War In The Winds (Book 9) (2 page)

Claws clutching, Nath plunged a thousand feet toward his death.

“Noooooooo!”

CHAPTER 2

Frosty.

That’s how Ben saw the condition of Bayzog, the part-elf wizard. The Clerics of Barnabus hadn’t sent any word regarding Bayzog’s family in months. Every passing day further iced the part-elf’s demeanor.

Ben sat on a stool with his sinewy forearms resting on the rounded edge of Bayzog’s grand table. The wizard had been hard at work for days, with his nose inside his great book and his violet eyes glued to the pages.

How does he do this and not sleep?

Ben yawned.

Bayzog flipped another page.

Ben turned his focus to another set of objects on the table, the jaxite stones. There were three of them, large and egg-shaped, each with a warm blue radiance. They flared and pulsated from time to time, depending on Bayzog’s utterances. Ben couldn’t make heads or tails of anything Bayzog said. He had tried once, but it had given him a headache.

He plucked purple grapes from a fine bowl on the table and chewed slowly. Bayzog didn’t mind him being there, so long as he didn’t create any type of
disturbance
—what his parents would have called a
ruckus
in Quinley, but that was a lifetime ago. His thoughts drifted.

He didn’t have any family now. He’d checked years ago. His mother and father had passed. Many of his other kin had died in the war or moved on. His wife and children were dead at the hands of Barnabus. He clenched his fists, thinking about the last time he stared into his wife’s soft brown eyes. Sometimes he didn’t sleep well at night, with nightmares of the day he had shoveled his children’s graves.
I should have been there to protect them.

He wasn’t alone in his loss. Families all over had lost. In a strange way, he found comfort in that. Motivation. He had to do everything he could to help put an end to all of this. Every time he vanquished one of their enemies, perhaps more senseless deaths were prevented. Bayzog had helped him see that. So had Brenwar. They were the only family he had left.

Bayzog’s neat black brows were buckled as another page flipped over. The book, or tome rather, was a monstrosity, maybe thousands of pages long. The wizard seemed intent on reading all of it. Searching, digging deeper and deeper, trying to find help. Ben felt for his friend, who was tormented over the safety of his captured wife and children. It was a cruel game the forces of Barnabus played with Bayzog. Ben felt his pain.

I don’t know how he does it. I’d have unraveled long ago.

They’d talked little about it. Bayzog seemed to have taken the servants of Barnabus at their word—that his family wouldn’t be placed in any duress or danger. That all he had to do was remain quiet and still, within the city. All the wizard said was that longsuffering was something elves were accustomed to, even though it did drive the man inside him a little crazy. He would endure, and he had faith that Sasha and his sons, Rerry and Samaz, would endure as well.

On its own accord, the book closed, lowered, and rested itself on the table. Bayzog rubbed his eyes.

Ben wanted to speak but held his tongue. He reached for the Wizard Water in a nearby pitcher.

“I’m fine,” Bayzog said. “I drank my fill hours before you arose.” He pulled his narrow shoulders back. The whites of his eyes were cracked. “But I’ve discovered some information that could be helpful.”

Ben leaned forward and said, “Tell me about it? And I hope it involves getting out of this place.”

Bayzog stretched out his long fingers and wrapped them around the jaxite stones.

“I have a handle on their unique power,” he said. His eyes smoldered the color of the stones. “And we can use that to our advantage.” When he released the stones, the glow went out. He turned to Ben and locked eyes with him. “Our enemy watches us everywhere, so we will incorporate aid from sources they will not suspect. We will use that aid to seek out my family and my enemies.”

“And what kind of aid might that be?” Ben said.

“Dragons,” Bayzog said. “I’m going to summon dragons.”

***

Tired, hungry, and thirsty, Sasha and her boys endured. Shackled, on foot, and tethered to horses, the three of them followed behind a train of soldiers. It was the third move in a month. Sasha didn’t understand the reason for it. Why not leave them locked up in one spot? Was that too easy? Was this mild torture? No one had spoken a word to them.

Arms and hands encased in metal cuffs tied to her waist, shoulders sagging and sore, she glanced behind her. The gait of her boys was easy, but their heads were downcast. She was proud of them. Neither complained. Both stayed close, quiet, and determined to protect her, and they’d done well. A pit was in her stomach, however. She was the mother. She should protect them. Instead, she’d let them down and gotten them all captured.

I just wanted to be younger.
Her teeth dug into her lip.
What a fool I was!

Lizardmen and acolytes led the way up the rocky steppes with no sign of resting. They’d been to ruins, abandoned camps, and temples, stopping very little for rest. Above, the skies were dreary and the clouds thick and lazy. A misty rain fell on her face.

Oh how I miss you, Bayzog.

Navigating between two rocks, she slipped. Pain jabbed into her knee.

“Guzan!” she cried out.

Rerry and Samaz rushed to her side.

“Mother,” Rerry said, “are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” she said, trying to force herself up to her feet. “Just help me up.”

“No,” Samaz said, pinning her down by the shoulder.

“But,” she said, glancing at the nasty gash in her knee. She grimaced, and her eyes watered.

“Look away, Mother,” Rerry said, “while we clean it.”

“Alright—
ulp
!”

The horse she was tethered to jerked her onto her back, dragging her away.

Rerry sprang to his feet, yelling, “Stop the horses! Stop the—
woof!
”

A lizardman drove his spear butt into Rerry’s belly.

Rerry dropped to his knees.

An acolyte, small and ghostly with bright colors on his head, brought the horse to a halt. The rest of the small caravan came to a stop. Plum robes dragging the ground, he eased his way over to Sasha and inspected her knee. He offered her a smile full of gaping teeth and said, “You can walk or be dragged.”

She wanted to spit on the oily man’s face, but instead, she pushed off the ground onto her feet and looked down at him.

“Well done,” he said. “See to it you don’t lose step again. There will be no stopping next time.”

Struggling with the metal cuffs, she eyed him as he went away.

If I could reach my magic, I’d set fire to your tattooed head.

***

Rerry and Samaz held each other’s gaze for a moment as the group resumed its movement. Rerry, the younger, light-haired and fair, scooped up a stone. Avoiding the guard’s eyes, he tossed the stone back to Samaz, who snatched it out of the air and slid it under his robes.

“Mother,” he said, catching up to her, “are you alright? You are limping.”

Two lizardmen cut him off and shoved him backward.

“Enough!” he said, surging forward. “I’m just checking my mother, serpents! You’re the ones slowing us down, not me!”

The lizardmen, both of which had thick muscles bulging under their scales, hemmed him in dangerously, spears lowered between neck and belly.

Rerry raised his hands and backed away, glancing at his ailing mother. “Alright. Alright.” He fell back in step with the horse that led them. The lizardmen stayed close, to either side of him. He checked out the steel on their hips.

One day, I’ll turn you all into boots.

He took a quick glance over his shoulder at Samaz. The thickset part-elf dropped the stone on the ground and returned a quick nod.

Good
, Rerry thought,
good
.

For weeks on end, at every opportunity, he or Samaz had been leaving markings on stone or in wood by any means they could. It was an elven distress sign that Bayzog had taught them when they were little. The problem was, Rerry didn’t think there were any elves for at least a hundred miles except them. He trudged along.

No harm in trying. No harm at all … unless we get caught.

CHAPTER 3

Brenwar’s hammer came up and banged down. Orange sparks danced off the red-hot steel. Sweat dripped from his forearms and sizzled on the blade’s hot metal. Sleeveless and with his leather apron soaked in sweat, he’d been hammering on and off for hours, working day and night in the forge. His mind was restless. He took out his aggravations by beating on steel, day in and day out.

After cooling the blade, he laid it in the corner with other fine weapons he had made and took a seat on a three-legged wooden stool. Head down and sighing, he mopped the sweat from his brows. He felt empty inside. Restless. The great halls and mighty walls of his home, Morgdon, did little to dull his edge.

“Ahem.”

Brenwar lifted his chin and found himself looking into the bright eyes of Pilpin.

“What is it?” he said.

“I just thought I would stop by and see how you were doing,” Pilpin said. He walked over to the racks of weapons Brenwar had made: hammers, knives, swords, and axes. All well fit for dwarves. Pilpin picked up a pair of matching hand axes and twirled them around. “These are excellent.”

“Then make excellent use of them elsewhere, will you?”

Pilpin stuffed them in his belt and adjusted the neck of his chainmail armor. “Don’t mind if I do.” He sauntered a little ways through the forge. It was a large room with three bright furnaces glowing orange. It was Brenwar’s personal forge, and he’d been using all three. “Say, are you sure you can’t use some help down here?”

“No,” Brenwar mumbled. “But I’m sure someone could use your help elsewhere.” Brenwar rose from his stool and glared down at Pilpin. He towered over the small dwarf by over a foot.

“Nope.”

It was clear Pilpin wasn’t going anywhere, and why should Brenwar want him to? They were the last of the dwarves sworn to protect Nath Dragon. They had done so together for more than twenty-five years.

Brenwar had been distraught ever since Pilpin arrived, alone and with the news that a dragon had killed Devliik and all the others. But it did him some good to know that justice had been served to the murdering satyrs, Faylan and Finlin. Of course, there was still the issue of Gorlee having gone missing. The changeling was a mystery, but the best candidate to take care of himself. Shum and Hoven, the elven Roamers, would keep an eye out for him in their travels. Snarggell the Crystal gnome had gone on his own. That was one thing Brenwar was glad for. And then of course Nath… All of this gave Brenwar plenty to think about, and he didn’t like company that interrupted his thoughts.

He shrugged his heavy shoulders and said to Pilpin, “Alright, grab a hammer. Let’s forge.”

Pilpin’s small bearded face brightened.

“Really?”

With his oily forearms, layered in muscle, Brenwar picked up a smallish anvil and tossed it to Pilpin.

“Put that over there.” He pointed. “And straighten those blades yonder.”

“Aye,” Pilpin said, lumbering toward the spot and resting the anvil on a stout wooden block. “Brenwar, have you heard any news of late? Or rather, have you had any other visitors?”

Brenwar poured molten steel into an oversized war-axe mold. It was shaped with twin blades and had a long spike at the end. Nasty thing. “No,” he said, “other than my wife.” He nodded toward another corner. “Help yerself.”

A small table was layered in food, making Pilpin’s mouth water. Sweet cakes, breads, cooked meat, cheeses—and a small barrel of ale on either side.

“Seems you do have all you need down here,” Pilpin said, driving his hammer down on his first blade. “But, I was wondering if she reported any recent news to you.”

“Such as?”

“Well…”

Bang!
Pilpin drove the hammer down.

“…there have been dragon sightings. Strange ones.”

Bang!

“There are all kinds of dragons,” Brenwar said, “many of which have never been seen or will never be seen.”

Bang!

“Yes…” Pilpin said.

Bang!

“…But these dragons are special, they say. They soar blacker than night in the sky.”

Bang!

Brenwar’s brow furrowed.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

“How do you mean, blacker than night?”

Bang!

“Black. Black-scaled. Such as the legends say.” Pilpin swallowed. “The likes of Nath Dragon.”

Brenwar froze. A chill went through his veins.
It can’t be. It cannot be.
Unsure of what to do with himself over the passing weeks, he had holed himself up in Morgdon, waiting for word. A sign from Bayzog. From the Roamers. Something. Dwarves were patient, Brenwar as patient as any, but now his patience ebbed.

“Who says they saw these dragons?” he said. “Men? Orcs? There are terrible rumors all over the city.”

“They say terrible things are happening everywhere,” Pilpin said, switching out one blade for another, “and all the sources say the rumors are true, despite the ‘Truce.’ The dragons and armies of our enemies thicken.” He slapped another blade on the anvil.

Bang!

“Our forces thin.”
Bang!
“So it seems.”

“When did you hear of this?” Brenwar said, pushing the vat away.

“On and off over the past week.”

Bang!

Brenwar eyed War Hammer. His weapon rested on a nearby steel table, along with the box that held the bracers given to him by Balzurth
.
His breastplate and other gear adorned a dwarven mannequin.

“Let me finish this axe,” he said, “and you temper those blades.”

“Then what?” asked Pilpin.

Bang!