Demoweir's Rise (Great War Chronicles Book 2)

  It was not typical for a skinder to attempt such a feat – for doing so caused their bodies to drain – leaving them as empty vessels, unable to cast magic until they healed. Sometimes the healing process was mere minutes, but with a conjuring such as this, Metakon knew he would be powerless for a few days – if not longer.

  The poison he conjured began as a small ball of green energy before it erupted into an apparition of a dragon. Metakon focused all his energy on one target: A Storm Rider on the backside of a golden yellow dragon. Without warning, Metakon released the poisonous apparition, and at his behest, it bolted for the dragon.

  The Storm Rider saw the thick green mist as it sliced through the fog, hell-bent on killing anything it could touch. The rider, a veteran, and skillful maneuverer stood no chance against the fog-like magic. It hit his dragon and dispersed as though it were only a mirage.

  The Storm Rider relaxed and smiled – he had no idea his fate was sealed. In only a matter of seconds, his dragon’s wings became immobile and she banked downwards; heading straight for the ocean.

  “What is wrong? What are you doing?” the dwarf cried out. The dragon was paralyzed; the poison had done its job. As the beast plummeted for the water, the rider unlatched himself from his harness and prepared to jump to safety. In the second seat, an elf sat terrified – unable to free himself from his harness – his mind, frozen in fear.

  “Aaaarrrrggghhh!” the dwarf screamed as he leaped from his beast’s backside. He fell head first toward the mast of the large ship; his bag of traps opened and began tumbling to the surface of the watercraft below. The fog made it hard for him to see, but as he approached the mast at unbelievable speed, he reached out and made a bold grab for the full sails.

  The force of his body weight plummeting to the ground resulted in the dwarf dislocating his arm as the sudden stop yanked it out of the socket. The pain was overbearing and yet he held onto the mast for as long as he could manage. The knowledge that a bunch of one-eyed beasts awaited him below was of no comfort, but try as he may, he could not hold his grip forever and as his hand swelled from the surge of blood flow to the area of his injury, his grip released, and he tumbled to the wooden deck below.

  “Ooof!” the breath was knocked out of the lungs of the warrior as he smashed into the hard wooden surface, cracking a few boards from the impact.

  He was aware of the danger that surrounded him, and yet he found himself unable to move for a moment as the air refused to return to his lungs.

  “So, this is one of the famed Storm Riders, eh?” Metakon stepped forward and peered down at the dwarf.

  He chuckled as the Storm Rider glanced up – realization that his life was about to end shone in his green eyes. Metakon moved to kick the dwarf in the jaw but stopped when he spotted the small device in the dwarf’s hand. It was one of Kragjaw’s traps –one of many that did not fall from his bag during his tumble.

  “Defiant until the end, are we?”

  The dwarf said nothing as he sat up and scurried away from the skinder.

  “Very well – we will do this your way. I was going to only kill you and be done with the matter, but if fighting is how you wish to die, well – who am I to stop the final wishes of a warrior?” he spoke with a hint of feigned respect, though it did nothing to mask his sarcasm.

  Metakon snapped his fingers and stepped back. He signaled for one of the skinders to step forward.

  “Fetch Arlong. It has been far too long since we have let him out to have a little fun.”

  The skinder’s snickered as one of their own opened the mammoth sized grate on the far side of the ship and disappeared below deck. He was gone for a few minutes, and during that time the Storm Rider glanced around, looking for any possible way to escape. The trap was his only way out, and he knew it. He braced himself for whatever was to come – a feeling of foreboding began to swell in his stomach.

  The sound of chains dragging the deck snapped the dwarf back to reality. His eyes fixated on the grating as the skinder popped out of the hole and back on the topside. A second later a loud thud rang out – the ship rocked, and the back of an incredibly large warriors helmet appeared. It took up the bulk of the hole, and the form below it continued to grow as the biggest beast the dwarf had ever seen stepped up the stairs.

  He turned to face the others on the ship – his body, covered by a suit of armor made of the bones of his victims, made the brooding beast seem even larger. At his wrists – a pair of shackles the size of a small tree trunk held his arms in place. The chain-links were roughly the size of those on the dwarven gates of the castle. The same type of shackles adorned the cyclops ankles.

  “Unlock the shackles. It is time for a little fun.”

  The skinder nearest the cyclops was afraid to move for fear that he would become food for the beast. Metakon signaled for the animal to be released and at last, the skinder unshackled the locks on Arlong’s legs. The cyclops immediately kicked his foot out to the side, hitting the skinder – the force slammed the little man into the railing of the ship, knocking him out.

  “Heh…heh…heh…” the cyclops gurgled as he turned his head toward the skinder.

  Metakon – still unable to use his magic due to his conjuring earlier, commanded another skinder to release the shackles. The skinder said a few words and the restraints opened and fell to the deck.

  “Arlong, this dwarf has caused me quite the trouble. He aided in killing your friends and brothers earlier today. He is all yours to do whatever you wish – just do not destroy my ship. We still need it to return home.”

  “Brroooooaaaaar!!” the cyclops leaned back at the hips and released his battle cry.

  He focused his attention on the Storm Rider and began to stalk the dwarf with malice in his veins. The Storm Rider knew he stood no chance against the beast, but with his arm dislocated, he could not attempt to swim for the shore.

  “ONE WITH THE WIND! DEFENDERS OF CREATION!” he screamed as he hurled the trap at Arlong.

  Arlong reached out and grabbed the ball. It looked like a pebble within his large hand, and as he stopped to inspect the would-be trap, the Storm Rider attacked.

  He ran headlong at the cyclops and with his only weapon – a knife that stayed lodged in his belt when he fell – he slashed at the legs of the gigantic beast.

  The cyclops wore nothing but a leather loincloth about his waist, and as the dwarf ran the blade across the beasts’ shin, the cyclops dropped the ball and turned his attention to the dwarf.

  “Food!”

  In the blink of an eye, the Storm Rider was lifted from the ground and into the air by his bad arm. Before he could fathom an attack, the beginning of his demise had begun as the cyclops tore one of his arms from his body.

  The dwarf’s cries of anguish echoed throughout the sky as the cyclops ripped his body to pieces, limb from limb, before eating his head. The beast took the dwarf’s torso and flung it into the sky. It sailed by Kragjaw – blood slung across Kragjaw’s face and Kemoth’s backside.

  The cyclops turned his attention back to the dwarven ball, now rolling around the deck to the rhythm of the movement of the ship. The Chaotic skinder clan cheered at the sign of their first victory – though it was but a small one.

  The ball rolled back toward Arlong, and he picked it up and heaved it into the water. A moment later, shards of metal erupted through the waves in every direction, splintering through the sides of the ship. A cyclops, unfortunately, stood in the path of one of the shards – it sliced through his neck like paper before embedding into the wall of the captain’s cabin.

  The cyclops fell overboard – dead before his body hit the water.

  “Interesting,” Metakon said as looked around, “so that is how the trap works. It actives by the presence of water touching its surface. This will come in handy for future battles.”

  He looked around at his men before giving the order to follow the shoreline of the island until they reached the desert of the giants and ogres. He felt
weak and needed rest; before he retired to his cabin for a few hours, he took one last look at the hazy sky. The Storm Riders were still there – they followed the ship but maintained a safe distance to ensure their own safety.

  27

  Avalore did not stop running until he was sure that Sharp was no longer within his sightline. Out of breath – his chest heaved in and out in quick bursts, chugging hard for fresh air. A sharp pain shot through his ribs as the air forced its way into his lungs.

  It was freezing in the forest and yet he was drenched in sweat. He pulled his hooded jacket off and threw it to the ground as he let out a cry of frustration.

  “Stupid skinder! Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!” he yelled as he kicked jacket and stomped on it repeatedly. His words echoed through the forest – their sound felt hollow in the emptiness between the trees as his voice traveled on some distance before puttering out and disappearing.

  He coughed – his throat was hoarse, and the dryness only succeeded in making him cough even more. After a bit, he reached down and grabbed his jacket and wrapped it around his shoulders once more. His nose began to run, and he knew he would become ill if he did not make it out of the elements soon. He pushed himself harder, determined to make it back to Thirndor.

  ‘Things could not possibly be worse.’ He thought to himself as he sniffled and adjusted his coat to keep him warm.

  As he walked, he suddenly became aware that the forest ahead was dark. The lanterns were no longer lit, and a dark, frigid coldness replaced the warmth. Avalore squinted as he tried to peer into the darkness and spot any potential dangers. He saw neither man nor beast, though he was barely able to detect an inkling of light roughly a mile away.

  “This is just wonderful. Dwarves that are not dwarves, a midget with more power than any elf, and my only companion left me to fend for myself. This is what my sister’s husband considers a ‘safe’ mission? Bah! Damn fool!”

  He continued onward, his pace slow and methodical – senses heightened by the darkness ahead. As he moved into the dark part of the forest, he forced himself to take deliberate breaths of air – he drew a breath inward, and let it back out. He could feel his heartbeat reverberating through his body – in his ears it sounded like a drum, beating away in anticipation of something to come.

  Avalore glanced back to reassure himself that nothing was behind him as he continued his trek through the darkness. He was surprised to see just how far he had already journeyed without any light.

  ‘Should I cast an orb to provide light, or shall I just let my eyes stay adjusted and continue on? It really isn’t that far to the next lantern, and my eyes could use the rest.’ he decided he would not use his magic for the time being, and so he continued onward in the darkness with only his thoughts to keep him company.

  The false goddess knew Avalore was a spineless coward. She also knew that his cowardice would be the perfect thing to test her rejuvenating magic. Though she was in a hurry to reach the giants before they marched any further inward – she would have to ensure her powers were at an adequate level to do whatever would become necessary to ensure her survival.

  Dealing with giants was never an easy task; dealing with monsters that kept ogres as companions was a near impossibility. It was, however, a possibility that she had to risk.

  The Demoweir made her way in a southeastern direction, making sure to get away from the stream. Magic had an adverse effect on every use, and conjuring up something of the sort that she was picturing could accidentally have her waltzing into the water and drowning before she realized what happened.

  “Oh, great spirits, are you here with me? Come to me – come to your leader, and lend me your power this day.”

  The forest was dead still. No leaves rustled, no branches swayed. The animals were either hidden or nowhere near the area, and though the clearing in which the Demoweir sat appeared to be empty – it was full of ghoulish things.

  The spirits of her victims, both dead and living, circled around here as they spoke in frantic tones. Any other time their incessant chatter would annoy her, but not today. She needed their help, and she needed it in desperation.

  “My minions – welcome home.” She said as she cackled and looked to the sky.

  The trees blotted out the sky, but her head remained tilted back as though she were looking for someone or something. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head as her true nature of evil began to encompass her physical body.

  “Yes…come to me! All of you…yes!” she murmured as the spirits dove from the sky and entered her body.

  From the depths of her lungs, an old voice squeaked its way through – it escaped her lips and spoke in thick, dry tone.

  “The elf, Avalore, must make it to Thirndor for my plan to succeed. I need him scared for his life and willing to do whatever anyone suggests. He is my harbinger that will force the dwarves to kneel before my royal feet!”

  The spirits, now housed within her body, echoed their agreement with the demon woman.

  “Now – let us scare this elf into our waiting hands!”

  The forest remained silent to the outside world – yet in its spirit realm there was cheers and laughter as another victim would soon be delivered unto the demon; it was almost time for her to feast.

  Avalore shivered from the cold as his pace quickened. He was almost at the end of the unlit section of the forest when his mind began to mess with him.

  At first, he thought he heard voices. He stopped and looked around but saw nothing. He turned and started to run for the light. The voices became louder with each passing step until he was sure there was a small army barreling down on him. He turned once more, expecting to see someone – anyone. Instead, he saw nothing but the forest. The voices were gone, but his apprehension remained.

  “Calm yourself, Avalore. You are letting your imagination run wild. There is nothing there.”

  A low, menacing growl touched the ears of Avalore. He tried his best to ignore it, convinced it was just another dose of his mind messing with him.

  Grrrr.

  The growl reached out and touched his ears once more. Avalore could not ignore it this time and turned around to look for the source of the sound.

  From behind a tree, the mixed colors of a black and dark yellow mane of a leolf could be seen sticking out. The beast was moving slowly, making its way around the tree.

  “My leolf! You have returned!” Avalore exclaimed.

  The face of the fierce beast turned and focused its attention on Avalore. Avalore knew immediately that this was not the leolf sent to accompany him. This creature’s face was as black as a panther, with eyes even darker. Its wolf-like fur was thick and shaggy, and as the creature shook its head, Avalore swore to himself that the leolf somehow grew bigger.

  “No! Stay away! I do not want to kill you, but I will if I must! I will use elven magic – I am warning you!” his voice was desperate.

  It was true – Avalore had the power of his magic, and it could slice through a leolf without effort, but Avalore was much too shaken to attempt any use of such spells.

  The leolf lowered its head and shoulders toward the earthen floor and began to slowly stalk forward: its eyes never strayed from Avalore.

  Avalore stammered and muttered as he stepped backward with each step the beast took toward him. He fumbled for his small dagger made of mammoth tusk, but only managed to drop it as his hands shook uncontrollably.

  The leolf continued its slow pace forward – each step forward forced Avalore to take a step backward. The elf was no longer aware of his surroundings and would soon walk off the path and stumble into the trees.

  Thump!

  The ground shook without warning. Avalore froze – his eyes widened, gripped with terror as he saw lyconian shove a small tree over like it was nothing.

  The werewolf took another step – Thump! – It was the biggest lyconian Avalore had ever seen. He tried to force his legs to move, but the sheer fear in his body refused to release control to his
mind.

  The leolf, unaware of the beast, continued to walk deliberately toward the dwarf. He never stood a chance of catching Avalore – the lyconian bolted forward and with ease, snatched the leolf from the ground and threw the beast into the treetops above.

  The leolf yelped in pain as it fell back to the earth and slammed into the ground. The sound of its bones breaking echoed through Avalore’s ears. The lyconian snatched the beast from the ground and tossed him into the air once more. As his body flailed head over end like a thrown tomahawk, the lyconian reared its head and howled. The leolf free fell back toward the earth but never hit the ground. The lyconian snared the massive beast within his mouth and shook him violently from side-to-side.

  He dropped the leolf on the ground and placed his front left paw on its chest. He reared his head once more and howled.

  Avalore ran – he ran for his life and did not look back. His dagger remained on the ground – a lost artifact in the dwarven world. Avalore did not care; he only wanted to survive.

  The lyconian waited for Avalore to top the small hillside path before he gave chase. He watched as Avalore’s body disappeared over the hill.

  The leolf whimpered and looked around. It saw nothing – for nothing was there. Still, it could not lift itself from the ground, as a great weight held it down. The beast whimpered once again – its head was suddenly ripped from its body and flung across the woods. It never saw the attacking lyconian because the lyconian was not real – it was an apparition that only Avalore could see.

  The spirit looked at the decapitated body of the leolf and laughed before it turned its attention back to Avalore. It bolted up the dirt path – its senses alive and ready to wreak havoc, as the Demoweir smiled with pleasure. The spirits were just getting started.

  28

  A few soldiers remained in Thirndor for the sole purpose of protecting the inhabitants that were unable to go to battle. The elderly, sick, disabled, or otherwise incapable dwarves, were all that remained.