Grog II: Book 2 of the Ebon Blades

by RW Krpoun

  “Fine.” She lit a torch from hers and passed it to me. “How’s Hunter?”

  “Like he might be concussed.”

  “Well, he’s sensitive to this sort of thing, I expect. We’re lucky Provine Sael wasn’t affected.”

  “Wrong sort of Arts,” the Dellian came over. “Mine are not derived from the same core concepts as the Elder Ones’.”

  I didn’t really get the last part, but I didn’t need to.

  Provine Sael scrambled up the cart and lifted Rose from her cradle. “How are we? Fine? There’s a good girl.” She sort of bounced Rose as she spoke, and the baby thrashed her limbs and gurgled.

  “There’s some scorch marks on the cradle,” Hatcher noted.

  “Hunter’s wards held. An innocent shouldn’t be exposed to this sort of thing, whatever it was.”

  “What about the rest of us?”

  “We are all captains of our own souls, and even the powers of the First Folk cannot change that. But Rose…she is not able to make her own choices yet.”

  “You mean she could have been made evil?”

  “Do you think every Tulg and Ukar chooses their bloody course? Their shamans remember enough of the old ways to ensure that none of their charges will ever waver in their convictions.”

  “I did not know that,” Hatcher said, wonder clear in her voice. “I just thought, well, I figured that was how they were raised.”

  “Their culture shares a great deal of the blame, but even the renegades follow the same dark beings.”

  “Well, that’s disheartening. Wait, why didn’t the Tulg already convert Rose? They had a shaman.”

  “An innocent sacrifice is the best sort, or so they believe, and if you believe that practice makes perfect, they certainly would know.”

  “Huh. No wonder her people risked so much to get her away.”

  “Indeed.”

  As Torl stalked the perimeter of whatever we were in, Provine Sael marched to the center, where her torch revealed a dolman, which she examined critically. I followed her when she set off, not wanting her to be unguarded.

  Near the dolman was a pile of dusty objects. I nudged it with my foot, and the gleam of gold reflected my torch’s light: rough blocks of gold, stones, and shards of what looked like volcanic glass.

  “Offerings,” Provine Sael noted as she passed by. “Separate the gold from the rest; Hatcher will determine what we keep.”

  Jamming the torch between flagstones, I sat down and set to work. There was a lot there, and as I separated the pile I started building first a wall, then a house, with the blocks of gold.

  “Provine Sael,” Pieter approached. “You said that the device had, ah, moved us mhm into a barrow.”

  “Yes, I expect one just outside the mist and its aura.”

  “I’m afraid that isn’t the case.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  He gestured upwards. “This place is carved out of living rock.”

  The Dellian held up her torch at full extension overhead, then shook her head. Glancing at the dolman, she turned to me. “Grog, put me on your shoulders as you do with Hatcher.”

  I scrambled to my feet, accidently knocking down my structure, and carefully gripped her around the waist. “Mind the sword, mistress.”

  She didn’t weigh enough to give me any problem although she didn’t fit between my neck and my sword as neatly.

  “Stay still,” she instructed me, one hand on top of my head. She held up her torch and hissed at the sight of the roof. “Bedrock?” she suggested after a lengthy pause.

  “No, ma’am.” Pieter’s voice was quiet.

  “Put me down.”

  “A hill?” she asked after I had set her on her feet.

  “I would think not, from the grain in the stones. mhm This appears to be cut into stone moved by significant mhm tectonic forces.”

  “A mountain, in other words.”

  “Most likely.”

  “There are no mountains close to the Place of Mounds.”

  “There are not,” Pieter sighed.

  “Torl.”

  “I heard,” the scout noted as he came over. “I need Hatcher to check the exit from this place, and then we can leave. From this side, it looks like we can get the cart out.”

  “Take whomever you need.” She turned to Pieter. “Could this stone simply have been brought here for construction?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  After Hatcher checked the door she went to sort and pack the offerings, and Burk and I levered open the door, which was actually just a couple slabs of rock leaning over the opening. It wasn’t too hard, except making sure that they didn’t fall over, which would have made far too much noise.

  When we had gotten them out of the way it exposed a passage that looked just wide enough to let the cart pass. Torl stared into the darkness. “This is Hatcher’s area.”

  “Not done with the loot,” she called.

  “A little less noise might be helpful,” Torl noted absently, studying his torch. “We’re close to the surface.”

  Looking at the scout’s brand, I noticed that the flames were moving towards the chamber, as if there was a faint air flow coming in.

  Torl wandered off to look at something or another, but Burk and I just waited at the entrance. “So we might be in a mountain,” Burk observed.

  “So Pieter says.” I nodded.

  “Huh.”

  “I’m thinking of naming my sword,” I said after a lengthy pause.

  Burk nodded thoughtfully. “It’s a good sword.”

  “It’s Hatcher’s idea, but it is growing on me.”

  “I’ve been thinking about the puppet shows,” Burk mused.

  “Those were excellent; proper entertainment, not like those wandering players and their suggestive jokes.”

  “I would like to learn how they use those sticks and strings to make the puppets move.”

  “Huh.” I thought about that. “Like a sideline?”

  “No, you have to be pretty clever to put on a show; I was just thinking that I would like to know how to make a puppet move. I bet they would teach me if I paid them.”

  “Like a hobby?” I asked after giving it careful consideration.

  He nodded frowning. “Yeah. A hobby. Being free means you can have a hobby.”

  “I suppose it does,” I rubbed my chin. “I hadn’t considered that.”

  “I think it would be interesting.”

  “Well, a hobby should be interesting. What other sorts of hobbies are there?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve been working on the idea of this one since we left Merrywine.”

  “What are you two talking about?” Hatcher asked as she came over, Pieter in tow.

  “Naming my sword.”

  “That’s a good idea.” She stuffed her hair up under a greasy flat-topped leather cap. “Pieter’s going to hold a torch for me; one of you needs to stay within eyesight in case something wicked pops up.”

  “All right.”

  “By the way, we’ve made an excellent haul from the offerings.”

  “Good.”

  The passage was only about a hundred feet long, ending in another primitive door, but it took Hatcher quite a while to clear it; finally she and Pieter emerged. “I can smell fresh air and grass at the far door,” she advised, folding her cap. “I’ve cleared it, but don’t touch anything you don’t have to; whoever built this place was good.”

  “The engineering is impressive,” Pieter agreed.

  “We shall depart. Torl, Grog, Burk, deal with the door. The rest of us will be close behind. Pieter, can the cart make it out?” Provine Sael passed Rose to Hatcher.

  “Slowly and with care, mhm but yes.”

  “Good. Let us see what awaits us.”

  Burk and I eased the next set of slabs apart enough for Torl to slip out; a couple minutes later he popped his head in to tell us that it was safe, and then he was off again. We got the slabs moved completel
y out of the way, which took considerable effort as the bottom third of each slab was under the sod, due to the passage of time, I suppose. We got the slabs moved out the way without an excess of noise, although it was a good thing Rose was too young to understand profanity. Master Horne did not tolerate crass or vulgar speech in the normal course of things, but even he allowed that there are situations where heart-felt cursing is a comfort.

  Outside it was late afternoon, and the air was sweet (or at least it seemed so after coming out from underground) and warm. We emerged onto a grassy slope that swept down to a meadow split by a lively stream. Burk and I sprawled on the grass, which was shorter than that we had experienced before the mist, and which was green and springy, unlike the dun-colored dry sheaves we had spent days walking across.

  The slope we were on was towards the bottom of an actual mountain; I had always thought of a mountain as a triangle or cone of stone, but this was more like a sort of wall that extended both north and south further than I could see, its top splashed with snow and looking more jagged than anything else. It took a bit of looking to realize that those snow-covered tops were a long way away, days away even if you could get there, which I didn’t think you could, because the upper portions looked almost vertical.

  Pieter engaged in a harsh word or two while getting the cart out of the passage, although I noted he did not direct any of the harsh words at the mule, who also vented frustrated noises during the process. But eventually the engineer and mule managed to get the cart out.

  Before Pieter began his labors Provine Sael helped Hunter out onto the grass (where he promptly fell asleep) and then paced about studying our surroundings. Hatcher spread a blanket on the grass and put Rose on it. With a great deal of effort and grunting, the baby managed to roll over onto her stomach and goggle at her surroundings.

  “There’s a big girl!” Hatcher gushed, as if Rose had actually done something.

  “Hills, trees, and mountains,” Burk muttered. “Where are we?”

  “Somewhere else,” I shrugged. “At least there’s water, and we’re not underground.”

  “This must have been like when you fell into that sink hole and came out someplace else,” he observed.

  “Sort of, except that time I had to do all the thinking. Here, we just have to follow Torl.”

  “That is better,” he nodded. “And now we’ve seen a mountain.”

  “Yep.”

  “I’m not impressed,” he noted after studying the mountains. “They don’t appear to have any purpose, and I expect that they block travel.”

  “I think they get metal from them.”

  “Seems poorly thought out. It’s like rivers: they’re much deeper than they need to be. All you need is enough water to let barges pass.”

  “You don’t find a lot of planning outside of cities. There’s Torl.”

  The scout slipped out of the trees to speak with Provine Sael, who at first didn’t seem to understand what he was saying. There was a great deal of explanation and pointing, but they were keeping their voices down, and were too far away to catch the words.

  Meanwhile Rose managed to drag herself a foot or so, much to Hatcher’s vocal admiration.

  “At this rate it’s going to take her years to learn to walk,” I pointed out.

  “Were we ever that helpless?” Burk wondered.

  “I can’t imagine it. I think she’s unmotivated.”

  Torl set off into the trees with Provine Sael; we started to stand but she looked back and motioned for us to stay put.

  “How can we guard her if she goes off without us?” I shook my head.

  “In the wilds Torl is likely able to offer mhm better protection,” Pieter noted, coming over with a folding stool under his arm.

  “I suppose.” We sat back down. “Do you know where we are, Pieter?” In the light the rips in his scars gave him a ghastly appearance.

  “I suspect that I do,” he glanced at the long line of peaks above us. “Although I mhm hardly believe it.”

  “Where, then?”

  “These mountains are tall, old, harsh, and running on a line north-south. So far mhm as I know there is only one range that meets that mhm criteria: the Thunderdam range.”

  “Wait a minute,” Hatcher moved a little closer to us as Rose gained a couple inches on the blanket. “That’s impossible.”

  “True.”

  “Why is it impossible?” I asked.

  “Remember how when we got to the Emperor’s tomb you could see a mountain range in the distance? Those were the Thunderdams, and we were still nearly a hundred miles east of them.”

  “It took us weeks to get to the tomb,” I said slowly.

  “Exactly, weeks heading west at twenty-five miles a day. Since leaving Merrywine we’ve mostly headed north. The Place of Mounds must be about…” she paused frowning.

  “Eight hundred miles to the east mhm as the crow flies,” Pieter noted. “At least.”

  “They run nearly the length of the continent, north to south,” Hatcher scratched her neck, glancing to check on Rose. “I don’t think either end has been fully explored.”

  “True.”

  “This is impossible.”

  “Yes.”

  Hatcher stared up at the distant crags, then shook her head and scooted over to pick up Rose and hold her close.

  “Hunter’s asleep,” Burk noted, digging out his novel. “Should we post a guard?”

  “No need, I would expect,” Pieter looked up from a small metal mirror he was using to examine his scalp. “But I shall remain alert. mhm My land, I look horrific.”

  “You ought to lose the scars quicker with them broken up,” Hatcher set Rose down, and the baby immediately tried to coordinate her limbs into a crawl.

  “I can hope.”

  I dug out my novel and followed my finger as it traced the lines of print; the hero of the story was undergoing a storm at sea, and the descriptions were quite vivid.

  After about an hour had passed Pieter stood. “We should make camp; it grows dark quickly mhm in the mountains.”

  “The mistress should be back by now,” Burk muttered unhappily.

  “She’s with Torl,” Hatcher shook her head. “She’s all right. What I don’t like about how long they’ve been gone, is that it means they’ve found something really strange.”

  We had just finished setting up camp, and Pieter had me and Burk cutting up things for a stew when the two returned.

  “Where is Hunter?” Provine Sael asked, striding into camp.

  Hatcher, who had an increasingly cranky Rose in her lap, held a finger to her lips and then jerked her head towards where the ‘slinger was asleep on a cot.

  “Blast,” Provine Sael said quietly. “I need his counsel.” She sighed. “Tomorrow, then.” Marching over to the cart, she stood on a wheel hub in order to extract a torch and then set off for the cave without a backward glance.

  “Well, your supper will have to wait,” Hatcher whispered to Rose. “Grog, break her a piece of hardtack.”

  I dug out one of the hard squares of bread, wrapped it in a clean rag, and broke it. “Here.”

  Hatcher selected a piece. “Torl, what is out there?”

  “Wait for her to explain.”

  “Those are the Thunderdams, aren’t they?”

  “Yes.”

  “How far north are we?”

  He hesitated. “Further north than I’ve ever been. I would say we’re at least a hundred miles north of the Place of Mounds. And half a continent to the west, obviously.”

  “In Dusman territory? I mean where they live.”

  “I don’t think this is anyone’s territory.”

  “Wonderful.” Hatcher absently jiggled Rose, who was gumming her bit of hardtack. “What did we do to deserve this?”

  “Should we post extra guards tonight?” Burk asked.

  “One will do,” Torl watched Pieter mixing ingredients into the pot. “How old is that cavern, Pieter?”

&n
bsp; “Hmmm? Well, very old, and a long time in the making, mhm, I might add. First Folk work, I expect, and a great deal of work mhm would have been involved, given their lack of metal tools.”

  “I’m surprised it is still holding,” Hatcher nibbled at a piece of hardtack.

  “The Elder Ones had a good working mhm knowledge of the building arts, despite not using mhm metal,” Pieter started mixing dough for flatbread.

  “I wonder if their lack of metal was ignorance or choice,” Torl noted.

  “What do you mean?” Rose coughed and Hatcher absently patted the baby’s back.

  “I wonder if metal interfered with their pursuit of power,” the scout explained. “I’ve seen their leftovers along the border, and they always used natural materials in what they did. I heard a scholar speculate once that it was possible that they did so because refined ore was dead to them.”

  “Everyone knows more about the Elder Ones than me,” Hatcher observed. “Of course, I have always been hindered by the fact that I didn’t care. Now I’m thinking that I should start taking an interest.” She stood. “I’m going to give Rose a bath before it gets too dark.”

  Provine Sael returned as dusk was setting in; as Pieter had predicted, dark came swiftly here. She made no comment, merely retrieving one of her bags from the cart and setting about making Rose’s dinner.

  “Did you bathe her?” She asked when she was done.

  “As best I could,” Hatcher handed the baby over. “The water is cold, like strangely cold.”

  “It’s coming off hardpack snow and ice fields,” Torl jerked his chin towards the mountain peaks.

  “Why is there snow up there?” I asked. “It’s closer to the sun, after all.”

  “The higher you go, the thinner the air gets, and the colder it gets,” Torl explained. “There’s ice fifty feet thick up near peaks like that.”

  “How does air get ‘thin’?”

  “I don’t know the ‘how’ of it, but I know it does.”

  “Have you ever climbed to the top of a mountain?” Burk asked.

  “No, but I’ve been close. It isn’t something I would want to do again.”

  Provine Sael fed Rose the white glop, and the baby ate with gusto, occasionally thrashing her limbs or jerking her head. When the bowl was empty and her face wiped clean, Rose belched and yawned.