The Dreaddrac Onslaught (Book 4) (4 page)

The chest’s lid rose slightly. The wraith slipped out of the trunk. The vaporous undead specter seeped upward and took on form outside the chest. When fully morphed and charged, it sparked with energies that nurtured it in the cauldron. Being a spirit, the creature couldn’t speak without taking a physical host. General Tarquak nodded his shadowy head to affirm his understanding and obedience. He hovered before his master, awaiting his instructions.

“You will proceed down the western peninsula through Dreaddrac then Prertsten and on to Sengenwhapolis in Sengenwha. There, you’ll assume command of our forces, and bend the ogres to your will. You’ll have them restore order in the capital, and while your subordinates wipe out the remaining resistance in Sengenwha, you’ll draw up your plan of attack on Neuyokkasin. Report back to me, when you’ve restored order in Sengenwha and are ready to attack Neuyokkasin. Is that understood?” the evil master asked.

Again, the wraith nodded his understanding, submission, and willingness to comply.

Smegdor stood by in the doorframe, hair on end. “He understands,” he mumbled. “No matter what the challenge ahead, nothing, not even eternal destruction could be worse than being cast back down into the Well of Souls for the rest of time.”

The sorcerer looked at Smegdor then at the wraith and nodded. “Go now, and return before the passing of two full moons with Sengenwha completely under your control or you’ll not see another moon of any phase.”

The wraith flew out the window, across the balcony, and into the night sky.

*

With the wraith gone on his mission, the Evil Lord turned to the second of his surprises. Two of Magwan and Melnosious’ remaining dragon eggs rested on straw in a crate on the wizard’s massive worktable. The Dark Lord looked at them, then rested his hand on the crate. 

“You already have enough dragons in the stable above,” Smegdor said. “Why bring two more into being?”

The sorcerer rubbed the eggs slowly, deliberately, with nurturing care like a bald man rubs his head. “For an unexpected and overpowering attack,” the king mumbled. He didn’t look up but stared at the eggs. “That lucky prince couldn’t have known what he was doing, fighting such a dragon as Magnosious. His lucky sword thrust can’t happen again.”

The rest of the week, the evil wizard worked with the eggs and the resulting little lizards. He sought to bring them into being with the power and force, the late Magnosious exemplified before his untimely demise.

One evening, overseeing Smegdor feeding dead goats to the voracious lizards, the king said, “I wish that soulless Witch Earwig could raise these dragons.”

“No one’s heard from her since just before Magnosious died,” Smegdor said. He hefted another carcass over the gate. The sound of snapping jaws and crunching bones crackled through the room. “Perhaps she died of grief after the prince killed her precious beast.”

“What a pity she succumbed to feelings after such a distinguished career as the most ambitious and uncaring creature born of man,” the king said. “Oh well, enough blood, entrails, and torture, and these dragons will be exceedingly fierce and ruthless. They’ll relish leading attacks on the enemy’s most heavily defended strongholds.” And now for the third surprise I have in store for the South, he thought.

“Smegdor, bring me the rock-dwarves’ commanding general when you finish here. I’ll be in the audience hall.”

Smegdor strained and groaned, shoving the last carcass up the gate. Jaws snatched the head as it fell over and the goat jerked over into the dragons’ crib. The assistant rushed out to catch up with his master. “I have anticipated your command and have the rock-dwarf, General Bor, standing by.” 

Soon, the obedient servant ushered the rock-dwarves’ commander into the king’s presence and withdrew.

General Bor moved down the throne room’s central aisle, his granite feet scraping on the stone floor. He passed granite columns embellished with silent screeching faces and menacing dragons, hissing and tearing flesh from bone in the stone carvings. The few retainers that attended Dreaddrac’s court moved quietly in the side aisles’ shadows. They fidgeted, frequently looking back at the throne for any signs of danger. General Bor’s stride was rough but confident, his steps rhythmic if grating. The one exception was when his foot ground a bone to powder. It was the last remnant of some petitioner that had displeased the king.

”General Bor, how long will it take to move your troops from the Highback Mountains on Tixos to eastern Dreaddrac?” Dreaddrac’s king asked, holding his dull yellow eyes fixed on the rock-dwarf standing before him.

“That depends on the fleet’s size that can carry my army and the distance we have to travel by land and by sea,” General Bor said. “More ships and the army can load and cross the Tixosian Sea much faster. Where we land and unload will affect how far we have to travel across land to your rendezvous point. Remember, only a few of my dwarves can survive exposure to the sunlight, and rock-dwarves don’t move fast, in any case.”

The general’s laying out contingencies so he has an out if he doesn’t meet my schedule, the Dark Lord thought. I can’t read their primitive stone minds and they never have expressions.

“Enough of these petty details, you’ll be east of the Edros Swamps in the Hador mountains within the rising of two full moons. Don’t bother us with how you arrange it. The admiral of our western fleet will be at your disposal with sufficient ships to transport your army and the weapons cache you’ve forged. Smegdor will arrange for you and the admiral to meet tonight. I’ll expect your schedule and plans tomorrow morning,” the king said, fidgeting, his fingers drummed the throne’s armrest.

A rat ran along the wall. The Dark Lord caught the movement and shot wizard-fire, incinerating the rodent. The shock and burning flesh smell drove the courtiers away from the spot
.
I see the point here wasn’t lost on anyone, he thought.

“As your majesty commands,” General Bor said. “Have I your permission to withdraw and meet with the admiral?”

He remembers me losing my temper before with his predecessor, the king thought. The former general’s stones form the foundation for my statue visible from where General Bor now stands. General Bor is loyal and devoted to me as his creator. Still, he understands when it’s prudent to withdraw.

“I’m pleased with my work over the last month,” the king told Smegdor after the meeting. “Soon the spring will thaw the Akkin River and the Edros Swamps. Dreaddrac’s armies can march south over the peninsula crushing any and all resistance.” He smiled a crooked, sinister smile, thinking of Memlatec’s upcoming surprise.

* * *

Just short of screaming, Earwig sat beside Dreg on a log in front of their campfire one night just off the road north. Zendor the Magnificent stood swishing his tail downwind from the campfire.

If I concentrate on that gaseous glue bag, maybe I can block out Dreg’s incessant chattering about his childhood, she thought. She turned and stared at him in disbelief, but he must have taken it as fascination with his story and he continued babbling.

Can’t he see I have no interest in anything he has to say? Is this the price I have to pay for a servant to do my bidding? We’ll both fall asleep late tonight with him still chattering. I’ll have to vaporize him or better yet, turn him into a speechless turtle. In the middle of Dreg’s heartbreaking story, the thought of his being a mute turtle tickled Earwig and she chuckled.

Dreg’s head sank slowly, his voice dropping at the laugh. Then he looked up and continued talking on even faster of his youth’s tedious nonevents.

I’m going to scream, thought Earwig rocking back and forth, her eyes rolling round and round.

“Why don’t you go check on that infernal beast?” the witch asked, when she could take no more. “The thing is making hideous sounds. Pitiful as he is, he’d make a good ghoul meal.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Dreg replied, getting up with difficulty. The poor man stumbled over to the tree where the emaciated animal stood alert with ears forward.

*

Tied up and shunned far away from the warm fire and company, Zendor the Magnificent had grown bored. He swished his tail rapidly to show his displeasure. The fire’s light flickered on his side and his tail cast devilish shadows dancing on the trees beyond.

A little entertainment would be fun now, he thought. The horse looked down at the ground just behind him and lifted his leg as if there was something on the ground that worried him. Dreg seemed slow to notice, and it took several hints for the witch’s assistant to bend down to check the ground for what was worrying the horse.

I should have the timing and distance down precisely, thought Zendor. With a swift, full force, on-center kick, he sent the unfortunate Dreg flying across the clearing, banking off a tree and back, knocking Earwig, face first, into the fire. Only the first few sparks that flew came from the fire.

“I’ll save you, Miss Irkin!” Dreg shouted, when he got up and started beating out the flames. He smacked the witch in the face repeatedly with a stick before he thought about her face behind the flames.

Zendor couldn’t restrain his whinnies of delight watching the drama. He stamped around for the best view.

Earwig shot sparks from her eyes and ears as she flailed about, trying to escape Dreg’s fire control efforts. She was slapping at him as he was beating her flaming face.

“You idiot simpleton!” Earwig screamed, jumping from the fire. Half her scraggly hair had flamed away, and the rest was smoking. The stubble that remained made her head look like a burned over broomstick.

Being slow in an emergency is not a good thing, Zendor concluded. His tail swished, and he whinnied at the thrill of the moment.

Finally, Dreg stopped pulverizing the distorted face and backed off and away from the smoldering, charred, and mangled pulp that had been Earwig’s features.

“Fish skulls!” Dreg exclaimed, backing up. “I’m so sorry! I must’ve tripped.” The poor man continued, as the witch, holding her face to her skull, started for him.

“So you tripped, did you?” Earwig mumbled, lowering her head and stumbling forward toward the apprentice. Her crackling voice was pregnant with malice. “You must come here; I won’t hurt you…too much.”

Surely he won’t fall for that, Zendor thought. His tail was a virtual whirlwind expression of anticipation. Eternal, agonizing pain is what she has in mind. Watching the two humans, Zendor’s body trembled when the witch lunged forward. She’s going to grab the boy before he can bolt. Her free hand that wasn’t holding her face together, groped for the apprentice. Terror made the hunchback move faster than the witch could have anticipated.

Squish! Earwig stepped in something Zendor had left in the path and her other foot tripped over the pile. The witch’s body hurdled forward. Most unfortunately her head plunged snuggly into an old tree hollow. Earwig’s muffled screams shifted to pleas for help. 

Zendor shuddered. Then he saw Dreg run off before he could understand that the witch was calling for his help. Apparently, the blow caused her head to swell and it locked snuggly in the tree hollow.

Zendor froze and stopped swishing his tail. Hornets are nesting in that hollow; I remember seeing them when we passed by, he thought. That dull, muffled hum is hornets buzzing inside the tree. I can see a few flying around the plugged hole now, even by the firelight. Most must have been asleep inside, when her head crashed in. The more she screams the more the hornets will attack the source of the vibrations. That must be what’s causing her head to swell more and wedge her in tighter.

Having watched all this, Zendor tugged at the reins, testing to see if he could free himself, but he was tied up securely. I don’t want to be here when she gets her head out of that tree, Zendor thought.

The muffled screams went on for longer than Zendor wanted to imagine, but finally stopped as her bloated body slumped, hanging from the tree hollow.

Earwig must be exhausted and her head must feel like it’s still in the fire, he thought. At least she stopped screaming. This night must be the longest of her miserable life.

In the pale morning light before sunrise, the horse heard a twig snap. He saw Dreg sneaking back to the campsite. Dreg came up behind Zendor, patted him on the withers, and peeked over his back to look for Earwig.

“Has she gone in the night, or is she still here and mad?” Dreg asked. Zendor whinnied, but Dreg couldn’t recognize the warning. Both man and horse looked at the witch, dangling limp down the side of the tree.

“Miss Irkin, are you all right?” Dreg asked, creeping slowly up to the tree.

*

“Dreg!” Earwig screamed through swollen lips in the dark hollow before she thought. The hornets swarmed up in the confined cavity. A new round of attacks began. “Get me out of here!”

The terrible hum of thousands of hornet wings filled her ears and Earwig breathed the sour, rotting wood smell mixed with the stench of hornet poop.

“I’ll have to cut away the tree to free your swollen head,” Dreg said. His quivering voice betrayed his trepidation.

Earwig stamped around trying to convey her horror at the thought of the chopping vibrations setting off the hornets again before she realized he took her movements for enthusiasm.

Dreg began to chip away at the tree around Earwig’s head. The sound of ax smashing into the wood was deafening to the delirious witch. The vibrations infuriated the hornets even more. Desperate, Earwig flailed and tried to dislodge her swollen head, scraping off more and more inflamed skin from her double chins. She managed to pull her head from the cavity with a rough plucking sound nearly tearing off her right ear.