The Chronicles of Lumineia: Book 02 - The Gathering (40 page)

Giants stood
well over thirty feet tall, with some topping forty, and had four sub-groups.
Hill giants were the most common, and were found in every region of Lumineia.
They were also the smallest type, and lived alone or in pairs. Fire giants were
the most rare, and lived in or near volcanoes. Larger than hill giants, they
were the sole type that lived in communities, although that was a rumor. Due to
a lack of encounters, little was known about fire giants. Stone giants, like
their hill cousins, traveled singly or in couples, and were considered the
largest and most dangerous of the huge race. Another rarity, the ice giants
kept to the far northern territories, but little was known about the blue-skinned
behemoths.

“Commander?”
Thacker asked as they were just coming into view of the city.

“Go ahead and
report the situation,” Braon said.

“Apparently
the giants are allies, and wish to join the defenses. Their leader is a stone
giant, Valdor, and says his home is near the dwarf citadels to the north. He
witnessed the dwarf exodus and somehow found out about the gathering.”

Braon’s
forehead crinkled as he considered the new information. “Ask Onix if he knows
anything about Valdor.”

After a
minute, Thacker responded, “Onix says he knows of him, and that to his
knowledge he has never attacked a dwarf.”

“Good,” Braon
said. “How many giants are with him?”

When Thacker
responded, his tone gave away his apprehension. “Valdor claims he has over
three hundred giants prepared for battle. The bulk of them are stone and hill
giants, but he was able to find two ice giants as well.”

As Reiquen
landed on the roof of the house of Runya, Braon leaned back and then dismounted
with a grateful thought to Newhawk. Turning towards the stairs, he realized
that Valdor must have understood the ramifications of such a gathering, and
since the dwarves had left their mountains weeks ago, spent the time collecting
as many of his kindred as he could find. The behavior bespoke intelligence and
foresight. Nodding to himself he stopped and turned to Thacker. “See if Valdor
is willing to split his people among all seven battalions.” He watched the
telepath send the message and receive the answer, wondering if his idea would
work.

Thacker’s brow
furrowed in confusion. “Er, Jake is asking me to pass on Valdor’s response word
for word.” When Braon bobbed his head Thacker closed his eyes and recited,
echoing the words of another. “I not sure good idea. Many of me people no speak
good, and some no like smaller people. Me think make dead. Better if stick
together.”

Braon hid his
disappointment. “Understood. Have Valdor take all his people to the Lake Road.
We could use some extra firepower there anyway. Also inform Golic that they are
coming and to prepare any under his command. I don’t want some frightened
soldier starting a fight we can’t afford. Further, have Golic work with Valdor
and figure out the best way to utilize the giants during the battle. I know
they throw boulders, but find out if there is anything else they need.”

Braon turned
down the corridor with Thacker falling into step behind him. He knew the
instructions would take a second to transfer, and he had work to get to. All
around him the house of Runya bustled with activity, with elves hurrying about
their business. Glancing out a window as he passed, he saw that the city was no
different. Azertorn had become a hive of activity as the elves raced to prepare
for the coming onslaught.

Braon allowed
a small moment of satisfaction. They had done well during the last few weeks,
and far better than he could have hoped. With the addition of each new race,
they had become stronger and more versatile, and Braon was proud to see the
races of Lumineia gathering on the side of good, even if they were only doing
it to survive.

Threading his
way through the elves, he turned into the battle center—and stopped cold. Elves
in robes lay scattered all over the floor while healers rushed to help. Some
lay sprawled and broken, and others sat crumpled to the floor where they had
been hurled against the walls. Some of the forms were too still . . .

—Energy
sparked from the failed map, causing everyone in view to flinch. Braon
swallowed hard as he realized that his orders had lead to their deaths. Before
he could look away, four faces seared a permanent image into his mind. For the
first time since his appointment he felt like a fifteen year old boy, looking
at consequences of his actions . . . and wishing he could undo them.

He blinked,
and the commander returned, once again in control. Spotting Telerial, the
archmage, leaning against a wall, he made his way to him.

“What happened
here?” he demanded, sweeping his hand at the unconscious and dead elves, suddenly
realizing that everything appeared inexplicably drenched in liquid.

Telerial squinted
up at him, and Braon saw a bead of blood running down his cheek. Although he appeared
dazed, he answered, “We were trying to create the map. All the roots from the
image plants have been grown to this location, and it was time to form the map
that would receive the image.” The powerful elf winced and pointed towards the puddle
at the center of the large room. “We thought we were ready to link the magics.
When we tried to join the light with the water magic, it exploded.” He swept
his hand at the scattered forms of his magicians. “I don’t know what happened.”

Braon’s
eyebrows knit together in concern. The map that the archmage had been working
on was critical to their success, and without it he would be acting blind. At
the same time, he hadn’t realized the sacrifice required to create it. For one
brief second he considered canceling the order, but the ramifications of that
decision were unthinkable.

Kneeling down
to be at eye level with the elf, he gripped his shoulders and forced him to
look at him. “Telerial,” he said, noticing that it was the first time that the head
of the magic guild appeared weak and not full of pride. “You have exactly one
week until this map
must
be finished. Without it, we will all perish.
Our survival hinges on your success. Whatever the cost, you must complete
it."

Telerial
blinked and focused on the young man, his expression hardening. “We will not
give up commander.” He bit the last word off like it was made of poison, and
Braon almost flinched at the acid in his voice.

He turned away
before his emotions could betray him, and after ordering more healers to the
room, departed. With an effort he kept his gate steady until he arrived at his
room and asked Thacker to remain outside. Closing the door behind him, he
leaned against the wall and slid to the floor. His round frame began to quake
in silent sobs as he fought to control the tears, biting his hand to prevent an
audible sound.

The order he'd
just given could cost more lives, and add to the blood he already carried. Was
it worth the price? Was it worth the cost of depriving families of their father
or mother? What if they could last the seven days without the map, and he was
killing someone unnecessarily? In his heart he knew that he couldn’t take the
chance. Too many lives depended on him. Too many people had placed their trust
in him. At the risk of needless loss, he had no choice.

But he hated
himself for it.

For a long
time he sat, his stomach clenching and his shoulders shaking. The pressure of
his role bore down on him as never before, and every doubt he’d heard someone
whisper assailed him.

He’s just a
boy.

He’s can't
even lift a sword.

We are all
going to die because of that fool.

Maybe the
Oracle was wrong . . .

Chubby kid
thinks he can command armies?

This isn’t
a game kid.

Wave after
wave of depression and doubt assailed him, and he allowed it to carve through
him until there was nothing left. Then he wrenched his mind clear with a single
word.
Enough
. Drawing strength from breathing, he cleared his mind of
all doubt and rebuilt the defenses around his heart. Brick by brick, he
replaced the barrier that would keep barbed comments out, and the tears slowed
as the wall got higher. Clenching his eyes shut he kept breathing until the
silent tears were gone, replaced by a renewed resolve to ensure the survival of
his army, even those that didn’t believe in him.

When he stood
and left the room, no visible trace of his emotional breakdown remained. On the
inside, the scar of ordering someone to die would remain forever. With what was
to come, Braon doubted it would be the last of its kind. He just hoped his
heart had enough space for all of them.

Part IV

Three days until Draeken’s
army reaches Azertorn

Chapter
31: Dark Tide

Taryn crouched
behind a tree, not daring to breathe as another mass of fiends passed by. After
they had returned to the northern deserts, they had worked their way east,
passing an unending tide of dark beings marching west. The only reason they
made it to the mountain passes north of Griffin was due to Kell’s knowledge of
the area—but every pass was clogged with fiends. To add to their difficulty,
they had been forced to leave the horses behind after a fearful mount bolted,
almost giving their position away.

The usually mischievous
and lighthearted Trin had become withdrawn and irritable. While Taryn had sought
the white dragon, Siarra had used her magic to search for Trin's father.
Extending her
sight
, she'd discovered that an army of humans was
stationed in forts at the north end of Griffin—but the fiends had already begun
their assault. Helpless, and miles away, Siarra was forced to watch the human
army get smaller and smaller . . .

By the time
they had reached the griffin border, little remained of the citadels except
broken battlements. As Taryn looked over at Trin’s expression, he wished he
knew what to say. The lack of Trin's humor made their journey feel heavier
somehow.

The last
rumble of the passing contingent quieted and Siarra whispered, “We have five
minutes before the next group. Let’s move.”

For the next
several hours they worked their way through the light forest that blanketed the
foothills north of the mountains. The stretch of peaks marked the northern border
of Griffon, and the passes through them was the sole way to reach Draeken. By
nightfall, they sat huddled on a ridge just east of the last pass. Throughout
the night they took turns watching the opening, hoping to find a way in, but by
morning it became obvious that there would be no break in Draeken's army.

“We are
running out of time,” Siarra said, her frustration rising. “In three days the
army will reach Azertorn and the battle will begin.”

“But there is
no way for us to get to Xshaltheria in three days,” Trin protested, “even if we
could get through the pass.”

Taryn growled,
“We have to get there. If the army reaches the city in three days, every soul
in Lumineia will be dead in ten. We cannot allow that to happen. There has to
be another way for us to get into the eastern kingdom.”

“Is there
another pass somewhere? Farther east perhaps?” Liri asked, looking at Trin.

Trin jerked
his head no, but then stopped and his head cocked to the side. “There might be
a higher trail a few miles east of here," he said, his eyes staring into
memory. "My father mentioned it once but said that it wasn’t large enough
for more than a few to get through. From the way he described it, it sounded
more like a game trail than a break in the peaks.”

“Sounds worth
checking into,” Kell said, his voice rumbling.

Taryn nodded
with everyone else and within minutes they were skirting the mountain range,
looking for any sign of a trail. It came as no surprise to Taryn that before an
hour had elapsed, Mae had spotted a path. The elf whistled to the others and pointed
with her chin to a faint deer trail that wound into the trees.

Turning onto
it, they picked their way through thick brush and undergrowth. Although they
spotted frequent signs of game, there appeared to be no trace of human or fiend
passing. Taryn kept his eyes on the trail as the sun reached its zenith and
began to descend, but his mind kept returning to Liri. During the past week she
had been at his side constantly, and her presence had been a great boon to his
spirits. In spite of their proximity to an army that hungered for their deaths,
she appeared content and happy.

Glancing back
at the serene expression on his long-time friend, he found that a part of him shared
in her happiness. As far back as he could remember he had always shared a
closeness with her, but it wasn’t until they had kissed in the snow that he’d
discovered the depth of his feelings towards her.

He felt the
urge to laugh and looked back at her, who caught his eye and gave him a crooked
smile, causing him to grin. Facing forward again he stepped over a root while
his smile faded. The hardest part about his emotions was the fact that most of
his heart was occupied with a more oppressive sentiment . . . fear. It wasn’t
anything he would admit to anyone, but his heart seized with a single question.

How many
are going die
? The sinister thought echoed. After hearing the tale of Israke,
it had stuck in his mind like a bad song. Every time he saw one of his friends
eating—or smiling—or walking—or anything else—he found himself wondering if
they were going to die because of him.

The trees
began to thin, forcing him to pay more attention, and as they approached the
tree line they all took cover to view a rolling meadow. Rustling waves of grass
mixed with splashes of color from flowers gave the impression of serenity in
the wide field—except for the complete and utter lack of sound.