A Crown Of War (Book 4) (32 page)

High above the Thendor Plains, inside the looming crystal spire, Avriel fought against her chains. Roakore too thrashed against his restraints, so much so, the blood began to trickle from the circular, open wounds about his wrists. The blood ran down his bare arms and sides; some was absorbed by his thick, red-brown beard, while the rest dribbled down to his feet and dripped on the floor, creating a small pool beneath his dangling toes. In normal circumstances, he would have been able to open or break the chain links, but these were enchanted by elven magic.

Roakore
stared at Tarren all the while, sensing something was not right about the lad. No tears came to the boy’s eyes, and he seemed not the least upset with their situation. He hung from biting chains as they all did, but he gave no indication he was uncomfortable. Avriel had tried to speak to him, but he only stared blankly at the opposite wall. Roakore thought perhaps the lad had gone into some sort of fit, or fear-induced trance. From Whill, he had learned that humans did not do well with torture, unlike dwarves, who went through such pains as basic training. The dark elves had beaten him, and tried their mind invading tactics; they even took the whip to his back, and Roakore had laughed in their faces all the while. He figured they were not often mocked whilst torturing people, which made the sessions all the more enjoyable. The only begging he had done was for them to continue when they brought him back to the cell. Avriel had not fared so well. To think they had put their dirty hands on her infuriated him. Bloody cowards they were, torturing a woman.

“
How you holdin’ up?’ he asked Avriel, who, like he, was hanging from chains in the small, crystal-walled cell.

“
I am okay,” she said, mustering a smile.

“
It be all right, he be comin’, they all be comin’,” Roakore assured her.

“
I know…” Avriel’s voice broke into gentle sobbing, and tears fell to mingle with the blood at her toes.

“
What did the dirty, rotten devil do to you?” Roakore growled.

“
He took her memories,” the Tarren-Watcher answered, when she could not.

Roakore
and Avriel both looked to Tarren.

“
Tarren, where you been lad, are you all right?” asked Roakore.

“
Tarren is in a safe place,” said the Watcher.

“
What did they do to him?” Roakore asked Avriel, but she only stared at the boy, as if reading something of his face.

“
Who…who are you? Where is Tarren?” she asked.

“
Tarren is in a safe place, you know who
I
am,” he responded.

“
Watcher,” she breathed, dropping her voice as her eyes darted to the cell door. “How can this be? The practice of soul joining is forbidden.”

“
Forbidden it may be, though necessary it was,” he said with a sly grin.

“
But you are benign in all things, you are Morenka.”

“
Yes, child, however, when one of evil heart wishes to do pain to an innocent, ʼtis only right to spare the innocent, and to bear their burden for them.”

“
What in the hells you be talkin’ about? Where be Tarren?” Roakore demanded.

The
Watcher regarded Roakore kindly, with a serenity unknown to a human Tarren’s age. “He resides within my body for the time being.”

“
You switched out your brains?” asked Roakore, shocked and wide-eyed.

“
In a sense, yes, but quite unlike what you imagine, I assure you,” said the Watcher.

“
So he be walkin’ round in what, an old, crusty elf’s body?”

The
Watcher laughed with a voice of boyish glee. “Old indeed, but not so crusty I hope.”

“
You tricked Eadon,” said Avriel, suddenly aware of the implications.

Roakore
was not lost to the meaning, and his face lit up. “You sly, old tree hugger, you tricked the devil right good! Bahaha! I always told me boys Eadon weren’t all powerful. Every damned thing be havin’ a weakness, I told ʼem. Everything.”

“
What if Eadon learns of the deception?” Avriel asked.

The
Watcher shrugged. “He is too busy with his own plans, and too blinded by the future he
sees
. All is clear to me now that I am so near to him. I understand his design, that which he has staked eons on. He is single-minded in his vision, and has blinded himself to all others. Many possibilities still remain; it will inevitably come down to Whill’s choice, which is something Eadon has forgotten.”

Avriel
began to cry, and Roakore wondered why. The Watcher hinted the dark elf could indeed be beaten.

“
What is it?” Roakore asked.

Avri
el was wracked with sobs, and took a long time to compose herself. When she finally did, her voice was laden with loss.

“
I don’t know who he is,” she said in a near whisper.

“
Who?” Roakore asked.

“
Whill,” she said. “I don’t remember him. I know I should. But, every time I try to remember, I see only Eadon’s face. I feel his mind inside mine, like an army of insects eating away the memories.”

Roakore
peered at the floor, offering her a little privacy in her sorrow. She would not want pity, but a friend. He looked again to her tear-filled eyes and offered a grin.

“
Then let me tell you ’bout the man they call Whill o’ Agora, the bravest human I ever be knowin’,” he began.

Roakore
told Avriel all about Whill: how he had first met him and Abram, their shared battles, and many escapades. Avriel laughed when he told the story of the bar brawl they had all gotten into in Kell-Torey. She could not help but laugh at the tale. He told her of the prophecy, and of the recent battles. How Whill had claimed the thrown of Uthen-Arden, and was to face Eadon at Felspire. It took him hours to recite it all, but hours they had, and the Watcher too seemed enthralled by the tales. Some of the stories he chuckled at or nodded in nostalgia, as if he had been there. Roakore figured with a name like the Watcher, he probably had.

“
He sounds like a charming young man,” she said when Roakore was through.

Roakore
laughed, “I’ll say, seein’ as you two got somethin’ goin’ on, always have.”

“
Preposterous,” she laughed. “I am over six hundred years old, and he is what…twenty?
And
human.”

“
I ain’t for arguin’,” Roakore chuckled, “but you two be carryin’ flames for each other and ain’t no doubt.”

Avriel
was taken aback by the idea. She searched the Watcher for clarification. He only smiled with a shrug.

“
What is this you say about Eadon?” she asked the Watcher. “You see his plans clearly now?”

“
Indeed,” he replied.

Avriel
and Roakore both waited expectantly.

“
So?” Roakore finally blurted.

“
Everything makes sense now,” said the Watcher. “Whill’s torture, the invasion of Agora, our capture, the hunting and killing of his Eldalonian kin. Eadon wishes to be him.”

“
Come again?” said Roakore.

“
Eadon cannot take the power of the Sword of Power Given; it must be given to him. If Whill strikes Eadon with the blade, which is his very own, he will, in essence, be giving the power to Eadon. If, on the other hand, Whill defeats Eadon, which he can only do by taking Eadon’s power, I believe he will simply do what I have done with Tarren: Eadon shall become Whill, and, therefore, a god-king.”

The
Ky’Dren dwarves rallied together and steadily pushed the invading armies back toward the eastern mouth of the Pass. Reinforcements poured from the northern and southern mountain walls as the dwarves viciously defended their home. Whill could not target large groups of enemy soldiers due to the proximity of the dwarves, who had filled the gap created by Whill’s fire spell. Instead, he set his sights on the dark elves blasting the dwarven ranks with spells and cutting through them with their glowing weapons.

Whill
charged a dark elf who was slicing through dwarven shields and armor with his flaming sword. The dark elf must have sensed his approach, for he turned, and a spell erupted from his right hand, vaporizing any dwarf standing in the way. The spell hit Whill’s energy shield and was absorbed harmlessly. The look of terror on the dark elf’s face electrified Whill. He swatted aside the dark elf’s defensive block, and the sword went flying. Whill shot his hand forward through the elf’s energy shield. He grabbed the dark elf’s head and ripped the life force out of his body. The dark elf’s armor fell to the ground in a clatter, and his body fell in ashes. Whill shook with the exhilaration of such unrestrained power.

To
his right along the southern wall of the Pass, an explosion sounded. Chunks of broken stone and one massive slab broke away from the sheer wall and fell down toward the dwarves charging out of the many passages below. Whill shot out his left hand and took control of the falling slab. Keeping the slab aloft with a force of will, he leapt into the air and flew the few hundred yards toward the dark elf responsible for the blast. A circle of dead dwarves lay at the dark elf’s feet, and still more charged the dangerous spell caster with reckless abandon. The dark elf began to turn in a quick circle creating a whirlwind around him that drove back the dwarves in all directions. Whill forced the floating slab to fly toward the dark elf. With a great resonating boom, the slab landed on top of him and drove itself halfway into the hard earth.

Whill
leapt one hundred feet into the air along the southern wall and came down on another dark elf; this one stood amid hundreds of undead soldiers whose eyes glowed with a green mist to match her staff.

*

Veolindra noticed Whill coming, and froze in place as she beheld the sword Adromida. She had only ever seen such power within Eadon’s blade. As Whill landed, she turned to mist and seeped into the ground. She came out many feet behind him, and sent her undead after him. Whill tore through the undead soldiers sending limbs and heads flying from the edge of his blade. He circled as he fought, looking for her. She studied his energy shield and nearly laughed at his novice incantation. The shield was quite basic, simply a force of will surrounding him and fueled by the immense power of the ancient blade. The spell showed Whill’s lack of knowledge of Orna Catorna, but, while not intricate, it was fueled by Adromida and was therefore impenetrable to magical and physical attacks. But Veolindra existed not in the physical plane: she was a lich lord. Death had been given to her centuries ago by Eadon, and she was reborn a powerful master of the undead. Eadon chose her out of dozens, and for good reason. Aside from him, she was the most proficient in the necromantic arts. She proved loyal, though not because of her constitution, but rather because she had sworn a soul oath to the dark one. The oath remained the only thing holding her back from possessing Whill’s mind and body, and wielding the power of legend.

Their
eyes met, and his mental grip tightened around her body. At once, she turned to mist and freed herself. With a mental command, she sent more of her undead, humans, barbarians, Draggard, and lumbering dwargon alike to descend on him. Veolindra found a high perch and watched from afar with glee, as Adromida destroyed them all. Whill clumsily wasted energy with his overzealous attacks, but his methods proved effective all the same.

*

Dirk ran to the northern wall where he had seen the big slab of stone being manipulated by magic. The stone looked too big for one dwarf to handle. The undead converged, bringing with them the green glow of the cursed. Where the undead were hording, he would likely find the female necromancer who had attacked Chief. Behind him and Krentz, Raene followed. The other dwarves had tried to stop her, but she was quite insistent upon making her own decision. The king had asked Dirk to see she kept put, however, Dirk did not answer to the King of Ky’Dren. He answered to no one. Raene could do whatever she pleased as far as he was concerned, and she seemed to like him all the more for it.

“
Thank you,” Raene said to him, catching up.

“
T’was nothing I did, Krentz healed you,”

“
Not the healin’,” she said, her shorter legs pumping to keep up with him as they ran the back of the dwarven line.

“
For puttin’ me brother to rest is what I be meanin’. Thank you.”

“
You’re welcome,” Dirk told her over his shoulder.

They
came to the southern wall, and Dirk stopped beside one of the many tunnels opening up to the Pass. Toward the mouth of the Pass, hundreds of dwarves stood between him and the green light. He needed a quicker route, lest he run atop the dwarves’ shoulders.

“
Do you know your way through?” he reluctantly asked Raene, hating tunnels.

“
Aye,” she said eagerly. “You be after them who killed me brother?”

“
Aye,” said Dirk. “Lead the way,” he said, extending his open arm toward the dwarven tunnel.

When
they came out of the shortcut through the stone, Dirk found she had brought them at least five hundred yards through the mountains, and into the thick of the undead horde. Veolindra remained out of sight, but in his searching, he found Whill.

“
You should let this go,” Krentz warned.

“
She is out there somewhere,” said Dirk from the shadows of the dwarven tunnel. Krentz turned him around with her hand to his shoulder.

“
And what will you do if you find her? Even with my power, I cannot defeat her. You are mighty, Dirk Blackthorn, but not
that
mighty.”

“
Don’t be ridiculous.” He grinned. “Of course I am.”

“
You two be talking all night, or we be killin the demon witch?” Raene asked behind them. The residual energy of Krentz’s healing coursed through her still, and she bounced from toe to toe in anticipation.

“
I have a plan,” Dirk told them both. “Krentz, you still possess the gift of power from your father, correct?”

“
Yes?” she answered hesitantly, her eyes darting to Raene.

“
Right, and the lich lord, she commands the entire army. She has no doubt received similar gifts from her master.”

“
Go on,” Krentz told him, a spark of realization in her eyes.

“
And your father does not allow his power to be used against itself, therefore preventing infighting,” he reminded her.

“
Exactly!” she said, becoming excited. “We will cancel each other out.”

“
And the fight will come down to good old steel,” said Dirk. Unsheathing his blade, he turned to Raene. “Stay closer to Krentz than the demon witch, and you will be protected. Do otherwise at your own risk.”

“
Got it, now get outta me way before this pent-up energy makes me piss meself,” she said, shoving past him. She exploded from the tunnel, shield leading the way, mace cocked back and ready to bash heads.

Raene
slammed into an undead soldier, sending him flying back into the others. Her mace split the head of another, and when two more lunged for her, Dirk and Krentz dealt with them. The two danced and weaved around each other, dashing in to strike, and dashing out to be covered by the other. Dirk’s darts shot out randomly as they plowed through the ranks. Behind them, Raene’s spinning shield severed heads as the power of Krentz’s residual healing energy coursed through her. Raene’s mace crushed skulls and shattered bones. Her mind controlled the flying shield as easily as her hand controlled the mace.

Dirk
scoured the undead hordes, looking for the necromancer. A spell shot out from the crowd and exploded upon the southern wall behind him. Floating in the glowing green fog was the dark elf.

*

Veolindra turned to green smoke and shot down toward the battleground. Whill slashed the air with Adromida, but missed as Veolindra flew around the ancient blade, through his energy shield, and into his body.

Whill
bent at the waist and fell to his knees. He clutched his chest, gasping for breath as the lich lord tore at him from the inside. He sent writhing tendrils into his own body, desperately trying to pry loose the evil spirit within him. But, she would not relent; she clawed and tore at his soul. She dug deeper into his mind and spirit. Something snapped in Whill’s mind; she had awakened the Other from his deep prison. The Other wrestled with the spirit of the lich lord, reveling in the pain she inflicted, and returning it to her threefold. It was now Veolindra who begged for escape; she summoned her hordes to her in a desperate attempt to distract Whill and his maniacal inner demon. Adromida surged as he pulled more power into himself and the Other. Veolindra fled from the Other through the dark caverns of his mind like a swimmer reaching for the surface lest they drown. She overtook what parts of him she could, and successfully lowered his energy shield in hopes to loosen his grasp on her.

*

Dirk and Krentz fought their way to Whill and Veolindra. The two stood motionless within an energy shield that sparked and rippled as it repelled the attacks of the undead around them. The dark elf necromancer had somehow gotten inside of Whillʼs energy shield, and stood with her hand to his forehead, her body bent with exertion, and his hunched in pain. Dirk knew if he was ever to make up for what he had done, now was the time.

“
To Whill!” he told his companions, and threw four darts to land next to Whill and Veolindra.

Undead
bodies flew in all directions as the darts exploded, but the gap quickly filled with more of them. They frantically clawed at Whill’s energy shield. A barbarian undead hit the shield with his massive war hammer, and the ground shook. Whill’s shield dissipated and the heavy war hammer swung toward his head. Raene gave a cry and, with a raised hand, sent the barbarian’s war hammer flying high into the air. Her hand changed directions, and the weapon came hurtling down to plant the confused undead warrior’s head in the ground. A large blast issued from Krentz’s extended hands, and a whirlwind sent the undead warriors falling back from her. She raised the whirlwind and increased its power. All around them, undead were lifted high into the air by the tornado she had created.

Dirk
struck the necromancer with sword and dagger, but the weapons had no effect. Raene too struck with shield and mace, but the blows moved through the necromancer harmlessly.

“
She is not of the physical plain,” Krentz said, cringing against the effort of her storm. “Like the figurine, her soul is tethered…hurry.”

Dirk
searched frantically for the trinket that might connect the necromancer to this plain. The trinket might have been anywhere in her flowing robes and tattered folds. His eyes were drawn to the staff she held in her hand. Many gems and bones dangled from the glowing staff, including a jawless skull. He reached for the skull when Whill suddenly gasped and stumbled back from the dark elf, writhing in agony. She too seemed to come back to herself, for she grabbed Dirk’s wrist and, with a quick jerk, broke his arm. She hit him in the chest with the other. A bright flash exploded from his chest as his armor absorbed the blow. Raene flew at the lich lord with her mace and shield cocked back. Veolindra twirled and slammed her with the end of her staff. A green explosion blew Raene back to be engulfed by the whirlwind.

Dirk
came on again with his good arm, slashing at the staff. Veolindra raised a clawed hand, and Dirk was wracked with pain and raised off his feet to float before her.

“
The skull!” Dirk screamed at Whill through the pain. But, if the man heard him, he gave no indication. He writhed on the ground as if two beasts raged within him.

Veo
lindra whirled on Krentz, who remained stuck, controlling her immense whirlwind that kept the undead at bay. An ear-piercing shriek escaped her as she cast a green spell, engulfing Krentz. Instantly, the whirlwind died down and, like Dirk, Krentz was raised by a green spell that tore through her being and clawed at her soul in an attempt to devour it. Dirk felt himself slipping, his soul being torn from his body. He fought the spell with everything he had, though it seemed hopeless.

Through
hazy eyes, he watched Whill get to his feet and attack Veolindra with a long glowing chain that looked to have torn through his wrist. Half of Whill’s body became a scarred, bloody, and wild-eyed reflection of himself. The chain wound around the lich lord and held her fast. Dirk and Krentz fell to the ground as the undead rushed at them from all sides. With his left hand, Whill pulled the skull from the staff to him, and it exploded on contact. The lich lord disappeared with a violent shriek that echoed through the pass for miles.