Demoweir's Rise (Great War Chronicles Book 2)

by Michael Benningfield

  Since they were unable to march into battle, they were tasked with continuing to make whatever weapons they could from the remaining resources in the village. The Storm Riders would be returning to gather whatever they could carry with them on the journey to Hegh Thurim, where the real war was expected to begin.

  Though most of the weaponry was now being made in the tavern, there were a few dwarves who preferred working outside. They consisted mainly of trap makers from Gornfurum who preferred to speak with their own kind and not associate with the dwarves of Thirndor.

  They were hard at work fastening mechanisms on traps when they heard the scream. They dropped what they were working on and grabbed their weapons to ready themselves in case there was an attack.

  Instead, they watched as Avalore bolted through the trees some fifty yards away from the main forest road. He ran through the grass and jumped over a small wooden fence. Seconds later he bounded around the corner at full speed and plowed into one of the dwarves.

  “What in the blazes?” the gruff voice yelled out as Avalore fought to get back to his feet.

  “They are coming! Do you hear their howls?” he said frantically.

  He grabbed the dwarf’s shirt and yanked him forward, face-to-face with him and repeated the words once more.

  “What are you talking about, you buffoon!” the angry dwarf yelled as he shoved Avalore backward.

  “Nobody is coming! There is no howling! You imagine things, you fool!” He shoved Avalore once more and turned back to his work.

  Avalore was persistent, however, and eventually one of the dwarves told him to go to the tavern and speak with Kurikjaw Tuminar.

  He hurried down the street to find Kurikjaw while pretending not to hear the dwarves mocking him as he passed by.

  Kurikjaw sat at the table where he met his wife over a century ago. The fire in the hearthstone burned slowly, casting shadows across the wall as it frolicked around the pieces of wood in the fireplace. Kurikjaw sat alone, staring at the fire, deep in thought. He was not expecting anyone – so it was no shock that he jumped when the door to the tavern was flung open. Avalore darted inside.

  “Kurikjaw! I am looking for Kurikjaw!” he shouted as he slammed the door shut behind himself.

  It took Kurikjaw a moment to recover from the sudden outburst, but as he did so, he held up his hand and motioned for Avalore to come and sit at the table with him.

  “Have a seat, lad. What is all the fuss about?” Kurikjaw looked the elf over from head to toe as Avalore’s eyes darted about the room.

  “It is alright, lad. You are safe here. Sit down.” He motioned for Avalore to sit. Avalore sat down.

  “Now then – what was all that racket for?”

  Avalore stared at Kurikjaw; his eyes begged for understanding even as his mind still refused to form the right words.

  “Darkness – the woods – lyconian’s – howling – the leolf killed – voices chase… oh by the god’s I can still hear them!” he screeched and grabbed his ears with both hands.

  Kurikjaw’s eyes narrowed. He had seen something like this once before when Kragjaw was but a small boy.

  “Slow down lad. It is alright. There is nothing here with us except the tavern keeper. Talk to me lad. Speak slowly and tell me what happened.”

  Avalore took a deep breath and focused his attention on Kurikjaw.

  “That’s it, lad. Slow and steady – now tell me what happened.”

  Avalore’s mind flashed back to the forest and the journey that he could only describe as hellacious. The sounds and images filled his head once more, as he tried to speak. He shook violently in his chair as whatever evil that was given unto him now took over his body and refused to release it.

  Kurikjaw had seen enough. He reached over and grabbed Avalore’s hands – the elf stopped jerking and looked at him.

  “What is it that, lad?”

  Avalore stared at him for a second before speaking.

  “Fogrolir sent me to find his friend. Someone named Sharp. He swore to me that Sharp was his friend, but he is not! He is not a friend! Sharp is a skinder, just like those in Megh Borim! I was supposed to give him a belt and ask for his help.”

  Kurikjaw nodded.

  “Did you give him the belt when you found him?”

  “No.” Avalore shook his head, “I did not have a chance. Two dwarves were walking the same path as the leolf and I. I spotted a small man approaching, and so I commanded the leolf to stay put and not do anything rash. The man came to me and asked me what an elf was doing so far from home. I told him I was headed to Vel Boramm to deliver a message on behalf of a friend. He asked me the name of the friend – that he may know him. I gave him the name, and he became agitated. He asked me what the message was, and so I brought forth the belt. Once he spotted the belt, he jumped backward and declared that he was named Sharp. Before I knew what was happening, he took the belt from me, killed the two dwarves walking up the pathway, and scared my companion – the leolf, away. He then told me to run, and that if he spotted me again before he reached Thirndor, he would kill me.”

  Avalore purposely left out all the details so he could paint a much broader picture without so many facts.

  “Are you sure that this skinder is in fact, Sharp?” Kurikjaw asked.

  Avalore nodded.

  “As I ran for my life, I looked back to make sure that he was not coming after me. I saw a figure come out from behind the stone fountain, and I could hear her calling his name. He is definitely the man named Sharp.”

  There was something odd about Avalore’s story, but Kurikjaw could not decide what it was. He motioned for Avalore to continue.

  “I did not stop running until I could no longer manage to run. I rested for a moment to catch my breath and survey the area. The lanterns ahead were not lit, though they were lit just hours beforehand. I decided I had to go through the path even if they were not lit and so I began my stretch of walking. My eyes adjusted and I saw nothing in the darkness, but as I made it to the end of the darkness and back into the light, I heard a growl.”

  At the mention of the growl, Avalore began to shake once more. Kurikjaw kept ahold of his hands and encouraged him to continue.

  “I thought my mind was just getting the better of me, but I kept hearing the growl. I turned and looked toward the thick of the forest, and I saw a large leolf. At first glance, I thought it was the beast which Fogrolir sent with me – but once it looked directly at me – I knew I was in trouble.”

  He shook his head and looked down as the images of the lyconian filled his mind again.

  “The beast began to stalk me, slow and methodically. Every time it took a step forward, I took a step backward. I thought it was going to attack and kill me, but it never had the opportunity.”

  Avalore became silent.

  Kurikjaw waited for a short time in hopes that Avalore would voluntarily continue his story. When he did not, Kurikjaw prodded him along once again, though he noticed it was becoming harder to convince the elf to speak.

  “Lyconian – one as tall as a giant, came up behind the leolf and snatched it by the nape and tossed it straight up into the air. The poor thing stood no chance. It crashed into the dirt and yelped, but the lyconian grabbed it and threw it into the air again. I ran, Kurikjaw. I ran, and I did not look back.”

  “You mean to tell me that a lyconian is what has you so upset, lad?”

  Avalore shook his head vehemently.

  “No. It is more than that! The beast howled again and again. Moments later I heard his growling and snarling right behind me. It was as the monster was toying with me. Its jaws would snap shut, and I could feel the slap of its teeth as they collided. I kept running, but there were more of them. Hundreds, maybe thousands – I do not know!”

  Kurikjaw released Avalore’s hands and stood.

  “Did you see any of these other lyconian’s?”

  “I did not need to see them! I could hear them! Branches snapped, and the ground shook
as they took to all four legs and gave chase after me! I could feel their hot breath nipping at my neck. The smell of their putrid breath as they ran all around me made me want to vomit!”

  Kurikjaw crossed his arms and paced the floor as he mulled over the information Avalore shared. His gut told him that the elf was only being semi-truthful, but he was unable to discern which parts of his story were, in fact, correct.

  “Avalore,” the dwarf said, “I want you to go lay down and get some rest. Do not worry about lyconian beast’s coming into Thirndor. It is a rarity that they ever leave the forest and even if one does venture into our streets, it will be struck down before it has a chance to do any real damage.

  Avalore nodded his agreement and began to stand but stopped when something caught his eye.

  “No!” he screamed.

  Kurikjaw ran forward and looked out the window that oversaw the small lagoon behind the tavern. Standing on the stone walkway that separated the left and right side of the pond, was Sharp, with Nanseen behind him.

  Sharp pointed at the back door of the tavern. He wanted it opened, but it was locked from the inside. Kurikjaw did not sense any danger and made his way over to the door to open it for the skinder.

  “No! You cannot let him in! He will kill all of us!” Avalore pleaded his case, but Kurikjaw paid him no heed.

  A few seconds later, the wooden bar was removed, and the door opened. Sharp walked in, Nanseen still behind him, and looked directly at Avalore.

  “She has marked you, traitor. I do not know what kind of lies you have told, or what your plan is, but I do know that you belong to her now, and those that belong to her eventually die.”

  Avalore’s entire body trembled in fear: ‘he knows! He really knows that I belong to her!’

  Sharp said nothing more. He walked past Kurikjaw and climbed into a seat at a table in the center of the room. Nanseen followed but said nothing – Sharp had already explained to her what would happen in this town in less than a month, and it was not good. Her heart hurt, not for Thirndor, but for Sharp. She loved him, and she knew his future was not a bright one.

  29

  Lundrise Bronzeshaper sat in the main hall of the castle, looking over maps of the kingdom. Blodbarg and his men had last been seen in the Crystalmist Bastille, awaiting the arrival of their mastodons and mammoths.

  Lundy scouted the maps in search of any area that would provide sufficient cover for the dwarves to mount an offensive attack. Try as she may, she could not find any areas on the maps that would give the dwarves a favorable vantage point.

  “Ugh!” she let out a cry of frustration.

  “I hope that isn’t the best we have to offer as an offensive tactic.”

  Lundy spun around and saw her best friend Skalmaena standing in the arched doorway.

  “Skalmaena!” she exclaimed.

  Skalmaena walked over and embraced her friend. She noticed the maps laying out and turned her attention to them.

  “I take it that you have not had any luck in planning an attack?”

  “Nothing, Skalmaena. I mean, we have the woods and streets and such, but we have nothing in the way of elevation that will give us the upper hand; unless we allow them to march into the city itself.”

  Skalmaena stared at a couple of maps and took note of various waterways and woodlands.

  “Enough of looking at these things, Lundy. Let us get something to eat and wait for Fogrolir and the others to arrive. They should be here within the next day or two barring not setbacks in Megh Borim.”

  The two walked from the main hall and made their way to the kitchen area for some food.

  “Do you think they will be successful in their endeavor?”

  Lundy was inquisitive, and Skalmaena liked that.

  “They have to be, Lundy. The future of our entire kingdom rests on their shoulders.”

  They flew in silence for a few hours; nothing but the sound of their dragons’ wings and the sloshing water below could be heard. Kragjaw was upset, as well as scared, but he tried his best to hide the emotions charging through his body.

  ‘It is all right to be afraid, Kragjaw. All men are afraid of something – at least your fear is for a good cause. Indeed, your fear is what will fuel you in battle.’ Kemoth spoke to Kragjaw without uttering a single word aloud. It was something dragon’s had done for generations when comfortable with someone who was not one of their own.

  ‘That thing ripped him limb from limb, Kemoth. What kind of beast possesses the power to literally tear someone’s arms and legs from their body?’

  Kragjaw had become accustomed to speaking with Kemoth through the power of his mind. Kemoth informed him during one of their early conversations that dragons had the authority to talk while ensuring only their intended target heard their words. It took Kragjaw awhile to harness the ability, as initially all of his responses were heard by the fish in the Shimmering Tide, where they had made their home.

  ‘Many beasts are powerful enough to do such a thing, Kragjaw. Most, however, are not so cruel that they practice such deviousness.’

  Kragjaw leaned back in the seat and closed his eyes. The fog was thick as ever, though it had ceased to snow. As they flew southbound, the air gradually became warmer – the fog began to shift into a dank mist. The Storm Riders could once again see the ship below, and they watched it intently.

  “Mersoth, we should return to Hegh Thurim. Skalmaena and her men will be worried about us.”

  Mersoth stretched her neck and looked back at her master.

  “What about these beasts?” she asked as she nodded her head in the direction of the skinders’ boat.

  Fogrolir gazed at the ship for a moment – his face set in deep concentration – he could not shake the feeling that something was amiss, even if he could not yet see what it was.

  “Our concern is Hegh Thurim, and Umuosmar as a whole. These invaders are headed right into Zowgant Kregork – they have no idea what awaits them.”

  “You are hoping they clash with the giants and ogres then?” she asked.

  “Aye. I am more than placing faith upon it, Mersoth. I am praying that they fight amongst themselves, giving us the time we need to prepare a proper attack.”

  Fogrolir raised his hand into the sky and signaled for the Storm Riders to fallback. Like a flock of birds flying in perfect form, they banked and swooped back toward the coastline. Hegh Thurim would welcome them warmly – though the happiness would fade in what felt like no time at all.

  30

  Kurikjaw issued orders to the owner of the tavern after everyone left for the evening.

  “Keep an eye on Avalore. I know Fogrolir, and he would not send for someone that was not a friend. Until we know what the truth is, however, I need you to watch both the elf and the skinder. Perhaps you can let his friend, Nanseen, help out in your tavern since she knows the bar life so well.”

  “Aye, Kurikjaw. I can do that. Where are you off to?”

  “I have to catch up with the others and make it to Hegh Thurim. I will ride one of the leolf’s just past Megh Borim, and once I know I am in a safe area, I will have the beast return. I should have no trouble catching up to the others if I leave now, as they will have stopped to rest for the night.”

  The tavern owner nodded his understanding, and a few minutes later Kurikjaw was seen exiting the city as fast as the leolf would carry him. He rode all through the night without incident, and by morning he found himself traversing the beaten path just outside Megh Borim. He could see the flames, though he saw no signs of life. No dragons, no dwarves, elves, or anything else.

  He made haste on the leolf and passed through the forest next to the marshlands with ease, and soon enough spotted the dwarves as they marched toward Hegh Thurim.

  Kurikjaw Tuminar walked alongside the Taberlim brothers as they traversed the last few miles on their way to Hegh Thurim. The outlook amongst the men and women was mixed at best; everyone appeared fine, except those from Megh Borim.

&nbs
p; They realized they were destitute – nothing of their homes remained, and that was not the worst part. They were being thrust into a war in which they wanted no part – against an enemy, they knew little to nothing about.

  “They look like a sad lot,” Mange muttered the words so as not to be heard by those behind the three men.

  “What do you expect to them to be, Mange? They were awakened during the night, dragged from their homes and informed that their city would cease to exist – and all at the hands of their fellow dwarves.”

  “It is for the better, Kurikjaw. A cruel, yet necessary evil in a world full of chaos. At least they have their lives.”

  Kurikjaw kept his eyes forward – as the men topped a rather large hill, he spotted the towers of the Kings’ castle in the distance.

  “It will not be long now.” He stared into the distance. “They will be expecting us. We should make haste.”

  The elder Tuminar was not concerned with whether the dwarves in Hegh Thurim were awaiting their arrival. He just did not wish to discuss the destruction of Megh Borim. His mind drifted and his thoughts focused on Gornfurum and the day in which his son, Kragjaw, felled Praghock Yulgrunli’s sentinels. Minutes later, he helped his son kill Praghock’s prized dragon – Firehock.

  That day, six months prior, started like any other in Gornfurum: the dwarves’ set up their shops in the marketplace and began trading trinkets and the like. Praghock’s royal brigade strolled the streets, harassing the women, and bullying the men. It was a pathetic life.

  Kurikjaw’s son, Kragjaw, had just become of age to join the Royal Army, and as such, they were expecting the sentinels when they came to gather the dwarf and make him swear allegiance to Praghock. The age of allegiance was marked for thirty years, and with Praghock in power, there was only one option: loyalty. Any other route meant death.

  The sentinels arrived, as Kurikjaw knew they would, and bid Kragjaw enter the streets and swear his allegiance to Praghock Yulgrunli – Kragjaw refused. Instead, he swore allegiance to Kulok Greybrew – the missing, but one real king.