The Dreaddrac Onslaught (Book 4) (35 page)

“Bag of flour you say?”

Saxthor watched the pursed lips and furrowed brow clear from Tournak’s face. He moved to the wizard at the window. “What is it, Tournak?”

“Saxthor, do you remember the old seer in that cave at Botahar on our journey for the crystals?”

“Yes, she predicted my future,” the king replied. “She was right, too, though I thought she was crazy at the time.”

“You remember that powder she gave you sealed in the ceramic jar? The powder you threw on the wraith taking physical form that exploded when it hit the wet wraith.”

Saxthor smacked his forehead with his hand.

“I remember! I remember the powder exploding in a tremendous ball of white light. I thought it was magic.”

“It was an element that reacts with water, Saxthor. If that ship arrived from Botahar, and that powder was mined and refined there, it’s possible that bag is filled with that same powder,” Tournak added.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Socockensmek said, rushing over, “but did you say there’s a powder that explodes when it makes contact with water?” His old eyes were bright, his brow furrowed.

“Yes,” Tournak confirmed, “and if that’s what’s in that bag, the first rain will blow up the gate towers!” King and wizard looked at the general, whose jaw dropped.

“Is it dangerous to pick up?” Saxthor asked.

“No, it won’t explode if moved, but pray it doesn’t rain before you remove it.”

The three men rushed for the door, down the steps, and out to find the bag where Saxthor had hidden it away from the gate.

“Where did you leave it, Saxthor?” Socockensmek asked when they arrived at the gate.

“I pushed it under that bush there by the left side of the gate.”

“Go back into the keep’s tower, Your Majesty. We must not put your life in danger,” the general said. He motioned for two guards to accompany Saxthor to the keep.

Saxthor refused to leave, followed the others, and stood back, but wouldn’t be out of sight of the proceedings. The general shook his head seeing the king stood nearby. Socockensmek stationed the remaining guards he’d brought with them to hide the activity by the gate. Tournak carefully searched under the bush, finding the bag, and lifted what appeared to be nothing. He confirmed it was some powdery substance within a bag and placed it in an earthen jar, sealing it with a lid. They took it back into the fortress and to a safe, sealed dungeon room near the armory.

“What is it, Tournak,” the king asked.

“I can’t be sure until we can cancel the invisibility spell.”

“Well do it! Cancel the spell,” the general commanded, pushing forward. His bushy white eyebrows shot up as his mustache flared out.

“Not that easy to cancel another wizard’s spell other than with wizard-fire, which would blow this fortress to pieces if I used that,” the wizard said, alternately scratching his head and poking the bag in the jar.

“Well this is a fine fix,” Socockensmek mumbled.

“There must be other bags of this stuff placed in strategic spots around the city,” Saxthor said. Wizard and general spun around to the king. “There were two large crates unloaded from that ship.”

“The whole city could be blown to bits.” Socockensmek said in a gasp.

“We’ve got only a day or two before another rain sets in to be sure,” Tournak added.

“The perpetrators are likely gone now,” Saxthor said. He raised Sorblade slightly and the faint green glow was gone. “Knowing what this stuff will do when it gets wet, they’d likely want to be long away from the city when it rains. If we can locate all this stuff, wherever it’s been put in the city, we can get it under cover before a storm comes.”

“Looks like rain tomorrow, judging from the clouds,” Socockensmek said.

“I’m not sure how to break the spells, but I can color them,” Tournak said abruptly. “There’s a spell professors use in schools of wizardry to unmask mischievous spells the students cast. It colors invisibility spells purple. It might just work here.”

“Can you cast it over the entire city?” Saxthor asked.

“No, but I can walk the city casting the spell; it will react wherever the spell can reach.”

“I’ll issue a proclamation,” Saxthor said. He headed for his tower room for parchment, pen, and ink. “I’ll send an official announcer ahead of you with instructions that no one is to touch shimmering purple items, but to notify the officials sent with you following the announcer. You can then pass through the city behind the announcer, casting your spell. The guards with you can collect the bags of powder and stuff them into ceramic jars on a cart accompanying you.”

“Saxthor,” Tournak called out, “better add no one shall throw waste water of any kind out of windows.” Socockensmek’s eyes flared.

Saxthor nodded, turned, and disappeared up the stairs to write the proclamation. At dawn, the announcer passed through all the streets of the city followed by Tournak, the guards, and the cart. They discovered and collected nearly two crates of the powder bags.

*

“We’ve still got to figure out how to break the invisibility spells,” Tournak said, looking down at the crates stored safely in the arsenal of the old Favriana Fortress.

Saxthor stepped forward. He poked one of the shimmering purple bags.

“Yes, and I can’t help but wonder if we got all of them. It looks like there is room in these crates for one more bag.

Tournak and Socockensmek turned and gaped at the king staring at them. Dark clouds began to swirl over Lake Pundar to the north, moving south toward Favriana.

* * *

An agitated Prince Pindradese repeatedly repositioned himself on his snorting grey gelding beside the statuesque, hulking goblin on a great black stallion. The prince was for show. The goblin, commander over Dreaddrac’s forces in Prertsten and second in command to the prince himself, looked over the Akkin River’s mud flats left by the receding river. The black current flowed swiftly, spinning silver-edged eddies against the black water flowing from the Edros Swamp. Half a dozen ogre commanders stood behind the two leaders, with their legions of orcs and poorly clad Prertstenians formed up behind their overlords.

“Take three of your legions south along the river to the ford near the border with Sengenwha, General,” Pindradese said to the goblin. “The river should be low enough by the time you reach the tri-border to cross without difficulty. Make a big show of it. Have your troops rattle their armor to draw attention to your progress. Spread your units out to make the greatest presentation when crossing the river.”

The great goblin looked askance at the prince. His eyes narrowed. The stallion snorted. Pindradese tensed; his gelding, apparently sensing his rider’s stress, stamped about. Pindradese pulled on the bridle to steady the horse. There was an anxious moment of silence.

“Do as you’re told!” Pindradese ordered, his voice cracking. “Your master told you I’m in charge here.”

The goblin bristled. His muscles flexed under his armor and veins protruded in his neck, but the commander nodded slightly, acknowledging the prince’s order. He jerked the stallion’s reins and turned his mount south. He said nothing but pointed to three ogres and circled his fingers, indicating they and their legions were to follow him. With the gesture, the goblin and his orc legions moved south along the river.

“Send word immediately upon crossing the river,” Pindradese yelled to the departing goblin. The prince watched them march off without acknowledging one of his own Prertstenian commanders, a weather worn man with too many ropes and metals over his threadbare uniform, move forward beside him. The two of them watched the goblin march south with his troops in formation.

“Arrogant thing, that one,” the commander said. He looked toward the goblin and shuddered.

“Mind your mouth, man,” Pindradese said. He looked around to see who might have heard the comment. “There are ears everywhere.”

“Begging your pardon, Highness,” the man said. He scanned those close by. “Too many eyes and ears everywhere. Them mens across the river at Feldrik don’t worry me none so much as that goblin.”

Pindradese noticed the court fool on the pony behind him was watching the two men intently. Pindradese backhanded the commander slightly. The man glanced at the fool, a gift from Dreaddrac’s king, and rubbed his cheek. 

“Get the troops back to camp. We move in a few days once we receive word from the goblin that his troops have crossed the Akkin,” Pindradese said. The man stood firm, rubbing his cheek as the gray gelding stamped about, jerking his head. Pindradese turned his horse back toward the capital and Prertsten Palace; the dwarf followed.

*

The goblin general led his troops with great fanfare along the Akkin, watching to be sure farmers on the opposite bank in Heggolstockin saw their movement. When he reached the tri-border junction north of Sengenwha, his scouts located a rocky bottom ford in the river. There it widened, and the river was only knee deep. He drew up his orcs and ogres and issued orders for crossing of the river. They were near a farming village in Heggolstockin, and the goblin saw the farmers rushing about, panicking prior to the invasion.

* * *

The farmers around the village rushed together to discuss the enemy across the river, evidently about to cross into Heggolstockin. It was agreed that Farmer Hepple, being young, single, and without a family to protect, should race first to Feldrik Fortress to warn the commanding general of the impending attack. He should then hurry on to Duke Heggolstockin at his castilyernov at the ducal seat to warn him and petition for troops to drive the invaders back across the river. When he left, the farmers agreed they were no match for the legions across the river. They had no means of preventing their invasion. With their families, they started retreating with what livestock they could drive to the ducal castilyernov in central Heggolstockin. Some burned their farms and set fire to the crops before they fled. Unfortunately, this served to speed the orcs’ pursuit as there was nothing left to plunder. The orcs needed the supplies the farmers herded to the duke’s protection.

*

The goblin general had brought a unit of saber-wolves along with his troops. They were to create terror and panic among the farmers, further reducing resistance. If Duke Heggolstockin committed his main army to drive out the southern invasion, it would draw attention, and thus resources, from the main attack on Feldrik Fortress. The goblin general knew Pindradese would sacrifice his orcs to draw reinforcements from the main battle at Feldrik. But death was preferable to facing the Dark Lord after a failure. He crossed the river with his legions intact, reformed on the opposite bank, released the saber-wolves on the farmlands, and fanned out the legions to create the most havoc possible. Once he was sure news of the great invasion would have reached the duke, the goblin recalled his troops, assigned them their formations, and waited for Duke Heggolstockin to arrive with his army.

* *

Pacing, Duke Heggolstockin rattled around in his armor in the keep’s tower high above his surrounding castilyernov overlooking the provincial capital of Heggolstockin. His short stature and middle aged spread were none the less forceful under his thinning blonde hair and short neat beard. His features were modest and unassuming, excepting one. He sported a grand, almost imperial mustache, styled after that of Neuyokkasin’s General Socockensmek, whom he’d seen long before. This unpretentious man rushed about amid a flurry of maps, military documents, correspondences, and pictures blanketing the room. The duke had couriers rushing in and out. His aide was standing out of the way, wringing his hands in the tower’s oak paneled command post. In the duke’s hand was a scroll from Feldrik’s commander. A courier hurried out the door on a mission. The duke settled back down in front of the farmer who’d just arrived from the southwestern region of the dukedom. The farmer held his conical felt hat crumpled in his hands as he bowed each time the duke passed in his anguish.

“Tell me again about the invasion across the Akkin at your village,” the duke commanded. He looked at the planter, his eyes focused and brilliant as the center of the now electrified room.

“Well, Your Grace, they come across the river.”

“Who came across the river, man?”

“Was them orcses, them dark nasty things, and they was led by a great thing someone in the village said was a goblin, though I never seen a goblin before. That goblin stood in his armor, waving a great stick with a skull carved in something white at the end. There was three legions; that’s what one of the older farmers said they was.”

“I see, what else?”

“They brung a big pack of giant long-fanged wolves with riders, too! Them’s the meanest things I’ve seed. They’re big as our ponies, thick in the shoulders with fangs eight inches long that rips out a man’s throat. Saber-wolves an old man called them.”

“Saber-wolves, you say?”

“That’s what the older villagers said they was. Said they recognized them from the tales of the Wizard Wars. The farmers was going to stay and fight ‘til we seed them wolves and riders.”

“And no soldiers there to defend the village?”

“No, Your Grace, there was half a dozen soldiers stationed in the village to keep the peace, but they run off time we seed them legions forming up across the river meaning to cross.”