Breaking the Flame

by Christopher Patterson

  “I … I …” Erik couldn’t find the right words.

  “I missed you,” Simone sobbed.

  “I was afraid you would be married when I returned,” Erik said.

  Simone pushed back and rubbed angrily at her tears while she studied his face.

  “I’m … I’m sorry Simone. I wasn’t sure you would wait for me,” Erik said, taking his eyes off Simone and looking at his feet.

  Simone grabbed his face with both her hands and lifted it up so that he had to look at her. Her touch was soft again, but her hands were strong, and he couldn’t have pulled away if he wanted to.

  “If it meant waiting to the very last day of my life,” Simone said, “I would have waited for you. My heart is yours. My future is yours. There is no one else.”

  Before he could say anything else, her lips met his, and they kissed. He breathed her in, long and deep, and as he wrapped his arms around her waist, she wrapped hers around his neck again. They fell into one another, pressing their bodies hard against each other as they made up for two years of lost kisses and touches and caresses.

  When their lips finally parted, both Erik and Simone now had tears on their cheeks.

  “You are back, and that is all that matters,” Simone said.

  “I have to leave again,” Erik said.

  Simone looked down, her mouth dropping as she swallowed hard.

  “But I will come back,” Erik said. “I promise.”

  Simone looked crestfallen, staring at Erik’s chest. Erik lifted her head with a single finger under her chin.

  “Marry me,” he said, “before I leave. Please. Let me leave knowing that I was at least able to live a few weeks of my life as your husband.”

  Simone smiled amidst her tears.

  “Yes,” she said, “of course.”

  Chapter 55

  Darius, the General Lord Marshal of Gol-Durathna and commander of all its armies, opened the thick, wooden door to a dimly lit, windowless room. As he entered, he heard the scraping of wood against stone, men scooting their chairs back so they could stand and salute him. Darius returned the favor, touching a loosely clenched fist to his left breast. News of death and flames and black magic had reached his ears and, with that, news that his men—Ranus and Cliens—were also dead. He had just delivered the news of her husband’s death to Cliens’ widow. He didn’t have to, but it was the least she deserved.

  She cried and wailed, as did his children. His oldest, also Cliens, vowed to avenge his father.

  “I will kill every easterner,” the boy, almost a young man, had said.

  When Cliens’ widow finally looked up at Darius, he could see hate in her eyes, hate for him, for Golgolithul, and for the world.

  Ranus’ family was harder to read. They had sought refuge in Gol-Durathna when both goblins and Golgolithul displaced the frog people from the Shadow Marshes. Darius didn’t understand their language, and when he told Ranus’ widow, she simply looked away and closed the door. He had waited a moment, listening for crying or yelling, but they never came.

  “Please, sit,” Darius said, his voice low.

  “This must be a lie,” Fabian said, scratching nervously at the patchy brown beard that tried to cover his chubby chin. “A dragon? They don’t exist.”

  “So, a thousand people are lying?” Amado asked.

  “You are young,” Fabian said. “Young men have a tendency to believe in fantasies.”

  Amado stood quickly, pointing a finger at Fabian.

  “Sit,” Darius said, his voice calm. “It is no fantasy, Fabian. A dragon destroyed South Gate.”

  “Is it true?” Callis asked. He rubbed his thin, crane’s neck. “Are they … are they dead?”

  Darius nodded but doubted the men could see him doing so in the dim light.

  “Yes,” he finally said. “Cliens and Ranus are dead.”

  “Their bodies, Lord Marshal?” Callis asked.

  “No bodies,” Darius replied. “The dragon fire … it …”

  The General Lord Marshal stopped. His stomach knotted, and something caught in his throat. It was all too surreal.

  “I hear it was a man barely twenty years old who stopped the dragon,” Amado said. “That is what my spies say.”

  “What else do your spies say?” Darius asked, but he had already heard the answer from others in the Keep of Amentus.

  “They say that the reason the Lord of the East sent mercenaries to a lost dwarvish city was for a spell,” Amado replied. “It is a spell to control a dragon, but the spell alone is not enough. There is a sword …”

  “A sword?” Darius asked. That part he hadn’t heard.

  “Yes, Lord Marshal,” Amado replied, “a sword that can kill a dragon. And this man who defeated the dragon has been tasked with finding the sword for the Lord of the East.”

  “Who is this man?” Darius asked, more to himself than to anyone else.

  “All we know right now is that his name is Erik Eleodum, that he is from the northwestern farmlands of Háthgolthane,” Amado replied, “and that he was traveling with dwarves.”

  “Dwarves?” Darius questioned.

  “Shall I prepare the Dragon’s Teeth, General?” Marcel asked, the thick, well-muscled man clenching his jaw as he rolled his head, popping his bull’s neck.

  “To what end?” Darius asked.

  “We will intercept this man,” Marcel replied.

  “No,” Darius replied. “We are on the brink of war as it is. If we were to openly attack an agent of Golgolithul …”

  Darius trailed off and stared at the dark ceiling.

  What is happening? What is this world coming to?

  “The Atrimus?” Amado asked, referring to the Golden City’s secret guild of assassins.

  “Yes,” Darius replied. “Send them, right away.”

  “And your orders?” Amado asked.

  “Whatever means necessary,” Darius replied.

  “And what about Hámon,” Fabian asked, “and this new king who claims to be the son of Patûk Al’Banan?”

  “For this, Marcel, we can prepare the Dragon’s Teeth,” Darius said. “He has overthrown a king who openly traded with Gol-Durathna. King Agempi, nor the council, will declare war, but we must be ready.”

  “Very well,” Marcel replied with a quick bow.

  Darius stood, the other four men standing with him. He bowed, and they returned the favor.

  “Find this Erik Eleodum,” Darius said before exiting the room, “and stop him.”

  Chapter 56

  Erik watched the horses and cart approach with a smile on his face. They were a few days late, but they had returned, as promised, and with Bryon in tow. He hadn’t expected to see Beldar and Bofim, but it was a pleasant surprise as the two dwarves came into view. He lifted a hand and waved, and Turk returned the gesture, followed by Nafer.

  “Who are they, son?” Rickard Eleodum asked.

  “My friends,” Erik replied.

  “Are those dwarves?” his father asked.

  “Aye,” Erik replied, looking at his father with a smile.

  “Bless me,” his father said, “I haven’t seen a dwarf in years. Gypsies and dwarves in a matter of months. Bless me.”

  “It’s good to see you!” Erik yelled in Dwarvish. “And only a few days late!”

  “You’re speaking their language?” his father asked, eyes wide and hand rubbing his cheek.

  “Well, when you live among them for so long,” Erik said, smiling even wider, “you have to make sure they’re not talking about you.”

  “Uncle Rickard!” Bryon called as they reached the Eleodum house.

  Erik’s father simply waved, a dumbfounded smile on his face.

  “Erik, it is good to see you,” Turk said, dismounting and hugging Erik.

  “Father, this is Turk Skull Crusher,” Erik said, and the dwarf grasped Rickard’s hand.

  “Skull Crusher?” Rikard said with some apprehension.

  “Family name, sir,” Tur
k said, laughing a bit.

  “Nafer Round Shield, Beldar White Tree, and Bofim Black Stone,” Erik continued, and each dwarf followed Turk in shaking Rickard’s hand.

  Bryon met his uncle with a firm hug, and it had been a long time since Erik had seen tears of happiness in his cousin’s eyes.

  “You should go see your father, Bryon,” Rikard said.

  “I’m worried,” Bryon confessed.

  “Son, go see your father,” Rickard repeated. “He and your mother have missed you. The rest of you, you are friends of my son and, from what he has said, are to thank for his return home, so you are welcomed guests of the Eleodums. Please, come inside.”

  ****

  Bryon hugged each one of his sisters for longer than they had expected. He didn’t realize how much he missed them, having been a constant annoyance in the past. His mother was next, and she greeted him with more kisses and more tears than he could bear, and he thought she might smother him to death. But his heart stopped when his father entered the room. He wasn’t as big as Bryon had remembered him, and he didn’t have that lazy-eyed, red-nosed look he typically had at this time of the day. He was sober.

  “Father,” Bryon said, straightening his back.

  “Bryon,” his father replied, a slight shake in his voice.

  “I’m sorry I left,” Bryon said. He didn’t know what else to say. “I know it’s probably been a strain on you and mother.”

  “Yes, it has,” his father replied, face straight and stoic, with the slightest hint of a tremble in his voice.

  “I’m a rich man now,” Bryon said. He kneeled, opening his haversack to show his father the coin and gems and jewels he had. “I don’t know if it will make up for it, but you can have it all. It will pay off your debts. You can hire more men. Buy more land. I …”

  His father pulled him up to his feet, and as Bryon expected his father to hit him, he wrapped his arms around Bryon and squeezed and cried.

  “My son has come home,” he said. “Oh son, how I have missed you. I thought I’d never see you again. You are worth more than all the jewels in the world.”

  Bryon didn’t know what to do or say and, for a moment, just stood there, but slowly, he wrapped his arms around his father and completed the embrace.

  Later, Bryon met Erik among his father’s orange groves, away from their families and away from the buzz of the farmsteads. So many rumors had begun to spread about dwarves and warriors and dragon slayers being in their midst, both Bryon and Erik barely found time to be alone.

  “My father stopped drinking,” Bryon said. “Hasn’t touched a drop almost since we left.”

  “That makes my heart happy,” Erik said.

  “I hear you are finally going to marry Simone,” Bryon added.

  “Yes,” Erik said with a smile.

  “That makes my heart happy,” Bryon said.

  “Now we have to find you someone,” Erik said.

  “Oh, I don’t know about that,” Bryon said with a laugh. “Perhaps, someday. But for now, I still need to heal.”

  “The dragon wound?” Erik asked.

  “I still feel it from time to time,” Bryon explained. “King Skella said it will never truly heal. I have vivid dreams of the dragon and of wolves and darkness. The king said that was because of my wound. But not all wounds are physical, Erik. Not all healing is physical.”

  “You don’t need to go with us,” Erik said. “You weren’t there. The Lord of the East didn’t command you to do anything. He spoke my name, not yours. You can stay here and mend your wounds, physical and otherwise. I don’t mind.”

  Bryon looked at Erik and shook his head.

  “We are in this together, cousin,” Bryon said. “That is one of the biggest mistakes I have been making … that this life is just about me. No, I will go. Where you go, I go.”

  ****

  News of Erik Eleodum returning home, now a warrior, had spread through the farmlands quickly. Most couldn’t believe their ears, that the younger Eleodum, known for his gentle nature, could be a mighty soldier, but when they came to see for themselves and saw him not only training with his cousin—a much humbler version of his cousin—and dwarves, not only did the farming settlements buzz with the talk of mighty fighters living in their midst, but also the talk of dwarves, who hadn’t been seen in the farmlands for years.

  Now, as another day ended bringing him nearer still to his departure again, Erik stood in front of the fence surrounding his home. He stared north, towards the Gray Mountains. He grew up in their shadow, always wondering what could possibly live and dwell in such a place. Now that he knew, part of him wished he could go back to his ignorance.

  As he stared at the Gray Mountains, large and looming, much of them covered with snow, they seemed to change shape. They turned black, and black clouds hung over them. Thunder rumbled and purple lightning erupted from the ominous clouds. He remembered those clouds from a dream, but now he wasn’t in his dream.

  He blinked, and the clouds and lightning went away, and the Gray Mountains were as they were before. Erik felt an overwhelming sense of peace, and he smiled. He knew Simone stood behind him, and he smelled her usual scent of lavender and mint. Her smell mixed with his mother’s roses brought a bigger smile to his face, and he imagined living here in peace for the rest of his life. But, among that sweet aroma, he caught a whiff of something familiar and sour, something he only experienced in the deepest, darkest places, whether it be in his mind or in this world … death. He could hear them, in the distance, far away in the tallest peaks of the Gray Mountains. But he could hear them, the minions of the Shadow. They were there, waiting, bound by the flames of the shadow, and he would have to break them.

  Simone wrapped her arms around Erik, and after he turned to face her, she held him tight. She was a tall woman, but he was bigger and looked down at her, her blue eyes staring back up at him. She would be his wife on the morrow Fréden and for a moment, their life would be perfect. But then he would have to leave again. For now, though, everything was perfect.

  Erik looked once more to the Gray Mountains. He smiled, breathed, and closed his eyes. They were already calling him Erik Friend of Dwarves, Erik Wolf’s Bane, Erik Troll Hammer, and Erik Dragon Slayer, but for now, he was simply Erik Eleodum, son of a simple farmer.

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