by David Rice
Nialle bowed slightly. “My apologies. He rests in the next room. Perhaps I can look at the Fahde later?”
Kirsten hurried past. Balinor, Besra, and Grumm followed. Grumm whispered casually to the archivist as he passed. “We’ve got the shield, too, yeh know, if yeh want te see it.”
Nialle’s mouth dropped open. “Incredible,” he whispered slowly.
Inside the next room, Muren’s emaciated body lay upon a straw mattress with a thin sheet clinging to every bony angle. Ardir sat beside him on a rough wooden stool, piles of half open books on the floor, and a bowl of aging grapes within reach.
“He doesn’t speak and hardly eats,” Ardir explained softly. “Those grapes I crush are his only treats.”
Kirsten bolted to his side, almost shoving a reluctant Ardir to the floor. “Can I?” She pointed at the stool. Grumm squeezed into the space beside Ardir, the shield on his back scraping the gnome.
“Yes, you may,” he said, and then gasped. “Please stay,” he fumbled the rest of the rhyme. Ardir looked down on Muren again. “With his telescope I watch the speed of the moons. It worries him, too, that they presage our doom.”
“What about the moons?” Kirsten wrinkled her nose.
“They may cross and collide,” Ardir moaned. “If elves die when drakes decide. Unless prophecies have lied.”
Kirsten shook her head. “I don’t have time for this extra nonsense.”
Besra cleared her throat. “De yeh want some privacy?”
Balinor nodded. “He wasn’t this bad off when I saw him last. If I’d known—Where’s Father Yost? Wasn’t he helping Muren?”
Nialle lowered his eyes. Father Yost was very old. He overexerted himself questioning our former chancellor and they both died. But before that unfortunate occurance, he did his best to train his replacement—you remember my assistant Larkin? He revoked his attachment to the Blackthorn to become a Brother of the Yarrow. He is their only Father now that Yost is gone.
Talented in many areas, but not gifted in probing the mind. I fear those talents faded with Yost.”
Balinor frowned and left the room.
Kirsten’s eyes were consumed by the pallid waste that was once her father. “He can’t speak at all?” Tears fell down her cheeks. “What happened?”
“Priest tangled his mind,” Ardir whispered. “As he did mine. That’s why I rhyme.”
Kirsten blinked. “Not sure I understand.”
Ardir stretched as he gave his seat to Kirsten. “Not sure which is most cruel. Memories, or priests,” then he flashed a grin, “or stool.”
Besra chuckled gently. “Grumm? C’mon out an’ give her some private time? Ye can show the starry-eyed man yer fancy old shield.”
Grumm tapped Kirsten’s shoulder. “Lass. Mebbe this shield can help. Kept a dwarf alive when he shoulda died. Couldn’t hurt, could it?”
Kirsten spun to face Grumm. “Yes. Yes. What do I do with it?’
Grumm shrugged. “I think ye just need te have him touching it.”
Kirsten accepted the shield and waited for the room to empty. Then she tried to place her Papa’s hands on its edges but they just fell away limp. Pushing back another tear, she grabbed his cold thin hand and held it in hers, pressed it to the shield, and held it there.
“So, Papa,” she began. “A lot’s happened. To both of us.” She gave a short laugh to cover a sob. Then she paused to let her heart settle. “I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner. I didn’t know you were like this.” Her heart panged again and she looked to the ceiling until she could find her voice. “You always said I’d have to prove myself.” With her free hand she drew the Fahde. Its light filled the room, and its pure gleam reflected from Muren’s glassy stare.
“I fought off a drake with this. Had help but I think I proved myself worthy. You know, so they could see that you are worthy, too.” A storm of tears came from nowhere and she rocked quietly until they passed. “We’re both worthy, Papa. You can stop hiding now.”
Kirsten jumped. Was there a twitch in the fingers? A slight movement?
She stared into his eyes but they were still unfocused glass. His hand, if it had moved at all, was still as death once more. Kirsten shivered.
“I came a long way to be here. I have so many questions, Papa. About things others have said. About you. About my mother.”
No response. Kirsten’s tears began to dry and her heart began to fill with a brooding that was just as old as her sorrow.
“I wanted to come here to save you, Papa, and it looks like you need healing.” She paused as she formulated her new plan. “Since Longwood needs me back because I’m the only one who can use this sword, and Longwood’s the only place I know that could heal you, you’re coming with me.”
There was a twitch. Not just in his hand. In his eyes.
“Are you trying to say something?” Kirsten’s voice rose and she jumped to her feet, still pressing her father’s hand aganst the shield. “Can you hear me? Can you talk?”
Balinor knew that tone of voice. He had heard it many times from Kirsten when she was younger, and he had heard that tone from Helba, too. He stuck his head in the room to watch but he knew to keep his lips buttoned for the time being.
Kirsten leaned close to her Papa’s ear. “Did you love my mother?” A slow blink.
Kirsten shivered. She pushed to form the next words. “Did mother love you?”
A twitch. That was all. So he was listening, and evading. Nothing had changed. Kirsten’s anger bubbled up.
“You shouldn’t have left us,” Kirsten burst. “Helba died. Mac died. Raisha died. And I couldn’t save them. But you could have.”
Muren’s eyes were glassy once more, as if staring through the rock walls.
“But you didn’t. Well, I’m not going to be like you.” A twitch. She was being heard for once. “I’m going to do something. I’m going to get you healed, I’m going to find my mother, and if any drakes get in my way then I’m—”
Balinor spoke up. “Kirsten. You’re shouting.”
Kirsten stepped back and the shield clattered to the floor. She took several long breaths and sheathed her sword. “We’re taking him out of here,” she whispered.
Grumm hurried in to fetch the shield.
“Taking him?” Ardir squeaked. “For better care? Where?”
Kirsten brushed past the gnome. “Longwood. Going to come or stay?”
Ardir’s face twisted with misery. “Must stay. Long way. Moons say much each day.”
Olaf smiled gently. “Why didn’t you go home with the rest of our kin?”
Ardir’s eyes opened like wells and his voice was as dry as smoke. “The stars say yesterday, so many gone. So much wrong.”
Olaf wrinkled his nose. “Can’t you just say what you mean?”
Ardir’s eyes closed and his jaw tightened. His fists clenched and his neck strained. His next words were as strained as glass slowly breaking. “Halnn is no more. Drakefire from mountains to shore.”
Olaf let out a gasp and plopped down on the stone. Then he looked over at the bright blue gem in Grumm’s shield. “No,” he whispered.
“The stars tell me more that people need to hear,” Ardir’s voice rose. “The moons are faster, closer. The tides we need to fear.”
Nialle stepped forward. “Starwatcher’s exaggerate at times,” he offered. “Perhaps you could stay just long enough for me to make some notes, do some rubbings of the writing on the shield?”
“No,” Kirsten exclaimed. “Your care’s alomost killed him. We’re leaving now.”
“But what of Thunderwall,” Nialle replied. “We are vulnerable here. And there is so much to read and preserve.”
“I’ll stay,” Besra stated.
“You can’t,” Grumm blurted.
Besra’s eyes softened when she regarded Grumm’s earnest concern. “I have to, Grumm. For Thunderwall.”
Grumm scowled and huffed.
Besra smiled. “An’ I know you’ll come back. Bes
ides,” she swung her runehammer across her shoulders, “I’ve guarded a few doors before.”
Nialle blinked. “You’ll stay? That’s very gracious. Thank you.”
“And I’ll stay, too,” Balinor added. “Until you have messages for Arundy and Thunderwall. Then I’m about the only one who can deliver them.”
Grumm looked about. Olaf shivering, Ardir about to weep, Kirsten red with frustration, and Balinor crossing his arms. “Ooh, boy,” Grumm said.
Kirsten nodded. “Fine then. How do we get out of here?”
“Same way we came,” Balinor said. “We’ll work our way back to the horses. You know your way from there.”
Everyone reluctantly nodded. “Can her father ride on one o’ the courier horses?” Grumm asked.
Balinor grinned. “I still have a few connections. Maybe we could get a good wagon for everyone.”
Then the distant sound of a familiar tortured voice echoed from the next room.
***
The pain in his temples searing with urgency, Plax slumped upon granite wall covered with dwarven etchings. “I need help,” Plax yelled. “We need help.”
Besra triggered the door and, to everyone’s surprise, Plax rolled through the opening, twisting to cushion the fall of the one he carried. As he came to a stop, the elf maid curled into a ball against him, silent and quivering.
Kirsten looked twice and then cried out, “Dria!”
Everyone in the room jumped forward to help. Soon, Besra had Dria covered in some new robes and a blanket. Plax was sitting in a corner trying to drink some water without spilling
it.
Kirsten stared at them both. “You left with Ballok. How?”
“No time,” Plax wheezed. “Followed. Gotta get to harbour. Find ship.” “You came on a ship?” Balinor asked. Plax ignored the question.
“Who’s chasing you?” Grumm added.
“Why’s Dria here?” Kirsten demanded. Who hurt her?”
Plax shook his head. “Let me catch my breath. Didn’t know you were here.” He tapped his temples. “Ever since I touched that pendant, something’s been inside my head, leading me. To that. And that.” Plax pointed at the shield and the sword. “They’re like beacons to me now.”
Kirsten fell quiet.
Plax rubbed his head. “Siandros is dead. And the gnome trophy hunter that netted Dria.” Plax pointed out her bruises, cuts, and her broken leg. “Lornen did that. I think he’s dead, too.”
“Then we’d better run,” Balinor insisted. “Why are we heading for the docks?”
Plax jumped up again, momentatrily renewed. “Just following the ghost in my head. There’s some mighty powerful focus for the weave in the harbour. I think I can draw power from it. You all coming?”
“You can draw power from—” Kirsten’s voice faded. Like Raisha drew the fire into herself before— She hurled herself into motion. “Let’s rig some way to carry them, and get moving.” She shot Plax a questioning stare. “You’ve got a lot to explain.”
Plax grabbed one end of an improvised stretcher with Dria upon it. Olaf took the other end.
“I’ll go as far as the harbour,” Besra said, and grabbed Muren’s cot along with Kirsten.
“I’ll show you the way,” Balinor volunteered. “Grumm, you stay ready with that shield.”
In moments, the party was racing into the darkness of the sewers.
***
There was plenty of time during the twisting route for Plax and Kirsten to compare notes. When they reached the sewer exit, Plax took a few deep breaths and gestured for Grumm to share his shield.
Before he could react, Besra rushed up to Grumm and hugged him. “I know you’ll make Thunderwall proud.”
Then she hugged Kirsten, “Hold yer temper till when you really need it.”
Balinor looked at Kirsten and tried to appear hopeful. “Be thinking of you, kid.” Kirsten smiled briefly at them both.
Besra looked at Plax and nodded. “Takes guts te do what ye did. Yer always welcome in Thunderwall, elf.”
She tapped Olaf on the head. “Watch their backs,” she said. Then she turned to Balinor. “That fish stench is strong. Let’s get outta here ‘afore I spew.”
Plax and Grumm exchanged looks of amusement and then turned serious.
Remembering how the pendant had overcome him, Plax reached out tentatively towards the shield. Initially when his fingers grazed the edges it felt cool, then his hands filled with the buzz and stings of a hundred bumblebees. He gritted his teeth and forced himself to breath. His head began to swim with pressure, and his fatigue vanished. With a desperate effort, he yanked himself away. The blue gem winked light.
“Ye okay, lad?” Grumm asked.
“Mmm—hmm. We’ll need a small boat.”
“A small boat?” Kirsten asked. “Why not a big one?”
Plax grinned briefly. “The small one is so we can go out to a big one.”
Olaf spoke up. “I could sneak around and find a small boat but we’ll get spotted right away wandering around. I’ll get a cart, too, so we don’t have to hand carry these folks any more.”
“No need to worry,” Plax responded, and he closed his eyes. “We’re going to look just like a small group of traders with a cart.” He pulled the weave towards him and it coalesced into colours that gripped their skin, then it altered their appearances until they looked like dock folk.
“Uhh, I’m a gonna rest the shield on the poor maid to see if that helps,” Grumm offered.
Olaf slipped away to soon return with a cart. “There’s a big fuss at the gate leading to the rest of town. Hardly anyone’s around here to cause us trouble. And I found a large rowboat if that’ll do.”
Boisterous whoops were followed by loud cheering at the eastern gate.
“Let’s move,” Kirsten prompted.
Muren and Dria were slipped onto the cart, and Olaf was soon leading them through a maze of alleyways, piles of rope, boxes of supplies, and chunks of torn ship timbers embedded in the ground.
They reached the boat and wrestled their fragile cargo aboard. Grumm and Kirsten ended up on the oars. Plax stood at the bow, his arms out and his eyes closed.
“Row straight to the middle of the bay,” Plax ordered, Kirsten and Grumm pulled hard to get the boat cutting through the water. In time, they were finding a rhythm.
“Why so far out there?” Olaf shouted over the wind. “I don’t see any ship.”
Plax’s hands were beginning to glow a soft blue. “The ship we want isn’t on the water,” he said calmly. “It’s under it.”
Olaf’s eyes widened, Grumm huffed, and Kirsten scowled but they continued to row.
As they approached the centre of the bay, the sun hot upon them despite the cool breeze. Plax raised his hands and called out, “Can you feel it?” He closed his eyes and let the weave fill his soul.
Kirsten didn’t know what Plax meant but she sure wished she did when the boat bumped upon something hard, lurched slightly to port and then rose into the air.
They were snagged in a net of rope that was attached to a mast. They all gasped as they looked over the edge of their boat to discover that a broken fore-section of a massive galleon, sparkling with silver metal and streaming briny water, was rising from the bay, lifting them into the air, and carrying them towards the clouds.
VIII
Atop his horse, Elder Holok of the Swift Current Clan looked down upon the winding trail leading from the Steppes. Below, three clans of horsewardens were making the climb. At least they had sent parties to speak with him of the newest threats and his hope for reconciliation, but the rest, perhaps a hundred or more, had rejected his messenger or been unreachable. Of those his messenger could not find, Holok feared the worst.
Beyond his vision, but not beyond his heart, were the warriors led by Yermak who sought to delay the advancing lifebane force so that horsewardens from across the Steppes could unite and make a stand in the mountains. Holok swallowed a pang of regret th
at their likely sacrifice was being rendered useless due to the narrow-minded pride of his own people.
Most of Holok’s clan were already entering the mountain passes that would take them to the doorsteps of three mighty Holdfasts. The dwarven homes were sealed and silent, destroyed cycles earlier by the lifebane, but Holok hoped that they might provide refuge if their gates could be enticed to open.
And the group accompanying Nerrod? Would they be able to convince the rebel lifebane to send representatives to meet him here? Would the rebels survive a fight with Ulimbor’s main force? And, if they did fight alongside the Longwood elves and defeat Ulimbor’s insanity, would the survivors find any survivors here, or only their bodies?
