"Yes," Rathe said. "At least, she was dressed like a savage. She wore skins." He tried to picture her face, and it came to him easily: a striking face framed with black curly hair, and flashing green eyes. Would he see her again? "I wish I knew who she was," he said.
"Well, whatever she was, I'm glad for her warning," Tam said. "We wouldn't have made it otherwise. If we'd been asleep..." she shivered. "What did she call them? Whispering Death."
Rathe glanced out the tower's barred window. He could see the walls of the fort, and beyond it, the dark forests of Khera Vale. "You've got guards posted?" Rathe asked.
"Yes," Tam answered. "We broke out the javelins from the fort's store. But I'm keeping everyone inside, as a precaution."
"Good." Rathe heaved himself up to a sitting position. "How many of the creatures did we kill?"
"We got five of them," Tam said. "The others fled. No sign of them since. I hope they stay away until the gods return."
Rathe nodded thoughtfully. They had killed five. Perhaps six or seven had fled. Once surprise was lost, the Whispering Death wouldn't fight human soldiers one-to-one. But if there were more of the monsters... staying here would be foolhardy, and Stonekeep would have to be warned.
There was a knock on the door.
"Enter," said Tam and Rathe, simultaneously. They looked at each other. Tam gave a faint grin. She'd been in command for a whole day now. It seemed to agree with her.
The door opened. It was Loric. He was holding his helmet and wasn't wearing armor, but he had his sword buckled on and his shield slung over his back. There was a bruise on his temple, but he seemed to have gotten through the fight in one piece.
The young soldier broke into a grin. "Glad to see you up, sir," Loric said. He cleared his throat, but Rathe thought he looked healthier than on the march. Loric turned to Tam. "Orvig sent me. He says there's something he wants to show you. But I don't think he's in a hurry. Can I get you anything to eat, sir?"
Rathe looked inquisitively at Tam.
"Quin's in the kitchens. He made stew. I've already eaten."
"Sounds good," Rathe said. He realized he was hungry.
"Tell Orvig we'll be there soon," Tam told Loric. The man nodded and left, then returned a few minutes later with a bowl of stew, two slices of bread and a pitcher of water. Quin served them, then excused himself.
"I thought we were low on rations," Rathe said, dipping his bread into the stew. "This is delicious."
"We used the monsters," Tam said. "They cook up good."
Rathe choked, staring at her in amazement. Then he realized Tam was grinning at him.
"Vegetables from the storeroom," she said, wiping spattered soup off the table. "Really."
Rathe laughed. He felt a bit better, knowing Tam could still joke. He finished the stew and rose to his feet. He was a bit shaky, but the dizziness was gone. "I'd like to inspect the fort," he told Tam. "Then let's go see what Orvig's found out."
He found his sword and shield, and together they left the room and climbed downstairs. Tam had chosen the west guard tower as their refuge.
"With only five of us, I didn't want to try to cover the whole fort," Tam explained.
"It's a good choice," Rathe approved. But it was also a good trap, he realized. They couldn't stay here forever. "Where's Orvig?"
"South barracks. Follow me."
Tam led him into the fort's open courtyard. The air was cool, and Rathe couldn't help but glance nervously at the sky. The overcast of the last few days had broken at last, and now only a few white clouds drifted amid the blue expanse. It seemed peaceful. It had probably seemed peaceful to Hoth, before he died. Fort Thunder was a sturdy structure, but Rathe knew its thick wooden walls would avail little against the Whispering Death. The fort's builders hadn't expected winged foes.
They crossed the courtyard and ducked back inside, entered the south barracks hall. Rathe wrinkled his nose. Something smelled peculiar. Acrid, bitter...
Orvig met him at the door. Rathe knelt and gathered his stepfather into a hug.
"Well, boy," Orvig said gruffly, when he had pulled free. "Finished your beauty sleep?"
"I think so," Rathe said. He looked the dwarf over, noticing the dark circles under his eyes. "You look like you could use some sleep yourself."
"Can't sleep," Orvig said. His eyes narrowed. "Work to do." Jhen, Rathe thought.
"No, I'm fine, boy," said Orvig, as if reading Rathe's expression. "But I promised your father I'd take better care of you, and then you go making me a liar." He peered up at Rathe's bandaged head. "It's a miracle ye survived the poison."
"I know," said Rathe. "I had... help."
Orvig raised an eyebrow.
"We'll speak of it later," Rathe said. "Now tell me what you've learned." He motioned Tam over, from where she'd been standing by the door.
"Take a look at these." The table was covered with a stained cloth. Upon it lay two of the Whispering Death. One was nearly intact, save for a hole in its eye. The other's carapace had been sliced open, its organs displayed. A scatter of knives and bottles covered the table top, next to a jug of water. A roll of parchment lay on the table, covered with sketches. The dwarf had been busy.
"Orvig had us bring two of them back," Tam said.
"Aye." Orvig said. "If you don't know your enemy, you're a fool."
Armored in glittering black and green chitin, the thing was too long and graceful to be a beetle. The forelegs were covered with deadly spikes. The head was dominated by giant mandibles and glittering multifaceted compound eyes. Antennae quivered above it.
"It looks like a praying mantis," Tam said.
Rathe agreed. He'd seen the hungry little hunters sunning themselves on Stonekeep's walls during the summer. But those had been only a few inches long. This creature was seven feet from head to tail. The scary thing was, it was almost beautiful.
"Whispering Death," he said out loud. He searched for the name the girl had used.
"Orvig, have you ever heard of anything like it?"
The dwarf tugged on his beard. "The Deep Library of Stonekeep might have records of such things. Or... or Jhen might know. But our clan is the Stonemelters, lad. We deal in chemical reactions, not in bugs and mutants."
"Does that mean you don't know what it is?" Tam said. She prodded it with her sword-tip. Orvig slapped her hand away.
"It means I will have to find out," Orvig said. "When we found the hill on which Seth died, we had questions. Did such as these—" he tapped the creature's head with his knife "-- slay the Seth party?"
"Who can doubt it?" said Rathe.
"Not I," the dwarf answered. "But remember the question we asked on the hill? If they were killed by mere creatures, what happened to their goods and weapons? And where did the sword-wounds come from, on the mules? Those questions remained unanswered."
"You said remained," Rathe said. He kept his patience. Orvig's lectures were something he had gotten used to in childhood.
"Aye, lad. Turn the intact creature over."
Rathe hesitated, reluctant to touch the Death without gloves. Then he obeyed. The thing was light and brittle, cool to the touch, but dry rather than slimy.
Tam leaned in closer to see, wrinkling her nose.
"What's that on its belly?" she asked.
It was a mark of some sort, a complex pattern in red, like a double hourglass.
"I've seen that mark before," Rathe said. He withdrew his hand. "On the one I killed." Memory of sudden terror as the Whispering Death's weight landed on his shield, a desperate thrust to dislodge it, the sword stabbing down as it thrashed on its back. "Is this the same one?"
"No," said Orvig. "All of them have it."
"So what?" said Tam. "The trailspider that bit my cousin Tara had a red diamond on its back." She pursed her lips. "Lots of poisonous insects have marks."
"Ah," said Orvig. "But not like this." He dipped his finger in the jug of water, then touched the mark, rubbed it. It smeared.
"D
ye?" Rathe asked.
Orvig sniffed it. "Blood," he said gravely. "Drawn in blood."
Rathe sat down. This changed things. "Could the things be intelligent?" he finally asked. "Perhaps use this as war paint or something?"
"I doubt it," Orvig said. "I've dissected them. We, (and Rathe knew he meant the dwarves) know that the brain is the seat of thought. This thing has no more brain than a dog. I think they are clever, but not as much as a man." He caught Rathe's gaze, held it. "No, boy. Some intelligence is directing them."
Rathe stared at the bloody pattern on the creature. Something he remembered... "It looks like a rune," he finally said.
"It is indeed," Orvig answered, surprised. He gave Rathe a long glance. "How did you know?"
"My dream, I think." Rathe said.
"Go on," said Orvig. Tam nodded.
"While I was unconscious, I dreamed of a rune carved in black glass. A magickal symbol."
"It's magick?" Tam said. She drew back from the table.
Rathe understood Tam's unease. Long centuries ago, magick had been the driving force behind human society—and human warfare. Two rival cabals, the Lord Sorcerers of Atlantis and the Dark Warlocks of Ys, had warred with spells as well as steel. The final struggle had been an exchange of ever-more-deadly sorceries. The final spell had been cast by the Dark Warlocks. It went out of control, and the result was the Devastation: the end of the world.
Almost.
Continents burned, oceans boiled, and both warring nations sank beneath the waves. Even the gods had not escaped unscathed. Neither the Dark Warlocks nor the Lord Sorcerers survived—nor had most of the rest of humanity. The scattered survivors had taken centuries to rebuild human civilization, even with the help of the subterranean Dwarves. Other races were hit even harder—if the green-skinned throgs and their smaller cousins, the shargas, had been civilized before the Devastation, they were no longer. And none of the legendary Elves and few of the magick-using Faeries had been seen since the skies burned.
Since then, magick had been rightly feared. Among the humans and Dwarves of Stonekeep, only a few elder Magickians retained any knowledge of the old ways. Their rune magicks were a closely guarded secret, passed to trusted disciples, to be used only for the safety of the Keep itself.
Or so Rathe had always been taught.
"Magick," repeated Tam. "Right. I'll check on Loric and Quin."
Rathe nodded. "Do so," he said. She saluted, her gaze lingering on him for a second, then turned and left. Rathe saw the effort she made to straighten her shoulders as she strode away.
Magick. Here, among them, trying to kill them. Rathe knew he should be frightened, but instead he was fascinated. When Tam was gone, he turned to Orvig. "What could the rune be for?"
"Runes are the heart of magick," said Orvig slowly. "That much I know. There are other kinds of sorcery—rituals and such, or Elf magick—but they were lost in the Devastation. Rune magick is made by scribing the rune you want to use on a rune-item, like a staff or a wand, or even a sword. It stores the energy that powers the spell. But the nature of the spell is in the lines of the rune."
"But what does this rune mean?" Rathe asked eagerly. "Could it control the creatures?"
"That seems a likely truth."
"But who could have drawn it?"
"That I cannot say," Orvig said. "Each race has its own runes. I can read some dwarf runes, and recognize others, though I have not the art of magick. But this is not dwarf magick."
"Who else uses magickal runes?"
"The savage throgs have their shamans," Orvig said, "although their small cousins, the shargas, have no such art. And the tiny Faeries use runes as well, though neither man nor dwarf from Stonekeep has seen their kind in many a year. And your own race, of course. Aye, human runes are mighty."
Orvig peered down at the design drawn in blood. "It might be a human rune," he said. "I know too little of your race's magick. Human spellcrafters are secretive, just as are the Dwarves', of course." Orvig sighed. "Knowledge should not be hoarded, but suspicion and secrecy still breed ignorance, even after centuries of cooperation. No, I cannot say for sure."
"The rune was drawn in blood," Rathe observed. He thought for a moment. "Could the blood have some significance? Perhaps drive the creatures to attack things?"
Orvig nodded. "That could be it. Blood has power, certainly. And ..."
"Wait," Rathe interrupted. A terrible thought had struck him. If blood had power...
"Tam said the Whispering Death didn't attack you."
"The lass spoke true," Orvig said. The dwarf frowned casting his thoughts back to the battle. "One of them flew right past me, though I was nearest it, and had no shield. I wondered why..."
"It fits!" Rathe said. "If the rune was drawn in human blood. The things attacked humans, not dwarves, not animals. Humans."
"You're not saying the dwarves had anything to do with this?" Orvig's tone was low, but his eyes flashed.
"No, of course not," Rathe said. "But think of this: if they were magicked to attack only humans, they couldn't have eaten your sister. Jhen might still be alive!"
"Aye!" The dwarfs face cracked into a grin. "That could be. That could be." He suddenly frowned. "You'll be planning on returning to the Keep with the soldiers, to report?"
"I want to find her as much as you," Rathe said. "But Stonekeep has to know."
"Aye. But I'll not go back without Jhen," Orvig said slowly. His stared at the floor. "Not if she may be alive. My duty to family and clan demands it."
"You can't search for her alone."
"She's alone. Ah, well." With an effort, the dwarf wrenched his thoughts back to the creatures. "But there are other mysteries." He tapped the table with his knife. "Tell me," Orvig said. "What did you mean when you spoke of seeing a rune in your dream?"
"At first I thought I was floating..." Rathe began.
He told the dwarf of the columned hall with its floor of black glass, the feminine voice that spoke to him, and the rune in the floor he had followed even as it had shattered...
Orvig listened intently. "Was the rune in the dream the same as the runes on the insect?" he said at last.
Rathe shook his head. "No. Similar... but the shattered rune was far more complex, more—powerful. Complete." He visualized the rune, then pointed to the symbol drawn on the creature. "This is like a sentence, ripped from a page, or a single line from a poem. Does that make sense?"
Orvig nodded encouragingly. Rathe went on.
"But the rune I saw—it felt like it was connected to the woman's voice, somehow, almost like it was her name. Yet it also seemed somehow familiar. Like a childhood memory." Rathe looked up, met Orvig's gaze. "And when the rune shattered, I felt like—" he struggled for words, "-- like something inside me had broken as well." He shook his head. "It's silly, isn't it?"
"I have paper and quill," said Orvig. "Can you draw me this rune?"
"I can see it in my mind," Rathe said. "I'll try."
He was no artist, but several attempts and much spattered ink later, Rathe had a depiction that looked right.
"You're very quiet," Rathe told Orvig. It was true. The dwarf was simply staring at it. "Do you recognize it?"
Orvig nodded, his expression unreadable. Rathe watched as he fished into his belt pouch and pulled out a ring. The dwarf held it out. The band was of heavy gold. A black stone glittered on it.
"It's beautiful," Rathe said. "But—have I seen it before?" It felt familiar. "Where is it from? What is the stone?"
"Obsidian," said Orvig said. "Volcanic glass. Like, I would guess, the floor in your dream. He held it into the light. "Look at the glass. Look closely."
The light caught the jewel, revealed a tracery of fine lines carved on its face.
"The rune in the temple!" Rathe exclaimed. "But where—?"
"It's your mother's ring," Orvig said simply. He offered it. "Here, take it. Put it on."
Rathe accepted the ring numbly, his thoughts in turmoil.
His mother, his father—he had never known them. A week after his first birthday, both had left the Keep... never to return. He knew his father Clave had been a logger and later a soldier, that his mother Rhea had been a healer. He had been raised by Orvig. When he grew older, he had learned that his father had once saved Orvig's life, that a mutual debt of friendship existed between them. His adoption had been Orvig's way of repaying that debt, but in time, bonds of genuine affection had grown between the dwarf and the human child.
"How can this be?" Rathe asked. He held the ring in his palm, weighing it. It was surprisingly heavy. "I don't understand."
"Aye, nor do I, boy," said Orvig. "Not entirely. But knowledge aids understanding. And I have kept you in the dark too long." He took a drink of water. "I know you have questions. Ask."
"How did you get the ring? What does it have to do with my father?"
"Little to do with your father," said Orvig. "Save that he would not abandon your mother."
"What do you mean?"
The dwarf almost seemed not to hear the question. He shook his head slowly, and his reply was no reply at all, but another question. "What do you know of the gods?" Orvig asked.
"Only what you taught me, what everyone knows," Rathe answered, surprised. "That beings called Light and Darkness created the universe. They were the Eldest Gods. When they created Earth, they gave birth to the Younger Gods, men, Dwarves, everyone. Then they went away."
"Correct," Orvig said. "But what of the Younger Gods?"
"There are ten," Rathe said impatiently. "One for each of the heavenly spheres. Khull-Khuum, who is the sun. Helion, the nearest to its fires. Aquila, the evening star. Thera, that is the Earth. Azrael, who is the red planet. Marif, the world of many moons. Safrinni, the ringed planet. And Yoth-soggoth and Ko-soggoth, the unseen pair." Rathe grinned. "Unseen until your kin showed us how to grind lenses to make telescopes."
Orvig nodded, pleased. His clan, the Chuk'li, or Stonemelters, made many of the strong acids used in lenscrafting.
"But what has any of this to do with my parents?"
"Patience, boy. Where are the gods now?" Orvig countered.
Thera Awakening Page 3
