The Warcrown Legacy

by Michael James Ploof

  Eldarian gazed east, and Vresh’Kon wondered what he saw with his magical eyes. The elf stood like a statue, his tan skin glowing like polished copper. He wore black armor and was wreathed in a churning darkness. Crystals embedded in his matte armor hummed and pulsed with untold power. “Their chieftain is strong,” said Eldarian, his faraway gaze hypnotic. “He will not be easy to convince.”

  “He will bend the knee, or else he will die,” said Vresh’Kon proudly.

  “Words do not impress me, Vresh’Kon.”

  “Understood.” Vresh’Kon bowed before running and leaping off the balcony. The fall was more than a hundred feet, but with the power bestowed upon him by Eldarian, he conjured a spell that would slow his descent. He landed among his soldiers as the horn blared, warning them of the approaching tribe. A few drekkon jumped back when their leader fell to Earth, and Vresh’Kon grinned to himself as he strode toward the black gates of the drekkon fortress.

  He glanced back only once, glad to see Eldarian watching him.

  I will show him the power of Vresh’Kon. None dare stand before me in defiance, for one day I shall be the king of the new world!

  His warriors followed him through the gates and stopped as he waited for the approaching tribe. Fifteen minutes later, the drekkon crested the hill leading to the fortress, and their horns blared. These drekkon, cousins from the east, were much wilder looking than western drekkon. Barely clothed or armored, they wore little more than loincloths and bones, and their weapons consisted of wooden spears and the occasional metal sword, axe, or shield that had likely been pillaged from ancient sun elf sites.

  Most of the drekkon marched in loose formations, but some, likely the sub-chieftains and generals, rode upon large beasts of burden with scaly hides that resembled wingless dragons. One such monster continued forward after the army had stopped, and the fattest drekkon that Vresh’Kon had ever seen stared at him as he approached. The big drekkon raised his left hand lazily, and a hundred warriors rushed ahead of him to create a perimeter. With a grunt and a gesture, the chieftain ushered a warrior to the side of his beast. The warrior got down on all fours, and the chieftain used him as a step as he slowly clambered off the beast.

  Vresh’Kon swore that he felt the ground vibrate when the fat drekkon stepped down.

  “I have answered the call of the dark one. He who haunts the dreams of warriors with promises of a new world,” said the fat chieftain, looking past Vresh’Kon, possibly for the dark one that he spoke of.

  “I have called to you in your dreams, for I am Vresh’Kon, king of all drekkon, and—”

  “King?” said the chieftain with a raised, scaly brow.

  “Yes. You stand before your king, while you should be kneeling,” said Vresh’Kon.

  The fat chieftain let out a loud, guttural laugh that he shared with his warriors. “You are mistaken, little one. Murag kneels before no one.”

  “Murag, is it?”

  The chieftain straightened as much as his bulbous belly would allow. The drekkon was well over seven feet tall, with dusty, cracked green scales and a round face. His orange eyes were set too far apart, and his snout looked to have had a chunk taken out of it. Pointy yellow teeth were revealed behind his condescending sneer as he regarded Vresh’Kon.

  “Murag is my name, and I have come to speak to the dark one, not his babbling minion. Step aside!”

  The fat chieftain took three steps forward, and his warriors moved in as well, but Vresh’Kon held up a hand to stay his own forces. Murag pulled a giant club from the strap on his back and grinned at Vresh’Kon, no doubt thinking him an unworthy foe.

  And how wrong he was.

  Vresh’Kon didn’t produce a weapon. He didn’t move. Instead he held his ground, returning Murag’s sneer with a grin of his own. Vresh’Kon knew that the drekkon chieftain could use magic, for he could feel it emanating from the bulbous body and the club in his fat meaty hand, but the power was nothing compared to what churned within Vresh’Kon.

  “Step aside,” Murag warned, cocking back his club.

  Vresh’Kon remained unwavering. The club went back and came at Vresh’Kon with surprising speed. A split second before it made contact, Vresh’Kon raised his left arm to block the attack, and to everyone’s surprise, the club shattered into a thousand pieces when it hit his forearm.

  Murag stared at the broken stump in his hand before letting out a great belly laugh. He tossed the stump and cocked back his right hand, which began to glow with magical power, but it was Vresh’Kon’s turn. He moved in with the speed of a striking cobra, summoning his power as he moved and unleashing it into the chest of the fat chieftain with two glowing fists. The drekkon’s body rippled and shook with the blow, and he was taken clean off his feet to land with a rumble twenty feet away.

  “Kneel before me,” said Vresh’Kon for all to hear. “Swear fealty, and you shall be taken in by the eternal army.”

  The newcomers glanced at their chieftain as he struggled to his feet. Murag looked rattled, but he didn’t seem the type to give up easily. He collected himself quickly and summoned a glowing ball of writhing green magic into his right palm. Vresh’Kon braced himself, excited to test the opposing chieftain’s power. Murag unleashed the writhing green fireball, which sped the short distance toward Vresh’Kon in half a heartbeat. Vresh’Kon raised a glowing hand of his own, and the fireball exploded against his energy shield. When the sparks and the jade flames receded, Vresh’Kon grinned at a shocked-looking Murag.

  The fat chieftain bellowed a war cry and charged, but he didn’t make it far before Vresh’Kon hit him with a green fireball of his own. It exploded against Murag’s hastily thrown up energy shield, stopping him in his tracks. Vresh’Kon surged forward, lips peeled back to expose rows of long pointed teeth, and claws fully extended from wide-spread fingers. He leapt onto Murag’s chest and slashed through his energy shield, digging dozens of long gashes through the hard, green skin. Murag grabbed his opponent around the waist, trying frantically to squeeze the life out of him as those terrible claws raked at his face, dislodging an eyeball and tearing chunks out of his already mutilated nose. A tortured howl escaped Murag as Vresh’Kon bit into his neck and shook like a dog that had finally caught its prey. All strength left the fat chieftain’s arms, and Vresh’Kon yanked his head back, taking with it a chunk of scales and tortured meat. He backflipped off Murag’s chest as the terrified drekkon tried to stop the blood spurting out of his neck.

  “Bend the knee!” said Vresh’Kon, his voice like an avalanche, shaking the hearts of the newcomers. He had been speaking to their leader, but every one of the opposing drekkon dropped to one knee before him in a chorus of clattering bone armor.

  Murag managed to drop not only to one knee but two as his lifeblood spurted out of his neck. Vresh’Kon strode up to him, staring into the one good eye. It quivered with fear, bloodshot and terrified.

  “Please.” Murag’s tortured voice came out in a gurgle. “Spare me, and I will serve you forever.”

  “Who do you serve?” said Vresh’Kon.

  “I serve you, my lord.”

  “Liar.” Vresh’Kon sneered and walked around the defeated chieftain.

  “I swear it!” He coughed and sputtered. Murag had only seconds to live and was fading fast.

  Vresh’Kon glanced up at Eldarian, wondering what the dark one would do: spare the drekkon, or make an example of him.

  “Please…” Murag started to fall over, but Vresh’Kon caught him by a small horn at the base of his skull and yanked his head back. He placed a glowing blue hand on the chieftain’s forehead and healed his many wounds in mere seconds.

  The chieftain took in the shocked breath of a diver coming up for air and eyed Vresh’Kon with wonderment.

  “Who do you serve?” Vresh’Kon asked the new army. “Murag, or Vresh’Kon?”

  “Vresh’Kon!” they cried in unison.

  He walked around Murag and leered at the defeated drekkon. Murag bowed his head in shame
, and Vresh’Kon told him to stand up. Slowly, shakily, Murag pulled himself up and stood before his new master.

  “My lord—”

  Vresh’Kon stole his words as he suddenly struck with his clawed right hand and tore out Murag’s still-beating heart. He yanked it back and held it up for all to see. Even Murag, looking confused, tilted his head to see the gruesome prize. He fell over dead, and Vresh’Kon tore a chunk out of the heart with his wicked teeth.

  “Serve me well, and you shall be lords of the new world. Defy me, and I will dine on your hearts.”

  He turned from the shocked drekkon and strode back toward the fortress, glancing up at the balcony to see Eldarian’s reaction, but the dark one was gone.

  Chapter 16

  “I’m going with you,” said Avriel.

  Whill shook his head and sheathed his sword. He was fully armored and about to leave to investigate one of the two places he thought Kellallea had hidden Godsbane, when Avriel had entered the room. “It’s too dangerous,” he said.

  “Too dangerous…” she said, glaring at him as she disrobed and went to the wardrobe to dress in her own armor. “Need I remind you that I am a six-hundred-year-old elf who was laughing danger in the face long before your great-grandfather was born?”

  “Avriel, I don’t mean it that way. I know that you are a capable warrior.”

  “Good, give me a few minutes and I’ll be ready.”

  “I just think that for the children’s sake, both of us should not risk such a quest,” said Whill.

  “Alright, then you stay here,” she said with a wry grin.

  Whill let out a sigh and chuckled. “Fine, you can come with me.”

  “I wasn’t asking you, dear,” she said and then kissed him on the cheek.

  “Duly noted.”

  “Which do you want to investigate first, Wayvern or Wesserly?” said Avriel as she strapped her sword belt to her hips.

  “Wayvern.”

  Avriel glanced at him in the mirror. “Wesserly is north of here, close to Zerafin and the elven army. But you know that. Is there a reason that you are avoiding the north?”

  “Wayvern is closer,” said Whill, not wanting to have the conversation again.

  To his relief, she let it go, turning from the mirror to tell him she was ready. They walked out onto the balcony of their tower, and Whill opened a portal that would lead them to Wayvern. He glanced back through the room with mind sight and found the children sleeping soundly in the other room.

  “They will be fine,” said Avriel.

  He nodded, and together they stepped through the portal.

  Wayvern was located hundreds of miles to the southeast and was part of the Broken Islands. Whill had never been there before, but he had been reading up on both locations, and he had a good idea where Kellallea might have hidden the sword.

  “There’s an old temple that I want to search first,” said Whill, pointing it out to Avriel.

  They stood on the rim of a volcano facing north, and far below in the tangled jungle, the top of an ancient pyramid could be seen. Whill searched the temple with mind sight, hoping that he would see the power emanating from the sword, but he saw only the life forces of the many creatures of the jungle.

  “I don’t see anything,” said Avriel, who also scoured the jungle with mind sight.

  “Perhaps Kellallea has hidden it away in a special chamber,” said Whill. “Come on, let us find out.” He created another portal, and with Avriel’s hand in his, he stepped through.

  They came out at the foot of a wide set of stairs carved into the ancient pyramid. Vines and moss covered most of the structure’s outer shell, which had once been smooth as glass, but was now cracked and weathered. There was no indication of a door, but with mind sight Whill could see the outline of an entrance in the sloping side of the pyramid. He mentally pulled on the slab, which then creaked open slowly, protesting with a grinding groan.

  Avriel slipped by him, producing a glowing that illuminated the passage. The entrance led to a rectangular antechamber, ten feet wide and forty feet long. The walls were smooth and painted with murals depicting elves of old who had been lost to history.

  “Do you know these faces?” Whill asked.

  “No, they could be any number of old kings or rulers of the island. There were many different factions of elves back then. Some came here and settled the islands. They were peaceful fishermen, and students of the Ralliad arts.”

  The murals backed up Avriel’s claim, and further down they found paintings of elves going through the transformation to animal form. Others moved the waters with magic or lured the fish into nets with but a song.

  The antechamber led to a larger chamber that was immediately recognizable as a throne room. Statues lined the walls, reaching more than twenty feet high, well beyond the balcony that wrapped around the throne room and led to other parts of the pyramid. Long smooth stone benches in two rows of thirteen ascended toward the mouth of a giant stone snake, and in its open mouth sat the throne.

  “Who ruled here?” Whill asked.

  “I do not know.” Avriel’s voice was laced with melancholy and sorrow for things past. “This temple is old, perhaps ten thousand years. We lost so much history when the dark elves drove us from Drindellia.”

  “The dark elves seem to have left this temple the way they found it, or else it was never found,” said Whill.

  “This might be the place. But where would Kellallea have hidden the sword?”

  They explored the many halls and chambers of the temples. They searched every nook and crevice, and even moved stone they discovered to lead to secret chambers, but after three hours searching the temple, they came up with nothing. The dust on the floor hadn’t even been disturbed, and Whill could not feel the great power of Godsbane emanating anywhere nearby. He doubted that Kellallea would be able to hide such a power signature.

  “It’s not here,” said Whill.

  “No, I do not think so either.” Avriel gave the throne one last glance before taking Whill’s hand.

  He opened a portal to Wesserly Outpost on Aerros Island, and together they stepped through.

  Chapter 17

  Dirk quietly followed Krentz through the forest. They had been searching the city and surrounding forests for three days, but still they had found nothing. The high commander had offered them soldiers to help, but they graciously declined—something was going on in Pearlton, and Dirk was beginning to think that High Commander Jarrex had something to do with it.

  “How many children did the commander lose in the wars?” Krentz asked, turning south and heading back toward the city.

  “All of them,” said Dirk. “The poor bastard lost three girls and three boys. Only two of them had reached adulthood. He lost his wife as well.”

  “It is a tragedy, to be sure,” said Krentz. She stopped, glancing back at Dirk. “And tragedy changes people, makes them do stupid things.”

  “I agree that he’s hiding something, but he will never admit it. Perhaps we are wasting our time. You could just read his mind.”

  “He will know that I have,” said Krentz, heading out once again.

  “Well, it might come to that. We can’t be wasting our time chasing ghosts,” said Dirk, lifting the timber wolf figurine to his lips. “Chief, come back.”

  The spirt wolf was not in the trinket, but out in the forest somewhere. However, through the trinket, he could hear Dirk’s call. After a few minutes, Chief came streaking over to them and spun three circles around Dirk.

  “Find anything?”

  Chief barked twice. He hadn’t.

  “I don’t understand,” said Krentz. “I feel…There is something here, something very powerful. But every time I sense it, it disappears.”

  “The scent of death in the city, do you still think a necromancer is behind it?”

  “I did at first, but now the scent has faded.”

  “If they can hide themselves from you, then they are strong indeed. Come
on, let’s get back to the city,” said Dirk, and he produced the trinket and called to Fyrfrost.

  The dragon quickly brought them the short distance to Pearlton, but Dirk hadn’t been using the dragon to save them time; Fyrfrost was meant to remind the high commander who he was dealing with.

  Marsden was waiting for them it seemed, for even as they touched down in the courtyard, he came striding out, looking hopeful. Dirk noticed too how the guards upon the battlements watched them, as though expecting something.

  Accusations perhaps?

  “Have you found anything?” Marsden asked.

  “We have,” Dirk lied.

  Marsden looked from one to the other, searching. “Well, what is it? What have you found?”

  “Clues,” said Krentz.

  “What clues?”

  “Clues that lead back to the city,” said Dirk.

  “The city? Governor, I believe that if there was some sort of magical man in the city, I would know.”

  “Who said it was a man?” said Krentz.

  The high commander forced a laugh. “You catch my meaning, I am sure. If there was someone like the person you have described, we would now about it.”

  “Not necessarily,” said Dirk. He dismissed Fyrfrost, and the dragon returned to the spirit world with a roar that caused the commander to jump.

  He’s scared, said Krentz.

  “Marsden, what is below the city?” Dirk asked.

  The man pursed his lips and shrugged. “Just the sewers.”

  “No catacombs, no tombs?”

  “There are crypts, yes, of course.”

  “We would like to see them,” said Krentz.

  “I hate for you to waste your time with something like this,” said the high commander. “I assure you, there is nothing to be found. Perhaps your informant was incorrect. Sometimes rumors and legends are just that.”

  “Sometimes,” said Dirk. “But not always. Please, lead us to the catacombs. Beginning with your family’s.”

  “What are you playing at, sir?” said Marsden as he straightened slowly, glancing from Dirk to Krentz.