The Dreaddrac Onslaught (Book 4) (41 page)

In the flickering torch light, Earwig looked around at the two filthy, cramped rooms. She sat down on a crate, one of the few things passing for furniture in the room. Her head sank into her hands, shaking, moaning. Then abruptly, without warning, the crate collapsed into a billowing cloud of dust, dander, and scrambling roaches. Earwig went sprawling across the floor, her face stopping just in front of a dollop of dried dragon poop.

“Not what we expected, is it, Miss Earwig?” Dreg said.

Earwig grabbed the dragon pie and threw it at Dreg, who dodged it.

The orc then trudged by with a corpse over his shoulder. He stopped momentarily on his way and looked in at Earwig on the floor and shook his head.

“Shovel and pitchfork be over by the post here,” he said and, grinning, trudged along on his way to a dragon stall.

A billow of sulfurous smoke swirled overhead outside in the passageway. Earwig looked at Dreg as the unmistakable sound of crunching bones came clearly to their ears with the stench of sulfur. Dreg gave up trying to stop the witch’s uncontrollable sobbing.

General Tarquak’s wispy essence wafted out of his coffin in the dungeon of Sekcmet Palace one evening to slip into a trembling orc body. A messenger, standing with several ogres facing the coffin, confronted the wraith, startling him. As the specter seized control of the struggling orc, assuming the living shell, the messenger stood alert and defiant.

“And whom would you be that you dare disturb me at my rest?” Tarquak snarled, looking first at the messenger, then at his ogre guards that knew better than to do that. The go-between stood straight, cold, and sneered back. Tarquak hesitated, then sniffed the air, but there was no scent of fear. He took his time subduing the orc’s last grasp on life, while he evaluated the situation and the defiance facing him. The creature seemed like a snake coiled to strike.

“The king sends his greetings,” the messenger said, his tone smooth and steady but ominous.

“How gracious of his majesty,” Tarquak said, noting the last color drain out of his orc hand. He could turn his full attention to the intrusion. “I’m sure he didn’t send so valuable a courier just to convey greetings.”

“Indeed not. The king orders you to stop delaying. Organize your troops, and move on Botahar.”

“Delaying?” Tarquak snapped. He recoiled at the tone and the word. He drew in the orc body and narrowed the eyes that then glared at the messenger. “You dare suggest I’m delaying?”

“The king stated you are delaying. He will have no more of it.”

Hesitating at the mention of the Dark Lord, Tarquak moved to a table against the wall. He took his sword, attaching it with a sharp snap of the buckle about the orc’s waist. He raised his helmet, but fumbled, dropping it on the orc head that was, unfortunately, two sizes too small. He turned to the messenger that followed the general’s slightest move.

“You may inform the king I shall move on Botahar by the time you reach the Munattahensenhov to report of it. Now be gone from here.”

The general accompanied the messenger to the turret of Sekcmet’s primary tower, where he mounted an immature dragon stamping about, snapping at the orc guards.

“Before the new moon,” the messenger said.

Tarquak said nothing. The dragon thrashed his head around, spattering fiery spittle. The messenger jerked on the reins, and the dragon turned northeast. With a last gaze at the general, the beast leapt in the air and disappeared into the night.

Tarquak descended the tower and went to the grand audience hall, kicking a skull out of his way as he went.

“Bring me a map of eastern Sengenwha. Order all commanders to report here in the audience hall,” Tarquak blurted out to the accompanying aides. In the hall, he stroked the orc chin as he sat on the throne thinking, awaiting the maps and commanders.

When they arrived, Tarquak had the map posted on a rack beside the throne. He rose, looked over the ogres and goblins entering the hall and facing him. He threw the first thing at hand, a lamb’s leg bone from a plate of stale leftovers, at a goblin picking his teeth and got the room’s attention. “We are commanded by his majesty, the King of Dreaddrac, to attack and destroy Botahar and any remaining resistance in Sengenwha,” Tarquak said. He slammed the orc finger at Botahar on the mounted map skin and looked over the room. “To that end, you will call to arms your contingents and report your numbers in twenty-four hours. We march on Botahar at week’s end. You supply commanders are to report on the status of the supplies available. Have baggage trains prepared as soon as possible. There’s not likely to be much left to live off of along the way east. Now get out and get to your assignments.”

The commanders looked at each other and then moved silently and quickly out through the formerly grand hall’s bronze doors. When the others had gone, the general’s aides stood by for further instructions.

“Send orders to the ogres in Sengenwha’s southern swamps. Have them remain in place, consolidate their orcs, trolls, and whatever other forces they command. They’re to be ready to cross the Nhy on my orders.” The aides left to send messengers.

Tarquak again looked over the map, then biting his orc nails, he stormed out of the grand empty hall.

*

Unnoticed in the clearstory above the throne, Twiddle the wren fluffed his feathers, flew silently out a broken window pane and southeast toward Konnotan.

* * *

Queen Dagmar’s dark cloak rippled behind her as she led her four aides galloping through the hills southwest of Botahar. She spurred on the swift, steady mare when the aides requested she rest for the night. They rode single file, the queen in the lead, on through the dusk as if possessed. They left behind the thick fir forest west of Lake Pundar they’d ridden through the first days. They passed into ancient oaks with limbs outstretched and interlocking over the one path through the forest, which the queen raced down at breakneck speed.

“We ride on,” Dagmar said over her shoulder, hearing the chatter behind her among the aides. They’d ridden for days and were all exhausted. The grumbling aides-de-camp now sounded as if they thought she’d lost her reason.

“Majesty, this forest is too thick and dangerous to ride through at such speed in the dark,” the aide right behind her said.

Dagmar heard but rode on.

“What does she seek?” another asked, but the first aide shrugged his shoulders and followed. The other grumblings behind her she couldn’t make out.

I’m going on regardless if the others follow or not, she thought. I didn’t request they come with me. Saxthor said there is a great rock outcrop that should be around here close by. I must make the cave beneath it before we stop for the night. I hope I haven’t missed it.

At last, the dark rock formation jutted out above the forest canopy against the silver-white of the rising moon. She caught a dramatic glimpse of it through an opening in the canopy before the limbs closed over the trail again. She made for it as clouds shrouded the moon and night enveloped them all.

“We camp here tonight. You may have a fire back in the cave if it proves uninhabited. Check it for tracks before we dismount.”

Her senior aide inspected the grotto and found it empty. The rest set up camp and prepared a fire and food. Two set their bedrolls near the cave’s mouth. The queen and the other two aides stayed further in by the fire.

“How did you know this cave was here, Majesty?” her senior aide asked. His thick blonde hair and strong features were reassuring, though his being heavy-set indicated he wouldn’t last long in an extended crisis. His tough, wiry comrade was a better match for an extended fight should one occur.

“King Saxthor told me of it,” Dagmar replied. “I think I remember hearing as a child, father said this forest was once a hunting preserve for the Occintoc emperors when the ancient empire still ruled most of the continent. When that empire finally decayed and collapsed, my ancestor, a general of the Occintoc Empire, founded our dynasty and this Kingdom of Sengenwha.” She smiled at the aide, thinking of the easy days of her youth before all the troubles started. Her thoughts evaporated when the aide sat up, his face intent, suspicious. He glanced quickly at the other aide, then back at Dagmar.

“How did the Neuyokkasinian king know about this hidden cave in Sengenwha?” the senior aide asked.

“Enough questions,” Dagmar responded. She turned to the fire, poking it with a stick. A log collapsed into embers. Saxthor’s right, my people may never accept Neuyokkasin’s king as my husband, she thought. He saved the royal family and helped restore Calamidese to the throne, if temporarily, but still the age old suspicion fostered by my forbearers remains engrained in them. Must I deny my love because of ignorance and misguided hatred?

Dagmar noted a strange glow in a large crystal in a niche in the cave wall. It seemed somewhat translucent, and the glow was unique to the stone. She sat up and looked around the cave, but no other rocks had the glow. The others didn’t seem to notice it. Wonder if they’re watching, she thought.

The band rode on for days around the end of the forested hills, along the edge of the Morass Mesas. Dagmar followed signs she’d been told to look for; the aides became increasingly distressed.

Suddenly, Dagmar reined in her horse. This is the entrance, she thought. It’s exactly as Saxthor described it. She turned to the others. “We’ll move out of sight and camp beside the lake within this forest,” she said.

“Lake, Majesty?” an aide questioned. He looked around to his left and saw only the succulents and dry tufts of desert grass across the Morass Mesas. He looked at the forest, thick and foreboding, but with no indication of water. “I see no sign of a lake. Are you sure there is a lake nearby?”

“You ask too many questions. Why do you doubt me? Do as I say,” Dagmar responded irritably. She spurred the mare and rode into the forest through the slight opening she would have missed if she hadn’t known it was there. The trees closed in, shrinking the slender trail to the point they had to dismount and lead the horses through. Then it opened up into the pleasant woodland Saxthor had described.

“Set up camp down there by the lake. I’ll go on and return in a day or two depending on how my mission goes. Do not attempt to follow me! Remain here and wait for my return.”

“But, Your Majesty, we must accompany you,” the senior aide insisted. “Our lives are forfeit should anything happen to you.” He moved forward and placed his hand on the queen’s saddle. She looked down at his hand. He snatched it back and dropped to his knee. “Begging your pardon, Majesty, but nothing must happen to you.”

His companion came forward, gave the queen a shy smile, and put his hand on his friend’s shoulder. The aide rose and backed away, his head still bowed.

Dagmar said nothing more but turned her horse and rode off slowly around the lake and out of sight. On the opposite side of the pond, she dismounted. Leading the mare, she hunted through the rocky hillside among the vegetation for the tunnel opening Saxthor told her about.

Before she found it, a man appeared as if from nowhere. His pointed ears, his extraordinarily handsome face, elegant form, and unique clothing identified him as an elf. Startled at first, Dagmar calmed quickly, feeling a soothing impulse pass over her.

“Greetings, Queen Dagmar,” the elf said, bowing low. “King Ahkenspec has been expecting you.”

“How did you know I was coming?” Dagmar asked. Then she remembered, the glowing rock in the cave earlier.

“Yes, Majesty, the Wizard Memlatec forewarned King Ahkenspec you would be coming. It seems King Saxthor has asked our king to assist you. The king will explain all. Follow me, please.”

Dagmar tied her horse to a bush and followed the elf through the tunnel that appeared behind him. She studied every element, amazed that such a people could have existed within her kingdom and she’d never heard of them.

“How long has your kingdom lived in this enchanted forest?” Dagmar asked.

“King Ahkenspec will explain all, Majesty. The elf led on through the massive oaks that supported the elf kingdom built in the tree branches. The mosses were deep and lush, the air so pure, everything so fresh.

Presented to King Ahkenspec, both monarchs bowed slightly in deference to each other’s status. Ahkenspec returned to his throne, and they brought another throne beside it for the queen. Queen Dagmar sat and took refreshment offered by servants before the two monarchs began the conference on the state of Sengenwha.

“How may we be of assistance, Queen Dagmar?” King Ahkenspec began as host.

Dagmar sat forward, feeling a rush of excitement. She saw her eyes flare in the king’s. “Your Majesty, I must confess I have never known of your kingdom within my own in all my years. But the Kingdom of the Memtahhamin Elves is as much in danger as my own should we fail to expel General Tarquak and the forces of Dreaddrac. I need your help. I have insufficient forces to overthrow Tarquak. The defenses of Botahar are inadequate to sustain a siege. If Botahar is lost, the last of Sengenwha’s resistance goes with it. I need your alliance to defeat General Tarquak.”

Ahkenspec shuffled on his throne, took a goblet of elfin wine, and sipped it as he ruminated on the queen’s request. He returned the goblet to the tray and glanced at the kneeling servant, dismissing him and turned to the queen.

“Majesty, the Memtahhamin Elves have existed in these hills since time immemorial. After the Wizard Wars, we withdrew to this smaller enclave when most of our people decided our age was past and the age of man was upon us. Most went into the west. Those that remained have kept silent and hidden from the outer world. Not even your ancestors knew of us since the Occintoc Empire collapsed. Now you wish us to throw off that cloak of invisibility and involve ourselves in the affairs of man?”

Dagmar moved forward to the edge of her seat, alert, feeling desperate. “King Ahkenspec, you can remain hidden no longer. Our kingdoms are codependent. Sengenwha is near collapse. If the Dark Lord of Dreaddrac takes control of my kingdom, you cannot remain safe and hidden within it. The king will sense your energy, your presence, and probe until he discovers you. He will destroy your kingdom and the elves utterly. We must fight together or be destroyed separately.” Dagmar sat back, relieved to have stated her case so plainly. It’s up to him now, she thought.

The king rose and crossed the beautiful mosaic floor and elegant carpets to the map on the far wall. The Memtahhamin Kingdom was denoted within the Kingdom of Sengenwha, Botahar clearly shown as was Neuyokkasin. He studied the map and his armor affixed over the map. He turned to the queen and bowed his head slightly.