Demoweir's Rise (Great War Chronicles Book 2)

by Michael Benningfield

  “Now, arise and follow your master out of our land, and do not return unless it is for business. You may negotiate, trade, barter, or whatever else it is that you would like to do. You will not, however, fight, kill, or harm any that serves an opposing master. If my men hurt one that serves Sandolorn’s minions, they will forfeit their life. If one of you brings harm to my men, Sharp will be released to do whatever he deems necessary to protect these people. Be careful of your actions – I have spoken.”

  The Demoweir and her minions from the towns to the south turned and began to leave the town. As they were nearing the outer edges of the town, she turned back and spoke one last time:

  “Do not forget, foolish King. You still owe me blood equal to or greater than that which Sharp possesses. So who shall die in his place?”

  The Gray Prince looked at his father and spoke aloud for the first time: “It is I that shall pay that price. My father has already deemed it necessary, and this very day the skies will echo with thunder when Sandolorn himself takes my life.”

  The Demoweir laughed and turned away. Umuosmar was hers to command from the dwarven throne. She would now begin her plot to overthrow Faswary and lay claim to the elven crown.

  The Demoweir was gone from Thirndor – she did not stay to watch her master as he plunged his sword, made from the darkest of magic, through the heart of the White King’s son, the Gray Prince. As the prince stopped breathing, his father took him in his arms and held him.

  “Be gone from this place, Sandolorn. Your place is beneath our feet, not on our streets.”

  Sandolorn said nothing – the smile on his face as his fangs showed was more than enough for him. He had just killed the King’s son, and soon, his minions would come for the king himself. He disappeared in a ball of fire, gone from the dwarven town.

  Others that made their side with the demon woman remained in Thirndor, as many of the dwarves lived in the town. The city was divided, but peace would have to be kept for Sharp to remain a prisoner of his shackles.

  “Sharp, on the day you are released from this bondage, you will no longer be the Curator. The Demoweir and her master do not know this, but you and I do. Be careful in whatever it is that you do. You will become a guardian of this realm, replaced by another Curator.”

  Sharp nodded before wandering off to perform his regular duties. He found Fogrolir and the two made their way to the tavern to have a drink. The bar owner was there; ready to serve them, but Nanseen was still in the streets, dumbfounded by everything that had just transpired.

  As she stood in disbelief at the realization that the man she loved was now a prisoner to a couple of bracelets, she looked up and found herself face-to-face with the White King. His son still lay in his arms, but he stared at Nanseen and spoke to her without any of the others hearing their conversation. When they were finished speaking, she nodded her head in agreement to whatever it was that her Lord said.

  No one noticed during the oath that one man did not move at all. He stayed tactfully placed on the line between the demon woman and the White King. No one noticed it, except the White King. It was why he spoke to Nanseen. Her orders were for her ears only; not even Sharp was aware of her future duty.

  Epilogue

  (Three Months after the Blood Oath)

  Kelethoryn and his men rushed forward from their hiding spots outside the elven stronghold of Omabanise to storm the elven castle. The elven army was gathering weapons to prepare for war. All they awaited was the order from King Vulred Helethorn.

  Only a small contingency of elves remained in the royal city. No one thought the dark elves would dare attack the crown, not when their numbers were less than a hundred.

  Kelethoryn’s men funneled through the catacombs under the castle and made their way to the bottom floor through a series of stairways built by the elves to confuse any enemies that would try to follow the king during a time of retreat.

  They were just outside the throne room when Kelethoryn held up his hand – his men stopped. He listened intently as voices spoke from within the chamber. The voice of the queen caught his attention.

  “We are sure it is my husband?” she asked.

  “Yes, your majesty. We pulled his body from the waters of the Shimmering Tide.”

  “So, how do you know that there is an imposter in Thirndor with our men and that my husband did not just die and get tossed into the water?”

  The soldier looked at her and replied, “His magic has faded from his body, my queen. He has been dead since the day he boarded the boat to leave for Thirndor. The dwarves would not kill our king.”

  The queen stared at the soldier and nodded.

  “Can we be so sure of this?” she asked.

  “The dwarves are loyal to their word, as are our soldiers. Not to mention, your brother, Avalore, would have surely demanded to be brought back to proclaim the news that the man he hates is dead. This tells me, and the rest of our soldiers, that magic is being used to give the appearance that our king is still alive. Someone is impersonating him, and we have no idea why. If they mean us harm, then why are they helping the dwarves? It makes no sense, my queen, but an imposter is the only possibility here.”

  Kelethoryn looked at his men and realized they were just as confounded as he was. If King Vulred was dead and never made it off the boat that left for Thirndor some four months ago, it left a provocative question to be answered: who was the imposter, and how was their magic not noticed?

  Kelethoryn had no idea, but he knew that there was a chance the former Storm Rider may know. He motioned for his men to return to the catacombs. They would return for the keys to the kingdom at another time. Right now, they had to figure out who their newest enemy was and why the king was dead.

  Nanseen continued to clean the tavern as the last few patrons left for the evening. She did not like having to serve those that openly flaunted their loyalty to the demon woman; more than once she was forced to step in separate dwarves before a brawl could be started.

  She picked up the last of the plates and placed them in the washing trough in the kitchen. Sharp continued to fiddle about in the tavern, making sure everything was safe before leaving her for the evening.

  “I will see you at home in a bit, love.” He said as he waved to her before exiting through the front door.

  She waved back at him and smiled as he closed the door. ‘That is odd,’ she thought to herself, ‘he never uses the front door. Perhaps he is finally beginning to feel at home amongst the dwarves.’ She turned back to cleaning the dishes. A few moments later, the tavern owner wandered through the back door and called her name.

  “Nanseen!” he said as he shut the door. “King Vulred is outside and wishes to speak with you.”

  He passed the open area and looked her over, “Go on then, I will finish the dishes.”

  Nanseen tossed her rag aside and wiped her hands on her apron. She exited the kitchen and made her way to the back door of the tavern. Once outside, she spotted King Vulred as he entered the forest. After the blood oath, Vulred refused to live in the city itself. Instead, he made his home in the woods.

  Nanseen thought nothing of the fact that he did not wait for her. She passed the lily pond and made her way into the forest. She reached the wood carved doorway of his home and knocked on the door.

  “You wished to speak with me, Vulred?”

  The door opened, and a dwarf smiled at Nanseen. “Do come in, Nanseen. I was just about to leave.”

  Nanseen looked him over and realized she had never seen him before. “Are you new here? I do not believe I have met you. Are you a friend of Vulred’s?”

  The dwarf smiled as his eyes flickered with excitement.

  “In order – no, I am not new here. I know this area quite well, though it has been some time since anyone has seen me. To your second question, I am not what you would typically refer to as a friend. Not when it comes to Vulred.”

  She was perplexed but tried to hide it from the dwarf.


  “I see – so, where is Vulred? I was told he wished to speak with me.”

  The dwarf smacked his lips and shook his head.

  “Tisk, tisk, tisk,” he said as he continued to shake his head, “this is going to be awkward. You see, your meeting is not with Vulred Helethorn, Nanseen. Your meeting is with me.”

  “Why would I be meeting with someone I do not know?” she inquired.

  “Because I have demanded it. Besides, King Vulred Helethorn of Omabanise is, well, dead.” The dwarf shrugged with a smile.

  “What do you mean, dead? How? Why? Who the hell are you!” she demanded.

  “He is dead because I killed him. How? Well, that is a long story for another time. Why is he dead? Because it is essential to my survival, that he remain dead and I remain able to take on his appearance. As for who I am, well… you have never formally met me, and sadly your only encounter with me shall result in your untimely demise.”

  Before Nanseen had a chance to react, the dwarf drew forth a black dagger made from the power of Sandolorn’s hands. He stabbed Nanseen in the chest, driving her body backward and into the door. Her eyes were big as saucers as she stared at the dwarf in shock, unable to speak as blood trickled from her mouth.

  “My name, my dearest Nanseen, is Praghock Yulgrunli, and this kingdom belongs to me. With your death, the Curator shall be released, and once he has killed that demon bitch that thought she could control me, I will wage the war of wars upon this land. The Demoweir may have risen to power, but her fall will be far greater than any damned story told about you fools. This kingdom was mine once, and it shall be mine again, with the help of the dark magician himself, Sandolorn.”

  Nanseen never spoke a word. Praghock Yulgrunli grabbed her and tossed her body into a dark, hidden pit in his backroom. He built the pit just for this occasion. He knew the skinder would come looking for his precious love, and when he did not find her, he would become angry. So mad, that not even the Demoweir would be able to stop his warpath.

  Sharp was awakened by the sound of metal hitting his floor. He bolted upright and peered into the darkness, expecting to see Nanseen. There was nothing there. He leaned back against his pillow and rubbed his arms. It was then that he noticed the bracelets were no longer attached to him.

  He sat upright and lit a lantern. In the fiery light of the lamps glow, he gazed at the floor and saw the bracelets.

  “It has begun.” He said with a grin. “This time, Demoweir, you will die.”

  The Demoweir awoke from a nightmare and took a deep breath. Her dreams were not normally so wrought with things that made her sweat with fear, but the idea of Sharp being released from his shackles unnerved her tremendously. If only she had known, it was not a dream at all…

  To Be Continued…