Demoweir's Rise (Great War Chronicles Book 2)

by Michael Benningfield

  “No, but I dare say that humans do not stand around a boiling cauldron to make a minty fresh material to chew on for only a few hours!”

  Barth stopped stirring the rubbery substance and scratched his head – his dark blonde hair tussled about before falling back into place where it was moments before. He opened his mouth and was just about to say something rather rude to his brother when a howl pierced the air. The two brothers stopped what they were doing and peered out the only window in the back of the home.

  “Lyconian’s!” Mange said.

  “They are here much earlier than last year, dear brother. If they are howling, however, it can mean only one thing: someone or something is out there, and they are tracking it down. Quick, grab your pistol! This morning, we hunt!”

  Mange ran over to the far wall and grabbed his leather trench coat and hat and put them on as quickly as he could. His vibrant orange colored hair stuck out of all sides from under the cap, but he did not care. There was at least one lyconian outside – possibly more. His eyes were giddy with excitement; he and his brother would finally get to test their pistols.

  As they rushed from their home and into the cold morning snow, Barth grabbed a handful of the boiling hot ‘bubblegum.’ It was still dark out, but the brothers knew the mountainous terrain so well that they had little use for a lantern; at least, until they got closer to the lyconians. The snow crunched beneath their feet as they ran headlong through the darkness toward the ditch they made just days before. As they neared the ditch, they could hear heavy breathing.

  “Light the lantern, brother,” Mange whispered as he pulled his makeshift pistol from his coat and pointed it in the general direction of the ditch.

  A moment later a small reddish glow began to dance about in the lantern. Barth shut the little glass door and held the light in front of him in his outstretched hand. The two brother’s expectations were to come face to face with a lyconian. Instead, they found themselves staring at Fogrolir as he inched his way out of the groove he made for himself during the night after falling.

  “You are not a lyconian,” Barth said with great disappointment.

  “Nah. I am too hairy to be one of those beasts.” Fogrolir forced a smile as he cleared himself at last from the hole. He tried to stand and grimaced in pain.

  “Why have you come to our land, Fogrolir.”

  Fogrolir ignored the question for a few seconds to clear his head.

  “Fogrolir – why are you on the western peaks of these mountains? This is not a place Storm Rider’s like to visit.”

  “This is not your land, Mange. Dwarves do not own private property, as you well know. I am here because our kingdom needs your help. We are under attack and your services would be a significant contribution to our nation.”

  Barth turned to face his brother, the excitement in his eyes danced in the small light gleaned from the lantern’s glow.

  “You hear that, dear brother? The residents of Umuosmar would like our help. We can finally show them these traps and gadgets that we have worked on for years!” Barth all but danced in place from the excitement.

  “What kind of gadgets have you two been making?” Fogrolir inquired innocently.

  “All types of great devices, Fogrolir!” Mange said as he too began to smile. “Such as these pistols!” he held the homemade gun up to the lantern so Fogrolir could garner a better look at it.

  “What is a pistol, and what is the use of it?” Fogrolir was dumbfounded. It seemed like a small block of wood and metal that one might shoot an incredibly small arrow from.

  “This is the lyconian killer! With its weaponry, it can kill a lyconian in just one hit to the heart!”

  Fogrolir was impressed.

  “So, you two have tested this already?”

  Barth and Mange glanced at one another and shrugged.

  “Not yet, Fogrolir. We heard a lyconian, and that is why we ventured up the mountainside. We were hoping to test it now!”

  Fogrolir scratched his chin and shook his head as he chided himself inwardly for forgetting that the Taberlim brothers were prone to outlandish claims before an ounce of actual testing commenced.

  “It is a two days’ journey to make it up here and back to your cabin. How did you two get up here so fast?”

  “Foggy boy,” Mange said as he patted the younger dwarf on the shoulder, “it is a two-day journey for you! It is, in actuality, no more than an hour or two at best to get up here for my brother and me. You are just too cautious. If you just walked down the slope and did not fear falling every time you took a step, you would be down in no time at all!”

  “…And down even faster if you did fall.” Barth chimed in.

  “So, you are telling me that your cabin, at the base of the mountains, is only a couple hours hike up these mountains?”

  “Oh – no. Our cabin at the bottom of the mountain is indeed a multiple days’ journey. You should come around more often, Fogrolir. We built a new cabin about five years ago; it is just a half mile or so down the mountainside from where we stand. In good weather, we can hike up here in twenty or thirty minutes!”

  The three continued talking for a bit, unaware that a lycan had found them. It smelled the dwarves scent on the breeze and followed it, and now sat ready to pounce on the unsuspecting dwarves. As the beast began to edge its way between the trees, it slowly stood up on its hind legs. It was no small animal – seven-foot-tall and just over three-foot-wide; to call this creature, a mere beast would be an insult.

  “So, these, what did you call those gadgets in your hand?”

  “Pistols.”

  “Ah. These pistols – where did you learn about them and what purpose do they serve in fending off the lyconian’s?”

  Mange stepped from one foot to the other and nodded for his brother to tell Fogrolir how they came about their knowledge of the pistols’.

  “From Earth. It is what the humans use to kill the lyconians. Although, they refer to them as ‘werewolves.’ At least, in the movies.”

  Fogrolir, now thoroughly confused, was almost afraid to ask what a ‘movie’ was, but he knew he had little choice if he wanted the brothers’ to help him.

  “What is a movie?” he asked, casually.

  “Well, you see – hmm, OK, you know how Praghock used the animal hide to project his image, and the magic boxes to hear him speak so that everyone in the kingdom could see and hear him? Well, a movie is kind of like that. It is people, well, humans, reenacting events on a large screen. Only, the screen is plugged into the house’s wall for some reason. I am not sure what kind of magic that requires, but it is very nice looking if I do say so myself.”

  Fogrolir tried his best to keep up with Barth as he continued to tell him about the thing they call a movie. However, none of it made any sense to him, although the word ‘reenactment’ did catch his attention.

  “So, let me make sure I understand you correctly, Barth. When you are using magic to view this other world, you not only saw the world itself, but you saw reenactments of those worlds’ humans, killing lyconian’s?”

  “That is correct.” He turned to his brother Mange, “and you thought he would not be able to comprehend what I was going to say!”

  “I have only one question about all of this: if the humans in that world do not have lyconian’s or leolf’s, dragons, and the like – how do they know how to kill a lyconian?”

  This time Mange and Barth stared at one another without saying a word.

  “Well?” Fogrolir nudged on for an answer.

  “Faith, Foggy boy!” Mange said with a laugh and a smile. “Have faith! We only need to test the pistol on a lycan!”

  “…And lucky for all of us, we know that there is one nearby!” Barth blurted out with unabashed glee.

  No sooner were the words out of his mouth than a roar echoed throughout the mountainside. The suddenness caught all three off-guard and as they spun around toward the source of the sound – they found themselves face to face with the
biggest lycan any of them had ever seen.

  The beast – covered in hair – foamed at the mouth as it stared at the three dwarves. One eye appeared to be normal, but the other was covered with a dark glaze that gave off the illusion of clouds swirling about as though his eye were a snow globe.

  The lycan leaned back on his haunches and let out a mighty howl; branches in nearby trees swayed from the powerful force of his breath as it exhaled into the sky. The dwarves noticed the odd coloring of his hair as the lanterns glow illuminated the beast’s front-side.

  Dark brown thick, coarse hair spotted with patches of bright white adorned the lycan’s body. It appeared the creature’s winter coat was coming in but had not fully developed. The monster gave one last huff of breath – mucus spewed out of its mouth in every direction, landing on the dwarves clothing, trees, and the ground.

  Mange lifted his pistol, pointed it at the lycan, and did not hesitate to pull the trigger. Almost instantaneously, there was a burst of smoke, and an abnormally loud echo rang out.

  “Whaaaaa!” Mange yelled as the force sent him sprawling backward into the snow. Fogrolir covered his ears as they began to ring, while Barth laughed as the chaos unfolded.

  “Pfft! Blarg! What in the blazes!” Mange sputtered as bits and pieces of snow flew out of his mouth.

  The lycan shook its head to clear the cobwebs out – Barth realized the beast had not fallen and suddenly the situation was no longer funny.

  “I thought the beast was supposed to fall with only one shot!” Fogrolir whispered.

  “It worked in all the human’s movies. Maybe I should try!” Barth pulled his pistol and leveled it at the lycan’s chest. The beast shifted its head sideways and fixated its one clear eye on the dwarf.

  Ka-boom! The shot rang out from Barth’s pistol. Barth was not ready for the concussion from the gun, and it flew from his hands, backward, straight into this nose. It hit him solidly, knocking him off his feet and into the snow. The lantern went flying and crashed into the ground, but remained intact with the flame still ablaze.

  “I knew it,” Fogrolir sighed as he looked at Barth, “I am surrounded by fools.” Barth’s face was covered in black powder, and he began to cough as he sat up. He reached into his coat for something to wipe his face and brought out the big blob of ‘bubblegum’ that he made.

  The lycan leaned forward – intent on stalking the dwarf, but as he took a step toward Barth, he let out a high-pitched yelp and fell forward. His body crashed into the ground with a sickening thud; his head landed in Barth’s lap.

  Barth looked up at Fogrolir and shrugged with a sheepish grin.

  “Told you it would work.”

  Fogrolir shook his head side to side and began to laugh. He was not sure what to make of the two brothers, but their gadgets never ceased to amaze him.

  Mange stood to his feet, and a few minutes later the three dwarves made their way, rather slowly, back to the Taberlim brothers cabin to discuss the ins and outs of Fogrolir’s proposal for help.

  16

  “Secure the perimeter!” the leader of the Chaotic’ yelled out to his men.

  He stood on the shores of Megh Borim and scanned the cliff-side. The walls rose from the dark sandy shore and stretched as far as the naked eye could see. On a bright lit sunny day when the clouds were nowhere to be found, one could barely make out the top of the cliffs.

  The Skinder continued to stare upwards – for months now he and his men sat on the island, awaiting any sign from their master. He knew she was here – he could feel her presence despite not having any communication with the Demoweir.

  “Hmm,” he murmured to himself.

  Standing next to the Skinder – the leader of a clan of dark elves folded his arms and allowed his black robe to flow in what felt like a mid-winter wind. He spoke not a word but stared intently at the rocky cliffs. His elves were growing tired of waiting for a sign; they longed to take over the kingdom and wreak havoc upon its inhabitants.

  “We do not know whether the dragon’s or their riders await us at the topside.” The Chaotic said to his colleague. His voice was deep for a skinder, though still shrill to the average person’s ears. He rubbed his smooth chin and bit his lip in frustration.

  “What would you have us do, Metakon?” The elf turned and looked down at Metakon. He and the skinder had been friends for many years, and he still could not get accustomed to seeing the little man without a goatee.

  “We shall send forth someone to climb the cliff and tell us what awaits us at the top. There really is no other choice, Tross.”

  The dark elf known as Tross nodded in agreement. His face, though slender overall, showed features of rounded cheeks. His black eyes were sunken back, which made his icy stare appear to be even more malevolent. His countenance was one of pure unadulterated, maleficent evil – he would have it no other way.

  “That is quite the climb, Metakon.”

  “We will shorten the climb tremendously, old friend. I have made a pair of blades that can stick through the surface of just about anything they encounter; whether it be stone walls, rocky cliffs, or even a thick tree trunk. All I need is a volunteer to be thrown as far up the cliff side as possible – via one gigantic cyclops, of course.”

  Tross chuckled, though his expression never changed.

  “I do hope that your intentions are not to hurl an elf up that cliffside. My men are mighty warriors, and they are at your disposal – though I would prefer to keep them on firm land.”

  It was now Metakon’s turn to smile.

  “Do not fret, Tross. I would never ponder such a thing. I will send a fellow skinder up the side of that cliff to find out what our ‘friends’ are up to.”

  Tross nodded and turned to walk away. He had taken only a few steps when he stopped and turned back to look at Metakon –

  “For the past few weeks, you have appeared to be a bit distant, Metakon. Tell me, what is it that is troubling you?”

  Metakon placed his hands behind his back and licked his lips:

  “There is a presence here, Tross. A presence of an enemy from long times past. I have felt the presence since we first landed upon the shores but here lately it seems as though there is another here as well.”

  “Another what, enemy?”

  Metakon nodded. His eyes appeared troubled as he continued:

  “Yes. When I was just beginning to realize how powerful our goddess was, she told us that she was needed somewhere else in the world. Sometime after she left, myself and the other skinder’s lost contact with her. We would send messages, but she would not reply. One day a dwarf arrived on our island alongside his dragon, and I could feel her presence on him. When he refused to tell me where she was, we decided to feed him to our cyclopses.”

  “So, he is dead then?” Tross asked.

  “I do not know, Tross. You see, there was a skinder on our island that was not like any of us. His name was Sharp. He was masterful at making various gadgets, and shortly after the dwarf arrived on our island, we had a run-in with Sharp. He was not alone, however, as a couple of other dwarves were with him. These dwarves were different. They appeared to be sailors of some sort; traders, perhaps. Anyway, we captured all three, and when Sharp boasted that our goddess was not real and that I held no power, I decided it was time to make him pay for his words.”

  Metakon glanced toward the sea as memories of that fateful night flashed back through his mind. To this day, he could not figure out why the dragon refused to attack the young dwarf once it chased him down.

  “Metakon? Are you going to continue your story?”

  “Ah, yes, of course. Anyway, I was still young and not fully aware of my powers or how to use them. When we released the dwarf’s dragon, I commanded the dragon to attack and kill all our captives. The dragon listened and started after the four men, and it became evident quite quickly that the youngest dwarf would be the first victim.”

  The images continued to flood his mind – his memory was as viv
id today as though the incident had happened only hours beforehand.

  “The dragon, still under my control, ran the young dwarf down and just as the beast was about to snare the little runt – he stopped. The young dwarf spoke to the dragon – moments later the creature turned and started killing my men. I tried every bit of magic that I could fathom, but nothing would deter the animal. The four men eventually climbed into the dragon’s saddle and flew away. Sharp was one of the men, and I can feel his presence in this land. The other enemy, that dwarf that was but a child when I encountered him, is also here somewhere. I can feel it in my bones, Tross.”

  Tross listened intently, and as Metakon revealed that he could feel his enemies’ presence, Tross’ lip began to curl on the left side, making his evil countenance even more intimidating. He did not like surprises, and yet Metakon had chosen not to tell him of the one-time his magic failed had not yielded the intended results.

  “Even if you get a skinder to the top of those cliffs and find our enemies wanted, we will still require a way to get all of our men topside to engage them,” Tross spoke in a matter of fact tone. Usually, the planning was left up to Metakon, but something was nagging at Tross, and he could not put his finger on what it was. For now, he would simply have to let the current events run their proper course.

  17

  “Listen here, everyone!” Mange belted out as he stood in the center square of Thirndor; elves and dwarves alike scattered all around him.

  “If your hands are good at carving wood I need you to go over there!” he pointed to an area where tons of wooden planks had been stacked; they replaced a linen shop, though strips of fine linen were strewn about the ground.

  “If you are a metal or stone worker, your assistance is required over here!” he lifted his hand and pointed his thumb over his shoulder, where a blacksmith’s stand stood ready for use.

  “Lastly, if you are a trinket, gadget, or trap maker, go over to my brother Barth for your orders. Any questions?”