Kallum's Fury (Lake of Dragons Book 2)

by E. Michael Mettille

  With that, the three floated back to Perrin’s chamber and out the hole in the wall they had entered through. Loud footsteps and shouts of guards filled the hallway behind them, but they were far out of reach. Not that the guards would have posed them any challenge, but they had the prize they came for. There was no further need for them to remain in Havenstahl. It was time to bring the king of Ouloos home.

  chapter 19

  the road home

  Cialia sat in the sand next to the Lake of Dragons musing at its stillness. Her perspective was so much different there. Several souls had found their way home as she lounged, yet she felt no sadness for them. Quite the contrary, each cold mist finding its way to the center of the Lake brought her spirits just a little bit higher. Sure they were losing their physical existence, perhaps in horrible fashion. But the freedom, peace, and the sheer joy the Lake represented erased even slightest speck of woe. They were returning home, back to the source, back to Coeptus.

  Ouloos continued to spin on as Cialia rested on the beach completely detached, free from the weight of her duties and focused within. She felt so much lighter than she had for several years. No one sought any blessings. No one needed defending. There was only peace, quiet conversations with Helias and the other Dragons, and the perfect stillness of the Lake. She sighed and gazed up toward Helias.

  “I am going to have to return home soon,” she said.

  “You are, fair sister,” Helias smiled down at her. “Your people need you.”

  Cialia sighed again, “I know. Someone always needs something, a blessing to save their soul or a sword to save their hide.” She pushed her hands as deep into the sand as she could get them, enjoying the coolness. Then she continued softly, “It is my duty to do all of that saving.”

  “Yours is a heavy burden, my dear,” Helias smiled. “You are a very special soul who gives selflessly to all in need. This world owes you a debt, but you will never seek repayment. Serving others has always been your way.”

  Cialia frowned, “What if I stopped? What if I decided to stay here with my sisters and enjoy the comfort of this perfect place? Surrounded by my sisters until the end of time, I could be just like the rest of you.”

  “You could,” Helias agreed, “but you would never do that. Even now, even when your mind is completely distracted by the perfection of the Lake, your thoughts are of what you are leaving undone. For a few moments you emptied your head, but even as we speak it all floods back in. Does it not? You are here, of course, but you are also elsewhere.”

  Cialia shrugged, “You are correct, as usual. My mind is elsewhere. Everything is cloudy though. Perhaps I have pulled within myself like Maelich has. Does that make me bad? Is it wrong to seek just a moment of peace?”

  “Not at all, dear,” Helias replied. “You have lived in the service of others your entire life. Focusing on you for a few days is not bad, or wrong. Obviously you know the things you are leaving undone now will be waiting for you when you return. You will get to them when you get to them.”

  “Wise advice,” Cialia smiled, “wise indeed. I think I might visit Druindahl.”

  “Ah,” Helias began, “the princess returns home. I think that is a splendid idea.”

  “Yes I think it is,” Cialia nodded as she replied.

  “Remember love, a restless spirit only becomes more restless the longer it rests,” Helias warned.

  Cialia paused for a moment, thought about what Helias had said, and then replied, “Do you think it folly to distract myself this way?”

  “Not at all,” Helias shook her head. “I think you have spent far too long in the service and spiritual healing of others, and your spirit could use some time of its own for healing. I know you far too well to believe you will give yourself that time. I believe you will ride to Druindahl, spend a few hours, maybe a night of rest, and you will slip back to Havenstahl in a flash, skipping across time like you and your brother are wont to do.”

  Cialia grinned, “You do know me well, sister. I promise I will try my best not to do that. You can rest assured I intend to take a slow ride to Druindahl. My plan is to enjoy the road for as long as I am on it.”

  Helias’s eyes grew wide, “That could take a week or more if you ride slowly.”

  “That is my hope,” she replied. Then she bowed low and said, “Farewell, good sister, Great Mother, love begotten by love. Thank you for the hospitality.”

  “Farewell my dear,” the Dragon replied. “It has been refreshing to my spirit to have you so close again. You are always welcome here. This is your home as much as any of our sisters. May the road refresh you and bring you the peace you seek.”

  Cialia barely finished whistling before Purity charged up to the beach. She mounted, turned toward Helias, pressed the fingers of her right hand to her lips, kissed them gently, and then held her hand out and blew. Helias dipped her head slightly and offered a glowing smile in return. Cialia gave Purity a gentle nudge as she waved to the rest of her sisters soaring about all around the Lake. Good-byes, miss-yous, and well wishes followed them as they trotted slowly away from the Lake of Dragons.

  Approximately one hour had passed before Cialia spied the long strip that used to be the Lost Forest. She could see clear across it. The trees were different on the other side. Tall pines mingled with taller oaks. The distance was difficult to gauge, but she knew it to be roughly two miles across. The place had been a thick forest of sadness before Maelich had broken the spell and freed the souls. Of course, she had been there too. Coeptus had said Maelich could never have accomplished what he did had she not been with him. She never really believed that in her heart though. Riding along in someone else’s body didn’t make a soul feel very useful. Not to mention, after the battle everything was about Maelich. He wrote the book. He had control of the flame. He was the great protector. Fair Cialia babysat the sorry souls in need of saving while the mighty Maelich did all of the important work.

  “Where are you now, brother,” Cialia asked no one in particular.

  She received exactly the response she expected as Purity stepped from the lush greenery covering the ground all the way back to the Lake and onto the dirt of the path Maelich had taken more than five years ago when the Lost Forest still stood, none. Cialia knew it was the same trail because it still looked like normal dirt, nothing special, just dirty, brown dirt like any other dirt anywhere. It bore a stark contrast to the deep red hue that stretched out in either direction from her. That burnt, red dirt marked precisely where the Lost Forest had been and it stretched all the way to the sea in the south. She wasn’t so sure how far it stretched to the north. She had never been there, not even with her mind. According to the stories, there is a frozen sea far to the north where the snow flies almost all of the year, even for most of the summer. Those who believe the story say the forest grew all the way to that frozen sea and no snow ever landed upon it. They also say the red dirt remains just as free from snow. Perhaps someday she would challenge that story and investigate, but not today. On this day, she had no real desire to know.

  Purity trotted along happily. She was as big a fan of the road as Cialia. Neither had seen it in far too long. The horse neighed as a little more spring entered her step. An uncontrollable laugh escaped Cialia as she rubbed the horse’s neck. ‘What a perfect day for the trail,’ she thought, as she gazed up at the deep, clear, blue of the sky around her. The breeze tossed her hair about and she shook it even more in response. The freedom of the road had been sorely missed. Thoughts of Maelich fled along with thoughts of Havenstahl. Cialia’s mind was completely in the moment; trotting down a trail on a perfect, sunny day, riding her champion mare through a forest that was no longer there.

  chapter 20

  the battle at biggon’s bay

  Daritus leaned over a map of the battlefield and surrounding countryside he had spread out on a table in his tent. Kantiim stood across the table from him leaning in the same fashion. Two gold coins had been placed upon the map to describ
e the locations of the castle and the fort. Five small, wooden sculptures of fallon were placed at strategic points. Each depicted the location of one of Daritus’s generals. To the west, the map ended at Biggon’s Bay. It was filled with ten wooden ships representing the enemy fleet anchored there. Three of them were overturned. The report sent out by Spang suggested just over a quarter of that fleet had been sunk or at least burned to the point they would be useless for sailing. This fact brought little pleasure to Daritus being Havenstahl had no Navy. The bay was too far for any weapons fired from the ships to be effective on the fort or the castle. In the end, those broken ships would only serve to hinder any attempt at escape.

  Along the beach, several simple, wooden tokens represented the various forces they battled against. Among the trees just east of the beach sat a wooden figure of a dragon. “The report from Spang was promising,” Daritus said as he looked up at Kantiim. “However, I was quite surprised to learn they lost six during the mission.”

  Kantiim nodded, “I cannot remember the last time we lost a flame.”

  “How many await the call?” Daritus asked.

  “Ten,” Kantiim paused, looked at the ceiling of the tent, and then added, “maybe nine. I fear one may have passed along while waiting.”

  “It would not be the first time,” Daritus looked back down at the map. He adjusted the wooden fallon to the north of the path, dragging it into the middle of the wide road leading from Biggon’s Bay to Mount Elzkahon—the peak crowned by the palace at Havenstahl. Then he added, “Glord has held at the beach, even pushed the vile beasts back toward their ships.”

  “Agreed,” Kantiim nodded, “and Ygraml sits in waiting with twenty-five thousand horses. This war will be short my friend.”

  Daritus shook his head, “Glord has faced nothing but grongs thus far. The real nightmares have yet to join the fight. What is worse, we have not discussed the casualties he has taken.”

  “Where do his numbers lie?” Kantiim asked.

  “According to the report I received this morning, approximately one full third of his force has fallen.”

  “After one battle?”

  Daritus nodded absently as he continued to scan the map, “Chaag said these grongs fight with a passion and fury he has never seen from grongs before. He said they fight like they are possessed.”

  “Hmm,” he began to pace, “possessed by what, I wonder.”

  Daritus reached under his cloak, pulled out a shiny circle of prang, and dropped it down onto the table. It landed in the center of the map on its edge and then rolled in a circle until finally coming to rest in the middle of the clearing Fort Maomnosett overlooked. Dread filled Kantiim as he recognized the symbol in the center of the emblem. It was an image of a tiger leaning back and slashing at the air with its claws.

  “That is the crest of Brerto,” he gasped.

  Daritus nodded and frowned, “Indeed. It would appear our adversary is far more powerful than a handful of giants and an army of trogmortem and grongs.”

  “What will we do?”

  Daritus rubbed his neck and replied, “We will fight until there is no fight left in us, and we will have faith our gods will give us strength to protect our lands.”

  ###

  While Kantiim and Daritus discussed the new insight they had into the nature of their opponent, the gods they prayed to strolled through the battlefield. Of course, they weren’t physically present on the beach at Biggon’s Bay or the forest surrounding it. Neither did their feet actually touch the dirt of the road to Elzkahon. They were present, however, and they did stroll among the men and grongs cutting each other down that day.

  “Brerto is among us,” Moshat said. “I can feel him like a shadow on my soul.”

  “You do not have a soul, brother. We are eternal,” Kaldumahn replied as he surveyed the carnage surrounding them.

  Moshat disagreed, “We have debated this before brother, and I do not share your opinion. Nevertheless, it was a figure of speech. The point is, Brerto is here somewhere, hiding.”

  “He is,” Kaldumahn agreed but couldn’t resist reviving their old argument. “If we have souls, why was Kallum not spirited off to the Lake when Maelich destroyed him?”

  Moshat raised his right index finger next to his face and replied, “That is elementary, Kaldumahn. We were formed from the perfection of Coeptus which are all things. The same materials were used to create us, but we were created separate from all else and before all else, save Dragons. Ours is not to experience and feed the cycle, but to experience and remember so we may guide the cycle toward the path to true peace and enlightenment. That means we can never return to the source of our existence. It does not, however, mean we are not made of the same stuff. We have souls as everything else does. Our souls merely can never return home.”

  Kaldumahn shook his head, “I agree with all you say except that we have souls. The soul of man is what expresses itself in this physical place. It lives inside a sack of meat, an empty vessel that becomes the identity of a physical creature based on the experiences of that creature. It is limited by the laws of the physical, trapped as if by bonds holding it fast within that context. We exist beyond those laws. We express ourselves as we see fit when we see fit to do so. We can at one moment be a completely physical expression and the next be a completely spiritual expression. We can exist within or without all things. Souls do not share these characteristics with us.”

  “Then we are souls,” Moshat sighed, “souls that are not bound by the rules of the physical prison they were born into because we were never born into this physical. We came before it. As usual, you have made my argument for me.”

  “I did no such thing,” Kaldumahn disagreed. “We may be souls. You and I—as individual pieces of Coeptus that are everything—may, in fact, be souls. That is not what you said, however. You suggested that we have souls, that a soul is a piece of us, a building block. Obviously, that is not the case.”

  “You are arguing semantics, Kaldumahn. I swear you speak only to frustrate me,” Moshat grumbled.

  Suddenly Kaldumahn stopped and pointed to the northern point of Biggon’s Bay. “There,” he said.

  Moshat followed the line from Kaldumahn’s outstretched finger recognizing Brerto immediately. Long, straight, silver hair stretched back from the figure’s face draping down behind his shoulders while his equally straight and perfect beard came to a point around the middle of his chest and bore the same brilliant, silver color. His white gown decorated with prang etchings carried a glow from within. The fact was unmistakable, three gods occupied the beach that day, and they represented opposing purposes. Of course, none of the warriors battling on the beach could see them. They were there though, and they were all aware of each other.

  “Kaldumahn and Moshat, my brothers,” Brerto boomed. “How refreshing it is to see you both. It has been years since I bested you on the hill south of the Forgotten Forest. Welcome to the beginning of a new age for our world.”

  “I remember you fleeing after we beat you back over that hill,” Moshat replied in just as mighty a tone.

  “Ah Moshat, I would have destroyed Kaldumahn that day were it not for your interference,” Brerto replied. “I owe you a debt for that, and it will be repaid in due time.”

  “Come then,” Kaldumahn spat, “come test your might against me, you vile thing.”

  Brerto shook his head, “You are both simple fools. That is why you cannot hope to win. I will attack you, but I will not attack you yet. You will not know when I am coming, and you will fall.”

  “Why wait, coward?” Moshat asked.

  “There is a plan far beyond the capacity of your simple minds,” Brerto retorted. “I could battle you now, but that would not advance my purpose. What is more, I do not need to attack you yet. Though you are gods and bound by no rules whatsoever, you still impose them upon yourselves. I know as long as I sit and watch my work unfold, you are powerless to do anything but the same. Please enjoy what I have prepared
for you.”

  Before the words had finished leaving his lips, thousands of trogmortem stormed the beach. They leapt down from the ships that hadn’t burned and charged up from the water. In moments, bodies of men filled the air, tossed into the forest or back into Biggon’s Bay. Some splattered against ships and others broke upon the trees. Horrible fangs and slashing claws ripped others to shreds. The surprise assault caught them off guard. Once the shock slipped away in favor of action, Glord called his men to return from the beach, and they formed back up on the path. A large number remained in the sand battling grongs and trogmortem, but those that hadn’t made the beach, as well as those who escaped back to the path, fell in line. They numbered ten thousand, and they lined up ten across, shoulder to shoulder from tree to tree, one thousand deep. Shields and spears were all they showed their enemies.

  One of the trogmortem charged the phalanx, smashing into it with two back hands, left and right. He earned a spear to the throat for his effort. Eight he killed with two swipes and one more he bit the head off of before breathing his last. More trogmortem came, three, then five, then ten, then twenty. The men at the front fell as the rows behind moved up to replace them. The trogmortem fell far too slowly, one here, two there. They tore through the ranks of Glord’s army like a flesh eating disease, tossing men, clawing men, ripping them to shreds, or biting limbs and heads off their bodies. After only half of an hour, Glord’s force numbered little more than five thousand men, five thousand men steadily losing ground. Glord blasted his horn. The sound peeled through the forest. Moments later, Ygraml’s horn rang through the trees in response. A few more moments after that, the trail rumbled with the sound of twenty-five thousand horses.