Demoweir's Rise (Great War Chronicles Book 2)

by Michael Benningfield

  Through the cover of night, the dwarves of Megh Borim made the journey from their homes to Thirndor. None too happy about the situation, there were scuffles and a few small fights amongst the dwarves as they argued over whether setting their houses on fire was the best way to thwart an attack.

  The arguing intensified when the dwarves realized the quickest route to Thirndor would take them through the Gully of the Dead. It was a haven for wild dragons alongside its desert-like temperatures. Even in the dead of winter, the gullies were dangerous, as the air always remained dry. It was not an ideal situation, but the royal army made it clear that there were no alternatives.

  “Why are we doing this? How does running keep us safe from an attack?” a dwarf called out to Skalmaena as she led the troupe of dwarves.

  “Listen,” she said sternly, “I do not like this any more than any of you do. This is our best course of action. As I explained earlier – Fogrolir and company are making weapons, and I have sent men from Hegh Thurim all the way out to Gornfurum to gather people and resources. I came here personally because I wanted you to all understand how dangerous this situation is. If you were to look over the cliffside and see the enemies that await, you would almost certainly be petrified.”

  Skalmaena did not mind the grumblings of the dwarves as she fully understood what it was like to be uprooted and forced to leave the only home you have ever known. Her primary concern was that all the noise from the arguing and bickering would filter down to the enemy forces and alert them to the dwarves’ actions. She had to ensure their safety, and she knew that doing so could make the dwarves of Megh Borim antagonistic toward herself and the army. The task ahead was no easy one.

  “Skalmaena?” one of the dwarves called out as he made his way to the front of the bunch.

  “What exactly are we going to be doing in Thirndor? You have us bringing all our iron and other metals. We are ornament workers, not weapons makers. Why are we carrying these things with us? We would make better progress if we left all the metal behind!”

  Skalmaena sighed. She grabbed the reins attached to her leolf and pulled softly; the beast stopped walking. She climbed down so she could walk alongside the dwarf that asked all the questions.

  “The metal is needed because we have elves and dwarves that are making weapons. Anything and everything will be required.”

  “Just to stave off an attack on Megh Borim?”

  “No. There is more to this than just the enemy that occupies the shores of Megh Borim. The giants and ogres of Zowgant Kregork have learned of Praghock’s death and have already taken over the Crystalmist Bastille. Once we squelch the enemy on these shores, our army will then turn to Hegh Thurim where we will fortify the city walls against the oncoming attack of the giants and their companions. There is a war coming to our homeland, and it will not be easily won. Megh Borim is just the starting point – there will be other casualties.”

  The dwarf became silent as he walked next to the leader of the royal army.

  “This means you will need more than just trained men of the brigade. You will need us – the common dwarf, just to stand a chance at winning this war.”

  Skalmaena did not reply. She only nodded her agreement and kept walking. The dwarf next to her remained silent as they walked – the realization of what was about to come was slowly sinking into his head. He was scared, but he would readily help in any way possible to ensure the safety of Umuosmar; if not for himself, then for the future of his children and their families.

  “Stay clear of the marsh!” Skalmaena said as the dwarves exited the main thoroughfare of Megh Borim and began their journey down the cobblestone road that would give way to dirt within a mile.

  As they continued their journey, she could hear her words being echoed down the line to ensure that everyone got the message.

  “Have you ever wandered into the marsh, Skalmaena? It is a very dangerous place. Not only is the air suffocating, but there are these snake-like creatures that will not hesitate to kill anything that wades into their waters.”

  “As a matter-of-fact, I have. The animals are called Reophuse, and though they are not the friendliest of beasts, they have helped the Tuminar family and myself in a time of need. They may be an ally in the upcoming war if it winds up coming this far out past Hegh Thurim.”

  For the rest of the night, it was relatively quiet. No one wanted to talk, which was fine for Skalmaena, as she was not feeling very talkative. The caravan of dwarves made it safely out of Megh Borim and eventually found themselves wandering into the Gully of the Dead. Skalmaena was amazed at how quickly the temperature in the gully changed. During the daytime, it was sweltering, and yet after the sun disappeared, it felt like a frozen tundra.

  “Everyone bundle up tightly. It is going to be cold as we venture through the gully. The last time I came through here, there were no dragons. Most of the wild dragons are further north in the Dragon Highland area between here and the Shimmering Tide. Double up your torches as the wind will no doubt extinguish a few of the torches.”

  Everyone heeded the words of the warrior named Skalmaena, and though they had to stop to get ready for the journey through the gully, they were well prepared for the task ahead.

  As they entered deeper into the gully, the flames from the torches and lanterns flickered off the walls, making strange shadows as they bounced around carelessly. Skalmaena’s reddish-brown hair shone in the light – her beauty pierced through her calloused demeanor and for a moment, a few of the dwarves forgot how ruthless a warrior she was.

  The night passed without incident, and as the sun rose the next morning, the dwarves found that they were almost through the gully. They forged ahead with renewed vigor, ready to make it to Thirndor.

  As they exited the gully, they came across the Hanging Bridge – an old bridge made of wooden planks and thick rope that provided the only pathway to Thirndor from Megh Borim – unless one wished to go by way of the sea. The bridge overlooked a deep canyon that was part of the run-off from the Shimmering Tides. The canyon was only a few miles long, but what lurked in the woods and marsh areas was far too often more dangerous than crossing the Hanging Bridge.

  Skalmaena stopped as she neared the starting point of the bridge. The cold wind whipped about, creating a maelstrom of thoughts and feelings within the dwarves as they watched the bridge sway back and forth in the wind. The wooden planks of the bridge were snug, however, which reassured Skalmaena that carrying the resources from one side to the other would not be an issue so long as the wind did not topple the bridge.

  “We need to ensure everyone makes it across the bridge safely. Therefore, here is what we shall do: two guards will accompany every ten or so dwarves – one guard at the front and the other at the rear. If you have a crossbow, arm yourself with it now. We never know what to expect when we cross the canyon, but it is better to be prepared than to simply be a piece of meat waiting to be snagged up by some wayward beast.”

  The dwarves murmured amongst themselves as they paired up to make the short journey across the bridge. Skalmaena ventured across the bridge first, all alone, to scout for any known dangers. The bridge, though it swayed in the wind, was not too hard to manage and she quickly found herself safely on the other side. She saw no enemies below, although the thick trees that lined the canyon walls provided more than enough protection from prying eyes. It was no wonder that rogue dragons loved to nest in the area.

  Skalmaena motioned for the next set of dwarves to make the trek across the bridge, and before long, she was met with smiling faces as wave after wave of dwarves made the trek without incident.

  The last cart of iron was pulled onto the bridge and the four dwarves accompanying it made their way across slowly, trying their best to make sure no pieces spilled out and into the water below. They were roughly three-quarters of the way across the bridge when the ground suddenly began to shudder. This caused the bridge ropes to bounce around haphazardly. No one was sure what the vibration was, but t
he dwarves pushed the cart as fast as they could muster without losing their grip on the ropes.

  The ear-piercing screech came from gully and echoed out over the canyon. The four dwarves, all members of the royal brigade, turned and looked behind them to see what the noise was.

  A wyvern – commonly known as the smaller cousin to the dragon race – came bounding through the gullies exit and ran straight for the dwarves on the bridge. No little beast, this wyvern was almost the same size as a teenaged dragon.

  “Run!” one of the men screamed.

  “No! We Fight!” another yelled back as he pulled his crossbow up to aim at the beast.

  The wyvern leaped into the air, and with one push of its wings, it was on top of the men. The creature slammed into the bridge, sending the cart toppling over the side.

  “Yurleck!” one of the dwarves screamed as he reached out to grab his comrade. It was too late – Yurleck was out of reach and plummeted into the water below.

  “Fire! Fire! Fire!” the biggest dwarf yelled.

  As the men tried their best to aim at the wyvern, they were constantly aware that they could fall over the side of the bridge at any moment. The beast reared its head back and let out a screech as it raised up to its full height on its two legs. The animal’s talons dug into the wood to get a better grip. Its mouth open wide, the wyvern lunged forward at the closest dwarf.

  The dwarf, ready for the attack, jumped backward and loosed an arrow at the head of the wyvern. The arrow grazed the head of the dark-grey beast, which only served to anger the attacker.

  “Loose arrows!” came a shout from behind the men, and like a colony of bats taking flight, a litany of arrows blotted out the sky over the dwarves’ heads and rained down on the wyvern. The beast, wounded but not deterred, jumped backward and began to flail; breaking the arrows from its skin and sending their shafts in every direction.

  “Again! Fire!” came the cry. Skalmaena was at the head of the group, giving orders. Another barrage of arrows rained down upon the beast. The wyvern, its mouth open to screech once more, took an arrow to the tongue. The arrow pierced through and into the bottom of the beasts’ mouth. It let out a cry that the dwarves had not ever heard, before launching into the air and turning away as if to retreat.

  Skalmaena ran out to the men on the bridge and helped them make the last part of their trek across safely. They had just reached the solid ground when Skalmaena saw it: another wyvern swooping down from the sky at the people she was sworn to protect.

  “Arrows! Arrows now! Move! Move! Get away from the ledge!” she screamed.

  The dwarves all ran at breakneck speed for the forest. They knew the wyvern would not dare enter the woods, which made it their best place to be safe. As the men ran, they continued to fire arrows at the wyvern, hoping to keep the beast at bay. Skalmaena noticed as she looked behind her that the first wyvern had returned and was now careening toward her, hell-bent on catching her before she made it into the tree line.

  Out of the depths of the ocean in the canyon below erupted a thunderous roar, so earth shattering that it caused rocks to break loose from the canyon walls and plunge into the waters.

  Their attack pattern disrupted – the bigger of the two wyverns angled downward to dive at the source of the sound, but its eyes met with sheer terror: it was Kemoth – the great and powerful! His muscles uncoiled as he launched from the water with Kragjaw Tuminar on his backside. His new wings, made from a metal contraption that only a Tuminar could make, unfurled as he hurtled through the air with a speed that could not be matched! The wyvern stood no chance as Kemoth snagged his neck within his grasp and with one crisp jerk, separated the wyvern’s head from his body.

  The smaller wyvern arced in a half circle, desperately trying to get away from the beast, but she stood no chance. Kemoth mowed her down and dispatched pieces of her body into the water with little effort. Kragjaw held onto the reins with a death grip as Kemoth barrel-rolled and pushed his new wings to the limit. He let out another roar, so loud that it reverberated for miles around. The noise echoed all the way to the shores of Megh Borim, where Metakon and Tross stood in reverence at a cry so powerful. Kemoth circled around and landed on the edge of the cliff side with a thunderous thud that shook the ground. He snorted and flames exhaled from his nose.

  “Skalmaena?” Kragjaw called out. “It is OK to come out! It is just Kemoth and me!”

  Kemoth let out a roar once more – this time a bit quieter. His eyes filled with joy at feeling the wind crisscross around his body as he flew just moments before.

  “It cannot be!” Skalmaena said as she exited the woods and stared at the dragon.

  There was no mistaking the dragon, however, as he stood tall in his splendor. Kemoth was unique in color, as his lower half cast a silvery green reflection, but from his forehead, down his backside all the way to his tail, his scales glistened with a hint of bluish gray. His yellow eyes met with those of Skalmaena, and he noticed her mouth, wide-open in complete shock at seeing the beast.

  “Kragjaw Tuminar,” she said with excitement, “you really are the king of all instrument making! Just look at these wings!”

  Kemoth shook his head and flexed his muscles, sending water flying in every direction. His frills stood tall along his backside, where Kragjaw sat in a makeshift saddle.

  “They are not perfect wings, but they have worked pretty well thus far!” Kragjaw said with a smile.

  “You must go to Thirndor and see Fogrolir and the other Storm Riders! Oh, Kemoth! They will be so happy to see you once more!”

  Kemoth shook his head side-to-side:

  “My time to return to Thirndor is not yet here. I will return there when I know it is right. We only came from the water to rid you of the two wyverns. Yurleck, as he said his name is – is alive but injured. He is in my cavern below, being attended to by Kurikjaw. When his body is able to sustain him, and without too much pain, I shall personally escort him to Thirndor.”

  “Yes, but – …”

  “There is no arguing! Now – go! Thirndor needs you; the Storm Riders need you! Make haste and do not surcease – Umuosmar is counting on you!”

  Before Skalmaena had a chance to reply, Kemoth turned and dove over the edge of the canyon and into the Shimmering Tide below. As he did so, his tail whipped around and knocked a thick oak tree loose from the canyon walls. The tree fell into the water below.

  His presence was more than enough to lift the spirits of the dwarves, and they hurried the rest of the way to Thirndor – each dwarf hoping to be the first into town to tell everyone about their encounter with the dragon from the past. He was not just any dragon – he was King Kulok Greybrew’s dragon – and Kulok Greybrew, when he was alive, was the most revered dwarf to have ever held the crown.

  21

  The skinder hit the cliff-side wall with a thud as the small metal spikes dug into the hard rocks. He took a moment and looked back at the beach, and the realization hit him – it was a long way to the top of the cliff, and an even longer journey to get back to the solid ground below.

  The skinder grunted as he pulled the metallic spike-handled weapon in his right hand out of the rock and slung it into the cliff-side above his head before repeating the motion with the spike in his left hand. His boots, equipped with the same type of metal spikes, made his arduous climb a lot easier, though it would still be a tasking effort to reach the top.

  “Stupid cyclops. Stupid Tross. Stupid Meta - …” he stopped himself from calling his leader a name, though he envisioned choking the skinder with his bare hands for making him climb the cliff wall and inspect what was above. He hated heights, and he especially hated having to climb a wall without any kind of harness to keep him safe.

  “They probably hope I die so they have one less mouth to feed tonight.” He grunted as he slammed the spike into the next piece of rock with renewed vigor.

  Sweat poured down his face as he took deep breaths with each swing of the spike. His advancement was slow
, but he refused to quit. He shook his head as bits and pieces of smashed rock hit his face.

  “Maybe I will just make it to the top of the cliff and disappear. That will teach them fools to mock me. Send me out to do their dirty work like I am some kind of slave!”

  He noticed a small tree root hanging out of the cliff and hurried to reach it. It was just big enough to hold his body weight as the root separated into two pieces, forming a ‘y’ shape as it hung out from the wall. The skinder climbed onto the tree root and sat down with his back against the cliff wall.

  “Oh, this feels so much better than climbing,” he said as he took another deep breath. “What is the rush, anyway? I get there when I get there.”

  It was a foggy evening, and the clouds rolled in and covered everything like a thick blanket. The skinder was above the cloud lining, however, and used this to his advantage as he made the decision not to move any further up the cliff side this night. Instead, he lodged his hammer-like metal spikes into the cliff side on either side of his shoulders and settled down to relax for the rest of the night.

  As the evening moved along, the skinder began to feel nervous. The dark gray hues of the clouds below seemed to engulf everything, leaving him feeling claustrophobic. Every noise, no matter how big or small, worried the skinder as the realization that dragons could be nesting above began to unnerve his previously gallant and braggadocios ego.

  His hands ached, and his fingers were covered in dirt and dust from hacking away at the rocky cliff. He pulled a small gemstone from his belt and held it in his hands. It shone a dark green as he held it within his tiny hands and inspected it. After looking at the gem for a while, he whispered a few words and the stone began to brighten until it illuminated the area around the skinder.

  The small man smiled, unaware that the glow from the stone was reflecting on the clouds below him, illuminating the immediate area around him.

  Metakon stood alongside Tross on the sandy beach below, staring into the evening sky. Metakon thought he saw a small, faint green glow within the fogginess above, but he could not be sure; the dark blue skies still provided a small amount of light from the seaside.