The Dreaddrac Onslaught (Book 4) (5 page)

“My head’s swollen twice its normal size,” she screamed though her words were barely discernable though her bloated lips. Leering down her grossly disfigured nose, through slits in swollen eyes, Earwig saw hornets dotted her face, attached firmly by implanted stingers. She swatted with hands like fighters gloved fists. “Get off me!” She practically beat the nose off her face before she froze. Her attention focused on the approaching sound of hornets. Freed from their shredded home, the swarm flew to find their home-wrecker. A black and white cloud flew from the hollow like bats from a cave at dusk, searching for the perpetrator of the tree mutilation.

“Run!” Dreg yelled as he fled the site once again.

Earwig’s eyelids were swollen shut, but through a slit, she could just make out the oncoming swarm. With her first step, she tripped and fell over the log by the smoldering campfire, crashing to the ground with her face again in the campfire’s hot ashes. Her rump was, unfortunately, turned up and exposed to the oncoming, stinging mass.

One of the hornets stung Zendor, who promptly broke his tether and stomped around, kicking and bucking.

Sadly, Earwig, swatting at her hornet speckled behind, staggered up from the fire. She stumbled away from the tree only to back into Zendor, who reacted as would be expected. His kick was an unlucky one for the witch. It sent her forward at a high velocity, jamming her head again into the tree’s hollow. The timing was most unfortunate, as the returning hornets were swarming about outside the tree searching for someone on which to take out their anger. Seeing Earwig ‘attack’ their nest again, they focused their anger once again on Earwigs exposed behind.

*

Dreg came back at sundown when the exhausted hornets had given up and abandoned the nest in the ‘plugged up’ tree hollow.

“I’ll mash this axle grease between your head and the wood, Miss Irkin,” he said. He cautiously approached the slumped bloated body hanging down against the tree. Maybe it’ll help you to pull your head out.”

There was a long moan as the almost unrecognizable blob plucked her head out with a ‘pop’ like a cork freed from a giant bottle.

“Sit over here and rest, Miss Irkin.”

“Sit!” Earwig screamed. “You can’t be serious, you idiot.”

Snatching the grease pot, Earwig greased all her body parts to sooth the hornet stings.

Dreg couldn’t bare the sight and looked away. “Maybe you hadn’t oughta get too close to the fire,” Dreg suggested. When he regained consciousness to the next morning, the side of his head ached, where the grease pot smashed against it.

King Saxthor began preparing his military forces, shoring up the fortifications, and reassuring his subjects that, while war was coming, he was doing everything he could to defend them.

During that time, Princess Royal Dagmar of Sengenwha came frequently to ask about news of her brother King Calamidese VII. She offered her assistance to Saxthor in whatever capacity he thought useful. Saxthor appreciated her devotion to her brother and her strength of resolve to aid in the war effort. He found ways appropriate to her royal heritage and position to help out.

Her personal magnetism, green eyes, shiny long black hair swept up in a swirl, and sleek, elegant, and graceful figure captivated everyone who saw her. Her favorite delicately fashioned gold necklace of entwined passionflower vines displayed enameled emerald leaves and small blue flowers with coronas like sunrays. It was particularly pleasing against her olive complexion. Most often she wore heavily pleated silk gowns in shades of green or royal blue that complemented her eyes, complexion, and the necklace. The gowns’ short trains were as intriguing as tails on comets.

She would go riding with King Saxthor in the hills above Konnotan, where they discussed the war preparations and her projects to support the city’s defense. On one such ride, Saxthor observed the princess as the beauty everyone else at court realized long before. The late afternoon sun streamed through her then flowing black hair, and it sparkled as she cantered along beside him. When her emerald green eyes flashed in the golden setting of her face, the sight captivated the king.

“Would you like to rest?” Saxthor asked.

Dagmar smiled and nodded then turned to an oak grove by a stream. They stopped in the shade beneath a great-outstretched branch that seemed to be grasping for the stream. Dagmar sat, leaning back against the tree trunk, where the golden afternoon light still bathed her in a lustrous hue. The curves of her body were prominent and flattering. Saxthor leaned against the tree in front of her. “Have you heard from my brother?” Dagmar asked.

It took Saxthor a moment to recover from the stunning vision of Dagmar. He ambled around, circling in front of her, pulling leaves from a branch as he replied. “Calamidese has secured Botahar, and assembled a small army there. I expect he’ll march on Sengenwhapolis within a week. If he has enough men, he might retake the city, or at least lay siege to it,” She is so beautiful and yet doesn’t seem to be aware of it, he thought.

“That’s wonderful news!” Through a smile, her pearl white teeth glowed against the dark tree trunk backdrop.

“Yes, should he be successful, he might be able to march across the kingdom and cut off the Dark Lord’s forces in southern Sengenwha. If he can do that, it would force the orc troops to fight their way back to rejoin the northern contingent. I’ve sent supplies and arms to Calamidese recently to aid in that effort. Let’s hope he doesn’t get bogged down at Sengenwhapolis and allow the alien troops in the south to slip by him. They might then join up with the attacking forces in the north.”

“And have you heard from my uncle in the mountains northwest of Sengenwhapolis?”

“If your brother’s information is correct, your uncle’s forces in the mountains harass the invading troops from Prertsten. While he doesn’t have control of northern Sengenwha, he is preventing more troops from successfully reinforcing enemy contingents already there. For the moment, it seems the military situation is a stalemate.”

Dagmar ran her fingers through her raven black hair making it sparkle in the light. 

*

Returning to the palace, Princess Dagmar’s horse stepped into a hole. The horse lost his footing and stumbled throwing the princess forward so quickly she didn’t have time to react. She flew off the horse and landed on her shoulder on mercifully soft earth. She moaned when she tried to stand then lay back and held her painful arm. Saxthor leapt from his horse and rushed over to assist her. She tried to stand, but fell back into his arms in a dead faint.

“Dagmar!”

There was no response from the limp damsel in his arms. Saxthor felt his heart racing, holding her so close to him. Suddenly his great helper seemed vulnerable. He wanted to protect her as never before.

This beautiful lady unconscious in my arms is so totally dependent on me I just want to hold her tight and never let her go, he thought.

Her warmth flowed through him. Saxthor lay the princess down gently on the embankment, being careful not to jiggle her arm and shoulder he’d seen her favor as she fainted. He gently checked her injury, while she was unconscious and found no broken bones. The guards, following some distance back, were now cantering up to the couple.

“Hurry back to Konnotan and bring my herbalist and a carriage to take the princess back to the palace,” Saxthor told a guard.

While they waited for assistance, Saxthor returned to the princess, and with a handkerchief moistened in the nearby stream, gently wiped her brow. Dagmar recovered consciousness and lay under his cloak, with her head in Saxthor’s lap.

“What happened?” the princess asked. She winced suddenly and grasped her wounded arm.

“Lie still. You fell from your horse and damaged something in your shoulder. I’ve sent for a carriage to take you back to the palace, but you mustn’t try to move your arm until my herbalist can examine you. I didn’t feel any broken bones.”

“You checked my bones?” the princess asked, blushing.

“I thought I should, while you were unconscious so you wouldn’t feel pain,” Saxthor said, looking into the emerald green eyes in his lap. “With no broken bones, I think you sprained something, but we better check it out.” He smiled to calm her and held her good hand to reassure her. “Just lay back and rest.”

It’s so nice to be needed by someone special, he thought. A whole kingdom depends on me, but for the moment this lady needs me more. I like taking care of her. I’ll be more attentive in the future. He tenderly brushed her hair back away from her eyes. They smiled at each other before she again winced from a pang of pain. I have to get her mind off the shoulder.

“We were talking about your brother, Calamidese, and the struggle to regain control Sengenwha before you fell.” He looked out across the horizon and sighed.

* * *

Afternoon sunlight flashed off the dragon Hakbar’s bronze scales as he flew circles around Dreaddrac’s Munattahensenhov. The flashing beams caught the Dark Lord’s attention. The sorcerer-king watched as the dragon stopped circling and began following someone or something intently. Hakbar likes guarding the approach to the mountain, but he eats most anything that moves, he thought. The king returned to his desk from the mountain’s small observation tower balcony.

“Smegdor!” the king called. “Get in here, you fool.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Smegdor was huffing and puffing as he dragged his crippled leg, hurrying to attend the king.

“Get out there on the balcony and wave off Hakbar before he devours the courier,” the annoyed king said. “You’d think that dragon would know a goblin is one of our own. The problem with dragons is they have insatiable appetites.” He continued to write on the scroll in front of him.

Smegdor didn’t wait to hear what the king was mumbling; he rushed to the balcony and waved frantically with both hands to get the dragon’s attention. 

“If Hakbar eats the goblin, the news from Sengenwha will be lost and the dragon will pay dearly.” The Dark Lord looked up at Smegdor, still flailing wildly. “The dragon’s destruction would cause you no concern, would it Smegdor? Considering your own parents were eaten by dragons that is.” The scroll rolled up with a snap as the king joined his assistant on the balcony.

Smegdor is putting on a great display of flapping arms so he wouldn’t be held accountable should the beast’s appetite prevail. He said nothing about the cruel reminder of his parental loss.

The Dark Lord grinned, then watching the drama unfold, he clutched the balustrade and noted his knuckles were white. Stupid dragon!

Staring at Hakbar gliding down over the mountain’s slope toward him, the goblin kicked his heels into his exhausted steed.

“Not much threatens a goblin, but dragons eat what they please as the goblin knows too well.” The goblin slammed his heels into his mount. His eyes were fixed on the approaching dragon. Hakbar glided down, his massive wings pulled back to his body for increased speed. The Dark Lord laughed a guttural, mucused laugh. The horse broke into a gallop, betraying fear. Its flight enticed the dragon more. “Hakbar is like a cat with his mouse,” the king said to Smegdor, now standing back from the rail. The Dark Lord snapped his fingers at the edge of the balcony. A loud snap exploded sparks that turned Hakbar from the cringing goblin that had jumped from his mount at the last minute. The Evil One laughed hardily.

*

“What news from Sengenwha?” the king demanded of the General Tarquak’s wheezing messenger, kneeling before him. The king sat back on his throne and kicked a bone that skittered down the steps from the dais, across the marble floor, stopping just in front of the goblin. It must be good news, since the general would delay reporting failure as long as possible, he thought.

“General Tarquak is in Sengenwhapolis. He be furious finding everybody running around lose in the capital,” the goblin said. Sweat dripped from his chin.

“Chaos, yes I see. I expected that. Continue.”

The goblin hesitated, apparently to catch his breath. “The general says to ask you for more troops to get hold of the city.”

“More troops!” the Dark Lord bellowed, his yellow eyes flashing red. “That idiot has enough troops to subdue the capital. He’s stalling and making preparatory excuses to cover himself if he fails, again.”

“I wouldn’t know about that, Your Majesty,” the trembling goblin said. “I just brung you what he called for.” The goblin dropped to his knees again and bowed his forehead to the cold stone floor.

The king fixed his stare on the messenger. “Shut up, worm.” It’s a challenge for the goblin to open his mouth, thought the Evil One. He knows better than to address the king unless a question is asked. The goblin realizes his mistake and dares not move.

“Smegdor!” the Evil One screamed, still holding his stare on the sweating goblin.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Smegdor said, cowering in the audience hall’s shadows. The courtiers had moved to the side aisle shadows or fled.

“Send a bat to General Tarquak with a message he has one week to subdue Sengenwhapolis with the troops he has, or he’ll return to the Well of Souls, forever.”

“At once, Your Majesty.” Smegdor bowed and bolted.

“Do you dare to speak back to your king?” the Evil One asked. His stare had never left the goblin. His tone was terrifyingly calm against the question’s implication.

The courier’s armor began to rattle and still the creature dared not look up. Before he could answer, a simple blue thread of wizard-fire sparked from the Evil One’s fingertip. Its hum seemed almost soothing before turning to the sizzle of burning goblin flesh.

“Mercy!” the goblin screamed. He rolled back and forth on the floor in excruciating pain. He cupped his hand over the bubbling gore that had been his ear.

I can feel the smoldering stump of his ear pulsing. Holding his head offers no relief, thought the king. “We’d have killed you, but goblins are a large investment,” The king said. He looked around at the frozen courtiers and announced, “We leave this one alive to serve as a walking warning to the others.” He looked again on the thrashing victim. “Get out! We’ll send you back to General Tarquak as a reminder of what our displeasure can mean. We think we’ll send the dragon Hakbar with you to aid the general in his task.”

The goblin said nothing, but moaned as he stumbled getting up. The obvious pain brought a smile to the Evil One’s face. The maimed messenger crept to the door as best he could, still clutching the blackened stump of his ear.

The thought of having to travel back to Sengenwhapolis with Hakbar should keep him terrorized all the way, thought the king. How will he prevent the dragon from eating him on their journey? At least he’s alive and escaping my displeasure for the present.

* * *

Hearing rumors an unusually ruthless wraith was on the way, the ogre commanders in Sengenwhapolis threatened and cajoled the orcs for weeks. They had only moderate success at regaining control over them. The orcs had developed a taste for pillaging and plundering since the city fell. They went about in small groups, helping themselves to the riches of the peninsula’s oldest city. They amused each other by torturing the citizens over any provocation, creating more terror. The city was total chaos when General Tarquak arrived. Established in Sekcmet Palace, the wraith stood ready to deal with his new command.

“Are my ogre commanders assembled in the palace audience hall?” General Tarquak asked his new adjutant, two nights after arriving in Sengenwhapolis.

“Those I could find are assembled and ready for your orders, General Tarquak,” the adjutant said.

“Those you could find?” The wraith, in an orc shell, glared at the goblin adjutant. The assistant stood with fixed expression but didn’t respond. He’s testing me, almost a challenge, Tarquak thought. He shook his head, rose from his desk, and with a backhand swipe, smashed a vase against the wall. “I’ve spent two nights inspecting the city and surrounding countryside to appraise the situation.” Tarquak snarled. “I intend to get these orcs under control before sunset tomorrow. The turmoil in the city is outrageous. Soon Calamidese will try to retake his capital. We can’t suppress insurrection within and without. When I arise tomorrow evening, our occupying army had better be under control or there will be decidedly fewer ogre commanders in the city.”