Finley found himself in a very strange environment, and one he had not experienced before. No longer was he in the thick forests of his earlier dream world, nor was he merely languishing in the vast nothingness of his latter ones. Now he stood in a lush green meadow, with patches of bright yellow flowers scattered about here and there. To his right, he could see sheep and young lambs following behind their mothers, and a few cows interspaced between quietly munching on the grass.
“Heralin!” he called out not sure whether the elven goddess would make an appearance. He walked across the field and spotted a cluster of homes off in the distance, and could hear the laughter of children. He paused and watched on wondering what all this was supposed to mean. His dreams usually had some kind of purpose or message, but this was all very new and very different from anything he usually had.
“This is what could be,” said a soft voice from behind him.
He turned, already knowing who it was, “And why are you showing me this now?” he asked. Heralin tilted her head slightly as she always seemed to do as if trying to judge his mood or feeling. With a wave of her hand, everything disappeared, and all went black before a new image formed. This one was not so pleasant on the eye and actually made him fear to ask what this was supposed to depict. The goddess though remained silent and gestured for him to look around.
The ground was dry, with only a few shrubs and trees to be seen. In the distance he could see fires burning, the smoke billowing into what was already a dark blackened sky. To his left, he saw two dark shapes lying on the ground, and although he did not look any closer, he could hazard a guess at them being dead bodies. “What is this?” He asked, despite her not having answered his previous question.
“Are you showing me what is or what will be?” he shouted angrily, still waiting for her to reply.
Heralin waved her hand once more, and all went dark again. “I am showing you that not everything is set in stone Zerus Maldhor. You should know from last time that is not the case.
“I am not Zerus Maldhor,” he replied through gritted teeth, saying each word slowly to emphasise his annoyance at her continuing to call him by that name. If the goddess was angered by his sharpness, she did not show it and remained calm and serene in her demeanour. Finley took a few moments to realise what it was Heralin was trying to explain to him and felt a little foolish when the penny finally dropped.
“So you are trying to show me the world where I succeed and one where I don’t?” he asked in a much calmer voice. Heralin merely nodded her head slightly to confirm his words, “As the Seer Meldra has explained, all hangs in the balance. The world as we know it will depend on the path you take Zerus Maldhor, we have given you a second chance, there cannot be a third.” With those words the goddess swirled around in a circle of white mist before disappearing from his mind, only to be replaced by another familiar figure.
“I wondered when you would show up again,” he said sardonically to the dark figure materialising before him. “Why do you venture so far into the mountains Zerus Maldhor?” Abalyon asked, placing his ghostly face just in front of Finley’s. Not for the first time, Finley realised that the dark god was not the all-knowing entity he had thought him to be. If he was questioning the purpose of his location, then he apparently did not know of the ring bearing the dragon stone he wore in the realm of the real world. “I thought I would try and get as far away from you as I could. Alas, it seems you have found me again!”
The dark shape of Abalyon swirled and moved around him, evidently annoyed by his less than helpful response. “Do not anger me Zerus Maldhor. I am awaiting your response to my offer. My armies may have left your precious elves alone for now, but they march in force towards the dwarfs as we speak.” Finley shrugged, he was already aware that was likely to be the case, as explained by Meldra. However, Abalyon showed a new side to his character that he had not seen before, a more aggressive one. “Join me Zerus Maldhor, or else everyone and everything you hold dear will perish,” the fallen God said, taking shape once more just off to Finley’s left.
With a wave of his hand, images of Karesh and Sessi appeared, and next to that, his mother and Galdrac. An image of Whitebridge and his old family home, the elven capital of Neylarin all came into view. “I shall wipe all of these from existence Zerus Maldhor, now join me as we were before and this time we shall rule all the world,” the figure said drifting nearer and holding out a dark ghost-like hand. “If I do, you will leave my family be?” he found himself saying, surprised he was even contemplating the offer being given. There was a short silence before Abalyon answered, “You have my word. Join me, and I will reveal the power you need to vanquish all that stand before you, and I will see to it that your loved ones remain unharmed.”
With a final whoosh and swirl, the figure vanished from his mind, not waiting for an answer. Did this mean the fallen God was now giving him his ultimatum? Finley felt that whatever he did it would be wrong. Join the God and thousands of innocents would die, but his family would live on. If he didn’t join Abalyon, then thousands would still die, his family amongst them.
He awoke suddenly, taking a sharp intake of breath as he could feel Moira shaking his arm. “Wake up!” she hissed. Finley struggled to see anything in the darkness of their tent, only the outline of the dwarf sat up beside him. “Who were you talking to?” Moira asked.
“Oh was I speaking aloud?” Finley enquired recalling the last words of conversation with Abalyon.
Chapter 11.
Galdrac and Leyna had arrived safely back at the dwarf capital of Durn Raldun earlier that morning. With the warning still fresh on their minds, they had sought an audience with the dwarf king and his court. However, getting access to the very person they needed to speak was not so straightforward, even though they had both explained the importance of what it was they needed to tell him.
Apparently the king only talked to people when he felt like doing so, and apparently, this was not to be one of those days. The dwarf in question had been on the throne many years and was now nearing the end of his days, although if he did not act soon, that might even be quicker than anybody thought. With Leyna being an elf of some importance, they had hoped to use that to their advantage, but apparently, the king was a rather stubborn person.
Named Durnor, and the second, of his name, he had ruled the dwarf lands for the past forty-two years, taking the throne when his father before him had passed away. Unfortunately, at least as far as Galdrac and Leyna were concerned, he had ruled in a time where there had been so very little threat. Aside from sending a few sorcerers and soldiers to help with the sporadic beast of darkness that showed up from time to time, there had never really been a threat to dwarf lands during his rule. Although keeping alive the old alliances, and a believer in doing so, it was evidently apparent that the king was not going to listen to what they had to say.
Having the warning still fresh in his mind, Galdrac had been told he and Leyna would be ultimately responsible if Durn Raldun fell or not. Not getting much joy in passing that warning on to the dwarf king, they decided instead to seek out the commander of the dwarf army. At least this particular person was somewhat easier to get near, although actually speaking to him face to face was still not easy. Thankfully, Galdrac had once known him, from a time they had served together at one of the elven outposts when they had been much younger. While this did not mean they were particularly acquainted, it did mean the dwarf in question was willing to see them, if only for a few minutes of his time.
After being made to wait for longer than they wished, being seated on a long carved bench sat in a narrow, high ceiling corridor, they were shown towards an office. Inside, the room was well lit, although by more conventional means of lamps as opposed to any magical source. Sat behind the wide dark timber desk was a stocky dwarf in military uniform, whom Galdrac recognised as Balin. “So, Commander of the dwarf forces now?” the old mage said with a grin on his face. The dwarf chuckled, “Aye, no fun being sat behi
nd this desk, though,” came the reply.
After the introductions had been made, Galdrac explained the reasoning for him and Leyna being there. He decided the commander did not need to know the source of information in case he merely dismissed them as the crazy ramblings of an old dwarf woman. He did, however, explain exactly what was supposedly heading this way and that it would likely be upon them anytime soon. The commander looked rather pensively towards Galdrac, unsure as to whether he should heed this as a genuine warning or pass it off as folly.
“What do you have to lose by summoning your guards. If I’m wrong, the worse you have done is give them a little exercise. However, if I am right and you’ve done nothing, then… well, may the gods have mercy on us all,” Galdrac added trying to sway the commander's mind? The dwarf nodded, before standing and shouting an order back out of the open doorway.
Within just a few moments another dwarf came running to answer the call. “Sound the horn, I want every available soldier and sorcerer battle ready at the front entrance,” the commander asked looking quite calm considering the situation. Balin gestured for both Leyna and Galdrac to follow, “I will need to notify the king what I am doing.”
“We tried, but we couldn’t even get to pass a message on,” Leyna replied before Galdrac could speak.
“Aye, he’s not the easiest dwarf to get to see, even for me. I’ll have a message left for him, for when he wakes.”
As they strode down the vast open hallways of the dwarf capital, the sound of a horn reverberated in the cavernous space around them, echoing off into the distance. Leyna spotted a score or more dwarf soldiers hurriedly running towards the direction of the entrance, happy that at least they had managed to get some kind of defensive response. The feeling of achievement, however, was soon washed away as a second horn sounded, different to the first, much more high pitched. “We’re under attack!” Balin said, answering the question she was poised to ask.
The Commander wasted no time, the message to the king would now have to find its own way there, as he turned about and followed the soldiers hastily making their way to the grand entrance gates. Leyna and Galdrac followed as both had their staffs ready, knowing what would be awaiting them when they got there.
As they reached the battlements that made up the front of the grand entrance to Durn Raldun, Galdrac spotted about forty or more dwarfs lined up in the shield-wall formation a dozen paces further out than the drawbridge. Wondering what they were doing there, he asked the question to the commander beside him, only to hear the answer for himself. “The gearing is jammed Sir,” came a shout from just off to their left.
Looking a little further into the distance, the mage could see what was opposing them, and he realised he had seen this awful sight before. Lined up in several long rows were a multitude of balgraf as if just waiting for the order to advance. “What are they doing?” Balin asked, confused as to why the wild beasts of the darkness were behaving so out of character. “They have evolved considerably since you last fought them. They have added intelligence to their long list of attributes,” Leyna added.
While the engineers hastily worked to get the drawbridge functioning, the soldiers in the shield wall held their line just a few yards in front of it, spanning the width of the walkway; any beast wanting to get in would have to go through them. Galdrac was actually glad it was Durn Raldun they were defending, as of all the cities in the world, it was probably the best designed for doing so. Once the drawbridge could be pulled up, the beasts would not only have to attack a narrow front but would also have to figure out how to cross the gap vacated by the bridge. Meanwhile, the dwarfs could fire down upon them, hopefully, safe in the knowledge the enemy was out of arms-length. On the downside, the dwarf soldier’s best attributes were probably in melee combat, although Galdrac knew them to be engineers of many weird and wonderful weapons and was sure they would have something suitable for attacking the enemy at range, as well as the powerful crossbows those lining up along the battlements were holding.
Although the drawbridge was evidently seldom used, hence the problems with it, the portcullis at least would offer them some protection if needed. While this was not ideal, Balin explained that would have to be their backup plan if the approach way was compromised and the bridge unable to be lifted.
Thankfully for the dwarfs, the enemy seemed intent on not going anywhere, just yet, happy it seemed to be standing in their long lines as if waiting for something or perhaps someone else to arrive. Leyna was first to spot the newcomer and immediately pointed him out to the others. Standing off to one side was a familiar dark figure she now knew to be Abalyon, the fallen god of the trolls.
Whereas last time the figure had remained motionless and let his hordes of balgraf loose upon the walls of Barilyn, this time he behaved very differently. Floating in a swirling dark mist a few feet from the ground the figure moved closer, leaving his army of darkness behind him. The dwarfs on the approach path leading up to the entrance shuffled about, interlocking their shields to form a solid wall of steel. If any of the soldiers defending there were afraid of what approached, they did not show any signs of that being the case.
Abalyon paused, looking up onto the battlements as Balin ordered a volley of crossbow bolts to be fired. The bolts flew true but merely passed through the swirling mist, ghost-like figure. The dwarf commander, although somewhat dumbfounded and no less concerned by what he had just seen, ordered his guards to prepare another volley. “I don’t think that will do any good Balin,” Galdrac said hoping he didn’t sound as if he were being condescending. The dwarf grunted and nodded, as they watched the twisting dark figure lift up slightly and merely floating above the deep ravine that made the city so defendable.
Abalyon drifted upwards, just hanging in the air, to where Leyna and Galdrac were stood. A few defenders got a little carried away and fired several more crossbow bolts, but with the same outcome as before. “Cease fire!” Balin shouted now knowing it was futile trying to kill this strange looking apparition. The figure took its more human shape just in front of Leyna, its ghostly face looking directly at her, before spinning up and away like a vortex.
Galdrac wondered why Abalyon had made such an unusual move, unsure of his interest in Leyna. “You think he was looking for Finley?” the elf asked looking over to him. It was only then that Galdrac realised exactly what had just taken place. “Leyna,” he said, “If things do not go well promise me you will take the portal back to Felham.”
“Why should I do that?” she asked, not sure why the mage was asking such a thing.
“I’m sure it’s not just the destruction of the dwarfs Abalyon is after. I think he means to force Finley’s hand.”
“How do you mean?”
Galdrac thought for a moment or two before answering the question. He explained that if Abalyon was after Finley to join him, what better way than forcing him to do so than holding those he held most dear captive. “Look at it like this, if he held Karesh or Finley prisoner would you do as he wished?”
Leyna nodded her head slowly.
“Then we best not let that happen then had we!” Balin announced, despite not being sure who Karesh or Finley was.
“Just promise me you will head back if things go wrong,” Galdrac asked again. Leyna looked at him sternly, clearly torn by what she was being requested to do, before nodding that she accepted.
The apparition of Abalyon reappeared a short time later, stood just off to one side of the balgraf as he now seemed to do. However, rather than attack in numbers barely a dozen of the beasts set off on a charge, while the remainder merely stood, watching and waiting. The dwarf soldiers on the narrow approach path steadied themselves, bracing for the immediate impact as the first wave of crossbow bolts flew over them. Despite many hitting their intended targets, none of the beasts was felled and kept bounding forward.
The first balgraf thumped into the shield-wall, but the dwarfs held firm, their strong, short, stocky bodies very adept at defending i
n a such a way. The other beasts quickly followed, some with crossbow bolts protruding from their torsos and limbs. The first of the balgraf fell as it was forced to near the edge by the interlocking shields of the defenders, as it took another hit from the battlements above. The shout came that the drawbridge was fixed, and Balin now needed to get his soldiers back inside the city entrance to safety, without the balgraf following.
The problem with dwarfs being shorter in height than other races soon proved it could also be a disadvantage as the balgraf clearly realised they were not going to simply barge the shield-wall aside. Showing the dwarfs that they were no longer merely wild beasts, but creatures that had intelligence and learned quickly to adapt on the battlefield, they simply leapt up on top of it, crashing down on to the soldiers lined up behind.
Balin realised the situation was quickly getting out of hand, and knowing he could not afford to let a single beast get into the city gave the order he did not want to have to give. “Raise the bridge!” he shouted, as he watched two dwarfs being picked up and tossed off the approach path and into the deep ravine below. The rear two ranks backed up, forming a second line of shields and back stepping on to the wooden bridge just as it started lifting up. Another of the balgraf was downed as it finally succumbed to the hail of crossbow bolts that it had sustained, its black haired body merely dropping limply over the edge.
The Dragon Stone Page 8