The Dragon's Test (Book 3) (22 page)

Braun shrugged. “Honestly, I am not sure. She hasn’t said much of anything since we went into the tunnel.”

“Come with me, Braun, there is something I want to tell her.”

“I’ll go and find Maser Wendal,” Lady Arkyn said.

Erik was already walking toward the stable. He saw his adoptive mother standing, leaning on the entrance in a long black dress. The bottom of the skirt was smudged with dirt and a couple shafts of straw clung to the cloth.
Her face was stoic, but Erik could almost feel her heavy heart as if it beat in his own chest.

“Are you sure this is wise?” Braun asked. “You haven’t told anyone else, what if…”

“It may not be wise, but it feels right,” Erik said with a quick shrug. “I only hope she won’t hate me.”

Braun gripped Erik’s shoulder tight and spun him around. “None of this is your fault. Not your father’s death, not this battle, none of it.”

“All of it is my fault,” Erik replied bitterly. “Unless you know of another son born to my father, I am the curse. The warlock was right.” Braun stepped back and Erik walked away, leaving the man standing baffled. As he approached the stable a pair of footmen came out to greet him. One held a water skin and the other held a loaf of bread. He waved them off and went straight to his adoptive mother.

“It was a great house,” she told him as he came close.

Erik turned and looked once more at the charred remains of his home. “Yes it was,” he agreed. He turned back to her and stammered through an apology.

“What have you to be sorry for?” she asked.

“I have failed to protect us,” Erik said. His hand went for his necklace and pulled his father’s ring from under his shirt. He brought it up over his head and held the ornament in his right palm. “I took a vow to serve the family, but I have repaid you only with blood.”

Lady Lokton stepped forward and took the ring from him. She slipped it onto her thumb. “This ring was given to him by his father, who received it from his father before him,” she said. “My husband was a strong believer in family.” She looked up with the first smile on her face that Erik had seen since arriving. “That’s why we chose to adopt,” she said. “He felt like a failure for not being able to produce his own heir, but eventually he warmed to the idea of adopting another as our own.”

Erik stared at the ring while he tried to formulate his next sentence. How could he ask for her forgiveness? How could he face her now?

She stepped forward and placed the ring back into his hand. “You make sure this gets back to my son,” she instructed him. “He should know how proud we are of him.”

“Even now?” Erik ask, bewildered.

She nodded. “Even now,” she said. “He was the only one we felt connected to. My husband loved him as much if not more than he could have ever loved another child. I do too.”

“But, everything is destroyed,” Erik protested.

“No,” Lady Lokton reassured him. “Everything is not lost. You make sure my son fulfills his destiny. I will see my husband again in the halls of his fathers in Volganor, of that I am sure. Just as the sun brought victory to us this morning, there will be a new dawn to chase away the night from my heart, in time.”

Erik stood speechless. He slowly put the ring back around his neck and tucked it under his shirt.

“I’m sure Master Lepkin will pass your message along,” Braun said as he came up from behind.

“Yes,” Erik said with a nod. “I will see he gets it.”

Lady Lokton’s smile faded and she looked past them to the house. “Braun, I am sorry I didn’t listen to you before. I should have gone with the caravan from here.”

“It’s not too late,” Braun said.

Erik placed a hand on Braun’s shoulder. “Braun, go and lead the caravan out. Go as quickly as you can to Drakei Glazei. I am sure the king will provide shelter.”

“I should stay with you,” Braun protested.

“No,” Erik replied. “Your place is with Lady Lokton and the others of the house. Go, and take enough men to make sure you reach Drakei Glazei.”

“What about you?” Lady Lokton asked.

Erik looked out behind him. “I have a feeling the enemy will make another run at us. I and the other masters will stand here and finish the fight.” A vein in Braun’s forehead popped out and throbbed as he stared hard at Erik, but Erik shrugged and offered a smile. “We’ll be alright,” he assured him.

“Come, Braun, let’s not waste time. There are many other women here who should go with us.”

“Very well, milady,” Braun said. He stayed a moment longer, making sure his disagreement registered with Erik, and then he followed after Lady Lokton, bellowing out orders for preparations to be made.

Erik crouched down and leaned back against the stable wall, watching the field to the west. A footman came and plopped some food and drink before him without a word, and then continued on with whatever he had been doing. Erik slowly ate the bread as he scanned the skies. “If only I could turn back into a dragon,” he said between bites. “Then I could end this fight.”

He closed his eyes and went inside his mind, accessing his power and trying to call forth the power of the dragon form. Nothing happened. He continued to meditate for several minutes, but instead of assuming the form of a dragon, sleep overtook him as exhaustion finally was allowed to surface and his muscles submitted to the battle fatigue.

*****

“This is a disaster!” Eldrik shouted. “The men are routing!”

“Not to worry,” Silvi assured him. “We still have our last hundred in reserve. Have them form up behind the crest of the hill. When our men see them, I will cast a spell to give them courage. We will let them rest for a time, allowing the enemy to think they won. Then, we shall strike at midday when our men are fresh.”

Eldrik threw his hands up. “Or perhaps I should take my true form and show them the sharpness of my fangs!” he growled.

Silvi rubbed his arm with her left hand and looked into his eyes. “You are strong,” she said. “But you are still green. You are not ready for such a task.”

Eldrik pulled away from her. “Fine. Cast your courage spell and bring the men back to the camp.” He stormed off through the camp passing by groups of mindless soldiers that hardly acknowledged him. “What good are these men to me?” he grumbled.

“My lord!” someone shouted from afar off. Eldrik turned to see one of his warriors running for him. “We have suffered heavy losses,” the man shouted.

Eldrik stopped and waited for the man to approach. He recognized his face, but he couldn’t quite remember the man’s name. Eldrik thought perhaps it was Mendael, or Maebel, but he couldn’t be certain. “What is the report?” Eldrik asked.

“The mages that joined us, only seven of them remain. Of our numbers, we lost seventy.”

“So we are down to fifty-seven?” Eldrik calculated.

The man shook his head. “No, there were twenty who abandoned the fight when they saw the mages. We have only thirty-seven left."

“There is another hundred in reserve,” Eldrik said.

The man’s head snapped back in shock. “Why didn’t you send them in to the fight?”

Eldrik didn’t want to admit that the men would not listen to him. So he ignored his warrior’s question. “We also have the remainder of the men from the front. Go and count our total numbers and come and report back to me.”

The man nodded crookedly and turned on his heels.

Eldrik returned to his tent and threw himself face-down on his cot. The thin boards creaked and groaned under his weight, but the bed held. A moment later he heard the tent flap open and someone walked in. He turned to see Silvi smiling at him.

“What do you want?” he asked.

“I thought you might need the company,” she said as she coyly stalked up to the side of his bed and knelt beside him. She stroked his hair to the side and bit her lower lip. “Many great men face setbacks in the time before their rise.” She took in a deep breath. “Have you heard of Gokal the Blooded? He suffered thirty military defeats before he was able to found his mighty empire in the south.”

“And then one hundred years later his empire was overrun with orcs,” Eldrik countered.

Silvi laughed. “Well, Lucien the First suffered from the shaking disease. That’s why he held court behind closed doors, and commanded battles from inside a great tent. His was a mighty empire. It lasted centuries, and many of its traditions permeated even the farthest corners of our world.”

“Bracken is dead,” Eldrik said suddenly, cutting off the conversation. “I do not have the experience to command a battle.”

“But the enemy is weak now,” Silvi said. “We still outnumber them, but now they are worn down and we can crush them with our fresh reserves. As soon as our other warriors have rested, we can run them down.
I have finished my spell on the reserve as well. They will listen to you now.”

Eldrik shook his head. “We shall see,” he said. “I thought this would be much easier, especially with our warlocks, but they lack the strength to fight and their spells are not as wonderful as I had believed.”

“We live in an imperfect world,” Silvi noted. “As such, magic is as prone to faults as is any endeavor of the flesh, but I assure you that we still have great strength. We have crippled the enemy.”

The tent flap opened and in walked a stone-faced lieutenant. Eldrik raised his head from the bed and noted that it was not one of his men, but one of Bracken’s.

“You are the commander now?” the man asked.

Eldrik pushed himself up and turned to face the lieutenant. “I am,” he said.

“We have eighty-nine men who survived the skirmish,” he said. “Add this to the thirty-seven men remaining from your army and the hundred in reserve and we have a total of two hundred twenty six men.”

“I don’t suppose you know how many warriors the enemy has?” Eldrik chided.

“Seventy three, except they are preparing a caravan and several soldiers are departing with them. Our scouts will have the exact count soon.”

“Who is in the caravan?” Eldrik demanded.

“The womenfolk, and a few guards as escorts. Masters Lepkin, Gorin, and Wendal remain with Lady Arkyn and the main body of the army.”

“Are those the only masters left?” Silvi asked.

The man nodded grimly. “Shall I have the reserves prepare?” he asked Eldrik.

Eldrik nodded. “That would be helpful.”

Erik woke to the frantic shouts above him. People ran to and fro before him, scrambling to man the crude picket line they had apparently erected during his nap. Clanking armor and bandaged bodies filed out of the stable. For all of the shuffling about, Erik’s view was completely blocked, but judging from everyone’s grim faces, something was very wrong.

His first thoughts went to the dragon he had seen in the warlock’s house. He jumped to his feet and involuntarily let out a sigh of relief when he failed to spy anything more than a couple of buzzards circling the area.

“Lepkin, up here,” Lady Arkyn called out. Erik turned and went up a ladder that she dropped for him from the stable’s roof. As he neared the top rung he turned and his mouth dropped. A man bearing the colors of House Cedreau rode at the front of an army easily more than four times the size of what he had left. “We have fifty men,” Lady Arkyn said as if reading his thoughts.
“Braun led twenty others out with the caravan about an hour ago.” She squinted her eyes for a moment and scanned the oncoming army. “They have more than two hundred.”

“I thought killing the warlock would give us a better advantage,” Erik admitted.

“We are not dead yet,” Gorin gruffed from below.

“Nor shall we be,” Lady Arkyn said. She put an arrow to her bow string and aimed high into the sky.

“Can you hit the man in front?” Erik said.

“I can try,” she said. She stood up to her full height and set the arrow loose. The missile flew high into the midday clouds and disappeared only to arc down and stick in the ground well short of its mark. “Too far,” Lady Arkyn said.

Erik hooked his feet around the outer edges of the ladder and used the leather around his forearms to buffer his skin as he slid down the ladder. He straightened his sword belt and gave Gorin a nod. “Let’s finish this.”

Gorin nodded and the two walked to the front of the line. Erik looked to his right and left. Thin, hastily carved pikes jutted out from the ground like jagged fangs of some wild beast, but Erik knew they would not deter the enemy.

“We slaughtered them,” Gorin commented. “For every one of ours that fell we dropped at least five of theirs, yet they still come at us.”

“They are determined,” Erik replied.

“You know, Lepkin, I heard about what you did at Valtuu Temple.” Gorin turned and looked into Erik’s eyes. “I also heard Lady Arkyn’s account of what happened at the senate hall.” He paused and looked back to the approaching army. “If there was ever a time to use your dragon form, now would be it.”

“It is not so simple,” Erik said. He completely agreed, but he had no idea how he had unlocked Lepkin’s power before, nor did he have the time now to fumble around with it. The marching feet pounded the earth before them. They moved as one being, each of them in lockstep with the other. As they neared they started to beat their swords, axes, and spears against their shields. The terrible rhythm sent chills down Erik’s spine, yet he stood firm and drew his sword. He unleashed the sword’s magical flame and held his weapon at the ready.

“They look to be in range now,” Gorin said. Erik nodded. Gorin turned and gave a sharp gesture with his left arm. Lady Arkyn and three others, for that was all the archers the army had left, drew their bows back and let their arrows fly. Two men in the front fell as the shafts beat down upon them. The enemy army marched on, paying the archers almost no mind at all. As Lady Arkyn and the others continued to fire, the enemy was able to defend themselves easily enough for the most part. Only a handful of men had fallen by the time the army came within fifty yards of Erik and his men.

A mighty wave of shouts and roars rippled forth from the
enemy and they charged in. Erik held his sword up in a high guard, preparing for his final battle.

Gorin stepped forward and yanked the pike nearest him out of the ground and heaved it with all of his strength. The point drove through several men and pinned them to the ground like writhing rabbits on a spit. Gorin smiled, pleased with his work. “That will put a damper in their spirits!” A chorus of cheers went up from Erik’s men. Gorin pulled his mighty hammer from its harness and went back to Erik’s side.

Then the enemy was upon them like a tidal wave crashing onto a beach of stone. Bodies flew every which way as swords and axes found their marks, men rammed into each other using shields or their own armored shoulders as they ripped into one another. Erik managed to drop a couple of soldiers before being pushed back by the sheer force and momentum of the opposing group. The wooden pikes snapped and splintered, some of them catching an enemy warrior like a stuck pig, others being cleaved down by axes or swords.

The enemy force fanned out, spreading around Erik and his men, closing them in and grinding them down. Comrades fell around Erik, but others quickly stepped in to take their places and fill the gaps. House Lokton’s men fought gallantly that day, but it was not enough. Slowly, the fifty men became thirty, and then twenty. Finally, there were twelve, including Erik, Masters Gorin and Wendal, and Lady Arkyn. They all fought near ea
ch other, helping to guard each other’s backs when danger struck close.

Wendal weave
d lightning in and around their circle, frying scores of men who came too near. Any that managed to slip through the spells were quickly squashed by Gorin’s hammer or cut down by Lady Arkyn’s flashing scimitar. Erik also racked up a number of fallen foes as his flaming sword devoured many warriors.

A whir
lwind tore through the enemy army and blasted the group of twelve apart, flinging each off separately. Erik caught a glimpse of Master Wendal throwing a counter spell at the enemy warlocks, but a sword pierced Wendal’s chest before he could finish and he fell to the ground. A group of seven jumped on Gorin, pounding on the giant man furiously so that Erik was sure he was also dead. He couldn’t see anyone else. He struggled to his feet just in time to see a spear flying for his chest. Reflexively he flipped his sword around and managed to catch the spear’s tip. While he evaded the deadly part, the tail end of the spear whipped around and split his upper lip open.

A wa
rrior rushed in, and was a breath away from finishing Erik with a mighty chop of his axe when a dwarf appeared out of nowhere and drove a warhammer into the man’s chest. Erik stumbled back a few feet with eyes wide and his mouth hanging open. The dwarf was riding some kind of large lizard!

A bugle blast made Erik turn around and he saw an entire army of dwarves slithering through the field around him to tear into the enemy. He spun back around and watched as the dwarves cut the enemies down left and right. One dwarf even rode his lizard under a horse and struck up into the horse’s belly with a spear while the lizard tore one of the horse’s legs
clean off in its jaws. The rider was flung to the ground and barely managed to scream before another lizard bit into his neck and the dwarf rider thrust a spear into his chest.

“What in the…” Erik muttered as he staggered back. He wasn’t sure whether to run or join in the fight. He had never seen anything so gruesome and brutal in his life. The lizards moved as quickly as any horse he had ever seen, and they were as vicious as their riders, eager to tear into anything near enough to its jaws.

“Cavedogs!” Gorin shouted as he threw off the last warrior from his back. He pumped a large fist into the air and gave a sharp whistle. “The dwarves have come for you!” he taunted the enemy.

Erik was happy to see Gorin was still alive, if a little worse for wear. A streak of blood covered the left side of his head and he was obviously limping as he moved to fetch his hammer. Erik looked around for Lady Arkyn, but he saw something else first.

One of the dwarves carried a strange, yet familiar banner over his head. The banner’s field was golden yellow with the simple, yet exquisite image of a dragon in full roar emblazoned in black. Red flames flew forth from its mouth and a series of runes were written beneath. As his eyes took in the runes, a fire grew within his breast. Somehow he knew this image, and he understood the words.

“Sharukan em nah’kunah,” he said. The fire in his chest expanded and grew into the
deepest parts of his soul before exploding out into his limbs. Bones stretched and skin covered itself in scales as it stretched over new muscles. A pair of wings poked through his back and spread wide over the field. His mouth elongated and grew enormous fangs while his fingers became sharp talons and claws.

Erik let out a deafening roar that forced all but the dwarves to cover their ears and shy away. As before, his senses were heightened, and he was able to see the battle clearly. In an instant he slashed down with his mighty talons and took seven men to their doom. Then he leapt forward, beating his great wings twice to fly beyond the dwarves and cut off the enemy’s retreat. His hot breath spewed death o
ver the last of the enemy warlocks and took several warriors down with them. Something poked his hind leg so he turned and swatted the spearman down with his tail, crushing the man like a dry twig. The cave dogs rushed in, weaving around and under him as he continued to terrorize the battlefield and eradicate the enemy.

With h
is keen sight, he saw the man on horseback bearing House Cedreau’s colors turn and leave, along with a woman at his side. He thought to devour them as well, but like his senses, his power of discernment was increased as well and when he looked at the fleeing pair, he saw something that compelled his mercy. So he turned his attention to the warriors underfoot and let the retreating pair escape to the forest on the western side of the field.

All around him the dwarves whooped and hollered as they cut through the enemy ranks. Erik crushed opponents by the dozen, swatting others into oblivion with his tail or disintegrating scores of helpless men before him. Lady Arkyn and Gorin were standing at the back of the field, near the stable with mouths agape and wide eyes, but Erik paid them little mind other than to see that they were safely away from the last of the fight.

Axes and spears broke against his thick scales, as though each one was a shield of the best steel backed by muscles of iron and bones of granite. The enemy soon broke rank and tried to escape, but those who were lucky enough to escape Erik’s wrath lived only long enough to be run down by the dwarves and their savage cavedogs.

As the fighting wound down and the last of the enemy lay on the ground, Erik turned about to scan the field. His heart was still heavy as he looked over the remains of his house and the many who had died in his defense, but it was not the same as before. In his dragon form it was easier for him to distance himself from the emotions and accept the events as they had transpired. He turned and started to walk back toward the stable, but stopped when a dwarf approached.

It was the dwarf who held the golden banner of the dragon. The dwarf’s long, white beard was stained with blood, but the banner he held was still clean, flapping in the morning wind. The dwarf looked up to Erik with wise, deep blue eyes and smiled.

“My name is Alferug,” the dwarf said telepathically. “I am Al’s friend, and he has told me about your plight.”

Erik nodded and a tendril of smoke slithered out from his nostrils. “How is Al?” Erik asked in his mind, hoping he was communicating correctly.

Alferug smiled, showing that he had heard Erik’s thoughts. “Al now sits upon the throne of R
oegudok Hall. The dwarf folk have their proper leader.”

Erik’s leathery lips tightened over his fangs in what could only be recognized as a smile. “That is good. So he has the scale?”

Alferug shook his head. “I have the scale with me, and I wait to go to Valtuu Temple with you to end your plight.”

Erik hardly scanned the dwarf for more than a second before he knew he could trust him. His dragon form easily saw into the dwarf’s soul. Erik turned his eye back to the banner. “What is that you carry?”

Alferug smiled. “It is the symbol of the Ancients, a sacred flag that was given to us after the founding of Roegudok Hall.”

“The runes below, they are familiar to me,” Erik said. “But I do not remember what they mean.”

Alferug’s smile widened. “From the flames I am born, on the wings of eternity I fly,” Alferug said. “That is what they mean. It is an ancient phrase passed to us from the Ancients.

Erik nodded his massive head. “It is time to return to the temple,” he said.

Alferug nodded. “When Lepkin is in dragon form, Nagar’s Secret is able to control him. How is it with you?” he asked.

“I feel nothing, other than peace and confidence with my strength,” Erik said.

“There is no evil entering into your mind?” Alferug pressed.

Erik shook his great head. “I am the same in this form as I am when in my normal form.”

Alferug nodded and looked to the others with him “They will follow you,” he said. “Al has sent us to escort you.”

Erik looked off to the east, extending his neck to its full height and peering out over the vast carpet of green trees to the horizon. “Why should we walk, when I can fly?” he asked.

“You could fly for a short while, I am sure, but it is not wise,” Alferug cautioned. “Until you have passed through the Exalted Test of Arophim, you should take care not to over extend yourself.”

Erik looked to the scale. “When you use your magic, I will no longer be able to use this form.” He sighed and a bit of flame spat from his mouth to dissipate in the air. “There is something familiar about this, and I do not want to give it up just yet.”