by David Rice
Bunmor and Grumm exchanged glances. “You go first,” the stocky dwarf suggested.
Grumm looked up and pointed at Olaf’s still figure. “We found Ingrae-Salin, an’ a sword that protected us from drake fire.”
Beru’s eyes widened.
Glandrew laughed loudly. “That ruin has been sought for centuries.”
“I can show you on a map, if ye like,” Grumm rumbled.
Glandrew riveted Grumm with a glare. “A tall take to brag about, Rockbottom.”
Grumm met the gaze as an equal. “We met two others an’ they fought alongside us. The ruin was infested with kobolds and goblins, an’ there were two drakes flying about, but we made it through.”
Glandrew huffed. “Drakes, too? An’ convenient champions for you to hide behind? Who were these others? Two Jarls from our northern holdfasts?”
“They’d be a match for a mountain of lifebane,” Beru chortled. “Go on. It’s a good story at least.”
Grumm scowled. “One was an elf —”
“I met him, Jarl Beru,” Bunmor interjected. “Was an ugly bugger an’ we thought he was a lifebane, too.” Both Beru and Glandrew raised their eyebrows.
“Yer not helping,” Grumm whispered to his friend. He pressed on with his tale. “An’ the other was—well, ye won’t believe it but she was a half-elf. We found the sword together but only the girl could touch it. She’s taken it to Longwood. Called it the Fahde. Was an ancient relic used against the drakes long ago.”
Glandrew rolled his eyes. “You should be ashamed. Your father is at least an honest dwarf an’ should’ve raised his son—”
Grumm growled. Glandrew smirked.
Beru raised his hand. His eyes had filled with curiosity. “I’ve heard some mention of a Fahde. It’s in our tales, somewhere. An’ a shield, too.”
Glandrew’s smirk faded.
“You’ve heard of that, haven’t you,” Beru challenged the Thane.
Glandrew frowned and shrugged.
Beru waved a hand at Grumm. His voice lowered. “Everyone, stand up. Tell me the rest.”
Grumm took a deep breath. “The sword was covered by a sheet to hide its light. When the girl uncovered it—”
“A—girl?” Glandrew exclaimed.
“Yeah,” Grumm snipped. “Half as good a fighter as yer daughter, too, I’d wager.” Glandrew harrumphed and crossed his arms.
“The sword woke the biggest drake I’d ever seen. But it wasn’t a drake. It was a dragon. The dragon. Mother of them all.”
“Jarl Beru,” Glandrew erupted, “this story is turning into the mother of them all—”
“Be still,” Beru chastised the Thane. “I’ve survived horrors you’d hardly believe. And I’ve read our ancient stories. The way he’s speaking rings true with me.”
Several heartbeats passed before Glandrew responded. “My apologies, Jarl Beru.”
The Jarl grimaced. “Give me the rest, young Grumm. An’ be quick about it before the Thane gets his guts in a knot.”
Grumm flushed. “Not much more to say, Jarl Beru. We fought off the goblins and kobolds an’ then the dragon roasted them all. Sent the rest running an’ brought down the roof.” Beru raised his eyebrows again. “An’ ye lived?”
“The sword put up a shield. Protected us from all of it. When we dusted ourselves off, the lifebane had run away, and the dragon had killed two drakes. Their bodies filled what was left of the shallow lake. She’d flown off, thankfully.”
Beru frowned. “So, instead of going directly to Thunderwall, you decided to take the sword to the elves? Risked it being lost, or falling into the hands of the lifebane.”
Bunmor and the other dwarves levelled harsh looks upon Grumm.
“We argued over that,” Grumm replied. “But she was the only one who could touch the sword. It burned anyone else who tried.”
Beru rubbed his beard.
“Jarl Beru. She saved my life. I owed her some service. It’s our code.”
Beru nodded slowly. “Why Longwood, Grumm?”
Grumm shrugged. “She said that they would teach her how to use the sword. An’ she kept going on about having something important to prove to them that could save her father. An’ so far as she knew, she was the only one who could use that weapon.”
“Hmmf,” Beru replied. “This is more of a meal for the mind than I was expecting to digest today. What else do you have to report? Bunmor? You were leading the patrol. What did you discover?”
Bunmor cleared his throat and bowed. “It’s an honour, Jarl Beru an’ Thane Glandrew. We noted that lots o’ gnomes are heading back to Halnn. Mostly peaceful folk going back to their farms. The humans have a few small forts and one large fortified town on the north shore. They’re gonna attack Longwood when the snow clears. Otherwise their food’ll run out.”
“They should just go home,” Beru commented. “Making war on the elves is insanity itself. The humans have no skill.”
“They do have new weapons from Halnn, though. They’ve made their own small cannon an’ thundersticks,” Bunmor added. “Gomes robbed our secrets an’ sold them to the humans.”
“Ahh, someone should strike down their lunatic King an’ be done wi’ it,” Glandrew stated.
Beru shook his head. “Mebbe so. But if kings died that easy, there’d be no one left to lead, would there?” Beru’s glare softened slightly. “You look like ye swallowed a golden egg,
Bunmor. What else ye got to tell me?”
Bunmor grinned and held out the blue gem. Its light filled the chamber and sparkled in every dwarf’s eyes.
“What’s—that?” Jarl Beru asked.
“My friend, Olaf, was taking that gem to Longwood, too, when we found him,” Grumm replied.
“Oh no,” Beru smiled. He held out his hand and examined the gem. “It’s the largest sparkgem I’ve ever seen. No. This is going to Thunderwall.”
“Jarl Beru. What if it goes with the sword?” Grumm asked.
The light danced in Beru’s eyes. “No. Volsun needs to know everything that you’ve told me. This gem goes back to Thunderwall right away. An’ you’ll be taking it there. Your friend, the gnome, can enlighten Jarl Volsun on just where he pilfered it, and why.”
Grumm groaned.
XXXII
“Who are you?”
The question made Plax jump back and roll into a defensive position, his dagger out. He had not expected the falcon to speak.
The falcon shimmered and grew into the form of an elf with an amused and congenial grin. Plax didn’t expect that expression, either.
“I am Tyrin, a forestward of Longwood” the elf announced softly. “I am sorry for frightening you but you are a stranger and yet you are of my people.”
Plax sheathed his dagger. “I’m of no one’s people,” he spat. “But I am looking for a companion.” He rubbed his side where the wound was still healing.
Tyrin nodded, intrigued. “A companion, you say? Why would he be here?”
“She,” Plax corrected.
“Oh,” Tyrin chuckled. “I see. Does she have a name?”
Plax puzzled over Tyrin’s expression. Could he be trusted? The last Longwood elf to surprise him had almost killed him. “Kirsten,” he finally offered.
Tyrin’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t resemble the elves from around here. Although, by the way you scowl, you remind me of someone. Do you have a name I could give her?”
“Plax.”
“Wait right here. It would be dangerous for you to roam.” With that advice given, Tyrin jumped into the air, shrunk into his falcon shape instantly, and flew away.
Plax watched Tyrin fly from sight and quivered with jealousy. “I will have to learn how to do that,” he whispered to himself.
***
Eko sat back and shook his head. He had just reread the scroll for the third time and understood why these truths had been hidden. Another five unread scrolls were hung out to dry behind him. He felt fearful and exhilarated.
Th
e scrolls had already revealed that the weave used to move and flux constantly. The One slept as the cost of binding the weave in place. This was how the drakes were also bound by being kept far from the strength of the weave. His latest research suggested that the sword and a shield of some kind—he knew there had to be a second artifact—were used as sponges to soak up the energy of the weave and prevent reawakening. But who had made these? Had there been many half-elves at one time? Where had they lived? Were there descendents? Did they possess secrets he needed to save his people? All people?
Eko had heard of Kirsten’s adventure and puzzled out that the sword was used on the mother dragon. The shield must have been used on the drakes in a different location. But where? How had they been freed? And who had the shield now? The drakes were now awake and destroying the world while the One slept. How could the One’s plan have been subverted? The world needed more than a small girl and her sword.
Eko shivered. The One must be awakened before it was too late. But how could that be done? Could someone not called still travel to Xlaesin? How could the One be stirred from a millenia long sleep? Could someone who was called be an agent of change? Would those who had been called over the millenia still live in some way? If so, would they help if they could? Just think of the knowledge they would be able to impart!
Eko grasped his imagination by the throat and held it down until it stopped thrashing. Time to focus on the current task. There were many more secret scrolls still waiting to be explored.
He snatched the second scroll from the line while it was still dripping, and his eyes dashed across the ancient text. He sat up as he tripped across another revelation. Those who were called to Xlaesin were tasked by the One to maintain the stability of the weave during the sleep. It didn’t sound like being called was an honour after all. It sounded like an arduous duty. Parasitic. An endless half-death being fed upon to support the world. Eko shivered. And with the drakes awakened, the world was about to be shattered unless the One awoke, too. But how?
And who?
He was reaching for the third scroll when Dria arrived carrying a large urn. Eko scrambled to hide the scrolls as best he could. Dria’s arrival often encouraged Alvilas to appear. He couldn’t risk his narrow-minded mentor exposing the truth he was uncovering. It was obvious that if the world was to be saved, at least the world of elves, then creative and perhaps heretical approaches would be required.
“I’m sorry,” Dria said. “I brought the rest of the solution I prepared. I can’t make any more until late spring when the proper ingredients have started to blossom. And I am behind on my other tasks. Is it working well for you?”
The way she looked at him made Eko blush. “Better than expected. I’m discovering aspects of our history that will be crucial in turning back the drakes.”
Dria beamed. “That’s—incredible.”
“So much more to do,” Eko pointed at the scrolls upon the drying line. “I only hope I can
come up with a plan before the drakes discover Longwood.”
Dria’s expression softened. She reached out and lightly touched his forearm. He did not pull away.
“You will, Eko. You are so different from the rest of us. You have the courage to look for truth beyond what we are taught to accept, and that’s a gift.”
“You told me I was being heretical.” Dria looked away shyly.
Eko grinned. “You aren’t exactly sounding like yourself.”
“You’ve made me reconsider so much,” she responded. “And the half-elf, Kirsten.” Se delayed before continuing in a softer voice, “And others.”
Eko filled with warmth and confidence. He held her gaze and smiled back. “You’ve been a part of this. Of my success.”
Dria gushed. “Don’t exaggerate. Thank you for trusting me.” She started to withdraw her hand but grasped his hand instead and squeezed gently. “You have ideas that don’t depend upon violence. You’re more like Galen and Dorak. We need that.”
Eko quivered as his body rushed with unexpected emotions. Uncontrollably, his eyes played down her body and then stopped with shock as he saw the bruises upon her arms.
He pulled his hand away. “How did that happen?”
Dria crossed her arms to hide the discolouration. “What happen?”
Eko’s voice was harder than he expected. “Those bruises. Someone hurt you. Who was it?”
Dria attempted a laugh. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”
Eko stared at her. “I don’t like it.”
Dria’s eyes glistened. She stepped back and tried to smile. “I’m okay,” she said. “It’s the price I am paying for speaking my mind. It’s worth it.”
“What do you mean?”
Dria squared her jaw. “Like you, and some others, the more I think for myself, the better I feel about myself.”
“You said things someone else didn’t like?”
Dria nodded. “I said some things that needed to be said. I will be fine.”
Eko raised an eyebrow. “You’ll be safe? Not hurt again?”
Dria’s smile flashed and faded. “You shouldn’t worry about me. That should be someone else’s concern.” She began her retreat up the narrow stairs.
“Someone else’s?” Eko’s question chased after her. Then his mind snapped like a trap upon the one possibility. “Siandros,” he spat.
***
Plax waited and waited for Tyrin to return. He began to worry about Kirsten. Had she been accepted? Had the sword been recovered safely? Had the thief been exposed? When the day slipped toward dusk, he decided to see how close he could get to the centre of Longwood. If he was threatened at least he now had an elf who would vouch for him. He couldn’t call him a friend, could he?
With a moment’s concentration, a shadowspark enveloped his body like a second skin, bent the light around him, pulled a blanket of shadows inward, and silenced his steps. Plax decided he would circle northwest and carefully spiral towards the centre. The forest was immense, enraptured with life deep in its soil, and its trees ancient and towering.
He had spent his whole life at a distance. At first, others had kept their distance from him because of his outward deformities. His clan, his father, even his mother. The horses seemed to like him, though, and that only angered everyone all the more. His heart panged as he remembered waking alone in the hills, abandoned. Shunned by his own family. Left to die. It was natural to keep a distance from all things after that. It was necessary.
And yet here he was, following one of his only friends into an unknown that could kill them both with a whim. He touched the scarring of his stomach. In fact, a place that had already tried to end his life. Why was he doing this? It was insane. The world wanted him dead and only caution and isolation could delay that outcome. Yet a dwarf, a gnome, and a half-elf had accepted him, and saved his live twice. They deserved some loyalty in return. He wouldn’t be able to rest until he was sure that Kirsten, and her sword, were safe. Plax continued his slow spiral inward following distant voices chanting melodically, entwined with the hushed breath of the forest.
For a distance, Plax followed a creek bed as it squirmed its way through thorny thickets that would soon be disguised with delicate blue flowers and then heavy with summer berries. A variety of plants clutched the banks in an orderly progression. He recognized some as powerful reagents for healing, and others as catalysts for crafting. The Steppes never had such richness of resources. His people roamed for days to gather what a person from Longwood could fetch in the stretch between first light and first meal. He noticed subtle paths winding along the shore allowing for an easy harvest. The elves of Longwood lived a comfortable life. Plax blushed, a bit out of shame for being so taken with such opulence, and a bit out of pride for knowing how to live with much less. Even thrive.
Plax was startled by footsteps close by. How could he be so stupid to forget that these elves were as quiet and deadly as himself. Was he being stalked? He crouched into the deep greens, his heart jumping, hopin
g that his shadowspark was enough.
Coming into view on the opposite bank was a sight that robbed him of breath. A young loremother had arrived to gather herbs. Her blond hair caught thin shafts of sunlight, and her face alternated between careful concentration when plucking flowers from their stems, and fleeting smiles when looking upwards at the sky. Plax let out a soft breath and struggled to concentrate. He had never imagined the way such beauty could be real. Her smile sent shivers through his body as if he was diving into the first waters of spring. He sat down dumbfounded, and stared, transfixed. She methodically filled her basket with a variety of leaves and blossoms, handling each gently, and keeping each separate. She counted her selections carefully, sighed abruptly, then stood and stretched. Looking across the water, she rubbed her nose and then nimbly climbed the bank and disappeared. As he watched her leave, Plax realized that here was the greatest reason to be alive and, even more, the greatest threat of all. Although half a life of conditioned wisdom rebelled against each step, Plax slipped across the creek and followed.
