The Phantom Dwarf

by J. M. Fosberg

  Patria’s sword came up and caught the attacker’s blade. He kicked forward, his foot slamming into the front of the attacker’s knee. The attacker’s knee buckled and he stumbled back a few steps before falling to the ground. The guard went to exploit the fallen man’s defenselessness. Patria turned just in time to see the man swinging his sword in a low arc. He had no choice but to dive on the ground and avoid the sword.

  He rolled to a knee and brought his sword up to deflect the blade he knew was following behind him. He had dropped his dagger in the roll and, even with both hands gripping the hilt, his sword was knocked wide to the left, and he was already off balance on one knee. He rolled to the left, using the momentum created by the block to carry him away faster. This time, as he came to a knee, he didn’t bring his sword up to block but swung it at his attacker’s sword, or rather the hands holding the sword. His attacker had been so confident in his strength that he hadn’t even attempted to redirect his blade when the king swung his own sword. His sword flew over Patria’s and three fingers of his left hand dropped the ground.

  The man leapt back, shaking his hand as if to shake the pain away. Blood sprayed from the severed nubs. The man noticed the blood and looked down. His eyes went wide when he realized what had happened. By the time he looked back up, King Patria’s sword was already coming in. The man tried to stop it with his wounded hand but he was too slow. The blade drove through the attacker’s neck and deflected to the right as the tip ricocheted off bone as it exited. The sword came free in a fountain of blood. The man fell to the ground, his head hanging loosely to one side by the remaining sinew. Blood continued to pour from the wound. The dry ground greedily accepted the thick liquid.

  When Patria turned around, three of his soldiers were surrounding two of the attackers. “Stop!” he shouted as the soldiers closed in. The soldiers stopped, but kept their weapons leveled. Patria walked over to the men. “Drop your weapons.” The two men looked at each other, then back at the soldiers. Neither of them dropped their swords. “Drop your weapons and answer my questions and I will let you live.”

  One of the men looked at him. “Your men will not honor your agreement when you are dead. My bolt took you in the arm. You will be dead within the hour. By the time you have passed, your men will have already killed us, but we will not go alone.” As he spoke his last words, he dove to the side and thrust his sword at one of the soldiers. The soldier blocked the thrust easily, but the other man’s blade came over the first and buried in his chest. The other soldiers attacked and both fell before they could bring their weapons back around.

  Patria looked around the camp. At least a dozen of his soldiers were on the ground, dead or severely wounded. Others were surely suffering a similar fate further outside the glow of the firelight. He thought about the watches roaming the perimeter. He knew they were most likely dead. As he thought about this, he noticed that the burning had spread. His entire arm and chest were now burning. He felt as if he was being cooked from the inside out. Fire raged throughout his body. After a few moments, it began to take control. His blood began to boil in his veins. The pain came full force, overpowering every thought and instinct. Pain, all he knew was pain. All he wanted was for it to stop. He fought it for what seemed like eternity, but eventually the pain won. He closed his eyes and surrendered allowing the darkness to come.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  The Phantom and the Necromancer

  Phelim stood in the circle. He glanced back out at Jerrie one last time. He knew that man would do what he had to if it came down to it. He knew Jerrie had come to accept him for what he was, but there was still a part of him who hated the whole idea of it. Jerrie was no different than most men. He distrusted the magic and felt it unnatural. Those feelings, along with his sense of duty, would ensure that the phantom was not able to take control of him if things didn’t go as planned. Phelim scanned the room one last time, smiling inwardly. The dwarves who hated magic and necromancy above all other types of magic had sought him out and brought him to one of their kingdoms.

  “Once I begin, do not enter the circle for any reason.” He did not wait for a response. It wasn’t even something that needed to be said. They would more likely walk through a pit of poisonous snakes than approach that circle. At least the snakes they understood.

  He began to chant, activating the runes around the circle as the magic built and flowed out from him. Each of the runes began to glow as he activated it. The gold between each rune glowed, connecting them. After a few moments of chanting, the entire circle was glowing, filling the room with a golden light that reflected off of the walls.

  Bergmann began to panic. He had been trapped in this body, but now something was different. Now he was just trapped. This necromancer had done something to hold him. He felt the magic closing in on him.

  Phelim set down a simple jar of silver that held the same symbols as the circle on the ground. With the cap tightened, the runes were connected. He turned the cap, and the runes were no longer linked. He removed the cap, setting the container in front of the unconscious dwarf. He changed the chant, calling to the phantom. He could feel the phantom resisting.

  Bergmann felt himself being pulled forward. He had been trying to escape this dwarf’s body for days. Now he was being pulled free of it, and all he could think to do was hold on. He needed to stay inside this body. Whatever this necromancer was doing would not be good for him. He was being pulled from the body of this dwarf, but something else was closing in around him.

  Phelim felt the phantom come free of the dwarf’s body and began guiding it into the container. The phantom was resisting. It was the phantom of a king, and it took everything he had to control it. He had never felt any spirit with as much power.

  Jerrie watched as the necromancer continued to chant. After a few minutes, he noticed a change on the dwarf on the ground. All of a sudden, the dwarf’s face relaxed. He wasn’t sure what was supposed to be happening, but it seemed to be working. Then, someone rushed past, knocking him out of the way. He stumbled to the side and turned to see who it had been.

  Crissy.

  Before anyone could react, she had pulled out the hand axe and was swinging down, dropping to a knee. The steel axe cut through the soft gold circle easily. The light of the circle went out in an instant.

  Phelim didn’t know what had happened. He turned to see what was going on. His circle was gone. He wasn’t sure how, but it was gone. In his distraction, he lost his grip on the phantom. He flailed desperately with his magic to grab hold of the spirit again, but the phantom of the king hadn’t fled. There was a crash of wills inside of him. He had the experience to resist the phantom, and he was easily holding him off. It took a few seconds before he realized what was happening. The phantom wasn’t trying to control him. It was searching his mind, trying to learn what he knew.

  Phelim didn’t hesitate. “Jerrie, now!” He started to turn toward the man who had promised to do what he must, but he felt a sharp pain, and then everything went dark.

  Grundel grabbed hold of Crissy. He had no idea what was going on. All he knew was that she had just interrupted the necromancer. There was the unmistakable flash of torchlight reflecting off steel. Grundel looked up and saw the necromancer lying in the center of the circle next to the open container. Blood was already pooling under his head where Jerrie’s dagger was buried to the hilt.

  Everyone’s eyes turned toward Phelim. The flash of light reflecting off of steel had drawn all of their attention. Now they all stood staring at the body of the necromancer. After a few moments, they all began turning their attention to Jerrie. All eyes were on Jerrie, but his eyes held Crissy. He stared at her in disbelief. The internal argument continued between his mind and his heart. His heart argued for her, trying to find a reason why she had done it or that somehow it had not happened the way he thought it had. His mind argued that he had the facts. He had killed the necromancer because of her. She had let the phantom escape. Her actions would cost t
he dwarves so many lives. How could she do it? How could she possible justify what she had done?

  “He killed my brother,” she said before he could ask, lowering her head.

  “You killed us all!” the dwarf lying in the center of the circle shouted as he tried to stand. His brother came to his side, grabbing him beneath his arm and assisting him to his feet.

  Kraft stepped forward. “He’s right. Her actions have put all of us at risk. Bergmann is a threat to our entire race. Her actions will cost us the lives of many dwarves. She will be held responsible for her actions.”

  “You thought you could stop me,” the dwarf at the door shouted and then threw a hand axe at Kraft.

  Kraft went to dive out of the way, but before he did, Grundel leapt forward, knocking the hand axe down with his double-bladed axe.

  The dwarf who had just helped his brother to his feet leapt forward, grabbing hold of the captured dwarf. All of a sudden, he turned and charged Grundel, drawing a knife from his belt. He began to laugh maniacally. “You will never be free of me.”

  Grundel blocked the dagger easily enough, and Kraft rapped the flat of his sword on the back of the dwarf’s head. The dwarf fell to the ground, unconscious but unharmed.

  “I will not be stopped,” the other dwarf at the entrance shouted and then charged out of the room.

  “Evacuate the mountain,” Grizzle shouted. He looked at Crissy. “Bring her.”

  Crissy looked to Jerrie, who stared at the fallen body of the necromancer. He went over to the circle and picked up the lifeless corpse. He followed behind as the others led the way out of Tiefes Loch. Ahead of him, Crissy was led with a dwarf on both sides holding one of her arms. Not only had they not stopped the Phantom of King Bergmann, they had also made him more powerful. He couldn’t imagine how she could bring herself to do something like this. How could the person he had come to care for so greatly do something so evil? He couldn’t help but question if everything he had shared with her was all just an act. Had she gotten close to him just to get her here, so that she could do this? If she was capable of this, then how could anything he thought he knew about her be true? He carried the body of the man she had forced him to kill. The weight of that life lost strengthened his resolve against her. He allowed the anger to consume him as he followed the others out of the dwarven kingdom of Tiefes Loch.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Another Empty Mountain

  Bergmann followed the dwarves through the mountain as they attempted to escape, listening to them panic. He knew he could take control of another dwarf and keep trying to kill them, but now that he had learned how to control this power, he wanted to do more. He wanted to shatter their faith in each other. He would force them to kill each other. They would already have to kill the woman who had helped him escape. He hadn’t had anything to do with that, but it had given him the idea. The one they called Jerrie seemed to be especially devastated by this woman’s betrayal. He would nurture the seed of betrayal this woman had planted into a forest of mistrust. Now he could take his time. He would watch as one by one they all turned on each other. He slid into the body of one of the dwarves guarding the woman.

  He could feel the resistance of the dwarf as he took control. The dwarf had a strong will, like most dwarves do, but he was not strong enough mentally. Bergmann hadn’t learned nearly as much from that necromancer as he could have, but he had learned enough. He reached into this dwarf’s mind, searching his memories and his thoughts. They dwarf’s mind flailed in an attempt to push him out, but in the end he learned what he needed to. He learned the dwarf’s mannerism right down to the way he limped when he pivoted on his right foot. He had injured the foot when he was young, and his mind had never quite overcome the injury. No one would ever suspect him.

  Bergmann was tethered to the point in which he had become a phantom, but he had learned that the longer he spent in a body the further he could move from that point. Once the distance was increased, it was increased forever. Now he understood why phantoms in the past had lived in the bodies of men they had taken until the bodies of the men failed. He wished he could have learned more from that necromancer. He had learned so much in the little time he had. Jerrie had killed him, taking away the opportunity to learn more. For that, he would watch this woman he so obviously cared about die.

  Jerrie walked along behind the others, carrying the lifeless body of the necromancer. One of the dwarves leading Crissy kept turning around and glancing at him. He had barely looked away when he heard the grunt of one of the dwarves. When he turned back toward them, the dwarf to her left was falling to the ground with a knife in his neck. The dwarf who had been glancing back at him grabbed Crissy by her wrist and slammed her to the ground.

  Crissy tried to scream, but something happened. She lost control of her body. She could feel Bergmann searching her mind, but she couldn’t stop him. He was in complete control. Then she heard his voice inside her head. “Do not resist. If you don’t go along, you will watch him die.” She had barely heard the voice when she felt the presence leave her.

  Bergmann slammed into the mind of the dwarf again. The dwarf hadn’t quite regained control in the short time he had been absent, and this time he barely resisted. “Already killed us all you have. Why are you still attacking us?”

  Crissy looked back at the dwarf. She realized this dwarf was being controlled by Bergmann. She started to protest, she wanted to warn the others, but she stopped herself. She looked at Jerrie. She may have been using them all to get back at Phelim for what he had done, but her feelings for Jerrie were real. She couldn’t let anything happen to him. She looked back to the dwarf and continued to be silent.

  Grundel bent down and checked the dwarf. “He’s dead,” he said, looking over at Crissy. “Who are you?”

  Crissy looked at the ground and remained silent.

  “We will deal with her later. Get everyone outside,” Grizzle said.

  The dwarf next to her jerked her forward. Grundel lifted the dwarf onto his shoulders and fell in step next to Jerrie. He looked over at his dearest friend. He had seen Jerrie wounded in battle, and he had shown less pain on his face with daggers buried in his arm.

  “It will be all right. We will get through this somehow,” Grundel said.

  Jerrie looked up at the dead dwarf on Grundel’s shoulders, then to the necromancer hanging from his. “It’s a deep dark hole we’re in this time, Grundel.”

  Grundel nodded. “And it’s not like to get any brighter soon, but we faced Delvidge himself and came through the other side. We will get through this.”

  The two carried the bodies through the halls of Tiefes Loch, leaving a trail of blood behind them. Tiefes Loch was being abandoned, and Shinestone already had been. In a matter of months, the kingdoms of the dwarves had been halved.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  The Falcon

  King Patria woke, bouncing in the back of a wagon. The wagon hit another hole in the dirt road, and he bounced again. He sat up, grabbing hold of the bench to support himself. He felt nauseous. His stomach was empty, and he knew there was nothing in him to release. He tried to focus his eyes, but everything was blurry. The cart bounced again, and his stomach turned, and the back of his mouth start to water. He rolled forward onto his knees and heaved, feeling as if his stomach was going to tear right through his chest. Bile rose in the back of his throat. The burning was quickly followed by a sharp bitter taste on his tongue. He had barely caught his breath when he began heaving again.

  When his stomach stopped trying to tear him apart, he rolled back over. He lay on his back, staring up at the skins that were sewn together over the top of the wagon. He held his stomach, begging it for mercy as he tried to let the darkness come. His blurry vision narrowed and then sleep took him again.

  The next time he woke, it was to the clash of steel. The cart was stopped. He had been stripped of his clothes, but he found them in the corner of the wagon folded neatly. His dagger lay on top of his trou
sers. He pulled it free of his sheath and made his way to the back of the wagon. When he pushed the brown animal skin to the side, he saw his men in a circle around the wagon. They were fighting off men dressed in black. He tried to climb out of the cart, but once his weight was forward he tumbled, unable to control his body.

  He slammed into the ground unceremoniously. He had lost his grip on the dagger. His vision was much better than the last time he had woken, but being slammed to the ground had left him dazed. He searched the ground frantically, trying to locate his dagger. He went to a knee, looked down, and found the dagger sticking out from under his knee. Somehow he had not impaled himself or cut himself crawling around on top of the blade.

  He had barely lifted the blade from the ground when it went flying from his hand and he sprawled out on the ground. He rolled over onto his back. One of the men in black stood over him. A dragon was embroidered on the breast of the man’s shirt in white. He looked into the man’s eyes and knew that he was going to die. The man brought his sword up, and an evil smile spread across his face. A bird screamed, and the man looked up.

  The bird slammed into the man’s face, and he stumbled back. Patria scrambled for the man’s dropped sword. He managed to get his hands around the hilt. He rolled, bringing it up as the man charged him again. His face was covered in blood and deep cuts covered his face from top to bottom. King Patria lay on his back and used every bit of energy his weakened body could muster to bring the sword up. He hoped the man would impale himself on the blade. He was too slow with the sword though, and the man knocked the blade out wide with his hand. The wind was forced from Patria’s lungs as the weight of the big man dropped down on his chest. He tried to fight him off, but he just wasn’t strong enough. The man’s hands went to his throat, and he began to panic his body fought desperately for air.