Iron Elf - A Race Reborn (Book 2)

A Race Reborn

The First Realm: Book 2

Klay Testamark

Copyright © 2014 Klay Testamark

All rights reserved.

ISBN: 1-4951-05067

ISBN-13: 978-1-4951-0506-7

All rights reserved.

This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by an electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the express written permission of the author.

DEDICATION

This book is dedicated to my loving family who gave me support in more ways than I can count.

Lisa, Ally, Glen II

CONTENTS

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

CHAPTER 27

CHAPTER 28

CHAPTER 1

In the winter the rivers freeze. The air turns sharp and the game grows scarce. Few things stir in the forest. What cannot fly must sleep.

The wyvern had been dreaming when it scented something. It opened one yellow eye and sniffed. It was a young one, as wyverns go, but its instincts were clear. It knew the smell of challenge.

It uncurled itself and shook. It was full-grown, about thirty feet, and its hind legs were thick and powerful. Its winged forelimbs were thinner but they were more than strong enough to push it to its feet. It poked its head out of the cave and sniffed. That maddening scent! It made the wyvern want to stomp its feet and flare its wings. It was the musk of a bull dragon.

The wyvern set off at a trot, snout low. It did not take wing for fear it would lose the trail. It ran through the silent forest, past dark and leafless trees. Wings tucked in, its great feet pounded the snow.

It reached the clearing and hesitated. The scent was gone. But there was a goat. It bleated in fear and smelled of blood, which was maddening in a good way. The wyvern would have grinned it if could. This was worth getting up for. It stalked forward, mouth watering. The goat pulled at its chain and screamed. The dwarf in the tree steadied her weapon.

The crossbow had a telescopic sight but she aimed carelessly, trusting in the enchanted weapon to tell her when to shoot. She breathed deeply, exhaled slowly, and emptied her mind. Slowly she squeezed the trigger. The shot was a surprise even to her.

The bolt flew. Its tip was a cone of explosive wood that struck the wyvern on what would’ve been the back of its hand, if it had hands instead of wings. The cone was wrapped in notched wire that—boom!—turned into razors. The wing was shredded. Bone and wing flew in all directions. The wyvern roared, hunger forgotten. The goat bleated some more.

The wyvern turned, snarling. The dwarf’s perch wasn’t so strong she couldn’t be knocked down. But she wasn’t supposed to. She stowed her crossbow and reached for the zipline. She grabbed the handles and leaped into space.

The wyvern sensed something fly through the air. It gave chase, flapping its wings, but it would never soar again. It howled and muscled forward. The dwarf neared the end of the line and let go, dropping into the waiting saddle. The horse took off. The giant reptile followed. Running on the balls of its feet it seemed almost dainty. Its claws bit deep into the ground and kicked up snow. It bellowed and the dwarf felt its breath on back. She leaned forward and urged her mount to go faster. They had to go faster. They darted down the trail while two tons of rage came pounding after.

The trees thinned. The wyvern was a battering ram of meat and teeth. It opened its jaws. Soon it would be upon the rider. A second rider charged in and planted a lance in its side.

The stout spear had barely missed its heart, but wyverns are tough. It roared and lashed its left wing. The second rider ducked and sped forward. The beast gave chase. The first rider fell back, drew a pistol, and fired. The explosive bullet blew a hole in its ribcage but it didn’t notice—she drew another pistol and fired. The wyvern swung its neck to snap at the dwarf.

The second rider stood in the saddle and unsheathed his longsword. Wielding it in two hands he slashed, and when the beast focused on him the dwarf hit it with a warhammer. All dwarves are strong and this one wore a magic belt. The pronged hammer glanced off the wyvern’s jaw but still it was a stunning blow.

The riders harried and hammered it back to its den. Hurt and confused, the monster saw the familiar cave and threw itself to safety—or what it thought was safety. Instead it found itself sharing the place.

With me.

I had been pouring energy into a fireball glyph.

You’d think the fireball would be the simplest spell in a wizard’s book. It isn’t. To be any good with it you have to know the three T’s: transmutation, teleportation, and telekinesis. I had swirled my arms around and around. I focused on the glyph (a simple circle) and drew the fuel to me. You don’t need to gesture for the quick version. In fact, you can make a tiny fire by snapping your fingers. But I wanted something special.

Wind stirred in the cave. The air crackled as I separated it into its component parts. A ring of fire formed as I combined the elements into all kinds of combustibles.

Pour napalm and explosive slurry into a pot. Stir vigorously, add high heat, and compress it to half its volume. You’ll kill yourself, of course, but at least you’ll understand what I was doing. Only an effort of will kept it from blowing up in my face.

The red-hot ring grew fat. It began to resemble a donut—a deadly donut. I couldn’t have too much wind outside the cave, the wyvern might notice, so I drew on matter stored in hammerspace. The ring grew bright. It turned orange, then yellow. Sweat beaded on my forehead as I fought to hold it steady. It grew brighter. I could see the wyvern clearly when it stumbled through the cave mouth. Its alligator face wasn’t good with expressions, but I thought it looked surprised. I wasn’t about to disappoint it.

“Boo.” Before I teleported, I had just enough time to see the containment field unravel. The torus collapsed into a sphere and it leaped, hot gas propelling it forward. It struck the wyvern’s nose and exploded.

The effect in the confined space was catastrophic. The shockwave reflected off the walls and smashed into the beast with redoubled force. Its eardrums were shredded, its lungs crushed, its guts pulverized. The splintered bones of a hundred kills became deadly shrapnel. Parts of the wyvern were cooked in the heat. By then it was already dead. The blast pushed it through the cave mouth. There was a roar—fire and debris shot into the open air like the discharge of a giant gun.

BOOM

Once the fireworks died down I teleported back into the cave and walked out, robe billowing in the smoke. The diarists and gazetteers went wild.

“Prince Veneanar! Can you comment on your crusade against wyverns?”

“Why have you been systematically hunting them down?”

“Ladies, please.” I raised my hands. “You make it sound like some sort of vendetta. I think of it as a public service. The people can sleep safer knowing there’s one less dangerous creature in the realm.”

“And it’s fun.” One blonde had a nice smile.

I smiled back. “Indeed.” My robes were tailored silk. They were also trimmed in gray, as was my right as a combat mage. I thought I looked suitably dashing. From the way the chronicler looked at me, she must have thought so too.

“And what else does Your Highness like to do for fun?” This from the second lady, a cute brunette.

“Well…” I came up with a few ideas as we strolled toward the nearest trail.

“Can you tell us why you’ve hunted male wyverns almost exclusively?” another chronicler butted in. He wasn’t my type at all.

“I’m simply trying to do the most good. Male wyverns are already the minority, and with fewer of them they can’t multiply as quickly. Why, we might see them gone within my lifetime. Six halfling generations, even.”

The newshound turned a page in his notebook. “Aren’t you worried about harming the environment? The wyverns are apex predators. They’re an important part of the ecosystem.”

I frowned. Pencils scribbled furiously. “I don’t care about losing biodiversity. Not when wyvern attacks are a leading cause of death in the countryside. The beasts regularly prey on farmers and loggers.”

“Why bother? Most of the victims are halflings.”