Return of the Dragon (The Dragon's Champion Book 6) (7 page)

The fairy blinked into nothingness and then appeared a
chubby baby. At first it also had wings like the fairy, but then the wings
disappeared. Aparen was stunned when the baby got up onto his legs and walked
around. The misty image came down near Aparen and growled at him.

“Pixies are a troublesome bunch. They are similar in
height to gnomes, though they tend to look more like oversized human toddlers
than lean miniatures. This is their weapon, actually, as they often gain
entrance into human homes or settlements by disguising themselves as babies and
resting on a doorstep. If the town or family that finds the pixie does not meet
the pixie’s standard for what a good creature should be, then the pixie
unleashes a flurry of spells and curses to lay waste to everyone around it.”
Njar paused and looked directly at Aparen. “To be clear, almost all other races
are deemed unworthy by pixies, so they kill far more than they ever consider
sparing.”

“Where do they live?” Aparen asked. “Are there any
around the Middle Kingdom?”

Njar shook his head. “We satyrs do not approve of
pixies. Where we are in abundance, we try to run them out. We are immune to
their charms and curses, so it is easy for us to rid an area of them. The only
place where that is untrue is on the continent Prirodha, which lies far to the
south of here. Some pixies do venture out on their own to curse and kill, but alone
they are somewhat vulnerable, and eventually a wizard or witch-hunter finds and
slays the rogue pixie.”

The pixie wound up as if to spit on Aparen, but just
before it succeeded, the image faded away.
Out from the mist
came an oddly shaped humanoid.
He was maybe the size of a dwarf, but a
little taller and not nearly as stout. His feet were large and hairy and his
nose was long, with a slight up curve at the end.

“This is a Halfling. It lives for up to two hundred
years. They are often referred to as Terramyr’s forgotten race, as they have no
real special abilities, and they are scattered about the world with no apparent
reason. They are pacific, and prefer to run or hide rather than fight. However,
one should not wholly discount
them,
they are very clever
and can be mischievous if pressed.”

The Halfling melted away and up floated the image of a
large, muscular man that from the waist down had the body of a great fish with
bright, hard scales.

“Mer-people.
These are a
wondrous creation. They can live up to three hundred years, and they live
underwater with the fishes. Their whole purpose is to keep sea monsters in
check, and so they are quite adept warriors, though, some groupings of mer-folk
have been known to prey upon human ships or coastal settlements as well. They
were originally created in Terra’s Pool, which is a sea-like lake in the center
of Prirodha. However, they have spread far and wide throughout the oceans in an
attempt to claim all of the waters for our mother, Terra.”

The merman dropped down to disappear into the water
and up galloped several large horses that were half man. Each of them carried
large weapons. One carried a great halberd, another a claymore, and the third
wielded a mighty bow. Their images continued to gallop in place as if they were
running down an enemy before Aparen.

“Centaurs are a special creature with the speed and
agility of a horse and the upper body like a man’s. They can live for as long
as three hundred years, and they make fearsome warriors on the field of battle.
They have nearly inexhaustible stamina and their speed is unmatched by even the
best horses. Most of them disdain humans so much that they will kill any human
upon sight. The centaur is a wise race, and does not identify with the greed
and pettiness the humans are prone to. They also see human cities as blights
upon the land that should be cleared away for Terramyr’s health and continued
prosperity.”

The centaurs turned, galloping off into the distance
as their images shrank away. Njar snapped his fingers and there appeared an
exact replica of
himself
in the mist above them.

“You have already met quite a few satyrs. As you have
come to understand, we do not seek to fight openly with other races. Many of us
live in seclusion as we seek for balance and wisdom. Those of us who venture
out into the world usually become merchants and traders. We can be quite shrewd
when it comes to negotiations. We live for three hundred years on average,
though there are a few of our kind that have lived as long as one thousand years.”

“How old are you?” Aparen asked.

Njar grunted, but he said nothing.

The image above them mutated with a terrible roar. Its
legs thickened and the arms grew muscles to shame any human warrior. The head
flattened and then broadened, taking on the appearance of a bull. The image was
several times larger than the satyr once it had finished shifting. In some
respects, it was much larger than the centaurs that Aparen had seen.

“Minotaurs are not the abominable offspring of some
deranged queen, as some tales might suggest,” Njar said. “They were created by
Terramyr as well. They are the strong guardians. They guard all of the most
sacred places. As such, they don’t usually venture far from their homelands. To
do so would weaken their positions. When they are met on a battlefield, there
is little hope for any who oppose them. They have even been known to put down
rogue dragons. That being said, there have been some tribes that have broken
off from their homeland in an effort to conquer nearby lands. When they do, it
is a horribly costly campaign.”

The
minotaur
flexed its
muscles and bellowed out a mighty roar before fading away. The mists again
began to take shape, but the next image was not anything Aparen might have
expected. At first he thought it might be human, but then it grew too tall and
the arms hung low below the waistline. Then, shaggy fur grew out over the body
and the being had a lumbering gait as it walked around the air above them. It
made short grunting noises and constantly looked over its own shoulder. It
hissed once, revealing a mouth full of jagged teeth.

“What is that?” Aparen asked.

“This is the elusive, highly fabled, Yeti. I would
explain their existence by calling them the forward scouts of the Natural
Races. They inhabit the snow covered peaks throughout the world, though vastly
more so within Prirodha. They attack exploration parties in order to prevent
them from ever reaching the fortified settlements that the centaur and
minotaur
civilizations have made. Not much is known about
the Yeti, even among the other Natural Races, other than they can be highly
unpredictable. Like the pixies, they can become an extremely savage and
bloodthirsty creature.”

The image faded away and the globe returned, spinning
slowly before them over the waters.

Aparen watched the globe and understood why Njar had
brought him here. “In Kuldiga Academy, they never focus on geography.” He
pointed to the globe. “We never hear of the other continents, or the large
oceans that I see here.”

“Why is that?” Njar asked. His tone showed that he was
not so much without understanding as he was helping Aparen come to the
knowledge for himself.

Aparen pushed himself up to his elbows, propping his
upper body and craning his neck around awkwardly to regard Njar. “We are on the
covered continent, aren’t we? The Middle Kingdom, and all the lands around it
are hidden somewhere under that shroud.”

Njar nodded. “The Ancients came here to form a
protection. They have already lost their home world, and they know the risk
posed to this one.”

“So they formed the dwarves of Roegudok Hall to help
them,” Aparen guessed.

Njar nodded again. “In those days it was only the
Natural Races, those of us created by Terramyr, and the Ancients and dwarves.
It was a fairly peaceful time. Certainly there was mischief on occasion, but
most understood that all of us had the same goals. Then, as eras passed, the
orcs found this land. They were pushed out of other lands, hunted and driven
out by the humans and elves from nearly every land they had possessed. The orcs
found a way in through the mountainous barriers and then started making a home
in the lands now called the Middle Kingdom.”

“Why not push the orcs out?” Aparen asked.

“There were struggles,” Njar replied. “But the orcs
created mighty fortresses and strongholds. They even brought down dragons with
their ferocity. Their strength pushed us out. It wasn’t until the humans and
elves found their way to the continent that the orcs were finally kept in
check. Even then, all the humans could do was
push
them south. There was no full victory over the orcs.”

“And then the Ancients created a pact with the
humans,” Aparen stated.

Njar sighed. “Humans had existed on the Ancients’ home
world as well,” he said. “They had proven to be a great scourge that
accelerated the end of their world. The Ancients thought it wise to court the
humans that came to the Middle Kingdom, to try to guide them in better ways.”

Njar halted the globe on the shrouded continent and
whispered its name.
“Terra’s Navel.”
The clouds
dispersed from part of the continent, just enough to show them the Middle
Kingdom, the mountains to the east that separated them from the wilds where the
Tarthuns roamed, the seas to the west, with the islands that Aparen had
crossed, and the orcish lands to the south. “This land is more important than
some war for territory,” Njar said. “Everything that happens here has an effect
on the rest of the world. To corrupt this land is to bring corruption to
Terramyr. To purify it, is to cleanse the world.”

Aparen pointed to the clouds. “Why not show me the
whole of the continent?”

Njar shook his head. “I seek balance. To show you
everything would tempt you beyond what is necessary to achieve balance. I show
you this only so that you know why the events that unfold here are so
important. Should Tu’luh be allowed to conquer the Middle Kingdom with his
horrible magic, he could easily spread that influence over the entire globe.
Countless peoples and nations will be subdued, and brought under his despotic
rule. He would decide all matters of life.” Njar sighed again. “Terramyr would
be imprisoned by the magic as well, unable to live freely, as she ought to. Her
life force would be under the dragon’s chains.” He turned to look at Aparen.
“This is about so much more than one kingdom, or even all of the people and
creatures in the Middle Kingdom. To lose this war is to die and lose the
balance that lets us truly live. Life would be as a garden without the seasons.
No renewal, no blossoms, only death and an eternal winter of decay.”

“I have a question for you,” Aparen said.

“Ask it,” Njar replied.

“After the war is over, what would you have me do?” He
shifted his body and moved to sit up. The globe dissipated and the mists fell
back to the green waters below in the pool. “You offer me additional power, and
have given me training, but I wonder what will happen once you have attained
your goal.”

“You still do not trust me,” Njar said softly. “I can
understand that. Your path into magic was not your choice, nor was it an easy
ascension.” Njar leveraged his staff to push himself into a standing position.
“I cannot make the choice for you. Know only that no one controls you here. You
are free to think for yourself. You are also free to observe me. I know that
trust may not come as easy as that, but search your heart. You will see the
truth of it if you meditate on it.”

“That doesn’t answer my question,” Aparen said.

Njar smiled ever so slightly. “My greatest wish is for
you to help restore balance. Use your powers to wipe this blight from the
Middle Kingdom. If you can do that, without succumbing to the temptation of
power, then I wish for you to find joy in your life.”

“Where would I find that?” Aparen asked. He pulled his
knees in close to his chest and stared out over the water. “My family is
destroyed.
I
will no longer be a noble even if I do help fight
against the dragon. There is nothing for me there.”

Njar stretched his staff out to the water one more
time. The mists rose up and formed into a lovely figure with long, flowing
hair. It didn’t take long for Aparen to recognize Silvi’s shape. “There is
still joy to be had, young apprentice,” Njar said. “Perhaps you will not be
able to remain upon Terra’s Navel, but if you so choose, I know of a few routes
out from this land. I could help you start anew somewhere else. With your
magical skills, you could be anything you wish.”

Aparen stared at the figure.

Njar laughed silently to himself and left the boy on
the bank of the pool to think.

Lepkin stood in the drawing room at Tillamon’s home.
The town’s guard was out scouting the nearby fields while the soldiers who had
escaped with Lepkin were busy preparing lookout towers and building fences and
barriers. Lepkin stared at the map before him. Stonebrook was not a large city
by any means, but the terrain could be used to their advantage. A mile to the
south of the settlement was the long waterway for which the town was named. The
brook wasn’t very deep in terms of water, but it was nestled at the base of a
twenty foot chasm that spanned thirty feet across at its widest point and more
than fifteen feet at its narrowest. The water flowed in a winding path from
east to west for miles.

Walls, pickets, and towers were being built along the
northern side of this chasm. The bridge that led out from the town and over the
brook was seemingly left intact, but the supports had been sawn mostly through
so that any significant weight would cause it to crumble into the chasm.

If Lepkin could defend the position until winter fell,
then there was a much better chance that King Mathias could rally enough forces
to push the orcs back down south of Ten Forts come spring. Still, without
additional support there wasn’t any obvious way to hold the settlement and keep
the orcs from continuing north. Lepkin knew the townsfolk were just as busy as
the soldiers. The men were
either digging
additional
trenches, placing caltrops along the southern fields, or harvesting anything
and everything that was ready to be stored in the cellars for winter. Some of
the townsfolk had opted to flee north for refuge. The next obvious point would
be Axestone. The waterway there was more formidable than the paltry creek to
the south of Stonebrook. Not to mention Fort Drake was only a few miles to the
north of Axestone.

Many of the officers had begged Lepkin to raze
Stonebrook and fall back to Axestone for exactly those reasons, but he had
refused. That would be giving the orcs more ground. He was not about to let the
pig-faced savages stomp that far into the Middle Kingdom.

Lepkin was going to make his stand in Stonebrook.

The few dragon-slayers who remained never wavered in
their support for him. They were out there, right now, shouting Lepkin’s
praises and spurring the men to work harder to prepare the field. Without them,
many soldiers would have undoubtedly fled.

Even still, some of the men had deserted. That much
was obvious. Lepkin had slightly less than four thousand men left from Ten
Forts.
This including a mob of one hundred and fifty angry
dwarves.
The town guard added only another ten to that number. They were
not entirely useless, however. Lepkin used the guards as
scouts,
and as liaisons with the local populace so as to make any martial law seem
softer and more palatable. He wasn’t sure the device worked, but he didn’t see
any obvious signs that it
wasn’t
, so he continued.

For a moment, as he considered the situation he now
found himself in, he wondered if this was anything like what King Mathias did
from day to day. He knew it probably wasn’t
much
like sitting on a throne, at least not during times
of peace, but still he thanked the Old Gods that he had not been given the
crown.

The door to the drawing room burst open and in came a
heavily panting soldier, ripping Lepkin from his thoughts. Lepkin looked up and
frowned sourly.

“I sent you northward for help yesterday, before the
refugees left the town. How can you be back already?”

The soldier smiled.
“Because help is
already on the way.”

Lepkin’s brow drew in together and then his eyes went
wide and his facial muscles relaxed momentarily before stretching into a smile.
“Al!” he exclaimed.

The soldier nodded. “King Sit’marihu rides along with
his escort at the front of many soldiers. The commander of Fort Drake has come
as well. I galloped ahead as fast as I could to deliver the news. They should
be here by nightfall.”

Lepkin slapped a palm onto the map and let out a short
grunt of satisfaction. “That is the best news I have heard in a long time. How
many are there?”

The soldier grinned and nodded eagerly. “There are
five thousand recruits in all. Some of the Masters from Kuldiga Academy have
joined in with them, though from what I was told most of the Masters have
either returned to their own homes, or been assigned by King Mathias to other
places. There are five thousand soldiers coming from fort drake. There are three
thousand pikemen, and two thousand swordmen.”

“Recruits, did you say?” Lepkin asked.

The soldier nodded. “King Sit’marihu said that all of
the veterans had already been transferred to other locations. The Tarthuns are
pressing hard along the north eastern plain and Grand Master Penthal needed
reinforcements.”

Lepkin nodded. “Recruits are better than no help at
all.” He paused and looked down to the map for a moment. Then he looked back to
the messenger. “You didn’t mention any archers. Do we have any bows coming?”

The messenger’s smile faded.
“No,
just pikes and swords.”

Lepkin folded his arms and focused on the map. “Bows
would have been useful,” he said as he eyed the blue line that marked the
location of the brook. In an instant, he solved the problem. “Go out and call
the dwarves to me, now.”

The messenger nodded and rushed out from the drawing
room.

No sooner did the young man leave than Virgil Gothbern
entered in. “Calling the dwarves in?” he asked. “I had them quarrying rock.”

Lepkin nodded. “That will still come in handy. Listen,
we have reinforcements coming, but no bows. I will need the dwarves to make
catapults.”

Virgil approached the map and looked down. “How many
do we need?”

“As many as we can fashion before the orcs arrive,”
Lepkin countered.

Virgil shook his head. “Each catapult will need stones
to throw, otherwise the effort is wasted.

Lepkin pointed to several places along the brook on
the map. “If we can position catapults along the brook, we can keep the orcish
archers at bay while we defend the line.”

“The orcs will see the catapults,” Virgil countered.
“Unless we can camouflage them, I don’t think the orcs will march up and ask us
to rain stones on them.”

Lepkin sighed. “We could position them behind
haystacks,” Lepkin offered. “It isn’t a lot of cover, but we can’t very well
hide them in the bushes either.”

Virgil snapped his fingers, “What about blankets?” he
asked. “What if the women in the town made large blankets and dyed them to look
like haystacks?” We could then throw straw over the blankets. Up close it would
be obvious, but from far away it might not seem so out of place, especially
since we have just newly erected towers and pickets.”

Lepkin smiled and arched a brow. “That might work, for
now. We’ll start with that. I will also send for Marlin. Perhaps if my wife has
recovered, then Marlin can come and use his magic to help us better hide the
machines.”

“Have you heard from them?” Virgil asked. His tone
took on a friendly, sincere quality not found often among officers.

Lepkin nodded. “I have. The communications have been
brief, but enough to know that she is beginning to mend, and they are both
safe.”

Virgil smiled. “That is good.” The strong man pointed
back down to the map. “How many catapults and blankets should we make?”

Lepkin shrugged. “We need at least ten if we are to
make a dent in the enemy. Each catapult requires a crew of five to operate.”

“Three to load, two to pull the bucket and then
release,” Virgil said. “Then there are the stones. If each catapult is to be effective,
we will need many stones.”

Lepkin said, “Each catapult crew can fire a stone
roughly every three to four minutes. If the average engagement lasts forty
minutes, then we will need ten stones per catapult per engagement.”

“The quarry is on the north side of the brook, but it
is set back about a mile, and out to the west a bit. It will take a long time
to bring in fresh stone.”

“So have the dwarves fashion the ten catapults.
Afterward, they are to place twenty stones at each machine. This will give us
what we need in the short term. Then, the hundred dwarves not operating
catapults will fashion carts that the cavedogs can pull and form a supply line
from the quarry to each catapult.”

Virgil nodded. “If we ran two or three carts per
machine, we could keep a steady enough supply coming in for ammunition. Any
dwarf not operating a cart or catapult can then be put to work mining stone.”

Lepkin nodded and then snapped his fingers. “See to
it.”

Virgil looked surprised. “But you just called for the
dwarves to return here,” he said.

Lepkin rubbed his face and took in a breath. “It’s
alright, just go out and put them to work. I trust you to convey the orders
properly.”

Virgil cocked his head to the side. “When was the last
time you got any sleep?”

Lepkin waved him off.

“A commander needs sleep. The muscles feed on food,
but the brain dines on sleep.”

Lepkin scoffed. “I’m fine. Just go.”

Virgil pointed to the sofa in the drawing room. “Just
take a few minutes. If anything happens, I will personally come to wake you. We
are preparing the field, and I will set the dwarves to the catapults. There is
nothing else for you to do at this juncture, so get some rest.” The
dragon-slayer stared at Lepkin until Master Lepkin finally surrendered to the
request and dropped back onto the sofa.

Even the mighty Lepkin had to admit how nice it felt
to have a cushion under his rump and a sturdy yet soft rest for his back. He
leaned his head back and barely heard Virgil’s exiting footsteps before his
eyes fell closed and his body gave in to sleep.

*****

Al led Commander Nials to Tillamon’s home. The bulk of
the soldiers continued on to the fields just south of the settlement and began
erecting tents. Commander Nials and Al entered the large home and found a pair
of soldiers standing inside.

“Lepkin is asleep,” one of them said.

“Asleep?” Commander Nials huffed. “What kind of
commander sleeps before sundown?”

A large man with ridged and spike plate mail entered
the entryway from a side chamber. “The kind of commander who hasn’t slept for
days because he has been beating orcs to a bloody pulp,” the soldier said.

“Commander Nials, may I introduce Virgil Gothbern,” Al
said with a smirk. “I’ll let the two of you get acquainted while I go and speak
with Master Lepkin.”

Commander Nials wrinkled his nose and gestured with
his hand for Al to move along.

Al chuckled to himself. “In the drawing room, is he?”

Virgil nodded. “The map is on the table. I hope you
won’t mind, but he has put your dwarves to work.”

Al smirked again. “My kin can do any task he sets
before them.” He walked quickly toward the drawing room. His legs were a bit
stiff from riding, causing him to nearly waddle as he moved along the hall. He
found the door to the drawing room nearly closed. He pushed it open and moved
in to see Lepkin splayed over the back of the couch. He wasn’t quite snoring,
but he was certainly breathing loudly thanks to his awkward position.

The dwarf king pushed the door nearly closed and then
walked to the table. He studied the terrain of the map, and quickly understood
Lepkin’s hand-drawn symbols. “Catapults, fences, and trenches,” the dwarf
commented as he ran his finger along the map. “It’s a start,” he added with an
approving nod. Al turned around to wake Lepkin, but found that the man was
already staring at him from the couch.

“Ever the light sleeper,” Al commented.

“It’s a skill that has kept me alive,” Lepkin replied.

Al nodded and moved to sit on the opposite side of the
sofa. “I heard about Ten Forts, and Mercer. I am sorry.”

Lepkin sighed and leaned forward, rubbing his eyes and
then slapping his hands atop his knees. “Mercer died well, just as he would
have wanted,” Lepkin said. “Peren is gone, vanished from the battle field. He
fought well, but no one has seen him since before the forts fell.”

“Lady Arkyn?” Al asked.

“She is out along the perimeter, scouting for orcs.”

“I noticed a thick haze to the south,” Al said. “Did
you use your dragon form to burn the forest?”

Lepkin shook his head. “We scorched the forest the old
fashioned way.”

Al’s face turned sour. “I see.”

“It was the only way to seal off our retreat. We were
being pursued constantly.”

Al raised a hand. “I understand. I am not new to the
devices of war. I just don’t like seeing trees go to waste.”

“Ironic, for a dwarf who spends his life underground,”
Lepkin replied with a half-smile.