A Crown Of War (Book 4) Read online

  They reached the clearing, quickly mounted, and took to the air. It seemed a battle was brewing in the eastern door of the pass, and none of the three meant to miss it.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  The Way of the Peaceful Monk

  Roakore and Holdagozz flew the entire day and well into night ever northwest toward the Ro’Sar Mountains. The dwarf king’s anxiety grew with every beat of Silverwind’s wings, and he spurred his mount on to maintain a brisk pace and find the quickest currents on which to fly home. The hour was well past midnight when a shimmering light, just over the horizon and below the moon, soared through the sky toward them. The light approached them rapidly and blinked out.

  “I ain’t likin the looks o’ that,” Roakore admitted. Behind him in the saddle, Holdagozz agreed.

  “Ye thinkin it be best to take to ground for a bit? Lest it o’ ill intent,” Holdagozz asked.

  “Bah,” Roakore scoffed and spat, the spittle nearly hitting Holdagozz’s beard blowing in the wind. “I ain’t stopping for nothin’, and ain’t nothing stopping me getting home. If it be o’ ill intent, it be dead.”

  Holdagozz maneuvered in the saddle to watch their back. Roakore scoured the sky before them as Silverwind rose higher. The light remained hidden, or had burnt out; Roakore did not know. He thought it nothing more than a shooting star.

  No sooner had he thrown it from his mind, than a silver dragon-hawk uncloaked in front of them. With a squawk, it angled to intercept with wicked talons leading the way. Silverwind instinctively banked to avoid a collision, and Roakore instinctively lashed out with his axe. The talons missed, as did the blade, and, in the moments before the near-collision, Roakore recognized the rider.

  “Be a dark elf on the beast!” Holdagozz yelled over the wind, as Silverwind went into a dive, lifting the two from their saddles to float weightless, bound only by the thick leather straps about the saddle.

  “It be Eadon! Hold on!” Roakore yelled, and sent Silverwind into another dive. Behind them, the dragon-hawk reared to follow.

  “We ain’t for out flyin’ that one!” Holdagozz warned.

  Just then, the crackle of lightning ripped through the sky and a bolt came at them from the dark elf rider. Roakore banked hard, but the lightning followed and hit Holdagozz. The forking bolts branched off, jolting Roakore and Silverwind as well. Silverwind gave a keening cry and faltered in flight. Another blast hit them square, and Roakore pulled Silverwind’s reins, attempting to gain control as the seemingly unconscious hawk fell limply.

  “Wake up, ye bloody bird!” he screamed, as the world spun round and round in his vision. The ground was coming up fast to meet them. Holdagozz lolled in his saddle as they fell. Roakore kicked and pulled at feathers, trying to jolt Silverwind awake. As they spun, he spied the dragon-hawk in fast pursuit.

  “Wake up, Silverwind, I ain’t for dyin today!” he screamed, shaking the bird’s neck.

  Silverwind came to with an angry squawk. With a flutter of flailing wings, she righted herself and pulled up at the last moment. Their momentum brought them in fast as she leveled out and grazed the treetops below, clipping many of the higher branches. She barely kept them aloft. Another bolt of lightning hit them, and Roakore’s vision went black.

  When he regained consciousness, he realized the dragon-hawk had landed in a clearing made by its own dragon breath. Embers burned beneath the beast’s large talons, and the smoke from the ring of burnt trees lingered lazily in the still air. Through the smoke, a dark elf strode toward them. Roakore fumbled with the leather strap that bound him, as he lay in a tangled mess with the unconscious Silverwind and Holdagozz. With a scream of rage, Roakore snapped the strap freeing him, and took up his mighty battle axe. Holdagozz moaned something inaudible as Roakore unstrapped him as well.

  “Up and at ’em laddy, we got company,” said Roakore as he walked to stand between the dark elf and his mount.

  The dark elf strode forth boldly, the sword at his hip was sheathed, and an air of power surrounded him. Roakore had only ever seen the dark elf from a distance, but he knew this one to be Eadon.

  “You!” Roakore bellowed as rage consumed him.

  He took up one of the hatchets strapped to his thighs and let fly. Eadon didn’t bother to deflect the weapon; instead, it bounced harmlessly off of his energy shield. Roakore growled with determination and charged with his axe held high. Eadon smirked as Roakore approached with a war cry, and brought his blade down with a powerful strike aimed at the dark elf’s head. Eadon lifted but a hand and grabbed the blade as it descended toward him, stopping it dead. He tore it from Roakore’s grip as if the dwarf king’s strength was no greater than that of a child. With his other hand, he backhanded Roakore and sent him whirling to land hard among the burning embers.

  “Me King!” Holdagozz yelled, getting to his feet and making a charge of his own. Two hatchets flew from him in rapid succession, but these too where deflected harmlessly. From Eadon’s hand flew a fireball, and Roakore grimaced, seeing his friend’s fate. The fireball hit Holdagozz, and flames burst forth, covering the brave dwarf as he was thrown back twenty feet.

  Roakore found many large, charred stones about the forest floor. Summoning his strength and focusing his mind, he willed the stones into the air. All around him, stones, rocks, and boulders rose up and churned. Roakore cried the name of the god of war, and sent the group of floating stones flying toward Eadon. The dark elf bellowed a spell, and the stones all turned to dust in their flight. Unrelenting, Roakore barreled in again, determined to have the dark lord’s head.

  Eadon was upon him before Roakore could react. The dark elf grabbed him by the throat and held him high. Roakore beat at the iron grip and kicked furiously, but it was no use. Eadon cocked his head, intrigued, taking a measure of the dwarf king.

  “Your people are brave, good king. Your ferocity is admirable. I think I shall spare the dwarves, your strength and courage make the dwargon one of my most formidable creations.”

  “Eat shyte, ye dark stain!” Roakore croaked.

  Eadon laughed. “Ferocious to the last.” Roakore spat in his face, but the spittle sizzled against the energy shield and disappeared in smoke.

  “You be a coward, hiding behind your fancy magic! If you was elf enough to fight me face-to-face, you would die where you stand,” said Roakore, trying to taunt him into dropping his energy shield. Eadon punched him in the ribs, breaking many. Roakore grimaced, but refused to make a pained sound.

  “I have not survived thousands of years by letting my opponents coax me into fair fights,” Eadon laughed, and flung Roakore high into the air toward the dragon-hawk. Roakore landed hard, but ignored the pain. He sprang to his feet and charged again, wielding his hatchets. Behind Eadon, Holdagozz had gotten to his feet once again, and despite the small flames that still burned upon his armor and person, the brave dwarf charged Eadon as well.

  Roakore was blasted back by an energy spell that knocked the wind from his lungs and slammed him against the dragon-hawk. He watched helplessly as Eadon turned toward the charging Holdagozz and punched his hand through his chest. The dark lord pulled back quickly, and a surprised Holdagozz stared at his own beating heart.

  “Holdagozz!” Roakore screamed.

  As his friend’s body fell to its knees, and slowly toppled over, Roakore charged once again, hatchets in hand. Eadon met the charge, blocking the blades with his hands. Roakore screamed all the while, cursing and frothing at the mouth, consumed by grief and rage. Eadon sent the hatchets flying as he blocked, but Roakore came on with his strong fists. Punches strong enough to drop an ox were absorbed by Eadon’s energy shield. Eadon caught Roakore’s right arm in a block and snapped it like a twig. Unfazed in the least, Roakore continued screaming and slamming blows against Eadon’s shield. The dark elf caught the other arm and broke that as well. He hit Roakore with a punch to the jaw that shattered molars and sent him flying once more.

  Roakore landed with a thud, and the world spun. A few fe
et away, he met the dead eyes of his friend Holdagozz. Despite Roakore’s rage, his vision went black at the edges. Fighting the daze, he tried to lift himself up to attack again. His arms useless, he sat up and stood on shaky legs.

  “Your determination is commendable, good king, but I grow tired of these games,” said Eadon. From his hand, a black writhing spell shot forth and hit Roakore in the chest, and the dwarf fell to the ground in a heap.

  *

  Lunara clutched her chest and fell to her knees. “Holdagozz,” she breathed.

  “What’s wrong?” Tarren came to her, concerned. Lunara did not answer; she could not. She shook with grief, and tears welled in her eyes.

  “What is wrong with her?” Tarren begged of the Watcher, but the old elf seemed not to hear. His head was turned to the north, and foreboding spread across his face.

  “I have been mistaken,” he said to himself.

  Tarren comforted Lunara, and looked to Helzendar helplessly. The dwarf boy had no answers for him. Even the two elven guards had begun to act strange. They stopped in their water weaving, and they too stared toward the north. Tarren scanned the ocean, but he saw nothing.

  “Holdagozz…has fallen,” Lunara sobbed.

  “How can you know?” Tarren asked, his tone assuring her she was mistaken.

  “He comes,” the Watcher said hypnotically. “He comes for you,” he said to Tarren. The calm demeanor that the Watcher always wore withered away, leaving a frown in its place.

  “Who comes? What do you mean?” said Tarren, frightened by the Watcher's uncharacteristic concern.

  “What you elves talkinʼ about?” Helzendar began, but soon his attention was drawn to the north as well.

  The air became thick, and Tarren’s ears popped with the pressure change. Off in the distance, to the north, a swirling disturbance began high above the water. Darkened clouds swirled, spewing bolts of lightning. The wind picked up and blew Tarren’s hair forward. The boat lurched as well, its bow pulled in the direction of the growing rift.

  “This was inevitable,” said the Watcher, staring not at the rift like the others, but the deck of the boat, as if pondering something of importance.

  “What was inevitable?” Tarren asked him, but he was ignored.

  A swift sucking noise came, and Tarren felt the boat pulled forward. But then, just as suddenly, there came an explosion of sound and the shockwave filled the ship’s sails from the opposite direction. The noise came not from an explosion of fire and debris, but with the opening of a small rift floating high above the ocean waters.

  “What was inevitable?” Tarren asked again, spurred by the promise of violence. When he was not answered a second time, he got in front of the Watcher and shook his shoulders.

  “Answer me!” he begged.

  The Watcher seemed to notice him then for the first time, dazed, as if he had just woken up. He raised his hands to take Tarren’s and smiled upon the boy.

  “The rivers of time flow as they may, all possibilities exist at once and not at all. I see all possibilities, but not this one. I am sorry. He will take you now.”

  “Who?”

  Just then, a blood curdling cry issued from the rift, and from it flew a feathered dragon the likes of which Tarren had never seen. Its feathers turned from the blue of the sky to brilliant silver.

  “Eadon,” Tarren answered himself.

  “Eadon,” Lunara breathed, moving instinctively to guard Tarren.

  “Does this end well in any of the futures you see?” Tarren asked. He was as scared as he had ever been in his life, but showing it would get him nowhere. The adults were scared as well, which made it worse. Helzendar showed not fear, but anger. For all he knew it was the truth, perhaps his dwarven friend was truly not scared. If so, Tarren was jealous of his strength.

  “Yes, one of them,” the Watcher answered, smiling at him. The old elf regarded Helzendar strangely and laughed. “Oh, no, dear boy, you shouldn’t say that to Eadon.” He waved a hand in the air and the dwarf fell to the deck snoring.

  “What do we do?” Lunara asked the Watcher, as Eadon soared toward them.

  The Watcher did not respond, but stared into Tarren’s eyes. Tarren panicked, but the old elf called to his mind, and his soft voice soothed all fears.

  “Trust in me, and you shall live,” said the Watcher.

  Tarren did trust him, he would trust in anything that would help him now. He felt a strange sensation of falling, and then being caught by warm, swift currents like hands ushering his soul. Vast, stretching fields of golden wheat and a sun bright and clear shone before him. Yellow streaks of golden light mingled, twirled and danced with bright white, silver, and orange. Another flash of light followed by another, and yet another, until only streaking lights existed. In his mind, Tarren flew through a field of fireflies…and opened his eyes.

  Eadon’ dragon-hawk splashed down amid a torrent of flying ocean spray. The wings, thick and muscled, extended twice the length of the boat. Its maw was wide and spear-toothed, so large that it could snap the boat in two easily. Eadon stood from his saddle, high atop the floating dragon’s back.

  Tarren turned to the Watcher, and, shocked, he saw himself standing there. His-self offered him a wink, and Tarren had to rub his eyes; still he did not believe it. He stared at himself and stumbled a bit but was caught by Lunara. When he saw his own arm he nearly screamed.

  “Do something,” she said to Tarren. “We must try. It is impossible, but we must try,” she pleaded, staring into Tarren’s eyes, which were not his eyes, but the Watcher’s.

  “It’s all right,” said the Watcher as Tarren. “The Watcher and I have a plan, please trust us.”

  Lunara looked to Tarren in the Watcher’s body, her eyes asked many questions, but she remained silent.

  Eadon strode down the long scales of his dragon-hawk as if down the stairs of his highest tower. Tarren would have trembled had he not been in someone else’s body. The two guards moved to intercept Eadon as he stepped on the boat’s rail, but from each side of the ship came serpents of water that wrapped themselves around the elves and yanked them off the deck and into the depths below. Eadon walked onto the boat as if nothing had happened. He stopped when he saw the Watcher.

  “You?” he laughed. “I had not thought you alive after all these years.”

  Tarren didn’t know what to say, what if he gave away the ruse? A power emanated from Eadon, and though unseen, it was surely felt, the way that a furious person darkens an entire room without word or gesture. He had the air of a thunderhead about him, and a silent hurricane was in his gaze.

  “I must amuse the gods.” Tarren heard the Watcher’s voice and spoke the words, but not on his own accord. It seemed that the Watcher had left some of himself inside his body.

  “Indeed, you must,” Eadon squared on him. He felt the Watcher take control of his eyes. To Tarren’s relief, he did not raise them to meet Eadon’s, but settled upon the dark elf’s chin.

  “Do you still practice The Way of the Morenka?” Eadon asked.

  “I do.”

  Eadon eyed him up and down, and Tarren felt the silent battle between the two elves; Eadon probing the Watcher’s mind, and the old elf diverting Eadon’s attention and leading him through circles of thought and imagery. When Eadon attacked more forcefully, the Watcher flooded his mind with the purest love that he could summon. Tarren was bathed in peace and love and the feeling of home, of friends and laughter and family. Eadon recoiled from the intensity of the Watcher’s love for him with a pained expression.

  “I would show you the way to peace, if you would only ask.”

  Eadon seemed at first furious, but soon he gained control of himself. Tarren thought that he would be struck down on the spot. The Watcher had pushed him too far. Eadon had recoiled from the light he was shown as if burned by fire.

  “I am afraid that I never mastered your school. But, I find it fascinating,” said Eadon with a mirthless grin. He turned his attention to Lunara,
and Tarren recognized the hungry eyes that men used to give his sisters back home.

  “She has nothing to offer you,” said the Watcher. “Nor do any of us. It is the boy you want.”

  Eadon’s eyes moved from Lunara to the Watcher, and then to Tarren’s body. The Watcher played the part.

  “No, no!” Tarren-Watcher screamed. “You have to do something,” he clawed at the Watcher’s robes.

  Whether Lunara was playing along or not, she began to cry.

  “You will do nothing to stop me?” Eadon asked, as he pulled Tarren’s body to himself and held him by the collar as Tarren’s body kicked and screamed.

  “What is there to be done?” said the Watcher. “But pray that you will find the light?”

  Eadon smirked at that. He seemed to ponder for a moment, waiting for Lunara or the Watcher to retaliate. He attempted to search their minds, but found only the Watcher’s love surrounding them. Anger flashed behind Eadon’s eyes, and Tarren was sure that he would kill them all.

  “If you insist on shedding blood, I would offer mine. For with it would go my death-spell, and its power would consume even you Eadon, and you would know love,” Tarren felt himself say through the Watcher.

  Eadon sent them each a reproachful look, turned swiftly, and bore Tarren’s body away. He mounted the dragon-hawk, and it took off across the ocean like a duck, flapping its wings to gain momentum and quickly running atop the water to finally soar high into the sky. He circled twice, flew into the rift, and was gone.

  Tarren was amazed that they were all still alive. Off to the side of the boat, he spied a sleeping Helzendar. Lunara peered into his eyes, and it was strange to be taller than her.

  “Tarren? Is that you?” she asked.