FIERCE: Sixteen Authors of Fantasy

by Mercedes Lackey

  Neither Zerafin nor Avriel said a word. Whill felt his blood boil, but Abram did not look surprised. Roakore, however, snapped. He rose to his feet and slammed his fist upon the table. “Lunacy! Ridiculous! Dragonshyte!”

  Ainamaf did not rise, but his voice did, drowning out that of the furious dwarf. “Is that so, good dwarf, is that so? You, of all in attendance here, I would think, would listen to reason. You! Who have lost everything because of what the elves created, because of what they brought to your doors. The halls of your fathers stink with the putrid stench of dwarf corpses and Draggard slime! Yet you defend the elves. It is unbelievable, an outrage. May I ask you, Roakore, do your people know of your alliances, your allegiance?”

  Roakore’s voice was calm now. “What me people know, Ainamaf, is that I am a dwarf who knows right from wrong, good from evil, and truth from lies. And you, my friend, have the eyes of a liar.”

  Ainamaf glared back, ever with a smile. “Is that so?”

  “Aye.”

  Ainamaf waved his advisors away. “Leave us.”

  With a confused look but no words, they did as they were told. Once the doors had closed, Zerafin spoke. “I must give them my condolences for the death of King Ainamaf.”

  Whill suddenly understood.

  Ainamaf rose to his feet. “If I am killed here today, you will have waged war with Isladon, good King Mathus. You wouldn’t want that, now would you? And as for you, Zerafin, I should have killed you upon the temple steps of Orkalendor.”

  “Travvikonis. I am glad to see you still live, so that I may do as I should have done long ago.”

  Travvikonis only smiled. “Addakon has but one order: forgo this futile effort and surrender at once, to me, now! For if you do not, you shall all die, your cities shall burn and your kingdoms shall crumble. There is no hope. Give up and spare many lives.”

  King Mathus stood. “This is our response to your king, the betrayer. We will do as we have always done: we will fight till the death, and we will do it smiling. You my friend and your sad little band of reptiles have come to the wrong country. Now leave my halls before—”

  “Before what?”

  Rhunis rose beside his king. “Before your limp lifeless body is wheeled out of this city in a manure wagon.”

  Travvikonis’s wicked guttural laugh turned into a snarl. He jerked his right hand forward, letting loose a red glowing sphere of flame. Rhunis whirled out of the way as the fireball hit the wall with a bang and shower of sparks. As he came around Rhunis had already produced a dagger and let it fly across the room. The dagger was passed by another ball of fire. Then the dagger and the fireball stopped inches short of their targets. Travvikonis had mentally stalled the dagger, and Zerafin had stopped the fireball. Everyone in the room waited.

  “Do you wish to wage war on Isladon, Mathus?” said Travvikonis with a smirk.

  King Mathus looked at Zerafin, whose outstretched hand held the fireball in place. The fireball disappeared with a poof, and the dagger fell to the table with a clank.

  Zerafin turned to Travvikonis. “Leave this castle now!”

  “Then I have your answers. I look forward to seeing you again, on the battlefield.” With that, he left the room.

  The great doors shut and everyone inside said not a word for a long time. Finally Mathus broke the spell. “Rhunis. See to it that Dark elf posing as Ainamaf and all his people leave these castle walls. I want all of them accounted for.”

  Without a word Rhunis exited the room. Then Roakore spoke up. “Damnit, ye two!” he bellowed at the elves. “Couldn’t you have used yer damned magic to see through his disguise?”

  “No, good dwarf, we could not,” said Avriel. “It was a very powerful spell. It seems Travvikonis transformed his entire body—not only his outward appearance, but his aura as well, for when I looked upon him with my mind’s eye, he appeared to be Ainamaf.”

  Roakore responded with only a “Bah!”

  Abram spoke up, addressing the entire room. “One other thing disturbs me.”

  “Ha! Only one?” said Roakore.

  Abram ignored him. “Travvikonis did not attempt to kill Whill, though he knew who he was. Surely he would be greatly rewarded for such a deed. Unless…”

  Zerafin finished the thought. “Unless he knew that Eadon would not approve.”

  “Surely Addakon wants me dead?” Whill asked.

  “Surely,” Avriel agreed.

  “Aye,” said Roakore. “But Eadon may have different plans for ye than does his friend Addakon.”

  “Precisely,” said Abram.

  “Then soon Eadon will know where I am.”

  “This is true,” Zerafin said.

  “All the more reason to get you to Elladrindellia where you will be safe, and your training can commence,” said Avriel.

  “She is right Whill,” said Abram. “There is too much at stake here. I suggest we leave for the elf kingdom as soon as possible. You are no help to Agora dead.”

  Whill looked to everyone in the room in turn. “But I am no help to Agora if I hide either. I—we—have been on the run my whole life.”

  “Whill.” Avriel’s voice was firm. “This is but one of many battles that shall befall this land in the coming months, perhaps years. The best way you can help now is to travel with us to Elladrindellia, learn the ways of the elves, and find the sword.”

  “It is good counsel you keep, Whill,” Mathus said. “You would be wise to heed their words.”

  Whill knew they were right, but his vision of battle from the previous night showed all too clearly in his mind. He wanted to be there, to help in some way. But he realized the truth in their words. He would most help by following the elves to their land and training as his father had done before him.

  “Though it is not what my heart tells me, I see the wisdom in your advice and will heed your council.”

  “Very well,” Zerafin said.

  “Indeed it is the wisest choice,” agreed Mathus. “Now we have a choice before us. The truth of Ainamaf’s fate changes the issue at hand greatly.”

  He went to the wall behind him. Upon it sat a single lever made of metal. The king pushed the lever down and a great many clanks and gears could be heard within the table. What had appeared to be a solid table was not so, for suddenly a square piece lifted from the middle only a few inches before it began to turn 180 degrees. The piece finished its rotation to reveal a huge map of Agora, elaborately detailed. The piece then lowered back in place.

  Mathus opened a hidden compartment before his seat and began extracting small models of horseman and soldiers, which looked like a child’s army toys. He placed a set of red figures within the borders of Elladrindellia, of the dwarf kingdoms (aside from the Ebony Mountains), and of Eldalon and Isladon. He placed a set of black figures atop the Ebony Mountains, within the Uthen-Arden borders, alongside the red forces within Isladon, and within Shierdon. He then addressed the room.

  “As bleak as the battle before us seemed before, it appears that it is worse than we had thought.” He pointed at the black forces in Shierdon. “It appears we have lost an ally and gained an enemy. For as we speak, the lies that will lead Shierdon to wage war on my kingdom are already being spun, I assume. Eadon has successfully separated us from our allies. Zerafin, you are akin to Eadon; you said you have known him a great many years. What, in your opinion, will be his battle plan?”

  Zerafin pondered the map before him a moment. “It seems that Eadon is one step ahead of us. Long he has had to plan this attack, and so far it is going exactly as he had hoped. I suspect that Shierdon will indeed wage war on Eldalon, by sea and through the Ky’Dren Pass. Eadon will send forces from Arden to bolster the force that will come through the pass. By sea he will attack the many coast towns within your country, cutting off trade and supplies. At the same time he will send a force to attack the Elladrindellia borders, once again by land and by sea. Also the Elgar mountain kingdom of the dwarves will become a target, though Eadon will assume
the dwarves will dig in and defend. He will most likely attempt an invasion like the one you saw, Roakore, within your mountain. He will send in a host of Draggard. Not enough to take the mountain, I suspect, but enough to keep them busy for a long while.”

  Everyone took in what had been said. Whill suddenly saw the scope of their dilemma. The scale of battle would be huge, with Eadon having all the advantages. Eadon had successfully cut off the allies and would bring war to each of their lands, making a collective effort virtually impossible.

  Mathus gazed at the map as if in a trance. Finally he said, “Then what are we to do? We cannot send our troops to Isladon if invasion of our own lands is imminent.”

  Avriel rose. “That is just what Eadon hopes we will think. He hopes that now that we see the grand scheme, we will lose heart and hunker down in a defensive stand, one that will not hold. Perhaps his grip on Isladon is not so strong.”

  “I doubt that it is,” Mathus agreed. “Isladon has been under siege for not three weeks. They will not be taken so easily.”

  “Then we send a force to help Isladon, to take up the fight and try to gain back those lands. Roakore, I suggest sending word to Elgar Mountain to fortify their doors and ready their army, the greatest army ever to gather within those great halls. Together, Elladrindellia and the Elgar should take and secure the eastern shore of Uthen-Arden. We will take Fendora Island and its Arden navy ships there.”

  “Aye!” said Roakore. “An’ the Ky’Dren forces, along with the Eldalon army, will gather a great force at the Ky’Dren Pass, as we’ve done many times before. Never before has an enemy taken the pass, not when dwarves and men stood side by side.”

  Mathus smiled wide. “Very true, friend. At the same time, I will unleash the Eldalon navy and send reinforcements to Eldon Island.”

  Avriel pointed to Elladrindellia. “From here we can send a force of at least two thousand by sea to aid in the battle for Isladon. We would send more, but we must secure our borders as well.”

  “Aye, and Ky’Dren can send a land force of at least two thousand to meet with yer people in Isladon.”

  “I will send fifty warships, and a force of five thousand soldiers to Isladon,” Mathus said.

  Zerafin rose. “Then it is agreed. We have our plan. All of this must happen at the same time, and as soon as possible.”

  Chapter XXV

  Preparations Begin

  THAT NIGHT THE COMPANIONS SHARED a dinner with the king, it was the last time they would all be together. It was decided that Tarren would remain in Eldalon and begin the training he sought within the academy. Roakore was to leave the next day upon a naval vessel that would bring him to Sherna, and from there he would travel to Ky’Dren. It was determined that the road was too unsafe for Whill, Abram, and the elves to travel, so the discussion began on the safest way to get to Elladrindellia.

  “I do not doubt that Travvikonis is watching the roads leading from Kell-Torey,” said Abram. “It is certain the Hawk Riders are keeping an unseen eye upon them.” The meal was done, and Abram’s ever-present after-dinner pipe hung lazily from his mouth. If he was concerned with the events about to unfold, it was not evident. Roakore, on the other hand, appeared as tense as a bowstring.

  “Gimme a pint o’ Eldalonian brew, lass,” he said to one of the many servants clearing the table. “Now, as ye all be knowing, I got over two thousand dwarves o’ me own within Ky’Dren. Tougher than stone they are, an’ eager as all hell to take back our mountain. I think that meself and me boys should lead the charge. With my two thousand, and the two thousand Ky’Dren, we should be able to rout the beasts from the tunnels.”

  “Hold, good dwarf!” said Mathus. “I admire your bravery, and that of your kin….”

  “But?” asked Roakore.

  “But we have discussed the liberation of Isladon. We cannot split our forces between the mountain and the battleground.”

  “Aye, but you have forgotten Whill’s vision. He saw a vast black army o’ Draggard emptying from within the mountain, a slaughter o’ the forces we be set to gather. Whatever our strategy be, it cannot be one that allows that vision to become reality.” He looked around the room. “Be I alone in me reckoning?”

  “That is true,” Avriel said, “but neither can we hope to rout a hundred thousand Draggard from within the mountain.”

  “Bah!” spat Roakore. “Speak fer yerself.”

  “One thing we can count on,” Zerafin said, “is that the battle will take place at the foot of the mountain. Whill has seen it. Also, it makes strategic sense for Addakon and Eadon to make it so. Therefore we must devise a way to storm the beaches east of the mountain, perhaps Sentary. We should group up there within that coast town and make the march to Drindale, where I do not doubt the mass of Arden forces are stationed.”

  Abram blew a smoke-ring and nodded. “But the problem still remains: how to avoid the imminent slaughter that will come from the very mountain we march on?”

  Roakore slammed the table, startling Whill. “I got it! Ha-ha, we’ll blast the main entrance outta the tunnel! The eastern door is the route they will likely be takin—there ain’t another one for fifteen miles north er south. They’ll have to make a roundabout trip to get to the battle; that’ll take ’em hours. All we’ll need is ’bout two thousand pounds o’ blastin’ powder. The eastern door has a huge overhang above it, a slab o’ rock big as one o’ these castle towers. If we can drop that on ’em, they won’t be fer comin’ out too soon.”

  Whill spoke up excitedly. “Yes, and if Eadon and Addakon have been waiting to unleash the Draggard during the battle, they will not have bolstered the Arden forces stationed at the foot of the mountain. They will be weaker than we may have thought.”

  “Or,” Avriel said, and waited a moment for the excitement to pass. “They have prepared for such a thing and have built other exit tunnels.”

  “Bah!” Roakore spat once again. “I seen the tunnel I speak o’, me lady. That pass is tunneled through a mile and a half o’ hard rock. It took me ancestors two years to build it.”

  “Yes, good dwarf, but the Draggard have had twenty years.”

  “Aye, but they ain’t dwarves, is they, good elf?”

  “It is no matter,” Mathus said. “They would have had to plan the creation of another exit tunnel years ago, and you are correct, Roakore, they are not dwarves. The Draggard are animals and nothing more. They could not accomplish such a task.”

  “No, they could not,” Zerafin agreed. “But a very powerful Dark elf could create such a tunnel in a short amount of time.”

  Roakore scoffed at that. “Yer saying that elves are better diggers then me kin—that such a task is but a small thing to accomplish?”

  “No, no, that is not it at all. I speak only the truth. The Dark elves have power beyond reckoning, and they have no morals to stop them from attaining their power. To them, all is there for the taking. Nothing is safe; nothing is sacred. Imagine, if you will, a Dark elf with no respect for any other living thing. His only purpose in life is to gain power beyond comprehension. Now imagine that he has a vessel to store that gained power, and a hundred years to collect it. He has the power to melt the very stone you speak of with only a thought, and the resources to see it through. I do not boast of the Dark elves’ power, Roakore. I only speak the truth so we may all realize what we face.”

  Roakore looked as though he would speak but then lowered his head, eyes fixed up his calloused hands.

  “But if they have not built another tunnel, then Roakore’s plan would work, would it not?” Whill asked.

  Avriel smiled at him. “It would.”

  “So are we to assume that they have not built a second tunnel?” asked Abram.

  Rhunis began to pace around the table. “Whether they have or not, we are set to storm the beaches in what?—One week?” King Mathus nodded. “Then we must go with Roakore’s plan. If we are wrong, then we are back where we were at the beginning. So we will leave it to Roakore and his men
to destroy the tunnel. We will engage the Arden forces at the foot of the mountain and do our best to push them back to their borders. If any of the Isladon forces remain there, they will welcome our arrival and bolster our numbers.

  “I have sent five different spies to infiltrate Isladon and learn what they may. They shall return within three days. Until then we must go with what we know of the situation and prepare out troops.”

  “True enough,” said Mathus. “Then let us put the gears of war in motion, and may the gods smile upon us.”

  The following morning Whill and Tarren met Roakore at the docks, where a warship awaited the dwarf for departure to Sherna.

  “Aye there!” Roakore called to them. Tarren ran up and gave him a hug. “Alright, alright then, lad.” He patted the boy’s back. “Ye work hard in yer studies o’ the blade, boy. If ye learn fast enough, there may be a Draggard left for ye to kill. An’ take care o’ Whill,” he added with a wink.

  Tarren laughed. “I will, Roakore. Good luck getting your mountain back, too.”

  “Bah! Luck be havin’ nothin’ to do with it, lad.”

  Whill shook his hand. “It has been a pleasure fighting alongside you, friend.”

  “And with you. An’ if this war is anything like them elves think it’ll be, there’ll be much more fighting to take pleasure in, me boy.”

  “I wish I could be there with you when you retake the mountain. It will be a glorious day.”

  “Aye, that it will, lad, that it will.” And with that, Roakore turned and walked the ramp to the ship.

  In the following days, the castle was alive with activity in preparation for the battle. Hundreds of warships had arrived in great numbers and could be seen on the horizon. Whill wondered if Freston was among them. He had sent word to Whill that the ship was complete, and would be delivered personally by him and his sons. When the great armada shipped out for war, Whill, Abram, and the elves would leave with it on Whill’s ship. They would sail south with the armada until they reached the coast of Isladon. There they would break off from the pack and continue south one hundred miles clear of the coast of Uthen-Arden, then head east, and then finally north to the shores of Elladrindellia.