The Blind King (16 page)

I
t took days to
convince King Oge to ally with Ra’jhou. He had demanded a demonstration of
Efren’s invention before he would consider the prospect of an alliance.
Luckily, Efren’s instructions were clear and precise, giving the dwarven
craftsmen everything they needed to construct the invaluable weapons. The king
was so impressed, he ordered his generals to make ready at once.

After a few days preparation, the army began to
march. Among their supplies were the new weapons that would give the dwarves an
advantage against Na’zora. Efren had studied many long hours to perfect their
construction, and he had told no one except Pedr. Even the servants who had
assisted the king in his studies were unaware of the invention. Efren had made
sure not to let the same servant assist him too long, for fear they might
uncover his plan.

Under cover of
night, Pedr journeyed down the mountain, accompanied by an army of dwarves.
Though they moved in darkness, their steps were far from quiet. Their heavy footfalls
echoed through the night, frightening the nocturnal creatures in their path.

“It’s a good thing we don’t need to rely on
secrecy,” Geryl joked.

“When the dwarves are marching, everyone knows
it,” Pedr replied with a laugh.

“Are you ever going to tell me what you and the
king talked about?” Geryl asked. He had been kept in the dark about the whole
situation, even though he had stayed faithfully at Pedr’s side throughout the
journey.

“Which king? Oge?”

“Either one, really,” Geryl responded. “You spent
a lot of time talking with both of them.”

Pedr grinned, his teeth glistening in the darkness.
“You’ll find out soon enough,” he said. “Besides, most of the soldiers here
already know. Maybe you can pry it out of one of them.”

“I already tried,” he admitted. “None of them will
say a word. Apparently it’s a secret.”

“Apparently,” Pedr echoed. Slapping his friend on
the back, he added, “Trust me, it’s worth the wait.”

Geryl shook his head, still wishing he knew the
full story. Pedr had made a bargain with two kings, and he wondered how it
might affect him and the new settlement near Ra’jhou. The two men had been
friends for many years, so he trusted that whatever the secret was, it had
their families’ best interests at heart.

Bor, whose eyes were younger than those of his
companions, walked ahead of Pedr and Geryl as a scout. As he proceeded down the
mountainside, he caught sight of a campfire just ahead. He rushed back to let
the others know there might be trouble ahead.

Hurrying toward one of the generals, Bor said,
“There’s a campfire ahead. It could be enemies.”

Immediately, the general ordered the
dwarves to halt their descent and prepare to attack.

Pedr strode forward
to look for himself. “I don’t think those are Na’zorans,” Pedr informed the
general. “I doubt they’d be at this height in the mountains. That wouldn’t be
the quickest route to the castle. I’d bet these are Ra’jhouans.”

“Why would they be
hiding in the mountains?” the general asked.

“They’re
scattered,” Pedr replied. “Hundreds of citizens have been displaced. There
might even be guards or soldiers among them.”

“I’ll send someone
in to find out,” the general stated. “The rest of us will remain hidden and
ready to attack.”

Pedr shook his
head. He was certain these people were not a threat. If this was an invading
army, they wouldn’t give their position away so easily by lighting a campfire.
“I’ll go in and have a look,” Pedr volunteered.

“Suit yourself,”
the general replied. “If you aren’t back in twenty minutes, we’ll move in.”

Pedr hurried down
the mountain to the camp. Sure enough, unarmed citizens were gathered close to
the fire, trying to stay warm in the chilly mountain air.

“Hello there,” Pedr
said, announcing his presence. He held up both hands so the men and women could
see he wasn’t armed.

“Greetings,” a
tall, bearded man said. “What brings you here?”

“I’m here to help,”
he explained. “You are Ra’jhouans, I take it?”

“We are indeed,”
the man replied. “Our village was destroyed weeks ago, and our path to the
castle was cut off by the Na’zoran army. We’ve set up camp here to await the
end of the war.”

“Are there soldiers
among you?” Pedr asked.

“Not in this camp,”
he replied. “There is a good portion of our army a bit farther north. They’ve
been looking for a safe route back to the castle, but so far they’ve failed to
find one. There aren’t enough of them to break the enemy line.”

Pedr grinned.
“There will be now.” He whistled to his companions and waved his hands, urging
them to come forward.

From the darkness,
hundreds of dwarf soldiers appeared. The gathered Ra’jhouans cheered at the
sight.

“You’ve come to
save us all!” the bearded man shouted.

“Well, there’s
still the small matter of Na’zora’s mages, and let’s not forget we’re still
outnumbered,” Pedr pointed out. “We’ll do our best, though.”

The bearded man
nodded. “I’ll lead you to the soldiers’ camp,” he said, grabbing a torch from
the fire.

They walked until
dawn before they reached the gathered Ra’jhouan soldiers. There were only about
three hundred of them that Pedr could see, but even a few were better than
none. The soldiers were happy to see the dwarves, who had brought a few extra
weapons to share. Hope filled the men as they beheld the sight of their
reinforcements.

The man introduced
Pedr to the lieutenant who was in charge of the scattered army. “It’s good to
have you on our side,” the lieutenant said, shaking Pedr’s hand. “We’ve kept a
close eye on the situation, and Na’zora is already in position at the castle. They
have not yet begun their attack, but they will soon.”

“Let’s hope we’re
able to break the siege, then,” Pedr replied.

As light filled the
sky, the men were eager to march. The scouts had reported no further movement
by the Na’zorans, but the situation could change at any moment.

“Do we march for
the castle in full force?” Pedr asked.

“No,” the dwarf
general responded. “There’s been a change in plans.”

T
hunder crashed
against the walls of the castle, its voice booming throughout the stone
corridors.
Cries from women and children rang through the air as the
frightened citizens barricaded themselves inside. Soldiers stationed on the
walls took cover, fearing the castle might come apart at the seams.

A roar erupted from the invading army as they
moved themselves into battle formation. The ground shook beneath their feet as
they marched, and the air swirled hot around the mages as they began to conjure
their flames.

Efren sat motionless upon his throne, the thunder
echoing in his hears. He swallowed hard and steadied his breathing. His face
showed no sign of emotion.

“Your Majesty, Na’zora is attacking,” Arden
announced. “They are in formation outside our walls.”

Another crash of thunder reverberated through the
castle, followed quickly by a second and a third. The assembled nobles at court
looked nervously at one another, wondering if they should take refuge in the
lower levels.

“Is that sound coming from the mages?” Councilman
Faril asked. “Are they taking down the castle?”

“It could only be,” Arden replied.

Efren shook his head, a spark of hope showing on
his face. “That is not magefire,” he said with confidence. “That is our
salvation.” He rose to his feet, extending a hand to his First Advisor.

Reaching for the king’s arm, Arden gripped it
firmly. They exited the throne room together, followed by the entire council
and assembled nobles. Arden had no idea of the king’s destination. Instead, he
allowed the king to lead him as their footsteps echoed through the corridor.
Finally, Efren halted near a thin, rectangular window.

“Duke Arden, could you tell me what you see
outside this window?”

Arden peered outside, first looking down into the
courtyard. The area had been evacuated. “I see nothing, Your Majesty,” he said.
“There are no soldiers or citizens present in the courtyard.”

Urgency rose in the king’s voice. “Beyond that.
What do you see?”

Arden focused his gaze on the area beyond the
castle courtyard, where the Na’zoran army was gathered. “I see legions of
Na’zoran soldiers,” he said, his eyes drinking in the scene. Wrinkling his
brow, he added, “They’re all facing away from the castle.”

“What else do you see?” Efren asked. “Look beyond
the Na’zorans.”

In the distance, Arden’s eyes fell upon an army of
dwarves. His heart nearly stopped as he realized they were attacking the
Na’zorans. “There are dwarves!” Arden shouted. “They’ve come to help us!”

The nobles who had gathered behind the king began chattering
over one another. Straining their necks and shoving each other out of the way,
they struggled to catch a glimpse of the spectacle outside. Another boom thundered
through the castle, and the crowd fell silent.

“What is that sound? Are the mages winning? Do the
dwarves still stand?” Councilman Faril asked anxiously.

“I cannot see,” Arden replied, “but surely it is
the mages firing at the dwarves.”

“No, it is not the mages,” Efren stated. “It is
our friends the dwarves who are wielding this fire. They have alloy vessels
full of powder that explode upon impact. It is a technology previously unknown
to us. Through many long hours of study and experimentation, I discovered the
correct formula and the safest method of transporting it.”

Arden stared open-mouthed at the king, unable to
believe his ears. King Efren had invented a weapon capable of taking out
Na’zora’s army. His creation had saved what was left of his kingdom and all the
lives barricaded inside the castle. “You invented this? Why did you need the
dwarves? Why did you not arm our own soldiers with this?”

“We do not have the resources necessary to craft
the vessels,” the king explained. “Nor do we have the proper ingredients to put
inside them. The dwarves have all but one necessary element available in
abundance. The other is found here, beneath this castle.”

The councilors could not contain their excitement
as they erupted into applause, cheering the king in his victory. “All hail King
Efren!” they cried in unison.

General Willem burst through the castle doors,
running at top speed up the steps toward the throne room. Finding the entire
court assembled in the hallway, he stopped short. “Majesty, the dwarves have
attacked Na’zora! Their army is surrounded, their mages destroyed by fire!”

Efren only smiled in response, his gaze still
turned to the window. The sunlight beamed upon his face, and he welcomed its
warmth.

Arden stated, “We’re already aware, General Willem.
King Efren has arranged it all.”

“Then he has done what my army could not,” Willem
admitted.

“You have done what you could under the
circumstances,” Efren said, placing his hand on the general’s shoulder. “Your
leadership and council have served this kingdom well. I could not wish for a
better general to command my army.”

Willem felt humbled by the king’s praise. “I have
disagreed with you and accused you of weakness,” he admitted. “I will never
doubt you again.”

Efren nodded. He held no animosity toward the
general who had spoken out against him at times. It was true that Efren had no
experience when it came to war. He was grateful to have an experienced general
to lead his armies. Gannon had placed his trust in this man, and Efren would as
well.

“The Na’zorans will not last long against those
dwarves and their firebombs,” Arden said, still staring out the window. A broad
smile crept across his face as he watched Na’zoran soldiers fleeing the flames.
Whatever was in those vessels created bright red flames, the very sight of
which sent a chill down the spines of the enemy.

“Majesty, these dwarves have also found the men
who were missing from our own army,” Willem said. “It seems they ran into each
other in the mountains.”

“That is fantastic news as well,” Efren replied.

“Your Majesty, may I employ these dwarves to take
back our conquered lands?” Willem asked.

“Permission granted,” Efren responded.

As Willem turned to leave, Arden continued
observing from the window. “The Na’zorans have thrown down their weapons,” he
announced. “They’ve given up!”

“Take me back to my throne,” Efren told him. “I am
expecting a visit from a king.”

“Gladly,” Arden said, taking the king’s arm.

K
ing Tyrol
watched in horror as his mages were struck down by the dwarves. The soldiers
assigned to guard them fled in terror as the fires raged all around them. There
had been no time for the mages to complete their spells—not one of them had
managed to throw a single fireball. Tyrol’s prized mages were no more.

Lieutenant Jak
rushed to the king’s side, “Your Majesty, we are beset on all sides!”

Another explosion
rocked the ground, sending flames in Tyrol’s direction. In a panic, his horse
reared, throwing him roughly to the ground. Though uninjured, the event only
furthered the king’s rage. “Pull our men back!” he shouted to the lieutenant.

The king rose to
his feet, brushing the dust away from his armor. Where had he gone wrong? This
was supposed to be his moment of glory. As he looked around, he saw nothing but
the destruction of his own troops.

The Na’zoran army
attempted to rally to its king. The men trod carefully, avoiding the many fires
that were burning upon the ground. Each of the catapults they had constructed
were now engulfed in flames, and the wall that was intended to protect them
from archers had been obliterated.

Though there were
few horses left on the scene, Tyrol spotted a single rider making his way
through the chaos. “Your Majesty!” the rider cried as he approached. Spotting
the king amid the crowd, the man dismounted and bowed. “I narrowly escaped an
attack early this morning. I was the only survivor.”

“What attack?” the
king asked. “Where?”

“I was stationed
many miles to the south,” the man explained. “We were stockpiling supplies for
the siege. The dwarves arrived this morning, Your Majesty. They destroyed
everything! I was lucky to escape with my life.”

Tyrol spat on the
ground as he listened to the news. A second unit of dwarf soldiers was moving
south, taking back the lands he had conquered. “How many men were there?” he
asked.

“It was chaos with
the explosions,” the man replied. “I could not say.”

Tyrol worried there
might be enough dwarves to invade his own kingdom. What was to stop them? With
the entirety of his army here and his mages dead, there was no one left to
defend Na’zora. In his desire to possess the kingdom to his north, he may have
lost everything.

“Find me a horse!”
he cried. “We must retreat!” His eyes scanned the field, but the few horses he
spotted were too far away, running frantically from the scene. The messenger’s
horse was plainly exhausted from its long journey, and it would not be able
carry the king far enough away.

“Majesty,”
Lieutenant Jak said. “There is no hope of retreat. The dwarves are too many,
and they stand between us and any hope of escape. There is nowhere to go.”

“You would have me
surrender?” he asked, his face red with anger.

Jak looked at the
ground, not wanting to say the words that needed to be said. The siege was
over. There was no chance of taking Ra’jhou, and there was no place to run.
They would have to face the wrath of their enemies.

Tyrol closed his
eyes to block out the scene in front of him. “Tell all of our men to cease
fighting. Find the commander of the dwarves and tell him we are beaten.” The
words tasted bitter in his mouth as he said them, his voice thick and low.
Never in his wildest imaginings had this occurred. Ra’jhou was a pitiful kingdom
led by a blind man. It had no allies and barely any army. How could he have
failed?

“Lay down your
weapons!” Jak called as he made his way through the ranks. The cry echoed
through the field as the Na’zorans accepted their defeat.

One of the dwarf
generals took notice of the Na’zoran surrender and ordered his men to cease
firing. He stood proudly, waiting for the king to address him. Instead, it was
Jak who came forward.

“Na’zora
surrenders,” the lieutenant said, holding his head high. Though his army was
defeated, he would not stand ashamed. He had served his king well, and he would
not grovel before this dwarf.

“Only your king can
surrender,” the dwarf said. “When I hear those words from his lips, I’ll accept
it. Until then, my armies continue to march. Let him know we won’t be stopping
at the border, so he’d better make it quick. A good portion of our forces
headed out for Na’zora at dawn. If he waits until nightfall, I won’t dispatch a
messenger telling them to halt.” With a grin, the dwarf crossed his arms and
added, “You’d best see to your king.”

Slowly, Jak turned
and began the march back to King Tyrol’s position. “Majesty,” he began, “the
dwarf would like to hear you surrender personally. If you refuse, he says his
army will invade Na’zora.”

Tyrol scowled, a
low rumble sounding from his throat. “I will kill this dwarf,” he stated, his
hand moving to the hilt of his sword.

“Your Majesty, they
will kill you!” Jak replied. “You mustn’t try something so foolish.”

Tyrol’s eyes
flashed with hatred, but he knew Jak’s words contained wisdom. If he attacked
the dwarf general, the rest of the dwarf army would kill him. History would
remember him as a fool who had thrown his life away. No, he would not allow
that to happen. He must survive and continue to lead Na’zora. Perhaps he would
take revenge on the dwarves another day.

Summoning his
pride, the defeated king marched forward to face the general. “My army
surrenders,” he stated, his voice bold and clear.

The dwarf smirked.
“I accept your surrender, and I have a message for you.” The general turned and
motioned Pedr to his side.

Hurrying to his
side, Pedr presented a piece of parchment to King Tyrol. Snatching the letter
from the dwarf’s hand, Tyrol eyed him suspiciously.

“What is this?” he
demanded.

“A letter from King
Efren,” Pedr replied. “I suggest you take him up on his offer.”

Scowling, Tyrol
unfolded the parchment and read these words:

Most Honorable
King Tyrol,

I, Efren, King
of Ra’jhou, invite you to a conference within my castle. It seems you have run
into some friends of mine who would be all too delighted to watch you burn.
They have an affinity for fire, just as your mages once did. There are matters
I would discuss with you. I await your arrival.

Looking up from the
parchment, Tyrol found himself closely surrounded by dwarves. To his dismay,
they grabbed his arms and dragged him toward the castle.

“This is
outrageous!” he shouted. “I am a king!”

The dwarves only
laughed.