Lands of Daranor: Book 01 - DreamQuest

by Bill T Pottle

  THE END OF BRESHEN

  Complete pandemonium reigned supreme as the three armies battled for control of the barren ground, in what would in turn decide who would have power over the entire world. Queen Marhyn smiled. Her attack had caught both armies completely by surprise. No one could imagine that after she had destroyed the merfolk she had actually sailed east with her troops to her secret base on the Volcano Island, where they had trained and waited. If there was anyone who thought that even Marhyn would not sacrifice part of her troops in the south, in an attempt that had from the beginning been destined to lose, indeed, created for the sole purpose of tricking the king’s men into thinking that they had defeated her once and for all, he would have been fooled when she had used a replica of her body at the head of her troops, a replica that also had died. Even the troops of the Death Lord Darhyn, her own brother, had been completely taken by surprise. Marhyn had waited while the two armies, thinking that they were alone, had fought and destroyed themselves.

  Marhyn had positioned her army so that she had the Death Lord’s troops between her and King Garkin. That way, she only had to fight a one front battle, and her two enemies would keep destroying each other on the western side of the field. Her deception was perfect. Well, almost perfect, she had not wished to lose Lithar, but he was only a man anyway. So what if he died? He had been a good servant, though.

  * * *

  General Cilio had immediately ordered the retreat to Breshen when he saw how he had been fooled by Marhyn for the second time in as many months. His tired force would soon be annihilated if they were forced to fight Marhyn’s numerous and well rested monsters and men. Darhyn’s forces were slightly more confused, but soon reorganized themselves and followed the king’s men in their retreat. They had only two places to go, and they too did not want to face Marhyn right off the bat. The flight to Breshen was harrowing—everyone in the army was calling out to his superior for answers, for help, for reasons why this was happening, and no one was being answered. Derlin stumbled on, the Light Sword glowing powerfully at his side. It was ready for a confrontation.

  Derlin wondered what had happened to his friend Tarthur. He hoped he was all right, but now he was worried that Tarthur had gotten killed by Darhyn, and Marhyn would win and take control of the world. He could not bear the thought of that possibility. He knew he would die first. Although, he also knew that even if he did his best and gave his life, it probably wouldn’t end up meaning much in the grand scheme of things. It was troubling for Derlin to think about death, both his and Tarthur’s. It was not usually a subject that young people thought about often. Death was something only for old people to worry about. But the events of the last year had forced him to consider the reality of his own mortality. Derlin had never thought he would die, but then again, he had never thought he would kill, either.

  They made it to Breshen by the middle of the night, but even so there was no time for rest. Marhyn’s fresh troops had traveled almost as fast as the king’s troops so they only had about two hours to prepare for the onslaught. They were on the outskirts of the town, so fortunately there were only a few houses. Cilio stationed archers and anyone well enough to shoot but not well enough to fight in the trees as well. The thick undergrowth would help to provide at least minimal cover. As part of the general preparations, General Cilio had ordered those among the elves who could not fight to build barricades at the edge of Breshen as a precautionary measure. But since the attack from Marhyn was so completely unexpected, the barricades were in substandard condition. They were at least better than nothing, however.

  The courteous troops of the Death Lord had withdrawn to the north, so as to give Cilio’s army the first chance to fight with Marhyn. They would wait north, and either retreat or try to attack Marhyn and force her to fight on two fronts. Since this would help the king’s troops immensely, Darhyn’s troops couldn’t be expected to fight until they were attacked. Derlin guessed that Marhyn would concentrate on the forces one at a time. He hoped that Marhyn would attack Darhyn first, but since the king’s men had their backs to the forest, he assumed that Marhyn would turn first towards Breshen, and then deal with Darhyn’s army later.

  Cilio had sent one third of his army to the back so they could try to get some respite. If all went well, they would be able to rest and the first group would receive enough cover from the trees to be able to hold off her armies. Derlin was in the group that stayed on the front.

  The first charge came quickly and sloppily. Marhyn had the superior numbers and rested troops, and she was willing to sacrifice a little efficiency if she could just get the chance to attack quickly.

  Her haste cost her, as arrows rained down from all sides and cut her first charge to pieces. Frightened elves attacked by throwing whatever they could, chairs, tree limbs, and rocks down on the attackers. A few of the Dark Lady’s men succeeded in breaking through, and soon they were engaged in fierce battle underneath the trees.

  * * *

  Sir Stephen had volunteered his group for the front line. He personally didn’t feel the fatigue that many of his companions did, and he knew that they could serve best where they could do the most damage. Marhyn’s forces were mixed with monsters, goblins, and men. As Sir Stephen met the charge, he tightened his grip on the pommel of his sword.

  A burly goblin ran at him, but then tripped over a root that had moved into his way. Sir Stephen reversed the grip on his sword and plunged it into the goblin’s back. Blood squirted all over the ground. Next, a mercenary ran up to face him. The man swung his sword to slice the knight diagonally across the chest, but Sir Stephen brought up his own sword to block it. The resounding clang echoed through the forest, mixing with the screams of the dying. Sir Stephen came out from the rebound swinging high, and the man swung low. The man’s sword sliced across Sir Stephen’s calf even as Sir Stephen’s sword cut into the man’s neck. The man fell over, but was still alive, and Sir Stephen realized he had just done what his instructors had told him never to do. Never miss a killing stroke. Sir Stephen looked down and saw the man in pain as a bloody bubble came up from his lips. Closing his eyes, Sir Stephen finished it. But before he did, the look in the other man’s eyes unnerved him. It scared him, and it seemed to the young knight that he had just killed a human, someone who could have been his brother, or someone’s father. The reality of war began to hit him, that it was the most hideous thing possible on earth, and that glorious battles were just tales told by people who were never there. Yet, looking across the field, he also saw why war was sometimes necessary. They would send the fiends back were they belonged.

  The pain in Sir Stephen’s leg was not too bad, but the cut sure looked nasty. He knew that he should probably go to the medics’ tent, but it would be overflowing with much more serious cases, and besides, if he did that he would be out of the fight for at least a couple of hours. The king needed him most in the front.

  So he tore off a piece of his dirty cloak and wrapped it tightly around his calf. It wouldn’t do much for the wound, he knew, but it would at least keep him from losing too much blood. After a few minutes of bandaging, he was ready to rejoin the fray. Sir Stephen looked up to see a huge bear-like monster charging for him. He thought quickly, then ran up a stump and leaped high in the air, grabbing hold of a nearby tree branch. He swung himself over the top, and then waited for the monster to stop, looking for his vanished prey. Sir Stephen dropped from the sky, sword pointed downward and thrust it into the bear. The monster snarled in rage and then scratched Sir Stephen’s side with his claw. The claws only scratched a little, and soon Sir Stephen ripped his blade free and blood squirted everywhere. The creature lumbered on, and then fell and didn’t move again.

  The elven forest was alive, and even the trees were helping out, sliding in the way of someone here, taking a sword slice or an arrow for another there, but Marhyn’s troops had brought poisonous powders. They sprinkled them at the base of the trees and the roots curled up and died, felling the trees and
killing whoever happened to be lodged in them.

  But the worst was the fires. Marhyn had ordered men to set fire to the trees. The elven trees didn’t burn easily, since they were alive and there was much green vegetation, not to mention the fact that the trees were able to draw water from lakes in the forest and through an interconnected network extinguish the fires at their bases. Still, Marhyn had brought flammable materials that burned with unholy heat and refused to go out.

  * * *

  Yvonne was there too. She had just arrived from the heart of Breshen with her supply wagon. She had never anticipated fighting, but now that the battle was all around her she wasted no time.

  She saw a raggedy man turn to her and look lustfully over her body. Frightened, she cocked her head towards him and waved. The man rushed over and went to grab her, but as his hand came out he felt a dagger in his stomach. He plucked it out, and Yvonne cautiously retreated, not knowing what to do.

  Suddenly, a tree branch came down and fell into her hand. The tree gave up a part of itself, and Yvonne swung, knocking the man across the face. She picked up her dagger and made sure he never got up.

  * * *

  The high council was in a panic. The retreat through the forest to the main part of Breshen that could be used as a fortress would take time, and in order for them to do that, they would need to hold. They would need to hold at least until Marhyn gave up for the day. Cilio was doing his best to organize the army into traps and counter traps, and his mobile forces were at least giving them a chance in the battle. It was up to the men of the kingdom to show what they were made of.

  Sir Stephen was showing what he was made of, namely blood. It was oozing all over his leg, the exertion had caused his heart to beat even faster and pump more blood out of his body. He tightened the wrapping, and the flow seemed to slow down a bit. He rushed forward and hacked at a rude little goblin who was trying to set a tree on fire. The monster saw Sir Stephen coming, and cowardly threw his conflagration kit at the nearest tree, where it exploded and began to burn hotly. Sir Stephen quickly killed the creature, but was soon forced to retreat from the ferocious flames, even though they were almost ten meters away. He felt a dizziness in his head, but fought on.

  Sir Terin Ironfist was in the middle of his army astride a horse. He carried the banner of the Royal Knights, and was riding about, combating monsters wherever he went. His company was now almost completely destroyed, but they were still fighting as well as they could. He swung his sword down on a dwarf, and then tried to gallop out of the way as he recognized it as one of the acid-spitting ones. He was too late; acid sprayed on his leg, ate into his armor, and burned his ankle a little. He grimaced and fought on.

  Dalin’s company had been put in charge of putting out the fires in the trees, and was having marginal luck, but the fires were popping up in more and more places. If the fires spread, they would be trapped between Marhyn and the fire, in which case they would surely be annihilated. Dalin was shuttling forth barrels of water in connection with the trees. The elven trees were helping, but there were three areas of uncontrolled fires blazing.

  A huge ogre charged forward, and two men came to face it. Sir Stephen waved them aside, this one was for him. Today was his day, the day he finally served his king and became a real knight. He would remember this day as long as he lived.

  A little faint, he ran forward and sliced the ogre across the leg, cutting flesh but not drawing much blood. The ogre turned, and took out a staff and swung it at Sir Stephen’s head. The young knight ducked, but then the ogre brought it back around and vertically down. Sir Stephen blocked it, but the impact hurt his sword arm. He switched hands and continued. Again, he went forward, faking, and managed to stab the ogre through the center. This caused the ogre to squeal in pain, but bring the staff down across Sir Stephen’s face. Sir Stephen got up again, and went forward dizzily. The ogre laughed, and once more smacked him hard with the cudgel. Sir Stephen fell, and started to get up…

  Before he could do so, the ogre came forward and kicked him in the ribs, breaking several. Sir Stephen remembered having one last thought as he saw the ogre raise his staff once more, No, I don’t want to die…

  * * *

  Derlin was doing well for his part. He sliced through monsters, goblins, and men, whoever was stupid enough to fight him. His skill was improving, (having an invincible weapon certainly helped) and for the last few battles he had become a rallying point for the king’s troops. In this way he was also learning how to command. It seemed bizarre to him that grown men would follow his every order—back in Krendon they just used to yell at him and tell him to go do something useful. If he would have reached up and felt his face, he would have felt the faint stubble of a beard coming in. Indeed, he was now a man.

  Derlin was engaged in fighting a troll, when he saw it suddenly break off from the confrontation. Finally, he thought, they’re beginning to get scared of me. But as he looked around, he saw that it was not a unique phenomenon. All the monsters were running away, back to central points. Derlin dared not hope for a retreat and the respite that would accompany it, even for a moment. He was right not to. Soon, they charged forward again, and they were each carrying something. He came forward to face one of them, but the monster ran around him and for the trees.

  Derlin was confused, and then he understood. They were now using their whole army to set fire to the forest. Dalin saw it too, but it was too late. Flames roared up everywhere, lighting up the morning, starting to destroy the forest. Marhyn’s forces ran back, and now Cilio’s men had nowhere to go. The flames were advancing all around, forcing the king’s men toward Marhyn’s army. Derlin looked back, and he wondered how they were going to get out of this one.

  All around, he could tell his people were thinking the same thing. He saw lifelong friends saying goodbye to each other, nodding softly and clasping hands firmly. They turned to face their ultimate foe, who had outsmarted and outmanned them. Tarthur didn’t matter. The battle would be over within a few hours.

  Cilio drew the men together, and the message was the same for all. They would fight as long as they could, but when it came to the end, they would finish it all with one ferocious charge up the middle. Afterwards, there would still be a resistance to Marhyn, and if Tarthur had gotten the Orb, then perhaps the resistance might have some chance of success. They would have to fight in the mountains. Yonathan would join when he was healed, and maybe Tustor could get more help from the council now that the situation was urgent. The eyes of the men held this little hope, yet one thing was certain—none of them would be around to find out how it ended.

  Marhyn didn’t wait. She began the next charge, and the king’s men looked around at the field of dead and dying, of fire and blood, and tightened their grips on their swords. The attack came ferociously and mockingly. Derlin faced a three-headed monster, cut off two heads in a single swipe, and then was startled to find that two spikes grew out of where the heads were. The creature came at him now, but this time it was a little off balance, and Derlin dove and cut off a leg. Now it flipped over, and a head grew out of where the leg was, giving it more balance and sense of direction. It faced Derlin, waiting…

  There was a rumble to the east, and what Derlin saw nearly made his heart stop.

  Huge waves swept across the battlefield, washing away the monsters. Everyone looked up, startled. There at the head of the battle stood Tarthur himself, except that he was so changed that even Derlin almost didn’t recognize him. Tarthur was glowing with power, and there was a wide circle around him where no monster dared go. Queen Marhyn’s army shrunk back in fear, even as he blasted them with a twenty meter wide swath of fire.

  They fell blackened and lifeless.

  * * *

  Tarthur looked at the king’s men. Their army looked so much smaller than he remembered. Their force charged forward, clashing with their enemy in all about. The center of the battle parted, and Marhyn herself on a black dragon came through to face Tarthur. />
  “So, boy, you think to ruin my plans after I have come this far? I should have crushed your pitiful body a long time ago. But now, you die.”

  Tarthur stood motionless. “That reminds me of what Darhyn said to me. Look at this war! Look around you! You fiends have caused this suffering; you have caused these good men to die! You do not feel remorse?”

  “Remorse is for the weak!” Marhyn sent a burst of fire out at Tarthur. Tarthur brushed it away with a flare of his own.

  “You do not feel? Yet you will pay with your life. This ends here.” Tarthur said it with such finality that even Marhyn hesitated to look at him. He had so much power in his face, so much strength.

  Tarthur sent fire out, burning the dragon that Marhyn was on and sending her sprawling. She caught herself with a levitate spell, but then seemed to think the better of fighting and decided to run away.

  Huge towers of water grew up around her, stopping her from passing. Frantically, she looked around inside but saw no one. She whirled, and Tarthur stepped through the torrent. Inside it was quiet, completely cut off from the rest of the army.