A Crown Of War (Book 4) (24 page)

Eadon
sat on his perch below the ceiling of clouds like a god looking down upon the mortals. He stole away from his focus on Del’Oradon Castle, his consciousness coursing through the many miles of underground rivers of energy in an instant. A smile crept across his face as he opened his eyes to the world.

Everything
was coming to pass as he had seen in visions those millennia ago. His pride swelled as he considered his paramount patience, the thousands of years of waiting, watching, and learning. He had come far since those days so long ago, when he had gone by the name Adimorda, and began trading predictions and prophecy for power. He had used the gifted energy to watch his long life unfold, unable to deny the curiosity plaguing him. When he first looked years into the future, he was startled by what he discovered. He witnessed himself creating a temple so grand, as to gain adoration from elves far and wide. He created the Order of Adromida, and set in motion the creation of the greatest weapon ever made, one that could never be wielded by an elf.

A
dimorda was left shaken. He knew not why his future-self had set to creating the blade, for only visions came to him, and none of the other senses. He bided his time, refreshing his energy supply, and when he had gained enough offered power, he looked once more. This vision brought him some years beyond, to a time when he faked his own death, wrote “Whill of Agora” in blood, and disappeared from the world of sun elves.

For
thousands of years, he spent his time in faraway lands, mastering every school of Orna Catorna, and taking power from the land and its inhabitants. Into a new blade, he stored the taken power, and, for centuries at a time, he slept, waiting.

He
returned to the world of sun elves and established himself once again within the city of his birth. Much had changed in his time away. He saw firsthand the grand institution his temple had become. Worshipping elves came from distant lands to give what they might to the blade of Adimorda, and always there were a number of monks offering up energy gained in rest and meditation.

He
wondered about the sword that could be wielded by no elf, not even he. Now he understood why he had made it so; any practitioner who touched it would have been able to sense his binding. There was some opposition to the creation of Adromida, those who pleaded with the elders that the sword would one day be used against them, but they soon disappeared. The Order of Adromida would allow none to get in the way of the prophecy. Their word became akin to that of the gods.

Eadon
began meddling with the creations of nature, dissecting and recreating what only the gods had. He began with wolves, cultivating their nature to his will. He bred stronger and faster horses and livestock, and the elves were pleased. Soon, he become bored with altering existing creatures and began to make his own. Animals he crossed with fish and bird, and soon began tampering with dragon eggs. Finally, he built his idea of the perfect soldier, by melding an elven fetus with a dragon egg and seeing it to term; he created his first Draggard queen, Velloria. She was the first of his Draggard wives, mother of his first army of Draggard children. Soon, the Elves of the Sun discovered what he had done, and they did not welcome his magnificent creations as they had the others. Instead, they set out to destroy them.

Adimorda
witnessed the Draggard Wars of Drindellia play out and end with the sojourn of the Elves of the Sun. The ancient one, Kellallea, the Lady-Tree, rose up against him. The battle left a thousand-mile scar across the land, nearly destroying them both. In the end, he stood victorious, though she escaped with her life. Over the next five hundred years, Eadon reigned over the surviving elves. He allowed them to live out their lives for generations, but taking from them nearly all of their energy daily. He created many Draggard queens, and they gave him thousands of Draggard soldiers, and soon the time came, and the invasion of Agora began.

T
he vision moved to Agora, and the invasion of the Draggard over the years. In only a few short decades, he took control of the most powerful kingdom. He waited patiently for the One to be born, the one that would give him the power of the blade. He watched the creation of Felspire, and the final battle for Agora upon the Plains of Uthen-Arden. In his final vision, he stood atop the summit of Felspire, a shining sword of power in each hand, and ascended to the heavens.

Adimorda
nearly died during the vision in which he witnessed his ascension, and needed the help of many healers to bring him back from the brink of death. When he was well enough to do so, he sought out to discover the truth of the two blades. His search took him years, but he finally found a prophecy of the gods, which spoke of two blades of power, and the way one might ascend and attain the power of the gods. Shortly thereafter, he set the plan into motion.

Now,
many years later, looking out over Agora, Eadon knew his rise to godhood was only days away. Whill would come, and he would hand over the power of the ancient blade, else watch his beloved friends die. As it had been witnessed, so it would come to pass. 

Many
platoons of the Shierdon undead joined with the barbarian and Draggard armies. Although Eadon had promised a seven day armistice, Veolindra assured Aurora they would still bring war to the dwarves of the Ky’Dren Pass.

“
You shall lead the charge against the thieving dwarves. You shall have your revenge,” the dark elf lich lord promised her. “When the dwarven dead begin to pile high, I will raise them up to fight for our lord.”

Aurora
thought of Roakore then, and knew the outrage that would be shared by the dwarves should their fallen kin be raised from the dead, but she cared not. She had taken the only way out, and, as such, she no longer had to worry or feel bad about such things. She was single-mindedly focused on only one thing: conquering the barbarian homelands. She would accept whatever means were necessary to accomplish her goal, even if that meant raising dwarves from the dead. They had helped drive her ancestors from the Agoran mainland. The barbarians had no place for mercy for such enemies as they.

The
armies marched on steadily toward the Ky’Dren pass, their numbers collectively now in the tens of thousands. They had passed the border into Uthen-Arden only hours ago, but had yet to be met by any resistance. Veolindra assured Aurora that any they might encounter, be they dwarf, elf, or man, would soon be added to their undead ranks.

To
the right, Aurora could begin to make out the majestic Northern Ky’Dren Mountains, which had−according to Veolindra−been invaded by a rift akin to the one through which she and Zander, and the Draggard hordes, had come. Snow capped the faraway peaks, and Aurora wondered if the white crown of the mountain ever lifted. Those mountains had once been home to her people, before the dwarves−with the help of the humans of Eldalon−had banished them to Volnoss, splitting among themselves the ancient homeland.

Aurora
was in good spirits that day, as were the barbarian tribes. She knew they had begun to get restless, and, though they had gotten used to the Draggard being near, she doubted if they would ever get used to the undead armies who followed silently behind them. The barbarians of Volnoss were no strangers to the magic of the spirit world, but they had never seen the strange art used to such a degree as this. Many cursed the soldiers, and would not tolerate them being too close.

Since
Eadon’s proclamation to the world, the armies had not stopped in their march. Veolindra and the other dark elves had cast spells upon the armies, and now the barbarians ran with the haste of the Draggard. Tirelessly they marched forward, energized not only by the spells of the dark elves, but also by the promise of war and glory to come.

*

Ky’Ell and his army of dwarves steadily cleared the many chambers, halls, and tunnels on their way to the Ky’Dren pass. The horde that had poured through the rift within the depths of the mountain had left destruction in their wake, and as much as his heart broke to behold the ruined cities they came upon, he was gladdened to find many dead Draggard bodies amid those of his kin. The Draggard seemed to be moving to the Pass, for the dwarves oft came upon the beasts traveling south. He suspected the Ky’Dren Pass was under siege from Uthen-Arden as well. Eadon was likely trying to strategically cut off Eldalon from the rest of Agora, being that it was one of most−if not
the
most−powerful kingdoms of man.

Ky
’Ell needed not push his dwarves, for they pursued the Draggard at a vehement pace, stopping to rest only when they would have fallen from exhaustion should they continue. But, as the pass grew nearer, Ky’Ell ordered a watch and had to force the dwarves to rest, lest they dive exhausted into the fray. The king too forced himself to take a respite, though it seemed his mind and body would never succumb to slumber, so anxious was he to discover the extent of the invasion. He had no way to know if there had been another rift within Southern Ky’Dren, and his dread was great.

“
Me King.” A voice came to him in his dreams, and he woke with a start. His daughter, Raene, stood before him.

“
What be it, lass?” he asked, rubbing his bleary eyes of slumber.

“
The scouts be reportin’ the way ahead be clear for miles: the Draggard have gone.”

Ky
’Ell raised himself from the stone floor of the cavern, his bones reminding him of his age. “Then, we best be after the devils.”

The
dwarves were roused from their slumber, and, after a large meal, headed out once again. They had taken their rest in the city of Dy’Orinshald, which, like the others they had traveled through, had been sacked by the Draggard and dark elves. Evidence of the dark elves was apparent here as well. Explosions had rocked the cavern in which the city was built long ago, and now only rubble remained.

They
traveled south for a full day, but they did not take the main route through the mountain range. Instead, they traversed secret tunnels and passageways. Ever higher did they climb, up the Everstairs to the very peak of Mt. Vizzorus. Upon the peak, Ky’Ell got a view of the wide world around them. From the ancient observation tower, a three hundred and sixty degree view was enjoyed, but the dwarf king was not there for the sight-seeing pleasures it provided. He arrived well before midday and had the fortune to find the day clear and bright. Snow covered everything in every direction, but rather than hinder his view, the snow let things stand out all the better.

The
tower had not been built by the dwarves. Rather, it was the natural mountain peak carved out by dwarven tools. At the center of the tower, upon three legs of thick iron, stood a round, three-foot-long seeing-scope. The scope had been set upon a swivel, allowing for the entire panorama to be viewed through it. A round catwalk circled the scope−accessible by stair−that made it possible to point the scope at a sharp downward angle. But, Ky’Ell did not need the seeing-scope to see the thin, black, snaking army spreading from horizon to horizon.

Ky
’Ell brought his eye to the scope and settled on the dark army that traveled adjacent to the mountain range. He focused until he could make out the marching army better. He could not see sharp details from this distance, but he counted ten to twenty abreast, and Draggard. Moving down the line, he was surprised to see humans marching behind them, and given their armor and proportion to the Draggard, he could tell that they were barbarians. To his further astonishment, he spied the banners of Shierdon among soldiers of the same.

“
Whatcha spying, Pa?” Raene asked from behind him, and he did a startled dance upon the catwalk.

“
By the tip o’ Ky’Dren’s bloody axe, don’t be comin’ up on an old dwarf unannounced. Ye got them braids too tight, or ye be tryin’ to kill me?” he grumbled.

“
Must be the braids,” said Raene, ignoring his glares and moving past him to look through the scope.

“
By Ky’Dren’s beard, Pa! The army be headin’ for the Pass!”

“
Aye,” groaned the king. “An’ we be headin’ ʼem’ off.”

“
Aye, me king,” Raene nodded with a glimmer in her eye and turned to descend the stairs from the tower. Ky’Ell held fast his daughter by the arm.

“
By
we,
I be meanin’ we menfolk, ain’t no place fo-”

“
We got no time for this argument!”

“
This ain’t no argument, lass! This be the damned word o’ yer king. Daughter or no, I ain’t for havin’ me orders questioned. And that’s the last o’ it, or Ky’Dren help me, I’ll have ye in iron!”

Raene
stood before him defiantly, but was compelled by her sense of dogma and duty to obey. “Aye, me king,” she said with a bow. Her glares went unnoticed as Ky’Ell shoved past her and descended the stairs, and for the hundredth time she cursed the pigheadedness of dwarven men, and the acquiescence of dwarven women. She refused to let a single tear fall. Men didn’t cry outright, and neither would she. She knew the truth even if they did not, and, one day, they would show her the respect a great warrior deserved. One day, the name Raene would mean
dwarven female warrior
.

*

Dirk, Krentz, and an exuberant General Reeves sailed over the forests of Eldalon upon the back of Fyrfrost. The night had been mild, in stark contrast to the days past. They made good time with the help of Krentz’s spells that kept the dragon-hawk tireless, as well as her constant wind-weaving. They flew at breakneck speeds upon torrents of warm air, and, more than once, Reeves gave a whoop and cheer. He moved in his saddle to counter Fyrfrost’s lunges and dives without having to be told. When finally they saw the Ky’Dren pass begin to grow from the horizon, Reeves cursed that they needed to land so soon.

As
they drew closer to the Pass, they began to see the rivers of refugees flooding in from all roads leading north, south, and west. As Dirk had predicted, the Ky’Dren Pass, and therefore the mountains, was overwhelmed. But the dwarves would not allow chaos to break out within their realm, and, as such, receiving-tents blanketed the miles-wide expanse that was the western mouth of the Mountain Pass. The incoming Eldalonian refugees would be recorded and assigned quarters, rations, and duties, and the sick and dying would be tended to. The Eldalonian army was in force as well, and, though they had become greater in number in and around the pass as of late with the escalation of conflict between them and Uthen-Arden, now it seemed as though rightly half the army had turned out. This fact did not sit well with General Reeves, as it meant more cities had fallen to the dark elves.

“
Bring us in low under cover of Fyrfrost’s camouflage, if they see him before I can order them to hold fire, someone might get the wrong idea,” said Reeves from the back.

“
You met many dwarves, General? They aren’t going to stand for a dragon anywhere near their mountain,” said Dirk. “No, we are going to have to put down and walk in if we are going to learn anything.”

They
circled around and set down in a clearing surrounded by dense forest well off the road. It took the three an hour to walk to the mouth of the pass, but it was preferable to trying to rationalize with the dwarves. General Reeves led them into the Pass, making it clear he led the strange-looking group. People turned heads as they approached, and many hushed conversations sprouted in their wake. The refugees being herded into the tent-city looked ragged and weary. Many wore bloody bandages or slings, their faces slack and eyes ever down. No celebration greeted their arrival, for all had lost someone during the dark days behind them, and it was with the lost that their hearts remained.

Soldiers
saluted with a smart click of the heels when General Reeves approached. He returned the salute to three soldiers.

“
At ease,” he said.

The
three soldiers swung their hands from their sides to clasp them behind the back, and set their feet apart. To Dirk, they looked the farthest thing from ʽat ease’.

“
I need one of you to lead me to General Steeley,” he ordered, and all three stepped forward.

“
You,” he pointed to the center man, a young soldier with high cheeks and hazel eyes.

“
Yes, sir! This way,” he said and, turning on his heel, began marching west at a brisk pace.

They
followed the soldier through the maze of tents. Inside the first line of tents, Ky’Dren dwarves and Eldalonians were recording and instructing the refugee families. The names would be cross-referenced, and, if reunions could be made, the families would be informed promptly. The next line of tents fed the refugees who were hungry. Huge cauldrons boiled and bubbled within, and dwarves stood over them stirring with what might have been canoe paddles. Beyond, tents stood as crowded infirmaries.

They
walked beyond the tents full of injured, and the moans of the dying followed them long after. They made their way to General Steeley’s tent, and the soldier announced General Reeves to the standing guard.

“
We will wait outside; I have a…history with Steeley. Though he likely no longer remembers, I would rather not test the theory,” said Dirk, so only the general would hear.

Reeves
’s questioning eyes surveyed Dirk’s; no elaboration was required−at the moment.

“
Very well,” said Reeves, and followed the soldier into the tent.

Dirk
and Krentz waited for Reeves outside the tent with the awkwardly silent soldier. He looked as though it was torturous for him not to turn and take in a full measure of Krentz’s long legs, lithe-yet-muscular form, and scanty armor. Dirk laughed to himself, aware that none of the men–or women–in the immediate vicinity could help keep their eyes from wandering to her, as if she was true north, and their eyes were compass needles. She met the stares of her admirers boldly, nearly giggling to herself when their startled eyes turned from hers in embarrassment of being caught.