“Does home hold so many bad memories?” the ogre asked.
“No,” Erik replied. “I am worried about what I have done to my family. I feel I have made a mistake.”
“What do your dreams tell you?” the ogre asked, turning more to face Erik.
Erik’s mouth dropped, and he stared up at the ogre, those gray eyes still inspecting him.
“My dreams?” Erik asked.
“Yes, Erik Eleodum,” the ogre said, and then repeated, “your dreams.”
“How …” Erik didn’t know what to say as the ogre just stood and waited, face flat and emotionless. “I haven’t dreamt in weeks.”
The ogre nodded, slowly.
“Sometimes we rely on the dream world too much,” the ogre said. “Sometimes, we never want to leave the dream world. Reality becomes distorted. The Creator has, perhaps, given you a reprieve from the dream world.”
“You know of the dream world well?” Erik asked.
The ogre nodded.
“The Creator has given we ogres special access to the dream world,” the ogre said. “We watch and move through it, but rarely intervene. We have watched you for a while now, Erik Eleodum.”
“What do you mean move?” Erik asked.
The ogre actually cracked the slightest hint of a smile.
“Tread carefully, Erik,” the ogre said. “Leave this place tomorrow. Hurry home. And then wait. Your dreams will come … and they will lead you.”
Erik sat on the wheel of the ogre’s cart while he sold several yards of fabric to another woman, a hunting knife to a hard-looking adventurer, and a large cup to a gray-haired dwarf.
“Have you ever been to Hargoleth?” the ogre asked, keeping his eyes on the people who bustled by, mostly going to and from the alehouse.
“No,” Erik replied, “although, I have heard of it. Only recently, though.”
“It is a beautiful place,” the ogre said, “although it has seen hard and terrible times.”
“Beautiful and terrible?” Erik asked.
“Yes,” the ogre replied. “Most things that are beautiful can be terrible as well. I ask if you have ever been because you have the look of the Hargolethians.”
“I do?”
“Yes,” the ogre replied. “Hargoleth is a relatively new nation, settled by men and women just after the end of the Great War. They are mostly like those living in northern Háthgolthane and from Gongoreth.”
“The same people as those who settled the free farms,” Erik muttered to himself.
“Yes,” the ogre said as if Erik had asked a question. “If you go, remember your name … your given name.”
“Eleodum?” Erik seemed to have so many names these days.
“Yes,” the ogre replied. “It is an old name; a noble name.”
“I’ll remember to do that,” said Erik standing again. He now wondered where the others were and felt an urgent need for their company and security.
“Go, Erik Eleodum, and find your friends,” the ogre said. “I will see you in your dreams.”
Erik nodded to the ogre and soon found his cousin sitting against a tree just outside the brothel.
“Do you feel better now?” Erik asked.
His cousin looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes. He was drunk.
“Nope,” Bryon replied. He reached between his legs, grabbed a bottle, and tipped the rest of its contents into his mouth. “I should have listened to you. You’re the wise Erik Eleodum, and I’m the dumb troll shit of a cousin. Don’t feel any better. Feel worse, in fact.”
“Come on,” Erik said, reaching down, grabbing Bryon by the collar of his mail shirt, and pulling him to his feet. “Let’s find the dwarves, get some rest, and get home.”
But before Erik could lead his cousin to one of the small tents the goblin brothers rented out as rooms, Bryon grabbed Erik’s arm.
“Why do you put up with me, cousin?” Bryon asked. “Look at me. Look at you. I’m nothing like you. I’m a failure. I’ve let everyone I love down, including your brother.”
Erik remembered the words Sustenon spoke to him. They had the same flavor.
“You’re not a failure,” Erik said with a smile. “There’re not many people who could do what you do, fight the way you fight and are willing to stand up to bullies. And it’s a good thing you’re not like me. I don’t think I would like you much if you were. As to why I put up with you … it’s because I love you, and I see the good in you, something you ought to see in yourself. Now let’s find the dwarves, you can sleep off the ale, and we’ll get ready to go home.”
After another dreamless sleep, Erik stepped out into the forest morning. A thick mist hung just above the ground, and it reminded him of the mornings along the Blue Forest when he, his brother, and his cousin first left Waterton. It was on a morning like this that he took his first life when slavers attacked the gypsy caravan in which they traveled. He shivered and pulled his new coat tight around his mail. Through the flap to the tent, he could hear his cousin and dwarvish friends stirring and getting their things ready. Nothing stirred in the outpost, and only two guards stood at the road leading into Green Tree. Erik saw two more guards meandering about, but they seemed more interested in talking than checking for mischief.
It was in the early morning mist that Erik saw something that gave him pause. The mist swirled about, in the distance near a tree. It seemed to dissipate for a moment, twirl about, and almost take the shape of a man, his features ghostly. But when Erik blinked and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, the figure was gone. A year ago, he would have passed such a sight off as happenstance, early morning sleep playing tricks on his eyes, but the world wasn’t so simple, especially in far away, isolated places like Green Tree.
He pulled the flap open.
“We need to go,” Erik said.
“Hold on,” Bryon said, “I have a raging hang …”
But Erik let go of the flap before Bryon could finish.
Only four of the people who had traveled with Erik from Fealmynster decided to stay in Green Tree, the rest following him, his cousin, and the dwarves out of the outpost and back onto the road. Bryon couldn’t stop staring at a young woman with long, red hair and a button, freckled nose, and Nafer wouldn’t stop grumbling about the slow pace because of all the people, but Erik was glad for the company. He didn’t talk to many of them, but he enjoyed overhearing their conversations. It made time pass by quickly.
“How much longer, Dego?” Erik asked the older man who had led them to the road several nights after they had left Green Tree.
“You can see The Fangs are close,” the man said, pointing a finger at the two gigantic shadows rising up from the Gray Mountains and disappearing into the clouded, night sky. “Shouldn’t be too long. Seven days maybe.”
Erik looked over his shoulder, into the darkness behind them. He saw a shadow move among the darkness, a mist barely visible in the intermittent glow of the moon and stars, mostly clouded.
Seven days may be too long.
59
Erik opened his eyes. Stars twinkled overhead, but the air was comfortably warm. He felt something brush against his cheek, and he jerked back, but it was only a stem of grass, stirred by the breeze. He sat up and stared at the vast plain of grass, with the large, black mountain range beyond, with its usual black clouds and purple lightning. He looked over his shoulder to see the hill and willow tree. He saw a shadow under the tree and hoped it was the man.
Still in his armor, Erik stood and felt his shield on his back. He looked down and saw Dragon Tooth. He set off to walk towards the hill but felt something behind him. He stopped and turned to see smoke swirl about the air, taking the form of a person until a man stood in front of him. Erik recoiled at his appearance.
“I get that a lot,” the man, if that was what he was, said.
His skin was tan like he spent most of his time in the sun, but his hair was a pale white as were his eyes, even his pupils. The leather armor he wore hugged his body, tig
htly, accentuating his muscles even though he was lean.
“You’ve been following us,” Erik said.
“I’ve been following you,” the specter of a man said.
“Me?”
“Is that so hard to believe, Dragon Slayer,” the white-eyed man said, and then he gave a short, scoffing laugh.
“Why?”
“Why do you think?” the man asked.
He stared at Dragon Tooth.
“The Lord of the East sent you?”
“He knew you wouldn’t return the sword,” the man said.
The pale-eyed man held out his hand, and a spear appeared in it. It was a long spear, white with a white blade. When Erik looked closer, he saw the weapon was made of vertebrae and the blade was also bone. The man held a dagger, also made of bone, in the other hand.
“You can’t kill me in the real world, so you mean to try and kill me here,” Erik said, drawing Dragon Tooth and watching its green luminescence reflect off the man’s pale eyes.
The man laughed loudly as if he had been told the greatest joke ever.
“Don’t be a fool,” the man said. “No man is a match for Bone Spear.”
It was Erik’s turn to laugh.
“That isn’t seriously your name is it?” Erik asked, and the man looked offended. “Let me guess. Is it because your spear is made of bone?”
“I also go by the name of Specter, of Isuta,” Bone Spear said, standing tall and puffing out his chest, one fist resting resolutely on his hip.
“You can’t be serious,” Erik said, laughing again, but Bone Spear became mist again, flowing through the grass.
Erik crouched into his fighting stance, Dragon Tooth held in both hands. The man materialized just paces away from him, and Erik didn’t wait. While he was still translucent, a mist coalescing into a man, Erik stabbed, the blade of Dragon Tooth glowing brighter. Bone Spear screamed as he fully became flesh, dropping his dagger and pressing a hand to his ribs. Blood seeped through his fingers.
“How?” Bone Spear asked, seething before he disappeared again.
Erik felt a boot to his back, and he reeled forward as the tip of the spear grazed his shoulder, scratching along the steel of his pauldrons, leaving a streak of smoking green liquid.
Poison.
Specter jabbed with his Bone Spear. Erik parried, and the bone blade struck wider than intended, skidding off the mail on Erik’s arm. He could see the trail of poison the blade left and could smell its stink, but it didn’t penetrate. The man looked frustrated, and Erik wondered if his quarry was normally much easier, but dwarvish steel was strong, and Erik was even stronger.
The Isutan pressed harder, jabbing and kicking and punching. He became mist, and Erik turned, only to sense the man materializing behind him and turning just to catch a fist to the face. Specter became ethereal again, but this time Erik didn’t move. He felt a boot to the back of his shoulder as he lurched forward.
“Not so smug now, are we?” Specter asked.
“Stand still and see what happens,” Erik said.
Erik could feel himself becoming frustrated. He breathed to calm himself and pulled his shield off his back.
“A dwarvish shield isn’t going to help you,” the Isutan said.
They continued to battle, Specter becoming ethereal and reappearing wherever he fancied and Erik trying to guess where he would materialize. Erik’s blade struck several times, and the Bone Spear scratched along Erik’s armor, but nothing fatal.
The dream world was different than the real world, and Erik always had more energy and strength in this place. It was as if he could will himself to keep going, fighting, walking, running, whatever he was doing, but they had been fighting for so long, he felt fatigued, even in this place. He looked up to his hill. The man still sat there as if nothing was happening.
“You’re getting tired,” Specter said, “I can tell.”
“I don’t tire in the dream world,” Erik lied.
“You’re a bad liar,” Specter said.
Wake up, you fool, or this magician-assassin is going to kill you.
A thought, a familiar voice, passed through his mind.
Your sword is just as magical, the old man, Dewin, from Eldmanor said.
Erik held his sword in front of him, not sure what to do, just knowing he wished to stop this Isutan from disappearing and then reappearing wherever he wished. Dragon Tooth flashed with a brilliant green light and, as Specter tried to dematerialize, he couldn’t, looking frustrated and cursing in his native language. Erik laughed.
“You won’t be laughing when my poison courses through your veins,” Specter said. “I will poison you and then drain you, but before you die, I will let you watch as I drain every single person you love. And then I will finish you.”
“Drain?” Erik questioned.
Specter just threw his head back and laughed. Erik lost his concentration and the Isutan became transparent. This time he didn’t return.
The sun in the dream world rose in the east, and Erik saw a cloaked figure, his black robes tattered and old.
“Be careful, Dream Walker,” the old man from Eldmanor said.
“Tread carefully, Erik,” the man on the hill added.
And then Erik woke to a chilled morning, the sky clouded and partially blocked by tall reaching pine trees.
60
Erik began to recognize this part of the mountains. They had been here before. They passed by the petrified tree, and a knot formed in his stomach. Within a few days, the road sloped downward steeply, and, as they walked past a tall peak, the small town of Eldmanor came into vision, the homes simple specks from where they were at that moment.
“I never thought I would be so overjoyed to see this little dung heap of a town,” Bryon muttered.
When they stepped onto level ground at the feet of the Gray Mountains, each of the people that had traveled with Erik and his companions thanked them. Erik gave each one of them several coins—he had more than enough to spare—and bid them farewell.
“Dego,” Erik said, “thank you for leading us.”
“Thank you for freeing us,” Dego replied.
“Andu,” Erik said, “will you continue to travel with us?”
“I don’t know,” Andu replied, a perplexed look on his face. “If you’ll have me.”
“As I said before,” Erik said, “you are welcome in our company. You may travel to our farmlands and live there as long as you like.”
Andu looked like he was going to cry.
“Bryon, take everyone to Hagmer’s alehouse,” Erik said. “I have something I need to do, and then I’ll meet you there.”
“The goat herder?” Bryon asked. “That weird hut?”
“Yes,” Erik replied.
“Let me go with you,” Bryon said.
“There’s no need,” Erik said with a sincere smile. “I will be fine. I’ll meet you at Hagmer’s, and then we’ll go home.”
“Just as long as there isn’t another assassin awaiting us there,” Bryon said.
“I think you will be safe,” Erik said, this time his smile insincere. He looked over his shoulder, up towards the mountain road, and saw a light mist swirl around a tree, and then it was gone.
Erik stood at the entrance to the small hut on the outskirts of Eldmanor. He stepped into the darkness, and it took his eyes a moment to adjust to the smokiness and the faint light a single cook fire produced in the middle of the meager dwelling.
“Dream Walker,” the old man croaked, sitting cross-legged at the fire, stoking it with a stick and not bothering to turn around.
“Dewin,” Erik said with a slight bow.
He saw the old man’s hooded head turn just slightly.
“To call a man by his real name,” the old man said, his voice almost an inaudible whisper. “There is power in a man’s name.”
There was a moment of silence as the old man breathed heavy and just sat.
“Why has the Slayer of Dragons returned to m
y hut?” the old man asked.
“You knew I would come?” Erik said.
“Yes,” the old man croaked.
“So, you know why I came,” Erik said.
“Perhaps,” the old man replied. “Why do you think you have come?”
“I can’t return the sword to the Lord of the East, can I?” Erik asked.
The old man sat for a moment.
“No, you cannot,” he finally said.
“But if I don’t, my family will die,” Erik said.
“Many have sacrificed themselves for you,” Dewin said. “Many more will do the same. You wield the Dragon Sword reforged. You uncovered the mystery of your dagger. You know of the dragon rider, Rako. And you have seen a new shadow spreading across the land. It is not just the Lord of the East who will seek your life, Erik Dragon Fire.”
“Specter?” Erik asked.
“The Isutan, yes,” Dewin replied, “but he is working for the Lord of the East. Many people are beginning to love you. Many people are beginning to hate you.”
“I don’t care about myself,” Erik replied.
“I know,” Dewin said. “But you do care about those you love.”
“How do I save them?” Erik asked.
“You cannot,” Dewin replied.
“I don’t believe you,” Erik said.
“Believe or don’t believe,” Dewin said. “It doesn’t matter. But you cannot save them. Only they can save themselves.”
“Whatever comes next,” Erik said, “I must do it alone.”
“Yes,” the old man croaked.
“And what comes next?” Erik asked. “Rako said something about a stone. Elves.”
“The Dragon Stone,” Dewin croaked, “but called many other names. The Ruling Stone. The Stone of Chaos. Prison.”
“Yes,” Erik said.
“There is more to the Dragon Stone than Rako,” Dewin said. “An ancient evil has surfaced. A new shadow is rising.”
“I don’t understand,” Erik said.
“You will know soon enough,” the old man replied. “For now, go home. Be with those you love. Your dreams will speak. The wind will tell you what to do.”
Dragon Sword: Demon's Fire Book 1 Page 40
