Champions of the Gods (5 page)

“Any spirit?” Dirk asked.

Gretzen nodded. “Any that you can conquer. Do not attempt this with strong spirits yet. First you must try to bind a lesser creature to you.”

“Have you ever seen this done?” Dirk asked, sensing that she hadn’t.

“No,” Gretzen admitted. “But it is the same symbol that I used in the creation of Chief and Aurora’s figurines. I believe that it will work for you as well. You must practice drawing this symbol until it is perfect. Once that is done, we will dismiss you into the spirit realm, where you will try to bind another spirit. You must do this by drawing the
Krellr Turr
on their spirit body.”

She showed them how to draw the symbol with her finger in three fluid strokes. Two dozen times she wiped the dirt away and told them to start over. It was Aurora who finally got it right first. Dirk soon followed.

“Good,” said Gretzen. “We are ready to begin. When you return to the spirit realm, find a small animal, perhaps a rabbit or squirrel. You must focus, use your force of will to dominate the creature. Brand them with the rune and we will call you back. If my theory is correct, the spirit animal will return with you when you are summoned.”

She lifted the figurine of Aurora. “Are you ready?”

Aurora drew the rune one last time in the dirt and stood to her full height. “I am.”

“Back to the spirit realm, Aurora Snowfell.”

“Be careful,” Krentz told Dirk and dismissed him as well.

Dirk glanced around at the surrounding glade. In the distance a backward flowing waterfall surged upward into a star-lit sky. A large bird flew past and disappeared into the luminescent forest. Many spirit wisps floated in the air lazily, and Dirk watched as one of them floated to the ground and turned into the ghost of a panther. Heeding Gretzen’s warning, he found another—a small rabbit. He drew the symbol of the rune in the air, and to his surprise, the outline glowed faintly for a moment and was gone.

Satisfied, he focused his will on the spirit animal and flew toward it with blinding speed. The rabbit leapt high into the air just before Dirk reached it and turned into a wisp to glide over the backward flowing river. Dirk gave pursuit and caught it just as it reached the outer bank. The animal thrashed and cried, but Dirk held firm. He could feel its inner power trying to repel him, but he easily dominated the creature and traced the rune in the luminescent fur. As he connected the final line, the rune flared to life.

The rabbit went still.

Dirk carefully released it, expecting the spirit to quickly fly away. Yet it remained. He turned and walked a few paces along the bank. The rabbit followed. Dirk’s excitement grew and he flew up into the air. When the rabbit turned to a wisp and followed, he gave a triumphant cry.

“Dirk Blackthorn, I summon thee!”

The figurine flared to life, and Dirk’s spirit swirled out of it, taking form before Krentz and Gretzen. Another, smaller spirit wisp emerged as well and shifted into a small rabbit.

“It worked!” Krentz said with a laugh.

Gretzen gave an approving nod. “Let us see what Aurora has conjured.”

She called to Aurora, and the warrior swirled into existence. To everyone’s surprise, a bobcat appeared beside her.

“Not bad, eh?” Aurora beamed.

Dirk gave a laugh. “Show off.”

Gretzen, however, was not amused. “I told you a small animal,” she said with a scowl.

“This
is
a small animal,” said Aurora, smirking.

Gretzen shook her head and got up with some effort. “In time you will be able to summon larger creatures. For now, practice getting them to obey your mental commands. I must rest now.”

Aurora gave Dirk a devilish look and closed her eyes tight in concentration. The bobcat growled low in its throat and sprang after the rabbit, which darted away through the village.

“That’s just not fair,” Dirk said with a laugh.

Avriel stared at herself in the tall mirror—she was beginning to show. One of her handmaidens had noticed, and soon others would as well.

How will they react? What will they say?
she wondered.

The pregnancy could remain hidden with layered clothes for a time, but eventually she would have to tell the elder council and the elves. She cursed Zerafin for leaving her in charge during such trying times. It was enough for her to worry about the danger she would soon face when word of the pregnancy spread. The problems of the elven kingdom only made it that much worse.

Whill had ensured her that everything would be alright. He had displayed the power of old in the fight against Zander and was confident that he could summon it once more. Though during the few days that she stayed with him in Del’Oradon after the escape from Belldon Island, he had not been able to recreate it.

Kellallea had not appeared to her again since giving her the spirit blade, which she still possessed. The glowing sword gave her some comfort, but it was not enough.

A loud rustling of wings tore her from her pondering, and she found Zorriaz perched on her long balcony.

“Sister,” said the dragon. “I must speak with you.”

Avriel went out on the balcony and caressed the dragon’s long neck.

“What is it, Zorriaz?”

“A strange voice has come with the western wind. It beckons to me, calling me and my kin to Drakkar Island.”

“Is it an elf?” Avriel asked.

“No. He calls himself Reshikk.”

“Reshikk…” Avriel searched her memories. During the time that she had been trapped in Zorriaz’s body, she had been able to access the memories of the white dragon’s line. Now that she was in her own body, however, the memories had begun to fade. Still, she recalled something about the dragon Reshikk. “You cannot mean Reshikk, the ancient green dragon who was banished from the earth after the War of the Dragon God?”

“Yes, it is he,” said Zorriaz, looking to the west.

Avriel could see the inner struggle in her dragon’s eyes.

“But how can this be? He was put there by the elven gods, or so it is told.”

“I do not know, sister, but he is free once more. He calls us all to him. Many have answered his call. A great migration is under way.”

“And he will wage war on the elves for imprisoning him so long ago,” said Avriel.

“Yes, I am afraid that he will.”

“Will you be able to resist?”

Zorriaz growled low in her throat and a small puff of smoke shot from her snout. “He cannot force me to go.”

“Do you want to?” Avriel asked.

For a moment the white dragon said nothing. She stared at the distant falls, seemingly mesmerized. “A part of me wishes to join the migration. If I did, however, I would surely be killed. I am not natural. I have been tainted by Eadon’s magic. The others will sense it immediately. I am not like other dragons. I belong with you, my sister.”

Avriel was glad to hear it. Still, the news of yet another threat sat heavy on her mind.

“He will seek revenge on us…how long do we have?”

“I do not know,” said Zorriaz.

“I must tell the council. We must prepare.”

She ran to the door and was about to call to a guard. Her general, Thrynn de’Bregeth, stood at the door, having been about to knock.

“Princess. There has been a breakout. The assassin Valorron Arken has escaped.”

“How could you let this happen?”

Thrynn was taken aback and bowed before her. “It seems that they had help from someone on the inside. It is being looked into.”

“When did this happen?”

“Not a half hour ago. I came here directly from the dungeons. Five of my guards were killed as well.”

“Lock down the palace. I want the entire city searched. Leave no stone unturned. These elves must be found and made an example of.”

“Yes, Lady Avriel.”

“You.” She pointed at a standing guard. “Summon the council. I will speak to them within the hour.”

Avriel returned to her room and slammed the door behind her. Tears welled in her eyes and she took many slow, steadying breaths. “Damn you, Zerafin. Why have you forsaken me at such a time?”

Whill gritted his teeth against the pain. Sweat trickled down his brow. He gripped Avalyn’s hand hard as he tried to raise his right leg. It was no use. He had been at it for nearly an hour, but to no avail.

“Enough for now!” he growled.

“As you wish, sire,” said Avalyn.

She began to blot his forehead, but he slapped her hand away, annoyed. Instantly he felt bad for his actions.

“I’m sorry…”

“No need for a king to apologize to the help, sire.”

“That’s not true, Avalyn. Being a king is no excuse for being a shite. I said I was sorry, and you deserve to hear it. You have been nothing but good to me. If it were me, I would have told myself to piss off long ago.”

“Well…the thought had crossed my mind, sire,” said Avalyn, straight-faced.

Whill watched her, but she couldn’t hold it for long. Together they burst into much-needed laughter.

“You are a good person, Avalyn.”

The compliment caused her to blush, though she tried to hide it behind her light brown ringlets.

“Thank you, sire.”

She busied herself with preparing his wardrobe for the coming council meeting, giving Whill some time to regain himself before putting him through the task of changing his sweat-soaked clothes. The therapy sessions took a lot out of him, and though he never seemed to get anywhere, he was sure that his old power would return to him at any minute.

He had to believe it, for to contemplate life as a cripple was utterly depressing. When he was at his lowest, he thought of Abram, knowing that the chipper old man would find something good to say about his present situation.

At least you’ve got hands and arms to wipe your arse,
he would no doubt be telling Whill.

A laugh escaped him, one so loud that it startled Avalyn.

“Sire?” she said, eyeing him cautiously.

“Hah, it is nothing. I was just thinking of my father, Abram.”

“Your father, sire?”

Whill realized the mistake and chuckled to himself once more. “No, you are right. He was not my father. But he was like one to me…why does my head feel light? What did you give me?”

Avalyn stopped and regarded him sheepishly. “Just a little milk of poppy. You are always in such pain.”

“I asked that I be given nothing to dull my mind,” he said, growing agitated.

Avalyn found her courage and stepped forward bravely. “With all due respect, sire, I am your head nurse. I deemed it necessary—”

“I don’t think you understand what is happening here. I am the only thing holding this kingdom, this continent, together. My pain is of no consequence to the nightmare that half of Agora faces. When I say no painkillers, I mean no godsdamned painkillers. Do you understand?”

Pain shot through his back that took his breath away. He ground his teeth, trying to relax, but wanted nothing more than to cry out. When the spasm finally subsided, he found Avalyn staring at him, her brow fraught with worry.

“Have I made myself quite clear?” Whill asked.

“Yes, sire. I’m sorry.”

“Never mind that. It is behind us now. Please, help a miserable cripple into his clothes.”

Avalyn wheeled Whill to the war room, and he found the council waiting for him. At the center of the spacious room was a round table with a large map of Agora built into the top. Whill wheeled himself to his place at the bottom of the map and looked out over Agora. Dozens of small figurines dotted the land. Most were cluttered together in the north, where the majority of the Uthen-Arden forces were stationed south of Brinn. The figurines represented fifteen thousand Uthen-Arden soldiers stationed there—far too few for Whill’s liking.

“Fenious, if you haven’t done so, please bring the council up to speed,” said Whill.

The lord general of war rose from his chair and took hold of a wooden pointer attached to the side of the table. “We currently have ten thousand soldiers stationed in Devandes. We have control of the river south of the city, and fifty miles north as well. The Elgar dwarves have cut off all trade with Breggard and have a force of three thousand patrolling the northern border to Shierdon. The Ky’Dren dwarves have been put on alert as well and have five thousand dwarves at the ready.”

“What of the militia?” Whill asked.

“The militia is growing quickly, sire. Over five thousand in the last week alone. It seems that your offer of one hundred gold commons is being well received.”

“Sire, if I may,” said the Magister of Numbers. “At this rate, the treasury will be depleted within a month. We do not have the funds to launch a massive military campaign while tending to the needs of the people.”

“Duly noted, Magister Glean, but the greatest need of the people right now
is
a massive military campaign.”

“Then we must raise taxes, sire, by at least ten percent if we are to pay for this endeavor.”

“No,” said Whill. “Enough of a burden has been laid on the backs of the people. It is their sons who march to war for us. King Roakore will lend us the gold if need be. I have no doubt about that.”

“But, sire, we yet owe them for the last shipment of armor and weapons, to the tune of two million commons.”

Whill waved him off. “It can all be sorted out when all of this is over.”

“When this is all over, we will be indebted to the dwarves for generations,” said Krell, Magister of Reflection.

“Better to be in debt than dead,” said Lord General Brighton. “Without the dwarven funds and metalwork, we have no hope of stopping the undead hordes from spilling into our kingdom.”

“Magister of Secrets, what is your mind?” Whill asked.

“My mind and my ears are ever keen to the whispers on the streets both near and far, sire,” said Larson Donarron.

“What are people saying?”

“There is talk in the streets of Del’Oradon that you have become weak since the taking of elven magic. Your recent injury is proof…to some. Many of the lords resent that you are taking so many of their people for the Uthen-Arden army. There are rumors of undead roaming Shierdon, and the people are terrified.”

“They see me as weak,” said Whill, nearly spitting the words. The pain in his back was flaring, and the council’s words weren’t helping. “This is exactly why we must hit the north hard. I will admit it. I was taken for a fool in Brinn. And perhaps I was a fool to think that people could settle things with civility. Well, if it is war that they want, then it is war that they shall have.”