A Crown Of War (Book 4) (15 page)

As
proof of the old saying, “absence of mind causes a pot to boil faster,” the soft whistle of the boiling tea water shook him from his pondering of Zuree’s fate. He steeped the leaves and set the tea to cool. Helzendar seemed no worse for wear when Tarren pulled a chair up beside the cot.

“
Here, Lunara says this will help,” said Tarren through a mouthful of bread.

“
Bah,” Helzendar swatted at the drink, nearly spilling it. “Forget that traitorous wench−”

“
Hey!” Tarren yelled, scowling down at him. “Best be watchin your tongue, she be my godsmother.”

“
Elven godsmothers, vine cities, bloody rockin’ boats. Give me cold hard stone and steady ground, ye can keep yer elves, may they ro−” A dry heave wracked him, and left the dwarf panting and clutching his sides.

“
Bah, yourself,” said Tarren, “You ain’t right. If you had your head about you, we would have a row.”

“
Boy,” Helzendar laughed sickly, “I be whoopin’ your arse with one hand tied behind me baa−”

Tarren
shook his head as his friend strained against another heave, leaving his eyes bloodshot. “Drink the damned tea…who knows how long we will be out here. We got better things to worry about than your silly pride. A bloody war be wagin’ around us, and the enemy ain’t Lunara. So stop your pissin’…”

Tarren
spit out his last bite of fish with disgust. “What in the hells? Ugh,” he scraped at his tongue. He couldn’t quite place the flavor, and he didn’t want to. It was like dead fish and dog crap.

“
What ye fussin’ about?” Helzendar asked, amused.

“
The taste, ugh−disgusting. Don’t eat the fish.”

“
Why?” Helzendar asked with a chuckle and a look of anticipation for a punch line.

Tarren
frowned at his friend. “It be like eating shyte…ugh!”

Helzendar
laughed as Tarren again spit and scraped at his tongue. His laughter mixed with dry heaves once more, which only made matters worse. Helzendar grabbed a disgusted Tarren by the sleeve.

“
Seems yer elven godsmother be serious when she said to watch your tongue, baha! Ye can’t even swear like a man round that one.”

Revelation
came to Tarren, and he realized that Helzendar was right. “Shyte…ugh!”

Roakore watched as Whill followed the ancient elf into the crystal fortress. He didn’t trust her, and thought about trailing them. But he had his dwarves to worry over. Whirling his stone bird above his head, he gave a toss as he and the elven Ralliad flew to meet the draquon. His twirling weapon spun like the seed of a maple, speeding out before him to clip the wing of the closest draquon. The beast gave a shriek and flailed to the ground below.

The
Ralliad force tore through the advancing draquon with gleaming beaks and slashing talons. Roakore steered Silverwind into a dive, bringing them flying low over the dwarven ranks. His stone bird came whirling down the front line, breaking in two the leading spears of the Draggard.

Holdagozz
and Philo led the charge, their voices singing the war song of Ky’Dren in unison. The dwarves of both Ky’Dren and Elgar barreled into their enemies, unleashing the pent up energy of Whill’s enchantment. Picks and axes−gripped by hands made strong from days untold in the ancient mines−fell on the front line with devastating effect. The sun elves came over the ridge casting spells into the center of the Draggard horde. The dark elves attacked from the jagged outcroppings of the crystal fortress.

The
sky streaked with dozens of spells and counter spells, some so bright the sunlight seemed dim in comparison. Explosions shook the ground, adding to the steady rumbling of the armies’ footfalls. The dwarves took many casualties when a fireball got through the elves’ defenses and hit their rear left flank.

Roakore
surveyed the battle from above and gauged where the dwarven line was weakest. He steered Silverwind down, and mentally pulled his stone bird along with them.

“
Give ʼem hell, Silverwind!” he yelled as she flew him low over the heads of his kin.

He
leapt from the saddle and gave a roar, cocking his axe high over his head. The momentum of the jump sent him flying into three Draggard that had engaged a wounded dwarf. They saw him coming and turned, bringing their long spears to bear. Black eyes gleamed and skin peeled back from hungry maws as the dwarf king attacked his foe. The stone bird whirled in at the command of Roakore, catching two of the Draggard upside their heads. He kicked aside a spear and sunk his axe into the shoulder of the third beast. Yanking the blade free, he ducked under a swipe meant for his head and came up under the attack, burying his axe in the Draggard’s armpit. The beast reeled, its arm dangling, and a hatchet thrown from behind Roakore silenced the screams. A war hammer came sailing past to take the remaining Draggard in the head. Roakore turned to the wounded dwarf as his soldiers poured around them as if they were an island. The king’s attack had stirred the already manic dwarves, and now they pushed the front line forward many feet.

“
How bad?” Roakore asked the prone dwarf, who was trying but failing to prop himself up on an elbow.

“
Bah, me king, it be nothin’ o’ yer worry,” he groaned with a pained smile and a hand over his left chest.

“
Ain’t what I asked ye, soldier,” said Roakore, pushing the dwarf’s hand away to spy free-flowing blood. He grabbed a passing dwarf by the collar. “Get this one to the back, to the elven healers.”

“
Yes, me king,” said the dwarf, and hoisted up his comrade.

Roakore
turned and joined his dwarves in the charge. Spells continued to sing overhead, many coming down at them. Seemingly at the last second, the magical missiles would be intercepted by counter spells. Few spells made it through the elven defenses, but those that did caused incredible damage, the likes of which could not have been withstood by the dwarves without the protection of the elves.

They
reached the front line, and Roakore took up the shield of an injured dwarf and shouldered his way to the front. The dwarves at the front dug in their heels and raised their shields against the ocean of Draggard. The battle had stopped, it seemed. A line of dwarves with shields low protected the row from low attacks, and for each of them, a dwarf stood with a shield above. Still behind their crouching forms, a third dwarf completed the formation, this one raising the shield wall even higher.

Roakore
took up the rear shield station abandoned by the injured dwarf. He shouldered the tall shield against the spears that darted through the gap.

“
Hatchets at the ready!” Roakore bellowed. The line of shield bearers echoed the command to the ranks behind them.

“
Down!” he cried, and dropped low over the back of the dwarf before him. Those of the same station did the same, exposing the ranks behind them to the Draggard for a moment. A hatchet for every dwarf in range flew into the Draggard front line, sending it back.

“
Up and over!” Roakore bellowed.

He
was pleased when the shield bearing dwarves all moved seamlessly to create a ramp. Roakore braced himself as the hatchet wielders charged toward the front line and ran up the shield ramp. They poured over the ramps by the hundreds, using the momentum to push the Draggard back farther still. Soon, he was up and charging with his men.

Above
them, the crystal fortress loomed like a mountain, blocking out the sun and casting a long shadow over the land. Whill was inside somewhere, searching for their only way home.

The
elven battles raged on all around them, and Roakore knew one loose spell could take out dozens of his fearless dwarves. He hated magic for that reason. A dwarf might train for decades, and more than hold his own against the likes of dragons. But an elf could learn one spell and wreak havoc on an entire army. It just wasn’t right.

He
scoured the aerial battles above, but did not spot Silverwind, which was neither a good nor bad sign. He trusted his mount’s fighting instinct, and Lunara's and Whill’s enchantments.

A
flash of light caught his eye close by, and three dwarves flew by overhead, on fire. Another explosion sounded, and still more dwarves sailed through the air spinning. Roakore’s anger grew as he shoved forward through the unmoving crowd. A wide gap had been made by the explosions, and at the center of a smoldering crater stood a dark elf. Roakore stepped forward through the flames burning dull in a ring around the shallow crater.

“
You,” said the dark elf, “King Roakore of the Mountains Ro’Sar.”

The
elf strode forward confidently, his arms crossing and hands resting upon twin sword hilts. His voice came muffled from behind a large, horned helmet, yet it reverberated like a bell. Large pauldrons set with wicked spikes sat a layer above thick plate mail. The armor was copper red with dents and scorch marks. A darker red cloak trailed out behind the elf.

“
Lad, I don’t be knowing who you be,” said Roakore.

“
I am−”

“
And I don’t be right givin’ a steamin’ shyte who you be, hear? All you be to me be dead!” Roakore charged across the crater. He could feel the stone beneath his feet and began to touch on it with his mind. The dark elf didn’t move, but rather, watched amused as Roakore barreled toward him. Roakore summoned his inner rage, and his heart leapt, lending strength to mind and body. He focused his will into the stone before him and pushed at the air with his calloused hands. The ground in front of him heaved and exploded forward toward the dark elf. A cascade of pebbles, stones, and boulders arched up and buried the dark elf where he stood.

In
the shadow of the crystal fortress, the dwarves held a collective breath before cheering the victory, many eyeing the stone pile as they fought off the nearby Draggard. Roakore knew better than to think he had yet won. He set his stone bird whirling and prepared for retaliation.

“
Get ye back! Press the lines, we be taking the fortress!” Roakore ordered his dwarves and the Elgar dwarves as well.

The
dwarves moved back, and none too soon. The stone pile exploded in every direction, but soon conformed and came together to swirl above the dark elf’s helmet.

“
I have waited anxiously to test the earth-weaving powers of the legendary descendant of Ky’Dren,” said the elf.

“
May his name become poison on your tongue,” Roakore spat.

The
dark elf laughed and raised his arms to the swirling stones. They split into two groups, which spiraled downward, encasing his raised arms. He slammed his stone fists together and stalked toward Roakore. A dwarf charged in from the right, only to be swatted away like a bug by a stone fist.

Roakore
roared in anger, and gathered loose stone to his arms as well. He surged forward, even as the swirling swarms of rock and crushed stone converged to form massive fists of his own. The dark elf leapt high into the air, bringing his massive appendages high above his head. Roakore leapt to meet him, forcing the collection of stone under his control to fly at the dark elf. They were as high as treetops when they collided above the battlefield. Silverwind appeared then, as if out of nowhere, crashing into the stone hands just as they shifted to strike Roakore. The quick deflection sent the blow wide, and Roakore came in hard, swinging down from on high as if splitting wood. His stone fists slammed the dark elf and shattered, sending sparks webbing across a yet unseen shield wall. Silverwind swooped away quickly, as the dark elf was rocked hard by the blow and whirled out of control for a moment. Roakore’s arms flailed as he fell through the air. He saw his faithful mount circling in a dive to catch him, and prepared himself for a rough landing upon the saddle. He hit with a thud and groaned a thanks to Silverwind.

The
dark elf landed and rolled to stand, the swirling stone in his control once again. He weaved his hands in and out in a peculiar dance, which the stone responded to by melding to form a large, writhing serpent. It rose up and quickly lashed out as Silverwind circled. The silverhawk reared, and the stone snake struck. An explosion knocked Roakore and his mount off course.

“
Steady now, girl,” he urged Silverwind as she righted herself and steered away from the dark elf and his stone serpent. The enchantments had saved them from serious damage, but Roakore didn’t think they would withstand many blasts of that magnitude.

“
Bring me down, girl. Do what ye can to distract the devil, but don’t be doin’ nothin’ stupid.”

Silverwind
banked and glided, nearly colliding with a draquon as it dropped from the sky ablaze with blue flame. Roakore leapt and rolled to stand before his men at the edge of the shallow crater. He once again poured his consciousness into the earth, but was shaken from his concentration by a firm hand on his shoulder. He turned to regard Philo.

“
Let me at the dark son o’ a demon’s arse!” Philo pleaded, slurring arse into a long hiss.

“
This one be mine, soldier,” Roakore replied, and walked to meet the dark elf.

The
stone snake waited, coiled next to its master. About its neck, a hood formed as it slowly weaved back and forth. The dark elf extended a hand and blasted a spell toward Roakore. The dwarf connected to a sheet of stone below him, and brought it shooting up out of the ground. He ran wide of the stone as the spell slammed into it, turning it to rubble. He brought up another such slab, and another as he charged on. The two slabs were joined by a third, and, together, the three circled Roakore, slowly at first, but swiftly gaining momentum as Roakore growled with determination. Spells flew at him, but each hit stone instead. The slabs were blasted to rubble, as smoke and fire and a million jagged pieces of rock swirled around Roakore. To those dwarves who witnessed the charge of their fearless king, he looked like the revered Ky’Dren himself.

The
stone serpent reared to strike, and Silverwind swooped down to peck at its eyes. The dark elf hit her with a fireball, leaving her engulfed in flames for a long moment during which Roakore’s heart stopped. Finally, she could be seen spiraling out of control, trailing black smoke and scattered feathers of silver.

“
Silverwind!” Roakore screamed in a rage that was not long contained.

He
growled and bellowed a curse at the dark elf, shooting his palms forward, sending the millions of stones flying straight at him. His opponent raised a palm, stopping the assault mid-flight. Roakore roared and redoubled his push on the stone, and the dark elf was visibly taxed to hold it still. The stone serpent struck quickly then, as the two were fixed in their deadlock. Roakore sent an open palm out as it lunged at him with stone teeth leading.

All
around them, the battle raged on, but not a Draggard nor dwarf entered the crater. Nothing existed, but him and the dark elf. The sounds of battle were muffled, a faint sound at the back of his mind. Time slowed, and Roakore reached out for the serpent. He felt instead the slithering presence of the dark elf’s mental control. He fought for the serpent as he fought for control of the floating missiles. The serpent began to writhe and buckle, rearing its head to strike first Roakore, and then the dark elf. It fell to the ground with a crash and heaved once again, raining stone as it began to fall apart. Roakore found himself screaming with the exertion. He dug deep, summoning the strength of his line.