Black Dawn - Chapter 25: Revenge of Grief

In it, Thunderclap challenges Runamuck in the skies, as Turim’s allies battle more than dragons inside the walls of Grendelock Keep.

Armageddon TM and its characters and story are copyright Terry Tibke. All rights reserved.

Music & SFX

[The Brotherhood] by X, [Documentary] by Royalty Free Music, [The Terminator Gladiator (Senatic Theme)] by Jerry Howard, [Powerful Epic Copyright Free Music] via Tunetank, [Death] by XX, [The Devil’s Cell] via XX, [Torn] by David Fesliyan, [Of Elias’ Dram] by Bensound, [Final Boss] by Myuu, [Blood Pumping] by David Fesliyan, [Various Others] via Storyblocks Audio

Crow Call, Single, A.wav by InspectorJ, ratSqueak.wav by Zabuhailo, More Dragon Sounds and Other Mystical Creatures by Thomas Sarnari ,[See Previous Episodes for all other effects]

Jake Utter [Voice Actor] - Voices Turim Gliderlance

Andrew Embers [Voice Actor] - Voices Sand Rocketblade

Demetrius Hazel [Voice Actor] - Voices Lasertooth, Bartlett, and Darf Bloodshedder

Kobe Markworth [Voice Actor] - Voices Grandmaster Strongthorn, Thunderclap, Breed, and Gulanis

Sean Valley [Voice Actor] - Voices Strevan Pickaxe and Dithkanir

Hayley Craig [Voice Actress] - Voices Jaffrine Maplebow

Morgana LeFaye [Voice Actress]- Voices Tartara Silverwing

Tallent [Voice Actor] - Voices General Panthis Obsidianfist 

JJtheJetvox [Voice Actor] - Voices Meineken Shadowstar and Aruthil

Brittanie Arwen [Voice Actor] - Voices Sinfa Songbird

The Worlds Okayest DM [Voice Actor] - Voices Pond Grimslug

Ben Habel [Voice Actor] – Voices Lakalith Paledust, Admiral Peelwarden

Maia Harlap [Voice Actor] – Voices Lala Truffleroot, Kithria Wraithchasm, and Ryuki Purplefist

Aaron Anderson [Voice Actor] – Voices Aldor Steelaxe and Dark Elves

Chris Bellinger [Voice Actor] – Voices Gundak, Percin and Dwarf extras

Alexander Doddy [Voice Actor] – Voices Rail Markrune

Callum Garner [Voice Actor] – Voices Gewurmarch Rottbone

Dio Kerr [Voice Actor] – Voices Dustorn and Hiryoto Dragonfright

Trent Michael Trachtenberg [Voice Actor] – Voices Evildrath Steelbone

Jerron Bacat [Voice Actor] – Goblins, Voices Artho, Ninjas, Dark Elves, Extras

Big Boy Buff Boy [Voice Actor] – Goblins, Hao Grimswallow, Extras

Transcript

Chapter 25

Thunderclap roared long and hard—a bellow of anger, sadness, fury, and sorrow. He blew every last bit of air from himself, expelled like gusts of wind from across the sea, and crackling with a scent of ozone. He gasped and took in another breath.

Turim was gone, and Thunderclap realized what that meant. Turim had understood he wasn’t like the other Chromabacks—that he was a rogue. Thunderclap didn’t know why. Neither did Turim. But that hadn’t mattered. Now he wondered if he had anywhere else to go. “After I kill this black scaled murderer,” he told himself, “nothing will matter.”

He snarled and beat his wings, lurching forward through the sky.

Lasertooth and the rest of the Wing were far off still, struggling. That was fine by him. He wanted the Gewurmarch himself. Turim would’ve told him to wait for his Wing. But Turim was dead. “I’ll be the one to avenge Turim’s death.”

They continued to charge towards one another. Thunderclap observed Gewurmarch Rottbone, calm in his saddlemount and Runamuck appeared to be in control.

Thunderclap’s eyes focused like a predator hunting prey, all thought bent on destroying the black dragon. And those who knew him knew that when he set his mind, it wouldn’t be turned.

“The Commander’s death will be paid for with thousands!” Thunderclap challenged. “After you fall, the dragons of hue will follow!”

A revolting smile drew across Runamuck’s lips as he swooped and came up to face Thunderclap again. Only a faint hint of surprise mingled with curiosity registered in his green eyes.

“He must be shocked,” thought Thunderclap, “seeing a colored dragon flying with the metals.” He chuckled audibly.

The wind swept beneath his outstretched wings. Two hundred feet. One hundred feet. Thick mists lifted from the day-warmed grasses on the plains below, the sun a thin pairing on the western horizon. It was time to return to the keep, but a short scrap between two dragons wouldn’t hinder anything, any more than the coming darkness.

Thunderclap drew near. Fifty feet. Ten Feet. He was in range. He inhaled deeply, then let forth. A hail of lightning arced toward Runamuck with a buzz and a spark, tearing through the dusk with a sudden light.

Runamuck looked almost old, with his long chin whiskers and thin muscle. But the black dragon was fast. Faster than Thunderclap expected. The black-scale dove and avoided the dancing bolts.

“Predictable little wyrm!” Runamuck landed on the ground a moment, then sprang back into the air.

With a thud, Runamuck’s bound brought him into Thunderclap’s chest, and he flew backwards, gasping. He struggled to take another breath. Time stalled. It finally came and he sucked in, grateful for the airs of Typhee as they filled him.

“I will kill you!” roared Thunderclap.

He lashed his tail and Runamuck returned his own, knocking them out of grips with each other. They beat their wings and charged again. Thunderclap’s neck arched forward, his wings flat against his body.

Claws tore through scale and at eyes, until at last one gave ground and then turned to get a better position. They charged again. Over and over the black and the blue dragon careened into one another as they fought for supremacy, two giants on the battlefield.

“Make no mistake, rogue!” spat Runamuck. His sly voice hissed and wheezed. Blood ran from his lip. “You’ll fall the same as the one you bore! Your bones broken, your entrails upon the earth!”

“Overconfidence,” shot Thunderclap with a grin. “I welcome it.”

“No one who’s stood against me has lived long to tell the tale, and you will be no different!” screamed Runamuck.

Thunderclap bared his teeth. He found no mercy in his heart. There was only a blank emptiness he wasn’t aware he could feel—especially for a human… elf. This dragon—no, more his rider—had taken Turim away now. And then he realized that he had to destroy them both. For Turim, and for himself, and for every Chromaback this… Black Gewurmarch had convinced to join his army.

“Don’t speak of Turim!” he roared. “Your words mean nothing to me, and your weak will even less! You’re an accursed puppet to this Dragon Army!”

Runamuck roared in anger. That hit a nerve.

“I’ll kill Gewurmarch Rottbone and all those like him, serpent!” Thunderclap snarled.

Runamuck dove forward again without further words. Thunderclap roared out in pain as the black dragon’s teeth clamped on this time, biting into his neck. Jaws clenched muscle. But Thunderclap wouldn’t give yet.

He twisted, and his foreclaws drove deep into Runamuck’s throat. Thunderclap pulled his rear legs in and raked down the black dragon’s length. He resolved to hold on, even if it meant his death. He would end the struggle. His golden eyes flared with anger, meeting Runamuck’s soulless glare.

Gathering his strength again, he gripped, and with a few sharp wing beats, dove downward.

Gewurmarch Rottbone suddenly seemed concerned. Thunderclap had made sure to wrap his tail around his riding shield. The little Gewurmarch could barely move. Runamuck was sorely wounded. There was no escaping Thunderclap’s wrath.

“Turn aside now, Runamuck!” Gewurmarch Rottbone commanded, “Lest you wish I skewer you!”

Runamuck clenched. He’d definitely heard the Gewurmarch’s words. But it didn’t matter how the black dragon struggled, Thunderclap wasn’t letting go. His grip was iron.

The ground approached quickly. Then, a distraction. Runamuck whispered in Thunderclap’s ear and twisted. “You are right. I am the accursed serpent that shall bury you beside your master.” Thunderclap’s grip slipped. Runamuck took the upper hand. And with an earthshaking slam, the black dragon flung Thunderclap into the grassy plains with a crack.

A cloud of thick dust and rubble rose up around him. That had ended it.

Thunderclap’s gaze drew skyward as the black pair slowly rose toward the battle again. Many of the dragonriders of both armies had begun to return to their camps and keeps. Full darkness was minutes away. He coughed blood.

Crickets and little field mice made their chirps, crawling between the carrion of dragons and two-legs. The sound of them skittered around him.

At last, Thunderclap could remain conscious no longer, and he slipped into his own darkness. Runamuck had won.

* * * 

Strevan felt the heat of the torches, lit to light the battlements again in the darkness. Ahead of him, Tartara and Jaffrine skirted the outside of the southeastern tower to pass across a causeway. The fairy flew in and out of the light, but he always heard her buzzing just ahead.

Below, homesteads and dragon stables scattered out across the keep’s courtyard like hundreds of croutons in the bottom of a breadbox. The various colors of crops broke the bits of farmland into sections. One of the knights had told him grangers tended the land in return for a portion of the food they grew, and for their protection. But Strevan couldn’t see anyone in them now. The homesteads had been abandoned after the first call to arms on the day of their arrival at the keep, and all the precious food they provided had been gathered in the central tower. Clearly, he was hungry. The thoughts made his stomach growl.

When they reached the eastern wall, it was still lined with many elf, man, and halfling archers. Behind them, a sprite squire continued lighting torches to brighten everyone’s vision.

The skies were empty of dragons as far as he could tell, though several Knights of the Hawk’s Wings still touched down in the rows of landing fields between each pair of stables.

“There’s Darf and Aldor!” cried Tartara, pointing towards them as they approached.

“And Lala too,” added Jaffrine. “I’m glad they’re okay.”

The halfling girl came jogging along behind Aldor as quickly as her little hairy feet could carry her. She glanced down at the wounded every few steps, her face pale and grim.

Strevan stepped over bodies of blue armored knights and bowmen. Their empty faces danced with flame from the firelight like deathly spirits. He shuddered.

“What news along the eastern wall?” Jaffrine asked Aldor. “The Dragon Army’s drawn back from the skies in some measure finally.”

“Those filthy Dark Knight riders,” spat Aldor, “they slaughtered plenty of our own dragons. The plains outside are littered with ‘em. But we gave it to ‘em too. There haven’t been too many colored dragons inside the wall, but we’ve got plenty laid out on those spikes.”

Strevan had noticed that too.

Darf stood off, looking down to the ground inside the keep. He hadn’t glanced at Strevan or the other rangers. He’s barely taken heed of the dead and dying, thought Strevan.

“I thought I saw one enter,” Darf rumbled to himself. “not far off —” His words halted.

“What is it?” asked Strevan. Maybe he’d been talking to Aldor.

They all joined Darf, peering over the wall. Tartara set down on Strevan’s exhausted sword-arm.

In a courtyard, a great black-scaled dragon was lit by red firelight. Its dark wings furled out as Knights of the Hawk tried to down it. But no one who fought around its feet could get in a blow—the beast moved heedlessly.

A flash of memory took Strevan. His jaw quivered. He nearly imagined himself in the Fallow Marshes again. It didn’t matter how many times he tried—he could never shake the horror of that day. The day Duragil and the other rangers took the fight to Gougemire the black, and they were slain—every last one of them. Duragil had been a friend and a mentor, and he’d died to save Ys. Died to save Strevan—to let a young boy escape. That was why Strevan wrote the hymn. That was why he scrawled the songs. And he knew what would come next. He tried to cry out, but there was no sound.

As he watched, the dragon spurt forth a wave of foul acid, destroying nearly every knight who stood against it with a splash of dark green. Then, with a swift lash of its tail, it smashed into the dragon stable, sending wood and stone crashing across the ground in several directions.

Strevan saw Darf jerk his big head up, looking back and forth along the wall.

“What is it?” asked Aldor.

“Where’s Sinfa?” asked Jaffrine, clearly in synch with Darf’s thoughts.

“I thought I saw her down there—”

The twang of bowshot suddenly sprang forth as several of the bowmen, gathered on the wall a short ways away, hailed arrows down on the dragon. But they were aimed at its back. They’re not going to kill it like that, thought Strevan gravely. I’ve seen it tried.

Suddenly the black dragon below let out a roar. It turned its attention up to the wall where the bowmen were and leapt towards them with a wild beat of its wings. It sent another surge of hissing acid all over the battlements. Beneath it, bowmen died screaming as their bodies burnt to a puddle of gore.

“The God help them!” said Tartara.

Strevan pushed his feelings back down inside at the sight and smell of it all. He tried not to throw up. His hands trembled as the black dragon turned towards them. But the dragon only glanced at them a moment before it swooped back down to the courtyard over the inner wall, and landed close to where it had been before.

“We have to stop it before he kills all of the bowmen!” shouted Tartara. “They’re all that’s left to defend the skies against these beasts!”

“But we need to get a lot closer to do any real harm to it,” replied Lala.

Darf gave a quick grunt of agreement and looked to Aldor. “Come on. I think I saw Red down there too.”

Strevan nodded decisively. They had to get to Sinfa.

“I say back to the tower behind us!” shouted Aldor. “We can make our way down through there!”

Jaffrine glanced over her shoulder. Beside the walkway was a door leading into the tower. “We’re with you. Let’s go.”

At the face of the tower, they found that the doorway was shut and barred to keep the enemy out. With a hasty swing of his club, Darf slammed through it, taking the lead. The door splintered and smashed into countless pieces that clattered down the stone steps inside.

They raced down the staircase, their hair and cloaks whipping behind.

“How did it go on the southern wall?” asked Aldor, his breath heaving. He was talking to Jaffrine, who was only a few steps before him, but an answer from anyone probably would’ve suited him.

“The dragonites are all but purged,” answered Jaffrine.

“Yeah,” added Strevan, “thanks to Turim’s Wing. They tore across the field and laid waste the likes of which I’ve not seen, no sir!” He let some feigned enthusiasm cover what they were about to do.

Jaffrine kept the answers coming. “We gained a great advantage after that. Rail’s still there with what’s left of the rangers. Plenty of knights as well.”

The way wound down for what seemed like ages until at last, they came out into the courtyard.

Darf blocked most of their view, but Strevan peered under his arm. Not far off, the black dragon still terrorized the keep, and now a smaller white dragon had joined it. The Dark Knights struck those who came at their mounts’ sides, and the dragons’ teeth gnashed and bit those who came at them from the front. Together, they seemed to be holding the Knights of the Hawk who attacked them at bay.

Nobody moved from the doorway at the bottom of the stairs just yet. Strevan looked around at their faces. If they felt anything like him, their hearts were full of terror at the vast dragons now that they stood so close, not more than a few hundred paces off.

“What should we do?” asked Lala quietly, peeking around Darf on the other side.

The black dragon rose up to let out another wave of acid. Suddenly, from behind another building along the rows of dragon stables, came a hail of bolts. Several struck him in the throat. Another hit beneath his arm and the beast fell crippled and writhing.

“Yes!” cheered Tartara, hovering over Darf’s head. “What was that?”

The Knights of the Hawk surrounding it backed away to avoid its death throes. And in a few seconds, it lay dead.

The Dark Knight on the white dragon shouted a curse and moved his mount toward the direction the bolts had come. With no words, Darf bound forward toward the chilling white reptile.

“Are ye’ daft!?” shouted Aldor to his friend.

Strevan swallowed but charged after. “For Duragil.”

Aldor chased after them as fast as his short legs could go as the others stumbled out of the doorway following.

Darf’s club was slung over his back, but he reached for it as he neared. He ran as fast as Strevan had ever seen a creature of his size run. Strevan still wasn’t sure what he was doing.

The dirt and gravel road they’d hit went straight north before veering left. On their right hand passed a row of the dragon stables they’d seen from up on the east wall, short stone fences between them, the backs of the stables facing him. He kept going.

Darf was almost there. The white dragon loomed up before him. But Strevan noticed its attention wasn’t on him. Darf drew up alongside it, waited a moment, and then it roared and began to leap between a pair of the stables toward whomever had shot the black dragon. Darf swung hard.

He caught the dragon behind the right front leg and crushed it against the wall of the stable beside them. Timbers splintered, beams cracked, and the dragon crashed down hard into the wall. Unable to stand—though not deterred just yet—the white dragon craned its neck toward Darf. It roared.

Strevan’s eyes widened. He could almost feel the cold from where he was, more chill than winter’s snows. Then Darf sprang toward the beast. Raising his club into the air, he brought it down hard atop the white dragon’s snout. There was a sickening snap and the reptile’s head fell against the ground.

But Darf hadn’t escaped unharmed. The first shards of ice had shot forth from the white dragon’s cold breath. He fell to his knees and dropped his club, clenching his great chest.

Strevan’s hand went to his bow, he swallowed, his fingers touching the fletch of an arrow.

The Dark Knight who’d ridden the white dragon unbuckled himself, hands flying. He leapt from his saddlemount and came at Darf with his sword drawn. Then Darf Bloodshedder, son of Gondarf Bloodshedder, Feller of Giants, would’ve died.

But another hail of bolts erupted from beyond the wall of the stable.

Several struck the Dark Knight. One sunk deep in the ribs beneath his arm where his heavy, black plated armoring didn’t cover him and he was knocked to the ground with a scream of pain.

Darf coughed up blood but gave a smile. “Sinfa,” he whispered, as she came around the corner.

“Darf!” Sinfa called out as she ran toward him.

Strevan ran forward. He was the first to admit the half-ogre had worried him at first. He was also a bit rude. But was brave. He’d saved all of their lives from the cages, along with Tartara and the dwarf. And now he’d saved Sinfa’s life again.

Aldor approached and hewed the fallen Dark Knight in two, then they all clattered and thumped up behind their fallen friend. The other knights who’d been fighting the dragon stood in a loose group nearby, watching. Darf had saved them too.

Strevan met eyes with Aldor. There was a grave look on the dwarf’s face. He knelt slowly and put his hand on Darf’s shoulder. Darf’s hands were across his stomach. His blood was melting the crystal shards there. They’d pierced him in the stomach like thrown spears. And yet, he was lucky to have snapped the dragon’s jaws shut with his swing before the full force of the icy blast had erupted from its throat.

“Jaffrine!” cried Sinfa as she ran up, “You can help him, can’t you? I’ve seen you!” Her lip quivered as she knelt across from Aldor over Darf. “What were you thinking?” she yelled at him. “You big, stupid ox!”

Strevan looked over to Jaffrine as she stepped forward, still breathing hard. The druid’s face was somber and she held her jaw tight, looking at Strevan.

He knew why. A battle of decisions raged inside her like a maelstrom. But it wasn’t just because of Turim’s warning. She’d taught him enough to know it was more.

Jaffrine knelt by Darf’s head and examined his chest. “The wounds inflicted by a dragon’s breath are most ancient in nature. Even if I did cast a spell here to aid him I—”

Sinfa’s face filled with worry and confusion. “What? I don’t understand. In the forest, I was tired, and Tartara—”

Jaffrine looked at her, her voice sharp with frustration. “It’s ice, Sinfa. The wood and plants of my talents draw back at the cold, just as the winter pushes back spring.”

“But you have to try,” said Sinfa. “You will won’t you? It doesn’t matter how long it takes.” Then she looked around almost frantic.

“We have to find a place where he’ll be safe from the battle,” said Jaffrine, rising with her staff.

“And from prying eyes,” added Tartara, glancing around.

Strevan shook his head at her. “No.” The clerics would know. Tales would reach them. They’d come after her. Turim had said so.

Jaffrine bowed her head in agreement. “I will try to keep him alive long enough. But you must go get their healers.”

Tartara’s face reflected Strevan’s heart. “Are you sure?” she said slowly.

“We need them,” Jaffrine shot back. “I wish there was another way. He’s going to die!”

“But Jaffrine!” Tartara said panicked.

At that moment, several more Chromaback dragons landed inside the walls, but they were far off in one of the open courtyards. The knights who’d been fighting the black and white dragons saw that Darf had been tended to, and ran northward to assist.

“Come on! Get him inside the stable, here!” said Sinfa. She pointed just north of where Darf lay. Its enormous doors were slightly ajar on that side, and she ran to the entry and began pushing the gates open.

Jaffrine was agreeing to a lot. But it was for Sinfa she’d do it. They cared about her. And for some reason, Sinfa had found some way to care about this ogre—reasons Strevan had grown to understand better.

He knelt beside Aldor and tried to lift Darf. “Come on, large fellow! You need to help us. It seems you’ve got a love for a good meal even more than I.”

Lala followed along behind them. “I wish there was something I could do,” she said softly.

As she flew past, Tartara called out to her. “We have to get the healers. Watch my back for the enemy. Ye’ never know when they might show up.”

“Ok.” Lala nodded and quickened her pace after her, and the two were gone.

It was no easy task, but at last, they carried Darf inside the dragon stable. Many torches hung inside, lighting the darkness. Rows and rows of stalls lined the walls, longer and larger than any simple horse stall. At the far end, Strevan saw several sprites with torches scurrying in and out of the doorway that led to the takeoff and landing field outside, busy at their own tasks.

Jaffrine exhaled slowly, then spoke. “Lay him in one of the stalls.”

“A stall?” asked Strevan warily.

Jaffrine looked to be getting edgy. “Strevan! Quickly. Besides, they’re dragons’, not horses’ after all. Make sure there’s little bending in the belly as he lays. Then you have to go.”

Sinfa folded her arms and stared down at Darf. “I’ve never seen frozen blood before.”

Jaffrine held her hands over his chest where there was still a mass of ice-covered shards in the half-ogre’s blood.

Aldor’s face seemed to hold the sort of solemn solidity that can be borne only by a dwarf, but Strevan knew he was upset. Sinfa was clearly a mess, but Strevan saw her glance over at Aldor, and the moment she saw the dwarf, she hardened her resolve to match his.

Their breath had become visible now that the sun had set, and Strevan rubbed his hands to warm them. He couldn’t make himself take the first step to leave.

Then he heard the screeching roars of many dragons descending outside.

“Go now!” commanded Jaffrine, pulling herbs from her pouch and shaking her head. “None of us will live if you let more Chromabacks in here. Quick!”

With no more thought or speech, Strevan and the other companions ran to the end of the stable. With dread in his heart, he peered out the great doorway onto the landing field. But instead of Chromabacks, they saw that many of the Shiningscales returned to the keep now. Some of the Wings had been out a while after darkness fell.

Many of the riders and dragons who returned were injured. As Strevan looked to Aldor and Sinfa, they were all assessing the knights’ condition. Wings were rarely their full complement of six riders. Those who remained were grim.

 “Look over there!” called Strevan to the others as he spotted them. “Isn’t that Turim’s Wing?”

He rushed across the field, and the others trailed after. When they reached the northern end, they crossed through the small gate within the stone wall and head across several other fields before they came to Turim’s Wing descending into their landing area.

Strevan waved his hand before his face as grass blew around them. The dragons landed, and stable boys scurried around carrying torches and lanterns to hang in the fields.

There was a brief confusion as Strevan looked them over. Then he realized something was wrong. Grave looks were drawn across the faces of Sand and his other wingmates.

Turim wasn’t with them.

One of them, Artho, threw his helmet across the field. “He was right there! I—” He fell into a shout of anger.

At that moment, Tartara and Lala came running up, pointing several priests over towards the dragon stables where Darf lay dying.

“Where’s Turim?” Lala asked Sand, her voice shaky as she looked up to the riders. Where a smile had sat on her face, it slid down into uncertain dread.

Sand slowly dropped from Lasertooth’s shoulderplate to the ground. His eyes told a story that needed no words, as his jaw clenched tight.

Strevan repeated the question, hoping Sand hadn’t heard Lala. “Where’s Turim?”

“He—he’s been slain by Gewurmarch Rottbone in the skies,” said Sand at last. “He fell to the Plains of Sirik.” He paused long, facing his riding shield, his gauntleted fists clenched hard. “He’s dead.”