my weakness,” thought Elerian bleakly to himself, feeling no fear at his impending death, only frustration that he must stand passively, unable to strike a single blow, while the Urucs slaughtered him.

  One of the Goblins, braver than the rest or perhaps hungry for the renown that would come to him for slaying an Elf, suddenly urged his atrior warily toward Elerian. Raising his right hand, he cast a killing spell which Elerian gladly accepted into his silver ring of power. Disappointed at the failure of his spell, the Uruc urged his atrior forward.

  “Tear the flesh from his bones Angorth,” he urged in the soft, wicked voice of his kind.

  Bunching powerful muscles under its sleek hide like a great cat, his mount tensed to spring on Elerian who was now desperately drawing on the newly stored power in his ring, seeking to rebuild his strength. Before the atrior could leave the ground, however, a Dwarf suddenly leapt into view on Elerian’s right. A bright flash of silver white light lit the night as the warrior’s hammer crushed the atrior’s skull. As his mount collapsed beneath him, the Uruc struck with his sword, but the Dwarf deftly caught the black blade on his shield, the hammer worked in argentum on its surface gleaming brightly it rendered the Goblin’s stroke useless. Wielding his mighty hammer as if it was light as a feather in his right hand, Ascilius swung it a second time in an overhand stroke, crushing first the Uruc’s iron helm and then his cruel visage.

  “Well struck,” Ascilius,” Elerian called out, relived to see that the Dwarf was apparently unharmed by the blow that he had sustained from the Troll. His magical shield, which showed not even a small dent, must have protected him from the creature’s massive hammer.

  After a quick look to make sure that Elerian was safe, Ascilius leaped fiercely on the Goblins around him. Made breathless by his fall, he had watched helplessly as Elerian slew Zaleuc. Now, his wind recovered, he made sure that a Goblin or an atrior fell with each stroke of Fulmen, helms and skulls crushed and broken. With a wail of despair, the survivors fled before his wrath, breaking the impetus of the attack on the dike before him, but on either side of him, the Goblins continued their assault on the dike, like a dark flood lapping at the crest of a dam.

  “Abandon the dike and fall back to the bridge! The last of the wagons has crossed over!” Ascilius shouted to the Dwarves around him. Dwarf horns began to sound above the din of the battlefield, their long, mellow notes carrying his orders to retreat the length of the battlefield. For the first time, Elerian noticed that the rumble of iron-shod wheels on wood had faded away.

  “At least the rest of the lytlings are safe,” he thought to himself as he drained the last bit of power from his ring. New strength flowed through him and he felt more like his old self again. Unbeknownst to him, his illusion spell gradually reasserted itself, masking his Elven features once more, so that he seemed a human warrior again, hair grayed and face lined from hardship and privation.

  “Can you fight now or must I carry you?” Ascilius asked Elerian. “We must cross to the far bank of the river.”

  “I have recovered enough to walk,” Elerian assured Ascilius as he turned to look toward the bridge, his height allowing him to see over the heads of the Dwarves and Goblins who were locked in combat around him. Up and down the earthworks, Dwarves hard pressed by the Mordi foot soldiers and the Uruc cavalry had linked shields and were slowly retreating toward the bridgehead. Jeopardizing their flight to safety, however, were the Trolls who had fought their way past Elerian and Ascilius. Standing broad back to back, they now blocked the entrance to the bridge.

  The Troll facing the west bank was under attack from Durio, who, with Tonare at his side, had led a company of Dwarves armed with pikes across the bridge. At the risk of their lives, his Dwarves were threatening the monster’s eyes with the steel points of their weapons. As Elerian watched, Durio suddenly rushed in, striking a mighty blow on the Troll’s knee with his hammer that caused it to howl in pain. Rushing to support his master, Tonare leaped and seized the Troll’s right wrist with his powerful jaws, but to no avail. Ignoring the pain in his knee, the Troll suddenly struck Durio full on with the face of his shield, sending the Dwarf flying backwards into the crowd of warriors behind him. Strongly swinging its right arm, the Troll sent Tonare flying through the air after his master, his teeth slipping from their hold on the Troll’s stony flesh. To Elerian’s dismay, with the unexpected speed and agility of its race, the Troll pounced then, its great hammer r
ising and falling twice as it struck first Durio and then Tonare.

  With a great cry of rage, Eonis now rushed at the Troll facing his side of the bridge with his two sons beside him. Wielding his ax like a young warrior, he struck at the Troll’s exposed legs with his weapon, hoping to hamstring it, but his ax blade left only shallow cuts in the Troll’s stony flesh. His sons were likewise unable to seriously injure the mighty creature who opposed them.

  “The Troll’s are holding the bridge, blocking our retreat,” Elerian shouted to Ascilius who, because of his shorter stature, was unable to see what was taking place at the bridgehead.

  “Let us deal with them together, then,” replied Ascilius fiercely. Before he could rush off, however, Elerian spoke again.

  “Give me a moment first,” Ascilius,” said Elerian in a somber voice. Frowning, Ascilius watched impatiently as, pointing Acris at the ground by Zaleuc’s body, Elerian called forth a small mage fire which quickly consumed the remains of the lytling.

  “Sleep well little one,” thought Elerian to himself. “I have avenged you, but it has given no ease to my heart.”

  “Let us go then,” said Elerian suddenly to Ascilius. “I feel the need to spill more Goblin blood.”

  Taking the lead, Ascilius began to force his way through the Dwarves who stood between him and the bridge, Elerian applying his right shoulder to the Dwarf’s back whenever they needed to force their way through. Once they reached the bridgehead, Ascilius and Elerian saw no sign of Eonis or his sons. The Trolls, too, were gone, having fought their way to the center of the bridge where they were now defying the Dwarves who were still attacking them from both sides.

  “Clear the bridge!” shouted Ascilius to the Dwarves who stood in front of him. Responding as best they could, they fell back behind Ascilius once they saw the royal emblem inlaid in his shield. By the time Ascilius and Elerian came within twenty feet of the Trolls, there was only empty space between them and the Troll facing their side of the river.

  “Let me have the first go at him,” said Ascilius to Elerian, rushing at the Troll in front of him before Elerian could protest.

  Calling out a warning to its companion in a deep voice, the Troll waited for Ascilius to come within range of his hammer and shield. With the swiftness of his kind, he suddenly swung his huge weapon in an overhand stroke powerful enough to crush Ascilius into a bloody pulp. Darting suddenly to his right, Ascilius avoided the blow, the Troll’s massive hammer head smashing through the temporary plank bridge on the spot where Ascilius had stood only a moment before. While the Troll struggled to wrench his hammer free of the thick oak boards that now gripped it tightly, Ascilius sprang forward, swinging Fulmen in a mighty, sideways stroke. Emitting a flash like a lightning strike, the hammer struck the left side of the Troll’s knee joint, breaking bone and wrenching granite like sinews apart. Like a great tree, the Troll suddenly collapsed onto its left side, striking the bridge with a mighty thump that shook the planking. Dropping his shield, Ascilius took a two handed grip on Fulmen before swinging the hammer in a great arc that ended with the hammerhead striking and caving in the Troll’s steel helm and stony skull as a great flash of silver white light bathed Ascilius’s craggy face and powerful, stocky body.

  “First kill,” shouted Ascilius triumphantly to Elerian as a great cheer went up from the Dwarves standing on the bridge. It was followed by a collective groan of dismay as Ascilius suddenly pitched forward onto his face, unconscious or dead from the power Fulmen had drained from his body.

  Elerian was allowed no time to determine whether Ascilius was alive or dead, for the second Troll turned his way when he heard his companion thump down onto the roadbed. Voicing a great roar of anger, the Troll raised his weighty hammer to strike at Ascilius’s motionless body, determined to revenge the death of his companion, but arrested his stroke when Elerian suddenly sprang forward and menaced his eyes with the keen point of Acris. With a swift sweep of the shield on his left arm, the Troll drove Elerian back, but his smaller opponent darted in again, seeking to drive him away from Ascilius. Dropping his hammer and shield, the Troll suddenly began swinging its mighty fists at Elerian, forcing him to twist and sidestep.

  “I cannot win this dance,” thought Elerian grimly to himself as a fist the size of his head whistled past his face. “He has only to graze me with a knuckle to give me a serious injury.”

  Calling his invisibility ring to his hand, he suddenly vanished from sight. Startled by Elerian’s sudden disappearance, the Troll hesitated for a moment, standing stock-still and blinking in surprise as he searched vainly for his elusive opponent. In that instant, Elerian sprang forward and thrust upward with Acris. Argentum gleaming brightly, the sword cut through the underside of the Troll’s jaw, sliding effortlessly up and up into the great creature’s brain. Elerian staggered, as if he had received a blow from a club as Acris drank deep of his power. Releasing the sword’s hilt, he stumbled to his right as the Troll fell full length onto the bridge with a loud thud, making the planks that formed the roadbed tremble. A moment later, Elerian fell beside him, becoming visible once more when he sent away his ring. As from a great distance, he heard triumphant shouting before powerful hands and arms seized his body and lifted him into the air.

  “I wonder if Ascilius is still alive,” was his last thought before a black curtain fell before his eyes.

  It seemed only a moment later when someone gently but persistently shook Elerian’s right shoulder. Opening his eyes, he saw Falco’s concerned face bending over him.

  “Can you set fire to the bridge, Elerian,” he asked anxiously. “Only mage fire will destroy it in time. I have tried to rouse Ascilius, but he will not open his eyes.”

  Slowly sitting up, Elerian saw that he was near the bridgehead on the west bank of the Caldus. When he looked at the bridge, he saw that the temporary roadway the Dwarves had built was now covered with the dark, active forms of Mordi seeking to fight their way through the packed ranks of the Dwarves opposing them at the bridgehead with swords and linked shields. Thousands more Wood Goblins and hundreds of mounted Urucs waited on the east bank, ready to spill over the bridge if their fellows broke through the Dwarf ranks.

  Groping at his belt, Elerian fumbled with his water bottle before pulling the cork and tipping it to his mouth. Only a few drops of aqua vitae rolled onto his tongue, but they were enough. New strength flowed through his veins, and he was able to stand on his feet once more. Calling his ring to his left hand, he vanished. Then, running lightly to the right of the Dwarves who were battling the Wood Goblins, he climbed over the dike before circling to his left until he was close enough to touch one of the bridge supports that rested on the riverbank. Trusting to his invisibility spell to keep him safe, Elerian ignored the Mordi who were only a few feet away from him as he touched the fingers of his right hand to the timber. Red flames sprang up where his fingers had pressed against the wood. Spreading with unnatural swiftness, the magical fire raced along the underside of the bridge, hungrily devouring the wood supports.

  Retreating behind the dike, Elerian watched as the crimson flames spread into the planking. Filled with sudden panic as flames leaped up under their feet, the Mordi packed onto the bridge abandoned their weapons and hastily leapt into the river where many of them were slain by steel crossbow quarrels shot at them by the Dwarves standing on either side of Elerian. The magical fire he had started became an inferno, roaring like a hungry beast as it devoured the bridge. With startling suddenness, the flaming structure collapsed into the river, taking the mage fire with it. Steam rose from the swift moving surface of the river as the fire died, rising above the blackened stone piers that were all that remained of the bridge.

  “We are safe for the moment, but Acris now lies at the bottom of the river,” thought Elerian wearily to himself. “I hope that I can retrieve it when my strength returns.”

  Leaving Falco organize the defense of the west bank, Elerian went searching for Ascilius. He found him not far from th
e bridgehead, awake now and leaning on his hammer as if it was a staff, his face pale, weary, and lined with care, as if he had suddenly aged years in the space of a few moments. He failed to so much as flinch when Elerian sent away his ring and suddenly appeared in front of him, proof of his extreme weariness.

  “You picked a fine time to take a nap,” said Elerian in a gentle attempt at humor. “I had to kill the second Troll and burn the bridge by myself.”

  “Then you have finally done something useful,” retorted Ascilius at once. For a long moment, he and Elerian looked each other over, as if seeking to reassure themselves that the other was unharmed.

  “You look terrible,” observed Elerian after a moment.

  “I feel terrible,” admitted Ascilius wryly. “I have only just now come to my senses. You would not happen to have any more of the aqua vitae that you gave to Eonis would you?”

  “I drank the last of it,” said Elerian regretfully. “I will make more when I feel stronger. I hope that we may both rest for a bit now that we have crossed the river.”

  As if the same thought had crossed both their minds, Elerian and Ascilius both looked across the Caldus. Under Falco’s direction, the Dwarves behind the dike on their side of the river were firing their crossbows at the Goblins, the deadly hail of steel darts forcing the enemy to retreat back behind the protection of the dike on the east side of the river. Behind the dike, out of range of the quarrels, Elerian could see a company of mounted Urucs. Both the Goblin cavalry and their infantry had suffered losses, but they remained a force to be reckoned with. Beating vast, leathery wings, a dark winged shape suddenly rose into the air above the Urucs, causing their high-strung atriors to shift and fidget. Banking to the south, the lentulus flew speedily away, carrying news of yet another defeat to Sarius, the commander of the Goblin army. As the lentulus vanished into the distance, Elerian turned his gaze to the dike on the west bank of the river, noting how the Dwarf ranks had been thinned by the fierce fighting.