Champions of the Gods (23 page)

“And what is the power that you have gained?”

“I have been given the blessing of life.”

Tears pooled in Whill’s eyes, causing the gold dragon to shimmer brightly in his webbed vision. “You would give to me such a gift?”

“I
will
, as a peace offering. These are dark times. Those of us who fight the darkness must fight together. I propose a pact between your people and my kin.”

“I would be honored by such a pact, great Zalenlia.”

The gold nodded her horned head and bent one knee, leaning closer. “Then I give to you the gift of life.”

Whill reached out a shaking hand and took hold of one of Zalenlia’s long golden horns. His body tensed as a jolt passed through him. He snapped upright and began to glow like a rising sun as the healing energy coursed through him. His pain melted away and his body hummed. When he finally released the horn, he sat there, unable to speak and panting.

He suddenly realized that he could feel his legs.

A laugh escaped him as he pushed himself up out of the saddle with his arms and swung his legs and leapt from Zorriaz’s back.

He landed firmly. Captain Marshall leapt down as well. He must have gotten a jolt of healing energy, for he looked like he had been hit by lightning. His red hair floated in the air, snapping and crackling with energy. His glowing face was as rosy as ever.

“By the gods!” he cried. “I feel as though I could shite lightning!”

Whill couldn’t help but laugh.

The dragons might have been laughing as well, for the vibration of their musical purring could be felt through the ground.

“How can I ever repay you for such a gift?” Whill asked Zalenlia.

“Honor your promise now and forever, and see that your successors do as well.”

Whill unsheathed his sword and took a knee, laying it on the ground before him. Captain Marshall did the same.

“By my honor and my name, Uthen-Arden will ever be allies to the golden dragons.”

Zalenlia tipped her crown of horns at the two men.

When the terror of golden dragons and Zorriaz returned to Brinn, the warning bell clamored, and the frantic orders of the captains upon the battlements echoed across the valley.

Whill rode ahead and ordered his men to stand down. He was eager to use his rediscovered ability to heal Brinn’s sick and injured. Whill leapt off of Zorriaz and landed before Ardthar and General Walker.

“Sire! What magic is this?” Ardthar asked.

“A gift from the golden dragons,” he told the astonished healer. Whill turned to Walker. “Let it be known that the golden dragons are now our allies. They are not to be harmed.”

General Walker shook his head with a smirk. “You never cease to astonish me, sire.”

Whill was led to the infirmary by Ardthar, where dozens of sick and dying lay upon cots set on either side of the room. Some of the men and women had been injured during the small skirmish that had occurred a few days previously, others had come down with a sickness that was said to ride in on the fog permeating the northern lands.

He walked to a small girl who slept with a grimace of pain twisting her soft face. Her mother sat beside the bed, applying a damp cloth to the girl’s forehead. She bowed repeatedly when she saw the king and took a knee.

“King Warcrown,” she said sheepishly.

“I have a gift for your daughter. May I?”

“Please, sire,” said the woman, hope shimmering in her eyes.

Whill moved to stand on the opposite side of the bed and extended his right hand and placed it on the girl’s head. He felt the gift of the golden dragon churning within him like a brilliant sun. His mind and body inwardly radiated with the glorious power. It was quite unlike the power to heal that he had inadvertently obtained from the elves so long ago. This power was wild, unbridled. It needed neither guidance nor intent, only to be unleashed. This was the gift of life; the source power of all creation.

From the center of his core, Whill pulled the healing power. It crept through his body and collected in his palm, which began to glow bright gold. The girl heaved as though she had received a shock. Her mother, who had been clutching her daughter’s hand, gasped and covered her own mouth quickly with the other hand. The girl began to glow like a rising sunset.

Whill took away his hand and smiled upon the slowly waking girl.

She blinked quickly, suddenly alert and glowing with inner life. “Momma!” she said, pointing at Whill. “Momma look, it’s an angel!”

Whill left them and moved throughout the tent, healing the remainder of the people. Soon others were flocking to the infirmary, reporting of one ailment or another. All through the night, Whill healed those who came before him.

In the early morning, he met Zalenlia once more in the fields south of Brinn. The golden dragons lay in the tall grass, sunning themselves in the morning light.

“Greetings, Zalenlia,” he said as he approached.

“Good morning, Whill.”

“Your gift has done much good for the people of Brinn. We thank you once again.”

“It was my pleasure,” she purred.

“Yesterday I left in such haste to share the gift with the people that I did not have a chance to ask you more about the other dragons,” said Whill.

“The other blessed?” Zalenlia asked.

“Yes. You say that there are eight others?”

“You wish to gain the power of the others as well.”

“It may be the only way to stop the necromancer.”

“
You
cannot defeat the necromancer. Even if you were to absorb his power, you would become consumed by it. For if you defeat him with his own power, you shall become like him.”

Whill thought of Teera and his adopted sisters and what Zander might be doing to them.

“Zander has been using my kin to lure me to the island. You say that I cannot fight him, but how can I leave them in his clutches?”

Zalenlia offered him a sympathetic gaze. “You have fear for your kin, which is understandable. But fear is the mind killer. If you act on it, you will make a fatal mistake. You must be strong. More is at stake here than the lives of those you love.”

“Then what do you suggest that I do?” Whill asked, frustrated.

“There is one who might stop the necromancer. She is a human, like you. And like you, she has been bestowed with the power of her god. You will find her in the north, beyond the shores of Shierdon. She is called Gretzen Spiritbone.”

“How do you know all of this?” Whill asked, suddenly suspicious of the mysterious gold dragon.

“Reshikk knew many things. It was through him that the knowledge came to me. Zander knows of the barbarian sorcerous as well. But he does not fear her as he should.”

“Kellallea spoke of the gods and their wish to destroy and reshape the world,” said Whill. “What do you know of this?”

“It is true that they have awakened. And they have blessed their champions. But Kellallea lies. Not all of the gods wish to see the world destroyed. When Kellallea became a goddess and stole away the power of the elves, she also took the gift of the true elven gods. In doing so, she broke the ancient pact, and the Lord of Darkness and Death was freed to affect the world once more.”

“How do we stop him?” Whill asked.

“The gods shaped this world and created all things. They cannot be stopped by mortals.”

“Kellallea said that if I swore fealty to her, she and I would challenge the gods…kill them before they could destroy the world.”

A puff of smoke escaped Zalenlia’s snout as she scoffed. “Kellallea is a liar. She will do and say anything to retain her position of power. For her meddling has angered the gods. It is no wonder that she wishes to destroy them all. The more she affects this world, the more the other gods are able to as well.” Zalenlia turned her head from Whill, pondering. When she turned back to Whill, there was apprehension in the dragon’s eyes. “Soon all will be decided. For Kellallea has chosen her champion.”

“She has? Who is it? An elf?”

“Yes,” said Zalenlia with some reluctance. “Avriel has sworn fealty to her.”

“Avriel?” Whill was aghast. His mind raced with the implications.

My child…

“I refused her,” said Whill. “And so she’s trying to control me through Avriel.”

“Indeed. Kellallea understands the potential of your true power. She wishes to control you because she fears you.”

Whill was torn between rage and grief. He wanted to scream and cry at the same time. Avriel had sworn fealty to Kellallea. But why? It made no sense. He felt the urge to fly south with all haste and confront Avriel, be done with Kellallea once and for all.

“I must help her,” said Whill desperately.

“Your enemies are clever. They wish to distract you. Patiently they wait for you to make a mistake, knowing that your emotions will get the best of you.”

“What do I do?” Whill asked himself as much as the dragon.

“What should you do as king?” Zalenlia asked.

Whill considered that. His first responsibility as king was stopping Zander from crossing into Uthen-Arden. But did that outweigh his responsibility to Avriel and his unborn child, or to Teera?”

“I cannot abandon them.”

Zalenlia nodded her understanding. “And so your love and compassion will be used against you. There is something else that you should know…” She let out a long breath beneath the burden of knowledge. “The other dragons you asked about. The blessed. They flew east from the Ro’Sar Mountains.”

“They will attack Del’Oradon,” said Whill, horrified.

“Possibly,” said Zalenlia. “But their destination is Elladrindellia.”

“Avriel…”

Whill fought his urges. He had made terrible mistakes in the past by acting hastily. With great effort he cleared his mind. When he had quieted the emotions, he focused on the problem. Teera and her daughters would be tortured and killed, likely to be raised from the dead unless Whill turned himself over to Zander. Avriel had sworn fealty to Kellallea, and the dragons would soon attack Elladrindellia. Teera needed his help, Avriel needed his help, and likely his city needed his help. But Zalenlia had said that his best course of action lay in finding the barbarian witch.

He reminded himself that he had learned all of this from a dragon he did not know, who had also been blessed by the Father of Dragons.

“How do I know that you speak the truth?”

The other gold dragons stirred at the accusation, for in dragon culture such words were a direct challenge.

“I have no reason to lie to you,” said Zalenlia. “What would I gain in steering you astray?”

Whill had no idea what her motivations might be. She had given him a great gift, one that had made him a much more powerful foe. But Whill reminded himself that he had been duped by much lesser creatures in the past.

Zalenlia and the other dragons suddenly jerked their heads to the north, as if alert to something.

“What is it?” Whill asked.

“Something flies toward Brinn,” said Zalenlia, studying the horizon. “A dragon like I have never seen.”

Whill hurried to Zorriaz and climbed up on the saddle. She leapt high and flew toward Brinn with all haste. The approaching dragon reached the city as Whill spurred Zorriaz to intercept. The dragon did not attack, however, but flew over harmlessly and swooped down toward the city gate. Zorriaz dove, opening her maw to bath the intruder in flame, when suddenly the dragon disappeared, and two figures landed on the road leading to the city.

Zorriaz touched down in front of them, and Whill unsheathed his sword. He had expected to find a death knight, but instead he saw the oddest pair imaginable—a dwarf and an elf, both female.

“We come in peace!” yelled the dwarf woman, holding her empty hands out before her.

“Who are you…where did the dragon disappear to?” Whill asked.

The elf held out a small figurine, and Whill’s eyes went wide upon recognition. “If I am not mistaken, that belonged to Dirk Blackthorn.”

“You are correct,” said the elf woman. “I am now the bearer.”

“You…you are Krentz…daughter of Eadon.”

Krentz winced, as though the words hurt. “It is true, he was my father.”

Whill leapt from the saddle and landed before them, aiming his sword at the elf’s neck.

“Please,” said the dwarf, moving to stand between them. “We come in peace. Five thousand dwarves o’ Ky’Dren march with us, ten miles to the west they be.”

Whill lowered his sword slowly. “Who are you to command such a force?”

“I be Raene o’ Ky’Dren, daughter o’ the late King Ky’Ell, cousin o’ Roakore.”

“
Late
king, you say?” said Whill, frowning.

Raene bowed her head. “Aye, ‘twas a dragon and undead attack on me mountain nigh on four days ago. We beat the devils, but me father an’ king fell in battle. Kelgar be king o’ Ky’Dren now. He has offered up a force o’ five thousand to help hold the border.”

“How did you defeat the undead?”

Raene hooked a thumb to indicate the figurine. “Dirk summoned an army of dwarf spirits.”

Whill was confused. “Dirk? Last I knew he was killed during the battle with Eadon.”

“Nearly,” said Krentz. “He is now a spirit like Chief, beholden to the figurine.”

“Summon him. I would have words with Dirk Blackthorn,” said Whill.

Krentz held out the figurine and spoke the words. Instantly it blazed to life, and a wisp flew from it.

Dirk took form before Whill. “
King
Whillhelm. We meet again.” He offered him a slow nod.

“If you were not already dead, I would kill you again,” said Whill with unbridled disdain.

“If you remember correctly, I tried to warn you of Eadon’s intentions toward the end.”

“You also sold us out. It was your actions that caused the death of Zhola the Red!”

“Yes,” said Dirk with a forlorn glance to the ground. “What I did is regrettable, but I would do it all again. Would you not do the same for the one you love?”

“What do you want?” Whill asked. “Surely you are not offering your help out of a sense of duty.”

Dirk grinned. “I offer my services out of a necessity, this is true. But also out of a sense of duty.”

Whill scoffed. “Out with it.”

“As you may have witnessed during the fight with Eadon, I was mortally injured by the Dark Lord. I would have died had Krentz not pulled me into the trinket with her. There is a way that I might be returned to physical form, but in doing so it is believed that I will emerge with the injuries that I had when I was brought to the spirit world. Without a powerful healer, I will surely die if I am resurrected.”

“And if I can find a way to help you. What will you do in return?” Whill asked.

“I will free your beloved aunt Teera from Belldon Island.”

Whill was made speechless by the promise, but tried not to show how the words had affected him.