Kallum's Fury (Lake of Dragons Book 2)

by E. Michael Mettille

  “Your son did this to you,” Cialia gasped, “but how, he is only just born?”

  “That is a story for later, Cialia,” Leisha interrupted. “First you need to tell me what has been happening in my city.”

  Cialia’s head drooped as she turned her gaze back toward Leisha. An attempt at a stern expression failed as she replied, “The man you left to occupy your throne peopled his army with mercenaries, thieves, and murderers.” She paused briefly and added, “Perhaps even rapists. Luckily, I arrived in time to stop at least four from earning the last title. Those four had set upon a young girl, Keiryn…”

  “Tesha’s sweet daughter?” Leisha interrupted.

  “Is dead,” Cialia answered. “She earned the interest of one of those men and when she rebuked his advances, all four attacked her. She managed to escape by clawing and kicking, but they ran her down in the forest. I gave them every opportunity to handle the matter with civility. They refused and fought with me until two of them had returned to the Lake. Then the glorious riders of Druindahl assaulted us on our way into the city. Only one of them fired the arrow, but almost all of them were culpable in her death.”

  “You killed them all,” Leisha’s tone echoed the numbness she felt, as her eyes reflected the horror of her realization. “You have found your fire.”

  “Yes I have, mother. I have done terrible things in the name of justice,” Cialia’s tone swayed between defensive and regretful. “I searched their hearts. All but twenty-one wished it had been their hand that drew back the string launching the arrow through Keiryn’s throat. She was innocent. Those men were like a disease, settled into the city I love. Sadly, I am torn about what I have done. On one hand I feel those vile creatures deserved the punishment I gave to them, but on the other hand…” her voice trailed off as her gaze dropped to the floor.

  Leisha closed her eyes as her head slowly shook back and forth. There were so many things she wished to express at that moment, but she had no words to give meaning to them. They were feelings mostly, pain and emptiness, a hollow in her soul. She had given birth to a god and that god was truly great and terrible, filled with an unwavering sense of justice allowing no room for error. Simply harboring ill intent was crime enough to earn death.

  Cialia raised her head back up and watched her mother wilt under the weight of what she had just learned. Is it weakness to temper justice with compassion? The innocent require a champion who can protect them. Is it wrong to remove a threat before it injures or kills them? Once the threat becomes an act, doesn’t punishment become vengeance? Is justice nothing more than vengeance then? Justice and vengeance; the two seem closely related kin. Why take the life of one who has killed another if not for vengeance? It is a lesson, of course, a lesson to all others that murder will not be tolerated. Is waiting until the innocent victim has been cut down, tortured, or battered to deliver justice any nobler than stopping the author of that threat before they can write the horrible story growing in their head? If the intention is known, why wait until the crime has been committed?

  Cialia sighed as she turned her attention away from the doubt stomping around her conscience. Forcing a smile back to her lips, she returned her gaze to Perrin, “Sweet Perrin, so beautiful, just look what they have done to your face. Come here sweet sister.”

  As Perrin fell into Cialia’s embrace, she rested the burnt side of her face on the queen’s shoulder. She had grown accustomed to the pain any touch caused the wound. It fueled her desire for vengeance against those who stole her child and brought about the tantrum that released his flame. The pain didn’t come though. Streams of fire should have been rushing away from the burn that engulfed the entire right side of her face, sending fire down her neck. There was no burn, no fire, and no pain. Instead, her cheek felt cool against Cialia’s shoulder, like a light, evening breeze gently kissed it with relief. The spot began to tingle, from her jawline up to the very top of her head and from her right ear to that side of her nose. It was not quite a tickle, almost an itch; something that balanced a narrow path between those two and mingled with the cooling sensation slowly washing away the memory of any pain. A faint glow danced in the periphery of her vision. It emanated from the spot where her face touched Cialia’s shoulder, the source of that not quite a tickle and not quite an itch as well as the glorious cool. The idea to be afraid of what was happening to her almost popped into her head. However, the sensation was too calming to allow it.

  Cialia pulled away from Perrin and held onto her shoulders as she pushed her back to arm’s length to admire her work. “There you are,” she said as she caressed Perrin’s right cheek with the back of the fingers on her left hand, “just as beautiful as ever. You have such soft and perfect skin. My brother is a lucky man.”

  Perrin’s right hand shot up to her cheek and examined the spot that had been so charred just moments prior. Her heart was immediately torn between sadness and elation. The burn was gone. The pain was gone. Both of those were good things. However, the only tangible piece of her son she had left was gone with them. There was enough of him in her heart. That would have to do. She finally answered, “If only he be knowing it.”

  Leisha finally managed to get past the mess of mangled emotions stomping through her heart and gave voice to more pressing matters, “Your father leads the armies of Havenstahl and Alhouim in a battle they cannot win.”

  Cialia turned her gaze back to her mother and did her best to appear confident, “Father is the greatest general to ever grace the face of Ouloos, mother. And Havenstahl still boasts the mightiest army ever to march into battle.”

  “They fight monsters and giants, Cialia,” Leisha sighed, “things that cannot be killed by men.”

  “Maelich killed a giant,” the new queen countered.

  “Your brother is hardly a man though, is he?”

  Cialia shrugged, “That is true. However, at the time of his trial, he was but a lad. I think father can do at least as much. You have never traded blades with him. He trained me. I have witnessed his mastery with a blade first hand. Believe me, my father is one man who can kill a giant.”

  “I wish I shared your confidence,” Leisha sighed. After a few moments, she added, “It troubles me you were unable to sense the danger. You have always been so connected to everything.”

  Cialia considered this for a moment, “That is troubling. My mind was so full of everything; I suppose I had to release it for a while. I have found my center again. This is where I belong. These people are without a champion. I am their champion.”

  “And the people in Havenstahl who still view you as the same?”

  The forced smile remained on Cialia’s face as she answered, “I have faith in my father. He is the greatest general this world has ever known. I will check on him tomorrow. I will send my thoughts to the battlefield and see how he fares.”

  “I have faith in your father too, but I also had the benefit of looking into his eyes before he marched to war. They were not the eyes of a great general confidently stalking off to victory. He looked like a man walking to the gallows,” Leisha’s gaze traveled to the floor, but her mind wasn’t registering anything it showed her. Instead it was full of visions of blood and death.

  “Come,” Cialia draped her arm over her mother’s shoulder. “You have faced a difficult journey. Let us rest and solve all of these problems when the sun is on hand to free us from dark and terrible thoughts.”

  “Wait,” Leisha said as she pushed Cialia’s arm away and turned to face her daughter. “Perrin’s and your father’s stories have distracted us from your actions. You defend and you justify, but I don’t think you believe your own words. You need to work through those feelings. How can you present yourself as a champion of these people if you doubt the actions you use to defend them?”

  Cialia’s eyes narrowed for a moment while a stern expression crept onto her face. The moment was brief as her eyes widened and the sternness fled, chased away by something more akin to hopelessness. “I hav
e done terrible things, mother,” her voice cracked as her form slumped into Leisha’s embrace.

  chapter 42

  the battle of maomnosett

  First light, the moment before the sun has peeked over the horizon, when the dark of night first begins to recede in fear of the sun’s fury. That first glow from the east caught Daritus’s eyes. Unable to sleep, the battered, old general leaned—with his good arm—on an old staff and gazed back at the great city atop the mountain he had nearly given his life to protect. The faint first bits of orange and red on the horizon gave the place a magical glow. How many had Leisha saved, and how many remained? Those remaining were far more confident than he was in his ability to defend them against the monsters at their gate. What if he failed? How many would die along with him?

  The plan was solid. It was good. Ymanchol’s progress had slowed on the northern pass to Biggon’s Bay and eventually stopped. That merely meant their enemy would have a clear path to flee back to their ships when faced with a mighty force at their front and equal forces at their flanks. It was a good plan. Why couldn’t he bring himself to feel as confident about it as Doentaat and Kantiim? It was his plan after all, and things were going mostly as he expected them to, even better in some regards. Still, something in his gut—emptiness maybe or this crippling sense of foreboding—kept him from sharing the bright outlook of his generals. They all cheered his name hollering, “Giant slayer,” whenever they caught sight of him. The entire force was flying high on wings he earned for them with a shattered arm, broken ribs, and the blood of the fiercest of giants. Why couldn’t he soar to those same heights with them? His gaze drifted down to his useless arm. If only he could blame his trepidation on his wounds. Sadly, they weren’t the cause at all. Despite an inability name to it, he was sure it wasn’t that. He would march into battle with no arms and only his forehead as a weapon if the need arose. It wasn’t a fear of dying holding him down. It was definitely something though, perhaps a fear of failing.

  Then something changed. It was subtle, barely reaching the periphery of Daritus’s thoughts. It was definitely there though, out of place with the grumbling of soldiers rising from slumber and the snores of those who had yet to join the new day. The battered, old general focused on that out of place…something. A slight change in the direction of the wind, faint, odd whistling, or something else entirely? His mind continued to chase after that intangible thing that was there, however impalpable. That something slowly grew stronger than just the raw beginnings of a hunch. The air had changed. It was the slightest current, but it was out of place with the light breeze gently tossing his hair around while he stood gazing to the east. Accompanying that minute change in the air was the faintest of whistles. It was barely a sound at all, but more than ample for the trained ears of a skilled hunter. Daritus had been that in his day. He had learned to pick the most imperceptible of sounds out of the white noise that was the wind and the leaves in the trees. This light whistling stood out amongst those other sounds to his keen ear, if to no one else’s.

  After a few moments of intense focus, Daritus turned his gaze to the western sky just above the open field that spread out before Fort Maomnosett. The big, dark shape was almost perfectly camouflaged against the still-dark, western sky…almost. Despite the near blackness of the sky, the battered, old general made out the shape of a large boulder. No siege weapons had been reported by any of the scouting missions. Giants probably didn’t need any though. The boulder looked to be just a hair shorter than an average-sized man, and it was not quite perfectly round. Before Daritus could fully process what his eyes were seeing, his mouth opened and the words came out. “Run!” he shouted. “Run away from the fort.”

  The words had precious, little time to reach any ears before the massive boulder crashed into the front of Fort Maomnosett. Only a few men camped within those walls. If those few men were slumbering, they were definitely dead. As Daritus continued to shout with all his might, two more boulders followed closely behind the first. By the time the last crashed into it, the structure was all but demolished, an empty shell of falling sticks. After each of those boulders struck, they continued to roll, bounding over the trench at the back of the broken fort, and over tents and men that were too slow or unaware of the need to get out of their way. The entire camp awoke, at least all of those who weren’t dead.

  Daritus yelled, “The enemy is upon us, to the front, men!” The order was unnecessary. In fact, his ears were more than likely the only ones to hear his command. The soldiers of Havenstahl were difficult to surprise, and he who managed it gained precious little advantage by doing so. In moments, horses were saddled and forming into their columns while foot soldiers did the same. Kantiim was up and down the ranks of his men, prepping them for the day’s battle. The field Daritus had marked for Havenstahl’s last stand would finally taste blood.

  Meanwhile, the catapults that had been sitting idle a short distance behind the fort waiting for a target finally let loose. Six fire balls raced over columns of foot soldiers standing ready for battle and over columns of horseman already racing toward what remained of the trees. Those fireballs had been fired in the general direction of the enemy. If the giants were close enough to fling boulders, they were close enough to be reached by catapult. Hopefully, if they didn’t cause any damage, they would at least instill a bit of fear. Once the scouts that had been dispatched to survey the strike returned, the weapons would be adjusted accordingly and fired again with ill intent.

  The horses had barely made the tree line when the monsters came. Before a hoof touched the trail, three trogmortem crashed into the charging cavalry, swatting, clawing, and biting. The collision caused more than a few men to fall from their mounts while those close enough to see it, yet still far enough back to take evasive action, circled left to come around for another pass. Meanwhile, more trogmortem came with grongs close on their heels. Accompanying them was the terror that no man wants to see on the battlefield, giants.

  “Hold!” Kantiim shouted down the first row of foot soldiers formed up in front of the ruins of Fort Maomnosett.

  The eyes of those men glaring out from beneath their helmets should have been glazed over with fear. Near twenty giants roamed the battlefield, tossing horses and men far into the trees with every swipe of their mighty arms. Some of them stomped, the bones of men and their mounts cracking and crumbling beneath their feet. Others grabbed and tore and bit and chewed. None of that had any effect on the resolve of the men standing tall in front of their crumbing fort and thirsting to taste the blood of battle on their lips. Their general had killed a giant in single combat. One on one, their leader stood tall and bested the fiercest of all giants. A man could kill a giant. Sword against sword, flesh against flesh, man could prevail. Many men swelled the ranks of Havenstahl’s army. The rampaging giants had taken the horsemen of Havenstahl by surprise. Those fallen would be avenged.

  “Hold!” Kantiim shouted again, as Daritus stalked over to stand by his side.

  “This is your time!” the battered, old general shouted with a voice like thunder against a sky still dark with the last breaths of a dying night. “I cannot march into that battle, but I am with you. We are all men. Our hearts beat as one, fueled by the fire of the Great Mother. Feel that fire. It burns in me, and it burns in all of you. I have shown you the way. Who will join me as a slayer of giants?”

  With one voice, each soldier in those columns of men together shouted, “Hoy!”

  “Hold!” Kantiim shouted again, noting the eagerness in each eye looking back at him from the crowd. They would descend on the field like disease on broken skin. He shot a grin in Daritus’s direction. Despite being beaten and crushed, the battered, old general carried himself with a swagger only the finest warriors can flaunt without appearing silly. There was nothing silly about Daritus. Kantiim walked over to him and said, “I see that light in your eyes, old friend. This battlefield is not for you on this day. Stand here and watch if you wish, but do not pick
up a sword.”

  Daritus smiled wide, “That depends on how well you have trained your men.”

  The battle in the field raged on before those eager soldiers. The horsemen of Havenstahl made a fight out of it once they overcame the surprise. They lost ground every time they circled back around though. By the time the sun showed its full form in the sky, half of the battlefield belonged to the invaders. Grongs fell, trogmortem fell, but no giant earned even a scar. Not one man in the thick of it proved equal to Havenstahl’s general. None could share the claim of the giant slayer.

  Kantiim shouted, “Hold!” once again. Then he glanced over at Daritus who gave him a nod. When he turned back to his men, he spoke the one word they had all been aching to hear, “Charge!”

  Daritus stood back as Kantiim’s force erupted toward the center of the battle. At that same moment, moved by the same command, the horsemen of Havenstahl disengaged and raced toward the trees, leaving the enemy to face a fresh batch of furious hell. Immediately after the horses disengaged, a volley of arrows filled the sky from behind the ruins of Fort Maomnosett. They blotted out nearly all the light the sky had earned with the rising of the sun. Grongs fell, trogmortem stumbled, and giants raged on. Kantiim’s men stopped abruptly roughly one hundred feet in front of the invading force and set their shields. Another volley of arrows filled the sky.

  Then a voice louder than ten men shouted from the mass of attacking monsters that had paused ever so briefly to collect themselves after being pummeled by arrows, “Attack!”

  The moment the words had left his mouth, Ott raced toward the line of men. Spears flew at him. Some glanced off, fewer stuck, but none slowed him down. When he crashed into the front line of Havenstahl’s force, five men fell back into the row behind them. Blades flew at the furious giant. Blood splattered from his arms and his legs. It didn’t stop him from swinging those mighty arms and kicking those stout legs. Men flew through the air. Men were crushed. Men were trampled under his feet. Finally, the rest of his force caught up with him and the battle began in earnest.