Kallum's Fury (Lake of Dragons Book 2)

by E. Michael Mettille

  Perrin slipped from her chair and fell to her knees. All of the events since the return of the dead-eyed men, since Ymitoth’s death, happened so fast she hadn’t proper time to process them. As the tears rained down her cheeks, all of it flooded into her mind at once. “Where be all the peace promised by the death of that wicked god?” she wept. “If only me eyes would have never fell on that perfect face and me heart didn’t be fluttering so whenever me Maelich been around. If only he ain’t never found me in that hut, I might have died there and never been feeling any of this.”

  Both Leisha and Cialia rushed over to her, knelt beside her on the floor, and began rubbing her back. “We have all suffered great loss, Perrin,” Leisha whispered.

  Perrin pushed them away and stood wrangling the sadness and stuffing it deep down into her belly where it could boil into rage. The tears ceased as fury washed over her face. “No!” she shouted. “Ye with your causes and your missions and your terrible purpose, I don’t be caring about none of it. Both of ye pushed me husband to fight that god. All I ever be wanting was to hold him and love him and give him children for us to be raising and teaching and loving. Ye two witches pushed him into fighting Kallum. If he didn’t always be feeling like he had to be saving everybody, maybe we’d have been having a peaceful life.”

  “Perrin, please,” Cialia implored, reaching her hand out toward the frantic woman.

  Perrin batted the hand away. “No!” she shouted again. “I be going back to me castle. I’ll be leading me people to rebuild their homes. Ye two witches can be staying here and plotting and scheming. I’ll be finding me husband and me son on me own. And when I be bringing them both back home, I’ll be keeping them for me self.”

  Leisha looked toward the ground, took a deep breath, and said, “Love, I understand your pain, and I feel your loss. Your husband is still my son, and your son my grandson. I love them just as much as you do. We are all feeling loss right now. I think if you search your heart though, you will realize the things you love about Maelich are the very things that make him do what he does. He is a hero. He stands up for those who cannot stand up for themselves. He is larger than life.”

  Perrin absently wiped at her cheek and continued to stare into Leisha’s eyes.

  “I do not know why he left us,” Leisha continued. “I have my suspicions, but all of them are loose conjecture based on what I know of my son. Fleeing with a corpse is definitely something I would not have expected from him.”

  “I do be loving him,” Perrin’s tone had lost all of its fury and shrunk into something that sounded like complete defeat. “It hurts me that he be leaving me on me own. I be aching for his pain too, but I ain’t got much more heart to be giving. What of me son, me beautiful babe so new to this world? What could be happening to him right now, me perfect Geillan? Me husband be having to battle his own demons, and I be hoping someday he be coming back to me. I can’t be waiting for that though. Life be trudging on with or without him in it.”

  Leisha put an arm on each of their shoulders and pulled both women toward her, “I think we have had enough for one day. Let us rest now. Tomorrow, we can look at this with clear eyes. Kallum yet lives. He has shown himself. I have no doubt it is he who holds your precious Geillan hostage. There can also be no doubt the Dragons will soon need the warriors of Druindahl to defend them. Perrin, I feel it would be wise to call our people and our warriors here, especially in Maelich’s absence. The forest will provide us security to regroup and prepare for the coming storm.”

  Perrin simply nodded. She had more words, more arguments aching for a voice, but the voice that would carry them into the world had neither the energy nor the desire to propel them into reality. In fact, not one of the queens huddled together in that circle found any desire to share any further words. All three of them bore heavy thoughts requiring processing. Too many emotions flooded their minds for any of them to view anything logically until there was time to sort through it all. Each of them retired to her respective room to rest and reflect on everything that had happened and everything that was to come.

  chapter 44

  the tiger and the bear

  No life remained in the vast, scarred clearing that used to be a forest filling the space between the great field west of Fort Maomnosett and the beach at Biggon’s Bay. Many corpses of men, grongs, and trogmortem littered the ground, but no souls haunted the place. The beasts from across the Great Sea would never allow the men of Havenstahl to collect their dead and—aside from the giants—most of those monsters didn’t care enough for ceremony to bury or burn their dead during times of war. A handful of trogmortem clans would mimic the ceremonies of the giants. However, more of them left the carcasses to feed the circle of life. Traditional trogmortem beliefs were far deeper and more complicated than their monstrous appearance would suggest.

  In that field—a wasteland of broken carcasses—two gods battled with all the fury of Ouloos. Moshat, the mighty bear, pushed the great, white tiger back almost as far as the short cliffs bordering the beach at Biggon’s Bay. Swatting with his powerful arms and snapping with his massive jaws, the god of the mountains slowly gained ground. Brerto was not one to submit easily though. He fought back against the mighty bear, slashing and tearing with his claws while snapping and biting with his equally massive jaws. The two smashed and hammered each other, ripping flesh and spilling the blood of gods all across the scarred field. They remained locked in combat, viciously attacking one another until the last lights of day threatened to expire.

  Finally, with the waves of Biggon’s Bay crashing against his back paws, Brerto hollered in a voice both beautiful and terrifying, “Enough!”

  Moshat, the great and mighty bear, paused in his assault. “What is this?” he asked. “Is the mighty and terrible Brerto submitting beneath my strength?”

  “See it as you will. Your views mean very little to me, brother,” Brerto scoffed as he gave up the form of the mighty tiger in favor of the old wizard of Alharin. “Our reason to claw and tear at each other has been eliminated. Cialia has scattered my army and Kallum has fled before her might…coward.”

  “The princess of the Lake has found her flame,” Moshat smiled as he followed his brother’s lead and abandoned his animal form. “It appears you have failed.”

  “Cialia finding her flame was definitely not part of my plan, but do not fool yourself into believing you have won anything. That flaming wench has burned some of my armies and scattered the rest, but those remaining will regroup. Havenstahl has fallen. Alhouim will follow. Both will be mine.”

  “After all your boasts about how cunning you were to dupe us into this battle, your true colors show,” Moshat’s eyes narrowed. “Kallum gets the fiery heir, and you get the greatest city of men.”

  “Havenstahl?” Brerto chuckled, “It is a wasted ruin. More importantly, it is only the beginning. All of Ouloos will burn. Men, dwarves, Dragons, even you and our pathetic brother, you all will burn. Maelich’s son will unleash a fury like nothing this world has ever seen. Once it has been completely destroyed, I will rebuild it and rule it all.”

  Moshat leaned his head back and laughed, “You will not even have Havenstahl. I will fill your eyes with my glory at every turn; the armies of men and dwarves will fight with every scrap of determination in their hearts; and do not forget about our mighty brother, Kaldumahn.” He shook his head as his lips twisted from a wide smile to a contempt-filled sneer, “Besides, even if you proved mighty enough to make good on your boasts, this world would belong to Kallum. You have only ever been his faithful pet; a scrod sniffing about his feet sustaining yourself on the scraps that fall from his table.”

  “Your bravado amuses,” Brerto beamed. “Say what you will. We both know you and our brother Kaldumahn will burn as you fruitlessly defend a lost cause.” His smile faltered the slightest bit as he added, “And I am equal with Kallum. I will rule beside my brother, not beneath him.

  Moshat remained silent while a scowl cut deep lines
into his face. The debate had become useless. On top of that, it was becoming more and more difficult to believe the bold words trumpeting from his mouth with all the bravado Brerto had suggested. As much as he hated admitting it to himself, Brerto was probably correct. Geillan was a power like nothing Ouloos had ever seen. In Kallum’s hands the boy would become a destroyer. Of course, he and Kaldumahn would search and attempt to find the fiery heir; try to stop Kallum’s scheme before it had a chance to mature. The odds of finding the child were so slim it was challenging to harbor any real belief in the idea.

  In an instant, Kaldumahn stood before them both, “I have failed. Havenstahl has fallen, and many of her souls have returned to the Lake.”

  Before Kaldumahn could address him, Brerto said flatly, “The odds no longer favor me. Farewell, my brothers. Feel free to contemplate your demise until I return in glory to destroy you both.” He vanished as quickly as Kaldumahn had arrived.

  “Coward,” Moshat spat. Then he turned his attention to Kaldumahn. “What of Kallum? How did you fair?” he asked.

  “That was not Kallum,” Kaldumahn replied somberly. “During the battle, I believed it to be. However, as I tended my wounds in the Sobbing Forest, I realized the being I fought in the skies over Havenstahl was not quite him.”

  “Perhaps he has changed,” Moshat shrugged. “The twins did scatter him to the wind.”

  Kaldumahn shook his head, “No, this being was something else.”

  Moshat’s eyes widened again, “Has Ijilv found a way to mimic our fallen brother and show his true nature?”

  “Perhaps,” Kaldumahn stroked his beard. “Ijilv has been such a mystery—remaining withdrawn as he is wont to do—it is difficult to say if it was truly him. I remain uncertain.”

  “If not Kallum and not Ijilv, then whom did you face?”

  “I do not know. He was more powerful than any of us though, even more powerful than Kallum had been.”

  Moshat pondered the idea for a moment, “Brerto spoke of Kallum and his priests. Surely if they are in league together, Brerto must know with whom he is dealing. He is damnable and evil, but he is perhaps the wisest among us.”

  “Perhaps,” Kaldumahn agreed, “he may be the wisest among us. That does not make him infallible though. His ego gets in his way often enough. He may believe the eagle I faced over Havenstahl is, in fact, Kallum. However, I do not.”

  “Whoever it was who took the form of the eagle and bested you over Havenstahl, one thing is certain.”

  “What is that, Moshat?”

  “Though it seems impossible, we must find and destroy him,” he paused and gazed out over the bay. “And retrieve Maelich’s stolen son.”

  chapter 45

  across the sea of sadness

  Maelich leaned up against a barrel, rocking back and forth as high waves tossed Melancholy Mistress—the ship he and Ymitoth had procured to ferry them across the Sea of Sadness—enough to earn a bit of grumbling from his belly. The crew buzzed; sailors ran back and forth doing this and that, making the final preparations to drop anchor in the Bay of Danggytrint. Maelich paid them little attention. It took all of his focus to keep the meager contents of his belly from spilling out onto the deck. The three-day sail represented his first time at sea—or even on a boat at all for that matter.

  “Ye be looking a bit green, lad,” Ymitoth strolled up sporting a devious grin. “The sea she don’t be counting ye as friend.”

  The simple act of shaking his head made the world dip this way and then that. “No, no she doesn’t indeed,” he replied softly.

  Ymitoth chuckled, “Just try to be keeping it together a wee bit longer. The captain be giving us a small boat what will carry us to the shore. I’ll be doing the rowing so ye can be focusing on the pier and keeping all what’s in your belly down. We’ll be looking for a fellow with the name, Kinner. He’ll be taking that boat from us and supplying us with some horses for the rest of our journey.”

  Maelich drew in slow, deep breaths, filling up his cheeks as he released the air through a thin slit in his lips, “Horses will be good, far better than these waves at least.”

  “Aye,” Ymitoth agreed as he strolled away chuckling.

  The rest of the journey into shore took the better part of two hours, all of it a blur for Maelich. Luckily, Ymitoth handled everything. He dealt with the ship captain, rowed the boat, and finagled with Kinner over the horses. By the time Maelich slipped free from the grasp of the Sea of Sadness, Ymitoth had managed all remaining necessities for the final leg of their trek. He had two solid-looking horses in tow as he strolled up to the bench where Maelich slumped.

  “Ye be looking a bit fresher than the green muck I spoke with on that ship,” Ymitoth said as he tied the horses off. “Are ye looking to take some food before we get back to that trail, or would ye rather be hitting it hard straight away?”

  Maelich shook his head, “I am feeling much better, but I couldn’t eat a thing right now. If you can manage without food, I would just as soon get a head start on tomorrow’s journey.”

  “Aye,” Ymitoth nodded. “The trail she be a calling me too. That sun will be giving us half a day more. Let’s be taking what he be giving.” An odd smirk slipped onto his face as he scratched his head and added, “There be just one more thing what’s been bugging me since the second night out on the Sea of Sadness.”

  “What is that?” Maelich asked as he slowly rose to his feet.

  “Ye’d been tossing and turning. Of course I figured that been on account of how the waves affected ye so. But ye were mumbling all sorts of oddness, like blue men and caves,” he paused a few moments before adding, “and that white horse again.”

  “Oh yes,” Maelich nodded and looked toward the ground. “I forgot to mention my latest visit from the white horse. That sea sickness kept all of my focus. Indeed, the white horse came to see me again. He spoke a little more plainly to me this time, and I didn’t have the sensation of falling off of a cliff or drowning. I did wind up alone in pitch black just before waking. It wasn’t nearly as bad as the other two meetings. In any event, he told me we should follow the southern road out of Danggytrint. It will veer slightly east after a day or so when we’ll reach a river. We should follow it another two days into a low mountain range where the blue people will find us.”

  “The blue people?”

  “That is what the white horse said. The blue people are our destination.”

  Ymitoth shrugged.

  The trail was easy, dry, but easy. Mostly cracked earth and sand surrounded them. Occasional patches of hearty, green plants dotting the landscape were almost too infrequent to mention. Luckily, Kinner had schooled Ymitoth on the dangers of running out of water in the “cracked land” as he called it. Between them and their horses, they drained all of their water skins on the first day of scorching heat with the sun beating down on them and no shade for protection. Once they made the river, it provided everything they needed aside from bits of food the occupants of four small villages gave them along the way. The common tongue wasn’t common in any of those settlements, but the inhabitants were friendly enough, not to mention eager to share with sun-weary travelers.

  They lingered a bit long in one village where the people were particularly generous. That set them back a bit, as did their full bellies and full horse sacks. Additionally, the sun proved exceptionally rough on Mountain. Since the big scrod was setting the pace, it was a slow one. By the end of the third day, they could see the mountains the white horse had described to Maelich during their last meeting. However, those rocky peaks scratched at the sky a great enough distance before the travelers it was obvious they would never have made them by nightfall. The fourth day, just before the sun had reached its highest point, the trail began to wind up into the low foothills marking the northern edge of those mountains.

  “Well, here be them mountains ye spoke of,” Ymitoth leaned over toward Maelich. “So what we be looking for now?”

  “The white horse sa
id the blue men would find us here,” he replied as he scanned the horizon. Large boulders dotted the landscape before them and the random greenery grew a bit thicker.

  A flash of blue caught Maelich’s eye from the periphery of his right side. As he turned his head toward it, he caught sight of a spear flying toward them a moment after he heard the whistling sound it made as it sliced through the air. Mountain’s hackles shot up from the base of his neck to his tail a moment before the spear pounded the trail immediately in front of the horses. The scrod lost all of his sluggishness as he bounded toward the source of the spear, a giant boulder roughly fifty feet up the trail.

  “Mountain, no,” Maelich’s tone was sharp and loud as he threw off his cloak and leapt down from his horse.

  Mountain paused. Then he growled, whined, looked back at Maelich, and took a few more steps.

  “Mountain,” Maelich hollered again as he drew his sword.

  Ymitoth appeared next to him, sword drawn, and ready, “I be thinking them blue people ain’t eager to be seeing us.”

  “It would appear not,” Maelich replied quietly to Ymitoth. Then he raised his voice and shouted toward the boulder, “I am Maelich of Havenstahl. This is Ymitoth, my father and mentor. We mean you no harm. We were sent on a quest by a white horse to find the blue people. I must assume you are the people we seek.”