Looking up, Fealmynster looked the same and yet different. The magical glow that Specter could see before was gone; something had happened. The natural magic of the tundra didn’t feel tainted anymore; the dark curse and enchantments of this land were gone. There was only one reason, one answer ... Sustenon was dead. But how? Surely this Erik could not have killed such a mighty necromancer? Specter watched and waited.
Erik stepped out into the sunlight. He closed his eyes as the sun hit his face, relishing in the warmth despite the cold air. The air smelled cleaned as he breathed deep, and, despite his mourning Beldar, he couldn’t help the smile that crossed his face.
This place north of the Gray Mountains remained cold, but it didn’t seem as cold as before. He didn’t know what its name was before it was Fealmynster—if it had a different name—and he didn’t know what it would be called after, but people bustled about, greeting one another and mourning over their own dead. Life had to go on. Both they and he knew that.
The town was a beautiful sight, even in its disarray, once lifted of the wizard’s curse. Each home and shop, the ones that still stood, had their own personality. As the black of the tower was gone, each home stood with different colors of paint, artistry, and architectural nuances in their construction. Small gardens contained by waist-high fences, were already being worked, and he saw men, women, and children praising their gods for the deliverance from evil.
As he watched the town’s population go about their newly-restored lives, Erik realized some of the people who had been part of Sustenon’s army of possessed were maybe a hundred years old or more, like the mad wizard. Perhaps the original inhabitants of the town were the first to be enslaved. Even though they had been robbed of normal lives, they still went about their day with smiles on their faces; the new mood was distinctly infectious, and Erik understood why Bryon had pointed this out as being part of Erik’s purpose. Rescuing people like this was what Erik did, Bryon had suggested, and it felt good to give life as opposed to take it away.
Erik looked down at the snow cat that stood by his side, purring and stretching and sniffing at the air for the first time in who knew how long. As the farm cats reached his ankles, this one’s back almost reached Erik’s hip.
“Do you plan on keeping her?” Bryon said, standing next to Erik and tilting his head upward, sniffing at the air much like the cat.
“I don’t think she is something that is to be kept,” Erik replied.
“What are you going to do with her then?” Bryon asked.
“Let her follow me as long as she wishes,” Erik replied, “and then when she chooses to leave, let her leave.”
“She might turn on you, you know,” Bryon said. “She’s a wild animal.”
Erik looked down at the snow cat, and she ignored him but continued to purr deeply.
“I don’t think so,” he said.
“Suit yourself,” Bryon said, a wry smile touching his lips, “but don’t say I didn’t warn you when you wind up as cat droppings.”
Erik laughed and scratched the cat behind her ear. He heard a commotion as he was reveling in the new day and the smell of untainted air and saw a crowd gathering around the foundation of what looked to once be a very large building. He and Bryon walked to the gathering and saw that nine men, most of them scared, had been herded into the center of the ever-growing mass of people.
“What’s going on here?” Erik asked. All of the town spoke in Westernese, but with an accent Erik had never heard before.
“They served the mage,” a man standing next to him said.
“You all did,” Erik replied.
“No,” the man said, his eyes meeting Erik. He could tell those eyes—a deep brown—were old eyes filled with fear and sadness and worry. “They willingly served him.”
“What should we do with them?” another man asked.
“Burn them,” one woman shouted, to which the small, bald man began to cry.
“No!” one of the culprits shouted. He looked to someone in the crowd, and his eyes said he knew the person he saw. “Samson, we grew up together.”
“Long ago,” Samson replied, “and before you betrayed your people.”
The people began to shout out whatever methods of execution they could think of, most of them terrible and slow and painful. A man taller than Bryon walked up to Erik, his skin as dark as midnight. His arms and legs teemed with muscle, and his chest was naked despite the cold, showing several scars.
“What do you think we should do with them?” he asked. The accented way he spoke Westernese reminded Erik of the Samanian slavers. He must have originally been from Wüsten Sahil.
“What would you do with them?” Erik asked.
“Where I come from,” the dark-skinned man said, “we would castrate and enslave them, but after the hell I have been through, I would not enslave my worst enemy.”
“Death is a kinder fate, then,” Erik said.
“Death is too good for these traitors!” another man yelled.
“Please,” the bald-headed man cried, “mercy.”
“The same mercy you had on our people,” another screamed, “the same mercy you gave Meredith?”
“I suggest you banish them,” Erik said, stepping into the clearing where the nine traitors stood and facing the crowd. “Send them away, to survive on their own. Give them each a water skin and a loaf of bread.”
“But we’ll die,” the small, bald man said, tears streaming down his cheeks.
“Would you rather burn at the stake?” Erik asked, his voice hard and flat and unremorseful.
That only caused the man to cry more. They had all willingly served the wizard Sustenon. One might ask what choice they had, willing service or mindless enslavement, but still, they chose.
A murmur spread through the crowd.
“They were once your people,” Erik said, “and certainly you have experienced enough horror for a thousand lifetimes. Why not start fresh and relish the joy of freedom. Send them away and forget about them. Start anew.”
Erik saw the dark-skinned man nod. He stepped into the clearing, standing next to Erik, as the commotion in the crowd began to build.
“I agree,” he said, his voice loud and reverberating. “We will banish them. Give each one of these men a water skin and a loaf of bread and send them on their way.”
“Who made you the boss?” someone from the growing crowd asked.
“No one,” the large, dark-skinned man said, “but I agree with this man, the one who gave us our freedom. Our new life should start with life, not death.”
“Are we to listen to a man from another continent?” another questioned.
That caused the large man from Wüsten Sahil to grumble. Men were always stupidly suspicious of those that didn’t look like them.
“Are you truly that bigoted?” Erik asked. “Is this man any different than you? He has suffered the same horror you have. And from the way he conducts himself, he is the best candidate to lead you people.”
Erik looked at the man and smiled.
“Then I suggest we take a vote,” the dark-skinned man said.
With some murmurs of discord, perhaps more about the dark man than the suggested punishment, agreement flowed through the crowd, and when they were done, banishment was the answer.
“It looks like you have made yourself the boss,” Erik said with a smile when they were done with the vote and getting ready to send the exiles on their way.
“I do not wish to be boss,” the man replied.
“That is probably what will make you a good leader,” Erik said, realizing he could have been talking about himself. “But don’t you wish to go back home?”
“I have no home,” the man replied, and when Erik gave him a questioning look, added, “I left Nai Na’Kinasa almost seventy summers ago, as I have just recently found out. My wife is probably dead. My children are now old men and women. Who am I to try and return to their lives? No, I will stay here and build a new life.”
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“It seems many have the same idea,” Erik said, looking around as most of the people who were once possessed, a mishmash of men and women, dwarves, ogres, goblins, antegants, and even giants and another troll, went about repairing old and broken homes.
“How did you survive here, in this cold tundra?” Erik asked.
“It wasn’t always so desolate and frozen,” the man replied. “We traded with other towns, most of which were only a week or so away. They’re all gone now. It’s interesting…”
“What’s interesting?” Erik asked as the man trailed off in his thoughts.
“Everything that I have done, for all those years,” the man said, “I can remember it all like some distant nightmare. Some of it is hazy and incomplete, but I remember. I remember destroying towns and enslaving people. I remember watching as the once temperate summers—warm enough to grow greens and tubers—grew colder and colder. I remember the animals, so bountiful that we never went hungry, disappearing.”
“Sustenon enslaved all these different towns?” Erik asked.
The man nodded.
“So, you once farmed?” Erik asked.
“A little,” the man replied. “We mostly hunted and mined, trading with the other towns. Those that traded with the dwarves and plains would bring us the foods we couldn’t grow here, and we would trade firestone and black rock and iron with them.”
Erik put a hand on the man’s bare shoulder. It was still warm to the touch.
“Time will create new memories, you will see to that,” he said.
“I hope so,” the man replied. “I truly hope so.”
Erik saw the dwarves with another group of people. He walked to them and saw that they stared down at the body of Beldar. Bofim knelt at the dwarf’s head, crying and praying. The easterner that had traveled with Bu leaned against Turk, looking half-conscious with lazy eyes.
“What will you do with Beldar?” Erik asked.
“We will bury him here,” Bofim said through sobs. “We will honor the place where he made his greatest sacrifice.”
“I am sorry,” Erik said.
“I told you before,” Bofim said, standing, “it was his sacrifice to make … and it is a sacrifice that all of us would have made. Honor it by simply accepting what he has done. Do not pity him, rejoice in his life.”
Erik nodded his understanding. There was nothing more to be said. He felt an elbow in his side and turned to Nafer.
“Who would have thought?” Nafer asked, staring at a dwarf and a goblin lifting a piece of rubble together. “An alfingas and dwarf working together.”
“Maybe this is the beginning of a new world?” Turk said.
“Maybe,” Erik replied. He touched the now golden handle of his sword—Dragon Tooth. “This will be a hard life, up here in the north.”
“We will manage,” the large dark-skinned man said. Erik was startled as the large man had snuck up behind them. “Of that, I am sure.”
“You are sneaky for such a large man,” Erik said, to which the man laughed.
“Will you stay with us?” the man asked.
“For a day,” Erik replied, “maybe two. But we must return home. “
“I am glad you have a home in which to return,” the man replied.
“Hopefully,” Erik muttered to himself. He looked at the large man. “What should we tell people this place is called? Is it still called Fealmynster?”
“No,” the man said quickly, shaking his head with a frown. “It will never be called that again.”
“Then what?” Erik asked.
“If I am to be their leader, I will suggest Mayisha Maythia,” the man replied with a smile.
“And what does that mean?” Erik asked.
“In my language, it means New Life,” he replied. “This place is our new life.”
“Well, there won’t be another northern town with such a name,” Erik replied with a short laugh. Erik extended his hand, and the big man took his whole forearm. “What is your name?”
“Shu’ja’a,” the man replied.
“Well, Shu’ja’a,” Erik said, “I wish you and your people good fortune. May the Creator smile on you.”
56
After burying Beldar, Erik and his companions stayed in Mayisha Maythia for another two days. Scouting parties had confirmed that four of the nine men they had banished were already dead—one mauled by a snow bear, another eaten by a pack of wolves, one wrapped in the silk of an ártocothe and drained, and the last simply frozen to death, although the reports said he looked drained as well. The scouting parties also found the freed ártocothe, dead and frozen, surrounded by half a dozen giants, also dead and frozen, presumably poisoned by the giant spider. Erik had asked about three men—two easterners and a Hámonian—but the scouts knew nothing of them.
“I wonder if he will honor his word,” Erik muttered.
“Who’s that?” Bryon asked.
“Bu,” Erik said. “He said our feud was done … for now. He was going home, and he would leave us and our families be.”
“He’s an easterner,” Bryon said. “Can he really be trusted?”
At that moment, Erik watched a mountain troll holding up the frame of the front of a house by itself while men busied themselves with securing it to the rest of the home.
“Two days ago,” Erik said, “I would have never thought a troll would be helping men build homes.”
“So, are you ready to move on?” Turk asked.
“I am,” Erik replied.
“Where are we going?” Turk asked.
“Home,” Erik replied.
“You are not taking the sword to Fen-Stévock,” Turk said, and it was more of a statement than a question.
“No.”
“The Lord of the East will not be happy,” Turk said. “He will send assassins after you … after us.”
“Would you have me take the sword to him?” Erik asked.
Turk thought for a moment and then shook his head.
“No.”
“What about our families?” Bryon asked.
“I don’t know,” Erik replied.
“We will be watching our backs for the rest of our lives,” Bryon added.
Erik just nodded. Then, he smiled and gave a short laugh.
“We could move them to Thorakest,” Erik said.
“King Skella would welcome you,” Turk said.
“We will see,” Erik said, “but I fear moving them to Thorakest would do little good against the type of assassins an enraged Lord of the East would employ.”
“If this is An’s will,” Turk said, “he will protect us.”
“I hope,” Erik muttered.
Erik told the people of Mayisha Maythia that anyone wishing to travel with them was welcome, and as he and his companions readied themselves to leave, twenty people joined them. Some of them were recently imprisoned by Sustenon and hoping their families would still be waiting for them, and some of them simply wanted to distance themselves from a nightmare.
“What now, for you?” Erik asked Andu.
The man shrugged. He cradled one arm close to his body and still walked with a limp.
“I cannot go home,” Andu replied. “My father has probably already disowned me for serving Patûk, and then Bu, even if I had no choice. And I doubt Bu will take me back. He cared little that I was dying.”
“You can go with us,” Erik said.
“What?” Bryon asked, grabbing his cousin’s arm and pulling him to him.
“This is a time of redemption,” Erik said. “Look around you. Look at the brokenness that is being repaired.”
“I would like that,” Andu said. “I will serve you in whatever capacity you need. I am not worth much.”
“Why don’t you go with us as a free man,” Erik said, “to make your own choices.”
Andu nodded, tears welling up in his eyes.
“It is settled,” Erik said. “You will go with us and start a new life in the free farmlands of northw
estern Háthgolthane.”
“I don’t know how you got here,” one man said, a gray-haired fellow with deep crow’s feet at his eyes, “but I know the way to Green Tree—assuming it’s still there—a trading town north of The Fangs. From there, several roads lead to at least a half dozen towns along the feet of the Gray Mountains … at least they did a hundred years ago.”
Erik thought of the portals that had brought them to Fealmynster. He guessed they would be quicker, but he wasn’t sure if they would still find giants waiting to make them a meal. He nodded.
“Do any of the roads lead to Eldmanor?” Erik asked.
“Aye,” the man said, and then he shrugged and added, “at least, it used to.”
“Then lead on,” Erik said.
As they left, climbing a newly fashioned stairway carved into the icy slope that led down to the town of Mayisha Maythia, the people cheered them and applauded. When they reached the top of the inverted palisade, the jagged ice boulders were gone, giving way to a vast plain of white that seemed to have melted away enough to reveal some green grass. White-haired rabbits poked their heads from several holes and watched them, and then hurried back into their homes as a white-feathered hawk screeched overhead. Shu’ja’a met them there, his chest still bare and daring the cold to afflict him, even though he wore a cloak made of some heavy hide and thick leggings of the same animal.
“I don’t suspect you will ever come this way again,” Shu’ja’a said, “but if you do, know you are welcomed as family.”
“You never know,” Erik said. “I thank you. I would encourage you to reach out to the northern dwarves. They are friends. Mention my name—Erik Dragon Fire—and they will know you are friends too.”
Shu’ja’a bowed.
The windswept, icy plains of the lands north of the Gray Mountains wore on Erik, even if some of the ice melted away revealing the tundra plains and lakes, including some that had meager trees for wood for nighttime fires. The land seemed tamer than before when they first came to this place through the mine portal, but the cold was unceasing and still bit to the bone regardless of how many layers of fur and clothing they wore, or how close they got to a fire before sleep. Erik wondered how it was Shu’ja’a could simply walk around bare-chested.
Dragon Sword: Demon's Fire Book 1 Page 38
