The Final Storm tdw-3

by Wayne Thomas Batson

  “I would say we passed Paragor’s test!” Sir Rogan said, slapping Oswyn on the back. Cheers erupted, but one voice was not among them.

  “Where is Mallik?” Nock asked.

  16

  TO SEEK WHAT IS LOST

  A idan lay on his back in a huge pile of crimson leaves. He opened his eyes and looked up drowsily at the towering black trunks surrounding him. Aidan blinked and sat up as if waking from a dream. I’m back in The Realm! he thought.

  Adrenaline surging, he grabbed Fury and leaped to his feet.

  Aidan remembered King Eliam’s command: “Seek what is lost.”

  He turned in a circle, trying to get his bearings. He knew he was in the forest he had seen in his vision-for never had he seen such a forest before. But where the monumental fallen tree was, he had no idea.

  A light breeze stirred the leaves and brought with it the faint scent of smoke. Fire! Aidan thought. The great tree was burned!

  Aidan wet his fingers, felt for the wind, and sprinted off in the direction he thought he should go. It was uneven ground. Huge twisted roots snaked in and out of his path, and leaves guarded hidden pits. Aidan discovered right away that sneakers were not the best footgear for this terrain!

  Still, he trudged on, the smell of smoke growing as he went. At last he came to an opening that appeared to be a tunnel made of living trees. Long, smooth black trunks and massive boughs reached overhead on both sides of the passage.

  Aidan plunged into the passage, unafraid of the darkness but still wary. He kept Fury high and his other hand out to the side, feeling from trunk to trunk as he blindly made his way. The smell of fire was almost overpowering, but moments later he emerged on the other side of the passage into a vast clearing where a grand tree lay sadly in the center. It was the tree in the vision.

  Aidan ran to the wide stump. Growing up from the hollow center was a sapling with tiny oval leaves of red. Pierced through by the top limbs of the sapling curled a small scrap of parchment. He clambered up on top of the stump and grabbed the parchment. He was about to jump down from the stump when he heard deep voices, and not far off! Soldiers! Aidan had to leave immediately, but then he spotted the sapling.

  Aidan had the sudden urge to take the sapling, even though he was quite sure its roots went far down into the stump. He pulled the sapling, and to his surprise it came free as if it had leaped into Aidan’s hand. Aidan smiled and climbed back down from the stump. With Fury in one hand, the parchment and the sapling in the other, he turned to run for the tunnel. Too late. The soldiers were entering the other side of the clearing. They would see him if Aidan went for the tunnel. Instead, Aidan raced into the woods and ducked behind a wide trunk. Peeking around it, he could just see the soldiers.

  “Here it is,” said the soldiers’ leader, who bore a crooked sword.

  “About time,” said another. “I do not much like being so close to those bowhawkers!”

  “Nor do I, Galdoth!” said the first. “They’d fill us full of shafts, like as not, for what we have done. But the master says go back to the Blackwood, so we go.”

  “Right, Drang! Obedient to a fault, we are!” Galdoth replied. “Never thought I would see the day when Knights of the First Rank would be turned into errand boys. First Kearn and then Paragor himself.”

  “Yes,” said a third enemy knight, a short, stout soldier who stepped away from the rest. He carried a long, barbed spear and looked warily into the woods. “But we do not even know what we are supposed to get this time.” Aidan ducked down, feeling like this knight was looking straight at him.

  “Just between us, Blarrak,” said Drang, “I do not think even the master knows. ‘Go and find the great tree,’ he says. ‘We may have missed something.’ So here we are.”

  Blarrak laughed, and it sounded like he coughed up something in the process. “You could have at least asked him what we should look for!”

  “And have my head knocked off my shoulders, like poor Miggot?” Drang replied. “Now look alive. Search the clearing, especially around the big tree. If you find anything, come tell me right away!”

  Aidan watched as the soldiers spread out. He counted eighteen knights-all wearing full armor and bearing weapons. They kept their eyes down, scouring the ground. The one with the spear, called Blarrak, tromped over close to the edge of the clearing where Aidan was hiding. He stood there scanning the quiet woods. Aidan’s heart raced. He felt sure he could handle this enemy, but if he let out a yelp, the rest would come. Eighteen against one, and Aidan with no armor… not very good odds.

  Aidan shifted a tiny bit, and a twig snapped. He froze. Blarrak looked immediately into the woods.

  “Here now! I found something!” called one of the knights who stood near the stump. To Aidan’s great relief, Blarrak turned and ran over to join the others. Aidan watched intently as they all surrounded the base of the fallen tree.

  “Footprints?!” said one.

  “Yeah, but what kind?” asked another.

  “Certainly not shod in boots,” said Drang. “Probably one of the archers.” The knights looked warily up into the trees surrounding the clearing as if enemies might be perched all around.

  “Print looks recent,” Galdoth said. “We had better get to the dragons.”

  “But we have not found anything!” Drang exclaimed. “Look here. The prints are on the stump. Plainly he was looking in that hole in the center there. Get up and take a look yourself.”

  Galdoth hoisted himself up onto the stump. He edged closer to the hollow in the center and looked nervously as if he feared a snake might spring out. “I cannot see anything in there.”

  “Well, reach in and see!” said Drang.

  “Not with my hand,” Galdoth argued. And he pulled his sword from his sheath and slowly pushed it into the hole in the center of the stump. “There!” he said. “Nothing down there. My blade goes smoothly all the way to the bottom.”

  “Fine!” Drang said. “Get yourself down.”

  But Galdoth couldn’t get his sword out of the stump. “It is stuck!” he said, yanking at the hilt. “Makes no sense at all!”

  “Oh, you weakling!” Blarrak said. He leaped up with ease and walked over to the sword. He grinned as if he might pull the sword free with one hand. But he couldn’t. He tried again to no avail. He tossed his spear to Drang and yanked at the sword with both hands. It didn’t budge. Aidan thought this was uproariously funny, and it was all he could do to keep from bursting out laughing.

  In turn and in groups, they all tried to dislodge the sword, but it would not come free. “Come on then, you slugs!” Drang said at last. “No use. Leave it! Galdoth, I guess you are glad you used your blade instead of your hand! We might just have to leave you here stuck in this cursed stump!” There was coarse laughter from everyone… except Galdoth.

  “We have been here long enough,” one of the knights said.

  “But we have nothing to show for it,” Blarrak said. “We must continue the search.”

  “No,” Drang replied. “Can you not see? Whatever ‘it’ is was taken by another. A bowhawker more than likely. We cannot afford the time. Thanks to Kearn, we might already be too late.”

  “The big push?” Galdoth asked.

  “What else?” Drang shook his head. “I shudder to think how it will look if the Black Breath has started already and we show up late and empty-handed.”

  “At least Kearn will not be disappointed,” Galdoth said. “Now that we fetched that pretty sword for his flame-haired pet!” Aidan heard this and went stock-still.

  “More like a guest, she is!” Blarrak laughed. “The way he put her up in the top chamber like that. Feeds her better victuals than what we get! I have no idea what he sees in her. Strange skin.” He paused and made a face that would curdle milk. “So dark and… pink!”

  “She bested him with the sword,” Drang said. “I know. I was in Baen-Edge when it happened. I think Kearn finds that… attractive.”

  Antoinette! Aidan though
t. A flame-haired swordmaiden with pink skin? It has to be!

  “Maybe you are right, Galdoth!” Drang said wickedly. “Maybe Kearn will put in a good word to the master for us. Might save our heads too. Come on, men!” And with that, the eighteen Paragor Knights surged into the woods a little to Aidan’s right.

  Aidan watched them go. He stood up, his mind whirling. “What do I do? They have Antoinette locked away somewhere in Paragory!”

  “Much has been lost,” came the voice of King Eliam. “Much must be found. I will be with you.”

  Aidan tucked the parchment into one jacket pocket and the sapling carefully into the other. Then he tore off after the Paragor Knights without a clue as to what he would do when he caught up to them.

  The Paragor Knights moved surprisingly fast on foot through the forest. Apparently they were used to the uneven terrain. Aidan tripped and staggered along behind the knights as best he could. Eventually, Aidan got the hang of it, and he began to gain on them. But his mind raced faster than his feet.

  He needed to do something… and fast. If they left the forest and got to their dragons, they’d go airborne. He would never catch them then. There was really only one thing to do. After all, Galdoth was unarmed. All Aidan had to do was wait for the right opportunity.

  He didn’t have to wait long. Aidan saw the Paragor Knights round a bend in the forest path, and Galdoth-without a weapon-was last. Not far ahead of him was Blarrak. Aidan quietly sprinted up behind Galdoth, grabbed the collar of his armor, and rammed him headfirst into the nearest tree. Galdoth fell away limp.

  Aidan turned just as Blarrak’s barbed spear came stabbing for Aidan’s midsection. Aidan rounded his back, and the spear stuck into the nearby tree, leaving Blarrak with little to defend himself… except the war horn that hung from his neck. As he reached for it, Aidan used both hands to thrust Fury at Blarrak’s chest. Blarrak fell forward.

  The battle had been brief, but it had cost Aidan precious minutes. If he couldn’t catch them in time, all his efforts would be for nothing. Aidan looked at the two fallen warriors. Between the two of them, he thought, there ought to be enough armor that fit.

  17

  IN KING BROWER’S PALACE

  M ist and smoke from burned-out fires drifted over the eerie quiet of the now still battlefield. Paragor’s attack had been repelled, his forces overwhelmed by Alleble’s response. It seemed at first to be a total victory against the enemy.

  Nock flew low to the ground, searching the blackened wreckage. It was a grim task, looking for a friend among the dead. Still, Nock searched on. He had never known another Glimpse with as tough a hide as Sir Mallik. If anyone could survive such carnage, Mallik could.

  So lost in thought was Nock as he flew over a thin veil of mist that he almost missed it. He pulled on his dragon steed’s reins and circled back to the hilltop. The haze parted as the winged beast lighted on the ground. Nock leaped off and ran to the charred remains of another dragon… Mallik’s.

  The stench was overpowering, but Nock knelt down, staring at his friend’s steed and thinking. The dragon had died in the fire-that much was clear. No shaft or spear had forced Mallik out of the sky. Mallik always did prefer fighting on foot, Nock reasoned. But why did he come to this place?

  Nock found the answer at the bottom of the hill. There, blasted and burned, was the skeleton of a catapult. Scattered all around it were dozens of bodies, and, to Nock’s disgust, not one of the bodies had a head.

  This was a great puzzle indeed. For surely the dragon was the one Mallik rode from Alleble. And no doubt Mallik would wreck a catapult and take on its crew, but the dead there had not been smashed by Mallik’s great hammer. This is blade work, Nock thought. Or axe.

  A shadow glided across the ground, and a large green dragon landed next to the wrecked catapult. “This is the very spot where I last saw Mallik!” said Sir Rogan as he clambered out of his saddle. “Your eyes are sharp, archer!”

  “Not as sharp as your axe,” Nock replied. “Unless my eyes deceive me, this was your work.”

  “It was.” Sir Rogan bowed and his long blond hair draped over his face for a moment. “Mallik was surrounded by the squad you see here-Paragor’s finest, but I, uh… removed the threat.”

  Nock swallowed and adjusted the collar of his tunic on his neck. “Did you see where Mallik went after that?”

  “Nay, I flew off and busied myself among the enemy,” Sir Rogan replied. “But it was not long afterward, I heard the explosion that engulfed this place in fire.”

  Nock nodded. “Oswyn’s fire powder.”

  “Again, nay,” Sir Rogan said. “Our healer’s lethal powder might have taken out the rest of the catapults, but not this one. The blast here was well before the others.”

  Nock looked again at the siege weapon’s twisted frame. “So Mallik found a way to destroy the first,” he said, thinking aloud. “Perhaps he threw a torch into one of their wagons. To linger here would have ended his life, so he must have fled. But then where did he go?”

  Nock walked around the perimeter of the scene. His eyes came to rest on a little stream that carved a narrow way through the battlefield. He shook his head.

  “We will find him,” Sir Rogan said. “If Mallik’s hide was thick enough to endure a strike from the Wyrm Lord, he would certainly survive this little blast. And besides, this is Mallik’s country. I would not be the least bit surprised if he knew some secret passage. For all we know, he could already be in King Brower’s hall toasting our victory!”

  Nock smiled. “Your words hearten me,” he said. “Maybe we should-” Without finishing his sentence, Nock was off and running.

  “Wait! Where are you going?” Sir Rogan called after him.

  Nock did not answer; he was headed for the stream. If Mallik was trying to escape a fiery blast, he might just seek refuge in the water. He ran along the edge, staring down into the stream. There were bodies-all enemy soldiers-but Nock saw no sign of his friend. Then he stumbled and almost fell into a ditch.

  “Sir Rogan, come quickly!” Nock called. “I have found him!”

  There in the bottom of the ditch lay Mallik. His beard and hair were singed and he was completely covered in black grime. Blood had trickled and dried on his forehead, and he lay very still.

  Sir Rogan ran up, saw the hammer in the muddy water, and then, next to it, the massive body. “Oh, no,” he whispered. “So he was caught in the blast.” Sir Rogan yelled and slammed his axe to the ground.

  Nock leaped down and went to Mallik. “Alas, my friend,” Nock said, collapsing upon Mallik’s chest. “I did not think we would part ways like this. We should have stood together upon the walls of Alleble, defying Paragor and his minions.”

  “We might yet,” came a quiet voice. “If you would just get off of my chest so I can breathe!”

  “Mallik?” Nock fell away.

  Mallik’s face contorted into a grin.

  “Mallik! Praise to King Eliam! You live!”

  Mallik coughed harshly and tried to sit up.

  Rogan leaped down into the ditch. “You big ugly ogre!” he said, laughing and wiping his eyes. “How long were you going to let us believe you were dead?”

  “Not long,” Mallik said with a wink. “I must say it is comforting to know that you both care!”

  The three of them howled with laughter.

  Several hours later, after Mallik had been tended to, the leaders from Alleble met in the cavernous throne room of King Brower, the ruler of the Blue Mountain Provinces. Dark purple banners hung from the arched ceiling, and golden light rained in from a row of diamond-shaped windows on the east side of the room. Dozens of doughty Glimpse warriors stood like statues in perfect rows on either side. Each soldier’s hands folded atop the haft of a hammer, mace, or axe. But if the Great Horns of Ludgeon sounded, the Stone Sentries-as they were called-would spring to life and defend the Blue Mountains with the ferocity of a sudden storm.

  King Brower sat upon an uncomfortable-looking g
ray throne roughly hewn from a massive block of granite. He wore an assembly of plain leather and plate armor. He had no royal scepter, but a fearsome warhammer was slung on his back.

  “I do not understand,” whispered Nock to Mallik. “Why does a great king sit upon such an unremarkable throne?”

  “King Brower could have a magnificent seat, it is true,” Mallik replied quietly. “Hammer and chisel would sing at his command, but King Brower wishes to remember his place before the one true King of this Realm. And so he chose not to have his throne made of blue granite.”

  “Which one of you is called Oswyn?” King Brower asked. His voice was deep and resonated in the cavern.

  Sir Oswyn bowed and said, “I am he.”

  “Come nearer, Sir Oswyn,” the king commanded, peeking out from underneath his thick white brows. His pale blue eyes were kindly but possessed the tranquillity of a snowcapped volcano.

  Sir Oswyn stepped forward. “I am at your service, sire.”

  “Nay, Sir Oswyn,” said the king. “It is I and the whole of the Blue Mountain Provinces who are at your service. We deem ourselves the friends of fire, for by it we forge and make metals do our bidding. But never have we seen fire do what you made it do.”

  King Brower stood and inclined his head. His mane of white hair flowed over his broad shoulders. His beard, forked into two simple braids, dangled for a moment and came to rest again upon his chest. Sir Oswyn noted that the only ornament upon the king was a large purple gem set in a silver necklace that rested on his chest.

  King Brower smiled, noting Oswyn’s gaze. “It is an amethyst,” the king explained. “Mined by my own hand from the caverns at the bottom of Falon’s Stair. I will see to it, clever knight, that you have such a stone before you depart this place.”