Blocking out his fear he rushed forward. Valorius whistled through the air. Varg dodged. Gant followed with an overhand slice and then a side slash, the sword a blur of motion. Valorius struck Varg again. The numbing cold swept up the sword, up Gant’s left arm. Gant fought against it, willing his limbs to obey, forcing the cold away from his pounding heart.
Varg’s eyes dulled, the bright red fading. Gant pressed his attack, mindlessly hacking away, chasing Varg.
The demon retreated faster now, around the room, circling the black portal. Gant pursued, swung and missed. Varg leaped backward toward the gate. Behind the demon, Zandinar turned his attention from the faltering line of creatures at the gate to the demon. He drew back his sword with both hands and plunged it straight through Varg’s back.
Varg shuddered, screamed, his arms flailing behind him trying to reach the sword. Freezing cold clutched at Zandinar and he fell to his knees, still holding on to his sword.
Now Gant stabbed Valorius straight into Varg’s chest. The demon screamed again. Gant felt the rush of cold, weaker, but still numbing. With his last strength he pulled Valorius free and fell backward with a crash. Valorius’ light went out, the sword dulled to a dark gray.
Zandinar released his sword and fell over in a heap. Varg lurched forward, stumbled, and then staggered backward, Zandinar’s sword point sticking out of his chest. Dark fluids spilled from gaping wounds.
Gant struggled to his feet. He dropped Valorius, the magic gone. He searched for something to strike Varg with, something magic. There were no weapons left.
Meanwhile, Varg regained his balance. He flailed away with his claws, slashing at Zandinar. Gant dove for the demon, his mailed fists cocked. He hit Varg with his shoulder first, splitting the demon’s wounds open. But Gant weighed nothing compared to Varg and his attack barely sent a shiver through the demon. It didn’t matter. Gant had gone mad. His fists hammered Varg, raining a staccato of blows on the demon’s face and midsection. It seemed impossible but the magic in the armor sent flashes of light with every smashing blow. Numbness trickled up Gant’s arms but he was beyond pain. With each blow, the cold grew weaker. Finally it stopped and Varg fell with a thud.
For a long moment the tower was still. Gant stood over Varg’s motionless hulk, fists clenched, breathing in convulsive bursts.
Pandemonium broke loose. Every evil creature in and around the tower broke and ran. Those trying to come through the portal retreated into the vast reaches of the dark realms. Those already in Pogor ran or flew for the countryside. Some changed shape to resemble men. The massed flocks of flyers streaked away across the plains.
Gant bent and picked up Valorius. Slowly he turned the sword over and examined the now scarred blade. The magic was gone, his battle madness gone with it. In its place pain and tingling cold washed through his body. Gant sat down, fatigue overcoming him.
He barely noticed the gathering light in the tower. Pinpoints of radiance circled in a swirling pattern that congealed into a glowing sphere of cold, white fire. Inside the globe, a woman appeared dressed in white, so pure, so perfect, so flawless. Gant covered his eyes with the crook of his elbow.
She stepped from the brilliant sphere, tears streaming from eyes so blue that for Gant the blue of the sky would forever remain dull and lifeless. Gant watched in awe. She knelt beside Zandinar. Gently she gathered the fallen warrior in her arms, weeping openly, staring at his face, in death now serene and childlike. Her tears pitter-pattered like silvery, soft rain drops on his chest.
She looked up at Gant. “He died for you,” she said, her voice the song of angels, “for all of you that love and kindness might survive. He is my son. He lived for this one purpose. It is done.”
A sad smile flickered across her lips, unforgettable and mystic. She stepped back into the sphere of light carrying her burden. Her image faded. The globe broke into sparkling motes of light that dissipated in the night air.
Gant’s mind reeled. He looked at Valorius, her edge as keen as ever, the tingling magic running up his fingertips. How? It didn’t matter. They had stopped Varg.
Gant fought his way up to his knees, and finally managed to stand. He returned Valorius to her scabbard, swayed and barely managed to keep his balance. Slowly he surveyed the room. Pris stood mouth agape, his back to the now empty portal. Abadis and Valdor gathered beside Pris focused on the black sphere.
Uric swooped in through the opening in the wall, resuming man form as he did so. The sage glanced around, and then approached the mages. “Gant,” he said over his shoulder, “guard the stairwell. Pris, take the opening in the wall. Don’t let anything past. The spell casting will take some time and we cannot be disturbed.”
Without question they went to their posts. There were no intruders. Varg’s minions had scattered, disorganized and without leadership, each ran for its own survival.
Gant stepped over to the top of the stairs. Far below he heard the hasty clatter of mailed footsteps receding down the spiral staircase. He peered over the edge and caught a glimpse of a purple shadow moving downward. The figure glanced up once and Gant recognized Wendler but then his magical armor melded with the darkness and he was gone. Gant thought of going after him but his duty was to keep anyone from coming up the stairs and so he held his post.
In the tower, the spell casting proceeded smoothly, though it took a long time. Before they could start Abadis and Valdor rested, meditated and regained strength. Once they had refreshed mentally, they joined Uric and concentrated on the spell that they’d agreed had the best chance of closing the gate. Casting took time but finally the gate was gone, vanished like a bad dream. Uric transformed back into a dragon, lifted the others onto his back and they flew for Chamber Pass as fast as the Dragon King’s wings could take them.
Chapter 47
As they flew across the barren landscape, Gant’s thoughts turned inward. Death was all around and yet he felt no remorse. Was that bad? Was he so callous that he didn’t mind killing? No, he still hated killing. He’d killed to save life. And what about Zandinar and the lady in white? Where had they gone?
“The lady in white, who is she?” he asked Uric.
Uric craned his neck to look back at Gant. “No one is sure. Few ever see her.” He paused, licked his lips with his great forked tongue. “I’ve never seen her before myself so I can only guess. Legends say she appeared at Bartholomew’s birth.
“As to what she is, some say she’s a goddess. The oldest legends say she is an angel of the Greater God. Other legends say she is one of the five who escaped Tirumfall to the holy realms though there is no proof that any ever escaped that tower. The truth remains a mystery.”
“Why did she take Zandinar and what did she mean ‘he died for us?’”
“I think now I see,” muttered Uric to himself, and then added, “I’ve heard she can see the future, or maybe she sees possible futures. Probably, like Bartholomew, she saw Varg’s return and your rise as a warrior. She knew Bartholomew made your armor and Valorius and that you would use them to kill Varg. But she must have seen what Bartholomew did not, that you alone would not be enough. Maybe she didn’t see Pris, or she knew he would not be enough either. Even Thantalmos dulled on Varg’s hide.
“She called Zandinar son. How she came by a son, I can only guess. If she returned to this plane from the holy places it was indeed a sacrifice.” Uric paused, and then finally added, “That’s the best I can offer. The secrets may lie locked in Tirumfall tower. And that is a place better left sealed.”
Gant sat in silence. He didn’t really understand. He thought of Dalphnia instead. He longed to hold her again. Soon, he told himself.
“What about the swords?” asked Pris. “Varg sucked the magic from them but when she came they were restored.”
“That sphere,” said Uric and flew on as if that answered the question.
Silently, they passed over the land. Each passenger clung to Uric’s broad back, exhausted. The sun was halfway to its zenith when t
he worn-out band reached Chamber Pass. Towering slabs of rock pushed skyward into broken walls hundreds of feet high.
Uric sailed over the troops clustered near the pass’ western entrance and landed far behind the rear guard on a loose gravel path trampled into a roadbed by countless feet, hooves and wheels. On either side of the road only an occasional scrub bush managed to cling to life. Otherwise Chamber Pass was lifeless. The dragon regained man form and the party walked slowly up the winding trail toward the encampment until they were hailed by a brace of guards.
It only took a moment for the group to be recognized and escorted to Lord Barkmar’s tent.
“Dragon King,” said the Dark Elf Lord as they were ushered into his tent. “You have succeeded?”
“Yes, the gate is closed. Varg is dead.”
Lord Barkmar sighed with relief.
“Have any of my family returned?” asked Uric.
“No, we’ve had no word from the dragons.”
Uric’s face darkened. Lord Barkmar went on, fighting a tired grin. “Fighting has been light. Jarlz and his knights forayed onto the plain and so far have managed to stem the tide. Because of them, only a half dozen of the black slayers tried to breech the pass and Dalphnia’s trees took care of them. Amelia saw some of the flying beasts but none have ventured this far east. She also reports that the destruction of the west seems complete. Everywhere she’s gone the villages are burned, the fields ruined, bodies rotting in the open. There’s nothing left but evil and death.”
“Where is she now?” asked Abadis, his face reflecting his worry.
“Scouting,” answered Barkmar. “She said to tell you she’d see you at your house in a few days. She said to watch the mirror. Whatever that means.”
Abadis nodded.
Pris cleared his throat. “Can we return to Malathon? I want my throne back.”
“Not today,” said Abadis. “I’m worn out and casting transport spells in my condition would be a disaster.”
Gant noted the wizard, both of them actually, looked thinner, frailer than he’d ever seen them. It was as if they had aged decades in the last few hours.
“You don’t look so good,” said Dalphnia approaching from behind them. She was flanked by Captain Hesh, Kalmine, Pratt, and Faltern. “Are you all right?”
Abadis sighed. “The strain from our work in the tower has taken its toll. I need to rest and restore myself before anymore spell casting.”
“That goes for me too,” said Valdor. “But I’d rather do it at home. So if I’m not needed any longer I’ll be on my way.” Without waiting, he completed a spell and was gone.
“How long will that take?” asked Pris.
“I’ll be fine tomorrow,” said Abadis. “There are magical spells that can restore vitality. But they take complete quiet.”
Shouts from outside halted the discussion.
“Dragons are coming! Dragons are coming!”
Immediately Uric was out of the tent, followed by several others. They spotted three winged shapes rapidly approaching from the north. As they watched, the forms swelled and became Uric’s wife Mall, son Pith and his female companion, Valmie. The three of them landed in a clearing behind the main camp. The first thing Gant noticed was the great sadness in Mall’s eyes.
“Where's Hamiz?” asked Uric, fighting to control his voice.
“Dead, Father,” answered Pith. “Baz killed him.” The large silver dragon’s head dropped. “We held them as long as we could.”
A huge tear slid down Uric’s cheek. It fell softly onto the rocky soil. Where the tear ran it turned to pure gold forming a seam that ran deep into the earth.
Finally Uric said, “You held long enough. Varg is dead. Did the others go with Baz?”
“Not all of them,” said Mall, “Vee stayed. She talked many of the elders out of this foolishness. Most of the young ones, the brash and reckless, they followed Baz, seeking their own gain.”
“We should follow them, wipe them out,” snapped Pith, his anger burning fiercely.
Gant fought his own grief. More innocents had died. Rage flamed in him anew. “I’ll go with you,” snapped Gant, Valorius leaping to his hand. A tear slid down his cheek.
“No,” said Mall, even as Uric started to agree. “Vee needs us to back her, especially her king, before any more get ideas of riches easy for the taking.”
“Of course you are right,” said Uric sadly, “Baz and his band will find the world a cruel place. It’ll be a long time before they venture against men of power and it is my duty to see that no others join them. Let us return home, first to secure it and then to bury Hamiz properly.”
Uric turned to his son. “Would you and Valmie fly the mountain ridge for a few days? Make sure none of Varg’s flyers cross to this side?”
“I’d be honored,” said Pith.
“Me too,” added Val with a dip of her silver-scaled head.
“Goodbye for now,” said Uric. “Perhaps we’ll meet again, perhaps not.”
“Dragon King,” said Lord Barkmar. “We mourn your loss. Your son’s life was not wasted. We shall keep the funeral fire lit tonight. Our prayers go with you.”
“Thanks,” said Uric. He regained his dragon form and the flight of four lifted with a blast of air, stones and sand. In an instant, they were gone over the towering mountain peaks.
Abadis looked at Lord Barkmar. “Is there anything we can do?”
“Yes, get some rest. I’ll have an aide take you to tents where you can sleep undisturbed,” and the Elf Lord signaled for a guide.
Gant and Dalphnia took one tent, Abadis, Pris and his men another and after a light meal they were all soon fast asleep.
Chapter 48
It was still dark when Gant woke up. Dalphnia stood near the open tent flap looking out. “Did you sleep well?” she asked without turning.
Gant sighed and blinked. “Okay I guess. I was tired. Right now I’m hungry.”
“Looks like the meal tent is serving breakfast. Let’s go see what they’ve got.”
Gant washed up, put his clothes and armor back on and went hand-in-hand with Dalphnia to the cooks’ tent. On the way, she asked, “Do you think things will ever get back to normal?”
“Normal for who? You or the rest of us?”
She elbowed him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I don’t think things will go back the way they were. Varg’s dead and the gate closed but there are uncounted evil creatures loose on the other side of the mountains. Things that are hard to kill. It’s unlikely we’ll be able to clear them out. Best that I can see is that we have an uneasy peace on this side of the mountains. As for you, well you are stuck with me and I’m not going to be like any other husband you’ve ever had.”
She squeezed his hand. “I’m counting on that.”
They entered a large tent and found cooks serving porridge, roast meat, milk, water, and boiled potatoes. They got in the back of the serving line, filled plates, though Dalphnia did not take any meat, and found an empty table. Before they were finished, Abadis, Pris and his men came in, got food and joined them. Gant was glad to see that Abadis looked rested, younger even.
“Are you ready to go to Malathon?” asked Abadis between bites. “I’m ready to get back there myself. I owe Sylvia a visit.”
“Not so fast,” said Lord Barkmar who now stood at the end of their table. “There are a few things to discuss before you go.”
“Like what?” asked Pris. “I want to go home.”
“About security at the pass,” said Lord Barkmar turning to Dalphnia. “Will the trees stay?”
“Yes, they are quite happy. Their enchantment will last for many months as long as they remain rooted. By then, maybe I’ll stop by and wake them up again.”
“Thank you, Lady of the Wood,” said the Forest Lord, bowing low. “And Gant, your uncle returned while you were asleep and asked to see you before you leave. He’s in the Netherdorf bivouac area. I promised him you’d visit.”
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“I’ll go now. It’ll only take a few minutes.”
“I'll go with you,” said Abadis. “Anything else we should know?”
“That’s it,” said Barkmar and left the tent.
“Let’s meet at my tent in half an hour,” suggested Gant.
Since there were no objections, Gant and Abadis rose and walked to the area marked by the Knights of Netherdorf’s banner. It was a string of small tents clustered around a horse corral. It took only a minute to locate Sir Jarlz who stood near a larger tent where the commander’s guidon flapped.
“Uncle Jarlz,” yelled Gant, running up to the knight. He threw both arms around his uncle and hugged him. Letting go he stepped back. “We’re leaving and I just wanted to say goodbye.”
“Me too, old friend,” said Abadis only a step behind Gant.
“Well, I won’t be here much longer myself,” said Jarlz, a broad grin sweeping across his bearded face. “The king will soon regain Netherdorf. Already the people are rising to his banner. We cleared the plain at the mouth of the pass and Lord Barkmar gave us leave to join King Tirmus. We are going to bring a quick end to the fighting. I heard the city council in Blasseldune sent their militia to help.”
“Then you’ll see Chamz,” said Gant. “He’s leading them. Tell him I’m all right and I’ll see him soon.”
“Sure. And when you get to Netherdorf, you better visit Mistress Fallsworth and me. I plan to be seeing her a lot. In fact, plan on attending the feast the king will have to celebrate victory.”
“Wonderful,” Gant clapped his uncle on the shoulder. “So much has happened since Blasseldune. Do me a favor and check on Gwen when you can?”
“I will. I’m sure she’s all right. She has a way of taking care of herself.”
“Enough,” shot Abadis. “Let’s be off.”
“See you in Netherdorf,” said Jarlz as the two turned to leave.
Fall of the Western Kings (Tirumfall Trilogy Book 1) Page 33