The Dreaddrac Onslaught (Book 4) (19 page)

“How will Graushdem react to this news?” a general asked.

Saxthor plucked the knife blade from Hador on the map and pointed it at Graushdemheimer. The advisors moved closer to the table.

“King Grekenbach will defend his capital even if Hador is overrun. This tunneling surprise may bring down Hador before Duke Jedrac can react, but King Grekenbach must have time to prepare some defense,” Saxthor said.

“Your majesty must warn Hoya,” the wizard said, looking suddenly at Saxthor.

“I sent word to General Sekkarian at Hoya as soon as I received news of the new attack on King Calamidese in Sengenwhapolis,” Saxthor replied. “If Sengenwhapolis falls, the orcs will march on Botahar to cut off reinforcements and divide Sengenwha. The Castilyernov Hoyahof must hold our northern border so the forces of Dreaddrac can’t sail down the Pundar River and attack Botahar from the river, too. We must hold the river to supply Botahar with arms and food to resist.”

Memlatec put his hand on Saxthor’s shoulder. He’s getting the feel of ruling and military tactics, he thought. He’s growing in his capacity as king faster than even I could’ve hoped. Not only does Saxthor have the full support of his people, but he’s proving to be an able general as well.

*

“Enter,” Saxthor said, responding to a knock. A guard opened the elaborately carved chestnut door.

“Majesty,” Belnik said from the doorway. “The courier the chatra recommends and in whom he has the utmost confidence. The man will give his life to deliver your message.” Belnik entered the council room with the middle-aged officer at his side. The man saluted and stood at attention.

“At ease,” Saxthor said. He finished his message and sealed the letter with his state seal on the hot wax.

“Take this letter to King Grekenbach in Graushdemheimer with all speed. Let no one delay you. Give no one this message except the king,” Saxthor said. We send you alone lest troops draw too much attention. You will be on your own to assure no one but the king sees this message.”

When the man left, Belnik interrupted the king most apologetically. “Excuse the interruption, Majesty, but Princess Dagmar requests an audience at your earliest convenience.”

“Does her highness have news or seem unusually upset?” Saxthor asked. “The princess stays busy going about in Konnotan, showing her support for those building the capital’s defenses. It’s unusual for her to request to see me during the day’s business. We ride in the afternoon and discuss matters then.”

“The princess is notably agitated about something. I don’t know what,” Belnik said.

“Admit her highness at once.”

Belnik left to bring the princess to the council chamber.

“Looks like new surprises are coming everyday now,” Saxthor said to Memlatec through a twitching smile. “Have your watchers report anything unusual that happens on the peninsula at this point, Memlatec. It would seem the war is coming to Neuyokkasin sooner than expected.”

Belnik and Princess Dagmar returned.

“Chatra, send for General Socockensmek. He’s at his headquarters at Heedra.”

“Dagmar,” Saxthor said, grabbing the princess’ hand. “What’s troubling you that it can’t wait until we ride this afternoon?”

Memlatec bowed to the princess and king and started to withdraw, but Dagmar motioned him to stay. “I hate to interrupt your planning session, but I heard the soldiers talking about a dragon that’s supposedly flying here directly from Sengenwha to attack Konnotan,” Dagmar said. “Of course, I know nothing of such things, but it seems to me you might want to address this rumor before it spreads too far and creates panic in the city.”

“The soldiers must be talking about the attack on Sengenwhapolis,” Saxthor said. In thought looking at the map on the table, he put his finger on Sengenwhapolis. He looked up. “Excellent idea, Princess, we wouldn’t want this rumor to get out of control. I’ll speak with the commanders this afternoon.”

“Address the rank and file, Saxthor. The soldiers are more likely to believe the king than if this comes down through levels of their officers,” Dagmar suggested.

“If we make an issue of it, it might make them think the threat is more serious and thus, more likely to be true.” Saxthor turned to Memlatec. “What does our wizard think on this matter?”

“Perhaps your majesty could issue a notice directly to be posted in the barracks. It would acknowledge the situation in Sengenwhapolis, as you know it, and say there’s no indication the dragon is coming here.”

The chamberlain announced the chatra’s return. Saxthor wrote out and gave the minister a statement to post as a notice from the king in the barracks. Following that, the chatra left again.

“And shall we adjourn early and go riding, my dear?” Saxthor asked Dagmar, since she was already there.

Memlatec took his leave, and the royal couple left for their afternoon ride around the city to inspect its growing defenses. The king and princess were a regular sight in the city. They acted as one, which seemed to comfort the citizens. But Saxthor heard the word dragon in the mumbled conversations as they rode along.

* * *

Memlatec returned to his tower and to his workroom. There the wren Twiddle fluttered about when the old wizard appeared. Twit, Twiddle’s father, had died not long after his return with the king from their adventure. Twiddle was now head of the wren clan that had assisted the wizard for generations. Twiddle was two years old and ready to prove himself worthy of his father’s pride. Like his father, he was devoted, but his enthusiasm and nervous energy got on the wizard’s nerves.

“Stop that fluttering about in and out of everything,” Memlatec snapped at Twiddle, who ignored Memlatec and continued to hop from shelf to shelf on the bookcase.

“Why didn’t I foresee the movement and purpose of the rock-dwarf migration to the Hador Mountains? Are my visionary and intuitive powers slipping? The Dark Lord is putting his long festering plan into action, and now Neuyokkasin will need all my talents and strengths.”

Twiddle fluttered on the worktable with his short tight tail bobbing, as wrens do when they flit about. Memlatec swatted at him gently to make him go elsewhere. In his frustration, the old wizard knocked over a bowl of water and it splashed against the stack of spell books and flowed down through a crack in the table to the floor. Twiddle was unperturbed. He dropped a little poop on the table and fluttered out on the balcony to indulge in a snack of insects buzzing around on the battlements near the torches.

“See what you made me do!” Memlatec half-heartedly shouted at the departing bird.

Memlatec grabbed a rag and started to clean up the mess on the table and off his beloved spell books. As he did so, an idea came to him, and he danced about in the tower by himself, pleased with his solution.

The old wizard sat down and wrote a response to King Ormadese under Hador, sealed it in an ornsmak, and sent it on its way. That done, Memlatec sent a message by bird to Duke Jedrac in Hador warning of the forthcoming attack. He made suggestions to aid the duke’s response. Still, the wizard worried. Will they arrive in time?

* * *

The Dark Lord was well pleased when he received word his rock-dwarves had moved so quickly ahead of schedule to tunnel under Hador.

This unexpected surprise gains valuable time. That now gives me the edge, he thought. “Smegdor! Where’s the general over the eastern army?”

“Shall I summon him now, Your Majesty?”

“Summon him indeed, you fool. It seems we haven’t kept pace with General Bor.”

Smegdor limped to the door and sent his aides to find the general, wherever he was on the Munattahensenhov.

“I just summoned the general recently,” the king said. “He was to prepare to attack once the rock-dwarves opened a way through the mountains. Since completion of the tunnel wasn’t expected for another month at the very least, the general isn’t at hand. Now it seems, his role in the plan is about to begin. The general best not keep me waiting to implement it.”

*

“Return to your army at once and prepare your attack on Hador,” the Dark Lord commanded the ogre general in charge of the eastern orc army at an audience on the Munattahensenhov. “We have discussed the overall strategy enough at this point. Now you will move in haste. The way through the mountains is open, and the longer we wait, the more likely it is for the Hadorians to discover it. You’ll leave immediately and rejoin your divisions.”

The Evil One looked about the room with a cruel smirk. He clutched the throne’s clawed armrests, his white knuckles poignantly displayed. Seeing the courtiers, generals, and ambassadors watching attentively, the king addressed the general in charge of the eastern arm of operation.

“General Vylvex, you’re in command of all the eastern forces. The other generals report to you as you organize your command. It’s you that we’ll hold responsible for the success of this mission. Hador must be eliminated as an impediment to the sweep down the eastern peninsula. See to it that we aren’t disappointed.”

With that, the King of Dreaddrac stepped down from his throne. He took a sword and scabbard from the attendant’s extended presentation pillow next to him. He presented the sword of power denoting his rank to the general in front of the assembled lords and generals of Dreaddrac.

Bowing, the general took the scabbard and attached it to his belt with jittery hands. He then took the sword and stabbed it through his other hand. Blood flowed. Vylvex wrapped his hand around the blade spreading his blood over the length of the sword’s edge.

“I won’t fail Dreaddrac. Your power will rule the world. I be your right hand to do your bidding and enforce your will,” the ogre general said. His resolute voice resonated with his devotion, but those present could hardly fail to note his pain. The general stood, wiped blood from the blade, and plunged the sword into the scabbard with a resounding clack. With that, he turned and rejoined the other generals at the front of the hall to bow down to the King of Dreaddrac’s irresistible force before them on the throne.

*

The generals left at once to rejoin their armies on the plain of southeast Dreaddrac just above the Hador Mountains. General Vylvex gave orders for legion placement in the line of march. The massive army, so long prepared, moved forward.

When the generals left the Munattahensenhov, the king dispatched a messenger to General Bor to open the tunnel onto Hador’s plain on the first day of the next month when General Vylvex would be ready to pass through the mountain. The two generals would coordinate the opening and the armies’ passage so the moon would be dark and the passage swift. The eastern pincer of his attack, denied him in the Wizard Wars so long before, was about to march out on the plain of Hador. It would trap the Southern forces between this massive army and the army now reforming in Sengenwha.

* * *

Earwig, Dreg, and Zendor the Magnificent plodded along. Piled high with the witch’s treasured spell books and magic potions, the cart creaked incessantly as it moved slowly north over back roads. The dray rolled over a bump and jolted Earwig. Her arms flew up, then grabbed the seat’s small rail before she fell over the cart’s side. She leered at Zendor, who broke wind.

“I wish Magnosious was here,” Earwig said again. “He’d fly us to Dreaddrac in a snap!” She looked again at Zendor’s rump, nodded at him, and turned to Dreg. “He’d settle with that malicious nag, too.”

“For mercy sake, would you let up on the Magnosious thing and give poor Zendor some peace,” Dreg said rhetorically. “I know you think the dead dragon was perfect, but he had to have faults. Zendor is doing the best he can.”

The poor horse had dragged the cart north half way up the peninsula, and Memlatec had only asked him to get the witch out of Neuyokkasin, where she wouldn’t be a threat to Saxthor. This seemed like an appropriate time to take his leave and let the grumpy, frumpy old sorceress appreciate what she had in him, too. That night, when the two people slept, Zendor transformed back into the associate wizard he was. He snuck back down the road to Konnotan, leaving Earwig and Dreg to their fate.

*

“Where’s Zendor the Magnificent?” Earwig asked with a snide tone when she awoke and found him gone.

“It seems he high-tailed it in the night,” Dreg replied, his voice hushed and solemn. “I’ll miss him. Zendor wasn’t much, but he faithfully dragged that cart, filled with all your rubbish, this far.”

“You mean, he up and left!” the witch said, jumping up out of her bedroll. “Didn’t you tie him up last night, you idiot?”

“Yes, I tied him up, but he’s gone now,” Dreg replied, hardening his tone and leering at the witch. “If you hadn’t talked about him so badly and appreciated him more, Zendor might’ve stayed with us.”

“Oh, now it’s my fault the walking glue-pot wandered off in the night?” Earwig asked in a shrill voice. “How dare you suggest this is my fault?”

“I didn’t say it was your fault. I just said you ought not to have been so mean to him,” the apprentice said, tiring of the old hag’s accusations.

“Well, get out there and find him, moron,” Earwig said. “Otherwise, you’ll be pulling this cart to Dreaddrac.”

The rest of the day, Dreg searched in vain for the horse long gone south as a man. Earwig was inconsolable, losing the draft animal; Dreg was inconsolable, losing his friend. That evening he returned to the camp, where the hag had tried to make her purple-marbled hide and knotted, stringy hair presentable.