Though most dwarves Roakore’s age would not have had any children yet, he had two hundred. His clan having been diminished so, the monks, the king, and the people had ordained that any couple could have as many children as they wished, until the clans were strong again. This included allowing every male dwarf of the clan to take as many wives as he wished from the other two clans. All marriages were blessed by the monks, of course, and even the other wives, for every dwarf, male and female, lived by the same code: live for love, family, kingdom, and self, and die for them as well.
Roakore and each of his soldiers were ready for victory, and if that meant that death would be required, so be it.
At the appointed minute there came a great rumble as the hundreds of explosives went off within the mountain. Behind him the team had just imploded the door of the mountain. They had succeeded in the first mission. Each now rose and faced the second task: the thousands of hissing Draggard, just beyond the great door.
From the port side of the ship, the red dragon exploded from the sea. Fire belched from its maw as it collided with the eagle dragon and rider, both of whom now became visible.
“By the gods!” shouted Rhunis as he saw for the first time the dragon and rider. “They change like the eagles of the northern kingdom! My eyes behold black elf witchcraft.”
The red dragon’s fire circled the eagle dragon and its Dark elf rider. Protected by some invisible force, they both were untouched by the flames. The red dragon tried in vain to bite and claw the other, a four-legged, thick-winged species, covered in scales and feathers of the most radiant silver. The elf rider drew his sword and in one fell swoop sliced the red dragon across the chest. Blood fell like rain on the deck below. The red dragon recoiled in howling pain and once again belched flames that did not hit the other dragon nor rider. The rider, to everyone’s surprise, leaped from his dragon and fell more than one hundred feet to land on the deck of Celestra.
Whill, Abram, Rhunis, and the elves all shot arrows in unison as the Dark elf landed. Falling to one knee on impact, the Dark elf lifted an arm and with out-stretched fingers stopped the arrows in midair.
Even as he let loose his first arrow, Whill knew they were all doomed. For as the Dark elf landed, Avriel gasped, and Zerafin uttered one word before firing.
“Eadon!”
All of the arrows flew true, but they burst into flames and only ashes blew into the wind. Eadon was an imposing figure. He stood over six feet-not a giant, not much taller than Rhunis or Zerafin, but possessed of an air that made him seem to Whill like a god. His armor was as black as the starless sky but reflected like ice. Upon his shoulders he wore a long cloak of eagle-dragon feathers, long and thick and like polished silver. His long hair was at the moment a brilliant silver grey, turning black at the temples. Two elven blades hung at his sides, but he did not draw them. He leered at Whill.
“When the day comes that I have to draw my blades, then, Whill, you will be strong indeed.”
Everyone knew they could not defeat Eadon, no one seemed to care. Even as Eadon finished speaking, Zerafin flung an arm in Whill’s direction. Whill was instantly thrown through the air, high and fast, then suddenly stopped as Eadon lifted his own hand. He floated, frozen, two hundred feet above the ship, helpless as he watched the battle below. He could feel a strong pressure on his entire body and feared he would be crushed. Zerafin pushed while Eadon pulled, each getting progressively stronger as they battled over him.
Whill was on the verge of passing out when finally he felt a release. One of them had ceased; only one now held him. Zerafin lunged forward in a flash, his sword cutting through the air as Avriel screamed a spell and white light jumped from her hand and was absorbed by Zerafin’s passing blade. The glowing blade of Nifarez came straight down at Eadon’s head; in an instant Eadon produced his twin blades in a crossed block. His blades glowed black against Zerafin’s white-hot sword. Then Rhunis foolishly lunged forward with his blade. Eadon did not make a move, but yelled so loudly that it was deafening to Whill, who remained in the invisible grasp. The power of that yell was like an explosion in the air around him. Rhunis was blown off his feet and over the side of the ship, as was Abram. Avriel held strong her white energy that flowed into her brother’s blade, Zerafin held fast his sword, and Eadon held Whill in place, keeping the force of the two elves at bay.
Avriel’s and Zerafin’s faces were twisted in concentration. Eadon wore a grin, the look of a predator. Then he closed his eyes and began to shudder. Avriel screamed. The white light that emanated from her and into Zerafin’s blade grew brighter and more intense. Zerafin growled as he tried to pull his blade away from Eadon. Whill did not want to believe what he was seeing, but he knew that Eadon was somehow absorbing all of their power.
I love you, Whill. The words came into his mind as the tears came to his eyes.
The deafening spell that ripped through the night and through Whill’s very being was the same spell his father had used to save him nineteen years before. Avriel brought down her blade into Whill’s ship, and the resounding explosion was blinding. A flash of the purest white light was followed by a fireball of flame that had been the Celestra, followed by a wave as the ocean quickly refilled the hole that had been made.
Throughout the destruction, Whill was untouched by the fire, but he felt a shift in the energy that gripped him. The Celestra exploded around him and the flames and debris shot toward him, but he was unscathed. As the flames receded and the waters took their place, whatever held him let go. He fell through the air, screaming in despair not at his own fate, but of Avriel’s.
Suddenly he was caught by a huge claw.
The rumbling that shook the mountain subsided and every dwarf stood at attention. A horn blew from within the old ghost city of the dwarves and the great doors opened. Before them waited a group of no more than ten thousand, when they had expected ten times that many. No one waited for an explanation. As one they charged into the ranks of the Draggard army. Axes met spears, hammers met scales. The two armies came together, but the dwarves would not be slowed. The front line did not falter. A dwarf force the likes of which no army had ever seen plowed through the Draggard like a scythe through wheat. The Draggard lost their momentum altogether as their forces began to unravel. Those close to the back caves tried to run in retreat, while those unfortunate beasts at the front fell one after another. Hatchets rained down into the ranks, four for every dwarf not in direct battle. Draggard groans and screams of anguish echoed sickeningly throughout the cavern. Within a half an hour the army had been routed, and dwarf troops had already begun flushing the tunnels.