Spirit Blade: Book III of the Dragon Mage Trilogy (23 page)

“What do you want me to do?” asked Harran stiffly. He had to look interested to keep the conversation going as long as possible, yet appear as though he was affronted by what was being asked of him. Maybe he could talk his way into being released from the cage. It was a remote hope, but it was all he had going for him.

The lizardmage hissed gleefully. “I was hoping you would see it my way. I want you to -,” he was cut off as an ogre came running into the clearing, out of breath.

“The patrols are coming!” he panted.

“Dwarves?” asked the ogre chieftain.

“Yes,” said the messenger. Even as he spoke, a horn could be he heard not far away.

The lizardmage hissed. “We were spotted! I told you to stay out of sight!”

“How many?” asked the chieftain.

“Many!” said the messenger.

“How many!” snapped the lizardmage irritably. “Are there more of them than us?”

The messenger considered for a moment. “Yes! They are many more! They are all riding!”

“Military patrols,” snarled the lizardmage. He turned to the ogre chieftain. “Have your army fall back! We need to regroup!”

The chieftain was not pleased but turned and gave the order anyway. A war horn sounded again.

“Too close!” hissed the lizardmage. He began to run into the forest after the ogres who had carried away the crates, but stopped and looked at Harran. He raised his staff to cast a spell. A third horn sounded. It was much closer this time. Harran was obviously not worth the time or effort of a spell with enemy troops bearing down on their position, so the lizardmage turned and melted into the forest.

It wasn’t long before the sounds of horses could be heard. The dwarven army reined in nearby and voices could be heard as the dwarves examined the primary battle area. Some patrols were dispatched and two mounted units rode in the direction of the raided wagon. It didn’t take them long to come across Harran sitting forlornly in his cage in the mostly empty wagon.

One of the patrols whistled and a number of mounted soldiers rode into the clearing to witness the scene. One of them was the patrol leader, judging by the red feather protruding from his helmet. He dismounted and approached Harran.

“Who are you?” demanded the patrol leader.

Harran rose to his feet. “Harran Mapmaker, at your service,” he answered, giving a stiff bow. “It’s good to see you.”

“What happened here?” asked the patrol leader. He ignored Harran’s small talk.

“We were ambushed by ogres,” said Harran. He pointed to the empty wagon beside him. “They took everything of value, including the gold. It’s too bad you weren’t a bit earlier. They just left.”

“Shall we pursue them?” asked one dwarf that Harran surmised was the second in command.

The patrol leader shook his head. “No. Once in the forest, they have the advantage. We will be slowed down by the horses. They won the battle this time. How many were there?” he asked Harran.

“Several dozen,” said Harran, “although I’m sure there were others.”

The patrol leader nodded. He eyed the cage Harran was confined in. “How did you end up in that cage?”

“I - I was knocked unconscious,” said Harran awkwardly. “I woke up in here.” He didn’t want to admit to being captured. It was not honourable to be taken by surprise.

“Are there any survivors?”

Harran shook his head sadly. “I don’t think so.” It was unlikely any were left alive. They would have fought to the death and he would have died with them if we would have been able to. But he also knew deep down his quest for Kazin was far more important - even more important than his honour. Suddenly it occurred to him that there was no one alive who could identify him as a prisoner any longer.

“Why didn’t they kill you like the rest?” asked the patrol leader.

Harran shrugged. “I don’t know. You arrived before I could get the lizardmage to tell me anything useful.”

“Lizardmage?!” exclaimed the patrol leader. “Did you say lizardmage?”

“Yes,” nodded Harran. He looked confused.

The patrol leader exchanged glances with his second in command.

“That explains the burn marks on the trees and ground, and the burned dwarves,” said the second in command.

The patrol leader nodded and turned back to Harran. “This is serious business. If the raiders are using magic, the king must be warned immediately! Our tactics need to be altered to deal with this.” He turned to his second in command. “Prepare to return home. We must make haste!” To another he added, “Free Harran. He comes with us.”

Several dwarves equipped with axes approached the cage and quickly shattered the wooden bars to free the prisoner. Harran stiffly climbed to the ground. A glint under the wagon caught his eye and he spotted his helmet. He quickly bent down and retrieved it. As he straightened up, a dwarf came up to him with a horse. Harran gratefully accepted it and mounted it expertly. Then he rode over to the patrol leader who was still issuing commands. He turned and eyed Harran’s helmet keenly. “Nice helmet, for a mapmaker.”

“I purchased it a while back,” said Harran. “It got knocked off before I was knocked unconscious.”

“These things happen,” said the patrol leader. He excused Harran’s feeling of dishonour with that comment. Had he been a military dwarf, he would have been reprimanded, but he was merely a mapmaker, so it was excusable.

If only he knew, thought Harran.

“Sir,” interrupted Harran when he thought it was a good time to ask, “Are you certain you need me to report to the king? Surely you don’t need me to tell him about the lizardman?”

The patrol leader eyed him suspiciously. “It would be better to give him a first-hand account of what transpired here. Why? Are you afraid of talking to the king? Most dwarves would envy the chance to speak freely before the king!”

Harran considered the comment and realized there was no way out of it. If he pushed the subject, he might arouse suspicions that could portray him as not being on the up and up. Going to the dwarven realm was not what he wanted, but to refuse to go was too suspicious by far. He laughed lightly. “I guess I am a little nervous.”

The patrol leader laughed and slapped him on the back. “Don’t worry, my friend! He’s not a bad fellow once you get to know him!” He squinted at Harran. “You know, he looks a lot like you.” He turned away to direct the removal and burial of the dwarves who had been slain.

Harran shuddered, knowing he was soon going to meet his distant ancestor.

A couple of hours later they were under way. Harran looked back at the wagon as they departed. Up to this point, he had been going to the dwarven realm as a prisoner. It was ironic that he was still going there, but this time as an ally. Either way, there was no escape.

Chapter 19

Z
ylor gripped the chariot tightly with both hands as he bounced along the rugged trail. At first he ran alongside the dwarven convoy, but the dwarves made haste at maximum speed. This pace was too much for even the minotaur to keep up with, so he sprang for one of the two-wheeled chariots and let the horses do the work. They were powerful horses, and the crates piled upon the chariots were filled with heavy gold, so the large minotaur was an almost unnoticed additional weight for these horses to pull.

Things were a little easier for Olag, who rode one of the available horses that were used for the trek back to the mountains. He easily passed as a dwarf who specialized in concrete work and was not asked any uncomfortable questions upon his arrival. For the first part of the journey he could feel Zylor’s presence beside him, but a mumbled comment about tiring and jumping on one of the chariots informed him that the minotaur needed a respite from his run. The skink warrior made a point of riding near the chariot in case Zylor should wish to communicate with him, but conversation was minimal, partly due to the fact that the other dwarves were potentially within hearing distance. Their mission was too important to take any unnecessary chances.

So the first day went quickly and a brief halt was called at dusk to rest and water the horses.

Olag moved to a spot far enough away from the dwarves so he could talk with the invisible minotaur. From what they could gather so far, they were on the shortest route back to the dwarven realm.

“If Harran took any of the other routes,” said Zylor quietly, “we will be gaining on him.”

“Unless he took the route we are currently on,” said Olag.

“Then we are still on his trail,” said Zylor.

“If he even came this way,” said Olag.

“Oh, he’s headed back to the dwarven realm alright,” said Zylor. “The dwarf I interrogated confirmed that much.”

“If we get to the mountains too late to catch up with Harran, we will have to enter the dwarven realm to find him,” said Olag.

“Then that is what we will do,” said Zylor fervently. There was no hesitation in his voice.

Olag sighed. “I just hope we don’t get found out.”

“Just leave the fighting to me,” said Zylor. “Kazin was right to change you into a dwarf. I would never have remained in that form for long enough to have done any good.”

“Just don’t get too carried away,” cautioned Olag. “We’re not here to change history. We just have to find Harran and bring him back.”

A dwarf suddenly whistled, signaling everyone to prepare for departure. Olag passed Zylor some dried meat and a sausage which promptly disappeared into Zylor’s invisible pack.

The convoy surged ahead again, but more slowly due to the darkness. The dwarven guides unerringly led the convoy through the night, and another break was called at dawn near a stream. The dwarves dismounted and stretched. Some of them prepared breakfast while others tended to the horses. The military dwarves went on short patrols to secure the area. An hour later they were off again.

The sun rapidly rose overhead and it was close to noon when an alarm sounded from the dwarves riding point up front. With practiced skill, some military dwarves redirected the chariots and civilian dwarves to cover. Olag was among those who were directed to keep quiet and concealed.

Zylor was under no compunction to hide while something was afoot. Seeing that Olag was safe, he bounded ahead to see what all the fuss was about.

The convoy had stumbled upon a contingent of ogres who had been camping at the edge of the trail. Cooking fires still smoldered among the trees while the front running dwarves already clashed noisily with their foes.

The ogres were unprepared for the attack, and hastily regrouped to meet the assault. The confusion was short-lived and they retaliated just as the remainder of the dwarves joined in the fray.

Although outnumbered, the dwarves were more experienced fighters. They outmaneuvered the ogres and toppled their bigger adversaries by striking their legs out from under them. Once down, the ogres were helpless against the sharp dwarven axes.

But the dwarves began to lose on one front. A menacing ogre wielding an ice axe was swinging his weapon wildly, freezing several dwarves at a time and then shattering their frozen statues where they stood. Zylor saw this and knew he had to react. He made his way toward the offending ogre.

Meanwhile, Olag successfully snuck away from the civilian dwarves to scout around the enemy encampment. The ogres were too busy with the attacking dwarves to notice him in the background. Among the ogres’ belongings were a number of crates. Some of the lids were open, revealing gold and silver coins, probably stolen from a previous dwarven caravan. Bags of assorted belongings were scattered around the area, but Olag only scanned a few of them, finding the contents too raunchy and repulsive. As he walked, he stumbled over one bag and heard a metallic noise emanate from within. He stooped to pick it up and shook its contents to the ground. What he saw made the invisible fins on his head stand up. To be certain, he picked up the item to examine it more closely. There was no doubt in his mind it belonged to Harran. He looked around sharply in the hopes of catching sight of the dwarf, but he was nowhere to be seen. Olag’s spirit sagged. Where was Harran, and why was his chain mail here among the ogres? Was Harran still even alive?

Back in the battle, Zylor faced his opponent, all too aware that invisibility was no defense against an ice axe. He warily circled to the ogre’s side, drawing his weapon slowly and carefully. As expected, his weapon became visible to the ogre. The ogre was momentarily surprised, but was intelligent enough to bring his axe back to his shoulder in preparation for another swing.

Zylor, satisfied that the ogre was aware of his presence, knew it was now honourable to fight the monster. With a vicious swing, he brought the axe around in a high arc and mesmerized the ogre with the motion. It gaped at the oncoming axe and could do nothing to avoid the weapon as it sliced its head from its shoulders in one fluid motion. Greenish blood squirted from its neck as it collapsed to the ground in a heap, dropping the ice axe in the process.

At the same time, an earthquake struck again, similar to the last one that had happened when the companions were in the elven realm.

Some nearby dwarves were fascinated by the sight and took heart, charging into the fray with battle cries. To them, it was the gods who had intervened on their behalf.

A lizardman, who had been concealed behind some trees and was using magic to enhance the speed and strength of the ogres, had also seen the mysterious axe as it eliminated the ogre. He hadn’t expected to come across a magic wielder among the dwarves. He stepped from cover and sent a lightning bolt in Zylor’s direction.

“Zylor!” cried Olag loudly above the din. He had also seen Zylor’s accomplishment, and was situated in a spot where the lizardmage was visible to him.

The minotaur turned to where he heard Olag call to him, and out of the corner of his eye he saw the lightning bolt coming at him. He ducked to avoid being hit, and the bolt whizzed past his head and struck his axe. The weapon exploded into a thousand tiny fragments, slicing into his hand in the process. Oblivious to the pain, Zylor looked to where the bolt had originated to see the lizardman duck back behind the trees. His gaze would have been malevolent had he been visible.

Olag watched as the lizardman chanted a spell and disappeared from sight. He cursed inwardly. If he wasn’t restricted from using his weapon, he would have filled the lizardmage full of arrows before he could escape.

Zylor, being weaponless, instinctively looked around for a weapon. His eyes rested on the ice axe. Without hesitation, he picked it up and sheathed it so it disappeared from sight. There was no need to use it as the dwarves were now in control of the battle. The ogres were on the run. The sounds of battle lessened.

As quickly as it had begun, the battle was over.

The dwarves who were killed were buried with a short service, and the carcasses of the ogres were thrown into a ravine. The injured were tended to and readied for the trip home. The newly acquired boxes of gold were added to the chariots, and extra horses, which previously bore dwarves, now assisted in pulling the overloaded chariots. It would slow down the caravan, but there was no complaining. Dwarves loved their gold. It was worth the effort, even if that meant a delay in getting home.

Some dwarves speculated about the disembodied axe and the unexpected earthquake, but all were happy it was on their side. Some even attributed it to the intervention of the gods. The god of war must have intervened on their behalf. The motivation alone of the presence of the axe was enough to give them an edge in this battle. But the matter that was more of a concern was the disappearance of the ice axe. A thorough search of the general area turned up nothing. It was finally determined that a fleeing ogre must have picked it up and ran off with it, not aware of the value of its find. Either that, or the explosion that was seen shortly after the appearance of the other axe meant that the gods had taken the ice axe in payment. An act like that was something the dwarves could fully appreciate.

Zylor pulled Olag aside and obtained a bandage to wrap around his damaged hand. He chose to wrap the bandage himself and, as he did, it also became invisible, ensuring his identity remained hidden. As he worked, Olag led him to a spot a short distance away from the others. He opened a pack and told the invisible minotaur to peek inside. A soft groan indicated the minotaur had seen the artifact.

“Harran’s?” he rumbled softly.

Olag nodded. “I’m sure of it. But I don’t know where he is. I looked all over, but there were no dwarves present in the raiding party.”

“With all the crates of gold lying around, I’d say his party was ambushed,” said Zylor. “I’ll bet this ice axe was his too. I haven’t seen any of these around, even though Kazin thinks they were common in this era.”

“He wouldn’t have given up the axe without a fight,” said Olag, shaking his head sadly. “I can only surmise he is dead along with the convoy he was traveling with.”

Zylor growled, but it was a different sound than any Olag had heard before. It was more of a growl of sorrow, if that was possible. “Remember,” said the minotaur thoughtfully, “Harran was kidnapped. It stands to reason that his weapon and armour were taken away. We don’t know for sure that he is dead.”

“But if his caravan was robbed - and it appears that it was - the dwarves would have died trying to defend all of that gold,” objected Olag. “They would have fought to the death.”

“Maybe so,” growled Zylor, “but Harran knew the importance of our quest! He would not have sacrificed his life for gold - or anything else for that matter! If anything, he would have found a way to escape and come back to us.”

“Perhaps,” said Olag, “but whether he was killed, or managed to escape the fate of the other caravan, what are we supposed to do now? Do we continue to look for him or return to Kazin? And if we continue to look, where do we look?”

“I think we owe it to Harran to keep looking for him,” said Zylor, “at least for now. We can return to Kazin in an instant with the rings he gave us, so time is on our side. But if we go off on our own, we would have no more success than finding a needle in a haystack. If we stay among these dwarves, we may gather clues to his whereabouts. Staying the course should yield the best results.”

Olag sighed. “Ok. But I think this is going to be a waste of time.”

“If you do not wish to help, I will simply go alone,” growled Zylor. “I will not abandon Harran!”

“I don’t want to abandon him either!” snapped Olag, “but the evidence points to him being dead!”

“I am not convinced,” growled Zylor. “If you do not believe he is -.”

“Hey! I miss him too!” snapped Olag. Aware of drawing undue attention, he quieted his voice. “We’ll continue to search for now. I hope you’re right and he is still alive. Like you said, we have time on our side. We can probably be more successful finding Harran than finding Kazin’s elusive strangler anyway. At least we know what our quarry looks like.”

Olag felt a giant reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Thank you,” mumbled the minotaur. “You’ll see that I’m right. Harran is still alive.”

The skink warrior heard the minotaur as he trudged off to be on his own. He felt the minotaur’s agony in that statement. It was more a statement of faith than one of fact. He could only guess what the minotaur and dwarf had been through in previous adventures. Some of the stories he had been told were amazing in their own right. But it was the untold ones that created the bond between the minotaur and dwarf. Those stories were not divulged. Those were the ones that bonded them as the best of friends. Once again, Olag felt privileged to be a part of these companions. What they saw in him - a mere skink warrior - was beyond him. He was supposed to be their mortal enemy, yet he was trusted as one of them. What’s more, he enjoyed their camaraderie. Once again, he felt the desire to help. He didn’t want to let them down; not now, not ever. Was this what it was like for them? Did they always feel like this? Was he becoming like them? Olag decided he liked the feeling. For the first time in his life he felt like he belonged. He decided right then and there that he would do everything in his power to preserve his friendship with these unlikely companions. They were worth fighting for. They were worth protecting. They were worth finding. He turned and strode confidently back to his horse. It was time to saddle up.