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

The
news came to Cerushia of the victory and taking of Fendora Island and the closing of the rift. Also came word of the three kings. Whill, Roakore, and Zerafin were now lost on the other side of the rift. Reports began to come in from the Ralliad scouts through the Looking Glass of Araveal that the rifts had been closed in the other kingdoms as well. The elves rejoiced at the news of the swift victory, but also lamented their losses.

Tarren
and Helzendar remained within the dwarf quarters along with Lunara, who spent most of her time reassuring them both that Whill and Roakore would find a way. It had only been two days, she reminded them, but the boys remained fraught with worry and continued to think up some other possible obstacle they might face.

“
What if they are stuck in Drindellia for good?” Tarren asked through a mouthful of bread.

The
entire lunch was spent doing more speculating than eating. Helzendar nodded to Lunara, sharing Tarren’s sentiment.

“
Aye, took you elves better than three months to cross the oceans to Agora.”

Lunara
was young for an elf, and it showed in her lack of patience. She put her glass down a bit too hard and abruptly left the room. Tarren noticed a hint of tears in her eyes.

“
Bah, what did we say?” Helzendar asked Tarren with a mouthful of goat cheese.

“
I think she be as worried as us, and we ain’t helping with all our questions, I bet,” said Tarren, worrying after her. He got up from the table to seek her out.

“
What, am I the only one who be hungry?” Helzendar complained as Tarren walked out of the room.

Tarren
found Lunara up at the top of the dwarves’ hill. She stood still as stone as her silver hair danced in the breeze. Her only movement came in the occasional tremor.

Tarren
wasn’t sure whether to approach her or leave her alone. The boy nervously shifted between turning back and staying a half a dozen times.

“
Are you coming or going, love?” Lunara asked, wiping her eyes.

He
walked to stand beside her. He didn’t want to look in case she was embarrassed of crying. He wondered why she cried. Tarren dared not ask; he had learned from his mother that when it came to women, they sometimes wanted to be listened to rather than helped. And so, he simply stood by her and waited.

Lunara
gave no indication she wanted to talk, so they simply stood in the afternoon sun, watching the strange-colored clouds thicken. Tales of Whill’s feats in the battle of Fendora had been grand, and the remaining clouds of the destruction he wrought were proof. The city below was alive with activity as more elven armies arrived hourly from all parts of Agora. The rift on Fendora Island had been opened for days, and legions of dark elves and darker creatures had poured forth. The entire island had nearly been stripped bare to build the hundreds of ships that had ferried away Eadon’s armies. Whill had closed the rift, but fleets of dark elf warships had taken to the seas−already reports came of an escalation in naval confrontations.

When
Lunara finally spoke, it was of Whill. “I have dreamed of him for all of my life. He is the reason I insisted on joining the elven force that aided Isladon and the Ro’Sar dwarves. Then I heard of you, Whill’s ward, and I thought, if I become close with the boy, I can get closer to Whill.”

She
turned to Tarren and put a hand to his on the balcony railing. “It was what drew me to you, but not what keeps me at your side. I have come to love you, Whill or no Whill.”

“
I know,” he smiled. “He will be all right. You have to believe.”

Lunara
laughed and cried at the same time, and Tarren wondered how that was possible.

“
I know,” she said weakly and wiped her eyes, annoyed. “I know that he will be safe. I believe he is the chosen one and all shall come to pass. But I will never know him as…it shall never be. His heart belongs to Avriel. I am a poor subject to my princess and an egocentric mess.”

Tarren
suddenly understood and things got a bit more uncomfortable for him. What did a boy know of such things? What should he say? Luckily his mother’s advice came to him again, and he simply listened. However, Lunara seemed to be done talking; instead, she stood and stared out over the city below, dim under the dark clouds of Whill’s victory.

Tarren
’s mind returned to Whill and his own worry. He had waited for six long months for any word of him. The first weeks had been the worst, those spent within Kell-Torey. Everyone had been kind enough, though he had more than once overheard offhanded comments about Whill’s frivolous claims of his lineage. Many simply didn’t believe it, and others−King Mathus’s son, namely−didn’t want to. He viewed Whill as a direct threat, rather than a blessed, long-lost nephew, and his disdain he did not hide, no matter the king’s wishes or proclamations regarding Whill and his ward. Tarren had made no friends with any of the children of the royal family, who saw him as little more than a lucky street urchin.

Tarren
was glad when Abram had traveled to Kell-Torey to bring him to Roakore’s mountain. There, his depression and loneliness were replaced by rigorous training and study, and he found fast friends in Roakore’s son, Helzendar, and Lunara. Without the talented elf healer to tend to his many wounds, he would never have been able to train with the dwarves. She had bestowed upon him a great gift in the staff, Oakenheart, and he knew he could never truly repay her for all she had done. He looked to her with renewed gratitude and, to her surprise, suddenly hugged her.

Lunara laughed and bent to hug him full.

“It will all work out,” Tarren told her with a smile.

“
You are the bravest human I have ever known,” she smiled back. “Thank you.”

At
the edge of the city, a deep bell tolled and echoed forth in a note of foreboding. Another bell answered its call, then another, and soon the city began to buzz with activity.

“
What is it?” Tarren asked.

Lunara
set her jaw and gave a determined sigh. “Cerushia will soon be under attack.”

The
Seven Tribes of Volnoss marched south with the Draggard army for two days. After the portal had suddenly closed, Eadon flew off toward Agora, leaving Aurora to lead. Five thousand Draggard had made it through the rift before it suddenly and violently disappeared. Aurora knew that the dark lord had not intended for the rift to close, for she had felt his fury. She could only guess that Whill had something to do with it.

The
Draggard made the barbarians uneasy, and with all haste they traveled to the southern shore, eager to put the beasts far from their villages. They made camp only once, and few barbarians slept, so loud were the sounds of the Draggard horde in the darkness.

Led
by the silent lich, Azzeal, they found the waters frozen as Eadon said they would. The channel between Volnoss and northern Shierdon was frozen thick with ice; the masts of marooned boats and fishing vessels that had been frozen solid jutted out in every direction. Aurora followed the elf lich and led her armies across the channel.

By
nightfall, they had arrived upon the coast of Shierdon. Mounted scouts reported the coastal town deserted, and Aurora ordered camp be made. As the supply caravans drudged forth, Aurora stared sidelong at Zander. The elf sat upon a large barbarian horse akin to Aurora’s and regarded her with a nod. “There is something on your mind, General?”

“
Your Draggard army will march well beyond the town and wait while my people sleep. I would have them rested before we travel further,” she ordered.

“
The Draggard require no rest, General,” Zander informed her.

“
Humans do, and I will not have the beasts disturb them. Do as I say−we will join you at first light.”

Zander
nodded slowly, “As you wish, but I would stay at my lady’s side, if it pleases you.”

The
barbarians made camp in the deserted village, and Aurora had her tent set up in the town square. She called for the Chiefs of the Seven, including the newly appointed Chief of Eagle Tribe. They heeded her call swiftly, and soon they sat before her at a long table within her tent. She regarded them all with a steely gaze as Zander stood by silently.

“
How far are we from Shierdon’s main force?” she asked the dark elf.

“
The lich Azzeal shall lead us to them by nightfall tomorrow,” said Zander.

“
How do we know the human army can be trusted?”

Zander
smirked. “My master has ensured their loyalty.”

The
Chief of Fox Tribe spoke up; he was a grizzled old barbarian named Moontooth, with knots of gray hair falling about his wide shoulders. He had nearly as many scars upon his face as lines, and Aurora knew many battle wounds hid beneath his heavy plate armor.

“
Long have our people waited to reclaim our ancient lands. We extend our gratitude to your master,” he said to Zander and his fellow chiefs; some nodded agreement.

“
Our master sees great strength in your people. You choose wisely in your allegiance,” said Zander.

“
Once we meet with the Shierdon army, what then is our destination?” asked Goldenwing of Dragon Tribe.

“
We are to march to the Uthen-Arden border and await instruction,” Zander told them all. The seven chiefs shared glances.

“
The ancient lands are to the southwest. We should march on Ky’Dren while they are weak,” said the Chief of Bear Tribe, Beorin Sharpclaw.

“
Patience, my friend. You will see those mountains soon enough,” Zander replied.

Beorin
was not placated; he scowled at the dark elf from behind a winter beard. “Do the Chiefs of the Seven follow you, or Aurora Snowfell?” he asked boldly.

Zander
arched an eyebrow.

Beorin
Sharpclaw’s words seemed to help the other chiefs find their courage. They nodded in agreement and began to mutter to themselves.

“
The Chiefs of the Seven Tribes of Volnoss follow Chieftain Snowfell, and she follows master Eadon,” said Zander. He leaned forward to meet the chief’s glare. “Why did you not express these concerns when your fellow chieftain was bleeding at the end of Aurora’s lance?”

Beorin
’s eyes flashed, but he said no more. Aurora didn’t like where his questions were coming from. If they thought she was not in control, she would not last long. Zander had made clear to them she was in charge, but the chiefs were not convinced. She could not allow the Seven to see weakness.

“
I did not raise this army so we might wait like dogs for our master’s orders,” she told the Seven. “I will decide our course of action once we meet with the Shierdonian army.”

Beorin
scowled at her from across the table as she spoke. He had not taken his eyes off of her. “You will decide nothing but what you are told,” Beorin laughed.

Aurora
leaned forward on white knuckles and rose above them all. She was about to speak when Zander interrupted her and addressed Beorin.

“
What she means is–,”he began, but Aurora’s backhand caught him across the face, snapping his head to the side.

“
You do not speak for me,” she said calmly, and Zander grinned, licking the cut on his lip.

“
Yes m’lady.”

She
turned on Beorin with a wide smile. “Do you think you can lead this army better than I?” she asked as she began to slowly walk around the table. Beorin eyed the others again, and Aurora wondered of a multi-tribal plot against her. She put a hand to his shoulder and whispered in his ear loud enough for all to hear.

“
It is your right to challenge a chieftain you believe unfit,” she reminded him and moved slowly to the other ear. “But, understand when I defeat you, as I shall, I will have you turned into a lich like the undead elf. Then you will heed my every word.”

Aurora
trailed his face with her fingertips and scraped across his beard. Beorin had lost his gusto to her promise. He turned his head from her sidelong gaze. “You have my loyalty Chieftain Snowfell…I am eager for glory, is all.”

Aurora
could tell it hurt his pride to utter the words, but he understood as well as the rest of them that, had he not, he would have died. She looked to the others and knew this was the time to gain true loyalty.

“
I was raised on the ancient tales as you all were. Many of you passed the stories on to your own children and grandchildren. The songs of ancient glories and days past are taught to every child who survives three winters. We honor the deeds of our dead, and we celebrate their bravery.”

She
locked eyes with each chief in turn as she began pacing before them. “But what of our deeds, our bravery? We stand upon the brink of reclamation, and you would set us squabbling among ourselves?” she chastised Beorin, and he bowed his head in shame.

“
This is our chance to make history! To take back, with devastating force, what is rightfully ours. We have slumbered long upon the frozen island, fighting to survive one more winter. No more, I say!” she slammed the table. “No more. I shall lead the Seven Tribes to the glories of old. I will not be stopped by man or elf, dwarf or dragon. If you would see the power of the Seven Tribes restored, then you are my brothers. If not, you have no place here.”

She
turned from them and regarded the fire at the center of the tent for a long time, letting her words echo in their minds. They would be staring at her arse, no doubt; she knew that, like her words, her figure stirred their passion. She turned on them suddenly and walked to the table. They regarded her with newfound respect; even Beorin seemed to be appeased.

“
Give me your undying loyalty, and I shall carve your names in history!”