A Quick Sun Rises (13 page)

His course was clear. No longer did he fear or doubt what he was doing and why. It was as if a mist had been burned away by the bright, purifying rays of a noonday sun. He felt Jne’s chin resting on his shoulder as she peered ahead, no longer cowering behind his back, though her grip was still the noose of the previous days.

The clouds grew thicker and darker, gathering en masse as the wind increased and raged as if trying to forbid them to reach their goal. Thane and Tam caught the scent that told them rain was not only imminent but that a great storm was quickly developing and would overtake them before they reached the Ardath. The sun was completely blotted out, casting a dark shadow upon the rough mountains that separated the Chufa from the rest of the world. The rocs still pressed forward but were buffeted now by the winds that continued to gather and press against them.

Thane felt a rush of power with the coming storm that filled his every fiber calling him to relinquish his hold on the physical world and be free with the air, partaking of its power, becoming one with its strength of force. He resisted the urge to throw his spirit into the thunderous storm, though barely, the desire to release himself almost completely overwhelming him.

“Is there nothing you can do?” Jne yelled in his ear as the rocs shot upward in an attempt to rise above the winds.

He reached tentatively to the winds calling out to them to abate but pulled back almost immediately from the attempt. It was wrong. It felt intrusive and unnatural. He had commanded the winds many times and at the moment felt more powerful than ever before in what he could make them do, but to call them back from the innate processes that governed the planet felt…immoral. He could not do it. He would not do it. To do so would be nothing less than to throw himself in with the likes of Zadok and his evil manipulations of the world’s natural functions.

“No!” was his only reply as the rocs continued to reach for the storm’s zenith. A web of light crackled through the air followed almost immediately by the pounding sounds of thunder just as the first drops of rain began to batter them.

Quickly, the giant birds changed their strategy and suddenly the four companions were dipped into an incredible dive as rain pelted against their backs while lightning lit up the darkened sky. Jne’s face was once again pressed hard against his back and he felt his breath squeezed from his chest as her grip tightened around his waist. They would be forced to fight the elements on the ground.

The mountain peaks loomed closer as the rocs shot toward them, the wind threatening to dislodge their passengers as it whirled about in an angry barrage that menaced the birds ability to remain level. Even with their immense size, the birds were no match for the powerful wind that battered them on every side. They needed to land quickly or risk not only their own lives, but those who clung tenuously to their backs. Sweeping past a large peek, the birds swung out of their dive as they approached the jagged mountain surface. There was nowhere soft to land. The best they could hope for was a shelf-like indention where they could drop in without too much difficulty and hopefully stop their momentum once their talons touched earth.

Thane’s roc suddenly banked left and he caught sight of an area that would have to do. Following its lead, the other roc fell in behind as they plunged toward a small level patch that was protected on one side by a few ragged looking trees and on the other by a large rock wall that rose up to a straight, narrow peak. The roc swooped lower, its wings teetering against the wind barely able to keep its flight straight as it rode the current while approaching the ground. Flapping back its wings at the last moment, it tried to ease the landing and pulled back to a stop but was caught by an overpowering gust that knocked it forward sending it hard into the ground. Thane and Jne were sent flying over its head and onto the mountain rock where they landed with a thud, both sliding forward at a dangerous speed toward the rock wall. The roc let out a terrible cry of pain as it twisted to the side, its right wing extended in a horrid fashion where it had been slammed into the mountain. Thane and Jne both hit the wall hard, stealing their breath and leaving them in a heap.

Chapter Eight 

Dayne set down the small box in the center of the busy square and then nervously looked around. He’d been issued this command only an hour before and had been sent out, with the rest of his company, with boxes and a charge to see their duty completed. They had rolled dice for location and he had been one of the losers. Originally he’d thought it better than those who were unlucky enough to have to knock the doors of every mansion in the next level, but he now realized that those soldiers were unlikely to encounter anyone at home since all of their inhabitants were more than likely out shopping—where he was—in the upper merchant quarters of the city. The sweet smells wafting past him from the bakery across the street weren’t helping the churning in his stomach as he stepped up onto his box.

The contempt that flashed from the eyes of those passing by was obvious. Since he was part of the king’s army none would actually force him out but it was evident from the stares that he was only endured at the lowest and most base level. A bug on one’s sleeve was given more leave than what would be proffered him. He found no favor here, and with what he was about to announce, he knew the degree of tolerance currently stomached would be strained to the utmost.

“Fine citizens of Calandra,” he squeaked, straining to control the quiver in his voice. He was about to continue but realized that no one was paying him any mind as the city’s elite passed by on every side. A large woman with too much make up and a hideously large wig bumped him with her flared skirt knocking him from his box and then cursed him for having dared stand in a spot that she desired to occupy. She even tried to kick his box away but the circumference of her skirts made it impossible for her to get close enough and only resulted in the hoop of her skirt pushing the box along the street.

Dayne quickly retrieved his pedestal and thought of leaving the high nosed upper class to their fate but realized he had to at least warn them of the peril that approached. Even though he knew it was futile, he would fulfill his duty. Slamming the box down again, he took a deep breath to calm himself while letting his anger build as best he could to give him the courage to proceed. Placing his index fingers inside his mouth he blew out a loud, high pitched whistled that stopped everyone in the area almost instantly. Most of the women and many of the men placed hands to hearts and lips as if they had just been struck and suddenly he felt the heated glares of everyone in the square focusing on him as if willing he be incinerated where he stood. He tried his best to glare back, but quickly felt his resolve waning in the face of such an enemy. Steel he would face happily, but this type of warfare was foreign and seemingly more lethal than any he’d experienced before. Pushing away the sudden desire to run, he took another breath to steady himself grasping in vain for the last wisps of anger he could muster.

“Fine citizens of Calandra,” he began again, no longer worried about the quiver in his voice, just wanting to get his message out and then be gone. “By order of the king, Calandra is ordered emptied by sundown this evening.”

There was an ominous moment of silence like the last exhaling breath before death claims its victim and then a sudden uproar filled the square. He was surprised to find the din was not from screams of terror or concern, but rather high peels of laughter. He looked around at the city’s upper crust incredulous at their reaction. “A great army approaches,” he tried to yell above the noise, but no one seemed to be listening. “You don’t understand,” he continued in vain, “everyone is leaving. There will not be anyone left to protect you! We must make for a safer haven! You will all die if you stay!”

The last sentence touched enough in the crowd that now some of their faces turned to him with the slightest stroke of worry lining their eyes. Maybe he would be able to talk sense to them after all.

“My friends,” a shrill voice suddenly raised above the crowd. Dayne looked to his left spotting the woman who was speaking and felt a chill pass through him. Madam Maggest. There was no hope for them now. “Do not worry yourselves by this…” she paused long enough to shoot the soldier her strongest look of repugnance and condescension, “…servant’s ill spoken words. There is no danger. My Prissley is in negotiations with the enemy as we speak drawing up terms for their peaceful surrender. Throw some day old bread at them and a promise of annuities and all will be as it always has. King Dagan has assured me personally that we have no reason to concern ourselves.” With her final words she shot Dayne a withering look as if challenging him to dare say anything more.

Knowing that all was lost, Dayne, to the amazement of all, found enough courage to respond. “King Dagan is dead.” The response he received from his revelation, though, was not anything at all what he expected.

Madam Maggest merely cocked an eyebrow and he couldn’t be certain, but he thought he caught the slightest curl of a smile cross her face. The crowd was hushed by the news but no one seemed the slightest distraught as hands quickly rose to covered whispering lips as the upper class in the square began to chatter about what this meant for them politically. No longer was the imminent threat of an approaching army commanding their attention, but rather how each could use the king’s demise to maneuver themselves to a higher station.

“And who sits in his stead now?” she asked, her voice not questioning, but commanding an answer.

“His majesty, Lord Kendun, has returned.” Dayne felt sick by what he was witnessing and almost felt relief that none of these people would be leaving the city. Deciding his duty had been fulfilled, he stepped off his box, not bothering to take it with him, and overheard Madam Maggest’s shrill voice, in what she obviously thought were hushed tones, “Jack Kendun was easy enough to get rid of the first time. It shouldn’t be any more difficult to be rid of him again.”

* * *

“Master Helgar,” a voice whispered in the dark as rough hands gently shook the dwarf prince’s shoulder.

Helgar’s eyes shot open, his hand instinctively reaching for the large battle axe resting beside him. “What be the problem?” he hissed, gripping the axe handle in ready.

“The dragon returns,” the voice replied barely loud enough for Helgar to capture the words and their meaning. Since turning west from the outskirts of Calandra the group of dwarf warriors remained vigilant to the skies expecting at any moment for a dragon to drop down on them. No longer did they camp at night in the open by the road but would instead travel miles out of their way to find a stand of trees to bed down under. This night they were nestled tightly in a grove of ash trees that offered thick cover from above and enough trunks to cover their location from the road.

“Where?” Helgar asked gruffly, the battle rage starting to boil within him.

Placing a finger to his lips for quiet, the watch guard motioned with his head for Helgar to follow. Making certain to keep well out of sight from the road the two dwarfs quietly passed from tree to tree using the trunks to hide their movement. Finally, they reached the outskirts of the grove, their backs pressed against the same trunk. “South of the road,” the guard whispered softly, “and farther to the west.”

Helgar nodded in understanding and slowly moved to the side where he could just see past the tree. The night was dark, the moon just barely making its way into the sky, though the light it offered was minimal being only a day past new. Helgar’s eyes strained to focus on what the guard had reported but as he swept the area he was not able to lock in on anything. Normally he would have chastised the dwarf for having a lively imagination, but the King’s Guard were no babes new to the world. These were the dwarf’s most elite fighters and though they had faced a dragon’s wrath previously and understood the fierceness of their enemy, it was still not enough to make them jump at shadows in the night.

Helgar continued to scan the area willing his eyes to draw in more light by which to see when suddenly something large and dark moved farther south and to the west of the area he’d been searching. His eyes locked on it, understanding the girth of such a creature could only equal that of one of the dragons they had faced earlier. He watched it as it raised its serpentine head and then suddenly leaped into the air, spreading its wings and pumping them furiously as it rose from the ground. He followed its flight, moving slowly around the tree to track it until it was too far from sight for him to make out any longer. Turning to the guard he motioned him back toward the camp. “Wake the others!”

The dwarfs maintained a forced watch through the rest of the night in case the dragon had actually discovered them and decided to return, but it never rematerialized. When dawn finally lit the sky, Helgar lead them from the tree cover and investigated the area where the dragon had been spotted. The locale was easy to find with the grass pushed back where its large girth had pressed it. A closer search revealed some blood splattering and a small patch of wool.

“Looks like it found itself a mutton meal,” Bardolf proclaimed. If the wool wasn’t enough to confirm his thoughts, a distant bleating was suddenly heard carried on the wind coming far to the south of their location.

“By what ye be seein’ yesternight,” Rangor added, “I’d be sayin’ it came from back to the west and be joined with its kin betwixt Haykon and Calandra by now.”

Helgar nodded in agreement, his eyes rising to look in the direction of his home to the southwest. “Aye. And I suddenly be feelin’ the need to be returnin’ more quickly to Thornen Dar.”

For the next two days the dwarfs continued at a quickened pace along the road headed toward their mountain home. No longer did they pass the night in slumber but instead took short breaks for food and quick naps before once again taking to the road at a rapid walk or half run. Though still extremely vigilant, no signs of dragons appeared either above or on the ground to the point that the threat of another engagement seemed to be slipping away. Not much was said between them as a fog of foreboding seemed to settle over the group pressing them on even faster as if tragedy threatened to catch them unaware.

On the third night, Helgar pulled them off into a stand of trees not fifty feet from the road for a moment of greatly needed rest. He informed them they had half an hour before setting himself down at the edge of the grove to keep watch. Bardolf offered him a piece of jerked meat and then leaned against a tree just opposite his prince and friend. “I know ye don’t be wantin’ to hear it, but…”

“Then don’t be sayin’ it,” Helgar snapped.

“…but ye be needin’ yer rest too.”

“I’ll rest when we be back in our home preparin’ fer war,” he snorted in reply.

“Aye,” Bardolf nodded. “It be a grand thought indeed to be splittin’ orc and goblin skulls again.”

Helgar didn’t reply, his thoughts guarded and his mind obviously occupied elsewhere. Bardolf regarded his friend for a moment and then suddenly went perfectly still. “Movement!”

Helgar nodded, seeing the dark form at the same time as it shuffled along the road moving toward Calandra. “What do ye be makin’ of it?” he whispered.

Bardolf suddenly left the tree line, trotting toward the form that seemed to struggle to keeps its feet. “Dwarf!” he called back.

The elite guard was at Helgar’s back almost instantly as all rushed the figure that was now aware of their presence and had stopped to face them in a defensive stance, his axe held ready.

“Hold friend,” Rangor called out as he sprinted passed Helgar who snorted in disapproval. “Ye be in the presence of yer prince.”

The figure immediately dropped his axe and dropped to his knees. “Lord Helgar?”

Just then the group converged on the lone dwarf who was obviously wounded and short on energy from a lack of food and water. A skin was passed to him but he brushed it aside, his wide eyes seeking out the prince. “Lord Helgar,” he repeated when he wasn’t able to pick his liege from the crowd.

Helgar stepped forward. “I be here lad, but what be this nonsense of calling me Lord?”

“My Lord, Helgar,” the dwarf said reaching a bloody hand out and taking hold of Helgar’s arm. “It be yer father, the king. He be dead!”

“No,” Helgar gasped, the full weight of his father’s loss and the responsibility it instantly placed on his own shoulders pressing heavily upon him.

“How?” Rangor barked, his own emotions a mixture of anger that the Home Guard did not protect their charge and regret that he was not standing by his king when he fell.

The injured dwarf’s eyes got large, a look of terror and incredulity washing over them as he remembered. “Ye’ll be thinkin’ me daft, but I swear on me axe that what I be tellin’ you be true. We were attacked right in the heart of Thornen Dar by a large snake-like creature with great wings.”

“Dragon!” Helgar spat. “Do they be formin’ from the very rock itself now that they be poppin’ up all over the country?”

“If that be the name of such creatures, then aye, it were a dragon,” the dwarf answered.

Helgar’s stony face turned even harder. “I need only be knowin’ one thing about my Da’s death. Was it in battle?”

“Aye, my Lord,” the dwarf answered. “It were glorious.”

Helgar nodded and turned away. No one followed him, understanding his need to be alone at the moment though Rangor motioned with his head for one of his men to keep track of the new king.

“And what of the others?” Bardolf asked. “Be the dragon defeated? And where be the survivors?”