Champions of the Gods (11 page)

“Your offer is generous, Avriel. Thank you,” Whill said with a bow.

The others, including Larson Donarron, bowed their heads as well.

After the meeting had been called to a close, the Magister of Secrets caught up to Whill in the hallway of the recently repaired west wing.

“Sire, sire. May I speak with you for a moment?”

“I’m in a hurry, Larson. What is it?”

Larson caught up to him and paced the guard pushing Whill’s chair. “I would rather speak with you privately.”

“Very well,” said Whill as they turned the corner to his chambers.

He invited the magister in and ordered the guard out. At the bar, he turned to Larson. “Whiskey?”

“No thank you, sire. I am much fonder of wine. I hear that you have quite the collection. There is even rumor of exotic dwarven red from Elgar in your cellars.”

Whill grinned at the clever man—nothing escaped his eyes or ears.

“This rumor is false, I am afraid, as are many. I do, however, have an Eldalonian Shvaz that I think you will enjoy,” said Whill.

“Please, sire,” said Larson, hurrying over to the bar. “Let me pour that for you. In your condition you should be preserving your energy.”

Whill wheeled himself away to sit fireside. He was in no mood to spar with the man and wished that he would just leave.

“There you are, sire,” said Larson, handing Whill his whiskey.

“Thank you. Now what is it that you wanted to talk to me about?”

Larson Donarron smelled his wine and took a sip. “It is about Lady Avriel, my lord. And your involvement with her.”

“Please be plain.”

The magister nodded concession. “The word on the street is that the two of you are an item, to put it bluntly, sire.”

“If that is the rumor, what is the opinion?”

“Well, people are concerned. They worry about the security of the kingdom above all else. It is common knowledge that you have turned away many a lord’s fair daughter. King Carlsborough’s offering of his middle daughter, for instance, would have been a very beneficial union for Uthen-Arden and Eldalon.”

“She’s my third cousin,” said Whill, disgusted.

“That is not uncommon. Royals have been known to marry first cousins.”

“I am not like other royals.”

“Indeed. You seem to prefer elves over humans.”

“You overstep your bounds,” Whill warned.

Larson raised defensive hands. “I said you
seem
, sire. This is only what people are saying.”

“And what is your opinion?”

“I am the Magister of Secrets, my lord. My opinion does not matter. I am here only to remind you of the people’s opinion.”

“Magister Donarron, I am too tired to go round and round with you. Speak your mind.”

“You are losing the confidence of the people, sire. When you defeated Eadon, it was a miracle. They saw you as a god-king. Then came the long winter and many deaths, but no more miracles were forthcoming form you. Then came the spring and weak crops. Still they waited. You are said to have helped the goddess Kellallea ascend to the heavens, yet we have seen no heavenly favor. You marched north to deal with the usurping lords and returned with an arrow in your back. The people are beginning to lose faith. Already what occurred but a half-year ago is being treated like legend. Now they say that you will wed the elf princess, and these lands will become the elves’ as well.”

“Humor me about these rumors, Larson. Would a half-elf child be accepted as heir?”

Larson’s knowing eyes narrowed. “No, sire, I think that it would be shunned, and the people would try to dethrone you.”

Whill’s temper flared and his mind screamed a warning. Avriel would give birth in less than six months. If what Larson said was true, he would either have to give up Avriel and his child, or give up the throne.

“And if I show them another miracle? What then will the people think?”

“It depends on the miracle. People have looked to you for strength. Those of us in Uthen-Arden who saw firsthand the great power that you wielded will forever be your loyal servants, for we know the truth of it. The rest of the kingdom will take some doing. It is to them that you should show your miracle…if you have one in you.”

Soon,
Whill thought.
Soon all shall know my true power.

The next morning Avriel met Whill for breakfast and informed him that she and Zorriaz had decided that the dragon should stay with him for a time.

“But why?” Whill asked.

“Zorriaz will be a target of the dragons if they attack Elladrindellia, and I fear for her life. She is not like other dragons; she was forced to birth by Eadon’s magic. She wishes to go with you to the north to fight the necromancer.”

“She said this?”

Avriel nodded. “She has memories of my time with you that even I do not remember. She loves you. In her own way.”

“Are you sure that you want to do this? You didn’t agree with Zorriaz being used in combat before,” said Whill.

“It is her wish. I am not her master. Even if I was, I would allow it. The people need to see you strong once more. Take Zorriaz with you and secure the north. You have my blessing.”

They left that afternoon for Elladrindellia. The sky was dark and foreboding. Heavy clouds threatened rain, but to Whill it was all good and well. The crops needed a good soaking as it was.

Near dusk the sky finally broke, and the rains began to fall. Soon they found themselves drenched, but they flew on all the same. A thunderhead bursting with violent lightning rolled in from the east a few hours before they reached the border of the human and elven kingdoms, and they decided to put down until it passed. Flying through such a storm was far too dangerous.

Zorriaz offered the shelter of her large outstretched wings, and together Whill and Avriel slept through the raging storm in one another’s embrace. That night Whill slept like he hadn’t in weeks.

In the morning they found that the rain had ceased, though dark clouds still loomed ominously overhead. An acrid scent rode on the blustering wind, along with the musky smell of wet soil.

They had a simple breakfast of bread and water and set out once again. Soon they crossed the Uthen-Arden–Elladrindellia border. Instantly the landscape changed; the trees became larger and lusher, great towers covered in vine sprouted from the thick canopy. Waterways and irrigation systems cut through the jungle, feeding wide, flat valleys formed long ago by skilled elven earth movers. Beyond the jungle was an expanse of rolling hills, where monuments dedicated to the kings of old stood proudly overlooking the land. A village came into view shortly. Even from so far up, Whill could make out the elves moving about the village like busy worker ants. He saw too the destruction that had been wrought by Eadon’s armies.

“Much that was once beautiful has been destroyed,” said Whill.

“All that we can do is toil on and try to remember what was lost. This has been a trying time for the elves, but we will persevere. We must.”

The city of Cerushia came into view, sitting in the shadow of the Thousand Falls. Here too the scars of war were still visible upon the land.

Zorriaz landed on the wide balcony of her tower perch and bent low so that Avriel could dismount more easily. Rather than climb down the stirrups, she maneuvered herself in front of Whill and straddled him, putting her arms over her shoulders. Whill held her tight, and they shared a silent moment before coming together in a long kiss.

“Be safe my king. And bring my dragon back to me.”

“I will return to you victorious,” Whill promised her.

With one last kiss, Avriel leapt off and bade Zorriaz farewell. Whill offered her one last wave before Zorriaz leapt from the balcony and took to the sky.

The orb began to glow. Its contents swirled and shimmered, coalescing into an image that slowly became clearer. Soon King Carac’s face became visible. “Greeting, my lord,” he said with a bow.

“Why have you called to me?” Zander asked. He had been busy preparing a summons and was annoyed to have been interrupted.

“We have found her, my lord.”

Zander stopped what he was doing and glanced at Carac in the scrying crystal. “And her daughters?”

“Yes, my lord. Two of them. One was killed many months ago during a draggard attack on Sidnell.”

“I will send my draquon to pick them up immediately.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“You have done well, Merek. Much better than that fool McKinnon.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

With a wave of his hand, Zander closed the connection between the two crystal balls. He closed his eyes and reached out with his mind, waking one of the death knights who sat in wait of his command. Zander ordered the elf to take three draquon across the lake and gather up his prisoners from Brinn. He then commanded others to prepare special cells for the women.

His attention shifted suddenly as he felt yet another pull on the minds of his undead draggard. He reached out and summoned one of the beasts to him, intent on discovering the source of the distraction. The beasts that he controlled had been acting strange lately. Dozens had wandered off, pulled by some force other than Zander’s.

It took only a few minutes for the draggard to scale the tower and come in through the window.

“Come,” said Zander.

The beast dropped down on all fours and nervously slinked over to its master. Green light shone through eyes that had once been black.

Zander put a hand to the draggard’s head and searched its simple mind. A voice echoed incessantly in the draggard’s thoughts, calling to it to join its true master. Zander extended his consciousness through the link that the draggard shared with the unknown voice. He felt the powerful presence of a strong mind. He attempted to enter it but was pushed back violently as the being became conscious of him.

Who dares enter the mind of Reshikk the Ancient?
The voice boomed in his head.

Zander gasped. In his mind’s eye, the largest dragon he had ever seen loomed before him.

I am Zander, harbinger of death, master of the undead legions.

You have overstepped your bounds, Zander, master of the undead. If you have brought harm to my dragons, then you have sealed your doom.

It is not through a dragon’s mind that I have found you, but through that of a draggard,
said Zander.

Draggard? I have no use for those half-elven abominations. Nor do I have use for you.

I think that you are mistaken, Ancient One. I know the name Reshikk. For I have heard the tales of the ancient god wars. You were banished by the elves to an eternal prison. Kellallea among them.

There was silence. Zander could feel the ancient dragon’s mind racing.

We share a common enemy,
said Zander.
Like you, I too have been wronged by the false goddess. Like you I would see her pay for what she has done. For too long she has meddled in the affairs of the four races. Together we can destroy her.

I do not need the help of a wretched necromancer to defeat her.

Come now, Reshikk the Ancient. We have come together through the mind of this beast for a reason. Do we not serve the same purpose? Has not the Lord of Death brought us together? Kellallea is more powerful than you have ever known her. You will not find killing her to be an easy task. But I will soon have something that she wants. She will have no choice but to answer my summons. You could be there when she does.

A deep rumbling echoed through Zander’s mind.

What would the Master of the Undead want in return?

I propose a pact. The gods have awakened, and they have begun to bless their creations with the powers of old. Humans, sun elves, and dwarves have formed a strong alliance. Soon their champions will move against us. The chaos and destruction that will ensue will be glorious. The world will burn and be rebuilt anew. Surely you, the champion of the dragon god, has seen this.

Yes, my lord has blessed me with such visions.

Then let us work together for such glorious ends. Together we shall help destroy this world and rise as kings over the new one.

Roakore left the council meeting feeling quite happy with the progress that had been made. The rebuilding of the chambers of Erakknar were near completion. The maze of subterranean rooms full of booby traps had been instrumental in helping the dwarves to escape the draggard attack over twenty years before, and they would no doubt be useful if the dragons decided to attack Ro’Sar. Reinforcements from Ky’Dren and Elgar had arrived, six thousand in all. The forges blazed day and night as the many skilled metal crafters created new weapons and armor. Giant catapults and harpoons had been built and stationed along the mountain range.

The longer the dragons waited, the more prepared the dwarves became.

Helzendar’s claim that the gods had blessed dwarves with the power to move more than stone with their minds had reached the Ky’Dren and Elgar Mountains by way of official proclamation. Roakore had sent the letters out a few days previously, and had yet to hear word back from the other kings. Dozens of his own dwarves had already begun to claim that the gods had visited them in their dreams.

Roakore entered the training hall and found nearly fifty of the supposedly blessed dwarves waiting for him. Upon his arrival, they straightened and slammed their fists to their chest. He noticed that many of the dwarves were female, a fact that caused him some unease.

He motioned to Helzendar, who had arrived before him and stood at attention in front of the others.

“Me king,” he said with a bow and fist to chest.

“What all these females doin’ here?” Roakore asked.

Helzendar turned to regard the gathered crowd. “They claim as the others do—that the gods have come to them in their dreams. They claim to be blessed.”

“And what be your mind on havin’ our lasses fightin’ among the lads?”

Helzendar shrugged. “If the gods have truly blessed them, who be me to judge their worth?”

Roakore didn’t like it, and did nothing to hide it from his son. “It ain’t right, in me mind.”

“Let’s see what they can do before we pass judgement,” said Helzendar. “If the ancient green dragon and his hell spawn do attack Ro’Sar, we just might be needin’ ‘em.”

Roakore nodded agreement reluctantly and moved to stand before the group. As he had requested, many things had been placed in the training hall. There were boulders and stones, wood, steel, earth, fire, and water.

“Ye been gathered here today because ye be claimin’ that the gods have blessed ye.”

The crowd stirred, many of the dwarves nodded happily or made the sign of glory to the gods. One and all were eager to show off their newfound powers.

“Soon the tests will begin. But before they do, I need to be remindin’ ye o’ the danger o’ such power. Don’t be gettin’ overzealous tryin’ to prove yer strength. Yer likely to get yerself or someone else killed doin’ so. I’ll call you all up one at a time to see what you can do. Now, who be first?”

Dozens of hands shot into the air. Some of the dwarves even bounced on their toes to be picked.

Roakore couldn’t help a chuckle. He turned to Helzendar. “Well, ye gotta admire their spirit.”

“Aye,” said Helzendar. “It be a glorious day for Ro’Sar.”

“Right ye be, lad.” Roakore pointed at a black-haired young female dwarf. “Step forward.”

She moved before the group and stood proudly before Roakore and Helzendar.

“What be yer name, lass?” Roakore asked, eyeing her sternly.

“Me name be Gemma.”

“And ye think yerself a blessed, eh?”

“Aye, me king. Ky’Dren came to me in me dreams. Said I be worthy o’ the gift.”

“He did, did he? Then let’s see what you can do. See that stone o’er there? Try and move it with yer mind.”

Gemma furled her brow with determination and reached out her hand toward a small stone. Nothing happened at first, but the dwarf redoubled her efforts, gritting his teeth and balling her hands into fists.

Still nothing happened.

Roakore glanced at Helzendar with an arched brow.

“That be enough, lass, you can leave now.”

“Gimme another chance,’ said Gemma. “Please, me king. I know I can do it.”

“Ye had yer chance. Now, who be next?”

Gemma suddenly gave a cry and reached out toward the stone with shaking hands.

“I said ye was done—” Roakore began, but then he saw the effect she had.

The stone began to shake violently and started to rise, but then suddenly it exploded into hundreds of pieces. Everyone ducked and brought their arms up instinctively to block the flying debris.

Roakore stepped forward slowly, glaring at the exhilarated dwarf female. She stood before him, beaming and panting. She seemed quite oblivious to his anger.

“I did it, me king. I told ye I be blessed.”

“Aye, ye be blessed,” said Roakore, “but ye ain’t too good at listenin’, is ye?”

Gemma bowed her head. “Sorry, me king.”

“Ye see what happened here?” Roakore asked the group. “It be one thing to be blessed with this power. Controlling it, however, be another beast altogether.” He turned to the dwarf. “Ye be tryin’ too hard. Clear yer mind. Focus only on the stone. Reach out with yer mind and envision yer hand grabbing ahold o’ the stone. Then slowly lift.”

Gemma nodded determinedly and reached out her hand once more. Slower this time, and with less strain showing in her face, she lifted her hand. The stone vibrated, wobbled, and finally floated into the air.

“Good,” said Roakore. “Now try movin’ one o’ the logs.”

She lifted the wood easily and then moved on to water and fire. She was able to move both, though not as well as the wood or stone.

Another dwarf was called, and he too passed the test, though he blew up the stone on his first try as well. It took many hours to test the rest of the group, but one and all proved to be blessed, exhibiting varying degrees of skill.

At the end of the tests Roakore stood before his excited dwarves, and to their surprise, he slammed his fist to his chest and offered a low bow.

“I be proud o’ every one o’ ye. The gods have blessed ye, and to that I offer a salute. This blessin’ couldn’t have come at a better time. For a terror o’ dragons the likes o’ ain’t never been seen afore in Agora grows on Drakkar Island as we speak. Ye’ve all been chosen to be the blessed defenders o’ Ro’Sar. A seat at the table o’ the gods surely awaits ye all. But alas! This power ain’t to be taken lightly. Ye must work diligently to control and refine yer skill. From this day forth, ye will take up residence here in the training chambers. And until me or Helzendar be sayin’ ye passed yer trainin’, ye be forbidden from usin’ yer powers outside o’ this chamber. Ye hear?”

“Yes, me king!” they said in unison.

“Good.”

Roakore left the training hall with Helzendar. They had yet to meet with the silver hawk riders for the day’s lesson. Behind the king and his son, many of the blessed followed, being that they were also hawk rider recruits.

“What ye be thinkin’ o’ today’s trials?” Roakore asked.

“I be thinkin’ it went well,” said Helzendar. “The dragons are goin’ to be in for one hells o’ a surprise.”

“Don’t be gettin’ ahead o’ yerself, lad. Them dwarves be greener than a spring sapling. It takes time to refine the skills needed to stand up to the likes o’ dragons.”

“Me king! Me king!”

They both turned around to find Philo running toward them down the hall, wearing the biggest smile Roakore had ever seen on the dwarf.

“What is it? You look like ye’ve just proposed and she said yes,” said Roakore with a laugh.

Philo skidded to a stop before them, panting. “It be better than that. A hells o’ a lot better. The gods came to me in me sleep, they did. Blessed me with the powers, they did!” His eyes pooled with tears of joy and he glanced around the hallway. “Look,” he said, reaching his hand out toward a dwarven suit of armor on display. He pulled his arm back, and the entire suit suddenly shot across through the hall and slammed into him.

Roakore helped his friend out of the pile and gave him a brotherly hug. “The gods couldn’t have picked a better dwarf, I say!”

“Thanks, me king. I prayed and I prayed every night since Helzendar and ye told us about what happened. And Ky’Dren bless him, he came to me in person. Said that I was worthy, and to protect me king at all costs.”

Roakore didn’t know what to think of that.

“He did, did he?” he said.

“Aye, and he said that many more would be chosen.”

“It be a great day indeed,” said Helzendar.