A Crown Of War (Book 4) Page 2

  “Then we had better start looking,” Whill said, ignoring Roakore’s gaze. “This was likely Eadon’s main force; he will not have ventured far. Where we find the portal, we find him.”

  “You mean to face him then?” Avriel asked from behind him.

  The Other turned to her and grinned. “I mean to kill him.”

  Zerafin stepped forward. “Whill is right. Eadon will be close if he is here at all. We are trapped, but the rifts have been closed−we can only pray there are not more. I shall set the Ralliad to the task of seeking out Eadon’s base.”

  He turned back to a waiting general. “Gather the Ralliad for a briefing. Set everyone else to procuring a defensible location.”

  The general bowed and went off to carry out his orders.

  “Zorriaz and I shall begin scouting to the north,” Avriel suggested.

  “And we be searchin’ to the south,” said Roakore, referring to himself and Silverwind.

  “Very well,” said Zerafin. “Whill, you should−”

  The Other shot into the air and flew out to the east so quickly he soon disappeared from sight.

  Roakore mounted Silverwind and took a long pull from his water pouch. Holdagozz followed him and scowled up at his king with worry not befitting a dwarf.

  “I ain’t likin’ this, me king, I ain’t likin’ this at all. Rifts and portals and jumpin’ to another land with a footstep. Dark magic we be meddlin’ with, and we be trapped. Our rations won’t last a month. Naught but death be here. As we speak, our kin be fightin’ a likely invasion.”

  “Aye, I be agreein’ with ye. We be up shyte creek. But we ain’t gonna complain ourselves out o’ this. I made our feelings known, but now is time for action. We find the portal, we find a way home. You just keep these knuckleheads busy till then,” Roakore ordered.

  “Yes, me king!” Holdagozz had to yell over Silverwind’s flapping wings.

  “I be countin’ on ye, General,” Roakore yelled as he and Silverwind took to the sky.

  Avriel and a host of elven druids took flight also, and began their assigned scouting missions. The elves took the form of eagles, hawks, falcons, and owls. Some branched out into groups; others flew alone.

  Upon each of their heads, the elves wore a small gem; with them, the general of the Ralliad would scry their progress, seeing through their eyes. Roakore and Avriel too had been given such a gem, attached to a circlet and using the same magic as the Looking Glass of Araveal.

  Heading north with the others, Avriel wondered about Whill. She knew his alter ego had taken control, but she had not determined if that was a bad thing. He destroyed the entire dark elf army with one massive spell, the likes of which few had ever seen. She knew Whill now had the full backing and confidence of not only the elven armies, but also her brother. He was Whill, or at least, a part of his mind. She believed the Other was Whill’s tortured self, the one who remembered it all. She had no way of knowing Whill was a prisoner within the Other’s world of nightmares.

  The Other was fulfilling the ancient prophecy, and Avriel decided that no matter Whill’s current plight, it did not outweigh the good that would be done by his alter ego. Only a flicker of doubt nagged at the back of her mind, warning her of danger, but again, the results quieted those thoughts for the time being.

  Whill screamed, and his tortured voice echoed throughout the dark chambers of his mind, chambers that once held the Other. He fell so deep into the memory illusions of his prison, he began to forget what was real. Chained to the wall, he remained helpless to the ever-shifting memories of torture. The most brutal sessions replayed in living color, and, ever so slowly, Whill lost himself to the pain. The Other had not only gained control, but would soon destroy him.

  Whill found himself laid out on a table. A cage of seething rats and a large assortment of knives lay on the opposite table. Above him, his hated dark elf torturer grinned down on him.

  Chapter Three

  Spirit-Elf

  Eldon Island remained as quiet and peaceful as Dirk remembered. The only people who called it home were the tribal Eldonians, and no trouble was to be found from them. They stayed to themselves and lived mostly on the northern and eastern shores of Eldon. Krentz had flown Dirk to the southern coast, and they had yet to be discovered by anyone.

  Morning had come, and Dirk gazed upon Krentz in the light of the new sun. She was fading. The beams penetrated her body, illuminating it softly from within. The tattoos on her body swirled and danced lazily as she smiled up at him.

  “I am tired, Dirk. I must return to the spirit world.”

  Dirk turned his head in sorrow and reached for his cloak. From an inside pocket, he retrieved the relic.

  “What is it like there?” he asked.

  “Like a dream,” she purred. “Chief’s spirit home is a dark winter forest teeming with streams and wild game. I was there for only minutes, but I spent hours.”

  Dirk gave a smile hearing the experience was at least pleasant for her. “I could come with you.”

  “Are you mad?” she said, aghast.

  “You say I die because of you,” he reminded her with an arched eyebrow. “Perhaps we can be rid of the cursed vision also. Suppose I can be taken by Chief as well. We might watch the ages pass, together.”

  “Who would summon us, who would keep us? If another obtained the trinket, would we have to obey them? Should the trinket become lost, would we be trapped in the spirit world forever?” she asked.

  “You can’t emerge from the relic at will?” Dirk inquired.

  “No,” she admitted. “Had you not summoned me, I would not have gotten out. I heard your words loud throughout the spirit world. Your beckoning drew me forth, and, before me, a doorway to this world opened. When I came through, I found you on the ground, disoriented, and you soon passed out.”

  Dirk remembered seeing her fighting the dark elf and dwargon as flames leapt all around them. Krentz had shifted in and out of spirit form, disorienting and getting under the guard of her enemies.

  “Shifting to spirit form during combat…how did you learn that?” he asked, interested in the concept.

  She chuckled. “Chief taught me. Did I mention he can talk in his spirit realm?”

  “Yeah.” Dirk shook his head unable to imagine the conversation. Krentz had become almost entirely translucent, and her whispered words became nearly inaudible. Dirk moved to push back the hair from her face, but found no form. His hand went through her and found only dancing sunlight.

  “Goodnight, my love,” she smiled.

  “Back to the spirit world, Krentz,” Dirk managed to utter. She turned into a wisp and spiraled into the timber wolf relic.

  He let her stay in the spirit world all of the day, not knowing how much time she would need to recuperate. He noticed the more she or Chief held their physical form, the longer they had to remain within their own realm.

  He spent the day inspecting and repairing his gear. The cloak’s enchantments had been drained protecting him from the explosion of the dark elf war machine. His weapons and darts had been spared any serious damage, but he was running low.

  Night came, and he could wonder no more about Krentz. He summoned Chief, and the spirit wolf solidified, bounding around Dirk like a puppy.

  “Is she well?” Dirk asked hesitantly.

  Chief trotted and barked and was distracted by the smells of the world. Dirk snapped his fingers to get Chief’s attention.

  “Hey, is she ready or not?”

  Chief barked once and went about sniffing the perimeter. Dirk held the relic aloft and called to his beloved.

  “Join me once more, fair Krentz.”

  The relic glowed bright as a glowing mist swirled out and around his body. Krentz solidified before him; she seemed to have rested well. He reached out and touched her face, amazed that, once again, they were free.

  “Did it seem a long time?” he asked.

  “T’was days,” she said, kissing him. She noticed the nighttime.
“How long has it been?”

  “I sent you back just this morning,” he told her.

  “The waiting is unbearable,” she pouted. “Do not leave me to wait so long again.”

  Dirk nodded. “I believe you will tire less easily in the physical plane if you remain more often in spirit form.”

  “Yes, I suppose,” she admitted sullenly and shifted out of physical form. She became a wisp of light, which danced around Dirk and to his ear.

  “But you will miss looking upon me,” she teased with a faraway giggle.

  Dirk smiled as her spirit brushed against him and a warmth seeped through.

  “Show me how you can fight now,” he said as her spirit wound around his body. Dirk felt a kick to the back and dove into a roll with the momentum. He spun as he came up and was ready with a sweeping kick, but she was gone. He circled and backed into the shadows of the forest, and, even though his boots snapped twigs, they did not give a sound.

  “This isn’t fair,” Dirk laughed at the night.

  “My love,” came her voice echoed through the forest. “Fair doesn’t exist. Have I taught you nothing?”

  Dirk’s senses gave warning, and he ducked back as Krentz’s fist materialized and cut through the air. Dirk grabbed the arm, which turned to smoke in his hand. He defensively jumped back and was proven correct when Krentz materialized, coming down with a kick from on high. She charged him, and, as he moved to block, she disappeared and reemerged directly behind him in a heartbeat. She shifted in front of him, and Dirk threw a quick elbow behind him.

  Krentz materialized behind him, caught his elbow, and tried to move into a hold. Dirk quickly shifted into the proper countermove, as she had anticipated. She brought up a foot to his face as he spun out of the arm lock, but he was yet a step ahead. Just as he loosened his arm from her grasp, he grabbed the foot flying for his head. He ducked between her legs and rolled backward, pulling the leg with her. Krentz shifted her leg to a wisp of smoke, and Dirk rolled to stand behind her.

  They faced each other yet again. Krentz flinched a feint, and Dirk tensed. She grinned.

  “Wait until you see what else I can do in this form,” she laughed and disappeared.

  Dirk was slammed to the ground as Krentz solidified, straddling him.

  Chapter Four

  The Coming Storm

  The news came to Cerushia of the victory and taking of Fendora Island and the closing of the rift. Also came word of the three kings. Whill, Roakore, and Zerafin were now lost on the other side of the rift. Reports began to come in from the Ralliad scouts through the Looking Glass of Araveal that the rifts had been closed in the other kingdoms as well. The elves rejoiced at the news of the swift victory, but also lamented their losses.

  Tarren and Helzendar remained within the dwarf quarters along with Lunara, who spent most of her time reassuring them both that Whill and Roakore would find a way. It had only been two days, she reminded them, but the boys remained fraught with worry and continued to think up some other possible obstacle they might face.

  “What if they are stuck in Drindellia for good?” Tarren asked through a mouthful of bread.

  The entire lunch was spent doing more speculating than eating. Helzendar nodded to Lunara, sharing Tarren’s sentiment.

  “Aye, took you elves better than three months to cross the oceans to Agora.”

  Lunara was young for an elf, and it showed in her lack of patience. She put her glass down a bit too hard and abruptly left the room. Tarren noticed a hint of tears in her eyes.

  “Bah, what did we say?” Helzendar asked Tarren with a mouthful of goat cheese.

  “I think she be as worried as us, and we ain’t helping with all our questions, I bet,” said Tarren, worrying after her. He got up from the table to seek her out.

  “What, am I the only one who be hungry?” Helzendar complained as Tarren walked out of the room.

  Tarren found Lunara up at the top of the dwarves’ hill. She stood still as stone as her silver hair danced in the breeze. Her only movement came in the occasional tremor.

  Tarren wasn’t sure whether to approach her or leave her alone. The boy nervously shifted between turning back and staying a half a dozen times.

  “Are you coming or going, love?” Lunara asked, wiping her eyes.

  He walked to stand beside her. He didn’t want to look in case she was embarrassed of crying. He wondered why she cried. Tarren dared not ask; he had learned from his mother that when it came to women, they sometimes wanted to be listened to rather than helped. And so, he simply stood by her and waited.

  Lunara gave no indication she wanted to talk, so they simply stood in the afternoon sun, watching the strange-colored clouds thicken. Tales of Whill’s feats in the battle of Fendora had been grand, and the remaining clouds of the destruction he wrought were proof. The city below was alive with activity as more elven armies arrived hourly from all parts of Agora. The rift on Fendora Island had been opened for days, and legions of dark elves and darker creatures had poured forth. The entire island had nearly been stripped bare to build the hundreds of ships that had ferried away Eadon’s armies. Whill had closed the rift, but fleets of dark elf warships had taken to the seas−already reports came of an escalation in naval confrontations.

  When Lunara finally spoke, it was of Whill. “I have dreamed of him for all of my life. He is the reason I insisted on joining the elven force that aided Isladon and the Ro’Sar dwarves. Then I heard of you, Whill’s ward, and I thought, if I become close with the boy, I can get closer to Whill.”

  She turned to Tarren and put a hand to his on the balcony railing. “It was what drew me to you, but not what keeps me at your side. I have come to love you, Whill or no Whill.”

  “I know,” he smiled. “He will be all right. You have to believe.”

  Lunara laughed and cried at the same time, and Tarren wondered how that was possible.

  “I know,” she said weakly and wiped her eyes, annoyed. “I know that he will be safe. I believe he is the chosen one and all shall come to pass. But I will never know him as…it shall never be. His heart belongs to Avriel. I am a poor subject to my princess and an egocentric mess.”

  Tarren suddenly understood and things got a bit more uncomfortable for him. What did a boy know of such things? What should he say? Luckily his mother’s advice came to him again, and he simply listened. However, Lunara seemed to be done talking; instead, she stood and stared out over the city below, dim under the dark clouds of Whill’s victory.

  Tarren’s mind returned to Whill and his own worry. He had waited for six long months for any word of him. The first weeks had been the worst, those spent within Kell-Torey. Everyone had been kind enough, though he had more than once overheard offhanded comments about Whill’s frivolous claims of his lineage. Many simply didn’t believe it, and others−King Mathus’s son, namely−didn’t want to. He viewed Whill as a direct threat, rather than a blessed, long-lost nephew, and his disdain he did not hide, no matter the king’s wishes or proclamations regarding Whill and his ward. Tarren had made no friends with any of the children of the royal family, who saw him as little more than a lucky street urchin.

  Tarren was glad when Abram had traveled to Kell-Torey to bring him to Roakore’s mountain. There, his depression and loneliness were replaced by rigorous training and study, and he found fast friends in Roakore’s son, Helzendar, and Lunara. Without the talented elf healer to tend to his many wounds, he would never have been able to train with the dwarves. She had bestowed upon him a great gift in the staff, Oakenheart, and he knew he could never truly repay her for all she had done. He looked to her with renewed gratitude and, to her surprise, suddenly hugged her.

  Lunara laughed and bent to hug him full.

  “It will all work out,” Tarren told her with a smile.

  “You are the bravest human I have ever known,” she smiled back. “Thank you.”

  At the edge of the city, a deep bell tolled and echoed forth in a note of forebodi
ng. Another bell answered its call, then another, and soon the city began to buzz with activity.

  “What is it?” Tarren asked.

  Lunara set her jaw and gave a determined sigh. “Cerushia will soon be under attack.”

  Chapter Five

  Taming the Dogs

  The Seven Tribes of Volnoss marched south with the Draggard army for two days. After the portal had suddenly closed, Eadon flew off toward Agora, leaving Aurora to lead. Five thousand Draggard had made it through the rift before it suddenly and violently disappeared. Aurora knew that the dark lord had not intended for the rift to close, for she had felt his fury. She could only guess that Whill had something to do with it.

  The Draggard made the barbarians uneasy, and with all haste they traveled to the southern shore, eager to put the beasts far from their villages. They made camp only once, and few barbarians slept, so loud were the sounds of the Draggard horde in the darkness.

  Led by the silent lich, Azzeal, they found the waters frozen as Eadon said they would. The channel between Volnoss and northern Shierdon was frozen thick with ice; the masts of marooned boats and fishing vessels that had been frozen solid jutted out in every direction. Aurora followed the elf lich and led her armies across the channel.

  By nightfall, they had arrived upon the coast of Shierdon. Mounted scouts reported the coastal town deserted, and Aurora ordered camp be made. As the supply caravans drudged forth, Aurora stared sidelong at Zander. The elf sat upon a large barbarian horse akin to Aurora’s and regarded her with a nod. “There is something on your mind, General?”

  “Your Draggard army will march well beyond the town and wait while my people sleep. I would have them rested before we travel further,” she ordered.

  “The Draggard require no rest, General,” Zander informed her.

  “Humans do, and I will not have the beasts disturb them. Do as I say−we will join you at first light.”