The Alterra Histories: The Fire King by C. S. Marks Read Free Book Online Page B

all went according to plan.
    Fortunately, both the Tuathar and the Wood-elves of the Greatwood had received messages from Vathan’s wind-walkers, and were not taken entirely by surprise. They had little time to prepare, but at least they were aware of their enemy. The others had not been as fortunate. The distance to Tal-elathas was too great for the message to be carried to the Dwarf-realms, or to Eádros. Of the fate of those messengers, little is known.
    Even with advance warning, there was little the Wood-elves or the Northmen of Tuathas could do against Wrothgar’s Bödvari, and a dark cloud descended over the realms of Light as the war began in earnest.
     
    ~~
     
    As predicted, Wrothgar’s defenders swarmed Aincor’s encampment just after sunset. They met with five hundred of the most highly-trained and powerful of the ancient Light-bearers. Neither Ulca nor troll could stand before the radiance of an Èolarin warrior alight with blue-white flame, a Light far more painful and destructive to those who cannot bear the sun. The Light of an enraged Èolarin Elf will wither and blister the very skin from an Ulca, and a troll who draws too near will find itself hardening into the stone from which it was made. Aincor’s forces had little to fear from either.
    Dragons posed a far greater problem, and several of Aincor’s warriors were killed in the melee, literally cooked inside their impressive armor. Talon made a particularly impressive showing when he leaped astride the neck of one of the dragons, which, at the time, was spouting massive flames from its horned snout. Using his knowledge of dragon-lore, Talon worked a stout blade between the diamond-hard plates beneath the beast’s neck, slashing one of the great vessels there. The blood rushed forth, drenching and spraying over many of Wrothgar’s minions who had, unfortunately, rallied around the great beast.
    Talon watched in fascinated horror as the Ulcas, whose skin was already festering with sores and ulcerations, reacted to the dragon’s blood as though it were liquid fire. Their flesh seemed to dissolve, sending up poisonous tendrils of green vapor. Talon knew then that this dragon’s blood was deadly poison—a rarity, but not unheard of. The conflict had now reached a whole new level of difficulty.
    The dragon writhed and screamed, reaching forward with clawed wings to tear away its attacker. Talon hung on as best he could, but the wildly thrashing beast, now slick with its own blood, was too much for him. As he fell, he sliced his right hand open on one of the razor-like spines. Talon hit the ground running, for he knew the beast would not long keep its feet. It crashed sideways in a roiling mass of dying flesh and bloody scales, still sending forth a last burst of flame.
    Talon saw that even Aincor had taken notice of his bravery, raising a hand to him in congratulation, but the heat of battle was on him and he could not approach. Talon grimaced, knowing he was gravely wounded, the dragon-venom burning slowly up his right arm. His slashed hand was stained with dragon’s blood, and the wound was deep.
    From out of nowhere one of the wagon-drivers appeared beside him, grabbing his other arm. “Follow me if you would live,” he said, pulling Talon from the fray. “Where does the burning end?” asked the driver, breathless beneath the hood hiding his face. He held Talon’s right arm, extending it.
    “Here,” gasped Talon, who nearly doubled over from pain, indicating his right forearm, near the elbow. The poison was working its way up the arm with frightening speed.
    The driver opened the scaled leather armor with a practiced stroke of a keen blade, took a firm grip on Talon’s right wrist, muttering “Forgive me…” and slashed down with all his might. It was not a clean cut and Talon howled in surprised agony, pulling back with all his strength. The driver muttered a curse, twisting Talon’s arm at the elbow, slicing through the tough cords