Demoweir's Rise (Great War Chronicles Book 2)

by Michael Benningfield

  “When Fogrolir speaks – you shut your mouths!” the force of her breath pushed a few of the dwarves backward and into the men and women behind them.

  “Thank you, Mersoth. Now then – what in the name of the god’s is going on here?”

  “Nothing really, Foggy boy. We are just having a little fun in preparation for the war.” Barth lowered his weapon with a sheepish grin.

  “How is destroying our town going to help us prepare for war?”

  Mange raised his finger to speak –

  “Well to be fair – reconstruction is a part of wartime efforts. Regardless, this really is not a big deal. Some of the dwarves are afraid of fighting and said they did not think they could fight unless they were pushed to anger.”

  “Yeah, so we did what any good dwarf would do. We offered to make them angry so they will be in the right mindset to go to war!”

  Barth spoke the words with a shrug. It was simply business for the two brothers. Their intent was to make the inhabitants angry enough to fight, and it worked.

  “You were supposed to say things to make us angry at our enemies. Not personal things to make us angry with you! Now, look what you have done. No one wants to stand by nor help you!”

  A chorus of ‘yeah’s’ rang out amongst the dwarves in the square.

  “How can we insult you from the enemies’ position when we are not the enemy, you blubbering morons?” Mange yelled.

  “Mange, I do not think they know what a moron is,” Barth whispered.

  “Right,” Mange whispered back.

  “If you are offended by our words because you think they are too personal, and they make you cowards want to cry – “

  “We are not cowards!” one dwarf interrupted.

  “How dare you!” another chimed in.

  “If you are not cowards, then shut up and get to work!” Mange said with indignation.

  “Otherwise, grow a set of dwarven nuts and stand up and fight for this kingdom!”

  King Vulred appeared at Fogrolir’s side, shaking his head at the complete and total disarray of the town square.

  “You may not like their approach,” Vulred said, “but it yields results.” He chuckled as he and Fogrolir turned and walked away from the cacophony of destruction in the city square. Snow continued to fall to the ground as the dwarves and elves parted ways for the night. The next day there would be no bickering, no fighting, and no messing around. There was work to be finished, and Fogrolir would make sure that it was attended to in an orderly fashion.

  The elves shivered in the cold as snow fell at their feet while they worked. The wind swirled and howled as it moved throughout the town like a lone wolf, tossing snowflakes in the faces of men and women alike. The forges would not stay lit as the wind blew through and snuffed out the flames. The iron – usually bendable, was so cold that it refused to cooperate with any attempts to reshape it. Try as they may, the dwarves and their companions were getting absolutely nowhere in their endeavors.

  “We need a warm place to work on these things, Fogrolir.”

  Mange stood behind an anvil, his hand-made goggles over his eyes with a hammer in his hands – a look of disappointment on his face. His thick fur coat, which he claimed was made from the ilk of a lyconian, made him look like a puffed-up porcupine. Ice sickles were beginning to form on his beard as he continued to sweat from swinging the hammer so hard.

  “I can have a few of you in my home to use my cauldron and smokestack. A few dwarves may allow others to use their homes, so long as they know that nothing will be destroyed. Perhaps, if we ask nicely, we can use the tavern’s fireplace as well.”

  The air was so cold that Fogrolir feared his beard would begin to break like pieces of twigs – the air made his hair feel brittle. Thirndor was always cold when winter came upon the town, but it felt especially cold on this morning, and he could not fathom why.

  The sky was a blanket of white noise crashing down from a sky of dark gray. The wind made it appear that the snow was dancing in chaotic fashion as it fell to the streets and mountains below.

  “I have a proposal that may work if anyone cares to hear it.” Barth quipped.

  Fogrolir swiveled around to face the dwarf. A fresh batch of snow smacked him in the face as the wind continued to toss around the thick, watery like substance.

  “What is it, Barth?” Fogrolir had to yell over the howl of the wind.

  “We can use the forest! Load the carts and drag everything into the woods. The trees get covered in snow, but the ground remains virtually untouched. Build a couple of new forges, or take these with us if we can.”

  Fogrolir was impressed by the forethought and shook his head in agreement.

  “What about the smoke? It may choke us if it cannot get out of the forest and into the open air!”

  Barth shook his head in disagreement.

  “The trees are spaced out enough that there should be no problem with smoke. It should dissipate on its own, so long as we do not over stack combustible elements!”

  Mange shrugged and looked at Fogrolir.

  “From judging, it appears to be a very sound idea to me, Foggy boy. There is no harm in trying, right?”

  The Storm Rider agreed, and so he began the arduous trek throughout the town to let everyone know the new plan: get all necessary ingredients and utensils packed – the forest was about to have unexpected company.

  Carts were loaded and pulled down the streets toward the forest. It was decided that the smaller patch of forestation which sits between the Shimmering Tides and Thirndor on the northeastern side of the town would be the place to move everything. There was no sense in stirring creatures on the southern side of the city as the forest ran from Thirndor all throughout the kingdom.

  The elves and dwarves made their way under the thick canopy of trees and began unloading their wares.

  “I know we elves have made the trees in Omabanise an integral part of our lives. We build homes, businesses, and other such things within the trunks of the trees themselves. It is our way of staying connected with the spirits of our ancestors. Even so, looking at these black forest trees brings me a sense of symbolism; of something almost archaic.”

  Vulred’s gaze steadied on the thickest tree near the forest’s entrance. It stood among the other trees as though it were a giant, surrounded by small people. It stretched into the sky, its branches raised above those of the trees below it.

  Not all the dwarves made the short trip into the forest – some stayed behind to study maps of the towns and mark out points of interest. Everyone had a job to do, and planning the battle was more important than the action itself.

  “Set up the forges over there,” Mange said as he pointed to a small cul-de-sac in the tree lines. A few huskily built dwarves started to gather stones and move them to set the base for the forges.

  “Line up the ingots on this side, and the already made bars over here.” He pointed to one side of the forge area and then to the other. Dwarves followed directions without question as Fogrolir looked on.

  “Kragjaw, you name whatever it is that you need and we will get it to you.” Mange handed several pieces of parchment to the dwarf:

  “These are the plans for what we are building. If you see something that can be improved, please say so. Otherwise, tell these men how you need something made so they can get on the task right away. We still need to test everything before we try it in battle with these skinder creatures and their allies.”

  Kragjaw took the parchment and flattened it out on a temporary table that was setup just a few feet from the forges. He looked over the papers, one-by-one, in complete awe at the rigid blueprints made by the Taberlim brothers.

  “Where does one come up with such designs for weapons?” he whispered to himself.

  Barth slapped him on the shoulder and whispered in his ear:

  “From the future, my dear boy. From the future!”

  Barth turned his back and opened a saddlebag of sand from the Shi
mmering Tide, and began to thin it out on a metal plate to place inside the forge.

  “What do you think you are doing?” a dwarf from Megh Borim said as walked around the table and over to the furnace.

  His dark face showed patches of deep red as he plowed into Kragjaw – the force knocked Kragjaw off his feet. The dwarf came to a stop next to Barth, his intense stare was meant to intimidate the elder dwarf; it did not work.

  “What are you doing!” he demanded in a rude manner.

  “My job!” Barth snapped back as he shoved the dwarf out of his way.

  None too happy about seeing sand being placed into a furnace, the dwarf turned on his heels and stormed off. He would tell the others from Megh Borim, and they would not be pleased.

  Barth paid no mind to the issue and continued his work. He was separating iron from sand in the furnace when Kragjaw approached him:

  “I have an idea. Something that would ensure the dragons do not get injured when launching the arrows from their pods.” Kragjaw led Barth over to the table.

  “What if we make traps that open in mid-air and release a ball of string like a spider’s web? The string is coated in oil and virtually invisible in the sky against the clouds. As it falls, the dragons light it on fire just as we start shooting the arrows, also dipped in oil. The arrows hit the flames and light up, giving the bolt more force as it excels toward the enemy – and the enemy has less time to react. Not only that, but the incasing’s that hold the trap can be outfitted with a special poison and using tightly wound springs, we can make the encasing lethal if touched by water.”

  “Hmm…I like it, young Tuminar. We shall ask Fogrolir what he thinks of such a plan. First, however, I must know – in what way shall these devices become lethal?”

  Kragjaw stepped back and pulled a small silver ball from his pocket. He pressed it in a pattern, and it opened, revealing a hollow inside. He held his finger up and looked at Barth before pressing a pressure point on the ball and closing it back.

  “Now then, we need to get somewhere a safe distance away from everyone so that no one gets killed when I show you how this works.”

  Barth ran over to the forge and pulled a pain of melting iron out and laid it on the stone sharpener next to the forge. He motioned for Kragjaw to follow him, and the two sauntered off into the thick of the forest without anyone noticing they were gone.

  “OK – we need a place that will protect us from the projectiles. A thick tree trunk or mound of dirt that we can hide behind.”

  Barth scouted the area and pointed at a rather large tree.

  “There. That should be big enough to keep us hidden.”

  The two scurried over to the tree. Kragjaw once more pulled the ball from his pocket, and this time tossed it a good distance into the woods. He made sure to keep it within sight as he needed to hit it with liquid to make it activate. He brought forth his leolfskin pouch and punctured it with a tiny blade. He smiled at Barth before turning and throwing it at the ball. The pouch landed – the force of the water trying to exit the hole was too much for the bag, and it exploded. Water spewed all over the device, and Kragjaw ducked behind the tree.

  Nothing happened.

  “Umm…Kragjaw, I hardly call this lethal.”

  “It should have worked. I carved the slits within the ball myself. I pushed the pressure point down before we came out here, so I have no idea why…”

  He never got to finish his sentence.

  The quiet forest gave way to the bright sounds of a hiss – like a steamer releasing air. Seconds later there was a pop!

  ‘Tat-tat-tat-tatatatat-tat-tat!’

  It sounded like a hundred darts hitting a wooden shield all at once. Tree branches started falling from the tops of the nearest trees – tree trunks were sliced in two. There was a high-pitched squeal followed by a thud. Leaves, twigs, and berries fell on top of the two dwarves.

  Barth brushed himself off and stood to his feet to survey the damage done. Kragjaw could be heard making spitting noises as he tried to get dirt and tree bark out of his mouth.

  “That…was…awesome!” Barth cried out excitedly. “I cannot wait to see what one of those contraptions does to a cyclops!”

  He gave a hearty laugh as he helped Kragjaw to his feet. The two men were just about to begin their trek back to the others when Barth noticed what made the squeal. It was a bear, and it was dead; killed by the trap that Kragjaw set.

  “Well now, this is good fortune. Grab a side, Kragjaw!”

  “Grab a side? Are you mad? This animal is immense!”

  “This is just a baby, my dear lad. Come on, we do not have all day to get this done!”

  Kragjaw shook his head in disbelief – he grabbed the bear’s front paw and heaved the arm around his shoulder. Together, he and Barth dragged the animal back to the clearing where the others were still hard at work.

  “What in the world! What is that?” Vulred said as he witnessed a heaping pile of fur lumbering through the trees with two dwarves masked underneath it.

  “It is a bear!” Barth managed to squeeze the words out between huffs of air.

  “What do we need a bear for?” a dwarf cried out.

  “Food, clothing, or whatever else we decide,” Kragjaw replied.

  Fogrolir ran forward and helped undrape the wooly beast from the shoulders of the dwarves. The carcass hit the dirt with a loud thud.

  “Do I even want to know what possessed you two to go hunting for a bear?” Fogrolir asked.

  “Actually, we were not hunting at all. Kragjaw took me into the woods for a demonstration of his newest gadget. We had to be a safe distance from everyone. The bear was just a lucky catch – or rather, fall, I suppose. Yes, a lucky fall, wouldn’t you say, Kragjaw?”

  “Eh – yes, I suppose so.” He shrugged with indifference as he smiled.

  The dwarves, alongside Vulred, returned to the forges, where they discussed Kragjaw’s idea. The details were hammered out in short order, and the men went back to working.

  For the next few days, the dwarves worked virtually nonstop to fashion poisoned arrows made of steel. Arrow launches that could be attached to dragons’ backsides via harnesses – and an odd contraption that the Taberlim brothers referred to simply as the ‘wolverine.’

  As the materials grew thinner and the men became anxious – the moment had finally arrived. It was time to load the weapons and head out for Megh Borim. Afterward, the journey would be made to Hegh Thurim to protect the castle at all costs.

  Skalmaena gathered her things and took to the air on the backside of the emerald dragon. Her destination was Hegh Thurim, where she would await word of the results of the attack on Megh Borim’s shores.

  Fogrolir gathered the remaining Storm Rider’s and they readied themselves for battle. As he always did before a fight, he called the riders together to discuss their strategy, away from prying eyes.

  “The dwarves and elves will follow us on foot. We will be the eyes and ears from above, ensuring their safety. When we reach the fork that leads to Hegh Thurim, they will take that route and make the two-day journey to the castle. They have most of the weapons, and we will do our best to keep a dragon and rider overhead for the duration of their trip. Is that understood?”

  The riders nodded their agreement.

  “Kragjaw Tuminar, son of Kurikjaw Tuminar, and grandson to myself by virtue of my daughter – your mother, Sirmeda Grumbane – please step forward.”

  Kragjaw looked at his father, a hint of nervousness shone across his face. His father nodded and gave him a friendly push toward his grandfather.

  “Come hither lad. You have nothing to fear in the circle of Storm Rider’s.”

  Kragjaw walked over with a sheepish smile and stood next to his grandfather.

  “My grandson has long wanted to become a Storm Rider. Usually we would put him through proper training – however, we are short a lot of men and dragons after the actions of Praghock Yulgrunli. So, I am hereby proposing that until t
he battle for Megh Borim is over, and barring no immediate threats from the giants and ogres, we allow Kragjaw to enter battle as a Storm Rider. As always, this is not solely my decision. You men have had decades, some of you, centuries, of preparation. Not just anyone can get on the backside of a dragon and fly. If a dragon will have him, I wish to allow him to enter battle with us. Does anyone oppose such a measure?”

  The men murmured and spoke amongst themselves. There were those who thought the task would be much too dangerous for a dwarf that was unaccustomed to flying on the backside of a dragon. Others argued, however, that he may be a natural at flying with the dragon’s, just like his grandfather.

  “Fogrolir, we have discussed this as a group, and we all have one concern that we would like to address. Perhaps you can put our minds to ease.”

  Fogrolir rubbed his chin and ran his hands through his beard. He nodded for the men to continue.

  “Bravery is not easy to come by, but we have heard the stories over the last few days of how this young man killed Firehock, managed to survive the Reophuse in the marshlands, and so forth. Bravery, however, is not everything. If he is to ride a dragon, he will need a dragon that is battle tested and knows how to handle an inexperienced rider.”

  Fogrolir listened and nodded.

  “I agree, Liam.”

  The dwarf named Liam continued:

  “The problem is that we do not have any free dragon’s that can be depended on to do such a thing. We would love to have him in the skies with us, but we need a dragon that can keep him safe. To put it bluntly – we do not have any.”

  Fogrolir was about to reply to the men when a gust of wind blew the snow – which had slowed down tremendously – in the opposite direction of where it had been falling.

  The Storm Rider’s turned to see what beast pushed the snow back like it was nothing, and the looks of amazement were easily read on their faces as Kemoth lowered from the sky.

  “He will ride on my backside. I am more than trained in the art of dealing with dwarves who are not ready for combat. Indeed – I have turned boys into men, and one man into a king. Are there any objections now?”