“You,” Pavin said.
“Good,” Bu replied, closing his fist and squeezing the brain demon larvae until it was nothing but a green smudge in his hand. It was a costly sacrifice. Brain demon larvae were expensive as the faraway Feran Islands were their natural habitat, but it was a necessary one, and Bu had more larvae if Pavin decided to go back on his pledge of allegiance.
“My lord,” Ban Chu said, “should we follow the men who attacked us?”
Bu shook his head.
“To Hámon, for now,” Bu said. “We have a copy of the scroll. We don’t need them anymore. And I will have my revenge all in due time.”
“On the Lord of the East, my lord?” Ban Chu asked.
“No,” Bu said, shaking his head. “Well, yes. I still intend on conquering the east as Patûk had. But my first act of revenge will be on that little prick who killed Patûk.”
“How, my lord?” Ban Chu asked.
“That fool of a thief,” Bu said. “He said a name when they attacked.”
“What was the name, my lord?” Ban Chu asked.
“Erik Eleodum,” Bu said with a smile. “Erik Eleodum. That was the man’s name. That is who will feel my revenge. He and all he loves will know my wrath.”
Chapter 31
Erik and the two dwarves caught up with the rest of their company again as they began to cross the land bridge. Dwain was already on the other side of the ravine, helping the mountain folk as they stepped to the other side. Bryon was over there too, one arm draped around Demik. Wrothgard was on their side of the ravine, helping the mountain people onto the bridge.
“We recovered the scroll,” Erik said.
“Good,” Wrothgard replied as the last homesteader walked out onto the bridge.
“They had opened it,” Erik added.
“Who?” Wrothgard asked.
“Switch and the men for whom he betrayed us,” Erik replied.
“Was it truly Patûk?” Wrothgard asked.
“Aye,” Balzarak said. “Erik killed him.”
“Truly?” Wrothgard asked.
“Yes,” Turk replied, “and Switch.”
“Do you think the Lord of the East knows … will he know it has been opened?” Erik asked.
“Most definitely,” Wrothgard replied, “but it is a risk we must take. We did not open it, and I believe the punishment for not returning it would be much harsher than having opened it.”
“It’s not some recording of family lineage, Wrothgard,” Erik said.
“What is it then?” the soldier asked, and Erik explained what had happened and what they suspected the scroll was and did. Wrothgard’s skin turned pale, and he shook his head.
“We can’t worry about that now,” he said, trying to appear positive. “We have to move. Patûk’s men, regardless of his death, are close. I am sure they will want revenge. We must move quickly.”
Clouds had once more formed overhead, and a light rain was falling when Wrothgard, Erik, Turk, and Balzarak crossed the land bridge. When they reached the other side, the rain fell harder and faster, and Erik could tell there was unease and tension in the homesteaders. They had only traveled a short distance, when Alga came rushing back to Erik, worry evident on her face.
“We have to stop,” she said. “The old one is not well, nor is the mother and her infant.”
Erik looked up to the sky as large raindrops plopped against his face.
“And one of yours,” she added. “The man, I believe the one who is your cousin. He has a fever, and it is getting worse.”
“Where do we camp, General?” Erik asked.
“This is what I feared might happen,” Balzarak replied.
“We are at least a day from Thorakest,” Turk added.
“We need to find a place for the four of them,” Balzarak said. “The rest of us will have to bear the weather, but they cannot.”
“How are you doing, cousin,” Erik said, walking up to Bryon.
“I don’t feel … don’t feel well,” Bryon said, and he looked it, his face ashen, and he had lost weight.
“Turk,” Erik said, “can you go with them, tend to them throughout the night?”
“I will do what I can,” Turk said.
“I hope we haven’t trusted you in vain, Erik,” Balzarak said.
“Me too,” Erik added.
****
The sky always seemed so clear after a storm, as if it had washed away all the dirt, given the sky a clean slate. There were the stars, and Erik poked at them, laughing inwardly. He remembered a night like this one. He sat behind his father’s barn, watching the stars. His father hadn’t come home yet, and when he did, he cursed Hámonian nobles for their treachery in the marketplace. That was the night Erik decided he would go with Befel and Bryon on this fool’s journey.
He could go back to his farm now. He could pay off his father’s debt. He would be the one to inherit his father’s land, and then he could buy more. He could probably even buy the Hámonians’ lands. He could marry Simone and buy the largest farmstead possible and still have enough money left over for the next dozen generations of his family. He had found fortune and, in some respects, he assumed, fame. Would the Lord of the East herald him as a hero? He had done everything he had set out to do—and against what odds. He wasn’t yet twenty summers.
Erik shook his head. He couldn’t go home … not without Befel. His throat went dry, and he put his face in his hands.
“Just one more day,” he muttered. “What will Mother think? What will Father do? Beth and Tia—what will they think of me?”
He stared back out at the darkness through wet, blurry vision. He remembered his dreams.
Are they even there, still? Or are Mother and Father dead? Are Beth and Tia sitting in some cell, somewhere in Hámon, slaves?
Erik hugged his knees to his chest. He looked at all the people huddled close to the mountain slope, trying to sleep. He turned his head so that he could watch the darkness.
Erik watched the pinks and purples of an early morning finger across the sky. He had sat there all night, thinking of his mother and father, sisters and brother. He could have sat there forever with their faces in his head, remembering sitting on his mother’s lap, playing with his sisters, working with his father, following his brother around wherever he might go. But the ensuing light and the sound of early morning birds told Erik he had to move. He stood, stretching out his stiff muscles, trying to shake away the weariness of two sleepless nights. He heard someone crying.
“What happened?” Erik asked as he came to a small crowd—as much of a crowd that could be afforded on that mountain ledge—gathering where Bryon had slept that night.
“It’s the old woman,” Dwain said. “She passed in the night. She didn’t have a chance, really. She was too frail to make this journey.”
“This is all my fault,” Erik muttered angrily.
“What was that?” Erik hadn’t noticed Alga standing next to him, her arms tightly wound around her husband’s arm. She pressed her body close to him. Her eyes looked sad and red-rimmed as if she had been crying. Despite that, she smiled at Erik.
“This is my fault,” Erik repeated. “This poor old woman. She died because of me.”
Alga’s face scrunched up and twisted. She looked to her husband, and he looked back at her with a questioning, raised eyebrow. Alga said something to him in their native tongue. It was just different enough from Dwarvish that he could only pick out a word here and there, not enough to understand what she said. Angthar shook his head, shot a quick glance to Erik, and then said something back. She nodded and looked to the young man.
“She would have died anyway,” Alga said. “It is because of you that this woman—who would have died either way—was able to pass without much pain, surrounded by her family and her people.
“We believe in you, Erik,” Alga said. “My husband and I. You have displaced our family, taken us from our home, changed all of our dreams and goals, and we followed you because we trust you.
The Creator sent you to us, this we do not doubt. Believe in yourself.”
Erik watched a little longer while the homesteaders prepared the old woman and prayed over her once she was buried in a shallow grave. Then it was time to move on, but first they made a litter for Bryon as well as the mother and her infant. Bryon argued at first about being carried, but took little convincing, and he soon relented.
As they grew closer to Thorakest, Erik could feel something, someone, watching them from the other side of the ravine. Winter wolves? Trolls? Traitorous Eastern guardsmen? Dwomanni? It didn’t matter.
Maybe I’ll just stay in Thorakest. Will I even have a family to return to? And if I do, how to I tell Mother Befel is gone? And what of Simone? Surely, she’s married someone else by now. I could just stay here, with the dwarves.
Erik took a deep, long breath and let the air slowly escape his lungs. The sun had reached its apex, and the day was warm; a pleasant change if there was no danger to their journey. The cliff that protected the pathway from the giant ravine grew taller, and Erik remembered leaving the comforts of Thorakest to embrace the wilds of the Southern Mountains.
“Halten!”
The cry came from the front of the train of people. Erik followed Turk to the front of the line. When he passed by Alga, she had a worried look on her face. Her husband held their littlest daughter and son in his great arms. As they neared the front, Erik heard arguing in Dwarvish.
Balzarak and Dwain argued with another dwarf, a stranger with bright red hair running straight down the middle of his head. He looked a haphazard fellow as did his armor, all pieced together in no particular arrangement. Blue and purple inked tattoos covered the shaved sides of his head and migrated to his neck and across his forehead and even to his cheeks. He looked young, compared to the other dwarves, with a close-cropped beard and no moustache, and his face looked almost as red as his hair.
“It’s a tunnel rat,” Turk said. “It’s the name given to the young warriors who are chosen to explore the unknowns of the mountains, and, in times of war, lead initial assaults.”
“Sounds dangerous,” Erik said.
“It’s very dangerous,” Turk agreed. “Their lives are short. It is a great honor.”
“If his job is to explore undiscovered tunnels,” Erik said, “what is he doing here?”
“I know as much as you do,” Turk replied, “but him being here concerns me.”
The tunnel rat wasn’t alone. Four dwarves stood behind him, all dressed the same, all carrying short handled spears and short swords.
“More tunnel rats?” Erik asked.
Turk nodded.
Erik heard a hiss and looked up to see a giant rock lizard, clinging to the side of the mountain with its wicked-looking black claws and staring at them. Its tongue flickered in and out a few times, and it opened its mouth wide, hissed again, and then snapped its maw shut. The lizard wore a thick, leather collar, a long leashed attached to it. Another dwarf, all clad in armor made of soft leather, held the leash and stood atop the mountain slope, staring down at them.
“Do tunnel rats normally have lizards with them?” Erik said, pointing upwards.
“Sometimes, yes, but that dwarf isn’t a tunnel rat.”
“How do you know?” Erik asked.
“The tattoos on the dwarves’ heads and faces give them away as tunnel rats,” Turk explained.
“But that one is a wearing a helmet,” Erik said, and Turk nodded; explanation given.
Looking around, Erik saw more lizard handlers walking along the tops of the mountain peak that shadowed the entrance to Thorakest. He heard a low growl and looked up above the tunnel rat, the rocky wall above the city’s entrance, and saw yet another dwarf standing there. This one was clad in full plate mail, although it was difficult to fully see him as the sun shone behind him and cast a dark silhouette around the dwarf. But nonetheless, Erik could see that this dwarf also held a leash, but this one was tied to a great brown bear that growled again and bared its massive fangs.
The conversation grew decidedly heated as the volume of both the tunnel rat’s and Balzarak’s voices raised. Finally, Balzarak threw his hands in the air and turned around. He saw Erik and let out a concerned sigh.
“The whole city is on alert, Erik,” Balzarak explained.
“Why?” Erik asked.
“Fréden Fréwin has left the city, defecting and taking others with him,” Balzarak said. “In addition, there have been sightings.”
“Sightings?” Erik asked. “Sightings of what?”
“It is as we thought,” Balzarak said. “Sightings of them.”
“The—”
“Do not speak their name here,” Balzarak said. “King Skella is a good ruler, and I now know that I was wrong about you when we first met, but it is not safe for you to return to Thorakest.”
“What about the homesteaders?” Erik asked.
“It is not safe because you possess the scroll the Lord of the East wants,” Balzarak said with a mirthless smile, “not because you are a man. They will be welcomed in Thorakest as long as they wish, I will make sure of that.”
“What do we … do I do then?” Erik asked.
“I need to make sure you find your way to Fen-Stévock,” Balzarak said, “as much as it pains me to say so.”
“If we are not safe in Thorakest,” Erik asked, “then how will we be safe on dwarvish roads, or some other dwarvish city?”
“The main roads of Drüum Balmdüukr are as traveled as any other road in the world,” Balzarak explained.
“And as treacherous?” Erik asked.
“Aye,” Balzarak replied, “but no one will know who you are … or what you carry.”
“And what will be our route?” Erik asked.
“Go via Ecfast,” Balzarak said.
Erik remembered Turk and Wrothgard having a conversation about Ecfast. It was the route Wrothgard had originally planned on taking, having a token that would permit him entrance into dwarvish lands.
“The captain of Ecfast is a dwarf name Khamzûd,” Balzarak explained. “He is a distant relative of mine and loyal to King Skella. He will welcome you, make sure you are safe, and see you are on your way to Fen-Stévock without unwanted intervention.”
Erik thought for a moment.
“Do you trust me, Erik?” Balzarak asked.
That gave Erik more cause for thought, but then he looked the dwarf in the eyes. Erik nodded.
“Yes.”
Chapter 32
Escorted by a dwarf named Forgrim and his company of tunnel rats, it took less than a day’s travel to reach the underground road that led one way to Thorakest and the other to Ecfast.
“Erik,” Balzarak said, extending his hand, “I wish you success and the Creator’s blessing.”
“Thank you, General,” Erik said, “although, I am worried about Bryon. He is getting worse. You said that the surgeons in Thorakest could heal him, but now we are not going to Thorakest.”
“I can take him to Thorakest with me,” Balzarak said.
“Will he be safe?” Erik asked.
“He will be in the direct care of the King, my friend,” Balzarak replied. “And I will make sure he is safe. I will guard him myself if I must. And when he is well, I will have a host of dwarvish warriors escort him home.”
“Did you hear that?” Erik said to Bryon, but his cousin lay on the litter, unconscious. Erik rubbed his cousin’s shoulder. He snored softly, breathing slowly. “I will keep your sword for now. Do not worry. I won’t steal it. You’ll get it back.”
“I suppose it’s just you and me, Wrothgard,” Erik said, looking at the soldier.
“Do not forget about us,” Turk said. “Demik, Nafer, and I intend on seeing this through. We started this together. We will finish this together.”
“But Thorakest is your home,” Erik said.
“Thorakest is in my heart, Erik,” Turk said, “and you are my friend.”
“We come too,” Bofim said. “Be
ldar and me.”
“You’re an extraordinary man, Erik Eleodum,” Balzarak said, “to earn the respect and fellowship of dwarves such as these. I have this for you.”
The general retrieved a circlet from his haversack. It looked much like the one he wore upon his brow, only this one was silver and centered by a sapphire. He handed it to Erik.
“Wear this when you reach Ecfast,” Balzarak said. “It will let Captain Khamzûd know you are a friend of dwarves … a friend of mine. And keep it from here on, a token of my gratitude and our friendship. You will find it a friend, even in the deepest, darkest places.”
Even in the deepest, darkest places
Erik remembered his grandfather had once uttered the same words. He bowed as he took the circlet and placed it on his head.
“An be with you,” Erik said in Dwarvish.
“An be with you,” Balzarak replied.
****
Erik stood in a wide field. The grass was waist high and brown, as if it was dead, but it wasn’t. The sky was reddish pale, and the sun seemed to be a minute version of what it should have been. He looked over his shoulder, half expecting to see a hill with a large weeping willow on top of it. It wasn’t there, but he had still been to this place before.
This was another place in his world of dreams, only something about this place spoke of nightmares. More than the undead, more than dark forests, this was a place of distortion, of altered realities. As Erik walked, he felt his sword, Ilken’s Blade, at his hip. No dagger. His dagger had told him it couldn’t come to this place.
All was quiet as the tall, brown grass fluttered in a breeze, but it made no sound. What should have been a cool wind seemed more like the fanned flames from a fire. As flies buzzed in front of his face, the annoying sound of their wings was barely audible. Then, a long, screeching cry broke to quiet. Millions of insects rose up from the grass in a chorus of hissing. A flock of black birds flew overhead, bobbing and weaving through the pallid, red sky as if joined invisibly. They rose and dove, and then, with a screech that hurt his ears, flew into the ground, each one hitting the ground with the sickening sound of breaking bone and splitting flesh. When Erik walked to where the birds’ bodies should have been, he found nothing.
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