A Crown Of War (Book 4) (10 page)

Tar
ren shot him a disappointed glare. “He be your captain, ain’t he? You be following him. He got us off that hill afore it blew, and floated your fat arse down safely.”

“
When an elf be me captain, that’ll be the day I kiss a dragon’s arse,” Helzendar replied.

The
Watcher led them through the mostly deserted city streets. All around them, explosions sounded big and small. Dust and debris clouded their vision, and they were left to trust the Watcher’s guidance.

“
Left, now run!” he would say, and a moment after they had veered around a structure, an explosion would sound where they had been. He led them on this way through fire and ash and lurching vine-monsters until they reached scorched earth.

“
This is the edge of the city!” Lunara protested. “You lead us out?”

The
Watcher distracted himself from his pondering amid the dark smoke to regard her curiously. “Silly girl…does the city look safe to you? Come then,” he said and dashed off to the north, and right into the battle upon the outskirts of the city.

Tarren
and Helzendar shared a glance. Mad glee filled the dwarf’s eyes; Tarren imagined his own looked petrified.

“
Come on!” Helzendar yelled and ran after the mad elf.

“
Stay close,” Lunara urged Tarren as they followed the Watcher into the fray.

The small group
ran toward the back line of advancing sun elves as they fought back the Draggard and dwargon. Some among them were not magic users, but plain soldiers endowed with gifts of strength and protection from their practitioner kin. Behind them, healers sent steady bolts and streams of writhing blue healing spells into them. Offensive spell casters bombarded the Draggard ranks with devastating blasts, while defensive casters shot bolts of light and streaming energy coils at incoming spells. The battle left Tarren humbled, and he thought no matter how much he had sparred with wooden weapons, or how many tournaments he had won, he was not ready for this. He wasn’t sure if he ever would be.

“
Stop! To the left! Go, go,” the Watcher hollered over what sounded like the end of the world. The ground shook with a boom as two thousand pounds of headless dwargon landed where they had been.

They
ran on past the healers and casters and the rear line of soldiers and devastating Gnenja. Tarren followed behind Helzendar, wanting nothing more than to be away from this madness. Beside him, a Draggard broke through the ranks, maimed and bleeding. He came at Tarren with wicked claws and drooling fangs. Lunara stopped the beast in its tracks with a glowing staff to the face. A flash blasted the Draggard back, its broken body landing twenty feet away.

“
Tarren, count to three and duck,” the Watcher yelled behind him.

Tarren
’s eyes searched for danger as he followed his friends.

One,
two, three
…he ducked as a spell flew over his head, singeing his hair.

The
Watcher skidded to a stop as the dark elves breached the line of defenders before them. The sun elves fought to secure the line, but an explosion had greatly decreased their numbers. The healers worked franticly to keep the front line alive, but they were sent flying high and wide by the sweeping hammer of a monstrous dwargon. The Watcher slammed his staff into the earth, and, before him, a wall of vines grew to life from the blackened earth. The wall parted and drove earth and beast aside. The Watcher smiled at his creation and urged the others through the living pass. Tarren ran through the vine hall and watched above him as the vines came together creating a tunnel. The walls shook and rustled, emitting screams of agony from those Draggard attempting to get through. The Watcher leaned on his staff, and the rest soon caught up.

“
What is it?” Tarren asked, concerned.

“
Go on then, forward. Don’t forget to hold your breath,” he waved them on.

“
Hold our breath?” Tarren asked Helzendar as they rushed on.

“
The old elf is a nutter, that’s what.”

Behind
them, an explosion sent smoke shooting through the tunnel. Tarren was suddenly blinded, and like Helzendar, he coughed and choked, having been too busy jesting to heed the old elf’s words.

A
swift wind blew the smoke far ahead of them down the tunnel, and a shove from Lunara urged them on as they sputtered and gasped for fresh air. All around them, the vine tunnel went up in flames. Finally, the end was near, and Tarren braced himself for whatever nightmare might await them beyond the green overgrowth. To Tarren’s relief, they came out into a glade, far away from the dark elf blight.

“
We are away, for now,” said the Watcher, appearing among them as if he had never fallen behind.

“
What be the meanin’ o’ rushin’ a dwarf
away
from battle?” Helzendar yelled too loudly for Tarren’s liking.

The
Watcher seemed to study him for a moment. “No doubt your father told you that brave is not stupid, nor is dying from stupidity honorable.”

Helzendar
was left to boil, speechless.

R
oakore wiped his brow and gazed up to the sun.
Good enough
, he thought to himself, and took a much needed drink from his water flask. Below him, Drindellia rushed by as he and Silverwind scoured the horizon for any sign of Eadon’s other portal.

He
couldn’t get the image of a rift inside one of his mountain cities out of his head. He remained convinced the other portals led to dwarven mountains, and he was fraught with worry for his people. The dwarves were fighting for control of the mountains, and he was helpless to do anything to help.

Roakore
cursed himself; he should have listened to Nah’Zed. What kind of king left his mountain during a war? He heard his royal brain lecturing him on the responsibilities of a dwarf king. Maybe he wasn’t cut out to be royalty.

Knowing
the rifts had been closed did little to remedy his mood. For all he knew, they would be trapped here in Drindellia for months. They needed to find the portal, and fast. War was being waged in Agora, and he intended to take part.

Not
even the strange stone formations below took his interest; he had too much on his mind. Next to everything was the problem of the
Book of Ky’Dren
and its implications. If indeed the elves taught Ky’Dren how to move stone, his religion was likely a lie, and the power to move stone was not gods-given.

“
I shoulda left the damned book alone,” he told Silverwind.

R
oakore made one more turn around the lake and gave up. The sun would be setting soon, and he was anxious to find out what the others had learned.

“
C’mon Silverwind, best we be headin’ back to camp,” he said, and turned his mount around.

He
found nothing new on the way back to the group. They were easy to locate; the mushroom-like cloud left a scar in the sky that could be seen for miles. When he arrived, he noticed the elves and dwarves had made camp. Below, many small cook fires and tents were scattered near the face of a large cave. After landing, he dismounted Silverwind and soon found Zerafin among the elves. He was huddled with a small group, looking over a map of Drindellia.

“
Ye failed to mention ye brought a bloody map,” he said to Zerafin.

“
Ah, Roakore, did you find anything?”

“
That was gonna be me question,” he replied with a sigh. “Where the bloody hells be Whill?”

A
n alarm rang out, and something streaked across the sky, coming in fast. Roakore and Zerafin squinted at the object.

“
Well, what ye spyin’ elf?”

“
Whill,” said Zerafin with a smile.

Whill
came down fast and slowed at the last second; he floated to the ground and landed among the elves. Roakore pushed his way through the elves with Zerafin in tow.

“
Well, Laddie, what do ye know?”

“
Prepare to march. We make for the lost portal of Arkron,” said Whill.

Th
e elves and dwarves prepared to march. Whill, Roakore, Zerafin and Avriel met at the mouth of the cave. The sun sat low. Drindellia had become cold. Already, their breath came in plumes of vapor as they spoke.

“
I have spoken with Kellallea,” Whill told them.

“
That old crazy lady? The words outta her mouth be suspect if any ever spoken. She’s a nutter,” said Roakore.

“
She possesses great power, and she has agreed to help.”

“
Last we saw her, she struggled to keep the blight at bay. How can she be of help?” asked Avriel.

“
She is stronger than she appeared,” said Whill. “She has told me how to reach Eadon’s stronghold.”

“
And you be believin’ her? She what told you the prophecy was a lie and such? Bah!” Roakore spat.

“
I believe her information is correct,” said Whill

“
How far?” Zerafin asked.

“
It is a day’s march southeast of this location.”

“
Well, then,” said Roakore. “Let’s be off, I for one wish to be back in Agora right quick.”

T
he elves and dwarves prepared for the road. Whill had not been back for thirty minutes, and they were already heading out in the direction he had indicated. Avriel stayed behind with him, and they watched the small army of elves and dwarves start out over the rocky terrain.

“
What happened?” he asked Avriel.

She
regarded him with a small scowl. “You do not remember?”

Whill
shook his head.

“
What do you remember?” she asked concerned.

“
We came through the portal, but then the Other gained control. I don’t remember what I…what the Other did.”

Avriel
smiled. “You destroyed the rifts, and the entire Draggard army. I have never seen such a magnificent spell cast before.”

“
It was not my doing,” said Whill.

“
The Other then, is he...?”

“
He is gone,” Whill confirmed. He studied Avriel’s reaction to the news and sensed more than a little disappointment. “You would see the tortured side of me endure?”

“
I do not mean to be insensitive, Whill, but he struck a great blow against the dark elf forces. You do realize the two of you are one.”

“
And he has been put in his place, once and for all. Let us speak no more of him,” said Whill.

“
Of course, I apologize. I understand what great pain it must have cost you. I am glad you are well once more.” She gazed at him intently.

“
What?” Whill asked.

“
I don’t know, you are different. There is a peace about you.”

Whill
understood what she meant. There was a calm deep inside him, like soft lapping waves on a moonlit beach. He had discovered the essence of all life within him; he had become illuminated. The raging inner fires of the Other had been quenched.

“
I spoke with Abram,” he said.

Avriel
perked her pointed ears at the mention of his oldest friend. “He yet lives?”

’
No, he came to me inside the prison of my mind. He took me away to a memory,” said Whill.

“
Was it a good one?”

“
Yes,” Whill laughed. “As good a memory as a wolf attack can be, I suppose.”

“
Do you think that it was real?” Avriel asked with genuine curiosity.

“
I do,” he said, the memory bringing a wide smile to his face.

“
What did he say?”

“
He told me what I already knew.”

“
What?”

“
I needed to let go, I had to accept…the Other.”

T
wilight came to the world, a time when shadows flirted with phantoms in the corner of the eye. The last of the army crested the far hill. Somewhere in Drindellia was Eadon’s floating palace of crystal, or so Kellallea had said. Would he find Eadon as well? Would the final battle come tonight? He hoped not…he was not yet prepared to die; there was much work to be done. Whill had united the elves and dwarves, but had yet to unite Agora.

“
We should catch up with the others,” said Avriel, bringing her head to rest on his shoulder.

Whill
hummed agreement, lost in his thoughts of facing Eadon. He found he was no longer afraid, no longer bitter because he was expected to face impossible odds. The scales were tipped against him, yet he did not care. He was no longer at odds with his reality.

“
Come, fly with me upon Zorriaz. You have wielded incredible power this day; come and rest.”

Mounting
Zorriaz the White, they flew off to follow the two armies. A half-moon rose as the sun died away, and the clouds began to part. The further they got from the dark cloud that still hung over the battlefield, the clearer the sky became. Roakore flew with them, as well as a host of elven Ralliad. They came as eagles and hawks, owls and crows. Whill suspected the dwarves had been given energy from the elves, for the two armies ran at a fast pace and did not slow. The armies made good time over the mostly barren terrain, the lack of vegetation leaving them unhindered.

Although
Whill could have stayed awake indefinitely with the power of Adromida, he fell asleep on the double saddle. He had faced his inner demons, and he had won. No longer did he fear his dreams.

Avriel
came to his mind and gently woke him, and he stirred in the saddle stiffly. Morning had come. When he dismounted, Zerafin was there to greet him.

“
The crystal fortress is beyond the ridge, as you said,” Zerafin told him. “I have sent elves out wide to strike from the sides. The dwarves will do what they do best: charge straight in.”

“
You be gods damned right!” said Roakore, coming upon them. “I say we take ʼem by storm.”

The
dwarf king cocked an eyebrow toward Whill. “Unless ye be wantin’ to bomb ʼem back to the hells as before.”

Whill
avoided the suggestion, having no idea how the Other had wrought such devastation down upon the Draggard horde.

“
We cannot risk damaging the portal; it is our only way home,” said Whill.

Walking
to the crest of the hill, he peered over at Eadon’s forces. When he realized the Draggard army numbered many times more than the dwarves and elves combined, he refused to let it affect his resolve. When he returned to the others, they waited in quiet anticipation of his words. He shook his head, at a loss.

“
I don’t know if Eadon is there. I cannot sense him,” said Whill.

“
If he be, then so be it, I ain’t for hidin’ out in this gods-forsaken land,” Roakore proclaimed.

Zerafin
scowled at such words against his homeland, and Roakore did not miss the expression. “Meanin’ no offense,” he said, slamming his chest.

The
elf king nodded understanding and turned to Whill. “What do you suggest?” he asked.

“
I would see a promise kept,” said Whill.

He
had asked Kellallea to help them against the dark elves, and meant to hold her to it. Closing his eyes, he focused his consciousness down into the hard-packed earth. He connected with the essence of Keye and called to the ancient one.

H
e knelt and put a hand to the ground. The dirt around his hand began to vibrate, causing small stones to jump sporadically. Whill stood and dusted his hands off.

“
She will come,” Whill said confidently, though he was not convinced entirely.

Roakore
turned from Whill to Zerafin, and then to Avriel expectantly. “Who’s
she
?” he asked.

“
Kellallea, the ancient,” said Whill.

Roakore
threw up his hands with a huff, turned a circle as he shook his head, and squared back on Whill. “That crazy old elf ain’t gonna be o’ no help. She be thinkin’ the prophecy be a lie, she ain’t right that one.”

“
The prophecy
is
a lie,” Whill told him. “She spoke the truth, though she has motives of her own. I have discovered the truth about her. There is no need for her to feign weakness.”

“
Why have you not spoken of this until now?” asked Zerafin.

“
We have come to an understanding. It is between her and I.” said Whill.

“
She best not be takin’ all day then,” said Roakore, resting an elbow and leaning upon his axe.

A
low rumbling began deep within the earth. The spot where Whill had touched the ground began to vibrate and heave. They backed from the spot and watched expectantly as the heaving subsided. A flash of light caused them to turn their heads away, and, when they looked again, she stood before them.

“
Kellallea,” Zerafin gasped, and fell to his knees. Every other elf nearby fell to their knees. Avriel, however, did not greet her as she had before. She, like Roakore and Whill, remained standing.

The
ancient elf gazed out on the elven army with eyes of bright green. Her short hair grew into long tubers resembling reaching roots. She wore a garment of moss and leaf, flower and vine, which left much of her dark skin bare in the sunlight. Around her bare feet, grass and vine grew and radiated with life.

“
Zerafin, son of Verelas,” she said, laying a hand upon his bowed head. She cocked her head, and a smile crept across her face. “Rise, first King of Elladrindellia.”