The Dreaddrac Onslaught (Book 4) (34 page)

“Nonee! Nonee, so many will die in this struggle…”

* * *

Prince Pindradese followed the Dark Lord’s chamberlain into Dreaddrac’s audience hall past gargoyle-carved columns seemingly brought to life by flickering torchlight. The beasts stared down at his puny being. The iron doors clanged shut behind the prince and he jumped, spinning around and looking behind him. Recovering, he stumbled forward to catch up with the scar-faced chamberlain. They moved along down the silent central aisle, passing shifting dark figures in the shadows of the side aisles. Pindradese glanced quickly over the chamberlain’s shoulder to catch a glimpse of Dreaddrac’s king, sprawled on his iron throne.

The king’s reptilian eyes were focused on the two approaching the dais. The prince felt a sudden burst of energy probing him. He looked down at the floor and kept carefully behind the chamberlain. The official bowed mechanically as he walked, as if not living but something animated. He motioned Pindradese to remain before the throne, then backed to the side.

Prince Pindradese, Lord of Prertsten, clad in his finest court robes, felt stripped naked before the glaring eyes of the Dark Lord above him. He collapsed in terror and groveled forward, kissing the very dais on which the throne mounted. He dared not say anything. The king’s mouth opened in a grim sneer. Chipped yellow fangs showed amid thick, dried-blood red lips, but he said nothing.

“Greetings to your omnipotent majesty from his most obedient servant,” Pindradese finally managed to croak through dry, trembling lips. He snuck another peek upward.

“Prince Pindradese,” the king said, rising, “how good of you to grace our court with your presence.” The king stepped slowly down onto the dais, sneer dissolving into snarl. He leaned down, snatched off Pindradese’s crown, and hurling it away. He lifted the prince’s head by his hair, raising him up. “Though we summoned you weeks ago!” He thrust the prince, limp as a wet rag, back to the floor and returned to sit again on his throne.

Pindradese scrambled to collect himself, a fetal ball, face to the stone floor. “Our profound apology, Majesty,” Pindradese whined. He noted the warm blood draining from his broken nose onto the floor and his face. “Our war preparations…”

“Shut up, you sniveling worm. We don’t concern ourselves with your dribbling excuses. You know well excuses are not acceptable here. Have you brought a complete analysis of your war preparations of both your own forces and those of our illustrious kingdom within your petty state borders?”

Pindradese fumbled inside his robes, his face still pressed firmly into the floor. He dared say nothing. His heart skipped a beat as his cold fingers touched the rolled parchment, and he drew it out. Slowly, he raised it up above him toward the throne.

“Well hand it to me, fool. You don’t expect me to come there to get it, do you?”

Pindradese almost fell back scrambling to crawl up the dais layers. He slowed, extending his arm with the scroll to the king. The Dark Lord snatched the document, and Pindradese crawled backward, assuming a prostrate position on the floor below once again. He waited a moment, then raised his head to see the king scanning the paper.

“Well enough, I suppose.” The scroll dropped to the floor and rolled down off the side of the dais, where the chamberlain silently slipped forward and retrieved it.

“What are your majesty’s wishes?”

“It’s time your heretofore undistinguished state applied itself in our service and entered the war in earnest. At the head of the combined forces at your disposal, you will cross the border with Heggolstockin and overrun Feldrik Fortress at the headwaters of the Akkin River. Another force under the leadership of my ogre general is to cross the border at the junction of Prertsten, Sengenwha, and Heggolstockin and attack Graushdemheimer. I’ve already issued the orders for orcs in the southern regions of your state. My ogre general has already left to consolidate those forces. He could no longer wait for you, your being so late in appearing here.”

“I understand, Your Majesty, but perhaps it would be best if your own general, long stationed at our court, led the attack on Feldrik Fortress.”

“Silence, coward!” the king said. “Who are you to attempt decisions and make suggestions? Long have you enjoyed your tyrannical rule over that rock heap you call a principality at our pleasure. You will now personally lead the forces granted you against Feldrik. Success or death are your only two alternatives. Is that understood?”

“Completely,” Pindradese whimpered, his face again mashed into the cold blood on the floor.

“Now get out and be gone. If you ever appear late again when we summon you, it will be your last visit to this court or any other.”

Pindradese glanced up at the chamberlain, who stood immobile other than to extend his lowered hand with the bent crown. Pindradese rose, meekly took his crown, and bowing repeatedly, stumbled backward out of the audience hall. When the doors slammed shut, the prince turned and raced to his apartment. There, he stuffed his few belongings into a satchel, and, with his attendants in tow, fled the Munattahensenhov, not stopping until he’d reached the Prertstenian border.

* * *

Earwig and Dreg sat uncomfortably on a log, roasting chunks of some creature they didn’t recognize over the campfire. The stick Earwig held had caught fire below the meat, and suddenly the searing flesh dropped into the coals. The witch flicked the ash coated chunk out of the fire, where it sizzled and hissed, smoke rising from it in the dirt.

“Wretched mess,” growled Earwig. She rose, groaning, and stooped over to stab the meat again and again with her stick. The blunt burned end would only roll off the tough meat at each repeated stab. 

“Want me to get it for you, Miss Earwig?” Dreg asked.

“No, I don’t want you to get it for me,” she quipped. She threw the stick out into the darkness and snatched the meat, hurling it into the fire. “I can get a piece of meat by myself.” She turned back and flopped back down on the log, nearly launching her helper into the air.

Dreg gingerly pulled the roasted meat off his stick, and tearing off a piece, offered it to Earwig. The witch shoved it back at him. “Why are we out here in the dark and cold?”

Dreg didn’t respond; he just ate the food. His face scrunched, the taste must not have been familiar.

“You’re not interested, are you?” Earwig rose and walked away from the log, turning back to face Dreg, who, seeing her agitation, stopped eating and looked up at her.

“That stupid wraith has no more sense than the orc he took for shell. He promised he’d arrange transportation for us to the Munattahensenhov, and all he’s done is send us this long dead animal, whatever it is. We should be accommodated in the Wizards’ Hall, but he’s left us out here in the sticks to fend for ourselves. Why do you suppose that is?”

Dreg started to respond, but knowing better, he took another bite of the meat and swallowed. His face scrunched, she presumed from the taste.

“I tell you when I get to Dreaddrac, the king will hear of this. That disrespectful wraith will roast in the sun that very day. I’ll not be treated this way.” Seeing Dreg eating made her hungry. She grabbed a stick, flipped the charred meat she’d flung in the fire back out. She beat it with the stick, knocking off some charcoal and ash, then snatched it up, tossing it back and forth between her hands. She licked her burned fingers until the meat cooled enough for her to tear off bits with her fingers. Her blackened teeth stubs were unable to chew it, so she swallowed it in chunks.

*

After a week of waiting, a deep swooshing noise awakened Dreg, and he shook Earwig. A large winged griffin flying from the north began circling over the Wizards’ Hall ruins. It landed and went into the shell of the great hall. The witch and Dreg waited all day to find out what was afoot, for some word from the ruins.

“Why aren’t we allowed into the Wizards’ Hall anyway?” Earwig ranted. “What right does that wraith have to warn me not to cross through the outer walls? I tell you, if something doesn’t happen to convey us to Dreaddrac soon, we’re packing up and heading on without that spook’s help.” She fumed all day

When night fell, the wraith appeared once again in an orc’s shell. “Witch,” the wraith called.

Earwig was startled, and jerking up, hit her head on the cart’s underside. She cursed and rubbed her brow as she turned to face the orc. “You scared the crud out of me. Don’t be sneaking around like that.”

“At first light, the great griffin you’ve seen arrive will come to take you to the Munattahensenhov. Be ready to leave when it comes.”

“Griffin!” she replied, “What about my things?” She turned, extending her hand as if the wraith couldn’t see the dilapidated cart behind her.

“Take what you can carry, but don’t overload the griffin; those beaks can tear a head off with a single snap.” The wraith tossed a pair of dead rats by the fire. Stiff, they bounced and landed in front of her feet.

Before Earwig could close her dropped jaw and think of a suitable threat, the wraith-orc disappeared again into the night.

At first light, Earwig and Dreg were startled awake by the flight of their ox. They looked up to see the griffin landing on the other side of the cold campfire. The two travelers looked at each other and the last sight of the ox’s rump in the distance. They rose cautiously, moving slowly, rolling up their bedrolls. The griffin pawed the ground with a massive lion’s paw, shook its vulture head, and snapped its massive beak.

“That thing wants to get going, Miss Earwig,” Dreg said, not taking his eyes off the monster, the like of which he’d never seen before. “That be the griffin thing that orc spoke of last night?”

“Impatient indeed.” Earwig stuffed her bedroll into the cart. “Now for breakfast, I’ll not be intimidated by such a beast.”

The great griffin stomped over to the cart, smacked it with its claw-extended paw, smashing it to pieces and launching the contents all about the campsite. 

Dreg watched the cart flying into a whirlwind of boards, scrolls, ingredient jars, and unidentifiable clutter. He jerked his silent head to Earwig. The witch was fumbling with a stick, trying to cast a spell, when the griffin snapped her in its beak and tossed her on its back. She grabbed hold of its fur, hanging off the beast’s side. The great wings thrust out as Dreg ran and jumped on the stamping brute. The griffin strode forward, flapped its wings, and lurched into the air, flying north with the two disgruntled travelers dangling like ornaments from its back.

Earwig was looking down in tears. “The last of my precious possessions scattered to the winds…”          

Heggolstockin under Attack

King Saxthor stepped off his ship, leading a troop of soldiers onto the wharf at Favriana. The king had emptied the state treasury, frantically building or fortifying castilyernovs and ramparts at Favriana, Heedra, and Hyemka when he’d first learned of the orc infiltration of Sengenwha. Memlatec’s revelation, that Dreaddrac had breached the heretofore indestructible defense at the Hador Pass, shocked even Saxthor. War was at hand, and he needed to see for himself the state of readiness the new defenses provided. Favriana was the first stop on his inspection tour of the new fortifications. General Socockensmek was just completing them along Neuyokkasin’s border with Sengenwha.

The general was there to greet the king and begin the assessment. “Will these works block an attacking force coming down from Lake Pundar?” Saxthor asked. “It’s possible the enemy could build a fleet on the lake that could bring a considerable army to attack here.”

“There are miles of ramparts surrounding the city and harbor,” Socockensmek replied. “The walls are forty tall rising from the moat’s edge. The new moat is filled by the Nhy flowing over a sharp rock base. It’s shallow enough to prevent attacking boats from entering the moat, but deep enough not to be crossed on foot.” He turned the king’s attention back to the city. “Look there at the new castilyernov. That fortress was built at the northern edge of the old town to take the brunt of such an attack. It houses the entire new army without billeting the garrison as a burden on the citizens. Shall we go tour the citadel?”

“Later, I can see it towers over the city and will certainly intimidate any approaching army or fleet. And I see your new army training on the plain beyond the walls. I hope they will be prepared when the time comes. For now, I must review the dispatches just arrived from the chatra. When I stepped off the boat, a messenger told me there are urgent messages I must attend to right away.”

The general led Saxthor into the new Favriana Fortress past workmen polishing interior stonework and workmen hauling in the heavy furniture and armaments beginning to fill the fortress. They climbed the stairs to the royal apartment in a high tower overlooking the river. The smell of new wood and paint filled the reception room, though the windows were open to air it.

“Close the door, General, all that hammering is giving me a headache,” Saxthor said. He picked up the diplomatic pouch left for his review, automatically checking the seal wasn’t broken. Saxthor quickly perused several dispatches, tossing each aside to be dealt with later. Then he unrolled a scroll and slumped back in his chair.

“Are you all right, Your Majesty?” Socockensmek asked.

Saxthor looked up, staring at the general for a moment, then handed him the scroll. The general looked at Saxthor, then the scroll. He unrolled it like it was infested with something.

“King Saxthor,

Begging your pardon, Your Majesty, but there’s no time for formalities. Memlatec has warned me that his watchers have spotted Prertsten’s forces in vast numbers massing all along the border with Heggolstockin. I must get this out with the courier whom I’ve kept waiting.

Chatra Rakmar”

Socockensmek let the scroll roll up on its own and placed it back on the table before the king. “It’s all-out war now, I expect.”

Saxthor rose, got a goblet of water, offered the same to the general, who declined, and rubbed his thumb over the elegant elfin engraving in the silver, remembering the Talok Tak elf kingdom and the Dowager Queen Merritak. He returned to the desk and conversation.

“King Grekenbach is threatened by the orc army from the north under, what’s his name, General Vylvex I’m told. He can’t spare troops to reinforce the Heggolstockin border. If Prince Pindradese invades from the west, too, Feldrik Fortress may hinder the advance into Heggolstockin from the northwest. However, if troops are massing along the whole border, there’s going to be an invasion somewhere along the southern border, as well. Two thirds of Graushdem’s entire border is about to come under attack.”

“Dreaddrac intends to knock Graushdem out of the war before they can react. With Sengenwha under his control already, the Dark Lord hopes to attack Neuyokkasin along our entire northern border.” Socockensmek pointed to a chair opposite the king. “With your permission, Your Majesty? These old bones can’t stand too long in one spot.”

“Of course, you may be seated, General.”

The old man sat and wiped his brow in silence, while Saxthor scanned through the remaining documents. Another one from Memlatec warned of Prertsten’s threat in more detail. Saxthor got up and went to the window, brushing stone dust off the sill. He looked out over the old town surrounded by the new fortifications. “I hope these works hold.”

“It depends on the size of the attacking force, Majesty,” the general said. “They were designed for an attack from Sengenwha but not for invasion down through Talok-Lemnos at the same time.”

The military always leaves itself a means of retreat, Saxthor thought. Then he noticed a small ship coming into the harbor he didn’t recognize as part of his entourage. It docked at the far end of the wharf and bobbed silently in wake’s ripples against the dock. As Saxthor was turning to converse further with the general, his eye caught movement on the ship. Hooded sailors carried two large, clearly heavy crates up the planks and onto the dock. Another hooded figure motioned the laborers to hurry the crates on, not stopping for the customs agent to inspect them.

“General, look here.” Socockensmek rose and moved to the window, where the two men watched the proceedings on the wharf. “What do you make of it?”

“Probably smugglers, Your Majesty. I’m sure the customs officials have spotted the activities by now.” The general turned back to his chair.

Saxthor sensed something very wrong. He noted warmth coming from his dragon ring. Alarmed, he grabbed for Sorblade at his side and drew it slightly from the scabbard. There was a very faint pale green glow! Without speaking, Saxthor raced for the door before the general realized the king’s alarm and could rise.

“Come with me,” Saxthor ordered the two guards at the door. He flew down the tower stairs and through the street to the harbor. Seeing the king’s alarm, other soldiers joined the throng following the king. At the Customs House, Saxthor grabbed the first official at the door.

“Did you see the crates unloaded from that boat at the end of the wharf?” Saxthor asked.

“We just noted the ship, Your Majesty. I was on my way to inspect its cargo.” The official bowed deeply when Saxthor released his coat. “Is there something wrong?”

“What happened to the men unloading the two crates and the hooded figure leading them?”

“I didn’t see two crates unloaded, Sire. Everyone knows they may not unload any cargo before customs inspection.”

“Well those travelers didn’t or were slipping something they didn’t want seen into the city.” Saxthor turned to the soldiers around him. “You six, go up the street there quickly. Look for hooded laborers carrying heavy wooden crates led by a hooded figure wearing a black cloak. Order them to halt, don’t approach them. Send for me if you find them.” Saxthor sent three other similar patrols in search of the crates and hooded men, but no one returned with news of their discovery. He’d ordered the ship held under guard, no one entering or leaving. Socockensmek arrived, asking the guards what had happened.

“Come with me, General. The rest of you stay here at the Customs House door. Allow no one else to enter.” Saxthor led the general upstairs to the second floor room, ordered the officials to leave, and closed the door behind them.

“General, either the men carrying those crates, or something in the crates, are direct from Dreaddrac.”
              “But, Your Majesty,” Socockensmek began to question.

Saxthor drew Sorblade slightly from the scabbard and the faint green glow made the general’s eyes seem to swell. He slid the sword in its scabbard. “We don’t want to panic the city, but we must find those men and crates before the mischief they’re up to comes to fruition.”

General Socockensmek took charge of the troop dispositions. He closed the harbor, stationed guards all around the city and along the wharves, but no further sightings of the men or crates occurred.

The next evening, Saxthor was returning to the new fortress after a day inspecting the city, when his foot kicked an obstruction he’d not seen by the gate to the fortress. Looking down, there was something there, but it wasn’t visible. It was packed against the gate’s foundation, something the size of a pumpkin. It shifted as he tapped it with his foot like powder or sand in a bag. Saxthor could feel it with his sandal, though he couldn’t see it.

Invisibility spell, he thought. What is it? How many more are placed around the city? By the gate... it’s to destroy the gate, no doubt. Saxthor stood up and looked around. No one was watching. His guards blocked the view of anyone that might be. I mustn’t let on that I’m aware of it or the perpetrators will activate whatever it is and destroy who knows how much of the city. Carefully, he tested the object with his foot, finding no attachment to the gate. He slid it away from the wall while appearing to be talking with the surrounding soldiers.

In a low voice not to be overheard, Saxthor told one of the guards to find General Socockensmek and the city’s military commander at once. Then he went to the tower in the castilyernov where he was staying and waited. When the two military leaders arrived, Saxthor closed the door and told them of what he’d found. “Is there a wizard in the city?” Saxthor asked.

“None officially stationed in the city that I’m aware of,” the city’s military commander responded. He looked to the general.

“I spoke with your old mentor this morning,” Socockensmek said. “Tournak was going to the harbor shops on some mission for Memlatec, I think he said.”

“Did he say where he was staying?”

“No, but I got the impression his mission would take a day or two.”

“Send men to scout every inn near the harbor. Find him! Bring him here immediately. Send men in ones and twos to avoid rousing suspicion. I’ve seen fear of the impending invasion in people’s eyes all day. We don’t want to spark panic or to have the perpetrators realize we’ve discovered their plot. They must not activate their plan before we can neutralize it.”

The next few hours were tedious. Saxthor paced back and forth across the room, aware the general watched. Neither spoke. From time to time, Saxthor would go to the window and look at the rising moon, then search the sky for silver clouds. Finally, there was a knock at the door, and Tournak entered as bid. The wizard bowed to the king.

Saxthor dashed across the room and embraced his mentor as a father. “It’s been so long, Tournak old friend. How have you been?”

“I’ve been well, Your Majesty,” Tournak said. “Memlatec keeps me busy.”

Saxthor hugged his friend again, not wanting to let go as if clutching the last serenity he’d known on their adventure. Hesitant at first, Tournak gently wrapped his arms around his former pupil. Saxthor felt his own body shed tension like layers of an onion. They stood back in silence, holding each other arm in arm. Each looked the other over to be sure he was really OK.

“I understand you summoned me for a matter of some importance, Your Majesty,” Tournak said, breaking the moment and protocol.

“Yes, yes,” Saxthor said. He motioned for the guards to leave and close the door behind them. “You stay too, General.” Still holding onto Tournak with one arm, Saxthor wrapped the other around Tournak’s shoulder, leading wizard and general to the back of the room away from the door and keyhole. He drew the other two closer to him and spoke in a hushed voice.

“Coming into the fortress this evening, I stumbled, and my foot kicked something at the base of the gate. When I looked down, I saw nothing closer to my foot than the gate itself.” He paused, “It was a hand’s length away!” He looked at the two men in turn, whose faces at first were blank. They looked at each other. Saxthor continued, “I tapped something like a bag of sand or powder at the base of the gate that wasn’t visible at all. It was about the size of a pumpkin. I’m thinking someone, a wizard, placed it there, and hid it with an invisibility spell. What do you make of it, Tournak?”

“Something the size of a pumpkin that was invisible,” the general repeated. He looked first at Saxthor, then at Tournak. “By the gate, you say? That must be some danger to the gate and thus to the integrity of the fortress’ defense.”

Tournak, always a man of few but essential words, looked up at king and general before speaking. “There’s wizardry involved. No other way the object could be invisible without such a spell. Yes, General, if hidden so by the gate, it’s intended to damage the gate, maybe the castilyernov, and certainly the defenses.”

“Tournak, there’s more. Yesterday afternoon, we spotted strange hooded men sneaking two crates into the city from a ship newly arrived and docked inconspicuously at the end of the wharf. They slipped past the customs officials and disappeared into the city without a trace. We’ve not been able to find them. I know they are Dreaddrac’s agents as Sorblade has a faint glow. They’re still in the city. They’re connected to this incident.”

Tournak walked to the window, staring out at the night. He scratched his head, looking down on the city. The three men stood in silence, king and general watching the wizard’s mental anguish. Tournak turned back to them.