The Knights of Erador (The Echoes Saga: Book 7), page 36
Even his sigh of relief was silent. Now his only trouble lay with Pig, who would likely reappear with a clatter. They just needed to get out of Grimwhal. The city had become a hunting ground now.
Doran froze beside the fire.
His heart pounded in his chest.
There was no mistaking the distant sound of guttural clacking. He gave Inara one last look - no beast would touch her so long as he had anything to say about it.
Back in the hall, he closed the door and prepared for the fight of his life. Three passages converged on the pantry and, right now, all three of them were steadily filling with Clackers. Doran growled and slammed his silvyr axe into the ground beside him. The blade cut through the stone and remained partially upright, ready for him to grab it when needed.
Taking Andaljor from his back, he untied the strap and held the haft with both hands. His thumb rotated the mechanism in the centre of the haft and he gave both sides a quick tug in opposite direction. This separated the axe and hammer, offering him a weapon in each hand. By the time he looked up again, the Clackers had advanced halfway down their respective passages. If there was anything to make them hesitate, it would be the blood of their own kind staining both ends of Andaljor.
“Right,” Doran grizzled, “which one o’ ye is gonna get it first?”
30
Fire and Ice
The bells had stopped ringing. From within the throne room of The Dragon Keep, Namdhor was quiet. Malliath’s fires couldn’t be heard nor the dying dwarves being consumed by it. The people weren’t even screaming as an army of Reavers marched up the city’s slope.
It wasn’t even the calm before the storm - there had been no storm… yet.
The lack of a battle aside, Vighon was standing in what would be any invader’s final destination. When that storm finally arrived at his door, it would come for his crown. Then, there would be nothing to do but meet it with fire and steel.
Spread across the chamber were six of his guard, all of whom were braced for battle. General Garrett stood in front of them, his sword drawn and his cloak discarded on the floor behind him. This wasn’t the first time the veteran had stood before an overwhelming force and it showed in his calm demeanour.
With the doors sealed, there was only one other way out of the throne room and that was through the dragon door, just off from the throne. There, beyond a towering portcullis, a balcony large enough to hold Athis had been built. Of course, it was only a way out if Vighon didn’t mind diving into The King’s Lake; a death sentence to all.
Then the wait was over. The storm arrived to the sound of marching feet and the clatter of armour. There came a ruckus from beyond the doors as Namdhorian soldiers met the invaders. Swords clashed and men screamed, their violent collision sharp and sudden. Bodies hit the floor and silence once again resumed its reign over the keep.
Vighon drew the sword of the north in one dramatic sweep. Elven magic brought the flames to life, dancing across the silvyr blade. It was a Reaver’s worst nightmare.
“You’ve never faced what’s about to come through those doors,” Vighon warned. “But make no mistake, these monsters need their heads just as much as we do. Swing high and watch each other’s backs. Don’t waste energy on anything that isn’t going to part them from their rotten skulls.”
The doors shook, startling them all. Something hit them again and the thick, wooden beam barring the way began to splinter.
“It has to be magic,” Garrett remarked.
Again and again the doors were subjected to a battering, yet they refused to yield. Then, without explanation, the assault came to an end. Vighon knew it would be naive, however, to consider the enemy’s silence a retreat in the face of a stubborn door. They had come too far for that.
The king listened to his instincts and raised his shield. The only sound was that of his sword, its flames licking the air.
That same air popped in his ears a moment later, a result of the portal that tore through the fabric of reality. Sparks and streaks of lightning erupted from all around the gateway, creating a chaotic atmosphere. The dark void concealed the doors but opened another entrance, allowing the enemy to enter the throne room with naught but a step.
A single figure emerged, clad in black armour and a helm topped with a crown of tall spikes. The portal collapsed on itself in a compression of air that blew the figure’s dark cloak out to the side. Death, as it was, walked towards them with a jagged sword in its gloved hand.
Garrett raised his blade with both hands and pointed it at the Reaver’s faceplate. “You will not touch him,” he promised.
“Surround it!” Vighon barked.
The king’s guard moved to challenge the crowned knight from all sides, but the general wasn’t waiting for them. He lashed out with his sword, bringing the steel to bear across the Reaver’s neck. It was wickedly fast, intercepting his attack and countering with a hard elbow to Garrett’s chestplate. Before the veteran had even hit the floor, the armoured fiend was turning to parry the king’s guard.
Vighon darted past Garrett and threw himself into the melee with sword and shield. Any hopes of landing a blow were dashed when a member of his guard staggered into his path with a slashed throat. His momentum gone, the king paused, searching for the best angle of attack. The crowned knight presented him with very few, and those openings to be seen were often lures to bring its opponents in for the kill.
Two more of the king’s guard fell to the Reaver’s tactics, its movements fluid from one attack to the next. Whoever this creature had been in life, he had to have been one of the greatest warriors of his Age.
But this wasn’t the Reaver’s Age…
The king moved in with his fiery sword and came down hard on the crowned knight. Their blades locked together over their heads and the Reaver retreated a step. One of the remaining guards swept in with his blade and cut though the creature’s midriff with one clean swipe. Of course, it did nothing but drive the crowned knight back another step.
“Take its head!” Vighon reminded them.
The Reaver drove Vighon’s sword into an arc, freeing it to plunge its jagged blade into the neck of an approaching king’s guard. That was four dead in less than a minute. The king roared in anger, all rational thought suspended, and charged at his opponent’s back before it could murder another northman. The silvyr found no resistance as it speared the creature through and through.
It was a killing blow to all but a Reaver. Vighon, however, had more than just a blade at his disposal. The flames caught the dark cloak and quickly spread in every direction. The creature thrashed, knocking Vighon back, until it was able to tear the cloak from its shoulders. Through the smoke, the crowned knight leaped at the king, ignoring the guards now.
“Come on!” Vighon bellowed, bringing his shield up.
The impact was hard, but no harder than that of any other man. The king pushed the blade away and came back with his fiery silvyr. Their swords clashed high and low, each searching for the right angle of attack. The crowned knight was swift, best displayed in its ability to parry both Vighon and the incoming guards while simultaneously lashing out to put them on the defensive.
With a roar on his lips, General Garrett rejoined the fight. His sword came down again and again, driving the Reaver towards the doors. The three remaining king’s guard followed the melee and sought to attack their foe from all sides. But this foe was unlike any other.
The crowned knight tilted its head to the left and Garrett’s blade chopped down into its shoulder instead, lodging the blade in dark plate. In one move, the creature thrust Garrett into one of the guards, parried another, and hacked through the head of the third. A boot to the chest launched Garrett back to the ground and pushed the king’s guard back.
Vighon jumped in with the only guard still in the fight, but the crowned knight was prepared for multiple combatants. It yanked Garrett’s sword from its shoulder and met the northmen with a blade in each hand. The king used his shield to keep one sword at bay while his own scorched a line down the Reaver’s chest, hoping to at least knock it back and give the guard a chance to strike true. The armoured killer, however, spun inside the reaching arm and delivered a hammering backhand that whipped across the guard’s face. There was a flash of jagged steel before it ran him through.
Again, the king’s burning blade met that of the Reaver’s and they danced across the chamber, between the bodies and through the pools of blood. Fighting an opponent wielding two swords was often easy, since the majority of fools to attack with a pair of blades had no idea how to coordinate them both at the same time.
Unfortunately, the crowned knight came at him with an efficiency that reminded the king of Galanör, easily one of the best, if not the best, sword fighter in the realm. His sword and shield came up one after the other, then both at once, each time always to defend and never attack. The steps of his throne proved to be his ultimate unmaking. The king tripped backwards and fell across the steps. His shield came up just in time to prevent the Reaver from taking his head.
Over the lip of the shield, Vighon glimpsed the crowned knight raising both of its swords again. The shield would hold up, but how long could his own strength resist the approach of death? Ensuring he didn’t have to find out, Garrett and the surviving king’s guard tackled the creature from behind, locking its arms in theirs. Together, all three staggered away from the steps in a contest of brute strength that saw both of its blades dropped to the floor.
“Hold it!” Vighon yelled, rising to his feet absent his shield - he was going to cut off its ugly head.
The Reaver ceased its struggling and turned to the king’s guard. That malevolent helm came down on the man’s nose with a terrible crunch, robbing him of his grip on the crowned knight. The creature then snatched at the guard’s head and pulled it into the tall spikes atop its helm, killing him instantly.
Outraged, Vighon swung the sword of the north. Only years of discipline allowed him to halt the weapon’s momentum before it killed Garrett, who had been forced into the blade’s path at the last second. A dark gauntlet smashed into the general’s face and sent him reeling with a bloody mouth, leaving the king to swing again. The Reaver ducked and weaved between Vighon’s every strike, avoiding the flames and silvyr by inches. Frustrated, the northman levelled his sword and thrust forwards, his aim intended to spear the crowned knight’s head.
Proving its lack of fear, as well as pain, the undead fiend raised its arms and allowed the blade to pass through the narrow gap between its armoured vambraces. The silvyr sliced through the steel and the flames sparked as the sword was rammed towards its head, but the Reaver continued to turn its body, thereby twisting the sword from Vighon’s grip.
The sword of the north spun away and clattered across the chamber floor. The king’s first instinct was to charge the crowned knight and tackle it to the floor, but pommelling an armoured opponent with your bare hands was a sure way to break bones.
“Oi!” Garrett snarled from behind the Reaver. The grizzled general was a battered sight, with blood streaming from his nose, dripping over his lips, and down his chin. His expression conveyed none of his exhaustion, only that of his true grit; something to fear when his king was threatened.
“If you want him,” he growled, “you’re going to have to go through me first.” The general raised his sword in both hands.
Whether Garrett meant to distract the deadly Reaver or not, Vighon wasn’t going to waste the opportunity. He retrieved his shield from the steps behind him and pounced towards the crowned knight. The iron rim of the shield connected with the back of the creature’s neck, propelling it forwards and into Garrett’s waiting swing.
Unencumbered by what should have been a tremendous amount of pain, the Reaver simply gave into its momentum and dropped into a roll that carried it over a fallen sword.
Vighon foresaw what was about to happen, but he was powerless to prevent it…
Garrett’s mighty swing cut through the air, taking his sword far to the side and exposing his body. That was when the crowned knight jumped up from its roll and drove its blade into the general, burying it to the hilt. Garrett’s eyes flashed with horror, his bloody mouth ajar in shock.
Vighon cried out for his old friend but there was nothing to be done. He could only watch the life leave Garrett’s eyes before the crowned knight let him fall to the floor and join the others in their eternal rest.
There was no longer a word to describe the fury that was ignited in Vighon’s veins. He didn’t even remember picking up his fiery sword again, but it was in his hand now and he wanted to make this Reaver suffer before he sent it back to hell. The crowned knight kicked out and flicked its jagged blade up, where it easily snatched it from the air.
“I wouldn’t do that, Vighon.”
The king whipped his head around to see Alijah through the portcullis, standing on the other side of the dragon door. Behind him, the sun was just disappearing behind the western peaks of Vengora.
“Look around you,” Alijah warned. “Lord Kraiden wasn’t known for taking prisoners…”
“Kraiden?” Vighon spat, recalling the treacherous Dragon Rider from Alijah’s ancient tale.
“A shadow of his former self,” the half-elf explained. “As a Reaver, he no longer possesses the magic he once claimed. His history is far bloodier than either of ours - I know I wouldn’t want to fight him.”
“I don’t care what this monster has done!” Vighon snapped. “I care about what you’re going to do… the monster I should have seen coming.”
“Monster?” he echoed. “I am no monster, Vighon.”
Alijah’s hand moved in an arc over the portcullis and melted the iron with magic. Bright orange and sizzling, a man-sized entrance was burnt out of the massive gate. A flick of his fingers pulled that section of portcullis away and he entered the throne room.
“How many of your people have died?” he asked the king. “This is the most bloodless invasion in any history!”
“Bloodless?” Vighon fumed, pointing his sword at Alijah now. “Tell that to the dwarves you just murdered. How many of their kingdoms have you left a graveyard in your wake?”
The hint of a wince crossed Alijah’s face. “Clashing with Dhenaheim was unfortunate, but inevitable. Besides their stubbornness, they held the only strip of land that connects Erador to Illian.”
“You killed so many because they were in your way?” Vighon didn’t know the person standing before him.
“I’m here to bring the world together, Vighon - that’s always been my destiny. The dwarves, like the elves, are part of that world. At present, however, they are too strong-willed to accept my rule. They need breaking down first, so that they might rise again with a sense of belonging in my kingdom. Can you imagine that? A realm where we all live together in harmony, with no borders to divide us.”
Tears welled in the king’s eyes. “How could you do this, Alijah? You have lost your mind!” he raged. “You have betrayed me! You have betrayed everything you ever stood for! You always wanted to save the realm, not set it on fire!”
Alijah sighed and walked around Vighon as if he didn’t have a flaming sword pointed at him. “You are blinded by your anger, old friend. Understandable,” he conceded. “I know you and Garrett had a history and I’m sorry it came to this. The men who perished at Grey Stone were supposed to be the sum of your losses.”
“Grey Stone…” Vighon uttered. “You, you were behind… You are the one who started this?”
Alijah gave him a patronising smile. “You don’t really believe there’s such a place that allows one to see and hear across the world, do you? I thought it was a gamble telling you as much, but even Inara believed me.”
“Why didn’t you just kill me?” Vighon demanded. “You’ve had more than enough chances.”
Alijah glanced at Lord Kraiden and the Reaver immediately responded without a word passing between them. The ancient Dragon Rider removed the bolt barring the doors and opened them for the knights of Erador to pour in.
“I didn’t come here to kill everyone,” Alijah claimed. “I could have marched my army from Dhenaheim to Syla’s Pass and wiped every living thing off the face of Verda. But I didn’t. Instead, I ensured there would be no war. With words alone I kept Thedomir in line—”
“With threats!” Vighon corrected.
“The sight of Malliath is threat enough,” Alijah replied. “But your reaction to their separatism was more important. I knew exactly what you would do, and you left The Ice Vales in disarray, without direction; something I will correct.”
Vighon’s breathing grew increasingly ragged as his temper continued to rise. “And the mages? You set Valatos against me?”
“I made the Archon a few promises, nothing more. They, in turn, whispered in Lord Carrington’s ear and made certain that Velia would offer you no support. Those soldiers you’re expecting aren’t coming, I’m afraid, nor the ones I convinced you to leave behind in Grey Stone. But don’t worry, I will personally deal with both the Archon and Lord Carrington. This kingdom will be brought back into line.”
The king shook his head. “You will still have to face my men and those of Lirian. Our alliance alone will spoil your plans.”
Alijah couldn’t have looked less concerned. “Your men, north of here, dare not take a step towards the city - Malliath is seeing to that. And as for your alliance with Lirian…” The half-elf stood back and gestured at the open door.
The dark knights parted, clearing a path for Lady Gracen to enter the throne room. Gone was her pretty and expensive clothing, all replaced with tough leathers and a pair of short-swords crossed over her back. Behind her, six others trailed her entrance in similar attire and short-swords.
Bar Lady Gracen, they all wore red blindfolds over their eyes.
Vighon’s anger was momentarily tempered by utter confusion. “Lady Gracen?”
“My title is Mother,” she corrected, stunning Vighon all the more.
