Dawncaller

by David Rice

  Galen pressed on. “Kirsten Starwatcher. Do you accept your mentors of the martial arts?”

  Kirsten stared at Siandros as she spoke. “I accept.”

  “And I have decided to assign myself as mentor of sparkweaving,” Galen announced.

  “But Galen—” Tyrin started. Galen held up his hand and Tyrin stepped back.

  “Do you accept?”

  Kirsten scowled. “You were my father’s mentor, weren’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Kirsten paused as her scowl twisted then faded. “I—accept.”

  “Good,” Galen said. “And now for our second task.”

  Eko was intrigued by the half-elf, so much so he felt a compulsion to impress upon Dria the need to take his requests seriously. “Respectfully, why did you call me here, Galen? You know that I am performing demanding research on the drakes and the secrets of our newest weapon, this Fahde. What I have discovered so far is fascinating but every moment is needed. Was it just to have the correct number of Elders represented? Or did you want me to torment Alvilas with this latest news?”

  Galen blushed. Ballok rested his hands on the pommels of his swords and glowered at Eko.

  After a moment of silence, Galen replied politely. “We apologize for taking you away from your studies. We felt it was essential for you to formally meet young Kirsten so that she would learn to be comfortable with you. So that you may study the mysteries of the Fahde together.”

  The Woodmothers shared whispers and light laughter.

  Eko reddened, bowed, stepped back, and said nothing more.

  Kirsten glared at the Woodmothers. “Just like the ladies in Graniteside,” she mumbled. “Rude.”

  “Our next task,” Galen hurried along. “Woodmother Vendete?”

  The elder Woodmother beamed as she stepped forward. “This is a happy day that seeks every blessing for a fruitful union.”

  Eko paused. A fruitful what?

  Vendete took the hand of Siandros and held it firmly. “I proudly announce the promised joining of Third Warden Siandros to Woodmother Dria.”

  Eko’s heart fell as the blond beauty approached Vendete and accepted Siandros’s hand in her own. Together, the new couple held their hands high and smiled for all to see.

  Vendete announced with a sing-song lilt. “In one cycle, Third Warden Siandros and Woodmother Dria shall be joined in the eyes of the People and the One.”

  Everyone started to hug the new couple and offer congratulations.

  Kirsten shrugged her shoulders as the happy drama ignored her. She returned to the ledge overlooking the Heartwood’s hypnotic expanse and stared down.

  Dria, Eko’s thoughts burned. They were just getting to know one another and now? Promised to a dolt? Eko tightened his heart, and approached to offer a token of goodwill.

  Dria hugged him first and whispered gleefully into his ear. “I remembered your potions. I’ll bring them by as soon as I can.”

  Eko’s smile tightened. “Thank the One.”

  Dria laughed lightly. “You are so kind. Did you know that you were the one who told

  Galen that we needed to have more children. And now look! Oh, I’m so glad you came.”

  Eko was stung. “I remembered that, too,” he finally said, but Dria was already too busy and too far away to hear.

  XIX

  Grumm had struggled for dozens of leagues through mounting snow drifts and dwindling food. He looked at Kirsten’s pony, the way its head hung low, its breath puffed against every hill, and its feet hesitated with each step. He had to admit that the poor creature wouldn’t be able to carry on much longer. He’d hate to have to—

  Grumm’s expression tightened. No time for those thoughts. He checked under Plax’s blanket and wrinkled his nose. The—elf—smelled of fevered sweat. Lingering behind was always a whiff of pungent cheese. The wound had turned. It should have killed Plax within a day but now they were half a fortnight into their journey and the rat-faced malingerer always stayed one breath ahead of death. How was the little gremlin doing it?

  “Tricky strong bugger,” Grumm announced to no one while tucking in the blankets around his companion. Then he turned to the pony and fed it his last carrot. “They’ll be a whole sunny field waitin’ fer yeh. Just a few leagues more.”

  Onward Grumm travelled until the cold of the day stretched towards a frostbitten night. The shouts of men and the whinnying complaints of horses drifted to him along the wind and delayed his plans for a fire. Grumm tied off the Pony with Plax still atop, and slipped into the dusky shadows of bare trees for a better look.

  Grumm came upon a massive clearing. Everywhere he looked, stumps of trees stretched into a white hazy distance. He crouched when grey shadows moved clumsily along the limits of his vision and words began to form from rough sounds that came tripping across the expanse.

  “Set camp and send out a picket!”

  “Yezzir.”

  “Get those fires going.”

  “Yezzir.”

  Human soldiers. Grumm ducked behind a tree and then slowly crept towards safety. When he reached his pony, he tugged it into motion, determined to put distance between himself and Lornen’s force. He didn’t stop to rest until the smaller two moons had come and gone.

  ***

  When Grumm set his fire, it was small and in a shallow pit. He placed Plax right up beside it and wedged him in place. He touched the elf’s clammy face and shivered. The pony wobbled as the remaining packs were lifted free, then bent its front legs and curled in a patch of snow. Grumm wasn’t sure it would get to its feet in the morning.

  Grumm curled under his furs and stared at the fire. Exhaustion burned in his bones, and his eyes squinted against the drifting smoke. The smell of a fire would travel a long way in the cold. He hoped the soldiers would be too taken with their own fires to notice his. He turned away and tried to sleep.

  Despite his overwhelming desire to fall off to sleep like a rock off a cliff, Grumm’s worried mind kept spinning new concerns. Had Kirsten made it to Longwood? Was she accepted? Was she safe? What about his kin? Where were they? Had they marched on Halnn? Had they seized their ancient ruins at The Crossing? Would they venture west and come to the aid of the elves?

  Grumm sat up and unpacked the last of his Dwarven bitters. It wasn’t just good for the nerves, it packed a warmth and energy that was desperately needed. He stomped the snow from his boots and approached the pony with a smirk.

  “C’mere, ye poor excuse of a pack mule. Ye don’t get to fade on us yet.”

  Grumm splashed the bitters into the last of the pony’s sweetfeed and offered it a fistful. It wrinkled its nose, huffed steam, and then thrust its muzzle into his palm. Once the last kernel was consumed, the pony thrust itself to a standing position and stood uncertainly. For Plax to have a chance, Grumm knew had to get to back to his kin right away. Yet the Crossing was a good fortnight away. Grumm’s stomach churned with acid and he chewed a strip of leather to calm it down. He crouched beside the elf, raised his shoulders and dabbed some bitters on Plax’s lips.

  “C’mon, lad. This is no way to get even with me callin’ ye names. If it’ll save yer life, I’ll admit—I’m sorry.”

  Nothing. Grumm watched a few reddish embers crackle and fly up, sparks drifting towards a mottled moonlit blanket of sky. It lay like a shroud atop the skeleton trees.

  “I miss a ceiling I can touch,” he hissed then raised the bottle and drained the last of his bitters. “Ahhh.” He wiped his beard with the back of his glove and hoisted Plax onto the pony’s back once more. “Back to it,” Grumm announced to no one and patted the pony’s flank to get it moving.

  One step. One step. One step. That’s all it ever took to get anywhere, Grumm convinced himself. A gait like a staggering heart gradually smoothed into a habit of motion that took them through the drifts, past the dawn, and towards the distant salvation of The Crossing.

  ***

  The child had to pat his arm three times before
Grumm blinked and released his stare from the next hill’s crest. He looked down, his mind struggling to interpret friend or foe.

  Grumm’s lips split as he opened his mouth to speak. His voice cracked like thin ice. “Who err ye?”

  “Neval Cabbageroot,” the chubby cheeked boy replied.

  Grumm blinked again and looked around. “Where am I? Is that a river I’m hearing?”

  The boy reached up to pet the pony’s cheek. “That’s the Raelyn. Ice is stacking up. It’s pretty noisy.”

  “The Crossing. You know of it?”

  “Yep.” The boy pointed east. “It’s way off. Mamma says it’s closed.”

  Grumm pulled at his beard and checked the body upon his pony. “Hrmmff.”

  “You’re a dwarf, aren’t you?”

  Grumm pushed the boy’s hand away from the pony. “Wazzit to ye?”

  “What happened to your friend?”

  Grumm hesitated. “Bad—luck.”

  The boy nodded slowly as if twice his age. “You look rough. And your poor pony. My momma’ll make soup, and help your friend, too.”

  Grumm looked closer at the boy. “Yer a little gnome.”

  The boy shrugged. “So?”

  “Why’d ye help a dwarf unless there’s somethin’ in it fer ye?

  ”The boy started to walk away but casually called over his shoulder, “Momma says kindness pays itself. And we’ve helped other dwarves.”

  Grumm stopped mid-thought. “You’ve helped—other dwarves?”

  “Yep. You coming?”

  Other dwarves? Grumm’s mind buzzed with misgiving. Gotta be a trick. He looked at where Plax perched atop the pony unmoving. Olaf had said that country gnomes were different.

  But what are they going to say when they get a good look at you? That’ll be the nick and bend test for all of us. Grumm looked up again and spotted a sliver of blue between the clouds. He sighed and tugged at the reins. “Alright, boy,” he said. “But no funny business.”

  XX

  Olaf’s eyes could not absorb the wonder of it all.

  Nets of copper wire arced between countless silver towers along the entire northwestern expanse of Halnn’s Engineering Factorum roof. The wind barked down from distant sparkling mountains where a blue sky warred with the curving blades of lens clouds where they crossed the highest peaks. Atop the tallest tower, Olaf spied a glittering mass of gems, and a gargantuan telescope. Once used to examine the stars and moons, now the telescope rotated slowly, constantly sweeping the horizon. It was driven by long vertical shafts and gears connected to machinery hidden beneath a freshly constructed deck of thick redwood.

  Many gnomes, bespectacled and glittering with baubles and trinkets, huddled together to escape the wind, and congratulated one another for their latest victory of intellect over chaos. Olaf crossed to a railing along the edge of a large drop, and shuffled carefully towards them so that he could observe and listen.

  From his vantage point along the edge, he could see where the tower was connected at its base by thick cables to many house-sized machines studded with spark gems and imprisoning slowly spinning masses of copper coils. His stomach turned. How had they been able to accumulate so many spark gems? Such blind wealth.

  “I don’t recognize you,” a voice called out.

  Olaf looked up and swallowed. A well-dressed gnome along the edge of the group waved to him. Olaf smiled and rubbed his medallion. “New here. Glad to be invited,” he replied.

  The gnome looked over his spectacles at Olaf and took a moment to return the smile.

  “Come here, lad. You’ll want to hear the speech clearly.”

  Olaf smiled again as if grateful to accept the offer, and joined the fringes of the group.

  “This’ll be a day our great-grandchildren talk about,” the gnome boasted. “The rest of the world might burn, but not us.”

  Olaf’s stomach fell. He’d seen first hand what drakes could do. And he’d seen the mother of them all. Far too closely for his liking. “Burn? No, not us,” Olaf forced himself to agree.

  “Shh,” the gnome said. “The Grand Maester of Engineering is about to speak.”

  “Praise the worthiness of the Grand Maester and the Guilds,” every voice called out.

  Olaf was quick to join in.

  The Grand Maester rose above the rest on a levered platform. Beside him, tall and shivering despite a thick fur coat, was a human wrapped in a brilliant sash of blue and gold.

  King Lornen’s token attache, Olaf assumed. The Maester was never to be outdone by an inferior. His jacket glowed with a thousand speckled fragments of gold, silver, and gems. He touched a gizmo on his pocket and bright music sounded out across every corner of Halnn. When he spoke, his mellifluous voice boomed across the city like love consuming itself with appetite.

  “Guilds and Craftsmen of Halnn. We have dared to do what no others have done, and we have succeeded. Today, we no longer live in fear or dependence. We no longer rely upon the wealth or power of other races who exploit our talents and nurture our vulnerabilities. Through the harnessing of the world’s spark, we will define this age as one of reason and not primitive fear.”

  The Grand Maester paused as cheers swelled throughout Halnn, rumbling and reverberating through every fibre of wood and wire until the towers themselves sang with the vibration.

  “Today, my brothers, my sisters, my children, we are masters of all.”

  Olaf felt bitterness rise to his throat and he looked skyward in apprehension. Were they serious?

  “No longer shall we fear the lifebane and their simple pets. Today we are free of all fear. Let the Drakes come,” the Grand Maester shouted triumphantly, “and we shall teach them to obey.”

  Halnn quaked with pride. Olaf felt sick. While everyone else cheered, he kept looking to the sky.

  The gnome beside him looked over and slapped him on the back. “What’s wrong with you? Can’t you see what a wonderful day this is?”

  Olaf’s mind whiplashed from infernos of purple flame to the smell of burnt goblins. He stumbled upon the question he needed to ask and it was voiced before his better sense could say no. “Will we protect everybody with our new inventions?”

  The gnome laughed. “Perhaps you’re a bit too sentimental for an engineer, don’t you think?”

  “Just a thought,” Olaf mumbled as he looked across the cold metallic majesty of Halnn’s greatest minds. He ventured into dangerous territory again. “What if our machine doesn’t work as well as we’d like?”

  The gnome’s eyes narrowed. “You should have more faith in a project you’ve been part of creating. Unless you have some problem you’ve hidden from the auditors?”

  “No!” Olaf blurted a little too forcefully. “Of course not. It’s just—I knew folks from Rockdug. The town that was destroyed by a drake.”

  “Oh. I see,” the gnome sniffed. “Sad. But it certainly proved an incentive for the country folk to give up their gems for the greater good, hmm?” The gnome patted Olaf on the back once more. “The entire project has passed every test. The auditors have given their full approval. There is nothing to worry about. And once we defeat and enslave a drake for ourselves, everyone who can pay for protection will come running to us.”

  Bile bit at the back of Olaf’s throat. The realms, the entire banefathered world, faced the annihilation of a Second Dawning, and Halnn’s leadership was concerned about making a profit?

  The gleeful gnome mistook Olaf’s sneer for a smile. “Why do you think our best engineers are returning from Graniteside? They’ve suffered a drake attack and they were defenseless. Imagine what Lornen will pay for our help now?”

  Olaf shuddered and did the hardest thing he had ever done. He twisted his sneer into a beaming grin and chuckled, “I can’t wait!” As drinks began to circulate, he slipped away from the glittering mob.

  Once he was hidden from view by a winding staircase, Olaf began to run, taking the steps two or three at a time. He only stopped when he noticed the
yellow and black paint of an extreme hazard warning across an unlatched door. Reserve Power Actuator and Authorized Personnel Only were engraved above the door. It must have been left unlocked for quick access in case of an emergency. Gnome engineers always had a back up plan.

  As Olaf approached, the hair on his arms and skull began to rise. A buzzing like countless angry bees grew in the air as he slowly swung the door open. A small platform swarmed with cables around a single metal block bolted to the floor. The block possessed a metal hatch the size of an oven door. Thrust from its side was a single wooden lever painted deep red. It was set to the off position.

  Anger surged through Olaf. His people had become so arrogant. But not his people. Not the innocents of Rockgut who had died, or dozens of other villages and farms. Arrogance was the venue of the guild masters. Those who held power like a habit. Like an entitlement.