Demoweir's Rise (Great War Chronicles Book 2)

by Michael Benningfield

  Mange looked on helplessly as the ogre swung his spiked club and connected with Lundrise’s skull. The spike, enormous in size, separated her jaw from the upper portion of her head. The blood erupted from the force and covered Mange’s face.

  “Ahh!” he screamed with a newfound anger. He released his brother’s body and stood to his feet. He charged the ogre and with only one good set of blades, dispatched the beast with ease, but not before the ogre crushed Kurikjaw under his feet.

  Mange looked about and realized the dwarves were losing the war as the giants and ogres continued to pile across the river in numbers so great they looked like a black cloud pushing through the forest.

  “Retreat!” Skalmaena yelled. “Retreat!” she screamed again.

  She turned and bolted for the castle on the back of her leolf, but stopped when she realized the cyclopses had broken through the portcullis and now had control of the castle. Dwarves were being thrown over the walls, falling to their deaths.

  Kragjaw Tuminar continued to fight until he heard Skalmaena call for a retreat the third time. He turned on his leolf and galloped in her direction. The dwarven army, both royal and militia, realized the dwarven kingdom was no longer theirs.

  As the Storm Riders circled above, attacking when they could, they watched as the dwarves fell back and began to retreat down the road that led to the split where they could go to either Megh Borim or Thirndor.

  “Storm Riders, follow me!” Fogrolir yelled.

  The riders banked and fell in rank behind their leader. Fogrolir realized the enemy would follow the dwarves and kill them all if they were not stopped. It was hard for the Storm Riders to do battle from the air once the dwarven army engaged the enemy directly. Now, however, he could place his men between the dwarves and their enemy and ensure their safe retreat.

  He flew overhead and was just about to give the order for the dwarves to make their retreat to Thirndor when something caught his eye: The Demoweir.

  She stood in the middle of the battlefield and gave an order to her men. The ogres, giants, and cyclopses stopped their pursuit of the dwarves and backed away from the streets. They stood on the grass and did not move. They looked to the skies as though they were expecting something or someone.

  Fogrolir was unsure what had caused this sudden stop to their attack until he heard the horn. It was not just any horn – it was the sound of the Blood Oath Horn. Fogrolir had always thought it was only a legend and that the horn was for decoration. He only knew it was the Blood Oath Horn because of how loud it was. A legend among the dwarves said when the horn was blown, it could be heard throughout the entirety of Umuosmar.

  The horn would not sound for just anyone that blew on it. It had to be a guardian of the realm or someone with the guardian’s permission for the horn to sound. Fogrolir had tried to make the horn sound when he was a child, but all it did was wear out his lungs.

  He circled over the enemy, and as he came back around, the dwarven army was in full view. There, alongside them, with the horn in his hands, stood a short man that he knew all too well: Sharp.

  The Blood Oath Horn had been blown – that meant the fighting would cease immediately – it also meant that someone would die to ensure peace in the kingdom. Only once in the dwarves history had the horn sounded, and it was long before any of them were living.

  The Demoweir stepped forward and marched into the street. Her black hair, darker eyes, and wicked smile glistened in the sunlight.

  “The Blood Oath Horn can only be blown by a guardian of the realm, or someone acting on the guardian’s direct orders.” She said as she stared at Sharp.

  “I always knew you were a guardian. I should have killed you when I saw you on the island with the other skinder.”

  Sharp did not engage in a war of words with the she-devil. Instead, he stared at her and only said:

  “Thirndor, in three days. The Oath will be made. Everyone, from every guardian to every creature in Umuosmar, will attend. If you do not show your face, as required by the magic that binds this world, it will be an act of defiance, and you will be hunted until you are killed.”

  She was enraged at his tone. “I know what a Blood Oath is! You do not tell me what I…”

  “Three days. That is all.” Sharp repeated.

  He turned motioned for the dwarves to gather the bodies of their fallen comrades.

  “Do not worry, there can be no fighting. Whatever demon controls this army knows what the horn means. Gather your friends, your family, and load them onto carts. They will accompany us to Thirndor.”

  Sharp watched as the dwarves began to pick up bodies and put them onto carts. He watched as Kragjaw saw his father’s body and realized he was gone from the world. Kragjaw fell next to the body and cried. Skalmaena and others picked up Kurikjaw’s lifeless body and moved him to a cart.

  They noticed Mange – he had returned to his brother’s side, and there he sat. He refused to leave, and any attempt to touch Barth was met with a deathly stare.

  The Demoweir realized the dwarf would not leave. She made her way over to him and knelt.

  “What a pity. You two could have served me.” She said with a smile.

  “I do not care about any blood oath, woman. After your oath is signed, and my brother is buried, I am coming for you. I will kill you if it is the only thing I ever do in life. I am going to make you suffer – and I will enjoy every damn second of it.”

  She smiled at Mange once more and stood to her feet.

  “Be careful what you wish for, Mange. You just may get me in all my glory. Ha!” she turned and walked away, leaving Mange alone with his brother’s body.

  38

  Time stood still – everything became a blur as bodies moved one way and then another. Carts, loaded with the bodies of dwarves and elves, were pulled through the streets as blood dripped out, marking the long journey from Hegh Thurim to Thirndor.

  Mange realized for the first time in his life, he was alone – surrounded by dwarves he knew, many he did not, but still alone.

  There were no words to soothe his soul; no gifts, hugs, or prayers to make the loss disappear. He walked alongside the others and nodded his head when he knew someone was talking to him, but his mind was elsewhere.

  “Mange,” the voice of Skalmaena was soft with concern.

  Mange ignored her and kicked a rock that was in his path. His face remained set in a look of anger as Skalmaena tried her best to talk to him.

  “Mange, it will be all right. I know this is not easy, but we will get through this.”

  Mange stopped and stared at Skalmaena.

  “We will get through this.” He said.

  “Yes, Mange. We will…”

  “There is no ‘we,’ Skalmaena. You are not my family. You are not my brother, my friend, nor my acquaintance.”

  “Mange! That is not fair. We all lost people important to us today. You cannot think you are the only one hurting.”

  Mange grunted and wiped a bit of blood from his face: “You lost friends, which is true. You did not lose a brother. You did not lose the only person that has ever understood you. You did not lose the one person in your life that did not make fun of you, hinder you, or try to stop your ambitions.”

  Skalmaena had no words. She knew there was nothing she could say that would ease his pain. She patted his shoulder and told him she was there if he needed her.

  Mange said nothing.

  Skalmaena left his side and rejoined Kragjaw and Vulred, who were just a few feet ahead of Mange. She placed her arm around Kragjaw and pulled him close – she knew what it was like to lose a parent in battle.

  “Are you all right, Kragjaw?” she asked.

  Kragjaw looked at the ground, his expression forlorn. “Yeah, I will be okay Skalmaena. I just do not get it.” He shook his head and continued walking along the dirt road.

  “What is it that you do not understand, Kragjaw. Maybe I can help make sense of this.”

  Kragjaw stopped. He gav
e his full attention to Skalmaena.

  “My father refused to fight in the first attempt to overthrow Praghock Yulgrunli. He said it was not his fight and that my mother should not have fought either. Then he runs headlong into the battle today and gets himself killed. I do not get it. My father was a coward a hundred years ago, a coward thirty years ago, but today he became a hero.”

  Skalmaena pondered over what Kragjaw said. She was just about to respond when Mange interrupted her thoughts:

  “Your father was no coward, Kragjaw. Many men decided not to fight in those two wars, and doing so makes them no lesser of a man. Kurikjaw Tuminar did the right thing.”

  Mange looked up for the first time since their journey back to Thirndor began, and his eyes met those of Kragjaw’s – the two stared at one another for a short period.

  “My mother was the hero. She fought in the wars. She left everything and risked her life for the kingdom. She was more of a warrior than my father was. I love my father, but he is not a hero simply because he ran onto the battlefield and died.”

  Skalmaena knew the history of the Tuminar family, and she knew Kragjaw did not know the full truth of his mother’s life. She tried to redirect his attention, but it was too late.

  “Your mother is the reason the dwarves lost the war against Praghock! She is not a hero! She was a traitor and deserving of death! Perhaps you need to spend more time with your grandfather, and you can both figure out what the word ‘traitor’ means.”

  Kragjaw was shocked by the accusation – “You take those words back! You take them back now!”

  “Or what, Tuminar? You going to hop on a dragon and wait until I need you to cover my backside, and then attack me mid-flight? You going to do exactly what your mother did?”

  “His mother was tricked, Mange!” Skalmaena blurted out. She did not mean to confirm Mange’s accusations, but the words were already blurted out, and Kragjaw’s expression showed the shock in his soul.

  “His mother used the magic of that evil woman back there!” Mange pointed in the direction of Hegh Thurim. “She knew the rules! She knew that Storm Riders were never to use magic or else the demon’s power could overtake their souls and control them, and yet she chose to defy those rules, and attacked us in battle!”

  “Wait. Attacked us? I thought she attacked Storm Riders?”

  “She did, and she damn near killed all of us! Even worse, her father refused to believe she was gone, even after she attacked him and tried to kill him! Maybe one day she will finish the job, and come for you as well.”

  Several dwarves had stopped to listen to the arguing and bickering and were shocked by Mange’s words. It was known only to those that were close to the Storm Riders that the witchy woman on the yellow dragon was Sirmeda Grumbane-Tuminar, the mother of Kragjaw Tuminar.

  “My mother is dead!” Kragjaw shouted.

  “Yeah kid, you keep telling yourself that lie, and maybe she will die one day. Until then, when you pass through the gullies on the way to Thirndor, be sure to keep an eye on the sky for the traitorous wench. You can call her whatever you want to call her, but I will tell you right now – she would just as much kill you as she would anyone else. Your father was not a coward – he was the only smart person in that damn war.”

  Mange began his trek again, and as he passed a few dwarves that stopped to listen to the hubbub, he turned and yelled at them.

  “This does not concern you nettling fools! Go on, then! Get back up there with the others before I use my one good blade and rip you to shreds!”

  Mange continued to mutter under his breath as he trudged along the path. Skalmaena stayed back with Kragjaw to keep him company. Vulred managed to stay between the three dwarves, soaking up every bit of information that came out.

  “Skalmaena, is it true? Did my mother do those things?” Kragjaw asked.

  Skalmaena sighed as her eyes filled with tears – she hated the thought of hurting Kragjaw’s feelings, especially after his father was just killed.

  “Sadly, yes.” She said but continued quickly so as not to allow Kragjaw to dwell on the answer. “Your mother was one of the best Storm Riders in all the land. She had the best teacher – her father. When the plot was hatched to overthrow Praghock and reinstate a real dwarven king to the throne, she refused to sit on the sidelines while others battled. Your father, grandfather, and even the Taberlim brothers all tried to dissuade her, but she refused.”

  “How did she become infected with dark magic? Dwarves never used dark magic until Praghock took over the throne. What was my mother doing using dark magic, Skalmaena?”

  “No one knows, Kragjaw. A few people say they saw a street cleric that worked as a magician, and that he made her perform a magic trick. The magician has never been seen again, and many wonder if he was just a worker of dark magic. It could be that his sole intent was to get her to use dark magic without knowing it. If that is the case, then we are aware how it happened, but I cannot say for sure. I am sorry Kragjaw, I'd like to know more to ease your mind; I am sorry.”

  Kragjaw bit his lip and wiped his brow. He became aware of how tired and hungry he was. He reached into his bag and grabbed a few berries to eat.

  “I need to rest,” he said. He stopped walking and shook his head like something was bothering him. Seconds later, he passed out and hit the ground with a loud thud.

  Sharp was in the middle of all the dwarves as they made their journey to Thirndor, but his focus was on the four people at the rear of the brigade. He knew their journey had been a hard one and it would not be any easier for some time.

  He watched with sadness in his eyes as Mange argued with Skalmaena before unleashing an awful truth on the young dwarf named Kragjaw. He was entrusted to protect these people, and he would do as instructed.

  He witnessed Kragjaw falling to the ground. He made his way over to the dwarf and knelt beside him.

  “He has heard enough for one day, Mange,” Skalmaena said as she spotted Mange making his way back toward the dwarf.

  “This lad has heard enough for a lifetime,” Sharp murmured. “Let him rest and when he awakes, speak no more of this for the time being. We have a lot to attend to in Thirndor.”

  Neither Skalmaena nor Mange argued the matter. They woke Kragjaw and gave him fresh water and more food before continuing onward.

  The rest of the journey to Thirndor was uneventful. The dwarves and few elves that remained stayed to themselves for the most part. Every now and then the sound of a dragon’s wings could be heard as Fogrolir passed over. He kept a watchful eye on the men and women as they trudged onward. He was happy to be in the skies above, so he did not have to look upon the downtrodden faces of the dwarves. He felt horrible as he knew their spirits were broken.

  The men and women arrived in Thirndor and made their camps to sleep. The snow was thick, the air frigid, and their private reserves empty. The lanterns flickered in their traditional twilight dance, but no one cared.

  “Vulred, Mange, Skalmaena,” Fogrolir said as he made his way down the ice-riddled cobblestone street, “you are all welcome to stay in my home tonight. The last few days have not been good for any of us, and there is no need for you to suffer more. Please, join me in my abode.”

  “Thank you for your kindness, Fogrolir, but I shall sleep wherever my men sleep this night. It is only fair that I conduct myself as a proper king.” Vulred shook Fogrolir’s hand and headed off to be with his men.

  Fogrolir and Skalmaena watched as the elf made his way to his men and embraced a few of them. The elves had lost almost half of their small brigade when the cyclopses breached the castle walls. Fogrolir was half shocked that they remained in Thirndor instead of heading home to Faswary.

  “Well then, the offer still stands for the both of you. So then, how about it?” Fogrolir inquired.

  “Thank you kindly, Fogrolir. I will gladly stay with you this evening. I am sure that Mange could use the company as well. That is if he is open to company.”

 
She turned to look at Mange but found only an empty space where he stood just moments beforehand.

  “Mange?” she said as she glanced around.

  Fogrolir turned and realized the dwarf was gone as well. As he turned back to look toward the stables in the mountains, he caught a glimpse of a figure walking alone in the darkness – a body draped over its shoulders.

  “Oh, Fogrolir!” Skalmaena exclaimed as she noticed the figure as well. “What can we do to help him? He is distraught and does not need to be alone!”

  Fogrolir smiled and placed his hand on Skalmaena’s shoulder, “He is not alone, Skalmaena. He has his brother’s body, spirit, and memories. Come now, we should get out of the cold.”

  The two walked up the street, arm in arm, as the snow continued to fall all over the town.

  “Will Kragjaw be all right alone tonight? He is your grandson. I feel like he should be here too.”

  “He wanted to stay in the stables with the dragons. It is where I would be if my father had just been killed. He will be warm there, and the dragons will keep him company. When I was sad, they used to sing to me. In fact, my youngest dragon, Little Blue, used to sleep in the stable hut with me. He is quite the character.”

  Skalmaena smiled and pulled herself closer to Fogrolir – she loved listening to him talk. She could listen to him talk for days on end and never become bored.

  The two reached his home and entered. They talked for a while, and as Skalmaena removed her armor, Fogrolir saw a gash on the backside of her shoulder. He stood and grabbed an ointment that he made himself.

  “Have a seat, Skalmaena.” He said as he pulled a chair out from his small table in the corner.

  “This cut is nothing, Fogrolir. I am fine.”

  He motioned for her to sit down. “Come on, I do not have all night.”

  She smiled and sat down on the chair. She pulled her long, black hair over her shoulder opposite the wound. Fogrolir told her the ointment may sting a bit before he applied it. She jumped but settled down with a sigh as his hands caressed her shoulders.