An Alliance of Mortals Read online

  The New Earth Chronicles: VI

  An Alliance of Mortals

  by

  J. J. Thompson

  Text Copyright © 2019 J. J. Thompson

  All Rights Reserved

  “If the mortal races ever again form an alliance, the Darkness itself will surely tremble in fear.”

  - from the scrolls of Ellian Hammerson, ancient dwarven historian.

  Table of 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

  Epilogue

  Links and Things

  Chapter 1

  The world that had given rise to all three of the mortal races; the elves, the dwarves and the humans; was a very different place from what it had been less than two decades earlier. When thousands of dragons had appeared in the skies of Earth, roused from their slumber by the ancient gods of Chaos, humanity's population had reached almost eight billion souls. But in less than a month, the world had been decimated by dragon fire and the human race had been virtually wiped out. Cities had burned, towns and villages had been razed to the ground and countless men, women and children had fallen to the dragons' voracious appetite for destruction.

  The elves, who had been spirited away from the Earth thousands of years before to the world of Trillfarness, had been appalled by the destruction their scryers had witnessed on their home planet. And their Council of Elders had felt a chill at the obvious rise of the dark forces in the mortal realm again. Some had worried that they would one day face the same fate that the humans had. They had been right to fear it.

  The dwarves had lived quietly and secretly hundreds of miles beneath the surface of the Earth since the old gods, both good and evil, had withdrawn into the Void and the magical energy that their presence had generated had dissipated. The dwarven race had adapted as only they could, learning to power their cities and great machines with mundane energy sources instead of using magic to keep their society running smoothly. They had cut all ties with humanity, after some of their former allies had betrayed them to the forces of Chaos. The dwarven race had become isolated and had blocked off the many ancient tunnels that once led to the surface. And then they had waited, knowing that one day the ancient evil would rise again. And like the elves, the dwarves had been correct.

  From far off, the New Earth would have looked much the same as it had for many thousands of years. The continents were all still there: North and South America, Europe, Asia, Africa and Australia all still existed. But on closer examination, it was not the same world at all.

  Every city, town and village that the humans had once built had been decimated. Rubble and ruin was all that was left of those places that had bustled with life not that many years before. Dark figures lurked in the shadows of those ruins; evil entities drawn to places that echoed with sorrow and death.

  Dotted across the globe, new settlements had risen. But these were not villages and towns built by humans. No, the new habitations were created by the dark gods' servants, the goblins.

  Twisted and evil, goblins lived only to serve their dark masters. They bred like rats and spread across the world like a disease, searching for any surviving humans and killing each one indiscriminately. They did the work of their masters with brutal efficiency until the only human beings left alive on the planet had gathered together in northern England, at the castle of Nottinghill. And there the survivors stood against repeated goblin attacks and managed to hold their own.

  Not surprisingly, without enough enemies to pursue, torment and kill, the goblins turned their unending hatred upon each other. Tribes led by powerful warriors began battles against large covens controlled by dark wizards. Infighting killed more goblins than the humans ever could. And with no direction from their evil masters, who were still trapped in the Void fighting the lords of Light, the vast armies of Chaos began to fall apart.

  And then the world changed again. The elves, driven from Trillfarness by a worldwide blight caused by agents of the evil gods, returned to the planet of their birth and settled in the former country of New Zealand. The islands were untouched by the goblins, their isolation acting as a defense against those creatures who hated and feared large stretches of deep water. The reborn dragon races also left the area alone. It was too small for the needs of their kind and so they battled for control of Australia instead.

  The elves immediately fell in love with the ancient forests and rugged mountains of their new home and they began to build a settlement beneath the thick trees. Their race had been decimated, much as humankind had been less than two decades before, but the elves were resolute and united as a people and, more importantly, their Council of Elders had managed to survive and make the journey to the New Earth with them. Their stabilizing hand helped to guide the elves in the midst of their confusion and grief after losing their world.

  The dwarves, led by their king, Shandon Ironhand, became aware of the elves' return almost immediately, thanks to their own magic-users. Long-standing grievances between the dwarves and elves, the causes of which were lost in the mists of time, no longer mattered to the king. His own people had recently been attacked by the goblins, even though their cities were located hundreds of miles below the surface of the planet. And those attacks had roused the dwarven race to action like nothing had in ages. They were awakened from centuries of quiet decline and rallied around Ironhand, readying for war. The king welcomed dwarven mages back into society, erasing the stigma against using magic that had kept those scholars out of sight and mind since ancient times. Shandon was heard to say more than once that a leader who refused to use every weapon at his disposal to defend his people would be a fool. And he was no fool.

  In Nottinghill Castle, the last members of the human race were doing surprisingly well, considering the fact that they were still being attacked by the goblins on a regular basis. But the leaders of the castle, most of whom were mages, had spent several years using their magic to search the world for any remaining survivors and then transporting them back to Nottinghill. The populace had grown to over a thousand souls and the castle itself had been expanded to hold all of them. This effort to save their race had made the humans stronger and more resolute. They had discovered more magic-users hidden away in far-flung places and those casters had now added their powers to the rest. And so, ironically, the armies of the lords of Chaos had strengthened the human race instead of destroying it.

  “You have always vexed me, you foolish little man. Do you know that?”

  The voice that was complaining so irritably was high-pitched and spoke so rapidly that it was almost as if a sparrow had learned to speak.

  “Yes, you make that abundantly clear every time you stop by for a visit.”

  The target of the vitriol was a diminutive Chinese man who was wearing a purple robe with a wide red sash. His shiny black hair was tied back in a short ponytail and his smooth face was set in an expression of strained patience. He was standing in front of a window that overlooked the courtyard of Nottinghill Castle, watching as the people below hurried about their business. The scene exuded a sense of vibranc
y and purpose that made him smile even as he was peppered with complaints.

  Chao Zhang turned away and stared at his visitor. They were in his modest quarters, which consisted of a small sitting room lined with shelves of books, a bedroom and a lavatory. It suited his needs very well.

  “Ellas, why are you here?” he asked curiously. “You have made it abundantly clear that you and your Fay will not aid my people in our fight against the goblins and their evil masters. And yet you keep showing up to harass me for some reason. Why is that?”

  His visitor hovered in the air a few feet in front of his face. She was tiny, less than a foot tall. She wore a long white gown that flowed down below her feet and left her arms bare. Her blond hair was bound in a tight braid and she had iridescent wings sprouting from her shoulders like those of a butterfly. She was exactly what people imagined a fairy should look like, which was good because that was what she was. She was also the leader of the Fay race that had returned to the New Earth from the dimension that they had retreated to millennia before, when magical energy had disappeared from the world. And she was now scowling fiercely at Chao.

  “Are you unhappy to see me? Is that what you are saying?” she snapped.

  Chao sighed tiredly.

  “You know I am not, Ellas,” he replied. “But you told me that you were done with me and with the human race. Yet here you are, again. I appreciate your visits, but if all you want to do is to yell at me and then leave, what is the point?”

  “I am not yelling at you!” the fairy shouted.

  The man raised an eyebrow and Ellas fluttered back a few inches and took a deep breath. She shook her head and smiled at Chao hesitantly.

  “Fine, perhaps I am yelling. A little bit. But I have good reason for it.”

  “Which is what?”

  The little figure flew down to a side table and landed gracefully. She waved Chao toward a chair next to the table and the man took a seat and watched her expectantly. Ellas sat down and arranged her gown around her as her wings folded back and out of the way.

  “I am upset because my people are in a panic,” she confessed, looking up at Chao. “We have spread out across this world as you know, returning to our original homes scattered throughout the wilds. But things have changed. Goblins now infest many places where we were once safe. Their allies, the ogres and the trolls and other terrible monsters, lurk in the shadows beneath the trees. Imps have been summoned from the Void, by what means we do not know, and those horrors hunt us down using powers that rival our own. In short, we are in danger as we never were in the past. And we need allies.”

  This last admission was said reluctantly and Chao smiled in sympathy. Ellas was an ancient and very proud being and the man knew how hard it was for her to ask for help.

  “I see,” he said slowly. “I must say that I am frightened by this news. Your people are powerful and the fact that they are in danger means that we here in Nottinghill are in even greater peril.”

  “Exactly. That is why I have returned to you,” Ellas told him, sounding relieved. “I know that I was not as kind to you as I should have been, after you used your magic to return my people to this New Earth, as you call it. Yes, I was arrogant. I admit it. But you must understand. Never, in all of my existence, have my kind been challenged as they are now. Not even when the old gods were fighting their stupid, eternal war here in the mortal realm. Something has shifted, Chao. I do not know how it has happened, but somehow the forces of evil have become even more powerful than they were. And I am afraid for my people. That is the simple truth.”

  There followed a moment of silence as both of them collected their thoughts. Then Chao leaned back into his chair and sighed.

  “We must tell the rest of the leadership about your concerns,” he said. “I trust your feelings in this, Ellas, but I can do nothing on my own. Humanity consists of this one last outpost now, so any decisions must be made as a group. Do you understand?”

  Ellas stood up and fluttered her wings. She was frowning, but nodded reluctantly.

  “I do. We will all need to work in concert to battle the threats that we face. Call a meeting then, and summon me when you are ready. I shall be waiting to hear from you.”

  Her wings began beating furiously and she rose up to eye level and stared at the man.

  “But do not take too long,” she warned him. “Time is running out, my friend. For all of us.”

  And with that dire pronouncement, she disappeared with a little pop and a burst of sparkling energy.

  Chao sighed again and pushed himself to his feet. He glanced one last time out of the window at the people below and then hurried out of the room.

  In the courtyard, which had been expanded over the past several years to allow more space for the many small buildings that housed craftsmen of all kinds, people were going about their usual business.

  The blacksmith's shop was spewing black smoke out of its wide chimney and the constant clang of metal on metal spoke of how busy the smith and his apprentices were. Next to this low stone building were the shops of the sword master and the craftsmen who created bows and arrows. Once these weapons had been created by the blacksmith himself, but there had been such an increase in the number of residents in and around the castle, and the humans had been on a war footing for so long, that more tradespeople had been recruited and trained to produce these necessary items.

  In the center of the courtyard was an open-air market. The fields around Nottinghill were all cultivated and produced vast amounts of fruits and vegetables during the summer season. Anyone who lived in and around the castle could purchase food when they needed it, using a system of credits based on their productivity. Money was useless to them, so everyone was credited for the work they did and spent those credits on food, clothing and other items made by artisans such as jewelry and toys. It was a system that worked well.

  The rich fields of Nottinghill were guarded constantly by armed warriors. Every few months, large numbers of goblins would reluctantly cross the English Channel on makeshift boats to attack the human settlement. While they would do some damage to the crops, they always focused their efforts on the castle when they met resistance from the guards around the fields. Apparently they didn't understand how devastating it would be if humanity's food sources were destroyed, and the castle's leaders hoped to keep it that way.

  England's forests had grown abundantly since the fall of civilization and game was now easy to find for the hunters who were sent out weekly from the castle. Deer, wild cattle, and smaller game were now a source of food for the people of Nottinghill Castle and any excess meat was dried and stored for use over the long winter months, along with any extra fruits and vegetables. A whole cadre of people worked diligently just to preserve as much food as possible for future use.

  Outside of the castle's gates, which sat on a hill above the cultivated fields that stretched out in all directions, were the training grounds. Here, warriors and archers honed their skills and new recruits learned the art of combat. Dozens of targets were set up for the archers to shoot at. In a separate area covered in hard-packed dirt, fighters used practice swords to battle against each other. A lot of bruises and some broken bones were earned from this vigorous training, but the warriors needed to learn their skills well and this was the only way to accomplish that.

  The commander of the guards and the master of arms for Nottinghill Castle was a man named Malcolm Deschamps. Malcolm was unique in several ways. Born and raised in a small town in rural Ontario, in Canada, he had been Changed when the dragons had invaded the Earth, bringing magic and mayhem with them. He was the largest man in Nottinghill, standing well over seven feet high. Once a shy, slim black teenager, his Change had turned him into a natural warrior who had the instinctive ability to use any weapon and a grasp of tactics that was unmatched by any other surviving human.

  On top of his preternatural talents as a warrior, Malcolm had also been gifted with, or cursed by, something else. Several years earl
ier, Malcolm and his partner, the late Aiden Shen, had been attacked and bitten by a werewolf. Since then, Malcolm had had the ability to transform into a monstrous beast when necessary, although he hated the process and rarely did so. But this curse had also given him some benefits. He was immune to all poisons and diseases and could heal from almost any wound at an amazing speed.

  All of these things, even his supposed 'curse', made Malcolm a natural leader and the troops greatly admired him and followed him into battle without question. He would just smile and shrug when someone spoke of their loyalty.

  “As long as they do their best, that's all I can ask of them,” he'd said many times.

  And they did, in battle after battle against the forces of evil. And so Nottinghill Castle endured.

  But the greatest and most effective defense against the constant goblin attacks were the castle's magic-users. Once just a small handful of desperate mages, there were now almost fifty casters living in Nottinghill, many of whom had been rescued from places around the world where they had somehow been clinging to life, using their powers to fend off attacks by monsters and the soldiers of Chaos alike.

  Mages, witches, enchanters, druids and a host of other humans who had been Changed when magical energy had flowed back into the Earth's atmosphere now stood together to save what was left of the human race. And so far they had been successful. How long they could hold out against the constant attacks was a question that none of them could answer.

  But there were no wizards among them. The Changes to the surviving humans had produced only one of those most powerful magic-users. His name had been Simon O'Toole. He had disappeared from the New Earth almost ten years before, and no one seemed to know whether he still lived or had died in defense of his people. But he was now spoken of as an almost mythical figure and his battles against the races of dragons and the forces of Darkness had become thrilling tales of valor and self-sacrifice. Children born since the fall of the Old Earth listened wide-eyed when their parents spoke of the great wizard and his sacrifices for them all.