Darkin: A Journey East (31 page)

“Room for two!” said Falen amidst the frenzy, just as another piece of the great wall came crashing down nearby. “Three if one is a gnome.”

“Adacon and Calan, get on him,” Slowin commanded. For a moment Adacon froze, not sure what to do, hesitant to abandon the rest of the warriors. “Now!” Slowin ferociously roared. Adacon pulled Calan close and they jumped on Falen, who had bowed his back for them. Just as they hopped on, Remtall, who had been nearby, bounded on as well, slamming against Calan’s back. Falen took off immediately, and with great speed they shot up into the sky. Adacon’s vision leveled with the crumbling wall, and he could see hairline fractures running its length. He knew the humming noise had to have been a spell of Aulterion’s, slowly working to collapse the great wall. Down below, the funneling line of elves and dwarves could be seen hurrying up the trail toward the cliffs, narrowly escaping boulders that toppled from the Dinbell.

“I can’t believe they’re destroying it,” Calan said. Adacon continued to look out at the crumbling wall, in awe of the black throng that struggled behind it. Falen took them high above even the tip, and they could see everything on either side of the failing Dinbell; it was the most horrendous thing they had ever witnessed: on the opposite side of the wall writhed an endless army of near-black, stretching into the distance as far as could be seen. The army of trolls was a throbbing sea of arms, legs, torsos and sun-glinting armor and blades. Interspersed throughout the dark mob of trolls were shiny golden specks—warpedes—weaving through the dense Feral army, trying to force their way forward, left or right, away from where the Dinbell brought their path south to a halt. Most shocking to behold was an enormous bubble of shiny film rising as if an island in the north plain, isolated; beneath the film was a patch of green grass, stark against the frenzied black mass that surrounded it. The film of energy encased a single man, standing nearly a league from the chaos unfolding at the wall. From within the translucent blue-gold bubble, a tremendous stream of light was issuing forth in rolling waves. Adacon froze, something clicked; he placed the low humming noise as coming from the direction of the streaming light. The energy was shooting out from the man, through the shiny bubble’s film, high up into the sky, then colliding into the top of the northern face of the Dinbell Wall, precisely where the wall was cracking, falling piece by piece to the earth far below.

“Aulterion!” Adacon screamed.

“Let me loose, foul drake, so that I can get down there and fight!” roared Remtall. “Quickly, before I jump!” Adacon did not doubt the gnome’s threat.

“Fair enough,” Falen replied. He pointed his nose toward the ground and dove, taking them toward the Erol Drunne militia who defended the cliffs. Behind the militia, Adacon saw Slowin marching forward at great speed with Terion’s army, trying to reach the militia.

“Coming in fast—be ready,” Falen instructed. He descended rapidly to where the Erol Drunne militia fought. Adacon reeled as the figures below enlarged. The drake spun to avoid a shower of arrows, heaved up, and then dove toward solid ground once again.

“Erguile!” Adacon shouted.

“What?” Remtall said in shock.

“Look there,” Adacon pointed. Sure enough, Erguile was charging back and forth atop Weakhoof, thrusting his sword in every direction, slaying trolls wherever they approached.

“And Great Gaigas, there’s Flaer!” Remtall cheered, nearly falling off the turbulent dragon. A dreadful excitement for battle filled Adacon as he trained his eyes to where Remtall pointed, and just as Erguile was below them battling, so was Flaer: he was forging a path through the Feral army using the Brigun Autilus, alone and on foot, cutting his way past endless trolls, directly toward where Aulterion stood inside his magic field of blue-gold.

“He’s mad—he marches alone to Aulterion!” Adacon exclaimed. Calan watched in awe, continuously glancing backward to make sure her brother Iirevale was safe. In the distance a great burst of scarlet light exploded around Flaer, and Adacon knew that the Brigun Autilus was laying waste to all who stood in its path.

“Look!” Remtall pointed again, and Adacon saw a golden warpede barreling for Flaer. “It’s coming for him.” Adacon choked when he tried to yell, knowing they were too far away to help, or even shout a warning. Suddenly, Flaer turned to encounter the warpede, as if he had sensed its coming. The Gazaran attempted to clamp down on him, rising and slamming down in one motion. In a brilliant spark of light, visible even from atop Falen so far away, Adacon and Remtall witnessed the warpede go hurtling through the sky in the opposite direction of Flaer, hit the earth and roll over and over, plowing into the earth several rows of trolls that had been marching in its wake.

“One for Flaer!” Adacon cheered. Remtall withdrew his blade with a smile as Falen landed on a calm patch of the Teeth Cliffs. Adacon and Calan mimicked Remtall, drawing their swords.

“Falen, please protect her,” Adacon asked.

“On my honor as a friend of Krem’s,” Falen replied. Adacon turned, kissed Calan.

“Come on,” Remtall commanded, “No time for sentiment.”

“Stay close to Falen, don’t enter the fray—please—I must go aid my friends—I will return,” Adacon said, embracing her quickly.

“On without you then,” Remtall said, impatient. He rushed ahead to the battle that waited around the corner, where the trailhead led down to the Erol Drunne militia.

“I love you Adacon,” Calan said softly, her eyes welling with tears.

“And I love you,” he responded, unsure if he’d ever get the chance to say it again. Adacon leaned close, kissing her until Falen shooed him off.

“Go and fight, your friends require you. Know that Falen Firewind protects your love. Now run!” Falen commanded, and Adacon did as he was told.

“Remtall!” Adacon cried, catching up to the gnome. They were both at the fringe of the foray.

“Come lad—die or lay waste,” Remtall said as he charged. Together they plunged into the heart of battle. Adacon ran alongside an Erol Drunne fighter, a human.

“Glad to have you,” said the fighter as a Feral troll rushed them.

“More on the way—an army of dwarves and elves,” Adacon replied, positioning his sword to help slay the incoming troll.

“Couldn’t be happier to hear that…” grunted the fighter. Before the troll could reach them, Remtall jumped impossibly high, over both of them, and stood face to face with the troll.

“Sweet Gaigas,” shouted the fighter as Remtall smote the troll, gouging its eye with a flurry of stabs.

“No time to be idle,” Remtall chanted, and he pressed deeper into the combat, Adacon trailing him. They fought their way through several more trolls, and Adacon sensed he was fighting again as if possessed of a strange deadliness, like when he had escaped the farm. Briefly, in the heat of combat, Adacon wondered whether unseen Vapoury had aided him in battle then, and whether it still did so now. Methodically, Remtall and Adacon sliced through troll after troll, fighting along the front line of the Erol Drunne militia. Looking behind to the top of the cliff from which they had descended, Adacon saw a yellow fire swelling, heard a chorus of screams; he knew then that Falen was doing his part. Turning back, he saw a troll cut down a nearby Erol Drunne fighter. The demonic beast jumped from its prey to the next, catching Adacon off guard. The Troll’s feral blade came down with a crushing blow on Adacon’s left forearm. Instantly, Adacon dropped his wooden shield and his arm went limp, dangling at his side, useless from the blow. Blood trickled down and dripped from his fingers.

“Cough on my—” wailed Remtall, rushing to the aid of Adacon, “—dagger!” Remtall jumped high, and while the troll was readying its next strike, the gnome’s blade thrusted deep into the troll’s throat, causing it to stumble and roll down a steep incline, clearing more trolls in the process.

“You alright?” Remtall asked, frantically examining his friend in a brief lull of combat.

“Just my left arm, I’ll be fine, can still use my sword,” Adacon grunted, clearly in pain. His left arm remained limp at his side. He looked at a dead troll on the ground, staring lifelessly up from a pool of muck-blood, and took in its sickly features: they didn’t look like trolls at all up close, or what he’d seen of trolls in books—they all looked deformed, oozing rancid pus, the same way Bulkog had atop the Ceptical Tower.

“Erguile!” Remtall shouted. Adacon looked out to see the only horse rider among the Erol Drunne forces: it was Erguile, swiping in every direction with his sword.

“Come on,” Adacon rallied, taking the lead. They fought through two already-wounded trolls, coming to a Feral giant that was set to attack Erguile. The great beast looked much the same as all the other trolls, save for being larger and fitted with heavier armor. It bore a weapon in each hand, unlike the other trolls who had a single weapon each.

“We’ve come to help with this one,” Remtall said, rushing in front of Weakhoof.

“Remtall!” Erguile rejoiced, and then he saw Adacon. “Addy!” Momentarily distracted by his old friends, Erguile was caught off-guard, struck down from Weakhoof by the troll giant. He rolled around on blood-soaked grass, Weakhoof neighing in agony as the giant prepared a death blow.

“Not Weakhoof—nor any fair horse of Rislind, foul beast!” Remtall goaded. The little gnome flew into action, preventing the giant’s downward strike with a swinging dagger to the jaw, neatly placed beneath its helmet armor. Adacon quickly sliced with his still functional right arm, opening the leg of the troll behind its knee, where flesh had been exposed. The giant wailed, started to topple backwards, then fell down the hill, squashing several trolls.

“Get up,” Remtall demanded. He and Adacon offered their hands to Erguile, who shot to his feet and quickly mounted Weakhoof again, unfazed.

“Am I glad to see you two,” Erguile declared.

“Now is no time for catching up boy, look—they come,” Remtall said, looking ahead where two warpedes fast approached. Atop each of them rode Feral trolls.

“Fight with courage, knowing you have me, greatest swordsman in the land, amongst your rank,” Erguile boasted. Together they braced for the incoming warpedes.

“Second to Flaer, don’t you mean?” Adacon quipped, unable to resist teasing him despite the mortal danger.

“Quiet you two—prepare to roll down the hill at the last second—we cannot take both these things alone,” Remtall instructed.

“I can,” said Slowin. He rushed up to his friends, leaving the dwarven ranks behind him.

“Great Gaigas, it’s the silver golem of Red Forest!” Erguile rejoiced. Slowin charged past them to where the warpedes had ascended the hill, digging his feet into the earth to meet their onslaught.

“Watch for the tail strike!” Adacon warned. Both warpedes immediately swooped their jaws down toward Slowin, as if drawn by a magnet. The troll riders atop cried out in a foreign tongue, and it seemed as if they goaded their beasts into teamwork. Just as soon as the centipedes were within reach, Slowin pumped both his fists into the wide helmet armor of the warpedes. In a thunderous clap the gold helms of the centipedes caved in, forming a crater in the skull of the creatures. A high-pitched whine erupted and they bucked in unison, flinging their troll riders from their harnesses to deaths by trampling. Dazed, both warpedes writhed slowly, now with no riders harnessing them. Slowin climbed the back of one of the stunned beasts, using the edges of its gold-plated armor as a ladder. Adacon and the others watched the golem reach the warpede’s head, draw from his side a dwarven dagger, then thrust it at the crater, the weak spot he’d punched into its armor. The blade ricocheted off with a metallic clang, but Slowin struck again with fury, this time piercing the gold armor. The warpede slumped to the ground. Slowin looked to the other warpede; he saw Remtall already running up its back, Erguile trailing close behind. Adacon had been assaulted by a group of trolls, but not long before the dwarves of Oreine had come down the northern trail of the Teeth Cliffs, helping to fend them off. Adacon, together with two stout dwarves, slew a handful of trolls, again feeling gripped by a surge of power, as if enchanted by Vapoury. Gaiberth and his elves broke through in time to see the second warpede crash to the earth: Remtall and Erguile mimicked Slowin, stabbing in harmony through the creature’s cratered helm to bring it down.

Some of the elven fighters stayed back and fired arrows, the rest joined the mass of dwarves that swarmed the sloping hill. In the distance Adacon saw the Brigun Autilus flash brightly as it pushed toward the ominous bubble-shield of Aulterion. Erguile looked to Weakhoof from atop the slain warpede and saw a troll attempting to mount his defenseless horse.

“Adacon—help Weakhoof!” Erguile cried from afar. Adacon turned to the horse: Weakhoof bucked in madness at the oozing troll struggling to climb up on him. The troll gripped the horse’s neck tightly and kicked its side in an attempt to subdue it. Weakhoof whinnied loudly in pain. Adacon rushed up from behind. The troll seemed to sense Adacon’s coming, and turned to face him just in time to block the first strike. Adacon’s elven sword clanged and issued a blue spark, bouncing quickly off the troll blade. The Feral mutant withdrew a second blade and began swinging wildly with both hands. In a frenzied whirlwind attack, the deformed troll charged. Adacon waited to roll out of the way at the last second. As the troll came within striking distance, Adacon attempted his roll: the right edge of one of the Feral blades cut deeply upon his foot, thwarting his escape. Lying helpless on the ground, with only his right arm for defense, Adacon looked up to his doom. Two more trolls rushed up; together the three trolls surveyed Adacon on the ground. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, the trolls made their strike, stabbing in unison. “Where is Slowin?” Adacon thought in his last moment. As if in reply to his question, three arrows whooshed by, striking each troll dead through the throat.

“Up! No time for a nap,” said Calan, her arm breaking the blue sky of his vision. Adacon smiled broadly as she pulled him to his feet. There was no time to celebrate; three more trolls came raging forward. The great battle had become a fight of dwarves and elves against trolls. Adacon didn’t see Slowin, Remtall or Erguile; they had been driven apart by the fierce combat. He struggled to find balance on his feet, barely able to walk with his gashed leg—the battle became foggy, a dreamlike state, and he grew faint. Despite his dizziness, he fought next to Calan, side by side with the dwarves, for what seemed like hours more.