Fall of the Western Kings (Tirumfall Trilogy Book 1) (31 page)

Jarlz checked his party.  Amelia held her shoulder but otherwise seemed okay.  Jonathan stirred softly in Martha’s lap and appeared to be holding on despite the gash in his ribs.  Ratheyon stood, knife in hand staring at the massive gold dragon that had just plunked down among them.

Jarlz walked to the rock where Razgoth’s body lay.  He shoved away the black carcasses atop the downed wizard.  “Here’s the man we needed to talk to,” he said, “but I’m afraid it’s too late.”

“Who is he?” asked Uric, examining the mangled corpse.

“Razgoth, High Wizard for Barlon Gorth. I don’t know why he’s here, but something has changed in Pogor.”

Uric gingerly inched up to the fallen mage. He chanted a long verse and an unearthly chill coalesced above the dead man, sending shivers through the party.  A musty, dead smell rose from the corpse.  When Uric finished, the eyes in Razgoth’s head rolled wildly for a minute, and then focused on the dragon.

“Why do you call me?” came the hollow voice from Razgoth’s unmoving lips, a voice from far away.

“You must help us,” said Uric softly.  “Why were you here?  Why not in Pogor? And what are these demonic creatures?” Uric pointed at Varg’s dead minions.

“They are the advance units of Varg’s army.”

“Varg’s army? Has Barlon called on them too?”

“Barlon is dead.  He was a fool, and I as well.  Varg opened a gate to the dark regions.  His evil subjects are pouring through.  They come to devastate all life, as they have done in Pogor. I barely managed to escape.  Soon all the land west of the Monoliths will be barren and dead.  Then they will come for you.”

Uric’s eyes clouded in thought.  No one moved, waiting.  Then Uric’s eyes hardened with a hatred not for the dead man at his feet but for the evil loosed upon the world.

“Where is the gate?  The exact location.”

“It’s in the top room of the tallest tower in Pogor Castle at the northeast corner.”

Uric thought for a few minutes more.  Finally he spoke again.  “Thank you.  Go now in peace to your final resting.  Fear not, your body will be buried here.”

“One thing you must do for me.  Tell Valdor I am sorry.  He was right.  I wanted to tell him myself.  Ask him to forgive me.”

“It will be done,” said Uric and Razgoth’s eyes went lifeless once more.

Uric scooped a deep grave with his sharp talons, cutting through solid rock as if it were fresh tilled soil.  They laid Razgoth’s body in the pit, and then Uric fused a solid slab of stone with his breath sealing the tomb airtight.  With one claw he carefully scratched “Razgoth” on the surface near where the head of the wizard lay.

“Now let us return to the elves.  They can treat your wounds,” and Uric motioned the five survivors onto his back.

Numbly they clambered aboard, finding more than ample room on the wide expanse of Uric’s back.  Each rider settled securely into a spot between raised scales where they could hang on and soon the great dragon flew swiftly toward the Caverns of Darkness.

Chapter 42

T
he sun was coming up before Uric glided in to land at the Caverns of Darkness carrying his wounded and exhausted cargo.  As soon as he landed, Uric became the familiar sage in purple robes.  Dark elves swarmed out and hustled the injured to medical help.

“Tell the Queen we must meet at once,” said Uric to the nearest elf.

The elf nodded and dashed back into the cave.  Uric followed at a brisk walk, heading straight for Abadis and Gant’s bedrooms.  He woke them, dodged their questions, and told them to get dressed and meet him in the Council Chambers as soon as they could.

It wasn’t long before the Great Council Chamber was a mass of elfin nobility.  Uric, Gant and Abadis were given places at the table. Pris tagged along, but was relegated to a back seat.  The elves did not take him seriously because he was so young.  Rumors buzzed around the room with the conjecture that Barlon’s army had already reached Chamber Pass.  Some thought Barlon was now unstoppable.

Uric waited patiently until Sarona brought the room to order.  As soon as the room fell silent, she turned to Uric sleepily, “You called for a meeting.  Now you have it.”

“Barlon Gorth is dead.”  Uric’s words fell like lead. All the guessing of a few minutes before was forgotten.  Several among the crowd gasped, then smiled.  Many laughed, assuming the war was over.  Uric let their hopes soar only a moment.  “Varg has taken control.”

This announcement swept the room like the scythe of death.  The elves shrank in terror.  Their worst nightmare had come true.  Their mortal enemy was free to ravage them once more.

Before the news had fully settled in, Uric continued. “He has opened a gate to his realm and is calling an army from the Beyond.  I met some of his weakest minions and even these are formidable butchers.  Neither man nor elf can stand against them without a magic weapon, and against some undoubtedly only the strongest magic will have any effect.

“Everything is changed.  This is no longer a war of men; it is a war for life itself.  Sarona, you must beg the High Elves for help, beg for their stores of ancient weapons, retrieved and guarded for just such a time.  What magic you have will be needed.  If there are not enough elves to carry the weapons you have, then men must take them.  We either fight together or life on this world will cease.”

“And what of the dragons?” shot Sarona, an accusing glint in her eye.

“I will seek their aid, though there are some I fear will never help.  Those that will, I will bring as soon as possible.”

An undercurrent of speculation flashed through the room.

Finally, one Elf Lord from the middle of the throng parted those in front of him.  “How do you know this?  Have you been to Castle Pogor?”

“No,” said Uric calmly, “but in the hills last night I spoke to Razgoth, Barlon’s personal wizard.  He was dying of wounds inflicted by Varg’s demons.  He told me what happened, admitted his own folly in Barlon's plan.

“As soon as we can rally our forces we will have to strike Castle Pogor.  The magical gate must be closed at all costs.  Every minute it remains open, our enemy gains strength.”

Forest Lord Barkmar stood up near Sarona’s right elbow.  He spoke loud and clear.  “Queen Sarona, allow me to go to the High Elves as your ambassador.  I will do everything possible to win their support.”

The Queen considered for a moment, and then nodded her approval.  “As you wish.  Is there anything else?”

“That is all, Majesty,” said Uric with a deferential bow.

The meeting broke up.  Uric stopped Lord Barkmar as he was leaving the Chamber.

“Lord Barkmar, I will fly you to the land of your cousins. It is on the way, and I can get you there much faster than on foot.”

“Thank you, Dragon King, but Alnefer, the royal wizard, says he can still remember the High Elves halls.  He will transfer me there this morning.”

“Risky.  The buildings may have changed.  I’ll fly you and Alnefer.  He can bring you back, and once he sees how things are now he can take you there next time.”

The Elf Lord thought for a moment, his eyes searching the walls as if hoping to see the answer written there.  Finally he said, “Thank you.  Alnefer and I will be ready within the hour.  Where shall we meet?”

“At the entrance to the Caverns.”

Uric hurried off, as did the elf.

Meanwhile, in another part of the caverns, Gant and Abadis walked back to their chambers.

“Is there enough magic to stop these creatures?” asked Gant.

“We’ll gather the five Grand Wizards.  Valdor, myself, Waltern, Nicotir, and Franathar.  Each is a teacher and the highest authority on his particular specialty.  The lesser wizards will be called, too, but first the Council of Five.”

“Speaking of teaching someone magic, have you talked to Pris lately?”

“Yes, I spent most of yesterday afternoon with him.”  Abadis smiled.  “I’m going to take him on as an apprentice.  Haven’t had an apprentice in years.”  He chuckled softly to himself.  “And never an emperor.”

“Then he’s doing well?”

“Well?  He’s phenomenal.  His mental discipline already surpasses many journeyman wizards.  His mind is uncanny.  He reads a spell, runs through the motions once and in a moment he’s casting it.  I can’t believe it.  If he weren’t set on returning to rule the Empire, he has the potential to be the greatest mage since Bartholomew.  Don’t tell him I said that.”

Gant wrestled with that idea.  Pris a wizard?  And no one was ever compared to Bartholomew.  Not even the greatest living mages.  Maybe the kid had hidden talents.

“Isn’t it dangerous?  I mean, I’ve heard of wizards loosing control of a spell and exploding or disintegrating.”

“Of course, it is dangerous.  If a wizard looses focus and let’s his mind wander, then the energy summoned for a spell can run wild, out of control.  And if that power is strong enough, it can be fatal.  That’s why it’ll be a while before Pris is taught anything really powerful.  For now, he’s doing fine despite being impulsive.  And he lacks experience in selecting the right spell for the task, but it’ll come, and mark my words, Gant, he’ll be a great one.  Probably sit on the Council of Five one day.  Maybe take my spot when I retire.”

While Gant considered that news, they reached the door to their bedrooms.  Abadis went through the door to their chambers while Gant continued on down the hall toward the surface. Once outside Gant found a place to sit in the sun and collected his thoughts.  He knew it wouldn’t be long before the biggest battle in history began.  He would have to shoulder his part.  What was his part?  Was it just to kill Varg?  There were so many things yet undone, so many things unsaid.  Burning foremost in his mind was Dalphnia.  What if he died?  He’d never get to put things right with her.

As Gant sat in contemplation, Uric, Lord Barkmar and an ancient, shriveled elf in funny, patchwork robes came out of the Caverns. Uric changed from the sage in purple robes that Gant knew so well into a huge dragon.  Gant sat stunned.  Before he could catch his breath, the two elves climbed aboard and with one mighty sweep of Uric’s vast wings, they were airborne.  In minutes, they were tiny specks in the blue sky and then they were gone.

Uric flew north over the Misty Mountains straight for the vast forests ruled by the High Elves.  He streaked over mountains, forests, plains and rivers.  Soon they could see the magnificent towers that marked the High Elf capitol.  Uric plummeted into the city square.  He landed gently as graceful elves flocked from nearby buildings to witness the rare arrival of a dragon.  As the High Elves recognized the two dark elves dismounting from Uric’s golden-scaled back, their expressions soured.

“Listen to your cousins,” boomed Uric, loud enough to be heard throughout the city.  “If not to save yourselves, then because I, King of Dragons, request it.”

Uric hated pompous displays, but this was no time for quibbling.  As soon as Barkmar and Alnefer disembarked, Uric was again airborne.  “I’ll be back to see if you need any help,” he called over his shoulder.

He soared higher and higher, rising into a fast moving river of air that rushed past his face like a tornado.  He followed it, back toward the river’s source, twisting and turning until he faced due west.  Here he slowed until his strokes held him steady.  It was only then that he sang the spellsong of home known only to dragons, a song he had waited a long time to sing again.  As the spell was completed, Uric disappeared from the world of men and entered the Land of Dragons.

The instant Uric materialized in his homeland he was greeted by a shrill whistle of steam from one of the lookouts.  He answered with a booming rumble and glided down into the massive, mile wide canyon that was home.  His eyes soaked up the natural beauty of the cliffs, the rock faces of red, orange, brown and gold.  It was gorgeous; so long only a memory that the king felt tiny droplets form at the corners of his eyes.  He blinked once and reminded himself of the urgency of his business.

He glided steadily downward passing numerous ominously dark caves in the rock.  Occasionally a dragon’s head peeked out to see who flew past.

As he neared the great, central cavern that was the lawful home of the Dragon King, there was a snort from below and a huge golden dragon launched from the rock ledge protruding below the cave mouth.  Glittering and blazing with the afternoon sun, she spiraled higher, crooning a welcome.

“Uricimalidmus,” she shouted, using Uric’s full name, a name shared only with family, as she climbed to greet him.  “It has been a long time since you were home. I missed you, as did our sons.”

“Mallamenatta,” Uric replied, barrel-rolling with joy.  “It has been too long, and yet I’m afraid I will go again.  Perhaps you'll go too.”

She swooped to him, caressing his back with her wingtips as she curled around him in midair.  Together they banked and dove in to land gracefully on the wide, sandstone ledge at the entrance to their home.  For a long moment they intertwined their supple bodies in silence.  No words were necessary.

Slowly she separated from him.

“What are you talking about, returning to the world of men?” she asked, stepping back to study his face.

“They need our help.  Varg has opened a path to the dark realms and his evil spawn are coming through bent on consuming all life.”

“Can’t they help themselves?”

“Maybe, but I think not.  I’ve come to call a Council.”

A great sadness filled his eyes, a sadness she could read easily.

“And what of Bazdentanfel? You’ll never convince him to go.”

“Then I’ll take those who will go.  I will not force anyone but time is our enemy.  We must meet now.  Where are our sons?”

“Pith is with Valmie, and Hamiz is racing the gorge. They’ll be back soon.  You rest, I’ll call the others.”

Uric nodded, then nipped playfully at Mall’s ear.  She ignored it and launched herself from the ledge, banking away to the left.

Uric slipped into his home.  The cool stone so familiar, yet after years of absence, there was a strangeness about it. The central corridor ran slightly downhill, and then opened out into a huge, domed amphitheater hundreds of feet across with a raised rock plateau fifty feet high at the far end.  Almost reluctantly, Uric stretched his wings and flew to perch atop the plateau where he could be seen by all the dragons that would soon arrive.  Centuries past, the Council Theater would have been packed with hundreds of dragons.  Today, Uric knew there would be few indeed.

Silently he waited.  His thoughts focused on his promise to Bartholomew, powerful wizard and true dragon friend. He weighed that promise against family responsibilities.  Yes, he’d promised to see this through to its end, see Varg defeated once more.  But in some ways Uric wondered if men were better left to their fate.  Too often he’d seen friends turn on one another over matters of honor.  What honor came from killing friends?  It didn’t matter, he’d given his word and he would not go back on it.

The sound of leathery wings interrupted his thoughts.  A silvery head poked into the chamber followed by a slim, silver body.

“Father,” came his son’s loud whistle.  “You’ve returned at last.  I thought I would molt to gold before you returned.”

“Yes, Pith.  By your size, I’d say you are about ready.  I’m glad I waited no longer.  You look splendid.  How’s Valmie?”

“She’s fine.  She’ll be here soon.  Mom says you’ve come to call a Dragon Council.”

“Yes.  Times are not well in the outer world.  I hope this business can soon be ended.”

Before they could say anything else, there was a rustle of wings and two more dragons, a great red and a great black, rumbled into the massive chamber.

“Bazdentanfel, welcome,” said Uric, “and to you, too, Mizradefindis.”

“Thank you.  Mizradefindis and I are glad to see you,” said the massive black, seating himself.

Other dragons trooped in and found room near the base of Uric’s raised plateau.  Uric’s wife returned and took her spot beside him.  His two sons were given honored spots at the foot of the plateau.

Slowly Uric related the events from the outside world, as accurately as he could.  When he finished, the assemblage remained silent for long moments, each dragon revisiting their memories of men and their world.