A Crown Of War (Book 4)

by Michael Ploof

  Dirk started toward them, and Chief came crashing through the field to join him. They ran down the road at the dark elf’s back as he hurled spells frantically at Krentz. The wheat field to the left was littered with scorched bodies; none lived to attack from the side of the road. To the right was the cornfield they had just circled from. If any Draggard remained, they did not advance.

  “Distract him, Chief!” Dirk called.

  Chief took spirit form and shot toward the dark elf with a snarl. Dirk went wide of the elf as Chief took form and slammed into him. Beneath Chief, the elf vanished, leaving only a cloak to be pawed at curiously by the confused wolf. Dirk ran the outskirts of the group Krentz had engaged and, with his enchanted blade, cut two of the beasts’ tails off. When they turned in a rage, Dirk went to work with sword and dagger. A spear came at him and was deflected wide, followed by a spiked ball and chain. Dirk spun away from the heavy ball and turned quickly as it hit the ground hard. The Draggard yanked back on the handle, and Dirk severed the chain and sent the beast flying backward. His dagger came up to catch a long spear blade as he engaged two others. He moved in a blur of motion, leaving the Draggard weaponless and bloody, even as their heads slid from bleeding necks and shock covered their hideous faces. He cut through another to find Krentz standing before him, holding her bloody curved blade.

  “It’s about time,” she teased, and he wiped his blades with a smile.

  Chief whined and pawed cautiously at the dark elf’s cloak. Krentz knelt and felt the ground beneath her. She closed her eyes in concentration, and, after a time, stood, shaking her head.

  “He is gone to the south.”

  Fyrfrost sat, gnawing on a Draggard head, trying to get to the brains. The road stretched on toward the coast between similar fields. Bare road and blue sky dominated the landscape.

  Dirk moved to investigate the cloak, but was stopped by Krentz.

  “Wait,” she said with a hand to his chest. “He would not leave his cloak behind. Any practitioner of Ralliad or Krundar knows how to shift their effects along with themselves. It is likely a trap.”

  “Come, Chief,” said Dirk, and then whistled to Fyrfrost.

  “Men approach from the north, an army it seems,” Krentz told him.

  A hill in that direction obstructed Dirk’s view. “How far?” he asked.

  “A few miles,” she said as if listening. She bent and once again felt the earth at their feet. “They are many hundreds. With cavalry and wagons.”

  “Shall we avoid them?” he asked.

  Krentz shook her head slowly. “We should learn what we might.”

  “They will not take kindly to a dark elf,” he reminded her.

  “I can appear however I wish. They will see not a dark elf, but an elf of such beauty they will be compelled to cooperate,” said Krentz.

  “Chief, stay close, but stay hidden and wait for my word,” said Dirk. It would be much easier on the horses.

  They mounted Fyrfrost, and he flew them over the hill to the north. Large regiments of marching soldiers came into view. A cavalry, two horses wide and at least twenty long, followed. Long lances of silver and blue shone brilliant in the sunlight. Two knights rode ahead and behind the company, each flying large Eldalonian flags on long poles. The army of silver and blue stopped on command as the first cries of “dragon!” began to ring out.

  Between the marching soldiers and cavalry were hundreds of men, women and children: the refugees of Kell-Torey.

  Dirk urged Fyrfrost to land upon the road many hundred yards before the soldiers. He and Krentz dismounted as the company halted, and arrows were nocked by the soldiers as they took a knee. The cavalry split and charged past the soldiers and refugees to form a wide barrier. Dirk raised his empty hands to them and began to walk down the road to meet them. Krentz followed. The arrows did not fly. He considered that a good sign. A flag bearer and two knights on armored horses galloped out to meet them on the road.

  “Ho!” one shouted as they approached. “Show your hands!” he yelled. The three knights circled them with lances pointed at their chests. The speaker, who was only distinguishable beyond the helmet by his large curled mustache, seemed to be the leader of the group. He eyed them both, but paid particular attention to Krentz.

  “Drop your weapons and surrender,” he ordered, shooting a wary glance at the dragon-hawk.

  “We are not enemies of Eldalon,” said Dirk as he tried not to think about the recently deceased Royal family. “Neither will we lay down our arms.”

  The knights tensed and held their spears a bit higher. Dirk stared down the shafts. The two looked to their general for guidance, but the mustached man only continued to take measure of Dirk and Krentz as the knights circled slowly.

  “You would dare defy an order from an Eldalonian knight?” barked the general.

  “No need for all this, good sir. We are not enemies to Eldalon, but allies. Our enemies are one and the same: Eadon and his dark elf minions.”

  “Lay down your arms. This is your last warning,” said the general, unsheathing his sword.

  Dirk opened wide his cloak, and the amazed knights regarded his small armory of weapons in amazement. “To do so would leave me standing before you naked.” He closed his cloak around him once more. “If we were your enemy, we would not be having this conversation. No offense, but my dragon could destroy you all. Luckily, he prefers Draggard blood to human.”

  “Who are you?” asked the general with all authority, yet sheathing his blade.

  “I am called Blackthorn, and my companion is Krentz,” said Dirk. He pointed to the dragon-hawk as it shimmered silver in the sun like the mount of a god. “Would you like to meet Fyrfrost?”

  The general scowled at the veiled threat and stopped circling to stare at Krentz. “What business does an elf have in Eldalon?”

  “We were checking up on old friends, the Eldonians. They told us fantastical stories of a rift to another land opening up and swallowing all of Kell-Torey. Curiosity got the better of us,” she explained with an exaggerated but delicious accent that the other two knights ate up. Their demeanor changed immediately. Tense shoulders dropped, the lances slowly sagged to safely point at the ground, and their eyes traveled over her lithe form wrapped in tight leather. The general too was intoxicated by her exotic beauty. The horses, however, were restless so near to her.

  She tossed her long cloak back over her left shoulder to bundle at her side, and Dirk, knowing what she was up to, tried not to smirk. She turned, and all eyes were drawn to her statuesque backside and long legs as she pointed southeast.

  “I am on a mission given me by the Queen of Elladrindellia. I elicited the help of Mr. Blackthorn as he is known to me to be a great warrior, and a legendary lover,” said Krentz as she turned with a flourish of her cloak, and all eyes darted up guiltily.

  “I apologize if you find my words too forward, we sometimes forget humans frown upon women speaking so,” she added, as if concerned that she had made a slip as an ambassador of her people.

  “Quite all right,” said the general with a raised chin. “Eldalon is known for its tolerance of many things. However, dragons entering our lands is not one of them. The elves of Elladrindellia should know as much.”

  “Indeed," Krentz acknowledged. "As I explained, we received word your kingdom was in dire ways, and we decided to offer what aid we might. Do you not require help? Please tell us these crazy fishermen’s stories are false.”

  The general seemed to search his mind as if mulling over a riddle. Dirk knew Krentz had played them perfectly, and he was not entirely sure that she had not bewitched them. The general was a stubborn one, however, and good for his post.

  “The tales are true,” he finally admitted. “The dark elves opened some sort of portal at Kell-Torey’s doorstep. The city was destroyed. The King and his people murdered in their beds,” he lied. Krentz had killed them all in their siege room, but neither she nor Dirk corrected the man. “A horde came out of the p
ortal, the likes of which I have never seen. Must’ve been nearly twenty thousand by the time the damned thing closed.”

  “Closed?” asked Dirk.

  “Days ago,” the general confirmed.

  “Now, you go to warn the next city?”

  “Village…town…whoever is left.”

  “Where will you go?” Krentz asked.

  The general caged his loose tongue and regarded her again with his wary eyes. “Knowing the tales are true, what will you do now? Report to your queen, who will do nothing to aid Eldalon?”

  Krentz shook her head dramatically. “The elves will help. Even now, the call to arms rings out in my native land. The plight of Agora is the plight of the elves. We will help in any way we can,” said Krentz.

  “What help did the elves ever offer us?” he asked.

  “The one called Whill of Agora allies himself with the elves and dwarves, and he has attained the legendary elven sword of power. He will soon face the dark elf lord himself. You would be wise to lead your people to the Ky’Dren Mountains. There you will find safety,” said Dirk.

  “Whill of Agora you say? The man is nothing more than myth and legend,” the general scoffed.

  “He is as real as you or I, and, given the loss of the king and his people, he may well be the heir to the Eldalonian crown,” said Dirk.

  The general considered for a moment, his thick mustaches twitching. “I am aware of the allegiance of the three races, but the fruit of that union remains to be seen. As for an heir, Eldalon has no king; he fell with the city.”

  He pulled his lance high to sit in its holster. “If you are here to help as you say, you will lend your dragon and your skills to our people. Otherwise, bar the road no longer. We tarry with the demons of the hells upon our heels.”

  Dirk knew Krentz’s mind on the subject. He gave a small bow toward the general. “We offer what help we might to see your people to the Ky’Dren Mountains. Surely, it is your only haven.”

  “Indeed,” the general said with a nod. “Eldalon and Ky’Dren have long been allies.” With a glance to Krentz, he added, “They will help.”

  “Do you accept our offer?” Dirk pressed.

  The general turned his horse to return to his people. “We need an airborne scout,” he said, regarding Fyrfrost. “Just keep the dragon at a distance; it is likely to give the horses heart attacks, not to mention the people. We’ve enough worries without the dragon fear.”

  “Understood,” said Dirk.

  The general and his men turned to leave, but he suddenly stopped. As if in afterthought, he bent to offer his hand. Dirk took it and gave him a firm shake.

  “General Mick Reeves.”

  “Well met,” Dirk replied.

  Reeves squeezed his hand and searched his eyes for a lingering moment. With a firm nod, he turned. He and his men rode back to the group and could faintly be heard bringing the soldiers up to speed. Dirk and Krentz returned to Fyrfrost and took to the sky as newly appointed Eldalonian scouts.

  Chapter Twelve

  The Fall of Cerushia

  Tarren was unable to sleep well with the constant pounding of explosions and spells, but at some point in the night the bombardment stopped. He woke for the hundredth time to find Lunara sitting beside his bed, while, on the other side of him, Helzendar snored away amid the rumbling. Lunara was in the midst of spell casting. She wove an invisible pattern, and her lips moved in silent chanting. She opened her eyes, smiled wordlessly at Tarren, and reached toward him. A tingling sensation danced down his spine as her enchantment covered him and Helzendar.

  “What?” Helzendar said as he sat up with a start. He groggily eyed Lunara with suspicion. “What you about elf?” he asked through an angry yawn.

  “Laying wards of protection, nothing more,” she answered with a tired smile. “Come you two, and eat.”

  Helzendar grumbled and got up, and Tarren followed. Outside of their sleeping quarters, the two elven guards stood like statues overlooking the common room. The Watcher was at the stone fireplace humming a joyful tune over a pan of frying bacon. Helzendar purposefully stormed his way to the balcony, and Tarren followed, curious of what was happening outside.

  Helzendar pushed wide the door, and Tarren gasped. The shield dome around the city was now cracked and sparking in hundreds of places. The dark elf army was gathered just outside the flickering energy shield. Tarren had seen draquon and Draggard before, but he now beheld the dwargon for the first time. The beasts bore an eerie resemblance to dwarves, and Tarren heard the sharp inhalation of his friend at his side.

  “Those gods-damned devils!” Helzendar cursed as he beheld the dwarf-dragon crossbreeds. “They ain’t right, I tell ye.”

  The dwargon slammed their hulking figures against the shield, as Draggard writhed and climbed over one another hungrily trying to get through. They clawed and repeatedly struck with their long, pointed tails, as the dwargon pounded. Smoldering land had replaced the lush jungle surrounding that side of Cerushia, opposite the Thousand Falls. Turning to the high ridge, Tarren was surprised to see Cerushia’s rivers had stopped flowing. Where once had been large pools of water at the base of the falls, now, there were deep gorges. The riverbeds were dry, but for the occasional puddle where dozens of dying fish jumped and flipped. Tarren followed the arching wall with his eyes from its apex and down beyond the falls. He assumed the shield stopped the flow of water to the falls, but that did not explain why the water did not flow around the shield and, therefore, the city. The dark elves must have dammed the water.

  “Yes, you are quite right lad,” said the Watcher cheerfully, as he gnawed on a piece of bacon. “The dark elves have dammed the river as far back as the canyons. They will have collected a marvelous amount of water. I suspect any moment it will be released to rage against the shield wall.”

  Tarren swore the old elf sounded excited.

  “Will the shield hold?” he asked, and realized the question had already been answered. The Watcher grinned down at him without answer.

  “Let ’em take the damned thing down now! Me half-moon’ll show ’em right quick the error of their ways,” Helzendar promised.

  The Watcher chuckled. “When your body catches up to your rage, you will be quite right,” he mused.

  Lunara joined them on the balcony, and she too noticed the dry falls. “How long?” she asked the Watcher.

  “Just after the offer, and refusal, of surrender, I assume,” he said and nodded to himself. “Yes, that seems right.”

  “Is help coming? The other elves of Elladrindellia, I mean,” Tarren asked.

  “Other elves?” the Watcher repeated, seemingly perplexed. “I would think not. They have problems of their own, I imagine.”

  Tarren wished for the hundredth time that Whill was there. He wondered what his mentor would do. Would he be scared? Possibly, but he would also be prepared. “C’mon Helz, let’s eat.”

  They returned to the kitchen and ate under the watchful eyes of the elven guards. “You two hungry?” he asked. He was tired of their staring.

  “We require no nourishment,” one answered and fell back into his staring trance.

  “What’s with those two?” Tarren asked his friend as they ate. The bombardments had begun anew, and the city rumbled with each attack.

  “Gods only know. Probably watchin’ the siege through the walls with their weird elf ways,” Helzendar replied with a mouthful of eggs. “Eat up till yer stuffed, Tare. Who’s to say what the day be bringinʼ.”

  Helzendar was right. Tarren forced himself to finish his plate, even though he couldn’t wait to be out on the balcony. Wondering what was going on drove him mad. The food went down slow and gave him no joy. He already felt good, if overly excitable. Whatever enchantments Lunara had laid on him covered him like an unseen sheet. Layers of magic prickled his skin, and the fine hairs on his arms stood on end within the energy field. It gave him some solace to know that he was protected, to what degree the wards would hold remaine
d to be seen. Pushing his plate away, he swallowed the last of his breakfast and washed it down with elven sweetwater.

  He went to his room and retrieved his staff. The feel of Oakenheart in his hands gave him a renewed sense of security. He had never called upon its power, but he knew it was there waiting for the time of need. Lunara said the staff would answer his call, and would grow with him in power and size.

  Helzendar leaned on the archway, half-moon spear in hand. “Ready to kick some Draggard arse?” he asked with a quick flash of the eyes.

  “You possess the strength of many men, even at your age. And you are the bravest kid I have ever met, but how can you be so relaxed, even eager?” Tarren asked.

  “Bah, certain doom be waitin’ for all o’ us. It be the true test o’ the warrior how he be actin’ when that time comes. Ain’t no dwarf in history quivered at the feet o’ his enemy, and I ain’t bein’ the first.”

  “I guess you’re right,” said Tarren as he and Helzendar ventured once more to the balcony.

  “Ain’t no guessin’. You be a born warrior and don’t ye be doubtin’. We’ll live to laugh about this someday, you just watch.”

  Tarren doubted he would be laughing any time soon. He doubted many things, mostly himself. Sure, Lunara had laid wards of protection around him, and he was surrounded by powerful elves. But, if the city was breached, if the horde poured forth, what could he do? He was only a human boy of eleven.

  “Ah, just in time, I believe,” the Watcher nodded as they walked on the circling balcony. “Yes, seems so,” he answered himself.

  The bombardment of spells abruptly ceased, and silence filled the city. Outside of the spell shield, a voice rang out unnaturally loud, a voice of spiteful arrogance.

  “Elves of Cerushia! Queen Araveal! Surrender yourself in the name of Eadon and spare your people!”

  “Is that Eadon?” Tarren breathed and tried to hide the terror in his voice.

  “No,” the Watcher replied. “Eadon sends others for such deeds and waits for his feet to be kissed upon surrender.”