Return of the Dragon (The Dragon's Champion Book 6) (4 page)

Even that was not enough to stop them.

Faengoril grabbed a pair of warriors and shoved them
forward as he ordered the retreat again.

The riders stood their ground, firing crossbows until
their quivers ran dry. Then they turned and brought up the rear. Arrows rained
down all around them. Faengoril was hit a few times, but they were glancing
shots that ricocheted off his armor. The next bend in the tunnel was closer,
and soon the dwarves were out of range.

The group raced toward the third and final blockade
which was near the mouth of the cave. Faengoril shouted to the dwarves to run
and abandon their blockade. None of the dwarves moved. Instead they clambered
atop the blockade and prepared to fire.

“Run, you stubborn
fools
!”

The thundering Tarthuns rounded the corner. Their
torches illuminated the cavern. The dwarves atop the blockade waited for a few
moments longer and then fired their deadly bolts. Arrows pelted the retreating
dwarves from behind, spurring them faster through the cave.

Only when Faengoril passed the edge of the blockade
did the other dwarves turn to
retreat.
They all
coursed out over the shallow water. There were no trenches or pits dug here.
They had actually worked to level this area somewhat in order to facilitate
their own escape.

“We won’t make it out,” one of the riders called out.

Faengoril turned to see the Tarthuns were only about
forty yards behind them. At that moment an arrow sailed just by his face and
sunk deeply into the base of his cavedog’s neck. The animal went down and
Faengoril tumbled across the wet stone, barely able to stop himself. A second
later a pair of hands reached down and plucked him up by the armpits. Two
riders flanked him. Each one held one of Faengoril’s arms, half dragging him
out of the cave as he furiously pumped his legs as best he could until finally
the two riders maneuvered close enough to sit him behind of them.

As they hurried out from the cave, Faengoril noticed
that the Tarthuns were slowing down. The cave was narrowing again, forming a
natural bottleneck and the dwarves were much better equipped to navigate the
treacherous path in the darkness.

A few minutes later Faengoril hopped off the back of
the cavedog as they emerged from the cave. A group of dwarves ringed the exit,
spears and crossbows at the ready just in case any enemy Tarthuns escaped
before the cave-in.

Faengoril reached down to his hip for the horn. His
stout fingers only grasped an empty chain where the horn had previously been
attached.

“Blow the horn!” someone shouted.

Faengoril sprang into action. He yanked the nearest
rider from his mount and charged into the tunnel. “Spear!” he called out.

A nearby soldier tossed his spear to Faengoril.

Faengoril urged his cavedog as fast as its four legs
would carry it. The shallow water splashed up and the beast’s mighty tail
swished side to side.

“Come on, run!” Faengoril growled. He rounded the
nearest corner, scouring the stone floor for the gold encrusted horn. The
thundering footsteps were growing ever closer. The orange and red light of the
many torches grew brighter upon the walls. Still, Faengoril could not see his
horn. If it had broken from his belt when he had fallen, there would be no way
he could reach it in time. If it had fallen even farther back during battle,
then the cave-in would never be summoned. The plan would fail.

His army of several hundred could not possibly hold
off seven thousand at the cave’s entrance.

He rounded a bend and saw the first couple Tarthuns
sprinting around a corner roughly one hundred yards away. His heart sank. Two
of the Tarthuns stopped and knelt as they drew back their bowstrings. Their
torchlight pierced the darkness enough for them to spot him. They took aim.

Just then a glint caught his eye. There, off near the
wall sat the gold encrusted horn. He pushed his cavedog toward it.

Arrows sailed toward him. He hunkered down and tried
to cover his lizard, hoping his armor could protect both of them. One arrow
sailed by harmlessly, and the other bounced off his back. Faengoril smiled, but
his mirth was short-lived as row after row of Tarthun rounded the corner. A
dozen archers now knelt, spanning the breadth of the cave. A dozen more stood
behind them with their bows. The chances of reaching the horn were slim at
best. Faengoril took a mental note of where the horn sat, and then watched the
archers as he charged on.

Bowstrings snapped into place and arrows took flight.
Faengoril let out a hopeful shout as his cavedog galloped forward. A second
volley of arrows followed the first. Black streaks filled the air in the cave.
Then, at the last second the dwarf commander leapt from his mount, tucking and
rolling across the stone toward the wall.

The squealing shriek emitted from the cavedog he had
just betrayed pained him, but he knew there was no other way. He didn’t bother
to look back at the arrow-riddled animal. There was no need. He sprinted for
the horn and blew long and hard. Cracking and exploding rock shattered out
around him. A great rumble shook the ground. A volley of arrows struck all
around him. A few bounced off his armor, but there were a few points that found
his flesh.

He groaned and leaned back against the wall. He put
the horn to his lips and blew one
more long
, loud
blast. He knew the trigger had already been sprung, but he wanted the dwarves
outside to hear him, and know that all had worked out in the end.

Rocks crumbled all around, and Faengoril closed his
eyes and waited for the mountain to take him. It was a fitting death for a
dwarf.

*****

Lepkin leaned heavily on the spear shaft. His heart
pounded in his chest and his shoulders ached with fatigue. His forearms burned
and cool, stinging sweat dripped into his eyes. He clumsily wiped the liquid
away and surveyed the forest around him. Bodies littered the ground. The smell
of blood filled the air. Some of the fallen were eerily propped against a tree,
or tangled in a bush. Human bodies mingled with those of orcs and goarg. It had
not been easy, but they had triumphed over the latest group of skirmishers sent
to pursue them.

He looked down, letting his eyes follow the spear he
leaned upon until it abruptly disappeared into an orc’s chest. Fright and anger
were still painted upon the orc’s twisted features. Instead of anger, he felt
pity and sorrow for the corpse beneath his feet. For a moment he wondered
whether the orc had a wife. Perhaps she was safe back at home, with a young orc
growing within her belly. Even without a wife, the orc most certainly had a
father and a mother.

Lepkin sighed and yanked his spear free of the orc. He
turned away from the dead orc and pushed the empathy out of his mind. It was
dangerous to allow such feelings to control one’s mind, Lepkin knew. The orcs
sought conquest. Lepkin wanted only to protect and defend his homeland. There
was no allowance for forgiveness. The enemy had to be driven back. Despite all
of the lessons he had given to Erik to the contrary, Lepkin would need to put
away his mercy. Now it was time to be a dragon at heart, and not just in form.

“Master Lepkin,” a voice called out from nearby.
Lepkin looked up to see Virgil Gothbern, one of the dragon slayers. “Shall we
put the orc heads on spikes to deter them from following us?”

Others nearby twisted their faces in disgust. Lepkin
paused for a moment and considered it. It was a brutal tactic, but it had its
place on the battle field. Still, Lepkin knew it was not a tactic that would
stop the orcs.

“In order for a monster to frighten a man, there must
be a heart within the man,” Lepkin answered. He shook his head. “Such ploys
have little, if any, effect on the orcs.”

“We should do something,” Virgil pressed.

Lepkin nodded. “I agree.” He gestured to the men
around and then pointed up at the nearest tree. “Let’s clear a swath of forest.
Drop every tree from this one to five hundred yards north. Then we move east
and west to create an open area.”

“We don’t have the time,” one of the soldiers
commented.

“The orcs are done for today. If there is another
raiding party we will be more ready for them than if we just continue to flee
northward without preparing the field a bit in our favor.”

“How far out to the east and west?” Virgil asked.

Lepkin folded his arms.
“One
thousand yards in each direction from where I stand.
We will fell and
limb each tree. Then, we will pile the logs along the southern edge, forming a
loose wall of logs between us and the orcs. The branches we will pile at the
outer base of this wall.”

“That would only slow them a little,” Virgil pointed
out. “Goargs could easily skirt around the sides of such a construct.”

Lepkin nodded knowingly and turned to glance over his
shoulder. “That is why when the piles of branches are set in place we are going
to light them. We are going to burn the forest to the ground. The orcs may be
fierce, but they can’t walk through fire.”

Murmurs rose up among the soldiers, but Lepkin clapped
his hands and pointed to the men. “Use axes if we have
them,
or swords if you must, but get the job done. The clear band will give us enough
time to move northward before the fire spreads around the gap we will create.”

Lepkin wasted no time pulling a battle axe from a
fallen orc and moving to the large aspen tree. The first swing broke the bark
and wedged the blade inside the moist wood. He wiggled the axe back and forth
to free it and then took another swing. This time bits of wood exploded out.
The others realized he was more than serious and began their work as well. The
chorus of
chip-chop whop-whack
played through the forest as the army cut through the
trees. Each one that fell was cleaned of its limbs in minutes and then whisked
away to form part of the two thousand yard wall.

The men toiled until the light had vanished from the
sky. They had cleared most of the area and were all exhausted. They set
watchmen and ate their supper, which consisted mostly of berries and mushrooms
gathered from the forest during their flight away from Ten Forts.

Lepkin went without any food. There was little to go
around, and he refused to eat unless all the others were filled first. He
rested with his back against the log wall and let sleep take over his body. It
hardly seemed like more than a blink to him before the first rays of light
played upon his face and woke him.

He moved slowly, still achy from the day before.
Others in the camp were beginning to stir as well. Lepkin was thankful that the
night had been peaceful. As for the day, there was no guarantee that another
band of orcs wouldn’t show up at any moment.

Lepkin stood and walked into the clearing. He surveyed
the swath of clear-cut land carefully and then moved to a still-burning camp
fire. He put some more wood into the fire to keep it going and then woke the
soldiers nearby.

“Get up, wake the others. We will set fire to the
forest now.”

The soldiers nodded and sprinted off through the camp.
Before long, Virgil approached.

“Will we have enough
buffer
to protect us from the fire as we continue our retreat?” He asked.

Lepkin nodded. “We should be alright. Have them light
the fires every ten feet along the wall. Once a good blaze is going, then we
make haste to rejoin with the others in Stonebrook.”

Within minutes the crackling flames were taking hold
of the branches and logs piled against the forest. The flames began to spread
to nearby deadwood along the forest floor and expand out to the south. Smoke
rose up into the sky and logs popped and creaked as the orange and red flames
consumed them.

The soldiers quickly gathered their belongings and
made their way northward as the fire furiously roared south. No orcs would be
able to follow them until the blaze had run its course.

King Mathias stroked his long, white beard and looked
out over the assembly hall. Rows of wooden seats were filled as noble families
streamed in. Senator Mickelson sat to Mathias’ right, ticking off names on a
long list as people arrived.

King Mathias noted Lady Lokton and her man-servant
were in attendance. She was dressed in a flowing yellow gown, though she made
the effort to cover her face with a dark veil. She nodded slightly to him. The
old king returned the gesture and then continued to watch as people filtered
in. To his delight, most families were represented in the meeting. He even saw
Lady Cedreau enter the meeting hall. She stopped briefly to speak with Lady
Lokton, and then the two of them sat down together.

“I would not have imagined they would wish to speak
with each other,” Mickelson commented as he ticked off House Cedreau on his
list.

King Mathias cleared his throat and leaned over so as
to keep his comment between the two of them. “Both women have seen their houses
torn apart. Where men might continue to uphold a feud between houses, women
have more sense than that when presented with outside dangers. That is why both
houses have pledged their warriors to my service. When this is over I doubt
they shall ever speak to each other again, but until then I dare say that House
Lokton and House Cedreau will unite against every enemy that threatens either
house until we have restored peace.”

Mickelson didn’t respond. He shrugged and went back to
his list. After the doors were closed, the guards moved in to block the doors.
Two more remained in place behind King Mathias, as Mickelson insisted.

“I do not see Lord Finorel,” King Mathias said. “Did
you mark him down as present on your list?”

“No, sire,” Mickelson responded. “I have no members of
House Finorel or of House Hischurn, though we did not expect any from the
latter.”

“Not after Dimwater dealt with them some time ago,
no,” King Mathias put in with a short nod. He rose to his feet and Senator
Mickelson banged a smooth, round stone on the arm of his chair to call for
silence. The room fell quiet immediately.

“Noble families of the Middle Kingdom, I bid you
welcome.” He paused to take in a breath. He was not as readily able to make
speeches as he once was. Still, his eyes scoured the crowd before him,
searching for those who were yet loyal to the crown. “Thank you for answering
my summons. As you are all aware, all things are not well in the Middle
Kingdom. Dark times have come to us, and now I call upon you to uphold your
oaths. Each noble family sends their young sons and daughters to Kuldiga
Academy upon reaching their fourteenth birthday. Some study the magical arts of
wizardry, others become great historians and philosophers, some are taught to
become knights, while others earn the skillful title of healer. Each apprentice
takes a vow upon entering Kuldiga Academy to serve the Middle Kingdom. Now I
evoke that promise.” Mathias paused again. None stirred. No one whispered. All
eyes were upon him. “One thing I should make abundantly clear, I know of your
petty squabbles and fighting to make a claim for the throne, but as I live and
breathe this day, none of you shall have it.”

Now the murmurs started. King Mathias looked to
Senator Mickelson and gestured to the stone in the man’s hand. Senator
Mickelson banged the stone upon the solid arm of his chair and called for
silence.

“None of you should lament this decision, for the
throne never belonged to any of you in the first place,” Mathias said. “The
throne is destined for my son. Are there any here to claim to be of my loins?”
He paused again and waited. He could feel some of the angry, hot stares boring
into him, but he did not care. Today was not a day for pacifying the nobles. It
was time to draw a line, and see who would abide on the correct side. “I have
chosen an heir, one who is like my own son. This man is also the lawful heir,
and the throne will pass to him. Those of
you
who know
the law, understand that I speak of Master Lepkin. The Keeper of Secrets has
ever served our kingdom faithfully, and he is free of the same pettiness and
jealousy that plagues all of you.”

King Mathias stepped away from his throne and down
three steps to the main level of the audience hall. “Now that this matter has
been settled publicly, and beyond disputation, let us move on to the subject
for which I summoned all of you. I have called up our armies and sent them
throughout the Middle Kingdom. Mostly, I have stationed them in the northern
parts between this city and Fort Drake. We are threatened by Tarthuns from the
east. Even now they are attacking. Grand Master Penthal of the Lievonian Order
has bolstered our defenses in the northeast. However, a new pass has been
discovered also. Tarthuns are expected to attack there as well. King Sit’marihu
has taken it upon himself to see to securing that pass.” Mathias stopped and
sighed.

“Worse still,” he continued. “Old enemies have risen
again. Blacktongues scourge our lands. A dragon has destroyed Valtuu Temple.
Wizards and warlocks plague our people. Lokton manor was destroyed by an army
of fiendish brutes led by a warlock who had been masquerading as Senator
Bracken. He was defeated and slain, but not before Kuldiga Academy was
overrun.” King Mathias shook his head. “Many of you know all of this already.
Your sons and daughters escaped from the
Academy,
were
taken down to Fort Drake and then helped on their way back home to you. I need
not waste more time explaining the gravity of the situation.” He turned to
Mickelson and extended his bony, weathered hand.

Senator Mickelson reached behind his chair and
produced a simple staff made of cherry wood. He quickly moved to Mathias and
placed the staff in the king’s hand.

King Mathias turned and tapped the staff on the
ground. “The Blacktongues are being rooted out of the Middle Kingdom. Others
who would see chaos, or use the dark arts within our borders are also being
hunted. What I ask of you is whether your house has any warriors to spare. If
yes, then line up on my left. Senator Mickelson will make a list of how many
you can send. On the morrow, I will announce where the soldiers are to be sent.”
He held a finger up in the air. “Let me be clear. I am asking for any who have
completed their training, and all who serve and are of fighting age. If,
however, your house has none to spare, then assemble on my right. I will hear
your justifications and decide whether I can send further aid to you. I know
many of you watch over hamlets and villages, and may not have the strength to
send me additional soldiers as well as maintain the safety of your own
subjects.”

He tapped the staff on the stone floor. “Make your
choice now.” King Mathias turned back toward his throne so he could sit and
watch while those present formed into groups on either side of the hall.
Senator Mickelson worked quickly to record names and numbers from each house
volunteering to help. The guards in the room ensured that the lines were as
orderly as possible. Once Mickelson had finished with a particular noble, the
guards would allow that person to exit the hall.

The whole process took well over an hour before
Mickelson finished with the houses volunteering support. After they had all
departed, there were ten nobles remaining in the audience hall.

Lord Millard was the first to approach the throne. “My
King,” he began with a deep bow. “Please do not think me a coward, or
unfaithful. As you know, I have a small village to protect within the borders
of my land. I have, including men of fighting age, two hundred spears to
command. As my lands are in the north eastern region of the Middle Kingdom, I
have already sent all but thirty of my men to aid Grand Master Penthal.” He
reached into his pocket and produced a small parchment. “I have a letter of
thanks from Grand Master Penthal to verify my account.” He offered the letter
up.

Mickelson took the letter and transferred it to
Mathias’ hands. The king opened it and read its contents quickly. Then he
nodded.

“All is well, Lord Millard. Thank you for your
service, and your forethought.”

The next person to come forward was Lady Lokton.

King Mathias arched a brow at her. “Why do you stand
before me?” he asked. “You have already offered every able-bodied man in your
service, except for Braun, whom I insisted should stay with you. You have no
need to explain yourself to me.”

She nodded and smiled. “I come for her,” she said as
she gestured with a hand toward Lady Cedreau.

Lady Cedreau came forward, her dark hair falling over
her face as she bowed low.

“You come to intercede on her behalf?” King Mathias
asked.

Lady Lokton nodded. “I do.”

“Lady Cedreau, many of your house were among those who
fought with the warlock masquerading as Senator Bracken, do you deny it?”

Lady Cedreau kept her head bent to the floor as she
shook her head and said, “I do not deny it.”

King Mathias sighed and looked to Lady Lokton with his
tired, yet fierce eyes. “These men killed those who served you. They destroyed
your home. Yet you stand here and ask for a pardon?”

Lady Lokton bent down to a knee beside Lady Cedreau.
“My king, it was not under her order that these things happened. Allow her to
explain, and I believe you will see her in the same way I do. She is no enemy
to the kingdom,
nor
to me.”

King Mathias cleared his throat. “Such an exoneration
from one so terrorized warrants a hearing indeed,” he said. “Speak, Lady
Cedreau, and I will decide your fate.”

“My house fell into disarray after my husband and
child died. Many would no longer listen to me. They yearned for vengeance.”

“Why did you not inform me of their actions?” Mathias
pressed.

“Because my eldest son, Eldrik, was
stolen from me by a coven of witches.
It is they who charmed him, and
helped him persuade those of my house to follow him and join the warlock of
whom you spoke.”

“And why have you not sent word to me before now?”
Mathias asked.

“Because after the battle at Lokton
manor, my son went missing.
I hunted the witches, and killed two of
them, but I have been unable to find the third, or my son. I fear for him more
than anything else in this world. I came only when I received your summons. I
knew then that I had run out of time to find my son.”

“How did you receive my summons if you were out in the
countryside hunting for your son as you claim?”

“My bodyguard remained at my home. I gave him a spell
through which he could contact me if needed. He took the summons from your
messenger, and then called upon me with the spell.”

“But you are not of noble birth,” Senator Mickelson
said. “You only attained that after marriage with Lord Cedreau. How is it that
you know of spells?”

Lady Cedreau paused, and then stood slowly. She held
out her hands, palms facing up to show she wasn’t hiding anything. “In my
youth, I had been taken in by the witches. I had been one of them. When I met
Lord Cedreau, I forsook the dark arts, and did not use them again until the
witches betrayed me and stole my son.” Tears ran down her face, and her lower
lip quivered. “He is all I have left in my life. All I ask is that you allow me
to continue looking for him.”

“Witchcraft is a serious crime,” Mickelson said as he
glared down his nose at her. “You have fully admitted to it, and must be—”

“Senator Mickelson, be quiet,” King Mathias said. The
king rose and moved in close to Lady Cedreau. “Answer me truthfully three
questions.”

Lady Cedreau nodded. “Ask anything.”

“Have you killed using witchcraft?”

Lady Cedreau nodded. “I have killed two witches, but
no other human have I harmed intentionally. The only other time I sought to use
magic upon a person was to heal my own womb, as it was dry.”

King Mathias pressed on. “If the witches charmed your
son to join with the warlock, then the coven must have known the warlock. Had
you any knowledge of him?”

Lady Cedreau shook her head. “I knew of others, but in
name only. The only warlock I saw in person was an old hermit who dealt with
spiders and frogs within a dark cave. He helped our coven decipher old
writings, but there was no connection to the warlock who masqueraded as Senator
Bracken. I had no knowledge of him, or his plots, until after my family was
entangled in his web the same as House Lokton.”

“Is your son a threat to the Middle Kingdom?” Mathias
asked.

Lady Cedreau hesitated. She closed her eyes, holding
them shut for several seconds before finally nodding her head as tears fell.
“As long as he is under a witch’s charm, he is a danger indeed. That is why I
was hunting the last witch. I fear for him. He is a good man, but his will is
not his own.”

King Mathias nodded slowly and reached a hand out to
Lady Cedreau’s shoulder. “I have no son of my own,” he said. “I don’t know the
pain you feel inside, but I think I understand it. Go, find your son, but when
you find him, take him away from here.”

“My liege,” Lady Lokton interjected. King Mathias
silenced her with a glare and then looked back to Lady Cedreau.