Stone of the Denmol

by R C Gray

  “Do you have any water? I need something to drink,” Braig said, leaning his face closer to the cage bars at the front of the wagon.

  “Onrin, you hear that?” the coachman called out to the man to his right.

  “You need a drink, eh,” Onrin said, reining in his horse to walk next to the wagon.

  “Do you have a waterskin? If I could just have a drink.”

  Pulling out a waterskin, Onrin took a long drink and stared at Braig. “Here, have a drink,” he said, squeezing the waterskin, squirting the cold water onto his face.

  Braig recoiled and sat back against the bars, wiping the water off his face and beard, using the water to scrub away a bit of the blood from his mustache.

  “A weak trick from an even weaker man,” he said, laughing to himself. “I should have known that’s what I’d get from a pile of horse shit like you!”

  Onrin pulled out a small club and slammed it into the bars, staring fiercely at the caged dwarf. “You think that’s funny? Say something like that again, and I’ll have you dragged out of that cage and beaten...again.”

  “I don’t know if your men are up for that,” Braig said, looking at several of the men with bruised faces riding behind the wagon before looking down at his cut knuckles. “Do you? What d’ya think, boys, up for a little morning scuffle?”

  Onrin reached for the keys on his belt as a voice shouted from near the front of the line.

  “You pull those keys off your belt, Onrin, and I’ll put you off your horse and let you try and teach the dwarf a lesson yourself. Now shut your mouth and fall into line.”

  Onrin shook with rage as he spat at Braig and spurred his horse forward. Ahead of him to the side of the line was an older man with a short grey beard and closely cropped hair. The man wore a dark red shirt and a black cloak trimmed in blue with a large emblem of a golden flame accented in red embroidered over his left chest. His black riding gloves gripped the reins of his black steed as he moved it back to the front of the line.

  Braig knew the man was the commander of the Brothers of the Flame but had only talked with him on several occasions. After arriving in a gulf somewhere southwest of the Surwynd Cave, he was loaded into the cage on the wagon, and the small group of guards taking him north to Banrielle was met by the Brothers of the Flame. The commander of the brothers, Gregor Kiburn, was hired to escort the men and help establish a camp outside of Banrielle that could serve as a base while they looked for the mage stone.

  The mage stone, Braig thought, rolling the images he had seen around in his head. He had no idea what the stone was used for, but visions of a black, glass-like shard of stone flashed into his head or crept into his dreams while he slept. He had a vague feeling that there were other stones, but the memory of them was fuzzy and fleeting, like a cloud drifting away in the wind. He had overheard the hooded man that had bought him telling the mercenaries he had matters in Ethilios to attend to, and for them to have answers for him by the time he met them near Banrielle—and to get them by any means necessary.

  Braig shuddered as he thought about the lies he told to get here, and what that would mean for him when they realized what they were looking for wasn’t here. He had told them that one of the mage stones was buried somewhere outside of a small town near the Surwynd cave; but in truth, he had dreamed about his cage being opened and his shackles being broken. He couldn’t see the face of the person that set him free, and he didn’t know if he would live through his attempted escape, but he was not a slave. Once his chains were broken, he would kill the men holding him, and find the hooded man that bought and caged him like an animal.

  He thought about the beatings he had already endured to try to get answers or invoke a vision, but they couldn’t be forced. He had no control over when they came or what he saw. Even the clearest of his visions were hard to understand. They seemed to be only small pieces of a larger puzzle that didn’t quite fit together no matter how you looked at them. But it had to mean something, otherwise, what was it that he was seeing? He only wished that he would have been able to foresee the ambush that got him captured. But his visions didn’t give him any warning about being trapped, or how anyone found out about what he could do. Wrapping his arms around his knees, trying to stay warm, he wished he had never been born with this curse.

  The hours passed by as the cart rumbled down the dirt road. Several times the men had to dismount and push the wagon to free a wheel that had gotten stuck in a rut, or to clear debris from the road. And by the time they had made it to a clearing to set up camp, it was nearly dark. Five of the guards unlocked the cage door and fastened a collar and chains to Braig’s neck and led him into the woods to let him relieve himself. As they returned to the small encampment, they chained him to a nearby tree and moved to stand next to one of the three fires that burned around the camp.

  Braig huddled against the trunk of the tree, watching as the guards split into groups and began cooking quick meals in small pots or skillets, while several of the men brushed down the horses and checked their hooves for any damage from the long trek. As his eyes scanned the encampment, he noticed Gregor standing near the central fire with his hands held out over the flames, his eyes fixed on directly on him. Pushing himself closer to the tree, Braig sat up straighter, eyeing Gregor as he stepped over the bedrolls being laid out and made his way over to the tree.

  Standing over Braig, Gregor looked down, his face as blank as a smooth stone wall. “I think you should make this easier on everyone and tell us what we want to know. I was given instructions to get the information out of you any way I can, and I will do what I need to. Do you understand what I’m saying to you, dwarf?”

  “Oh, I understand completely,” Braig said, staring up at Gregor.

  “And?”

  “And I have nothin’ to say.”

  “I want you to remember that I gave you this chance, dwarf. I’ll have you whipped and beaten into submission if you don’t tell me where the stone my employer seeks is buried.”

  “I don’t know where it’s buried. We won’t be in Banrielle till tomorrow, and I may not see anything until we get closer.”

  “But you told your master that the stone could be found there. How can you know the stone is there and not know where it is?”

  “He’s not my master!” Braig said, spitting on Gregor’s boots, “And I said I know it’s close to the town. I can’t tell you exactly where it is because I don’t know. What part of that do you not understand? I thought you brothers were supposed to have wits about ya.”

  Gregor smiled and crouched to look Braig in the eye. “I’ve broken many men, dwarf. Stronger men than you. Think about what it is you need to tell us, or I’ll make you wish you never crawled out of that stinking hole in the ground you called a home.” Slapping Braig’s boot, Gregor stood and started walking back to the fire. “Get some rest, dwarf. You’re going to need your strength. Oh, and by the way, I thought you’d like to know that your friend Finrid said hello. He’s most likely taking a long rest and drinking away the coin he was paid for giving you up. I just thought you’d like to know.”

  Walking back to the fire, Gregor pulled a boule of bread out of his pack and tossed it over to land in the dirt in front of Braig. Reaching out to pick it up, he took several quick bites and leaned his back against the tree. Braig felt a lump form in the pit of his stomach. How could Finrid sell his secret, and him, for a few coins? They had been friends and business partners, and he betrayed him. But he had to deal with one problem at a time, and that would have to wait. Looking off into the dark woods around him, he hoped that this would be the night he was set free so that he could show the brothers what it really meant to be broken.

  The morning sun broke through the trees to find the men already packing and preparing to move. Loading Braig back into the cage, the wagon set off once again down the long road across the countryside. Closing his eyes and leaning his head against the bars of the cage, Braig tried to sleep to help pass the time, but couldn�
��t get comfortable in the rattling, metal prison.

  “Let me out to walk for a ways. I’m in chains, how far do you think I’d get?” Braig said, running his hands through his short hair to rub the lumps on the back of his head from bumping against the cage.

  “We’ve been through this before, dwarf,” Gregor called back. “Do you remember what happened the last time we let you walk? You decided it would be a good idea to fight the men and try to get a weapon.”

  “I remember.”

  “And you think we’d take that chance again?”

  Braig’s face grew red, and he started to rattle the bars of the cage, shaking the wagon back and forth and spooking the horses. “Let me out of this gods-damned cage. Open the door and let me walk. Or if your men want a show, I’d be happy to kill that pig-licking prick, Onrin.”

  “You will sit down and shut up!” Onrin said, moving closer to the cage, his sword drawn.

  The coachman drew the wagon to a stop and steadied the horses. “Stop shaking the wagon, or the horses will take off with it, with you still stuck in that cage.”

  “Let them run. Let them take me away from you miserable bastards. I’m only wantin’ to walk and stretch my legs!”

  “I’m warning you, dwarf. Sit down and shut your mouth, or we’ll make you.” Gregor said.

  “Oh, I bet you’ll try. And you might get me in the end, but not before I take a few of you down with me,” Braig said, his eyes darting over to Onrin, “And I’ll be comin’ for you first, pig-licker.”

  Onrin jumped off his mount and pulled the cage keys off his belt. “You want a fight; I’ll give you one. I’ll make you wish that Emin, the defiler, never made you dwarves.”

  “Do not mention that name to me, you pig-licking, son of a whore. He held us in chains the same way you’re holdin’ me in ‘em. You call yourselves Brothers of the Flame, but you walk in the darkness right beside him.”

  “Enough!” Gregor said, sliding off his horse and moving to stand next to the cage. “You want to walk, dwarf? Fine, we’ll let you walk. Onrin, I want you to scout ahead, and take this filth with you. A little run on the road might be good for him.”

  “But, sir,” Onrin said, glaring at the dwarf, “he -,”

  “Be silent, brother. Unlock his cage, put the chains on his cuffs, and run your horse a half-mile up the road and wait for us there. If the dwarf wants to run and stretch his legs, let him run. And if he can’t keep up...drag him.”

  A smile spread over Onrin’s face as motioned for the guards to get the collar. Unlocking the cage, he chained Braig to his saddle, giving him one last sneer before spurring his horse forward, jerking him off his feet and dragging him up the dirt road while the men at the wagon watched and laughed.

  Braig slid across the bumps and holes, his body rolling back and forth as the shackles pulled at his wrists, forcing him to grip the chains to keep his bones from breaking under the strain. By the time they had made it a half-mile down the road, his body was bruised and cut, and he felt like he had been beaten with heavy sticks. Coughing and spitting out the dirt that the horse had kicked into his mouth, he glared at Onrin through his dust-filled eyes, blinking to try and get him into focus.

  “How was your walk, dwarf?” Onrin asked, giving him a hard kick in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him.

  Braig sputtered and coughed, folding at the waist. Gasping for breath, he looked up at Onrin and bared his teeth, fresh blood oozing from his mouth, “The view could have been better. All I got to see in front of me was a horse’s ass, and the horse he was riding on.” Braig let out a small laugh and grimaced in pain as Onrin kicked him again.

  “That’s enough, Onrin,” Gregor called, riding up at the head of the group. “Put him back in his cage and take your position in the line. We need to reach Banrielle by this afternoon, and we’ve wasted enough time as it is. Now let’s move. We don’t stop until we make camp tonight.”

  Two men dismounted and lifted Braig to his feet, pushing him back towards his cage. Grunting as they shoved him inside, he stood and held the bars for support as he looked out into the forest. His eyes strained as he peered through the trees and saw what he thought was a grey wolf watching him from the cover of a twisted bush; and as the cart rambled forward, he could see that it was no ordinary wolf. Its skin was torn and hung off its chest, exposing the red muscle beneath. The bones on its legs showed white through holes in its grey fur, and dark eyes sat sunken in its skull.

  Braig watched the wolf as it moved alongside the wagon in the forest, staying out of sight to all but the dwarf.

  “I see you, wolf. And I know that your master now sees me,” he mumbled under his breath.

  Although he didn’t know who would be setting him free, he knew that whoever had sent the wolf had something to do with it. Now all he had to do was bide his time, and keep his mouth shut until he was set loose to take his revenge.

  BACK AT THE COTTAGE, Renna looked through her belongings, packing herbs and tinctures into a worn, leather traveling bag. Walking by her bookshelves, she ran her fingers over the spines of the books that rested there before pulling out the book ‘Magic and its Uses’ and began thumbing through the pages, quietly reading the words aloud. “Water from a spring flows pure and clear. Wisdom and truth, no matter the source, is still wisdom and truth. Magic and the arcane forces are an ever-present, natural force that can be harnessed and manipulated for the user’s purpose and is not good or evil by nature; that element is added by the one seeking to use it. And although focusing your intent can sway the forces to flow towards your will, it cannot be fully controlled. There is a wild element inherent in magic, and like any wild thing, it can sometimes cause harm. Remember this: it is easier to dam the flow of a small stream than it is the flow of a raging river. The same is true regarding trying to control the magic you allow to flow through you.”

  And danger is danger, no matter how it finds you, she thought, putting the book back on the shelf. Although most of the books were fiction, several historical or reference books sat bound between the tales of epic adventures, herbalism, or folklore and legends. Touching the books one more time, she moved to the door and stepped outside, hoping that she wouldn’t have to leave the books behind if something were to happen and they had to flee.

  Shouldering her leather satchel, she grabbed a walking stick and set off into the woods to take down her game traps and gather roots and herbs. The air was still and cold, and the almost bare branches loomed unmoving above her. The fallen leaves that had dried under the sun crunched under her boots, ringing like a bell in the otherwise silent forest. The overcast sky was dark and grey as the filtered rays of light struggled to break through the thick clouds that hung low, moving slowly towards the horizon. In the distance, she heard the frantic call of a crow and took off in a run towards the sound.

  Passing over fallen logs and ducking under low branches, she hurried to follow the cries of the flying crow. She could faintly see its black shape soaring above the treetops, leading her forward. Stopping briefly to catch her breath, she searched the sky, looking for any sign of the large, black bird. Standing still in the forest, a loud cry pierced the silence, sending a shiver down her spine. The bird had found something just ahead of where she stood. Taking a deep breath, she followed the call and rounded a weather-worn outcrop of stone to see the dark opening of a small cave.

  Clutching her stick tightly in her hands, she braced herself in case something charged at her from the deep hole. Planting her feet firmly on the ground, she steadied herself and waited for the attack; but nothing could be heard stirring in the cave. Relaxing slightly, she pulled a candle out her bag and placed her fingertip on the tip of the wick. Focusing her energy, smoke began to rise from the braided material until it burst into a small flame. Smiling to herself, she picked up her walking stick and moved into the darkness.

  Although she was able to manipulate life energies, she was still learning how to control the elements. But with practice, she ha
d learned to gently move water or create flames, which had been put to use multiple times when she had trouble getting a fire started on damp nights.

  Stepping farther into the cave, she could see the brown fur of a creature stirring near the back wall. Pulling out her knife, she approached the animal carefully, whispering to let it know she was coming closer and wasn’t a threat. As the light of the candle flickered in the darkness, she could see white spots on the animal’s back and recognized it as a fawn, maybe six months old. Renna could see that the animal’s torso was severely injured as it tried to stand and hobble around the cave, looking for a way to escape.

  Sheathing her knife, she held out her hand and moved slowly towards the deer, speaking gently as she walked. Her words came out almost in a whisper, elvish words drifting across the dark expanse to rest on the injured animal. The fawn blinked slowly as it visibly relaxed and sank back down to its side on the cave floor. Setting the candle down a short distance from the fawn, she moved up beside it and ran her hands down its soft fur, speaking slowly and stroking its neck.

  Looking down at the large gashes in the animal’s abdomen, she could see that the skin was torn and bloody.

  “What happened to you?” she said quietly, examining the wound.

  She could see several jagged claw marks running down the animal, and deep puncture wounds from a set of strong jaws on its upper chest. There was a pool of blood under the fawn, and she knew that the injuries were going to kill the creature if she couldn’t help.

  Despite being skilled in necromancy, she had never learned any real healing magic. She had only learned how to transfer energy between living creatures or to use herbal remedies to heal small wounds, and mending a mortal wound took more power and skill than she had.

  But why shouldn’t I try, she thought, placing her hands over the deep wounds. Focusing her energy, she pictured the gashes closing in her mind, but when she opened her eyes, the wounds were still open and slick with blood. Closing her eyes once more, she tried again, and again, with no change to the wounds.