A Crown Of War (Book 4) (5 page)

Whill
drifted in and out of sleep for hours. Every time he awoke, he found himself still within the nightmare. The chains from which he hung sent a constant trickle of blood down his body, dripping into a puddle at his dangling toes. A large candle above him offered the only light. He stared at the flame while he prayed to the many gods, none of whom he had ever believed in. At the moment, he was ready to believe in any god who might release him from his prison.

A
sudden sensation passed through him, and he realized he was not alone. A blurred figure stood before him in the dark cell. Whill thrashed and cursed, thinking that the torturer had returned. When his vision cleared, it was not a dark elf standing before him, but Abram.

Whill
laughed until he coughed, sending blood-speckled spray dancing in the candlelight. Abram said nothing but waited patiently. He was as Whill remembered him in the best of days: broad and strong and seemingly taller than his six feet. He could go unseen if he wished with a hunch of the back and hooded cloak, but when Abram wanted to be seen, men and women alike could not help but notice him. People were drawn to Abram, and he to them. If ever a man possessed the ability to read others like an open book, it was he. Abram had risen to a position of influence and power within the kingdoms of men, dwarves, and elves, not because of lineage or title, but through character and deed.

“
Why do you torture me so?” Whill sobbed, and Abram’s stoic face broke into one of barely contained sorrow.

“
Ah son, why do you torture yourself so?” he asked and walked forward to reach out to Whill.

In
a thrashing of chains, Whill screamed to be left alone. He reeled from the outstretched hand as if it were a cleaver. Abram touched Whill’s forehead and held firm. Blinding light flashed, and all pain left him. Whill found himself outside in a world of clear winter’s night sky, and beside him stood Abram; the two of them stood upon the snow-covered Old Road.

“
This is where everything began,” said Abram. His words, like the steam that rolled from his mouth, dissipated in the chill wind.

Whill
was bewildered; he spun a full circle like a dog chasing its tail and noticed he wore the clothes of a winter traveler.

“
This is…” Whill began, but lost his words as over the hill came Abram and himself from long ago.

“
Yes,” said Abram, “last year on our way to Fendale for the Winter’s End Celebration, just before the wolves attacked us. Our last journey before the world went mad.”

He
turned to Whill and laid a hand upon his shoulder. “You have learned much this last year. You have had to do things, had to make hard choices. You have endured pains I cannot imagine, and you are a bigger man than I. Now you face the toughest opponent, the most worthy adversary, and one who has laid many men low. Now, you face thyself.”

Whill
turned away from Abram to hide his wet eyes as the image of himself and Abram topped the hill. Whill remembered clearly now the boy he had been, quick to laugh and always filling people’s ears with stories of elves, dwarves, knights and monsters. His years with Abram and Teera had given him every advantage, considering the destiny he would have to one day face, and he felt as though he had squandered it all.

The
images of he and Abram stopped with the raising of memory-Abram’s hand. Standing in the middle of the road, Whill thought for a moment they had been seen by his memory-self. But he soon remembered the moment.

“
Ride, boy, ride!” memory-Abram hollered in the night, and both horses surged forward as a pack of wolves sprang from the cover of the dark, snow-laden forest. Whill found himself and Abram caught in between their charging selves and the attacking wolves. Arrows flew by to strike true, felling two of the beasts. Whill closed his eyes instinctively and flinched as the horses sped by, and a host of wolves followed. Before them, the entire battle played out until the two men emerged victorious. “Come on!” memory-Whill bellowed into the night, and the defeated wolves retreated.

“
I knew then you were ready,” Abram recalled in reverie.

Whill
turned from the scene to Abram and studied him. “How can this be real?”

Abram
smiled his same smile. “Does it matter? The fact remains you are in mortal danger of losing yourself to your inner demons. Eadon has fractured your mind and created the Other so you might bend to his will. You must face your demons once and for all, else become a slave to them eternally.”

The
memory of himself tending to Abram’s wounds played out before them, and tears streamed down his face. “I wish none of this had ever happened. What have I ever done to deserve this…this hell?”

Abr
am gave Whill a sympathetic smile. “What have any of Eadon’s victims done to deserve his cruelty? How many of them wish all of this had never happened? You are not alone in this. The essence of life is struggle; you either get back up, or you lie down and die. This is the choice we all must face every day.”

Whill
knew Abram’s words to be true. He had a choice to make: hide from the pains of the world, curl up in a ball, and cower from the cruelty of life, or accept what was, and fight for survival.

Around
him the world of snow and ice began to fade as a whirlwind of white circled them.

“
My time has passed. I must go,” said Abram, as the whirlwind of snow began to swallow him up.

“
Wait!” yelled Whill, reaching out as Abram became like the snow.

“
Acceptance, my friend…that is the way to peace,” said Abram, and his voice faded with the world of memory.

Whill
opened his eyes, and, below him, a desert unfolded. He found himself flying through the air at high speeds and did not know where he was. He realized the Other had been in control, even as he felt the struggle within him. The Other ripped himself out of Whill and turned to choke him. Whill’s concentration wavered, and they fell through the sky, grappling.

“
Clever of you to find a way out, but I tire of these games,” said the Other in Whill’s ear, as he choked him and caused them to fall like a rock. Whill struggled against the apparition of his ego and attempted to slow their descent. They hit the ground hard, sending a plume of dust into the air.

Whill
unsheathed Adromida, as the Other shot his chains from his wrists. The glowing chains flew at Whill, and he parried them wide. The Other pulled back a glowing hand and shot a fireball at Whill, which exploded against his shield. Smoke and dust filled the air as the effects of the blast were taken by the wind. He whirled around looking for his doppelganger, but found only leveled trees, long dead.

“
I am not your enemy!” Whill screamed into the wind as he turned in his search.

“
You are your own worst enemy, Whill. Look at you, talking to yourself in the middle of Drindellia. You are insane and no longer fit to control our body.”

Whill
stopped looking for the Other, realizing there was nowhere to look but within. He turned his mind sight once again inward. The familiar web of lightning stretched out before him. He moved deeper into his mind, past thoughts that rode the lightning, farther than he knew existed.

Far
into the depths of his own consciousness, he delved, past the organized chaos of his thoughts and mental impulses. He went to a place within himself beyond the fabric of his being. Here was only light, harmony, tranquility, and peace. Here, he realized his true identity, his true self, one that had nothing to do with either the body or its worries. With him, he dragged the Other, and in the presence of the spirit that was Whill, his ego was humbled.

“
This is what I am: infinite consciousness,” said Whill, as he floated with arms stretched, bathed in light. At his feet, the Other cowered from the brightness.

“
This form, of which you are a part, that you call the self, is not your dominion. It is the host through which I experience this world. You seem to have forgotten your place, my friend.”

The
Other squinted up at the incarnation of Whill’s spirit with spiteful, blood-streaming eyes. “Destroy me and have done with it!” he screamed.

The
spirit of Whill raised a hand, and the Other was lifted to his feet. Before he was able to retaliate, Whill embraced him and held him still. The Other lashed out and struggled against the unmoving form of the spirit. The illusion of Whill melted away, and the Other floated up, arms outstretched, to be bathed in piercing light. The voice of Whill surrounded the Other.

“
You carry a great burden my friend, and you must carry it no more.”

The
all-encompassing light hummed brighter with warmth, and the Other stopped his thrashing and began to glow with an inner light of his own. His chains shot out wide, only to be dissolved. His eyes cleared of blood, and his scars melted away. A smile that had never been worn crept across his face as he was born anew.

Light
and sound melded as Whill’s spirit spoke through the light coursing through the Other. “I release you, my friend, from all your earthly pain. No more shall the memories haunt you. Be at peace, and know you are loved.”

Shimmering
tears found smiling cheeks as the Other was bathed in light and love from the spirit of infinite consciousness. They shined brighter still, until the two were one.

Dirk awoke after a few hours of rest and eagerly called Krentz and Chief from the spirit plane. They danced around each other as wisps and materialized before him. Chief bounded over to Fyrfrost and playfully barked and nipped at the dragon-hawk. Krentz solidified and offered Dirk a smile as she gained her bearings.

The
morning sun rose behind rolling clouds, causing them to glow with ambient light in the east. The mild day’s breeze carried the reminder that winter was on its way. Krentz approached Dirk and gave him a long, slow kiss.

“
I have been thinking while I waited to be summoned back,” she said, taking Dirk’s hands in hers. Reading her eyes, he knew she had come to a decision, and her resolve was strong.

“
I must make this right. The world around us falls to my father. It is in my power to move against him.”

She
released Dirk and gazed upon her palms as she shifted to spirit form. “No matter your words, the truth remains unchanged. My hands are stained with the blood of the innocent. I will wash them in the blood of tyrants.”

She
stared at her hands as they glowed bright. Dirk understood little about the powers of spirits; only legends attempted to explain such matters, and they were seldom reliable. Aside from her new ghostly powers, it seemed she retained her ability to perform magic, as she still possessed her father’s gifts of power.

“
Krentz,” said Dirk loud enough to reach her in her current state of concentration. She jerked her head as if she thought herself alone.

“
These are times of war my love.” She hummed and stroked his hair. “Together, we shall be a force to be reckoned with. I am done running and hiding. I have already given my life. What is left, but my very soul? I would see it redeemed.”

“
As would I,” said Dirk, “as would I.”

The remainder of the day was spent repairing the enchantments upon Dirk’s cloak and gear. His darts she replaced to the best of her ability with materials gathered from the nearby forest, and, though she possessed no dragon’s breath, there were other means with which one of knowledge and skill might create explosives.

Long
into the small hours of night, she wove her spell work by firelight. Chief watched curiously for a while. He soon became disinterested, however, and seemingly disturbed by the occasional swirling light or sparks of enchantment. Krentz poured forth large amounts of energy into the embedded gems within Dirk and his gear; his cloak alone contained thirteen gems.

At
some point in the night, Dirk fell asleep as he watched Krentz empty herself into her work. He was always fascinated by the elven craft, and though Krentz taught him enough to be able to use the enchanted weapons and trinkets, he showed no magical proficiency. Dirk Blackthorn’s abilities lay in other areas, and they were many.

D
ue to Krentz’s recent proclamations, Dirk understood he would not be getting a good night’s sleep any time soon, so he took advantage of this last opportunity. All morning and early afternoon he slept soundly, knowing Chief was guarding the perimeter and Krentz was nearby. His dreams were haunted by the echoed exclamations of the drunkard from Helzenvargen. In the town, the strange fortune teller had called Krentz a harbinger of death. In his dreams, one word played over and over:
wraith
.

Dirk
awoke with a start when an explosion ripped through the day. He quickly found its source in Krentz’s guilty laughter.

“
Apologies,” she laughed, as she put the newly made wooden darts into their holsters on the bands Dirk wore around his legs.

“
I needed to test one,” said Krentz with a mischievous grin.

Dirk
lay back on his bed of moss and leaves with a sigh. He was startled by the blast, but relieved to be awakened all the same. His dreams had shifted from the fortune teller’s hissing accusations to images of the mother and child, the blood steadily dripping from the petals of a black rose. He was not afraid of her, but rather, afraid for her. He never possessed the faith of a religious man, but recent events caused him to rethink his beliefs. He, like everyone else within earshot of a town pub, had heard numerous stories of ghosts and spirits, but he never witnessed anything that convinced him either way. The wards he trapped Chief within had been learned out of the insistence of Krentz; Dirk had never taken them seriously until he saw the spirit wolf with his own eyes.

If
spirits existed, then reason dictated that the gods and heavens were real also, as were the hells. He found no solace in the idea of gods and rules, nor heavens or hells. He liked the world wild and the afterlife a mystery.

He
had contemplated dismissing Krentz to the spirit world for months, years even, until the wars ended and the dangers passed. But, he could not. If her time in the spirit world was like days to his hours, he would be condemning her for decades or centuries, and he did not have the heart. So, he would stand by her, he would fight beside her, and, together, they would do what they could to turn the tides in the coming battles.

He
sat up and roused himself to the waking world laboriously. Sleep clung to him like a reluctantly-parting lover. Krentz had resumed her soft chanting and spell weaving, and Dirk knew enough to leave her to her work. Getting up, he called to Chief and took from his gear a dagger and a dart marked with a single elven rune. Chief sprang from the forest and over the lightly burning fire without disturbing the smoke and landed without making a sound nor leaving a track.

“
Any game around?” Dirk asked. Chief dropped down on his front legs and barked soundlessly. He bounded up and turned back into the woods with Dirk close behind. A few hundred yards in, Chief slowed to a prowl. Dirk followed his lead and sniffed at the air as he crouched and scoured the forest. Many smells permeated the early afternoon air, and one was of man.

“
Hold, Chief,” said Dirk, and the wolf froze.

Calling
upon the enchanted studs on his earlobes, he listened to the sounds of the forest. There came the faint noise of someone walking through the forest slowly, followed by a soft thump.

“
Stand down, Chief, they are no enemy to us.”

Soon
, a man came into view, walking toward them through the forest. Dirk’s suspicions were proven correct when an Eldonian tribesman, with spear in hand, waved to them from afar. During their time living on Eldon Island, Dirk and Krentz had often been the guests of the Eldonian tribe, who called themselves the Morenkara. They had been visited many centuries before by elven Morenka, and the monks found eager students in the tribesmen. The people of Eldon Island embraced the ways of the Morenka, and lived in peace ever since under the protection of the powerful kingdom of Eldalon to the north.

“
Well met, Winterstar!” Dirk yelled in greeting as he walked toward the tribesman whom he now recognized as one of the elders.

The
man raised his staff in greeting and offered a bright smile as he came to stand before Dirk.

“
Blackthorn returns to Eldon. It is good to find you well during these dark days,” said Winterstar with a small bow, causing his many leather necklaces to swing wide of his bare chest.

“
And you, my friend,” said Dirk with a similar bow.

Winterstar
smiled at Chief as he fully solidified.

“
You walk with powerful spirits, Blackthorn. The dark ones hunt you still?”

Dirk
nodded with a scowl. “They are like sand fleas, always biting at the arse.”

Wint
erstar gave a long laugh. “They give everyone trouble it seems. Come, I have food. We trade stories of the world, and we eat.”

Dirk
glanced back toward his camp. Krentz would be at her spell work for some time. He followed the tribesman the few miles to his camp and asked many questions of the villagers he and Krentz shared as neighbors. He was informed of a few deaths and many births in the years since he left. He was glad to learn life on Eldon Island remained seemingly unaffected by the evil of Eadon.

They
arrived at the camp, and, upon his first glimpse, Dirk realized Winterstar was on a spirit quest. Dirk helped the tribesman stoke the fire and prepare the food. He had no meat, but there was an abundance of roots, nuts, vegetables, and fruit. Soon they were eating and talking like old friends.

Dirk
told him much of what had happened over the years, and to hear the tale repeated made it seem like a much more grand adventure than it once seemed. Now that it was all behind him, Dirk was surprised he had lived through it all. He doubted that many swore fealty to the dark lord Eadon and lived to tell about it. When such talk as dark elves came up, Winterstar became sullen. Dirk did not miss the weight upon his friend’s mind.

“
Traders come many days ago with strange tales of war and death. Them stories have been bad for many seasons, but this news, these stories, them make it sound like end times,” said Winterstar. His eyes studied the forest and the sky above as if gleaning meaning from the leaves and clouds.

“
A change is coming, Blackthorn. Royal family of Eldalon has fallen; them kingdom is crumbling. Dark spirits cover Agora in darkness.”

Dirk
frowned at the tribesman as if perplexed. “Since when do Eldonian Morenkara care for the affairs of the mainland? Have you not embraced the teachings of your revered elven prophets?”

“
I hear all voices, ask many questions, realities become many,” he explained.

“
Will you fight for your life, if need be?” Dirk asked, intrigued.

“
I do for myself, and I do for the ones I love, they who are many. But, we are no warriors. We will weather this as we would any storm. I go on spirit quest in search of answers, and I have found you.”

Wint
erstar watched Chief stalk a wide perimeter around the camp. In his old eyes was a helplessness that was uncharacteristic of the man.

“
You’ve sent your people to the Burning Mountains?” Dirk asked.

“
Yesterday, the move began. We have food for long winter,” said Winterstar.

Dirk
and Krentz had explored the small mountain range often and found a wealth of crystals within many of the deep chambers. Why dwarves had not settled the small range, he could only guess; likely, they had sent mining parties who came back empty-handed, having found only useless crystals. But, where the dwarves found the multicolored crystals worthless, Krentz found them suitable to be used in the practice of Orna Catorna.

“
The Burning Mountains will be as good a place as any to make a stand. Besides, I doubt that the dark scourge will come here. They’ve no reason; you are not a threat,” said Dirk.

Winterstar
smiled. “We are free, so we are a threat to the dark one. We will not be taken; we will die free, as we lived.”

Dirk
respected the tribesman’s courage. If the dark elves came for the Eldonians, none would survive. The Burning Mountains would become nothing more than a tomb for them. He would offer his help in their preparation, but this was one fight of many, and Dirk had eyes on bigger battles. Eventually, Whill would have to face Eadon, and he intended on being present.

“
I seek the head of the dark one, my friend. I offer what help I can give, but I fear I cannot fight with you this time,” said Dirk.

Winterstar
shook his head in understanding. He gave a toothless smile and offered more seeds and berries. The trees gave a sudden rustle, and leaves were sent spiraling into the air as Fyrfrost landed close to the camp. A whirlwind sent the small fire leaping and sputtering hot coals, as the dragon-hawk turned its natural color of brilliant silver and landed fifteen feet away. Krentz slid off his back and landed gracefully. She offered Winterstar a smile and tossed Dirk his repaired cloak.

“
Winterstar of the Morenkara, what do you know?” she asked, and gave a small bow.

W
interstar bowed so rapidly, the bones through his ears caused them to flap. “She-with-no-name, my heart smiles at your health,” he said.

Krentz
gave a brave, half-cheeked smile at the greeting, but Dirk knew her heart. She had yet to completely come to terms with the loss of her mortal life, no matter her words.

“
It is good to see you, friend,” she replied.

“
Come, eat, fortune gave me a beehive. Honey water?” Winterstar asked, extending the hollowed wooden container.

Dirk
was about to explain that Krentz had recently been ill, to help hide the truth of her condition, but his words were cut off by her acceptance. She brought the drink to her lips and drank greedily. Krentz offered him a wink and nodded as she swallowed.