Dragonvein Book Four (27 page)

“Unless I miss my guess, I doubt you’ll have a choice in the matter.” Specter chuckled. “I for one can’t wait. This was a very special day for me.”

The light in the window went out, prompting Petris to immediately creep forward.

“Wait!” hissed Markus. “Give him a chance to fall asleep.”

His words were ignored. Grumbling, he followed Petris, all the time keeping as low as possible. After rounding the corner of the house, the pair vanished from sight.

Specter strolled casually up to the front door and pushed it open. “Come on then,” he said. “Let's take a look inside.”

Even though Markus had no intention whatsoever of doing as suggested, he found himself walking forward anyway. He tried to stop himself, but his legs refused to obey his commands. Panic gripped him like an ice cold vice. He desperately wanted to escape. He could not bear to witness what he knew was about to happen.

Specter waited just beyond the threshold, allowing Markus to pass through first. Inside was a typical dwelling for a man of modest means. Well decorated - due in all likelihood to the good taste of the home owner’s wife – and sturdily built. In the small foyer there were two doors: one leading straight on through to a kitchen, and the other on the right into a comfortable living room from where the smell of a waning fire issued forth. It was common practice for people to allow the coals to smolder all through the night in order to keep their house warm, especially for those workers with an early morning start to their day.

Off to the left was a staircase leading up to the bedrooms. Markus could hear the rustle of someone, presumably the man who had just doused the lamps in the living room, making ready to retire for the night.

A creaking of floorboards caught his attention. Petris and his younger self were tip-toeing through from the kitchen at the rear, daggers drawn.

“You sure made a hell of a racket back then,” remarked Specter. “Like I said, a total bloody amateur. But you got good later on. Oh, yes. You got damn good.”

“Thrace said that everyone has to go,” whispered Petris. “So I’ll do the wife. You take the husband.”

Markus frowned. “Okay. Let’s just get it over with.”

They had almost made it to the bottom of the stairs when the sound of footsteps could be heard coming from the upstairs hall. The two assassins quickly withdrew into the living room.

“Lazy bones,” said a distinctly female voice. “I’ll get you some bloody water. But you’ll be up running to pee later and you know it.”

“Just get me a drink, woman,” the man responded in good humor. “My back is killing me and I can still taste sawdust in my mouth.”

“You’re just a big baby,” she told him, laughing.

The flickering light from the candle she held illuminated her smile as she reached the foot of the stairs. Petris waited until she had rounded the corner and was almost in the kitchen before striking. In a burst of speed, he spanned the short distance between them and plunged his dagger deep into her back. The woman screamed in shock and pain, dropping the candle and thrashing about wildly. Petris frantically tried to cover her mouth but was unable to get a firm hold. Eventually, he settled for stabbing her again, this time in the side of the neck. Blood from the severed artery instantly gushed out.

“Yolinda!” called the voice from upstairs. This was followed by the rattle of a weapon being unsheathed.

The woman had ceased all struggling and was already close to death by the time the rapid stomping of descending feet sounded. The younger Markus glared over at Petris, then hurried across to the side of the staircase. He made it into the cover of a shallow alcove just as a tall man wearing a nightshirt and wielding a short blade spun away from the bottom step.

“Yolin –” he started to cry out as he caught sight of his dying wife and her blood spattered killer just inside the kitchen door.

He never got to complete her name. Markus stepped into his path. In one viciously fast movement, he thrust his dagger cleanly into the man’s heart. His victim's eyes shot wide and the sword fell from his grasp.

“An accurate strike for a beginner,” remarked Specter approvingly. “Much better than that idiot Petris.”

In contrast to the woman's death, the man's was almost instantaneous. He crumpled to the floor, his eyes still fixed on his beloved wife.

After pulling his dagger free, Markus wiped the blade clean on the man's shirt. “Let’s get the hell out of here,” he hissed.

Petris looked at the stairs. “Not yet. Thrace said everyone has to die.”

“Who else is there?”

“Momma? Papa?” The tiny voice of a young child called down from the darkness.

“You can't be serious,” Markus hissed, revulsion all over his face.

“We have to,” Petris insisted. “If we don’t, Thrace will have us both killed.”

“Then
you
do it.”

Petris faltered. “I…I can’t. That’s why I brought you along. I told them you could do this. Please. They'll torture us to death if you don’t. I’ll make it up to you, I swear I will.”

Time slowed as Markus watched his younger image force himself up the stairs. Suddenly, he felt sick. “I can’t watch this,” he murmured.

“You’ve already seen it,” Specter replied, grinning fiendishly. “This is the day I was born. This is the day you became strong.”

Though Markus squeezed his eyes tightly shut, the awful images refused to be dismissed. Every last damning detail was still horribly clear in his mind: the terror filled expression of the sobbing boy begging to be spared; his tiny hands thrown up uselessly in front of his face to defend himself when he realized that his begging was to no avail; and finally, the quiet little scream he made just as the steel ended his innocent life.

Just like his little victim had sobbed then, tears now streamed down Markus’ face. “No! Please. I can’t see this anymore.”

But the vision was relentless. It replayed those most terrible of moments again and again until, driven almost insane by the incessant torture, he collapsed to his knees and began clawing at his face and eyes.

“You can’t escape this, Markus,” Specter laughed. “This is who you are.”

A jolting sensation caused Markus to look up. The house was gone. He was now kneeling in an open field of grass and surrounded by dozens of men, women, and children. They all stared at him with accusing eyes. These were his victims. Each and every one of them. The little boy from the house was at the forefront.

“See for yourself what you have done,” Specter continued. “What did any of these do that was so bad to deserve death?”

Markus tried to tear his eyes away from the mass of hostile faces, but was unable to avert his gaze. “I had no choice,” he pleaded. “I only did what was needed to survive.”

“You can lie to anyone, Markus. Anyone but me.”

A pair of strong hands gripped his shoulders from behind. “Don’t you want this pain to end? Don’t you want to forget?”

“Yes, I do,” he admitted in a whisper.

“Then end it.”

A long, silver handled dagger appeared at his knees. Markus could feel Specter’s breath on his neck as his grip tightened.

“End it now. You are not strong enough. You never were. But I am. That’s why I was born…why you made me. To do what you could not. And to live with the guilt that now drives you to madness.”

With trembling fingers, Markus reached down and picked up the blade.

“That’s it,” Specter continued. “There is no more need to torture yourself. Let me carry this burden.” He released his hold and moved around to kneel in front of Markus. “It will be all right. Let it finally be over.”

With a still shaking hand, Markus raised the dagger and placed the tip over his heart. He met Specter’s eyes. Pure strength and conviction stared back at him. The death of these innocents had no more effect on his other half than a gentle breeze did against a rocky mountainside.

“Yes,” agreed Markus. “Let it be over.”

He looked to the dozens of dead who were still surrounding him. “I give to you the only justice I can,” he shouted in a clear powerful voice. The tears had ceased, his hand was now steady, and his face was expressionless.

“Goodbye, Specter.”

In a single fluid motion, Markus reversed the dagger, thrusting it hard and deep directly into Specter’s heart.

For an instant there was a look of utter astonishment on his dark half's heavily scarred face. Specter's arms then jerked out to clutch at Markus’s shoulders, though it was nothing more than a fleeting contact. With blood already trickling from the corner of his mouth, Specter's hands slipped to the ground. As his life ebbed away, so the vision around Markus began to fade. After only a few seconds he found himself back beneath the arch, still crouching on his hands and knees.

“Are you all right?”

It took a moment for Markus to realize who was speaking. After pushing himself up, he looked behind him. Estella was standing there, her hands clasped tightly at her waist and a concerned expression on her face.

“Yes,” he replied. “In fact, I’m better than I have been in many years.”

Specter was dead. And though he knew he could never undo the evil things he had done, the darkness that had dominated his spirit for so long was finally laid to rest. The voice in his head would be silent as well. In the future, all the strength he needed to do what must be done would come from himself alone.

“Are you whole again?” she asked.

Markus smiled. “In a way. Though I would prefer to say mended.”

“Then I welcome you to the Urazi. And I recognize you as my equal.”

He bowed respectfully. “Thank you, Estella. But I think I have quite a lot to learn before I become your equal.”

“Then let us not waste any time,” she told him. “The world is at war and we have much to do.”

King Halvar went over the battle plan in his head yet again. This was at least the fifth time he had done so in the past hour, and by now he was becoming more than a touch irritated with himself for his constant anxiety. There was no logical reason for it. Much of the tension niggling away at him had already been lessened earlier that morning when he'd received word from King Ganix in Elyfoss. King Yularian's personal messenger had arrived there to assure them that all was prepared for Ralmaria's part in the battle. This news came as a big relief.

              Also on the bright side, the new human fighters joining them had come in far more useful than he'd at first anticipated. Their knowledge of the terrain and lesser known trails exceeded even that of the elves, which made perfect sense when he thought about it. After all, this was their home ground. Their numbers had now been dispersed throughout the ranks where extra swords were needed – primarily on the left and right flanks. They had proved a bit difficult to manage at first, being that none of them had any experience fighting within an organized army. Not that the elves and dwarves were much better. Any experience they could lay claim to was strictly limited to recent events.

Nonetheless, the army stretched out before him was impressive. At least seventy-five thousand strong and all eager to fight. It was little wonder that they had spent the past four weeks chasing the Imperial forces to the edge of the Traxis border. But Halvar was not about to be taken in by another ruse. He made every move with the assumption that the enemy was simply waiting for an advantage before turning to fight.

They would certainly be well stocked with dwarf weapons. What's more, their ranks had now swelled in number to match his own forces. Their unwillingness to engage was no more than a tactic, he was sure of it. And even if he turned out to be wrong this time, after the last blunder with the dragon, it was still wise to be suspicious of everything they did.

Keira appeared from between a row of wagons following the main bulk of the fighters. It still bothered her that she would not be allowed in the thick of the fight, but at least she no longer complained incessantly about it. The spring in her step and the light in her eyes told him that something was afoot.

“One of my scouts has returned,” she told him. “They are turning to fight.”

Halvar’s heart skipped a beat. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. They have chosen high ground twenty miles north of here. Their archers will have tree cover on their right flank, and the rest of the field is an uphill climb.”

“Have you spoken to any of the commanders?”

“Not yet. But I know what they’ll say.”

So did Halvar. “I have no intention of nipping at their edges,” he said. “If we can end this battle now, we should.”

“I agree. Besides, most of them are unaware of Martok’s plan.”

Halvar could see that there was something else on her mind. “You have more for me?”

Keira shrugged. “It's just something one of the humans said a few days ago that's been bothering me. He said he was glad that we didn’t have to fight Shinzan’s real army. I asked him what he meant, and he told me he'd heard that Shinzan had an extra force of up to a million soldiers that could sweep across the land and lay waste to everything in their path. I took it as nothing more than rumor and nonsense. Everything we’ve learned says that his entire army numbers no more than two-hundred thousand swords. And close to half of those are about to engage us. The rest are likely scattered throughout Lumnia in smaller groups or holed up in garrisons.”

“If there
is
such an army, we’ve seen no evidence of it,” remarked Halvar. “Were it to exist, I'm certain your people would be aware of it.”

“That’s what makes me think it is simply a rumor spread to strike fear into the hearts of the people. Shinzan might be powerful, but I do not see how even he could hide a million soldiers without our notice.”

Halvar scratched his beard. “Even so, we should double our scouts and tell them to look for signs of any troops massing in unlikely places.”

“Despite my doubts, I took the precaution of doing that soon after I heard the human speak of it,” Keira replied. “For now though, I think we should concentrate on the task at hand. If Shinzan really does have a million extra men, for certain they’re nowhere near us now.”

Halvar grunted. “Yes, I agree.” He turned to one of his personal guard. “Gather the commanders. And ready the army to march.”

* * * * *

General Hronso ran his hands over the long, circular length of the dwarf weapon. Even as a Rakasa, he could still feel the energy it radiated. But instead of the warmth it would have brought to his flesh as an elf, it was cold to the point of being painful.

“Simply magnificent,” remarked the commander standing at his back. “Have you ever seen it in use?”

Hronso liked Commander Lukus. In fact, he was one of the few humans whose company he could actually abide. “Once, many years ago,” he replied. “Before you were born.” He withdrew his hand and closed it tightly. Even the pain was welcome. A reminder of a previous life. “Is everything in place?”

“Yes, sir. But Lieutenant Highwater is dead.”

Hronso looked over his shoulder. “Really! How?”

“I was forced to relieve him of his command, General.”

“You do know he was the cousin of General Pryn.”

“He may well be, but he was also an incompetent fool,” replied Lukus. “He claimed that he was unable to follow my orders. He even went so far as to tell me he was willing to bet his life on the fact that they could not be accomplished. I took him up on his wager, and, needless to say, I won. The matter is now concluded and the wager settled.”

This was what Hronso liked about the man. Fearless and efficient. That the lieutenant had powerful relatives had never entered into the equation for Lukus. Incompetence was inexcusable to him and would be weeded out come what may. Hronso had recently considered giving him a field promotion, but eventually rejected the idea. Lukus was a man who saw things very much in black and white. As skilled as he was, the nuances of the overall picture often eluded him.

“Then ready the weapon to be moved,” Hronso ordered. “They will know where we are soon, even if they don’t know already.”

“And what of the rumors concerning a plot against us?”

“Let them plot and scheme; it will do them no good. Whatever devilry Martok has devised will only delay the inevitable.”

In spite of this casual dismissal, the general knew that something significant was sure to happen. Martok’s strategies were legendary. Had he not been betrayed, he would have undoubtedly conquered all of Lumnia. But he was from another age, and Shinzan was far more ruthless than anyone Hronso had ever encountered during his lifetime. The Emperor would sacrifice an entire army without a single thought. Life meant nothing to him. No one could be adequately prepared to face such a foe. Not even Martok the Great.

* * * * *

“They are in sight, Your Highness. Everything is just as the scouts reported.” After breathlessly delivering his message, the young man bowed and hurried away.

Halvar didn’t really need to be told this news. He could see for himself the enemy banners flapping in a strong wind atop the rise. There were only a few more hours of daylight remaining, but it had already been decided that they would not wait until the morning to attack. Though the enemy held a strong position, the elves would be able to use the fading light to great advantage if they were able to make headway early enough. That alone was a good enough reason to press ahead.

Together with Keira, he waited impatiently for an emissary to appear from the Imperial lines with the usual arrogant demand for their surrender. But after a half an hour it was obvious that none would be coming.

“I guess they know we’re here to fight,” said Halvar.

“Then let us not disappoint them,” replied Keira. She nodded to an elf on her left holding a silver trumpet. He immediately blew three short blasts. The signal to attack.

The vast army charged forward, the roar of their battle cries thundering loud. In response only moments later, a sizeable section of the enemy began a steady descent down the hill with a solid wall of steel tipped pikes leading the way.

Frowning with surprise, Halvar turned to Keira. “What are they doing? Why would they concede the high ground so readily?”

“I have no idea,” she admitted. “It must surely be to our advantage. Unless there is a devilishly cunning trap that neither of us are able to see. That, or they have discovered...”

She let the final sentence hang.

“If that were the case, I cannot imagine that their commanders would be lingering where they are,” Halvar responded. Nonetheless, his eyes constantly scanned the terrain for any sign of trickery.

The moment the Imperial vanguard was in range, the dwarves let loose their weapons. While cursing the Emperor's name, they unleashed flash after flash of vivid light and fire, sending them directly into the heart of the advancing soldiers. In a simultaneous strike, the elves showered them with arrows. Hundreds fell in only a few seconds. Further compounding Halvar’s surprise, the Imperials made no attempt to return fire with their own dwarf weapons. This was illogical, he thought. Surely they must possess them,

When the two armies were barely a hundred yards apart, Keira gave another nod to the herald alongside. Three more blasts rang out, bringing the entire dwarf and elf advance to a sudden halt. Clearly baffled and unsettled by this, the enemy slowed their own approach.

“This is it,” muttered Halvar, eager anticipation mixing with an equal amount of apprehension in his voice. From his belt he produced a small, rectangular box with one button set in the center. He pressed this twice.

Scarcely had the second press been made when a massive explosion erupted amongst the enemy rear atop the rise. Then another, and another. The Imperial vanguard turned and gazed back in shock at the fires now devouring their comrades.

“It’s working,” cried Keira, a broad smile all over her face. “I can’t believe it. Martok’s plan is working.”

“Yes. King Yularian has done well.”

He had indeed. For the next fifteen minutes, dozens more of the dwarf explosive rods that had been secretly placed amongst the Imperial army encampment by agents of King Yularian continued to erupt, turning both men and equipment into nothing more than a chaotic melee of ruined flesh and twisted metal. King Halvar and Keira watched throughout with sheer joy.

“If only this ploy would work every time,” said Keira.

Cheers of victory burst forth from their ranks, mingling incongruously with cries of sheer terror from the enemy. The entire Imperial front was in a state of mass confusion. They could not move forward, yet were afraid to retreat in the direction of the explosions.

The call of a horn from the north then told the two monarchs that their plan had been fully realized. The already panicked enemy was sent further into distress as a line of three hundred horsemen appeared from the west, the banner of Ralmaria flying high while charging directly at the Imperial rear. Behind them, moving at a rapid run, came thousands of King Yularian's foot soldiers.

With vast clouds of smoke rising from the devastation, it was clear that the enemy commanders no longer had any control over their soldiers. Keira ordered the herald to sound a full charge.

An elf captain hurried toward the two monarchs and bowed low. “I have been sent to ask if we will accept surrender.”

Halvar looked to Keira and then nodded. “If possible, yes.”

“Do you think the Ralmarians will be so kind?” Keira asked him.

He shrugged. “That is not my concern at the moment. But I hope so.”

* * * * *

King Yularian had not felt blood lust in many years. But now the rage he was experiencing while spurring his steed into an even more furious gallop was bordering on insanity. It would take a river of blood to quench the thirst of his steel. Not that his motivation had much to do with how the Emperor was destroying his subjects' lives. Though a king’s heart should not be selfish, as the Imperial banners flapped mockingly ahead, Yularian knew full well that his lust for vengeance was about as personal as it was possible.

Shinzan had taken his daughter, his wife, and through deceit and corruption, his brother as well. Those who would not stand against him were fully deserving of death. He glanced over to his right. The army of King Halvar and Queen Keira were slowing their charge. The front lines of the Empire were surrendering. He sneered. Let them. The dwarves and elves may show them mercy.
He
would not.

The explosive devices laid by his covert operatives had killed a vast number of foes, but there were still thousands more left alive. He could hear the cries from his personal guard begging him to slow his mount so that they could ride ahead of him. But this was not a time for kingly restraint. This was a time for savage reprisal.

The ever more desperate shouts from Imperial commanders to regroup were falling on deaf ears as the surviving soldiers tried to make some sense out of the havoc descending upon them. Yularian bared his teeth. If all had gone well, the garrisons in both Ralmaria and Al Theona were at this very moment suffering similar chaos.