The One Rider (Ashandor Chronicles) (18 page)

CHAPTER
32

"Senduhah,

Senduhah.

Clakdinoh

de la Varnoom.

Clarduney,

Clarduney.

Shlod vrah

de la Parnoom."

"Hear it now.

Hear it now.

Battle forges

friends of foes.

Be it so.

Be it so.

The bonds of war

defeat all woes."

-Elven Poem

"Bonds of War"

translated by

Cloath the storyteller

D
raegon suddenly turned and flew high over the battlefield. He threw back his head, let out a terrible roar, and veered sharply away to the northwest. “What are you doing?” shouted Valaron. “They need our help.” Draegon ignored him and folded his wings. They plummeted toward the forest at blinding speed. The sharp maneuvers tossed Valaron’s stomach, and his fear of heights resurfaced. He tried to fight off the panic by closing his eyes. A tendril of thought touched his mind
as
Draegon shared his calm with the young rider. Valaron sensed a growing excitement from the dragon. His fears vanished as quickly as they had appeared. He looked down and saw a mass of bodies moving quickly through the trees like ants swarming out of their nest. The entire mountainside was rolling and moving as though it was alive.

Draegon opened his wings at the last moment and dove low through the tree tops. Valaron’s breath hung in his throat. Limbs struck his legs
, and l
eaves shot past his face. Looking down he saw the reason for Draegon’s excitement. Out of the mountain and onto the battlefield ran tens of thousands of dwarves
, t
heir short bodies moved quicker than Valaron would have ever imagined.

The stout warriors wore chain-mail coats that hung down to their knees, and many of them were armed with double-edged battle axes. Others carried large hammers with handles that ended in short, curved, full-bellied blades. All of the dwarves wore long beards that were plaited and braided, and their long hair streamed behind them as they rushed forward. They chanted in unison as they flooded onto the plains. “Kanon’d’har! Kanon’d’har!” they shouted, using Valaron’s elven name as their battle cry. The dwarves voices grew stronger and louder when they caught sight of Valaron and Draegon skimming through the treetops.

The dragon answered their shouts with a deafening roar, and he shot up over the edge of the charging dwarves. Draegon’s wings beat at the air as he climbed straight up into the sky
, and
Valaron gripped the saddle with both hands. The duo flew higher and higher. At the top of his climb, the mighty dragon arced onto his back, and for an instant dragon and rider hung upside down, motionless against the blue sky. Valaron forgot his fears and threw his hands over his head as he dangled from the thigh straps. He was lost in the moment. Dragon and rider shared a single thought. “Victory!”

Draegon folded his wings and plummeted back toward the battlefield, rolling over as he fell. Valaron held on tightly to the dragon’s neck. His head spun as he fought to recover his senses. The Dragon Battle Song filled the air once again, and the Morts cringed at the horrible melody mixed among the thunderous battle cries of the dwarves.

“Kanon’d’har! Kanon’d’har!” the dwarves shouted, slapping their weapons against chain-mail coats. Leading the charge was a group of men on horseback, scimitars flashing over their heads.

“To me!” shouted Skarson as he led the Lone Riders into battle alongside the dwarves. The scimitars made short work of the enemy, and the Lone Riders rode deep into the faltering ranks. Morts fell quickly to the dwarves battle axes and mighty, two-handed hammers. The diminutive warriors waded through the enemy ranks with devastating results.

Valaron surveyed the battlefield from the sky. He watched the dwarves rush over the plain like water spilling onto the ground. When the Morts turned to face their new attackers the rebels cut into them from behind. Mort captains shouted commands to try and regain order on the battlefield, but confusion took over their ranks.

“Now to finish what we started,” said Cortain. He and Galdor spurred their horses forward. The rebels pushed the remaining Morts into the approaching dwarves who cut them down easily.

Dwarves continued to file out of the mountain, and their overwhelming force made fast work of the remaining enemy. The war was soon decided. Many Morts fled into the mountains only to die among the trees at the hands of the relentless dwarves. Others stood their ground and were methodically killed. The combined rebel forces made their way across the battlefield. Men, elves and dwarves fought side-by-side, and the Morts succumbed to the onslaught.

#

Kragh fought his way through the chaos and rallied as many captains as he could find. They made their way toward the forest where they raced north through the trees.

“Follow me!” he shouted. They sprinted past the palace and finally ran clear of the dwarves. Kragh and his comrades moved through the trees and turned east into a grove that sat some distance behind the palace wall. They secreted themselves by the mouth of a cave that was hidden deep in the forest.

#

Praelix
and his guards bolted from the city wall as Valaron and Draegon flew in from the battlefield. The King sprinted for his palace
, and t
he guards followed close behind as the dragon’s shadow fell over the courtyard. Draegon folded his wings. The air whistled past Valaron’s ears as they fell from the sky. The mighty dragon barely slowed his descent and landed hard, killing one of the Morts under his foot
, snatching
another in his jaws. He tossed the Mort guard high over the wall to land on the battlefield, his head and shoulders crushed.

Draegon roared and jumped. He landed on another Mort with a sickening crunch just as the King dashed through the palace entrance. The last two members of his guard scampered to climb the steps to safety
, but t
he black dragon jumped onto the top landing and seized the nearest Mort in his massive jaws. He bit hard, killing the guard instantly. The last Mort dove to safety. Draegon shook his head and threw the dead guard against the palace wall with a sickening thud.

A band of dwarves formed a living ladder and effortlessly scaled the palace wall. The doorway soon swung open allowing the rebels to swarm the city. They met very little resistance inside the wall as most of the Morts had been gathered on the field for war. The inhabitants of Kalador were locked in their homes, and they came flooding out into the streets. A thunderous cheer broke the air as the rebels stormed through the city.

Draegon took wing, flew over the palace, and landed in the clearing at the north side of the dragon approach. Valaron slid from the saddle and ran in, scimitar in hand. He made his way through the halls, looking for the King. Valaron raced around a corner and slid to a stop. He found himself face-to-face with
Praelix
and Grott, the surviving Mort guard.

“Your dragon will not be fighting for you now,” snarled Grott as he raced toward the young dragon rider. They met with a loud ring of steel. Grott’s sword beat down at Valaron, but his blows were deflected. The dragon rider blocked each one. The Mort lunged. Valaron knocked Grott’s blade down and sliced across the guard’s face. The dragon rider moved past Grott and slashed across his back. The Mort yelled in pain and whirled to face Valaron who was already moving. Grott yelled again as Valaron cut across his side and moved in a circle around the confused Mort. A two-handed blow was aimed at where Valaron had been. The Mort over-extended himself and stumbled forward. The dragon rider struck swiftly
, and
Grott’s head rolled across the floor.

Praelix
ran back down the hallway with Valaron close behind. The King darted in and out of the many arched doorways that lined the halls. Valaron burst into the great banquet hall outside the council chamber and nearly ran into his enemy. The young dragon rider fell heavily and skidded across the floor. He looked up and saw
Praelix
charging with sword in hand.

CHAPTER
33

First the pride,

Then the fall.

-Elven Saying

M
oeldor watched from the northern tower as the dwarves turned the battle in favor of the rebels. He quickly ran back into the palace and raced to the throne room. The wizard climbed the steps and stood in front of the throne. “One pace up,” he said, stepping up onto the throne’s seat, “and one pace back.” He stood facing the back of the throne. The constellation Mael was laid out in shining gems. Using his dagger he pried the pink stone from the heart of Mael and jumped down from the throne. “Aradorn,” he said, turning it over and over in his hand.

Shouts carried into the throne room. Moeldor quickly pocketed the stone. He made his way out of the back of the palace and through the city streets to the back wall. A quick dash into a small shed near the well hid him from the rebels. He lifted a section of floor to reveal steps that descended into the dark ground. Moeldor lit a torch and climbed down into a tunnel that reached back under the wall to a rear exit that the dwarves had built when the palace was being constructed. He followed the tunnel until he saw a light up ahead. Moeldor stumbled out into the forest. Kragh and his captains were waiting for him. As night fell, the wizard led them back into the mountains.

#

Valaron raised his weapon just in time. The King’s blow glanced off to the side, and the dragon rider leaped to his feet.

“So,” said
Praelix
. “You think that you are able to best your King?” He slowly circled to the left. “I know who you are, Valaron.” The King dragged the point of his sword over the slate floor as he continued to circle to Valaron’s left. The scraping noise grated on the young boy’s nerves. “Your father died by my command, and I will personally crush his lineage.
That monster of yours
will be no use without a rider. It will have to be destroyed.”

Praelix
lunged forward and showered Valaron with a barrage of blows. They moved over the slate floor from one end of the hall to the other
, e
ach thrust and cut answered with ringing steel.

“The time has come for your oppression to end,”
said
Valaron.

Blow after blow rang out in the dimness of the great hall, the sound of steel echoing off the stone walls. The two enemies moved as one, swords slashing at one another.

“The only thing that will come to an end today is your short life,” said
Praelix
. The King was an accomplished swordsman who had many duels to his credit
, and h
e was quickly taking the upper hand. The long day of battle was taking its toll on Valaron. His arm was tiring quickly, and his blows were met at every side as he tried to find an opening.

#

Skarson and the Lone Riders stormed the palace. They were accompanied by Shamesh, the dwarf King, his brother Shmiosh, and Olkin, the Archway guard that had made the decision to allow Skarson and his Lone Riders entry to the dwarf stronghold. They hurried through the halls looking for opposition. As they passed the throne room they heard the ringing of swords just up ahead. “Olkin,” Skarson said to the dwarf by his side, “come with me. The rest of you make sure the palace is secure.” He and Olkin ran toward the sounds of swordplay.

#

Praelix
feinted up then slashed downward across Valaron’s face leaving a bloody cut. The young dragon rider stumbled backwards and slid to the side to avoid the King’s next thrust. Valaron’s sword arm was growing weary. His scimitar was becoming too heavy to lift, and hot blood streamed down his face. Valaron sliced at
Praelix
, but t
he King blocked Valaron’s sword and dealt him a solid blow to the chin with the hilt of his weapon.

Praelix
pounded at the stunned dragon rider and backed him across the hall. A mighty blow from
Praelix
sent Valaron to his knees. The King had knocked the scimitar from Valaron’s grasp, and it dangled at the end of its cord.

“There will be no Dragon Guard,” hissed
Praelix
. “It dies with you!” The King raised his sword to deal a death blow, and his blade arced downward to sever Valaron at the neck. A mighty ringing sound filled the hall
as
Olkin’s ax stayed the King’s blade. “Not today,” growled the dwarf. Olkin rushed forward and forced
Praelix
away from Valaron. The King’s blows were answered by swings of Olkin’s battle ax. The dwarf pushed
Praelix
across the hall, and the ax rang as he met the King’s sword with quick turns.
Praelix
cut wildly in the air
, desperately trying
to find an opening for his sword.

“Down here,” Olkin laughed as he pressed harder.

King and dwarf moved over the floor like dancers locked in a deadly waltz. Olkin continued to push
Praelix
back using his battle ax to counter the King’s attacks. Every thrust was deftly blocked by the diminutive warrior
, and
Praelix
struggled to stay away from the dwarf’s ax.

Olkin was tireless in his efforts, and the King was quickly losing heart as the duel continued to rage across the hall.
Praelix
misjudged many of his cuts, and they slid harmlessly over the dwarf’s head. Each time the King missed, Olkin would shove him back with the end of his ax shouting, “Try again!” His deep laughter echoed off of the stone walls.

Praelix
lunged in desperation. Olkin went down onto his knees, ducked under the King’s sword, and with a mighty shout, his ax cut through the King’s sword arm. Stunned,
Praelix
stared at the blood pouring from his wound. The King’s sword slid across the floor, his severed hand still clutching the hilt.

Olkin jumped up and swung again.
Praelix
fell dead at the dwarf’s feet. Olkin pulled his ax from the King’s chest, shook blood from the blades, and poked the body to make sure the King was dead. Satisfied, he turned and grinned at Skarson. “Your little adventure has done this old dwarf some good,” he said. “I feel a hundred years younger.” He thumped the butt of his ax on the floor, and his laughter filled the great hall as the other Lone Riders joined them.

“The city is ours,” said
Willem
, “and the palace is clear.”

“Good,” replied Skarson. “Where are Shamesh and Shmiosh?”

“They went off to look for more Morts to kill,” laughed
Willem
.

“Very well,” replied Skarson. “Take your men outside. We’ll join you there.”

“I am Olkin, son of Dorkin,” said the dwarf, bowing low and introducing himself to Valaron. “I’ll tend to your wound if you will allow.” Olkin crushed the leaves of an herb he dug out of the pouch that hung by his side. He pressed the green mass onto Valaron’s face and pushed it deep into the opening. Valaron winced as the dwarf packed the shiny, wet poultice into the cut. “It will heal, but there will be a nasty scar,” he said, looking at the deep gash that ran from under Valaron’s left eye all the way down to his chin. “Don’t worry, boy,” laughed Olkin. “The ladies will love it. Battle scars lend the warrior a certain appeal.”

Skarson, Olkin, and Valaron made their way down the hallway and out of the palace to find a large host of the rebel force collecting in the city courtyard alongside the elves and many of the dwarves. The people of Kalador cheered at the news of the King’s death. Galdor, Cortain, and the other rebels stood tall in the twilight as the townspeople shouted their praise.

Draegon flew low over
the gathered throng, and a new cheer raced through the crowd. The black dragon threw back his head, and with a mighty roar, joined in the celebration.

Pen’d’roh
ran through the crowd and pushed his way to stand before Valaron. “You must come at once,” he said. His face was dark and grim. Valaron looked around. He suddenly realized that Cler’d’roh was nowhere to be found. Overwhelmed by a feeling of dread, he raced after
Pen’d’roh
.