The Crafter's Dominion: A Dungeon Core Novel (Dungeon Crafting Book 5) by Jonathan Brooks (e ink epub reader .txt) 📕

“Master Jespin, what do you know about this?”

Jespin didn’t answer, so Gerold took over before the Master Blacksmith could get in trouble, standing up as he continued.  “Look, we don’t have time – we need to go now.  Just trust me…please?”  He hated having to try to convince the one that had made the final decision to lock him away that he was attempting to save them all, but Parten wasn’t the only one that he’d be saving.

Gerold thought he was still going to refuse as he stood there staring at the former Shieldman, but he finally grunted and nodded.  “Fine.  I don’t trust you, but I also don’t want to lose another of mine if there is a better way.  We need to get the King to safety, however, and that is my only priority; if you do something to compromise that, you won’t live long enough to regret it.”

Good enough for him.  As Parten gathered up the unconscious form of the King in his arms, Gerold led them out of the Tavern at a run, the howls and roars quickly growing louder behind them.  Leading them to the Hall’s entrance tunnel, there was almost another disagreement, but Jespin fortunately handled it for Gerold.

“Parten, this is the only way.  The entrance will be left open, but the Hall has been compromised already – it doesn’t matter.”

As they were approaching the door, running footsteps behind them could be heard, and for a moment Gerold tensed up, worried that the Werebeasts had already reached them.  He quickly discovered that they belonged to the drummer who had been keeping the Drums of War going, along with one of the Shieldmen that had gone to fetch him as they were leaving.  He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t noticed it, but the constant pounding of the Drums was gone, leaving the howls and roars sounding even louder in his ears.

There was no other option now, as Coppertine Hall was most likely already collapsing the connecting tunnel when the Drums stopped.  With no other argument, four of the exhausted Shieldmen ran up and took the heavy crossbar off the sealed circular entrance, opening it up as quickly as they could.  They all rushed outside and closed the door behind them, though without the crossbar it was technically still “open” to any monsters who wanted in.

Gerold ran out from the short entrance tunnel into the light of the late afternoon, immediately looking towards the sky.  “There!  Come down!” he instructed the Aerie Roc that was circling at least 1,000 feet overhead, using all of his concentration to pass on the order.  He wasn’t sure if it would work at that distance – if he was being honest with himself, he wasn’t even sure if the bird would be there in the first place – but it responded after a brief moment of hesitation.  It dove down towards them, causing those just emerging from the entrance tunnel to rush back inside.

“Are you suicidal, Gerold?  Get back inside!” said one of the surviving Shieldmen, one that he didn’t recognize but who obviously knew who Gerold was.

“Calm down.  That’s our ride.”

“You can’t be serious!”

Gerold chuckled, which hurt his ribs even more, but it was worth it.  “Oh, but I am.  It’ll be a bit tight and we’ll have to share straps, but we should all be able to fit on it, I believe.”

The Roc landed moments later, and unlike the first time he had approached the terrifying bird, Gerold felt no fear.  Instead, it was like an old friend had just landed.  “Hurry, we don’t have much time; I think I can hear those howls even through the door.”

To say that they were hesitant to approach would be putting it lightly, but after a roar that was definitely audible through the stone door, they scrambled aboard the massive bird.  Parten strapped the King safely into one of the strap positions, before doubling up with him to make sure he stayed put.  The rest of them found straps wherever they could, holding on to each other when necessary, and within 30 seconds all 17 of them were strapped in and as ready to go as possible.  It was probably a bit overloaded with all of the Shieldmen still in their armor, but there was no other choice.

The stone door of the Hall entrance shook as something slammed into it, before it quickly swung open.  Gerold instructed their aerial transportation to lift off just as he saw a 20-foot tall Werewolf emerge from the Hall, its powerful-looking muscles practically ripping at its skin and fur as it howled at them.  While he was sure the First-shield and the other Shieldmen could kill it, even in their exhausted state, there was a massive Werebear walking out right after the Wolf, and Gerold thought he saw some others as the Roc started to run before lifting off of the ground, leaving the two-legged beasts disappointed in their escape.

“Wait, we’re going the wrong way—” Parten screamed over the sound of the wind rushing by them as they rose into the air, heading southwest.  Gerold looked back to see everyone else was still secure on the harness, even though they didn’t look overly comfortable.  Gerold had already activated the little bubbles of warmth and wind shield that Sandra had thoughtfully included in the harness, so at least there was that.  It was still loud, however.

“We’re not heading to Grandhall, First-shield,” Gerold said confidently, referencing the stronghold that was the seat of power in the Dwarven Kingdom.  “I can’t afford to let you lock me up again, and I have a promise to keep.”

“Look, you dishonorable little—”

“Parten!  Leave off.  He’s doing this to save us all, and if you keep this up, I’ll tell him to make this Roc drop you in the middle of nowhere.”  The harsh voice of the