Refuge: The Arrival: Book 2

by Doug Dandridge

“Too much power corrupting absolutely,” she paraphrased. “She had complete control of the weather, and it was too much for her. She went mad. The Ellala say that it is not unusual for a mage working with powers they still don’t quite understand. So they are teaching her, and think it won’t happen again.”

  “We need her,” said Taylor, looking at where Drake was now throwing darts of fire at another Mage, who was catching them on a large shield of flames. “We’re going to have to match these people as much as we can, without nuclear weapons, or high speed fighters, or even tanks. So the more magic we have to work with the better.”

  “And more of those as well,” said Jackie, looking up at the sky where another golden dragon was flapping through the air, gaining altitude. She waved at the rider, who gave her a quick wave back. The dragon went into a glide and waggled its wings.

  “I think we will do alright,” said Levine, waving in turn at the rider, who was obviously a human female, dressed in the flight suit of a helicopter pilot, helmet securely on her head. “We have a ways to go. But we also have knowledge these people don’t have. Much knowledge. And surprise will be on our side.”

  * * *

  Jessica Stuart looked down on the thousands of men marching across the open terrain. They were aligned in blocks of a thousand, at least twenty of the blocks, all moving in perfect formation. Beautiful, she thought, and deadly. She had talked to some of the officers of the retraining ground forces, who had told her that the men were not masters of the Gladius or pilum, yet. But they were working hard on mastering the use of melee weapons in tight formations, which should counteract the superior individual swordsmanship of the Ellala.

  Thoughts of others left her and the pilot felt the thrill of flight as the great beast moved beneath her. Slower than her beloved attack copter, but she was out in the open, and the feeling was like nothing else she had ever experienced. The thrill was sweeping her around the sky as surely as the great dragon was.

  [I am happy for Jessica,] came the thoughts of the good hearted beast beneath her. [I am glad Jessica came from her world to mine.]

  [I am happy to have Gallandralla as my partner,] she thought back at the golden dragon. [I am sorry that Mishanana had to die to make it happen.]

  [I miss Mishanana,] thought the great beast, her head craning back to look at her new rider, strapped into the seat on his back. Her entire crew had died, though they had knocked three of the reds from the sky during the battle, and the dragon had only received minor wounds. [I will always miss my Ellala rider. But Jessica is also a worthy rider, with a good heart. Together we will knock the evil ones from the sky.]

  The dragon banked, thirty tons of flying creature handling as agile as any bird. Jessica felt her breath catch again as she looked down at the ground rushing by below.

  [Yes we will, big girl,] she thought back at the dragon. [Yes we will.]

  * * *

  Beate Terbourg always felt drained when she finished her morning rounds at the hospital. This hospital had been expanded and filled, while others sprung up around the valley. The last stages of the war had resulted in over two thousand dead, and many more times that wounded. And all the healers in the valley, magical and other, were being taxed to the maximum.

  “And how are you doing, soldier?” she asked, taking a seat by a young American who was horribly burned, most probably by dragon fire.

  “I really hurt, ma’am,” said the soldier, grimacing. “Can I have something for pain, please.”

  Beate shook her head as she looked at the soldier. There were no more pain medications. She had heard that they were getting a consignment of herbs from one of their allies that could be used in healing and pain control. But right now the cupboard was bare.

  “Let me see what I can do, soldier,” she said, putting her hands on the man’s arm.

  “My name is Tony,” said the young man, hope in his eyes. “Tony Boyd.”

  “Well, Tony. I’ll see what the Goddess will give to me.”

  “Isn’t that blasphemy, ma’am?” asked the young man.

  Beate noticed the cross on the young man’s chest at that moment. He didn’t protect you when you needed it, she thought. But she had also heard stories of men of the cross ignoring magical attacks as if they didn’t exist. Hope your faith doesn’t prevent my help, she thought. She concentrated on sending power into her hands, and taking negative energy from his body.

  She could tell that the spell was working when the pain started coming into her body. She prayed as the pain increased, sending it away to the power source that was Yanon. She kept at it until she felt the link go dead, no more power coming through.

  She opened her eyes, though she felt like she could just close her eyes and go to sleep in the chair. She smiled and looked down on the soldier, now asleep with a smile on his face.

  “You need to rest, child,” said the Priest who mentored her. “You must regain your strength so that you may do good again.”

  “I wish I could do more,” said Beate, shaking her head. “There are so many still suffering.”

  “And you will do more,” said the Priest with a smile. “Later. But there is only so much one person can do. Now go back to your tent and sleep.”

  Beate shook her head for a moment, wanting to ease the suffering of just one more. Just one more. Always one more.

  “You have a caring heart,” said the Priest, putting a hand on her shoulder. “That is needed by a healer. But it can also be a danger. So leave here and go home.”

  Beate nodded her head and turned away. She walked out of the huge tent and into the sunshine. She stopped and took a deep breath, then strode out for her tent.

  The camp was almost empty, everyone out working, getting crops in the ground or building infrastructure. She knew that Gerhardt would be with his work group, which was learning the Dwarven arts of stonework.

  Beate plopped down in the camp chair set in front of their tent. A breeze blew, and she wondered where Gertrude and the kittens were. The little ones were growing fast, and momma was teaching them the skills they would need to become useful members of this society. This primitive existence is no great stretch for the cats, she thought. They wouldn’t miss electricity or indoor plumbing. They would just go back to being semi-domesticated animals in all their glory.

  Beate heard a meow and looked up. And here came Gertrude, her four kittens following. And two of the kittens had mice in their mouths, strutting their proud little bodies in front of their downcast litter mates.

  “You’ll get yours,” she said to the two who hadn’t made kills. “Momma is a good teacher.”

  There are a lot of good teachers here, she thought. If we’re going to make it we’re going to need them.

  She sat there for a few minutes watching the two kittens eat their kills while their brother and sister looked on. One tried to convince mamma to give her some milk, but mom was having nothing of it. I think we’re going to make it, thought Beate, watching the cats. It’s going to be hard, but I really think we’re going to make it.

  * * *

  Mangratha hated coming to see the Emperor of Ellala’lysana, especially after the unmitigated disaster that Emperor’s army had just endured. He was gestured into the palace by the servants again, though he knew the way. The way down into the depths of the palace, where the Emperor awaited. He looked a last time at the sunlight coming through the stained glass windows before abandoning the light.

  “My Lord,” said the Grogatha seer, entering the chamber with the large crystal ball, mists swirling within.

  “I do not know if you have failed me, seer,” said the Emperor, his cold eyes boring into the Grogatha, who could see behind the illusion to the red eyes of the Half Lich. “But you did warn me that the strangers would be formidable.”

  More formidable than even I thought, ruminated the seer, his eyes sliding to the floor. The French still fight in the mountains, aided by the dark ones of your race. And the Germans have proven to be the best of thei
r warriors.

  “You wish another reading, your majesty,” stammered Mangratha, attempting to hide his nervousness and knowing that he was failing.

  “Yes, seer,” roared the Emperor, slamming his hand down hard on a table with the crack of wood. “And no half-truths this time. I want the facts as your vision presents them. Now look into the crystal and tell me what you see.”

  The Grogatha nodded his head and walked quickly to stand in front of the ball. He focused his eyes and his thoughts on the swirling mist, while he said a quick prayer to his Goddess, wondering why she would aid him in seeking knowledge for such as the creature he shared the room with. But as in the past, the Goddess didn’t seem to care who shared the knowledge, only that the knowledge was given to be shared. He let his mind fade into the ball, and the visions came to his eyes.

  “I see a long struggle, my Lord,” said the seer in a distant voice, the images coming to him of battle after battle. The new comers were outnumbered, but their martial prowess and tactical skill was impressive. “The skies darken with smoke while the rivers run with blood. The battles will go on for centuries, while the strangers forge forward to victory.”

  The seer closed his eyes, trying to wash the images from his head. He opened them, fearful that the Emperor would strike him down, or worse, suck the soul from his body. Instead he saw the Half Lich was smiling.

  “Centuries,” said the Emperor, rubbing his hands in glee. “It will go on for centuries, bathing the land in blood, while I enjoy the life force that is released.”

  The Emperor looked over at the seer and gave the Grogatha a smile.

  “You have done well, seer,” he said. “You will receive a double payment. And I will see you again next week, when you will look in the ball again.”

  Mangratha nodded nervously and backed from the chamber. It was not what he expected after he told what he saw. But who could predict the reaction of a Half Lich. Just like the creatures they wished to become they were all mad.

  THE END

  Refuge: The :Legions: Books 1 and 2

  Out Spring of 2013. Follow the continuing adventures of Kurt von Mannerheim, Jackie Smith, Ismael Levine and Paul Mason-Smyth as they attempt to save the Refugees from Earth and forge an alliance that will stand the test of time on a new world. Now bereft of the technology that won the initial battles, the people from Earth must turn to old technologies and strategies, and the power of the Immortals that came with them from their home, to save their souls.

  “Dress up those lines,” yelled the voice of the Sergeant.

  Dieter Klausman wanted to swear under his breath. He was afraid that if he did he wouldn’t be right with God, so he kept his peace and instead said a quick prayer. Being right with God was important at this time. If he wasn’t he risked the special protection that God gave him in this place and time.

  Sweat dripped down his face. The helmet on his head, of marvelous Dwarven construction which made it lighter than regular steel, still seemed inordinately heavy. Much heavier than the Kevlar helmet he had worn in the German Army. And he couldn’t wipe his face with his hands, occupied as they were with the large rectangular shield and the long spear he carried in his right hand.

  His eyes were locked on the growing mass of Ellala and Grogatha who stood ahead. He tried to use the native terms, Ellala for the Elvish creatures, Grogatha for the ugly squat muscular ones. But the names the Earth born used among themselves seemed to fit the brain much more easily. Elves and Orcs were what they seemed. And there were literally thousands of them arrayed on the hill that the humans and their allies marched toward. All of them wore armor. All of them were armed. And all of them looked like they would like to do nothing better than hack Dieter’s life from his body.

  “There sure are a lot of them,” said Karl Schmidt, the man standing to the left of Dieter. “Looks like more than we have. And they have cavalry.”

  “Quiet in the ranks,” yelled the Sergeant from his place to the right most of the squad. “Save your energy for the fight.”

  Dieter tried to swallow, his heart beating hard in his chest. But his throat was too dry. Water sloshed in one of his canteens, but he couldn’t get it now.

  “Look smart, men,” said one of the officers from the rear. “They fear what they see. Believe it.”

  And why would they fear us? thought Dieter, his eyes glancing right and left. His knees felt like they were about to fail him. He wanted to stop and run. This standing close together felt totally unnatural. He wanted to be back in his Earth uniform, rifle in hand, looking for good cover to shoot at the things that wanted to kill him. But that was not how things were planned for this day. This day they would have to fight as the Romans fought. Fight and win, or fight and die. Those were the only options.

  “Please help me Lord,” he prayed again. “Please give me the strength to do this. Not to fail in front of my comrades. Not to fail under your eyes.”

  And he felt the Lord with him at that moment. Strength flooded into his body. And courage. And the knowledge that whatever happened, the God of the Universe would be with him.

  * * *

  “Why do they group so, my Lord?” asked one of the adjutants, sitting his horse beside the Grand Marshall Ellessa Ellisandra. “It’s like they have no fear of what our mages will do.”

  They were behind the mass of their troops. Behind the Ellala elite in the center, so they didn’t have to smell the stench of their Grogatha subordinates. They could still hear them on both flanks, grunting like pigs as they lusted for the slaughter to come.

  “The last time they fought us they had those frightening machines,” said the Grand Marshal as he stared at the large rectangles that marched his way. “The Panzers, I think they called them, and the weapons their infantry carried, were more than we could handle.”

  “Do you think they don’t work anymore, my Lord?” said the adjutant. “That is what the mages have been saying, at least. That they are not of this world, and so no longer work on this world.”

  “I haven’t seen them for months,” said the Marshal, his keen eyes picking out the human faces in the rectangles that marched to the front. He scanned further back and let out a hiss of surprise. Those were Conyastaya back there, ranks of them, wearing the armor they despised. A quarter of the formation was made up of humans, carrying shields much like those the human infantry carried, but even larger. “They must think they can accomplish something with these formations. I’m not sure what, but they haven’t acted stupidly in the past.”

  No, he thought, not stupidly at all. Confused at some times. No one really knew where the new humans were from. The same world as the humans who had come through in the past? If so, then things had changed much on that world. Their war machines were beyond belief. But they were not of this world, and eventually they stopped working their unworldly magic in this world. But not before they had shattered several of the Empire’s armies.

  That had been last Fall. The humans had found a large valley to hold up in while they prepared for a war without their machines. But they had prepared the valley well. The main entrance, through which flowed the river, was blocked by huge earthwork fortifications, fronted by a wide water filled ditch. The paths through the mountains were also guarded by fortifications, and the humans had hired mercenaries of the various races to help hold those redoubts while they trained in the ways of this world.

  The humans, with few exceptions, had not left that valley over the Winter and Spring. They had repulsed several attacks to their fortifications, and spies and dragon overflights had hinted that they were up to something. They had been seen drilling on a large field, and this formation had something to do with that drill, he was sure. But it did not make sense to him. Warriors did not mass together like that. Warriors fought a series of individual battles, contests of honor. A large battle was just more contests. There was a practical reason for that. Magic would fry or otherwise dispense of men in such large, tightly packed formations. As would engines like r
ock and spear throwers. Not that they had an abundance of such engines here and now, but if the humans continued to fight like this they would in future battles, Provided enough of the humans survived for there to be other battles.

  “Let the mages give them a volley or two,” ordered the Marshal.

  The adjutant waved a hand at the horn men. The men brought the horns to their lips and blew out the wanted signal.

  The mages, mostly Ellala, moved from the back of the ranks to the front. The Ellala soldiers moved out of their way in unhurried fashion, while the magically stunted Grogatha moved quickly, not wanting to let the mages touch them. Mages took exception to being touched, and the beastly soldiers had seen the results of that exception.

  Within a minute the mostly Ellala battle mages stood to the fore, over a hundred of them. They were of all ages, from great archmages to newly confirmed masters. All looked young, as all of the people did. But all had power. Even the most magically dense could feel the power of the men, building as they prepared to unleash it, like electricity in the air before a storm. The mages gestured and spoke and gestured some more, then pointed their focusing objects, wands, staffs and rods. As soon as they pointed them a variety of powerful objects jumped from them and sped toward the forward rectangles of the enemy force.

  About the Author

  Doug Dandridge is an ex-professional student with degrees from Florida State University and The University of Alabama, and coursework in Psychology, Biology, Geology, Physics, Chemistry, Anthropology and Nursing. Doug has interest in all of the fantastic, including science fiction, fantasy and horror, as well as all eras of military history. Doug is a prolific writer, having completed 22 novel length manuscripts. He is still seeking a major publishing contract, but has decided that self- publishing is the way to go at this time. His work can be found on Amazon. Doug lives with his five cats in Tallahassee, Florida, and currently has no social life, as he is too busy writing around his work schedule.