Kingdoms in Chaos (13 page)

Then it stopped.

Raene leaned forward and listened closely.

“Chief?” came a voice.

She jerked back at the name. How did the elf lich know the wolf?

“Chief, is that you?”

A jubilant bark answered him and laughter floated up through the tower. Raene was profoundly confused.

“A dwarf lass, you say? Lead me to her.”

Raene scrambled back from the hatch and prepared herself with shield and mace. Chief shot out of the tower and spun a circle around her as the elf popped his head out of the door and looked around. When he saw Raene, he smiled. “Come, friend of Chief. We need to talk.”

Then he disappeared below.

The dark waters crashed up over the hull and dowsed Aurora. Thick clouds covered the sky, and though it could not be seen, the sun was falling. By the time they arrived at the island, it would be night.

She rode on the lead ship of the small fleet of four, each one carrying more than a hundred undead. There were three death knights among them; they who would raise the villagers from the dead. The fleet would land in less than an hour. All that she could do was try and slow them down, and take as many of them as she could with her.

There were no death knights on her ship, so it would be easier to attempt what she had in mind. She couldn’t raise the dead from the grave like the death knights, but she had learned how to control dozens at a time. Being that she retained some semblance of herself as a lich, she was able to exert her will through the necromantic bond that animated them. The green gems embedded where their hearts had once been would answer the call of her strong mind. And with Zander moving farther away with every passing moment, the difficulty of the task lessened.

Aurora steadied herself, calming her breath and her mind, focusing on the hundred undead on her ship. The death knights’ touch was light on the minds of the undead, guiding them easily in their tasks. Below deck, the undead humans rowed with precision and tireless power. The ships were cutting through the waves with ease.

With a surge of will, Aurora took mental control of the lich steering her ship, forcing him to turn the wheel hard to the left. They careened to the side, coming in hard at the boat next to them. The two ships crashed into each other with a shriek of protesting lumber. The point of Aurora’s ship smashed through the side of the other and pushed it along with its momentum.

Aurora ran to the aft rail. The vessel directly behind them had veered to avoid a collision, and now passed by. She jumped onto the rail and leaped high off the curved horn, clearing the fifteen foot distance, and landing in a roll upon the other ship. Her sword sang out of its sheath and hewn a head as she sprang to her feet.

A death knight raced across the deck and produced two long scimitars that sparked when he slapped them together. They came together with a clanging of swords. His scimitars moved in a blur of green motion, but so too did Aurora’s long sword. She pressed the shorter elf, using her big frame and powerful strikes to keep him on the defensive. He turned as if to retreat and kicked off the rail, hard. Twin blades struck for her stomach but she slapped them aside with a growl and booted the dark elf in the chest. Her powerful strikes proved too much for the death knight, and she soon disarmed him and hewn off his head with her long sword. The knight was down, but he was not dead. She cut the glowing gem out of his chest and tossed it into the water.

The undead stood motionless, watching her. She extended her will, taking control of their collective consciousness. The only other remaining ship had veered away from hers, and was now far ahead. Behind her, the two boats that she had forced in a collision were slowly sinking.

“Faster!” she bellowed.

With a force of will, she pushed the rowers past their physical limitations and soon the ship was gaining. Volnoss loomed before them, however, and she knew that she wouldn’t be able to stop them from landing.

The other ship reached the beaches of Fox Tribe and the hordes unloaded and charged up the beach. When her ship hit a sandbar, Aurora leaped from the helm and charged through the water and up the rocky incline, bringing along with her all the undead that she could control.

Panting, she reached the top and looked out over a long valley with scattered copses of trees. Farther north, the edge of a forest began. Not far beyond, Fox Tribe’s village was nestled among the tall pines. The undead army was halfway across the field. She looked closer, noticing something strange—hundreds of fireflies dotted the distant tree line. A wave of panic washed over her. They weren’t fireflies. They were torches.

She had to get ahead of them and warn the villagers of their plight. They needed to evacuate. Somehow they had anticipated the invasion and were lying in wait with not a warrior among them. Aurora had seen to that.

As she and her undead caught up to the main horde, she ran wide, not wanting to be slowed with fighting. Her minions, however, she willed to attack the back of the group. Many of the other undead veered off to intercept her, but her power was great, and her determination unwavering. She had something that they no longer possessed: willpower.

Hundreds of barbarians—elders, and children alike—had gathered at the edge of the field. The Elders charged out into the field with furious war cries. They met the undead advance with brutal force, doing what they could to protect the children.

Aurora began to scream to them to retreat, to run for their lives. She charged into the fray, her sword cutting down all who stood before her. All the while she cried out for the barbarians to retreat. Then her voice caught in her throat as she saw the ancient-looking woman standing upon a boulder before an immense bonfire.

The woman’s voice rang out unnaturally loud and echoed through the valley like thunder. Aurora fought her way through the battlefield and watched, awestruck, as the old woman, clad in furs and ornamented in bone, began her spell casting. Her words were those of the old barbarian tongue.

“Spirits of the seven tribes, guardians of the children, watchers in the wood, I call upon you this night to throw back the unholy scourge set upon our shores. Spirits of the seven tribes, HEAR ME! Know my name and search my heart and mind. I, Gretzen Spiritbone, summon thee forth.” She tossed what looked like a skull into the fire and it went up in blue flames. “Ancestors of the fox, timber wolf, bear, hawk, eagle, dragon, and snow cat tribes. I SUMMON THEE!”

The undead horde was tearing through the brave elders, but Gretzen didn’t relent. The children stood with raised chins and fearless eyes. They were chanting as well, echoing Gretzen’s every word. As the old woman continued in the face of certain death, Aurora found herself chanting the words as well, as she hacked and stabbed at the hated undead. Tears streamed down her face as she called upon the spirits.

The horde pushed past the defenders, cutting them down with glowing blades, and began to converge on the children.

Gretzen’s final cry rose up into the night and was answered by a gust of wind that nearly knocked Aurora off her feet. The enchantress was unaffected by the gale, but the fire roared, reaching out across the valley and lighting the grass and engulfing the front line of charging undead. The abominations ran through the flames screaming, with swords held high and green light burning brightly in their eyes.

There was a great roar and a rumble. Aurora turned in time to see the spirits of her barbarian ancestors erupt from the forest. They glowed in brilliant silver and flew through the delighted line of children.

The spirit warriors, armed with glowing swords, war hammers, spears, and axes, fell upon the undead in streaks of silver light. Tortured cries blended with the cheers and howls of the barbarians in a murderous song. Long glowing blades moved in blurs of motion, leaving mutilated undead in their wake. The elders found their strength once more and regrouped, cutting down the horde as it tried to retreat.

Soon there was nothing left to Zander’s little army, and the spirits of the ancestors flew off to the coast to deal with the others.

Aurora had fallen to her knees in the middle of the carnage and sat weeping with joy. The barbarians had come to see who the spirits had left alone. They now circled her. She knelt before her people, ashamed, and feeling more naked than ever she had been. Her eyes glowed with demonic green light. She was a hellish creation, an abomination.

The group parted and the one who had called herself Gretzen Spiritbone slowly walked to stand before her. She looked older than any barbarian Aurora had ever seen, but her eyes were bright and alert. A large bone held up her long silver hair, and another smaller one was stuck through the bottom of her nose. She stood before Aurora in timber wolf furs, with one boney arm sticking out between the fold to hold it in place.

“Kill me now,” said Aurora. “Free me from this mortal coil.”

A firm hand took hold of her chin and forced her head up. Gretzen stared down at her, turning her face from side to side. Her eyes fell across her body and settled upon her chest, and narrowed.

“Who are you?”

“She is the one who claimed herself Chieftain of the Seven and took all the warriors with her to war,” said one of the elder women.

“Where are they?” cried another.

“She’s a demon like the rest of them.”

“Silence.” Gretzen said it low, but everyone complied. “Answer me, child.”

“I am Aurora Snowfell. It is true what they say about me. I am a coward, I am cursed, I am death.” She looked to the villagers. “Your warriors are dead. I am sorry…our armies were defeated by—”

“Demon! Witch! To the hells with you!” one of the women screamed.

“Enough of this!” Gretzen yelled. “Go and tell the others to prepare. There may be another attack. Go, do as I say.”

Slowly, the group dissipated, yet many turned back to offer Aurora a murderous glare.

“Do you wish to die?” Gretzen asked.

“I do.”

“You think you deserve to?”

“I do. Please, I cannot bear it any longer.”

“You know what awaits you?”

Tears streamed down Aurora’s face. She remembered all too well what awaited her. “I have seen it. I have stood in judgment of the gods. Now I will return to the hells where I belong.”

“And if there is a way to save your soul, will you do it?”

“I have no hope left for such things. My soul is black. It is tarnished. I deserve nothing. I am nothing.”

Gretzen nodded and produced a gem-studded blade from beneath her robes. She tilted Aurora’s head and cut her armor free. She then tore her shirt at the neck, leaving her chest bare. The long cut down the center of her bosom where the gem had been embedded glowed faintly.

The dagger was raised into the air. Aurora closed her eyes…

Gretzen stabbed Aurora in the chest below the breast bone and reached her hand into the wound. She took hold of the green, glowing gem and tore it free. Aurora gasped and her dying eyes fell upon Gretzen. There was a faint smile upon her face.

Gretzen lowered her to the ground and produced a different type of gem, this one light blue and cut into a long shard. With it, she captured Aurora’s fleeing spirit.

She put it away and regarded the green one.

Azzeal and other elves had taught Gretzen about the dark-elf practice of necromancy, and she recognized the gem for what it was. Carefully, she searched the precious stone with her mind.

A gasp escaped her. The power of the gem was linked to a consciousness of vast power. She felt the necromancer’s attention shift, and focused his malice upon her. Gretzen called upon the power of her ancestors and focused her will, pushing back hard against the necromancer’s probing mind. He attacked her mind and spirit but she held firm and lashed out with an attack of her own. For a moment his power and concentration waned, and she felt the connections to his entire army.

Her mind touched upon a familiar one, and she let out a gasp. “Azzeal?”

The necromancer pounced, forcing his will upon her, pushing her back and spreading dark shadows across her mind. With a cry she lashed out against his awesome power. His laughter echoed through her mind and she bent at the waist, feeling as though her guts would be torn out. Then she saw them…the spirits had returned. They surged across the meadow and dove into her, and with their collective power she lashed out at the dark elf necromancer with everything she had.

Raene followed Chief and the elf down to the room below. The elf listened at the door for a moment and then, satisfied, closed it slowly.

“Chief tells me that you are now the bearer of the figurine.”

She stepped back from him until she was comfortable. “He
tells
ye this, eh? Who the hells is ye, eh?”

“I am Azzeal, Ralliad of Elladrindell—”

“Yer a godsdamned lich like the rest o’ ‘em!” She said, cocking back her mace.

Azzeal held up defensive hands. “This is true, but very much against my wishes.”

“How d’ye know Chief?”

The wolf gave a bark and wagged his shimmering tail.

“Quiet now, Chief. We don’t want to alert the others,” said Azzeal. He regarded Raene with a feline smile. “I was there when his spirit was melded with the figurine. I witnessed much of his mortal life, his death, and his rebirth.”

Raene was speechless, and slowly lowered her weapon.

Azzeal moved past her to the window and peeked out. “You are in great danger.”

“I’ll worry about meself.”

“Honorable, but unnecessary banter. We have little time for what your people would call…dragonshyte.”

She stammered, flabbergasted by his words.

“By my knowledge, that figurine last belonged to one Dirk Blackthorn. Am I correct?”

“Ye be right on that account, but how ye be knowin’ Dirk?”

He ignored the question. “Now the trinket is in your possession. Why?”

“He died, I picked it up. Now it’s mine.”

“Tears of the gods…” Azzeal paused in thought. His shoulders sagged and all levity left his face.

“He ain’t really dead,” said Raene.

“What do you mean he isn’t really dead?” He stepped forward.

She raised the mace higher this time, and gave him her best big-eyes.

“Ye answer me first damn ye. What the hells ye want with me and the figurine? Either give me a reason to keep wasting my time with ye, or get out o’ me damned way.”

“I was raised from death by the dark elf Eadon, forced to serve one called Zander after the fall. I need you to do something for me, something that might very well determine the fate of all of Agora….the mountain kingdoms as well.”

“Well, then, out with it!”

“I need you to seek out one Gretzen Spiritbone in Volno—”

“WHAT?”

“Please, keep your voice down,” Azzeal urged, eyes darting to the window.

“Did Dirk and Krentz put ye up to this through some weird elf magic?”

Azzeal looked at her with sorrow in his eyes. “The Taking left us without Orna Catorna.”

Raene threw up her arms. “To the hells with this.” She pushed past him and headed for the door.

“Please,” said Azzeal. “You must seek out this woman. I believe that she may be the only one who can defeat Zander.”

She paused at the door with her hand on the half-twisted knob and slowly regarded him over her shoulder. “Yer lying tongue ain’t goin’ to fool me.”

“Let the wolf be the judge. Surely you have grown to trust him.”

Her grip loosened, but none of the suspicion left her eyes. “Ye want to defeat Zander—yer master—yet ye be controlled by him.”

“His legions grow, and so his power is stretched. I have been able to find myself once again.”

She released the door and turned back to him. “What would ye have me say to this woman?”

Azzeal paced for a moment and then rushed toward her. “Tell her that Zander’s power does not lie in the scepter, but rather in Eadon’s—”

The door smashed open, sending Raene crashing into the wall.

“I see that you’ve found something for me,” said Zander.

Azzeal rushed to get between Raene and his master, but Raene wanted no protecting. She saw her chance and gladly took it. With a force of will she pulled loose bricks from the tower walls and shot them toward the necromancer.

Zander moved with inhuman speed, only the wispy blur of his long black cloak could be seen. Raene instinctively brought up her shield as the necromancer appeared to her left and unleashed a green blast of energy. She brought the shield up in time, but the spell took her off her feet and slammed her into the wall.

Azzeal fought against his master’s will, knowing that he had to keep the necromancer from discovering the trinket. This was the moment he had been waiting for. He lashed out against Zander’s control with all the willpower he possessed.

Chief was already leaping across the room. Zander raised a hand, and from it a green fog emerged and stopped the wolf in midair. He howled and thrashed, shifting from mist to solid form erratically.

With great effort Azzeal finally broke free. He unsheathed his elven blade and rushed across the room. Zander met his attack with a blade of his own, and together they clashed at the center of the room. Azzeal fought furiously, knowing that he only had moments before he was overcome by Zander’s power once more. As they exchanged sparking blows he felt his control slowly slipping.

Zander struck hard, with both mind and body, knocking Azzeal’s sword away and stabbing him through the chest. Even as the blade sank, Azzeal thrust forward with a hidden dagger, sinking it deep into Zanders gut.

The two remained, eyes locked, both twisting their blades and fighting furiously in their minds. Azzeal struggled, but was soon overcome. He felt Zander closing in on his mind. The gem embedded in his chest suddenly flared, and Azzeal lost all control over his body and floated up into the air, pulled from the gem by an unseen power.

Zander cackled, and pulled the dagger from his gut slowly. The wound flared green and quickly closed.

Raene pulled herself to her feet and faced her brother’s murderer with her shield raised to her chin. Behind it, she fumbled in her pocket for the figurine.

Zander offered her a smirk. “You will make a fierce lich. Perhaps you shall be my general and head the invasion of the Dwarven Mountains.” He turned his gaze to the door as two hulking undead barbarians shouldered into the room. “Take her,” he commanded.

“Dirk, Krentz, come to me!” she bellowed.

There was a blinding flash of light and the two spirits shot out of the figurine and floated before their master. Krentz looked from Zander to Raene with horror. “What have you done?”

A green orb exploded from Zander’s palm and hit the figurine, knocking it out of Raene’s hand to clatter to the floor in two pieces. Chief gave a howl and disappeared, along with Dirk and Krentz.

“NO!” cried Raene.

Zander hit her with a powerful beam that lifted her into the air and pinned her to the wall. The pain was unbearable, as if her very soul were being torn from her body.

Azzeal, who was pinned to the ceiling by the power of the gem, looked from the broken figurine to Raene, and growled against the power of the necromancer.

Zander intensified his attack on her as he strode across the room to stand before her. He lifted the bloody dagger to her throat, but then his face went slack, and he lurched.

A strange sensation washed over Azzeal then, and he felt the presence of an old friend.

Zander cried out against the mental intrusion and was forced to release them both. The two undead who had been coming for Raene froze and began to convulse. Their chests glowed brightly as they began to vibrate, and a thrumming of power shook the tower.

Azzeal felt as though he might explode, but then suddenly he was released from Zander’s power. He fell to the floor, and a soft warmth issued from the gem in his chest. Amidst the chaos he rolled onto his side, and stared in amazement at the blue glow now coming from the stone.

There was an explosion of blue light. All went silent.

Raene was blind and deaf. She fumbled around, feeling for the wall. Hands took her by the shoulders and she lashed out at the unseen foe. They overpowered her easily and she screamed and kicked, unable to hear her own voice. Someone held her firm and pinned her to the floor. Her sight began to come back to her. Someone was calling her name. She blinked and found Azzeal staring down at her. He looked concerned and glanced to the door repeatedly.

“…can you hear me?”

Raene shook her head slowly, wishing she hadn’t. The pain in her throbbing temples was almost unbearable.

“Come,” he said. “We must be swift.”

He helped her to her feet and she searched the room for Zander. He was gone. The undead lay on the floor, each with a smoldering hole in their chest.

“What happened?” Raene groaned.

“A miracle. Come.”

“Wait!” Raene frantically searched the room. “The figurine!” She found it lying on the floor and gathered up the two pieces. “Oh, no.” She tried to fit the pieces together. “What have I done?”

Azzeal pulled her toward the door and peered into the stairwell. She allowed herself to be led down the stairs. Outside, the fog had cleared. Undead littered the ground, their chests smoldering like those in the tower. Azzeal searched the road warily, his gaze lingering on the south.

“Follow me.”

“Where’s the dark elf? What happened to them all?”

“Now is not the time for talk. Save your strength until we are safely away.”

Raene had no strength to argue. She clutched the broken figurine and followed the elf to the northern road, worrying for her friends.