Champions of the Gods (14 page)

“Aye, we could all live in peace. Until someone or something came along that disagreed and killed our tree-hugging arses. There be evil in the world, Whill. You seen it with yer own eyes. People like us have got to fight. It be our purpose. Ain’t that kind o’ thinkin’ about peace what led ye to nearly be killed? These be hard times, me friend, and there ain’t no time for timid strategies. Too much is at stake.”

“Maybe you’re right.”

“Aye, I be over a hundred years old. I know a thing or two about the ways o’ the world and the hearts o’ men, dwarves, and elves.”

“When do you think the dragons will attack?” Whill asked.

“Who’s to say? Let ‘em wait. Me dwarves are only gettin’ stronger. How about the necromancer. How do ye plan on dealin’ with him?”

“I don’t know.” Whill admitted. “There is a dark power working through him. I caught only a glimpse of it. But it is more terrifying than anything I have ever known. I know that I have a chance at gaining the same power as Zander, but it is not something that I look forward to. It is such a dark magic.”

“Aye, Whill. Just ye be rememberin’ who ye be and do what you know to be right and just. Ye be a good man. I got faith in ye.”

Reshikk stood on the jutting stone at the base of the volcano, watching as the messenger approached Drakkar Island. He focused in and saw a dark elf lich riding an undead draquon. Upon seeing the intruders, the dragon scouts gave warning cries and moved to intercept. Reshikk touched their minds with his consciousness, telling them to let them pass. The dragons obeyed, circling the draquon and guiding it to the rim of the volcano.

“Leave us!” said Reshikk when a number of dragons landed on the rim, eyes gleaming with hatred for the elf and his cross-breed mount.

“Lord Reshikk,” said the elf in a deep, gravelly voice. “This one has something for you, an offering from its lord.”

“What is your name, lich?”

“This one has no name. This one is a vessel of the Lord of the Dead. Through it you shall speak to him, and he to you.”

“Then I would speak to him now,” said Reshikk.

The lich’s green glowing eyes glazed over foggy white. He lifted his head to gaze at Reshikk. “Reshikk, lord of dragons, I see that my vessel has arrived.”

Reshikk looked upon the elf lich in disgust. “Zander, what am I to do with this wretch?”

“Through him we can converse, as you can plainly see. The lich will obey your every command. Use him as you see fit, or not at all.”

“When do you move on the humans and dwarves?”

“Soon,” said the lich. “Very soon. The humans will be no trouble. The dwarves, however, have grown stronger than ever they have been. They have fortified their mountains and burrowed deep. I would ask you to send your blessed red, so that she might burn a hole into their nest and allow for my legions to flood the Ky’Dren and Elgar mountains. Ro’Sar and King Roakore, I shall leave for you.”

Reshikk eyed the lich, alarmed that the necromancer knew so much. “Your influence stretches wide. Is there anything that the spirits cannot tell you?”

“There is little I do not know.”

“You ask that my red help you into the mountains, but what do you offer in return?”

The lich pointed to the west across the wide ocean. “I control many legions of draggard, draquon, and dwargon. I have ordered them all to converge on Isladon. They await your command even now.”

Reshikk searched his mind, feeling beyond the hundreds of dragons on Drakkar, extending his consciousness westward across the ocean. Suddenly he felt them, thousands of them, and wondered how he had not felt them before. He despised the dark elf creations; half dragon and half elf, the beasts were as hated by the dragons as they were the elves.

“You mock me with this wretched scourge!” Reshikk said with a growl.

“I mock you not at all. They were born from the eggs of dragons. Your call to your kin pulls them ever eastward. They wish to serve you so strongly that they have become a burden upon me. I have sent them to you to do with as you see fit. Kill them all if you like. Though it would be an awful waste. Why not rather send them against our enemy? Let them be cannon fodder. I care not. For now they are yours.”

Reshikk saw beyond his hatred for the abominations, realizing that they would be useful to his cause. “Very well. I accept your offering. I will send my red and a terror of dragons north to the dwarf mountains. Do what you will with the Ky’Dren and Elgar dwarves,” said Reshikk. “But the Ro’Sar dwarves and the elves of Elladrindellia are mine.”

The lich gave a wet, throaty laugh. “Very well, but you should exert caution, my friend. Our enemies grow strong. They too have been blessed by their gods. The one called Whill of Agora has begun to realize the true power of the humans. You, with your vast knowledge, remember of what I speak.”

Reshikk did remember. The short-lived humans had been blessed with a great power—the ability to mimic all other power. “I know of what you speak. Have any others received the blessing?”

“He is the only one, so far. Already he has absorbed the blessing of the dwarves. He will only grow stronger. The elf princess Avriel has also been blessed. Remember this when you venture to Elladrindellia.”

“It matters not,” said Reshikk. “The Father of Dragons shall protect us. The age of the dragon had begun. None shall stand in our path.”

The lich gave a grinning nod. “Very well, Reshikk the Green. When should I expect your terror of dragons?”

“They will descend upon northern Ky’Dren in three moons.”

“Excellent,” said the lich. His eyes became bright green once more and he swayed mindlessly, awaiting Reshikk’s command.

Reshikk called Fiorra the Red to him, ordering her to take a terror of ten dragons to venture forth with her to Ky’Dren. The others he ordered to prepare to depart from Drakkar. He set his sights on the east, grinning to himself—soon he would have his revenge. Soon Ro’Sar would burn.

Zander withdrew from the lich messenger, though he did not release him completely, keeping a part of his mind alert to what the creature could see and hear. Through the lich, Zander would be able to keep an eye on the fool Reshikk. He had thought at first that the dragon lord might be a problem, but he was pleased with how easy it had been to gain his favor. He and his dragons would prove to be quite useful before the end.

The spirits had told him many things, including the news that Kellallea had stopped tampering Whill’s true power. It was only a matter of time before the foolish king of men marched north to face him. And when he did, Zander would possess him as Eadon had failed to do. Zander would absorb his soul and become Whillhelm Warcrown. Then, with his unique power, he would challenge the gods. He would destroy Kellallea and gain her power. The other gods would soon fall to him as well, even his own, the Lord of Darkness and Death.

Avriel stood in front of the mirror, staring at her belly, which was becoming more prominent as of late. She rubbed it gently, thinking of the child inside and who they might grow up to be.
Will it be a boy or a girl?
She wondered. She had no preference, hoping only that it was healthy. She found herself wondering what the child would look like. Would it have long pointed ears like an elf, or short ones like a human? Would it have slanted or round eyes, blond hair like its father or dark hair like its mother?

There had never been a half elf-half human, not to Avriel’s knowledge. She had no idea what to expect. She reminded herself not to worry so. It was common knowledge amongst the elves that a mother who was more relaxed during her pregnancy had a child with far less problems when they grew up, both physically and mentally. The maternity houses had been built for that very reason. Avriel should have already been going to one, but she had yet to break the news to her people, fearing that she and the child would be shunned.

A distant cry startled her. She waited, listening. Again it came, a shrieking, pain-filled cry that made her skin crawl. The clanging of swords and sounds of battle suddenly rose up outside beyond the balcony. She ran to it and peered over and gasped at what she saw. A small army of elves were storming the palace. They wore black leather armor and hoods to conceal their identity. Like shadows they ran across rooftops and battlements, shooting small bows and attacking with poison darts and smoke bombs.

“Princess Avriel!” Thryn De’Bregeth stormed into the room wearing a full suit of armor.

“The fortress is under siege. Come with me!”

Avriel retrieved her sheathed spirit blade and strapped the belt to her waist. Out in the hall, soldiers were scrambling toward the front of the palace.

“My lady!” Lunara called as she ran toward them. “What is happening?”

“It is the avengers of the Taking. Come along quickly!”

General Bregeth led them down the stairs of the main hall and hurried toward the inner sanctum. They had nearly reached the door when an explosion tore through the palace and the front doors blew in. Avriel was lifted off her feet and slammed into the wall along with Lunara and Thryn. She hit hard and felt a hundred tiny fragments riddle her body. Falling to the floor limply and choking on the dust, she fought against the dizzying effect of the explosion. The ringing in her ears was terrible, and the brightness of the flash had temporarily blinded her.

“My lady?”

Lunara’s weak voice came to her faintly. Avriel rubbed her eyes and fought to see through the thick dust hanging in the great hall. She clutched her stomach. The sounds of approaching feet came from all directions. The sounds of battle came rushing back to her, and she was lifted by strong hands.

“Hurry to your feet, my lady!” said the general. “Make for the inner sanctum!”

She scrambled to get up as shapes began to appear through the haze. Lunara grabbed her arm and tried to pull her along, but two assassins burst through the broken window and barred their path.

Lunara leapt in front of her princess and unsheathed her sword as the assassins charged. Avriel put her spirit blade to work, joining Lunara in her fight against the two assailants. Her blade passed through armor with ease and cut through the spirits of her enemies.

“Protect the princess at all costs!” the general cried somewhere in the room.

Bows twanged and arrows ripped through the air. The clashing of swords became more frantic as the invaders pressed the attack, now spilling in through open windows as well as from other parts of the palace.

There was nowhere to go, the invaders were too many. General Thrynn was fending off the frontal attack, and many of the guards had surrounded their princess, but they were quickly being outnumbered. Avriel picked up the sword of one of her fallen guards to use to block the oncoming attacks.

An attacker broke through the defenses and lunged at her. She blocked the blow with the guard’s sword and stabbed forward with the spirit blade. Her opponent’s sword passed through her glowing weapon harmlessly, and his eyes widened when it sliced through his spirit.

Avriel went on the offensive, infuriated by the attack on her palace and the dead guards that lay all about her. She turned aside blades and arrows, hacking and slashing through armor and steel, leaving crumpled forms in her wake. Lunara fought beside her, and they were soon joined by General Thrynn and a few of his elves at the center of the room. They fought valiantly side by side and back to back.

Another explosion suddenly shook the palace—likely a distraction to keep the rest of the guards from storming the keep. It seemed to be working. While more and more of the hooded assassins in black spilled in through broken windows and blown-in doors, no guards came to their aid.

A group of assassins carrying bows charged in through the main entrance and leveled their weapons on the group. The twang of bowstrings sounded in the midst of the clanging swords, and six arrows riddled the defenders. Lunara went down with an arrow to the chest, and two of Thryn’s guards dropped. Avriel and the general continued to fight off the press of the swordsmen as the bows sounded once more.

Avriel was hit just below the left collarbone. Another arrow found her leg. She cried out in frustration and pain, watching helplessly as Thrynn—riddled with arrows and bleeding from many wounds—charged the bowmen, heedless of the blades that came at his back.

An arrow took him in the neck, dropping him instantly. Avriel cried out and slew the closest assassin. She blocked a stab from another and turned it to the side before slicing through his armor and body with the spirit blade.

Suddenly an arrow found her.

Avriel jerked back and wavered, glancing down drunkenly at the arrow protruding from her chest.

She fell to her knees.

The assassins circled her, training their weapons on her cautiously.

She fought to breath.

Tears streamed down her face.

She clutched at her stomach, fearful for her child.

“Whill…” she whispered through blood-stained lips.

One of the assassins stepped into view and took off his hood. He stared down on her triumphantly, lifting her chin with the tip of his sword.

“Whill of Agora’s whore. Where is your champion now?”

He pulled his sword back for the killing blow and froze.

Avriel watched, mystified, as time slowed to a crawl. Everyone in the room was moving almost indiscernibly. Even the dust hung suspended by the spell that had fallen upon the room, affecting everyone but Avriel.

Kellallea suddenly appeared before her.

She stood beside the assassin, looking down at Avriel with pity. Her silver robes billowed in an unfelt wind and her hair danced wildly. Her eyes conveyed the deepest sorrow, and her hand reached out to Avriel.

Avriel took in a shuddering breath, clutching her stomach and the arrow in her chest. “Please, help me.”

“There is only one way that I can help you. You must swear fealty to me.”

The assassin’s blade had reached its apex and stopped for a moment before beginning back the other way. Like the laziest of snowflakes, the sword came down toward Avriel’s neck.

Avriel shook her head, unable to catch enough air to speak.

“I said that I would bless those whom I deem worthy,” said Kellallea. “You are worthy, Avriel. But I dare not intervene unless a champion is born from my actions. Simply speak the words, and I shall return to you your lost power.”

The sword arched lower with every passing second. The assassin’s eyes gleamed with victory.

Avriel thought of the child she carried inside of her. She thought about the life that it would never have, the laughter that would never be heard to brighten the dark world. She saw Whill laying waste to the land in his grief and want for revenge.

Forgive me.

The sword was inches away.

Avriel mustered all the energy she had left and bellowed with all her might, “I swear fealty!”

An explosion of light erupted from the goddess’s palm and hit Avriel in the chest. Time returned to normal, and the shockwave sent her attacker flying back. Avriel was lifted up off the ground and began to glow so brightly that the circled assassins were forced to cover their eyes and cower from its brilliance.

Avriel felt a rush of lost knowledge and power course through her. The memories of magic and spellcasting came back to her, and so too did her memories of Whill. She gasped, and a tear of joy streamed down her face. Instantly blue tendrils of healing engulfed her and mended her wounds. She was slowly lowered to the ground and stood before the shocked assassins.

Some fled, others dropped to their knees.

“She has been blessed by the goddess!” said one of the elves.

“It is a miracle!” said another.

“Lady Avriel, please forgive us,” said another still.

“You try to murder my unborn child! Yet you ask for forgiveness?”

Valorron Arken stared back at her with hate-filled eyes. He let out a cry and charged. Before he had taken two steps, Avriel unleashed a glowing spell from her palm that went through his chest and hit the wall behind him. Wide-eyed, Valorron fell to the floor, dead.

Avriel turned her murderous gaze on the cowering elves.

“My…lady…” Lunara’s voice came weakly.

Avriel forgot the cowardly assassins and ran to her side. “Lunara, don’t move, be still. Let me help you.”

Avriel pulled the arrow from the silver-haired elf’s chest and pressed a hand against the wound. Her hand began to glow bright blue, and Lunara’s chest heaved as she took in a deep, desperate breath.

Many of the downed guards called to her, and Avriel searched them, looking for General Thrynn. She found him lying in a pool of blood. He was beyond her power to heal.

A marching of feet sounded beyond the main entrance, and Avriel braced herself, ready to send the killers to their graves. To her relief, she found that the guards had finally fought through to the palace.

Outside she found that the main gate had been utterly destroyed by dragon’s breath. Dozens of elves had been killed, and twice as many injured. She tended to the survivors, going down the line and healing them one by one as the gathered elves watched on in teary-eyed wonderment.

The news spread far and wide that day. Avriel, princess of Elladrindellia, had been blessed by the goddess Kellallea.

After finishing the final healing, Avriel returned to the palace and stormed up the stairs. She ignored the questions of those she passed and went to her quarters. Slamming the door behind her, she called out angrily, “Kellallea, show yourself!”

The goddess appeared before her instantly. “I see that you have put my gifts to use already. I approve.”

“You manipulative bitch! You did it, all of it!”

“Do not be foolish. You know that I am forbidden from intervening in the lives of mortals.”

“You can speak to them. You can lie to them. You can make false promises and manipulate their minds. You sent Valorron Arken after me. I saw the betrayal in his eyes.”

“That is absurd,” said Kellallea, growing angry. “I have saved your life, given you back your power, and you would dare to accuse me?”

“Enough of your games!” said Avriel.

Kellallea glared at her and raised a balled fist. Sudden pain dropped Avriel to her knees. The arrows had returned. Her heart thudded so close to the one in her chest that she felt the vibration shaking the shaft. She tried to speak but coughed up blood instead.

The goddess waved her hand and the arrows were gone. “Need I remind you where you would be had I not helped you?”

Avriel gasped, clutching her chest with one hand and feeling her stomach with the other.

“Yes, I have saved your child as well.”

“Why?” Avriel asked. She got to her feet and stood before the goddess. “Why have you done this?”

“The gods have awakened. They have begun to choose their champions. Whill continues to refuse me. So I have chosen you.”

Avriel didn’t know what to believe.

“Are you not thankful for your power?” Kellallea asked. “You and Whill both harbor such suspicion for me. Yet, look at all that I have done for you. Had you died here today, Whill would have been shattered. The man that you know would have been destroyed, and a vengeful dictator would have grown from his grief. His true power cannot be left unchecked.”

“Then it is as I have expected. I am nothing more than a bargaining chip,” said Avriel.

“You are so much more than that, Avriel. You are my champion; you are the only hope for the elves of Elladrindellia.”

Avriel suddenly realized that with her power to heal, she could help the dying elders, and…

“Take me to my mother so that I can heal her!”

Kellallea regarded Avriel with pity. “She is beyond your help,” she said quietly.

“No…” said Avriel, shaking her head in denial. “Tell me that she is alive!”