Fury of Molith (Fengysha Series Book 2)

by Jordan Cramm

  She saw another trying to advance against Wolflen and she used her magic instantly, creating vines, much as she had to hold Sespa down earlier. Now though, they stopped the Werewolf where it was, and Ravenshade followed up by leaping at it with her twin swords arcing downwards and slashing it apart. For Katrina, using her magic in combat was not easy however. Most Guild magics were not equipped to be used so quickly on demand.

  Wolflen did a back flip to avoid another front attack, but he tried a move Katrina had never seen from him before. As he flipped backwards, he kicked the Werewolf with his feet, and his feet were empowered with his magical shielding, causing a crunch noise that instantly broke the neck of the Werewolf.

  Then as he regained his balance, Wolflen saw Sespa barrel into another Werewolf and kill it quickly. Wolflen smiled.

  ~

  For a while, the battle had gone their way. Wolflen, Katrina, Ravenshade, Jakarta, Trevel, Sespa...all of them were fighting fiercely. The Werewolf numbers were decreasing, but so were those of the soldiers of Akartha. Those still standing and still in combat believed that perhaps Wolflen's speech about dying to the last man had somehow been a prophecy or dark omen. When it first had stirred them to action, now it was like an eerie foretelling. Many were already slain. Less than 300 still stood and fought, and now, they were unable to ferry the injured into the healer's tents, as the battle raged into the interior of their camp. Even Carra and Lorne Outrider had swung their own weapons more than once.

  When their hope seemed lost, and they the remainders stared down still over two thousand Werewolves, a sound in the distance brought a hope that they had all but given up on. It was the sound of Elven horns; the Elven charge was upon them.

  Unfortunately for those still standing with Wolflen though, the Elven horns did not cause the Werewolves to turn and face new attackers. Instead, they remained locked in combat where they were, not caring for what might be at their rear. But another two chimes and the battle was over at last. Just over 200 Izenians that had been with Wolflen remained. Most were injured and bleeding. Of the Elves, nearly a thousand fell by the time it was over. But for the moment, in the dark of night, the battle was won. Of course, the suffering was far from over.

  Katrina and Ravenshade both grunted as they pushed a fallen Werewolf off the top of them. It had come at them, and tackled them to the ground, but not before their swords together had pierced its body and run it through. They nodded and grinned at each other as they stood, realizing they were each relatively unharmed. Katrina had blood running from the side of her head down her neck, but she said she would be okay. Ravenshade said that her shoulder was out of place, and that she knew she had at least a wrist sprain if not fracture. She could hardly use that arm in fact to pull her sword free of the fallen Werewolf.

  Bodies were everywhere. The Elven reinforcements were all over the field, stepping through huge pools of blood that were bathing the fallen dead of both sides of conflict. Katrina's head whipped round as she looked for Wolflen, but she couldn't see him anywhere. Ravenshade began helping too, and together they looked. And although it had only taken moments, for Katrina those moments felt like individual eternities.

  She only found him now because of Sespa and his Shockblades. Sespa was standing near a pile of dead, and Katrina could see the electric glow of Wolflen's sword tips. Sespa's fur was dirty, bloody and matted down in several places. As for Wolflen's swords, as Katrina looked down, they were pierced entirely through a Werewolf pile on top of him. She covered her mouth in a quick gasp as she rushed toward the pile. It took her and Ravenshade both to pull the first Werewolf from the top of the pile. Katrina's face, now covered in tears, showed her emotion and fear as she screamed for more help. Ravenshade couldn't lift with both hands currently, and the Werewolf dead were heavy.

  Jakarta closed the distance to their location as quickly as he could. He was holding his ribs and coughing up blood as he reached them. His own armor was spattered with blood, matted fur and chunks of flesh. He had already sheathed his own swords and now looked the Princess over with a quick glance before kneeling to help pull another Werewolf off the pile. They struggled to get it done, but they pulled its body off of Wolflen's swords at last, seeing that another Werewolf was also pierced by one of Wolflen's Shockblades, and it was driven through it's arm, while the rest of its body was charred from what looked like massive burns. As they pulled it from Wolflen's sword, the Shockblades stopped pulsing with electricity and simply fell to the ground and over Wolflen's chest as his body went limp.

  Katrina gasped again. Wolflen was unconscious, his head now turned to the side and with no helmet. Blood was caked on his head and it had been clear that the Werewolf arm that he had stabbed had managed to scrape the top of his head first. All around them, other Elves had begun doing exactly what Jakarta and Katrina were doing now; looking for survivors.

  Jakarta knelt over his student, calling his name more than once. Katrina checked for a pulse and said Wolflen was still breathing. She slapped his face gently a few times and called his name. After a few moments, he opened his eyes slowly, feeling disoriented and being wracked with pain. Jakarta and Katrina both sighed a sigh of relief that he was alive. Jakarta coughed again as he crouched near Wolflen, and more blood found its way to the corner of Jakarta's mouth. He spit it out quickly before asking Wolflen if he was okay.

  “I...” Wolflen groaned, “I can't feel my legs.”

  “What?” Katrina gasped.

  “I can't move my legs!” Wolflen yelled with the realization.

  Katrina began sobbing and shouting for a healer, but Jakarta told her to step back immediately. He knew what he had to do, and he worried that time was short in which to do it. As he knelt over Wolflen, Katrina scooted back. Her own armor was mud and blood covered, and some of it was slightly torn in a few places. Her hair was a mess, her face was dirty and bloody, and she didn't look like the royalty she was at the moment. Still, she moved back as Jakarta leaned over Wolflen. Jakarta stretched out one hand which hovered over the top of Wolflen's chest. In the same moment, his eyes turned a ghostly blue color and blue smoke seemed to roll out from the side's of his eyes.

  In an instant, there was a pulse of blue energy that jolted Wolflen's body, causing it to arc upwards slightly. Katrina could hear the sounds of bones moving back into place and Wolflen let out a groan of pain as Jakarta finished his task. After a moment, Jakarta's eyes returned to normal and he fell back, sitting on his knees and coughing again as he held his ribs once more. He took some deep breaths and Wolflen slowly began to move all of his limbs once more.

  As Wolflen stood, he knew Jakarta had used magic, but hadn't known what spell it was. He still had a head wound, and his body still ached greatly, so he knew he hadn't been completely healed. Still, he knew that whatever Jakarta had done had been the reason Wolflen was able to stand.

  “What was that?” Wolflen asked.

  “The last of my energy for the day,” Jakarta replied with pain in his voice as he spoke, “it was the Laying Of Hands spell. I am sorry I couldn't heal you more, but anything more and it would have killed me. I won't be able to do that again for a few days at least.”

  Wolflen looked to Katrina, who now cried tears of joy to see Wolflen standing again. He hugged her at once, glad that they had each come through the battle alive. Then Wolflen looked down at Jakarta who was obviously still suffering himself. Wolflen yelled for a healer; a sound Jakarta heard just before falling over unconscious himself. Wolflen looked around and saw a Cleric rushing toward them which he was glad for, but then realized Ravenshade was nearby, but Ayvock was not.

  “Ayvock!...” Wolflen yelled as he began looking around the battlefield.

  Katrina and Ravenshade now realized too that Ayvock wasn't standing with them.

  “Lord Darkmoon,” another Izenian yelled, “the Judicator is here...”

  Wolflen jumped over dead bodies and stepped his way through blood, flesh and mud to reach Ayvock. Ayvock was on his side a
nd unconscious as well, and he had a mithril sword embedded in his neck that was covered in blood. Wolflen could only guess that he had had fought against another Vampire and his suspicion was confirmed as he saw a body attached to the sword that was adorned in strange armor. It too was on it's side, but with Ayvock's sword shoved upwards through it's chin and into its skull.

  “Get a healer here now!” Wolflen yelled.

  “Step aside Wolflen,” a familiar voice said now, “I will handle this if I can.”

  Wolflen turned to see a familiar face. It was Mage Dawson, who at once began working his own magic. The sword embedded in Ayvock's neck exited and began to levitate before being tossed aside with magic as Mage Dawson twitched his fingers in the air. Then from where he stood, tendrils of glowing magic strands wrapped and formed together before touching Ayvock's wound and closing it.

  “He will be asleep for two days yet,” Mage Dawson said afterwards, “but he will be okay.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You all did well here. We would have been here sooner, but we ourselves were held up by hundreds along the way. It's amazing you each still live.”

  Suddenly there was a scream not far from them. Jakarta had regained consciousness, and while sitting on the ground had received the report that Trevel was dead. Jakarta yelled again, trying to stand but falling. The Elven guard that stood with him now pleaded for him not to try and move until the healer could finish healing him. Jakarta stood however, spitting out more blood, and falling down once more while yelling again. He then tried to crawl, until he lost consciousness once more and fell on his face.

  ~

  The reinforcements had been held up as Mage Dawson had said. Once camp was established once more, the healers were busy. Outside their tents, those that were able had the task of policing bodies, collecting weapons and armor, and burning the enemy dead. There was so much blood in the area however, that large pools were still everywhere. It would stain the ground for a long time they knew, and so, Wolflen chose to remember the event by calling the area “The Bloodgrounds”.

  As for Jakarta, he remained asleep as the healers did their work, and Carra insisted she be allowed to remain with him in his own tent so as to be the first face he would see when he woke. No one seemed to object, and she realized it was probably because she couldn't do spell work now anyway, and therefore her absence from the healer tent would be a thing of little note now, especially since the Elven reinforcements brought with them Clerics and Free Mages both.

  And then there was Ayvock. He was brought into Wolflen's own tent and rested upon a cot bed that was placed in the main living room there. Wolflen did as much so that he might keep a constant vigil there, as well as restore some semblance of having an operating command tent.

  The next day, Wolflen was out of his armor but dressed as his requested visitor announced his presence outside the tent. Wolflen mustered a smile as he welcomed the visitor into the tent.

  “You asked to see me Lord Darkmoon?” the visitor said as he entered the tent.

  “Ah Lorne, yes,” Wolflen replied, “please come in.”

  Wolflen extended his hand which Lorne met in a firm grasp in Izenian fashion being hand to forearm for each of them.

  “I wanted to thank you for the work you did out there yesterday—for saving Sespa's life.”

  “You are welcome Lord Darkmoon.”

  “Please, call me Wolflen. And Lorne, I would like to make you my personal physician, as well as possibly promote you to my council.”

  “You don't want to do that sir.”

  “Oh?” Wolflen replied, “And why not?”

  “Sir I have a tendency to speak my mind, even when what I have to say is not something people want to hear.”

  “Excellent!” Wolflen continued, “I have a good friend like that who is resting just over there….”

  “How is he?” Lorne asked.

  “He will recover in a couple of days. Now I know you have work to do, but I wanted to thank you personally for your service. As further reward, I would like to offer you 2,000 platinum coins from the treasury. Beyond that as I said I would like you to be my personal physician and join my council.”

  “As you say Lord Darkmoon, but don't later claim I didn't warn you.”

  “Understood. Go now and return to your other duties,” Wolflen said as he handed a large bag of coins to Lorne, “these Bloodgrounds have left many in need of healing.”

  “Indeed so.”

  Chapter 24: The Dwarven Form

  “I am just foggin saying that I changed my mind is all. Don't you want revenge for what those bastards tried to do? For what Gral would have done?” Gorak asked as they stopped for another rest.

  “Of course,” Lord Eklar returned as he sat on the ground a moment, looking all around at the cavern-way, “but I am just saying it might not be as easy as that. King Gral and Brosha emptied their lands for the most part, leaving only the necessary Dwarves behind. You know this—you were there in the Catacombs were you not?”

  “Aye, foggin true I was,” Gorak responded, “but there has to be a way. Besides that, it would not be right to just abandon the Izenian War Mage now. My Voodian sits safe aboard his ships by now, and he is the one that made it possible for me to even call myself King. So at the least, they have to be warned. I am sure by now we are ahead of the Dwarven force, and could rendezvous with the Izenians and Elves of Orenty above ground.”

  “Maybe so,” Lord Eklar returned, “but even then they will likely not have the numbers to stand against the Dwarves here unless everyone plans to die together topside.”

  “Ugggh,” Gorak grunted, “you may be right. Fenka, what do you think?”

  She was leaning on the nearby stone wall as she considered the question a moment. Her arms were crossed as she stood next to her cave ram who seemed content to be resting from the relentless pace. In her armor, Gorak knew she was ready for battle, and he also knew she didn't like running away from a foe. But that was their way after all. They didn't flee from battle. Of course now, this was different as their fight was against their own kind—Dwarves of Gral and Brosha.

  “I think it is too bad,” she said at last, “that we cannot cut the head off the snake.”

  “Hmm?” Gorak asked.

  “That's it!” Lord Eklar stood with a grin on his face. “Of course. It won't be easy. He knows your faces—both of you. But he doesn't know mine.”

  “What are you on about?” Gorak asked. “You were locked up too. And you have had dealings with them before. Of course you would be recognized if you tried to foggin get close.”

  “Look,” Lord Eklar returned, “I can do this. I will infiltrate his group, and I will have revenge on Gral—for all of us.”

  “And just how will you waltz into the Dwarven ranks unnoticed?” Fenka asked.

  It was a fair question after all. They would in fact recognize him as Lord Eklar Felken, King of the Darkened Isles. They would call him enemy once more, and besides, an Elf among Dwarves, either of Orenty or the Darkened Isles would be noticed among them. Of course, Lord Eklar wasn't planning to infiltrate the Dwarven ranks as an Elf. He pulled a small vial of a potion from a hidden pouch on one of his thigh belts, and held it up for them to see. Of course, it wasn't enough for them to catch his drift, as all they saw was a small vial bottle.

  Lord Eklar gently took the cork from the tiny vial and held the vial to his lips.

  “This is going to hurt,” he said matter-of-factly, “but it will work.”

  He took a few drops of the vial's contents, and then quickly corked the vial once more. In a moment, white wisps began forming and swirling around Lord Eklar until he was enveloped in a cloud and could no longer be seen. It swirled around him quickly, and in moments the magic of the vial's contents began working.

  His bones began to shrink, along with his skin. His armor and clothing too, along with his weaponry all began to shrink to be proportionate to his new size as a Dwarf. His hair shortened as well
, so that when the white wisps faded, Gorak and Fenka saw a Dwarf before them where Lord Eklar had been. Gorak knew though that it was still Lord Eklar. He had used an illusion potion to become as a Dwarf.

  When the transformation was complete, Lord Eklar would not be identifiable as the King and Lord of the Darkened Isles. His face and whole body had filled out more, and he was much shorter. He was stronger now, but slightly less agile he knew.

  “Heh Heh,” Gorak chuckled, “illusion of Dwarf potion. Nice.”

  Lord Eklar nodded.

  “So you could get close to them then,” Fenka stated with a sound of hope in her voice, “and then what? Once you strike, you will be outed as an enemy.”

  “Let me worry about that,” Lord Eklar replied, “but for now we should find out where they are. Surely at our pace we have outrun them thus far underground as we are. I need to find them.”

  “Hey bud, don't you mean WE need to find them?” Gorak asked.

  “No,” he replied, “you continue on with the others. Regroup with Wolflen above ground. No doubt he will appreciate the added numbers to his force. Meanwhile I will embed myself with the Dwarves that march above ground. When I am able, I will get close to Gral, and when the time is right I will strike. But...”

  “But?” Fenka asked.

  “But,” he went on, “I think even as I am I do not look as one who would march with those Dwarves above ground. I need a heavy breastplate, and perhaps an axe or two.”

  Gorak nodded. Lord Eklar was right. He could pass as a Dwarven Rogue now perhaps, but even so, he appeared elegant still. He didn't look rough enough yet, nor for that matter dirty enough.