Erik turned to leave but then turned towards Dewin again.
“You helped me,” Erik said. “You saved me … from myself. Thank you.”
Dewin laughed that same croaking laugh.
“I helped you, Dream Walker,” Dewin said, “but it isn’t about you. It never was. It never will be. This battle between good and evil is eternal. Some battles we win and some battles we lose.”
“You are on the side of good, then?” Erik asked.
The old man didn’t answer.
“You were a student of Andragos,” Erik said. “You were a pupil with Sustenon. Neither one of them are good. What happened?”
The old man still didn’t answer. He just sat and stoked his fire. Erik turned to leave.
“Wait,” the man said, only, it wasn’t the voice of an old man.
Erik turned to see a man barely older than he standing where Dewin had been. He had long, blond hair and broad shoulders. He wasn’t very tall, but he was muscular, Erik could tell even through his robes. What struck Erik the most were his eyes. They were the blue of the sky just after a thunderstorm, clear and sharp.
“Magic … black magic ... it takes a toll on a person,” the man said.
“Dewin?” Erik asked.
The man nodded.
“Long ago, I chose to throw off the chains of black magic, and this is what it did to my body,” Dewin said, and he snapped his finger, returning to the visage of an old, broken, blind man. His voice was croaking and frail once again. “But do not give up hope on my old teacher.”
“I don’t understand,” Erik said.
“The winds of change are moving swiftly these days,” Dewin said, “and this new shadow will change many things.”
“So, what do I do now?” Erik asked.
“Wait,” Dewin said, “and go when you are called.”
“My family?”
“Save the world, you’ll save your family,” Dewin replied. “Save your family, the world dies.”
It was like Dewin had put the weight of the world on his shoulders, but all Erik did was nod.
“There is power in a name, Dragon Fire,” Dewin said. “Know the Lord of the East’s name … Syzbalo of House Stévock.”
Erik bowed.
“I’ll see you in my dreams,” Erik said.
“I will be there, Dream Walker,” Dewin said as Erik exited the hut.
As he walked towards Hagmer’s alehouse to gather his friends and return home, he saw a horse, off in the distance. It was a giant of an animal, gray with just the hint of white around its nose and mouth, reminding Erik of the draft horses back home that pulled heavy wagons and plows. It had a saddle on its back, one that would be used for battle, but Erik didn’t see anyone around.
Erik walked towards the animal, and the horse noticed him as it turned and snorted heavily. It was scared. No. It looked angry. Erik stopped. He looked at its feathered hooves. Each one of those could easily kill a man, crush his skull.
“You are wandering about, alone,” Erik said to the horse, “with cougars and wolves around.”
The horse snorted.
“Yes, of course,” Erik said with a smile. “They are too afraid to attack you, aren’t they?”
Erik thought that he recognized the horse from somewhere, as if he had seen it before. Was it Finlo?
“Are you going to stay out here alone?” Erik asked.
The horse snorted again and took a couple of steps forward, bobbing its head once or twice. Erik stepped forward, but then the animal snorted again, gave an angry whinny, and stomped its front hooves.
“Fine,” Erik said, throwing up his hands, “you want to wander out here alone, be my guest. Eventually, the wolves and cougars will get hungry enough that they’ll take a chance on you. Remember, there’s always someone out there bigger, stronger, and meaner than you.”
Erik turned away, but as he walked towards the center of Eldmanor, he heard hooves behind him. When he looked over his shoulder, the great, gray horse apparently saw Erik looking, because it stopped and nibbled at a bit of grass.
“Stubborn,” Erik muttered with a smile, “and playing hard to get.”
Erik walked through the door of the alehouse to find his companions, Andu, and several of the others who had traveled with them eating and drinking.
“It is good to see you again,” Hagmer said, the fat man walking up to Erik and bowing.
“I see you have put my money to good use,” Erik said with a smile, looking around and seeing more patrons, new benches and tables, a larger bar where the bucket of ale used to be, and a few men with large cudgels standing about the alehouse and just watching.
“Yes, sir,” Hagmer replied. “Can I get you anything? Roasted goat. Ale. It is on the house.”
Erik looked at Hagmer. The fat man smiled, but there was fear in his eyes. He saw the red-haired girl running about, delivering food and drink.
“No,” Erik said. “We are leaving, Bryon.”
Erik’s cousin nodded, and his companions rose and walked to the door.
“I bid you good fortune, Hagmer,” Erik said. He retrieved five gold coins from a pouch in his haversack and placed them in Hagmer’s hand. “Once again, we were never here.”
The owner of the alehouse nodded, and Erik saw Dego, sitting at one of the tables. “Dego. Farewell and thanks.”
Dego looked at Erik and smiled.
“If you are ever in Finlo,” the man said.
“I will find you,” Erik replied.
“We need horses,” Byron said as they stepped outside.
Erik saw the gray horse standing there, just away from the hitching posts outside the alehouse.
“I don’t,” Erik said with a smile, walking to the animal and rubbing its nose.
“Where did you find him?” Bryon asked. “And fully bridled?”
“He found me,” Erik replied.
“You don’t think his owner is going to come looking for him?” Bryon asked.
“I don’t think he has an owner,” Erik replied, then he heard a gasp and turned to see Andu, standing there and staring at the horse with wide eyes. “What?”
“This is Warrior, my lord,” Andu said.
“Who is Warrior?” Erik asked. “And don’t call me lord.”
“Yes, my … yes, sir,” Andu replied. “This is the destrier of the former Patûk Al’Banan. Now the horse of Bu Al’Banan.”
“Are you sure?” Turk asked.
“This warhorse is unmistakable,” Andu replied, “I would know it anywhere.”
“But why is Bu Al’Banan’s warhorse wandering about Eldmanor, ownerless?” Erik asked.
“Bu let him go,” Andu replied, “when we were attacked by giant spiders. I don’t know if it was out of love for the horse, or self-preservation, but he saw that everyone who rode were easier targets for the spiders. I should be surprised that this horse survived, but I am not.”
“Why?” Erik asked.
“I have never met a hardier, stronger, or more cantankerous creature, other than Patûk Al’Banan, in my life,” Andu replied.
Erik grabbed the horse’s reins, hanging from its bridle.
“Will you let me ride you home?” Erik whispered to the horse, to Warrior.
Warrior didn’t do anything. He just stood there, seemingly waiting. Erik shrugged, put a boot in one of the stirrups and hoisted himself into the saddle. The horse didn’t move.
“Shall we?” Erik said.
The horse still didn’t move.
“He probably understands Shengu,” Turk said.
“Tell him, Ban Ko,” Andu said.
Erik nodded.
“Ban Ko.”
And with that, Warrior started walking.
Having found riding horses for everyone, they left Eldmanor and reached the northern outskirts of the free farmlands of Háthgolthane in two days. It was barely dusk when Erik heard the familiar sound of his father scolding a stubborn cow and his mother chastising him for his foul langua
ge. It wasn’t that foul compared to some of the men Erik had been around.
It was late fall, almost three months from the time they left, and the harvest was almost over. Rikard Eleodum and his farmhands were going through the land and picking what stubborn stalks of wheat and ears of corn and pods of beans decided to come up late.
His father didn’t see him as he rode up to the edge of the field on which they were working.
“Your cussing gets worse, Father,” Erik said.
His father looked up and laughed.
“Erik, my son!”
Before his father could walk to him and offer him a hand, his mother was running from the house, pulling him from his saddle, and squeezing him so hard, he had trouble breathing.
“I knew you would come back, son,” Karita Eleodum said. “I just knew it.”
“Bryon,” Rikard said, “I’m glad you are safe. And I see you have an extra person with you, but didn’t you leave with four dwarvish companions?”
“Not everyone returns home sometimes,” Turk said.
“I am sorry,” Rikard said.
“His sacrifice is the reason we are here,” Turk said.
“This is Andu, Father,” Erik said. “He will be staying with us for a while.”
“Of course,” his father said. “Any friend of my son’s is a friend of mine. Now, I am assuming you have seen Simone.”
Erik shook his head. His mother hit him on the shoulder.
“Erik!” she gasped.
“Son,” his father said when Erik gave his mother a confused look, “Simone is your wife and takes priority over all others. You should have gone to her first. Now go. We will take care of your friends.”
Erik rode Warrior up to the gate of his home. Smoke escaped through the brick chimney, and it reminded him of the worst dream he had ever had, his wife dead, his baby cut from her belly, and his home on fire. His heart raced, beating against his chest with an aggressive rhythm. He tied Warrior to the fence that surrounded his home and walked up the dirt walkway, lined by tiny rose plants, gifts from his mother to Simone. He had only gotten halfway when Simone burst through the front door and ran to him, throwing herself into his arms and wrapping her arms tightly around his neck.
“I knew you would come back,” she said, crying into Erik’s chest.
“I promised you, didn’t I?” he replied, smiling as he felt the swell of her growing stomach against his own. “Let’s have a look at you.”
He couldn’t help the smile on his face as he inspected his wife’s belly, gently touching it and putting his mouth close to it, speaking to his unborn baby.
“He knows your voice,” Simone said, cupping Erik’s chin in her hands.
“How do you know it’s a boy?” Erik asked.
“He is stubborn and strong!”
They both laughed.
“Sounds like his mother,” Erik said, dancing out of the way of his wife’s striking hand. “It may very well be a girl. I would be just as happy.”
“Our first child is a boy,” she said, her face full of defiance. Her blonde hair silhouetted her face, and her blue eyes pierced Erik’s heart. As if she couldn’t get any more beautiful, here she was. “I don’t care what the others will be, but this one is a boy.”
“Others,” Erik exclaimed with wide eyes. “We haven’t had this one yet. Wait and see, wife. I may be as terrible a father as I am a husband.”
“Hush,” Simone said, a scowl crossing her beautiful face. “You are not a terrible husband, and you will be the best father … a combination of yours and mine.”
“I haven’t been here, Simone,” Erik said, looking away from her as if her eyes accused him and he couldn’t face it.
“You had to,” she said. “It’s what you had to do to protect your family. And, besides, every night, as I fell asleep, I could feel you, sense you, almost see you in my dreams, but it was as if you were really there.”
“I saw you in my dreams too, my sweet,” Erik said, smiling down at his wife.
“No, my love,” Simone said, shaking her head, “they were dreams, but they weren’t. It was real. I watched you from a hill, amidst a field of tall grass. I could see you, but I could never call out to you, but you were there. And whenever I was worried, I would have the same dream, and I would see you, and I knew you were still alive … that you would return to me.”
Is Simone a dream walker?
Erik shook his head and hugged his wife again.
“I am home, and that is all that matters.”
61
All of the farmsteads gathered on Peace Day, in the evening, inside the barn of Rikard Eleodum, even Jovek, and his family. There were drums and a lute, a lyre, a harp, and fiddles playing any number of songs, from fast-paced jigs to slow ballads. Everyone brought some food, more than the two hundred or so people could ever eat, even in a week, and, much to the chagrin of Erik’s mother, they all brought wine and ale as well.
At first, Erik thought the celebration was for him, but when he found out it was because of the farms’ survival through what was one of the worst summers and harvests they had ever had, he felt a little ashamed at his egotistic supposition. However, he was partly to be thanked for the survival of the free farms of Háthgolthane. Northern Dwarves had come down for the first time in several years, but they did not come to trade. They knew the harvest would be sparse this year, and they brought food and animals and extra hands to help.
Erik’s father told him that when one farmer, who was still most thankful but rather perplexed by the gesture, asked why, one of the dwarves simply responded, “You are the people of Erik Dragon Fire, of Erik Eleodum, which means you are our people, and we always help one another.”
“Men and women … children might have died if it wasn’t for you,” Erik’s father said, placing a hand on Erik’s shoulder as they sat together and watched women dance and children play.
“But many did because of me, Father,” Erik replied, looking down at the cup of spiced wine in his hands.
“Son, you must let some things go, even if you can’t forget them,” Rikard said. “How many more would have died if you were not there to take on that dragon?”
Erik just shrugged his shoulders. He didn’t believe what Sustenon the Damned had told him, that he was a failure and a coward, but the words still remained in the back of his head.
The dwarves who had come to the farmlands to bring aid had been invited to the party, and several of them walked up to Erik and his father. One, with short, red hair and a bushy red beard, wearing a robe that covered his feet, bowed and spoke for the group.
“Erik Dragon Fire,” the dwarf said in his northern dialect of Dwarvish, “it is an honor to be in your presence. Dorhûd Granite Tree at your service.”
“I can’t thank you enough for what you have done for my family,” Erik said, extended a hand and shaking the dwarf’s, “and for my people.”
“You are our people,” Dorhûd said, “and therefore, your people are our people, and we always take care of our own. Show someone else the kindness we have shown; that will be thanks enough.”
Erik bowed, and Dorhûd and the other dwarves with him returned the gesture.
“May we see the fabled sword, Master Dragon Fire?” Dorhûd asked.
“It is not the original, you understand,” Erik said.
“I do,” Dorhûd replied.
“And, even though the blade is made from Dwarf’s Iron and crafted by Ilken Copper Head,” Erik added, “the magic is elvish.”
“I think I will manage,” Dorhûd replied with a short laugh and a smile.
Erik nodded and drew Dragon Tooth. The blade glowed green and, if Erik looked close enough, he could almost see the outline of flames coming off the steel.
“Magnificent,” Dorhûd said with a short gasp.
“Who would have thought?” Rikard said, clapping his son on the shoulder. “My son would be speaking Dwarvish and wielding swords and slaying dragons, and who knows what else
.”
But before Erik could say anything, he felt a cold breeze enter the barn, and someone outside gave out a short scream. Erik saw mist move along the floor of the barn, and the several fires burning in the middle of the barn fluttered and dimmed for a moment.
“Magnificent indeed,” a voice said.
Erik recognized that voice from a dream.
“I don’t think I will return it to Syzbalo,” the voice said. “I think I will keep it.”
Erik stood. The music stopped, and everyone was still.
“He will come for you,” Erik said to the mist. “He will send assassins just as he has sent you.”
Laughter.
“I’m not worried,” the voice said.
“Father,” Erik whispered, “go to my haversack, quickly. There is a bag in it. It feels as if it is filled with sand. Get it for me urgently.”
“Son, I won’t …”
Specter materialized in the middle of the barn to a combination of murmurs, gasps, and one, quick yelp. His black leather armor glistened in the firelight, and, as he produced his spear made of bone and vertebrae, the green outline of the poisoned bone blade glimmered.
“Go, Father, please,” Erik whispered.
His father rushed out of the barn. Specter saw him and stepped in his direction, but Erik blocked the assassin’s path.
“It’s not him you want,” Erik said.
“Oh, that is where you are mistaken,” Specter said. “You see, our friend, the Lord of the East, doesn’t just want you dead. He wants your whole family dead. He wants all your people dead.”
One man, a tall, broad-shouldered farmer who was ten summers older than Erik stepped forward, fists clenched.
“Willis,” Erik said, his voice hard, “step back.”
“Oh,” Specter laughed, “this is going to be fun. It never is when my victims just cower. Yes, Willis, step back and wait your turn.”
“I don’t see how a man, if that is what you are, can take such pleasure in killing so many people,” Erik said.
“You don’t know about me, do you?” Specter asked. “No, you don’t. Why would you? You see, I am a man, but I am also a powerful mage. And most people find what gives me my power abhorrent, but it is also what is necessary for me to stay alive, so I revel in it. Would you like to know what it is that keeps me alive and powerful, Erik Eleodum?”
Dragon Sword: Demon's Fire Book 1 Page 41
