The Nesilia's War Trilogy: (Buried Goddess Saga Box Set: Books 4-6)

by Rhett C. Bruno

  “Ye almost had me fooled,” Lorgit finally said, the first words he’d spoken since the incident in the throne room. The only good thing about it was that it allowed Sora to not respond to Tum Tum.

  “Almost,” Lorgit punctuated.

  “Father—“ Brouben said before being cut off.

  “Quiet ye, before ye get strung up as well,” Lorgit said, stopping the group and spinning on his son. “Ye gotta rise pretty yiggin early to fool the Ruler of the Three Kingdoms.”

  Clanbreakers closed in to ensure no one tried anything stupid. The King weaved through them like a needle and thread, eying each one with condescension. Sora and Lucindur kept silent, knowing that anything they might say would have consequences. Lorgit stopped right in front of Sora.

  “Ye think I don’t know that was ye?” he asked. “Panpingese mystic.”

  The accusation didn’t catch Sora off guard. She’d learned how her heritage made people behave, like she was always the enemy. And the word ‘mystic’ came out of his mouth like poison.

  “Your Grace, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sora said. “It was Nesilia—the Buried Goddess. Had to be.”

  Lorgit laughed, though it sounded more like a death wail, wet and gurgled. “We were a part of many wars, my dear. While men play games, killin this king, usurpin that throne, the dwarves watch it all. Ye know how old I am?”

  Sora shook her head.

  “Neither do I,” he said. “Been that long since I popped out. Sometimes, I wonder if I be older than Meungor himself. Problem with men be that they only see the future as far as they can chuck a stone. Dwarves… let’s just say we can throw pretty far.”

  “Father, what is this about?” Brouben asked, then shrank back when the King eyed him.

  “I told ye, Morrastreaudunimum was ours, and we want it back. We spent a long time watchin those flower-pickers tear the place to pieces for no good reason. Done. We be done watchin. Look up there,” King Lorgit said, pointing to the smoke pouring from his throne room. “Just another example of man’s destruction.”

  “That was the work of the goddess!” Brouben protested.

  Lorgit shook his head. “See all those carts already on their way, tanks of water at the ready?”

  Even as he said it, Sora noticed the workers all scooping more water from the fountain into large steam-powered contraptions with hose pipes attached.

  “She told us about ye,” King Lorgit said, turning again to Sora, his voice barely a whisper. “Said ye’d try to burn us all alive if we let ye.”

  Sora’s heart sank, and her stomach dropped. She could only mean Nesilia. Her suspicions were confirmed. Lorgit had struck a deal with the goddess. But when? If it had been when Sora’s body was occupied, she’d have had some memory, no matter how vague. And it couldn’t have been after, not with the reports they’d heard of Nesilia’s whereabouts.

  “Almost didn’t believe her,” Lorgit went on. “Said she was servin the Buried Goddess, and doin her work, and that if we stayed out of what’s comin, we’d be safe for all eternity. That her fight wasn’t with dwarves.”

  “I promise you, whoever told you that is lying,” Sora said. “Nesilia slaughtered the Strongirons to send a message.”

  “It don’t matter. I gave her the only message that does. That I know it’s all horse shog. All the work of mages and witches, making up stories about goddesses to fuel more war. I told her that we dwarves are done getting involved with yer kind, and we didn’t need some witch asking us to make more deals. Nearly had her killed on the spot, Arch Warlock or not.”

  Freydis, Sora realized, accompanied by a chill up her spine. “King Lorgit, you can’t trust anything she told you,” she blurted.

  “And I can trust ye, mystic?” he spat. “Ye lied from the start, posin as prisoners. Well, ye got yer wish. Yer gonna rot in the dungeons til yer nothin but bones—or…” He looked around. “Maybe I should take yer heads right here and deliver em to the Warlock just to send a message of me own.” His voice got louder, intent upon everyone hearing him. “A reminder that when King Lorgit Cragrock says, ‘No one in. No one out,’ it means no one!”

  “Father, please listen to me,” Brouben said for what must have been the fiftieth time. He didn’t look enthused. His father’s words were clearly weighing heavily on him.

  “Ye think me a fool, don’t ye?” Lorgit looked at Sora. “Well, I heard what happened on the pass, too. My loyal commander, Gargamane… he saw yer filthy powers with his own eyes. Ain’t no denying it.”

  “Father—“

  “Get movin,” Lorgit growled.

  The clanbreakers responded in kind, shoving the three of them along. Brouben followed like a lost puppy, unsure of what to do.

  “What now?” Lucindur whispered.

  “I should have killed that wretch when I had the chance—hanging Whitney over the ledge like that.” Sora felt her blood roiling below the surface.

  She gazed up at the smoke still pouring from the mouth and nostrils of the large dwarven head encapsulating the dwarf King’s throne room. She could imagine the dragon bones, charred and burning. She knew Aquira was impervious to flames, but that was her skin. She wondered what fire would do to her bones. Then she found herself overwhelmed with worry for the wyvern… and Whitney.

  “That was smart thinkin,” Tum Tum said, obviously looking, too. “Don’t matter what he says.”

  “That was you?” Brouben whispered.

  Sora blushed, realizing there were good dwarfs too, and like her own people, their kings and queens didn’t represent each individual. “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “Sorry? Shog-shuckin brilliant it was,” Brouben said. Then, lowering his voice, he added, “I meant me words. Me father ain’t worthy of the title or that throne no more.”

  Lucindur shushed them. She was right, there was no telling who might be listening. Though it would be hard to imagine anyone hearing anything with all the hustle and bustle of dwarves working to extinguish the fire. Cart after cart rumbled up, hauling massive tanks of water and thick, sturdy dwarves. The rails all rattled, people shouted, and through it all, King Lorgit and his clanbreakers trudged along like nothing was wrong.

  Sora thought about what she’d done up there and how easily the fire had bent to her will.

  She hadn’t needed to draw blood. There were no command words like she’d learned in the Red Tower anymore, either—which had been true ever since Nesilia left her body. The power surging from her wasn’t like it used to be. Up there, in the throne room, she hadn’t felt Elsewhere calling—Elsewhere was weak now compared to her.

  A few minutes passed as they all watched the carts, occasionally earning a prod by one of the clanbreakers. By now, the first of the brigade reached the throne room, and steam could be seen taking the place of smoke.

  “Ye think he’ll be able to do it?” Tum Tum asked.

  Sora was still fixated on the zooming carts, but when no one answered, she returned her attention to her friends.

  All eyes were intent upon her.

  “Me?” she said.

  “Aye, who else?” Tum Tum chuckled. “Ye known him the longest, ain’t ye?”

  Sora supposed he was right, but not truly. “Maybe in number of years… but both of you have spent more time with him, especially lately. Lucindur, you traveled the last several months on the road with him. All the time.”

  “A fact I needn’t be reminded of,” she said with a sly smile.

  “And Tum Tum, you’ve probably heard as many stories—or more—than I have. You know his… exploits. And you also have the unique perspective of what it means to…” She lowered her voice. “… steal from the Iron Bank.”

  Tum Tum shook his head, cleared his throat, and tried his best to look innocent. “I never done the sort.”

  Sora smiled now, but hers was as mirthless as they come. “The last thing we’d stolen together was a ship from an upyr. That didn’t go very well.”

  “I was there, Lass,
and that’s talkin kindly about the event. But here’s the cold truth of it: if that boy can’t get what we came for, we ain’t got any hope, anyway. It be this, or we gotta come up with a whole new idea before the whole world goes up in flames.”

  “Shut your ale holes,” one of the clanbreakers said, giving Tum Tum a shove. Sora was surprised it had taken so long.

  They were beyond the city’s grand hall now, and moving toward a particularly dark passage. It was nothing like the streets of Panping or Yarrington, and so far removed from a place like Myen Elnoir that they could hardly be considered in the same class. Balonhearth was all one color: slate gray. Gray walls, gray ground, gray ceiling, gray buildings. It was all the mountain, every bit of it.

  Jutting out beside them, small homes lined the path if it could be called a path. The closest thing Sora could use to describe the city would be an ant mound or hornet’s nest. Deep pockets or alcoves housed more “buildings” although they were really just a few walls carved into the side of the rock.

  She felt like eyes were watching them through the short, squat windows, and probably were.

  They all let a moment pass before Lucindur whispered, “So, what now?”

  “I don’t know,” Sora admitted, and the words pierced her like knives. “I never was the plan-maker. That was Whitney’s job, terrible as he was at it.”

  “You know, I don’t know if that’s true,” Lucindur said.

  “It is. I just followed his lead—“

  “Not that,” Lucindur said. “The part about him being horrible at it. Do you know how many times that boy saved my life or someone else’s?”

  She wasn’t wrong. Whitney had saved Sora many times as well. If it hadn’t been for him, would any of them be alive? Even Torsten Unger would likely be dead if not for Whitney’s hairbrained schemes.

  “Those’re the dungeons,” Brouben offered, pointing at the darkness ahead.

  “Shog in a barrel,” Sora said.

  “Shhh, you hear that?” Lucindur said.

  “Aye, she’s even startin to sound like the thief,” Tum Tum said.

  “No, not that,” Lucindur said. “Listen.”

  Sora didn’t hear anything, but she felt something rumble beneath her feet. Then she heard something; the voices of every dwarf in Balonhearth questioning what was going on as the ground began to shake beneath them. It intensified until they were all thrown to the side.

  “What’s this!” Lorgit shouted. He whipped around and stuck a finger out at Sora. “This your doin, witch?”

  Each of the clanbreakers drew their weapons.

  “It wasn’t me, I swear!” Sora said.

  Brouben gave her a look that said, “Are you sure?”

  Small rocks cascaded down while goods from various shops toppled off tables and shelves, crashing against the ground. King Lorgit took two violent steps toward Sora, no doubt ready to deal some punishment. But then, a tremor sent him reeling, and he hit his head on the stone wall. His clanbreakers rushed toward him.

  “This is our only chance. Go!” Sora shouted.

  No one hesitated, not even as they heard shouting behind them, nor when they heard the clattering of clanbreaker armor. They shoved through crowds, sending many a dwarf scrambling. The mountain itself was heaving, and Sora found it hard to run in a straight line. Her ankles kept buckling, and she worried that they’d snap in two, especially after she’d already twisted one in the throne room.

  She had to push the pain aside. Their pursuers were closing in.

  “Run!” Sora said, and picked up the pace.

  Sora and Lucindur’s long legs carried them far faster than any of the dwarves, Tum Tum and Brouben included, but even her dwarven companions outran the armor-encumbered clanbreakers. Everyone else was too caught up in the earthquake to worry about them.

  They ducked between two buildings and took a breather. An instant later, the shaking ceased, and they were left alone in eerie silence. Then, murmurs broke out in the distance, and Sora said, “Where do we go?”

  “Follow me,” Tum Tum said, and stay low… try to blend in.”

  They emptied out of the alley, and Tum Tum skidded to a stop. There stood Gargamane the Gold.

  “Stop there, Dwotratum, and I won’t run ye through,” he said.

  Tum Tum swore, but Sora had had enough. She strode right up to the dwarven commander.

  “Like you did last time?” she asked, bold as one would expect the daughter of Liam the Conquerer to be. “You’re going to move aside, or you won’t see tomorrow.”

  Her threat was real. She could feel the fire welling up in her, begging to be released and char his little dwarven bones. And worst of all, she liked it. The dichotomy between the old Sora and the new, goddess-scorned Sora was jarring, even to her.

  Gargamane reached for his weapon, but Sora didn’t give him the chance. She focused her energy on Gargamane’s sword, and as soon as his hand hit the hilt, he yanked it back like he’d stuck it into a bonfire.

  He squealed, then his face contorted to a mixture of anger and fear.

  “Ye ain’t welcome here, witch!” Gargamane growled.

  “I don’t want to hurt you any further, but this whole city is mad,” she said.

  “Mad? Ye think I don’t know ye did that up there?” he asked. “King said, ‘No one in. No one out’ and it looks like he was right.”

  Brouben stepped forward, but Sora threw her hand up.

  “We’ve come with everything but tangible proof that the Buried Goddess is back,” she said, “and your coward of a King can’t be bothered to be a part of it.”

  Gargamane looked to Brouben. “Yer gonna sit by while she talks about yer King and father?”

  “Just listen to her,” he said, though, lacking the vim of a Prince giving an order. Clearly, he was still conflicted.

  Sora took another step toward Gargamane and said, “Are you going to let us pass, or do I need to do to your armor what I just did to your blade?”

  Gargamane looked around. Sora didn’t dare take her eyes off him, but she knew what he was seeing. Chaos, destruction, and that was just a tiny sliver of what Pantego would look like if they didn’t succeed in stopping Nesilia.

  “What happened to the Strongirons?” Gargamane asked, quietly. “That weren’t the Drav Cra—or at least, not them alone?”

  Sora breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps, some of these people were open to reason. “As I said on the pass, the rumors are true. You’ve seen the grimaurs and goblins infesting the mining tunnels—I may not live here, but I know it’s not normal. The Buried Goddess leads not only the Drav Cra, but all manner of beasts, and we need to stop her.”

  “Me own cousin is a Strongiron,” Gargamane said, head to the ground. “Was one… I never even got to say goodbye.”

  “She’s right, the grimaurs, goblins, all of it… Nesilia’s controlling them,” Lucindur said.

  Gargamane looked around again.

  Sora almost felt bad for him, until his attention suddenly became hyper-focused and he shouted, “Aye! Over here!” Then he looked at Sora and smiled. “They sure took long enough.”

  Sora glanced over her shoulder and saw an entire continent of clanbreakers heading their way. They were still a great distance off, but they’d be on them in no time.

  “Ye shog-shuckin bastard,” Tum Tum swore.

  “Ye don’t know what yer doin,” Brouben said.

  “Ye gonna burn us all, witch?” Gargamane asked.

  “I don’t need to,” Sora said. Then, in one motion, she thrust her hands forward, and a gust of hot air exploded from them, hitting Gargamane square in the chest. The dwarf went flying, tumbling hind over teakettle until he slammed against a nearby home.

  Then, Sora turned and sent another shockwave at the ground right in front of the clanbreakers. A large crack zig-zagged across the rock, tripping them up and crumbling the wall beside it, veiling them in dust.

  Sora turned back to the others. “Let’s go!”

&nb
sp; XXIII

  The Traitor

  Rand swam through the chaos of the Latiapur markets. He had no weapon, but as a Glassman, he looked like an ally. That didn’t make it easier. Citizens of Latiapur ran from the arena in a frenzy while warriors ran toward it. Rand didn’t have to see to know some were being trampled.

  Market stands broke. Canvas shredded and drifted in the air. Goods rolled across the stone and floated in puddles. Food stores were squashed. The Shesaitju were lucky that they rarely used fire for lighting. Otherwise, the whole place might have gone up in flames like Dockside had, even with all the water. As it was, enough dust and sand was kicked up to make visibility extremely poor.

  Rand had to squint and block his face just to see anything, all while bouncing off bodies left and right. He threw someone aside and finally spotted Pi’s slight, white-clothed frame again, weaving through the crowd with his guard to the right.

  Rand veered in that direction when a bloodcurdling wianu roar sent the masses into more of an upheaval. A heavyset man bashed into his side, and Rand went sprawling. He scrambled to his feet, searching through legs for Pi.

  There he was… A squealing zhulong had trampled his guard, leaving him on his own. The young King stood, gawking at the pulverized body. Then, another zhulong darted by. The scared little boy rushed into the nearest alley.

  Finding his footing, Rand continued after Pi. He couldn’t try and blend in anymore, there were too many people. Pushing, shoving, he made it to the alley. Another wianu roared, and a booming crash shook Pantego and heaved him against a wall. Every part of him was still sore from the clash with Lucas, but there was no time for a break.

  “Move!” he barked at a woman and her daughter running down the alley.

  A frightened zhulong blew through the clay wall of the building to his right, canvas stuck to its tusk. Rand whipped around, grabbed the girls by the back of their clothes, and yanked them to the ground, so it didn’t crush them.

  He didn’t wait for gratitude.

  Pi vanished around the corner on the far side of the alley. Rand pounded dirt and sprinted as fast as he could. With every moment that passed, the din of war and destruction grew. It made what the cultists had done to Dockside seem like a child’s prank.