Del Alzon looked around at the crowd. The people of Waterton. His people. He tried not to, but he smiled widely.
“We need to assess the damage, Danitus,” Del Alzon said.
“Are you asking me to lead those efforts?” Danitus asked.
Del Alzon thought for a moment, then nodded.
“Yes.”
“Very well,” Danitus said with a bow.
“And, Maktus, we need our militiamen ready,” Del Alzon added. “The Samanian might attack again. And if we learn anything from this, it would surely be that we need to be better prepared for this sort of thing.”
Maktus bowed. “Sure thing, Mayor.”
Del Alzon winced at the title. He turned to Yager and his wife.
“And what to do with you?”
“You best choose yer words wisely, Del,” Yager said, stepping in between Del Alzon and his wife.
“Relax, Yager,” Del Alzon said. He could see the woodsman’s wife wrapping a hand around her husband’s wrist. “Truly, I think I fear your wife more than I fear you. After watching her work with the bow. Although, I suppose her being a she-elf explains it.”
“So?” Yager said curtly.
“Husband,” his wife whispered, certainly meant for only the woodman’s ears, although Del Alzon heard it.
“We will have to continue to praise her place in our town, in what she did today,” Del Alzon said. “I never thought I would see an elf in my lifetime. Truth be told, never really thought they existed.”
“My little laddie, as well,” Yager said.
“Ma,” came a tiny voice just as Del Alzon spoke those words. “Da!”
“I told you to stay in the house,” Yager’s wife said as she bent down and opened her arms to receive a frightened little boy running as fast as he could. She lifted him up, and the boy hugged his mother tightly, nestling his face in her neck. “You silly boy.”
“Trebor is his name,” Yager said. “He’s a good lad, even though he has a hard time listening to his mother.”
Yager looked at his son over his shoulder, and the boy retreated farther into his mother’s arms.
“Nice to meet you, Trebor,” Del Alzon said.
His mother shook him gently and the boy finally looked up. His hair was as blond, almost white. He looked much like Yager, with high cheekbones and a strong jaw, only a little slenderer. And his eyes, an exact copy of his mother’s, piercing and mesmerizing. His ears were pointed, but not as pronounced as his elvish mother’s were.
“How is it you are married to an elf, Yager?” Del Alzon asked.
“It’s a long story,” Yager replied, “but, rest assured, Arlayna saved my life when I was ready to give it up. And to save my life, she sacrificed much.”
“Your family is safe here, Yager,” Del Alzon said, putting his hand on the woodsman’s shoulder. “I give you my word. You and your wife and child will always be safe here.”
“Thank you,” Arlayna said, putting her boy down, bowing, and pulling the hood of her cloak back up over her ears. “May El bless you and keep you. Say thank you, Trebor.”
The half-elf boy stepped forward, squishing the dirt nervously with one of his feet and looking at the ground.
“Look the man in the face, lad,” Yager said with a smile, nudging his son forward a bit.
Trebor looked up at Del Alzon with those blue eyes, eyes at which Del couldn’t help smiling, and said, “Thank you, sir.”
Del Alzon crouched down, gently grabbed the boy’s arms and said, “Oh, my boy, you are very welcome.”
Trebor smiled and then backed away, hiding behind his mother’s legs.
“He’s a shy boy,” Arlayna said.
“No matter,” Del Alzon replied, standing and noticing the blacksmith dwarf standing by, looking about as the crowd began to disperse and go about putting their town back together.
“And what about you, master dwarf?” Del Alzon asked.
“What about me?” the dwarf asked, his voice hard and gruff and not much like the voices of the other dwarves with whom Del Alzon had ever spoken.
“There’s a lot of repairing—and rebuilding—to do,” Del said.
“Aye,” the dwarf said with a simple nod, “that’s an understatement.”
“Would you be willing to help with those repairs?” Del Alzon asked. “Maybe lead those repairs? The resourcefulness of your people is legendary, is it not?”
“Aye, it is,” the dwarf replied. He waited a moment, not saying anything and just looking about. Then he gave another simple nod. “Aye, I suppose I’d be willing to help.”
“And are you from the north or the south?” Yager asked.
The dwarf shook his head. “Neither.”
“What do you mean?” Arlayna asked. “You were born in the cities of men?”
“No.” The dwarf continued to shake his head. “Not that neither.”
“Then, where are you from?” Del Alzon asked.
“I’m from the west,” the dwarf said. “West of Gongoreth. The city of Hapstadt, capital of Hügelstan, the dwarvish country of Nothgolthane.”
Del Alzon looked to Yager, and then to Arlayna. They both shook their heads.
“I wouldn’t expect you to know of it,” the dwarf said. “Most in the east don’t. And it seems less and less people from my country and Gongoreth travel your way.”
“And your name?” Del Alzon asked.
“Hmm,” the dwarf groaned. It seemed the new mayor’s question struck a sensitive chord with the dwarf. “Haven’t gone by my real name in some time. A little boy once called me Tank. He meant to say clang, for the sound my hammer made, but he couldn’t quite get the word out right, and it stuck. So, you can just call me Tank.”
“All right, then, Tank,” Del Alzon said, “I will put you in charge of building and rebuilding.”
“Sounds fine,” Tank said. “Thanks.”
“That was Kehl,” Del Alzon said, “but, unless my eyes betrayed me, it didn’t look like him at first.”
“Thieves magic,” Arlayna said, “without a doubt. Petty but effective for what a thief or assassin might need.”
Something must have happened. Kehl had more men under his command than Del thought, especially after he killed the Samanian’s brother and destroyed his camp. He wasn’t really a thief by trade, but using thieves’ magic. He would have to be wary of the man. He would keep coming back until one of them was dead.
Del Alzon turned around and looked about Waterton. His town. His home. His people.
“Never thought I would find a home,” he muttered to himself. “Feels good.”
****
“That fat, piece of …” Kehl could feel the heat in his face. He turned to Albin. “What happened?”
“I don’t know, Kehl,” Albin said. A large welt had begun to rise on his cheek. The cut on his shoulder bled freely. And he limped, the broken shaft of an arrow still protruding from his leg.
“That she-elf bitch,” Kehl replied as he looked at his own shoulder. The tomigus root had taken away some of the pain, but he had to be careful not to drink too much of the tea. He chewed on some kokaina leaf. That seemed to help as well.
“Yeah,” Albin replied, “without her, they didn’t have a chance. Her and the fat merchant.”
Kehl wanted to punch something, kill something, destroy something. He looked to Albin. For a moment, the thought of ripping his throat out crossed his mind. Kehl shook his head. No. Albin had proven a loyal servant. That would be foolish.
“How many of the men from our guild remain?” Kehl asked.
“Of the dozen we took,” Albin replied, “eight.”
Kehl nodded. Losing four in that fight. That wasn’t too bad.
“And the others?” Kehl asked. He felt woozy. He could feel his consciousness waning. “The ones we hired?”
“I’m not sure, Kehl,” Albin said. “We hired fifty men, at least. Many of them are dead.”
“Do you agree with A’Uthma, Albin?” Kehl asked.
“About what, Kehl?” Albin said.
“These thieves and assassins,” Kehl continued, “in our guild?”
“What about them?” Albin asked.
Kehl dropped to a knee, putting a hand out to steady himself against an elm tree.
“Are they loyal?” Kehl asked. “Can I trust them?”
Albin thought for a moment.
“Yeah, Kehl,” Albin finally said, “I agree with A’Uthma. I think we can trust them.”
Kehl nodded. His breathing slowed. His eyelids felt heavy.
“Good.”
“Kehl, you all right?” Albin asked.
“I’m going to pass out, Albin,” Kehl said. “Before I do, I need you and our guildsmen to do something.”
“Sure, Kehl. What is it?” Albin asked.
“Kill the men we hired,” Kehl muttered. He almost toppled over, but Albin caught him. Kehl crouched, and his servant crouched with him.
“Did you say kill them?” Albin asked.
“Yes,” Kehl replied. His speech began to slow, slur a bit.
“I’ll do whatever you ask me to do, boss,” Albin said, “but can I ask why?”
“We can’t trust them,” Kehl said. “They will go and tell people ignorant militiamen from Waterton beat us. They’ll go telling people about some bitch she-elf. We don’t need the publicity right now.”
“You got it boss,” Albin said.
Albin gently laid Kehl down. Kehl’s vision began to blur.
Can I trust Albin? he thought. I suppose we will see.
He saw Albin gather the guildsmen to him. Kehl watched as Albin spoke to them. It seemed commanding, harsh at moments. Then he saw his guildsmen nod. Some looked to him, but as they did, Albin barked at them, and they again paid attention to him. Then he saw the words mouthed on Albin’s lips.
“Kill them all.”
Chapter 18
Erik walked through a small copse of white-barked ash trees to find his companions waiting. As soon as Balzarak saw him, the dwarf smiled and commanded the party to move out. As they hiked onward, the rain grew harder, and the air grew cooler. Erik felt goose pimples rise on his skin and his bones shake under his armor.
“This isn’t the way we came, is it?” Wrothgard asked.
“No,” Turk replied, shaking his head.
“Where are we, then?” Switch asked.
“I don’t know,” Turk said.
“Bloody great,” Switch spat.
“We are still south of the ravine,” Balzarak said, “but north and east of the main entrance to Orvencrest, that much I can tell.”
“So, where do we go, General?” Wrothgard asked.
“We continue west,” Balzarak replied. “We should eventually find the great ravine. If we follow it, we will eventually come across the land bridge we crossed before. At least, I hope.”
The mountain steepened and, with the heavy rain, temporary rivers began to wash down the mountainside. A curtain of rain obscured any clear vision, and the ground became so saturated that Erik found himself walking on dirt that was only half solid.
“By An’s beard!” Demik exclaimed as he took a step and sank knee-deep into the sodden earth.
“We must find shelter soon before we are washed away by the mountain,” Balzarak said, as he gave Demik a hand to pull himself out.
“Or before we all die of a fever,” Turk added.
“Agreed,” Wrothgard replied, his teeth chattering and his hair and beard a matted mess of water and dirt, evidence that he had slipped and fallen several times already. “But where?”
“If we can find a cave,” Balzarak said, “or even an overhang or thick copse of trees, that might suffice.”
The rain hardened into a steady stream of water until all Erik could see in front of him was a sheet of gray. Rain washed down his face so that he could barely open his eyes, and every time he tried to breathe, water washed into his mouth, causing to him to constantly cough.
Through heavy downpour, squinted eyes, and now waning light, Erik saw something large and round and gray ahead.
“A rock,” Erik said more to himself than anyone else. “Shelter.”
Erik hurried on, passing everyone else and doing his best not to slip along the wet earth, until he reached what he had seen. He could hear his companions running after him, calling after him, but the rain drowned out their voices.
“Damn it,” Erik muttered, “damn this mountain!”
“What is it?” Turk asked.
“I thought it was a boulder,” Erik said, chin to his chest, “signifying at least a bit of shelter.”
“By the gods,” Wrothgard said.
“What the …” Switch began to say, but his voice trailed off.
“It’s a dead troll,” Erik said, kicking the body.
His foot broke open the skin, already decaying. Gas hissed from the wound, and Erik gagged at the smell. Maggots spilled from the troll’s body, wriggling violently in the cold rain. Erik stepped on them angrily, twisting his foot as he tried to kill them.
“It’s been dead a while,” Turk said.
Threhof knelt by the beast.
“Wolves,” the dwarf said, stroking his wet beard.
“Huh,” Switch said, standing behind Threhof, “those wounds look more like they were made from a bloody cougar.”
Threhof shook his head.
“A cougar would have bitten the back of the neck,” Threhof explained, “trying to break its neck. There wouldn’t be all these other wounds.”
Erik walked to the front of the troll, to see what Threhof was talking about, and indeed, bite and claw marks riddled the front of the beast, from its face to its feet. The wounds were black and no longer oozing blood. The troll’s face looked bloated, as did its stomach, arms, and legs.
“This was done by a pack. Cougars are lone hunters. Besides,” Threhof continued, “even though a large enough cougar could probably take down a troll, it normally wouldn’t try.”
“Why?” Erik asked.
“Too much of a fight. Too risky,” Turk interjected. “With food so plentiful in these parts of the mountains, why risk life?”
“And this troll is uneaten,” Threhof added, nodding at Turk’s comments.
“Wouldn’t a pack of wolves eat a troll?” Wrothgard asked.
“Aye, they would,” Threhof replied, “but if wolves truly killed this troll—and I believe they did—they weren’t normal wolves.”
“What kind of wolf was it then?” Erik asked.
Threhof just looked to Balzarak and the rest of the dwarves with worry evident in his eyes.
“We need to find shelter,” Balzarak said. “Now.”
“What about these flaming wolves?” Switch asked.
“That is why we need to find shelter,” Balzarak replied.
Erik gave the dead troll a shove on the shoulder with his boot and watched as the body began to slowly slide down the mountainside. Standing and watching, he felt his feet sinking into the mire, and as he set off again, it felt as if the mountain, clinging to his boots, was trying to hold him back. He walked only a few paces when he looked back, and over his shoulder he saw the troll disappear from sight, consumed by the mountain.
They hiked until the darkness created by the rainclouds made telling time difficult, eventually finding a small shelter formed by several large boulders that had fallen and stacked together in ages past. It didn’t look to do much in the way of keeping out the rain, water escaping through small spaces where the rocks met, but inside, they found a small den. Dug into the side of the mountain by some long-gone animal, the floor of the den sat higher than the ground outside, so it was relatively dry and comfortable and warmer, even without a fire.
“We will be hard pressed to find any dry wood for a fire,” Wrothgard said.
“It’s warm enough in here for now,” Turk said as they all piled into the small den, sitting practically shoulder to shoulder to fit and help each other keep warm.
�
�Are we going to fall asleep and find ourselves awakened by a pack of troll-hunting wolves wondering what we are doing in their home?” Switch asked.
“Nothing has lived here for a while,” Demik replied.
Looking around, Erik agreed. He was no expert in the matter of animal dwellings but could see no evidence of recent occupancy. Weeds and creepers grew over the walls, and there were no old bones or scat like he assumed would be in most inhabited dens.
“I wonder why,” Switch grumbled, “who’s bothered about a few troll-hunting wolves wandering about.”
Erik moved himself to the very back of the den, as small as it was. As he leaned his head back, listening as his companions talked and the rain outside continued to fall, his eyes began to close.
“I sorry.”
Bofim’s voice broke Erik’s sleep, and when he opened his eyes, he saw that it was dark outside.
“What?” Erik asked.
“I sorry for your brother,” Bofim said. He sat next to Erik.
Erik, at first, pursed his lips and felt his face grow hot, but then he calmed down.
“Thanks,” Erik replied.
“Bim was like brother to me,” Bofim said. Erik could see that the dwarf’s eyes were red. “It very hard to lose both Mortin and Bim.”
Suddenly, Erik realized that he had to accept what Turk said, that he wasn’t the only one who had lost someone close. Tears began to fall from Bofim’s eyes. Erik put a hand on the dwarf’s shoulder.
“I am sorry too,” Erik said in as comforting a tone as he could muster. Bofim just nodded.
“I wish I could say something like, don’t worry, now they’re in heaven being applauded as warriors,” Erik said, “but right now, I just don’t know.”
Erik looked at Bofim and shrugged, and the dwarf looked back at him, as if he understood.
“Now more important have faith than ever before,” Bofim said.
“I suppose,” Erik replied, feeling his own tears welling up in his eyes. “It’s just hard.”
“I know,” Bofim said. “We all know. We all lose someone at some point. Never easy. Pain is always there.”
Erik just shook his head, holding back his tears.
“Be strong,” Bofim said. “Have hope.”
Breaking the Flame Page 14
