Bryon grabbed the bottom of the shirt and sliced the front open with his sword. He flipped it open and exposed the dwarf’s chest, a hairy mass of muscle, and, on his left breast, a scabbed and bloody mark. Something had once been there—a tattoo or brand—and the dwarf had tried to remove it.
“You mutilated your mark,” Erik said.
Hragram didn’t say anything.
“You said Fréden Fréwin sent you, but he didn’t, did he?” Erik asked. “At least, not really?”
“That piece of troll dung sent this dwarf?” Bryon asked, but Erik put up a hand.
“Why?” Erik asked.
“Strength,” Hragram replied.
“You sold your soul to the Shadow,” Erik hissed.
“Power,” Hragram said.
“Death,” Erik said.
Hragram locked eyes with him.
“Yes,” he said with a smile.
“You brought a dwomanni into Stangar,” Erik accused.
“Not full dwomanni,” Hragram replied through belabored breaths. “Not yet.”
“You are trying to infiltrate Stangar,” Erik said.
The dwarf laughed. Bryon stepped on the wound in his stomach. Hragram groaned.
“Not so funny now, is it?” Bryon said.
A look of realization came over Erik’s face as Hragram gave a mixture of laughter, groaning, and cursing.
“You’re not infiltrating Stangar,” Erik said, more to himself than to Bryon or Hragram. “No. You are infiltrating the Wicked Spire. You’re using Fréden Fréwin, aren’t you? He’s the perfect, idealistic fool, isn’t he, for the dwomanni to gain a foothold in the world once again?”
Hragram didn’t answer. Bryon pushed on his wound harder. The dwarf groaned. The look on his face told Bryon that Erik was right.
“How many are here?” Erik asked, reaching down to Hragram’s collar and pulling him up. He could barely lift the dwarf, but he did. “How many at the Wicked Spire? Where else are you? Tell me.”
Hragram stopped breathing for a moment, a look of lunacy creeping into his wide eyes, and looked at Erik with an insane smile.
“We … are … everywhere,” Hragram said, and then he slumped back, dead.
“What, by the Shadow, does that mean?” Bryon asked.
“We need to get out of here,” Erik said, holding on to Bryon so he could stand.
“You can barely move,” Bryon said.
“It doesn’t matter,” Erik said. There was that look again, the look of worry and fear. “We need to leave. Now. Help me with my armor.”
“With your armor?” Bryon asked. “How do you plan on walking, even with dwarvish armor? Do you expect me to carry you? Because I can tell you right now, that isn’t happening.”
“Please, Bryon,” Erik said, looking up with hard, serious eyes.
“Fine,” Bryon said, sheathing his sword and throwing his hands up in defeat.
Bryon dressed Erik and his cousin could barely stand, seemingly in and out of consciousness as he struggled to stand up straight. He handed Bryon his sword again.
“Remove the dwomanni’s head,” Erik said, his voice quiet and shaky.
“What?” Bryon asked.
“Just do it,” Erik replied. “Please.”
Bryon did as he was told, and then bundled the head up in Erik’s bed sheets.
They gathered Erik’s other things into his haversack and walked down a hallway that led to one of the barracks, hoping no one noticed the bundle of bloody sheets Bryon held under his right arm while Erik leaned against him. Bryon wrapped his left arm around his cousin, propping him up and eventually just dragging him along.
“How do I get wrapped up in this nonsense?” Bryon muttered, more to himself. He looked down at his cousin. “I told you I’m not carrying you and here I am, dragging you through a dwarvish outpost.”
Turk and Nafer were in the barracks, along with a room of sleeping, dwarvish warriors. Bryon could see they were still awake, whispering to one another.
“Where are the others?” Bryon asked, kneeling next to Turk’s cot.
The dwarf looked startled at first.
“What are you doing?” Turk asked, sitting up. “Why are you dragging your cousin out of bed? Don’t you know he is still sick with fever and ...?”
“Listen!” Bryon hissed in interruption. “The last thing I want to be doing is carrying this sick idiot all over Stangar, but he insisted we come here. He’s lucky to be alive.”
“I don’t understand,” Turk said.
Erik reached up, regaining a moment of consciousness, and grabbed Turk’s hand.
“Come with us to the latrine,” Erik said, his voice barely a whisper.
The latrine was little more than an open room with long troughs set into the stone floor.
“Show them,” Erik said to Bryon.
Bryon dragged Erik to the back of the room, not even looking to see that their friends were following him. He turned and they were there, looking on with confusion.
“Alright. What is going on?” Turk asked.
“This,” Bryon said, lifting the bloody bed coverings.
Both Nafer and Turk looked at Bryon and Erik as if they were going crazy, and, for a moment, Bryon felt like he was. He opened the bedding, and the head of the dwomanni plopped onto the floor.
“By An’s beard!” Nafer yelled.
“Hush,” Bryon said, putting a forefinger to his own mouth.
“What is that?” Turk asked.
“The head of one of the two dwarves who attacked me only moments ago,” Erik replied, trying to lift his head up to make eye contact with Turk.
Both dwarves stared at him.
“They claimed to be attacking me on orders of Fréden Fréwin,” Erik said.
“That snake,” Turk hissed.
“But,” Erik said, putting up a finger, “Bryon smelled the stink on them.”
“The stink?” Nafer asked.
Erik looked around and ducked his head as if that would help keep his voice down.
“Dwomanni,” Erik whispered. “Look closely.”
“Not in my life,” Nafer said, bending down to look at the head and then backing away. “It can’t be.”
“Hragram said …”
“Hragram?” Turk asked. “He was at the ...”
“Yes,” Bryon interrupted again. “More importantly, he was one of the two dwarves that attacked Erik. This little shite is lucky I’m a caring cousin and was coming to check up on him. Hragram said this dwarf wasn’t a full dwomanni yet, as if they could turn into one.”
“Is that possible?” Erik asked.
“I don’t know,” Turk replied. “I suppose anything is possible with black magic.”
“We need to tell Lieutenant Güthrik and Captain Khâmuth,” Nafer said.
“No,” Erik replied. “But I’m sure this one was one of the lieutenant’s guards.”
“You don’t think the lieutenant …” Turk began to say.
“No,” Erik replied, “but we need to leave. Now. Where are the others?”
“You’re in no condition to travel,” Nafer said.
“I’ll be alright,” Erik replied.
“Of course you will because I’ll just end up carrying you,” Bryon said, rolling his eyes. Then he added more quietly, “Like you did for me.”
“We need to get out of here,” Erik said, ignoring Bryon. “We can leave a note for Captain Khâmuth, but I fear there will be more assassination attempts. Hragram said they are everywhere.”
“Well, we know they are in El’Beth-Tordûn, whether Fréden Fréwin knows it or not,” Nafer said.
“It’s doubtful he does,” Turk added.
“We need to leave,” Erik said. “We need to find Fealmynster before it is too late. It seems everyone wants us dead.”
“Where are Bofim and Beldar?” Bryon asked.
“The dining hall, I think,” Turk replied.
He looked down at his cousin. Erik looked up at him as much
as he could and nodded. Bryon turned to Turk and Nafer.
“One of you go and get them, while the other gathers their things and yours,” Bryon said.
The two dwarves muttered to each other before Nafer headed out of the room and Turk set about filling haversacks. While Bryon gathered his own things, Erik took a piece of parchment and stick of charcoal from his own haversack and began to write.
33
Bryon dragged Erik and led the four dwarves towards the rear entrance of Stangar. The main entrance faced south, but they didn’t want to go that way. The outpost wasn’t that big, but they moved slowly, slinking in the shadows. Who knew if there was another assassin waiting for them? Finally, they came to the rear entrance. It had a pair of large double doors like any other dwarvish entrance, but a smaller door stood within one of the main ones.
When they got to the final corner, they peeped around and saw a sole dwarf on nighttime guard duty; it was Yora. Erik eased around the corner while he retrieved the piece of parchment.
“Yora,” Erik whispered.
The female warrior spun around and immediately dropped her spear into a fighting stance.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded. “Get back to the barracks.”
“Yora,” Erik said, holding up a hand, “we need to leave.”
Erik looked at Bryon and jerked his head sideways. Bryon nodded, inching closer to Yora. She looked at them with suspicious eyes, a white knuckled grip on her spear.
“Yora, we mean no harm,” Erik said, “but we have to leave.”
“No one leaves at night,” Yora said, “captain’s orders.”
“Yora, give this letter to Captain Khâmuth,” Erik said. “It will explain everything. We can’t stay in Stanger. Our being here puts you and the rest of the dwarves in grave danger.”
Yora laughed.
“You expect me to believe that?” she asked, but all six warriors looked at her with serious eyes. “You have no idea how much trouble I’ll be in if you’re just feeding me bear scat.”
“Yora, please,” Erik said.
Bryon watched her. He was within striking distance. He could drop Erik, unsheathe his sword, and have her pinned against the floor before she knew it … maybe.
“Please,” Erik pleaded, “give this letter to Captain Khâmuth and let us leave.”
Yora looked at them for a moment longer before lifting her spear.
“Don’t make me regret this,” she said as she pushed open the smaller door, large enough for Erik and Bryon to pass through if they ducked their heads. “You’ll see a ladder in just a few paces. It leads to the surface.”
Before she closed the door behind them, Erik turned and smiled.
“Thank you,” he said.
She nodded, her returning smile looking more like a grimace. She was watching to make sure they all got on the ladder.
They walked a few steps before Erik stopped, pulling on Bryon.
“What?” Bryon asked.
“The ice bridge,” Erik said.
“The what?” Bryon asked.
“We have seen everything the old man in Eldmanor said except for the ice bridge,” Erik explained, but Bryon hadn’t a clue what he was talking about.
“Ice bridge …” Bryon began to say, but Erik cut him off.
“Yora,” Erik said, turning around, “there is a place I need to go, somewhere in these mountains I need help finding.”
Yora gave a short, quiet laugh.
“Where, in these mountains, could you possibly want to go?”
“Do you know of an ice bridge?” Erik asked.
Yora’s smile faded.
“You don’t want to go there,” she said.
“I must,” Erik replied.
“It’s cursed,” she said, “and guarded by more giants.”
“Yora,” Erik said, “please.”
She seemed to think for a moment and then gave a quick huff.
“Follow the green light in the sky,” she explained. “You’ll only see it at night. It will eventually take you to the ice bridge … and beyond. But those are forbidden lands and you won’t see any dwarves or receive their help—no matter how special you are—once you cross that bridge.”
They heard footsteps, other guards coming.
“You must go,” Yora said. “An be with you.”
And before Erik could thank her again, Yora closed the door behind them, and they were plunged into darkness. Bryon drew his sword, but it didn’t shed enough light.
“Your dagger,” Bryon said.
“I can’t,” Erik said.
“Why not?” Bryon asked.
“I just can’t,” Erik replied.
“Your circlet, then,” Bryon said. “I can’t carry my sword while I’m pushing your hairy ass.”
Erik retrieved the circlet, and, when he placed it on his head, the sapphire began to glow.
Ahead was a long dark tunnel, but to their left, they glimpsed the first iron rungs of a ladder, fixed to the rock face.
“That way,” said Erik, his circlet pointing towards the ladder. “Look here. There’s the ladder Yora told me about. It leads to the surface.”
The ladder led the way upwards through a small hole cut in the roof of the tunnel, and awkwardly, Bryon led his cousin upwards, one hand grasping Erik’s belt beside his dagger, and the other holding on to the side of the ladder. Occasionally, Erik missed his footing and they were lucky he didn’t send them all falling back down. It wasn’t long before Bryon’s left arm and shoulder burned with the exertion. In a way, he was glad because it distracted him from thinking about his claustrophobia.
“Cousin, are you alright?” Bryon gasped as he gave another upwards shove.
“I’ll be fine,” Erik replied. “How much farther?”
It was dark, and Bryon couldn’t see the top.
“Turk?” Bryon asked.
“I don’t know,” Turk replied. “Who knows how deep into the earth Stangar is?”
They kept on climbing, and just at the time when Bryon was ready to call for a rest, the circlet picked out a round, wooden door with a handle built in it. It looked thick and when Erik pushed on it, it didn’t budge. Erik moved to one side so Bryon could pass, and after Turk had climbed up to make sure Erik was steady, Bryon tried to open the door. It moved a little but no more.
“You’ll have to push harder,” Turk said. “It probably has years of dirt and roots and creepers on top of it, as well as something hiding it from plain view.”
“Thanks,” Bryon replied sarcastically. “Give me your sword Erik, mine will only burn the door and have it fall on top of us.”
Erik drew his sword passed it up, and Bryon worked it around the edge of the door, pushing through roots and rocks until he worked out where the hinge was. The door moved more than before, and with more cutting and shoving, he finally managed to get it open, with rocks and soil cascading down on them. Bryon couldn’t free himself from the tunnel fast enough, but when he emerged from the hole leading to the surface, he found himself in another narrow, dark space. He drew his sword, and looking around, saw what looked like bark. He looked down at the hole, Erik halfway through the opening and staring up at him as Turk struggled to help.
“I think we’re inside a tree,” Bryon said, reaching down to grasp Erik’s arm and help lift him out.
Once Erik was clear and the others were joining him, Bryon looked around some more, and in the dim light, his hand brushed against what felt like a handle. He pushed and a low door opened up into the mountain at night. Ducking through the doorway, the briskness of a never-ending winter in the Gray Mountains struck Bryon in the face like a fist. He felt and heard the crunch of snow beneath his boots, and he looked around. He had hoped they might emerge close to the site of the avalanche and they could just continue as they had, but he knew that was highly unlikely.
Bofim emerged behind him and then, one by one, the other dwarves until Erik appeared, his face ashen in the dull moonlight.
> “Well,” Bryon said, “which way?”
Erik looked north. They were off their original path, and Bryon knew they could probably wander the Gray Mountains their whole lives and not find a large city, let alone a keep guarded by a wizard that had been purposely hidden. Then he saw a faint glow to the northeast. It was greenish and reflected off the bottoms of distant clouds.
“Is that the glow Yora spoke of?” Bryon asked.
“Aye,” Erik said. “I think so.”
“Lead on,” Bryon added.
They hadn’t gone very far when Erik collapsed in the snow, and Bryon knelt by his side, a hand on his cousin’s forehead.
“It’s his fever,” Bryon said, looking up at Turk. “Fool.”
“We have to find shelter,” he heard Turk say.
“Can you heal him?” Bryon asked.
“No,” Turk replied.
Bryon stood, puffing his chest out and staring at the dwarf angrily.
“Why not?” Bryon asked.
“His baptism,” Turk explained. “The fever is from his baptism. I am not allowed to heal him. It is his passage. The test. He must survive the fever on his own.”
“To the Shadow with his passage,” Bryon said, pointing at Erik lying in the snow. “He’ll be dead if you don’t help him.”
“Perhaps,” Turk replied.
Bryon wanted to punch the dwarf in the face but knew it wouldn’t do any good. He looked down at Erik again.
“Fool,” Bryon hissed.
He bent down and lifted his cousin up, throwing him over his shoulder.
“Fine then, dwarf,” Bryon said, “lead us to shelter.”
34
He wasn’t in a field of grass. He was home, staring at his father’s farm. It was night, and he heard the galloping of hooves before he watched as an army of knights rode through the farm. They held torches and tossed them into the fields, the barn, the pigpens, the house. Everything caught fire. A horse, its tail burning, galloped by. His sisters ran from the house, led by their father. An arrow thudded into Rikard Eleodum’s chest. He went down. Two more arrows thudded into Beth and Tia.
“No!” Erik shouted as his mother emerged, crying hysterically.
Dragon Sword: Demon's Fire Book 1 Page 23
