Champions of the Gods (17 page)

Roakore held on to Reshikk’s tail for dear life. The dragon saw him, and rather than slamming himself into the cliff again, he whipped his tail, smacking against the cold hard stone. Roakore was clinging to two long spikes, and when they hit the mountainside, he was unable to hold on. The momentum and abrupt halt in motion caused him to slam into the side of the cliff, jarring his body and denting his helmet.

Roakore fell even as Reshikk craned his long neck and opened his wicked maw to spew forth his green acid. It fell like rain toward Roakore as he tumbled through the air. His only hope was his grappling hook. He grabbed it and dragged it along the stone face as he fell beside it, causing sparks and finally taking hold. The line became taught, and Roakore wasted no time in raising his hand and
pushing
on the falling acid. He imagined a wide umbrella of force as he did so, causing the acid to fly wildly into the wind.

Reshikk cocked back his head to belch acid once more, but before he could, a boulder hit him in the temple. Cheers sounded, and another boulder struck him—the closest stationed dwarves had aimed their catapults on him.

Silverwind came soaring through the sky then, and Roakore kicked off the stone and yanked his hook free. He hit the saddle and held firm to the horn as his mount ferried him away from the furious green dragon.

Reshikk grinned at him but did not give chase. Instead he dove and glided down to the base of the mountain—toward the large stone door that had been erected after the reclamation.

The dragons outnumbered the silver hawks four to one, and while the fierce dwarves fought bravely, they had been given little time to prepare. The dragons were far more powerful. Many of them were hundreds of years old and were much more experienced at aerial combat then the fledgling silver hawks.

In the initial confrontation, the dwarves had killed half a dozen dragons and injured many more. But they had taken heavy casualties themselves. Of the fifty hawks and riders who had set out, less than thirty remained.

The dragons had broken through the dwarf defenses and now hunted along the mountain range, spreading out north, south, and ever eastward, laying waste to fortresses and towers with their terrible fire and other unnatural gifts. The blessed landed beside their king before Roakore’s door and spread out in a long line.

Roakore, Helzendar, Philo, and a dozen other dwarves regrouped and set their sights on the ten dragons, intent on defending the mountain at all costs. They dove through the air like silver arrows, their dragonlances, axes, and swords cocked back and ready. But as they leveled out and sped over the rocky terrain, the blessed dragons finally showed their newfound power.

Roakore’s door was surrounded by hundreds of catapult and harpoon stations. The call went out and the dwarves let loose an arsenal of fizzling dragon’s breath bombs, long steel arrows, boulders, and harpoons. The blessed dwarves took mental control over the projectiles and guided them swiftly toward the heart of the terror.

The dragons would have all perished in the face of such an overwhelming attack, but as the hundreds of projectiles and bombs flew through the air, Eluveitie the Violet opened her gaping maw and gave a roar that shook the mountain. The sonic blast vibrated through the air, gaining momentum and volume as it went. Dust and dirt leapt high as the sonic wave hit the projectiles and sent them back the way they had come.

Roakore and the others watched in horror as the sonic wave slammed into the great door and the dragon’s breath bombs exploded against the towers and fortresses.

“For Ky’Dren!” he cried as he and his dwarves sped toward the devil dragons.

One turned to face them, a black dragon with gleaming eyes and hundreds of onyx horns and spikes protruding from its large, muscled body. The dragon opened its maw and spewed forth his black breath of death. Roakore shot out his hand, sending back the dark shadow and punching a whole through it. Those dwarves who had the power to do so did the same, pulling up as they went, desperately trying to fly through to clear skies. The cloud consumed many. When it hit them, they shriveled and aged, dwarf and silver hawk alike, until they fell from the sky like dry corn husks.

“By the gods!” Roakore cried out. He and the others had gotten above the cloud of death, but many had not. He desperately searched the survivors and was relieved to see that Helzendar and Philo had made it.

Below, the dragons continued their assault on the door and mountainside. The silver dragon belched lightning, a sleek-looking white shot forth ice and snow, the yellow blasted the door with fireballs, and the blue dragon bathed the door in steam so hot that it melted unfortunate dwarves and their armor on contact. An orange dragon speckled with the colors of flame belched lava from his gaping maw.

When the dust settled, Roakore’s door lay in shambles. The fortresses and towers had simply disappeared, leaving a scarred and scorched mountainside laid bare. The gaping hole leading into the mountain was wide and tall—big enough for a dragon to pass through.

Roakore cursed to himself. Some of the dwarves had disobeyed his order to regroup and await his command. Driven mad by the sight of such destruction to their mountain home, they had dived with their silver hawks, singing songs to the gods, and they had died one and all, killed by the horrible cloud of death from the black. Roakore was shaken to the core. His instincts told him to charge into the fray, death be damned, and die fighting for his mountain. He knew that the others would follow. But the simple fact was that they were hopelessly overpowered—the only way to win this fight would be with superior wits.

“Sire, behind us, look!” said Philo.

Roakore turned in his saddle and groaned when he saw thousands of green-eyed draggard, dwargon, and flying draquon tearing across the scorched earth and heading for the door.

“Forget the blasted dragons for now. Those be undead draggard. Don’t let ‘em in me mountain!” he cried out. His commanders repeated the message to their groups, creating an attack formation and diving to intercept the charging horde.

Roakore watched them go and turned his sights on the gaping hole in the side of the mountain. He had to close it somehow. Reshikk’s blessed had leapt into the air and flown off to wreak havoc on other parts of the mountain. The giant green, however, now faced away from the door.

He was staring in Roakore’s direction. Waiting.

“Put me down in front o’ the beast,” he said to Silverwind.

She gave an urgent argumentative squawk.

“Do as I be sayin’, damned ye! This foe be beyond ye. I need the earth under me feet.”

Silverwind grudgingly complied, swooping down and landing a hundred yards in front of Reshikk.

“Go on now, help with them blasted undead. Kill ‘em all!” said Roakore.

Silverwind flew away, and Roakore faced his nemesis. He dropped his shield and his axe and charged unarmed toward the green dragon.

Reshikk met his charge with one of his own. He did not leap into the air and fly toward him, but rather tucked his wings and tore across the rocky ground on all fours, kicking up stones and boulders alike in his wake.

Roakore stopped a few dozen yards from the barreling dragon and reached out with his mind to take hold of every stone, boulder, and jagged piece of rock around him. Hundreds of stones leapt into the air and flew in a blur toward the charging beast.

Reshikk reared, digging into the ground and kicking up a plume of dirt and dust. He spewed a wide stream of green acid out in front of him, melting everything it came in contact with. A few of the stones got through, and they riddled Reshikk’s body, cracking scales and breaking horns.

Some of the acid reached Roakore, but he sent it wide with a mental push.

“Reshikk! I will bathe the mountainside with your blood!” he cried.

Reshikk roared and leapt into the air. Two beats of his powerful wings had him closing the distance in a heartbeat. He landed before Roakore and swiped a clawed hand at the dwarf king. Roakore countered the attack with a force of will. He extended his hand and stopped the descending arm dead. Reshikk growled and swiped with the other arm. This one Roakore stopped as well. He stood between the impossibly large claws with his arms out wide, holding the beast at bay.

“KY’DREN, GIVE ME STRENGTH!”

Roakore shot both hands forward as a surge of power filled him. The mental attack hit Reshikk square in the chest with the force of a tidal wave. The green dragon howled as he was thrown back and crashed into the side of the mountain. Roakore reached out, taking hold of the loose stones spread across the destroyed mountainside and
pulled
them down on the dragon with all his mental might.

The mountainside rumbled, and an avalanche fell upon Reshikk as he tried desperately to escape. The stones continued, an ocean of jagged rock, dirt, and even trees burying the great dragon.

Roakore fell to his knees, panting and exhausted.

Helzendar landed beside him and leapt from Goldenwing.

“Me king!”

“I be alright, lad,” said Roakore, allowing himself to be helped up and eyeing the landslide.

Sound behind him caught his attention. The draggard horde was less than a quarter mile away and closing fast. He had to get the hole in the mountain closed. His landslide had filled half of it, but there was still enough room to admit many.

A rumble and a roar snapped his head back in the direction of the mountain. The pile of rubble heaved and bulged, as though the mountain itself was breathing.

“He still be alive,” said Helzendar with a grin.

Before Roakore could utter a word of protest, Helzendar had mounted Goldenwing and flew off toward the hated dragon.

Roakore growled a curse under his breath and charged after his son.

The stone heaved once more, and Reshikk burst through with a violent spray of acid, sending rocks flying in every direction. He reeled and thrashed, shaking himself free of the rubble.

Helzendar flew overhead and took mental control of a twenty-five-foot harpoon spear that sat amongst the rubble. Reshikk caught sight of Goldenwing and leapt into the air as Helzendar guided the spear quickly toward him. Green acid erupted from Reshikk’s maw, covering the spear and disintegrating it.

Helzendar pulled up when the acid came their way, but Reshikk would not let them go so easily. He sped through the air with startling speed and swiped a wicked claw at them.

Just before the strike, however, Helzendar unleashed another spear, which impaled Reshikk in the chest even as Goldenwing was batted to the side. The blow sent them spinning violently to crash into an outcropping of stone.

Reshikk roared in agony as the barbed spear caught and continued on with great momentum, sending Reshikk slamming into the side of the cliff.

Roakore skidded to a stop, crying out helplessly as he watched Goldenwing hit the stone face. Helzendar fell limply through the air and disappeared amidst the rubble.

Fury welled in the dwarf king; rage fueled his muscles and guided his hand. He reached out with his mind and took hold of the shaft protruding from Reshikk’s chest.

Roakore pulled with all his might, ripping the spear from Reshikk’s chest and bringing with it a spray of green blood. Moving his hands around in a circle overhead, Roakore sent the spear spinning faster and faster still. Before Reshikk could retaliate, Roakore brought the spear around and slammed it into the side of Reshikk’s head like a club. The metal shaft snapped with the impact, and Reshikk reeled to the side, stumbling.

Roakore was forced to release the bent spear and focus his attention on the thick stream of acid that Reshikk suddenly sprayed in his direction. The dwarf king raised his weary arms and pushed with all his might. Acid fell all around him as he parted it with his mental wedge. It burned through stone and earth, creating gaping pits that riddled the ground surrounding Roakore.

He turned his attention back to Reshikk and found the dragon rising into the air and trailing a thick stream of blood.

“Come back and fight like a dwarf, ye blasted devil bastard!” Roakore hollered after him.

Reshikk crested the mountaintop and disappeared beyond. Roakore thought to go after him, but then he remembered Helzendar. With what strength he had left, he raced toward the broken door and pile of rubble.

Behind him, the undead draggard army advanced.

Reshikk clutched the gaping wound in his chest as he glided over the snowy peaks of the Ro’Sar Mountains, speckling them with dots of green blood.

Zalenlia! Come to me!
he called out to the gold with his mind.

He faltered in his flight and crashed into the side of a mountain. His body had been riddled with hundreds of heavy stones, his scales were cracked and bleeding, and his wings were battered and torn. Reshikk stood on shaky legs as his blood melted the snow and ice beneath him.

He had underestimated the power of the dwarves.

Zalenlia!

Soon she would find him and restore his body and lifeblood. Then he would return and finish off the dwarf king and his son.

A golden reflection caught his eye then, and he grinned as Zalenlia flew in his direction, escorted by a host of other golds. She landed in the heavy snow beside Reshikk as her kin circled overhead, keeping a lookout.

“Quickly,” he said, grimacing against the pain.

The smaller dragon cocked her head at him, staring at his broken form.

“You wish for me to heal you. Restore you to your former glory?”

Reshikk gave a deafening roar. “DO AS I COMMAND!”

Zalenlia raised her head proudly, ignoring his bellowed command. “You are a fool, Reshikk the Green. I possess the power to heal you, of course. I have been blessed by the Father of Dragons. But my power is not like yours. You are a harbinger of death. While I am a giver of life. Why would I restore life to one who wished to extinguish it?”

He stared at her with hate-filled eyes and rose to his full height, looming over her. “Traitor!” Reshikk roared. “You would dare to defy the Father of Dragons?”

“You have failed your father,” she said calmly, musically. “He cares nothing for you any longer.”

Reshikk attacked her mind with the same force of will that he had used to call all dragons together in the great migration. She only smiled, unaffected by his efforts.

The Father of Dragons had abandoned him, Reshikk finally realized. With the last of his strength, he lashed out with his wickedly sharp claws and slashed Zalenlia’s neck. She reeled back from the attack but did not falter. Her scales began to glow with golden light. Reshikk watched with hate-filled eyes as the wound closed up and the golden blood stopped flowing.

Zalenlia glanced overhead before settling a smirking grin on Reshikk. “Your end has finally come, ancient one. Rest well.”

Reshikk jerked his head up even as a dozen golden dragons fell upon him with tooth and claw. He thrashed and clawed at his attackers, bathing them in burning acid. Zalenlia healed her kin as quickly as they were wounded.

A shroud of golden wings covered Reshikk. The dragons bit and clawed, pointed tails stabbed him repeatedly. He felt himself slipping and cried out to the Father of Dragons.

The Father, however, remained silent.