by Jordan Cramm
“Mortican is just one man father...”
“Ah,” King Janureen replied, “a man yes, but also a son of a God. Is this Nambrin such a man as well?”
Katrina shook her head no.
“Worry not child. Something tells me you will see him again soon enough.”
“Flint,” Katrina spoke again, “how are the efforts of camp?”
“Well, they are proceeding I suppose. Morale is mixed right now. Those that still live are grateful for it, and they know much of that is owed to you and your husband, as well as Jakarta and Trevel. But the Izenians are also not in much of a celebratory mood. They lost many brothers here.”
Katrina nodded.
“And you father, can you tell me of our people's morale?”
“Also mixed little one. They mourn the loss of Trevel, and of their own brothers, though those that live make no question of the wrong and right of it. They will follow the King's banner, and yours as well to whatever may come.”
Katrina was nodding again when suddenly she heard voices outside of the main tent. It was Gorak and Fenka, nearly out of breath as they jumped off their cave rams and entered the tent to offer a report.
~
Nambrin was on a table laying face down as two Shamans focused their healing energies to close his wound. He was still conscious when it happened, and knew he had to stay still. However, he was still talking with Kormack who was overseeing the healing himself.
“I am just saying you are lucky boy,” Kormack went on, “had you killed my mother, by your own will or not, you wouldn't be on a table like this for healing. Best use what Lord Darkmoon gave you and get out of Akartha soon.”
“I will. I promise. But do you really think King Maskus will agree to see me? Will he give me an audience to hear what I must tell him? Isn't it likely he would refuse to see me, or worse, kill me for trying to instruct him on what to do next?”
“If he does, it would be no better than what you deserve.”
“Then why bother helping me at all? If you hate me so much, why heal me?”
“Because my Steward asked it so...because the War Mage asked...because he pays, and because he is the wrong man to make an enemy of.”
“I know,” Nambrin remarked, “I sensed that fighting him. He could have killed me from the start couldn't he?”
“Many times,” Kormack's voice echoed like thunder it seemed, “but he chose mercy. Keep that in mind when you tell your tale. And should the King refuse to see you, hopefully you will not relent. After all, not only did Lord Darkmoon let you live after you killed his mother, but he asked me to help free your mind from Mortican's control. How many would do that after such an assault on their family? Then he gave you money for provision and passage. You'd be a fool to forget or ignore his efforts. Tell me, before you were taken on the Eloxin Isles, what was your trade?”
“I was a Knight...why?”
“Because for some reason Wolflen sees promise in you. The wise would do well to cultivate his favor. Therefore, if it doesn't work out for you in Izendune, maybe you could come back and take up a trade once more. Perhaps you might try your hand here, among the Shaman Sect House.”
“If I did that, Wolflen would learn of it, and he would be unhappy with us both I think.”
“I will worry about that if the situation arises,” Kormack answered, “you just keep it in mind. There, they are done. How is the back feeling now?”
“Better,” Nambrin answered as he moved to sit on the edge of the bed, “thank you.”
“Don't thank me,” Kormack answered, “as I said I would have killed you. Still, it is what Lord Darkmoon wanted. We have gathered some things for you to wear. I suggest you get to the docks soon though. I believe a ship makes passage this night and you could be on it. If you should return though, come find me. No Izenian man deserves to be without everything.”
“After what I have done,” Nambrin retorted, “it might be hard to find myself again.”
“Maybe so,” Kormack answered, “but we Shamans deal with the soul and spirit after all. Now go. I will have one of these Shamans show you out.”
Chapter 28: Back To Molith
“What do you mean the ENTIRE Dwarven army is marching against us? How many is that?” Katrina asked as she rounded the main table.
“Somewhere between five and seven thousand Princess,” Fenka returned, “can't be totally sure on the numbers, but Gral and Brosha have combined forces for this. They plan to wipe out the Elves and Izenians here, or at least drive them off. After that, they will move against cities like Elender and the like. Apparently Mortican made them an offer, and they accepted.”
“This is most concerning indeed,” King Janureen offered, “because I did not come here with the entire army of Orenty. At latest count we number around four thousand ourselves, and add to that the Izenians here, and we might be closer to five, but still not enough to ensure victory.”
“Plus we have wounded, and a whole mop-up operation in progress,” Flint added now. “I can't see how this would go in our favor if we remain.”
“But we can't leave yet either,” Katrina answered, “because our force would be too slow on the march back to ships at Elender, and using the portal is not an option. We can't go to Izendune, because we believe that Mortican is already there. Maybe we could duck out to another location, but that would still leave Elender defenseless, as well we would be signing the death warrants of other human cities here.”
“Its a risk we may have to take little one,” King Janureen replied.
“And what of our ships? They are now in Elender's waters awaiting our return. I doubt they would be capable of attacking an Elender under Dwarven rule, and more so, they would have no way of knowing they should if they themselves have no warning.”
“What's this I am hearing?” Wolflen asked as he suddenly materialized in the room.
His sudden appearance startled them all when they heard his voice. They each of them jumped and turned to see him there, each of them relieved.
“Husband,” Katrina said as she strode toward him and embraced him in a hug, “What took you so long?”
“Ah,” he answered, “well I intended to come right back, but one of the Priests told me of a phantom problem. It was Nambrin. He is now dealt with.”
“You killed him then?” Katrina asked, “and you return without a scratch, despite leaving AGAIN with no helmet.”
“I'm fine,” he remarked, “and no, he lives still. Now free of his mind control. I can catch you up later, but for now, what is this I am hearing about the Dwarves?”
“The foggers are coming,” King Gorak stated simply, “and they come for war. Gral and Brosha...the whole of their armies.”
“You're kidding,” Wolflen pleaded, hoping it was a sick joke, “tell me everything.”
“We went to the Catacombs of Gral as you know,” Fenka answered, “and we pleaded for an alliance as we discussed before. But they were expecting us. They killed half of the Dwarves that went with us, and imprisoned us. We were to be executed in the morning. Lord Eklar was the one who helped us escape, otherwise we wouldn't be here to give you this warning.”
“Lord Eklar,” King Janureen interjected, “where is he now?”
“Foggin tricky one he is,” King Gorak answered, “he is planning to secret himself among them. Had some magic potion that made him look like a Dwarf. Darndest thing I have seen in a while by no mistake.”
King Janureen smiled.
“And his plan among them?”
“He intends to strike at Gral specifically I think,” Fenka commented, “takes it personal that Gral wanted to have him killed.”
“Sounds like Lord Eklar alright,” King Janureen stated.
“So what now?” Flint asked, “I mean does it mater what Lord Eklar plans? Does it change the army marching in our direction?”
“We have to do something Lord Darkmoon.”
“Well,” Wolflen said calmly, “they are coming whether w
e like it or not. Do they travel underground then?”
“No,” Fenka answered, “they all march topside. And besides the numbers, they have rapid-fire and load crossbows with bolts made of mithril. They would pierce armor and shields alike.”
“Damn,” King Janureen answered and he slammed his fist on the table before apologizing to Wolflen for doing so.
“It's alright,” Wolflen replied, “but this is a problem. Our forces here may have defeated the Werewolves, but I don't think we could repel an attack from the Dwarves of that magnitude. I've barely rested myself lately, and I am not sure victory would be ours.”
“This is most clever of Mortican. Seems he is ahead of us at every step.”
Wolflen nodded.
“I'd like to give that foggin bastard a good what for,” Gorak commented as he tapped on the shaft of his warhammer.
“We all would I think,” Wolflen said plainly, “but for now that is yet out of reach. Are the funeral services still being held tonight?”
“Yes Lord Darkmoon,” Flint answered, “for both of our races.”
“Damn. Okay, ready any rider that can be readied. After the funeral services tonight I want this party to begin its march back to Elender to board ships. No need to run yet, but I want everyone ready to break camp swiftly after our services for the fallen are held. I will remain with a small detachment here and slow them down, then if I am able I will rendezvous with you all back in Elender.”
“With respect son-in-law,” King Janureen returned, “we can't do that. We won't abandon you, my daughter who will no doubt remain at your side, or any other here left behind. We all make it out or no one does.”
“I thank you for your loyalty Mr. Trueshot,” Wolflen answered, “but this may be the only way to save as many as we can. Now I do not command the Elves I know, but I will be ordering the soldiers of Akartha to begin moving after the funeral services are over, and I would suggest you do the same with your own people.”
“You know I cannot do that, as I have stated.”
“We will not survive such a war a second time here at these Bloodgrounds.”
“Well then,” King Janureen said as he stood, “we will just have to take as many of them with us as we can before we go. And if somehow Lord Eklar succeeds with his plan, who knows—maybe the panic that follows will somehow give us an edge. Maybe it will be a turning point in the battle. Either way, I am not ordering a retreat unless we are all leaving together.”
“If you don't, more will die than what have to.”
“Understood. Now little one, Lord Darkmoon, will you excuse me while I go rally my men?”
Wolflen bowed his head slightly before King Janureen left the tent. Flint too looked to be readying to leave.
“I'll go prepare the soldiers of Akartha to leave after the funeral services then,” he said, “but I trust you will ensure that Ayvock will be following as soon as he is awake.”
“Count on it Mr. Calmbreeze.”
“Thank you.”
“Well,” King Gorak grumbled, “might Fenka and I help ourselves to some food and drink out there if there is any to still be had? Been a rough couple of days for us too.”
“Of course,” Wolflen remarked, “help yourself.”
As they left, only Wolflen and Katrina remained in their tent with Ayvock, who was still asleep. Wolflen merely plopped down in a chair and sighed deeply. He ran a hand to the top of his head, brushing his hair back a moment as he thought about everything that was happening.
“He's right,” Katrina said, “I won't leave this cursed place if you won't.”
“Do you suppose the Dwarves would answer the white flag if we wished a parlay?”
“Possibly. They are at least somewhat civilized, though I admit they only barely qualify. Why, what do you have in mind?”
“I don't know. So much to think about. But if we can stall them even for a short while it would buy time for others to move out of this area.”
“Maybe so, but you heard my father. He won't order his men to leave if we stay.”
“Ugggh,” Wolflen remarked, “I know. I know.”
“You're tired love,” Katrina said as she stood by his side, “perhaps you should nap a bit.”
Wolflen nodded and reached for her hand which she took gladly.
“Has there been any change with him?” Wolflen asked as he glanced over at Ayvock.
“None, but no reason to suspect he is anymore in danger. He will recover soon.”
“And Jakarta?” Wolflen asked.
“Ah,” she responded, “your mentor is recovering as well. He is conscious now, being looked after by Carra herself. She likes him I think. I visited them briefly earlier. He mourns Trevel's passing however, and so for him the emotional pain is being stacked upon everything that has happened here. The healer's said he broke a few ribs in combat, and his own spell work exhausted him further. I think Carra is insisting he sleep now, but otherwise he will be fine I think. You too should get some sleep. I will be here if you need me.”
Wolflen nodded and stood slowly. He thanked Katrina for her help in keeping things together in his brief absence. They shared a short kiss and then he agreed that he could use some sleep. He asked her to wake him later in time to attend the funeral services, and she agreed before leading him into the bedroom and helping him out of his armor.
“You're the best you know,” he told her.
She smiled back and kissed him once more before he fell back into bed. She left him there, returning to the main area of the command tent, knowing he would want to sleep a while and replenish some more energy before they all had to face the next big thing to come their way, whatever it might be.
Wolflen shut his eyes and before long he was dreaming. It began slowly, with him standing where he was; in the middle of the Bloodgrounds.
Bodies were everywhere upon the ground, and Wolflen seemed to be standing in the center of the various piles all around. Blood was in pools everywhere, and as he stood there, he couldn't help but notice the high body count all around him. It didn't make him afraid, but he felt the loss of the fallen. He turned, noting that the bodies and blood were everywhere. Then in an instant, the blood began to rise all around him at an alarming rate. It rushed him so quickly that in just moments, it was up to his waist. He tried to yell but it would not be heard by anyone. Then he heard a thundering voice say, “Behold the price of the War Magic, paid for in blood.”
His body shivered and he blinked. When his eyes opened once more, the bodies and blood were gone, and he was in utter darkness. Ahead of him he saw legions of Dwarves marching his way, and somehow he knew they were coming for him. He felt his heart drop momentarily in fear as he heard their bootfalls upon the ground. As they drew closer, he could almost feel their march. He looked upon them, seeing their faces hardened for war. Each carried weapons for battle, each dirty as though they had sprung from the underground to the surface by somehow passing through the ground itself. Each was chanting a war song, and each was clanging their weapons upon their own shields as they marched.
Wolflen continued looking through their ranks, seeing that the front line soldiers carried weapons and shields alike, but the rows behind them carried crossbows that were draped over their shoulders as they marched.
“They are rapid fire and reload,” a voice said, “and they rarely miss.”
Wolflen spun, feeling the urge to run as the legions of Dwarves advanced. He called for Sespa, but she did not answer. So on foot he began to run, but as he did he only saw darkness ahead. Strange since the Dwarves seemed to have been marching with light at their backs. Was it sunlight? Daylight perhaps? Wolflen couldn't be sure. He only knew he had to run, and he wasn't sure to where. He tried calling upon his magic but nothing happened. No fire could be seen forming in his hands, no lightning would illuminate his path. Only darkness ahead. He spun, reaching for weapons that weren't there. He knew the Dwarves would be upon him soon. He was nearly out of breath, though he couldn
't imagine why. He hadn't run on foot for very long. He turned away from the Dwarves once more, and in the distance he saw the large Spires, glowing with energy in the darkness. He ran toward them for what seemed like an eternity, and then he stepped into their perimeter. At once his body disappeared, just as it did when he would teleport.
Before Wolflen could see a destination in his dream, he woke up sweating and sitting up quickly. Katrina was there, bringing in a cup of tea. She asked if he was alright, and he told her he had just had a bad dream was all. She told him the funeral services would be starting soon and that he had slept for nearly four chimes already.
Wolflen wiped some sweat from his brow and nodded. He didn't feel all that refreshed after the nap, and found that he felt almost as tired as he had when he first laid down. He whirled the blanket off himself and stood, wearing only his undershorts now.
“I'll get ready now,” Wolflen said to her, “I can't believe I was out for so long.”
“It's okay,” she told him, “most of the camp is gathering already, but they will wait for you. I believe you are expected to give a speech.”
Wolflen nodded as he began putting on his clothes, and then finally his armor which Katrina helped with.
“You know,” she said, “these past few weeks have been hard on us all. I know that war takes no pauses for people to regain their composure, but we could sure use one I think.”
“This isn't much of a honeymoon I know m'lady,” he remarked, “and I wish we had more time. But you're right, war isn't waiting for it to be a good time for any of us. I see you are ready for the event.”
Katrina smiled sheepishly and nodded. She had dressed up in her normal armor, but now wore a thin, black tunic that covered her from shoulders down to her knees. It was sleeveless as well, and a garment made for mourning dress. It went on over her armor and covered her weapons. As for Wolflen, she suggested that he take the night air and the services in a dark cloak of his own, and so he wore one per her suggestion, but in his case it was dark, sleeveless furs, worn much like it would be worn had they been in Akartha. The furs covered his shoulders, or rather like a blanket with a hole for his head right in the middle. It too looked like a tunic of sorts after he tied a soft belt around the midriff to close both the front and back piece.