Demoweir's Rise (Great War Chronicles Book 2)

by Michael Benningfield

She passed through the last quarter mile of the desert and over the bastille – she gulped at what she saw ahead. The army, headed by Margoor and Metakon, were making their way through the forest’s dirt road – heading straight toward the next bastille.

  Seltin roared and dove toward the monsters – she knew it would do no good to try to grab one of the men, as they were under cover of the forest. Instead, she lunged forward with all her might – straight for the trees ahead of the army – she would slow their march for Hegh Thurim, no matter the cost.

  Her focus was the protection of the kingdom, and in being focused, she failed to see the approaching Kemoth as he barreled through the sky like a comet – his course – the heart of Margoor’s army.

  Seltin swooped in and knocked over a couple of large trees, temporarily blocking the armies’ pathway. The enemy had not noticed her presence until trees began falling in their path. They would have retaliated, but before they could grab any weapons to launch through the air at the dragon, Kemoth dove over the front line of the men and with all four legs outstretched snagged one of the mammoths and yanked it into the air.

  He circled back and released the mammoth – the beast plummeted to the earth and slammed into the ground. The sound of bones breaking echoed through the ranks of the enemy as the mammoth cried in pain; its watering lines exploded as the beast laid across the path, awaiting death.

  “Get back to Hegh Thurim!” Kemoth shouted at Seltin as he performed a barrel roll to gather speed.

  Seltin heard Kemoth and began to fold her wings to make a tight spiral. Just as she started to do so, she glanced back and saw the ogre sitting atop a mammoth.

  ‘This is my chance! I must get that ogre!’ she thought to herself. She glanced forward and made sure Kemoth was out of range. He was. She banked hard and swooped down at the army – her eyes never left her target.

  Closer and closer, she came – she let out a battle cry as she closed the distance and fell upon the ogre. She snagged him from the backside of the mammoth and tilted up to exit the area, but she never made it out.

  A giant lunged into the air, wrapped his massive hands around her throat and yanked her to the ground. Her body careened into the dirt and skidded to a stop with the giant’s hands still around her neck. She tried to bite the beast but had no luck, for giants were adept at killing dragons.

  She looked to the sky and watched Kemoth’s outline as it faded out of sight – her own sight disappeared moments later as the giant held her head to the earthen floor while another stomped on her face until only a pool of blood and broken bones lay where her lively eyes were just moments before. Her body twitched, and her tail thrashed to no avail. Seltin, like many before her, died at the hands of an angry giant.

  Kemoth flew harder than he had ever flown before. He knew the moment he banked to leave the area; Seltin would not be making the journey. He saw it in her eyes – her pride had gotten the better of her – as pride usually did with dragons.

  The daunting towers of Hegh Thurim suddenly became insignificant in the eyes of Kemoth as the castle came into view. Everything, in his eyes, became just a pebble in a moment of time – no longer relevant.

  He stretched his metal wings and pulled back hard to slow his descent. They landed without incident in one of the courtyards – Kemoth’s claws dug into the soft earth and ripped the grass from the ground.

  “Kragjaw, go find Fogrolir and the others and bring them to me at once. You may tell them of what we saw if you wish, but make it known that I must speak with them and it cannot wait.”

  Kragjaw slid down one of the metal wings of the great dragon made haste to gather the others. Kemoth turned to the stables where the other dragons sat; patiently awaiting the call for war.

  “My fellow dragon’s, it is about time we had a talk,” Kemoth spoke in a tongue that only dragons could understand. “We have served the dwarves for well over two thousand years, and we have always done what is asked of us. Over the course of time, as I sat below the waters in the Shimmering Tide, I began to think the dwarves did not care about us. No one came to find me – nay, no one ventured out to see if I, Kemoth, were still alive.”

  The dragons began to come forward, one by one, to face Kemoth and listen to the words of their elder. Curiosity was the main appeal, but there was a feeling of importance – as though the very fibers of their being were spoken to at this moment.

  “When Kulok Greybrew fell into my new abode, it took over a hundred years for me to trust him. It was no easy task, for my alliance to anyone felt like nothing more than a burden. Over time, however, I grew fond of the rightful king, and I swore my allegiance to him. He is now dead, and many more of us are about to die. I cannot speak for any of you, but as the eldest dragon, it is my duty to command you all – however, it is entirely up to you to heed my instruction. No dragon has ever ignored the wishes of an elder, but I realize my absence may not garner my words the same gratuity that it would if I had been here for the past hundred years.”

  The dragons looked at one another. Their attention turned shortly from Kemoth as they saw the dwarven leaders coming from the north entry – no doubt to ready the beasts’ for war.

  “What is that you would have us do, Kemoth?” one of the dragons asked in a concerned voice.

  Kemoth looked over his shoulder and sighed – his eyes filled with tears and his soul with sadness as he addressed the dragons once more:

  “This is not our fight. If we continue to fight for the dwarves, we will become extinct. No longer will the world regale in tales of splendor and glory about our race; instead they will speak of us as nothing but fairytales – nay, legends that never existed.”

  Mersoth listened as Kemoth spoke. She waited for him to pause before she interjected her own thoughts:

  “And you would have us just leave the men and women we swore to protect? Are you so worried about the tales of what we may become that you are willing to allow an entire kingdom of dwarves to be slaughtered at the hands of giants, ogres, and cyclopses? Kemoth, you may be the elder dragon and forgive me being harsh, but the words you speak are not the words of a leader.”

  Kemoth lowered his head and took a deep breath. He let it out in a huff. “I do not expect you to understand, Mersoth. You have not lived as long as I have, and you have not seen the destruction these creatures cause with their battles that never cease.”

  Mersoth growled and took a step toward Kemoth – it was seen as a direct challenge to an elder’s authority. Her companions folded their wings and slowly sulked back.

  Skalmaena stepped forward to interject and ask what the discussion was about, but Fogrolir grabbed her shoulder and signaled for her to stop.

  “This is their issue, spoken in their tongue, and that means it is a serious matter. We cannot interject the opinions of dwarves into the affairs of dragons. Let them be, and we will speak with them when this is over.”

  Skalmaena moved back and looked at Fogrolir with newfound respect. She realized at that moment that he truly did understand the nature of dragons.

  “I have lived long enough to know peace, Kemoth!” her eyes flared with anger. “I have watched a kingdom rest at peace until a dragon disappeared and refused to come out from his hiding spot due to foolish pride! I have seen men slaughtered by a false king because the dragons, sworn to protect the dwarves, sat in their stables and refused to fight because of their cowardice – YOUR cowardice! I will not in their darkest of hours, abandon them to save my own life. My pride is not so great that living is more important than what the future may think of me. You wish to be a coward and keep your ego just so others know who you are. That is not my calling, and how dare you suggest that any of us follow your lead!”

  Kemoth snarled and lunged forward in a false attack – his intent was to unnerve Mersoth and remind her that he was the elder. Mersoth was brazen and swatted his face as his jaws snapped in her direction. Her talons sliced into his thick skin on the left side of his face. He turned and stared at her:<
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  “You would dare to dig your claws into me, Mersoth? Me! The eldest dragon in the land?” he words resounded throughout the courtyard and attracted the attention of all the dwarves from within the castle walls.

  “I do not dare, Kemoth. I do it with honor, to anyone who seeks to harm these dwarves or leave them in a precarious position simply to save their own hide! You are not an elder, Kemoth. You are a broken down old fool with too much pride. Take your metal wings, your petulant tantrums, and your self-serving righteousness and leave! We do not need you!”

  Kemoth’s ferocity grew with each word Mersoth spoke. His anger swelled, and his scales began to darken as he rose up on all four legs stretched his body – ready to fight.

  Mersoth was more than happy to oblige the dragon as she raised on all her legs as well and puffed out her chest. The other dragons began to make noises as though they were trying to encourage the fight. The two began to walk slowly in a circle as they stared at one another.

  “Enough!” the words were so loud and unexpected, both Kemoth and Mersoth lost their concentration and looked toward the source of the words.

  “That will be enough!” Mange said as he threw his bow staff to the ground and stomped forward. He placed himself in the middle of the two beasts and looked from one to another, and back again.

  “I have heard just about enough of this nonsense from the both of you! Kemoth,” he turned and faced the dragon, “you no longer think the dwarves are worthy of your protection and that your kind will die, leaving nothing but a story in a book? You think so little of us that your personal legacy is more important than the preservation of this world?”

  Kemoth was flabbergasted. “How do you understand the tongue of the dragons? You are not a…”

  “Shut up!” Mange yelled. Rage filled his face as his skin turned a deep crimson. “We all die someday, Kemoth. We all die, and we are all remembered for a short time before others move on. Your name is no more important than any other name that graces the life of a dwarf standing here today. Do you think a monument or a few words will ever tell the story of your life? Are you so foolish that you can stand here and say with self-righteous indignation that your name will be praised for generations to come? You are a dragon, Kemoth! A bloody dragon! It does not matter what you do or do not do, for you cannot write about it! The only people who write about such things are storytellers, and rarely do they get the damn stories told correctly!”

  Kemoth stared at the dwarf in complete disbelief. No one should understand the words of the dragon-tongue. None but the dragons.

  “And you,” Mange turned to Mersoth, “is your loyalty so deep that you would blindly follow any dwarf into battle without hesitation? Could it be that in your own right you are only trying to ensure that any story told about you will be told from the angle of the heroine that never gives up? I have seen you, Mersoth, for over a hundred years. You used to sit in those very stables in Thirndor and speak of how you wished to be remembered. You and all these dragons here today think that the ancient tongue of your kind is only behooved unto you. How foolish are you? You dare call Kemoth a coward for staying hidden in the waters after losing his wings – but what of you? Where were you when Praghock took over? Where, Mersoth? You fell into the Shimmering Tide and became Kemoth’s companion, hiding there for a hundred years while everyone suffered at the hand of that damned tyrant! Kemoth could not fly – his wings were ripped from his body, so in that endeavor, he is afforded some penance of solitude for not coming forward to the battle. Nevertheless, you – you had the use of both wings, and yet you stayed hidden in the waters with him. Tell me, dragon – who is the real coward here?”

  Never was silence so deafening, as no one spoke a word nor moved a muscle. Mange’s words, whether he intended them to do so or not, had just informed everyone within earshot that the dragons were no longer sure of their loyalty to the dwarves.

  35

  The bickering and arguing stopped long enough for Kragjaw to describe what was seen on their venture to the desert lands. The dwarves were worried more than ever before when Kemoth relayed the fact that Margoor marched with the elven demon at his side.

  “You cannot defeat her.” He said. “She will be your demise if you stay and fight. I encourage you to leave and live to fight another day. The sheer amount of power you will need to kill her is not to be found in this land.”

  Kemoth knew this, for he was a guardian of the realm and knew her power ran deep in a magic unknown to the dwarves.

  “So what are we to do then, Kemoth? Are we to just move and hope that she stops at the shores of Umuosmar and does not cross into elven land?” Fogrolir glanced at his companions as they contemplated their next move.

  The courtyard was cleared of anyone, not in a position of power. The leaders of this ragtag army wished to speak with the dragons without worrying the inhabitants.

  “Right now, that is your only option. You have the only real option if you would like to live. If you stay, you will be run over by that demons sheer power – if not by her directly, then by the power and size of the army she now commands. This fight is not mine to take part in, Fogrolir. I am happy to serve the dwarves of Umuosmar on any front but this one. When the time is right for me, I will fight, but not before then. I encourage you all to do the same.”

  Mersoth stomped her right foreleg into the ground and shook her head in disgust. “Where shall they go, Kemoth? Where shall an entire nation of dwarves just pack up and go?”

  “Somewhere – anywhere but here, Mersoth. Go somewhere and start over, but I am truthful in telling you this much: this is not a battle you can win.”

  “Perhaps he is right, Mersoth,” Barth spoke up as he ran his sharpener over the edge of his dwarven battle-axe. “Perhaps it is a battle that we cannot win,” he averted his eyes from Mersoth and affixed his gaze on Kemoth, “but I will be damned if we do not fight. This is our land, our heritage, our kingdom, and our place in this world! If I must die fighting to give others the slightest opportunity to survive, then so be it.”

  Barth turned and stormed off to the castle’s keep to gather his armor. He did not care what the others would decide to do. Umuosmar was his home, and he would protect it no matter the cost.

  “My brother has never fought a battle alone and today shall be no different my friends,” Mange said as he took one last look at the dragons and followed his brother.

  “Very well,” Fogrolir said. “If any of you dragons wish to stay and fight by our side, we would be eternally grateful. I consider you my friends, comrades, and when you were small – my pets. I am honored to fight alongside any that still wishes to bear the mantle of Storm Rider. If you are staying, please make it known now. If you are leaving,” he looked at Kemoth as he spoke the words, “please say whatever you have to say, and be gone. We have a war to prepare for.”

  Fogrolir did not wait for a response. He left the stables and fell in stride with Mange and Barth to gather his armor for battle. The others stood around for a bit outside and said their goodbyes. In all, Kemoth left and with him, five dragons followed, leaving only thirteen dragons to help defend the kingdom from well over three hundred battle-ready enemies.

  Skalmaena and Lundrise joined the others in the armory of the keep and began preparing for the war, though none of them was sure how long a war would last with so few men and weapons.

  “The people are dismayed, Fogrolir. How can we boost their morale to fight off an attack after what just happened? Thirteen dragons, Fogrolir – we have thirteen dragons!” Skalmaena shielded her face so the others would not see the tears in her eyes.

  “We do not just have thirteen dragons, Skalmaena. No, we have thirteen Storm Riders.” He placed his arm on her shoulder and attempted to console her, but she pulled away.

  “We cannot win a war with thirteen dragons a couple hundred untrained dwarves!” her tone became defiant. She was tired of hearing about the battles of the Storm Riders – how their mettle was never to be ques
tioned. In just days, those famed riders had gone from twenty in numbers down to thirteen.

  Kragjaw stood outside the arched entryway into the armory and listened intently. He wanted to interject a theory, but he knew his grandfather would not like the idea, nor would his own father if he were to find out. Kragjaw crept away slowly and made his way back to the stable where Mersoth lay sprawled across the grass.

  “Mersoth,” he called out as he approached the dragon. “You trust me, right?” he asked.

  “Yes Kragjaw, I trust you. You know this already. What is it that you are seeking, young dwarf?”

  “I have an idea I would like to run by you, and since you have flown all over this kingdom, I figure that you will know better than anyone else whether it is feasible.”

  Mersoth’s interest piqued – she nodded for the dwarf to continue – there, on the grass of the stables in Hegh Thurim, a plot was hatched. Mersoth liked the way Kragjaw thought, but in her mind, she knew their endeavor would be much harder than it sounded.

  “We should waste no time then, Kragjaw. The others will need us here when Margoor and the demon woman march for the throne. We shall leave at once!”

  Kragjaw agreed, and within five minutes, the two were up and over the side of the castle and headed to their destination. Whether or not their plan would work was still unknown, but they were desperate, and desperation was a two-edged sword they were both willing to wield.

  36

  “Grab the harnesses and place one about each leolf’s shoulders. It goes on just like a riding bridle but without the seat.” Mange barked orders to the dwarves as he lined up a large group of leolf’s for the task ahead.

  “Each harness has a cart attached to it which the leolf will pull. Now, listen very carefully as this is important. The blades on the end of the vehicle are in an upright position. When we get to the roads where the ground needs digging, you will simply flip the lever here,” Mange pointed at a large wooden bar on the back end of the cart he stood on, “and the blades will fall down to the ground. Lock the lever in place, and as the leolf’s walk, the blades will spin and tear the ground just enough for us to dig it out and set the caltrops. Understood?”