Dragonvein (Book Two) (33 page)

“Kat comes along and steals it all away,” he said, finishing her sentence. He looked into her eyes. “I know the feeling. I really do. But what I’m not understanding is why you are here on the beach instead of on the boat fighting for what you want.”

The tears finally began to fall. “Because I have already lost. I love Ethan. I can see a future for us. And in time, I know that love would grow and blossom. But Kat…” She averted her eyes. “She loves him in a way I cannot match. It is something so powerful and pure, I could never challenge her.” She paused to wipe her cheeks. “And in truth, even if I were able to, I shouldn’t. No one should stand in the way of what she feels. She has the same love in her eyes that my father had every time he looked at my mother. I…just can’t.”

“Would you like to know why I came back to Lumnia?” Markus asked.

She gave a fragile shrug.

“I had enough wealth with me to live a life of luxury, the like of which you can’t begin to imagine. But when I saw Kat…when I heard her speaking about Ethan, I realized the same thing you did. I knew her feelings for him would not be denied. And seeing that made me ashamed.”

This caught Lylinora’s attention. She looked up questioningly. “Ashamed? Ashamed of what?”

“Of myself. I gave up on the one I love far too easily. Here was a girl who was willing to risk everything for one chance to be with the person she loves. And what did
I
do? I abandoned hope almost at the first sign of a problem.”

He leaned in. At first she jerked away, but Markus would not be deterred. He kissed her lightly on the lips, allowing the contact to linger for a few moments before backing away. “I don’t know how you feel about me, Nora. But I do know what I felt back in Elyfoss.” He got to his feet and offered her his hand. “And I know that this time, I won’t be giving up.”

She stared at him, stunned and speechless. Then, slowly, she reached out and took his hand.

“Why don’t we go join them on the boat?” Markus suggested. “It sounds like they’re having fun.”

Lylinora listened for a moment to their laughter and happy chatter. “No. I think I’d rather it just be the two of us for a while.” She smiled. “That is, if you don’t mind.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

K
ing Ganix wiped
the sweat and grime from his brow. Dozens of slain Imperial soldiers littered the ground, but it had come at great cost. Of the fifty dwarves left behind to protect him, little more than half remained standing. Each one who had fallen had given every last measure of strength to guard their king. Never before had Ganix witnessed such valor.

The clamor of battle filtered through the trees in the near distance. Though out of sight, the field beyond these was where the real fighting still raged. Even from where he stood, the stench of burning flesh filled his nostrils and he could see the towers of smoke rising above the treetops. The Imperials were using weapons made by his own people. Dwarf weapons being used to kill dwarves. The thought of it made his blood boil.

He looked over his shoulder. The elderly, the infirm, and the children - all of those who could not fight - were huddled in great masses not two hundred yards to his back. Behind them lay the ocean cliffs, hundreds of feet high and spanning for miles. There would be no retreat; no surrender. And should the enemy be victorious, every last one of his people would meet a brutal end.

So far, the main dwarf battle lines had faltered four times. And four times, Ganix and his guards had fought off the enemy soldiers who had made it through to them. The human commander was clever; striking hard and decisively, then pulling back before the dwarves could recover and adapt. This was the human’s ground, and they were seeing to it that the dwarves understood this clearly.

A dwarf horn blew three times, causing Ganix’s guards to shift nervously. Another wave of soldiers had broken through. Within moments they would be repelling a fifth attack.

“Steady,” called Ganix. “You can do this.”

He drew a small axe with his right hand, and with the other retrieved a thin green rod from his belt. He held it up and frowned. This was his last one. There were more back with the elderly and the children, but there was no time to get them. Besides, one rod should be enough…at least, that’s what he hoped.

The guards spread out, various dwarf rods in their hands. Earlier, the first wave had been simple to repel. The humans foolishly formed ranks at the tree line and marched in a neat and orderly fashion across the field – straight into the slaughter. But it didn’t take them long to learn their lesson.

This time, just like their previous three attacks, the first few to emerge from the trees had shields in front and swords held high. Immediately they began running in irregular patterns – veering left to right, right to left, slowing down and then speeding up again – anything to confuse the defenders’ aim. More and more poured out until almost one hundred soldiers were charging erratically toward Ganix and his surviving men.

The dwarves let loose the power of their weapons. Balls of fire, bolts of lightning, and beams of deadly energy crisscrossed the field. And though the humans had adjusted their tactics, the dwarves had adapted as well. No longer confused by the unpredictable approach, they had quickly become far more skilled at picking off their targets.

One by one the soldiers fell. Ganix himself struck two. Most died instantly, but some were left screaming in agony, their flesh seared from their bodies. After a few seconds, Ganix found himself almost smiling. This group would be easier to handle than the last.

The still forming smile then froze, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up.

At the edge of the trees, a line of twenty archers had formed. Ganix bellowed a warning just as the deadly missiles came arcing across the sky. The guard to his left dashed across to wrap his thick powerful arms protectively around his king.

The act was brave, but unnecessary. Only three arrows found a home in dwarf flesh. And none of these wounds were fatal. But then, as Ganix quickly realized, that had not been the purpose of the aerial attack.

The arrows had forced his guards to cease firing just long enough for the humans to span the rest of the field. Ganix could see the archers now dropping their bows and drawing swords. Soon the dwarfs around him would be outnumbered by at least four to one. And if their main battle lines had not been able to reform, even more attackers would come.

The guard shoved him back. “Go, Your Highness!”

Ganix did not enjoy the idea of allowing his people to die for him. But the fact remained, he was not a warrior, and age had weakened him. The axe he carried would be virtually useless against a trained soldier.

The combined clashing of steel and battle cries was deafening. And though outnumbered, the dwarf fighters were fierce and determined – made even more so by the defense of their king. After only a brief spell of vicious, hand-to-hand fighting, they had gained ground and had slain more than a dozen soldiers. Gradually, a protective circle was being formed around Ganix, though this did not sit well with the old king. It meant that both the left and right flanks had to fall back, thereby allowing themselves to become virtually surrounded. The screams of pain tore at Ganix’s ears as both human and dwarf alike suffered terrible wounds. This was not a story in a book, or a tale told by an elder. This was real war, and real blood was being spilled.

At length, a lone soldier managed to force his way through the ring of dwarf defenders, his eyes fixed resolutely on the king. As he charged forward to claim the head of his prize, Ganix lifted his rod and took aim. Lightning leapt from the tip, leaving behind a distinctively metallic smell in the air. The bolt struck the soldier in the right thigh – though the point of impact was of little consequence. Anywhere the power of the dwarf weapon touched was lethal.

But no matter how bravely and ferociously they fought, the defenders were gradually being worn down by sheer weight of numbers. The defensive circle around Ganix was becoming ever thinner and weaker. Two new soldiers pushed their way through on the left. Just as the king turned to point his rod at these, another two burst through from the opposite side. He heaved a defeated sigh. This is it, he thought. Not a bad death for an old dwarf I suppose.

He struck down the first two men in rapid succession, and was just able to turn in time to fell a third. But the last soldier was on him, hacking down with his blade.

Just as the strike was about to split his skull, Ganix raised the head of his axe in a desperate, last-ditch defense. The violent contact sent massive vibrations running up his arm, almost dislodging the weapon from his grasp. He tried to point the rod, but a swift blow split his forearm guard in two and sent the precious rod flying several feet away. Pain shot up his arm to his shoulder. The soldier swung again, this time in a low sweeping arc. The tip of the sword struck the king’s breastplate, sending him stumbling backwards. Ganix swung his axe wildly, but his defense was clumsy and useless against such a seasoned warrior.

He was still trying to regain his balance when his foe’s boot thudded into the center of his chest, sending him hard down onto the turf. The heavy impact drove almost every bit of air from his lungs, and shook the axe from his grasp. He was helpless. Still, he was a king, and would not die cowering. As the soldier stalked toward him, sword held high with deadly intent, he looked his killer squarely in the eyes.

The flash of lightning that came next was so close that, for a moment, Ganix thought he had been blinded. But when his vision cleared, a loud gasp of relief slipped out. His enemy lay dead just in front of him, a smoldering hole burned deep into his chest.

The king scrambled to his feet, eyes searching the area for his benefactor. When he finally saw who it was, he could not prevent himself from bursting into laughter. Two dwarves, both so old and infirm that they could only walk a few steps unaided before needing to rest, were looking at him disapprovingly.

“You shouldn’t be out here, Your Highness,” said the dwarf on the left. “Let the young do the fighting. Come back to the rear with us.” They beckoned him to follow, then turned without bothering to see if he would obey.

Ganix looked to his remaining guard. The near death of their king had enraged them beyond reckoning. So much so, that against all his expectations, they were now steadily pushing the enemy back. Though still outnumbered, the odds were swiftly becoming more even.

A trumpet blast echoed three times through the trees, and at once the soldiers began to fall back. The guard gave pursuit, but Ganix shouted for them to halt.

“Let them go,” he commanded. “Your duty is here.” He looked over his shoulder and saw the two elders still tottering along at a painfully slow pace. “Two of you men, help them back to the others. And see to it you afford them the highest respect. They saved my life.”

Two guards hurried to do his bidding.

The soldiers had vanished into the trees, and so far there was no sign of them returning. “What do you think has happened, Your Highness?” asked a young dwarf.

“Let’s hope they’ve given up,” he responded. This statement was met with no small measure of enthusiasm.

After half an hour had passed with no further developments, Ganix was on the verge of making his way to the front, in spite of having given his word to his commanders that he would not do so. He could hear his guards growing restless - their fear of not knowing outpacing their fear of their enemy.

He threw up his hands and let out a curse. “Damn those Imperials!”

Barely had he spoken when three dwarves appeared from out of the trees. As they drew closer, Ganix could see that their faces and hands were soaked in blood, and that their armor was damaged to the point of uselessness. The dwarf in the center was Fulgur, his third-in-command. He was limping heavily and clutching a deep gash on his right shoulder.

On reaching the king they bowed, though the wounded dwarf was only able to lower himself slightly. He hobbled another step forward and met the king’s eyes. Ganix could see his confusion and concern.

“The enemy has fled, Your Highness,” Fulgur announced in a deep rumbling voice. “We have won the day.”

He let out a heavy sigh of relief. “Thank the spirits. How many have been killed?”

“Our losses were great, I’m afraid. But theirs were far worse. Without counting, I would guess we have lost more than two-thousand men today.”

Ganix felt his chest tighten. A two-thousand men! The number seemed unreal. For a moment he felt as if he would vomit. Had he made a mistake in fleeing to Elyfoss? Had he doomed his people?

Fulgur could see the distress in his king’s eyes and forced a reassuring smile. “But as I said, they have lost far more.”

This did little to salve Ganix’s wound. “Do you anticipate another attack?” he asked.

“I can’t say, Your Highness. But I’ve spoken to the other commanders and we are all in agreement. The retreat of the Imperial forces was odd. They had broken through several times, and in spite of their high losses, they were far from defeated. As far as we can tell, there was no apparent reason for their withdrawal.”

Ganix pondered on this for a moment. “What do you suggest we do?”

“That depends, Your Highness. We should definitely move on as quickly as possible. But there are the dead and wounded to consider. Some will not be able to travel.”

This cut deep into the king’s heart. He knew what must happen. There was only one decision to make. “Take me to the lines,” he ordered. “I will at least face those who we shall be forced to abandon.”

Fulgur nodded solemnly. He too shared his king’s deep sorrow over what must be done, and waited quietly while the guards set about gathering medicine and bandages before leaving.

The forest which separated the dwarf front lines from the rear party was less than a quarter mile wide. The humans had been planning to ambush them from the east as they passed by. Not that this was ever going to be successful. The dwarves knew much better than to travel above ground without sending scouts far ahead. This had enabled them to ready their forces and fight on a battlefield of their own choosing.

But as they emerged from the trees, Ganix could see that even with these preparations, it had not been enough to stay the carnage. Thousands of dwarves were still lined up in formation, staring out over what had only a short time ago been a field of death. The wounded were being taken to an area just inside the tree line. The dead were being carried further in, out of sight of their comrades.

A messenger ran up and gave a low sweeping bow. “Your Highness. Lord Anwair has requested your presence. He says there is something you must see.” He bowed once again, then beckoned for them to follow.

They were led north along the rear of the formations. Cheers swelled from the ranks as the people saw their monarch passing, filling Ganix’s soul with an even deeper sense of guilt. Yet no matter how badly he felt, he knew he could not allow it to show. With steely control, he kept a stern confident look plastered on his face and frequently shouted out words of appreciation and encouragement.

Lord Anwair awaited them at the very center of the line. He was a stout dwarf with a jovial nature and a keen mind. Though from a family of serious scholars, he had chosen a life dedicated to art and music – which in Ganix’s estimation was far better suited to his personality.

He waved his arm high in greeting as they approached. His blond beard was stained red with blood: his armor dented and broken in numerous places. Even so, he had not lost the sparkle in his eye that always brought a smile to the old king’s face.

“Your Highness,” roared Anwair, laughing. “I see you’re still with us - unkilled by the Imperial swine. Though I hear, not from their lack of trying.”

Ganix struggled to maintain his kingly demeanor. “They did indeed give it their best effort. But thanks to the bravery of our people, we live to fight another day.”

Anwair strode up close to place a hand firmly on the king’s shoulder. Suddenly his face grew more serious and his eyes looked upon his monarch with sympathy. “I know this is difficult to bear,” he told him in a low whisper. “And I know you well enough to see the doubt in your face. But you have made the right choice in evacuating our home. Not a single dwarf believes otherwise.”