Iron Elf - A Race Reborn (Book 2)

  A Race Reborn

  The First Realm: Book 2

  Klay Testamark

  Copyright © 2014 Klay Testamark

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 1-4951-05067

  ISBN-13: 978-1-4951-0506-7

  All rights reserved.

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by an electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the express written permission of the author.

  DEDICATION

  This book is dedicated to my loving family who gave me support in more ways than I can count.

  Lisa, Ally, Glen II

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 1

  In the winter the rivers freeze. The air turns sharp and the game grows scarce. Few things stir in the forest. What cannot fly must sleep.

  The wyvern had been dreaming when it scented something. It opened one yellow eye and sniffed. It was a young one, as wyverns go, but its instincts were clear. It knew the smell of challenge.

  It uncurled itself and shook. It was full-grown, about thirty feet, and its hind legs were thick and powerful. Its winged forelimbs were thinner but they were more than strong enough to push it to its feet. It poked its head out of the cave and sniffed. That maddening scent! It made the wyvern want to stomp its feet and flare its wings. It was the musk of a bull dragon.

  The wyvern set off at a trot, snout low. It did not take wing for fear it would lose the trail. It ran through the silent forest, past dark and leafless trees. Wings tucked in, its great feet pounded the snow.

  It reached the clearing and hesitated. The scent was gone. But there was a goat. It bleated in fear and smelled of blood, which was maddening in a good way. The wyvern would have grinned it if could. This was worth getting up for. It stalked forward, mouth watering. The goat pulled at its chain and screamed. The dwarf in the tree steadied her weapon.

  The crossbow had a telescopic sight but she aimed carelessly, trusting in the enchanted weapon to tell her when to shoot. She breathed deeply, exhaled slowly, and emptied her mind. Slowly she squeezed the trigger. The shot was a surprise even to her.

  The bolt flew. Its tip was a cone of explosive wood that struck the wyvern on what would’ve been the back of its hand, if it had hands instead of wings. The cone was wrapped in notched wire that—boom!—turned into razors. The wing was shredded. Bone and wing flew in all directions. The wyvern roared, hunger forgotten. The goat bleated some more.

  The wyvern turned, snarling. The dwarf’s perch wasn’t so strong she couldn’t be knocked down. But she wasn’t supposed to. She stowed her crossbow and reached for the zipline. She grabbed the handles and leaped into space.

  The wyvern sensed something fly through the air. It gave chase, flapping its wings, but it would never soar again. It howled and muscled forward. The dwarf neared the end of the line and let go, dropping into the waiting saddle. The horse took off. The giant reptile followed. Running on the balls of its feet it seemed almost dainty. Its claws bit deep into the ground and kicked up snow. It bellowed and the dwarf felt its breath on back. She leaned forward and urged her mount to go faster. They had to go faster. They darted down the trail while two tons of rage came pounding after.

  The trees thinned. The wyvern was a battering ram of meat and teeth. It opened its jaws. Soon it would be upon the rider. A second rider charged in and planted a lance in its side.

  The stout spear had barely missed its heart, but wyverns are tough. It roared and lashed its left wing. The second rider ducked and sped forward. The beast gave chase. The first rider fell back, drew a pistol, and fired. The explosive bullet blew a hole in its ribcage but it didn’t notice—she drew another pistol and fired. The wyvern swung its neck to snap at the dwarf.

  The second rider stood in the saddle and unsheathed his longsword. Wielding it in two hands he slashed, and when the beast focused on him the dwarf hit it with a warhammer. All dwarves are strong and this one wore a magic belt. The pronged hammer glanced off the wyvern’s jaw but still it was a stunning blow.

  The riders harried and hammered it back to its den. Hurt and confused, the monster saw the familiar cave and threw itself to safety—or what it thought was safety. Instead it found itself sharing the place.

  With me.

  I had been pouring energy into a fireball glyph.

  You’d think the fireball would be the simplest spell in a wizard’s book. It isn’t. To be any good with it you have to know the three T’s: transmutation, teleportation, and telekinesis. I had swirled my arms around and around. I focused on the glyph (a simple circle) and drew the fuel to me. You don’t need to gesture for the quick version. In fact, you can make a tiny fire by snapping your fingers. But I wanted something special.

  Wind stirred in the cave. The air crackled as I separated it into its component parts. A ring of fire formed as I combined the elements into all kinds of combustibles.

  Pour napalm and explosive slurry into a pot. Stir vigorously, add high heat, and compress it to half its volume. You’ll kill yourself, of course, but at least you’ll understand what I was doing. Only an effort of will kept it from blowing up in my face.

  The red-hot ring grew fat. It began to resemble a donut—a deadly donut. I couldn’t have too much wind outside the cave, the wyvern might notice, so I drew on matter stored in hammerspace. The ring grew bright. It turned orange, then yellow. Sweat beaded on my forehead as I fought to hold it steady. It grew brighter. I could see the wyvern clearly when it stumbled through the cave mouth. Its alligator face wasn’t good with expressions, but I thought it looked surprised. I wasn’t about to disappoint it.

  “Boo.” Before I teleported, I had just enough time to see the containment field unravel. The torus collapsed into a sphere and it leaped, hot gas propelling it forward. It struck the wyvern’s nose and exploded.

  The effect in the confined space was catastrophic. The shockwave reflected off the walls and smashed into the beast with redoubled force. Its eardrums were shredded, its lungs crushed, its guts pulverized. The splintered bones of a hundred kills became deadly shrapnel. Parts of the wyvern were cooked in the heat. By then it was already dead. The blast pushed it through the cave mouth. There was a roar—fire and debris shot into the open air like the discharge of a giant gun.

  BOOM

  Once the fireworks died down I teleported back into the cave and walked out, robe billowing in the smoke. The diarists and gazetteers went wild.

  “Prince Veneanar! Can you comment on your crusade against wyverns?”

  “Why have you been systematically hunting them down?”

  “Ladies, please.” I raised my hands. “You make it sound like some sort of vendetta. I think of it as a public service. The people can sleep
safer knowing there’s one less dangerous creature in the realm.”

  “And it’s fun.” One blonde had a nice smile.

  I smiled back. “Indeed.” My robes were tailored silk. They were also trimmed in gray, as was my right as a combat mage. I thought I looked suitably dashing. From the way the chronicler looked at me, she must have thought so too.

  “And what else does Your Highness like to do for fun?” This from the second lady, a cute brunette.

  “Well…” I came up with a few ideas as we strolled toward the nearest trail.

  “Can you tell us why you’ve hunted male wyverns almost exclusively?” another chronicler butted in. He wasn’t my type at all.

  “I’m simply trying to do the most good. Male wyverns are already the minority, and with fewer of them they can’t multiply as quickly. Why, we might see them gone within my lifetime. Six halfling generations, even.”

  The newshound turned a page in his notebook. “Aren’t you worried about harming the environment? The wyverns are apex predators. They’re an important part of the ecosystem.”

  I frowned. Pencils scribbled furiously. “I don’t care about losing biodiversity. Not when wyvern attacks are a leading cause of death in the countryside. The beasts regularly prey on farmers and loggers.”

  “Why bother? Most of the victims are halflings.”

  I glared at him. “They’re still my people. When I am king I shall look out for anyone who calls Brandish home.” The air grew hot.

  The man disappeared into the crowd. I took a moment to regain my composure. “In any case, the caprans have advised me that they can easily create a replacement species—one that will not be a danger to humanoids.”

  “Ooooooh.” The blonde and brunette both took deep breaths. I had to struggle to keep my eyes on their faces.

  “If anyone’s interested in an exclusive interview, I’d be glad to give one—” A hand clamped on my upper arm and pulled me to the carriage. “—just as soon as I’ve cleared it with my chief adviser. Thank you, that will be all!”

  Mina dragged me inside and shut the door. I settled into the opposite seat, “What’s the matter? I was working the press like you asked me to.”

  “You were working toward another scandal.”

  “It’s nobody’s business what two or twenty consenting adults do.”

  Mina closed her eyes and took a deep breath, then knocked on the wall behind her. The horses snorted and the harness-chains jangled. The hoofbeats grew louder as the animals hit a fast trot. We seemed to fly over the road. The coachwork floated over the undercarriage, suspended by magnets and superconducting fluid. The liquid vinyrral sloshed, counteracting every bump and sway.

  Mina opened her eyes. “Angrod, get real. You’re a prince. That makes you a public servant. You can indulge in all sorts of luxuries, but not the luxury of a personal life.”

  “I can’t indulge myself now and then? I’m an elf, they’re all elves. They’ll understand.”

  “That’s not the point. Are you sure those two chroniclers were full-blooded elves? I know you aren’t, and I don’t care, but such things matter to your people. It’s bad enough Findecano is fighting your coronation. If you tarnish your image you might never become king.”

  I crossed my arms. “I never wanted the job.”

  She smiled. “As long as you aren’t on the throne, your royal status is questionable. Certain factions might ask why they’re letting you get away with murder. Cruix and Heronimo too.”

  “Heronimo wasn’t there when I first turned into a dragon.”

  “He was at Corinthe Citadel and he did slaughter a bunch of people. They were assassins, yes, but certain factions would still call it murder because they were elves. In the eyes of the law, every one of them was worth more than any dwarf or human.

  ”

  “He did the realm a favour! Stupid law.”

  She reached out a hand. “That’s true. But you know how little the truth matters when power is at stake. If you gave up your claim to the throne, your opponents wouldn’t be satisfied. You’d disappear from history. Quietly and conveniently and all over the place.”

  I leaned back. I opened my mouth, then closed it. I sighed. “It’s like I stumbled and had to run to keep from falling. I haven’t stopped running in sixteen years and I’m tired. I’m tired of staging these PR stunts. Remember when wyvern hunting used to be fun?”

  She smiled. “I recall it was a lot scarier, before we worked out our technique.”

  “That first time was a nightmare. There would never have been a second time if Cruix hadn’t insisted. The guy can hold a grudge.”

  “Can you blame him? Remember, he was attacked by wyverns. He’d have died if he hadn’t been turned to stone.”

  “You know, he never told me why they attacked him. I always thought it was because dragons and wyverns were natural enemies. Maybe it was just Cruix being Cruix.”

  CHAPTER 2

  It was a long carriage ride. We were going to Drystone for the Frost Fair, which happened when the Kingsriver froze over. There were other, more serious events on the itinerary, but I like to think we were mostly going for the winter carnival. There’d be skating, and football. Vendors on the river would sell mulled wine and roast mutton.

  I smiled. I had fond memories of my apprenticeship. I was looking forward to walking Drystone’s streets again, maybe popping into Elrond’s Commonwealth for a glass or two. I sent for his wines regularly, but it wasn’t the same as drinking with the man himself.

  Mina was checking her feybook. The enchanted book was more than a diary—it also allowed her to stay up to date on friends and current events.

  “Anything about this last hunt?” I asked. “It’s about time for the evening news.”

  She ejected her friends’ ink cartridges and returned them to their case. She inserted several other cartridges and cracked open the book. I couldn’t see it from where I was sitting, but words were flowing onto the page. A gazetteer had turned in their work, and now a scribe was writing in a flawless hand. The calamar ink reproduced every line.

  “It says here you consider halflings to be equal to elves. The writer wonders if you’ve forgotten who your real people are. Another notes that you used excessive force on the poor wee beastie and that it was not sporting.”

  “Not sporting? You could hunt them with siege weaponry!”

  “You will admit, there wasn’t much left of the wyvern after you were done.”

  I shrugged. “I’ve got lots of trophies back at Castle Veneanar. Anything from Ballindis?”

  “The blonde diarist?” She took out another slender cartridge. She frowned and shook it a few times. “Running low on Ballindis. The woman uses far too many woodcuts. And she charges a half-rupee more for every cartridge.”

  “Let me see that.” I slid the cartridge into place. “Here we are. In other news, I was privileged to be present when our one and only prince dispatched yet another loathsome wyvern. In a masterful display of arms and cunning, he and his companions—now this is journalism!”

  A woodcut appeared. It depicted me striding out of the wyvern’s cave, muscles rippling under my robes. I held a gigantic sword in my right hand, and for some reason my legs were covered in bandoliers. Mina leaned over. “You look like a Northlander dressed up as an elf. Not even Heronimo is that top-heavy. And you’re grimacing so hard your face bones are cracking. And your feet aren’t even touching the ground!”

  “Admit it, I look badass.”

  “Admit it, this is terrible art. But at least it matches the text.”

  “I like the text. Did you know Ballindis does her own calligraphy? I like a woman with agile hands. Hey, what happened to your sense of fun? The old Mina saw every wyvern hunt as an adventure.”

  “The old Mina didn’t have a bunch of man-children to take care of. You know Heronimo and I aren’t speaking?”

  Of course I knew. They were part of my household, after all. Some months they’d barely speak to one
another and some months they couldn’t keep their hands off each other. My flower beds would never be the same.

  She looked away. “Never mind. I’d rather not talk about it.”

  “You gave him that sword for his birthday, then stopped talking to him. You’re my chief advisor and he’s my bodyguard. I need you two to get along.”

  She sighed. “He’s been lost since he got his revenge. Killing Dinendal was his only ambition. He has no idea what to do next.”

  “He still works on his swordsmanship. He’s probably in the top one hundred.”

  “Now if only he applied himself to other things, like our relationship.” She laughed. “Look at us. A dwarf and a human. Have you ever seen a more unlikely pair? They say politics makes strange bedfellows. I say love makes even stranger.”

  It was raining when our little convoy reached Drystone. We passed through the gates and headed for the palace quarter. We reached the royal palace—and kept going.