Champions of the Gods (25 page)

Whill got little sleep that night. He tossed and turned, thinking about the attack on Belldon Island that would take place in the morning. His first impulse was to mount up on Zorriaz and storm the island with Abram and the others. But his impulses had gotten him in trouble in the past.

He had learned his lesson.

Still it killed him to know that he would not be participating in the rescue. He knew that Avriel needed him as well. He had no idea what Kellallea was up to, but he knew that it couldn’t be good. Before he could deal with the devious goddess, however, he knew he had Zander to deal with.

An hour before dawn, he got out of bed and dressed in his armor. He left Brinn without a word to anyone but Captain Marshall, telling him that he would return as soon as he could with the barbarian witch.

After leaving the captain, he met with Zalenlia. She and the other golds had bedded down in the field many miles south of Brinn—and far away from the drunken dwarves.

The large gold dragon rose and stretched out her wide wings, flapping them twice before folding them to her sides.

“You go to find the spirit walker?” she said.

“Yes,” said Whill. “I would have you join me, if you wish.”

“Our path lies to the southwest,” said Zalenlia, glancing in that direction and sniffing the air. “There are many gold eggs that must be retrieved from Drakkar. I will not leave them to be raised by those who worship the Father of Dragons. Many of the Blessed survived the battles to the south.”

“But what of the pact?” said Whill. “Brinn could use your help should the necromancer attack while I am away. If not yourself, surely one of your kin or more might be able to remain behind.”

“Good king,” said Zalenlia, bowing her head. “We have sworn a pact, that is true, but our first responsibility lies with the safety of our whelps. Healing you was my gesture of peace to the humans of Agora. That must be enough for now.”

“But where will you take the eggs?” Whill asked.

“We will not take them anywhere. I will take control of Drakkar Island.”

Whill tried to think of a way that he might keep the dragons there to guard Brinn, but they were not his servants. The dragons were free to do as they pleased.

“Very well,” said Whill. “I thank you once again for all that you have done for me. I will not soon forget my debt.”

“If you do, know that I will remind you,” said Zalenlia. “Farewell for now, Whillhelm Warcrown.”

“Farewell, Zalenlia.”

He watched the small terror of golden dragons as they flew off to the southwest. He wished that there had been something he could say, something he could offer them to get them to stay, but he was the one who owed Zalenlia, not the other way around.

Zorriaz took to the morning sky as the first rays of light lit the horizon to the east. They headed north, taking a wide arc around Lake Eardon. From his vantage point, Whill should have been able to see rolling hills and rivers branching out from the lake, but the greenish fog hung thick about the land.

Whill flew north for hours. With every mile his apprehension increased. There was no sign of life in Shierdon. He landed more than once to survey the destruction that had been wrought by Zander. Both times he found nothing but dead vegetation and trees, and abandoned villages as quiet as graveyards.

“Can it be that he has killed them all?” he asked Zorriaz. “There were nearly a half million people living in Shierdon.”

“Then for their sakes, I hope it is not true,” said the dragon.

The fog lightened the further they got from Lake Eardon, and soon Whill could see through it to the land below. The trees in the forests had no leaves. They stood broken and withered. There was no green to be seen in the fields or orchards either. Even the lakes and rivers were eerily still and dark.

It made Whill sick to think of all the people who had died, only to be risen to serve Zander and attack their own people.

“This isn’t good, Zorriaz. We’ve got to find this Gretzen woman swiftly. For if this plague spreads south, Uthen-Arden will be lost.”

Early in the morning, Krentz summoned Dirk and Abram. They joined her and Chief by the lake shore. Raene and her dwarves were there as well, loading on the many boats that would take them to Belldon Island.

“It be a good day for killin’ liches,” said Kelgar. He stood with his arms hooked around the double-headed halberd draped over his shoulders.

“Aye,” said Raene. She couldn’t help her ear-to-ear grin.

“You and your dwarves give us a distraction, and we’ll do the rest,” said Dirk.

“Oh, we be givin’ ye a distraction all right,” said Kelgar with a laugh. “When we be done with ‘em, they’ll wish they
was
dead!”

The surrounding dwarves gave a cheer and broke out into song. They sang of their fallen king and kin, of glory and vengeance. The spirits of the human soldiers were lifted as well. General Walker had chosen the fiercest and the strongest of his men for the mission. They had no fear of death and nothing left to lose. One and all knew that the fate of the kingdom rested upon their shoulders.

The dwarves led the way across the waters in five boats, each carrying over a hundred dwarves. Each ship had many blessed dwarves aboard, ready to turn away any attack that came from the island.

Krentz dismissed Dirk and summoned him back. This time he brought Fyrfrost and Abram with him. Dirk, Abram, and Chief turned to wisps as Krentz mounted the spirit dragon. Together they flew high above the lake and waited for the allies to make their move.

The dwarven blessed churned the water behind the boats, while others filled the wide sails with wind. Soon they were speeding across the lake toward the distant island. Jade mist hung thick upon the waters, but like an arrow the fleet cut through the veil.

Raene stood with her fearless kin, bellowing the song at the top of her lungs. Tears welled in her eyes, partly from the incredible wind, but also from the tides of emotion crashing through her.

Soon the island came into view, and with it, the undead armada. The long line of ships were anchored a mile from the island. Even as one of the dwarves yelled from the crow’s nest high above, a horn blared in the distance. From across the water came dozens of flashes as the many ships unloaded their cannons.

“Blessed o’ the gods!” yelled Kelgar. “Prepare to repel the attack!”

Those dwarves who had been blessed with the new abilities moved to the front of the ships and focused on the incoming cannon balls. They put their hands out before them and tensed as they mentally took control of the quickly descending projectiles. Raene stood beside her brother, straining against the effort to repel the attack. The cannon balls continued to sail toward them, but then, one after another, they slowed and finally hovered high above the water.

“Push!” Kelgar ordered his dwarves.

They gave a collective cry and mentally pushed the hovering cannon balls back over the lake, guiding them toward the armada. A cheer went up when fires flared to life in the distance, and the armada was riddled with their own bombs.

The dwarves pushed on. Propelled by the surging waters behind them, they crashed through the armada, sending back cannons once more and sinking many ships. The others they left lame in their wake.

Up on the rocky shores of Belldon Island, the undead had gathered en masse. A thousand glowing eyes waited for them, bright even in the morning sun that peeked through parts in the surging mists. There were humans, draggard, elves, even dwarven undead there on the shore, gnashing their teeth and snapping at the air.

“Give em a volley o’ stone!” Kelgar ordered all surrounding ships.

They had loaded the barges with boulders and smaller stones. The dwarves mentally took hold of the load and raised it into the air above their heads.

“Fire!”

The hundreds of rocks flew through the air in a long arc and slammed into the waiting horde, sending many crashing into the sea.

A fell language rode across the water, and dozens of points on the shore began to glow.

“Can we turn back a magical attack?” Raene whispered to her brother.

“Dunno. But we’re about to be findin’ out,” said Kelgar.

Just then, the death knights along the shore let loose their glowing attack in the form of furious green fireballs that streaked across the lake, kicking up ten-foot plumes in their wake.

The dwarves instinctively pushed the spells with their minds. To Raene’s shock and amazement, it worked. Many of the writhing fireballs fell to the ocean, guarded by shaking hands. Others turned in their flight and hit the coast. Kelgar sent another volley of stone, this time telling the dwarves to aim for the castle overlooking the southern lakeside.

The dwarves drove the ships to shore and began to leap off the sides into the shallow water before they had dropped anchor. Undead charged the invaders but were pushed back by the mental force of those who had been blessed. They raised dirt and stone from the lakeshore and attacked with whirlwinds of flying debris and crushing stone.

The battle for Belldon Island had begun.

Fyrfrost dove through the clouds and sailed down to the castle. The dwarves were charging the beach, pushing back the thousands of undead who had moved to defend.

“Give us a few minutes to search the castle,” said Dirk. “Stay out of range.”

He and Abram vanished.

There were many archers along the battlements and tower balconies. Krentz knew that she had been spotted, but there was little they could do about it. She was hundreds of yards away from the castle and climbing. Dirk and Abram would fly through the castle, locate Teera and the other women, and return to tell her where the extraction point would be.

As she flew a wide circle around the castle, winged beasts leapt from the highest towers to intercept her.

“We’re got company,” she told Chief and Fyrfrost.

The dragon growled low.

“When you hear the bow sing, fly steady,” said Krentz.

Abram and Dirk flew through the castle walls and into the main hall and instantly they felt the pull of Zander. The lich was up high in one of the many towers, mentally commanding the undead to defend the southern shore. Dirk fought the compulsion to obey and led Abram through the main hall and down into the lower depths. There was a dungeon below the castle, but a quick search of it turned up no Teera. Up into the main body of the castle they flew, checking room after room and soon moving on to the many towers.

Dirk wanted to avoid Zander if possible, however, he began to think that the necromancer was keeping his captives close. A search of the towers confirmed his suspicions, for the only one they hadn’t checked was the one from which Zander’s commands emanated.

“He is too close to them,” said Dirk as they both solidified in the stairwell to the tower.

“The dwarves will soon reach the castle. Perhaps Zander will leave the tower to deal with them,” said Abram.

A lich came through the doorway at the bottom of the stairs. Upon seeing the two spirits, it opened its mouth to give warning, but Dirk’s spirit blade quickly severed its soul. The dark elf dropped to the floor, lifeless.

Two loud thuds shook the castle. Dirk could just imagine the dwarves hurling massive boulders at the stone walls.

“Now we know where they are,” said Dirk. “I’ll go back and tell Krentz. Our best chance is getting them out through the roof.”

“Agreed,” said Abram. “I’ll stay here. If Zander leaves the tower, I’ll make my move. You just be ready with Krentz.”

A draquon dove at Fyrfrost’s neck, and Krentz let loose a streaking arrow that took the beast in the chest. Another draquon attacked from the right. Fyrfrost bathed it in flames and banked a hard left, spinning and diving to crush the wings of another beast that had been flying below them.

Krentz’s dragon bow sang again and again, riddling the attacking draquon with glowing arrows. Fyrfrost doused a group of three as they attacked head on. Through the flame the undead draquon continued. Chief streaked by and slammed into the lead attacker, and Krentz put her bow to work on the others. Suddenly Dirk was there as well, solidifying on the back of one of the beasts and thrusting his glowing blade into its back. He leapt off as the dying draquon spiraled to the ground far below.

“We have found them,” said Dirk.

“Lead the way!” Krentz yelled over the howling wind.

Ghost and dragon dove down toward the castle and flew between the many towers. Death knights were blasting the distant dwarves with glowing spells from the battlements and spires. Dirk landed on the wide roof of the tower and stealthily attacked a death knight from behind. It dropped dead at his feet, but two others turned to attack. Krentz leapt off Fyrfrost as he flew over the tower. She hit the roof and rolled, coming up in a shooting stance. Two glowing arrows hit the death knights and laid them low.

Chief growled. Having solidified on the roof beside Dirk, he now stared at the door leading to the tower below.

“Stand ba—” Dirk began to say, but the door suddenly burst from its hinges.

Zander walked out onto the roof. He wore armor made completely of bone. In his left hand he held the long staff with the glowing green skull set atop. From his right hand came a sudden flash of light, and a green crackling orb shot out and streaked across the roof. Chief leapt in front of Krentz before she had time to react. The orb hit the ghost wolf and disintegrated him in a shower of sparks.

Dirk shot across the roof and slammed the necromancer into the battlements before he could get off another shot. The dark elf kept his feet, spinning with the attack and grabbing Dirk by the neck to pin him against the wall.

“Now, you are mine,” said Zander.

Through his fingertips went writhing jade tendrils. They snaked their way into Dirk’s neck even as he thrust the spirit blade into Zander’s side. The necromancer reeled back, severing contact. Then the dragon bow sang three sharp notes. The arrows hit Zander one after another, sending him toppling over the battlements and out of sight.

Krentz ran to Dirk as he slumped to the floor.

Abram sensed Zander moving up to the roof. He peeked his head through the large wooden door and peered into the room beyond. There he saw Teera and two of her daughters shackled to the wall. He was dismayed to not see Mael. Abram flew into the room and solidified before his unconscious sister. She and the others looked like they had been through hell. Abram noticed Teera’s bandaged wrist and felt a pang of sorrow and regret wash through him. He touched her face and spoke her name. Slowly she roused and opened her eyes.

“Abram?” she said, eyes widening. “What devilry is this?”

“Hello, sister. I’ve come to free you. Where are the keys to your shackles?”

Teera looked confused. “Is it really you?” she asked, mystified.

“Yes. We haven’t much time. Where are the keys?”

Teera shook her head as if to clear it. Her eyes wandered over the room.

“The necromancer has them.”

That wasn’t what Abram wanted to hear. He inspected the thick chains and the locks binding Terra’s wrists and ankles. He took hold of a chain attached to the floor and pulled with all his might. His fear and anger fueled his ghostly power, and with great effort he ripped the bolt from the stone. The task left him feeling weak and tired, but he eventually tore all the chains from their moorings. Teera could hardly stand,

“Where is Mael?” Abram asked.

Teera was helping her youngest daughter Ella to stand. She only shook her head at her brother.

Anger welled inside Abram, giving him strength.

“Come on,” he said, leading his sister and nieces to the stairwell by the wall.

Abram cautiously peered through the open door to the roof beyond. Krentz was kneeling beside a fading Dirk. There was no sign of Zander.

“Quickly,” said Krentz when she saw them. “Get them to Fyrfrost!”

The dragon landed in the middle of the roof and lowered a wing. Abram ushered the women across the roof and helped them to mount Fyrfrost.

Soon they were gliding out over the water and watching the castle disappear into the distance.

Raene saw the dragon fly overhead and smiled to herself—they had done it. She yelled to her brother Kelgar, telling him that it was now time to fall back, the captives had been rescued.

“Bah! Fall back?” he said as he hurled yet another boulder at the attacking hordes of undead. “We got ‘em right where we be wantin’ ‘em!”

A fell voice boomed, shaking the stone and spurring the undead on harder. Raene looked up to the towers and found a dark figure standing on the battlements of one of them. She recognized the glowing staff to be Zander’s. The necromancer extended his hand, and from it came a crackling arc of lightning that snaked its way through the air and hit the dwarven army. Green bolts leapt from one dwarf to another and exploded against the ground.

Those dwarves who had been hit cried out in tortured voices. Raene watched, horrified as one such dwarf beside her convulsed and shuttered. Suddenly he settled and turned his green, glowing eyes on Raene.

“Fall back!” she cried out.

Another blot hit the group, turning dozens of dwarfs into Zander’s minions. The undead dwarves began to attack their kin as Zander’s hordes pressed harder from the north.

Raene fought her way through the recently turned dwarves, felling them swiftly with her glowing mace and sending them on to the Mountain of the Gods. She reached Kelgar and found her brother cursing and crying as he chopped down one of his generals who had been hit by the spell.

“We must fall back!” said Raene.

Kelgar glared up at Zander. Raene thought for a fearful moment that he would order another charge. But to her relief he cupped his hand beside his mouth and ordered a retreat.

“With me, sister. When that bastard fires again, send it back at him.”

The dwarves rushed by, heading for the shore. Zander cocked back his arm again and unleashed the most powerful blast yet. A deafening boom of thunder was followed by a thick bolt of lightning. Raene and Kelgar lifted their arms and tried to mentally take hold of the spell, but the energy was too strong and wild to tame. The many bolts leapt from one dwarf to another, turning dozens more into liches.

“Gods damn ye bastard!” Kelgar cried. Wide-eyed and deranged by rage, he searched the immediate area and mentally raised a ten-foot-wide block of stone that had fallen from the bombarded castle wall.

Raene put her mace to work and fought off those undead dwarves who got too close to her brother.

Kelgar gave a growling cry and pushed the stone through the air, up over the castle proper, to slam into the tower upon which the necromancer stood. The stone block crashed through the middle of the tower, which buckled, crumbling at the middle, and toppled over like a felled tree.

“Hurry!” said Raene, grabbing her exhausted brother’s arm and pulling him toward the shore.

The dwarves fought off their kin and scrambled onto the boats. Many of the blessed remained behind to keep the hordes at bay while their brothers launched the boats.

As the boats where propelled across the lake by the churning waters, the song of war could be heard coming from the island.